#something about distance and meeting each other again unrecognizable. something about seven years to be a man and seven years still the sam | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aimeelouart · 3 years

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WHAT. oh my god diff anon but i loved the snippet with ur protag but also HOW CLD U THROW HER TO HOJO.. UR VERY OWN CHILD /j anyway very excited to see u talk abt ur setting and lora more i like the her

>:3c Shall we have a part two of this self-indulgent SSC crossover, then?

Lora wasn’t missing for long, but she was missing long enough. They found her in the labs, floating curled-up in an empty holding tank⁠. The glass and metal was all melted to slag around her, but she didn’t seem aware. Her whole body was glowing like liquid steel, eyes open wide and mouth slack as bluish-white light poured from the inside of her throat. The bodies of unlucky lab technicians littered the ground around the tank.

Science had finally tried to meddle in something truly beyond their grasp.

They found Hojo, too, burned to near unrecognizability and leaning up against a control panel. He was muttering deliriously to himself, breath rasping like sandpaper down his damaged throat. “Magnif...icent...like...the power...she’s…”

Sephiroth stared at him coldly. He couldn’t put Masamune through the wretch’s body without consequences⁠...but he could leave him to die. So he stepped over the body of his father and moved to the computer by the control panel, pulling up the information he needed.

The radiation pouring from the little outworlder child was frankly staggering. If it wasn’t for the protective shields around this section of the room, Hojo would have been long dead. More’s the pity, though the shields were also protecting the Firsts at the moment.

“What do we do?” Genesis asked as he looked at Lora’s glowing form. “What did he even do to get her in that state?”

“Is there anything we can do without getting burned to a crisp?” Angeal said, looking between the temperature readout and the molten state of the holding tank.

“At a distance, maybe” Sephiroth replied, leaning away from the screen and tilting his head a little. “Let us start with the obvious.” He flicked on the intercom. “Ameliora Octavia Perdel,” he said, enunciating each name clearly. “Do you remember my voice? It’s Sephiroth. Genesis, Angeal, and I are all here. You are safe now, but we can’t reach you until you calm down.”

The radiation levels dipped slightly.

Genesis bumped Sephiroth away with his shoulder. “Princess,” he crooned. “Princess, what mess did you get into, hmm? That all looks quite exhausting. Why don’t we tone it down a bit more?”

This time, she blinked and uncurled a little, legs dipping toward the floor.

Angeal went next. Maybe hearing all their voices individually was the key factor. “Just listen to my voice, Lora. Can you see where you are? I know it must be scary, but we can’t come get you until you calm down.”

The radiation levels fell rapidly, matched by the way her skin’s unnatural luminance dimmed. Her mouth was moving, eyes blinking rapidly. Steam hissed off her cheeks as she started to cry. Delicately, her feet touched the melted floor of the cage. The second the radiation levels had fallen enough to be safe (safe for a SOLDIER) they left the shielded vestibule behind and ran into the room.

The air was stiflingly hot, like an oven, and had an odd metallic tang to it. The hairs on their arms stood on end. Sephiroth darted forward as the last of the glow faded from Lora’s skin and quickly pulled her out of the molten tank. Her clothing was gone (taken or destroyed?) , and he wasn’t sure if her unprotected skin would burn against the metal. His boots left thin layers of melted rubber as he stepped quickly in and out.

Wordless, Genesis stripped off his coat and together they wrapped her in it. She still felt unnaturally hot, like a soldier pulled from the desert with heatstroke. Her eyes were wide and blank, irises glowing even when the rest of her didn’t. Odd green sparks danced within her pupils. Her lips were still moving as she murmured fretfully, but the language she spoke was incomprehensible to them.

Angeal glanced at the burned corpses. “Shhh, close your eyes for a minute, Lora.” When she didn’t respond, he frowned and held his hand over her eyes⁠, walking beside Sephiroth. He didn't cover them all the way⁠—didn’t block the light⁠—but he made sure she wouldn’t see the bodies.

And as they passed out of the room, Hojo’s rasping voice stuttered, stalled, and at last fell silent.

—

Cloud had fallen asleep almost as soon as the Firsts had gotten their hands on him again. He wasn’t too upset, actually—he’d accomplished all his goals this time around. But he was a bit miffed when he woke up with a little girl’s sleeping face just a few feet from his.

He sat up quickly, scooting backward a little. She didn’t wake, and after a few seconds he recognized her as the odd child who’d helped him escape. What the hell was she doing here in—he glanced around—Sephiroth’s bed?

Gaia, was she here because he’d accepted her ‘help?’ He’d assumed they would just get her back to her parents.

The door opened and Angeal poked his head in, one finger raised to his lips. He gestured to the girl, then motioned Cloud toward him. When they were out in the hallway, Cloud harshly whispered, “why’s she here?” with a suspicious glare.

Angeal rolled his eyes a little and herded him away from the door, not responding until they were in the kitchen. “Her name is Lora, and she’s here for much the same reason you are. No one else could safely keep her.”

“Okay, first off I don’t need to be kept,” he said, glaring as he took a chair. “You just think I do. Second off, why?”

Genesis sauntered in and answered for Angeal. “Because she has strange and frankly inconceivable abilities, Cloud. Beyond that, we are not keeping her forever, merely waiting for her parents to find her.”

“Theoretically,” Angeal muttered, tending to the food on the stove. It smelled like stir-fry.

Sephiroth arrived to join the conversation as well. “Given what we have seen, do you really find it so unlikely that her Grandfather would be capable of similar feats? I am inclined to doubt nothing, at this point.”

Cloud was baffled. Feats? Abilities? He’d given the kid a chunk of his hair in exchange for her providing a distraction—she’d claimed something about ‘needing it for the spell.’ Had she...meant something real by that?

Genesis noticed his baffled expression. “Lora doesn’t need materia to do magic,” he explained succinctly. “There are some other things too, but that’s the gist of it.”

Cloud paled. Alright, maybe it really was better if they kept her here. He didn’t even want to think about what would happen if Hojo got his hands on her.

Sephiroth was staring at him intently. “Hojo is dead.”

Every thought went right out the window. “What?”

“Hojo is dead. He’s never going to hurt anyone else again.”

How? His lips moved, but he made no sound. The damned Professor had been at the top of his list of things to take care of, what could possibly have taken him out before Cloud could even try?

Angeal lowered his voice enough that no one but a SOLDIER had any hope of making out his words. “Lora killed him, and we are not going to tell her that, understand?” For the first time, a very serious, protective look was aimed at Cloud for someone else’s sake. “She’s not like you, Cloud. She was protected from the whole world until she came to Midgar.”

“...right,” he said numbly. “I’d never hurt a kid.”

All three of them gave him Looks at that, but he was spared the commentary by a distressed, high-pitched whine from the direction of the bedroom. Genesis vanished from the kitchen in the space of a breath. When he came back, it was with the girl bundled up in a blanket, sniffling into his shoulder.

“It’s alright, darling,” Genesis was...crooning. Cloud was vaguely glad that particular tone (in that particular intensity) had never been aimed at him. He might have bitten the man’s fingers off. It seemed to be working on the actual seven-year-old though. “Shh...you’re fine. You’re safe. Don’t you want to come out and meet Cloud properly?”

Still sniffling, she raised her head and turned to Cloud. She looked groggy and miserable, eyes red-rimmed and teary, but when she saw him her face lit up.

“D’you do it?” She asked in a sleep-roughened voice, smiling. “Your task?”

“Uh,” he blinked. “Yeah. I did. Thanks for the help.”

She beamed, forgetting her tears entirely. “Welcome. It’s important to always follow your Virtue.”

He had a feeling he was missing a lot of the context of that statement, but he thought he’d gotten the gist. “Yeah.”

When they ate dinner she sat in Angeal's lap, still bundled up in the blanket. Half way through her plate⁠—her proportions were hilariously tiny compared to the four enhanced SOLDIERs⁠—she made a face and pushed it away.

“What’s wrong, Lora?” Genesis asked.

“Hurts,” she said, rubbing at the center of her chest. “Can’t eat any more.” She looked like she was on the verge of tears again.

“Okay, that’s alright. Do you want to go sit on the couch and watch something until we’re all done eating?”

“Yes please,” she said, sliding to the floor and taking Genesis’s hand.

Cloud frowned thoughtfully at his plate as he listened to her settle down on the couch as Genesis turned the tv to some inane children’s cartoon. When the redhead returned, Cloud quirked an eyebrow at him. “Is she okay?” he asked, too low for her to overhear.

His expression sobered. He shook his head. “What she did to...survive the lab...it damaged her in a manner we simply have no way of understanding. She thinks it won’t be permanent, and I suspect she may be right, but for now the pain comes and goes. It would hurt her enormously to use magic as well, though she has yet to slip up in that regard.”

“Poor kid,” Cloud murmured.

That earned him a bit of an eye-roll from Genesis before the man continued. “Healing energy does seem to help her, however. If she’s in pain and we’re unavailable, can I count on you to cast a Cure on her?”

Cloud frowned at him and crossed his arms over his chest. “Listen, I know I fight you guys a lot, but do you really think I’d hurt a kid? Or ignore one in pain?” It made him very uncomfortable that they seemed to think he would.

The Firsts exchanged a glance between themselves. “Cloud, you are absolutely unpredictable to us,” Angeal said eventually. “But you’re right, and I’m sorry we insulted you like that.”

Cloud sighed and went back to his food. “It’s whatever.”

Ugh. He’d been a kid for too long if he was starting to use phrases like that.

⁠—

They watched a movie after dinner, some mindless family film with a plot that was about as substantial as cotton candy. Cloud didn’t much care, but when Angeal said it would make Lora happy he sighed and relented. He absolutely refused to share the couch, though, claiming one of the armchairs before anyone else could ‘accidentally’ maneuver him into arms reach.

To be honest, he spent most of the movie’s run time watching Lora anyway. She was just so...weird. For one thing, she did everything in her power to make sure she was being held at all times. If one of the adults had to move, or got tired, she shamelessly transferred herself to someone else’s lap.

Sephiroth ended up with her for most of the night, looking about as content as Cloud had ever seen him as he let her snuggle close to his chest. They only had to pause the movie once as she whined and curled around her chest. All three of the Firsts had mastered Cures on them, and it wasn’t difficult to see why they needed them.

“Are most kids like that?” he ended up asking Angeal once the movie had ended. Lora was fast asleep, knuckles curled into her mouth, as Sephiroth got up off the couch and carried her to bed.

“Like what?” the dark-haired man asked, cocking a brow.

“...touchy?” Because he couldn’t remember Marlene ever being quite so demanding, and Denzel certainly wasn’t.

In the kitchen, Genesis stifled a laugh. Angeal looked amused as well. “Ah, no,” he said. “I wondered too, but after asking around a bit it turns out you and Lora are just on polar opposite ends of the spectrum.” He grinned a little. “You…avoid touch and distrust everyone; she demands touch and trusts implicitly.”

Cloud frowned. He could get away with being extreme because he wasn’t actually what he appeared, but the way Angeal described the kid’s tendencies sounded downright dangerous. “That’s not safe.”

