#would be too overwhelming to fit in that new routine on top of sweeping one of the | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

neekaasaddie · 4 years

Text

Silver Chevy Silverado Part 2

Everything is more quiet in the mornings. The air is fresher and cooler because it’s had all night to cleanse itself and there’s a distinct stillness that sweeps the environment an hour before the sun rises that’s never present in the night. It’s like a reset button is pressed and the humans in my neighborhood are quietly booting up for their day while in their beds. What if we’re all robots and when we sleep, we’re just rebooting?

I hear a car door open in the distance.

It’s easier to think in the mornings, too. You don’t have all the thoughts and events from the day nagging at you incessantly and weighing you down. Sometimes, when I wake up from a bad dream or one where my crush actually likes me back, I wake up in a pensive mood–– but other than that, I feel like a clean slate every time I open my eyes.

“You’re an early riser,” observes a familiar voice. I jolt to attention and see someone sitting in a silver Chevy Silverado with the door swung wide open and a pair of legs dangling out. It sinks in that I had scaled up the hill, which my house sits on top of, in a thoughtful daze. My mind was wandering in an endless spiral––but my body is here.

Oh my God, it’s him. I snap back to reality. “I could say the same for you,” I reply casually, folding my arms in front of my chest in a futile attempt to feel less vulnerable.

“Yes, but I have to go to work, what’s your excuse?”

“I don’t need an excuse to be up early,” I insist. “And if you have to go to work, why are you just sitting in your truck?”

“I like to drink my coffee, smoke and catch up on the news before I go. It’s kinda my routine,” he explains as he grabs his coffee mug from the dash.

“Hm, and I like to walk around my block in the mornings. That’s kinda my routine.”

“Oh, sassy,” he smirks, taking a sip of coffee out of the large, plain-white mug. Our eyes remain locked as he does so, just like when I took the cigarette with my lips last time we spoke. His golden-brown tanned skin creates the illusion of his iris’ being translucent as his almond shaped, pale-green eyes gaze into mine. He has faint light-brown freckles speckling his face. How have I never noticed them before?

Then it occurs to me. “Wait, did you just adopt this routine now? Because I’ve been walking every day for the past six months at the same time and I’ve never seen you.”

“I usually come out after you’ve finished your walk,” he pauses, takes a sip of coffee again, and smiles as he says, “How are you up so early?”

I roll my eyes. “I just get up early, okay?”

“Aren’t you like eighteen?” he asks in a condescending chuckle.

“Nineteen,” I snap, taking a step closer to him and the silver Chevy Silverado. “I’m nineteen.”

The previously sweet scent of musky vanilla finds me again but this time, it’s nauseating. Something about the tone of his voice rubs me the wrong way.

“Oh my God,” he exclaims in a dramatic near-shout. “Tell me what nineteen year old voluntarily wakes up at five-thirty in the morning.” His head flings back with the mug glued to his lips as he retrieves the final drop of coffee from the bottom of the mug.

I feel embarrassment crawl up my throat. “Me!” I exclaim defiantly. “I do,” I say as I point my index finger at my chest, jutting my head towards him. A familiar scent immediately harrasses my nose, but it’s not vanilla, weed, or tobacco. I sniff audibly.

“Is that alcohol?” I ask incredulously.

“Irish coffee,” he replies casually, raising the mug in the air in faux cheers.

“Ah,” is all I can say as I stand there dumbfounded. It smells pretty strong to me–– how can he drink that stuff so early in the morning? “I still don’t understand how waking up early is so odd.”

He sets the mug down on the dashboard. “Waking up early isn’t odd, you just generally don’t see it amongst the people in your age group.”

“Oh, right. Sorry Professor Pedo, I forgot you got your PhD in teenaged girls. How old are you again? Fifty-four?”

“Twenty-seven but that’s irrelevant.”

“Oh is it?”

“Yes it is. Now tell me, for research purposes of course, what causes you to wake up at such an early hour?” he asks, stroking an imaginary beard.

I flash a dumb smile and humor his question. “Like I said, I like to walk before the sun rises.”

“Profound!” he says, making a pack of Camels appear in his palm in one swift motion. He hops out the driver’s seat, leans against his truck, and places a cigarette on his lip. “And what time do you sleep to wake up at this hour?”

I feel my cheeks get warm. I look down at my pristine white sneakers and whisper, “Nine o’clock.”

“Wow, you’re truly an abnormality in the teen world,” he says flatly as he lights the cigarette hanging limply from his mouth.

I feel my cheeks get red hot with anger now rather than embarrassment. Would it kill him to be nice to me for one second?

I decide to shift the conversation away from my atypicality. “If you’re gonna shit on me, you might as well give me a cigarette.”

He folds his arms across his chest this time, his meadowy-green eyes squint accusingly. “I didn’t know you smoked.”

My cheeks get even hotter–– if that’s even possible. “Well…I don’t,” I reply candidly.

“Then why did you ask to bum one last time we talked?”

“Because you do it and it seems like a sociable thing to do,” I blurt before I can think. I clasp my hands behind my back to keep him from seeing them shake. “Considering my current state as an abnormality of human nature, I have to find every way I can to fit in.”

He ignores my reference to his previous rude remark. “Well you shouldn’t. I’m trying to quit,” he says dryly as he takes a drag.

“Quitting is for losers,” I say softly, kicking an insignificant pebble off of the dry light-gray asphalt road.

“Is that so, Old Wise One?”

“Don’t you have to go to work?”

“Not for another five minutes.”

“God! Why are you even talking to me?” I spit with uncontrolled frustration. The razor bite of my own voice surprises me. “What?”

“I was just walking around my block totally spaced out and you could have let me walk right past you without me noticing or just sat in your truck whenever you normally do, but you chose to come out early and stop me and make me feel like shit––and I doubt it was to honestly critique my sleep schedule or point out my abnormalities.”

Our eyes meet and, while I imagine mine as raging and livid, his are cool and collected. My stomach sinks to the floor. This entire interaction has been incredibly off-putting. The way he spoke about my age and my so-called “abnormalities” was belittling. And while he did push my buttons about the best-friend-thing last time we spoke, he did so in an endearing, witty way. He’s just being a straight-up dick right now.

“Like I said, I like to get a rise out of you,” he finally responds with a twisted chuckle and takes a drag.

“Well I don’t appreciate being risen by my friend at six in the morning.”

“Who said we’re friends?”

Ouch. “Well obviously we’re not because you think I’m abnormal and make it a point to say it to my face.”

“Would you rather me say it behind your back?” he asks, raising his eyebrows in question and, in turn, creasing his forehead.

“I think it’s been five minutes,” I reply flatly.

He glances at his phone, “It’s been exactly five minutes. At least your internal clock doesn’t seem to be abnormal.” He flashes a fake smile then hops into the driver’s seat, slams the door, and turns the ignition. I stand dumbfounded yet again–– in awe of his abrasiveness––until he rolls down his window and says, “See you around Old Abnormal One.”

“Drive safe Old Alcoholic One!” I shout as his car skids onto the road.

I stand in the same place he left me for quite some time–– watching his silver Chevy Silverado turn the corner, hearing him speed off to a distant land, and then standing solemnly in the still morning air, staring at the pebble I had kicked earlier.

I feel stuck.

I’m stuck in the same place I’ve always been and can’t move.

I can’t move.

An overwhelming wave of loneliness washes over me.

I have to move.

I trudge to my porch, feeling as if the balloon that grew inside of me every time I spoke to him just popped. The lead returns to the soles of my shoes and that heavy hollowness grows inside my chest once more.

#short story #fiction #teen story #story #silver chevy silverado #fantasy #part 2 #storytelling #irishcoffee #cigarette #cigarette aesthetic #cig

8 notes · View notes

thekitchensnk · 5 years

Text

and the spider lilies bloomed in the fall (chapter 2)

Rating: T Warnings: Violent imagery, trauma, allusions to potential sexual violence Pairing: Gin/Ran Chapter 1, Chapter 2 “They say that lovers doomed never to see each other again still see the higanbana growing along their path, even to this day.”

A girl collapses on a dusty road one day. A boy takes her home.

The girl lives.

—

(The boy doesn’t.)

By the morning of the third day, she had been well enough again to rise from her bed, though her slim legs had still shook as she stood, and she had tired quickly.

That had posed no problem, however- her newfound friend had taken her by the hand as he led her through the scrappy clearing that constituted his (their) garden. It was not much to boast of- rotting wood was piled at one end of the clearing, and filled the air with a dark loamy scent, and there were several skewed beds of wet, overturned soil where stunted carrots and radishes were growing. Her friend had pointed them out with enthusiasm. Pride of place in the centre of the garden, however, were four young persimmon trees, their leaves verdant and green and their branches newly beginning to bend with the burden of their bounty.

He had shown them to her with great pride.

"I planted these myself," he had chattered excitedly, and his chest had puffed up. "When I found ya', the fruit ya' ate came from two of these trees. Did ya' like it?"

She had felt a rush of affection for her new friend, this strange boy who had taken her into his home.

"I did,” she said warmly. “Very much so. It was tasty."

(In truth, she had not much remembered how it had tasted, but she had known in her gut that it must have tasted wonderful, because it had come from him, and it had kept her alive.)

His hand had squeezed hers, and his smile had shone. "Next year, we'll have so much fruit we can swim in it. So much fruit that it will fill the house and we won't be able to shut the door. I promise ya’ that. And ya' can eat as much as you want. They taste better dried, and we'll still have leftovers to dry to eat through the winter."

The promise had sounded as sweet as the fruit itself, and the world he described half a dream.

He had no idea when he said these things, she thought, what it meant- what it could possibly mean- to her. The world was so full of sudden promise and happiness where once there had been none, and Rangiku felt like a leaf picked up bodily by the wind, tossed around and twirled and twisted in its currents until she was all made breathless and dizzy with delight.

She had let go of his hand then, and allowed herself to fall backwards onto the threadbare grass of his (their) garden, and had felt the warm sun on her face, as if for the first time. It had warmed her inside as much as it had without.

He had looked at her without question, and had joined her in the grass, the sweet autumn air in his lungs. They had lain side by side together, watching the clouds crawl across the sky until the sun began to touch the horizon.

"Gin?" she had said softly, his name still foreign in her mouth.

"Rangiku?" he had replied lazily, and she had been struck by how beautiful he looked in the fading light, this strange, kind boy, how the orange and purple of the sunset danced and played in his silver hair.

