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shreddedparchment · 4 years

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Spa Day

03/04/2021

Pairing: Clark Kent x Reader Word Count: 7,559

Warnings: language, depression, past abuse, emotional abuse, fluff

A/N: I wrote this because I have been feeling pretty down on myself. It’s pure self indulgence to make me feel better. I hope it will help someone else and if not, I hope you at least get a smile or some entertainment from reading it. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

You’re awkward, walking in. Feeling out of place.

This place was for special people. Well, people who mattered.

You’re not sure how you got the voucher. It all happened so quickly.

One minute you were sitting in Mr. Wayne’s office, twiddling your thumbs to expend some nervous energy as you awaited your firing then the next you were being shoved out his office door with a gentle but firm hand at the center of your back.

Mr. Wayne had smiled, his face relaxed and amused.

“It expires soon, so use it tomorrow,” he’d said.

“I work tomorrow,” you’d resisted, no intention of losing a full day’s paid work.

“Take the day. On me. Full pay,” As you opened your mouth to protest again, he quickly lifted his hand to silence you politely and tacked on, “There’s no use arguing with me. Now enjoy it or you’re fired.”

He’d shut the heavy wooden door in your face leaving you standing there, stunned. At a loss to think up a reason to not come here today but obviously you’ve failed seeing as you’re here.

“Good morning!” A young woman with soft to the touch looking blonde hair smiles at you from behind the modern pale wooden counter. The white marble top shines in your eyes.

“Hi. Morning,” you sputter.

“How can we help you today?”

She’s so nice. So polite. Professional. This place is super expensive looking. There’s a crystal chandelier behind you at the center of the small lobby space. Chic sofas line the wall behind you, large pots with dragon trees growing tall add a splash of color to the otherwise sterile and plain gray walls.

Despite its minimalist decor, the office exudes money.

You’re almost at the brink of following the impulse that wants to turn you towards the tinted glass door, but before you can make your escape, the receptionist’s kind voice interrupts you.

“Oh! You have one of our platinum vouchers! Lucky you,” she smiles, genuine in her glee. “Shall I take that?”

She holds out her hands, both of them and waits for you to place the thick and shiny ticket-like paper in them.

Quickly she gives it a read, turning it over and then placing it under a UV light by her computer. An image shines out from under the purple light of a shimmering diamond right at the center of the ticket.

“You’ve got the works. Was it a gift?” She looks up at you, not intending to insult you but you can’t help but feel a little stung by her assumption.

You can’t really blame her though. You reserve all of your best outfits for work. Casual yet distinguished pantsuits and skirts with matching tops or jackets.

Today you’ve chosen a simple floor length skirt. It sits snugly around your waist and hips. Your t-shirt, a simple graphic tee with the words “Touch the Radley House YOLO” printed in bold black letters.

“Uh, yeah,” you admit to the girl, wishing she’d just sign you in and let you go about your day. “My boss gave it to me.”

“Lucky, lucky. You must have a really nice boss,” she admires.

“Well, I lost his company nearly a hundred million dollars and he didn’t fire me, so…” you trail off, still lost as to why Mr. Wayne had been so adamant you take some time off and why he’d been so understanding about the Ronson account.

“Oh,” the girl says, blinking a few times as she tries to process what you just said. “A very nice boss then.”

Her conclusion brings a small smile to your lips because truthfully, Mr. Wayne is very kind. You’ve never heard him berate an employee and he’s usually only tough on his business associates. Members of his board and investors. Like Mr. Ronson.

If he wasn’t so out of your league, you’d even consider maybe letting yourself really look at him. He’s hot for sure, but he always seems so preoccupied. Like he has something he’s trying to keep buried.

Nice, but he has secrets. No one’s perfect.

“Well, we’ve got you all booked in. What you’ll want to do is head in through that door on your right, walk halfway down the hall and the lounge room should be there to your left. Someone will come and escort you to your first experience.”

You observe her vernacular. Every word she speaks is rehearsed and probably scripted to a certain point.

“Thank you,” you give her another small smile, still feeling out of place but a little more at ease.

“Enjoy!” she calls as you cross through the heavy wooden door.

It swings shut behind you silently, a soft hiss at it latches.

The hallway before you is just as simple yet chic as the lobby. The colors are less neutral, a calming turquoise with a black base and a thick silver stripe lining the center of the wall at about waist height.

The doors are pale wood, smooth to the touch. You pass several of them as you make your way to the lounge.

Inside the door to your left at the center of the hall you find the lounge room. Which actually turns out to be a locker room. Smaller than what you would have thought with only about fifteen lockers that look more like small safes. Each one has a digital keypad, a fingerprint reader, and an iris scanner.

“Sheesh…” you observe but pick one and move over to it to set up your passcode, fingerprint, and scan your eye so that you can come get your stuff when your day of relaxation is over.

Inside the locker you find a neatly folded outfit wrapped in sanitary plastic. Completely sealed.

Just in case you’re wrong about this being a spot where you can change, you look for a designated changing area but don’t find one.

With no other choice, you place your purse and keys inside the locker, then slowly begin to strip. Shoes, skirt underwear go into the locker but your nerves don’t let you remove your t-shirt just yet. Untucked from your skirt, it’s easier to tell that it’s intentionally oversized.

After another quick anxious look at the door you’d come in through, you hook your hands into the base of your shirt and pull it up...just as the door opens and a large clearly male body steps in.

You gasp, whirling around in surprise to reclothe your breasts.

Cool air blows against your bottom as your shirt also twists with your movement, but you reach back and yank it down.

“Oh, I am...uh, didn’t see anything?” The voice is deep, smooth. It puts you at ease even though you literally just exposed yourself to a complete stranger.

“No, no. It’s fine,” you tell him, voice strained with embarrassment. “It’s my fault, I didn’t know if there was a separate changing room. I just...didn’t see any.”

“Oh, um...it’s the door right across the hall. But you know what? I’ll actually just step right outside and let you finish.”

That’s so nice…”You don’t have to, I can just-”

You turn around to look at him, keeping your hands on your shirt to pull it down. One at the front. One behind.

Simultaneously, though you don’t notice, both your and his jaw drop.

It takes both of you a moment to find your voices and while he speaks, your mind is busy taking in his massive size.

He’s thick. Muscles bulking through the should-be loose wrap top he’s wearing. Like yours it’s a soft peach color, the same diamond shape you’d seen on your voucher under the UV light etched into the right breast.

With the top he wears loose pants, or somewhat loose around his knee and down to his ankles; there’s a pair of charcoal slippers on his feet. His thighs, like his arms and chest strain against the clothes he’d been given.

It’s clearly too small. You wonder if maybe this place doesn’t carry the outfit in his size. It’s very possible, considering his girth.

“Miss?”

His slightly concerned expression brings you back to yourself, now flustered because he’s caught you gawking at him.

“Sorry, I’m-you just surprised me and my brain’s a little-what did you say?”

“I’ll just step outside,” he doesn’t wait for you to respond as he backs up to the door then pulls it open and disappears through it, closing it gently behind him.

“What the hell was that?!” you gasp, angry at yourself for staring.

He’s hot! You couldn’t help it. He also looks familiar, though you can’t place the face. How you could possibly forget a face like that you have no idea.

While you change, you think about the smaller things you’d notice.

His hair is dark. Black. Curls that are carefully kept in place with hair products. His skin is a perfect pale peach. Not so pink as the clothes you’re pulling on, but it falls under the same shade. There didn’t seem to be a single blemish from what you were able to see.

A small tuft of chest hair had been peeking out of the V of the top. His face had been perfect, yes, but kind. There was a gentleness in it. The small curve of a smile had played on his rosebud pink lips. Not thin. Not thick. They were perfect.

He was perfect.

And those eyes...so blue. Like a clear spring sky. So bright and observant. There’s no way he didn’t catch you staring. Shit.

You note as you shove your underclothes into your locker out of where he might see them, that your own outfit for this spa leaves even less to the imagination than what must be the male uniforms.

Where the handsome stranger had pants, you were given very small shorts. Little more than boy short underwear in length. Parts of your bottom were threatening to overflow.

The top, while similar to the one the stranger wore, also came with a bandeau given the unique look of being wrapped around your chest when it so clearly is just one piece. You were expected to wear this underneath the looser wrap top.

Pulling it shut, you’re still tying the top closed around your waist as you hurry to the door where the stranger must still be waiting.

You open it...but he’s gone.

Disappointment floods through you. Surprising you.

You have no reason to want to see him, but you suppose you had just wanted to apologize for the awkwardness.

With a sigh you shut the door and move back to your locker to shove the rest of your belongings in just as a kind looking young woman no older than the receptionist at the front desk comes in with a smile.

“Are we ready for the diamond experience? You’re a very lucky lady!”

