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sinner-as-saint · 3 years

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‘Till We Bleed Out - 3.

Vampire!bucky x reader AU

Part 3 of this series.

Run-through: Your car breaks down on a deserted road on a rainy night. You have no other option but to seek shelter from the nearest house you could find; the mansion, which happened to be the talk of the town for its mysteriousness along with its equally mysterious owner, Mr. Barnes. The universe can be tricky sometimes but the fact that you found yourself at that mansion’s doorstep at that time was no simple coincidence. That one night changes everything forever - quite literally. True love, past lives and creatures from folklore; turns out it’s all real.

Themes throughout the series: vampire!bucky, fluff, smut, angst

“Calm down, sweetheart.”

He must’ve noticed you were on the verge of losing your mind. How could you not? You had so many questions. So many things you couldn’t wrap your brain around. What was the meaning of all this?

“What is this?” you pointed at the painting; scared, nervous and baffled.

Bucky walked further in, careful as to not make any sudden movement which would make you even more of a nervous wreck than you already were. “I’ll tell you everything, doll. Just calm down, alright. There’s nothing to be scared of. I’m right here with you.”

You looked up at him in surprise. “Nothing to be scared of? There’s a painting of me and you dating back to 1872. That was almost a hundred and fifty years ago. But I met you just two days ago. None of this makes sense, none of it adds up. And that doesn’t bother you?” you sounded more sad and confused than scared. This isn’t normal. None of this is. “Who are you?”

Despite knowing that someone else in your shoes would be screaming bloody murder and running for their lives by now, you stayed put. Despite the confusion, you felt protected. Something inside you knew no harm would come to you while Bucky’s around. But the rational side of you couldn’t afford listening to that side of you right now. Right now your brain needed concrete answers, not reassurance.

“No. It doesn’t bother me.” He walked over and held you gently by the shoulders. “And if you let me explain, it won’t bother you either.” One look into his eyes and you felt yourself calming down already.

“Make this make sense.”

After he got you to sit down, in that very room, he began explaining.

“I’m not exactly human, Y/N.” His first few words earned him a nod from you.

“I figured that out a few minutes ago.”

He continued. “And neither were you, in your previous lifetime.” That sentence shocked you. You didn’t know what was more surprising, learning that there was indeed a lifetime before this one or the fact that in the previous one, you and Bucky knew each other. “We were both vampires.”

“Oh my God…”

He paused for a while, trying to be as slow and as careful as he could be with his words. “We were married, you and I. And we were happy.” He said so and waited for your reaction.

Your eyes watered and he noticed. “I’m… I was your wife?” you asked and he nodded. You thought back on all the things he told you about his wife; those were all about you. Your heart felt like it was being torn in two. “And I died.” he nodded again. “How did I die?”

He took a deep breath and lowered his eyes to the dark carpet beneath his feet, that memory was always the hardest to revisit. “Our families were not exactly… friendly. Yours hated mine, and vice versa so our marriage was not something they could bear.” He let out a dry chuckle. He continued, a strange fire in his eyes; burning hot hatred. “They kept trying to break us apart,” he smiled, sadly, “but we were strong. Together.” He looked back up at you. “Until one day…”

He stopped talking. He ran his fingers through his hair, he was hurting. You felt the intense need to just get up from the couch you were sat on, and walk over to where he sat and just comfort him. Maybe hug him and tell him it’s all okay now. But you remained seated, you couldn’t move.

“Bucky… I need to know.” You figured it was a delicate subject but you needed to piece it all together. You were a mess at the moment.

“We were returning home and we were attacked. By hunters.”

You sat up straighter. “Hunters?”

“Vampire hunters. Two different parties. Each anonymously hired and sent by our own families, ordered to have each of us killed. But you know, back then hunters had rivalry against each other as well. And ironically, the groups of hunters our family hired were not exactly seeing eye to eye with each other.” He let out another dry chuckle. “Upon reaching our home, they all forgot their initial purpose for a moment and began butchering one another instead, in the name of looming enmity. And you and I got caught in the crossfire. ”

He paused. If it were physically possible he would’ve shivered at the memory; so tragically vivid in his mind. You waited for him to continue. “But some of them also remembered that they had been ordered to kill us both, so our front yard quickly became a battlefield.” He sounded bitter, angry. “We fought them off for a while but we were terribly outnumbered. I was wounded, so were you, and I tried to reach you but…” he trailed off, took a deep breath and continued, “they got to you first.”

You tried to find the right thing to say but got nothing. Bucky spoke up again. “I was helpless. I couldn’t move. I had to watch as they… took you away from me.” He finally looked up at you and you were in shock. “Those sent by your family, what was left of them after the massacre at least, fled. Those sent by mine finished their job.” The look of hurt on his face was unbearable. “And I begged them. I begged them to kill me too but they just left me there.”

You felt a weight on your chest. That was brutal.

“You died at our doorstep.” He still remembered the last few moments he held you before you left…

He somehow managed to get up and stumbled on his way to you, bullets and sharp stakes pierced all over his body as well as yours. You weren’t gonna make it, and he knew but he still begged you to stay.

“You can’t leave me. You promised.” He cried, cradling your head on his lap. “Don’t leave me.”

He watched how you used the little bit of energy left to choke out a few words. “I’ll find you again. Someday. I promise…” your body was getting heavier and heavier. Bucky felt like he was dying too. “I love you, Buck.”

And with that, you closed your eyes forever. He sat there, your lifeless body in his arms and he screamed and yelled and cursed the universe. He was wounded, he would be healed by dawn. But you wouldn’t. He survived the attack that day, but part of him died along with you too.

You cleared your throat. “How do you… how did you know it’s me? How can you be sure? What if I just look like her?” you looked up at the painting and he did too.

He gave you a soft smile. “Chamomile and lavender tea is your favorite. You like red roses. You have a fear of deep water but you love the beach. You have this weird obsession with snakes. You love red wine. You could practically live in a library. Thunderstorms comfort you. You get a lot of déjà-vu, more than anyone you know. Also, you surely have a birthmark on your back, below your left shoulder. It perhaps hurts sometimes and you don’t know why, because regular birthmarks don’t hurt.”

Your eyes widened more and more as he spoke, but you gasped when he mentioned the birthmark. “How do you know that?” Very few people knew of your rather strange birthmark which tingled, burned and hurt sometimes.

“You were staked through the heart from the back. It left a mark on you.” He answered. “Forever.”

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, trying to soak all this new information in. This was a lot to take in.

You cleared your throat again. “I was a vampire.” You stated. Bucky nodded. “I married you.” He nodded again. “I can’t- how do I-,”

“Hey, it’s a lot to take in. Take your time. Go to bed if you wish to.” His voice sounded so soft.

Oh you couldn’t sleep, not with all this. You shook your head no, you had questions. “How long were we married for?”

“Almost a century.” His answer made your jaw drop.

“How old are you?”

He chuckled. “250. Give or take a few years.”

“Oh my God,” you sighed, genuinely surprised. You thought back on all that he said earlier, about your families, and asked, “You said our families were against our relationship.” He nodded. “Well, where are they now?”

“Gone.”

“What do you mean, gone?”

He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair again. “After you left, I was unhinged. My memories of the couple of decades after your death is a little blurry. Apparently I went seeking revenge. But our friends found me and brought me back to sanity before I was gone completely and they told me that I had destroyed each and every last member of both our families.”

“You killed them.” It wasn’t a question.

“They deserved it. They took you away from me.” He sounded so broken, and hurt that you could feel your heart burn inside your ribcage.

“When you say ‘our friends’ you mean…” you trailed off not knowing how to put it.

He nodded. “Other vampires, yes. Most of them at least.”

“This is so crazy.” You mumbled, looking down at your lap. This was too much to handle all at once. Bucky got up from his seat and walked cautiously over to you.

He sat down on the edge of the wooden coffee table right in front of you and held his hand out. You placed your hand in his without a second thought. “You always had faith in the universe you know. You used to tell me that one single lifetime isn’t going to be enough for all the love that you and I have for each other. You used to always tell me that you’ll find me in the next one as well. And you did. You kept your promise. You’re home now, to me.”

You felt a tear slide down your cheek. Those words sounded so familiar. Bucky reached out and wiped the tear away. “I… I don’t remember. I mean, I’ve lived a whole life not knowing you were until just a few days ago and now… all this?”

He brought your hand up to his lips and kissed your knuckles softly. “It’s almost dawn. You haven’t slept well. Get some rest, we’ll figure it out. We always did.”

You couldn’t argue. You needed to not think for a while, so you just nodded and got up. He didn’t follow you as you made your way to the bedroom and threw yourself down on the bed. You closed your eyes and slipped into a dreamless sleep.

The next day, you spent most of your morning in the room; unable to leave the bed. Each time you thought back on all that was revealed to you last night, your head hurt. Wanda was kind enough to come in and leave you your meals. She didn’t say a word, just polite smiles. Bucky came by as well, each hour or so to check up on you. You weren’t ready to talk yet. He understood.

You spent the rest of the day looking out of the window, into the vast backyard. The weather was still gloomy, much like your mood.

After dinner, Bucky came by again. With tea this time. You gladly accepted the cup, remembering how it helped you sleep better the other night. Bucky was about to walk out but you stopped him.

“Stay. Please.” You said, your voice a little strained because you had cried earlier, unable to understand the wave of emotion which washed over you. He rushed to sit next to you, on the edge of the bed. “I’ve been having dreams.” you confessed.

“What kind of dreams?”

“About you. About us, together. About ballrooms I’ve never been in, about people I haven’t met. And this house, ever since I got here it feels like I’ve... “ you trailed off, unable to find the right words. Or maybe the words were too crazy for you to utter them out loud.

He finished your sentence. “Like you’ve lived here before?”

“Yes.” You nodded.

He smiled. “It’s because you have. This is your home, our home. Those aren’t dreams, they’re your memories.”

Another tear fell down your cheek. Well, that made sense now. That would explain why your ‘dreams’ were so detailed.

Bucky stayed and talked to you until you felt sleepy. He kissed you on the forehead, whispering a ‘goodnight’ once you got under the covers and was about to walk out of the room but you stopped him, yet again.

“There’s something else.” you said.

He stopped right at the door and turned around to face you, “Yes?”

“The day I got here, when you opened the door, I…” you reminded yourself that he deserves to know, “I felt this pressing need to tell you that I finally found you. I didn’t understand what that meant then.”

For the first time in a long time, Bucky genuinely smiled. And it was breathtaking. His smile was gorgeous, contagious. “Goodnight, sweetheart. I’ll see you in the morning.” He left.

You fell asleep rather quickly. And dreamt, again...

Kisses under a grand chandelier. Blue eyes, laughter and wine. Pure bliss.

“We should get going, sweetheart. It’s late.” Bucky whispered, holding you close. “And I can’t share you any longer. I need you all to myself now.” He kissed along your jaw, making you giggle.

Home. At last. Only just as you got down from the carriage, you realized something was wrong. Pain, pain everywhere.

Bullets, stakes, sticks, stones - everything hurt. You heard someone screaming as you were being dragged away from Bucky. It was you. You begged for mercy, but you didn’t receive any. Then suddenly, a spot on your back burned. It hurt more than anything you’ve ever experienced. You realized you were being staked through the heart, and it was too late. You couldn’t fight back.

The pain, although excruciating, was replaced by fear. Fear of having to leave Bucky behind. Bucky… where was he?

Your vision got blurry, you fell to the ground. You tried to call out for him but no sound came out of your mouth. You were fading away. But then you saw a pair of dark eyes which slowly turned blue and teary.

“Don’t leave me…”

“I’ll find you, I promise.” All the years you spent with him flashed in front of your eyes. Your wedding, and the decades of pure happiness which followed. “I’ll find you…”

You woke up gasping again, covered in goosebumps. You had a terrible headache as it all came to you at once; memories of a forgotten lifetime. You struggled to breathe; it felt like being hit by a violent wave and being pushed deeper beneath the surface. Your birthmark burned hot. And your lungs felt like they were on fire.

You sat there in bed, breathing hard and fast as you remembered everything. You realized you had tears streaming down your face. It was all too much, but you kept searching for more. And the more you looked the more you found. You felt like you were about to pass out.

1802, when you first met Bucky. Married in 1808. You died about 90 years after that. You remembered. You remembered it all now. Your cruel family, and his. The bloodshed of that night. And how you died at the doorstep of this mansion. This mansion… your home. You knew this place like the back of your hand. This is your home.

You’re home.

You called out, not too loud, knowing he would hear you still. “Bucky!” you held back sob. How did you survive all these years? Without him?

“Bucky!” you called out again, crying out loud this time. You heard his footsteps running down the hall. And your heart raced.

You had been so close to your home this whole time, so close to Bucky, in the same town. You just didn’t know.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes au #vampire!bucky #bucky smut #marvel au #sebastian stan #bucky barnes x you

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apexqueenie · 3 years

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For One-Punch man : S-Class psychic (with the power of telepathy) male superhero reader x Tatsumaki

Ooooooooh yes, sorry for taking so long! Work and School are REALLY taking a toll on me ugh. Welp, here’s bby Tatsu❤️

Enjoy!

Warnings: Foul language, dead monsters

“Ehhhhhhhhh? Some nobody made it to S-class right off the bat?” Tatsumaki crossed her arms. She hovered over the tech guys in the Hero Association headquarters impatiently and just happened to see a new document come up on screen. The name was cut off at the top of the monitor, but the large S above the nearly perfect score was clearly visible.

The nervous tech man jumped at the S-class heroine’s voice, “uhm, yes ma’am, he was just registered today”

“Tch, first King, then Demon Cyborg, and now this guy? So I guess anyone can just waltz into the S-class instead of earning it like the rest of us? Ugh, weaklings” she scoffed. “Also, I don’t know if any of you morons remember but I came here because you guys said you needed help so get on with it!”

She looked around the room at the various operators all furiously typing away at their keyboards, some taking distressed phone calls from powerless civilians encountering lower level monsters. Sighing, she floated around looking for the staff member that called for her aid. Tch, if there were copies of her around, there won’t be so many monsters wandering the streets. Waiting around here was so goddamn booooooooooooooooring.

“Who called me here anyways?!” She yelled, “It’s taking so long for them to show up that I might as well just go look for the monster myself!” She raised herself far above everyone else, hoping that someone would notice and give her some coordinates. ANY coordinates.

Her hopes were answered when an association worker, Scruff man she calls him, entered the room, laptop in one hand as he adjusted his headset in the other. She growls with impatience and hovers over to him, fixing his headset for him so he could pay attention to her quicker.

“Where’s the monster I need to clean up?” she said, poking the man’s head.

He sighed, still heading over to his desk to set his laptop down. “Actually, we already have a hero there, but we have reports of the commotion attracting a huge energy signature from the-”

“Yeah yeah, give me the location already! I have to do ALL the work here” she interrupts.

He typed at his keyboard seemingly unbothered by the heroine’s rude mannerisms. “City J, watch out along the border in city K though,” he says. He was about to say more, but the green haired woman already vanished. He shook his head, getting back to other important matters at hand. “She’ll be fine” he mutters.

***

City J wasn’t that far by any means, not if you could fly there like the Terrible Tornado. She could hear the screams of frightened people before she even got to the scene...at least...she thought they were screams. Listening closer, Tatsumaki realized they were...cheers?

Oddly enough, she saw people smiling, taking videos and selfies of an abnormally big bear monster that laid sprawled across the floor, a massive dent in its head as well as a destroyed cafe in front of it. The hero of the day stood next to the corpse, smiling at the crowd as they swooned over him. She didn’t recognize him however...was it some lower class trying to get a rank boost? She flew over, hovering above him for intimidation.

He turned to look at her, unfazed by her presence. “Oh, hi partner! You must be the Terrible Tornado! I heard they were sending you as backup-”

“BACKUP?!” she yelled, “I am NOBODY’S BACKUP! If it weren’t for those STUPID HQ workers, I would’ve been here faster and without all this damn mess!” She waved her hand to the remains of the destroyed building to prove her point.

The hero blinked at her and smiled again, “so, this must be the award winning personality that coined your name huh? Well, you’re not the only one with a powerful mind you know. Mine takes over weak ones- anyways, we need to evacuate these people. They came back once the alarm stopped, but HQ warned us that there’s another beast hiding somewhere…” he trailed off, concentrating at the crowd of people that still cheered for him. He was sensing an approaching danger…a BIG danger. Suddenly, he turned to Tatsumaki and called her name, pointing to a cluster of people urgently.

She barely got the message as the ground began to crack underneath them. In between the cracks, she spotted a blue and disfigured monster, its drill like teeth boring its way to the surface until it suddenly froze, its eyes turning milky white. Subconsciously, she had already picked up everything in that area: people, cars, street signs, rubble and all, placing them gently out of harm’s way. Next to her, the unnamed hero holds both his hands out towards the monster, his eyes reflecting the same white as the monster he controlled.

“Tornado!” he yelled with a bit of difficulty. Quickly, she pulls everyone she sees far away from the battle scene, clearing the debri from the streets simultaneously so they can make their escape. The alarm sounds again, warning everyone of a threat level demon terrorizing the city. Tatsumaki rises above the buildings, scanning the area for more threats, but to her surprise, she sees none. Before she could start worrying about the monster at hand, the hero below lets out a triumphant yell at the area being cleared of civilians.

“Hah! This is where the real fun begins!” He says.

Tatsumaki looked down to see the male jump right above the monster before it unfroze and launched itself far above the ground. She moved out of the way to let the blue salamander-like monster pass her, its impossibly long body covering her view of the sun. She stared in awe at the hero riding the nearly 200 foot long beast to the sky. He felt no fear as he dropped with the giant, yelling with glee like a child playing with a new toy. It fell to the ground, crushing uneven buildings with its soft underside, the sudden takeover messing with its head and making it uncoordinated and confused. This gave the hero the perfect opportunity to control it with ease. The Salamander’s eyes turned milky white in its confusion, ceasing his movements and almost robotically repositioning its body. A split second later, it began bashing its head against the ground, quickly losing the strength to stand up as the hero rode on top of it like he was at a rodeo. Tatsumaki could only stare in shock as it took one last hit and stumbled on its side, dying next to the previous monster who met the same fate.

She was speechless. Never had she seen someone use an enemy’s own power against them, not like that. What did he say again..? ‘Well, you’re not the only one with a powerful mind you know. Mine takes over weak ones.’. Huh, so someone on the opposite side of the Esper Spectrum.

The hero turned to smile at her from below and Tatsumaki couldn’t help but turn a bit red from embarrassment. She was the number 2 hero, yet, she barely did anything to aid in stopping the attack. She didn’t know why, but for the first time in a long while, she felt ok with someone else handling the monster. She floated down a good distance to meet him, hoping her green aura would cover up some of the redness.

“Thanks for the help back there, I don’t really like taking over human minds all that much, so it was a big help for you to move them yourself.” he says as he begins to make his way down from the monster’s neck.

Tatsumaki only responded with a ‘hmph’ as she hovered in pace with him. She wasn’t used to being the backup, but what’s done is done. Even if she was impressed, she couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit salty.

Sounds of sirens, helicopters, and news reporters became audible soon after the hero’s feet touched the ground. Few people came back to the aftermath to take pictures and film the dead beasts.

“Well,” the hero says, fixing his outfit, “looks like people are coming to interview us already. S-classes really are a big deal huh? I don’t think I’m ready to spend the next hour or two being asked boring questions, so I'm gonna dip. I’ll see you around?”

“...Sure.” She says.

“Great!” He smiles, before turning around to head off away from the paparazzi.

Tatsumaki eyes him for a second, trying to figure out again if she recognizes him before the curiosity gets the better of her. “Wait!” She calls out.

He turns around, giving her his full attention.

“What’s your name anyways?” She huffs.

He gives her a playful smirk, “I thought you knew already. I’m your new S-class companion, and I’m comin for Blast’s number 1 spot.” He says, pointing a thumb to himself as he turned back around and continued walking.

“LIKE HELL I’D LET YOU TAKE THAT SPOT” he heard Tatsumaki yell before she let out a frustrated growl and began heading off to her next task.

The hero chuckled to himself. The Terrible Tornado could be cute sometimes if she wasn’t trying to kill you.

***

As Tatsumaki flew off, she couldn’t help but feel a bit giddy. Finally, there was someone who could pull their weight... someone she could share the load with and who wasn’t quite normal like her and Fubuki. It was an odd feeling of..relief? Comfort? She didn’t quite know just yet, so she shook that feeling away. The number two hero doesn’t catch feelings that easily, at least, that’s what she told herself. Aside from her sister, relationships were hard for Tatsumaki...but deep down, she secretly hoped she would work with him again soon.

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#opm x reader #opm imagines #one punch man x reader #tatsumaki #tornado #Tatsumaki x reader #Tatsumaki x male reader #anime x you #anime x reader #one punch man tornado

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demonsigh · 3 years

Text

the hypnagog

rating: orange/lime (ambiguous) pairing: male human x genderless eldritch entity features: first contact, unnatural anatomy warnings: drug and alcohol use/abuse, insomnia length: 1962 words

Too many substances and too little sleep allow a college student to encounter an otherworldly being. Based on this prompt submitted to @monsterkinkmeme

Peter was picking up some bad habits in college, just as his mother had feared he would. Chemical Engineering was a difficult major, and it was, perhaps, taking a little bit more from him than he had to give. He was eventually forced to cut corners.

