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rosewaterandivy · 5 months

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i. incandescent glow

summary: have you ever been so alone you spend the day confusing a man in a coma?

pairing: assumed e.m x reader, eventual s.h x reader

warnings: my blog is 18+ MDNI; mutual pining, yearning, miscommunication, poorly-wired idiot signals, vague nineties vibes, asshole-ish rockstar eddie, best friend & store manager steve, drug abuse, comas and hospitals, found family, hop and wayne knocking sense into people, eventual smut, schmaltzy rom-com goodness, mention of thanksgiving, christmas, and new year's holidays

w.c.: 8.2k

a/n: when I say that writing this kicked my ass, I'm tellin' you I had a rough time. @bettyfrommars this flannel-wearing Steve is for you especially! Please enjoy & I hope y'all like it 🥹

series m.list | playlist | currently spinning:

Steve hadn’t planned for his life to amount to this, he’d simply blinked and found himself in a new decade, still rewinding tapes at Family Video. Granted, he’s district manager now and has several stores in the area he’s responsible for.

Meanwhile, Eddie got the hell outta dodge and Corroded Coffin actually made something of themselves. Two albums under their belt and a forth-coming world tour after the holidays, and, more recently, a cover on the Rolling Stone. Ed had called him up once it was all finalized, “Can you fuckin’ believe it man?!”

And, Steve loves Eddie, so he could actually believe it. He tries and fails to keep his jealousy at bay, Ed is one of his best friends for christ sakes. Steve is happy for him, he really is, despite the revolving doors at rehab centers dotting the west coast, late night calls from strangers because Munson passed out in someone’s bathroom again.

He is, after all, Eddie’s emergency contact. Gareth approached him after the second stint at rehab and suggested it, thought it would be the best all things considered. Steve readily agreed and signed the forms, kept his pager on him, and dutifully smoothed things over when Eddie’s benders got a bit too much.

So, he’s rewinding tapes when his pager goes off. He glances at the number and drags the phone across the counter. Nestling the handset between his shoulder and cheek, he punches in the numbers and shoves the tape in a plastic case to be shelved later.

“Hello, this is Hawkins Memorial Hospital. How may I direct your call?” a kind, if perfunctory voice recites. He can hear the hustle and bustle of the hospital waiting room, muted conversations and the ringing of phones.

“Hi, this is Steve Harrington. I received a page from this number regarding Eddie Munson.” Steve eyes the clock, he’s on closing shift by himself already having sent he employees home to celebrate with their families.

“Yes, one moment please.” The receptionist places him on hold, allowing Steve to rewind a couple more tapes and sort them for shelving. “Mr. Harrington?” the line roars back to life, no longer the receptionist, but the doctor in charge of Eddie’s care instead. “Mr. Munson came into the hospital unresponsive but breathing, he was revived by a…” He rattles off a name that Steve has never heard before. “His, fiancée, as I understand it.”

Steve feels the floor sway under his feet.

Eddie.

With a fiancée?

“She’s here now and in a bit of shock, as you can expect. Since you’re his emergency contact, we wanted to alert you of his current state as well as get any contact information for family and friends that need to be made aware.”

“Oh, uh, sure.”

The doctor continues to relay that they’ve elected to place Eddie under a medically induced coma for the time being, to allow his body to flush the drugs from his system before assessing for any further damage.

Steve is transferred to a medical assistant who takes down Wayne and Hopper’s information. He figures between the two men the job will get done, but let’s be real, it’ll be Joyce that activates the phone tree and calls the kids, and he plans to swing by the hospital later that evening once he’s closed up.

Grabbing the stack of tapes and begins to shelve them with a shake of his head. It would be just like Eddie to get engaged and not be fucked to tell anyone. Returning to the counter, he fiddles with the cuffs of his flannel shirt— Robin got it for him the last time she swung through town, insisted that Steve’s wardrobe needed some serious upgrading and all but thrust it upon him.

“It brings out your eyes,” She said, leaning against the wall outside the dressing room. Her worn boots kicked against one another, half of her reflected in the mirror while Steve assessed.

“It’s brown.”

“And gold!” She turns him around to press down the collar and pop the first two buttons of the shirt open. “It’s color theory man, just trust me on this, okay?”

Which is how Steve found himself the new owner of several flannel shirts of varying hues. And boots. When he complained it was all too lumberjack-like, Robin shushed him and continued to flirt with the cute check-out girl.

But that had been months ago. It was coming on Thanksgiving now and his two best friends had been too busy traveling or showing art pieces to even call. He doesn’t mind, not really— well, he tries not to. Steve gets it, people are busy, things to do and people to see.

The remainder of his shift goes by slowly. Kids home from school, families coming in by the dozen. Steve manages to complete a few menial tasks in between customers, throws on Planes, Trains and Automobiles just to have something on in the background.

He’s helping a regular when his pager beeps again, this time flashing Robin’s number. The door dings as they leave and Steve’s already wedged the phone to balance against his shoulder once more as he leans and elbow on the counter.

“Eddie has a fiancée?!” is the thing she screeches down the line. “When the fuck did that happen? Harrington, you’re supposed to keep me aware of these things!”

He signs and scrubs a hand down his face, “I’m his emergency contact, not his guardian.”

“Have you met her? What’s she like?”

“I don’t—”

“I got the first flight out of the city. Which means I had to go to LaGuardia blech,” She makes a gagging sound down the line. “Jonathan’s picking me up now from Indy. Oh my god, is she pretty?” Robin pings between her travel plans and hypothesizing about Eddie’s girl, “I bet she’s a total knock-out, knowing him. How did they meet? D’ya think she’d pose for me?”

“Slow down there, killer.” Steve laughs, “Might want to meet the girl first before propositioning her.”

She huffs a laugh, “You’re right, of course. She’d probably think I’m insane or something. What would I do without you Stevie?”

“Probably scare off more chicks than you already do.”

“Oh, go fuck yourself Harrington.” Robin’s laugh is loud and warm, soothing something in his gut. “I’ll see you tonight, dingus.”

“Sure, stay safe. Call me later, bye.” He places the phone back in its cradle and has half a mind to check the room behind the curtain, just in case some teenagers slipped past without him noticing, but then the phone rings.

“Thank you for calling Family Video, this is Steve. How may I help you?”

“Uh, hi.” A voice says down the line, small and tight. You introduce yourself, quickly followed by, “I’m at the hospital, with, uh Eddie?”

“Oh! Hi, how’s he doing?”

“Good, still in the coma.”

Steve can hear some voices filtering through the mic, loud and familiar.

“So, Hop and Wayne made it? That’s good.”

“Yeah, yeah, Joyce too. The kids are here too, I guess? It’s all a bit overwhelming.”

He huffs a laugh, “Yeah, I can only imagine.” He occupies himself with the slinky on the counter, much preferring to hear your voice than deal with the families that just walked in, ten minutes to close. “You holding up okay?”

An intake of breath, “Mmhm.”

It’s a feeling he knows well.

You’re overwhelmed by all these people you’d never met, on top of the fact that your fiancee is in a coma. Steve feels like shit, having you handle all of that by yourself. If he hadn’t stupidly sent the mid-shift employees home early, he would have been there to help you navigate it all.

“Joyce wants to know if you’re coming by after work. If we should wait for you,” You say after a beat or two of silence, “Or if you’ll just meet us at the house for Thanksgiving tomorrow?”

Steve rolls his neck in an effort to relieve the built-up tension there, bones popping, he rubs a hand at the nape of his neck. “Could you put her on real quick?”

He listens as the phone changes hands and Joyce’s comforting voice intones, “Steve?”

“She’s freaking out.”

“What?”

He sighs, “The fiancée, she sounds like she’s in a bad way.” He checks out the straggling customers, “Don’t wait on my account. I’ll see Ed after I’m done here.”

“Okay, Steve.”

“Does she have a place to stay? I know Rob is crashing with you and Hop—”

Joyce laughs, “We’ll have a full house I suppose. I can put Jonathan on the couch or something, don’t worry about it Steve.”

“Right. Okay.” He gives the final customer a smile and wave as they wish him a happy holiday. “I’ll see you later.”

Hanging up the phone, Steve walks to the door to turn the lock and flip the sign to ‘closed.’ He lingers against the door, resting his forearms against the bar, watching as the snow falls against the dark sky. Wonders how it is that just from the sound of your voice, he felt himself falling not unlike snowflakes outside.

Earlier that day

Turns out, landing the Corroded Coffin interview was not the boon to your career you thought it would be.

Maybe you’d set yourself up for failure. And it didn’t help that you had one big, fat embarrassing crush on a member of the band. Generally, being a fan of the artist coupled with the tendency to romanticize things in your mind only led to disaster.

Or, in your case, attempting to revive the frontman of the aforementioned band on the bathroom floor.

Eddie Munson was unresponsive at your feet, a panoply of pills and baggies scattered across the floor. Having no time to think, you launch into action— checked for breathing and finding none began CPR followed by chest compressions, all while yelling for help.

Gareth is the one to find you, compressing Eddie’s chest with your two hands in between administering two breaths after every 30 counts.

“Call an ambulance!”

You can’t even bring yourself to feel sorry about your tone, harried and frantic, as he stumbles out to call 911. Thankfully, the paramedics are quick. One paramedic asks, “You’re his fiancée?”

Dumbly, you nod, too in shock to register what’s been said. Someone guides you down the steps and into the front of the ambulance strapping you in with a seatbelt. He can’t just die, you reason, not when Corroded is just taking off— a world tour in the new year and a cover story with Rolling Stone.

Your editor would have your head if something were to go wrong. Munson was notoriously picky with interviews and reporters, it was a miracle they’d approved you for the job. Rumor has it that he’d have much preferred Nancy Wheeler, but the board wasn’t keen to bring in a free-lance reporter for the job.

Somehow, this would be your fault.

Arriving at the hospital isn’t any better. Gareth and the other band members stayed behind to call management and see what was to be done about Eddie, and made you promise to call them once you’d arrived at Hawkins Memorial.

Nevermind that you’re alone in a town you’d never stepped foot in before today. And all at Eddie Munson’s behest.

They rushed him off past the swinging double-doors, out of your reach. Stepping to the front desk, you ask the receptionist where the nearest pay-phone is, and she offers you one of the hospital phones instead.

Dialing the number hastily scribbled onto your hand, your fingers brush along the plastic keys listening for the trill of the ring down the line.

“Hi, Gareth? We made it to the hospital, they took him back with a team of doctors and nurses.”

“You didn’t go back with him?”

“It’s family only, I think?” You scratch the back of your neck nervously. “It’s not a big deal, I can stay in the lobby until you get here.”

“Yeah, that’s gonna be a while…”

He goes on to explain that their team has to meet and discuss next steps. The band can’t leave until they’ve done so and their manager asked them to stay put.

“That’s shitty.”

He hums his agreement.

“And I’m just supposed to stay here by myself? I don’t—”

“That’d be great, that is, if you don’t mind,” Gareth interrupts. “They’ll call his emergency contact soon enough. But we’d really appreciate having someone we know there until then.”

“Oh, okay.”

He thanks you for being so cool with all of this and says his goodbyes. With a short smile, you hand the phone back to the receptionist. Heaving a sigh, you drop your head into your hands and lament, “I was gonna marry him.”

Unbeknownst to you, Eddie’s attending nurse overhears you and recalls how the paramedic who brought him in said something about a fiancee. Turning toward you, she places a delicate hand on your back. You jump with a start and look up.

“You’re the fiancée, right?”

“Wh–”

“It’s okay honey, he’s doing fine. I’ll take you back there now.”

Allowing yourself to be guided by the kind nurse as she prattles on about something or other, you wonder how to get yourself out of this. No one was going to buy that Eddie Munson has a secret fiancee. If he was awake, he’d probably laugh you out of the room himself.

But, as it was, they’d placed him in a medically induced coma to let the drugs work their way out of his system. A small miracle, that. The doctor briefs you on his status, all of which flies directly out of your brain, too focused on how small he looks in the bed. Tubes dripping fluids and machines whirring or beeping every so often. Tattoos a stark contrast to the pallor of his skin, a sharp relief against a marble canvas.

A medical assistant approaches you and asks about an emergency contact or the contact information of family and friends.

“I don’t–”

The dazed look in your eye must give something away because the assistant attempts to pat your back comfortingly before saying they’ll check his personal effects.

The nurse, impossibly kind, rests a hand on your shoulder, “Let him hear your voice, honey.”

Her shoes squeak along the tile floor as she leaves. There’s a brief reprieve where you’re left alone with Eddie in the hospital room. The nurse and medical assistant flit in and out occasionally, making notes in his chart here and there. But you’re transfixed by the man in front of you— beautiful and impossibly out of reach. He was even before the interview, you rationalize, but now he’s even more so. It’s bittersweet, almost, makes you want to reach out and hold the hand at his side, silver rings glinting in the fluorescent lights.

“Hi,” You greet. “I bet you’re wondering what I’m doing here, huh?” You take the seat closest to him. “Well, I didn’t really get a chance to introduce myself, so here it goes.” Taking a sip from the coffee the nurse left to fortify you, you recite your full name. “And I think you should know your family thinks we’re engaged. Never been engaged before, so this is all very sudden for me.” You huff a laugh and roll your eyes, “Um, what I really came here to tell you was, I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“I don’t know what to do,” You continue, a quasi-one sided conversation and therapy session all in one neat package. “I’m just a reporter for the Rolling Stone. And if you were awake, or hell, even if Gareth were here, I wouldn’t be in this mess. Oh, god not that I’m blaming you.” Your hand finds his arm briefly before you jerk back as if stung, “Shit, sorry.”

“This is not how I pictured my life going, to be honest with you. I thought when I did get engaged, I’d at least have the luxury of knowing my fiancé, or y’know them being conscious at least.” You sigh and take another sip of shitty coffee, “Don’t get me wrong, I love my life— I’ve got a great job and apartment, I get to travel and write for a living. It’s definitely not a bad gig.”

“It’s just, I never met anyone I could truly be myself with, y’know? Laugh with, and I mean ugly laugh with a snort and witch cackle. D’ya ever believe in love at first sight? No, probably not, you’re too rock and roll for that. Or have you even seen someone, and you knew that if only that person really knew you, they would…”

Thinking back to your Corroded Coffin research and tabloid perusals, you sigh. “Of course, they would dump the perfect model that they were with and realize that you were the one they wanted to grow old with.” You shake your head, realizing how ridiculous you sound, talking to a man in a coma who probably can’t even hear you. Your voice falls to a hush, “You ever fall in love with someone you’ve never even talked to? Have you ever been so alone you spend the day confusing a man in a coma?”

“No? Me neither.”

There’s the sound of shuffling of feet echoing from the hallway, followed by a relived: “Oh, there he is.”

A voice startles you from the doorway, deep and masculine, albeit out of breath. A tall, broad man steps into the room quickly followed by a shorter woman and a lankier man. The first addresses you, “You must be the fiancée, I’m Jim Hopper.” He holds out his hand in greeting.

You shake his hand, palm engulfed in his larger one.

“This is my wife, Joyce, and that there is Eddie’s uncle Wayne.”

“He’s so pale,” She laments, crossing the room to his bedside. “Oh, my god.”

You nod to each of them, dropping your hand from Hopper’s. He studies you and you feel like squirming under his gaze, he’s still in uniform but sets his hat on a nearby chair. Great, just what you needed, a police chief to sniff you out.

Grabbing your things, you ready yourself to leave. “There’s been a misunderstanding. I should—”

“Nonsense,” Joyce says from opposite of you, she brushes a few strands of hair away from Eddie’s face. “The kids’ll be here soon and they’ll want to meet you.”

Wayne claps a hand to your shoulder, warmly giving it a squeeze.

“The doctor said you found him and gave him CPR until the paramedics arrived?”

“Oh, um, yeah.”

“They say the only reason he was breathing when they brought him in was because of you.” His voice is hoarse, he coughs into his fist and clears his throat. “Thank you, for that.”

“It’s what anyone would’ve done.”

He squeezes your shoulder once more, “Not necessarily,” and moves off to sit in one of the chairs.

“The doctor should be back soon,” You say, sitting beside Wayne. “He said the vital signs and brainwaves were looking good.”

Joyce nods and shoots you a smile, making idle chit-chat while the rest of you wait for the kids to arrive. There was some concern over Wayne and his heart condition, doesn’t take to shocking news too well, as you understand it. But who are these kids, Eddie’s kids? You didn’t recall coming across any mention of a previous wife or children in your research, but there are stranger things for rockstars to get up to than having a secret family you suppose.

It’s only when Wayne nudges you with his foot that you realize Joyce has been calling your name, “Where are you staying?”

“Oh, a hotel for the night.” You say softly, “I have to get back to New York soon.”

“Well, I won’t hear of it.” Joyce says looking to Hopper, “She’ll stay with us, won’t she Jim?”

He looks back at his wife and seeing her steely resolve, he knows better than to argue with her. “Sure, you’ll spend the holiday with us.”

Damn.

“Oh, we should see if we need to wait for Steve,” Joyce notes, just as a gaggle of people walk in. “Hi kids!” She stands quickly to greet them, their names coming too fast for you to keep up. A man and woman about your age bring up the rear, Joyce hugging them in turn.

Quietly, you step out to collect yourself. After taking a few breaths, you spot the medical assistant from earlier and flag him down for the emergency contact information. He scribbles a name and several phone numbers on a scrap of paper, “I would try this one first,” He points to the middle number, “It’s the work line, I think.”

“Great, thank you!”

Entering the room again, Wayne introduces you as Eddie’s fiancee and rescuer, to whoops and hollers. The younger woman lets out a wolf-whistle and drops you a wink, causing the heat to skitter underneath your skin. Making toward the phone, you dial the number and read the name on the paper.

Steve Harrington.

“Thank you for calling Family Video, this is Steve. How may I help you?”

The rich baritone of his voice, strong and deep, brings a quiver to your knees. Stumbling your way through an introduction, you make disastrous small-talk and wave Joyce over. She takes the phone with a smile, pushing you lightly toward the assembled group where the young woman, Robin, takes you under her wing.

“Fiancée, huh?” She asks with a quirked brow, to your noncommittal shrug. “Hmm.” Her eyes sweep toward Eddie, “I think you can do better,” She jokes with a wink.

Wayne drives you from the hospital to the house, graciously stopping by a grocery store along the way because you didn’t want to show up empty-handed. You make quick work of the deserted aisles, grabbing the necessary ingredients for pumpkin and pecan pie. He helps you to load the bags in the back of the truck and softly croons along to Woody Guthrie as he drives along the icy streets.

A comfortable silence sits between you. Wayne Munson is a man of few words, which is fine by you. The less opportunity for talking yourself into a hole, the better. He comes to a stop in front of a two-storey house festooned with Christmas lights. He carries your bags from the truck into the house, promising Joyce that he’ll be back tomorrow for Thanksgiving. Joyce rolls her eyes fondly and turns back toward the kitchen, leaving the pair of you in the entryway.

You rock back on your heels uncomfortably. Before you can make your escape, Wayne’s hand falls to your shoulder again kneading gently. You glance up to find his watery eyes and quiet smile; he pulls you in for a brief hug. “Thank you sweetheart,” He sighs, followed by a sniff, “I don’t know where he’d be without you, or where we’d be for that matter.” Giving you a final squeeze, he releases you and calls out a goodbye to Hopper and Joyce, shutting the front door behind him.

“Hey kid,” Hopper says, leaning against the bannister. “Join me outside for a minute?” He shrugs into his coat and nods toward the front porch. “Lemme grab my smokes, I’ll meet you out there.”

Well, shit.

It takes everything in you to not give in and pace along the icy boards of the porch as you wait. He’s figured you out, you know he has, and now he’s going to kick you out and you’ll have to call a cab and get back to the hotel before booking it to the airport first thing tomorrow.

“I know you and Munson aren’t involved, kid.” Hopper shuts the front door with a soft click, “Heard you back at the hospital talking to him.”

Your blood goes cold and you know there’s no way you can spin yourself out of this one. “I know, I know and I’m so sorry. It just all happened so fast and Wayne has that heart thing—” Your voice is choked and tight as you try to explain.

“Hey, slow down, take a breath. This isn’t the end of the world.”

“I’ll tell them, I just—”

He shakes his head and lets out a sigh, “Let me level with you,” He brushes off the snow and ice from the top step and invites you to sit down beside him. “God knows what that boy did to earn your attention, cause I certainly can’t make heads or tails of it.” He lights up a cigarette and offers one to you, “No? Can’t say I blame you, it’s a bad habit.” He takes a long drag in thought, leaving you to stew in your guilt. “What I’m trying to say is this: whatever you did, it brought him back. Eddie’s here and breathing because of you, so, in a way, we have him back because of you.”

You stay silent, knowing that whatever Hopper just shared with you is important. The guilt doesn’t leave you, not entirely, but this gruff lawman confiding in you does lodge something loose from the knot in your chest. And when he throws his arm over your shoulders to draw you to his side, you can’t help the watery smile that makes its way across your face.

He smells like your dad, the same blend of tobacco, leather, and spice. It’s been far too long since you’ve indulged in the memory of him, so you allow yourself the weakness, just this once.

And you let Hopper lead you back inside his loud and warmly lit home where Joyce greets you with a plate for dinner and promises to help you bake the pies for tomorrow.

Steve is dead on his feet when he arrives at Hop and Joyce’s house. He’d swung by the hospital to check on Eddie and talked with the doctor and nurses. It was all pretty standard— let him dry out and then assess for further damage. His vitals were good and there didn’t appear to be a need for concern at this point. The doctor, of course, recommended a stay in rehab after being discharged from the hospital, which was already suggested by Corroded’s management team.

“You fucking idiot.”

That’s the first thing Steve says to Eddie, quickly followed by:

“When you wake up, I’m gonna kill you myself.”

He doesn’t linger, knowing he’ll be back tomorrow, and the next day until Eddie wakes up. But it’s gone midnight by the time he turns the key at Hop’s place, kicking his boots at the door to rid them of the snow and ice, before toeing them off at the door. They thunk across the hardwood as he carelessly kicks them off, shrugging out of his coat and hanging it on the hooks by the door.

“Sshh, dingus, you’re gonna wake her up!” Robin hisses as her socked feet light down the stairs.

Steve smiles, relieved to see her, before asking, “Wake up who?”

Robin rolls her eyes and gestures to your sleeping form on the sofa. Steve studies you from a few steps up, one hand resting on the wooden bannister while the other pauses mid-air as he unravels his scarf. “Eddie’s fiancée, of course.”

“So, that’s her?”

