#i am an undisciplined disaster

[writingfairycat]

I have a question, do you accept requests?

I do not promise to fulfill requests. If that's what you're looking for, then no, I'm sorry. However, if you're willing to throw a request into the ether and hope that I fulfill it some time before whichever one of us dies first, then yes, I accept requests!

[batsandbugs]

A Kiss With a Fist

AN: Hey everyone another fic coming at you! This is for the Maribat Drabble Exchange hosted by @eat0crow I’m so excited to be participating! My fic was for @pixiebuggiewrites​ who wanted a Daminette soulmate fic. Sorry I couldn’t squeeze anybody else in here it was already getting pretty long! I hope you all enjoy! You can also read it here on ao3! (Pictures are NOT mine)

Damian stormed away from the hotel, aggressively zipping his coat. He didn’t care where he was going, only that it was away from here.

He didn’t want to be in Paris. He didn’t want to watch out for incompetent amateurs. He didn’t want to ‘control your anger, Damian’. He wanted to be sent home.

The calm night taunted him, the Parisian streets were too bight and too clean, resembling nothing like his dark city. He missed patrolling, he missed his animals, hell, a part of him (a small, barely negligible part he would never admit to) even missed his siblings. But no, he was stuck here, under his father’s orders until the situation in Paris drew to a conclusion.

Considering it took five years for outside help to be even called in, he had no clue how long the mission would last. He still hadn’t met the so-called-heroes of Paris, but the research he conducted showed they were ill-trained, undisciplined, and relying on so much luck it was a fucking miracle their city wasn’t a smoking ruin by now.

He sighed, sticking his hands deeper into the pockets of his coat. He regretted not grabbing his gloves in his storm out. He’d been so irritated at his father that even though the man was on the other side of a screen, half-way across an ocean, Damian needed to physically leave to calm his anger. It left him little time to grab essentials for a chilly winter night like a hat, or gloves. He considered himself lucky for remembering to grab a coat at all.

He wandered for a solid hour, the cold sinking into his bones chilling the raging inferno that always seemed to bubble inside him. By the time he no longer wanted to scream at anyone, he was sufficiently lost, considering he hadn’t taken his phone with him either.

Coming to rest on a bridge he took a seat on a small bench. He puffed a warm breath of air into his chilly hands rubbing them together. Nighttime in Paris was so… different compared to Gotham. While big cities never truly slept, this was positively peaceful in comparison to what he was used to. He hadn’t even heard a single sound of ruckus or distress, which seemed strange considering the city was currently besieged by a magical butterfly terrorist.

Damian inwardly scoffed. Butterfly terrorist. True, being a Gothamite meant no room to judge, but he found it hard to think of a stranger string of words.

He sighed; Damian didn’t even know what his father wanted him to do here. Sure, he knew French and was a proficient fighter, but what could that even lend to the situation? They needed a detective, and, as much as he hated to admit it, Drake would have been the better option in that department. Unfortunately, he was off-world. Grayson was dealing with a problem in Hong Kong with Cass. Brown was paired with the rest of the Sirens taking care of Gotham along with Batman, and Todd…

Well, even he recognized what an awful choice Todd would be against a villain who literally used strong negative emotions as his weapon of choice. Damian had a temper; Todd was a ticking-time-bomb.

A high-pitched screech cut through the night air, before being noticeably muffled. Damian was on his feet and running before he even mentally acknowledged it. The thud of his boots on the cobblestone bridge sent small shocks through his legs. Another large clatter directed him off to a side street a couple of feet away. Three men had cornered a tiny slip of a woman, who held her purse like a weapon.

Damian saw red. “Hey, why don’t you pick on someone your own size,” he yelled in French. There was one benefit to being in a foreign city, Damian did not have to play the part of a clueless rich kid who couldn’t hold his own in a fight.

The brutes turned to him and grinned mean smiles. One guy stepped forward. “Come on man, we’re just having a little fun. You can join if you-” Damian cut off the disgusting words with a jab to the nose. Then he spun around, sweeping the second guy’s feet from underneath him, hitting him with a punch to the face to knock him out cold. The first guy hadn’t lost consciousness, but he was doubled over which allowed Damian to knee him in the stomach. Another punch to the face and he was out cold too.

He turned to finish off the last guy, only to see the woman roundhouse kicking him to the head. The burly man fell with a thud. The alley turned eerily silent, the only sounds coming from the sharp breaths of both Damian and the girl. His pulse fluttered fast; the heat of the battle warmed his chilled limbs.

A red purse laid on the ground near his feet. Picking it up he walked over to the small woman, no teen she looked about his age, who was still sharply breathing.

“Here, this is-” a blur is all he saw before a sharp pain spread across his nose.

Did she-

Did she just punch him in the face?

The shock of it sent him sprawling onto the ground, and he blinked away the tears forming in his eyes. Damian cradled his throbbing nose, anger bubbled once more under his skin before-

*Zing*  

The connection hit him like a train. A deep well of rightness spreading through him. He looked up through bleary eyes to find the woman staring at him in similar shock.

“You’re my soulmate,” they sputtered at each other.

Damian inwardly groaned. The League made initiates kill their soulmate should they ever find them to prove their loyalty. He grew up never wanting to find his soulmate, knowing they would serve as nothing but a distraction and weakness. Even when he joined his father, the idea seemed an unneeded liability. Sure, his brothers found their soulmates within the superhero community, but what were the chances he would too?

A small whimper escaped the mouth of the guy lying unconscious on the ground, knocked out by the woman the universe thought would be the perfect match for him. Damian tilted his head. She might not be a superhero, but maybe the universe knew him better than he first imagined.

“OhmygoshIamsosorry!” the flood of words spilled from his soulmate’s mouth, her face a deep shade of red. “I was just-”

“Acting on instinct and adrenaline? Appropriate, considering the threat you just faced,” he said without anger. “Your right hook is sufficiently adequate.”

“Um… thanks? Are you alright though?” She extended a hand to help him off the ground. He took it, his larger hand enveloped hers, but she showed a surprising amount of strength as she pulled him up. The contact sent another *zing* through his body, smaller and more subdued though. Damian found himself reluctant to let go.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine.” He suffered worse in training before. With the initial pain dissipated, all that was left was a dull throbbing that would be gone by morning. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” she said with a bright smile. He took the chance to finally observe his soulmate. She was small, couldn’t be more than 5’2, which meant at 6’1 he towered over her. She was of mixed descent, with dark hair spilling over her shoulders, and bright blue eyes. Her arms and legs were toned with muscle, and she held herself with grace and confidence. She wore a face of tasteful makeup and was clothed in a short red dress and a pair of strappy heels with no jacket in sight. He had no clue how she wasn’t freezing to death.

Her smile dimmed a bit. “Actually, no, I’ve had better days. Today has kinda been a perfect disaster; first I’m late for school, then I forgot my homework, and my class bully decided it was a pick-on-Marinette day. There’s a three-hour Akuma fight, involving mind-control, which is always a total drag. I finally get home to find my parents worried sick about me because I hadn’t answered my phone which got destroyed at the beginning of the fight. I go to my class’s senior Valentine’s day dance hoping to finally confess to the guy I’ve had a crush on for years, only to get humiliated because he already has a girlfriend, and everyone else in my class knew and decided not to tell me. When I get away not to cause a scene, not only do I forget my jacket, but I also get attacked by three bumbling idiots with more mouths than brains.” She chuckled, hollow and verging on manic.

Damian stood there, unsure how to take all of that. He filed away the fact she was being bullied, and that she commonly dealt with Akuma attacks. Both equally important, as far as he was concerned.

“Now, here I am, standing in front of my gorgeous soulmate I punched in the face, after beating up said earlier idiots, rambling my mouth off because I don’t know the meaning of the word chill. Yep! I’ve certainly had better days. Ohmygoshimatotalmesskillmenow.” She muttered the last part into her hands, but Damian understood her all the same.

He would come back to the gorgeous thing later.

“…Do you want my jacket? You look cold.” It wasn’t the smoothest thing he could have said, nor the most appropriate considering the mess of a day she’d had. However, the manners Alfred drilled into his brain came knocking and if he was cold with a turtle-neck long-sleeved shirt and a jacket, she must be freezing in all that… nothingness. He averted his eyes from her exposed skin, looking at her face instead.

His soulmate looked at him for a long moment, before closing her eyes and taking a deep breath.

“You know what, yeah, a jacket would be nice,” she said in a tired voice. Damian shed his coat quickly, not minding the sharp sting of cold that hit him. He helped his soulmate into the sleeves and took an odd little pleasure in seeing how tiny she looked in the folds of his jacket.  

“I’m Marinette, by the way, Marinette Dupain-Cheng.” She wrapped the jacket closer cuddling into the heat. “Sorry for kinda freaking out on you there.”

“The kind of day you’ve had has surely broken lesser mortals. Any coping method is your due. I’m Damian, Damian Wayne. It’s a pleasure to meet you Marinette.” He smiles, although the gesture feels odd, trying to appear non-threatening. While his soulmate (and maybe he was coming around to this faster than he thought possible) was obviously skilled at dealing with a variety of stressors, he didn’t want to add any more and risk her being akumatized.

“You as well Damian.” She shivered despite the added protection of his coat, as a gust of wind swept through the alleyway. “As much fun as this conversation has been, it might be best for us to get out of the cold.”

“Indeed. What will we do with these inconveniences?” he asked, poking one of the guys with the tip of his boot.

She sighed, picking her purse from the ground where he’d dropped it. “We’ll call the police to come pick them up. They’ll be cold, but fine.”

Damian scowled, “It’s better than they deserve.” He sneered at the guy who offered for Damian to join them. Join them in assaulting this tiny, bright girl, who’d been through enough. His soulmate. The bubbling rage began anew, and he wished he’d done more than just knock them unconscious, they deserved far worse for thinking, daring, to touch-

A small hand rested on his arm, dragging him out of his violent thoughts. “I’m fine Damian. Even if you hadn’t arrived, I would have been fine. I can hold my own in a fight. This is Paris after all.”

“Tt,” Damian scoffed. “Fine. We’ll leave them to their fates.” And if their fates happened to involve complete ruination of their online lives, credit scores, and secure information? Well, that was hardly his fault, now was it?

“There’s a good café opened late around the corner. Would you- would you like to go there?” Marinette asked.

Damian smiled at the tentative offer. “I would very much enjoy that, yes. I’ve been out for longer than I should, coffee would be great right about now.” She giggled and he felt his stomach flutter. Funny, giggling always annoyed him, but that bright clear sound... he could grow used to that.

Walking out of the dark alley, listening to Marinette talk to the police on her phone, Damian sighed. The streets no longer felt too clean, or the lights too bright. Yes, he was colder, and yes this was a complication, but for some reason, Damian could not bring himself to care.

Maybe Paris wouldn’t be so bad after all.

[banditthewriter]

Intensity - Loki

Here we have a Loki fic. That came out of nowhere, I’ve only ever written drabbles for him. It’s not long but hopefully it’s not bad?

Enjoy!

*gif not mine*

*****

Unlike most people, the mutant gene didn’t show up when you were a kid. You could be grateful for that at least. Because of that little grace, your childhood had been completely normal. No worries, no fears, nothing out of the ordinary.

Then you started to notice changes.

People seemed calm around you for the most part. If your emotions were out of control, you realized that others would be that way too. It took a while to understand that it was more than just the environment, more than just coincidence.

It took a disaster.

It was a fight with your dad when you were a teen. You didn’t even remember what it was about, what caused the issue, but you were angry enough that you were told to go to your room. Your mom had come in to sit with you for a while to try to calm you down.

The next thing you know, she went into the living room and tried to attach your dad with a butcher knife. He was okay but he did have to get sixteen stitches. And your mom was traumatized, not understanding why she tried to kill the man she loved.

That’s what had them put it all together. The little things they’d noticed but had brushed off had come out in a big way.

You could influence other people’s emotions. Oddly enough, anger was easier than the nicer emotions, but you’d had a pretty laid back life so you didn’t feel anger a lot. 

Maybe that’s why it was so potent when you did feel it.

Emotion manipulation could be dangerous without proper training so in college, after a few years of trying to pretend you were normal, you left to find someone to train you. Therapists, doctors, military people all tried their hand to get you trained. All of them had the same thing to say.

You were undisciplined at best. At worst? You’d never be able to be completely in control. 

Over the years it became harder and harder to keep in contact with people, including your family. It wasn’t like you could have an actual relationship that way. You could never be sure if you were influencing someone’s emotions, even when you tried to get control of your powers.

The military had a bracelet that worked for other mental powers. It didn’t work flawlessly, but it helped. It dampened your emotional field so that it took touch to influence someone for the most part. That and a steady regime of keeping calm, you got a better grasp on it.

Better didn’t mean perfect though. You still sometimes affected people when you didn’t mean to. You still hated it when you did it.

One of the things you did learn while working with various therapists was that there was more to your power than just emotion manipulation. To a lesser degree, you could read emotions on people. It didn’t work as well when you had the bracelet on, dampened that power as well, but sometimes...sometimes you could catch bits and pieces off of the people closest to you.

While you traveled from military base to military base to try to figure out a way to work on your powers, you didn’t expect to get a call from the Avengers. 

Well. It was less of a call and more of Iron Man dropping down in front of you and one of the generals so that he could offer you a place to stay at his tower.

“How’d you hear about me?”

Although you couldn’t see his eyes, you knew that Iron Man—Tony Stark, it was Tony Stark in front of you—was looking at you.

“Fury. He has a way of getting information on lost souls that need a little help. What do you say? Wanna be a part time Avenger? Use your mojo to make some people really docile so that we don’t have to keep wrecking New York City every time some supervillain decides to stop by?”

You shifted a bit and looked at the general beside you. He just shrugged.