"I'm so glad. Thank you for letting me stay."

"Yeah," he had said. "Me too."

---

They fell into a routine remarkably quickly.

Within the first few weeks of her coming to live with him, he had disappeared suddenly one afternoon, slipping away without a word for a day and a night. She had panicked, and looked around for him in a frenzy, before giving up exhausted. She had sat, slumped against the door frame, looking to the horizon for him to return.

He had come back when dusk had settled across the sky, returning like a conquering hero bringing back with him the spoils of war on his back, carrying a sleeping mat and an additional blanket. He had given her a jaunty wave the moment the house had come into sight, raising his spoils into the air, and she had ran to him, ran as fast as her small legs could carry her, gnawing worry finally subsumed by an overwhelming sense of relief.

"Miss me?" he had asked casually, and it would have been cruel had it not been so true.

They rose with the sun. As it broke over the trees, they would walk to the stream to get the day’s water, and in the dying heat of the summer sun, he would splash around idly, until one day, barely constrained mischief got the better of him and he decided to splash her.

She had gaped at him at first, and an uncertain look had crossed her face. His eyes had rolled exaggeratedly heavenwards at the look on her face, and so he had splashed her again, this time with greater strength. The cold water had sloshed down her front, and she had squawked in indignation. Well? he had thought at her.What are you going to about it?. He had snickered at her, and given her his best innocent look, before lying back to float in the still green waters.

She had been speechless for a moment and she had frowned, paralysed by uncertainty on the river bank, surrounded by scarlet flowers. She had taken one look at his face, rife with mischief, and she had made up her mind.

With a ferocious warrior yell, she had leapt into the river after him, her arms swinging, sending water arcing through the air.

He had cheered encouragingly, only for her to catch him full in the mouth with river water. He had spluttered and grinned wildly; and thus they had made war.

For almost an hour, the air had been bright with drops of river water and the shrieks and peals of their childish laughter. They had not stopped until they were both sodden, until every fibre of their clothing was heavy with water. She had found herself leaning on him, weak with laughter and tired with the exertion.

He had given her a mischievous look, and had quickly lunged in such a way that she found herself overbalancing, about to fall in the water. But at the last moment, she had righted herself, and impulsively stuck out her leg, and it was he who found himself falling face first into the water.

She had barely thought she'd had it in her, to act so impulsively. But when she had caught the look of shock on his face as he surfaced, it had hit home all of a sudden that this boy would let her act as she wanted, that for the first time, she was free.

She had laughed and she had ran home, her wet feet slipping in her shoes.

It became a routine thing, when the autumn heat grew oppressive, to trek down to the river and play. When they trekked home, their hair would be soaked with river water, and the droplets would race down their bodies in small rivulets. By the time they got home, the sun would be high in the sky.

In the early afternoon, he tended the garden and she cooked lunch, prodding at the hearth and setting the water to boil. She would scoop up a small handful of rice each, and she marvelled in the sensation of the small, smooth grains on her hand, in the reassurance of having food so close at hand. It was hard for her to get used to the notion of having regular meals. Lunch was a simple affair- steamed rice from a meagre earthenware pot, topped with sour pickled carrots and radish- but to Rangiku, it could just as easily have graced a king’s table.

They themselves had no table, and only one bowl, which they placed between the two of them and from which she ate greedily. He picked at his food and ate like a bird, and she, her body long accustomed to starvation and a hunger that scraped at her insides, always had to restrain herself from eating more than her share. When he noticed (which was inevitable, with his quick wit and intuition), he would insist that she eat part of his share too, jabbing his chopsticks at her and clucking maternally .

“I found ya’ fainted on the side of the road not too long ago- eat up.”

The first few times they had eaten together, she had carefully made sure to leave some rice aside, practicing the careful habits of starvation out of fear that there would be no more rice tomorrow. He had seen through her immediately, and had shook his head, his hands stopping hers.

"Ya' don't need to do that anymore. Ya'll get more rice tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that. You should just eat it." He had nodded impatiently. "Eat it."

Her eyes had widened innocently, and she had wolfed down the remainder so quickly that she had given herself the hiccoughs. Something in his gaze had been hungry as he'd watched her.

It was her job to rinse out the bowl and the pot, and whilst she did, he would take a broom to the floor, and sweep away the dust. He was usually so full of energy that she would have expected him to tear about the room, giving the job only cursory attention. But he didn’t- he gave careful consideration to the task, getting into all of the corners and sweeping the dust out from underneath the rushes. They would go about their tasks in companionable silence.

After that, with the chores done for the morning, the afternoon was theirs for whatever took their fancy. On some days, this was nothing more than idling the afternoon away in conversation and invented games, piecing together the shapes of each other's personalities and feeling out the contours of how they fit together.

She had only lived with him a few days when he brought out a crumpled piece of parchment with a grid drawn clumsily on it, and some smooth rocks of various shapes and sizes.

"I'm goin' to teach ya' how to play go," he had announced.

She had looked at him uncomprehendingly, having never heard of go before, but had been eager to make him happy. "How do you play?” she had asked reluctantly.

He had scratched at his ear. "Well, I'm not an expert or anythin'- I've only ever played a handful of times- but the aim is to capture as much territory as you can and eliminate the other person's men by surrounding their pieces." He had smiled charmingly at her. "Ya'll learn as ya' go, and I barely know what I'm doing. Don't worry about it."

They had played five games that afternoon, and he had won every single one. By the end of the afternoon, Rangiku had been tempted to throw the parchment grid in his lying face. He had been grinning from ear to ear as he lay down lazily.

"You said you barely knew what you were doing!" she had accused hotly, jabbing her finger at him.

He had watched her expressions keenly as she thundered, savouring the rare glimpse of the personality which lay buried beneath the bruises and the brutality.

"Did I say that?" he had said innocently, his finger on his chin, his eyes laughing.

"Yes!"

"Must just be skill," he lied with a grin. "There’s no accounting for my natural genius- who would have thought?" He plastered an exaggerated look of surprise on his face, and she huffed at him unconvinced, her cheeks puffing out.

(He had seen men young and old playing go on the streets everywhere he had ever wandered. It was a common way to pass time, even in the poorer districts, where a scrap of cloth or parchment filled in for a board, and smooth stones for playing pieces. When he had been younger, and his arms too stick thin to properly wield a knife, it had been an easy enough thing to hustle at go, and to take the suckers who underestimated him for all that they were worth. He never lost. He would lead his opponent on a merry chase, bluffing and toying with them until they found themselves playing into his endgame.)

On the afternoons they did not spend in idleness, he would make the long, dusty journey miles into town.

She learned both to cherish and to dread these days. On one hand, he never came back empty-handed. A trip into town usually meant a few morsels of meat, or an egg with which to top their dinner. On the other, the sight of his back disappearing slowly into the distance sparked a kind of dismal dread in her, conjuring all too recent memories of her life before he came into it, and she would spend the afternoon distracted, looking to the horizon for him to come back. He did not ask her to go with him, and even if he had, she would have refused. She was, at that time, still too wary of the world and of its inhabitants to think of venturing out into it.

It was on one such occasion, when Gin had gone out, that she had taken him by surprise.

An idle fancy had taken her one day, and she had decided to pass the time until he came back writing clumsily in the dirt with a stick she had found in the garden. She had settled down on her haunches and bit at her tongue in concentration as she drew out the wobbly characters of her name. She had paused, looking for further inspiration, when the obvious next step presented itself.

Next to "Matsumoto Rangiku", she wrote more neatly "Ichimaru Gin". She hadn’t known the characters and so she'd had to guess, but she had been reasonably happy at her attempt. Something about the sight of his name next to hers pleased her, and she hummed low in her throat in contentment. It was a simple thing, but it made perfect sense to her- she was no longer alone, so her name shouldn’t be either.

She had gotten out of the practice of reading and writing, and so the task was more arduous than it should have been. She cast about for another word, and her eyes alighted on the persimmon trees. She frowned- she had no idea where to begin with "persimmon", but she felt she could manage "tree". She put that above their names, and in her imagination, it was as if the tree stood high and mighty between them, like his own beloved persimmon trees would one day. Next, she wrote "sky", like the sky they had looked at together when he had first shown her the garden, "water" for the stream where they had their water wars, and "rice" she wrote next to the tree, for the meals they shared.

She thought of him, of the delicate, slender hand which had held hers and the encouraging smile which he always wore, and always wore for her, and something strong and uncertain leapt in her chest. Heart hammering, she took a hold of her writing stick, and with the utmost care, wrote next to "Ichimaru Gin" the word "friend". And for good measure she wrote it twice more, clasping the feeling close to her chest, like a precious secret.

(He would write his name that way for the rest of his life, even after becoming a captain, when a name written in soft, feminine hiragana would raise eyebrows.)

She went through other words she knew- "cat", "fish", "mother", "socks"-, and was just adding the finishing stroke to "pants", when she heard a voice in her ear.

"What does that say?" he said, and she shrieked like a banshee. He delighted in surprising her. He'd come home early and snuck up behind her. The word to which he was pointing was the word "father". He looked over her shoulder, and his face was so close that if she turned her head, her lips would trace across his pale cheek. He looked fascinated.

"It says 'father'," she told him.

"And what about this one, this squiggly fella right here?"

"That one says 'moon'."

"Is it a story?" he asked, bending over and examining her writing intensely.

"No. It's just silly. It's a list- just some of the ones that I can remember." A realisation came to her, and she turned her head slightly to catch his eyes. "You can't read it."

"Nope," he said cheerfully, popping the 'p' in the word.

"You can't read at all?"

He nodded.

A thrill of excitement ran through her, and she almost leapt to her feet. "I could teach you!" she said, her eyes bright. Finally, she felt, finally. She had the opportunity to earn her keep, to return the kindness and generosity he had shown her, to start repaying her debt. It felt like pure relief, to be able to offer up something to him after these weeks of nothing. "It would be easy, and you're so clever, you’ll be a natural."

"Not much call for readin’ out here in the sticks, Ran-chan. What would I do with a book?" he pointed out patiently.

But she was determined.

"You've done so much for me, and I've done nothing for you," she begged. "Please, please let me teach you. Let me pay you back."

“Pay me?” he asked puzzled, his brows creasing into a frown.

“You found me beaten by the side of the road, and you carried me home and treated my wounds. You’ve fed me, and kept me, and all this time, I’ve been thinking that I’ve got nothing to give you in return. I have no money, I have nothing but the clothes on my back,” she cried out, her hands making fists in the fabric of her yukata. “Please, let me do this for you.”