The first thing to go was sleep. Sleep had always felt like a waste of time to Peter, something he had stubbornly resisted even as a child. When he started to fall behind in his coursework, he simply stayed awake later and later each night. It was exhilarating. How, he wondered, had he spent his whole life squandering these long, hidden hours of the night on sleep? No more. Now he was in control, and that time was his for the taking.

Admittedly, studying wasn’t his only occupation during those reclaimed hours. He drank a lot too, and got high, and eventually, occasionally, he did cocaine. There was always someone he knew who wanted to party or barhop or do this or try that. For Peter — stressed and single and a little bit stupid from the lack of sleep — these invitations were almost impossible to resist. More sleep was sacrificed to accommodate these distracting activities.

Stubborn as he was, it was never that hard for Peter to keep himself awake at night. But it did become increasingly difficult to concentrate on whatever task he was rushing to complete: a paper due Friday; an exam on Monday; even a conversation with a friend. Coffee no longer had any effect. He drank energy drinks instead for a time, but they made him unbearably anxious.

He started to take Adderall, which he obtained from a friend of a friend. It worked wonders in small doses. His mind was clearer, sharper. His thoughts flowed more readily. His memory became infallible. The well of dark hours that he had uncovered was filled once again with potential. It felt so good, in fact, that it was hard to resist taking more than he needed.

The year steamrolled on, with Peter beneath it. Sometimes he stayed awake for days at a time. He would look at the calendar and suddenly realize that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept. The day before? The day before that? He began to live through his days in a haze, a stupor where his body did the right things, and his mouth said the right things, but the things they did and said were not quite under his control. He seemed to sleepwalk through all of his daily routines, and he only ever truly felt awake at night.

This is dangerous, he thought sometimes, but didn’t stop, until the effects of sleep-deprivation began to creep up on him. He was losing weight. He caught colds with coughs that lingered right up until the next one took hold. His moods swung erratically, and his hands sometimes shook for no reason.

He reluctantly admitted that he needed to get more sleep. But the problem now was that he couldn’t sleep, even when he forced himself to try. The long nights he spent drifting in and out of wakefulness left him feeling more miserable than ever, vaguely afraid, and deeply, troublingly tired.

He decided to try Ambien, which he obtained from another friend of another friend. Like the Adderall, this too worked wonders. That first night, he got in bed right after taking the pill, and woke up almost fifteen hours later. He didn’t feel well, exactly, but it had to be a step in the right direction.

But the trouble with Peter and Ambien, was that Peter was good at keeping himself awake. The next time he took one, he got right into bed once again; but then he couldn’t resist checking his email. A response from his TA, with feedback on a draft. Looking over the feedback made him livid. He typed out a furious reply, so angry that he was trembling, and right before hitting Send, he realized that he couldn’t understand what he’d written, and that he couldn’t remember what had made him so angry in the first place. It was becoming difficult to read at all. The letters were all jumbled and tangled together. Random words jumped out at him as if they’d been placed under spotlights, looking urgently meaningful in ways that he couldn’t articulate.

The Ambien, he thought, shaken. He carefully placed his phone back on the nightstand, then stared up into the dark ceiling. The darkness overhead had acquired a shape: an enormous, intricate tangle of heavy black tubes and coils, hanging over him like a grotesque chandelier. It was floating in the air above his bed, writhing and shivering as if it were alive.

He wasn’t alarmed at first. Sometimes Peter saw things like this while he was falling asleep. But they normally resolved themselves into nothing after a few moments of concentration. This vision, on the other hand, seemed to grow in clarity and intensity the longer he looked. A deep and sickening fear took hold of him. He was disoriented. He couldn’t understand what he was looking at. He wanted to move, to escape, but his body would not obey him.

It had no face, but Peter knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this creature was looking at him. The vision grew stronger. The phantom expanded. Before his eyes it was unfolding itself and unfolding itself, revealing itself, peeling back layers of his mind to make room for itself. Its voice entered his thoughts in whispers, and he realized he could understand the words.

“That’s twice now that you’ve seen me,” it said.

Had he…? Yes. This was the second time. He had seen this creature before, perhaps even spoke to it, on that first night he took Ambien. He was starting to remember. He hadn’t fallen asleep as quickly as he’d thought.

The Ambien, Peter remembered. I took an Ambien.

Then was he hallucinating? The question slipped away from him. Nothing in the world was as real as the creature before him. It was hyper-real. He still couldn’t understand what he was looking at. It was constantly changing, folding and unfolding, twisting itself into elaborate geometric patterns that were beautiful in their strangeness and complexity, then collapsing again into its undulating masses of tubes and limbs.

“You see me too,” said Peter. He felt that he had spoken, though his lips did not move, and he heard no sound.

“I can always see you,” said the creature. “But tonight I can feel your awareness upon me.” A pause, and then, reverently, “It’s thrilling.”

The fear Peter had felt before was gone. This creature’s presence was somehow careful and gentle, settling over him like a blanket, and filling him with a sense of helpless peace. Its endless display of shifting forms was hypnotic, lulling him rather than exciting him. He felt himself settle more deeply into the bed under the warm, comfortable weight of its company.

“What are you?” he whispered.

“Something that humans are not supposed to see,” came the soft, mournful reply. “You’ve been hurting yourself, Peter. It’s reshaping your mind.”

“I know,” Peter said, and to his surprise he felt tears spring from the corners of his eyes. He didn’t bother to wonder how this creature knew his name, or how it knew that he’d been coming undone for months. For all he knew he was talking to God, although he didn’t think this was what God was supposed to look like.

“I’m all fucked up,” he confessed, throat thick. “And I don’t know how to fix myself. I don’t know where to start.”

“You may start,” said the creature, “by abandoning this drug. It is not meant for you, and will not help you in the end.”

“But I need sleep,” Peter insisted. He could hear his own voice again. He sounded terrible. He could move now too, he realized. He raised his hand to wipe the tears from his face, only to find that his eyes were dry.

“Ah…” sighed the creature. “Humans and their sleep.”

Its twisting, impossible body seemed to sink, settling more heavily into the space over Peter; impressing itself more deeply upon his thoughts. Peter could see now that every square-inch of its coiling appendages had its own shifting, miniscule topography: tiny, recursive patterns of peaks and folds, like a Mandelbulb, rotating and revolving as he watched. There seemed to be no limit to its complexity.

“It’s curious, isn’t it?” said the creature, in its gentle, contemplative voice. “Your little sojourns to the void? Sleep is so much like death. It’s as if every night you must remind yourselves what death feels like, in order to continue to live.”

These words pricked something deep in Peter’s mind. It felt like… something… a revelation. A vital discovery, dangling just out of reach. He had the vague but insistent feeling that this knowledge would destroy him if he learned it, but that didn’t stop him from struggling towards it. It was so close, and absurdly, he found himself wishing for his little bottle of Adderall. But then the creature spoke again, and whatever terrible gnosis he may have been granted slipped away.

“I will help you,” it said, drawing closer. “I will come to you on the edge of sleep, and guide you there. It is so much like my realm. I will help you find your way.”

“I won’t be able to see you if I don’t take this drug again.”

“You will. The Wall has been breached, and I can reveal myself now without destroying you. You will see me again.”

The creature seemed very close now, although physical space was becoming confusing to Peter. He reached out a hand, wanting to touch the shifting, kaleidoscopic surface of its body. Would he feel nothing? Would it destroy him? He could not overcome the impulse. He pressed his hand into the thick labyrinth of winding limbs and coiled appendages. They accommodated the intrusion, wrapping around his hand, the touch not as solid as he had expected, but palpable, light and diffuse, like being pressed by thousands of tiny hands. Startled, he flexed his fingers, and a shudder went through the creature’s entire body.

“Did I hurt you?” Peter breathed.

“You cannot hurt me,” murmured the creature.

Peter slowly withdrew his hand, sending another tremor rippling through the network of convoluted flesh. A number of flickering tendrils remained twined with his fingers, anchoring him to the creature as he placed his hand back across his stomach. He was silent for a moment, watching its ceaseless transfigurations, struck dumb by the impossibility of its body.

“Why would you help me?” he finally asked.

“Because you have seen me,” it said slowly, “and I have rarely been seen. And rarer still have I been spoken to. It has connected us, Peter. And now that I have felt your suffering, I cannot bear it.”

Peter shut his eyes tight, to fight off more phantom tears. A dam inside of him was starting to break. All of his misery was finally catching up to him, and whatever this creature was — a god, or a demon, or a figment of his own imagination — its unexpected concern was overwhelming him.

“I see,” he whispered. He was sure that he was really crying this time.

“Are you ready to sleep?”

“Yes,” he whispered again.

And again he felt that vague premonition, that certainty, that his contact with this creature would annihilate him. But annihilation might be what he needed. Did anyone ever wake up as the exact same person that went to bed? He would wake up tomorrow as a slightly different Peter; wiser; repentant; and perhaps a little kinder to himself.

#exophilia #monster romance #monsterkinkmeme #sighs writing

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apples-r-rubbish · 4 years

Text

Institute (13th Doctor x reader) Part 8 (FINAL)

Summary: Gallifrey. The end. Word count: 2.5k AN: Final part, thank so much for all the love and support on everything. I never expected this or anything remotely close to this. Thank you! feel free to stick around to see what I have coming next- got a few 11 things planned. Hope you enjoy -Leo x Warnings: Violence, death Tags: @penguinwithitsarseonfire @startrekkingaroundasgard

(PART 1) (PART 2) (PART 3) (PART 4) (PART 5) (PART 6) (PART 7) MASTERLIST

Gallifrey was warm. The air hung around you, hot and heavy. Everything was burning.

“You’re late,” The master growled “I looked into it you should’ve been here 3 hours ago,”

“The last time I checked I was still alive, nice try,” You smirked. He handcuffed you.

“Just so you don’t get any ideas, and because you dropped yourself off here, we’ve got a long walk. I can’t believe you screwed up your own execution” He pulled the vortex manipulator off your wrist and proceeded to stomp on it, severing your final lifeline. He grabbed you by the face, his rough fingers digging into your skin “I can’t wait to watch her face, as the light leaves your eyes,” He mumbled, dropping his hand suddenly, before yanking your arm, guiding you forward. The panic had then hit you. You were going to die and the Doctor was going to watch, you tried to pull against him, tried to run. Cursing and screaming. The Master’s grip only got tighter, you were crying in pain, trying desperately to pull away. Nothing was working.

“Look, you can make this easier for you, or harder,” He said, pulling out the Tissue Compression device. So you walked. It could have been hours or moments, time seemed to bend around you. There was a weird glowing patch ahead of you, “We’re going through there when we see her. I need to prove to her I’m serious and that you’re bait,”

“Why did you destroy it?” You asked, monotone, you were not allowing him to win.

“Nothing to with you, humans, want to stick their noses into everyone’s business,”

“I’m about to die, it’s not like I have anyone to tell,” You argued

“Do you expect sympathy? None of them were shown any, and they actually belonged here. More than you can say considering you’re a walking corpse,” He hissed “and shut up will you.”

Something moved behind the portal, and speaking could faintly be heard. Without warning you were pulled to your feet, and pushed into it. The ground on the other side of the portal was rock and you discovered that, by falling nearly face first into it. The Master followed behind you closely, pulling you back up aggressively by the shoulder.

“Now that was a good entrance, right? Right?” He nudged you as he spoke, trying desperately to gain a reaction from you“You should be afraid, everything is about to change,” He growled “Take my hand,”

“Never, give me back (Y/N),” She hissed

“Not happening. I could just kill her on the spot and drag you through the boundary kicking and screaming after killing all your other little humans too. She’s going to die anyway, why can’t it be here?” He threatened, his tone of voice surprisingly calm

“Ok, fine, I’ll come with you but you hurt anyone of them and I won’t hesitate. I’ll be back soon, don’t worry,”

“She won’t. Good luck, c’mon (Y/N),” He yanked your arm forward as the three of you crossed the boundary “Look upon my work Doctor, and despair,”

“Why did you do this? Why are you dragging (Y/N) into this? She doesn’t deserve it,” The Doctor questioned

“Not telling you,” He laughed “Well, I’ll tell you a little. Her death is a fixed point, and you’ve kept putting it off. I want to further the plans so to speak, keep everything ticking over. Also because I want to watch you suffer, for everything you’ve ever done,”

“If you so much as hurt her I’ll-”

The master cut her off “You’ll what? Kill me? Please. You couldn’t even hurt me when I tried to kill you on that plane. I’m your worst friend, your best enemy, she’s a human. She’ll die anyway.”

You just watched as they argued, you couldn’t run because you’d die faster, he’d just kill you from behind, you couldn’t stay because the master would kill you eventually so you just froze.You dared not cut into the conversation,you felt like child watching two adults fight and you were powerless to stop it. You went dizzy, the weight of the situation heavy again, The doctor went to steady you, “No! You’re not going anywhere near her. Citadel. now,”

The room was large, with various platforms around the room, You were dragged onto a smaller one, and the Doctor stepped onto a larger one, light beams curving around her. She hissed in pain, you went to run to her, you shin was met with a weighty kick. You fell to the ground, huffing.

“Aw, what a sweet moment that would have been. But I think it’s time we begin now,” He growled, you grabbed your neck aggressively pulling you to your feet “any final words?”

“I forgive you, you will blame yourself for this but I forgive you. Always and completely. I was bound to get caught up in this, the institute was never safe. I love you, don’t let this break you.” You spoke, directed all towards the Doctor.

“I do hate to break up a couple, but I have plans I’m afraid,” The Master smirked. You blinked. Reality slowed. There was pain. A sharp pain. An involuntary gasp. Pain. And so much blood. Pain. You fell to your knees first, then backwards. Pain. You couldn’t hear the screams of the Doctor or the laughs of the Master, only the fading heartbeat in your chest and shallow breaths.You could vaguely see her crying. Your vision blurred as you mumbled one final silent wish to the universe, ‘Keep her safe’.

You were gone. Another death on that distant planet.

Grey enveloped the Doctor. Ruth appeared in front of her.

“Oh great more traps and tricks. The matrix is deciding to mess with me again?” She huffed.

“You summoned me here, this isn’t the matrix,” Ruth replied “I understand it as much as you do.” Her voice was clear and not unkind when she spoke. “Where do you fit into this? Who are you? Are you my past? Or are you my future?”

“I don’t have the answers. Would it help you if I did? That doesn’t change who we are,” Ruth responded

“I mean yes it would-” She blinked. You now stood in front of her replacing Ruth,

“When have you ever been limited by who you were? When have you ever let it stop you?” She looked as if she’d been slapped, she simply wanted to memorise every detail of your face, before it faded and she had to come to terms with everything.

“I can’t talk. I'm tired. I want to sleep, the field is taking the energy out of me,” She said drifting slightly.

“Now’s not the time to be tired, old man. You know that. People have died, the city is burning, and you’ve left your friends,”

“I don’t know how to stop him,” She began, she wanted to walk towards you but she couldn’t the field holding her in place, “I've already lost you, who cares about the city? Who cares about anything else?”

“You can and will. Be who you always are, old man. Blow their minds. Be the Doctor,” You whispered “Think of me, from time to time though.” She remembered everything, meeting you, the institute, the cybermen, the trips to far flung planets, your smile, your friendships, your kindness. You.

“I love you, old man,” You pressed a final gentle kiss to her forehead. The field broke sending light everywhere.

The Doctor was awoken to her friends standing over her and asking if she was alright.

“Where is she? Where’s (Y/N)?” She asked her throat sore

“Doc, there’s no one else here? We figured the Master had taken her with him, if he hadn’t you know-” Graham responded panic creeping into his voice. She pulled herself to her feet quickly, the world merging into a mess of shapes. Your body had vanished. Time for a plan.

“Live great lives,” The Doctor said as she backed out of the TARDIS and ran down a corridor. There the master stood cyber timelords circled around him. “I definitely said no plus ones. Where is she?”

“What do you mean? I left her to rot. I thought it would nice to have a new world start with the blood of a human. A species you're so fond of, especially that one,” The master laughed “The cyberium lives in me now. I’ve won, broken you down”

“You think you've broken me? You'll have to try harder than that. You've given me a gift. Of myself. You think that could destroy me? You think that makes me lesser? It makes me more.” She hissed pulling out the detonator “I contain multitudes more than I ever thought or knew. You want me to be scared of it because you're scared of everything. But I am so much more than you. You took her from me and that’s where you’re wrong, I have nothing left to lose!” As she shouted, the master kneeled, pressing his head against the detonator “Do it, I want the universe to suffer because of you.”

The older man burst through the door, rambling about how he needed to do it and how she needed to go. She tried to argue and failed. The Doctor ran, stole a tardis and made it to safety. As she always did.

It had been a handful of years since your death. The doctor had dipped in and out of time stream, taking you on dates to relive your time together. She dared to not visit Ryan, Yaz and Graham, they’d ask and she wouldn’t have answers. She sat in the cold tardis, fiddling with the controls as she tended to do now. No one to ramble to other than her ship. Electricity fizzed once again in the air, you materialised near the entrance of the ship. The TARDIS seemed colder than usual, emptier.

“What? Are you doing here?” She asked clearly shocked to see you

“It dropped me off here- wait, damn, the ring,” You tapped the co-ordinates back into the vortex manipulator before disappearing and reappearing again in front of her.

“So I’m being haunted now, I just dropped you off home after Cinter - purple planet sky, massive moon,” She explained

“I knew that was the wrong order,” You laughed “Not haunted. Hasn’t happened yet, for me, still on my deathbed, running late, I think, the coordinates keep switching,”

“You’ll be fine. I’d prefer it if you were late, or even better, didn’t show up to it,”

“Where do I end up and who does it?”

“It’s on Gallifrey, I presume you can figure the coordinates out. I tried to stop him, I tried,”

“Shhh it’s ok” You held her in your arms pressing a kiss to her forehead, tears welling in both of your eyes

“I saw bits of it twice,” She explained, she was crying now, at the long past memories for her.

“You know it’s a fixed point, I don’t know why you had to go to it twice, that’s weird even for you,” You laughed trying to calm her down

“The TARDIS dropped me off there. Not my idea of fun. Fixed point your death, and she’s drawn to it for some reason, maybe to keep me out of trouble,”

“She was always fond of me, even then,” You laughed, fingers spread on the console, “you know what they say about grief, you need to see things from a different perspective,”

“What do you mean?”

“I think I’ve worked it out- A message from her. This is why she prefers me,” You took her hand “My death is a fixed point, see it from a new perspective,”

She froze, as you tapped at the time travel device “I love you, old man, and I’m sorry.” You whispered, unable to speak in a volume higher than that, you finally let go of her hand.

“I love you-” She began. She didn’t finish the sentence before you had vanished from in front of her. The Doctor considered your words for a moment. For the first time in a long time she smiled. “So a new perspective, death, she just has to die,” She swung around to the otherside of the TARDIS pressing more buttons and flicking switches.

Her tardis was in the citadel, one of the rooms that had been abandoned by the master, stuck in the state of murder. The Doctor’s breath caught in her throat; she did not want to be here. It came flooding back to her amongst the maze of corridors the unknowing the gut feeling of unknowing. She was running up the stairs, running to you. The only certainty left. Rounding the corner she saw you; what was left of you. She saw herself, her face distorting in pain within the truth field, unaware of the events outside it. As gently as she could, she picked up your body, she heard footsteps, the fam. She left the room as quickly as she could.

The TARDIS welcomed her, encouraging noises coming from the console. She set off before anything else, she couldn’t have the risk of the others seeing her. You lay on the floor, pale, lips parted. If she didn’t know better she would have assumed you were sleeping. A glowing light slipped from her fingers, she gently placed her hand against your cheek, one final loving gesture, “I can’t lose you again. Come back to me, I love you,” She mumbled. There was a second. It felt like a thousand years. The Doctor held her breath the whole time, unable to move, solely focussing on you. Your chest rose slightly. You were breathing

You were kept in the medical bay and you finally woke up after three painfully long days. You wandered into the TARDIS console room, encouraging bleeps and bloops coming from her.

“What happened? Did we damage the timeline?” Was all you managed to get out before you were tackled to the floor by a strong overwhelming hug.

“You’re ok, you’re safe, I think I fixed it, you’re ok,” She mumbled into you

“Did I?” You asked the situation blurry

“Yes. I brought you back, I just need to know you’re ok,”

“I’m fine, not a scratch on me, feeling the best I have felt in a while actually,” You were laughing now unable to contain the happiness you felt when you saw her. You stayed like that for a while, lying on the TARDIS floor a mixture of laughing and crying.

“Travel with me, please,” She asked, her hand in your hair she asked, still lying next you.

