#Boston Bears: Off Limits

[secretswiftymarvelfan]

Boston Bears: Off-Limits - Rugby Player!Chris x Reader (Epilogue) AND Boston Bears: Fake Out - Rugby Player! Ari x Reader (Part 1 SNEAK PEAK)

Summary: A year has passed since the championship final and it's a rare opportunity to watch Chris play from the stands

Word Count: 707 words

Warnings: Fluff! Mention of Past Sexual Harrassment! Allusion to SMUT! 18+ ONLY

Rugby Explained

Dividers by Me!

Series Masterlist / Masterlist

Epilogue

1 year later

It was very rare for you to watch a rugby game from the stands. You were generally on the sidelines, watching and making sure you were ready to run on at a moment's notice. It meant you could never really properly enjoy the match.

It was a different story today though. Instead of your navy blue Boston Bears tracksuit and medical bib, you were wearing a white jersey with red and blue stripes and Chris’ name on the back.

You cheered loudly from the stands in the French stadium, watching Chris play in the first World Cup match of the tournament. You thought you would be the loudest person in the stadium but to your surprise, Tommi was shouting and cheering much louder than you. 

“He’s off his feet sir!” Tommi shouted gesturing to the ruck.

If you had told her two years ago that she would have travelled all the way to France for a rugby game she would have died laughing. Yet here she was, lots has changed over the last year and a bit.

One major change was Bryce’s career. Exactly a year after you left the Lion the news broke that an investigation was being launched against Bryce for several sexual harassment allegations. The head coach got in touch with you and asked you to provide a testimony on what Bryce had done to you. You had been apprehensive to go through it all again but Chris promised to be by your side the entire time. He even missed a game to do so. Thanks to you and the other women who came forward, Bryce’s career was over. It took a whole year but you finally had your justice.

“Oh my god ref are you blind!” Tommi shouted.

You chuckled and shook your head as you turned your attention back to the game. It wasn’t long until the final whistle blew and the two of you could make your way down to the sidelines.

Chris smiled as soon as he saw you, his chest still heaving as he caught his breath following an intense match. He always looked so sexy after a match, his hair was always a mess, the veins were bulging in his arms. Energy would radiate off of him which made the rest of the stadium disappear.

He walked over to you and enveloped you in a tight hug. Anyone else would feel a little grossed out because of how sweaty he was but you didn’t care. The two of you spent plenty of time getting sweaty together and it never bothered you.

“Sorry that you guys lost,” you said rubbing his biceps soothingly.

He shrugged his shoulders “We knew it was gonna be tough going against the hosts but I think we did well” 

“You did very well, I’m very proud of you” You smiled reaching up to kiss him.

“Thank you sweetheart” he grinned “Knowing you were out there wearing my jersey definitely helped” 

“I can wear it later if you want” you smirked.

“I want you to only wear it, and this of course” Chris smirked as he lifted your left hand, this thumb brushing past the ring on your fingers.

“I think I can do that” you smiled. 

Chris had proposed to you on the anniversary of the championship win. He had admitted that he planned to do it earlier on the anniversary of when you first met but with everything that went down with Bryce, he decided to hold off. It was a beautiful May evening, the stadium was deserted when he led you onto the pitch right to the centre before getting down on one knee and asking you the most important question you’ll ever have to answer. You had barely let him finish when you squealed yes multiple times and tackled him to the floor in a massive hug. The sound of his laughter echoed around the stadium as you landed on top of him. 

“God I love you so much” he beamed as he cupped your cheeks.

“I love you more” you smiled reaching up to first kiss the tip of his nose before landing on his lips, the ones you’ll call home for the rest of your life. 

Boston Bears: Fake Out - Rugby Player! Ari Levinson x Reader

A/N: Just a quick reminder that the reader from Off-Limits has now become an OFC called Elena and Tommi is now our reader!

Word Count: 796 words

Warnings: Language! Mention of Masterbation! Minor Angst!

Rugby Explained

Dividers by Me!

Boston Bears Masterlist / Masterlist

“Levinson is everything okay?” the head coach questioned with an arched brow “Everything at home?” 

Ari felt his defences go up all of a sudden “Perfect” he stated “Can I go to training now or is there more to say on how I won’t represent my country?”

Once again the head coach didn’t react, nothing more than clench his jaw “No” he said gesturing for Ari to leave. 

Ari did exactly that, storming out of the media room. The door slammed loudly behind him. He couldn’t wait to get to the weight room where he could work through his frustrations which were only getting worse. 

He was so caught up in his anger that he wasn’t really looking where he was going. He turned a corner and ran straight into someone. He looked down to see a woman he didn’t recognise, her hair up in a messy bun, and baggy clothes. She certainly didn’t work here, and only staff and players were allowed in the building.

She stuttered an apology but Ari’s anger and frustration that had been simmering since the match on Saturday boiled over “Who the hell are you? You know you can’t be back here? What are you a fan desperate for an autograph or media desperate for a scoop?” He demanded.

The woman stuttered slightly before completely breaking down in tears. Ari scoffed in frustration and moved to step around her, he’d have to go find security to deal with this. 

He’d just stepped around her when he heard someone speak up behind him “Y/N? What on earth are you doing here?” Elena said.

Ari turned around and saw Chris and Elena standing there. Elena had a look of shock on her face, while Chris was frowning at Ari. He then glanced back down at the woman beside him who was sobbing. It took him a moment but he then recognised you. You were the bombshell that had him by the balls from the moment he met you back in late April. 

“What the fuck Levinson” Chris demanded as Elena rushed over and hugged you. 

“I- I didn’t-“ Ari stuttered, shaking his head in disbelief.

“What's wrong? Why on earth are you here?” Elena asked you softly.

“I’m sorry I meant to call yesterday but I forgot and- and-“ you stuttered before breaking down into sobs again. 

“Hey, hey, hey it’s okay let’s get you out of here” Elena said shooting a glare up at Ari before wrapping an arm around you and leading you away.

Chris watched as Elena took you away and out of sight before turning back to Ari “What the hell man? Why’d you yell at her? Why’d you upset her like that?” Chris demanded.

Ari shook his head unable to think of a reason “I didn’t even recognise her” he muttered “I thought she was a crazed fan or something”

“You shouldn’t have yelled at her even if she was!” Chris argued shaking his head at him.

“I know… I- I fucked up” Ari admitted.

Fucked up was an understatement. From the moment he set eyes on you in that hotel bar you captured his attention and never let go. You looked absolutely stunning in the red sundress you’d been wearing, a beautiful smile on your face as you laughed with Elena. He’d felt this tugging sensation that drew him closer and he knew he had to at least say hello. 

He’d been secretly devastated when you held out your hand and showed off your engagement ring. He’d only just met you, he knew nothing about you but he found himself cursing the universe that he’d met you too late. He hadn’t missed his chance, he never had one. Yet despite all that he couldn’t just drop it, he wanted to get to know you, flirt with you. Maybe he hoped that your relationship was on the rocks and he had a chance, that he couldn’t leave LA without even trying. Maybe he hoped it would get you out of his system.

It didn’t.

He hadn’t stopped thinking about you for the last 5 months. He wasn’t ashamed to admit that he’d fantasised about you, and thought of you whenever he needed to find a release. Ari was no stranger to finding hookups but he hadn’t even managed to do that because he couldn’t get you out of his mind.

He kicked himself for the way he behaved. If you didn’t want him before, you definitely wouldn’t want him now after he made you cry. His heart ached as he replayed the moment your face crumpled, your left hand moving to cup your mouth as if you could stop yourself from crying.

Wait.

“She wasn’t wearing her ring” Ari muttered as he looked over at Chris.

A/N: I am so sad to be sharing the offical ending of Chris' story but so excited to share the first proper sneak peak into Ari's story which will go live in the New Year!!! and for those of you who will miss Chris and his medic as you can see they will definitely be featuring in future stories! See you in the New Year!

Sharing is caring so please reblog and leave a comment to really make my day!

This series has no schedule, please don’t ask when it will be updated! Same goes for Masterlist, AO3 and Wattpad!

Off-Limits Series Masterlist / Boston Bears Masterlist / Masterlist

I don’t have a taglist but follow @secretswiftymarvelfanlibrary​ and turn on post notifications to stay up to date!

[romanarose]

Puppet

Boston!Joel Miller x fem!Reader

Read on ao3 : TLOU masterlist

Summery: Unable to bear the pain of life without Sarah, Joel burries it and himself inside his favorite doll. His fingers dance along your skin, controlling every move of his precious puppet

or

Something, something, no strings attached?

Warnings: I cannot give a comprehensive list of warnings. Wile no non con or dub con is employed, consider this fic to be open to dark themes including but not limited too mentions of Sarah's death and illusions to Joel suicide attempt, as well as Joel depression and anxiety. Hurt, some comfort??

Sexual content: (again, not comprehensive) Roughish sex but mutual consent to everything. Consider it some free use, he doesnt ask for permission but they have an arrangement. Vaginal fisting, manhandling, rough, sloppy upside down blowjob. throat fucking, gagging, lots of talk about kinda gross stuff like sweat and drool and musk. Ass eating (i know exactly the girlies this is for.) Lots of objectification about reader being a doll/puppet and Joel going a little off the rocker at the end there but I promise reader is having a great time, 10/10

2.5k Words

Told in Joel's POV, still a reader story. Bit of a different story telling mode for me, because it's literally just Joel's inner monologue. He doesn't say anything to you bc he's emotional closed off, but consider anything in italics what he wants to say.

Lil bit of latino Joel <3

It wasn’t love. It couldn’t be. Not when I can’t look you in the eye after bending your sweet body every which way, folding you and molding you into my perfect little creation. It was too dirty, cheap, nasty. We were using each other. That was the arrangement. Still, it was more than a quick fuck. 

It certainly wasn’t quick.

I like you wrecked, drenched, absolutely filthy to look at and so wrapped in pleasure you can’t walk right.

That’s not to say there hasn’t been those moments, times where I shoved you against an alleyway and slammed into your core, times where I know you tastedblood and brick and dirt as you clenched around me and I left you with nothing but scratches on your face and cum dripping down your legs. There have been days you don’t even see my face, only my familiar musk and grunts and warmth signaling you didn’t need to scream when I shove down your pants.

But there are nights like these I much prefer. I can’t say there is much for talking, certainly little for romancing. I’ll feed you if you’re hungry, which is a lot but not always. But you aren’t here for food, are you? You’re here to let go control, to allow yourself to be given over fully to another so that we can, for an hour or two, forget we were living in hell. Forget we were fighting every single fucking day to live. Forget we watched our loved ones die, children in our arms as we scream at God to take us instead.

I can forget when I’m inside you. 

You’re wet, warm, and you don’t ask much of me. You don’t ask for love or companionship, although I’m sure you’d take either if I offered, But I won’t. It’s not personal, it’s not about you. I just can’t give what I don’t have the capacity for anymore.

Still, despite the few words spoken between us I find you at my doorway again and again, begging to be filled by me, begging for it any way I want. You stopped asking me how I wanted you a long time ago, simply getting on the bed after stirpping without much fanfare. I can tell you try to add a little striptease here and there, and I let it slide despite not being a part of directions as long as you don’t get too cocky with it. I don’t need cocky. I need my cute little doll ready for me to play with, ready to take my cock in whatever hole I shove it in, waiting patiently and still for me to wind her up tight.

You looked like a doll too. Your puckered, pretty lips. Your large eyes gazing up at me. Your body so perfectly sculpted to my liking as if you were a dolly spin off of build-a-bear. In another time, I would have dated you, woo’d you, romanced your and waited weeks before sliding inside. I might have said I love you or even put a ring on your finger before I wrecked you, but that wasn’t the Joel I am now. Something inside me died on September 26th, something tha broke my ability to be the kind of man you deserved.

It didn’t stop me from making you gag.

Such a pretty play thing for me. Fuck doll, my favorite toy.

You know I don’t like your hands on me when you suck my dick.

It’s so disconnected I don’t know if I can even call it dick sucking or a blow job, through no fault of your own. You’re enthusiastic, and sometimes I can even see you smiling despite the stretch. No, this is on me. This is how I like it. I fuck your throat as your head hangs off the bed, watching as your body jolts in time to the constrictions of your throat, trying to get air through your nose as you struggle to breath because my balls keep slapping your face and plugging the only other option from oxygen… the undone flannel still covering my arms must tickle your skin. But you never push me off, never tap out, not even when I’m so deep in your lips are buried in the hair at the base of me, not even when I see the tip of my cock prod out your throat, and not when I wrap my hands around your pretty, dolly neck and use you to jerk off like a lifeless fleshlight. 

I pound myself into you, fucking your mouth like I do your sweet, tight pussy, the wet sounds of your saliva spilling out your mouth fill the room, mixed in with the russell of sheets from your writhing body. I like knowing I can make you move like this. You feel like home, you feel like forgetting, you feel like a comfort I can’t get from Oxy or booze or anything other than the sweet release of death. But I can’t take that route, not when I have Tommy to care for. 

If you put your hand on my thigh right now I might cry.

I release from you seconds before cumming, your body heaving to breathe again and I watch the drool run down your face and pool on the floor. I think about shoving your face in the slime and bile as I fuck your ass but that’s not what I need right now, and it’s not what you need either. I’m not selfish. Well, I am, but not with you. I’m cold, I’m mean, but I’m not cruel. I like you too, I like knowing I’m still good for something, that my hands are for more than killing, more than dumbly attempting to stop bleeding from bullet wounds. I like knowing they can be used for the pleasure of a pretty woman.

I don’t tell you where to go, I simply pick you up and throw you fully on the bed, watching as you bounce and shuck off flannel, making quick work of my white, sweat stained shirt. I haven’t showered. You havn’t given me the chance, jumping my bones like a whore begging for a fuck to pay for a meal. I think you like it, honestly. I see the way you look at me when we’re on a work sight together. You like walking away smelling like me, don't you? You like that my sweat had been rubbed all over you like an animal scenting his mate, my cum stuffed inside, my spit still glistening on your puffy pussy. Marking my territory.

You are mine, even if I can’t be yours. Even if I can’t give to you, I’ve taken all you are. If another man touches you, I’ll cut off his dick.

I grab your legs, yanking you so hard you fall backwards on the bed and your legs dangle off the edge..

I can’t tell you how pretty you are, spread out for me like this, awaiting for me to manipulate your body into my desires, mold you like I molded your insides to my cock, split you so fucking open every other limp-dicked lover that manages to stumble his way inside you feels empty. I can’t give you sweet nothings whispered in your ear or dirty encouragement, but I let you know how beautiful I find you as I lick and suck and bite my way down your body. I can’t kiss you, I can’t give you false pretense of what this is. I can’t take care of you after because I can’t look at you. Call it post-nut clarity, but I can’t face you anymore after I’ve destroyed you. Once we're done, the guilt sinks in. I swear to myself I won’t do this again, I won’t break a perfectly nice woman down into pieces when I can’t stomach putting her together again. 

I can’t play with my toys if I can’t fix them.

But soon enough you come knocking, or you’ll make fuck me eyes before slipping into an alley, and I’m ripping you open again. I’m drawn to you like a moth to a flame, hating myself and taking my shame out on you. You are the only thing that can distract me from the guilt of watching her die, and nothing can make me give up that sweet reprieve, even if that horror floods my body like a breaking damn as soon as the orgasm subsides. I’ll drown myself in you until I can’t breathe anymore.

Two fingers slip in easily by now. Three is a little more but you take it well. You always do. Four fingers was the most you’d ever taken, and when I add the pinky I hear you choke out a moan, your limbs moving when my hands do. I love how thoroughly I’ve wrecked you, dolly. I love how I can shove all three of my knuckles inside and feel that warmth on my frostbite damaged hands, noting all the details of your flesh on the burned pads of my fingers. 

