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creative-caramel-coffee · 7 months

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Stuck storming

Pairings: Weems x R (Platonic)

Word count: 2.7K

Summary: You and Weems get stuck in Burlington. Luckily Weems has somewhere for you to stay. However unluckily you get sick.

TW: flooding, sickness (like flu symptoms), prescription meds, anxiety, medicine

A/n there will be a part 2 to this but the whole thing was too long (in my opinion) to post as just one chapter/post. And I felt I needed it to be long to get in all the good stuff.

The rain smashed against the windshield and the wind blew relentlessly. You and the headmistress had been on your way back from Burlington when you got the storm warning. Principal Weems had been hoping to make it back to nevermore before the roads flooded. All the two of you had was her laptop, your sketchbook, a pencil-case, her work planner, both of your wallets with various amounts of cash and credit cards, your uniform and the clothes on your back. If you got stuck there really wasn’t too much to do until you made it back. You had left your phone in your dorm, but you were pretty sure that principal Weems had hers in the pocket of her white blazer. Luckily you had the foresight to bring a single change of mildly comfy clothes for the drive back, not eager to sit in the car for hours in your stiff uniform.

You felt bad, it was partly your fault the two of you were in this situation. It had begun when your art teacher had posed the idea to Larissa during a staff meeting to enter the best of the art classes works into the annual competition at Burlington. When she had received a call back a few weeks later she was pleasantly surprised to hear you had won. She had yet to see the artworks as she had simply given the teacher permission before she was wrapped up in work again.

As a part of the prize, the winner had their work exhibited at the art museum and the company hosted an event of their donors, other artists and art critics. It was a good way for the school to show face and even potentially scope for new donors. When Larissa had seen your artwork, a large painting of nevermore, she loved it. It was done in acrylic paints set at sunrise with the colours bouncing off the stone walls. She offered you money for it to hang in the school, but you declined saying she could have it for free as it was too large to take home with you after the school year.

Larissa had chatted idly with the other high-end members of society, and you showed face and awkwardly thanked people when they complimented your art. You honestly had no idea why you had agreed to enter, praise was not something you were very good with receiving. Larissa seemed to notice and often helped change the topic for you.

After around a stuff half hour of pleasantries and fake smiles you took your sketchbook and hid out further in the gallery to sketch. After a while Larissa came and sat with you before the event ended and you said your goodbyes. You changed in the gallery bathrooms and put your folded uniform in your backpack around your sketchbook to protect it from the rain that was starting outside. The backpack wasn’t waterproof.

However now it seemed you weren’t going to be making it back today or maybe even tomorrow. You had had a lucky run so far but coming across one of the creeks it had risen above the bridge. Effectively flooding and meaning you would have to stay in Burlington for the night. Larissa sighed.

“Sorry darling. Looks like we’re staying for the night.” She said apologetically.

“It's alright you didn’t cause the rain.” You smiled.

“I guess you're right.” She said and put the car into gear.

After the drive back you pulled into a parking lot in front of a what seemed to be an apartment complex.

“Um is this a hotel?” You asked, confused. Larissa laughed softly.

“No darling. This is my apartment.” You looked at her surprised. “I often have conferences in Burlington and so do other teachers, a few years ago we raised funds to buy and apartment so teachers could save costs and opt for something other than a stiff hotel mattress for however many nights they would be staying.”

“Cool.” You said.

“I’ll go find a park you go into the warm.” She said pulling up by the front door. You nodded and got out. Larissa went to park, and you found the door locked. With no other option you clutched your bag to your chest and stood in the rain waiting. After a few minutes Larissa came hurrying over.

“Darling? What are you doing outside still?” She asked concerned.

“L-locked” you stuttered and she mentally facepalmed, it was after five of course it was locked. She quickly put in the code and ushered you inside. You were freezing your teeth chattering and you began to worry you were going to get sick from the rain and the cold.

“Come, we need to warm you up.” The principal said and pulled you into an elevator. She pressed a button and pulled you into her side with an arm around your shoulder in an attempt to keep you warm. She ran her hand up and down the sleeve of your soaked hoodie to try and get some warmth from the friction.

After what felt like ages, the lift stopped, and Larissa put in another code. Explaining that each floor was an apartment so each level had its own code so only those who lived there could get in. After a minute a small light above the keypad went green and the door shuddered open. You stepped out after Larissa, and she turned on the light. The place was clean and very modern. White walls and grey stone bench tops. There was a kitchen with a fridge, oven and microwave which was in an open plan living room. There were ceiling to floor windows in the living room which looked out on the city below. There was a dining table and couch and a tv. Down the corridor you assumed were bedrooms, bathrooms and maybe a laundry room.

“Go hope in the shower love. First bedroom on the right. It had an ensuite. I’ll leave you some of the spare clothes i keep here on the bed for when your done and we can put those in the dryer after.” She said setting her bag down on the table. You nodded and scurried off. You left your bag just inside the bedroom door. You checked your sketchbook was ok and thanked god that you had the foresight to wrap it in your uniform, which had kept it dry.

You stripped of the soaking wet clothes which were heavy with water and stepped into the steaming shower. You shivered at the contact the warm water made with your skin. It felt amazing. Using the soap which smelt suspiciously like your principal, you also washed your hair. After a thorough shower you stepped out and towel dried your hair. Carefully opening the door wrapped only in a towel you peaked out. Just as promised, principal Weems had left you a shirt which was too big on you and fell to your mid thighs but was comfy and soft. She had also left a pair of tracksuit pants with a drawstring that you couldn’t imagine her wearing no matter how hard you tried. You put the clothes on and looked n the mirror. A bit baggy on you but you rolled up the cuffs of the pants and it was fine. You were mildly surprised to see the t-shirt was an old band t-shirt which looked like it was from the 80s based on the words on the back. “Rolling stones world tour 1987” was printed in big letters and you giggled imagining your hard-working principal dancing around in a crowd at what would have probably been a rave.

After warming yourself up, you groaned as you realised the pressure in your head wasn’t from the heat but another reason. The beginnings of a headache budded behind your eyes, and you pressed the heel of your palm to them in an attempt to stop it. You sniffled and the pressure in your sinuses grew.

“Dammit” you cursed. How were you supposed to survive in close quarters with your principal when sick? Normally you isolated yourself and looked after your own body until you were better. But you doubted you would be able to do that or hide the sickness from Larissa.

Heaving a sigh, you opened the bedroom door and wandered back into the living room. The principal was sat with a mug of hot chocolate and there was a second one on the coffee table. She was scrolling through Netflix, and you plopped down beside her. She raised a brow but didn’t comment, opting for another sip of the chocolate drink. She gestured towards the mug, and you thanked her and cradled the warm drink in your hands. Taking careful sip incase it was hot, the blissful taste of liquid chocolate smoother than silk and rich as honey flooded your mouth. You let out a small noise of content and Larissa laughed making you blush slightly.

“It's my own special stash. I keep it for after stressful conferences. I get it imported from Switzerland.” She said and you looked at her wide eyed.

“The Swedes?” You asked and she laughed again and nodded. “Well, they certainly make good chocolate. And I’m happy I get to have it again. Thank you principal weems.” You said and she smiled softly at you.

“No problem darling.” She said

“Reminds me of home.” You said with a sigh.

“How so?” She questioned after settling on a studio Ghibli film and lowering the volume to continue the conversation.

“First of,” you began “you have excellent taste in Tv. Second, despite only ever visiting Austria, it runs in my blood. I have Austrian heritage and so at home we have a lot of Austrian food. I learnt to speak German as a kid but i don’t remember to much of it, just enough to get by.” You said and she looked at you impressed.

“Germans not an easy language to learn as a kid.” She said and you shrugged.

“I guess just… you know, talking about Europe reminds me of home. Plus, I traveled across Europe with my family as a child. I’ve even been to Switzerland and tasted their fondue firsthand.” You said with a smile.

“Im jealous.” Principle weems said. “Their cheese and chocolate are what their best at.”

“Oh, and don’t i know it.” You smiled. After a natural lull in the conversation the principal turned up the volume slightly and you curled up on the couch to get comfy. Larissa spared you a glance every now and then to check on you but you seemed content.

You didn’t remember falling asleep when you woke up. But there was no better way to wake up than to the smell of pancakes. You popped your head up to look over the back of the couch into the kitchen and smiled. The principal was dancing slightly as she cooked and looked up and met your eyes, blushing slightly at being caught.

“Good morning darling.” She said flipping another of the pancakes. “You were sleeping in late so i went to the shops and got us some food. It looks like we’re not leave anytime soon.” She said and you looked to the window. The rain still coming down hard. “I’ve contacted the school and your friends to let them know we are ok. Luckily i have my laptop and it didn’t get wet so I can always work remotely. You can do whatever you want today. Other than leave the apartment.” She smiled. “Im afraid I don’t have much here to do but there’s always the Tv and i have a random assortment of stationery you can use for art.” She smiled and you nodded and rubbed tiredly at your eyes stifling a yawn.

You felt worse today. The headache had fully set in, bordering on migraine territory. Your throat felt raw, and your head felt like it was packed with a lovely sand and cotton blended concrete that would probably only be sold as a torture device in the seventh circle of hell itself. Even after rubbing the sleep from your eyes and blinking the light hurt a bit and your head was swimming. It was feeling a bit too warm in here, but you opted to ignore that and focus on the idea of food. After a minute you stood and sat at the table. Larissa came over a minute later and put down three plates. Two empty and one piled high with a stack of breakfasty goodness. She handed you a glass of apple juice and you thanked her.

After eating some of the pancakes and drowning them in the sticky syrup the principle had provided you paused eyes wide, made chew.

“Shit.” You said and the principal paused.

“Ms L/n-“ she began but you cut her off.

“I don’t have my anxiety meds with me.” You said sounding slightly panicked. Larissa paled slightly.

“Darling?” She said slowly and carefully. “What happens if you don’t take them?” She looked almost scared.

“Oh, i’ll be fine. A bit more anxious than i like to be. But fine.” You said coming to terms with it.

“Hmmm.” The principal hummed. “Are they prescription?” She asked and you nodded. “I’ll see if i can get the nurse to send a script to the local pharmacy that’s just down the road. And i’ll pick them up for you. When do you need them by?” She asked looking at her watch.

“Preferable as soon as possible but i can wait.” You said poking at the food on your plate. It seemed like the room was getting hotter and it was getting harder to downplay the congestion in your voice. The excuse of sleep was quickly running out. After another pause, she spoke again.

“I’ll grab them after breakfast then.” She said, “do you want to come with?” The principal asked and you knew saying no would either be rude or suspicious, so you nodded. After you had eaten the uncomfortable heat had seemingly only gotten worse. You were speaking less now, and you felt principal Weems’s stare burning into your back as you watched the rain from the couch as she washed up. You knew she was getting a little suspicious now and the sickness was getting harder to hide.

After putting the dishes away, freshly hand dried and scrubbed Larissa came over to you. Placing a hand on your shoulder she frowned at the heat coming from you, but you quickly turned around and spoke before she could.

“Ready to go?” You asked hoping to sound more put together than you felt.

“Sure. Let me grab my car keys.” She said and decided to let the matter go for now. She grabbed an umbrella and the two of you went down to the car.

For some reason even the car was hot. When the principal wasn’t looking you pressed your overly hot forehead to the cool glass of the window and sighed slightly. However sneaky you thought you were being; you weren’t. Simple as that. The principal had been around more than enough stubborn teenagers to know when they were sick. Pulling into the chemist she unbuckled at reached over to press her hand to your cheek. Your eyes were closed so you jumped slightly at the unexpected contact. She clicked her tongue and sighed.

“Darling why didn’t you tell me you were sick?” She asked, her tone was gentle but stern. You turned to look at her alarmed which she thought was strangely endearing. Your cheeks held the flushed pink of a fever, and your eyes were growing glassy.

“I-i didn’t want to make you worry about me.” You admitted softly and she sighed.

“Darling it’s my job. And i also care about you.” She said softly. “I’ll pick up some medicine and supplies while I’m in the pharmacy. You stay here and hold down the fort.” She said and you hummed, placing your face against the glass again, eyes fluttering shut. The principal frowned; she had been expecting to have to fight you on it. Concerned she made a mental note to be quick.

MASTERLIST

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shalpilot · 1 month

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What happens ate Port Anaty...?

you've opened the flood gates. Mildly tipsy, this is gonna be a ramble.

So for my oc crew I have a few arcs vaguely planned out/set into a timeline. Port Anaty takes place after the ~seeeeeeconddd~ish... arc/saga where they've picked up one extra crewmate. begrudgingly. Like, he's not even official by the time the arc starts but he definitely earns his place by the end I can tell you that much.

To set the stage: We are already on the Grand Line. Tyro (left) + Kuri (right)

are the sole (official) members of the Nautilus Pirates and have pretty much just set off. They made a brief stop in Alabasta where they got roped into burning down the records room at Rain Dinners by Habba

who kinda owes like. a lot of money to the casino. and is also a very recent ex-member of baroque works. So they cut their trip a little short because there's assassins after them for helping this guy out and also maybe a warlord??? for some reason????? why is he involved???????

So they make a very quick getaway. they pull up in Port Anaty, which is attached to a large island with a pretty odd landscape. Sheer cliff faces out of nowhere, steep drop offs, and four seasons on one island? at once?

they reunite with Habba and are yelling at him when all of a sudden they. get mugged.

this is Roethbar. (with a slightly different design- he won't have the white tuft in the rest of the images!)

He politely asks for all of their valuables, and when Tyro explains that they don't have anything; they're just researchers (lie via omission- they just also happen to be pirates. and habba is also there.) he gets VERY excited and brings them to see his daughter, who is in a tower that looks over the port town. "brings them to see" is a little misleading, though. basically what he does is

yeah !

When they regain their bearings, Roethbar insists that they tell Odette, his daughter, stories from their travels.

after a little bit of discussion,

Tyro takes over. She doesn't tell a story from their past travels, though, and instead gives a story about a queen who cried pearls and her escape from the king. Roethbar questions her about where she heard that tale, and she waves it off as just being an old fairy tale she heard growing up. Roethbar concedes that they've done what he asked of them, especially since Odette enjoyed listening to Tyro. Before he escorts them out, Odette asks if she can invite the trio to the play tomorrow night.

Roethbar is ultimately swayed and agrees to let them come watch the show.

He then throws them off the tower.

