#so there's no real way to set things right to alleviate my anxiety | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

achubbydumpling · 1 year

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Seeing your acc pop up again and then looking at Chris has made my brain fiend on thoughts of chubby C. Evans kssbskdndkdkld sorry just thought you should know how iconic ur impact is

haha I'm always happy to inspire chubby cevans thoughts :D

I have said this many times but I can just imagine him so perfectly getting chubby, like all those pictures we have of him drinking beer 😩😩 and the calories in alcohol can so easily add up (mild intox warning for under the cut)

Does it, Chris? 😏

maybe he takes a break from acting, maybe to direct some of his own stuff, whatever the reason, he suddenly has more free time where he doesn't have to worry about his diet for his upcoming role

I think his natural body type is a bit leaner than what he trains for, so imagine in his mind he's like "it takes a lot of work to gain muscle, that means I have a fast metabolism, so I won't gain fat very quickly either" an easy justification for droping pretty much his entire diet and training regime

maybe he still enjoys lifting, but some extra calories might even help with that, so what if he doesn't even really notice the gain at first

he's taking a break, so he's wearing mostly loose comfortable clothes, his days are spent catching up on movies and shows he hasn't had the time to watch, slow walks with Dodger and the evenings are spent in various bars hanging out with friends he's spent way too little time with while he was working

so yeah he's getting comfortable, settling into a slower life and hey he's in his fourties, it'd be totally normal for the middle-aged spread to set in, nothing to worry about

ok his jeans pinch a bit when he puts them on, his belt buckle digs into his stomach when he's sitting down, it's not like he has a real belly, it's just a bit more of a curve instead of the toned abs he maintained for most of his roles

and it's not all bad, he's gotten compliments on how he's bulking up, his arms get thicker, his chest looks bigger (his waist does too but that pretty much evens out, right? :D)

appearance is like 80% of an actor's job, since Chris is anxiety-prone anyway maybe he worries about it, putting together diet plans when he wakes up after another evening spent in some bar(s), but this is also nice, a vacation, so he waits with bated breath for the other shoe to drop

it never does

5lbs, turn into 10, maybe 15lbs, his shirts start clinging to the growing curve in his middle, he can still suck it in and flex and he looks like he used to, it's not that much weight, but Chris finds his hands drifting there nonetheless

there's something about it.. especially when he comes home late at night with his belly full of beer and bar food, when he's tipsy and relaxed, his posture is loose, maybe there's even still a smile playing around his lips as he undresses to fall into bed

his knuckles brush his bloated belly as he tries to undo the button on his jeans, that's been getting harder lately, but when he finally manages it the zipper slides down on its own when the beer bloat settles lower on his middle, instinctively he cups the swell of his lower belly

it perfectly fills his palm, warm excitement bubbles up in his chest, like he suddenly has too much energy where he just wanted to crawl into bed a minute ago, he scratches over the sensitive skin to alleviate the excited buzzing, it does nothing except make him want to touch more, explore, really push his limits

there's a certain spirit for competition needed to make it in his profession, a drive that takes Chris over now and stirs him into the kitchen, not the bedroom

just a snack, nothing crazy, maybe another beer, it's barely past 1 am

he grabs a pack of peanuts and a beer, some water too, as fun as this is hangovers are a bitch

just in socks, underwear and a shirt Chris flops down on the bed, he takes a pull from the bottle before he rips open the peanuts, the salt is exactly the thing he needed after a few hours of drinking, he didn't go overboard, just maintained a constant buzz that had him feeling happy, floaty and in exactly the right mood to down an entire package of salted peanuts

it's the perfect feedback loop, salt, beer, salt, beer, the package is empty in no time at all and Chris can almost see his belly bloat from how quickly he finishes the beer, it feels like an achievement when the empty bottle hits his nightstand

with no one around Chris doesn't even try to stifle his burps, sprawled out on the bed, he almost feels like some roman ruler, pure decadence

there's nothing better than running his hands over his belly, it's so round, his sides too, he can't quite grab any fat yet but just being able to pinch a little roll makes him want more, more food and long evenings spent in some dimly lit bar surrounded by the people he loves most, more lazy days and days capped off with a cold beer

his hands travel lower and it's like a switch is flipped, his mind scatters, flooding with images of his bloated belly getting bigger, softer, his entire body, now that he's looking have his thighs gotten thicker? didn't they used to have proper muscle definition?

when he relaxes completely there's a slight jiggle to them, god he can't wait for that to develop properly, action hero figure be damned he needs to know what another 20lbs will look like

(sorry for the late response I hope there's still something in here for you, anon, in my wild ramblings haha and if you want to share those thoughts of chubby C. Evans 👀 my inbox is always open (I promise I'll try to respond quicker 🙈))

#chubby chris #does this count as intox?#intox kink #rpf #is this even still rpf?#I'm projecting so hard on this man 😂#because all of this was basically just an excuse to look at gifs of him drinking beer and make up a story haha #asks

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vibetarot · 1 year

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#9 Girl Boss Tips

When you start to level up your mindset, your career, your finances, knowing what to do is key.

I've learned that when you want to be happy you got to follow your heart at the end of the day there's no specific blueprint to how it's done and it's not a one size fits all type of thing so you will have to figure it out that part for yourself.

In this post I'm going to give you my top #9 girl boss tips to help you master your life or at least get you started.

These tips I'm going to give you I use daily some I've learned easily through application and others I've learned through experience life is a school and we all are here to learn as students so with that being said take these tips light-heartedly but in a practical way and apply them to your situation.

1. Pay No Attention To The Nay Sayers

Leveling up will require you to leave all mindset behind people places and things and habits misleading people will try to deter you along the way when you look at their life they really can't offer any kind of solid advice but show their jealous and envious ways towards you my tip is to avoid these people at all costs there's nothing like having a hater in your inner circle.

2. Set Obtainable Goals

Writing out your goals will help you on track also creating a routine that works for you once you have written down your goals you know where you're headed now break those goals down into bite size pieces, you can actually start doing today.

3. Be Accountable & Consistent

Whatever your goals are work towards them and be dedicated nothing like having goals and not achieving them what's the point in that is it a skill set you need or you just need more research YouTube is a great source of information for learning try to do something new everyday that gets you closer to your goals believe me once you get started is difficult to stop the first step is always the hardest don't let your ego talk you out of it.

4. A Is For Attitude

A is for attitude and depending on your attitude and your mindset you can get very far with the right one there will be days when you might not be as motivated and that's okay it happens to me so when it does I just sit quietly with myself and ask my how yourself what to do if you want something bad enough there will be no stopping you and it's up to you to find your inner strain to follow your heart being happy as an inside job.

5. Hard Work (Pressure busts pipes)

Anything worth having will take lots of time patience and effort. The fire raging in your belly is the desire of your inner child want to come out and teach you something about creativity it's all about your perspective and how you want to go about it life isn't easy but it's going to take you to be strong and optimistic.

6. Don't Compare

There's a lot of copycats out there who don't like who they are don't love and respect theirselves and want to pretend they're like me well let me tell you people know the real from the knockoff. Jealousy is a weakness trait, might stem from a mental disorder like multiple personalities, really need professional help. The insecurities these karmics have are way out this world. Comparing themselves to others. They need to do some Shadow work and heal love yourself for who you are that will make you stand out because that's what makes you unique stop trying to be something that you're not!

7. Be Fearless

Never mind your fears, it will talk you out your plans. Fear, anxiety, worry starts to kick in and all plans go out the window. Don't be one of those people who allowed their fears in negative self-talk interfere with reaching the heights of their happiness.

8. Time Management

Knowing how to manage your time is crucial to getting things done once you figure it out what direction you need to go in then you can make a timeline for achieving them I had to train myself to balance my time and energy in an effective way to alleviate burnout who can get s*** done under stress?

9. Be YOU (unapologetically)

No one is like you and that's your superpower that makes you one of a kind never be ashamed of who you are your talents your gifts your abilities that's what makes you you wear your hair the way you want where the clothes that make you stand out and follow your heart you'll be making the right choice.

These are my #9 girl boss tips to help you get started on your journey to fulfilling your dreams and believing in yourself I hope this blog post helps you let me know in the comments peace.

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trashy28 · 3 years

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Get Some Rest (Tech x Reader) Pt 2

Warnings: anxiety, angst-y ?, mentions of death/near-death experiences, blood/gore, mentions of violence, fluff at the end i promise (i would say im sorry, but im not) (bet you didn't expect this right after a fluffy first part >:))

Pairing: Tech x GN!Reader

Word Count: 5.1k

Part 1, Part 2

Summary: Oh no! It's a mission gone wrong trope! I wonder what could possibly be underneath this keep-reading cutoff! It totally cannot be where the reader and the bad batch go on a rescue mission only for something to go awry leading to treating injuries, and feelings.

"Everything is going to be okay. It will be alright. You got this y/n, you got this." You mumbled to yourself under your breath as you hid behind a convenience stall on some Outer Rim planet.

Something had gone wrong, VERY wrong. The mission was supposed to be easy: get in, get the prisoners, and get out, but it had all gone downhill faster than you could say dank farrik.

Earlier in the day, Tech had tapped into a secure Separatist transmission when messing around with his datapad. The Separatists were broadcasting a signal from a supposed neutral Outer Rim planet back to their base only a system away. They had taken the native people as prisoners and were going to use them for something, but none of you could figure out what. From then on, Hunter had taken charge, deciding that there was no time to ask for approval on the mission.

When the five of you reached the planet, you couldn't help but whisper to Tech next to you, "None of this seems right. If the Separatists did take these people as prisoners wouldn't there still be ships and droids?"

Tech simply looked at you before saying, "Not if they wanted to be secretive about it," and going back to his datapad.

You let out a huff. Things hadn't been that different between you two after the kiss you shared in the cockpit of the Havoc Marauder. When in private there would be shared tender moments, like there was nothing in the world that could come between you two, but with his brothers, Tech would regard you as the friend they all viewed you to be. They all knew something was going on between you two, and you had even taken it upon yourself to rant to Crosshair one night. He said he 'reluctantly' chose to listen, but he had calmed your anxious babbling about how you thought that Tech was embarrassed that you two were something now. That brought up another fact about how you two never addressed what you could call yourselves. Any time you tried to bring it up to Tech he would either cut you off with something else he was wildly researching, or one of his brothers would walk in and need either one of you. Crosshair's words did help to remind you that "That's just how Tech is sometimes. Clones were made to be fighters, not lovers." Leave it to him to say something like that. Out of every one of his brothers you knew he was the one who wanted a normal life the most even if he didn't show it.

As you and the rest of the group began your walk from the Marauder to the closest town you found yourself falling into step next to Wrecker instead of your usual placement besides Tech. Looking down at you, he asks, "Something bothering you? It sure looks like something is,"

Looking up to make eye contact with him you say, "I still don't feel like this is right. Everything seems to be falling into place too easily. This never happens to us!"

Wrecker turns his attention back to the surroundings passing a glance over the open area before stating, "Honestly, it is a little odd, but I trust the others and their intuition as much as yours."

The finality in his tone stood true as neither of you said anything for the rest of the walk into the town square. Walking past the empty booths would have been enough to send normal civilians running at the sight, everything was ruined. Curtains torn, fruit on the floor, and vendor booths destroyed. It was a depressing sight to see, but sadly one that the group was used to, it was a time of war after all.

After a little longer of walking and reaching the heart of the city, Hunter holds his fist up and all of the groups' motion ceases. "Tech," he says, "Can you pick up anything else from that transmission or anything that could give us a clue as to what else happened here?"

"I'm working on it, have been since we landed. The Separatists have scrambled all signals, so it’s taking me a while to try and find the frequency again," Tech answers before looking around the surrounding area, "As for what happened here, I think the evidence speaks for itself."

Hunter sighs before saying, "Alright, we'll split into two groups to cover more ground. Tech, and Wrecker you're with me. Crosshair and y/n, I expect no arguments coming out of this grouping."

Crosshair scoffs as you roll your eyes and make your way to stand next to him. "Didn't plan for arguments but maybe I'll start a few just to piss you off now," you say as you turn back towards Hunter.

"Just make it back here in one piece, we'll meet back up here at 1500, and if anybody is late, we assume they have gone missing and this was a trap," Hunter says before turning away and starting to walk down one of the many deserted alleys.

"Looks like we're stuck together again Cross," you let out before elbowing his side and starting to walk forward.

Following you and shoving a toothpick in his mouth he says, "As long as you don't complain about your problems with your boyfriend the whole time this might just be enjoyable."

"Yeah, yeah, let's just get going you karking toothpick lover."

It had only been around half an hour or so of walking before you and Crosshair could hear blaster fire in the distance. You ask, "Hey Cross, am I dehydrated, or is that actual blaster fire?" Turning around to face the said man, he already had his eyepiece down checking for heat signatures and was pulling you by your arm into a space between two buildings.

"There's nothing around us, but I'm assuming the others encountered some clankers. They must have found something because well, we found nothing and have no one after us," Crosshair states before tilting his helmet down to you and reading your facial expressions, "You want to go back and help them, don't you?"

"Of course I do Crosshair! Don't pretend that you don't want to either, I know how you care for your brothers. Let's just try to make it back without alerting any of those damn droids," you reply.

Crosshair tilts his head towards a stack of boxes and towards the roof of the buildings, you were situated between. "I think I have an idea."

"Why the hell did I let you come up with the idea to get back to your brothers. Running from roof to roof isn't exactly easy and leaves us out in the open," you complain before hopping another gap in-between roofs to catch up with Crosshair.

Crosshair stops short in front of you on the next roof almost causing you to walk into him before turning around to face you, "Look, I'm just as anxious as you to get back to them, but they are all capable enough to take care of themselves and I trust them with that. You of all people should know that as well," he spits angrily, and could almost hear a growl with his final punctuation.

"I know Crosshair, I get that you are worried, but I just can't help thinking that something had to go wrong. Let's just hope that my intuition is the wrong thing," You say before putting a hand on his shoulder, "C'mon, let's make this fast."

By the time you had made it back to the town square, to your luck, you still had not encountered any droids except for the ones who were scattered all over the floor in pieces.

"Looks like Hunter got to work on these guys," you say as you bend down to touch the large gash left by a vibro-knife in the torso of a droid.

Crosshair is examining another droid with its head ripped off only a few meters from you, "Looks like Wrecker got these guys too. But the question remains: where are Hunter, Wrecker, and Tech?"

At this, you paused and drew your focus away from the droid and instead survey the area, "The real question is, why is there no evidence of Tech fighting back? There are no electro-proton bombshells and even no blaster marks on any of these guys."

"Maybe they split up," Crosshair looks at you before pointing down one of the alleys.

"Fuck, I hope you're right."

It didn't take both of you that long to find Hunter and Wrecker, but it also didn't take long for another set of droids to ambush you. That's how you found yourself pressed behind the convenience stall mumbling under your breath. You had managed to take down a few droids but were forced to take cover. The others were still scattered around picking off droids one by one just as you remembered that Tech was still nowhere to be seen. Your mind was rushing faster than you could've ever thought trying to find out any idea as to where he could have gone.

Suddenly the blaster fire stopped as you heard a final clank from a droid hitting the ground. As you stood up you looked around cautiously, and deciding the coast was clear you jumped over the stall to group up with the rest of the bad batch.

As everyone began looking over each other there seemed to be only one thought shared between the group. This was a trap and Tech was gone.

Trying to alleviate the sour mood the group was plunging headfirst into you chuckled before saying, "You guys can finally say I was right now."

The others groaned before Hunter said, "Now is not the time y/n, Tech's missing and we have no clue where the kark he could be."

"You think I don't know that Hunter?" You let out through clenched teeth before continuing, "I'm just as worried as you are right now, but let's get somewhere where we don't have to worry about droids ambushing us."

Crosshair let out a sigh from beside you, "They're right. We won't be able to help Tech if we're dead so let's get back to the ship."

Picking up what he was putting down you finished for him, "We can re-group our thoughts on the Marauder, come up with a game plan, and then retrace our steps. It will do no good thinking while our minds are in 20 places at once."

Back on the ship all of you had gathered around the small datapad you placed in the middle of the table. "Alright, I tracked Tech's datapad's last known location to here, but who knows if it even with him," you say before zooming in on the location, "We can't guarantee that it would be safe either, we all know the number of clankers they sent after us just to try and keep us away."

"As long as I get to blow something up and get Tech out, anything is a good plan," Wrecker says before heading towards the back of the ship.

Crosshair nods at both you and Hunter before getting out of his seat to go and follow Wrecker.

"I know you're really worried, you don't hide your emotions that well," Hunter says while placing a hand on your shoulder.

"No shit Hunter," you start while rolling your eyes, "I'm worried about what might happen if we can't find him, or even if it's too late and he's already gone. I don't know what I would be able to do without him."

Hunter gives your shoulder a reassuring squeeze, "It will be okay y/n. For our sake and yours, let's think positively."

The four of you had made your way back into the town square better equipped and without a problem. You had some of your own plastoid armor on now for a bit of extra protection in case things decided to take an even stronger turn for the worst.

"The signal from the datapad is down the alley to the Northeast," you say while glancing up from your own datapad.

The group nods back at you as you continue your way down the alley. It was quiet, the tall sand-colored buildings surrounding you couldn't help but make you feel claustrophobic. The other alleys were not like this. They had seemed to be more open, with a lot fewer canopies, but this one had canopies blocking almost all the sun. It also didn't help that it was starting to get dark.

As you reached another intersection, Hunter held up his fist to signify everyone to stop. A wave of déjà vu flashed over you, and you prayed to any gods that would listen that you wouldn't split up again. After a few moments, Hunter turned to you and tilted his head to the side, to which you answered by pointing your hand to the alley to the right. In a whisper, you add, "If we continue straight down that alley, we should reach another intersection. Tech's datapad should be there."

The four of you continued walking again and when you reached the intersection you couldn't help but let out a strangled sob. There was a pool of blood on the farthest side of the intersection that was smeared on one side. Rushing up next to the blood, you stopped mere centimeters from it as your eyes caught sight of Tech's datapad. Your hands were shaking as you reached for it and you brushed a finger over one of the bloody fingerprints. "Oh shit," you say letting out a shaky breath. How could you have let this happen; how could you allow yourselves to walk right into a trap? Now Tech was gone, bleeding out, or dead, and there was no exact way to trace him.

You see Wrecker's hands wrap around your own but don't register the feelings. Your whole body has seemingly shut off and stopped processing the world around you. Wrecker takes the datapad from your hands and passes it to either Hunter or Crosshair. You are too shocked to care as you collapse to your knees. Wrecker is at your side on the ground in seconds and pulls you right into him. The plastoid armor that would bring you so much comfort as you used to hold Tech close only burned as tears began to fall from your face. The air was thick with remorse and regret, but you couldn't hold on to the fact that he could be dead. After a few somber minutes recollecting yourself, you pushed away from Wrecker and pushed yourself off the ground, offering a hand to Wrecker to assist him. Once both of you were up and you had cleaned the sand off your pants, you turned towards Hunter and Crosshair. They were silent as ever, Crosshair had taken a seat on of the nearby crates and had his head in his hands, and Hunter had taken to looking at Tech datapad.

Breaking the silence, you spoke first, "We can't just give up and believe he is dead," startling Crosshair causing him to jump in his seat.

"Yeah, we need to think he's still out there, that the Separatist kept him alive for information," Wrecker added, backing you up.

Hunter had turned back around waving the datapad, "They were smart enough to keep his datapad here, but they weren't smart enough to wipe any messages on it."

At this, you scrambled over to Hunter's side and pulled that datapad closer to your face. Displayed was an unsent message to you that contained various numbers. "Coordinates," you say breathlessly as Crosshair joins the rest of you standing in a haphazard circle around the datapad. Adding, you ask, "Do you think those are the coords of the base where they took the prisoners too?"

"Probably," Crosshair speaks for the first time since arriving at the intersection, "Let's hope Tech's there too."

Taking Tech's datapad from Hunter, Crosshair begins off in the direction leading away from Tech's bloodstain on the ground, but also opposite the way you came. The rest of you fall into step behind him and continue your way to your destination.

On the way following the coordinates, all four of you were on high alert, but no droids had come to attack you, relieving some of the stress. It didn't help relax you guys upon seeing the droids surrounding a large sandstone castle-like building. Stopping at the crest of a hill a while away from the makeshift Separatist base, Hunter and you took to scanning the surrounding area, while Crosshair and Wrecker began to formulate some form of attack.

"Once again, I can tell you're worried," Hunter said as you both had scopes pulled out to try and find any weak points in the droid formations.

"And once again, we all are Hunter. I just hope we aren't too late," You reaffirm before pointing at a space straight ahead, "Look, they're rotating shifts. Maybe we could find a way in on their next rotation."

Hunter turns to look at you before saying, "How would we know when the next rotation is?"

"I don't know, maybe figure out what time it is Mr. Survivalist," you taunt sarcastically.

Hunter scoffs before saying "It's 1900, we could use the fact that it's dark out now to our advantage. It could help us slip in and out undetected if we want."

Nodding before standing up, you say, "True, let's go tell the others and see if it can play into their plan."

Once getting back to Crosshair and Wrecker, all four of you focused on a plan and decided it was best to split into two groups to help divide the droid forces. There would be no surprise ambushes by the droids, but instead an ambush on them. You and Hunter taking the back way in, through the gap in droid shifts you noticed earlier, while Wrecker and Crosshair would work on some sort of distraction from the front.