You’ve turned your back to them, and you’ve curled in ever so slightly on the sofa. One of Joyce’s many blankets covers you, but your socked feet stick out from underneath one corner— dancing penguins.

At least, that’s what Steve thinks are on your socks. But, he may need to get his eyes checked again.

“What, you haven’t met her?” Robin takes in Steve’s shocked expression, before it softens into something akin to how he goes all moon-eyed at the babes who frequented Scoops Ahoy or Family Video when they were teens as his eyes fall to you once more. “She’s great, you’ll love her. Now c’mon, let’s get you some food.”

“Cereal?”

She snorts at that, “Not my cereal. You took the toy surprise last time!”

Safely ensconced in the kitchen, Robin and Steve catch up in between bites of sugary cereal. She regales him with how valiantly Jonathan tried to get you to take his room upstairs for your stay and how stubbornly you’d refused, insisting you’d be fine on the couch.

“I was right,” Robin says, some milk dribbling from her mouth as she chews. “Total knock-out and smart. Dunno how Munson managed it.”

“Oh y’know, the Munson charm probably.”

She hums in thought, setting her empty bowl in the sink. “Why d’you think he didn’t tell us?”

“Maybe he wanted it to be a surprise?”

“Fuck, what if he knocked her up?!”

Steve’s eyes blow wide at that thought. “Uh,” He says, astutely, “I don’t think that’s the case.”

“Yeah,” Robin hops down from her perch on the counter. “But how do we know?”

“You could ask her.”

She punches him in the arm, “You don’t just ask women if they’re pregnant Steve, geeze.”

He shrugs and slurps the sugary milk from the bowl before setting it alongside Robin’s. He licks his lips and crosses his arms in thought. Steve hadn’t considered the rather obvious conclusion that his rockstar best friend had inadvertently knocked someone up. Considering the groupies and types that flocked to Eddie, it was a long time coming.

If that’s what the case may be.

As it stands, it’s nearly two in the morning and Steve is exhausted. Thankfully, Family Video is closed for the holiday tomorrow, but he knows that in a few hours everyone is going to tramping around the house and generally being a nuisance. And he really doesn’t wanna drive clear across town to his place.

Steve pauses on the stairs, watching the steady rise and fall of your chest. Robin clears the landing and calls to him from the guest room, “C’mon dingus, I haven’t got all night.”

With a shake of his head, he climbs the stairs mindful not to linger too long on the creaky boards. He settles in sharing a bed with Robin, her icicle feet darting under his calves as he fusses with the blankets. His head hits the pillow, and he’s out like a light.

All you can think as you blearily blink yourself awake, is how everything is so loud. Even when they try to be quiet, scampering across the hall past the living room where you clung to the last vestiges of sleep - it was loud. Strained whispers about breakfast and hospital visits, the opening and closing of doors, Hopper hissing at the kids to “Keep your mouths shut,” and to “Stop chasing each other across the house!”

A man, whom you can only assume is Steve, stumbles down the stairs, sweats swung low on his hips sporting a threadbare t-shirt and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. You’ve never seen a human being with bedhead like that - strands sticking up every which way and the sheer volume it had, my god. Hand falling from his eye, his glasses slot back into place, a pair of simple round frames decked in silver. He stops short at the landing, one hand grasping the wood of the bannister, watching as you set the phone back in its cradle.

“Leaving so soon?”

And that voice - all husky and low from sleep, with a slight rasp to it. It’s amazing you’re not reduced to a puddle on the floor at this point. He stretches slowly, like an animal would, a hushed groan falling from his lips. You swallow the lump in your throat and drag your eyes from the sliver of skin exposed at his hip.

“No, just talking to Wayne.” You offer meekly, voice rusty from disuse, “He’s on his way over for an early morning hospital run.”

“Mmm,” Steve nods, “That’s not a bad idea.” He turns the corner from the stairs and stands beside you in the entryway. “I don’t think we’ve officially met,” He says, offering his hand to shake. “I’m Steve.”

“Nice to meet you.” You shake hands and introduce yourself. His hand is large and warm, the contact of your skin against his sending a shiver down your spine.

“That’s a pretty name,” He smiles at you, beginning to wake up a bit more. “So, you’re the fiancée.”

“Yup.”

“Huh.” He looks you up and down, clucks his tongue and departs, making his way toward the kitchen.

Once there, all hell breaks loose. Joyce and Hop are manning the stove and counter, flipping pancakes and shovelling eggs onto plates and all but throwing them at the kids. Wedged into the breakfast nook are Dustin, Lucas, and Mike while El, Max, Robin, and Jonathan commandeer the table in the kitchen.

“Mornin’ family.” Steve greets, bee-lining for the coffeemaker. Blessedly, there’s a fresh pot brewing in the percolator while he scavenges for a mug.

Mumbled versions of “Morning Steve,” sound out from the peanut gallery between bites of food and sips of coffee or orange juice. Joyce sets a plate in front of him on the counter and ruffles his hair, “Morning kiddo.”

Hop sighs from the stove, turning the dial of the burner to ‘Off’ before intoning, “The kitchen is officially closed, you gremlins.”

Steve chuckles as he removes the coffeepot and gives a generous pour into the ‘World’s Best Dad’ mug El made many moons ago. He’s not sure of your preferred cream-to-sugar ratio, so he decides to go without and trots out of the kitchen.

He sees the front door close at the end of the hall and quickens his step not wanting to miss you. Spying a pair of slides from god knows who, he slips them on and pulls the door open. Wayne’s old pickup is idling in the driveway as you step into the cab, feet unsteady and the newly formed ice of the drive. Wayne nods to Steve in greeting as he walks toward the house, while Steve waves in return.

“Careful,” He says as a hand comes to rest at your back.

Tossing a ‘thanks’ over your shoulder, you settle into the seat with a click of the seatbelt. “Did you need something?” You ask, breath forming puffs of vapor in the morning light.

“Well, uh,” Steve begins, ducking his head and gesturing to the mug in his hand. “The coffee’s not too great over there at the hospital.” He hands you the mug through the open door.

“Oh, thank you.”

He leans against the car, face level with yours. One fist at the roof of the cab while his opposite arm braces against the open door. A lock of hair falls into his face, and he’s so attractive that it’s stupid. “So, uh, y-you’re comin’ back, right? You’ll come back?”

You glance to him, unsure of why he’s so concerned with your whereabouts. “Yeah, we’re just checking in. We’ll be back soon.”

Steve nods at your confirmation, pushing off of the truck to stand at his full height. His hands slide to his hips, fingers just beneath the band of the sweatpants as he slowly arches his back, hips bobbing toward you. And you don’t know whether to maintain eye contact with him or focus on the looming proximity of his crotch.

“Oh boy,” He exhales, looking off into the distance. “What a day.”

Your eyes dart away when he looks to you once more, uncomfortable under his scrutiny. “Well, thank you.” You hold the mug up and take a tentative sip, “Good goddamn,” You whisper in disbelief.

“It’s good, right?” You nod and take another sip as he smiles, “I had a dream about you last night.” He tugs at the band of his sweats while your eyes cut to his.

“What?”

“Yeah,” He leans against the truck again, face closer to yours and arms resting against the roof of the cab. “I ended up havin’ a dream about you.”

“W-what was I doing?” You stammer out, as the sound of crushed snow and ice underfoot signals Wayne’s return.

“Well–” Steve starts to say before he’s cut off by Wayne’s, “Y’ready, sweetheart?”

You nod and clear your throat uncomfortably.

“You comin’?” Wayne asks Steve before he closes the passenger door.

“Later.” He turns to leave as Wayne settles into the driver’s seat but before you can pull out of the driveway, “Oh, y’know, you gotta make sure to bring back the mug because it’s Hop’s favorite.”

You stare back at him blankly.

“Or he’ll kill ya.”

“Okay,” You breathe watching as he makes his way back to the house, Adidas slides flopping through the snow.

Returning from the hospital an hour or so later, with plans to bring a few plates over for Eddie’s attending doctor and nurses, you nearly breeze past Steve sitting on the staircase with a mug of coffee and paper in hand.

“Hey,” You greet, toeing off your boots and shrugging out of your coat. “Wayne’s coming back for later, just had to grab some things from his place.”

He’s changed out of his sweats and done something to tame his hair. You can hear Joyce frantically corralling the kids in the kitchen, something about Mass and how she refuses to be late again. Steve shakes his head and drinks his coffee, ready and waiting to cart Robin, Dustin, and Max over to Our Lady of Perpetual Mercy for the Thanksgiving Mass.

But it would seem that no one warned you about Mass last night, which would explain the deer in headlights look you’re sporting now. Steve stands from his perch on the stairs, turning to yell at Robin, “Our Lady may have perpetual mercy, but I don’t and you’re really pushing it today Rob!”

When he turns back, you’re no longer in the entryway. The kitchen door swings as if someone just passed through, and he can hear your voice over the chatter from the kids. Joyce is rattling off instructions and times for food to be cooked and you’re diligently taking notes on the whiteboard attached to the fridge. Your handwriting is neat, and a bit slanted, giving it an effortless look. Capping the marker, you let it swing from the string on the fridge.

“Think that about does it,” You assure Joyce, gesturing to the lone velcro roller in her hair. “I’ll have everything ready by the time you get back.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with?” She asks, unraveling the roller and setting it on the windowsill above the sink. “I’m sure Robin has something you could borrow.”

Steve catches your eye roll and snorts into his mug. Your eyes cut to him, silently admonishing his outburst. He shakes his head and sets the mug on the counter, seeing Hop’s mug he loaned you earlier already on the drying rack.

“I don’t want to be a bother,” You kindly brush her off, “Besides, you’ll want to get going soon and I would just hold you up.”

“And the hotel is dropping off your luggage later?”

You nod, tying on an apron and moving to wash your hands. “Yeah, I spoke with the concierge this morning.”

“I wish you’d just sleep in Jonathan’s old room,” Joyce tuts, “He can go on the couch, he’s used to it.”

“Mom, I already offered—”

You laugh and raise your hand, “It’s fine Joyce, I’m already an imposition as it is. The last thing I’d want to do is put him out.”

Steve watches as you blend in with the family, how easily you soothe Joyce and her worries, banter with the kids, and crack jokes with Hop. It’s easy to see why Eddie could fall for someone like you. He just wishes he could find someone like that— easy going and kind, someone who fits in like a missing puzzle piece.

But maybe it’s too perfect.

Now there’s some food for thought.

A loud honk from Hop’s Bronco jars him from his musings. Steve claps his hands together, rallying the troops, “Okay, who’s with me?” Dustin, Lucas, and Max jump up from the table and gather their coats, scurrying out to the beemer. Robin takes the stairs two at a time, struggling to shrug into her coat. “Look alive, sunshine!”

Goodbyes ring out as you follow them to the porch, watching as they clamber into their cars. You wave as they pull out of the drive, Joyce rolling down the window for a final reminder about the dinner rolls. With good humor, you nod and give her a thumbs up as the Bronco drives onto the street.

The church parking lot is packed by the time they arrive. Steve drops off Robin and the kids before peeling out to find a parking spot, while Hop leaves the Bronco in the drop-off lane in front. Mass has already begun when Steve enters the chapel, quickly he slips in alongside Hop and Joyce at the family pew.

“We pray that the Lord’s healing presence will be felt by those who are sick and by their families. Especially Robert Newby, Barbara Holland, and Edward Munson. We pray to the Lord,” The priest intones from the lectern.

“Lord hear our prayer.”

Steve stands in between Hopper and Robin, waiting for the priest to move it along.

“O, God, you call us to live as one family. Save us from…”

Finally, they sit. Half-paying attention to the priest, Steve turns to Hop and asks, “So, who’s this fiancée?”

“She’s Eddie’s girl, she’s family now.”

“You’d think if Eddie were getting married, he would have announced it in the Times.”

Hop turns to him, “We read the Indianapolis Star.”

And the congregants say, “Amen.”

“If she’s family, why isn’t she at Mass with us?”

Hop snorts, “That’s rich, comin’ from you, kid.”

“I like Mass better in Latin,” Wayne pipes up from his seat next to Joyce, “It’s nicer when you don’t know what they’re sayin’.”

“D’ya think about what I said the other night?”

“Nope.”

“Steve, come on.” Hop stands with the rest of the congregation, “You’ve got the instinct for it, and gettin’ through the Academy is a breeze.”

“I told you,” Steve says following suit, “I don’t wanna be a cop for chrissakes.”

“Stop swearing,” Joyce hisses, “We’re in Mass.”

“But there is something I’d like to talk to you about.”

“Well, you can talk about it later,” Joyce reminds them.

“Talk about it now,” Robin says leaning toward Steve conspiratorially, “He can’t kill you in church.”

“Will you please pipe down?” An exasperated parishioner asks from the pew behind them.

Hop scoffs and slowly turns around, “Hey, be nice, pal. We’re in church.”

“You’re disrupting the Mass!” He hisses back.

“Yeah? And who made you the Pope?”

“Jim!” Joyce hisses, nudging with an elbow.

“Now how did Argyle get to be a lector?” Wayne asks, “He took over Ed’s gig with Reefer Rick after he moved to LA with the band.”

Steve and Hopper snort, Robin tries and fails to repress her laughter. Down past Wayne, Dustin and Mike are a few seconds from a slap fight while Max and El whisper in between fits of giggles. Joyce sighs deeply.

And the congregation says, “Amen.”

Cooking Thanksgiving lunch goes off without a hitch. Everything was ready, as you promised, by the time they’d returned from Mass and you’d caught the tail end of Joyce’s scolding: “We will try to behave as a civilized family might—”

The kitchen door swung open to reveal Hopper and Joyce both stopping short at the sight of you washing dishes.

“H-how did you—” Joyce’s mouth opens and closes, struck dumb at the sight of gleaming dishes in the drying rack and the dishwasher already running.

“Oh, hi,” You toss over your shoulder, “The dining room table is set, I was just cleaning up in here.”

Steve and Robin file in soon after, bickering about something or other. They’re talking fast and cutting each other off, but it doesn’t deter their conversation.

“Why do you keep singling me out?” Steve balks, throwing his coat on the back of a nearby chair.

“Well, if you hadn’t been pestering Hop throughout Mass we might’ve—”

“And I can’t even defend myself?”

“Forget it,” Hop cuts in with a warning tone, “And I know you gave her my mug, Harrington.”

“Oh, did you need it?” Your hand flies to the cabinet above the coffeemaker, a fresh pot already brewed. “It’s all washed and ready to go.”

Dustin enters shortly after, “Let’s just vote Steve off the island,” and thumps him on the chest in passing.

“Yeah,” Hop agrees.

Steve sighs and runs a hand through his hair, “Well, I’m ashamed of all of you.”

“Oh, there’s some news,” Max mutters sarcastically, leaning against the fridge.

Steve’s eyes fall to Lucas, “Even you Sinclair.”

Lucas throws up his hands in exasperation, “I didn’t even do anything!”

“Okay, enough.” Joyce says cutting through the nonsense. “It’s Thanksgiving, we’re going to eat lunch without any of this bickering. And then, with any luck, you lot will pass out watching the game and I can finally get some goddamn peace.”

Everyone has the decency to look mildly embarrassed, that is until:

“No swearing.”

Steve punches Robin in the arm, “Can it.”

The room descends into guffaws and fits of laughter shortly thereafter. Joyce eventually herds everyone into the dining room, Robin pours the drinks while Hop carves the turkey. Everyone helps themselves to the various sides— dinner rolls, green bean casserole, mashed potatoes, gravy, cranberry sauce, stuffing, and roasted veggies. Wayne arrives with cornbread fresh from the oven and some vanilla ice cream to go with the pies for dessert.

The candles are lit casting a warm glow around the room, illuminating smiling faces. And it’s nice. Nice to belong, if only temporarily, to a big family that loves hard. Growing up, it had been only you and your dad. And after his death, that left only you. You had missed it, all of it— the inside jokes, sibling taunts, half-assed scolding followed by a cheeky wink, and that effortless touch.

It was second nature, how freely they expressed their affection for one another. Steve roping Dustin into a half-nelson for a noogie, Jonathan and Will kicking eachother under the table, El and Max communicating in half-formed sentences and wild gesticulations, Joyce, Hop, and Wayne sharing long-suffering sighs.

“Hey,” Robin says, nudging you with her elbow after refilling your wine glass. “I’m thankful for you.” Her voice is soft, like she’s sharing a secret. Cheeks tinged with a flush from the wine, she smiles at you and raises her glass. “I’d like to propose a toast,” She announced to the group, “To our newest addition and guardian angel, cheers!”

The sentiment is echoed across the table, calls of your name and ‘here, here.’ And it’s so kind that your heart could burst. You sip your wine and swallow around the lump in your throat. Going back to your meal, you can’t help but feel like you’re being watched, observed. Glancing up, you catch Steve looking at you from across the table.

The flicker of golden light against his face does little to ease the knot in your chest. His hair is slightly disheveled, a lock falling across his face wrought loose from his fingers combing through it. His eyes appear more green than hazel in the light, studying you from behind wire frames. Your pulse kicks up under his scrutiny, and he looks at you as if you’ll unravel right then and there.

Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe it was the years of tropical vacations instead of celebrating holidays with friends and family that made you forget that, actually, families are complicated and any recollection of pleasant holiday celebrations spent with your dad were a figment of your own nostalgia-tinted imagination and the promise of skiing the next day.

For a moment, shame creeps upon you like a thief in the night. You tear yourself from Steve's gaze, not noticing the concerned furrow of his brows as you hastily stand and offer to clear some plates from the table. Sweeping out of the room and nudging the kitchen door open with your hip. He absentmindedly swirls the remaining wine in his glass and blows out a puff of air.

Ever the detective, it takes Hopper all of two seconds to ascertain that Steve did something to hasten your departure from the table. Seeing as the punk is pointedly not looking his way, Hopper lobs a dinner role at Steve, grazing his cheek only to land on his plate sending the cutlery clattering. He jerks upright, setting the glass on the table, “What the–”

“That’s enough,” Hop warns with cool detachment and a knowing look in his eye. He nods toward the kitchen, “Now, go make nice.”

Everything is still mostly out of your control in the kitchen, precisely because you don’t know where anything should go and having a knot in your chest as hard as a rock does little to help matters. But Steve silently rescues you by beginning to unload the dishwasher and Robin starts a thirty minute tale of increasing ridiculousness and by the time the attention turns back to you, you are slightly less hysteric and better able to answer El’s kind questions.

You swallow a twist of guilt and a bigger twist of gratitude. You feel some anxiety brimming in your stomach and nod, giving El a strained smile.

Something knocks against your shoulder. The warm scent of cedar and musk invading your senses— Steve.

“Your shoulders are up near your ears,” he observes.

You sigh at that, trying to roll out the tension, but not quite managing to. Par for the course, with your indeterminate stay in Hawkins looming in the air and stretching far across the foreseeable future.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington angst #fic: tbsg #Spotify

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dearweirdme · 5 months

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https://www.tumblr.com/dearweirdme/735142401936670720/i-know-they-have-already-mentioned-this-on-the

First of all, I'm sure most of these insecure taekook anons are actually insecure jokers playing passive aggressive in the ask box to try and convince themselves of their ship by convincing us.

However, on the chance there's some who are genuinely doubting, JM mentions those moments as though they're out of the ordinary and as though JK shows up randomly and unexpectedly. Hardly a glowing advertisement for a romantic relationship, is it? 🙄

Like, I pop in on my friends, not my boyfriend and I almost always have a line on him, where he is and what he's up to and vice versa. That's without even trying because that's just something that comes naturally in a romantic relationship.

And I'm pretty sure that the only time hotel details were leaked, it was JK and Tae sharing a room. (Now that's not proof of anything because sharing a hotel room can be platonic and two other members shared as well but it shows that there's always more going on than what we're led to believe via official content)

Not to sound patronising, but some of these things you have to have experienced a serious LTR to understand. Like, fr, sometimes I'm wishing my dude would dip out to see a friend for a few hours so I can watch my shows, eat some chips and get crumbs on the bed in peace.

Or I'm figuring out what room to convert into my own bedroom because I'm wide awake staring at the ceiling while he's snoring down my ear. I'd kick his ass out right then if I didn't like him so much

Whoever you are or whoever you're with, the honeymoon phase where you gotta be on each other ass 24/7 doesn't last. The infatuation part of love might be cute and all but eventually, you realise that you both need your own time, your own space and your own friends otherwise, y'all start resenting each other quick.

So stop being bitter and think to yourselves if you gotta boyfriend, does he have to randomly turn up at your hotel room to your surprise or is he already there?

And if his ass does pop up outta nowhere, is it really going to be that unexpected to have your boyfriend in your hotel room that you feel the need to mention it elsewhere?

Hi anon!

Jepjep!

#straws

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angelicimagines · 3 years

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(Any Mod) Ultimate Mathematician Reader who teases their partner Byakuya, Miu, and Kazuichi about being better at math, and it being true until money/mechanical specs are in the equation?

Hello there, Anon. Thanks for the request! As someone who is kinda good at math, I can confidently say that fuck economic and mechanical terms, they mess everything up. Anyways, onto the request. –Mod Shuichi

Byakuya Togami, Miu Iruma, Kazuichi Souda with an Ultimate Mathematician!S/O who's the best until money/mechanics are introduced.