You move so pretty for me, dolly.

My middle finger curls and your right fist clenches as your gasp. I spread my digits out and your head drops back. I swirl my thumb over your clit I spit on and your toes curl, crying my name. Hell, I move a pinky and your legs spread wider. It’s like I can control you from the inside.

You aren’t a doll after all. You’re a puppet.

My little hand puppet.

I take it further, sliding out my hand enough and reinserting it carefully with my thumb included. You scream my name, gripping the sheets as you bear the pain; I suckle on the sensitive swell between your folds. A promise that the pain will melt into pleasure.

I’ll take care of you, dolly, mi muñequita, mi marioneta, my perfect puppet dancing around for me on the stage of my sheets, twirling, whirling, swirling around in sin and sweat and screams.

A promise fulfilled, you begin whimpering the whiney, filthy needy thing that you are. Dirty puppet at my command, ready to fuck away all my pain burried in your tight cunt. You were burning on the inside, pulsing and drenching my arm as I fisted your hole, creating a fullness no one could give you. Me. Only me. No one could ever turn you into such a slobbering whore and make you look so pretty doing it. I want to leave my imprint, give as much as you could take and not a centimeter less, permanently burning my face in the plush of your thighs to hide the smile at your sounds reaching a fever pitch. The whole apartment knew who you belonged to, that the pretty woman banging on his door at all hours of the day was being fist fucked by the local drug dealer, that the dirt covered worker at the fires would have her face washed clean of soot with her own drool gagging on my cock.

When you come, I feel you in a way I’ve never felt you before. It was like you were swallowing me up, begging for more, dragging me inside. You come hard, legs shaking and I’m sure you’re eyes would be rolled back if they weren't clenched so damn tight. I continue to play you like my guitar, just to see what noises I can pull out of you.

Qué sonidos tan hermosos haces, marioneta

Your body prone and limp, I maneuver your dead weight closer to me. You let me climb on your body, know full well what I’m doing. I see a little smile on your sweet doll face, lying there so compliant and ready for me, your submissive body simple allowing me to degrade you further. I on your face, allowing you full, unfiltered access to my ass that you eagerly devour, the musk and sweat of manhood, of masculinity. Me. I feel your tongue at my entrance, prodding like the good little sex toy you are, always doing what you were made to, controlled by the strings of your hair being pulled down the bed cushion by knees. 

I take your hands, lying obediently at your sides and just like the docile puppet you are, you allow me to control your limbs. I take your wrists, guiding your hands over your gorgeous body. You’re sweet, too sweet, too petty. Dulzura. I pretend I’m painting your skin, a handmade marionette made just to dance for me, to fulfill your purpose of being mine, of bringing mutual pleasure to us both, to feel your master's hand inside you controlling your body and your mind made live at his creation and only meant to think thoughts of me. I let you caressed your breasts, feeling your body, appreciating it as I do.

I cum on your stomach, not even remembering when my right hand dropped yours in favor of my cock. Your body is painted in white and I have the indescribable urge to spread it, to massage it into your skin until it’s as much a part of you as the traumas we’ve both endured. I sit up and off your face in time that a few spurts of my seed tumbles onto your face, and as much as I want to see it, I can’t.

As much as I want to touch your body, I can’t. The high has ended and horrors have begun to creep in, the lurking shadows swirling and dancing on the walls, waiting for me to fall in, waiting for them to take me again, waiting for me to not miss this time. I feel my skin crawl, and I barely have it in to toss my flannel in your direction. Handing you something to clean the firth off you while I dig at my own skin is the least I can do and the most I can manage. 

I turn away from you, digging into my draws in a hurry to pull something on, to cover my shame and hatred in myself while you dress and leave in silence. I usually don’t even hear the door close, a vague reminder in my head that I have to go to lock my door before my stash of oxys and other substances get stolen being the only thing to pull me away from staring at the wall.

My chest feels tight, but this isn’t a new feeling. It’s not a heart attack, not this time. I feel sick to my stomach, guilt for feeling any sort of pleasure, and joy at all is felt in every nerves of my skin, hyper aware of the drafts in his home, the splintered wood of the floor at his feet. In another life, I’d bother sanding it, varshing it, or redoing it all together. Nothing was worth it anymore. My eyes burned. I hope you were gone, fucked full and smiling from a world bending orgasm and not feeling the sickness I feel in myself.

I only realize you’re still there when I feel your sticky skin press up against mine, your bare chest to my back. 

How perfectly your body fits so perfectly to mine, dolly, from every angle.

I turn around, and like a child in a thunderstorm, I hold my doll while I cry.

THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!!!

I hope you liked the lil switcharoo ;-; and I know Joel is kinda ooc but i liked it!

I been listening to a lot of erotic audios lately and maybe this is where i get it from lolololol

If you like the doll/puppet kinda vibes but wished I went more into it, @missannwinchester has a great great great series called Plaything !!!!!! Joel is a lil freak and we love that for him!!!! one of those joels that stay in your mind for weeks, you know?

thank you to Alica for helping with the spanish!

tagging those who asked to be tagged and who i thought may enjoy!!!!!!!!! NO PRESSURE AT ALL i know we all got you know. real lives lol.

@pedge-page @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @strang3lov3 @alwaysmicado @hornystan @toxicanonymity @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @justagalwhowrites @femmeanonymelives

[tf2-headcanons-polls-confessions]

How good is each merc at cooking?

Merc Cooking Scale

Soldier 0/10

Everything he makes is poison. Or radioactive. Or stone. Or some combination.

That is, if there’s even anything left of anything after he’s done

Many, many, many, wild explosions have happened. Stuff that’d make Demo amazed.

He is banned from the kitchen.

Sniper 2/10

This man lives off instant meals.

He’s just the kind of guy who learned how to make what he likes and has stuck to that.

Not only that, but he would absolutely suck if he tried anything else. He’s not interested in learning, either.

He will eat plain wild game to survive if need be. He's got such bland tastes you can't convince me otherwise.

He does not like trying new food.

Medic 3/10 

 I don't trust him.

Pyro 4/10

They’re actually a pretty okay cook when they can focus! They enjoy helping around the kitchen.

Usually, they enjoy finger food that doesn’t require a lot of prep. They make those faces/pictures out of platters.

They are an excellent sweets maker. But when working with complex savory stuff things get much harder for them.

And when the stove is involved... well...

Somehow, though, their damage has never been bad as Solly’s.

Engineer 5/10

Man can cook a solid meal. He doesn’t, usually, but he enjoys it when he does.

His cooking is always super greasy.

His meals are also pretty limited. Really only knows how to make meat-based stuff like bacon, BBQ, eggs, chili, and roasts.

He’ll try his best if you can't/won’t eat meat but it's not the best.

His breakfasts are so good though.

Heavy 6/10

He’s actually a very decent chef but is brought down by the limited resources he had growing up

He’s had to find pretty much every way to cook a bear there is. His family and him are tired of bear meat but to fresh mouths it’s delicious!

He’s slowly learning how to include more variety in his cooking. Sandwiches were an easy introduction and are now his favorite food.

Cooking has become a hobby of his but he’s limited by his own pallet.

His cold meals (meals that don’t involve stove/oven/crockpot/etc., not literally cold food) are very good!

Spy (7/10)

He knows how, of course. He can make plenty of gourmet meals if need be like any respectable gentleman.

The problem is he hates actual doing it.

He can make a bunch if specific fancy meals very very well. They are delicious. They are beautiful. They are perfect.

But he can only make those things. He’s got absolutely zero creativity in the kitchen and could not tell you the basics of cooking.

He can follow a recipe but won’t bother to learn why you take the steps you take in it.

Demo (9/10)

He’s actually got a very similar story to Heavy but without the lack of resources.

He’s a mixologist. He’s a chef. He’s Husband Material.

After he went to live with his parents again, cooking became favorite chore.

As they got older, it also became an obligation. One he fulfilled with love and service.

He loves cooking for other people. He won’t ever really do it for himself. He likes sharing his meals much more than eating/preparing them.

It’s the social aspect for him.

Scout 10/10

Scout? How’s Scout so high up? It feels like he shouldn’t know how to do more than make toast, right?

WRONG.

His oldest brother is the best god damn cook in all of Boston. You bet your ass he spent his childhood eagerly observing him and their Ma.

From the time he was old enough to grip a spoon was eager to help out and prove himself.

He’s an excellent chef—and a resourceful one. He can make a gourmet meal out of five bucks.

Everyone is absolutely SHOCKED the first time he cooked for them. Spy accused him of ordering it from a restaurant to fool them but he was too genuinely knowledgeable/passionate about it.

His chicken meals are exquisite.

[call-sign-shark]

The Gentle Art of Terror

summary: Jack and Eva Nelson have an unpleasant encounter during a posh party. Her name? Tina Cacciatore, Luca Changretta's right hand. || Based on the "ask about your OC and mine to receive a one-shot + small moodboard". Also exploring Eva being scared is super cool. (@evita-shelby)

Words: 1.5k

“What are we doing here?” Eva asked, her sly and perfectly manicured hands tightly wrapped around the American’s muscular arm as they navigated in the dim light of the damp wine cellar. Warm but feeble lamps were hanging from the concrete ceiling, softly swinging from left and right at each gust of wind, casting their yellowish hue on the walls. The sumptuous witch’s voice was underlined with a palpable annoyance for she didn’t understand why they should waste their time in this shit hole while one of the most expensive parties ever held in Boston was taking place two stories above them. Jack Nelson‘s only reply was a little “shhh” before he walled himself in silence again, his green eyes surveyed his hostile surroundings with great attention. Even though the letter stipulated that their encounter would be peaceful, only aimed at discussing the terms of territory limits, Jack didn’t trust the man for his life of his. While merciless as an enraged bull and sly as a fox, he knew far too well that Luca Changretta, the most efficient soldier of the Spinetta’s family and the one rapidly climbing the Mafia’s highest ranks, wouldn’t shy away at the idea of slicing his throat at the slightest moment of inattention and Jack couldn’t have that. Even less when his mesmerizing wife, as powerful as him but embodying his only weakness, was with him at this moment.

“Jack.” She called him, her tone firmer as to remind him she wasn’t some kind of docile trophy wife but a Queen who could have almost everyone eating from her cursed hand. The sole power of her voice made him oblige — Nelson pinched his scarred lips in a thin line before replying.

“Remember when I told you Changretta wanted to talk? Well, here we are,” His gaze, usually hard and unyielding, softened at the sight of his wife’s expression, which was a combination of surprise and discontent, “I told you to stay at the party.” 

“And I told you I’m not some meek girl. If you are in trouble so I am, and I won't hesitate to make the fucker atone for the sin of thinking about harming you.” She stated, unbreakable and with the fury of a harpy. To this, Jack couldn’t help but grin: if the situation wasn’t so dangerous he would probably have fucked her right here, right now. With every day passing by, Eva’s reactions comforted him in the decision of belonging to her and only her. 

“Let’s stay careful. I don’t know where Changretta is… Might be as well looming in the dark and waiting to attack—“

“Oh. He’s here.”  She cut him off, one brow raised, her face composed but her gift of Clairvoyance unpleasantly rattling against her bones at the unpleasant sight. In a profound, almost animal instinct, She dug her nails into Jack’s thick sleeve as she felt her husband’s entire body tense when his eyes met with what she saw.

Luca Changretta stood against the wall like he belonged there, a tall and slender figure made of shadows. The swinging lamps of the ceiling threw their warm light at his face, bringing out his sharp traits, accentuating the hard line of his jaw, the predatory gleam in his eye, and the charisma he effortlessly exuded. With an air of casual indifference, the Capo was leaning back, his arms loosely crossed — Surprisingly, his posture was rather relaxed, while still bearing something threatening, like a panther that could spring to action in a blink the moment it smelt blood. A toothpick rolled lazily between his teeth as he carefully watched a third man across him, a man tied to a chair, his form broken and pathetic for he had been reduced to little more than a shell of fear and trembling flesh. 

Eva froze, an imaginary alarm ringing relentlessly in her brain as her genius mind quickly put two and two together —no blood on his face or on his ridiculously pricey tailored suit, a rather long distance from the victim: There was someone else. And that someone was responsible for this twisted scene, probably under Luca’s commands, but if so where was that monster?  Jack should have had the same thought for he quickly checked his surroundings to make sure no one had trapped them but, hopefully, there was no one. However, the echoing footsteps of the powerful couple had drawn the mafioso’s attention for a fleeting second. His piercing green gaze, shining in the dim light, flicked to them and paused just long enough to make sure they understood that he saw them—really saw them. Then, a grin slowly spread across his face in a chilling, knowing smile that curled his lips and reached his eyes in a way that was anything but friendly.

“Good evening, Mr.Nelson. I didn’t expect you to come to our little meeting in such a good company.” He finally said, his smooth voice slightly resounding in the cellar as he nodded at Eva’s direction to acknowledge her presence. Enemy but still a gentleman. As unexpected as it was, Luca wasn’t particularly surprised considering how skillfully manipulative and equally dangerous the new Mrs.Nelson was. Another shiver ran down the Mexican beauty, who couldn’t help but shift their focus from Luca to the tied-up victim, sobbing in muffled and exhausted squeals through the cloth that gagged him. She felt it — this presence, this fourth person hidden somewhere with a stare so burning she almost nervously scratched herself to get rid of the sensation. 

“Luca Changretta.” Jack simply said, spitting the name with so much disgust and disdain it seemed he had just taken a bite of a rotten apple, “I didn’t know you would put on a show in a pathetic attempt to scare me.” Jack stated with a raised brow — if his enemy had the slightest idea about who he was, he would surely know that cruelty didn’t impress Jack Nelson for he himself used to inflect it for business purpose. Ironically, what he loved the most was the Italian way.

“If you think all of this is to impress you let me tell you that you’re wrong,” The mafioso waved off the cutting remark with a elegant movement of the hand, “This unfortunate soul betrayed me so I had to make an example out of him. Nothing to do with you.”

That was how the men started to talk and while Eva was aware of it, the rest of their conversation blurred into unintelligible background when she noticed the tied-up man’s sudden agitation. The latter jolted and his breath hitched, muffled behind the ragged and saliva-coated cloth gag stuffed in his mouth. The air suddenly became heavy with a primal, animal fear that suffocated Eva. As her clairvoyant senses urged her to flee, her dark eyes still followed the panicking victim’s gaze until they fell on the slim and rather short frame of a woman. 

“Amore,” Luca called, interrupting his conversation with Jack Nelson due to the annoying noise he heard in the background, “Silence him.” He just ordered in a Sicilian — as a polyglot, Eva understood it — with as many emotions as if he had asked her to close the door, before focusing on his business talk again.  Two words, one command, and the girl moved closer, her steps light, almost graceful, as she entered his line of vision. She was rather small, standing no taller than 5”5, and harmless at first glance with her slender frame and radiant, ever-present smile. But Eva knew more than to trust a smile, especially this one who was nothing but deceptive - a mask to hide the hideous. She had long dark hair that cascaded down her shoulders, framing a cute but bratty face with mismatched eyes — one as dark as night, the other a brilliant, unsettling golden sun — and blood splatters.

“What…” Eva breathed. 

The man’s breathing quickened as she approached, his chest rising and falling in sharp, panicked heaves. He pulled harder at his restraints in a desperate, useless struggle but it only seemed to amuse her. The broken doll-faced woman tilted her head, her smile widening and a look of near delight crossing her face as she took in his terror.  “That’s okay.” She simply said with a fake soothing tone before pulling a sharp knife out and slicing his throat before Eva had the time to bat her eyes. The strong metallic smell of blood came in a wave so strong that Eva took a few steps back with her expensive heels clicking, eyes wide open, and nausea hitting. Jack must have borne witness to the same thing judging by the instant and worried glance he gave to his wife.

