#and youre worsening the emotional turmoil and guilt and fear of that for them

[cruelsister-moved2]

sorry but i think if youre making protest signs or wearing a shirt or whatever that associates lgbt people or abortion with satanism you are stupid as fuck 

[fancifulflora]

(SFW) been wanting to cry for some angsty stuff for ATOC, can I request a hc list of how would X, D, R and A react when the Crown is fatally injured, possibly shot by an arrow or stabbed?

Maybe an extra rrq that the Crown is a gentle, cinnamon roll type, that overly kind soul you'd want the least to get hurt but yeah now they're dying

The editor for this tumblr ask literally crashed when i was almost done with X's entry and I've never felt more devastated in my entire life ksahkj. There is also something very similar to this prompt though, it's more about the Crown sacrificing themselves for the ROs. If you're interested in that I'll link it here

I apologize if this isn't the best but I'll try to redo what I can

Azad/Ashti

You were absolutely foolish to get yourself hurt. No matter how kind-hearted you may have been, the Imperial Guard was made to lay down their lives for you. Any injuries you sustained was a stain upon their honor, their own failure to complete their duties.

The Royal Protector fights the icy cold waves of guilt washing over them. They save the lectures and punishments for another time because all that matters in that moment is you.

Their first priority is to get you to safety, the only sign you may see of their inner turmoil not found in their words, but their actions.

The protector's hands shake ever so slightly as they apply pressure to your wounds, hoping to staunch that they can before the healers arrive. A cold sweat chills them down to their very core as they listen for your pulse- only to find it fading away by the second.

They try to reassure you, but it doesn't work. In desperation, they find themselves practically ordering you to keep your eyes open, to not leave them while they're trying to save your life- tightening your bandages up. The unspoken words of concern and love dying in their throat when they look up to see just why you haven't responded.

By the time the healers do arrive, it takes their combined effort to finally pry the Royal Protector from your side.

Dara/Delal

Having served in the military for so long, the General was used to the bloodshed and horror of it all. Gore, suffering, and pain were things they could stomach. Or a least, the ability to do so was required of them.

It's when they see the arrow impaled in your skin, smell the metallic scent of red staining their cloak that the General realizes they may have been wrong. A complex bundle of emotions stirs under those layers of armor, but they have the strength to push through and remain vigilant.

If not for you, then for their own sanity.

Without a second thought, they tear their cloak, torn strips used to either secure the arrow in place and prevent it from moving. If not that, then to help stop the bleeding of any wounds.

They hold their Crown close, all propriety forgotten as the only thing on their mind is you. You need them in this moment and the last thing they'd ever do is fail you. Even if it's killing them on the inside.

What you need in these moments is strength, a shoulder or person to lean on. Which is why they allow you to squeeze the life from their hands. They listen to your weakened voice, giving you the same, almost practiced, words of reassurance they've given countless others.

Yet something about the words this time shakes the General to their core. This time, it feels entirely too raw, like a hundred old wounds made fresh again. The feeling paralyzes them, the unadulterated fear deep in their hardened expression.

As the situation worsens and all seems lost, the General straightens themselves, remaining by your side and keeping a steadfast vigil by your side. Never once do they stray from you. Even as crowds of healers all frantically apply aid to no avail. They remain by your side even as the anguished cries from loyal allies and friends alike sound throughout the halls at news of the inevitable.

And there they remain, even when the last wisps of golden sunlight in those eyes of yours wither away.

Rozerîn/Rêzan

To say that you were everything to the Sorcerer would be an understatement. They had found themselves and their entire life turned upside down by your very being, your warmth and kindness endearing you to the Sorcerer.

You were their purpose, and their friend.

So it's surprise that when they rush to your side, panic and fear overtakes them. The tension is almost palpable in the air as they order, practically beg for others to secure your safety- to fetch the healers- to do something.

It's also in this very moment that they curse their own abilities, or lack thereof. Healing magic simply wasn't a big priority, especially when there were so many others who could look after your health and safety.

If only they had studied more - practiced more- perhaps paid more attention to their surroundings or kept a better eye over the many enemies of Arsur.

A gentle hand, your hand, frees them from the mental prison they were trapped in, lifting the weight of guilt and shame enough for them to focus on pouring every once of themselves to saving you.

You had saved them, been there by their side from the very start.

They had to return the favor, to repay you for all your trust.

Those sentiments ring through their head, repeated over and over again like a mantra as they feel a sharp pain in their skull. Hands trembling from the sheer amount of magic they were using.

The darkness, a very similar one you once saved them from sets its familiar claws into them, the Sorcerer collapsing besides you- their fists bunching up the fabric of your clothing. With what little strength they can muster, the Sorcerer pulls you to their chest, cradling their dying star to their chest.

Xelara/Xelef

The mercenary was a mess. Clever words had long left them by the time they reached your side. Instead there were only frantic, broken phrases of concern and orders to remain still less your wounds worsen.

It almost feels out of character for them, at least, for those who only knew the mercenary by reputation. Having lived the life they did and taking on a profession that exposes them to danger so very often; the Pale Sword had a relationship with death that bordered on being blasé. Even when other Crescent Blades fell in battle, their leader could keep a rational mind about it. For many, this helped to cement the band of mercenaries as relentless, a force to be reckoned with.

If only the gossip mongers and general public could see them now, form hunched over your own. The corner of their vision blurred from the stinging of tears threatening to spill.

They had expected an end like this for them, perhaps even desiring it over the withering they'd have to endure from aging, but for you? Nothing like this was supposed to happen to you. You were the Crown of Arsur. The leader of millions that all relied on you being safe and well. And, perhaps more importantly to the mercenary, you were also the keeper of their heart.

Were? No, you are the Crown of Arsur. And you will live through this. You have to. Otherwise...

The Pale Sword ends the notion right then and there, focusing on the present and being by your side. By now, they've done what they can for you, whether through what general first aid they know or through the healing magics of one of their Blades.

Moving you was out of the question, the very attempt to do so drawing a loud cry of pain from your lips. A wince of guilt burns in the mercenary as they pull back, trying to keep your focus on them instead of the carnage of battle.

The feeling of helplessness isn't an unfamiliar one to the mercenary, however, it's one that the Pale Sword despises to their very core. But what could they do for you that hasn't already been done? What could they do to ease your undeserved suffering?

What they do best.

Lie.

It only takes a moment for mercenary to pull their act together, a practiced, albeit softer smile, gracing their features. What would have been smoothed, honeyed lies of your condition fall flatter than they'd like. Your weak smile tells them as such, a weakened, forced laugh humoring the mercenary and giving them one last act of kindness they know deep down they do not deserve. Nevertheless, they embrace the comfort wholeheartedly, bringing the back of your chilled hands to their lips, their touch- their kiss, returning your gift with one last hug of warmth before the light in you fades away.

[pain-and-persistence]

Experience the reality of chronic illness 😷

Unveiling the Reality of Chronic Illness: Beyond the Surface

Chronic illness is often misunderstood, its complexities hidden beneath the surface of outward appearances. In this blog, we delve into the raw reality of living with chronic illness, shedding light on the unseen struggles, emotional toll, and resilience of those who navigate this challenging terrain every day.

1. The Invisible Battle: One of the defining features of chronic illness is its invisibility. While some conditions may manifest visible symptoms, many are silent, lurking beneath the surface. Fatigue, pain, cognitive fog, and other symptoms may not be apparent to others, leading to misconceptions and disbelief. This invisibility can be isolating, as individuals with chronic illness often feel misunderstood and invalidated.

2. The Daily Struggle: Chronic illness isn’t just about occasional flare-ups; it’s a daily battle against symptoms that disrupt every aspect of life. Simple tasks like getting out of bed, preparing meals, or socializing with friends can become monumental challenges. The relentless nature of chronic illness demands constant adaptation and resilience.

3. The Emotional Rollercoaster: Living with chronic illness takes a toll on mental and emotional well-being. From frustration and anger to sadness and grief, individuals may experience a range of complex emotions. The uncertainty of the future, fear of worsening symptoms, and the loss of identity and independence contribute to emotional turmoil.

4. The Impact on Relationships: Chronic illness reverberates beyond the individual, affecting relationships with family, friends, and even healthcare providers. Loved ones may struggle to understand the daily struggles and limitations imposed by the illness, leading to strained dynamics and feelings of guilt or resentment. Communication, empathy, and mutual support are crucial for maintaining healthy relationships amidst the challenges.

5. The Financial Burden: The cost of chronic illness extends far beyond medical expenses. From lost wages due to decreased productivity or disability to out-of-pocket costs for medications, treatments, and adaptive equipment, the financial burden can be overwhelming. Limited access to affordable healthcare exacerbates the challenges, placing additional strain on individuals and families.

6. The Stigma and Misconceptions: Despite growing awareness, stigma and misconceptions surrounding chronic illness persist. From assumptions that it’s just “in your head” to judgment about perceived laziness or weakness, individuals with chronic illness often face skepticism and discrimination. Challenging stereotypes, advocating for greater understanding, and sharing personal stories can help dismantle stigma and promote empathy.

7. The Resilience and Adaptability: Despite the myriad challenges, individuals with chronic illness demonstrate remarkable resilience and adaptability. They find strength in adversity, cultivate coping strategies, and redefine their sense of self and purpose. Each day, they navigate a complex landscape with courage and determination, refusing to let their illness define them.

