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headspace-hotel · 4 months

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Problems like climate change, where solving them requires millions of people to collectively work at hundreds of different solutions at once, are black holes for internal peacefulness because they give you a type of frustration where you alternately become bitter towards yourself or everyone around you. "If only I could work harder to fix the problem!" makes you exhausted, so you must become angry at others: "If only they cared about the problem!"

People who are already working on fixing climate change need to convince more people to work on it. And a popular thing is to share writings that describe how doomed we all are if climate change is not fixed, how terrible everything will be because of climate change, and how quickly all the treasures of our world are being lost.

There is a particular understanding of human behavior that is being accepted here without thinking about it hard enough. Popular news media shows headlines with terrible prophecies, written that way in hopes of getting the attention of otherwise disinterested people, who will then be "motivated" to fix climate change.

The trouble is that fear is no good for motivating thoughtful, patient, steady commitment to solving a problem. Fear is made to cause an organism to avoid things that might harm it. It creates a brief and explosive pulse of action where the organism's energy pours out as it instinctively, thoughtlessly reacts to escape the danger as fast as possible.

It's silly to blame people for avoiding thinking about climate change. The point of an organism responding to stressors is to avoid them. Oftentimes, the only tool people are presented with is personal choices about what products to buy, which inevitably is horribly frustrating and stressful, since a person will frequently be coerced by their situation into buying a certain product, and even if they don't they see others doing it all the time.

Relentless exposure to imminent threats that cannot be escaped causes Trauma, which severely impacts a person's ability to be resilient to stressors.

I think there is definitely a type of trauma associated with being constantly aware of the destruction of the environment and feeling helpless to do anything about it, especially since we as humans have a deep need for contact with other living things and aspects of the natural world, such as trees, water, flowers, and animals—a need that is often totally denied and treated as merely a Want or a hobby meant only for certain people who enjoy particular activities, like Hiking or Gardening.

We need to expand our minds on how this disconnection can hurt a human being. Imagine if a child's need to be loved by their caregivers, a person's need to be loved by their friends and family, was treated as a desire for indulgence or luxury, or a certain use of free time!

Yes, yes, one person has a condition that makes it hard to walk up hills, another doesn't like the bright sunshine, another is allergic to the grass or fungal components of the outdoor world, but WE ARE PART OF THE FAMILY OF ALL LIFE ON EARTH and WE EXIST IN SYMBIOSIS WITH THE ENVIRONMENT WHICH TAKES CARE OF US. Who showed you what beauty was, who taught you to feel peace and relief inside you in the form of a caressing breeze and rustle of leaves, who gave you awe and wonder at seeing the stars or the mountains? Where does every delicious food come from but the soil teeming with creatures? Isn't the most perfectly sweet berry grown from a plant, nurtured by the soil and pollinated by the bugs? Don't you feel delight at seeing a springy carpet of moss, a little mushroom, or a tiny bird? Think of all that the trees give us. Whose breath do you breathe? Whose body frames your home?

The writings of Indigenous writers such as the book by Mary Siisip Genuisz I am reading right now show me that the other life forms are our family. They take care of us and provide for us, and they would miss us if our species disappeared. Isn't that a powerful, healing fact? I think everybody is so enthusiastic about the book Braiding Sweetgrass because it is a worldview that those of us coming from the dominant colonizer culture are straight up ravenous, starving to death for.

Maybe, I think to myself, humans can experience a kind of trauma from being deprived a relationship with their Earth, just as they would experience trauma from being deprived relationships with other humans.

I really believe that it hurts us to be surrounded by concrete instead of soil, to see a majestic tree cut down on a whim without any justice possible, to see wild animals mostly in the form of mangled corpses on the roadside, to have poison sprayed everywhere to kill the insects that life depends on, to hear traffic and lawn mowers and weed whackers instead of birds and flowing water.

We KNOW that this is physically bad for our health, the stifling, polluted, and stressful environments of a civilization that doesn't know the ways of the plants, but I think it's a kind of moral injury too, right? To see a beautiful field turned into a housing development of ugly, big, expensive houses—no thought given to the butterflies and sparrows and quail of the field? To see a big old tree cut down, a pond full of frogs obliterated and turned into a drainage ditch beside a gas station? They aren't just things, they are lives, and while expansion and profit and progress are "necessary," a nice old field of wildflowers or a pond full of frogs are a different kind of necessary. I remember feeling this as a child without words for it—the sheer cruelty of a world that is totally without reverence for the other creatures.

"They own the property, they can cut down the tree" "They bought the land, they can do what they want with it" <but it can also be wrong, and many people know this on some level, even though our culture doesn't provide us with the framework.

Fear could never give people the motivation to fix climate change. Constant fear of what will happen in the future forces a person to protect themselves from the relentless stress by shutting it out entirely or developing apathy.

A fear based argument for fixing climate change either causes a worldview of nature with no bond of kinship at all, based on the physical and practical dependence on Nature as a "resource," or forces people to experience their kinship with Nature only through grief.

Fear tells us that we want to live—it does not tell us WHY to live. If a person tries to live on fear alone, they will eventually find the desire to live burdensome and painful in itself. I see this emerging on a society wide scale in the USA, feeding on influences from the Christian evangelicalism that sees the Earth as something already sullied and worthless, to be thrown away like a dirty tissue, and on the looming monolith of nuclear winter that gave our parents recurring nightmares as children.

If you go to r/collapse on Reddit (don't do that) you will see a whole community of people who cope with the threat of climate change by fantasizing about it, imagining it as a collective punishment for all humanity and a cathartic release from the present painful situation.

We cannot learn to live without seeing the reason for living. We cannot save the Earth without loving it. We cannot heal nature without caring for it. In order to collectively take action against climate change, we must be moved by something other than fear—and that something is love. Not just love of the outdoors as an activity, but love of the Earth as something that loves us.

The dominant Western culture cannot borrow Indigenous land stewardship techniques as though they are just one climate resilience strategy, without being also willing to change its dreadfully impoverished way of viewing human relationships with Nature.

What right have we to think, "Huh, maybe those guys were on to something with the multi-level polyculture systems and controlled burns" while still thinking humans are nothing but a disease on the Earth, and that Earth would be happy to be rid of us? The sustainable ways of using the land practiced traditionally by cultures who have lived in relationship with their ecosystems for many generations work because humans can exist in mutualistic symbiosis with the life forms around them. We care for them. They care for us.

I know for a fact that plants seek relationships with us, and I was taught by them to see how interconnected everything really is, and how I was made to be a caretaker of my ecosystem. I was, a few years ago, just as I describe above. Too scared and pessimistic about the future of nature to bother loving it, and because of this, I could not realize my niche in the ecosystem. It felt for many years like I could do nothing—i believed in climate change, but I felt hopeless, so I put it out of my mind. But when I began to cultivate a love and reverence for the sad, scraggly, beaten-down fragments of Nature around me, everything changed. So much became possible.

I am still learning and exploring, trying to open my mind to ideas totally different than the ones I knew growing up, paying close attention to every plant and learning its ways. And it stuns me to think—some people write about climate change without this process.

The author of the book "The Uninhabitable Earth" (a scary book about how doomed the Earth is because of climate change) says in the beginning of the book that he is not very much of a nature lover. You fool, love is our most powerful evolutionary adaptation!

#climate change #the ways of the plants #plants #nature #environment #symbiosis

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fandomonetwo · 8 months

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puppy love and flowers — remus lupin

▸summary: he's absolutely sure he loves you. he's absolutely sure you love him. flowers aren't given to just anybody.

▸characters: remus lupin x f! reader, lil snippets of james and sirius and peter

▸tw: hay fever, small sadness moment

▸a/n: consider this my apology for the previous angst post. also, look at the guy. he's a smol bean

REMUS LUPIN WAS a sucker for a good bouquet. He'd always want to give them to you, yet he could never find the moment. There'd always be something that would stop him.

