#and how can i possibly move past that betrayal?

[blackstarregulus79]

I'm going to ramble/character study about Rogue and the Doctor because I have brain-rot now...

btw nothing negative about their relationship in here, I love them.

It all traces back (in my head) to the 12th doctor (I could go back further but In an effort to keep this as short as possible I will not) when he has that last night with River. This is the last big loss the doctor feels because he knows he can't save her because she died before he even knew her. This left the doctor with a lot of feeling he never learned what to do with, and all of his companions after that never had a loss like this so how could he tell them and get any reaction other then 'yeah that sucks' none of them had been through that.

But Bill reminded 12 how to be happy and young and joyful which in my mind led to him being more forgiving of Missy and learning to trust her again but he thought in the end that she betrayed him leaving him another emotional scar.

That leads him to 13 who is so scared of loosing her companions and feeling that hurt again and that betrayal that she doesn't talk to any of them. She is too worried about opening up and sharing that side of her that she would rather hide everything then feel that pain.

But her and Yaz begin to fall into that trope of 'I want to love you, I just don't know how to any more' which breaks 13s hearts. So when she regenerates she is so tired of losing, hiding, and hurting so much that she regenerates into her old face trying to make her next self stop and take a fucking break.

That is when we get 14 who reigns he bond with Donna (one of his heaviest losses) and he starts to contemplate stopping and resting for one second but the guilt he feels towards everything he's done and how he feels that he owes it to his past companions to keep going.

Then his soul rips in half, and he can do both.

(I know this had been said before but stay with me)

And because of this 15 can express and feel what he is feeling (that is why he has been crying so much this season, because he is finally letting himself). But his companion, no shame on her or anything, can't really do anything but listen because she has never travel the universe with someone grow to care about them more then anything just for them to be gone.

And having a shoulder to cry on is nice and everything but sometimes it is nice to know other people have felt pain and loss like this, and to be told you are not alone. Make you feel like you are not crazy.

Then he meets Rogue. A man who has traveled with and lost someone, who can feel the weight of it, who is also somehow trying to figure out how to live with lose even though it is so fucking difficult. And the doctor gets told about how Rogue lost someone and he tells Rogue how he lost everyone. This is one of (if not the first) in a very long time who can says 'I have been through that to I know exactly how you feel'.

And even though the Master travels the universe they do it alone, they don't feel the lose of a companion like the doctor does.

And that is why they move so fast with each other, even getting engaged the first day they met, because they don't know when they are going to lose again. Their scared and want someone they can relate to.

And Rogue knows the pain and doesn't want the doctor to feel it again so he takes Ruby's place on the trap. But the doctor feels the pain anyways because he could see the potential with Rogue, and sometimes when you are that close to something you wanted it hurts just as bad.

SO WE NEED TO BRING ROGUE BACK SO THE DOCTOR HAS SOMEONE HE CAN RELATE TO, TO TALK TO!!!!! 15 JUST NEEDS SOMEONE TO HEAL WITH NOT FOR!!!!

Anyways thanks for listening to my ramble. I know the doctor could relate to Jack about this kind of thing but I think they have way too much history for the doctor to open up to him.

Here's my Spotify playlist for them if anyone wants it:

[bronze-main]

Vent under the cut and in the tags

Sometimes it feels like it's never gonna be ok. And I don't know what to do.

[dcxdpdabbles]

DC x DP: Passion for Fashion

Danny Fenton's life is weird.

Ever since the accident that turned him into a helfa life has been throwing him around like a quarter in a dryer. He got good at rolling with the punches- fugitively and not- but every once in a while, he gets a surprise.

One of those surprises is his future self turning evil after killing his human side and eating Vlad's ghost side. Then he went on a world wide rampage that devastated the human race for almost two decades. Thankfully, he defeated him and locked up Dan between timelines, where he will spend all of entirely inside a thermos.

That was until Clockwork lost all sanity.

"What do you mean you let him out?" Danny slams his hands on the only table Clockwork owns. The time ghost doesn't seem moved by his outburst, not that the Accident ever does, as Clockwork often than not, was impassive with everything that has ever happened, could happen, or will happen.

Seeing all outcomes did that to a person.

"Two years have passed since his initial creation. That was enough time for the timeline that he came from to cease, as he never shaped humanity's history. This means, Daniel, that I could no longer hold Dan for a crime that does not exist."

"But he leveled nations, committed genocide and war crimes against the Infinite Realms! How can you say he is innocent!?"

Clockwork sighs. "I am not saying he is innocent but he did them in a time that ceased. All those nations stand tall, the people he killed never died, and all the war crimes were undone. I am saying he has never committed them in the first place."

Dan smirks from where he is rocking in a chair. Danny doesn't like the being's significant bulky form, so ready and dangerous, being so close to him. His counterpart could easily snap his neck with those beefy arms. "It seems I am free to go Brat."

Clockwork levels an unimpressed stare on his future self. "No, you are not. You still have the potential to commit crimes. Which is why Daniel is here."

Danny punches his fist, sneering at Dan, "You want me to kick his ass again?"

Dan snorts. He quirks a brow at Danny as if saying he found the threat to be nothing more than an amusing yelp from a small dog. Danny bristles.

"No," Said Clockwork "I want you to be his model for the Gotham fashion show."

What?

Dan leans back in his chair, crossing his arms behind his head. Danny is reminded of repeated offending students who get called into the principal's office but have lost all respect for the principal. They don't care. And neither does Dan.

"Apparently, I need to find a positive outlet for all my pent-up rage, and Clocky, here, thinks I could be a fashion designer." Dan snorts again.

Danny stares at Clockwork in betrayal. "You think he what?"

"I do not think. I know. I also know that neither of you will take this seriously, so I took the liberty of fusing a bomb into your cores. If you attempt to leave Gotham's city bounds, the bomb will go off, and you will cease."

Danny's and Dan's mouths drop open in a sickening mirror. They each reach into their chest only to slam their fingers against one of the clockwork's allurements pulsing against their cross. In a chill boning moment, they realize the Time Lord would kill them both without so much of a blink if it meant preserving the timeline.

Danny had often forgotten that Clockwork did not particularly care for him past his involvement with certain events.

"But- Modleing!? What does that have to do with anything?!"

For the first time in a long time, Clockwork smiled. "It is the catalyst of a turning point in Gotham."

"What the hell even is Gotham?" Dan demands slamming his own hands on the table. Danny is pushed out of the way to make the action possible which only irritates the younger more.

"Gotham is one of America's greatest crime infestive cities."

"Ugh, dude, that's not true.." Danny cuts in. "I've never heard of Gotham, and I've lived in America all my life."

"Not your timeline's America, Daniel."

"You're talking about an alternate universe. One that doesn't have a Daniel Fenton, doesn't it? " Dan questions crossing his arms. He rolls his eyes at Danny's confused gaze. "Honestly. And you call yourself the Ghost King. The Infinite Realms connect every living's things afterlife that, includes aliens and other universes. I never attacked any of them, but I did do some study on them."

"Dan is correct. This timeline has slowly been spiraling out of control due to Batman slowly losing whatever is left of his mind. His children are the only reason he's still considered Belovlent but he is going to lose them soon if he does not shape up. Your job is to make sure that does not happen."

"How do we do that?"

"By winning the Wayne Amature Fashion Show and ensuring Batman does not lose his humanity."

Dan snorts. "I can't help someone not lose their humanity. I don't have mine anymore."

"I believe you do. Otherwise, you wouldn't already have designs in mind for young Daniel."

Danny blinks as Dan carelessly shrugs his shoulder. He has designs already? Clockwork places two thick folders on the table. "Here are your backgrounds that will explain your apparence in that world. I expect you to memorize them and get used to them while in Gotham."

"Danny and Dan Fenton. Emancipated minor brothers from Santa Prisca who found their way to the USA with asylum when thier mother died getting them off the island. We're both meta-humans, with the ablitites to glow in the dark and make ice. " Danny read off squinting his eyes at the unfamilar words like "meta", "santa prisca" and most of all the ending part. "It says we're twins."

"Yes."

"Ummm he's like a thousand years old." Danny says pointing at Dan.

"I'm twenty-six"

"And still single. Ouch."

Clockwork raises his staff before Dan had a chance to answer. "I will of course be making adjustments."

Dan's body de-ages before Danny's eyes, dragging the man back into the body of a sixteen year old. Dan looks utterly bewildered for a only a few seconds before he opens his mouth a releases a string of spanish curse words.

Danny blinks. "I didn't know you spoke Spanish."

"I don't!" The teenage ghost sneers.

"You do now." Clockwork sighs putting down his staff. "As does Daniel. Santa Prisca is a Spanish's speaking country. It would not make sense if refugees from there did not speak the language. Now, good luck to you both, and remember, failing means I end your existence."

One blink to the next, Danny founds himself in the middle of a large city, with Dan- now in human form and looking identical to Danny- at his side with various suitcases surrounding them.

"I hate when he freezes time and moves me." Danny groans and Dan kicks the ground.

"How do we even know what a Batman is?"

"I guess we start here?" On the wall, is a flyer announcing the Wayne Armature Fashion show, with a cash prize of a fifty thousand dollars. A picture of a smiling man is printed on it with the words "Bruce Wayne as special judge." next to him.

"We have a house" Dan says flipping though his folder. "Crap knows how, but apparently it was left to us by a well meaning old man in his will. We should go there before we try to takle this whole Fashion show thing."

"Oh and you know so much about that."

"In case you forgot how to count boy, I was twenty-four when you sealed me away. Two years passed since then and I did not spend them in a thermos."

"What?"

"Clockwork let me out, but only in his haunt. I picked up a sewing machine after I failed to beat him in combat." Dan shrugs at the teenager's expression. "I know but I mellowed out a lot when my ordinal timeline ended. My madness went with it."

"How so?"

"I was mad with grief but you saved your family and friends, so that grief never came to be."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"Time Paradoxes never make sense."

Danny sighs "This isn't the first mission Clockwork's ever sent me on either. I've never gone to a different timeline but I went back in time a lot to stop other ghosts from getting too powerful. I know all about time Paradoxes."

"Crap are we cops? Time Cops?"

"Ugh I think we are."

"That's terrible. We have to find this Batman and get him to therapy cause I will not be a cop."

Danny follows after Dan, who is muttering to himself while reading a outdated map of the city. He wonders if the other realized he spoke in Spanish or if it had been a unconscious thought. He hopes this mission won't take too long, he wants to get away from his greatest mistake as soon as he can.

And he needs to work on his walk if he's going to strut down the run way soon.

Ugh.

Across the city, Bruce narrows his eyes at the Batcomputer screen as two identical sixteen year old's stare back at him. He hasn't found that tied them with criminal activity but meta's from Santa Prisca of all places has set off more then one bell in his head.

"Keep a eye on them" He tells his children who are all reading the same thing. "I don't trust them."

"Do you trust anyone B?" Dick jokes but his smile is strained as he reads the contest rules., "Did you really make up a whole fashion show just to lure Dan Fenton?"

"He's shown signs of fashion inclinations."

"Yeah but why are we the judges." Tim complains "I don't a thing about fashion."

Steph, Duke, Damian and Cass all nod. Bruce, unwilling to admit he just wanted to spend time with his kids, only grunts "It's for the mission."

"Sure B."

[beauty-brains-braun]

Better

Hawks wants to get back together. Your best friend Bakugo has some thoughts on that.

mdni 18+

Pairings: Bakugo/fem reader, mentioned Past Hawks/ fem reader

Tags/TW:  Smut, Aged-Up Characters, Penis In Vagina Sex, Oral Sex, Jealousy

Your eyes tracked Keigo as he crossed the bar, stopping every few seconds to chat with one person or another. He hadn't spotted you yet. You'd really like to be looking elsewhere once he did but you couldn't seem to look away.

If you’d known he’d be here, you would have stayed home. Shouldn’t he have been off being an asshole somewhere else? How could he possibly fit this party into his busy schedule of preening and backstabbing? His head started to turn in your direction and you looked away so fast you felt your neck pop.

Katsuki Bakugo was sneering at you when you looked his way. “When are you going to get over that loser?”

“I am over him. He just infuriates me.” You lean a little closer to your best friend. “You wouldn’t be interested in flirting with me real quick though, by any chance?”

He snorted so hard, he almost choked on his beer. “No chance in hell, you better find Kirashima.”

You put your hand on his arm and laughed a touch too loudly, leaning against him. Kiri was not going to get the job done, Keigo had always been insanely jealous of your friendship with Katsuki and what would truly heal you was pissing the feathered man off.

“You have got to be joking.” Katsuki said, blinking incredulously. “This is you flirting? How do you keep finding boyfriends?” He held up a hand. “On second thought, maybe this is exactly why you only date losers.”

“Ouch” You put your hand to your chest. “Let’s walk that back several feet. I am excellent at flirting, I just usually have a partner who gives me something to work with.”

“You want something to work with?” He asked, setting down his beer.

“It would be ni-” You were cut off as he pulled from your stool, and spun you so your back touched the bar. You blinked rapidly in shock as your eyes met his crimson pair, sparkling deviously.

Katsuki’s arms brushed against yours where he caged you in and he leaned forwards, placing his mouth next to your ear. “Like this?”

Your throat was suddenly extremely dry and you struggled to respond, eventually just deciding to nod. A mistake because his mouth brushed your skin at the movement and lightning tingled up your spine.

He leaned back, just far enough to see your face, and you noticed his devious expression had been replaced by something else. Something you struggled to recognize.

A throat cleared nearby, startling you both. You looked up to find Keigo standing there, face twisted into a frown and eyes burning with annoyance. You’d forgotten he was even here.

“Keigo. What do you want?”

“Can we talk?” he asked and you almost smirked at the tone in his voice. Pissing him off had not been hard.

“We are talking, unfortunately.”

“Can we talk privately?”

“Fuck off, Hawks. She’s busy.” Katsuki glared hard at Hawks and the other man’s eyes narrowed in response. You sighed loudly, suddenly annoyed with both of them. They had always hated each other, though in all fairness Katsuki hated anyone higher than him on the hero chart. Privately, you thought he’d pass Hawks soon but the thought had always felt like a betrayal.

“Let’s not start, guys. You’re going to ruin Mina’s birthday. Again. Remember last year’s incident? With the cake.”

Katsuki rolled his eyes but Keigo turned back to you. “Can we just go outside and talk then? Please. Just for a minute.”

“Fine.” You gave in, too tired to fight him. You’d never been all that good at saying no to him.

“This is not a good idea.” Katsuki growled, turning back to you, arms still caging you in.

“I’ll be fine.” You assured him, placing your hand on his arm briefly, before moving out of his hold and following Keigo outside.

***********

Forty-five minutes later you were in your shower, letting the hot water wash the day off of your shoulders. You were alone, exhausted, and a little too proud of yourself for successfully holding your ground. Keigo had wanted to get back together but you’d told him no. He’d hurt you too badly. He’d demanded to know if something was going on with you and Katsuki. You told him what you did was none of his damn business anymore. He had made sure of that. After your talk you were left more confident than before that you were over him but you’d just wanted to get out of there so you texted Katsuki and Mina and came home. You were going to have to do some serious groveling to Mina but that was a problem for tomorrow..

You were turning off the water when someone began pounding loudly on your front door. Wrapping a giant towel around yourself, you went to answer it. Confused as to who would be knocking on your door like they’d like to break it down, you pulled it open suddenly, blinking in surprise to find Katsuki standing there, fist flying uselessly through the air as he tried to keep banging on a door that was no longer there.

“Is something wrong??” You looked him over for an injury.

Katsuki glared at you. “I can’t believe you.”

“What?” You asked, confused. “Are you mad I left because-”

“Yes, I’m mad you left! That asshole completely shredded your heart and you still leave with him? Where the fuck is he? I’m going to kick his ass.” Katsuki pushed past you into your apartment and disappeared into your bedroom.