You weren’t a prisoner of the military. It had been very evident that you were there voluntarily. It was up to you.

“I’m working on a better dampener for mental powers. Maybe I can make one that’s specific to your power and you won’t have to worry about it anymore.”

And just like that, you didn’t need to hear anything else.

------

The tower is bigger than you thought it would be. Which is a good thing. Especially when you realized it’s not just the Avengers that frequent the tower but other members of Shield.

“This area is all yours,” Mr Stark says as he shows you to your room. Suite. Apartment. “The walls are made from the same dampening material as your bracelet so it’ll contain your powers.”

“My powers aren’t that powerful,” you said softly as you touched the bracelet in question. “Thank you Mr Stark. I...I want to help people but I am scared of what my powers might do. I want to protect people from me.”

He turned to look at you and dropped some of that rich man bravado he’d been sporting since he escorted you onto his private jet.

“You don’t have to be scared of yourself here. I promise.”

That’s not the last time you see him either. He explains that you should call him Tony and although it’s weird at first, you do.

“Tony, aren’t you scared I’ll influence you?”

He looked up from where he was typing on a tablet, his feet up on the table in your kitchenette.

“Pretty sure you do,” he said casually as he looked back down at the tablet. “It’s only ever small things though. Calm sometimes, tired sometimes. Hungry that one, that’s why I ordered pizza.”

You felt your heart start to beat fast at the thought of you accidentally influencing him, but he must have caught on to that. 

“Anxiety and I are old friends,” he explained as he put the tablet down and crossed over to you. “I’m not worried about it. Your influence doesn’t last if I’m not around you so once I leave, I’m back to myself. But honestly? Your influences are a lot simpler than some of the things I’ve felt.”

You thought about everything you knew about Iron Man and the Avengers and decided, yeah, he was probably right. Anything you could make him feel would be pretty tame compared to flying a nuclear warhead into a wormhole without knowing if you were coming back.

------

The first time you meet Natasha Romanoff, you spill orange juice on your shirt. She just smirked and grabbed a napkin to hold out to you.

It was the first time you’d let yourself out of your rooms. The new bracelet was supposed to be more effective, but Tony said he wouldn’t know if he was on the right track until you let yourself be around people. 

People meaning Shield agents. You didn’t expect to be face to face with Black Widow.

Her grin wavered for a second before it came back even brighter.

“You have better control than I thought you’d have,” she admitted as she leaned against a nearby table. “Stark said this new bracelet would still let you influence, but you stopped it pretty quick.”

“I didn’t even realize what I was doing,” you confided as you gripped your half full glass of orange juice. “I just want to hold it all in when I’m around people.”

Natasha tapped her fingers on the table before she crossed over towards the door.

“It’s not good to hold it in. You might end up like a grenade without a pin.”

With that helpful piece of advice, she left. 

Later, in Tony’s lab rather than your room, you told him what she said. He nodded as he made a few adjustments.

“She’s got the right idea at least. You stretch your wings with it every now and then, that’s one thing. You don’t work it at all and the muscle will atrophy. Who knows what a gift like yours can do if it degrades and you don’t have control over it?”

It took a while to come up with a plan. A few Shield agents, volunteers specifically, would work with you and let you influence them. Under supervision in case you lost control. 

It was a step. You just wish you knew if it was in the right direction or not.

------

“This is Thor and that’s his...brother Loki. Don’t worry, he’s on his best behavior these days.”

You nearly swallowed your spit when you turned around and sure enough, you were faced with Tony, Thor, and Loki. This was somehow your life but you hadn’t really figured it out yet. You were a few feet away from literal Gods.

Thankfully Tony couldn’t read your thoughts because he’d think you lumped him in with that group. 

“Uh, hi,” you said as you introduced yourself.

“Ah, another Avenger? Welcome.”

You smiled at Thor and shook your head, but Tony moved over and draped his arm over your shoulder.

“Definitely an Avenger, just with training wheels. Probationary,” he explained at Thor’s uncertain look. “We’re working on the kinks.”

You wanted to elbow Tony to get him off of you, especially as you could feel your heart start to race in your chest. This was nerves, anxiety building into a spike in your chest. Only Tony didn’t seem to react. He usually would at least look at you if he felt you influencing him.

And he didn’t seem to feel anxious or nervous in the least. Neither did Thor who was talking to Tony about...something about a bridge, you weren’t sure.

But Loki. You hadn’t paid much attention to him after the initial greeting, but you met his gaze now. He was staring straight at you, an intrigued look on his face as he watched you. 

Tony and Thor might not have noticed your influence, but it seems Loki had. Great.

“I should get back to the lab,” you said as you stepped out from under Tony’s arm. “It was nice to meet you both. Bye.”

You heard Thor’s farewell at your back, but you could still feel Loki’s gaze on your as you turned the corner.

------

Any other time that you ran into Thor in the tower, he always put you at ease. Tony had explained your powers and how you were coming to grips with them. Thor asked questions about it, always careful to never put you on edge, but he didn’t seem concerned for himself.

“It would be hard for a human such as yourself to influence an Asgardian mind,” he said with a smile when you asked him about it.

That didn’t explain Loki then. Besides your first meeting, every time you were around the dark haired God you’d turned into a nervous, babbling mess. The look on his face was always intrigued, but it wasn’t cruel. It seemed almost clinical. 

Although you’d heard a lot about that particular God’s abilities. Maybe since he had some mind control abilities himself, he could feel it in you.

And didn’t that just put you on edge. You weren’t sure how you felt about having something in common with Loki, God of mischief. 

Although you weren’t entirely sure that was the only reason you felt nervous around Loki. Most people talked about how attractive the God of thunder is, with reason, but there was just something about the dark haired God that caught your attention.

So of course you would find yourself alone with the God in question while you waited for Tony. The Avengers were off Avenging and you didn’t like to be holed up while you waited for them.

You weren’t sure why you expected Loki to be off with them, but he wasn’t. He was in a chair in the room, a book on his lap that he flicked through lazily. When you walked in, his eyes lifted up and met yours.

There was a challenge in his gaze. Normally you’d make an excuse and turn to leave. He was challenging you to see if you’d do it now that there weren’t other people around.

Instead you crossed over and went to the kitchen area.

“Is it because of my past misdeeds? Is that why you’re nervous around me?”

You hadn’t heard him speak before right then, but his voice fit him. You tapped your fingers against the fridge door that you had pulled open even though you weren’t hungry. 

“I’ve heard a few stories about you, sure. But you’re a God. It’s...intimidating.”

You heard the chair creak. When you looked over your shoulder, he had stood up and crossed a few feet to be closer.

“Regardless of my past, you have nothing to fear from me.”

Slowly you shut the fridge door and turn to face him completely. The look on his face made you believe him. But it was more than that. You could feel something from him, an emotion buried in the haze from your bracelet.

Honesty.

“Okay,” you whispered as you met his eyes. “I’ll...keep that in mind.”

------

The lower library wasn’t exactly your favorite, but it was usually empty. You walked through the first few aisles and froze when you saw that you weren’t alone.

“You come here to be alone,” Loki guessed as he looked around the room. “It’s one of the few places that’s technically public but usually void of people.”

You wrapped your arms around yourself and nodded.

“I’m supposed to be in public for a few hours each day but sometimes it gets to be a bit too much. So I come here.”

He nodded as if he understood that. Then he turned to face you head on. 

“How powerful are you?”

You almost laughed at that, but held it in.

“I’m not powerful, I’m untrained. Dangerous,” you added as you looked away from him.

One of the Shield agents had to be sedated when you’d made her feel too many things at once on accident. You weren’t sure how she was doing. 

Tony was still calibrating the new bracelet, but you wore it anyways. You just hoped...hoped it was enough. 

“I can help you. I’m skilled with mind control of stronger beings than humans.”

You fingered the bracelet you wore and thought about the Shield agent, your parents, all the people you’d influenced over the years that had bad results.

“I’ll think about it,” you said softly. Then you sighed. “I should go back to the lab. Tony will be looking for me.”

“Ah, yes, we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

You smiled and looked away. You weren’t sure you could handle for Loki to pick up on how charmed you were by him just then.

You really needed to get better at keeping your feelings a secret.

------

The lab was in disarray. You stumbled from where you’d fallen, the debris mostly away from you.

Even in his panic, Tony hadn’t hurt you. He’d flung himself as far away as he could, kept his robots from hurting you, but he’d nearly destroyed his lab in the process.

“Tony?”

It was quiet for a moment but then you heard a rasping breath. You climbed over a fallen stool and went to your knees next to where he was crumpled on the floor.

“Tony, are you...what can I do?”

He let out a gasp, his eyes on your face for a moment before they slammed shut tight.

“JARVIS, get Pepper,” you called out, unsure of what else to do. 

The mechanical voice said it would be a moment and then said that Miss Potts was on her way down. You slumped on the floor next to Tony, careful not to touch him.

Your anxiety about this test, about how long it had been since there had been any progress, had bled over to Tony. Only it was heightened somehow, the anxiety and worry causing a full blown flashback for him. You’d caught glimpses of it, almost-images of the wormhole and falling through the air.

It’s why you asked for Pepper. He hadn’t been able to talk to her before...before.

When she came in, she gave you an understanding look before she went to his side. Since he was being cared for, you got up and stumbled away from them. Your bracelet was still on the receiver so you grabbed it and hooked it on, grateful for the dullness you felt afterwards.

Then you left the lab. All you wanted to do was go to your rooms, to bury yourself under your blankets and wish it all away, but instead you headed in a different direction.

The room that Loki had been given was in the same hall as Thor, but you thought Thor was away on a mission with Steve and Sam. Loki’s door was shut, but when you raised your hand to knock, it came open.

“I need help.”

Loki came from across the room in a hurry, probably thinking you meant you were being chased. When he was sure the issue was less immediate, he nodded and met your eyes.

What he saw there made him let out a breath. He reached for you, slow so that you wouldn’t pull away. He unhooked the bracelet and set it to the side.

“This might be a bit uncomfortable,” he said softly as he raised his hands to your forehead.

In an instant you were no longer in the tower, no longer in New York. You were in your childhood bedroom, your mom helping you make your bed while your dad laughs at the two of you. It was such a distant memory, something you had forgotten.

As more and more of those happy memories come to the surface, you sense something from Loki. A bitter tang on your tongue. 

He had hoped that your childhood would have been like his. He had seen you and imagined that you’d been set apart as well. To see a loving, happy childhood had almost been a disappointment for him.

That faded away as the next memory appeared. He watched from your own eyes as your mother, in a rage not of her own, tried to kill your father. He sees your best friend yelling that she can’t trust you, teachers telling you that you can’t come to class, job and job firing you after only days.

He sees relationship after relationship burn hot and bright at first and then the horror sets in, the worry that they didn’t want you like you wanted them, the anger from them, the apathy. You felt it all in spirals, in such quick succession that embarrassment started to well up inside you.

“Shh, it’s alright,” he promised as he continued to dig inside your memories. “You’re not there. They don’t matter.”

There’s something like a tug and then suddenly, like a dam breaking, you're overwhelmed with emotions. They seem to come from every direction like the room is crowded.

You open your mouth to say his name, to ask him for help, but instead there’s nothing but darkness as you give in to the pain.

------

The medical wing is new to you. When you sit up, there’s a hand on your shoulder to help you ease up the rest of the way.

“It’s been two days,” Natasha says in a tone you can’t quite read. “Thought we were going to have to take turns kissing you, Snow White.”

“Thanks for…not doing that,” you said as you reached up to rub at your forehead.

Loki. You had been in his room, he was in your mind. He was trying to help you, going through your memories. There had been...oh the emotions you’d felt before you’d passed out.

“Where’s Loki?”

Natasha doesn’t say anything, just reached out to grab a cup of water from next to your bed. As she held it out to you, you pushed it away.

“Natasha, where’s Loki? Tell me.”

She sighed and put the cup down.

“Steve and Thor had him put into a holding cell for attacking you.”

You were shaking your head before she even finished.

“He didn’t though!”

A tablet was on the table. After a brief hesitation she grabbed it and navigated through a few things.

“Watch this and tell me he didn’t attack you.”

You watched the recording from his room. The two of you were in front of each other, his hands on your head. There didn’t seem to be anything at first but then you saw what looked like a surge of magic go from his hands to your head.

You shook your head as you rewound it and watched the same spot.

“I need to see him,” you said when you finally looked up at her. “Now, Natasha.”

Although she obviously didn’t want to let you, she gave you a nod. You were already in sweats for comfort while you were unconscious, so you just slid on some too big slippers and let her lead the way to the holding cells. 

Steve immediately raises his hands once you enter the hallway.

“What the hell Romanoff, I said–”

“Yeah, when’s the last time I listened to you,” Natasha snarked with a smirk. Then she gestured at you. “She wants to talk to him.”

Steve was just about to say no, but Thor came from down the hall with a frown.

“I think she should. I know what we saw, but we don’t understand it. It’s possible the only one that can understand it is her. Besides,” he added with a sly look in your direction, “Loki is on his best behavior when she’s around.”

You didn’t know how to take that, but thankfully it seemed to persuade Steve. He told you he’d buzz you into the cell once you were there. They had a camera so they’d see and hear everything and, if you needed it, could come and save you.

You really didn’t think you’d need it.

In the cell, Loki seemed different. He ignored you when you came in, just threw a ball against the wall and caught it over and over again.

You wished you could use your powers to read Asgardians as well as humans, but...wait.

There was nothing. From Natasha, from Steve, from the nurse who had released you. Usually you felt something, a low hum of their emotions, but there was nothing.

“The force of it was too much for you, but it’ll come back.” He caught the ball and let it rest beside him on the bench. “You felt too many emotions at once. Your mind was adapting to having mine in there when it happened and it overloaded.”

