.

the poshmark listing i was looking at to buy mgs4 for like $10 is gone it’s so joever

im sending you a buncchhhhhh~ i hope im doing this right 🥹

“shut up and just let me take care of you!”

with billy pleaseee 💕

Of course it’s ok to send in a bunch! Thank you so much for participating in my sleepover. I really hope you like what I did here and I’m excited to get to your other asks! ♥️

I just realized I attached the wrong prompt to this ask…I am SO sorry! The prompt I used for this was “I could keep you safe, they’re all afraid of me”

The Witching Hour

Photos are not mine. They are courtesy of Pinterest/Google.

Pairing: Billy Russo x F! Reader

Warnings: A few swear words, angst, violence, some fluff

Word Count: 1.4K-ish

Summary: You’re walking home late from a night out with co-workers and run in to a little trouble.

As always, thank you for reading!  I appreciate it so much and comments, reblogs are welcome and encouraged. Don’t be shy to tell me your favorite part. 💕💕 💕

The faded crescent moon barely lit up the night sky. It looked like a claw made of pale silver with the bright city lights shining beneath it. The countless pin pricks of bright white shone against the dark canvas like sparkling diamonds across a piece of black velvet. No clouds or strong winds tonight; the sky up above was calm and quiet.

Beneath your feet, you stepped on pieces of broken glass, nip bottles, and cigarette butts as you walked alone, coming from an evening out with co-workers. You hadn’t really made any close friends yet since moving into the city.

It must be the witching hour.

You could hear babies crying through open windows on this warm late spring night. It seemed as though they all started to cry at the same time and the city demons clawed and crawled their way out of the alleyways and subway stations, just waiting for someone to pounce on.

The night can be a frightening place with dangers creeping around every corner and you hated to admit that you were a little scared. You felt like the rapid beating of your heart was getting faster and faster with each step you took.

Looking around, it was difficult to distinguish where you were and you became more anxious as you tried to figure out how to get home.

The cat calling came from all directions, it seemed like. The neon lights in the store windows blurred in your peripheral vision as you walked a little faster to try and get away from the footsteps you heard behind you. It wasn’t just one person; it was multiple.

With one hand on your taser inside your purse, you were ready if they got too close. The scent of their cigarettes floated past your nose when you were taken by surprise and pulled into a dark alley, partially blocked off by a large dumpster.

A large cold hand forcefully covered your mouth, preventing you from screaming. The man took his free hand, ripped your purse from your hands and tossed it toward the other end of the alley.

He pushed you into the brick wall; the back of your head hit the bricks and your vision became blurry but not before you got in a swift knee to the groin. But where one man dropped to the ground, another just took his place.

Another hand, smelling of fresh ash, clamped down over your mouth and pressed your back into the wall. Your bare elbows scraped against the bricks and started to bleed.

One of them spoke, while two of them watched and the other writhed around on the ground in pain.

“Well aren’t you a pretty little thing.” He said in a low raspy tone. “She’s pretty, isn’t she boys?”

One of the other men licked his lips while eyeing you up and down. Panting heavily, he watched your chest rise and fall as you tried to breathe from behind the man’s hand. Something dripped down the back of your neck; it felt warm and it moved slow like honey or molasses.

It was blood from where your head hit the bricks.

“Don’t worry, we’ll be gentle.” One of them said.

You could feel your eyes start to close no matter how hard you tried to keep them open and remained frozen in place. There was a loud bang that jolted you awake and caused you to look over just in time to see one of the thug’s heads bounce off the side of the dumpster.

A tall figure, wearing a black beanie and a black leather jacket was fighting off your attackers. He looked very familiar. When he pulled one of the men off of you, your legs gave out and you hit the ground.

You watched as a blade protruded out from your savior’s sleeve and warm blood sprayed across your cheek as he opened up your attacker’s throat. Before you passed out, your rescuer called out your name and then you saw nothing but darkness.

When you finally opened your eyes, your vision was still a little fuzzy and you had an exploding pain in your head. Wincing, you tried to sit up before he stopped you.

“Hey, hey lie back, y/n. Try and stay still; can you do that for me?” He said.

It was your boss. Billy Russo.

“Mr. Russo?” You asked with a shaky voice.

“Well that’s a good sign…you know who I am.” He said with a warm smile. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Are you bein’ serious right now?” You asked, sarcastically.

Billy gave you a stern look.

“Ok, ok…three fingers. Where am I?” You asked him in a low voice.

“You’re at my place.” He said.

“Well that’s just great, two months in New York and I have to be rescued by my boss. Fan-fuckin-tastic.” You said, your voice dripping with sass.

Billy laughed. “Well, there are worse things y/n. You almost ended up being fresh meat for those wolves.”

Everything you were feeling at that moment had risen to the surface and the only reaction that came out was you buried your head in your hands and burst into tears.

Billy moved closer to you on the couch.

“Shit….sssshh, it’s ok y/n. You’re safe now. They’re gone, they can’t hurt you anymore.” He said, his voice smooth like warm honey.

Catching the tears as they fell from your eyes, you replied, “But what if they come back, Mr. Russo?!!”

Billy’s eyes narrowed and they looked like pools of dark chocolate and through clenched teeth, he said, “They’re not coming back because they’re dead…they’re all dead.”

He told you how he followed you from the bar you all were drinking at; he wanted to make sure you were going to get home alright. And he got nervous when you didn’t get into a cab or an uber so he made sure to follow close behind without you noticing.

