#takes less effort and forces me to voice train

[catboybiologist]

Wait if I literally didn't have any gimmick and I just put out like a bland, informational biology podcast, would y'all listen

If I ever start an onlyfans, I'll make videos that frame themselves as "hot teacher x viewer" streams, constantly leaning into the trope more and more and escalating the implications, except by the end I've revealed nothing, done nothing sexy, and completed a full molecular biology lecture

[pickingupmymercedes]

It had to be enough - Lewis Hamilton

We have all watched Lewis's interviews after Monza 24' quali. (1 & 2)

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

warnings: angst.

wordcount: +2K

a/n: It's possibly going to hurt to read this, and there's no real ending, just poking at an open wound. Got a few things out of my system with the bonus character.

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

______________________________________________________________

"Talk to me, Lewis" she said, her voice softer than she her heart clenching. "You can’t keep doing this to yourself."

The hum of the AC in Lewis's driver's room was a faint backdrop to the tension that clung to the air.

It was heavy, almost suffocating, but Y/n pushed through it because that’s what she did—she fought for him, even when he was too stubborn to accept it.

He sat on the edge of the sofa, his posture rigid, eyes trained on the floor. She could see the exhaustion in the slope of his shoulders, the way his fingers gripped the material of his phone like he was holding on for dear life.

She hated seeing him like this, wrapped up in his own head, drowning in self-doubt. But what she hated more was the way he’d shut her out, like she was just another barrier he needed to protect himself from.

He didn’t look up, didn’t even acknowledge her words.

It was like she wasn’t even in the room, like he was retreating into that fortress he’d built around himself all year long. She took a step closer, desperate to bridge the distance between them, but it felt like there was an abyss between them, that only grew wider.

"I know you’re upset about that quali" she continued, trying to keep the frustration out of her voice, "but this... it isn’t just about today, is it? It’s about the past years, the pressure, the team, Ferrari, Kimi... all of it."

When he finally looked up the expression in his eyes made her stomach drop. There was no anger there, no fight, just a cold, hollow emptiness that chilled her.

"There’s nothing to talk about," he said, his tone flat. "I’m just not good enough anymore. And that’s it."

"Don’t do that," she said, her voice rising despite her best efforts. "Don’t push me away, not now. I’m not going anywhere."

Y/n's heart pounded in her chest as she watched Lewis's expression. She knew he was hurting, that he was struggling to cope with the weight of his own expectations.

He laughed, but there was no humor in it. It was bitter, almost mocking, and it broke something inside her.

"Well, maybe you should" he said, his gaze flicking away from her, like he couldn’t deal with what he was about to say "Leaving is exactly what you should do, before I disappoint you too."

The air left her lungs in a painful rush. She felt like the ground had been ripped out from under her, like she was falling with no end in sight.

Y/n had always known that Lewis was his own worst critic, that he was harder on himself than anyone else could ever be. But now... this was different.

This was him giving up, and that scared her more than anything.

"You could never disappoint me," she whispered, but the look in his eyes told her he didn’t believe her.

He looked convinced to have failed. That he’d somehow become less of a man, less of Lewis Hamilton.

"That’s not true," she said, more forcefully this time. "You’re not a disappointment, Lewis. You’re one of the greatest drivers this sport has ever seen, and no one can take that away from you."

He shook his head, that bitter smile still playing on his lips. "Maybe it’s time to accept that I’m not that driver anymore."

"You don’t get to give up on yourself like this.” she said, crossing the room in three quick strides. She knelt in front of him, forcing him to meet her gaze. "Not when you’ve still got things to do here."

He looked at her then, really looked at her, and for a brief moment, she saw the man she fell in love with—the fighter, the champion.

But it was fleeting, gone in the blink of an eye, replaced by that same crushing self-doubt.

"I’m tired," he admitted, and it was the first honest thing he’d said since this conversation started. "I’m so fucking tired of fighting, of trying to prove that I still belong here."

Y/n reached out, cupping his face in her hands, and he leaned into her touch like he’d been starving for it, but wouldn’t dare ask her for it.

"I know you are," she said, her voice breaking. "But you don’t have to do this alone. I’m right here with you."

He closed his eyes, and she could see the struggle playing out on his face, the battle between his desire to open up and the instinct to shut her out.

It had been this way all year, ever since the problems with qualifying really started to affect him. Every time he’d had a bad session, he’d withdrawn a little more, closed himself off a little tighter.

And every time, it had taken more and more to pull him back out.

She thought about how he’d opened up in the media pen "It’s something I’ve been working on," he had said earlier, his voice almost defeated. "But I should have been on the front row for sure... It’s been this way for a minute now and... I used to be so comfortable in qualifying, and it’s gone."

The words had stung, a rare admission of vulnerability in front of the cameras. But she knew it went deeper than that.

That last part haunted her, the way he’d spoken about it like it was something he’d lost forever. How he felt like he was failing, and who was terrified that the magic was gone for good.

"I can’t keep watching you tear yourself apart like this. It’s killing me, Lewis." Y/n said, the words spilling out before she could stop them.

He flinched, like her words had struck a nerve, and for the first time, she saw a crack in that armor he was building around himself.

"I’m sorry" he whispered; his voice thick with emotion.

She shook her head, tears finally spilling over as she pulled him into her arms "Don’t apologize. Just... please, just let me in."

He buried his face in her shoulder, and she could feel the stiffness slowly leaving his body, replaced by a bone-deep exhaustion.

She held him tighter, hoping that she could somehow take away even a fraction of the pain he was carrying.

"I’m scared," he admitted, his voice muffled against her skin. "I’m scared that I’m losing everything, that I’m not the driver I used to be. And I don’t really know how to deal with that."

She had to bite down hard on her lip to keep from crying. This was the man who’d always been her rock, the one who’d faced down every challenge with a quiet confidence that had always left her in awe.

Even the worst one.

"You’re not losing anything," she said, her voice trembling. "You’re still the same man, the same driver, the same person. And nothing—nothing—is ever going to change that."

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look her in the eyes, and she could see the doubt still lingering there, the fear that he wasn’t enough, that he was somehow failing his team, failing himself.

"Only I’m not" he said, shaking his head. "I’m not the same, not anymore."

Y/n reached up, brushing a tear from his cheek, and she saw a flicker of surprise in his eyes, like he didn’t even realize he had let that tear escape.

He blinked, his gaze searching hers like he was looking for something to hold onto, something to believe in.

"I don’t know how to do this," he said, his voice cracking. "I don’t know how to keep going when I feel like everything’s about to come crashing down"

"You don’t have to know," she said taking one of his hands in hers. "You just have to trust that you’ll find your way. And I’ll be right here with you."

For a long moment, he just looked at her hand, his eyes unreadable. Then, slowly, he nodded, a tiny, almost imperceptible movement, but it was enough.

It was a start.

This time he was the one who pulled her into his arms, holding her as if she were the only thing keeping him afloat.

She could feel his heartbeat against her chest, rapid and unsteady, a stark contrast to the calm, composed Lewis that the world usually saw.

He was carrying all this weight, all this pain, and worst of all, he felt like he had to do it alone.

Y/n didn’t move, didn’t dare to break the fragile peace they’d found in each other’s arms.

But even in that moment of closeness, she couldn’t shake the lingering worry in the back of her mind. She knew that it would take more than just words to pull him back from that brink.

"I need you to promise me something," she said softly, her fingers brushing over the skin of his arm. "Promise me that you won’t shut me out. No matter how hard things get, no matter how lost you feel. I can’t help you if you won’t let me."

He hesitated, and for a moment, she thought he might pull away again, retreat back into that shell he’d built around himself.

But then he nodded, the movement slow and deliberate, like he was making a decision he wasn’t entirely sure of.

"Okay" he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I’ll try."

It wasn’t the firm commitment she’d hoped for, but it was something. And right now, she’d take whatever she could get.

"That’s all I ask," she said, her voice soft. "Just... don’t give up on yourself. Please"

He didn’t respond, but the way he held her, the way his arms tightened around her, was answer enough. He wasn’t okay—far from it—but he was still here, still trying, and that was what mattered.

Y/n rested her head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. She closed her eyes, trying to hold onto this moment, this fragile connection they’d managed to find in the midst of all the chaos.

All that was ahead—the races, the pressure, the inevitable changes— a part of her wondered if they were ready for it. If he was ready for it. If she was.

She had to remind herself that they didn’t have to be ready, they just had to be brave to face the changes.

And that, she told herself, would be enough. It had to be enough.

The outside world thought kept waiting, with its demands and expectations. Lewis had meetings and delaying it any longer wouldn’t do him any favors.

She reluctantly loosened her hold on him, feeling the shift in the air as reality crept back in.

“Lew,” she whispered, tracing with the tip of her finger his tattoos. “You need to go. They’re waiting for you.”

He nodded, though he looked like he would rather stay there forever, hiding away from everything.

“Yeah,” he muttered, his voice still hoarse from their earlier conversation. “I know.”

She could tell he was still trying to pull himself together, to put on the mask he wore so well in front of others. But she also knew that mask was cracked, and it wouldn’t take much to shatter it completely.

As they headed towards the door, Lewis hesitated, his hand on the doorknob. He glanced back at her.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, his voice barely audible. “For being here.”

Y/n managed a small smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “You don’t have to thank me. Just... remember what you promised, okay?”

“I will” he replied, his voice stronger this time. He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, lingering there for a moment before finally opening the door.

The noise of the motorhome hit them immediately—a hum that never really stopped.

Lewis squared his shoulders, his face hardening into the familiar expression of focus. He gave her one last look before stepping out into the corridor, heading towards the meeting that was already overdue.

Y/n watched him go. She knew he was far from okay, but at least now, he wasn’t completely alone in it.

Just as she was about to turn back and find a moment to herself, she heard a familiar voice behind her.

“Y/n.”

She turned to see Toto approaching, his expression as serious as ever, though there was a hint of concern in his eyes that she hadn’t seen before.

He stopped a few feet away from her, his gaze flicking towards the direction Lewis had gone before settling back on her.

Y/n met Toto’s gaze, feeling the weight of everything unsaid. She could see the slight furrow of his brow, the way his eyes searched hers for answers he couldn’t find on his own.

But there was more to this than concern—there was responsibility, and whether Toto acknowledged it or not, she knew he bore some of it.

“He’ll be okay” she said, her voice calm but tinged with a subtle edge. “But it’s going to take time.”

Toto nodded, the lines on his face deepening with whatever thoughts he was wrestling with. Y/n could see the questions forming behind his eyes, the unspoken doubts he held.

But she also knew that while he might care for Lewis, his role as team principal came with its own burdens, its own priorities that didn’t always align with what was best for Lewis.

“I know it’s been tough” Toto began, his tone careful, as if he were picking his words from a delicate web. “We’ve all felt the pressure this year.”

Y/n swallowed back the frustration rising in her throat. Of course, they’d all felt the pressure—this was Formula 1. But Lewis had carried more than his share, and somewhere along the line it was bound to take a toll on him.

“He’s been carrying a lot, Toto. And I don’t think anyone really saw how much until it started to break him.” she said, her words measured.

She paused, searching his face for any sign that he understood what she was trying to say. That this wasn’t just about a rough season or the weight of expectations. It was a cumulative effect of years, of being the one to shoulder hopes and criticism of an entire sport.

Toto’s expression softened, something—regret, maybe—crossing his features. But she knew better than to expect a full admission.

This was the world they lived in, where accountability was a slippery concept, buried beneath layers of strategy and performance metrics.

“Formula 1... it’s unforgiving,” she continued, her voice quieter now, more reflective. “And I know you’ve always done what you thought was best. But this time Lewis paid a higher price.”

He didn’t reply immediately, his gaze shifting momentarily to the engineering’s room before returning to hers.

“I never wanted it to come to this.” his voice was low, almost resigned.

Y/n nodded, understanding the truth behind his words. She believed him—Toto cared about Lewis.

But the reality was that intentions didn’t always align with outcomes, and somewhere along the way, the balance had tipped.

“I know” she said softly, offering him a small, weary smile. “But it did.”

The air between them was thick with everything unspoken, the understanding that while Lewis would be okay, it would come at a cost. And that cost was one that had been paid, in part, by the very person that had built the platform the team now stood in, a team that had once been his greatest strength.

“I should go” Y/n added after a moment, glancing in the direction Lewis was.

Toto nodded again, this time more firmly. “Thank you, Y/n. For being there for him.”

She didn’t respond, only gave a brief nod before turning to leave. A reminder of just how delicate the balance was between personal and professional in this world.

And how, no matter how much she wished otherwise, there were some battles Lewis would have to fight on his own.

______________________________________________________________

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[redocity]

What about reader and Maddie going shopping and reader surprising buck with some cute lingerie after that she just bought??

WELCOME HOME — E.BUCKLEY

you always missed buck when he was at work, so you organised a little surprise for him when he finally got home.

evan buckley x fem!reader | suggestive | 2.1k | requests open!!

cw — 18+ content, minors do not interact. not technically smut but an insulation of smut at the end, buck picks up the reader

a/n — ya girl is back after over a month 💀 sorry bros, exam season ripped me to shreds

masterlist.

Buck’s apartment always seemed bare when he wasn’t in it, the metaphorical light that made it feel like a home disappearing whenever he went on shift.

You never knew exactly why it made you feel so different, you’d been living with him for almost six months, but Buck’s absence never failed to make you feel lonely.

So you made an effort to stay out of the apartment for as long as possible when Buck wasn’t there to share it with you, seeking comfort in the company of your friends to pass the time.

Today’s excursion was a mall trip with Maddie.

It wasn’t anything special, a lunch trip and some random shopping for god knows what (mostly stuff for Jee), but as the afternoon turned into early evening, the stores you visited became less ‘family oriented’ and more… personally intriguing.

Case in point, a very well placed lingerie store right on your way back to the parking lot.

The two of you had justified your little detour as a little ‘treat’ for yourselves after being so responsible with your purchases for the rest of the day, delusion feeding delusion as you both convinced yourselves of any reason possible to be there other than just wanting to go inside.

“It’ll only take ten minutes” you’d both agreed.

It did not take ten minutes.

The two of you paraded around the store for almost an hour, picking out certain things you liked to show them off to each other and promptly putting them back on the rail once you looked at the prices. Rinse and repeat.

Although, there was one singular set that you had kept coming back to throughout your window shop, a cute silk bralette and shorts ‘pyjama’ combo with a silk robe to match.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t come back to it at least every ten minutes, and by the third time Maddie was practically forcing you to pick it up and keep it on hand “just in case,” you decided you wanted to buy it before you left.

You were convinced you weren’t going to, but ever persuasive as she is, you followed her instruction either way.

And you did end up taking the set home with you.

It was a sizeable blow to your bank account, and Maddie’s victorious attitude as you got to the counter didn’t help your defeat, but you knew you were going to regret it if you didn’t.

You deserved to look sexy, to feel sexy, and above all else the small image in the corner of your mind of Buck’s face when he saw you in it was motive enough for you to shell out on yourself.

What was the harm really?

You stripped to try it on basically the second you stepped into your apartment, spending god knows how long parading yourself around in front of every mirror you could find.

You solidified that it was indeed a good purchase when the front door clicked open and Buck’s work boots thumped heavily against the wooden flooring, joined by his bag as he breathed an obvious sigh of relief at being home after a full 24 hours away from home.

“Babe? You here?” His voice practically sent shivers up your spine as he called out to you, setting your heart racing as you prepared yourself for the ‘reveal’ of your new purchase.

It really shouldn’t have been so adrenaline-inducing, but you wanted him to like it as much as you did.

“Hey baby, welcome home,”

It’s like Buck’s vision is trained to gravitate towards you with how fast his eyes flicker to you as you walk around the corner to stand at the top of the staircase.

He gives a very obvious once over when you’re fully in sight, letting out a low whistle as he kicks off his boots to start his ascent of the stairs.

“How was your day?” You walk down the stairs a few paces, still remaining a few steps higher than him to rest your arms over his shoulders in a hug.

“Long..” Buck murmurs, his hands falling to rest on your hips automatically as he stands below you on the steps, tilting his head back to maintain eye contact. “But definitely just got better..” Buck says with a small smirk, glancing over your attire again with a low hum.

You give a soft hum at his approval, practically preening at the attention he gives you as his eyes take a tour of your frame. “You like?”

Buck’s thumbs begin to trace small circles into your hips as you ask the question, his gaze shifting back up to meet your eyes with an almost offended tint that you’d assume anything else. “Love..”

“Yeah?” You lean forward until your noses brush together, placing a chaste kiss on his lips. “I bought it today,” And another kiss, “Just for you,”

“And it looks so damn good on you..” Buck murmurs in response, his hands sliding down your hips to cup at your ass, giving it a firm squeeze through the silk as his lips return the chaste kiss.