You nodded and sat down beside him, a few feet away just so that Steve wouldn’t bust in. You really didn’t need observers with this, but you knew you didn’t have a choice.

“It felt so weird. It was like I could feel the emotions of everyone in the tower at once.”

Loki looked over at you in surprise.

“In the tower? That was everyone in the city at once.” At your surprised look, he offered a smile. “I knew you were powerful when we first met, I just didn’t realize how powerful.”

You sighed and leaned back against the wall.

“Holy shit,” you breathed with another laugh. “No wonder I’ve been asleep for two days.”

And here you thought you couldn’t really surprise the God of mischief more than you already had.

“Two days? So that’s...why you haven’t come to set the record straight.”

Oh. Had he thought that you believed the story that he’d attacked you? Or did he just think that you were letting him suffer?

“Just woke up. Saw the video, heard you were down here, came to rescue you.”

He laughed at that, a sound that both surprised and pleased you.

“How do you feel?”

You thought about it. The emptiness in your head was blissful. So was the fact that you didn’t need to worry about making people feel your emotions.

“I hope it never comes back.”

His hand closed around yours and, with a gentle tug, he pulled you a little closer to him.

“You shouldn’t hope for that. The gifts you have don’t have to be a burden. You can learn to control them, learn to use them.” He smiled at you, his eyes locked on yours. “I said I knew you were powerful and I meant it. I could feel it in you.”

You rubbed a hand over your wrist where your bracelet usually sat.

“Maybe I should be the one in the holding cell.”

Loki’s face became more serious as he looked you over.

“It could happen one day.”

The memory of Tony curled up on his side after your influence made you think about what had happened in Loki’s room. Your mind had reached the entirety of the city. If you could push your influence that far…

“I have to…”

You didn’t bother saying more, just tore from the room in a rush. Steve was outside and he nodded when he met your eyes.

“We saw. We believe you. We’ll let him out.”

You nodded because that was good, but that wasn’t the only thing on your mind.

You needed to talk to Tony.

------

“You sure you don’t feel anything?” At your baleful look, Tony shrugged and looked back at the scan. “Your brain is unusually active.”

“I’ll try not to be offended,” you said with a laugh. 

Tony crossed over to where you sat. He looked good for a man who just a few days ago had been basically curled up under his table in a panic. And he had forgiven you for that.

“Make me feel something. Something small, please,” he added with a grin.

You drummed your fingers on the table for a moment before you nodded. Then you focused on Tony and a new feeling.

“God I could eat a cheeseburger,” he commented as his hand went to his stomach. “Wait. Was that it? Was that you?”

You started to smile but then you focused on him some more. There was surprise, under the surface, but you had to actually look for it. It didn’t come out of nowhere.

“I have control?”

Tony clapped his hands together. Then he reached out for your bracelet and tossed it into the trash can.

“It was a prototype anyways. We’ll get one together just in case, but I think we can say you’re off the bench for now.”

You laughed and tossed your arms around his neck.

“Thank you Tony.”

“Yeah, yeah, now let’s get something to eat. Seriously, I’m starving.”

------

A few days after his release, you found Loki in the library. He looked up as you entered as if he knew it was you.

Maybe he did.

“Thank you. Because of what you did, I have control now.”

“I know,” he said with a smile. “Thor said you’ll be going on a mission with them soon to celebrate.”

Yeah, you’d heard that as well. It was exciting, if a little daunting.

“It might do you some good to continue to train with me, if you wish. To perfect your talents.”

You smiled. Then you moved over to sit beside him. Now that you had control, you let your mind open to try to read him.

Silence. You frowned and tried again.

“Because of my powers, I can protect myself,” he said with a tap of his fingers to his temple, a grin on his lips. “I do appreciate the effort though.”

You laughed and looked down at your hands. Nervousness settled over you.

“I just thought if I could read your emotions, I could know if…”

If he was interested in you. If your feelings had influenced him at all.

“You could never influence me, I promise.”

You opened your mouth to ask how he knew that’s what you were thinking, but then you remembered. He’d been in your head. Besides seeing just how horrifically all of your past relationships had ended, he would have felt how you felt about him.

He was putting you at ease. Your nerves started to rise and either he could tell, or he just knew you that well already.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

You met his eyes and smiled, a little breathless as you thought about the possibilities. 

“Not uncomfortable. Just...nervous.”

He leaned in towards you, his grin nearly blinding until his lips met yours. 

You didn’t need to be nervous anymore.

X

Thanks for reading!

[lemons-and-ashes]

What it actually feels living with a person with OCD undiagnosed.

Tonight may disaster sa kusina. Nag crave ako ng matamis. Nilagyan ko ng chocolate syrup yung bread. Iaakyat ko sana sa room when it starts dripping sa floor sa stairs and sa basahan 😩. Nilabhan ko tuloy yung basahan sa lababo dahil lalanggamin bukas(hate na hate nya mga langgam at kung ano mang insektong gumagalaw sa bahay). Tapos kailangan tiptoe kasi tulog na sila. Minimal noise lang. Gusto ko lang naman kumain 😂😂😂 naging complicated pa. Bukas may langgam dun for sure, lagot ako sa OCD kong tita. Huhu. Hahahaha share ko lang yung experience. Kapag kasama mo kasi sya sa bahay kailangan you make efforts not to make her feel irritated. Kasi sa bahay nya memorize nya yung positioning ng mga bagay bagay. So the smallest things can worry her. Like the splash of water on the sink and the mirror. So everyday she’s wiping it. After every bath, the floor mat should be hanged. Every day ang walis at mop. Two rolls of paper towels and etc. 

Anyways, masarap tumira sa bahay na malinis for sure. Nakaka relax. May mga benefits ang cleanliness, kasama ang peace of mind doon. I am lucky na I have a tita like her. I actually am learning so much from her. Kaya minsan I don’t know if she’s just OA in cleaning? Or am I an undisciplined child?

[tunedtostatic]

truths and dares

After the Iris 2 crew spends a wild night celebrating together, Sana is wishing through a pounding headache that certain crewmates hadn’t dared her to drink straight from the bottle. Meanwhile, Park seems more concerned with the truth part of the night.

2.5k, Sana/Park (and Iris 2 crew)

Also posted at archiveofourown dot org, /works/33560497 (I’ll put a real link in a reblog)

CW: Drunken shenanigans, excessive alcohol consumption, mostly played for laughs but not totally. Suggestive language, though nothing beyond T-rated if that.

The hangover/coffee storyline is a retread of the premise of @iffeelscouldkill’s wonderful Sana/Campbell fic “Strong Coffee and Sourdough,” because my brain went “What if THAT but with PARK?”

Sana opens her eyes and immediately wishes she hadn’t. The sunlights in her cabin on the Iris 2 have come up, and Sana decides she wants to go back in time and kidnap whichever IGR engineer decided, doubtless to optimize personnel efficiency, that cabins should default to scheduled natural lighting. Anything to stop the photons now stabbing into her very soul.

Memories come back hazily: The first batch of moonshine on the new ship. A patch of the Deep familiar to the former Rumor crew, but days away from the more populated routes. Things feeling steady for the first time in a while. A crew dinner and a night of drinking to celebrate.

A lot of drinking. Sana groans, trying to put images together as her head pounds. She remembers sitting at the mess hall table with the others, singing. She remembers racing up and down a hallway with Krejjh and…McCabe?...with some kind of objective in mind, passing a ball back and forth, as the rest of the crew cheered. She remembers sitting in a circle on the floor of the darkened mess, Krejjh dramatically taking shelter in Brian’s arms as someone…Violet?...told a spooky story.

After that, she draws a blank, though she does have an odd sleepy memory of waking up, in this bed, to the sound of…Arkady giggling?

With a frown of confusion, Sana groans again, then sighs. She normally tries to watch her limits a little better than this. Oh well. Deep or no Deep, as Captain, she should probably go check on her ship.

Rubbing her eyes, she steps out of bed, and immediately has to pinwheel her arms to avoid tripping over the sleeping form of Violet, who is stretched out on the floor of Sana’s cabin. Arkady is twined around her, an arm slung around Violet’s chest and her face in the crook of Violet’s neck.

It’s extremely cute, though Sana can’t for the life of her guess why it’s happening on the floor of her cabin. She frowns, noticing that both of their eyes look puffy from lack of sleep. Well, Arkady and Violet awake in here at what Arkady would call “shit o’clock in the morning” would at least explain that last memory. Kind of.

As soon as she steps into the dimlylit hallway, she is hit by the welcome aroma of coffee. Feeling like a bloodhound on a scent trail, Sana heads toward the mess hall.

As she passes the bathroom, she sees what looks like an empty mug on the floor next to the doorway, along with someone’s—Brian’s—glasses. Sana picks up the glasses and polishes them absentmindedly on her shirt, tucking them into a pocket.

There’s also a bedraggled feather boa hanging off the sign on the supply closet door, and Sana squints groggily at it. Since when did the Iris 2 even have a feather boa?

As she comes up on the mess hall, Sana can see that its sunlights are up as well, but at least the mess hall makes up for them with a noticeable increase in coffee aroma. Rubbing her eyes again, Sana gingerly makes her way through the doorway, but before she can step around the corner to the kitchen half of the space, she is stopped by a sight not unlike the one in her cabin.

The hammock Sana rigged up—this one not from safety harnesses—is empty in the bright sunlight, but under it, three of her crewmates are sprawled in a sleeping pile. Krejjh is lying on their back, snoring loudly. Brian seems to have taken it upon himself to act as a human pillow for their injured knee, lying with their leg draped over his shoulder. And, a foot above him, the person who inflicted that injury is lying with their head pillowed on Krejjh’s stomach and Krejjh’s arm around their waist. McCabe is snoring almost as loudly as Krejjh is, their cheek squished against Krejjh’s sweater.

Sana stares in bemusement for another second before shaking her head fondly and inching around the tableau, making her way around the corner into the kitchen.

Park is standing at the counter, fully dressed and pouring himself a cup of coffee. Sana blinks at him for a second before the rest of her brain kicks in. “Park! Good morning.”

Though Sana is sure she made plenty of noise rounding the corner, Park looks oddly startled to see her, keeping his eyes directed at the mug and coffeepot in his hands for a long second before turning to meet her gaze. “Captain. Good morning.” His eyes drop momentarily away and he clears his throat awkwardly. Meeting her eyes again, he asks, “Would you like some coffee?”

“I would love some coffee.” Sana stares greedily at the steaming hot liquid in the mug in Park’s hands. Park has very nice hands, strong and sure as they set the coffeepot on the counter and pass the mug…to her?

Sana stares at the mug for a second before her brain kicks in again and she stretches out a hand to take it. “Park, being the captain doesn’t give me coffee priority,” she tells him, amused.

“It will be a hardship to take another thirty seconds to pour my own,” Park intones, deadpan, as he takes another mug down from the cabinet, “but no sacrifice for my commanding officer is too great.”

“Point taken.” Sana chuckles as she raises the mug to her nose, sniffing it blissfully before taking a sip. Oh, that’s good. “Thank you, Park.”

“You’re welcome, Captain.” Park replaces the coffeepot in the coffeemaker, raising his own mug to his lips. “You look like you need it.”

Sana eyes him suspiciously. Was that a drag? His voice is as bland as ever, but of course with Park that doesn’t mean anything.

Setting the mug down on the counter, she raises a pessimistic hand to her hair. Sure enough, she can feel it escaping its former ponytail to form a chaotic frame around her face. Glancing down, she can see that her shirt, which was already stained with engine oil, is crooked, Brian’s glasses still poking out of her pocket. At least she wasn’t wearing any makeup last night. “I must look a disaster.”

Park snorts into his coffee. “Don’t worry, Captain, you always look—” He blinks, as if his own brain is suddenly catching up with his mouth. “Like a captain,” he finishes lamely.

Sana smirks, wondering what he was going to say. “Like the undisciplined captain of a scrappy smuggling ship, you mean?” She eyes Park’s tidy button-down shirt, pilfered from one of the storage lockers onboard. “I guess to your discerning eye, a hungover smuggler captain with hair from here to Neptune isn’t that different from a smuggler captain at her glossiest.”

“Something like that,” Park says drily, taking another sip of coffee, and Sana laughs.

“Thanks for the coffee, Park. I definitely needed it.” She winces. “It seems like last night got a little…wild.”

“I think certain members of the crew, including you, may have…imbibed a little more than originally planned.”

“Yes, I’ve been getting that picture,” Sana says drily, wincing again. “Park, I…do usually try to watch my limits a little better than this. I’m not sure exactly…” She trails off.

“Well, you can lay part of the blame for that on that final, uh, drinking game.”

Park’s voice has turned suspiciously sheepish on the last words. “Drinking game?” Sana prompts.

“Truth or dare.” Park’s voice is mild again. “Specifically, the part when your pilot said, ‘Time to get Cap’n Tripathi wasteeedddd—’ Park’s Krejjh impression is eerily on point. “To which you said, ‘Someone needs to be able to keep an eye on the emergency alarms,’ to which Patel said, ‘Violet and I already agreed to stop for the night, Sana can get fucked up if she wants to.’” He sets his empty mug on the counter, reaching for the coffeepot. “At which point Liu said something to the effect of, ‘Go, Captain, go! Woooooohoo!’”

Sana groans.

Park looks amused, though this fades a little as he adds, “Uh, I think the thinking was that those who were a little more sober would keep an eye on the rest of us, but after McCabe dared you to drink straight from the bottle, things got a little…out of hand? If, uhm, memory serves—” He winces, the first visual indicator Sana has seen underlining his self-categorization in ‘the rest of us.’ “If memory serves, that was when Liu did think to spirit the booze elsewhere. She and Patel went to keep an eye on you to make sure you didn’t, um, stop breathing, and things here—” He nods toward the pile of crew under the hammock, “wound down to their natural conclusion.”