Billy was a former marine; he was taught how to blend in and not be seen and sneak up on the enemy when they least expected him to.

You sat there horrified, as he told you what he did to them. He opened their throats with ease and precision but not before wanting them to beg for their lives.

He liked to watch them beg and he enjoyed watching them die. He told you that as he watched them take their last breaths, he smiled. Like an evil Cheshire cat, he smiled and prowled around them to make sure they were all dead.

White with shock, your mouth gaped open as you sat there paralyzed in place listening to the words spill out of his mouth.

After he was finished, you were finally able to speak. “You killed them all? For me?”

“They were going to hurt you…or worse.” Said Billy, angrily.

“But y—you killed them, Mr. Russo.” You said.

Billy took your hand in his and gently pulled you to a seated position so your faces were inches away from each other. You could feel his warm breath along your eyelashes as he replied, “I did the world a favor, y/n. I couldn’t let them hurt you.” There was a slight pause. “And please…call me Billy.” He said.

A slight smile extended across your lips. “Ok…Billy. But what are ya gonna do? Are you gonna follow me around the city to make sure I stay safe?” You asked.

He was still holding your hand and gently swept his knuckles along your cheek, being careful not to touch the cuts on your face.

“I could keep you safe. They’re all afraid of me.” He said; his voice tight with anger.

“Should I be afraid of you?” Your voice trembled.

Billy let his voice drop to a whisper.

“Oh no, my little lamb. I’m not the wolf you have to worry about.” He said in a tone that sounded like knives being sharpened.

His onyx colored eyes raked over you, silently telling you he would never let this happen to you again before very lightly pressing his lips against your forehead and holding you against his chest.

Demons are at their strongest during the witching hour. They emerge from under the earth to carry out their mischief and dark magic. That troublesome time was full of unpredictability; it’s incredibly difficult to fight them off, to not give in to what they want, or not fall under the spells that they cast upon the world. You hoped those demons and city scum would never come for you again.

You felt sorry for them because if they did, it would be the last thing they would ever do.

Tag List: @wheresthesunshinesblog @rafaelakelley @idaoftheburningmind @snowkestrel @fakehappy27 @music-indie-tv @fictional-hooman @kayhi808 @munsonownsmyass @gijos @celestialams @k-marzolf @nutmeg17 @rosaleenablack @vaguekayla @qu1etwolf @danzer8705 @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes

Others that might enjoy: @itwasthereaminuteago @fluffyprettykitty @jvanilly @imagine-a-fictional-boyfriend @ittybxttykxttytxtty @russosafehaven @mrsbillyrusso

If you’d like to be added (or removed from) my tag list(s) for the ever so handsome Billy Russo, just let me know and thank you again for reading! 💕💕💕 If I tagged you but you didn’t want to be, just let me know and I’ll never do it again.

today the mental illness feels like a tangible thing like my brain is wrapped in cotton and im moving through molasses like i could not be a normal person if i tried and it's like WTH am i on meds for if this is all my life is going to be .

Hey Jamie. How’s the concussion? I hope you’re doing well, sorry I haven’t requested in a bit.

Requesting time!!: can I please have a fluffy/comforting story? Your pick of characters. I just lost a close relative to cancer on Friday and i have nothing to do but be sad so 🤷🏽‍♀️

Thanks, Jamie. - Sha 🫡

hello sha! its better now, only hurts if i hit it rlly (which is sadly, quite often) thats ok, request when ever you want, no pressure!!!

aww im very very very sorry for your lose, my condolences. i know how it feels so if you need to talk to someone, im here <3

i hope this makes you feel better! and ur fav dhole, for extra comfort.

<3

Dhole shuddered yet again as the cold wind attacked his skin, pulling his helmet on to cover his face. The icy breeze howling and harming the Clones had only increased since they’d arrived, and the Coruscant Guard members were on the verge of constant tears from the cold's brittle attitude.

Most of the crew were on this icy planet - including Dhole, Vector, Dice, Bloodshot and Menace. 

Beside him, Bloodshot stood, an arm draped over his brother’s shoulders as the pair and Vector watched Dice and Menace roll around in the snow, play-fighting happily.

This mission was moving as slowly as slow as molasses, and it was annoying all of the troops, especially the ones who were used to the warmth. 

The Coruscant Guard members were on this frightfully freezing planet to capture a Republic Senator gone rouge, but they often forget that, as it had been so long since the briefing.

“Menace, put your helmet on,” Bloodshot ordered firmly as the boy whose skin had turned the same colour as the surrounding terrain turned. “You’ll get frostbite.”

“Yeah?” A voice called from a few metres away and the group burst out laughing as a Clone with light blue and white hair turned to them. “What?”

“Nothin’, Frostbite!” Dice called back, managing to stumble to his feet and reaching a hand out to help Menace up. But as soon as Menace reached to grab his brother’s - and put all of his weight leaning towards him in the process - Dice jerked his hand away, watching with a laugh as Menace collapsed face-first in the snow. 

The group howled with laughter again as they watched Menace raise his head out of the snow with a deadpan glare ahead, snow dripping from his eyelashes and hair as he shook himself. “Dice,” he whined in annoyance, standing up and running a hand through his dripping dark brown hair, tousling it around as snowflakes drifted from his hair and onto his armour. “You meanie.”