Byakuya Togami 💴

💴 He didn't like that you were always bragging about your talent, it was annoying (he was just salty). 💴 Yeah you're the Ultimate Mathematician, but he handles finances for a living basically so he can be just as good as you thank you very much. 💴 He ended up being right, kind of not really, but he still got a kick out of it. 💴 He asked you for help with splitting and handling some money that was supposed to be invested, of course he hid his intentions under the guise that it was a test to see if you could prove yourself working with numbers in a different context than you're used to. 💴 You failed this "test", which shocked him a lot, but also intrigued him. And you know he wouldn't pass up the opportunity to get back at you after all those times you teased him. 💴 "My my S/O, where's all of your bragging now, dear? Did someone forget their ultimate because of simple economic terminology? How pathetic of the Ultimate Mathematician." 💴 You tried forming a rebuttal, but all the words died on your tongue when he leaned in closer to your face with the smuggest grin you'd ever seen. 💴 "Trying to save your dignity, darling? How about a proposal, for every equation you solve correctly, I'll give you a kiss. If you fail...I guess you'll have to wait and see what happens." 💴 Your competitive side was icking to prove him wrong but your more logical side said to chicken out. You didn't chicken out and ended up backing away from the challenge in frustration after multiple failed attempts. 💴 Mans was having a field day with this. He finally had some sort of bragging rights over you and you bet he'll use it to shut down any of your future braggings. 💴 If you ask him nicely, he might help you understand the economic terminology and all that jazz, but he won't let you live it down. 💴 "The Ultimate Mathematician, asking Byakuya Togami for help, how desperate can you be, dear?" 💴 He's smiling teasingly at you the whole time he said that sentence. Don't mind him though he actually cares and will teach you. 💴 He is not heartless though, he won't tease you in public, let you keep some of your dignity at least. He will send you a small smile when you brag, as a reminder. 💴 All jokes aside, he does believe you deserve your ultimate. You figured out the hardest equation after all, the equation to his heart <3

Miu Iruma💡

💡 Gets weirdly defensive about her math skills for some reason. Probably thinks that you're questioning her genius brain and abilities. 💡 How dare you doubt the gorgeous girl genius, even if you're her smoking hot S/O, she just can't let it slide. 💡 So that is how you found yourself in Miu's lab, supposedly helping with her out with one of her more demanding inventions. 💡 She was defensive when asking you (because the gorgeous girl genius doesn't need to rely on outside help), but still got your help anyway. 💡 Why did you say yes, you're gonna blow your cover. And that you did. 💡 She laughed at you at first "Of course a virgin like you wouldn't know how to handle such complicated problems. Don't worry babe, it's nothing my genus brain can't handle!" 💡 After that confidence boost, she got to work on her invention as you just stood there to the side, sulking. 💡 Luckily, in her ever present greatness, she will gladly teach you the basics…if you beg hard enough. 💡 Or simply turn the tables on her, she'll teach you either way. 💡 Her lessons are…something. They can go from professional to "Hey S/O! Wanna test out my new invention? It can count replicate your wet dreams with whatever virgin you want!" 💡 You surprisingly learned some of the basics, go you. Don't let this go to your head though, Miu will always remind you that you had to get her help. 💡 She's a hypocrite though. Oh she can make fun of you all she wants but if someone else tries they're gonna get an earful. 💡 She'll request your help more often now that you know how to at least navigate the landscape. 💡 Don't be surprised if y'all make something blow up, she tends to get distracted and you don't know how to work things so complicated. 💡 Her invention is ruined and her lab is probably on fire, but hey, it's an excuse to cuddle in your bed <3

Kazuichi Souda🔧

🔧 Gets very annoyed when you tease him, please let him have this it's the only thing that makes him special (in his mind cuz you think he's very special even without his talent). 🔧 Is always subconsciously wanting to one up you even though you're the ultimate mathematician. Let him prove that he's good enough for you dammit. 🔧 Oh wait that gave him an idea, math competition, but in his element! 🔧 After hours and hours of work he won? Hold up, record scratch, go back, what happened? 🔧 He looked between your embarrassed face and the set of problems multiple times before it finally clicked. 🔧 His laughter was a build up laugh, starting off as simple giggles before cackling like a maniac. You were contemplating smacking the laughter outta him. 🔧 When he calmed down, he jokingly patted your back and comforted you (read: teased you). 🔧 "It's fine sugar cube, mechanics are really complicated. Lucky for you, you have me, the Ultimate Mechanic, to teach you! Oh wait that gives me an idea!" 🔧 Being the lovesick boy he is, he made you a compromise. He would teach you everything there is to know about mechanical mathematics in return for 3 consecutive days of affection and lovey dovey shit. 🔧 Listen, being a mechanic is hard and he misses your cuddles when he's working so this is payback. 🔧 If someone asks how exactly the cuddle arrangement happened, he'd cover for you and say it was something like a game of rock paper scissors or some other simple thing like that. 🔧 After the suspicion is diverted he giggles a bit and snuggles closer to you. 🔧 Ends up asking you on these little "challenges" more often because it means more time together and he can get bragging rights. 🔧 Y'all somehow made a rocket engine but are to scared to try it. And what good is a rocket engine without an actual rocket? 🔧 He loves your confusion when it comes to mechanical mathematics, this way he can help you and share his passion with you at the same time <3

#mod shuichi #danganronpa 1 x reader #thh x reader #trigger happy havoc x reader #byakuya togami #byakuya togami x reader #byakuya x reader #miu iruma #ndrv3 x reader #killing harmony #danganronpa v3 x reader #miu iruma x reader #miu x reader

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silverisbestboy · 4 years

Text

Sonic Boom x Reader

Requested by @blackace1993: Conversation was accidentally deleted but from what I remeber of it, they wanted hc for the Sonic Boom characters who has a partner who frequently gets into trouble and/or captured by Eggman. They didn't specify which character they wanted so I just did all of them minus Tails. Hope you enjoy!

Sonic:

There's no denying it

Sonic was smitten

The moment you set foot on the island Sonic was taken aback by you

To him, you were drop dead gorgeous with a great personality so I guess you could say it was love at first sight for him

This boy is a fool for you

It's actually quite funny watching him zip across the island at the slightest remark that you need something

"Man, you what? I'm feeling kind of hungry"

"Say no more!" He'll say as he zooms away and reappears seconds later with a chili dog in hand

"Uhhhh"

But, unfortunately for you, being in any sort of relationship with Sonic is not wothout complication

Eggman sees you as a new oppurtunity to best Sonic and ends up taking you hostage on a regular basis

The first time it happens, Sonic all but destroys Eggman's fortress looking for you

But after it continuously happening, it starts getting kinda old

"Greeting Sonic! I see you've come to rescue your little girlfriend"

"Yeah, yeah. Can we just we just get to the part where I clobber you?"

It gets to the point where Sonic starts teaching you how to defend yourself so you can hold your own against Eggman

Not that he doesn't mind rescuing, it's just he can't always be there to protect

With the amount of times they've had to save you, the team are already very familiar with you and consider you apart of their friend group

But as you get better is self-defence, Sonic officially announces you as part of the team and you start joining them on missions

While Sonic does tend to stick to your side more than his other teammates during battle, he's glad to have you fighting alongside them

After all, he's happy to spend as much time with you as possible, even if that means having to bash Eggman's robots to do so

Knuckles:

You're not a bad person

So what if you have anger issues

So what if you get into fights from time to time

So what if you've been in trouble with the cops before

Doesn't mean you're a bad person, it just means you've.... got some issues

One day you're not in the best mood and have already had a pretty shitty day, and you're just a ticking time bomb waiting to explode

So it's no wonder that when a big guy bumps into you and causes you to drop the tray of food you're holding, you go off on him

Unfortunately for you, this guy is huge, a tall red echidna with bulking arms that looks like he could punch you into next week

But you're not one to back down from a fight, you've beaten up guys twice your size before and you're not afraid to do it again

"Woah, hey, sorry about that, didn't see you there."

What, is he dense?! Who does this guy think he is barrelling into anyone he pleases just because he's big? You bet he was just gonna walk off without even helping you. Well, you'd show him!

Without warning, you lunged at the echidna with the intent of knocking him over the same way he almost did to you

But you underestimated his initial strength and reflexes and he caught you midair with your legs kicking and your hands clawing for his face

"Woah, dude chill! I said I was sorry!"

He just kinda holds you up in air at arms length with you kicking and screaming until you eventually tire yourself out

The echidna stares at you cautiously

"Are you good now?"

After a moment, you reluctantly nod, and he gently sets you back on your feet

He then carefully leans down without takong his eyes off you and grabs your burger which is still wrapped in foil and reaches it out to you

"How about we start over? I'm Knuckles."

You thought after that encounter, that was the last you'd see of him

But one day, you've gotten yourself into another fight, and to say you're losing would be an understatement

It's once again, a guy twice your size and he's absolutely beating the crap out of you

But by some miracle, Knuckles happens to be walking by and immediately notices you

He steps in to save you, and the guy you're fighting knows about Knuckles being part of Sonic's team and doesn't even bother attempting to fight him

Knuckles takes your half conscious body to Tails's work shop where they fix you up

After that, Knuckles refuses to leave you alone

Even if you try to leave, he always ends finding you to make sure you don't get into more trouble

He helps you find outlets for your anger by sparring and working out with him

You grow a soft spot for Knuckles that you'd never thought you'd have for anyone

He's your big goofball that somehow always manages to calm you down and get you out of whatever trouble your in

Though it's beyond you why anyone would want to put up with you, eespecially a lovable ray of sunshine like Knuckles, you're so grateful that you have someone like himin your life to keep you in check

A/N: Might make more hcs for that because I absolutely love the idea of big, strong goofball Knuckles having a little ball of pure rage as a partner.

Amy Rose:

Some would say you're a pacifist

Some would say you care too much

Some would say you're too nice

But you like to think that you're just trying to do good in the world

You're definitely the type of person that hates conflict and wants everyone to get along, and you're more often than not a bit of a pushover

You like to give people benefit of the doubt and prefer to see the good in people, although sometimes, this affects you negatively

A kindly looking (or at least in your opinion) wolf with a showman's top hat and a certain glint his eyes one day stops you in your tracks and asks you ever so politely if you would kindly lend him some money to help feed his family

Of course, you're quick to help, but little do you know that this is none other than T.W. Barker himself, and he's been watching you carefully for some time

He notices the way you jump at the oppurtunity to help someone in need, and he being a con man at heart, decides to take advantage of that

But before you can lend the man all the money you have in your pocket, a certain pink hedgehog decides to interfere

"Hey, you leave her alone Barker! Go find your own ATM machine!"

Amy Rose herself stands not far behind you, hammer in hand and ready for trouble

"N-now, now, let's not be too hasty. I was simply accepting a generous donation from this unsuspecting-- I mean self-less young lady."

"Yeah right. Beat it before I hammer you into next Tuesday, punk!"

You're in utter shock as the seeming wolf in sheep's clothing (pun intended) makes his escape

"Gotta look out for scumbags. Seems this village is getting more and more of them everyday. Anyways, I'm Amy, what's your name?"

Since then, Amy keeps a close eye on you to make sure you don't become prey to anymore scam artists

Now Amy will never admit she has anger issues, but she does get... irritated from time to time

On more than one occasion, you're there to help her calm down and have a sleepover planned or a spa day for when things get particularly rough for her

Whenever she needs help choosing which paint to redo her wall with, or which dress she should wear to a party, she calls you up, because no matter what you're interests are or how inconvenient the timing might seem, you're ready to help a friend, even with mundane things

Amy has you become a part of the Sonic family, and while you never do join them in battles, you help keep the peace between the team whenever there's an argument

And Amy always makes sure your overly caring attitude isn't being taken advantage of

No matter the time or the place, Amy knows she can always count on you, and you know she's always got your back

Sticks:

Well this is quite the predicament you've gotten yourself into

A lot of people would descibe you as clumsy, but you knew you just bad luck

And to prove just that, here you were dangling upside from a rope trap after deciding to take a liesure stroll through the forest

What are we, nomads? Who sets out traps in the middle of the woods anymore?!

After about 20 minutes, the blood is rushing to your head and you're starting to feel faint

But just as you think that your bad luck will finally be the end of you, figure bursts from the bushes with a fierce battle cry

It's a badger girl with a boomerang clutched in her paw, ready for a fight

But after a moment she realizes just who's gotten caught up in her trap

"Hey, what's the big idea?! Why're you in my snare?"

"Why am I in your snare? Why did you put out a snare you loon?!"

After about 5 minutes of arguing, Sticks reluctantly cuts you down, begrudgingly explaining that she set out a trap for any woodland monsters

You run into her again on another walk, crossing a small stream before tripping on one of the stepping stones and almost falling in before a furry arm wraps around your waist

"You outta be more careful out here. The wilderness is no place to be a klutz."

"Hey, I'm not a klutz. I just have bad luck is all."

And what more to gain the attention of a superstitious badger than the possibility of supernatural forces at play

"You could've been hexed by a witch. Or worse, there could be a vengeful spirit after you! We gotta get you an exorcist!"

"I'm fine, I'm just unlucky. Always have been always will be."

"We should still burn some sage in your home just to be sure."

You let Sticks do what she wants with you, after all, her superstitious perspective is a nice change from everyone just thinking your clumsy

You think her attempts to "cleanse" you are endearing, she tries something new everyday, and you end up learning a thing or two about survival and the corruptedness of politics from her

Weeks later, her attempts slowly dwindle down, and she just comes to accept she's just gonna have to keep an extra close eye on you, especially when she sets out booby traps

The time y'all have spent together, although it was somewhat motivated by Sticks not wanting to get whatever curse you exposed her to, lead to y'all having a close bond

Everyone has their quirks, she's paranoid and you're clumsy, but you two always manage to work things out

And that's the beauty of a relationship

A/N: Sorry I haven't been that active lately, so take this as an apology. Four hcs for the price of one!

#sonic headcanons #sonic the hedgehog x reader #sonic x reader #sonic boom #amy rose x reader #sticks the badger x reader #knuckles the echidna x reader

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miraculousandbts · 3 years

Text

Jimin | Friends And Foes

Summary: Jimin has always been bullied. But then come true friends.

Pairing: None

Genre: Fluff, Angst

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: Violence (nothing too graphic though. I’ve put warning signs where you can skip if you’re not comfortable), not-so-funny prank, crying

A/N: Uh...don't kill me please? *nervously sweats* (I suck at writing fighting scenes, but y'all can just skip that if you want...)

Jimin gulped, and then entered his school. He had joined this school last year, the result of moving to another city. He had expected nice and friendly people, and had expected to make friends. But on the first day itself, a group of bullies had made him their permanent target. The situation in his last school wasn't any better. So now, an year later, he was afraid to even step inside his school. Too afraid about how his parents would react, or how the other kids would call him scared, he never told anyone. If the teachers or his parents happened to ask why he was covered in ketchup of milk or slime, he just told them that he had many friends who liked to play pranks on him.

He was visibly shaking a little as he stopped before his classroom. He wondered what did he do to deserve this. Not only the bullies played pranks on him, they also called him names, made him feel insecure about himself. All that was left now that would make him feel even smaller was if they started physically beating him up.

He took a nervous deep breath, and opened the door. A bucket fell on his head. White powder was everywhere. He fell down, coughing and generally panicking. He finally calmed down enough to know what had happened, and took the bucket off, only to be drenched in water instead. Now he was covered in a gooey mixture of flour and water.

He coughed again, very badly this time, but no one cared. Everyone was laughing, like always. He felt the extra standing fan kept for the teacher blowing air in his direction, making him shiver. And then a flurry of feathers came his way because of the air. They got stuck on him because of the mixture of water. All he could do was wave while tightly shutting his eyes. All of this happened so fast, how couldn't even register what was happening until he heard his classmates' laughs.

He felt tears build up in his eyes, while he tried not to move his hands to wipe them away, because he knew then they'd call him a crybaby. He was shaking and shivering violently. It wasn't winter yet, but the weather had started getting colder. He picked himself up, stumbling a little. Again, he heard laughter.

He opened the door and limped out, the result of him falling so suddenly. That, and he sprained his ankle when he stumbled. In a way, he was thankful that their teacher was late that day. The rest of the classes were in motion, so the halls were empty. Now he let his tears flow down his cheeks freely. He was sobbing silently, knowing if he made too much sound it would echo everywhere. He subconsciously took his gym clothes from his locker, too used to changing clothes because of these pranks.

He slowly opened the door to the boys' restroom. Heaving a relieved sigh when he found no one inside, he dragged himself to the basin. He started washing himself, crying all the while. They made him feel so insecure, so small. He often wondered if he deserved all of this. Did he even deserve all the love his parents gave him? He finally broke down, not caring who heard. He slid down the wall next to him.

He didn't know how much time he spent there, just wailing his heart out. Finally picking himself up, he took off his shirt and pants and changed into his gym clothes. He spent the whole period washing his uniform and wiping the now dirty wall with tissues. He felt broken.

*****

It was the last class for the day. Jimin was very thankful that his bullies had not played anymore pranks on him for the remainder of the day. When the bell rung, he timidly got up and packed his bag. Because he had spent all his day in nothing but a T-shirt and a pair of shorts, he was very cold, had goosebumps, and was visibly shivering.

He rubbed his arms with his hands, an unsuccessful attempt to warm himself up a little. He was the last to leave the class. The hallways were almost empty when he came out. Still walking slowly, he came out of the school.

⚠️

Only after walking a short distance, he felt someone pull him in an alleyway. He tightly shut his eyes as he felt someone rip his bag away from him and push him hardly against the rough wall. He groaned in pain and slid down, clutching his throbbing ankle. It was only after he heard laughter that he gathered enough courage to look up, and when he saw who was doing all of this, he was not surprised.

It was his bullies, finally starting with physically hurting him after making sure that he won't complain. Jimin gasped in fear, making the group of boys cackle harder. One of them finally sobered up, and took steps towards him like a predator took towards it's prey. He was cowering and shaking before tham, knowing what was to come. Two of them took quick steps forwards and held him up by his arms, while the third one punched him hard in the stomach.

Jimin groaned in pain, but the boy didn't stop. He kept punching and kicking. At some point, the two holding up his arms had let go, and had joined in hitting and kicking him. All this time, all he he could do was roll around in pain, curl in a foetus position, and protect his head with his arms. Heart wrenching cries resounded from his mouth, asking for help. He was a crying and sobbing mess at this point. It hurt. It hurt a lot.

⚠️

But then it suddenly stopped. He opened his eyes a little, though nothing was clear because of his tears. Somewhere in the back of his head, he registered more voices. He naturally thought that his bullies had called their friends so they could enjoy beating him up too. Taking his chance, he slowly slid away to the wall, hugging his knees tighter, while sobs still wrecked his body. Even though he knew that there was no escape now.

His only focus was keeping himself safe, so he didn't notice, that even after ten minutes, no blow came his way. He didn't notice his bullies cowering in fear in the opposite corner. He didn't notice the six guys standing in front of him, three of them with small cuts and bruises, wondering how to approach the crying boy.

They felt so guilty, that they couldn't reach there on time, that they couldn't help him before this, that they never paid too much attention to the boy who was always the victim of pranks. They all studied in the same school as him, and yet, they never thought that something like this could ever happen.

One of them, the one with glasses who didn't fight, gathered enough courage to at least take some steps towards Jimin. Crouching down in front of the small figure, he kept his hand on his shoulder. As soon as Jimin felt something, he winced back, still crying. It broke Namjoon's heart. What had this poor guy been through.

The oldest of them all, Seokjin, crouched down next to Namjoon. He was known for being the calmest and the most gentle out of them all. "Hey, hey, shh." He slowly held Jimin's shoulders and pulled him towards himself, hugging him lightly. Jimin immediately felt a sense of comfort. He fisted Seokjin's shirt, and sobbed in his chest, while the elder stroked his head and glanced at Namjoon, tears in his eyes.

The other four, seeing that the crying boy wasn't shying away anymore, came forward too. The second youngest of them, called Taehyung, sat right behind Jimin and held him too.

After about fifteen minutes more, Jimin finally stopped crying. He leaned back and wiped his eyes, suddenly feeling embarrassed. He avoided eye contact, and looked everywhere but at them, which was proving to be tough, because there were six guys in front of him.

He winced as soon as his back touched the wall. He was sure bruises had already formed everywhere on his body. "What's your name?" Hoseok gently asked. He wasn't smiling or being silly now. He was serious. "J-Jimin." He glanced at Hoseok and looked at his feet again.

"Since when has this been going on?" Jungkook inquired. Jimin shook his head, silently saying that this was the first time. "They are the one who played those so-called pranks on you, right?" Jimin only nodded his head.

Yoongi was about to ask another question, but Seokjin could see that Jimin was getting uncomfortable now. He kept his hand on the younger's shoulder, subtly shaking his head when Yoongi looked back at him. Everyone got the memo, and they just helped Jimin stand up instead. Namjoon and Hoseok were the ones mainly supporting him, and he fell on Hoseok as soon as he stood up.

His sprained ankle was now broken. Yoongi moved in to support him too. Jungkook checked his ID card and saw his address, telling the others where he lived. They slowly took him to his house, thankful that he didn't live that far.

*****

The next day, his very angry parents had stormed into his school, threatening to sue the said school. They had calmed down a little, when the principal told them that Jimin would've gotten the faculty's full support if only he had spoken up. Jimin, the six guys who helped him and the three guys who bullied him were called. With some persuasion, Jimin spoke up. Namjoon and Seokjin took over when they saw that it was getting more and more unbearable for Jimin to talk about the fight.

The three bullies were expelled. Jimin's parents thanked the other group repeatedly again. They were not expecting their elder son to come home late with bruises and cuts with the help of strangers the previous day.

Because the doctor had suggested Jimin to start school after at least a month of rest, he went home with his parents.

*****

Five years later, Jimin silently crept behind Taehyung. The younger turned around the got the daylight's scared outta him. He yelped-shouted and dramatically clutched his chest, falling back on Hoseok, who himself was on the verge of falling down because of laughing too much. Hoseok almost would've gotten a heart attack too, if he hadn't noticed Jimin before.

All through the years, those six guys who saved him that fateful day, had been by his side, helping him, encouraging him, assuring him that they will always be there. And they kept their word too. All through his school years, they were there. He was in college now, and they were still there. And he knew, that all through his life, they will be there. Because he finally had friends.

#bts imagines #bts jin #bts suga #bts jhope #bts rm #bts fanfic #bts seokjin #bts yoongi #bts hoseok #btsv #bts taehyung #violence #bullying #frienship #friends #school

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rainbowpandas23 · 4 years

Text

Blow Me For Luck-

*Hazbin Hotel. Angel and Husk have date night at a casino. They flirt and gamble. Gay ensues. This is the setup and if y'all want more then the second part will be E for extra spicy*

The casino was packed, bustling with demons all looking to win big or screw someone else over; a typical night in any of Hell's casinos. Angel leaned against the beautiful polished bar, smoking a cigarette while waiting on the bar tender to finish mixing his Cosmo and pouring Husk’s regular- a whiskey sour, neat.

He looked across the crowded casino hall and saw the throng of sinners at the craps table surrounding his boyfriend. Husker was usually a poker player (which Angel found both attractive and hilariously on-brand thanks to the pattern on the cat demon's wings) but when they came to this gambling house for tonight's date night, Husk made a beeline straight for the dice. And, boy, was he on a roll…some pun intended.

Husk knew when to bet on Pass or Don't Pass like it was second nature. Everyone was flocking to his table to throw chips down and cheer him on. His come-out rolls were frequently 7’s and 11’s but every so often he would place other bets around the table to spice things up and rake in more dough.

Angel smiled to himself as he took a final drag off his cigarette, smashed it in the ashtray and plucked the two glasses of liquor off the counter to head back to his lover. It was fun to watch Husk on a hot streak. It was even more fun being his arm candy and feeling like the most powerful couple in the room. Heads turned and the crowd parted as Angel slinked forward in his short, tight dress.

