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#mari answers ☆ !
brissot · 1 month
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and was marie antoinette effectively utilizing coquette dollette hyper feminine toxic femininity lana del rey old money ceramic baby fawn sad girl girlhood girlblogger girlboss power when she secretly conspired with foreign countries to kill scores of her own citizens in an attempt to restore the absolute monarchy and the regime that had rendered millions starving poor oppressed colonized enslaved and murdered
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I... Cannot stop
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kedreeva · 2 months
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OC Askbox Game
I'm avoiding writing and you probably are too, so let's at least think about our characters while we do it.
You know the drill- send me a number (ONE number, you can come back for more) and I'll answer for an OC of your choice (if you know their name) or my choice (if you don't know their name). Feel free to name some of your OCs in the tags of your reblog, if you want to be asked about them.
How did you choose their name?
Were they created for the story, or was the story created for them?
Do they have a love interest, and was that their choice or yours?
Do they have a best friend? If so, how did they meet? If not, have they ever/why never?
Did they have a pet as a child?
What catalyzed their introduction to the plot?
What attribute of them (some facet of their personality, their history, their look, or whatever etc) would you find most important to somehow preserve if they were transplanted to an AU fanfic?
If your character's financial situation were to suddenly flip (someone poor becoming rich, someone rich becoming poor, etc), how well would they handle it? What would be the first thing they would do?
If your character could have handed their role in the plot to someone else, would they have?
Free Space #1: Which of your OCs would be most likely to survive a zombie apocalypse? Which would die immediately?
Does your character have a pet peeve?
Has your character committed any crimes (per their universe's laws)? If not, which crime would your character most likely commit?
Who is your character's closest (by relation, fondness, or distance) blood relative?
How does your character feel about riding horses (or your world's closest approximation of a horse if it lacks horses)?
Is your character's first instinct fight or flight? Is there something that could force them to do the opposite?
What is your character's favorite leisure activity?
Is your character holding any grudges? Are they likely to stop?
If your character were trapped on a deserted island, what three things would they want to have with them? Which person would they absolutely hate to be trapped there with? Which person would they enjoy being trapped there with?
Does your character having any health issues, whether they're aware of them or not?
Free Space #2: Which of your OCs would you most like to meet in person, if they could become real (or you could visit them) for a day?
Final Question: Ask me your own question about my OC
Remember: play nice! Send an ask to the person you reblogged this from, and try to send a few to folks that reblog from you!
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SO I noticed that ofc gorgug being mad at Mary Ann is hilarious
But Mary Ann LOVES mango soda… and she asked gorgug if HE was drinking mango soda…
Do you think she was actually trying to attempt to find something similar with gorgug 🥹
Oh my god absolutely 🥺 she does not wanna fight these kids she just wants to be friendly with the kids on her team and find some real connection 😭
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My friend put her cat in a shirt and why do I feel like Mary would do this with Pussy (will never shut up about that name)
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because she would. and she’d make a post abt it.
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poetrysmackdown · 9 months
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what makes a poem a poem? does it have to be written in a certain way? is this question a poem if i want it to be?
Fun question! This is just my personal sense as an avid reader and less-avid writer of poetry, but for me it’s useful to distinguish (roughly) between poetry as a genre and poetry as an attitude or philosophy through which language and the world can be understood. And of course these two go hand in hand. I see poetry the genre as essentially a type of literature where we as readers are signaled, somehow, to pay closer attention to language, to rhythm, to sound, to syntax, to images, and to meaning. That attentive posture is the “attitude” of broader poetic thinking, and while it’s most commonly applied to appreciate work that’s been written for that purpose, there’s nothing stopping us from applying that attentiveness elsewhere. Everywhere, even! That’s how you eventually end up writing poetry for yourself, after all. There’s a quote from Mary Ruefle floating around on here that a lot of folks have probably already seen, but it immediately comes to mind with this ask:
“And when you think about it, poets always want us to be moved by something, until in the end, you begin to suspect that a poet is someone who is moved by everything, who just stands in front of the world and weeps and laughs and laughs and weeps.”
