#I’m doing a general crash course type thing so. it’s not comprehensive

[supernova-star]

I’m in a printmaking class and our final is a zine, so I did one talking about Xenogenders!

#I’m doing a general crash course type thing so. it’s not comprehensive #I used the mogai wiki not associated with fandom.com bc ick #if anything is inaccurate please let me know! #nebs.txt #neb’s art #zine #xenogender #xenogender pride #starfluid #bunnygender #funhoardic #neopronouns #queer pride #nonbinary #pride zine

[anika-ann]

Errare Humanum Est - Pt.21

Two Confused Men, Two and Half Culprits

Type: series, soulmate AU series  (part 1, part 2)  x Supernatural

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader     Word count: 3780

Summary: Jarvis is the half culprit. I wonder who the two confused men could be…. Hint: for once, it’s not Sam and Dean.

Warnings: swearing, brief angst, nightmare (about drowning), brief mention of blood, guilt trip, attempt at humour

Story masterlist ༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺ 

You woke up, suffocating weight preventing your chest from expanding. You remembered dreaming about water, the light at the surface gradually receding from your grasp. All you could see now was darkness, the pressure against your lungs and the burn in them remaining.

Your throat closed up in panic as you fought to suck some oxygen into your airways.

Vainly.

You trashed around, elbowing the warm mass behind you that seemed to be pulling you under – only for the grip on you to grow stronger, your ribcage feeling like collapsing any minute.

You struck harder and the vice-like grip on you loosened with a huffed protest. You instantly rolled away—how were you rolling away in the water? What was that sound?

You blinked away the tears that prickled in the corners of your eyes with your previous effort and chased each inhale, your heart hammering in your chest wildly.

Your vision clearing, eyes adjusting to the dark, you came face to face with a perplexed and very much half-asleep Steve.

Oh thank god, you were okay. No water. No drowning. Just Steve’s strength and nightmares combining and resulting in the least pleasant outcome.

His pupils were dilated in horror and he shot up into a sitting position, blinking away his own daze. With a hand still on your chest, you closed your eyes and forced yourself to dial down your fight-or-flight instincts.

You were safe. Steve was safe, with you, definitely not a danger to you. You still flinched when he rasped out the apologetic words, heavy with guilt and concern.

“Oh my god-- are you okay? Doll? Can you breathe?! Does it hurt? I’m sorry. Oh god, I am so, so sorry-”

You raised your hand in his general direction, gesturing for him to give you a sec.

Rationally, you knew you were fine and you needed to chill the fuck out, but it was a bit harder to actually do so.

Steve let you take your time, ominous silence falling on the bedroom. You forced more air to your lungs, the burn slowly dissolving. You focused on the pleasant soreness instead, the result of your first night together after a long time-- what time it was now anyway?

You snapped your eyes open, finding Steve’s motionless form in the shadows, still sitting on the bed. Only this time, his face was buried in his palms, his fingers tangled in his loose golden strands in a brutal manner, and when you looked at him – truly looked – you detected the slightest tremble of his body.

Any pain caused by his crushing embrace vaporized at instant, the urge to comfort him taking over; big time.  

You carefully reached out to him, your fingers curling around his wrist and gently pulling it away – or attempting to. He didn’t move an inch.

“Steve?” you called out softly, surprised by how hoarse your voice sounded and flinched. Steve did as well and you cleared your throat – uselessly, because the problem was somewhere lower. “Steve, are you alright?”

His hands twitched on his face, but he didn’t withdraw them.

“Steve, are you back with me?” you whispered urgently and the only answer you got was a frustrated muffled groan. Your lips curled up in a tight smile, sympathetic. “I’m okay. Are you?”

“Please stop asking me that,” he breathed out, his palms uncovering his mouth only for the words being comprehensible.

“Okay. Okay, I’ll stop,” you promised and wiggled your way closer to him. “Can I touch you further though?”

His ribcage expanded generously with his sharp inhale, but he didn’t respond.

“…please?” you added, pressing further.

“Doll…”

“Yeah?”

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking simultaneously with your heart swelling in your chest.

“I know.“ At that, he finally allowed you to lower his hand, the other following its suit. Wet eyelashes created a tiny tornado with their furious blinking when his eyes found your face and saw an encouraging soft smile. “Can I hug you now?”

He opened his mouth slowly only for it to fall shut with no sound coming out. He gave a cautious nod and that was all you needed to wrap your smaller form around the big sad bundle of a supersoldier. You basically climbed into his lap, hiding his face in the crook of your neck, planting a kiss on the top of his head before laying your cheek on it.

Huh, that was nice. No wonder he did the same to you as often as he did.

“It’s okay, Steve. We’re okay,” you whispered to his hair, kissing it again. “I love you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“…that’s not what a girl wants to hear when she confesses her love to a guy,” you joked hesitantly, but you could feel his lips curling up in a smile as he breathed in against your skin deeply.

“I love you too,” he cooed, his arms finally sneaking around you and cautiously holding you as close as possible.

“Uh-uh.”

“Exactly what a guy wants to hear when he confesses his love to a girl,” he threw back at you in a hushed voice.

You chuckled breathlessly, swallowing the whine of pain at motion of your chest, and caressed his shoulders without even a thought of letting go.

“Will you be able to fall asleep again?”

“Will you? How are your ribs? Is your breathing okay? I’m really, really sorry, sweetheart. I’ll just lie on the couch-“

“Don’t you dare-“

“Don’t argue with me. I literally just tried to crush your lungs,” he growled, regret radiating off him in waves the size of a tsunami.

“Not intentionally!” you spat back, somehow maintaining gentle tone at the same time. “…right?”

“Of course not! It wasn’t- I would never-- but that doesn’t mean it won’t happen again,” he bargained in the end, sorrowful pools of blue and green shining even in the shadows of your room.

What he said was undoubtedly true. But the picture of having him lying several feet from your reach now (with his mind full of awful scenarios keeping him awake for sure), was unimaginable. Just terrible. Heartless. Not to mention you just got him back!

The solution seemed easy enough, though it was less comfortable; still better than the other option he had offered.

“Then put on your big boy pants and be the little spoon,” you challenged, earning a bewildered look with his eyebrows near his hairline.

“…for real?”

“Yep.”

He observed you for several moments that felt like eternity, while he considered his options. Then he sighed and you knew you won.

“…okay.”

“That’s what I thought,” you smiled at him a lop-sided smile, pulling him down to the mattress again; and he let you.

It was a little ridiculous and definitely strange to switch positions resulting in your arm enwrapping Steve’s thin muscular waist and being glued to his back – not to mention your other arm, where the hell did he usually put the other arm when spooning you? –, but in a way, you enjoyed it, more so when after a moment, his hand covered yours, careful not to apply too much pressure.

It was still the first night after you regained your memories; there was no way you even considered anything that involved Steve not being pressed to you without an inch remaining between your bodies an option.

You scooted even closer to him; you fell back into a more peaceful sleep in no time.

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Steve was very mature about the whole thing – so much that he decided (just like you did) – that you wouldn’t address the matter again. You spent the better part of waking up process making out like your life depended on it and then you might have winced the tiniest bit when Steve brushed your tender ribs, which ended up with him leaving to take a shower.

But not in the ‘oh god, I’m sorry, let me drown in a bathtub’ kind of leave, more like ‘maybe we could at least wait for the evening before we jump each other’s bones again’ kind of leave and it overall felt… rather alright.

With Steve occupied, you moved onto the funnier matters – like going through his closet to find a suitable outfit for your morning shenanigans, while Jarvis kindly replayed a conversation that felt like an ancient history to you.

You found yourself humming under your breath, wondering how good of an opening Tony could give you, when your eyes fell on something that took your breath away; just enough of it to leave some to yell for your soulmate.

“Steve! Steve, come here please!”

There was a crash in the bathroom, rapid pats of his wet feet and he flung out of the door in impressive speed with only a towel around his waist.

“What?! What is it?” he blurted out while he rapidly scanned the room for any danger and you almost felt bad for making him panic.

Almost. Because boy, this was awesome. You held out the t-shirt of your choice to him, amazed nearly beyond words.

“How did I not know you had this?”

Steve blinked furiously, his stance easing when he realized it was a false alarm.

“Christ, doll,” he huffed a relieved breath and sheepishly scratched he back of his neck upon seeing the famous shield on the clothing. “Eh… pretty sure it was a gag gift from Clint…”

“That’s so friggin’ perfect. Can I borrow it?”

His lips spread in a content smile as he walked to you, one hand landing on your shoulder, his lips incidentally catching your temple. “It’s all yours, doll.”

You debated washing your hair when Steve let you use the shower afterwards, but a little devil on your shoulder told you that ruffled hair and overall sleepy lookTM would work much better for you. You smiled at the reflexion with satisfaction, re-entering Steve’s bedroom, giddy.

“So, what do you think?” you asked him cheerily, spreading your arms and turning a full circle to show off your outfit in all its glory.

Steve looked up from where he was making the bed and froze. For a second, his skin paled to a very dangerous shade of white, his gaze glued to the brand on your torso. It gave you a pause; an amused grin you expected, a heated glare caused by you wearing his insignia maybe, but not the look of utter horror.

As fast as he turned to a statue, he recovered, plastering a smile on his face again – but it didn’t reach his eyes, a shadow of something that twisted your gut uncomfortably remaining.

“Looks good on you,” he stated approvingly and averted your gaze to pat at the mattress pointedly. “Honestly, it kinda makes me want to pull you right back to bed and have my way with you in it only.”

“Hold that thought, Captain, and maybe next time leave a different kind of your brand,” you suggested and added a wink, which seemed to finally erase whatever ugly thought had attacked him earlier from his head. “We have a billionaire to mess with.”

“Every time…” he echoed his words form last night, chasing blood to your cheeks and causing a giggle to spill from your lips.

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Steve fell into his role as easily as you did; he led you to the kitchen, your shuffling feet giving an impression of you being only half-awake and hesitant about walking the right direction.

Much to your luck, all the occupants of the Tower were already in the kitchen as Jarvis had informed you prior to entering the room. You smiled at each of them sheepishly, letting Steve gingerly seat you on one of the bar stools – not before you had enough time to show off your supposed pyjama.

Your plan was working perfectly as upon your bashful ‘Good morning, everyone,’ each of the poor Avengers got caught in a different intensity of staring. Natasha was tactful enough to revert her gaze shortly after noticing your choice of clothing, only smirking a bit, while Bruce took a little longer. Clint had been in the middle of stirring his cereal with milk, now paused mid-motion, recovering after about ten seconds. Tony was blatantly gawking at you, the pot of coffee in his hand dangerously atilt.

As if you couldn’t see their reaction, you smiled at Steve shyly. “I don’t want to impose, Steve. I can make my own breakfast…”

He only replied with a sweet smile. “You wanted to try eggs and bacon, right?”

“If it’s not too much trouble… but I really-“

“Nat. Let me take care of you,” he pleaded lowly and wow, the gentle but conflicted look he gave you was an Oscar-nominee-worthy thing.

“Thank you, Steven. You’re very kind to me,” you thanked him genuinely, meaning every word. It earned you a wince from five different people (including Steve, who hadn’t seen that one coming) as you used his full name and it took a lot of your strength not to burst out laughing.

Natasha cleared her throat. “So… how are you holding up? Did you sleep well?”

“Very much. Thank you, Ms. Romanoff… uh, you?”

“Natasha is fine, Nat. And yeah.”

Wow. Not even the great spy was onto you apparently – or she was, seeing right through your little stunt and deciding not to ruin your fun, being that much of a good actress.

Not certain about how exactly to proceed from now on, your gaze travelled around the bar, eyes landing on Tony.

He looked like he wanted to say something, but Clint, as if sensing the nature of his prepared exclaim, shut him up with a glare. You, on the other hand, were an incarnation of innocence on the outside, dying of laughter on the inside already.

“What is it, Mr. Stark? I can see you want to say something,” you nudged him gently and fiddled with your fingers nervously as Steve cracked the eggs in a bowl and started stirring.

“Nope. Not really,” the billionaire cleared his throat awkwardly, something so uncharacteristic of him. “And I told you. It’s Tony.”

“Right. Tony. Sorry.” You would swear Steve’s shoulders shook a little as he put the pan on the stove. You worried your teeth over your lower lip, eyeing your outfit. “It’s the clothes, isn’t it? You want to say I look right at home in it, don’t you? And I am branded on top of that…. It’s okay. I can see you’re barely holding the comment back.”

Tony finally put away the pot, his hands seeming rather frantic as he reached for sugar. “Well, I mean,… eh-“

“It’s a sign of a… successful night, right?”

“I didn’t mean to imply, uhm…“ he started, quickly lowering the cup so he could raise his hands defensively, but you interrupted him, mentally biting your cheek as you charmed your best innocent puppy eyes at him.

“-that last night I got thoroughly fucked?”

Exactly four people choked on their own spit; Steve had been expecting it, though the tips of his ears still turned a pretty shade of red and he stopped cooking, removing the pan before he could burn something. Still, at least he could tell which pipe was for breathing unlike the rest of the Avengers.

Natasha was the first to recover, soon followed by Bruce – they both had somewhat knowing glint in their eye now, figuring out what was this about, or at least partly. Smiles were tugging at their lips.

Tony’s face was definitely the most hilarious one. His eyes were bulged, wheels in his hear whirling rapidly, his mouth opened ajar even though he eventually stopped coughing.

Natasha was kind enough to hit Clint’s back, because he was still unable to breathe in.

You smiled sweetly at both the billionaire and the archer who was now taking a sip of water to sooth his sore throat. It was the perfect moment to casually drop the other bomb on them.

“…’cause I was, just FYI.”

The water sprouted out via Clint’s nose and Tony stumbled towards the counter and he gripped to steady himself; he seemed ready to pass out, gaping like a fish out of water, a perplexed crinkle between his eyebrows.

He looked so comical that you broke down. You burst out laughing, clutching the bar so you wouldn’t crash on the floor to roll in laughter.

You could see precisely when he got the light bulb moment, an accusing finger pointing at you, then at the very red but chuckling Steve, who was making his way to you, and then back at you.

“You-! You-… did you-?! When- what—you!”

His stutter sent you into another fit of roaring laughter. Steve’s arms appeared, sneaking around your waist, pulling you to his shaking chest as he stood behind your stool. In attempt to stop laughing, you turned your head to him to catch his lips in a kiss.

“Thanks, Stevie,” you murmured against his mouth, giggling and kissing him again. His embrace tightened.

“When did you get your memories back?” Bruce queried, a wide smile, rather rare for him, on his face.

Steve’s chin rested on your shoulder as you replied.

“Yesterday.”

“Was it the woman?”

“Yes, we believe so,” Steve confirmed, nuzzling your neck as if the others weren’t truly in the room. Was he afraid them might want to steal now when they knew as well? Please. It wasn’t like you were that popular.

“It just took some time to clear that out with Steve and with myself,” you explained, this time a bit ashamed for real. Steve’s fingers caressed your stomach soothingly over the material of the infamous t-shirt.

Natasha was definitely beaming though. “Understandable. I’m happy for you. Especially for making fun of those two, extra points, you guys.”

“Thanks. It felt amazing. Oh Tony, if you could see your face,” you chuckled again, melting into Steve’s frame when Tony glared at you. “I hope Jarvis caught it.”

“I did. Would you like to see it again now?” the AI offered readily.

“That was mean!” Tony accused you. “And seriously, Jarvis, we will have a conversation about your loyalty.”

“It was funny,” you opposed him, hoping he wasn’t truly offended. He wouldn’t, right?

“Yeah, alright, it was funny. Welcome back, sass queen.”

“Thank you. It’s good to be back.”

“So… do we get a hug or is it like Cap’s hands only?” Clint asked with a teasing smile tugging at his lips, apparently not having any hard feelings despite you causing him to nearly choke to death.

Touched, you hopped off your stool and Steve hesitantly released you.

“I’d love to hug you,“ you admitted honestly, not quite expecting the offer. The more surprising it was, the more it warmed your heart. Who would have thought?