Today was one of the days where his plans were smudged.

It was a Hogsmeade day, so naturally, he with his posse decided to head into the town to scope out bouquets. There was one he'd seen little bit ago that he was fidgeting to buy. It was a beautiful set of red and white roses with baby's breath surrounding them. They were your favourite flowers.

Sirius Black had never felt so depressed than when he had watched his friends realise that the 'sold out' sign was for the bouquet he wanted to get for you. He felt so out of place when Remus looked like he had just been deprived of his natural resource of chocolate.

"Why not just get her different flowers?" the Black boy asked, awkwardness coating his very body in a tense feeling.

Remus sighed. "But those were for her. They were like, specifically crafted just so that she could have them. And now they're gone. And I still haven't gotten her flowers!"

James sympathised more with Remus that Sirius could. James often got flower for Lily from this very shop. Albeit, she always threw them out when she got them, but it was the thought that counted. Peter didn't say anything. He was too busy drawing stars in the snow.

The bespectacled boy put his hand on Remus' shoulder, noticing his friend's eyes welling with tears. "It's alright, mate. There's always tomorrow. And the next day. And the next day."

"But I wanted to get her those today."

There was something so frustrating about not getting something done on the day you planned. You'd feel so incomplete in your tasks, and he'd never get to sleep tonight. Well, he might drift off if he cried long enough.

The walk back to the dorms was long and awkward and tense and depressing. There were so many emotions. Remus has just been thwarted yet again in his attempts to woo you. Peter was plucking the snow off of his mittens one by one.

"Damn, mate, you are so in deep," Sirius teased, trying to lighten the mood. "I mean, I've heard of puppy love, but this just takes the cake."

"Is that supposed to be a pun?" Remus muttered. It was kinda funny.

"I suppose so."

They had only gotten to the dorm when they heard the girls. They were laughing. No, hang on. They were shrieking. And... sneezing?

The four boys entered the common room to find Lily and Marlene holding onto furniture for dear life, their faces as red as their ties. Marlene tried to heave in a breath and little was wiping her face.

And then you sneezed. They erupted into laughter again.

"What on earth is going on?" James asked, confusion filling his bloodstream. The girls couldn't find the words, too busy giggling, so you decided to speak.

"I bought flowers for Remus," you started, your nose stuffed, "and I have just found out that I am, in fact, deathly allergic to flowers."

You sneezed again. The girls didn't completely fall apart, but they still chuckled.

Remus looked at you with those big eyes of his. "You got me flowers?"

"Yeah," you said sheepishly. "I though it'd be a nice surprise, but now I'm covered in snot, my nose and throat hurts, my head kinda aches, and my eyes are red."

You sneezed, and Remus started laughing. He rested his head on your shoulder, despite your protests.

"How did you never realise you had a tendency to get hay fever?" Sirius asked, trying to stifle his own chuckles.

"I don't know. It doesn't get this bad at home. The flowers there are small, and here, I don't go out much in the spring. It's too warm. Plus, it's not like I get up close and personal with flowers now, do I?"

"Yeah, but still. It's hay fever, it's a pretty common thing."

"Like I said," you sneezed again, away from Remus' face, "there just wasn't enough for me to notice." You paused for a second. "I always wondered why I got the sniffles in the springtime. I thought it was just spring colds."

James grinned. "Well, now you know."

You sneezed twice more, Remus brushing the hair out of your sweaty face.

"I think we need to rescue you from your natural foe." He guided you by the hand outside of the common room, and he stole a glance back at the flowers you had bought for him, his heart swelling.

Red and white roses surrounded with baby's breath.

#harry potter #remus lupin #rems lupin x reader #f! reader #fem! reader #remus lupin x fem! reader #james potter #lily evans #marlene mckinnon #peter pettigrew #sirius black #x reader #fluff #springtime #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin fluff

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m00nsbaby · 11 months

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The invisible barrier.

(Jake Lockley x F!Reader)

Tags - Warnings: Jake doesn’t know about Marc or Steven. Angst, smut, fluff, everything. Most of Jake’s dialogues are in Spanish, most of reader’s are in English except in November - December. Word count: 4,9 k. (Lol, sorry) Summary: A whole year trying to understand Jake Lockley. (Literally)

January.

"¡Hola!" (Hello.) The sudden voice next to you made you jump as you made the most important and complicated decision of the week.

Would you choose pretzels with dark or white chocolate?

Reluctantly, you turned to your side to see a man standing just a few inches away from you. On another occasion, you would have probably jumped back or fled to another aisle in the supermarket, but the apologetic smile on his lips and the puppy-like look in his eyes told you that he didn't want to be in this situation either.

"Perdón, ¿Podrías decirme qué dice aquí?” (Sorry. Could you tell me what it says here?) The words came out quickly from his mouth and you furrowed your brow in confusion. Your fleeting and ridiculous Spanish classes had never been of much use, even less now that you had the opportunity to help an attractive man.

"I don't... Huh." You cleared your throat, searching for a way to say, 'Maybe I can't help you, but I'll move heaven and earth to try.' Dramatic? Yes, of course, but what more could be expected from a hopeless romantic? Many love stories began like this in your mind; this was a scenario you had imagined at least twice before falling asleep. "No hablo español." (I don’t speak Spanish.)

The man blinked a couple of times, as if realizing that he had gathered courage for about 15 minutes only to lose his dignity like this.

"Oh." He cleared his throat, nodding afterward. "Thanks," he said shyly, as if trying to hide his accent.

"No, no, let me help you. What do you need?" You turned the bag of Cheetos he was holding in his hands so you could see the list of ingredients on the back as he was asking. Both of you were guessing what you were saying. Your gaze scanned the list, nodding your head when you detected the problem. Everything was written in English.

Sure, your aisle companion had an extra problem on top of that. The letters were too small for his poor eyesight, and he would rather ask for help from strangers than give up on the idea of using glasses.

"Give me a second." Your fingers quickly handled your phone as you took the bag from his hands.

You took a photo and the app took care of the work for you, translating every word on the red packaging you held. You didn't hesitate to take a step forward and extend your hand far enough for your phone to be at the stranger's ear level, who didn't question your methods for a moment.

He just stood still, listening.

"¿Colorante rojo número 6?” (Red dye number 6?) He questioned when the voice function finished. And you quickly scanned the phone screen, trying to find the part on the list that seemed closest to what he had just said.

Well, seis = 6, that one was easy.

"Yes, 6." You saw him smile and take the bag back from your hands to shake it in a celebratory manner. "Why?"

"Huh?"

"Why 6?" He guessed based on how you tilted your head to one side what you were asking.

"Soy alérgico al número 4, o al menos eso creo.” (I'm allergic to the number 4. Or at least, I think I am.) He pointed to his throat. "Siento comezón en la garganta cuando como cosas que lo tienen.” (My throat itches when I eat things that have it.")

Did you understand anything he said? No, nothing beyond the number 4. So, you smiled and nodded, eliciting a warm laugh from him.

He was cute.

"Gracias." (Thank you.) It seemed like he understood the basics, just like you. It was better to use his words than to deal with the pronunciation of the "t" and "h" together.

"It's okay." You shrugged while continuing to smile in a friendly manner. It wasn't because the stranger was incredibly attractive; you always behaved this way with people, or at least you tried to. "Enjoy your Cheetos."

Another giggle. "Cheetos," he repeated, imitating the way you pronounced the brand's name.

You rolled your eyes playfully and went back to the pretzels without saying anything else.

Well, there went the potential love of your life. Both of you were too shy to engage in casual conversation. You were aware that pretending to have the confidence to do so would be a lie.

Silently, you paid for your pretzels covered in white chocolate, looking around in case the guy was still nearby. After a few seconds, you gave up. Well, it was nothing out of the ordinary, even with one more chance, you wouldn't have approached him. More than 20 dollars for a bag of chocolate covered pretzels? That must be a crime, the first time you bought one . . .