In Conclusion: The reality of chronic illness is multifaceted, encompassing physical symptoms, emotional struggles, financial challenges, and societal barriers. By acknowledging the unseen complexities and fostering compassion and support, we can create a more inclusive and empathetic society where individuals with chronic illness are seen, heard, and valued for their resilience and strength.

[danger-xylophones]

Family Reunion (Darth Maul x reader) Pt. 5 An Old Love

Story summary: Reader and Darth Maul reunite for the first time in twelve years...and the ex-sith lord gets a strange surprise.

Warnings: Some angsty moments, Maul and reader fight, kind of a filler chapter

Notes: Female pronouns, an OC child

{masterlist}

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 , current read, Part 6

You could feel some of the tension leave your shoulders after you spotted the outline of the ship. The storm was still raging on which greatly hindered any progress you, Savage, and Maul could make as you were being pelted by acid rain. Why none of you bothered to take shelter was beyond you. Regardless, you voiced no complaint but, instead, wordlessly grabbed some wood to hold over your head. Savage had followed your lead and grabbed a piece of metal to protect himself and Maul who was carefully plodding along beside you. You had elected to take the lead and Savage was bringing up the rear both to protect your flank from any junkers looking for a fight and to make sure Maul stayed close. Given his current state, it was unclear if he’d stay put if something spooked him. Most likely he would if you were going by the way he would occasionally reach out and grab at your tunic or your arm or even your belt. The action assured you that if he did get spooked, most likely Maul would resort to wrapping around you like some spider-snake hybrid before attacking whatever it was that had startled him in the first place. Strangely, it was almost like he was back to normal. Whenever he was near you, his priority became to protect-whether it was from an outside threat or even himself. 

..............................................

“Maul?” Your voice rang unnaturally through the trees of the forest Maul had led you into. “Maul, where are you taking me?” You weren’t nervous, per se, but Maul had a pension for attracting trouble wherever he went; you were certain he was cursed. So, even if all he sought was a little jaunt around the homing districts of some unimportant core world, it was almost guaranteed something would go wrong. You had learned to always memorize the path you walked when you were with him as a result. 

“Patience, (Y/n).” The rogue scolded softly as his grip on your hand tightened. Despite the fact you could not see his face, you were certain he was smiling.

You scoffed at his words. “Ironic to hear you speak of patience, Master I-can’t-be-bothered-to-wait-for-you-to-be-done-with-training-so-let-me-sneak-into-the-Jedi-temple-while-you’re-away-and-risk-getting-us-both-found.” A small chuckle fell from Maul at your longwinded ‘insult’. 

“And it’s ironic to hear you scold me for that, Padawan I-snuck-away-from-my-master-during-a-mission-just-to-comm-you-about-two-tookas-I-saw-that-had-the-cutest-little-ones.” Maul’s deep voice teased back, eliciting an eye roll from you aimed at the back of his head. 

“That was valid, Maul.” You contested and placed a light kick to his leg. 

Maul simply chuckled as he came to a stop. “Whatever you say, (Y/n).” He kicked back, a little harder than you had which pulled a surprised yelp from you. You opened your mouth to rebuke him but Maul cut in. “Close your eyes.” 

“What?” You asked, startled, as your friend turned around to face you, warm saffron to scarlet eyes locking with your almost plain in comparison (e/c). 

“You heard me. Close your eyes.” Maul ordered again, releasing your hand in favor of crossing his arms. “What, do you not trust me?” 

You tutted. “I was taught never to trust a rogue.” 

“Yet you followed me into the forest.” 

“...Fair point.” You hummed and let your eyes slide shut, hands coming up to cover your face for good measure. “Alright, now what?” 

“Now...now I need you to keep your eyes closed until I tell you to open them.” His voice was unsteady. 

“Alright.” 

“And I need you to keep silent unless I ask you something, are you comfortable with that?” 

His words struck you as a bit odd but you decided to agree to his terms. “Yes, I am.” 

A whispered ‘thank you’ graced your ears before you heard Maul take a deep breath in. He released it in a heavy sigh and you could feel his hands gently wrap around your wrists so he could pull your hands from your face. Next, you felt him move till he was holding your hands in his, grip light indicating that if you felt the need to pull away, you could. “Padawan learner (Y/n) (L/n), apprentice to Jedi Master Ki-Adi Mundi and the first person brave enough to...to befriend me, I cannot tell you how many ways I imagined this moment. You have done some...confusing things to me, (Y/n). When I am with you, I do not feel the need to prove my worth. I do not feel as though I must be on guard. I do not feel like a monster.” You couldn’t help but swallow as your mind brought up the few ways this monologue could go. You weren’t certain you could handle any of the foreseeable outcomes with the grace and dignity and, more importantly, gentility your training demanded of you as a peacekeeper. What was peace if out of two in a conversation, one was fraught with turmoil? “And I regret the notion that I am unable to say this while looking in your eyes but I fear that if I did, I would not be able to say what needs to be said. However, if we are to continue seeing each other like this, I feel that I must be honest with you as you have been nothing but honest with me.” Maul took another deep breath and stepped closer to you. You could feel the warmth radiating off of his skin and you would be a liar if you denied that his proximity prompted certain thoughts to threaten a reemergence. “I fear that I am falling for you, (Y/n). Despite what your code ordains and despite what I am, I feel a great longing in my being that is only satiated by you.” Maul’s hands moved again, you could feel him lift your arms just slightly and a moment after, his lips dusted over your knuckles. Your breathing hitched at the sensation that shot up your arms. Like lightning, it surged straight to the center of your chest to lay a heavy stone in the middle of it.  The weight of his words settled swiftly, leaving you with an ache you had tried time and time again to quell. Tears began to form and you prayed that they wouldn’t slip from your eyes. Maker, you wanted him but you knew you would have to reject him-the code demanded it and you had already broken your master’s trust by sneaking behind his back like this; you couldn’t break it further by also disregarding the code that had guided you for so long. 

“And, although I know you’ve already made your choice, I have to tell you that I have never felt for anyone, ever. Not in any way-people are nothing but pawns but you...you, (Y/n), you make me feel alive and free and I feel for you so deeply it frightens me.” His breath hiccuped and you startled. Was he crying? Quickly you tried to sense for what he was feeling and you were immediately hit with a wave of emotion. Anger, desperation, hate, heartache, and longing invaded your senses and cracked your resolve in an instant ensuring the tears you had kept at bay fell freely. Maul gasped and released one of your hands in favor of wiping your tears with his thumb. “(Y/n), please, please don’t cry for me. I am not worth your tears.” His words only served to worsen the guilt that now plagued your heart. Seamlessly, Maul moved to pull you into an embrace. Although you had never so much as hugged, being embraced by Maul felt like the most natural thing in the galaxy. The action felt so familiar that you would not be surprised if someone alerted you that you and Maul had done this countless times in previous lives. You were still for what felt like an eternity as the galaxy seemed to begin collapsing inward around the two of you, the knowledge that this could be the last time you saw Maul only working to strengthen the brokenness growing in you. How cruel was it that the first time Maul was this open with you would be the last time you spoke? You couldn’t see him after this because you knew you couldn’t accept his feelings for you, no matter what you felt for him in return. The risk of falling to the dark side was too great. 

Eventually, you managed to dull the sting of raw emotion enough to become aware of the rhythmic caress of your back. Maul’s touch was soothing as his hand smoothed up and down. “M-Maul…” Your voice broke and Maul quickly shushed you. 

“Don’t speak, (Y/n).” A soft kiss landed on your crown and the tears began anew. “I know the guilt of denying me for my feelings alone would crush you so…” Maul softly pushed you away and you instinctively flicked your eyes open to meet his gaze. If he had indeed been crying, it was impossible to tell. His eyes which smoldered like dying embers hid a heavy resignation that you feared the worst of. Maul’s hands moved to your face, one remaining under your chin as he used the other to trace over the layout, it seemed like he was trying to memorize it. You found yourself reaching up to do the same. Maul’s eyelids fluttered at the touch as a strange buzz left his chest. You couldn’t help but smile when you realized he was purring. Sadly though, the moment ended and Maul pulled away. “I need to show you what I am, (Y/n). Close your eyes and hold out your hands.” Swiftly wiping away any of your tears, you nodded and did as he instructed all whilst trying to ignore the fear his words ignited. 

A heavy, round, metal object was laid across your open palms and your mind immediately pieced together that Maul had handed you a lightsaber. Presumably, it was the one that he always kept clipped to his belt: the one he never used. “Open your eyes, (Y/n).” Maul’s voice was fragile and you feel his gaze boring into the weapon he had set in your grasp. You were correct in your assessment of which lightsaber it was and you couldn’t help but admire the sleek design (which you thought complimented the appearance of its owner). Although, you were perplexed by why it was so long-it seemed rather cumbersome in comparison to your own dual lightsabers. Questioningly, you lifted your gaze to Maul. There was a strange sadness that seemed to haunt his eyes, making him look far older than the twenty-year-old man you knew him as. “Activate it.” 

How two simple words could shake you so violently you would never understand but you obliged despite the twist in your gut. It was then as you sought out the button which would ignite the blade that you noticed that the hilt had two ends. Which meant that it was a double-bladed lightsaber. You had heard of double-blades before, in fact, you recalled hearing about a Besalisk padawan who was fond of using them but something felt off about this one as your thumb hovered over one of the buttons. You pressed down. 