Similarly, after adopting the attentive posture of poetics, there’s plenty of things that can feel or sound like a poem, even when they perhaps were not written with that purpose in mind. I’ve seen a couple of these “found poems” on here that are quite fun—this one, for example. The meaning and enjoyment you may derive from the language of a found poem isn’t any less real than that derived from a poem written for explicitly poetic purposes, so I don’t see why it shouldn’t be called poetry.
That said, I do think that if you’re going to go out and start looking for poetry everywhere, it’s still important to have a foundation in the actual language work of it all. Now, this doesn’t mean it has to be “written in a certain way” at all! But it does mean that in order to cultivate the attentiveness that’s vital to poetry, one needs to understand what makes language tick, down at its most basic levels. It will make you better at reading poetry, better at writing it, and better at spotting it out in the wild.
Mary Oliver’s A Poetry Handbook is an extraordinary resource to new writers and readers, and a great read for more experienced folks as well. Mary Oliver’s most popular poems are all to my knowledge in free verse, and yet you might be surprised to find her deep appreciation for metrical verse (patterns of stressed/unstressed syllables), as well as for the most minute devices of sound. In discussing the so-called poetry of the past, she writes,
“Acquaintance with the main body of English poetry is absolutely essential—it is the whole cake, while what has been written in the last hundred years or so, without meter, is no more than an icing. And, indeed, I do not really mean an acquaintanceship—I mean an engrossed and able affinity with metrical verse. To be without this felt sensitivity to a poem as a structure of lines and rhythmic energy and repetitive sound is to be forever less equipped, less deft than the poet who dreams of making a new thing can afford to be.”
In another section, after devoting lots of attention to the sounds at work in Robert Frost’s “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening”, she writes,
“Everything transcends from the confines of its initial meaning; it is not only the transcendence in meaning but the sound of the transcendence that enables it to work. With the wrong sounds, it could not have happened.”
I hope all this helps to get across my opinion that what makes a poem a poem is not just about the author's intention, and not just about meaning (intended or attributed), but also about sound and rhythm and language and history, all coalescing into something that rises above the din of a language we would otherwise grow tired of while out in our day-to-day lives.
I'll always have more to say but I'm cutting myself off here! Thanks for the ask
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marquisdeglad · 2 months
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Alright, was Marie Atonette a bitch or was that something the French Revolutionaries made up?
Marie Antoinette was an out of touch aristocratic rich girl, who had the bad luck to be queen of France during one of the worst periods of economic inequality the country ever faced. Her biggest crimes were marrying a supremely incompetent and unpopular king, and wearing fancy, expensive dresses at lavish parties when the peasants were being taxed into starvation.
Everything else? The Jacobins and the rest of the revolutionary mob slandered her to justify killing her. They had already decided the king and queen had to die, as they were symbols of the oppressive monarchy the Revolution overthrew, but they needed to make it look good to the population.
You have to remember - the peasantry and lower classes of France were legitimately suffering and oppressed, both economically and legally. But the Jacobins were bloodthirsty maniacs, led by a man who was called "The Incorruptible" because his fanaticism was unwavering.
So, was Marie Antoinette a good person? Who knows. She was incredibly privileged in a time when many had nothing. She was hated by many. She was vilified by the propaganda machine of one of the most fanatically violent revolutionary parties in human history. She was demonstrably out of touch. She was obviously in over her head.
Her last words were to apologize to the the executioner for accidentally stepping on his foot as she climbed into the guillotine.
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yjposting · 8 months
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More Yellowjackets + text posts who cheered
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ivppiter-06 · 5 months
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Why no one warned me about what i would feel with "We Become We" from Journey To Bethlehem????
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foolsocracy · 4 months
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i love your spidey robbie :3
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thank you!! heres some more doodles of him :]
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tabithatwo · 1 year
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hi hello thinking about how neither lottie or taissa is advocating for their sight or championing themselves.
lottie quietly doing the best she can to lean into what she hopes is real to give the others protection and faith, yes! but it isn’t I CAN LEAD YOU (especially this season) it’s I can quietly do the things that can’t hurt, in case they help. it can’t hurt to prick my finger and they’ve come back safe so far and I’m aware of my mental health I’m OH so aware and I know the dangers of delusions being proven correct by happenstance by setting up an infallible cause and effect by building my own reality BUT but. it’s just a prick and it’s just a sip and if I don’t do it now and they don’t come back safe then I AM the reason. it can’t hurt IT CAN’T HURT.