“Of course I will. I’ll quit at the institute. I think it’s about time I took a step back. No more institute, time I lived a life rather than reading one.” You were pulled to your feet, and guided to the console by her, your ringless hand held within hers. She typed in coordinates, and pressed a few buttons “So, you can do the honours,” The Doctor pointed you towards the main switch. You grabbed her hand and placed it onto the switch with yours pulling it down, “We’re doing this. First stop - victorian England. Finally synced Together.”

#13th doctor x reader #13th doctor #thirteen #thirteenth doctor x reader #13th doctor/you #thirteenth doctor/reader #doctor who self insert #doctor who x reader #institute fic #thank you for reading <3

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rafecameron · 4 years

Text

A Fall From Grace (2)

Summary: When Rafe loses everything he’s ever known he doesn’t know what to do with himself. With no home, no family and no money he finds himself wandering the cut, lost and desperate. He has to start fresh, get a job of his own and find somewhere to live. He’s determined to make it big, show his dad what he’s made of. Does he get his old life back? Or does he find something along the way that means a lot more than a large bank balance and a mansion.

Pairing: rafe cameron x female!oc <- find out about her!

Warnings: hurt, angst, slight depression, smut, swearing, drinking

Word Count: 2.8K

A/N: I’m so sorry it took me so long to update guys I kind of got distracted with other things but it’s here!

Icarus

Allie hoped that the rest of the week wouldn’t be nearly as draining but Rafe did everything in his power to make sure it was. Considering he told her how much he needed this job he sure was doing his best to lose it.

“Rafe, what are you doing?” She sighs, arms crossed as she watched the boy lean against the counter, his back to the front door as he scrolled across his phone and bit into a chocolate bar.

“Watching the desk.” Rafe replies with a mouthful, his eyes not leaving the screen of his phone.

“You have your back to the door and please, stop eating the stock.” Allie runs her hands through her hair, the stress of trying to control the wayward boy getting too much.

“No one’s here, it’s fine.” Rafe replies nonchalantly.

“It’s not fine!” She raises her voice, finally snapping, Rafe slowly looks up from his phone and over to her in shock, “It’s not fine at all! I hired you so I would have less work to do but I ended up with more work because now I’m a babysitter too! You don’t take his job seriously, you’re always on your phone and complaining and eating things off the shelf! You’re wasting my time and money!” Her shoulders drop and she shakes her head, “Just… turn around at least.” She groans before heading into the back and into her office.

Allie slumps down into her chair, her head falling into her hands, her elbows propped up on the desk as she let out a frustrated groan. Three days. That’s all it had been and she was already at her breaking point. She didn’t know how much longer she could put up with the boy, never one to deal with stress very well. She almost expected him to follow her into the back and argue with her but she was thankful he didn’t.

For the past three days he had done nothing but complain and eat her stock, without asking her she might add. He hadn’t even been serving the customers, too engrossed in his phone to even realise they were waiting to pay, so she’d had to take over from him. She knew what she had to do, she’d have to let him go. Even going back to running this place on her own was better than making herself ill trying to manage the kook. So it was decided, after his shift she’d pay him what she owed him for the week and tell him not to come back. A part of her almost felt bad but she reminded herself that he didn’t really need this job so she had no reason to feel bad for firing him.

---

Allie stayed hidden away for the remaining two hours of the day, stringing seashells on thin wire into necklaces to put in the shop. She had always made things to sell ever since she was younger. Shell jewellery, little wooden knick knacks, it was something she did to relax and they were the kind of things tourists loved so they sold well. At ten to five she finally left the sanctuary of her office and went back into the shop, glad to see Rafe hadn’t destroyed the place while she was hidden away.

“Rafe.” She calls, the boy turning around to look at her as he ran a cloth over the glass counter, “I don’t think this is working.”

Rafe’s mouth opens slightly then closes again as he thinks of what to say, “But...What? Are you firing me?”

Allie nods her head, “Yes, I’ll get the money I owe you and then that’s it, I can’t keep you here it’s too much work.”

“No, please.” Rafe drops the cloth and hurries over to her, “Please I really need this job, don’t fire me.”

“You don’t act like you need it! I’m sorry but I’ve made up my mind, you’ll be fine it’s not like you actually need the money.” She sighs moving around him to the cash register to get his wages out.

“I do! I do need the money, please.” He grabs her arm and turns her towards him and she doesn’t fail to notice the fear in his eyes, “My dad he - uh, well he wants me to pay rent. Be more responsible I guess. You’re the only place that was hiring.”

She looks him over and he can tell she’s still debating with herself, “Please.” He says again, his hand still holding onto her arm, “I’ll try better, I promise. I won't even bring my phone in tomorrow.”

Allie studies him for a moment before letting out a sigh and shutting the register, “Your last chance. I swear Rafe, one more thing and you’re out.”

When Allie had first told him if he didn’t behave she would fire him he hadn’t believed her, but now he knew she was serious and the thought of losing this job was more than enough to scare him into trying harder. The boy was finding it almost impossible to get out of the mentality that he could do anything he wanted. He never realised it could be so hard to change aspects of yourself like that. So he stuck to his word and left his phone in the motel room the next day, knowing that if he had it in his pocket he wouldn’t be able to control himself from going on it.

---

Allie hadn’t spoken more than a couple of words to him the whole morning and he pretended not to care. He didn’t want to admit that she was the only person he spoke to now. His friends all but abandoned him the moment his dad kicked him out. Now he spent his time on social media watching them doing the things he wanted to do. He found it was true what they say, that money can’t buy friends. Now he understood that no one on figure eight was truly friends with each other, all they cared about was money and status. He longed to have that back. He didn’t care if no one really liked him. He wanted his fake friends, his yacht, his vacations in the Bahamas and his golfing days. He wanted it all back more than anything and he felt the bitterness growing inside any time he saw someone from the other side of the island. He imagined this is how the pogues felt and almost felt bad for all the times he’d beat on them. Almost.

---

That evening he was feeling even more sorry for himself than usual, the panic of almost losing his job the day before helping him to realise just how desperate he was right now. He also never realised how much he liked talking, not talking to anyone besides telling customers how much they owed made him feel lonelier than ever. He sat in the worn out chair in the corner of his motel room, his eyes not leaving the peeling yellow wallpaper as he stewed in self pity. He hadn’t eaten today, he should have been hungry but he wasn’t. He knew he was losing weight and that he should take care of himself better but he couldn’t be bothered. The enthusiasm he’d had to be a self made success had dwindled away in a matter of days. Now all that was left was emptiness. He had no motivation. He didn’t want to eat or sleep. He definitely didn’t want to go back to work on monday.

Even on his lowest days on figure eight, the days where he thought his life was shit and wanted nothing more than to run away, they held nothing against what he felt now. His life really was shit and he felt like a selfish bastard for taking everything for granted before. If he could have it all back he would be a better person. He’d be nicer to his sisters and stop arguing with his step mom. But it wasn’t going to happen.

---

He spent the weekend in his room, laying in his bed motionless, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling trying to will himself to get up and do something. Anything. But he couldn’t. By the time Monday rolled back around he was nothing but an empty shell. He hadn’t found the energy to wash his clothes - or himself - so Allie was more than a little surprised with the sight she saw waiting for her outside the store.

“Rafe?” She asks, keys in her hand ready to open up but she pauses in front of the disheveled boy, “Are you...okay?”

Rafe’s eyes meet hers, his usual vibrant blue more of a dull grey, any happiness that had been there before long gone, “I’m fine.” He answers, his voice quiet and tired, “A rough weekend.” He attempts a smile but Allie thinks it looks more like a grimace.

“I’ll make you a coffee.” She tells him as she finally pushes her key into the door. She wanted to push further, knowing he was far from fine. But Allie knew that Rafe Cameron was not the kind of person you should push at so for now she left it.

She set the mug of coffee in front of the boy in the break room, sitting down across from him with her own. They sat in silence, Allie studying the boy across from her. Physically Rafe was here, but she could tell that’s as far as his presence went. He was staring down at the mug in his hands, the coffee left to go cold untouched. She sat with him for an hour, well past her usual opening time, waiting to see if he would talk. But he didn’t, so she left him in the break room and went to open up.

Once Rafe emerged from the back she sent him to restock shelves seeing as he was in no fit state to run the front counter. He looked a mess. His hair was greasy and his clothes hadn’t been washed. She couldn’t help but watch him the whole day, wondering what was going on inside his head while he quietly stacked shelves.

She never thought she would feel sorry for someone like Rafe, but she’d also never seen someone who looked so broken. She didn’t like it. She may not have liked Rafe but no one deserves to be in that state. She wanted him to smirk at her, call her a pogue and tell her she's a waste of space, but he didn’t. He just gave her another attempt at a smile and told her he’d see her tomorrow.

---

When the boy turned up the next day looking no better than the day before Allie knew she had to say something. She sat him down in the back, making sure he drank his coffee this time before she began to try and figure out what was going on with him.

“Have you showered, Rafe?” She asks quietly.

Rafe lifts his shoulders in the smallest shrug she’d ever seen, “I don’t remember.” He admits.

Allie could tell the truth just by looking at him. “Have you slept?” She tried, though again the dark bags beneath his tired eyes told her all she needed to know, “Eaten?” She prodded.

Rafe looks up at her, no words leaving his mouth. He watched the girl in front of him, he’d never seen someone look at him with so much pity in their eyes, usually it would make him angry, but today it just broke him more. He only realised the tears were falling down his face when Allie wiped them away with a tissue, he hadn’t even noticed her get up.

“Rafe.” The girl sighs, sitting on the table in front of him, his head in her hands as her own eyes filled with tears at the sight, “Please talk to me. This is not like you, something is really wrong and it helps to talk.”

Rafe shook his head, wiping harshly at the tears on his cheeks, “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine.” Allie whispers, “You haven’t showered, haven’t slept, probably haven’t eaten. You haven’t called me a pogue in two days so I know somethings wrong.”

Allie pulls his head against her chest and lets him cry on her, his tears wetting through her shirt but she didn’t care. She held him for as long as he needed, only speaking when the tears had finally subsided.

“Is it something happening at home?” She asks, Rafe nods against her chest. “C’mon.” Allie pulls herself out of Rafe’s grasp and hops off the table.

“What?” Rafe asks, his voice hoarse from the crying.

“We’re going back to mine. You can shower and I’ll make us some lunch.” She tells him as she throws her bag over her shoulder.

“Lunch? We haven’t even opened yet.” Rafe stays seated at the table, confusion clearly written across his face.

“It’s almost twelve.” Allie tells him, Rafe hadn’t realised he’d been crying for so long and felt embarrassment wash over his body, “The shop can stay closed until tomorrow. Perks of owning it.” She smiles and moves forward, tugging on his hand.

As much as Rafe wants to complain out of embarrassment at her feeling sorry for him he doesn’t, he’s glad to be going somewhere other than this shop or his shitty motel room. Allie walks to and from work everyday, seeing as she only lives about ten minutes away. She talks on the walk, chatting away about mind numbing things to fill the silence, she doesn’t mind that Rafe doesn’t respond.

---

“Here’s a towel.” She holds it out to him as she opens the door to the bathroom, “I can wash your clothes for you, if you want? But you will have to sit in your towel until the dryers done.”

Rafe chucks his clothes out to her and she balls them up, crinkling her nose as she holds them out in front of her. She stuffs them into the washing machine, putting them on a quick wash. She leans her back against the kitchen counter, running her fingers through her hair as she tries to figure out what to do. She knew Rafe wasn’t going to openly admit what his problem was and she should just let him shower, eat and then send him on his way. But that just felt...wrong.

She wasn’t sure what it was, but something was telling her she needed to help him. Whether it was a sixth sense or just her kind nature she wasn’t sure, but she knew she couldn’t let him walk out of her house before she had a chance to help fix whatever had happened.

Allie was sure she would feel awkward with Rafe in her house but she didn’t. Even with him sat at her kitchen table with nothing but a towel around his waist tucking into a large bowl of pasta she didn’t feel awkward. “Are you still hungry?” She asks after he’d finished his food in record time, he quickly shook his head.

The girl quirked a brow at him and grabbed his bowl, putting some more pasta into it before setting it down again. He smiled gratefully at her and tucked in.

“Your clothes shouldn’t be too long, I put them on the quickest settings.” Allie tells him as she places her bowl in the sink, leaving it to be washed up later.

“Thank you. I-I appreciate it.” Rafe mumbles, eyes downcast as he thanks her.

“Rafe. I know we’re not exactly friends and don’t even really like each other but, if you want to talk about anything-“ Allie stops talking when Rafe quickly shakes his head.

“I’ll be fine. I don’t even know what that was.” Rafe, he waves his hand around referring to his little episode earlier, he smiles at her hoping he looks convincing but he didn’t in the slightest, “It’s just home things.” He sighs.

“Well...you can stay here tonight, if you want? I can make the couch up for you, so you don’t have to go home?” She offers. She’s not entirely sure why she offered. She was sure if it really was bad enough he’d go spend the night at one of his friends, but I still felt like the right thing to do.

“You’d let me?” Rafe asks more than a little surprised. When Allie nods her head he agrees to stay the night, thanking her and offering to do the washing up.

Allie is the last person Rafe wanted to tell about his situation, he didn’t want her finding out that he was living in a motel room. He could barely cope with her pity as it was let alone if she actually found out the truth.

That evening Rafe settled down on the small couch, and even though it was lumpy and hard he had the best night sleep in weeks.

tags: @royalmerchant @solllaris @rudyypankow @softstarkey @outerbankslut @butgilinsky @stfukie @stargazingstarkey @bohemianobx @obxmermaid @popeheywards @kindahavefeelingskindaheartless @skiesofthesketchy @rekrappeter @perkeusjackson @bricksatanakinswindow @cordeliascrown @aaleksmorozova @starlightstarkey @rafej-cambanks @joshy-obx

#rafe cameron x oc #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron imagine #outer banks fic #outer banks imagine #outer banks x oc #my writing #a fall from grace fic

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liquifiedweed · 3 years

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I don’t want to be here

By here I mean to be alive.

I don’t care if things get better, or if they get worse.

I simply do not want to be here at all.

No matter what you say will change my mind.

No matter how many times you tell me you love me, or that I’m pretty, that I’m enough, I’m not going to understand how much you mean it.

I know I will hurt everyone. I know people do care.

I know people will mourn. People will cry, even years after my death.

I know it is selfish. I know it is ___ etc etc.

“It’s always the wrong choice” “seek help”

I’ve been inpatient , residential, hospital after hospital...

It never helped. Nor will it ever help. In fact it makes me worse than before.

I want to die so bad. So much more than I want to be skinny. Starving hurts . It’s a long process, for I’ve done it before. It takes a very particular mindset to become severely underweight. It takes much practice, time, hate, sadness, despair, madness, brokenness, much much energy. It takes all of you and more to become severely underweight. I know, I’ve done it before. Months of starvation. Months of pain and stomach growls. People say it feels good, to some degree maybe, but mostly it’s painful. All your day is consumed of thinking about food. You dream of food and then get scared. You are malnourished and stupid. You can’t think, you have a wayyy different personality (worse). You are fake. You are not happy. You are not pretty. You are dying and people see that. Your parents are watching you die, because they will find out, you can’t hide not eating forever. Your friends will disappear, talking about food and “health” all the time is boring. You have no energy for anything. You’re always bloated. You are always checking your body. Always always always hungry. You will see food, smell it, think about it and immediately want to binge without any of your control. No matter how determined you are, your brain will win over. Then you will fast for days because you ate so much that it hurt to breathe. Repeat. You won’t think about the mental pain, just all the physical. It will hurt to simply move. Everything is painful, everything. You feel like a zombie, a dead thing that is still somewhat alive. Because , well, you are DYING. You are. If you do not eat, you are dying, and you will die. And when I say do not eat, I mean do not eat enough at all. You won’t just lose fat, you will lose muscle, bone, blood, brain, organ muscle, the ability to think or concentrate, hair, did I mention everything? People see your orange skin because your liver is shutting down. People see your dry skin. People see how you look sick. People won’t think you’re pretty, they won’t be jealous. People will be worried or feel uncomfortable. You will think that they are staring at you and how skinny you look, when in reality you are the only one checking out every body in the room. Comparing yourself to them. Everything about them. The way they eat, how fast, what they chose, counting their calories, telling them about what they should have ate, how many calories they ate, how they’ll gain weight. You will be sick. People will not like you, and to be honest, that isn’t YOU. That is the illness taking control over you. It isn’t you. But people will think it’s you because they won’t know. And if they do know they will feel sad for you, for they can say you’re fine the way you are until they are blue in the face; but you won’t listen. You won’t notice anything good about you. Just all the bad. All the negatives all the cons. Tired 24/7. You could sleep for days and days, but you’re too cold and too hungry. You are constantly cold cold cold cold. No matter how many blankets you put on you. It hurts to move. It hurts to move. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It will hurt. It is not worth it. It is not worth you. It is not worth anything. Skinny may look appetizing to you.... but I promise you the moment you realize how sick you really are; you will instantly regret fighting your hunger. It’ll be too late though. The voice is too loud and you’re not willing to stop. You will not stop. You will die if you don’t stop. I promise you, this is not pretty. You will die in a hospital bed, with all your hair out, you rotting in front of your loved ones. You rotting in front of yourself. You will be nothing. Physically and mentally. You will be nothing but an eating disorder, and when you die.. you will be a sad sad painful traumatic memory. Something no one ever wants to go through and they just can’t understand.

I’ve gone to inpatient before. I was 83 pounds 5’1. I’ve seen skinner girls than me. I’ve seen girls that when they sit you can see all the bones they carry despite them wearing clothing. I’ve been forced to eat. Forced to sit down at a table with other anorexic girls and eat. I was there for 2 months. My parents were sickly sad. They blamed it on themselves. I’ve had to be weighed everyday. Blood work done 3+ times a week for 1 1/2 month. I know what it is like so please read and please try to listen... it’s either you will gain the weight back or you will die. That’s why it is so hard for me to relapse because I know the outcome. Despite me being suicidal I know that I can’t get away with starving again because I’m being watched and it is a long painful process. You won’t look like your thinspos. You will look sick. You will not look like your thinspos. You will not look like your thinspos. It is never going to be enough. Your goal weight, what happens when you reach it? You will strive for lower , and lower, and lower. It is either you are forced into treatment or you will die. It is not pretty, it will never be pretty. Please, please, please, listen. You will not be happy. You will be so malnourished you can’t even feel. You will be just numb but in a lala land. Like a daydream except it’s all about food and your body. Imagine a day where you just ate whatever and didn’t think twice about it? You just go on with your day and are okay with it. The relief of not thinking about this.. not feeling the clawing of your stomach, actually feeling warm and full. Being able to enjoy food with your family, and not obsessing over it. Not putting down a food you wanted because of the nutritional value. Not stressing if there will be food at an event. Not stressing that you’ll eat everything in site... imagine a day where you just go about your actual life, and not a nightmare that Ed puts you through. Is that so hard to think of? Is that so scary? ED (eating disorder) will destroy you. And it already is. Please, please, stop feeding your eating disorder. Please please try to get help or talk to me about it. You will never look like your thinspo. And losing weight will never be enough. Please. I’m begging you. Please. Read this

#Anamia #Ana #tw #sad #Ed #not pro Ana #notproanything #please #thoughts #sigh #weight #never enough #Spotify

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grim-faux · 3 years

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07_A Small Echo

First

The air was heavy and muffled, every step he took echoed. The reverberations strummed through the back of his thoughts, weighing on his senses. It was wading through deep water, the resistance heavy and he needed to be somewhere right now but no matter how much effort he put into each reaching step, the air itself restrained him. Confined his body in a tight coil, choking air from his lungs. His stride became heavier, he wasn’t sure how much further he could go, or if the next step would be the last he could endure.

At the end of the gnarled corridor a door loomed tall, watching him. A lone and massive eye judged his progress, as if daring his resolve to reach the handle and trip the lock. Something awaited him. Answers, possibly. All the answers he could ever want.

But the closer he came to the door, the harder his heart throbbed, the more intense the pressure of the everything around him. The colors became intense and their flavor palpable, tart and thin. If he reached the door though, it would be better. He was certain. It would be okay. Somehow, it would solve everything.

A methodical chime crooned, tallying down the moments that he had left. Warning him that what is set in motion cannot be undone. A trick.

His eyes snapped open, and he had to confront the delightful truth that he was not dead. Wonderful.

Out there somewhere, the rain drummed against the boards of a window. He was so tired of the rain, so weary of gasping on the mist and only being slightly damp, but never fully dried; of his clothing being an outer skin, rather a barrier against the vicious onslaught.

He dragged an arm beneath the stiff cloth and smacked himself in the face. Mask still there. He didn’t normally take it off for rest, it was strange his first impulse was check for it, though he felt it crumpled around his face. He tried breathing calmly, but his sides buzzed. It could have been so much worse, he was sure, but being thankful for anything wouldn’t improve his mood.