You let out a short chuckle at his brash show off affection, fingers carding through his hair as your faces part. “Thank you,”

Buck presses another firm kiss to your lips, his tongue teasing against your lips as he pulls you closer to him. “Anytime, babe…”

His hands continue to trail further down until they grab the backs of your thighs, lifting you up with ease to carry you back up the stairs towards the bedroom.

The sudden change elicits a small gasp from you, one that quickly turns to laughter as you wrap your arms over his shoulders for stability.

Your laughs are echoed with Buck’s own as he kicks open the bedroom door to drop you onto the mattress, soft kisses pressed against your neck as he leans over you.

“Hi,”

The smile the spreads on his face is almost giddy as he speaks, his fingers tracing up and down your sides.

“Hi,” Your echo of a response is almost entirely a giggle as you run your hands over the curves of his neck and shoulders.

Your laughs seem to be contagious as the two of you continue to share soft chuckles and giggles, Buck’s fingers drifting across your skin and the silk covering your chest, leaning down to brush another kiss onto your lips.

“Missed you…” he says quietly, his eyes slowly closing as his nose brushes against yours.

“…missed you too,” The quietness of your voice mirrors Buck’s as you cup his face in your hands, leaning your forehead against his.

It was hard not to miss the love of your life when he worked such long hours.

Buck lets out a soft sigh at your touch, his fingers lifting up to brush away hair from your face, tilting his head to press a soft kiss to your forehead.

“This new schedule blows…” Buck murmurs, moving to bury his face into the crook of your neck.

“No kidding,” You wrap your arms over his back as he lies on top of you, his head buried into your shoulder with no consideration for his inherent need to breathe.

Buck’s breath is warm on your skin as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck, a small smile playing at his lips as he just soaks up the comforting presence.

“Think you’re the only thing keeping me alive this week…” He murmured against your skin, a small shiver running through him as his lips gently brush against your skin.

You let out a small laugh at his comment, pressing a gentle kiss to his temple as your hands continue to roam the expanse of Buck’s back, carefully pressing and massaging into his shoulder blades until he’s pliant in your arms.

“You’re a pretty good pillow..” Buck jokes against your skin, his eyes slipping shut at the soothing, repetitive motion of your fingers. “…sexy pillow,”

Your laugh evolves at his murmured approval of your use as his personal pillow, and you revel in the positive attention it brings you, allowing your eyes to fall closed so you can focus of the feeling of him in your arms.

Buck can’t help but begin to laugh too at the sound of your amused chuckle, smiling against your skin. “Just what I need after today…” he gently tilts your head to the side with his hand to bite down gently on the skin in the crook between your neck and your shoulder.

“To come home and just unwind..” he whispers as he begins to nip and suck on your skin, slowly leaving behind a small trail of reddening marks. “And to have my beautiful girlfriend waiting for me..”

Buck’s gaze slowly travels up to meet yours as he pulls away to admire his handiwork, a small smirk on his lips.

“..With this sexy little outfit..” he adds with a small hum, his fingers gently tugging at the hem of the bralette as it sits snug against your chest.

“Don’t get me wrong…” Buck begins, his smirk widening into a grin. “I’d take you in anything, but when you get all dolled up especially for me I almost lose my damn mind…” He punctuates his words with a kiss pressed against one of the ripening marks, the redness slowly fading into a soft purple that would be a nightmare to cover up tomorrow.

The laugh you let out at his apparent enthusiasm is more of just a breath as his lips his your sensitive skin, with his hands moving slowly over your body, his eyes following their movements as they run up over your sides, your ribs, over the curves of your boobs, as he just drinks in the sight of you.

“You gotta have the most perfect body I’ve ever seen..” Buck murmured softly, almost adoringly as his gaze remained focused on your chest.

“…God..” he mumbled against your skin, leaning in to press a few, slow kisses at your collarbone. “I’m the luckiest man alive…”

His tongue flicks out at his lips as he begins to run his fingers teasingly under the waistband of your shorts, the other moving to gently cup one of your boobs through the fabric with a low hum.

You let out a soft hum of your own at the roaming of his hands and the languid kisses he leaves against your skin, your fingers carding through his hair, gently tugging at the scalp in a show of your responsiveness.

Buck’s body lets out a small shiver as your fingers run through his hair, his eyes closing again as a small smile comes to his lips at the soothing feeling. “Mmmm…” he mumbled, peppering the skin at the top of your breasts with more kisses, his tongue teasing out occasionally to dip down into the cleavage exposed by the v-neck of your bralette.

The kisses on your skin get a little bit sloppier as he slowly works his way lower down your body, occasionally letting out a low hum and biting down on your skin.

“Can we just stay in all weekend..?” Buck murmurs against your skin, pulling away for just a second to rest his chin on your stomach as he looks up at you.

“that sounds like a great idea…” You practically breathe out your words as you respond to Buck’s suggestion. God knows you’d been missing him all week, and god knows you wanted to revel in this moment for as long as possible now that he had a full 48 hours at home.

Buck’s face lights up with a wider smile at that, a small, happy laugh escaping his lips as he nods in agreement. “I’ll be sure to make it worth your while.” He murmurs, returning to his previous ministrations on your skin, his lips pressing down kisses as he lowers them downward to your navel.

Buck’s hands finally slide underneath your shorts to tug the silk down your legs, grabbing onto your thighs as his lips slowly trail lower and lower, his eyes lifting up to meet yours.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good baby..” Buck promised in a low grumble, his fingers squeezing gently into your skin. “I promise,”

[avengers--assembly]

Hoodie thief

Summary: Y/n is sick (although she won't admit it) and steals Bucky’s hoodie. He wants it back. No can do. Let's argue about breakfast food instead?

Prompts used:

7. Borrowed Hoodie

15.” Who decided __is ‘sick person food?”

25. Summer flu

Word count: 1028

Warnings: none

●◇●◇●◇●◇●◇

Sweltering hot temperatures all week long. That’s what the weather app said. That’s what everyone was warning against. Drink plenty of fluids. Sunscreen. Stay inside. All the usual warnings for a normal temperature spike. So why exactly was Y/n shivering like crazy wrapped in one of her thickest blankets?

She wasn’t completely sure, just that the sun was shining through her bedroom window in greeting, and she was in no mood to stand up. Or get out of her blanket burrito. But all that said, her stomach had a dull ache that she was blaming on hunger, meaning she had to eat something.

Her body gave one more shiver as she placed her feet on the floor and hauled herself up. She wasn’t sick. Really, she wasn’t. She had too much stuff to do, like enjoying the nice weather outside. Because it was nice, and her body was just late on getting the memo. She glared at the blanket that dropped on the ground. Her lazy ass decided it was too much effort to pick it up again, so she left it. Stupid blanket.

Walking down the hallway, her summer pyjamas did nothing to help her mismatched body temperature, leaving goosebumps prickling her skin. Scowling, she stomped only slightly into the living room, gaze tracking for any movement.

No one.

Good.

Her gaze landed on an oversized hoodie that was thrown over one of the couches, and she inched closer for a better inspection. Definitely not hers... but big, black, and warm. It met all her requirements. Who cared who it belonged to?

She slipped it on, hands disappearing in the too-long sleeves. The oversized hoodie hung far enough to completely cover her shorts. She allowed a smile to cross her face. Perfect.

Except for a certain super soldier who didn’t share her feelings. Bucky glowered at her, arms crossed, “Cute. 10, 9, 8.” His voice was calm, but his eyes were narrowing in warning. Y/n knew Bucky hated when people touched his things, but by the time she realized it was his, she was already too comfortable to care.

“You’re really going to count down?”

“Take it off.” Was his only response, his irritation obvious. Y/n let out a huff, folding her arms right back at him, “No.”

“Y/n” He warned, taking a step forward. She narrowed her eyes at him, “I’m not scared.”

“My hoodie. You have your own, don’t you?”

“They’re not as comfortable! And they’re all the way in my room!” Y/n complained, pouting at him. He muttered something to himself, rubbing a finger across his brow, eyes closed, “Stop that” He snapped.

“What?”

“Pouting. Makes you too damn cute.” She smiled slightly, but before saying anything, he continued, “Why do you need a hoodie anyway? Isn’t it like 30° or something?”

"I’m cold. No, leave me alone. I want to make breakfast.”

“You’re cold?” His frown deepened, concern flickering in his eyes, only to be replaced by frustration, “And I’ll leave you alone as soon as you return my hoodie.”

“Make me.”

He lifted a surprised eyebrow at her, but there was a playful glint in his eyes now.

“You sure you want that, doll?”

“I could take you,” Y/n said, still defiant.

He walked towards her, slowly at first, and the pace made a brief flash of fear settle in her stomach. Oh, shit. She was still shivering, albeit less, and her muscles were sore. He was a super soldier with decades of training—and a metal arm to back it up.

“Wait, I didn’t mean right now,” she blurted, trying to keep the nervousness out of her tone. She forced herself not to step backwards. It would be ridiculous if she couldn’t meet her own stubbornness.

“I think now is perfect. You still have something that belongs to me.” Before she could react, he scooped her up, throwing her over his shoulder with ease. Y/n shrieked in surprise, hands scrambling to find balance as the world tilted beneath her.

“Bucky! Put me down!” He ignored her protests, walking towards the kitchen counter. Only then did he lightly place her on the marble surface, hands hovering a few inches from her waist until she caught her balance. The sudden shift upwards again made her head spin, black spots dancing in the corners of her eyes.

“Nop,” she muttered, closing her eyes, leaning her head against Bucky’s chest.

“Doll?” Concern was evident in his tone. He placed a kiss on the top of her head, hands wrapping around her waist and pulling her closer. “Yeah?” She hummed back.

“Why are you cold?”

“Flu?” she said back, almost too quiet for him to catch. He nodded along, “You planning on ignoring it?”

“I’m not sick.”

“Fine. Let me make you breakfast.”

“Just cereal.”

“Oats.” He argued, shaking his head at her choice, “You need better nutrition than that sugary stuff.”

“Yuck.” She leaned back from him, her nose scrunched up in distaste, “Who decided oats were good for sick people?”

“It’s nutrition values.”

“Could be fake,” she reasoned.

“Could be. Toast then?” He bopped her nose playfully, smiling as she swatted away his hand.

“Why do you hate me so much? I need sugar to survive,” she said dramatically.

“I mean, you did steal my hoodie.” He answered back, raising an accusing eyebrow.

“If I give it back, will you love me again?”

“Mmm no.”

“What? Why?” She gaped at him, a brief look of confusion on her face. He smiled, “It’s full of your germs now. Don’t want it anymore.”

“Hypocrite. You just hugged me.”

**

They settled on toast with jam in the end. On the couch, they watched some silly comedy, Y/n still wearing his hoodie, an extra blanket lying nearby. The water and medicine were only a precaution for when she stopped ignoring the facts.

Bucky chose to stay indoors today, and Y/n simply joined him to keep him company. No other reason. The other Avengers didn’t need extra information, even when pool day turned into movie watching instead. Nat had joined them later, settling comfortably next to Y/n and only stealing her food when she thought Y/n wasn’t looking.

[its-not-that-weird-blog]

On the wrong foot

Matt Rempe x Reader

Summary: Maybe starting off on the wrong foot wasn't as bad as everyone thought…

Warnings: A little angsty but nothing to bad, enemies to lovers.

A/N: Due to the lack of Matt Rempe´s fics, here you have one, hope you guys like it. Sorry for any grammar mistakes, english is not my first language :) Let me know what you thought about this little fic

2.8k words

Being an intern for the New York Rangers has its ups and downs. Some positive aspects are that you get to do what you like (having fun on social media and forcing the players to make TikToks) and having free access to all the games in the season. All of that makes you grateful for this amazing opportunity, but there is one thing that makes this job unbearable..

And that is Matt Rempe, a cocky, 6'7" rookie who acts like he has the entire world in the palm of his hand. His arrogance and overconfidence make every interaction with him a challenge. He struts around the locker room, flaunting his height and abilities, often disregarding the efforts of those around him. His constant need for attention and validation only adds to the frustration, making what could be an amazing experience a bit of a nightmare.

Y/N and Matt started off on the wrong foot, meeting under the worst possible circumstances. It was the worst day of Y/N´s entire life. She had woken up late, throwing off her entire morning routine, and had to rush out the door without even grabbing a quick breakfast. Her day only got worse as she hurried to catch the train, only to miss it by mere seconds. By the time Y/N finally made it to the rink, she was frazzled, starving, and running on empty. That’s when she ran into Matt Rempe for the first time. Their initial encounter was less than pleasant, setting the tone for our strained relationship from the very start.

“You know this is a private practice, right?” Matt asked the poor frazzled girl.

“Yes, I am very aware of that,” she answered, chuckling. “You must be Matt, right? The new rookie?” Y/N asked, looking up at the lanky, very tall boy standing in front of her.

“Yeah, I mean, hard for you not to know, I guess... And you are?” Matt trailed off.

Y/N was taken aback, mainly because the team directors always made sure to let the new guys know who worked in what, especially in the media and marketing department.

“Oh, umm… I’m Y/N, one of the media interns,” she replied with a tight-lipped smile.

Matt raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Media intern, huh? So, what do you do? Take pictures and post tweets?”

“Actually, I manage the team's social media accounts, coordinate player interviews, and create content for our marketing campaigns,” Y/N replied, trying to keep her voice steady despite her irritation. “It’s a lot of work and responsibility.”

“Right, sure,” Matt said dismissively. “Well, try not to get in the way.”

Y/N felt a surge of frustration but forced herself to stay calm. “I’ll do my best,” she said, her tone tinged with sarcasm. “And maybe you can try to remember who’s on your team next time.”

Matt smirked. “We’ll see about that.”

As he walked away, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a mixture of anger and determination. She knew she had to prove herself, not just to Matt, but to everyone. This internship was too important to let one arrogant rookie ruin it for her.

She brushed it off, but it still annoyed her the audacity of that boy.

°°°°°°°°°°°

A few weeks had passed since their first encounter and it has been a constant fight between Y/N and Matt, mainly because of Matt’s attitude towards her. December rolled around and the team´s marketing director told the staff that they needed to do a promotional photoshoot to use during summer break.

It was a chilly Tuesday morning, and the team was gathered for the photoshoot at an outdoor rink. The bright sunlight reflected off the ice, creating a beautiful backdrop for the shoot. Y/N had been working tirelessly to ensure everything was set up perfectly: the lighting, the props, and the shoot schedule. 

Matt Rempe, on the other hand, seemed determined to test Y/N’s patience today. As the players gathered for their turn in front of the camera, Y/N called Matt over for his individual shots.

“Alright, Matt, let’s get started,” Y/N said, holding up a clipboard and checking the list. “We need you to do a few action poses first, then we’ll get some close-ups.”

Matt strolled over with a cocky and sarcastic grin. “Sure thing, but can I ask, why do we have to do this out in the freezing cold? Couldn’t you find a warmer spot?” Making his grin disappear and tuning his face into an annoyed frown

Y/N kept her professional demeanor. “It’s about the look we’re going for. The outdoor rink adds a unique touch to the photos. Plus, it’s only for a short while.”

Matt sighed heavily but positioned himself on the ice. As Y/N instructed him to perform a few drills and poses, Matt’s resistance became evident. He was slow to follow instructions, often taking a few extra seconds to reposition himself, and his expressions were lackluster at best.

Y/N tried to stay patient as she gave him clear directions. “Matt, please try to focus on the details of the poses. We need these shots to look sharp and engaging.”

Matt responded with a distracted nod but continued to make minimal effort. When Y/N asked him to adjust his stance, he grumbled, “I’m doing my best here, but this isn’t exactly my favorite way to spend an afternoon.”

Y/N took a deep breath, keeping her frustration in check. “Matt, I understand it’s not the most exciting part of the job, but it’s important for the team’s image. We need to get this right.”

Matt didn’t seem to take her seriously. He continued to make things difficult for everyone, giving half-hearted poses, shooting dirty looks at the camera, and maintaining his scowl. The photographer was visibly annoyed, and Y/N could feel the tension rising.

“Matt, if you can’t cooperate, we’re going to have to reschedule,” Y/N said, her voice firm.

Matt stopped his antics and looked at Y/N, realizing she was serious. “Alright, alright. I’ll play along. But can we make this quick? I’m freezing out here.”

With a reluctant nod, Y/N directed Matt through the remaining poses, this time with a bit more cooperation. Though his attitude was far from perfect, he made an effort to follow directions and get the shots done. Y/N was relieved to finish the session and hoped that Matt’s cooperation would improve with time.