but see, now she’s stuck. she’s wedged into this place of having followers and she can’t tell them how she feels, partly because she isn’t even sure how she feels to begin with because nothing is real and everything is far too real!! (because BECAUSE lottielee jackieshauna parallels and so much post laura lee was not in our view, we didn’t fall as deep deep deep into the rabbit hole with lottie as we did with shauna, but this season has confirmed it for us. lottie and shauna both lost reality when they lost Them and they were both already girls with a loose grip of reality to begin with) so it’s That, but it’s also because she isn’t Lottie The Girl From New Jersey Who Shoplifts, she’s not herself, she’s what they make of her. she’s Lottie The Reason We Will Survive This.
she was on the other side of this dynamic, she felt that anger at jackie, she felt that sense of betrayal, she felt that letdown, that rebellion in her heart. because jackie wasn’t serving them the way they wanted needed craved being served. jackie couldn’t be that person. jackie who had been divisive in her leadership before they even crashed, because what is leadership if not a spotlight that people can adjust to make you glow like something ethereal or to point out all your flaws with great illumination? jackie had larger than life expectations put on her (and they were warm and sunny and positive some of the time yes, but that all curdles when it’s left in the spotlight too long.)
so suddenly lottie is divisive. there are teams around her and against her and myth built up, but the myth isn’t that she’s the bratty unhelping girl who gets whatever she wants like it became for jackie, the myth is she is our only hope. she is our savior and salvation and seer. and she doesn’t need to even say anything to make that so. jackie didn’t need to say anything to make them color her selfish (other, but bad). lottie doesn’t need to say anything to make them color her anointed (other, but good). she is girl vessel, girl hopes, girl dreams, a witch hunt where she Better Be A Witch.
doomcoming lottie snapped. she was On drugs and she was Off drugs and she was tired and she gave them something to cling to that they could shape into more with the seeds of the past (bear and blood and you get the picture) that they’d already been trying to plant in her image. (jackie did the same that night. she snapped, she yelled, she gave them something to cling to that they could shape into more with the seeds of the past that they’d already been trying to plant in her image, do you SEE??)
and of COURSE natalie understands both lottie and jackie. of course she knows what it’s like to be doing nothing but your best, to not want the responsibility, to be seen more as liability than asset, even though the only reason you can fail so hard is because you provide so much. before the crash and after, because girl carrying the weight of family secrets and girl who bears their insecurities and girl who SEES that they are insecure so she cannot even bring herself to be ANGRY with them and girl who hunts. girl who hunts and feeds, but now who hikes and disappoints, because there is no game to bring home, but that can only be Her Failure because it is Her Contribution, do you hear me are you with me??
so natalie walks for miles and she eulogizes jackie and she steps out of her reward her one small comfort and she makes sure that lottie sinks into the hot water and she apologizes, she apologizes, she apologizes. because maybe she’s mad, maybe she says it isn’t fair in the heat of the moment, but at the end of the day she knows who she is and what she is and all that they’ve made her and she carries that responsibility. (like jackie the girl she wasn’t home to save and lottie the girl she doesn’t know how to reach. it’s too late for them, there are no words to undo it. jackie was sealed when she made captain and natalie was sealed when she pulled the trigger and lottie was sealed when she warned van.)
and taissa finally TAISSA. she has hidden her secret. little girl looking in the mirror and seeing something that shouldn’t be there and older girl who is hearing things that she shouldn’t hear and leading people places she shouldn’t be able to lead them to. she doesn’t want it and she’s made it the Most Known of them all. don’t tell lottie, don’t tell the others, don’t bring it up. and van who champions her so naturally, so routinely, so lovingly for all the normal things. van who believes in the supernatural. van who has simply refused to die. van can’t hold it in anymore, because taissa’s sight Brought Back Javi. but tai doesn’t want her to mention it to the others. tai is perceptive and tai understands power struggles and she’s tired and hates this part of herself and she’s scared and she’s logical and she doesn’t want to Be Lottie (not lottie the girl from New Jersey who shoplifts, but lottie who better be a witch).
so maybe I’m seeing things myself, maybe I’m reading too deep, but here’s what I saw in old wounds.