Clearly, accepting the invitation was a mistake.

As Steve let you go, they all went for it at once, starting with Tony and Clint, Natasha joining about two seconds before the most reluctant Bruce did. It was lungs-squeezing, bone-crushing and absolutely delightful.

“Dammit, guys,” you sobbed, indescribably moved by the force they embraced you with. Tears gathered in your eyes, threatening to spill soon. You would never imagine such a warm welcome from Steve’s friends.

“Hulk happy,” a roar by your ear made you jump and you caught a glimpse of green on Bruce’s neck; it was enough for the levee to break. You started crying like a little girl.

“Oh, девушка…” Natasha’s soft voice reached your ears and you sobbed again, vainly trying to keep more tears at bay.

“Stop making her cry…” Steve muttered, but didn’t sound irritated at all. If anything, he had a fond smile on his face when you got a glimpse of it between the bundle of bodies. ‘I love you and they do too,’ he mouthed at you then, his eyes glistening with tears as well.

You squeezed your eyes shut and attempted to tighten your grip on four people at once. You weren’t sure about the result, but no one complained.

“Yeah, let’s not shed more tears than necessary. Actually, I think this calls for a party,” Clint exclaimed as he patted your back and released you.

Others reluctantly followed his suit – they had to, because letting out only one person from the bundle of limbs and bodies would be difficult. The moment you were left cold again, Steve snatched you back to his arms at instant, which earned him an amused grin from Natasha.

“Barton. I didn’t believe that the day would come, but you actually became wise,” Tony pronounced dramatically. “Big party?”

“Nah, just family,” the archer opposed jovially and you sunk into Steve’s embrace in hopes not to release fresh tears at being considered family. You would have to somehow deal with your family by blood eventually too, but you selfishly didn’t want to think about it just yet. One step at time.

“I’d say I take it back, but surprisingly enough, I agree.”

“Oh, the end of the world is here…” Bruce lamented since the two clowns agreed on something and you chuckled, enjoying their banter probably more than you should.

“Alright. We might want to ring Drapes from Asgard. He does love his revels,” Tony pointed out and exactly five people agreed.

“No shit.”

You, as the sixth, wavered. Not because you wouldn’t want to see the God of Thunder again; it was just that you didn’t think he owned a cell phone. Oh, and he was also off to another planet, you assumed.

“…how exactly do you call Thor? Is there service on Asgard? That would be crazy, right?”

“I heard crazier,” Clint scoffed, pointing at you and not bothering with being subtle.

“That’s fair.”

“Thor told us to call out for Heimdall if we needed him,” Steve explained to you and while you had no idea who Heimdall was, you shrugged it off. You didn’t want to deal with that right now.

You were back, you had your soulmate, you had friends that, unknowingly to you until now, considered you a family and you wanted to just be and be happy.

“I’ll do that…” Tony’s hand shot up as if he was a first-grader offering to clean the blackboard and you sent a silent wish for Thor to survive whatever Stark planned on doing.

“Good luck. Now… I believed I promised you breakfast, doll,” Steve whispered to your ear, nuzzling in your neck again.

It was very hard not to melt at spot. “I meant it, Steve. I can make my own breakfast.”

“Well, I didn’t exactly wine and dine you before we had our… successful night, so if you let me do this at least…” he teased on the lowest volume possible and you slapped his bicep before he released you to make good on his promise,  the radiant smile on his face lighting up the whole room.

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Part 22

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So... I had a lot of fun writing that. I hope you had fun reading :-*

#fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #marvel #supernatural #soulmate au #steve rogers soulmate #captain america soulmate #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x you #captain america imagine #captain america x you #steve rogers #captain america #mcu #spn #spn x mcu #mcu x spn #avengers #avengers fanfiction #soulmates #dean winchester #sam winchester #team free will #errare humanum est #anika ann

[theetangerine]

What it’s real like being a Dyslexic

Today's  post shall be about Dyslexia from  "Dyslexia the Gift". Well I didn't know that I was blessed with such an omnipotent power. Thank you Dyslexia the Gift for Awakening my abilities. Anyways this post is just my rebuttal to this list as an Anthropomorphic Tangerine with severe dyslexia. Here we go: General:

1. Appears bright, highly intelligent, and articulate but unable to read, write, or spell at grade level.

Ahhhhh.......... so I am all those big words that I can't spell or pronounce.

BTW who ever came up with the word Dyslexia is a troll cause you knew damn well I can't spell that.

2. Labelled lazy, dumb, careless, immature, “not trying hard enough,” or “behavior problem.”

Hey I am not lazy just because Suzie spends her the night figuring out Algebra questions and I on the other hand will look at her formula, "Copy and Paste" for myself and even then at the end of the day I stilled will have learned it. Einstein did say there are different types of genius.

3.Isn’t “behind enough” or “bad enough” to be helped in the school setting.

Let's just pretend it didn't take me 3 times to read this inorder to understand it. Anywhose.

The school suggested to my parents to take me to get tested. Although I think it was because they wanted justify their discrimination against me.

 4.   High in IQ, yet may not test well academically; tests well orally, but not written.

Lies. I failed in both.

5.Feels dumb; has poor self-esteem; hides or covers up weaknesses with ingenious compensatory strategies; easily frustrated and emotional about school reading or testing.

*clear throat* In best Beyonce voice "I'm survivor................"

6.Talented in art, drama, music, sports, mechanics, story-telling, sales, business, designing, building, or engineering.

 Ohh.......come on I suppose to be talented in these fields why didn't Dyslexia tell me this.

7.Seems to “Zone out” or daydream often; gets lost easily or loses track of time.

They were in the Zone like in Soul

woahh..... that was a bar.

8.Difficulty sustaining attention; seems “hyper” or “daydreamer.”

 As I type this I peer out through the window wondering if clouds really are made of precipitation or that is what the Illuminati wants you to think.

 9. Learns best through hands-on experience, demonstrations, experimentation, observation, and visual aids.

Crash Course history is my religion.

Vision, Reading, and Spelling:

10.Complains of dizziness, headaches or stomach aches while reading.

 Starts going in the 4th dimension if I pick up a book.  

11.Confused by letters, numbers, words, sequences, or verbal explanations.

Algebra is not for dyslexics. You mix letters and numbers together. Mathematicians were not thinking of dyslexics when Algebra was created.

 12. Reading or writing shows repetitions, additions, transpositions, omissions, substitutions, and reversals in letters, numbers and/or words.

Yes Yes . Truly feal for all of of my teacher who read my essays.

13.Complains of feeling or seeing non-existent movement while reading, writing, or copying.

I am Percy Jackson so I am a god.

 14.Seems to have difficulty with vision, yet eye exams don’t reveal a problem.

 I actually had glasses.

15.Extremely keen sighted and observant, or lacks depth perception and peripheral vision.

Yet another sentence I can't understand. Hold up let me go and look up “depth perception” so I can understand this sentence, real quick.........................This is true.  

 16.Reads and rereads with little comprehension.

Reading number fifteen (15) proves this.

 17.Spells phonetically and inconsistently.

 Hooked on Phonics told me otherwise.

Hearing and Speech:

18.Has extended hearing; hears things not said or apparent to others; easily distracted by sounds.

Being an only child while being home alone this ability doesn't have any benefits.

 19.Difficulty putting thoughts into words; speaks in halting phrases; leaves sentences incomplete; stutters under stress; mispronounces long words, or transposes phrases, words, and syllables when speaking.

 I feel called out.

Writing and Motor Skills:

20.Trouble with writing or copying; pencil grip is unusual; handwriting varies or is illegible.

 I may have changed my writing style multiple times. Some legible, some not.

 21.Clumsy, uncoordinated, poor at ball or team sports; difficulties with fine and/or gross motor skills and tasks; prone to motion-sickness.

But if I am supposed to be talented at sports in the afro-mention point why can't I catch a ball.

Dyslexia being confused since 1877.

 22.Can be ambidextrous, and often confuses left/right, over/under.

Yip...A 20 something that doesn't know their left from their right.

 Math and Time Management:

23.Has difficulty telling time, managing time, learning sequenced information or tasks, or being on time.

Well if I can't tell time I can't manage my time thus I don't have enough time to do tasks so that is why I am never on time.

 24.Computing math shows dependence on finger counting and other tricks; knows answers, but can’t do it on paper.

 Only if Math exam were oral I would have accolades in Math.

 25.Can count, but has difficulty counting objects and dealing with money.

 Y'all I have nightmares about being a cashier.  

 26.Can do arithmetic, but fails word problems; cannot grasp algebra or higher math.

As I said before Algebra not, for dyslexics.

Memory and Cognition:

27:Excellent long-term memory for experiences, locations, and faces.

I wish could forget about that time I fell down in front the entire school. And yes this is not an exaggeration. The ENTIRE school saw this.  

28.Poor memory for sequences, facts and information that has not been experienced.

Subjects dyslexics shouldn't do:

Science: too many big words you can't spell.

History or Literature: reading is detrimental to your health.

Math:  A-L-G-E-B-R-A

 29.Thinks primarily with images and feeling, not sounds or words (little internal dialogue).

Sad truth I wear my heart on my sleeves. It's fricking annoying cause I want to be mad in peace without anyone knowing Goddamn it .

 Behavior, Health, Development, and Personality: 

30.Extremely disorderly or compulsively orderly.

I am Death the Kid.

(If you don't get that reference you are uncultured)

 31.Can be class clown, trouble-maker, or too quiet.

Like I was disliked in school for being too quiet. You would think that it was students oh no no no Patricia it was teachers.

Sorry Mrs. Emily for not giving you grey hairs, so you have the opportunity to go home to your loving husband to complain about how much you hate your job and kids. While you thinking about your affair with the young nextdoor neighbour, who you would end up marrying only to then leave them for a hot 20 yea.............................Ummmm that got a bit personal there lets continue shall we  

32.Had unusually early or late developmental stages (talking, crawling, walking, tying shoes).

 It took a while to learn how to tie my laces.

 33.Prone to ear infections; sensitive to foods, additives, and chemical products.

So wait not only did Dyslexia inhibit my ability to read, comprehend and to tell my right from my left to function normally in society but it caused my ear infections too. That is it I'm done

Moving to Siberia.

 34.Can be an extra deep or light sleeper; bedwetting beyond appropriate age.

 I was a very well trained tangerine.

 35.Unusually high or low tolerance for pain.

Everytime I stub my pinky toes it feels like an aeroplane wheel rolled over it.

36.Strong sense of justice; emotionally sensitive; strives for perfection.

 Facts!

37.Mistakes and symptoms increase dramatically with confusion, time pressure, emotional stress, or poor     health.

2 second Rant

Examiners don't think of dyslexic people, even with extra time. The sheer amount of times it takes just to understand the question then to answer with the best possible Grammar is straight cruelty.

You automatically want me to fail and not finish don't you.

You Demon.

  Mini sidestory:

While writing this I asked my significant other to spell "Exaggerate", dude looked at me and told me to sound it out. Past me knew he was going to say this and I did sound it out  before he asked me to sound it out. I told him that I did and that I don't know what letter comes after "Ex", he was like babe sound it out..................................

Tangerine internal thoughts: (Exsqueeze me) Every time try that a ""H" is coming up in my head. I thought this through ya know.

In conclusion I sound it out to my phone.

 To anyone who don't understand Dyslexia fully I do suggest researching.  

My commentary is completely subjective but if you relate that is good :)

 That's all my Fruits until next time

- TheeTangerine

Proof read by TheeApple<3

https://www.dyslexia.com/about-dyslexia/signs-of-dyslexia/test-for-dyslexia-37-signs/

#funny memes #dyslexic #dyslexia #long reads #long post #relatable #funny content #funny

[whatdoyouexpectthistime]

Fangs, Horns and Halos: Part 1

Fandom: Castlevania Type of Fic: Continuation from end of Season 3, with some OCs. Contains: Angst, fluff, smut, violence all the good Castlevania stuff. Will attempts be made maintain cannon characterisation? Yes. Will I feel the need to Karen because I’m a purist? If you have to ask this question then the answer is a definite, yes. This is my fic and I’ll do what I like - you don’t have to agree, but I’m not interested in your haircut or your nastiness. Can I, or an OC of mine be in it? It’s possible, I write my friends’ OCs into stories all the time. Maybe you should drop me a note and say hi!

Should I comment and reblog? Um, yeah, because that’s what keeps my interest and inspiration high and continuing writing. I’m also open to ‘wonderings’ and ‘suggestions’ so by all means, talk to me!

If you would like a tag, just let me know.

<3 B

@loverofdeath666

_____________________________________

Hector was used to the monstrosities his gift created - after all, one could not expect dead flesh imbued with a hell-soul to resemble perfection. That is why he now found himself paralysed, staring at the creature on the stone slab before him.

Not twisted.

Not teeth and claw and scale.

Not slime and acid and brimstone.

She laid in perfect proportion, not a single blemish upon her naked skin, with a crown of mahogany waves draped about her head. The generous round of her breasts rose and fell with steady breath, and though her eyes remained closed her long, dark eyelashes trembled with the suggestion of dreams.

When her fingers twitched he scuttled back, his Forgemaster’s hammer held in a bloodless grip.

It didn’t make sense, but there it was.

In a growing panic, he looked to the door, expecting Lenore to appear. She would sway across the room, disapproval if not rage hidden beneath the pale of her face and demand to know the meaning of such a creation.

This was not a warrior, a machine of war; how could he possibly explain the presence of this vision?

Destroy it?

Again he considered his hammer, but in this next moment of pause the woman sat, and blinked, her lips slowly parting.

“Say nothing,” he told her in a sudden fluster.

If he had forged her, she was bound to him, bound to loyalty and obedience as he was to Lenore.

“What is this?” she asked, demanded, her tone quiet yet somehow enraged.

Without waiting for him to respond, she swung her legs to the floor - but they seemed to lack strength and she wobbled.

The moment Hector’s fingers came into contact with her skin - a reflexive attempt to prevent her from falling - he was struck with an almost overwhelming sense of ecstatic dread.

Paradoxical joy and impending doom.

She was not cold or clammy like the death he knew, nor torrid and feverish as he knew Hell could be; no, her temperature was mild and pleasant, that of any woman waking from a pleasant nap.

Except she was obviously not any woman.

“What is that?” Lenore’s voice cracked from the foundry door, her normally placid expression a sharp reflection of venom.

“Ah,” Hector fumbled, his palm still flat against the woman’s hip, his grasp lightly holding her forearm. “I just…”

Before he could make a sentence resembling comprehensible, the unclothed woman pulled ree and stepped away from him, a little closer to Lenore.

“Did you forge this thing?” Lenore barked, peering through to Hector as if the brunette was transparent.

“This thing is unimpressed by your demeanour,” the woman announced, coldly glaring at the haughty vampire.

Not at all used to being reprimanded, let alone by a night creature - however it looked - Lenore blinked in shock: shock that a night creature bound to Hector, who was bound to her, could even be so insolent.

With all the speed of her ilk, Lenore lashed out, pointed fingernails going for the throat; but she let out an unflattering and most undignified cry, she found her wrist caught.

As if in slow motion - so unfathomable was what occured next- Hector watched Lenore be flung across the foundry like a spineless ragdoll. Awkwardly, she crashed into the stab, her head cracking solidly against the bloody stone as she cartwheeled over its gorey surface.

A panic exploded in Hector’s chest, though his thoughts remained his own on that matter of what Lenore deserved, he was compelled to fly to her assistance. Not that she really needed it.

With an inhuman shriek, she sprang toward her foe, a flash of heavy cloth across Hector’s field of view that…

… suddenly stopped…

… and dangled…

… in the grip of the woman, awe inspiring and majestic with the wide spread of black-tipped white feather wings spread out behind her.

“Wretched,” she growled into Lenore’s face, dark eyes flashing with terrible promise, “and accursed.”