Matt’s POV:

A few days after my awkward encounter with Y/N at the photoshoot, I was at the rink, trying to shake off the frustration of another rough practice. As I was heading to the locker room, Trouba stopped me in the hallway, looking a bit more serious than usual.

“Dude, you should leave poor Y/N alone,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re driving her crazy, and not in the right way.”

I raised an eyebrow, confused. “What are you talking about? I haven’t done anything that bad.”

“Really?” Jacob replied, his tone indicating he was unimpressed. “I’ve seen you giving her a hard time. She’s not just some intern; she’s part of the team’s media and marketing department. You’re making it difficult for her to do her job.”

I shrugged, trying to downplay it. “I didn’t realize it was such a big deal. I thought I was just being straightforward.”

“It’s not about being straightforward,” Jacob explained. “It’s about showing some respect. She’s working hard behind the scenes, and she’s under enough pressure already. You don’t want to be the guy who makes things worse for her.”

I sighed, realizing he had a point. I hadn’t thought about how my behavior might be affecting Y/N. “Alright, I get it. I’ll try to be more considerate.”

Trouba nodded, seeming satisfied. “Good. Trust me, it’ll make things easier in the long run.” He started walking back toward the locker room but stopped and turned around to face me again. “And if you have a crush on her, that second-grade bullshit needs to stop.” He winked at me before finally leaving.

As Trouba walked away, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I needed to make things right with Y/N. It was clear that my attitude needed to change, and I had to start finding a way to work with her, not against her.

And maybe Jacob’s right; I might have a little—just the tiniest—crush on Y/N. She’s a gorgeous, smart, and driven girl, and because of my little game, she probably won’t give me the time of day. But first things first, I need to turn around the relationship we currently have, or rather, the lack thereof.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

The next day, Matt found himself lingering outside the media office, trying to figure out how to approach Y/N. Apologizing wasn't something he was used to, especially when he wasn’t sure how she’d react. But he knew he had to start somewhere.

Y/N was at her desk, headphones on, focused on editing a video from the previous game. She hadn’t noticed Matt standing in the doorway until he cleared his throat, causing her to look up in surprise.

“Oh, hey,” Y/N said, pulling off her headphones and sitting up straighter. “What’s up?”

Matt rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a bit awkward. “Hey, I just wanted to talk to you about the other day. You know, at the photoshoot.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, clearly curious where this was going. “Okay…”

“I realize I’ve been a bit of a jerk,” Matt admitted, his voice slightly strained. “I didn’t mean to make things harder for you, and I’m sorry for being difficult.”

Y/N blinked, taken aback by his sudden apology. It was the last thing she expected from him. “Well, that’s… unexpected,” she said, not quite sure how to respond. “But I appreciate it.”

Matt nodded, feeling a small weight lift off his shoulders. “I know I’ve been giving you a hard time, but I want to make it up to you. Maybe we can start over?”

Y/N studied him for a moment, searching for any signs of insincerity. To her surprise, Matt seemed genuinely contrite. “Alright,” she said finally, offering a small smile. “I’m willing to give it a shot.”

Relief washed over Matt, and he smiled back. “Great. Maybe I can help out with some of the social media stuff, or anything else you need?”

Y/N chuckled, the idea of Matt willingly helping with TikToks and Instagram posts was amusing. “We’ll see about that,” she said teasingly. “But I’ll definitely let you know if there’s anything you can do.”

Matt grinned, feeling a strange sense of satisfaction. “Deal.”

As he left the office, Matt couldn’t help but feel a bit more relieved. Maybe he’d been too quick to judge Y/N, and maybe, just maybe, there was a chance to turn things around.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°|

Over the next few weeks, Matt made a conscious effort to be more cooperative and approachable, especially when it came to Y/N’s work. It wasn’t always easy—old habits die hard—but he was determined to keep his word. Slowly but surely, the tension between them started to ease.

Y/N, for her part, noticed the change in Matt’s behavior. He was still cocky and sarcastic, but there was a noticeable shift in his attitude. He wasn’t as dismissive or difficult as before, and he even started to show some interest in the work she was doing. It was a refreshing change, and it made her job a little less stressful.

One day, as they were wrapping up a content planning meeting, Y/N decided to take a chance. “You know, Matt, we’re shooting a new series of TikToks next week,” she said casually. “We could use a player who’s good on camera… Interested?”

Matt smirked, recognizing the playful challenge in her voice. “Oh, so now you need my help?”

Y/N rolled her eyes but smiled. “Only if you’re up for it.”

Matt pretended to think it over, then nodded. “Alright, I’m in. But only if you promise to make me look good.”

Y/N laughed. “Deal. But you’ll have to take direction without any complaints this time.”

“Fine,” Matt agreed, holding out his hand. “Shake on it?”

Y/N shook his hand, feeling a sense of accomplishment. It was a small victory, but it felt like a step in the right direction. Maybe, just maybe, this internship wouldn’t be so unbearable after all.

And as for Matt? Well, he found himself looking forward to working with Y/N a lot more than he’d expected.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°

As the weeks passed, the collaboration between Y/N and Matt grew smoother, and so did their relationship. They began to banter more playfully, their exchanges losing the tension they once had. Y/N started to see a different side of Matt, the side that wasn’t all arrogance and bravado, but someone who was actually fun to be around. 

Matt, too, couldn’t help but notice how much he enjoyed spending time with Y/N. Her sharpness, her determination, and the way she handled everything with grace under pressure all intrigued him. The more he got to know her, the more he found himself wanting to be around her.

One evening, after a long day of content creation and practice, Y/N was finishing up some last-minute edits in the media room. The office was quiet, with most of the staff having gone home. She was so engrossed in her work that she didn’t notice Matt walk in.

“Hey,” Matt’s voice broke the silence, startling Y/N slightly.

“Oh, fuck!” Y/N yelped, “ Matt, you scared me!” she exclaimed, laughing as she turned to face him. “What are you doing here so late?”

Matt leaned against the doorframe, a small smile playing on his lips. “I was just wondering if you wanted to grab a bite to eat. It’s been a long day, and I figured you could use a break.”

Y/N blinked in surprise. This was the first time Matt had ever suggested something like this. “Are you asking me out on a dinner date?” she teased, raising an eyebrow.

Matt chuckled, his expression softening. “Yeah, I guess I am. What do you say?”

Y/N hesitated for a moment, then smiled warmly. “Sure, I’d like that.”

They ended up at a cozy little diner not too far from the arena, the kind of place that felt welcoming and unpretentious. As they settled into a booth, the conversation flowed easily. They talked about everything, from their families and childhood memories to their hopes and dreams for the future.

For the first time, Y/N saw the genuine person behind the cocky exterior. Matt was funny, thoughtful, and surprisingly down-to-earth. The more they talked, the more she found herself drawn to him. 

And Matt? He couldn’t stop thinking about how beautiful Y/N looked when she laughed, or how her eyes lit up when she talked about something she was passionate about. He realized that this wasn’t just a crush anymore, he was falling for her, and hard.

As they walked out of the diner, the night air cool and crisp, Matt felt a wave of nervous anticipation. He knew he didn’t want this night to end just yet.

“Y/N,” Matt began, stopping in front of her. “I know we didn’t exactly start off on the right foot, but… I really like you. And I want to see where this could go.”

Y/N looked up at him, her heart skipping a beat. She could see the sincerity in his eyes, and it made her heart swell. “Matt, I like you too,” she admitted, a soft smile spreading across her face. “I wasn’t sure at first, but… you’ve shown me that there’s more to you than I thought.”

Matt took a step closer, his hand reaching out to gently tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “So… what now?” he asked, his voice low and hopeful.

Y/N’s smile widened as she closed the distance between them. “Now,” she said softly, “we see where this goes.”

With that, Matt leaned in, his lips brushing against hers in a tender, sweet kiss. It was soft at first, almost hesitant, as if both of them were testing the waters. But as Y/N responded, the kiss deepened, filled with a warmth and affection that had been building between them for weeks.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathless, but smiling. Matt rested his forehead against hers, his arms wrapped around her waist.

“I’m really glad you didn’t let me mess this up,” Matt whispered, his voice filled with emotion.

“Me too,” Y/N replied, her eyes shining with happiness. “I think we make a pretty good team, don’t you?”

Matt grinned, leaning in to kiss her again. “Yeah, we really do.”

As they stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms under the soft glow of the streetlights, it was clear that this was the beginning of something special—something neither of them had expected, but both of them were more than ready to embrace.

[m6rija]

⟡ ⠀hold me tight⠀⠀⊹⠀⠀ soshiro hoshina & you

gn, flower shop owner reader who deals with depression and anxiety. hurt/comfort, a bit of angst maybe. this is the part 1 of my scaredy cat series.

what you had achieved so far slipped through your fingers like fine sand, swallowed up, swept away by greedy waves of poisonous distress, almost like ivy, choking your laments as they hugged your throat.

the prelude to a chain of events that would almost push you over the edge in front of the person you most admired— you felt so weak and ashamed.

the piece of paper was lying in front of you, sharing a place next to your friend's results.

your expression bordered on sadness even though you had passed just as he had, lips pressed into a thin line

you thought you didn't deserve it

and soshiro looked at you worriedly

he took your hand gently and even dared to intertwine his fingers with yours for brief instants

he ran the pad of his thumb over the back of your hand.

"sorry…"

you mumbled in an almost inaudible whisper.

you knew how hard he had worked to get here, how many sleepless nights had passed in which he had dedicated himself to training

how he woke up almost every day only to pick up the sword

how his hands were calloused, rough to the touch from gripping the weapon so tightly for so long

but you thought you lacked the same spark that he did

and that you were just following him without any purpose beyond accompanying him in his dream.

even if that were so, you would be useless as his companion.

you couldn't protect others, you were incapable of fighting and you felt useless compared to most others.

so why did you decide to accept your friend's proposal to take the exams for the defense forces together?

perhaps it was because of how enthusiastic he seemed to be when he told you about his plan.

how his smile spread across his face and his eyes took on the shape of little crescents

he seemed so cheerful talking to you, convincing you to hold his hand if you became nervous during the exam

your lower lip trembled with insecurity as you realized that you just didn't want to disappoint him

you were afraid to see his dissapointed face

because you wanted to live up to his expectations

however, the silent, disconsolate sob you barely managed to utter was proof enough of how much you demanded of yourself, and how it didn't seem to be nearly enough for you to live up to the man in front of you.

you didn't deserve the results etched in ink that went hand in hand with your name, much less could you allow your racing heartbeat to be the cause of your fractured smile that came before your tears.

because you were happy to have passed, but you could not accept it.

there were people much better suited for this job than you— and you even assured yourself that you would fail the next exam.

so if you were so fervent in your claims, why would you even take that second test?

why put in the effort?

"it would be… better if i supported you from afar."

you managed to feel that hint of sadness through the touch of the dark-haired one, who refused to withdraw his hand from yours

even though you tried to retract yours, trembling.

"i don't think i can do this."

you bit your lower lip with the intention of holding back those tears that threatened to spill from your eyes

"sorry"

your jaw trembled to the rhythm of your hands, voice bathed in obvious fear

your gaze barely lifted at the sound of your friend's voice.

"'tis not a job apt for everyone, so don't beat yerself up over it."

a soft, almost gentle tone adorned those words

and your heart ached in anguish when you didn't find the disappointment you had imagined.

perhaps he was hiding it, so as not to make you uncomfortable.

soshiro was always attentive to you— even his touch on your fearful hands was as soft as feathers

and that made you imagine that he was hiding what he really wanted to tell you.

because you'd heard harsh words throughout your life

just like him

he was as exhausted as you, carrying so much on his shoulders— and yet he had decided to stay by your side, to comfort you when you hit rock bottom and try to ease what you were so worried about.

you felt that all you were doing was occupying him more than he already was, putting more weight on him, even though he repeated several times that this did not bother him at all, that he did it voluntarily.

the wall that divided the two of you was the simple fact that he wanted to begin to fight against what he had been told throughout his life

while you were just sinking, learning to live with it rather than against it.

so you assumed that everyone would treat you the same; and when that didn't happen you simply thought the worst

even if you didn't want to

"ya better support me like you say"

soshiro's finger was pointing at you, and his little fangs showed above his lower lip

you lightly mimicked his smile, aware that he was only acting this way in an attempt to cheer you up

"i wanna see yer pretty face all happy, 'kay?"

[beyondthesefourwalls]

Remember You Even When I Don't (1)

Summary: A training accident, the doctor had told him. A nasty one that led him here, laying in a hospital bed with a splitting headache and an inability to remember the woman sitting beside him. What he did know, though, was that you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and you felt important to him. That, as it turns out, would become an understatement.

Words: 2.7K

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw/Reader (no use of y/n, so can be read as unnamed oc)

Warnings: angst, hospitals, memory loss, language.

Notes: I'm so excited and so nervous to be posting this. It was originally going to be a one shot, but it got a little out of control and so I've decided to try and split it up into multiple parts.

This was inspired by a one shot by the lovely @roosterforme and would not exist without her assistance. If you haven't read any of her stuff, please check out her masterlist - you won't be disappointed!

------

He woke up feeling like his mouth had been stuffed with cotton balls and an ice pick had been taken to his head over and over and over again. The pain was blinding. The grimace on his face must show, because suddenly there was a squeeze to his hand and a soft voice by his ear. 

“Bradley?”

That’s him, he recognized, maybe taking a little bit longer than he should have to realize that fact.  

“Oh, Bradley. Can you open your eyes for me, honey?” 

His movements felt slow to him, delayed and lethargic and like he’s fighting against more g-forces than he ever has. It takes him a moment to pry his eyes open, but when he does, he immediately flinches and squeezes them shut again. 

“Shit, oh my god I’m sorry,” that voice speaks again. The pressure on his hand is released and he hears what must be the squeak of a chair being pushed back. A soft click sounds through the room, but it felt like another clink of the ice pick on his skull. It’s a little less bright beyond his eyelids now, though. In another moment, his hand is warm as it’s encased in another again. “Lights are off now.”  

It felt like a tremendous effort to open his eyes again, and the process is slow. As he came into consciousness a little more fully, he registered the pain in more than just his head. And oh, there was a lot of it. He tried to shift just the slightest bit and immediately regretted it. It felt like every centimeter of him hurt. God, even blinking hurts.

The room comes in and out of focus, and even when it mostly clears, there was a slight blur around the edges of his vision. He recognized enough to know he was in a hospital. The white walls, the iv running through the crook of his elbow, the continuous beep beep beep of the monitor on one side of the bed are a giveaway to that. 

“Baby, baby, hey, don’t try and move, okay?”

The voice on the other side of the bed must belong to whoever is holding his hand. Despite the request, he couldn’t help but slowly, slowly turn his head in that direction. The voice was captivating, melodic, almost, and he wanted to see who it belonged to. It takes a moment for his eyes to focus on you, but when they do, he’s blown away. 

“Wow,” he breathed out in awe, his voice scratchy and sore, “you’re beautiful.” 

The breathtaking woman holding his hand laughs, and the sound is beautiful, but then tears well in your eyes. He doesn’t like that, he decided. He’s confused as to why he cares as much as he does about that fact. “Please don’t cry.” 

“I’m sorry,” you responded as you wiped under your eyes, “it’s just so good to hear your voice and see those eyes, baby.” 

There’s something he’s missing. The nagging feeling in the back of his head tells him that it’s something important, vital, imperative to his very survival. He racked his brain to try and find what it was, but the pain was so severe and his vision was starting to go in and out again the more he tried to figure it out. God, what happened to him? 

“Let me call your doctor,” you insist, and you’re standing to press the button on his bed when he tries to speak through the pain again. 

“Are you…not my doctor?” 

His voice was low, but he knew you heard him by how your entire body froze and your watery eyes snapped to him. Tears were welling again, he noticed in his blurred vision, but the look you have in your eyes was different this time. 

He felt like he did something wrong. 

You pressed the call button over and over again, more times than is probably necessary, before sinking back into the chair that he was starting to think you’ve been in for a long time. It felt like your hand was holding onto his a little bit harder now. 

“Bradley…do you know who I am? Do you know my name?” 

The pain in his body was ricocheting through him so viciously that he felt he may throw up, but he tried to push through it and think anyway. It felt important. You felt important, but he couldn’t figure out why. And he couldn’t think of your name, either. It’s that feeling of being right there on the tip of his tongue, but it just wouldn’t come out. 

“I can’t remember. I’m sorry. Should I?” 

You gasped lightly and he doesn’t like that sound, either. Before he could try and apologize, for something he wasn’t completely clear on, the door to his room opened and suddenly there were way more than the two of you in the room. He’s surrounded by white coats and navy blue scrubs and your hand wasn’t in his anymore and he missed the feel of it. He flailed slightly, trying to find it once more, but you were being ushered to the back of the small hospital room and that doesn’t feel right, either. 