“C’mon, Menace,” Bloodshot chuckled as he moved to help his brother up properly, leaving Dhole to cling to Vector childishly. “You did the same thing to him yesterday, twice, in fact.”

Menace pouted but didn’t respond, lightly shoving Dice playfully before pulling his helmet over his face. The group made their way back to the camp, shrugging snow from their shoulders and dragging the white slosh, forming strange patterns.

They were joined by Frostbite and his friend Spider, a clone with shaggy black hair and glittering dark eyes. They were opposites in many ways, but got along well because. 

When they finally reached camp, the sun was beginning to disappear into the snow, in a way so brilliant and beautiful it looked like flames tamed only by the cold. While the others went to their bunks - an early start meant an early stop - Dhole stayed up to watch the sunset.

He settled on a cargo crate just underneath a cliff overhanging, watching the sky tint the snow pink. Dhole marvelled at the beauty, and even though it was harmless, he couldn’t help but think it was dangerous.

The sun - of course - was dangerous with its overwhelming, blistering heat. But the sunset itself was not.

Dhole watched softly as the sun began to seemingly disappear into the snow, staining it pink and the sky orange with waves of purple. It was a sight so beautiful he wished he could experience every day, watch as the sun slipped away and left beauty in its wake.

Something so simple, yet so marvellous.

Something Dhole so rarely got to experience.

And so he watched, as the night grew cold and his skin grew white, blue and pink, determined to watch it through his own eyes and not behind his visor.

“Hey, Vod’ika,” a voice murmured fondly, a Clone settling down to sit beside Dhole. He smiled lightly, knowing who it was without seeing the figure.

“Hello, Bloodshot,” he whispered back, bringing his knees up to the chest to resume his soft nostalgic state. 

After a minute or so of silence, the older spoke up. “What are you thinking about?” Bloodshot’s voice was gentle as he watched Dhole with a worried look.

Dhole bit his lip. He paused. “Do you ever wonder what would happen if the war ended?” The Clone wondered, watching through slight-glossiness as the sun disappeared. Bloodshot tried to hide his flinch at the word ‘if’, as if Dhole had no hope if the war would actually end.

“Not really, kid, no,” Bloodshot replied honestly. He’d always assumed he wouldn’t live to see the end.

“If it does,” Dhole murmured, and Bloodshot turned to him with an eyebrow subconsciously raised in curiosity. “I want to live on a planet like this.”

“Oh yeah?” Bloodshot prompted, and Dhole smiled.

“Yeah,” he whispered wistfully. “In a wooden hut with a clear view of the sunrise and sunset. I want to watch it every day.”

Bloodshot smiled fondly, wrapping an arm around Dhole’s shoulders. “I like that idea, Vod’ika.”

“Bloodshot?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m scared I won’t get that future,” Dhole admitted softly and Bloodshot could have sworn he heard his heart shattered, the shards scattering in his chest. 

“Oh vod’ika,” Bloodshot murmured, turning and pulling his brother into his arms. Dhole squeezed his eyes shut as a tear fell from his eye, sliding down his cheek and rolling onto Bloodshot’s neck. A gust of cold wind blew through his hair, splaying the curly wisps on his cheeks and sticking down from the tears.

“Bloodshot,” Dhole stuttered, desperate to get out his words. “I don’t want to die.”

Bloodshot sucked in a breath as his chest throbbed with the ache of his brother’s words, mourning the sunny, childish boy he’d seen only an hour before.

“I’m going to do everything in my power, to make sure you don’t,” Bloodshot whispered determinedly, wrapping the boy up tighter, clenching his teeth. “Everything.” 

They sat in the cold, snow surrounding them and eventually began to fall around them as the colours of the sunset began to fade away into darkness, the stars above shining brightly. Bloodshot felt his chest ache with sorrow and grief as Dhole’s shook with sobs, his tears turning to ice on the ground. 

Eventually, Dhole calmed down, and Bloodshot comfortingly guided him back to the barracks, where he clambered into his bunk.

“Bloodshot?” 

“Yeah?”

Dhole smiled softly. 

“If I do die, I’m glad I was your brother.”

Bloodshot smiled back, and although his chest hurt, so did his face. 

“Me too.”

“Hey, Bloodshot?”

“Yes, Dhole?”

“I didn’t tell you,” he whispered. “That cabin has a bunk for you, you and all our brothers.”

Bloodshot smiled wider, reaching over to ruffle his brother’s curls.

“Thank you, Dhole.”

“Thank you, Bloodshot.”

thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed!!!

take care of urselves!!!!

(And request, pls.)

<3!

personal stuff below the cut. my grandpa is dying and i want to talk about him

my grandfather's health is failing. we are leaving today to drive over twelve hours to go see him while he's still with us. he's the only grandfather I've ever known; my mother's dad died when she was a teenager. i miss him despite not having known him. when my father's dad goes i will be so, so hurt.

honestly i thought one of my three grandparents would be the first major loss in my life, but it wasn't. one of my close friends died very, very suddenly two years ago. it was so hard. it was so hard. im not ready to go through that again but when are we ever

my grandpa is in good spirits, despite everything. he was a journalist and a professor, he traveled the world telling stories that people wouldn't otherwise get to hear. he helped many students learn how to write and write well. he had four sons who all grew up to be fine men and over fifty years of marriage to the woman he loves. i am his only grandchild by blood. he loves me so much and i love him too.

he once played a game of chess with one of his sons by mail. they sent letters with their moves between the states and wherever my grandfather was. it took at least three years, from what i recall.

he still has an apron that i made him when i was a child proclaiming him the world's best cookie baker. we made a lot of chocolate chip cookies of course but there were so many more too. camp comfort gingersnaps that involve a whole bottle of molasses. springerlies that i can't eat because they taste like licorice but they come out so pretty and my dad likes them, so we make them for him. he made me one of the most labor intensive breadrolls for my college graduation because i wanted them so badly.

he lived such a good life and im so happy to have him as family. but as is usual in times of impending grief, it still feels far too short

if you are the praying type, have any kind of spiritual practice, or just want to give love to someone online, please keep my family in your thoughts.