“Here ya go, baby.” Angel pressed his chest to Husk's back and draped two of his arms around his boyfriend's shoulders as he returned to the table, setting the whiskey sour on a coaster. “Just how ya like it.”

The spider demon kissed Husker on the cheek, feeling everyone around eyeing them with envy and/or approval. Not quite the same type of high as hard drugs, of course, but definitely a high that Angel enjoyed basking in.

Husk snaked one arm around Angel's waist and pulled him close.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” Husk smirked at Angel Dust, mirth in his eyes from win after win. “I needed a stiff drink. This table is fucking crazy!” The cheers kicked up at that comment, everyone hooting, hollering and throwing down more chips before Husk rolled again.

Husk leaned up to whisper to Angel while the crowd was distracted by the revelry.

“Welcome back, my beautiful corno portafortuna. What took you so fuckin’ long?”

Angel Dust felt a warm blush spread across his cheeks. The “lucky horn" nickname was a new one (and, if Angel was being honest, a very smooth one at that). Clearly Husk was riding a high of his own if he felt confident enough to drop sweet-nothings in Italian while out in public.

“Tha line was long, bello. But now I'm back an’ I’m ready to watch you win…big." Angel stroked Husk's chest and looked down at the stack of chips in front of them. He did a quick mental tally of the winnings-good so far- but knew Husky was just getting started.

More bets were placed, more dice were rolled. People swore, cheered and laughed around them. About an hour in and Husk had more than doubled his starting cash amount, despite a few sour rolls. But…it was about time for Angel and Husk to head back to the hotel. Charlie and Vaggie had let them borrow the limo for their date on the condition that the boys be home before midnight.

*Like fuckin’ Cinderella* Angel thought, looking at his phone. A little past 11….they could play for a little while longer but Angel would be double-damned if he wasted an opportunity to fuck in the back of Charlie's limo. It would piss Vaggie off to no end knowing that him and Husk had a kinky time in Charlie's lux family car, ESPECIALLY if they made sure to leave it pristine afterwards. She couldn't get him in trouble if there was no proof, after all. All he had to do was pull Husk away from the craps table and get him in the mood.

One was definitely easier than the other, in Angel's experience.

“How're ya feeling, Husky? What do ya say we call it a night? Maybe take our fun back to the hotel?” Angel crooned, leaning his arms against the table and pressing them together to accentuate his chest floof. Husk, like many others, was a sucker for Angel's fluffy figure.

“Huh?” Husk looked over to Angel, seemingly about to protest, but the spider gave him a coy smile and a few bats of his long eyelashes. That stopped the older man in his tracks and he took a moment to think before responding with a happily defeated sigh. “Okay, Angie. But one more roll before we go? I feel it in my fuckin’ bones…this is the big one!”

Angel expected about as much.

“Fine, I'll take that deal! One more roll, then we cash your big, fat winnings and get outta here.” Angel let his voice drip with seduction to make sure Husker knew that he wasn't gonna get a chance to roll again after this last one. The spider had plans, after all.

Husk grinned, gathered all his chips and turned to the stickman.

“All in. Horn high snake eyes.”

Angel's jaw dropped. Not only was Husk going all in, but he was doing so on the bet with the shittiest probability of winning. The demons around the table exploded in reactions and clamored to place their own bets in response.

“Holy shit Husky! Honey, are ya sure?”

“Of course I'm sure, mi corno portafortuna,” Husk picked up the dice, rolled them between his paws and then held them out on his palm in front of Angel. “Now give Daddy a blow for luck.”

Angel was taken aback. Husker's current confidence was completely different than his normal curmudgeonly self. Normally Husk would rather chew on glass than admit to a single soul that he and Angel enjoyed some Daddy kink every now and again. Not to mention the blatant innuendo in front of a large group of strangers. It was surreal, but at the same time incredibly hot to see.

This was gonna be fun.

“Anything for you, Daddy.” Angel leaned down and blew a steady stream of air onto the two red dice. Then he turned, grabbed Husk's face and gave him a hard, deep kiss.

“And if you win, I'll blow you too.” Angel murmured as he pulled away, smiling to show a glint of his gold tooth.

Husker grinned a sharp, almost feral, grin in response to Angel's promise. He looked fierce, determined and borderline unhinged- he was truly a different demon while riding the high of his vices.

He shook the dice in his hand once, then let them fly across the table. The crowd went dead quiet as the little red cubes bounced around, tension in the air. They came to a stop on the felt covered table.

Snake eyes! Everyone surrounding the table shouted in excitement, impressed by the cat beating the very small odds.

“Fuck! YES!” Husk slammed the last of his drink in celebration.

“OHIMIGOD HOLY SHIT HUSKY!” Angel hugged Husk from behind with all four of his arms, jumping and beaming with joy.

They collected their chips immediately and brought them to the cash out counter, getting several large stacks of bills in return. Angel clung to Husk's arm as they walked, trying to hurry him out the door and into the limousine as fast as possible. After seeing Husk act so intense and confident, Angel was yearning to give his boyfriend what he promised.

And after that, well…Angel Dust had no doubt that he was gonna get lucky too.

#hazbin hotel #huskerdust #angelhusk #Husker #Angel Dust #Hazbin Hotel Angel Dust #Hazbin Hotel Husk #uuhhh i wrote a thing #planning on a second part if people want it #the second part will be very smut #this is my first time sharing writing that's not analytical or super short #so please be gentle with me #definitely cool with constructive criticism #gonna post on ao3 when I can #anyway #yeah #hope y'all like it #mlm #blow me for luck

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destinyesque · 3 years

Text

Might Not Make it Home

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32632597/chapters/80949649

North Imaria has been under the merciless rule of the crown for over two decades and it seems the people have finally had enough. Unrest stirs among even the tiniest towns in the frozen mountains. Main streets grow silent as the noble guard rallies. There's enough fuel for the revolutionary fire; someone just needs to light the fuse.

Vizara is a bard, and a damn good one at that. She's played at taverns all across the north, seen the fight grow in her people. Her whole life has been for this. All the sleeping around, the ale and food and coin-all of it is secondary (not that she doesn't enjoy it). She's going to rouse her people into glorious rebellion against the unjust monarchy, and she's going to win. She just doesn't know how difficult it is going to be.

___________________

A young woman in vibrant violet clothes strummed on her lute, tapping her toe in time to the beat of the lively tavern tune. She directed a wink at a bargoer close to her before leaping up onto his table. Carefully avoiding the empty plates, her purple slippers stomped down on the wood with a soft, but audible thump. She sucked in a deep breath and began to sing. The song, “The Pickpocket's Lover”, was well known here, and soon the tavern patrons were singing and clapping along with the music. The woman weaved gracefully between the tables, spinning and dancing as the tune picked up speed. The whip-quick braid in her hair followed her eagerly, drawing curves in the air behind her head when she whirled around to play for the crowd behind her. Cheeks flushed dark with exertion and sweat dripping down her brow, she drew the song to its end. At the far side of the room, she struck the final chord, took a beer from one of the waitresses, and downed half of it in one gulp. The crowd at the tavern, now some forty or fifty people, cheered. The woman raised her mug in the air triumphantly.

"Here's to th' North!" she cried, to even more applause, and then made as if to throw the mug to the ground. The waitress she'd taken the beer from quickly stilled her hand, as if she was expecting it. If she said anything to the bard, nobody could hear it for all the noise. The bard shrugged and took another swig. "'right y'all, I just gotta wet my throat a moment, then I'll be right back with ya." She fired another wink into the crowd as she made towards the kitchen, and if she kicked her lute case (already harboring quite a bit of coin) a little further towards the crowd, none of them seemed to care.

The woman slipped through the door to the kitchen, soon followed by the waitress. At the last glimpse of her violet tunic and teal beads, the crowd turned back to their food and drink. The kitchen door swung shut, and that was the last any of them saw of the bard that night.

~~~~~

Past that kitchen door, the bard nabbed a piece of fresh bread from the cook's hands, to an indignant "hey!" with no real malice behind it. She turned to the waitress with the smile of one who knows she has done something quite wrong, but who does not care. Appropriately, the waitress had a rather unimpressed expression across her face.

"Good show, eh?" The bard said through a mouthful of warm bread. The waitress huffed.

"Quite." The bard went on eating, as if oblivious to the other woman's annoyance.

"I'm thinking about addin’ a few more new songs to my repertoire." she said, "I've been writin’ some pretty songs as of late. 'Specially the ones about the coming revolution." She eyed the waitress at the last sentence with a hint of humor in her voice.

"Give me that!" The waitress ripped the hunk of bread from the bard's hands to another surprised "hey!" from the offended party. "You need to keep quiet about that revolution of yours. The only reason anyone here tolerates your ridiculous ideas is that you bring in good business. Step too far out of line, and we'll all get in more trouble than any of us can deal with."

"The crowd seemed to like me," the bard supplied. "It's strange, how the northerners seem to like the North. Can I please have my bread back?"

"Take this seriously! I know you couldn't care less about the rest of us, but if you get arrested, you won't get any work either!"

"I ain't planning on gettin' arrested, my friend. I'm only planning on gettin' the damn army outta here. And you can plan on gettin' business so long as there's any folk left here. Nobody's gonna care that I think the guard should get fucked. Hell, that's what they all think too."

"I hate you," the waitress growled, wild-eyed.

"Should'a said that 'fore you slept with me," the bard retorted, plucking her bread back from the waitress and promptly turning to walk further into the kitchen.

"Also, stop trying to smash my damned mugs!" the waitress yelled before slamming open the kitchen door open and walking back out into the tavern.

"I think you sang real well t'night, Vizara." the cook put in after a moment.

"Thank you!" Vizara, the bard, answered. "I can always count on you t' give a girl the credit she deserves."

The cook sighed deeply. "I do think you should cut back on the whole--well--the things that Melya was talkin’ about." She leaned over to inspect a simmering pot of stew in lieu of meeting the gaze of the bard.

It was a while before Vizara answered her. "I know. I don't want t' hurt y'all's business, really. I'm just damn tired of the damn monarchy and their damned games. So is everybody else. All they need is a push, and then we can get rid of the guard. Don't you wanna be free of kings? I sure as hell do.

Plus, I'm only here a handful'a times a year. I surely can't bring any real suspicion down here. Hell, Melya was just about the only waitress I recognized when I got here. Not that y'all have many other waitresses."

"Sometimes I think you talk just to hear your own voice," the cook commented. She ladled some of the stew into a bowl and handed it to Vizara. "Take one of the cloaks on the wall by the door and head outside for a bit, ‘kay? I'll talk to Melya,"

"Don't want me 'round anymore, huh?" she joked, pulling a cloak over her thin tunic and bare shoulders. "Really, you're the best, Eviah. The only one around here with any manners,"

Eviah made no reply, simply shooing the bard out the door with a roll of her eyes.

The wind outside was biting cold. It was easy to forget near the fires and warm food of the tavern, but it worked its way through the fabric of the cloak in a matter of moments. Vizara huddled on one of the stairs leading down from the back door, watching for a few moments as her breath turned to mist.

"'bit like a dragon, ain't it?" she murmured to herself. "If only I had a horde of gold to go along with it."

She drew the cloak in closer. "Warm fire'd be good too." She absently cast her gaze around the small, dark alley. There was a bit of snow on the ground, but not enough to cause any trouble to pedestrians and carts, not that the carts could fit into the alley in any case. The overhanging roofs of the tavern and another nearby shop blocked most of the light from the moon, which was probably good, since nobody would've wanted to see the sundry food waste tossed back there. Vizara could hear the quiet rustling of what she presumed was a few rats digging about in the garbage, but far be it from her to take a look. She wrapped her hands around the hot bowl to bring some feeling back into her fingers, a bit numb from both the lute and the cold.

So she sat, eating her stew as the night went on and the comforting bustle of the tavern carried on behind her. After a short while, she set the empty bowl down beside her and took the lute off her back. Soft music began to drift up amongst the scuttling of the rats as she strummed the first few notes to a love song.

“Maybe I’ll play this one next,” she whispered. She leaned back against the door and hummed along to the quiet tune.

Her fingers stilled only a moment later as she heard some odd noise out in the street, past the entrance to the alleyway. The shriek of an animal (or perhaps a child? she couldn't say) echoed off the close walls.

“The hell was that?” She got to her feet, turning her head toward the noise. Again, the same shriek. Certainly the sound of a person now.

Vizara fumbled in the waistband of her pants for a small knife, not much more than a toothpick. She dropped the cloak from her shoulders and slung her lute across her back once more.

With a deep breath, she crept out onto the street, tiny blade in hand. It was dark; few lanterns were ever out at night. The town was small, its people poor. Still, with a cursory glance, she saw the silhouettes of three or four people cast in the light of the brothel across the street. The screams hadn't stopped—they'd just gotten quieter. They'd become yelps, and then wordless protests, and now, just pained whimpering.

She could see now—as she snuck ever closer—the small body of a child held down by the much bigger guards. The blade in her hand felt insufficient, useless. She faltered, slowed almost to a stop. The guards hadn't noticed her. She was quiet and they were occupied with the protesting figure in the dirt beneath them. She could back away into the alley just as easily as she had left it, and nobody would be the wiser. The crowd awaited her back in the tavern. She was much better suited to that kind of work—the rustling up, the inspiring, not the fighting itself. But, hell, who was she if she didn’t practice what she preached? And who was getting hurt in her place if she did nothing?

The glint of silver mail in the low light caught her eye once more. The crest of the royal family glowed gold on the guards' tunics, splashed with mud and blood and violence. Another strangled cry slipped from the child's lips as he was jabbed with the butt end of a spear. She was only a few lengths away from the closest guard. A full body shiver struck Vizara's body, shaking the little knife in her hand.

She started into a run, the movement catching the attention of one of the guards. They shouted to their companions, but the warning came too late. Vizara, much shorter than the guard nearest her, jabbed her knife into his armpit, where she knew was an opening in his armor. He stumbled back with a heavy huff, and the knife was yanked from Vizara's hands. She reached for it again, her left hand up to defend herself from the other two guards. Her fingers brushed the handle, but she couldn't get a good grip on it—she'd sunk the whole blade into his arm. Plus, he and his two companions were getting his wits about him once more. He was going for his spear amongst a slew of curses. It didn't come to that. Vizara heard a monstrous Crack! and then a moment later, her left arm flared up in pain. She fully lost hold of the knife. It didn't matter anymore. Her arm—what happened to her arm? She looked up to the flash of silver as she was struck in the chest with the blunt end of a spear.

She went down with a heavy huff. Her arm throbbed and maybe she couldn’t use her fingers? And her face was in the dirt and her chest ached and she couldn’t see anything for the dark and the terror.

She looked out over her injured arm, bleary and gasping. The child—a young elf, no older than fifteen—still lay prone on the ground, one of the three guards standing above him. Vizara's vision swam as dread descended.

One of the guards kicked her over onto her back and she rolled painfully over her lute. She winced, tried to sit up, but was immediately pushed right back down, slamming her head into the dirt.

"Fuck." she sucked in a breath. "Can—can I at least move the lute? Don't want to break the lute."

The guard who'd kicked her—a woman who Vizara would find attractive in any other situation—grabbed her collar and none-too-gently yanked her into a sitting position. Another guard maneuvered the lute from her back, jostling her hurt arm and eliciting a rather embarrassing whimper from her. She gathered up her wits and forced the stars out of her eyes.

"Ah, thank you." Vizara babbled, forcing a smile. "As a good bard once said 'you can break my bones but not my banjo'."

"You fucking stabbed me!" bellowed the guard she'd stabbed, and swung the body of the lute into her head.

~~~~~~

Vizara awoke with what she at first thought was a bad hangover. She felt groggy, confused, and her head pounded—a situation she'd found herself in many a time before. She moaned in pain and closed her eyes once more, but she found no comfort in sleep, for she had neither pillow nor bed to sleep on. Instead, the surface beneath her was hard, rough, and cold.

Her eyelids were heavy, and as her conscious awareness grew, she forced them open. Bewilderment abounded for a few moments. Where the hell was she?

The room was dark and small. A barred window above her head cast a square of light on the stone floor and glinted off the edge of a tarnished metal bucket. She recognized the trappings of the room—a prison cell for sure, she’d been in more than enough to know—but it took her a few moments to recall the circumstances that had landed her here. She had been all set to perform at the bar the night before; she'd make a bit of coin, flirt with some strangers, and sleep with even more of them. Clearly, something had gone wrong. Such a waste of a good night!

She racked her brain, piecing together all that had happened after her performance: the conversation with Melya and Eviah, the cold alley, and then the sight of the guards kicking a child that had spurred her to action. A grim satisfaction came over her as she remembered stabbing one of the guards in the armpit. At least she'd done some good damage before she'd gone down. Nothing after that came back to her. She must have gotten her ass kicked pretty quick after the stabbing; the pain in her head and her arm could attest to that.

She touched her injured arm, and it didn’t hurt terribly. The ambient light described an ugly bruise. Nothing that wouldn’t heal. And her head ached, but she could deal with that. After all, it wasn’t much worse than her usual hangover. Vizara felt across her chest for any more injuries. There was a pain in her left side when she pressed down on it, but it didn't seem to be too serious. She huffed a sigh of relief and immediately winced when her chest took issue with it. All things considered, she’d gotten off pretty easy.

With a grunt, she stood up. She could make out the shape of a wooden door in the dim. There was a slit under it through which a bit of light trickled. Probably how food was delivered to the prisoners. The thought of other prisoners stuck in Vizara's mind for a second—what had happened to the child? She prayed to any god that would pay her mind that he had gotten away. Although… if there were other prisoners, maybe she could orchestrate an escape. She'd been learning to rouse the masses for years now; surely, she could incite some kind of prison riot or revolution if she had to. But where was her lute? She didn't need that to inspire crowds, but it sure helped.

"If you bastards stole my lute," she murmured to no one. "I'm gonna fuckin' lose it."

She looked around the room, but there were only stone walls and one window and a dingy chamber pot. Nothing practical to help her, and no lute in sight.

Without anything to do and no chance of getting back to sleep, Vizara spent what seemed to be an interminable amount of time pacing about the cell. She found herself shivering in the cold air, but the movement helped. If she didn't find a way to get out of here soon, she could very well be stuck in this hellhole forever. The law of the kingdom wasn't known for its charity.

The light from the small window had significantly brightened and then dimmed again by the time Vizara saw any company. She reckoned it was around sunset when there came the clamor of heavy footsteps outside her cell door. She moved to the back corner of the cell to give herself a bit of space once the guards came in; for they were coming in—the rustle of keys and the sound of voices reached her, dampened by the thick door but still clear enough. There was a soft click, and the door swung open, light from the hallway beyond cascading in. Vizara squinted at the loss of comfortable darkness.

There were three guards, dark in the doorway, just like the night before. She couldn't tell if they were all the same ones, but she vaguely recognized one of the female guards. They were dressed in the customary mail, with the sign of the monarchy across their chests. The longswords at their hip drew Vizara's eyes—she couldn't brute force her way past them, even if she had a weapon of her own.

She allowed two of the guards to approach her and none-too-gently shackle her right arm, hooking the other end of a long chain to a bar in the window. They backed away, now out of her reach, as if she posed any kind of danger to them.

"Vizara Whitecrest," the female guard started.

"Hello, yes, that's me," Vizara said, a fake smile on her lips. "It seems my reputation precedes me."

"I don't care much for pleasantries." she glowered. "I am only here to assess your account and determine an appropriate punishment."

"That's just great." Vizara sat down and put her hands in her lap. "I'm sure you know, I was rather very drunk last night, and quite out of my right mind. Now, I had no intention of attackin' anyone yesterday, but you must understand, certain things are bound to happen when one is that inebriated."

"I didn’t come here for idle chat and excuses." she said. "No proper bard drinks during her performance.”

“Now there’s your problem, sweetheart. I ain’t any kind’a proper bard.”

“You sure as hell didn’t seem drunk when you stabbed Oliver.” The woman harrumphed. “I’ve never seen a drunkard harm a trained guard, let alone one your size.”

Vizara shrugged. “’Spose I got lucky.”

“See, I don’t think you did. You knew just where to aim, and I’m damned if your aim wasn’t perfect.” She considered. “You’ve done this before.”

“I ain’t done nothin’ of the sort.” Vizara insisted, and she could only blame her pounding head when she added “Only time I’ve laid a hand on a guardsman is in bed, and he damn near begged me to hit him.”

The guard’s face screwed up in something halfway between annoyance and fury. Vizara winced, her smile falling. “I don’t mean any offense or nothin’, course! I’m just—"

Patience run out, the guard strode into her space and slammed her into the wall, cutting her off with a sharp gasp. Her left arm pinned Vizara's shoulders to the wall, her right pressing into Vizara’s wounded chest. The bard wheezed in pain, and her mask of nonchalance faded into visible distress.

“We both know you weren’t drunk, you stupid fucking half-elf.” She ground Vizara’s shoulders into the wall. “I’m not here to play games, and I don’t tolerate lies. If you’d like to keep your head, you’ll tell me everything. I want to know if you’ve attacked guardsmen before, and what I can do to make you never attack us again. I want to know about every Northerner who so much as fucking thought about going after the guard. Lie to me once more, and I will make sure you never sing again.”

"I—" Vizara pushed against the guard's adamant armor before she could think better of it. "Fucking—get off me!"

The woman moved in an instant, grasping Vizara's left hand in her armored gauntlet and pinning it against the wall. Vizara couldn’t even tell what was happening until the guard’s dagger was flashing against her throat and she was screaming into it. Her head slammed against the stone wall and she almost didn't feel it when the guard let her drop to the floor.

She took in gasping breaths as her vision returned. She clapped her hand to her neck, now pulsing with blood. Her eyes drifted to the ceiling. Her throat worked painfully, as if trying to swallow back down the lost blood.

“It’s not hard,” the woman said, "all you need to do is sit there and tell the truth.” Then, to someone else, she ordered, “go make sure the windows are boarded for the storm. I can handle her.”

She knelt in front of Vizara and grasped her chin in one metal hand. The bard moaned and tried to turn away, but to no avail. She was weak and reeling from the pain.

The guard turned Vizara's face toward her own. Vizara saw the other two guards had left them, and the door to the cell was closed. She and the guard were alone now and there was no one there to save her from her suffering.

“I’m not afraid to carve out your vocal cords and let you choke on blood until I’m kind enough to let our healer seal you shut. And right now, I’m really considering it for the insolence alone.” Her voice was quiet now. Soft. Almost saccharine sweet with the way she breathed into Vizara’s ear. “You’re lucky I’m nice. This doesn’t have to get any more difficult than you've already made it."