Immediately, the blade ignited and you felt your heart stop as the warm glow of the red saber burned into your eyes. “Maul...Maul, what is this?” It felt like someone was steadily crushing your chest. “What is this?” Your voice started to raise as the panic grew in you, your mind was already jumping through hoops on its way to a conclusion you refused to entertain. 

“You know what it is, (Y/n).” Maul explained quietly, his gaze trained on your face. “You know what I am.” Suddenly, his strange but entrancing eyes began to make sense to you; there was a reason no one else had eyes like him with the exception of only one other being. 

You shook your head frantically as you sheathed the blade. “No...no, they’re extinct. You can’t…” your hand tightened around the weapon as your voice faded away. “You can’t be a-a…” you knew what you had to do. Without warning, you threw the saber back at Maul who still caught it with ease despite the shock evident on his face. With a strangled yell, you grabbed your own lightsaber and attacked the traitor in front of you. Maul met your blow with infuriating ease and flicked you off of him. It didn’t deter you as you came at him full force once again. Your strikes were sloppy and far too loose for someone of your training but your mind was too drowned in foreign emotion to calculate your moves. Maul, on the other hand, seemed to have no trouble at all.

“You can’t beat me, (Y/n).” The...Maul explained in a soft voice as he blocked every one of your blows-never even moving to attack you. 

“I don’t care.” You seethed as you pushed against him From behind his blade, Maul sighed and swiftly snagged his calf around yours before pulling you off balance. You landed with an undignified thump and scrambled to grab your saber which had fallen next to you. Before you could, Maul pulled it to himself and clasped in his left hand. 

“You should care, (Y/n).” Maul silenced you as he picked you up using the force and suspended you before him with an invisible grip around your waist. “Your rage has unbalanced you. Were I actually here to harm you, I would have had no trouble. You need to focus your anger if you ever want to defeat me.” 

“Why-” You wriggled in the air despite knowing you were held up through the force. “Why are you trying to teach me? Just kill me and be done with it.” 

Maul’s face fell at your bitter words. “I’m trying to teach you because I do not want to see you hurt. I’ve hurt you enough.” 

..........................................

The rapping of Savage’s knuckles on the closed ramp of the ship was what brought you out of your thoughts. With a shake of your head, you looked up to see Savage moving over to the viewport to wave at Wild, signaling him that you were back. Maul was still at your side, having found some form of solace in latching his hand around yours. His nails dug into your skin from the incredibly tight grip he kept but you dared not to voice a complaint. He was calm right now and you needed him to stay calm while you got on the ship. The number of tricks you had to use on Maul to keep him at peace was alarmingly similar to the amount you used to use on Wild when he was a tot. 

Presumably having gotten Wild’s attention, Savage came stalking back towards you and Maul. “We don’t tell Wild what Maul is-in regards to the relation.” You commanded the second he was within earshot. “At least not until we’ve...fixed him.” Savage was given no chance to argue as the ramp was already descending. Wild emerged from the cockpit just as Savage unceremoniously shoved Maul onto the ship as he had tried to run. 

“What the kriff is that?” The boy exclaimed in shock. 

You whipped your head around in an instant. “Language.” 

“Sorry, mother, may I be granted knowledge regarding what the kriff is the creature you have brought aboard?” Wild shot back. You pulled a face at him but were unable to fault him for the sass he’d undoubtedly picked up from you. Your son knew this and thus stuck out his tongue to further taunt you. 

“To answer your question, Wild, this is Darth Maul.” You explained as Savage ushered Maul into a little alcove of boxes that would most likely act as his impromptu home till the three of you could figure out what you were going to do. 

“That’s Savage’s brother?” Wild asked in disbelief, hesitantly approaching the other two zabraks. Maul was occupying himself by watching you as you sorted through the crates for some blankets. “What happened to him?” 

A nervous laugh fell from you as you briefly glanced at the two adult males“It’s...a long story.” You sighed and met Wild’s gold eyes-very aware of the matching pair still fixated on you. 

........................................................

“Why are you trying to teach me? Just kill me and be done with it.” You spat at the Sith before you. 

“I’m trying to teach you because I do not want to see you hurt. Not after I’ve hurt you enough.” Maul answered evenly though you could hear the barely concealed remorse etched into his voice. Slowly, Maul lowered you to the ground and released his hold on you which left you both in a standoff. The zabrak male was staring at the ground in front of your feet, looking as though he wishes the ground would open up to swallow him. 

You stepped forward but stopped short. Maul was a sith you had to take him down and alert the council. Your feelings on the issue did not matter. His compassion was a farce as were his feelings. Were you really going to let him use you? Your body answered when your heart remained silent. You snagged your second lightsaber from your belt and ignited it, blue light filtering into the area around you. “Your words are a lie, Sith. I am a Jedi who fears neither pain nor death.” You took a deep breath in, eyes trained on the light of the blade you held in front of you. “If I am to be cut down by you, then I must abide by the will of the force but I will not go down without a fight.” 

“(Y/n)...” Maul tried once more but you weren’t having it. You ran for him again, more focused now that you had a clear goal. Maul activated one side of his double-bladed lightsaber and immediately went on the defensive which infuriated you to no end. You had sparred with Maul before and he was merciless in his attacks then: always on the offensive. He was always trying to push you harder than your current training did. He had worked on teaching you how to embrace and utilize your emotions. You realized now that he was only trying to corrupt you. “You are leading with your right, try to hide that.” Maul instructed calmly as he flicked the tip of your blade away. You gritted your teeth at his remark but you did take care to disguise your dominant side a bit more thoroughly. “Your grip is a bit too tight-if you loosen it a little you will be able to maneuver the blade more fluidly.” 

“Stop it.” You spat at him, drawing back. With a spin, you brought your blade over your head and down on Maul who greatly underestimated the strength in that strike. He stumbled back and dropped on his knee. 

“Good, (Y/n), like that-channel your anger.” Maul commended warmly, your eye twitched in response. You pressed down against the red sith blade as hard as you could, willing yourself to overpower the man you had thought so highly of mere minutes ago. 

“Would you shut up?! I’m trying to fight you!” You yelled at him, not realizing what you had fallen for. Maul fell back and swiftly planted his feet on your torso. Your face paled as you realized what was about to happen but by then, it was too late, he had launched you into the air. You twisted around to prepare yourself to land on the ground but your feet never met it. 

“And that is why I am talking, (Y/n).” Maul explained quietly, one hand outstretched towards you. “I do not want to fight you.” 

“Then what do you want, Maul? What else could you possibly want? You lied to me, you made me fall for you, and you lied to me what else is there for you to want? Me to beg for my life, groveling in submission at your feet?” You were screaming, wildly clawing at the air as if that would help you. You were upset and you wanted to leave. 

“I want you.” Maul’s words made you freeze. “I want you to come with me, to leave the Jedi order behind and to be mine. I want you to be free, (Y/n).” The zabrak was speaking softly and padding towards you as he set your feet on the ground, lightsaber returned to the clip on his belt. 

You couldn’t even meet his gaze. “I can’t, Maul...the code-” “Damn the code, (Y/n), you’ve already broken it.” Maul exclaimed, cutting you off entirely. “I know you feel the same as I do-you ache for me as I long for you. Please, forsake the Jedi.” He drew closer with every step, his desperation evident until he could reach forward to take your face in his hands. “Come with me.” 

You stared at his chest, contemplating the mess that this evening had become. “Maul...I…” You looked up at him. “Is everything you said true?”

“Every word of it.” He moved closer so you were nose to nose. “I’ve fallen for you, (Y/n), and all I want is to fall farther.” 

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[porniscancer]

Two pieces of advice I constantly give people are these:

-Never look for happiness in other people. I promise you it will slowly destroy you inside.

-Guard your heart and be careful to whom you give it to. You don’t get those pieces of yourself back.

I should take my own advice

So I’m not going to get terribly in depth into my personal life just for the sake that it is not necessary for the sake of this confession/rant/unloading or whatever you want to call it. I’m just putting things to words to get them off my chest. I hope anyone reading this doesn’t think any less of me by the end of it.

I’ve been married to my wife for quite some time now. I can’t say the whole time has been good. Quite frankly a lot of it has been just varying degrees of hard. Some my fault, some hers, as would be with any relationship. I’m not going to go in to the entire history of our marriage. What I will say is that, yes, she has known about my addiction since before we were married (which she had always been supportive of me over. Probably because she struggles, herself). It has also increasingly become cold. As much....... drive..... as I have, she has never really reciprocated. Not most of the time, anyway. We’ve had moments but our marriage has left me intensely frustrated in that arena for all but probably a total of two years of it.

We’ve gotten along ok. But if I’m being honest, our marriage sucks. Things haven’t been the same since we had kids. She became increasingly short tempered and snappy with me for a long while. Shutting off to my physically as well. Which built up a lot of resentment in me. I’m not perfect. There’s things I could do better. I’m not a tremendously wonderful communicator and don’t express myself very well unless I’m super comfortable (which, if you can imagine, is difficult to do when you’re afraid of being snapped at).