Wrapping up the discussion of the plan one last time before separating Hunter adds, "Remember, this is a rescue mission. Once we have Tech and possible other prisoners we get out as fast as we can."

You, Wrecker, and Crosshair nodded before wishing each other luck as they walked off from your position.

"You ready y/n?" Hunter asks.

"Ready as I'll ever be," you say back to him as you two make your way towards your position.

Once situated towards the back of the building, Hunter commed Crosshair saying, "The droids are about to rotate positions, on my word start whatever distraction you have in mind."

The two of you waited on edge while the minutes drew on. After what felt like forever the droids finally began to move. At this, Hunter commed Crosshair again with finality, saying, "Now."

From your position, you could see the blast from the explosives Wrecker had set off, along with the heavy concentration of blaster fire. The droids that were covering the area where you and Hunter immediately went to act as reinforcement to those affected by the blast.

Hunter and you ran from your location to the back of the building, quickly finding an open window. Pulling the window open more, you forced your way inside as Hunter followed. The room was empty, and most of the lights were off. Pulling out a flashlight you scanned it across the floor quickly before turning it off again to not be spotted, even if there was a small chance of that.

"It looks like we are in some type of living room," Hunter says before making his way away from the window and peeking his head around the corner of the door and into the hallway. "The hallway's clear, I would say split up to cover more floors, but seeing what happened last time I told everyone to split up... I don't think that's a good idea."

Nodding you made your way over to him to look out into the hallway as well. "I say we go to the basement if there is one. It would make sense to keep people prisoner there," You say before stepping foot into the hallway.

"Yeah, but the only problem is finding stairs that could lead to a basement," Hunter says while stepping into place behind you.

"It shouldn't be that hard, plus if Tech was still bleeding by the time, he got here, wouldn't you think there would be a trail of blood where they brought him?" You shuddered while stating the possibility out loud, just as Hunter made a noise of acknowledgment.

After what felt like hours of walking the hallways on high alert, and checking most rooms as you come across them, you staggered trying to stop yourself from walking as you finally caught sight of some blood on the ground. "Hunter," you whispered, "Look."

Hunter looked around your form to get a glance at what you were looking at, before shining his flashlight down the rest of the hall. "There's a trail too," he said while keeping his flashlight trained on the spots of blood.

"C'mon," You say as you grab him by the hand and pull him the rest of the way down the hallway.

Stopping at the end of the said hallway you are greeted by stairs to the left of you, and you turn to Hunter before silently agreeing to walk town together in sync. The stairs were solid sandstone, so you didn't have to worry about any creaky stairs, but you did have to worry about footing. Pulling out your vibro-knives at the same time as Hunter, you two started making your way down the stairs. The sight that waited for you and the bottom of the short walk would stick in your head forever. The basement was one single connected holding cell, with prisoners lined up against the bars trying to get a look at you. Some of them were crying, others wailing in pain, and some had fallen into silent spells. Noticing this, Hunter and you quickly put your knives away before you rushed to the gate with the main lock at it. While you made fast work of the lock and quickly picked it, Hunter had begun reassuring the people that we were here for help and that he was looking for someone who looked like us. With the gate, open people poured out in a mass exodus and began to make their way upstairs, without a single care of what could happen to them.

Once almost everyone was out, you and Hunter made your way into the cell where you were greeted with another terrible sight. Tech was there on a stone table in the middle of a cell with one of them, now freed, prisoners hovering over him. His armor was off and tossed to the side as he was only in his blacks, and he had a bacta patch wrapped around his torso. You rushed over to him as Hunter escorted the prisoner out of the cell and couldn't help but let out a sob for the second time today. Tech looked frail, and you hesitated to even reach out to touch him fearing that it would break him. You were immediately relieved after placing two fingers on his wrist and feeling his pulse. It was weak, but it was still there. "Hunter! I need some help down here," you call out before starting to run around the table to grab Tech's armor. Hunter came running back down the stairs at your call and once you saw him you continued, "I need you to carry him out of here. I'll get his armor, but we need to move fast before the droid realize that this was all a diversion."

At this Hunter makes his way to Tech's side without a word and picks him up and slings him over his shoulder. Grabbing the final pieces of Tech's armor, both of you begin to make your way up to the stair. Tapping the comlink on your wrist you hear blaster fire permeate through the room around you. "Crosshair, we got Tech. If I know Wrecker, he probably has some explosives, so as soon as we get out of the house, give him the word to blow this place up."

"Got it," Crosshair says before the comlink closes with a beep.

"Let's try a nearby window and get out of here as fast as we can before we tell them to set the chargers," you say to Hunter as you force your way ahead of him and into the closest room. Hunter follows you before grunting as a noise of approval. Making your way to the window, you grab Tech's helmet from where it sat under your arm and smashed it. Hunter gives you an exasperated look as he walks past you and out the window first, to which you only say, "What? It was a lot easier than putting everything down and opening it.

Once both of you are outside, you make your way to the location where you two started the mission. Reaching the spot a few meters away, you open the com with Crosshair again, "Crosshair, tell Wrecker to light it up. Now!"

Instead of getting an actual response as an answer, you could hear the various explosions coming from the area behind you.

"Nice work you two but meet up with us where we made camp before, it will be quicker to get back to the Marauder with Wrecker carrying Tech," You say into the com again before forcing yourself to walk in the direction of the temporary camp from before.

"Rodger that," Both Crosshair and Wrecker's voices come through the comlink before the transmission ends again with a beep.

The four of you, plus an unresponsive Tech, met up quickly and rushed back to the Marauder as soon as you could. Reaching the ship was a relief as Hunter had immediately gone into the cockpit and got you guys off the planet, and Wrecker took Tech to the bunks with you in tow with medical supplies.

Once Wrecker placed Tech on his respective bunk, you immediately rushed him out of the room and got to work. Removing the hastily applied bacta patch, you assessed the wound that Tech had got before he was captured. It was nasty at first glance, but you assumed it was even worse before he had the first batch patch applied. The cut ran from his left shoulder across his torso, coming to finally stop at the bottom of his right ribs. Luckily, the cut wasn't that deep, because there would have been hardly a chance, he would've survived that. Continuing your work, you cleaned the wound before wrapping it up again in another bacta patch. Standing up and observing the handiwork of your terrible medical experience, you run a full body scan with your datapad just to check for any other injuries that could internal. Thankfully, the scan came up negative and you could assume that Tech had just passed out due to blood loss. He still looked extremely pale as you stood there and stared at him, but some color was starting to return to his body.

Sitting back down, you grasped his hand in yours and looked at both hands together. As the weight of the day's events slowly started the catch up with you, you could hardly help yourself as you began to fall asleep. In a state of half-consciousness, you could've sworn you felt Tech's hand squeezing yours, but you were too tired to even process the notion that he might've.

The feeling of someone pulling your hand to their lips pulled you out of your nap and caused you to pick your head up from the side of Tech's bunk.

"Good morning Tech," you said before you could even process what was happening, but as soon as the words left your mouth your head snapped up and your eyes immediately widened. "Tech! You're up!"

Tech let out a breathy chuckle before trying to force his way up, only for you immediately to place your hand on his good shoulder and force him back down, "Nope, no getting up for you just yet. You had us all worried sir," you say while shifting your position to get a better look at him.

"I never meant to cause you guys any trouble," he says sincerely, "We had all got split up when those droids attacked us, and they caught me by surprise by sending in reinforcements."

"It's okay Tech, you don't need to justify your actions, you're alive and here back on the Marauder with us. That is all that matters," you say before gripping his hand again and squeezing it.

"Y'know while the droids were dragging me away as I was bleeding out, I couldn't help but focus on one thing," he says while squeezing your hand in return.

"Oh? And what was that?" You ask with a smile on your face.

Tech smiles back at you before bringing your hand to his lips again and placing a firm kiss on your knuckles, "I couldn't stop thinking about how I hadn't told you how much I love you."

Freezing in your place at the combinations of the words and the sincerity in Tech's tone, you couldn't help but find yourself smiling wider at what he had said. "I love you too Tech, too much. I thought I had lost you today but I'm so glad I didn't," you say with finality in your tone.

Leaning down to place a kiss on his lips you find yourself in a state of relief. Tech was back and safe out of harm's way, and he really does love you. Pulling away from the kiss, but still holding eye contact with him you say, "You still need to rest up, and don't think that kissing me will be a distraction."

Tech rolls his eye and lets out a groan before smirking and saying, "Well after I'm all healed you better make it up to me."

You smack his leg and let out a huff of frustration and as you go to walk out of the room you say, "We'll see about that one Tech. We'll see."

taglist: @bandaid-bunny @haloangel391

a/n: once again i feel like this is meh but i still dont know. i meant to have this done 2 days ago but almost passed out because of my second dose of the covid vaccine, plus i had a 6 page paper due so likeeee. anyway TAKE THIS right after the new episode, also if you guys watched it already... HOLY SHITTTT 🙏

#the bad batch x reader #the bad batch #bad batch #bad batch x reader #tech x reader #clone trooper tech x reader #bad batch tech x reader #tech bad batch #tech bad batch x reader #the clone wars #clone trooper tech

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genevievemd · 3 years

Note

head scratches e and g

Confessions

Book: Open Heart: Third Year Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Genevieve McClure) Word Count: 1399 Rating: G Category: fluff, hurt/comfort Trope(s): and they were in the office

Summary: MC has been feeling unsteady, and Ethan has finally noticed.

No Warnings

A/N: this turned into a post ch 4 (bk 3) fic. Because I’m a little disappointed that PB didn’t let us talk to Ethan about the weird shit he was doing with Harper. Also look at me, once again using a one word title, because I suck at titles and its 3 am and I’m too tired to try to come up with something better.

The sun sets outside the floor to ceiling windows, casting the diagnostics office a dance of shadows and lights. Ethan gets up from the desk, walking over to shut off the fluorescent lights leaving the room in growing darkness. He rolls his neck as he returns to the desk, turning on the lamp on the wooden surface.

He’s felt a migraine forming all afternoon, since Leland’s bombshell that Ethan’s rival would now be joining his team. The sense that all control is steadily slipping through his fingers, growing by the day, by the hour it seems.

What was promised to be a democracy was now nothing but a dictatorship disguised in new equipment and pay raises.

Ethan closes his eyes, leaning back in the chair, desperately trying to cling onto the thoughts of the one good and stable thing he has left.

Genevieve.

“How are you feeling?”

A soft voice breaks through the silence, Ethan opening his eyes to see the very thing he was thinking of standing in the doorway. A pleasant warmth runs through him, he’s not a man that believes in fate, but there is something utterly divine in the way she appears at the very moment he needs her.

Genevieve walks to the desk, every step that brings her closer settling the anxiety and rage boiling inside him. She smiles sweetly at him, perching herself on his desk.

“Like I’m slowly losing control.” Ethan sits up, a hand coming to rest on her knee, thumb tracing circles on her skin. “It’s bad enough we have to deal with Bloom, but now I have to contend with Tobias as his lapdog, as well.”

“You have me, though,” Her green eyes fill with warmth as she leans forward, holding his cheek delicately in her hand. “And I’ll always be on your side.”

“I know. I’m incredibly thankful for that, believe me.”

They share a smile, that four letter word swirling around his head for the umpteenth time as they get lost in each other. Gen breaks the spell, hopping off the desk and settling in his lap. His arms come around her without a second thought, pulling her impossibly closer.

“How can I help?” Her words are nothing more than a whisper as her fingers trace his jawline.

“There’s nothing you can do, unfortunately.”

“I can at least try and alleviate some stress. It’s what girlfriends are for, after all.”

The word girlfriend sparks something inside him, setting his heart into a rapid beat. They haven’t discussed terms, which is mostly his fault. In the moments when he has Gen alone, he spends the time doing everything but talking. The need to make up for the months he had spent pushing her away taking precedence over defining what they are to each other. But he knows they need to have that talk soon, he can see her growing impatient and hesitant with each passing day.

Gen takes off his glasses, tossing them onto the desk. She threads her fingers in his hair, scratching lightly as she goes. He closes his eyes again, forehead coming to rest on her shoulder as her fingers continue to weave through his hair.

“I meant what I said at lunch, G. Just having you in the room makes me feel more at peace.”

“Should I stop then?”

“Absolutely not.” He kisses the side of her neck, nuzzling sweetly. “I will take any and all forms of affection from you.”

“Quite the difference from last year, Doctor ‘We Need a Reset’.”

“We all have a lapse in judgment from time to time.”

“Mhm.” He can feel her giggle, his arms tightening around her.

They settle into an easy quiet, drawing comfort from a shared space.

As much as he wants to get lost in her touch, he can’t help but fall back to the thoughts of Gen’s newfound uncertainty. Ethan’s half sure it has something to do with him, but he hopes more than anything that it’s not. Praying instead that it all falls to the new easy comradery of the team and the ever growing changes their employer makes.

He wants nothing more than for Genevieve to confide in him, lean on him in the same way he leans on her.

“Are you going to tell me what’s been bothering you lately?”

“It’s not important anymore.”

“I beg to differ, Gen.” He presses a kiss to her shoulder before lifting his head to look at her. “You’ve been tossing and turning every night for a week. Something is wrong.”

“I don’t want to ruin the moment or make you feel more stressed.”

“So it’s me?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.” His brows furrow at her lack of honesty, she’s never been this closed off before. Its unnerving and so unlike her. Fear settles deep in his bones as their eyes meet, the need to find a solution growing with every second that passes. “I can’t fix it if you aren’t forthcoming.”

“It’s already fixed, kind of.” She sighs, adverting her eyes from him again. “Harper more or less set things straight.”

“Harper?” Ethan tilts his head, face scrunched in confusion.

“I was... feeling unsteady, about my place on the team and with you.”

“With me? The team I can understand, but I thought things were fine between us.”

Her face drops, taking a breath. “You really have no idea?”

Gen gets up from his lap, moving back to her previous spot on the desk. The distance she places between them is small, but enough to make his heart ache fiercely.

“Let’s put it this way, if my ex joined the team and I spent more time reminiscing about our history - weddings and flamenco lessons and dates at some intimate bistro named after a freaking Disney character - and you had to sit here, constantly interrupted, looked over and forced to listen to every second of it, how would you feel?”

“I was doing that to you.” The pain he feels is instant, regret following quickly after. “I didn’t realize.”

“Which, if I’m being honest, Ethan, makes it hurt ten times more. Because that says that you didn’t think of me or my feelings at all.”

He wants to jump up and dispute her claims. She’s the only thing he thinks of on most days and it kills him that he’s somehow made her feel the opposite.

“I don’t care that you’re friends with your ex, Harper is wonderful. But when you sit here and talk about dates you went on and veer off topic to bring up some inside joke, it makes me feel like you don’t respect me or our relationship. Like this is a casual fling you could quickly let go off and not a committed relationship. Like I’m an afterthought and that isn’t fair to me.”

Ethan stands from his chair, unable to cope with the distance between them any longer. He steps in front of her, holding her face in his hands. “This isn’t causal, Gen. Far from it. And you’re not an afterthought, you never have been.”

“Yeah, well actions speak louder than words and half of your actions lately say otherwise.”

“You’re right. I was being inconsiderate and tactless” He can see by the way she pulls away that his words aren’t enough. If he’s going to really set things back into place, Gen is going to need a real apology.

Ethan lets out a breath, holding her gaze for a long moment. “It was wrong of me to do that to you, even worse that I did it without realizing. Your thoughts and feelings are important to me, they take precedence. I’m sorry, Genevieve. Truly. It won’t happen again.”

“Thank you.” She reaches for his hand, interlacing their fingers.

“Not that there’ll be a next time, but should I do something this imbecilic again, feel free to call me out on it sooner rather than later.”

“Trust me, I will.”

Her smile returns, brighter than it was when she’d walked in ten minutes ago. Ethan leans forward, pressing his lips to hers in a bruising kiss. He gets bolder when she sighs, as she opens up to him and threads her fingers through his hair.

“This is teetering towards a pg-13 rating.” Gen mutters against his lips, their foreheads pressed together as they catch their breaths. “Take me home.”

“Whatever you want, Rookie.”

a/n: it took me all week to get this to a point where I liked it enough to post it. But we did it and I like it enough.

Tag Lists:

Perma: @terrm9 @potionsprefect @iemcpbchoices @archxxronrookie @coffeeheartaddict @queencarb @lucy-268 @custaroonie @maurine07 @gryffindordaughterofathena @ohchoices @choicesaddict5 @fireycookie @wingedhairstylemusicweasel @oldminniemcg @sizzlingcashherohumanoid @taniasethi @mrs-ramsey @shanzay44 @aussieez @stygianflood @uneravine @openheartfan @fayeswiftie @stateofgracious @sophxwithers @estellaelysian @mm2305 @withbeautyandrage @udishaman @mercury84choices @silma-words @headoverheelsforramsey @iloveethanramsey

Fic: @overwhelminglyaquarius @me-and-my-choices @schnitzelbutterfingers @crazy-loca-blog @a-crepusculo @drakewalkerfantasy @adrex04 @drariellevalentine @openheartthot @caseyvalentineramsey @aworldoffandoms @dulceghernandez @elwetritsche75 @emotionalswift2 @thegreentwin @starrystarrytrouble @utterlyinevitable @angela8754 @jooous @3riche @open-heart-ramseyy @xxsugarplumfluffsxx @alexabeta @smilex1104 @arnikki-2406 @jamespotterthefirst @openheartfanfics

#ethan ramsey x mc #ethan x mc #open heart #open heart fanfiction #Anonymous #asked and answered #ethan x gen #intimacy prompts

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littlejanesilver · 3 years

Text

The Human Experience (now with paragraph breaks!)

I know it’s not a popular ideology to have right now, because so much we see in the news appears to speak against it, but I think humans are basically an altruistic, cooperative species— with a few caveats. So many of our problems arise out of the fundamental mismatch between the world our species evolved to live in and the world we live in today. Empathy is a natural feature of the human experience. We teach our children positive prosocial behaviours like sharing their food and caring for others who are sick or hurt. We survive and build through cooperative behaviour. Kindness is instinctual and the instinct is reinforced through proper socialization. I’ve seen it in my children before they could even speak, trying to offer a pat on the back or comfort to a crying sibling. Normal, socialized humans feel physical and mental distress in ourselves when we see others in distress and are eager to alleviate it. The thing is human altruism, like that of other primates who live and hunt in groups is usually predicated on face to face personal relationships. It makes sense to share with others in your group when you have more than enough, because someday when they have more than enough they will be more likely to share with your. In humanity the ability to cooperate has been positively selected for through million of years of evolution. It makes sense that over the comparatively long human life span, where you might live in a tribe of 60 people, you would encounter the same members of your tribe over and over again and your prosocial actions would be remembered and influence their prosocial actions towards you further down the line. Our big brains are good for remembering and keeping score. Not to mention in such an environment, you would also probably be somewhat genetically related to your tribe-mates so helping your family members and tribe-mates survive also enhances the survival of your own genes. Among surviving hunter gatherer tribes it would be consider insane for one member to horde all the food while other members of the tribe starve. A person could be excluded from the group for behaviour like that and a human without other humans in nature does not survive for long. Being exiled from one’s tribe is a fate most will do anything to prevent. Also, in the hunter gatherer world, where people are nomadic, having a huge amount of one substance doesn’t make a lot of sense, because you can only own what you can carry with you. There are also no refrigerators, so if you have more food than you need, whatever you don’t eat will rot quickly. Human life in the prehistoric world could be extremely harsh. Few infants survived and giving birth was highly precarious. But when a member of your tribe was in distress, even without modern medicines you still had something you could do and that was offer comfort, through a hug, or helping with a task or offering food. In the world we live in now the instinct to share is sometimes short-circuited. Holding resources has been facilitated by inventions like fridges and silos to keep grain. People decide to keep resources to themselves and their families, because they often don’t see or can’t relate to the people their greed is harming. Executives of large companies never have to see their employees face to face, they don’t grow up with the people they employ (who nowadays may live in another country entirely), and there is no consequence to them for causing others to experience distress. Also there are so many thousands of employees that they become theoretical to the executives, rather than real flesh and blood people they have to live with on a day to day basis who will confront you if you treat themselves shitty and treat you badly right back. Also, if say a factory in another country is mistreating its workers and the factory makes clothes for your company (as well as other companies), there are so many culprits in the problem, front he managers of the factory itself, to the country it is in that allows lax labour laws, to the many companies that have this

factory make clothes for them, to the country the company is located in that makes it more worthwhile for them to hire foreign companies to make their clothes— that the individual executive sitting in an office somewhere is so far removed and their contribution is so diffuse among the many others in the process that he or she feels no shame. More importantly, that executives social group is unlikely to include members of the exploited class, so they will never be publicly shamed or held accountable in a social setting, which, let’s face it, is what keeps most of us honest, when the temptation to take more than our share is strong. The instinct to display compassion and show care for others, is also challenged in certain ways in a modern context. The instinct to display empathy and compassion is strongest for family members and extends to other tribe-mates in a healthy human being, across all cultures and settings. If you saw a loved one crying, you would naturally go up to them and put an arm around their shoulder and ask how you could help. The distress you feel at seeing another person in distress, would reduce, once you could offer them comfort. Feeling an arm around their shoulders, experiencing comforting touch also would help elevate your loved ones feelings of distress. As much as we hate feeling pain or distress, in us and seeing it in others, experiences like this help bond us to those we love. When a friend supports you through a tough time it can cause your friendship to deepen. It feels like a blessing to be able to offer them the same strength they offered you in return at a latter date. When I a can offer a listening ear to a friend’s complaint or be able to offer a pair of arms to hold a loved one who is crying, I feel the most human. Being together in this way with others, knowing that they are feeling what you are feeling and sharing in a moment, whether listening to music or experiencing a film together is so special and so inherently human. It is hard to explain, but there is a positive feeling that comes from when one is acting in accordance with one’s animal nature. The naturalness and lack of push-back your brain is giving you— like when you have really good sex or do a refreshing (not exhausting) physical workout that pushes you a bit, or stare in wonder at something in nature— this sense of doing what you were made for— what is most natural and human feels so wonderful and liberating. I feel that when I am concocting stories sometimes, this ability to be in the moment and intensely aware of what I am doing, fully experiencing it without being distracted by other worries or things going on in my mind. The problem as I see it is that we see so much distress around us that is taking place far away, across the globe and we can see the people’s faces in pain, but we have no ability to take that pain away or even offer the basic comfort our ape ancestors could, such as an arm around the shoulder or the offer of half a fruit. We can’t give them anything. Maybe we can donate money to an earthquake fund or something, but who knows if that money will even reach them and it won’t effect that specific person you see right now, on your screen. Maybe we don’t even have enough money to give a dollar to an earthquake fund and maybe the government of the country that suffering person is living in, is causing their suffering because it refuses offers from the international community to help (see North Korea). What do people do when they are constantly faced with the reality of thousands of people suffering who we can’t do anything to help? We evolved to deal with one or two people in our tribe suffering every once and a while. We evolved to feel pain ourselves at the suffering of someone and to be able to stop that pain by offering the other person comfort. But when you can’t offer meaningful, immediate comfort to another person in a personal way either through physical means or through helpful speech, what are you left with? For some people I feel like the result is a constant low-grade