Defrag Protocol - Cyborg!reader x Doc Ock

#sick-fic, #comfort, #established relationship etc.

mini CyDoc sick-fic cuz im epic and was sick this past week. You could also consider this a teaser for my actual cyborg!reader x Doc Ock fic. I promise you it’s coming 🥺

(also I was gonna wait till I had proper accompanying art to post this, but it kinda sucked so... ur just getting a crop of the sketch for now. Might try again later XD that and im just rly excited about how the fic turned out ok i wanna post it!!!)

-anyway, fic under the cut:

You slowly awaken to muffled daylight assaulting your senses. Otto is already up and awake, letting you get an extra hour or two’s rest. You realize, however, that upon trying to move; your arms feel like lead, followed by your head and legs. Moving them feels like wading through molasses and as you come to your senses you feel your head begin to pound as well.

You’ve never felt like this before, are you sick? You’ve never really had a true cold or flue before. The nanobots in your blood lend to a pretty overpowered immune system. At worst you’ve had a few sniffly days during the winter. But as you groan lightly, trying to make head or tail of your body, you can tell that something is seriously wrong.

You sense Otto’s eventual return and the expected gentle shoulder touch. The whirring of his actuator’s seeming louder than usual in your weaker, more sensitive state. You let out a meek groan in return to him gently shaking you. It’s much wearier than your usual wake up refusals and this elicits a quick response from one of the actuators. Larry, you think, just from the sound, quickly rushes to your side and gives you a once over. “Are you alright, dear?” Otto asks, now circling the bed. You can merely curl yourself tighter into a ball, tucking yourself under more sheets in pain. An actuator claw gently lifts some of said sheets off of your head tho, so Otto can see your face a little more clearly. He quietly kneels down next to you. “Are you sick?” he asks, brows furrowing with worry. You merely shrug in response, you’re not entirely sure yourself.  You almost forget to respond, having gotten a little lost staring into his big brown eyes, looking up at you with gentle concern. Concern for you, makes your chest feel warm inside, or is that just the fever? “I don’t know...” You start “I’ve never been sick before... ” Thankfully, while meek, your voice sounds mostly normal, and it’s just your internal systems failing on you. “Computer virus?” He suggests, you reply with another tired shrug. Otto tilts his head dotingly before standing up, gently removing the sheets from your curled form. “Come here.” The cold of the morning air is quickly replaced by the warmth of Otto’s arms as he swiftly picks you up, bridal style. You may be a little heavier than someone of your usual height and weight class, due to all the metallic add-ons floating about your body, But Octavius continues to pick you up with ease. It’s relieving knowing that the apparent weight of your limbs is, in fact, merely in your head. You’ve gotten used to being picked up and carried around by the doctor, often preferring this method of traveling from place to place over walking... or flying. But its more often in the form of piggybacks or being coiled up in an actuator arm, even now being carried close to his chest still gives you butterflies. You don’t dislike it tho, in fact you snuggle against him more as you tuck your heavy arms against your body for warmth. Your limbs feel like you can feel every metal cable muscle strand in there for once, you really hope you’re just temporarily sick, this is really not the ideal operational status for a rogue overpowered military cyborg. You’re barely able to keep your eyes open but you sense the two of you approaching the small computer station you set up in a corner of the apartment. Otto kicks out the chair a little before sitting down and setting you in his lap. One arm still wrapped around you keeping you in place, the other reaches for the keyboard and enters the login. As the computer logs in and the multiple monitors slowly flick to life you feel the back of Otto’s hand rest against your forehead. This is met with a small ‘Hm.’ before both hands now work around you, searching the desks for some cables. You blearily exist in and out of consciousness as Otto continues to work. You gently rest you head on his shoulder and chuckle as you receive a quick forehead kiss from the man currently wrapped around you. You sleepily nuzzle into him more as you feel a hand fall onto the back of your neck. You’ve run through a few diagnostic sessions with Otto before, so with practiced precision he removes the protective plate covering the access panel on your neck, followed by the plugging in of two cables to several ports near your cervical vertebrae. You feel the usual rush of energy flow into and then out of you as data is uploaded to the machine. You must have moved a little in reaction as you feel Otto run a hand up and down your back comfortingly. You return to snuggling up against his chest as you watch streams of data appear in the corner of your vision. You’re too tired to look at any of the screens right now and just let the Doc do what he need’s to do, he’s familiar enough with your code now to decipher it. You’re jostled around lightly as Otto goes about entering commands and running diagnostics, but for the most part you remain sleepy and cozy in the arms of the scientist. “Anything interesting?” You ask after a short while, your strength seeming to come back to you slightly. The diagnostic process must be correcting some of the minor errors, but you still struggle to lift your limbs. “Mmm, it’s hard to say for sure...” He starts, his voice still a little groggy from waking up as well, it rumbles through your chest gently. “Looks like they may be some new bad sectors-” “There are plenty of redundancies,” You interrupt, with a yawn “try running a defrag protocol." Otto nods “Bad files clogging up over time causing compounding errors...” He adds on to your statement. “Yeah, something like that,” You nod back in return. “hopefully...” You add, quietly. “We’ll find out, love.” To this you get another quick kiss from him before he quickly writes in a defragging program into the terminal. ... “Have you done this before?” He asks, suddenly hesitating before hitting enter and executing the code. “Nope.” You shrug, “It’ll be fine don’t worry,” You chuckle, "I’ve done worse.” You hear a sigh escape the man before the sound of the enter key being hit. Suddenly begins the familiar tingling sensation of new code being uplinked to the computer half of your brain, then it’s quickly replaced with a new sensation. Your thoughts and memories, all for a moment get juggled around inside your brain, dancing around in your minds eye. You close your eyes so you don’t feel your eyes dart across the room as if you were in REM sleep. But as quickly as it came it starts to dissipate and your mind begins to feel clear, very clear actually. It almost feels like someone’s taken a pressure washer to the inside of you brain. You sit up a little, Otto watching over you silently and carefully. Slowly but surely you feel the strength return to your limbs and you roll out your back and shoulder muscles. You’re definitely feeling much better but it also feels like you just ran several marathons, you’re still gonna have to take the day or two to recover. “Feeling alright?” Otto asks, having watched you stare at your finally functioning limbs for several long moments. You lean your head back in his arms, now actually able to look at him in the eyes and smile. “Yeah, much better.” You say, stretching out your limbs. You hear a gentle sigh of relief from Otto who smiles back at you. “So no computer virus?” “No, no computer virus.” You laugh. “Thankfully I don’t go around plugging myself into random internet-connected computers, so it shouldn’t be too much of a threat.” You continue, gesturing to the cables coming out of the back of your neck. “But it’s good to know, even military grade cyborgs need to practice basic computer hygiene” You laugh. “Military grade prototype cyborgs.” Otto jests, gently poking the back of your left shoulder, where your tattoo reading the numbers #01 sits, currently hidden under the oversized t-shirt you slept in. You roll your eyes and click your tongue in response. You continue to wriggle and stretch in the doctors arms as you work the knots and weight out of your cybernetically enhanced limbs. Otto takes this time to terminate the data connection and gently pulls the cables out of your neck. He is much more gentle than you used to be with those, you laugh to yourself. After you’re all put back together, Otto leans back. “Time for something to eat, you think?” He asks, lifting an eyebrow. “Oh, that sounds like a very good idea!” You reply back, enthusiastically. But nary a movement is made by you. Instead you snuggle up against his chest again, looking up at him expectantly. He shakes his head and lets out a breathy chuckle before lifting you up and carrying you bridal style again. Of course, not without pretending to drop you on the way out. “Whoops!” “Hey!”