Kuri catches everyone- (His Devil Fruit lets him change the state of matter of his body- so he can make himself liquid/gas/some weird in-between states) and him and Tyro grumble about whatever the hell it was that just happened. Habba, who's been surprisingly well-behaved this whole time, is like... you guys. We Have To Go To That Play. Kuri (who does NOT like Habba, like, at all, ever since he almost got his sister killed in a fire (sort of on accident)) scoffs and insinuates that he wouldn't peg Habba as the kind of guy to be interested in plays. Habba says he's not, but that guy was Roethbar. You don't just turn down Roethbar. He gets two blank stares in response. ...C'mon, guys, Roethbar? Captain of the Eclipse Pirates? You- oh my god you are newbies. Habba gives them the gist- you don't want to piss this guy off. His mood changes on a whim, and he is an incredibly powerful Devil Fruit user. You cannot let him get the upper hand on you, no matter if you're in a fight or not. Honestly, it was probably a good thing that Kuri and Tyro had no clue who he was- if they'd known and been afraid of him, he could've used that to his advantage. But yeah, they have to go to that play so Roethbar doesn't get pissed and completely annihilate them all. Also, they should do their absolute best to not piss him off in any other way, so its time for an outfit change, baby!!!

While out outfit shopping, Tyro actually runs into someone familiar- but when she tries to say hello to Odette, she shushes her and pulls her into an alleyway. See, she's not supposed to be out here, especially not when she has a performance tonight, but Tyro's story was just so inspiring she had to give freedom a shot. Odette's mostly talking to herself, justifying sneaking out, promising herself that she'll be back in the tower before she has to start getting ready for the play, clearly stressing herself out, and Tyro asks if Odette's... ever? been out on her own before? Odette tells Tyro that no, when she does go out it's only for very short walks and she's always accompanied by someone on her father's crew. For her own safety, of course! She's so beautiful that who KNOWS what could happen to her if the wrong person saw her. (Tyro admits to herself that yeah, she is pretty.) Tyro then offers to escort Odette around the port town- they probably have about the same amount of knowledge about it, so they'll both have fun exploring together! And they do :D The whole time, Odette is switching between having the time of her life and fretting about getting caught. Odette's also dumping quite a bit of info about her dad- he's barely home, and when he is, it's to see how Odette's rehearsals are going and barely anything else. He usually sets right off back to sea as soon as her performances are done. The whole situation has been setting off alarm bells for Tyro since they got launched into her tower, but what finally cements that she wants to do something for Odette is when she spots someone from her Father's crew out on the town and runs away to keep from being seen. When she catches up to her, Tyro offers to take Odette along with Kuri and... nope, just her and Kuri! No One Else Is On Their Crew. I mean, Roethbar leaves as soon as the play's done, right? And then he won't be back for how long? By the time he finds out Odette's gone, they'll be halfway to the New World. Odette balks at the suggestion, but says she'll consider. Tyro does tell her that her life here is safe, but it's not right. In the end, it is her decision, and Tyro wants her to do what she wants.

Odette doesn't realize, but that's the moment she made her choice.

The play that night goes pretty well. It's a massive spectacle piece, the auditorium is packed. Odette is a star. Tyro is completely enraptured by her acting, Kuri is also having a good time, and Habba hasn't fallen asleep! Probably because he's on edge about Roethbar being in the audience, but heyyy a win's a win. Everything is coming to a close in the play, then Odette stumbles over her line. Instantly, everyone can feel a shift in the atmosphere.

Someone very, very strong, is very, very mad.

Odette scrambles to get back on track, and though she's nervous, she pushes through and doesn't make any more mistakes. Once the play is over, Tyro rushes backstage to find her to see if she's made up her mind. While she's looking for Odette's dressing room, she overhears Roethbar yelling. He's angry and disgustingly disappointed in his daughter for making a mistake- clearly, she needs more time to practice, and less time running around outside. Odette is trying to apologize to him this whole time, but she can't get a word in and is clearly upset. Tyro barges in on them, not caring (or believing, at this point) how "dangerous" Roethbar is. She yells at him for not appreciating what a talented girl his daughter is, and for locking her away like she's some treasure to be kept in a chest.

Roethbar laughs.

That's exactly what she is.

He draws his sword, and as he does, back in the auditorium, audience members rise from their seats and surround Habba and Kuri.

Roethbar explains to Tyro that his Devil Fruit allows him complete, total control over anything he owns. He conquers so he can control everything. The people on this island? All his. The islands themselves, smashed together from four different original locations? All his. And his daughter, of course, is his. And he's not going to let a little pirate fill her head with thoughts of freedom.

Obviously, there's a fight. Kuri and Habba are fending off the audience members and members of the Eclipse Pirates while trying to find Tyro. Tyro is face to face with Roethbar, who's daughter is begging him to let her go. Odette gets shaken off to the side, and Tyro is barely able to dodge Roethbar's attacks while she grabs Odette's hand and runs.

Obviously, they try to run. Unlike the port, Odette knows the auditorium like the back of her hand. It's directly connected to the tower, so she's spent countless hours inside. They run into Habba and Kuri, and keep up the pace through the halls while looking for the exit. Odette directs them, and finally, they reach the doors. Habba breaks them open and tries to push everyone through, when suddenly the floor shatters and they're separated again. Kuri and Habba can only look on from above the massive sinkhole that's opened up as Roethbar descends on Tyro and Odette.

Obviously, there's no way they could win. They've only just started their journey. And now it seems like it's going to come to an end. Roethbar hisses at Tyro. How dare you try to steal my daughter away from me. How dare you fill her head with thoughts of freedom. How dare you try to escape. Tyro tries to fight back, but her harpoon gets shattered and cast to the side. It's all over. Roethbar raises his sword.

And Odette takes the blow.

Both Roethbar and Tyro scream. The ground quakes again, but this time, it's not from Roethbar's Devil Fruit. No, this time, in a burst of shock, rage, and absolute terror, Tyro has unleashed a power she didn't even know she had. Roethbar collapses.

Habba and Kuri struggle to keep their footing and consciousness. Habba tells Kuri to run, which he refuses to do until his sister is safe. Habba refuses to let him go down in the now ever-expanding pit and scooping up a still wailing Tyro. She screams at him to let her go, to take Odette with them, but Roethbar is already starting to stir. Habba apologizes, truly, deeply, but he can't let Tyro go back.

There's no saving her.

Habba grabs Kuri as well and gets them all far, far away as fast as he can. They're back on their ship and setting off before Tyro can even begin to process. She's furious at Habba and screams for them to turn around, but Kuri stops her. Kuri hates, hates that he has to tell his sister that there's nothing they could have done, but it's true. They're new. They're weak. There's only two- No, only three of them. Truly, there was nothing they could have done except not go in the first place. And now all they can do is run.

#ask shal #long post #ocs #oc: tyro #oc: odette #oc: habba #oc: kuri #oc: roethbar #yeah they get their 'get strong or get fucked' arc like. early.#bc this takes place pre-canon op #like. pre the current story.#so this *is* their backstory. lol #thank you for allowing me to ramble lolololo #anyways gn chat

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heartofspells · 1 year

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@wolfstarmicrofic

Prompt: kettle

It mocks him, resting on the countertop so innocently, not even a curiosity to anyone who takes notice. Old by generations, the number of hands that have touched over its shined copper finish, mildly dented in places from lifetimes lived, are incalculable. It's seen good days, bad days, horrendously tragic days, exhilarating minutes and breathless announcements, bared its witness to growing families, healing hearts, set idle and forgotten during intimate touches that had crested like the tides of an ocean, swelling up, clinging to the walls until they were imbedded in the paint itself.

But it's only a kettle. It shouldn't possess the ability to mock.

Staring at it now, Sirius knows it's absurd, hating the thing as much as he loves it, but he can almost hear the laughter seeping and spilling from its spout, grinding into his chest like a meat tenderizer hammering over his heart, reminiscent of a sound he's heard nearly every day for most of his life and yearns for again. It echoes from the pot, bounces off the window, rains from the ceiling above his head until he's drowning in it, nothing more than memories.

The mockery of days past is cruel and unforgiving.

"Padfoot. What are you doing?"

Turning slowly on his heels, Sirius' bleary gaze lands on his godson standing in the doorway, feeling as though he's staring through a heavy fog. Harry studies him with those same green eyes that Sirius had committed to memory every day for so long, years gone by like a gust of wind, there and scattering, memorized to a small pocket of his mind long before the boy was even born. He's different now, so much older, grey streaking his hair, lines worked into the skin of his face, age showing clearly. Sirius speculates his own does as well, but he wouldn't know, having stopped seeing his true reflection in the mirror decades ago after Remus telling him repeatedly that to him, Sirius still looked just as he had at eighteen, Sirius understanding it in the way he's always seen the other man, in the way he sees Harry now, nothing more than that gap-toothed smile beaming at him from his toy broomstick in their back garden at four years old.

"Tea."

He clears his throat when the word emerges as nothing more than a rasp, a whisper of sound, too long gone by without speaking, voice falling to disuse. "Tea," he tries again, a bit clearer this time, but Harry's face twitches with it, the corners of his mouth dragging down like the gentle sloping of hills.

"Want me to – " offers his godson, stepping forward, but Sirius shakes his head once, sharply, stopping him as he turns back to the kettle.

"No, I've got it."

Grabbing up the thing, ignoring its laughter and the flash of hands that used to handle it, Sirius fills it with water and sets it to heat. Neither man talks as it boils, a strange but knowing silence settling around them, words exchanged in other ways, remembrances of conversations creeping up from the vinyl flooring beneath their feet, dripping from the door hinges, crawling from their very bodies.

Harry pulls the tea bags from the canister on the counter as Sirius collects their cups from the cupboard beside his head. He almost smiles pettily when the laughter still flooding from the kettle turns to a scream, but he doesn't, grabbing the thing to end its suffering and his own, jolting to a stop as he goes to pour the water.

"Oh," he breathes, eyes resting on the third cup in front of him, useless now, serving no point, and he nearly drops the kettle, forcing his numb fingers to grip more tightly instead.

Harry stares at the cup as well, a familiar thing, belonging to only one person, irrevocably stained in places from decades of use. Audibly swallowing, his green gaze shifts to Sirius, but Sirius can't look at him, frozen in place, no longer certain of what to do or how to keep going, his heart ceasing to beat, only for moment that feels like an eternity.

Saying nothing, Harry shifts, flipping the canister open again, removing another bag. He drops it into the cup, finally drawing Sirius' attention, gazing at his godson as the other man smiles, the expression unbearably sad but still somehow bright enough to pull Sirius back to himself as he frowns in silent question.

"For Moony," says Harry solemnly.

Sirius' breath stutters, hands shaking as he looks at the cup again, but he glances at his godson after a few seconds, nodding in agreement.

"For Moony," he echoes, and he pours the water.

#wolfstar #sirius black #remus lupin #harry potter #sirius x remus #sirius/remus #cw: grief #wolfstarmicrofic #my microfics #my writing #holli writes

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babydrummer · 9 months

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hellooo ,,, (evil smirk)

i’m so very curious as to what rainworld is as i’ve only been exposed to it through tumblr and tumblr alone; and to be frank it looks very intriguing and very confusing. ok basically what i’m saying is that if you wanna infodump abt rainworld onto me.. please do i’m a little lost

OH MY GOD MOOR you've activated my trap card i am legally obligated to ramble about rainworld. alright. SO

rain world lore is very. VERY vague and cryptic. even i don't know the whole story n i used to be obsessed with this game so i may or may not be getting this all wrong. but here's the jist.

thats you. you are a slugcat. a fucked up little guy half goop and half kitty. you just happened to be exploring the world with your lovely little slug family when WOOPS it started raining real bad and you accidentally got separated. now you're alone. and at the very bottom of a very brutal food chain.

the world you inhabit is INCREDIBLY FUCKED. essentially, no one here can die. ever. you exist inside a horrible cycle of death and rebirth. it sucks. if you get eaten you wake up the next day just fine. kill the annoying predator lurking outside your den? he's fine. this continues for forever (probably.)

a billion or so years before you existed, there were these people(?) called the architects (? i think?) and they really wanted to die. they had built a great utopian society blah blah blah and now they wanted to die. so they built these MASSIVE computers called iterators and were like "heyyyy lol. please figure out a way to kill us. please"

and the iterators (who are sentient by the way) were like "okay bet" and got to work thinking. but the architects got really bored of waiting and kept searching for their own way to die and eventually, they FOUND SOMETHING. at the very bottom of the world there was this weird substance known as void and if you jumped into it you WOULDN'T BE REBORN.

the architects were like "hooooly shit we're fucking free" and a lot of them jumped in. but turns out the Void has a TERMS AND CONDITIONS. turns out there's this thing called karma and i have no clue how it works but if you had too much / too little karma the Void would spit you back out as a weird eldritch creature cursed to never live or die again.

the architects were mildly freaked out by this and no one really knew how to deal. they kept the iterators running to try and figure out an alternative to jumping into the Void but eventually the architects were like fuck it and killed themselves via void anyway.

a billion years passed. probably. i dont know. but in that timeframe, the iterators made a group chat (im not kidding) between like the 8(??? i forgot how many) of them and were like "heyy lol you guys made any progress on figuring out how to die" "nope lol." this continued for a while.

BUT THEN SUDDENLY. one of the iterators was like "HOLY SHIT I FIGURED IT OUT" and then fucked died. and everyone else was like "HOOOOLY SHIT?????" but no one else could figure it out. and this kinda spurred the iterators on a little more (i think.)

eventually this is where YOU come in. you meet two of the iterators, Looks to the Moon and Five Pebbles, (yes they have strange names dont worry about it they dont mean anything) and while Moon is too run down to properly communicate (in the normal route), Pebbles is like "man lol i don't know what you want you fucking cat weirdo. if you wanna die there's this void thing i guess."

so you saunter your goopy ass down to the void and jump in. and die. and you have a vision of your family. all is well in the world (?????????)

AND THAT'S JUST THE BASICS FOR THE NORMAL ROUTE. THERE ARE FOUR MORE. AND THEY'RE ALL STUPIDLY COMPLICATED. I LOVE IT.

also the reason rain world is called rain world is because every now and then it rains so bad it floods the entire world. it turns out that rain is coming from the iterators. they are apparently SO BIG that the water they use to cool themselves evaporates into CLOUDS THAT CAUSE FLOODS.

also in one section of the game you get to crawl through their systems and eat their neurons. which is cool.