lottie, who sits quietly while the others discuss her prophecy. lottie, who seems to have developed an openness to a different view of jackie in her death, because she was girl there and now she’s girl gone and she served them again in death and maybe lottie didn’t quite have the right idea of her and maybe lottie is in her seat now, in a way. lottie, who wanders into the snow without ever really agreeing because it was never really a choice, and cuts her hand because it can’t hurt IT CANT HURT.
natalie, who signed up to hunt when it was spring and warm and possible, who knows that it will be hers always and forever now. natalie, who will always be the reason they are starving, more than the reason they are fed. natalie, who is jealous of the girl who is bone, because she was allowed death. natalie, who has sympathy for all of them and knows that lottie has been made her rival through the mechanisms of group projection than her own volition. so she bathes her and tends to her and apologizes to her.
taissa, who has always been a leader and always been under scrutiny but did so in a way She Could Control. taissa, whose deepest secrets are being unfolded before her eyes because she can’t stop herself from divulging them when she is unconscious. taissa, who might start to think that maybe lottie didn’t ask for this.
so jackie is bone, and natalie is hunter, and lottie is seer, and taissa might be even more so. natalie alone in the realm of the mundane (for this), but aware of them all, so I’ll set her aside for a moment.
jackie accidentally opened the door to this spiritualism. she was the seance and doomcoming (and the first communion), but she didn’t mean for it to be that. she meant to cheer them up.
lottie thought that jackie had it wrong, thought that she didn’t use her position to protect the girls, because she refused to work with the woods and lottie tries to save them and protect them and negotiate with the wilderness for them.
taissa thinks that lottie has it wrong, because she feeds into their delusions and her power is a runaway train in this setting and taissa wants to keep them alive in the best way. the practical way. except that logical leadership never led to anything out here and her other self, her spiritual self, found javi after months.
pedestals and wrecking balls and clearer views once you’re hoisted up with the girls on them. girls who are not Them but who are What Others Say. shauna dictating jackie and mari dictating lottie and van dictating taissa and everyone dictating natalie. everyone meaning the best and riding the high of delivering it, until it’s cut out from beneath them. you don’t go from great to fine. the mighty don’t fall to land on a straw bed with the rest of them, thanks for trying and welcome back. they are Icarus and their love for the others is flight and their belief that They Can Do It Better is the sun and the sun burns. in death or in life or in dreams.
and maybe in old wounds lottie understood jackie a little more and taissa understood lottie a little more and nat, who has always been able to understand them all, can watch and wait and hope that it changes things. but it won’t. because they aren’t driving their own stories anymore.
so they’ll hunt and they’ll bleed and they’ll walk in their sleep and, no matter what they say or don’t say, the others will fill in the gaps.
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wileys-russo · 1 month
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Can’t share it but look at Toni Duggan’s IG story. LOOK AT MARY. The arms, the biceps, the tongue???? The legs????? The amount of unholy things I am thinking right now. Wowo.
so real
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luck-of-the-drawings · 2 months
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OH ARTHUR BENNETT.. such a gorgeous and intriguing character. terribly burdened by a GRUESOME set of crimes, his light suffocated by a HEAVY century of GUILT. so tragic, so dark and broody, and yet PAINFULLY awkward in any social setting ever