Should sleep? He had to find Her. The Six. Tower. She was there, he didn’t know if she was all right let alone alive, but he couldn’t leave. He couldn’t do anything until he found her. The thought stung his eyes, and he emitted a faint crooning. He wanted to be there, he so badly wanted to. But he was so lost, so hurt, and afraid they were both going to die. And he didn’t want to lose his friend. He let her down too many times. He let them all down.

Drawing on some pathetic refuse of energy, he pushed himself up from the weighted fabric and edged forward. It was unbearable now, but this wasn’t unusual. Once he got moving and warmed up, he wouldn’t notice the tears or breaks. It didn’t stop the tremors in his arms. Slow first. Be careful.

He was badly tangled up, and it took more effort than it was worth to just get his legs free. Where was he? He adjusted his mask and gave the area a look over.

A room.

Window. He heard that. Too high.

Some furniture. Good. Not a lot of shadows, no visible spaces or notches, but furniture was good. At least it could be moved, with some force and a slice of lunacy. Furniture made noises.

He was on a busted sofa, not his first choice. Absolute worst. A novice, idiot, suicidal choice. The sofa was not in the middle of the room, but it might as well have been. Across the room, a doorway. He took a deep breath and looked over to his side on the cushion. And tilted his head.

Foods. Bits of what looked like meat and some wafer things, piled onto a napkin. Reflexively he cowered, but his lesser sense of self-preservation won out. Injuries forgotten, he tore into the foods. Half gobbling and choking as he sought to breathe and eat altogether. The whole choreography never worked well, since food was a rarity and having the chance to eat the food you did secure was rarest of all. It did enter his mind that this wasn’t quite right, and so kept his eyes cast off, barely paying mind to what he was shoving into his mouth.

Until a creaking board sent him scuttling to the arm of the couch. He shoved the bag over his face and continued to gnaw, as he cast his eyes toward that doorway.

The tall thin man in the hat entered, with a deep bow. Mono swallowed and swayed on the chair arm, already letting his eyes dip to the floor. It wouldn’t take long to tear the place apart searching for him, though he did already connect up who brought him here, who left the food.

This was the worst situation. Horrible. He set another glare on the figure, as it positioned itself by the wall. Not near enough to warrant anxiety, but not far enough to be safe. Everything moved normally – the tall man was not alarmingly swift, and Mono was not crawling through the air. A plus there. Not likely to last, so he tensed up and watched.

The Thin Man shifted closer, and Mono climbed to the back of the sofa. He strafed along the wall, rooting for a gap between furniture and plaster where he could get down. There was none—

A harsh screech splint the room; intense and more punishing than thunder screams. He tumbled to the chair arm and clutched at his bag, the electrical pop whittled at his ears like a cold spike. No amount of huddling or defense was enough, he didn’t think he could stand much more….

“C̸̖̟̖͖̻̼͆͋̋̕͝ạ̷̢͎̖̬͇̗̃̽n̴̦̝͔̲̎̿̆̀̍͑͜ ̴̬́̌̈̔̔̈́͋́̈́ý̸̙̜͕̯̟͓͉͇͚͇̈́́́́̒͐̍̒̉͝ơ̵̝͈̝̼̜͓̥̩̺͙̲͔̮̅̆̾͑̀͋͂̔̒͒̌̕͠ͅu̸͓̗̯̮̹͔͎͈͍̥̪̻̐͑͗͆̉͋̓́̽͌̊͗̚͝͝ understand me?”

Mono perked and tilted his head. Yes he… could. The ideal that he could put connection to the speek, given that it was his speek, was most worrisome of all. It was altogether, and with the way the adult always seemed to know where he would appear, and set a trap. This was wrong and concerning, and told him how little his chance for escape was.

He tumbled over the sofa arm to the nightstand and dropped to the floor, then, set himself beneath the piece of furniture. Now on the floor, he cast his eyes around searching for something more promising. If he could slip out of view for a few seconds….

“You want help to your… ‘friend’. Yes?”

Mono hissed in his throat but kept silent, instead opting to shake his head. The floorboards creaked with that terrible familiarity, and he poked his head up. No place to run. No place to hide. The man in the hat was thoroughly focused on him. Bad.

“You could resist, but chose didn’t. No fight.” The child glanced his way, and then back to the floor, rooting for fresh cover. “You should be dead, do think?”

Mono couldn’t stop his lips from twitching. Think he didn’t know that. Of course! This wasn’t fair. He pressed his head against the leg of the nightstand and crouched down. Should run? Floor open. No cover. Flee.

“Twice over,” the Thin Man posed. As reply, the child scooted further around the table leg. “It’s not like you to give up. It’s not what you’re made of.”

Mono tucked his head down. The Thin Man leaned over, peering under the table and trying to find the tell-tale mask.

“What is it then? You’re running out of chances.” The child muttered a sound. “Come again?”

“Want back,” he wheezed. “Want back her.” He coughed, more from shock than the discomfort of trying so hard to make words when it was not safe.

“Well, that won’t do. She belongs to the tower now. As do I.” And an unspoken, as do you. “You forfeited your time for negotiations.”

Mono poked his head up. “For-feet?”

“Gave up.” He reached to the napkin on the sofa and picked out a piece of wafer, and held it out for the child. Mono skittered behind the table legs, pressing into the walls surface. His gaze darted up, inspecting the hand and the figure beyond it. “You will need your—”

Faster than a whip, Mono snatched the bread and inhaled it. The Thin Man wondered if he was lucky to have kept his arm.

“Why take? Why is her stole?” Mono continued to dip and paw at the wall beneath the furniture, distressed and unable to keep still. His flight instincts on overdrive, but he hadn’t the opening to safeguard his exit.

“I’m not keeping you here,” the Thin Man offered. “But I won’t let you enter the tower.” He moved back from the table and gestured the room. “This place is on the outskirts of the city. You are miles and miles away from your goal.”

Mono crept out from behind the nightstand, checking the tall thin man and then dropped his eyes to the floor level. There was only the one doorway. “Then have start again. So what?”

This child…. “I said miles. Miles. Do you know how far a lone mile is? How much abuse and setbacks did you suffer, to come within a city block?”

“Don’t care.” Mono shrugged. While the adult was turned away, he clambered up the sofa side and bounded across the cushions. “She trapped. I’m not leave, especially friends.”

This idiot child. “You single-minded, stubborn, relentless fool. You are going to destroy yourself.”

Mono stood there and actually bristled, fists clutched by his hips. “So. WHAT? Hurt more in to leave! That desT-Roy me! S’not right!”

But he did have a point. As their twisting paradox was uncontestable, so was this urge to… do something. Anything. Even if it was self-destructive. Children didn’t know any better.

“I have an obligation to remove you,” the Thin Man cautioned as he wound back, the air vibrating with the sinister static. “If you insist on being a nuisance about it.”

Mono climbed back over to the nightstand, the piece of furniture swayed under his weight. As if the floor might’ve shifted during his absence, he once more skimmed below. “You won’t though.”

This tiresome child. “And what makes you so… assured?” In response, the child held up three fingers.

“Caught, woke up.” He set down the third finger. “Gave foods.” He leaned backwards over the armchair, looking down at the scraps.

The Thin Man tipped his head. “Is that really all it takes to gain your trust?”

“No….” Mono plucked at the callouses on his finger with his teeth, removing splinters. “I get friend mine back, and you won’t work stop me.” He turned the bag, so that it lowered and the eye holes peered at the Thin Man. “You for-feit?”

The Thin Man frowned. “No. I expected more from you. I anticipa— was prepared for the different outcome.” Mono’s response was lift his shoulders.

“Let me go the tower.”

Sighing, he tried once more. “It will destroy you. There will be nothing left of you, of who you are, strange child. You cease to exist, once you enter.”

Mono looked away, and he could almost picture the concerned twitch of his eyebrows as the strange child examined the room over. “I think… would okay to that.”

“ Wͪͩ̍̋Hͤ͛Y̆̊͆̊̈́͛͒!̵ͬͬ̌̆͂̍҉ ” His shout made the boy dive off the couch and flatten himself into the nearest corner of the room, where he huddled, his paper mask gawking. But given a moment and no action, the child calmed by a small amount. He continued to fidget and inch back. It took a minute longer for a response.

“I don’t believe. You are lie. And I to have do myself.” He shoved his hand up under the bag and rubbed at his cheeks. “Have nothing… else. I, um….” He curled down into the corner, hugging scrawny knees to his chest and trying not to look at the Thin Man. There was probably more he could say, but he didn’t know how to convey it.

It was painful. He didn’t do enough. It was his fault. He had to fix this. Was it fixable? She probably hated him, he was taking so long. She could be dead. He might never see her again. He did this. He should be dead. He could fix this. It should’ve been him, not her. This wasn’t fair.

The Thin Man sighed through the static and brought a hand to his face. The action caused Mono to recoil a bit, though there was no longer space for him to creep into. “Very well. I admit, I am curious to witness how you go about this. If you so desire, I will escort you.”

Quietly, Mono inquired, “You think can I stole back?”

“No.” He spun away, moving to the doorway. “As stated, your life will end there, and that is the sum of it. But I am exhausted of this fantasy.” He turned back when Mono remained rooted. “Are you coming?”

Mono tugged at his coat, gaping at the tall man in the hat, but unresponsive. At last he did uncoil, and bounded right over to the sofa cushion where the food was abandoned. He kept his shoulder to the Thin Man as he chewed on the remnants, then plucked up as many of the crumbs as possible until there was hardly any dust left. Cautiously, he climbed off the sofa, and gave his coat a shake off.

“Any time now.”

Mono finished checking his coat for snags or loose bits, then tentatively walked over to the Thin Man. Not getting too close, but near enough he could peer up and announce his preparedness with an unreadable expression. The Thin Man stooped and entered into the corridor. He was certain Mono was right behind him, though he couldn’t hear the footfalls at all. Children had ways of vanishing once a gaze was dropped. But he knew without a doubt the child would find his way to the Signal Tower, as he was initially instructed.

If not for Mono’s retaliation in the first place, and in his inability to destroy his youth, that all along was the primary goal. That was all that mattered. Deliver him, replace himself. Either way, the events twisted in a manner the Tower demanded. But he was curious now to see how this hitch in the pathways worked, and what its finality would mean. It would be interesting nonetheless.

Might as well bend the paradox further.

#little nightmares #mono fanfic #little nightmares fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #spoilers?#mono #the thin man #the man in the hat #the tall thin man #little nightmares fanfiction #mono fanfiction

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hermeticimp · 4 years

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Full Agape Reading Example

Hey guys! So I wanted to include an example of what a full version of my Agape reading looks like. Go here to find a full description of this reading. I’m using a reading on myself for this - with Hermes, Apollo, and Dionysus being the gods who came through. Without further ado, here’s my Agape reading.

Today, I’ll be covering the things that Hermes, Apollo, and Dionysus love about me and wish for me to know moving forward. I used The Muse Tarot and Oracle of Unicorn decks. Let’s see what we’ve got.

This first section will cover what they love about me. I was pulled to use tarot cards for this section. These three cards will cover my deities’ favorite trait of mine, a trait they admire that they want me to acknowledge more, and a trait they love that they want me to focus on healing. I’ve got 7 of Inspiration, The Tower, and Page of Inspiration. This is a cool mix! We’ve got two Inspiration (or Wands) cards, a major arcana, and a court card. The first thing that comes to mind is that they see me as a fiery and impassioned person. I have this energy and spark about me that draws others in, making them feel right at home. I’m always thinking of new ideas and projects that I or others could use. I’m resilient, warm, loving, creative, bright, energetic, spiritual, passionate, innovative, ambitious, and determined.

“You have always been a bright star, Jay. I’ve adored that spark of yours since I’ve met you. It’s one of the things that has defined you over the years I’ve watched over you. You may struggle to see what I do at times, but have faith, dear heart, that this is nothing but the honest truth.” - H. Thanks Hermes. Now, let’s jump into the cards more directly.

We begin with 7 of Inspiration. In this deck, the Inspiration suit corresponds to the Wands suit in traditional decks. This card is about fighting for yourself, protecting your light, not letting others get to you, having faith in yourself, and having firm boundaries. All three of them admire my ability to take care of myself. It’s something I’ve only been really coming into in the last few years, but I have learned how to tune out those who only seek to tear me down. The opinions of strangers do nothing for me. I’m me and that’s not something I plan on changing just to suit the whims of others. I may lose sight of what makes me special sometimes, but I won’t let people run roughshod over me. There’s an inner fire that will never be dimmed - which is definitely my Leo Moon conjunct Leo Mars talking. I have placements in all the fire signs, but my Leo side is fierce. I have a pride that won’t allow me to get pushed around for long.

My deities love that I’ve learned how to fend for myself. Apollo decides to chime in here.“You’re right to see yourself as a warrior, Jay. You’ve managed to fight back everything that’s sought to destroy you from day one. You have courage, faith, and passion on your side. You fight against the world and you have the strength to keep going where others might falter. While part of your lesson is to learn how to put down your sword sometimes, it doesn’t mean that you have to lose this side of yourself. Fight on, little lioness. Never let the weight of your worth crush you because others say so.” I’m strong and I know that even in my weakest moments. See the star shining in the background amongst the orange (determination and enthusiasm), yellow (optimism), blue (truth), and black (protection and stability)? The Star is one of my favorite tarot cards and represents my constant battle for hope, peace, and faith. My gods admire that ability to keep battling my demons, within and without, to progress forward.

Up next is The Tower. The psychedelic effects and crackling lighting behind the woman standing amongst crumbling infrastructure is quite the striking image. She seems unphased, as if this is a natural part of her life. The phrase “weathering the storm” comes to mind as I look at it. There is a small figure falling behind her, reminding us of the meaning of this card - unexpected and sudden change. The falling person most likely wasn’t ready for the storm the way the woman is. Instantly, I see myself in both these characters. I’ve had times where everything has been uprooted and I wasn’t prepared for it. I’ve had other times where I rolled with the punches and accepted it.

Personally, I think I’ve dealt more with the former, but my gods seem to disagree. Hermes comes through. “I mentioned how strong you were earlier. This is the true source of your strength. You’ve been through rather difficult circumstances throughout the lives we’ve spent together. But one thing I always saw was that you never stayed off your feet for long. You’ve come to accept that change is the only constant. You may lose your bearings for a time, but you always regain them fairly quickly. Resiliency is the word you used earlier and I agree. You are resilient because, as you’re wont to say to others, “You’ve survived a hundred percent of your bad days”. Believe in your ability to get through things. You’re a survivor to the core. You’re resourceful, cunning, and adaptive. Rather Uranian and Saturnian in nature, I’ve come to notice. Embrace your inner strength. You can be a force to be reckoned with.” It’s funny he brought up those two planets. They rule over my 12th and 11th houses respectively. I’ve managed to get where I am because of my support system (11th house), but also because of myself (Saturn in the 1st). This is the trait that I’m supposed to give recognition to, which is difficult at times (12th house of strengths hidden from the self). Funnily enough though, it’s about the only compliment I’ll actually accept. I’m always getting back on my feet because, like the 7 of Inspiration mentioned, I know how to fend for myself. I have more power than I think and I’ll try to keep that in mind moving forward.

Finally, we reach the final tarot card that describes what part of myself I need to heal from. The beautiful Page of Inspiration steps up to answer this prompt. An elegant woman stretches and dreams up vibrant ideas and thoughts. A black cat, a creature of magic, looks out towards the sky with clear sight and vision - knowing what it wants to do and how. Dionysus speaks up. “You need to heal that colorful imagination of yours. You have so many wonderful ideas that you wish to implement, but you doubt your ability to bring them into reality. I’m not sure why, as you’ve accomplished so much in such a little time. I believe that if you allowed yourself to actually have faith in yourself and your dreams, you could actualize sooner rather than later. You’re too hard on yourself. Allow yourself the room to breathe. Tap into that creativity of yours and allow it run free. Then, start making plans. There are things on the way to help, but for now, focus on creating the basis for what you want to build up right now.”

Jupiter, the planet that rules both fiery Sagittarius and watery Pisces, come to mind with this card. Pisces are known for their fantasies, getting lost in the glimmering images in their mind’s eye. Sagittarius is known for being adventurous and firing true, following their arrows with the faith that they’ll land where they need to. Jupiter is the planet of faith. It’s in Capricorn in my 10th house, which indicates that I have work to establish my dreams and genuinely have faith in them. Pisces is my Rising sign - showing off my worldview and personality. Sagittarius presides over my 9th and 10th houses, which are about philosophy and exploration and destiny and career respectively. Pluto lies in Sag in the 9th.

All of that together indicates that my wound (Pluto) stems a lack of faith (Cap Jupiter) in my true path (10th house), which manifests in remaining stuck in my head with mere ideas (Pisces Rising) instead of actually bringing them into reality, which causes feelings of inadequacy (1st house Saturn ruling Cap) and not feeling sure in what direction to go (Sag). I need to overcome that by allowing myself to have faith in my hard work (Cap Jupiter) to prove to myself (Saturn in the 1st) that I can accomplish my dreams (10th house). That’s easier said than done, but I’m in the process of working towards healing myself. “We’re proud that you’ve started overcoming this obstacle. You really will be unstoppable once you allow yourself to believe. Take that leap of faith. It’ll be worth it.” With that final message from Apollo, we move to my charms.

This section will cover activities and ideas to focus on to expedite healing and moving forward on my path. We have the “I’m sorry” pin and Tohru. Immediately, I get the impression that it’s time to apologize to and forgive myself for not taking advantage of my full potential. Tohru is a character from the manga/anime Fruits Basket. She is known for helping others before herself and not noticing her own uniqueness and value (thus her being a rice ball). For so long, I’ve been focused on others' dreams and assisting them in those rather than staying in my own lane (Capricorn rules my house of friendship and society - the 11th). Now is the time to acknowledge, honor, and love myself - represented by the rose on the pin. I need to take it easier on myself and allow myself the space to accomplish what I want besides others.

I can see how this ties into my Virgo Mercury, which is responsible for quite a bit of my attention on others (in the 7th house of relationships and sign of service) and doubting myself (perfectionist Virgo opposite my critical Saturn). Virgo has to learn how to have unconditional regard, something that Tohru learns to have towards the end of the story. Giving me space to be myself without judgement will go a long way in allowing me to relax and actually start realizing the 1,001 projects that I have in mind right now. It’s time for me to bloom through letting go of old regrets and shame for not completing past projects. Once I do that, I’ll find getting out of my head and into the real world a little easier.

The last section is an affirmation card to keep in mind as I move forward. My card is Awareness. It says, “Live in the moment. Be conscious of your thoughts. Look for signs and guidance.” Now is the time for me to remain mired in the present. Instead of allowing myself to agonize over the past or worrying over the future, I need to breathe, recenter myself, and bring myself back to the current moment. I do have a habit of being caught up in my thoughts, as the Page and the charms showed. Mindfulness is the concept that comes to mind for this one. Meditation, breathing, walking, dancing - activities like these will help me be grounded and rational, which will be useful in bringing my projects to fruition.

“Keep an eye out for our signs. You know which ones we mean. Blessings are on their way and they will help you to stay the course when it comes to your business and spiritual practice. Have faith and surrender any fears you may have to us. Trust us to guide you in the right direction, lion heart. Take the time to rest and recuperate. Things will come in time. Don’t push yourself too hard. That’ll only make things more difficult in the end. Patience is key. Keep yourself busy in ways that aren’t exhausting. We’re standing in support of you. Let that rapid fire mind of yours be at ease. Music would be an excellent way to help you stay grounded in the here and now. Until next time.” Apollo closes the reading with that, which I feel is a good place to stop.

In summary, my deities find me to be a passionate, creative, resilient, wild, warm, friendly, and innovative person. I have a tendency to downplay how much I’ve been through and should give myself more credit. I’m learning to heal from doubting my ability to actualize the ideas I have, which I can overcome by forgiving myself for mistakes and acknowledging myself as being capable. Meditation, walking, music, and other mindful activities will help me stay focused on the present and give my concerns up to the Divine.

Thank you three for joining and encouraging me. I appreciate your help as always. And thank you for reading! Please let me know if you have any questions.

#agape #agape reading #my readings #tarot sessions #cartomancy #charm casting #oracle cards #hermes #apollo #dionysus #deities and the imp

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valeriethepussycats · 4 years

Text

I’m Only Human

Chapter 10

Pairing- Loki x Reader, Thor x Reader( Best friends)

Warning- cursing

The Destroyer is unable to react quickly enough, as Volstagg smashes into the creature. It looks like it might actually work for a moment, but the Destroyer stays on its feet. It lifts Volstagg into the by the scruff of his neck. He shrugs apologetically. The Destroyer savagely hurls him at Hogun and Fandral, smashing into them into Force field that Y/n put up in Record timing to catch them. Sif Leaps off a nearby rooftop with her two-headed spear and plunges it deep into the back of the creature. The creature stands there motionless, the fire dimming in its faceplate, Sif standing atop its back.

The Asgardians have a brief moment of hope. But the creature stirs with life, its fire igniting once again. Sif looks on with growing trepidation.Slowly, unnaturally, the Destroyer spins its torso around 180 degrees to face its attackers. The Destroyer unleashes a blast at Sif. She barely dives off of the behemoth in time, dodging the blast.