#.mine #long post #rain world #i'll explain more later these are just the basics .

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amysterywrappedinanenigma · 10 months

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Whichever one/combination you'd like out of 5, 7, and 14 for the Fic Ask Game!

I hope you're doing well :)

5: A great fluff piece: There are so many, but I think I'm gonna have to go with 5PM Every Evening, On the Dot by @mvshortcut

A beautiful beautiful post season 1 Martina and Kate fic, with mostly fluff and a little bit of light angst, I just <3 <3 <3 <3 The characterization is so spot on, and the dialogue is so perfect for each character, it’s one of those fics where I can hear the dialogue being spoken by the actual characters while I’m reading it, which is so impressive and hard to do. It’s such a sweet look into the characters and their relationship, and also totally immerses you in the world.

7. Specific Line that has stuck with you: More of an exchange than a line, but it's got to be from it's still raining. by @sqenthusiast

"I hope our students are okay..." SQ mumbled into his collar after another moment of silence. staring out at the flooding parking lot. Martina scrunched her nose. " Our students?" "Well... we taught them, right? That makes us their teacher, and them our students... I think" "...Oh. I hadn't thought of it like that." She said, brow furrowing, "The word 'teacher' always made me think of an adult."

Just. oof. I spend so much time thinking about how young the Executives are, and how long they've spent under Curtain's thumb, and I'm going to cut myself off there because those feelings probably need a separate post.

14. Fic(s) that you reread a LOT: what a pair! by @bi-demon-ium

Okay most people who know me in this fandom know that I have a soft spot for Jackson and Jillson (putting it mildly lmao), and this one just makes me smile no matter how many times I’ve read it. It's very silly and fun, and there’s some beautiful bonus Curtain angst at the end, which Gert always does insanely well.

#ty for the ask!! <3 #I hope you're doing well too!#realizing as I'm posting that this is super executives-heavy sorry about that #but I know you also love them so I hope you like these fics if you haven't read them already!!#also i just saw that you did a j&j fic in june and I'm about to hop on that the SECOND I get a chance #ask game #fic rec

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wuxiaphoenix · 2 years

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This Joint is Jumping

Frogs. Everywhere. Willow Rosenberg would probably yelp.

...Maybe. They’re very tiny frogs. As in perch on your pinkie nail, or thumbnail with plenty of room left over.

Tiny little treefrogs, making their way out of whatever water spawned them into the wilds of hedges, basil plants, and the back porch. Yesterday I counted over a dozen clinging to various parts of the rain-soaked mosquito screen, then gave up on numbers, because the bushes were quite literally hopping with intruders. Not to mention the porch was mildly flooded, to the point one tiny frog swum across it.

Granted, the layer was so thin you probably couldn’t drown a housefly in it. It’s the principle of the thing.

Let me back up and explain.

Where I live backs onto a drainage ditch. It’s dry - most of the time. When it rains like there’s no tomorrow, however, as it did yesterday, said ditch is feet deep in water. Because the ditch leads to an ephemeral marsh, which is just this side of a hill of sand separating it from a pond big enough to support fish, turtles, and Muscovy ducks. The sand is usually high and dry; proof lying in the fact it supports a fair amount of Conradina plants, and they do not like their roots wet. Further proof lying in how many fire ant nests lair in that area. They don’t like their tunnels wet, either.

But since it’s sand, the pond doesn’t have to overflow during a heavy rain to fill the marsh, and then the ditch. Water can just seep through. And does.

Which is why the itty-bittiest of bitty treefrogs were fleeing.

Treefrogs are specialists. True frogs hang out in ponds and marshes and spend lots of time splashing in the water. Treefrogs, on the other hand, are the weird cousins of the family that decided to go exploit an ecological niche true frogs couldn’t, by swarming up rocks, plants (especially trees), and stray cars to hide in damp niches and eat unsuspecting insects who are always terribly, fatally surprised to find a frog way up here.

This exploitation is aided by the stickiest toes this side of a gecko, that can curl around branches, bits of concrete, and any other tiny ledge or crevice. The sticky toepads are important for this, but almost as important is having freely-moving digits to grab onto things. Like our own hands do.

Except. You can’t grab onto things well if your digits are webbed. So treefrog toes... mostly aren’t.

Treefrogs can and do swim. But they don’t swim as well as a true frog - and the tinier they are, the less they can fight currents and stay out of the gaping mouths of minnows, herons, and stray diving spiders. They like to be moist. They don’t like being submerged in several feet of water.

So hard rain leads to drainage ditch filling leads to frog invasion. At least at this time of year. Earlier this spring it led to the marsh filling up and a whole lot of frog calling at night, and even daytime. Which is of course why there are now hordes of tiny froglets.

Something to think about, if you’re considering hitting your characters with endless waves of monsters. If your monsters aren’t just hungry for human flesh, where are they really trying to get to? And what are they trying to get away from? The answers could be life or death for everyone!

#creative writing #why are the monsters running?#frogs #treefrogs #swarms

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thesickpanda · 2 years

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The Unpleasant Consequences to Uninformed Opinions and Worldviews

Warning: This is a very long post about ideology, ableism and how echo chambers make fools of otherwise smart and good people. If you’re going to read it, find a comfy seat and get a cup of tea. We’re in for a ride.

I am in considerable emotional pain and psychological distress, because I have just had a big argument with two leftwing friends of mine over their worldview - most notably, a worldview I was shocked to learn they hold.

I need to write this post out, both for my benefit, and for the benefit of others who may find themselves in a similar quagmire (I am still working it out, so there might be updates).

First, a bit of background about me: I am a migrant, a woman, queer and disabled. I have multiple chronic illnesses, and I am also a millennial (so broadly speaking, facing more difficulty than the previous 2 generations). In addition, I suffer from depression, anxiety and C-PTSD (I have been in therapy for a long time.) I am left-leaning, a feminist and a humanist, and I am agnostic.

The past few years of my life have seen an absolute tidal wave of stress, from natural disasters (bushfires followed by 3 floods) to a pandemic that has, in effect, created an apartheid for the healthy and the chronically ill, to painfully cutting all ties to my abusive family (and some toxic friends), to a steady worsening of my health.

My life right now consists of isolation, Sisyphean amounts of physiotherapy, medical appointments, fortnightly trauma therapy and EMDR, and otherwise feeling really friggin’ sick all the time. It has also been raining for 2 years due to a back-to-back La Nina, meaning that I haven’t even been able to go outside much or safely meet with the handful of friends who are local to me.

It has been, to put it mildly, depressing as fuck.

The past 2 weeks have seen me enduring back to back MCAS flares, a botched holiday, and broken plumbing we cannot afford to fix, toxic mold exposure, and a hard-to-reach dead animal under the house which has created a putrid stench in my home. (Now not even my house-prison is a pleasant place to be). My mental health can only take so much, and I have reached the end of my tether.

So I did what therapists and well-meaning bloggers tell you to do: I reached out to my friends and asked them to come by and cheer me up.

Now for a bit of background on my friends:

My friends are a heterosexual couple; one is a millennial female, the other is a baby boomer male, both are white, both are vegan, both are middle class. Both are *staunch* atheists (but the younger one came from a religious background). They are animal rights supporters but neither are what I’d describe as actual activists (armchair at best). They adopt rescue animals, offer their home as a temporary safe space for refugees, are rewilding their garden, and are otherwise very kind, very conscientious people who strive to be both vegan and environmentally sensitive (e.g. shop local produce, grow their own, recycle clothes, etc.). They have been practically supportive of me with my disability and have been, on the whole, good friends.

However, I’d gotten quite upset with them the last time I saw them, because they sometimes descend into human-hating rhetoric and hold an extremely bleak view of the future, and as someone with trauma, chronic pain and depression, that kind of perspective is exceptionally unhelpful to me. As I was in an especially raw state at that time, I kind of bit their heads off about it, without explaining WHY I needed more optimism and hope in the people around me, so this gathering was also going to be a chance for me to describe my emotional landscape and what I actually needed from them.

I was going to explain that I needed people to uplift and inspire me at the moment, not present me with a ton of reasons why I should give up on life and people altogether

This gathering was on Friday. We didn’t get to that discussion right away. Instead we had a lovely lunch, a hearty chat about our respective lives, enjoyed some time petting their three dogs and otherwise bonded nicely. It was only toward the end of the day that I brought up the issue, and initially, it was received well. For context, I was primarily addressing my male friend, as he was the self-confessed diehard cynic. We reached a mutual understanding, laughed at some of our behaviour, and an agreement was reached to respect the boundary (no ruthless negativity around their depressed, sick friend) that I had placed.

And then I made the mistake of addressing my other friend about something she had said that had really bothered me when we last got together, namely as an example of “what not to say” to me in the future…and she got defensive.

Long story short, two weeks ago we were having a discussion about the message of the Netflix series “The Good Place” which is ostensibly a show about the human condition, philosophy and optimism. They didn’t like the optimism in it and concluded that while entertaining, the argument presented in the show (that people can change, humans have inherent worth and that there’s reason to hope) was naive and silly. Cynics love to paint the hopeful as weak-minded, delusional children. It’s a toxic, egotistical and lazy position to adopt, but that’s a rant for another time. Anyway, I challenged them on this reductionist takeaway from what is such an inspiring series, and used some examples. One example I used was the collective effort by the fans of John and Hank Green (youtubers, educators and philanthropists) to build a maternal health hospital in Sierra Leone, thereby drastically reducing the horrific rates of women dying in childbirth (and/or their babies dying too). My female friend’s immediate reaction to that? “Oh, great. MORE HUMANS.”

Dear reader, I don’t think I need to elucidate the many, many ways that is a white privileged, deeply insensitive, horribly extreme perspective to hold. It is also, I am afraid to say, the logical end to certain forms of veganism/animal justice philosophy. Humans are seen as a plague upon this planet, so every human birth is therefore a Bad Thing, and every human death therefore a Good Thing for Planet Earth. It’s a grossly over simplistic, philosophically lazy and dangerous way of thinking.

So I brought this comment up, both as an activist who founded a non-profit and worked for 8 years trying to improve the rights and wellbeing of women around the globe, as well as a person from the African continent, as well as a person with a disability born in a rural hospital. And I called that line of thinking out for what it is; privileged, racist, and classist. I tried to do it as nicely as I could, but I knew in my gut that that line of reasoning, in the hands of despots and taken to its extreme, has historically led to genocide against POC, queer and disabled peoples. It is an alarming thing to hear parroted from otherwise kind, good people who in their everyday lives are making efforts to reduce suffering (I need to stress my friends are otherwise good people).

I brought this back up with her at our next gathering, and rather than having a meaningful conversation about it, things quickly crossed multiple lines of emotional and intellectual decency. First, it was a classic White Privilege Defense (i.e. don’t call what I said racist/ableist, you misconstrued me and I was not implying the thing I just implied). So I asked questions to get to the bottom of why she thinks that. The automatic, almost robotic responses were: “Humans are a plague on this earth and the sooner we all wipe ourselves out the better.” that led to “It'll be a good day when I, the vegan, die, as the planet can breathe a little easier”. Ok, so the old Humans are a Virus/Agent Smith argument, got it. But then it went further into a discussion on the value of life itself, and how that is essentially negated by the existence of suffering. Pay attention…

Humans equal suffering for the animals and the planet. I agree, but I also believe that humans can turn this around (and there is ample evidence that supports this belief). They don't think we will. No one can prove that one way or the other just yet, so it’s an argument with a dead end (they are arguing likelihood, I am arguing potential and possibility). Then it went to, “any kind of suffering is bad. It’s bad that predators have to kill and eat other animals to survive”. She brought up the example of watching a documentary where you see a lion chasing down a gazelle, and you don't know who to root for because you care about them both. Ok, I say, but that is how life evolved and suffering is part of life. She disagrees suffering *should* be part of life. She cites a quote from her mother, “My mother says life isn’t fair, and I refuse to accept that needs to be the case.” Ok, but “fairness” is a human, moral construct. It is impossible to build a totally fair world, but you can strive for a more “just” world. Conflating fairness with justice is not a productive use of time. I bypass that and instead, I question further, “Well, given that lions have to eat meat to live, how would you go about solving that suffering? Because if all humans disappeared tomorrow, lions would still be eating impalas.” She said, “I think as long as suffering exists, life shouldn't”.

Wow. So I said, “Ok, so if a big red button was put in front of you right now, and you had the power to press it and wipe all life out from Earth, would you do it?”

And she looked right at me and without a hint of irony, said: “Yes.”

So I said, “So you’d kill me? I don’t want to die. Despite the suffering I endure as a woman with a chronic pain condition, I want very much to live.”

To which she replied, “It’s nothing personal. But I’d still press that button.”

So I said, “Then why stop at Earth? What if life evolves through struggle on all other worlds? Would you wipe them out too?”

“Yes.”

“Then why not erase the Big Bang entirely? So that suffering never existed in the first place?”

“I’d do that, yes.”

This is such extreme nihilism as to be absurd. It’s absolutely insane reasoning. So at that point I just stared at her slack-jawed and she held her position rigidly. “What is the point of a dead, empty blank space?” I asked.

To which her partner replied, “There doesn't have to be a point. You don’t exist so you cannot feel strongly about it one way or another.”

How, dear reader, do you respond to such a reductionist, emotionally reactive and extreme perspective?

Nowhere along the line did they use an ounce of imagination. Nihilism is the lazy cynic's brand of philosophy, and it has been thoroughly argued against by philosophers and thinkers from many cultural backgrounds and lived experiences. No consideration was given to the fact that as we experience life subjectively, there are a myriad ways to interpret suffering (as well as all other facets of existence). And if there’s one thing that the existence of numerous organisms teaches us, it is that, despite suffering, the vast majority of beings on this planet want very badly to live. Because life is so much more than just suffering. It is joy, wonder, love, passion, curiosity, bittersweet victories, awe…. By saying that life should not exist if suffering does, you are devaluing all the other things that coexist alongside suffering, as if they don’t matter.

This is an argument that hits VERY close to home for the disabled and chronically ill, because that line of reasoning has been used to support eugenics and the genocide of so-called “unfortunates” like us. (This is also why I argue in favour of heavily regulated voluntary euthanasia, because it should be up to the individual to decide how much suffering they can stand, not some outsider whose ability to endure discomfort may be wildly different to your own).