“No,” he muttered, not listening to any of the medical personnel asking him questions and poking and prodding at him. He just knew that he wanted you back beside him, looking like you did when he first woke up, not sad like you did now. 

Everything hurt. 

Someone was shining a light in his eyes and he was so overcome with it that he at first didn’t notice how everyone in the room stopped moving when he had been asked what year it is and he had said 2018. He answered again when they asked who the current President was and his date of birth. 

By the collective intake of breath throughout the room, it seemed the last one was the only one he got right. 

“Lieutenant Commander -”

“It’s just Lieutenant.” 

The doctor clicked his flashlight off and took a small step back, clearing his throat and contemplating his words before he spoke. “According to your official Navy file, you were promoted to Lieutenant Commander two years ago. And unfortunately, Lieutenant Commander, it’s no longer 2018. It’s 2022, sir.”

The beeping of his heart monitor was starting to quicken, and his own breathing was loud in his ears. 

The doctor started speaking again, but Bradley couldn’t hear him. There was a consistent buzzing in his head. He was starting to get unbelievably dizzy. He felt like he was going to be sick. Throughout it, his eyes were still on you. The tears were streaming freely now, no longer being pushed away in defiance, with your hands covering your mouth as you stared back at him like you were having a hard time seeing him. 

A shimmering caught his attention and for the first time, he noticed the ring on your left finger. The edges on his vision started to go dark, and as the possibility of what that meant hit him, he no longer felt or saw anything at all. 

_________

He had been unconscious for three days. 

A training accident, the doctor had told him, and a nasty ejection that involved not only slamming into the canopy, but into the plane itself. He was unconscious before he ever hit the ground, but his parachute had done its job on at least getting him there. More broken ribs than intact ones, a collapsed lung, more cuts and bruises to add to the regular collection, and a skull fracture and swelling on his brain that explained his massive headache and his apparent lack of memory. 

Four years of his life. 

Four. Years. 

Somehow, though, that wasn’t the most shocking thing he had heard since regaining consciousness. 

The woman in the room was his wife. You were his wife and he didn’t remember you. But he knew you. He knew that he knew you. He could feel it in his aching bones when he looked at you. 

It took a long time for the two of you to be alone again. A nurse had been in the room when he next woke up and the doctors quickly followed to explain all that had happened to him. He had almost immediately been rolled away for a variety of testing, poking and prodding. He wasn’t sure how long it took, but by the time he made it back to his room, there was no natural light filtering in through the windows anymore, and the ward itself was a little bit quieter. It must have been late.

You gave him the smallest of smiles from the chair next to his bed as the nurse who brought him back made sure all of his monitors were hooked up properly. She explained a few things to the both of you, seemingly unfazed to be sharing his medical information with someone he didn’t know. He supposed it didn’t matter, though. Because you’re his wife, and it’s your legal right to have this information. 

When Nurse Anne finally left, the two of you simply stared at one another. The air felt awkward, taught with unfamiliar tension. It settled over the room for a moment before you cleared your throat. He tried not to focus on how you were playing with the ring on your finger, twisting it around with your thumb.

“How are you -“

“I don’t know your name.” 

He didn’t mean to blurt out the words, especially when it cut off whatever you were about to ask him. But the thought has been going through his mind since you had asked him when he first woke up what must be hours ago now.

He had hoped for a revelation when you told him. Your name bounced around in his head, searching for something. But the only thing he found was disappointment when nothing hit him. 

He was tired and wanted to go to sleep. Even with the pain medication continuously dripping through the IV, his whole body hurt, but he couldn’t, now. He was desperate to speak to you. He wanted to make some sort of sense of this mess, but part of him, some part he was no longer familiar with, also just wanted to hear your voice again. 

“How…how long have we been married?”

“Three years,” you sighed, rubbing your eyes. It seemed that all he’d made you do since he woke up was cry. Bradley could tell that you were holding yourself together with all the strength you could muster. He admired you for that. You must have realized quickly that he was distracted or that the math was hurting his still aching head, so you followed up by explaining you had only been dating for four months before he proposed, and had been married by month six. 

Despite all the confusion and both the physical and mental hurt, he couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips. “You were crazy enough to say yes after four months?” 

You laughed, and oh, he thought, that’s a beautiful sound. 

“You definitely aren’t the first person to accuse me of that,” you revealed, though it didn’t come as much of a surprise because it made sense. Meeting and marrying in half a year was intimidating, and a bit insane in his eyes. He had always been slow to trust and even slower to love. He wondered about those first four months and what they must have been like to inspire him to propose, but instead of asking, he took the quiet that came over the room as an opportunity to just…look at you. There was an ache in his chest that he couldn’t quite explain as he does. 

Your hair was pulled back loosely at the base of your neck, more than a few pieces falling out of the hold the band had on it. You were in plain black leggings and an oversized Eagles sweatshirt that threatened to swallow you. In the back of his muddled mind, he questions if it was his, or if you maybe shared his enjoyment for the sport and team. Your skin was blotchy and your eyes were puffy from all the tears. 

You looked as exhausted as he felt, but you were still so, so beautiful. He doesn’t know if he’d ever seen anyone so beautiful, in fact. It was the first thing he had thought when he woke up the first time, and his opinion hadn’t changed. 

“This must be really overwhelming for you,” you said after a few minutes of silence. He could sense your nervousness rising and noticed how you were rubbing your rings again - he wondered if it was a tell of yours all the time. “I don’t - I don’t want to make that worse, so I - I can go, if you’d like me to.” 

“Go?” he questioned. Something that felt like panic flickered inside of him. He doesn’t think he likes that idea. 

“Yes. If you wanted to be alone. Or I could - I guess I could have someone else come stay with you?” You looked like you dreaded the idea of it, but he knew you would do it if it was what he wanted, and wasn’t that something? He had never had someone who would willingly put themselves through hurt if it made him feel better. Your last question raised one of his own, though, and he couldn’t help but ask. 

“Have you…been here the whole time?” 

“Of course,” you whispered with a nod. You leant forward in your chair like you were going to grab his hand but stopped yourself at the last second. You were still rubbing the rings on your left hand as you considered the words you were going to say. 

“I had to have my gallbladder removed last year,” you spoke again after a moment. His eyebrows furrowed, searching for a memory and coming up short. He didn’t know where you were going with this. “I was at home when I started getting these really bad pains. I would have thought it was my appendix, but I had that removed when I was a kid. After the pain didn’t go away I decided I should probably go to the hospital. I knew you were in the air that day so I left you a voicemail and sent you a text about what was happening. They had just put me in a room after running a few tests to figure out what was wrong when you came crashing in, demanding to talk to a doctor about what was wrong with me and then demanding to know why I wasn’t already in surgery if my gallbladder was so inflamed and infected that it was causing me as much pain as it was. I was in the hospital for less than 24 hours but you were there the whole time, holding my hand. Then you took time off work so that you could stay at home with me. For the first few days, if I did anything more than lift the tv remote or turn the page in my book, you were stopping me so that you could do it yourself. You were so worried about me.” 

He could feel it then. It was a strange sensation, really. He didn’t know you. His mind couldn’t produce any memories of you, but the thought of something happening to you, of something having happened to you, made him worry. He felt protective of you and you weren’t more than a stranger to him right now. 

“I say all this to say, Bradley, that if the roles were reversed, if I were the one in that hospital bed, I know exactly where you’d be, too. Because you have been. It doesn’t matter how big or small. I know you don’t remember but…that’s…that’s who we are, okay? There’s nowhere else I’d have been but right here by your side.” 

Your words hit him harder than he expected them to. He didn’t really know how to respond. He couldn’t make sense of all of this.  

“I think I want you to stay,” he whispered, almost afraid of the words. 

This time, you didn’t stop yourself from reaching out to him. You settled your hand over his and squeezed gently. And though you didn’t let your touch remain for more than a moment, the brief interaction spread warmth through the area. 

“Get some rest, sweetheart. We’ll talk more tomorrow.” 

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

Part Two :: Series Masterlist :: Main Masterlist

Notes: Thank you for reading! Your feedback is so important to me. Please let me know your thoughts and if you're interested in more of this being posted :)

[skelotom]

Big things happen often happen slowly, but they still happen.

I feel like I am taking a decidedly passive approach to transitioning. I am just kinda letting things happen. A part of me wishes changes from hrt were more obvious, that I would be forced out of the closet and forced to actually make an effort. But that would also be scary. I still have work to do before that point. Still working through electrolysis. Still procrastinating on voice training. Still enjoying the safety of doing the bare minimum.

Even if change comes in the end anyways, it is probably best to be less passive than the glacier if you can manage it.

[coralinnii]

You don’t have to do this right away but Part two for idia? Its okay if you dont feel like doing it, just remember to rest and take breaks!

"If you are a villain, then let me be your accomplice"  feat: Idia genre: drama notes: sequel to “being reincarnated into a new world as the bad guy” Idia ver., roughly 1.2k word count, mentions of blo*d, d*ath, and life-threatening situations, is there a gn equivalent of a himbo? cuz slight himbo!reader energy, unspecified beasts,

Finally, it’s here! The long-awaited villain/ess au sequel to the final housewarden (sorry Idia and Idia simps). Admittedly, this is not so much romantic as more fleshing out of their story :p whoops. I might make a continuation of the aftermath of this but I felt like this is a decent stopping point for now. 

Since accepting his growing feelings with you, Idia has been on an emotional roller coaster where he likes being around you but being around you makes him nervous to the point of almost puking. He finds himself glowing, both metaphorically and literally whenever you drop by and it doesn’t help when you seem to enjoy his personal space, seeing as you always bring yourself into said space. 

He knew that if he voiced his discomfort, you would make your best effort to distance yourself but the mere idea of that doesn’t make him feel too happy either. He’s grown accustomed to seeing your eyes sparkle at his new innovations, your warmth as you scoot closer to him on the couch, your voice when you share your random thoughts and questions

“Have you ever dreamt of your own death?” 

Ok, maybe he’s not too accustomed to everything you say

For a while now, you’ve experienced dreams that seem to burn themselves into your memories, forcing you to remember every detail as though the world compels you to. These dreams showed you snippets of life that seemed so real and scarily bears similarity to the real world. Your dreams foretold events in the near future which used to scare you to the point you begged your siblings to stay with you at night, assuring you it meant nothing. 

In truth, you wondered if you were given a strange and powerful gift but one thing about your visions stopped that train of thought. In your dreams, you tend to behave and act in ways you never would. The you in these dreams was spoiled and mean, especially to the Shroud family which you could never bring yourself to do in a million years. Because of that, you assumed your strange visions to be your imagination going wild. An alternative reality that didn’t happen.

But for the past few weeks, you were visioning your terrible end taking place in an expedition alongside your brother. You saw yourself perish at the hands of a feral beast with your brother then seeing your sister cry over your body and proclaiming to avenge your deaths, believing it to be the doing of the Shroud family. 

“What a strange dream, right?” You laughed in hopes to play off the absurdity of it all. “It’s just that…I've been seeing that dream more often now. I guess I’m more nervous about the expedition than I realise”

If it were someone else, you may have been considered strange or even going crazy. You thought Idia would see you that way or at best, try to convince you that it was nothing more than a wild fantasy, like your family does. 

But Idia was not a typical man. 

To be fair, you were not a typical person to him either. If it were anyone else, Idia wouldn’t care less about their troubles or at best, do the bare minimum to get them off his back. But it was the person who unknowingly stole his heart and watching you visibly affected by your disturbing visions persuaded him to seriously consider your words. 

“Tell me everything you saw” 

And lucky he did.  

Your father taught you a lot of things. How to swing your sword with gusto, to grit your teeth and dig in your heels when anticipating a blow, and to stand your ground no matter the odds. But he never told you how painful a racing heart can be or how loud the sound of blood rushing through your system is. Although, you supposed you can forgive him since he would never want to imagine you coming face-to-face to a deranged beast as your own blood blurred your vision. 

During your expedition, you and your siblings encountered a group of disorientated beasts and while this was nothing new to you, these creatures were more unpredictable in comparison to your previous encounters with this species. It was as though they were fighting something internally and your squadron was unfortunately caught in the crossfire. The large beasts were demolishing things in their vicinity, indiscriminately knocking down anything and anyone without care. 

Their unpredictable attacks ultimately led to one of them taking a vicious swing towards you and your brother, sending you both over a tall cliff with the large beast tumbling after from the force of its own attack. 

You vividly recalled this scene, as it was foretold in your dreams. You were trapped and wounded with your brother unconscious after taking the brunt of the attack when shielding you. You willed yourself to keep a strong grip on your sword. If your dreams truly turn to reality, you and your brother will meet an untimely end here. 

“Great heavens, give me strength to protect my brother” you prayed as you took one more long breath before letting out a feral roar. 

You ran full speed towards the rampaging beast, putting all your strength into your swing to sever its leg, hoping to incapacitate its movement. Unfortunately, your depleted strength and eyesight left your attempt with a sizable wound but not enough to deter the giant. 

Your blood has now ran cold as you realise the severity of your situation. Partially blinded and hurt, you were helpless in front of the deranged beast. Your tears mixed with the blood that cascaded over your eyes but you thought there was no use in wiping away the mess on your face. 

In your fearful madness, you thought you might as well make your last moment memorable. You turned your head towards the sky, intending to stare at the beast with as much defiance, refusing to show fear towards any foe. 

But something was odd 

Since the encounter with the beasts, they were nothing but aggressive monsters, agitated and reckless in motion and action. Every moment with them was spent defending yourself from their endless attacks. 

So why does it seem peaceful? 

Even with a wound on its leg, the beast’s body was relaxed like it was in pure relief from whatever was ailing them. If you weren’t just glad you’re still alive, you might have been a little offended by the lack of interest the beast had on you. 

With the rush of adrenaline slightly fading, you started taking notice of your senses a bit more, your injuries were being recognised, you felt the burn in your legs from the stress…and you felt a strange sensation on your wrist. 

Looking down, you found the source to be the beast radar device made by Idia. You found it strange since it wasn’t nearly this hot even when you first came in contact with the beasts earlier but now, the device was evidently warm and you could sense an aura-like energy being emitted from it. You weren’t confident but you wondered if Idia added something more to your device. And it was affecting the beast before you.

Daring to test your theory, you slowly stepped back from the beast, angling your wrist further from the beast, observing the facial changes of the creature. True to your hypothesis (but unfortunately so), the beast’s body started shaking as though something unpleasant had returned to it. You wanted to celebrate your eureka moment but acknowledged this may not be the best time. 

Then, like a gallant warrior, a figure appeared seemingly from the heavens and with a swift motion, speared the beast’s head from above. The creature let out a final painful roar before crashing down before your feet. You looked above to see your sister perched atop the beast, covered in sweat and blood. 

Your sister jumped from her position and ran to you, encasing you in a tight embrace. You noticed how your sister was shaking with palpable fear. 

“You’re alive. Thank the heavens you’re both alive” your usually level-headed sister cried into your sister as she wrapped her arms tighter, which you’re impressed she still could. 

Although, you were grateful for the embrace as you felt your legs give out under you from exhaustion. Your sister worriedly called out your name as she supported your weight but incredibly, you just let out a laugh. 

Against the odds and contrary to your haunting dreams, you were alive. 

Was it strange you thought of Idia when you realised that? 

[yuurei20]

Jade and Floyd Info Compilation part 34: Mostro Lounge, Jamil, Jack

Both Jade and Floyd work at Mostro Lounge, with the two of them running it by themselves during Book 6 after Azul is kidnapped.

Floyd mentions that he has come up with a secret menu for the lounge but he seems less serious about it than Jade, with voice lines about swiping food meant for customers and running off when he is supposed to clean up.

Jade describes himself as a waiter at the lounge but he also trains new employees, creates recipes, cooks, gets cookware repaired, expresses concern about leaving the lounge unattended and seems to always be on the hunt for new cuisine.

Jamil does not seem to have a lot of overlap with Jade, but he is still of the opinion that everything Jade says sounds shady.

Jamil may have less patience for Floyd’s mood swings than others and tries to sneak out of basketball practice when Floyd decides he no longer wishes to play.

Floyd says that Jamil plays basketball “like a goody-goody” and, until Book 4, he’d had no idea that Jamil is a vice housewarden.

At the end of Book 4 he describes Jamil as “an enormous dirtbag” and during Halloween he references Jamil’s habit of intentionally pretending he is an underachiever when Jamil tells him to put in some actual effort, responding, “Right back atcha.”

