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reasonsforhope · 3 hours ago

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There's a saying my dad taught me, that I've found is very true in life:

The antidote to anxiety is action.

If you're like me, you're probably anxious right now. And scared. And quite probably angry. About climate change, about the Palestinian genocide, about Donald fucking Trump.

That only makes sense. It hurts to find out that people aren't as good as you thought, or hoped. It hurts to know how much better we could be doing, and then see all the ways in which we aren't doing that. It hurts to know that people are going to die.

This is something I've been grappling with myself since the US election. I had hopes that were higher than this, and I had reasons for those hopes, but in several spheres, those hopes have been disappointed.

That's not a reason to give up, though. It's not a reason to give up on the world, on yourself, on your life, or on hope.

The antidote to anxiety is action.

(Nobody is allowed to interpret this statement as being about/against psych meds btw. Meds are great and help a lot of people. But this isn't about them.)

Fear and anxiety exist for a reason: to warn us when there is a threat. And to motivate us to do something about that threat.

That's why, the more you push anxiety down down down, the worse it tends to get.

Your brain - your self - is telling you that something is wrong, and that you need to do something about it.

So listen. And find something you can do to help. Anything.

It will make you feel better, I promise. Maybe not right away, but it will.

And the more you do to help, the more you'll see the difference it can make. The more you're surrounded by people who are also helping, who also care. The more you'll see more and more ways to help.

Look up organizations near you - especially organizations that help protect the groups that are most vulnerable right now: undocumented people, immigrants, trans people, BIPOC, queer people, Muslims, Jewish people, disabled people, unhoused people.

Find someone who is helping, and find a way to help them.

The more we do to help each other, the more we organize, the more we resist fascism and work to beat climate change and make those fuckers pay for every. last. fucking. inch...

The more we will change. The more people we will protect and save.

We're stronger together. So find something you can do. And do it.

#me #advice #fuck trump #inauguration #united states #us politics #life #not news #hope #volunteer #donate #action #helping

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deliciousangelfestival · 3 days ago

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Let's Play Pretend - 2 | bodyguard!Bucky

Character: Bucky Barnes x singer! Female reader

Summary: You just wanted to hide here and find peace from the mess that wasn’t caused by you. But then, your hot neighbor bothered you. As if that wasn’t enough, the enemies you hated found you too.

PART 1 , PART 2 , -

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Bucky's eyes widened in shock as he stared at you. “What the heck?” he muttered, clearly taken aback. His gaze darted to the imaginary horn you might as well have grown on your head for the absurdity of your request.

You leaned closer, pinched his back lightly, and whispered, “I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend for a bit to make them leave me.”

He shot you a deadpan look, shaking his head. “You brought them here. It’s your problem, not mine.”

“Just for a bit. Protect me, for God’s sake. Make them scared like you did before—ruining the camera.” Your voice was desperate now. The rude neighbor had become your reluctant hero of the night. In a last-ditch effort, you added, “I’ll give you money.”

That got his attention. His expression shifted, the scowl replaced with a calculating smirk. “Now we’re talking. I better see the money when I’m done with them.”

“What…” You blinked, starting to ask, What are you going to do? But before the words left your lips, he was already walking toward a nearby discarded block of wood.

The paparazzo, sensing trouble, began to step back, his bravado fading fast as Bucky’s tall frame loomed closer under the dim glow of the streetlight. The shadows swallowed the paparazzo, and Bucky’s intense glare made him feel like prey.

“Leave, or I’ll crush you like that camera,” Bucky growled, pointing at the shattered remains of the paparazzo’s camera with the wood block in hand.

The man’s face drained of color. He laughed nervously, bowing his head repeatedly. “Ahaha… that’s my mistake. I shouldn’t have bothered either of you.” Without another word, he hurriedly started his car, the engine roaring to life, and sped off into the night.

The moment the car disappeared down the street, you let out a shaky sigh of relief. “Thank you,” you said, your voice tinged with gratitude.

Bucky shrugged, already back to his usual gruff demeanor. “Yeah, yeah, just send me the money.”

You blinked, momentarily taken aback by the sudden shift in attitude. “I’ll send it once I get back home.”

Bucky raised a hand, holding up a few fingers. “Oh, and this is the number.”

Your brows furrowed. “Hundreds?”

“No. Thousands,” he said with a smirk.

“What?!” you exclaimed, your jaw practically hitting the ground.

“I’m being generous. My price range never starts this low,” Bucky said with a sly grin, crossing his arms over his chest.

You wanted to argue, to negotiate, but you knew it would be pointless. Besides, he did help you out. Letting out a resigned sigh, you muttered, “Fine. Just give me your account number.”

“Use crypto instead,” he replied, his grin widening like this was all a game to him.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, feeling your irritation bubble over. I really hate this guy. “I’ll give you cash instead,” you snapped, your voice tinged with frustration.

“Now we’re speaking the same language. Thank you, girlfriend,” he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm as he smiled at you, all charm and mockery.