Krejjh, Arkady, Violet, RJ, I am going to kill all four of you, Sana thinks, though she has to concede that the person she’s actually mad at, or maybe rattled by, is herself. Getting drunk is one thing; passing out too drunk to be left alone is a different story.

For right now, she just sighs. “Sounds like we need to revisit our protocols for how much booze gets brought out in one night.”

Park has raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth at ‘protocols,’ but Sana premeditates him. “Informal protocols. The word ‘protocol’ was probably never spoken.”

Park snorts again, taking another sip of coffee.

“Anyway, thank you for the update, Park.” Sana leans against the counter. “At least no harm was done.” She thinks back to Arkady giggling in the early hours of the morning, and the puffiness of her and Violet’s eyes. They must have stayed awake until morning keeping an eye on her. Well, at least they seem to have kept each other entertained.

“Yes. Um.” Park sounds uncharacteristically uncertain. “About that. I’m…uh, I’m glad I happened to catch you this morning before the others…Well. Alone.”

Sana frowns curiously at him.

When he begins again, his voice is professional. Too professional.

“Captain. I’d like to apologize for what I said last night.” He winces. “Uh. Even if you don’t remember what I’m apologizing for, which it seems you don’t. But if you happen to, or someone mentions it…I thought I should apologize.” He squares his shoulders. “It was a tactless thing to say and I give you my assurance that it will not impact our working relationship going forward.”

Sana eyes him, deciding on a gentle, “It sounds like we were all pretty drunk, Park. Whatever you said, unless it was a confession of…I don’t know…” She tries to think of a crime that would actually set him apart from the rest of her crew. “Killing…a planet…for fun, I think we can overlook some less than tactful words.”

“It wasn’t,” Park mumbles into his coffee. “That kind of confession.”

Sana frowns again, confused.

“During the ‘Truth or Dare’ game.” Park’s voice is a careful monotone. “Krejjh asked me, ‘Former Agent Park, if you were to smooch anyone on this ship, who would it be?’ and I said, well, you.”

“Oh.” Sana takes a moment to gather her thoughts. She can see why Park is freaked out, but, she tells herself, it all sounds fairly standard for a drunken crew escapade. It didn’t—doesn’t—mean anything more than that. “Well, it sounds like they didn’t give you the option of saying ‘Absolutely no one aboard, thank you,’ so picking the first crewmember you could think of who wasn’t in a committed monogamous relationship sounds like a very reasonable…”

“I also said,” Park continues miserably, “that you were not only the smartest criminal I’d ever tracked but also the sexiest captain I’d ever met, that Roderick Quincy Cresswin Junior didn’t know what he was giving up when he betrayed you and left you and everyone you cared about to die horribly on Cresswin Landing, that if Ignatius Campbell loves you as much as it sounds like he does then he was an idiot not to kiss your beautiful face last time you were on Telemachus, and that anyone lucky enough to love you should strew nuts and bolts and rivets and flowers in your wake wherever you walked. Or flew.”

Upon finishing this recounting, Park stares into the middle distance, and Sana leans against the counter, staring at him.

“Park,” she says feebly, “You know I’m not technically a captain, right? I don’t have any accredited training—”

Park, who still looks like he wants the kitchen floor to swallow him up, gives this the non-answer it deserves, and Sana takes another few seconds to compose a less inane response.

“Well,” she says, in her best captaining voice, “Sometimes when a group of humans drink together, some, uh, horny language happens. People find other peoples’ bodies attractive; booze removes some verbal filters around that. You were too far gone to have the filters you would have wanted to have; you clearly didn’t mean it in a creepy way, and it doesn’t have to affect anything in our working relationship.”

Park relaxes. “Thank you, Captain.”

He hesitates, still looking a little uncomfortable. “While we’re discussing this, I should add for the sake of completeness that I feel a certain attraction to you all the time. It wasn’t just finding you, uhm, ‘sexy’ while I was inebriated. But I assure you I won’t let it affect our working rel—”

“You do?” Sana interrupts. She can feel herself staring at him as several weeks’ worth of pieces finally fall into place.

She’s definitely blushing.

“I do.”

“Park,” Sana says gently. “For the sake of…completeness…I’ll add that I feel a certain attraction to you. All the time. As well. But—”

Sana looks at him, really looks athim: this attractive man who three weeks ago was an IGR agent representing everything Sana is against, who calls her Captain and still flinches at sudden movements in his peripheral vision.

“But,” Park finishes for her, “there are a lot of ‘buts.’”

“Yes.”

“Whatimesit?” Across the room, Brian is blinking in the faux morning light, looking bemused to see his fiancé’s leg draped over his shoulder. “Wheresmglasses?”

At his motion, Krejjh starts to stir. RJ blinks and makes a face at the sunlights, squeezing their eyes shut and trying to bury their face in Krejjh’s sweater.

Sana smiles at Park. He gives her a small smile back, and Sana feels as though they have settled themselves onto the same team, two people facing a universe of strangeness both external and internal.

“We’ll talk about this more. Sometime.”

Park nods, his usual taciturn motion.

“Good morning, crew,” Sana calls as she makes her way toward the pile of hungover crewmates under the hammock. “Good news! Park made coffee!”

[noneatnonedotcom]

Rwby earlier

so the basic question this story asks is what would rwby be like if it was set earlier in the timeline. this time i focused on jaune, who’s the last son of a knightly house that has since been betrayed by the kingdom of vale. he’s not a huntsman. that terminology only came at the end of the great-war. jaune’s a knight. the last of his kind and a hero...

of sorts

hope you enjoy

Jaune surveyed the battlefield before him.  It was dry relatively flat though there were small rises and dips. All in all a good bit of ground he’d managed to lure his enemy into. 

They needed every advantage they could get.

The Faunas Rights Revolution as they were now calling it was… well, it was a disaster. Incompetent generals on the human side, brought on by the destruction of the nobility after the end of the great war and the loss of the warrior culture, basically won the war for the animals.

The only reason Minstral and Atlas had held on as long as they had was because of him and the Vale Expeditionary Force fighting the battles for them. And still, it was down to just them now. He’d not been recalled from the field and as a knight of vale… as the leader of vale forces rather, those lofty titles and ideals were dead now.

Much like everything else good in his life he could see its blood purely on the hands of vales former king. 

He watched the wind sweep across the field making waves in the grass and flowers of the beautiful vista. In the distance past the forest, the mountains rose majestically. The fall of fort castle had secured a line of attack on Minstral itself. The subsequent sacrifice of Minstralian troops on the altar of stupidity was the final nail in the coffin for humanity.

Or it should be, this field would be the place where the future was decided. Weeks of following the Herd of faunas had been leading up to this very moment. Now he had a chance and with it, he would exact a bloody tax on the animals for the rape of Castle Town. and for all the evils they had committed.

To his left, he had two formations of heavy cavalry. In years past they would have been knights. Their armors were polished the beautiful colors they covered themselves with and their horses stood out especially in comparison to the drab colors of the faunas most being poorly equipped and trained. But their natural advantages, numbers, and human incompetence had let the animals run rampant across the countryside.

His men were well trained, all had their auras unlocked and the warhorses they used had not only been specially bred but had been trained to use aura as well. The act of unlocking their aura had made them intelligent enough to use the new abilities they’d gained. 

He’d argue that each horse was smarter than your average tax collector.

His enemy was confidant, the only challenges he’d faced so far were poorly trained human militias led by incompetent officers. He outnumbered jaune two-hundred to one. And jaune had made a point to have the enemy think they were chasing him. This wouldn’t be a battle.

This would be a slaughter.

He let his enemy mass his troops, his polearms at the front with a few cavalry off to the flanks. Nodding at the knight commander of his second formation he signaled the man to lead his hundred men to chase off the mounted enemies. His only worry was the muskets that the enemy had stolen. Luckily it seemed they had no real idea how to use them beyond the very basics. 

Jaune watched the battle, one hundred men charged a great mass of the animals on horseback. actual numbers were impossible to guess since the creatures didn’t organize themselves. The advantage of numbers though was soundly in the favor of the enemy. 

The initial shock of the charge nearly won the contest outright but they rallied. The knights not killing nearly as fast as they should have. As the left flank came to join his first formation fled from the fight. The enemy cavalry giving chase. It would appear that the first part of the battle was over.

At the very least the enemy cavalry was off the field. The last hundred men shuffled nervously and jaune reached down to pat the white destrier he was riding. Snow was a fine stallion and he was thankful to have his friend at his side now. He took a deep breath enjoying the relative peace of the moment as the enemy began marching towards him. 

This would be a good day.

This is how he would mark himself as a hero. 

“There is not much to say about the situation but I nonetheless feel some words must be spoken.”

The didn’t truly march, they more ambled in a vague formation. Jaune smiled at the sight.

“I do not believe in the superiority of humanity, in truth I see no real difference physically between the two of our species” 

The front ranks seemed to get nervous as they approached the last line of knights. A block ten men across and ten men deep. This wasn’t at all like the previous foes they’d fought. But they were pushed forwards by the ones behind them. Bunching closer and closer together.

“But those are not faunas you see before you, they are not human, they are animals! Animals who would rape and murder the women and children of Minstral the same as they did for those of Castle town!” he felt his fury seep into his voice “they are animals who when offered a peaceful end to hostilities asked for more. Knowing that the councils couldn’t grant them that!” snow stomped into the ground sharing his hatred “they are animals who came from Managerie purely to harm others! I remind you, men, that this is not a battle!” his voice carried over to the herd now and jaune felt his aura unfurl across himself and his hundred men “THIS IS A LONG OVERDO EXTERMINATION!” he cried to the heavens as his knights cried out with him. “TRAMPLE THEM BENEATH OUR HOOVES AND RUN THEM DOWN! FOR VALE! FOR GLORY! FOR HUMANITY!” his lance tilted down “CHARGE!”

And the sound of thunder echoed across the valley on the bright sunny day

In his mind jaune said a prayer

My body is a cage of flame

The burning yet verdant giant

Retribution, a shrine that presides over human affairs and purifies them.

I am the one who destroys

THE WICKER MAN!

Moments before the impact he saw in his mind ruby rose, she was sitting in the garden trying to learn to sing from her friend Weiss. It sounded more like screeching in truth, but the love song was meant for him and it was more beautiful than anything he’d ever heard. And he remembered her sitting on that very same marble bench in the golden light streaming through the trees when she’d said she loved him as he loved her and his soul sang with the memory.

His lance killed a man as Snow plowed through the line of men heedless of the polearms bouncing off the now unlimited aura. Men flew through the air and were trampled into the soil now becoming mud with the liquid of their blood jaune thrust his lance down again and again as snow stomped and bit and kicked and men all around him did the same.

Time lost meaning to him for a long while the auras of him and his men unbreakable as jaune held onto that beautiful golden memory as the animals cried out in pain some drowning in the bloody mud others grasping at deep wounds from the lances.

In time the animals turned to flee, jaune and his knights gave chase. But disaster struck for the animals when the first formation fo cavalry from before came back. Now with double the knights coming from both sides, the animals sought to surrender.

Quarter was not given to the people of Castle town.

And the animals were slaughtered in their entirety. 

The entire main army of the faunas was destroyed. Twenty thousand killed off in a single day by Jaune Arc the Butcher of Anima. The council would condemn him. And most of all an old man name Oswald who was the head of the Beacon Academy had said he was little more than a monster. 

Apparently he’d tried to convince Ruby to leave him after the news of his victory broke. She’d outright refused. 

Apparently, jaune was now quite hated by the Circles the old man frequented. Whether this was because of his actions or the fact that Jaune was more important to the last known silver-eyed warrior in Remnant was unknown. 

In the nights jaune still had dreams, dreams of men trampled beneath the hooves of horses and those screaming for mercy as they drowned in the mud of the battlefield. Of monsters who came for his beloved wife . Of old men striping what light his life had away from him.

And every time jaune was woken by the embrace of his little rose, a hero in her own right. And they would lie in the darkness of their room and she would sing that sweet lovesong that he remembered and he would cling to her like a lifeline.

And then in the morning they would sit in the garden and watch the children of his sisters play and thoughts of war were forgotten. 

 so yeah jaune in an earlier age becomes a hero, he stops a great atrocity but commits one of his own. something that haunts him well into the later events of the story btw ruby and jaune are both cannon ages for this, they just got married earlier than most. (they are basically still in the medieval ages lol) Ruby’s also one of the first batch of huntsmen to study at beacon. jaune’s not allowed in. and Oswald is the incarnation before Ozpin. 

jaune’s real struggle is not with his capabilities but rather how able he is to live up to his ideals to be a knight. his victory in Anima was a moral failing for him and he most certainly pays the price for it. but the people he was stopping weren’t exactly good guys either. they were an undisciplined mob who thought they were owed. just look how the french revolution turned out

let me know what you think the song ruby sings for him should be btw

[krispydefendorpolice]

The Demon’s Bride (5)

So, call out for this post is....Broken Harmony by @dessarious . It’s an amazing take on a soulmate AU. I freaking enjoy every new update.

Beginning Previous Next Masterpost

___________________

The buzz of excitement filled Damian all morning. Their year’s Blade Master had finally decided they were ready to start sparring. (They weren’t. They were meant to work on forms in pairs and how the moves worked to counter each other.)

As the students paired up he was left with one of the quietest and smallest girls in the class. This will be so boring, he thought to himself as he looked around for any of the other children that would be suitable for his level of training, but everyone else was already paired and had begun moving.

“Thank you for your time,” the girl said with a shallow bow before settling into the opening stance.

“You should be,” Damian said announced haughtily. He was the grandson of the Demon’s Head. She should be grateful he would spar with someone so beneath his training.

The girl narrowed her eyes at him but kept silent as they began the movements of the forms. They continued at a steady rhythm until Damian started to get bored with this practice.