Jamil seems to have low expectations for Floyd in general, saying he has reservations about how seriously Floyd is taking their assignments during Vargas Camp and reminding him that he can’t skip out on campfire duty, to which Floyd says he sounds like Azul.

Jamil needs only minimal convincing to take up Floyd’s tasks at the end of the event after Floyd, Ruggie, Sebek and Jack succeed in Vargas’ final challenge.

Floyd says that Jamil’s habit of getting hung up on details isn’t preparedness: “More like paranoia, if you ask me.”

Jack overlaps with the twins twice in two different vignettes: in one he accidentally throws away a log that Jade was using to cultivate mushrooms (believing it was trash), leading to him working at Mostro Lounge for a week in compensation. The twins seem to grow fond of Jack while he is there, giving him head pats and asking Azul if they can keep him.

They overlap again when Jack mistakenly believes that someone is trafficking a dangerous potion through the school cafeteria. He immediately accuses Jade and Floyd, forcing his way into a briefcase that contains a beauty lotion (presumably for Vil). Jack apologizes for ruining the lotion and offers to them back for it.

Floyd mentions jump-scaring Jack during Halloween (“How can someone that big be such a fraidy-cat?”) and says he finds it weird that Jack went out of his way to pick a fight with him during Beanfest, but Floyd and Jack actually have that in common: they both have a thing about fighting people in general (and Leona specifically) at their strongest.

[innammoratta]

Hunter x Jedi Reader Part 1

Warnings: None. (Not yet edited. Please excuse any grammatical errors or misspellings.)

.

The first time you met Clone Force 99 was on Kamino, when you came to visit Shaak Ti. She was like an older sister to you, and after she began overseeing the training of the clones, she offered to give you a tour of the training facility whenever you wished.

After arriving on Kamino, you were just a bit confused about directions. No one came to meet you at the door--with this being a spontaneous visit and all--but you tried your best to navigate through all the corridors, not wanting to look lost as you had the attention of a group of cadets that were passing by. They whispered amongst themselves, curious if a special event or a training session was on the schedule for today. Jedi never came to Kamino without a reason.

Another group suddenly entered the corridor. They wore black and grey with red paint, but what you noticed most besides the unusual paint job was that they were all different shapes and sizes. One of them looked like an absolute unit--super tall, super muscular. You could hear his loud and raspy voice from the other end of the corridor. The few that had their helmets off didn't even look like clones. The one in their group who wore goggles was more lean, less muscular, but taller than the standard clone. But even though you were curious, you had your own agenda to follow through with.

"Excuse me?" Their lively conversation came to a pause and they turned to look as you approached. "Would any of you happen to know where I could find Master Shaak Ti?"

The one most near you took his helmet off. The black tattoo covering half of his face caught you slightly off guard. He didn't look any more like a regular clone than the others. With the tattoo and the red banana wrapped around his forehead, he looked just as decorated as his armor.

The few seconds of eye contact that you hadn't realized passed came to an end as he tried to answer your question. "She-"

"She should be running through battle simulations with the cadet squads right about now," the one with the goggles answered your question before the first soldier had a chance.

"Okay, thank you," you nodded your head in farewell, smiling as your eyes quickly brushed over each member. You made an effort to acknowledge the last one since he had attempted to help you as well.

You turned around but paused before taking another step, realizing you had no idea where the battle simulations took place. Turning around once more, you added, "Um... where is that?" You looked nervously between each member. The fourth clone still had his helmet on, but you could just sense his indifference and the cold gaze he must have been wearing.

"Is this your first time on Kamino?" The clone with the face tattoo asked.

"It is," you nodded with an apologetic expression on your face.

He turned back to the group momentarily, "Go on ahead. I'll meet you all back at the ship."

"Yes sir," the one with goggles replied, then three of them left through the door you had just come in through.

He began walking and you followed. "Allow me to escort you there..." he trailed off, slowing his pace. "Uh... what should I call you?"

"Everyone just calls me Master (L/n). I hold no official position in our military. I do solo missions mostly, and assist wherever I'm needed."

"Pleasure to meet you, Master, (L/n). I'm Hunter. Sergeant Hunter, and back there"--he nodded at the entryway before it disappeared around a corner--"was my squad, Clone Force 99."

"Nice to meet you as well," you smiled. "If you don't mind my asking..."

"You want to know why we don't look like regular clones?"

He's probably asked that question all the time. You nodded.

"We're an experimental force, our different looks are the result of the changes in our DNA." Hunter stopped walking once you both had reached one of the lifts. He pressed a button and when the door opened, he motioned for you to go first.

"Thank you." You entered and took a step back when he followed to press the button for the third level.

As the lift ascended, you continued the conversation. "So... 'mutations;' that would explain why that one guy in group looks like two clones merged into one." You smiled, amused.

"Wrecker," Hunter clarified. "His mutation gave him the strength of a rancor," he joked.

"And the rest of you?"

"Well, Tech, the one with the goggles, would describe his mutation to be his 'exceptional mind.' He knows everything about anything. Then there's Crosshair. He's the best sniper and gunman in the galaxy. His aim is never off." Hunter smiled, enjoying showing off his team.

There was a pause as you expected him to continue, but he didn't.

"What about you?" The lift door opened and after you exited, Hunter lead the way once more.

"My heightened senses. I can sense electromagnetic waves," he said casually.

"How long have you been in action, Sergeant?" You hoped he had caught on with your curious nature, not wanted to seem like you were challenging their experience.

"About a year and a half."

"I would love to see your squad in action one day," you admitted, "to fact check your claims, of course." You felt the need to add a little joke, not wanting your first statement to seem flirtatious. Jedi weren't supposed to be as warm and friendly as you were naturally. Unfortunately, your kindness had earned you unwanted attention in the past.

"You should know, Clone Force 99 has a one-hundred percent success rate." A smooth, accented voice came up from behind you.

"Master Ti," you turned around and smiled.

"(Y/n), you came at the perfect time. I have just finished training the cadets for the day." She then looked to Hunter and greeted him, "Sergeant, I hope your squad is well."

"Yes, Mistress, as always."

"I'm glad to hear." Shaak Ti turned back to you. "Well, (Y/n), shall we begin the tour?"

You nodded before looking up at Hunter and thanking him for going out of his way to help you navigate.

"Anytime, Master (L/n)."

"May the force be with you and your team. I hope you maintain those figures."

There was a moment of silence, and you could see a confused and slightly judgmental look on Shaak Ti's face in your peripheral vision. Even Hunter was silent.

Blood rushed to your head and you were sure your face was red with embarrassment when you realized what it sounded like. "I meant your statistics. Your averages. Your one-hundred percent success rate!"

Hunter said nothing, but the corners of his mouth turned up in amusement. "I figured," he took a few steps back, preparing to leave. "We will do our best to maintain both of those things. I hope your time on Kamino is enjoyable," and with that last goodbye, he left to return to his team.

You covered your face with your hands, but Shaak Ti could see your body shake with laughter. A few seconds later, when your hands came down, she saw actual tears in your eyes. "That was so embarrassing," you whispered in between breaths.

"Oh, (Y/n)..." she shook her head, "always a pleasure."

[split-spectrum]

Water and Rock

Chapter 8

Pairings: Obi Wan/FemReader

Warnings/Tags: explicit content, slow burn, smut, dubcon, angst

Description: There are only so many excuses a master and padawan can make to kiss under "extenuating circumstances" before circumstances stop arising and start being created. You are an expert at your craft - a Jedi knight in service as a spy for the Republic. When your former master Obi Wan joins you on a mission, it's clear things aren't the same as they once were. The trials you face together may break your bond, or turn it into something else entirely.

☆☆☆

When the holomessage flickers off, the spell over you is broken. You finish taking off your coat and immediately start keying in codes on the holoreceiver. After minutes of waiting, the image of Mace Windu appears before you.

"Master Windu," you greet. "I'm glad to see you are well."

He nods respectfully. "And you, Commander. I trust you've received the Council's message?"

"I have. I thought perhaps we could discuss it further."

"Of course. What further discussion is needed?"

"To be honest, Master, I feel there are many other Jedi who would be able to complete this mission with more success than me."

You shift your gaze uneasily, but bring it back to meet his eyes quickly. "Is my presence on this mission... absolutely necessary?"

His tone remains even, although there's a little more authority in his voice. "We don't have 'many other Jedi' available at the moment. We are spread more thinly every day the war goes on. If we did not require your presence, we would not have asked for it."

You nod. "I understand."

You hesitate, not wanting to push the issue further, but not wanting to end the conversation until you've tried all options. "But at the present time, I'm... not entirely sure I'm ready to return to full duty."

He's silent for a moment, eyebrow slightly raised. "Might I remind you, Commander, that you are currently on full duty? Your assignment was changed, but your efforts are of no less value on Ilum."

You silently curse the lack of tact in your wording. Being away from Coruscant for so long as made you forget how easily your words can be twisted. You bow your head in acknowledgement.

"Yes, of course."

He regards you for a moment before speaking again. "If you are refusing the orders, you may say so. You will be relieved of duty."

It isn't a threat. Like everything Master Windu says, it's a clear statement of truth without hidden meaning. He is simply reminding you of the options available. You can report for duty, or you can admit that despite your year of light service to focus inward and reconnect with the force, you still aren't ready to face combat again, and you can leave the Jedi Order.

"That is not my intent," you assure him. "I will accept the orders and report. I simply wanted to ensure that... I had a full understanding of the circumstances."

His face remains neutral. "Then, unless there's anything else, Commander, good luck on your mission. May the force be with you."

You nod respectfully. "And with you, Master."

The hologram flickers out, and you stare at the empty space. Perhaps if you'd had a few more months to find balance... even a few weeks to prepare for this mission...

But no. You shake the thoughts from your head. It would have made no difference. This is the most dedicated you have ever been in your training, and you are the strongest you've ever felt in the force. Yet, for all the time you'd spent in meditation, you're still unbalanced, and you know that no amount of time would have been enough to bring you back to center.

When you'd first arrived for your new assignment, you'd spent a great deal of your time expressly trying not to reach out in the force. It went against everything you'd been taught by all of your masters, but in your experience, there had been many times you'd needed to trust in the force, and a few times you'd needed to trust in yourself. You knew your thoughts were in turmoil and your emotions were not in your control. To connect with the force in such a state, you knew, would be a mistake.

So you focused on your daily tasks, using the dull repetition of cycling screens as a form of meditation, and the arduous perimeter checks around the temple as a method of clearing your mind. Although your days were long and tiresome, you were grateful for the blank feeling it afforded you. It was better than the alternative, which was what you exerperienced each night before sleep. Sometimes, all too often, during sleep.

The screams you'd heard, each guard pleading for their life before a vicious silence permeated the air, sometimes preceeded with the grinding of bones or the thick pop of dislocating joints...

The hallway filled with bodies in poses crawling away from their attacker, some with faces darkened by lack of blood flow, some missing multiple appendages - not just the hands that had held their weapons, but their arms, and their legs...

He would have done it on the way back... He would have disarmed them already. They weren't a threat by the time he'd retrieved your sabers. He would have killed them on his way down the hallway, back to you, as they lay there...

The most disturbing part of all of it, though, was the feeling, deep within you, of pure contentment. It had stroked a part of your mind that you hadn't known existed. It was so pleasing to you, knowing that he was out of control. It soothed you. He was safe.

In every battle you'd fought by his side, you'd tried to let go of your fear of death. In many of your missions, you'd left people alive who easily could have killed you in return. This was part of the path you chose to walk - to fight with the knowledge that taking an enemy's life wasn't the goal. You fought to protect others, not yourselves. If you could manage to leave an enemy alive, but disarmed, it was always attempted.

But sometimes, enemies didn't stay disarmed once defeated. Sometimes it managed to create a bigger threat. These were the choices you lived with, in order to protect the sanctity of all life. But for one shining moment, you had felt the weight of those choices lift from your shoulders.

When you had watched Obi Wan remove the shackles of compassion, mercy, and restraint, you'd felt a relief like nothing you'd ever experienced before. It was intoxicating, to a level that terrified you.

Because of this, you had spent many months on Ilum without allowing yourself to even attempt a connection with the force. The feeling was still too near, the power too overwhelming. But as time passed and you felt more like yourself each day, you eventually began short meditations with all of your mental barriers firmly in place. Over the weeks which turned into months, you managed to restore your connection, grow in it, and surpass your previous experiences.

But even now, with your strength returned to you, as you contemplate the mission ahead, you can feel the imbalance within yourself. Your desire to do good in the universe will always be tinged with the knowledge of what it felt like to let go of your obligations and use your power to protect what you want to protect.

As you board your ship and make the short journey to the rendezvous point with the Republic cruiser, nervous thoughts of your potential shortcomings are slowly replaced with nervous thoughts of another sort.

It's been over a year, and you haven't spoken.

You went to your frozen outpost with every intention to write after a few weeks, as you always did. Even in the midst of countless assignments, you'd always made time to leave an occasional friendly message to one another. You'd kept ties with all your previous masters - some more closely than others. But Obi Wan was your true Master, and you never went more than a couple of months without at least a simple "Hope all is well" message or a quick chat over the holonet to discuss your latest mission reports.

He'd stopped calling after six months, evidently taking the hint that you hadn't been trying to send. You'd played the few short messages he'd left repeatedly just to hear his voice, hanging on his every word. But you couldn't bear to respond; to pretend as if you were okay. You didn't want to lie to him. It was easier to ignore him.

Now, as you dock with the cruiser and make your way onboard, you have no idea what you can say to him. Perhaps, you think optimistically, you won't need to say much. After all, you're here to do a job. You were ordered to report to him as your commanding officer. You didn't receive your orders together, meaning it's likely a solo mission he'll be sending you on.

You turn down a hallway approaching the main bridge and let out a long-held breath, trying to calm yourself. As you sink into the force to steady your nerves, you sense him. You knew you would, but you aren't prepared for the way you feel when his familiar aura makes gentle contact with the edge of your own. Now he knows you're here, too.

His presence grows stronger as you get closer to the ship's center, and you pass a door marked as the general's personal quarters. Your gait slows just a little as you consider knocking. But you hardly miss a step, reminding yourself you have orders to report to the captain. You convince yourself this is the reason you keep walking, and not because you're too afraid to stop.

As you approach the bridge, the scene around you gets markedly busier. The ship's crew is hard at work monitoring status reports and managing the daily operation of the cruiser, and as you step onto the main bridge, you're careful to keep out of the way. A couple of clones you recognize greet you in passing and you give a friendly nod in return. When you reach the captain, he's engaged in a conversation with another clone with whom you're familiar.

"Captain Shrike," you greet, a genuine smile on your face. You've completed a few missions together, and it puts you slightly more at ease to see him.

The clone captain gives you a warm grin, his stance softening slightly to a more open posture as he turns toward you. "Commander! It's been a while. Looking forward to another easy one?"

You laugh, and he introduces you to the captain, the three of you making polite conversation until the topic of the mission is brought up. The captain, whose last name you've now learned is Pais, tells you they plan to discuss it momentarily.

"We were awaiting your arrival so that the General- ah, there he is now." He looks behind you. "General Kenobi wanted to brief everyone at once."

You turn and follow the captain's line of sight to the person who's just entered the room, and there he is.

His beard is neatly trimmed, his hair perfectly finger-combed back from his bright eyes. He's clad in his familiar white armor, likely having returned from battle recently, but looking none worse for the wear. His gaze is as piercing as ever.

"Commander," he acknowledges you with a muted smile. "Welcome aboard. It's good to see you."

"Thank you, General." You say nothing more, unable to return his warm greeting without it sounding forced.

With his usual amount of grace, he continues on to the task at hand, dropping eye contact with you too quickly for anyone to notice your stiff moment of pause. He circles around to the other side of the holoprojector table at the center of the bridge and keys in coordinates to bring up a softly glowing map. The scale model is instantly recognizable to you as a nearby listening post - one which you've personally spent several rotations mapping.

The lights on the bridge automatically darken to allow for better viewing, and the captain joins you at the table along with the clone captain and several of the higher ranking bridge officers. Obi Wan folds his arms behind his back and begins the brief.

"This is a Separatist listening post, located on the lesser moon of Asar-2. We have reason to believe that a Republic vessel traveling in this area had communications intercepted and possibly decoded, revealing our plan of attack on a Separatist blockade in the Gaulus sector. A plan which is set to go into effect in less than fourty standard hours."

He pauses briefly, glancing around the room. "These battle plans are our best chance of breaching the blockade and successfully bringing humanitarian aid to the people of Aaloth. If we were to call off the attack, we may not have another opportunity. However, if the Separatists are already aware of the offensive fleet's coordinates, they will be flying directly into a trap. It is our mission to prevent this by infiltrating the listening station and accessing their transmission logs. We must confirm whether the Separatists were able to decode whatever information they may have gathered, and relay our findings before the planned attack."