Even bleeding her brain dizzy, Vizara wasn't fooled. She would suffer more tortures before any of these people had finished with her. Not much of anything could save her now from that. But she was hurt. And she was alone. And she was afraid. And she wanted it to be over.

"I'm don't know anyone else," Vizara rasped, tasting copper on her tongue. "I'm on my own. The tavern—they don't pay me or anythin' like that. I'm just there to make some coin and they want more business. 's that simple. 'm not from here, either. Don't know anyone here, 'cept a few folks I'm a bit familiar to. Nobody from my hometown's seen me in months. They're innocent in all this."

All of the sudden, it was very hard to breathe. There was a roaring in her ears.

"Please, I'm beggin' you. Don't hurt them," Vizara felt pinprick tears in the corners of her eyes. "Don't hurt me, neither, please. 'm just a fool of a bard. Wanted t' fight against the kingdom, someway, somehow. And I was stupid. I can’t do anythin’ all on my own. I can hardly defend myself. I ain’t a threat to anyone, ‘specially not the guard. I promise, I didn't want nobody to get hurt, 'least, nobody I cared much about. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t’a done that. I’m so sorry."

The cell and the woman before her became watery, submerged in her own tears. The guard straightened up and Vizara waited for a blow to fall upon her. She waited for a reply. Waited for something. Waiting for anything better than waiting.

Damn near an eternity passed between them in silence, and Vizara finally peeked out of the shelter of her arms. The guard was looking at her, but not. She had cocked her head to one side to listen to something outside of the room. Vizara listened as best she could between the heaving of her chest and the tiny gasps hiccupping from her throat. There was a roar, she thought, like a great waterfall or a stampede of animals. She heard it faint, but even as she listened it came closer as if to suffocate her in the noise. She futilely clapped her free hand to a sensitive half-elf ear. A sense of dread came over her, but also a desperate hope. If this loud, horrible noise was as powerful as it seemed, maybe it could tear her away from here. Maybe it could drag the guard away. Hell, she’d be glad if this thing killed her if it meant escaping the grasp of this merciless woman. A woman who was now standing in the middle of the cell, paying no more attention to Vizara.

Vizara removed her hand from her ear, wincing at the booming, cacophonous sound. She pushed herself to her feet, but as the ground trembled, she fell back upon the floor. She pressed her left ear to the ground and her hand to her right, and she tried to keep the blood from slipping through her fingers. She pulled her legs to her chest and huddled close into herself. The noise was now right on top of her. This is the end of the world, rang clear in Vizara's tangled thoughts.

There was a tremendous crash, and everything shook, and small stones fell on Vizara's prone form.

And after a time, the noise receded into the distance.

And it was deafeningly quiet.

Vizara's ears rang and everything that she was hurt. She curled ever closer as wracking cries filled her chest.

But at the very least, she was alive.

#my writing #ayy first time posting my writing here i think #maybe give it a try owo #its original fiction but i promise the main character doesn't suck #like i will maintain that this isnt my best work by a long shot but i still think its pretty good

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thehandsomeasshole · 3 years

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@starttheanarchy from X

She kept silent as he talked, rambling about some rather interesting work that was being handed to a CEO. Wouldn't that kind of issues fall into a mixture of legal and HR? Ah poor is the chain of command. Well Gaige held her tongue on those thoughts, leaving the man to his legal headaches. Though at the mention of a wife, her eyes cut to the sky, right to the giant H that loomed overhead no mater where she was. And she felt a small bit of pain for the older man, not having a chance to mourn or process. Just work as usual. And she could tell that this was something she at the very least wasn't suppose to know with how he cut himself off. A small light humm came from her throat, a form of acknowledgment that she was listening and that this was marked down in her memory.

The topic swap back into technology got her moving again, nearing the garage that Ellie owned. Said woman was in front of the compactor doing what she seemed to love best, and Gaige just sent her a wave before ducking into the building.

"Yes, but is it not a sign of good quality when even the parts of your work can be used beyond others?" Gaige was going to be nice this once and allow the conversation to flow away from his past. "No, I can say with absolute certainty I would never take any shortcuts with DT. Or own a company, why would I want to be a sell out like that?" And that is where the anarchist started to come out. Ah the amount of times in class she debated the ethics and morals of the different corporations of the universe.

"Well then it is poor design then to have all the sensors in one place, and you can't say that you don't with how fast they are rendered useless once shot in the blatantly obvious eye." Stairs were taken two at a time as she head over to the workbench beside the vending machines. "I could care less about the funky stuff, would probably be a downgrade more then anything else to my work of art.” The tool case dropped onto the workbench, and a loud snort at the agree to disagreement. Eyes roll at the claim of superiority.

Gaige stills at the mention of what happened at the science fair. Eyes narrow as she was trying to figure out if he was trying to insinuate if the accident was not actually one. Fingers grip the workbench, dents forming under her robotic ones. It had been a moment since she had even had a single thought of that day, one of her worst days even compared to what Pandora had thrown at her so far. And something to think about when there was far less on her plate, one more issues shelved for the eventual emotional and mental break down.

"Actually, DT is programed to react to hostility. Meaning they will only take action after aggression has happened. Reactive rather then active, always has been like that." Sure it was a stupid idea to keep one of her main ways of defending herself on a more passive setting, but Gaige refused to to cause harm first.

"Yes I will admit, there is a fair amount of blood on my hands. But when did I ever claim to be the good guy? You have always been the one to bring it up, usually to either defend your actions or yourself. Since when have heroes ever claimed to be one? When have they allowed cruelty into their actions? To break apart families?"

Jack leaned away from the echo, burying his face into his sweater sleeve and he groaned loudly.

Well, that was definitely going to come back and bite him in the ass.

"Uh… No." Jack raised his head and turned back towards the echo, "No, it is not. You see, I don't exactly design my bots to help you jerks. I design 'em for maximum efficiency in production and combat. Got that? Good."

"Ooh, ouch! Look at you go, insulting me left and right. Good for you." He snorted, shaking his head, "Listen, kid, you can shit on the corpos all you'd like–trust me, I did my fair share of it when I was younger–but it's not as bad as it looks from the outside. And, hey! At least we don't have slaves like- Oh, actually, I think that's confidential… But, my workers get honest pay for, mostly, honest work. If they don't work hard enough, then, yeah. They get the crap beaten outta them or, if they're real lucky, they get airlocked. Much quicker. And funnier, actually. Their little eyes popping out of their heads and they just burst."

For a moment, Jack considered disagreeing. Telling her that the sensors were all strategically placed for maximum energy efficiency. While it was partially true, it wasn't entirely for that reason.

"Nah, I know," Jack laughed slightly, "you're right. It's mostly for the aesthetic, everything just slots together so nicely that way. Looks all sleek and tidy, y'know? You know."

Jack had taken the silence as confirmation he'd made her uncomfortable, talking about her killing her classmate, though it hadn't felt as good as he'd hoped.

She's probably around Angel's age, you asshole, he thought to himself, even more displeased now he'd made himself uncomfortable, too.

"I did the same thing with the loaders. Can't have them mowing down all my workers, can I? No matter how funny it would be." Jack hummed slightly, picking his pen up off the desk and beginning to rapidly click it, "That did happen once, though. Rouge claptrap unit, got it's gross little hands onto an assault rifle after it found out it was gonna get shot down onto Pandora cause it was useless."

He shook his head, shuddering, "Something you'd never want to see, an ugly little trashcan of a robot coming at you sixty miles an hour and screaming 'you'll never take me alive!' at the top of it's voice module." A small laugh slipped past Jack's lips, "We didn't, the turrets finally kicked in and slaughtered the bastard."

"You're-..." Jack paused, the expression of frustration slowly melting off his face and he leaned back into his seat, "Actually kinda right. I always forget it's not you I hate. Well, I don't like you by any means but… Heh, guess I'm just amazed you'd work for the Crimson Raiders with their track record for screwing everyone over."

He shrugged, satisfied with planting the little seed of doubt in her mind, "I mean, whatever. No hair off my head if they try to kill you, right? Just less effort on my part."

"But, to answer your question…" he leaned forward again, letting out a quiet chuckle, "When they think it's the right thing to do. Y'know, human flaws and all that. The whole trolley problem thing or whatever. Would you rather kill one person you hold dear, or ten you don't? That kinda bullshit."

In all truth, he couldn't remember what they were talking about.

"Next time you wander into a bandit camp, stop and ask yourself: am I doing what I need to? Or am I just doing what I'm told? Always thought it was kinda funny how y'all just run around like headless chickens doing whatever your 'leaders' told you to, bet you don't even question it, do you? They say kill, and you just ask how much you're gonna get paid or if you'll get a shiny, new gun outta it."

"So, how am I doing so far? Pissing you off enough to keep you interested?"

#ahaha i think i just get excited to reply and it's just automatic #i look at the word count at the end and im just like huh #also hope this was okay!!#it could've been paradise // borderlands 2

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quicksilverlightning · 4 years

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The All Might Fan Forum Discussion Board

ALL MIGHT FAN FORUM

General Discussion All Might Battles Meeting All Might Rescued by All Might All Might Encounters >Small Might Encounters (New!) Fanart and Fanfiction

CaptainCelb09 So, I've met All Might before. I just didn't know it was him.

It wasn't a big deal or anything - I tripped walking home one day and this really tall skinny guy stopped to make sure I was okay. I was embarrassed someone saw me and brushed him off, practically ran away. Now I'm sitting here with my face on fire cause I tripped in front of ALL MIGHT and he tried to help me up and akslhsdfouashefgoawu I cannot fucking believe this I should have taken his hand

070809 Pudding Cups

Time - 6:53 PM

Scene - Shofu Park

Your Narrator - crying on a bench

My girlfriend had just broken up with me. Through text. Like, ouch, right? Anyway.

I'm just kinda staring at my phone, blurry eyed, kicking at maple leaves, wishing I could text her back cause she just blocked my number when this tall blond guy shuffles up and takes a seat at the other end of the bench. Doesn't say anything, just sits, placing his grocery bag beside him. It's a public park, whatever right?

I'm wiping my eyes, putting my phone back in my pocket and suddenly there's this white thing in front of me - blond guy is offering me a napkin, Still doesn't say anything, just smiles a little. I take it and wipe my eyes, blow my nose, try to get it together cause apparently I look bad enough that this complete stranger is worried about me. I'm stuffing the napkin in a pocket when he holds something else out - a chocolate pudding cup, one of those with the little spoons in the lid.

I'm kinda like wha? but take it anyway and he takes another one out of his bag, he's got a six pack of them in there, and he tears off the lid and starts snacking and I do the same cause fuck it, right? I eat the whole thing and he gives me another one, like we're old friends or something and I'm halfway through it when he finally speaks.

"Bad day?"

And I can't help but laugh. It's so dumb. I'm single and heartbroken and eating pudding cups with this stranger on a public park bench as it gets dark and I don't know what to feel anymore. I tell him what happened and we eat the whole six pack together, shootin' the shit until the street lights come on. He calls me "young man" and claps me on the shoulder and it's so dumb but it cheered me up. He puts all the trash back into the bag and tosses it in the bin and tells me he needs to get going and hell, I do too.

I didn't even get his name. I thought about that encounter a lot though. I have a new girlfriend and she's great. We were together when All Might's last battle happened, watching everything go down on the TV at a bar and we're all losing our shit and I lose it even harder when the smoke clears cause that's the guy I ate pudding cups with what the hell

The last three years, any time I'm having a bad day, I go to the store and get some chocolate pudding cups. Whenever the world was just a shitty place, I'd think about that blond guy, shuffling through the park and making things better as he went along.

And I guess it figures that man would turn out to be All Might, cause that's what All Might has always done - moved forward and made things better.

spite-and-aesthetic my dumbass cat

small might plucked my stupid cat out of a tree wtf kinda cliche is this guy

AM_FAN0112 i cannot BELIEVE

TWO YEARS. TWO FUCKING YEARS ALL MIGHT HAS BEEN COMING INTO MY SHOP ARE YOU SERIOUS WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL TOSHINORI

I'M DEADASS SERIOUS HE COMES IN EVERY FEW WEEKS AND BUYS A BOOK AND SOMETIMES WE CHAT ABOUT MANGA AND HE ALWAYS ASKS HOW SCHOOL IS GOING AND HELPS WITH MY ENGLISH HES SO NICE AND TOLD ME TO CALL HIM TOSHINORI IS THAT HIS REAL NAME?? A CODENAME?

I GOT HIM HOOKED ON SUGAR SUGAR CAT CAFE ITS THE DUMBEST SYRUPY SHOUJO ROMANCE AND WEVE BEEN READING IT TOGETHER FOR OVER A YEAR WHAT IS MY LIFE

Sexi-tery Long post is long

Lemme set the scene; it's raining buckets, and I'm on my way to a job interview in the ritzier part of town. I've got my best clothes on - nice, crisp suit jacket, smart-looking skirt, a decent-but-could-be-shinier pair of heels. I've just left lunch with a friend and I've got an hour before the most important interview of my life.

That's when a bus rolls by and drenches me in the greasy puddle-water of downtown Tokyo.

Y'all, I was trying not to hyperventilate. I don't have time to go home and change. Even if I did, these were my best clothes. I'm screwed, no one is going to hire me looking like a sopping mess, *I* wouldn't hire me looking like this whatdoIdo

Someone picks up my umbrella. I didn't even realize I'd dropped it. I'm still freaking out. Someone is pulling me, I'm not even on this planet right now, someone is talking to me, I have an interview, where are my anxiety meds?

There's this blond guy hunched over, trying to bring me back down, telling me to breathe, calm down, you'll be okay. He's breathing with me and it's working and I think I might be crying but my face is so wet I can't tell.

He gets the story out of me once I'm back on planet Earth, and gets this determined look on his face. Drags me across the street into a clothing store. A really, really nice clothing store. Outta-my-budget, outta-my-lifetime sort of clothing store. Pushes me to the racks, tells me to pick out whatever I want.

I don't even question it - I may be back on Earth, but I'm still in the upper atmosphere somewhere. I grab a few things to take to the dressing room and fit myself into an extremely nice pantsuit. An attendant comes in to help, gets the tags off so I can wear the clothes out, bags my soaking wet puddle of fabric and blond guy pays for it all without even blinking.

He leads me back out, hails a cab, and I'm like, what now? And we pull up to a salon and he gets my hair dried and done, I KNOW he must have tipped the hairdresser a crazy amount to get me in and out that quickly, and the cab is idling outside the whole time, waiting to take me to my interview when we're done. All the while, blond guy is smiling, cracking jokes, and just being all-around charming. I'm wondering what I'm going to owe for this, what he wants, maybe he's some sort of creeper? But he seems so nice?

And when we're done, he prods me over to the cab, but doesn't get in. Doesn't ask for anything, just wishes me good luck. Like, who even is this guy? Who does all that for a total stranger?

All Might, that's who. Holy crap you guys, All Might got me to my interview on time and it's the best job I've ever had. I'd still be pushing pencils in a miserable office if he hadn't been there that day.

Kirasagwa74

A train ride

I remember a time before All Might. I remember when the Yakuza worked out in the open and villains took what they wanted without fear.

I'm old, is what I'm saying. These bones ache and creak every time the weather even thinks about changing. I don't complain too much; I'm used to it. I'm used to being out of the loop and lost in the shuffle. It's alright - I have my routines and I stick to 'em.

One of them is riding the train to a favorite cafe. They have an excellent coffee blend. I've seen All Might on that train many times, though I never knew it was him until a little while ago. He's a good man with kind eyes. If it was crowded, he would let me have his seat. Chat about the good ol' days, heroes from another generation. I haven't seen him on the train in a while. I miss him.

SingleSuperMom31 Carried Home

This was pretty recent - just a few months ago. Long post up ahead.

Context: I'm a single mom. My ex didn't want kids, so I've raised Aya by myself. It's been a little difficult lately thanks to a broken arm, but I've managed.

Anyway, I took Aya to a local park a few months ago. It's a few minutes walk from the apartment, and I wanted to grab some things from the store anyway, so I took her out to let her burn off some energy. Her Quirk is Photosynthesis, so she has a lot of it!

When we get there, the first thing Aya wants to do is get on the swings. She's almost three and my arm is broken - I don't want to put her in a regular swing in case she falls, so I'm trying to maneuver her into one of the strapped swings with one arm. Aya isn't heavy, but I'm still struggling to manage when a thin man with blond hair walks up.

"Ma'am? Would you like some help?"

He's tall, super super tall, and gaunt, but he has a kind smile. Aya likes him right away and helps her into the swing and pushes her a little while she screams to go higher.

He was so, so nice to my little girl. He let her call him Toshi and played with her for over an hour, lifting her on the monkey bars and holding her hands on the balance beam since I couldn't manage it at the moment. He sits with me when some other children come to play, and we talk a while, about Aya, about how my arm got broken (it's quite a story), about being a single parent.

It's hard, you know? I love my kid, I'd die for her, but it's still hard, and it's even harder with this arm. He was just so nice - he had this presence, like you could tell him anything and I did. I told him about my ex, that he left, that he didn't want to be a part of Aya's life. You could tell he was really listening, not just being polite. I've gotten a little teared up, and he just smiles and pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket. He's quiet for a little bit, watching the kids play. Then he turns back to me, and I know I'll remember this for the rest of my life, word for word -

"I don't have any family of my own, so perhaps it doesn't mean much coming from me," he looks a little awkward. "But for what's it's worth, I think you're doing a fine job. One day, Aya will be old enough to appreciate what a strong, lovely mother she has."

Aya sees me crying and comes rushing over, hugging my knees and I'm a mess and maybe a little bit in love. He's just so kind and Aya has crawled into my lap and hugs my neck. It's sunset, so her Quirk is finally slowing down and she falls asleep while I'm still reeling over the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.

I'm apologizing, it's late, I still haven't gone to the store, Aya is asleep on my lap and I'm trying to figure out how I'm gonna get her home with this broken arm and he offers to walk us home. He lifts Aya up and puts her head on his shoulder and I know she's drooling a bit, but it doesn't seem to bother him. He radiates this goodness and warmth and safety; I don't even hesitate to invite him in for a cup of tea. He comes in long enough to put Aya on the couch, but doesn't stay. He wished us both well, and that was it. I took Aya to the park every day that week, hoping to see him again, but I didn't.

Until two weeks ago - I was making dinner and Aya was watching cartoons. I thought it was cartoons anway, when she yells -

"Mommy! That's the man who carried me home!"

And that's definitely him, there's no mistaking it. I shouldn't be letting a three year old watch this, but I can't look away either. All Might played with my Aya. All Might told me I was a good mother. All Might carried my daughter home. All Might is fighting for his life on my television right now.

I didn't know what love was until I held Aya in my arms. I didn't know what heroism was either, not until that night. Not until I connected two people together and realized they were the same person. I didn't know what a hero was until I realized that "hero" wasn't a title All Might put on and took off, it's something he IS, 24/7, on and off the clock. I'd live the rest of my life with a broken arm if I could have half of the strength and kindness that exists in this man, if I could be even a fraction of the person he is.

I think about him every day. I got an All Might keychain, so I'd always have something close by to remind me that heroism isn't always about punching villains and holding up buildings; sometimes, heroism is about talking to a stranger. Sometimes, heroism is about pushing a swing.

Sometimes, heroism is about carrying a little girl home.

#yagi toshinori #all might #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #mha #bnha #fanfic #boku no hero fanfic #look #I just want Toshi to interact with his fans okay #I want him to know how loved he is #in any form

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slasherscream · 5 years

Note

yo I dunno if this is asked or not but can you write some headcannons of Billy and Stu with a super chill Latina?

A/N: anon i’m actually so happy you sent this because i want to make it super clear that i do not just write for black readers like myself. i want to write imagines for other poc as well. we all deserve to take up fandom space not to be sappy or anything-

billy loomis x latina!reader x stu macher ft. that's it .... that's the whole concept

——————–

What did you ever do .... to deserve this (meeting them). An unanswerable question. But there aren't many people of color in Woodsboro, CA so they first noticed you at school, the new kid, just keeping to herself. People are already talking about you and how chill you are. You don't seem to notice.

People tend to like things that are shiny and new in small towns which is exactly what you are. The fact that you're so unflinching about it makes you just seem even cooler.

Stu is the one that gets caught up in the hubbub as he's one of the most popular guys in school. Billy is also popular but he doesn't care about it. Or about anyone else who's popular (sans Stu), really. So Stu talks to you first.

Blown away by your personality. You're not sitting in the cafeteria even though you totally could and your table would fill up with people who want to get to know you instantly. Instead you're sitting in the grass under a tree .... straight chilling. Headphones on and eating your lunch in total quiet.

Don't even get mad when he comes up to you with all his ...loud ass energy. Like he's not even being particularly loud (cause he saw how chill you were being and even he couldn't fuck up vibes like that) his energy is just loud. All you do is take off your headphones and give him a small smile and nod from your place on the ground, "sup?"

He forgot what he was gonna say for 0.5 seconds. You turned off his extrovert, always talking brain for a solid 0.5 seconds with your cool and pretty, little smile. The talent! His brain rebooted and he'd never sat down so fast in his life. Too close to your personal space for a first meeting tbh ... shoulders... touching. But he's cute and tall so ... you let it slide.

He talks to you the whole lunch period and Billy is wondering where the fuck he is honestly. Y'all are late to class and you all happen to have the next class together. Billy watches you walk in together. While you're talking to the teacher and making up some excuse for the two of you being like ... ten minutes late (which they're buying?? somehow??) Stu turns and wiggles his eyebrows at Billy.

You sit down in a free seat that's unfortunately not near Stu and Billy (Stu woulda kicked the guy outta the seat next to him for you but you saw him about to and you shook your head as if to say "nah i'm solid" and how can he argue with that?).

Billy watches Stu make heart-eyes at you the whole rest of class and when it's over he watches Stu pout about the fact that his next class is nowhere near yours but you insist he just head to his instead of walking you. Billy's class is your next class. Determined to see what could have made you so intriguing in what?? A fucking half hour? He offers to walk you. You know your way around by now but you shrug because why not.

The walk to class is five minutes and yet somehow Billy gets it. Took Stu a half hour and it took Billy five-fucking minutes. Billy gets a text from Stu halfway through class that's just the smuggest ... most unbearable ... fucking ':)'. He's going to bash Stu's fucking face in later but before that they GOTTA trap you.

They are going to TRAP YOUR ASS. Oh my gosh you have no idea how hard they're gonna trap your ass. When they are working together to achieve a common goal they're incredible.