Though astonished, Hector’s body was compelled toward Lenore, but he could not reach her before an impressive spray of blood painted nearby walls. A strangled croak emerged from Lenore’s crushed throat, ribbons of vitae winding down the naked woman’s arm until she tossed the vampire to the side.

“Bu… how?” Hector panted, his pallor more blanched than usual as he drew Lenore’s gasping body into his lap.

No answer was forthcoming.

The angelic woman darted for the window and did not pause; she leapt through the glass, a spray of glittering shards against the stormy night sky.

Then she was gone.

It was a long night.

Though Alucard told himself, over and over, he was better off alone because people simply could not be trusted, the betrayal by Sumi and Taka truly left him more lonely than ever.

As dawn extinguished the stars, he made his way out of the dilapidated castle and wandered through the forest with a fishing rod over his shoulder. Light began to filter through the trees, and animals awoke to provide a peaceful accompaniment to his morning trek to the river.

Upon reaching the gently sloping bank, however, his attention was drawn to the nearby growl of wolves and the harsh caw of crows. Against the green and grey, a white figure laid face down and half submerged - headless, no, head obscured by a tangle of hair and leaves.

The animals looked to Alucard’s first step in their direction, then fled the superior predator by his second. It seemed an unlikely place for a corpse to wash ashore, but Alucard noted the beginnings of a beaver dam had altered the river’s flow: but even over the water’s soft chatter, he could hear the faint sound of something not belonging to the forest. It might have been voices, or chimes, a choir in full song in a language he could not understand; it was beautiful, incomprehensibly divine and yet every now and then the Devil’s chord struck out a sinister whisper.

This caused him to hesitate, to be furtive and suspicious, but he could not deny the curiosity that eventually drew him within arm’s reach. It had the form of a woman, but Alucard had known enough monsters in his time to understand that shape alone meant nothing.

On high guard, he carefully crouched and touched against her shoulder blade.

He gasped, filling his lungs almost to the point of bursting.

With significantly greater urgency, he rolled the figure over and her limbs limply followed. She did not open her eyes, but now he could see the slow movement of her bare breasts - amid scratches and bruises, bite-marks and gashes. The map of her skin told him she had faced many attackers, and traces of congealed filth beneath her fingernails suggested monsters had been her foes; and yet she was still alive.

Silently, Alucard fought with himself.

The last people he had welcomed into his home had turned on him. Their skeletons - now picked clean by birds, insects and time - still adorned the steps of his castle.

But his mother flickered in his mind’s eye, looked out at the dishevelled woman, and he knew he could not just leave her here to die of her wounds or exposure.

That didn’t mean he was going to lay her upon a bed of roses nor give her the run of his abode. No.

With great caution he settled her in a room with slender windows - too narrow for a person to squeeze through - one with a fortified door. It was not quite a cell, it was not in the dungeon, but it was secure enough Alucard believed he would not have to worry about being unexpectedly pounced in his own bed.

Diligently, he tended to her wounds, then tucked her beneath warm blankets - always with the call to his sword on the very edge of his consciousness. During the whole process she did not stir, but the soft, compelling sound that lingered around her like an aura, became stronger, more certain.

“But no heartbeat,” he thought, though she was definitely not a vampire.

There were other things in the world.

As he sat by her bedside he contemplated what he’d do when she woke. Of course this depended on what and who she was, but even then the question remained whether he should send her on her way immediately.

But the ridiculous little effigies of Trevor and Sypha he’d made, reminded him how there was a part of himself that needed others now - if he was not to become like his father. He was not stupid, not blind to the traps laid out before him by loneliness.

Those that Dracula had fallen into.

“I ferried him to Hell,” a voice declared, soft but sure, and Alucard focused back in on his ‘guest’.

“Who?” Alucard frowned, his muscles tensing in readiness for confrontation.

“Your father,” she replied, peering up at him with eyes that cast back only his reflection.

Finally she blinked, and as if released from a spell, Alucard rose slowly from his seat.

“Who are you?” he questioned, tone edged with warning, but the woman remained still.

“I… don’t have a name,” she answered, frowning in consternation. “I am just one of many… and yet…”

Her frown became a scowl and she seemed to be in some pain.

“Perhaps you remember what you were doing naked fighting night creatures?” he offered, not moving to offer her sympathy or assistance.

“Fighting back,” she corrected through her teeth, then threw back the blanket. “And nudity is such a… human concept.”

In line with her statement, she didn’t seem the slightest bit abashed at her unclothed state, and was on her feet to inspect the bandages wrapped around her torso and one thigh.

“Hmm, I suppose I should thank you,” she murmured, flexing her fingers, watching them curl toward her palm and then extend again. “You’re the first to not try to kill me since I…”

She scowled again and massaged her temples, eyes half closed.

“Ugh, this body is so… so…”

Alucard bit his tongue to withhold the way he would have finished her sentence.

“No thanks needed,” he said instead. “I try not to kill everyone I come across.”

Her movements were graceful, she had a distinct poise and yet, she was studying herself like she was confused.

“Well that’s reassuring to kno…”

The end of her sentence broke off, her expression one of significant affliction.

As she crumpled, Alucard lurched forward to offer support before easing her back onto the bed.

“Why can’t they hear me?” she cried out, as pain ripped through her skull.

“Who?” Alucard prompted, half-couched before her with his hands at her elbows.

“My brothers. My sisters! Why don’t they come for me?”

Frustrated, Alucard found himself no more knowledgeable of the woman or her circumstances than when he’d found her - everything she uttered was only part of a whole, and he couldn’t fill in the blanks alone.

“I cannot answer that,” he admitted, softening his tone in an attempt to mitigate her distress. “But you are safe here.”

“Am I?” she exhaled, her following inhale slow, like she feared the expansion of her lungs. “Everything is in chaos,” she expounded. “My thoughts, my memories, not meant to be contained by this… this mortal flesh.”

“If not mortal flesh, then what?” he urged, and again she planted her gaze in his, a stare from which he could not look away.

“Death,” she answered, and as she spoke the word that inexplicably melodious choir thrummed in Alucard’s ears. “Souls conveyed to Heaven, souls condemned to Hell.”

“You said you’d ferried my father to Hell,” Alucard recalled.

“Yes,” she answered, her chin dropping a little. “For all the carnage wrought upon the world, born from his insatiable hatred,” she elaborated. “As you drove a stake through his chest. The fall of his head to the Belmont’s blade. The combustion of his body in the Speaker’s fire. I was there, Alucard, to judge his life, sentence his soul and escort him hence.”

Alucard’s eyes widened.

Of course the specifics of Dracula’s demise was not public record, nor had he shared his name with her - but she recounted his father’s death just as it happened.

“Are you suggesting you’re an angel?” he queried, and his hands fell away as she moved to stand once more.

“I was an angel,” she spat, a disgusted sound accompanied by the stretching rustle of wings.

Unfurled, they spanned the entire length of the room, brushing the brickwork with their dusky tips.

“Now… I....” she stammered, her eyes welling. “The Forgemaster has bound me to this plane… how?”

“Forgemaster?” Alucard repeated, his expression darkening, and the woman’s wings slumped, forming a cloak of sorts that seemed to hang from her shoulders.

“He keeps reaching out,” she sneered thickly. “I feel him, pulling at me, desperate to bend my will to his.”

“Forgemasters draw souls from Hell into dead flesh,” Alucard pointed out.

“I know what they do!” she shouted, her body pulsing with a suddenly light that caused the half-vampire to back away. “But here I am! And everything is so… so… broken!”

#Caslevania netflix #Castlevania #Castlevania fanfic #Hector #Alucard #Lenore #Forgemaster #Carmilla is a bitch and Lenore is a skanky whorebag

[shadowfae]

Hi im pretty sure I'm kin but I have doubts and shit because I have multiple kintypes. How do you know you're kin?

Okay, I’m home, time to jump right in. So, we’re gonna do this in two parts like we did the first guide I did on this. Part one: What Is Otherkinity, What’s Related To It: A Crash Course To Terminology. This is gonna be so we’re clear from the getgo on things. Part two: A Few Methods That May or May Not Work To Figuring Shit Out. This is some of the ways I know - but your experience will be deeply personal and unique, so don’t worry if you don’t stick to any one method, and it’s not about following the method so much as it is finding the answers and being satisfied with what you know.

This guide, however, will not go over most community things, like history and culture. That requires [groaning noises] sourcing things, and I hate doing homework. That you can hunt down from folks who have been here much longer than me. It also isn’t a comprehensive guide on experiences, because trying to mention everything would quite possibly kill me and requires a lot more teamwork and surveys and interviews and chasing down books that are no longer in print. So yeah, don’t expect everything.

I could just link the first guide I made, but it’s good to make a new one a few years later. Under the readmore, but let’s go!

Part One: Otherkinity, Related Experiences, and A Quick Guide To Terminology.

Side note - this is not a comprehensive guide of the terminology, there’s far too many terms and I am literally writing this entirely off the top of my head. If I forget stuff, don’t @ me unless it’s a glaring issue. :p 

Otherkinity: An ontological experience in which a person identifies wholly or partially as a nonhuman or fictional entity, on a nonphysical, involuntary, and profound level. Every one of those words is important. It is not necessarily spiritual or psychological, though it can be. You ID as the thing, not with it. It is you. You are the thing. It can be nonhuman or fictional or both, but not neither because that just leaves humanity. Some identify partially, and some identify wholly as nunhuman/fictional. I don’t ID entirely as nonhuman, but I do identify wholly as fictional, for example. (I’ll get into that later). It’s nonphysical, you can’t physically shapeshift, obviously. It’s involuntary, you don’t choose it. This isn’t a roleplay, this is identity at its base. It can be changed, but not easily, and not really voluntarily. It is also profound. It is a part of you, it’s never going away, you aren’t exactly who you are without it.

Therianthrope: An ontological experience in which a person identifies wholly or partially as a nonhuman, physically real Earth-based animal, on a nonphysical, involuntary, and profound level. Otherkin, but for Earth animals, like dogs or dinosaurs or bugs. 

Fictionkin(d):An ontological experience in which a person identifies wholly or partially as a fictional entity, on a nonphysical, involuntary, and profound level. Often considered the other side of the Venn diagram to therianthropy. This is where you’re a fictional character or entity or member of a fictional species. Harry Potter or a Pikachu, it’s all fictionkin. 

Fictionkind is a bit of an older term, and there has been a push to use it more as ‘fictionkin’ has seen more use amongst those who think it’s a form of roleplay, trading cards, or who have figured out that they can misuse community terms into their purity cults in order to control others. As well, otherkind was one of our first terms, but you’ll rarely see it used. They both share an ending of -kin, which is not from ‘kin as in your blood family’ but -kind, as in mankind, elvenkind, so thus otherkind, fictionkind. It’s not a relating to, it’s a being of.

Theriomythic:An ontological experience in which a person identifies wholly or partially as a mythical nonhuman animal, on a nonphysical, involuntary, and profound level. This is for those of us who are unicorns, griffons, dragons, etc, all the nonhuman animals that do not physically exist but are not necessarily under what’s considered fiction. It’s one of the prettiest words we have, in my opinion. 

Phytanthrope: An ontological experience in which a person identifies wholly or partially as a plant-based lifeform, on a nonphysical, involuntary, and profound level. Otherkin, but you’re a plant. I’m including it here because it’s a very pretty-sounding word, and although not as common, certainly real and not something you might recognize. It’s completely interchangeable with ‘plantkin’, but it sounds cool, so.

Otherhearted: An ontological experience in which a person identifies wholly or partially with a nonhuman or fictional entity, on a nonphysical, involuntary, and profound level. Like otherkin, but you are not the thing, you ID with the thing. It is close to you, it is what you’d be if you weren’t what you are. The difference, to put it in layman’s terms, otherkin is #me and otherhearted is #god i wish that were me. But like, way more profound. Are you the thing, or is it just incredibly close to you? Both are a part of your identity, just slightly different. 

Synpath: Like otherhearted, and was made by someone who didn’t know the word for otherhearted. It caught on and the difference is mostly accepted as linguistic: if it’s a general noun it’s a hearttype, if it’s a proper noun and thus is a name or requires a capital, it’s a synpath. Tl;dr: you can be unicornhearted, but you’re a Harry Potter synpath.

Otherlink: An ontological experience in which a person identifies wholly or partially with a nonhuman or fictional entity, on a nonphysical and voluntary level. This one’s a little more recent. It is like a kintype, but it is voluntary, you can choose it, and it doesn’t necessarily have to be a Big Thing like otherkinity. You will also see ‘copinglink’, which actually came first - that one’s an otherlink made to cope with something. (Both terms were made by @/who-is-page, aka a person you Need to be following if you’re gonna be on the tumblr community with us.) Otherlink and copinglink are incredibly handy terms, and when you need ‘em, you’re glad they’re there.

Shifting: An experience in which something ‘shifts’ in the mental or emotional shape to a different state of being, related to otherkinity and/or any related experiences. This one is such a common term, and hard to properly define without going into nuances. Mental shifts are when your mental state shifts to align better with a kintype, aura shifts are when your aura does that, shadow shifts are some sort of astral projection, astral shifts involve the astral realm, berserk shifts are extreme mental shifts that typically involve violence or loss of reason, etc, etc. Most of the time, if someone says they’re in an X shift, they mean mental shift. 

Multiplicity: An ontological experience in which a person is not alone in their body. Before someone @s me, I know it’s badly worded here. This is DID, OSDD-1, and endogenic systems, alongside a few other things. A kintype is you, a multiple is not you but also in your body. I won’t be going over this much as I am not multiple, but it’s good to know about. It’s not otherkinity, nor really related, but if you’re gonna learn about otherkinity, it helps to know about multiplicity. Also see soulbonding and tulpamancy.

Alterhumanity: An overarching community term for all those who do not feel completely, 100% human; or rather those who feel an altered version of humanity. Basically, someone got really tired of saying ‘otherkin, otherhearted, otherlinks, OSDD-1 and DID, endogenic systems, etc etc’ and made a term for everyone. It’s controversial on just who it defines as it also includes transhumanists (those who wish to physically become nonhuman, even if they ID as human) and many other things in a gray area, but as someone who’s gonna be typing otherkin, otherhearted, otherlinks, systems, etc etc a whole lot in this post? It’s handy. 

Phantom Limbs: An experience in which a brain maps out limbs that do not physically exist. This is originally a medical term, but it’s also incredibly useful. It refers to all limbs that don’t exist but you’re still pretty sure are there. Amputees experience this, and you know the rubber hand experiment where they hide your arm and trick your brain into thinking a plastic arm is your arm, and then hit the plastic arm and you feel pain? Yeah, phantom limbs. There’s also supernumerary phantom limbs, which is the Extra Bits like fangs and wings and horns and tails. Astral limbs, however, refer to the astral realm, and that’s a magic and spirit work thing, not an otherkin thing.

Paratype: An identity that is related to one’s alterhumanity but does not precisely adhere to any known definition. This was made by @/aestherians as a ‘fuck it you’re related and I don’t really know how but you’re worth mentioning’. It’s a ‘misc’ term, when you’re not sure if it’s a hearttype or something else but is important to your identity. It doesn’t always mean you’re questioning it, but it’s there. It’s new and does need to catch on, but it’s pretty handy.

ID: Short for ‘identity’ or ‘identify’. Occasionally used as shorthand. Be wary of someone who insists that an ID is ‘more you’ than a kintype. A kintype is an ID. So is a hearttype, or a linktype, or anything else. ‘ID’ is just an umbrella term that has been occasionally misused.

Kintype / Theriotype / Fictotype / Hearttype / Linktype: The noun versions of being otherkin, therianthrope, fictionkin, otherhearted, and otherlink/copinglink respectively. You are otherkin, you have a kintype, you are fictionkin, you have a fictotype, etc. If I catch you using ‘kins’ after this I will eat you.