Angeal sobered abruptly. “She’s starting to learn that too.”

Cloud winced. Yeah. Hojo would have that effect, wouldn’t he. Poor kiddo.

⁠—

Today was the first day since Cloud had gotten back that all three of the Firsts would be busy, which meant that he and their cross-dimensional princess house guest would be dropped off to be babysat (ugh) by the entire Turk department.

Yes, the entire department. That one was his own fault.

He wasn’t all that upset, actually. He had some snooping to do for his next task, and Veld was a very strange and accommodating person to Cloud’s...eccentric behavior. He swore the man was using him as a training program, but had yet to find definitive proof.

Lora, on the other hand…

Cloud walked straight into Tseng’s office and flopped down on the couch, pulling out his handheld gaming system. Sephiroth had to be well out of range before he could begin his kind-of-sort-of extended espionage battle with the Turks. Lora lingered half-behind the silver-haired man, clutching his hand with both of hers as she looked around nervously.

“Come on,” Sephiroth coaxed, looking down at her. “Don’t you want to go play with Cloud?”

“No,” she mumbled, pressing against his leg. She eyed Tseng, who was watching the proceedings with an expression of (to Cloud’s eyes) carefully curated warmth.

“Yes,” he countered. “Besides, you like Tseng. You’re going to have plenty of fun with him and the other Turks, and I promise they’ll keep you safe.”

She looked up at him and adopted puppy eyes that would have put Zack’s to shame, huge and pleading. “Can’t I just come with you? Please?”

Sephiroth visibly wavered, and Cloud had to press his lips together hard to keep from laughing outright. What was it about big, tough soldier-types being the weakest to little girls’ puppy eyes? He’d been an absolute sucker for Marlene’s before Barret had finally let him in on the secret to resisting (physically looking away, apparently).

But Sephiroth, to his credit, gathered his resolve and told her, “no, you can’t come with me on mission. It’s not safe.”

Her pleading stare turned to a pout. “But I have a lot of magic! I could help!”

“I’m sure you could,” he said, which was probably actually true though Cloud had yet to see a firsthand demonstration, “but your parents and grandfather would be very upset if they found out, wouldn’t they?”

She narrowed her eyes a little. “Papa’s taken me on campaign before.”

He arched his eyebrows. “On the front lines?”

Lora’s scowl was answer enough. Sephiroth released her hand and plucked her up off the floor, carrying her over to the couch. Very, very reluctantly, she released her grip from around his neck and let him put her down beside Cloud.

“You’ll be fine,” he promised, patting her head briefly. “Tell Tseng or Veld when your chest starts hurting, alright?”

She nodded sullenly, curling up into a ball on the couch, and he left. She huffed sulkily when he was out of sight. Eventually, she leaned over to watch Cloud play his game and he obligingly tilted the screen so she could see easier. He kept half an eye on her and half an eye on the clock.

Maybe thirty minutes after Sephiroth left, around the time Cloud was certain he had also left the Tower, Lora crossed her arms over her chest and hunched her shoulders up around her ears. He was familiar with that tell by now⁠—her chest was starting to hurt. But instead of asking Tseng for a Cure, she shot him a single nervous look and didn’t say anything.

Aw, kid, he thought.

Lucky Tseng wasn’t an idiot. “Lora,” he called with a deliberate gentleness.

She looked up, lips pressed into a wary line. “...yeah?”

“Does your chest hurt?”

“...no.” She curled up into a ball, mumbling the denial into her knees. “Doesn’t hurt.”

It was a bald-faced lie. Tseng looked, for a second, genuinely sad, then his expression shifted as he considered how to respond. Cloud paused his game, curious how this would play out. Would he call her on the lie? Trick her into being honest?

“Alright,” he said eventually, “tell me when it does.”

“‘Kay.”

Cloud scowled at him. Lora would have to say something eventually, once the pain grew too much, but that also meant letting her hurt until she caved. He would have accepted that tactic against himself, but Lora was little. She didn’t deserve that.

When Tseng quirked a brow at his glare, Cloud rolled his eyes and heaved an inaudible sigh. Why was it he had to do everything around here?

He switched the game off and set it aside, pulling his legs up so that his position mirrored Lora’s, then lowered his voice to a level that Tseng would still be able to hear, but Lora would think was too quiet. “Hey,” he said. “I know your chest hurts.”

“Doesn’t,” she said, raising her face just enough so that her eyes peeked over her knees.

“What are you scared of?” he asked. “Sephiroth said you could trust Tseng, right? And you trust Sephiroth. They wouldn’t hurt you. It’s safe to tell them.”

She narrowed her golden eyes a touch, spine straightening, and Cloud suddenly remembered youth and naivete were not the same as stupidity. “You don’t trust them,” she accused. “You don’t trust anyone.”

He bit back a groan. “I...don’t,” he agreed. “But you should.”

Lora looked outright irritated now, one hand rubbing absent-minded circles over her sternum. “Why? Why, if they wouldn’t hurt us?”

“You and I are...different,” he said slowly. Gaia, he very much regretted getting into this conversation, but it was too late now. "They wouldn't hurt me, but they don't understand what I am, and that means that even if they mean well...I can’t trust them to do what’s best for me.”

The look she gave him was highly skeptical, so he sighed and added, “I would definitely trust them to cast a Cure on me, okay? So you should too. Everyone is sad when you’re hurting.”

“What if I’d rather hurt?” she snapped. “This hurts less than⁠—” she cut off, blinking rapidly against sudden tears, and yeah, he knew that feeling. Poor kiddo. At least he’d been almost an adult when Hojo had gotten him into the lab.

“No one wants to hurt, Princess,” he said, patting her knee. “C’mon, it’s not that big a deal. I’d be right here the whole time.”

“You want to hurt,” she said, but it looked like he was finally starting to wear her down. “You hurt all the time and you never tell anyone.”

Cloud blinked at her in surprise. “What?”

Lora looked uncommonly serious in that moment. “You hurt all the time. I can tell. I can’t look at the Strings without hurting⁠—” she was still rubbing at her chest “—but my pa...passive? My passive sight still works and you’re like…” She brushed her fingers against just over his heart. “...jagged. Jagged black and purple thread, fraying all over.” Her voice dropped to barely a breath of sound. “It hurts to look at.”

Cloud jerked away, startled and alarmed, and brought his hands close to his chest. “I⁠—”

She sniffled, the pain finally getting to her. “If you get to hurt, I get to hurt,” she insisted stubbornly. He suspected it had more to do with sticking to her guns by this point than any actual desire to endure pain.

“I...Lora, you don’t...have to hurt. They can help you. That’s...that’s why you should ask.”

“But you do?” she fired back, swiping at her eyes. “You have to hurt? They can help you too!”

“No,” he whispered, briefly shutting his eyes against her innocent, righteous indignation. How had the argument shifted around on him, especially given that he was a twenty-three-year-old gown-ass man and she was seven? “No, Lora. They can’t help me.” He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. Too much dangerous information to be discussing while in Tseng’s office. He was stupid to have let it get this far. “Would you let me cast a Cure on you?”

She looked at Tseng, who was going his level best to fade into the paperwork and pretend he wasn’t even there. Then she looked back and narrowed her eyes at him. He recognized that look as the ‘I’m going to dig in my heels until you give in’ look that Marlene was so fond of. “No,” she said. “Not unless you stop hurting too.”

This time he did groan aloud. “I⁠—Princess, that’s not…” She folded her arms across her chest, knees shifting to sit criss-cross on the couch cushions. He tossed his hands up. “Fine, I’ll let Tseng cast a Cure on me too, okay? Would that make you happy?”

She offered him a watery, triumphant smile and immediately flopped over to curl up in a ball. “Yeah.”

He got up, jaw clenched, and stalked over to Tseng’s desk. The man looked up, expression betraying nothing. “What is it, Cloud?” he asked, as if he hadn’t heard every single word.

“Lora will let me cast on her if you cast on me first,” he ground out, irritated. “Not that it’ll do anything since I am fine.”

“Of course,” Tseng agreed, that lying motherfucker. He pulled a Cure out of his desk, then checked to make sure Lora was watching before casting...a full Curaga. Overkill. Cloud snatched the materia up and went back to the couch, irritation cooling as he saw the way the kid was shaking and trying in vain to blink back tears.

“Here,” he said, laying a hand on her head of wild red curls and casting a Curaga of his own. “Better?”

She rolled onto her back and smiled at him. “Yes. Thank you.” Then she frowned. “But...you’re still…?”

“I told you, kiddo,” he said with a shake of his head. “They can’t help me like they can help you.”

⁠—

Cloud got up shortly after that exchange and said “I’m going to the bathroom,” which everyone except Lora knew by now was the opening salvo of their espionage battle. He handed his gaming system to the Princess so that she’d be entertained and left, several Turks following after him.

Here we go, he thought, a little smirk curving his lips up.

Except, less than thirty minutes later, when he was squirming through the vents, he heard Reno yelling, which was...not usually part of their game. Puzzled, he stopped and listened.

“Hey! Cloud! Listen, I know you’re having fun, but little Princess is freaking out and you need to get to Tseng’s office ASAP! She’s⁠—listen, she thinks we did something to you and we’re all worried she might try to use her magic and hurt herself. Please.”

Cloud groaned and let his head thunk down onto the metal beneath him. He should have anticipated this. With a sigh, he squirmed around and quickly reversed course, popping out of a vent near but not right in front of where Reno had been shouting.

“Alright, I’m going” he called, loud enough for the redhead to hear, and ran for Tseng’s office.

He burst in to find Lora perched on the back of the couch, staring down Tseng, who was sitting on the floor trying to placate her. She gasped when she caught sight of him and promptly lost her balance, falling onto the cushions with an oof!

“You’re okay!” she said, scrambling up and launching herself at him.

“I’m fine,” he said, staggering a little as she cannonballed into his torso. “What, were you worried about me?”

“Yes!” she said, upset. “Where were you? I thought they’d...that they’d…”

Cloud sighed, unable to hold on to his irritation in the face of a little girl on the verge of tears. Damn his daddy instincts. He picked her up and carried her back to the couch, well aware of how ridiculous that must have looked. He had to deal with this now, for her sake and everyone else’s. Hopefully the conversation wouldn't veer into dangerously exposed territory this time.

“You were scared I’d been taken away, right? Lora, I’m...very hard to take. By anyone. I got away from Seph and Ange and Gen the first time you met me, remember?”

She looked uncertain, keeping hold of one of his wrists. “I...know,” she said. “Where were you?”

“I was⁠—” inspiration struck. He knew exactly how to fix this, or at least begin to fix it. “Well, I was breaking the rules.”

Lora’s eyes widened. For a second, he saw exactly what he was hoping for: curiosity and longing. A split second later it was eaten away by anxiety, but now that he knew it was there, he could draw it out again. “You shouldn’t break the rules,” she said. “What if they’d taken you?”

“I’m hard to take,” he repeated patiently. “And you know what? If you broke the rules, Lora, it would be okay, because you’re hard to take too.”