The work begins immediately. Can they drive you home today? Can they carry all your shit for you? Don't talk to that guy. They've been to parties with that guy --- he's a total jack-ass. Wanna go to the mall? They'll bring you. Told Stu you wanted to watch a movie tonight? What a coincidence that Billy wanted to have a movie marathon tonight with him ... you can just tag along and join them!

Much as they think they're the smartest people in the room you do know what they're doing. You're on one of your many "so not a date-dates" when you just come out and say it, "are we all dating?"

They freeze like deer in headlights. They have been #Caught Red-handed. Billy tries to be cool about it and lean into your space like, "do you want us to be?" and somehow ....you stare down that smolder and just raise your eyebrow with a chuckle because you already asked your fucking question and you're not answering his dumb "answers a question with another question" ass.

Stu jumps in eagerly like "Hell yeah we are!" ruining whatever tension Billy thinks he's establishing. You laugh and kiss Stu's cheek. Billy is enraged...If you don't...give him his cheek kiss- But too late you already moved to give Billy one too. Well then....back to the movie I guess.

They are very aggressive against any perceived slight against you because you notice them but don't react to them because you have more important things to spend your time on. Guess what babe? They don't have anything to do but fight people all day long!

This ...is all of you. You're straight chilling and they'll be flipping their shit over any and everything.

Billy pretends to be the calm level-headed one but he's actually not you are. In private it makes him worse for awhile because like. He can just lose it with you! But then it makes him calm eventually because oh .... accidentally talked out my feelings. He can just rant in a room with you for twenty minutes and then his blood pressure is normal again.

Your Stu's rock too. You get him to be just a little less on with you but he can also be on allllll the way and you can handle that??? Just as well. He loves you! Loves that you can love and handle him!

You mediate between the two of them a lot and there are less fights over-all. So you both have a great relationship with the two of them and made their relationship with each other better. What can they give you for this miracle you've given them? New clothes? A movie night where you don't watch only horror movies? Orgasms? Can they give you some orgasms? An actual human heart? anYTHING, babe!

Didn't think you spoke Spanish at first until you pick up the phone to answer your Mom one day and there you go ...Spanish. They like the way you sound when you're speaking it. Your calm voice flowing even nicer when you're speaking a language smoother than English.

Stu wants to learn now! He is determined and it is ...terrible. He cannot sound anything but white. It makes you flinch every time he says a word. Billy actually can speak it much better. His pronunciation is nearly perfect but he can't remember any of the fucking words. Together they're the perfect duo of butchering a foreign language! Please stop

They do not tell you! They do not tell you they kill people! You figure it out because you notice an overlap in times when they are not with you or they're having their separate date nights and the murders. You come right out and say it one day.

They're shocked but mostly waiting for a ...secondary reaction that one might expect when their s/o accuses them of something this wild. It doesn't come. Their silence is an admission but you're not doing anything ...else?? What the fuck .. You walk away and they follow you...You're in the kitchen now?? Going towards the fridge?? You ... pulling out three fucking cokes? You sit down and open them and gesture for them to sit down too. Time to talk like you're always insisting they do for a #happy and healthy relationship.

They're screaming inside they thought your calm nature had to have #A Limit. Everyone has a limit! But you love them and apparently haven't found yours yet. Could they be more in love with you? Congratulations! Two shadows for the rest of your life.

——————–

#billy loomis x reader x stu macher #billy loomis x reader #stu macher x reader #latina!reader #billy loomis imagine #stu macher imagine #slasher x reader #i will write for ANYONE and anYTHING i am HERE to support all your gross slasher dreams as a minority adjkl #i hope you liked reading this as much as i liked writing it anon !! smooches #adjkl @ the start of this drabble....it is SO easy to be the cool kid as a minority in a school full of white people i KNOW #i was one of four black girls at my highschool and it was fucking hilarious #a man: is tall #me: well ..... i guess you can do anything you want !

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moody-cowdaddy · 5 years

Text

Friends in Low Places [Part 2 - End]

Arthur Morgan x Reader | Imagine #2

Summary: You finally make it back to Horseshoe Overlook with Arthur.

Category: Action, Fluff, First Meeting.

After riding for a while, Arthur's horse came to a stop in a wooded area that sat on top of a hill. The area surrounding you was lit up by a campfires, along with more than a few tents and wagons that were set up all along the perimeter. He clearly hadn't lied to you about a camp, there had to be at least 20 people here.

"Home sweet home," Arthur said, turning his head back to you.

He threw his leg over the filly before dropping down to the ground. He reached up for you to take his hand. You reached down, wrapping your slender fingers around his, his hands were rough and calloused, with a firm grip. He helped you keep your balance as you dropped to the ground. Clearly, the folks around here didn't miss a beat, as soon as your feet hit the dirt, a tall man with dark hair and mustache came barreling towards the two of you from the raging campfire that sat in the middle of the camp as the rest of the residents looked on, nervously. The man's hands were at his hip, ready to draw his gun at a moment's notice.

[[MORE]]

"Arthur," the man barked, pointing in your direction with a scowl, "Who is this?"

You shot Arthur a nervous glance. He returned a reassuring nod of his head to you before turning his attention back to the man, holding his hands out as he walked forward to separate him from getting over to you. But you peeked over Arthur's shoulder to get a gander at what was going on.

"Calm down, Dutch. It's safe. The girl just needed a place to stay tonight," Arthur gestured to you.

"Safe?" The man he had called Dutch repeated. "Arthur, are you forgettin' that we just barely made it out of Blackwater alive?" He shifted his eyes to you. "She could be workin' with those Pinkertons just like the rest."

Arthur hummed, seemingly in disbelief at the sheer paranoia that the man in front of him was presenting. "Well, she's one hell of an actress then, I'm bettin'."

You took a step forward,"I'm not the law, if that's your concern.. sir"

"Hell, she robbed a man before we high-tailed it outta there." Arthur spoke, throwing his hand up to rest on his gunbelt.

"It's true." You nodded, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

"Is that supposed to ease my mind?" Dutch looked between the two of you, "I told you to keep a low profile, Arthur."

Arthur nodded, "Sure. An' I have been. Fella was gettin' rough with her, so I handled it. All I'm askin' for is the night, Dutch."

Dutch looked at the two of you again before letting out a tiresome breath. "Just the night," he said before turning to you directly, "This ain't no handout camp."

You gave him a thankful expression, "I hadn't expected that it was." You reached down into your pocket to pull out the gold pocketwatch you had lifted off Jack. "How's gold plated sound?" You handed it over to him.

Dutch looked flabergasted at what he was witnessing. You had figured that he thought Arthur's comment about you robbing somebody was bullshit, but this was the thing to prove him wrong. He took the pocketwatch from your grasp, rolling it over and over between his fingers, inspecting it before a pleased expression came over his face as he finally placed it down into his own pocket. He looked down at you and gave you an acknowledging nod.

"We have food if you're hungry, and I'm sure Mr. Morgan will show you where you can lay your head for the night," he said, exchanging glances turning on his heel and walked back over to the others.

"Damn," Arthur whistled as he turned back to his horse, unstrapping the bedroll that was tied to it's saddle. "If I had known a pocketwatch was all it took for Dutch to stop his fussin', I would have tried it years ago."

"The first one's free." You smiled at him.

He smirked and tucked the bedroll under his arm, motioning for you to follow behind him as he led you through the camp. You were still receiving a few odd looks from people as they sat around the campfire, wondering who you were.

"Howdy." you said politely, giving a nod to the few men and women who scanned their eyes over you as you passed by.

A few of them nodded back at you, giving half-hearted smiles. Arthur led you over to a wagon that was setup as a makeshift sleeping tent, complete with a cot and small rickety table beside it.

"This is mine. Ain't much, but it'll keep you from layin' your head in the dirt. Take the cot," he said, unfolding the bedroll and placing it on the ground across from you. "I'll take the ground."

"No, Mister Morgan," you shook your head, "I couldn't possibly."

He held a hand up to stop your protest, "You can," he gestured to the cot, "I insist."

You sighed bemusingly and nodded, knowing he wouldn't take 'no' for an answer. "Just for tonight."

"'Course." he shrugged, pulling his hat off as he lowered himself down to the bedroll.

You sat down on the edge of the cot, checking out your surroundings as you pulled off your coat. You looked over to the small table that was setup beside the cot, your gaze landed on a few odds and ends laying on it, including a picture of a woman.

"Would that be a lucky lady, or family?" You said, staring at the old photo.

Arthur squinted, looking over in your direction. He followed your eyes to the framed photo and gave you a small chuckle. "No such luck. That's my momma. She died when I was a kid."

"Oh," you said, turning back, "I'm sorry to hear that."

He shook his head, "No harm done. It's been years, feels like a lifetime ago."

You hummed, "I never knew my parents. Died when I was around 5."

"Shit," Arthur said, his rough voice going soft, "That's no way for a girl to have to grow up."

You shrugged, "Not so terrible, I reckon. But that's a story for another time, I guess."

You glanced over at the photo one last time before pulling yourself down onto the cot. You pulled your jacket over you as cover. The night air was still cool, and the stars were shining brightly tonight. It was nice to be able to stay outside and see them again. There low mumbling from the few people still around the slowly dying campire, the crackling of it's flames and the various sounds from the wildlife hidden within the dense collection of trees in the forest beyond being the only sound filling the night air.

You watched Arthur as he settled down onto the ground, kicking his feet up as he laid his head down onto a rolled up blanket. Luckily the night air was warm, so there wasn't wasn't a whole lot of need for any cover. You secretly stared at the man for a moment, before lowering yourself down onto the cot. There was something about this man that made you feel safe, even though you had barely known him for two hours, and Lord, he wasn't bad on the eyes either.

"Goodnight, Mr. Morgan," you said, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Night, Ms. (Y/L/N)," he said, tipping his hat to you before pulling it down over his eyes.

It had been quit a while since you had a proper night's rest, and before you knew it you were out like a light.

When you woke up the next morning, there was a cool breeze in the air and the sound of birds chirps echoed from the trees. It had been a long time since you had a good night's rest, and now you were thankful that Arthur lended you his cot for the night.

You cracked your tired eyes open, letting them adjust to the morning sunlight that was now beginning to peek through the tent. Most of everyone in the camp seemed to be up and about already, including Arthur. You sat up on the cot, alone in his tent, rubbing the sleep away from your weary eyes.

After a moment, there was a sound of a throat clearing as you brought your eyes up to the entrance of the tent. Arthur was standing there with two tin cups in his hands, the steam rising up from them gently.

"Mornin'." His lips pulled into a small smile as he stepped forward, offering one of the cups to you. "Figured you might want some coffee."

You nodded silently with a small smile as you took it from his hand. He took a seat across from you in an old wooden chair as he reached down into the breast pocket of the blue button down shirt he was wearing to pull out a pack of cigarettes. He poked one of the hand rolled tobacco cylinders between his lips, swiping a match across the bottom of his boot to light it. You caught yourself sneaking a few peeks at the quiet man as you sipped the hot coffee. The warmth of the tincup on your hands felt comforting on this chilly, spring morning.

You weren't able to get the best look of him lastnight, so seeing him in this early morning light was almost as if you were meeting him all over again. You had to admit that he was a very striking gentleman. He was tall and lean, but he had no shortage of muscles from what you were able to see. He had a fair amount of stubble on his chin, and his hair was almost past his neck. You knew it was wrong to stare, but you couldn't help yourself.

But your admiration for his good looks were cut short once he glanced over to catch you staring at him. You quickly averted your eyes back down your cup of coffee, clearing your throat as you took another quick sip of the hot liquid.

"So, how long have you and your group been here?" You asked, breaking the silence.

"'Bout three weeks, give or take," he said, taking a puff of his cigarette. "Some times we move 'round so much, it can get hard to keep track."

"Travellers, huh?" You asked, jokingly. It wasnt much of a surprise to you what they were doing.

You had travelled with enough outlaws and gunslingers in your time to know what a group of them looked like.

He chuckled, seeming to find amusement in the question. He gave a small shrug, "Yeah, I reckon you could say somethin' like'at."

There was silence for a moment before you finally spoke up again, "how long are y'all sticking around here for?"

"Ehh, probably 'til we get ourselves in trouble," he said honestly. He looked up at you, his piercing blue eyes looking directly at you, as if he could see into your very soul, "How long ya stickin' 'round, miss?"

Your breathe hitched just the slightest when he looked at you, but you were able to shake it off fairly quickly, even if you did stammer on your words just a tad.

"I -I," you trailed off, letting out a breathy chuckle.

You knew you were being silly, and you knew that there really was no need for you to get yourself all flustered, you wouldn't know him long enough to have a reason to. You took a small breath and composed yourself. Arthur waited patiently, seeming to not mind that you were coming off as a right fool, but he probably chalked it up to you being a little nervous after your ordeal lastnight.

"I'll probably be heading out as soon as I get a horse. I figured I'd go out today and see if I can rope me a wild one," you finally finished.

He gave a small nod as he took the last drag off of his cigarette. "Well, I can give you a hand with'at, if ya'd like. Breakin' horses ain't no easy business."

You smiled warmly at him, "I would like that, Mr. Morgan. Thank you."

Later on that morning, you were over by the small makeshift pasture that the camp had to help Arthur get his filly, Athena, saddled up to go. It was a rather quiet morning and you could hear the low humming of voices and talking in the background again as you stood there with Arthur. For what it was worth, this was a rather nice place, and the company you were keeping for the time being wasn't so bad either.

You had already spoken to a few other of the camp members this morning, and most of them were pleasant. Hosea, Lenny, Charles, and Sadie had all introduced themselves when you came out of Arthur's tent. You were even able to get a spare change of clothes from one of the camp women whom said her name was Ms. Grimshaw.

But every place has somehing, or someone, that made everyone miserable and you'd come to find that out way sooner than you had liked.

"Athena, huh?" You hummed at Arthur. "Wouldn't've thought of you as a greek mythology buff, Mr. Morgan."

He scoffed back gruffly as he ran a corse brush over the filly's neck. "No, I reckon most wouldn't. Can't say I'm an expert, but I've done some readin' on them old Gods. Figured a strong horse like this needed a strong name."

"She is a fine animal," you nodded in agreeance, patting the horse on her side.

You weren't much for small talk with most people, but with this man, you genuinely were interested in what he had to say. He didn't didn't seem like the average man who had a whole lot of nothing to talk about. This man was intelligent and kind, which was a rare combination, especially in this neck of the woods.

The conversation was cut short when a long-haired man with a permanent scowl and look that practically screamed he was untrustworthy approached the both you.

"Now Morgan, I know you aren't tryin' to keep our house guest all to yourself," the man taunted.

You could instantly see Arthur's body go tense and stiff when he heard the man's voice sound beside him. His jaw went tight, and you could see the blank stare on his face as you watched his cheeks flair beneath his growing beard as he turned towards the voice.

He gritted down on his teeth with an exaspertlated sigh. "Watchu want, Micah?"

"Oh nothin'," the man held his hands up. His eyes were narrowed and it reminded you of the way a wolf looked when it was stalking it's prey. "I just want to introduce myself to our guest is all."

You looked up at the man with caution as he finally turned to you, holding his hand out for you to take it, and reluctantly, you did. Something seemed very off with this man, and he gave you the goddamn creeps.

"Name's Micah Bell, at your service," he smiled, bowing his head to you, slightly.

"(Y/N)(Y/L/N)." You answered back, forcing yourself to usher as smile through your lips that were pulled tightly into a firm line.

"See, that's how ya communicate, Morgan," Micah gave a smug sounding chuckle.

"There anyhin' in particular you wan't, Micah? 'Less it's orders from Durch, we don't have any business here," Arthur snapped at him. He was clearly pestered by him from the moment he slithered up to the both of you like a rattlesnake.

"Well, fine then," Micah answered. He turned to you, tipping his hat, "lovely to meet you, miss (Y/L/N)."

"Of course," you said, trying to be polite.

Once he walked off and made his way out of sight, Arthur seem to tense up just a little less.

"I take it he's not the camp favorite?" you inquired.

He hummed and nodded. "Sure as shit ain't my favorite. Pigeon-livered sonuvabitch's been ridin' with us for months now. One problem after 'nother. Don't trust him far as I could throw him, which ain't very,"

You shook your head, biting your lip as you tried to hold back the small laugh trying to escape your throat at his comment.

"Find that funny, do ya?" One corner of his lip tugged into half a smirk.

You shook your head, "I do apologize. But I see what you mean, the man seems insufferable."

"He's about as pleasant to be around as a horse with the colic." He shook his head, turning to you, "But enuff'a that. You ready to ride?"

You nodded, "Sure am."

He hopped up onto the filly, holding his hand out for you to take as helped lift you up onto her back with ease.

"Alright, let's go find you a horse," he said, giving Athena a slight tap with his feet, making her move forward.

You and Arthur stood on a small cliff that overlooked the plains. It was a beautiful sight with a clear view of the landscape and the towering mountains in the background. Arthur scanned the area with a pair of binoculars, waiting on a herd of horses to make an appearance.

"So, where ya headed next?" Arthur asked, lowering the binoculars.

You sighed, "I'm not really sure. I've usually just take a train and wherever it stops, that's where I am for a while. But, I figured if I get a horse, I'll just make my own way."

"Sounds like you live quite the adventurous life, miss (Y/L/N)," he remarked, cutting his eyes to you.

You rolled your eyes playfully, "Please, just call me (Y/N)."

"A'right then, (Y/N)," he said in that gravelly tone of his.

You'd be a liar if you said that his tone of voice, or, the man himself in general didn't make you weak in the knees, because he surely did.

"Ah, gotcha," he spoke quickly to himself, pulling the binoculars back up to his face. "We've got a heard of four. Hard to to say what the breeds are. Look like Standardbreds to me."

You walked stepped closer to him to take a look in the direction that he pointed out. You hadn't even noticed that you were damn near brushing up again him until he finally lowered the binoculars down for you to take a look. You could feel your face flush red as you took a step back from him, taking the binoculars from his hand. He must have noticed how close you were to him as well when he cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Jus' take a look there. See which one you like," he said, pointing towards them.

You brought the binoculars up to your own face to get a better look. "Yeah, I'm willing to bet those are Standardbreds."

You looked over the heard for a moment, and the one that ended up catching your eye the most was a beautiful, solid black stallion.

"That black stallion," you said confidently. "That's the one."

Arthur sighed a tad, "Sure a stallion ain't gonna be too much for ya?"

Your narrowed your eyes at him slightly as you clocked your head to look at him.

He put his hands up in defense, with an impressed smile, "Okay, okay. C'mon, let's go get 'em."

The two of you mounted Arthur's horse once more, and the two of you took off on the trail that led down from the cliff as the horses came closer into view.

"Grab my lasso, will ya!" Arthur called back to you.

"No need," you said, "Ride up along side the black one."

Even with only one side of his face visible, you could tell this cowboy was questioning what the hell you were even talking about right now.

"Whatchu mean, girl?" He asked, sounding half impressed and half concerned.

"Just do it, Arthur," you called back. "Don't worry, I've done this plenty of times."

He shook his head at you and tapped his heels against the filly's sides again, making her speed up from a gallop to a sprint, until you were right on top of the herd. You could hear the neighing and snorts of the wild stallions and fillies as they darted off in the other direction, trying to put as much distance in between you and them as possible, but it didn't take Athena long to catch up to the black stallion that you had your eyes on. As Arthur guided Athena up beside the wild equine, you threw one of your legs up onto the saddle, hanging tightly onto Arthur's vest as you readied yourself to jump onto the spooked horse's back.

"Ya gonna get yourself killed, woman!" Arthur barked as he swung his head back around to you.

You flashed him a determined smile, "We're all gonna die sometime, Mr. Morgan."

You leapt from Athena to the black stallion as it ran parallel to you. You landed on it's back with an audible thud, you quickly tightened your legs around it's abdomen as tangled your fingers tightly into it's mane as you felt the first few shockwaves of it's bucking as it's gallop faltered and it began to slow down, moving more erratically in circles to try to get you off of it's back. The horse reared up, snorting angrily at you, stomping it's feet aggressively on the ground while kicking it's back feet outward. You did your best to hang on as it slung you around like a ragdoll, giving you more than. a few close calls. But you had your grip locked in tight on it and you knew not to let go for any reason.

Arthur's horse galloped in circles around you with his lasso at the ready as he watched in pure shock and amazement at what he was witnessing you do at this moment. He surely hadn't expected anything like this from you. He had never even known many men to be as bold as this this bold. The only other woman he had seen show fearlessness was Mrs. Adler.

"You crazy woman," he breathed. He was saying it more so to himself than he watched you, his lips parted as he watched you in amazement.

After a few more hard bucks and still failing to throw you off, the stallion slowed up his erratic movements to a few odd rears and kicks here and there as a last ditch effort, until it finally decided to give up all together as it snorted and threw it's head back a few more times. You finally loosened your grip on him enough to fit comfortably atop his back once you felt it was settled down enough. The adrenaline was still coursing through you as you sat there, letting yourself breathe. You gave the stallion a firm pat on the neck.

"Good boy," you praised.

"I think ya might be one'uh the craziest women I've ever met," Arthur's voice broke through the silence.

You were so caught up in what you were doing, you forgotten that he was there watching all of this.

You sighed, guiding the horse over to him, "Perhaps a little."

"So, what'dya do anyway? After last night an' today, I'm guessin' you ain't a church girl," he said bluntly, turning his head curiously at you.

You shook your head, the two of you headed back towards camp at a leisurely pace. "You'd be right about that. I feel like me an' you are probably in the same type of business, Mr. Morgan," you admitted, giving him a knowing glance.

He raised a curious eyebrow, "An' what kind of business might that be?"

"I know a group of gunslingers when I see them. Wouldn't consider myself much of a gunslinger, but you did see me rob a man lastnight," you said, shrugging.

Arthur nodded in agreement. He made no effort to try an deny what you already knew. "Yeah, well, that was deserved on that bastard's part. We do the best we can. We try to live as right as we can. We were all just'a bunch of misfits 'til Dutch found us. We're family more than anythin'."

"He definitely struck me as the leader. How's he likin' that pocketwatch?" you asked Arthur, jokingly.

"Safe to say, I think ya made yourself a friend for life on that'un. Ya know, he was askin' me this mornin' if you're plannin' on stickin' 'round camp," Arthur said, turning his head towards you, waiting for a response.

He said it as if he too wanted to know the answer to that. You couldn't help but smile, surprised by this revelation that Dutch had more or less given you his blessing to stay if you wanted to, and the fact that Arthur himself didn't seem to mind.

"I'd hate to impose on anyone, Arthur."

"Hell, who'd you be imposin' on, darlin?" He retorted.