Even though you’re still only halfway sure you even want to go through with this whole thing, her excitement is catching and you find yourself nodding and scurrying after her as she shows you down the hall for your all expense paid spa day.

~~~~~~~~~~

You aren’t used to relaxation.

Not to this degree.

A gold facial? Full body exfoliation with sea salt and Indian kama oil? A rain massage which consisted of you being massaged with several different clays as warm water is cascaded down your body? An herbal bath with murky green water that leaves your skin feeling fresh--like mint but for your skin?

It’s too much!

You’re four hours into your spa session and you’re so sleepy you might pass out in this next one.

As you’re escorted by the same young lady who has been tending to you from the beginning, she opens the door of a long room, the outer wall of which is made up of endless glass panels that catch the rays of the sun.

As you step in, you’re assaulted by immediate drowsiness as your entire being is engulfed in slightly sticky heat.

This isn’t a sauna. It won’t make you sweat buckets. But it makes your skin dewy and your eyes droop.

“Oh, wow,” you gasp, suddenly wanting to run before you can collapse to the floor in unconsciousness.

Your escort laughs, “The hot room has that effect on all of our guests. Come, it looks like we’ve got a spot free over at the far end.”

Along this wall of glass, there are lounge chairs with soft cushions grouped in twos, separated by a lattice waterfall panel that tinkles pleasantly as it empties down into a bed of soft pebbles. On the table at the head of these seats is a pitcher of water, glasses, and a set of small handheld fans that one can use to cool off a bit in the heat. Just in case it becomes too much, you guess. Though you can’t imagine it will. The heat isn’t oppressive. Just consuming.

It’s everywhere but it’s not choking or frustrating.

“I hope you don’t mind if we put you next to one of our other single guests? Most of our diamond packages are used by couples, as you can see.”

Your escorts gestures at the chairs as you pass them and sure enough, every seat is taken with couples hiding behind large potted fan palms.

“No, I don’t mind,” you answer in single, as if you have any choice. “How long will I be in here?”

“An hour or so? If you’d like to exit early, there is a small button on the table by your lounge. Press it and I will come take you to your next experience,” she looks back and smiles at you.

You notice that you pass three spots without lounge seats and wonder silently why some of them have been removed. At the end of these empties is where the escort stops. A set of lounges in the very last spot against the wall.

“Here you are,” your escort smiles. “If you need anything, just give us a call.”

“Thank you,” you smile at her and squeeze between the potted palms.

Slightly nervous, you look for your unintended partner and gasp at the Adonis you’d thought you’d lost.

The sound draws his attention and his expression shifts from stoic concentration to soft smile, “Hey, it’s you again.”

It takes you a moment to find your voice because you’re too busy gawking again.

He’s not wearing a shirt or pants. That is, he’s wearing shorts. A lot longer than yours, reaching about the top of his thighs, but still short. Like briefs. It gives you a good view of every single muscle in his long legs and you suddenly envy anyone that’s ever had the privilege to ride that thigh.

What the fuck am I thinking?! You give our head a shake and try to focus on his face as he waits. It’s only a second too late.

“Yeah, hi. Sorry, I-” you avert your eyes and quickly take a seat in your own lounge chair to his left, keeping your eyes on anything other than the mass that is his chest.

Just as you’d thought, it’s covered in a mouthwatering line of chest hair that trailers down onto his stomach and makes an ever so subtle trail down, down, down...down...down…

He chuckles, “It’s alright. It’s only fair you get a good look too, right?”

You’re not even processing what he’s saying, unable to focus for a bit.

“You’re here alone?” It’s more an observation than a question but you answer anyway, grasping at the distraction.

“Yes,” you nod. “A gift from my boss.”

“Me too,” he turns a little in his seat so that he can look at you, but adjusting his angle so that he can still keep his legs up, one propped up as he rests his elbow on his knee. The other stretched out before him.

This draws your gaze back to him and you’re able to pay attention this time and ignore his very distracting body.

“Oh?”

“I mean, not my boss, but it was a gift from a friend. He thought I could use a nice relaxing day.”

The way he says it, sounds like you’re not the only one saddled with what you perceived was a burden or at the very least, a waste of time.

You grin, “Mine too. My boss. I saved the company I work with from a scandal and his idea of repaying me was to give me a spa day. A raise would have been more than enough.”

“Tell me about it,” the man says, smiling with stunning pearly whites.

His smile is gorgeous and you’re enamored again by how sweet he looks.

How can someone look like he can tear the head off a rhino and still look so adorable? It can’t be fair.

“Rent keeps going up and my job doesn’t pay nearly enough to keep up. At this rate I might end up having to move back to the farm.”

“Oh,” you reply lamely, piecing together where he might have grown his sculpted figure. Farm work can be grueling.

He gives you a look, assessing your response then waves his hand gently as if to swat away his complaint, “Sorry, don’t listen to me. I’ve got it better than most. You don’t need to be hearing about my problems.”

“No!” you rush to assuage his worry. “No, it’s okay. That sucks about your job. Is there no chance at a raise?”

“Not exactly, I have a uh, a hobby that keeps me from taking more work and I kind of get paid by assignment. I have a flat salary but working extra would definitely help with the bills.”

“What do you do?” you wonder, trying to picture this guy doing anything other than just looking like a God in a spa.

He could be a bodyguard? They get assignments. Construction? Personal trainer?

“I’m a journalist,” he tells you, speaking matter-of-factly as if it makes perfect sense.

You blink, then chuckle and then laugh once.

“What?” he asks, amused and smiling again as you chuckle. “What’s funny?”

“Nothing,” you shake your head. “It’s just, journalist is not where my mind went.”

He doesn’t seem surprised but he also doesn’t say anything else.

The two of you lapse into silence. It’s not uncomfortable and at least you don’t feel like you need to say anything to fill the dead air.

Twenty minutes pass and you lean back in your chair to relax, sighing lightly and smiling at the immaculate aura that this stranger seems to emanate.

It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before.

The longer you lay there, suddenly not sleepy at all, the more your curiosity grows. Turning towards him, you find him already looking at you.

This startles you but in a good way. You smile and the soft curve of his lips breaks into a full toothed smile.

Both of you move your lips to speak, but before you can either of you get a word in a rustle of palm leaves pulls both your attentions behind your seats.

You sit up, twisting a little to look at who’s come, expecting to see your escort or some other spa staff.

Instead you find a woman you’d spotted laying in another spot with who you’d thought was the other half of her couple. Her waist-length auburn hair clings to the skin of her bare shoulders and sides. She’s removed her top, leaving her in her bandeau.

“Hi,” she says to your stranger-wait not your stranger. Shoot.

He looks confused but not unfriendly, “Hello.”

“My friend finally talked me into coming over and talking to you,” she informs him.

“I see,” your-the stranger says.

The girl seems to be expecting something but the stranger just looks up at her expectantly. Awkwardly.

He looks at you and you quickly turn away from their conversation, pushing yourself to the end of the lounge to sit with your hands holding onto the edge, feet flat on the ground.

You try not to eavesdrop but they’re right there.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” he asks her, sounded polite but not uninterested.

You can hear the woman shifting from foot to foot, probably pushing her hips from side to side. Her figure is nice. Not like yours. She’s attractive, in a conventional way. In a magazine accepted way.

Your mood sinks the longer you ponder on this random girl and the stranger. There’s an endless string of disappointments that have built you into this person you are.

Insecurities made worse by words spoken by people that should have supported you or those you thought were on your side. Affections misplaced. Kindness taken advantage of. Betrayal. Worst of all the betrayal. Some small. Some big.

You know that you should be less shaky in your self worth. You know that you’re more than the words spoken and the actions taken that brought you to this point. But how do you turn it off? How to fight the thoughts that bring you down?

It’s not something you can do all at once. You know this. And yet feeling bad about yourself makes you feel guilty because you know it’s bad and that makes you feel worse. It’s an endless cycle.

You’re fully wallowing in your own self-pity before the girl even has a chance to answer the stranger’s question.

“Well, I noticed you came by yourself and I was wondering if maybe you wanted to have dinner sometime? Or maybe coffee?”

You don’t dare turn back, you just resign yourself to a lack of luck and stare out at nothing even though the view is really nice.

“Thank, I appreciate the offer, but I’m not looking for a date right now, I don’t really have the time,” the stranger says, giving her a diplomatic response.

Letting her down without letting her down.

“Oh, well,” there’s a beat of silence. “In case you change your mind, here’s my number. Call me, if you find some time?”

You hear her retreat and the soft shift of what must be a business card against the wood of the table behind the stranger’s chair.

Movement shifts in your periphery and you see that the stranger has moved to the end of his own lounge, mimicking your pose though he’s much bulkier and takes up much more space.

“That was weird,” he says, a small puff of air passing between his lips as he huffs a laugh.

“Why?”

“Well, she just came up to me, out of nowhere,” he clarifies.

“I’m pretty sure that’s not the first time that’s happened to you.”

The stranger seems to pick up on your mood shift, his face etched with concern as he tries to lean forward, head tilted a little as he strains for a better look at your face.

“Actually, that never happens to me,” he says. A lie?

“How about you?” he checks, probing gently to see if he can get you to talk.

“No. Never.”

“But you’re so-”

“I’m nothing,” you interrupt, the words an automatic response as if you’ve been hypnotized into saying those words exactly. A trained response.

The silence is no longer comfortable, but thick and heavy.

“Why would you say that?”

“Because it’s true. I’m nobody.”

It hurts to speak these words aloud. Words that have hurt you in the past. Words that have cut you time and again. Scars left behind by those people that should have loved you but didn’t.

“No one is nobody,” the stranger counters.

He watches you, observing.

You don’t like the front row seat he has to your wallowing. You try to pull yourself out of it but the hole just keeps getting deeper.

“I’m sorry,” you sigh, stealing a quick glance at him.

He’s still got his head tilted a little in pure concentration as he watches you, brow crinkled with focus.

It’s not judgement though, just intent. You can tell he’s really listening and it makes your heart flutter. No one has ever listened to you before. Not like this. Not with a deep desire to understand like he does.

He shakes his head, “Was it the girl coming over?”

You look away, feeling embarrassed, “She reminded me of someone I knew. Someone I dated.”

Nodding, he indicates that he’s listening.

You smile without humor, hurt by the memory, “He thought I should look like her. Or...he didn’t say exactly like her, but he said he wished I looked better.”

He frowns, his deep dislike for your story honest, “He doesn’t sound like a nice guy.”

“No, he wasn’t. He wasn’t like, evil or anything, but yeah. Not a nice guy,” you admit, accepting that in that case, it was definitely your boyfriend’s problem.

“But that’s not it?”

You look at him.

“There’s more to it?” he guesses.

You look out at the scenic view finally, not really seeing it but appreciating the colors at least.

“This spa day?” you begin, stealing another glance at him.

He turns to sit facing you, his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped as his listening intensifies.

“The only reason I got it was because as I said before I saved the company I work for from being dragged into scandal. I also lost a bunch of money by losing the client but my boss was pretty pleased.

“But the only reason I even touched the account was because I was sorta forced to?” Is that the best way to describe what happened?

“How were you forced to deal with that account?”

“Well, I’m not exactly the best with making friends? I mean, I have had friends before. I just--I got really sick a while back and I lost most of them because I cancelled on plans a lot or I didn’t have the energy to maintain contact? Even texting felt like such a chore. Just the act of responding and-I guess they thought that I thought being friends with them was a chore, and that wasn’t it.

“I just couldn’t find the energy to try to do anything. Some days I wouldn’t even eat because I’d have to get up and make myself food and I barely got up to go to the bathroom much less make a meal.

“Anyway, I just kind of gave up and they did to and now, I don’t really have an in with people? I don’t say much and it’s not that I don’t want to talk, I just don’t have anything worth saying. Or maybe I just can’t think of anything? I don’t know. But it affects work relationships too.”

“How?” he asks.

You take a deep breath, looking down at your hands clinging to the edge of the lounge before releasing it slowly.

“It’s really just me getting in my feelings,” you shrug.

“What you feel is what you feel, even if you don’t think you should. Our pasts can affect us well into our futures.”

His encouragement helps, and you feel a little less vulnerable to share with him.

“I work in the PR department. There are six of us in total. We’re a pretty big company. Multinational big. So there’s one of us for every form of media. Since we all work for the same clients, bridging the gap, we usually spread the workload evenly.

“Or, the other five members of my team do. Sometimes they just forget that I’m there and I usually get stuck with the leftover work. I’m not one to complain, so-” you shrug. “But they forget me for other stuff too. Company dinners. Competitions for prizes in the office. Secret Santa. Stuff like that.

“It makes me feel alone.”

You chance a glance at him, and he’s still watching you but his eyes are far away for a bit as if he’s remembering something.

“I know how that feels,” he nods. “I’ve felt alone almost all my life in some ways. Luckily, I’ve made a few friends to help me see things a little differently but that loneliness will never really go away.

“I understand.”

You smile, feeling more and more at peace again with him. Calm, like he really does get it.

He responds to the shift in your expression by relaxing his own. A small crinkle forms at the corners of his eyes, a subtle curve of his lips.

Now that you’re both feeling a little better, you can admit to yourself that you were jealous. Not just because the girl was everything that you were made to think you should be, but because this stranger, gorgeous as he is, is so nice.

He’s sweet and you want that in your next partner. You want to have someone care about you genuinely. You’re a little ashamed of wanting to claim him. Do you even dare entertain the thought?

“Yeah, I think you probably do,” you smile wider, turning in your seat to face him like he’s facing you.

“Now that you know all about my depression, would you like to know my name?” you ask him, teasing a smile.

He smiles more freely, “On a first date? Isn’t that moving kinda fast?”

Your stomach tumbles, heart sprinting at his words.

“A date?”

He only smiles wider, your heart stuttering before taking off at double speed again.

You tell him your name and then bite your lip, unable to believe your good luck.

“What about that other girl? You told her you weren’t looking for a date,” you wonder.

“Well, how can I be looking for a date when I’m already on one? Besides, how many girls do you think I can come across before I find another one wearing a shirt about my favorite book again?” he asks, all sincerity.

“Your favorite book is to Kill a Mockingbird?”

His smile is blinding.

“It’s really nice to meet you,” he nods, reaching out to shake your hand. “My name is Clark. Clark Kent.”

You take it and almost faint as your head goes dizzy at the soft touch of his skin.

The veins of his forearm bulge as he squeezes gently but he doesn’t actually shake it and instead seems to just hold your hand.

“Wait, I’ve seen your editorials before. You work at the Daily Planet.”

“I do,” he nods.

Your stomach suddenly falls, jealousy raking up along your ribs to settle around your heart to make it ache.

“Aren’t you dating Lois Lane? I thought-you two went to one of my boss’s parties together.”

It had been so long ago. Months and months. You remember Mr. Wayne going on about his friends Clark and Lois. You hadn’t met them, but Mr. Wayne had left to greet them when they’d arrived.

Clark’s own face falls just a tad, a small melancholic shift but it’s not deep. He keeps his smile, though smaller, and nods.

“We broke up last year,” he confesses, still not releasing your hand.

His thumb grazes against the back of it, sending goosebumps up from that point to spread along your arms and the rest of your body.

“I’m...not sorry?” you laugh, unable to help yourself because how can you be sorry about it now?

Clark also chuckles, “You know, right now, suddenly I’m not either.”

Before you can think of something cute to say, your stomach gurgles loudly, announcing to anyone close enough to hear that you’re hungry.

“Oh,” you utter, embarrassed as you finally take your hand back to rub your belly. “Sorry, I guess I haven’t eaten in a bit.”

“They have a menu here, I’ll grab us one.”

He rises and is gone before you can stop him and holy hell does he have a nice butt.

Watching him leave, you contemplate the way he used the word “us” so casually and wiggle with the pleasure it gives you.

As quick as you can, you look for any reflective surface and settle on the window across from you on which you can barely see yourself.

It’s enough though and you quickly go about fixing your hair which is surprisingly not bad even after all the treatments you’ve undergone.

A soft voice calls your name, the young woman who’s been escorting you.

“Hi, are you ready for your next treatment?” she smiles at you politely, kindly even, her body slightly bent down so that she won’t speak too loud and disturb the other people enjoying the hot room.

“Oh, um...I’m actually super hungry and I was going to order something to eat?”

The idea of being taken away to somewhere that you can’t be around Clark devastates you. You haven’t been this into anyone in so long.

“Oh okay! What would you like to order? Did you get a menu?”

The young woman gestures over her shoulder as if asking if she should go get you one.

“Actually-” but you don’t get to explain because Clark suddenly steps up to loom over both of you.

He doesn’t mean to, you don’t think, he’s just so big and he kind of naturally just looms.

“Hi,” he greets her kindly, and she flushes.

You can’t blame her. She takes a step back to put some space between herself and Clark and she’s seriously flustered. He’s hot.

Clark squeezes back by and sits himself in his seat before opening the paper menu and leaning towards you to give you a look.

You read through the choices quickly and nothing looks too crazy.

“Ooh, this one looks good,” you tell him, pointing down at the bottom of the menu.

“Should we get that one?”

“Yeah!” you reply eagerly, excited for the food.

You’re really very hungry.

“Can we get the gourmet pizza?” Clark asks, “And an order of the mini muffins? What kind are they?”

“Blueberry today,” the girl informs him, back to her composed and professional attitude.

“Two orders of those. And…”

“You don’t offer any kind of burger?” you ask the young woman looking back at her.

She smiles kindly but shakes her head, “No, sorry. The closest would be the sandwiches. We have tuna, cucumber, egg salad, and ham.”

While they sound like normal sandwiches, you have a suspicion that they’re going to be fancy in one way or another.

“Can we have an order of the tuna?”

She nods.

“And we’ll get the chocolate fondue, for desert?” Clark adds, folding up the menu and handing it to your escort.

“Alrighty, and for drinks? We can bring just plain water or perhaps some herb infused tea?”

“Do you have any sweet tea?” you wonder.

She nods.

“Two please,” Clark smiles. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” your escort says and hurries off to put in the order.

Both of you watch her go then when you meet Clark’s eyes, he laughs, just once. Failing to keep it inside.

“Did we order too much?” you wonder.

“I’m hungry too,” Clark assures you.

“I really wanted a burger,” you lament. “I mean, this food will probably be better than some greasy burger but-”

“A burger sounds like heaven. I love greasy burgers. Double meat. Triple cheese. Lots of pickles.”

He makes a funny face, pretending to salivate over the image he’s painted and while it’s a subtle change in his expression, you can tell that he’s more prone to being serious and that makes the gesture funnier for some reason.

You laugh, shaking your head.

He laughs with you, leaning back in his lounge.

You follow his lead, then turn onto your side and shove an arm underneath your head.

He mimics your pose, drawing his long legs up a little to bend them.

“I’m sorry about earlier, with the locker room? I really didn’t know that I wasn’t supposed to change in there.”

Clark’s smiles shift to a soft curve of his lips.

“I’m the one that should be apologizing,” he counters. “I walked in on you.”

“But you had no idea I’d be in there half naked, I kinda just thrust my body at you.”

There’s a beat, he looks down at your chair instead of maintaining eye contact, then, “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Your neck is suddenly on fire. Cheeks, ears, the base of your belly. It all burns as your heart stutters.

As he looks up to meet your eyes again, those baby blues burning with a striking spark, something he said when you first came in here replays itself in your head.

You frown, narrowing your eyes at him, “Hey, when I came in here, I apologized for staring at your naked upper body and you said that it was only fair I get a good look too.

“Are you saying you saw me when you clearly said you didn’t in the locker room?!”

Clark averts his eyes, clearing his throat loudly before throwing himself onto his back to stare up at the ceiling.

“I’m gonna have to get my friend something really good in return for gifting me this spa day,” Clark says, pointedly changing the subject.

But he has a point. This has been the best little indulgence you’ve ever given yourself and none of it could have been possible without Mr. Wayne’s generosity.

“Me too. I’ll have to make sure my boss knows how glad I am that he forced me to come here.”

Clark smiles, “What’s your next treatment? Did you pick them before you came?”

“We could do that?” You gasp.

Clark just smiles wider.

“No, I’m just going with the flow. The girl who took our order has been suggesting stuff and I’ve just been going with it.”

“I have a fresh water soak after this. You should join me.” Clark offers.

After the hot room, a swim in some fresh water sounds like heaven. And extending your time with Clark is a definite bonus.

“Aren’t we not supposed to swim for thirty minutes after we eat?” you tease.

Clark chuckles, “It’s a soak.”

Then, his voice shifts and you’re knocked breathless as he basically pleads with you.

“Join me. Only if you want to. I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to.”

Your brain is buzzing with that pleading voice of his. Gentle urging that betrays his want to be with you rather than wanting to control you.

“A fresh water soak sounds amazing.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Nothing could ever top today. You and Clark stuck together the rest of the day. It was fun getting to know him and exciting because the longer you two spent time together, the closer he sat to you.

As you dropped your spa outfit into a canvas souvenir bag that your attendee had given you at your last treatment--a couple’s massage that you and Clark had talked all the way through--Clark peeked around his own locker door, shutting it.

“So, I was thinking,” he began, moving to lean beside your locker as he towers over you, making you internally swoon with the curve of his lips.

“Yeah?” you urge him on, taking your other belongings and throwing them into the canvas bag along with your spa outfit which is also free for you to take.

“I have some things to do tonight but, how would you like to get some burgers tomorrow?”

“Are you asking me out on a second date, Clark?” as much as you wish you could sound like you were teasing, your excitement betrays you and Clark beams at your tone.

“Definitely,” he says low and deep.

Fuck, you’re totally screwed. You’re falling hard.

You really want to reach up and gently slide the curl falling on his forehead to the side lightly, but you resist the urge.

“I’d love to go out and get greasy burgers with you,” you bite your lip and Clark’s expression shifts a bit more serious but there’s a fire in his eyes, a darkening as his pupils dilate that makes your heart stutter.

“Come on,” Clark nods towards the door. “I’ll walk you out.”

He bumps into you, flirtatiously nudging you as he leads you out and you return his gentle push with your own.

“Had you been to a spa like this before?”

“No,” Clark shakes his head. “I actually don’t get much benefit at these places. It feels good, but it’s not really my thing. You?”

“I feel cleaner than I ever have,” you scoff. “But I could never afford it. Even the cheap places. I’d rather just take a walk around a park or something.”

“Me too,” Clark agrees, smiling.

As the two of you walk out into the parking lot, the cooler air outside feels pleasant against your treated skin.

In the setting sun light, Clark looks especially good and you can’t help yourself. You steal several glances at him with no worry as to hiding it.

You’re happy to see he’s doing it too.

“Oh good,” a familiar voice interrupts, pulling your feet to a stop as you search for your boss’s face. “You two met.”

“Wait, us two-?”

“Bruce?” Clark also stops beside you, eyes narrowed, a crinkle between his eyes.

You look between the two of them, confused but starting to put two and two together.

“Bruce? You-Mr. Wayne is your friend who gave you the voucher?” you realize.

Clark looks at you, his own realizations starting to manifest.

“Bruce is your boss?”

Mr. Wayne moves towards the two of you, hands shoved into his long charcoal gray coat. There’s a satisfied grin on his handsome face, a pride in what you realize must have been a carefully crafted maneuver.

Clark looks at you, a knowing smile on his face as if amused but maybe also a little irritated? Not with you, of course. Clearly his annoyance is with Mr. Wayne.

“You did this,” he accepts, looking back at Mr. Wayne with a tilt of his head.

“I didn’t do anything,” Mr. Wayne denies. “I just gave you two a free day at the spa. Did she tell you why I gave her the voucher?”

“She did,” Clark nods.

“Not every PR rep would overlook a five hundred million dollar investment in order to keep us clean from associating with a suspected illegal arms dealer. Most of them would just look the other way.” Mr. Wayne brags.

A look of understanding crossing Clark’s face and he looks down at you, smiling again as if he’s pieced together a puzzle.

“It was really nothing, Mr. Wayne, and thank you for today. I-I’m actually really glad I came. I would have hated it if the voucher expired.”

“Expired?” Clark asks, turning that confused look back on his friend. “They don’t expire.”

Mr. Wayne clears his throat and turns his full body away from you both, looking back at his shiny expensive sports car.

“Yeah, they do,” he says.

“Bruce,” Clark chides.

“We’re gonna be late,” Mr. Wayne says, ignoring Clark’s reprimand, then looks at you as he pretends he wasn’t just caught in a lie. “Do you have a ride home?”

“Yeah, I brought my car,” you gesture at a modest white sedan parked a few spots over.

“Good. I’ll see you on Monday. Clark?” Mr. Wayne urges him, then walks towards his car.

“I’ll be right there,” Clark tells him, then waits for you to lead the way to your car.

Your heart is still thrumming rapidly with the realization that Mr. Wayne went out of his way to make sure you and Clark met. A set up?

You stop by your car door and unlock it. Clark is quick to take the door from you as you open it and he holds it with his left arm as you turn to look up at him.

“I had a lot of fun today, despite the obvious premeditation of us meeting,” you scoff. “I’m glad I met you.”

You’re quickly becoming acquainted with the gentle curve of Clark’s lips, the peek of his pearly whites as he blushes and meets your eyes.

“I’m glad Bruce interfered,” he nods. “I’ll see you tomorrow for burgers?”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” you assure him.

After a moment of hesitation, he reaches out and places his hand on your bicep then traces the length of your arm until he can take your hand.

It sets your skin on fire. It makes you dizzy and breathless.

“You have my number,” you remind him, eager to reconnect if he has the time.

He gives you that pearly smile, blue eyes full of excitement, “I’ll call you later. Tonight?”

You nod, “Tonight.”

He waits for you to get in, shutting the door for you when you’re sitting.

You lower the window as he backs away, “Bye.”

“Bye,” he nods, then turns to meet Mr. Wayne at his car.

“What?” Bruce asks, “It’s been months. She’s perfect for you.”

“Really?!” you can hear Clark demand, more annoyed with his friend again than any consequences his actions might have brought, however positive.

“You like her, don’t you?” Mr. Wayne asks.

“That’s not the point, Bruce. Boundaries.” Clark reminds him. “Why did you lie to her?”

“I knew you were coming today, I had to get her here,” Mr. Wayne explains. “Besides, you’re-”

As their doors shut, you’re cut off from their distant conversation. You shut your window, watch them speed out, and smile to yourself at the unexpected turn your spa day took.

#clark kent x reader #superman x reader #clark x reader #dceu fanfiction #dc fanfiction #clark kent #superman #bruce wayne #batman #dc oneshot

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jiikyu · 4 years

Text

Taste of Marigolds In Bloom

Herb of the Sun — Or Marigold was often used during the Middle Ages as a love charm. Carrying one of these brightly colored flowers was thought to bring love.

Though be warned for they are also poisonous.

Chapter I. You find a lost girl in Musutafu, unknowingly the experience ends up being a life changing encounter. Be it for better or for worse.

∘◦ ✿ ◦∘

All characters are 18+

Yandere!Mirio x Fem!Reader(AΩβ)

Y/N = Your Name

F/N = Your Full Name

E/C = Eye Color

H/C = Hair Color