She blinked at him, uncomprehending. “But...no, he...it was easy to take me,” she whispered, trying to blink back tears.

“Only because you didn’t know you couldn’t trust him,” Cloud said. “Look, you trust Gen and Seph and Ange, right?” She nodded. “Okay, why?”

“Because...they got me out,” she said slowly, tense and miserable as she re-lived that memory.

“They saved you, which is proof that they don’t want you hurt and proof that you can trust them,” he summarized. She nodded again. “But they told you that you can trust Tseng, right? Why don’t you trust him too?”

Lora stared at him helplessly. He knew this was a lot to ask of a seven-year-old (a real one) but she was smart. She would get it if he helped her along a little bit.

“Is it because you don’t have any proof that they’re like our Firsts?”

“Yeah,” she whispered, throwing a glance at Tseng, who was holding absolutely still and carefully not looking at them.

“Do you want to trust them? Because Seph said so?” He suspected she did, at least. He suspected she wanted to go back to trusting everyone, but didn’t know how.

“...yeah.”

“Okay. You want to trust them, but you don’t have any proof, so you feel scared because they might try to take you. Lora, what if I told you that they couldn’t take you even if they tried?”

She blinked at him, head tilting in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“If you had known that the Frog-Faced Bastard⁠—” she cracked a little smile at that “—was going to take you, would you have gone with him?”

She recoiled. “No!”

“What would you have done?”

“I would have⁠— I would have frozen him solid and ran away!”

“That’s right. You would have defended yourself. So if Tseng tried to take you, would you defend yourself?”

The light of realization dawned in her eyes. “It...it would hurt,” she said, rubbing her chest with her free hand.

“But you would do it?” he prodded. “And you have a lot of magic, Princess. Magic that they don’t understand. Even if it hurt you could get away, couldn’t you? And then Seph and Gen and Ange would come kick Tseng’s butt, right?”

He smiled as he watched the anxiety drain out of her eyes, a kind of relieved joy taking its place. “Yeah,” she said, smiling back at him. “Yeah!”

“So you don’t have to trust the Turks yet,” he said. “You can just act like you do until they prove that you can trust them, because even if they tried to hurt you they couldn’t.”

⁠—

Angeal was the first back and thus the one to pick up Cloud and Lora from the Turks. He was directed to Veld’s office, which was something of a surprise, and was told that Cloud was currently out ‘playing’ with some of the others, which was not a surprise. Tseng had been keeping them all more or less abreast of the kids’ activities, including two very interesting and concerning conversations.

Despite hearing about the progress Cloud had made in teaching Lora about trust and self-defense, Angeal still found his eyebrows arching when he entered Veld’s office and found the little princess dozing in the Turk’s lap. That wasn’t just progress⁠—that was nearly a full recovery back to the fearless child they first met.

“Hewley,” Veld said without looking up from his work. He was writing with one hand, the other arm wrapped around Lora.

“Veld,” he said back, smiling. “I hope she wasn’t too much trouble?”

The Turk didn’t smile, but something in the corners of his eyes gave him away. He was pleased. Very pleased. “Oh, I’m afraid she was,” he said. “Very troublesome. She and Cloud raised quite a ruckus before he tricked her into coming here and pinning me down.”

Angeal laughed. “Did he? That does sound like Cloud.” He grinned, knowing that they⁠ (and the whole of the Turks, probably⁠) were both pleased by the knowledge that Lora had been a handful. Cloud was just...Cloud, and he would always do what he wanted.

He rounded the desk and Veld passed Lora off to him. Unsurprisingly, she didn’t wake⁠—the girl slept like a rock, even after the lab when her hours asleep far surpassed her hours awake. “How many times did she need a Cure.”

“Twice,” said Veld, looking at his PHS. “Cloud cast one this morning, I cast the other near lunch.” Which meant she would probably wake up hurting again before dinner. Angeal nodded, shifting her on his hip. “Cloud’s back with Tseng,” Veld added before he could ask, checking his PHS.

“Of course. Well, thank you.”

“My pleasure. Really.”

#ask #Tumblr exclusive writing #fic reply #aimee's self-indulgent crossovers #the royal house perdel #ameliora octavia perdel

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sabinefm · 4 years

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( bruna marquezine , cis female , peach ) welcome to aida&stefano , SABINA REUBE ! thank you for choosing to stay here. in this form it says that you go by the SHE / HER , you’re TWENTY THREE years old , you’re originally from SAN FRANCISCO , and you’ve been staying here for ONE YEAR . it also says you’re known to be + RESOURCEFUL , but also - SELFISH. that really shouldn’t be a problem though. check in at the front , hope you enjoy your stay ! (the click of heels, hot sand under your bare feet, chocolate covered strawberries, the imprints a bra leaves on your skin, red lipstick staining your fingertips )

ABOUT THE MUN. i hope this email never finds you

hello all, my name is pepper and i have never been on time for anything, ever in my life sdjkdskj this is especially true today, rip. no but honestly, i never thought i would actually get accepted into this beautiful rp so i stalled checking acceptances cause i’m a Scaredy Cat and that made me really late, and then i ended up taking the rest of my coworker’s shift cause she had to go and thus ended up coming home even later than i thought which has made me really really late... BUT against all the odds i’m here! and ready to party! and tell y’all about my bby sabina! but first a little bit about me, i am twenty four (ew), i can’t cook (rip), and i currently spend most of my lonely quarantine days either watching anime or scrolling through tiktok. i am canadian but every canadian that meets me thinks i’m american and i don’t know why. when i was a child i had an irrational (or yk very rational) fear of sharkboy from sharkboy and lava girl, and tbh it has never left me. i was also afraid of gill from kim possible so you can imagine my horror when that fish f*cking movie won an oscar?? when i was younger i also thot god looked like king triton from the little mermaid cause he was white and he had a beard yk. it fit in my little brain. and finally i just recently discovered girl in red and therefore feel like i finally got my bi girl card,,, feeling validated in this chillis tonight. and if that doesn’t tell you everything you need to know about me idk what will. anyways, that’s officially enough about me onto who we’re all really here for, ms sabine!

BIO. the lengths i would go to to both get attention and avoid it... astounding tldr ; daughter of a guy who created a dating site + app, came to a&s after leaving her husband to be at the alter after catching him cheating with her mother, wants to be a bad bitch, sometimes succeeds.

THEN.

sabina came into the world the child of a mediocre stay at home mom and a penniless entrepreneur so it goes without saying that she had very little. her dad had a lot of passion and a lot of drive but no one would really give him a chance, and her mother kind of only married the man because she was expecting him to make it big enough for her to never have to work another day in her life so? yeah she was hella disappointed tbh

but not sabina! she looked up to her father so much as a child. while her mom was kind of ~emotionally unavailable~ her father was too, but like at least he had a dream he believed in, yk? he wanted to help people fall in love and sabine being the big romantic she was as a child had never heard of anything so noble. her daddy was her hero. sabina honestly had big daddy’s little girl vibes until she was like 22 tkjsdkjd

one day when their family credit card got rejected one too many times sabina’s mother called it quits on yk the whole mother gig. she left sabina on a bench outside of the grocery store while she went to go home and ‘get some cash’ which even at seven sabine knew was a damn lie cause they were too broke to have any damn cash. and yeah that was the last sabina heard of her for a long ass time. it was a reverse ‘dad went to get some cigarettes’ situation but just as traumatic honestly.

although not as much for sabine’s dad. that man literally saw his wife leaving him as a minor setback and moved on. he threw himself harder into his work, to the point where sabine barely saw him. this was the start of sabine desperately trying to compete with her father’s business for even a sliver of his attention. this was a battle she usually lost.

sabine raised herself for a while there, since her father yk remarried his job and her mother was following the jonas brother’s cross country. she became both very independent and very lonely for a child, which was an odd combination that both haunted sabine for pretty much the rest of her life after that point and lead her to make most of her worst decisions. but that’s a story for another time, because right when all hope was lost sabine’s father won the lottery. literally.

all at once they were five million dollars richer. they went from nothing to everything real quick. and this marked a change in the reube’s lives in a way sabine couldn’t have even imagine at the time.

sabine’s father hector used the money to fund his business and that shit blew up! he created a site by the name of loveisblind that was in the ring with the likes of match.com and christianmingle yk, one of those dating sites. everyone on loveisblind is set up on blind dates based on the information they fill out on their profile and are only allowed to see each other when they reach a certain point of emotional intimacy. the site had wild success rates, and got very popular, blah, blah, the point was the reubes? suddenly rich af!

and you think that would give hector more time to spend with his daughter right? no. it gave hector the money to hire nannies for his daughter.

yes, somehow despite hector no longer having to work himself to the bone, sabine saw him even less. tragic really. she really became that lonely rich girl trope real quick, and this is what unfortunately got sabine into the habit of seeking the attention she wasn’t getting from her father in other men and women, which she is not proud of.

that unfortunately didn’t fill the void that sabine had but you know what did? making the loveisblind app so her daddy would love her. basically around the time that tinder started gaining traction and getting popular, people stopped going on the loveisblind site and started instead turning to apps. her father was trying and failing to get into that market, and sabina, being yk, actually a lot more intelligent than her father ever gave her credit for, created the app for his site and pitched it to him over his lunch one day. it was honestly one of the first times sabina can remember her father really paying attention to her in the longest time. it was also the proudest she’s ever seen him.

the app was a big success! a whole new generation was using it and finding love, including one ms sabine reube. in the early days of the app launch sabine met her prince charming, christopher ‘kit’ johannson. he swept her right off her feet, and she fell HARD, and when they debuted their relationship it wasn’t long until they kind of became the face of the app?? like sabine’s father was the creator after all, the fact that his daughter found love on the app too was big news for a while. people followed their relationship and strived for something like that for themselves. sabine didn’t know it at the time but they were basically a walking advertisement, and her father was LIVING for that.

fast forward a bit and your girl went to yale for computer engineering and business (did her daddy’s status and money ease the way? maybe man, nepotism am i right) whilst kit went to harvard, they were long distance for a bit before they graduated and kit very publicly proposed (the whole thing was well recorded too, gotta get that gram), and then both sab and kit moved in together and both started working for their families respective companies. it was around then that sabine started to understand just how much and how often kit was cheating on her. it was a real wakeup call.

sabine ended up breaking down to her father about her suspicions, and he basically ended up telling her to suck it up and think of the business. the fact was sabine and kit, the face of their new generation and one of the first successful couples from the app getting married and living happily ever after was amazing for the company. and the two of them calling the whole thing off just because of a little infidelity just wasn’t going to cut it.

now once again, this is where sabine’s deep desire to be loved and accepted really bites her in the ass. this was one of the first times sabine’s father had ever really asked her for anything so... she did it. or at least she did her best to do it. she lasted until the wedding day around the time where she caught kit and her own mother (who she only invited out of a deep rooted need to actually know the woman who gave birth to her again) going at it in the coat closet of their wedding venue. yeah, at that point sabine pretty much snapped, blacked out, smashed a whole wedding cake over kit’s head, and took their honeymoon to venice on her own. she arrived at Aida&Stefano with running mascara in a ruined wedding dress trying to ask about a honeymoon suite. it was a whole mess, but you know what so is sab so at least she was on brand.