You could feel yourself go flush again at his words. Hearing him call you darlin' had instantly lit a fire inside of you with an intensity that you weren't even aware that you were capable of experiencing. Your thoughts started to go hazy, and you began to wonder what real harm would come from staying just a little while longer with the group. They all seemed nice enough, except Micah, but you weren't too much worried about him, and you had to admit that Arthur livened up the place, and he definitely sweetened the deal when it came to you sticking around these parts.

You glanced over to Arthur, whose blue eyes met yours at an instant. You could feel the chills running down your spine anytime he looked at you directly like this. He looked as if he had a small smile on his face, like he already knew exactly what your answer to him would be.

You bit your lip absentmindedly as you stared at the handsome cowboy before you. "Maybe I can stay a few more days, if you wouldn't mind having me."

"I wouldn't. It'd be a pleasure, ma'am." He tipped his hat to you as his eyes lingered on yours for a moment more.

Maybe spending some extra time around here wouldn't be so bad after all.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan imagine #red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 fanfiction #red dead redemption 2 fanfiction #rdr2 imagine #red dead redemption 2 imagine #roger clark #Dutch van der linde #red dead redemption x reader #authur morgan fanfic

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uzuma-take · 4 years

Text

Where's my Flare?

I have no flare in my hands

There you go

Yeah

Yo, yo

Have you ever been hated or discriminated against?

I have, I've been protested and demonstrated against

Picket signs for my wicked rhymes, look at the times

Sick as the mind of the motherfucking kid that's behind

All this commotion emotions run deep as flames exploding

Tempers flaring from parents just blow 'em off and keep going

Not taking nothing from no one give 'em hell long as I'm breathing

Keep kicking ass in the morning and taking names in the evening

Leave 'em with a taste as sour as vinegar in they mouth

See they can trigger me, but they'll never figure me out

Look at me now, bet your so proud of me Now aint ya.

I'm sorry papa!

I never meant to hurt you!

I never meant to make you cry, but tonight

I'm cleaning out my closet (one more time)

I said I'm sorry papa!

I never meant to hurt you!

I never meant to make you cry, but tonight

I'm cleaning out my closet

Ha! I got some skeletons in my closet

And I don't know if no one knows it

So before they thrown me inside my coffin and close it

I'mma expose it, I'll take you back to '73

Before I ever had a multi-platinum Killing streak

I was a teen, maybe I was just a couple of years

My faggot father must have had his panties up in a bunch

'Cause he split, I wonder if he even kissed me goodbye

No I don't. On second thought I just fucking wished he would die

I look at Shigi, and I couldn't picture leaving His side

Even if I hated Him, I grit my teeth and I'd try

To make it work with her at least for The Lovs sake

I maybe made some mistakes, but I'm only human

But I'm man enough to face them today

What I did was stupid, no doubt it was dumb

But the smartest shit I did was take the Quirk outta Ma hands

'Cause I'da killed him, shit I would've shot Mum and him both

It's my life, I'd like to welcome y'all to "The Dabi Show"

I'm sorry Papa!

I never meant to hurt you!

I never meant to make you cry, but tonight

I'm cleaning out my closet (one more time)

I said I'm sorry Papa!

I never meant to hurt you!

I never meant to make you cry, but tonight

I'm cleaning out my closet

Now I would never diss my own Papa just to get recognition

Take a second to listen for who you think this record is dissing

But put yourself in my position, just try to envision

Witnessing your momma going nuts in the kitchen

Bitching that shoutos always looking like his dad her mind and shit's missing

Going through public hero systems, victim of Stockholm syndrome

My whole life I was made to believe I was Useless when I wasn't

'Til I grew up, now I blew up, it makes you sick to ya stomach

Doesn't it? Wasn't it the reason you made that course for me Pa?

So you could try to justify the way you treated me Pa?

But guess what? You're getting older now and it's cold when you're lonely

And Fyumis growing up so quick he's gonna know that you're phony

And Ma's getting so Well now, you should see Her , she's Beutiful

But you'll never see Her, she won't even be at your funeral!

See what hurts me the most is you won't admit you was wrong

Bitch do your song, keep telling yourself that you was a Dad !

But how dare you try to take what you didn't help me to get

You selfish bitch, I hope you fucking burn in hell for this shit

Remember when Shirokumo died and you said you wished it was me?

Well guess what, I am dead, dead to you as can be!

I'm sorry Papa!

I never meant to hurt you!

I never meant to make you cry, but tonight

I'm cleaning out my closet (one more time)

I said I'm sorry Papa!

I never meant to hurt you!

I never meant to make you cry, but tonight

I'm cleaning out my closet

My take on Cleanen out my closet . Dabi style.

#dabi headcanons #bnha #bnha spoilers #bnha dabi

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saintlexii · 5 years

Text

A/N: More Saints Row 1 NPC quotes for y'all because I got board. (Quotes come from my 3 different saved games at 8%, 49%, and 77% completion)

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7

- Watch your back, man, I hear Hughes is taking names.

- Maybe my girl would respect me more if I hung out with you.

- I'm buyin' a bunch of purple clothes today, isn't that cool?

- If I don't kill someone soon I'm gonna forget how.

- If my man is asleep when I come home I'm throwing his ass out.

- They don't teach you how to change clothes in the Row?

- Who sold out your boss?

- I didn't wanna be in that stupid sorority anyway.

- Third Street's outta the ghetto now.

- You got us to the top, I hope you keep us there.

- I give the best damn blowjob in Stilwater.

- Remember where you came up from, man.

- There's no way I coulda done what you did.

- Maybe now there'll be some order.

- The Lopez family's gone? I don't believe it.

- So, how does it feel to be the voice of Julius?

- With you callin' the shots, no one can touch us.

- There ain't a man working the docks that hasn't heard of you.

- This whole town's afraid of us.

- The way I hear it, you're lookin' to take the whole damn city.

- You make sure Julius finishes what he started.

- Is Julius gonna stick around this time?

- If you ever wanna start some shit, let me know.

- I think my philosophy professor was hitting on me.

- Don't tell anyone, but I think you might be harder than Johnny.

- Julius better watch himself, King ain't gonna play nice this time.

- Do you like older women?

- I should hookup with a gang, that'll get me some chicks.

- Julius ever mention me?

- Looks like the Saints weren't pussies like everyone said.

- How's Lin doin'? I ain't seen her in a while.

- I wouldn't wanna be in your way.

- The Saints have earned some respect, but that don't mean people are gonna roll over.

- My son was talking about you last night.

- I don't care what people say, you gangsters have pizazz.

- Shit, man, they owe you money or somethin'?

- I don't know of it's just me, but Troy's been acting nervous.

- How come you always doing everything around here?

- All you do is ruin people's lives.

- Laura sure is making a lot of friends at the PTA, I wonder what her secret is.

- I oughta invest in a bigger flask.

- I wonder where I can meet some Asian chicks.

- If I see that ho come by my place one more time I'm gonna slap the black off of her.

- Fuck no, I ain't shaving my shit, that's just nasty.

- How am I supposed to take care of my kids when the government keeps fucking with me?

- It's not cheating if you call me your wife's name.

- I wish Friendly Fire took food stamps.

- What's Tanya got that I don't?

- If I suck one more dick tonight I'll make the rent.

- Next time she asks, I'm gonna say "yes, you do look fat in that dress".

- Shit, you must've killed half the people in this city.

- Wanna catch dinner and a drug deal?

- Damn you look fine.

- Goddamn, I want some cookies.

- I haven't seen Johnny in a while, I hope he's okay.

- Minimum wage my ass, I can't even afford a lighter.

- I'm getting sick of Troy acting like he's better than everyone.

- I gotta stop getting high and talking to myself on the street.

- Hey, you're the guy that finally put down Victor.

- Don't worry, they say jail isnt too bad here.

- Why's Troy always gotta stick his nose in my business?

- I don't give a fuck what she days, he's my man.

- I'd be all over that ass if she put a bag over her head.

- I've gotta see a doctor, Mister Whiskers just smells awful lately.

- I can't believe my dad gave me shit for dating a black guy.

- Be careful, I used to be important, look at me now.

- How did you kill Victor?

- I was there when they found Lin's body.

- I may be poor, but I ain't ever whoring myself out.

- If it ain't the big man himself.

- You're gonna be running this gang pretty soon.

- How come I never see you hitting the bars?

- Next time you roll over on some motherfuckers take me along.

- Make sure Julius knows what's up over here.

- Ah man, I'm from the suburbs, I don't know how to deal with gangs.

- What's this bullshit about Dex being a lieutenant?

- When I finally move outta here I ain't ever looking back.

- You been telling Julius about all the good shit I do, right?

- Vote Winslow, Hughes kicks puppies!

- Is it true you cut some guys dick off for lookin' at your girl?

- We ain't a bunch of bursters no more thanks to you.

- Aisha's just using Johnny.

- So, are you one of those street racers?

- From all the stories I heard I thought you'd be taller.

- You single?

- Unless you wanna end up in jail you better slow down.

- I'm meeting some friends downtown tonight, wanna come?

- I hear you're a good guy to know.

- You better be careful, Stilwater can be a nasty place.

- If I max out another card I'll never hear the end of it.

- You've become quite the local figure.

- You belong in jail!

- I can't wait to cheat on my online girlfriend, that girl has it coming.

- Julius ain't nothing but a washed up banger past his prime.

- You're as hard as Julius said you were.

- I hope the next dead body I see on the street is you!

- Between Gat and that mute motherfucker, we got nothing to worry about.

- I'm gonna kill my parents for naming me River.

- I wonder if the secretary is wearing tose panties I like.

- I heard Julius talking about promoting you.

#saints row #saints boss #saints row 2 #johnny gat #quotes #dexter jackston #julius little #the saints #troy bradshaw #npc quotes #i spent so much time on this #100 quotes

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thestudyfeels · 5 years

Text

How To NOT Be Depressed.

(Or If You Prefer — How to Be Substantially Happy About Life.)

WARNING: This is one rollercoaster ride of a post. Proceed with extreme caution. For some, the staggering levels of insight may induce true purpose and re-establish their warrior spirit. For others, side effects may include grammatically incorrect hate or aloof eyerolls. We advise exiting if the said group includes you, for we're very tired of cleaning vomit off the seats.

Step aboard at your own risk.

If you’re one of the brave souls who stayed back to join us, I congratulate you for even I am scared of how crazy this post truly is. Alrighty then, kick back and relax folks, today we’re having a mature, adult conversation. Merely another cheery afternoon spent talking about life and its realities. Not too bad, eh?

Before we begin, spoiler alert! For those of you already turned off by the mention of 'depression’ and packing their bunnies to leave, sit tight. This ISN'T really about depression. This is about HAPPINESS. No clickbait. That got your attention, right butterfly? Nice, now stay.

A welcoming, maybe demanding A/N: Do me a favor and read this in one go. Maybe even plug in those headphones and listen to the songs dedicated to each part as you read. It's long, you have the new Riverdale episode to catch up on, but don't hop away just yet because (I had a couple moments writing this, alright) it's life changing. You'll prolly cry a few tears of realization, nod all nod-able body parts in agreement, beat your chest at random instants 'cause the hype’s too real, and perhaps, if it isn’t too much to hope for, finally go change your life for the better. In case you've forgotten, this'll remind you that there’s always hope, that you're a born conqueror, and you were made to THRIVE, not survive. Convinced? Kay, roll the cams.

To clarify first-hand, no, I'm not depressed although I’ve experienced mild depression for a period before. Glad to say I'm out of it but I still struggle with tackling what I'm about to detail next.

Insert bitter voice, it’s this: My life is nowhere near I want it to be. Though I know vaguely what I wanna do, I haven't yet figured out how the hell I’m supposed to get there, or how my dream life is to be sketched out. It’s all a blurry mess. Which, to put it bluntly, hurts. I HATE feeling powerless and worthless, roaming about aimlessly.

There are many such moments where I hit the brakes to wonder why I’m not living THE Life already. There have been several times when I curl up and cry a frickin’ Amazon. There are horrible nights where I'm shaking with emotions, but they won't release, leaving me choked. (…not in that way, you hoes. Um, just ruined the dramatic mood with a lame dirty joke, sorry.)

They say talking helps and that's why I figured I'd drop in. But perhaps more importantly, I wanted to hang because no matter how unfocused the lens may seem at my future, I don't consider myself a dopey loser incapable of the crazy dreams or wild bucket lists I fantasize about– and I thought I'd skip along to remind you that neither should you. (Or maybe I just came to sniff the new appetizers, who knows?)

PS: I also broke a sweat listing six ways to get outta depression– alternatively, to be more of a conqueror– because y'all are always pestering me with asks that go “how do I conquer omg send supplies” (Like, imagine a conqueror saying that! Oh, the crime, the atrocity!)

So yes, you're welcome. Have a feast with this litness.

The main reason behind people being so frightfully sad, I’ve found, is a huge lack of fulfillment. We don't do what we love, for either— [ 1 ] we aren’t living life the way we want to (since we keep doing things we feel we're supposed to do) OR [ 2 ] because Mama, Papa and Mrs. Carter next door feel that struggling is the only way, and project their traditional beliefs onto us. Either way, whether or not we consciously realize this, subconsciously, we're all hurting because of it. Badly.

That lingering feeling of emptiness never seems to leave. You feel drained every night when you drop into bed, not because you gave it your all, but because you couldn't. And so, we do the next best thing. Drugs. Maybe not literally, but figuratively. We numb out this subconscious pain by binge watching Netflix shows. We deaden ourselves to that discomfort by reading smut in the bathroom or by playing dumb video games all day. We try (and fail) to extinguish this feeling of not ‘being enough’ by having silly flings or fake friendships.

And ultimately, we NUMB ourselves out to LIFE for we can't bear to live the way we're living. There's a reason why “How to Stop Procrastinating” posts are so popular (they’re a blogger’s most foolproof way of paying the month’s rent, and yes, even I'm guilty of a couple). We’re constantly having FOMO and tuning into others' highlights on social media– completely missing out on our own lives in the process. We fail to realize that the culprit is lack of genuine purpose more than zero self-control (or maybe it’s both, but that’s a tale for another day).

[On a side note, obviously I did generalize a bit– video games can be a passion for you, watching shows a way of winding down. But for most, they’re only DISTRACTIONS, just another way of ignoring the calls of life by hanging up the phone.]

And here's the bitter truth about depression: The longer you wait to start living authentically, the more you start tuning out the inner cries wanting change, the faster your dreams start to ebb away, and the more you'll want to become insignificant. And to me, that's the scariest part of this journey to my dream life.

Nothing frightens me more than knowing that the moment I stop pushing, the very moment I give in to distractions and fears, my goals will stop manifesting themselves and I'll be stuck in this small town with its small people eternally. And THAT, I'm certain, won't be any more fun than working your way through a soggy ham sandwich, ironic as soggy is what life has become. (Yes, I have a thing against soggy sandwiches. They were a kid's worst lunch nightmare.)

If you relate, and I’m sure you do (it’s probably why you stopped scrolling through cheesy fanfic for ten minutes to read this, I know you amigo) — here are six ways to NOT be depressed. Or more accurately, to gift wrap yourself some sweet ol’ happiness.

You're a Samurai and the Following Be Your Katanas —

Hol’ up. The second you reach the End Card, I want you to drop your Cheerios and implement at least THREE of these six strategies. Just follow the Takeaways, I've made this really simple. And as a rule, one of them has to be this one. (Look, don't whine. If you wanna climb outta that dark hole, you gotta put in some effort. So pop that booty, and let’s get down to business!)

Here’s the most truthful, though cheesy thing I’ll ever say: I would be nowhere I am today without this blog. If not for it, I would most likely be weeping in a dug-out hole somewhere, drowning in my salty little pond of tears and chiming every loser’s favorite words (“there's no point”). Creating this blog gave me a definite purpose – putting out fiery content, dipping myself deep into my newly found passion for writing and influencing, and connecting with other conquerors on the platform.

I meet a lot of folks, whether at Sad School, Mouldy Mall, or Boring Bus stop, who always seem to be in a state of death-inducing boredom. When asked about their favorite thing to do, they’ll mumble “sleep” or “food” like Siri narrating your cat’s evening routine. And then you see adults, dragging through life mindlessly. Utterly clueless, floating like a piece of driftwood in an ocean bubbling with life. My sympathy quota gets overdosed everytime I think about it.

To spell it out, find something to do. Anything! Learn a language, try some ballet, take pictures of your neighbor's rose garden, make an art piece and show it to your mom, stitch buttons onto shirts for fun, heck, make an entire shirt out of buttons, take a break from reading smut to write your own, frutify your farts, WHATEVER, just get up and move.

And here’s why – nay, not to keep you engaged or make you feel less worthless, not that bullcrap. It’s to put in gear the journey of figuring out what is the shite that you love doing. Too often we get stuck thinking about what our oh-so-great passion is. Get this, passion is energy. A spark for something. A magical fortune cookie which, when cracked, seems to explain everything, gives you the very reason for being alive. You can only feel that fire, that wild love, when you actually do it. So get cracking is all I’ll say!

Takeaway:

Attempt something. Nah, scratch that, imagine you’re in a sweet shop with shelves lined with free samples and try everything. Pick up that Polaroid cam, take that dreaded history course, buy that children’s cooking kit– in short, start working. Pull out all the stops, get curious, and get creative. In the process, if you promise to try hard enough, you WILL (money back guarantee) find out what makes your little heart burst with mad happiness and would willingly do for free, if needed, because you really are that crazy about it. And that, my dear, will be your oh-so-great-indeed passion. Have no doubt, you’ll never be “bored” again.

Real talk, having a dream is a big deal. And unfortunately, I’ve witnessed, rarely anyone has one to begin with. They’re either more dead than the cheap skeleton I bought for Halloween or believe they have a dream, but in reality, it belongs to mom, dad, or Uncle Sammy. Listen, doing something for someone you love (my Uncle Sammy used to supply me with cold cash whenever he came around, loved that guy) is great! YET, if you’re willing to throw away your life to fulfill others’ expectations, convincing yourself it's because they love you, even when YOUR lonely heart craves bigger things than just a marketing job, then you, my friend? Are the biggest fool. Don’t get offended, we both know it, this girl needn't ramble.

Recently, my relatives were over (nope, sadly not Uncle Sammy) and my cousin and I had a chat about life (correct, I grab every opportunity to do so). It wasn't very exciting I must say, he kept staring off into the distance (I wonder why), but what he SAID is what I'll talk about. After I’d gushed about my dreams, he asked skeptically if being an influencer would still be an ambition two years from now when I graduate. I raised my eyebrows, mock hurt, like eff you son, I ain’t giving up on my dreams! But that question got me thinking.

Life is wild. Unpredictable. An unexpected call, a single person, a random BLOG POST (cough) – can turn your life upside down, sometimes in the affirmative, other times not. This variability of life isn’t uncommon, and everyone experiences some part of it– unpaid student loans, failing startups, talent and art going unnoticed in industries dominated by wealth and connections, you name it. If all of that doesn’t make you run for the Himalayas and abandon any dreams, throw in a quick side dish of dysfunctionale famiglia with a sprinkle of self-image issues.

It ain’t easy, darling. The world is one cruel headmistress; it loves slapping awake the daydreamers and wishful thinkers. That hasn't ever actually stopped the dropouts and class clowns from building castles in the air though. And the common blueprint you notice they follow? Let me introduce you to… Madness. Obsession. Maniacal obsession, to say. (Yes, I'm done playing with my words.)

I struggled writing this point. A pestering voice in my head kept mumbling – They'll go back to doing the same sad shit anyway. Um, does anyone even read your posts? Lol, call yourself an influencer, hun. Hesitation started creeping in. Then the irony of the situation struck me. I laughed, shook my head and got back to typing.

We ran out of juicy gossip weeks ago, so here’s your tea served cold: insecurities and self doubt WILL get in the way. That whiny voice was just a mild version of what you face when you go all in. Fear traps you in its cage, and those who prattled behind your back now progress to talking shit in your face. Criticism and self doubt resurfaces, so unless your defenses are strong, you'll be crushed. Destroyed REAL quick.

When hell breaks loose (oh honey, and it WILL), your self defense comprising of maniacal obsession must be well learnt. Let them attack, mock, heck, drag you away from the desk and hurl you at the top of a damn mountain, but you better STILL hike back down, show them the middle finger, and continue working. That's how bulletproof you've gotta be. That's how madly do you have to love your dreams. And if you really think this will be a cake walk or want to continue complaining about Stuart being born with a silver spoon, hop off the train already. Your destination isn't on the tour list.

Look, my dreams terrify me. But they certainly make me feel more alive than complying with what every parent said about getting good grades and holding together a roof on my head. My ambitions set me free, give me a reason to fucking live. And yet, every now and then, something makes me question them. A fear engulfs me, some doubter proclaims I suck, someone I love is so blinded they can't see my vision. And that's okay. My defenses are way stronger. The next day rolls round, and you'll find me hustling again, thriving again. All because I know that even if no one reads my posts (the worst case scenario, I know y'all love me lol), someday in the future, someone will. I know that even if I’m not an influencer yet, if just one reader becomes a conqueror because of my words, it would be a win. A big win. I'd have done my job. All because I’m wildly, yes maniacally, obsessed with my dreams.

So hey, cousin? This influencer thing? This will be my dream long after I've graduated. Till the day I die, and maybe even then I'll rise from my grave to give a dead pal a lively pep talk. My watchtower has just been upgraded, so thank u, next.

Takeaway:

“General, we've arrived!” Finally! Position those cannons, Martha, let’s talk them through the defenses. All aboard? AHOY MATEY! (wait, that was one for the pirates). Step one, dare to create a dream in your mind’s eye. The bigger, the crazier, and the scarier, the better. Doesn’t matter how impossible it is, don’t care how many voice their opinion against it, just imagine, keep a million possibilities in mind.

Once you see the life you truly want (you’ll know, everything will seem to zing)— have a sip. Become OBSESSED for that life. Thirst after that vision, itch to manifest it, and pine for the satisfaction that’ll come to your soul once it’s made a reality. Fall madly in love with the process and how magical it feel when you do it. And THEN, bellow a loud war cry and charge headfirst into battle, shields held high at all the criticisms. We conquerors never cared much for them anyway.

(play ♬) Picture this: forehead stamped with beads of sweat. Calloused hands working their fingers to the bone and eyebrows furrowed in deep concentration. Conjure an image where powerful beats are pulsing hard in your ears, synced with your own elevated heartbeats, and you’re thriving. Performing. Winning. Guess the secret to that? Preparation. Champions prepare. You can’t throw anything to the winds or rely on ‘luck’ or chance to conquer.