Warnings: Yandere/Unhealthy Behavior + A large dose of sweetness in the beginning :)

Next Chapter Here❦

∘◦ ✿ ◦∘

Rounding the corner brings yet another flashing sign desperately trying to catch your attention. It’s noon and Musutafus streets are at their peak, narrow pavement overflowing with bodies. Winding your way through the mobs as you make your way to the small cafe.

You are meeting a friend in celebration.

With the perfect combination of brisk fall air and the sun warming your cheeks with kisses you ignore the tugging of your heart attempting to weigh you down.

You had done it.

Somehow you had qualified for the transfer over to U.A.

Though, it may not be the course you had dreamed of as a child — Being born quirkless had made that impossible — It’s a celebration none the less! One you were more than excited to share with your friends.

Even if deep down you know you don’t deserve the transfer.

You had hoped for the fresh air to be soothing before your meet up... But with the streets busier than ever the constant bumping of shoulders and bags is starting to take an edge on the nerves you’ve managed to keep under wraps.

Maybe it’s nothing, maybe it’s just your damned Omega instincts acting up, but the crowd just isn’t appealing anymore. A moment away from the constant onslaught is all you need.

Finding your way through the living maze to where you know Musutafus Park sits overlooking the city streets. The park is a well known treasure, covered in playgrounds and fountains it’s quite popular for tourist, it’s crown jewel however is the All Might statue centering it. Even local food stands patrol its borders for customers.

Just standing at the Parks sidewalk already leaves you with a calm.

That’s before you notice you are not the only one away from the packed crowd. Out of the corner of your eye you see the small figure, something you would have never payed attention too normally but something about the image just doesn’t sit right.

A young girl with silver waist length hair she stares unmoving at the edge of the amalgamation of people. You cannot help but notice the way her small hands clutch together, or the way her eyes follow each passerby, one by one. Almost as if looking for something — No, looking for someone.

Your blood freezes.

You’re probably wrong. Her family probably knows exactly where she is and they’re coming for her right now. Probably... You’ve already begun to make your way towards her.

You make sure to stop a few feet away before making yourself noticed.

“Hi.” Your voice is gentle, so much so it almost gets swept away in the noise of the city. And for a moment you think it had but her crimson strawberry eyes turn to you in acknowledgement before returning to the mob, refusing to look away. Your suspicions only grows at her behavior and you know you have to continue.

“My name is F/N. I go to U.A.”

At the mention of U.A. she turns to you fully... And you see the spark of hope in her eyes, though it only lasts a second before returning to one of caution. It’s strange for someone so young to have such a strong sense of perception. It has the alarm bells in your head growing louder.

All your studies and practiced lines start racing through your head.

“Here! I have my I.D. with me!” Reaching for your bag you fumble to grab your student I.D., once in hand you make sure to hold it out for her to inspect. “You can call me Y/N, what’s your name?”

The girl gives a long moments pause, looking between you and your picture printed on the plastic carefully before whispering a response.

“Eri.”

“That’s a pretty name.” You smile. “Do you know where your parents are Eri?”

“I don’t... live with my parents.”

Well shit.

Your classes hadn’t prepared you for this. What do you even say to that? Luckily you don’t have to wrack your brain too much before the lost girl continues.

“I was with my friend before I-I got lost in the crowd.” The girls hands fidget together nervously, lip quivering. “It’s... it’s just that I know he must be so worried right now.”

Her eyes begin to well with tears.

“It’s gonna be okay!” The words slide off your tongue without thought.

It is?

“We can wait for your friend here, how does that sound?” Eri stares at you with big strawberry eyes and you can only pray you sound as confident as the actors in movies. Not even close. Ignoring the thrumming of your heart you give your best smile. The girl gives a shaky nod before reaching up a hand to messily wipe away the moisture from her eyes.

...

You haven’t even waited a full five minutes before you notice Eri staring at something that isn’t the crowd. Not thirty feet away is a concession stand covered in pictures of sweets.

“I’m kinda hungry...” You lie. “Do you want something from that stand over there?”

Eri’s crimson teardrop eyes shoot up at you beaming. “That s-sounds good.”

∘◦ ✿ ◦∘

At least some luck finds your favor.

You walk right up to the register without having to wait in a line. Asking Eri what she’d like her small finger points to cursive words of the chalkboard menu.

Caramel Apple.

The concession worker hands the ruby red fruit to Eri’s waiting hand. She stares at it with childlike wonder before saying her third quiet ‘Thank you.’ and you then proceed to give your third ‘No need to say thanks!’.

You both take a seat on the open bench besides the food stand. A good vantage point to watch the endlessly moving crowds of people... Subconsciously your teeth find themselves digging into the wall of your cheek. Staring at the horde, it becomes all too clear just how hopeless your efforts are.

Had you made the wrong choice? Yes. Every second that passes is further proof of your error. You should call the authorities now...

You are not a real hero.

A heavy sigh leaves you. Gentle breeze moves through your hair, using the hand currently not holding your own sticky apple to tuck H/C locks behind a ear. You have yet to even take a bite of the your waiting apple before the unexpected happens. Absentmindedly looking over Eri’s head of silver strands you see a figure most definitely sprinting towards the two of you. And you think your heart just about stops in surprise.

“Eri!”

The young girls head swivels to the direction of the mans cry. Noticing how she visibly lights up your shoulders lose a bit of the suddenly built-up tension.

“Mirio!” Eri leaps from the bench abandoning your side to meet the person you can only assume to be Mirio. Unconsciously you stand as well, finding yourself puzzled by the sudden urge to stay by her side.

The man stops his marathon to get down on one knee, arms outspread to meet Eri. She runs holding her caramelized apple high above her head flying into the embrace, making sure not to get the sweet stuck in his sunshine blond hair.

You hadn’t even noticed how your feet moved on their own and now your standing just out of reach, just incase...

“I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry Eri! I looked everywhere!” The man sobs into the hug. You watch Eri’s small hand reach up and pat his shoulder in consolation. The blond pulls away from the hug to properly look at Eri. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“I’m okay! Y/N helped me.”

At her words Mirios soft blue eyes fall to the next closet person.

You.

You take this as your cue to further approach, taking a step towards the two you notice it. The aroma of sandalwood and seashore reaches your nose, tied together by a sharp hint of lemongrass. The natural scent radiates off the blond man, but it doesn’t assault your senses, most likely with the help of blockers. You’re painfully familiar with suppressants and blockers, taking your own prescription that dulls your own scent and helps with heats. These days it’s uncommon to meet someone that doesn’t use some form of blocker, even patches or daily gummies are enough to take the edge away from hormones.

Even you have to admit it’s a rather comforting scent for an Alpha of his stature. One would have to be blind to not see he’s built like a brick house, well-defined muscles barely hide under the thin material of a white tee. And when he stands... It’s clear he towers over you.

A little unnerved by the size difference but you still want to be there for Eri, incase she needs you. Just as you open your mouth to speak your words fall silent. The blond having leaned forward, bowing his head towards you.

“Thank you so much for looking after Eri! I take full responsibility for not keeping a better eye on her in the crowd.” Mirio says this with while facing the concrete below, and you stare blankly for probably a little too long.

Oh.

“It was no trouble for me, really!” Unsure how to accept the show of gratitude you try to wriggle your way out. “It’s just, I go to U.A. and all... But I think it’s something anyone would have done.”

Mirio straightens his back at that, mouth forming an ‘o’ shape in surprise before turning to a hopeful smile, palm wiping away the moisture of his eyes. “You go to U.A?”

“Yes, but it’s nothing fancy-“ Your hand rubs the back of your neck sheepishly and your eyes are suddenly trained to the ground. Already feeling shame heat your skin at the prospect of admitting the course you somehow managed to snag in Japan’s most prestigious Hero School. “-I’m in the business course... I’m actually quirkless.”

You end your statement with a fake laugh, like it’s some kind of joke.

The joke must’ve landed flat because there’s only silence and you swear you hear your pulse quicken. Afraid to look up from the hole your eyes currently burn into the leather of your shoe. Afraid to see judgment. Steeling yourself for the worst you look up...

Deep pools of blue stare back at you, overflowing with warmth and wonderment — It almost takes you aback. Something swims just under the surface of those ocean eyes though you’re to dazed to notice. Mirio breaks the spell you’ve fallen under with a heartfelt grin.

“I think that’s something really special Y/N.” Those words just about short circuit the wiring of your brain. “That, there’s so many hero’s with quirks it’s easy to just let someone else step in and take care of the situation.”

“So I can’t thank you enough for taking care of Eri. For being the one to step in and save her.” His large hand pats the top the girls head, ruffling the silver locks playfully, the corners of her mouth upturning to a shy smile. “And for fixing my mistake.”

You’re completely at a loss, for words, for thoughts. It’s like this man just read your emotions and there’s nothing you can say.

So you don’t.

Instead a tear rolls down your cheek and your vision begins to blur at the corners. Promises of an oncoming flood.

Mirios smile falls.

You barely notice him take the first step towards you, a whimper threatening to escape your throat in anticipation of contact, but it never comes. The Alpha having stopped just out your reach, large hand twitching at his side. He doesn’t touch you. Instead the smell of tidal waves and wood flares to life. A soothing gesture usually done between courting mates, bonded pairs or the pacifying of a child. All of which you are none. Regardless you respond to it without thought, finding yourself calmed by the sea you’re able to take a breath. After realizing what he’d done you waste no time in hiding the evidence of the tear by smearing it under your thumb. Crushing it.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” His voice sounds genuinely pained and you wonder... Had he used his scent subconsciously or consciously?

“No, I’m sorry.” You’re embarrassed at your own weakness. What a terrible display. “I should get going.”

“Are you okay?” Eri’s small voice breaks your thoughts, still holding the uneaten ruby apple in one hand.

“I’m fine don’t worry. I’m sorry Eri, I forgot I’m meeting a friend today, but I’m so glad I got to meet you.” You say crouching to her level, saying your next words in a quieter childish tone. “Just make sure Mirio doesn’t lose you again!”

It’s meant as a tease but there’s some concern bled into the jab and the young girl nods her head in all seriousness.

“Bye Y/N!” Eri, the shy girl, gifts you a smile before grabbing Mirios hand, her digits dwarfed by his own. “Thank you for the apple!”

Standing you notice Mirio hasn’t moved an inch away from you. You may have only just met but the Alpha appears to be lost in thought. Soft features resting frozen, thick brows knitted together in concentration, as if... Noticing your eyes on him he drops the look in one smooth motion, giving you just about the brightest smile you’ve ever seen.

“We’re not gonna make the same mistake, right Eri?” The blond gives a reassuring squeeze to the girls hand and she returns the gesture by tightening her grip. Mirio shoots a goofy thumbs-up in your direction before turning away, Eri following at the hip.

His last words are spoken with his back to you. “Thanks again Y/N. I hope we see each other again at U.A.”

Wait does that mean...

Mirio attends the same school as you?

“Y-yeah!” The reply barely leaves your tongue. The whole situation may have scrambled your brain but you can’t help the warm smile that stretches over your features.

Watching the two disappear into the dying crowd you feel your phone vibrate in your back pocket. Grabbing the device you lightly tap the home button to see...

Nine unread texts and three missed calls?

How had you not noticed your phone going off like crazy? Your friend is going to kill you.

∘◦ ✿ ◦∘

And you had missed it.

Missed the way ocean blue eyes sought you out one last time before getting lost in the sea of strangers.

#mirio x reader #yandere mirio #yandere bnha #bnha mirio #sorry its uhhhhhhh slow #there will be more in the next chapter pls forgive me it's my first aob////#let me know what u guys think or if u have any questions #mywriting

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red-riot-rat · 4 years

Text

G o o d b y e t o a w o r l d

LITERAL ANGST FT. P! LOV X TEEN! READER, MOSTLY HIMIKO TOGA HERE <33

WARNINGS: CURSING, DEATH, BLOOD, YOUCH YOUCH HURT, READER DIES, HIMIKO CRIES, THAT KINDA RHYMED, UHM, kid did NOT proof read this,,, apologies dkfjgndg

WC: 1478

T I M E S T A M P : 6:55 AM

AN: Ive attached an announcement to my rules, right below my masterlist link. please read that!! <3

“Kid! Please run!”

Himiko Toga’s voice rings through the debris of the broken down bar. You stumble, your eyes trained on the amount of heroes flooding in, the chaos bound to be caused bouncing in your mind.

You scramble to run, your hands catching you right before you fall as you bolt as fast as you can.

You know this is protocol. You have to go.

Out of everything they have told you, taught you, scolded you for,

This was the lesson that rang through the bars every week, every moment of danger.

‘If we get attacked, you run.’

Its a no matter what, no matter what you’ve witnessed or how scared you are for the others, they want you alive.

Even if it means without them, you're are so overwhelming important to them.

Above all else.

Run.

And you try your best. Your sneakers thud with every step, feeling the shake in your legs, the anxiety in your brain.

All you have to do is get to the apartment. The apartment assigned for this moment, and this moment only. The moment were the life of the League depends on.

The one that has been fully stocked since its been bought, the one made for the moments of chaos like this.

Thats all you have to get too. And they will see you there, everyone safe and sound.

Everyone.

The sirens and the yells of heroes bounce in and out of your mind as you ran out the back of the bar, and into the allies that felt like they were constructed for you.

You ran left and right, listening for footsteps behind you, to the left, the right, above you, anything that could give away the presence of a hero.

And there was nothing.

Maybe that was it. The false sense of security that washed over you. Maybe it caused you to become reckless.

Or maybe it was the fact that you were safe for a split second there, and he ruined it.

The image of Himiko’s terrified eyes, but unending smile burned into your eyes at your sneakers thudded on the concrete in the dead of night.

You turned one last time, and the apartment building came into sight. The bland grey, and mostly broken windows relived you for only a minute as you focused on the sound of your rapid breathing as you slowed down.

The apartment building itself is practically abandoned, and its not hard in the slightest to get in the grey old building.

Everythings going to plan, although you can still here the sirens go off, but theres no yelling. None at all.

This is the plan you’ve gone through so many times, over and over again.

Sometimes things go exactly to plan,

And they’re just not yours.

Slamming the door to the disgustingly decorated apartment complex, you slid down to the floor, your back slumping at you curled into a ball, your face in your hands. Your breathing still rapid, from running from the bar and up the multiple flights of stares, from the anxiety of the whole situation, that anyone and everyone you have ever loved could die right now.

And most of all,

The feeling of eyes on you.

Glaring eyes.

Hero eyes.

Your head rises slowly, unsure of what to do.

This wasn’t part of the plan.

It was never a part of it.

What the fuck now?

A dark haired hero sits on a red sofa, the red matches his glaring eyes as his mangy hair floats up.

“The League’s kid.”

His voice feels mocking and you feel anger build up.

You cant even fucking believe this.

Shota Aizawa is sitting in the apartment everyone considered to be the escape plan.

And all you can do is die.

Your hands shake as you pull yourself up from the cold wooden ground. This isn’t a part of the fucking plan.

He rises slowly, your back is still against the wall. Your brain racks through options as your faced with an underground hero, one that’s even defeated Tomura before, even if it was through a sliver of good luck.

God, the way you wished you had that sliver of luck.

Before even thinking, you took off. You legs taking you anywhere that you felt had a chance of survival in.

For fucks sake, you wish you didn’t go into her room.

Out of everywhere you slam the door entering into Himiko’s room, you can feel the immediate pain shes going to suffer through.

The tears,

The blood,

The absolute anger and havoc herself alone that she can cause.

“There’s no where to run kid. You’ve got two choices.”

But you know the choices. You’ve heard them time and time again. Its either,

Rat on your family and become an enemy of the few people you’ve ever loved,

Or die.

And this time? You don’t have a way out.

Theres no one left to save you anymore.

Clocks stop ticking.

Luck runs dry.

And heartbeats go silent.

You look the man straight in the eye, still glaring red as it runs dry.

You know your choices.

And you know what has to happen.

“You can come with me, unharmed, or I’ll hav-”

“Kill me.” you practically shout at him, the tears building up as your throat closes and nose burn.

“For the love of god, do it.” Your eyes wide, bottom lip trembling and hands balled up, you accept it.

The fact that even though this is not what you want, what anyone in your League wants, it will be the only option.

And that’s all you can do.

Is watch as the very root of your anger takes your life and adds gasoline to the fire in within the depths of the League.

And just like that you sat on the cold ground once again, leaned against the cute white bed frame Himiko owned, and bled out onto her floor. The warm red ooze left your mouth as well, dripping down your chin.

The worst part out of this situation, isn’t that you’re dying on floor of Himiko Toga’s pastel decorated room, its the fact that her once cute room with forever be haunted by the memory of your blood being spilledt.

And the realization that she was too late to save you.

You can hear the front door open ever so softly, and hear Himiko call out for you.

The only kid that shes been able to take care of, to trust, and protect for months on end,

Is now dying alone in her room.

And that it itself,

Will cause her to break from the inside out.

And the world will never know true peace again.

Her footsteps echo down the hall you remember running down in a moment of panic, and as her door creaks open theres not much you can do. Expect watch her fall apart in a split second.

“No.. wait please I’m so sorry, please wait, hold on, Tomura- he can- Tomura!” She calls out for the male, who isn’t anywhere near this designated safe space. A destroyed safe place.

She cradles you in her arms as her tears overflow, and her smile decays into an everlasting pain on her face. She feels helpless, because she is.

All she can do is watch you die as you lay in her arms.

All she can do is know that shes too late.

And you’re so far gone.

“Please stay. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry I didn’t get here, I-” Her own sobs cut her off, her hands shaking and face distorting into such a clear vision of pain as she strokes your cheek with right hand. Her heavy tears fall as you smile every so slightly up back to her.

Your eyes stare into hers, the ones you used to meet every morning when she would wake you up, or when you needed validation.

“Thank you.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, something she can barely hear, but so painfully there. She whimpers, pulling you as close to her body as she can.

“Please stay, just for a- a minute longer please.” She begs you to hold onto any sliver of life you have left, anything at all. But sometimes, you know what has to happen.

Sometimes you don’t hold on.

“I’ll say goodbye soon.” You smile as wide as you can to her, hand resting on hers as your breathing slows. As you watch yourself leave your family.

“Though its the end of the world,” Her brows furrow even further than before and she can feel her stomach churn. The sight of you in her arms has her so overwhelming broken, she’ll never recover.

“Don’t blame yourself,” She smiles as wide as she an as she lets out a broken sob.

You slip right through her fingers.

“Now.”

She was too late.

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curse-of-the-dark-emerald · 5 years

Text

Curse of the Dark Emerald, chapter 3.

Back at Green Hill, Tom tossed a few times in his bed, trying so hard to get to sleep. But everything he tried, he couldn’t shut off his brain. He glanced at Maddie, her back facing the opposite of his gaze, she didn’t seem to be bothered or notice his restlessness.

He gave up trying to ignore the growing worry for Sonic. Tom pushes the blanket away and stands up slowly, making sure not to disturb his wife.

“I’m overthinking, I’m overthinking…”

Tom left his room and went to the ladder and stairway to the attic, and stood on the spot, deciding if checking on him was really a good idea this late in the night. He scratches his hair nervously and it thought, it was now or never. Tom was inches off from touching the floorboards, but stopped.

Tom shook his head and sighs heavily “I’m such a worry-wart.”

Tom gets back in his room and glances at the alarm clock on his nightstand; reading 2:32 am. He needed to be up in 4 hours for work, and this wasn’t helping him. Tom gets back in bed and just after a few minutes, he finally goes into slumber.

…

Sonic awoke and jolted his body up, eyes flashing to ocean blue for a moment and froze.

“Where-? I was..”

Immediately, confusion settled in and he sluggishly stood up, and made a run for it, only to be hit face-first into a wall of glass. “Ack!!”

Taking a moment to actually scan his surroundings, he saw a new opening, Sonic made another leap and ran to escape, only to have the same result. He continued to ram himself into the walls though he knew it wasn’t working, each time it put his body in pain, each time he cried and yelled at every hit.

“Hey!! Anyone there?!”

Sonic’s heart began to throb and race against his chest, his eyes frantically looking for a way out, he jumped the highest he possibly could, reaching under 15 feet but it was still too high to climb or reach. Sonic grit his teeth and more panic took over. He pounded his hands on the glass, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to not be afraid, and the one person who could be responsible for all this…

“You’re awake?”

A voice on speaker somewhere within this glass prison crackles, Sonic looks up, a man with somewhat dark skin, a short beard, and gentle smile stares back.

“Good to see you’re still alive, what was your name again? Sonic?”

Sonic only glares at the man, teeth grinding, “Who are you?”

“I’m Agent Stone, close assistant to someone you...should already know.” Stone nods his head at Sonic, in a pleasant demeanor.

“Yeah, I pieced that together, right before you knocked me out.” Sonic’s voice turns sharp and cold at him.

“Don’t worry about my boss, he’s not actually here at the moment.” Stone gestured with his hand, “You’ll just be with me for now.”

“You think I’m gonna just sit in your little fish aquarium, and you what? Drown me?” Sonic retorts, keeping one brow raised at Stone.

“Jeez, someone’s a little morbid.” Stone panned, and shook his head. “No, Sonic. I wouldn’t do that. I’m not that...you know..” He shrugged his shoulders.

“Anyways, my mission is half finished; you were pretty easy to catch as long as I wasn’t seen by you. And might as well tell you why you’re here: Your purpose is to simply charge power to my bosses machines. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Sonic caught a glimpse of something in Stone’s expression, was it doubt, or fear? He didn’t sound all that convinced to himself. Sonic noticed that he didn’t have the Rings with him or the Emerald anymore, creating a painful knot in his stomach.

“Damn it..”

Bzzt -”Hurry up, Stone, or else I’ll finish you off first.”-

Stone flinched and hastily started pushing buttons. Sonic’s ears twitch at the voice from the speaker, he knew that voice and confirmed it,

“It IS Eggman. But where??” He tried to look for his enemy, but saw him nowhere.

Sounds of whirring and machinery became louder, making the glass tube he was contained in to vibrate. Sonic knew he was in serious trouble, he desperately looked for a way out. Cursing at himself that he should’ve been more careful in the first place…Stone was concentrated on the dash in front of him, jumpstarting the necessary power and programs to begin whatever it was Sonic feared he was going to do. After a few more moments, Stone grins.

“Finished that. You ready, Sonic?”

Sonic glares at him again.

“Good enough.”

Stone holds up a bright, green object in his hand, “I assume you already know what this thing is?”

Sonic’s eyes went wide and gasped. “The...Chaos Emerald?”

“Sure, if that's what you wanna call it.” Stone shrugged, and left his spot.

Sonic’s weary gaze never left following the accomplice of his enemy, as he carried the Emerald.

“I ran a small test on this object, it has a lot of radioactive-like energy, but not toxic in any shape or form so I can touch it, it seems. You, and it should be enough to complete the procedures.”

He climbed on an upper catwalk that Sonic could see enough to watch him. Stone opened a metal door to a new chamber with a wide window; and set the Emerald in the center of the chamber on top of a flat surfaced support beam. Stone quickly returns to his original post.

“I’m not afraid of you.” Sonic spat sharply.

“Oh, I know.” Agent makes a brief smile at him while he glances at Sonic, then focuses back on the control panel.

“Don't worry, I’ll make it quick. I honestly am impressed with how brave you are. If this goes smoothly, you might live.”

What’s with this guy? He’s definitely not like Eggman, so he’s kind of nice..?

Sonic blinks rapidly, trying to not fall for this man’s showcase of kindness and complements.

“Yet, I’m here, because I was so stupid.” Sonic’s voice trembles, it was low enough for Stone to not hear it.

“Initiating power-point.”

A cool, robotic voice echoed throughout, Sonic looks at Stone for any changes, or any chance this man might change his mind and let him go, but he could tell Stone was now avoiding any eye contact. Sonic’s head dipped down. He sat on his knees, his soft ears drooping downward.

“Powering at 20%...”

“I’m so stupid…”

The machines began to point lasers at the Chaos Emerald in the other room, a metal prong touches the top of it, getting ready to extract and connect it to the machines Stone desired to make stronger for his Master.

“Powering at 50%”

“I’ll never see them again.”

Sonic closed his eyes, head still down looking like a wounded puppy. He’d forgotten at the moment where he was and what was about to happen. His thoughts went to Tom and Maddie, missing their smiles. Their laughter, their hugs.

“Powering at 75%..”

“I HATE myself…” Sonic makes a guttural growl in his throat.

In the chamber with the Chaos Emerald...the vibrant green color in it’s center fades briefly to a darker shade of emerald green. Then for a second, to a grayish black. And back to it’s normal green. Sparks of its energy popped in the air, making the window nearby actually crack from the inside.

“90%”

Stone only saw for a second Sonic unresponsive with his head bent down. He wished he didn’t. His own chest tightened with what he tried to hold back: guilt. He pushed the turmoil away to finish what he started, placing his hand on the trigger to start the extraction.

“93%”

Sonic knew he was going to die. In what he felt would be his final moments, his mind flashes countless images of his guardians. Every moment he spent with them was the happiest he had ever felt. He would have given anything to be with them again, talk to them..let them know he was leaving for good. That bare minimum of time he wished he could have, would never come to be.

“I hate myself…” A single tear rolled down Sonic’s cheek.

The Chaos Emeralds hue began to fade….

“Power, complete.”

Stone pulls the trigger. Sparks of white electricity light up at the top of the holding chamber to Sonic’s prison and they plunged downwards through the glass.

Sonic let out a blood curdling scream. He lurches his body up, seizing from the pain caused by the machines.

“UUUAAAAGGHH!!”

Stone watched the monitor closely, scanning the amount of power being taken away from the Chaos Emerald and from Sonic simultaneously. A digital scale on the monitors revealed a blue colored energy leaving Sonic’s small body, and from the Chaos Emerald, it’s own separate energy was, he saw, destabilizing. Stone hoped it wouldn’t overflow too much.

Sonic slumps over and then falls to the floor, letting his arms support him up. He grit his teeth so hard he thought his jaw was going to break. The Emerald loses all traces of its green color and begins to morph out wisps of black smoke, becoming dark.

Suddenly, something was happening.

Stone finally looked at Sonic and his eyes grew large at what he began to witness…

Still screaming in agony, Sonic glared at Stone with the most enraged and angry scowl. He put his hands on his head, shaking uncontrollably, while his muscles and body throbbed and wriggled.. Sonic’s teeth began to enlarge into sharp, longer fangs, his sky blue fur darkens to navy. His gloves rip and become torn apart revealing elongating claws at his fingertips and tufts of long, white fur breaks through the skin of both his wrists. The rest of his entire body shifts into a bigger build and height. Sonic’s sneakers were still intact, but metal spikes poked out from it’s material. His once neatly, smooth quills began to grow longer, with coarse, white fading tips at the end. Still shaking from the pain, Sonic let out a ferocious roar.

“I’LL KILL YOU!”

Stone realizes he was not safe anymore and makes a run for it.

Sonic has had enough, and with his sheer strength alone, breaks his prison of glass walls into thousands of pieces, shattering the entire tube. He jumps out, hand outreaching for his enemy, wanting to tear out his throat. Sonic looks everywhere for Stone, wanting his blood. This new desire didn’t make him question what he was thinking, he wanted to kill and slice something, no matter what it was.