Wait. He thought you’d left with Keigo? You followed him. “Katsuki, no one else is here. Not that it’s any of your business, actually, but I told Keigo to leave me alone.”

“Not my business?” He asked, voice raising slightly. “Who has to hear about it every single time your shitty taste in men comes back to bite you in the ass? Who has spent a decade watching you choose wrong again and again?”

Ouch. Your chest hurt suddenly and you turned away from him. Katsuki had always been there for you and it had never occurred to you that he resented it. “Sorry, I’ll just keep my poor choices to myself from now on.” You tried to walk away but his hand shot out, grabbing your arm and stopping you.

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying?” You turned to look at him, fighting tears.

“I’m saying choose better.” He pulled you closer seconds before his mouth crashed into yours.

The lighting you felt up your spine at the bar earlier returned, this time coursing through your entire body. You were frozen in shock, the last thing you’d ever expected was Katsuki to kiss you.

He pulled away suddenly and cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that, you obviously aren’t interested in-”

You didn’t let him finish the sentence, pulling him back to you and kissing him this time. He kissed you back immediately, his arm wrapping around you, pulling you as close to him as you could get. His other hand, he brought up to cup your neck and you shivered at the feeling of his skin on yours. Your nipples hardened and you were suddenly very aware that the only thing you were wearing was a towel.

Katsuki’s mouth left yours and he trailed kisses down your jaw and to your neck, making you gasp. “Can I taste you? “ He asked suddenly and heat flared through you. “I’ve always wanted to know what you taste like.” His crimson eyes were dark with lust and you found yourself nodding. The sight of him dropping to his knees before you would be cemented into your brain until you died. He reached for the edge of the towel and tugged firmly, eyes drinking you in the moment it dropped away.

“Fuck” he whispered. His fingers brushed your skin, trailing up your legs almost reverently to grasp your legs and spread them. His lips touched your skin, kissing your inner thighs, before he turned his head and his tongue found your clit then snaked down to your entrance, lapping up the juices he found there then returning his attention to your clit until your legs shook and threatened to collapse. He pulled away, looking up into your eyes. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”

Katsuki got to his feet and kissed you so deeply, you could taste yourself on his tongue. He moved you both back a few steps and laid you down onto your bed before stepping back and removing his shirt. Your eyes drank in his muscles greedily and then he removed his pants. Your eyes dipped lower and widened at the sight of his cock. Your tongue darted out to lick your lips which were suddenly so so dry and Katsuki let out a low groan at the sight before he was back on top of you. His mouth was everywhere. On your mouth, your neck, then your breasts, taking one of your nipples into his mouth and biting lightly while his fingers push into you, stretching you around them. His thumb rubbed circles on your clit as you felt pressure building in your lower stomach until you snapped, cumming around his fingers.

He removed his fingers quickly replacing them with the head of his cock. He put his fingers into his mouth, licking your juices from them as he slowly pushed inside you.

“Fuck” he grunted, head dropping to rest on your shoulder when he bottomed out deep inside you.

“Please” you whined, grinding your hips, needing friction. Needing him to freaking move.

“Hold on, I- fuck- I need a second or this is gonna be over before it starts.” He let out a deep breath then finally pulled back, almost all of the way out of you and thrust back in. “God, you’re perfect. Just for me.” He fucked in and out of you, his cock hitting just the right spot every time. “So wet and tight for me.”

“Katsuki” you whined, feeling amazing but needing more. “Harder please.”

He let out a rough laugh and pulled out of you, drawing a cry of protest from you. “So needy for me, huh?” He flipped you over, pressing your back down into the mattress with one hand and pulling your hips up with the other. He slammed back into you, immediately setting the rough pace you’d desperately needed. “Answer me.”

You nodded, unable to form coherent words, not sure he’d have been able to hear you over the smacking of his hips on your ass every time he bottomed out inside you.

“Such a good girl for me. You’re sucking me in so good.” His chuckle turns into a moan as your orgasm hits you and your pussy clenches his cock, milking it. He falls forward, hands gripping your sheets as you cum around him and he fights to keep the same pace, to keep fucking you through your orgasm.

You dimly register sparks in the corner of your vision and the sound of Katsuki cursing, but can’t concentrate on anything except for the longest, most amazing orgasm of your life. It makes sense for you to see fireworks really. You slowly come down from your high and register the scorched handprints on your sheets and Katsuki pulling out to cum on your thighs.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I- shit.” He’s staring at your sheets in concern but you laugh, pulling him down next to you.

“Worth it.” You tell him, resting your head on his shoulder.

He smiled at you and pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. “I’ll buy you new ones.”

“Should probably go ahead and get a few backup sets while you’re at it.” You teased.

“You think so?” He rolled over, nuzzling into your neck and nibbling at the skin there. “I suppose these are already ruined… We might as well take advantage.”

“Already?” You asked, laughing.

A knock at your door interrupted his reply and you exchanged a confused look.

“Maybe we were too loud?” You suggested but an annoyed knowing look had settled on Katsuki’s face.

He got to his feet, pulling on his boxers on the way to your door.

The sound of Keigo’s voice had you sitting up in surprise. You wrapped the sheet around you and made it to your bedroom door.

Keigo stood in the doorway to your apartment, staring at Katsuki in open mouthed outrage.

“She’s taken.” Katsuki snapped, slamming the door in Keigo’s face before he had time to respond.

Katsuki turned around, smirking when his eyes landed on you. “Now where were we?”

[haeryna]

feeling so high but too far away to hold me ↪ gojo satoru x reader x geto suguru ;༊

← previous | ˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ | next →

summary: satoru and suguru come to a critical conclusion, but is it too late for them to mend what was broken?

tw: angst, homophobia, abandonment, mentions of (unintentional) self harm, mentions of illness, barely proofread

notes: title taken from halsey's "without me." all images were taken from pinterest and are NOT mine! i'm not sure if i like how this came out but oh well gotta get through it lol. banner is from @/cafekitsune!

Lately, Satoru has been thinking a lot more about you.

He shouldn't be. Choso's been on his ass for stupid mistakes, like a slight misstep during practice, or the way his voice wavers ever so slightly on notes that are well within his vocal range. Nanami grumbles a bit more when recording sessions extend even further. Haibara brings him an extra water bottle during practice. Even Sukuna is slightly nicer to him, as if he can see how much Satoru is struggling.

Satoru hates it. It makes him feel weak, because he knows now that he misses you more than his heart can bear. He has women throwing themselves at him left and right, so why does a girl from a town he left behind make something in his chest twist? By all accounts, Satoru is thriving. He has a wonderful relationship with his boyfriend, his boy group has broken record after record with each single they release, and Satoru has just signed onto a brand deal with Chanel.

(He knows you're not just a girl, you were his. The only person he could bear to share Suguru with, the only person who could see past his flirtatious facade and say, "It's okay, 'Toru, I'm here for you." He knows the reason why he forces himself to believe you would have only shunned him like his parents, is to run from the realization that he abandoned you in the most horrific way possible.)

It doesn't help that his managers handle all of his social media accounts, and go through all his mail. As soon as him and Suguru signed onto the same agency, their phone lines were decommissioned, and they were given highly protected personal phones. You wouldn't be able to reach him even if you wanted to. Hell, they barely even saw Shoko, and the only reason was because they were both the only people who trusted her to take care of their medical needs.

Suguru had tried, once, to ask about you, to get a way of contacting you. Shoko had looked him dead in the eyes, steel hidden behind soft brown, and told him that, "if you were just going to abandon her like that, at least have the decency to stay gone until they could commit to her fully." The way Suguru's face had paled only confirmed the worst for Satoru; you hadn't understood. You had seen their leaving as the worst kind of betrayal. Shoko had refused to tell them more, stubborn in her loyalty to you.

At first, it was easier to hide shame behind a kind of disdain. Of course you hadn't understood what it had been like, being rejected so violently by parents you once loved. Of course you hadn't understood what it was like to feel the noose tighten around your neck until you knew you would either run, or die. Maybe if you couldn't let them go, it meant you truly had never loved them anyways.

As the months grew, slowly and surely, the tangle of excuses unraveled. You might not have understood, but you had defended him silently in small rebellious ways. The eyeshadow palette that still sat at his vanity. The birthday card you'd made him when you turned 14, with a small rainbow under the phrase "I'll love you no matter what." You too had felt the noose; you'd spent years fighting it, fighting your hatred of the small town you were forced to grow up in. "Satoru, Suguru, Shoko," you would tell them, "one day we'll all move out of here into the nicest, fanciest apartment in the city."

Grief was love with nowhere to go, and in that particular moment, Satoru found your absence particularly painful. Sighing, he stretches, resting his chin on the back of the couch to stare at the clock. 12:36; Suguru was probably still awake. Quietly, Satoru pads to the spare room in the apartment he shares with Suguru that they'd converted into their music and production room. Unsurprisingly, he finds Suguru perched on an old barstool they thrifted, gently strumming the strings of the guitar you'd gifted him so long ago.

"Satoru," Suguru says softly, pausing. "What's wrong? I thought you'd be asleep by now."

Wordlessly, Satoru wraps his arms around him, nuzzling into the slope of his neck. After a few moments, he speaks.

"I miss her."

He can feel the way Suguru stiffens slightly in his arms, before exhaling, tension releasing from his shoulders. "I miss her too. I've been thinking, Satoru."

"That's dangerous for you," Satoru chides, and Suguru rolls his eyes fondly.

"You're such a brat. I've been thinking, what if we went back?"

Satoru blanches, staring at Suguru. "What?"

"Not permanently," Suguru hastily amends, knowing how deep Satoru's scars run. "Just enough to...I don't know, Satoru. We messed up really badly. I know there's a large chance she won't even be there anymore. She used to always tell us about how she couldn't wait to move to the city. But we can at least start there, right?"

The news of Satoru's hiatus caused enough ripples for even you to notice it. Despite the fact you avoided anything to do with both his and Suguru's music career, every news outlet, radio channel, and social media post had something to say about it. Hell, you couldn't even open the local newspaper without seeing his face plastered on it, lamenting his temporary break from the group's next comeback.

Frowning, you slam the kitchen cabinet door a bit harder than necessary. Why should you care? If anything, you should be gloating with this piece of information, that not everything was perfect in Gojo Satoru's idol career. Yet, a small part of you still worried. Was he eating alright? Did something happen to Suguru? Should you call Shoko?

The door chimes, startling you out of your thoughts. Your parents are back in the hospital undergoing another round of treatments but they could have came back early. Sighing, you walk over to the door, opening it without a second thought.

"Hi, what-"

In that moment, you feel several emotions. Regret, that you hadn't checked who it was before opening it. An odd blend of concern and fear; why had they come back, was something horribly wrong? Most overpoweringly, was the deep sense of anger that welled up inside of you, seeing both Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru standing on your doorstep.

"You're here," Sator- Gojo, breathes, crystalline blue eyes greedily drinking in the sight of you. He reaches for you, but you flinch back.

"What are you doing here?"

You're surprised to see that Gojo seems hurt by that statement. Sugu- Geto steps closer. "We wanted to see you."

"Oh, so a whim?" You can't help the harshness of your voice, or the way that your voice trembles ever so slightly. "Its been years, Geto. Five years since you left, and you come back now? What am I, just an afterthought? I already knew that but my god you're such an asshole."

"That's not what I'm saying," Geto sighs, and you want to throttle him. "We missed you so much, I can't even-"

You can't help but cut him off, fists clenched and hot tears pooling in your eyes. "You could have left a note. You could have left me an address, could have reached out once you settled in, anything!"

It's Gojo's turn to speak, hands fidgeting as if he wants to pull you close. "Our managers-"

"I don't care!"

A hush falls after your outburst, and you can't help the tears that slip down your cheeks. "Did I really mean that little to you? I would have left with you, I would have done anything for you, so don't you dare try to come up with an excuse. Don't try to tell me that your managers stopped you. I loved you." Your voice breaks. "How could you?"

Both men look ashamed. Geto is the first to speak. "We thought you would have moved away. We lost our original numbers, and Shoko refused to-"

Your eyes flash. "Don't try to blame Shoko for this. Unlike the two of you, she stayed with me."

Gojo flinches. "That's not fair. We didn't have a choice, why can't you see that?"

A sardonic laugh escapes your lips. "See what? All I see is the choice you made in leaving me behind."

"What happened to you?" Geto breathes, and you fight the urge to slap him. "You were so adamant that you would get out of this town."

"Well I can't," you hiss. "Not all of us can abandon their loved ones without a second thought."

Gojo's face looks like you've just shattered his world. "You never left?"

Something in the way he says that breaks something inside of you. "Mom and Dad have whatever Grandmother had," you tell them. You're not even sure why you're saying this, but there's a sick sense of pleasure in watching it start to sink in. "There's nobody else to help take care of them. Whenever she can, Shoko will try her best to stop by."

"You've been alone," Geto murmurs, horrified.

Venom fills your mouth. "I have been since I was sixteen, thanks for asking. You think I didn't notice that you two were together? You never even said anything to me and I still figured it out." Gojo's face pales but you plow forward. "It was always Satoru and Suguru, Gojo and Geto, but what about me? I was there too, wasn't I?" Blood drips down your palms; you're digging your nails in hard enough to cut. "You two forgot about me. You discarded me, left me behind. Did you really think so little of me? Did you really think I would treat you like everyone else in this town?" You can see the pain in Geto's eyes. "As if it wasn't enough, I had to see you everywhere. It's nice seeing how quickly both of you replaced me with other women."

Gojo calls your name but you shake your head, vision blurring. "Go fuck yourself, both of you. Don't talk to me. I wish you'd never come back." Whirling back inside, you slam the door, ignoring the frantic banging and shouts. As you sink to the floor, you finally allow yourself to sob, curled up against the solid wood doorframe. I thought it was over, you think miserably. But somehow it hurts more than the day they left.

[amoristt]

anon: can you write a ghost x reader fic about y/n being wrongfully accused of being a spy and she makes a run for it and ghost finds her? YESSSS . LOVE ITTTT

-as always comments/reblogs are appreciated! - wanna tip me? heres my kofi!

The Accused | Simon "Ghost" Riley/Reader

- Heavy footsteps, the air thick, the wall in front of you even thicker. Never did you think that beige wallpaper would be such an obstacle in your way as the echoing sound of footsteps gain on you. The door is shut tight, but the room is still under construction and lacks any furniture to help barricade you in. There isn't even a fucking closet for you to hide in. The only thing other than light brown plank flooring and a door with a half-painted white frame, was a window overlooking a yard.

It was roughly a five-story drop- too high to continue your run unscathed, but at this point, you've got some pretty heavy options to weigh. On one hand, potentially cut your life short, on the other, get caught and dragged out fighting.

Not that it would be much of a fight. You didn't even have time to grab your gun or knife before you made your escape.

Your heart aches. This wasn't right. While you weren't sure what dirt Shepherd had on you, what documents had been falsified as evidence of your alleged 'treason', but whatever they were they must have been pretty damn convincing to have Graves up in arms almost instantaneously. Tears bite at your eyes- had been since you first ran, but now they were heavier. Angrier. You wipe them harshly and red blotches bubble at your cheeks.

Shaking, you bring your radio to your lips. You can't hear them, but they can surely hear you, switched to a different station so you couldn't use their chatter to work around them.

"Please," you damn near sob. "Please, there's a mistake. There's been a fucking mistake, I haven't done anything. You really think I'd do this to you guys of all people?"

Grave answers your pleads like a poison, settling deep into your lungs, replacing all the air in its wake.

"Enough running. Come out and no one has to get hurt."

There was no use in arguing, you realized. They would never hear of it- not the people that truly mattered when it came to imprisonment, anyways. Even if you could convince your humble squad of your innocence, it would never hold up in the end. Besides that, by the way Graves spoke to you, the way he had looked at you, like you were a fucking bug that needed squashing, told you all you needed to know when it came to fighting against Shepherd's allegations.