feeling genuinely deranged again bye. Hi. life is both a nightmare blessed curse and cure. hey all my loved ones will die and i will likely be there. and if im not there bygod what a shame because they'll have to be there. how do you heal from your dangerous past when you're living in a dangerous present- does it ever get more safe or more stable ? don't you need to feel safe to move on, to work on it? do things ever stop happening so much? why is there at least 1 major crisis weekly and when do I get to rest? why is it so that some people never really get a break. please why can no one save me & why do i have to do it myself and why does it have to be me. it never stops it never stops. I check out of my brain cavity and i check back in and 5 years have passed and when did I even actually leave or come back. and you take the pills and you have the side-effects so you stop the pills so you have the withdrawal and you try different pills and you realize you've spent your life medicated. reality has scratches from how hard I'm trying to hold on. charts and lists and tables and calendars and all of it to not fucking understand anything. all of it to just try to get to tomorrow's appointments and never look back. and hope you're doing the right thing and the best you can and you hope you're being decent with people, hope you're acting in accordance to whatever values you have-had. because you can't think; it's like molasses in there and trying to flip through a CD rack covered in molasses is a sticky, difficult and confusing process. so you hope that whatever "you" are doing, is doing it's best. and you hope the body takes care while you're away.

Boredom volume one

Everything is so embarrassing. being genuine makes me cringe. when im not in love with someone i have no idea who i am or what to do all day. i write about how everything is so embarrassing. i buy mint flavored electronic cigarettes and vape until my hands shake, and when i don’t have the plastic tube in my mouth because it dies or runs out i supplement by popping wintergreen breath mints constantly. i have gone through about one container every day since we broke up.

My brain is crumbling, like how i imagine a preserved butterfly wing would if you touched it. Or what would happen to an old Monet if you let the icky oil on all your fingertips mess with the molecules of the paint or whatever. I never realized that my only hobbies were sucking on necks, texting I love yous, and reading books that were earnestly recommended to me. I know how to look at someone with wide disarming eyes and bat my eyelashes, then turn around and joke that I’m not charming; i don’t know how to fill a day by myself. i am crawling inside a huge vat of molasses, armed only with a graph-papered journal and overdue library books. i push my hands and my arms through the inky thick, and once a day or so i get into the car and sting my hands on the black steering wheel that’s absorbed all of the day’s 102 degrees of heat. i go back home. i sit on the couch. sometimes i’m so bored that i talk to the dog. i watch tv until my head hurts from the screen, i check if he still has our photo on his social media pages, the one where he’s sitting in my lap and im wearing a blue striped shirt, his face turned to me in shock, my face a cats-got-your-tongue grin. small miracle he hasn’t taken it down yet, i think every time i check. that’ll probably be the moment when all of this really sets in.