(or sometimes high grade) anxiety, traumatic stress and depression. The tidal wave of suffering feels so great you are mentally drowning in it if you are the kind of person who experiences empathy for others very strongly. You might be motivated to participate in charities and social justice causes, but all the time, the satisfaction that should come from helping people is out of reach, the anxiety and sadness at other’s distress is still there because no matter what you do, with so many people in the world now, and with news from all corners of the globe constantly in our faces at every moment of the day, you just can’t help everyone. It isn’t possible. Long ago you would only be cognizant of the problems of people in your own little tribe. Dealing with their problems would be mentally manageable and might even benefit you and the other person and strengthen your relationships. Dealing with this tidal wave of billions of people’s problems is unmanageable and hugely distressing. We were not born with the mental equipment to deal with this and it is a huge problem. Avoiding it, in certain societies, to help lessen your stress is not even possible. Everywhere you look, TV screens, radios and newspapers are blaring the death tolls of the most recent atrocity. This media diet distorts your perception, because when all you hear about are huge horrific events, the regular day to day repetitive actions that occupy most of what people are doing all over the world, like today Soorya milked a goat or Bob picked his toddler up from daycare don’t make the news. Some day, I think the world will have to reckon with the mental health problems that this constant media diet of negative and fearful imagery causes humans who have no means to influence the distressing things that are mentioned. Obviously, it is important to know what is happening in the world in some sense, to hold governments accountable when they act in ways that harm people. However part of the problem is even when we see that unfairness is happening we don’t have the tools to help stop it or a deeper understanding of why problems are occurring and how we can help is left out of the reporting. This makes people feel helpless and out of control and it doesn’t help the people who are suffering in the end. Some people are able to deal with this constant exposure to suffering that we can’t help, through selectively turning their compassion and empathy faculties on and off. As someone who can’t do this on my own, I am constantly astounded to witness other people do this. Part of me is slightly jealous of this ability while part of me is highly suspicious of it. People who can do this, I’ve noticed can also be very reckless with others emotions if they believe a relationship with that other person doesn’t forward their own goals. There is something that feels lacking to me about a human that can operate in such a ruthless capacity, but these are also people who seem able to have a lot of success because their mental processes are so efficient with regards to empathy. People can often show great love and compassion for their family and friends, but have little to no compassion for people outside the group they qualify as their “tribe.” How modern people define tribe, as people who share the same religion, community, fan base, sexuality, ethnicity or even as narrowly as their own nuclear family can vary. But I would say the majority of humans display this ability to switch their empathy on and off depending on whether someone is considered part of their tribe or not. This is also, sad to say, a very human quality. In a world where your tribe was your survival, outside tribes who might steal your resources, or kill or steal members of your tribe were far more dangerous than wild beasts you might encounter. I was bullied pretty harshly as a kid and I still maintain that the whole in-group/out-group dialectic that is such a part of human experience is one of the ugliest facets of human nature there is. Most disturbing of all, it is not contrary to human

nature, as most anti-social behaviours seem to be coded as, but is often seen as positive with no social costs in-group. A person who shows altruism and fealty to their own group can show the worst sadism and cruelty to out-group members without the corresponding social penalties they would face if they were to behave the same way in their own group. There is a reason in the Torah there are numerous directives “to love the stranger as yourself” and to “be kind to the stranger” and other lessons about hospitality to people who aren’t from your town because they might be (in Abraham’s case) angelic messengers. If everybody treated strangers and out group members the same as they treated their family members there wouldn’t be so much advice about showing hospitality to those unlike ourselves. The instinct of “stranger danger” is high in human beings and starts before we can talk. Studies done with pre-verbal human infants show that when confronted with two different strangers, one who speaks their own language and one who talks a different language, the infants shunned the foreign language speaking individual more than the person who talked their own language, even if they couldn’t talk or even fully understand that language yet themselves! The corresponding instinct of curiosity in some of us and eagerness to find out and know about something outside our own experience is thankfully, a good check to the stranger-danger feeling in some of us. Sadly, the stranger-danger instinct can get stronger as people get older and lose some of their mental flexibility and the world also changes a lot from the world they grew up in. If you aren’t mindful of that tendency of the human brain, then you can get caught up in thinking that all the changes are bad and threatening and feel fearful and angry at the world as you get older. Also, the more adverse experiences you have with other people, the more they seem to trail after you as you get older, colouring your ability to trust others and harming your interpersonal relationships if you’re not careful. While it may be more mentally healthy to only extend your empathy to members of your own group, feel like society as a whole suffers tremendously when we do this. We don’t live in isolated tribes anymore. Even if the effects are not apparent to us, our actions do effect the lives of other people, sometimes far away. We need new ways and new transparency laws to let us understand what the costs to others of the goods we purchase are, where they come from and what sort of labour conditions those goods are sourced under. We also need more alternatives to buy ethically, that are within most people’s budgets. Having the choice between ethically sourced goods that cost way more than a normal family can afford and goods sold in stores that only offer part-time jobs and starvation wages to their employees that utilize slave labour in other countries for manufacturing doesn’t really offer a choice. If you don’t have a lot of money you can’t afford to be ethical, which seems wrong. How come I can get a food item at the store and every single ingredient that went into it is listed on the back of the package, but how the item was made, where and with what sort of labour is left out? As a consumer we should be afforded the ability to make ethical purchases. There should be some sort of international independent organization with actual teeth that oversees labour practices across the world and gives companies letter grades and provides this information to the consumer with every purchase. It should be a reliable independent source for the consumer that tells us whether a purchase is helping to perpetuate positive or negative work conditions around the world. Companies that have the best conditions should be rewarded and companies that have the worst should be shut down. Getting everyone on board with the philosophy that humans are all part of one tribe is crucial to improving all our lives. If all children can be taught, from the earliest days that we are all one tribe and that

we are all deserving of love and compassion and the means of survival things will probably improve. As long as people continue to believe in in-group/out-group philosophies that see their own group as some sort of master race or chosen people and everyone else as inferior or misguided and not worthy of the same kind of empathy reserved for members of one’s own tribe— humanity will not grow. Accepting the fact that we are all animals, members of the same species and the same planet, which we have to take care of together is crucial. I’ve lived on Lake Erie and Lake Ontario for most of my life. For those who don’t know both these lakes are partially in the U.S. and partially in Canada and proved most of the water and electricity for the communities around the lakes like Toronto and Hamilton in Canada and Buffalo and Rochester in the U.S and Niagara Falls in both countries. Canada and the U.S. in the past have had different laws governing heavy industry on the lakes. But this is ridiculous, because if a company pollutes on one side of the lake, it automatically causes pollution on the other side as well. Right now countries are acting like the laws they make regarding pollution, labour, immigration and countless other things only affect their own country, when the reality couldn’t be further from the truth. We don’t live in isolated tribes anymore. Every human community is touching countless other communities. We didn’t evolve to live or think this way, but if there’s one thing we humans have mastered, it’s how to adapt. We can adapt to this new world and thinking in a new way about each other and our planet— but we have to stop seeing ourselves as isolated groups and start thinking of the big picture. In this world where our edges all touch each other, we have to be especially cognizant to live peacefully and try to do everything in our power to avoid violence wherever possible. To use a metaphor, you never know how the pollution you dump one one side of the lake will effect a baby yet to be born on the other side of the lake. If there is another choice, even if that choice is just to pause and consider what this action might achieve or to really grapple seriously with the harm it might cause, regardless of whether it is “right” or “deserved.” Make the choice to think before you act. Listen to what other people are feeling who aren’t from your in-group. Even if you don’t agree with them, how can you ever convince them, if you don’t try to understand where they are coming from? More than anything right now I think we need dialogue, not knee jerk reactions. We need nuance, deeper understanding than 150 character soundbites and the ability to listen to each other and the skill of trying to slow down our minds. It is easy to act on anger, greed or fear if you don’t see the people who your actions effect. But we have many tools in our communication arsenal for communicating how we feel to other people and trying to get them to make change. Violence should be very last resort of all the last resorts, not the go-to option. We have to act in accordance with the world we want to live in, in the future, a world that has room for all people. There is no shortage of money, food or land on this planet if we all only take what we need and share with each other. The withholding of these things from others and obscene accumulation of resources for oneself and ones family is not admirable. It is a demonstration of selfish antisocial behaviour and should be seen as such by our society. How our words and actions serve ourselves, our loved ones and the human tribe as a whole and its future existence on this Earth is worth considering.

#being human

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jarienn972 · 3 years

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La Sirena - Chapter Ten (Epilogue)

Captain Swan Supernatural Summer

(that’s finally being completed in winter)

We have reached the finale of this @cssns tale at last. This has been such a fun and challenging experience trying to build this universe, and I hope that readers have found it enjoyable as well. Thanks for all of your lovely words and feedback along the way!

I thank you, @kmomof4, for all of your assistance and input. You rock as a beta! And @courtorderedcake, thank you once again for the beautiful artwork that really brought to life the imagery of the opening chapter!

And now, back to the story... Here, we pick up moments after a stubborn and confused Killian pretended to be asleep to avoid his brother. He’s about to get a wonderful surprise...

Catch up from the beginning here on Tumblr: One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Or read in full on AO3 or FF.net

The instant that Killian was certain that Liam was out of earshot and wouldn't be present to scold him for faking sleep, his eyelids sprang open wide to behold the most wondrous sight. Perched in the chair just to his left was the very same angelic vision he'd first laid eyes on back on that deserted beach days ago. She looked different with her long, gilded tresses pulled back by a ribbon and seemed a bit more diminutive while wearing a vastly oversized sailor's white uniform tunic and navy woolen trousers but he knew for certain it was her.

But how? How was he gazing upon a beautiful siren here in his own quarters? How could she be here and still be real?

"Emma? It's you!" he exclaimed, trying to sit upright to greet her properly despite the pain. "What are you doing here? How are you even here, Love?

"One question at a time," she chuckled as she reached over and placed her hand atop his forearm to urge him not to move. The moment her fingers brushed his skin, he felt a tingle pass through his entire body - one that was warm and tender. His heart was suddenly racing, but it was no longer driven by fear or anxiety. He welcomed her touch, her presence. "I'm here because this is where I belong and it would seem that even the gods agree."

"But you're a siren. I thought your home was those isles and the surrounding seas? I thought you couldn't leave without…" His voice trailed off before he could say sacrificing your powers.

Her demeanor rapidly switched from jovial to serious at Killian's off-handed, yet important questions. Her eyes avoided his for a moment, then recaptured his gaze with an intensity he'd not seen from her before. There was a new melancholy about her as she took in a deep, reflective breath before responding.

"That cove was no longer my home. In truth, it was far more of a prison for longer than I care to remember. I thought I was happy alone when I left the ranks of the siren council, but I had no idea how wrong I was - until you floated into my bay." Killian's jaw gaped in stunned silence as he watched the tears begin to well in her eyes, but she shushed him when he tried to reply. There was more to her confession that she needed him to hear before he could respond properly. "I may have rescued you from drowning that fateful day, but it was you who rescued me from an eternity of loneliness. And then watching my sister attempting to harm you only strengthened my resolve…" She paused to take a breath, unsure how he was going to react to her next words. "I guess what I am trying to say is that I am here right now on this ship, wearing these ridiculous garments because I knew I couldn't let you go. I risk sounding like a fool right now, but there is something I must confess. I love you, Lieutenant Killian Charles Arthur Jones of His Majesty's Royal Navy. Nothing in my entire lifetime has felt as right as the days I spent with you, and because of that, I asked the mighty Poseidon to make me human so that I could accompany you."

"Emma… I…," he stammered, his thoughts an incoherent jumble.

Her jaw wavered as she dipped her head, almost ashamed of her utterance. "I'm sorry if I've upset you, but after all we've been through these past days, I believed you should know the truth. I do understand if you do not feel the same as I do."

Ignoring his body's cries of pain, Killian threw off the blanket and forced his protesting limbs to sit upright, swinging his legs over the side of the bunk so he could position himself close enough to her that he could cup her cheek in his palm and brush away a tear with the pad of his thumb.

"Emma, there is no need for tears," he assured her. "While I will admit that your revelation to be a siren - and all of the events that followed - were a tad horrifying, I still knew I would gladly spend the remainder of my years stranded in that cove with you. But you, you gave up being a siren - being immortal - for me?"

"What good was being immortal if it meant losing you?" she said with a sniffle just as Killian leaned forward to capture her lips with his, neither of them even caring if Liam were to reenter Killian's quarters right then and there. For a brief moment, the universe was theirs alone until Killian's protesting rib cage caused him to reluctantly pull away, but not without more questions.

"But my brother and the crew, they didn't suspect you to be any less than human? Liam, he addressed you as Miss Swan? Since I don't believe that sirens have family names, wherever did that come from? Whatever did you tell them whilst I was incapacitated?"

"No one suspects me to be a siren, if that is your worry. Once your fellow crew members reached the cove to rescue you, I had to tell them something, so I led them to believe that I was a fellow prisoner from the sunken pirate ship. They believe that the pirates attacked my family's vessel prior to abducting you on that isle of Neverland you spoke of. It isn't as though any of them could corroborate my story with your captors. The crew also collected several damaged trunks and weathered chests that had washed up on the shore, believing them to be part of the stolen loot from the sunken ship. I happened to notice that there was a swan's head carved into one of the wooden trunks so as I boarded this vessel, I introduced myself to your captain as Emma Swan. Do you believe I should have chosen something else?"

Killian chuckled at the thought of her thinking up a surname on the spot. "I don't think anyone will make the connection. I kind of like it. You're beautiful and graceful like a swan. It suits you."

"Thank you," she blushed. "I hardly feel beautiful in these borrowed clothes. This fabric, it is rather unpleasant."

"I'm sure we can find you some attire more suitable for a lady when we next make port. Women aren't common on the high seas. There's an old legend that they're unlucky."

"What nonsense," she muttered with a frown. "But no matter. I have it on good authority that no harm will come to this ship. No creature of the seas would dare challenge Poseidon's edict."

"I still don't understand how this is possible. How does my brother not know that the expedition to the uncharted island went horribly wrong? He wants to award me a bloody commendation that I don't deserve. They think I've lost my mind."

"This will need to be our secret, but the events as you remember them never actually transpired," she stated, which of course left Killian befuddled. He opened his mouth, prepared with a barrage of questions, but she raised a hand to shush him, wanting to explain what she meant before letting him speak. "I know you will have many questions, some of which I will never be able to answer, but in simple terms, Poseidon modified all of the events that led up to your brother's ship arriving to rescue us from the cove. Everything that transpired remained in the same order, but not in the same manner. You still encountered the pirates on that island, they still took you prisoner, and the sirens still laid siege to the ship before it ran aground and sank, but Poseidon changed the scope of each event and allowed your brother's ship to pursue the pirate vessel to locate you. Your injuries were all believed to have come at the hands of your pirate captors and during the escape from the sinking vessel. They have no reason to suspect otherwise."

"But what about my crew? Does no one remember their sacrifices?" he queried anxiously, afraid that those men's lives had been lost in vain.

"Some of them were never there, never set foot on the island. Others were there but their fates were changed by the modified events," she explained, although her words did little to alleviate his confusion. "In this revised timeline, there was no actual battle with those scoundrels. You alone were captured by the pirates. I have no way else to explain, but essentially, Poseidon changed how your history played out. No one beyond our realm will ever know of the version you lived through."

His jaw remained slack as he shook his head and tried to come to terms with a turn of events that was nothing short of miraculous. "But how? Why?" he stammered. "Why would he do such a thing?"

"He said I reminded him of his daughter, Ursula, and he recognized your good heart - much like the man Ursula fell in love with so long ago. He knew you'd been wronged, as had I, and he wanted to put things right. He granted my wish to become human and accompany you, and brought your brother's ship into the bay so you could be saved by your kind."

"Do you know what became of your sister?"

"Not all. I do know that she had her powers revoked for abusing them and that she was made mortal, although not by choice in her case. I don't know if Poseidon turned her human or made her a permanent creature of the sea, and in truth, I don't care. I've made my peace with it. Now, all I wish is to be with you, if you'll have me."

"I wish for nothing else," he replied with a beaming smile. "I just don't know what sort of life I can provide for a former siren… There's so much out there…"

"And I want to experience it all!" she exclaimed giddily as she gestured towards the faded map of Britannia that Killian had pinned to one of the beams lining the walls of his cabin. "I know little of the world beyond our isles. If my time is now finite, I want to see and experience as much as possible! I want to visit these other lands and sail the other seas…"

Killian chuckled at her enthusiasm, not really sure what would be physically possible, but hey - after surviving several harrowing encounters with mythical beings and living to tell the fantastical tales, he was open to adventure.

"Whatever your heart desires, Emma. Whatever your heart desires is what I want for you," he repeated as he pulled his siren - his beautiful angel - in for another heartfelt, lengthy kiss, almost certain that he felt a surge of energy embrace them both.

A few years later…

It was a perfect morning. Only a few wispy clouds broke up the brilliant blue skies as gentle ripples made their way across the serene harbor. Crew lowered and secured the huge canvas sails of the Jewel of the Realm as Liam oversaw their arrival at the dock. His sailors worked like a well-oiled machine performing their tasks, which was a good thing since their Captain might have been a tad distracted.

Instead of supervising lines being tied off, Liam was scanning the shoreline in search of something - or rather, someone. He'd made sure to send out correspondence through courier when they last made port making sure that Killian was aware the Jewel was on its way to the port of Misthaven where they'd agreed to rendezvous.

He hadn't been particularly overjoyed when Killian had decided to resign his commission upon return to Britannia, but if he was honest, the decision hadn't come as much of a surprise. His little brother had endured a harrowing experience, one that Liam knew he could never fully understand. In the process, he'd formed a bond with the lovely Swan woman and Liam had seen all the signs that Killian had fallen head over heels in love and feared lengthy deployments at sea that would keep him apart from his love.

Liam also had to admit that he was a little envious of his brother, but it was clear that while Killian loved the sea, his calling wasn't a career in His Majesty's Royal Navy. He knew that his sibling had taken up as captain of a merchant ship, but since it had been nearly a year and a half since he had last seen Killian, he was curious to see how his brother was faring in his new pursuits.

"Ahoy, brother!" he heard a shout from the pier and off in the distance, he spotted his sibling waving like a fool. And was he wearing black leather?

Once the Jewel was safely moored, Liam gave out his instructions for crew liberty and then made his way down the gangplank with dozens of rambunctious sailors at his heels. He chuckled as they darted past him, scurrying along the pier on their way to one of the local taverns. At least one of them would likely end up spending a night in the brig for overindulgence, but Liam couldn't be bothered with that right now.

His brother awaited him at the far end of the pier, casually leaning against a stone pillar with his foot propped up on an overturned barrel. It was a far more confident stance than Liam recalled when they'd last seen each other, but it was Killian's attire that spoke volumes about his newfound fortitude. He'd not expected to find Killian sporting an ebony leather duster that hung to his knees atop of a bold crimson waistcoat and black woolen trousers that, even from a distance, appeared to be far softer than Liam's own scratchy uniform. Killian clearly seemed to be happy and must have been doing well for himself to afford such luxuries.

"You look well, brother," Killian greeted him.

"As do you," Liam replied, pulling his younger sibling into an embrace and patting him heartily on the back. "Whatever are you wearing?"