#jrwi fanart#cw blood#jrwi show#jrwi suckening#arthur bennett#OUHH THIS ONE WAS SITTING IN MY WIPS FOR SO LOOOONGwhen i took it out there was mould on it :sob:#BUT i think i was able to fix it up okay#i keep seeing SO MANY MISTAKES RRAAAHHH BUT YOU DONT SEE THEM RIGHT?? THATS ONLY ME. RIGHT?? EXACTLY.#THE KEY IS TO SAY. AND REPEAT AFTER ME. 'FUUUCK IT WE BALL#so anyway. arthur bennett huh? grizzly says that arthur is reaal fuckin difficult to play. and i SUPER get that. i mean LOOK AT HIM..#grizz often needs a minute to think abt what hes gonna say in a way that matches w that Stoic Personality. which is FAIR but also that#ends up making way for awkward confrontations like: the lady in the parky lot. he took too long to answer and scared her away.& I LOVE THAT#arthur is tragic and sad and cool and stoic but hes ALSO awkward and silly and kinda dumb and short sighted. HE HAS COMPLEXITIES#I LOVE WHEN TTRPG CHARACTERS HAVE A GOOD SET OF SHORTCOMINGS. ESPECIALLY WHEN U FIND THEM ONLY AS U PLAY THEM.#I COULd go on and on saying the same things w different words abt arthurs intriguing and entertaining character but i shall spare u. for no#ILL ALSO MENTION HOW MUCH I LOVE HIS FLAVOR THO.. I LOVE TALL HOT BOY WHOS ONE W THE DARKNESS.. I REMEMBER WHEN HE FIRST MENTIONED THE#BADLUCK. N I WAS LIKE OOOHH THATS WHY HIS DESIGN IS SO COOL N CHAOTIC N ASYMMETRICAL. HES UNLUCKY!!! i love love love his design so much...#GRaaauruguguraguhhghghgh what else what else is there for me to spew on abt...i think im reachin a limit here..OH MAGNUS. i hope that#we get to know more abt how magnus and arthur met.. like How they became besties... ouuhh... I ALSO WANNA KNOW MORE ABT MARY DAVIS. LIKEHOW#he also apparently spent alotta time in a zone dominated by edward twilight? all he remembers is constant partying? I WANNA KNOW MORE..#i think i got room 4 one more ramble SO. THE ART PIECE.as i said its gone a lil stale BUT. im still very proud o the bits where hes allScar#I WANNA SEE HIM GET SCARYMORE. I like the idea of shadows solidifying to make him strange and eerie.like TEETH n CLAWS n SPINES n YESS#also the SILVER EYES.no1 does silver eyes like the show Claymore. they make em look so striking and eerie...i also like to think that#human arthur had deep beautiful brown eyes.just in my beaitufl heart.i mean look at him..i wanna cook him n eat him.ANYWAY#i think thats all my ramblin for this piece. now i gotta go cancel a single day i had ata hotel bc my work schedule change last minute FUCK#feel free to ramble in my tags aswell tho i read all of them and i chew on thenm and i love them so sos os mcuh
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newtonsheffield · 1 month
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Molly, I loved little princess bean Katie and Lady Mary with Dilf daddy King Sharma 😍 we need more. How did they meet? Did Katie catch Mary sleeping in Dilf King Sharma bed? I need to know!! please 🙏
Oh they’re super sweet.
Once upon a time, Mary was only Lady Mary Sheffield, the Earl of Sheffield’s daughter and Tharman was only His Royal Highness, Tharman, Crown Prince. And He had a very sweet daughter.
“Now, I’ve arranged for you to sit next to the Prince at dinner.”
Mary stared at her mother as they sat in the back of the car weaving through traffic. “How, and more importantly; Why?”
Her mother waved her hand. “I made a donation to this… whatever this charity is.”
“A children’s hospital? You know, sick children.”
“Don’t be so…snippy tonight.” Her mother sighed, “Mary, please. Please don’t be sarcastic tonight.”
“So… don’t be myself?” Mary asked, eyebrows raised. “I’m to sit next to the Crown Prince for some… ungodly reason and… become mute.”
“Oh don’t be dense.” Her mother scoffed, “He’s had long enough. It’s high time he married again and you, if you would put in just a modicum of effort; would be perfect.”
“He’s had long enough?!” Mary squawked, a little horrified, “Mama, his wife died from complications after childbirth. I think he’s allowed to grieve.”
“Oh, is that what you’re worried about?!” Her mother rolled her eyes, “Darling, you could ship the girl off to boarding school by the time you’re actually married. And I’m sure they have people who would take care of her in the meantime.”
Mary knew that all too well. She’d spent an entire childhood of her own with no one but a nanny for company, her parents sometimes not even in the same country. So lonely.
Mary gaped at her mother, “What are you-?! I can’t believe you.”
“You’re quite pretty when you smile. Just flirt with him a little, one thing can lead to another. A little pregnancy scare in a few months and-“
“I’m not sitting beside him!” The car pulled up to the venue and Mary slipped out as soon as she could, desperate to slip away but her mother caught her by the arm, her nails digging in.
“You are going to. You can’t not. How would that look?”
Her mother was right. She could hardly refuse to sit beside the prince without it looking like a slight but all she felt in the pit of her stomach was dread. Dread that increased with every step she took.