The Destroyer rises again to its full height, pulling free from Sif's staff, the weapon slipping through the slats of its armor. Sif and the Warriors Three try to regroup by Y/n, when the Destroyer unleashes another blast, sending Sif and her comrades flying in all directions. Hogun's pouch of healing stones breaks free, landing in the middle of the street.

Thor sees his friends lying injured on the ground, but has no time to act, as the Destroyer fires in his direction. Just as Y/n looks over the car she see the Destroyer fires at her friends. With a deep breath Y/n’s y/e turns white and hurricane force winds blasts towards the destroyer knocking him off his feet. Y/n being to levitates off the ground, with The flick of her wrist the cars moves out the way. The Destroyer gets up off the ground.

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Loki sitting on the throne watching everything with curiosity.”Who could be this powerful help in Thor?”

Not being able to see the person that just knock The Destroyer down Loki commands him to send another beam towards the person.

Y/n raises her hand and places of force field in front of her and them A dark cloud forms until the sky around the The little town darkens. Y/n raises her left arm and a huge bolt of lightning strikes The Destroyer blasting it yards away. She then raises her hand to move Sif and the warrior three out of harms way. A storefront near Smith Motor explosion, knocked Thor, Jane, and Erik off their feet. Thor helps Jane to her feet, when they notice Erik lying on his back amidst the debris, impaled by a twisted piece of iron.

“Erik!” Jane shouted as She and Thor hurry to his side. He's losing blood, going into shock.

“Go! Leave me!” Eric told Jane.

Jane takes his hand as Thor spots Hogun's pouch of healing stones lying in the middle of the street. He makes a break for it, dodging through the flaming wreckage, then grabs the pouch and races back. He opens the pouch to find the fragile stones crushed and useless. He pours the contents out in his hand.

“Come on... give me one!” Thor called out.

Amidst the useless powder, he finally finds one stone still intact. Thor tosses the pouch aside, holds the stone over the end of the iron rod.

“What are you doing? What is that?” Jane wondered.

Then the stone begins to glow, Thor crushes it. Jane looks on, amazed, as the glowing powder falls upon the piece of iron, dissolving it, heading downwards, until it reaches Erik's wound. The powder heals his wound completely. Thor looks down the street, sees his wounded friends still lying there, as Erik sits up in utter astonishment. He reaches through the hole in his shirt to touch his healed flesh.

“I'm really starting to like him.” Erik declared.

Jane turns to Thor to find he's gone.

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Thor reaches Sif, who lies dazed, battered, and bloodied on the ground. He pulls her behind a burning vehicle.

“Go, while you can!” Thor urged Sif.

“Your friend how could she do that?” Sif asked.

“Not all Midgardians are normal some are born with powers but you need leave.” Thor told Sif with a small smile.

“I can not leave No! I will die a warrior's death. Stories will be told of this day--“

Thor gently takes her shield from her. “Live and tell those stories yourself.” At last, she nods. Thor spots where Y/n place Volstagg lying unconscious, with Hogun and Fandral lying nearby. Thor makes his way towards them. Volstagg is barely breathing. Thor tries to pull him to safety, but it's no use. He won't budge. He rouses Hogun and Fandral. “Get him out of here!”

“No. We can still fight!” Fandral insisted.

“But not win. Move Volstagg, or he'll die!” Thor told his Conrads. “Don’t worry, my friends. I have a plan.” Thor looks at them, grins. “Brother your fight is with me.”

“Bro- brother your brother is doing all this.” Y/n said turning to look at Thor.

Seeing a small window to attack Y/n, The Destroyer fires a beam at Y/n.

“Y/n! Look out!!” Thor shouted.

Y/n turns around just in time to put up a force field but the beam blasts her back into a car.

“Y/n!!” Thor is about to rush over to Y/n but a fire beam separates him from getting into her. The two Warriors reluctantly grab their fallen friend and drag him away from the battlefield. After they go, Thor turns to back to the Destroyer, then tosses Sif's shield aside. He strides down the street towards the behemoth, completely defenseless.

“Brother... for whatever I have done to wrong you, whatever I have done to lead you to do this, I am sorry. But these people have done nothing to you. They are innocents.” Thor started. As he begins to walk towards the Destroyer. “Take my life, and know I will never return to Asgard.”

Thor reaches The Destroyer, extends his arms. The Destroyer hesitates, sizing up the defenseless Thor, then enormous arm swings back to hit him. With his eyes closed Thor waits for the hit to come but it never does. When Thor open his eyes he see Y/n in front of him. Breathing heavily, Clothes somewhat ripped and covered in blood,and one hand up stopping The Destroyer and the other holding her right side.

“Y/n!!.” Thor said shocked.

“I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if you got hurt.” Y/n murmured.

Force field is around them and when the smoke clearers Loki finally sees the woman Who has been fighting the Destroyer. And at that moment he feels it just like his mother said he would the whole world stop and all he could see is her. The way her white and y/h framed her face so beautifully, her lips, her eyes, and her nose. The Destroy walks closer to Y/n leaning down so their face to face.

“He’s your brother why are you doing this?” Y/n asked.

The Destroyer hand comes to touch the Force field and all the wounds on Y/n’s body are all healed.

“What the-“

Not being able to finish her sentence she falls to the ground unconscious and the Force field she had put up falls with her. The Destroyer moves around Y/n and stands in front of Thor. The Destroyer then swats him with its enormous arm. We hear the sickening crack of breaking bones as Thor goes flying. Thor lands in a crumpled, broken heap in front of Smith Motors, before Jane, Erik , and Darcy. The wounded Asgardians watch helplessly from down the street, a look of horror on their faces. Jane tries to rush out to Thor's aid, but Erik holds her back.

“Jane, no!” He pulls her into Smith Motors. A raven flies overhead, watching the scene.

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Odin lies in the Odinsleep. A single tear rolls down the Allfather's cheek.

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Thor's eyes close, his last breath leaving his lips. The Destroyer stands over Thor's body, lowers its head towards him. It opens its faceplate, locks it in place, readying to unleash its fiery blast.

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Inside the crater, the runes of the side of Mjolnir reappear, burning bright. Electricity starts to crackle on the hammer's surface. Scientists beside it take notice as it vibrates, and a rumble comes from overhead. They look up. Clouds form in the sky above. Just then, with a crack and flash of lightning, Mjolnir flies straight up into the air like a rocket.

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The Destroyer unleashes its blast at Thor's body, when -- KRAKAKABOOM! A blinding Bolt Of Lightening strikes down from above, colliding with the Destroyer's blast. The explosion is massive. The Destroyer is hurled backwards, a cloud of dust enveloping the street. As the smoke clears we see.

“Oh. My. God.” Jane said utterly shocked.

The Mighty Thor. Clad in his full battle armor, holding Mjolnir in his hand --the God of Thunder once more. Thor kneels, brings Mjolnir down onto the ground. Lightning strikes the Destroyer. It convulses. Thor swings Mjolnir around, takes off straight up into the air, as the Destroyer gets back on its feet and looks up at the Thunder God.

Storm clouds gather around Thor as he summons gale force winds. Debris from the battle begins to rise up into the sky. The Destroyer stays there, kept grounded by its massive weight. It lifts its head up at the Thunder God, opens its faceplate, locks it in place, unleashes its blast.

Thor dives downwards straight at it, with Mjolnir before him. Mjolnir collides with the Destroyer's fiery energy blast, overpowering it, pushing it back, forcing it downwards at the Destroyer. Thor jams his hammer deep into the Destroyer's faceplate. The fiery energy within the creature builds up and explodes within him, firing out of all his openings.

Thor smashes the Destroyer to the ground in a tremendous heap, the fiery energy within it extinguished forever. Thor pulls. Mjolnir from its faceplate, walks away from its lifeless carcass. As he does, the other objects and debris pulled into the air by the gale winds drop down from the skies, around the Destroyer, burying it. Thor walks over and picks up Y/n up and walks over to Jane and His's comrades, now roused, stand to join him. A battered Coulson approaches with several Shield Agents. “Donald... I don't think you've been completely honest with me...... is she-“

“She unconscious my brother did this.” Thor told Coulson.

Coulson motions for some agents to come and take Y/n. “Medic smelling salts.”

A medic Shield Agent comes rushing towards the men that carried Y/n away and holds one of the smelling salts up to her nose and breaks it. A few seconds later Y/n’s eyes open and there’s glowing red she can’t moves it’s like sleep paralysis. All the car, broken glass, Street lamps, and some people begin to float.

“Oh no.”

“What’s happening?” Jane asked as everyone Watches the scene unfold in front of them.

“Y/n her powers she can’t control all of them.” Coulson informed them.

“Powers? I thought her only power was controlling the weather.” Darcy Chimed in.

Coulson pulls out a lidl out of a pouch and inject it in Y/n’s arm.

“What does that do?” Thor asked with a concern voice.

“It stops her powers completely.” Coulson told Thor.

Y/n sits up with the grunt. Everything that was floating comes crashing down to the ground. She looks around and sees everyone staring at her with concerning looks.

“What’s wrong?” Y/n asked.

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Y/n, Thor, Jane, Darcy, Selvig and the other Asgardians stand in the desert with Thor, Coulson, and several Shield Agents.

Thor walks up to Y/n and stands beside her trying to find the words to say Goodbye.

“Damn I miss the big reveal how was it where they shocked?” Y/n Asked Thor.

“Yes very much.” Thor answered then takes a deep breath in. “From the moment I landed here you believe in me, you’ve helped me, and treated me as a friend I don’t think I could ever repay that debt.”

“There’s no debt that’s what friends are for it’s been a long time since a had one a real one.” Y/n said with a smile. “I’m gonna miss you.”

Thor looks over at Y/n and smiles. “You’re going to see me again because. I’m your Alien best friend remember.”

Darcy turns to Volstagg. “So, how can you speak our language?” Darcy asked suddenly.

“Your language? Ha! Silly girl, you're speaking ours.” Volstagg answered.

Thor calls up to the sky. ”Heimdall! Open the Bifrost!”

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Heimdall stands frozen.

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Sif walks up to Y/n.

“You fought well Midgardian you would be a great warrior on Asgard.” Sif Told Y/n.

“Thank you.” Y/n said with. Smile at Sif.

Thor looks to the others with concern. “He would open it if he could. I fear the worst.”

“Then we're trapped here forever.” Volstagg supposed.

“Hmm I I doubt it.” Y/n murmured.

“Then I suppose we'd best start settling into our new lives.” Fandral disclosed. He looks to Darcy, turns on the charm. “Are all earth maidens as fair as you?”

Darcy enjoys the attention. “No.”

Thor shouts back up to the sky. “Heimdall!”

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From inside the ice, Heimdall hears Thor calling to him. Knowing that the fate of Asgard depends on him, he musters all his strength. The ice around him begins to CRACK. With a tremendous effort, Heimdall SHATTERS free from the ice.

Weakened, near death, he drags himself inside the Observatory.

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The Asgardians begin to lose hope. Volstagg eyes a Shield Agent’s machine gun. “Primitive. Good enough for hunting small game, I suppose.”

Suddenly, the Bifrost explodes down from the sky. Thor grins.

The mortals look on, amazed. Fandral turns to Darcy. “Sorry, my love. These things happen.”

He joins the other Asgardians at their side.

Thor turns to Coulson. “Know this, son of Coul. You and I, we fight for the same cause -- the protection of this world. From this day forward, count me as your ally If you return the items you have stolen from Jane Foster.”

“Not stolen. Borrowed.” Coulson corrected. Jane shoots him a look. Coulson quickly continues. “You'll get your equipment back. You're going to need it to continue your research... which, after today's events, Shield would like to fully sponsor. If that's all right with you.”

Thor takes Jane's hand, kisses it tenderly. She looks at him, her eyes filled with the fear that she may never see him again. “Whatever fate lies before me, you are part of it.” He takes her in his arms, kisses her passionately. Thor and the Asgardians leap into the Bifrost.

Part 11 The Khaotic Krab-

@marvel-ousnesss

#loki x black!reader #loki x reader #thor x reader #marvel x reader

17 notes · View notes

hartigays · 4 years

Note

2 for Harringrove ??

2. “The thought of losing you scares me.”

(these are supposed to be fluff prompts but we going ✈️ end of the world anyway bc i can)

it’s been six months, eight weeks, and four days since their plan at starcourt failed. six months, eight weeks, and four days since the sky turned black and red and the world grew cold. six months, eight weeks, and four days since the gate blew open and effectively ended the world as they knew it.

six months, eight weeks, and four days since billy almost died in a pool of black sludge on the grimy linoleum floors of starcourt mall.

he’s doing better. most of his wounds were shallow, save for the few that went deep enough to nearly take his life. but doc owens had a house full of supplies to suture billy up like frankenstein.

even after owens deemed him fit for travel, they stayed there for a while. billy and the rest of the party. holed up in owens’ house, trying to figure out just how they could possibly ride this out.

two weeks into their stay, they came late at night. the demo-dogs, a whole swarm of them. the group defended the house as best as they could, but it was a lost cause. they were out on the open road by the what used to be considered sunrise.

time has ceased to have any real meaning anymore, if they’re being honest. there’s no morning or night, just darkness and a cold that seeps deep into their bones and refuses to go away.

the line between the two dimensions has been all but erased. the upside down has consumed their world; swarms of demo-dogs prowl the frozen wasteland, the mind flayer takes more and more people for its army each day.

they keep running. from city to city, state to state, just barely escaping the mind flayer’s grasp each time.

the kids don’t smile much these days. el is tired more often than not, weakened and drained from the constant use of her gifts. joyce doesn’t have many soft, kind words to lend out anymore. hopper has distanced himself from everyone, both physically and emotionally. standing guard and pacing around in the night on the fringes of wherever they’ve made camp.

and steve. steve doesn’t smile softly anymore, doesn’t make his goofy jokes or try to cheer the kids up. he just grips onto his bat, wound tight and always at the ready, constantly on high alert.

billy is surprised, given his near-death experience, that he’s actually not the most fucked up person in this broken group. he supposes he was built more for a world like this than most. he’d hardened himself to the world they knew Before. this one just seems to make more sense for someone like him.

violence has run in his blood since he’d exited the womb. fighting monsters and suffering from hunger and exhaustion and living in a world devoid of warmth and happiness apparently just comes naturally to him.

that isn’t to say that billy doesn’t have a lot of regrets. he regrets not telling max that he loved her more, Before. it feels odd to say it now, like maybe he’d only be saying it because they could die at any given moment.

he regrets not going back to california to see his mom when he had the chance. he regrets being cruel to the kids he now spends every waking moment protecting. he regrets convincing himself to waste his time with someone like karen wheeler, something he only did to bury the ugly truth about himself and his desires.

billy certainly regrets not being kinder with steve.

it’d be easier, if he had. it’d be easier to tell steve now that he loves him. it’s another situation where it just seems forced, like he’s only deciding this now when there’s no one left to choose from.

that could never be the case, but billy can’t see steve thinking otherwise. it’s just. billy didn’t let himself feel it for so long. his love for steve crept up on him, from the moment they first met. there was just something about him. and the more his feelings grew, the more afraid he became. the more he lashed out and repressed how he felt.

it feels like a lost cause now. but billy doesn’t quite think things like that carry the weight of any real importance, not anymore. not when they have to fight every day just to stay alive. so, he focuses on that. on finding food, water, shelter. on protecting the party, one day at a time.

billy has had to do a lot of protecting today. they had to pull up stakes at their last camp, another demo-dog pack blowing through. they lost a lot of stuff in the process - food and water, mostly. the demo-dogs seem to learn rather quickly what items to destroy along with the people.

they drove for nearly three days before finding a dilapidated motel in a small nebraskan town. billy, steve, and nancy help hopper do a sweep and clear out any demo-dogs hiding in the shadows. they set up a perimeter not long after.

hopper takes billy and steve on a run into town for supplies. it’s been nearly picked clean by either other survivors, or demo-dogs. they’re still prowling the streets when they arrive.

needless to say, it doesn’t go very well.

billy has to see doc owens immediately upon their return; his arm was nearly shredded by a particularly nasty dog. steve had sprung in at the last moment, beating the ugly bastard off of billy with his bat. now, steve nearly paces a hole in the floor while owens works on stitching billy up.

he doesn’t know why steve is so wound up tonight. they got enough supplies to satiate the whole group, especially the kids. it was a good run.

they’re sharing a room at the motel. no one sleeps alone - it’s one of their cardinal rules. billy heads to it after they eat. steve follows after him and slams the door shut so hard it rattles on its hinges.

“the fuck, harrington?” billy hisses, sitting up in alarm. “you trying to bring a pack of dogs down on us like it’s fuckin’ judgment day?”

“you almost died again.” it’s said with an air of finality. like billy should’ve already known the cause of steve’s upset.

“that’s life now, pretty boy,” billy sighs, rubbing his sleep-deprived eyes. “you really should learn how to get used to that.”

steve cuts him a glare. “you don’t fucking get it, do you?”

there’s obviously something that billy is missing here. he doesn’t quite understand what steve is so bent out of shape about.

“obviously not,” billy says, standing and moving to slip his shirt off before climbing into bed.

he doesn’t quite make it back into the bed. steve marches over and grabs his arm, stopping him before he has the chance.

“i can’t - i can’t lose you too,” steve tells him, his voice breaking. “i can’t watch you die. i won’t. the thought of you not being here, losing you, it just. scares the fuck out of me.”

billy swallows around the lump that has mysteriously formed in his throat. he doesn’t brush steve off when his hand slides down his arm, until it can grasp billy’s and tangle their fingers together. he’s pretty sure he stops breathing, though.

“you won’t,” he says, finally. “who else would keep your pretty ass out of trouble?”

“billy, i’m serious. you can’t keep putting yourself in danger like that. like you did today,” steve begs, squeezing his hand tight.

“that dog would’ve killed you if i hadn’t.”

“yeah, but it almost killed you!” steve cries, releasing billy’s hand to throw his up in exasperation.

“oh, what, so i’m supposed to let you die and just protect myself instead?” billy snaps, his voice raising an octave. “fuck off with that shit. you think you can’t handle a world without me in it? how the fuck do you think i’d feel if i lost you? you ever fuckin’ consider that?”

he’s borderline shouting now, and steve slaps a hand over his mouth, eyes wide with surprise. billy peels his hand off, taking a steady breath. laces their fingers together again.

“there’s never going to be a time where i don’t pick your life over mine,” billy tells him. “better get used to that, too.”

steve takes a deep breath of his own. he searches billy’s eyes, before squeezing his shut and leaning in. he rests his forehead against billy’s, just breathing together for a moment.

“i’m sorry,” steve says quietly, breaking the silence that has fallen between them.

“for what?” billy questions, his brows furrowing.

“for not doing this sooner.”

steve pulls him in and seals their mouths together. billy emits a soft noise of surprise, his eyes flying open. he feels frozen, like he’s not quite sure if this is really happening or not. but when steve starts to pull away, billy’s brain comes back online.

he yanks steve in closer, kissing him with every last bit of energy he has, and then some. steve’s hand leaves his, only for both of them to grasp onto billy’s shirt, fingers curling into the material. billy cradles steve’s face in his hands, holding him like he’s precious.

he kinda is, if billy hasn’t made that abundantly clear yet.

“i’m so fucking in love with you,” steve breathes when they break apart. “god, i can’t believe i haven’t said that until now. you’ve almost died like, five hundred times and i’ve never told you the most important thing that i could ever possibly say to anyone ever and -”

billy cuts him off, giving steve another kiss, this one warm and gentle. “it’s okay. i - yeah. i love you too. didn’t ever say it either.”

“guess that makes us both idiots.”

billy smiles running his fingers through steve’s hair. it’s long beyond reason, which is both sexy and dangerous.

“we need to cut this soon,” billy comments. “god forbid something grabs onto this damn mop while we’re out on a run.”

“i’ll let you cut mine if you let me trim your beard. it’s getting a little mangy,” steve offers, then makes a face. “god. is this what intimacy is in the apocalypse? cutting each other’s hair?”

billy snickers softly. “i think i have a few better ideas.”

“oh yeah? like what?”

taking steve’s hand, billy pulls him towards the bed farthest from the door, smiling softly. “i think it’d be better if i just showed you.”

steve pauses. and then, “oh, you mean right now?”

billy plops down on the mattress, reclining back on his elbows. he arches a brow. “what, you got somewhere to be, pretty boy?”

there’s only a split-second pause before steve is scrambling to straddle billy’s hips. steve smiles down at him, leaning down to kiss the tip of billy’s nose.

“nowhere but here, sweetheart.”

send me a number + a pairing!

#im very seriously thinking about turning this into a full blown fic #so much fun to write #thanks for the request 💕#harringrove #my fics #ask #anon

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purpletigertaetae · 5 years

Text

Back and Forth (Part 1?)