There’s also the obvious, philosophical counterargument that suffering also gives meaning to joy, just as death gives meaning to life. You cannot know joy without also knowing suffering. It is a pigheaded childishness, and an extreme intolerance to pain of any sort, that leads to people railing against that fact.

All I know is that people land on this conclusion when they are deeply unhappy. I too have gone for a wallow in the pool of nihilism when it All Got Too Much. It’s a seductive option. Nihilism doesn't require any effort on your part, and you can get a real high from riding a self-indulgent negativity train into the void. Giving into your indignation and sense of personal injustice is a heady mix of ego and self-destruction that can be absolutely intoxicating in some of the bizarre relief it provides you in your darkest moments. But as a person who has suffered tremendously in my life (and will continue to do so for the remainder of it), I have learned it is not a healthy or sustainable position to hold, and that it hurts you in the long run, and the people who care for you, too.

Ultimately, this is a blend of a number of factors; a severe reaction to pain (who hasn't experienced some form of trauma across their lives?) leading to an intolerance of pain in general (in yourself and others); it is also an extreme form of dogmatic benevolence (“I will put you, and all life, out of its misery for this is the only way to be kind”) and, tragically, it also skirting the edges of ecofascism, which has infiltrated into leftwing spaces at an alarming rate in recent years.

I have been vaguely and uncomfortably aware of the ecofascism underpinning the anti-human arguments leveraged by my friends (and many other vegans who have come from an extreme background), but I didn’t have the actual term for it until recently. When I came across it and read about it, that understanding validated all the upsetting emotions I’ve experienced listening to them talk of human annihilation as the only solution to the crises facing this planet.

Take, for example, the negative response to the survival of brown babies and their mothers in Sierra Leone as a result of the maternal hospital. Here I quote Naomi Klein from this excellent article:

““If you look at where there continues to be the highest levels of population growth, it’s the poorest parts of the world with the lowest carbon footprints,” Klein added. “But when [that conversation] immediately moves the discussion to overpopulation, we’re changing the subject from unsustainable overconsumption by the rich to the procreation habits of the poor, and that’s a very political decision.”

My friend messaged me last night to vehemently deny anything she said was racist, but the fact of the matter is that it was, and she is too ignorant and privileged to see this. This is unfortunate, because it doesn't stem from anything inherently bad within her, but from a lack of exposure to alternative worldviews and perspectives, a lack of critical thinking skills (which are not taught in schools and must be consciously sought out) and from the blinkers that white privilege puts on a person. I wish she could understand that I was attacking her argument, and not her personally, but in this era of ideology-is-identity, people cannot help but take it super personally, thereby stunting their own capacity to evolve their perspective and improve their understanding of the world. That said, what she was espousing was inherently personal to me, as I am a member of three oppressed groups which stand very much to lose from such dogmatic viewpoints; indeed they are often at the root of oppressive power structures in the first place.

The article I quoted from above (written at the onset of the Covid-19 pandemic) asserts that ecofascism is not limited to the right. “Klein explained that the messaging behind viral videos of wild animals reentering environments — such as doctored videos of dolphins swimming in Venetian canals — can lead to a dangerous narrative insinuating “humans are the virus,” setting a tone of genocidal language.”

Hmm, sounds awfully similar to the proposal that wiping out all human life is the only logical option in the face of environmental destruction!

When our gathering ended, it was on a sour note. Feelings were running high, people were not hearing each other, and we all walked away feeling rotten. I for one cried my eyes out afterwards and then spent 6 hours ranting to my partner about all the ways such a worldview is harmful; harmful to marginalized people, harmful to hope, and harmful to me individually, as I had literally just expressed that I cannot handle nihilistic worldviews right now. I also argued that such thinking is harmful to my friends themselves.

Because what she was saying was so out of step with her actions, I was in too much shock and feeling too hurt to make a calm, logical case against it. And so All The Things I Should Have Said came back to haunt me, leading to a sleepless night of cold sweats, nausea and a delightful trigger of my PTSD (my toxic family are diehard nihilists who sought to ruthlessly snuff out and undermine any social justice advocacy and optimism I expressed). The PTSD triggered my IBS and I spent much of last night and most of today shitting my guts out while ruminating furiously over the situation (thanks, OCD!). Ultimately, I’ve decided not to engage with them until I have had time to calm down. Writing this blog is a way of expunging those arguments and those feelings, without hurting anyone.

In her text, my friend vehemently denied that her position is inherently ableist or racist, that she feels hurt that I implied otherwise, and that she had good reasons to hold that view which she’d like a chance to explain to me. 15 hours later, I am still sighing. I understood her argument perfectly well; the problem is she, herself, does not. She has reasons, for sure, but they aren't good. I love my friends, but they are coming up against their own limitations here, and they can’t see it. I know the two of them recently experienced a tragic loss, one which they have not moved past or sought counseling for, and it has without their knowing, warped their behavior and perspective. Nihilism and intolerance to suffering stems from pain; cynicism is a place you retreat to when you feel taken down by life, and it is a bleak, unproductive place to be and what's worse, it is a terrible thing to try to drag your loved ones into. Misery really does love company. Finally, the media they both consume is relentlessly bleak and depressing, and if that is the only information you consume, you will be manipulated into developing an equally bleak and defeatist worldview. No one is immune to this, which is why I actively seek out positive news stories to balance out all the negativity peddled by a capitalist media that thrives off human fear and sorrow. To some extent, we are what we repeatedly do, and we think what we are repeatedly exposed to or told to think.

Their loss was painful, I can absolutely acknowledge that, but by their own admission, they have had relatively comfortable lives. They balk at how much suffering I have endured, with lines like: “If I was in pain everyday of my life, I’d just kill myself! You are so strong for carrying on” (cue eyerolls from all my fellow spoonies). They have claimed that I “have the worst luck!” and “life is so unfair to you!”. I appreciate that all these sentiments come from a good place on some level, but they also come from a perspective that equates suffering as an automatic devaluing of life itself. It is a failure of imagination, and of cognitive empathy, to subscribe to the view that because someone is or has suffered, that their life is somehow “less than” as a result. I don’t see my life that way and I wish they (and other abled bodied people) didn’t, too. The lives of disabled people are not tragic; they are undeniably harder than they ought to be, but that is because society disables us, and that is an injustice. And injustice can be changed; there is plenty of evidence to prove that. But in order to change injustice, you need to have hope that A.) it can be done and B.) that it is worthwhile. Nihilism gets in the way of making any of that possible.

I wish they would instead think the following:

“I have had a relatively comfortable life in comparison to my disabled friend. And yet despite all she has suffered, she chooses to uphold an optimistic worldview and positive viewpoint wherever and whenever she can She has not succumbed to bitterness or cynicism, or a woe-is-me-mindset. I’d like to know how and why she did that. I’d like to learn from her.”

But no. Instead they choose to pity me, then paint me as either “brave and strong” OR “naive and childish” for choosing to be positive, despite All The Suffering.

It's all very tiring.

Right now, my partner has gone over there to explain in very simple terms that if they want to be sensitive and kind to their mentally ill friend who is going through A Hard Time Right Now, that it might be best to listen to her when she lays down a boundary, and it’d also be good if they didn’t immediately violate said boundary. Hopefully that goes over well. He certainly has a better chance of communicating that than I do right now, because I am still hurting and fuming.

I am reminded by the wise words of therapists and fellow spoonies, which are that you need to accept people where they are at, not browbeat them into where you think they should be; that everyone is at different points along their journey, and to try to remain patient and kind when they say and do foolish things. Last night, my partner gently reminded me that I have a tendency to fall in love with people’s potential, and thus pedestal them, only to be inevitably disappointed when they fail to live up to my lofty and unrealistic expectations of them. This is all true, but as a white man who comes from money, he is not the one constantly having to defend himself against ideological attacks that undermines his very existence (a fact he acknowledges).

That is why he, with all the poise that comes from a sense of internal and external security, can go over there and make this case to them. I would simply cry and shout and lose my temper, because after decades of this shit from friends and family, I am so very done with it.

The sad choice for people in marginalized groups is this: be friends with only people from your community who will understand you and not make these slip-ups; or befriend people outside of that community who inevitably will, at which point you will just have to grin and bear it. Because if there’s one thing I have learned, it is that privileged people do not like being called out on their privilege, and so-called allies quickly turn on you when you observe some deficiencies in their behaviors or thought processes. As someone who was embroiled in political activism for a decade of my life, I was repeatedly and brutally humbled and constantly made aware of how prejudiced and privileged I was, and over time I learned to cope with the discomfort of hearing that. I now know I have fallen victim to fascist thinking myself I have been unfortunately a bit transphobic in the past not through maliciousness but through ignorance; I have been accused of racism (I am white and I am absolutely guilty of it). And each time I wanted so badly to defend myself. But I learned that unless I was willing to accept my imperfections and improve upon them, unless I was willing to listen to the very people I claimed to want to support, I should not be in leftwing activism at all. I learned that through a very punishing initiation into left wing political spaces, and I had to swallow a lot of pride and leave my ego and preconceived notions at the door. And I am SO glad I did it. I have grown so much as a person, and I much prefer who I am today than who I was at the start of that journey.

I so wish others would see the merit in entertaining the idea they could be wrong. I so wish others would have the fortitude to be silent and listen, and to shift their perspective when required. I wish more people would take initiative to learn about the lived experiences of people different to them. But that is not the world we live in. And, begrudgingly, I need to accept this, or have a very limited pool of friends which, ironically, as a disabled person who needs help from people in lieu of a supportive government system, I cannot afford to do.

It’s been a trying few weeks, to say the least.

#long post #ableism #nihilism #worldview #ignroance #ecofascism #leftwing bigotry #unfortunate conclusions #dealing with ignorance #dealing with extremeism #intolerance #spoonie #chronic illness #disability theory

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marventbaldoliterature · 4 months

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Marven’s First Novel, chapter #14

A car stopped in one of old Manila’s narrow streets which at that time have become thoroughly drenched in rainwater because of a heavy downpour. Thanks to the area’s excellent drainage and sewerage system and its network of esteros, old Manila’s precious gems, the area never gets flooded.

Out of the car came the round black top of an umbrella which from going sideways moved upwards and showed the whitish delicate hand that wielded it and afterwards the person’s overall appearance. She was a young woman of confident bearing and dignified looks. She was wearing an outfit that befitted the rainy season. She started to walk across the street amidst the sharp, pebble-sized raindrops and approached an establishment on the ground floor of an old neoclassical building. Upon entering, she was greeted by a fragrant air conditioning and a mellowly-lit dining floor. She looked around and finally spotted the young man she came there for and who was waiting for her. The latter waved and smiled upon seeing her, and she slowly and delicately came to him.

“Hi,” she greeted as she seated herself opposite him.

“Thanks for coming. Thanks for bothering to show up.”

“It’s no bother at all. I’m just dropping by after going on an errand in the university belt area.”

“Good thing you didn’t get lost.”

“I know my way around Manila. I studied here. But this area, I haven’t explored much extensively.”

“I’m a newcomer here too. You must be tired.”

“Not much. Maybe a little. It’s nice to be here to relax a little bit.”

“Let me take care of that since you’re my guest here.”

“Are you sure? All right.”

And thus, from outside the rain-washed street, one could see them conversing with each other under a warm light.

After spending some time there, they rose up and left. As they made their way towards the door, the young woman turned to say something to the young man, but she found him gone from her side and instead saw him standing by the counter and then sprinting towards her and rejoining her at the door.

“Where have you been? What was that?”

“Nothing.”

He pulled the door for her and they stepped outside. It was still raining outside but now mildly. They moved towards the edge of the sidewalk and stood still, looking towards the incoming vehicles on the rain-washed street.

“How did you get here again?” he asked.

“By taxi from España,” she replied.

“So that’s where you went.”

“Yes. Is it true that this this place is already near Divisoria?”

“Yes, pretty much.”

“I just remember the time when I was a student when my classmates and I went to Divisoria on a rainy afternoon like this, like it was just yesterday.”

“I vaguely remember if I’ve ever been there as a child or a student. But now, I get to see that area on almost a day-to-day basis.” The young man moved readily when he saw something approaching from afar.

She also turned her head to look at the thing he’s looking at which seemed to be going towards them specifically. She was puzzled. Then her supposition was confirmed when the very thing stopped in front of them.

“Now here’s a better ride. Very nice, Fortunato.”

“What’s with the kalesa?”

“Well, you haven’t actually ’visited me at work’ as I said. My workplace is not here in this area but somewhere a little bit far. Well, not much if you’re fond of walking. Anyway, Fortunato is taking us there. So what do you think? Would you bother to spare a little bit more of your precious time for us to go there?”

“What can I do?”

“I don’t mean to impose it on you.”

“Of course, not. It’s totally fine.”

The carriage that Fortunato had with him was different from what he had brought before when he picked up Aldo while the latter was emoting. This one has a seat that faces forwards like a normal coach because he understood he was being asked for a special trip and was not presently out picking up passengers at random.

“Would you please go ahead?” Aldo asked Michal.

Michal sprang open her umbrella and approached the buggy’s springboard. When she set foot on it, she felt Aldo’s hand taking hers to help her get inside.

“Let me do this one, Fortunato,” Aldo said.

Michal smoothly got in and settled on the chair and proffered her umbrella to Aldo who, since he was already there, simply hopped in quickly and sat beside Michal.

Fortunato whipped his horse, and on the buggy went.

“Why did you come out in the rain?” said Michal.

“I’m fine. It was just momentary,” Aldo replied.

“No. You might catch a fever. Let me see. Did you get wet?” She rubbed his back first and then shook his hair and felt it damp. “You’re a stubborn child.”

“Stubborn right away? Anyway, sorry. I forgot that people are prone to flu during this rainy season.”

“Fortunato... So are you and the cochero like pals?”

“Yes. I just found out lately that we’re part of the same family. He and I have the same boss. This kalesa service is also my boss’s. I might even see Fortunato during the Christmas party. Are you going to the Christmas party, Fortunato?”

“Of course,” the man answered. “Gifts and cash overflow during Christmas parties.”

“It’s still far. What are you talking about?” Michal said.

“I’m just making a point,” Aldo replied.

“May I advise you to always carry an umbrella with you, now that the rainy season is still on.”

“I used to do that, but I always misplace my umbrellas. Plus, it’s bulky.”

“Well, you have to, still; or you’ll get sick.”