Briefly coming to his senses, he growled in annoyance and went to the other room with the Chaos Emerald, he smashed the window from outside, and furiously grabbed it back in his possession. Along the way, his eyes spotted his pouch of Rings sitting close to where Stone had been standing before.

“You’re lucky Stone. Maybe next time you catch me, you won't be.” Sonic sneers to himself, his green eyes narrowed into slits.

Sonic jumps high and breaks through the metal enclosed ceiling, finally free. He roared again, letting out his anger and fear from being captured. The now full moon shone and bathed him in its light, revealing the new beastly shape in its wake. Sonic lands and runs, noticing he wasn’t going as fast like he usually does, but pushes that aside. Still angered and hurt by what had become of him, he howled like a lone wolf in the night. None of this made him question it; to him it felt natural and as if he was like this his whole life. The Sonic he had always known as himself was swallowed aside. After calming down just a little, Sonic had stopped running and walked at a regular pace. His mind was in a daze and then he remembered what was most important:

He held the blackened Chaos Emerald above his head, a fascination washed over him, it’s current presence was an entirely different entity. But he was happy it wasn’t in his enemy’s hands. Sonic holds it tightly and in the other hand he opened the pouch for his Rings and takes one,

“I have to..to get home-“

An explosion to his right side blows dirt on him and he jumped, scared out of his skin. Sonic growls, his anger returns again and a white, egg shaped robot hovering above him. Several were along with the one that made the first explosion.

“UGH!!! Leave me ALONE!!”

More of the robots fired at different times and Sonic evades every one, tired of being reminded and chased by the one who has tried and failed to kill him he leaps into the air, grabs the nearest bot and squeezes it into his chest, crushing it to pieces. Not wanting to prolong this stupid fiasco, Sonic makes a run for it, the bots follow and continue to fire at him mercilessly. Sonic tosses the golden ring that he depended on to save himself, his expression desperate to survive.

The ring opens, on the other side was the one place he called his home and jumped in; but a robot had managed to land a strike on his back, before cutting off the rest of the fleet. Sonic lands on his chest.

“Ugh…” Sonic winced at the new injury he was slapped with. He weakly sees the house just before him.

“Tom..!” He cried in a broken voice.

He needed to see his best friend. He needed to get to him. But, the cruelty of the long night had taken a toll on his strength; and Sonic had given up trying to stand up.

He wasn’t far from the patio of the house; the front door opened and Tom closed it behind him. He turns to see a patch of blue fur, it was Sonic lying on the ground, he froze in horror and drops his car keys.

“S-Sonic!?”

“Donut lord..” Sonic called Tom's nickname, he felt a little sense of relief to see him.

“What happened?! What-“ Tom pauses and finally sees what had become of Sonic, he was almost unrecognizable; the fur, claws, and teeth gave it all away, his arms and back were almost covered in blood from cuts and little pieces of glass sparkled faintly on his messy fur.

“What happened to you?” Tom breathes out a scared, and shaky voice.

Sonic was too weak to answer, and he finally passed out. Tom turned him over on his back, listening for his heart beat, and it was moderately beating, to his hopes. The sun begins to rise and it’s light crept onto Sonics hand and on Tom, welcoming the new morning. Sonic’s body spits out purple wisps of an unknown energy to Tom, engulfing the hedgehog until it vanishes, and Sonic's appearance returns to his normal blue fur.

Tom turns in different directions to see if anything was watching him and he picks up Sonic, and carries him into the house to treat his wounds.

#sonic the hedgehog #sonic unleashed #sonic the werehog #sonic fanfiction #werehog sonic #sonic fanart #tom wachowski #dr robotnik #curse of the dark emerald #sonic the hedgehog movie

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hellacluttered · 4 years

Text

Orange and Bergamot

For @highschoolhasbeenwaitingtohappen - thank you for waiting!!

“I’m home.”

Your voice sounded even wearier than it felt, and the small house stayed still, quiet. Was he home? Or perhaps he hadn’t heard you. You opened your mouth to call again, hesitated, and then closed it. You didn’t feel like either yelling or searching, so instead you reached down to unlace your boots, kicked them off by the door, and walked to the small kitchen to pour yourself a drink. You could hardly feel your toes, and your fingers were slow as you opened the cupboards. The only liquor you found was half a bottle of whiskey, and you poured yourself a generous dram, leaning against the kitchen counter to take a sip. The room was cold, and you pulled your coat tighter around you. You dearly missed the warm winters of the southwest, and neither of you had been prepared for the snow or wind here, or how the chill seemed to settle so deep inside you that it would barely budge until you tucked yourself under all the blankets in the house and entwined your body with Vasquez’s.

Still, you were so grateful that he had agreed to move to New York City with you. You knew you might not have gone if he hadn’t, and that you probably would have regretted that decision for a long, long time - perhaps for the rest of your life. But he had encouraged you, bolstered you, been willing to sacrifice his need for the wild to indulge your need to learn, and together you worked out a compromise: you would go to school to become a teacher, and then the pair of you would go back out west to find a small town where you could work and he could farm.

But the study was tiring and the workload seemingly endless, and after a very long day of focusing, your brain felt as if it had been replaced with cotton and your guts with sludge. Your feet had been heavy as you walked home, and the stink of the city seemed to linger now in your nostrils, even in the muted form it took in the winter. You took another sip of the whiskey, and its peaty bitterness seemed to clear the smell from your system a little.

You looked up at the sound of footsteps coming down the staircase and then into the kitchen. It was Vasquez, a warm smile on his face and a flush on his cheeks, his dark hair a little curlier and more rumpled than usual. “I thought I might have heard you come in,” he said.

“I said I was here,” you said.

“I’m sorry, I must have missed it. Long day?”

You nodded, taking another slow draw from your glass. You knew it wasn’t a particularly smart idea to drink because you were stressed, but you never let yourself do so, and if you were going to any time, now seemed fair. With three major tests coming up, your workload had never felt heavier. “Very. You?”

“Not so much,” he said. He was working at a stable on the edge of town. You knew he liked the work, and you often envied him, until you thought about the fact that you would likely grow bored quickly in his role. “Did you eat yet?” he asked.

“Yeah, on the way home,” you answered.

“Good. Can you come upstairs?” “I’m really not in the mood, Vas-“

“No, not for that, pervert,” he teased, but you couldn’t find the energy to smile. “Just come with me.”

“Okay.” You refilled your glass and followed him. Your steps up the stairs were slow, and you paused halfway, perplexed, when the gentle scent of lavender reached your nostrils. “What’s that?”

“Just come here,” Vasquez said, holding out a hand to you. You took it, and he led you into the bedroom as the smell intensified, the air growing humid as you neared the door. Inside, a copper tub was filled nearly to the brim with bubbles, hot steam curling into the air, and a selection of soaps sat on a fruit crate standing on its end next to the tub with a pair of candles next to them. A fire crackled in the fireplace, a kettle hanging over it, and your old teapot sat on a tray on the hearth with several scones, a set of mugs next to them. Your mouth hung open for a moment, incredulous, and then tears came to your eyes. He was looking at you, and his smile turned suddenly to concern and pity. “No, no, don’t cry!” He wrapped you in an embrace, his long fingers rubbing the base of your skull, and it felt so wonderful you let your neck go limp, resting your head against his chest as he worked on the tired muscles. “This is perfect,” you murmured. Somehow it felt your worries had melted away, and the stressors of your day retreated, locked outside the gate of this sanctuary Vasquez had made. You felt his fingers unfastening your clothing, and stood there as he did so. The restricting garments fell away piece by piece until you stood naked and unashamed before him. He clasped your upper arms and looked deep into your eyes, and even though he had done so so many times, you still felt your breath catch a little at the intensity of the love in his dark eyes. “You’re beautiful,” he said, and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Now get in before it gets cold.”

You nodded and disentangled your feet from the pile of clothes, and crossed the few steps to the tub. You dipped your toes in, and they burned for a moment, the heat chasing out the numbness shockingly quickly. Then you stepped in, beginning to lower yourself into the water, and it felt that the more of your body the water surrounded, the more weariness and stress disappeared. You settled your back against the curve of the end of the tub, the water up to your chin, the lavender scent calming, and your muscles relaxing in the heat.

“I wasn’t sure which soap you’d like best so I got a bunch of them,” Vasquez said, and you couldn’t find the words to answer. You did small things for each other all the time, and the strength of your love was shown in the sacrifices you both had made. But for him to do something this special, at one of your most challenging times - it meant more than you knew how to say.

“Thank you,” you said, hoping you could convey your sincerity in the simple words.

“You’re welcome, mi amor.” He poured you a cup of tea and you watched as he prepared it just the way you liked - Lord, did he know you well - and you took a slow sip when he handed it to you. It warmed where the whiskey had scorched, soothed where it had enflamed, and you closed your eyes, letting your other senses take over. You heard chair legs shift behind you and then gasped as Vasquez’s fingers dug into your shoulders, his hands strong and nimble, digging into the aches that had accumulated through the hours of leaning over a desk.

“You’re incredible,” you muttered, and heard him chuckle.

He continued massaging the muscles of your arms and shoulders until it felt that they had all turned to mush, and he kept adding more hot water to the tub, from time to time emptying some out so that it didn’t overflow. You experimented with the soaps he had picked, each scent unique and alluring - orange, cardamom, mint, and bergamot - and let him lead your body as he washed your hair with something that smelled of coconut.

As you drank your second cup of tea, he began to read to you from a book of poetry, and you focused on the images he made, his voice rising and falling with the flow of the words. Still he kept the water warm, and the sun outside was long gone, the glow of the candles friendly and intimate. You gradually lost all sense of time, settling into near-sleep with your head resting on the back of the tub. “I’d better get you to bed before you fall asleep in there,” he said at last, and the spell broke. You blinked, and suddenly guilt crept into your chest.

“Don’t you want to get in?” you asked. “I’m sorry, I didn’t ask.”

“No, this was for you,” he said. “Don’t think about it. Besides, do you realize how badly I would get teased if I showed up to work smelling like flowers and fruits?”

You laughed, and reluctantly stood, taking the towel Vasquez handed you to dry your hair. “You could probably use it.”

“Are you saying I smell?” he asked, an expression of mock-offense on his face.

“No!” you exclaimed. “You smell wonderful, most of the time.” You got to work drying off your body, and your skin felt soft and sensitive, your whole body flushed from the heat.

He laughed. “I can live with that.” He handed you your robe, and you slipped into it and tied off the waist.

“I want to thank you for this,” you said. “It means so much to me. It- it was perfect. I don’t know how to express my gratitude.”

“I do,” he said. “Go to bed, get some sleep. I’ll join you in just a few minutes.”

“Are you sure?” you asked, but at his words you remembered how tired you were, and you were so warm, the lingering heat from the bath wrapping around you more tightly than your robe.

“I’m sure,” he said. “Go get comfortable.”

You obeyed, and as soon as you laid your head on the pillow, you let the tiredness you had been weakly attempting to stave off all night take you over. You began to drift off to the quiet sounds of Vasquez emptying the bath and cleaning up the room, and just before you fell asleep, you felt him climb into bed next to you. He gently turned your body, pulling you closer to him, and you rested your head on his shoulder, eyes closed, breathing in his familiar scent. “I love you,” you murmured sleepily, and he kissed your forehead.

“I love you too.

#vasquez #the magnificent seven #mag7 #vasquez x reader #fluff

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shy-magpie · 4 years

Text

RQG 151

Moving the patreon names a good idea but changes to structure take up more brain space than they should. I hope they keep the reminder they moved it as a substitute, at least for a while. The rest of the structure is the same and I can feel my shoulders coming away from my ears as the theme plays. I choose to interpret that as Alex saying his players being fine is his highest priority. Borb Under the sea bed🎵. 1)its great when I barely start a thought before a player says the same thing 2) we will get our musical one way or the other 3)I know they're from an improv background but it never ceases to delight how joyfully they support each other's unexpected bits. 4) Alex seems like he gets a kick out of playing up his annoyance at the musical idea more than actually being frustrated it keeps coming up. I thought so but nice to confirm. Bless this cast, it wouldn't have been a huge deal if they let Alex's description stand but its so nice they not only corrected it, they did so without hesitation and Alex seemed to appreciate the help in getting to better phrasing rather than take it as an accusation. Not that I thought he would but feeling grateful for RQ not falling into behavior I see elsewhere. Also hearing everyone chiming in; with Bryn being the one to name check the trope instead of it being on Helen to always take the lead is nice to hear. "he was very encountered" Have I mentioned lately that I love literally everything about this show? Even when he thinks he knows exactly what the party is going to do and certainly knows what he is guiding them towards Alex checks instead of putting anyone in the position of having to derail. Cel! I wonder if cis people get anywhere near my joy in Cel having that kind of control over their body. I mean its just objectively cool even without the gender aspect so I hope they at least enjoy that much. I need cancan art. Did Alex know how delighted Lydia would be with the image of being popped out like a cork before he said it? Coo coo ca chu, thank you Ben Zolf remains 200% done and doesn't bother checking the door Ben don't! 92 HP, well that would be comforting if it wasn't Zolf. Like I don't think it's actually a death wish/that he is suicidal but well, see not checking the door. He is far too comfortable with the idea of being hurt. Alex:Chill sea dude Ben: sounds of objection Lydia: chill environment neutral dude Still love Alex's set design. A person! Bryn sounds alarmed about implications of the walk ways. Cel can shield themselves. Yes Hamid can armor himself! Also casts fly on himself & Azu. Thank you Ben/Zolf. This show does get deep into moral quandaries sometimes but unless these guys are as drugged as the Kobolds they objectively need to die. The dice love us Altruism run Darn it Alex, are you hinting they are drugged against their will? Azu feels tapping their shoulder then killing them is better even if they don't have a prayer of defending themselves. Oh I see Helen has our back and is checking for mind control before we do Kobolds 2: the guilt continues. Well yes they are surprised Bryn sounds so pleased as goes through exactly how many ways the odds are in Hamid's favor. Then he rolls 6,6,5,5 on D6s for 26 damage so no kill like over kill. Watsonian explanation: emotion is at least partially fueling Hamid's magic especially anything fire/desolation aligned, and there is no way he isn't overflowing with emotion after the last few hours. Zolf is happy to let Azu handle the last one and uses his action to ask if Cel knows what (something, the equipment in this room?) does. Cel determines its a notification board for the cell cavern. So these guys were directly aware and involved with the mistreatment of the Kobolds. I officially am dropping the last tiny part of me that cared if they were drugged/otherwise forced into the work. If they were cognisant enough to read that and still did it then its time to find Zolf's old bucket. Glad the table is having fun! I wonder what the face Alex pulled looked like. Raw terror? The equivalent of a neon sign reading "I'm screwed"? I shouldn't have implied Alex would leave the listeners out, this is a wonderful description. Helen is more thorough than I am. There you go, time to die. Oh episode name drop. That's my Zolf, killing who needs killing doesn't mean we ignore collateral damage. And Cel just invented the departures board. Zolf: not worth destroying? Cel: If you'd enjoy it Priorities Heading towards the shore I like how Alex sounds pleased they broke his dungeon Vital info for visualizing this. Poor Azu is trying to swim while Hamid & Cel are zooming elegantly and Zolf is walking because boots or no he is ungainly. Hamid enjoying flying & Azu being adorable even under the circumstances is endearing. Correction Cel is walking Lockers & propaganda posters I can't put it in words but there is a connection being made between how little these mooks care about messing up shared spaces & the rest of the mundane evil that led to them being bucket worthy. Thank you all for the taking water breathing potions I'm not sure how I feel about Alex giving us stuff for free Oh Dear! Are the mooks heading to the village? Zolf is reassuring Never over the little touches Alex has to make the world feel more real like the water proof flares Oh Cel dear, 1)you don't know that, you don't need mourn your village while they yet may live 2)what kind of trauma have they been through? "Again"? Lydia gets a quick dig in about the party not being allowed to sleep. Cel shifts into a creature who can see. ~Break~ Nevermind just enlarge person Somewhere Babs is begging for a simple answer. I don't think we got a simple answer Hamid is reassuring Cel. Something both relateable and possibly a bad sign that "don't worry they have been spending all their time preparing to kill us, so they can't be attacking your people" is legitimately both the line Hamid took and probably the most effective possible. The others help too. I love how they openly care, reassuring Cel without telling them to repress or that they are wrong to experience the emotions in the first place. Lights and colors flashing in the water. The dice seem to be favoring Bryn today. There's a fight up ahead. They all run to the fight, Cel leaves them in the dust. Hamid flies after Cel since he couldn't catch up on foot The dice do know I promise I will appreciate the set design on relisten, but for the love of god who is fighting who? Mooks vs who? Humans Yes! Alex hasn't quite gotten there but the cast sound convinced its Barnes & Carter. Ah is Wilde with them? Did Wilde tear his hair out worrying then send back up the second Zolf was overdue? Bleeping Carter Barnes sounds like he is having fun Carter is throwing knives at people. Odd knife & dagger are basically synonyms but not getting Sasha feels 2 vs 8 Ben points out Carter stole Sasha's gimmick Ok warming to Carter will take a minute but I already like Barnes Natural 1 on bomb throwing. Thank you Alex for not being a "death by nat 1 is funny" GM Alex keeps forgetting what a bad bum Cel is. Giblet heavy day Moving quickly past possible misgendering of Cel. Best way to handle that I think, no distracting corrections but Lydia doesn't let it stand. Thank you for being safe Hamid! Hamid protects Barnes. Love the extra extra pew. Finger guns! Alex is 3rd person level stressed Cel gets out the crossbow and punctuates their correction on pronouns. I love this podcast. I really, really, love this podcast and stuff like that shows they love their listeners back. Cel: Pronouns. Are. They. Them Helen: the dice say they/them rights Not sure if dead but 13 damage against one misgendering mook Hamid continues to shoot very well in support rather than endangering himself needlessly. Azu, spotting Carter: You! You? Accidently restarted the episode when I unpaused and now my phone is acting up, and is doing strange things when I try to fast forward to where I was. The annoyance at the above is cancelled out by hearing "Pronouns. Are. They/Them" 4 times Zolf: great seeing you again I love Barnes Alex the fandom appreciates this description Ah Zolf got Barnes into the Campbell books And they attempt to flee badly Carter finally rolls decently but not impressively Cel shoots one in the neck they're still moving Hamid mutters in draconic: this is for the Kobolds Thank you Bryn Barnes successfully seduced <Azu> Helen I love that the trained mathematician is the one who participates in dice superstition Ben! Huh patreon names still make my brain happy. Wonder if it's something deep about community or I just got pavloved by it being before RQG & TMA for so long

#RQG spoilers #Rusty Quill Gaming #live blog thingy #RQG season 4 #RQG 151 #long post

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freckled-words · 5 years

Text

Repost: Lightiplier

It’s rainy, and bleh here at work, so I felt like reposting a fluffy piece I wrote back before the Dumb-Ass-Pocalypse.

Edited by @the-wild-ego

It’s common knowledge that the moon doesn’t produce its own light, that it merely reflects the light cast upon it from the sun. The same could be said for the beings called the Lights. Lights are guardians. Born from the souls of those that wanted nothing more than comfort and peace in their lives. A Light could appear as anyone or thing. Someone might see their favorite movie character, a child might see a purple monkey. Their appearance was a reflection of what would create the strongest connection between them. A Light will always shine brightest when they’re with their chosen. When their chosen’s soul becomes dim, so, too, does the Light. Which is why a Light is born, to bring the warmth and love their chosen’s soul requires.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You can’t keep using your anxiety as an excuse!”

“You think you have things hard, what about me?! Do you see me shying away from everyone because I can’t deal with them?”

“You’re making me look bad in front of our family, why can’t you just drop the attitude?!”

You sat in your room, curled up on your bed with your notebook and pencil. Your bedroom door was closed, but it didn’t help nearly enough.

You tried focusing on sketching the angel character on your page, erasing and redrawing the wings with no success.

Each footstep, creak of a cupboard, and a murmured bit of voice made you tense.

On a base level, you loved your mother. Things had been good when you were a kid, but when you got older, she became someone else. Someone that judged your every mistake and flaw. Someone that tried to make you behave a different way than you wanted to be. Someone that tried to put on a show in front of others, but didn’t give a damn that she was methodically ruining your mental health.

You’d had independence away from her for a short time, and had wished for that to have never ended. Yet, you had to leave your job, which had provided you with an apartment. This lead to having to move back in with her.

If you’d had any other option, aside from living on the streets, you would have taken that instead.

Your pencil tip stalled as her footsteps passed by your bedroom door. Your body locked and tensed, waiting to see if she would ruin your small fraction of peace, once again.

When her footsteps continued to her own bedroom, you released a sigh. Putting your pencil down you rolled over to stare at your open laptop. On the screen was a screenshot of Markiplier wearing the angel wings. His videos had eased you through some tough times, including recent ones fueled by your mother.

His goofy personality, generous actions, and cheery smile called to the part of yourself that could still find happiness.

Thinking about him, you wished you could escape this place and just hang out with him. Even if it wasn’t him, if you could just get some space and time to yourself, you’d be better off each day.

This on your mind you drifted off to sleep with the moonlight’s soft glow filtering through your curtains.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He opened his eyes, and was utterly confused. Confuzzled. Bewildered.

Sitting up, he found himself on a hardwood floor. Looking around he took in all the fixtures of the room. The desk with switching computer images, the bookcase nearly overflowing, and then the bed. He saw the rise and fall of a body breathing beneath a blanket.

Shuffling closer on his hands and knees he got a look at your face. It was you, your face, that stoked the flames of his being into proper function. His mind lit up with all the information about himself, about you, and his existence.

Smiling wide, he could barely contain himself.

You needed your sleep, since sleep helped a mind to mend and process, but he was so eager to meet you properly. Maybe just wake you up for a little bit.

Ever so lightly he reached forward and gave your nose a small poke, whispering, “Boop.”

Your face scrunched, you mumbled something he didn’t catch, then rolled over to keep sleeping.

He decided you were adorable.

He shuffled forward again and poked your shoulder, “Boop.”

This distinct pressure was enough to stir you awake.

Groaning, you opened bleary eyes to focus on the white blob next to you. As your vision got clearer, and you processed what you were seeing, you began to be utterly confused and somewhat terrified.

“What the hell?!” You shoved yourself back in a scramble, tangling yourself up in your blankets.

Flinching from your raised voice, he backed away from the bed, “Sorry! Sorry! Didn’t mean to scare you awake! You’re okay, I’m not scary, I’m not going to hurt you.”

“What, who…,” Your brain was attempting to identify everything it was seeing.He was dressed in a white t-shirt, light blue jeans, he wasn’t wearing any socks, and….”wings?” The word came out a squeak as your sight narrowed on the soft, glowing, golden appendages sprouting from his back. They were curled around, barely brushing against the edge of your computer chair and the side of the bed.

He tilted his head, and looked to where you were staring, “Would ya look at that. I have wings. I just noticed…..Well, I’m not the most observant being ever.”

You rubbed furiously at your eyes, kept them closed tight for a moment, and reopened them. He was still there, now trying to reach back and play with a feather.

There was a lot your brain was trying to process. The wings, and him being in your room aside, his face was a whole other matter. He was absolutely, 100%, a clone of Mark Fischbach. Only, in the dim lighting you could make out that his eyes were gold, and his hair was streaked through with gold, as well.

The way he spoke, and was acting, was pure Mark, too. When he was being his absolute goofiest.

None of this made any sense.

“Dude, who are you?” You kept your voice quiet, not wanting to wake up your mom. The last thing you needed was for her to come check in on you and call the cops. Technically, you should be doing the same, but this guy wasn’t being threatening in any way, shape, or form.

His expression sombered, settling on a soft smile as he turned away from the feather. His tone just as level, he answered, “I’m Lightiplier. Your Light. I was born in answer to your wish.”

The air caught in your lungs.

Was this really happening, or were you dreaming?

Inching forward you slid off the edge of the bed. This close to him, you got hints of some kind of flower, and fresh air on a summer night. Reaching forward you tentatively poked his shoulder.

His smile regained a bit more of its silliness, “Boop.”

You withdrew your hand, covering your mouth to refrain from letting out the panicked little stutters that were coming out on your exhales.

Sensing your immediate distress, his silly smile dropped.

His wings stretched forward, cocooning the both of you. The golden glow, that had barely enhanced the dim lighting in the room, became a golden light that shimmered inside the small space. The smell you couldn’t identify before was perfectly clear now. Jasmine. A flower that could represent love, or purity.

Warm, gentle fingers took hold of your free hand, his thumb making small soothing circles. Lightiplier’s golden eyes were locked with yours. His voice low, murmuring and slowed, “You’re okay. I’m sorry I’ve upset you. I will never do anything you do not want me to. If you want me to leave, I will. My only purpose is to bring you comfort and peace. I only want to be your friend.”

His voice, the same as Mark’s, was honey that oozed over your jittery mind, helped ease your thoughts to slow.

Your breathing slowed, your heart stopped its frantic tap dance, and forming thoughts became simpler.

Lowering your hand, you stuttered out, “N-no, I’m sorry. It was… just a shock, that something like this could happen for me…. Thank you….you don’t need to leave, but what about my mom? She’ll freak when she sees you.”

Light shook his head, letting go of your hand as his wings opened, “I’m here for you, Y/N. You’re the only one that can see or hear me.”

Given that the man had golden wings sprouting out of his back, you were going to take his word for it.

You had so many questions you wanted to ask, and they were all just sitting on the tip of your tongue. They were suppressed by the large yawn that took over.

“Oh right, I woke you up, my bad,” Light got to his feet, and gestured for you to do the same, “Scooch that butt back into bed. I can’t help you if you’re not getting all your needed sleep.”

“Promise you’ll be here when I wake up?” You barely got the words out when another yawn nearly made your jaw dislocate.

If this turned out to be a dream when you woke up in the morning, you weren’t sure you’d be able to get out of bed at all.

Light nodded, and placed a hand over his heart, “I promise. You’re stuck with me until you don’t need me anymore.”

You flicked a glance at your bedroom door while crawling back under the covers, “That’ll be a long time to come.”

“Good! Er… not good? Now I’m confused.”

You giggled tiredly at his perplexed expression. Your eyes beginning to close, you sighed, “Please don’t leave.”

In the brief moment before sleep took you, you heard him whisper, “Just said you’re stuck with me, and I mean it.”