“Hey,” she exclaimed as Damian changed his next block into a counter strike and tagged the girl on the arm.

One of the trainers that was overseeing their practice came over to watch them.

“Back into position,” they barked at the two.

Damian glared at the girl as they resumed their forms under the trainer’s supervision. The trainer watched them closely for a moment before another pair of students called his attention away. Damian continued following the approved forms until he got bored again. Ignoring the next steps in the assigned form he performed a quick series of jerky jabs at the girl hitting her a couple of times.

Instead of yelling out again she narrowed her eyes and waited, blocking his hits until she had an opening. In a quick move she dropped to a crouch and kicked his legs out from under him.

Damian grunted as he landed hard on his backside. He flushed red as the other students in the class laughed at him.

“Enough,” the Blade Master said walking over to them. “Go stand in the hallway until I come talk to you. The both of you,” she said as Damian stood up.

“Yes Blade Master,” the girl dropped her head in shame as she walked towards the door of the training room.

“Go,” the trainer interrupted Damian as he started to argue.

He stomped his way to the hallway where the girl was already standing against the wall for their punishment.

How dare they make me stand out here. I’m an Al Ghul, he sulked to himself as he stood and waited for the trainer.

They waited maybe ten minutes until the Blade Master came outside. She turned to the girl first. “Do you understand what you did wrong?”

“Yes Blade Master, I did not follow the assigned steps. I deviated from the pattern and could have hurt another trainee.”

“Go pair with trainee Juleka. Every third pattern I want you to check her steps and ensure she maintains a strong stance. Understood?”

“Yes Blade Master,” she said bowing before entering the training room.

Damian looked at the trainer defiantly as he waited for his punishment.

The trainer knelt before him so they were nearly at eye level. “I’m disappointed in your actions in there Young Master,” she said in an even tone.

Damian flinched at that. Oh no, he failed in his training. Now she was going to tell his mother and she was going to be mad at him for failing and he was going to get extra training that weekend.

Damian blinked at the Trainer when she lifted his chin up to meet her eyes again. “I’m not disappointed that you were able to do moves that are above your year group. I know that you have more training than the other students because of your private training. I’m disappointed that you did not have the discipline to follow the assigned practice.”

Damian dropped his eyes. His tummy felt weird. All squirmy and achy and he couldn’t look at her sad eyes anymore.

“I know you are doing better than most of your year, I’m going to ask that you take the extra training with the advanced students. However, I want you to practice discipline while we are in the regular training class and do what the other students are doing. Do you understand?” she asked.

“Yes Blade Master,” Damian whispered to the floor at his feet.

“Good. If you can do that then I won’t have to mention why you fell during class to your mother now will I,” she asked and smiled when Damian jerked his head up to look at her. “Go back inside and pair up with Kagami, same orders as I gave Marinette. Every third form give her feedback. Understood?”

“Yes Blade Master Cheng, I understand,” Damian said with a small smile in return.

*******************

“Really, Master Jason, I don’t see why you need to be laughing like one of Ms Quinn’s pets,” Alfred said.

Todd, who was on the floor he was laughing so hard, just waved a hand at Alfred. But he didn’t stop laughing. The others were looking at him because what was so funny about the story Damian told them?

“Demon Spawn, Mr.-I’m-A-Perfect-Warrior, himself, got taken down by a little girl,” Jason hooted.

Damian was irritated by the howling of his idiotic brother. “I was five, lackwit. And she wasn’t just any trainee, she was the Blade Master’s daughter. She had just as much training as I did.” He sighed in frustration and leaned back in his seat. “Though I was admittedly arrogant and as my Master said undisciplined at the time.”

“You respect the trainer?” Dick asked when he noted the respect Damian used when speaking of her.

“Sabine Cheng was an amazing trainer, but more than that she was an amazing mother. Even to a neglected, arrogant brat like myself.” Damian said with a small smile. (Minuscule really, barely even there. “Lies Grayson. I don’t smile. I am the Night.”)

“Cheng? Marinette’s mother?” Tim asked. He had read the file Damian pulled up over his brothers shoulder back in the cave.

Jason stopped laughing as he turned with the others to look at Damian for his response.

“The same. And yes it was Mari that knocked me down and taught me humility. And brought me to the people that would first teach me what it meant to be family.”

______________

Sabine is a good mama in this story. I swear she’s a part of the league for reasons. (How many are groaning with that teaser😈) I do have some ideas of where this story is going but I’m not sure how we’re getting there and the next chapter is the result of the what?? when that happens to me. Still gotta polish it but I might just end up leaving it. I’m mostly satisfied with it. I wasn’t lying when I reposted that my characters are always surprising me, my stories tend to be very character driven and I’m just the unreliable navigator that get’s us lost in Utah when we’re trying to get to Texas (I just pulled random states out of the air). BTW, I did make a one word change in the last two chapters, instead of Marinette going to the Manor for lunch I changed it to dinner. (If anyone noticed that).

Out of curiosity what are thoughts on my little narrator inserts from the characters/narrator? You know the random thoughts (“those are random?” Shut it, Todd). I’m enjoying them and they’re not going away but I was wondering about others impressions.

Ok, on to the taglist and thank you for reading. First @mindfulmagics cuz seriously Demon’s Bride wouldn’t be here without you and @ozmav starting this crazy train

@multifandomscribette @mochinek0 @inevitableenquere @zebrabaker @poshplumcot @tog84 @luciferge @sonif50 @ravennightingaleandavatempus @northernbluetongue @actual-human-disaster @clumsy-owl-4178 @aarushi-03 @bluerosette23 @g-arya @moonyloonyx @fertileleaf @shreky-boi @thanks-captain-obvious @panda3506 @hinata3487 @thequestionablyhuman @dontgiveaflyinflip @dast218 @chocolatecatstheron @asianfrustration13 @slytherinsheashire @weird-pale-blonde-person @yin-390 @mycupisbroken @vixen-uchiha @kuroko26 @autisticlinx @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @mariae2900 @zalladane @hypnosharkrebeldreamer @tbehartoo @novicevoice @violatiger8 @thebookish3lf @fandomkitty8 @redscarlet95 @gingersnapnoir @chewbaccaatemythoughts @thepeacetea @megawhitleycalderonpaganus @winter-gardenflower @schrodingers25

[thegoodomensdumpster]

I am reposting, for convenience purpose, the ficlet I wrote based on this post that suggested a human AU where Aziraphale and Crowley meet at Warlock’s eleventh birthday party, being respectively a real magician for hire and a real waiter. I have no idea why this inspired me right away, but it did. I’ve corrected a few things in this version. Enjoy !

« Well, that went down like a lead balloon » said the waiter. « Hm ? I’m sorry, what was it you were saying ? » asked the magician politely.   He had been busy trying to wipe out cake bits from his coat. However, he had only managed to spray the icing all over his clothes and hands. The magician licked one of his fingers, resuming his attention on his new companion. « I said » repeated the waiter, « that went down like a lead balloon ». The waiter, a slender fellow in dark glasses, grinned as he was unsuccessfully trying to get water off said glasses with an equally damp corner of his white jacket. His eyes were a mezmerizing light brown, almost yellow, and he was smiling widely, as if the whole event hadn’t been a disaster. The disaster had begun halfway through the magician’s performance, as all the children grew impatient, started to insult the magician, then each other, then the staff, and proceeded with a general battle involving flying cakes and water guns. A proper disaster.

The magician felt strangely better, seeing the waiter grinning with a kind of confidence he didn’t have. It unexpectedly softened his own anxiety. « Oh, yes » he said. « Rather dreadful, I’m afraid. Erm… » He was about to offer to shake hands with the waiter, but there was more cake than hand on the body part he raised towards his companion. The man chuckled and took the magician’s wrist between two fingers, shaking that instead. «  I’m Mr Fell » smiled the magician. «  Anthony Crowley » replied the waiter. « Nice to meet you. » « I’m sorry about the mess I created » apologized Mr Fell, turning slightly towards the house.

Both men could still hear the horrible children shouting and throwing various objects at each other, back in the garden. One hell of an eleventh birthday party.

« Nonsense. The little monsters did that themselves. »

« No » sighed the magician, « I know it’s partially my fault. The tricks I performed were… outdated for this kind of audience. »

Crowley said nothing and pinched his lips. He really couldn’t counteract Mr Fell on that point without lying, as he had watched the show the magician had performed from the back of the room and had been dying of second hand embarrassement the whole time. Mr Fell didn’t pay attention and kept talking.

« Youngsters nowadays have the attention span of a fish. Not the clever kind like dolphins, of course. All they want to see are flashy tricks and pyrotechnics, and mesmerizing visuals… Cards and bunnies out of hats aren’t that impressive anymore. »

The magician sighed deeply.

« And they almost had it. I was ready to deliver this kind of show, you know. »

The waiter raised a confused eyebrow over his glasses.

« Why didn’t you ? »

« Erm… I… Uh… I had a lot of … tools and material, and, er… »

« Lost it, didn’t you ? »

«  Oh no ! No, not exactly lost, more- » « Well ? » Mr Fell sighed again, a bit annoyed this time. The annoyance seemed to be directed more towards himself than anyone else.

« Well, if you must know, I gave it away. »

« You WOT . »

The waiter’s eyes widdened in shock. Magic material must cost a fortune ! What could have this man been thinking, giving up on his livelihood like that, shortly before having to perform a show for the birthday party of the American ambassador’s son ?

Mr Fell felt the stare of Crowley through his dark glasses. He rubbed his hands distractingly, making some more cake purée between his fingers. « I had to. You see, I have this couple of friends, the poor things, they had some terrible luck lately, got evicted from their home, and they… they really needed the money, so … »

Mr Fell gave a worried look at Crowley.

« It was the right thing to do. »

Crowley’s mouth stayed wide open and silent for a few seconds.

« Wow » he finally managed to say. « Are you some sort of an actual angel ? »

The magician blushed. It wasn’t only the skin visible under the cake sprayed on his face that gave his emotions away, as he also failed at maintaining a dignified composure, visibly very touched by the compliment. Crowley couldn’t help but smile at his mannerisms. Mr Fell coughed even though he didn’t need it, as a sort of forced transition to go back to his normal self.

« It’s a pity really » continued Mr Fell with a more steady voice « that young people need so much flash and color to appreciate a good show. Because… »

Crowley froze as the hand of the magician came dangerously close to his ear. However, it went back almost immediately, holding a golden coin.

« … it does require skills to perform even the most basic of magic. »

The waiter laughed.

« You should check you pockets » offered Mr Fell .

The waiter did, and stopped laughing. There were several other coins, and bits of cake inside.

« Oh, oh my. Awfully sorry about that, I had forgotten all about the cake. »

Crowley raised his head, impossible to read through his sunglasses. The magician’s anxiety kicked back at full intensity.

Crowley burst into laughter and the knot in Mr Fell’s stomach burst into nothingness.

« You really are an angel, to be tipping this generously » joked Crowley.

« You won’t be able to buy much with these fake coins, I’m afraid. »

« Ah, too bad. I would have needed the money, considering I’m quitting. »

Mr Fell turned as white as a sheet.

« What ? Why ? Is it because of what just happened ? Is it because of me ? »

Crowley shrugged.

« Nah, not really. I’m fed up. Had enough of these… stupid rich people and their impossible kids. I change jobs regularly. Never manage to keep one for long. I don’t really like taking orders, but I don’t feel like… having responsibilities and such. I just… Saunter vaguely from one job to another, I guess. »

The waiter was absentmindedly playing with the coins in his hand, unbothered by the cake bits. He looked tired.

« Would be nice to have a steady situation, though » he whispered.

The magician felt sad, but couldn’t quite think about what he could possibly reply to comfort his companion. The waiter cut his thoughts abruptely, turning once again towards Mr Fell with a wide grin.

« Hey, let’s leave the garden » he said. « Since none of us work here anymore. »

The logic quite escaped the magician, but as he had already gathered all his belongings in his suitcase and his bunny in his cage, and had been paid in advance, he indeed had no real reason to stay by the gates of the mansion. He nodded, and opened the door.

« Oh, wait a second » added Crowley hurrily, fleeing back into the garden.

Mr Fell grimaced as he saw the waiter jumping under an apple tree, and downright stealing a couple of fruits.

« Crowley ! » he exclamed disapprovingly.

The man came back, beaming, one apple in each hand, unnoticed by any of the staff members who still had many undisciplined children to handle. Crowley held out an apple, red and bright, to Mr Fell.

« May I tempt you to a spot of lunch ? » he asked in an amused tone.

« Really, my dear. If I am an angel, then you are a demon . »

The magician took the apple nonetheless.

[kat8porgs]

first and last 2

Set in the same verse as my first and last story, LWJ has to deal with having WWX’s last words on his chest, if WWX had ever gone to a matchmaker he’d have had their first words on his chest but he never did

Mo Xuanyu though...

Lan Zhan had a soulmate. 

He knew he had a soulmate. He knew his brother struggled, sadness on at the edge of every smile, because he had not yet met his soulmate. He knew his father had locked himself into seclusion over a soulmate. He knew his mother had died, trapped in seclusion, because of his father’s soulmark.

The elders had pushed him into a meeting with the matchmaker when he was the same age his brother was. He thought they were disappointed that his brother’s soulmate had proved elusive so far and hoped that Wangji’s would be different, that his soulmate would be softer perhaps. Perhaps they hoped his soulmate would be as quiet as Lan Wangji was. 

He showed his brother his bandage on his return from the matchmaker, a bandage placed on his chest almost directly over his heart.

“That shows a high level of devotion to your soulmate, Wangji.” His brother say with a small, slightly worried smile. “Did she say what it said?”

He shook his head. He had not asked, he did not know.

It was only when he peeled the bandage off days later that disaster was revealed. 

‘Let me go’.