You knew, ultimately, that running wasn't going to exactly help your case, but you didn't know what else to do. It felt like everyone had turned against you in a moment. You hadn't even had time to process anything. One moment you were joking with your crew, and Graves scampered off the take a rather important call.

Shepherd, was all he had said before disappearing.

And god, when he came back, red-faced and tense, the accusations poured.

Soap tried to defend you. Ghost fought to question, to figure out what the fuck was happening, but the supposed 'evidence' was apparently damning enough to convince Graves through and through that you were a spy.

A rat.

Ghost's voice, laced with desperation and confusion, when Graves began to 'explain' your betrayal haunted you. More so than the act of being accused of treason, even. You just stared at him, past that skull mask, into those familiar dark eyes. Even now, as you ran for what could possibly be your life, that half-hidden expression was all you could see.

The moment Graves brought up arresting you, and even moved to try and grab you, your brain damn near malfunctioned. Your body reacted on its own.

You fucking ran.

Though you weren't sure how someone had found you, this was the position you were in now. The curtains blew out with the breeze, soft and inviting, almost like it was beckoning your jump. They unfurl before you like great wings, and you stare down at the green grass below. You'd surely be crippled by this fall. If not that, it could very well kill you.

Your heart seizes, your lungs struggle to take in air as panic begins to sets in like vines creeping over your nerves. For a moment, you freeze. There was no other way out.

But then there's a slam on the door behind you, so great that the frame creaks and sharp chunks of wood launch off and scatter onto the floor around you. You flinch and your body once again takes priority over your mind, tossing your leg over the sill and swallowing hard. You're going to have to make the jump for it.

You heave yourself up and over, planting your feet flat on the sill, your entire body shaking with both fear of the leap and the deeper issue at present. One hand braces against the top of the window, the other covering your mouth.

Behind you, the door bursts open. Wood splints and tears as it slams into the wall.

"Enough!" A voice shouts, thick with accent and heavy breaths. "You're going to break every damn bone in your body."

You can practically feel Ghost's gun pointed straight at you. You cringe.

Would he pull the trigger?

"Might as well do it now before someone else does trying to beat a confession out of me that'll never fucking come." You didn't mean for your voice to carry so sharp, so laced with the pain and hurt of being hunted by your own friends.

By Ghost, of all people.

How could he be so fucking blind after everything you'd been through together? You wanted to reach out and smack him upside the head. You'd patched each other up more times than you could count, you trusted him with your life, he'd trusted you with his.

Or so, you had always thought.

But the way he's looking at you has to second guessing.

But, ultimately, you knew the game at play. He was a good soldier- the best. He was a former lone wolf, distrustful to his core. You'd worked so fucking hard to get close with him and now it was all crumbling down. Even if you stayed and explained yourself, there would be no point. You would be arrested, processed, thrown in jail labeled a traitor to your country and more people than not would be celebrating it. You'd never see the light of day- shackled and stuffed into a prison so far off the map that God himself would struggle to find you.

And you would be damned if you were going to just sit there and accept your fate. Even if it meant you appeared just as guilty as Shepherd had painted you. You just needed to get away for a bit, collect yourself, and have the time to figure out what the hell was going on. But it seemed that was never in the cards for you. 

The ground below looks menacing, but more forgiving than the fate that awaits you.

You can hear Ghost taking heavy steps forward, and you wonder why he hasn't just come up and ripped you from that sill already.

"Get down," He barks, and you shake at the tone, refusing to look back at him. Defiance shines through as you refuse to climb down.

"I'm not going down for something I didn't do!" Exasperated, your knuckles whitening with your iron grip. It takes what feels like eons to prepare for gravity to play its course, but in reality, it's been mere seconds. You try to force down air through the boulder in your throat.

For a moment, everything stills. You knew the outcome that was bound to come to this. You knew, deep down in your heart, that your fate was not a good one at this point. Either you die on impact, or you'd be wheeled into the interrogation room on a stretcher. That alone makes your skin crawl- interrogation. Knowing you had not a single detail to offer despite the amount of 'tactics' that would be used on you... The torture would essentially be never-ending.

You were well and truly fucked.

"I have to do this." You try to keep your voice level, but it betrays you. You hear Ghost suck in a sharp breath, the sound of his gear shifting. At this point, you don't even care if he shot you. At least you'd die with the person you loved.

"You don't." Ghost's voice is quieter, closer. Now you can really hear it- the sadness. The desolation. It wracks you to your very core.

With a hasty glance over your shoulder, you take in the sight of him. Maybe the last sight of him you'll ever get the chance to see. His looming figure stands feet away, gun still fixated on you. He looks defeated. Or, perhaps, torn. Riding that fence and teetering on the edge between believing you or hauling your ass back to Shepherd kicking and screaming.

Tears well in your eyes when realize his finger isn't even on the trigger. You nod at him sadly.

"I do."

And then, you give yourself to gravity. For a split second, you're weightless. Without much family back home, you found yourself thinking about your squad. How would Soap react? Gaz, or Price? Would they try to find your innocence, or would they take your cowardly actions at face value? Would Graves struggle with the weight of your life if he discovered his manhunt had been unwarranted?

Would Ghost be okay after firsthand witnessing such an awful, selfish act?

Would he ever forgive you?

With a sickening crack, your body slams into the brick wall of the building and you're left dangling in place. Your shoulder screams as you hang, and when you snap your attention toward the searing pain, you see two large hands grasped tight at your wrist and elbow.

"Damn it!"

Ghost's voice reaches you like a bullet had been ripped through your chest. He'd caught you, holding fast and unrelenting. You tried to fight, struggling against him, trying to reach up and pry those fingers away but they didn't budge.

It was over. You'd been caught. You were going to fucking prison and forever labeled a traitor to your country and everyone you ever knew. Everyone you ever fought with, and for, would remember you as a rat. A stain on the fabric of the U.S. Army.

"Let go!" You cry, feeling yourself reeling back into that room with Ghost's unwavering grip. "Just let go!"

Ghost grunts a sharp no before you're hauled up, into the room, and held fast by his arms caging you against him. He crushes you to himself, fingers near digging bruises into your skin and he's shaking you realize. Tears well up and flush past your waterlines, disappearing into the cloth of his gear. You haphazardly beat on his chest with a loosely formed fist.

"They're gonna fucking kill me" You sob. "It's not me, I didn't do anything."

You feel Ghost's arms leave you, and you realize now is when you'll have to surrender. You'll have to hang your head low and saunter away and into the clutches of the armies worst. You're crying into your hands now, not caring what you look like. Not caring this was the first time Ghost had ever truly seen you cry. And god, did you cry.

"Simon, please, I didn't do anything. It wasn't me!"

He's silent as he watches you fall apart right in front of him. Though he uncurls his arms from your shaking frame, he doesn't back away, looking down at you, like he's unsure of what to do. Unsure of what to believe anymore. As you press your forehead to his shoulder, your legs threaten to give out from underneath you.

"Why is this happening." Your voice escapes you as a whimper, broken up with sharp, painful breaths. "What could I have done for someone to do this to me of all people? I know I'm not a saint, but,-" Finally you look up at him, babbling. "Fuck, what do I do?"

Ghost's eyes narrow as he watches you, taking in every word. He places his hands on your shoulders, the first familiar gesture you've felt yet.

"You think you've been framed?" He asks, tone cool despite the waves of emotions in his eyes. You nod.

"That's the only explanation I can think of, but why? I would never do this to my country, my home." You flicker your eyes up to his own. "I would never do this to you."

You can see him trying to work it all out in his brain. Weighing the evidence he'd been presented with versus the fact that he fucking knew you. Knew you like the back of his hand, knew you without even having to think about it. He knew you as he knew himself, and he just knew you wouldn't do this.

"So what is it then." He starts harshly, so terribly confused it brings about anger, like he needs the answer right now because he doesn't know what to do next and time is running thin. 

Shaking your head, you shrug. "I don't know. I just-... I know that there's something going on here. Maybe by mistake, maybe intentionally, I don't know. But I didn't fucking do anything."

Ghost digests your words. You continue.

"I just need time to figure it out and I don't have it. I've got 141 and god fucking forbid, the Shadow's coming for this at this point." your face falls. "...Did anyone try to defend me after I left...?"

Ghost stiffens and swallows hard. You nod, laugh hoarsely. Of course.

"It was fast. There wasn't time to think." He offers. It made sense. You wondered what would have happened if anyone found you up here. If it had been Soap, or Gaz. Or Graves.

His eyes are softer now, his breathing leveling. Surely he's made a choice, but you aren't sure of which. You pray it's in your favor, that he realizes that this is you you're talking about. You pray he remembers all the time, the trust. As you watch him, like he's miles away from you, you can't help but notice him staring at you like you're just mere arms reach away.

Like you'd never left his arms at all, actually. Still flush against him a crying mess of pleads and hurt.

"Ghost, how copy?" Grave's voice pipes up from Ghost's radio.

You still. Ghost lingers a moment, like he doesn't want to answer, his eyes dart from his radio and then back to you, and you press your lips into a tight line.

Don't fucking answer it, your mind begs. Don't do this to me.

When Graves repeats himself, urgently this time, Ghost drags the radio begrudgingly up his clothed lips. Mouth running dry, hands shaking, you take a step back.

'Please,' You mouth. Ghost shakes his head and refuses to meet your gaze.

He was going to turn you in, after all.

He was a good soldier.

You, in that moment, recall the moments you spend side by side with this man. This scary, intimidating man, that you'd found comfort in. The person you plucked from the litter and thought to yourself, this one.

And he hadn't wanted you in. You bulldozed your way through until he found himself picking you out in crowds, remembering all those little things about you that no one else seemed to give a damn about. Waiting for you in the morning, sharing his thoughts and time.

You had always hoped, in another world, you two could enjoy life without all the pain together. A life outside of the army. 

Surely, it would have been enough.

Face downcast, you hear him take a breath to speak.

"Clear." He says. "No sign."

There was no stopping the tears that spilled down your cheeks at that moment, mouth covered to muffle yourself, crouching down as your knees shook.

"Sonofa bitch! Regroup back at point A." Graves says with a sigh.

"Copy." Ghost says quickly, shoving his radio back into his belt. He takes a knee in front of you, and his hands cup the side of your wet face. You eye him, babbling thank you over and over again, sick with fear, gratitude, and confusion. A cocktail that left an unnaturally horrendous taste on your lips. He retrieves a hand just long enough to set his knife down o the floor in front of you.

"Now you've got time." He says matter-of-factly, but you can still sense that urgency in his words. He wants you to escape. To figure this out and come back to him his friend and partner.

He takes your discarded radio and switches it to the proper channel so you could keep tabs on their whereabouts and plans. The voices of your squad chatter on the line, Soap's voice above all wondering how the fuck this was even happening. Bless his heart, he even mentioned being worried for you, which was quickly shot down by Graves reminding him of your betrayal.

As Ghost crouches before you, massive, all-powerful it seemed, you watch his eyes. He pats your cheek. His gloved finger points to the window.

"Ever try a stunt like that again, I'll kill you myself." He bites. You nod, struggling to compose yourself. He stands and your mind begs for him to stay, to be with you during this, but you know he can't.

He lingers in the doorway like he's thinking the same thing. 

"I will... Do what I can. Watch your back, soldier."

And then he's gone, and It's silent save for your harsh breaths. You shakily pull yourself up from the floor, grasping the knife he'd given you- his favorite blade entrusted to you. You'd wait for nightfall and make a run for it, find shelter day by day, and hopefully reconnect with him somewhere to go over what the hell was going on.

You prayed he'd find a way to convince them of your innocence, ask the right questions to the right people, and have more players in your court.

It would likely be your only way out of this awful nightmare.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Guileless

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, manipulation, dejection, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The reader attempts to move past her ruination, but is reminded of her tarnish conscience at every turn. (Regency AU, tall!reader)

Masterlist

Character: Steve Rogers, Thor Odinson

Note: thanks to those who waited on this one!.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you like I love coffee and that’s a lot and probably unhealthy. Take care. 💖

It should be the happiest time in your life. You should be elated, and yet, as ever it is, every victory precedes a treacherous defeat. A proposal one day, and despair the next. That nipping of doom in your gut, that ever present doubt, is made certain by the passage of time. It has been much too long. 

You sit in the pews, throat tight as you keep your chin locked. You breathe slowly, as if too sudden an intake might unleash the tempest brewing inside of you. It is more than nerves, you know it, that sicken you so. You should be happy for your pending nuptials but you are only horrified at the thought. 

The bishop reads out the banns before the rows; the first for yourself, the third for your sister. She will be permitted to wed and your mother has presided over much of planning already. You dip your head as your name rings out beside Lord Odinson’s and you swallow back a swell of bile. You’ve been gulping down your own stomach for much of the morning, ever since you caught a whiff of pickled shallots in passing the kitchens. 

You push your head up and your hand down to your lap, knowing you will be observed. You must at least look certain of your fate. You must sit proud for the engagement all would put into question. For the time until it shall all dissolve, you must play your part. 

You can barely keep from wilting where you are. A prudent woman might bite her tongue. She may commit to the theatre of it all. She might lie and get away with the folly. You glance over at Lord Odinson, just across the aisle, and you know you cannot. It isn’t one lie, it’s a lifetimes’ worth of betrayal. 

Yet how should you tell it? It isn’t only him who must know. Your father would need good reason why you’d rather the convent to a proper marriage. You will be ruined but you could not put that stain upon the only person who was ever kind to you. Lord Odinson deserves an honest wife and a child of his own. 

Your insides sour and you nearly spasm as you fight the tide of nausea, brought upon by more than your forsaken condition. Your eyes trail away from your betrothed to another man bound in promise. Lord Rogers sits with your sister, as ever, and she leans on him shamelessly, even beneath the Lord’s rafters. 

She would deny it. She would laugh in your face should you ever reveal the absolute truth. No, you must confess the sin as your own and that alone. You will not name the culprit for they would they never believe you and he would never admit it himself. 

Yet, you know that the Duke Rogers will ever be triumphant in knowing that he has brought the monstrous giant to her knees. You are his Goliath, the vile retched creature he has slain in his valour. He will be hero and you be the villain. 

💟

You hand the letter to the carrier just before noon. You don’t expect an audience to be granted until the next morning at earliest. Lord Odinson is a busy man; an ambassador in much demand between the house and society. Even his betrothed must request his presence. 

The cart rattles through the gates and you watch it fade off into the grim horizon. The winter bites in the air, adding to the chill in your bones. That coldness that freeze over your heart. You must be strong now, as strong as the valkyrie he misnamed you as. 

When you go to Lord Odinson, you will bring the crown to him. You will hand it back and admit your tainted stature to him. You will show him how truly small you are.  

At least, that is what you intend. You may prove yourself weak as ever. However it should unfold, this engagement cannot persist. 

“A day! A day and I shall call you husband,” Cora’s shrill tone greets you as you come through the front doors. She is in the sitting room with Lord Rogers. Your mother continues to fawn over the last-minute details for their wedding. “Isn’t it very exciting, my lord?” 

“And I shall call you wife.” 

“And Duchess,” she preens with a trilling laugh, “oh, how elaborate I shall be.” 

“My Athena,” Rogers drones back, “my goddess, my beloved.” 

“Oh, how darling,” your mother preens over them, “it shall be resplendent. I’ve made certain the cake will be exactly as you like it, dearie. The cook has even procured some citrus for the lemonade.” 

The mention of lemonade makes you shrivel. You recall the sunny day when Lord Rogers spoke to you over a weeping beverage. As you fell for that virulent charm. And all that came after. 

You peer at the grim windows and frown. How everything does change so quickly. Happiness is fleeting and yet disappointment comes as a chronic plight. You will never know a day without shame. 