You shot him a sarcastic smile in return, shaking your head in disbelief. “Unbelievable,” you muttered under your breath. Of all the people to save you, it had to be this greedy, insufferable neighbor.

📷📷📷📷

The next morning, Mrs. Walls stood before you and Bucky in the living room, her arms crossed. Her expression wasn’t angry but deeply concerned, her lips pressed into a thin line as she glanced between the two of you. You felt like a kid caught sneaking cookies from the jar, and judging by Bucky’s sheepish look, he wasn’t faring much better.

“I don’t know where to begin,” Mrs. Walls said, her voice soft but laced with worry. “Walking alone in the middle of the night, being chased by paparazzi? What were you thinking?” She directed her gaze at you, and you shifted uncomfortably, staring at the floor.

Before you could muster an excuse, she turned her attention to Bucky. Her tone hardened, tinged with disappointment. “And you, demanding payment from her after helping? Really, Bucky? What kind of gentleman does that?”

Bucky scratched the back of his neck, avoiding her piercing stare. “Well… I mean, it wasn’t like I offered for free…” he muttered, his voice trailing off when she raised a brow.

Both of you mumbled, “Sorry,” at the same time, like scolded children. You avoided each other’s eyes, and Mrs. Walls shook her head with a sigh, her expression softening slightly.

“Good,” she said, her hands now resting on her hips. “Now that we’ve cleared that up, let’s try to make better decisions from now on, shall we?”

"RING!"

Before you could respond, the shrill ring of the telephone interrupted the moment. Mrs. Walls glanced at the phone, a flicker of curiosity crossing her face as she walked to pick it up. “Hello?” she answered, her tone polite. She listened in silence, her expression shifting from mild curiosity to shock. Her eyes widened as she turned to you.

“It’s Mr. Vert,” she said, holding out the phone.

You froze, your blood running cold at the name. Mr. Vert? The owner of the record label you worked for? You’d barely interacted with him, even as one of the company’s top-selling artists. What could he possibly want?

“Me?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, pointing at yourself as if she’d gotten it wrong.

Mrs. Walls nodded and extended the phone further toward you. “He asked for you.”

You hesitated, then took the phone with trembling hands. Pressing it to your ear, you stammered, “H-Hello?”

The voice on the other end was serious, and your heart sank further as you listened. Something about the weight of the call felt ominous. Why would they call here of all places? You’d turned off your phone the day you arrived and cut ties with your manager. The record label must have gone through extraordinary lengths to track you down.

You swallowed hard, clutching the receiver tighter. Whatever this was, it couldn’t be good.

Why was Mr. Vert reaching out to you directly? Was he furious about your sudden departure and planning to fire you? It wouldn’t be surprising; you had left without a word. A whirlwind of questions raced through your mind, each more pressing than the last.

As you spoke into the phone, Mrs. Walls turned to Bucky, her frown deepening. “Demanding money after helping her? Really, Bucky? That’s not a very nice thing to do.”

Bucky shrugged, leaning lazily against the wall with his arms crossed. “I’m just being practical, Mrs. Walls,” he said, though his eyes were fixed on you. He noticed the subtle change in your posture—how your shoulders stiffened, your hand clutched the phone tighter, and your expression grew pale.

After what felt like an eternity, you put the phone down, your face drained of color.

Mrs. Walls immediately stepped closer, her voice soft and concerned. “What’s wrong, dear?”

You swallowed hard, your voice trembling as you replied, “My manager… was found dead.”

Mrs. Walls gasped, her hand flying to her mouth before she pulled you into a comforting hug. “Oh my goodness,” she murmured, rubbing your back gently.

You stood rigid, the reality of the situation sinking in. “The CEO wants me to come back… to attend the funeral,” you added, your voice flat. “He said it’s important to show there’s no bad blood between me and my manager now that she’s… gone. Let the past stay in the past, he said.”

“It’s devastating news. Are you alright, dear?” Mrs. Walls asked, her worried gaze searching your face.

You exhaled sharply, surprising them both with your next words. “Honestly? I’m glad she’s dead. She stole my money.”

Mrs. Walls gasped in shock, her eyes wide.

“Pfft… Hahaha!” Bucky burst into laughter, doubling over as he slapped his knee. “I didn’t see that one coming!”

You turned to glare at him, but his laughter only grew louder. “It’s not funny, Bucky.”

He wiped a tear from his eye, still chuckling. “Oh, it’s very funny. You’re supposed to be devastated, not throwing out zingers like that.”

Ignoring him, you took a steadying breath and continued, “The CEO also advised me to come back with protection.”

Bucky straightened up at that, his amusement fading as he raised a brow. “Protection?”

You nodded, meeting his gaze. “This time, you’ll get paid. Can I hire you?”

Bucky tilted his head, a slow smirk spreading across his face as he crossed his arms. “Now we’re talking. But you’re going to need to pay a premium for this kind of service.”

You rolled your eyes, exasperated. “Of course, you’d say that.”

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