His heart ached. It took him several breaths to collect himself before he applied a fresh bandage and dressed himself. It took him several more breaths before he could leave the jingshi and face the day. It… 

‘Let me go’. 

Could anything else have struck him a harsher blow? ‘I hate you’ perhaps but… no, because those words meant he had held his soulmate against their will. He had held them back and the last thing they would say to him was a request to be let go. They would escape from him.

He would let them.

He would help them.

“Ah, Wangji,” his brother with a smile on his face, the smile faltered, faded, and disappeared, “are you alright?”

He would need time to think, to meditate. He shook his head slightly.

“The new juniors will arrive in a few days,” his brother said carefully, “would you like to take some time to meditate before they do? I am afraid that once they arrive things will begin to be… quite busy.”

A slight smile on his brother’s face, hope perhaps that this year his soulmate would be among the crowd. His brother still held hope for his soulmate, even though the words on his arm had just as much potential for tragedy. 

He would meditate, he would… think. He would take time to himself before the juniors arrived.

Perhaps they were first words, perhaps he caught someone as they fell, or an undisciplined junior as they walked through the halls at night. Perhaps…

He bowed his head and stared down at his feet. 

Perhaps his love story did not need to be tragic.

--

Wei Ying hadn’t been ready to meet his match before his death. There had been, if he was being honest, a lot going on. First he had been definitely, definitely too young for it. Only sects desperate for a proper marriage rushed a young cultivator into a matchmaking session before they were ready. The Yungmeng sect had no need to rush their children into unhappy marriages (well, except Yangli, apparently, but that was another bucket of lotus) and so neither he nor Jiang Cheng had felt pressured to visit a matchmaker and have their first, or last words scratched into their skin.

Mo Xuanyu had a mark on his skin that had been hard to make out at first. It had been covered in the scratches of his wishes for retribution, at first.

“What does this say?” Wei Ying held his wrist out to Little Apple with a frown. “I’ve never seen a soulmark so blurry. What is this all about?”

The donkey snorted at him, which was all the answer Wei Ying should have expected. He took the studying his wrist as the donkey slowly moved down the path.

Soulmarks weren’t generally blurry, in fact, he really had never heard about one that blurred like this. He had heard of them fading if a soulmate was taken before their time, if the two of them never met. He had heard once of a soulmate’s mark changing because of a name change. He had never heard of it going blurry.

Though maybe that was merely the state of transition, perhaps the switch of souls meant that Mo Xuanyu’s soulmate was no longer a match for the body. 

Did this mean that Wei Ying would find out what his soulmate’s first words would be? Or last, he supposed. He had never found last words to be terribly useful, though they did make for the sappiest soulmate matches.

He thought the pain when Lan Zhan grabbed his arm was just from the other’s grip, it was not until his first chance to scrub up after he had been forcefully brought to Cloud Recesses that he saw his soulmark had solidified. Instead of the blurry remnants of Mo Xuanyu’s soulmark his wrist now read, bold and clear, ‘Always’.

--

His chest burned.

Lan Wangji was used to nightmares, to night terrors, he was used to pain. He had been beaten to within an inch of his life once, had been broken and battered by enemies and allies alike. He had his heart broken and the edges of it ground together every day. He had branded himself, burned himself, marked himself over his soulmark so the words were unrecognizable. He did not want to see the words anymore, did not want to think about the man who had uttered them. He had let his soulmate go as he had always promised and Wei Wuxian had fallen to his death.

His heart ached.

He let out a careful breath and lifted a hand to his chest. He was in an inn, not Cloud Recesses, because he was supervising a night hunt. There had been no alcohol, he did not feel the pain in his head that alcohol always brought him, and there would have been no Wen branding irons around for his use. 

Carefully he peeled back his undergarments to look at his chest. The burning was unusual but not… there was no sign of damage.

He frowned slightly.

Part of the reasoning behind branding himself was to remember Wei Ying forever and part of it had been to destroy the words that told him they could have had so much more. Now the words seemed… different. Something was different. 

He unsheathed Bichen and let the sword reflect the words upwards. In the warped reflection of the sword, beneath the twisted scar of the brand, he could make out a change but… that was supposed to be impossible, wasn’t it?

A small smile, disbelieving, twitched his lips.

It was Wei Ying.

When had what was possible ever mattered to him?

[tjabia]

Barangay Greater Fairview: Disaster Risk Reduction and Management

Natural disasters are bound to happen in any community, it is up to the people of authority to take initiative to prevent and reduce the damages that could occur. They are task with leading the people to safety and protecting them from harm. In this blog, I will specifically focus on Barangay Fairview as this is the barangay I belong to. 

Hazard Identification

The barangay is commonly affected by weather conditions such as the Southwest Monsoon or Habagat and typhoons which will bring heavy rainfall  and humid atmosphere around the area. The harsh weather condition could result to a possible flooding to the lower plain levels of Fairview (e.g. Fairview Center Mall) but the majority of the barangay is in a high plain level which is not prone to flooding. The possible flooding is also a result of a poor drainage system and low soil stability. The barangay follows the warnings and signs given by the Philippine Atmospheric, Geophysical and Astronomical Services Administration or PAGASA, which is an agency by the Republic of the Philippines mandated to provide protection against natural calamities and to insure the safety of the citizens. Due to climate change and other man-made disasters, monitoring the frequency of natural calamities is a lot more difficult than it used to be. However, there is still a usual pattern to detect rainy seasons which is around late June to October.

Vulnerability, Elements and People at Risk Assessment

The flood prone areas in Fairview is usually concentrated around Fairview Center Mall and the establishments along Regalado Highway. These areas are prone to flooding because it is in the lower plain location of Fairview and the drainage in these areas are usually clogged with waste materials. People living around these flood prone areas are usually the ones most affected but this doesn’t exclude the students and faculty members of National College of Business and Arts or NCBA, which is located at the back of Fairview Center Mall. People who are affected by the flood will have to deal with the inconvenience of the decrease in mobility and the possible illness that could be contracted from the dirty water caused by the waste materials floating in the flood. It was also brought up to attention, if flooding were to frequent in these areas it could result to the deterioration of certain establishments affected by the flood. Areas which are safe when flooding occurs are located on the high plain levels of Fairview which covers the majority of Fairview. The barangay also deals with problems such as undisciplined citizens who continues to ignore certain environmental policies implemented by the barangay. The citizens’ ignorance and violation of the policies are one of the causes that contributes to the flooding problems in Fairview. With these issues present it is difficult to prevent natural disasters but the barangay officials makes it a task to find resolutions to the problems.

Capacity and Disaster Management Assessment

The barangay sends precautionary reminders to the citizens whenever PAGASA publishes general warning advisories. These reminders gives priority to the safety of everyone around the vicinity. The barangay also prepares safety measures if ever the calamity worsens. There are a number trained staffs in the barangay who are ready to help incase a civilian is injured during any natural calamity.  Fairview has not experienced or not prone to natural calamities that destroyed a large amount of establishments and infrastructures. However, this is not to say that Fairview has not dealt with minimal damaged. This minimal damage is usually caused by harsh weather conditions to old and deteriorating commercial buildings.

Community Walk

Venturing around Barangay Fairview was akin to walking around your own territory as I was very familiar with the places and the communities because majority of my childhood up till now is in Fairview. The barangay itself is close by my old junior high school, so the areas near the barangay was something I am accustomed to seeing. There are some few changes like new establishments and stores that I have not seen before because majority of my time now is concentrated in Manila. However, nothing too drastic of a change that I would get lost. 

The barangay also deals with hazardous places where certain areas in Fairview will have piles of waste materials in the wrong places that could eventually damage the drainage system. Ironically, these piles of waste materials can be seen near the signs of “BAWAL MAGTAPON NG BASURA DITO” or the “no littering” signs. The barangay makes it a task to make sure that the piles of garbage will be dispose of properly and to keep a strict monitor of the environmental policies implemented. 

There are also areas in Fairview where it is considered as safe spaces incase any natural disasters strikes. Usually these are the residences, subdivisions  and schools with wide fields that can give shelter to the citizens. These space spaces are in high plain level and free from structures which can cause falling debris. 

There are also some practices that the barangay encourages the citizens to take part-of and even the schools within the barangay, it is to take care of Mother Earth by planting greenery in your area. Of course, this also comes in hand with following the policies of the barangay in order to prevent disasters from happening. Taking care of the environment is also a way to avoid or reduce the danger that can come with the hazards and calamities. Having a clean and safe environment fortifies the safety of every citizen in the barangay. 

As a whole, the experience of the community walk was refreshing considering it has been awhile since I roamed around Fairview. Even though, majority of my time I stay in my condo in Manila for academic purposes, Fairview still feels like a safe home to me. Having to actually walk around my area and investigate about certain topics regarding Disaster Risk Reduction and Management. I felt more connected and grounded to my barangay community than before. I can definitely see that the barangay have indeed evolved and improved compared to its previous state. There are still some problems and issues that needs to be addressed and solved but I am glad that advancements are being made for the betterment of the community. 

The interview was insightful as well as I get to learn more about my own barangay and how they respond to certain natural events that occur. Honestly, I am aware of the disasters that could happen when natural calamities strikes the area but the interview gave me a more detailed outlook of the possibilities. The interview also helped me realize that I should care more and give awareness to the people who are ignorant about Disaster Risk Reduction and Management. Having these precautionary measures is a must in every barangay community as there are certain events that could happen without any warning and the damages could be fatal. It has also brought up to my attention how important of a topic this is as this deals with human lives. 

That is all for my blog regarding Disaster Risk Reduction and Management in the Barangay of Fairview. I hope this was insightful to the people who will take their time to read my simple blog. I challenge the readers to try to interview the barangay official of your place and to venture in a community walk. I assure you the experience will be worth it. 

Sources: https://www.google.com/maps/place/Fairview,+Novaliches,+Quezon+City,+Metro+Manila/@14.7020377,121.0529899,13.98z/data=!4m5!3m4!1s0x3397b0bbfcabfc33:0x18ad039d78dd6e44!8m2!3d14.7021785!4d121.0682102

https://www.google.com/url?sa=i&source=images&cd=&ved=2ahUKEwi32IHrv5LmAhUvGKYKHSJUCoQQjRx6BAgBEAQ&url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.gmanetwork.com%2Fnews%2Fscitech%2Fweather%2F717353%2Ftyphoon-tisoy-enters-par-pagasa%2Fstory%2F&psig=AOvVaw2QBszGwDPVbNVflXRc8pfz&ust=1575222619014063

https://www.google.com/url?sa=i&source=images&cd=&ved=2ahUKEwilm5zGvpLmAhVhL6YKHdQvDZsQjRx6BAgBEAQ&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.whatshappening.com.ph%2Fplace%2Ffairview-center-mall&psig=AOvVaw1jiuaOkz-3D_Q7CLYtxUph&ust=1575222314826538

[izzysdenimjacket]

thank u @slashscowboyboots for tagging me ily!!!!

Who were you named after?: nobody! i am jewish and it’s not allowed to name children after living relatives. my parents named me “susan” because it’s an international name and just about every culture has a version of it. my dad did insist on my middle name though-- it’s sabina, after my great grandmother (i think)

Last time you cried? literally a few hours ago when i came back from taking a bike ride and my parents had locked me out of the house. it was just too much!

Do you like your handwriting?: yeah it slaps sometimes

What is your favorite lunch meat?: i don’t eat meat anymore! but it was turkey when i was a kiddo

Longest relationship?: i dated a boy in high school for like three days and it was a total disaster

Do you still have your tonsils?: yep!

Do you bungee jump?: IVE ALWAYS REALLY WANTED TO DO THIS

What is your favorite kind of cereal:? honey nut cheerios baby

Do you untie your shoes when you take them off?: nope we slidin

Do you think you’re strong willed?: no im an extremely undisciplined person

Favorite ice cream?: ben and jerry’s phish food

What is the first thing you notice about a person?: hair

Football or baseball?: i live in the deep south the only answer is football

Favorite donut?: anything from shipley’s, which i was recently made aware is only a houston company. my condolences to all of you.

What are you listening to?: right now, the talking heads

If you were a crayon, what color would you be? unmellow yellow

What is your favorite smell?: cinnamon

Who was the last person you talked to on the phone?: my friend marie

Hair color?: naturally brunette but i put a box red dye in it about a month ago so that’s where we’re at now

Eye color?: a super exotic and exciting brown

Favorite food to eat?: im a big fruit guy. love a nice fruit.

Scary movies or happy endings?: bro happy endings all the way real life is miserable enough as it is

Last movie you watched on a theatre?: EIGHTH GRADE BY BO BURNHAM LMAO I NEVER GO TO THE THEATER IT WIGS ME OUT

What color shirt are you wearing?: black (it’s a gnr shirt :-) )

Favorite holiday?: new years!!! although novrooz is a close second

Beer or wine?: depends on the company

Night owl or morning person?: left to my own devices im a night owl but when im like, employed i get up really early

Favorite day of the week?: could only be thursday

Favorite animal?: i really like camels and bears

Do you have a pet?: nope! would love a cat someday soon though

Where would you like to travel?: indonesia. ive been dying to see thailand and singapore since i was very young

[swordsphere]

Sword & Sphere

Hello. 

The void wanted me to return.

I am more than excited with the pages I am doing. Maybe because I am still in the setting before the shitstorm comes. Yesterday, I was daydreaming some parts of the story that seems SO heavy and difficult to draw... I hope I can deliver them properly.