NOW.

after sabina arrived she spent about a week mourning her failed almost-marriage and yk, destroyed family before she decided to fuck it all and reinvent herself. she desperately wanted to become someone new, someone unrecognizable from who she was before, even if it was only on the inside. so she cut her hair (the first step to every transformation) hardened everything soft about herself and made the irrevocable decision to become a bad bitch. she (mostly) succeeded. kind of.

sabine basically curb stomped out the soft, hopeless romantic people pleaser in her and decided to become someone more unsympathetic. someone who puts her own needs first instead of burning herself up to keep others warm (cause what good has that ever done her before?). someone who people would be afraid to hurt but who wouldn’t even feel pain anyways. and to sum it up that person is a heartless bitch. or at least she tries to be.

i’m gonna stop here because this is already a lot longer than i wanted it to be and i haven’t even got to the other sections yet rip but you get the point i feel

PERSONALITY. *feels nothing* mmm, don’t like that *feels something but like too much* mmm not a fan of that either

most of this is tbd because i’m still developing her but

VAIN. the kind of girl who will file her nails or check herself out in the mirror while you’re talking to her. will reapply her lipstick in the rearview mirror of her car while she’s driving. checks herself out in any reflective surface, i mean i would too if i looked like bruna but Still

KIND. even though sab tries to be a hard ass she’s probably the most loyal, generous, kind person you would ever meet deep down. like she puts on this persona of being heartless, but if anyone needs her she will be there for them. kind of hates that she’s such a softie sometimes but she can’t help it.

EMOTIONALLY UNAVAILABLE. doesn’t want to be hurt again and will do pretty much anything to avoid that. tries to keep people at arms length especially romantically. loves making friends though, and will indeed spoil them.

HEADCANNONS. who wants to hire me as their maid i’m not gonna clean im just gonna wear a cute maid outfit dust like 6 things and bend down a lot

has the vibes of that drunk rich aunt that’s always smoking like sexily as she looks far into the distance and wears like a super luxurious coat. will gossip with you. will buy you things your mom won’t. will cuss out your toxic father at the dinner table. that’s her energy.

unfortunately actually does smoke. i hate

okay fun fact, the only reason sabine went to university for computer programming and business was because she felt her father wanted her to. she honestly has no real passion for the subject and just wanted to use her talent to make her father as proud of her as he was on the day she debuted that app to him. but now that making daddy proud isn’t like the only thing occupying her entire brain sabine like is like ??? wait what do i actually want to do with my life ??? and it took her a while to figure it out but after a while she fell back on one of her passions, art. she’s actually making a graphic novel aimed towards young adults about a modern day hades and persephone vibe, kind of about a girl who falls in love with the grim reaper and the lengths she goes to to chase after her (yes it is a Lady Reaper) into the depths of hell,,, it’s wild. she’s very proud of it but also kind of shy about it tbh. her go to critic is georgio, because she knows that little shit will be honest and yk what she respects that.

but when it comes to making actual money your girl turns to cam work most of the time, because well. at the very least it’s quick, easy, and semi discreet. and sometimes she gets something out of it too. she figures it’s a win win, and she’s been doing it for about a year now, mostly because she absolutely refuses to use any of her father’s money.

is allergic to cucumber.

has a different 'relationship’ like every week or so, along with a few one night stands peppered in. unfortunately still attracted to people who are bad for her (kit for example was an asshole and a cheater and DEFINITELY conservative like she messed up on that one), but is also very afraid of falling in love again and letting herself get hurt, so she normally doesn’t let things last too long before she starts self sabotaging.

if you ever catch sabine with like... her nails growing out or her nail polish chipped, something is wrong. like something is deeply wrong. sabine will have her nails done in the middle of the apocalypse, the only reason they would be less than perfect is if she is having a breakdown. always has colour on her nails, and usually it’s a shade of red, purple, or black.

always has wild ass stories to tell about her tinder dates or one night stands and will tell them without shame for your entertainment. is a great storyteller honestly, a talent she got from her mother but she doesn’t want to admit that.

fun fact, her mother mariah was PISSED when hector got rich AFTER she left him and tried for years to sue him or something but no dice. she was so angry and vengeful over the whole thing that she took the opportunity of being invited to her daughters wedding to get back at her husband where it hurt, his business. thus sleeping with kit. didn’t really think about how her daughter might feel about the whole thing because she was yk blinded by rage, but that’s just how mariah is so i mean,,, rip sabina.

shops when she’s sad, or happy, or angry, or confused sdkjdsj will use any excuse to shop, and at this point she has more clothes than she knows what to do with. her style can be kind of out there at times, but she will let you borrow things though.

she has a cat named momo. yes that is inspired by her being the peach skeleton. also has a parrot named poe i think. i also have the urge to give her a snake but... i will resist. so sabine wants a snake for sure

her favourite colours are black and red

she is a horrible terrible driver. don’t drive with sabine unless you’re an adrenaline junkie or like want to die tbh

her dad 100% set up the relationship between kit and sabine as a pr stunt, but sabine doesn’t know that yet and when she finds out her father used her like that ooh boy things are gonna get wildt. as it is now sabine just thinks she disappointed him and it’s kind of eating her alive. half the reason she’s staying here is because she doesn’t want to face him or yk her old life anymore. her father is so caught up in the shame she caused him that he hasn’t even tried to call her after the whole thing and the one time sabine got hella drunk and called him all he did was tell her what a disappointment she was and ask when she was coming back to work so we love ~parenting~

WANTED CONNECTIONS. girls will “🥺🥺🥺🥺” their way out of everything

close friends please and thanks, best friends also please, uh, can i get some awkward one night stands that avoid each other at all cost, can i get a neighbour who’s ear sabine is always talking off in the hallway between their rooms even tho they just want to go home but can’t because sabine is Oversharing, maybe a flirtationship, but also i would love an enemy (it could be for a ridiculous reason or a completely valid reason but either way please give it to me), someone she goes out dancing/partying with at piccolo, a sibling like relationship, a confidante, someone who she trusts to read her comic and maybe even do some linework, and absolutely anything else okay my brain is fried rn but i want it all! please like this and i will slip and slide into your dms <3

#ostellointro #me: *sees a nice neat intro at an appropriate length* I Want To Do That #this monstrosity: bitch you thot

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1000-directions · 5 years

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annual writing self-evaluation

All answers should be about works published in 2018.

tagged by: N O B O D Y, i’m the one getting the party started this year 😎i’m going to tag every writer i follow, so please feel free to fill this out for yourself without feeling obligated to read my answers if you’re not into it!

i. Optional if applicable: link to last year’s self evaluation:

2017!

1. List of works published this year (in the order that they were posted):

tonight make me unstoppable

turn to dust or to gold

spring cleaning

since we’re alone

this modern love

i still remember

the gentlest feeling

think i’m gonna win this time

nothing but dreams inside

sending postcards to myself

dust to dust

lullaby for the new world order

gold dust in our hands

#ship 1d with superheroes 2k18

cloud on my tongue

sing it one last time

(unpublished winterhawk fic that will be arriving next weekend)

2. Work you are most proud of (and why):

hmmmm. i mean, if you count the luckyverse as a whole as one work, then obviously that. i’ve put a lot of time and thought into developing this relationship and finding ways to progress it over the course of several years and trying to justify why we are examining their relationship at the specific times that the stories take place. it’s the hardest i’ve worked on anything, it’s the most time i’ve spent on one idea, it’s the longest thing i’ve ever created, it’s the most i’ve ever enjoyed writing, and it’s gotten the most satisfying response. it’s not the most popular thing i’ve ever done, and i know there will be fewer and fewer people showing up for each successive part, but the people who support this have been just...the most generous and wonderful, and creating this thing has been such a rewarding experience for me.

3. Work you are least proud of (and why):

nope, this year i’m pretty proud of everything 🙃

4. A favorite excerpt of your writing:

from this modern love:

“Buck,” Louis says, and he’s looking at Bucky so openly, gazing at him so adoringly, and his fingertips are so gentle against Bucky’s face. He isn’t holding anything back, and it’s one of those moments where Bucky almost steps out of his own head and sees himself from a distance, and he has to tell himself, this is your life, you get to have this now.

“It was a nice day,” Bucky says instead. “I’m really glad I got to be a part of it.”

“You’re going to be a part of everything from now on,” Louis says, tracing the arch of Bucky’s eyebrow with his thumb. “Shit, I can’t stop touching you.”

“Don’t stop touching me,” Bucky says. His hands are on Louis’ hips, anchoring him in place, and they feel hot where they meet Louis’ clothing. His right palm is sweating, and his left is crackling with the anticipation.

There are two categories of energy. There’s kinetic energy, the energy of motion. The energy of Bucky reaching through space and time against all the odds to meet this man, to run after him down the street, to touch his body and kiss his sacred mouth.

And the other category is potential energy, the energy that is stored up and kept secure for the future when you’re ready for it. The energy of possibility, the energy that hasn’t done anything yet but promises you maybe, maybe, maybe.

5. Share or describe a favorite comment you received:

i got a lot of comments along the lines of ‘i didn’t expect this to work, but it did,’ which always brings me joy. i reread @queerlyalex‘s comment on nothing but dreams inside whenever i’m feeling :/ about myself and my writing. all seven comments on cloud on my tongue are so precious to me because i loved writing that one so, so much, it was my love letter to lucky and how far they’ve come. i really just treasure the people who are still hanging in there and reading about my precious weirdos and really picking up on all the things i was trying to do with that story.

6. A time when writing was really, really hard:

any time i have to write a scene with more than two characters is a struggle. the absolute worst ones this year were freddie’s birthday party and bucky and louis’ dinner party. just the worst. more than two characters is too many to keep track of.

7. A scene or character that you wrote that surprised you:

genuinely everything. at the end of last year, i was planning to write one (1) lucky fic for rarepair fest, and i was planning to write trans spiderlou, and that was it. and instead, this turned in the year of lucky, the #ship 1d with superheroes 2k18 that i was not expecting.

8. How did you grow as a writer this year:

last year, i was very focused on being a more minimalist writer, on ignoring plot and just writing the parts that i found interesting, just quick projects in one sitting for as long as they held my interest. this year, i spent more time stretching out inside a scene, just settling in and letting it take as long as it needed to take. i learned how to sustain my own interest in an idea for longer than a few hours. it used to be that if i didn’t finish something in one sitting, i didn’t finish it at all. meanwhile, i can’t even tell you how many sittings i’ve spent on lucky over the last year, and i’m still excited about it and invested in it. i wouldn’t say that i appreciate the concept of plot much more than i used to -- i’m still much more focused on small moments of character interaction. but i’ve learned to embrace the concept of outlining in order to make sure i cover everything i want to cover, and i’m not so afraid of the passage of time anymore.