“Of course. That’s right. I will. Thanks, doc.”

After a few minutes, they arrived at the old neoclassical building, of which, Ocean Santiago is a tenant, and Fortunato stopped right in front of it.

Aldo got off first; and as his feet landed on the sidewalk, he proffered his hand to Michal.

“You’re exposing yourself again.”

“No. It’s no longer raining. It’s still cloudy, though.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” Michal leaned on Aldo’s hand on her way down.

Fortunato continued westwards as soon as Michal got off and landed safely on the sidewalk. Aldo has taken care of the man’s due for the special trip. Aldo approached the ornate concrete balustrade at the edge of the riverwalk and carefully leaned his hips on it. Michal followed and did the same thing until they both stood leaning on the balustrade either with arms crossed or hands resting on the rail against a white background and the trees of the Walled City facing the neoclassical building carefully enough lest they fall.

“This is undoubtedly old Manila. I haven’t here before.”

“Neither have I. But this is now where fate took me. This is where you took me.”

Michal suppressed a laugh when she saw one of the building’s classic signages. “So you really were not joking about the name of your company.”

“Of course. Why would I joke about that? But listen. Our company is thriving and growing because people do like us because we’re reasonable, unapologetic with profits but still reasonable.”

They passed the time talking about different topics while distracting themselves with the street scenes of Muelle dela Industria. This ended when they noticed an approaching ship to their left. They fixed their eyes on it as it moved towards their direction until it stopped almost beside them.

“That’s one of our vessels. I would like to go and see. Should we take a look? What do you think?”

“Okay.”

They walked towards where the ship is docked which is in one of the broadest sidewalks of the Muelle dela Industria exactly opposite that sort of plaza at the mouths of San Fernando and Madrid streets. When they got there, Aldo talked to one of the crew who were already outside and asked to be allowed to go on board to take a look around. The man recognized him and respectfully led him inside.

“Is it okay if I bring my friend with me?” Aldo asked.

“Yes, sir. Go ahead,” the crew replied.

Once on board, Aldo directed their steps towards the bar of cocktails and approached and greeted the crew or bartender and ordered two drinks. The crew started concocting.

“Is that alcohol, Aldo?”

“Just a little bit, Michal.”

“I don’t drink alcohol.”

“Ah, yes. I forgot.” Then turning to the crew, “Can you please just make my friend some kind of an awesome juice or something. Thank you.”

After a few seconds, two attractive-looking glasses of drinks were set on the table. Aldo handed a cash to the crew for the drinks and his troubles.

“Let’s drink these here at that table by the window,” Aldo said.

They carried their drinks to the said place; and there, they continued their conversation. After a few minutes, they saw that the sky had ceased to be cloudy and started to become sunny again.

“Let’s take these outside,” Michal suggested.

“Good idea,” Aldo replied.

They stepped out of the saloon into the deck carrying their glasses. There, they continued talking and drinking as they gazed at the river and at the rose-tinted sky.

Now that the day was about over, they now strolled along the riverwalk, Aldo on the left, Michal on the right very close to the balustrade. At this moment, she had become extremely quiet and suddenly became lethargic to engage in a conversation with Aldo. Instead, he faintly heard her murmuring some kind of a chant and gasping like a chick; I mean, baby chicken; as she gazed into vast nothingness of the river.

“What’s the matter?” Aldo asked, concerned.

Michal stuck her hips to the balustrade and placed her hand on the rail. “Nothing... Or there’s something that I’m finding just profoundly sad.”

“What is it?”

Michal didn’t reply.

“Would you care to tell me what’s bothering you all of a sudden?”

“No. Let me do the lamenting alone?” Michal blurted out.

“Lamenting?” Aldo looked down, wondering. Then his face lightened up with a bitter smile. “Of course... I get it.”

Michal turned around and faced him. Her eyes sparkled by the light of the setting sun. “You do. How?”

“What you’re thinking is indeed sad because no matter what I do, you can’t have anything to do with me, and there’s nothing I can do that will ever make you accept me. Your decision about it is firm and unbreakable.”

Tears started to trickle down Michal’s cheeks. “Is that so?”

“I understand that you think I’m insufficient or in some sort of bondage and need to be set free.”

“Then there may still be some glimmer of hope. Don’t you think?”

“To be honest, I was prepared for the possibility of you not showing up; and I’m happy that you did. Until now, you’re still being nice to me without patronizing me.”

“Why does it have to be that way?”

“Life messes around us, Michal. It makes fun of us. It deprives us of what we want and then spoil us with what we don’t need. If we don’t watch it, it will totally destroy us inside out.”

“That’s right.” Michal took a step towards Aldo, fixed her eyes tenderly on his, set her face before him, and slowly closed her eyes as if meditating or giving free rein to sorrow. She seemed to tremble and about burst in tears, and her mind seemed to have flown to a different dimension.

Aldo struggled to respond. “Are you okay, Michal?” he asked.

“I’m fine. There’s nothing wrong with me.” After a few seconds, Michal slowly opened her eyes, gently lifted her hand, caressed Aldo’s cheek while gazing at him tenderly, caught him by the neck, bent her head, drew her lips very close to his, and lifted her eyes straight into his.

Aldo finally got the hint of what she was about. “Really, Michal?”

“Yes.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Aldo completed what Michal had started and, with both their eyes closing gently, pressed his lips upon hers softly.

Michal wrapped her arms around Aldo’s neck and she in turn pressed Aldo’s lips firmly.

This lasted for a few seconds; and in that duration, Michal seemed to have found the answer she was looking for. In the end, they enclosed each other in each other’s arms tightly. They remained in that attitude for more or less than a minute.

At the end it, Aldo woke up, cast a glance towards the surrounding, and saw multitudes of people converging at the riverwalk. He looked up at the sky and saw that the sun was about to set. There were old men discussing local business and local politics over cups of smoking black coffee. There were young men just gazing quietly as they confidently sat on the rail. There were other people doing different things, but all of them were uniformly basking in the last rays of sunset to do away with the cold of the rain. Aldo took his time watching them in a different light now that Michal is in his arms and he in hers. Then, on the street, the appearance of a white taxi passing by awoke him from this trance and he quietly prompted it to stop and it stopped.

Aldo gently turned to Michal and said, “It’s late, Michal. I think it’s time to go.”

“If you say so,” she replied.

They gently let go. Aldo confidently grasped her hand as they take their time going towards the vehicle. Once there, he opened the back door for her, still clinging to her hand. As Michal was about to enter, Aldo held on and pulled her.

She had to turn around and look at him.

“It’s no longer raining in my heart,” Aldo said coyly.

Michal smiled; and for the last time, she gazed into his eyes, held him by the neck, and gave him another heartfelt lengthy smooch. Afterwards, she uttered the words her eyes indicated: “Bye, my dear Aldo.”

“Bye,” he replied.

Then she let go and totally entered the vehicle, and off it went.

tentatively titled, The Simple Adventures of a Simple Simpleton

by: Marven T. Baldo

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thearchivistsjournal · 1 year

Text

Day 141,

Morning thought: Waking up and hearing someone moving around in the house while living alone is terrifying. Waking up and hearing someone moving around in the house while living with a friend is comforting. Unless that movement is what woke you up in the first place, I suppose.

*******

Laundry’s still damp. Hard to dry things indoors with this much humidity. Rain’s finally let up though. For a time at least. First time seeing the sun unobscured in a few days. The yard’s mildly flooded, but not enough to come up past the first step. I’m actually a bit surprised I haven’t seen this happen before now. Might have to do with the very slight current I’ve noticed. There must be enough of an incline somewhere that I haven’t noticed to let the rainwater slowly drain away. Very slowly.

I’ve taken the opportunity to hang up the laundry on the porch to help it finish drying. I’d hoped to stop by and visit Pat this afternoon, but it looks like my return to the Village is going to be delayed for a while waiting on this.

In the meantime, Maiko’s gone to go check on her boat and make sure it wasn’t damaged in the storm.

Guess that leaves me to sit and watch for clouds lest the rain return and undo the drying.

*******

Back in the archive for the night. Rain picked back up again as I reached the Village, so that was the proverbial nail in the coffin (probably not a proverb they have here, now that I think about it) on visiting Pat today. Everything’s ready to go for class tomorrow though. And with the storm yesterday there weren’t any library requests pending.

I wonder if I’m getting out of shape from not making that walk between the house and the library every day any more, or if it just feels that way because when I do make that commute these days I’m lugging a load of laundry and getting rained on.

<==Previous Next==>

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xxgoblin-dumplingxx · 3 years

Text

Mind the Gap: Two

Shang- Chi woke up alone in your narrow bed and lay there for a long moment looking at the ceiling. There are plastic stars and dozens upon dozens painstakingly handwritten lines of poetry and little quotes. He wondered how you’d gotten them up there. And he wondered if you kept them because they comforted you. Or inspired you.

It was… weird seeing the parts of yourself you’d tried to hide for so long. The instruments, the books, the crystals. The way the room was flooded with colored light as the sun hit the stained glass. He thoughts of your drab little apartment. The orderliness of it. How minimalist it was. This felt better. Somehow all the missing pieces that gave him any doubts at all made more sense.

He looked at the photos. Little, frozen, out of context moments. People he didn’t recognize. Until he got to the end. Kai in Uniform and holding you, smiling while your chubby dimpled hands cover your mouth. You couldn’t have been more than 5 or 6. All puppy fat and big smiles. That made him feel warm. It was nice knowing that you hadn’t just sprung up somewhere fully formed. And that Kai, for all his unbothered attitude really did love you.

Behind him, he heard footsteps and whirled around to face the door. He wasn’t sure if it was you or not. But. He didn’t want to be caught snooping. So when Katy stuck her head around the door, he exhaled slowly. “There’s breakfast downstairs,” she said quietly, “You okay?”

“Better,” he said after a long second. “I just-”

“I know,” she said. “Her Godmother said she almost died and then-”

“And then she woke up,” he finished.

“And heard someone talking in her head, which- what?”

Shang-Chi made a soft noise that even he didn’t know the meaning of. Last night, he still hadn’t pressed on you for answers. You’d been so disoriented and tired that it didn’t seem quite fair to probe something that obviously caused that much pain. Even as he held you, you’d cried in your sleep, your hands fisted around handfuls of his shirt. And now he didn’t wonder why he frequently found you either awake and working or asleep somewhere else. You talked. Alternating between defiance and begging. It hurt. It tore at him like sharp pointed teeth. It still hurt even in the bright light of day. And he wondered if you couldn’t remember or if- if the Archive wouldn’t let you remember.

“Let’s go eat,” Katy prompted, linking her arm through his. “Lea said Y/N may not be back for hours… Something about everything being a little “off” after she loses a day or two of time.”

He nodded and reluctantly allowed himself to be dragged away from the pictures. His stomach making most of the decision for him. He wasn’t sure what food was down there but it smelled amazing. And he realized that he’d not eaten anything since breakfast the previous day.

In the kitchen, he pauses for a second to take in all the details he hadn’t noticed before. Too worried about you being alone in the bedroom in the attic. Bundles of herbs are hanging to dry. Everything is copper and scrubbed oak work surfaces. The windows are open and the smells from the garden and wet earth from the rain the day before mingle pleasantly with all the pastry smells and warm coffee. It’s comfortable in a way that isn’t manufactured for the house guests. It’s a working room. One that operates the same way year round. And Shang-Chi wondered what happened to keep you away.

Even as your Godmother, Grandmother and assorted cousins quickly ply them all with breakfast and hospitality, he can’t help but feel a little… Overwhelmed. Everyone is just so friendly and warm. No one questions them. No one is apprehensive. And as the talk flies around the table, it’s quickly apparent that you come by your humor and broody tendencies honestly. Your grandmother likes to fuss and she likes guests. She especially likes having ALL of her grandkids at home which he’s given to understand is rare.

Outside there’s the sound of horses and incoherent masculine whooping sounds after a while and She smiles, “I wondered if they’d be back before lunch.”

Shang-Chi watched out the window over her shoulder and she chuckled, “I don’t know how neither of them has never broken their necks jumping that back fence… It used to take years off my life watching them do it when they were small.”

“Daredevils, huh?”

She half shrugged, “It was almost impossible to keep either of them in the house… Wild things.” But there was more fondness than heat in her voice even as she shook her head. “Though their father being what he is, it’s no small wonder.”

He’s only half listening now as he watched you dismount from the horse you’d been riding. Your hair is messy and windblown and there’s color in your face and the careless half smile. There’s a warmth that spreads through his chest, even as his heart skips a beat.

You pause in the kitchen, looking surprised to find people there and glance at the clock frowning before checking your watch. Almost like you aren’t sure which one to believe. “Sit, Eat,” Lea scolds, pressing a mug into your hands and gesturing at an empty chair.

“I don’t think I can,” you say hesitantly.

The taller woman cradles your face in her hands for a second and turns your head to the side to inspect the still fading bruises, “Is it better or worse than it was?”

“It depends on how long I’m out for,” you say after a moment. “It still takes at least a day. But sometimes a week or more.”

“And everything else?”

“The only thing that feels right is being outside.”

Shang-Chi watches Lea and Kai trade worried looks while you studiously look at the mug in your hands after Lea lets you go and deposits you in a chair. “Try any way,” she said softly, setting a plate down in front of you gently. There’s not much on it. A little fruit, some fresh bread and some ham. But even from where he’s standing Shang-Chi can see some of the color leave your face.

“I should call the Aunts and tell them we’re going to cancel the party…” your grandmother said after watching you try to pick at the fruit before giving up and trying a bit of bread.

“I’ll be fine,” you sigh, “It’s just some nausea from getting smacked in the head hell knows how many times and the usual disorientation from not being in the same timezone as everyone else.”

“Smacked in the head?” Katy asked over her mug.

“I made my phone call. The last thing I remember is getting pistol whipped before I was yanked out of the driver’s seat… You would think, given that the Archive lives in my head it would do more to prevent head trauma but… Nah. Who needs grey matter?”

“Driver’s seat?” she asked, wincing.

“It the easiest way I’ve ever found to explain it. This is a meat mech and I don’t always get to drive… The Archive has two main objectives. Protecting the vessel that houses it AND protecting the balance of the universe by preserving knowledge… Anything that interferes with those goals is typically dealt with with extreme prejudice.”

“Typically?” This time it was Wenwu who asked and you half turn that direction and shrug, honestly grateful to not have to pretend to eat.