You flit off without notice. Your heart rents at the thought that you will not have the same fervour. You will not sit and plan your own wedding with Lord Odinson. All your fanciful dreams have evaporated. It is one thing to put a mask on, to pretend as virgin, but you could never foist a bastard upon the kind man who has shown you a taste happiness. You will be certain to thank him for all he’s done but you will not spit in his face. 

As you get to the bedroom doors, your stomach churns violently and you burst through, not stopping as you rush to the pot and fall to your knees. You wretch into it as your body contracts painfully. You empty your stomach until you are panting and hollow. 

“Sister,” Alina startles you as she rolls to the edge of the bed, a novel in hand, “is it a winter ague?” 

“I...” you shakily wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, “I believe so.” 

That lie alone singes your tongue like a brand. Your eyes well with tears and you flick them away with your lashes. You sit back on your heels and heave out a pungent breath. 

“Oh, how awful, and just before the wedding,” she sits up and shuts the novel. “Let us pray it passes quickly. You needn’t delay your own nuptials.” 

“Mm, no, that wouldn’t be...” you let the sentence tail off and you stand, taking the pot with you, “I’ll dump it before it can stink.” 

“If you are unwell, call for the maid.” 

“No, it is fine,” you insist, “I didn’t mean to disturb your reading.” 

“You didn’t,” she insists. “What’s the matter, sissie? You hardly seem a lady about to marry.” 

“I...” you croak, “it is the ague, that’s all.” 

“Mm, perhaps Lord Odinson might offer some comfort should it get any worse. He does seem the character,” she offers. 

“Or perhaps he is better to stay away. You as well, should it pass onto anyone else,” you hold the pot to your stomach and turn, carrying it out without another word. Albina huffs and falls back onto the bed, the flutter of pages following shortly after. 

You descend and keep along the wall, passing through the kitchens and beyond the servants’ quarters to the rear of the manse. You come out into the crisp air and overturn the pot well away from the house. A wave of dizziness washes over you, silver spots dotting your vision. Perhaps it is an ague. Oh how you wish it were. 

You set the pot down as you grasp at some stability. You stand and wipe your clammy forehead. Your hand drifts down to your bodice and you let it venture further. You try to feel your stomach through the layers. It is tauter than it once was but no rounder. Not as yet. 

You sit on a low stump, the seat the stabler uses to shoe the horses. You let the frigid air seep through your dress and stare at the grey clouds that blot out the sun. You hold your chin, elbows on your legs, hunched over as you let the stagnancy of that moment swallow you. 

For a moment, you believe that you can make time stand still. That you might stretch on this fantasy a little longer. That a single second might be spent into an eternity. You shake your head and close your eyes as your cheeks tingle with the cold. 

You try to picture the convent. You imagine dark halls and darker mornings. Prayers and repentance filling the days and keeping wakeless the nights. Would the nuns even accept a ruined soul like yours? 

“Miss,” Mary, the broom girl, stands along the path back to the house, “you have a caller.” 

You sit up and blink, a caller? How long have you been there? You shiver and rise, towering over the young servant like the mottled forest creature of wives tales. You nod and stride past her, rubbing your arms to warm yourself as you return to the house. 

It cannot be him. Not already. You’re not prepared. It has been all you can think of and yet you are wholly unready for it. 

You carry on inside and come into the main hall. Lord Odinson waits, your mother chittering at his elbow as Lord Rogers and Cora stand in the archway to the west wing. 

“You will be at the wedding tomorrow? We did not receive your response sir,” your mother pleads as she tugs his sleeve. 

“Ah, yes, did I not give it?” Odinson says coolly, “certainly I will come with some Asgardian ale to christen the blissful newlyweds.” 

“And we thank you for such generosity,” Cora coos. 

“I’m certain refreshments will be plenty,” Lord Rogers deflects. 

“Ah,” Lord Odinson’s attention is drawn by your emergence from behind the staircase, “my valkyrie, you called for me and I am here.” 

“I... you have come so... swiftly,” you remark, your voice teetering. 

“Of course,” he assures as he crosses the polished floor, “as ever I will for my beloved.” He approaches and takes your hands in his, kissing your knuckles, “you are like ice,” he feels your hands and covers them with his gloved ones, “are you ill?” 

“No, uh, yes, no,” you stammer, “sir, I only meant... I only thought to speak with you.” 

“I do cherish the tenor of your sweet voice, lady, I would ride so fast as I might to hear it,” he assures. 

“You rode... all this way, my lord?” 

“I do prefer to be in a saddle,” he affirms, “so, shall we converse? Perhaps we might have some tea to warm you, my valkyrie.” 

“Please,” you cringe, wishing he would quit his honeyed words, “I do not require it. Perhaps somewhere private...” 

“With chaperone of course,” your mother insists. You blanch but do your best not to show your unease. “Pollo! Pollo!” She claps, “forgive me I will not be able to do so myself as I have much to attend to for the morrow, but we have a groom here... Pollo!” 

She cries out and the dark-haired man appears. The old groom has a round belly and wine-reddened cheeks. He doesn’t speak more than Italian but he is steadfast in his service. Your mother bids him, pointing at you, then shoos him with a flick of her fingers. 

He shrugs and bows his head, nearing you and the duke. You peer over at your sister and Lord Rogers as they watch. The former stares at your betrothed as he clings still to your hands and the latter narrows his eyes in your direction. Just the sight of him makes you even more sick than before. Of any, he cannot know though you expect should Cora find out, it will not be a secret. 

“The sun room, perhaps,” Odinson suggests. 

“As you wish,” you agree. 

He offers his arms and you accept it. He guides you along, well-acquainted to the halls already, and takes you around to the sun room. The curtains are closed and the space is dim with the shadow of winter. The groom claims the armchair in the corner, making it groan with his weight, as another servant follows to light a lamp and put flint to the fireplace. 

When all is lit, you detach from Odinson and retreat from him. You mash your hands together and sway, spinning back to face him as he watches you intently. He seems unbothered by the spontaneity of it all. 

“You missed me? I have longed to see you again,” he beams. 

“Please,” you show your palms, “please, I... we must speak.” 

“Of? Name anything and it shall be yours. As my wife, you will never want for anything, valkyrie.” 

You wince as if struck. You drop your arms and your head. You stalk over to the bench that looks toward the window and sit, slumped forward as you shake your head. He approaches as he lets out a long exhale. He sits beside you. 

“Something is amiss. Forgive me for making light, I came upon mistaken sentiment,” his voice is grave, “you have something to say and I must listen. As ever, I am the storm but these winds have calmed.” 

You rock and another hot tinge settles behind your eyes. You roll them up and sit straight. You crane to see over your shoulder. Rollo’s eyes are closed as he’s halfway to sleeping. It is propriety alone that has him sat in that chair. 

You look ahead once more, “I cannot marry you.” 

He sucks in air and snorts, “what?” 

“I cannot—it cannot—I'm sorry, Lord Odinson.” 

“Why ever should you change your mind? The banns are read and will be again,” he touches your arm and you shy away. 

“You deserve... better.” 

“I deserve you,” he insists. 

“Please, sir, let me find the words,” you beg touch your temples as you try to rein in your wits. You close your eyes and shudder. 

“You are cold still, perhaps you might move closer to the fire--” 

“It hardly matters,” you lower your hands and clutch them tight.  

You make yourself look at him. You must. He warrants at least the truth told to his face and not the floor. His blue eyes twinkle as his usually bright face is stern. 

“I am...” you take a breath and struggle to let it back out as the words burn the tip of your tongue, “I... am with... child.” 

You choke out the last word and nearly faint. You stare at him, waiting for him to explode. You mightn’t even have a say in who knows should he speak too loudly. His eyes search yours and he blinks. He turns his face down and looks at his lap, gripping his thighs as he nods and hums. 

“That’s wonderful,” he says. 

“Pardon?” 

“Yes, it’s wonderful. We’ll have a child.” 

“Sir, I—we haven’t... it is another man’s,” you feel as if you shouldn’t have to explain this. 

“Why certainly he put it there, yes, but I would claim it,” he faces you again. 

Your eyes round, “why should you do that? That isn’t... proper. I am not proper, sir. I am telling you that I have been... corrupted. I should never have said yes.” 

“But you did.” 

“You needn’t-- it isn’t fair.” 

“Perhaps it isn’t fair that you should have to carry the cad’s seed,” he agrees, “for any many who would lay with a lady and not seek her hand, well, he can be nothing else.” 

You’re quiet as disbelief clouds around you. He can’t possibly mean it. He must be in shock. Certainly, he wouldn’t just accept another’s child. 

“Sir, you shouldn’t-- you shouldn’t do this. I am releasing you.” 

“I don’t want to be released,” he says sullenly. 

“Why? Why would you do this?” You ask. 

“I meant all I said to you, from the first breath, my valkyrie,” he proclaims. “And I mean it still.” 

“But, sir, you cannot—I cannot live with myself--” 

“You are honourable. Honest. You have told me this when you did not need to. When you could’ve claimed an early birth, when you could have kept quiet, yet you did not. That says more than a fleeting tryst. For that’s what it was, yes? Or do you lay with this man still?” 

You shake your head and look down at your fingers as you twists them until they hurt, “just once. Only once. It was... unplanned. It wasn’t...” your voice cracks. 

His chest inflates with a sonorous breath, “did you want it?” 

“Pardon?” You murmur. 

“Unplanned... did you... was it... your tryst, was it willing?” 

You put your fist to your mouth and sob. You can’t say it. You won’t. You replay it in your head every night and you think of how you told him to stop and yet you did not stop him. You should have fought more. You should have screamed. 

“I didn’t make him stop,” you eke around your hand. 

“Make him? Did you ask him to begin?” 

“Please, sir, I cannot—please just end this and I will ask my father for the convent once more. I cannot bring this shame on you.” 

“Shame? Shame is the man, if I should call him that, who has done this,” he snarls and reaches for you, taking your hand. “I swore you would be my wife and I will hold to that. As you swore to be my wife. We will see the altar together. As one.” 

“You do not have to--” 

“I want to,” he growls and you look up at his angry face. You’ve never seen such fury in him. “I have never done anything but by my own whim and will not change that now.” 

“You are too nice, sir. Too nice, I cannot ask it--” 

“Who?” He sneers. 

“Sir?” 

“Who has done this to you?” 

“I cannot--” 

“I should know.” 

“No, please, I wouldn’t-- it would be my ruin--” 

“No, it would be his and you protect him still, so tell me.” 

“No, no I will not. That I cannot tell you, sir. To say it would defeat me completely.” 

He sighs into a snarls and lowers his chin. He sounds like a simmering bull, readying for the charge. You tug on your hand but he will not release you. You relent and let him cling to you. 

Silence, suffocating and still.  

“My brother was an orphan. We took him in when he was young. He is a duke, same as me, now,” he declares as he squares his posture. “You wouldn’t know the difference. And I won’t. Not between this child and our next.” 

“Sir, surely--” 

“We are to have a child,” he says, “that is happy news and I thank you for bringing me here to hear it.” He pets your hand and leans his arm against yours. He brings your fingers up to your mouth and kisses them, “one day, I will know who the culprit is and on that, I will surely split his skull. Not for his bastard, for that child has no sin, but for your honour, lady. For my wife’s honour.” 

💟

Cora’s wedding to Lord Rogers culminates in a grand luncheon. The bride is a beautiful mist of tears as she accepts the well wishes of her guests. She basks in the attention as you gladly languish in the shadows. 

Despite Lord Odinson’s unexpected and reassuring reaction, you’re still uncertain. You don’t know if he’s keeping a good face on until he knows how to act, perhaps renegs his grace, or if you might come to pay for your discretion later in your union. You’re prepared to meet your atonement, however it comes. 

As you sit for the meal, the chair beside you is claimed almost at once. Your betrothed has appeared throughout the event but you’ve hardly been at his side. Each time you see him, his eyes skim the crowd as if he can see right through every one of them. Yet, when he looks at you, you feel only warmth. You don’t understand how he can look at you as such. 

“How do you fare, today, my valkyrie?” He asks as he straightens his cravat, “you look well.” 

“Good, I think.” 

“Glad to hear it,” he raises his glass for a servant to fill it with sherry. You opt for lemon water, as much as your tumultuous stomach can handle. 

“I thought we might have our own reception at Nine Pillars,” he suggests. 

“I would like that,” you agree, your eyes drifting beyond him, to your father’s gardens, where... “whatever you may offer, I will be grateful for.” 

“Mighty valkyrie, full of grace,” he praises and reaches for a platter, “ooh, they have some sweet ham here with pineapple.” 

He takes a helping and puts it on your plate. You smell the tangy fruit and the underline savoury waft of the meat. You lurch and grasp the edge of the table. You give a panicked look to Odinson as he peers down at the food. He switches your plates out swiftly. 

“Tell me, what are you in the mind for then?” He leans in so his arm touches yours as you sip from the lemon water to quell your stomach. “Valkyrie, give me your command and I will obey.” 

You give him a coy grin, “you can be so silly.” 

“Silly. Mad. All for love,” he assures you.  

“Is their anything dry?” You ask, “bread, perhaps.” 

“Sourdough,” he reaches to take the basket as others help themselves to the spread. 

“I’ll have some of that.” 

“With marmalade?” He offers.  

“No,” your face pinches at the thought, “no, bread will do.” 

You blink and shake of another tide of sickness. As you do, your eyes meet another pair further down the table, amid the rabble of voices. Lord Rogers tilts his head as Cora tugs on his sleeve and giggles up at the couple behind them. He hardly seems to notice as he stares you down. 

You go rigid and quickly look away. You touch Odinson’s arm to keep from panicking. He looks at you, then down the table. He doesn’t say anything, merely carves off a chunk of bread for you. 

You pick away at the hard crust and the dry spongey inside. You take small bites, cautious of upsetting your volatile stomach. The afternoon wears on, course after course, and you avoid those dishes which threaten to overthrow your restraint. 

At last, the cake is serves, a tiered sponge with cream and fruit and candied sugar spun in a facsimile fountain atop it. It’s splended and beautiful. The couple are served first as they smiles in delight. The doling out of servings takes some time as guests wait patiently for their turn and the cake is pushed on a cart from chair to chair. 

When it comes your turn, your name rises over the crowd. You sit up and glance over, relieved at least not to watch the layers of custard and cake hit your plate. Lord Rogers has his hand on the back of his wife’s chair. 

“And how do you like the dessert? I believe you’ve been saving space for it all day, eh?” He chirps. 

You angle your head in confusion. You look down then at Odinson who sits a little taller as he leans forward. 

“You’ve hardly indulged, so I hope you might show your support and delight in this delectable dessert,” Rogers taunts. “A wedding is no place for a sour face.” 

Your lips part. You’re stunned. How could he be so bold as to call you out? Among all his guests and he must torment you. Was one night not enough. Your whole life as his violation thrives within your womb. Lord Odinson subtly touches your elbows. 

“I am most happy for you and my sister,” you rebuff, “and you are correct, I’ve been in much anticipation for dessert.” 

You take your fork and scoop up a heaping mouthful. You smile at it even as your insides rage. You make yourself taste it. It’s so sweet and smooth and wonderful, but your stomach mulches as if it is rubbish. Your cheeks tremble and you swallow, nearly gagging. 

“To you, sir, and my sister, Cora, I wish a happy marriage,” you force out as you hide your mouth behind a handkerchief. 

“To the happy couple,” Lord Odinson raises his glass and the table erupts, at once, the attention shifted back to them. 

You brace his arm and squeeze. You fight but you cannot withhold the uproar within. You stand and rush away, frantically searching for somewhere to hide and spew your guts. 

💟

The days overcome your doubts. The weeks come with more affectations; your sickness ebbs and flows and the temperature feels at times hotter then colder, swaying back forth, while some moments you spend with a throbbing head and pulsing feet. The most obvious symptom of your condition is the tightness of your stay. Soon, you will be showing more than you like, but for now, loosened laces can ease your discomfort. 