"Ah, this…," Killian smiled as he took a step back so Liam could take in all of the elaborate detail on the coat which included embroidered cuffs and lapels along with silver clasps and carved bone buttons. "This was a gift from Queen Ava. The circumstances behind how it came to be is a rather long tale that I'll not bore you with since we've little time to catch up."

"Of course…," Liam responded, raising his eyes skyward with a shake of his head. Killian always seemed to have a new, unbelievable tale these days. "Where ever is that lovely wife of yours? I expected she would be here with you."

"She's waiting for us back on our ship. It's getting a tad more difficult for her to get around these days."

"So then, my new niece or nephew will be arriving soon?"

"Soon enough. Likely before the next full moon. It is why we'll be sailing back to the port of Arendelle, leaving the day after tomorrow," an excited Killian announced.

"Arendelle?" Liam questioned. "Why are you heading there?"

"We were invited by the Queen, and one simply does not turn down the invitation of royalty."

"You were invited by Queen Elsa?" Liam asked incredulously as they ambled along the cobblestone street towards another section of Misthaven's bustling harbor that was filled with smaller fishing boats and merchant ships. He tried to figure out which of the vessels was the one Killian now owned but he couldn't be certain.

"Queen Anna, actually," Killian corrected him. "Queen Elsa stepped down from the throne last year as she believed her more vivacious sister was better suited to handle the duties of the royal court."

"Alright, but that still doesn't explain how you secured a royal invitation."

"While sailing the Northern Isles last summer, we stumbled upon the wreckage of a galleon that had partially sunk in a narrow, rocky fjord. We explored it to see if there was anything worthy of salvage and located a chest containing a crown and other treasures that had been stolen from the Kingdom of Arendelle. We returned the riches to the castle and received a hefty finders fee for our efforts and Emma made fast friends with the Queen. We've made several visits back to Arendelle and have kept in correspondence with the royal family. As soon as Queen Anna learned that Emma was with child, she extended the royal invitation to come join them in the castle. She's already arranged a midwife for Emma, and has said we're welcome to stay as long as we wish. Can you imagine - living in a castle? I would never have thought it possible…"

"I'm very happy for you, Killian, and very proud of you as well. For someone who believed himself a failure not so long ago, you seem to have fortune smiling upon you."

"It hardly seems possible, brother. I feel like the luckiest bloke in all the world," Killian gushed, stopping at the bottom of the gangplank of a decent sized ship with a single towering mast. It was far more compact than the Jewel, but still large enough to carry crew and cargo comfortably. "Here we are. This is our lovely lady, La Sirena."

"Beautiful vessel. Interesting choice of name though. What led you to christen her after such a creature?"

"Oh, I have my reasons," Killian smirked. "But anyway, here's Emma now." A broad smile lit up Killian's visage as he stared up at his wife who was leaning over the railing on the deck above them. "It's almost unfathomable how I ever got so lucky that the gods would send such an angel to watch over me." Emma didn't say a word herself but the smile that stretched from ear to ear across her own face seemed to echo his sentiment.

But then maybe she suspected that the love that blossomed from a heart that was true and good was worth far more than a little bit of luck.

#cssns #cssns 2020 #captain swan supernatural summer #cs ff #cs au ff #siren emma #la sirena

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labyrinth-runner · 3 years

Text

This Isn’t Love

I basically took the Mustafar scene to the end of Revenge of the Sith from Padmé’s POV

Word Count: ~2k

Warnings: Well. If you’ve seen RotS then you know what's coming.

Her heart was thudding in her chest with anxiety. What Obi-Wan had said couldn’t be true. He would never have done that. Not her Anakin. Not her sweet, loving Anakin who’s love was the only thing that kept her warm at night in a cold galaxy that set her stomach in knots of dread. But... Obi-Wan wasn’t a liar. Obi-Wan was the only Jedi she trusted. Yet, her heart and her hope were telling her two different things as she piloted her cruiser towards Mustafar. She didn’t know which emotion to give into, so instead she just cried, resting her head on her hands. This day had not gone as planned. This wasn’t the life she wanted for her children.

The red ball of fire came into view and she took the ship down for a landing. She saw a figure standing there, a shadow amongst the bright backdrop. Rushing down the ramp to the hot planet below, she saw that the shadowy specter was her husband.

“Padmé, I saw your ship-” Anakin started to say when she crashed into his arms.

“Oh, Anakin,” she murmured. She needed reassurance. She needed him to tell her it wasn’t true. If he did, then they could go back to being a happy family. She could return to being his happy wife.

“It’s alright, you’re safe now,” he murmured, “What are you doing out here?”

What was she doing out here? She trusted her husband. A man who held her like this surely couldn’t have done anything like what Obi-Wan had told her. “I was so worried about you,” she said quickly, “Obi-Wan told me terrible things.”

“What things?” Anakin asked cautiously.

Padmé swallowed the lump in her throat, “He said that you had turned to the dark side.” She trailed off before adding the impossible truth, “That you had killed younglings.”

The father of her child could never do that.

“Obi-Wan is trying to turn you against me,” Anakin seethed.

Padmé blinked. That wasn’t a denial. That wasn’t reassurance. That was a ‘it’s me against him’ mentality. That didn’t make sense. Not when Obi-Wan had been his best friend and a friend to her for so many years. Surely Anakin knew that wasn’t true. “He cares about us.”

“Us?” Anakin asked incredulously.

Padmé blushed, “He knows.” She looked into his eyes. They were such a strange color. Not the familiar blue that she was used to drowning in. “He wants to help you.”

Anakin shook his head, “Is Obi-Wan going to protect you? He can't ... he can't help you. He's not strong enough. “

That dream again. She wished he didn’t put so much stock in it. It wasn’t what really mattered, “Anakin, all I want is your love.”

“Love won't save you, Padmé. Only my new powers can do that,” Anakin said like it was obvious.

He needed to see reason. She had to make him see reason. “At what cost? You are a good person. Don't do this,” she pleaded.

“I won't lose you the way I lost my mother! I've become more powerful than any Jedi has ever dreamed of and I've done it for you. To protect you,” he said emphatically.

Padmé took his hands in hers to plead her case. If he loved her, truly, then he would listen. She took a deep breath, searching his eyes for some flicker of familiarity. A drop of rain that could douse the inferno. “Come away with me. Help me raise our child. Leave everything else behind while we still can.”

Anakin grinned, “Don't you see? We don't have to run away anymore. I have brought peace to the Republic. I am more powerful than the Chancellor. I can overthrow him, and together you and I can rule the galaxy. Make things the way we want them to be.”

A feeling of dread made her blood turn cold. All these years since she’d fallen in love with Anakin on Naboo, she had been waiting for that other shoe to drop. She knew their love would be difficult, but she had never expected this. A man who thought like this... with ambitions like these... was dangerous. She thought she knew him, but how could she know someone like this? The man before him was not the man she thought she married. It felt like a rug was ripped out from beneath her.

“I don't believe what I'm hearing,” she said, shaking her head, “Obi-Wan was right. You've changed.”

“I don't want to hear any more about Obi-Wan,” he said dismissively, “The Jedi turned against me. Don't you turn against me.”

Turn against him? How could he say that? It was he who had turned against her, against democracy and the Republic. Against reason. Against morality. “I don't know you anymore. Anakin, you're breaking my heart. I'll never stop loving you-” Or the man I thought you were, she wanted to add- “but you are going down a path I can't follow,” she said with tears in her eyes.

“Because of Obi-Wan?” he asked.

She wanted to laugh. How could he still think that it was about Obi-Wan? After all he had done, how could the deciding factor in this be another man and not his own actions? “Because of what you've done,” she sighed in frustration, “what you plan to do.”

She couldn’t just give up, could she? That would mean throwing away years of a relationship without a fight, and if Padmé was anything, it was a fighter. She tried to plead with him once more, “Stop. Stop now. Come back!" she begged. Softly, she murmured, “I love you.”

At one time, that would have been enough.

“Liar!” Anakin yelled.

Padmé turned to see Obi-Wan stepping out of her ship. With horror, she realized what would happen next. She knew the man behind her, and she knew what he was capable of and what he stood for.

“No!” she yelled, as much for her husband to understand that this wasn’t what she wanted as well as to stop the Jedi Master walking towards them.

Anakin’s face twisted into one of hurt and betrayal, mirroring her own, no doubt. “You're with him. You've betrayed me! You brought him here to kill me!”

“No!” she said emphatically, “Anakin, I didn’t! I swear-” her eyes burned with tears as she felt her air supply be cut off. She clawed for her throat to relieve the pressure that wasn’t physically there, trying in vain to alleviate her suffering. Her vision started to fade like she was drowning in the dark depths of the ocean. The world was dark and a coldness seeped in as she faintly heard Obi-Wan yelling for her husband to let her go, to stop hurting her.

Isn’t it funny? Having to ask someone who loves you to stop causing you pain. In the back of her mind, she registered how ridiculous that was. If love was true, that wouldn’t be something that would ever have to be asked. No, she thought sadly, Begged.

A faint hand touched her with kindness as the reality of her situation came crashing down around her. The man she loved was gone. Memories flashed through her mind. Her and Anakin in the meadow on Naboo. The two of them bonding on Tatooine as he started to let her in. The fear of almost losing him on Geonosis. Their wedding, holding his hand by the lake and knowing they would build a new future together, and feeling like all her dreams were coming true. The fear of being pregnant, but the joy at how happy they were about it. The love she had was endless. She thought it was enough to sustain them across the stars. But it wasn’t. She should have known it would never been enough. The Order hadn’t been enough. Why would she be? Not for Anakin.

She remembered every time he came back to Coruscant. All those times she’d reassured him that they’d be okay. She had failed, unable to break through the walls he had put up around his furnace heart. The walls kept the flame lit, but did little for their relationship. People who loved each other didn’t keep secrets from each other. People who loved each other didn’t hide their thoughts and feelings. People who loved each other could trust each other.

Padmé felt like she was sinking, suspended in an ocean of her tears. How could someone who said he loved her hurt her like this? This isn’t love, she realized with a trembling lip.

Had it ever been?

Love was supposed to bring out the best in both people. Being with Anakin hadn’t done that. She had changed who she was for Anakin. With a swallow, she realized she’d sacrificed her good judgment and level head just to be with him, breaking the standards she held for herself, in spite of herself. Gently, she crossed her hands over her belly, wanting the comfort of the life inside her, the harsh reminder of all she had just lost, of the dream that came to an end.

A sad smile flitted across her face as she thought on the last few nights on Coruscant. He had been there, but not really, always darting off here and there without real explanation. Loneliness wasn’t new to her, having become accustomed to it during the war, but she had felt lonely when he was home. He was there, but he wasn’t her’s when he was, regardless of what he told her.

She thought of his nightmares, feeling tears slip down her cheeks. “I couldn’t reach you.”

Folding in on herself, she started to sob. Watching how he defended Palpatine in spite of all the evidence against him, watching how he had turned against her, the one he promised to always love, for the sake of Palpatine... She knew she could never have told him about the group she had formed with Bail. She had distanced herself from him, withdrawing without even realizing it. Had this been her fault? She had reached out to Obi-Wan because she thought he could make a difference where she hadn’t. It had all been futile, hadn’t it?

Love was supposed to be powerful, but in the end it wasn’t. Because this isn’t love, she sniffed as she straightened, how could a great love be built on so many lies and secrets? I was right. It would destroy us, and it did. The light above the surface was streaming down on her face. She started to kick towards it, propelling herself forward with tired resolve.

She had been cold to him in the end, telling him she wouldn’t follow him, but it was the right thing to do. She knew that in her bones, because before she had been a Skywalker, she had been Amidala. Regardless of her marital status, she was, and would still always be Padmé Amidala.

Padmé Amidala was a fierce champion of others. She was a Senator, a former Queen, and a soon-to-be mother. Any power she ever sought was for the sake of love. Love for her people, love for the galaxy and democracy. It was that love for her people that made it impossible for her to follow her husband. It was that love for her people that was well known, which made the fact that he would even ask her to turn her back on them sting all the more.

Someone who loved her would never ask her to do that.

He said this was all for her, but she wasn’t the one grabbing for power. He was. This wasn’t done out of love. It was done out of jealousy and greed, and he was too blind to even realize it. Padmé shut her eyes tight as she was about to break through the surface. Was love even real?

Padmé opened her eyes to gaze upon Obi-Wan Kenobi. In his arms were two precious bundles that she had named. They were hers. They were his. She swallowed. Could she even do this without Anakin? Would they even be safe with her? Or would they be better off without her? There were so many questions that she didn’t have the answer to, and she probably never would. Her head was spinning and her focus was gone.

She was so incredibly tired. Every breath was difficult. Her heart felt tight with the knowledge that everything she’d stood for was gone. Everything she dreamed was gone. Her hope was slowly fading. Although those two children were beautiful, they were also reminders that hurt so much to look at.

Obi-Wan was pleading with her, but she barely heard him, eyes trailing him slowly. Yes, he will take care of them for me. She trusted him. With her life, and with theirs. Her eyes fluttered closed as she only felt her heartbeat resonating in her chest.

Good god, I’m done, she thought weakly.

She thought of amber-eyed Anakin on Mustafar.

Her heart clenched in her chest.

Love wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Padmé’s breathing slowed to almost a halt.

How can you call this love when it hurts so much? she thought sadly.

She exhaled for the last time.

A small, quiet voice whispered, “This isn’t love.”

#padmé amidala #padme amidala #padmé naberrie #star wars #star wars prequels #revenge of the sith #rots #anakin skywalker #anidala?#obi-wan kenobi

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taking-over-his-life · 3 years

Text

Colt

Written by my internet friend Colt many years ago.

I woke up to the intense pain like that of a migraine headache. I could feel every hair on my body it seemed, with an undertow of muscle aches all over my body. My mind was spinning round and round, trying to figure out where I was. The room was dark, I could sense that the room was strangely familiar, but I couldn’t make the connection. Oh, the pain, how I wished it would go away. As I grappled to sit upright, the pain instantly started to tighten its grip on my head. My eyes started adjusting to the darkness of the room. Fear and panic started to run through my mind, this just wasn’t where I remember going to sleep.

The last thing that I remember was that I had gone to a friend’s party. I had started feeling strange at the party so I had left and went home. I vaguely recall entering my house and going to my bedroom and falling face first onto my bed. And that was all I wrote.

But, now here I am in this room that I have no idea how I came to be in. My eyes started adjusting to the darkness of the room. I could make out that there were two small kids sleeping on cots, and another person that I could hear breathing but couldn't place where they were. I realized that I was now sitting up on a sleeping bag that was on the floor. My brain struggled to figure out where the hell I was. Completely paralyzed by the fear I felt continued its grip on me. And the ungodly pain in my head. I couldn't even wish that much pain on even my worst enemy. Yet, for some reason, the surroundings were so familiar, but I couldn't make the connection with my excruciating level of pain. I must be having one of my migraines and hallucinating at the same time. That was the only explanation that I could think of at this point.

When I quit trying so hard to remember my surroundings, the answer hit me with a vengeance. The room I was in was my Aunt and Uncle’s basement. Their basement had a one very large room with a pool table, tables, couches, and a bar. Ok, I must be dreaming, this just can’t be real. It didn’t make any sense to me. As I sat up on the sleeping bag, I realized that I was wearing full biker leathers. Judging by what I could feel against my skin, I had on a pair of leather pants tucked into tall boots, a leather shirt, a leather jacket and tight fitting gloves on. The leather felt very warm, moist, and sweat soaked against my skin. The leather felt like it fit me like a glove all over my body which felt soothing on my ragged nerves. My eyes had now adjusted to the darkness and I could see well enough to get around the basement.

I NEED air! I couldn’t make any sense of how I come to be in these surroundings. I was still petrified of what has happened to me, and maybe some fresh air will help. I carefully stepped around the obstacles in the basement, acting like a cat trying not to make a sound as I made my way upstairs. The boots and leathers I was wearing started to make plenty of noise, so I did my best to adjust my movements to quiet down the leather creaking. It seemed as though my hearing abilities were magnified greatly over normal, it must have been the fact that it was dark in the room and of course the fear I was experiencing. It seemed to take forever climbing up the non-carpeted steps without making any discernable level of noise. After climbing up the steps, I found myself in the kitchen. I needed something to drink to my quench my dry mouth. I carefully opened up the fridge and grabbed a Mountain Dew (I almost did not recognize the Mountain Dew can) and left the kitchen. Finding the back door to the house, I gently opened the door so as to not wake anyone up. I stepped outside onto the cool patio cement floor, it was obviously summer time. I set my Mountain Dew down on the patio table. The night was deafening to me, it just seemed too quiet for some reason. As I sat down on a bench on the patio in the bright moonlight, I could see something that almost gave me a heart attack. In the driveway were my cousin’s Torino, '40 Ford and my Uncle’s Dodge truck that they had back in the early 70s. Also in the driveway were two Harley Davidson motorcycles. The Harleys could explain why I'm clad in full biker leathers. This can’t be real! I went and looked at the license plate of truck, and it had 1973 stamped into it. Looking out towards the front of the house, I could see my Dad’s GMC pickup truck with its camper shell on it that we had back then too. In front of Dad's truck, was a Chevy Malibu. It looked as though we were on one our annual summer vacations back to Denver Colorado. I could feel something in one of the pockets of my jacket; it was a pack of Marlboro reds in a box that were just a bit smashed. I managed to pull out a few cigs without breaking them. The cigs were not totally damaged, just a bit bent from being squished a bit in my jacket from laying on them. My hands were very shaky trying to strike a match to light up that magic first Marlboro. My leather covered hands finally made the match come to life and lit that first Marlboro. I took a very slow and deep drag, feeling my tenseness starting to subside

somewhat. Exhaling slowly making smoke rings in the night air with the bright moonlight casting its light on the rings. The smoke rings against the bright moonlit night fascinated me for a few minutes distracting me from my situation. I was completely puzzled, trying to figure out a rational explanation for my predicament. I could only remember that when I went to sleep last night, the year was 2003, 30 years from where I was now. And all of a sudden I realized I’m NOT the same person. In the summer of 1973, I was only 9 years old, how could I be this adult sized person? As I finished that first cig, I started to panic again with a new found fear, I lit another cig. Then I popped the top of the Mountain Dew can on the table. I took a big gulp of the magic Mountain Dew, cooling my throat all of the way down to my stomach.

Realizing that there was something in one of the jacket pockets, I reached into the pocket pulled out a wallet. I slowly opened the wallet, afraid of what I would find; I hadn’t even looked at myself in a mirror yet. Using the bright moonlight, I looked at a driver’s license for someone that never existed, yet here it is. The license was a Florida driver’s license. Well, my family used to live there in 1973. I carefully inspected the license, looking at the picture, the printed information, realizing that I must truly be this “new” person. The name printed on the license was Kirk Derek Colten McCormack; the birthday was October 15, 1956; and the address was where we had lived in Florida at that time. OOOOOh my God!!!!! I must be somebody else, but in my own family? The Twilight Zone was REALLY happening to me I thought. My hands still shaking, I lit another cig. Right now, I couldn’t get enough nicotine to alleviate my fears and anxieties. At that point, I couldn’t discern one reality from the next. I was in a REAL Twilight Zone. Where was Rod Serling? He had to be around here somewhere telling the television audience of my predicament it seemed. Did I really look like the guy in the license picture? My curiosity compelled me to run over to my Uncle’s truck to look in the mirror to see what I looked like. The reflection startled me so much that I jumped back a bit after the initial view of myself in the mirror. It was ME, the guy in the license picture and in the mirror. Yikes! I could swear I must be having a nervous crack-up or something.

I know I must be dreaming this whole thing. I thought I should just go inside and go to sleep and I will reawake in the year 2003 where I belong as Jeremy McCormack. Quietly opening the back door to the house, I slipped inside. I decided to lay down on the couch in the family room. To my relief I fell asleep rather quickly.

Chapter Two

I awoke suddenly to someone shaking my shoulder. I opened my eyes slowly, hoping that I had just been experiencing a vivid nightmare and that all was back to normal. My Aunt Ruth and I made eye contact and it startled me. Oh, my God! It looked as though I was going to continue to suffer this mind bending nightmare. Aunt Ruth was talking to me, but I really couldn’t make sense of what she was saying. She repeated what she had just said to me. Aunt Ruth kept saying that I didn’t look very well, and that I appeared to have a very high fever. Her hands were like ice on my face. Aunt Ruth said it must be all of the leather I was wearing. I think I was delirious to say the least. All of a sudden, my “brother” Jeremy and sisters Rebecca and Jeanette popped their faces in front of me asking me if I was alright. I jumped back a bit again, seeing my “own” self in front of me. At that moment I was truly freaked out and jumpy to say the least. It seemed like everyone in the house (my parents, cousins, brother and sisters and my Aunt and Uncle) were surrounding me like I was the star attraction, looking at me making their own diagnosis of the situation. I could sense that they must have thought I was high on something, because of the way I was acting (not realizing at the moment that Colt experimented with drugs occasionally). Finally I sat up, still feeling dizzy. I finally convinced everyone that I had a migraine last night and just needed to take a shower and clean up and that that would help me feel better. I somehow managed to stand up even though I was a little disoriented and negotiated the steep staircase to the basement. I now realized that I was feeling the same way I did when I went asleep in 2003. Someone must have slipped me some kind of drug back in 2003, and I was just having a brilliant nightmare. My thoughts were that I must go with the flow of this “dream” so I could survive it and then it would be over and I could return to who I was originally.

