Always Dreaming

The sinew of my body released itself, becoming liquid and versatile to any conquest. And at the moment, the conqueror was him. 

The music grew in the background, a shimmering layer that enveloped our bodies, persuading us to dance. He came forward without hesitation, a dark flicker of amusement in his eyes. A hand reached out and found its place on the small of my back. Unlike the other dancing couples, who were already in the throes of movement, we went slowly. He applied a light pressure to his fingers, urging me to sway. I followed his command. My hips gently rocked back and forth as he matched my pace and came closer. 

Just before his chest connected with mine, his eyes narrowed in a challenge. He seemed to ask, “are you sure you want to play this game?” 

That irritated me. A lot. 

I surged forward and melded our bodies together. And just for good measure, I raised my hand and lightly traced my fingers up his neck and into his hair. He tried to keep his eyes on mine, but they rolled ever so slightly when I pulled. 

I smirked. 

He saw that smirk and grinned back. 

The dip was so fast, my head spun. My hair flowed down until it touched the floor. Unsteady, I could only hold on to him tighter. His grin widened. I felt one hand still on my back, steadying me, and the other creeping its way under my leg. Slowly he raised it, higher and higher, until my foot was above his head.

(TLDR: a short piece of writing based on a man I met)

He had this air about him. It was infused with charisma and confidence. Everyone in the room was taken in by it. Before you knew it, you felt yourself leaning forward in your seat, entranced by what he was about to say next. He wasn’t perfect, and he was young, but that just made him more likeable. His answers weren’t rehearsed, instead they were fueled by passion. The stars shined in his eyes as he spoke of what he did. There was a secret romance between him and his work that no one could compare to - not even the girl waiting for him in the back of the room. 

When he spoke to me, his eyes locked intently on mine and even though he was the one speaking, it felt like he was listening. Listening for my reaction. Not watching. Watching implies that you stood apart from what was happening. But not him. He was listening as he spoke. Drinking in my face and everyone else’s. I felt like I was falling for him. But more accurately, I was drunk on him. I felt tipsy in the face of such emboldened courage and self-assurance that I was drawn to it, thirsty for every word. I couldn’t look away from him. But then I remembered, there were other people in the room. For a moment, just a moment. I turned to look at them. And in their eyes, I saw my same drunken stupor. They fed off his every word like a five-course meal. 

Suddenly, an inkling of soberness crept in. My eyes found him again as he spoke to another. All of sudden, I didn’t feel so special anymore. Because that was what he made me feel like - special. I didn’t realize I was so starved for attention. Or maybe that wasn’t it. It was more like someone who couldn’t help but get sucked in. The joy he exuded was infectious and I felt greedy. I wanted his hard-found happiness and success. I wanted it for myself. And yet like most people in the world, I knew that I wanted it because he had it. We always want things others have. 

I realized I wasn’t actually jealous of the girl at the back of the room, I pitied her instead. His ambition was unmatched, which meant he would lose her along the way. She wouldn’t be enough to satisfy him forever. She told me that it took him a while to get around to dating her. Now that I reflect, I have a feeling that was because he wanted to make sure she was worth the investment. I felt sorrow at her eventual loss. I knew she must have felt like me when she first saw him. Enthralled and entranced by this man who seemed perfect but had flaws. And yet seemed more perfect because of his flaws. 

Guys, I’m watching HP 1 for like the thousandth time and I got to the scene where Harry meets Voldemort for the first time (aka on the back of Quirrell’s head) and I have been laughing non-stop for the past ten minutes. 

Unlike every other time I’ve watched this film, I suddenly thought “Omygod Voldemort had to sit through Professor Quirrell’s lessons too.” 

- This is all I can think in my head - 

Quirrell: “And which dark wizard was responsible for trying to enslave the muggles saying it was for The Greater Good? He believed that magic was only for rare souls, and those with magical blood should stop hiding from muggles.” 

Seamus raises hand: “Was it Sirius Black, sir?”

Voldemort muffled: “Oh my god, not this moron again. It’s Grindelwald, you idiot. 

Seamus asks confused: “What was that, sir?”

Quirrell waves hands dismissively: “Nothing, Nothing.”

Hi there, 

I just had to comment on the first two episodes of Miraculous Season 4 ep 1&2. I HAVE ONLY SEEN THE FIRST 3 EPS IN ENG. DO NOT SPOIL THE SEASON FOR ME IF YOU HAVE SEEN IT PLEASE!!!!! 

First, WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK. 

Okay, I’m sorry. But I have been in agony for like 2 years since the ending of season 3 when Marinette and Adrien went off with Luka and Kagami. I have been agonizing about having to watch their relationships develop and let my heart subsequently die as their feelings lesson for each other. 