9. How do you hope to grow next year:

this is my answer from last year:

i would like to try some new pairings. this is weird, but i’ve never really written a true nouis story? it feels like i should have, but i haven’t, and that’s something i wouldn’t mind tackling next year. also, when i first started out, i didn’t feel comfortable leaving canon behind because i worried that i didn’t have a strong enough grip on my characters yet, and i feared that if i started writing AUs or whatever, my characters would become unrecognizable. but i’d like to keep venturing out and trying new worlds and tropes. i want to write more trans characters. i’d like to write an ace fic. i’d like to bring my eye to things i haven’t written before and see what happens.

things i did this year: tried new pairings, wrote a true nouis story, wrote AUs, wrote more trans characters. and although it’s not explicitly identified in the story, bucky is demi in luckyverse, so i guess you could say i wrote an ace fic. so...i’m pretty pleased with all that.

‘i’d like to bring my eye to things i haven’t written before and see what happens’ is always going to be my writing mantra, i think. this year was very heavily focused on lucky, so i think i’d like to write more diversely next year, focusing on other stuff as well. i’d like to write more marvel stories, and i’d like to play around with winterhawk more and maybe find my own preferred niche inside that particular pairing. i just want to keep pushing myself and trying new things.

10. Who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer (could be another writer or beta or cheerleader or muse etc etc):

i will say that @dearmrsawyer really stepped up and became my absolute mvp this year. jamila is the best for pure brainstorming, for just coming up with an idle idea and running with it until it’s something huge and important and vital to whatever project i’m working on. there is very little i wrote this year that she didn’t have a hand in to some extent. @nightwideopen was absolutely lucky’s #1 cheerleader, which means so much to me. @queerlyalex is always the best in terms of pure positivity and encouragement, about writing, about not writing, about life, about everything. @fleetwooded has been such a perfect beta for me, someone i absolutely trust to tell me the truth about whether or not something works, someone who is so thoughtful with comments and ideas, someone whose eye i 100% trust. @sarcathlon made me art!!!! holy shit, i’m never going to be over it, genuinely the nicest and most supportive compliment ever. and of course, bucky barnes has my entire heart and i’m never gonna stop yelling about how he is a good boy trying his best.

11. Anything in your real life show up in your writing this year:

uh, yes. lol. all of bucky’s anatomical awareness is a result of my stupid useless anatomy degree. at least i finally got to use it for something!! a lot of bucky’s anxiety and panic is based on my own. bucky’s hatred and fear of grocery stores is literally me.

12. Any new wisdom you can share with other writers:

i’m always going to say to write the stories that you want to write, and fuck all the writing rules that tell you there’s a specific way to tell a story. tell it your way. have fun. writing is pointless if you don’t genuinely enjoy it, because we aren’t getting paid for this, and most of us aren’t going to write things that are wildly popular, so the joy has to come from the creation of it. if you expect the joy to come entirely from other people’s responses to your work, you’re going to be disappointed. if you love what you write, then you are guaranteed that at least one person is going to love what you wrote. that’s all i got.

13. Any new projects you’re looking forward to starting (or finishing) in the new year:

we’ve got two (or three 😩) more parts of the luckyverse in the wings, and i want to write my zayn character study. everything else is up for grabs.

14. Tag three writers/artists whose answers you’d like to read:

listen, i’m tagging e v e r y o n e who i think wrote something this year because i wanna get this thing going again. so please, if i accidentally skipped you, or if you are someone i don’t follow who is reading this and you want to do it, please feel free, just say i tagged you.

@magicalrocketships @veryniceandgood @bigbrotherlouis @secretspeller @ferryboatpeak @zaptains @jiksax @mildlymaddy @dearmrsawyer @saysthemagpie @polaroidgirlfriend @clarz @imlouisaf @queerlyalex @nothanksweregood @musingsofmaura @niallspringsteen @foliealou @tintedglasses @sarcathlon @nocontrolforlouis @fleetwooded @nightwideopen @captn-sara-holmes @flawedamythyst @akai-coat @claraxbarton @kangofu-cb

#me me me #long post #writing #year in review #goodbye 2018 #it's hilarious how long this takes to do when no one is going to read it but it was nice to organize my own thoughts about the year i had

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fanfic-from-a-67-impala · 7 years

Text

A Supernatural x Reader Story Chapter Twenty-Seven: Man’s Best Friend with Benefits, Part Two

Word count: 4119

(You can also find it on Wattpad here)

Master Post

"You know what you're going to do about this, uh, witch thing?" Dean asks.

You sit across the table from the boys, inspecting the pages from Bobby's book laid out in front of you, and allow yourself to peek up at his grave eyes.

"Well, there's an entry in Bobby's journal about this spell," you tell him, not matching the sternness in his voice as you slide the page across the tabletop, "'Creating False Memories into Another Witch's Mind,' so it is possible, at least."

"Awesome," he says, barely glancing at the paper. "But that's not what I meant."

"I know what you meant," you reply, teeth clenched. "But what am I supposed to do? Call up Crowley, tell him to get the Hell out of me?"

Sam, whose gaze has fallen on you as well, scoffs. "That's not funny."

"You see me laughing?" you retort. "God, the both of you... Whatever happens or doesn't happen, it can wait until we wrap this up, all right?"

You eye them both, and they each look as if they have more to say, but concede to dropping it for now.

• • • • • • • • • • • •

"Portia tells me my friends in the community want me burned at the stake," James says as you and the boys walk into his room.

"I'm not gonna lie," Dean says. "It's getting ugly."

"And the cops may have more on the case than they're saying," Sam informs him, "including a thick dossier on you."

"Me?" James questions, disbelieving.

"Yeah, I get the feeling whatever they have is under lock and key at the precinct," Sam adds. "Room C-110."

"Then we need to break in," James states.

"Sure," Dean scoffs. "Yeah, a locked room in a joint crawling with cops twenty-four-seven. Why didn't I think of that?"

"Dean," James says, "a witch can go to a place without having to go to a place."

Dean gives him a blank look. "What, like phone sex?"

"Astral projection. I can project my awareness anywhere, from the comfort of right here," James clarifies, then holds up his hands, the iron chains clanging as they are pulled up with his wrists. "But these have got to go."

"Not gonna happen," Dean answers.

"Irons on, no magic," James explains. "No magic, no break-in."

You and the boys glance at each other, Dean's eyes full of doubt, but Sam raises his brows in consideration.

"Okay," he says, "but only if we can go with you."

James looks skeptical about taking extra people on the journey, but Sam and Dean show no signs of negotiating further.

Soon, the shackles have been dropped back into Dean's zipped bag, and Sam and Dean sit on either side of James, shoulder to shoulder, at the foot of the bed.

"James, are you sure you're still even able to do this?" Portia asks.

Dean look over to James, then back to her. "Oh, well, that's a confidence builder," he remarks. "Anything else I should know before I become some disembodied thing, completely at his mercy?"

"My gas tank's been running low since all this started," James admits, "but there is another energy source I could pull from."

You don't realize that he is looking at you until every other eye in the room has turned in your direction.

"I-I don't know how..." you stammer, shaking your head.

"You don't need to know how," James says. "You just need to let me draw from your power. It's the only surefire way I won't run out of energy in the middle of the spell."

You see it in your mind, how these things escalate. How drawing power leads to performing spells leads to practicing magic leads to hurting...

"I'm sorry," you say. "This– I can't."

"(Y/N), please," Portia says at your side. "We need this to work."

You tear your eyes away from her pleading ones to Dean, perhaps the person whose judgement on this matter you most trust, but he fixates on the ground next to him, avoiding your gaze. Mistakenly, you turn to Sam, who meets you with understanding eyes, letting you know it is your decision to make. You feel your resolve breaking under his gaze, realizing the risk you would be placing upon all of them if you refused.

Almost as if he can see your decision as you make it, he holds out a tentative hand toward you, and you take it in yours.

"Fine," you yield.

James nods at you. "Everyone close your eyes," he says, placing a hand on their shoulders, and you all obey.

"Libera me occulta," he chants, "cognoscere veritatem."

Through closed eyelids, you see the five of you crowded in the bedroom from an aerial view. Within seconds, you have traveled out of the house and over the city to a police station, where you enter the room labelled C-110.

Inside, a surly-looking man takes a seat at a desk. Nearby, another man stands in front of a cork board lined with dozens of papers – pictures, maps, and crime scene reports – all of them seeming to be evidence of the murders James saw in his sleep.

The longer you are in the spell, the longer it seems to take your vision to focus on words and images, and you can sense James rushing to get the information.

The first man's computer displays a picture of James and a list of his records. The man flips through a stack of stapled papers until he lands on a sheet titled Witness Statement. At the bottom of the page, a line indicates a signature by the witness, Philippe LeChat.

James focuses on the signature and, before you register what you are seeing, you are pulled out of the station and back to the house, where a sharp blast of air sends your consciousness back into your body.

When you open your eyes, the room is spinning and you have to grip Sam's shoulder to steady yourself, wishing you had the mind to sit down before the spell. Dean says something in a heated tone to James, who has stumbled forward next to Portia, but you can't process what he is saying.

You expect the feeling to pass, but your stomach still turns over and you can't seem to get enough oxygen.

Your weak legs stumble through the dizziness in the direction of the door. "Do you have a –"

"Second door on the left," Portia gestures.

Running your hands along the walls for balance on the way, you reach the bathroom and drop to your knees to vomit into the toilet.

When it seems your stomach has emptied itself, you rest the side of your head on the cool porcelain of the seat until you manage to steady your breathing, push the flush lever, and drag yourself up to the nearest sink.

With one arm bracing yourself to the counter top, you raise a shaky, clammy hand to turn the faucet and let the cool water run on your fingers before splashing it on your face, letting it mix with the tears that have fallen sideways, running down your jawbone, dripping off your chin, down your neck.

Once you manage to assuage the spinning in your head and focus your eyes, you catch yourself in the mirror – pale and trembling, almost unrecognizable.

In the distance, a crashing, a shattering of ceramic, comes from the bedroom. You turn your head, too quickly, and the room spirals again, knocking you to your hands and knees on the vinyl floor.

You compose yourself again and grip the door frame for support, rising to stagger back down the hall, aware of every quivering breath.

From the doorway, you see Dean, face down, his lower body at the head of the bed, among a pile of broken furniture.

"Dean," you call, sliding a nightstand away so you can shake him into consciousness, holding his face in your hands. "Dean? Hey!"

His eyes blink open and squint into focus. "You look like crap," he comments, his voice groggy.

You let out a relieved laugh, clapping a hand on his shoulder as you make your way to the other side of the room, where Sam has landed in a corner. A broken lamp and a laundry basket seem to have avalanched over him.

"Sam," you say, clearing the debris away and reaching out to grasp his shoulder.

He stirs, shaking his head as if to clear it as he rights himself.

Seeing he is all right, you collapse to the side, leaning against the bed frame. "What happened to you two?" you breathe. "Where are James and Portia?"

"The detective working the murders," Sam slurs, holding his head in his hands, "he's building a case against James. I think he kind of freaked."