Awakening / Questioning / Kinfirmation: A few terms to describe one’s journey through understanding their alterhumanity / otherkinity. Awakening is generally the moment you start feeling alterhuman or otherkin. For some of us, we’ve always been like this, for others, we just suddenly notice it. Questioning is whole journey from awakening to understanding and being sure of things. You’re never really done questioning, but when you’re happy with it, technically you’re done. Kinfirmation is a controversial term, sure. It’s otherkin + confirmation. Basically it means the opposite of awakening - the moment you’re sure, you’re done questioning, you’ve confirmed that this is a kintype. Awakening is how you start questioning, kinfirmation is how you finish. It’s controversial because it sounds stupid. But I like puns, so I’m keeping it. (You can slap ‘kin’ into any word and make it hilarious. That’s why I use a ‘kinformation’ tag. :p )

Banned / False Terms: kinning, kins, kinnies, etc - just don’t. Please, just don’t. This is how you make sure nobody takes you seriously and you get dismissed as a troll. ‘Kinning’ as a verb implies that otherkinity is a choice, which is prevalent and dangerous misinformation, and most of the community says burn it with fire - and for good reason. ‘Kins’ is just what people say when they don’t know the word ‘kintypes’, and implies you know very little about this. ‘Kinnies’ is a term made by antikin that’s quite controversial. On one hand, it’s hilarious to use to spit back at them, on the other hand it’s rude, on one foot like ‘kins’ it makes you look stupid, and on the other foot for a fair amount of folks it looks too much like ‘tr*nnies’ to give anything but a gut reaction of horror. (‘Kinnie’ is not a slur and does not hold the same societal weight, but as a gut reaction if you’ve had ‘tr*nny’ thrown at you, ‘kinnie’ isn’t going to make you feel all that great either.)

.

Part Two: A Few Methods That May or May Not Work To Questioning Kintypes and Related Alterhumanity.

So we’ve learned terms, and now there should be little confusion in what we’re talking about here. If you were expecting a step-by-step list, you will absolutely never get one, not from me or from anyone else.

Your journey through awakening, questioning, and ‘kinfirmation will be your own. It will be unique. You will never start in the same place as someone else, you will never finish in exactly the same way. The questions you ask will not be the questions I will ask. You do not need to justify it to me. You only need justify it to yourself. A second opinion always helps, sure, in case you missed something, but it’s not my job to tell you what you are. That’s yours.

So let’s take a look. At this point, one should hope you’ve awakened. It has occurred to you that you’re not quite human, you’re not quite what you physically are. You are aware that this is not a common experience. There are lots of things that could draw you to this. Homesickness is the big one. Memories, sometimes. Habits you shouldn’t have. Methods of thinking that don’t have a reason that makes sense. A feeling of belonging, of hiraeth. Your identity is not entirely your experiences in this life, this moment. Shifts are also a pretty big indicator. And so, so much more that I can’t possibly put a name to.

You know you’ve got Stuff going on here, but you don’t know what, it may be multiple things, it may be one thing. You said it may be multiple things, and fuck, it sure might be. It is for me, and lemme tell you, when those things like combining that makes it harder to sort them out. But you kind of have to, if you’re here and asking these questions.

You’re done questioning when you’re happy. You don’t need to know everything, and tbh you never will know everything. That’s okay. You just need to be happy with what you’re sure of. 

So you’re not entirely human, or you think you might be fictional. Shit happens. But you’ve got to figure out what you are, if you’re not that. For some of us, it’s obvious. For some, not so much. I’m the sort of ‘stare it in the face and not recognize it’ person, because I’m stupid, but that’s a way to do it. 

Your first step, of course, should be to take every sign you’ve got of this, every indicator that makes you think the craziest thing of all, ‘oh shit I’m not human’ / ‘oh shit I’m fictional’. Because kid, this isn’t a conclusion you immediately come to. Think about it, for a moment. If you’re actually here, with this conclusion in mind, there’s a reason you think that this is it. So gather all the reasons you’ve got, notice a few more and grab those too, and stick them in a box. Or write them down. Just put them somewhere and take a look at what you’ve got.

Now figure out if X habit here is related to Y homesickness of Z aesthetic, if that’s a Normal Human Thing or a Odd Alterhuman Thing. The lines will blur. You will have something that’s a Normal Human Thing, but in context is possibly an Odd Alterhuman Thing. Note that it’s both depending on perspective, and continue.

Try not to define stuff too much. Before you say you’ve got wings as supernumerary limbs - do you have wings, or just a weight on your back? Because those ‘wings’ might be wires, or a saddle, or gods know what else. Note that it’s a weight, check to see if it’s not a normal human thing medical issue, that you think it’s wings, what it feels like other than a weight, if it’s just there like clothes or if you can feel through it like your hands, and whatever else you’ve got.

You should probably figure out what you’re working with before you start putting it together. If you’re sorting by colour or by shape, essentially. Question things. Do you know it’s this because that’s just your first reaction, or do you know because that’s what it is and you’re not arguing the sky is blue? 

Do not, and I repeat, do not overkill it. Keep questioning to a quiet thing, if you must sit down and dedicate time, do not do more than an hour or two. Brains do confirmation bias. You’ll see shit that isn’t there, or make things up to fit the puzzle you think you just solved. When you do sit down to question, write down exactly how you got from point A to point D. Take some time away after, and revisit it, see if point C still holds up on its own.

Try not to question too little and assume things, try not to question too much and make yourself full of doubt. Some things just are, okay? You don’t have to convince yourself it’s not That, that you aren’t sure, that it can’t possibly be. Sometimes it’s just like That, and that’s okay. It’s all right to accept the impossible. If it wasn’t, you wouldn’t be here. If it wasn’t, you’d be dismissing me. Don’t take things at face value, but sometimes, what they are inside is exactly what it says on the tin.

This is going to be long, and great at times, and sucky at times, and downright confusing. If you turn to divination like tarot and pendulums, ensure they work before using them on this, and like all things, take with a grain of salt. Tarot that someone else does on you? Yeah, okay, it’ll work. Asking someone on the internet to use a pendulum for you? No. Do not. That is not going to give you a good answer on anything.

If you can do it for a different part of your identity, you can do it for this - as a decent rule of thumb. 

You may want to ask why you’re like this, if it’s spiritual or psychological or how it happened. Key word may. A lot of us do ask why, and sometimes find answers, but if you’re “Idk, I’m just an elf, don’t ask me,” then that is also completely fine! So long as you’re happy with that answer. 

Multiple kintypes can make questioning an utter nightmare. Tackle them one at a time, use elimination methods, check if X is a symptom of Y kintype or Z hearttype or gods know what else. Don’t be afraid to admit you don’t effin’ know, and deal with it later. You won’t get this overnight. You’ll be questioning for at least a month. Anything less and ehhh, you sure, buddy? You might be right, but under a month and you might’ve missed something critical - it just isn’t enough time to be absolutely sure. Like marrying someone, this takes time to understand and learn. Bad example, but it works.

You may be questioning for years. Happens to the best of us. My friend Gryph spent five years asking ‘is this a hearttype or a kintype’ and was only sure after I used the ‘#god i wish that were me versus #me’ comparison and it made enough sense that they figured it out on the spot. That was like, three years ago. It was actually kind of funny considering Gryph was like, twice my age at the time. 

Point is, this takes time, sometimes you just know, sometimes you really don’t. It’s weird, it’s unique, it’s personal, it’s an adventure and if you’re here you’ll probably be glad to go through it. Some of us are actually not happy with being otherkin, and would trade it away if they could. This is also normal. Not as well-spoken about, for obvious reasons, but it happens.

The key is introspection. It’s not divination, it’s not what someone else says - though that can help. It’s introspection. It’s about you, it’s what you are. It’s what’s right, what is true to your story. It’s a truth of the world, something you understand a split second before it defines itself, something that really just doesn’t give itself easily over to words.

There’s no step by step guide to otherkinity, to alterhumanity. Nobody could make one. But if you’re sure that this rings true, that this is the key to a part of you, then to you I say only two things.

Welcome to our subculture. I hope you find what you’re looking for.

Luteia 💚

#otherkin #fictionkin #alterhuman #luteia laments #kinformation #idk what other tags i need? #lmk if i forgot something important lmao #i wrote this in two hours in one go #Anonymous

[hajimesh]

skincare guru.

word count: 1,853

pairing: loki x reader

requested by @oatballsoffury Hi! I just read your A Lush-ious Day fic and I love it! Could you write a part two where Loki gets super into skincare and as the reader is going through their morning routineTM he steps in and shows all of the new products he has and it’s just really wholesome and cute?

a/n: i hope this is what you wanted! i kinda felt loki a bit ooc but then he went back to his lane?? idk. let me know what you think!

Enter my Giveaway!  |  A Lush-ious Day  |  Masterlist

You wouldn’t say you’re obsessed with skincare routines but you have to admit you have a fair amount of products hidden behind the bathroom’s cabinets.

After the pamper day you had with Loki a week ago he has suddenly become very aware of what products you use on your face. Every morning he observes you as you wash your face and moisturize it and the same thing happens at night. You offered him your products when you first saw his interest but the next day he woke up with two huge pimples that almost made him faint when he saw himself on the mirror.

It turns out he has sensitive skin.

He felt so mortified that he wouldn’t let you see them, casting an illusion on his face. You tried to give him a cream that you knew it’d solve his problem but he refused, scared of making it worse. He knew he had to find a solution to his problem so, without you knowing, he made a trip to Ulta Beauty and Sephora.

Today was a very stressful day at uni so when you finally got home the first thing you wanted to do was take a shower. You stop quickly by your bedroom and see Loki lying on the bed with a book on his hands and a face mask sheet on.

“Started without me?”

He looks up from his book once he hears your voice and looks at you, a grin on his face.

“You won’t believe what I bought today.”

His words confuse you and he notices it on your face, making him laugh. He stands up and makes his way towards you, grabbing your hand and pulling you to the bathroom. The sight in front of you makes you gasp.

The sink is covered with toners, creams, serums– hell! He even bought one of those Clarisonic face brushes.

“Surprise!”

His sing-song tone makes you turn your head to look at him, an incredulous look on your face. His arms are open and a huge grin is plastered on his face but when he sees your lack of reaction his smile drops.

“What is it, love?”

You grimace, mad at yourself that your face always rats you out on awkward situations, plus, Loki has always been able to read you like an open book. You look at the products in front of you and then you look back at him. He’s still looking at you expectantly and you don’t have the heart to tell him that this is getting a bit ridiculous.

“Isn’t it… too much?” You tell him in a soft tone.

“I must say at first I was slightly taken aback by the price but Stark pays us quite generously for avenging the Earth.” Loki says as he lifts his shoulders, shrugging.

“I understand but, do you really need all of this?”

He lifts an eyebrow at your question and he now sees what’s really going on.

“You think I’m exaggerating.” His tone is flat and he’s staring at you, eyes locked to yours.

It’s not that you think he’s exaggerating but… he is. He has two pimples! For heaven’s sake, it’s not like he has cystic acne. If he would just let you help him they’ll be gone in two days and he wouldn’t have needed to spend his salary on dozens of products you know he’ll never use.

“Perhaps a little bit?”

Loki scoffs but says nothing. He thought that you’d get excited when he showed you his newest collection. Knowing of your love for skincare stuff he thought this could work as a way to make you grow closer. It’s not like you need it but he wanted to have something to share with you, something that could be your thing but it clearly backfired on him but he’ll make it work, somehow.

At first you were very reluctant, watching Loki apply dozens of products on his face as you only washed it and applied pimple cream. But as time went by you noticed a change on his skin, his under-eyes are now more bright and the fine lines are gone, his skin looks fresh and the pimples are completely gone, not even a tiny mark on his face. Amazed, you wonder if he could tell you what to do with your skin so it could look like his.

Entering the kitchen, you observe him as he does the dishes. His hair is pulled up in a low bun and he’s wearing grey sweatpants.

Oh, and he’s shirtless.

When he moved in, about a year ago, he started feeling comfortable roaming around shirtless like, the next day. He had seen your reaction (that was close enough to a heart attack) and ever since he hasn’t bothered again.

You place yourself beside him and wait for him to look your way. Sadly, he doesn’t even budge, he keeps washing the cutlery when he finally addresses you.

“Is there something I can help you with?”

His eyes roam briefly your form, noticing your hands playing with the shirt you’re wearing (his shirt) and your teeth biting the insides of your cheek.

Hesitatingly and with a soft voice you give in. “I was wondering if you could help me with something?”

Loki raises an eyebrow and finally puts down the fork he was cleaning. Turning around to face you he stays silent, waiting for you to talk again.

Realizing he wouldn’t be the one to talk first, you sigh. “Can you tell me how to make the bags under my eyes disappear?”

Not being able to hold his stern gaze you look down to the dishes and then switch your eyes to your hands. You feel him come closer and you close your eyes expecting him to start teasing you for not trusting him with this in the first place. But to your surprise, you feel his hand gently grasp your chin and lift it up so your face can meet his own and you notice the gentle look in his eyes

“Follow me.”

He makes his way to the bathroom and you do as he says. Once you are there, he starts picking some of the bottles and creams, his eyebrows drawn closer as he reads the contents. He makes a brief pause to look at you, examining your face, and you stare back at him, not knowing what he’s trying to look at.

“What is your skin type?”

His question catches you off guard and you answer him after five seconds of only gaping at him. Loki nods and continues choosing the products and a minute later he turns to you again but this time with a small smile on his lips.

“First you must remember to wash your face twice a day, but you already do that so we don’t have a problem there.” He says while muttering the last part more to himself.

“Afterwards, you have to apply a toner. This will help to close your pores and tone up the skin.” As he tells you this, he hands you the small bottle with a pink liquid in it.

He continues explaining each step with their respective products and by the end of his explanation you’re feeling a bit overwhelmed by the amount of information. You’re sure you have a few steps messed up in your head but when you lift your eyes to look at him and see him beaming at you, you just know it’s all gonna be worth it.

“I’m not sure I got all of that. Would you mind helping me?”

This is what Loki wanted from the very beginning and he knows there’s no way he can hide the happiness he’s feeling right now.

“Of course I’ll help you. In fact…” He pauses briefly before grabbing his own products. Looking back at you, you notice the excitement pouring out of him. “We’ll do it together.”

His smile is the purest, most genuine one you have ever seen and it finally dawns on you how this was never because of his stupid pimples, this was for you– your relationship. Many times he’s been vocal about how he thought your worlds crashed against each other and that you deserved a more normal and stable life. And the fact that he’s willing to do these little things to bring some kind of ‘normal-ness' to your life is very moving.

You watch as he starts washing his face, covering it with foam and he’s too distracted smiling at you to notice the soap about to fall on his eye.

Until it does.

“Ah, shit.”

Loki starts rubbing furiously at his eye but it only makes it even worse.

Standing beside him, you watch both in amusement and adoration at the god before you. How you managed to get him to date you is beyond your comprehension but you’re glad you did and you hope you never take it for granted.

You grab the towel resting on the side of the sink and damp it before stepping closer to him. You try to wipe the soap out of his face but he keeps whining and flailing his arms everywhere.

It isn’t until he accidentally slaps you on the face that you tell him (more like yell) to stay still.

He’s pouting like a two year old and you finally clean his face, making sure to get the soap away from his other eye. You can feel his stare on you and you try to ignore it but a smile forms on your lips and he knows you’re not mad at him.

“You look cute when you’re angry.”

Giving him a look, you try to silence him but the smirk on his face is so contagious you give in, again.

“You really are something else, y’know?” You tell him as you put the towel down.

His gaze is fixed on you, green eyes scrutinizing each and every inch of your face.

“I know.” He says in a soft breath, the sound so faint you would’ve missed it if you weren’t right in front of him. “Yet you insist on loving me.”

Shrugging your shoulders you give him a toothy smile. “It’s my pleasure.”

He lets out a laugh, shoulders rolling back as his eyes close and his hand grabs at his stomach.

You’re watching him, a hint of adoration in your eyes and it’s not until he recovers from his laugh that he notices it. Loki feels his heartbeat soar to the skies and his hands getting clammy.