“Hm?”  The killer girl said as if she suddenly remembered that other people were in the room. She finally raised her bicolor eyes towards the Mexican beauty and paused, quietly observing Eva’s face whose exquisite color had turned two shades paler with lips parted in shock. The grotesque scene in front of her didn’t make sense — even with blood on her own hands, she could never understand such unleashed cruelty. Such a bright glimmer of pleasure when inflicting pain.  Eva was frozen, but Tina’s reaction to her presence was instant: her bloodied face lit up with gleeful recognition and her wicked grin turned into an innocent smile. She lifted her hand; still dripping with blood, and waved cheerfully.

“Oh, hey!”  She exclaimed in a light and musical voice, as though she'd just bumped into an old friend on the street. There was no malice in her tone, no hint of the brutality she had just shown.

Eva’s heart missed a beat for the first time in a while at the dissonance between her casual, innocent demeanor and the horrors she had just witnessed. It was wrong. Wrong. So fucking wrong, even for her. After all, she wasn’t a good person but she wasn’t…That. 

And “that”  was a whole other level. “That” was the kind of monster who could not be bribed, not be stopped. An abomination that no money nor power could restraint. 

And “that”?

That was Tina. 

tag: @runnning-outof-time, @evita-shelby, @peakyswritings

[broadway-dave]

we are tinfoil hats ON tonight people

i repeat tinfoil hats the fuck on

were dropping sick conspiracies out here like you wouldnt believe man

when are we doing a boston tea party

except its like a can town cake party

or well it would also be a tea party dont they serve cake at those?

fuck if i know

anyway enjoy

lyrics under the cut

Strange time we're living in, panic and hysteria Poor man learn the rich man don't care for ya Narcissist mindsets spread like malaria

(DS: OBAMA)

Sit back and watch the show, America!

Earth C split through fickle shit A government of hypocrites These Crocker-picked politicians sit In parliament, not adequate

Needlessly bleeding resources all dry Turn a blind eye if it means a pay rise "Oh what a shame it would be I would die" If Crockercorp factories burned in a fire

Only joking, only messing, don't be stressing I'm a peaceful adolescent, there's no need to be unpleasant Write my thesis in a rhyme scheme To analyse the brain While my fingers on the trigger of a money game

Oh rain, rain, rain, rain A storm, it comes our way And those who rise through distorted lies Poisoning the veins But we like to point the blame, blame, blame, blame It's easier to blame But point the mirror at ourselves We're all part of this old money game

Money is a game and the ladder we climb Turns a saint into a sinner with his finger in crime I'll break it down for you motherfuckers line by line This is business economics in a nursery rhyme

She sells seashells on a seashore But the value of these shells will fall Due to the laws of supply and demand No one wants to buy shells 'cause there's loads on the sand

Step one, you must create a sense of scarcity Shells will sell much better if the people think they're rare, you see Bear with me, take as many shells as you can find and hide 'em On an island stockpile 'em high until they're rarer than a diamond

Step two, you gotta make the people think that they want 'em Really want 'em, really fuckin' want 'em, hit 'em like Bronson Influencers, product placement, featured prime time entertainment If you haven't got a shell then you're just a fucking wasteman

Three, it's monopoly, invest inside some property Start a corporation, make a logo, do it properly "Shells must sell", that will be your new philosophy Swallow all your morals, they're a poor man's quality

Four, OBEY, SUBMIT, CONSUME Send drones, cut wombs, resist, big boom

Five, why just shells? Why limit your self? She sells seashells, sell oil as well!

Six, guns, sell stocks, sell diamonds Sell rocks, sell water to a fish, sell the time to a clock

Seven, press on the gas, take your foot off the brakes Run to be the president of the United States

Eight, big smile mate, big wave that's great Now the truth is overrated, tell lies out the gate

Nine, polarize the people, controversy is the game It don't matter if they hate you if they all say your name

Ten, the world is yours Step out on a stage to a round of applause You're a liar, a cheat, a devil, a whore And you sell seashells on the seashore

Rain, rain, rain, rain A storm, it comes our way And those who rise through distorted lies Poisoning the veins But we like to point the blame, blame, blame, blame It's easier to blame But point the mirror at ourselves We're all part of this old money game

[polarnacht1]

Winner's Choice

Fandom: Game Changers Series - Heated Rivalry Pairing: Hollanov Rating: E Tags: Winner's room AU, bjs, mild angst, mildly dubious consent Summary: Shane is not too worried about being picked as forfeit for the winner’s room after losing against the Boston Bears. Rookies are off limits, at least that’s what the unwritten rules dictate. But then, when has Ilya Rozanov ever played by the rules? Shane hated losing, almost as much as he loved winning. It should be the same level Shane thought, but somehow it wasn’t. There was a thing in between where you hadn’t won but also hadn’t completely lost, a middle ground. This felt a bit like it. He had lost his first game against Rozanov, but he had won their first face off, and this was something no one could ever take away from him. The incredulous look washing over Rozanov’s face the moment he realized that he had lost, and the puck was Shane’s was something Shane would keep dear. It definitely sweetened the sting of the loss. 

Read more on AO3

[rauthschild]

Many otherwise perfectly good and serious Autochthonous Brothas and Sisthas remain confused about the Constitutions and the fact that we, Autochthonous Black Americans, don't live under them.

One of the groups that seems closest to getting that straight is The Tenth Amendment Center, which clearly knows that the Tenth Amendment preserved undelegated "Powers" to the Autochthonous people {WE THE PEOPLE} and the Nation-States-- an important exclusionary limit on the presumed powers of the Federal Government.

They often come up with very worthy articles and actions that sometimes seem providential.

Here we are grappling with setting up the de jure Nation-State Assembly Militias, a task and a subject that many people fear and misunderstand --- and here is The Tenth Amendment Center with an excellent article explaining the history, context and importance of our de jure Nation State Assembly Militias within the Autochthonous American Government.

I am reposting it here in its entirety for educational purposes to wake you mofos up:

Strong Militia Over Standing Armies Important lessons from the Founders on the right to keep and bear arms.

One of the primary reasons the founders wanted a strong militia system with a well-armed general public was to minimize or even eliminate the need for a large, permanent standing army, even in times of peace.

Most people in the founding generation were extremely wary of standing armies. They were often referred to as “the bane of liberty.”

They knew this from experience. From the standing armies that led to the massacre in Boston, to the gun control scheme that kicked off the war for independence – they lived it firsthand. As colonial resistance to taxes and other policies grew in 1774, the British responded by attempting to disarm the colonists.

Noah Webster understood this danger well, saying, “Before a standing army can rule, the people must be disarmed.”

George Mason also minced no words.

“I abominate and detest the idea of a government, where there is a standing army.”

St George Tucker warned what would happen if there was a standing army and the people were disarmed:

“This may be considered the true palladium of liberty. … The right of self defense is the first law of nature: in most governments it has been the study of rulers to confine this right within the narrowest limits possible. Wherever standing armies are kept up, and the right of the people to keep and bear arms is, under any color or pretext whatsoever, prohibited, liberty, if not already annihilated, is on the brink of destruction.”

This is why so many in the founding generation favored a strong militia system.

Patrick Henry summed it up during the Virginia ratifying convention.

“The militia, sir, is our ultimate safety. We can have no security without it.”

Why did the founders trust the militia and not a standing army? Because as George Mason said, the militia consists of “the whole people, except a few public officers.”

In other words, the people ultimately maintain control over the militia. In fact, they are the militia. But the government controls a standing army. It effectively serves as an extension of the government.

Henry Knox served as the first secretary of war in the U.S., and he recognized this distinction. In a letter to George Washington sharing his plan for organizing the militia dated 18 Jan. 1790, he emphasized that the militia should provide the primary defense and a standing army was distinct from the people at large.

“An energetic national militia is to be regarded as the Capital security of a free republic; and not a standing army, forming a distinct class in the community.”

He went on to say that “whatever may be the efficacy of a standing army in war, it cannot in peace be considered as friendly to the rights of human nature.” [Emphasis added]

Knox reflected a broadly-held view in the founding generation. People generally acknowledged the need for a standing army during times of war. Some even recognized the utility of a small standing army in times of peace. But virtually everybody understood standing armies posed a danger in peacetime. The militia served as an alternative – a first line of defense.

This view shaped the drafting of the militia clause at the Philadelphia Convention.

George Mason brought up the subject of federal regulation of the militia, saying he “hoped there would be no standing army in time of peace unless it might be for a few garrisons.”

“The militia ought therefore to be the more effectually prepared for public defence.”

Mason conceded that “an absolute prohibition of standing armies in times of peace might be unsafe.” So, desiring to point out and guard against their danger, he moved to preface the militia clause by adding the words “And that the liberties of the people may be better secured against the danger of standing armies in times of peace.”

This language wasn’t ultimately included in the Constitution, but it shows the thinking of the framers as they were drafting the Constitution, and underscores their widely-held worries about a standing army.

Even Alexander Hamilton acknowledged this point in Federalist #29, writing, “If standing armies are dangerous to liberty, an efficacious power over the militia, in the body to whose care the protection of the state is committed, ought, as far as possible, to take away the inducement and the pretext to such an unfriendly situation.”

“To render an army unnecessary, will be a more certain method of preventing its existence than a thousand prohibitions upon paper.”

During the Philadelphia Convention, James Madison also argued that a good militia would minimize or even prevent the need for standing armies.

“As the greatest danger to liberty is from large standing armies, it is best to prevent them by an effectual provision for a good militia.”

This drives home the point that the reason for having a well-armed populace isn’t just for shooting deer, or for personal defense, or even for defending against foreign enemies. The founding generation believed it was necessary to reduce the need for a standing army.

When Thomas Jefferson first read a copy of the proposed Constitution, he urged James Madison to provide for “the substitution of militia for a standing army.”

1) "Blacks were toting guns or other weapons and going about armed in the service of wealthy landowners at the same time that tens of thousands of enslaved White men were forbidden arms, In 1678 one thousand Negroes were armed by the planters and formed into a fighting militia for the protection against the French".

2) "In Carolina in 1704, 1707, 1712, 1738 and 1741 a bill was passed authorizing armed Negro militias in the service of the planters. 1742 certificates were presented to Black militiamen for services rendered".

3) "The colonial powers were not adverse to call on unlikely POLICEMEN to suppress white slave revolts: Blacks. Blacks were permitted to the colonial militia responsible for policing white slaves.

The aristocratic planters had felt the necessity to arm part of their black men to assist in suppressing white slave revolts.

4) Armed Black militias patrolled the Carolinas from the end of the 17th century to at least to 1710 when Thomas Nairne reported that Black's continued to be members of armed colonial militias organized by local governments". 1-9 taken from "They were White and they were slaves" (T.W.S.) by Michael A. Hoffman.

The term "colonial militia" in the preceding quotes must be clearly understood, as well as the words "Negro" and "Black" in the following pages, in order to get a truer picture of [the Moorish Troops [>Blacks and Negroes] who were soldiers of the "Continental Congress" or "Confederation Congress", i.e., "The United States in Congress Assembled" established shortly after 1776 and authorized by the United States of America Government domestically governed by the Articles of Confederation and internationally in agreement with the "Law of Nations" of the "Family of Nations" headed by the North America Moorish Empire a.k.a. Ottoman Empire.

In conclusion, you Brothas and Sisthas are the Posterity Sovereign Nation-States [> Title 5, U.S.C.S. 1501(1)], having original jurisdiction over any and all Partisan Political States and State of States.

[buzzdixonwriter]

Duty Now For The Future, 2023 edition (Part III)

“Molasses to rum to slaves” the old saying went, describing the triangle trade from Boston to the Bahamas to Africa.  A raw product sold to a manufacturer who makes a values consumer product who then trades it for cheap labor to make the raw product.

(Oh, yeah, I’m sugar coating and white washing a lot of horrendous behavior by calling it cheap labor, thus the irony of using “sugar coating and white washing” as my terms of choice.)

Modern capitalism needs cheap labor to make cheap goods it sells at as high a price as the market will bear.

The workers making those goods do not see the wealth their labor poots in the pockets and cryptocurrency wallets of the 1% who own almost everything.

In a very real sense, they are robbed of their labor.

Further, relentless advertising campaigns and social influencers pressure and seduce them to spend what little they do make off their labor to purchase the very items they manufacture!

Furthermore, if labor cannot afford the consumer goods being forced upon them -- or if they live in company towns where they’re compelled to purchase the very equipment they labor with from the company y they labor for -- they’re encouraged to the point of being extorted to go into debt to afford those goods (or worse, go into debt to provide for health care provided at horrendously marked up prices to line stockholder pockets, and often for medical conditions caused or acerbated by their employment or the substandard goods they consume).

Furthermore still, the capitalist system requires the constant expenditure of workers’ income on new products and services in order to maintain the system with the 1% remaining on top.

If a significant number of workers decide to stop spending money for even a short period, it sways the flagpole the 1% sits atop to the point they fear they’ll be flung off (hats off to Uncle Harlie for that metaphor).

The system must make non-durable goods in order to keep operating, it must require consumers to acquire more useless stuff.

And as markets reach their limits, the owners see to cut costs by reducing the number of employees, often by using automation and online facilities to get said goods and services to consumers even cheaper and faster.

We’re seeing the spectacle now of shopping centers, cut down by Amazon and the like, becoming storage centers where consumers can rent space to store the stuff they bought in the malls in the first place.

AI will continue to replace humans, making the goods and services even cheaper.

Question:  Once the last human employee is fired, how will the unemployed afford the purchases needed to keep the consumer economy viable?

I see two interesting trends occurring in contemporary consumer culture, perhaps contradictory, perhaps complimentary, only time can tell.

The first is by owners to deprive consumers of anything they might physically possess.

We see this in the form of streaming services rather than Blu-rays.  Make the consumer pay for renewable licenses rather than something physical they might own.

An ancillary to this are services like YouTube and Tubi that offer “free” streaming paid for by advertisers.

Congratulations, you just reinvented television circa 1948.

YouTube and a few other services are notable for their overlap with the second trend cited below. 

It’s possible for digital creators to circumvent traditional distribution methods or selling directly to customers; rather, they can generate the capital they need to do their projects by streaming their media on services supported by advertising, getting a slice of the advertising pie based on the number of views.

(We’ll sidestep any discussion of quality vs sensationalism at this juncture; the fact it’s even possible is remarkable enough.)

The second trend is a growing rise in the do-it-yourself spirit, everything from backyard gardening to homemade clothes to garage workshop projects to iPhone movies.

For many this is simply scratching a personal itch, but even then the end results may be sold for additional income. 

It can turn into a full-fledged business (many home knitters are backlogged with commissions), it can turn into a hobby that pays for itself by video promotion in the form of how-to videos that generate advertising revenue.

It’s still dropping the bulk of the revenue into the e-wallets of the undeserving 1%, but it’s better than jumping through hoops for a pittance with no chance of self-expression.

  © Buzz Dixon

[inkblackorchid]

I agree with this wholeheartedly. As much as I love the DS arc, the timing of the final duels is completely out of wack. A whole day for a total of six duels, of which technically only four are necssary to stop the king of the underworld, is perfectly doable, especially given that four separate teams initially head out. It would have been more than reasonable to assume some of those duels were happening at least near-simultaneously, too, and given the very short flashes we get of the other groups as they approach their destinations, there's no way to know how much time passes between each duel, anyhow—except for when the time limit suddenly comes into play. And frankly, trying to figure out where the hell all the time between sunrise and sunset went quickly turns into a dawning realisation that Satellite either has to be humongous, or every signer has wasted a metric fuckton of time before reaching their destination, or the person in the writing room who came up with the time limit idea did not think it through very well.