"Hola de nuevo.” (Hi again.) The leather of his jacket brushed against your skin as you bumped into him. He was in the exact same position as you, one hand holding his Cheetos, the other clutching the receipt he was trying to read with squinted eyes.

You almost had a heart attack.

"Hi." You smiled, your cheeks betraying you as they turned rosy just from being around him like this. You had to take a step back after the clumsy little push you gave him.

"¿Tienes cómo regresar a tu casa?” (Do you have a way to get home?) You frowned at the question. This only confirmed that your crazy fantasy wasn't going to work out; there was a huge barrier between you.

He could see the confusion on your face so he pointed outside. It was raining heavily.

"Oh." You had been so engrossed in your pursuit of him that you hadn't thought about that. It wasn't a terrible problem, though; you could just wait until it calmed down.

You could spend another $20 on an umbrella in the worst case. Or call a car to take you the 10-minute walk to your house.

"I'll just wait." You had to remind yourself not to get too deep into your words.

"Yo te llevo.” (I'll give you a ride.) He quickly said. "A ride." The way the 'r' rolled off his mouth was enough to make you dizzy.

"Are you sure?" This couldn't be happening. This genuinely couldn't be happening.

"Of course, I'm sure," he repeated, smiling. This couldn't be happening.

It couldn't.

That night, you ran together to his car in the rain, laughing. He opened the door for you, even though it meant a few extra minutes of water poured on him.

You gave him directions through your phone, and you learned how to say "cuadras" (blocks) to guide someone next time, and he kept telling you something you didn't understand, but he noticed you were just nodding for him to keep talking.

He said goodbye with a kiss on your cheek. He used a word similar to "custom" to justify it, ‘costumbre’ maybe.

Oh, and you exchanged numbers. It turned out the stranger, Jake Lockley, worked as a taxi driver most nights. You understood that because the words "taxi" and "noche" were in your mental dictionary.

February.

Your first date was a disaster.

You never considered that to spend the day together, you had to exchange more than 5 words, and Jake stained your beautiful pink sundress with an ice cream that didn't even taste that good.

Oh, at some point, you tripped too. You were so focused on trying to understand one of the anecdotes he was telling you that you ended up on the ground with a scraped knee.

That wasn't so bad, though. I mean, you had Jake on one knee, checking yours. He even had you step on his thigh so he could clean you up with his ice cream-covered napkin.

When the day came to an end, he took you home. You noticed he had memorized your address, making it easier for both of you. You hummed a song together to cover the silence of two people who had to resort to other means of communication than talking.

"I had fun." Lie, this hadn't been anything like you imagined a first date, not after reading books or watching movies.

He nodded silently as he got out of the car to open the door for you.

And even though the date was a complete disaster, Jake kissed you.

He kissed you against the closed door of your apartment, holding you by the waist as if you intended to escape from his arms, begging you silently not to separate from him.

"¿Repetimos la próxima semana?” (Second date next week?)

March.

Text messages flowed throughout the weeks. Depending on the day, one or the other used the translator to send messages that the other could understand.

Sometimes they were just silly pictures, mostly of cats. You found a silly liking for sending him videos and photos of different animals in romantic situations, hugging each other and such, with only the description 'us.'

Jake responded ‘nosotros’ with different emojis depending on the day. He liked the white heart.

His car became familiar to you, as well as the late-night drives with music. You wondered if Jake had started neglecting his work to spend more time with you, and although it sounded selfish, you didn't care much.

You enjoyed his company.

April.

Your fingers played with his curls while both of you rested comfortably on your bed, you on the pillows, Jake on your abdomen.

He was surprisingly interested in one of the old books you hadn't touched in a long time.

"Jake?" He immediately put the book down to look at you. "Can you help me with a word?"

"¿Ahora?" (Now?) he asked.

"Right now."

"¿Cuál palabra?" (Which word?) He closed his eyes as your fingers continued to enjoy playing with his hair. It was so soft that the gentle caresses you gave were enough to mess it up.

"Boyfriend."

"Novio." You stretched your free hand with difficulty. He opened his eyes again, looking at you with interest as you struggled in the least attractive way to open one of your drawers with one hand. Something cracked in it.

You put the bag of Cheetos on his chest, clearing your throat afterwards.

"¿Quieres ser mi novio?” (Do you want to be my boyfriend?)

May.

"Jake?"

The car hadn't started yet when he turned to look at you, raising his eyebrows as if to ask what was wrong. You stretched enough to touch his knuckles, which were marked with a purple tone and scraped.

Your gaze went to him. It was as if both of you knew how to communicate through looks.

"No sé qué me pasó. Mi teoría es que golpee algo mientras dormía.” (I don't know what happened. My theory is that I hit something while asleep.) He frowned as he extended his fingers to get a better view of them. It looked like he had beaten up someone, and he couldn't deny that it hurt, especially when he gripped the steering wheel of the car.

"Are you still having those strange dreams?"

"Weird dreams," Jake whispered to himself as a way to remember your words. "Sí, sueños raros.” (Yes, weird dreams.)

You pursed your lips without saying more as you brushed his knuckles with your thumb, as gently as you could.

"Let's go." You finally gave in, returning to your seat with an unconvincing gesture.

June.

"I don't understand football." You said as you walked hand in hand, leaning some of your weight against his body.

Technically, neither of you were drunk; you were just flushed from the heat of the alcohol, giggly and a little tipsy. Jake had mentioned how funny it would be to go to one of those bars where they show football games for fans, even though neither of you were fans. Choosing a team randomly to support, drinking things with strange names, and maybe sharing spicy wings sounded like a good plan.

That was your Friday night.

"Tampoco yo.” (Neither do I.) Jake was doing his best not to laugh. He failed miserably.

When you reached his car, you leaned your body against it, and your hands ended up on your boyfriend's shirt. He immediately knew what you wanted, bringing both hands to your waist and leaning forward, closer.

"Is it hot here, or was it the 4 margaritas we drank?" You whispered while trying to contain your smile.

"Debe ser ese vestido.” (It must be that dress.) His lips brushed against yours. The sudden change in his voice made you shiver, so husky. “O por lo menos es lo que me está poniendo caliente a mi.” (At least I know that's what's making me hot.) It was the last thing he said before kissing you as if his life depended on it.

You moaned into his mouth, pressed between his body and the car. The kiss was wet as his mischievous hands slid under your dress, squeezing your ass firmly enough for it to hurt. Not in a bad way. "Jake." You complained as you looked around to make sure no one was walking by to see you.

"Date la vuelta.” (Turn around.) Apparently, your Spanish only worked in moments of convenience because you obeyed immediately. You turned your body with difficulty, mainly because he refused to let go of you. You felt his erection against you as soon as your cheek collided with the cold metal of the car. He was rubbing against your ass while biting your neck to his liking, sucking and licking your skin until he marked it. "Fuck, Jake." You whispered with your eyes closed. You could have cum right there with just his kisses and soft touches. Fortunately, he was more considerate because one of the hands that rested on your waist little by little went between your legs, your dress was already raised enough to only have to worry about your panties, he brushed his fingers over your abdomen before sliding his middle finger between your lips. First he wetted it well before moving up to your clit. His touch made you tremble and hiss. "¿Un par de besos te tienen así, corazón?” (A couple of kisses have you like this, sweetheart?) You could hear the smirk on his lips as his finger traced circles against your most sensitive area. "Imagínate como será cuando esté dentro de ti.” (Imagine how it will be like when I'm inside you.) A shameless moan escaped from you. "Eso quieres, ¿No?” (You want that, don't you?) He kept talking in your ear while he distributed one or two kisses between your neck and your shoulder. “Sentirme duro. Profundo.” (To feel me hard. Deep.) He simulated thrusts between each word, his hip pushing yours harder against the car and against his hand that kept playing with your pussy to make you whimper. You nodded without opening your eyes. "Con palabras." (Use your words.) He said clicking his tongue.