~~~~~~~

The next morning you woke with a start.

You scoured every corner of your room, your heart plummeting at seeing no trace of the feathered being.

“It wasn’t a dream… I swear it wasn’t a dream.” You felt tears prickle at the corners of your eyes, this was too much. Too cruel.

A light tap came from the window by your computer desk.

You threw off your blanket, nearly falling on your face as you leapt off the bed. With a quick yank on the cord you drew the blinds up.

You laughed in relief to see Light. He was perched precariously on the small ledge on the other side of the window, two carry away cups in his hands, “I got you some hot cocoa!”

It wasn’t a dream. You weren’t alone anymore. You had your Light with you now.

#Lightiplier #Light Series #reader insert #fanfiction #repost

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weaselle · 4 years

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Let’s talk about Witchcraft!

I used to pal around with people who considered themselves witches and pagans. California is a great place for finding people of a similar mindset, and I began a journey into what I then considered witchcraft with books by Aleister Crowley and a skill with tarot cards. Later, I celebrated a year’s worth of Sabbats with a group I joined in Germany. In Alabama I helped a couple people who were struggling with leaving christianity remain connected to a natural spiritualism through concepts such as the Lord and Lady. But my personal witching identity never truly fell in line with Wiccan paganism.

My grandmother had Gifts, I’ve written about them before. She had The Voice and she had True Dreams and some kind of Sight, all of which I personally witnessed before she passed. I share the same birthmark as she, and, present at my birth, she pronounced some kind of minor prophecy regarding me when she saw the mark. My mother died when I was very young and nobody else took it seriously enough to remember this ‘prophecy’; Grandma herself when she recounted the story seemed to feel telling me her actual words would... not be a good idea.

I have my own variation of her gifts, more like Charm than Voice I would say; nothing special about my dreams when I have them at all, definitely some kind of Sight. But these gifts are not the kind of thing that are controlled or used on purpose, and, at least in my own family, come rarely into our lives. Altogether I have had noticeable access to these gifts perhaps ten times in my 40+ years.

However, I have developed a brand of practical witchcraft that suits me and seems more (not to be dismissive of other folks but) more real than what I was participating in when I was spending time with wiccan flavored witchery. Perhaps an example is in order. Let us consider the Athame, the witch’s blade.

Most of the people I’ve known to have an Athame have had some silly ceremonial decorative thing. Some chrome plated jagged shaped enormous monstrosity, and they only use it ten times a year to salute the 4 directions and ritualistically sacrifice some cheese or whatever.

But witchcraft is old. The OLDEST magic, the FIRST magic -- witching is older than the very concept of a decorative knife. Witchcraft, in my opinion, is a very practical practice.

My own Athame is my chef’s knife.

I use it every day. I know its weight, the feel of it in my hand, I’m skilled with it, I care for it daily, sharpening, cleaning; it feeds me, a part of almost every dinner I eat. If I lost it I would feel as though I lost a part of myself. I can use it to create things that will, for example, win over a romantic partner’s family (let’s be honest, cooking and witchcraft are closely tied together). It is well suited to butchering a small animal, if I was the kind of witch that did animal sacrifice, this is the knife I would use.

This, to me, is a witch’s blade.

The rest of a witch’s tool box is just as practical. Knife, music, wand, chalice, candle, pentacle. Other witch’s tools are basically these same things, much the way a torch is basically a big candle. Mystical as they may seem in a modern setting, these things are, in their purest form, simply the things you would need to be different than an animal, and survive as a human being in the wild.

You have fire (candle). A musical sound (bell is often simplest but plenty of witch kits substitute a flute, or a small drum, or some other simple instrument). A pentacle is little more than a flat work surface, like a cutting board, which is far more rare and valuable than we take it for if you live in the wild. And lets talk about the chalice and wand.

A wand is a stick. Possibly the first multi-purpose tool humans ever regularly used. You can use it to dig tubers. Draw diagrams in the dirt. Stir a stew or poke a fire. It extends your reach when getting fruit from trees or poking into holes for small edible creatures. A spear is, at its base concept, a large wand (the chimpanzees we’ve observed making and using spears are mostly mothers btw). And there are two reasons I suspect one might attach significance to waving a stick around in the air.

1: if you see a group of people talking and gesturing, but one of them is gesturing with some kind of stick, that one is in charge or has some special say in things. Right? I mean obviously there will be exceptions, but that basic observation is pretty true. In this way, it confers an invisible power.

2: if you are entering an old holy place, one that you only enter a few times a year, some kind of cave, or small grove, or temple... I can tell you from experience you’re probably going to want to find a stick and wave it around in front of you, around the entire space. Or you’re going to get that icky startle you feel when you catch a strand of spiderweb to the face. Imagine how that whole process might look to someone who doesn’t know what’s happening.

But there’s something else about a wand. A classic wand will have a pointy end (of obvious use in a variety of situations) and a thicker blunt end. This is not just for grip. That blunt end can combine with the chalice or cup to be a mortar and pestle. Now your wand, knife, chalice and candle are really coming together, because when you are done making whatever it is with the knife and mortar and pestle (probably on the surface of your pentacle) you can hang your chalice over the candle and heat it. This is how a witch might make a medicinal tea, or potion.

Sometimes, one might attach something to the tip of the wand to specialize it, so a wand might have a rounded riverstone that would be a greater pestle. Or it might have a crystal that can make fire from sunlight. Or it might have a gem with a point hard enough to inscribe things on stones. All manner of things. Practical Things, though, is what I’m saying. Things that would have bordered on magic when the first humans had access to these tools.

So that for the tools. But what about Spells?

I don’t know how witching on the internet works. I’m old. But I’m going to tell you how a money spell I’ve used works, and that will give you an insight into my brand of witching and magic maybe. What you do is, you put a container on your altar (you have an altar. No, you DO. It’s either that place your keys and wallet always wind up, or the desk you do your creating at, or the spot next to the stove that’s supposed to be clear space but your cutting board and favorite knife is always there in front of jars of your favorite seasonings even though technically all that stuff has other places they are supposed to be kept. Sadly it might be your TV. These places fill altar functions. Unless you have a specially designated altar somewhere else already, of course) ANYway, you take a container, the bigger it is the stronger the spell but also the more time and effort it will take. Anyway, you put it on your altar. You stand in front of your altar and you make a solemn promise to put every penny you find there, in that container. Only literal penny coins, mind you. You vow to fill it to overflowing. You get an image in your head of what that looks like, and you concentrate on that, and you dedicate yourself to arriving in a universe in which this image is a reality. Basically, by spending time and energy on the promise, you make yourself take it seriously. You decide what you will do with those pennies. Be standing there making your penny collecting vow when you decide on that thing. It must be a whole thing, don’t add them to other money for anything, and don’t spend them on things you already set money aside for regularly; ideally you pair what you are doing with those pennies to concepts of reward and/or sacrifice. So you could vow to take them to a wishing fountain and throw them all in yourself or give them to other people to make wishes, or decide to take them all to a dessert place you like but rarely go to, and spend them on your favorite dessert they have for you or your bestie (fountain or cake, you walk away from spending them without owning anything more than when you started - hence an aspect of sacrifice… eating the pennies as cake or throwing them out as an offering is the same as burning them in a fire in many ways) And - this is important - you think about how money is desirable and vital enough that even the smallest possible increment, the lowly penny, is still worth handling and saving and spending in a planned and disciplined fashion. You THINK about that. Then you go about your life. But as you do so, you pick up and pocket every single penny you see. Pennies are worth so little, that we would often rather dump one in the garbage than pick through the dustpan to save it, but that’s not you anymore. Now, you will cross the street to pick one up out of the gutter if you see one. You’ll still put your change in the tip jar, but you’ll hold back the pennies. The more crazy into this you are, the stronger the spell… top-tier witches doing this spell would wade waist deep in cow poop to acquire a single shit-stained penny. You’re on a mission. You’ve made a promise. And you’re witching. When you get home with these pennies, at some point you’ll put them in the container on your altar. Each time you do, because of how brains work, you’ll be reminded of your promise. You’ll see your vision of overflowing coins again. You’ll imagine how fun the wishing fountain is going to be, or how delicious the cake is going to taste. And - this is important - you’ll think about how money is so desirable and vital that that even the smallest possible increment is worth handling and saving and spending in a planned and disciplined fashion. It may take you weeks to fill the container. It may take you months. But when you are done, when you have completed your vow, dispense the pennies as you planned. Don’t forget to give it extra time here. Look lovingly at the vision you have manifested, at the overflowing container when you have filled it. Feel the weight of it. Count them, roll them, recognize specific pennies that look different, think about pennies you collected in memorable ways. Fill yourself with pride and satisfaction, and carry that feeling with you to the fountain, to the dessert shop. Let your planned activity at that place magnify those feelings, reinforce those feelings. This is the culmination of the spell, the fireball leaving the tip of the wand -- experience the wonder and power of what you have done. See, true witching is, at its heart, extremely practical. It’s just a way for a human being to use intuition to reach truths housed in the dark mystery of our beings that science is only recently able to shed some light on. Things like how wearing clothes you perceive as “tough” will actually make you produce more “tough” chemicals like testosterone and adrenaline (according to studies that measured hormone levels of people switching between wearing leather jackets and pink dresses) or how if you BELIEVE a substance is medication, it can have some curative effects even if it’s just a sugar pill (placebos). Witching is often just working with these realities without access to detailed knowledge of all the science behind it.