"And Philippe, the witness," Dean says, walking around the bed toward you and Sam, "he's a familiar to one of the witches here. I think I know where to find them."

"What happened to you?" Sam asks you, brows furrowed in concern.

You run a hand down your face, still moist from sweat and bathroom water. "The spell," you say. "It was just a little draining, I think. I'll be fine."

You grip the side of the bed and pull yourself off the ground, not trusting your knees to support your weight, but you have already begun to feel stronger, more in control.

"You think James went after this Philippe guy?" you ask Dean.

"Yeah. My money's on that witch den Portia took me to last night," he says.

"Do we go after him?" Sam questions, standing. "Philippe did try to frame him for the murders. Might be best to let them duke it out on their own."

"Something's not adding up," you muse. "A witch needs to perform that memory spell."

"Phil belongs to this witch, Spencer," Dean explains. "But it seemed like he and James were buddies."

"And witches are so trustworthy," you mutter, earning double glances from the boys, which you ignore. "If they were friends, then he could get close enough to James to cast the spell."

Dean takes on a concerned tone. "It looked like Spencer was a big leaguer. And James has been playing the game for what – a year, tops?"

Sam gives him an nod in acknowledgement. "We gotta get down there."

• • • • • • • • • • • •

You follow Dean's car into the city, where he leads you and Sam into an old building, down a marble staircase, and into an elegant bar, empty except for James and another man in a suit.

"...broke the code, put your passions before the community rules," the man – Spencer, you think – sneers, "well, the arrogance, the entitlement was too much. Your total ruination seemed appropriate."

He turns his head to the side where you, Sam, and Dean have stepped into the room.

"The wiccan from Detroit," he says.

"So, James didn't kill those –" Dean starts, but Spencer has already waved a hand, sending the three of you off your feet and colliding with the wall behind you.

You land on the corner of a table, which jabs a sharp pain into your ribs before falling on its side, letting you fall behind it. Sam and Dean have landed beside you, sprawled over nearby tables and chairs.

A loud crashing sound harmonizing with an electrical hum comes from James' direction, and Spencer stumbles backward into your view.

"Seriously?" he says, regaining his balance. "You want to take me on?"

He motions to James with an even louder crash, sending blue light his way and taking some kind of hold on the other witch.

Sam and Dean pull themselves to their feet, and you follow as Dean scrambles to get the spell bottle out of his jacket pocket.

Spencer casts a hand in your direction, sending an electrical jolt through you and the boys.

"It's not only James' head I can get inside," he says.

Though your eyes are open, the room goes dark before images flood your vision – horrifically familiar ones that haunt your nightmares, but also ones you thought you suppressed, cast into the deepest, darkest corners of your subconsciousness.

Hell comes in flashes, each more gruesome than the other. You see yourself in the midst of a fiery lake, your flesh burning. You see your heart crushed under the pain of being forced to watch a mother see her daughter bleed out, being forced to feel Ellen's pain as she loses Jo. You see Dean take a knife and slice it into your skin, and you hear yourself cry out.

Your vision goes dark again, and you are in a familiar room. A basement. Two figures, your mother and father, whose faces you forgot until now, stand over you, eyes black. Their hands run over your small body, forcing their way inside you until you let out a raspy scream.

A bright blue light snaps you back into the bar, and before your eyes, a large dog has brought Spencer to the ground. Portia.

As the witch struggles, Dean pulls out the bottle and holds out the cloth wick to Sam, who lights the end of it as you utter the incantation.

Dean hurls it at Spencer, who has thrown Portia to the side, and he is enveloped in a dark grey cloud, wailing in pain as he is reduced to a splattering of blood on the floor.

• • • • • • • • • • • •

The rain-soaked pavement of the motel parking lot reflects the moonlight, mirroring the glistening droplets on the Impala's black sheen.

"You sure you don't want to stay and fight this?" Dean asks James.

"We can help you," Sam adds.

"Spencer was right," James says. "Ed Stoltz has built enough of a case against me to make life hell for a long time, and the community here wants no part of us."

"We start over," Portia says. "It's the way it's always been, for all of us."

James meets your eyes. "I have a few connections outside the city. I could make a call, get someone to help you learn about all this."

You shake your head. "Like I said, witchcraft isn't in the cards for me."

"I know you have your beliefs, but you also have a gift," Portia says, her tone gentle. "You're not even going to try to use it? You're just going to live your life?"

"Hunting is my life," you reply. "It's all I need."

She nods, understanding, and looks over to you and the boys. "I'll miss you. Maybe even you," she adds with a pointed look to Dean.

"I like dogs," he shrugs, unconvincingly.

"No, you really don't," she says with a smirk, climbing into James' car.

They pull out of the lot, leaving the open space feeling empty.

"Let's clean up and hit the road," Dean says, turning to the door of the room.

"Whoa," you hold out a hand to stop him. "You don't want to get some rest? Did you two sleep at all last night?"

"It's still early, Mom," he chuckles, continuing on his way. "And there's a nice, clean bed that doesn't smell like mold that I can't wait to get back to."

Giggling, you are about to follow him inside, but Sam gives your arm a soft touch and you turn around again.

He peers over your shoulder until Dean is out of earshot. "So, you're not going to consider practicing magic?"

Your smile disappears and you blink at him, sure you must have heard him wrong. "What?"

"Just... hear me out," he pleads. "It might not be all bad. We've met some white witches before, and you saw what James does."

"We almost molotov'd James," you deadpan. "It just as easily could have been him killing those people. I'm not saying he hasn't done some good, but power corrupts, Sam. You know I can't take that chance."

He draws back slightly at your acidic words, scanning the ground.

You let your eyes close, realizing how tired you are, how you are not upset with him, but rather at this part of you that can turn you into this abominable thing.

"Look, I'm sorry I snapped earlier. I know you meant well," you say, taking the sting out of your tone. You swallow back the lump in your throat, though your voice still catches on your next words. "But you have to let me figure this one out on my own. If anything happened to you or Dean –"

"Hey, you don't need to worry about us," he murmurs, taking your hands in both of his. "And I'm sorry, too, okay? I shouldn't have pushed. But I want you to know that I'm here, whatever you choose to do."

He says it with a sort of helplessness in his voice, like he knows there isn't a lot he can do.

You look away from him as you blink back stubborn tears that have infiltrated your eyes, nodding in thanks.

A cold drizzle of rain hit your face and your wrists, which peek out from your jacket.

"I'll find a way to deal," you promise. "Let's get inside."

As you break apart to head toward the room, he clears his throat, but you don't stop to turn around until he coughs with force, taking a small gasp between throes.

"You oka–?"

You stop short at the sight of a drop of blood at the corner of his mouth.

His mouth forms a question, confused at your alarmed expression, until he inspects his hand as he pulls it away, the palm splattered with the same bright red.

"The trial?" you question.

He wipes away the blood with his fingers. "I'm fine."

"The hell you are," you mumble.

"(Y/N), I need to get this done," he says.

"I know you do," you sigh. "But if this gets worse, you tell me."

He opens his mouth to argue, but can't find words of defense.

You catch his eye again, meeting it with a stern gaze. "Okay?"

He stares at you until you have made it clear you will not take no for an answer, and he nods in concession.

Continuing on your path toward the door, your mind catches on a dreaded thought: It can only get worse.

• • • • • • • • • • • •

Scanning the web for another case, you drum your fingers against the desk.

When you feel a jolt through your hand, you glance down to see a growing blue light surrounding it in sharp flashes, like the bolts exchanged between the witches earlier tonight.

In the blink of an eye, the light spreads to fill your vision, the room, the bunker. In surprise, in fear, you let out a scream.

Another blink. The walls crash down around you. Clouds of dust surround the piles of rubble at your feet.

You stumble into the library, calling the boys' names, but you can't get your voice above a whisper. Books and blocks of concrete line the dusty ground. Your eyes scan the room and land on something protruding from a mountain of debris. An arm, sleeved in red flannel.

"No, no, no," you whimper into the dusty air. You pry the slabs of rock from the pile, but each time, the hill seems to grow taller, the blocks heavier, each breath more strained as the soot coats your throat.

Song insert: John Lennon – Imagine (YouTube) (Spotify)

Your vision goes dark, though you blink your eyes open, letting tears fall from the corners sideways, hitting your ears. You shoot up (how did you get on your back?) and gulp in the clear air.

A banging sound fills the room with light, and a figure rushes through the doorway, gun raised.

"Dean?" you exclaim.

Your palms, though no longer bloody from the sharp edges of the rock, feel damp with the same cold sweat that moistens your forehead, your back, your neck.

"Dream," you breathe, afraid a longer explanation would give away the shakiness of your voice. "Sorry, go back to bed."

His gun-wielding hand falls to his side and he lets himself relax against the doorframe, dragging a hand across his sleepy eyes.

"You want to talk?" he asks, his voice gruff from the abrupt awakening.

You flinch at the thought as you swipe at the tears that have run down your cheeks. "No."

He strides over to your bed anyway and rests his gun on the nightstand before he sits down next to you. "All right, then you're going to listen."

His eyes travel from yours to the rest of the room, landing on the duffel bag at the foot of your bed, still unpacked except for two days' worth of clothes, which you shoved back inside when you got to the bunker tonight.

"You know what I've always hated about witches?" he says as he turns back to you.

"Their tendency to conjure knives in your stomach?" you suggest, remembering a hunt from what seems like ages ago.

"Yeah," he agrees. "That, and the fact that they choose to... wreak havoc. Demons, ghosts – I mean, they've all gotta go, but they didn't want to be who they are. It's just their nature. But the witches that we hunt – it's their choices that put them in that position. But I know you, (Y/N), and you're a good person." He casts a pointed frown at the duffel. "And all of this doesn't make you not you."

You let your breathing slow with his words, searching his eyes for anything but the distinct sincerity you find.

"You don't need to say all this," you whisper. "I know how you feel about it all."

"And how's that?" he questions.

"Come on, Dean," you say. "This thing inside of me? It's dirty, and it's risky to keep around and you know that. You've barely been able to look at me since we found out."

His forehead crinkles as he tilts his chin down at you. "That's what you think? That I'm going to leave behind one of the best friends I've ever had because you might go Wicked Witch of the Midwest on us?"

"I remember a time when you would shoot anything supernatural on sight," you remark.

He pauses, and you can see the recollection flash in his eyes as they turn away from you. "That's not what this is about," he murmurs.

You tuck your legs underneath your body so you can face each other more comfortably.

"When I got out," he gulps, "and you didn't... call it survivor's guilt, whatever it was."

"I-I know," you stammer, recalling the second Segment of Hell, where your soul was sent back to Earth and you were forced to feel all the pain of the people you loved. You remember Dean's guilt in particular, this constant, crushing thing, being some of the worst of it.

"I think all of this just brought it back up," he admits. "I didn't know how I was going to face you. Tell you I was sorry."

"Dean, you don't have anything to be sorry for," you say. "I know you think you do, but you don't."