how do voluntarily single people do this, sitting around all day without someone always on your mind, always above you, always whispering in an animal pitch only your ears are tuned to? that wants to know your every impulse, how you are feeling and what you are doing and how you feel about what you are doing? how you feel about how you’re feeling? what are you up to this weekend, omg i wish i could be there with you, i miss you, i love you infinitely, this is real, we’re forever. i feel like the channel my brain was tuned to, thought it would always be tuned to, got disconnected, turned to static before i could put my feet down firmly on the ground. 

i’ve asked about four of my friends to recommend hobbies to me. one said that i should start styling people; i used to like clothes, but now im too apathetic to buy them, or care about how many rolls of fat they produce on my waistline, one or two. one friend said that i should spend a month just sleeping with women and turning myself lesbian again, and that i should’ve known being with a guy was a futile exercise. two of the others smiled uncomfortably, without teeth. one is in a relationship, about to move in with her girlfriend. i feel that her reticence to acknowledge my situation, much less provide any advice on it, is reflective of her own fear that the same thing will happen to her, when there is more at stake and it’s not as easy as going back to school and saying hi in the hallways instead of hosting giggly sleepovers every other night. 

which is not to say that going back to school will be easy. we have all our stuff in storage together. I haven’t even broken it to him that I lost the key to the unit yet, but I’m hoping i get it handled before i have to break the news in the first place. it’s a thirty minute drive away, with him, which means plenty of silent time to remember how he used to look at me when i would drive and he took passenger, how i would put my hand on the side of his thigh, and how the day we put our stuff there in the first place, i let him sleep and listened to music on earphones because it turns out Uhaul vans don’t have speakers. Surprise! That day, we couldn’t connect our phones, so I played the radio, because silence kills me, it kills me, and Katy Perry came on, “Last friday night”, and i asked if it was okay how loud it was, because he had a headache. He said “of course, of course, it’s fine.” but there was this pained expression on his face for a couple minutes, and when I turned it off he said “Thank God! I hated it.” Us in a nutshell I suppose. Cheers to August.

PROMPT REQUEST IM SO EXCITED

I would love love love some hurt Obi-Wan and worried, protective Anakin and with this quote somehow incorporated! "You're okay. You've got to be okay. You've got to be. You're okay. Please. Please be okay." Any level of hurt/comfort or even hurt/no comfort, ambiguous ending, character death, whatever! I am obsessed with your writing and would love a prompt fill from you!!! ❤️

Hello my friend! Thank you so much for the prompt!

I'm putting it below the cut, but here it is on Ao3 (If you like it, drop me a comment, it makes me feel good :)))

Eight hours isn’t a long time to be left alone, or even to be held captive — not by Obi-Wan’s standards anyway. But it is a long time to be left alone and held captive without an antidote to the poison currently running through his veins. 

The poison is as slow-acting as it is excruciating. His captors wanted to give him a slow death. That’s what he deserves for destroying their credibility as spice traders, after all. 

Obi-Wan, for his part, has done everything he can to slow the poison even more. Anakin needs time to find him and Obi-Wan will give as much of it as he can. He just doesn’t know how much more he has to give. He’s slowed his heart rate as much as he possibly can. He’s put all of his strength in the Force into repressing the effects of the toxin, but he can sense it starting to gain the upper hand. 

The poison has inflicted him with an intense case of vertigo, and he long ago emptied the meager contents of his stomach. That does not stop the cramping in his gut. He curls in on himself, willing his hollow stomach to settle.  

Obi-Wan doesn’t know how much time he has left, though being conscious must mean he has time still. The poison moves like molasses through him, though he knows that won’t stop it from seizing his heart as its own if he is not rescued soon. 

He tries to think about the odds of Anakin breaching the Spice Trader’s ship and stealing him back. If anyone could successfully take on an entire band of pirates, it would be Anakin, and Obi-Wan has never once lost faith in his former apprentice. The act of rescuing is not the problem. The problem is finding him. 

For all Obi-Wan knows, he could be in the middle of hyperspace. His mind is too foggy to be able to tell and he can’t focus enough to reach the Force anymore. But if he’s in hyperspace, his chances are zero. Even Anakin can’t breach that. 

If he’s lucky, the ship will be landed somewhere. At least then he’ll have a chance, though luck has never favored Obi-Wan — perhaps as penance for never truly believing in its existence. 

His cell, if it can be called that, is small and the walls only seem to shrink in on him. It’s more of a cage than anything. No room to stand, and hardly enough room to sit — not that that is what he is doing now. He’s curled up in a ball, clutching his aching stomach even as shackles dig into the skin on his wrists until they drip blood on the cold, hard ground. 

The cage might as well be his coffin, though he wishes his burial were a little more traditional. It doesn’t truly matter, he supposes. As far as he knows, the dead don’t have preferences for such things, and he hardly believes he’s special enough to be an exception to that rule. 

The worst part of this whole experience is the waiting. He knows the waiting will have an end, but the race between Anakin and Death will likely be a close one. 

Another hour passes (or at least what feels like an hour) and his lungs become tight — the poison finally catching up to them. It won’t be long now, he knows. He hopes he falls asleep and the poison takes him this way. 