Fast forward to six years ago when a friend of mine from Facebook messaged me asking for prayer because her fiancée left her. She was emotionally unstable and I feared for her well being. The two of us became close. Way too close. Not inappropriately, but emotionally. I admit that now. At the time, I became emotional support for her. While I regret how I handled the friendship and how close I let it get, at the time I felt she was a danger to herself and she trusted me. My wife was very uncomfortable with it and we had discussions about it. I should have put her in closer contact with someone else to help her and backed off. But I didn’t. I felt appreciated and needed.... which became addicting. During this time, my wife made an earnest attempt for about 3/4 of the year to be close to me. It was the first time in years I truly felt wanted. But it didn’t last. Neither did the other friendship. She eventually started dating someone and I became a mere afterthought. Not to overshare, but it was also during this time that was the last time we had sex. She’d been getting into gaming (where she’s got a friend of her own that she’s inappropriately close to that she thinks I don’t know about) and she got a new laptop. The games became her focus and she spent more and more time with it while I became ignored and she wanted nothing to do with me physically.

Fast forward to last year. A friend from Facebook and I started chatting after I shared a joke with her privately. Only reason I sent her that was because she’d posted something about finding amusement in dark humor and so I sent it to her because it was something I find funny that others might not think are funny and I don’t want to offend anyone. Everything’s fine at this point. We mostly shared memes and humorous banter for a couple of months. Then one night when she’d had a drink (enough to be a little tipsy) she told me her husband hated her. I don’t know why she told me that. But she opened up that sometimes he’s mean to her and treats her like he hates her. Which, if you can imagine, resonates (seriously.... I’ve been snapped at for simply trying to help or do something nice. This is not an exaggeration). And, because I’m the dumbest man alive and I don’t learn from mistakes, we became close. Our conversations have been inappropriate at times. She’s confessed to me a few times she finds me very attractive which I, regrettably, reciprocated. But we did eventually resolve to keep our conversations appropriate and have been doing so. I’m trying to deal with this with a lot of prayer and by allowing space with my friend. Just..... as you can imagine, it’s causing a tremendous amount of inner turmoil. I’ve been dealing with a lot of anxiety and worsening depression over it. Both out of guilt for feeling anything in the first place as well as despair knowing nothing can possibly come from it as we are both married and are both serious about marriage being a life long commitment. I already often feel no hope that my life will get better. This just adds to it. Even though I shouldn’t and there’s no chance short of divine intervention of anything coming of it, I feel a deep pain every time I see her post a photo of her with her husband. Which then makes me feel guilty and hopeless.

At the end of the day, really, I know I need to guard my heart. I know most of my wounds are self inflicted. But if you take anything from this, please.... take the advice I’m too dumb to listen to. Don’t wrap up your happiness in other people. It’s a bad idea. They will fail you in one capacity or another or you’ll latchh on and become dependent and when things change you will experience deep hurt. AND.... guard your heart. When you get close to someone like that, you don’t get those pieces of your heart back. No matter how much time goes by, your heart will still miss them every time you’re reminded of them.

I’m not looking for advice or help. Just venting what’s on my heart for therapeutic purposes. I do hope anyone that’s read this far doesn’t think any less of me. If you want to know why my heart latched on to two women it shouldn’t have? It’s very simple..... I felt wanted and needed

[chunhua-s]

CHERRY RED  ➽ ASAHI AZUMANE X OC

genre: ongoing, fluff

warnings: mutual pining

Chapter 2: In Apathy’s Lonely Lullaby

That hallway on the first floor had, within her three years spent on Karasuno’s grounds, become something of Sora’s own personal haven. A place where her music filled up the walls and danced on the air like cherry blossom petals, brushing against the cheeks of those that passed by as if it were the hands of a lover that so tenderly touched their skin. Students and teachers always fell into similar reverence whenever they passed through the hallway, abandoning their thoughts and voices in favour of hearing her play and allowing the gentle notes she created to fill up their hearts, for the faster songs to settle heavy on their tongues like molten gold. She was a world-builder, capable of spinning entire universes under the touch of her fingers; an urban legend that was whispered about beneath the waves of her harmonies, hushed words of supernovas and dying stars that sang of unworldly beauties in their final moments.

Her fingers moved seamlessly in their journey across the piano keys, their transition from one note to the next appearing so elegant even with the quick tempo of the piece. Her face was set in the perfect picture of composure, the underlying hums of exhaustion and hunger hidden away by her concentration as she pushed herself into practicing for the upcoming competition. She’d spent the better half of the previous night similarly in the confines of her home, sat with her back straight and hands outstretched to brush against the keys until her body had grown stiff and her mind hazy with neglected dreams. Over the course of two weeks, the time she dedicated to practice had become something of a constant battle, one in which she tirelessly fought with herself to pour her feelings into her music, fill the notes with what she so frequently left unsaid that her audience would be left defenceless against the barrage of it. Over and over, she repeated to herself that she needed overwhelm them, wrap their very breaths between her fingers and pull them from their lungs; leave behind nothing but an empty void waiting to be filled up by the torrent of her emotions. For them to truly understand her; the need grew into something so incessant that the only thing she could think of was the unexplainable craving to carve herself into their hearts and wrap herself around them like a vine, leaving behind such a strong and impactful memory in the wake of her storm that they would see her face whenever they heard a piano play.

She was left breathless by the end of the song, and yet even as each gasp for air was dragged between her parted lips, her red eyes continued to burn against the white music score sat neatly on the sheet holder. It wasn’t enough yet, her feelings weren’t getting across the way she wanted them to. The room still felt too cold, too empty, too desperate and yearning for the sentiments she kept locked away behind cherry lips. Frustration bubbled on the edge of her exhaustion, leaving her to feel drained and near ready to collapse against the grand piano as angry tears threatened to leave star trails across her brown skin. All her effort — her blood, sweat and tears, the countless nights she forced herself to stay awake, pouring out over black and white keys until her stomach cramped in hunger and her vision turned white — and she was still unable to give her heart to the piece. The very thought caused the golden blood running through her veins to burn hot across her body and collect on the back of her tongue, so that she could focus on nothing but the unrelenting bitterness of her inability. So that it would remind her of everything she lacked and tear her apart by the seams, until she was absolutely destroyed and what remained of her star-filled galaxy was left to scatter across dark plains and disappear beneath black holes. It would break her apart, scream at her until her spirit caved in and left Sora Ishida as nothing but an empty shell.

A familiar face appeared in the doorway, and it was as if she relearned how to breathe in the light of caramel brown eyes. His face was painted into the same concerned frown he’d worn that morning, when he saw her emerge from her front door with red lines beneath her eyes and across her nose. And yet, even in his picture of worry and tender care, he appeared unto her as beautifully as he’d always been; the sight of him there with her was enough to still her aching heart and wash her fears away beneath a gentle summer rain.

“Did you eat yet?”

Guilt consuming her under the weight of Asahi’s question, she was left unable to answer as she watched his expression turn from worried to exasperated, his feelings being so effortlessly translated in the heavy sigh he let out. With silent, lumbering steps, he crossed the distance between them with two bento boxes in his hands. He held one out to her wordlessly, his eyes telling of a particularly quiet sternness that was so often absent in his relaxed expressions; she felt as if she were a child being scolded by her senior as she helplessly received the box from his hands, followed after him as he moved to sit beneath the open window, away from the piano.

“I promise I was going to get something from the vending machines before class started again,” she tried to appease him, gingerly taking the spot next to him and gazing down at the lid of the box he gave to her. She felt an appreciative smile grow on her lips and was unable to fight back the swelling of her heart for the cute drawing of Totoro, the large cat depicted over the baby blue colours. A doubtful hum came from the boy next to her as she popped the lid to reveal a very delicate arrangement of rice and curried shrimps, broccoli, and carrots.

“You speak as if anything from the vending machine can keep you alive,” Asahi said, his words light in his sarcasm as he gently unwrapped his own box, a simple wooden thing with small flowers covering the sides. The smell of the delicious food quickly surrounded them like a warm blanket, familiar in its flavour and, as if to prove his words, caused her stomach to rumble its ascent. She felt her skin grow warm in shame, a resigned smile taking its place across her lips as Asahi’s gentle laugh danced on the wind. It was the sound of hushed waters passing through a spring meadow, filled with secrets and promises told to each other beneath the watchful stars, and she wanted more than anything to capture every second of it inside a glass bottle, one that she’d hold close to her heart in every waking moment.

“Mom’s basically badgering me to make sure you’re eating, too,” he admitted to her after swallowing a mouthful of his lunch just as Sora began chewing on hers; she’d nearly missed his words on the high of the delicious flavours on her tongue, feeling herself instantly relax as she absorbed the taste of the curry-covered rice. Heavens, it had been too long since she’d eaten a proper home-cooked meal, considering that both her and her father had been eating store-bought bentos for the past two weeks while her mother left on her travels. Because of her absence, the two had only barely given much thought to properly sustaining themselves on real food, something they wouldn’t have been able to get away with had her mother been at home with them. As Asahi continued speaking on nodes of astonishment and a look of betrayal, she relished in another taste of her rice and curried shrimps. “She rarely ever makes lunch for me anymore, but she made sure to do this for you because she felt like you and your dad wouldn’t be eating well in Olivia-san’s absence — it’s like she forgets who her real child is sometimes, honestly.”

A laugh rang through from her lips at his expense, recognizing the words for their playful nature. “Well,” she hummed, the last of her chuckles tumbling from her mouth like butterflies, “I’ll be sure to come over and tell Mitsuba-san thank you for taking such good care of me.”