"Yes please." You begged desperately while trying to get air through your mouth. "Buena niña.” (Good girl.) You swallowed the complaint of feeling him take his hand out of your panties, just because you immediately heard how he started to unbutton his jeans. "Escupe.” (Spit.) You could feel his girth between your legs, letting you know that there were no more clothes involved. You took a few seconds to be able to clean the fingers that were inside you before with your tongue, making Jake groan just by imagining what you would do with your mouth in another situation. When you were satisfied you spat into the palm of his hand as requested. He wrapped his hand around his cock, and covered it with your saliva. He used the same hand to accommodate it between your lips. A sigh of relief left your mouth when you finally felt it inside you. A muffled whimper accompanied the way your muscles suddenly relaxed, as if that was what you needed. "Mierda, amor." (Shit, love.) As Jake's forehead rested against your shoulder, he muttered under his breath. "Voy a terminar rápido si sigues apretándome así.” (I'm going to finish fast if you keep squeezing me like this.) His voice made you dizzy, you mentally thanked all those days you spent understanding each other because his words could have been enough to push you to the limit. It didn't take long for both of you to pick up a delicious rhythm. When he pushed his hip forward, you pushed back to make him go deeper. When he was pulling back, you were pulling forward almost taking his member all the way out to prepare for his next thrust. You were so close you had to bite the hand he put to your mouth to keep from screaming. "¿Vas a terminar para mi, mi vida?” (Are you going to finish for me, my life?) He whimpered. Oh god, he fucking whimpered. He had a desperate tone to his voice, almost like he was comforting you. "Déjame sentirlo, por favor, por favor.” (Let me feel it, please, please.) This time it was he who was begging. Your saliva had started running against Jake's hand. You were seeing stars from squeezing your eyes shut, and how close you were wasn't helping at all. The spasms had started around him, and without warning, the inevitable happened. He finished inside of you. His cum being pushed deeper inside you with each thrust he took to finish his orgasm was enough for you to reach yours. "Amor, carajo.” (Love, damn it.) His voice cracked at the sensitivity combining with your walls squeezing him every few seconds. You were milking him. "Te amo.” (I love you.) He whispered as his breath interrupted each of his words. That was the first time he said it.

July.

The only thing that relaxed you was that this 360° turn apparently had nothing to do with you.

Jake was someone else.

His flirty and playful personality was just a memory to you. Under his eyes, there were huge dark circles since his dreams had become crazier and more frequent.

There were unexplained wounds on his body, according to him. Or sometimes there were none, but he felt the pain throughout his body, as if a truck had run over him, he said.

He became silent, as if he felt he was talking too much when he started to let out words about what was happening. He still hugged and kissed you, still spent afternoons with you and continued to respond “nosotros" to your silly animal photos.

But something wasn't right. There was something so... strange.

You did what you could to work on it, to let it pass.

Even if it cost you the trust in your relationship.

August.

Your hands trembled as you dialed his number for the tenth time that night. Maybe you were being dramatic, but Jake always made sure to let you know when he had returned home.

The sudden change that had occurred in him over the past 3 months didn't help at all. You wouldn't last a lifetime without wondering why his body kept producing wounds he claimed not to remember, or about those days of complete dissociation on his part, when he swore you were playing with him when you told him it was Saturday and not Wednesday.

"I just want to know you're okay." You whispered with a broken voice to the voicemail. "Please, just tell me you're okay."

There was no response that night. You couldn't sleep either.

The next day, when he showed up at your doorstep with the dark circles you had learned to get used to over the days, your body's first reaction was to push him with all your strength. It was only enough to make him stagger.

"You're an idiot." You spat the words, your eyes flooded with tears.

"Me quedé dormido anoche, perdón.” (I fell asleep, I'm sorry.) He didn't even seem to believe the words coming out of his mouth, but how could he explain to you what was happening in his life if he didn't even know what the hell was going on?

"How much longer do you plan on lying to me?" You didn't care that people passing by on the street saw you both as crazy. You in your pajamas, him leaning against the car as a method of protection.

"No te estoy mintiendo." (I’m not lying to you.) He raised his voice a little, letting out a lot of the feelings he had been suppressing for a while.

"Do you think I'm stupid?" The worst part was that you also had things bottled up inside you, the worry for him being the thing that choked you every day, squeezing tighter and tighter.

"Creo que no quieres entenderme.” (I think you don't want to understand me.) He was angry. You had never heard him like this, especially not directed at you. "Creo que ni siquiera estás intentando.” (I think you're not even trying.)

Damn the day you started to understand his words.

"I'm not understanding you, Jake?" You had already broken into tears. Your finger collided against his chest in an accusatory manner while he seemed unaffected, even though inside he was falling apart.

It was too much for him. Everything was too much.

"I've been trying for months to ignore what you're hiding from me." It was so difficult to argue in this way that frustration was suffocating you.

"¡No te estoy ocultando una mierda!” (I'm not hiding shit from you!) You snapped.

With fear.

Mid-sentence, Jake had reached out a hand to push you. Not with much force, just enough to separate you from his chest.

In seconds, he became aware of what he had done. If the car wasn't behind him, he would have moved even further away from you. He was overwhelmed by fear too.

He was losing himself as he had suspected.

"Me tengo que ir.” (I have to go.)

"Jake Lockley, if you leave, I don't want you to come back." Tired of seeing him run away from the problems, you resorted to the last card you would have liked to play.

You were foolish to think he would risk hurting you again. The last thing you heard was the sound of the engine accelerating to get away from you as fast as possible.

September.

The first part of September is blurry. You did your best to survive without him, but the days passed so quickly that you began to question if you were alive or just living in a bad dream that had lasted longer than necessary.

It was as if Jake was dead to you, without any sign, without any notice, nothing.

He simply disappeared.

The clear countdown of the days begins on the 13th, when your phone lit up to notify you that he wasn't doing much better than you.

✉: ¿Podemos hablar? (Can we talk?)

✉: Estoy perdido. (I'm lost.)

It hurt not having him, but it hurt more to see Jake's well-being. Not knowing how he was, where he was, what he was doing after that tragic day tormented you.

You replied, and the most important relationship in your life turned into a series of midnight calls where you tried to understand what your ex-boyfriend was mumbling from the solitude of his car.

You had friendships that had started in stranger ways than this, you could endure this.

Make it work.

October.

"Trick or treat." Mentally, he slapped himself for how ridiculous his way of reappearing was.

A half-smile appeared on your lips as you opened the door and came face to face with an embarrassed Jake, wearing your favorite leather jacket and both hands in his pockets as if he was waiting to be scolded by you.

"I doubt any of these things don't have artificial coloring number 4." That was your only response as you leaned your body against the door frame. With one hand, you held the huge container of candies that came out of hiding every Halloween.

"Estaba por aquí.” (I was around here.) Jake pointed back, the path that led to the supermarket, or at least that's what you assumed. He had a very lame excuse to see you, but that worked for you. The interest was enough. "Y pensé en venir a saludar.” (And I thought of coming. To say hi.)

"I'm watching Friday The 13th." You looked behind him. Children approached with shyness, seeking candy. "Come in, let me finish with the candies."

Your smile was so genuine that Jake's heart skipped a beat. How had he lasted so long without you? Those lost 3 months would always be present in the multiple mistakes he made.