He turns to the clone captain beside him. "Captain Shrike, you and I will be approaching from the west, here."

He taps a spot on the map to zoom in. "Their security forces are concentrated at this entrance, and their numbers are limited. To make it to the turbolift on the first floor and reach the comms center, we need only bypass the main guard unit. We will be disguised as Separatist soldiers."

He lifts his eyes to yours, tapping the map again to zoom out and show a path leading to the main entrance. "Commander, that is where you come in. We will need your skills to convince the guards that we have the appropriate security clearances. I presume if you are within this area, it would be close enough to get the job done?"

You follow his motion as he gestures to a wide expanse of land along the path. You open your mouth hesitantly. "It... would."

He nods. "Very well-"

"If I may," you interrupt before the subject can move on. "...sir," you add hastily.

His posture tightens just slightly at the interjection. "Go ahead, Commander."

You reach out and use your fingers to widen the angle of the holographic model. Then you turn it, inspecting it carefully, first on one side, then the other. "When was the layout of this station last updated?"

"The latest recon available was from sixteen months ago. Why?"

Your head shoots upward from the table. "Sixteen months? I submitted several updated reports on this post just a few weeks ago. These details are completely wrong."

His brow furrows and an air of uncertainty falls over the rest of the briefing attendees.

"What do you mean, 'completely wrong'?"

You give a small shake of your head in disbelief. "They've made considerable increases in security since this. For one thing, there's no 'main guard'. Security forces are spread throughout the many additional levels which aren't shown on this map. And the rest of those levels are filled with soldiers, not automated. Aside from that, they have a failsafe for their security system - rayshielded entrances that lock into place when activated from a remote base of operations which is in orbit. Intruders can't shut down the security from the ground; it's a two-part countermeasure."

Silence falls over the briefing group, and Obi Wan brings his arms out from behind his back, folding them over his chest and bringing a hand up to stroke his chin. After a moment of contemplation, he looks back at you.

"How certain are you of these changes?"

"I've done multiple inspections and received reliable information from inside their supply lines. I sent all the details in my reports."

"Then why did we not receive them?" he asks plainly. The question isn't directed at you; more rhetorical, or open for discussion.

You shake your head again. "I sent them directly to the chancellor's office, as instructed."

His hand drops from his chin. "The chancellor's office?"

You tilt your head just slightly, giving him a careful look at his surprised response. "I received orders several months ago that all reports in this sector were to be submitted through encrypted channels to the office of the chancellor, for more direct communication."

When he continues staring at you, you add, "The orders came from the Council."

His frown deepens. "I remember no such order."

"Regardless of the reason," Captain Pais observes delicately, "It appears we are missing crucial intelligence. How do you suggest we proceed?"

"I have the updated reports in my personal logs. We may be able to come up with something if we reevaluate."

Obi Wan doesn't give another moment's hesitation at your offer. "We have very little time as it is. Please, get them. I'll come with you."

Turning back to the group around the table, he adds, "You are dismissed, for now," and then follows as you leave the room.

Your pace is quick and a little nervous as he falls into step beside you, his footsteps as confident as ever. You glance over at him. "I have to say, I'm a little confused."

"Confused?"

"When I arrived, I wondered why you'd requested me for this mission. Then I saw the location, and I assumed my knowledge of the outpost would be helpful. Now it turns out that you never even received my reports."

You shake your head a bit. "If you'll forgive my asking, why me? Any Jedi would be capable of accessing a station like the basic one you thought this was."

He's quiet for a beat. "It wasn't my request. The Council assigned you here."

You reach the hatch to your ship and open it, turning your face away from him to hide how foolish you feel for asking. "Ah."

"I believe they had good reason. These listening posts are known to destroy all records as soon as any breach is detected. Normal attack or infiltration wouldn't be an adequate plan. Your skills were -are needed to ensure we retrieve the data with as little chance of detection as possible. If we're discovered before we reach it, all will be lost."

"I see," you answer, logging into your personal records and pulling up your reports. "That explains it."

He looks at you for a moment, then continues, "I did mean what I said on the bridge, you know."

Your eyes flicker from the screen over to him and you look at him questioningly.

"I may not have asked you here, but it is good to see you."

The heat in your cheeks intensifies and you turn back to the screen, retrieving the report and sending it to him.

"It's... good to see you, too."

He gives you an amiable look, if not quite a smile, then pulls it up on the datapad in his hand and walks a few paces away.

As he reads through the material, you're left without much to do. You're already intimately familiar with the information, but you pass your eyes over the screen in front of you to skim the material anyway, and when you finish, your eyes slowly drift back to him.

He's concentrating deeply on the datapad, eyes focused and darting quickly over words and diagrams. Without your permission, your gaze falls down the profile of his face, fixating on the rigidness of his jaw, the whispers of grey at his temple now spreading into more noticeable patches, the once warm tan at his neck, now turned to a deep and lasting bronze. You let yourself stare for just a moment longer, trailing over his shoulders and falling down to where the armor defines the cut at his waist. The way he's holding himself is the same as always, and yet something is different.

When he'd kept his hair long, when you'd been his Padawan, he'd had such strength and tenacity, his chest full and upright, his shoulders broad and stiff, his back creating a hard, straight line. All of those things are the same now, but there's something else. The war seems to have softened and hardened him all at once. His posture is more self-assured than ever, and yet it lacks the bravado of his youth. It's melted into true confidence, a commanding air of expertise about him, exuded with every movement.

It had been true the last time you'd seen him, but a year later, it's more evident than ever before - he had been a warrior. Now, he's a general.

You're about to pull your gaze back to the screen when he slowly takes a few steps while reading and settles himself into a chair. Your ship is a small transport vessel, so there's not much space, and the seat is small. It's surrounded by a ledge, and he leans back in the chair to hold the datapad in front of himself with one hand, letting his other arm stretch over the ledge behind him.

Your eyes widen at the sight of him spreading out, and though you know there's nothing inherently sexual about it - he's probably more comfortable sitting this way in full armor - you can't stop staring. You fixate on the way he's holding the datapad in his lap. You imagine the way he held your head in his hands...

He's looking at you. Your eyes snap up. You flick your gaze back down to the datapad and then meet his eyes again. "Do you have any questions so far?" Your voice comes out higher than usual, and you try to play it off as casual lightness.

He blinks, seeming deep in thought. "No. It's quite comprehensive, thank you. I just wondered if there might be something here."

He stands and brings the datapad over to you, zooming in on a small access panel on the eastern side of the station.

"It's underwater so it isn't monitored by these security checks you've indicated. The only problem is that it is covered by the electromagnetic barrier that surrounds the entire outpost. We could access it, but not using technology. Not even rebreathers."

You try to ignore the way your chest flutters when he leans into you so you can both see the datapad clearly, and you think for a moment, despite the fact that he smells so good.

"I might have a solution. Storne. He's amphibious."

"Your friend from Bespin?" he clarifies, and you nod in return.

"If we make the payment worth his while, I'm sure he could be here within a matter of hours."

He regards you carefully, then looks back at the image of the outpost as if reconsidering all the options. After a long pause, he lowers the pad. "Very well; contact him. It may be our best chance."

You nod again, turning back to the main screen to send him a message. When you finish, Obi Wan is still dragging his fingers down either side of his beard, deep in thought.

"Would you like something to drink? Tea?" you offer. You don't have much on board besides tea and a few ration packs, while the main ship will have plenty more options for food and drink, but you still feel you should say something to break the silence.

He glances over at you as if he'd forgotten he was in the room. "Tea... yes, thank you."

You switch on the kettle while he seats himself again, and while the water quickly comes to a boil, you speak over your shoulder.

"I do have one other suggestion."

"I'm open to anything."

"I should be the one going inside the station, not Shrike. It'll be more effective for me to actively participate than to stay outside and work through the force. If I can use my eyes and ears to evaluate as we go, it will be easier to prevent any mistakes."

You turn to look at him as you add the tea leaves to the boiling kettle. His expression is hesitant.

"I would consider that risk to be greater than the reward."

"In what way?" you ask, frowning.

"There is a high likelihood that this will end in a fight for escape. With the level of security and the numbers of the enemy, our only goal is to make it inside without issue. Getting out is another matter. You would be of better use outside the line of fire."

Your hands still on the handle of the kettle. You place it back down on the counter without pouring. "I've always been useful enough in combat before."

"And you are certain that you still are?"

Your breath halts. His words sting. But you reach out calmly and pour the tea anyway, not wanting to show any sign of emotional response.

"I may have taken some time away, but I'm still capable of handling myself."

You turn and bring both of your cups with you, handing one over to him.

"Thank you," he says, then places the cup on a shelf beside him as he continues looking at you.

"Commander, you may feel that you are prepared, but I... have doubts."

He says it slowly and softly, but the message is no less painful. You meet his eyes.

"I don't believe that you're more qualified to evaluate my own abilities than I am." Your face flushes hot when the words leave you, and you quickly add, "...sir."

He doesn't rise to your bait. He just looks at you with the same compassion he's always shown you. "It is my duty to evaluate the abilities of all those under my command, as well as my own."

The silence stretches between you, your embarrassment at arguing with your general only compounded by his grace in response. He looks to the side, as if gathering his words, and then looks back at you again.

"You are unbalanced."

He says it simply, not accusing or disappointed. You can't meet his eyes.

"I can still perform my duties," you say, seeing no point in trying to deny it.

"Perhaps I can help."

You shake your head. "There's nothing you can do for me."

"I have my doubts," he retorts, his unfailing confidence in his own abilities as frustrating as it is consoling.

"I am lost," you admit. "But I know I can only find the path I need on my own."

He raises his brows gently. "How can you be so sure?"

You let out a deep sigh, then take a sip of your tea while he watches you. Finally, you take a seat across from him, and you answer.

"Master," you start, allowing yourself to slip back into familiar terms and knowing he'll allow you to do so. "When you connect with the force, what do you feel?"

He pauses to consider before giving his response. "I feel warmth and comfort, as if I am grounded in something permanent and unchanging. I feel surrounded and filled with a presence of peace and certainty."

You nod slowly. "I also feel a sense of warmth and comfort. But when I reach out to the force, it doesn't feel unchanging or steady to me. It's like immersing myself in a flood. I'm filled with the purpose of the universe and I feel the current of every living being around me."

He nods along with you, encouraging you to go on.

"...but there's nothing to hold onto. When I was younger, it was hard for me to surrender to the force because it felt so much like losing myself. You showed me how to find myself within the force, and everything changed. It was wonderful."

You take another breath before continuing. "Until... until what happened on Oba Diah showed me the consequences of losing myself entirely."

He's quiet for a long time. "And... you feel that you can no longer trust in the force because of this?"

You bite your lip. "I've never felt I could trust in the force enough to give myself over completely to its will. Something has always held me back. Maybe I've always been unbalanced, to some degree."

He sighs softly. "I have told you for many years, young one, the force is balance. You must not hold back from it. You will find your balance if you release yourself to its will."

You swallow. Some part of you knows he'll never be able to understand that it's because he is balanced that he believes the force is in perfect balance as well. He can find himself in it so easily.

"I understand, Master. And I will try. But, I must trust in myself as well. In my own judgement."

He looks at you uncertainly. Then he stands. "How long before Storne will arrive?"

You glance over at the comms screen, standing up to go over and check the pending response. After you read it, you report, "Eleven hours."

"Plenty of time for meditation. Would you like to join me?"

You sigh internally, appreciating the gesture but wishing you could explain to him the certainty you feel that it will make no difference.

"Of course."

You close the main hatch of the ship for privacy, then sit next to him on the floor, folding your legs to mirror his posture. His eyes are already closed, and you close yours as well.

"Quiet your thoughts. Let them pass. Listen only to the force."

His words are familiar. It's a mantra he's used with you for countless sessions. You sink into the sound of his voice and try to obey.

Minutes pass as you settle into your own mind, lowering your barriers and reaching out into the ether. The force answers your beckon, enveloping you as always - predictably, comfortingly. As more time passes, you let the soft hum of your own aura open itself to the force's stronger current, releasing yourself to its embrace. You repeat Obi Wan's words in your mind, listening only to the force.

"You have grown strong, my Padawan," his voice echoes richly in your mind, padded with the energy of the force when he speaks.

Your face remains neutral as you answer him with your eyes still closed, although his choice to use your old title makes your heartbeat quicken. "I've had plenty of time for meditation and practice."

You feel his aura at the edge of your own, starting to nudge for your acceptance. You let him in gratefully, welcoming his steadying presence. It's been so many years since you've felt it. It nearly overwhelms you.

You take in a deep breath, leveling out your breathing, reminding yourself to keep your focus on the force.

"And yet your faith is lessened. You have said you trust in your own abilities, as I trust in my own. Use that trust. Reach into the force, and let go."

Your pulse picks up even more. His presence is surrounding you, asking to give yourself over. You remain steadfast within yourself. "I... know what will happen."

"You are afraid."

"Yes."

His voice somehow soothes you and fills you with apprehension at the same time. "Fear is not real. Only the force is real."

"My fear is based in reality. How can I ignore it?" Your eyes are still closed but your brows are pushing together, almost in a frown.

"We all experience fears. But they are not a part of you. You can separate yourself from those thoughts."

You're quiet again for a long stretch of time. It could be minutes, or it could be hours. Your only concentration is on doing as he's instructed. But no matter how you reach into the force to take your fears from you, they stay. He speaks again softly when he feels you struggling.

"You're holding on."

"I'm not trying to," you say back, a little too quickly.

"Yes, you are."

He says it with perfect clarity. He's not disparaging or chiding you. He's simply pointing out the truth. But it gets to you. It evokes a reaction, finally, because you know that it's true.

You feel your presence in the force become uneven, wavering and malformed. "You don't understand. I know you're trying to help, but you can't understand."

"Then help me to understand," he responds, his tone still firm and neutral, as if he hasn't noticed your change in demeanor.

You fight for a moment longer, and then you give in. "I am... not the Jedi I was before. Or maybe I never was the Jedi I should be. I feel... things I shouldn't feel. And I can't set them aside. Not like you."

You feel him pulling away from you, almost imperceptibly. "It is not that I set my feelings aside. I surrender them to the will of the force. The burden can only be lifted when you stop trying to carry it."

You squeeze your eyes more tightly shut. "I am trying, Master, but you don't know the burden I carry."

This time, you really feel it when he pulls away. "That is not true."

"I..." you flounder, surprised at his reaction. "I didn't mean that you don't have your own burdens. But yours are not like mine."

He takes in a long, slow breath and releases it. "I know what you carry."

His aura dims a little, almost flickering like a candle.

"I live with the knowledge each day that I took unnecessary lives. Undefended lives. I remember the fear in their eyes as I..." he breaks off, swallowing. "I remember all of it."

You continue to sit in silence, each of you reflecting. When his presence beside you becomes steady again, he goes on.

"And the other mistakes I made... The thoughts and actions of that night will be with me for the rest of my life."

Your stomach tightens, the blood in your face heating. "I... can't forget, either."

"We don't need to. We only need to rely on the strength of the force."

"And..." your throat goes dry. "What if these thoughts have... continued?"

Your connection slips apart for a moment, and he doesn't answer. His presence his hazy, hard to read. You regret your words immensely, until he speaks again.

"I've already told you, you don't carry your burden alone."

You're about to ask what he means when his aura surrounds you again. This time, though, it's like nothing you've ever felt from him. It is heavy, sweet and carnal. The thoughts within him are so clear, the images so bright. He's only allowing you to see a small part of himself, but that part is howling.

You feel yourself immediately getting wet, watching the memory of him brushing a thumb over your nipple while he kisses your neck, thrusting into you from behind. His moan fills your ears, although there's no sound in the room. You feel the heat of his mouth on your neck, a phantom touch that sends shivers over your entire body. You're drawn in, almost reaching for more of the feeling, but it's buried within an endless stream of filthy vision after filthy vision, and you can only see the very top of the collection.

It's like looking into one of your own dreams.

As quickly as he opened it, he severs the connection and you blink your eyes open, finding yourself staring into his. You're almost panting from the whiplash. He clears his throat, appearing completely unaffected.

"I have struggled. I will continue to struggle. But I will continue to seek guidance in the force. As should you. It is not an easy path, as you have said. But it is not one that you walk alone."

Your mind is spinning. Your heart is racing. Your eyes are fixated on his mouth as he speaks, and for all the wrong reasons.

Then he releases another long breath and settles back, closing his eyes to return to his meditation.

"So, shall we begin again?"