Like, bear with me here, but. Even if the resolution of the DS arc were taking place in midwinter (and we have zero reason to believe it does), assuming the sun doesn't rise before 7 AM and sets by 4 PM again, that's still nine hours of daylight. I'd like to add a reminder here that the first round of the Fortune Cup, which contains four duels (though one of them happens off screen), canonically takes place over the course of an afternoon. Hell, even if the two teams that drive in cars rather than on runners were going 30 km/h at most, you cannot tell me Satellite is large enough that it would have taken Aki and Mikage eight hours or some shit to get from Martha's to the lizard tower. Eight hours! That'd be 240 kilometres even at a snail's pace! Satellite is not 240 km long in any direction! If Satellite were a perfectly straight line of 240 km by 1 km, it'd be bigger than the entire city of Paris, or Boston, or Osaka! Satellite is not bigger than Osaka! This is bananas! So I cannot for the life of me tell what the writers were thinking when they introduced that time limit. It doesn't make sense on any level of logic. If they had shown the signers actually being held up and actively wasting time somewhere, granted, it would have been fine. But Aki and Mikage especially don't do anything except drive the entire time until it's time for Aki to face Misty a second time. None of this shit adds up, and if I, as a person who sucks at math, am saying this, you know it's bad.

I love a lot of things about the DS arc, chiefly the antagonists and the excellent character writing, but man, if the timeline of this arc's resolution (and also everything else that involves measurable units of time in this show) is anything to go by, the people who planned the arc didn't double-check their outlines for logical contradictions.

Rewatching the dark signers arc is great because I get to re-experience the great duels and character writing, but unfortunately I’ve noticed something this time that hurts the plot

And it’s all due to timing

When they find out they need to activate the four control towers, the Signers are at Martha’s and agree to leave at sunrise

Yusei rides alongside the twins in Ushio’s car to the monkey tower, then diverts to witness Crow’s duel with Bommer, then duels Kiryu at the giant tower, then duels Rutger in the BAAD. We learn here there is a time limit and the signers have to complete their task by sunset

At this time, Jack arrives at the hummingbird tower and duels Carly

Only after that does Aki arrive at the lizard tower, and suddenly sunset is a pressing issue…and Yusei arrives here as well

Now, I can accept Yusei getting around to multiple places in the time it takes others to get to one, as he’s got a duel runner instead of a car and also knows his way around Satellite the best. And since I don’t know the map of satellite I could see the monkey and giant towers being the closest to Martha’s so Jack and Aki had longer distances to travel

But I have a hard time believing satellite is so big that it takes literally a whole day to drive across it. Mikage knew where to go, and there might not have been an established deadline when she left but there was still the urgency of “we need to beat the dark signers to save the people who died” so I doubt she was driving intentionally slowly

It would have worked so much better if they hadn’t established the time they left- the sky is shrouded by smog the whole day anyway, so an ambiguous start time would keep the symbolism of the king of the netherworld rising at sunset without this issue

[sawyingthroughthewasteland]

Companion meme: General Sawyer Lockwood

found this funky meme style I think made by @shitty-fallout-art ? dunno but I thought it would be fun to have a crack at it with my boy :) don't ask me how this works with the endgame version of him, I don't know either. Maybe your just a settler in my playthrough that needed help so he just tagged along? who knows

Name: General Sawyer Lockwood Karma: good Alliance: Minutemen, Railroad, Arcadia, Far Harbor Perks: Favor of the Minutement: Thanks to traveling with the General so much, when in settlements, settlers will recognize you and help out anyway they can! In settlements, prices are significantly lowered and speech checks are easier. Additionally, all healing mechanics used within the settlements bounds are twice as effective due to feeling right at home! (Temporary Perk) Father of the Commonwealth: When traveling with Sawyer as your companion, instead of hitting 0 hp sometimes, Sawyer will drag you to safety and revive you back with a limited amount of health. Scowling and warning of needing to be more careful included. Additionally, when you fail a good karma speech check, Sawyer will hop in and back you up resulting in a success. (Temporary Perk) Commonwealth isn't Going to Rebuild Itself: When building in a settlement, there's a random chance a shipment of needed materials will appear in your workshop. "Heard you ran out. Here you go, kiddo! - General " (Permeant Perk) General:

"Wonder if Preston needs my help right now..... eehhh he's fine."

"Oh man, beautiful day for flying. Bet Baron's taking the kids out for a ride tonight."

"Damn, to think Nora wanted to live downtown. These places look like shit." "Move to Boston, they said. It'll be fun, they said." Combat: "For fuck's sake..."

"You've forced my hand, hope your happy." (to the enemies)

"Oh hey! Nice headshot! Do it again, we're low on ammo." (to player)

"Calling artillery! Light em up!" (if has artillery flare and flaregun equipped) "Calling in air support! Give them hell, Bear!" (if has airsupport flare and flaregun equipped) Death/Unconscious: "Fucking hell... 243 years, and I die from this?"

"Hey man.... Give Baron my dogtags, will you? Tell him... tell him I'm sorry, too."

" Got an extra stimpack on you? I'd hate for this dad to not return from the store haha... ha..." Revive: "Thanks, friend. Thought this body was going to go cold again. [nervous laugh] " "Don't tell my husbands about that, they'll kill me... Ironic, right?" "You'd really think people would have more respect for the outfit. Nothing Mac can't patch up, I suppose." After combat:

"Well then."

"Welp... time to loot I guess."

"Woo! We won! I love it when we do that." Open Inventory:

"Hm? Oh sure, toss it to me. I think I still have room in my bag."

"Oh god do you have like, a bag or something to put that in? No? [gags] "

"Glad someone else sees the value in random junk around the place. This will look fantastic back in Sanctuary." "Do I look like a strong guy to you?" (inventory full) Sneaking:

"Turn off your radio, dumbass."

"Just let me know when you need me to reappear. "

"They're not going to know.... how would they know? They're not gonna know!"

Location Specific: Sanctuary:

"Home sweet home! I'll be with Baron if you need me- man probably caught something on fire while I was gone."

"Ah, roof brahmin. Never change."

"Want to know something weird? I like this version of Sanctuary better than the pre-war version. Fucked up, right?"

Diamond City:

"Did you know you can ask the noodle stand for hot water for tea? Robot doesn't have a programmed response but it'll still give it to you... Oh hey my tea thermos is empty, could we?"

"This place is a garbage heap if you ask me. Maybe some day they'll let me fuck around in here."

"I should really ask if we can get an office here sometime for recruitment and communication, but I think they'd expect me in here full time. I'll go feral if I'm stuck behind these walls for more than a few hours, though." Prydwen (or the version of it that Baron flew over with):

"This is... nice and all, but can we hurry up? I don't feel the best uh... here..."

"[shaky breathing, trying to calm himself down]"

"Next time could I just... stay in the airport..."

Railroad HQ:

"Be right back, gotta slap Deacon's bald head."

"Pam! Pam! Pam!"

"I didn't know you were an agent? Welcome to the team! I'm Bullseye but don't let others know that."

Boston Commons:

"I really want to turn this place into a cute garden. Just imagine it! Could get some nice ferns in here too "

"Oh god, what the fuck. Wait why does it have knifes for hands what the fuck."

"Place could use more trees. Imagine how nice it would be to set up a ton of turrets and just hammock here after a long day? Get some nice sun and- shit I just saw something move in the water again." Personal Quest:

Too Much on the Plate: Sawyer really misses spending time with his family and desperately need to spend some time with his son. Help get three settlements to 90 happiness so the poor man can rest a little.

Vertibird Down: Baron's vertibird went down in enemy territory. Help the distressed General rescue his husband and wreck havoc on those who hurt him.

Likes:

Doing MM or RR quests

Helping others

Building in settlements

Nonviolent approaches or high level good karma speech checks

Recruiting settlers

Taking out BoS/Institute members

Stealth kills

Dislikes:

Chem use other than stimpacks / Addiction

Prejudice against ghouls or synths

Threatening the RR or MM

Killing nonhostile and/or good karma individuals

Stealing or trespassing

Helping raiders

Asking for increased pay

[secretswiftymarvelfan]

Boston Bears: Off-Limits - Rugby Player!Chris x Reader (Part 7)

Summary: It's your first time back in LA following what went down with Bryce. You expected it to be uncomfortable, you didn't expect almost everything to explode in your face

Word Count: 5.9k

Warnings: Fluff! Angst! Brief Minor Violence! Talk of Sexual-Misconduct! Poor Self-Confidence! Mention of Vomit! Talk of Anxiety!

Rugby Explained

Dividers by Me!

Series Masterlist / Masterlist

Chapter 7

The stadium was already full when Chris stepped out onto the pitch to warm up. The LA heat was almost unbearable compared to the East Coast spring weather. Chris scanned the crowd which was full of LA Lions fans but to Chris’ joy, he could still see the occasional blue shirt of the Bears fan. Dedicated fans who made the long trip or kept their allegiance after moving. 

Today was the first away game for a few weeks. It was an important match as the Lions were the main competition for the playoffs and championship, but also because it would prove that the current winning streak wasn’t because the Bears were at home. 

Training had been intense the past week, Coach blasting the heating so the change in temperature wouldn’t be too stark. They also arrived in LA Wednesday evening despite the match not being until Saturday. It allowed them to train in the heat and recover from the flight so they were all fighting fit. 

As Chris warmed up he glanced over to the bench where you were stood with the other medics. You looked good in shorts and a sports vest instead of the tracksuit you normally wore, but Chris kept spotting you glancing over at the Lion’s bench nervously. 

You hadn’t told him exactly why you left the Lions so suddenly but he guessed it wasn’t for a happy reason. You seemed hesitant to be back here. Chris had a suspicion though, one he had when he was doing his research for tonight’s match. 

He had watched all of the Lion’s games from this season to fully understand how they were trying to play. Despite knowing you obviously worked there, He was surprised when he first saw you on the footage, he wondered how he never noticed you before because now he couldn’t stop looking for you. It was one match that caught his attention though, it was the last match the Lions played before you left. 

He could see in the small glimpses he got of you that you were acting different, acting like you were now Chris realised. In the footage, he watched as the Lion’s fly-half, Bryce Langley, went down and you jogged onto the pitch. Unlike all the other times you saw to Bryce in previous matches, you seemed pissed off, you snapped at him and even chucked a water bottle at him.

If Chris had to guess, Bryce was at least part of the reason that you left so suddenly. He just hoped Bryce stayed away today and didn’t cause you any more trouble. 

Chris went back to warming up, practising his kicks. The crowd were doing their best to put him off, jeering as he did his run-up. But to his delight and their disappointment Chris slotted the ball between the posts each time. Chris grinned when he bent down to grab his tee, sending a winning smile to the crowds as he turned around only to see Bryce was watching him from his side of the pitch. Chris barely acknowledged him as he walked off to join his team for some drills.

When it was time to head back into the changing rooms to get ready for the match, Chris timed it so he walked by the bench next to you “You okay?” he asked quietly, pausing for a moment. 

You gave him a small smile and nodded “Good just promise me you’ll beat the crap out of them” you asked. 

Chris grinned and nodded his head “It’ll be my pleasure” he promised as he carried on towards the changing room only to notice Bryce once again watching him. 

Soon enough it was time for kick off and both teams came out of the starting blocks with fire in their veins. It was a brutal first half and hard hits and each team scrapped to get over the try line only to be unsuccessful. The only points on the scoreboard were from penalty kicks. 

There had been plenty of breaks as different players on either team needed some medical attention. Whenever there was a break the medic team would jog on, a couple going to the players that were down, the rest bringing water on for the rest of the team. 

You had been mostly on water duty and whenever you came over Chris somehow always managed to end up standing up next to you. You occasionally brought on some instructions that had been radioed down from your dad. 

After the most recent break when you went to leave the pitch, you gave one last instruction from your dad directly to Chris. Chris nodded and patted you on the shoulder as you left before moving to get back into position for the restart. 

As he took up his position ready to kick the ball ready to start the next phase of play he spotted Bryce was watching him intensely and not because Chris was about to kick the ball, Bryce was also looking at you as you walked off the pitch. 

Chris decided to take this moment since Bryce was clearly distracted, he checked the ref was ready to go and kicked the ball the restart the game. It was another rough ten minutes that ended with the ref calling both Captains over for a talking too, which to Chris’ annoyance meant Bryce came walking over. Chris ignored him as the ref told them both to get the penalties under control otherwise players would start getting sent off, but when they went to walk back to their respective teams Bryce spoke up. 

“See you’re close to our old medic,” He said. 

Chris arched a brow but didn’t engage.

“She’s a bit of fun isn’t she” Bryce smirked with a disgusting wink before turning away. 

Chris clenched his fists as he took in that snippet of information. You and Bryce had been in some sort of relationship, one that clearly didn’t end well. Chris knew that it had to be Bryce’s fault and the reason why you were so nervous to be here and it made Chris’ blood boil. If he hurt you then Chris was gonna kill him. 

Thankfully for Chris, he played the perfect sport that allowed him to dispense some justice, he just needed to play it carefully. 

It was only a couple of minutes until half-time when the perfect opportunity presented itself. Johnny had kicked the ball down the pitch and it was going straight into Bryce’s hands. Chris timed his run perfectly, hitting Bryce with a hard tackle as soon as his boots touched the ground. The ball was knocked free the hit was so hard, yet Bryce just laughed as he lay underneath Chris. 

“You can do better Evans” he chuckled. 

Chris bit back a growl as he went to push himself up and rejoin the game but Bryce spoke up again. 

“And I don’t mean the tackle, there better lays out there, she’s shit in bed” Bryce smirked up at Chris. 

Chris saw red but still had enough reason to stop himself from punching Bryce. If he threw the first punch he would be sent off for the rest of the game, he wanted Bryce to throw the first punch. So instead he grabbed Bryce by his shirt, lifted him up and slammed him back into the ground before standing up so he looked more innocent. 

Bryce took the bait, jumped to his feet and swung, his fist connecting with the side of Chris’ face. The crowd exploded as the two teams piled in, it was only once Chris and Bryce were surrounded and hidden from the cameras that Chris threw a punch, but not before getting a couple more to his face. Chris could feel blood trickling down from his forehead and he was pretty sure his lip was split. 

Eventually, the teams and refs were able to break the fight up. Ari had his arm around Chris’ shoulders as he led him away to ensure Chris didn’t go in for round two even though they both knew Ari was more likely to go in again out of the two of them. 

The medics ran onto the pitch, you ran straight to Chris “What the hell happened” you hissed as you passed him a water bottle and held some gauze to his eyebrow which was bleeding. 

Chris squeezed some water into his mouth to sloosh out the blood before spitting it back onto the pitch “Don’t worry about it” he muttered.

A worried look passed over your eyes as you glanced over toward Bryce who was also being treated, when you looked back at Chris it looked like you wanted to be sick. 

“Chris-” you started but Chris interrupted. 

“Later” 

You nodded and returned your attention back to getting the bleeding to stop. As you did so the ref who had been talking to the TMO walked over and showed Chris a yellow card. Chris sighed, it wasn’t great but at least it wasn’t a red which was the card that was shown to Bryce. 

Since the fight had started in the 40th minute the ref called the end of the first half allowing all the players to head back to the changing rooms. 

“Hold onto this and I’ll patch you up better in the changing room” you instructed as you grabbed your bag and stood up.