His face was so close, and his expression unreadable as he looked her straight in the eye.

“Ya’ don’t have to give me anything,” he said quietly. “That ya’ here and ya’self- that’s enough.”

Silence fell. She did not understand him. A more fretful part of her, the part still bruised from countless days of lonely wandering, still feared the rug being pulled out from underneath her- that he would cast her out again if she did not make herself useful. Her heart leapt into her throat and her vision crinkled at the edges at the thought that she might have offended him.

“But what if I want to do something for you? What then?” she pressed clumsily. “Not out of debt or anything-“

“There is no debt,” he insisted.

“But what if I want to help?”

The look he gave her was sharp, and she felt suddenly like he could somehow sense the tenor of her thoughts. But the moment passed as soon as it had come, and his eyes rolled heavenwards. She blinked, “Then I guess I’ll be writing poetry by next month,” he said with a grin. “‘O, Ran-chan is great,/Teachin’ me to write words./She snores like a big gorilla,’” he declaimed, his accent painting every syllable of his words.

It was hard to feel fear when he could be so silly. She collected herself, and played out her part in an exchange that was beginning already to become routine.

She pretended to pout at the insult. “You’ve added some syllables, I think,” she pointed out sulkily.

“See what I mean?” he pointed out cheerfully.

Dinner was often the same as lunch, varying only when they had managed to catch a fish or two in the stream earlier on in the day. They cooked together, and usually ate as the sun was setting below the horizon. The house, already warm from a day baking in the autumn heat, became almost unbearably hot as they fanned the hearth fire, and the flickering flames would cast strange, eerie shadows on the wall.

They would eat, bowl between them once more, as the spirited hush of the evening descended upon the world. Cicadas buzzed lazily in the undergrowth, and fat fireflies streamed in the branches. His leg would bump up against hers, as they watched the night fall all around them, and he would chatter, and tell tall tales of his wanderings, and paint the stories in the air with his hands. She would listen rapt, the glow in her eyes only half to do with the light of the fire.

And if, sometimes, in the hot stillness of the late summer nights, he would loop an arm around her to keep her close as they slept, the two of them abandoned children sleeping in a wooden hut in one of the worst districts in Soul Society, then what more could be said?

(On nights like those, they both slept soundly indeed.)

#bleach #gin ichimaru #rangiku matsumoto #ginran #ichimaru gin #ya girl really appreciates comments #or messages #it's nice to be able to nerd out together #spider lilies

22 notes · View notes

woildismyerster · 6 years

Note

Hey if you still want to write something with that “I love you” thing, number 5 (during an impromptu dance party) would be adorable with Race in my opinion! Also P.S.: I love your blog like a lot❤️

5. Blurt it out in the middle of an impromptu dance party in the kitchen, as clumsy as your two left feet. When time seems to freeze, hastily tack on “in that shirt” or “when you make your award winning meatballs” or, if you are feeling particularly brave, “when we do this.” Resume your dancing and pretend you don’t feel her eyes on you for the rest of the night.

Thank you so much for the request! I was so stoked to write this. You have great taste in prompts, my dude. P.S.: I love your blog too!

It wasn’t that Race had a lot of relationship rules for the two of you. Why make rules when everything was already wonderful? There did not need to be a set date night, since neither of you could get enough of the other. No rules about who you could or could not talk to, or how much touching was allowed in public. It was a relationship that was largely led by what felt right, and Race felt awfully right when you were around.

There was one set of rules, though, that was set in stone. There was a certain list of songs, subject to additions but no subtractions, that the two of you were required to dance to. It did not matter where you were, what you were doing, or who you were with. The first few notes would play, his eyes would fly to yours, and you would drop everything to dance to it. “Come on Eileen” comes on in the grocery store? Ditch the cart and get to an area open enough to fit your fully choreographed dance routine. “Walking on Sunshine” starts playing at a family reunion? Hopefully you weren’t talking to anybody important, because that conversation is coming to a swift end.

The rules were not linked to the fact that the two of you were dating. They had come long before, back when having a crush made everything feel important and competitive. At first, they only mattered at parties. If “your song” came on, wasn’t it a moral obligation to dance together?

Eventually, you didn’t have one song with Race. It was a half dozen, maybe more. Then it wasn’t just at parties, when the lights were low and everybody was too drunk to question it. It was anywhere, as long as it meant that Race got to watch you smile and see the way you focused on moving just the way you wanted to. When he started dating you, it just solidified them.

Race loved dancing with you. Really, he supposed, he loved you. He loved you in every way he could think of; every way he thought you would allow, but it was only when he danced with you that he had trouble keeping himself from saying it.

Was three months of dating enough time? He knew he felt it, but did you? Would you say it back, or panic, or think he was joking? Not worth the risk.

There had been a day, a few weeks before finals when you guys had just started college, when he had been horrified by the telltale beginning of “Gasolina.” You had just had your first fight. It wasn’t really anybody’s fault - just some miscommunication or another, with both of you too proud to admit that it was stupid so you could move on. The fight should have ended so fast, so early, but you were both too proud to back down. As a result, you were tense and uncertain together, too quiet and too sharp.

The song began out on the quad, on one of those perfect days. Race had heard you call it an “Indian Summer” day. It seemed like the entire university had congregated outside, hoping to make the most of one of the last warm days before a seemingly eternal winter. Race’s eyes shot to yours, instinct winning out over pride.

You had looked back, and after a second of uncertainty, Race moved away from the rest of the guys. You mirrored him, finding a strip of empty grass, before the regular dancing could begin.

Race wanted to make you laugh. He wanted to be over the top, or ridiculously bad, or anything that would break that uncertain stoniness on your face.

Slowly, too slowly, you warmed up. The first time he tried the Sprinkler, you hardly looked at him. By the time he was resorting to the Lawnmower or the Shopping Cart, you had loosened up enough to give a snort of laughter. When he reached to twirl you, he made sure to spin you straight into his arms.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled into your ear.

You stepped back and offered him a careless grin. “Sorry for what?” When you kept dancing, the relief that swept over him was overwhelming. Truly, his legs went a little wobbly, a little weak, at the thought that you would join him in the caf for breakfast the next morning, like always.

“I love you,” he blurted. The relief shifted to horror when you faltered, looking at him again. Before you had a chance to respond, he grabbed your hips and drew you close to him. “-r sweet moves. I love them. Super classy, babe.”

You laughed, squirming a little. “They’re classier when you aren’t trying to grind on me.”

You never mentioned the exchange afterwards, so Race figured he was in the clear. No worries. He loved you, but you didn’t know it yet. Good.

The Cupid Shuffle, while not on the unofficial list of dances that the two of you had to do, was definitely a tune that Race always got down for. It was, like, illegal not to dance to it. So, at Jack and Katherine’s wedding, Race ended up next to you for the song.

During the portion of the song where you were directly behind him, you leaned over to whisper into his ear. “I dare you to do the rest of the song like the Cha Cha Slide.”

“Absolutely not,” Race said, horror and delight intermingling “No, no, no.”

“I dare you,” you crooned, bopping your way 90 degrees away from him. “Are you a chicken?”

He groaned, his amusement slowly winning out over the clear and present danger. “I’m no chicken, doll.” He stopped dancing, ignoring the surprised looks from the people around him, and started clapping.

You were cackling while you danced. You almost doubled over when his dancing would interfere with somebody else’s, and Race thought for a while that you might genuinely be in danger of wetting yourself. He would have cared more if he hadn’t been trying to ignore the heat in his cheeks. Jack would never let him live this down.

When the Cupid Shuffle ended, you grabbed him hand and dragged him away. Mirth danced in your eyes, or maybe that was just the happy tears. “You have cha-cha-d your way right into my good graces,” you said. Giggles still mixed with your words, and he thought that your cheeks must ache with the size of your smile.

He leaned in and pressed a swift kiss against your lips. Another. Another. “I love you,” he said.

You tried to stifle your laughter, but it had turned into a vicious cycle. Each spurt of laughter powered the next one, and you couldn’t stop. You opened your mouth to speak, maybe to say it back, but Race chickened out. Again.

“-when you do evil things,” he finished lamely. “You’re diabolical, honey.” He kissed you again, effectively swallowing anything you might have wanted to say to him, and he mentally kicked himself. He may have been ballsy enough to do the wrong dance, but he really was too much of a chicken to follow through. Soon enough, thankfully, he was too swept up by your lips and your smell and your hands to worry about what he should have done.

The Shrek soundtrack was the God of music. The Forrest Gump of movies. The pizza of food. It was indisputably prime, so when “Accidentally in Love” came on while you were cooking in your apartment, Race was swift to sweep you up into his arms.

“This song isn’t a slow dance,” you said, but you settled into him easily enough. You wound your arms around his neck and settled your face against his shoulder.

“Every song is a slow dance, if you try hard enough.” Race held you close against him, not caring about food that could burn or any mess you could be getting onto him.

“Even ‘Gasolina?’”

“Any song,” he repeated. “You just have to try harder.”

You hummed a little, half in response to him and half to go along with the song.

Race took a deep breath, heart settling in his chest. It was steady, if a little heavy. You were still humming a little, the vibrations rumbling through him too. “I love you,” he said softly. There was a split second where he thought about correcting himself, but it wasn’t anything serious. Last second nerves, but not second thoughts. “I love you when we do this.”

He felt you smile against him, but he quickly swept you away into a different conversation. Race desperately wanted to hear you say it back, but he didn’t want to spoil the evening if you didn’t. This was perfect. This was what he wanted. So he talked about the awful haircut Albert got, how wonderful the new Panic! at the Disco song was, and about how it should be illegal to put coconut in chocolate. In anything, really.

You did not tell Race that you loved him too, not then. The moment had passed. But he felt your eyes on him, warm and hopeful, and he knew that another moment would come soon enough. They always did.

#racetrack higgins #race higgins #racetrack higgins x reader #race/reader #racetrack higgins/reader #Newsies #newsies fanfiction #newsies x reader #ally writes

157 notes · View notes

aquaquadrant · 6 years

Text

Exiled AU - Part Four

hey yall! wrote another part for @ghosta-r‘s exiled!varian au. you’ll find my most recent one here with links to the rest of the series. if you’re a new reader make sure to go to the first one i wrote! i’ll probably write one more after this, and then we’ll be caught up to the time the first one takes place. after that, it’ll just depend on if i get inspired to continue the series or not. please reblog/leave a comment if you enjoy!