“Archives have never had their own physical body. By their own account and every corroborating account I’ve ever found they’re… spirits for lack of a better word. A manifestation of desperation. Probably resulting from things like the destruction of the Library of Alexandria and so forth… So they don’t really have any moral quandaries. Not the way a physical entity might.” You sigh and tilt your head, popping your neck to try and relieve some of the discomfort.

“So how-”

“I was the most powerful person in the room when a previous vessel died,” you say exhaling slowly.

“You were a kid,” Shang-Chi said taking the vacant seat on your right.

“It’s- Atypical- according to the Archive for them to inhabit children… Their ability to complete their task can be hindered somewhat by the physical ability of a vessel. But. I had the potential, I guess. So here we are.”

“That was a very coherent explanation,” Kai said mildly.

“Getting out for a while helped make some space to think,” you say shrugging again, “And i did promise an explanation.”

“Space?” Katy asked, frowning.

“Imagine putting all my books into Shang-Chi’s apartment then trying to find something,” you snort. “It takes effort. And a little time. And some shuffling around.”

“Hey!” he protested, throwing one arm over the back of your chair to tug you closer.

“It’s not my fault you live in a literal shoebox.”

“It’s not my fault you’re a nerd,” he chuckles, kissing the side of your head gently.

_________________

You stand on the dock watching the sunlight on the water and sink gratefully onto the warm wood. For a person as introverted as you are, being bombarded on all sides all the time is… Overwhelming. You can hear the people in the distance. The talking and laughing and general ruckus. It’s familiar. But right now you’d kill for silence.

And you aren’t sure but, you think that the Archive might have similar feelings. That in itself is a blessing. You’re tired. Your body is sore. And all you want is to crawl back into your bed.

“You okay?”

You half turn to look up at Shang- Chi and smile a little. “Just tired,” you assure him.

“Are you always… this way?” He doesn’t really know how to put it. Or if you really want company. But, he settles behind you and pulls you against his chest.

“Tired? Yeah. The Archive doesn’t sleep. It interferes with the mission. Which means I’m more often than not awake the entire time… Unless it affects the performance of the vessel. Then I can sleep.”

He doesn’t really know what to say to that. So he doesn’t say anything. Gratified when you don’t pull away he pulls you a little closer and kisses the side of your head.

And not for the first time, you thank whatever gods might be listening for people who understand silence.

Shang-chi isn’t sure when you fall asleep. But when he hears the quiet little snores from your head being in a slightly weird angle, he smiles a little and adjusts you carefully to be laying more securely against his chest. It gives him some time to think.

For the years that he spent dancing around you as you started as a friend of Katy’s, he’d felt a pain. A sense that something was too raw to touch. It had made you feel familiar. It made you feel like a kindred spirit. A twin flame. Even as you both tried to hold back, to love people without letting them see the ugly things you kept hidden. Even as you’d tried to build a relationship on secrets. But now? This moment sitting in the sunshine on the dock with you snoring on his shoulder, it feels more intimate than any time he’d ever managed to get you naked. For you to be this comfortable with him… Not to belittle the sanctity of a drunk make out after a duet at karaoke but… It felt like progress. Real progress. He could see the person you were under all the secrets and little white lies. And somehow, it wasn’t very far from what he already knew.

Footsteps on the dock behind him make him half turn, careful not to jostle you awake. He’s not surprised to see Kai standing there. “Is she asleep?”

He nodded, reluctant to talk in case you weren’t as deeply asleep as you seemed.

“Good,” Kai said relaxing a little. “Listen, Grandma is going to turn this into a party… It’s Charity season and Y/N hasn’t been home for anything in… a while. So the aunts and subsequently all the kids are on their way. If you can I’d carry her into the house and put her back to bed. Once the kids learn she’s here there’s not going to be any more sleeping.”

When Kai noticed him frowning the other man smiled a little. “She means well. After… Everything happened Grandma just didn’t want her to be treated like a leper.” You stir sleepily and both men wince reflexively, “Can you-”

“I got her,” Shang-Chi answered, reluctant to let you go. Not even to Kai.

And to his credit, Shang-Chi thought, Kai let him go past without much more than a nod.

#shang chi #Shang-Chi x reader #fluff #mild angst #magic #family #hurt/comfort

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lowkeytesss · 3 years

Text

God of My Heart

Pairing: Loki x Reader (gender-neutral)

Warnings: angst, goodbyes, very mildly suggestive I guess?

Word Count: 800

Summary: Saying goodbye to Loki is the hardest thing you've ever done.

A/N: This was inspired by a ficlet request with the line "God of my heart"... I have no idea how it ended up being so sad. I don't usually do angst without a happy ending, but it just... happened.

Also available on AO3.

“He’s going to take you away, isn’t he? Back to Asgard?”

You did your best to keep your words void of emotion, but just a hint of something bled through… something not quite sadness, not quite anger. It was simple resignation—acceptance of the inevitable—which somehow hurt Loki even deeper than the heartbreak he was expecting.

“We have a few more minutes yet,” Loki whispered against your cheek. “Let’s not spend this precious time talking about him.”

Thor wasn’t close enough yet for the streaks of lightning to be visible in the small window above your bed, but as the room flooded with flashes of distant white light, you knew it was only a matter of time.

Was this storm a threat or a warning? Maybe he was trying to do you a favor by giving you a chance to say your goodbyes. Either way, you hated him right now. You knew he had no more choice in the matter than Loki did, but you wouldn’t be forgiving him anytime soon.

The mattress creaked as Loki’s lean torso hovered over yours. His eyes lingered on the shadows along your face, committing those curves to memory in these last moments together for what could be a lifetime.

“When will I see you again?” You wished your voice hadn’t sounded so small just now.

“Hopefully soon, my love.” He wanted to give you hope, but he realized he owed you more than that. You deserved his honesty, no matter how painful it may be. “But…”

“But possibly never,” you formed the words he couldn’t bring himself to say.

“That is a possibility we should be prepared to face,” he admitted.

“What if…” your voice trailed off when you saw Loki shaking his head at you before you’d even completed the thought.

“Don’t say it, love.”

“We should try, Loki. There has to be somewhere we can go.”

“The only places we could escape to are lawless and far too dangerous for someone as precious as you. You’re safe here, and that’s what matters to me, even more than having you by my side.”

“I trust you. I know you’d protect me.”

“You don’t know that, darling. Neither of us can ever be sure of it, and I… I simply cannot lose you.”

You wanted to plead with him, but he gave you a look that told you he’d never be convinced—a look that begged you not to press the matter any further. The last thing you wanted was to start an argument minutes before he was gone for good.

Loki fingertips traced along the line of your collarbone and over the curve of your shoulder.

“It would be cruel of me to request any measure of loyalty from you while I’m away.” He paused briefly. “What I mean to say is, I couldn’t possibly ask you to wait for me.” For the first time since you’d known him, he couldn’t seem to meet your gaze.

“Is that your way of asking without asking?”

He breathed a wry laugh against your skin. “You always see right through me, don’t you, my darling?”

“I don’t know what the future holds, Loki, but I know for certain that I’ll never love anyone the way I love you.”

“Nor I." His voice was soft and broken, and you could have sworn you felt his hands trembling as he caressed you.

Loki watched you get dressed and smooth your hair, a quiet ritual he’d grown used to. When you were finished, you crawled back onto the bed and into his lap. You flinched at the next thunderclap, and felt anger surging in your chest. You’d always loved the sound of thunder and rain; it sounded like freedom and new beginnings. Now, for the rest of your life, it would instead remind you of this moment. It would sound like grief and goodbyes. You knew you would ever be able to enjoy those sounds again.

The next few minutes were spent in a soft, quiet kiss that may never have ended, if not for Thor’s shadow invading the space, blocking out what little light had been spilling in through the open bedroom door.

“Loki, it’s time.” Thor’s voice broke the silence as he searched for some small sign of forgiveness or understanding on your face. He found none. “I’m sorry, my friend. I hope one day you can find it within yourself to forgive me. This brings me no joy, but I must carry out my father’s commands.”

You couldn’t cry; you refused to let Thor see how broken you were. Your face was stone as you ignored the increasing ache behind your eyes, determined not to let the tears fall until after you watched the god of your heart disappear for eternity into the blinding luminescence of the Bifrost.

#loki x reader #loki fanfic #loki ficlet #loki drabble #loki x gender neutral reader #loki x you #loki angst #saying goodbye

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yellowbellbird · 3 years

Text

Under the Moonlight- Part 1 - Her

Once again, it was pouring with rain. You had been at the academy for a week, and every day had been much the same. Of course, you were happy to be here, it felt wonderful to be around other witches, to feel a true kinship to people, but something was wrong. Something inside of you was just wrong, and you didn't know how to fix it. It happened sometimes; you'd wake up and feel the familiar ache. The rain didn't help. You longed for a clear sky and sun. The memory of the sun beating down on your skin like a thousand sharp kisses made your soul ache with longing.

You'd made some friends in the academy, but mostly you kept to yourself. It's not that you didn't like them; you did. It's just something about connecting to people was difficult. The distance you had created was reassuring, and you felt slightly happy that you had protected yourself this way.

Bounding out of bed, you stretch for a moment and look at the clock. 5am. Why can't I sleep like an average person, you thought in frustration. Abandoning the idea of sleep, you throw on a thick cardigan and quietly head downstairs. Maybe there's a recipe for a sleeping draft you could find. You ponder the thought in excitement. The academy is entirely silent, the girls asleep in their rooms. Something about the academy in the moments you see it in silence makes you marvel at its safety.

A rustle in the kitchen makes you pause, someones here. You are filled with anxiety as your mind rushes through potential problems. Someone's broken in. It's a witch-hunter, the men Zoe told you about or something else wrong, but before you can get too worked up, you hear a familiar sigh. A voice you think you would know anywhere. Cordelia's. The headmistress and supreme of the coven. You'd only really caught glimpses of the woman in your week here. Zoe and Queenie had explained that some minor threat had kept Cordelia away from the girls.

The first time you saw her was in a transfiguration lesson. Zoe was showing the class how to change tulips into chocolates when a gorgeous blonde woman had whisked in, capturing your attention instantly. She pulled Zoe aside and spoke to her in a soft voice. You could only hear because you were sat quite close. You weren't really interested in the conversation, more the sound of the angelic woman's voice. It reminded you of beautiful music. The blonde stopped talking to Zoe and suddenly met your eyes. You turned away as quickly as you could and attempted to put all your focus on the tulip in your hand. When you were brave enough to sneak a look again, she was gone.

Every encounter since then had been much the same. Cordelia would whisk in for a moment and be gone in the next. Sometimes you noticed the other witches trying to get her attention and how she would smile lovingly but only engage in the shortest conversations with them. I'd learnt that this was unusual behaviour for her as the other witches complained about her sudden absence frequently. You felt mildly sad that you'd come to the academy at the only time this gorgeous woman seemed to be away from it.

Your mind snapped back as you heard her sigh come from the kitchen again. You debated going in and seeing her alone for the first time, but fear got the better of you, and you snuck past the kitchen and tiptoed into the greenhouse. It was a paradise under the soft moonlight, and instantly, you sighed in relief. The idea of a sleeping draft suddenly flooded back into your head, and you began searching through draws and under plants for anything you could use. Some of the draws were locked, and you realised you were making quite a bit of noise. The lack of sleep was making you clumsy. You sighed loudly in frustration.

You had an idea. You weren't untalented with plants; you knew they had energy, each different and unique. Maybe you didn't need a recipe and could make one on your own. An ambitious task, but you were bored of looking and besides, what else were you going to do.

Closing your eyes, you began to search for your feelings. The darkness behind your eyelids started to show colours. The plants began to hum in a way you could understand ever so slightly. You held your hands in front of your body and walked forward, quickly feeling lavender. Keeping your eyes closed, you picked a few stems of it. You became engrossed in this little ritual, moving amongst the plants, picking a leaf here and there. Only when you felt a considerable warmth behind you did you pause. Something light and powerful was pulling you back around, and keeping your eyes closed and your hands forward, you moved towards it. This was the final ingredient, you were sure. You reached up and felt something soft and hair-like in your fingers. You pulled at it to break it off.

"Ouch."

You jumped back, and your eyes flung open. Standing before you was Cordelia Goode. Dressed in a beautiful pink robe, she was rubbing her head and trying not to laugh.

"Cordelia! I mean Ms Goode. No wait supreme? Um.."

You were so shocked and embarrassed that your face burnt and you had no idea what to do.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't see you."

She looked at you curiously.

"One doesn't tend to see people with ones eyes closed."

You put the leaves you were holding on the desk behind you and used its weight to steady yourself.

"I didn't think anyone would be here. I was..."

Cordelia looks at you and then at the ingredients on the table.

"You were trying to make a sleeping potion?"

Through your embarrassment, you couldn't help but feel slightly proud that your intuition was correct. You let out a small laugh.

"Yeah. I looked for a recipe but I couldn't find one."

You gesture to the leaves and plants you collected. "I was just collecting what I felt drawn too."

You blushed once again at the thought of pulling her hair. She must think you're the craziest person ever.

"Well I'm impressed, you collected nearly everything."

Cordelia moves next to you to examine your ingredients.

"You're y/n right?"

You nod with a small smile.

"I'm Cordelia. I'm sorry I haven't been here to welcome you this week, there were some complications."

Her voice becomes dark, and it makes you shiver.

"Yes Zoe told me. Is everything okay?"

Her eyes soften as she looks at you.

"Yes dear, it's all sorted now. Nothing you need to worry about."

Cordelia sits down, and you watch the elegance in her movements, unable to take your eyes off her.

"Anyway, trouble sleeping?" She says with a small laugh that you echo.

"Yep. For the last 20 years in fact. I never could get that skill down."

Cordelia laughs, and you can't help but smile at the fact that you caused that laughter.

"Would you like some help making the potion? Well it's more of a face mask if we make the one I usually make."

You blush and shake your head.

"No no you really don't have too. I'm sure you're really busy."

Cordelia shakes her head and smiles the most beautiful smile, her lips captivating you.

"Nope. There's no threat to the coven so I'm free as a bird."

You laugh slightly at the expression you hadn't heard in so long.

"Aren't you tired?"

You ask, looking at the little dark circles under her eyes.

"I'm not a great sleeper either."

You search her face to see if she just feels sorry for you, but you see only honesty in her eyes.