Closing the space between the both of you, you place a chaste kiss on his lips, catching him by surprise.

“Norns, I love you.” He sounds unusually out of breath and your chest swells with pride and love.

Grinning, you playfully wink at him before bumping your hip against his making room for yourself in front of the sink. You grab your toothbrush and squeeze the toothpaste on it, maintaining eye contact with him. You lift the toothbrush to your lips and before you start you give him one more smile.

“And I love you, sunshine.”

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

pls help me with a reblog or comment if u enjoyed it :)

Loki taglist: @slytherins-assemble-tofightsith / @memucci / @servamp-addict / @arttasticgreatnessoftheawesome77 / @theworld-is-ahead / @crescent-night / @godhateskyleigh

#Loki Laufeyson #Loki Laufeyson x Reader #loki laufeyson x you #loki laufeyson x y/n #loki odinson #loki odinson x reader #loki odinson x you #loki odinson x y/n #loki #loki x reader #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #Loki Fandom #loki fluff #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x reader

[suitablysublime]

TWEAKING YOUR TUMBLR THEME: A CRASH COURSE

i know css/html and code my own themes. one side effect of this is that every so often i encounter someone—a friend or a friend’s friend, usually—who has installed a new theme and is now struggling to customize or tweak it without knowing how to go about doing that. 

now i’m always happy to help out, but these are always things that take just a few minutes to figure out if you can read the code and, well, give a man a fish or teach a man to fish. you know how it goes. 

so here we go: this is how to fish.

PART ONE: UNDERSTANDING CSS & HTML 

let me lead with this: it is normal to feel confused, overwhelmed, intimidated, stupid, and/or frustrated when working with an unfamiliar coding language. my father has been writing software for forty years, but he will look at what is to me a page of very basic css/html and be completely baffled by it all the same. this is normal. please don’t let it discourage you if you feel this way at first. 

in my opinion, the first step to conquering these feelings is to wrap your brain around the big picture of what these languages do. what do we use them for?

well, all web pages — and thus, all tumblr themes — are written in these two languages. the only thing you need to know for our purposes is this: html holds the content of a web page, and css controls its appearance. 

how does this work? 

a webpage is built of html objects called <div> tags. think of them like bricks: you stack a bunch of <div>s on top of each other and bam! you have a house. but it’s a terrible house, because it’s just a pile of bricks with stuff scribbled on them. 

this is where the css comes in. a <div> tag can have a unique id or belong to a general class, and we use css to style the appearances of our <div>s on a per-id and per-class basis. to return to our housebuilding metaphor, css is our blueprint: it gives order, structural stability, and aesthetic coherence to our messy pile of bricks, and now, bam! we have a house. for real.

PART TWO: THE SYNTAX

coding languages are like human languages in that they have their own unique vocabulary and grammar. to tweak a tumblr theme, you need to have a basic grasp of this syntax so you can understand what you’re looking at.

css manipulates objects called elements. usually, an element is the id or class of a <div>, but an element can correlate to any html tag. the basic anatomy of a css element goes like this:

selector {      property: value; }

and we can translate this into english as “when the element this selector is looking for occurs, it will look the way i have described it here.” 

selectors might look like this: h1 { or #id { or .class {

the distinction between these different types of selectors is not important for our purposes. all you need to know is that the selector corresponds to (or selects) a particular html tag, like: <h1>, <div id = "id">, or <div class="class">.

properties are the visual features of an element, like its height, width, color, and so on, and the value is a statement that describes the desired setting for the property. a property-value statement is called a declaration, and a collection of declarations is called a declaration block. 

you can generally figure out what a declaration is doing by looking at the name of the property, since they’re pretty self explanatory most of the time. for example, font-size: 12px; says that any text contained in this element is going to have its size set such that a character is 12 pixels tall. 

[ sidebar: if you are a Tiny Font person, consider using the knowledge you’ve gained from this tutorial to edit your theme such that the text of all your posts is very small, and then don’t use small text or sub/superscripts in your replies. you’ll get the Tiny Font aesthetic on your blog with perfect consistency, without rendering your posts illegible on the dashboard. ]

PART 3: MAKING YOUR CHANGES

the key to quickly and easily modifying a tumblr theme is to be able to identify the name of the css selector for the element you want to modify. let’s look at my own theme as an example. 

depending on what changes you want to make and how the theme’s creator laid out their code, you may not have to do much work at all to get the selector. 

for example, if you want to do something with your theme’s pagination buttons, it’s a pretty reasonable guess that the css selector will be something like “pagination_next” or “pagination_prev”, and you can go straight to the html editor and do a ctrl+F search for “pagination” to find it. 

but what if the selector isn’t immediately obvious? for the purposes of this example, let’s say i want to change the text of the blog description from red to dark blue (while preserving the red color of other elements in the theme, which precludes simply using tumblr’s in-built color picker.)

i could just scroll through the theme code until i found a selector that looked like the one i wanted, and then change something and update the preview & repeat ad nauseum until i found the right one. but again, depending on how the theme’s creator did their coding, this might be very difficult, frustrating, and time consuming. many prolific tumblr theme creators don’t lay out their code in a particularly human-readable way.

fortunately, there is a much easier way.

step 1:  load your tumblr and right-click somewhere on the page. depending on what browser you use, the exact name of what you’re looking for will vary, but the keyword to look for is “inspect”: 

click this.

(if you are using safari, you need to make sure “show develop menu” is checked in the advanced tab of the preferences window.)

step 2: your screen will now look something like this: 

if the element you want to change is in a popup or tab, open it so it’s visible on the screen.

step 3: the topmost box in the inspector displays all the html of your theme. if you hover over an html tag, the corresponding element will be highlighted in blue.

find the <body> tag. you may need to expand this manually depending on your browser. move your mouse down the line of divs until you find the element you want to modify. 

here, my mouse is hovering over <div id="blg_desc"> in the inspector, and you can see how the blog description is shown in a blue rectangle. (the large orange shape shows the size of the element’s margins.)

this tells me that the css selector for this element is #blg_desc.

step 4: close the inspector and open tumblr’s theme customization interface. go to edit html. ctrl+f to find the css selector: 

now, my goal is to change the text color, so the declaration i’m interested in is color:{color:6};. the {color:6} value is an object tumblr uses to store colors in a theme as an alternative to using rgb or hex codes (like #B61818, which is the shade of red i have stored in {color:6}. these objects correlate to the color picker under theme options: 

thus, if i change the value of color to {color:1}, the text of my blog description will be blue instead of red. i can also write this as color:#0d52c0;. 

(note that the exact shade of red/blue in my description varies a little from line to line; this is because of styling i did within the html itself that makes some lines transparent, and thus lighter because of the pale grey background.)

& if you use pages with custom html, the inspector trick will of course work for them too.

PART FOUR: IN SUMMARY

remember that css/html is not magic. it might feel intimidating, but at the end of the day it’s just a language for translating human thoughts like “i want a small purple square” into instructions a computer can understand, like this: 

#ps {       height: 100px;      width: 100px;      background-color: #8c4c7a; }

and all you need to do to make the changes you want is 1) identify the css selector and 2) understand the properties you’re manipulating. 1) is the difficult part, because everybody lays out their selectors differently—but using the inspector will allow you to instantly identify selectors by sight. and once you have that, 2) is super easy, because properties are standard and intended to be readily legible to humans. 

you may occasionally run into tricky properties, like for example display or position, which do things that are a little more abstract / not immediately obvious. for those cases, refer to the w3schools css dictionary for clear, simple, but still comprehensive explanations for proper usage. 

#⌈ A WRITER ALWAYS KNOWS WHICH WAY THE STORY GOES ⌋ ( ooc. ) #[[ for real though i love helping people but #99% of the time when i get asked for help #it's easy little things that #because of a lack of understanding #have bred so much unnecessary frustration #& i just. #you CAN learn and there IS a better way ]]

[woodleyagnatanjahj70insuran-blog]

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[roxywashere]

Observant Eye

Part five of the adventures of Saren Rho

Saren prepares to meet Andromedan life

Braid and Galena led Saren to the brig, where they found Doctor Larson tending to Hal behind a hybrid force field/physical cell wall. Beatriz was leaning on the wall outside of the cell. Hal was shirtless now and had a compression band wrapped tightly around his shoulder.

“He’s stabilized finally,” Dr Larson told them. “It’ll take a few days for him to completely recover, since he’s got modifications that are actively resisting my advanced treatments, but he’s not going to be dying anytime soon. If you’d done a worse number on him I might not have pulled him through.” She collected her medpack, and tools, and unlocked the cell. 

The wire mesh that constituted the physical component of the cell wall rolled itself up and the force field dissipated. Hanna walked out of the cell, and Braid, Beatriz, and Seren walked in. Braid locked the cell again behind him, and activated the contextual sound-dampening systems, just in case Hal started screaming in pain for one reason or another.

“Alright, Hal,” Beatriz demanded. “You’ve got a lot of questions to answer.”

“First off,” Braid said, “Every Kartney Device in the galaxy, and all of the research that led to to them, were destroyed after the Civil War. The Minerva Institute and Navy Intelligence have actively been repressing the study of topics that surround them in the 6000 years since. Where did you get yours?”

“Engineers who worked with engineers who worked with Kartney and Clairmont themselves. You collected all of the direct collaborators and have been keeping tabs on them, but there were some secondhand students who slipped through the cracks. Deaths faked, notes stolen, and coercions of various types plied. And on the side, we’ve had our own scientists working in secret labs to independently rediscover the tech.”

“I guess across 6000 years it was bound to happen again. We should have been more diligent.”

“There was nothing we could have done,” Beatriz assured Braid. “The CSF have always had some of the best minds in the galaxy working with them.”

“Thank you, Bea,” Hal said. 

“Oh, Hal.” Beatriz rested her hand on Hal’s bandaged shoulder, and then slowly started squeezing. Saren heard Beat’s cyborg enhancements whirring as they strained against Hal’s own enhancements, until finally Hal winced. Beatriz smiled and firmly patted Hal’s sore shoulder. “You don't get to call me that ever again.”

Saren, watching the scene, didn’t know what to make of it. They must have had a history together. Saren let the thought go and asked a question. “What did I have to do with the CSF? You said you created me. I can only assume that means you’re a geneticist, and that you used to work with my parents. Are my parents CSF, too?”

“No. Your parents are the antithesis of what the Counter-Solar Faction stands for. Earthborn, ‘Pure Blooded’, Rich, and, worst of all, absolute jackasses about it.”

“You’re right about that, at least. So if you hate everything they stood for, what was the point of creating another of them in me?”

“You’ll figure it out. When you get the joke, come back and we’ll talk about it. Until then, let the real grownups talk.” 

“You're a jackass, too, Hal,” Beatriz said. 

Galena unlocked the cell wall and beckoned Saren back through. “That's all you're going to get out of him. I hate to agree with Hal, but Tom and Beat know that they're doing.” She locked the cell again, and started leading Saren to her quarters.

“What’s the deal with Hal and Beatriz?” Saren asked. “They seem to have some... tension.”

Galena sighed. “Well, that’s a bit of a long story.  The short of it, I guess, is that when Beat was first training to be a Naval Intelligence officer at the Stardust Academy on Minerva, Hal seduced her and used her access to steal Navy Secrets.”

“Oh, wow.”

“When Beat found out, she personally notified Admiral Verhoeven of the breach she had caused, and to atone for being duped by the CSF she returned the favour. She dropped out of the Academy to ‘join’,“ Galena emphasized with finger quotes, “the Terror Cell on Minerva. She leaked CSF operation plans to the Navy for 30 years, all the while having to continue dating Hal to keep up the facade that she had joined because she had fallen in love with him. One day, she caught wind of a plan to bomb major population centers throughout the core, and started killing members of her Cell and others. She dismantled the Minerva Cell completely, and personally killed more than 500 CSF Agents across 10 planets before the Navy started hearing distress calls from the Cells, asking for amnesty and safety in return for intel.”

“Holy shit. That is stone cold badass.”

“The Navy prevented the bombings, and Beat was personally commendated by Admiral Verhoeven. Beat had more than proven her skill and loyalty to the CGG, so she was fast-tracked through the Academy and placed on this very ship.”

“How long ago was all this? This sounds like something I should have heard of before.”

“It must be coming up on 550, 600 years now, if she graduated from the academy in 9005. And remember, Beatriz is a spy above all else. If she got famous in her line of work, she’d need to find a new job.”

“Yeah, I guess that makes sense. Where are we going, anyway?” 

“My room.” They reached it very shortly after. The room was small, with just a bed, dresser, and holoscreen. On the dresser was a physical photo of Galena with a dark-skinned man, with both of them wearing wedding suits. The man's eyes were glowing a faint yellow, betraying their synthetic nature. 

“Is that Erik?” Saren asked.

“Yeah. I made that body for him myself.”

“You’re beautiful together.”

Galena sighed, and changed the subject. “I really should be working right now. The scans of that ship show such amazing complexity even the Navy’s most advanced projects would be put to shame.” She walked over to the holoscreen, and pulled up an image of the alien ship. “Look at this thing! We’ve got one ship back home that rivals it in size, and even that probably is only a fraction as advanced as this.”

“Did EarthGov know that there might be life in Andromeda?”

“We had theories. The Keepers had navigation records that indicated it, but all concrete evidence had been lost to data degradation across unknown millenia. What do you really know about the Keepers, and their first contact?”

“I know how the war started, and Braid told me on Miranda how it ended. And that’s about it. Presumably my school covered it in-depth, but I ran away before they got to that module.”

“Well, it’s a pretty complicated subject. The Keeper fleet arrived on our doorstep, and they were miles ahead of us technologically back then. But, from the few remaining records the Keepers had, supposedly the fleet hadn’t been a fleet when they had first set out, and had been still even more advanced than we are today. It had been, so long ago that even the Keeper Queens don’t remember, a moon-sized generation ship. Keeper oral traditions said that the ship had crashed, destroying it, and they cannibalised it and turned it into their fleet of Shard Ships, losing unknowable amounts of advanced knowledge in the process. A long part of my engineering training consisted of studying Keeper ships, and trying to piece together the lost knowledge of the prehistoric, as it were, Keepers. The scraps of data that survived the retrofit indicated that they had been traveling in one direction much longer than it would have taken to reach us just crossing the milky way, and they had come from the direction of Andromeda, so, putting one and one together, we had surmised that they had come from Andromeda, traveling at on average 125 times lightspeed (taking into account both actual travel speeds and time spent resting and gathering resources before getting going again), meaning they had originated there about twenty-five thousand years ago. No, originated here twenty-five thousand years ago. So, we’ve been able to guess that they were native to this galaxy, but we’ve never been able to learn anything more. This is all uncharted territory, literally and figuratively.”

“How long until we get to the outpost, and finally meet new alien life?”

Galena tapped her wrist, and glowing tattoos emulating a watch display appeared. “Only a few minutes until we decelerate. We should probably be on the bridge by then, I’ll need to help figure out a co-compatible docking procedure. By the time we get back to the Milky Way, I’m going to have learned so much more than anybody I’ve ever worked with before.”

“We’re all going to, I think. It’s a whole new galaxy full of life, there’s no way that they won’t have new biology and psychology that we’ll only barely be able to recognise.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that. We already know how easy it is for them to comprehend our language. They can’t be that different. And the Keepers are from here, and their biology is different, yes, but still easily comprehensible by a human doctor. Doctor Larson, in fact, has passed courses and is recognised by the Keeper government on Summer as someone able to treat their kind just as well they can. So, yeah, they’ll be alien, but not unrecognisable.”

“Have you met Keepers?”

“Yes, I think everybody on the crew has, at least once or twice. Like I said, I’ve studied their technology directly. I lived in the colony on Summer for a few years, working with Keeper technologist drones to recover their ancestral technology. I’ve even met their queen, more than once.”

“Really? Tell me about her.”

“Well, for one, she’s fucking enormous. Like, the size of your ship. And, with the help of our longevity science, she is the same queen that was born to replace the one we defeated 6000 years ago. So, she has worked her entire life with humans, and understands us very well, compared to her short-lived drones and soldiers.”