(heads up, this chapter has a warning for some darker themes, more in line with stuff from the second oneshot.) - Aqua

Over the next two weeks, Varian fell into a routine of sorts.

He’d wake up early in the morning and help Jonathan set up the shop for the day. Most of his time was spent sweeping the relentless sawdust from the floor while Jonathan worked and met with customers. He didn’t mind it. The repetitive task lulled him into a sort of trance, and he didn’t have to think or feel anything. It was nice in the way that small talk was nice; so completely inconsequential that there was no risk involved.

Soon enough, though, Jonathan started involving him in other aspects. Cleaning, maintaining, and sharpening the work tools, gathering and preparing the wood, and running to the forge to pick up orders of nails, locks, and hinges.

Varian had been intending to keep a low profile, but there was something about being in a workshop again that made him… forget. Jonathan was working with a cabinet door that kept sticking one day, and the idea popped into Varian’s head without warning.

“A spring hinge might fix that.”

The second the words left Varian’s mouth he’d regretted it, the tips of his ears burning. It was virtually the first time he’d said anything without being spoken to first, certainly the first suggestion he’d made.

Jonathan had given him a considering look. “Oh? Good idea, I’ll try it out.”

After that, Jonathan started employing Varian in a more hands-on setting. Having him actually work on projects with him, asking his opinion on certain things. He seemed to, bit by bit, piece together that Varian had expertise in engineering.

Varian cursed himself for doing something to be noticed, and all the while he recognized the horrible irony of it; for his whole his life, he’d just wanted to be noticed for his achievements. But only now that being noticed was dangerous was he getting the attention he’d so badly wanted, once upon a time.

At one point, Varian considered feigning ignorance. Pretending not to know anything about engineering. But the thought made him uneasy; he didn’t want to fail the tasks Jonathan set him for fear of angering the man and being kicked out. The one saving grace was that Jonathan never asked Varian where he’d learned such things, or anything about where he’d come from. He’d simply examine Varian’s work with an approving nod and a clap on the back that Varian was slowly learning not to flinch from and a “good job, son” and then it was on to the next thing.

(And Varian would try to ignore how much it affected him.)

What surprised him the most, however, was that Jonathan insisted on paying him. Since he was getting food and board, it wasn’t a complete working wage, but it was more than he’d expected. He’d tried to politely decline, but Jonathan wasn’t hearing it. So Varian kept the coins in his satchel, slightly overwhelmed at the entire prospect.

Whenever things were slow at the shop, Jonathan would send Varian back to the house to help out there. His tasks ranged from dishes to laundry to cleaning up around the place. Once again, nothing that he minded. Alice would keep Cate entertained, the girl not yet old enough to attend the town’s only school, and Varian would check in after completing a chore to be handed the next one.

He made quick work of it all, and in one or two lulls in the day, he found himself wanting for something to keep busy with. It quickly built into him taking on small projects of his own, fixing a squeaky door hinge here or a loose floorboard there.

Alice noticed. She also commented on it the next time she saw Varian, with a bright smile and a generous thank you. Varian cursed himself again for being noticed. He was just here to do a job and make a living, he wasn’t supposed to… endear himself to anyone. Especially since getting close would just increase his chances of being exposed for the criminal he was.

(But at the same time… the praise was nice.)

The family member Varian least interacted with was Cate. The young girl hadn’t… warmed up to his presence, per say, but she wasn’t shy around him. She seemed to quickly accept him as a fixture in the house, but she didn’t have much need to talk with him.

That suited Varian just fine. He was uncertain around young children, and the last thing he wanted to do was make a mistake with the daughter of his hosts. If he upset her, or gave them reason to think him being around her was a bad idea, he’d be kicked out faster than hydrogen could bond to oxygen.

Varian would have been perfectly happy for his exchanges with Cate to remain few and far between. But, like with so many other things in Varian’s life, fate had different plans.

It was about a week after his arrival. Jonathan had sent Varian back to house for lunch. Cate was occupied with coloring, but had opted to spread out the paper all over the floor instead of settling for the table. Alice had been making friendly conversation, asking about how things were going in the shop, when she suddenly sighed.

“I need to grab something upstairs,” she told Varian. “Could you watch Cate for a moment?”

Varian’s heart jolted. Alone? “Uh-”

“Thanks, sweetheart!” Without waiting for his reaction, Alice vanished up the stairs.

The room was suddenly far too quiet. Varian glanced down at Cate, his pulse quickening. What was he supposed to do with a toddler? What did they even like to do for fun? When Varian was little he’d already taken an interest in alchemy, and in hindsight, that probably wasn’t the safest thing for-

“Hey! Come down here!”

Cate’s voice made Varian jump, the toddler looking up at him impatiently. At a loss for anything else to do, he slid out of his chair and knelt down to Cate’s level.

“… yes?” he asked uncertainly.

Cate pointed. “Why’s your hair blue?”

“Oh.” Absently, Varian reached a hand up to tug at the blue streak in his bangs. “I was born with it.”

“Cool!” Cate looked mildly impressed. “Can I be born with it, too?”

Varian blinked. “Uh, n- no, that’s… not really how it works.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry.”

Cate’s bottom lip stuck out in a pout, and she folded her arms. “No fair!”

Uh oh. “But- but orange is way cooler, anyways,” Varian said quickly, in anticipation of a tantrum.

Cate squinted at him, suspicious. “Really?”

Varian nodded seriously. “Oh yeah, it’s like the color of the sun,” he said, as if that was something to be impressed by. “A- and pumpkins, and carrots, and wildflowers… very cool.”

“Huh.” Cate seemed to consider it. “That is a good color,” she decided.

Varian breathed a sigh of relief, a little smile tugging at his mouth. “Sure is.” With that little crisis averted, he turned his attention to the papers Cate had spread out before her. “What are you drawing?”

Cate pointed at a scribble of yellow. “This is our house.”

Varian’s heart gave a little skip at that. Our house. He quickly pushed the thought away, though. He wasn’t here to get attached to anyone, he was here so he didn’t starve to death. Besides, what kind of family would want him to be a part of it, anyways?

Varian cleared his throat. “It’s very nice,” he told her.

Cate preened slightly at the compliment. “Thanks.” She grabbed up one of the crayons and offered it to him. “Here.”

Varian took the crayon hesitantly, scanning the papers. “Uh, what do you want me to draw?” he asked.

Cate shook her head, her short pigtails swishing back and forth. “No, that’s for you. To have.”

“Oh,” Varian said, taken aback. “Um, a- are you sure?”

Cate nodded, leaning in conspiratorially and whispering behind her hand. “It’s the best color.”

It was then that Varian noticed the crayon was orange. A real smile spread across his face. “Thank you,” he said softly, oddly touched at the gesture.

“Don’t lose it!” Cate warned him.

“I won’t,” Varian assured her, tucking the crayon into his coat pocket. “There, see?”

“Good.” Cate flashed him a gap-toothed grin and handed him another crayon. “Let’s draw Daddy’s workshop now! But I can’t draw people, so you draw Daddy.”

Varian chuckled. “Alright.”

Alice returned a few minutes later to find them collaborating on a mural of the entire town. She lingered at the top of the stairs, watching them with a fond smile on her face.

(And Varian pretended not to notice.)

Varian stood before the court, shackles heavy on his wrists.

The throne room glistened, nearly blinding him. He was surrounded by faceless figures, their distorted whispers turning to white noise in his ears. The whole room had a golden sheen to it, like he was looking through colored glass. It was familiar, but he couldn’t remember where he’d seen it before.

‘Your most serious crime is enough to warrant execution.’

Varian had heard the words before. But this time, it was Dad saying them, Dad looking down at him with a face of stone. It was an oddly peaceful expression on him. The words fit in his mouth, somehow, though Varian was certain they’d come from someone else. He couldn’t remember who.

Wordlessly, Varian nodded.

Suddenly, they were outside. There was dirt beneath Varian’s boots, a breeze tugging at his hair. His shackles were gone, his hands bare of their gloves. Before him stood a wooden structure, a long rope dangling from its solitary arm. It swayed slightly in the wind. Gentle. Harmless.

‘A life for a life,’ Dad said emotionlessly. No hatred, no disdain, no pity. Just quiet judgement.

‘It should’ve been me,’ Varian agreed, just as calmly. He stepped onto the wooden platform, slipping the rope around his neck.

Dad pulled the lever, and the ground fell out from beneath Varian’s feet-

Varian woke up screaming.

He bolted upright in bed, his heart pounding and his scream ringing in his ears. His gloved hands flew to his throat, half expecting to feel coarse rope scratching his skin, choking him- no, Dad, please no, I’m sorry-

He curled in on himself, tucking his knees to his chest as a pained cry welled up in his chest. Tears ran down his face, blurring his vision, and they didn’t stop even as he told himself it was just a dream, it wasn’t real, he was alive. None of that mattered because it was right- he should’ve been the one to die, not Dad. It was his fault, his mistake, and it wasn’t fair-

The door opened, and Jonathan rushed into the room, half-dressed and wide-eyed.

“Varian? What happened?”

Alarm shot through Varian. He choked back a sob. “N- nothing, sir,” he managed, wiping at his tears. “I- I’m sor- sorry.”

Jonathan’s brow furrowed. “Hey, hey now, it’s alright,” he said softly, sitting down on the bed beside Varian. “It’s alright, what happened?”

“Bad d- dream,” Varian got out, struggling to stop his crying. “It’s- it’s nothing, I-”

Jonathan pulled him into a hug, and Varian broke.

He clung to Jonathan as he cried, burying his face in the man’s shoulder. He could barely catch his breath from the intensity of it, hot tears streaking down his face. Jonathan’s arms around him were both strange and familiar, and Varian’s head was dizzy at the implications.

It was such a small thing, but… when was the last time someone had embraced him like that?

He couldn’t remember.

Eventually, Varian’s sobs died down. His head was throbbing, his eyes burning and his throat hoarse, but there was almost a sense of relief that came with it, in each small tremor that ran through his body. He’d kept so much inside, made himself so numb since his exile that he hadn’t realized how heavy it all was to carry.

“Do you wanna tell me what happened?” Jonathan ventured finally.

It took Varian a while to gather himself enough to speak. “I… lost my dad a short while ago.” And it was my fault, he wanted to add, but that would lead to questions. Questions Varian didn’t want to answer.