Asahi abandoned his faux-frown for his regular, sweet smile, tilting his head to the side in the softness he always bore with him. “She’d like that — she’s really excited to come see you perform again, you know?” At the mention of her upcoming competition, Sora felt her throat lock and tighten around her next breath and her smile drew just a bit tighter, and it was as if the merciless waves that thrashed around in her chest before his arrival were coming back to pull her under.

Sensing her growing turmoil, Asahi’s lips turned down and his concerned frown returned to his face; Sora felt so guilty, watching the peaceful expression he bore fade away into undeserved worry, all because she wasn’t able to keep her feelings in check. He shouldn’t have to worry about her, she silently scolded herself, especially now that he was beginning to get back into volleyball. She should be the one to take away whatever was on his mind, not add extra things for him to worry about when he didn’t need to.

Before she could try and brush away his concerns, she watched his hands lower with his bento and chopsticks until they were rested between his crossed legs and turned his head to fully face her. “Is that what has you so torn up these days?” Ah, had he been able to read her feelings all that time? The guilty feeling worsened, knowing that he’d been watching her eat away at herself for so long when he should have been concentrating on his volleyball practices.

She drew a smile across her lips in hopes that it would ease his worries off her, did her best to reassure him that she was alright. The words “Don’t worry about me, it’s only competition nerves,” fell from her lips and she prayed desperately that he would take them as she gave them, that he wouldn’t think to try and see through them. And yet, she knew Asahi, and she knew that he could read her like an open book, that he could trace every single constellation that scattered across her caramel skin and connect them to show everything she tried to keep masked beneath her passive smile. She saw now, in the way his coffee brown hues searched the expansive, barren lands of her red eyes, that it was futile to hide anything from him; he was picking apart each and every negative emotion that plagued her dreams, and would lay them out between the both of them so that they were no longer concealed.

“You’ve been working yourself a lot these past days,” he muttered as the lines on his forehead deepened in quiet distress for her and her well-being. It made her wish, for his sake at least, that she would have been more careful. “I know you want to do well but you have to take care of yourself too, you know?”

She sighed again, the sound heavy and relenting to the feeling of weakness that crept across her spine like insects. How was she supposed to tell the boy in front of her about what was plaguing her? How could she look at him and tell him sorry that he had to put up with such a boring person for so long? A girl of placid expressions and smiles that never told enough of the happiness she felt whenever she was with him, how could she say sorry for being so plain and apathetic? She tried and tried, but the words wouldn’t come out of her throat. Like a cruel joke, the words of her classmates echoed in her mind, “Really, Ishida-san, you’re too bland! It’s so hard to tell what you’re really thinking!” And though their words were said in a harmless remark, Sora couldn’t help the way that she’d begun to consider them for their weight, dwelling on them for longer than she should have until they began to fester in her mind like an open wound. As bad as she felt for having been the most boring, uninteresting, friend, as cold and lifeless as icy wastelands, she was selfish and didn’t want to let go of the boy who warmed her dead heart with his joy and smiles.

And so, this selfish girl forced her lips to move with a prayer at the back of her throat, that no matter what, she would still be able to latch on to the boy that made her happy. “I have to keep playing, Asahi.” The smile on her lips burned like acid, the doubts and worries that plagued her in the latest hours of the night threatened to choke her with tendons of shadows until she would collapse and fall away. But she kept going, pushed past their restraints so that if anything, at least he would be able to understand her when no one else would. “If I don’t play, then how else will they understand me?”

And there it was. The look that was able to wash away each pain of her heart and fill it up with a never ending well of acceptance for everything she was. Asahi’s smile was so gentle and tender, warm under the afternoon sun where the smell of curried shrimps and chalk dust surrounded them between four walls. In that moment, her entire universe shrunk, compassed itself to fit between the seconds that passed them by like fine gold dust and red rose petals. In the place where her music fell silent and her heart ached for the familiar burn of unexpressed feelings, she felt herself instead embraced by everything that he was, drank up the sunlight that stretched across lavender fields and green grass meadows. Her universe became the hallway on the first floor where students and teachers let their hearts sing on her keys; the piano room that had seen her crack and fall apart and build herself together again; her universe became him.

She felt her heart melt into a puddle when Asahi’s hands cupped her cheeks and lifted her head so that she could meet his gaze once more, so that she could see the endless patience in the smile he bore. He had always been a tender boy with a heart of glass, a little pessimistic and an abstract sense of humour that drew shameless laughter from the depths of her belly. He was a grounding anchor that kept her tethered among harsh waves, a beacon of light in the darkest moments of her life. And with his hands holding her the way they did, he was guiding her out of that darkness to bring her back to him, letting words of comfort and promises of safety dance on the wind and wrap around her heart.

His thumbs rubbed slow, easy circles across her skin and he held his eyes locked with hers, drowning her in pools of caramel and warm coffee. “Isn’t it more important,” his voice came in on a low whisper, one that tickled her ears and caused her heart to flutter, “for you to understand yourself more?”

And suddenly, the universe fell quiet. Everything except for them had suddenly stopped moving, becoming trapped in a vortex of stagnant time flow that left her alone with him. The chalk dust and sakura petals had all become still, and all that remained was his warm smile and the feeling of his palms against her skin. His soft words echoed in their small space with an impact great enough to shatter and recreate the foundations she’d built up in her chest; she could do nothing to fight against it, let herself become swallowed up by him so that he could mould her as he wished. Until she became everything he would want; he only needed to command her and she would act.

“If you’re able to understand yourself, won’t everything turn out alright” He said, “and if it’ll make you feel better, I understand you perfectly fine.”

He was right. Was there any real need for the world to understand her? What would their validation and acceptance bring her save for transparency in places where she preferred obscurity? Just as quickly as her worries had overtaken her, they seemed to dissipate like stardust, crumbling between Asahi’s fingers and leaving back a bright and genuine smile. She lifted her hands to hold on to his, felt the warmth that met against her cold skin and let it fill her up to the brim. “It makes me feel much better,” she told him, grinning back as his lips stretched farther across his face, “it means the world to me.”

As a musician, Sora Ishida could create entire worlds beneath the tips of her fingers, could tell legends in the sounds of the melodies she played. And yet, she decided that there was no world more beautiful than the one where Asahi Azumane remained in her life.

[certifiedskywalker]

Better Left Unsaid - Dick Grayson

You and Dick have never been good with feelings. You both had a habit of swallowing them, drowning them out. It was what made him such a good Robin and what made you feel safe. Despite everything you had been through together, it seemed that the two of you would never speak up. So you both continued to dance around the words that sang in your hearts.

An unsettling quiet had fallen over the group after the escape from the Asylum. You weren’t entirely sure if it was because you were all exhausted or if you were all too traumatized to speak. Out of all of you, Rachel and Kory seemed the most talkative. They questioned Angela every so often, asking her all about her stay. Rachel’s mother fumbled with some answers, but you took it as she had been long since abused to the point of deep repression. You had already forced the torture from your mind. You had to in order to function, in order to move on.

However, you feared that Dick had too quickly suppressed what had happened. His jaw was set in a hard line as he drove on. Brown eyes were tired, but you knew that the drugs in his system weren’t all there was to blame. One hand gripped the steering wheel, while the other was against the armrest between you. So close, yet you could sense he was far away from you. Biting your lip, you kept your worries to yourself. You had watched Dick burn his suit. He had stood as still as a tree as the flames burned away what was left of Robin. The image was seared in your brain and the idea of what that could mean for him scared you.

So instead of questioning his actions or his thoughts, you reached for his hand. Nimbly, you entangled your fingers with Dick’s. You saw his eyes dart briefly to your joined hands but swiftly back to the road. Some part of him seemed to settle back into reality as he shifted in his chair. As long as Dick was back in the moment, alert and present, you left you could rest easy.

The rest of the ride to the safe house was in silence. Not even Gar had the will to strike up a conversation as you all took the elevator up. Dick pressed himself into the corner of the space, leaning against the cool surface of the wall. Your brows knitted in concern when you saw him close his eyes. You rested a hand on his shoulder when the lift reached the floor. He jolted before he realized it was you. He mumbled a soft apology before leading the group out to the main level of Batman’s safe house.

Rachel and her mom quickly retired to their room, as did Gar. As he passed you by, you grabbed his shoulder gently. The boy peered up at you, specks of crimson still around his lips and splattered across his face. A frown was etched into his features, a look that his eyes seemed to mirror.

“We can talk tomorrow, okay? You did good today.” Your tone seemed comfort him as he nodded. The frown still lingered on his lips.

“Th-Thanks, Y/N,” he whispered hoarsely before climbing up the stairs to his room. You watched him go, wishing that you could do or say more. You let out a sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose as you swallowed the urge to cry. It wasn’t until a hand brushed against your hip did the feeling start to pass.

Looking up at the hand’s owner, you found Dick’s brown eyes staring back at you. The cut on his lip was no longer bleeding, but it still looked painful. As did the gash at the top of his forehead. You offered him a bittersweet smile, hoping that it would be enough.

“He’ll be okay.” The words he uttered were all the comfort that you needed. You wanted to thank him, tell him that he would be okay too. That he would find himself and you would help him do so; but the words didn’t get the chance to find air.

“You two want a drink?” Kory’s question cut the quiet that had woven you and Dick in the moment. He turned to the magenta haired woman and nodded, walking in the direction of the kitchen. You felt the tips of his finger squeeze your hip gently as a signal to follow.