--

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Masterlist // Next Chapter >>

[bestworstcase]

re: talk of Burn, do you have any idea why Yang's aura clearly broke when Neo struck her in V8 (right after activating Burn)? my theory is that perhaps activating her semblance does something like Tock's where it makes her aura manifest more solidly on her body (which is how it can make her hair light on fire) and therefore also, like Tock, means that her aura is more vulnerable. to me this would also explain why Yang would use it as a finisher at first; using it when she's already going to run out of aura makes it, in a sense, less dangerous because she's already gotten most of the other uses out of her aura that she can get.

would love to know if you think this is accurate, or what you actually think is going on with yang's semblance on a mechanical level (if you're interested in that anyway)

first, a general point about aura and aura breaking. the characters’ use of meters has led to a sort of popular fanon that aura works like hit points in a video game, where you have this many and taking damage reduces your HP by a certain number until you hit zero and then your aura breaks; (dark souls splash screen voice) YOU DIED.

i do not think it works that way.

from world of remnant:

aura is a manifestation of the soul, a life force that runs through every living creature on remnant—whether they are a meager shopkeep or a renowned knight. however, what sets true warriors apart from all others is their ability to amplify and control their aura.

aura is the power of one’s soul. it’s guided by emotion, self-knowledge, and spirituality. in its purest form, it becomes a semblance.

defensive aura is not a passive effect. we know this for a fact. in V5, oscar finds it physically exhausting to engage his aura in this way and ren tells him that’s normal—it requires intense concentration at first, then becomes second nature with practice. in V7, jaune’s aura-training demonstrates that recovery, regaining aura once it has been depleted, is a conscious action that can be improved through practice. this is because the “aura level” tracked by those meters is not a measurement of how much aura you have in the tank, as it were, but something like the density of the aura-field you’re pushing outward, or speed of flow, or something along those lines.

(the way i’m handling it in TDT is there’s a hard upper bound to how much aura you can hold in your skin, like a sponge not being able to absorb more water, and what auraleric gauges attempt to measure is % of maximum saturation because everyone’s aura will break around 5-10% saturation even though the amount of aura you have at 100% varies. anything you push out above that threshold is projected as transient bursts of energy and that’s where you start getting into offensive techniques.)

hazel’s phenomenal endurance is noted to derive from his rapid recovery, not the basal amount of aura he has. (he even just shrugs off being impaled.) i believe his semblance gives him an edge here, because it requires concentration to amplify one’s aura and hazel can’t be distracted by physical pain.

which brings me to aura-breaking. it doesn’t happen when the proverbial tank is empty. auras break when you can’t sustain the mental effort of generating enough aura; this might happen because the well you’re drawing from really has run dry (<- think this is what happened to nora with the high voltage door), but it might also be because you’re too tired, or you took a really painful or unexpected hit that shattered your focus, because you’re panicking or furious.

i think tock’s semblance is in the same ‘family’ as hazel’s and ironwood’s in that it puts her into a state of intense focus by blocking out anything that might shake her—with hers being far, far more potent than theirs but so potent she can’t maintain it for longer than sixty seconds, and possibly needs the ticking clock to ‘anchor’ her focus.

(fic stuff again, because tock’s alive in TDT for butterfly wing flaps reasons: sixty seconds is not a hard limit of her semblance; she can and on one occasion did go for much longer. to project an aura field you draw aura out of your reserve, which is the aura that naturally ‘pools’ around your soul; if that runs dry and you’re desperate enough, pushing hard enough, you can wring more aura out of your soul. blood from a stone. it hurts a lot, it will mess you up, and it can do permanent damage similar to what the aura transfer machines do to pietro. sixty seconds is how long it takes for tock’s semblance to drain her aura reserve, rounded down to allow for a margin of error.)

so. yang.

i think, mechanically, when the average person with aura training gets hit, their aura burns up to disperse most of that energy. (<- when they’re swatting gunfire away, the bullets bounce; the energy is reflected.)

but yang’s semblance absorbs energy—which is to say, if you had a ball throwing machine shoot a tennis ball at yang and someone else with equivalent training from the same distance, it would hit yang harder because her aura is less reflective; more of the ball’s kinetic energy flows into her body. then, like a battery, her aura converts that energy into some other form that can be stored.

sort of like dust, in fact. dust has a lot of potential energy, which is released when the material reacts with aura. given the literally explosive firepower yang gains from burn, i think that she’s storing this absorbed energy in the same form as occurs naturally in dust, which would put burn in the same ‘family’ as coco’s hype or arrastra’s equilibrium…

…and would also mean that this statement:

some prefer to use dust in its raw form: elegant, yet destructive. those who choose to wield dust in this state must possess a certain level of discipline to ensure that their resulting powers do not break free of their control.

is true of burn, too. and that tracks with who yang is and how she uses her semblance—even in V1-3, yang takes a more head-on approach to fights and tends to soak up more damage before exploding bigger vs her increasingly nimble and even acrobatic style post-beacon, but her control over those massive volcanic eruptions is immaculate.

the way burn works in general requires that yang be very, very in control of her aura at all times because she needs to balance between absorbing energy to charge up her semblance while reflecting enough to prevent injury, and this is one reason why i think yang is probably the best out of the cast when it comes to using aura. ren might have her beat on the more spiritual, extra-sensory perception side of things, but yang has to keep her focus while getting hit harder than anyone else Because Physics.

and that brings us to neo one-shotting yang’s aura. here is what happens: cinder is gloating from atop a pillar of fire while people scream and run in a panic all around them, and out of the corner of her eye, yang sees a glint of steel and realizes that neo is about to stab her unsuspecting baby sister in the back, she’s too far away, she can’t get there fast enough—burn is, in that moment, a reflex. instinct. she panics and hurls herself in between neo and ruby without even thinking about it because the only thing in her mind is GET TO RUBY NOW.

and that’s why her aura just shatters. it requires concentration—you practice until it becomes instinctive, until you don’t need to think about it, muscle memory. but it still takes focus. intention. yang has incredible self-control and thus incredible control of her aura, but everyone has limits, and hers are “holy fuck that guy stabbed blake” and “neo is going to kill ruby go go go.”

her semblance in itself doesn’t make her defense any weaker—but when she’s terrified enough for burn to activate reflexively like this, her aura will break if she gets hit because she’s freaking out.

[tired-of-being-nice]

please tell me someday i'll at least be able to sleep

YAAAAAY MY FAVORITE FLAVOR OF WHUMP :)))) it's sleep deprivation time and you know what that means baby! time to put milo Through It!

content warnings: sleep deprivation, capitalism, anxiety

It's somewhere between standing up and waiting for their vision to catch up with them that Milo begins to wonder how long it's been since they last slept.

Let's see. This morning...or, no, yesterday, or...hm...

The last time they slept they had a nightmare. They remember that vividly, because they remember crumpling under their desk in panic, but they can't recall how long ago it was, probably because they haven't slept since, and they haven't been outside, so....

They can't hold on to the train of thought. Their ears are ringing, and every time they blink it takes immense effort to open their eyes again. Also, they can't remember why they stood up. 

They sit down again. 

Immediately, their head begins sinking towards their desk as if gravity suddenly has an even stronger effect on them. Maybe it does? Certainly all their limbs feel much heavier than usual. 

They twist their fingers into their hair and tug at it lightly, but the sharp twitches of pain do nothing to wake them up. There are tears running down their face. They don't know how they got there. Maybe if they just let themself sleep for a few minutes they'll feel better.

Milo's eyes close, and for a brief few minutes, all is peaceful rest.

Then there's a sharp rap on their desk, and they flinch back to life, throat already tightening and heart starting to race in preemptive panic. "Sorry," they splutter, "I'm sorry, I don't– didn't–"

"We noticed that your computer was idle for a full five minutes," the voice of one of their supervisors—Milo doesn't care enough to learn their names—says disapprovingly. "Do you have any excuse for yourself?"

I don't think I've slept in at least three days, maybe more, Milo does not say.

I haven't seen my house in at least a week,  and it's not even my house, much less a home, Milo does not say.

I think you're trying to kill me, like literally work me to death, and then probably sue my corpse for time theft, Milo does not say.

"No," Milo says. "I'm sorry. I'll try to do better." They don't say it nearly as clearly as that– it takes them a few tries to get it out, between their teeth chattering and the effort that it takes to string words together.

"See that you do," their supervisor says.

Milo nods, silently, and they finally leave them alone.

Milo blinks, blinks again, ignores Ray giggling at them in the corner of their vision, and remembers what they stood up for in the first place. They were going to get more coffee. Right.

They force themself back to their feet and wait patiently for their head to stop ringing. Hopefully this time they don't forget what they're doing halfway there.

[titisorriso]

I've been rewatching Naruto lately and it made me have a dream about this girlie and decided to turn her into my oc. Her name is Ira and she's a very sweet genjutsu user. Backstory under the cut! Don't expand if you don't want to read it and are only here for the art.

Ira was born in the Land of Sound (Oto no Kuni), she has little recollection of her clan, not even remembering her own family name. The only thing she knows is that her parents and relatives were one of the many murdered during the conquering of the now Otogakure. Being an orphan for as long as she can remember, people started thinking she was maybe a lost member of the Uzumaki clan thanks to her red hair, and that rumour led to her being targeted by many people, but the only one that managed to catch this very elusive and cunning child was Orochimaru. Ira became an experiment, multiple attempts to push her body beyond it's limits happened and some of Orochimaru's biggest failures of modifications were attributed to her lack of constitution and chackra. The girl quickly proved to not be an Uzumaki afterall, but that did not stop the research. One of the many attempts Orochimaru had made to improve the girl was the creation of an "artificial" sharingan, which of course, failed, turning her visually impaired and with useless red eyes. The only experiment somewhat sucessful was her vocal cords. Orochimaru had noticed the girl would often sing to calm herself down while in captivity, so a enhancer was put in her throat. With this new ability, she could perform a powerful genjutsu that eventually helped her escape the snake's laboratory. Whilst trying to find a safe place to rest and maybe forget what happened to her all throughout her childhood, she ended up meeting a disguised Konoha kunoichi by the name of Ema, who took her in during her time in the Land of Sound and taught Ira all she knew about being a ninja. Her peaceful life however, was short lived. One day while foraging, Ira watched as shinobi descended upon Ema, taking her life and forcing Ira to use her voice genjutsu. Thanks to Ira's still weak constitution and low chackra reserve, the genjutsu wasn't fully effective, one of the shinobi managing to break away from it and going to slash her neck. At that moment, Ema's training kicked in and Ira avoided the fatal blow, instead having her face torn by a kunai cheek to cheek. She passed out due to the shock, the ninjas deciding to leave her to bleed to death, but the girl proved more resilient than one would believe. She woke up, now scarred with a forever open mouth and a mother figure lost. She took Ema's shirt, necklace, sword and bandana (removing the symbol of Konoha) and promised to grow strong enough to earn Ema's attire. Ira became a sort of legend in Otogakure, not many people even believing "The Death Song Shinobi" was real, but after the Fourth Shinobi War, she became less shy about her efforts and got more involved in the reconstruction of the village as a proper shinobi one. She is now the sensei of many genin of the sound and proudly wears Ema's attire as she peforms her duty.

Ira is the same age as the old shinobi of Konoha (Kakashi, Iruka, Kurenai, Guy...). She tried to avoid getting caught in any of the wars and battles that happened during her younger years, although she did travel to the places where battles were ocurring. She spent less time on the battlefield and more time helping civilians relocate into safety and finding food for any refugees she came across. A real "Robin Hood" type ninja, 'till this day she refuses to put an identification symbol on her bandana believing that "little does it matter where i come from, a person in need won't look at your head when you offer a helping hand." She thinks Konoha is a swell place, afterall, they were the ones that raised and approved of Ema as a shinobi. She has met the retired rokudaime, and thinks he's way too calm for a former leader. Ira often tries to get a reaction out of him by attacking his pride, but he does not seem to take her very seriously, which drives her INSANE.

Ira is very serious while on duty, but quickly lights up once she is on her break. In Otogakure, she is often called "The Two-Faced Ninja" for how suddenly her behavior changes when next to her students. From a serious, matter-of-fact shinobi, to a cool, cringey, grandma figure. Although she works in the renovation of the Hidden Village of Sound, she has managed to avoid ever dealing with Orochimaru, claiming that it is best for everyone's sake if she never sees his face again. "It takes a lot of concentration out of me to not let my song affect my allies, and let's just say that if i have him in front of me, i won't care for who i harm with my voice." Ira wants what's best for the village, longing to see her land as how Ema used to describe it before the conquering. She wants people to thrive and for no child to ever have to live the way she has lived thanks to wars she didn't understand.

She is the sensei of many genin, but her favorite group is Kirima, Mitura and Keiga (i'll probably draw them in the future), which are the same age as Boruto's group.

[melodyofthevoid]

The Crane Wives Analyzed: The Singles

I’d be remiss to neglect these beauties, each expressing wildly different ends of the many themes The Crane Wives cover, but all no less wonderful. With the live recordings there’s a raw quality to the main singers’ voice in their growls that send a thrill through the listener. All obviously worth a listen. 

On another note, as of this I've successfully analyzed all of the Crane Wives' (official and released) catalogue of music! Obviously there's more upcoming (thrilled for that) but this was a big accomplishment for me! Anyways, enjoy.

Drown You Out

It takes time for wounds to heal, an unfortunate fact especially when the wounds only make themselves apparent after a separation. Excising a part of oneself, extricating the join where one life met another, even when that join is a corrosive, hurtful thing. There are pieces and parts left over, influences that seep into you long after the other person is gone. 

The singer is in such a position, having separated from a toxic relationship after building up the courage to do so. It’s not an easy decision to make, and they’re still dealing with the aftermath. In their day, in the peak of their life they didn’t know this person, but after meeting them, knowing them, loving them, they’re a part of the singer. Their song sings in their veins, subtle influences that shape their actions, words that whisper in their ear that they can’t drown out. They’re trying, they’re trying to heal but it’s just so loud. 

They look at where they are now, looking over the damage done to their mental health, their self esteem, and the work it took for them to even be where they are now. They’ve ended up where they started before this relationship, now with scars and wounds that they didn’t have before. At the very least, they know the games that their partner played with them, how they used the singer’s own mind to hurt them, and can pull them apart to save themselves. 

Still, the words linger. They still haunt, and the singer can only recognize them for what they are, and try not to sing along to that familiar tune. 

And this relationship isn’t only limited to the romantic, any relationship can leave scars like this. Familial, platonic, it doesn’t matter. It can take a long time to heal, and that journey may come with its own hurdles. But know, even now, you’re not alone. 

Sowing Seeds

You reap what you sow, the efforts you put into the ground and soil will be returned in kind, whether for good or ill. Neglect to take action, leave weeds to fester and spread, and you’ll have only yourself to blame when there’s nothing to eat but poison. 

There are forces, thieves destroying the ground and crops, turning it to useless mud in his wake. His teeth devouring the land as no one moves to stop him. The world is still, the lake doesn’t move. 

A signal tower broadcasts venom and hate to all who listen, the dark creeps closer as the sun sinks down. The singer pleads for the people to listen, to not look away or blink lest they miss their chance to make a difference. 

Otherwise, well. The world will move on as the people sleep, content to take the easy way out and ignore the world at large until it becomes impossible to ignore and they’re suddenly forced to reap the consequences of their ignorance. It’s tempting to tune out all of the noise of the world, as the news becomes overwhelming and truth harder to find, but it’s worth it, if it means avoiding… well. 

We’ve all seen the last few years, haven’t we? 

Taking Turns

For better or for worse, in sickness and in health, for rich or for poor. Common vows made, sometimes kept, and sometimes broken. Because when those hard times come, it wears down the soul, exhausts hope, exhausts resources, and the future that once looked bright approaches like a train, rather than an escape. 

The sun is as it’s always been, the moon marks the start of a new month, and the singer holds out hope that things will turn around soon, even though they’ve been running in circles as of late. The rat race is exhausting, but it helps them survive so they can look forward to a day where they don’t have to carry out this way. Change will come, and maybe it’s already happening, and these are the growing pains. Change is hard, they just have to believe. 

Even if that belief is a lie, a comfortable lie that they keep telling each other to distract from the bills burdening the bank accounts. They believe in each other, and when they can’t see the light, the other guides them to it, even if it’s just smoke and mirrors. They’re in it together. 

The cycle begins on a new month, and the hope is now turning to a nervous smile. Jokes about reaching the bottom and having nowhere to go but up. Maybe one day this will all be a phase that they can look back on and laugh about, “remember when we ate ramen every day to save up?” or “when they almost turned the power out” once they’re safe and secure. They just have to tough this out and get there. 

