Man the one thing that I really want out of this Lost Light arc is for Rodimus to just…fucking LOSE it.
Like legitimately fucking deck Megs and really let loose all of the shit that he’s had to repress ever since being placed on this ship via Optimas’ orders (and being made “co-captain” of all things!! Co-captain. On a privately owned ship.)
I just want him to go rampant and rage and shout about everything that was taken away from him since that day: about how HIS ship was taken by Getaway, about HIS crew abandoning him to die on the Necroworld, about how HIS competency as a captain was usurped by an outside power that really had no business interceding with his plans despite their former rank.
And then I want him to reestablish his control over the situation. I want him to have them remember all of the things that he’s accomplished and all the things he’s been through because CLEARLY the rest of them have forgotten.
I need this kid to have his confidence back and take back control.
There are older men in everything. Men don’t grow up with the idea that they’re somehow obsolete with age. Old men are brilliant, charismatic, fun, flirty mentors in everything the media puts out. They’re prestigious and powerful. Even if they’re abusers, they’re just misunderstood and broken hearted and it’s all very poetic.
Women are told that they peak at 18 and any nubile looks they maintain are a saving grace. Women are told that they’re worth precisely how much they can ensnare or seduce or benefit a man. Women’s lives, according to our society, begin at 18 and end at 29. If we manage to maintain the whole “young & fun” air we can get away with maybe a couple more years of being considered of worth.
Women don’t lose their vitality according to societally defined ideas about our age. Men aren’t the only ones who stay vital and passionate into their sixties. Young girls growing up have tragically few role models to look up to. They’re told there is nothing for them beyond being hot shit in their twenties.
Summary: After a series of events leave her life in pieces, Emma Swan finds herself hitchhiking out of Maine, her wallet empty and her heart broken. The best she hopes for is a driver who isn’t a pervert and takes her far away from the painful memories of Storeybrooke. But when she finds a ride with a quiet truck driver named Jones, Emma discovers that maybe a trustworthy friend is all she needs.
Note: This chapter was originally split up into two parts, and I was only going to post the first. But then I watched tonight’s episode of this @$%#ing show and i have such a major case of viewer’s blue balls that I figured it would be mean to do the same to my lovely readers. Please enjoy this monster chapter. Bless.
Don’t freeze out there, huh? Good
advice, but hard to follow, Emma thought sourly, as they left the warm,
comfortingly grease-scented air of the bar behind. It had already been cold
outside when they arrived, but the temperature seemed to have dropped even further
while they were inside, and a light snow was falling. She pulled her coat’s
hood up with one hand, then returned it to Jones’ arm, keeping a firm grip with
all ten fingers.
He wasn’t staggering anymore, although as they walked slowly across the
parking lot, threading through cars and trucks, his steps were slightly uneven.
Not that she was perfectly steady, herself; Emma could still feel the beer
pounding through her veins, making her a little dizzy. Their breath formed
clouds in the freezing air, and Emma longed to call a cab, even just for a
A/N: Not that anyone cares I’ve been hella busy and haven’t had time to literally write anything and I still really don’t, but I’m going to anyways bc I have some inspiration. Enjoy. Feedback is always appreciated(:
Characters: Dean x sister!reader, Sam x sister!reader
Warnings: swearing, angst, overprotective Dean, mention of death, yelling, very close relationship b/w Dean and reader? let me know if I missed anything
Tagging: @winchesters-favorite-girl because I think she might be interested and I really love and look up to her as a writer. I hope you don’t mind.
You loved your brothers more than anything in the world. I mean, you were practically raised by them. John was never around, your mom was just some quick fuck that John had on a hunt. As soon as demons got word that John Winchester knocked up some chick and he had another child, they came and killed your mother when you were only a few months old. Thankfully, your mom got John on the phone as they were trying to get in and he was in town so he saved you. Not your mom though. Dean had been 16 at the time, Sam was 12. You were by far the baby of the family and Sam and Dean made it their mission to protect you from everything. And when I say everything, I mean literally everything. You were never even supposed to have been born. But nevertheless, here you were seventeen years later, alive and kicking, living in the bunker with Sam and Dean, the two best brothers in the entire world.
Obi-Wan Kenobi will tell you that he has vices just like everyone else in the GAR.
Properly brewed tea. Not this prepackaged nonsense that tastes like chemicals.
A comfortable meditation cushion.
A week without visiting the healers or needing any kind of bacta.
Did he mention sleep because he really enjoys sleeping?
What Obi-Wan will not tell you is that his vices are more intimate and emotional than physical.
He craves danger, craves the momentary release of the straight jacket he’s tied himself into. He craves the blessed mental stillness of the battlefield, where the hum of his lightsaber and the rushing white-hot river of the Force combine into the purest and sweetest symphony that only he can hear.
He craves the hit of adrenaline when things go sideways, when all of his mental faculties are called into service of the Problem and the search for a Solution. He is smart, clever and so quick with a quip, an answer, a theory and a hypothesis and he loves to be presented with a challenge, something that will give him pause. Something to examine and ponder over because there is so much boring noise and mental clutter in his day-to-day world.
He craves… well… there’s no real way around it. He craves Anakin’s company, his easy laughter and smiles, the casual way the younger man drapes his arm around Obi-Wan. When they are together the world is brighter, funnier and sharper. Music is prettier, food smells better and Obi-Wan doesn’t feel cold and hollow. He craves Anakin’s trust and friendship much in the same way the other man craves Obi-Wan’s approval and demonstrative affection. They are a star and its favorite planet, forever dancing together through life, through battle and through time and space.
But the deepest, darkest and most secret vice that Obi-Wan craves? The one thing he could never admit to? Not even to himself?
He craves honesty. Obi-Wan wants so desperate to be honest, to tell the world how he feels, to wear his heart on his sleeve like Anakin and Ahsoka. To weep for his dead master, to have confessed his love to Satine all those years ago, to tell Anakin how proud he is of him and how much he loves him now. There are so many secrets, harmless, gentle truths kept locked in the depths of Obi-Wan’s soul because he is a Jedi and Jedi do not have attachments and so Obi-Wan lies.
To his men. He is so proud of them. They deserve so much better and he mourns the loss of each of them like he was his own brother.
To his friends. He cannot believe they stay around but he is thankful for them and will support them, even the slightly dodgy ones like Hondo and Quinlan.
To his family. He loves them, so, so much. He is so proud of Ahsoka, so very proud of her improvement and her tenacity. She is such a bright light. And Anakin. Oh how he loves Anakin. He loves and he loves Anakin and would do anything Anakin asked of him. If he were allowed to be honest.
To himself. You love them and you want to tell them how you feel.