Kory had already open three beers before you walked into the small kitchenette. She lifted a brown bottle to her lips and her nose scrunched up at the taste. Dick let out an amused huff at the sight and you settled in a stool beside him. Dick took a swig as you played with the lip of the bottle, lost in thought. Rarely had you seen Dick drink, but you knew what it meant.

One of his defining characteristics was his cut off feelings. Ever since Bruce had taken him in, trained him, Dick had limited his range of emotion. It was evident from the day you met him. He only felt justice, revenge, and, most of all, guilt. So things grew complicated when you fell for the man. You knew he had the capacity to love. You had seen it when you both met Dawn. It had been brief, but even in your past silence, his actions had broken your heart. Dick drank after she went back to Hank, and you hoped this would not worsen his downward spiral.

“You okay, Y/N?” Dick’s voice rang in your head, pulling you from your thoughts. You looked up from your full bottle and gazed into his eyes. The lines in his face held unease, something you had grow too used to seeing.

“As much as I can be,” you replied curtly. Dick frowned, his eyes still trained on your face. Suddenly feeling bashful, you rubbed your eyes and sighed. “I think I’m going to turn in. Don’t stay up too late, you two.” Your tone had held a hint of humor, but the idea of them together made your stomach turn. Kory let out a laugh a shook her head.

“Trust me, we won’t.” Unsure as to how to take that, you started to make your way upstairs. The one thing that made you thankful for Bruce was his foresight into housing. He must have been thinking about assembling a team of sorts with the amount of rooms in this safe house. You wandered into your room, the one nearest to Gar’s, and shut the door behind you.

As you changed for bed, each of your muscles screamed in pain as you jostled around. Rolling your shoulders to dull the aches, you slipped on an old tee. It took you a moment, but you realized it was Dicks. It must’ve gotten switched around from when you shared a room at the last hotel. A heavy sigh passed over your lips as your thoughts drifted back to him.

It didn’t take long for you to realize you loved Dick Grayson. Despite his anger and sadness, there was good in his heart. He was getting better, had been since he left Bruce. You only wished you had left with him. The idea of dropping the vigilante life sounded too good to be true; life of ease and normalcy. Dick had tasted that life. Yet, somehow, he had been dragged back into the turmoil. It had brought him back to you though and, selfishly, you were happy ]for that.

However, when he had left Gotham, you had found yourself missing Dick Grayson. You missed his voice, the soft lowness of it and the way it dripped with a charm that he always denied he possessed. You had missed the way held his head in his hands when he was stressed or worried. In all that time, you had missed the moments you would catch him watching you. He always looked at you as if he had never seen you before. As if you were some eccentric stranger that had passed him in the streets once. Part of you thought that those too-long-looks were a sign, but you never allowed yourself to get too hopeful.

Most of all, you missed Dick’s heart. While his actions differed, his words were full of a rawness that you had only the luck to hear a handful of times. You had even seen him cry once, and you could never forget what he looked like. Eyes red and face twisted up in pain, but not from any physical wound. You had held him that then, on the roof of Wayne Manor. His head had nestled in the crook of your neck as you asked him about what had happened.

He didn’t breathe a word that night, but he didn’t have to. You knew that he was hurting somehow and all you wanted to do was make it stop. It was the one time Dick showed you a face of his that he had hidden away. You longed to see it again.

Almost as if you had given voice to your wish, you heard a knock on the door. Waiting a moment, another knock with a unique rhythm to it. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself as you recognized the beat. A sacred knock you and Dick had come up with as children. As you padded over to the door, you prepared yourself for whatever Boy Wonder had in store.

“Yes?” You asked as you cracked open the door. Dick was still wearing his worn leather jacket and he hadn’t even taken the time to unlace his boots.

“I thought you would be asleep.” His eyes scanned up and down your form. You noted the small quirk of his lips when he noticed you were wearing his shirt.

“I only came up here ten minutes ago,” you said, opening the door to let him in. Dick nodded as he walked inside your room. As quietly as you could, you shut the door behind him.

“I figured you were exhausted after….” He trailed off, unable to explain the state in which he had found you in the asylum. You shivered that the thought.

“I-I, uh, I didn’t try yet.” You admitted, rubbing at your upper arm. Dick cocked his head and you clarified, “sleeping. I haven’t tried to sleep yet.”

“Oh,” he said, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. The questions that you had pushed away in the car boiled up inside, begging to be asked. Instead, you walked over and sat beside Dick on your bed.

“Did Kory go to bed?” You crossed your legs as you asked, looking at your hands as they settled in your lap.

“No,” the word pulled your attention back to Dick, “she’s still downstairs. I just didn’t want to drink anymore….I think, I think I want to talk.”

“You think you want to talk….what about?” Dick’s eyes met yours the moment you spoke. There was a seriousness in his tired eyes that alarmed you, but you swallowed your fear; just as you always did.

“About what happened….”

“What did they do to you, with the drugs?” The question tumbled out of your mouth before you could stop it, but it seemed that it was the thing to ask. Dick shifted against the mattress. “What did you see, I mean.”

“I saw a lot,” Dick whispered. “I saw Bruce...I saw myself, I saw you.” Your heart began to race as Dick continued. “I fought me, but I was younger, and so angry with myself. At that point, I heard you scream an-and I couldn’t….”

Dick’s voice broke off and his gaze fell to his hands. You felt your brows furrow as you leaned closer to him. Brushing your shoulder against his, Dick brought his gaze back to yours. You rested your arms against his, letting him feel the warmth of your skin against his own. The contact alone was enough to make you shudder.

“Hey, I’m alright. Whatever they gave you-”

“Whatever they gave me showed me my deepest thoughts, my worst fears. I saw myself lost and I heard you dying, Y/N. I can’t forget that.” You could almost feel the pain crawling up his throat as he spoke. The rareness of this, Dick showing you himself so open, made your heart ache. It was worse when you saw his eyes grow misty.

“Hey, hey,” you reached your hands up to his face. You forced his eyes to yours as you brushed your thumbs along his cheekbones. “I’m here now though, okay? I’m alive and you….you aren’t lost, Dick. You’re still you, just stumbling right now. You can find your way again, and you will.”

Your words seemed to calm Dick down a bit, as his gaze began to clear. As you waited for a reply, you felt one of his hands come up to yours which still rested against his cheek. His fingers danced along the angles of your hand before tracing up your forearm. Your breath shook as you inhaled, trying not to focus on how badly you wanted to lean into his touch.

“Do you believe that?” His voice was ragged when he spoke, his tone drenched in wonder. You nodded, offering him a soft smile.

“Of course I do,” you whispered, “and I’ll be there to help. I always will be.” Dick blinked, taking in your words, your promise. The thing you really wanted to say sat on your tongue as you tested its weight. Before you could do anything, Dick spoke up.

“Y/N, I….” He licked his lips nervously. Dick’s pause gave you enough time to drop your hands from his face. He looked back to you and you shook your head, grabbing one of his hands. Giving it a gentle squeeze, you sighed.

“You don’t have to say it, Dick.”

“But you don’t know what I’m going to say.”

“If it’s anything like what I want to say, then I do,” you replied, giving his hand another squeeze. Dick’s mouth fell open for a moment but he quickly closed it. “We’ve never been good with things like this, not really.”

“Yeah,” Dick replied, offering you half of a quarter smile. You leaned your face towards him, pressing your forehead against his own. Closing your eyes, you let the warmth of his body over take you. You could hear his heart beating in time with your own and the bond between you grow with each ‘thump’. After a moment, you felt Dick’s hands gripping your waist. Before you could fight back, Dick pulled you into his lap.

You opened your eyes and were met with his darling brown ones. Lifting your hands back to his cheeks, you felt every ache melt away. All you felt was love, that unspoken phrase weaving between your bodies just as it always had.

“I do, you know,” Dick whispered, his tone serious.

“I do too,” you replied. Smiling softly, Dick craned his neck upwards. You felt his chapped lips brush against your own and your legs quivered with restraint. You had wanted this for so long. Unable to hold yourself back any longer, you pressed your lips fully to his. Quiet and gentle movements, shuffling filled the room. You felt love in that kiss and you felt safety in his arms.