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Word Count: 1874

Genre: Dancer!Yoongi x Dancer!reader

Rating: Pretty PG

Warnings: Lots of angst. Sorry Wistful glances, pining, unsaid thoughts

Notes: So this is my first BTS story ever written. @taetaesbaebaepsae this is for you, because you always put me in my Yoongi feels. @illneverrecover you make a little cameo here as does the rest of our beautiful cirque. Cirque, I love you guys! Thank you for encouraging me to write!

You danced for a prestigious hip-hop company, and this year you had gotten the lead for the newest production your troupe was putting on. The Cirque was the name of the production and had a mix of all dance types, from ballet to contemporary to some Asian classical dancing too. Every routine had at least two dancers to partner up, but you had asked for a solo. The only other dancer who could keep up with you was Yoongi, and you didn’t want to have a charged performance with him. It would confuse you even further.

Yoongi and you had history. A back and forth, complex than most dances, that most people didn’t understand. Forget most people, you didn’t understand it either. You had met over two years ago and the dance had begun. Six months ago, you had to break it off, stop the dance abruptly, not because you had fallen out of love with him, but because it became too much. You told yourself that it was because you worked better as friends, but deep within, you knew it was because you were scared. Yoongi had pulled out the softness within you, and destroyed the hard outside shell you portrayed to the world. He created a safe haven where you didn’t have to worry about anything and your insecure self, ran for the hills when he opened up.

For six months, you pondered if you had made the right choice, losing sleep every night because of the way Min Yoongi made you feel even now. Every night it took longer than necessary to fall asleep, because his steady breath, his warmth, his arms wrapped around you were missing from your bed. He would come watch your performances, being friendly, but never engaging in conversation. He’d throw a small tightlipped smile your way, and your heart would ache, hoping to catch a glimpse of his bright gummy smile. But, you guessed, that was reserved for girlfriends or more. You didn’t hold that title, never had and probably never would.

In those six months, the Cirque main lead had fallen into your lap. You threw yourself into the solo, focusing all your energy into putting on the best performance possible. You entered a dance haze, alone and determined to not think about a certain blond haired gentleman. You isolated yourself, spending the most time at the studio but not interacting with anyone or anything besides the music. Your other friends in the production grew worried for you, begging you to eat, take a break, not strain yourself, and those moments were the only times you arose from the haze. Even the other boys saw the strenuous rehearsals you were putting yourself through.

However, you had noticed one thing. In the three months since you had requested a solo, Yoongi hadn’t come to watch you rehearse. Your eyes would look for him every day, but he never showed up. Everyone, even Jin, would watch every day as you would scan the studio with expecting eyes and a small frown on your face when you realized he wouldn’t come. That frown, the pain in your eyes, the hurt across your features sure portrayed beautifully in your dance, but were breaking your heart.

Yoongi finally showed up on the last day of rehearsals, but you hadn’t seen him yet. Taehyung, Jimin, Jungkook and three of the girls finished their contemporary performance and stepped off stage when Yoongi slipped into the theater and took a seat in the front row. You were next, waiting backstage for the music to start so you could enter. As you did, Tae took a seat next to Yoongi.

“Hyung, you won’t go up and say hello to her? She missed you, you know?”

“No, she wanted space. I’m giving her space. But I’m here, if she wants to come say hello.” Yoongi clenched his jaw, unyielding.

“Hyung, please don’t be stubborn. You haven’t been here in almost three months. We all missed you. Y/N noona especially.”

Yoongi took a big sigh, his mouth turned down into a pout, “I missed you all too Tae, but I had to take some space. But I’m back. I’m here, whenever and wherever she needs me. If that’s as just friends, then I’ll do it or I’ll learn. I don’t like being away from her.”

“Then go say hello, Hyung. Nothing wrong with hello.”

“Maybe after her performance. Look it’s starting.” Yoongi cut the conversation short as the music began and you started dancing. You had gotten thinner, he noticed, the bags under your eye evidence that sleep evaded you too. But your dancing was incredible. You didn’t miss one beat, the practice evident with every flick and every move. He couldn’t keep his eyes off you.

You, on the other hand, for the first time didn’t scan the seats. You didn’t look for Yoongi. He hadn’t showed up for anything else, why would he come now. You lost yourself in the music, muscle memory taking over as you wiped your brain of everything, until you turned. When you turned to face the front, your eyes caught sight of the blond wavy hair you hadn’t seen in months. He looked at you, his face showing no emotion, his brown eyes deep pools you couldn’t read, and for the first time you lost concentration. You meant to twist, but your body wouldn’t cooperate. Your ankle gave way, and with a cry you stumbled.

Yoongi watched you snap out of concentration as you linked eyes with him. He saw the twist that was supposed to happen but didn’t. He heard your cry, it echoed in his heart, ringing in his ears. He saw you stumble, but he knew had to be there before you crashed into the ground. His eyes widened and he bolted out of his seat, jumping up onto the stage before Taehyung, or anyone could move.

“Princess!” The pet name escaped his lips before he could stop. He ran, and slid himself under you so your weight would be on him, his arms coming to wrap around you in comfort.

“Yoongi… I-” You went to speak.

“I know you don’t want me to be here baby, but you were about to break your foot. I couldn’t let that happen.” He shushed you gently, cutting you off.

“Yoongi, it hurts…” Your attention finally went back to your ankle. You whimpered into his chest as he cradled you.

“Come on, let me take you to the green room so you can stretch it out.” The rest of the crew looked on as Yoongi slid his arms around and under you and lifted you bridal style to the green room. It was empty when you both got to it, so Yoongi gently set you down on the couch and closed the door giving you two both privacy.

Yoongi knelt down to your ankle inspecting it before getting back up and rummaging around in the cupboards looking for bandages and ice. Your eyes followed his figure, your heart racing, missing the warmth his embrace had given only moments ago. He looked thinner, his hair long and untrimmed. You mused to yourself, had he missed you like you had missed him? As he turned around, you quickly looked away, not wanted to get caught staring. He walked back to you, and knelt back down, his hands full of first aid materials.

He worked quietly, while you looked at his blond mop, almost wanting to run your fingers through it. The silence became stifling, but he didn’t seem to notice. Taking a deep breath, trying to calm your pounding heart, you opened your mouth to speak.

“Yoongi, I-”

“You-”

Both of you stopped and stared at each other, you registering the redness in his eyes, the bags under his eyes. He looked tired, the realization that you had hurt him setting in.

“You go first,” he said

“Nuh-uh. You first.”

“Aish, woman you’re going to kill me.”

You stared at him unyielding.

“Ahhh, fine.” He exhaled deeply through his nose, and then spoke. “You need to get this ankle checked.”

You stared at him incredulously, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Really? That’s all you were going to say?”

Yoongi widened his eyes in surprise. “What did you want me to say?” he stated frankly, not willing to start the dance between you two over again.

You stared at him for a beat longer, hoping he would say something more, anything at all. But, no. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” You looked away, willing yourself not to cry as your eyes welled. You would not show him this weakness. You would not show him the heartache you had caused yourself.

Yoongi stared at your profile, wanting to say more. In his head, he had a whole soliloquy planned out. He wanted to tell you that he loved you. He still loves you. But you had wanted space. You did. He didn’t. Now what? What could he do? He had to draw the line somewhere. You looked back at him and he stared at you, so much love in his eyes, just unable to express it.

You kept thinking about his pouty lips. You wanted to kiss them so much. You wanted to tell him how wrong you were to break this off. You wanted to tell him you loved him then. You still love him now. But you were so incredibly afraid. So afraid to say something. So afraid to be with him. So afraid to open up. What if he didn’t like what he was met with? You looked at him with a mixture of doubt and love, but the words kept getting stuck in your throat.

You two stared at each other, the silence charged, the sore ankle forgotten. Words stuck, eyes speaking to each other. The dance had started again, hesitant steps, nothing more.

BANG! The door to the green room crashed open, and your charged tension, the bubble you two had created vanished. Popping away into inexistence. Those words would not come out. The entire dance company crowded into the room, headed by the maknaes. They ran in and stopped suddenly, the tension still lingering in the room. Yoongi stood up and took a step back while the girls crowded around you. Jackie, the nurse in the group, came to your ankle while everyone else pushed their way in. In the hubbub, Yoongi stepped even further away.

He whispered, “I guess I’ll see you later…” and escaped the room before you could even notice. As everyone fussed over you, you looked around trying to catch Yoongi.

“Babe? Are you okay? Why was Yoongi here?” One of the other girls asked as everyone stared at you quietly while Jackie looked at your ankle.

You sighed deeply. “No reason. He was here for no reason at all.”

Your face fell, and the company looked at each other, worried for you even more.

“Luckily he saved your ankle. You should rest today with ice and take two painkillers, but you’ll be fine for tomorrow.” Jackie made her judgement.

You took a resigned sigh, while Taehyung, Jimin and Jungkook looked at each other. Yoongi would be there tomorrow. Tomorrow, they would fix you and Yoongi. You two belonged together and they would make sure it would work out.

A/N: AHHHH okay okay, I’m so nervous to post this because it’s not usually what I write. But I hope you like it! Send thoughts okay?

#Yoongi #yoongi x reader #bts #angst #bts imagines #bts reactions #min suga #suga #suga x reader #suga imagine

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prettywordsyouleft · 5 years

Text

Clarity

Request: #181 – “Just please be my best friend right now, not the person I just confessed my love to.”

Pairing: Park Jinyoung x reader

Genre: angst / best friends to lovers au

Warnings: none

Word count: 2021

It was raining heavily, which went with his mood entirely. As he ambled along the side of the road, he wiped the excess water off of his face, unsure if some were his tears as well.

He had royally messed up everything.

Jinyoung had been on top of the world at the start of the year. He gained the promotion he had worked hard for in his career, which then meant had enough to put down a deposit on his first house. And he had you at his side the whole time. Not that having you beside him was anything new; you had been best friends for years. Yet it seemed this year, he was connecting with you in ways he had hoped for some time now. As teenagers, he had kissed you in a game of truth or dare and whilst you brushed it off as nothing important, to him it changed how he viewed you. He hadn’t done anything about his feelings then, and as adults, he continued to just be your best friend. Always there, but never the one.

Maybe if he had just accepted that placement in your life, he wouldn’t be faced with everything he was now. It was when he confessed to you recently that things all started to crash down around him.

“You what?”

Jinyoung ran a hand through his hair and laughed awkwardly. “I’ve always liked you.”

“Well, I’ve always liked you too, you’re like the brother I’ve never had, silly.”

“Brother,” he repeated, his heart cracking under the weight of the word. Why had he even bothered to speak up? Was it the couple of drinks he had over dinner with you lending him some liquid courage? Jinyoung knew you had friend-zoned him all these years. So why was he speaking up now?

Yet his rational thoughts couldn’t hold him back from saying more either. The words had been piled up in the back of his throat for too many years now, and now that he had opened them up, there was no way to push them back. “I don’t see you as a sister, Y/N.”

“You don’t? Well, just being a friend is fine too.”

“What if I see you as a woman?”

You blinked, your smile erased from your lips immediately. “Jinyoung, you-”

“No, let me say it before I don’t,” he pleaded, turning to look you in the eye. “I like you, more than a friend. I have since we were teenagers and-”

Tears sprung to your eyes and you shook your head, standing up immediately. “Please just stop. I can’t accept this.”

And you ran to your bedroom, leaving him alone with his half-spoken confession, feeling like the most pathetic person in the world.

It took only another two weeks to destroy everything else in his life. Jinyoung didn’t realise just how vital it was having you in his world. Without you in it, he didn’t have the drive like he once did. His work ethic slackened off and he even made a critical error that he couldn’t fathom making normally. Jinyoung couldn’t understand anything around him anymore, but there was one thing that did make sense.

To find his way back onto his feet, he needed your guidance.

His legs had carried him to your apartment in the rain and he laughed bitterly from winding up at this destination. He hadn’t seen you since that fateful night and you had messaged him asking for space for a bit. Would turning up right now ruin that space you had requested? Jinyoung craved your comfort more than anything else in this world. The home he was proud of now mocked him and his loneliness. Alcohol did nothing to numb the pain or take away any clarity – because right now he didn’t have any. His inner voice was just as lost as he was, and so it made sense you were his final choice.

Space or not, he needed you, at least for tonight.

“Jinyoung?!” you gasped at his state on your doorstep, reaching forward to grab him and bring him inside. He stopped you however, his eyes hard and unrelenting. You cursed impatiently. “Won’t you come inside?! It’s pouring down and your lips are turning blue!”

“I need you to promise me something first,” he said through chattering teeth. It was ironic, this whole time that he ambled around; he hadn’t once felt the cold. Now he was freezing. It was as if you had spoken into his world and woken it back up. “Just please be my best friend right now, not the person I confessed my love to.”

“Oh my God, would you just get inside before you catch pneumonia or something?!” you cried, yanking him inside and shutting out the din of the weather behind the door. Your hands were already moving to remove his layers and he watched you numbly, unable to do it himself. He was capable of so many things and yet, right now he couldn’t even take off his own wet clothes.

You hesitated before his final layers, blinking up at him before shedding him of his shirt. “You idiot,” you chastised him and Jinyoung sighed.

“I didn’t need confirmation that you weren’t attracted to me, but I guess this is it when you can scold me whilst I’m shirtless,” he told you, and you rolled your eyes at his statement.

“Looks like the old Jinyoung is returning. Can you please help now? If you don’t get into the shower soon, I’ll be driving you to the hospital, naked and all.”

He blinked and found the energy to use his hands, his underwear remaining as he followed you down to the bathroom. He already knew where everything was, and noticed his toiletries that you always had a spare set of were still in the same place. He smiled. “I’ll just warm up then.”

“Have you eaten?” you asked and he just stared at you, unable to recall what he had done before getting here. You groaned. “I’ll go make you something.”

Jinyoung got in the shower and the burn on his skin was enough to return him to his senses. By the time he was dried off and dressed in a set of his pyjamas you had stored in the bottom drawer, he was feeling uncomfortable. How could he explain everything to you? Jinyoung was known to everyone around him as calm, thoughtful and confident. Only you were aware that he was actually rather hesitant and indecisive under that exterior. And you would see right through him if he tried to claim anything other than the truth.

Coming to you seemed more dangerous than his hazy former self had thought through.

“Sit down and start eating, now.”

He obeyed your orders, picking up the spoon to the soup you had heated up for him. He smiled; he had always liked your cooking. “Thanks for this.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” you mentioned, folding your arms across your chest. “I want an explanation.”

“For what?”

You cocked your head to the side impatiently. “For why the person I’ve known my entire life turned up on my doorstep looking like that.”

“Oh,” he started, conveniently spooning more soup into his mouth and diverting his gaze away from catching yours. “It’s nothing really. I just felt like going for a walk.”

“In the rain,” you said incredulously and laughed once. “Don’t try that one with me Park Jinyoung; I know you’re a mess right now. Please don’t tell me it’s because of the other night when you got tipsy.”

“I was coherent, I knew what I was saying,” he informed and your strong stance faltered. Just like you saw through him, he knew you were placing barriers up to keep him from hearing your inner thoughts. Jinyoung swivelled to face you and pointed the spoon at you accusingly. “You knew I wasn’t drunk, so why convince yourself of that, huh?”

“You’re really like this because of me?” you uttered and Jinyoung sighed heavily.

“Well, not entirely. But it was the catalyst for bringing me down to rock bottom,” he admitted with a light shrug and you chewed on your lip worriedly. He tried to laugh and ease the atmosphere. “Don’t look so grim, I’m not here to try and convince you of anything, I asked to be your best friend again, remember?”

“You’re always going to be my best friend, doofus.” You rolled your eyes, but that didn’t remove the worry that had settled into them.

Jinyoung smiled weakly. “I’ll be fine; don’t look at me like that.”

“How bad are things?”

“I received a final warning at work today. Apparently, my performance might cost the company some money.”

“What?!” you screeched and he winced at the sound. “Why would your work be suffering because of us? Are you dumb?!”

“Clearly I am.”

“I just…” you trailed off for a moment, thinking of what to say. “Even if I know you’re not the most decisive human, I just can’t believe out of us all, it’s you crashing down right now. You were the one with the clearest path in life.”

“That’s not true,” he told you and you looked at him in confusion. Jinyoung rubbed at his neck lightly. “I mean, I knew what job I wanted, where I wanted to live. But the rest, well, it’s not as clear as I want it to be.”

“You shouldn’t like me, Jinyoung,” you told him quietly, your head lowered.

“I know it makes you uncomfortable, I should have never confessed.”

“Even if you didn’t confess, I knew you liked me,” you stated with a heavy sigh. “I knew you did and I liked it. So I let you away with thinking things could be more than they are. It’s my fault you’re like this.”

“You knew?” he asked and you nodded. “Really?”

“I’m not blind, Jinyoung. I was aware of how you treated me differently. It made me feel special and needed by someone. I liked the feeling.”

“Then why did you turn my feelings down if you liked my attention?” he asked, and you started to fidget with your bracelet nervously. He grabbed your hand so you would stop stalling and tell him the truth.

“You’ve seen my dating habits over the years, Jin. I’m a mess. I get too far ahead in my thoughts about the person and then they don’t turn out how I expect them to be and it falls apart. I couldn’t risk that with you. I couldn’t risk losing you. You’re my best friend in this entire world.”

He blinked slowly. “Y/N, you know me. You don’t need to have any expectations, because you know all there is to me. So why would dating me be like everyone else?”

“I don’t know!” you whined, throwing your free hand up in the air. “I just convinced myself of that.”

“Am I really like a brother to you?”

“Are you fired?” you retorted and Jinyoung smiled.

“Why, do I need financial stability to attract you?” You rolled your eyes, your hand in his now trying to yank free. He held it then and continued his gaze. “Really?”

“No, you are fine just the way you are,” you admitted with a blush and stopped wriggling, huffing in defeat instead. “But you’re still not off the hook until you fix things at work, you hear me?”

“And about that brother thing?” he persisted and you groaned.

“With a body like yours, how could anyone want to see you as their brother?!”

“That’s what I thought,” he teased and leaned over to you. “Maybe my life isn’t such a wreck like I thought it was.”

“And you call me the dramatic one. I never went out and sabotaged my job because I didn’t accept your confession initially.”

Jinyoung nodded slowly in agreement. “You’re right, it is still pretty messy. I think you should kiss me better so I can-”

“Oh no, that’s all on you to fix. Me kissing you will help you in no way towards your job.”

He grinned. “It was worth a shot.”

_________________

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mattholicguilt · 7 years

Text

Cassian Andor waits all day to die.

He can see Jyn lying yards away, torn away from him in the blast, and the Imperial base is in ruins but this damn rock beneath him stands firm. Scarif is alive and so is he, and he waits all damn day to die.

He can’t feel anything from the waist down, and he knows without looking that he’s badly burned, and he can smell his own melted skin, and he waits all day to die.

The stars pop into view above him, one by one, and he waits for them to call him home. He waits and he waits and he waits and he waits.

Cassian wakes up in a bacta tank as the fluid drains around his shoulders, and he looks through the thick transparisteel for his parents, for his old boyfriend Del, for Jyn, Bodhi, Baze, Chirrut. He finds no one but an unfamiliar med droid, so if this is heaven it’s not what it’s cracked up to be.

The droid helps him from the tank to a cot. “Fortunately, we were able to repair the damage to your spine and keep your burns from being fatal. The scars are irremovable, but you will be able to walk again.” Cassian just wants the droid to shut up. He wants Kay here to tell him he got hurt because he was being a dumbass. “Rest now.”

Cassian’s eyes are already closing— he’s exhausted and he hurts. “Wait,” he tells the droid weakly. “The Death Star. What of the Death Star?”

“The mission to retrieve the Death Star plans was a complete success, although you were the only survivor,” the droid informs him, and Cassian thinks he’d like to rewire the piece of shit until he understands what defines a complete success, because it’s sure as hell not the loss of life he saw on Scarif. “While you were undergoing treatment, the plans were delivered to Senator Mothma and the Death Star has been destroyed.”

“Destroyed,” Cassian repeats. “We won.” Galen was right, and the plans were worth it, and it was all worth it. It must have been. “We won.” And then he leans over the bed and vomits onto the floor.

Cassian floats in and out of consciousness. The med droid administers painkillers and nutrients, and Cassian halfheartedly plots ways to trick the droid into giving him just a little too much of the former. He waits and waits and waits and waits and waits and waits to die.

One day, he opens his eyes and there’s a young woman with long braided hair watching him. “I’m sorry,” she says when she sees his eyes open. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Who cares.” Cassian shifts, trying to get a better look at her. “Who are you?”

“Leia Organa,” she says simply. “You knew my father.”

“Where is he?”

“He’s dead.” It had to have happened recently, but she sounds like she’s made her peace with it. Meanwhile, Cassian’s floundering in empty space, looking for something to grab on to. He knew Bail. He liked Bail.

“I’m sorry.”

“So am I.” She shifts immediately into a senatorial disposition. She is not grieving, she is not mourning. She has a job to do. “There’s going to be a medal giving ceremony for the brave men and women who gave their lives on Scarif,” she informs him. “I was wondering if you felt well enough to be there.”