I went downstairs into the basement. I found where "my" stuff was which was in a duffle type bag next to a sleeping bag on the floor near my Uncle's pool table. I opened up the bag to go through the duffle bag looking for some clothes to change into after I took a shower. Somehow I had to get some time alone, to try and get my wits together. While I continued to be in deep thought, Dad walked over to me asked whether or not that I felt good enough to still go on our planned motorcycle ride. I quickly answered that I thought it sounded groovy. Going for a motorcycle ride would most definitely give me the time to sort things out without too many interruptions. I could then deal with my situations without my family thinking that I was an absolute stoner and high on something.

I went back to rummaging through the duffle bag so I could get a better idea of who I was now, that is when I discovered quite a surprise. I had mostly motorcycle leathers, 3 or 4 pairs of leather pants, several pairs of tall boots, several pair of leather western shirts, a leather vest and several motorcycle jackets completed the leather gear. The scent of the leather gave me a momentary "high" that I could never get enough of to tell the truth. I was rather stunned for a minute. The leather gear was very soft and actually rather stylish for the time. Several pairs of the leather pants, some were the 70s style bell bottom styles. A couple pairs of pants were vintage (to me any how) motorcycle styled with zippered pockets instead of the regular kind of pockets. What surprised me was the fact, that there were motorcycle leathers in the suitcase. My last “lifetime,” we didn’t own any street motorcycles, just an old dirt bike. The rest was the usual 70s styled clothes and stuff of the like. There was also a small box that was full of Indian turquoise silver jewelry.

I settled on a set of leathers similar to what I was already wearing. A sleeveless black leather western shirt, a pair of breeches, and a pair of highly polished knee high engineer boots (which I had on at the moment). I went to the bathroom, closed the door, and began to take off my sweat soaked leathers. I started with taking off my gloves. On my fingers were several Indian silver rings and a wide silver bracelet laden with different colors of turquoise. When I slipped off my jacket, I noticed a wide black leather watchband. I sat down on the toilet and pulled off my glossy boots. When I took off my leather shirt, I felt that I had a few silver necklaces around my neck. I pulled off a leather strap that held my long hair into a pony tail. I felt a thick mustache on my face that was shaped like an upside down horseshoe. I finished getting undressed and turned on the hot water to the shower and slowly entered the stream of hot water. The hot steamy water of the shower beating down on my face felt so refreshing.

I soaped myself up thoroughly not paying attention to my "new" body. I did notice that when I was washing my hair that I had several earrings pierced in my left ear. I must be really into jewelry. My life in 2003 I could have cared less when it came to any kind of jewelry. The hot water soothed and relaxed my entire body. After I was rinsed clean I stepped out of the shower and dried myself off. That was when I noticed that there was a full length mirror on the back side of the bathroom door. I took a towel and cleaned the steam off of the mirror. I looked in the mirror, and I noticed my “new” body was quite attractive. The reflection of my “new” face in the mirror was a young teenager and those pearly whites were flawless looking. I stood probably about 6' tall and my body was very muscular as though I spent years lifting weights. My straight, thick, long, dark brown hair fell between my shoulder blades. My long brown hair was so soft and silky. My face had chiseled features with a pearly white smile that was just flawless. My thick soft manicured mustache made me look like a rock star with my long hair. I could now see the ear piercings in my left ear. My darkly tanned skin was smooth, tight, with a soft and fine covering of dark brown hair all over. My eyes were an unusual purple color that could mesmerize anyone. My strong hands started feeling all over my body sensing the newness of it all. My hands of course found their way to my crotch. My hands found my cock with huge balls and started working it over a bit. In just seconds, it stood tall and proud at least 12 inches long and nicely thick. Within another minute, I shot a huge load all over the full length mirror on the back side of the bathroom door. The orgasm seemed to last for minutes, and a release that I so desperately needed. At that moment, I froze for a moment as I shockingly discovered that I was staring at TWO cocks both hard as a rock. When I had shot my load, it came from BOTH cocks. Ok, so now I am some sort of freak was the next thought on my mind. But then I realized that two cocks were better than one, with double the pleasurable sensations. I guess it won't be that bad being a freak.

Chapter Three

My mind realized that I had better finish getting dressed. I slipped on the cool black sleeveless western leather shirt. The shirt fit like it was tailored for a perfect fit. I only snapped the front of the shirt about halfway exposing the valley of my chest between my well defined pecs and the brilliant silver necklaces. I placed the wide watchband on next. I kept all of the jewelry on while I took my shower as didn't want to deal with that detail. Then I slipped into the black leather breeches (these breeches were non-flared) making sure that I adjusted for my cocks, one down each leg. The fly was made with exposed metal snaps from the crotch all the way up to the waistband. Rather sexy looking I thought. My thighs filled out the legs of the breeches so smoothly. I tucked in my smooth black leather sleeveless western styled shirt. Then I snapped up the fly of the breeches and buckled up the wide basket weave belt. The pant legs, now that was a different story. Each leg had a zipper that extended from crotch to the bottom of each pant leg. I put on a pair of socks and then I zipped myself tightly into each leg of the breeches. The leathers that I had just shoehorned myself into were the tightest leathers that I had ever remembered wearing in my other life. At the bottom of each leg was an elastic stirrup that looked like it was designed to keep my breeches from bunching up when I sat or stood up. The breeches fit perfectly like the shirt. The breeches fit so smoothly that there was no way I could put much of anything into the pockets. Next, I pulled on my highly polished tall engineer boots which the boot shafts came to just under my knees that were made by Dehner Boot Company. The closest way I could describe how I looked for the most part was that of Maxwell Caulfield in the movie "Grease 2" when he was in his slick full leathers at the end of the movie. I stared at myself in the full length mirror on the door admiring myself for a few minutes and absolutely delighted with what I saw. I was a little narcissistic for a few minutes at my killer looks. I finished getting ready by brushing my hair and teeth. I tied up my long hair into a pony tail with a strip of black leather with a snap on it. I was as ready as I could be to face more of my continuing dream.

Mom (who wouldn’t be my Mother this time around obviously - because Mom and Dad hadn’t gotten married until 1961), knocked on the door to see if I was done, so Dad could clean up. I told her a few more minutes and I would be done. I quickly cleaned up my mess and finished getting myself together.

I went back to my sleeping bag and grabbed my 50s D-pocket styled motorcycle jacket which I noticed was lined in a light weight red perforated leather and a pair of black tight fitting gloves. The gloves I placed into my breeches back zippered pocket about half way in. I gently placed my mirrored aviator sunglasses on the front of my leather shirt where it was snapped up halfway. Where I placed the glasses drew attention to my exposed chest. These few details such as the gloves in my breeches pocket, and hanging the sunglasses onto my shirt just seemed to flow out of me naturally. I could feel my raw sexual energy emanating from my body which I had no control over. There seemed to be an overwhelming power over me on how I carried myself (as Colt). My movements seemed to be guided by that power that I couldn't put my finger on. I guess it must have been Colt's sub consciousness that was controlling me. It seemed as thought my mind was an overlay on top of Colt's mind.

I double checked to make sure my wallet was still in my jacket and grabbed another pack of Marlboros and matches which I put into a pocket of the leather shirt. I went upstairs to the kitchen where Aunt Ruth offered me breakfast, but I decided on a couple of cans of Mountain Dew instead. My nerves were too shot to eat anything right now. My sisters, brother (me before this dream started), and Mother were in the kitchen eating breakfast with my Aunt. Dad was downstairs in the basement getting ready to go on our ride.

I went outside onto the patio with my smokes and the cans of Mountain Dew. Sitting there on the patio smoking and taking big gulps of Mountain Dew my mind was doing quick flashes of my "life" as Colt. The temperature was warming up quickly. It must have been around 80 F now, sunny with brilliant blue clear skies. The time was probably around 10:00 am. The warmth of the day made my leathers start to glue themselves to my skin. The sensations of the leather against my body began to turn me on. I was becoming highly aroused at this point.

I decided to find a distraction to suppress my hormones for a while. I turned to my mounting curiosity to check out things around the house to see if I could remember more. So I decided to walk around and check things out. I walked around the house to the front yard and was checking out what I thought was a Malibu that I saw last night (I was a car enthusiast back in 2003 so this car was intriguing). When I got closer to the car, I noticed that there were not any Malibu or Chevrolet nameplates on the car. There were a lot of differences from that of a Malibu. At first I thought it was a customized car but there were nameplates that read Beaumont SD and 396. The nameplates had a maple leaf on them. The car must be Canadian. I thought what a strange name for a car and perplexed as to why it was in the States. As I did a quick look over of the car, it became apparent that I was beginning to "remember" more and more of Colt (and less of my former self) and that the Beaumont was mine. The Beaumont was red inside and out and appeared to have every gadget you could possibly order on a car back then when it was new. The car just plain sparkled. I must have been a stickler for keeping it looking impressive all of the time.

As I returned to the patio to sit down, everybody except Dad and I were leaving to go visit our Grandparents. I lit another Marlboro and opened the other can of Mountain Dew. I sat transfixed upon the gleaming Harleys sitting in the driveway. One of the Harleys was a red and black Electra Glide with a bunch of accessories and goodies on it. The other Electra Glide was silver and was a bit more spartan. My mind was flashing more bits of Colt's memory. I then knew that the red and black Electra Glide was mine. It was a '70 model that I paid cash for. I thought how could a teenager pay cash for a late model Harley? I probably would remember the answer to that question soon as well. The silver Electra Glide belonged to Dad and it was a '65 model (the first year of the electric start Harleys). I noticed that the driveway was clear of the cars and truck. Everyone but my Aunt must have gone to work. On the far side of the garage was a trailer. I suddenly remembered that Dad had towed the trailer from home. Dad brought the Harleys in it and some of our luggage.

Dad called out to me from the back door of the house. He said he would be ready in about 10 minutes. I went inside and grabbed my jacket. I slipped on my 50s motorcycle jacket. The red leather lining felt terrific against my naked arms. I stuffed my smokes into my shirt pocket. Gently pulling my sunglasses from the front of my shirt I slid them onto my face adjusting them for the perfect position. I grabbed my black leather gloves from the back pocket of my breeches and slowly worked each glove onto my strong hands. I found the keys to the Harley in one of the jacket pockets. I moaned softly with the pleasurable sensations of being totally engulfed in tight fitting, shiny, and highly polished black leathers. DAMN! I knew at that moment that I was HOT looking exuding sexual energy at full power. My cocks started to snake down each leg with considerable strain as my tightly leather clad legs were doing its best to prevent it. I knew that it would be just a matter of time before I would shoot a considerable size load of cum down each leg. At that point I didn't care, I welcomed it actually.

I loved it! I went outside to the bikes and started my Harley. Dad walked out of the house (and locked the door) fully clad in glistening black leather from his neck down. I realized that I had an air of confidence that I had never felt or experienced even in my "previous life" being around my Father. Dad's personality was totally different from my last "life". Dad and I (Colt) seemed to have a very tight knit bond between us in this life. Dad was now a very cheerful person and was insistent on having fun whenever possible. He also had a very different physical build of his body. He was much more muscular than he was in the other realm. We both seemed to feed one liners to each other so we were laughing a lot.

Chapter Four

Dad strutted over to his bike fluidly. It was almost sexy. He started his gleaming silver Harley Electra Glide. My bike was pretty much all warmed up and ready to go. Oh the feel of the exhaust pulsating from the two Harleys just made my pulse quicken and start my adrenaline pumping. Oh I was pretty excited about going for the ride. I told Dad told me to lead the way as I knew how to get to Evergreen by going the long way. We were going to have lunch in Evergreen and then cruise around and head back to my Aunt and Uncle's house in Westminster. Dad thought our ride should last about 4-5 hours. I then lowered myself on to my vibrating Electra Glide. The vibrations made my cocks come to life again. I slowly zipped up my 50s leather jacket up to the snapped lapels. I reached up and turned up my collar to look "cool". This ride is going to be great I thought. I kicked my bike into first gear and slowly let the clutch out and I was heading down the driveway. I gently eased the bike onto the street with Dad behind me. Once I was on the street, I had to just let loose on the throttle and raced Dad to the end of the street. Dad was right beside me. Oh, my gawd, this was certainly better than the Harley I had in 2003. Just feeling the raw power of the Harley going down the road was thrilling my senses. We headed over to the Boulder Turnpike and went towards Boulder. The warm sun beating down on my black leathers and the wind in my face and from the speed going down the highway was so invigorating. I surely enjoyed the wind blowing through my long hair. Between feeling the heat from my leathers to the vibration from the engine of the Harley, I suddenly shot copious amounts of cum down my legs in my leather breeches. Oh that felt so good! What a way to have an orgasm! I didn’t care that I was going to have a mess to clean out of my breeches when we were done with our ride.

As Dad and I approached Boulder (it sure looked different from what I remember in 2003), my mind was starting to remember more memories of Colt the “brother” I had become. I was beginning to see more and more memories flashing in my mind. It was so strange to feel my two lives becoming one. More memories began to come through the more relaxed I became. My old life was starting to fade to where it was beginning to seem like it was the dream. The real Colt personality was taking over my old personality little by little. I could feel the transformation take over me. I was feeling so revitalized with more energy and drive, but with a sense of a responsibility that I was here to accomplish something that I couldn’t do previously. On the west side of Boulder, Dad and I turned onto Hwy. 93 heading south towards Golden. Oh, the thrill of it all. Everything seemed to be making more sense and I started feeling more comfortable with myself being Colt. I decided to let my mind relax enough so that I could remember more of Colt's memories. Being on the motorcycle with the wind in my hair I now was able to be by myself to where I could just let the memories flow through.

#male body swap #body swap #body switch #bodyswap #leather boots

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iwantitiwriteit · 4 years

Text

Love Lockdown - Part 2

Big Girl With a Brave Face

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Summary: You brace yourself for your FaceTime with Chris.

Warnings: Angst, Pandemic backdrop, Profanity

Notes: More heart strumming feels! Read the previous part! Gonna try and put these up on Monday’s starting next week 8/10, along with In My Feelings Monday™, when my asks will be open for all your romantic musings! Let’s get sweet and sappy y’all! I know you wanna 🥰

The sun shines down, a crisp wind whisking by you every so often; applause for your hard work in the garden. You found a circadian rhythm. Grasp, pull, dump. Grasp, pull, dump. It afforded you an opportunity to get lost in thought… and memory.

You just don’t get it, do you?

Baby, I want to!

Why didn’t you say anything?

Would it have mattered?

I think we can both agree we need the space…

We need to talk…

I love you.

I love you too.

“Are you okay Aunty?” Iris’ innocent voice drifts into your trance but doesn’t break it completely.

You absentmindedly respond. “Uh huh. Why do you ask?”

“Probably ‘cos you're pulling at those weeds so ferociously I think you might’ve got a few good plants,” Ines answers for her younger sister, the teenage ‘tude snapping you to reality.

You assess your handiwork and sure enough, in your pile of weeds, some good plants lie there with them, undeservedly plucked from the earth. “Oh, my bad,” you sheepishly apologize.

“It’s okay. The only difference between a weed and a flower is judgment. Here,” Ines shuffles over to your spot.

“Ines, you’re wise beyond your years, you know that?” You stand up, placing your palms on your lower back, arching and stretching in a moment of respite. Looking over your nieces tending to the greenery you botched, their youthful vigor bring a genuine smile to your face. Those have been few and far in between these days.

“I know, right? Could you tell my mom for me?” she kids, making you laugh. “It couldn’t have been that long since it was you and Mama doing this,” Ines smirks at you briefly before refocusing on rerooting.

You chuckle, “Ha! Feels like a lifetime ago. But, yeah, it really hasn’t been that long. Guess I just kinda lost touch.”

“Do you miss it? Do you miss being here?” Iris asks.

“Umm… honestly?” The both of them look up at you, eyes wide and expectant. “I thought I didn’t. L.A. can be blinding in that way. But now that I’m here, I feel a little more… myself. Not to mention that I’ve missed you girls soo much! C’mere!”

A niece under each arm, hugging your middle tightly, you can feel how much they’ve missed you as well. You want to be a better aunt to them. Your love for your family is as expansive as the family farm you marvel at in front of you. Acres of green going beyond the quaint garden near the house, with the barn just behind the rustic office and rec building where the farmers are currently gathered for lunch just a few feet away. But your feelings were much like half your sister’s employees as of late; they didn’t show, especially in crisis.

Through one of the windows, you catch sight of a familiar profile; hand to his temple pressing deep into his smooth, mahogany skin, thick, dark brows knitted together in concentration, plump lips puckered as he writes furiously, occasionally taking a bite of his sandwich. He must feel your eyes because he looks up to meet them, breaking focus from his working lunch. The hand that was to his temple is now raised for a tentative wave, just as the corner of his mouth is raised for a beautiful, sweet smile.

Your shoulders tense, your wave is curt, and your smile is barely there. You avert your eyes not wanting to see the effect of your abrupt actions.

“I know Keith is glad you’re back, too.” You look down to see Iris looking up at you, her 10 year old face contorted into her best suggestive look.

Ines rolls her eyes at her sister’s antics, “Oh, stop it! She’s already got the most perfect, dreamy boyfriend, remember?”

“Well, I’ve never met him. Have you? How do we know if he’s even real?”

“She’s got a point. Why haven’t we met him yet?”

“If he thinks he's too good to come down south, meet your family, let me tell you something Aunty, that’s not the kind of man you should be with.”

“I don’t think Aunty had ‘take dating advice from a child’ on her quarantine to-do list. Maybe he’s just busy; he is a movie star— correction— a superhero! Superhero equals stable income, stable income means husband material. Simple math.”

“Well, Keith has a stable and would never be too busy for her!”

“Keith runs a stable… a horse stable. Not exactly a selling point, right Aunty?”

“Aunty, tell her she’s wrong!”

The girls get to bickering and you wipe your forehead, not too sure if it’s from the heat or the interrogation you’re enduring. You check your watch. 1:39 pm.

“Shit!” Your exclamation silences your nieces as they whip their heads towards you. “Sorry ladies,” you offer an apologetic smile for the obscenity. “I, uh, gotta get ready for a call. Let’s turn it in early, yeah?” They race in the house without a second thought, and you trail behind them.

You remove your shoes in the mud room, then stalk down the hall toward the main part of the house. You wave to your sister as you pass her home office where she’s pacing, busy on the phone, swamped in paperwork. She waves you over with a confused face and shrugs as she sees her girls buzzing around.

You go to lean in the door jamb of her office as she asks, “What brings y’all inside so early? Wasn’t expecting you to be back in for another couple hours.”

“I have that FaceTime call at 2 I gotta get ready for, remember?”

“Right, right… remind me again. It’s for a writing gig?” she asks, sifting through her mountain of papers, as distracted as she was this morning when you told her your afternoon plans.

“Uh, no. It’s um, with… Chris,” your voice trails off with each word.

Your sister whips her head around, interest now piqued. “Really? That’s good, right?”

You shrug and sigh, indifference in your expression, “It’s, y'know… whatever, Mina.”

Wilhelmina furrows her brows, “What’s wrong?” Before you could contemplate an excuse, she puts a finger up to you, “Yes, thank you, I’m trying to get in touch with…” she answers to the person on the other line.

Your watch buzzes with your 15 minute reminder for your FaceTime with Chris. “I gotta go,” you tell your sister, before turning to head upstairs. The ascension to the second level feels like a death march, the impending doom of your relationship finally setting in. Each step feels increasingly weighted. Once at the top of the staircase, you pinch the bridge of your nose as if that will alleviate your anxieties.

“Let’s get you ready,” Wilhelmina’s maternal voice drifts to you as she comes up the stairs, melting your nerves a little. She shoots you a pity smile before ushering you into your guest room, where you make a B-line for the bathroom.

You take your time and delicately wash away the grime and sweat from your face. It’s like a Neutrogena commercial, the way you come up from the sink, staring yourself in the mirror. You take note of the creases in your forehead caused by your tense brows, the pain in your eyes, your overall sullen expression. And this feeling. This feeling is like being suspended mid-air, knowing the dreadful drop was any minute now.

You know very well who is in control of the drop. You just don’t know when you gave up that control to him. The only thing you can do now is go with grace. In an effort to have some sense of control, you did what anyone in your situation would do: You turned to Google.

“what to do when your boyfriend is about to break up with you” is what you typed into the search engine this morning. You felt like a teenager. Young and dumb. Like you’d never been in a relationship before. Like you’d never been broken up with before. None of this is new. And yet, it is. You hadn’t been here before. You hadn’t known this feeling before.

The feeling of knowing the one to make the dreadful drop happen is the same one that you love more than you knew was even possible, and damn did it hurt like hell. But could it have hurt more than knowing you’re the one that brought him to this point? Especially when you know these deep feelings are requited? The love is requited.

Who knows. You just file these feelings away for later in the hopes that it’ll inspire your pen. Right now it’s time to put on a brave face. You’ve gotten so good at it.

“So, what brought this on?” Wilhelmina inquiries after a few minutes of you lollygagging in front of the bathroom mirror.