[gabriella-lost-in-the-big-city]

And in her heart was a sea of darkness… Pt. 1

The choice I make to say what I have to say in the next post is a risky one. It may change how people view me or act around me entirely. I may be seen as a victim crying out for help (and maybe I am). However, despite the consequences of talking about this matter, the whole point of this blog was to be nothing but 100% honest with the people that read what I write and give my self the opportunity to say all the things I wish I could say or do or feel on a daily basis. So without any other further interruption, here I go…

My depression has been with me since the 6th grade, a time where my emotional intelligence grew and I became more secure with my sexuality. I felt such guilt and fear for being a male (at the time) who had sexual/romantic feelings for other men since I grew up in Raleigh, NC from 2005 to 2014. Feeling like I could confidently be out of the closet as a gay male (let alone being a trans woman) was not an option in the south. I was surrounded by so many narrow-minded people that knew nothing but the tobacco farms and cattle that surrounded them, that still thought racism was a politically correct thing, that God, Jesus, and whoever else from the nativity scene where the only “people” that were going to save you from burning in hell for your “sin”. There were no political activists, social justice warriors, or open-minded liberals, just white Republicans chewing tobacco and riding down the highway with confederate flags in tow. It was not always like this, but when these images crossed my path I knew that there was going to be backlash on being anything other than white straight and Christian. I knew I couldn’t tell many people around me, especially not my family (diluted Catholics from El Salvador), so I spent the next 4 years keeping who I really was a secret (something I would pick back up when I discovered I was actually trans this entire time in college) and that really tormented me mentally. I felt alone among even my closest friends. I felt like I couldn’t get too close to anyone at school or in the neighborhood to avoid having them find out I was gay and possibly hating me for being gay. I began to develop thoughts of suicide during this time in my life as my depression worsened over the years. I just kept having these thoughts that things were never going to get better, that I would have to live the rest of my life in secret from my family, that I would never be loved for being who I am, and that my feelings/thoughts/actions would always be seen as wrong. My thought process was if I just killed myself I wouldn’t have to feel the pain and agony of my depression, I didn’t have to live my life in fear – distant from the world around me. In hindsight, the emotional turmoil I endured with my transition into the woman was way more deserving of a desire to commit suicide then what I went through in middle/high school. Middle/High school is the common cold and what I have been going through during the past 3 years of college is like a stage 4 pressure injury infected with MRSA.  I never like talking about my life as a gay male (2007-2014) even if it is a brief background story because I always feel it’s such a cliché/diluted story of what I’ve been through.

Now that you know that I suddenly didn’t just start being depressed and suicidal when I moved to NYC for college, this is where the real fun begins. I don’t want to focus on how I discovered I was trans all along in this post, so I’ll just skip that part for now. As a trans woman, my depression began to worsen – I finally found the answer I had been looking for to explain why I never could relate to the guys in the neighborhood or why I felt “different” all my life, but now I became an even bigger monstrosity in society. For some reason, people can be ok with people being Gay, Lesbian, or Bisexual (which even that is something people can’t get their heads around, but I digress), but are not ok with people being trans. My parents, for the most part, had dealt with me being “gay” neutrally a.k.a. they never really mentioned it after I came out to them. However, I knew that being trans was a pill they would not be able to swallow (a thought that would come true soon enough). I chose to act on my desire to be a woman my freshman year of college in secret from my family – I would put on my E.L.F. makeup on and look like a total mess and occasionally wear an ill-fitting dress from F21 and super high heels that I knew I could not walk in (something I still have not mastered). Some of my closest friends called me Gabby (which in hindsight I am so grateful they took the initiative on), but for the most part, I was still Justin (GOD I FUCKING HATE HAVING TO SAY/SEE/THINK OF THAT NAME). Over the course of the past three years, It became increasingly harder to be seen and treated as “Justin” as I came close to becoming the woman I am today, but in those early years it was easier to still be “Justin” as I had already made up my mind that there was no way I could live ha happy life being trans. My family would never respect or accept me (which is mostly true in my current situation) and I would never be truly loved by a man (or a woman) as a transwoman (which I still think is true because my run-ins with online dating are terrible, but we will save that for another post). I think the hardest part was having to keep everything a secret, especially when I moved in with my grandma my sophomore year where I literally had to pack Gabriella in a box and be forced to only be her when I was in the bathroom. I worked so hard those four years of high school just to have the courage to come out the closet and be free, just to be thrown back in with no way out in sight. On the outside, I pretended everything was fine on the outside, but I the inside, the negative thoughts I had about myself just fermented inside of me. There is nothing healthy about bottling things inside because eventually the pressure becomes too much and you either have to begin to release the pressure little by little or wait for the bottle to eventually explode. My form of dealing with my emotional distress was nowhere near healthy – from my self-diagnosed binge eating disorder to the binging of alcohol at parties to numb the pain to my favorite, the burning of my wrist with a lit cigarette, There are a variety of ways to commit self-harm, some choose to cut or inflict physical pain on themselves, but I chose the delightful burn of a recently inhaled cigarette. I had an affinity for cigarettes when I first came to NYC for college, the warm smoke entering my lungs calmed my nerves and the burn from smashing the cigarettes onto my wrist riled the inner masochist in me right up. It only ever happened a handful of times during my freshman and sophomore year of college, but I still have the scares that I guess will haunt me for the rest of my life. Looking back over the years sometimes I wish I had the courage to drink a little more, to keep the cigarette on my body just a little while longer and fry my veins, maybe grab a blade and slit my wrists or cut through my carotid, maybe jump in front of an incoming train or into incoming traffic, or down a whole bottle of pills from the medicine cabinet. I never had to guts to do more than what I did to self-harm or actually kill myself despite wanting to do it so badly – a part of me was scared of surviving my suicide attempts and having to live with the consequences or I felt bad for how my suicide would affect the people around me. However, my fears of self-harm and suicide slowly diminished – the pain or the consequences didn’t seem so bad and I thought that my life was way too insignificant to actually make a lasting emotional impact on the people around me. People die all the time, and sure it’s hard, but we eventually moved on and they become nothing more than a stone on the ground or ashes in the wind. And I am sure you’re asking yourself if all of that is true, what is stopping you from going back to hurting yourself or killing yourself, and If I wasn’t asking myself that very question every day of my life I would have an answer for you. I guess what’s still keeping me alive is that little part of me that feels like I do have some value in this work, that my work and future ambitions in healthcare and public health matter and are important. However, at the same time, I can’t tell you that there is also a part of me that is willing to give up my value in this world just for the selfish desire to just end my life long-suffering. I know this may seem crazy that this is how I feel, that I would be willing to throw all the good things I have worked long and hard for - to be where I am today, a semi-successful, semi-confident, semi-functioning TLW on the path of bigger and better things one day. If could be worst, I could be physically sick, have cancer, have a stroke, have my leg amputated, need a major organ transplant, etc – but then again this is just siding with the whole “mental illnesses don’t matter as much as physical ones” debate.

I can’t tell you what would make me feel better. I can’t tell you what will make me value my life. I can’t tell you when or why I have these thoughts, only that they worsen when I find myself alone or I am not distracted by the world around me. I can’t promise you I’ll be safe, that this is something or someone to save me. I’m a wild card, I’m a ticking time bomb, I don’t know how long I will last. All I can tell you is that I’ve felt this way, every day, with varying intensities, for the past 12 years. I don’t know if it will ever end. I know a lot of you this is a lot to digest, things you never thought I go through on a daily basis. However, that’s the way I chose things to be. If I was outward and honest with these feeling with everyone around me, I wouldn’t have all the friend that I have, I wouldn’t have accomplished all the things I have, I wouldn’t be able to smoothly move through life like I have all these years. My façade, a happy/sarcastic/melodramatic woman, helps me get through every day if my life – and I don’t know if I will ever truly feel that being happy is no longer something I just pretend to feel. This is not everything I want to say on the matter or it is a complete representation of how I truly feel (and I don’t know if it is physically possible to convey such feelings and have you truly understand them through words on the screen). This is just an abridged version of what goes inside my little head, behind the scenes, behind closed doors where you never think to look and see.

 - G  

[multi-reader-writer]

A Farewell Never Wished For

Zenyatta x Reader Warning: Angst, Death, Blood Sadness I swear makes me cry

The fire was burning.

Burning…

It felt numb.

Everything felt numb to you.

The team was dispersed throughout the field, voices rang out in pain or hollering commands to proceed forward. Shots fired from both ends, whether another would come or it would be ones end. All lies upon fate. This was a war of past turmoil amongst one another. Overwatch was pushing back Talon to a corner, becoming a one-sided battle that practically guaranteed the victory of the heroes. It was quite a feat for them all, and you were a part of this relieving end.

But.

With every victory.

Always came a cost.

Zenyatta was hovering about searching for someone, that someone was you. Just as the rejoice was spread throughout, Zenyatta didn’t feel that much joy in the moment. Rather, he was dreading your lack of presence, or so presumed to be the feeling. You and him were separated in the midst of the conflict, leaving you both to help on different ends. He would have thought after things simmered down tremendously, you appear just around the corner to hug the dear omnic. But nothing of the sort was occurring, nor would it.

The omnic roamed through the seemingly desolated land, listening for any familiar voice, pattern of steps, or just to cross paths with you midway. All he could hear were the faint steps of other agents surveying the area, nothing that seemed like you. If he had a heart of any kind, it would be beating out of his chest right now. The fear he felt right then and there wasn’t helping in the least.

The young omnic monk paused his movement, looking down a narrow alleyway, barely any agents were nearby, and something called to him. It was what people told him to be a ‘nagging feeling’. Turning towards the hall, he found it to be absolutely silent, except his own slight drifting. The further Zenyatta walked in, the thicker the atmosphere felt to him. Seeing the opening of the end, it seemed unscathed, but a further look, one would see the tiny shards of rubble that scattered and scratched the walls.

Reaching the end, it was like most battlefields, bodies lying about, unmoving, silent, a heavy tension and burden upon those that would lay eyes upon it. But the surroundings weren’t the omnics focus, no.

It was that one familiar figure that laid against the wall that left him in utter devastation.

He was quick to drift to your side, ignoring the heavy surroundings as he drew closer and closer to you. Finally witnessing everything up close, it wasn’t anything he wanted to witness. The blood seeping through the fabric of your clothes, pooling around you. He felt this weight lay upon his shoulders, seeing you lay so still, he felt so much distress, yet he stood still, not a single move made. Any thoughts he had, died down completely as did the surroundings, at least for a moment, it wasn’t until he heard a weak breath seeming to beckon him.