Your wedding day fast approaches. Time does seem to defy any human whim. You wish it would slow so you could catch your breath. Much like your husband-to-be who has yet to falter in his affections. 

You sit before the mirror with the grown of silver petals in your lap. There is one still bent from Cora’s envy but you will keep it to the back of your head. You will wear it as proudly as that night Lord Odinson gifted it to you. You hope for the day you might both forget all else. 

If it is to be. If he is at the altar waiting still. 

Albina and Hannah take the crown from you and secure it among your styled locks. Albina smiles at your reflection as Hannah jabs you with a pin. You nervously wring your hands as you admire the lavender shade of your gown. You wish you’d had more of it, that you hadn’t needed to trim it in ivory to make up for your height. Still, it is beautiful and the nicest dress you’ve ever worn. 

“Are you nervous?” Albina asks. 

“Suppose,” you admit and lift your chin, “very, truly.” Though not for the reason she might think. 

“Lord Odinson is kind. He should be gentle,” Hannah says. 

Your cheeks tinge at her suggestion, “sister.” 

“Well, it is what we are all thinking, isn’t it?” She shrugs. 

“I hope I do not find a husband so soon,” Albina adds, “I would like to enjoy my books a little longer.” 

“You might take on the spinster’s mantel then,” Hannah snipes. 

“It shouldn’t be so bad,” you murmur. “Every woman must do it. Eventually. It cannot be so horrible.” 

You lower your head again, trying to hide the emotion battling in your chest. It was bad, that first time. Lord Rogers hadn’t been kind at all. Would Lord Odinson be any different? For Rogers seemed kind at first glance only to be cruel upon touch. 

What if you husband did not want to meet his duty? What if he could not knowing you had lain with another? You would not blame him and without consummation, he might still turn you away. 

“Cora said it was more painful than anything she’s ever felt,” Hannah undercuts your dread. “Though she still loves her husband well.” 

“You shouldn’t speak of that,” you gird. 

“Why not? Won’t you tell us how it is so we may be ready?” She challenges. 

“I... I... It’s rather strange to speak of it.” 

“You are strange,” Hannah retorts with a huff. 

“But pretty,” Albina chimes, “look at you, sissie. You truly look like a queen in that crown.” 

You meet the gaze of your reflection. You do look better than you ever have before. You wonder if they notice the new fullness in your cheeks. If they do, they don’t mention it. You take a deep breath. 

“I shouldn’t keep them waiting any longer,” you stand.  

If you wait any longer, you might lose your nerve. 

The bishop waits in the grand hall of Nine Pillars as you emerge from the rooms allotted for your preparations. The crowd stands among the columns and hushes as you appear at the end of the hall. You face the clergy man and for an instant, your heart dangles precariously, ready to plummet.  

Where is Lord Odinson? 

His golden head pops up beside the bishop and he fixes the flower tucked into his lapel. His long blond hair is draw back as a scarlet bow holds it back, its ears peeking out behind his nape. He is smiling as he pauses and his eyes meet yours across the space. 

You can see even from there how his features slacken and for a moment, you are breathless. He looks as stricken. You put one foot down and let your long legs carry you. 

All your doubts float away. The faces around you haze together and the world crumbles to dust. It's only you and that man.  

💟

The ceremony gives way to a soiree, bodies clustered together, partners dancing, and you among them. Your husband, a husband, has your hand in his as he leads you in the steps. This man, this wonderful forgiving man you vowed yourself too nearly sweeps you off your feet, a sensation you've never known before. 

Your cheer blooms from you as his cheeks flush in his excess. He barely pauses to receive kind words from his guest. His elation is contagious. It gives no way to your fears. 

"Do you know what I thought upon the altar, beautiful valkyrie," he purrs, "I nearly fell upon my knees even." 

"What?" You smile, glowing up at him. 

"That the gods did bless me. That you must be sent from them, a gift to me, mere mortal." 

You can't help but pat his chest, "you flatter." 

"You are too modest," he guides you along, "you are a statue come too life, art in the flesh." 

"My husband... you words are too sweet." 

"I know, I know, the wedding night is still ahead of us, I do run too fast," he chuckles, "but how can I help the anticipation? 

Your lashes flick and giggle, "husband." 

"That word has never sounded sweeter," he grins, "but a sweeter noise might be my own name. Say it for me, valkyrie." 

Your cheeks burn hot, "Thor?" 

"Delicious," he growls nearly baring his teeth, "and I shall savour every sound you make. Every moan and mewl. Every breath and laugh. Just as every part of you." 

It's too good to be true. You deign to let yourself feel it all but you must. If even only for tonight. If only for the next moment. You will have a morsel of happiness if it's all you have to chew on for the rest of your life. 

💟

The night wears on and so do you. Your feet ache, as does most of you, and your voice is raw from laughing and talking. It is the first that you ever spent an event not along the wall or hiding in some shadow. It is a night all your own, or so your husband has made it feel. 

Yet, he does not tire. Not as quickly. As he booms and bawls to the amusement of all, you cling to his arm and repress a yawn. You will not spoil his fun, you will persist. 

Still, you cannot ignore all urges of your humanity. You press a hand to his sleeve and excuse yourself, promising to return. Your husband pauses to bid you not be long and you're further abashed at his attention. 

You flit off to find the privy. You've been several times over the day. Your bladder swells no matter how little you drink. As you progress, you find your body is contradictory to your mind. 

You venture down the corridor and sweep into the room. Once relieved, you emerge feeling lighter but no less tired. The silent desolation of the corridor rather makes your exhaustion all the more potent. 

You turn towards the statue of a warrior, you recognise it, it is the means by which you've found your way. Before you can pass it, a figure appears from behind it and you falter in your slippers. 

You gasp and ball your hands, the man before you sending a ripple of horror through you as he smirks at your surprise. Lord Rogers' cheek dimples as he quorks his head like a cynical crow. 

"You are ever a creature of urges," he muses, "fluttering back and forth as a skittish bird." 

"My lord, I... what is the meaning--" 

"I'm afraid we've not had much of a chance to speak, have we? The blushing bride is much a titter," he chortles, "she has the gull to giggle like a maiden, even." 

"Lord Rogers," you utter, appalled. 

"But the sway of her hips do betray her true nature. That which is within her," he sneers, "as does the curdling of her face over any dish that tickles her nose." 

"Sir, I know not what you mean--" 

"I should laugh truly, to know that another will raise my bastard," he taunts, "that it is him, does entertain me more." He takes a step forward and you back, "so you will be certain to lay with him this night so he may believe he has vigour." He grabs your arms before you can elude him, "you will think of me, won't you, Athena, my fallen goddess? Of how I desecrated your--" 

Suddenly, you are staggered. Lord Rogers is swung backward and flung into the statue. There's a roar, tha same noise you would expect of a charging bear, and the flash of scarlet. You watch paralysed as Thor grabs Lord Rogers by his jacket and spins him, throwing him into the other wall. 

The smaller of the men, though they are both built well, slides to one knee, his hand on the plaster. The other is quick, wasting not a second before aims a foot into Rogers' stomach. The duke falls backward and is at once straddled beneath the larger. 

Thor lays blows upon the other man, hailing down on him like the tempest he claims himself. Your fear overflows and you push through the thick waves. You come forward numbly and pull your husband by the back of his collar.  

"Please sir, unhand him." 

"You would defend this animal!" He wails down another fist and growls. 

"No, no, I would not spare him but I would... I would have my husband not take me to my wedding night with bloodied knuckles. Thor," you pet the back of his head, "let this be a happy day. Please." 

He sits back on his heels and puffs out. He looks back at you as you step away. You put your hand to your middle.  

"Husband?" 

He snarls and spits on Lord Rogers, standing with a huff. You reach for his hand and he takes it. He squeezes as he sends one last kick of his toe to the man on the floor. 

"Let me save my strength for you, wife. I certainly would need it." 

[morphodae]

Edgar Redmond | Headcanons

Including: general, relationship (x reader)

cw: perhaps slight manga spoilers

Read more P4 headcanons here: 🪻x 🦉 x 🌱 x

General:

With a leniency towards rules and regulations, this is primarily due to his social upbringing and status. As a child, I imagine he was rarely told 'no' and thus got away with petty pranks and was able to sneak sweets… things like that.

Edgar’s tendency to get away with most anything drove his neighbor and childhood friend, Lawrence Bluewer, almost mad. Either way, the two found a way to make the friendship work even as opposites and even into their young adult years.

Raised in nobility and high esteem, Edgar does still have standards he holds himself and others to. It’s more of the sign of the societal norm at the time, though his outlook on life and people tended to lean more towards untraditional than anything.

With such an outlook, Edgar became rather tolerant of others and often looked past “unconventional” appearances, personalities, and sometimes even status. Yes, he’s a rich boy, but even so, he feels he has no right to judge others for being “different.” After all, isn’t he a little bit similar?

Relationship:

I’ll be honest, Edgar screams commitment issues. It’s evident in his statement that he’d rather not stick to one partner, but I also feel it’s much deeper than that.

There’s definitely a reason for it, and if we look at Maurice Cole’s betrayal of his trust, and Edgar’s words along the lines of “I can’t believe I let myself be a poor judge of character again,” then we can assume his trust has been broken at least more than once in the past. Namely, think of the situation with Derrick Arden.

So when it comes to falling for someone deeply and genuinely… he’s scared out of his wits. Of course, he has the looks, the wealth, the charm — but in his mind, all that is meaningless when his heart yearns for another yet simultaneously fears the worst.

Edgar is, unsurprisingly, a true romantic at heart. Has he wooed numerous people in the past? Yes. But when his feelings for someone are genuine, it’s quite an enigma. He will put on a faux persona like normal but his closest friends may pick up on how unusual his behavior is. Just why is Edgar so… strained in his advances towards this person? Or worse yet — he fails to make a move. He’s hardly ever denied acting upon pursing a fling before, so his friends become suspicious.

It takes a long, long time for Edgar to open up. And I mean, genuinely. A part of him isn’t sure where the genuine part of him is in regards to romance and trust; so giving that to someone who stole his heart is something that will take time and effort. It’s nothing the other person has done, it’s all on Edgar. Once he figures out his inner turmoil, he will be a rather genuine, teasing, charming and flirtatious partner to have.

It will truly take someone special to cause Edgar to commit. But, I don’t believe it’s as hard as you might think. He needs to work on his trust and commitment and if someone is patient and willing, then all would fall into place.

Additionally, I also see Edgar falling deeply for someone (gradually) who has absolutely zero interest in him and brushes off his advances like dust on their shoulder. It would drive him insane… in all the best ways possible. But as with any sort of game, playing hard to get with him may only serve to exacerbate his trust issues.

After leaving Weston, he would love more than anything for someone to stay by his side through it all. He doesn’t feel deserving of any love, deep down, (not after his crimes) and needs to know someone can give him the loyalty his soul desperately craves.

[ist4rgirlo]

────────── 𝐢𝐧𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 - 𝐜.𝐟

ONE SHOT !

they did say that when two people are meant to be together, they will eventually find a way back to each other. however, are you ready to open your heart again to a person who has broken it in the past?

SEQUEL TO : you’re losing me

───────────────────────────

“They say that your first love never dies. You can put out the flame but not the fire”

It was true, for me atleast. I’d be lying if I said that I don’t love Conrad, because I do, I still do — no matter how much he had hurt me before, a piece of my heart is still beating for him.

Time, curious time

Gave me no compasses, gave me no signs

Were there clues I didn't see?

And isn't it just so pretty to think

It wasn’t easy to move on, he made me feel things — things that I never felt before. He was different, he just was.

For two years, I had done my best to put the past behind me, but still, I would often find myself thinking of Conrad and wondering what could have been.

Until one day, when an unexpected text message popped up on my phone. It was from Conrad, of all people. Confused but curious, I opened the message. The only thing that it said was 'Are you free today?’ Could he possibly still care about me, after all this time?

A string that pulled me

Out of all the wrong arms right into that dive bar

Something wrapped all of my past mistakes in barbed wire

Chains around my demons, wool to brave the seasons

One single thread of gold tied me to you

I thought back to the words we had said to each other; the heartache that had been so painful that it had taken so long for me to move on. But still, here he was, wanting to see me. Was I willing to open my heart up to someone who had broken it so badly in the past?

───────────────────────────

Conrad asked me if we could meet at the beach near Cousins. I dont know why why I said yes, maybe I wanted closure — maybe I wanted to hear his side.

I stood on the dock, the ocean air getting caught in my hair. Although the sun was out and the sky a brilliant blue,

I couldn't bring myself to take in the beauty of the day. I was too consumed with my thoughts, instead glancing around, distracted and flustered.

I saw Conrad — standing at the end of the shore, a better vision than the view of the ocean I had become accustomed to.

I swallowed hard as I stared into his eyes - the same eyes that had shattered my heart months ago. He looked different. Older, strong, different from the man I had said goodbye to all those months ago.

But there he was, standing in front of me, arms crossed — pain pierced through me like a hot knife as I remembered fond memories I shared with him. Memories that were now tarnished by the hurt he had caused me.

I took a deep breathe and stepped forward — walking towards him.

“Hey Conrad,” I said tentatively.

He looked up with surprise, then quickly looked away. “Hey y/n,” he muttered.

“It’s been so long huh?” Conrad asked. I looked at him before answering “Yeah, It has. I just want to get to the point already. Why did you want to see me?” I asked him.

His eyes met mine, filled with regret and longing. "I never stopped thinking about you," he confessed, his voice laced with raw emotion.

I listened, my heart warring between the past and the present. Memories flooded my mind - stolen kisses, whispered promises, and the crushing pain of betrayal. And yet, beneath it all, the flicker of what once was remained.

"You broke me," I replied, my voice steadying.

Conrad reached out to gently touch my cheek, sending a shiver down my spine. "Please, Y/n," he pleaded, his voice filled with desperation. "What I did was fucked up, you didn’t deserve that — you didn’t deserve to be ignored, I-I should’ve paid more attention to you”

"I messed up, I admit it. I was a fool to let you go. I've regretted it every single day, and I wish I could turn back time and change things." He said, taking a step closer.

I blinked back tears, trying to resist the pull I felt towards him. "Conrad, it's not that easy. You hurt me so deeply, and I've spent so long trying to heal." I said, backing away from him.

"I know," he murmured, his voice cracked with emotion. "But I'm here now, and all I want is a chance to make things right, to prove to you that I've changed. I want to be better for you.”

His words tugged at my heartstrings, and I felt a glimmer of hope. Could we really find a way back to each other? Was it possible to rebuild what had been broken?

Time, wondrous time

Gave me the blues and then purple pink skies

And it's cool, baby, with me

The sound of crashing waves filled the silence between us, punctuating the weight of the moment. I looked into Conrad's eyes, searching for sincerity, I’m scared — scared of risking again. Scared of getting hurt again.

“I-I don’t know, Conn-“ I said looking down, he walked closer — his hands reaching for mine.

“I don’t want you to feel pressured or anything, just.. just let me love you. Let me be a better man for you.” he paused “I’ll wait for you”

And isn't it just so pretty to think

All along there was some

Invisible string

Tying you to me?

I looked up at him, I saw the glint in his eyes — he was genuine, his voice sounded hopeful — his eyes filled with love. It wouldn’t hurt if I tried again right? maybe now, it’ll be right.

[gotham-daydreams]

what would have happened if reader actually snapped at one of the batfam before they leave, causing the batfam to investigate their room and notice the readers life way before they leave?

Honestly if that did happen I don't think the reader would even get the chance to reach their friend's place.

Once the reader snaps, you know a whole dump of shit the Batfam has done to them in the past is just going to come pouring out. So depending on the person, the initial reaction would be different, if only slightly?

Bruce would go to Alfred before going to your room, the events being similar to how he ends up going to the reader's room in "Not Here", but instead, Bruce asks if he has actually done the things that the reader mentioned. With Alfred responding in his usual sassy, but to the point manner.