"Maybe," he muses. "But it's you who was in there for years, (Y/N). And now you're the one who has to deal with all of this."

"You were in your own Hell," you note. "You had to deal with the devil. You died. You watched Sam die, and Bobby. And on top of all that, you're carrying this around – this guilt."

He grips the side of the bed, still avoiding your gaze. You reach out to place a hand on his cheek, coaxing his eyes toward yours.

"Please, for me," you whisper. "Let it go?"

He closes his eyes and nods into your hand. When he opens them again, his eyes catch on the duffel once more.

"If you need to leave, if you need a break, or just to be on your own, Sammy and I'll be here for you," he says. "But we need you to not give up. You have choices, free will, and we need you to keep kicking."

Choices.

The word echoes in your mind, playing over and over, like waves weathering the sharp edges of your broken glass, leaving it soft and pearly, still broken, but no longer precarious, no longer able to do any damage.

You let the waves lap over you, a reassurance that if even Dean can put faith in your stained soul, you owe it to him and Sam, to yourself, to try. The thought brings a small smile to your lips.

"I was thinking I'd stick around for a while," you say. "Can't get rid of me that easily."

#Supernatural #Supernatural fanfic #Supernatural x reader #Spn fanfic #series #A Supernatural x Reader Story #writing is hard

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idolizerp · 5 years

Photo

LOADING INFORMATION ON POIZN’S MAIN RAP, LEAD VOCAL JEON DOYOON...

IDOL DETAILS

STAGENAME: j.dean CURRENT AGE: 29 DEBUT AGE: 21 TRAINEE SINCE AGE:15 COMPANY: 99 SECONDARY SKILL: Lyric writing

IDOL PROFILE

NICKNAME(S):

korean homer: this embarrassing nickname was thrusted onto him in the early days of POIZN since 99 media played him as this rising, prodigal songwriter. ( the nickname is, obviously, used as a joke )

yoonie bear: mostly used by female fans when they saw the stark contrast between his stage persona as a looming and intimidating figure, and his real self who is soft like a teddy bear.

INSPIRATION: doyoon had dreamed to become an artist who could tell his own story and was heavily influenced by korean hip-hop artists such as yoon mirae, tiger jk, and epik high, and he thought being an idol would be the best way to get his name out there. SPECIAL TALENTS:

playing the piano with his feet

nail art

NOTABLE FACTS:

lived in montana, usa for seven years and returned to korea with his grandparents at 12 to become a k-pop idol

was a pianist in his church band

his mother gave him the english name james-dean because she is a big fan of the actor

had numerous part time jobs while he was a trainee to financially support himself

started writing songs and lyrics since he was eight. his first song was about his pet rabbit

IDOL GOALS

SHORT-TERM GOALS:

doyoon hopes to regain the trust he had lost with 99, so he can regain the possibility of the solo opportunity they had given him years ago. to do that, he is trying to soften the public perception of him as one of the “scandal-clad screw ups of 99,” and finally reclaim his debut as a solo artist.

LONG-TERM GOALS:

doyoon has realized time and time again that being an idol is hard, and he is somewhat sick of the lifestyle. so he wants to quickly transition out of that idol title he holds and become an artist that he desperately wants to be by being recognized as someone who writes and produces songs — either for himself, his group, or other artist both in and out of 99.

IDOL IMAGE

as if by fate, 99 knew exactly what they wanted doyoon to be ever since they laid their eyes on him. from a visual standpoint, doyoon seemed to have been born just so he could be a part of POIZN with his sharp eyes, intimidating glare, and baritone voice. 99 sets him out to be a bad boy – not exactly a wild, partying bad boy, but as the classic “hollywood” bad boy ( most likely due to his american upbringing. ) while he initially played the role of a rambunctious young blood, doyoon gradually brings it down and became reserved the more he played his role into what 99 wanted him to be.

he is neither loud nor boisterous – loudness is not what doyoon excels at. he is the old school, quiet but strong candidate, a quiet flame in the background that flickers steadily, refusing to burn out. silent, resilient and intense — these are what 99 wanted to convey, and doyoon became the perfect representative of that image.

now doyoon, left alone and away from 99’s packaging, is unrecognizable. his POIZN persona is on one spectrum, and doyoon stands on the exact opposite end of that spectrum. POIZN’s doyoon is boiling lava while jeon doyoon the person is one of the many kindling on the hearth warming your home – gentle, patient, and meek. so the people have always been surprised to hear about the great divide between the mask and the person that lies beneath it, because doyoon was a breath of fresh air; one of the few POIZN boys who had lived his idol life scandal-free due to his hard work behind the scenes, locked up behind studio doors collaborating with producers to help POIZN rise in the ranks.

it played out in their favor, at first.

but who’s to say that this surprising revelation wasn’t media play itself?

IDOL HISTORY

tw: implied alcoholism, dubious consent.

life is full of choices and doyoon seems to be always picking the wrong ones.

the first choice that changed his life wasn’t necessary his choice to make, nor was he given a voice in the matter. he was only five, after all, and the opinions of a five year-old do not really matter, right? he’s given a new life in a new city that belonged to a new country with a new name and a new sibling.

james-dean jeon is his new name – not just ‘james’ and not ‘dean.’ it’s a mouthful, especially because he’s only five and can barely speak the language.

“i promise you’ll have a better life here, doyoon. you can make your dreams come true here!”

that’s what his parents tell him the night before he starts his first day of american kindergarten. but the thing is: he’s had a great life back in korea. he even had a pet rabbit named pony. oh how he missed pony. but he doesn’t question them further. he smiles and nods to let his parents go to bed because, like him, they too have a busy day of work the next day.

vii.

it’s not that he doesn’t like going to church – it’s just that he doesn’t like waking up at 7 o’clock on sundays to go to a church about 40 minutes away from his home when there are plenty of churches in the neighborhood.

“you know grandpa and grandma aren’t very good at english, and you have to immerse yourself in your culture.”

and his parents are right…to a certain degree.

he should be more understanding of his grandparents needs, since he actually goes out into society – all grandpa and grandma have are each other and the rest of the koreans in their city in montana ( which just happens to be the rest of the family. ) so he shouldn’t get so frustrated when they want to be with the people they have in common.

but did doyoon have to leave korea ( and pony and his other friends ) just to immerse himself into his culture?

he doesn’t say anymore, but he does think about it on his way to church.

rap – it’s what his grandparents and the majority of the grown-ups in his church refer to it as ‘the devil’s music.’ it’s what the older kids at his school and church thought was the best thing in the world. and doyoon thought it was one of the best things – next to drawing stick figures and his two new sisters.

at school, he listens to what he and others know – american rappers and hip-hop artists. while at church, he was introduced to korean hip-hop. doyoon has always been fond of music – that’s why he deliberately stays late after church: to get piano lessons and participate in the church band – and he’s found something that he could love ( even more than pony. boy, he still missed her. )

xii.

call him a silly child all you want, but nothing is stopping him from becoming who he wants to be.

unfortunately for his parents, america is not a place where his dream will come true.

he’s figured out a few years ago that this place isn’t as great as people claim it to be – there are countless iron walls blocking his way, and no matter how high he jumps, he can never go over it like a simple hurdle.

so he decides to be a little selfish.

he goes back to korea with his grandparents, leaving his family and friends behind.

despite his nationality and his blood all originating from korea, the country feels foreign to him – and so does the language, unfortunately. but he’s still growing and he regains the vocabulary as he reincorporates himself into his birthplace.

xv.

there’s an unexplainable distance between his classmates and doyoon – possibly because he spends most of his time at a music academy than at socializing with his peers. he needs to build his skills, because what was the point of coming back to korea if he wasn’t going to work hard?

apparently he’s pretty good at singing ( all those years in the church choir must have paid off ), and he’s come so far in his rapping and dancing skills. the teachers at his academy suggest agencies he should audition in because he might have the potential to become famous.

“just mention us when you hit big, kiddo.”

there is only one agency that takes him in, though ( though he didn’t show it on his face, he was shocked that he passed only one out of six auditions. )

xix.

he manages to finish high school, but he doesn’t get that sweet taste of freedom like the other students do: he practices all day and works all night, partaking in late night shifts at convenience stores.

he will admit that initially, he was ignorant about idols. he didn’t know they had to endure years of training, years of criticism and years of rivalry to debut.

they say his singing is decent, lyrics original and well-crafted, and that he has the right tone and look to be a rapper, but his overall dancing ability is utter garbage. they tell him to either: get better or leave.

no matter how much he practices, they want more – more improvement, more soul, and more blood.

it is a savage world, but it is the world that he chose to belong in.

…

does he belong in it?

xxiii.

doyoon works hard – anyone can see that, and he’s present.

he tries to make POIZN become better and stronger; make it rise to the top like their opponents. so he sits in on the meetings, engages with the producers, and offers his two-cents on certain affairs.

maybe it isn’t his place to say such things, and maybe he’s being too selfish but POIZN and his members are like family to him.

xv.

he is clean – cleaner than bleach, and maybe that’s why 99 is so taken with him.

a solo opportunity is given to him. though it wasn’t handed to him on a silver platter like he had hoped, he takes it without a second thought. even though he wants to dedicate his all to POIZN, POIZN is…well…poison. and doyoon wants to separate himself from that image as soon as possible.

99 offers him some creative control over his content, because they know he won’t screw up.

because doyoon never screws up.

xxvi.

doyoon spends his nights in the studio – a yellow legal notepad on his right and a bottle of whisky. art isn’t something that is created overnight. it is a struggle that takes months – even years to complete.

but doyoon is tired, so tired.

from other work to this, he doesn’t know if he can keep up the burning desire anymore.

is this fine? does this sound good? no. none of this sound good.

not even acceptable.

he doesn’t want to be selfish but he wants something better, something more.

xvii.

99 is ruthless, but he’s sure other companies are just as ruthless.

a picture – not a harmless before an after of a false accusation of cosmetic surgery—

[ +400, -31 ] ㅋㅋㅋ what are they saying? it’s totally him. bye bye loser~ > [ +25, -299 ] how are you so sure it’s him? > [ +450, -19 ] his tattoos, you delulu ㅋㅋㅋ

—but a scandalous picture.

he can’t remember the night well, only fragments of it – all hazy. but he does know that he needed comfort and a night to release his inhibitions.

that night, he remembers two choices:

1) a long night with a bottle with a flavor that he recognizes all too well, or

2) spending time with the person sitting across from him.

xxix.

the big opportunity is stripped from him as soon as the pictures leak, and he’s back to square one – a trainee, trying to prove his worth to the ones high in the clouds. but they still feed on him – feed on his words, his work, his mind, his melodies, his art. that’s the real poison here, but doyoon still craves that attention that small acknowledgement that says, ‘at least you’re doing this right.’

and that is better than nothing.