Unless… they don’t. 

Unless the bills keep coming in, the calls get more aggressive, knocks come to the door, all wolves hungry to bleed them dry. They can’t afford this, not the constant cycle of more bad news with no end in sight, they have little left to lose and even that is being taken from them. 

Still, they cling to each other and look for reassurance, a silver lining, the dandelion’s wish, a pretty lie that they can hold even if it’s nothing but an empty pantomime of a future they’ll never have. 

They have each other, at least. 

Hollow Moon

There’s nothing quite like the thoughts that creep into your head at night, when you’re in bed ruminating about your life. When thoughts tangle like weeds, too interconnected to pull up one at a time, fears mixing with exhaustion as the hours tick on. 

This is where the singer starts, staring out at stars that seem to warp in unfamiliar ways, unable to sleep as the darkness seems to take on a life of its own. Whispers begging to be let in, to work their way into their mind. 

In the pitch black, it brings contrast to the problems that the singer’s been fighting, howling at a hollow moon, a facsimile of a real problem. There’s endless doubts filling their head with smoke and flames, spreading as they lie awake. Because they can’t sleep with all of the monsters outside their door, creeping ever closer in the night. 

So they pull the blankets tighter around them and close the blinds, shutting out the world and making a safe space. Or, at least they hope it’s safe. After all, there’s little difference between a foxhole and a grave when the war is ongoing. They hold the keys to their own coffin in their hands, a shovel and rope, intrusive thoughts growing stronger as they come to grips with the fact they made this. They dug their own grave, their patterns, and they wonder… did they make the monsters too? 

They ask the question over and over, a mantra of madness as they attempt to come to grips with their current state. Trying to ride out the wave and keep their head above water lest they drown in their thoughts. 

Here I Am

There’s a stretch of America known, colloquially, as the “Rust Belt”. A collection of states that once boasted robust manufacturing economies, steel processing mills, car plants, the works. Then the jobs started to leave overseas, the promise of cheap labor too enticing for companies willing to save on costs and abandon the towns that grew up around those factories. They shut down, left the states’ economies in shambles, and the shine began to corrode. Now the storefronts are full of cracks, the windows on the factories shattered, and the few left behind are still there. 

Such is the case with Michigan, the home state of The Crane Wives, once a haven of car manufacturing, years of government neglect, corporate retreat, and decay have left many parts of the state destitute. And the singer is left in one of these towns, watching their home crumble and decay. They watch people leave and move on to better opportunities, the streets fall into further disrepair, and lawns grow tangled with weeds as despair sets in. 

They’re forgotten, part of America left to fester and die off, any of their hopes and dreams about as dead as the lights in the factories. They look at the place around them and wonder how long they’ve been alone here, in a dead town. 

They scream that they’re still here, that they’re alone and left behind by everyone that they once loved. Maybe once they hoped that maybe the town might come back to life, but they didn’t count on everyone else packing up and leaving. Searching for somewhere else that might give them a life worth living. The ghost town is hollowing out the singer as they lose more and more, stuck haunting an empty house. 

And they can acknowledge that this is a lost cause, in the end. Promising themselves that they’ll move on and try to leave. Afterall, with no one else there, no roots to tie them to the land it feels hollow to stay. Seeing the remnants of better days and memories everywhere. They resort to begging the few who remain to stay, “pulling arms”, begging to not be left alone.

The question remains of why? Why stay? It’s a question often heard by those in small towns, sometimes well meaning, sometimes not. For the singer, it’s the same as so many others, they love their home. They believe in it, as did their father, and their father’s father. There’s a beauty in the flowers that grow in the cracks in the streets. Making a home in the uninhabitable. If only someone could just acknowledge that beauty and see that they are there. 

Daydreamer

High school at 18, graduate college in 4 years, get a job, settle down, have a family, retire, die. Hit the milestones at the right time, do what your parents did, what society dictates, at the right pace. Don’t take a gap year, don’t take time to slow down. You can’t fit in this narrow margin? Well, then there’s no hope for you. There’s always some marker on the road ahead that you’re expected to hit, and any other pace? Any missteps? 

Well, then you’re falling behind. 

The Daydreamer in question is at a crossroads in their life, stuck between taking steps towards what they want, and having to backtrack again. In that cycle of attempting to understand who they want to be, they’ll go about anywhere, take a one-way ticket just to get a chance to start over. The stumbles they’re facing now, they’re only setbacks. Nothing is a death knell unless they let it be. 

The chorus warns that they’re falling behind, but the singer insists that they’ll get where they’re heading in their own time. 

Their journey took them in directions that they regretted, altered who they were. It can be easy to assume that changes are temporary but then how do you rebuild yourself from scratch again? How many times can you do it until you find what you’re looking for? 

But their wanderings, their dreaming, it leaves them wanting more. Not wanting to be confined by the expectations that others put on them, to choose only one path. There’s so much out on the horizon, so many routes to take, people to meet, people to be. They’ll find it in their own time, not at anyone else’s pace than their own. 

Volta

There comes a time when epiphany hits. When the factors all come together and you finally decide it’s time for a change. Volta, the title of this song, is the turn between sonnets, the transition, the iteration. Shell shock setting their perspective back into place. Bombs are falling on their mind, perhaps shocking revelations, major life events, deaths, tragedies, things happening all at once. They’re getting used to it all, the lights, the sounds, their new life. 

They ask if their audience remembers the thrill and passion of youth, the hunger and spark that came so easily then. The singer wants to connect with the world, and bring that feeling to their audience. They proclaim that they’re ready to be here, in the spotlight, that they’re ready to be found by the world. 

And yes, they’ve made a mess of themselves on the journey to this moment. The journey to becoming a creative takes a toll, with the lights and sounds, the roar of the crowd, but they need something to tie them to life. An anchor to bring back to reality, instead of drifting in the shadows. 

They call to the audience to ask if they feel that same hunger, that same need to be something more. That all consuming fire that drives their creative engine. Pushes them to be more, and makes them feel alive, because this is what they were made for. 

Are you ready for it? For change? For more? Because they are. 

Take Me to War

An open declaration, an invitation to all to come and view the spectacle. A gladiator itching for combat, waiting for a challenge. Sickly sweet and itching to let loose. There’s injustice in the world, those who’ll wrong you, spit words and vitriol, and it gets to be too much. The singer finds herself embattled constantly, saddled with a reputation of talking a big game with nothing to back it up. A dog behind a fence, its bark booming with no bite. Still, that doesn’t stop them, snapping at forces far more powerful than they are with all that they can. 

No one rewards them for these battles, it’s not celebrated or righteous, and yet they continue anyways. Tilting at the windmills for all their worth. Still, even as they fight, there’s fire that they’ve swallowed, words they’ve left unsaid that burn eternally inside them. Not a blaze of glory but a consuming sear that eats away at them every day. 

At times this anger can be… performative. Not always a righteous cause but part of an expectation. An act celebrated with roses and applause as they intentionally provoke the “beast”, trading barbs and epithets to inflict the most harm. It’s all a public display for the audience to consume, always watching and ready to bite down on any missed step or mistake to destroy their heart. Yet they feed these ugly parts to the audience because that’s what they want, even as they destroy themselves with the swords they let sharpen their tongue. 

They call for the fight now, for a war. They dare anyone to underestimate them for their appearance, for their words, begging them to get close if only to scare their detractors. They itch for a fight, for something to break, a battle. Defined by their anger and fully embracing it as it leaves them bloodied and bruised, spitting out a tooth as they prepare for another bout. 

Ideas and people can poison and spread like weeds, destroying discourse and hurting so many before anyone has a chance to stop it. Watching this, the singer witnesses the destruction of the “crops”, knowing that undoing the damage will take ages. Dismantling lies piece by painful piece. So they take another route, deciding the scorch the earth and lay waste to all that the weed poisoned. Consequences be damned, it will be gone. 

And once the fires die down, and they’re left with nothing but embers, that spark will still be there, ready to catch once proper fuel is given and ready for another go. 

Empty Page

Imposter syndrome, it’s a bitch isn’t it? Constant comparisons to those who’re more worthy than you, more talented, more original, it eats away at your confidence until there’s nothing left inside. The singer’s tone is laid back as they call themselves a 10¢ copy of people better than themselves, that every thought is straight from a magazine. They’re an amalgamation of ideas stolen and made worse. Washed out and repurposed without skill. 

They stay within the boundaries set by others, toeing the line, following the path, never blazing their own trail for any reason. Obedient to a fault, promising their word. Any number of reasons could explain why, maybe fear that they’ll get lost if they stay on their own, uncertainty keeping them boxed in. Doubt in their own abilities to make any real impact. Whatever the cause, the result is the same. 

They’re an empty page, no words written on it, no thoughts uttered. A muddled shade of paint, too mixed with others to have an identity of its own. They’re a candle burnt out from their own expectations and dismay. When there’s decisions to make, when there’s things to cut out of their lives, their hands shake with fear. Unable to do it. Deferring the decision, someone else will do it better anyways so why bother. (But isn’t that just the thing, everything is unique to you, isn’t it?)

It’s naivete to believe that they’ll make something better of themselves. It’s callow, unfounded, words that hold no meaning. They’ve practiced their imitations, pulling from masters but in the end, only improving their ability to steal. 

But here’s the secret, in the end. Everything is an amalgamation of inspirations taken from elsewhere. Yes, sometimes it’s more of a one to one, but who we are is an ever changing puzzle taken from all of our experiences and inspirations. Nothing and no one is “wholly original”. That empty page is your own, so take it and use it. This is mostly editorial from me, but I’ve struggled with this feeling of worthlessness in my work, like everything I do is just copied from somewhere else. But if I listen to that instinct, I’ll never make anything at all. Why should I let that stop me? 

High Horse

It’s easy to build up an idealized version of the object of your affections, especially before one makes a move. From an outside perspective, their shining attributes blind to any possible flaws, the smallest smile sending a heart fluttering, setting expectations that can… never really be met by an actual person. Because that’s not a person, that’s an ideal, a pretty picture. 

And eventually that picture comes crashing down to the floor. Met with reality and rejection. 

The singer is shown such an offer, and returns the feelings with scorn. The woman that the confessor cherishes is a fiction, she’s a curse plaguing their mind, she’s a trophy that’s to be won up on a shelf. Not a person, not a human with her own complex feelings.  The confessor knows their worth, but is flying a bit too close to the sun here. They’ll get what they deserve though, even if they don’t learn from this situation. 

With their ire now drawn, the singer refutes the image drawn up by the infatuated of them. They’re petty, they keep a running score of those who wrong them and how they measure up. They sit on a high horse, with an over-inflated opinion of themselves, but it’s who they are. The lovelorn is struck dumb by this, and the singer holds some of their harsher opinions back. It’s not worth being overly cruel about, just honest.

This isn’t worth their time to think about any longer. The singer doesn’t reciprocate the feelings of the other, they feel no guilt for this fact. They don’t owe them anything for being idolized to this extent. They’ll put it out of their mind and move on, they’ve got other things to worry about and this certainly isn’t one of them. 

This doesn’t quite get all the way through to their audience, and in a voice sweeter than honey and laced with enough arsenic to kill a man, they call them a sweetheart, a passing grade on a low bar. Sure, they’re “nice”. They have basic respect and aren’t an outright jerk but what are they expecting? A trophy? (The trophy they put on a shelf perhaps?) It’s not happening, plain and simple, the singer has other goals and aims and love isn’t in the cards. 

Nothing’s going to change her mind, so don’t try. It’s okay to feel let down, heartbroken even, but admitting defeat looks better than begging and pleading for a different outcome. 

You wouldn’t even really like her if she came off of that high horse anyways. 

Queen of Nothing

Expectations, such a loaded term, especially in the creative space. Every piece needs to top the last one, each new song breaking a new record, pushing further, doing more. It’s a constant pressure that weighs more and more as time goes on, whether success follows or not, and when you’re a musician on the road? Well it just gets exhausting, doesn’t it? 

Being on the road, on the ride to fame is out of your control, a backseat passenger watching the world go by at dizzying speeds. Out of reach, close enough to see but not touch, because everything revolves around the next song, the next album, and it’s all so much. Paralyzing without the chance to breathe and slow down. Take in the world. 

But isn’t this what the singer wanted? Isn’t this the dream? To be creative and take their music across the nation? But for how long can they keep doing this? How long until the money dries up and the dream ends for good? But they have to finish their work, finish this journey they started for a reason. As the ruler of their destiny and yet so utterly powerless in the grand scheme of things, bearing the burden of their own expectations. 

And like a moth, they’re drawn to the spotlight, desperate to get their “15 minutes of fame”. It’s so attractive isn’t it? The validation and accolades, finally “making it” after all the hard work, and yet, there’s something else. There’s the shadows, the oblivion of never being known that pulls at them. After all, fame doesn’t last forever and the darkness of obscurity is always one step behind, if you’re not careful. 

So they wrestle with the constant battle, forever caught between wanting to slow down and maintaining that relentless pace, afraid of the consequences of bowing their head to the pressure. 

And then they go onto the next town, onto the next thing, always running and running as if running out of time and yet it isn’t. They beg for it to stop, growing more desperate as they repeat their plea. 

It all draws to a close so, so slowly, exhausted now. The weight of the crown finally too much to bear. 

The Wolf 

It’s not easy to change. Once someone’s set in their ways, set in their habits and patterns, it’s difficult at best to shift it. So… what’s someone to do? Keep fighting? Or lean in? The singer opts to do the latter, giving into their destructive tendencies. They’re not a builder, they’re a force that only tears down and demolishes. The wolf in every fairy-tale, coming to blow down your house, send out a gale and lay waste to all in their path. 

But their violence is not entirely without direction, they are a being of gasoline and torches, burning all that they touch, and they reach out in the knowledge that their grasp only leaves ashes behind. 

For a moment they lament that it’s… difficult. That they can’t bring themselves to change, to show kindness instead of teeth to anyone. Let alone themselves. They sing to their love that they’re a falling axe, wielded by an uncaring executioner. A sharpened knife, ready and waiting to stab them in the back. A poison asp, like Cleopatra’s killer, a risk by sheer virtue of proximity. 

They repeat this to their lover, hands raised in surrender. Trying to make them understand the risks. They’re a liability, a wolf at their core. They should run, run fast and hard, before the beast’s claws get them too. And the singer has to wipe the blood of their face once more. 

Nobody

For some, it’s better to be miserable in a relationship than to be alone. That fear of never finding someone else ever again, it traps people into places where they’re worse off. Memories of better times can only do so much, but if the lover knows the power they hold… well. They can hold that leash tight. 

The song begins in a quiet moment, at dawn, the lover still asleep while the singer watches her. Her murmurings like holy words, revered and beautiful. And yet, even within that beauty, there is fear, the voice is both as soft as a spider’s weaving and a hatchet through the trees. The singer pulls the covers tight around them, and waits. For what? They don’t know. 

One has to wonder though, even as the singer calls their love soft spoken, they liken her to a spider, a predator that weaves a web that ensnares and traps its prey. The holy words are for them. The connection isn’t hard to miss. 

Doubt lingers at the back door, shades of mistrust and the singer’s own issues that haunt them in the dark. Their lover lights cigarettes, and in that brief light the singer finds some reprieve from their own demons that cloud their head. Losing themselves in the smoke as it fills their lungs. Simply another element of their relationship that might kill them. 

And they say that nobody ever loved her the same way their lover tells them she does, a backhanded statement. Is it that no one else has proclaimed their love the same way? Or does she only ever say her love, telling, yet never showing. 

Because this love hurts, the deep all encompassing ache of a bruise that throbs beneath the skin and cutting as deep as any razor. Every embrace is inescapable, like the grip of a Kraken that threatens to drag them so deep they’ll never see the surface again. Warning signs are all around them, more than abundant, especially in the depths of their lover’s rage. It’s never in their favor, always a slight they committed, or a problem they have and not on their behalf. A storm rages around them and yet they’re safe, at least relatively, in the eye. The only storm they know. 

That familiarity both a comfort, and a terror. 

Their heart yearns for their lover, a love so strong and blind it blocks out all of the red flags and misdeeds that she’s committed. The determination to hold on stronger than any self preservation instincts. Although, is it self preservation? The singer repeats that nobody’s ever loved them, with the caveat now of “so she tells me”. Do they believe that this is all they can have, the best they can have?  Convinced by a web of words? 

They say they should be grateful, that something is better than nothing. That a flawed relationship is better than being alone. Isn’t it? Isn’t it? This is close enough, good enough, they shouldn’t complain, even if it hurts. It’s worth enduring… isn’t it? 

The uncertainty has taken root, and it’s up to the singer to decide if they should do anything with it. 

After all, nobody loves them like she does.