Chris did as he was told and held onto the gauze as he started to walk off the pitch, as he did so he glanced up to where all the coaches sat and watched the game. Even from this distance, he could see the look of fury on your dad’s face telling Chris he was about to get a bollocking in the changing rooms. 

Once inside, Chris sat down in his cubby and let you carry on treating him. The cut on his brow had stopped bleeding allowing you to apply butterfly stitches to keep the cut shut. You then added a bandage to help protect it while allowing him to continue playing. 

You were just cleaning up the small cut on his cheekbone and split lip when your dad finally stormed into the changing room “WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT EVANS!” he bellowed loud enough to make the entire team flinch. 

“I’m sorry sir, I just saw red” Chris apologised. 

Your dad shook his head “That isn’t like you Evans! What on earth was he doing that provoked you” he asked. 

Chris noticed how you froze for a second, a flash of fear passing over your eyes that only Chris could see. 

“He was trash-talking Jensen and it just pissed me off” Chris lied, Jake looking over at him surprised. 

“It's true I heard it, he deserved it” Johnny piped up. 

Chris shot Johnny a thankful look, he knew Johnny hadn’t heard a thing but he clearly put two and two together. 

“Right well good for you for sticking up your friends” Coach Y/L/N sighed “At least you didn’t throw the first punch” he then turned your attention back to you “Is he good to back on?”

“Just about to do the head injury assessment now” you responded. 

Your dad nodded “Okay well it’s going to be 14 men on both teams for the first ten minutes of the second half so we should expect them to hit us hard during those ten minutes, but as soon as we get 15 men back on the pitch we need to hit them hard and make them regret losing Langley”

As he continued on with his halftime talk, you did the head injury assessment on Chris which involved a lot of you looking into Chris’ eyes. He just hoped you could see the reassurance he was trying to convey in them. 

Today had been a disaster. You really regretted coming back to LA. Your dad had said that you could stay back in Boston if you really wanted to but you wanted to prove to yourself that you weren’t haunted by LA. Tommi was here, you needed to be able to visit her and the team would always play here at least once a season. 

You had felt sick the entire time you were in the stadium, you could feel a thousand eyes on your back. The only time you felt better was when you felt Chris’ eyes on you, they felt like a gentle touch in between the stabs of pain.

It was enough to make you feel better, feel safer. You could do this, the tightness in your chest dissipated. 

That was until the fight broke out between Chris and Bryce. You knew it had to be over you. You didn’t know exactly what Bryce but you had a good idea and all the progress you made was gone in an instant. 

You had been feeling better about yourself following your night out with the ticket office girls. Whether he knew it or not Chris had built you back up by making you smile, he took you to bed and seemed to worship you. You felt more like the person you had been before everything happened. 

But now Bryce had poisoned it. He has told Chris about you and you felt like you were back to square one. 

Chris had said ‘later’ when you tried to ask him and you couldn’t work out if it was a good or bad later. Considering you had yet to speak to him following the match you felt pretty confident it was a bad later. 

You had eaten dinner with your Dad who wanted to make sure you were okay being back in LA. When everything went down with Bryce you had called your dad in tears, you hadn’t told him every detail just that you had been in a relationship with a player and it ended so badly that you needed out. Your dad went into instant over-protective mode and you had to convince him not to jump straight on a plane over. 

To anyone else, it would have been awkward talking about this sort of thing with their dad, but it had been just you and him, he’d been your mom and your dad so it felt normal. He didn’t know that the fight between Chris and Bryce was because of you, he’d believed the lie Chris had told him. Whether he lied to protect you or himself you didn’t know. 

Now you were just sat alone in your hotel room, chin resting on your knees as you hugged them close to your chest. It was late but you couldn’t sleep. You were still waiting for Chris to come to discuss what had happened. He hadn’t texted you or said anything since the game but you knew it was only a matter of time. 

It was half an hour later that you heard a light tapping of knuckles on your hotel room door. You took a deep breath and pushed yourself off your bed, wrapping the loose long cardigan you wore around yourself tightly. 

Like you suspected you found Chris on the other side of the door, an unreadable look on his face “Can I come in?” he asked quietly. 

You swallowed and nodded as you stepped aside and let him in. He walked in and took a quick look around your room before he turned back to face you. He had changed into comfies, grey sweatpants and a navy blue tee. The cuts on his face looked better even if bruises were starting to form. 

“Everything okay?” you asked quietly. 

Chris nodded “I just thought I’d find out why I took a total of 3 punches to the face for you today” he said. 

“Chris I-” you started before your voice gave out, your own body silencing you. 

“You left LA because of him right? You were dating him and it went bad” Chris stated his hands buried in his sweatpant pockets probably to hide the fact that they were clenched. 

“Yes,” you whispered. 

“What happened? Did he hurt you?” Chris pressed taking a couple of steps forwards towards you. 

“He- he uh - it-” 

“You can tell me” Chris promised.

“I know I just- it’s just-”

Chris let out a long sigh and dropped his head “It’s okay don’t worry, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, I… I just wanted to make sure you were okay” he said softly. 

He lifted his gaze to meet yours and you could see the sincerity in them. It made your heart completely melt. It was at that moment that you realised that you did want to tell, you wanted this all off your chest even if it meant he left you because you couldn’t live the lie anymore. 

“I want to tell you, I do…” you muttered looking down at the floor, fiddling with the sleeves of your cardigan “It’s just difficult” you admitted.

Chris nodded his head “That’s okay, take however long as you need” he said softly.

You bit your lip and nodded your head. Your mind was running at a million miles per hour trying to work out what you wanted to say or how to say it. You took a few deep breaths and tried to talk but every time you opened your mouth nothing came out no matter how hard you tried. 

You looked back up at Chris and saw him patiently waiting for you. He wasn’t trying to rush you, he looked sympathetic and understanding. Which actually made it worse because you weren’t sure you could see that face change to disgust as you told him everything that happened.

“I’m sorry I- I can’t look at you when I… I just can’t” you said before turning around so your back was to Chris. 

You took a couple more deep breaths, once you got going the rest would just fall out. You just needed to take that first step. You’d done it before with your Dad and Tommi so why was it so hard now? You’d done it before, you could do it again. You could do it.

“I had a crush on Bryce for a while, I never properly knew him but I thought he was hot and he seemed nice, he was a good laugh” you finally managed to say “Then at the Christmas party he finally reciprocated, I thought it would be a one-time thing and I was okay with that too but he kept coming back and I kept letting him in” you explained trying to keep your voice level, “he asked to keep it quiet, said it was to protect me, made me think it was exclusive when it wasn’t” you swallowed as you prepared yourself to recall the hardest part of the story “at my last match for the Lions I overheard him talking about me and not just him telling the team that we were together he told them everything, told them so much that I may as well have walked in naked and given them the information myself and it wasn’t like he was bigging me up, here was tearing me down, saying how shit I was- the disgust in his voice… I tried to brush it off and say it was just locker room talk but all of them just looked at me like I was naked and I felt so violated I-I had to leave”

You had to take a moment as the tears streaming down your face made it near impossible to talk but the floodgates were open and truths you hadn’t even voiced before came streaming out.

“It made me feel like spoiled goods, I’m not someone who asks for reviews and the first I got was the worst you could ever get and my confidence just went. I tried to get myself back on the horse to prove him wrong but that voice was still in my head, it still is telling me how disgusting I am and how there was no way that you’re enjoying this as much as you say” you shuddered “and even if you didn’t realise it then I’m sure after hearing all this you do now and it’s fine if you want to stop, want to leave… I wouldn’t blame you” 

Silence fell in the room. The only sound was your sobs that you tried and failed to hold back. You covered your face with your hands to hide your tears, tried to stop them.

It felt like an eternity had passed, so long that you were certain that Chris had left and you hadn’t heard him go. That was until you felt his arms wrap around you tightly, holding you up as you completely broke down. 

You were so distraught that you hadn’t even registered that he’d turn you around until your head was buried in his chest. Your fist clutching his tee as your tears soaked the fabric. He rubbed your back soothingly, his other hand cradling the back of your head.

You were faintly aware of him whispering comforting words in your ears as he pressed kisses to the top of your head. It was soothing and heartbreaking all at the same time. Chris was being so sweet and it pained you to think that you thought he wouldn’t. He’d given you no real reason to think the worst of him yet you did and you felt awful about it.

Your body began to shake with exhaustion. All the adrenaline that had been pumping through your body all left at once making you feel weak. Chris instantly picked up on it though as he scooped you up and moved to sit on the bed, you curled up in his lap.

With the exception of the comforting words he was whispering, he just let you cry it out, he didn’t try and get you to stop he just held you. It was only when your sobs receded and turned into hiccups that he spoke. 

“Firstly I am so sorry you had to go through all that, I would have hit him harder today if I’d known” he sighed “But secondly… don’t you dare believe a word he says, you are not spoiled goods, you are not disgusting, and you can be damn well sure I have never felt that way about you either” he continued cupping your cheek as he tilted your head back so he could look into your eyes “when I’ve told you how much I enjoy our time together and how fucking good it makes me feel it is 100% the truth because I would never, ever lie to you about something like that” 

“But-” you started but Chris silenced you by running his thumb over your lips.

“You are easily the sexiest woman I have ever had the pleasure of spending time with, you are like a drug that I cannot and do not want to quit” Chris stated, his voice full of conviction. 

“Then why did he-” you sighed shaking your head.

Chris shrugged his shoulders “I don’t know, Bryce is so fucked in the head that I don’t even want to dive into his messed up mind to try and figure it out but I can guess that like all bullies he was projecting his own insecurities onto you and decided he needed an ego boost and so he started to brag” he sighed “all of it is on him not you”

You let out a long sigh and rested your head back against his chest as you thought back to all the times you had spent with Bryce, the memories completely different without the rose tint “he definitely isn’t the best I’ve had” you muttered “that award goes to you”

Chris snorted with laughter, and shook his head “I can say the same thing about you” he said softly. 

“Thank you” you whispered “I am sorry you got punched by him today, I should have told you about all of this before”

Chris shook his head, his hand running soothingly up and down your back “It’s okay you weren’t ready to tell me, plus if you had I probably would have been the one who got given a red card because I would have outright punched him the first chance I got, I should really give you the man of the match medal” he chuckled. 

“I thought Johnny got player of the match” you pointed out, brow furrowed in confusion. You could definitely recall Johnny showing it off in the changing rooms despite how awful you were feeling at the time. 

“He gave it to me, said if I hadn’t taunted Bryce into the fight we wouldn’t have had the 1 man advantage and he wouldn’t have been able to score as easily as he did” Chris explained “So remind me tomorrow morning to give it to you” he smiled softly.

You shook your head “You keep it, you deserve it for sticking up for me” 

Chris nodded but you had a sneaky suspicion that it would somehow end up in your possession anyway. 

“Can I ask you something?” Chris then asked, you nodded your head to tell him to go on “Did you report what he did to you?”

You let out a long sigh and nodded your head “Yeah I went straight to the head coach after the match, to his credit he was really good about it, he launched an investigation into it but all the team took Bryce’s side and said he never said anything about me, it was my word against all of theirs and while the head coach believed me he said his hands were tied” you recalled.

Chris swore under his breath “That’s utter bullshit, he could have done so much more” he said his voice almost like a growl “I’m glad you left, seems like that entire club is backwards and not a safe space for anyone” 

You nodded and let out a sigh “You’re right, it would be nice if there was some justice” 

Chris hummed in agreement “I know, but there will be, these things have a way of working themselves out, and in the meantime, Bryce is walking around with a nasty black eye so he won’t be getting any attention for a while” he smirked.

You chuckled softly before yawning, the exhaustion from today finally catching up with you. You were finding it difficult to stay awake, especially in Chris’ warm and safe embrace. 

“You tired?” Chris murmured as he looked down at you. 

You looked up at him with droopy eyes, there was no denying that you needed to go to sleep but you really didn’t want Chris to leave “Not really” you said. 

Chris gave you a knowing look “C’mon let's get you to bed” he hummed standing back up. 

You tried to protest but it was an impossible battle as Chris pulled back the covers and guided you to climb in. You managed to grab hold of his hand as he pulled up the covers.

“Will you stay?” you whispered.

Chris smiled softly as he nodded his head “I’m not going anywhere” he promised, pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

You watched as he stood back up and pulled his tee over the top of his head, turned off the lights, before climbing into bed with you. As he settled he pulled you into his side so you could rest your head on his chest. He wrapped his arms around you securely the weight of his arms comforting. It didn’t take long at all for you to fall asleep, only faintly aware of Chris kissing the top of your head as you drifted off. 

To Chris' relief, you fell asleep quickly. He watched as all the tension and worry left your face and you completely relaxed as you slept. It took him a bit longer to be able to fall asleep himself. His mind focused on replaying back every interaction he’d ever had with you, noticing all the signs he’d missed. 

Like how you were so set on making sure you were on the same page on exclusivity and how many details would be shared with others. He could tell it was important to you at the time but now he knew it was because you were trying to protect yourself, trying to ensure Chris wouldn’t do what Bryce had done. 

He could also recall all the times an odd look would pass across your face. While he didn’t know exactly what you were thinking in those moments, he knew there were doubts and fears that only existed because of the damage Bryce had done. 

Chris now understood why your dad was so adamant that none of the players messed with you. Hell Chris would be the same if his daughter had been so broken by a rugby player, heck Chris might even try and convince them to leave and use their skills elsewhere. He just hoped that Chris’ good reputation would be enough to convince your dad not to kill him. 

Chris took one more look at you and studied your peaceful face for a few moments before deciding he should try and get some rest. It had been a long day afterall and his face still really hurt. The pain subsided though as he held you closer, breathed in the smell of your shampoo and let himself fall asleep.

Chris wasn’t sure how or why he woke up, all he knew was that he felt you tense in his arms before quickly climbing out of bed to make your way to the ensuite. He waited in silence for you to come back but what felt like an eternity passed and you didn’t. He waited long enough that he too climbed out of bed to make sure you were okay.

He tapped his knuckles gently against the hardwood door, he heard you suddenly sniffle in response “Everything okay in there?”

“Yeah,” you responded, your voice weak and shaky.

You weren’t okay, he’d known that from the moment you woke “You decent?” He asked, you hummed in response “Good, 'cause I’m coming in”.

Chris heard you protest, you said you were fine but Chris knew it was a lie. He got his confirmation of that fact when he found you sat on the cold tiled floor, knees hugged close to your chest. Sat right by the toilet which had its lid up ready to be used.

“I’m fine” you repeated weakly, but Chris saw the shiver that ran through your body.

Without saying anything Chris grabbed the fluffy bathrobe that hung on the back of the door and draped it around your shoulders “You’re not, and that’s okay” he said gently as he sat down next to you.

“It’ll pass, it always does” you whispered as you wiped your fingers under your eyes. All the colour had drained from your face and you looked exhausted, like someone who was about to be sick. 

Chris’ brows pinched together “This happens regularly?”

You let out a long sigh as you hugged your knees closer to your chest “Ever since… you know…”

“Oh”

“Not every night, it comes and goes sometimes for long enough that I think it’s not gonna happen again and then it does”

Once again Chris was thinking back to all the times he’d spent the night, or you had come back to his. Trying to remember a time when you’d crept out of bed and he didn’t notice. The only time he could think of was the first night you spent at his house, you hadn’t shared a room let alone a bed but Chris remembered finding you downstairs. He cursed to himself that he hadn’t noticed it then, with hindsight he could recall how you didn’t look quite right and you seemed skittish.

“You had this the night of the Barbeque didn’t you?” he asked wanting to confirm his suspicions, you gave him the smallest of nods “Why didn’t you say?”