Dick would be frozen in place before trying to reach out and talk to the reader- only for them to harshly shove him with strength he didn't even know they had, and that keeps him in place for a while as they storm off. He decides that he'll check their room and ask Alfred — and which ever he comes across first, is what he ends up doing, before moving on to the other thing. Though either way, he ends up in the reader's room eventually.

Jason would be speechless at first, then annoyed a little bit. He's barely around, why should he get all this shit because the rest of the family have been unintentional assholes to the reader?... Then, he thinks about it... since he's clearly shown up enough to still help with fucking up the reader- especially to the point of them blowing up. So, he'd look in their room to investigate first, before asking Alfred any questions.

Tim just wouldn't know what to do. He'd stand there stupidly, mostly confused and shocked himself as he does try to reach out for the reader, but it's already too late. They reached the front door and left. Just like that. However, he doesn't waste much time and immediately starts his investigation. He might call Alfred while he's searching the reader's room, or even when he's on the way there, so that way he can multi-task and find out more about the reader quicker.

Cass is hurt, and does unintentionally let the reader go as they leave, but takes a minute before doing anything. She's in disbelief, but the pain done to the reader is so clear that she feels stupid how she didn't see it before. Even in their anger she could see the anguish and betrayal all over their body, and it pains her as much as the reader's words did. It takes her a minute to process anything, but afterward she searches for Bruce, Tim, and Alfred so that she can possibly get some answers. It's only after does she go to the reader's room.

Damian would be more confused than anything. (And let's be honest, out of everyone- he'd get the least of it. Mostly because he's so young and yeah, anger is unrational at times, I feel like in comparison to everyone else, who are worse offenders because they're older and have been influencing Damian's behavior towards the reader (albeit unintentionally), he just wouldn't get as much anger or anything directed towards him. Whereas with everyone else? Eh- I can't exactly say that's the case.) However, he would at least make an effort to ask Bruce, Dick, and or Alfred about the reader and how his and everyone else's behavior has effected them. Along with if they've noticed certain things about them and such. Only going to the reader's room with one of the three already accompanying him.

As for Babs and Steph...

Barbara would try to get the reader to calm down so that they could further talk- only to get ignored. She'd immediately try to talk to Bruce or Alfred, maybe even Dick or anyone she comes across before heading into the reader's room. Just considering it, before deciding that someone should do it, if someone else hasn't already.

Stephanie would also need a minute, before looking for people and making calls to the rest of the Batfam. Hurt and freaked out for how badly the Batfam as treated the reader, and what the reader might do now.

On the off chance that the reader blows up on Alfred, he just takes it before finally deciding that something should really be done. So if the reader blowing up at someone else doesn't light the fire immediately, he will do it for them.

Regardless of how it starts or who the reader ends up blowing up at- things hit the fan pretty fast.

Again, the reader doesn't even manage to make it to their friend's place before getting confronted, and basically cornered.

The moment the family finds out about all they can from the reader's room, it plays out similarly to "Not Here" except if you skip the part where they search the Manor, and instead go straight to Gotham. They find the reader easily since they're out in the open (and promptly ignore how they almost missed the reader, but the person who suffered the brief wrath of the reader was able to recognize them, so they had to do a double take to confirm). However things don't go great, maybe even arguably worse in comparison to Part 3 seeing as the reader hasn't had time to really cool down, and is already sick of the Batfam.

It just goes as terribly as you'd expect, and hey, maybe if a few of the wrong buttons are pushed, certain things happen instead of others. But if they're left alone, maybe the reader will get a bit of breathing space before it's inevitable invaded again.

Either way they'd be pushy, clingy, and would not leave the reader alone for a second- maybe even having them discuss parts of their life, along with certain events that have happened to them, so it can feel like the Batfam and the them are 'bonding'. (Even if the reader is very uncomfortable, in reality, and just ready to leave- but the Batfam is basically nailing them in place by staying close and invading their personal space.)

The Batfam becomes a part of the reader's everyday life as they don't want to miss a single day ever again. Not one. Even if the reader doesn't 'live' in the mansion anymore, but they'll move back in eventually, surely. The Batfam will take care of it either way.

With everything and anything the reader does, they'll find a way how to be there one way or another. But if they get too impatient? I'm sure you can imagine what happens from there.

Tldr: Things still go horribly, but just much faster than normal! :]

I hope this answered your question! If you'd like for me to clarify on anything or go into more detail on a specific thing I mentioned, feel free to send an ask! If anyone else has another question or anything or the sort, feel free to do the same!

[leosxrealm]

ʜᴏᴍᴇ

pairing(s): prince! Arthur Leclerc x male! knight! reader

warning(s): hurt/comfort, mentions of injury, mentions of death, royal au! forbidden romance(?)

(a/n): kinda inspired by hozier :) changed the lyrics a bit. a short drabble for my fav leclerc

!not proofread!

"No grave can hold my body down, I'll crawl home to you."

"Your Highness," you manage out through gritted teeth, "you shouldn't get your hands dirty."

He says nothing, silently applying the green paste he made using different medicinal herbs, across your middle. "My prince," you try again. He doesn’t respond, his eyes trained on your body, careful not to hurt you.

"Arthur," your voice is soft, almost like a whisper. He looks up, his ocean eyes clashing with yours.

"I told you not to go," he whispers, a hint of betrayal. He goes back to focusing on your wounds. You smile ever so slightly. "Your Highness-" his eyes snap to you, daring you. "Arthur," you say softly, "I do not have a choice in such matters. I have to go when I am called."

He chews the inside of his cheeks. There has to be some way he could prevent you from going to battles. He was a prince after all, wasn't he? "This is what I was raised for," your voice cuts off his thoughts. 

"No," he says sharply, preventing any further discussion. He gets up from where he was kneeling, using a gauze to wrap around your wounds. He moves to stand in between your legs, still careful to not hurt you. 

He's close. Right within your reach. You could feel his breath across your shoulder. His body heat, warming up your naked torso. He moves the gauze over your back, taking a step back to tie it up.

He ties the final knot, his fingers grazing over your body. They're shaking, you notice. "Arthur," your hand reaches to cup his cheek, guiding his eyes to yours. "I'm here," you utter softly, "I'm fine."

"You're fine," he repeats after you, barely audible. His lower lip wobbles. You pull him in, holding him tight. 

"You're fine. You're fine. You're fine..."

"My prince," you press a lingering kiss to his forehead, "breathe. Breathe with me."

He clings onto you, his arms wrapped around your broad shoulders, his face buried in the crook of your neck. He breathes, following you. In and Out. In and Out. Slowly.

He pulls away, his eyes moist. "You should lie down," he gently pushes you back on the bed. "Rest," he says. He tucks you in, leaning down to press his lips to yours.

"Stay," you catch his wrist, "Please."

He takes a seat on the bed beside you, leaning against the bed frame. You move, trying not to let out a groan. You rest your head in his lap. His hands find their way to your hair, gently playing with the strands.

"What's wrong?" you question, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. Of course, you can read him like an open book. He doesn't respond, his fingers mindlessly playing with your hair.

"My love," you hold his hand, intertwining your fingers with his, "Talk to me."

"One day," he whispers, "I fear, that one day, you won't return home to me."

You say nothing. How could you? He wasn't wrong. It was a possibility. Soldiers die on the battlefield every day. And one day, sooner or later, it would be your turn. 

You bring his hand to your mouth, leaving small kisses every where you could reach. "No grave can hold my body down," you murmur against his knuckles, "I'll crawl home to you."

A look into your eyes, and he knew it was the truth. You'll always come back to him.

[paperclipninja]

This thought struck me while I was driving and I don't know if it's a) tenuous at best, b) me finding meaning where there is none or c) possibly a thing. So naturally I'm going to throw it out there as a possible maybe-theory/foreshadowing.

As we all know, this handshake moment in the magic shop in s2 has the sword very deliberately positioned right where Aziraphale and Crowley's hands meet and we see the three swords in Aziraphale's back as he moves forward.

And when Aziraphale walks back to the counter and Crowley turns to watch, we see three swords now towards Crowley's chest - it's nicely and clearly pointed out with pictures in this post by @newfangledfancy

As many have noted, if Good Omens is anything, it is deliberate in its choices, especially when we're looking at something as obvious as this. What exactly it means, we'll no doubt find out later, but it certainly seems somewhat ominous and foreshadowing, with the sword down the middle arguably already in play with the separation of Crowley and Aziraphale at the end of s2.

My take? The sword in the middle is the breaking our two faves apart, the swords in Aziraphale's back are an indication of betrayal by Heaven (he still trusts they are the 'good guys') and the swords to the front of Crowley, to me, is indicative that part of that betrayal will involve trying to harm/destroy/get rid of Crowley.

The 'offer' to reinstate Crowley to angel status was such utter piffle (sorry, couldn't help it) because the Metatron knew he'd never go for it, but it also served another purpose; to lead Aziraphale to think he'd misjudged the Metatron (even if Aziraphale didn't really think that and doesn't have a choice about returning to Heaven, I do think part of him still also believes the system can be changed from within).

That extremely pointed, horrible look that the Metatron shoots Crowley just before he and Aziraphale leave the bookshop to go discuss the promotion (with accompanying danger music and all), you know, this one:

reveals to us that this performance the Metatron is putting on for Aziraphale really is just that, a performance. He wants Aziraphale to think he's misjudged him, I'm sure he was hoping he could convince Aziraphale to trust him. I think the angel is too clever to fully trust the Metatron, but what it does do is maintain Aziraphale's trust in Heaven and, I believe, the possibility he could make a difference.

So why the offer that Crowley could come to Heaven too? Yes, to entice Aziraphale but also, the offer makes it seem as though the Metatron has no gripe with the demon after all. It may be 'irregular', but he was willing to let Crowley be reinstated, it puts any notion of the Metatron potentially wanting to hurt Crowley off Aziraphale's radar (at least for now).

It's interesting too, in the 1941 magic shop scene, that the swords appear to be going into Crowley only once Aziraphale has moved past him, has his back to him. If I was following the separate, betray, destroy sequence of the sword set up, then I'd take that to suggest that any move against Crowley will happen while Aziraphale has his back turned, so to speak, and can you imagine the kind of fury that would unleash in our no. 1 angel? Coz I can and it is amazing! But I digress...

While speculation is fun (so, so much fun) and all, the point, the POINT of this rambling post was to say that if indeed that 1941 magic shop sequence is foreshadowing Aziraphale being 'stabbed in the back' and Crowley attacked in some way, it's not the first time we've seen a potential nod to that.

Look it may be entirely coincidental but I have to say, there is mighty similar symbolism right back in s1 when Aziraphale and Crowley are hit with the paintballs. Where does the pellet land on Aziraphale? On his back (and how, from where he's standing? Is there someone behind him??). And where does Crowley cop the 'bullet'? Right there in the chest.

I just wouldn't put it past this show to have planted the seed that early on. And look, if it's nothing of the sort, then they're just fantastic stand alone sequences. That's the greatest thing about Good Omens, if it was a Clue, then it's amazing and if it's not, it was still amazing. We simply cannot lose.

[voltronisanobsession]

Oh boy, oh boy, do I have something for you. I really hope this is as good as the other requests I’ve given you, but can you imagine a Percy x Zagreus!reader?

The Reader is the child of Zagreus himself, who doesn’t have a good relationship with the Olympian queen. This means Hera is against his child as well and, despite being a goddess of marriage, tries to keep them away from their father as much as possible. But the Reader doesn’t care, they’ll fight their way to the Underworld no matter how long it might take.

So… how do you think Percy would react with this one? Think he’ll fall head over heels for their determined attitude? Join them in their runs? Patch them up while also scolding them if they come back terribly injured? You gotta tell me what you think.

Hope this is good, hope your day is going well, and have a good morning! Or afternoon…? Maybe even night?

And no, no, I did not draw inspiration from the Hades game, slowly falling in love with it, and trying to find as much gameplays as I can. Nope, don’t know what you’re talking about (😉)

Percy with a Child of Zagreus Reader

OOOOO😻😻 I can smell the bitterness of this reader coming from a mile away💀

I didn’t even know there was a game called Hades, Imma have to look a little into. I kinda mostly focused on reader for this one if I’m being honest

Not proofread💔

Being a child of Zagreus, Hera has put reader through HELL growing up

Like gods aren’t normally supposed to interfere with demigods and whatnot but since she has a bone to pick with the underworld god, you would never be on good terms with Hera

Zagreus would’ve wanted to raise you himself lowkey, probably if your mother died unexpectedly, and mostly to protect you from the wrath of the goddess

But this is Hera we’re talking about, she’s a very bitter and unfair goddess, so she’s willing to tear you both apart if it means seeing Zagreus continuously suffering

Reader is forced to grow up alone, running away from danger that seems to follow them at every corner and turn

The only thing you would have of your father is a pendant of his, and the distant memory of his face

Maybe he even gave you a blessing of protection and perseverance, something that would help you before you were taken away from him

I think Hera would have some curse placed on you and your father, something that keeps y’all from each other

Him trapped in the underworld and you forced to walk the world of the living, cursed to never find an entrance to the world below

Yeah you grow up very untrusting towards others because of Hera’s constant tricks

Most people you’ve met had always broken your trust and betrayed you in some way

So it’s no real shocker when you keep your distance when you first meet Percy

Percy had probably saved you from being eaten by a monster or even helped you run away from some situation that escalated badly

Whatever happened, he’s eager to talk to a new demigod!

It’s not everyday he meets a new halfblood outside of camp

And as nice and silly as he is, you can’t let yourself get close to him, after all this could just be another façade sent to distract you

So it surprises him when you walk past him without introducing yourself or thanking him

You kinda just look at him and move on with your life💀

And that’s what makes you so interesting to Percy! With the way you walk like you’re on a mission, since he has nothing better to do, he decides to join you!

And that’s how his journey with you begins

He fills the empty silence left by you with loud talking and ramblings, and somewhere along your journey, you actually begin to enjoy his company

One worded responses turn to small comments to actual conversations

You can’t help it honestly, you’ve been alone for so long that you crave the presence of another person

It’s a weakness that has led to so much heartbreak and betrayal in your past

But you allow yourself to indulge in Percy, allow yourself to believe he won’t turn against like the others had

Percy definitely notices how you don’t reveal much about yourself

You’re so closed off to a point where he basically only knows your name

And yet he can’t stop his heart from beating faster when you let a smile slip when he says something stupid

I think it would be during the dead of night where you finally reveal why you’ve been wandering around

Like y’all have been traveling together for a while and you ACTUALLY trust him

Percy is so sincere and doesn’t make false promises or comments

He’s an open book basically😭 you can tell he’s a genuine person, and from what you’ve heard about the demigod, he’s a good person

You dare say you might have even grown to like him😦

He honestly admires your perseverance and bravery, like you’ve been on your own for YEARS

Your determination to see your father again captivated him

He feels sorry for you too, you’ve been separated from the only family you know and with no way to get to him

He’s also lowkey scared of your lack of respect towards the powerful goddess

He’s learned to never make a god angry, but he guesses that doesn’t apply to your situation since the goddess had been after you the second you were born

Percy would totally mention how his friend, Annabeth, claims that Hera has a vendetta against her too

If this is after the first war with Kronos, I think you might even reveal how you fought along side him

Percy is shocked to hear that but not really surprised since you never had a good relationship with the Olympian

Kronos promised you that you would be able to see your father again, so you willingly joined his army

Like having this convo with you, it really makes Percy see how anyone can be influenced by the experiences they go through in their life

Percy really wants to help you so I think he might introduce you to Nico

“Nico might actually be able to help you get to the underworld! He’s the son of Hades, by the way.”

“Wait, are you serious? Hades has a son? Why didn’t you say anything sooner?!”

It takes time trying to contact the younger boy, but you still jump on Percy and hug him cuz AHH

You might actually be able to see your father!!!