Even if he did, he’d try to find a way out of it. Cassian knows about survivor’s guilt, and he’s experienced more than his fair share of it. This is different, and worse. He’s lonely. He doesn’t belong here. “I can’t,” he tells Bail’s daughter. “But— there was a man. An Imperial pilot, you need to make sure they don’t treat him like an Imperial pilot. Bodhi Rook. He was a rebel. He was a rebel all the way.”

She nods. “Of course.”

“And the droid,” Cassian says, already feeling like he’s expended his energy for the day just be speaking. “K-2SO. He was a hero, alright? It wasn’t just reprogramming.”

“Got it,” she says, standing up. “And— here. Since you aren’t coming to the ceremony.” She slips a medal around his neck.

On backward parts of Naboo, they used to stack heavy stones on the chests of suspected witches, crushing the breath out of them. That’s how he feels now with the weight of the medal pressing down on his lungs. “Thank you,” he says to the princess.

At night, Cassian hears a voice echoing through the empty medbay. He knows it can’t be real but he listens anyway. “You can live,” Chirrut says to him. “You can live.”

“What?” he says to the voice that can’t be real, shouldn’t be real.

“You were wondering what in the cosmos you could do for us.” And then he sees him, shimmering and blue and real, sitting on the opposite cot, staff in hand, as infuriatingly cryptic as ever. “But you can live, Captain. For us. We are a part of the Force now, and the Force lives in you, and so if you live, you live with us, and for us.”

Cassian shakes his head. “You didn’t have to die,” he says, and his mouth tastes of copper and bitter, burnt promises. “All you were doing was protecting the kyber crystals.”

“We were protecting the galaxy,” Chirrut says. “And I think we did a good job.”

“Empire’s still out there,” Cassian says, rolling away so he doesn’t have to look at Chirrut’s ghost. “And you’re still dead.”

Slowly, slowly, Cassian gets back on his feet. He lives, and he lives with Chirrut’s quiet encouragements in one ear and orders from the Alliance in the other. Cassian throws himself into battle, vowing to himself to be one man who fights like ten men, a hundred, a thousand.

Surviving is much, much worse than dying.

He burns himself out, week after week, and Chirrut’s ghost haunts him with soothing tea recipes and well-intentioned advice. “Believe in the Force,” he tells Cassian, pleads with him. “Rely on it. But the Force cannot help you if you cannot help yourself.”

Cassian flies with Rogue Squadron during the Battle of Hoth and tries not to think about their namesake. He fights. He wins. He loses people.

“Why would the Force save me, then?” Cassian asks Chirrut’s ghost one night after he’s had too much Corellian brandy. “Why am I alive? Why not you, or Jyn, or, hell, K-2SO?”

Death did not restore Chirrut Îmwe’s sight, but Cassian can still feel the damn ghost staring at him. “Maybe the Force knew that you weren’t done yet.” Cassian fists his hands over his eyes like he can blot out the world, the galaxy, the whole damn universe. “Cassian—”

“I just want to be done,” he says, a low voice trying to keep from screaming. “God, I just want to be done.”

Cassian doesn’t have friends but he does have colleagues, people he talks to in order to sustain a veneer of stability. Bail’s daughter speaks with him occasionally, but he tries to keep those talks short. Her planet blew up; his world imploded. He’s terrified of looking into her eyes for too long and seeing everything he’s feeling reflected back. He’s cordial with some of the Rebellion higher-ups like Nien Nunb and Admiral Ackbar.

Wedge Antilles comes closest to being a friend, if Cassian let himself have friends. He’s a pilot defector like Bodhi was, and Cassian likes that but at the same time he tries not to think about it. He tries not to think about Bodhi at all because it hurts, it all hurts. Over and over again he has to hear from the other rebels how important it is that they all honor the memory of Rogue One, and all he wants to do is scrub the memory away, forget it, stop the endless cycle of hurt.

“I’m sorry you’re in pain,” Chirrut’s ghost tells him one night, earnestly, honestly. “And I’m sorry you’re alone. But forgetting won’t fix anything, my friend. You cannot erase the past.”

“I know,” Cassian says. “The past is all I have.”

Wedge would be a good friend. Cassian knows this. As it is, Wedge is a good colleague. He knows when Cassian needs to talk and drink and he knows when Cassian needs to be left alone. He’s an exceptional pilot. A funny guy.

As Wedge is relaying some bizarre story about Tatooine he heard from Luke Skywalker, Cassian feels the corners of his mouth turning up despite himself. He smiles, and he laughs, and then he walks away without a word. It’s a few days before he speaks to Wedge again.

Chirrut tells him that it’s okay to form attachments. Chirrut tells him that they are all connected in the Force, anyway, and he might as well let himself laugh and smile and reach out to other people. Chirrut tells him it’s okay if he lets go, and it’s okay if he moves on, and it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.

“Here,” Wedge says, handing Cassian a cup of caf. They’re holed up in the base on 5251977, a tiny planet no one’s even bothered to name. It about captures the attitude of the Rebellion at this point— war hero Han Solo is in Hutt captivity, Vader and the Emperor reign more powerful than ever, and there are rumors that they’ve begun building a second Death Star. Cassian remembers Bodhi naming Rogue One and he wonders what Bodhi would name this rock. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like the worst day of my life happened for nothing,” Cassian says matter-of-factly, and he sips his caf. “Rebuilding the Death Star. Kriff.” He drinks and it scalds his tongue and he doesn’t care.

“Rebuilding it with the same flaw though,” Wedge says. “I guarantee it. They’ll always rely too much on that Galen Erso, even after his death.”

Cassian is on Endor when everything goes down. He fights alongside Bail Organa’s daughter and Luke Skywalker and war hero Han Solo. He fights, and he wonders when Wedge Antilles is going to be shot out of the sky. Nien Nunb and Ackbar surely must be dead by now. He fights, and he waits for everyone around him to drop dead, waits to lose everyone all over again.

He waits and waits and waits and waits and waits and waits to die.

And again, he doesn’t.

At night, they celebrate with the Ewoks. Wedge claps him on the shoulder before going off to hug Luke Skywalker. Cassian looks across the bonfire clearing and sees Chirrut’s ghost watching him, looking peaceful.

Beside him stand three others, Jedi Knights dead but not gone. Cassian recognizes Yoda, he’s seen holos of the old Master. The other two are unfamiliar.

Cassian wishes he could see Bodhi Rook. He wishes he could see Baze Malbus, Jyn Erso, K-2SO. He wishes he could see all those rebels who sacrificed themselves. He wishes he could see his parents, and Del, and everyone he’s had to give up since he was six years old.

The war is over but the fight isn’t. Cassian feels sick every time he sees people acting like things are back to normal so he volunteers for every mission he can. While his colleagues take a step back, Cassian throws himself into whatever he can.

“Why aren’t you with Baze?” Cassian asks Chirrut’s ghost the night before he and Wedge are scheduled to storm one of the stubborn, clinging Imperial bases. Since Chirrut showed up from beyond the dead, Cassian’s been wondering. “You’re always here. Where’s Baze? Why aren’t you with him?”

Chirrut leans against the wall opposite Cassian’s, staff in hands, reminding Cassian so much of that first night. “The Force has not chosen to bring us together again yet.”

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.” It’s out before Cassian can reel it in. He only knew Chirrut and Baze in life for a few days, but he knew where they belonged. If the Force was keeping them apart, then the Force was a sadistic joke, not the well-meaning entity Chirrut always made it sound like. “You should be with him.”

“I am with the Force,” Chirrut says. “And he is with the Force. So I am always with him.”

At the Imperial base, Cassian moves with ruthless precision, imagining himself a droid or a Stormtrooper or anything that’s easier than what he is. He gets orders, he follows them. He gives orders, they get followed. He shoots to kill. He sticks with Wedge while they search every chamber of the base, Alliance fighters around them taking some Imperials prisoner, killing others.

And then they reach an assembly hall with a screen like a theater, benches barren as officers scatter to more remote parts of the base trying to flee, trying to hide. One woman stands at the entrance to the large room, blaster aimed at Cassian.

“Rebel scum.”

But Wedge is too fast for her, and when he ducks around and sneaks up behind her, it’s all too easy to wrestle away the blaster.

The feed displayed on the large screen keeps going on, even though no one’s watching it.

And then Cassian’s watching it.

He sees a man bolted to a long table in an industrial room, screaming in pain. Wires attached to the nodes stuck to his forehead trail back into a control panel. One hand hovers over a switch on the panel, its owner obscured and off screen. “You are a traitor,” the off screen man says. “That’s all you ever were, not a hero, not a pilot.” He hits the switch and the man on the table screams even louder, writhing in his bonds. “This is what you deserve.”

Cassian feels like the ground is crumbling beneath his feet and he’s falling, falling, falling. “What the hell is this?” he says, waving his blaster toward the screen. Wedge and the Imperial officer seem confused, and Cassian realizes belatedly that he’s crying. “Tell me! Tell me what the hell is this.”

“It’s an educational broadcast,” the woman says. “Once a week we have to watch this scum-loving turncoat get tortured. Supposed to make us afraid to cross our superiors or something.”

“You…” Cassian looks at her with wild eyes. “Tortured? You watch him…”

For the first time since Cassian and Wedge showed up, the Imperial officer actually looks frightened. “Look, pal, I just work here.”

Cassian shoots her dead without thinking about it and spins back to face the screen. Wedge drops the dead officer and watches the captain, appalled. “Andor. Andor.” He’s calling Cassian’s name, but Cassian doesn’t hear.

He looks at the screen and he watches Bodhi Rook being tortured.

Surviving is much, much worse than dying.

Bodhi opens his eyes and the room is too bright. It isn’t home or heaven, it isn’t dusty Jedha City or the green of Yavin 4. He remembers contacting Raddus, the shield going down, and then the boom crash of explosives.

When he tries to move, he realizes his arms and legs are strapped down. He can’t budge from the table he’s on, and that’s when the panic threatens to break him.

“Shh shh,” he whispers to himself, squinching his eyes shut and wishing he had his goggles. His head feels bare and cold without them. “It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

“It’s really not.”

In his panicking, Bodhi didn’t notice the man walk in. He recognizes him from holos and propaganda posters, though he’s never met the man before.

“Welcome to the Death Star,” Grand Moff Tarkin says, a sneer curling his mouth to the side. “Maybe now that you see how accommodating we can be you’re having second thoughts about trying to blow us up, hm?”

Bodhi blinks rapidly, tries not to think about what must have happened to the rest of Rogue One. “They’re going… they’re going to shoot your wrinkled asses out of the sky, you slimy son of a bantha.” He doesn’t have to be brave. He can pretend to be brave. He can be enough.

Tarkin watches him like he’s examining a bug, and Bodhi tries not to squirm. The Moff is just a man, but Bodhi can’t help but remember Bor Gullet’s tentacles digging into his mind, scraping him raw. Tarkin looks like he could do the same thing, and intends to.

“If you’re going to kill me,” Bodhi says, “just do it.”

Tarkin grins and Bodhi can feel the panic flipping his stomach, and he wants his goggles back on his head, and he wants to see his friends, and he wants to be brave and he wants to be done. Tarkin says simply, “But then you’d never learn.”

And then he leaves.

Bodhi tries to stay conscious as much as he can and keep track of what’s happening around him, but Imperial officers keep coming in and administering drugs that knock him out or trap him in suffocating nightmares.

Sometimes they taunt him and hurt him before they leave, but he can tell that none of them have orders to do so. It’s fun for them to take out all their pent-up hate on someone who was stupid enough to try to join the Rebellion.

When he’s alone, Bodhi clenches his fists in the restraints, nails digging into his palms, and he tells himself who he is. “I’m the pilot,” he says into the quiet darkness. “I’m the pilot. I’m the pilot. I’m the pilot.” He delivered the message, but maybe it didn’t matter. The friends he flew with to Scarif are dead. “I’m the pilot.”

And then suddenly, one of the times he wakes up he knows he’s not on the Death Star anymore. He can tell; it’s an identical room but the shifting around him feels different. He wonders if the Death Star is gone. Any time he asks one of the officers assigned to him they just snarl and zap him with an electric rod, leaving tiny scorch marks peppered up his arm.

But he likes to believe that the Death Star is dust. He likes to believe that they got the plans to the Alliance, and that he was brave, and that he was enough.

He has no idea how long it’s been since Scarif on the day he meets the lieutenant.

The lieutenant is a thin man who comes to the room where Bodhi’s being kept and smiles at him with all his teeth. “Mr. Rook,” he says calmly, standing near Bodhi’s feet. “I hope you’re comfortable.”

Bodhi breathes in and out, shuts his eyes and opens them. He can be brave. “Really,” he spits back. “Then you should’ve sprung for a nicer room.”

The lieutenant doesn’t react. “I’m just here to talk, Mr. Rook,” he says. “I’m thinking we can help each other.” Bodhi won’t. He swears this to himself, over and over and over, has been for the whole time he’s been in captivity. They’ll come at him for information, and he’ll deny it. What little he knows about the Rebellion, he’ll carry with him to the grave. He swears this. “First, I was wondering… what can you tell me about the leadership of the Rebel Alliance?”

“I am the leadership of the Rebel Alliance,” Bodhi says. “I’m the king. I’m the king of space. Ha.”

The lieutenant doesn’t look angry or annoyed. He simply, calmly, steps around the restraining table, takes Bodhi’s left hand and breaks his pinky finger.

Weeks pass. Maybe. Bodhi doesn’t know how to measure time. He counts his bruised and broken parts and takes a guess. The lieutenant comes and questions him, and Bodhi tells him to go to hell, and the lieutenant hurts him. It becomes a predictable pattern.

The lieutenant beats him, cuts him, burns him. Bodhi knows the Empire and he knows they have more sophisticated devices of torture. He knows the lieutenant is being barbaric because he wants to, because he wants to feel Bodhi break beneath his own hands.

Except one time he comes in with an interrogation droid and Bodhi feels his heart start racing. They aren’t only trying to hurt him now. They genuinely want what information he has, and they’ll break him for it. He needs to be ready. He can be ready.

Except when the droid starts in on him it’s like every nerve in his body is screaming out in pain. Bodhi’s lost, drowning in it, and terrified that he’ll do anything to stop the pain, including give away the few and precious secrets of the Rebellion he has. He can’t. He can’t.

Frantically, he grapples for something to hold onto, something besides pain and fear. I’m the pilot. I brought the message. Galen Erso. Rogue One. It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay. The droid doesn’t stop hurting him and Bodhi doesn’t stop feeling small and helpless and scared.

And in racking his brains for something to hang onto, he remembers words that a friend used to say, over and over again, a prayer, a cause, a promise. “I am one with the Force,” he whispers to himself as the droid sticks its needles in him. “And the Force is with me. I am one with the Force. The Force is with me. I am one with the Force.”

The pain stops, and Bodhi thinks for a second that maybe he’s finally died. But then he opens his eyes and sees the lieutenant watching him with that too-wide smile. He’s stopped the droid and is pacing toward Bodhi’s head. “The Force?” he says, a lilt in his voice. “You think you know the Force?”

Bodhi doesn’t know if he should respond or ignore, so he shuts his eyes again and keeps whispering. “I am one with the Force. The Force is with me.”

The lieutenant slaps him, hard, and Bodhi stutters and stops. “Fool,” the lieutenant says. “You don’t know the Force. But I can show you.”

His hand goes to Bodhi’s forehead, cold fingertips and stiff Imperial uniform cuffs. And the Force isn’t gentle, and it isn’t a protector. It sinks into him and picks, picks at his brain. He can feel the lieutenant pilfering through his mind, digging his claws into Bodhi’s memories and fears and hopes.

“I’m…” Bodhi says, struggling. “I’m not… afraid of you.”

The lieutenant twists his fingers and Bodhi feels his thoughts scramble, anxiety thrumming in his bones. “Because of Gerrera’s monster?” the lieutenant asks. “You’ll find I’m much more talented than that beast.” And he reaches further into Bodhi’s mind.

Bodhi screams.

When he’s finally done, that first time, the lieutenant withdraws from Bodhi’s mind and cracks his knuckles. “Excellent.”

“You…” Bodhi tries, but he feels weak and rattled and a little shattered. “You aren’t a Jedi.”

“No,” the lieutenant says. “I’m really not.”

Bodhi dreams, and he dreams of Galen Erso. Galen stands before him and he places a hand on his shoulder and he tells him, “You can be brave. You can do right by yourself. You can listen to your heart.” Bodhi nods; he wants to, he wants to so badly. “You can do all that,” Galen says to him. “But it still won’t be enough.”

Bodhi gasps awake in his white, white cell, presses his wrists against his restraints until the pressure calms him down. He doesn’t know if the dreams are something the lieutenant seeded into his brain or if they’re products of his own anguish.

“Galen Erso,” he mumbles to himself, because he needs to remember. He needs to remember what he did it all for. He needs to remember that before he was here he was a pilot, and he was a hero, and he was brave. “Cassian Andor. Jyn Erso. Baze Malbus. Chirrut Îmwe. K-2SO. Arro Basteren. Yosh Calfor.” He remembers all their names. That was his job. He was the pilot. “Eskro Casrich. Farsin Kappehl.”

One day after the lieutenant’s interrogation, he releases Bodhi’s restraints and lets him roam the cell freely. “As a reward,” he explains, “for all the excellent information you’ve given us.”

He’s too far gone to even know what they found in his head. He only hopes it wasn’t enough for the Empire to do any more damage against the Rebellion. He hopes that in his time with the Rebellion they didn’t trust him enough to tell him anything important. He hopes and he hopes and he hopes.

Alone in his cell, he curls into a corner and holds his head in his hands.

The lieutenant comes and hurts him, with the Force, with machines, with his hands. Bodhi screams and cries and pleads for the end. Bodhi survives.

When he’s alone, he says the names over and over to himself. Galen Erso. Cassian Andor. Jyn Erso. Baze Malbus. Chirrut Îmwe. K-2SO. Arro Basteren. Yosh Calfor. Eskro Casrich. Farsin Kappehl. Ghosts in his head tell him they’re all dead because of him. Ghosts in his head tell him he’s somehow managed to be a traitor to both the Empire and the Rebellion.

“I’m the pilot,” he says. “I am one with the Force and the Force is with me.”

The lieutenant is in his cell with him, toying with his mind, when they hear the commotion outside. Alarms. Boots slamming through the corridors as officers run to face the threat. Someone calls out on the comms, “Lieutenant Snoke, we need to evacuate.”

And when he’s alone, Bodhi hopes this is it. He hopes he can finally be free.

He knows he’s right. He knows he’s dead, finally, because when he looks up, Cassian Andor is standing in the doorway.

“Five years,” Cassian says, shouts it at Mon Mothma as he’s pacing across the D’Qar war room. “Five years since Scarif, and they’ve been torturing him this whole time.”

“Rest assured, I am as horrified as you are,” the senator responds, her mouth tight. “If we had any idea there was another surviving member of Rogue One, of course I would have informed you. But remember that Bodhi Rook is still an Imperial officer. Even now, we can’t risk our own people going after an Imperial pilot.”

“Without Bodhi Rook there would be no Rebel Alliance,” Cassian says, restless and unable to stand still because Bodhi is out there, Bodhi is out there and alive and in pain. “And you just… you sit here and you act like your war is over—”

“Cassian, calm down,” Wedge says from beside him. He’s raring and ready to go get Bodhi, too, but he’s not up for yelling at Mothma.

“No, he’s right.” Cassian spins to see who’s speaking up for him— Bail’s daughter. Leia. “With all due respect, Senator, Bodhi Rook is one of our own. Captain Andor, I’ll go with you. I’ll help recover Bodhi Rook.”

She didn’t even know him, but Cassian thinks that’s just who Bodhi was. Is. He can start a fire in people he never even met.

“When do we leave?” Wedge says.

An undercover rebel relays the information about where the broadcasts of Bodhi’s torture are originating from— a Star Destroyer called the Tyranus. Wedge recruits the pilots from Rogue Squadron and they get ready to go.

In his room, Cassian’s pulling on his boots when the ghost appears in front of him. And without really meaning to, he’s suddenly screaming at Chirrut. “Did you know? Did you know about Bodhi? Did you know this whole time?”

“No,” Chirrut says. “I would have told you.”

Faith and friendship, solidarity. It should feel good. Cassian remembers that speaking with Chirrut is supposed to give him hope. But Bodhi is out there, and Bodhi is alive, and Bodhi is in pain.

Cassian looks up and he’s surprised to see an actual ghost look so haunted.

Rogue Squadron heads for the Tyranus, Leia flying in formation with them. Cassian’s been silent the whole time, since they left D’Qar, the jump to light speed, even now as they draw near the Star Destroyer. He thought surviving Scarif was the worst thing he ever had to live through. But knowing he left Bodhi behind is eating away at him.

Before they left D’Qar, Cassian had come across Leia in a quiet moment and confided in her, “I wish Bodhi died on Scarif. Is that wrong?”