You shugged your shoulders weakly “I don’t know, the feeling had mostly gone by the time you came downstairs, maybe I was trying to rationalise it and say it was the alcohol and honestly… I just didn’t want to talk about it” you admitted.

Chris nodded his head understandingly “Have you spoken to anyone about it?”

You nodded your head “Yeah I told Tommi, she made me take a test, multiple tests, but they were all negative so at least it's not that but I don’t know what it is, I just get this sudden wave of nausea that wakes me up, my heart is pounding like I’ve just run miles but I’m never actually sick it feels like I’m on the verge”

Chris nodded slowly as he took in all that information, he studied you and was able to recognise a lot of what you were doing, he’d done it all before in his past.

“It’s anxiety” Chris answered, your head snapped over to him in surprise “I used to get that exact same feeling when I suffered from anxiety, still get it occasionally” 

“But why?”

Chris shrugged his shoulders “Nobody really knows, but you told me something that happened to you that was traumatic to you and it was probably playing on your mind even if you didn’t realise it and triggered this”

You heaved a deep breath as you nodded slowly before resting your chin on your knees “I guess that makes sense”

“It’ll get better, I promise” Chris reached out to gently take your hand and hold it “How do you feel now”

You shifted your head so you could look over at him “It’s gone, I’m just very tired”

A gentle smile tugged at Chris’ lips “That’s normal too, people think anxiety and other mental illnesses are just mental, but they affect you physically too” You gave him a weak smile “C’mon let’s get you to bed”

He carefully helped you to your feet, holding you steady knowing your legs would feel weak. Once up on your feet, you looked up at him and Chris could have sworn he saw the start of tears in your eyes but before he had a chance to ask you wrapped your arms around him and hugged him tightly.

Chris wrapped his arms around you in turn and pressed a soft kiss to the top of his head. He’d seen a completely different side of you tonight, the side you’d kept hidden. He felt his heart race as he recalled how broken you looked when you explained everything, how you seriously expected him to leave afterwards like you were undeserving of any form of care. 

He wished he’d gotten a bigger punch in at Bryce for causing all this pain, he wanted blood even though deep down he knew that wouldn’t help you and helping you was more important. He was gonna be there for you, whenever you needed it but he wasn’t going to tell you that because he knows that just being told that it’s okay and someone is there to help isn’t enough, you needed to be shown it. Actions speak a thousand words. So in that moment, Chris swore he’d be there for you whenever you needed it, he’d show you that you were deserving of care and how exactly you should be treated, he’d build you back up piece by piece so you could never be hurt like this again.

Sharing is caring so please reblog and leave a comment to really make my day!

This series has no schedule, please don’t ask when it will be updated! Same goes for Masterlist, AO3 and Wattpad!

Series Masterlist / Masterlist

I don’t have a taglist but follow @secretswiftymarvelfanlibrary​ and turn on post notifications to stay up to date!

[ltwilliammowett]

The Rapid - A China trader

In 1978 a group of spearfishers recovered a large amount of coins from an unidentified wreck off Point Cloates on Ningaloo Reef Australia. The Western Australian Museum then carried out two 8-week excavations from 1979-1980. Archaeologists from the Department of Maritime Archaeology and the Maritime Archaeological Association of Western Australia (MAWAA) examined the wreck from 1979-1980, examining the ship's timbers and recovering the artifacts removed from inside the hull. Among them 20,000 Spanish eight-real coins.

An artistic representation of a china trader, here it is the Empress of China one of the first in the late 18th centur. The painting was made by Raymond Massey

The excavation provided a unique insight into life aboard one of these fast ships. The ship's equipment, provisions and personal belongings of the crew survived in good condition at this site. A wooden barrel containing salt meat and bones and bearing the inscription "Mess Beef Boston Mass" was also recovered at this site. Together with the coins, it was possible to reconstruct that the ship was the Rapid.

The Rapid was an American China trader from the early 19th century who was shipwrecked in 1811 on the northwest coast of Western Australia. China traders were the pride of the American fleet; they had to be large, well-founded, fast ships built specifically for the lucrative but competitive and rigorous trade. In their form they resembled small clippers but were only ship rigged vessels.

Rapid’s bell (c) Western Australian Museum

On September 28, 1810, Rapid left Boston for Canton (now Guangzhou). After circumnavigating the Cape of Good Hope, the ship sailed across the southern Indian Ocean before heading northeast to the Northwest Cape on the Australian coast. It looked like a fast trip, but on January 11, 1811, a catastrophe occurred when Rapid hit a reef in the middle of the night. The next day a storm raged and the crew set the ship on fire, sacrificing everything to prevent the wreck from surfacing above water and attracting other ships before the captain could return and save the 280,000 Spanish silver dollars on board.

The coins still in situ, found during the 1980 excavation (c) Western Australian Museum

It is remarkable that the entire crew of the Rapid Batavia (today's Jakarta) arrived alive, although some of them died afterwards. Captain Henry Dorr, his secretary and three sailors survived 37 days of privation in the 16 foot long, very leaky boat with only limited rations. On Christmas Island, the crew found resources such as rats and crabs to eat, but no water other than what they had collected in the sails.

Rapid’s hull with one of her anchors remains (c) Western Australian Museum

Six weeks after arriving in Batavia, the opportunity arose for a trip home. The American schooner General Greene had lost her captain and most of her crew in Batavia, so Henry Dorr and part of the crew of the Rapid offered to navigate the schooner to America, where it arrived in Philadelphia on July 27, 1811.

Salvaging the money from the wreck was a matter of immediacy for the owners of the Rapid. The city of Boston was already suffering from commercial difficulties, to which were added the deteriorating relations between America and Great Britain, which led to war in 1812. Most of the coins were salvaged in the months following the wreck, and some $91,000 was transported to Canton in 1813, with others being stored by salvage crews in Madras and Java.

Their remains are still in place and are still object of research. The artifacts are in the Western Australian Museum

[schnitzelbutterfingers]

the forgotten one- chapter 1

A/N: hiya there! chapter 1 is here!! i finally had some time to write chapter 1. it’s... angsty, as many of you all have guessed. we’ll see how abby is holding on and ethan’s reaction to what happened. a couple of things:

in this chapter, dr. sebastian ‘seb’ chacko (abby’s brother) and their mother jazmin chacko will make their debut! sebastian skipped two grades and is now the most famous and wealthiest neurosurgeon in the country. seb is 30 years old and is experienced in neurosurgery for 6 years. he is the only best friend of ethan ramsey.

seb and abby are both half-indians and half-mexicans. their mother is mexican and their father is indian. even though their father Abraham is spiteful and malicious , they still like being an indian and jazmin took the time to learn hindi (the official language of india) and malayalam (a south indian language and the one i speak). i am NOT a mexican, but i am an indian. there will be terms a couple of indian terms, so at the bottom, i will add a glossary of words, which will be bolded and will have asterisks (*).

and remember, abby is a 22 year-old second year resident and ethan ramsey is 30 years old with 9 years of experience in medicine.

forgive me if there are any spelling or grammar mistakes. lmk what you think! enjoy!

pairing(s): dr. ethan ramsey x mc (dr. abby chacko)

warning(s): angst angst angst I’M SORRY

word count: 2535

catch up here: prologue

_______________________________________________________________

Ethan’s POV

Dr. Abigail Chacko. Abigail Chacko. Abby Chacko. Abby. Rookie.

She is all Ethan could think about while he is driving. 

It’s Friday night. Cars are honking. People are laughing. Lights are flickering. The world is spinning. Yet every fiber of his being is thinking about the one woman that managed to flip his world upside-down. The one woman who broke down all his walls. The one woman who challenges him every day and every night. The woman who he can say is his girlfriend... kind of.

Abby came into his life like a wrecking ball, pushing past every limit even he didn’t know.  When he went to the Amazon for two months, every part of him wanted to call her, ask her how she is doing, whether she received any PITAs, wanting to let her know that he still cared about her. 

Seb was mad, mad, when he found out what Ethan did to her little sister. The Chacko let him know what Abby was feeling then: emotional, depressed, crying, not even smiling. He even said that the little sister he knew and loved changed so much, he couldn’t even recognize her anymore. Hearing that made Ethan’s heart break more and more. He was the reason she was feeling emotional. He was the reason she was depressed. He was the reason she was crying day and night. He was the reason she wasn’t smiling.

But Seb was understanding. He knew about his trust issues. He knew about his family life. He knew about his childhood. And he knew that Ethan thought going to the Amazon, staying 3228 miles away from her, not calling her, was for her own benefit. Seb told him that he forgave him, because he knows that Ethan cares.

Even after coming back to the Amazon, he still had feelings for her. She occupied his mind every second of the day. What was thought to be effortless and trouble-free was challenging and strenuous. After a while, he surrendered and let himself accept her. From the dinner with the governor and the trip to the art gallery to the kiss outside of his apartment and the Mass Kenmore heist, he quit bearing his bottled up feelings for her. 

The Senator assassination attempt was the last straw. Seeing Abby, his Abby, so frail and feeble, her skin so pale, still delivered him those haunting memories from nightmares he would see. Every time he sees Abby, even after that incident, he never wanted to let her go, afraid that something terribly wrong would happen to her. 

He then realized he was the idiotic one, pushing he away a lot. He told her about his feelings for her, and Abby was more than enthusiastic to let him in. They did it in the car and in the ski resort, and he was never more joyful and ecstatic than before. Their relationship is getting more determined than ever.  

He desperately wanted to give her a ride, but couldn’t because her shift hadn’t ended yet. And something still bothers him that it was a terrible idea, but he decided to let those thoughts pass, afraid of being negative.

But love? Do I love Abigail? Ethan thinks to himself. The truth is... he doesn’t know. He never knew love was possible until he met her, the whirlwind. It may take him a little more time to answer that question.

Instantly, he hears his phone ringing, disturbing him from his musing. It’s Naveen, his mentor and old friend.

The attending answers the call. “Hello? Naveen? Is everything alright?”

In return, he hears an audible sigh. “No, son, nothing is alright. And it might stay that way for a while.”

Ethan starts becoming worrisome. Did anything happen to Naveen. Did he get an update on the hospital? Is this the end of Edenbrook? “Naveen? Are you talking about the hospital?” Ethan asks carefully. 

“Where are you now?”

“I’m driving home. Why?”

“... You might want to park the car somewhere if I need to tell you this.”

“...Why?

“Just listen to your mentor, son. Park your car.”

Ethan does as he is advised, wondering where this is going. “Naveen, you’re killing me. What is happening?”

Naveen paused for a long time. “When I tell you this, promise me you will not overrea-”

“Just spit it out, old man.”

Naveen sighs again, this time penetrated with grief and concern. “...It’s.. it’s Abby. She was stabbed-”

And that’s when Ethan cut the call, his mind racing, his heart thumping, driving recklessly back to the hospital.

________________________________________________________________

Seb’s POV

Chicago. Chi-town. Attractive city. The buildings. The lights. The horizon.

Him and Ethan were lucky to get huge penthouses overlooking their respective cities’ horizon. While Ethan doesn’t genuinely appreciate the view of Boston from his penthouse, the view of Chicago nonetheless manages to take his breath away.

Today was an exceptional day for Seb. He performed a successful decompressive craniectomy to a carpenter who was in a massive car crash. Seeing their family happy after he told them about the successful surgery made his heart leap.  A craniectomy cost a lot, so he made sure the carpenter’s family didn’t pay at all. 

That is Seb’s goal. To help everyone, even those who can’t afford treatment. That is Ethan’s goal. That is Abby’s goal. That is their goal. He’s fortunate to have Ethan as his best friend and Abby as his sister. He treasures them both.

Seb and Abby had a mierable childhood, living in Aurora, Illinois, but a different one from Ethan. The siblings both got abused by their father every single day, Abby being assaulted the most. The whips from the belt. The slaps from his hands. Being tied up and getting tortured. They still brought nightmares to Seb.  Abraham is a very wealthy and elite lawyer, “fighting for justice.” But whenever poor people trying to get justice and freedom come to his door, he knocks them out, only letting rich people enter. The comic part is that Seb, Abby, and Jazmin didn’t receive a single penny.

Jazmin would get injured a lot while trying to save them, but failed when his people seized her away, locking her up. Every morning Seb wakes Abby up for school, he would see bruises, scars, dried-up blood, and seeing them made Seb’s eye burn with tears. Since then, he promised himself he would free him, Abby, and thier mother, from that prison. Together they moved to Chicago, Illinois, but still receive threats from Abraham and his gang, saying they will come find them. 

Two weeks before was a nightmare for both Ethan and Seb. Their sister, Abby, was stuck in the Senator’s room, with gas they didn’t even know of. Seb and their mother, Jazmin, hastily packed their bags and booked their next flight to Boston, with Jazmin crying all the way, wondering if they’ll ever see their daughter again. Edenbrook and Mass Kenmore together found a cure, and he always wondered if, after that, Ethan Ramsey and Tobias Carrick ever reestablished their friendship. 

Abby told them they didn’t need to be here and that she will be fine, but they still stayed there a week. Eventually, she kicked them both out, but not without a lovely smile, saying she will see them later when she’ll come to Chicago. 

Seb was filled with joy and literally screamed at the phone when he found out that Ethan and Abby are in a relationship. He was kind of melancholy that they kept it secret, but was still filled with content that Ethan finally, finally, gave up the fight. When Jazmin found out, she made gulab jamun* with him to celebrate. They were both cheerful  Abby had finally found someone. Ultimately, Jazmin told Seb that he needs to find a woman, too, which he knew was going to happen.

Seb is staring out the window, thinking about how they all got into the positions they are now. The lights are flickering in his eyes, but he pays no attention to them, but to the sun setting on the horizon, like the glow of a burning fire. He is paying attention to the deep orange and the small tinge of purple streaked across the sky when he hears a sudden crash in the kitchen. When he looks behind, he sees a woman with wrinkles, flour all over her clothes.

Oh, Mother, Seb thinks with a grin. He tried not to laugh, but lost with a small chuckle. 

“Oh, stop making fun of your Amma*! Has Abby called you yet? She usually calls early.” Jazmin replies, worried all of a sudden.

Seb sighs, shaking his head. “No not yet. Probably stuck on some kinda case. What are you trying to make today?”

“Classic Tres Leches Cake* My family special! Wanna help me?” Her eyes light up.

“Sure. You have the three milks, right?”

“Yep! Follow me!” And with that, she prods off to the kitchen.

Seb laughs again, following her, until he hears his phone ringing. He walks over to the couch where the phone is and checks the caller ID. It’s Ethan Ramsey.

“Amma, hold on for one sec. It’s Ethan. Probably because I forgot calling him today.”

“Sure, Mone*! Take your time!”

Seb picks up the call. “Hey, Ethan! Sorry I didn’t get to call you. I performed a successful-”

“Seb.”

He hears the voice of a woman. A sound that he can recognize really well. “Harper? What are you doing with Ethan’s phone?”

Harper’s voice is tense. "He didn’t want to call you. He didn’t know how to call you.”

What? What is she saying? Did I do something wrong? “Harper, what are you talking about?”

Harper heaves a sigh. “It’s Abby. She got stabbed by one of the patients here at Edenbrook.”

Time stands still as he processes her words. Suddenly the sunset, the view from his penthouse, didn’t matter anymore. My sister. Stabbed. By some jerk. She barely survived maitotoxin and now this. Tears burn in his eyes, but he forced to blink them away. Was that why she hadn’t called today?

“...How is she now?”

“She’s now in an emergency surgery. The stab wound affected her liver, and they’re trying to fix-” At that point Seb heard too much. He cuts the call.

When he turned around, he saw Jazmin with anxious eyes. “Is everything alright?”

Seb looks at his mother in the eye, tears obscuring his vision. “Amma...”