That night, you kissed until it hurt. Until your lips hurt from bites, until the skin of his neck burned from love bites, until his fingers became imprinted on your waist. "I love you." You said between moans as the movie gave you an almost unreal vision of who the love of your life was. Flashes in white, in red, even in black showing you how beautiful he was from any angle or lighting. He made your sofa creak as he raised his hip toward you, thrusting into you even deeper if that was possible. "I love you, Jake." You repeated with a broken voice while your little jumps gained more strength. Your body was already exhausted, your legs were shaking and your hair stuck to your forehead and neck from sweat but emotionally you refused to get away from him. "Te amo. Te amo. Te amo.” (I love you. I love you. I love you.) His whispers mixed with his panting. You both seemed to be on the verge of tears. "Don't go away again." Your fingers tightened on his chest, scratching at his skin as you had done many times before. "Don't ever leave me again, Jake." The way you said his name burned in his heart. He brought a hand to one of yours to squeeze them on his chest, making you feel his agitated heartbeat. There was no need to say more, not while your kisses, movements and moans spoke for themselves. That night, as you rested on his chest after an orgasm that made you both shake from head to toe, he promised you never to leave. "Mi vida.” (My life.) He repeated as his fingers untangled your hair and your weight on him increased as you drifted off to sleep. "Mi cielo. Mi corazón.” (My darling. My heart.) He whispered in your ear. "Mi todo." (My everything.)

November.

Everything with Jake was stupidly easy.

Laughing, singing, existing.

As easy as in the romantic comedies you used to love watching before you met him. And it's not that you had forgotten about those because of him, but now you enjoyed watching action movies, those that allow you to get distracted without losing track of the plot.

You didn't press him to talk about what happened in those months, knowing that there were still a thousand secrets between you because you still saw strange bruises on his body, marks on his knuckles, or felt him getting up in the early hours of the morning when he stayed over with you.

"Leave me alone!" You ran down the hallway, laughing with him trailing behind. Probably restraining himself because it would be impossible for him not to catch you with his eyes closed.

He wrapped an arm around you to press you against his chest and used the other to prevent both of you from crashing into the wall. He was laughing too.

"Do you give up?" He squeezed you tighter with his arm.

"Never! Let me go!"

The laughter almost made it difficult for you to speak.

"Come back to me, and I'll let you go."

The seconds of silence churned his stomach.

"What?"

"I mean..." He cleared his throat. "Officially. Would you be my girlfriend? Please?"

It almost seemed like he was begging you.

You reassured his fears with a kiss.

December.

"I don't understand how you can eat these things." You took a deep breath through your mouth, sticking out your tongue, already reddened by the red dye number 6, to seek some relief from the burning sensation.

Jake was setting down a fifth box from his arms. He sighed, tired.

"No puedo creer que no me estés ayudando.” (I can't believe you're not helping me.) He approached you to steal one of the Cheetos from your bag while you licked your fingers. "Te dije que uses palillos chinos, así evitas el polvo.” (I told you to use chopsticks, that way you avoid getting your fingers dusty.)

"The dust is the best part." You popped your thumb out of your mouth.

"Disgusting." He feigned a look of disgust as he settled between your legs, resting a hand on your thigh and giving it a squeeze.

"You didn't say that when..."

"¡Dios mío!" (My God!) He gasped, biting his lower lip to suppress his laughter. He leaned forward, stealing a chaste kiss from you. "Compórtate.” (Behave.)

"Are there many more boxes left? I didn't think you had so much stuff in your apartment." You pushed the box aside as you leaned forward to prolong your kisses.

"This is my apartment." He whispered with a smile against your lips.

"Touché." Your fingers slowly roamed his shirt collar before pulling him closer with a tug on the fabric. "What if you take a break?"

Jake's hands were already on his pants, figuring out how to unbutton his jeans without separating from your body.

"I'm never going to stop unpacking." He complained as his lips began to descend towards your neck.

Ok now that I have written happy endings for the three of them I’m sick of them, lol, I’ll try to get angst-ier with these thingies

#jake lockley #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley x you #marc spector x you #marc spector x reader #marc spector #Steven Grant #steven grant x you #steven grant x reader #moon knight x reader #Moon Knight #moon knight x you #marvel #Oscar Isaac #oscar isaac x reader #oscar isaac x you

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madaqueue · 28 days

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playlists

what a waste | "army dreamers" x kate bush

synopsis: on what would have his twentieth birthday, you visit geto's grave

pairing: suguru geto x reader

themes/content: semi-canon curse au. angst. language. death/loss.

word count: 1.3k

a/n: here's some angst bc i've been in a mood for the past few days and am allergic to being happy!

The grass is damp under your skin, the rain from this morning clinging to your clothes, the smell of wet earth lingering despite the absence of clouds in the sky. This is the closest it’s gotten to raining on this day in years, what would be a sign of late winter opening into spring, but today it just feels dreary and cold.

Sighing, you place the bouquet of lilacs - his favorites - onto the stone, careful to not cover the plaque adorning the granite. At this point you could recite it in its entirety without needing to see it, the words burned into your mind from the countless days you spent reading and rereading it, hoping that the shape of the characters would finally make it sink in.

Suguru Geto

Cherished and loved.

The epitaph still feels halfhearted, empty. Even though you and Satoru spent weeks trying to figure out what to write, everything you came up with felt hollow, unable to capture his essence. You wanted to do him justice, but you just couldn’t; he’s more than a plot of land and some words engraved in stone.

Of course, it’s a moot point: the grave is empty, anyways. After the fight against Toji, Shoko had to completely destroy his body, the risk of it being used maliciously too great. A shudder runs down your spine as you picture it, the cruelty of using your best friend’s corpse for something malevolent.

Would he notice? Would it bother him to know what had happened to his flesh? What makes a person, anyways; is it the body, or is it something else? You hope he doesn’t mind what had to happen to him after his heart quieted and his breathing stilled.

Are you at peace, Suguru?

You can’t help but wonder if, after everything, death brought him a respite from the pain he endured while alive. You knew the nature of his cursed technique, the necessary consumption of evil; in absorbing it, did it make him, too, evil? Was he plagued by the darkness he was destined to destroy?

You hope not. Despite the wickedness he witnessed, he nevertheless dreamed, hoping for a brighter future.

–

“What did you wanna be when you were a kid?” you ask through a mouthful of ramen.

Suguru sits across from you in the booth, forearms resting on the table as he eats his lunch. “What do you mean?” he questions, tilting his head ever so slightly.

“What did you want for a job? There’s no way you wanted to be a sorcerer,” you chuckle. “Like, I wanted to be one of those people who makes the cool brick patterns along sidewalks.”

He holds back a laugh at your answer. “I’m not sure, I don’t think I ever really thought about it.” He pauses, taking another bite of his food. “But I guess if I had to pick, probably a musician or something, maybe guitar, I always liked how they could make something sound beautiful with just their hands,” he muses softly.

“I could totally see you on a sick guitar,” you grin.

“Yeah, but I got my cursed technique too early. I never really got a chance to do anything but this,” he shrugs. “Maybe in another life.”

“Maybe,” you smile.

–

Now, the guitar you picked out for him, an acoustic one crafted in dark wood, sits in the back of your closet collecting dust. You were supposed to give it to him for his birthday. He was supposed to play it. He was supposed to be here, be alive, be celebrating with you.

Pain shoots up your palm as you look down, realizing your hands have been clenched into fists, your nails beginning to draw blood. Shaking out your arms you take in an uneven breath, a desperate attempt to steady yourself.

All the things he never got to do.

“I’m sorry, Suguru,” you whisper to yourself, placing a bloodied hand over the grass covering his grave.

He should be here. He never even got to turn twenty, never got to have kids or the family he wanted, hell, he was just a kid himself when he died. Just a fucking kid.

–

“That…that can’t be right,” you stammer. “There’s no way.”

“I’m sorry,” Satoru places a hand on your back, tears slowly rolling down his cheeks. “I - fuck - I couldn’t save him. I was too late.”

“No, no, no, no,” you begin to spiral, gaze rapidly shifting over the ground as you process his words.

Suguru was dead. Killed by a man named Toji Fushiguro, trying to protect the Star Plasma Vessel, the one who was supposed to assimilate with Master Tengen.

“I don’t…I don’t know what happened,” Satoru chokes out, “But…I saw his body. He’s gone.”

A scream echoes down the corridor - was it yours? Everything feels far away as Gojo wraps his arms around you, sobs racking your body as you cry into one another.

