Archangel Raphael, how'd you get your wheel-eyes on so many saltines?

[scientistxSaturday]

Part 3

'"You don't even want what you're hoping for, you'd rather be her friend, you're a good friend. You idolize her, and you don't even know her, that's no way to start a romance. Good People don't want to be seen the way you see Good People. You don't want to ruin her, imagine how all her mutual friends, her *** is going to look at you when you send the prodigal daughter into meltdown, the perfect people pleaser finally outpaced trying to live up to your unethical impossible lore on your worship."'

***Disclaimer and content warnings in the comments***

'"You don't want to be Mormon's first Gomorra again or whatever idea she had about you that caused her to think your crush equals wordless ownership. "'

Saturn aches, thinking maybe something they did actually pressured her to go through the motions, like they're sure her tone of hopelessness when she briefly spoke on daliences led them to believe she has done with too many monster-boys, Saturn's just another in a line making her feel too greedy with her safety. She should never feel that way.

'"Your overcomable crush, especially if overcoming it meant you'd get to make the funniest, the kindest, the most interesting girl in the world happy."'

And it's true, you really would rather be friends, but she is a god, and you are a lamb. And she has eyes, and who wouldn't want to take advantage?

'"Well, considering what else she thinks she's "taking too much" about (everything) she probably feels guilty for what she's about to do, I better cheer her up. Considering she's doing it for me."'

Their hands finally reach the door. The ridged slow-release pokey aluminum handle that can only be opened with a slapstick / tilt to change their center of gravity, they freeze their feet into an ⅃ and drive the corner of their heel into the sidewalk like a dead bug, toes pointed up like their nose, all strength and right angles, they brace their right elbow, right hand gripping the sharp handle, with their left forearm squeezing their chest and the left hand glueing the crook of the right elbow down into their guts. The door begrudges an entrance at such an absurd display. Taking just a bit longer than the slow release allows.

Flashbanged by the fluorescents, their feet slightly shuffle beneath them, their hand jutting out to the side and clasping a??? railing? expecting to find the typical matching spiky aluminum threshold followed by the the contrast of flat freezing shiny fake-terrazo, but they are instead confounded by what is shortly revealed to be another oddly common design element in these parts, a splotchy cement ramp, covered in an attempt at a matte black. The ball of their left foot starting to skip down the slant when they realize the opportunity for another trick, an opportunity to hear the jolly laughter they were usually greeted with when it came to Her, it didn't mean they were special, she found just about everything amusing, but it was Special to amuse Her. They grip the chipping glossy black railing, gasping, slow motion surprise stretching across their face, driving their right palm down into the scaly texture in tandem with their right foot, they bend their knees and bend at the waist to give the appearance of lost balance and send a straight left leg flying forward, twisting their right foot to torque their body backwards, sending their left leg swinging towards the back door, like a wild boom pole in a storm, then swinging front again they bow, head down, face despicably smug, arms above like a bird to an audience they can't see. The effect is as a marching Nutcracker being swung on a spinning string, but as they gingerly clasp their hands behind their back and crouch-walk into the unknown, the staleness in the air tells them: no human eyes are even in vicinity.

What was this place? It has the look of unreal static that all artificially lit rooms do coming from outside, it felt like if you concentrated hard enough, you could change this place to Anything you wanted, Saturn just wanted it to be a place with Her inside, their minds eye trying to locate Her before the rest of the room even loaded in. But it was,, it was generic looking? It looked like what your mind pictures when you hear "the inside of a building" a lobby.

'"But,, according to the Rules of Courtesy, which she and no one else our age have read, if you don't meet at the door, in the car, or in the parking lot, you meet in the lobby or you're not meeting??!!!"'

'"She's- she's a nice girl, she's probably just powdering her nose."'

Their vision coming in portals, they set their mind on a chair, find one, and melt into it, hugging their backpack and downing cold cold water, casting a blessing that somehow it would relieve all this tension without completely deflating them. They wished the world could just operate at the pace of their mind so they didn't have time to psych themself out, it's the worst with her, always leaving so much unsaid and always expecting them to act on the every implied statement.

They realized they probably looked quite concerning, they didn't like worrying anyone, but, "'Oh"' actually they were feeling,,, concerning. Gravity was 2 burning quasars, revolving around each other, ragdolling each other through space, a feeling far bigger than the size and sensors of the human body can compute. They close their eyes and focus on letting go, mentally they time travel to the time they were least worried about disappointing others, they think of advertisiments: blue teddy bears you can write on, collecting doodles from the whole family, talking diaries with spy passwords, bending wax strands in vibrant colors defying gravity, the coolest thoughts they know, background safety monitoring picks up far off doors, a bit of an approaching jingle, a non-meteorological rumble, suddenly, something has changed in the room! Airflow has changed, the sonic landscape has the addition of a hallway, the same hallway the jingle came from! The door was connecting the hallway to this room! The door was opened by a human! A big clumsy one! Sweating! Scared! Breathing ragged!

Background systems to Saturn: '"Human in vicinity, open eyes!!"'
All the progress their eyes made in adjusting to this all-too-familiar alien landscape completely undone, their mind still deep in imagination. A face from above, crepuscular rays gifting a halo, and taking everything but the darks of the eyes and mouth, asks in the voice of a compassionate princess speaking to a trapped ***
"Are you okay?"
"Um sorry I-"
"Do you need something?"

'"Background systems overide:"'
"Do you have crackers? Like,, saltines,, from the nurses office,, like, six of them,, I have water, ice'd be nice, I'm sorry, thank you, I can give you mints or treats I have lots for sharing. Thank you so much, you're so nice."'

Gallumf gallumf! their rescuer was off. Less panic in their step, not shifting of the line of their stride like before but focussing all *** forwards.