He spills everything out.

_______________________________________________________________

Ethan’s POV

Blood rushing. Heart hammering. Eyes reddening. Fear surrounding. 

The two emotions he can feel. Fear. Anger.

He wants, no, needs, to know who the hell stabbed his Rookie.

*Hours ago*

He walks into the hospital, each step with a thunderous clap, but at any moment, his legs could give away. Every one is looking at him with concern. He breezed through the hallways, eventually finding Naveen sitting on one of the waiting chairs. Naveen sights him and abruptly gets up.

“Ethan! I was trying to call you aga-”

“How is she?”

“Dr. Chacko was stabbed in the side, which affected her liver. They are performing an emergency surgery on her right now. Dr. Tanaka said to me that she will pull through.”

Ethan let go his sigh of relief, suddenly realizing that he was holding it for too long. He slumped down onto one of the waiting chairs, Naveen sitting next to him. “Are you alright, son?”

“Who hurt her? Who hurt Abby?”

Naveen exhales. “That’s what we don’t know. They said it’s a woman with grey hair, but she escaped from the hospital after stabbing Abigail. The security guards are checking the CCTV to figure out who it might be. And as for why, we don’t know. According to the patients in the ER, all Dr. Chacko did was ask the perpetrator why she was crying and the woman stabbed her. But don’t worry, my boy, they’ll figure it out.”

Rage fills through his blood as he hears Naveen’s words. She got stabbed. All because she was trying to assist a patient? If that ‘patient’ ever comes into his sight, he will break him or her. Break them. That’s all he wants to do. 

But he knows he can’t. He merely wants Abby to be alright. The surgery. 

At that moment, Harper enters the waiting room.

“Ethan? I just wanted to ask you if you wanted to call her brother and mother.”

Goodness. He forgot about that. His one and only best friend. How is he supposed to tell him that? Most of all, her mother. She was sobbing so hard when she found out that Abby was exposed to a deadly toxin. If he tells them that Abby was stabbed, how are they supposed to handle the news?

“Harper? Can you do me a favor and call them for me?” Ethan decides. “I don’t think I have the strength in me to call them.”

“Sure, Ethan. Whatever you need.” Harper says sympathetically.

Ethan hands her his phone and tells her his passcode. All the while Ethan wants to break down and mourn. He wants to punch the wall repeatedly until his knuckles bleed.

“Ethan?” he is knocked to the present by Naveen. Ethan abruptly stands up.

“Naveen, any word on Abby?” he asks worriedly.

Naveen flashes him a brilliant beam. “The surgery was successful. She’s sleeping now.” He pauses for a moment. “Also, Seb and his mother will be arriving in a few hours.”

“That’s great.” Suddenly, he remembers. “... Did you get any word on the perpetrator?”

The chief’s smile falls into a frown. “Ah, I was... hoping you wouldn’t ask that.”

Ethan eyes his mentor and friend suspiciously.”...Why?”

Naveen takes a deep breath. “Are you sure you want to hear this, Ethan? Because I don’t think you’ll be ready.”

“Just tell me who it is already, damn it!” Ethan glares.

“...It’s your mother, Ethan. Louise Ramsey. She was the perpetrator.”

The attending’s heart stops. Time stands still. All the motions pause as Ethan consumes this news in. His bowels turn to ice water. Fear overtakes him. Rage fills his blood. Emotions are piling up.

My mother? My mother?

“Naveen? Please just tell me that you didn’t say what I think you said.”

“I’m sorry, son.”

At this point, Ethan has heard enough and starts punching the wall, blood spilling from his knuckles, the wall breaking. It’s my fault. My god, it’s all my fault! I started believing in this woman again, only to be hurt again. This time, almost taking the woman I lo- 

“Ethan, STOP!!” Naveen’s voice cuts his thoughts off.

“I don’t care anymore. I’m gonna break that woman when I see her again.” Ethan’s growl is more than scary. It is haunting.

As Naveen tends to Ethan’s wounds, he can’t help but wonder:

How is he ever going to encounter Abby again?

________________________________________________________________

MYSTERY MAN’s POV

What Ethan doesn’t know is that a man is standing at the corner of the hallway, with a petrifying smile.

Yeah right, Ethan. Go ahead. Try to break Louise Ramsey. I dare you.

The thing is: you can’t. It’s alright to try. But you won’t succeed. Like she told Abby...

The game has just begun.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

A/N (2): any guesses on who the mystery man is??

GLOSSARY

gulab jamun: an indian sweet which is sugary and sweet AND IS SO GOOD INDIANS CAN YOU RELATE

amma: an indian word which means ‘mother’ (i’ve only heard south indians (like me) using this word, but maybe north indians use this word??

classic tres leches cake: (had to do some research) a mexican cake made with three types of milk: evaporated milk, condensed milk, and heavy cream.

mone: means ‘son’ in south india.

tags: @missmiimiie​ @aylamwrites​ @starrystarrytrouble​ @udishaman​ @caseyvalentineramsey​ @queencarb​ @choicesstan1​ @newcolonies​ @arcticrivers​ @angela8756​ @takemyopenheart​ @rookie-ramsey​ @ohchoices @ohvamsey​ @ohramsey​ @natureblooms24​ @drariellevalentine​ @openheartfanfics

[bambigoose]

Not All Heroes Wear Capes

AN: So life is a little different right now and I hope everyone and their loved ones are doing okay. Personally its been a rough few months, working as a healthcare professional you know its always a possibility but we were never prepared for this. Stay safe everyone! I’m hoping to get back to writing on a consistent basis so send in some requests or player suggestions! 

Mass General Hospital is a busy epicenter of healthcare in Boston on a normal day, add in a pandemic and it looks like North Station on a Monday morning. Precautions are taken, safety is maintained, and the deep routed never ending exhaustions settles within the entirety of the staff. Doctors, Nurses, EVS and Administrative workers are pushed to their limits.

In a buried office, down an abandoned hallway Stephanie groaned as she hung up the phone with another patient. Massaging her temples while cancelling the next pre admission testing appointment, she jumped as the door opened behind her. “Pretty sure massaging your temples counts as touching your face.”

“Pretty sure this office and myself are cleaner than they’ve ever been before. If I attempt to put any more sanitizer on my hands right now they’re going to scream at me.” she replies, turning toward Dr. Connor in the doorway.

Dr. Connor held out a dunkin coffee made to Stephanie’s preference for the poor girl, “Wish I could take credit for this but it was delivered to the door for you. I offered to walk it over since I was on the hunt for you. Eerie over here, don’t you think?”

Stephanie laughed at the cup, reading the order and knowing only one other person knows her ridiculous preferences. “I love him, truly.” she says to Dr. Connor as she inhales the aroma and takes a deep sip. The gentle sigh escaping her, despite best efforts to contain it causing Dr. Connor to chuckle while Stephanie gestured to the chair in the office. “With no visitors and all elective surgeries cancelled it's pretty dead over here. Should have seen it when I walked in at 6, felt like something out of a horror movie with all the lights off.”

“Does he even pay for coffee anymore? All those commercials…”

With a laugh Stephanie interrupts, “Despite popular belief hockey players are just like the rest of us, even David Pastranak pays for his coffee.” She flips off a quick text, You’re an angel. I love you!

Smiling at the return message, Figured it was coffee time! Love you too with the typical ridiculous amount of emojis she always gets from him.

Turning to Dr. Connor, she sighs “Now who's trying to convince us to put a surgery on the schedule now.” The hospital procedures require the agreement of the Surgical Coordinator and Chief Medical Officer in order for bookings to occur now. The two in the office were always friends, but now with the multiple hats they had to wear they were working in tandem.

“Dr. Barre, GI Bleed.” he replies back.

“Oh, that’s happening.” as Stephanie begins to type in the booking.

….

Four hours later, Stephanie stood outside the ER doors in full protective gear screening patients walking in to determine whether or not they need to head to the possible covid waiting area or if they were general patients that can go to a waiting room for other issues.

Some people were willing to work with them and happy to answer questions others gave them more grief then necessary. Every once in a while people will bless them with their life story. The clearing of a throat brought her attention to the door behind her and a chipotle bag Dr. Connor was waving in his hand. "Special delivery! You can eat it while you put a booking in for Dr. Barrett."

"The lady who dislodged her rectum?"

"How'd you know?" He asks with a smirk.

"She walked up to me and the very first thing she said was 'I tried to shit and my ass fell out."

Passing over the bag with a laugh, the duo proceeded to the office. "I like how this delivery comes with a message that food  is necessary to survival. Wasn't aware that needed a reminder."

"Not all heroes wear capes Doc, some wear scrubs, and some wear sweatpants and order uber eats to make sure their girlfriends don't turn into angry bears. "

"Don't poke the bear." He replies with a smirk, holding the office door open.

Falling into her chair, Stephanie twirls with an eyebrow raised. "Honestly, how long have you been waiting to say that?"

Dr. Connor's laugh echoed down the empty hallway.

…..

Stephanie hated very few things in her life, how self centered her aunt was, spiders, outrageously rude people, Dr. Berry for reasons known only to the other surgical staff (and poor JD too after one night with too much wine), and Pasta's inability to put his goddamn shoes away. "You know I can't help save lives if I die tripping over your shoes! Seriously you can't even go anywhere, why do you wear so many shoes? And how do they always make it to the entryway?"

Shaking her head at the laughter coming from around the corners and rolling her eyes when David's head pops out like a Jack in the Box. "Go shower. You're grouchy until you shower. Although I feed you, so you shouldn't be this grouchy. Did you not eat it? Babe we've discussed this."

Cutting him off with a quiet giggle Stephanie smiled "I promise I ate and thank you again." Searching her face for a lie, David deflated seeing none. Her dimples blending in with the markings from the N95 she'd been wearing all day. Pasta still thought they were too tight despite the multiple times Stephanie explained to him it's not meant to be comfortable it's meant to keep her safe just like the pads he complained about, didn't mean he had to be happy about it though. If she made it home the mask has been off for at least thirty minutes and it still looked like it was removed seconds ago. "I'm going to hope in the shower so I can actually greet you properly and then my plan was to wipe the floor with you in Mario Cart. Any objections?"

Stephanie had to laugh again at the look of outrage on David's face, challenges of any time brought out the competitiveness in Pasta that you see during games. Their previous stove was a victim of the hard headed determined boy who obviously could cook better than her. She's still not sure how he managed to wreck all of the burners.

"Oh it's on now." Pasta pivoted in place heading back towards the living room, Stephanie's laughter following him down the hall.

[jocia92]

Bleecker Street’s sci-fi romantic comedy I’m Your Man blasted off – relatively speaking in today’s specialty market – with a per screen average of $2,139 in 16 theaters in North America (12 U.S., four in Canada).

Directed by Maria Schrader film with Maren Eggert and Dan Stevens, it was the rare specialty film of late to pass $2K per screen in limited release. New York and Los Angeles (Lincoln Square, the Angelika in NY and The Landmark in LA) were standouts. It also played San Francisco, Boston, Washington, D.C., Phoenix and Dallas. Bleecker will expand in those markets next week and add 15 new ones.

Stevens (Downton Abbey, Eurovision Song Contest: The Story Of Fire Saga) supported the film at a Q&A at the Landmark Saturday. It has a 17-day exclusive theatrical window.

See Deadline review here for the 95% Certified Fresh film that’s Germany’s entry for the 2022 International Feature Oscar race and earned Eggert the Best Actress Silver Bear in Berlin.

Bleeker estimates a cume of $34,239. Friday, $10,377; Saturday, $14,727; and Sunday, $9,135. The film ranked 20th at the North American box office this weekend.

[eleanorbloom]

[OH] When You’re Ready Ch. 02

Pairing: Bryce Lahela x f! MC (Eleanor Bloom) x Ethan Ramsey.

Word Count: 4.1k

Warning: Angst, lots of angst; adult language

Summary: Bryce has decided to let go of Eleanor because she’s in love with Ethan Ramsey. But a turn in her relationship with the attending might change Bryce's plans.

Taglist: @utterlyinevitable

Let me know if you wanna be added to the taglist! ;)

_______

Chapter Two: Why Keep On Breaking My Heart

Why do you toy with my dreams They’re depending on you to come true?

After her successful return to Edenbrook, Eleanor continued her residency with renewed energy and self-confidence. Although she had already achieved the position in the Diagnostic Team, she was still considered between the Attendings as the best medical intern in the hospital, due to her profound care for the wellbeing of her patients, and the solidarity she had with her colleagues and staff.

The fact that Ethan was putting boundaries between the two didn’t affect her work at first, but eventually, it began to ruining the almost inexistent and fragile emotional stability she had left after such chaotic weeks that had her life on the verge of collapse. 

Ethan kept pressuring her to become the best doctor she could be, maintaining a strictly professional relationship between them, but always, after weeks of self-restraint, he would fall into the temptation of generating any situation in which both discussed, just to ended up kissing desperately. He would push her away just as Eleanor would pressure him to face his feelings. Ethan kept insisting that their situation was very difficult, but her career was too important to jeopardize it with their relationship. This dynamic happening over and over again. Ethan walking away, ignoring her, then exploding because Eleanor knew exactly what to say to make him surrender, to finally end up walking away again, like he never faced anything, like he never stopped ignoring her since they both came back to Edenbrook. After all this, Eleanor was made of knots of anguish and anxiety.

The last time, it had been almost a month ago. Eleanor was already tired of Ethan’s avoidances, of the rude responses, of the excuses that “he didn’t have time to talk”. That day, after having solved a very difficult case, and from which she had obtained no support or help from Ethan, under the excuse that she had to solve it herself because otherwise, she would never be the best doctor she could be if he intervened at the first difficulty, she visited him in his office to talk to him. She used to avoid to make a conflict out of it, but Ethan always pushed her to the limit, to the limit where she no longer tolerated all the rudeness he had inflicted.

She knocked on his office door, and after a few moments, Ethan invited her to come in. Well, not her, because if he had known she was the one behind the door, he would have denied her the entry. Or maybe he wouldn’t have answered at all.

Eleanor watched how her jaw clenched as she entered.

“Eleanor, what do you need?"—He said, tension evident in his voice.

"I want to know for how long you are gonna keep this bullshit between us"—She inquired without further ado.

"I beg your pardon?"—His eyes lit with rage.

"You’ve been avoiding me for weeks, for months, now! You don’t even look at me, and when I ask you for help, you get rid of the responsibility under the excuse that ‘I have to learn by myself’” —She gestured with her fingers and her face visibly pissed off—"What the fuck are you an Attending for, then?“

"If you really needed my help, I wouldn’t hesitate to intervene”

“You wouldn’t hesitate to send Inés or Zaid to monitor my progress and intervene there if they see that I’m lost! I already realized your little game, Ethan. You use them to avoid having to deal with me”

“I do it with all the interns, that’s what senior residents are for. Why should I have a special treatment with you?“

Eleanor shook her head, disbelief on her face

"I’m not asking for special treatment, I’m simply asking you to speak to me because you just keep ignoring me”

"And why do you need me to stop ignoring you?”

Eleanor was losing her patience, she had dealt with his avoidances and pretended disinterest too many times. She was getting really tired of it.

“I miss you, Ethan"—She confessed.

Ethan looked away, avoiding her pleading eyes.

"That has nothing to do with the hospital, so your justification is out of place”

“I’m worried about you…”

“Worried? Why?”

“Because I know that you’re not having a good time with all this, I’m not having a good time either…”

“Eleanor…"—He mused imploringly—"Please don’t do this. You well know-”

“But it’s too unfair"—She interrupted—"We are both suffering. And you make me feel horrible when you ignore me. I wonder if that’s because you don’t care about me anymore”

Ethan got up and went to the window next to his desk, clearly uncomfortable with the question. He stood there for a few moments, losing his sight at the view of Boston, at the infinity of buildings and streets, vehicles moving in different directions, people walking and running to their destinations.