She could feel her mother’s eyes boring in to her from three tables away as they waited for the prince to arrive, Mary already in her seat. He’d become a bit of a recluse truly, in the four years since his wife had passed away. Appearing at events and leaving as soon as would have been appropriate. She’d seen him quite a few times at a distance, though they’d never been introduced and as she stood, waiting for him to make his way across the room.
He was handsome, up close. She realised as he inclined his head to everyone at the table and his eyes fell on her. His jaw sharp and his eyes kind, his thick, dark hair curling over his brow. So handsome that she fumbled a little as she curtsied and she could nearly hear her mother cursing across the room.
“Please, please. Everyone sit.” He smiled, “I’m sorry I’m so late. A little Princess was telling me all the reasons why I should take her to the toy store tomorrow.”
Everyone let out a polite chuckle as they settled into their seats and mary did the same, feeling a little wooden. Avoiding her mother’s piercing gaze. She could hardly focus on anything as the dinner started, staring at her glass of water as conversation started around her.
“Is everything alright?”
His voice was warm, close to her ear and it startled her, the gentleness in it. She let her eyes slide to his and a lump appeared in her throat at the gentle concern colouring his face.
“Of course, your highness.”
His eyes slid to her name card, “I’m sorry I’m not better company, Lady Mary. I’d be very happy to trade places.”
Mary breathed a sighed imaging her mother’s furious face. “Lord, please don’t do that.”
“I’m very happy for you to choose the topic of conversation then. I’ll admit I’m a poor conversationalist these days. I spend most of my time with a four year old. Well, she will be soon.”
There was something so sweet in that. In the way his eyes lit up as he spoke about his daughter and his smile grew brighter. And it made her brave.
She cleared her throat, smiling as she took a sip of her wine. “Are we acquainted enough that I could ask you for a favour?”
His eyes widened but he leaned in, smiling bemusedly, “Well we’ve known one another a full minute. I have to imagine we are.”
“No matter what I do tonight, can you pretend to be very uninterested in me?”
“Do you want me to be uninterested in you?”
“I want my mother to think you are.”
“Ah.” He gave her a tight smile. “I see.”
He cleared his throat, making a great show of leaning away from her. “I’m sorry, Lady Mary, I disagree!”
She bit back a smile, “Maybe a little too dramatic.”
He winked at her quickly before he turned away completely, nudging his elbow until her hand rested on it and it looked for all the world as though she was desperately trying to get his attention.
“Did you try, Mary?” Her mother tutted as they left. “Did you actually try?!”
“I did, Mother.” She said sighing, “I’m not sure what you wanted me to do? Take my dress off and sit in his lap?”
Her mother stood stone faced. “You aren’t anywhere near as amusing as you think.”
“Maybe not, but I am going home.”
“Fine. You’re useless to me anyway.”
Mary sighed as she turned away, trying not to let it sting as she made her way down the steps towards her waiting car. She was almost there when she heard a voice call out.
“Are we safe?”
She started at the sound of his voice and turned to see him waiting for her, grinning a slightly lopsided smile that made her heart skip.
“Ah well, she’s deemed me useless and sent me home.” Mary chuckled, “She continues to think I’m a disappointment so… I’d have to say quite the win tonight.”
His laughter was a bemused, warm little thing and she had the oddest impression that it had made its way into her chest. “I’m always glad to be of assistance, Lady Mary.”
“Very gallant of you, Your Highness.”
He really was very handsome as he smiled at her in the moonlight, dimples on his cheeks. He paused for a moment, “Can I… ask you a question?”
“I think we’re past that point. Surely.”
“Why? Why did you…? Many women might have behaved differently and I just… Why?”
Mary sighed, honesty spilling out of her. “If I give my mother this… it would never be enough. I will never be enough for her. And it doesn’t seem fair for you to be drawn into all that.”
He gave her a sad smile, leaning in closer. “Then I’m afraid to say it but your mother’s an idiot.”
Surprised laughter burst out of her and she loved the way his smile grew at the sound of it.
“Then it’s not because you’re seeing someone else?”
Her heart stuttered. “I’m not but…”
“Lady Mary I wondered if you’d like to have dinner with me. No one would have to know. I only… It’s been a long time since I enjoyed myself at one of these things and I… I’d like to get to know you.”