Anyhow, when this spell is done, you will see money differently. Your spending habits will be different. You’ll think about money differently. Throwing your change in the tip jar won’t be a mindless activity, and maybe it makes you realize how little you’re actually putting in there and you wind up spending more money on tips than you used to - that’s okay, that’s good, the fact is, the thing you are doing with that money, how you chose to allocate your change from buying a cup of coffee, that is no longer an activity that you don’t really pay attention to; you put thought into it now. Money will have more value, now that not only are you WILLING to pick though dirt for a single cent, but it is actually habit to do so if you see one. Now something is no longer “just a dollar” it is ONE HUNDRED CENTS, and you have a visceral understanding of how much each of those cents is worth to you. And - this is important - you have completed an exercise in money management, wherein you dedicated to a planned expenditure, saved up the necessary funds, and followed through, laying paths in your neural network that take long enough to become habit and end in reward experience (it doesn’t have to be cake, simply completing your plan will give you the reward feelings, like finishing a video game level). You did this without having to change your finances, expenditures, or budget. It was just pennies, it wasn’t like when you try to save for a vacation and the saving is like a new bill you struggle to pay. This fit into your budget like it was nothing. Like it was extra money from nowhere, like it was… magic. The effects will keep spreading, rippling, transforming your life, your RELATIONSHIP with money will have been transformed, in a way too big to fully understand all implications - maybe people see a change in how you are with money and become more likely to trust you with it, more willing to loan you some when you need it. Maybe this will have filled you with ideas for other money management goals and the confidence to see them through and who knows where that will lead you? There is so much mystery and interconnection in this universe, the effects may well be long lasting and incredibly impactful. And that’s how a witch does a money spell. imo. Obviously, if you’ve read the first part of this post, you know I’m not saying this is how all magic works, or that there is no true mystery -- after all, did i not get suddenly taken to a casino for 15 minutes one morning so Grandma could win that poker jackpot with a royal flush in clubs that her late husband told her about in a dream? Clearly there is a great mysticism in the universe. But in my experience, much of the day to day experience of life and magic for a witch is rooted in practical practices.

Now go have fun darlings, and make magic happen

#witching #witchcraft #witch #witchery

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accidentally-logince · 5 years

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Rules of Being a Light Side

If you missed the first one: Rules of Being a Dark Side

Also, this was gonna just be a little continuation of the first one, but uhhhhhh there’s gonna be a third part too.

Warnings: Crying, anger, hate, mentions of pain, self-deprecation (Please tell me if there are any more)

Word Count: 2.3k

Pairings: Pining Loceit

A couple things in here were inspired by art, so I’m gonna put links to this post by @dailydeceitdoodles that inspired the “Lavender” part of the story, and this post by @casdensi for the ending and the idea of the “wilting”

---

There were more flowers in here. Weren't there more? Deceit runs his hands over the petals, thinking. Perhaps he'd put them in a different box. He leans down awkwardly to open the cupboard that he keep all the roses in. Again, he frowns. The boxes all seem slightly... off. Each is nearly overflowing—he'll most definitely need a new box soon—but Deceit could have sworn...

He shakes his head. Stupid thoughts. As if he needed to keep the flowers anyway. And who would even be taking them?

---

Deceit hadn't spoken to Logan at all since his attempted confession. Nearly three weeks, and Logan hadn't even tried to interact with him. He hardly stays in the same room as Deceit. The most they'd seen each other was in a video, and even then, Logan's eyes never wandered to Deceit's corner, words never sent in his direction. All but ignoring the lying Side. Deceit had learned to ignore the pain in his chest—maybe, he thought, he'd left a thorn or two in there, since heartbreak couldn't possibly feel this agonizing.

It's quiet in the commons. Which is to be expected, as it's nearly four in the morning, though not even a faint hum of music from Virgil's room, or the sounds of sparring that come when Roman's room is changed from a full kingdom to just a small bedroom, the bright night sky being replaced with fairy lights.

Deceit stays quiet as he sneaks out the door. He can't risk anyone following him, where he's going.

The door of the mindscape doesn't lead to Thomas' apartment building. Only a large expanse of grass, seeming to span out in all directions. There's a mostly established area around the outer mindscape. It looks big, but there are limits to it.

A twenty minute walk yields the entrance to a forest. Far enough away that no one would find it unless they were looking for it. Or maybe, if they just wandered randomly. Maybe that's why Deceit didn't make it farther away. Some part of him half hoped that Logan would happen upon it. Though he probably wouldn't even know what it meant.

The rest of the walk doesn't take much longer. Only a few minutes into the trees is an opening, blooming with roses. Red, and white, and yellow. So, so much yellow. There are so many more roses than the ones Deceit keeps in his tiny desk and the space under his bed.

If Deceit kept every flower in his room, they'd have been found by now. So he made the meadow as another sort of storage area, where he could come to make them where no one would see them.

He sits down in the center of the meadow, cross-legged. A Deceit-sized circle in the center of all the roses was left untouched so he could sit with them surrounding him. As much as they hurt when they would appear, they have sentimental value. Each rose represents a time that Deceit went against his primary function, and, all of these at least, made for Logan.

The silence is utterly deafening in here. There's no wind in the mindscape, and Deceit decides to keep it that way, rather than make his own and disturb the atmosphere of the forest. Instead, he begins to speak.

Nonsense at first. Absolutely anything that his brain can conjure, spilling from his mouth without thought. But it always comes back to Logan. Each time he comes here, Deceit inevitably ends up rambling on and on about Logan, watching roses sprout over his skin and in the dirt. The ones that grow in the ground still hurt, it just seems much easier, Deceit thinks, to have them already in the ground so he doesn't have to plant them.

By the time Deceit pushes himself to his feet—after plucking all the roses out of his skin and planting them, talking through the whole process—his voice is raw; It nearly hurts to breathe. His skin is sore too, a familiar soreness that comes with the growth of the roses. He stares at the last flower for a moment before turning and making his way back to the mouth of the forest.

---

It's just past seven in the morning when Deceit finally gets back to the commons. It won't be long before the Light Sides wake up, so Deceit silently wanders down the stairs, stumbling through his bleary vision. His trip to the forest had left him tired--he hadn't gotten any sleep last night--and he wanted nothing more than to collapse onto his bed and pass out.

As his hand reaches for the doorknob, Deceit freezes. Shuffling comes from inside, the movement of cardboard and plastic across wood. He can feel his heart begin to beat hard against his ribs at the prospect of someone finding his roses.

What if they know what they mean?

No longer tentative, Deceit thrusts the door open, eliciting a startled gasp from the intruder. His eyes lock with Deceit's for a split second before he quickly sinks out, though not before Dee can notice the roses piled up in his arms.

Deceit's mouth goes dry. There was no mistaking Logan's trademark tie and glasses. He scrambles to the cupboard, throwing it open and checking the boxes. He knew they looked empty! But how long had Logan been stealing them? How much did he know?

Forgetting his fatigue entirely, Deceit marches up the stairs to the Light Sides' rooms, not stopping to knock before barging into Logan's room. He's under his blankets, and pushes the sheet off to sit up.

"Deceit, what in the world are you doing in my room?"

The lying Side is at a loss for words for a few moments before sputtering out, "I couldn't easily ask you the same," keeping careful not to tell the truth, though a rose had already sprouted on his calf from even entering Logan's room.

Logan grumbles, rolling his eyes and reaching for his glasses that sit on the bedside table. "I'm far too tired for this, Deceit, please go back to your own room." He rubs at his sleep-filled eyes before placing his glasses on his nose.

Deceit blinks stupidly, almost fooled for a moment. "You weren't just in my room!" He just hardly keeps the hiss out of his voice.

Again, Logan sighs, annoyed, before pushing himself off of his bed and snapping his fingers, poofing on the same outfit that Deceit had just seen him wearing while he stole the roses.

"You're tired, Deceit. You've been up all night. Is it at all possible that you were simply seeing things?"

At that, Deceit pauses. Thomas' imagination is one of the largest parts of the mindscape, and it's not unusual for some of it to leak out of Roman's room. A tired Side is no stranger to hallucinations; manticores and elves running about the kitchen in the long hours of the night. His mind probably conjured up an image of Logan stealing the roses because he'd been paranoid about his seemingly emptying boxes earlier.

Deceit clears his throat, embarrassed now that he could have very easily just barged into Logan's room without reason. "I don't apologize. I believe I won't be going then."

"Try to get some sleep. You really seem to need it," Logan says, crossing his arms, waiting for Deceit to leave. His feet are planted in place, stiff from exhaustion now that his adrenaline is gone, and he sinks out back to his room, falling onto his bed in an awkward position in a desperate plea for any form of sleep.

It's only as Deceit is just falling asleep that he wonders how Logan had known he was up last night at all.

--- When Deceit wakes up again, it's midday. A glance at the clock reveals that it's nearly three in the afternoon. Deceit flips himself over and stretches--he really shouldn't have fallen asleep when he was half off of the bed--before he remembers what had happened before he sank out of Logan's room. A scowl makes its way onto his face.

The "hallucination" alibi had worked for Logan when Deceit was tired, but now that he was fully awake and in control of his thoughts, it made no sense. Logan could have very easily risen up into his room after stealing the roses and poofed on his pajamas. There was no reason that Deceit shouldn't do any investigating.

Quietly, he rose up into the kitchen, wincing but ultimately staying quiet as a rose bloomed on his arm. Peering over the counter confirmed the rose's reason; Logan was sitting on the couch, laptop on his lap as he typed, a show playing in the background. That made it much easier.

Now knowing that Logan was downstairs, Deceit rises up into his room. The lights are off, but there's dim sunlight coming from the window, and Deceit decides not to flick the lightswitch as he saunters around the room, checking all the drawers and cupboards he can find.

He had to admit, he nearly closed the drawer without noticing the strange leveling. The bottom of the drawer didn't match up. It looked too shallow on the inside. Deceit pressed a hand to the bottom of the drawer and felt it slide, revealing an opening that was much bigger on the inside than could possibly fit in the drawer. He pushed the false bottom further, enough that he could fit himself in.

Inside, once he'd found his bearings--it was very strange to suddenly be in a drawer--he saw boxes of roses much like his own. There must have been years worth in here. How could Logan possibly have known about them for this long? He felt anger boiling in his chest. Logan knew about them. And he had lied to Deceit. He had let Deceit get hurt, and he knew.

Deceit took a step forward, his foot catching on something. He looks down to find a lavender flower under his foot. His brow furrows. Had that been there a moment ago?

When he places his foot down again, more lavender sprouts. A few more stems this time around his foot, but they were very clearly coming from him. Was this a new type of flower? Did it have to do with his anger? He reached up to brush a strand of hair out of his face, only to find that there were more lavender flowers growing in his hair.

Feeling tears forming behind his eyes--he didn't know if they were of anger towards Logan or fear at the lavender--Deceit quickly rose up into Logan's room. replacing the drawer's false bottom, then sink down into his own room, feeling the glare on his face grow colder. Logan let him get hurt.

"I hate him," Deceit growled. "He hurt me, I hate him!"

Deceit fell to the ground as a sharp pain ran through his chest. At first he thought it was another rose, but no, he'd felt one grow on his neck just now. The pain in his chest felt different, and something urged him to look at his roses.

He crawled over to his desk and opened the cupboard, gasping when he saw the yellow roses wilting to grey. More tears pushed at his eyes and he grabbed for the flowers desperately, distantly noticing that lavender was still sprouting around his feet and legs as he knelt, pulling the boxes out.

"No, no, please don't," he whimpered. "Please, please, don't!" The roses were too special for him to lose. Logan had hurt him... but Deceit didn't hate him, did he?

Through his tear-stained vision, Deceit noticed the flowers turning yellow again. His brow furrowed, and he wiped his tears away. Still yellow. What in the world had just happened? As the confusion ebbed, his anger slowly started to return, but the flowers turned grey. Again, Deceit frantically held them against him, and their colour returned.

The flowers wilt when their truth becomes a lie.

The thought scared Deceit for a moment. He didn't hate Logan. Not at all. And each of these flowers had been a forbidden "I Love You" that Deceit had uttered when he was alone. But the colour was still in the roses, so the Rules knew he still loved Logan. Though in that moment of anger, he had truly believed he hadn't.

Then, an idea sprouted in Deceit's mind. He stood, ignoring the lavender that still grew at his feet with each new step, sat on his bed, right in the middle. He let his angry thoughts come back, and he growled out "I hate him" as many times as he could, until the words lost all meaning, and the Rules stopped counting them.

No more roses sprouted, and only then, did he open his eyes and see that hi skin was absolutely covered in yellow roses. It reminded him of all the nights Deceit had spent murmuring "I love him" to himself. That thought alone is enough to make the hateful roses wilt, and he watches as the "I Love You" roses in his cupboard boxes came back to yellow as their meanings became truths again.

Deceit grins down at the grey roses on his skin. He stands, moving to the bathroom to pluck them out.

---

When Logan went back into his room in the evening, he was stopped short right in front of his door. Plastered right in front of the doorway were bouquets upon bouquets of dead, grey roses, strewn about on the floor, over his doorway, and all over a large board that had the words carved into it:

"Everything Wilts. They Just Need A Reason."

---

My Other Fics

Tag List: @monikastec @misstallip @aikogumi @another-emo-blog @roses-for-roman @confinesofpersonalknowledge @phoenix-galaxies @well-love-has-failed-me @theresneverenoughfandoms @lilbit-gay @em-loves-them @logicaltimeink @never-ending-agony @kameraishere @saltypaint @hot-tea-and-sweater-paws @analogical-mess @jemthebookworm @crownswriter123 @romansleftshoulderpad @ordinaryfander

#sanders sides #deceit sanders #loceit #logan sanders #thomas sanders #my writing

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maladaptive-ninja-returns · 5 years

Text

Without Question (10)

Steve Rogers x fem!Reader

Content: death. destruction.

Warnings: just read the contents above

Word Count: I’m lost

MASTERLIST & Taglist in bio, my love

Peace is a luxury for an untamed mind.

It is an expensive affair to experience, more so when it is more of a relief shower over the desert of chaos; a smooth wave as sacred as an eclipse touching the tired ragged shore. A much-needed opulence that escapes you the moment you question its lifetime in the present.

Your peace sleeps next to you. The pale face of chaotic good is devoid of any line that hints at worries, doubts, stress or even guilt. It just sleeps. The pink lips are parted ever so slightly, a sign of how deep the waters of the ocean of relaxation they are floating in. The freckles that run over his face down his neck and shoulders feel like a trail of angel’s kisses, blessing him with the turbulent energy to carry the weight of the world over his shoulders. The chest heaves and falls languidly, reminding you of the blessed breaths you take next to him.

And just as the tranquillity is swallowed with the blend of a welcoming post-thunder coldness with the new favourite redolence of Steve, the thought of leaving his side cracks the bubble of that sacred bliss in your heart.

Bruised by the universe and still so pure , you wonder.

Lifting yourself halfway on your shoulder, you plant a light kiss on his forehead and smile when there is nothing but a twitch of his lips that resembles a short smile.

You deserve every happiness in this world.

Moving up and away, your eyes do not leave the figure lying in your bed under the warm covers. It takes a substantial amount of will to turn away, pick up a pair of leggings, t-shirt and a jacket before walking out of the room to dress up. Picking up a knife from the kitchen you whisper ‘no, it’s for me in case I...just relax okay?’ and walk out of the house.

“Tony! Are you seeing this?”

Natasha’s voice echoes through Stark’s helmet as he is still trying to take in the four spaceships making an impact on the compound grounds.

“There better not be radioactive slime inside these things,” he quips, already in the air, working through diagnostics.

“You spoke too soon, Stark,” Sam flies up right beside Tony, “look.”

White fanged gooey beasts come out of the spaceships with incoherent cries, stepping on the ground with the stature of wild beasts readying themselves to go hunting.

“Are you sure we can’t call the Captain in?” Clint calls from the facility’s rooftop.

“Do you really think I would’ve sent them away if he was needed here?” Loki comes to stand next to Hawkeye, his battle armour and the horned helmet taking form over him. “Besides,” Loki takes in a lungful, “it’s for the best that he and the lady are away.”

“I cannot believe I am saying this but I agree with reindeer games,” Tony calls out, “Cap needs a vacay and we’re not ruining it because of some goo decided it can walk.”

..Nearly an hour passes by when your heavy breaths are visible in the coldness surrounding you deep inside the forest.

“Okay,” you barely huff out the words through your lungs, “it’s done. Is-is it time?”

Yes , the deep hoarse voice inside you says. Just a little warning, human, this is going to get real ugly real soon.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t come all the way out here for a walk in the woods. So just shut up and let’s get this over with.”

The voice does not say anything in return.

“What? No sassy remarks or insults?”

You didn’t tell him , it states rather softly, shutting you up for good.

Your legs shift your weight over them, your tongue darts out to wet the dry lips while your eyes look for nothing in particular.

“Call them,” your shivering breath commands as you take your hands out of your jacket and ready them by your sides for whatever is about to happen.

A long breath in and the y/e/c eyes turn black, gooey tentacles finding their way out from your back to surround you; cocooning everything below your waist- a beautiful black sea with you in the middle.

A grunt escapes Natasha before she finds a footing in the ripped grass to shoot herself over the shoulder of one of the beat using their own staff-like weapons; dropping fusion bombs into their bottomless bodies, already planning four steps forward for the one running towards her wildly flailing his tongue.

“Loki, I’m outta your bombs!” she cries into the comms, running towards the slime before skidding beneath it but not nearly fast enough to escape the claw that catches her by her hair to pin her down with a guttural growl.

The slime slits its invisible lips to display its fangs that part to take in a taste of the Black Widow that struggles with the hold around her neck.

“Get your filthy tongue away from me,” she lets out a low growl with death in her eyes.

The slime tilts its head in mild shock before opening his mouth wide, showing its prey what is the last thing she was going to see when an ominous note breaks through the air and forces it to turn away and look at one of the ships.

Every other beast on the battlefield does that same before low-key grunting in disapproval and leaping towards a singular direction.

“They are retreating,” Clint takes in the site of the ships opening their hatches to let them in lighting up their thrusters.

“Why? Did their mothership said ‘playtime’s over’?” Sam asks as he hovers over the compound to make sure every last one of them is out of there.

“There better not be a giant mother blob in there,” Tony is quick to mention before his eyes go over to capture the expression on Loki’s features.

The God stands on top of the facility looking down at the creatures in some deep thought.

"You thinking what I'm thinking?" Tony slowly lands right by his side, neither pair of eyes looking away from the short-termed battlefield.

"I don't think it was him," Loki states, turning towards Tony, who's helmet has crawled away from his head as smoothly as it had appeared. "Do you realise what this means?" His whisper carries a weight both of them can only contemplate.

Tony looks like right in the eye. He wants to blame him so badly but he knows it isn't his fault. It is never going to his fault no matter which way he looks at it. His lips are twitching with latent rage inside him but his eyes carry pain, something Loki finds relatable.

"Tony, it's not your fault either," he is quick to assure him.

"Son of a bitch," Tony curses, signalling Loki to follow him, "they both really do deserve each other."

The gradual heat brings out pearls of sweat on the pale skin buried deep under the covers and Steve has to shift to find a cooler part of the bed to bury himself in instead. But it isn't till his mind- which in the seventh state of heaven- swirls your colours inside him, the heat of your chest over his, the sweat over your skin drown on his, the hot breath in hair, creating your image in smoke that finally makes him question the absence of that heat near him.

Brilliant blue eyes open and watch the empty side, caressing the pillow softly with his fingers before he turns to the other side to look outside the French window.

The thunder's died long ago but the scars remain. The pit made for your Sakura seems to be overflowing with rainwater. Water drips down from the edges of the porch frame. A sparrow wiggles itself from head to tail and hops on near the window to rest in a small bowl that was supposed to be filled with water for it some time ago.

"Y/N." Steve's voice still carries the density of the soundest sleep he has had in ages. He sits up and runs his hands all over his face, trying to rub away the slumber before getting up and reaching for his boxers.

"Y/N?" He walks out of the bedroom to look in the bathroom and find it empty and dry. The kitchen and living room smell of you but you are nowhere to be found.

His fingers fighting the weird itch over his shoulder turns his attention to this one yellow paper neatly folded over the breakfast table.

The smoothness of the paper somehow feels uncomfortable under his touch. The fold is neat, crisp, patiently done. The unfolded piece looks akin to something taken from some ancient Pharaoh's treasure. The black ink that stains the otherwise sheen surface is a continuous stroke forming one word at a time, nothing less than an angel writing poetry about the one that got away.

The one that got away.