For once, he doesn’t want to go down swinging.

He just wants to go. 

***

Anakin tears the ship to shreds, partially with his saber, but mostly with the strength of his rage in the Force. Metal paneling creaks and tears as he pulls it from the bolts that are meant to secure it through the vacuum of space. They are nothing to him. Not when Obi-Wan is somewhere on this ship.

He’s still alive. Anakin can sense it. But that life — that bright, steady life — is merely a ghost of itself, withered into a tiny thread of what once was. Obi-Wan’s life force is draining fast and Anakin still hasn’t found him. 

The pirates are dead. They, like the ship, did not stand a chance against his power. Some he struck down with his saber. Others, with the squeeze of his fist. 

Throats are so fragile, after all. 

When he finds him, he rips away the metal door the separates them. The cell can hardly be called that. It is more of a cage than anything. With no room to stand or even sit up properly, Obi-Wan is curled up in a fetal position — the metal walls a perversion of a womb. 

The cage is sour with vomit and Obi-Wan is unresponsive to the call of his name. Desperate to feel a pulse, to see his Master’s chest moving up and down, Anakin grabs him by the legs and pulls him out into the hallway. He lays him on his back and checks of a sign of life.

“Please,” Anakin begs. "You're okay. You've got to be okay. You've got to be, I’ve come all this way.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t respond to him with words, but his eyes flicker open. A glazed look of confusion settles on Anakin. 

“See? You're okay,” Anakin says with a deep breath of relief. He continues his assessment of Obi-Wan’s body. “Please. Please be okay.” He spots blood leaking from his wrists, and with a growl, Anakin shatters the shackles into pieces. Obi-Wan makes no move to rub at his wrists; they simply fall to his sides. 

“Poison,” Obi-Wan rasps, his eyes only half-lidded now. 

“You were poisoned?” 

He grunts in response. 

Anakin looks around at the destruction of the ship. His stomach sinks. If there’s an antidote, it’s somewhere in the wreckage. He turns back to Obi-Wan with determination. 

“I’ll find the antidote, Master. I’ll save you just… just hold on a little longer.”

“Always making messes,” Obi-Wan huffs under his breath.

Anakin doesn’t bother with a retort. He takes off through the debris, tripping on metal and broken parts. 

He searches the cockpit (or what used to be the cockpit) first. He searches drawers and hideaways. When it comes up empty, he finds a small closet with medical supplies. None of it will suffice for curing poison. He ravages through the ship and turns up empty until an idea crosses his mind. 

Anakin leaps out of the ship and runs down the field. He’s starting to regret how far he tossed the captain’s body once he choked him out. The grass he runs through is thick and slows his pace — tugging at his shins like a current moving in the wrong direction. 

The captain’s body is a disfigured husk, but still adorned in the sleek trench coat he was probably so proud of. Anakin rips open the right breast pocket and rifles through them. Credits and precious gems fall from between his fingers. All of it valuable, but not to Anakin. 

He repeats the process with the left breast pocket and finds similar items, but amongst them is a vial. It is unlabeled, but Anakin can only hope it’s the antidote and not the poison itself. It’s his last shot, and he doesn’t have time for second guesses. Obi-Wan doesn’t have time for second guesses. 

Once more, Anakin finds himself running through the grass, though it tugs at him like ropes pulling him back. He bounds after the destroyed ship until he can lip directly into its hull. The metal grains underneath his pounding feet until he reaches Obi-Wan and everything stops. 

“Master?” Anakin questions, crashing to his knees. Obi-Wan’s eyes are closed and his body is too still for Anakin’s comfort. 

“Hey,” Anakin says, shaking Obi-Wan’s shoulders. “I’ve got the antidote. I think. I can save you!” 

No reply. No breath. No heartbeat.

“Please no,” Anakin whispers. He pulls Obi-Wan’s body up so that he’s supported by Anakin’s chest. He uncaps the vial and forces open Obi-Wan’s jaw. He pours the antidote into his mouth and massages his throat so he swallows it. 

“Come on,” Anakin growls, willing the antidote to work. He lays Obi-Wan down flat on his back and begins chest compressions, hoping to jump-start Obi-Wan’s heart the same way he’s done with overused pod racing engines. 

Anakin breathes air into Obi-Wan’s lungs and then resumes the compressions. Even after tearing apart a ship and the crew it held inside of it, Anakin finds this task to be the most exhausting. 

“Please, you stubborn son of a—”

Obi-Wan’s back arches as he gasps for air. His eyes fly open, wide and startled. 

Anakin leans back and closes his eyes in relief, thanking the Force and anyone who will listen. 

Still, Obi-Wan takes in desperate lungfuls of air, trying to make up for the time he lost when he was… well Anakin can’t even admit to the word. 

“Are you alright?” Anakin asks after Obi-Wan seems to gain more control of his breathing. 

“Oh yes, of course. Nothing like a full day of fighting off a poison to make you feel alive.”

“Uh, I’m pretty sure I’m the only reason you’re feeling alive right now.”

Obi-Wan sobers. “Yes, I believe I owe you my thanks. Where did you find the antidote, anyway?” 

“In the captain’s pocket.”

“And how did you know it was the antidote, not the poison?”

Anakin’s lips thin and he looks down at his hands. After too long of a silence, he peeks back up at Obi-Wan. He looks unimpressed.

“You didn’t know, did you?”