It was you.

Quick to be at your side, he knelt before you, ignoring the blood that seeped into his own fabrics. Scooping you up gently into his arms, that’s when he realized. Your right arm wasn’t visible, it left the omnic in full panic, wanting to obtain some form of help for you. But it was pointless to try now, so far from any medical attention, and you were already losing so much blood as is. It was only a matter of time before the end.

“Z...zen….” The weak tone of your voice refocused the monk’s attention once again, seeing your dull eyes staring straight back at him. It only furthered the pain the omnic felt, you were breathing so heavily, struggling with each breath to be with your dear omnic for a little longer.

“Shhh… Please (y/n)... don’t speak... You don’t need to struggle any further…” “Z-zen… I… I’m sorry….” A hoarse cough sounded from your lips, each one pained your body, but you didn’t let it stop you from speaking to your dear omnic one last time.

“For what my dear…? I don’t understand.” What were you sorry for? You didn’t hurt him before this battle, nor anything that seem to implement an apology.

“N-not taking you… around. You wanted to see my hometown… right?” Each word you spoke was sluggish, hardly above a whisper, if the monk could express his emotions right now, he would have seemed so pained… so pained of your current state, of how hard you were trying to even speak to him.

“Yes… yes I remember… you. You always spoke so fondly of it, telling me you’d bring there… show me around. Even… your favorite places…” He could remember the days you’d talk about your hometown so dreamingly, every detail without hesitation as if you were both there.

A weak attempt of laughter sounded from you, cut off by a fit of harsh coughs and staggered breathing, a careful hand gently squeezed your shoulder as words of comfort sounded from the omnic. Telling you rest easy, don’t push yourself.

He just wanted to spend as long as he could.

Before you faded away.

“..I’m sorry.” A soft voice speaking clearly towards you, there was only one here besides yourself, hazy eyes focusing as best as they could. He couldn’t show emotions obviously, but, you could feel that… that sense of guilt, somberness.

With a weak breath, you tried with whatever strength you could conjure, to lift your still able arm. The omnic noticed of your attempt and brought your shaky hand into his. Hardly any warmth in your hands to be had, paining the monk of how short of time you had left.

“Z..zen… h-hey… don’t apologize…” Your voice was seeming to fade further and further from him. Only leaving his fears to worsen.

“But you’re like this…. Because I couldn’t protect you... ” His voice was equally as quiet, despite the lack of expressions, he was beyond just sad, he felt lost, feeling so helpless that he couldn’t protect you at all.

“...zen… I love you… dearly... “ Each breath of yours was laboured, interrupting each word you tried to express. The feeling of your hand slipping away from his own, only acting as a sign it was almost time.

“Don’t….blame yourself… okay…?” He glanced into your eyes, seeing peace reflecting in your expression.

“I...I won’t…” If he could cry, anything at all, the tears would have long been flowing, each drop falling upon your skin, indicating of his own heartache towards you.

“...h-hey...zen… I-I’m...sorry…” Water streamed down your cheeks. Your own personal raindrops flowing from the corner of your eyes.

“I-I’m...sorry....”

A metallic hand gently brushed the tears, ignoring any blood that smeared upon his fingers.

“Shh… don’t be… just… rest…” Your eyes were becoming glassy, with a weak smile on your lips, you seemed to gaze at the sky, clear and spacious.

“...love you… zen…”

Your body felt limp in his grasp, those beautiful (e/c) eyes shut from the world forever. The omnic sat there silently with your figure firmly in his grasp.

Another lost beloved.

Lost to a chaotic world, he could only watch over.

It was a lonesome end to this battle. The silent grievance of the lone monk holding his precious one in a field of cold blood.

[chrxnicdreams]

PYRO’S PAST -

Please note that ONLY the Administrator and MAAAAYBE Miss Pauling knows this information. If you feel your muse should know ANY of the following for an rp or just in general, please speak to me first.

Pyro was born in Black Diamond, Alberta Canada. Living in a rickety old house (completely falling apart) with his parents. His father (David) an influential fire-fighter who was very popular in the town, and his mother (Mary) who worked as a small-time secretary. Pyro’s father married his highschool sweetheart right after graduation but had him several years later.

Pyro was a very odd child with slight behavioral issues inherited from his father, and generally acted strange (for the time). He loved rainbows and unicorns, wearing tutus and makeup. All things that could be seen as controversial for a young boy to like during the time period. Pyro’s father despised this, and thought something was ‘wrong’ with Pyro and that he needed to see a doctor for the way he behaved, yet his mother insisted there was nothing the matter. (A woman ahead of her time).

David began to abuse Pyro- belittling insults every time Pyro did something he didn’t like, a smack on the head or face. Soon it progressed into throwing things, yelling, and even chasing the child out of the house. Mary didn’t approve of this attitude, but there was little she could do about her strong, imposing husband but restrain him. Often times Pyro would run into a blizzard to get away from his screaming father while his mother prevented him from hurting the child.

A known punishment was to throw Pyro down into the dark, cold basement of the house and leave him there for hours. Giving the child anxiety and panic attacks from the fear of monsters lurking.

What Mary didn’t know- was the severity of the abuse when she was absent. When attending to her job or other responsibilities away from home- David would drag the child into the basement and torture him. Slapping him around, burning cigar’s on him, and beating him. Essentially using Pyro as a punching bag for all his frustrations. Which is his root of fear for the basement.

The abuse was so bad that Pyro’s behavior worsened. Being violent towards teachers and adults, scratching his skin, biting his nails- anything to reduce the stress. His mother realized just how upset and anxious he was, and helped him with a simple exercise: To draw the things that made him upset on paper and burn it in the fireplace. Pyro heeded his mother’s words and soon burning things became a stress-reliever for him- extending to just starting fires. When his father drove him out of the house, he would build fires in the woods to calm down, or use a lighter or candle in the basement when thrown down there. It reminded him of his mother and her words, and it made him happy.

Unfortunately this stress-relief followed him to school, and he was caught numerous times burning things inside and outside the school. On the playground, in the bathroom, the cafeteria, he would be burning something. The embarrassment of his son’s actions caused David to increase the beatings. And Pyro became so anxious and fearful that he would cling to his mother before she left for work and begged her not to go. She was forced to quit her job to take care of him for this reason- the beatings and overall abuse decreased.. for a while.

One day a carnival came into town and Mary decided to take her son. It was a magical night, and he won his beloved Balloonicorn at a carnival game that day. It would’ve been perfect- but unfortunately an incident occurred. Pyro became transfixed with one of the firebreathers and ended up causing a fire that spread through-out the carnival- where he got separated from his mother and badly burned on his face and most of his body. Putting him in the hospital. His father (being a firefighter) determined the fire was his doing and promised to beat Pyro so badly the burns wouldn’t hurt anymore. The stress of having to go home to his father caused Pyro to have a psychotic break, where he began acting violently to doctors and nurses, and finally confessed to his mother what was happening when she was gone.

Furious with her husband, Mary confronted him and told him she would be leaving. However, given his influential status among the town and reputation, he was able to convince most residents that Mary was neglecting Pyro for not taking him to a doctor for psychological evaluation and abusing him. People refused her shelter as she went from door to door to plead, but no one would listen to her. David decided to sue for custody in order to get back in contact with his wife and to further punish Pyro.

Mary was able to rent an apartment in a closeby city and worked three jobs to try and pay for the legal fees, beginning to drink heavily in the process and becoming depressed. Pyro was around 15 by this time and dropped out of school due to his completely failing grades. He began to feel guilt for his mother’s pain, as he felt it was his own fault. Soon his father won sole custody through a bit of string pulling. Pyro- not wanting to be horribly abused and placing a burden on his mother- ran away from home. Traveling from town to town on his own to survive.

Pyro began to get into drugs, selling them and taking them himself. It was the only way he could get by with no future ahead- and these drugs only further aggravated his mental problems. During one drug deal- a shootout occurred and Pyro ended up killing an innocent person on accident. He was arrested at the age of 19 and taken to jail, where his mother and father was notified. His father no longer wanted anything to do with his failure of a son, seeing as how Pyro was already broken- and his mother aided in the legal case to help him out. He plead insanity and was forced into a Psychiatric Hospital (Asylum).

Although the nurses disliked him for being annoying, frightening and more erratic than most patients- Pyro began to get better. Hopeful of being able to continue his life without his Father’s influence. But disaster struck once more when his mother got into a drunk driving accident, putting her in a hospital with little hope of survival, now in a coma. Upon hearing this- Pyro relapsed HARD. The trauma and emotional turmoil of losing one of the few people who loved him most sent him into  a depression and caused him to regress back into a child-like state he would never quite recover from.

His father was given custody seeing as how Pyro was unable to do things for himself and his mother was injured and in a coma. He decided that the embarrassment and disgrace had to end and Pyro was to be put to death. Pyro was actually able to escape that same day and burned down the Asylum in the process, releasing hundreds of mentally-ill patients. And he was on the run again. Known for causing large fires and unintentionally killing many.

He was soon approached by Mann.co considering he was one of the most dangerous people in the country. Offered a job to set others on fire, and seeing as how he had no education or job experience to speak of- Pyro had little choice. His record would be wipped clean and his identity would be protected by the company. And this is where he is now.