She stared at him, a little in shock but the answer came without much thought. “I think I’d like that as well.”
It was a nearly two months later, when she woke up warm in his bed, his chest warm behind her before she slipped out of it. Throwing the shirt she’d slipped off his shoulders last night back over her as she padded towards the kitchen.
His sister had taken Kate out the night before, she’d bring her back this afternoon and something ached in her chest, something anxious at what they’d been dancing around. Her meeting his daughter.
He loved his daughter. That much was obvious. From the way he spoke about her and the fact that his study was covered in scrawled pictures in bright green crayon. The greatest gift of his life, he called her, with so much warmth that a lump grew in Mary’s throat now just thinking about it as she opened the fridge. There was another, bigger kitchen, Mary knew, where professional chefs toiled away but this was for the family alone, so they didn’t have to bother the staff over tiny little things. Hunger gnawed at her stomach and she was so engrossed in her own thoughts that she almost didn’t hear it.
“Who are you?!”
“Fuck!” Mary squawked in surprise, letting out a screech as she dropped the jug of orange juice she’d just lifted off the shelf, the glass smashing on the floor at her feet as she whirled around.
A tiny girl was standing in the door way still in her pyjamas, fluffy slippers on her feet. She had Tharman’s thick, curly hair that cascaded down her shoulders, his little twin as she stared adorably up at Mary, tapping her foot.
“My Appa says that’s a naughty word.”
“I’m… I’m so sorry.” Mary gasped as footsteps sounded in the hallway, Tharman rushing in.
He was only in his boxers his hair disheveled from sleep and the way Mary’s hands had run through with her legs over his shoulders and his jaw fell open at the sight in front of him. Mary, naked but for his shirt. His daughter, confused. Juice, all over the floor.
“Kate, Peanut.” Tharman said finally, picking her up and settling her on his hip with an apologetic look at Mary. “Auntie Im was supposed to drop you off later.”
“Granny said she needed her.” Kate chirped still staring at Mary, who could hardly breathe. “Where are her pyjamas?”
Mary wanted to fall through the ground, truth be told, trying to tug the shirt further down her thighs. “I… left them at home.”
Tharman smirked a little looking up at the ceiling before he sighed. “Kate, remember how we spoke about how sometimes Men and women have special friends?”
Kate nodded, resting her chin on her father’s shoulder. “Then they get married sometimes.”
“Sometimes.” Tharman said quickly, “Well, this is Mary and she’s Appa’s special friend. Can you say Hello?”
Kate smiled at her, a cheeky little grin as she reached out her hand for Mary to shake, “I’m Kate.”
Mary’s heart fluttered as she held her hand out to take Kate’s tiny one in hers. “It’s nice to meet you kate. Your Appa’s told me so much about you.”
Kate looked suspicious, “Appa is silly.”
“Appa’s very silly.” Tharman huffed in agreement, kissing his daughter’s temple.
“Are you going to stay with us today?”
Mary looked at Tharman who smiled encouragingly before she nodded, “If that’s okay with you.”
“Mary might be around here a lot from now on, peanut.”
Kate looked between them slowly, her lips pouting. “Mary can you read?”
Mary bit back a laugh, “I can read, yes.”
“Can you do voices? Appa’s bad at them.”
“I can… try.”
Kate patted her father’s head in a sign to let her down and she tugged Mary’s hand forward dragging her out of the kitchen, calling back to her father. “Mary and me are going to get books and toys Appa!”
Tharman kissed Mary’s cheek quickly as she passed sighing as they left “I guess I’ll clean up the juice then.”
And when she sat on the floor with Kate on her lap and Tharman across from her it was shard not to feel as though this was the start of their little family. Even if no one else knew yet.
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What if I told you I'm a matsermind?
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nothingtoseeherebyeexx · 10 months
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have you drawn masc lily to match the fem marauders…
yes i have but ages ago, so i here you go!
(mary and marlene pull this type of shit every year)
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Marls *giving the best performance of his life*: hundreds of gingers are brutally murdered every christmas-“
L: “it’s april?”
Marls: “-sign our petition to help put a stop to this madness”
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close up of the petition bc you know the marauders were up for it
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