She’s too young to know as much about war as she does. So is he. So are they all. “I don’t know if it’s wrong,” she told him honestly. “But he probably wishes the same thing.”

Now, Wedge covers Cassian, taking tactical shots at the Tyranus so Cassian can zip right into the landing bay. He hits a few Stormtroopers with his X-Wing’s weapons before jumping out of the cockpit and firing his blaster at everyone in sight.

Bodhi is here.

Cassian runs through the corridors, shooting everyone he sees. If he threw himself dangerously into missions before, he doesn’t know what to call this. The only thing keeping him alive and upright is the thought of Bodhi in one of these chambers, shaking and scared and alone.

Cassian turns a corner and surprises an officer, who he pins to the wall, shoves a blaster in his face. “Prisoners?” The officer just looks stunned. “Where do you keep the prisoners?”

The officer rattles off directions and Cassian promptly knocks him out. Cassian is gone, running away, before the man’s unconscious body hits the floor.

Hiding behind a wall, Cassian watches an Imperial lieutenant leaving one of the rooms in the area the man directed him to. He waits for the lieutenant to turn a corner, and then he hurries to the door and lasers the lock undone, storms through the door.

And there’s Bodhi, curled up on the floor, pale and too thin, warped hands gripping at his brittle hair. But when he looks up, when his eyes light up, Cassian sees the brave man he met on Jedha.

“Bodhi,” he says, worried his voice might break. The distance between them is too much, and Cassian rushes forward and sinks to the floor in front of Bodhi. “Bodhi, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Bodhi says, so soft and so quiet, his voice full of relief. “We’re done now. I’m finally dead.”

“N— no, no,” Cassian says quickly, wanting to reach out and hold him but afraid it will hurt him. “We’re still alive. Me, you. We have to get out of here.”

Bodhi’s face crumples. “No, no, no,” he whispers, all in a rush. “No, no, I want you to be real, no no no.” Cassian tries to take his hand but Bodhi jerks away, buries his face in his hands. “Want it to be over. It’s a trick and it’s a trick and it’s always a trick and it’s a trick and a trap and it’s a trick.”

“Bodhi,” Cassian tells him lowly, desperate. He can hear the battle raging around them, knows someone’s going to discover him any moment. “Please. It’s really me.”

“Enough. Enough. Enough,” Bodhi says, rocking back and forth. “I am one with the Force and the Force is with me. I am one with the Force. The Force is with me.” As Bodhi repeats his mantra, Cassian takes a better look at him. He’s missing fingers, and the ones left are bent and swollen like they were broken and healed wrong. There are scars, burns on his feet and arms and bruises decorating his chest and legs. Lines of old cuts trace up and down his abdomen, his neck, his arms.

And there’s other things Cassian notices, too. Scabs on Bodhi’s face like he’s been clawing at his own skin, chunks of hair missing that could have been ripped out by Bodhi himself. They did more than hurt him in this room. They wrecked him.

“I am one with the Force and the Force is with me,” Bodhi says.

“Chirrut Îmwe used to say that,” Cassian says, trying to find a way to get through to Bodhi. At the moment, it isn’t even about escaping or surviving. It’s about stopping Bodhi from looking so tormented. “Do you remember him?”

“Chirrut Îmwe. Baze Malbus,” Bodhi says in recognition. “Galen Erso. Jyn Erso. Cassian Andor.”

“Cassian Andor,” Cassian says, pointing to himself. “It’s really me. Please, please believe me.”

“Cassian Andor,” Bodhi repeats, and slowly, slowly, he holds out one hand and presses it against Cassian’s chest. Cassian brings his own hand up to cover Bodhi’s and hold it there. “Cassian Andor.”

“I am one with the Force,” Cassian says. “And the Force is with me.”

Bodhi nods, and tears leak from his tired eyes. “Let’s go.”

Cassian helps him up, and as they walk he realizes that one of Bodhi’s legs was broken and, like his fingers, healed wrong. Hate boils in his stomach but he tries to push it down as he and Bodhi hobble toward freedom.

“I wish I had my goggles,” Bodhi says suddenly, sounding so much like himself that it makes Cassian’s chest ache.

“I’ll buy you some new ones,” he promises as they round a corner.

Quietly, Bodhi says, “But I want mine.”

They walk, and then Cassian’s comm goes off. “We’ve got you cleared for exit,” Leia says. “But we’re under a lot of fire out here. We can get you out here, but I can’t guarantee that the Squadron is going to get out.”

Cassian shuts his eyes, takes a deep breath. “Yes you can,” he says into the comm. “Give me ten minutes and I’ll give you a way out.” He looks at Bodhi. “I know you’ve been through hell. But. Are you up for flying an X-Wing?”

Bodhi nods, stops to think, and then nods again. “What’s your plan?”

“I’m gonna blow this thing to pieces from the inside.”

They stand there, frozen for a moment, and then Bodhi starts shaking his head. “No, no, no,” he says, heart thudding in his ears. “I’m n— I’m not leaving you. I’m not leaving you in here with… them. I’m not leaving you.”

“Bodhi.”

“I need to do this,” Bodhi says, shaking, and he’s remembering the lieutenant telling him in detail everything they were going to use him for. They were going to reprogram him like a goddamn machine. The lieutenant told him he was going to be a better weapon against the Rebel Alliance than the Death Star ever was, and he was so, so scared that he wouldn’t be able to stop it. “I need to do this,” Bodhi says. “I need to be enough to do this.”

“I came here to save you,” Cassian says.

“I know,” Bodhi tells him, and his eyes are so full of light. “You did save me. Thank you.” Where his hands clutch Cassian’s arm, he squeezes, trying to convey comfort. “Now we need to save the rest of them.”

Cassian looks at him, so battered and broken and so, so brave. “Okay,” he says finally. “Together.” He stuffs the comm link back in his vest pocket and walks with Bodhi down the hall. “Now, you’ve been on Imperial Star Destroyers before, right? Where do we find the reactor core?”

Bodhi directs and Cassian helps get him there. “Did…” Bodhi starts, shaking old nightmares out of his head. “On Scarif. Did anyone else…?”

Cassian shakes his head. “I didn’t know you were captured,” he swears, stopping a moment to let Bodhi catch his breath. “I just… I found out a few days ago. Came and got you as soon as I could. I promise.”

“I know,” Bodhi says, standing up and moving along with Cassian again. “And I know you’re real.”

Cassian wants to tell him everything. The years he’s spent alone, his talks with Chirrut’s ghost. He wants to tell Bodhi how he’s become a legend and a hero, that rebel pilots tell their children bedtime stories about Bodhi Rook, the hero who followed his heart. He wants to tell Bodhi about the medal ceremony that neither of them made it to.

But they get to the reactor, and the end of the line. The corridors are empty— most of the Imperials must have fled.

“This panel,” Bodhi says, tapping the wall. “Remove it and there’s— there’s a switch.” Cassian does, and he finds the switch.

“You can still go,” Cassian tells him.

Bodhi shakes his head. “You’re not going to be alone,” he says. “I want to be done. I want to be enough.”

Cassian leans forward, presses their foreheads together. “You are enough,” he promises Bodhi. “You were always enough.” He tucks Bodhi’s hair behind his ear.

Cassian’s wondered for so long why he didn’t die. Why he had to live, and later, why Bodhi was taken. This was why.

He looks around and doesn’t see Chirrut, and Cassian hopes that he’s finally with Baze. He puts a hand on the switch, and Bodhi puts his own hand over Cassian’s. After all the damage done to him and to his pilot’s hands, his palm is still soft and warm.

“I wish I had my goggles.”

“I’ll buy you a new pair,” Cassian promises. And they pull the switch together.

#emetophobia -#torture -#suicidal thoughts -#fanfiction #rogue one #star wars #cassian andor #bodhi rook #chirrut imwe #r1 #sw

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marcellicide · 6 years

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New Year’s Resolution

I’ve accomplished a lot this year. I moved out, got promoted, celebrated a year with Matt and lost 10lbs. With the holiday season, it’s been hard to restrict my eating but this is kind of what this is for. To hold me accountable for the future.

I want this year to be even better than the last. I need this year to be an improvement, I need it to flourish like I imagine it to.

First, I need to lose weight. I want to be 100lbs which means I have 40lbs to go. Now, I’ve seen on ana blogs that you can lose quickly if you restrict heavily but I usually don’t have the willpower. And I don’t want to be unhealthy, I want to work out and get stronger and eat lots of veggies and shit, but first, I need to hit the weight I’ve always dreamt of and go from there. I need to set goals for myself, less and less calories every day. Hold my calorie intake accountable. Drinks count. Water is a much better alternative.

Something I think will help with my battle against my weak willpower, I want to be 100% vegan. I think it’ll be hard but it’ll help me practice discipline. It’s something I believe in strongly, after struggling with my commitment to animal rights, I want to come out stronger than before. I think going vegan will accomplish that. That means no butter. No milk. No sour cream. No cheese. No meat broth. That also means I’ll be eating at home more. I think this might end up cheaper than eating out. I won’t spend as much since I’m restricting and if I work and get my employee meal, typically 500 calories, will cover me for a while. I found a vegan dish at Chipotle that I really like. Before, I always crumbled before sour cream. No longer lol. Food is my biggest expense. I cut food, I cut costs, I cut weight, I cut dairy. Eggs I’ve decided are cool if they’re from Matt’s farm, or the locally raised eggs you can get from DLM.

Speaking of where you get things, that leads me to my next resolution in self-discipline. Where my money goes. I’m so weak to the thrill of shopping and going out and returning to sort through my spoils. I need to stop. Not only to save money but because, where is this money going? You know where. The corporations that are destroying the planet. Resist. Research where your clothes are coming from, buy second hand from resale apps and thrift stores. I think now that I’m learning to sew, thrifting will be more fun. I can alter anything I like. I like things. I like morals more. I cannot fuel their empire. Do not give them your hardearned money. Give it to artists. Creators you know, follow, trust. If you can resist this urge, I think you can do anything.

All of these goals will help me save money. I want to move money to my savings every paycheck, but keep some in your checking. Watch the numbers go up. Once you reach $500 consistently due to saving, maybe treat yourself. Possible rewards: tattoos! you’ve got plenty to choose from, paintings! they’re expensive and totally worth it, shopping in general (at morally appropriate stores, brands, companies, etc). Don’t splurge. Don’t go crazy when you see the numbers go up. Keep it up.

If you can focus during all this restriction and discipline, work on YouTube. It’s easy when you apply yourself. Advertise yourself and never stop working towards your dream and I think you’ll be fine. I think finishing your first album before the end of the year is very important, maybe give that some time and energy if you can. Making music makes me so happy. Recording and editing and creating and learning makes me happy. Working makes me happy. So let’s fucking do this.

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yahoocansuckmyass · 7 years

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**disclaimer: if you know me in real life, if you have anything to say, just message me on Facebook or whatever, I’m not in danger of myself, just venting about everything in my life at the moment**

only posting bc there’s really no where else for me to vent about anything

i feel so empty, especially the last few days everything feels so bleak and im unable to generate any emotion other than indifference and sadness. i know it will pass and im trying to take care of myself. going to yoga, eating well and shit like that but i don’t have any motivation. jus feels like im outside of my actual body, watching myself do these things without any feeling of accomplishment or enjoyment after.

and my friends feel so far away, maybe im dissociating? i don’t feel like i can open up to anyone without a shitty response from them. best friend has always come to me in times of need but when I come to them it’s like they’re not even listening or really even grasp that im hurting my boyfriend tells me “think about something else” as if i haven’t gone through years of trying that, im not able to change like that my thoughts flip on a dime and when they do I have 2+ other voices yelling at the only part of me trying to help it feels like a minefield. i try to think that im okay and that I can do this but they teller the sound of my breathing is too loud and i get so uncomfortable in my body that i can’t fucking move. it makes me want to tear out my hair and scratch my skin off. (I’ve been self harm free for almost 2 years and these episodes get really hard to handle but at least i haven’t hurt myself other than biting my lip a bit too much on occasion)

and group therapy now costs too much and I can’t even stop by for an hour.

work doesn’t seem to value me either, i have hardly any hours and in turn no money. I’ve hardly eaten anything in the past few days.

it’s so strange being stuck in this place where im taking care of myself and doing the things i need to and still being so detached and unmotivated. it hasn’t been like this in a long time. everything feels off.

not to mention my home life is just me waking up and already being yelled at for something I don’t even know about, it’s like I could open my eyes the wrong way and get scolded for it. she asks me if im okay and I try to say what’s wrong and she reverts back to “but im hurting too” why even bother asking me if you’re going to just talk about yourself

im never being taken seriously. the only time that i think even my group therapy took me seriously is when i sliced up my arm I remember they were talking about a girl and how “brave she was for being able to show her cuts in the open and talk about them to the group” meanwhile when I talked about my cuts but never showed them, I was almost brushed off. I had cuts that I could fit my fucking hand into, and they didn’t. Even. Believe me.

now I know this post is long and jumpy and inconsistent, and I don’t really care if anyone reads it, but if you do, I’m sorry for the jumping around. I haven’t been able to talk about anything to anyone in a long time. at least not really, not without the making it a competition and telling me it could be worse or saying some people have REAL problems as if my brain doesn’t tell me to drive off the road or cut a vein and bleed out or drown myself in the lake out back.

though I don’t harm myself, though I can keep it together and appear so happy and fine, I still think of suicide every day and it hurts to think about all of the people I’d destroy. and as reassurance, no i won’t kill myself. im not going to let my progress end like that, i know I have good things in my life, im just going through a hard time. high functioning mental illness is something else man.

the past few days have left me so out of it especially. they’ve been the worst. Saturday was a decent day up until my mom left to go out for the night. I was left alone with my thoughts, and then those thoughts blurred out into nothing. just alone. no energy. no motivation. no one to talk to. just emptiness. I walked from room to room without a sound, just to lay down and stare at a wall or ceiling for an hour at a time. I didn’t eat, didn’t sleep. just was there. finally i got up and just fucking bawled my eyes out, thoughts of suicide and self harm bombarded me, I felt so fucking depressed it was like a tidal wave was trying to drown any ounce of sanity i had left. some scars I had forgotten about found their way back to the surface of my neck and boy for some reason that fucked me up, i forgot I even cut my neck, it brought back that sharp hot pain and all the sensations that run through your body. it was terrible, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. and finally I reached out to my cousin, though she had plans, she offered to come get me and hang out at my place with her friend and boyfriend and thank fucking god i did, I would’ve been a mess if she hadn’t. im glad I didn’t try to cancel on her either. my boyfriend was supposed to stay over but ended up cancelling that night too. and he was supposed to come over today. slept through us hanging out. people tend to treat my schedule as if it’s something they can erase and write in a later time or date with no consequences. and gaslight me for being upset about it. All I ever ask for is communication, that’s it. Talk to me, I won’t be upset, but if you lie to me, that’s a slap in the face. I don’t understand how I can literally tell you “it’s fine if you don’t want to hang out or talk, but you need to let me know asap so I can adjust my plans” and you still lie to my face or just disregard me completely. I’ve had people tell me 10 minutes before I’m supposed to get them “nah sorry fam” and that’s it. Only to find out they made better plans and are posting about it all over the place.

it’s fucking shitty. everything has been shitty. I can’t afford food or anything for that matter, my friends aren’t really even there, my boyfriends always busy doing whatever he does, my mom doesn’t listen to a damn word I have to say, my work doesn’t feel like home anymore (I used to LOVE going to work and getting to make people feel beautiful and talk about new shit and now it feels like a chore, I’m not treated like a valued employee anymore rather than disposable).

all i can do is continue to exist in this cycle of high function dissociation.

next topic on miahs 5 years of nothing talked about post: self love vs self hatred

as i said before, im actually taking care of myself. I’ve had hip bursitis for years now that has turned me into a borderline cripple with excruciating pain at almost all times of the day, and this is another thing that people don’t take seriously. my mom calls me a hypochondriac and that it’s not that bad, everyone just…dismisses it i guess? regardless, this is a thing that’s impaired me during my daily life and it’s only added on to the various health issues that make it hard to feel healthy and love my body.

I’ve always been critical of myself, specifically my appearance. I’ve made lists of things I hate about myself. I’ve had people contribute to this, but it’s not anyone’s fault that I did the things I did to myself except my own. 3 years ago I graduated high school at my highest weight and met a person who would end up being my inspiration to losing weight the wrong ways. we were both entirely toxic to each other and I ended up using laxatives and throwing up, and not eating and working out excessively to lose 70lbs in less than 6 months. the only problem is that I didn’t see a change in my weight, i felt like I was just as fat, just as disgusting as when I started. it was obsessive for me to lose weight. and everyone congratulated me on the success I’ve had. until cosmetology school where I ended up gaining all of it back due to lack of time for exercise and heavy depression and my hip problems. (also congrats if you’re still reading this, im not entirely sure when ill stop writing) i felt like I failed myself, and every time I tried to adjust my diet I’d just end up not eating and it scared me, I didn’t want to be back to that place. I didn’t want to feel like that again. (Today, I’m actually doing well with my diet and sticking to it in baby steps so I don’t overwhelm myself) granted I still feel guilty every time a crumb of food enters my mouth, I have this weird paranoia that everyone is watching when I eat and that all they think is that I’m fat and of course I’d be eating now. and that’s why I can’t be the only one who eats when I’m with friends, everyone needs to eat so I don’t feel so disgusting I guess?

the few months after I stopped cutting and shit were hard but i was in a pretty good mind set, I think January 2016 was the best I’ve ever been, but as expected it didn’t last. and don’t get me wrong, i cherish the fuck out of the good times I have in my life, I’m not some dick that dismisses all of the good things and just says im a basket case with no hope or friends. I love the people in my life with all of my heart, and I love the good times we have and the good things that happen. but I’ve never been able to discuss and move past all of the bad things. it seems like I’m being told to just push it back farther and farther because they don’t want to have to deal with it right now. and i could be wrong, and for some of those people I am wrong. but again, their responses to whenever I do open up are disheartening, and some don’t mean to come off that way but it persists. which makes me question why do I even bother. see, this a good platform for me to vent because it’s just that, I don’t need anyone to reply and say sorry or tell me I’m wrong, it’s just here and I got it out. that’s all I’ve been trying to do.

I’ve really never wanted any advice, i know what I need to do and what’s right and what’s wrong, its an ongoing battle for me, and I just needed someone to listen. and that never happened, there was always competitive comparisons, always criticism, always gaslighting, always dismissive. And maybe it’s because when I actually try to TALK, I freeze up and can’t say what I need to in the right way. but still! More than half the time I open up, I just get more reasons to shut back down. back to self love and shit (sorry), I’m trying to love myself despite what it sounds like. just because a big part of me only holds dislike for myself, doesn’t mean there isn’t a part that just wants to love. it’s just been years of these expectations and standards forced down my throat to the point where quite honestly, I’m fucking confused I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t

I’m not gonna get into relationships for the soul fact that I could go on for days about them and this is post is way longer than I anticipated already SO. That’ll be another day (probably tonight since I’m to the point of just not giving a fuck and dishing out every emotion I’ve felt in the last 5 years)

and again back to self love, lately, i don’t weigh myself because I know that if I do, I’ll get depressed and obsessive again and I really can’t deal with it now. I hate my stomach first and foremost. that’s literally the main thing that I just want to cut off my fucking body. i half the time can’t even look at myself because I’ll just get stuck in one of those fuck you miah states. and to address something real *quick*, I don’t need the, “well stop complaining and do something about it” BITCH I AM. I am actually doing everything for it!! but my shitty brain doesn’t let me see progress, for all i know I could have lost 30 lbs and still think I look exactly the same (and part of the reason why I chose yoga was because it all stems from your core so it’s always engaged…and it’s hot yoga so I sweat out at least a pound every time I go, and I went every day last week) i dunno why I can never see positive changes, but when I lost all that weight back in 2014, I didn’t even go down a bra size, let alone pant size and that really fucked me up. It was weird having people compliment me and say how good i looked but still felt the same size. I don’t get it, I could see the numbers go down but my eyes never saw a damn change on myself. Imagine losing 100lbs and still being the same pant size. And I did think we’ll maybe it’s because I still hated myself and was losing weight in an u healthy way but even now with me doin all these great things for my body, I see no change at all. I jus wanna be healthy now, not skinny.

^^talking about my body is my least favorite thing to do so if you have anything to say about it please just don’t, I’m jus here to get this shit off my chest.

I think im just about done, currently brainstorming to see if I missed anything or if I want to touch back on certain things. All that’s left I think is relationships?? So maybe I will write a bit about it? ….I wrote about it then deleted all of it because without going into brutal detail there’s no reason for it to be shoved into this.

I’m pretty sure I’m finished, I may or may not ever check back in here to update or whatever. I guess we’ll see.

If you made it to the end, congrats you spent 15 to 25 minutes reading an absolute mess of a post. Hopefully you could keep up with all my jumping around.

#tw #trigger warning #kinda #vent #personal #depression #ed #anxiety #self care #self journey #the many ups and downs that are my life #I'll read this late and think about how fucking crazy I sound

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