Someone was always there when it got too bad, that was one of the promises. But it was usually bad because of people they loved, one of their curses.

"'Background systems overide: off limit concerns during cooldown! Consider cold calm thoughts, consider a mission using entirely spykids spy gear."'

'"Whoa!!!"' Faster than light and soundlessly, the wind of the Angel returns, the *** pressing through the fabric of their shirt and binder to their unbearably hot sternum, a little hint of relief, the angle crinkles the plastic to alert Saturn, who can only mentally image the mana, they attempt to take the offering in a way that lacked desperation and physical contact, a girl that sounds so pretty and is so kind probably has a lot of people pushing their luck, but they fail on both accounts, she feels wet but sterile, her fingers pulsing, the angel quickly realizes that Saturn cannot handle this basic task, grabs their outstretched hands places the emergency ration inside, and leads them back to their lap,
'"Do you need help?"'
She asks, holding back a giggle, she's already ripping open a cracker and placing it in Saturn's hands, closing their fingertips securely, grabbing their wrists, presumably to bring the cracker into their mouth like they're a toy digger when Saturn groans in protest, trying to cover it up with
"Thank you, you are truly an angel from Heaven, your kindness is surely causing saints to stare daggers into you in jealousy, you must let me repay you so they do not smite you down,
I do have to eat this or I could die, but you get the message: please do tell me what sort of baked goods you like et cetera"

'"She's laughing, she's trying to hide it and she's laughing "'
"I have to get the ice pack"
They have already doplared out of earshot before Saturn could press the Angel about the repayment she probably got too little of considering she's willing to go so far for apparently any stranger she finds in otherworldly strip malls.

They scarf down the crackers, they are the stuff of dreams, seasoned just enough to ground them and not enough to fling their frictionless mind off to space, classically crunchy but soft enough to dissolve, surrendering to becoming energy. The water: the perfect lubricant, they pour it over their head and feel steam arrising like a black and white rubberhose sentient train. They're trying to gather all the plastic wrappers, starting out with touch alone, then blinking, just barely capturing the unnatural hint of white square outlines projected upon reality, hand almost full when-

A huge warm hand pins them to the chair via their shoulder, "'ah"' '"it's just this Angel person. '"
"Let's trade"
The Angel starts to scoop the sharp scrunched plastics out of their hand, the hand on the shoulder receded
"No that's my job!"
'"She's already saving me, now she's taking my trash? I'm not 3! I don't want to put any pressure..."'
With another all-knowing giggle, the hand still feeling echos of the wrapper-spikes is now filled with ice magics.

"Thank you ever so kindly, but now that's 2 baked goods, very minimum, no take-backs! And Would you do a fella so kindly as to show him the little Cowboys room?"

They opened their eyes and slowly stood like a fawn, concentrating as hard as they could on direction-related information, the hand touches their back with just enough gentleness for their twitch-reflexes to not take this oddly pushy Angel to the ground, during episodes they gain a magical glass-cannon ability, no longer feeling the *** theyre applying, they use their all, and 140 lbs of mostly muscle, while rarely gracing action posters, can certainly take you to flavortown just as well if the remaining poundage is constituted by adrenaline. They consider shooing her, warning her of their hair-trigger state, but the calculation she seemed to be making was suspicious, and this unseen *** probably doesn't need any more sensitive information. It was almost like she knew the s***d of *** and also the s***d of their slower, conscious reaction and was using the mean of these two to get as close as possible to them.

She pointed out another door straight from imagination, a goopy cream ***t over absurdly dense metal with a heavy-duty but well-oiled steel lever handle. She's starting to s***d up her pace, but opening the bathroom door, even what was about to be a dreadfully heavy one, was two bridges too far and they, still in a slurry of sight, charge forward, giving a curt "ThaNKs!" To ensure she didn't guard the door, listening for the sounds of a development in their condition, even if it was necessary, it was not worth it. And it wasn't necessary, Saturn was classically trained to project to the rafters, you will never be in short supply of their volume when you need it.

They entered and mentally checked out from causality, holding themself, it was easier to make gravity normalize when no eyes were on them, the rotation of the quasars began to morph into life on Jupiter, then, they hung mental masses in an arch around them to become semi-weightless in that ISS-cheat kind of way, as the spinning slowed, the moments of the episode began to latch into the timeline before it in a manner most embarrassing.

They splash their face, and this time, it is not precognition, but postcognition that guts them.

"Oh gosh"
This calls for more clown makeup if they were ever going to think about anything else. They brushed their teeth and stared at themself in the mirror, letting the indifferent cleaness of the toothpaste *** their eyes into objectivity.

Their hand finds neon blue posco in their bag and ***ts the classic thin triangles above their brows and below their lower lashes. Some yellow dots as exclamation points. They feel the need to sell that only a clown would find themself in this situation.

End of Part 3

[scientistxSaturday]

Content warning:
Anxiety, health body horror, unreality, very hardcore kink, dubious consent and other nonsense regarding consent ***s,

Disclaimer: slow pacing, I recommend reading the previous 2 parts for this to make sense, this story includes lots of talking to oneself indicated by '" (vs speaking out loud which is just ") also this is the most self indulgent fix on this site lol enjoy :p

[Deleted Member]

Everything okay?

[scientistxSaturday]

7 minutes ago, young***24 said:

Everything okay?

Hello, this is posted in a forum under the "stories" section as you can see at the top, this is a story, a fictional story vaguely based on true events and people, I do experience the health issues written about here lol so I'm not sure if "okay" applies. This is a kink website, so there are going to be kinky things being written about in the forums, kink is a pretty broad spectrum

[Deleted Member]

😬