AND THEN. BOOM. EP 1: You thought Marinette and Luka were gonna make it? - NOPE NUH UH. 

AND THEN BOOM BANG. EP 2: You thought Adrien and Kagami would be together? NO SUH. NO WAY. 

I MEANNNNN WHAT. Don’t get me wrong. I AM ECSTATIC. But for TWO YEARS, the creators led me down this road. AND NOW I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO. 

I thought the entirety of season 4 was going to be about how they were in relationships with these two, and now I HAVE NOTHING. WHAT THE HECK IS THE SEASON GONNA BE ABOUT. Omygoodness it gives me chills. I am so FUCKING EXCITED. 

AND DON’T EVEN GET ME STARTED ABOUT EP. 3. That will have to be a whole separate post. (But Alya is such a boss)

IS ANYONE ELSE JUST LIKE SO PUMPED AT HOW HARD THE CREATORS ARE GOING????? WOOOOOOOO

Saw this quote as inspiration for this mini piece of writing: 

“He won’t die until God and the Devil come to an agreement about who gets to keep him.” 

*-----------*

My four hundred and sixty third birthday is today.

It’s not really anything to laugh at, but when I was at the grocery buying the candles for my birthday cake, I had to laugh a little. Another year not dead.

I strolled up to the cashier and handed over a few bills in exchange for my birthday decorations, a few beers, and an ice cream cake that was already starting to melt.

The cashier eyed me curiously, “You throwing a birthday party for someone?” she asked.

I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes. “Well spotted, I am indeed.”

The cashier smiled brightly, “Who’s birthday is it?”

This time I smiled back, “My own. I am 463 today.”

The cashier let out a nervous laugh and swiped my items a little faster.

I walked out of the store into the brisk fall air. Winter was just around the corner. The wind picked up as if in response to the colder temperatures to come. It would be time to move soon. I despised the cold. Brazil might be a nice place to visit around this time. I hadn’t been there in at least 50 years.

Whistling a little tune, I strolled down the street.

A loud crack popped to my right. I turned in time to see the windows on the store across the street shatter. With the front door also in shambles, three heavily armed men lumbered out. The man who looked like the leader was presumably holding a bag full of jewelry and cash - how cliché.

I looked down at my still-melting ice cream cake. I could always ignore them, I thought.

What was my tally at again? I did a mental count. 85,768 good and 85,769 bad. Hmm. It wouldn’t be a terrible idea to even the odds again - I did kick a puppy yesterday.

I found a nice shady spot to nestle my cake in. Didn’t want it to go to waste in the struggle.

The thieves were still lingering. One of their own was taking his time in the shop, grabbing more of the smaller pieces, trying to scrap up any money he could. This time I did roll my eyes.

They never change, do they? I cracked my neck. I shook out my bad ankle and felt a rock roll around in my shoe. It was tiny enough not to cause any pain, but it pricked against my big toe uncomfortably. 

I chose to put a time limit on this one. No more than six minutes. Any longer than that and my cake might melt. A cool breeze flitted by again. Another taunt of winter. I shivered. 

Blasted cold.

Time to get this moving. I stepped off the curb and into the street.

My fist connected with the leader’s jaw with a resounding crunch. His men stared at me in shock, which then quickly turned to anger.

“Who the hell are you!” Not so much of a question, but I thought to myself, why not indulge them? It was my birthday after all.

I took a little bow and swept my leg behind me. “My name is Astril, son of the first son, born in the first millennia from the very dawn of time. I am the equal of good and evil in every aspect. I have faced death every day of my life and cheated it. Heaven and Hell don’t know what to do with my presence and my affinity for both sides. So, I remain alive, forever acting as the temptation to both lords of the netherworld; each of which are waiting with baited breath to carry me to their eternal shores. But I shall not be so easily taken, you see. I have outwitted death and will continue to do so by-“

“What the fuck are you going on about?” One of the cronies yelled. He was crouched next to his fallen leader. The rest currently surrounded me.

“Damned fool, I can’t believe you have the nerve to interrupt me.” Rage flickered inside me, but I quelled it. If I approached this situation for personal matters, the balance would tip.

Instead, I calmed my anger and remained solely focused on the need for justice.

“Be gone, mongrels. I have no need for the sight of you to stain my eyes any longer.”

I wasted precious seconds monologuing, but at least I managed to finish the job in the remaining time.

Several broken and battered bodies now littered the ground amidst the broken glass. I scooped up the money and jewels, safely returned them to the shopkeeper, and walked back to my ice cream cake.