“I’m sorry,” Jonathan said, his eyes sad. “We’d thought as much, that you were on your own, but…”

Varian shook his head. “I’m sorry for crying.” He shouldn’t be feeling sorry for himself. He’d been given a second chance. “I d- didn’t mean to wake you…”

“Hey, none of that, now,” Jonathan said gently. “It’s alright.”

A sudden thought occurred to Varian. “Did I w- wake Cate up?” he asked.

“Yes, but she’s fine,” Jonathan assured him. “Just a little spooked. Alice is with her.”

Varian sniffled. He was calmer now, but he found he had no desire to pull away from Jonathan, instead leaning further against the man. The adrenaline of his nightmare had quickly faded, leaving him exhausted.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

Jonathan smiled at him. “You’re welcome, son,” he said.

(And maybe just this once, Varian would admit he didn’t mind it.)

Varian could get used to quiet evenings, he decided.

On the last day of the week, Jonathan would close up shop and give Varian the day off. The concept had confused him. To spend an entire day doing nothing? It hadn’t made sense- at least, not at first. But then Varian had watched the small family spending time together, and he understood.

Maybe he wouldn’t have, a few months ago. But now, he wished he’d spent more time with Dad.

At the moment, Alice was upstairs, taking a much-needed nap after a bout of sickness. Varian sat cross-legged on the floor beside Cate, listening to the toddler introduce her small collection of dolls. Jonathan sat at the table whittling detail into what was going to be a chair leg, because even though he claimed today was his day off he tended to bring work home with him.

The peaceful mood was disrupted by an abrupt knock on the door.

Jonathan rose from his chair, grumbling. “That better not be Alf asking after his rocking chair again. Can’t a man enjoy his day off?”

Whether it was Alf, Varian couldn’t say, but Jonathan seemed to recognize whoever was at the door, because he stepped outside, closing it behind him.

Varian glanced out the window, brows creasing. It was hard to see from this angle, but it looked like there were several men out there, talking to Jonathan. He could just barely hear the deep hum of their voices, but not enough to make anything out. At one point, someone gestured at the window.

Varian got a bad feeling in his stomach.

A small hand tugged at his sleeve. “What’s wrong?” Cate chirped. “Why’re you sad for?”

Varian looked away from the window and gave the toddler a smile. “It’s- it’s probably nothing, Catie,” he said reassuringly.

Cate tilted her head. “Okay. Do you wanna be the mama?” she asked simply, holding out a cloth doll.

“Sure.” Varian took the offered doll.

That was one thing he had found he liked about toddlers. Nothing was ever complicated. Varian didn’t have to second guess everything he said to Cate, didn’t have to try and puzzle out her intentions. The simplicity of it was refreshing; he was tired of mind games. After the accident with the amber, his life had become one big, chaotic chessboard, the schemes and the manipulation all culminating in a devastating checkmate he never could have anticipated.

Back then, Varian had told the queen that part of his actions were for revenge, that he’d still want his revenge after he freed his dad. Things had turned out so differently that he had no clue if that would’ve been the case. But he did know he wanted none of that now. It just wasn’t worth it.

“Hey, the baby’s hungry!” Cate said loudly, waving her smaller doll in Varian’s face.

“Oh, sorry.” Varian shook himself from his thoughts, lifting one of the doll’s little arms in mock-play. “Would baby like some porridge?”

“No!” Cate shrieked. “Baby wants cake!”

“Well, she can’t have any until she eats her porridge,” Varian said, his lip quirking up despite himself. “So you’re gonna have to-”

The front door opened, and Jonathan stepped back inside. He didn’t stop, walking with a purpose towards where Varian and Cate were sitting, his expression unreadable.

Varian put the doll down and scrambled to his feet, his stomach flipping anxiously. “Is- is something wrong, sir?”

Jonathan’s eyes betrayed nothing, studying Varian carefully. “Apparently, the kingdom of Corona just exiled a dangerous criminal. One they call the Alchemist. They say he’s done… horrible things. Unimaginable things. And they say he’s you.” He tilted his head. “Is it true?”

Varian’s breathing hitched. He knew. Jonathan knew. Ice cold panic crawled up into Varian’s chest, and he stood motionless as his mind tore at itself in an attempt to think of a way out. How was he supposed to explain himself?

Varian’s reaction must’ve been all the answer Jonathan needed, because his expression darkened. He took a step forward, deliberately putting himself between Varian and Cate as he pushed her behind him.

Varian stumbled backward, his back hitting the wall. “Please, I never meant to hurt anyone-”

“Get out,” Jonathan snapped.

Varian nearly bolted for the door but managed to control himself, just enough to remember to gather his things first. He moved quickly, only grabbing the things he’d arrived with. Above the roaring in his ears, he could hear Cate asking, “where’s Varian going, Daddy? Can I go too?” and goddamn it, it shouldn’t have hurt that much-

Varian hesitated at the door, his hand gripping the handle, and glanced over his shoulder. “Th- thank you for your hospitality.”

With that, he slipped outside.

Closing the door behind him, Varian turned away, and his heart gave a jolt. There was a small crowd of people standing in front the house. Some he recognized; the familiarity and kindness was gone, replaced by distrust, anger, loathing. Some he didn’t, but the hatred was just the same. Some were armed, with cooking pans and farmer’s tools and even a sword or two. Some weren’t, but their clenched fists spoke of just as much intention.

Swallowing hard, Varian lowered his gaze and stepped into the crowd. They parted for him, the air thick with tension. His footsteps echoed almost deafeningly in the dead silence, and he had to consciously turn his feet away from the center of town; he’d gotten so used to walking to the shop with Jonathan-

Focus. Don’t think about it. Varian kept his head down, ears pricked and aware for any movement towards him, almost shaking from how tense he was. He watched from the corners of his eyes, not daring to meet anyone’s gaze for fear of a challenge, but taking careful notice of his surroundings.

Everyone he passed on the streets stopped what they were doing to stare, some whispering to each other and some shying back in fear. Others glared, and some even started to follow, joining the initial crowd that was trailing behind him.

The rational part of Varian’s brain forced himself to walk calmly, because he knew that if he ran, the irrational parts of their brains would want to give chase. It didn’t stop him from clutching his staff tightly, as if it could somehow protect him should the mob decide to rush him.

Eventually, someone in the crowd grew bold. “Yeah, keep going, you freak!” they jeered.

More joined in. “Corona doesn’t want you, and we don’t want you here either!”

“Don’t come back!”

“Criminal scum!”

“Freak!”

Varian bit down on his lip until it bled, refusing to let his tears fall. He forced himself to keep moving, not letting his steps falter, keeping his back straight. He kept moving until he crossed the threshold of the town and the road led into forest once again and the last of the straggling followers finally relented and turned back, apparently satisfied he was leaving for good.

Only then did he let himself cry, pushing forward on stumbling feet once more into the dark unknown.

(And he tried to forget about the orange crayon in his coat pocket.)

#tangled the series #tts #rapunzel's tangled adventure #rta #exiled!varian au #my writing

91 notes · View notes

kaspbroughed-blog · 6 years

Text

Soulmates

Part 2/? Ships: Kaspbrough, Stozier, maybe more in the future idk Trigger Warnings: Beware...this is kind of cute.

After Eddie said goodbye and went inside his shared apartment with Richie, he put away his leftovers and got ready for bed, despite the fact it wasn’t even 9 o’clock yet. He curled up in bed and turned his TV on, deciding to find some cheesy movie on one of his many movie providers. Despite his protest of love, he put on Love, Actually, and fell asleep thinking about the tattoo on his best friend’s arm. The tattoo was small, a black bird. Richie had stated his arm had been burning for a few days, which Eddie had seemed to ignore, despite the fact that was usually the number one sign that your soul mate was nearby.

As Eddie begins to fall asleep, his right arm begins to tingle, but by the morning time, it’s been forgotten.

Eddie wakes up around 8 AM the following morning and begins his daily routine. He doesn’t bother brewing any coffee, because he knows Richie wasn’t going to be there ; he knew this even before Richie texted him that night, informing him of just that. Eddie doesn’t drink much coffee, anyways. For the most part, the only time he really drinks coffee is when he makes it for Richie or at his job – otherwise, he probably wouldn’t even think to make any. Instead of getting coffee, he brews up himself a hot cup of green tea and makes some toast. When the toast pops, he lathers an unhealthy amount of butter on it and proceeds to pour sugar over top of the toast.

The first time he did that, Richie looked at him like he’d been insane.

( “What are you doing, Eds? That cannot be healthy!” “It’s not,” Eddie replied with a blank look on his face. “But when you have a mother like mine, you would also want to relish in anything and everything sweet when you get the chance.”

Richie never mentioned anything about it again. )

After breakfast, Eddie got his day officially started. It was Saturday, which, with all intent and purposes, meant that the Café on Campus would be closed – it was only open during the week days. Eddie tried sleeping in on Saturdays and Sundays for this reason, but discovered that it was nearly impossible, due to their upstairs neighbors, whom had a two year old child that woke up at 7:30 AM on the dot every morning. Richie somehow seemed to sleep through it, whereas, Eddie could not.

He dressed in a bright pink polo ( “You know, Eddie, everyone knows you’re gay. You don’t need to show it off so much,” Richie teased him countless times for his attire. ) and khaki shorts with his worn black and white converse. Richie made fun of him, saying he’s been wearing the same things since they were in high school and Eddie usually didn’t react very kindly to it. Although… he wasn’t all that far off. Eddie wore the same size of shoe since he was sixteen years old and probably didn’t grow that much in height or weight since then. Bullies in high school called him a twink, which, at the time, he found highly offensive because he hadn’t yet come out to anyone – how could he when Sonia Kaspbrak put her nose up to anything that didn’t fit her views in life? Luckily, having Richie as a best friend, meant those bullies often got their faces smashed in – though, Richie rarely left without a bruise or two himself.

Once he was ready, teeth brushed, hair combed, all the necessities for the day, Eddie set out to the library. He had an exam on Thursday and despite the fact it was Saturday, he found it was necessary to begin his studying right away. Plus, the school library was usually barren of students on the weekends, so he always managed to settle in as quietly and as invisible as possible.

Today was different, though.

When Eddie arrived to the library, there was a new face greeting him at the front desk. He was a tall boy, with dark hair that seemed to glisten red in direct lighting – damn, Eddie was blown away.