"Then yes, I'd love the help. I have no idea what I'm doing."

You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding.

The next hour is lovely. You come to life in the presence of the supreme, laughing like you haven't in months. She asks about your interests and what you did before coming to the academy, and you ask her about herself. You talk about your greenhouse at home. She's very open, but you notice very brief when answering a personal question. You understand, though, she doesn't know you, and you're just her student. For a moment, you feel sad, but your face lights up again when she begins talking about how she discovered the sleep mask recipe. The awkwardness you initially felt evaporates, and suddenly you understand why the other witches missed her so much this week. She's like the sun. Completely warm and captivating.

"I think it's done."

Cordelia says, pulling her paste covered hands away. You look down at the brown covered paste she's made.

"Ew."

The consistency of the paste looks disgusting, and you frown at it. Cordelia playfully elbows your arm.

"Hey this stuff is a lifesaver, trust me darling you won't be saying that later."

Your heart stops at the pet name, and you think that if you weren't sat down, your legs would give way. Instead, you focus really hard on the horrible looking paste.

"We'll see. I've tried a lot of sleeping recipes and nothing has worked before."

Cordelia hums in acknowledgement.

"Ah but you've never tried anything made by me."

Once again, her voice makes you melt, and you try not to look into her eyes which only results in looking at her silk pyjamas which make your heart race. You look into her eyes now and see that she's looking at you softly.

"It's only 6 am. I think you could get a few hours of sleep in."

Cordelia takes the paste and puts it in a jar before moving to the sink to clean her hands. She moves back to the seat and opens the jar, taking a small amount and putting it on her thumb. She looks at you with her big chocolate eyes, and you melt under her gaze. You barely notice her lift her hand, but you shiver when her thumb traces a line on your forehead.

You hum slightly as a warmth encases your body and then blush before looking back at the stunning woman.

"It works quickly. Come on let's get you to bed."

You're about to protest and insist you can get there yourself, but your legs give way as soon as you stand up. Cordelia grabs your arms and holds you comfortingly against her body.

"I told you it would work."

You hum into her shoulder, your head struggling to stay up.

"Come on sleepy head."

Cordelia chuckles and puts an arm around your body, and begins leading you upstairs.

"Which ones your room? Y/N?"

You try to get words out, but for some reason, your mouth refuses to move. Everything is soft and dreamlike. You think you hear someone saying your name, but you're not sure. Your eyes flutter open, and you see yellow and pink before they shut again. You hum contently into the warm feeling inside your body and let your brain finally sleep.

Birds. You can hear bird calls. The noise is comforting, and you cuddle into it. You feel like you're in a warm cloud. You sink into the calm feeling and listen to the birds for a while whilst feeling comes back into your body. It starts as a tingle in your toes; you wiggle them contently. Feeling suddenly comes into your arms, and you feel yourself holding something warm. You hug it tighter in a state of bliss you've never felt before. This is the warmest perfect moment, the very moment you've been longing for. More feeling comes back, and you freeze up.

"Someone's awake I see."

Shit. Feeling starts coming back everywhere, and you realise it's not a blanket you're holding, but legs. You freeze completely as memories come flooding back to you: Cordelia, the greenhouse, the sleeping draft.

"Cordelia?"

You say softly and guiltily as if you're saying sorry. You peek open your eyes and see Cordelia's soft skin under your head. Her nightdress had ridden up, meaning you were holding her soft legs and laying in her lap. You felt fear and embarrassment seep into your cheeks until you felt her hand on your head stroking your hair.

"I'm sorry y/n. I didn't realise how strong the sleep mask was and I didn't know where your room was..."

Wait, you thought, she's embarrassed? You were literally clinging to her legs, and still, she thought she was at fault? The craziness of the situation gave you strength as you slowly moved your arms to free her legs.

"I'm the one who should be sorry. I've been holding you like a koala all night."

That earned you a soft chuckle, and you moved to sit up but ended up only lifting your head to look around. Taking in your surroundings, you saw that this was definitely not your room. It was sparsely but carefully decorated, light and open, and the bedsheets were the softest and comfortable you'd ever felt in your life.

"I like your room."

You mumble and rest your head back down. This time you move your head to lay next to Cordelia instead of on her.

"Thank you."

The husky but gentle way she says it makes you open an eye to look up at her. She's sat up watching you with wide eyes, and for a moment, you think you see the longing in them.

"Damn that sleep mud was amazing. I've never sleep that well in my life."

You don't know what possesses you to do it, but you wiggle your head slightly closer to her, so it's resting against her legs. You feel her hand return to your head again.

"I told you."

She says, and you can't be sure, but you think she's smiling. Keeping your eyes closed, you reach out a hand to feel the energy of the sun. By the angle of your hand, you deduce that it's almost nine o'clock.

"I have a class soon don't I."

You mumble in annoyance. You've just had the most perfect sleep of your life, and now you have to have classes. You sigh against Cordelia's leg.

"What did you just do?"

Cordelia whispers.

"Sighed?"

"No, how did you know the time?"

You freeze up as you realise what you have been trying to ignore—your gift. If any of the other girls had paid any real attention to you, they would have seen it, you weren't exactly hiding it, but you knew that nobody knew.

"I felt it. I felt the suns energy."

"Felt it how?"

Cordelia says in engaged wonder.

"It's how I found the ingredients for the sleep draft. The energy that every living thing has I can feel. It's better when I close my eyes, then I can see it."

You move your head to look up at Cordelia again. She's looking down at you.

"Amazing."

You feel your cheeks blush and move to sit up.

"I'm sorry if I caused you any inconvenience last night. I didn't mean to ..."

You trail off thinking of all the things you could apologise for, but she just smiles.

"Don't be."

Her voice is so silky and warm that it takes your breath away.

"I should go get ready for classes. Thanks again for the sleep draft."

She smiles warmly at you as you climb out of her bed and head for the door. You take one quick look back at her, and she looks like an angel. You pry your eyes away before you do anything else embarrassing.

A/n

If anyone’s reading this I really hope you are enjoying it! I have written quite a lot of this book and will post as often as possible. I’ll post it on Wattpad as well.

#sarah paulson #american horror story #cordelia x reader #cordelia goode

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judysupremus · 3 years

Text

Coffee Is Ready

Hi guys! I wanted to share with you what I've been working on and hopefully get some feedback. This piece is Daminette with intentionally vague plot lines. The title is temporary.

I'm still working on this, so it won't be on ao3 yet.

And it's long enough to be in 2 or 3 posts.

Oh, and the ending is mushy and bittersweet!

**********

There are very few things in Alex's life that don't make sense. Being a holder of the rabbit miraculous she's grown to accept that there are things she cannot change, things she absolutely must change, and, ultimately, to make peace with the unknowable.

The cafe does not make sense. She has not made peace with this cursed anomaly.

Alex, Bunnyx, is currently pulling a reluctant Pegasus into the burrow. Intelligent boy that he is, he does not question the bowl when it's immediately dropped on his head and is only mildly put out when they exit into a dingy alley.

The air is cold and a slight drizzle patters down on the filthy pavement. As the rain pings off of the bowl on his head, Pegasus shuffles his feet - waiting for her to speak.

"Position the portal directly here." She says, pointing at the ground directly in front her - five feet from the busy street.

"And where does it need to go?" Pegasus asks as he tucks the bowl under his arm.

Bunnyx gives a shrug and makes a disgusted face. "Nowhere."

"I can't make a portal to nowhere."

"Fine. Anywhere."

He studies her for a moment. "So, it doesn't matter where it goes?"

"Exactly! Now chop chop, we only have a few seconds before they run in here."

Bunnyx steps aside and, as she opens her burrow in the exact place she instructed Pegasus to place his own, someone comes barreling into the alleyway.

The boy is about to collide with Pegasus and the hero panics when he sees what looks like a knife in his hands. He lifts his arms infront of himself and the bowl goes clattering to pavement.

He opens the portal, thoughts wildly galloping away from him. The boy goes through the portal and, as Pegasus drops his arms, it closes.

"What have I done?" Pegasus asks in a panicked whisper. He doesn't hear the bowl roll to a stop or the shouts that are quickly approaching their alley.

He stands there dumbfounded and doesn't register Bunnyx placing the bowl back on his head and wheeling him back into the burrow. He only startles when the echos of shouting are abruptly cut off.

"What the hell just happened? Where did I send him? Bunnyx I have no idea where he went!"

"Me neither!"

He sputters in shock at her apparent lack of concern. He's still gaping at her as she leaves him exactly where she found him.

The Parisian sun is bright and warm on the rooftop. Pegasus blinks numbly behind his glasses as Ladybug shakes him by his shoulders.

"-ght? Pegasus! What happened?"

"I have no idea."

There were two people following him and doing a very bad job at it. He had snuck out of the manor for some much needed personal space, only to catch the eye of some petty criminals.

As he picked up the pace he removed a dagger from his coat. He ducks into the nearest alley in hopes of losing them, or more prefferably, not stabbing them out in the open.

Rounding the corner at such a speed meant he had no time to completely dodge the man in the alleyway. He was prepared for a fight.

Instead of running headlong into the stranger and gutting him he found himself in an empty, open street.

Instead of standing in one of Gotham's many disgusting alleyways, he found himself in a clean and tasteful cobblestone street. It was late afternoon when he left the manor but now it was late at night.

The moon floats full and high in the sky and the stars remarkably bright with it. The buildings, though equally clean and tasteful, are all dark and empty - no signs of life.

He did a few turns in the middle of the lane before stopping dead in his tracks. The lights in one of the buildings had turned on, flooding the street with a gorgeous golden glow. As he approaches he could hear music and the indistinct hush of conversations.

Damian ventures into the cafe for the first time at age 12.

***

Fluff had explained it once, if explained is the right word. Whenever the miraculous were grossly misused the universe tried to correct it. Plagg's destruction was used to murder select individuals- in return the resurrection pits were created.

Whatever happened to Fluff had created the cafe.

And Alex hated it. She didn't know where or when it was and she wasn't allowed inside.

She doesn't care who the boy is. She only cares about the consequences of him never making it to the cafe. Heretic had thrown him off course and while his resurrection should have made things right, he still hadn't been to the cafe.

But he made it there now thanks to her 'careful calculations' and that should be enough.

****

The cafe is beautiful. The main room is rather large and has several small intimate tables along the walls, sectioned off with movable partitions. Some of them are surrounded by luxurious pillows and ottomans. Others are simply a pair of armchairs or even a single loveseat.

There are more small tables dotting the rest of the open area, each with their own mixture of dining chairs, wooden stools, and armchairs.

Some tables have clothes, some have flowers or candles, and others have nothing at all but each seem inviting and pleasant. Potted plants line shallow shelves or hang dangerously low over people's heads. Ivy trails along exposed ceiling beams and down the walls in small charming clusters. Flowers such as lantanas and petite bushes of laurustine are dotted throughout as well.

The lights are a plethora of hanging lamps - none of them the same. Over one table with two tall upholstered dining chairs hangs a delicate piece with wrought iron swirls and circles. A vintage Tiffany's poppy lamp hangs elegantly over two plush purple velvet loveseats. At one of the larger tables sways a modern paper chandelier. Each glows benevolently over those seated beneath them.

The people seated in the cafe are the real attraction. They blend in so seamlessly it's easy not to notice at first. But eventually people do notice. However, to be in the cafe makes a person just like the rest.

Damian has the decency to pocket his dagger before entering the cafe, but it's still within his grasp.

About half the tables inside are occupied and he's relieved when no on seems to notice his entrance. The light level is low enough that he should be uneasy but instead makes him feel calm and welcome - two things he's not accustomed to.

In one of the corners is an open table with two faux leather lounge chairs and a hanging lamp with colorful paper lanterns. He makes a beeline for it but pulls up short at the coffee bar.

It looks like any other cafe bar he's been in with Drake. There are two espresso machines, both Astorias, framed by grinders and blenders and syrup stands. The menu hangs directly above these, chalkboards filled with perfect handwritten items. Damian is not disappointed when a mug of hot chocolate appears on the counter in front of him.

With his prize in hand Damian deposits himself in one of the lounge chairs and prepares to observe the other patrons.

***

After the first visit to the cafe Damian spends much of his free time analyzing the experience.

He did not get a good look at the men following him or the people in the alley. He had found no clues to the location either. The next chance he got, Damian returned to the alley to comb it over. To his dismay he found absolutely nothing worthwhile.

This lack of information left him angrier than usual which only led to more fights with his adoptive brothers.

Damian would spend the next three years secretly obsessing over the cafe.

Alex had also spent those three years, figuratively speaking, obsessing over the cafe as well. This boy was the first and, so far, only person she had to personally ferry to the cafe. She had hopes that maybe she could follow him to it. Maybe this boy could be her beacon to finally uncovering this anomaly.

She had haunted his steps and had nothing to show for it. So, for at least one day, Alex forgoes following him in favor of pulling pranks on Kim - her favorite pastime.

Alex missed her chance that day.

It's things like this that makes Damian absolutely hate his brothers. He has grown to...tolerate them over the years - maybe even like them. But doing things together, when it's not crime fighting, is abysmal and torturous.

Everyone was supposed to meet outside the zoo in the early hours. Dick had hoped that getting there early would draw less attention but it would never be that easy.

Somewhere along the way they had lost Tim. So then they had split up and now Damian was going from one of Tim's haunts to another.

He forcefully pulls open a door on the next cafe only to stop dead in his tracks as the door closed behind him.

The cafe was just as he remembered it - perfect. As Damian approaches the coffee bar he's surprised to see a barista this time. Before he could order or even look at the menu, they place two mugs in front of him and shoo him away.

He is so shocked that he stands there dumbly, a mug in each hand, looking around the tables without really seeing them. Damian absently catalogued the occupants - who he had seen before, who he hadn't, and who they could possibly be. He sees her then, in one of the armchairs close to the door. She lookes as if she had stumbled in, sat down, and hasn't moved since.

Damian looks between her and the two mugs of hot chocolate in his hands - she surely needs a pick me up. He could place it on the table and walk away without her even noticing. The mug makes the barest click against the dark oak table before he starts walking away and then stops again.

She had placed her hand gently on his arm but then pulls it away abruptly at the scowl on his face.

"I'm sorry. I just wanted to thank you before you walked away. So. Thank you." Damian is surprised to hear French and even more so to hear sadness. Her brilliant blue eyes are rimmed with tears and her face is flushed.