Character Info Dump

First, a small introduction; when I started to re writting Sword and Sphere, I wasn´t very convinced of all the sudden changes. I thought every option was flat, boring or that I left out something cool behind. I sacrificed Alina´s quirky personality in order to persue an actual tangible goal... and I wasn´t very excited about it, even though it was for the better. I set a couple other different settings, just to make sure... but the actual S&S storyline, was, in my head, the best setup story and had a lot more potential than the other premises. This character I am about going to write next, in the beginning also needed some changes and through him I found the missing link. I wrote something completely demental in this one arc, involving him (and that will be a very difficult task to draw). Anyway, "That chapter" convinced me to follow the current storyline and I finally settled things out. By the way, if I ever get to that part in the webcomic, I´ll be so pleased. like, it´s the ultimate goal before the next crazy stuff comes along. I also think the ideal for me is to finish the buffer with this mess.

Ok. This week, my idiot boi.

Martin Le´Chant II, Sargent of Special Misions of Boreal. 

The living shame of his father, who is the highest ranked oficial in Boreal and a veteran heroe of his nation. Martin is... mmm... well, a disaster. He is not handsome, is undisciplined, goes around dressed poorly and he didn´t even had the fortune to be smart. 

It´s even rumored that he got his rank in Remos, so they could have a way to get rid of him without dishonoring his father. Other than that, he just wants to help. Country: Boreal Empire Age: 23 (undefined) Hot Items: a silver armonica, pickles and a ugly militar hat.

About him. Well, his name is the one of the things that I refused to change, I found out in french means "to sing", and in some way he is a "musical" character. While in spanish, it sounds cool to call him "Comandante Le´Chant", in english the militar rank sounds off. I don´t like "sargent", but I´ll just roll with it. Martin became my favorite OC, I confess and have a very active role to play in this story. He is a plain faced boyish idiot, he doesn´t act like a high ranked soldier should. He is goofy, expresive and often makes other people mad with his simple minded behavior.

Inspiration

He is the embodiment of all those random anime black haired guys, dressed with an oversized militar uniform and messy facial hair. He needs a comb and a hug. If I have to confess which charater I rip off to make him when I begin to draw a guy, I think of Lantis of Magic Rayearth warriors, maybe some Mamoru... but unfortunatly, he didn´t grew to be that "charming" or to have the "hearthrob" looks. By the way... starting to draw guys was huge for me!

Anyone can drop comments on this. Back to the void!

[apparitionism]

Helicobacter 17

Previously on Helicobacter, everything was right ridiculous. Regardless of whether the long and undisciplined unwinding of twists here has been entertaining, I’ve enjoyed the practice of putting it together. Free-associating was great; getting from that initial hellscape—poor JK!—to the koans to the raccoons. Et cetera. In sixteen prior installments! No actual pies were injured in the making of this story, which I think shows laudable restraint on my part. Oh, I did finally figure out how to get that one troublesome shoutout in, though you may find it a bit of a shoehorn. And there’s that one additional little backgroundy twisty twist near the end, one that calls back, in a whisper, to an earlier thing... anyway, it won’t be too long before I put some more words up; I’m working on a part of an older unfinished piece and may also float a couple trial balloons for new things. Stay tuned.

Helicobacter 17

“Are you sure you want me to put my shirt on?” Helena heard Myka ask. She had turned her back to allow Myka to change out of the hospital gown and back into her clothes—to enable Myka to do it, really, because Helena was in the end only human, and their physical relationship had not reached a point at which any sort of unclothing could be casually received—and now Helena was reminded of being in her kitchen, of listening to Myka’s disembodied voice explaining the plan, of having no effective way to respond to what was being said. “Trousers are next,” Myka went on, “but feel free to stop me anytime.”

“I am terrible at being good,” Helena said, resolutely not turning her head, “and so the universe gave me you. To test me, over and over again.”

Myka laughed. “Just so you fail every now and then. You can turn back around; all that’s left are my shoes.” Helena did then turn around, on some level expecting Myka to be naked, as one of those perpetual tests. Instead, she was in fact fully dressed, pulling a boot onto her right foot. Helena couldn’t hold back a little sigh of disappointment, and Myka laughed again. “What should I say in the note I leave my mom tonight?”

“What is so appealing to you about sneaking out? Is it the thrill of the forbidden? Should I worry that you’ll lose interest when both your mother and the overall prohibition are gone?”

“My honest answer about whether you should worry is, ‘how should I know?’ My hopeful answer is, ‘of course not.’ As for the sneaking out, it’s mostly for my mom’s benefit at this point. She doesn’t want to have to show how pleased she is to have the place—a place—to herself. Once in a while.”

Puzzling. “I thought your father took many fishing trips.”

“It’s only when Mom’s gone, really. He doesn’t say much about it, but he’s happiest when they’re together.” She finished with her boots, stood up, and began to tidy the bed. She looked over her shoulder at Helena. “Maybe you’ll want to go fishing only when I’m out of town.”

“I don’t know how to fish,” Helena said. She added a silent And now I don’t want to learn. But why keep silent? Why was her first instinct to censor such words? So she said, “And now I don’t want to learn.”

Myka turned back to the bed. She said a warm “Good.”

“Your father did invite me, however.”

A chuckle. “You should go, and Skype and Facetime and text and DM me every chance you get, on lots of different devices. Send me emails too. He’ll lose his mind.”

“What if I tell him about the aquatic abilities of raccoons?”

Myka spun around again, her mouth open in comic protestation. “I’ll never forgive you! I want to annoy him, not give him a heart attack. Besides, you should bear in mind that he’s the one who bought a very significant textbook lot.”

“My gratitude is stipulated.”

“Plus, and I realize this matters to me more than to us, he got me Georgeliot.”

“Under duress,” Helena noted.

Myka nodded. “Sometimes it takes a little duress for people to do the exactly-right thing.”

“So if I happen to come home some evening and am greeted not by you but by a large gaze of raccoons, I should assume there’s some right course of action I’ve failed to take?”

Myka pulled her into a half-embrace and bestowed a swift kiss, recalling the tactility of the rehearsal dinner. “I really like that you just said ‘come home.’”

Helena resolved to say “come home” far more often. “And not even under duress,” she said.

Another swift kiss. “I also really like that you know the collective noun for raccoons.”

“I like that you like that I know it.”

“I like that too.” Myka’s expression changed from affectionate to sly. “Want to sneak out of the hospital?”

“No.”

Myka pouted. “You are no fun at all.”

Rolling her eyes at the pout—which managed to be annoying and attractive at the same time—Helena said, “To test me, over and over again. And I’d like to add that that’s a ‘no’ in perpetuity, because—”

“No fun.”

“Will you let me finish? In perpetuity, because I don’t want to be in any hospital so as to have occasion to sneak out of it.”

The pout dissolved. “Oh. That’s reasonable.”

“Now call your mother back in here,” Helena said, “so we can get on with leaving, so we can get on with working—”

“And back to no fun,” Myka interrupted, herself back to the pout.

“And back to, will you let me finish? So we can get on with working, so the day can get on with ending, so you can then get on with sneaking out.”

Now the pout became a familiarly brilliant smile. “Oh. That’s even better than reasonable.”

The half-embrace became full.

****

When Helena opened her door to Myka after the promised, and much-anticipated, sneaking out, it was the hospital room again: no one lunged. Instead they looked.

One beat, two. Unhurried because there was at last no hurry? Or were they waiting for something?

Then Myka said, “This is different than before. Both times. Me standing here.”

“This is different than before,” Helena agreed. She glanced down at the ring on her finger, as if it might itself be the explanation.... it glittered back, wise and clear. A symbol, but not the cause, of everything that stood differently around them, how they stood differently before each other.

Myka spoke again. “Belief is a good look on you.” She took a slow breath. “Then again, I think just about everything’s a good look on you.”

On that, Helena’s memory barked a shin. “Wait. How do you know what I look like in a hardhat?”

“I have a vivid imagination,” Myka said. She stepped inside and kicked the door closed.

The kick was strong and deliberate, but not overpowering; Helena was able to respond, somewhat calmly, “While I know that’s true, I don’t believe it represents a truthful answer to my question.”

Myka’s mouth shaped into a languid smile. It was even more deliberate than the kick. “You really want to know? Fine. One morning Abigail was giving me grief about how she was going to be meeting you at the neighborhood site. This was right after the committee was formed, and I thought that maybe Steve would come with you, and that that would mean the whole committee was there, and I could pinpoint, and you’d be there too, so... you see how I thought the plan was going to come together. But as it turned out, no Steve.”

“So no pinpoint.”

“No pinpoint, and so I felt really silly, lurking around a corner like I was part of some pathetic, busted sting operation, ready with my camera and telephoto lens, but then there wasn’t a drug deal after all. Then again, I did get to hyperventilate about how irresistible you were in that hardhat.”

“But not irresistible.”

“No, seriously.”

“Perhaps seriously, but not literally. You resisted, did you not? Remained out of sight, around the corner?”

Myka paused. “Fine. You win.” She paused again. “But only in the short term.”

“I win only in the short term?”

“I resisted only in the short term. I mean, look at me.”

Helena obliged, and Myka wrapped her arm around Helena in her now-familiar loop, this time as a clear prelude to what would come next. “You do not appear to be the picture of resistance,” Helena acknowledged.

“Good. But obviously resistance was never really on the table. Case in point: that disaster with Ben, the guy in Accounting, happened right after my attempted ring bust.”

“The PTA-meeting fellow. The dressing-down.”

“Which was supposed to put the fear of god, or just shame and unemployment, squarely into all of us.”

“Instead you called me,” Helena said.

“See? I couldn’t resist. I remember you practically ripped my head off.”

“Abigail had made very clear to me that the situation was no longer abstract or humorous. given how you would react to such a public mortification... will you be all right with the consequences of the ‘truth’ about us becoming known now? Whatever those consequences may be?” Helena asked, out of genuine curiosity.

To her surprise, Myka laughed at that. “Given that a lot of the people I work with have both seen you and heard you, I might just get high fives rather than any metaphorical pies to the face.” She turned serious. “But regardless, even if I have to cringe my way through some of it, I’m going to remember that the real consequence is that our situation, yours and mine, doesn’t have to be abstract anymore.”

“Humorous, surely,” Helena said, pressing herself close into that bodily loop.

Myka smiled. “I hope so. But Abigail did try to make the gravity clear to me too. She shoved the ring at me, told me to take it and return it. I almost agreed to.”

“But?”

“But I realized that if it was in my possession again, I was going to track you down. Partially because you were so on fire to keep me out of trouble, and that was... well, irresistible.” She placed her lips softly against Helena’s temple: a gesture of proof. “I have to believe there’s a way out of any box, if you’re willing to work hard enough to find it. Even though that box, then, seemed to be collapsing on us.”

“Like a poorly constructed architectural model,” Helena said, but she thought of that sturdy little community center, flanked by those valiant trees. “You are persistent.”

“Maybe it was because I’d heard the word ‘cancer,’ but I knew what I wanted. Who I wanted. Really, at long last. It was such a relief.”

And Helena considered that Myka wasn’t wrong, not at all. She herself had received no such mortality shock, yet it was still a relief to know with such seeming clarity: this. It was also a relief, now, to be able to act on that knowledge unencumbered. “And at last we can—”

“Wait,” Myka said. “Grapefruit.”

“All right. Turnabout. I see. Interestingly, or not, it also involves a grief-giving from Abigail. It was when she and Steve koaned me. I don’t believe they were yet a committee...” The half-embrace was turning full again; Myka’s ‘wait’ was clearly not intended as any sort of prohibition, but Helena continued, “Abigail was having fun, asked what I liked for breakfast, rubbing in the fact that you and I did not, and would not, share it. ‘There is no grapefruit’ was said, to make me feel terrible.”

Helena realized she’d drawn her expression into severity only when Myka began kissing it gentle. “My poor baby,” she murmured.

The addition of “my.” Entirely right, yet entirely a surprise in its rightness. How could anything so apparently destined be composed of so many pieces that Helena did not expect? “I was wearing a hardhat at the time,” she told Myka. Then she pushed. “Can you imagine? Perhaps you can...”

“Now you’re just showboating,” Myka said, but her hands moved in a way that suggested “just showboating” meant “issuing clear instructions.”

Whatever instructions Helena had inadvertently given, they were exactly the right ones. “Mm,” she said. “Trying to hold your interest.”

Myka said, her words another decisive door-kick, “Irresistible. In the long term.”

****

Early in the morning, a bit baffled by the morning (“It’s only Tuesday? We can do this again tonight and it will then be only Wednesday?”), they went to Myka’s apartment for breakfast.

“I thought your mother liked having the place—a place—to herself,” Helena objected.

“This morning I think she’ll like making maternal noises,” Myka said. She insisted they stop and buy grapefruit and Pop-Tarts, “because symbolism is important.” Helena considered objecting but then reckoned that this stood as one of many lessons, and that her life going forward would be easier if she absorbed those lessons as they presented themselves.

“Three,” Jeannie greeted them.

Helena winced: “Please don’t keep count.” Still so small, that number. What would change as the tally increased?

“I read up on that third Emperor Napoleon,” Jeannie informed her, with a Myka-esque innocent blink. “He instituted several much-needed reforms. So on a scale...”

“Oh. Then please carry on.”

“Actually I’d find that a little weird,” Myka said, with a wince of her own.

“That. That’s what you’d find weird. In addition to my family, of course.”

“A little.”

“You could name my first grandchild Napoleon,” Jeannie suggested.

“Really?” Helena said. Not the worst of names. But also: children. Charles and Jane had been talking of having a child, and Helena had thought that when they succeeded in doing so, that would be that, childwise, for the Wells family. And yet... Napoleon?

“Not really,” Myka said. She frowned at her mother.

A thought struck Helena. “Donovan.”

“What?” Now Myka swung her frown toward Helena.

“First there is a mountain.”

Jeannie said, “I remember that song.”

Myka’s face softened. “I don’t hate it.”

“The song, or the name?” Helena asked.

“I’ve never heard the song. I think. But the name is nice.”

“I can’t wait to tell your father,” Jeannie said. “He’s been terrified you’d name your first after the dog.”