–

Shaking your head, you wipe the tears that have begun to fall as you remember the day you lost him. Despite the years that have passed, you remember it like it was yesterday, the way the setting sun covered you and Satoru as the night air came in, unable to move from that spot as you wept together.

The sickest fucking part was that it didn’t even matter.

When Riko Amanai, the Vessel, was found dead, they just got a replacement, another body to stand in for Master Tengen’s needs. They told Suguru to protect her with his life and he did, but ultimately the loss of hers was inconsequential to the upkeep of Jujutsu society; just as one flower died they plucked another.

But they couldn’t regrow Suguru’s soul.

–

Four men.

That’s how many it took to carry his body from the basement of Jujutsu High. You watched in silence as they passed you, unspeaking, unwavering, unbothered as they bore his weight.

It feels wrong, somehow, like he should be heavier. He always had this gravitational pull, this universe-sized soul that drew everything to him - shouldn’t they be able to feel that?

How heavy is a body? How heavy is the grief it carries?

–

“Hey,” a voice pulls you back to the present, the sun beginning to hang low in the sky as you ground yourself, idly tugging at the dirt beneath you. “I’m glad to see you,” Satoru greets warmly as he walks across the graveyard towards you.

Since the last time you saw him he’s aged, the creases around his eyes deeper than a twenty-year-old’s should be, an air of sadness clinging to him like wet clothes after being caught in the rain.

“You too,” you smile as he sits next to you in the damp grass.

Neither of you explicitly make plans to see each other here every year, yet you both tacitly know you wouldn’t miss this, the annual reconvening one you simultaneously cherish and dread. Suguru deserves to be celebrated, but it’s also a reminder of the time he didn’t get, the birthdays cut short when his life was stolen from him.

The two of you sit in silence for a while, content without speaking as a cool breeze picks up, dusk settling in.

“He should be here,” Satoru mutters, his knees tucked up to his chest.

“I know,” you murmur as you lay on your back, gaze unfocused on the darkening sky above you.

Another momentary pause falls between you.

“Did you love him?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you answer truthfully. “Did you?”

“Yeah.”

You let out a shaky breath. “Satoru?”

“Mhm?”

“Do you think that was enough, that we loved him?”

He tilts his head to look down at the grave that separates you, the lilacs you brought now lightly covered in a layer of dew. Sighing, he brushes away the tears that had been forming along his lash line. “I hope so.”

“I hope so, too.”

He reaches an arm out to you, holding your hand in his as you both place your empty palms onto the dirt.

“Happy birthday, Suguru,” you whisper.

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greenwitchcrafts · 9 months

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Chamomile

Matricaria chamomilla (shown) | Chameamelum nobile

Known as: Chamaimelon, earth apple, German chamomile, ground apple, heermannchen chamaimelon, maythen, manzanilla, Roman chamomile, scented mayweed, whig plant & wild chamomile

Related plants: There are two species of chamomile, both are in the Asteraceae family (Roman chamomile & German chamomile) with plants that consists of over 32,000 known species of flowering plants in over 1,900 genera within the order Asterales. They are commonly referred to as the aster, daisy, composite or sunflower family. I am from this point forward referring to Matricaria chamomilla in this post specifically.

Parts used: whole flower & leaves

Habitat & cultivation: This flowering plant is native to South-West Asia, Eastern & Southern Europe but can be found on almost continents nowadays. The wild-growing chamomile species normally grow on sandy to loamy soils that are mostly acidic and should be open.

Plant type: Annual

Region: 5-9

Harvest: Can be harvested as soon as blooms have established which is about 10 weeks.

Growing tips: The roots of chamomile are shallow and just barely grip onto the top soil which makes it more sensitive to water conditions during the initial stages of growth when the plant is establishing itself. However once it's established, it is drought tolerant & need about an inch of water a week. Wait until after the last spring frost to add chamomile to your garden. It grows well in raised beds, containers, and in-ground gardens. Space chamomile plants 8 inches apart in full sun for best flowering. In hot climates, an area with partial afternoon shade is ideal.

Medicinal information: Chamomile has been used as a traditional medicine for thousands of years. A mouth rinse with chamomile might relieve mouth sores caused by cancer treatments. Some research suggests that chamomile could help with other conditions, like diarrhea in children, hemorrhoids, anxiety, and insomnia. When used on the skin, chamomile might help with skin irritation and wound healing. Some research has documented that it may be as effective as hydrocortisone cream for eczema.

Cautions: Most experts say chamomile is safe. It can cause drowsiness and, in large doses, vomiting. It also has the potential to trigger allergic reactions in people who are allergic to related plants in the daisy family, although such reactions are very rare. Given the lack of evidence about its long-term safety, chamomile is not recommended for people who are pregnant or chestfeeding.

Magickal properties

Gender: Masculine

Planet: Sun

Element: Fire

Deities: Cernunnos, Karnaya, Mercury, Oshun, St.Anne & Sun gods

Magical uses:

• Burn as an incense to aid in sleep and meditation

• Plant around your house to ward against psychic or magickal attacks

• Wash your hands with chamomile before gambling to ensure good luck

• Use in an infusion to wash your thresholds to stop unwanted energies from passing through

• Place the flowers in your wallet to attract money

• Keep in a satchet to protect against physical or magickal danger

• Add to a dream pillow with lavender to ensure peaceful sleep

• Anoint a green candle with crushed chamomile for a simple money spell

• Steep in hot water, then sprinkle around yourself as a metaphysical barrier

• Add to spells to increase the chances of success

• Use in ritual baths with catnip and rose to attract a lover

• To alleviate overwhelming emotions, you can hold dry chamomile in your hands as you recite affirmations or prayers to ease the heart

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galexibrain · 9 days

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Something, something ... parallels. When I was 10yo and watching DBZ for the first time, when it was first aired in Germany, this was my favourite scene in the entirety of DBZ, and it still is to this day:

When the people of Earth all give their energy for the final genkidama that's supposed to finish off Buu.

Linking the German version so you can experience the original soundtrack (I'm sorry, the US dub soundtrack (and the Kai soundtrack for the Buu Saga) can NOT measure up the glory of the original one, and I'm so grateful the German dub kept it):

youtube

I was (and am to this day) utterly in love with this particular track, so much that I simply needed to have it with me, at all times.

And here's how I got it in ye olden days before Youtube (well, before I had internet access and knew about YT to MP3 converting lmao):

I had this particular episode taped on VHS (I'm That Old)

I took my phone (Nokia that had the luxury of a COLOR display) and recorded the track. You could literally hear the people cheer on the recording

I put this recording on my phone and listened to it

Yes the quality was crappy. I didn't care

Now, I have it on my MP3 player lol. Still randomly listen to it sometimes <3

So, the things about DBZ that were the most formative to me are: this scene, and Vegeta (who started my love for reformed villains and redemption arcs).

Ok, this has nothing to do with the point I'm trying to make, I just needed to clarify just how emotionally invested I am here.

Now, two decades later, Super gives me this:

Moro Arc, DBS chapter 61

Do y'all understand what this did to me?! Do you even have the slightest idea what I am going through here?

They probably thought nothing of it, but back in the Buu Saga it was Vegeta who came up with the genkidama plan: to take the energy of everyone on Earth, and other planets too, to defeat an enemy too strong for any single person to handle.

Vegeta, the guy who's perpetually allergic to ask for help.

Now, it's Vegeta who does the opposite, and yet, the same: he takes energy that was stolen, and returns it to where it belongs, literally giving people their lives back in some cases. (The symbolism of the Namekians being the ones revived by him is CRAZY.)

And the imagery is so similar? I just. ??!?!?!?! HOW AM I TO DEAL.

ALSO:

DB ch. 515 & 516:

Goku receiving the energy from Earth, perfecting the genkidama, and he throws it.