She had reeled him in and before Damian knew it he was comforting one Marinette over hot chocolate.

It felt as if Marinette has just lived through the longest month of her life. Tikki said it would get better with time but she's starting to think that is just one of those things people say - one of those things Tikki says.

She can still see his electric blue eyes - she can still see his tears.

Marinette had shuffled into the nearest cafe after school and had not budged until someone approached her table. Now she's trying to thank this gorgeous stranger without bursting into tears. He sits down, despite his scowl, and they sit in silence for a bit.

They make halting conversation, both mildly pleased to find common ground with a stranger. Marinette lights up like the sun when she talks about designing and this is so much better than her tears, so Damian indulges her. She returns the favor when it comes to questions about his pets. The affection is clear in his voice and even if he doesn't smile, she does enough for the both of them.

Making Marinette laugh feels amazing, especially when the stories are at the expense of his brothers. He tells her about the weirdest places Tim has fallen asleep, about Dick performing gymnastics all over the house, and Jason starting arguments about which novel is the best by Jane Austen.

While she doesn't have siblings, Marinette has more than enough friends. She shares Alex and Kim's stupidest competitions, Mylene's nature and community endeavors, and everyone else's hopes and dreams.

This is a breath of fresh air for the both of them.

"So, what brings you to Paris?" She asks, only slightly giggling at his anecdotes about his brothers.

Damian isn't sure how to answer. He may not now where that cafe is but he's reasonably sure it's not 21st century Paris. He doesn't know her all that well and he's afraid to scare her - which surprises him.

"Marinette, do you see that man?" He asks instead, discreetly pointing to an individual a few tables away.

She's opens her mouth, about to say 'yeah, what about him?' then pauses. He's not much older than herself and wears a doublet with roughspun pants. His boots are just as care worn as the rest of his attire but the short sword at his side glimmers in it's scabbard. She want to write him off as a LARPer, especially with his Shakespearean English, but can't quite believe it.

Damian watches her face turn from passive interest to intense observation. He follows her eyes from person to person, believing he sees more than she does - but he's wrong. They catalogue each one, young and old, human and not quite human. When her gaze returns to Damian, intent on analyzing him, she finds him scrutinizing her.

Marinette already knows what makes her 'special' but she can't pin him down. There are people in the cafe who look just as normal as they do but there must be something. Sure he talks formally, he doesn't really smile, and she's pretty sure he has a knife of some sort hidden in his jacket front, but is that all?

"So, where are we Damian?"

"I don't really know, as much as it pains me to admit." And it must pain him with how angry he looks.

Just as they are beginning to exchange theories, Marinette's phone urgently chimes.

"Merde. I really have to go, Damian. I'll come back as soon as I can, promise!"

She's up in a flash and rushes out the door, but not before kissing him on the cheek. Damian tries to dash out the door and catch her but when he steps out it's only the weak Gotham sun that greets him.

Passed out underneath the batcomputer is where they found Tim, many hours later. It could technically be considered Jason's fault, it being his job to check the cave, but nothing is that straightforward with siblings.

Each one had retreated to their respective spaces, Cass and Duke were already long gone before then. Damian had barricaded himself in his room with Titus. As he stares up at his ceiling his mind is a jumbled mess. He scratched one of Titus's ears - why did the cafe appear again? He scratched the other ear - would he be able to go back? He stroked along the dog's neck and shoulders - would Marinette be there?

At this thought his hand stilled. What was she to him if he desperately wanted to see her again? At first, she was someone in the cafe that talked to him and was open. Then she was funny and smart and pretty. And she had kissed his cheek.

Assuming everyone in the cafe has a vital reason to be there, what is Marinette's reason?

Titus pushed his wet nose into Damian's elbow in complaint.

The only real thing to do was find the cafe again. He just hoped it wouldn't take another three years.

Marinette had returned to where she thought the cafe was. But looking up and down the street she could only see apartments and a small park on one corner. Of course an akuma would interrupt the one thing that had lifted her spirits.

Not for the last time, she lamented the fact that she had run off. But how was she to know that it would just disappear? Maybe she just had the wrong street.

Try as she might, over the next several patrol nights, Marinette could not find the cafe. She finally turned to interrogating Tikki, much good that it did her. The kwami talked mystically about the different types of magic and how there instances of kwami magic in the world.

So, not helpful.

For several days after the trip to the cafe Damian would get caught staring at his phone or, more frequently, at the batcomputer.

His first instinct is to search for Marinette. It would be so easy. How many Marinettes can there be in Paris? How many are his age and have dark hair and blue eyes? He has far better chances of finding than her finding him.

And this is where he would pause - does he want her to find him? Marinette is understanding and forgiving but would a friendship last when he would keep so many secrets? He's getting ahead of himself - he has to find her, and the cafe, first.

Damian has his fingers on the keys, above to type in her name and Paris, but then Dick walks in and asks what he's up to. Damian stomps out of the cave - he'll try again later.

In a huff, Marinette gets up from her computer. She didn't expect to find anything when all she has is his name and that he's American. But she had hoped that a little Ladybug luck would help. Tikki has the audacity to giggle at her and say it doesn't work that way.

Ladybug had brought up kwami magic with Chat Noir but when they met again he said Plagg told him to leave it alone. Plagg had proceeded to sulk in his cheese stash.

She had been stopped by Tikki when she went to ask the kwamis in the miracle box.

So, kwamis are sensitive to whatever bits of magic they've left in the world.

It's been 10 months and two days, not that they're counting, before Damian walks into the cafe again.

He had been in Metropolis with Jon when the super got both of them lost. And then they got separated. And then it started to rain heavily.

Now he stands just inside the door at the cafe, only slightly dripping water on the welcome mat. He had fled to the nearest covered area and found someone holding the door open for him.

Another person has gently bumped into him from behind, knocking him out of his stupor. He turns to frown at them and freezes.

Marinette stares at him with those heavenly blue eyes and breaks into a huge smile when she recognizes him.

"Damian!" She's hugging him like her life depends on it. When he doesn't reciprocate she pulls away. "I'm sorry! I'm just so happy to see you again!"

That much is apparent as she's bouncing on her feet and still smiling at him. This makes him smile back.

"Don't apologize. I'm pleased to see you as well." If she was sad the last time they met she looks utterly tired this time.

The surprise on her face is endearing when he pulls out a chair for her but she gratefully sits down. A barista brings their drinks, despite not ordering, and they tuck into the warm teas.

Now that they're here neither knows what to say. Marinette seems continent to stare at him dreamily and this proves to an apt conclusion.

"I was starting to think it was a dream - you, the cafe. I couldn't find anything at all."

*****

#daminette #marinette dupain cheng #damian wayne #maribat #coffee fic #supremuswrites

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the-iron-orchid · 3 years

Note

What about Reverse [mark] OR Reverse [blindfold] (or perhaps both? Up to you, I'm just throwing those I think fits them better xD) with my big boi Bastien and Jinana? 👀

(something something this one got away from me lmao....)

In The Dark

Pairing: Jinana x Bastien Lebrose (~1500 words, Bastien POV)

Warnings: Blindfold, marking, biting, nipple play, temperature play, oral. A wee bit of h/c

🔞🍋18+ Only! Minors DNI🍋🔞

He has agreed to this, but all the same he can’t help the tiny shiver of fear that feathers through him as the cool silk of the blindfold is tied over his eyes, closing out the sights of the room - colorful draperies, shelves and cubbies full of curios, a comfortable amount of personal clutter. Without his sight, other things come to his senses - the ghost of incense, the softness of the bed beneath him, the scent, warmth and small weight of the person who is now straddling his waist.

It isn’t hir smallness that decided him on this, however. He isn’t really sure what it was - hir interest is aggressive, but hir manner is not. Maybe it was just hir openness… or the way s/he made it clear from the start that the choice is always his.

Bastien feels hir fingers brushing his hair back from his face, then trailing lightly down over his cheek, along his jawline, over his lips.

“Lovely,” s/he says, a smile in hir voice. The touch traces over his chin, and he tips his head back against the pillow, as if offering his throat to hir. He can hear hir moving, feels the soft brush of hir lips just over his adam’s apple, again at the hollow of his throat just above the collarbone. Another kiss is pressed to the side of his throat, just over the pulse - but this one is different, a drawing kiss, a bruising kiss, and he sucks in his breath.

“Your heart is beating so fast.” He feels hir fingertips travel over his chest, one following lightly over the lengthy scar that cuts across his skin, making goosebumps break out. A kiss is placed here, too, just where it runs the widest. Another touch of hir lips, where the skin is whole… and then a stinging little bite. S/he repeats this across his chest, and with the blindfold, he’s never quite sure what’s coming next - the caress, the kiss, the bite. All of them leave heat in their wake, and by the time hir warm fingers slip under the sides of his shirt, that heat is flooding into his groin, too, barely restrained by his pants.

“All of these clothes in the way… I have just the thing.” S/he gives a low chuckle, then he hears the snap of hir fingers. A wave of something goes over his body, and somehow, startlingly, all of his clothing has fallen off of him - including the wraps around his forearms, exposing the many scars that crisscross his flesh. In sudden searing mortification, Bastien tries to hide them... but there’s nothing left for him to hide them with.

“Bastien.” Jinana has noticed his distress, the tone of hir voice changed from a husky purr to something soft and soothing. “What’s wrong? You can tell me.”

“They’re... ugly,” he says, rather helplessly, unable to express all the pain and guilt and shame that they represent.

“The scars? Oh, honey.” He feels hir small hands wrap around one of his own, bringing the forearm to rest against hir own chest, over hir clothing. “Scars are not ugly. No part of you is ugly. Scars just mean that you survived what hurt you.”

He wonders if s/he would feel the same if s/he knew just ugly he could become.

S/he presses a kiss to the backs of his fingers. “I’ll cover them for you again, if you want.” Where his forearm presses between hir breasts, he can feel hir heart beating, strong and steady, and hir voice when s/he speaks. “Or do you want to stop?”

“I…” For a moment, he does consider stopping. But something in him rebels against it - how long has he let his shame rule his life? “...no. Don’t stop,” he says, though he feels his face burning hot, and his chest too.

“If you’re sure.”

He nods, and Jinana gently lowers his arm to rest at his side. The rain of kisses and bites begins anew, along with the feeling of hir nails raking lightly over the skin of his chest and arms. He manages to hold himself still as hir hands run down over his forearms, his palms, and back up. He’s not used to having this area bare, much less touched, and it’s more sensitive than he would have thought.

A hint of warm breath on his skin is the only inkling he gets before a wet heat closes over one of his nipples, and he groans with the prolonged shock of pleasure as s/he draws on it with hir mouth. S/he gives a soft chuckle at his response, then visits the other nipple, teasing it with hir lips and tongue while hir fingertips come up to lightly pinch at the first one. He groans, his back arching with it, bearing hir weight up easily, and s/he gives a little laugh.

“Oh, you like that, don’t you?”

He can barely get out his agreement as s/he gently rolls both nipples between hir fingers at once, making his belly tense up, making him so hard that it almost aches. “Hnnnnghhhh… uh-huh…”

“You might like this even more.” Bastien hears hir speak words of magic under hir breath, a little current of cool air coiling over his skin - and then two icy-cold fingertips are touched to his sensitized nipples, his body bucking under hir with the strong sensation, a choked sound forced from his throat.

When s/he takes hir touch away, he can only lie there for a moment, mildly dazed, his breathing harsh. He feels hir moving, getting up from hir place on top of him, settling at his side. Hir lips come over his with soft kisses, hir magically-chilled fingers tracing shivery little paths over his skin. They return to bring jolts of that shocking, icy pleasure to his nipples when he least expects them, and he can’t help but to wonder what that touch would feel like on his cock, cold to his heat.

Jinana sinks hir teeth into his lower lip - just enough to sting, for him to feel warmth rushing into the area when s/he pulls back. S/he begins a trail of those sharp kisses down his throat, his chest, his belly. Hir magically-chill touch traces over his waist, his hips, his upper thighs. His hips move all on their own, desperate to feel that touch where he wants it the most.

“You really are a big boy, aren’t you?” Hir voice is approving, and he feels himself blush furiously. The cool touch follows the scars that run over his left thigh, then comes back up, teasingly close to where his cock is leaking pre-come onto his hip.

“Please…” he whispers, then gasps as another little bite is visited to his other hip.

“Tell me what you want, Bastien,” s/he murmurs, and another violent blush scorches his face.

“...touch me,” he manages to say. “Please.”

S/he chuckles, and hir fingertips make their slow way back over his hips, moving in little circles, until he is quivering with anticipation. When the touch finally comes, Bastien’s whole body seems to tense with it, and he can’t help the sound that he makes, a kind of hoarse little shout, underscored by hir quiet laughter of enjoyment.

“C-can I - ohmygod - can I... see?” He can barely get the words out, his belly flinching from the magical cold of hir touch, his cock lifting from his belly to meet it.

“You may,” s/he answers, and he feels the blindfold loosed from him, leaving him blinking - but s/he is still sitting across his thighs, out of reach. It really is different with a magician…

Looking down at himself, he sees all the little bite-marks and hickeys decorating his skin now, the small pink marks from hir nails. His cock looks enormous in hir hands as s/he strokes him, then bows hir head over him to place a kiss on the very tip. Hir tongue comes out, running just under the head of him, and he could burst right then… but he manages to hold himself back, just enough, his hands gripping the quilt beneath him as s/he moves back from him.

“You’re so close, aren’t you?” s/he says, smiling. “But you’ve been a good boy tonight. And I want to see you come all over yourself for me.” S/he begins stroking him again, placing kisses and caresses of hir tongue along the underside of him. His hips strain themselves up to hir, again and again - and then the feeling takes him, crashing over him in waves of drowning pleasure, sightless and witless until it finally lets him go.

He comes back from it to find himself lying loose-limbed on the bed and his clothing, as if stranded on a beach by a wave, his chest and belly spattered with his own come. Jinana is smiling at him from where s/he sits across his legs, running hir hands (warm again) soothingly over his thighs. S/he rises, once more fitting hirself along his side, gently turning his head so that s/he can kiss him once again, slow and lingering.

“Mmm, yes. A very good boy.”

#ask memes answered #daisydevorak #smuts!#lemon #jinana x bastien #thank you for sending ya boi over for some naughty fun :D #I hope you enjoy!#bastien lebrose

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