“The author, you mean,” Myka said, and the frown was back.

“No, the dog. The one-word version.”

“Why wouldn’t he like that?”

“For a little girl’s dog, it was charming. An actual human?”

“We’ll name her Emilywilson,” Myka declared. “How about that?”

“Sweetheart, your father’s the one you have to reassure about the name. I just want a grandchild. Name it Child One if you want to.”

Helena, hoping to inject a bit of levity, asked, “But then how will little Two feel?”

Myka raised her eyebrows. “More than one? Really?”

Helena had meant it in jest, but... more than one? “We’ll need to talk about it,” she said.

“We will. The things we get to talk about now!” Myka seemed to glow at the very idea.

Helena had a strange and wonderful presentiment of their doing exactly that: talking about things. Coming to real agreement when an issue was essential, reaching détente when it was not. All while the tally grew: Four. Five. Six. Seven.  In some universe, surely there were uncountably many Emperors Napoleon, each bettering the previous.

Aloud, Helena instructed herself. Take this lesson from Myka: speak it all aloud. “Uncountably many Emperors Napoleon,” she said.

“Forget Maine,” Myka countered. “We’ll move to Florida and buy a grapefruit orchard.”

“Most likely more profitable than refusing to fish for lobsters,” Helena said. “One and Two will need college funds.”

“Three?” Jeannie suggested.

“I don’t know how much money there really is in citrus, particularly if this cheapskate raids the grove every morning for breakfast. Three might have to be one of those pretty never-children,” Myka told her. Then she turned to Helena. “But we’ll need to talk about it.”

“We will,” Helena agreed. The things we get to talk about now... Helena was reasonably certain she was glowing too.

****

Once Myka’s mother and the overall prohibition were gone, Myka did not seem to lose interest. And she and Helena did talk about things. Helena was becoming accustomed to the idea that she would never become accustomed to what Myka would say... happiness pushed up against surprise, always, to make a double bed.

“Here’s a funny thing,” Myka said one morning, standing in Helena’s kitchen, holding a cup of coffee, just as Helena had hoped she might but despaired that she would never.

“Oh god,” Helena responded, because while she was of course thankful for the circumstance under which Myka was speaking, she was still not quite fully thankful for never knowing what she would speak about.

Myka laughed, as she always did. “No, no. It’s just a question; what’s funny is that I never thought to ask you. Why’d you come to the U.S.?”

It was true, though not very surprising, that the topic had not yet come up. Many practical, reality-related issues hadn’t yet come up, perhaps in part due to temperament but mainly due to time. Helena could still easily count their nights... then again she might always keep that count, reflexively. Joyfully? Myka was looking at her, so Helena said, “Sorry. Preoccupied by a number—”

“Thirty-six?”

“That’s the one.”

“We should give each other cards for significant ones. Maybe the primes?”

“Tomorrow, then. I’ll bring you flowers as well... no, I’ll have them sent to you at City Hall.”

At work, Myka had in fact been high-fived more than she had received pies to the face. Apparently most people’s hearts weren’t made of stone, and it was true that Myka was porous when it came to the extent of her happiness. Not to mention, her illness had banked her some goodwill... but it was most likely Myka herself, being herself, that led to the indulgent responses.

“You’re trying to distract me,” Myka accused, but not seriously. “You, to the U.S., why?”

“It isn’t a very interesting story,” Helena said. “Not nearly as interesting as your gratifyingly enthusiastic response to receiving flowers. But since you ask: my mother was fascinated with America, and Americans, when she was young. She instilled it in me, I suppose, and so when I was deciding where to study...”

“I thought that kind of fascination usually went the other way—Americans love the British. The accent, the royal family. Scones. I know my mom did, and I guess she instilled that in me, if we take you as evidence. But so why did your mother—”

“She had an American penfriend.”

“A pen pal?”

“Yes, that. I heard about her my entire childhood, not least because I was nearly named after her.”

“I can’t imagine you not being ‘Helena.’ What was it you were nearly named? And why weren’t you?”

“Jeannette,” Helena said promptly. “Or, as my mother always called her, ‘American Jeannette,’ and in fact that might have been my name, but my father prevailed, because my mother had been the one to name Charles. Although now that I think about it, I don’t know why she wanted his name to be Charles. It isn’t a family name, not that I’m aware, and his ears were of perfectly average size, thus no connection to the prince, so I—”

“I’m going to take a wild stab here,” Myka said. She had set her cup down and crossed her arms, and she was regarding Helena with what was, even for her, an enigmatic expression.

“Are you? At what?”

“Your mom’s name is Sarah.”

Nonplussed, Helena said, “That stab wasn’t wild at all. It was in fact... wait.” No.

“Okay,” Myka said.

“No. Oh no. No.”

“Always with the same bad argument.” Myka’s smile. As if she had always known... but she couldn’t have. So: her smile, as if she had always been—would always be—willing to believe.

“I don’t understand,” Helena said. She didn’t. At no turn had she understood.

Myka said, “Well, me neither.” But she moved across the wide space of the kitchen; she put her arms around Helena, and that was something Helena did understand. 

A kiss, a long one, and she understood that too. “Words about destiny,” she said, when she could.

Myka said, familiarly, against Helena’s neck, “Does it really even matter why?”

“I don’t enjoy being set up.”

“You were set up with me.” Still familiar, still against her neck.

“That improves the situation,” Helena conceded. “Marginally.”

“I’m going to make you regret that addition.”

“Are you?” Now it was Helena’s turn to put lips where they would be familiar. And persuasive.

Myka chuckled. “Depends on how you thought you’d be spending the next several decades.”

Helena determined to take this literally. She leaned back and moved her left hand in front of Myka’s face. “I have a ring, my acceptance of which indicates that ‘married to you’ is my thinking in the matter. More-detailed projections are your job.” This was true: speculating about the gamut of possibilities, from fantastical citrus groves to children, real or never-, delighted Myka.

“Speaking of projections,” Myka said, “I don’t think it’s too crazy to predict, based on this new information, that the wedding—which was already going to be fantastic!—just got that much better. My mom always wondered what happened to her pen pal from England.”

“Is there any prediction that you would consider ‘too crazy’? But my mother wondered too.”

“Both busy raising daughters destined for each other.” This Myka emphasized with a kiss, but...

...so chancy, all of it. “What if it hadn’t happened?” Helena demanded, as if Myka would be able to say. “What if something in this Rube-Goldberg destiny had gone wrong?”

“What if it had? Well, what if it already did? For all you know, this is destiny’s backup plan. She tried a ton of other ways, but then finally threw her hands in the air and said ‘Go forth and matchmake, Helicobacter pylori!’”

Speaking of throwing one’s hands in the air: Helena didn’t perform the action, but, “I give up,” she said. “You win: it’s H. pylori’s fault.”

“Bank on it,” Myka said, her words accompanied by a bright-eyed smile that spoke equally to their past, their present, their future. She followed that with a kiss that was soft and sure, a word about the short term, a promise of the long. “But better yet, bank on me.”

END

[ponderien]

Looking deep into Enneagram

They say that when you go through life changing moments, your personality shifts a bit to adapt and cope to your situation.

Yesterday a co worker was talking about the enneagram and wanted to guess what I tested. I did the test about a month ago so I already knew what mine was and was pretty satisfied with the answer because it explained a big portion of why I do what I do but her answer definitely caught me off guard. She guessed that I was a 7. I didn’t even look that far into the numbers because I felt like mine was spot on from the past. When I looked it up and read it out loud, my other co worker said this was spot on too.

This is what an enneagram 7 entails:

Type Seven in Brief

Sevens are extroverted, optimistic, versatile, and spontaneous. Playful, high-spirited, and practical, they can also misapply their many talents, becoming over-extended, scattered, and undisciplined. They constantly seek new and exciting experiences, but can become distracted and exhausted by staying on the go. They typically have problems with impatience and impulsiveness. At their Best: they focus their talents on worthwhile goals, becoming appreciative, joyous, and satisfied.

This is what I look like to my co workers.

I guess I can’t really blame them. I put my type A on at work to set the mood to be better around the unit. I mean there’s a lot of negative and melancholic people around, I can’t add to that in an already depressing tone unit. I work with sick babies and anxious parents. Imagine if I just added to that? It would be such a disaster.

What I really tested for a month ago was 2

Type Two in Brief

Twos are empathetic, sincere, and warm-hearted. They are friendly, generous, and self-sacrificing, but can also be sentimental, flattering, and people-pleasing. They are well-meaning and driven to be close to others, but can slip into doing things for others in order to be needed. They typically have problems with possessiveness and with acknowledging their own needs. At their Best: unselfish and altruistic, they have unconditional love for others.

Maybe I’m both. Each in different settings. Like a chameleon, adapting to my surroundings. That’s what humans do right? Adapt to their surroundings to survive? I heard a saying once, as humans we are always changing, always growing. We stop growing when we die.

So do I like who I am today? I guess you can say there’s room for growth. 🤷🏻‍♀️

-S

#selfreflectionthoughts

#shoutingIntotheAbyss

[ctgv-a62c-g6]

What I Hope to Achieve And What I Hope We Achieve.

The views expressed in the essays appearing in this website are attributed only to the identified author/s, and do not represent the views of the entire group, the class, the course instructor, nor the university to which the student belongs.

What I hope to achieve is for the good of all, it is nearly impossible to achieve this all by myself. Why don't I rephrase it? What do I hope we achieve? I am hope and pray to God that we achieve the world that we so wanted. Basically the "ideal world" because let's face it, our world's a disaster. War here, war there, discrimination from here and there, so basically it's unsafe. From what I saw on the news, and from what I heard from people, it's a scary world indeed. Imagine living in a world where you know you're safe, knowing that you can express yourself freely, without any judgment and badmouth from other people, wouldn't that be great? We all wish that the world is all cupcakes and rainbows, however, in realirt it's not. We want to achieve good governance, how does a world change if we have bad governance? Imagine having world leaders who are true to their service, no strings attached to anything. Their main goal is for the good of all people, for the good of the world. It may seem that what I envision is over dramatic, but this is what I really want to see. I hope to achieve a great society, I am hoping that this upcoming election, we would get the leader that we all need that we all deserve, a leader that is true to his word, and fulfills his promise to the people. What I hope to achieve is a politicla maturity and the end of all corruption, ever since, the Philippines is known for having lots of corrupt officials and manipulative leaders. As a student, what can we do to help and prevent the downfall of out beloved country? As said by the Vico Sotto, the mayor of Pasic City, good governance requires accountability. Citizens, including students, can contribute in making our government more accountable by getting more involved. (Examples: join an organization, engage others with constructive discussion on a daily basis, be active and responsible on social media.) One voice may not make much impact, but it can help in building pressure toward the right direction. If more people are involved ans use their voice as a weapon or tool to catch our leaders' attention, that would be a great step in changing and strengthening our relationship with our government. No country can dream of development without good governance, no country can dream of development with corrupt and manipulative officials, no country can achieve good governance with undisciplined citizens. Let us all use our voice and let it all be heard, after all no corrupt politician can withstand the power of a united citizenship. Let us not forget those people who sacrificed their life for the good of our country, our national heroes didn't die just so our nation can fall down, they died for the good of us, because they love our nation, as we should also love our nation. That is what I hope we achieve.

- Rojan Nuyte, Author

[jcruceweb]

THE BRAIN TWISTER

Sometimes when I close my eyes in the still of the night, I am overwhelmed by visions of a massive, raging, turbulent twister. I can almost hear the angry wind howling, feel its rapid velocity, experience its viscous, jarring, shaking and unfathomable impact. Its visit causes graphic impressions of being pelted by flying debris, commotion, confusion, heart-ache and pain. The background noises penetrate my heart as sounds of sirens, terror, and painful screams, remind me of the onslaught of a brain injury or possibly better described as the "brain twister."Like other natural disasters, the brain twister strikes with sudden devastation, and becomes a battle of wills between human and external elements. There is such agony in realizing that when a brain injury occurs the disaster that is happening is completely out of our control. A tornado is powerful and unpredictable, and its life span is generally only a few minutes. In a very short time span a tornado, just as the brain twister, is a master of destruction, pain, heart-ache and loss.When confronted with the awesome power of a killer tornado there is realization that nothing can compete or conquer the inevitable forces of nature. Likewise when confronted with the killer brain twister, awareness remains that it can be an obscure and undisciplined killer; a type of rogue murderer. Just as massive cloud formations can instantly transform into menacing tornadoes, the brain twister can strike with viscous, cold-hearted, sudden onslaught. The focused and fearless fury of a tornado will never be conquered or controlled by nature. Likewise, the brain twister cannot be predicted, or restrained, its capricious nature allows us very little control.The brain twister is like other natural disasters, in that there is a great deal of time and expense involved in the reconstruction process. The after-math of any storms fury is painful, traumatic, exhaustive and grief filled. Many times a structure is rebuilt without the same physical or structural components. The structure may retain the same name, but rarely is it ever an exact replica of the original. However, once rebuilt, the structure does retain the same value and worth, and many times the market value is substantially higher.In a matter of time the rebuilding is completed. There may always be substantial differences, and many hardships may prevail. However, in general, the traumatic memories will eventually fade. Life will continue to move forward even though it has radically changed. The brain twister may have been successful in wrecking all semblance of our subsequent life. However, as long as we have kind hearts and pure souls, the important structural components remain intact.by: Debbie M. Wilson 5-30-96Read more of Debbie M. Wilson’s poetry at Debbie’s Place!  - Neurology and Cannabinoids - Brain Injury Awareness - Noah’s Ark Consulting - DEBBIE'S PLACE Club Cannabliss Newsletter Be inspired by the unconventional wisdom of our peers and experts as they help us get to a higher state of consciousness.Sign-in and edit your profile. Not yet a Member? Register and claim your spot among the anointed ones!

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