And now:

Super, ch. 66:

That's the god ki Uub sent, and Vegeta is the one to throw it to Goku to give him the power he needs to end Moro.

And that power literally comes from the reincarnation of the very being they destroyed last time? OH WOW.

(Initially I wasn't so sure what to think about this particular point but hey, the D in Dragon Ball stands for Deus Ex Machina, so ... whatever.)

I'm like. Did they do this on purpose? Is this coincidence?

How am I supposed to be normal about any of this?

Also funny how Buu Saga was the whackiest in DBZ while Moro Saga in DBS is a goddamn fucking masterpiece.

#dbz #dragon ball #dragon ball z #vegeta #goku #dragon ball super #dbs #dbs moro #moro saga #buu saga #majin buu #Youtube

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superiorgoobus · 1 year

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Batfam as shit my friends say/do

Tim: if I was running on ice, I'd wear grippy socks

Jason: yeah it would make sense that you have grippy socks

Tim: .... fuck you

Jason: *trying to send a text* goddamn I can't type shit, my fingers are so cold

Steph: sounds like a you problem bud

Jason: it's gonna be a you problem when I throw your ass in a snowbank

Dick: haha that looks like a dildo

Duke: must you say that about every cylindrical rubber object you see?

Dick: yes.

Steph: hey, did I mention I hate that guy?

Cass: only fifteen times today.

Tim, sleep deprived: it would appear as though I have holes in my pants.

Damian: tt. those are ripped jeans. You bought them that way.

Dick: that guys phone is really long... and thin... just like a penis...

Duke: I am going to end you.

Harper: *at a Gotham knights game* IM BLIND! IM DEAF! I WANNA BE A REF!

Jason: I still can't fucking type...

Steph: you know what that is?

Jason: if you say-

Steph: that's a you problem bud

Jason: every time you say that it makes me more and more pissed off.

Steph: if it makes you feel better, I once said that to a guy who said if I broke up with him he's kill himself. I also told him I didn't give a shit if he died.

Jason: that is hilarious.

Bruce: dear god I don't want to go outside.

Clark: we're at a hockey game. You had to go outside to get here.

Bruce: well I don't want to do it again.

Steph: I can't believe it's -25 out, and some people showed up to class wearing just sweatshirt and jeans. This is Gotham University, no one thinks you're cool, just a dumbass.

Tim: *starts an argument with Kon over yikyak despite the fact they're sitting on the same couch*

Steph: so then my girlfriend at the time said-

Tim: you know, I probably wouldn't have hooked up with you if I knew you were a lesbian.

Steph: ... I'm not a lesbian. I'm bisexual.

Tim: oh.

Damian: where is my knife... I can't find my knife...

Dick: you know scissors would be way more affective for what you're trying to do, right?

Damian: yes but for aesthetic purposes I want to use a knife.

Tim: *mixing an alcoholic drink with blue in it*

Bernard: damn, Tim trynna kill with windex over here

Dick: I can't believe no one told me there was a new season of Letterkenny out!!!

Jason: hey guess what?

Dick: what

Jason: there's a new season of letterkenny out

Dick: fuck you

Steph: hey, zip tie my hands so I can try to get out.

Cass: no, why would I-

Harper: oh fuck yeah

Steph: *cuts her hand trying to escape the zip ties* oh, dude, look! Now I look cool!

Cass: *is wearing a sport bra while exercising*

Steph: Cass!!! Stop being naked every time I see you!!

Cass: ???

Tim: *sends Bernard a Snapchat using the peach emoji filter*

Bernard: oh my god... the booty emoji...

Kate: *has a sign on her office wall that says "all things are possible through sarcasm and profanity." *

Tim: *snaps Steph a picture of a drink with an ingredient he's allergic to in it* the urge to drink this to see if it kills me it outrageous

Jason: would you like a cake pop?

Damian: a cake... a what?

Jason: a cake pop?

Damian: what on earth is a cake pop?

Jason: DICK NEVER BOUGHT YOU A CAKEPOP? We are resolving this problem today. Get in the Batmobile, we're going to Starbucks and buying you a dozen cake pops.

Damian: you still haven't told me what a cake pop is.

Jason: imagine a lollipop, but cake. And spherical.

Damian: spherical cake?

Jason: yes, spherical cake.

Damian: ... how...

Jason: get your ass in the car and I'll show you how.

#dc universe #jason todd #bruce wayne #damian wayne #tim drake #cass cain #stephanie brown #harper row #dick grayson #clark kent #bernard dowd #kon el kent #conner kent #kate kane #incorrect quotes #batfam #batfam incorrect quotes #duke thomas

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reggies-eyeliner · 10 months

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THE CLASSIC MATCHUP - @littlelilbun

THE "HEAVEN IS A PLACE ON EARTH WITH YOU" COUPLE

#now playing ... video games by lana del rey!

miguel o'hara had never been big on physical touch. or talking. or purposefully making funny jokes. he actually wasn't a big fan on a lot of things. the only person he really regularly talked to was lyla, but that was only because he had to in order to get things going in the spider society-- but someone he could never find himself pushing away from was you. at first, being completely honest, he'd been so busy with monitoring the whole spider society that he'd neglected to realize that you and lyla were attached at the hip. both of you got along great, both having similar wardrobes and the occasional matching sunglasses. what began with conversations with solely lyla, even after work hours, ended with miguel joining in with the occasional wry joke every now and then. that slowly began to grow more into full fleged conversations with the three of you, and you and miguel had created a bond that seemed to be just about unbreakable.

he isn't big on romance, he likes to think, because he doesn't have the time for it. sometimes miguel says the words "the fate of the multiverse" and you and peter b. look at each other and snort a little, but sometimes you see the the corner of his lips twitch.

the first time miguel o'hara does anything remotely romantic is in battle, when some random universe's doc ock decides that you'd be the perfect victim. you weren't awake for most of it, but lyla tells you that miguel had practically dropped everything to save you, refusing to acknowledge the possibility that you wouldn't make it. he had stayed at the hospital every night to look after you, and every day grew into a week into two weeks before you were discharged, and during that time, both of you talked like there was no tomorrow.

when miguel actually realizes that he's in love and he's not having some sort of allergic reaction, he kind of sneaks in a small, quick question, even leaning against the wall to sound extra casual to lyla, "hey uh what's that new album taylor swift released" and lyla drops everything because . why is this man even asking this question . but it doesn't take long for her to connect the dots, and realizes that he wants to know more about your interests and what you like. lyla tells you, obviously, and fortunately, things progress from there.

once you two are actually together, miguel treasures lazy saturday mornings and cozy friday evenings. he even loves the "i'm so exhausted i might die" monday mornings on his way to the spider society, because he's with you. if you struggle with anxiety, while he might not know the best thing to do at first, he'll talk you through it every step of the way. but he won't ever pity you or see you as something broken, he sees you as someone who's deserving of respect, and most importantly, love.

oh man this guy starts keeping an extra hair tie on his wrist for you, or he literally keeps make up wipes in his storage cabinet (he asked peter b advice on what he keeps on hand for his wife 😭<33), and he definitely thinks it's awesome that you're studying six languages, and he'll also definitely ask you about it !! also he loves holding you while sleeping beacuse if a man is touch starved it's him

RANDOMIZED TROPE:

" SHARING A BED "

-> within two weeks of dating, miguel o'hara has realized a lot of things, mainly being that you thrive on physical touch-- something he's tried his best to shake himself away from. but as he watches you, arms opened wide for an embrace laying on a hospital bed after a particulary taxing day fighting doc ock, his heart stutters. slowly, hesitantly, he takes your hand, lying down beside you. he immediately warms up to your embrace, letting your head fall to his chest. lyla takes photos<33

a/n: thank you so so much for the request!! i am so so sorry that this took so long!!! if i missed anything please let me know >:D!<3 i hope you're doing alright + things are going okay for you!! remember to hydrate and eat well, take care!!!