He approached slowly, his nerves shaking him up and he has to turn away to pull his Inhaler from his trusty Fanny Pack, punching it into his mouth, and clicking it a few times. Eddie knows it isn’t his asthma that’s sparking up, but his anxiety, yet it helps calm him down regardless. When he finds he’s gathered enough, he finishes his trek to the front desk and offers a small smile to the boy standing there. Eddie failed to realize that this boy had been watching him the entire time.

“Y-you o-okay?” The boy asked, concern sweeping his features when Eddie paused at the desk. Eddie was about to ask him what he meant, when the boy answered it for him and motioned towards the Inhaler still in Eddie’s hands.

“Oh. Um, yeah, sorry – sometimes I just get a little overwhelmed. It was a long walk.” Now that Eddie is closer, he can see the freckles littering the boy’s features, bright blue eyes startling him so much that he has to release another breath he hadn’t been aware he’d been holding.

The boy doesn’t seem to notice – either that or he chooses to ignore it, for Eddie’s benefit.

“Have you always gone to this school?” Eddie asks, surprising even himself as ocean eyes, stare, evidently just as startled.

Laughter bubbles past plump lips and Eddie finds he can’t stop staring.

“I juh-just m-moved in with m-my fuh-friend a f-few weeks ago, but I’ve been d-doing online classes. He thought if I w-was going to do s-school at all, I m-may as well experience it t-the same way as him, you know?” He says, his ocean eyes never leaving Eddie’s face when he talks. He likes eye contact and Eddie supposes that makes sense, considering it’s probably hard for some people to take him seriously, considering his stutter. Of course, Eddie would never mention it – that would be rude, and he fashioned himself as a nice person… most of the time.

“Oh,” Eddie replies. “I wish I could talk my best friend in coming to school, but he’s fucking persistent that if he did, he’d never come to class, anyways.”

The stranger nods his head and smiles. His smile is beautiful, just like the rest of him, and Eddie’s face lights up in embarrassment from the thought. “T-that makes sense, though.” He nods and opens his mouth to continue when an elderly woman – the librarian – comes out from the room behind Mr. Beautiful and barks at him.

“What are you doing? I told you we need to finish alphabetizing these books! Get to it! We don’t have all day!” She doesn’t even acknowledge Eddie.

“O-okay, I’ll be ruh-right there, Mrs. Palinski.” She disappears back into the office halfway through Mr. Beautiful’s statement. He turns back to Eddie and shoots him a sheepish look. “S-sorry, I g-gotta go. F-first week, I can’t m-make a bad impression.” Before Eddie has a chance to respond, Mr. Beautiful disappears into the office after the librarian, leaving Eddie alone, staring at the spot where the other had just been standing.

Eddie finds himself at a loss. He doesn’t see Mr. Beautiful again and he can hardly concentrate on his studying – so he leaves before lunch time and heads on home. When he gets back home, he finds that Richie is already there… and thankfully, there was no sign of Stan.

Eddie feels immediately guilty when that thought passes his mind and he shoves it away. If Richie was happy, he really needed to learn to be happy for him.

Richie notices Eddie before Eddie speaks and smiles broadly at him.

“Eddie Spaghetti!”

Eddie wrinkles his nose in distaste and he slinks his backpack to the ground and shuts the door after himself. “I wish you’d stop calling me that.”

His protest is unheard as Richie flings himself at his best friend, giving the shorter boy a noogie. “Studying not go well for the Nerd?” He teases, initiating a groan from him.

“I got… a little distracted.” Eddie admitted sheepishly when Richie pulls away, fixing his hair.

“You? Distracted?” Richie has the right to be in disbelief ; Eddie was rarely ever distracted from school work. He was even on the fucking honor roll and in honor society – he tended to work harder on school than most of his peers and there really wasn’t much of a rhyme or reason for it, he just wanted to do it.

“There was… a cute boy, okay?” Eddie murmurs quietly, almost too quiet to be heard by his best friend. Unfortunately for Eddie, Richie heard it and the grin on his face widens, making Eddie cringe away from him.

“A cute boy!” Richie exclaims and pinches Eddie’s cheeks. “Does Eddie have a wittle crush?”

Eddie blushes and scowls, batting away Richie’s hands. “No, Richie! I literally just met him. He’s just… kind of hot, okay?”

This hardly fazes Richie and he laughs. “Okay, whatever you say, Eddie Spaghetti. Did you get his number?”

Eddie scowls again. “As if. I don’t even know his name.”

“I hate to be the one to say this Spaghetti Man, but you probably need to work on that.”

“Whatever, Richie – it doesn’t matter. How was your night with Stanley?” Eddie asks, adverting the topic from himself as he moves around Richie and going into the kitchen.

The grin on Richie’s face does not go away and Eddie can swear up and down, he literally saw hearts forming in his best friend’s eyes. “Oh, Eddie! Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Eddie finds, later, that no, he did not want to know.

#kaspbrough #stozier #eddie kaspbrak #bill denbrough #stan uris #richie tozier #my fic #here u go my friends asdfghjkl

33 notes · View notes

fanficwriter013 · 6 years

Text

Hungover - Part 1

Pairing: Bruce Banner x Reader

Summary: Reader is a scientist that comes to work for G-Tech, and is tasked with fixing the Bruce slash Hulk divide. Can it be done?

Word Count: 2125

Warnings: Slight AU, set sometime after Avengers Age of Ultron. Nothing really. Oh a cliffhanger.

Author’s Note: Done for the fabulous’s @anaboo96 ‘s 1k writing challenge. Congrats, boo.

Parts: Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 /

You never dreamed that you would meet the Avengers. You were just a neuroscientist, working in a small lab in the middle of next to nowhere. You also never dreamed that G-tech, the lab run by Bruce Banner funded by Tony Stark would try and recruit you. It was an opportunity that you just couldn't turn down.

That's how you found yourself in the lobby of the Avengers Tower. Where security was putting you through the ringer before they'd let you into the building. As if they hadn't already done a series of intensive interviews even though they had approached you. You weren't quite sure but you thought someone was watching you. You could feel the heavy gaze, but when you tried to pinpoint the source there were no obvious options. You did your best to shake it off as security took your fingerprints, photocopies of your license and other things.

When the security guard was through with you, they looked behind you gesturing to someone. A tall, professional looking redhead came over. She gave you a smile, before starting for the elevators.

“I’m Virginia Potts, but you can call me Pepper. Let me take you to the lab, and we can get you started.” She said, as the elevator doors closed and it started to move. But she hadn't touched any buttons, and in fact, when you looked for floor buttons there weren't any. She must have caught your questioning stare because she chuckled.

“The whole building is run by Mister Stark’s AI FRIDAY. She'll take you where you need to go.” Pepper said as the elevator came to a stop. She's moving the second the doors are open.

“This is where G-tech is lives. Everything you need will be on this floor.” She says as she walks down the hall. You're a little awestruck as you look through the windows into specular little labs. Each better than the last, and with more equipment than you'd had at your old job.

“Each one of you gets your own projects and a separate space. There are weekly meetings, as a group and one on one to discuss progress and the other fine details.” Pepper says as she pushes open a door and gestures you inside.

“And this would be your lab.” She says as you take in the room. You've got all the equipment your little heart could ever desire for the projects that you had been working on. You could only imagine the kinds of projects you could undertake now with your new fancy lab.

“For today, you're just going to be getting yourself acquainted with the lab. Maybe reorganize it if you need a different layout. Doctor Banner will be in later to introduce himself properly and give you your assignments.” Pepper says, gesturing around the room.

“Welcome to G-Tech, and ask for FRIDAY if you need anything.” She says as she saunters out of the room. No doubt that she has other important things to do today.

For a while, you just kind of sit and stare at the room. Trying to wrap your head around the fact that all this is yours. You actually have to place your hand down on the glass top workbench to anchor yourself.

“Biometric scan recognized. Welcome (Y/N) (Y/L/N).” It's an Irish woman's voice speaking in a cool, even tone. The bench makes a soft, almost soothing, series of beeps as the glass displays some sort of computer screen.

You read over the display, tapping on a file that had been labeled with the title of your research project. All of your research scatters out along the bench in front of your eyes, the MRIs and other assorted scans you had taken, pop up floating over the table in hologram form. You reach out to touch it, and it spins in your hand.

“Little overwhelming, isn't it?” A voice asks from the doorway, you turn to see Dr. Banner leaning against the wall just inside your lab. You nod, not sure if you could trust your voice not to sound star struck in the moment.

“Tony goes a little overboard. It's all done with love. Still took me three months to get used to my own lab. And then having a staff, that was even longer.” He says, stepping closer towards you and offering his hand.

“Bruce Banner, nice to officially meet you.” He says, and you take his hand and shake it.

“It's nice to officially meet you too, Doctor Banner.” You say, and he steps back tapping the scan closest to him and it moves through the different views.

“Please call me Bruce. Everyone else does. We're very informal here.” He says, stopping the scan at a certain view and spinning it.

“Your research has promise for some pretty selfish reasons. Long story short, I think there is a way within your research to reverse my.” He waves his hand around his head. “Predicament. I've loaded my own brain scans into your station. That's your primary project, but you'll get other projects as I see fit, and that fit your particular skill set.” Bruce says, and you try your best not to react. You're actually quite curious about what his brain would look like with the presence of Hulk, and if that would have affected any of his brain tomography.

“Doctor Banner, if I require follow up scans or blood tests should I use FRIDAY to order them, or.” You trail off, not sure of what the boundaries are. He shakes his head.

“No need, I'll be keeping a close eye on this case. Anything you need you ask me directly. And it's alright to call me Bruce, really. But if you're uncomfortable with that.” It's his turn to trail off. You give him a smile, as he turns to leave.

“Welcome and enjoy your first day.” He says as he heads out of the room. You look down at your benchtop, closing out your research to find a file labeled “B. Banner.” You tap it and quickly get lost in Bruce's brain.

You're vaguely aware of the passing of time, but you have a habit of becoming immersed in your work. Your old coworkers would see how many things they could stack around your workstation, or actually throw them at you before you noticed. The record had been 6 mugs, and three paper airplanes thrown at you.

It's not until there's a loud, pounding knock at the door do you fully come back. You turn to see Bruce standing in the doorway, with one Tony Stark behind him with his head in his phone.

“Do you know what time it is?” Bruce asks, and you shake your head. “It's a little after 6, we don't really have regular hours here. But FRIDAY says you haven't left the lab all day.” His tone has an edge to it like he is torn between being disappointed and impressed.