85,769 acts of good balanced against 85,769 acts of evil. The game continued.

*-------*

Miraculous appreciation post:

So idk about you guys but I think about this scene like ALL THE TIME.

And I just fantasize about what the future partnership will look like and I would die if they actually made a more serious follow up show.

But back to the fantasizing. The creators were clever enough not to tell us if they actually discover their secret identities in the future. But for my daydreams let’s assume they do.

*_____*

The Sunday morning light flowed into the bedroom where Paris’s most famous heroes slept. Ladybug and Chat Noir were out late the night before in another tangle with Monsieur Rat. His newest concoction pitted the hero’s against thousands of rats infiltrating homes across the city. By the time Ladybug unleashed her lucky charm and all was settled, the heroes returned well past midnight to their shared home.

Adrien and Marinette slept soundly as the sun crested into the sky. Adrien was the first to awaken. Blearily, he took in his surroundings and then smiled at Marinette who was safely snuggled into his arms. He noted the time and eased out of bed so as not to wake his bugaboo.

An idea struck Adrien and he smiled once more. It was a secret sort of smile, one full of promise. The door closed behind him and a green flash glowed from the doorway beyond the bedroom.

Marinette awoke sometime later, feeling the empty space beside her. Her eyes fluttered open. She blinked away her sleepiness and confusion.

On the pillow next to her lay a single rose. A small red ribbon was attached to it with a note.

It read “good morning m’lady. May I say you were spectacular last night and you are shining even brighter this morning. I would be so honored if you would join me for breakfast downstairs.”

Marinette grinned and placed the beautiful flower near her nose and inhaled deeply. It was fresh and sweet. Just like him, she thought.

Marinette ambled out of bed, pulled on her robe and made her way to the kitchen. As she descended the stairs, she heard a rather amusing argument.

“But Plagg, the recipe said that it was supposed to turn a golden brown.”

She crept around the corner to see Adrien looking perplexed over a batch of what she assumed to be burnt croissants. She stiffled a giggle.

Plagg muttered something along the lines of “I don’t think Marinette will notice.”

“Okay, let’s try this one more time,” said Adrien full of determination.

Plagg groaned.

“Plagg, claws out!” In the blink of an eye, Adrien became Chat Noir before her eyes. It had taken a while to get used to it, but she grew accustomed to seeing the two most precious people in her life become one.

“Little kitty in the kitchen, with his lady sleeping soundly. Making breakfast...” He sang and rolled the dough.

Marinette strolled into the kitchen.

“Good morning, kitty.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek.

He beamed. “G’morning, m’lady.”

“Would you like some help with breakfast?” She meaningfully glanced at the burnt croissants.

He blushed. “Some help would be nice.”

She produced the rose from a hidden location and held it as if it was made from glass.

“Thank you, it’s beautiful.”

“And so are you...” He didn’t hesitate to lean in.

Heyo, so idk if anyone remembers this scene from National Treasure:

BUT IT WAS VERY IMPRESSIONABLE TO ME AS A KID.

So I was pretty young when this movie came out and I distinctly remember being scared for Abigail’s safety. But the thing that stuck was the woman behind the counter. Yes, she was funny. But to me I saw her as a savior.

It may sound weird, but this was a very real example of what women are forced to face with abusive and non-respectful men. But this woman didn’t even question Abigails situation and just chose to hide her safely. THIS WAS HUGE TO ME.

And quite honestly, this was a very real example of why I just learned to implicitly trust black women as a kid.

I’m just saying, it’s a small example, but it shaped me and representation matters.

Scene: Us - me and this potential friend chatting on the first day of orientation:

Me: *randomly talking, then mumbles something incoherent*

Her, craning her neck: “WHAT ARE YOU SELLING?!”

Me, whipping around: “CHOCOLATE!”

We fist bumped and that was it.

I went hiking today with a friend and there were caves you could climb into. We climbed into the back of the cave and were just looking around when some others came in...

First person: “Hey you know what this reminds me of?

Second person: “What?”

First person sings, “Secret Tunnel...”

Second person joins in, “Secret Tunnel...”

Together, “Through the mountain...”

ME (from the back of the creepy cave):

“SECRET SECRET SECRET TUNNNNEELLLLL!!!!”

Hi there, I watched the new WW84 and it was really great! Love the new modern WW.

[Spoiler Alert]

I both liked and didn’t like that Diana’s main love interest died in the first film and then “again” in the second. It got me thinking about female super heroes in general. Why did her love interest die, whereas tons of male super hero’s get their love interests to stay alive? So I was wondering what other female heroes existed that had love interests that remain and the female hero is saving them all the time etc etc?