#id.bio #id.99 #id.poizn #id.bang yongguk #id.legacy

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wholesalehairvendors · 6 years

Text

Screen-off corner: rare photos of Marilyn Monroe without makeup

In the wonderland called Hollywood which is home of prestige and admiration, it will be a mistake if you forget to mention Marilyn Monroe – an iconic actress of all time. She reached the unforgettable sex symbol of the 20th century thanks to her beauty mark, sensuality and upbeat characteristics. She has a long profile to tell about but people are the most curious about Marilyn Monroe without makeup.

The beauty just shines in its brightest way when there is no cosmetics needed. The admiration just comes when the audience could see an artist in every aspect before making judgement. That is the reason why people flock to google her sans makeup pictures and her private life.

Now, follow us to see our reveal about Marilyn Monroe without makeup! Then after that, you can have your own comment – either keeping your love for her or being disappointed if her bare face does not live up to your expectations!

Marilyn Monroe – an iconic symbol of something called beauty

Marilyn Monroe is characterized by her blonde and impressive appearance. She is just different from all today’s zero figure models. She is just so amazing and pretty that we cannot define her beauty. Therefore, it has been 55 years and counting since her death but nobody could replace her to be the appealing symbol of all time.

See more: How unrecognizable Avril Lavigne no makeup is?

See more: Updated unseen collection of Taylor Swift no makeup 2018

See more: Shocking images of Katy Perry without makeup? update 2018

When you are asked to visualize her in few seconds, it will not be so hard. Her signature look should be red lip, blonde curvy hair and full lashes. She seems to always be wearing expressive eyeliners and lips with more volume than normal. To be more specific, you can look at a series of pictures below and have the judgement of your own.

[caption id="attachment_4850" align="aligncenter" width="600"] Her inexplicable sexiness makes people more curious about Marilyn Monroe without makeup (Source: Internet)[/caption]

[caption id="attachment_4858" align="aligncenter" width="600"] From the early days when she started her career, people just could not take their eyes off her (Source: Internet)[/caption]

Marilyn Monroe is famous for being a beauty secret keeper of all time. At her time, she would be the first guest that a beauty magazine was thinking of. Therefore, in general, she had a long list to follow in terms of diet, workouts and beauty routines. Looking at her picture, you can’t help admiring for sure.

However, when taking off all the magnificient layers made by cosmetics, is she still amazing and admirable? To answer this question, we need to look at Marilyn Monroe without makeup photos revealed by paparazzi. The majority of those photos are black and white but we can still zoom in to have a better judgement.

No matter who you are (her fan or not), you can’t miss this article because it is a golden chance to see a beauty symbol of all time in her bare face. If Marilyn Monroe without makeup, why not give her an applause and follow her vocations to be wonderful. If not, just let yourself have a sigh of relief as without makeup, you can be confident to say that you are as amazing as a celebrity sans makeup.

[caption id="attachment_4851" align="aligncenter" width="600"] Behind an elegant lady, whether it is an appealing bare face or a normal face that is photogenic thanks to the magic of cosmetics? (Source: Internet)[/caption]

Explore Marilyn Monroe without makeup collections

She is regarded as the epitome of Hollywood glamor; thus, it is the case that she found it impossible to avoid the hidden cameras which were always there to capture her moments. However, for Marilyn Monroe without makeup, beauty is not in the eyes of beholders. Her beauty comes from her natural attraction that lights up the environment in anytime, at everywhere and in any situation.

A classic beauty that never dies

[caption id="attachment_4852" align="aligncenter" width="600"] A picture of all time to prove that Marilyn Monroe without makeup is still gorgeous (Source: Internet) [/caption]

The photo of Marilyn Monroe without makeup was posted to Reddit at a certain weekend. Up to now, it has gained over mountains of comments and judgements. The special thing is that all the comments are expressing their admiration. It can be said that ‘Some Like It Hot’ actress never reduces her popularity among audience.

In this picture, the stunning blonde girl was wearing bikini in tiny black and white and a huge smile at the same time. After taking a dip in the pool water, she appeared as if it was her stage to show off her wonderful skin and complexion. Marilyn Monroe without makeup still had a healthy and happy look. Therefore, when Monroe was confirmed to be dead at the age of 36, people were so shocked that there remains a source of wild speculation.

More than five decades since her death, even though we do not know the exact date that the photo was taken, ‘The Seven Year Itch’ actress is remarkable in our minds with her signature platinum curls. Marilyn Monroe without makeup still looks stunning with a clear bare face. You can see a bit red from exertion after a long swim, which is so natural.

Marilyn Monroe without makeup since her early career as model

[caption id="attachment_4853" align="aligncenter" width="600"] Rare pictures taken by André de Dienes who was lucky enough to photograph Monroe since she was just a model named Norma Jeane Baker (Source: Internet)[/caption]

[caption id="attachment_4854" align="aligncenter" width="600"] That impressive face remains and makes thousands of people fall in love without fail (Source: Internet)[/caption]

[caption id="attachment_4855" align="aligncenter" width="600"] In the same series, Marilyn Monroe without makeup fully acts out a variety of moods, including happiness, sadness, introspection and serenity. (Source: Internet)[/caption]

You may feel that these picture are just so in love. Her eyes reflect the happiness. Therefore, there is a saying that beauty is in eyes of the beholder. It is undeniable that Marilyn Monroe without makeup is still appealing. However, from de Dienes’ s perspective, she is a real miracle and sexy looking angel. Who else dare to say that Marilyn Monroe is only stunning in nude shots

Unfortunately, her romance with the photographer did not withstand the distance. When they had a chance to meet each other again, he was still fascinated by her face, which led to a sharp decision to ask her to accompany him to Malibu to take pictures for a book of poetry. Once again, Marilyn Monroe without makeup melts our heart when these photos have been revealed.

Intimate moments of Marilyn Monroe without makeup

Legend has it that Marilyn Monroe is a professional at posing for photographers. Therefore, it comes as no surprise that she could question them some about technical aspects in taking photos. Over time in Hollywood, she reached number one in posing at her best in front of the camera.

Due to this reason, it was unusual for those who wanted to capture Marilyn Monroe without makeup. Should the counterparts desire to troll her, they could take some photos but the results would always not live up to their expectations. Marilyn Monroe without makeup is the exception of bad ones.

At her time, people could hardly see her photos when she was wearing no makeup as she just did not allow. There might have appeared some rumors and doubts about her beauty. She only allowed two people who are Milton Greene and Sam Shaw to capture her while she was sans makeup and relax.

[caption id="attachment_4856" align="aligncenter" width="600"] The photo was finally released many years after her death (Source: Internet)[/caption]

[caption id="attachment_4857" align="aligncenter" width="450"] The same setting but different pose - Marilyn Monroe without makeup is so adorable (Source: Internet)[/caption]

The aforementioned pictures were taken on September 9th, 1954 by Milton Greene while she was taking her rest at New York’s St. Regis Hotel. It was at the time ‘The Seven Year Itch’ started filming. Why were those photos released many years after she died? As these can be considered as photos of intimate and informal moments that Marilyn Monroe without makeup considered improper for her classic image.

The star was having breakfast in her suite in no fancy costumes and with no makeup. These impromptu shots once again claim that Marilyn Monroe without makeup is a beauty symbol that could hardly be overwhelmed by new faces in these recent decades.

Marilyn Monroe without makeup is a real heartbreaker

[caption id="attachment_4859" align="aligncenter" width="600"] Regardless of leaps and bounds in life, Marilyn Monroe without makeup is striking (Source: Internet)[/caption]

Most Hollywood celebrities look so normal when taking off all the help from makeup artists, hair stylists and perfect lighting. However, it can be seen that Marilyn Monroe without makeup is an exception. She has naturally pretty features that without any trace of makeup, she looks admirable and outstanding.

She deserves to be recognized for her beauty and her contribution to the film industry. Do not try to knock her as you do not live in her shoes and it is the Hollywood glamor that turned her into the timeless sex symbol.

Last nude shots just some months before her tragic death

When it comes to Marilyn Monroe without makeup, people would think more about her nude treasures which could break your heart from the first sight. She is damn sexy and charming in the way that we could not give a clear explanation. To pay homage to her death, Vanity Fair decided to make her last on-set nude shoot public.

[caption id="attachment_4865" align="aligncenter" width="600"] This shot was taken by photographer Lawrence Schiller. She looked so full of live. (Source: Internet)[/caption]

Before taking the formal shots, she often wore sans makeup to provoke certain feelings and emotions for the best results. Therefore, she just allowed Lawrence to take candid shots. It has been revealed that those pics were taken just some months before her tragic rest for good. However, we just could not see any sign of depression. Marilyn Monroe without makeup is still lovely and enthusiastic.

[caption id="attachment_4860" align="aligncenter" width="600"] Frolicking by the pool and laughing for the camera (Source: Internet)[/caption]

Nude photos were her pros that had been exploited by many magazines and producers. She acted as if nobody were there to see her or as if she were enough confident to show off her astonishing face and body.

In her area, it was time of black and white photos and shooting by the pool required her to go sans makeup. Therefore, these photos are evident enough to claim that she is hauntingly beautiful in her way. It is also not exaggerated if you say Marilyn Monroe without makeup is number one in the list of celebrities going sans makeup of all time.

Other close-up of Marilyn Monroe without makeup

[caption id="attachment_4861" align="aligncenter" width="600"] It is said that smoking women are so sexy that hardly men could resist temptation against (Source: Internet)[/caption]

In the clouds of thick smoke, a woman could become mysteriously beautiful. In the case of Marilyn Monroe without makeup and with a cigarette in a hand, the picture could gain the peak of masterpiece. Just few sketches but her face seems to light up the dark shade of the environment.

[caption id="attachment_4860" align="aligncenter" width="600"] Frolicking by the pool and laughing for the camera (Source: Internet)[/caption]

In Hollywood, when it comes to Marilyn Monroe, people would think about her pseudonym as a dumb blonde or a bombshell blone. However, in fact, she owned a large library of literatures and other pieces of writing. She loved books so much and her favourite one was The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway.

[caption id="attachment_4863" align="aligncenter" width="600"] A casual costume with incomplete makeup layers on her face does not ruin her beauty in this candid shot (Source: Internet)[/caption]

[caption id="attachment_4864" align="aligncenter" width="600"] A rare photo of Marilyn Monroe without makeup that she allowed the photographer to take while she was ready (Source: Internet)[/caption]

As aforementioned, Monroe typically refused to be taken without makeup. However, it was a special early morning when she was on the way to hair and makeup. At the request of her makeup artist called Snyder, she agreed on being captured in front of several hungry black bears.

From the whole rare collection of Marilyn Monroe without makeup, we can understand why people keep talking about her when being questioned about the one that makes their heart melt. However, the quantity of photos that have been released is still limited. Should you happen to find any picture of Marilyn Monroe without makeup, please do not hesitate to inbox or comment in the box below. We will add them into our article and quote your source that you provide. Thank you for your reading and sharing.

As for Marilyn Monroe, we always pay her a certain attention and respect as we all know that every beauty comes along with struggles and hardship in life and she was not an exception at all. Rest in peace, a timeless beauty symbol of Hollywood in particular, and the world in general.

See more at : Screen-off corner: rare photos of Marilyn Monroe without makeup

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