“Sorry, I just get so caught up in the work. Everything else just falls away.” You say, as your stomach growls loudly. So loud that it makes Tony look up from his phone. He scrutinizes you for a moment before going back to his screen.

“We were just heading out for our weekly Shawarma if you wanted to come with us,” Bruce says, and Tony’s finger pause over his screen for just a moment. You take that as an indicator that you're not welcome.

“Thank you for the offer, Doctor Banner. But I politely decline. I'll see you tomorrow.” You say as you turn back to the models scattered about. You want to finish typing out a few more notes before leaving.

“Don't stay too much longer, and there is a cafeteria in the building. For those days when you don't want to leave the building.” Bruce says, and you give a nod.

“Thank you, Doctor Banner. I'll keep it in mind.” You say, and for a split second, you think you see Tony smirk. Bruce gives you a warm smile before the two of them leave.

You find yourself lost again in your notes and analysis. It's only the preliminary stages but there's so much that you can already see. The possibility of what you're supposed to be doing excites you. The applications of it for the future are almost endless.

You're rather abruptly brought back to the real world when you benchtop turns off, and the room goes dark. You look up and survey the room before there's a chuckle at the door.

“Lab automatically turns off at 9. I did warn you not to stay much longer.” Bruce says, and your groan.

“I was this close to having your brain fully mapped out. That's the first step to this project. And then the real fun can begin. You were bound to find out eventually if you didn't already know. I work pretty hard, tend to lose the world around me.” You say, moving to gather your things.

“I appreciate your tenacity. Especially because of what I'm asking here,” Bruce says, and you turn to look at him.

“You don't have to explain yourself, I work for you. But just a quick warning. These scans are more revealing than a lot of people realize.” You say, sweeping your hand back to your bench.

“I'm aware of the risks of asking you to look at this given your specialty,” Bruce says, as you shrug on your backpack and move out into the hallway.

“Well feel free to ask those questions that you think would invade my privacy. Just to even the playing field.” You tell him, making your way down the hallway. For a split second, you think you can see a shade of green in his eyes as a mass of emotions quickly waver over his face.

“We do extensive background checks. So chances are, I probably know a lot more than I should already. But I'll keep it in mind. Good night, (Y/N).” Bruce says, shifting his body weight a little uncomfortably, almost in a squirrelly manner. You give him a soft smile.

“Good night, Doctor Banner. I'll see you tomorrow.” You call over your shoulder as you get into the waiting elevator.

This becomes a pattern between the two of you. A routine that you can count on. You start work ridiculously early and stay until the lab turns itself off. Bruce would be there to walk you out, and he'd also taken it upon himself to make sure that you ate at least something small sometime around lunch.

You were making phenomenal progress towards a potential cure, or if not a cure a solution for what Bruce considered to be a problem.

“You know, your brain is different from the other brains that I've looked at that have been diagnosed with Dissociative Identity Disorder. Like this part here normally has diminished functions.” You were mostly musing aloud to yourself. Certain parts of the scans weren't adding up to you. It wasn't a cut and dry case here.

“Do you think it has something to do with the gamma radiation or do you think that's all him?” Bruce asks, flipping the model open above your benchtop. You shake your head.

“I'm not positive what it means. But I have an inkling. I'd like to get a functional MRI. See what happens.” You say, deciding that asking for scans of his brain when he's physically the Hulk was too much for one day.

“Have FRIDAY set it up,” Bruce says, he sounds almost disappointed. Like he thought you would have been able to cure him by now. But as you see it, with the brain scans and the minor details you'd been able to extrapolate and extract from the man himself. His big green other half wasn't a problem. And you thought that maybe, just maybe, the second Bruce could learn to accept himself the way he was that it'd be able to put his mind at ease. That maybe Bruce's hostility towards his other side was causing some of the issues.

“I have a meeting with Tony to go over his project. Don't forget that the world exists.” Bruce says, and you give him a nod before losing yourself back to the work.

The next thing you're aware of is the lab shutting off, but it feels too early. You look around and realize that there's flashing red lights, and a siren blaring.

“Code Green. Repeat, we have a Code Green.” FRIDAY says, “please shelter in place. Code Green in sector 34.” She finishes out, sector 34 is this lab floor. That means Hulk is here. You get up from the bench, determined to go meet the Hulk.

Part 2

#anaboo1kwritingchallenge #avengers #the avengers #bruce banner #bruce banner x reader #hulk

140 notes · View notes

totallyrealhoroscopesdaily · 6 years

Text

1/10/2018 Horoscope

Aries: You aren’t angry. You aren’t really sure why, you kind of wish you still were. It was easier than whatever you’re feeling now. But each time you try to resummon that burning fire, it’s doused before it can light by the same thing that made you crack your phone screen. You aren’t really sure what you’re feeling, but it’s cold and choking.

Taurus: The flamingos from the zoo have formed a biker gang, complete with black leather jackets. You actually had nothing to do with that, for real this time, and you’re kind of loving it. They apparently watched an old movie and decided that was the life they wanted and also that they were going to try to ride to Kentucky. It’s actually making you giggle as you wave goodbye with an overzealous otter and an emotional hippo.

Gemini: The owl is off taking care of all your kingly duties for you. You and Frederick are on the couch, waving to the traffic that has to go around you. You’re surprised they haven’t moved this couch yet. The weasel comes walking up to you, somehow not getting hit by any cars, and there’s a minute of an awkward stare off. You shrug Frederick to the side, then gesture the weasel up. More company is always welcome on the traffic couch. The weasel takes your invitation.

Cancer: Ridali crashed at your place. He was oddly hesitant to do so, like he thought you wouldn’t let him, but you’ve let him stay over before, so why...? Anyway, you wake up to the expected smell of cooking food. It’s scrambled eggs and Ridali has put catsup on his. You do the same, it’s very good. Ridali announces that you need to go grocery shopping. You ask when you two are going to do so, and he freezes. You tell him that he’s the only one who really cooks in this kitchen, so he’d know what to get and you really, really don’t. He bounces back and enthusiastically starts planning your Shopping Adventure™. Its a bit more in-sync with the Ridali you know.

Leo: Fira is back, but instead of shouting your usual trash talk across the square, you walk straight up to her and warn her that your neighbors are planning something, and they won’t tell you what it is, but it’s probably something devious. Fira is very obviously amused, but she doesn’t know Mrs. and Mrs. Nice like you do. She thanks you for the warning anyway, even if it feels a bit mocking. She’s still not at 100%, so you try to stick close by for the day. Neither of you will say it, but she’s grateful and you’re relieved.

Virgo: You try to be more open this time around. It shows. You still don’t say much, but you do manage to actually tell her a part of the problem, your complete lack of energy. She’s very happy that you brought your box. She gives you some papers to put in it. You set up another appointment with her, it’s for the 17th. She gives you some homework, she wants you to think about why you have no energy, is there a reason? If you’re comfortable with it, she’d like you to write it down, in a journal or on a spare sheet of paper. You’re still very uncomfortable and it shows.

Libra: The tiny Belief Shaper is dropped off today. You make eye contact with Lambab and have an idea of what the unidentifiable being was suggesting. One way to find out.

Scorpio: It wasn’t that exciting, but it does make for a nice story. Enough of that, though, you should eat, it’s past time for dinner. You need to eat, humans need to eat daily to stay healthy.

Sagittarius: You wake up and the first thing you see is the giant eye staring straight at you. You flail, shriek, and fall out of bed. The eye blinks. You pause, look around. You’re in your bedroom. You’re in your bedroom? Why are you in your bedroom? You were just having tea with a probably-eldritch old woman in a probably-eldritch location, how in the fuck...? Okay, wait a second, did the eye fucking blink? The eye can’t blink! Why did it blink, how did it blink?! You don’t trust this one bit, there is some sort of fuckery going on. You try to slowly edge to and out the door, but when you try to turn the handle, it won’t budge. You tear your eyes away from the eye and focus on the handle, because what. You try again. No dice. So that’s how it is? Another try, another failure. That’s how it is. You slump against the door. Yeah, pretty sure this is some sort of eldritch location, that’s basically confirmed. The eye stares.

Capricorn: You think this could work? It’s got a pretty good chance, at least. You get very close to wanting to be able to read the script concerning Aiden. You think you have to ask him before you can go any further. You haven’t been genuinely nervous in years, you didn’t miss the feeling.

Aquarius: You are wearing one hell of an outfit. Your favorite sweater, the redder than red one that doesn’t quite fit right, your favorite pants, the eye-wateringly orange ones with the multi-purple polka dots, with your hat and mittens, which somehow match your pants, and all topped off with your overly long, grass green scarf. It’s warm and you like it. Suzy about swallows her tongue when she sees you, shoulders shaking. She disappears into the back for a while, and you continue with your exercise routine on your own. She comes back, having found her composure somewhere in the back, when you’re finishing up, big smile on her face. She asks what you’re wearing, voice lilting in an odd way. You think she was laughing at you, but you’re not sure. You tell her what you’re wearing. The sweater that was given out of worry and was how you met Linda, the pants you bought out of spite when you were overwhelmed with choices, the mittens and the hat that Linda made with you in mind and managed to do the impossible with and match your pants, and the scarf you made with your own two hand that you were obnoxiously proud of and how new pride is. You talk for a long time, it’s probably the most you’ve ever said to her, but these are important to you. You somehow even work your way around to mentioning the piece of candy, the first gift you can remember being given. As you speak, the spark of amusement in her eyes softens into something else. Care? Affection? You think there’s at least a little bit of worry, or something sad in there, but you’re too out of practice reading others that you can’t be sure. You finally trail off and she says they mean a lot to you. It’s not a question, but you nod.

Pisces: You smash the vial, why would you do that? It was harmless, it was helpful. Child, you should have kept it. It was getting hard to resist taking it and you don’t trust yourself or your contradictory stars. Your stars wouldn’t be contradictory if you’d listen. It was a responsible foolish choice, you did good. It was hurting you more than it was helping you. You should trust your stars. You sweep up the shattered glass, taking care not to cut yourself. You’ll try your best to sleep tonight.

#zodiac #horoscope #aries #taurus #gemini #cancer #leo #virgo #libra #scorpio #sagittarius #capricorn #aquarius #pisces #totallyrealhoroscopesdaily

10 notes · View notes

scottyunfamous · 7 years

Text

The Importance of Self-Care

Hellur, fancy face!