Eleanor waited for a reply, but after realizing that Ethan wouldn’t answer her like he did so many times before, she turned around to leave, just as Ethan opened his mouth to answer her.  

“If I’m doing all of this it’s precisely because I care about you, Eleanor”—He said in a deep voice—"I don’t want my feelings to ruin all your potential,  your career, and to put obstacles in the promising future you have. Your career is much more important than what I want…"

“And what about what I want?"—She inquired in a tiny voice as she hugged him from behind. Ethan tensed at her touch.

"I do this for your own good, Eleanor"—He replied, using all the mental strength he had to avoid succumbing to her embrace—I know what you want because we… We both want the same, but I’m preventing you from making a mistake.

“I’m an adult, I know all the implications. You have no right to choose for me”

“I know, and I’m not comfortable with that. But I know that this is the best for you. I don’t want to do anything that hurts you”

“But you’re already doing it”

Ethan turned to face her.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m in deep shit with your silence, when you ignore me, when you spend weeks without even looking at me. You make me feel invisible. You make me feel like I’m nothing to you”

"Eleanor,” Ethan stroked her cheek, and watched her honey eyes full of tears “You know that’s not true”

“At this point, I don’t know. I don’t know what’s real, if we were real, if you still care about me. Because you’ve spent months pretending that I am nothing to you, and what happened seems to be just a dream”

“All that happened was real. But it must remain there, in the past”

“Ethan…”

“Eleanor”—He added abruptly.

He was losing his patience because he sensed all his strength was leaving his body. Having her just a few inches from him, begging for his touch, for his love, was more than he could bear

“You well know why I have to do this. Don’t make it more difficult than already is”

“I know that someday I’ll understand why you’re doing all this, because of my career and all that… But I think I’ll never understand why it has to be this way, why you have to take me away from you, why you have to ignore me. Why Ethan? Why do you have to act like you hate me to show me how much you care?”

Ethan had a logical answer: “Because it’s easier for me like that. Because that way I won’t surrender, I won’t feel the urge to kiss you every time I see you ”. But he couldn’t say that,  because it wasn’t right. He knew that the way he was dealing with the situation was not fair and the way he had been treating her wasn’t correct nor the most logical alternative. Eleanor was right, it hadn’t to be that way, but Ethan couldn’t any other way but that.

“I miss you so much—She sighed, melting as she put her arms around him—“If at least we had a friendly relationship, if only we could talk, if I could count on you and you on me. But you don’t even let me that, Ethan. You completely deprive me of you after you gave me everything”

Ethan stared at her in pain and couldn’t resist the urge to hug her. To protect her, to caress her hair to ease her pain. The moment Ethan planted his lips on her forehead, Eleanor sobbed.

“Why can’t you face your feelings differently?”

"Because I’m weak"—He finally confessed, not parting his lips from her face—"Because when I’m with you I lose all the self-control I have, and if I have you around, I don’t give a shit about anything. And I can’t allow it”

“And you can’t even try?”

"Do you think I haven’t? I did it until I kissed you in Miami, I did it until you went to my apartment and we made love for the first time. I tried again when we both got back to Edenbrook. But after everything that happened, it’s much harder for me to do so knowing that I had you”

"Ethan … But can you at least try to be less cruel?” At least stop pretending that I don’t exist? Can you look at me, speak to me? You really hurt me”

“And it hurts me to see you and not be able to have you”

Ethan moved his lips to her cheeks, kissing the tears that were falling from her eyes. He drank the salt of anguish, of pain, of injustice. Eleanor raised her head so her lips were brushing his.

“Eleanor…”

“Ethan… I’m drowning"—She said in a hushed voice—"Please … Give me a break”

Ethan took her chin and looked at her face for the first time in weeks. Weeks that seemed like forever. He had missed both having her beautiful face close, and being able to study all her features and the way each emotion formed on her face, or how the color of her eyes varied according to the light. Inside the building, it was more likely to capture chocolate hues, and with trails of natural light, they were accentuated in honey tones. In full sunlight, they took on an orange hue similar to ginger. And at night, it was the most beautiful amber shade he’d ever seen.

Eleanor’s eyes sparkled against the grayish light of winter in Boston. Chocolate tones mixing with honey and a turbulent sea of fear, anxiety, loneliness. There was no trace of the bright, yellow trails similar to sunshine that always characterized her gaze.

“Please"—She insisted.

Ethan had lost himself in her eyes, unaware of the agony that was lingering on Eleanor. And at that moment, Ethan knew that refuse wouldn’t have honored his self-control nor his promise. It would have been cruelty. Conscious cruelty. He couldn’t leave her like that, because he felt how much she needed him. Because he needed her too: the agony was breaking him in two.

He closed the distance and drank the salt from her swollen lips. He wiped the tears from her eyes and gently cupped her cheeks.

"I’m sorry"—He whispered before kissing her lips again. 

She closed her eyes, letting herself be carried away by the softness of his lips and the breeze of his words, which were an almost inaudible whisper, but the pain and regret were palpable. He continued his kissing procession all over her face with the same plea for forgiveness. As if with each kiss, as if with each tear he managed to kiss and drink, he could be redeemed from all the pain inflicted.

Eleanor tightened her grip around his waist.

"I love you"—She whispered as she felt kisses on her neck.

Those words were divine forgiveness, the Gates to Paradise. But Ethan knew that he wasn’t worthy of such a concession. Because he had no right to even be in Purgatory. All his actions, all the pain he had inflicted on Eleanor made him worthy of Hell, and even with the intervention of Eleanor, who acted as judge and party, as a messenger between Heaven and Hell, and as the chosen one to grate his forgiveness; he couldn’t accept.

He pulled away from her ruefully and looked her in the eyes. Eleanor deciphered the panic in his eyes before Ethan himself could understand his own feelings. As his hands began to tremble on her neck, he released her and let both hands fall on his sides. She stared, still waiting for some kind of answer, but nothing came out from him. After a few moments, Ethan kissed her forehead, and without any more warning, he left the office.

Eleanor felt like the breath she had taken had been just an illusion, a trap. What she thought it would be a bit of fresh air after been drowning for so long, it turned out to be a mouthful of freezing water entering her lungs, beginning to drown her and deprive her of life. Something had died inside her.

After that, nothing changed. Ethan continued to ignore her, even more than before. Eleanor understood that nothing she did or said would change things. Ethan would keep running away and would keep pushing her out of his life. For the same reason, she decided that she wouldn’t seek him, and wouldn’t try to change his mind. She would act exactly as he was acting. She would pretend he didn’t exist for her.

 This dynamic worked well for Eleanor until the day she learned Ethan was joining the WHO to fight a pandemic in the Amazon. Danny had been instructed to update the hospital database to reassign Ethan Ramsey’s cases to other Attendings, due to he’d be away for several weeks. Since Danny didn’t know why he asked Sienna if she knew anything. Sienna, on the contrary, hadn’t even heard that he would be out.  This way, she looked for Eleanor to ask her if she knew anything, although part of her knew that there was a high chance Eleanor didn’t, because her friend had chosen to ignore Ethan’s existence in the same way that he had been doing with hers. As soon as she had a moment to talk, she asked her to meet up in their usual place, on the emergency stairs on the fourth floor.

“Hey Ellie, how are you?”

“I’m fine. What’s up?”

“You… have you heard about Ramsey?”

“Heard what?”

Sienna looked both ways, a sad look in her eyes.

"I think Dr. Ramsey is leaving”

"What?"—She replied, confused—"How is he leaving?”

“Danny told me Banerji asked him to reassign all Dr. Ramsey’s cases to the other attendings ‘cause he’ll be gone for a while. Weeks, to be more specific”

“Um, well, no. I have no clue. I haven’t talked to him in weeks, so I find it difficult to manage more information or any information, given that I didn’t know about any of this”

“Well, yes, I supposed so. But I thought you needed to know”

“Thanks, Sienna”

Eleanor was about to return to her patients when Sienna grabbed her softly by the wrist.

“I think you should ask him, Eleanor”

“Oh, yeah, sure, as if he’s going to answer me if I ask”

“But perhaps that way he’ll know you know. And maybe… He will talk to you. To say goodbye at least”

“Nah, he probably will look at me like I’m some kind of alien and then leave like he didn’t listen to me”—Eleanor shook her head—“If he has been keeping this so secretly it’s precisely because he didn’t want me to know”

“Ellie, I’m so sorry … I shouldn’t have told you this…”

“Sienna, you don’t have to apologize for something you are not to blame for. The fault is his, for ignoring me the way he does. And well, mine, for letting him treat me like this all this time”

Eleanor took a breath.

“If I have the chance, I will ask him. If not … well, we’ll have to wait for the rumors to spread through the hospital. If he wanted it that way, it’s because he’s a coward, and I’m tired of chasing cowards”

With that said, both friends returned to the main hallway of the hospital and continued their hectic morning. Eleanor at first wanted to convince herself that she didn’t care, that she wasn’t interested in knowing if he would be out or not, but after a couple of hours, her anxiety, anguish at the thought that she wouldn’t see him again in perhaps how long, came up. She started to convince herself again that he didn’t care about her, because he had no problem in leaving without saying goodbye to her.

She spent the rest of the afternoon trying to locate him, without success. Finally, near the end of her shift, she found him at the Nurses’ Station talking to an elderly patient that Eleanor remembered seeing in the hospital for a couple of days. He had several charts scattered at the front desk while he was giving them one by one to the nurse sitting on the other side.

Eleanor knew that this would be her only chance to chat with him, so she didn’t mind interrupting the conversation he was having with the older man.

“Your recovery is going very well Robert, in a couple of days we will discharge you if you assure us that you will have someone who can take care of your pharmacological treatment”

“Oh, of course, my boy. I spoke to my granddaughter and she said that she would come to take care of me as long as I need to. Don’t worry”

“Very well then”—Ethan smiled at him as he gave the last of the charts to the nurse.

“Go in peace, Dr. Ramsey”—The old man assured

“Dr. Ramsey?”

Ethan frowned, perplexed at the sight of Eleanor speaking to him, looking for him, after spending weeks avoiding him.

“Dr. Bloom”

“I… Would you mind, Mr. Jones?”

“Absolutely, my child, I think we are done, are we, Dr. Ramsey?”

“Yes, we are. Have a nice night, Robert”

Mr. Jones walked away

“What do you need, Eleanor?”

Ethan felt his mouth dry after saying her name, when he had spent weeks just hearing it in his head. His name felt like a sacred elixir poured into his tongue.

“Can we…?” Eleanor pointed to the hallway that led to the emergency stairs. Ethan eyed her suspiciously, but she ignored him. She started to move toward the staircase so Ethan had no choice but to follow her.

“What’s all this mystery, Bloom?”

“Is it true that you’ll be away?

“How do you know that?”

“Just rumors”

Ethan pinched the bridge of his nose murmuring to himself “They have no respect for my privacy”. Then, he added directly to Eleanor:

“It is not your concern”

Eleanor ignored his cutting response.

“So it’s true”

Ethan sighed.

“It is”

“Why are you leaving?”

“If you know that I’m leaving, I suppose you should know why”

“Why the fuck do your think I’m asking you? I just know that you’re leaving because all your cases have been reassigned, but I don’t know why”

“As I said, it’s not your concern, and I don’t have any intentions to let you intrude”

Eleanor’s face disfigured as she felt her eyes begin to burn, tears threatening to come out.

“What did I do to you to be so cruel to me, Ethan?”

“Keep my life private is being cruel to you? I didn’t know you were so egocentric. I don’t owe you any explanations”

His face was impassive. Eleanor’s gaze turned from serious to a charged with rage.

“You’re right, my bad. I think I hallucinated when you said you cared about me”

Eleanor headed for the stairs, but Ethan stopped her, taking her forearm.

“Wait… Eleanor”

Eleanor tried to wriggle out of his grasp

“Please…”

Eleanor stopped just a few stairs up not facing him.

“I’m going to the Amazon with the WHO”

Eleanor turned to him, startled

“What?”

“The WHO asked me to go to the Amazon to fight an outbreak that had been developing for about four weeks there”

“When do you leave?”

“Tomorrow”

Eleanor felt as if someone had stabbed her in the stomach, not once, but a thousand times, each stab burning worse than the last. It was an unbearable physical and soul pain. Ethan watched her face become more disfigured.

“Tomorrow? And you weren’t going to say anything to me… Not even say goodbye?”

“Why should I?

Ethan knew that his response would do her more harm than he had already done, but he couldn’t resist it. It was his way of shielding himself and not apologizing for something he knew had been unfair. Because in all that time he was dying to tell her, but he swore to himself that he wouldn’t, that he would keep the distance between them to not make the farewell more difficult than it could be.

“I…”—Her voice was muffled. She cleared her throat determined to not make a teary, almost childish show again.

“I just thought that after everything we went through together, you would at least have the decency to tell me you were leaving for something so important as this, or I don’t know, since you are my boss, at least you would inform me that you would be away and I couldn’t count on your almost nonexistent support for the rest of the year”—She couldn’t resist the sarcasm as she felt the rage was taking control of her entire body —“But obviously, I was wrong, my mistake in expecting some miserable consideration from you”

“Why do you pretend to care now? You’ve been ignoring me for weeks”

“How bold of you, Ethan”—She replied as she shook her head—“If I’ve been doing this, it’s because I don’t have a choice! It’s the only way I can cope with you doing it. Because I understood that there is no point in waiting for something that you don’t want to happen. But yeah, you’re right. I shouldn’t have asked you anything, after all, we are two strangers who have nothing in common”

Eleanor was hurt, disappointed. He couldn’t believe that Ethan had hidden such important information from her. She knew that he was doing it to avoid his responsibility, because he knew that he should have told her, but he chose to play the insufferable rather than assume his mistake.

"Eleanor …” He approached her when she turned toward the stairs again  “You’re right, you have every right to be mad. I didn’t want to…”

“Yes you did, Ethan"—She replied, turning, her eyes still blazing with anger—“Are you really so naive to believe that I don’t know you? You wanted exactly everything you did. If you have ignored me all this time, it’s because you want it, if you didn’t tell me about your trip, it’s because you wanted it that way, consciously. It’s not how things just happened. You know exactly what it means, and how bad it hurts me, but you don’t care”

"Don’t say that … I do care

“Well, it doesn’t seem. Because for you it’s much easier to ignore me and pretend that I don’t exist than to recognize my existence and deal with it. So no, you don’t care about what I feel”

"Eleanor, please … You know it’s not like that, I do care about you … but it’s the only way…”

“Shut up. Shut up, Ethan! I’m tired of your hypocrisy. All that you call “worrying about me” is bullshit. It’s torture. And I’ve gotten tired of the same shit all over again. Go like a coward. You know how to do that very well. It’s your subspecialty”

Eleanor left, infuriated, her face bright with tears. She was hurt and deeply disappointed. But she was also mad at herself. Because she shouldn’t have approached him, she shouldn’t have spoken to him, she shouldn’t have asked for explanations, because she was nobody to ask for them. But she did it anyway because she still refused to see the truth. Because deep inside she hoped things would turn differently, that Ethan would stop pushing her away and he would ask Eleanor for a chance. But now the truth became more palpable and undeniable.

At that moment Eleanor finally understood that there was no going back.  If in all this time there were unbreakable walls that were separating them, now there would be thousands of miles doing it so, which could be much more inexorable than the walls themselves. Eleanor knew that she had no option but to let Ethan go for good.

________

Chapter 3.