And Percy is just as happy to see you smiling brightly as the younger boy makes his appearance

Hell you might even give him a small peck on the cheek as a thank you teehee (this dudes face would be REEEDDDD)

But danger finally strikes you all when Nico leads you to an entrance to the underworld

Monster quite literally spawn out of NOWHERE, mostly attacking you and keeping you away from the one place where people would stray far away from

You dodge any swipes and attacks aimed at you, inching closer to the entrance until you’re launched back

Battered and bruised, you get up only to be pulled away by Percy

He would try to explain that it was too dangerous to continue, that you all needed to fall back and come up with a plan!

“Percy let go of me! I’m so close, you can’t do this to me!”

“We need to get back now! Please! We won’t be able to beat them! They’ll kill you!”

It’s a complete surprise to him and Nico when you pull out a sword against him, it being half celestial bronze and steel

Nah cuz this would be a major breaking point for both of y’all, having such a dangerous weapon would cause Percy to question your morals😭💔

You would slowly back away from him, realizing that he didn’t betray your trust, but you betrayed his

You would separate from him as you fight your way to the underworld entrance, looking back once to him, heart breaking at the sight of his hurt expression

Your alone in the underworld now, and Percy can’t help but feel hurt that you would be so reckless and driven to this state

He would totally go in after you though despite Nico’s warnings

If Percy can find you before you run into any more trouble, then maybe your fate won’t end in tragedy

Zagreus!Reader is actually pretty reckless when it comes to being reunited with their father. It’s something that Percy admires and hates about them, since most of the time it leads them to getting hurt in the end

He just wants to help you in anyway he can, you just gotta let him help. Your untrusting nature might be the cause of your downfall if you don’t learn to trust others💔

(I love this reader tbh, so much potential when it comes to the underworld hehe)

[everythingelseisextra]

Horse To Water

Part Fourteen: Come Home (Tommy's POV)

I'm too lazy to write a description, have fun. Warnings: Kind of torture, kind of police brutality, talk of war, PTSD, language Word Count: 4535 Tag List: @theshelbyslimited  @ttaechi  @weaponizedvirtue  @majesticcmey  @optimisticsandwichgladiator  @zablife  @princesssterek  @mm0thie  @callsignvenus @ay0nha  @mgdixon  @fairytale07 @dreamy-caramel  @ce1iat @babayaga67 @shelbydelrey @globetrotter28 @look-at-the-soul

You find yourself in handcuffs, sitting in an empty cement cell. Water drips slowly from the ceiling. A bucket in the corner fills the room with the rotten scent of excrement. The bar you sit on permeates cold through your jodhpurs and you shiver. When you exhale, your breath fogs in the frigid air. 

You’re unsure of the details of how you got here. What you do recall is a blur of hands pressing you down or pushing you forwards, shouts of men discovering the bodies scattered through your property. The one who lasted longer must’ve called the police between the first man’s death and his. Confusion steeped through the officers, and you remember questions yelled at you, your voice failing you as usual, and your consequent incarceration. 

They’ve asked you your name. They’ve asked you your birthday, your address, your affiliation, and you can give them nothing. All the words in your mind fail to move past your lips. And so you sit alone in an empty cell and every time you close your eyes you see blood. Every time you take a breath you feel the weight of life in your lungs and you wonder when it got so heavy. 

There’s an ache left over from being young in you. This world isn’t quite what your soul expected. You went through childhood with a kind of awful surprise, like each repeated pain you felt was a new betrayal from God. Now, you’re trapped, hands tied, with nothing but your clothes between you and the world. The hair on the back of your neck rises, and you look up to see a policeman peering through the hatch, hazel eyes cold. You suck in a breath and pull your body as far from him as possible, pressing your back against the wall. 

After a moment, he enters, closing the door behind him. “So, you’re the mute.”

You stare up at him, halfway between defiant and fearful, your blood trying to boil and freeze at the same time. 

“You killed two men. One was particularly brutal. Lure him into a trap and use blunt force trauma from a height? You’re fucked in the head.” He steps towards you, slowly taking a thick, heavy baton from his side and holding it up, eyes on the black metal. “I’ve been sent in here to make you talk. I’m known for my skills, right? I make people talk. I’m good at it. I’m good at making sure people don’t get knocked out when I hit them.”

There’s a smile on his lips. You straighten in your seat, jaw tightening, and smooth out your expression. You blink slowly at him. No way in hell you’re talking, not after a challenge like that. 

“I start out gentle.” He holds the baton out, the end right below your chin. “Who are you?”

You close your eyes and breathe. When you were younger, you used to play a game with yourself, when men were particularly rough with your little body. You’d pretend that you were someone else, standing outside of your own body, watching from afar. You’d sink into the role of this person. You’d make up their story; their name, their age, why they were there. And you’d sit in their head and watch yourself be abused. It made the pain lessen. It made it go faster. 

Now, as the baton cracks into your chin, you’re standing outside of yourself to the left of the man, considering him. You imagine yourself with a strong, large body, without the aches you always seem to have, and you slip into that form. 

“I asked you who you are!” The policeman pulls the baton to the side, resting it above your ear. “I expect an answer!”

The baton hits hard into the side of your head. You fall to the side, but you don’t feel the pain. Your mind is elsewhere, hovering beside the policeman, watching his arm move the baton again, preparing for another strike. There’s hot blood rolling down the side of your head, and you’re aware of it, but you don’t feel it. You don’t feel anything. 

You will win this game. 

“Who are you?” He waits a few seconds before drawing back and striking you again with the baton. Something flickers in your off-centered mind, and your eyes slowly slide open. 

He shouts something again, but you don’t hear it. You’re focused, existing inside and outside yourself, and you’re waiting for him to draw back. He winds up, aiming for your shoulder, and you know if he were to hit, it would break your bone. Seemingly in slow motion, the baton comes crashing down, and you lift your hands, and—

The baton lands on the chain between your cuffs and breaks the metal cleanly in half. Before he registers what has just happened, you’re on your feet. You kick him hard in the groin and make for the door as he falls to his knees, whimpering. You open it, knowing full well you’re about to be caught and put right back into your cell, and shoot out, thinking somehow, maybe, you’ll get past them. 

You slam straight into someone, almost falling with the force of it, and back away, looking around wildly for some way to escape. You heave, not even trying to fend off the panic as your body trembles and your eyes search desperately for a way out. 

“Easy now, love.” Tommy’s voice. You look up to see his clear blue eyes, a faint smile on his lips. “You didn’t need my help at all, did you?”

Your wide eyes blink to try to clear your vision, give yourself some kind of groundedness in the familiar shape of his face, but the world spins around you and a burning sensation rises in your chest as you lose your breath time and time again. 

A hand reaches out for you and you jerk away, trying to catch the breath that runs chaotically away. You continue to back away, frantically seeking freedom. 

“You’re not back there. You’re not trapped. Look around, you’re free as I am.” 

There are eyes on you, pinning you to the ground, scorching your skin with their seeping gazes. You shake your head, brow furrowing, wishing you could get out from this cold, dark hallway, away from the eyes on you, away from the clattering of other prisoners. 

“Look around. You’re alright. You’re alright.” He steps towards you and you try not to cower. “Come on, let’s go, eh? Hold your head up and let’s go.” 

You take a gasping breath, then another, trying to get ahold of yourself. He reaches out a hand to you, letting it hover softly in the space between. After a moment, you look up, meeting his eyes with a kind of feral recognition that you’ve only ever seen in spooking horses being calmed. Slowly, you reach out a trembling hand to take his. 

“You’re okay.” He gives your hand a slight tug and starts to walk. Your body, pumped with adrenaline, stumbles to move by his side, falling into step with him. 

Down a cold cement hallway, with eyes seeking somewhere to land through the bars of cell doors, you walk with him. Behind you, officers watch in silence, your silhouettes slowly getting smaller in their vision. He knows his way through the maze-like building, knows how to navigate through the frigidity, and before you realize it, you’re out into fresh, equally cold night air. You stop and tilt your head up, searching the sky for stars and finding only the polluted gray of Birmingham. You continue to tremble, half from cold, half from the residual fear that skewers you, a slow, painful death. 

Once you’re in his car, tires rumbling down the streets, he speaks again. “Fucking coppers wouldn’t tell me anything. Said they brought in a girl from a barn on the outskirts for double homicide. Even Moss kept his mouth shut.”

You close your eyes, pressing them together, then open them again. Your voice comes out as barely more than a whisper. “That’s because they didn’t know anything.”

“They tried telling me that. Told them they needed to find out, then changed my mind.” He reaches out to gently brush the bloody side of your head and you flinch. He drops his hand, jaw tightening slightly. His voice raises. “Does anyone ever fucking listen to me?”

You hold back tears, voice breaking and pathetically small. “They were scared that you’d hurt them if they couldn’t tell you more.”

“What were you thinking, running off and killing two men?” His tone remains harsh and you suddenly realize you’re trapped, alone in a car with a very dangerous man. 

“I obviously didn’t do it for fun, Tom.” You wrap your arms around yourself, a silent tear dripping down your cheek. “They found me. I don’t know how, but they did. One of them was an old client, the other… I don’t know. It was self defense. They would’ve taken me back.”

He’s quiet for a moment, blue eyes reflecting the lanterns lighting the streets, little embers in the iciness. “One man with a crushed skull, the other with his brains blown out the side of his head.”

“I had to protect myself.” Your words grow louder, hoarse. “What did you want me to do, just go with them? Is that what you think of me? Just some poor haunted girl, helpless? Is that who you want me to be?” 

“No,” he says, and the word is final. “No. Everything you did, every choice you made, is exactly what I would’ve done. I don’t want you to follow down the path I did.”

You let out a half-laugh, half-sob. “I’m not following any path, I’m just trying to survive.”

“In the morning, we’ll go to your house and pack your things. You’ll stay with me.” 

Suddenly, the lump in your throat is gone, replaced with a kind of surprised rage that can’t fully be described. “You’re expecting me to put my life on hold, lose my independence, and move in with you, without even asking me first?” 

He blinks, glancing over at you as if he hadn’t realized it might not be what you wanted. “You’ll be sa—”

“Safer? I protected myself just fine, Thomas.”

“Next time, there’ll be more men, more guns, and you’ll be alone.” 

“Oh, yeah? Well then, why don’t you move in with me? Why don’t you upend your life and leave everything behind?” You turn your head to look at him, glaring. “How does that sound to you?”

“It’s not the same.”

“What, because you have money and I don’t? Because I have less to lose?” 

“You won’t be losing anything.” His hands tighten around the wheel and he straightens. “We’ll bring your horses to my stables.”

Your jaw almost drops. “Tommy, do you have any idea what it means for a woman to move in with a man? Do you realize that I’d be losing my financial and physical independence? You can’t be serious.”

“I am.” He glances over at you. “There are no rules that say you must give up your independence. Doesn’t matter what everyone else does. We can do it differently.”

You look away, refusing to meet his eyes. “I can’t rely on you for everything.” 

“You can rely on me for protection.” He nods. 

“I’m not— I hope you realize, Tom, that I will never belong to you. I will never be owned by anyone. I need space. I can’t be so close to you that there’s no room to breathe. If you want another possession, another trophy, you need to find someone else.” Your voice grows steady, strong. “I’m tired of belonging to a man. I’m tired of being told that I can’t exist without being attached to someone. I can. I exist, despite it all, and I refuse to do it again.” 

“I’m not asking you to belong to me.” He sighs, a subtle sign of frustration. “I’m asking you to keep yourself safe. Let me help you. Even just for until this is over.”

“I can protect myself.” 

“You can. But even you can’t be so strong.” His eyes flick down to his hands on the wheel, then back up to the street. “Even you can’t do it alone.”

You let his words fade into the cool night air. You try to siphon through the conflicting thoughts that flit through your mind like hummingbirds. You want to be yourself, separate from everything around you. You want to be where he is, wherever that may be, a constant yearning for the companionship he brings. You want to learn who you are without being caught in someone else’s orbit, without being owned. You want to teach yourself how to love without the constant fear of loss, and there he is, asking for nothing in return. There he is, and he has never done anything to you that was not good, and he has never tried to lead you astray. 

You lean your head back against the rest and stare out into the now clear night, the stars showing now that you’ve moved from the city. “You would take in all twelve of my horses… let me live with you… for nothing?” 

A faint smile appears on his lips. “It’s a big house. Needs someone else to fill all the empty space.”

You manage a small, watery smile in return. “Thank you.”

“No need.” He turns into the driveway of Arrow House and slowly pulls up. He stops the car but doesn’t get out, simply stares down at his hands and lets them slowly fall from the wheel. 

“What?” You shift hesitantly closer to him, trying to read his expression, trying to peer into those blue eyes and decipher the depths inside of them. 

“I know you take care of yourself,” he says slowly. “I know you always will. I want you to let me help. With everything. I want us to take care of each other.”

You take in a small breath. This, you think, this is when I hurt him. This is when it ends, all the softness and care, all the pieces of each other shared back and forth. 

“I don’t know how,” you say. “It’s always been me. I’ve never learned how to help and be helped.”

“You do know.” He looks over at you, eyes flicking over your face. “I’ve seen you do it. Care for the horses every day.”

“Then I don’t know how to let someone help me.” You reach up and touch the side of your head; you can feel it now, the throbbing, swollen pain pressing through your skull. “I don’t know how to give up that kind of control.”

He considers you, expression soft and quiet. “I know I’m not the man you imagined, but I’ll wait for you. I’ll wait for you to be ready, and I’ll wait for you to learn.”

You smile a little. “I didn’t imagine any man. You’re quite the plot twist, you know that?” 

“Will you try?” His head tilts slightly, a faint, wordless acknowledgement to your statement. “Will you take the time to learn how to be helped?” 

“Yes,” you murmur. “Yes. I’ll try.” 

“Good.” He lucks up at the house, tone accomplished, as though he’s checked off another task on his to-do list. He slips out of the car and into the night, and you follow him. The cool wind batters at you, burns the broken skin at the side of your head, and you stop for a moment to watch him walk, head down, hands in his pockets, silhouetted in the grand light of Arrow House. 

When you were younger, you made a promise to yourself that you’d live long enough to have your own place. You’d survive until you could create a home, where you weren’t alone but weren’t taken advantage of. Where no one yelled and threw things, where there was no such thing as saying something wrong, a sanctuary of warmth and light and quiet appreciation. 

It was a child’s dream of paradise, and now, as an adult, you know that nothing is that simple. But, as he stops and turns, waiting for you to join him at the doorstep, you think that, maybe, you’re taking a step towards keeping that promise. Maybe you’re reaching out a hand to that young, desperate self, and showing her that there is kindness, and there is warmth, and there’s somewhere out there for her. 

And that younger self smiles, knowing that though there are battles ahead, she has made it home. 

Your eyes are closed as Tommy gently uses a washcloth to remove the blood from the side of your head. The pain throbs dully with each touch, but you somehow don’t mind it. There’s a raw, open gash underneath your hair that he drenched in alcohol a few minutes before. He’s quiet. You’re quiet. The bathroom you sit in is cool and the light is soft on your eyelids. 

You’ve seen him dream at night. His closed eyes move with nightmares, his jaw clenches, his body tenses, trembles, sometimes jolts as though in pain. All this time, and you haven’t been brave enough to ask. All this time, and you haven’t known how to ask him to talk about that wound without reopening it. Now, though, as he cleans the blood from your neck, you think, maybe the air is stable enough. Maybe the softness is steady enough. 

“You have nightmares,” you say quietly. “You never talk about them.”

“No. I don’t.” He doesn’t seem to want further questions, asking you to allow the conversation to end there. 

“Sometimes you talk in your sleep. Did you know that?” You keep your eyes closed. 

“Grace never told me.” 

“You do. It’s always indistinct. I catch names, sometimes. Someone called Danny, or Freddie. Sometimes you count. You’re quiet, but I can hear it in your voice. You’re scared. I’m never sure if waking you up would help or not, so I stay quiet, let you ride it out.” 