They were interrupted by Braid via intercom. “Malakhova to the bridge.”

Saren and Galena returned to the bridge, and Galena took her seat next to Braid. The Holographic display showed the dwarf planet they had been directed to by the alien starship. As they neared it and slowly began to orbit, a massive station began to come into view, comparable in size to a human planetary capitol. 

“Galena, go ahead and send over the docking requirements for both the Spectre and the Redeemer,” Braid ordered.

“Transmitting now.” Galena, after sending over the specifications, stared at the station on the surface of the planet. “They called this place an outpost. If this is just an outpost, than what does a colonised planet look like in this galaxy?”

“I wouldn’t think too much about it,” Braid said. “It may just be a minor translation error.”

“This outpost is just as big as the entire Geneva metroplex. That starship we saw was as big as the you-know-what in London. The Ancient Keeper Generation ship was supposedly as big as Luna. They build shit big here, Tom.”

Braid made a face of bitter acceptance. “Even so, we can’t let ourselves be intimidated.”

“Very reassuring, Commander,” Beatriz noted. “Incoming transmission from the outpost. Galena, I’m sending you the docking specifications they sent. Oh, part of it is a map, in one of our old holo formats... it’s going to take me a minute to decipher the codec, we don’t have it installed in the ship’s database anymore.”

“We can wait.”

“I still can’t believe this is actually happening,” Saren said.

“It’s certainly unprecedented,” Braid said. “This is humanity’s first peaceful First Contact. We learned how to interact with Xenos in warfare, but we have no real idea how to do it peacefully. I’m just blindly wandering forwards and you’re all along for the ride.”

“Alright,” Beatriz interjected, “Don’t talk yourself up too much. I think I have the codec interpreted. At the very least I have a map that looks like what we’re looking at.” She brought up the map on the window holo, overlaid on top of the actual visual of the outpost. The map had a section of the base highlighted in blue. 

“Alright, let’s go in for docking,” Galena said, “I’ve got their docking handshake decoded, I’m sending the astrogators the exact measurements of the hanger they selected for us.”

“A whole hanger, just for little old me?” Braid asked. 

“We’re here, too,” Saren reminded him. 

The Astrogators slowly guided the ship down to the dwarf-planet’s surface, to the hanger their hosts had selected for them. The outpost seemed a maze of utilitarian structures, with few windows for any intel about the interior to be gleaned from. There were no ships coming to or from any parts of the sprawling base. 

Beatriz, taking passive scans of the area, found the base to be mostly abandoned. 

“They may have built this place thousands of years ago,” Galena conjectured. “The people it was built to house died long ago, and the staff was wound down to be more sustainable.”

“Not just the physical sizes are big, but the timescales as well,” Beatriz noted.

“We should ready to disembark,” Braid said. He poked at his console. “Dr. Larson, Lt. Pyrrha, Tyko Braje, and Primrose Ren to the boarding ramp.” 

“Primrose?” Galena sounded incredulous.

“Don’t look at me,” Saren said, “I’m not her parents.”

Braid got up from his seat, but remembered something and sat back down. “Ada Rho, to the boarding ramp as well.”

“Why her too?” Saren asked.

“We are here representing the full spectrum of Terran life. Ada is a part of that spectrum, and she and her kind deserve representation as well.” With that, Braid got up and walked out, indicating Beatriz and Galena to follow him.

Saren did likewise, following them to the boarding ramp at the lowest level of the ship. Of the people called to meet there, only ADA and Dr. Larson had arrived. Larson was fiddling with an exowalk helmet, double and triple checking the seal between it and her Zero-G-Suit. ADA was watching, innocently intrigued by Larson’s neurosis. 

“Let me guess,” Saren said to Braid, “She’s incredibly thorough, and that has made her the best in her field?”

“You know it,” Braid answered. 

“I can hear you two, you know,” Larson commented, holding her helmet to the light and scratching at something in it, all the while making a face of mild disgust. 

“Only the best for the most advanced ship in the Grand Fleet.”

“The ship could probably perform our jobs all on her own,” Galena said. “She’s got the materials to build enough Androids to replace every single one of us.”

“Which is exactly why the shipboard AI is not any more complex than it needs to be.”

“You say that, but the Grand Admiral trusts Spidersilk to run the entire damn Grand Fleet.”

“Well, I’m not the Grand Admiral, am I.”

“And that fact haunts you every night.”

Braid inhaled deeply. “Let’s go meet some aliens.” 

“We can’t,” Beatriz reminded him. “We have to wait for Pyrrha and the other civilians.”

The six of them waited for the other three, who arrived in short order. Pyrrha had no difficulty finding a Zero-G-Suit that fit his stature both physically and within the military hierarchy, but Tyko and Ren, with their sub-optimum figures, had difficulty squeezing into even Zero-G-Suits designed for their natural human genetics. Ren eventually managed it on her own, and with some help from the bionic Beatriz and Lt. Pyrrha, Tyko managed as well.

“Alright,” Braid told the assembled party, “Let’s go meet some aliens.” 

#science fiction #short story #sci-fi #The Adventures Of Saren Rho #Writing

[ill-be-istj-if-no-one-else-is]

FAQ

Read this first for MBTI stuff (crash course)

Read this for enneagram stuff (crash course), The Enneagram Institute

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Read the rest of this FAQ including relevant links first. If you ask something answered in the FAQ your ask will most likely be deleted.

To steal a rule from mbti-notes, searchable, repetitive, or irrelevant anon asks may be deleted. Searchable means it’s in the FAQ or that there’s a clear keyword or tag you could use to search. Repetitive means I get asked it very frequently or it’s in the FAQ (and probably overlaps with searchable). Irrelevant means it’s not related to personality theory (if it’s something I want to answer I’ll still answer though). I also delete ask meme things that come in after the stated deadline (eg: D&D class typing).

Asks off anon that fail to meet the above guidelines will get a courtesy ‘please read the FAQ’ private answer.

Occasionally I will instead be snarky about these things instead of deleting. The price you pay for free advice and research is that I get to have fun with it.

Please try to keep things to a reasonable length. There is no hard limit at this time but if you find yourself feeling as though you need to apologize for the ask length, please instead spend a few minutes editing down your question before you ask it. A good rule of thumb is that if it’s more than 5 or 6 asks long, you’re either rambling or you’re telling a story instead of asking a question.

Ask the question you want the answer to. Don’t ask “is it possible that I’m mistyped” if you mean to ask “what’s my type” and please attempt to use some common sense. You’ve presumably interacted with people before; that should give you some reference for what is normal human behavior.

If you definitely want a response, the ask box is always best. I might miss a reblog or reply, or assume it doesn’t require a response.

For typing help: I expect you to have read this FAQ and I expect you to be able to describe yourself or the person you are trying to type using multiple detailed examples of their specific and unique behavior.

I don’t do instinctual variant typing, and here’s why.

FAQ

Will mental illness or cognitive disorders possibly affect my typing? Yes. I cannot personally tell you what’s your personality and what’s due to mental illness/conditions that affect cognition so if you aren’t sure that is something for you to figure out. And as always, I am not a mental health professional. Please seek treatment or therapy and don’t try to solve legitimate illnesses with MBTI. For more on this: PSA.

What are the differences between Fi and Fe/can Fi look like Fe? Look here

Is there a surefire way to tell if someone is a specific type or uses a specific function? Not really. Most behaviors can be learned with enough effort, and the functions manifest more as patterns of behaviors, not a single signature behavior.

How do I tell if X MBTI type I have a crush on likes me/what do you think about this relationship/how do I help X type?

MBTI can’t answer these questions. Communicate with your crush or partner or the person you want to help instead of asking a person on the internet who doesn’t know any of you.

Which MBTI test is best? All tests suck. Study the functions.

Is this MBTI type likely with this Enneagram? Check this post out for some data!

How do I tell Ni vs. Si? Look here. Also here

How do I tell Ne vs. Se?

Look here

How do I figure out my tritype?

Type each fix separately rather than trying to holistically type based on a full tritype description. Ultimately similar cores will look quite similar even if the tritypes are different (ie, a 135 and a 126 will probably look more similar than a 135 and a 351).

I’m awesome and will actually search your blog before asking - what’s your tagging system?

It’s not perfect, but:

by function (eg: #introverted sensing; note that I spell extroverted with an ‘o’ even though it’s wrong)

mbti in general (#mbti)

enneagram (#enneagram)

I don’t tag by type unless it’s more holistically about that type, but by type (eg: #istj)

Previous asks, going back to around May 2017 (#answered asks)

Finally, the search function - even on mobile - is pretty good if you have a clear key word.

Additional resources:

Extremely comprehensive MBTI information broken down by function and far better organized than my blog: mbti-notes. If you’re looking for how functions interact based on stack position, go here.

Still more MBTI Resources: mbti-resources (by eilamona)

Enneagram tritype descriptions (and aesthetics) via collaboration between istj-hedonist and naughty-nanny: tritype aesthetics. Note that this is more a fun/aesthetic thing than a definitive typing resource. The enneagram institute, linked at the top, has everything from detailed descriptions to core comparisons for your enneagram typing needs.

#master post #FAQ #updated FAQ

[hazellvesque]

Some Kind of Miracle - Chapter 7

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug

Rating: G

Pairing: Adrien/Marinette

Summary: If Marinette had her way, she would have had nothing to do with Alya’s latest celebrity crush. So how did she get roped into stalking him around Los Angeles? When fashion icon Adrien Agreste quite literally crashes into Marinette’s life, they have no choice but to put up with one another or risk ruining both of their potential careers forever.

An AU based on the iconic Disney Channel Original Movie, Starstruck.

Read on Ao3

Chapter 7 - Heart

<<< Previous Chapter | Next Chapter >>>

One of Alya’s best (or worst, depending on how you looked at it) qualities was that once she became focused on a topic she was passionate about, there was no way to get her to stop talking about it.

This morning, it was definitely leaning towards the worst side. She had spent a good portion of the morning aimlessly babbling about what she was calling their “adventure” from last night. Even the bustling traffic outside and the footsteps pounding through the hotel halls couldn’t muffle her excited chatter throughout the morning. It was astonishing to think that they’d been in this city for barely 24 hours and yet, Alya had enough material to drone on for hours.

Marinette had to remind Alya constantly that Mme. Césaire was asleep in the next room only a few feet away and would not be happy to hear what they’d been up to. The poor woman had come in at some point in the night dead on her feet. No doubt she’d continue to rest for most of the morning, which left Alya free once again to do her plotting.

“We have to try again,” Alya talked through bites of pastry – delivered to their room that morning courtesy of Mme. Césaire’s generous sponsor. If only Alya knew that her biggest idol’s family was paying for all of it. She’d lose her mind over the sheer irony.

Alya had already gotten dressed that morning – thankfully wearing much more casual clothing than she had the night before. She’d also downed a cup of coffee and was well into her plotting by the time Marinette joined her in the hotel room’s kitchenette. How she could be so alert so early in the morning was beyond comprehension. Marinette had struggled for ten minutes to just open her eyes. Even now, she took slow, careful sips of her tea, taking special care not to spill on herself in her sleepy state. The steam and strong, bitter aroma, combined with the smooth heat traveling through her stomach only worked to make her even sleepier.

“I don’t know, Alya,” Marinette sipped again before continuing. “Maybe you just got lucky last night?” She could easily use the excuse that she was tired or that she had a headache – which wouldn’t be a complete lie – but if she were being completely honest, part of her wanted to go out and find Adrien again too, even if it were only to return his phone, which was currently burning a hole in the bottom of her backpack.

Alya wasn’t one to give up so easily. Whether that was a blessing or a curse, it was too early to tell.

“I swear we were this close to him Marinette! I know he was there!” Alya insisted. At this point, nothing could convince her otherwise. After her run-in with Nino, she had every right to believe that Adrien had been at the club as well. They were always seen together; as far as she was concerned, she practically had the proof already.

Marinette tried to play it cool and prayed the look on her face wouldn’t confirm Alya’s suspicions. “I guess you could be right,” she tried to keep her voice level. “But what are the chances of actually finding him this time? I mean, if they were both at the club last night, they wouldn’t go out to the same place two nights in a row, would they?”

“Of course not,” Alya furiously punched buttons on her phone. “There are plenty of places they could be. As far as I know, he doesn’t have anything big scheduled, though it would be so much easier to just run into him at an on-location shoot or press event. I’ve got a list of spots he’s been seen at for the past few months, but I have no clue how to narrow it down.”

She pushed the phone under Marinette’s nose, and Marinette had to squint and angle her face away to get a clear view. Alya had opened to a webpage – her own blog – listing dozens of locations around southern California.

“You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?” Marinette’s eyes widened.

Alya grinned smugly. “I’m on a mission, and I fully intend to accomplish it. You can side-eye me all you want, but I’m on the right track and you know it.”

Marinette sipped her tea again, giving Alya a skeptical look over the rim of her cup.

“If only there was some way I could figure out where he’d be,” Alya sank into the hotel room’s armchair, fully engrossed in her list of locations. She squinted as she scrolled up and down furiously.

A thought came to Marinette. The pit that had spent the past few hours residing in her stomach now sank down to her knees. She couldn’t admit it to Alya, but she knew exactly how she could narrow down that list. All she had to do was ask.

The trick was to stay calm and casual, so as to not raise suspicion.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Marinette blurted out. She stumbled off the bar stool and slammed her mug down, nearly spilling the last few drops of her tea all over the counter. Alya didn’t try to stop her; she only stared after her with a single confused eyebrow quirked.

Marinette tripped into their temporary bedroom and tried her best not to slam the door behind her. Yep, calm and casual, that was Marinette.

Her backpack still sat unopened at the foot of the bed. Casting paranoid glances over her shoulder, she slowly unzipped the main pocket and fished Adrien’s cellphone out. Alya stayed outside oblivious as Marinette locked herself in the bathroom and turned the showerhead on. Once she was sure there would be no interruptions, she sat perched precariously on the edge of the counter, praying her hands would stop shaking as she pressed the unlock button on the phone.

The first thing she noticed was the lack of a passcode. She had assumed she’d have to do some strategic guessing or pray that Adrien would set up an emergency contact, but she had no issue getting into the phone at all – a simple swipe across the photo of Adrien and Nino on the home screen was all it took to get in. As big of a deal as he was, one would think he’d be a little more careful with his privacy – especially after all of the trouble he’d gone through last night to stay hidden – but apparently the same rules didn’t apply to his cellphone.

The second thing she noticed were the dozens of red dots all over the screen. There had to be close to a hundred unread notifications – calls, texts, emails, even a few of the games had gone untouched for who knows how long. Even as she sat staring at the endless sea of apps, trying to figure out the next step to take, another text message popped up silently at the top of the screen. At least that suspicion had been confirmed: the phone was entirely silenced. There wasn’t even a vibration.

She hadn’t even considered snooping through anything – she had no good reason to invade his privacy like that; but if she was curious enough to go looking for information, he was making it far too easy. She couldn’t help but notice upon opening Adrien’s contacts the utter lack of phone numbers he had stored. Not two seconds of scrolling led her to finding “Nino Lahiffe”.

She’d tried her best to ignore her other findings, though she couldn’t help the way that her heartbeat increased ever so slightly seeing “Gabriel Agreste (Dad)” or the small involuntary frown that took over her expression at the lack of a mother’s phone number.

Calling would be too risky. If Alya overheard anything, there’d be too many questions. She settled on texting Nino.

‘This is Marinette. The girl from last night. I need your help.’

Out of context, there were a thousand inappropriate ways to interpret what that might have meant, but she prayed Nino would understand.

His reply – ‘Seriously?’ – came only moments later.

At least she could count on him to actually read his messages.

For a moment, Marinette stopped to consider whether or not this would be a good idea. She and Nino had only had one very brief, very hostile encounter, and he’d seemed none too happy about having to deal with her last night. Her name popping up in his messages may have very well ruined his entire morning.