“Oh, umm… well, he called last night. It was the first time we talked since—”

“You got here.”

“Yeah, but who’s counting,” your deadpan earns you a disapproving look from your sister. You’ve learned to ignore it. You check the time. 5 til. “Ugh, I don’t have time to pretty myself up. Breakups are ugly anyways; guess I’ll have to be, too,” you joke, leaving Whilelmina bewildered.

“Wait, what? You’re dumping him? I know it’s tough, trust me, I get it, but—”

“No... he’s gonna dump me,” you correct her.

“What would make you think that?”

“I don’t know, maybe cos he said ‘we need to talk… for real’,” you mock his deep voice; it’s how you read his text last night in your head, “and we all know what that means…”

“Hold up, it doesn’t necessarily mean that!”

“C’mon Mina! It’s textbook breakup prep!”

“Maybe for a teenager, but he’s a grown ass man. If he says he wants to talk, he probably just wants to talk.”

“Yeah, about dumping you…” Ines mumbles under her breath from the doorway. Wilhelmina stares daggers into her mouthy daughter, and she shrinks away to mind her business.

You continue to get ready, mainly focusing on laying your edges before finding a new shirt. “So, why would he suggest we quarantine separately knowing we had issues we were working on?” you debate your sister.

“Because like he said: you need some space. Totally normal for maintaining a healthy relationship.”

“Is it though? Cos when I say “I need space”, I’m thinking about making an exit. And that’s on a good, non-pandemic day. Hell, our issues alone would make me bow out. Now you add this stressful shit on top?”

“Then why haven’t you?”

Her simple question makes you stop in tracks, your brave face wavering for just a moment. “B-Because— it doesn’t matter. He’s ending things with me, in,” you check the time, “3 minutes. And I don’t blame him! I’ve been a mess lately! An emotional wreck lately! You should’ve heard me last night, it was gross!”

Wilhelmina starts to chuckle at your dramatics, but you can tell she’s laughing at you, not with you. “What’s so funny?”

“Sweetheart, you’d have to show emotions to be an emotional wreck. I think you skipped a few steps.”

“Whatever,” you roll your eyes as you peel off your sweaty shirt and toss it in the laundry basket. You take your wash cloth to dab your underarms before putting on a nicer top. A proper shower will have to wait til later.

“I’ll have you know that I do, in fact, have emotions. I just channel them into my writing, to avoid sapping them all over any- and everyone… like some people I know,” you quirk your brow and tilt your head in Wilhelmina‘s direction.

“Girl, whatever! From what you told me, Chris is as much a romantic as I am, maybe even more so. You don’t hate it as much as you let on. Just admit it.”

You slowly turn away from Wilhelmina to primp yourself in the full length mirror. She follows you, glaring at you in hopes she will break you down. You decide to throw her a bone.

“Last night, I told him how we should’ve been together right now. There was even a quiver in my voice because I do really, really miss him. It was all so, so...” Your sister’s hands are clutching her chest, eyes glazed like she was watching a romcom. She’d finally gotten through to you. “… so pathetic.” Or so she’d thought. The sound of frustration that came from her amused you greatly, your eyes now glazed from crying of laughter.

“See, that’s what the hell I'm talking about! If he brings emotion— vulnerability— out of you, why do you resist? He’s worth keeping around, sis. I would think you: an artist, a writer for god’s sakes, would find some value in that.”

You stare straight ahead, fixing imaginary stray curls in your hair, and avoiding eye contact with Wilhelmina. She awaits your response, brows raised, neck craned toward you, hands below her chest with palms up, as if to say ‘Sooo...???’. You wondered how long she’d stay like that before you said something. “Are you done?”

Your sister sighs, and it’s quickly followed by ringing from your laptop. You both look in its direction, then at each other. The moment you’d been bracing for all day is here. You hesitantly move towards the chair at your desk where your laptop is sat.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Wilhelmina says before excusing herself. You almost didn’t want her to go. But you’ve got to be a big girl with a brave face.

“One last thing?” you twist in your chair to look at her in your doorway, “I know who made you believe that big girls don’t cry, but it’s bullshit. It’s good to feel. It’s okay to show it sometimes, too. Especially with the ones who showed and proved they won’t judge you for it,” she motions to your still ringing computer before closing your door.

You turn back to your desk, swallowing thickly. Here goes. You answer the call and Chris’ smiling face fills your screen. That beautiful face that’s worth doing right by.

“Hey baby! For a second there, I thought you wouldn’t answer,” he nervously chuckles.

You smile at him but it doesn’t reach your eyes. He senses your apprehension. Even through a screen, he’s perceptive. Chris starts to small talk, rambling about work and the weather, intending to ease your guard down before getting to the tough stuff. But it’s absolutely painful pretending to be strangers.

“Chris?”

“Yes honey?”

“I don’t wanna do this with you.”

Part 3

#chris evans fanfiction #chris evans fan fiction #chris evans imagine #chris evans one shot #Chris Evans series #chris evans x black reader #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans x y/n #chris evans x female reader #chris evans x poc!reader #chris evans angst #chris evans x woc #chris evans series #chris evans #love lockdown series

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suga-kookiemonster · 4 years

Note

1) This is not supposed to come off the with any hate but simply my opinion and constructive criticism. I understand the world is a really hard place right now and we all have a lot going on but that being said I don’t feel like it’s ok for you to get angry at people when they ask about an update coming on ur work. People are simply asking questions and u get pissy. I don’t know it rubs me the wrong way when I see writers reply rudely to people simply asking when they’re going to post the work.

2) instead of assuming that people are being pushy just assume that they’re being very genuine. People really enjoy your work and just want to know when the updates are coming they aren’t trying to be pushy. Before you think I’m somebody that this is happened to you I’m not I just don’t like seeing writers being rude. Again this is meant with no hate I hope you have a good night I just felt like I wanted to share this.

LMAO! the sense of entitlement and wannabe gaslighting you have 😂let me break it down for you since your head seems to be up your own ass and you understandably have a hard time seeing anything other than your own shit:

faq stands for “frequently asked questions”. i set up that page because i have tens of thousands of followers and it is tiring and gives me anxiety to have to answer the same question over and over and over, especially when it’s about updates. i also have an updates page that tells you what i’m working on and what’s on the horizon. the fact that the name of my inbox is literally “read faq first" and people still ignore it? disrespectful and embarrassing. me asking someone to read my faq/update pages before sending me an ask is not rude. it is practical, and it is me enforcing my boundaries on MY OWN space to protect MY OWN time and mental health. which brings me to:

this is my fucking blog. if you don’t like how i run it, you can leave. no one is holding a gun to your head, no one will miss you--just click out, sweetheart 🤦🏽‍♀️

i am an adult with a full-time job that i am struggling to keep during a GLOBAL PANDEMIC who writes for fun and for FREE. and i am not alone in that--because we!!!gasp!!!all have actual lives outside of this website, 99% of writers in this fandom hate being asked about updates. we all talk to each other, and we hate it! especially because most of the time people don’t come into our inboxes to leave feedback--they come with their hands held out, simply do so to ask for more more MORE, WHEN WILL I HAVE IT?? it’s stressful and exhausting and not at all what anyone should consistently be experiencing with a hobby. us writers post update pages and faqs and politely ask you not to come into our inboxes with certain questions in an effort to alleviate some of the pressure and anxiety from what is supposed to be a fun pastime. i am under ZERO (0) obligation to give you anything, and if you can’t respect me or my space or my time, then you get nothing. PERIOD. why do you think our fandom is losing so many content creators? if y’all can’t act with some sense and stop treating content creators like your personal fic-making machines instead of actual people behind the keyboards, then soon there will be no content for you to consume at all!!! who woulda thought 🙄

anyway, i’m baffled that you had the audacity to send this and am really irritated that this is the first thing i saw this morning. what a great start to the day smh. if you feel that me simply pointing people to my faq is “rude” and “pissy”, then i truly don’t know how you survive in the real world where society has many different rules that must be followed, all differing dependent on which spaces you choose to inhabit (the rules and boundaries of your house are different than the rules and boundaries of your workplace are different from the rules and boundaries of MY BLOG).

if you don’t like seeing writers “be rude” then why don’t you go and write your OWN shit?? then you’ll know exactly when to expect updates! lmao girl, go to hell 😂 fuck off

#'i just felt like i wanted to share this' girl literally NO ONE cared to hear it so learn to keep bullshit to yourself next time 🙄#also thank you for sending me TWO asks so i can tell you off on one and block you on one #very convenient 😌 have a good night too 😌#anonymous #asks

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snxwboarder · 3 years

Photo

^^^^ I LIVE HERE NOW????

//Lil (happy) life updates on the blog that I sorta abandoned after well.... the incident.

So yeah holy SHIT that’s the view from my new kitchen???? Honestly the pictures don’t do the view justice, the rocky mountains in the background look a lot bigger in person and it’s so fucking breathtaking. We (aka me and my parents) moved in on Thursday and I saw the house for the first time. While I was walking the property line I just burst into tears because I was so full of love and happiness and hope for the future.

Anyway, before we get into that:

Things have been really fucking good. Amazingly good. It’s been exactly a month since I left my ex. The first two weeks were some of the two of the hardest weeks I’ve ever experienced. After 7 years of conditioning to put his needs and feelings before my own, I spent the majority of those two weeks having to force myself not to think about him. It was hard, considering he was calling my work and constantly emailing me to tell me how selfish and heartless I was for leaving him. I got a new phone number after he left 17 voicemails and over 20 texts one night (none of which I listened to or read). Because of the calls to my work, I unfortunately had to tell my coworkers a bit about what was going on so that they could say I wasn’t in when he called. It’s something I didn’t want do because I had been using my work as a safe haven where everything was supposed to be normal, but thankfully all of my coworkers were super supportive and kind.

Last week I was at the doctors again so he could assess how the medication he gave me has been working and, no shock to me, it’s been doing amazing things! Not only am I having a much easier time focusing, but it’s improving my mood so much and alleviating a lot of my anxiety and depression.

My mom has been my fucking rock. She continues to be such an amazing woman who supports me and checks in with me every single day to make sure I’m alright. Last week I had a bit of a two steps back sort of day where I was just... really down (which I know is natural, so I didn’t beat myself up over it) and she stayed home from work just to be with me so I didn’t have to be alone. I love her so much and every single day I’m so thankful to have her (and my step dad) by my side.

It feels amazing to be living somewhere where he doesn’t know where I am. I feel safe and free and home. We’re in the middle of nowhere with the woods to our back and the mountains to our front. Every night I fall asleep to the sound of frogs in the pond next to us, and every morning I hear the cows across the valley. It’s breath taking. That’s quite literally the only word I can use to describe it.

I haven’t felt the “wave of relief” that I keep talking about, and honestly I don’t know that for me it will be a wave. I get little bits of relief with every day that passes, every box I unpack, every time I look in the mirror and I feel a real and legitimate love for myself that I haven’t felt in.... honestly I don’t think I’ve ever felt it.

The night I left, my ex told me that I wasn’t being myself. He told me I wasn’t brave and that I was just pretending to be brave to prove some weird point. I think that’s the thing that sticks out most to me about the night I left. Not the way he grabbed me, not the way he threatened me, not the way he yelled; it was that line about me being “fake”.

Because the thing is: I wasn’t.

I am brave. I am strong. I am worth every ounce of love that is given to me and I give in return. I am happy. I am hopeful. I am recovering.

I know I’m not out of the woods yet. I have a lot of unhealthy mindsets and tendencies to unlearn, I have a lot of self love to still find, I have a lot of relationships to mend, friends to drop, and recovery to do. I still think about him and my heart breaks all over again. I loved him for 7 years, that feeling doesn’t go away in a month.

But... in 6 months? In a year? In 5 years?

I used to be the type to plan my future down to the last insignificant detail, and if it wasn’t perfectly planned I was beyond stressed. Right now, I have no idea what the future holds and oddly enough, that doesn’t stress me out. It’s actually sort of... exciting. Like every time I run errands, or go to work, or take a walk around our property line something could happen that sets me on a new and exciting path that I didn’t see before. I’m not going to waste my time stressing anymore.

And that thought brings me another tiny spark of relief.

#mun does mun things #tw: relationship abuse #tw: anxiety #tw: depression #tw: medication

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rovewritesit · 4 years

Text

Angel Of My Dreams (Chapter 3) John Deacon x Reader Series

Meant to get this out last night but I’m on call 24/7 for my job so ya know, life.

Series Summary: After reluctantly joining a band with your childhood best friends, you are thrust into oncoming stardom with no sea legs and an overwhelming sense of anxiety. But you just might find your way, thanks to some seasoned pros by your side. And the interest of one particular bassist.

This series is a work of fiction, and is loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 4

Pairing: John Deacon x Reader

Chapter Warnings: Strong language, you know the deal. Feelings of anxiety. Slightly sexual dialogue. Reader is kinda horny? Misogynistic comments towards reader.

Chapter Notes: I may have written out an ENTIRE episode of Pop Quiz before realizing that shoving music facts down your throats isn’t the best use of our time. Apologies if it got a bit disjointed in the trimming process. I work in TV so I just had to add in a cliche meet-cute. Sorry not sorry.

Song/Title Inspiration: Angel - Fleetwood Mac

Taglist: @yourlocalmusicalprostitute @brianmays-hair @deacyblues @squishy-geckboye

April 1982 - BBC Studios, London

“It’s not funny, Y/N! Stop laughing. You’re gonna ruin all my hard work!” Dawn chastises you as she sweeps a pale blue eye shadow across your lids, trying her best to complete your request to tone down your usual stage look.

You try to muffle your laughter, teetering on your chair set up in the spacious green room. It comes out as a wheeze, a soft whistle escaping through your nose. “I’m sorry, you said what!?”

“I kid you not, I took one look at his penis and said ‘What the fuck is that?”

A sharp laugh escapes from your mouth once again, failing miserably to prevent tears from leaking out of the corners of your eyes.

“I feel awful! It’s just that I had never seen one before,” Dawn whines.

“Okay, I know for a fact that’s not the first dick you’ve seen. Hell, even I’ve seen some of those. Like ships passing in the night as they raced out of your dorm bed,” you giggle.

“You know what I mean. I’ve never been with one that’s… intact.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, “Oh c’mon. Uncircumcised can’t be that different.”

“It wasn’t! I was just drunk and got spooked, I guess. It was actually kinda cute. Like it was wearing a little turtleneck or something.”

You lose it, yet again. Laughter falls freely from your lips, helping to alleviate the dreaded stress that has now become your constant companion these days. Appearing on a game show alone was not something you thought you’d have to tackle on your third day in London. You’re sure the boys were off exploring the sprawling city that none of you had stepped foot in prior to the trip.

Pop Quiz was apparently a big hit for the BBC, featuring a bevy of famous musicians battling out their knowledge of the industry. You’d never had the chance to watch, obviously not readily available to viewers back home, but a harried man had come in earlier to give you a basic rundown of the format. You were somewhat confident in your knowledge of music, having been a regular at your hometown’s local record shop, you just hoped it would be enough to keep you from making a fool out of yourself in front of an entire country. But your anxiety mostly stemmed from your upcoming appearance in front of the camera without the boys there to play off of.

“How was it, though? I heard they’re supposed to “feel better” or something like that,” your curiosity getting the better of you. “Ooo, was it curved? Sometimes that can be a great thing. Except for one I encountered that was going in the opposite way then you’d think. Like even it knew it should be running away from the dude.”

Dawn’s face screws into a pinch, “Was that Tyler... Wait, don’t tell me. Ew. And I wouldn’t know! The poor guy was so embarrassed he couldn’t even keep it up after that!”

“What a waste,” you sigh. “I thought I’d be at least getting some field research out of your antics. What did I even bring you to London for?” you joke as she holds a tissue out to blot your lips.

“Uh-huh. The day you do some “field research” of your own is the day I chop off my own hair,” she quips, narrowing her eyes at you.

You casually raise your right hand to flip her off. She wasn’t wrong; it had been a while since you’d been with anyone, let alone entertained the fact of jumping into a relationship. There were partners in the past, of course. A few geeky high school boys, a woman who worked at said hometown record store, and the occasional pretentious film kid while at NYU, who spoke condescendingly of women working in film but scratched an itch when needed.

“And there’s no time like the present! You know what they say. When in Britain…” Dawn trails off, failing to finish her bit.

You left eyebrow quirks, “Throw dental hygiene standards out the window?”

Her face twists in disgust again as she uncaps a can of Aqua Net. “Gross. Now close your eyes and shut up so I can be done with you.”

The spray sputters, emitting little from it. “Dammnit,” she curses, turning to rummage around her sprawling kit. “Of course, I didn’t pack a spare. I’ll be right back. Hopefully, their hair department has one we can borrow.”

She rushes from the room in a sweeping motion, knocking over a coffee that was precariously placed on your chair’s armrest in the process.

“Fuck me,” you breathe, jumping up, your white blouse now doused in caffeine.

You hurry to jog out of the room, trying to catch up with her. “Daw- Shit!”

Your face collides with a hard chest.

Two large hands grip your shoulders to stop your momentum. “Oh! Apologies,” comes a light voice from above, muffled by your full head of ringlets. You jerk your head away quickly, and your gaze lands on a pair of startled greyish, green eyes.

“S-sorry,” you stutter out. “Completely my fault.” You glance down to the hands that still rest on your shoulders for a moment before looking back up. The pair of eyes go wide, and the hands quickly retreat back to the man’s side.

The man being the bassist of Queen, John Deacon. You scold yourself for only having glanced at the day’s detailed itinerary this morning before heading out. How did I miss that one? Sweat begins to gather on your palms immediately.

“John Deacon,” he hesitantly smiles at you while extending a hand.

“Y/N L/N,” you squeak out as his hand engulfs yours, inwardly cringing at how moist it must feel. You hold it for a bit too long. “I’m one of the contestants on Team A today,” you yank your hand back to your side.

His brow knit together. “Oh? I was told I’d be with Nick Rhodes and Jon Moss today.”

You shift your weight uncomfortably from side to side, having yet to meet his eyes again. “Nick had to cancel, I believe. I’m a last-minute replacement.”

“Okay,” he replies with a tight smile. “Well, good then. I hope you’re ready,” he glances down, noticing the stain splashed across your top. “Or, at least close to it...”

“Huh?” you blurt out before realizing, looking down at your shirt. “Oh, yes. The reason I so rudely ran into you. I should go-” your eye catches something as they finally travel back up to his. “Aw, fuck.”

“Pardon?”

You grimace, pointing directly at his chest. Right to the giant imprint on his tight blue shirt. One that had been left by your bright red lipstick.

He follows your finger. “Ah! Will you look at that.”

“I am so, so sorry,” you rush out, absolute mortification seeping into your voice.

He dismisses your apology with a wave of his hand. “Not to worry. That’s what jackets are for,” he says, zipping up the oversized grey jacket slung around his shoulders. “And at least now I know this shade of red really isn’t my colour.”

You smile up at him, not really knowing what else to say—the full weight of your not-so-smooth first encounter with this man hitting you fast, as people squeezed around you two in the tight hallway. “I should go get fixed up,” you tell him, pointing your thumb back over your shoulder towards your dressing room, ready to make a quick exit.

“Alright. I’ll see you out there then. Cheers!” he smiles back with a wave of his hand, turning to find his own space to get ready.

You stand there watching him in a daze, mentally berating yourself for now having had two inappropriate run-ins with a member of Queen.

Dawn materializes into your field of vision, hands-on-hips.

“Honestly, what the hell. I left you alone for two minutes!”

- - - - - - -

20 minutes later, you follow a stagehand through the back of the soundstage, fidgeting with your outfit while trying not to crash into anyone else. Dawn’s top that she quickly switched with your own was cut much lower than you would’ve liked and left you feeling even more exposed than your current bout of nerves did.

You’re dumped onto the set with the point of a finger over to a tall man. Mike Read, the host of Pop Quiz, stands by a large desk, crew members bustling around him. You stick to your spot out of the way, not sure if to interrupt the conversation he’s currently having to introduce yourself.

You take in the spacious stage, never having been on a show of this size before. A wave of longing suddenly washes over you, yearning for days on set where you were a part of the crew that moved around you. While at school, you’d worked on several student films, usually as a 1st Assistant Director or Line Producer. You loved the pace of production. Keeping everyone on time, on budget. It was where you felt most confident. While there were a variety of different types of personalities on set, you found it exhilarating to be the one to settle disputes and help everyone stay on track. Your subtle superpower of putting out little fires everywhere you went. Never had it crossed your mind that you’d be on the other side of the camera one day.

“A change of wardrobe, I see,” a voice says from behind you, pulling you out of your daydream. You turn to catch John’s smirk, his eyes trained intentionally on your own.

“It would appear so,” you reply, glancing down at yourself quickly.

“Have you been introduced to Mike yet?”

“Nope. I was working up the courage,” you admit.

“C’mon,” he gestures for you to follow him as he strolls towards the man. “He doesn’t bite.” You follow, trailing behind his long strides as he daintily weaves between the many bodies in your path.

“John!” Mike exclaims as you both approach. “Good to see you, mate,” he claps him on the back.

“You too. Thanks for having me back,” John greets him cheerily. “And look, I brought a present. All the way from America, I’m assuming. Mike, this is--”

“Y/N L/N!” Mike says, a genuine smile forming. “I can’t tell you how happy I am that we fit you in.”