Welcome to another highly inappropriate weight loss journey post. It may interest you to know that I’ve recently (as in like 5 hours ago) embarked on a lil experiment with a 14 day teatox created by BooTea. It was recommended to me by one of my girls who has lost maddddddd weight (like MAAAADDDDD weight), so I thought ‘Shit den, lemme see what it’s really saying.’ I’ll be doing live updates on my Snapchat and will deliver a full honest review in 2 weeks’ time on your fave new blog (…yes, I mean this blog lol).

Onto what we’re actually talking about today…

When I began my weight loss journey again I had an idea of what to expect; the resisting of temptation to consume things I shouldn't to improve my diet, the physical challenges I would have to overcome to improve my fitness, the discipline to keep at it, and creating the mind-set to help me grow mentally and emotionally on this sometimes very fucking emotional experience.

When we take on these trying ass journeys, it's never a flippin straight road or uphill climb. Nope -the shit goes up, down, left, right…generally any direction you don’t want it to. When it comes to our body’s reactions, there's only so much about it that we can control. Ideally, everytime we eat a piece of salad, drink a glass of water, or do anything that resembles some semblance of exercise (walking to the fridge counts as cardio. Don’t @ me.) we want to see that we are 15 pounds lighter when we step on them scales, but that's not how the shit works.

When you first jump on this weight loss ting and you change yo shit up, your body is on a mad one. Weight loss is you and you are weight loss...then your body gets used to your new diet and routine, which means you've got to push a little more. It's a constant challenge, especially when you aren't blessed with a fast metabolism.

If you’re like me, the constant (self-imposed) pressure to go harder may be a lot for you to deal with mentally, especially when shit isn't going to plan.

Last week I had my cheat day. The following day, Mr took me to a hotel. I got high as fuck, and for those of you who enjoy God's magic flower, you already know how them munchies will have you fucking up a plate of food like it’s your last meal. I ordered too much then ate too much... I should probably stop smoking… Anyway, the following afternoon I stood on the scales to see that I'd gained 3 kilos.

Was.

Up.

Set.

I stripped off and stood on the scales again: 2.5 kg.

I went to the bathroom: 2 kg.

Embarking on these journeys then putting on a significant amount of weight in the process is the worst. You feel like a failure, like you didn't try as hard as you should have, that maybe cheat days aren't for you. As you shrink it’s like you get even harder on yourself because you can’t come this far then go backwards. That’s not progress. Honestly, it doesn't get easier, you just have to get tougher, but tough doesn’t always equal…well, tough.

The thing that has carried a heaux throughout this last year has been making sure that I fucks with myself, heavily, like on a whole other level of extravaganza. Self-care is one of the most valuable remedies I’ve learned through this process, simply because it pushes me to continue without berating myself and gives me a stress-free way to pick myself back up when I’m down.

Do shit that makes you feel good about your fuckin self, betch. It’s okay to take a lil break and switch off for a hot sec to get your head right. It’s vital.

Here’s a few self-care activities that I love that you can try out/incorporate into your own self-care routines for those dayswhen things don’t go to plan.

When I feel like shit I listen to music with high vibrations, the kinda music that makes me feel like a cheeri-heaux (get it? Cheerio...cheri-he...anyway). I sing along at ig’nant volumes and dance in the mirror to it like it’s just me, by myself, and bitch when I say dance in the mirror I’m talking that carefree black girl 'wow wow wow thots' shit that you may not do in public because it’s that peak (in my case, extremely whorish or neeky). Listen, I do not fuck about when it's music time. Lemme get sad and fling on some Cheetah Girls (DON’T PLAY LIKE YOU DON’T FUCK WITH THE CHEETAH GIRLS PLEASE); a heaux will be strutting like she means it and freeing my uckin mind all up and down my room, doing dramatic hair flips with my wig and not caring if it flies off coz ain’t nobody but me there to see it. I’ll be doing big big international diva in my bedroom, singing all the harmonies and adlibs by my damn self all at the same time, because I am a one-bitch-band. Issa wave.

D’you know what else is a vibe, low key -herbal tea. You will drink a cup of peppermint tea and feel like your soul has been cleansed and refreshed, bitch!

Next: baths, and not just any regular bitch bath, nope. Heaux I‘m talking that ‘I done used half the fucking bottle of bubble bath, this water is so hot it will probably burn my skin so I’mma have to ease into it, there are candles all over the place like say I‘m being romanced but really I am romancing my damn self, I got that Sade on in the background and a fire ass book to read, so I will sit in this shit till my skin is wrinkled and the water turns cold, then I’mma top it up with more hot water because bitch, I aint done yet!’ kind of baths. Hooker, it is imperative that you go all out for these self-care baths. Stay in there for 5 hours. Enjoy yo’self!

Personal grooming is also my shit.

Ain’t no better feeling in the world that when you have removed all of the hair from your body. You feel like a vivacious velvet vixen, just be rubbing your thighs together for fun because the shit is smooth.

We doing the whole fuckin’ face regimen tonight, heaux! I’mma exfoliate, lather it in some weird shit that promises to tighten my pores, put some cumbers on my eyes and lay back because I’m bougie and tonight, life is a spa, rinse it off, use my face wash, get that micellar water, clear these pores, get that toner, then bitch I will slap on the thickest layer of Astral you have seen in your life (this tip came from Muva Amber Rose), and just sit there and let the shit marinate.

Wash your hair. Use all the products, deep condition yo shit, massage yo fuckin scalp! Yes betch, you smell like a coconut summer breeze and it’s wonderful!

Do your nails, do your makeup, because sometimes the shit that will bring you back from the edge is remembering how truly tun up you are, and realising that you’re on this journey and this ain’t even your final form. THESE SKREETZ AIN’T READY FOR YOU WHEN YOU REACH YOUR GOAL BITCH, HOW ARE YOU SO FIRE NOW AND THERE’S MORE FLYNESS TO COME. FUCK OFF. YOU ARE TOO MUCH!

Clear your space. Fling on some good music and tidy your room, change the sheets, dust, polish, sweep and reorganise some shit, then light you some incense and relax. This is heaven.

This is another good one; get your thoughts out. When I’m too wound up I write out exactly how the fuck I feel, completely unfiltered ‘cause ain’t nobody reading the shit but me. By the end of it I’ve talked myself down of whatever ledge I’m on, I’ve found a resolution to my problem and my peace is back where it should be.

Go outside. I’m not telling you to go hug no trees or nothing, but it’s summer, there is a park somewhere, just go there by yourself and just be amongst nature. Sometimes being surrounded by plants and animals and shit reminds you how small and magical you really are in the grand scheme of things, that whatever you’re worrying about may not be as deep as you think, and that you will get through it, because bitch, you've gotten over all the other shit in your life and you’re still here, getting these haters mad and thriving.

Take a nap. You remember when you were younger and it was nap time and you just were not on it, these days, as busy as we all are, naps are luxury. Literally, when I get too overwhelmed, it’s nap time. Shut off the world and dream a little dream of no stress. By the time I wake up, I’m good.

However, if you don’t have time to nap, I strongly recommend meditation. For those of you who follow me on Snapchat, you’ll know that I’ve hopped back on my spiritual journey and that my life is on the up because it helps to keep me focused and centred. Being that I fell off for a while, it’s not always easy to meditate without getting distracted, so for those of you who this is new to or if like me you have a little trouble clearing your mind, here is some great meditation music. Literally, all you have to do is set a timer for 10 minutes and concentrate on your breathing and nothing else (saying ‘so’ when you breathe in and ‘hum’ when you breathe out in your head or out loud also helps –recommended by Deepak Chopra). When your time is up you feel a little calmer and clearer.

Go to the gym. Yes, I know, it’s horrible and it makes you get hot, tired and sweaty and there is no dick involved, but girl, working out is scientifically proven to improve your mood because of the endorphins that it releases (endorphins are the chemicals that make you happy).

Understand that you are the captain of your yacht (I know the saying is ship, but I think yacht sounds more bougie and extra, so well go with that), and part of being the captain of your yacht mean that you are in control of yourself at every given moment, even when you don’t think you are. If shit goes left you can either choose to be upset about it and let circumstance control you or you can control your circumstance by choosing to find a lesson in every bad situation. Every negative experience you have can teach you something, if you let it.

It’s all about perspective, heaux. Look at where you went wrong and decide how you’re gonna handle it should it pop up on you again.

This is my best tip so I saved it till last -yell nice things at yourself in the mirror. When you’re feeling down about fucking up, or the way your body looks or whatever, all you’re focusing on is lack. You look for all the results you haven’t acquired yet and you beat yourself down about not having them, overlooking everything that you do have. I stand in the mirror (sometimes naked if I need a lotta love) and I compliment myself. When I first tried this method of affirmation, I begun with all the things I physically liked about myself. As my confidence grew I started finding the good in stuff I wasn’t too hot on: “YOU CAN REST SNACKS AND BOOKS ON YOUR BOOBS AND TUMMY. IT’S LIKE HAVING A DELUXE BUILT IN TRAY, LIKE ON A PLANE. YOU’RE LIKE A PRIVATE JET, BETCH!” I then moved onto my personality: “YOU DON’T SWEAR TOO MUCH, YOU’RE JUST FUCKING PASSIONATE ABOUT SHIT, PLUS SWEARING MAKES SHIT FUNNIER. YOU’RE BASICALLY A COMEDIAN!”

The reason that I harp on about building yourself up mentally throughout this process is because of the times when it’s not as easy as you’d like it to be. It’s important that you can be your own support system because you may not always have someone to lean on. Once you’ve shown yourself some proper love and respect, your mind will be right as rain (never understood that saying. Rain is dead.) and you can get back on track without having anything fucking with you.

If you enjoyed this post you may also enjoy my free downloadable guide, #LavishLife, a motivational 9 step programme that I createdespecially for you, to help you live your best life beyond just weight loss, e.g. if you want a new job, more money, a better social life, etc, the #LavishLife guide will have something for you. You deserve to have everything you want and you can. All you gotta do is take care of you, bitch.

If you would like more posts like this, click the heart below, and please be a star and share it with your friends.

If there are any topics you would like me to talk about, just hit me up here and if you haven’t done so already, please make sure you join my mailing list by clicking that lovely blue envelope in the corner for exclusive news, updates and giveaways.

Click the image below to read my previous #SvelteHeaux2017 post:

Fancy something a little more daring? Read chapters 1-6 of my sexy, award-winning urban romance, Running Wilde (new chapter posted every Friday)

Until next time, fancy face

Love Scotty x

#self love #self-care #weight loss journey #weight loss #blog

2 notes · View notes