He doesn’t respond. You open your eyes to find his face a little paler than usual, his eyes covered in a momentary, hazy film that slowly melts away like ice. He blinks, and gives you a small nod. 

“I’m not proud. It’s no treat to relive it.” He goes back to cleaning your blood, his hand steady, his voice the same. “I get stuck in the mud again.”

“I can help,” you say quietly. “I’m not going to let you get trapped in your own head because of me. I will never let you fall apart.” 

His jaw tightens, then relaxes. “I’ll tell you. Only if you promise not to ask about it again.”

“Okay.” You close your eyes again, waiting, giving him the space to take his time. 

“I was the sergeant major of the 179th Tunneling Brigade. I spent most of my time fighting underground. Won medals for surviving what others couldn’t.” His voice flattens out, low and even, emotionless. “What else do you want to know?”

“You were… underground?” 

There’s a pause before he responds. “Yes. It was small. The cold bit our feet because shoes weren’t allowed and we couldn’t drain the water. The light came from candles that wouldn’t stay lit. Sometimes the air got thin. Sometimes the canaries and rats died before us.” 

You stay as still as you can, as quiet as you can, unwilling to break the sacred silence around you as his words settle around you. “And the nightmares?”

“A cave-in. We could hear the Germans digging above us. They sent word to get underneath them and set up enough charge to stop them getting to our trenches. Maybe it was an accident or maybe they heard us. All I know is their mines went off before ours did. I felt it before I heard it and—” He pauses and clears his throat, then continues, tone a little softer, a little more worried. “Then the ground shook and fell to bury us in a grave we’d dug for ourselves. It scared me more to realize I was alive than thinking I was dead. I remember trying to get air, get some of the weight off me and thinking: Fuck. Alive. I have to keep going. I have to get out. Five of us found a space large enough to get some air. I never heard about the rest of them”

It seems he had holds it in, grappling with the memories that swirl around his mind, intoxicating and bewitching, and, once you ask, it’s all he can do to stop it from spilling out. There’s a weight on his shoulders that never lets up, and he stays quiet about it, never complaining, never even mentioning it. You squeeze your eyes, kaleidoscope patterns of color sparking on your eyelids, and think you should’ve asked him sooner. 

“How did you get out?” You match his tone with a steady, quiet voice. 

“We dug up for a day and a half till the fixed air took our consciousness. Even before then the five of us accepted we would never see the sun. Some men dug down and got three of us out. There was another still alive underneath. His legs had broken and tangled in the apparatus for clay kicking. One of my comrades stayed down with him. The roof collapsed. Their corpses will never be recovered.” 

He sounds tired. The words he speaks seem to barely leave his throat, as though the low growl of them remains confined to his vocal cords. Finality rings from his voice like an order, or perhaps a plea. He seems to beg you, in his own silent way, not to ask for more. You can only be so selfish, so brazen in how much you push him to fake steadiness. Any further now and his façade would melt fully away. Thomas Shelby came home from war to test how many times he could ignore the broken parts of him till they shattered, and this conversation has forced him to see the cracks.

“That’s what you dream about. The cave in. The ones you left behind.”

“Sometimes. Sometimes the tunnel gets broken through and we have to fight and kill and leave the bodies to rot. Sometimes all it is is the sound of picks and shovels at the other end of the tunnel, coming towards us, and the only thing to do is wait.” His voice grows emptier, hollowed out, and you open your eyes to look up at him. 

“Tommy,” you say quietly. “Look at me.”

He does as you ask, haunted blue eyes searching for something in you that you’re not sure you have. 

“You don’t have to pretend like it doesn’t hurt you.” You watch his hand as it shifts from steadiness to trembling, then back to steadiness again. “I can hear in your voice that you’re faking it to protect me. It’s okay. I’m not going to leave you if you’re hurt. I am, too. Remember our promise?” 

He nods blankly. “Yes. I do.”

Like a horse to water, you try to coax him to step out of the darkness and bring the parts of him he hides into the light. You know he’ll refuse. You know he’ll consider it, over and over, and then back away. Or, maybe, you’ll get lucky, and some trust will glow like an ember, and you’ll see him lay himself down in front of you and show you who he is. 

“You still feel like a soldier, don’t you?” Your tone is slightly sad. 

He nods again, curtly, but his eyes are almost sleepy, exhausted by the task of remembering and acknowledging. 

“Have you been trying to forget?”

Another nod. He looks like a boy, spooked late at night by some horror story spoken by his friend, eyes glassy and tired but, underneath, so, so afraid. The hand that holds the bloody cloth lifts and presses against his chest, over his heart, protective. 

“You wanna know what I do? With the memories that are too big for my body?” 

His eyes flick down to you, acknowledging, giving permission. 

“I sort of… sit with them. I do it alone, and I give myself time. Sometimes I panic and can’t breathe, and sometimes I fall out of myself, like I’m not quite me, but not anyone else, either. But, always, after I think about it, after I let it take me over, I can call it back without having such a strong reaction.” Slowly, you stand from your seat and turn to face him. “It hurts. I’ll be the first to admit it. It’s the most painful thing I’ve ever done, worse than when it happened the first time. But after… It's catharsis. It’s being reborn. And you’re exhausted, but you survived it, and you can do it again.” 

His eyes latch onto yours, helpless, and you reach up to caress his cheek. Slowly, he caves to you, his eyes closing. 

“And you just did it. You called back a ghost, faced it, and now, here you are.” You bring him closer to you, pressing your forehead against his. “You survived, Tommy. You survived, and I survived, and there’s something to that. There’s something to the fact that we never deserved what happened, and yet, we’re still alone, together. And now I know that I need to wake you when you have nightmares.”

He releases a slow breath. You close your eyes, your thumb tracing over his cheekbone. 

“We’re gonna be okay. I think you’re right. I think we’re meant to take care of each other. You’ll teach me how to let you help me. I’ll teach you how to love again.” 

He swallows hard, and you feel a faint tremble run through him, subtle, barely there. You reach up with your other hand and take the cloth from him, setting it down on the counter, and then take his hand. You feel your heart settle into your body, and you feel something you haven’t felt in a long, long time. 

Hello love, your invincible, hopeful friend. For a moment, you forget where you are, and you squeeze his hand and start timing your breathing to his. You have so many words to speak, so much bubbling up in you, but you hold your cliches and just stand with him, waiting out the memories, holding him quietly. He squeezes back, and you smile faintly. 

“There you are.” You drop your hand from his cheek, open your eyes, and step back. 

He watches you, eyes soft, then looks away. “You were right.” 

“I was?” You blink, surprised. “About what?”

“It’s better, after, if you… sit with it, like you said.” He lets go of your hand, picks up the cloth, and walks casually to the door. “Won’t be doing it alone. I need you with me.”

“Apparently I’ll be here.” You follow him. “I live here now.” 

He shakes his head, and you catch a small smile on his lips. “Not yet. That could change.”

You chuckle. “You would never.”

“I would never,” he agrees.      

[fxirysforesight]

My Theory on The Recent Misfortunes in Kpop

This K-pop Era is something else. Parasocial relationships are crumbling due to the increase in relationships being revealed, entertainment and news companies are being sued back to back, the public images of celebrities are being shattered due to their past misdeeds, and the big leagues are slowly crumbling.

A large portion of this is the result of Pluto having recently moved into Aquarius, testing the stability and boundaries of fame and fortune while also shedding dead weight and bringing light to the dark side of the entertainment industry.

Right now, the event chart for K-pop has Pisces Mars, Neptune, and Saturn transiting its 7th House indicating a focus on relationships, businesses, partnerships, and the overall harmony and balance. When Neptune crosses your 7th House it can indicate a lot of sneaky and shady behavior occurring. Even more so because right now, Neptune is currently conjunct Mercury in that chart which alludes to false claims, lies, deception, etc. Similar to in a Natal Chart where it can indicate being cheated on by a partner or being slighted in some way by someone else, it can take on the same meaning in an event chart where romantic relationships are not the focus, meaning this could be a betrayal in a partnership or a business. Mars is a planet of drive and ambition.

Mars always pushes it’s limits and tests the boundaries, oftentimes creating power struggles and sort of “lighting a fire under” previous issues as it is a planet that gives people the courage to bring up issues that have been sat on for a while combined with Neptune. Now I will say that Mars is already in the 7th House in Pisces in the Chart of K-pop. Highlighting the instability of the relationships and partnerships formed through it. With it now returning to its place in the 7th House it’s sort of like it’s coming back to bite them in the ass if that makes sense. Now Saturn is nobodies bitch. Where Saturn is at, is where Karma will be dealt. So with it being in the 7th House, that would be failing businesses and partnerships, the ending of relationships, etc. (especially with Mars here)

“But Zana! Why are all of these companies being sued?”

Great question. If you look at the chart, the ASC ruler which is Mercury is currently transiting the 8th House which rules defamation. If you take that and combine it with the fact that the Sun is also in the House (indicating that the “Spotlight” is being cast on that House, as well as the fact that Mercury is square Uranus which is the ruler of the 6th House (which rules Litigations) you get some not so fun things.

Now as for WHY? I said before how the 8th House rules Defamation which is already a big problem in the industry right now. But not everyone is going to be sued for defamation. The other possibility I see is being sued for theft, fraud, and laundering because the Ruler of the 8th House (And the 8th House ruled money you get from OTHER PEOPLE) which is Mars is currently in the 7th House in Pisces…which speaks for itself as per my explanation of Mars in Pisces in the 7th House in the beginning.

I’ll end this with a prediction. In a few days The Sun will enter Capricorn in the 9th House and will be Sextile Saturn. Where it will join Jupiter and Venus. We may see an increase in global expansion from a few companies such as branching out and building other locations in different cities and countries. It’s also possible that we may see more deals and acquisitions being made as well. We could also see the emergence of a global boy or girl group.

[sykestarot]

what's holding you back? how should you move forward?

1-2-3 (left to right)

I do not own any of these images

Hi guys I felt this was the message that needed be heard this week and some of it got very specific. Lmk what you think! Thanks for stopping by ily!!

Pile 1

“it consumes my mind, it consumes my soul, it wants my life, it wants complete control” (8 of cups (rx); 8 of wands (rx; The Emperor; The Hermit; king of wands; The Star) This pile might struggle with mental health issues, such as depression or anxiety. When channeling your energy pile one I had a heavy chest and a hard time breathing. You could be pushing yourself too hard and not taking a break. Or avoiding taking a break because then you’ll see how much pain you’re in. Either way I feel very heavy energies with you. I see you feel stagnant in your life, but this is because you refuse to make changes because you feel comfortable in the routine or cycle you’re in. I’m also seeing for some of you, that you went through something hard recently and you’re keeping yourself hidden due to fears of it happening again. This situation led you to forget how much power you hold and how truly beautiful you are. I think you might expect life to happen for you, even though you’re not really leaving your house. Sometimes we have to make things happen for ourselves, although I do understand not wanting to because of the fear of the unknown. The advice that the cards give you is to remember how you sparkle. I feel like your current energy is the song I channeled but the energy you need to embody is bejeweled by Taylor Swift lol. Two very different energies. Spirit is telling you to lean on them and let go of the past, because holding onto that is only going to make your journey to the top slower. I’m also not sure if this situation involved a betrayal but spirit is also letting you know that two people’s perspectives that may differ on the same situation can both be true at the same time. I also see in this advice that this is a journey you have to go on alone. I understand how daunting this may feel but I promise you have the strength and the resilience to get through this. I keep hearing “I wish you could see the way you shine”. Signs: August; the number 8; 8 mile; Eminem?; blue sapphire; stardust the movie; Aquarius; girl in red?; insomnia; overthinking; stripped socks; dark room lit up by tv; “remember who you are” - lion king

Pile 2

"Je te laisserai des mots" (2 of swords (rx); 3 of swords; The High Priestess; The Empress (rx); Justice (rx); 8 of wands (rx)) Hi Pile 2! I feel like for you guys you recently went through a breakup, possibly with your first love, or someone you thought was your forever. Maybe you guys were on and off for a while and you really believe this person will come back. I see that in terms of what’s holding you back is that you don’t believe that you can live without this person and that’s not true. I see that you would’ve given this person the world. I hear that quote where one person says “you were a wonderful experience” and then the other person says, “you, you were everything.” And I feel like you’re the one saying that the other person was everything. Perhaps you're an artist and this person was your  muse and without them you feel like you can’t make your art anymore. I genuinely feel empty channeling your energy. I see that what’s holding you back is the idea that this person was the only reason you were successful, which couldn’t be further from the truth pile 2. You are worth so much more than what you create. I also feel that you only value yourself by how much you create or do and that you punish yourself for not meeting a certain quota. But because of the loss you’re going through right now you’re not meeting quotas because you’re hurt not because you are an unproductive being. If you leave this reading with one thing I hope that it is that you are worth so much more than just what you create. As far as advice goes for you I see that you need to place trust in the mysteries of life. Most times you don’t know what life has in store for you even if you think you do. Place trust in your heart and your gut feelings. Rest when you feel you need to and create when you feel the need to. I also see that your inner monologue could be hurting you, the pessimism in your mind could be keeping you in a cycle of self hatred and unproductivity and they're working hand in hand to keep you stagnant. Try to think more positively and be gentler with yourself and you’ll see progress almost immediately. I’m also seeing that when you step back and see the bigger picture you’ll find that everything happens for a reason, and almost every ending leads to a new beginning. I believe in you pile 2 you can do it!! Signs: 222’; piano; marble; fine arts; french?; museums; pine scent; guitar; the color blue; long distance; wishing on stars; turn back time; Romeo and Juliet; “it’s better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all” ; paintings; indie

Pile 3

“keeping me from who I need to be, distracting me from what I need to do” Pile 3 I feel like for you what’s holding you back is your inability to admit that you are wrong about something. For you I see you continuing to try to do something that isn’t working and probably hasn’t worked for you either ever or for a long time. I see that for you your destiny holds much more than what you are doing. I see that you are going down a path that is filled with obstacles and you believe that it’s because it’ll give you a better success story when these obstacles are not even obstacles there more like road blocks. I see this pile is more of a career pile. I also feel like I can hear you while reading this immediately going, “pfft this isn’t for me”. If you thought this at all then this pile is exactly for you. I don’t know if someone told you that you wouldn’t make it in the line of work you’re in but I do see that you took that and made it the fire that lit you up. For most of you though this is a job that you can make it in but it won’t fulfill you in the way you think it will because at the end of the day I believe you don’t actually enjoy this job. SO if you feel like your life is stagnant or staying in the same place it’s because this career isn’t meant for you. I feel like you also know what career is meant for you and you’re being super stubborn. I also feel like when you talk to people you’re close to about your job issues they immediately bring up your other option of what you could be doing. Like if you’re a lawyer and it’s draining you and you tell your friend and they immediately go “oh what about the art you used to make you know you were great at that!” I also feel that this irritates you lol. I feel like you know and are aware of it at the very least. The universe has been sending you signs about this for what I believe could be years. But you do what you feel is right for you. As far as advice goes for you pile three I see it’s time to heal. Perhaps the reason you're staying in this job is because you feel the need to get recognition to stick it to the person who told you you couldn’t. That’s not necessarily the healthiest behavior for ourselves. I also see that you need to start thinking of laying something solid down for the rest of your life, so maybe this job is also not letting you provide for yourself or others and on top of all of that you don’t enjoy it? I think spirit wants you to think in long term goals and does this job or cycle let you pursue those? Spirit would also like you to know that you aren’t alone. I really heavily feel that given the opportunity your friends would love to support you in any endeavor and are probably rooting for you to leave this situation. So go ahead and reach out when you’re ready to leave!! Many people love you and only want the best for you, remember that. :)  Signs: October 6th; October; June; pumpkins; hammers; carpentry; wood?; post malone; trinkets; working with hands; toxic positivity; hard helmets; hammers; beer; heinekens