“Oh, thank you. I’m excited to be here,” you mumble as he brings you in for a hug.

“Can I just say, your video for Heart of the Night is absolutely outrageous. I thought my eyes were going to pop out my head when I’d learnt that MTV in the States had aired it,” he laughs. “Daring stuff, really.”

You feel a heat creeping up your neck as you try to accept the compliment. “Yeah, thanks. Glad to hear that you’re all a bit more relaxed in terms of watching the explicit murder of a teenage girl on your screens.” You immediately wince at your own bluntness.

You can’t help but peek over at John, curious if he’d seen the violent clip now making its rounds across UK television sets everywhere. He’s staring at you with eyebrows raised and his mouth hanging open slightly.

Great. He thinks I’m a lunatic.

“We certainly are!” Mike chuckles. “Have you been briefed on the logistics of how the taping will go?”

“Mhmm, I got the rundown from one of your producers.”

“Excellent. Well, you’ll be in good hands with John here heading your team,” he says, slinging an arm around the man’s shoulders and adjusting his large glasses with the other.

Good hands indeed, you think to yourself, remembering how large they felt when they gripped your shoulders earlier. No, stop that, you scold yourself.

“We’ll be getting started in just a few minutes if you’d both like to find your seats. And you’ll have to regale me with the gory details from that shoot of yours afterward,” he winks, gesturing towards your spots for the show. You turn to follow John to your side of the set.

“Oh, and Y/N!” Mike calls out. “I do hope you’re good. Deacon got absolutely spanked last time he was on.” You bring your hand up to your face to stifle your giggle. John makes a show of rolling his eyes but keeps walking. You notice his face is now tinged a lovely shade of pink.

“You must think I’m daft,” he says, turning to you slightly.

“Me? Oh no, I’m sure we’ll do great!” you reply, a bit too happily.

“No, no, not that,” he laughs lightly, his hand finding the back of his neck. “For not recognizing you during our... colourful meeting in the hallway. It seems you and your band left quite the impression on our dear Freddie.”

“Oh! That’s nice to hear. You can tell him he left quite the impression on us as well, but I’m sure he makes an impression on most everyone,” you shrug. “And don’t worry about it, please. It’s not as if I’m a part of the biggest band in Britain or anything,” you tease. He smiles shyly. You catch the crinkles on the outer corners of his eyes before he turns them downwards.

You reach the long table on your designated side of the studio. There’s one on the other side mirroring it, with three somewhat familiar faces already sitting behind it. You glance at the empty seats before you, moving hesitantly towards them until John pulls out the closest chair, gesturing for you to sit. He gingerly pushes it under you as you lower yourself down.

“Thanks,” you mumble. He nods and moves to sit beside you.

There’s a loud bang to your right, causing you both to jump and look to the source; a large Grip gingerly picks up the c-stand he’s knocked over. John hovers above his chair, watching on as a producer shouts at the poor man, his waist now at your eye line.

You had never understood the fascination with men’s butts. That is, until now. The tight jeans John had on left little to the imagination. As if that would stop you. You shake your head back and forth as if to clear your thoughts. All of Dawn’s talk earlier must have you seriously whacked out.

“Are you alright?” John asks, now situated in his seat.

“Hm?” you break out of your daze. “Yes, fine. It’s just- I haven’t done anything like this,” you gesture to the large room teeming with various crew and a studio audience, “before, on my own. Usually we’re all together, and I’m slightly less charismatic than the rest of them, I’m afraid.”

“Well, I would tell you that it’ll get easier, but I still feel like I’m rubbish without my lot as well,” he sympathies. “And I happen to find you quite charismatic as you are,” he adds softly. “You certainly had Mike going back there.”

“Oh boy,” a voice huffs from the other end of the table, drawing away John’s attention. You’re thankful for the distraction, finding yourself at a loss for words due to his comment, coupled with your previous thoughts.

“I see you two actually arrived on time, ya goodie-two-shoes,” the flamboyant man complains as he plops into the third and final seat at the table.

“Jon, welcome. Good to see you,” John acknowledges, shaking the man’s hand.

“And who’s this little thing at the end, then?” he points at you.

John’s expression turns slightly sour at the informal greeting directed towards you. “This is Y/N L/N of Lo & The…” he struggles to remember, “Legs?”

You bark out a laugh. “The Limbs. But The Legs sounds better actually.” You share a smile, holding onto John’s eyes even though it makes your insides flip.

An outstretched hand is shoved past his body. “Jon Norris. Drummer. Culture Club.” You accidentally brush John’s arm as you move to return the handshake, not missing how he jumps a bit at the contact. “Pleasure,” reply, tearing your eyes away.

The drummer retracts his hand, settling back to swing his shoes up onto the table. “I’m glad to have a bird on the team, actually. Maybe we’ll get a few extra points thrown our way for that tiny top of yours,” he smirks, not even glancing over in your direction.

You look down at your slightly exposed chest, but the color red quickly clouds your vision. John sucks in a breath as he sits up straight in his chair. “That’s a bit ru-,” he starts in an annoyed tone.

But you’re quick to cut in, leaning your body forward on the table to lock eyes with Jon, “Actually, we might get docked a few for that obnoxious suit you’ve got on. Didn’t anyone ever tell you that stripes bleed on camera, sweetheart?” you seeth.

He glances down at his bright pink and green striped suit, clearly taken aback by your quick comeback. “N-no…” he falters, shutting up for the moment.

You catch John’s expression, a mixture of confusion and awe while he gapes at you. You lean back, crossing your arms over your chest. Luckily you don’t have much time to stew over the misogynistic comment as the stage manager’s voice rings out a 10-minute warning.

“Just try not to show me up too much, would you?” John whispers, leaning in closer to you. Obviously, trying to lighten your mood.

You give in. “You, sir, are lucky to have me on your team,” you point at him. “Tell me, what’s more important? The scoreboard or your fragile ego?” You’re not sure where your sudden wave of confidence is coming from.

He brings his hand to his chest. “You caught me,” he says, trying to hide his smile. “One could say I’m overcompensating, given who my bandmates are. Roger’s won this twice already, and it only started airing last year. I’ll never hear the end of it if I muck it up again.”

“Well then, I’ll do my best to save your sorry ass, and maybe that one down there too, if he’s lucky,” you tease.

Great. Now I’m thinking about his ass again. Fuck you, Dawn.

“If you’d be so kind,” he says before turning his attention elsewhere, content to watch the happenings around him until the show’s start. You hear him start to softly hum to himself, not able to place what the tune is.

You try not to watch him out of your peripherals for the next few minutes, hardly even noticing your lack of nerves as the studio audience starts cheering.

- - - - - - -

“And to end out round one, we have Adam Ant’s team with 3 points. And with a slight lead, John Deacon’s team with 4.” The studio audience erupts in a deafening cheer. “That’ll bring us into round two, which will be a team question. John, your team to go first,” Mike directs from his desk in the center of the set.

John lightly taps his pencil against the notepad in front of him, the current tight score starting to bring about his competitive side. He peeks over to check on his teammates. Y/N looks like a radiating ball of energy. Her feet are tucked up under her on the chair as she hunches forward, pencil already hovering while her teeth chew on the eraser. To his right, Jon doodles away, drawing exaggerated characachers of select members of the studio audience.

“Right, question coming to you in a moment, but first here’s the band, The Band.”

A large monitor towards the front of the set comes to life with a clip from their concert film, The Last Waltz. The chair to his left gives a loud squeak as Y/N begins to scribble furiously as if already knowing the question before it’s been given.

“Here’s a clip from The Last Waltz, The Band’s famous taped last concert. Please name 10 of the 20 rock legends that joined them on stage that night.”

John’s face scrunches in concentration, trying to recall the recording of it that he’d listened to many times before. He writes down the first few that come to mind, struggling to get past 6 names that he’s sure were present.

“Bloody American bands and they’re American friends,” Jon says, shoving his own piece of paper into John’s view. It has 4 names on it, 3 of which John already has down.

“They’re Canadian,” John replies, transferring the extra name to his paper.

“What?”

“The Band. They’re from Canada, I believe. At least most of them are.” Jon shrugs as the clip fades out, their minute of deliberation up.

“Alright, that was The Band with a famous clip from The Last Waltz. If you’d please, John, name 10 of the acts that accompanied them that night.”

A sheet of paper smoothly glides in front of his, Y/N’s messy scrawl covering it with 10 names hastily jotted down. He raises his eyebrows to her, but she just nods at the paper, urging him to read it.

He starts, completely disregarding his own list. “Erm, yes, we have Eric Clapton, Joni Mitchell, Bob Dylan, Dr. John, Van Morrison, Ronnie Hawkins, Neil Young, Bobby Charles” he struggles to read the small scribbling, almost illegible. “Um, Muddy Waters? Yes. And Neil Diamond.”

John lets out a breath, silently praying that the young girl beside him is as bright as she seems.

“Right you are! 10/10,” Mike exclaims. “For a bonus point, can you name the two artists that recorded pre-taped performances with them for the film as well?”

“Uh…” John glances at Y/N for support. She shoves another scrap of paper to him. Emmylou and Staples the only thing written on it.

“Emmylou Harris and The Staples Singers?” he answers, more like a question.

“Wonderful, a full 4 points to you all.”

He watches as a deep grin breaks onto Y/N’s face as she finally reclines. She looks over to him, a bit proud of herself, he thinks, as the other team begins their own round of questioning.

He’s quite intimidated by the American next to him if he’s being honest with himself. Her anxious demeanor seemed to have vanished into thin air once the game started, tackling each question thrown at their team with a hungry reverence. But her laugh is what keeps him on edge the most. It’s brash and full, consistently breaking him from his determined concentration to send a confusing jolt through his body each time.

“While your knowledge reigns superior, your handwriting leaves something to be desired,” he whispers in jest, not being able to help himself. She simulates a shocked expression as she leans over to look at her own paper that sits in front of him.

Her accent is thicker as she returns his whisper, “What ya tawking about?” She moves her eyes closer to examine, her shoulder bumping his. “That clearly says Muddy Waters.” Her hair hovers below his chin, almost tickling his stubble. It smells of something citrusy and light.

“Y’ smell lovely,” he sighs, almost inaudibly.

“Hm?” she questions, bringing her body back into her own seat.

“E-ever-ly,” He stumbles out, still quietly. “I thought it read it as the Everly Brothers at first,” hoping to god his bad save is enough.

She snorts. “You sure you didn’t leave your glasses at home? Would’ve thought you’d bring them to something like this.”

He quickly fixes the flustered look on his face, “Hm, glasses aren’t conducive to my rockstar type of lifestyle. Take Rog, for instance. Always wearing those bloody prescription sunglasses indoors, looking like an absolute git.”

She lets out that sharp laugh again, immediately covering her mouth, embarrassed at the thought of interrupting the other team. “I’ll have to watch out for that. Eat my carrots, all that nonsense,” she answers softly. If Brian were here, he’d ramble on about how there’s no scientific evidence of that or some bollocks, he thinks to himself.

“Let us hope my ears are in far better condition. Then you won’t have to keep, how did you put it, saving our sorry asses?” She smiles down into her lap and bites her lip. Oh hell, don’t do that.

Mike is now wrapping up with the other team. “No, I’m sorry. Their other top 10 hit was “So You Win Again. 3 points it is.” He once again turns his attention back over to John’s team. “Moving on to our third round, we have individual questions. Y/N, we’ll start with you. Here’s the hit Then You Can Tell Me Goodbye. Please name the artists you hear in order.”

The sound bites begin, and Y/N is once again bent over her paper as she listens, brow furrowing. John identifies the first two singers instantly but is at a loss for the third, making him grateful the question isn’t his. The clips fade out.

“Y/N?”

“I think it was Glen Campbell.”

“Correct.”

“Johnny Nash.”

“Good. Last one?”

“And... Bettye Swann?”

“Yes, top job! Known for her R&B hit Make Me Yours. I’ll give you a bonus if you can tell me who the song was sung by originally,” Mike counters.

“The Casino’s,” she says confidently.

“No, I’m sorry. I’ll give you one more chance.”

John realizes she was probably too young or not even born yet when the original was released. He slyly slides closer to her. “Don Cherry,” he mumbles lowly, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible.

“Don Cherry?” she shouts as if to cover up his assistance.

“Yes, John Deacon, you’re right. It is Don Cherry. The point is yours for at least attempting to be subtle,” Mike laughs. Y/N shyly smiles over at him, silently thanking him for his help.

John and Jon mostly breeze through their questions with ease, racking up a hefty amount of points in favor of their team before turning over to the others. He takes a sip of water as he smugly watches on.

“Glad to know my own ass is in good hands if it’s ever in need of saving again,” Y/N quietly comments. He chokes lightly on his water as an image flashes quickly through his mind. John racks his brain for a reply, but only overtly cheeky responses come to mind.

“Anytime,” he manages, afraid to catch her eyes. She lets out a light giggle, starkly different from her usual roar. It sends a warmth of color to his cheeks.

Intriguing, he thinks, silently hoping that he’ll get the chance to hear it again.

#queen fic #queen fanfiction #queen fanfic #john deacon #john deacon fic #john deacon imagine #john deacon x reader #john deacon series #deaky fic #deacy fic #deacy x reader #deaky x reader #angelofmydreams

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mrsalwayswrite · 4 years

Text

Sing Me a Song (Joseph Liebgott x reader)

Can be read as a reader or OFC piece. I was playing around with writing in first person.

The song referenced is Only Forever by Bing Crosby.

Warnings: um...none really. fluff?

Tags: @evelynshelby

It was a cold, white hell. Snow covered everything. Well everything that had not been destroyed by the most recent barrage. The air was frigid, the cold seeping into my clothes until it felt like my bones had been replaced with icicles. Splintered trees surrounded us, an ode to the destruction we faced. Stains on the ground reminded us where someone had been hit, either injured or died.

The only thing that made this place even remotely tolerable was my fellow paratroopers...and him.

I sat next to Muck, sides pressed against one another with the idea of sharing warmth. Even if neither one of us had warmth to share. Our legs dangled over the side of Luz's foxhole, listening to him and Malark joke about something. A few other guys were around, listening in and adding their own commentary. Specifically, he sat across from me in the foxhole, cigarette hanging out of his mouth, fingers tapping out a silent beat on his thigh.

I remember the exact moment I met Joseph Liebgott. I knew he would be trouble for me. That messy hair, dark eyes and the don't-fuck-with-me attitude. Sure I found that attractive and his dry humor always made me laugh. Although his stubbornness and ability to pick a fight with almost anyone did irk me. He was untouchable. It was obvious he was a ladies-man, and knew it. I was...well, not someone typically picked up at a bar. I had always been alright with my lack of male attention, but for once, I wish I knew how to charm and flirt, to beguile a man and have the audacity to kiss one.

But that was not me. So I sat and watched from the sidelines.

"What the fuck are they singing about now?" Liebgott complained, glaring across the no-man's land between us and the Germans in the Bois Jacques.

Sure enough, German singing could be heard, carrying with the wind. They seemed to be singing more lately, either to boost their own morale or annoy the Americans.

It sure got a rise out of some of the paratroopers.

"They just serenading you, Joe." Malark joked then called over to a passing Sergeant, "Ain't that right, Lip?"

Lipton just shook his head, a small smile touching his lips. "Whatever you say, Malark. You boys make sure to keep your heads down. Ma'am too." He kept walking, probably to find Dike.

I giggled, smiling as Lipton walked away. No matter how many times I told him to stop, he still called me 'ma'am'. Something about it being disrespectful and even in the middle of a war his mother would find him and spank him with her wooden spoon if she thought he was being disrespectful.

Liebgott kept scowling. "Well I wish they'd shut the fuck up." He mumbled something under his breath, running a hand through his shaggy hair.

"Oh I see, you prefer me to serenade you." Luz smiled. "I mean, all you had to do was ask, really. Oklahoma where the wind comes sweeping…"

"Shut it. I'm sick of your singing."

"Joe…" I reprimanded softly. He glanced over at me and gave the briefest of winks. That simple action, every time, always set my cheeks ablaze and a fire in my belly. I scrubbed a hand over my face, praying no one saw how flustered I was.

"Well what do you want? Not a lot of options here, unless you know where some band is hiding nearby." Muck said, rubbing his hands together for warmth.

"Shit, I don't know. I just miss music, good music I guess. Always had the radio playing in my cab."

My heart broke at the forlorn look on his face. We all had our moments where the longing for home, to be anywhere but this terrible place, overwhelmed us. It was up to our friends around to cheer us up, however they could, but lately it was getting harder and harder to do. The constant threat of bombardment, the frigid cold, lack of food and watching our friends get injured and/or die. It killed the small hints of hope left in us. That we would survive. That we would escape this place.

He drummed his fingers against his thigh, some song probably playing in his head. Even those around us had grown silent, lost in their own memories of before. Who knew such a simple thing as music could be so meaningful.

"I'll sing for you."

Then I realized the words I blurted out. Shit.

"Yeah? You sing?"

Luz butted in. "Since when do you sing? And why are we hearing about this now? We could have been singing duets this whole time!"

I ignored him, keeping my eyes on Liebgott. "I used to sing in school. Nothing special."

That may have been the biggest lie of my life. I used to sing all the time, whenever I could. I even sang for our local radio a couple times. Then war happened. It did not feel right to sing during training, just gave Sobel another reason to despise me, and here surrounded by blood and bullets, I did not even think about it.

For him though, I would do it. To make him smile in this frozen hell. I would sing for him.

"What are you going to sing?"

"What would you like?"

He paused for a moment before smirking. "Surprise me."

Well there was no going back now. Butterflies were throwing a lively party in my belly, my hands were sweaty and my mind continued to berate me for my idiotic decisions. I pushed it all away. I had survived D-Day. I had helped take Carentan. I had fought at the Crossroads. I could sing one song for the man that made my knees weak with a wink.

Right?

Shit.

Carefully I stood up, dusting the snow off my ODs as I mentally chose a song. What did I want to sing? In my mind I imagined myself back home, the sun shining on my face, sand between my toes and the sounds of the ocean waves crashing on the beach. Then I imagined him next to me. A huge smile on his face, like the ones from back in Toccoa when he would hide Guarnere's boots just to see him furious and swearing to make even a sailor blush.

So I closed my eyes, opened my mouth and let the song pour forth.

Do I want to be with you

As the years come and go

Only forever

If you care to know.

Would I grant all your wishes

And be proud of the task

Only forever

If someone should ask.

How long would it take me

To be near if you beckon?

Off hand I would figure

Less than a second.

Do you think I'll remember

How you looked when you smile?

Only forever

That's puttin' it mild.

When I finished the song, barely a sound was heard. Self-conscious, I opened my eyes to meet the stares and dropped jaws of my fellow paratroopers.

I met those dark eyes that I adored and softly said, "happy Hanukkah, Joe."

Then my nerves gave out and I quickly dropped back down to sit next to Muck.

"What the hell was that? Were you planning on keep that from us this whole time?" Luz demanded, looking both offended and awed.

I just shrugged.

"That was beautiful." Muck whispered, nudging me in the side.

"Thank you."

Buck called my name from behind, so I turned to see all the officers standing nearby probably making a plan since Dike was not around. Honestly I was mortified that they had heard also but the smiles on their faces alleviated some of the anxiety. "From now on, only you should be singing for Easy."

"Hey!" Luz placed a hand over his heart, cigarette between his fingers. "You wound me, Buck. You love my singing."

"Keep telling yourself that, George."

Smiling at their silly antics, I was glad the attention was momentarily off me but I knew it would not be for long. It had felt good to sing again. I wondered if my self-imposed denial was without merit. If it boosted the morale of my friends, was it selfish of me to hold back? I figured I should talk to Doc about it later. He gave the best advice.

"You sang that….for me?"

The question startled me out of my musings. I looked over the foxhole to see Liebgott staring at me with an intensity I had never seen before. It made a fire grow in my belly and my toes curl.

I nodded, biting my chapped lip.

His eyes bore into mine for a long moment. Then without warning, he shoved off the side of the foxhole he sat on and in two steps stood before me. Before a word could escape me, his lips crushed against mine with an almost bruising passion.

It felt as if the world faded away and the only thing that mattered was his soft, equally chapped lips, his warm breath and the feeling of his hands cupping my cheeks. Once my brain restarted, I kissed him back with equal passion. For a moment I was unsure if this was a dream or real. Either way I intended to enjoy it. I knocked his helmet off so I could card my fingers through his messy hair like I had fantasized about so many times. It was greasy and dirty but it was perfect.

Eventually the world resumed and I could hear the hooting and cheering of the guys around us. I pulled back slightly from Liebgott, my cheeks flaming from more than just the cold.

"Hell of a kiss you laid on her, Joe." Malarkey teased.

"Hell of a dame." Liebgott replied, his eyes never leaving mine as one of his thumbs brushed gently over my swollen, bottom lip. I could not help the small smile, amazed that this was real.

Quickly he snuck a brief kiss once more before pulling himself up and sitting next to me, his arm tucking me into his side. Not that I complained.

"Why don't you kiss me after I sing to you? Huh?" Luz pouted but the huge smile on his face gave him away.

"I guess you didn't know the right song."

They laughed at my joke, the tension that typically hung over us like an axe gone for the time. The guys heckled one another and tried to convince me to sing again amidst pretending to recreate The Kiss scene Liebgott and I just gave them, like some high school play.