It takes those dark blue eyes some time to bring their focus back on the actual words, while the rest of the body is becoming aware of the eroding emotions, the hard beating of the otherwise strong heart, the latent shiver that flames the insides.

I meant it when I said I didn't want to lose you.

The yellow curves and slides graciously through the air. No sound is heard as it swings to and fro languidly taking its sweet time, teasing the call by gravity and right before it hits the floor, a gust of wind from Steve almost breaking through front door forcing the paper to fly up and away.

He runs straight for the forest, never stopping, his ears sharp, listening to the farthest of satellite calls in the quiet, his head throbbing from all the possibilities going inside his head as his ears catch a distant explosion and alien screeching, making him accelerate further in the direction of the white noise.

The shapes of ships start appearing after a distance and just as he discovers them, they blow up to smithereens, forcing out incoherent wails from creatures nearby.

The scattered alien crawlers are writhing in pain on the ground with their claws scratching at some unknown ache in their brain. One raggedly moves in his direction, forcing the Captain to take a position and land him a blow. But before he can do that, the crawler winces, gasps for air and falls to the ground, going limp.

As surprising as the site is in front of him, nothing beats the shock of watching the woman he just confessed his love to hover mid-air covered in quite possibly the remains of the dead race, her eyes all black, her features experiencing something otherworldly, her arms hanging by her side, limp.

"Y/N!" He calls out her name- half-cry, half-prayer- and he does get a response with the turn of her head.

"Steve," for a flick of a second, the eyes come back to their original glory of unadulterated purity while a smile finds its way on her lips.

"Y/N, tell her to stop!"

His lungs hurt.

Her eyes too.

He doesn't ease his stance.

She doesn't ease her grip.

"I can't," she cries, the break in her voice shattering his heart, "it's too late."

"It's never too late," he grunts and brings out the dagger that Loki last planted in her back.

Immediately the y/e/c go black and the flawless features reek of pure mayhem.

"Walk away, Captain," the familiar hoarse voice comes back but this time with a warning, "she knows what she got herself into."

Steve doesn't pay heed and breaks into a run, forcing a low hum out of her throat before black strands chuck him into the nearest tree.

"Stay down," she whispers before turning back to the few whining beasts that remain, "it's almost over."

Within seconds the last of the fanged beasts are snapped and Steve has to make an effort to reach the middle of the horrid ground right to catch her limp body.

"Oh Ga-Y/N! Hey!"

Barely any life remains in her as she looks up at the man who cradles her just as carefully- but more lovingly this time- as he did when they first met.

"What did you do?!"

Even as he tries, he fails with his rage on watching her face looking at him with every ounce of pride and hope. And an apology.

"Take care of my cherry blossoms," she smiles through the pain her lungs feel even while she speaks.

Her hand comes up the wipe away the tear that has found its way out of Steve's eyes.

She wishes she could tell him it was all okay. She was fine. The pain was slowly fading. But so was his touch.

"And please take care of Stacie. She can be a handful."

Steve's fingers are careful as they caress her cheeks, trying to keep them warm. His head droops down, forcing her to touch your forehead with his.

"Hey," she wheezes, "it's okay. I knew what I was walking into."

He tries to bring out words but fails miserably just as her teary eyes let go of the water with the one last breath inside her.

"And try not to remember me this way."

TAGLIST

Permanent @lokis-lady-death @lokixme @l0kisbitch @tarithenurse @meganlikesfandoms @kcd15 @itheoneofmanyfandomsi @gotta-get-back-to-johnlock @moonlightprime @henloamkitty @confessionsofastrugglingteen @keepingupwiththelaufeysons @loving-life-my-way @supernatural-kinda-girl @magiclolipopqueen @cauraphernelia @fuckidontknow @libbymouse @lokisironthrone @liesje86 @itvariesfromlokitostrange Steve @ultraslytherwin WQ @ultraslytherwin @gemgemswift @jessicagoddamnjones @klmpun

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buckysgoldenheart · 6 years

Text

Unprofessional: Seb Stan x Reader Part 5

Summary: Starring in the same movie meant feelings between any two actors was not allowed.

Sebastian Stan x Reader

Part: 5/?

Warnings: Cursing, I think.

Words: 2151

Hope you guys like it. Comments are appreciated!!!!

Part 5

SEB P.O.V.

I didn’t even say ‘bye.’ Why the fuck didn’t I say ‘bye, Seb’s mind screamed, disappointed in his actions, or lack thereof. What the fuck is wrong with me?

As he made his way to his car, Seb turned his head over his shoulder to get one last look at you as you talked to a member of the set crew, but he didn’t stop walking until he was forced to by a small body blocking his way. Seb’s head whipped so fast to the source that his brain slightly jostled in his skull.

“Ann?!”

The small red-head before him smirked and gave a little wink. “Hi, baby.”

After recovering from shock, Seb huffed out a breath as he glanced back in your direction to make sure you were nowhere near. “Ann, what are you doing here?” He asked, exasperated. “How did you even find out where I am?”

She stood on her toes, put both of her manicured hands on his chest, and placed a small kiss on his cheek before he had the chance to protest. “Was just missing my man; Thought I would come pick him up and take him home, and don’t worry about how I’m here, just be happy that I am.” She smiled and brushed her fingers through the hair just above his ear and Seb flinched at her touch.

He grabbed her hand from his face and placed it back at her side. “Ann, we talked about this. We aren’t—”

The girl rolled her eyes. “I know, I know…’involved anymore.’”

“Yea.” He replied, nodding his head just a little extra harder than normal, hoping to drill that point home. “That’s exactly right, so why are you here?”

Ann’s brown eyes trailed up and down the length of Seb’s body, his face growing more bored as she took her sweet time, until he had to look away from the eye-groping for his sanity. That look of hers may have worked on him months ago, but not anymore. “I gave you some time to think about us and now I’m back.” Ann said, turning Seb’s face back to hers by his chin.

“This wasn’t something I needed to think about. I was pretty clear.”

She made a humming sound at his statement that he recognized all too well as an indication of her not giving a shit about what he said. “Seb.” She said, locking her eyes with his. “C’mon, you can’t be seri—Oh my God, is that Y/N; That girl you’re working with?”

“What?” He hadn’t noticed Ann look over his shoulder until your name fell past her lips.

Ann pointed in the direction Seb knew you had been minutes before, he had just hoped you had gone home already. His ex was the last person he ever wanted you to meet. “That Y/H/C-haired girl over there?”

Seb didn’t need to look. It was too late to fix the problem anyway. “Yes.” He said, his tone solid, but angry as a result of this situation.

A shrill laugh passed her painted lips. “Well, thank God, huh?”

Seb’s eyebrows scrunched together, genuinely confused at her reaction. “What?”

“I thought she was going to be pretty. I was worried about her stealing my man.” She smiled and drew a fingernail from the tip his shoulder to the curve of his wrist. “But, clearly that will not be a problem.”

“I’m not your man, Ann.” Seb groaned. “And what the hell do you mean you thought she would be pretty? She is p—"

“Is, um, this a bad time?”

Fuck, Seb internally cursed as he heard your sweet voice behind him and rolled his eyes at the satisfied smirk on Ann’s face. Seb was so engrossed in arguing with Ann that he didn’t hear your footsteps. He turned away from the woman he loathed to face you and the uncomfortable look that had spread across your features. It was like all at once, you figured out what was happening in front of you, how he felt about you, who Ann was, and how utterly screwed he seemed to be in this moment; but, Seb couldn’t help his smile when he saw you, even with the awkwardness of the day looming over your heads. “Y/N, hi…”

“Is this a bad time?” You asked again, your beautiful Y/E/C eyes staring at him from under thick, long lashes. You hadn’t looked at Ann yet and Seb just prayed you couldn’t see her altogether. “I was asked to give you this.”

Seb didn’t even look to the thing in your hand, barely even registering what you said. He just saw you in front of him and knew that your bodies being so close made him forget that Ann was even there, but he should’ve known that wouldn’t last. Moments later, Ann’s aggravating voice piped up from behind him, drawing your attention away and forcing the magic Seb felt from his current connection with you to shatter to bits at his feet.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me, Sebby?”

When he made no move to bring you and Ann into the same conversation, the annoying one took it upon herself.

“Can’t trust this man to be a gentleman for his life.” She chuckled, and it made him nauseous. “I’m Ann, Sebastian’s girlfriend.”

At that word, Seb’s eyes snapped shut from frustration. Why I thought she wouldn’t try to stake her claim is far beyond me. When he opened his eyes, he saw your face had changed, but he couldn’t pinpoint exactly how.

“Oh.” You acknowledged, your head down, eyes suddenly interested in the pavement.

“You’re not my girlfriend!” He groaned without turning to Ann, then quietly directed his words to you. “Y/N, she’s not my girlfriend.”

“It’s not really my business. It’s late, I should get home. I’ll see you on Monday.” You hurried away, the paper you were meant to give him still in your clenched hand.

Seb felt clear, sharp pain when you left him to trek back to your car. It hurt, the fact that you walked away from him so easily, the unreadable expression on your face, coming to the realization that he wouldn’t see you the entire weekend.

“Aww, she seems sweet. I would love to get to know her better; let her know where her boundaries lie when it comes to you.”

The sarcasm dripping from Ann’s mouth did nothing to calm Seb’s overflowing frustration.

He whipped around and grabbed his ex by her upper arm. “Boundaries are not going to be a problem, so Leave. Her. Alone.” He demanded, his lips close to her face and blue-grey eyes burning in a threat.

“Oh please, I saw the way she was looking at you.” She spat, before her lips formed a smirk rivaling any Disney villain’s. “She needs to learn a lesson. Maybe I should catch up with her before she leaves.”

Seb gripped the red-heads arm firmer. “You listen to me right now. Y/N didn’t do anything, ok? She is my coworker and I don’t need you causing more problems in my life than you already have.” He growled, then released her and stepped back. “Besides…she doesn’t like me like that.”

-----------------------------------------------------

SEB P.O.V.

The Next Day

“Oh my God, just do it already!” Anthony moaned as he laid along Seb’s couch, eating popcorn and throwing an occasional kernel at the screen in front of him when his team didn’t score.

Seb looked at his phone warily, reading the text he had written and rewritten while his thumb hovered over the ‘send’ button. “I don’t know if I can.”

“If you don’t do it, I will.” His friend replied, words muffled by a mouth full of snack food.

------------------------------------------------------

Y/N P.O.V.

Your phone dinged with a notification, which was beyond odd, because your phone never dinged with a notification unless it was from your roommate, Billie. With a confused look on your face, your head slowly turned left to the tall, raven-haired girl sitting next to you on your bed, her eyes fixated on on the tv show in front of her as she munched on some Doritos.

Billie had always been great at multitasking, could text and do anything else at the same time, but considering her phone was nowhere to be seen, you guessed it probably wasn’t her.

“Billie?”

“Yea.” She asked, face stuffed with chips as she continued to stare at the show in front of her.

“Did you just text me?”

Apparently, your question was stupid enough to merit a judgmental face and direct eye contact, because Billie rarely looked anyone’s way once Netflix was turned on.

“Ok, hun, I know you’ve been kinda stressed lately, you know, with the ridiculously hot co-star and all, but maybe you should take it easy. Maybe take a nap.”

You grabbed your phone off the nightstand and fiddled with it between your hands, nervous to click the unlock button. “My phone dinged.” You said as you stared at the dark screen. One touch of a button and you would see who it was from, but no one ever texted you, No one except Billie.

This is silly.

You looked back to your best friend, her eyes re-glued on the tv. “Yea? I’m not sure what you want me to do about it?” She chuckled. “Maybe, I don’t know, check who it’s from?”

You nodded, still looking at the phone, then clicked the button with your thumb. The screen brightened, and the image of your dead dog popped up. “One new notification’ with the little messaging box next to it covered Fluffy’s big, brown eyes.

If I want to see my dog ever again I’m going to have to open it.

You entered in your pin and there it was, your ‘one new notification,’ from non-other than Sebastian Stan. You had forgotten the director gave you each other’s numbers before you even met in case you wanted to do outside rehearsing, or discuss the scene, or whatever came to mind.

“I’m having a party at my place tonight. I know its short notice, but I hope you can make it.”

That’s all it said except for his address a couple spaces underneath and the time the party started.

Party at Sebastian’s starting in 30 min and he wants me to come?

“Oh, no.” You whispered to the phone.

“What?”

“Uh n-nothing.”

Yours eyes had yet to look up and without expecting it, Billie had snatched your phone from your hands. You swatted at her and grabbed for it, but her arms were a little longer than yours. She held you back as she read the words in front of her.

“A party?” She said, excitedly, tossing your phone back in your lap.

You huffed in response. “Yea…”

“At the ridiculously hot co-star’s apartment?”

“Yea…”

Billie smiled mischievously and got up from the bed, chips and Netflix forgotten. “Oh, you’re going.” She said, walking over to your closet and rummaging through it.

You panicked at her statement, not question, but statement. “No! Billie, no way!”

She pulled out the only sexy dress you had; simple, short-ish without being slutty, and in a deep plum shade that gave you ‘killer curves,’ or so Billie claimed, then threw it near you. “Yes, way.”

You stood and moved to where she stood as she looked for your black heels and you took the opportunity to snatch the dress from where it laid on the bed to put it back in the closet.

“Don’t you dare!” She scolded from a hunched position, her back facing you. She knew you too well. “You are going!”

“Billie—”

“No!” She yelled again, standing and tossing your shoes on the mattress. “This is the first man you have been attracted to in I don’t know how long, and he has invited you to a party at his place. I will drag you there kicking and screaming if I have to.”

“We work together!”

“I. Don’t. Care.” She said as she repeatedly poked your shoulder with a finger. “Now, be a good girl and put on your outfit, do your make up, and get out of here.”

“It’s at 9.”

She wiggled her eyebrows. “Then, you better get cracking if you want to look like a sexy-as-hell goddess for that man of yours.”

Your face straightened out. “Not my man. I think he has a girlfriend anyway. I mean, he said he doesn’t, but the woman he was with seemed pretty damn sure he does.”

“Well, show up looking like a seductive temptress and figure it out. If she’s there, hanging all over him, making out with him, then yea, maybe he does…God, that would suck.”

“Maybe? Maybe he does? If he’s doing all those things with her, I would say he definitely does.”

Billie huffed. “Just go.” Then, she lightly slapped your ass in the direction of the bathroom where all of your make-up products lived.

Tags: Perm: @dugan365 @moonlightimagination @pietrotheavenger @marvel-fanfiction @agentsinstorybrooke @dani-si @alyssiamking @wintersoldier98 @then-there-was-me-emily @prxttybirdz @tessvillegas @xceafh @jazzwoman897 @fandoms-who @meganwinchester1999 @ufffg @debra77 @rebelliouscat @anise-d-castle6 @projectxhappiness @buckybarnesappreciationsociety @lowkeysebby @stringgeek13 @quotemeow @jjamesbbarness @stangirl4eva @guera31 @sophiatomlinson23 @youreahandsomedevil @thisismysecrethappyplace @rex-orange-baby @slytherin-in-hufflepuff-robes @itssmallerontheoutside-13 @hiddles-rose

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#seb stan #seb stan x reader #Sebastian stan x reader #Sebastian stan #seb stan imagine #Sebastian stan imagine #seb stan fluff #Sebastian stan fluff #seb stan fanfic #seb stan fic #seb stan fanfiction #Sebastian stan fanfic #Sebastian stan fic #Sebastian stan fanfiction

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x-dudes · 7 years

Note

Hi I recently got in a car wreck (I'm physically okay) and I have a really bad scar on my forehead. Could you do a Poe x reader where she's insecure about a similar scar and he kinda helps her out? 💛💛

Notes: Sure can, babydoll! Hope I did you justice.

Published: December 29th, 2017

How are you feeling?

The question didn’t seem to come as a question at all, but rather as just a buzz of words that only somewhat formed within your brain. You weren’t even entirely sure if you were truly being spoken to or if the voice in your head was the byproduct of a dulling fever dream you managed to catch the tail end of as you came to.

(Y/N)? The voice rang again. It had been clearer this time, though still not sharp enough to discern from a delusion. For a brief moment, as you vaguely recalled a handful of the events that occured before you were knocked unconscious, you were certain that you were dead, and the voice was an angel. Are you waking up? (Y/N). A cool hand running across the skin of your forehead assured you this was not an angel, yet also brought a smile to your face as your eyes fluttered back into consciousness.

You were safe.

“You’re awake!” The voice beamed. It seemed familiarly feminine; an accent encrypted within it from a planet you couldn’t recall in your state of delirium. Your eyes had finally opened, only for you to audibly wince as you shut them once again due to the blinding white of the overhead lights. “Sorry, I’m sorry. I’ll get them off” You could hear a set of sharp footsteps, a soft click, and then the remnants of the blinding white light still seen from behind your lids died down, leaving you in blackness. The voice spoke up once more, and you found solace in the soothing silk of their words. “Hey, can you open your eyes now?” Your eyes finally flicked open, meeting the smiling face of Rey in the dim light of a medical room.

“Rey,” You spoke softly. Your voice was weak, but she could tell you were thrilled to see her.

“Are you feeling better?”

“I feel much better than I did being beat around by members of the First Order,” You joked. “Thanks for asking.”

“No,” She chuckled. “I mean after surgery. It was a shame you missed it, the medics had this little droid by their side who ended up stitching up the cut after they cleaned it in about two minutes flat. Though I suppose you had to miss it otherwise something could have gone wrong, right?”

“Surgery?” You repeated, digging through your cloudy memories for the answer to your own question. “Oh shit, my-” Though weak, your hands flew to your forehead, feeling a protruding scar along the plane of your forehead. You only vaguely recalled the wound being at the hand of General Hux before your memory returns to black. “Oh, Rey,”You whimpered, speech still slurred from what must have been remnants of the anaesthesia. “Be honest with me, okay? How bad is it really? Now that everything is all said and done, and it’s all sewn up…”

“Bad?” She echoed, confusion etched across her sharp features.

“Yeah, as in- nevermind. I don’t really expect you to understand, I guess.” You bit your tongue to refrain from commenting on Rey’s upbringing in your still softheaded state. It wouldn’t do anyone any good. “Wait. Where’s Poe?”

To be able to say that your injuries were likely the least worrisome of the group’s was something truly extraordinary. You had been sent out on a reconnaissance mission right within the heart of Starkiller Base. Something that should have been easy, in theory, until a weak link within your team had resulted in all of you getting captured, with one of the four not making it out alive. Poe had been a member of the team sent out to recover the remaining three of you before anything could escalate further. After being beaten, bruised, strapped to a metal dolley, tortured, manipulated, and lied to with the goal of obtaining Resistance information, it was a miracle you were still alive, let alone in one piece. Poe had been drifting in and out of consciousness for the past four days or so, never managing to stay awake and aware of his surroundings for very long. You were too afraid to wait by his side for him to recover.

Gentle fingers grazed the mark along your forehead.

He would worry. That was what you had decided. The scar wasn’t the simplest thing to hide, more so than ever as it was in the weird grace period between being freshly sewn and having healed entirely. Rey had insisted you not worry about ‘some mark that hadn’t been there before,’ yet always held you in her arms in silence as you bit back all of the emotions that overflowed from that scar, as well as its origins. She didn’t quite understand. You insisted that she couldn’t.

You should be grateful you’re okay physically, you tried to tell yourself. Not even a concussion to show for it and this is what you’re upset about?

“Lieutenant (Y/L/N),” The General had called from the piece in your ear, still kept as you trained newcomer resistance fighters in the fields.

“Yes, general?” You spoke back, hoping your response could be heard above the natural roar of the D’Qar jungle. The dozen or so new recruits ran past you into a large clearing in the trees.

“You’ve been requested in the Medbay. Sector three. I’d go, if I were you.”

“Yes ma’am. Let me finish up here.”

“Just go, (Y/L/N). Lieutenant Connix will wrap things up for you. I’ve already sent her your way.”

“Thank you, General.”