Three little dots appeared on the screen for only a second before the next message appeared:

‘Why do you have Adrien’s phone? You’re not still with him, are you?’

Her cheeks flushed. It had been hours - was he implying that she’d spent the night with Adrien? Her curious side wondered if he was the kind of person to bring girls back to his house with less pure intentions, which of course only made her blush more deeply. She shook her head violently, willing the thought away. Why should she care?

‘No, he let me borrow it. I kept it. Accidentally. I need to give it back.’ She typed out the four sentences as fast as she could.

Clearly Nino was in no rush to reply. The small gray box kept appearing and disappearing as Nino formulated his next message.

Trying her best to occupy herself and distract from the violent thump of her nervous heartbeat in her chest, Marinette managed to brush her teeth, style her hair, and even apply the tiniest bit of makeup before Nino responded. Thankfully the phone was still silenced; had it vibrated on the sink, the sound would have nearly caused her to poke her eye out with the mascara wand.

‘Chloe’s dragging him to The Grove. We’ll meet you there.’ Was all the text said. No explanation of who Chloe was, or where or what The Grove was, either. Both names sounded vaguely familiar, though Marinette couldn’t figure out why.

She didn’t have time to ponder however, as just then, Alya knocked on the door.

“Are you okay in there?” Alya called. “What’s taking so long?”

Marinette had long since turned the shower water off, though the dead silence that had followed for the past twenty minutes was clearly suspicious. But she’d at least gotten the lead she’d been looking for. For the most part. Now all she had to do was set the plan in motion.

She slipped Adrien’s phone into her front pocket before flinging the bathroom door open giving Alya her best ‘I’m not plotting anything’ smile. Calm and casual.

“I’m great!” she squeaked. “The, uh . . . shower water took forever to heat up.”

Alya nodded slowly. “Right,” she gave Marinette a once-over. “Are you going somewhere?”

“Actually, we’re going somewhere,” Marinette squeezed past Alya in the doorway and walked back into their bedroom. She remembered why one of those names sounded so familiar now.

During their trek through the airport, the girls had grabbed countless papers advertising the sights of southern California. The colorful pamphlets were strewn across their shared nightstand. Marinette quickly rifled through the pile and found exactly what she was looking for – a tri-fold advertisement for “the best shopping and dining in Los Angeles” at The Grove shopping center.

Marinette held the pamphlet up to Alya, a triumphant grin spreading across her face.

“How would you feel about a shopping trip?”

The smile on Alya’s face said it all – she would love it, of course.

Everything seemed a million times bigger in Los Angeles.

Nothing could be simple here. They couldn’t just build a few shops here and there; no, they had to make it a full-on shopping city. A long street with a fully functioning trolley system cut directly through the center of the outdoor mall, transporting customers from shop to shop. From their vantage point near the gigantic concrete parking garage – which was its own sight for sore eyes – Marinette could see The Grove’s gigantic fountain spraying jets of water at least three metres into the air.

Sure, it was beautiful, but there was too much to process at once. The mere colossal size of it all would make anyone feel tiny and insignificant. How this could be considered just a regular mall to these Americans was incomprehensible. The place looked more like a theme park. Marinette had only seen photos of Disneyland, but this place didn’t look too far off. All that was missing was a castle.

Alya may as well have been a kid in an amusement park, the way she was acting. Her wide eyes raked across the storefront signs ravenously. She bounced on the heels of her feet, ready to take off into retail heaven.

Marinette tried her best to stay calm in the face of pure chaos. The reckless taxi ride here had left her trembling - speeding through tourist-packed traffic with a stranger behind the wheel was enough to give anyone heart palpitations. On top of that, the crowds and lights and sights gave her vivid flashbacks of the night before, bubbling up those unwelcome feelings of being disoriented. And lost. And scared.

She was doing this for Adrien.

She came all this way to do him a favor and return something of his, to be clear. That’s all. No ulterior motives whatsoever.

She definitely wasn’t hoping to have another conversation with him, to thank him again for taking care of her, to possibly get to know him a little better while she got the opportunity to do so. Of course not. Hand him the phone, say their goodbyes, go on with their lives. That was the plan.

Now, if she could only find him. She couldn’t use her same plan from this morning; taking the phone out in front of Alya would raise too many questions. It was a different make and model entirely, or else she could have slipped her own phone case on and passed it off as her device. And there was no way in hell she’d willingly separate herself from Alya again. She would just have to find Nino or Adrien the old fashioned way – with her own two eyes and some guesswork.

Now that she thought about it more clearly, she realized she’d trapped herself in a sticky situation: how was she supposed to interact with Adrien or Nino at all if Alya was right there with her? The whole reason the ordeal last night had gone awry the way it did was because Adrien was trying to avoid being seen by anyone he couldn’t trust. If he was out somewhere in this crowd, he had to be disguised or hiding. He might even be surrounded by bodyguards or security after learning his lesson last night. There was no telling how Marinette would even begin to look for him.

Swallowing her anxieties, she followed Alya into the sea of shoppers and kept her eyes peeled, hoping luck would be on her side.

A promise is a promise, Agreste. Man, who knew that would come back to bite him in the ass so quickly?

Of course Chloe would choose shopping. Why would he expect anything else from her? He loved the girl, really, but she was awfully predictable.

Nino had driven them in his car today. “Last time I left you alone, you almost landed a stranger in the hospital,” he’d said out of Chloe’s earshot. “I can’t trust you to take care of yourself for two minutes, I swear.”

Adrien knew deep down it was because Nino didn’t want to subject him to being alone.

Or maybe Nino really didn’t trust him after his stupid impulsive decision making last night. It was hard to tell for sure.

Chloe practically bolted out of the backseat the moment Nino put the car in park. Adrien reached for the door handle trying to keep up, but a tug on his sleeve held him back.

“That Marinette girl is here,” Nino said suddenly. “Just so you know. She needs to talk to you.”

“How do you know that?” Adrien asked.

“She told me,” Nino deadpanned, then exited the car without any further explanation, leaving Adrien completely bewildered. What the hell was that supposed to mean? When did he talk to her?

And - oh god - what did he say to her?

By the time he caught up to his friends, Chloe was elbow deep into a sunglasses display, trying on each pair and staring at her reflection in the mirror, asking a completely disinterested Nino for his opinion on how they looked. Contrary to popular assumption, Chloe wasn’t the kind of person who would wildly throw her wealth in other people’s faces and come home with dozens of shopping bags full of items she’d only wear once before tossing aside forever. Instead, she carefully calculated each purchase depending on price and the stylistic opinions of those around her. In other words, a shopping trip with Chloe meant becoming her own personal fashion critic for a few hours. Fun.

Adrien could hardly focus on whether Oakley or Prada was a better choice when he was too busy looking over his shoulder hoping to catch a glance of a familiar face in the crowd. He nearly gave himself whiplash every time a teenage girl with dark hair passed by, and every single time his shoulders fell dejectedly once he realized it wasn’t her.

“You need to relax,” Chloe said, glancing back at him through the mirror’s reflection as she tried on her third sundress of the day. “I don’t know why you’re so paranoid today, Adrien. You’re not doing anything that’s going to get you in trouble.”

He hadn’t even been thinking about that. Getting noticed out in public today was the least of his worries. He’d taken all the necessary precautions to blend in to the crowds and look inconspicuous, and besides, going out shopping with his friends wasn’t exactly a scandalous activity that could be turned into a reputation-tarnishing headline. Nothing he would do today would carry as much risk as last night did.

Unless Chloe saw Marinette out here, recognized her, and realized what was going on. Or worse, if Marinette was trying to meet up so she could file a complaint or get the police involved for what happened last night.

Okay, maybe now he was a little paranoid. But also very, very curious to see how this day would go.

“I’m going to go get some air,” Adrien coughed.

Nino and Chloe exchanged a glance, and if Adrien hadn’t known any better he would have thought he even saw Chloe roll her eyes.

“I’ll be right back,” he added. “Promise.”

As Chloe went back to admiring her own reflection, Nino turned and aimed a curious at Adrien. Adrien returned the look with a shrug and nodded his head towards the doorway.

The two of them had become masters at silent conversation. They didn’t need words to understand exactly what he was going to do.

This time he’d make sure not to slam doors in anyone’s faces on the way out.

It may have been sweltering out in the hazy July heat, and the persistent pestering from sales associates may have gotten a little annoying at times, but at least Marinette could say she was still enjoying herself. If anything, watching her best friend perform mini fashion shows for herself in public was amusing.

While Alya bounced back and forth between the sleek and expensive displays of the Grove’s dozens of high-fashion clothing stores, Marinette busied herself at the smaller carts and stands just outside, preferring to browse items closer to her comfortable price range. Not that Alya could afford any of those hundred dollar dresses, either, but she did like to humor herself by trying them all on and taking selfies in the mirrors.

Marinette could see Alya now through the wide windows of the shop in front of her - putting on an extra large floppy sun hat and grinning like a maniac at her reflection.

“So that’s Alya, huh?” a familiar voice whispered far too close to her ear for comfort.

Marinette fumbled and nearly dropped the expensive snow globe she’d been admiring. She stabilized the fragile glass souvenir and whirled around to face the person who had nearly given her a heart attack.

The first thought that popped into Marinette’s mind was that Adrien was not the best at disguises. The second thought, a much less welcome one, was that he even more infuriatingly handsome in broad daylight.

He was wearing a similar ensemble that he’d changed into the night before – all dark-wash, plain clothes with dark sunglasses shielding his unmistakable green eyes. He’d opted for a black cap rather than a hoodie today, a wise choice considering how warm it was outside.

Anyone who bothered to take a second glance would notice it was him immediately. Though, rabid fan girls weren’t currently mobbing him, and, contrary to what she had been expecting, there were no bodyguards or extra security measures taken to keep the crowds away. She supposed his getup did its job well enough.

“I’m sorry, did I scare you?” Adrien peeked over the top of his sunglasses. “It’s me.”

Marinette gulped, still trying to catch her breath. “I would have never guessed,” she tried to make her sarcasm evident, but her words came out in a short staccato rhythm.

He adjusted his shades and stood a little straighter. “It’s a nice surprise running into you out here.”

“Really?”

“No, not really,” Adrien smiled at her, and her stupid heart actually had the nerve to skip a beat. It was incredibly frustrating how he had that kind of effect on her. “Nino told me you might be here. I’ve actually been keeping my eye out for a while, so I’m glad I finally spotted you. He said you needed to talk to me?”

Something in his voice sounded off, though Marinette couldn’t quite figure out why.

“Oh, yeah,” Marinette smiled sheepishly, pushing her curiosity to the back of her mind. She reached into her pocket and handed Adrien’s phone over. “I think this is yours.”

Adrien’s sunglasses dipped down low enough for Marinette to see his eyes widen in surprise.

“It is?” he did an awkward little self-pat down, checking his own empty pockets. “Huh. I think that’s mine, too.”

A sorry laugh escaped her as she gently placed the phone in Adrien’s waiting hands. “Here I was losing my mind all day thinking you were going to report me for theft or something, and it turns out you didn’t even notice it was gone.”

“Thank you, Marinette,” he smiled sincerely. Once again, the sound of her name from his lips sent tingles down to her toes. “I guess I was pretty distracted last night. Sorry about that.”

“It’s totally understandable,” Marinette said, relieved that he was too busy checking on the welfare of his phone to notice the way she was staring at him. He wasn’t the only one who was distracted, evidently.

Hand him the phone, say goodbye, move on. That had been the plan. But Adrien didn’t seem to be in a rush to leave. He could have vanished like he’d done last night, but apparently today was a different story. He looked completely at ease, and Marinette supposed it was justified considering there was no immediate threat of someone noticing him. Shoppers and tourists didn’t bother to give either of them a second glance as they rushed by.

Maybe she could try going the ‘starting another conversation with him’ route after all.

“Are you feeling better today?” Adrien asked before she had the chance to say anything, catching her by surprise.

She had woken up feeling a bit dizzy, and now that he mentioned it, the noise and bright lights of the shopping center had triggered a persistent dull ache behind her eyes.

“Better than last night,” she didn’t quite lie. “Thank you again for . . . looking after me.” If pseudo-kidnapping her and taking her for a scenic nighttime joyride down Hollywood and Los Angeles’ back streets with a pit stop into the great depths of the Agreste pool house storage closet could be considered looking after her, then sure, he deserved some thanks.

Adrien shifted his weight back and forth on his feet. “Does your friend Alya know what happened?”

Of course, he was still looking out for his reputation. Marinette didn’t expect any less.

“She’s clueless,” Marinette reassured him. “She doesn’t know you’re here, either.”

“Good,” his shoulders relaxed as he stuck his hands in his pockets.

An awkward beat of silence.

Marinette gulped and took a deep breath. “So . . . do you usually spend your time sneaking around shopping malls incognito or was this just a one time thing?” She prayed her desperation to continue this conversation wasn’t as obvious as it seemed.

“Not really,” Adrien explained. “This is more of Chloe’s scene,” he gestured toward a large upstairs window a few shops down, where Marinette had to squint hard to see what he was referring to - a teenage girl admiring a dress on a mannequin.

Marinette’s jaw fell slack; she’d seen that girl’s face before. Arguing with an airline steward just a day and a half ago, if she remembered correctly.

The girl and Adrien looked fairly similar – blonde hair; tall, thin, graceful stature; stunning sharp facial features worthy of a billboard advertisement - though they didn’t look quite similar enough to be related.

“Is she your girlfriend?” Marinette resisted the urge to slap her palm to her forehead the moment the words slipped from her mouth. Her curious side had jumped out and opened her big mouth before the rational and polite sides had a chance to hold it back.

“No,” Adrien said, though he sounded a lot more nonchalant than Marinette had expected. Part of her thought he may get defensive at the accusation, but he was clearly unbothered by her suggestion. “She’s a friend from back home.”

“Like… home, home?” asked Marinette. Adrien nodded, but seeing Chloe on the plane yesterday morning had been confirmation enough.

It clicked in Marinette’s mind then: she’d heard Nino and Adrien mention a girl named Chloe yesterday while the two boys were arguing about what to do with Marinette. Had Chloe been there at the club last night? How many times had the two girls been in close proximity to each other and not had any clue of the potential connection – not just here, but back home in Paris too?

Not that there was much of a connection to be had. Thousands of people lived in Paris, and plenty of them vacationed in America; it just so happened that they had taken the same flight. Nothing extraordinary about that. The only common denominator between them was Adrien, who Marinette had only known for less than a day.

Plus, Chloe was his friend; for her to have come all this way for him, they had to be incredibly close. Marinette was… what was she to him, exactly? Not quite a fan, per se, but definitely not familiar enough to be friend either. Then again, she had spent half of the night in his house. That had to count for something. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking.

“Did you really come all this way just to give this back to me?” Adrien broke their silence. Marinette realized that she must have been staring at the other girl for far too long.

“I would want someone to do the same for me,” she said simply, but Adrien had stopped listening.

He stared over Marinette’s shoulder, tilting his head to get a better look. Risking a glance back, Marinette noticed the small crowd of people forming a few feet away, staring in their direction. One man reached into his front pocket and raised his cellphone, ready to snap a photo.

“Let’s go,” Adrien’s voice had taken on that same panicked tone from last night. He tugged on Marinette’s sleeve and would have practically dragged her along with him had she not picked up her pace and stepped quickly behind him.

This boy was obviously experienced at running away from people. With Marinette on his heels, he pushed through the glass doors of The Grove’s three-story-tall bookstore and instantly found a hiding spot in the corner of the media section.

“Sorry,” he whispered – though he was in a store and not a library, so the quiet wasn’t really necessary. “I guess I’m still a little shaken up from yesterday.”

Marinette shrugged. “It’s okay. I understand,” though she really didn’t, at least offering him some empathy might make him feel a little better. “Besides, this place is better than a pool house closet.”

“You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?” Adrien absentmindedly raked his fingertips across the plastic DVD cases on the display next to him as they walked further out of the public’s eye.