#ellie's.matchups<3!#AGAGHSGCGGHH you seem so sweet thank you for requetsingAJHSH #you have . elite music taste #oh man i remember reading your ask being like IT JUST KEEPS GETTING BETTER BWHAJAH #take care >:DD!!!#miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara headcanons #miguel o'hara x reader #scheduled!

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rockingrobin69 · 3 months

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“I've been informed,” Harry Potter burst through the door with his habitual earth-quake of a shout, “that you don’t even like peppers!”

“Good morning,” Draco said dryly. Harry Potter glared.

With a sigh, Draco retreated to the kitchen to fetch the biscuits from the cupboard.

Around his third one, an insistent crumb hanging to his upper lip with all its tiny might: “Peppers, Malfoy!”

“Pardon?”

“Peppers!”

Draco blinked. “If you’ll be so kind as to tell me what on earth you’re on about.”

“Pansy said you hate them!”

He looked absolutely outraged. Draco sipped his long-cold tea.

“Do I?”

“She said you’re allergic!”

“Am I?”

“Stop—fucking with me.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dare.” But the corner of his lips was twitching. “I’m not allergic. I was simply a horribly dramatic child and she still naïve back when we were, what, six. Seven. I’m fine with peppers now.”

Harry Potter pouted, terribly chipmunk-ish, and even put the biscuit pack down. Down to business. “I cooked the—bloody hell, Malfoy, just, honestly. Why wouldn’t you say? That you hate peppers. I would’ve made something else. I would have happily—why?”

Utterly bemused, “I am. Honest, I mean. I don’t mind peppers anymore.”

“That’s a fucking lie and we both know it.”

Grasping at straws and failing, at least managing to stop the wobble of his stupid mouth, the automatic turning downwards. Went for his cup instead. The tea was ice-cold and flavourless and Draco poured it down his throat like it could cure him.

“Your hair’s a mess,” he then said, venomous, and turned his eyes back to the wall, where they refused to stay. It was always like this when Harry Potter barged into his flat. Even the water stains on the ceiling lost their usual allure and could not hold his attention. “If it’s raining, cast a bloody Impervious. Or take an umbrella.”

Harry Potter took a deep breath instead, sounding awfully, weirdly small. Some of the tension bled out of him in increments, his shoulders first, then the fists unclenching, then his belly un-hardening. His jaw was last. Draco was helplessly mesmerised by the transformation.

“You’re impossible,” but his voice finally not straining, his fingers not twitching towards the biscuits. No longer needing the obvious distraction. “Next time, if I make something you dislike, you have to tell me.”

“An order,” Draco huffed. “How sweet.”

Harry Potter could blush all the way to the roots of his hair. It was such a stunning, breath-stealing wonder to witness.

“It’s not a… fuck you.”

“Hmm.”

They sat there in strangely amicable silence. The oven still gave that choking, desperate cough every ten seconds, and it set a nice framework for their breathing, for the non-fidgeting. Harry Potter was always fidgety, but not when he sat in Draco’s kitchen like this.

“What’s your schedule? For today. Nev said you’re doing overtime again.” Leaning back, giving Draco that look all his friends liked to wear, the one on the border of a telling-off. It didn’t usually work on him, but Harry Potter had a slight edge to his disappointment that made Draco’s skin crawl.

“Not—exactly. Shouldn’t be so late. I’ll be home for bedtime, Mother, I promise.”

Even his mother didn’t glare like that. “Third time this week? I kind of want to strangle your boss.”

“Ha. I should inform you that violence is usually frowned upon in the workplace.”

He didn’t smile, but he came near it. Draco could tell, because the corners of his eyes were dancing. “Does it count if it's not my workplace?”

“Mm. Fair enough. Strangle away.”

Now he was smiling. “When d’you start? Want a ride?”

And Draco was so grateful he didn’t launch yet another tirade about how Draco should quit that he said, “Why not.” (Only because he was distracted and rather tired, and not because sitting behind Harry Potter on his motorbike was in itself half-punishment, and not because clinging to his waist on tight turns at far-too-quick was—anything at all). On the downside, it made Harry Potter practically beam, and Draco still needed his eyes.

“Great! I mean. That’s good. That you won’t be late. Bad for your, er, record, and stuff, and you might not get a—bonus or something.”

They didn’t do bonuses at McMillan & McMillan, but that was neither here nor there. Draco nodded, pushed himself up on not so flimsy legs, collected his coat from where it was crumpled on the back of a chair.

“What about lunch?”

“Hmm?”

“You didn’t take. Any lunch.”

Why was he so obsessed with food? It was dangerously endearing. “I have an apple in my bag. Come now, you promised I won’t be late.”

“An—” Harry Potter shook his head, loosening even more curls out of his bun. They were rain-flat and miserable and still entirely too sweet. “I’ll buy you a sandwich at that poor excuse for a cafeteria you got there. And so help me god, Malfoy, you’ll eat it, or—”

“All right,” both hands up, “no need to shout. Your wish is my command, etcetera.”

He pouted so hard it was almost comical. But there was something still wounded there, so Draco added, “As long as there’s peppers, you know,” and then he was fuming again, bouncing on the balls of his feet and ready to deliver yet-another lecture. Draco watched him, amused, and forgot to lock the door behind him, and forgot his scarf.

Did remember his umbrella, which he Leviosa-ed to follow the Death Machine, stuck it against the silly jacket's back when they reached the office. It wasn’t raining anymore, thankfully allowing Draco to arrive not wet-dog for a change, and it made absolutely no difference.

Harry Potter took off his helmet to watch Draco enter the building. Didn’t follow him inside (wise, to prevent a murder), and so Draco completely forgot about the sandwich threat until it was roughly lunchtime. At which point, a drawer in his desk suddenly jumped open, and a far-too-fancy £12 bready tower appeared. On it a note that scrawled pepper-free, git.

Harry Potter had a lot to answer for. Draco, distracted, chipped away at the sandwich all the same, and was only shouted at twice, and didn’t even spill coffee on his keyboard.

‘Not exactly overtime’ at the office meant staying after everyone else to take note of stock and arrange all the impossible paperwork. That Draco was given this task was already hilarious, and always a disaster: that his boss insisted on continuing to give it to him, possibly commendable. Maybe he thought Draco was being stubborn. Maybe he thought, nobody could really be this bad without actively trying. Well, he didn’t know Draco yet! There was always time to learn.

Stock was stocked. The backroom was stuffy and still smelling slightly of smoke (not Draco’s fault, probably), the sweet dusty smell of paperwork going to rot. It made his head spin, not unpleasantly, made him inhale a little brokenly and laugh to himself. The sandwich from all the way back lunch sat heavy in his belly, sweating. Everything was so incredibly laughable.

When he finally finished (after only forgetting three steps in the protocol), the sun had long set and the streetlights were humming. Not worrying, Draco thought, going back to the office (forgot his bag). Not worrying at all (back to the office, to check he locked the door). (Why would anyone give him the keys?) (Some disasters were just asking to happen).

On his way home he stopped by the corner shop for another pack of biscuits. Some disasters, sure, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t prepare in advance. Harry Potter would surge in soon enough with another grievance. Draco was giddy by nature, and so the shakiness was not necessarily to do with this.

To the crescent moon drowning in cloud he wondered, do I hate peppers?

Couldn’t remember to decide by the time he made it back.

#this came to me in a not-enough-sleep #and i've been making little scenes of it in my head all day long #draco insists on calling harry 'harry potter' every single time #he hits his head on the oven and harry gives him a kiss and they're both mortified? sitting under the kitchen's neon light in silence #everyone barges in his flat and they're all so dramatic and he's so dryly amused by it #also they're all so disappointed with how little care he takes of himself and he chokes on how he's barely keeping it together #no this is fun i promise. i promise #anyway what do i tag even. i forgot how to do this #drarry fic #right?#1300 words ish #rockingrobin69 #this is a part of a wip? technically? i GUESS?

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