“Not exactly, but it’s not like I had time to find another vial of mysterious liquid just lying around.”

“And where is the captain?” Obi-Wan asks a touch of nervousness revealing itself in his voice.

“Over there.” Anakin points to the field.

Obi-Wan blinks. “I would ask how he got there, but I think I might prefer not to know.”

“Yeaaaah, it’s probably for the best.” Anakin turns back to Obi-Wan. “We should get out of here. Can you stand?”

“Of course I can stand.” Slowly, Obi-Wan maneuvers himself to his knees and makes a vain attempt to get to his feet. He gives Anakin a sheepish look. “Okay, perhaps not.”

Anakin refrains from making fun of him and helps him to his feet. Together, they stagger out of the remains of the ship and make way for their own. 

being disabled I feel like the world is moving at a different frame rate than me. like Im pushing with all my might through molasses while the world speeds around me. the grocery stores at holiday time are especially bad. frustrated people trip over me, drive the cart right into you, cut you off to get to the eggs and then ignore you were even there. then in the queue its like a line of people and everyone of them are pissed it takes you so slow. My anxiety popping until I finally reach my pinnacle and then my anger flares. then Im the asshole because whatsa matta ol man? hmmm? can't keep up? in my Leonard mccoy voice NO I CAN NOT you green eared, inhuman, vulcan devil!! in the car I sit and let my blood pressure lower for a minute just to get back out on the road playing bumper cars with dual exhaust maga truck man babies who once again drive strait at you in a elbow room only mosh pit that is our main drag. deep breath,exhale, deep breath, exhale. write about it. I never knew it would be so hard. But my grandkids they smile when I hand them pizza and popsicles and once again Im grounded.

it takes everything this old man has to push through the molasses. every day. it is so much like end of the queen of the damned movie when lestat and jessie stroll away but the world around them is moving at hyperspeed. emmy looks at me and says we used to move like that and I hold her hand on the way home. one hand drivin thru the mosh pit. somehow, like always, ranny will survive. just like always.

Okay enough shit posting everyone's asleep so I'm gonna ramble for a moment get some words off my chest that I dunno how to say anywhere else, there's too many eyes on any other social platform.

I don't know how to move on knowing that my mother is thriving more than ever without me around. It's like being reminded when I look at her Facebook that I was a huge reason she struggled. That intersection of religion and premarital sex much less a child of teen pregnancy is such a blaring siren to everything she wants to be and when I'm gone that part of her life is tucked away, forgotten. It's the snack in the face that most truly I am not a child she wanted I am not the life she wanted. I dunno how I'm supposed to feel leaving the country or graduating in two years, who will even stand on the side and cheer me on for making it across that stage, I worry no one will. It feels like I'm moving through molasses working slowly through life as she drives off without me. She has so tightly tied my importance to her existence and I want nothing more than to cut the ties and be equals, but we can't be, to her I'm beneath the dirt. I'm six feet down in a coffin not yet built. I'll never mean anything to her no matter the mountains I climb or achievements I claim, I'm not a person she can love and I can never forget that. Im trying so hard to live for me, do what I want follow my passion be selfish for a little while. Learn to eat, learn to forgive, learn to grow individually. I just wish I could do all those things without being a mistake

She might never ever want to see me again, she might cross me out of every family frame at some point. I just want to be remembered by someone, I want to be missed by someone and it all feels so painful. Maybe I'll get better and forget her, or maybe I'll acquife moss in this ditch she has left me in. Either way... I'll grow.

i just thought abt the fact that im gonna be here for another 4 years and how that feels like forever and time is moving like molasses and it's so. so nice. ive been waiting for things to end all my life- graduate elementary school, just 4 more years of high school hell and im out, kicked out of school halfway through and that reset the clock, just another year in my new school, and then senior year and it was over. for the first time ever i actually know where im gonna be for a long chunk of time and im HAPPY about it??? living my life as it happens??? insane

big ol’ rant ahead.

i feel that in a lot of ways i am like my old self and have been happier but that happiness has quickly been derailed by a very debilitating sense of urgency to not miss out on anything, and now im overwhelmed because im getting major fomo. i had to end sessions with my therapist because my insurance ended (for now) but i need to talk to him more than ever because it feels like my life is at the crux of so many things, and at the same time, like everything is slipping like sand through my fingers. he’s like a mentor that the protagonist loses just when they need their guidance the most.

i can’t be everywhere, can’t do everything. i feel overwhelmed because i want to make friends and be loved and i want to have a job for financial security but i also want to pursue a CAREER that gears more to my talents and skills, which i haven’t made time to do, and i just feel like everyone and everything is moving at breakneck speed. when i was depressed life was molasses and slow, because there was a very diminished amount of things i cared about, but now that i’ve re-entered the world i am overwhelmed by all that it has to offer. i just know i care most of all about social connections and i feel so shit for not getting the opportunity to forge them with more strength last year, but what could i do? being as anxious/depressed as i was. and right now im having interview after interview, trying to get over my crush, planning to meet up with a family member ive never met, have a hundred events to attend…i just don’t know how life became this way when for the last couple of years it’s just been a grey expanse where nothing had immediate importance and now everything does. it started off as a blessing, to want and love so many things, and now it feels like a curse.

brain has been cursed with evil spirits

ughhhhhhhhh i ended up giving up on coffee for now so im using red bull/other energy drinks for caffeine for the time being but it’s just NOT THE SAME