Remembering Poe’s fickle state, you began to dash through the thick foliage, stripping your heavy training equipment as you went along until you had come to the front desk with nothing more than an old black tank top and your jumpsuit, now half opened with the arms tied tightly around your hips. Without a single word from you, the medic working the desk that day directed you to where Poe rested, filling you in on his recovery status along the way.

“-as well as a serious fracture on one of his left ribs from the impact. He’s been asking for you for a few days now, though you’re a naturally busy person, so I figured I would hold off on contacting you until we could get him awake for more than an hour.” She chuckled. “I mean, you must be busy. You look like you just came out of battle. Training newbies, I presume?” You gave her a small ‘mhm’ in response and she huffed. “Yeah, I get that. I’m on new kid training duty tomorrow all through the rest of the month. Crazy, you know. I could have sworn that I was a new kid myself just last month and now I get to teach them. How are ya’ healing?” You cleared your throat nervously. Both thankful for and dreadful of the fact that she was a talker.

“I, uh, I’m feeling alright.”

“Yeah? No burning? No irritation? No psychic connections with force spirits?” She giggled at her own joke, though you weren’t entirely sure of what to say. “Oh! Here he is. Dameron.” You thanked her softly, bracing yourself silently as her footsteps grew distant. Knocking twice on the door for good measure, relief and dread simultaneously flooded you upon hearing his voice, asking you to come in.

“Poe,” You began.

“(Y/N)!” He bolted up in his bed, beaming with joy upon seeing you. Hesitantly, you stepped forward until you were sat at the edge of his bed. Without a second thought, he lunged his already weak body at you, enveloping you into a hug you could tell hurt him deeply. He didn’t mind, though. He loved you more than you could ever know. “(Y/N), I’m so glad you’re okay! I’ve been in here for who knows how long and all I kept asking of them was to see you, or to at least hear something about how you’re doing, and I wasn’t even given a ‘she’s doing alright’ before they shut me down Rey came in here a while back and when I asked her about you she got all weird about it. I almost thought you were dying. It was driving me crazy not knowing how you were doing for so long. Yeesh, if I could stay awake for more than an hour at a time before now, I probably would have busted out of here to find you…” He chuckled at the end of his sentence, but something told you he was biting back happy tears. “How are you doing?” He pulled out of the hug, yet still kept a vice grip on your shoulders as he got a good look at you for the first time weeks. You could tell he had caught a glance at the scar in the way his eyebrows knit, lips pouting in silent thought.

“Listen, I-”

“They stitch you up pretty good?”

“Hmm?”

“Well, (Y/N), I don’t remember a lot from Starkiller Base, but I do remember having to watch Hux do that to you, and let me tell you it was a lot less pretty when-”

“It’s still not pretty…”

“-I had found you- wait, what?”

“Hmm?”

“What was that?”

“I said that it’s not pretty, Poe.” You confessed. Subconsciously, your hands rose to rub at your temples in a sense of worry. “I don’t… I don’t like it. Call me dumb, call me whatever you want, but some part of me just knows that I’m always going to be changed by what went on on that ship, and this just serves as a constant reminder of that.” His eyebrows raised. Whether in shock or in revelation you really weren’t sure, but you had decided you were too deep into your confession to care all that much. “Poe, people look at me differently, they think of me differently,and I absolutely hate the fact that it- it ruins the image of me that I-”

“Now hold on just a second.” He interrupted you, placing a hand on your chin to force your gaze his way. “(Y/N), good god, I can’t believe you would think so lowly of yourself after what you just did. Are you even aware of the amazing acts that came out of that scar?” You didn’t respond, only gave him a quizzical look, but it was enough for him. “The girl who snuck on to Starkiller Base with the intent to destroy? This same girl who when captured led Hux on a wild goose chase, only to tell him to go fuck himself in Twi’leki and spit on his nose? This girl who was brought to hell and back, and still wouldn’t cave in, even if it costed her her life, all in the name of the Resistance doesn’t like the scar that shows that she survived?”

“I don’t think you understand-”

“No, (Y/N), I don’t think you understand. Yeah, people absolutely think of you differently. They take one look at you, knowing you got back from a mission that would turn any normal man into a pile of ash, and they think that you’re incredible. I know I do.” Poe stretched down further to place a peck to your forehead. “You should too. You should look at that scar and think to yourself ‘I’ve been through hell and back, but I’m still here, and I’m still kicking ass, because I’m (Y/N) (Y/L/N) and that’s who I am. Not even this could stop me, and nothing else sure as hell will.’” You smiled softly, carefully burying your face into his chest as you hugged him, as to not hurt his bad rib any further.

“I don’t think all that would fit into my morning routine, but thanks, Speedy.” You giggled, grinning wider as you felt him smile against your shoulder. “That means the world to me.”

#poe dameron x reader #poe dameron imagine #poe dameron #star wars imagine #frankie takes requests

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bangtangurlarmy · 7 years

Text

Memories Are Made || Jungkook

Pairing - Jeon Jungkook x Reader

Genre - Angst, Fluff

Summary - With Jungkook having lost his memory, and you told not to drop the ‘hey guess what I’m your girlfriend’ bomb on him, things take an unexpected yet pleasant turn when he’s the one to drop the bomb.

Inspired by the teaser of Love Yourself

Jungkook remembered nothing. He remembered his name because you kept addressing him with it, and he was beginning to get to know you because you were hanging around in his room every time he slipped in and out of consciousness.

He didn't know what kind of relationship he shared with you. You claimed to be his friend, which you'd said with much difficulty and hesitation, making him wonder if you were somebody else to him. Somebody who meant more.

Nonsense, he thought. You'd tell him if you were...wouldn't you?

Getting into an accident was not his hobby, thank you very much. But if people can't learn to not drive recklessly on the road, the world might even end up with less than seven billion people. And out of all of them, he was found on the street, bleeding and unconscious. The doctors would later declare him almost brain dead. Jungkook would be in a coma.

Miracles existed, he supposed. Or the doctors did. Two months later, a nurse walked in getting the fright of her life seeing Jungkook wide awake, confused as hell, which he very easily conveyed, "Where am I?"

Everything to the last moment was forgotten. No faces were recognizable, no names were familiar, nothing. Nil; Zero.

And then you were there. Every morning, you'd chirp a "Good morning, Jungkook! How are you feeling today?" Like as though you were expecting another miracle to happen and he would remember who you were. Or who anybody else was. One miracle was fine; two was being greedy.

Like that - in moments of unfamiliarity and uncertainty - two more months passed. Jungkook had a good eye, and noticed you were exhausted greatly. It didn't have to be dark circles, or frizzed and unkempt hair. The chirpiness in you voice had abandoned you, now becoming a slightly boring version of it, "Morning, Kook." - He loved that nickname, but he still couldn't shake off the feeling of having heard it somewhere - "You doing good?"

He always answered you, "Yeah, I'm fine. You?" When he'd first asked you that, your eyes brimmed. He wanted to take his words right back because, poor him, he didn't know you weren't expecting any sort of reply. But soon enough, the two of you were accustomed to the brief greetings.

One day, Jungkook was curious.

"Didn't we ever talk more than 'Hello, how are you?'" He asked, genuinely curious eyes drifting to catch yours. You were frozen stiff, almost scared. Why was he asking you this? Did he remember something?

"No, we didn't." Came your clipped reply.

He was disappointed. He really wished he could find out what kind of connection the two of you had shared. Because, right now, he was developing a crush on you. A huge, massive, heart fluttering, stomach-butterflies-giving crush. And if the two of you hadn't been dating, or hadn't been as close as he was assuming the two to have been, then oh boy, he was in deep trouble.

It's okay, he thought, I'll find my way.

Jungkook was bored. Utterly, and inconsolably bored. "Pleeeeaaase," he whined like a kid, "I want out of this room, it's so suffocating in here!" And when he noticed you weighing different options and consequences, he added a little bit more effort in helping you making a decision. He cocked his head ever so slightly, puckering his lips into a tiny pout. You'd fall for it. Definitely; he was so sure.

"Fine!" You exclaimed, beaten by his puppy-dog look. Getting up and making your way to an excited twenty year old - God, was he really twenty? He seemed ten at that moment - you made a deal. No wandering out of your sight, and no funny business. Like a mother cautioning her kid. He agreed instantly.

You helped him stand, and just those moments of intimacy were enough to set sparks flying. He'd fallen for you - so hard.

You grabbed his hoodie, and brought it above his head to help him wear it, you having to stand on your tippy toes and in very close proximity. Although you'd been used to such closeness, you worried over whether he would be. But he seemed to enjoy it way more than he should've. Just as you'd helped him put his arm through the sleeve, you tripped over your own feet - clumsy you - and would've fallen over if it weren't for Jungkook's strong arms catching you immediately.

Red color creeped up your neck as he continued watching you, his eyes - somehow - holding the same adoration he used to watch you with before the accident. It made a wave of mixed feelings crash into you. What was happening?

You cleared your throat awkwardly, and he took it as a signal to let you go, you were okay. Thanking him quietly, you brought over the IV pole, rolling it into his reach. He held it, and you made sure he was able to walk straight without toppling over. When you still were fussing over him, he said, "Y/N, it's okay. I won't get better if I just sit around all day. Come," He stretched out a hand. You stared at it, transfixed. Did he want you to hold it?

Why isn't she holding it? Panic began flowing, Jungkook suddenly worried that he had struck the wrong chord. And just as he was about to retreat his hand, you held it. First, with both your hands.

He stared at your hands - much smaller, compared to his. So cute. He wanted to reach over and squish your cheeks. He actually was about to, but then images began overflowing into his mind; memories, maybe. A sudden sense of deja vu washed over him. This happened before. Well, not in the same setting or not down-to-the-detail before...but, he'd had this familiar feeling of wanting to pinch your cheeks.

"Jungkook?" He snapped from his thoughts; you were looking at him, worried. Worried about what? He'd remember something?

He figured he'd keep quiet. He didn't know for sure if that really was a memory.

The two of you walked out of his suffocation room, and into the lobby. Barely filled, it was easy to fit in the narrow corridor, among rushing doctors or nurses. It felt as though everything was moving so fast, in a blur, and you two were just there, walking; taking your own time.

You didn't realize you'd walked out of the building and into the garden behind the hospital. Well, at least you both were getting some much needed fresh air. While walking, you felt your hand brush his repetitively. It was hard to resist the urge to just turn around and hug him. Kiss him. And tell him everything. About how you two had been dating for more than a year, how he was on the way home to you and had almost died in the accident but blood transfusion at the right moment prevented a great loss. So close to death, he was. And now, look at him: strutting about like his memory loss was no big deal.

You hadn't said a word only because the doctor had asked you not to. He’d just advised you to drop subtle hints, and see if he could take it. To you, it was like starting the friendship all over again. It was agonizing, but you hoped it would be worth it. Suddenly, you just felt burdened. You wanted to sit down. Ready to tell him you were tired, you opened your mouth. But he beat you to it by holding your hand.

It happened fast. Yet slow. His eyes were blank, no kind of familiarity or recognition in them as he progressed towards you, closing the gap between you two. Your pulse quickened in sickening anticipation. What was happening?

He stared at you like that, without any emotion in his eyes, like the first time he'd seen you after waking up. Then, before you could do anything, he bent down and kissed your lips. You didn't dare move, lest you trigger some sort of defense from him.

He kept his lips pressed firm against yours, and when he straightened, his eyes shone with something new. And right then, you dared to hope. Had he remembered?

"Y/N..." It trailed off, his voice gentle.

"I remember you." He said.

He remembered.

HAPPY JUNGKOOK DAY AYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYA ITS MY BIAS’ BIRTHDAY AYAYAYAYAYYAYA

#HAPPY JUNGKOOK DAY #BTS #bts angst #bts fluff #bts jungkook #bts imagines #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #jungkook imagines #jeon jungkook #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #memory loss jungkook #her #love yourself

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kunalkarankapoor · 4 years

Text

Review: ‘The Raikar Case’ Gives Us An Insight Into Indian Families

The series The Raikar Case on Voot opens up with the alleged suicide of Tarun Naik Raikar (Honey Kamboj), the youngest of the Raikar clan. While the suspect could be from a wide spectrum of people, the inquiry begins with the closest of all – the family. This suicide turns into a murder mystery and the rest is what you need to watch.

The suspense seems to be tight, and so are the roles played by the learned cast, be it Atul Kulkarni as Yashwant Naik Raikar, Ashvini Bhave as Sakshi Naik Raikar, Parul Gulati as Etasha Naik Raikar, Kunal Karan Kapoor as Mohit Naik Raikar or Neil Bhoopalam as John Pereira. Each of them seem suited for the roles they’re playing. But, while the thrill, chill and the suspense remain intact, there is a chain of thoughts that worked along the way for me.

I wonder if that’s what happens to be with every family in reality. Does every family happen to be unhappy and yet just hide it from the world out there? Because at least that’s what I’ve noticed in India, the idea of portraying a certain image of a family that isn’t even true in the first place.

The brother might not like the other brother or his ideology, but he’ll still pull it together for the world out there, pretending to be the happiest one amidst all of this. This isn’t something I can pull out statistics for, because there has been no recorded judgement of dysfunctionality in the Indian families because we are afraid to speak what we think and maybe, it’s something that has developed over the years only to satisfy the need to be socially accepted.

Maybe, ‘dysfunctional’ is a terminology that I might have pulled out of my over-thinking cap, but how do we really give credibility to our thoughts? An individual’s perception, habits or attitude have always seemed to affect another person. But in the Indian aspect of social order, the young are never supposed to pinpoint the elders; the elders are never to limit the young or walk out of their boundaries in an attempt to invade privacy (though I wonder if it exists); and neither does the gender disparity end at any given point.

The females are never to express their opinion, the males continue to make decisions for everyone, and people are looked at with suspicious eyes if seen together with someone from the opposite sex, no matter what relationship they might be sharing with them.

The idea of expression is what lacks in the Indian social order, specifically amongst families. And that’s what lingers in the corners of this series too – the lack of expression of one family member with another. So, I wonder if dysfunctional is even an extreme term to use here.

I might not have all the facts, but I do hold an opinion, and if you believe it’s challengeable, watch out for this series on voot.com, and let’s change the idea of families for each other.

On the whole, this series will make your quarantine worthwhile. Hence, watch out for this directorial bliss by Aditya Sarpotdar.

By Manvi Singh - April 2020

https://www.youthkiawaaz.com/2020/04/the-raikar-case-review-this-is-much-more-than-a-thriller-webseries-to-me/

How many of you all have watched the 2019 movie " Knives Out"? It was a pretty impressive movie. When I watched it I felt that why something sort of this could be made in Hindi. It was a very unique concept.

When I watched The Raikar Case, I finally felt that we are getting there. A well-written whodunit that will keep you guessing. A mystery with a unique approach. A mystery that will make you rack your brains.

Voot Select has been on a spree of producing thrillers. After Asur and Marzi, we have another thriller on our plates, The Raikar Case.

The Raikar case is directed by Aditya Sarpotdar and stars Atul Kulkarni, Ashwini Bhave, Parul Gulati, Neil Bhoopalam and others.

Frankly speaking, this series is something very ahead of its time. I never imagined the Indian digital world will provide something of this magnitude. But what really makes

The Raikar Case Plot

Naik-Raikar. Goa's one of the most elite families. Cashew plantations, factories, a connection in politics, this family has every luxury out there.

But all these conveniences come with a cost.

Tarun, a young naive member of the Naik-Raikar family is dead falling from a cliff. Everyone thinks Tarun ended his own life. But SP John Pereira has his own speculations. It's clearly a murder.

Etasha, daughter of Raikar patriarch and a cousin of Tarun starts to receive messages from a mystery informer who knows every bit about this murder. Every time an investigation occurs a new person comes on the suspect radar.

Etasha's struggle to find the real culprit while dealing with her family's deepest and darkest secrets forms the entire plot of The Raikar Case.

The Raikar Case Review

The Positives

1. Story: The story of The Raikar Case is penned by Bijesh Jayarajan, Karmanya Ahuja and Anitha Nair. As far as the story is concerned, it has everything required for scripting a flawless whodunit. The Raikar Case has a murder mistaken for suicide, a plethora of family members with their gimmicks and most importantly a dark backstory.

The story of The Raikar Case starts slowly and cautiously. It gradually catches pace and then does not looks back. Many of you will struggle to figure whats going on. In the very first episode, a bunch of characters are thrown towards you.

2. Characters: There is absolutely no shortage of characters in The Raikar Case. The characters overflow at a point. Your brain takes a while to figure out who's who. The Naik-Raikar family itself is so interesting that you begin to vouch for root for them. The common disgruntled and bewildered look on every family member's face gives the "something's fishy" vibes. The over-practical patriarch, his household wife, incompetent son, achiever daughter, disinterested cousins, confused sister-in-law everybody has their own share in The Raikar case. Also, the outsiders are well linked to this family. A power-hungry conniving friend completes the equation.

3. Unique Screenplay: The screenplay of The Raikar Case is its bast thing. Very rarely you stumble across such beautifully presented content. The screenplay will definitely win your hearts. The way this series is structured will take a little bit of your time to grasp it. But later on, you yourself will know what's about to hit you.

4. Some performances

The Raikar Case is adorned with some incredible performance. Atul Kulkarni as Yashwant Naik-Raikar showed us why he is the king when it comes to out-of-the-box scripts. He symbolizes a true patriarch who is bound to hold his family together no matter what. His stern and no-nonsense attitude justify his position in the Naik-Raikar family.

Ashwini Bhave, the famous yesteryear actress made her digital debut with a bang. Her performance of Sakshi was something you can relate to every matriarchal figure in the house. Her layered and biased feelings will shock you.

Parul Gulati as Etasha was simply amazing. She displayed a wide range of emotions effortlessly.

Lalit Prabhakar as Eklavya Rane is truly the breakout star of The Raikar Case. Prabhakar is known for his chocolate-boy roles in the Marathi film industry but here he is the dark-chocolate. He is terrifying as hell. He gives us the chills whenever he appears on the screen.

1. The Negatives. Opening episode. One of the shortcomings of The Raikar Case is that the opening episode is too much to handle. It is very ambiguous for an opening episode. At a point, your brain trips from processing the load of info.

The audience is not used to this type of complication in the initial stage. Many of the people may lose patience.

2. Some performances: Neil Bhoopalam has a very crucial role in The Raikar Case. But for some reason, he doesn't seem to provide justice for his role. His dialogue delivery looks too cliche. It always feels that he is trying to judge everyone.

Kunal Karan Kapoor and Manava Naik are other examples of below-par performance. It looked that they were trying too hard to fit in.

Before you all head to watch The Raikar case, let me tell you this:

It's NOT a popcorn-movie. Keep your brain along with you at all times.

A slight distraction may disrupt your entire flow of experience.

The opening episode is very complex but don't you lose hope. You will digest everything eventually.

My rating for

The Raikar Case:

🌟 🌟 🌟 🌟 (4/5).Definitely recommended!!

“I think Neil, Manava and Kunal Karan Kapoor all did justice to their roles. Manava and Kunal Karan Kapoor’s role was as “outsiders” that did not fit in and both are trying to fit into the family. I believe that what the Director wanted to show and looking at the review then both did a great job making the reviewer feel that. Honestly speaking then everyone was in character and was living it. So saying that specially Kunal Karan Kapoor was below-par performance is totally wrong. He told Mohit story through his eyes and made sure that even if he seem mysterious and you knew he had a secret, you never fully suspect him. Beside that his performance in the last episode was breathtaking.The way he emote every turmoils was beautiful and art itself.” - Anila

Binged.com Review: Kunal Karan Kapoor’s role isn’t fleshed out as well as his other actor-counterparts, though he makes a good meal of it.

Movies Bazaar Review: Talking about Kunal Karan Kapoor unno ne shandaar role nibhaya hai aur kisi cheez ki kami nahi aane di apne role main.

#kunal karan kapoor #reviews #actor #artist

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