Tough days are in everyone’s calendar, be it your extra cheerful neighbor, Sally, or lone wolf classmate, Derrick. We’ve all found ourselves sulking over an awful situation, scooping into mint ice cream to forget mistakes, errands, and ghosting exes. Yet guess what? The solution isn’t the proclaimed “be positive!” or “It all happens for a reason, don’t you worry” - the key is coming up with a method to dodge the discouraging effect these hiccups have on us.

So every bad day, I bring out a mason jar containing a knot of chits and one secret letter which is, on most days, kept hidden on the top shelf of my cupboard. I make myself comfortable on the bed, read all my bits of paper carefully, including the letter addressed to yours truly, close my eyes, and mentally fight back whatever’s bringing me down.

A short while later, I get up, now a warrior, and go slay the rest of the day like it was my last one on this planet. That jar is my jar. A Conqueror’s jar. One look at those powerful reminders, and I’m grounded once again, the beast within me now unleashed to kill.

Takeaway:

Honey, go get yourself a jar. Along with some papyrus and ink. Then start jotting down. Document past victories, future visions, fears that mean zilch to the person you’re about to become, batty goals you’ve still gotta chase, reminders that the majority will never understand what it is you’re tryna do here, and how that’s perfectly alright 'cause you'll find your conquerors, your squad one day. Create your victory jar. And then go knock ‘em down dead. Bad days stand no chance against you. You’re a winner, a fucking rebel. Go take what’s yours.

Y’know, I’m perfectly aware that many muggles reading this will whine that dealing with depression ain’t no piece o’ pie and it’s hella hard to get up and take the crown when you feel like a pile of dino dung.

Stop it. Get some help. (See what I did? Like Michael- ok ok, calm thyself.) For real though, and I’m tired of repeating this with my kitten stamped microphone (but I’ll keep at it ‘cause it’s that significant) – whining is WORTHLESS. It saps up precious energy that could be used to make life a scrumptious smoothie. (Loothie? As in life + smoothie? Right, yes, I’m shutting up.)

And even THEN, we find denizens complaining about slow WiFis and thin crust pizzas and how the market’s down and the government’s incompetent. Because blabbering makes us feel important. Heard. But keeping yo’ trap shut and actually doing stuff? Hustling for your dreams when nobody’s watching? Actually walking the talk? C’mon, Emma, don't be naive, ain’t nobody getting recognition for that.

Trust me, I get it. The world is yet to become a feminist, turns out your boyfriend was cheating on you while you were looking up wedding dresses, mommy’s a drunk loser, and idiots are being voted into office. It’s a lot to handle. But thanks to our immense and ever increasing population (we folks really love our rumpy pumpy, can you tell) — there will surely be one chum, facing exactly the same misfortunes as you, but still turning up at every party and bulk-spamming his friends with puppy pictures while you sit and wail. (One Moaning Myrtle is enough, thank you very much.)

Look, I’m not undermining your worries or obstacles. I’m only reminding that you have the marvelous choice of positivity. To CHOOSE hope and a better future when others won't. To FIND (and it's always possible) something to look forward to even when the to-do’s a big snore. To KNOW, deep inside, that you're a magnificent conqueror, no matter what mess you’re in at the moment, and that the world dances to your rhythm. Realise that it's up to you to let yourself be happy. At any moment, you have the very say-so to get up and start rocking. Dumbledore said it himself, “It is our choices, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.” So choose better, and you’ll unconsciously do better as well. And yes, that being said, this is the last HP reference, don't fret. Be positive instead. (Edit: Ha, look at these quips, the girl's all grown up now.)

Takeaway:

Your new occupation is to be a sunflower. If you think back, you'll probably recall Miss Honey rattling on about phototropic movement in AP biology. No? Me neither. Point is, sunflowers always face the sun. Put them ANYWHERE, hide them in the dungeons, throw them in a trash bag and shoot it off to the moon, they’ll still turn around and face the sun. No matter what. And taking inspo from that, you too can stop scripting creative soliloquies for being depressed. Happiness is YOUR right, YOUR priority, don't let anyone take it away from you or diminish its importance. DON’T let sadness ruin your vibe, do what you've gotta do to protect yourself. Track happiness in yo’ journal, set 84 reminders on your phone, and tattoo “Long as you’re beaming up at the sun, all the shadows will be left behind” on your boobs. Do whatever, just don’t turn the corners of your mouth down. You’re so pretty this way.

The other day, I was doing the deathly Plié Alternative Heel Lifts (these names, I swear) and my legs felt dead. Gone. Put to sleep like the Wicked Witch of the East. Now obviously, the timer wasn’t not even halfway done yet, but my cheeks were already flushing red like dear Santa, and NOT because I was high on choco chip cookies. I sighed, and at that point, I was so over giving up. All this while, I’d been whining and protesting because my muscles felt sore, but in that moment, I made up my mind. I bit my lip and kept going. On and on. Keep pulsing, you got it, don't stop, was the mantra I kept chanting.

Won’t sugarcoat it, I honestly hadn’t died this much since that time Miss Honey buried me alive with trig assignments. My legs were now basically Play-doh and I was shaking, fighting for balance. A few seconds in though, something crazy happened. My legs went numb. My grumbling mind quietened and the pain vanished. That evening, I had the upper hand, not my physical perceptions of myself. I was powerful. Flawless. (Hey Santa, do you even lift bro?) Real talk, I was in the Zone, bitches.

I’m not sure if that was the result of excessive pain or because Wonder Woman’s spirit possessed ma bod, but staying loyal to my love for metaphors, I’ll use the experience to explain what I’m tryna get at here.

Look, here’s the real deal — if all of the greats gave up the second things got frowny, we probably would have no one to worship. Nix role models, nix inspirations, none to stalk on Insta - we’d all be bumbling about like Sad from the even sadder Emoji movie (no shade, emojis be lit).

And that'd be very sad (pun definitely intended). Hence, cue some tangible ways to boosting your grit, so that you can be your own superhero:

1) Get yo’self a goddamn motto,

2) Know your “Why,”

3) Repeat the cycle till it’s in your blood. Btw, Shawn, if you here, I’m still a single pringl—HEY PAL I SEE YOU, DON'T SCROLL.

Seriously, don't brush these prime steps aside. We're always going for the advanced modes, and deeming these basic levels a waste of time. Well guess what, compadre, YOUR LIFE IS A GODDAMN WASTE O’ TIME IF YOU DON'T HAVE YOUR BASICS RIGHT. Excuse my outburst, but listen. You can’t do a hundred bicep curls on your first workout if you haven't lifted anything more than a crisps packet. Likewise, if you simply jump into Life one day, and decide “ok, here it is, 12 habits to build, sleep schedule to fix, man to ask out, let's go,” you ain't getting nowhere, chum. Start small. Take baby steps. It's clearly not as fun (definitely negates the bragging on Facebook part of it) but it'll stick. You’ll create a consistency that not even Grandma's cake batter can achieve.

1. Talking mottos — For context, a motto that I always mutter (my mom thinks I'm cursing, oh what a bad child) every time I spill milk while making coffee is “Do more. Give more. BE more.” Not only does it help me stay right on track for the rest of the day but it helps me clean up my mess, figuratively and otherwise, or I’d just be sitting in a puddle of spilt milk, cursing adulting for real this time and with more laundry to do.

2. Why you need the Big Why — Owning up, I’m guilty of attempting to learn Welsh for less than 48 hours because I hadn't a single reason to speak the language. A similar thing happened with half of my 2018 resolutions, which had a bunch of rubbish like “Floss daily”, something my eyes got trained to skip because, um, who the hell flosses every day?

Lame humor aside, I still workout almost daily because I have my Why straight. 1) I want to feel good about my body and get closer to the confident badass I envision my future self to be, 2) I simply HAVE to sustain my health to live to build my legacy and fulfill my dreams of opening a bakery at 90 and 3) Because I’m an influencer, and want to walk my talk and be the inspiration people need. Those are the reasons as to why I turn up to my yoga mat everyday, shut my jabbering mind, and keep on pulsing. This “Why” strategy applies to everything. Wanna get outta depression? Why? Wanna lose 20 pounds? Why? Wanna listen to your dentist’s desperate pleadings and floss already? WHY EH? Unless you know your intentions, you’ll give up at the first chance you get to not act on your goals. And watch out, because there'll be a LOT of those.

For me, leaving a legacy behind means more than having a slice of cake or missing a workout because there’s a fun movie playing. Find what's important to YOU, make it your why, and go marry your goals.

3. And then, Repeat — Bear in mind, if you're not living your best life yet, there are NO weekends. NO work-shy days. No weak days, no pick-me-up days, no eat-candy-do-nothing days. Everyday is a damn Monday. EVERYDAY is life or death. Every holy day you wake up is a chance to push your limits, challenge your mindset, and see how far you can go. And every 24 hours, when the cycle starts again, it’s your mission to race to build a stronger, wiser and crazier you.

And who knows, perhaps one day, you and I will just be casually sipping tea in our dream home, laughing at how the milk is still being spilt but knowing, proudly, fiercely, that we’ve come so far, even though there’s still more left to do, more to give and so much more to be.

Takeaway:

Quit quitting. You're, guaranteed, 20x stronger than you think. I doubted I could go through with the workout, it seemed beyond my present physical capabilities. But I did, because I treated it as life or death. Understand this, the second you start making excuses, for being depressed, for taking an unnecessary day off - you give away your power. You are a very powerful being. You're limitless, capable of everything.

I'm not throwing these words around to make you feel cute, I actually mean AND believe them. There’s so much that's been done already— the iconic four minute mile by Roger Bannister, invention of the light bulb, cars, toothpaste and other junk, people who lost both legs and climbed Mt. Everest, we sent a man to moon in frickin’ 1969 (50 YEARS ago), some ran a 26 mile marathon with zero training, love and hope is still strong in this world, oh let's also add coffee and motivational music— and YOU think you can't finish a workout or get outta depression or meet your idols or marry the man of your dreams or become the artist you wanna be? Ridiculous. Don't give away your power that easily, this ain't no charity shop.

(play ♬) Having personally dealt with unwelcome yet familiar feelings of emptiness quite often, I’ve now reached a point where each bad day is simply a reminder of how long my journey ahead is, and just how badly I want to reach my destination.

We finally near the end of this novel of a post (thanks for sticking around, bud), and my best advice would be this: Rather than wallowing in self pity and throwing one-man parties because your life is so awfully dreadful, know that even when life throws you to the floor, long as you can look up, long as you can read an entire book about defeating depression (cough)– you can GET UP too. Let those emotions of sorrow and frustration blaze up into a roaring, crackling fire that doesn’t consume you, but instead, urges you, fuels you.

Lately, no matter how much shit I go through, how many arguments I tumble into, or how barren my dreams look sometimes, I don’t break down. And no, it wasn't always like this. I never even had aspirations to name two years ago. Six months back, it had become a night routine to cry. Not anymore.

Now, every setback and every failure only pushes me to be stronger and give more than I ever gave. The day I made the decision to Conquer (truly, madly, deeply, with all of my heart) was also the day I said a big, loud ‘fuck you’ to every resistance that was to cross my path. I had finally understood that life was nothing but a battle of WILLS, that it was all in or nothing, and I made up my mind once and for all to NEVER give in to depression, or to society, or to anyone who tells me I cannot make it.

I had conquered depression. There was no looking back now.

Takeaway:

Here’s something no one will tell you: the key to bringing depression to its knees is seeing it positively. Pretend that it's a friend continuously sending strong, aggressive signals urging you to be happy. And what do you do when a caring friend throws some holy light? You listen, push past your ego, and follow accordingly.

And if that parallel seems unconvincing, here's another one (sup, DJ Khaled. This post is turning musical, sorry): it's scared of you. Depression is scared shit of you. Y'know how bullies are, right? Majorly insecure, self-loathing too perhaps, hardly fans of self love, and always trying to numb all that subconscious pain by inflicting pain on others. Depression has the same instruction manual. Your fears and doubts are your (pathetic) bullies, and depression is the big ol’ crony who does the dirty work for 'em.

Whenever you decide shit this is it, I'm going for it, they go paranoid and try stopping you because they've seen no better. And if they succeed, BOOM, you're depressed, paralyzed, your qualms reigning over you again. Don't let them in. I'll say it a thousand times if I gotta because I want (HAVE) to see you conquer – you're so much stronger than you think you are. You can do so much more than you think. It's all in your head! Don't just sit there, click away, and go back to living a sad life. You’re better than that. DO better than that. You’re meant to freaking CONQUER, straight-up dominate, my pal. Pay heed to that voice craving freedom. You got this. And you better know it.

One thing’s fixed like the (beloved by all) proportionality constants in Physics, you will come across depressing mornings and sluggish evenings even in the future. I assure you. Lots o’ bad hair days in the calendar, sis. But here's what you’ll do: you'll deactivate the miserable thoughts, keep a cool head, remind yourself that this is yet another test (better, rap your new mantra) and USE that hurt, pain, and anger to create a fervor and passion that wreaks havoc on its obstacles and drives you to accomplish EVERYTHING you've ever wanted to do. The easy choice would be to just give up, bellyache about the situation, and want sympathy for your worries. Yet, what you'll never do is… exactly that.

Rule 1) NEVER give up. Stand your ground. Have faith in your strength. Know that you'll have your way soon enough anyway. Rule 2) NEVER complain. All it does is drain your energy, that precious fire you could to high jump your way into the clouds. Makes you a pathetic wimp too, definitely not something you want on a warrior’s resume. Lastly, Rule 3) NEVER seek validation. From anyone. It sure feels nice to be acknowledged and encouraged, but grasp this— this is your journey. YOUR life and YOUR vision. Validation won't get you anywhere, for there'll never be enough of it.

Cuz Marty, if you're tryna bring something new, different, and authentic into this world – you'll most likely be hated on badly, before you'll be loved madly (hi, me a rapper). Learn to invite hate instead—IMPORTANT: hate from others, not yourself. Sounds counterintuitive, but this is the real tea: hate is good. It means you're standing up for something, refusing to fit like a puzzle piece in society, and being UNAPOLOGETICALLY yourself. And it’s certainly a sign that you’re on the right path if you can ignore that hate and stick your tongue out at it.

Yet another reason to never seek validation is simply this: you have to fight for yourself. In order to meet your own expectations, reach the doorstep of the best version of you, and transform this world, you'll have to go wildly IN. Toil and hammer away. Shut out all the haters and non-believers, listening only to your gut. Importantly, learn to accept the rejection slips, validating yourself not with what Molly says about it being okay, but with the reminder that your time is coming soon. Depend on yourself. Validation will NEVER be enough.

I get it, it's a lot of homework, but perhaps you already realize that it’s THIS work that'll change your life forever. Not “how to not procrastinate, Jesus take the wheel” or “HELLO, life's a mess so here are ten things to do (you won't believe number four!)”. Clickbaits don't work, stop believing that a fancy planner is going to be your savior. There is no rule to making your life a masterpiece. You'll have to get to know yourself and your dreams (journaling, meditation, silent pondering), build the work ethics and the mentality needed (lots of work in this one, yet no strict framework to go about it) and GET GOING.

AND with that firework, I'll begin to slip away now. Again, I won’t say it’s easy, that’s cock and bull. Life’s no fairytale. You will never feel ready to start bringing your dreams to fruition. But, my darling (I’m being so nice yo, follow me), you must. You must force yourself to work for the future you want till it becomes a habit, an obsession. The world badly needs heroes; confident people who can stand for themselves so that others can stare at first, maybe even hate a little, but then follow because they seem unstoppable and are, truthfully, having the most fun at life. YOU'RE one of them. No validation, just plain facts.

You see, conquering is a LOT of blood and sweat (K-pop, anyone? BTS? Lmao, this is me tryna clickbait y'all to read). Even getting up will seem huge when you're just starting out, and this is one long road, dear pal. Still then, I have enough faith in you to hope you don't give into your fears, I hope you willingly chase discomfort, and I hope you find the courage to do all that you want to do, while that heart's still beating.

I hope you conquer. I'll do too, and I'd really like to see some familiar faces during the ride.

Peace, amigo.

A loud ass A/N: And now, we come the most important part of this post. WAKE UP Luke, stop snoring, and take some notes. Remember kids, I won't accept anything but an A.

If you couldn’t identify yourself throughout this post and currently are scoffing like um woman, that's not really why I'm depressed, hang in there a sec. Yes, you can stop singing It Ain’t Me now. You've a very nice voice by the way.

I'm not a doctor, and I don't have enough exposure to know why so many earthlings are depressed today. HOWEVER, by talking to many, following their stories, watching and reading stuff – I do know with firm conviction that a majority suffers from severe unfulfillment. Don't believe me? A study shows 85% of the working class worldwide hate their jobs. Do you realize what that actually means? EIGHTY-FIVE PERCENT of the THREE BILLION PEOPLE employed today, hate being employed in the first place! They do it for prime survival, to sustain themselves. And that's just jobs. I won't scare you, but 50% (yes, HALF, you heard that right) of students HATE going to school. Kids waste SEVEN hours of their life every day going somewhere they dislike, doing something they hate. Who's singing now?

People find themselves trapped in golden handcuffs, taking the paycheck despite the passionless job. They push aside the art and business they love, to become a slave of good ol’ cash. Several surround themselves with negativity and get frustrated when unable to escape the choking (no, not THAT kind again, hello someone pour holy water over this post) atmosphere. An innumerable are forced into taking up courses that they don't care about under parental pressure. The reasons are endless, and I don't think I'll amuse myself listing all the sad excuses.

This has always been the story. Hundreds of influencers have preached the same words I’m tryna put into your head here and you’ll yourself say you’ve heard this a million times. YET, you’re dissatisfied. YET, you feel like crap everyday, feeding yourself the same lie that the next day will be better, that you’ll get up tomorrow– while you let life beat the shit out of you.

That’s why, all of my words, everything you’ve read today - all of that boils down to just one single question. A difficult but necessary choice. Will you let this happen to YOU? Will you, seriously, even after this wild ride together, go back to doing nothing and being nothing? Will you, for real, continue deceiving yourself, sacrifice your happiness for the sake of pleasing everyone else, and remain a statistic on a website?

(play ♬) If you’re not sure of your answer, read: Look, making you feel guilty is not my intention, because that’s not how this works. I need you to understand instead. Guilt wears off, it’s only understanding that brings about change. So, just for old times’ sake, I’ll rant a bit more (ik, just can’t seem to leave y’all).

You’re so, so young right now. More than half of your life is yet to be experienced. None of this probably makes much impact right now but it will the day you die. Remember, on your deathbed, you won't EVER look back and say, “Damn, wish I'd spent more time at the office. Saved up just one more dollar. Could’ve got that promotion before Amy.” Nay, it won’t even be on the calendar. That day, one foot in the grave, you'll reflect and wonder why the heck you didn’t let yourself be happier. Why you took up that lacklustre, soul-sucking architect job when all you've ever wanted to do is keep laughing. Why you didn't ask your crush out, why you were so afraid to walk up to that audition, because dammit, you could’ve been running your own comedy show by now. Why you dragged around a karaoke machine all this time instead of singing your own song. Why you couldn’t love yourself. Why you submitted. Why.

And the moment you realize that you hadn't lived a life for you, you’ll be crushed. Broken. The arthritis in your grannie joints won't even compare and neither will the mild dissatisfaction you’re feeling right now. Those whys will haunt you, they'll terrorize you, break you. It'll hurt tremendously to know that there isn't a single thing in your long life that you could call completely your own.

With every death today so many dreams are left unachieved, crazy things left unchecked on the bucket list, and unique potential left unexpressed.

DON'T let that be you. Please. I'm still a mess myself, struggling to reach class on time and studying subjects that aren't exactly fun, when all I want to do is create content (read: fireworks) that is at a level of insanity, influence folks to do better, hold crazy world tours and meet-and-greets to give hugs, and get an adorable puppy so I can create a dogstagram (yes, I'm that mom). Sure, I could declare it's too hard, hang onto small-minded and negative people who whine endlessly, and follow the crowd, getting lost in it, with ease.

But I won’t because I can’t take the burden of those regrets. That painful unrest and discontent that nothing could cure, not drugs, alcohol, buddies, not even true love. For then I’d be just another drone, my controller in the hands of society, forcing me to see the world through its eyes. I can’t give in because I’m scared, terrified even, of wasting away this one life doing the bidding of others- folks who won't even notice when I’m gone.

It’s easy to be depressed and crib your entire life. It’s easy to think you’re worthless and that trying is pointless since nothing ever goes your way.

But perhaps, if you rise, if you simply DECIDE to have the audacity to fight for what you believe in, if you work and focus on becoming better, things will go your way. Life will bend to you, in awe, at your incredible relentlessness. Life will take one look at you, wonder who the fuck is this person? How the fuck are they so incapable of giving up? And back right away. And then perhaps, life will be such a blast for you that depression would become the past you never had.

I know you can get there, conqueror. It’s time you knew it too.

🌚🌝 Further reading? 🌝🌚

Last Post :— How To Get Back Into The Creative Process – For you, if you're in a creative rut. Get outta it and go create magic!

5 Reasons Why You're Unhappy — To help you identify & cut out CURRENT sources of sadness so that you can spice up yo’ life with some happiness instead. Definitely recommend reading AND implementing.

The Bubble Trap & How To Get Out Of It — One of my classics. Everyone is in one of these 'bubbles’ till they consciously do something about it; that's just how it is. Are you still in one? (Someone teach me marketing, lmao.)

The 5 Biggest Regrets of The Dying (from Greatist) — I LOVED reading this. Pretty much all you need to cut the crap and do meaningful stuff. Read it, memorize it, work it.

++ Want to request a blog post? Leave your request in my ask box! I'll get back to you with a reply, along with the average time I'll need to birth that magical idea.

Thanks for dropping by! It was a pleasure to have you around. If you wish to stick for a bit, I'd suggest picking one of the related posts mentioned above.

If you wanna check out my blog, here's a little something about me (y'all know I love the attention). What do I write about? Three arenas I dominate, Work, Lifestyle and Life, they are, my mate! Take your pick!

I post new blog posts bi-weekly, and my wins, & journal entries throughout the week, so follow me if you're into conquering life, leaving a legacy and being the baddest badass you can possibly be. I'll be your side pal, cheering you along.✨

And that was it, it's a wrap! Martha, shut the cams, Henry, pause the audio, and Nandita, I know you're pretending to be deaf, but Mom's yelling something about doing the dishes. Better skip along.

And you, fellow conqueror? Keep slaying life, doing the work and making it count. I hope you're well, stay strong and go conquer life. ✧

I'm sending you so much love, see you soon.

— Nandini 💌 (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡

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