Even America’s bookstores were unnecessarily extravagant, Marinette realized. Maybe it was just this chain of stores, but she was awestruck by the amount of things that weren’t print on paper. Most of Paris’s bookshops were about ten times smaller, and just sold actual books, not all of the technology and gadgets they were currently surrounded by.

She supposed that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, though. There were plenty of distractions to keep someone entertained, if the need arose. Like now, for instance, when she had to avoid making awkward eye contact or forced conversation with the only familiar person within a hundred foot radius to prevent herself from blushing or stammering or making a fool of herself.

Her eyes wandered to the stacks of magazines on a shelf to her left and she had to bite her tongue to resist laughing. A waxy, touched-up version Adrien’s face stared at her from the cover page of one of the latest magazine issues stacked next to the CDs. Meanwhile, Real Adrien put down the vinyl record he’d been fiddling with and looked back in Marinette’s direction, his shoulders slumping.

“I hated that shoot,” Adrien grumbled, though a smile tugged at the corner of his lips suggesting otherwise.

The photo of Adrien was surrounded by various headlines about celebrity drama and the latest diet fads. He was leaned against a fence and smiling in a pose that looked entirely unnatural yet oddly comfortable. They’d gone for a country-chic look, having him dressed in flannel and surrounded by hay bales. “Why do you say that?” Marinette tried to act natural, but she couldn’t quite hide the smirk on her face.

“Do you see that outfit they made me wear? I look ridiculous,” he was still doing his odd pseudo-whisper, which only made his exasperation sound even funnier “You try squeezing into jeans that tight and standing under hot studio lights and see how comfortable it is.”

“One day, if I ever get the opportunity to do that, I’ll let you know how my experience was,” Marinette shot back, trying to think about anything other than Adrien in tight pants. She opened an issue of Vogue and prayed there would be no more familiar faces inside. Thankfully, she was met with glamour shots of female models in fancy runway gowns from Paris Fashion Week, which were much more her speed.

“You wouldn’t mind staying here for a little while, right?” Adrien asked, scoping out the room. “It seems to be pretty quiet up here.”

Marinette thought it was kind of funny that he only asked now, considering they had already been loitering and aimlessly wandering between shelves chatting for at least ten minutes already; nevertheless, she shrugged and sat down on the floor, curling her legs underneath her and grabbing a stack of magazines. “I don’t see why not. Alya could stay distracted by all the clothing stores for at least a few more hours, so I’m sure she won’t mind.” She silently hoped this wouldn’t anger Chloe or Nino either.

Adrien sat cross-legged in front of her, stealing the top issue from the pile and flipping though, obviously ignoring all of the mindless articles in favor of the colorful advertisements.

The teen magazine that was second in the stack didn’t have anything particularly interesting to offer - lots of social media trend updates and child TV stars and bright pink pages (not that Marinette didn’t love pink but there was just so much pink) - but there was one small anecdote that caught her attention.

“Ooh, look at this,” Marinette cooed sarcastically. “One Hundred Facts That You Didn’t Know About Adrien Agreste, right here on page 27.”

“Lots of people like to think they know a lot about me,” Adrien stuck his tongue out. Marinette’s mind wandered to Alya immediately – that girl would proudly blabber on about Adrien for hours, giving all sorts of fun facts about his life, but it was true: she didn’t really know him at all. “I bet you they’re all wrong.”

“Let’s fact check then,” Marinette flipped the page and read aloud. “For starters, according to this article, your favorite color is black, your favorite food is sushi, and your favorite breed of dog is a Beagle. True or false?”

“False, false, and false,” Adrien said proudly. “My favorite color is red, I can’t stand sushi, and I’m more of a cat person. Though if I had to choose a dog, Golden Retrievers would be the obvious best choice.”

Marinette mimed holding a microphone to Adrien’s face. “Well then, Monsieur Agreste, what foods do you like? Clearly you can trust me with the inside scoop. I’ll make an exclusive report and everything.”

“Funny you should ask, miss…” he trailed off.

“Dupain-Cheng,” she answered proudly.

“Well, Miss Dupain-Cheng, you might be interested to know that my favorite meal of the day is dessert. Alya’s mom has a lovely cupcake recipe, by the way. I got to try some of the party leftovers this morning and I must offer my compliments to the chef.”

Marinette lowered her pretend microphone, making note of the hilarity of Adrien The Model eating cupcakes for breakfast. “You should try my maman’s cakes. Not to brag or put down Mme. Césaire, but my family knows a thing or two about desserts.”

Adrien raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Marinette smiled. “My parents own a bakery in Paris. Waking up to the smell of fresh bread baking in the morning in the greatest thing in the world.”

“Please do go on.”

“And papa has a chocolate chip cookie recipe to die for. I’ve tried so many times to make them just like he does but I can never quite get them gooey enough. He brings them to events around town and there’s always a line out the bakery door the next morning because everyone wants a taste.”

Adrien’s head tipped back and gently bumped the shelf behind him, his eyes closed in pure bliss.

“Now I really want cookies now,” he muttered, then looked back up at Marinette. “Tell me more.”

“About what?” Marinette asked. “I’m sure you don’t want to just keep talking about bread.”

“About home,” he said unexpectedly. He meant her home, Paris, of course. Marinette would be the last person he’d ask questions to about California. “Anything about it. Everything. What do you love best about it?”

“Why does what I love matter?” she was genuinely curious.

“I value your opinion,” he said without a hint of sarcasm. “Plus, Chloe only ever wants to talk about how there aren’t nearly enough shoe stores in Paris to satisfy her, and that gets old really quickly.”

Marinette knew she shouldn’t laugh, but the comment took her by surprise. The lighthearted jab only helped to make Adrien seem more...normal, though that didn’t seem like a word that should even be associated with someone like him. He was just like any other kid with wistful dreams - though his current life wasn’t anything to turn your nose up at, either.

After a heavy pause, she sighed. “I love...how personal things are there. And familiar. How I can walk anywhere and find anything I need just by asking anyone on the street.” She was whispering now, too, though she didn’t quite know why. “I’ve come to appreciate that so much after being here and seeing how different it is. How big and far away everything is. And how much the people stare at me when it’s obvious I don’t fit in with all of this.”

“People aren’t the friendliest here,” Adrien agreed. “And they’re not too keen on talking to strangers.”

“I feel like, in places like this, I have to stare at my feet when I walk. Like I’m not allowed to look at anyone for too long without them wondering what I want from them.”

Adrien shrugged sadly, nudging the edge of a magazine with the tip of his shoe. “People are scared of new competition cropping up. It’s a tough race to the top when everyone can run just as fast as you can.”

“And everything moves so fast here!” Marinette sighed. Despite how deeply metaphorical their chat had become, she still clung to every word. “Everybody is trying to get to the next big thing. At home, things are slow. I can take my time and enjoy life without worrying what the person next to me is doing differently. There’s less pressure.”

At that, Adrien blinked rapidly. “Pressure? For you?”

Marinette crossed her arms over her chest indignantly. “What, you think that regular old me can’t relate to how tough things are here?”

“No, it’s just that…” Adrien’s eyes locked on hers, and something swelled in her stomach strongly enough to make her arms fall slack. “Someone with as much talent as you should never feel pressured to do better.”

Trying to compose herself, she gulped and looked away, focusing far too hard on anything but the boy in front of her. “How can you say something like that so casually? You barely know who I am.”

“I’m getting to know you, though. Just in the last five minutes I’ve learned that you’ve got a great sense of humor and your family has a pretty great chocolate chip cookie recipe, which already makes you more dimensional than half of the people I’ve known for years. A lot of people in this city aren’t genuine. It’s refreshing to get to know someone who cares about something other than money or popularity. Plus, it’s nice to have someone to talk to who doesn’t want to ask what my next project is or when my dad’s new line is coming out.”

“Right, it’s much nicer to talk to someone who wants to ask about your favorite colors and desserts,” Marinette teased. “That’s a much more captivating conversation, right?”

“See, I told you - great sense of humor.”

She couldn’t help but smile at that - simplicity and sarcasm was really all it took to get him out of his shell. And in the process, she had opened herself up to him too. Much more than she would have expected herself to, anyway.

Their banter faded into comfortable silence.

“I wasn’t kidding, by the way,” Adrien said quietly. “Your designs. Those sketches were better than half the stuff I see from professionals. You’ve got a real talent, Marinette. I’m sure if I slipped one of your sketchbook pages onto my dad’s desk he’d take a good look at it and really like it.”

He was just being nice. At least that’s what she tried to convince herself. Internally, she was repeatedly smacking her own forehead and trying to will away her intrusive thoughts. Maybe if she just ignored them, they’d go away. If only it was that easy to stop thinking about Adrien. In reality, he’d occupied most of her thoughts since last night. Most of those thoughts had been worries, but they were thoughts all the same.

As much as she hated to admit it, she had become a bit awestruck – both by him and by the simple fact that his life was so glamorous and perfect and she was practically nobody compared him. The intimidation alone was enough to make her question every word and action in his presence. Marinette was never one to have low self-esteem, nor would she start to now, but it was hard not to make comparisons.

“You’re just saying that,” Marinette’s throat was drier than a desert.

Adrien frowned at her. “Why do you think that? Those sketches I saw really were great. Are you upset that I looked? I know it was an accident, but I’m sorry if I invaded your personal space or anything.”

“No, it’s not that,” she said. “It’s just… your dad is one of the most famous designers in the world. He’s still a huge name even back home. I just think it would take a lot to impress him.”

Adrien nodded and hummed low under his breath. “Well, you’re not wrong about that.”

His honesty raised another green flag in Marinette’s mind. She was slowly learning that Adrien was nothing like his reputation would suggest. He defied every single one of Marinette’s expectations. He could have been dismissive or stuck up or full of himself, as most celebrities were known - or at least thought - to be, but in the few interactions she’d had with him, he’d proved himself to be quite the opposite. That fact surprised, confused, and delighted her all at once. As odd as it was to say, he fascinated her.

Normally she would never be so quickly afflicted by anything or anyone. She dismissed it as a side effect of the head trauma. At least she could mostly blame Adrien for that. She also tried her best to force away the thought that he was only being nice because he had hurt her, though she didn’t doubt that that could be the real reason.

Regardless, she had spent far too long sitting on the floor of a bookstore and racing after her uncontrollable, wistful mind. She could have spent all day right here, letting her mouth run until they ran out of things to say to one another, but every second she spent chatting was distracting her from the real reason why she had come to California in the first place.

“I should get back to Alya,” Marinette tried to suppress a frown. “I can’t keep leaving her alone, she’s probably looking for me.”

Marinette rose to her feet, only to be held in place by a gentle tug on her sleeve. “Wait,” Adrien plead. His free hand fumbled in his pocket until it found a black ink marker, which he uncapped with his teeth. “Never thought I’d use this for anything other than autographs, but I’m glad I kept it on me.”

Adrien’s hand on her sleeve traveled down past her wrist, turning upward to face her palm to the ceiling.

“You said something about not getting service on your phone here, right? But your hotel landline should still work, so maybe we can keep in touch…”

Every nerve up and down her arm trembled as he began jotting down a seven digit number in blocky, crooked handwriting.

He’s just a person, Marinette had to remind herself, her thoughts running wild as ever. Just a person. A person who just so happened to be intimidatingly attractive, not to mention swimming in cash and surrounded by a horde of admirers. And to top it all off, he had to be kind and understanding and just awkward enough to be charming. Damn him.

Marinette had promised herself she wouldn’t follow Alya’s path. She wasn’t going to become some crazed fangirl and start crushing on a complete stranger based completely on what could be a fake, one-dimensional personality and a life that was entirely staged. She had hoped to never become so shallow that she would focus on looks and prestige alone.

Crushing on someone she got to know a little better? Someone who happened to be incredibly thoughtful and caring despite barely knowing her? Someone like Adrien, who had shown her a wonderful time, not because of peer pressure or obligation, but purely out of his own goodness? Maybe that was a little more plausible.

That didn’t mean she wanted it to happen, though.

In less than two weeks, she and Alya would be boarding a one-way flight back to reality. This was no time to start catching feelings.

“There,” he lowered Marinette’s freshly-inked hand, which she tried her best not to smudge. “Now you can call just in case you change your mind on showing my dad your designs,” he gave her a knowing smile.

Her mind fought itself on whether it wanted to stare up at Adrien’s face or down at the bold black numbers in her palm. Adrien, on the other hand, seemed none-too-intimidated by keeping direct eye contact, as if he were completely oblivious to how intimidating it felt.

Neither of them noticed the whispers of noticing bystanders. The snap of a nearby camera.

“I’ll see you around?” Adrien asked as Marinette took slow, cautious steps backward.

“Maybe,” she replied, not quite knowing the true answer herself.

She turned to face the front doors of the store, entirely too aware of Adrien’s eyes watching as she walked out of the glass doors and back to reality, committing the day’s events and those seven black digits to the depths of her memory.

#miraculous ladybug #ml #ml fic #adrienette #adrinette #my writing #some kind of miracle #honestly i'm not suuuper happy with this but it's taken me months to spit it out and i felt bad #it's also just mindless fluffy filler so...enjoy?

[wingedkiare]

GDPR - what it is, what it isn’t.

General Data Protection Regulations (GDPR) are a set of laws passed by the EU that are attempting to make it clearer to their citizens to understand how their data is being used on the internet.  Not just what data a site collects, but who that data is shared with.

(Please don’t be alarmist about that part - some of it is as simple as an ad network being given permission to show what type of device you used so that they can report to the site owner how those ads are performing.  Or Google Analytics, so they know which blog posts of theirs are popular.)

In the EU, if you go around the internet, you will see a bunch of pop ups the first time you visit a website.  Saying, this is our privacy policy these are our third party partners, this is how your cookies are used, do you want to opt in?

For most websites, if you say no to cookies - it means that you can’t have things like a site remember your login.  Your ads won’t be personalized.

Also: depending on who provides the Consent Management Platform (CMP), you might not see a pop up when you visit a site.  I know for my day job, if you visit one site in our network and agree to the cookie policy, it won’t pop up if you visit another site.  (You will, however, ALWAYS be able to change your preferences on any site)

If you are not in the EU, GDPR does not apply to you yet unless you have a website or storefront online.  Then you should put together a privacy policy that explains what data you keep, how you store it, how you make sure it’s safe.

Most analytic partners will no longer give out specific IP addresses, they will be anonymized so that they will give you a general location for metrics.

But like I’ve said elsewhere, because the world already had to put this in place... (as of May 25th) it wouldn’t be a stretch to see other countries adopt GDPR for its residents.  I’ve joked that the G will soon mean Global, not General.

This is the IAPP’s breakdown of what GDPR is.  (I’m sorry, it’s really dry and boring, but it covers everything - from what it is, to how to report someone who isn’t compliant)

So what’s the skinny?  As a consumer, you are supposed to be able to opt-in to anything related to privacy and data.  A site isn’t allowed to opt you in without your consent.  (Sidenote: if you have a website and use third party resources who turned on their GDPR compliance without your consent - well, that is allowed.  They have to cover their butts, too.  If they didn’t provide you with any information and the ability to turn it off so that you can use someone else’s CMP, well that’s a problem)

Odds are, this will be a lot like the FCC guidelines, and they’ll mostly be concerned with the bigger companies and sites - but if you have a small private site, take the time to make sure you’re covered.  (Most blog platforms will have help guides to make sure you can get set up - WP has the most comprehensive one, Squarespace is alright, Blogger’s help is non-existent - which was pretty disappointing to me, since that’s a Google product)

DISCLAIMER: I am not a lawyer.  If you are crafting a privacy policy and are unsure if everything is covered, please get a lawyer to look over it.  (You don’t have to, but that’s what most everyone has to tell everyone)  I am just a girl who has been answering a LOT of questions and getting a crash course in GDPR in the last week.  (Our company’s lawyer and tech people have been learning about GDPR for the last year)

[decordwertge1976]

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