The snow and cold seeped through our clothes, threatening that we would never feel warmth again. The enemy sat in wait not far from us. For now, I pretended those dangers were imaginary. I laughed as Luz tried to sing like me, only to fail spectacularly, and be bombarded with snow balls.

Most of all, I felt a fresh breath of life in me as I scooted closer and laid my head on Liebgott's shoulder, his arm tight around my side. The faintest press of a kiss on the top of my head made my smile grow.

I wondered if I should have sang months ago or maybe it was this moment, that finally allowed me to show him how I felt.

His fingers thread through mine, and I realized it did not matter. I was happy. And that was something I planned on never letting go.

#easy company #band of brothers #Band of Brothers fandom #band of brothers fanfic #joe liebgott #joe liebgott x reader #joe liebgott x ofc #george luz #donald malarkey #buck compton #skip muck #reader insert #mzwrites

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lavendermenaceart · 3 years

Text

The ouroboros effect

Genre: Fantasy, Semi-post apocolyptic

Themes: Death, spirituality, witches, magic, reincarnation

Words: 2,379

Reincarnation is a finite resource in Vidia's world and it's running out. Children are being born without souls, and her High Priestess believes she knows what they need to do.

It started 2 years ago. The religious will tell you it was the rapture, but there was no end to it. Babies being born with some kind of defect. All the tests were clear, fine. But, something was wrong. They were empty-eyed, their voices hollow and flat, even when they cried. The religious were saying they were soulless and scientists weren’t able to explain it.

People made memes about it, made videos describing their explanations, but nothing came as close to explaining it as the idea that souls were in fact real, and these children were born without them.

The amount of infanticide rose by 46% the first year, even higher in the second. People were becoming too scared to have children, so birth rates dropped significantly. The government tried everything to get people to start reproducing again to little success. Countries that struggled with birth rates struggled even more. Everytime scientists thought they had an explanation, it vanished into thin air.

As these children grew up, they would simply sit there. They could not talk or walk or eat on their own. There were people deemed “radicals” for still caring about these children’s lives. Despite cries from more conservative groups who believed these children were sent from satan himself, the government did nothing to alleviate the situation except for dumping more and more money into research.

With all that said, the religious were almost right. They almost hit the nail on the head. They failed to take into consideration the second most widely held belief in the world: reincarnation. Yes, reincarnation was real and as the human population grew the number of souls available dwindled and dwindled.

The things that the news cycle rarely covered alongside the soulless, was the changing of the seasons. Winter didn’t last longer than 3 months anymore and most days could be described as summer weather. Southern states known for their heat were becoming uninhabitable. People moved in mass from these states, midwestern and northern states becoming so crowded that all resources were spread thin. People were dying more and more often from things like hunger and thirst. The apocalypse was upon us.

And so people began prepping, people like Vidia Knoll. Vidia was resting on her bed, the ac in her cramped apartment going full blast as well as multiple fans facing her bed. She scrolled idley through her social media apps. Doing anything that involved more movement than need be was now frowned upon. Moving meant you were losing water, and you wanted to need water as little as possible in this new world. Vidia followed a lot of preppers, they all didn’t believe the same as she did but it was enough of a shared interest for her to keep tabs on certain people.

As she scrolled through her feed, a message notification slid down from the top of her screen, a light ding sounding. It was a message to the group-chat of her coven. Vidia felt anxiety roil in her stomach as she tapped on the notification.

It simply read “Get ready, we’ll be starting within the next two hours.” It was from the high priestess.

And so Vidia prepared. She was in charge of creating the ceremonial robes and bringing candles. Other witches in the coven would be bringing herbs, lighters, food and drink, as well as chalk. This was going to be a big ceremony, a very heavy spell. Vidia and all her coven would probably be sick for a while afterwards. It is going to take an immense amount of energy to complete the spell her coven had planned

She grabbed all of the robes, made of velvet with silk detailing. The symbol of her coven, a albino raven perched on a branch, embroidered in silk on the left breast, and intricate twining lines outlined the deep purple of the robes. It was some of her best, and hardest, work to date.

Vidia felt the discomfort in her stomach grow as she mulled over the spell and her coven’s goal. To make life on earth an ouroboros. Time would begin looping, from the start of the world to the end of it, and all the life around her would be recycled over and over until something changed. Until a better solution was found. She kept telling herself a better solution would be found. A way to generate new souls would be found one day.

She took the duffle bag with the robes in it and headed out of her cramped, plain apartment. It was a hot day, like every day was. There was nothing special in the air, no odd feeling, no feeling of greatness appeared to Vidia as she pressed the down button on the elevator.

People loitered outside their apartments, wishing for open space instead of the cramped 4 walls they all lived in. No one spoke to Vidia so she spoke to no one as she entered a crowded elevator. Soon she was making her way down the 50 floors of her apartment, awkward coughs or the shifting of clothes puncturing the silence. As she stepped out of the elevator and out of the high rise apartment building, the only kind that existed anymore, she was confronted with the hot pavement, that blocky and gray highrises all around her. Some apartments had balconies, no doubt the more expensive ones, where people sat and watched the street below. Some people dried their laundry by hanging it over the railing of their balcony. Watching water drip and then dissipate in the heat, Vidia made her way towards the slowly darkening horizon. Night was a rare thing, a small blessing in a world full of heat and stench and crowded buildings.

The streets were quiet and empty as she made her way to the cafe her high priestess owned. It was a small, quaint little shop with 4 or 5 tables inside, as well as the bookshelves that held their meeting place.

Vidia was craving one of her vanilla bean frappuccinos as she walked in and the smell of cold drinks hit her. People rarely ordered hot coffee anymore.

“Merry met, High Priestess Nora.” Vidia smiled and waved as she entered the empty cafe. The walls were a warm brown, fake plant life lining where walls met in sharp corners, and more fake plants hung from the ceiling in baskets.

“Merry met, Vidia. Did you bring everything?” Nora asked, a tall and buff woman with dark tan skin and the darkest brown eyes Vidia had ever seen.

“Yes, I have all the robes and candles. Everything looks beautiful.” She smiled as she leaned against the counter and Nora flipped the open sign to closed. “All the robes took me a while but I think you’ll be really happy.” Vidia bit her lip as she patted the duffle bag she had placed in the chair next to her. She couldn’t deny she was anxious for the Priestesses’ reaction. She had worked so hard on them, and work was something you did only when you had to, not in your free time. Work meant water, body heat, sweating.

“I’m so excited!” Nora clapped her hands together, walking back to where Vidia sat and opened the duffle bag. Nora looked tough, but she really was just a big softy on the inside. The thought made Vidia smile through her anxiety.

“Oh, Vidia, they are absolutely wonderful. Where did you get this fabric?” She held up a robe, feeling the soft fabric between her fingers, tracing the embroidery with an index finger. She looked back to Vidia with curiosity in her eyes.

“Oh, my grandma had an old store of fabrics from when she was younger. Velvet and silk are too expensive but I wanted these to be special.” Vidia shrugged, trying to act nonchalant even though the praise made butterflies float around in her stomach.

As Nora placed the robe she was looking and feeling over back in the duffle bag, 5 other women walked into the cafe at once, chattering and giggling amongst themselves.

“Merry met, High Priestess, Merry met Vidia!” One of them, a blonde with green eyes, waved in greeting.

All five of the girls were carrying different things, one carrying satchels no doubt full of herbs, another carrying bundles of chalk, another carrying food, and the other was most likely carrying lighters in her purse.

“Merry met, ladies. Looks like we’re all prepared?” Nora was smiling, walking over to the bookcase and pressing on a bright green book that accepted the pressure her hand placed on it and the bookcase opened before her, leading to a dimly lit room. “I’ve got all the food, and I know Ruby and Damien have all their stuff.” A girl with bright aqua hair and brown eyes spoke up, looking to either side of her as everyone followed the High Priestess into the dim room.

“I’ve got all the lights!” A girl with brown hair and green eyes spoke up, shaking her purse.

“And i’ve obviously got all the herbs…” A woman with dark flowing hair and darker brown eyes lifted the satchels to prove her words.

As Vidia walked into the room, she took in her surroundings. It was a wide open space, with cool air blowing from an industrial AC. The walls were a dark lavender and the floors were interlocking planks of walnut. A table big enough for all seven of them sat with a black with golden trim table runner draped across it, and comfortable wooden chairs place around it to the left of the room.

“Alright, let’s light these candles and do this.” Nora said with determination shining in her brown eyes.

A trickle of anxiety filled the air as the girls set to work placing the white candles from Vidia’s bag in a circle in the middle of the room. Lighters were passed around and quickly heat filled the room as all the candles were lit one by one by the coven.

Nora turned the lights on, just the glow of the many candles filling the room and illuminating the women who gathered there.

They all came together in a circle, Nora, taking a piece of white chalk from Ruby, drew a circle around all of them, reciting what sounded like a poem in a booming voice.

“With this circle, I protect our energy. With this circle, I protect our work. With this circle, I cast out all unneeded energies. With this circle, I cast out all who wish us harm.” Nora finished the circle as she spoke the last word before walking to stand in the middle of it.

Vidia couldn’t help but think she looked beautiful in the warm candle light.

“So will it be.” The coven said all at once.

“Rose, scatter the herbs into the candles and speak what you must.” Nora nodded towards the dark haired girl.

Rose circled around the inside of the circle, throwing a mixture of petals and leaves and stalks onto the flames of the candle. An earthy, flowery scent filled the room as the candles flickered, smoke dancing up and up.

Rose returned to her space in the circle, whispering a little prayer that only Vidia barely heard. Surely, it was a prayer for protection.

“Ruby, offer The Energies food so they may be energized and see us fondly.” Nora nodded towards a girl with bright red hair and brown eyes.

Ruby made her way to the head of the circle, placing a plate of delectable meats and vegetables, saying a short prayer to the energies that made the world what it was to look on us kindly and offer help.

“Damien, offer the energies wine so they may be in a good mood, and so they know they are welcomed as family.”

Damien poured a glass of red wine at the head of the circle, next to Ruby’s food.

“And so we shall begin. Hold hands and concentrate all your energies. Follow my words.” Nora reach her hands out to either side of her, the circle slowly connecting and joining together.

Vidia could feel electricity in the air, and felt a slight wind blow through the room as they all connected hands. The Energies were pleased with the offering and with the politeness of the group. Vidia couldn’t help but smile at the magick that surrounded her. Goosebumps rose on her skin as she looked around the circle, everyone else smiling and a few giggles bubbling up from the group of women as the wind tickled their faces.

“Energies, Hear our plea.” Nora spoke loudly, not to the other women, but to the air in front of her. She looked so determined, her brows set. She was putting all of her energy into her words, so Vidia did when it was the circle’s turn to recite the words back. Energy tingled and danced in her chest, Vidia trying to manipulate it to lend power to her words.

“We….hear….your...plea.” Voices of unidentifiable gender spoke, quiet and soft. Vidia couldn’t help but jump a little. The coven had done magick together before, but never had The Energies talked back.

Nothing appeared before them, but they could all feel it. All around them, strands of energy twinkled and danced. White lines, passing through objects and through herself. Vidia watched as all the lines converged in the middle of the circle. Lines reaching from each woman, dancing and twining together. Another line, thicker than the rest, grew up into the ceiling. No, past the ceiling. Vidia watched it all happening before her eyes and couldn’t help but blink away tears. It was beautiful, and she was part of it. She helped bring such a sight into being.

Nora bowed gracefully to the energies, even though they came from everywhere.

“We are here to ask for your aid. We wish to bring an end to the soulless plaguing our reality. We ask that you do whatever is in your power to help us. We will praise you for the rest of our days in return.” Nora spoke, her eyes searching all around her as she waited for the voices to speak again.

“We...will give...what you….need...but….not...what you…..want.” The voice spoke so slowly, like syrup melting over warm pancakes. The Energies existed all around and inside of Vidia, she could almost hear what they were going to say before they spoke it.

“What is it that we need?” Nora asked hesitantly, human curiosity getting the better of her.

“New….souls.” Was all it said. Vidia couldn’t help but feel like it was spoken too simply. Were the energies that powerful that they could just make new souls? Why hadn’t they done this before? Maybe it just wasn’t brought to their attention. Vidia’s mind raced with questions and answers. She wanted to ask, to regurgitate all of the words spinning in her head, but she decided against it. Who was she to question Gods?

Nora sank to her knees, still holding onto the women at either side of her. She looked drained, her skin turning pale. She was still conscious, but worn out from the amount of energy she was expending.

“No….more...soulless...In...return...Your magick.” Slowly, one by one, the circle began collapsing. Vidia felt the world around her spin and blacken. The last thing she could remember seeing was Nora laying on the ground, peacefully sleeping.

And so the witches slept. They slept and slept, and slept. If the tenant hadn’t found them a week later, who knows if any of them would still be alive. All Vidia knew was that she was uncomfortable and cold, laying in a hospital bed hooked up to IVs to replenish her strength. Even though she was still so tired, she could at least manage to be awake for a few hours at a time. In those hours she watched the news. The news told stories of previously soulless children coming to life. No more were being born. But when Vidia closed her eyes and tried to focus her energy, she felt nothing.

Her magick in exchange for souls. She was sure it was a fair trade, but she couldn’t help but feel empty without her magick. She hadn’t fixed the world, but at least she helped fix something. She gave families closure and happiness. She gave children new lives, and ensured lives for future generations to come. Vidia let a silent prayer to The Energies fall off her lips, thanking them. In return, she felt a gentle breeze. Even if she had no magick, she had their favor.

#writeblr #writing prompt #fiction #fantasy #original story #creative writing #my writing #writers of tumblr #writers on tumblr

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lustresky · 3 years

Text

awmd ; prolouge ; your love will cling to me through the lonely daytime

auf wiederseh’n, my dear masterlist & lily’s lil’ stories

Satisfaction runs through your veins as you hear the loud thwap, your bullet cleanly and perfectly hitting the tiny dot marked on the paper dangling itself a few feet in front of you.

You lower your dominant arm, stance straightening out as a clank of a metal shell rings against the cement floor. The words of your father about safety echo in your mind and make you double check your firearm before doing anything else. A series of clicks and clacks follow your every movement, making sure that everything is safe.

Once you’ve fully inspected your weapon, you turn your body around to place the arm back to its rightful position; but before you can do so, your father halts you in your tracks.

Panic and fear bubbles up in your chest.

Oh no.

He wasn’t supposed to be back till 2!

He motions for you to take off your muffs, lips in a tight line and eyebrows straight.

As your hands follow his instructions, your eyes follow his gaze up to your marked piece of paper. You follow his every move as he trudges along to where the pulley sat. He wheels the piece of paper back to where you both were standing with his own hands, calloused and littered with nicks and scars.

You can’t help but lower your head down in shame.

I’m definitely going to get in trouble…

A pause as he examines your damage— a million thoughts wrapped in anxiety running through your head, the empty silence of the shooting range deafening against your eardrums.

Suddenly, he lets out a small chuckle.

You look up, and to your surprise, you see his once strict and pointed expression soften.

He whistles proudly, a smile on his lips. “My lil’ girl’s gone and became better than her dad, didn’t she?”

Your cheeks heat up from his praise, but despite it, you can’t help but ask, “You ain’t mad, pa?”

He laughs and pats you on your shoulder, the weight of his hand a reassuring pressure. “Sweetheart, I ain’t ever seen such a clean shot like this— not even from the men that I’ve been teachin’ for the last five years!”

You giggle at his words.

Your father sets a hand on his hip, a big smile on his face. He shakes his head.

“You’ve got a future ahead of ya, sweetheart.”

That was the first time that you’ve ever fired a pistol.

You were fourteen, raised by a strict yet caring father who served in the Great War and a nosy yet loving mother who was determined to have you betrothed as soon as you were eighteen.

Your father ran a shooting range, a place to continue practicing the talent he had honed during his service as a sharpshooter. Never once did he let you fire before that time; but you had mentally practiced and memorized all of the little techniques that he did as he fired every shot.

Whenever you had time, you would tune in to what he would say to his students, sitting all by yourself a few meters away, books and pencils strewn about on a small table under the guise of studying.

You definitely weren’t taking notes on grammar, most times.

Until you had showcased your natural talent at shooting, they were strict and disciplined and apprehensive of every single decision that you made for yourself. You knew it was only because of their concern, but as soon as they saw how much of a second nature it was for you to defend yourself, they mellowed out. Of course, your family wasn’t perfect— your parents had their disputes and disagreements like any other couple, though you knew deep down that they really only wanted the best for you. As an only child and as a woman, no less, their concern for your safety and well-being was and always has been the first priority in their mind.

Times were tough, and it didn’t seem like they were getting any easier, either.

What with all the stories you’ve heard about Germany attacking Poland in Europe, there’s been a constant blanket of unease in the community.

You truly couldn’t wrap your head around it. Aren’t people sick of fighting? Though the turmoil has provided your range with more people wanting to learn and subsequently more money, the whole thing didn’t exactly help you sleep at night.

Who knows how this whole thing will play out?

You shake your head, reminding yourself of your mother’s mantra.

Focus on the now; you can worry about the future later.

Cracking your neck, a small noise of satisfaction slips past your lips as the tension alleviates. The afternoon’s sun’s rays were slowly dissipating beyond the horizon, leaving the arena to bask in a soft, golden hue. The silence in the building seems like a stranger; the clangs and whoops and cheers nowhere to be heard as the last noises of a customer rang about around half an hour ago.

As Pa had instructed you before he left to take a break, you start cleaning the ammunition in your hands with a cloth. A hum falls past your lips, a melody that you had heard in the radio just a few weeks prior. Slowly and steadily you work, the metal between your fingers glinting back to life as the ash and smoke disappear into your rag.

Then, three knocks on the open wooden door.

You look up, expecting your Pa back.

Instead, your attention is caught by an unknown man: black hair coiffed and slicked back with gel, a casual suit and tie on his tall frame. He raises an eyebrow upon laying eyes on your form, back hunched over to clean and skirt covered with specks of soot.

It’s you who breaks the silence. “D’ya have an appointment, or?” You ask with a tilt of your head, eyes scanning for any sense of familiarity in him— which quickly turns futile as you’re quite certain that you’ve never before seen this man in your life, much less as a client in your range.

Brooklyn sure is a big city.

He clears his throat and his lips scrunch up in a half-smile, apprehensiveness clear in the way he holds himself. Whether it be because you intimidate him (Which, truth be told, you’ve heard said about you in a few hushed whispers before.) or because it’s most likely his first time to fire a bullet, you can’t make out.

“Yes, I— uh, I do,” His eyes scan about the place, which you can feel is a purposeful way of not keeping contact with yours. “I’m James Buchanan Barnes?”

At the mention of his name, you silently sigh to yourself, now realizing the real reason as to why your father had decided to conveniently choose this hour to take his ‘break’— he hates teaching rookies.

James Buchanan Barnes, huh?

Though your Pa’s patience in the house could rival that of a saint’s, outside of the family home it was a whole other story. He had never liked explaining techniques nor starting off from scratch, and his method of teaching resembles that of a professor more so than a kindergarten teacher.

Thankfully, though you had definitely inherited his talent, your pond of patience was a little bit bigger than his.

You stand up from your chair, making your way to the reception area. Shaking off the dust on your fingers and onto your apron, the distance between you two gradually became less and less as you reached the small table on which a log book sat. You set down the unloaded rod on the side and flip the book open, grabbing the pen lying on the side and drawing a check at the side of his name.

“Alright,” You clap your hands together, looking up from the book and onto his face, preparing to relay the basic information that rookies ought to know before even entering the range.

You pause in your tracks for a second as your gaze catches his, the afternoon light entrancingly illuminating the specks of cerulean in his eyes. His eyelashes flutter, and you force your head back down as you feel the heat rise up your cheeks.

Lord, help me. Of course he’s gotta be as cute as a bug’s ear!

You busy your eyes and hands with the pages filled with names you can hardly recount as you clear your throat, trying to reign your words back in your mouth. “So,” You start, inhaling a breath as you prepare yourself to look at him once again. “Basic rules, which are really just common sense.”

“One,” You look up, ignoring the funny feeling in your stomach as his eyebrows raise up in anticipation to hear your words. “You gotta protect ya ears and eyes. We don’t want ‘em uncovered, so get some of those—” You nod your head to the rack containing all of the ear and eyewear. “Before comin’ to the range, alright?”

He nods. “Yes ma’am.”

You let a small smile appear on your lips at the word falling from his lips.

“Two,” You point at the flags, the green ones hoisted high above each lane. “Remember what those colors mean in a range: green is no, red is yes.”

You see him open his mouth to retort, but you shut him back down with a, “Don’t question me on that one, I ain’t interested in doin’ history right now.”

He chuckles, and the rumble in his voice makes your chest flutter.

“Third, and don’t ya ever forget this one unless ya wanna lose your feet,” You hold up the unloaded rod you were cleaning before he came in. “Always make sure that ya gun ain’t got any more bullets in her before celebratin’, alright?”

He nods again, and in turn, you smile. You set the gat down once more, and motion with your head to one of the lanes.

“Let’s see whatcha’ got then, Barnes.”

#lily’s lil’ stories #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes x you #Bucky Barnes #bucky x reader #marvel #bucky barnes x you #drama #angst

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