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mommyclaws · 4 months

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Opinions on Leopardstar? I haven't read leopardstar's Honor yet, not sure what happens there, but I've heard it's somewhat disappointing.

I was always somewhat angry that she never really mentioned Tigerstar after the whole Tigerclan thing, and we never really got to see how she felt about the whole thing, just that the people she sent to die really didn't like her.

A Shadow in Riverclan also kinda did the same thing where she gave a little pep talk and suddenly everything was ok for Feathertail, after she had horrible ptsd from Leopardstar

I want to like her but she's such a nothing character imo to actually have an opinion on because I think she was done pretty dirty, as Riverclan and her weren't really the focus of the series for so long

I consider myself a Leopardstar fan. I’ve been wanting to talking about my feelings/view on her for a while so i’ll put all my thoughts here!

The direction they took with her in canon is dissatisfying but she has alot of groundwork that gives her interesting potential. Her father is a medic- formerly warrior- who changed his position because he is against violence. She turns into everything Mudfur wanted to escape from. Too proud, itching for a battle, apathetic to the suffering of the other clans. And even if it was a let down, I can appreciate the authors at least tried to do more with her character than let her off the hook as easily as Blackfoot.

I like her mostly in comparison to my dislike for Blackstar's character. He teamed with Brokenstar and Tigerstar, committed murders and didn’t protest to the abuse of his own clan. He does nothing to atone and doesn't even seem particularly remorseful but he's still rewarded by being made leader. Leopardstar was already in power when she made the decisions that cost cats their lives. Cats trusted her to protect them and her neglect threw them into savagery and death. Standing by to allow kits and her own deputy be slaughtered is GRUESOME. I read her as someone blinded by ambition, just another product of the code. She misjudged then got in over her head with Tigerclan and was willing to toss others aside to save her own tail. Maybe she truly is remorseful, but it doesn't change what she did. Nothing can.

Crookedstar's leadership was very relaxed and she considered him weak. He gave up land to Shadowclan, he could never keep Sunningrocks, he allowed Thunderclan to take refugee on multiple occasions, and all of the half clan cats he accepts are seemingly only because they're his kin. She had thoughts of making Riverclan powerful and feared once he was out of the picture, it's why she completely disregarded his dying wishes- She couldn't bring herself to respect him.

The politics of Riverclan change drastically with her nine lives. Closed borders and no tolerance for Thunderclan, not even Graystripe, who only wanted to be with his kits. Riverclan is strong. But it could be stronger, couldn't it? She and Tigerclaw served as deputies together, even if he was the enemy, she thought well of him. He is a fierce and respected Thunderclan warrior. Or so he was. While she initially thought it a red flag he was now serving Shadowclan, she couldn't disagree with him for leaving Thunderclan when she already had so much resentment for them and ruling Shadowclan, it was true. They had been weaken for many moons, it was Tigerstar who reunited them and made them powerful. So when he promises to make her clan just as powerful, together, she doesnt refuse.

She very consistently and vocally had a dislike for half-clan cats. She exiled Graystripe. She calls Featherpaw and Stormpaw liabilities. She banishes Stormfur and Brook. I think she has very genuine hateful beliefs but at the same time she’s horrified at what happened to Stonefur. That was a cat she was trusting to become the next leader of Riverclan. And he was killed for defending innocent lives. She knows she was wrong, she regrets it, she has nightmares about the bonehill. (<- This was confirmed by an author apparently!) but her attempts to “atone” are surface level and shallow at best. She wants to be forgiven without changing. She makes Mistyfoot deputy to show she’s better now, but what meaning does that position have after Stonefur was slaughtered? She apologizes to Feathertail and Stormfur, but they still feel like complete outcasts. They’re more friendly with their former clanmates in Thunderclan and Leopardstar later exiles Stormfur over a faked sign. I think her attempts were never to better herself or right her victims, but to relieve her own guilt. She’s always prioritized herself above others.

#Short answer? I like her as a complicated DISlikable character #people can do bad things they regret and still be a bad person #I think her leadership is interesting because despite how much she doesn’t deserve it- shes the leader. she gets to stay the leader.#and continues to make bad choices sprinkled with few and far between moments of apology #because she feels more sorry for herself and her guilt than the cats affected by it #warrior cats #txt #Leopardstar #infodump tag #thanks for the ask! you get. giant paragraph

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kinfort · 3 months

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red medic stim kit with clickers and buttons for anon

🌵galaxy fidget clicker

🌵love pill slider

🌵heart d pad fidget keychain

🌵pixel heart clicker

🌵cross keyboard keys fidget

🌵magnetic haptic slider

🌵keycaps fidget

#team fortress 2 #team fortress 2 kin #tf2 #tf2 kin #medic #medic kin #red medic #red medic kin #stim kit

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southeofficeworker · 3 months

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What does your tf2 kin say about you? Part 2

id do one post but theres characters limit.

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ENGINEER

On your good side/green flags:

×Youre a clever guy and you know it.

×Youre a sweetheart, at least when it's useful or you trust the person.

×Youre always there for people, no matter who they are, you're willing to listen.

×Youre cautious enough, but you're willing to do whatever is needed for the job. Except you're actually good in it, like, really.

×Youre a chill guy, and love a good relaxing day, if you have one.

Your bad side/red flags:

×Youre two faces, yes, you're a sweet guy, but you'd take no time doing a bloody revenge with a little cute grin on your face

×You have god complex, but you hide it good enough.

×You can be very crude at times, though in a way that people don't realise you just mocked them.

×Youre workaholic and won't stop till the job is done, even if it takes no eating and sleeping at all.

Your love language: quality time, acts of service or physical touch

MEDIC

On your good side/green flags:

×Youre responsible, you'll whine about it, but you'll still get whatever needs to be done, because you don't trust it with others

×You get the job done no matter what, even if it involves stabbing someone, of course you'll do the last part only if you have plan B if something will go wrong.

×Youre an interesting person to talk to, but you don't have much friends because you're the strange one.

×You have a very morbid humour and curiousity, not bad but not good. Just don't carve people's organs out.

On your bad side/red flags:

×You have both, god complex and a shitty self worth. You think you deserve everything and nothing.

×You can rely on people too much and be too demanding.

×You had a trauma, and it changed you in a bad way.

×You have a very morbid humour and curiousity, not bad, but not good either.

×In conclusion, youre a hypocrite with little sadistic tendicies who can't normally read people and react accordingly the situation.

Your love language might be: quality time, acts of service or words of affirmation

SNIPER

On your good side/green flags:

×Youre a cool guy, you like adventures and stars.

×You don't have a lot of friends, but you're very loyal. It can take years for you to trust someone fully though.

×You aren't the person to get in conflicts, and if you do, you try your best to ignore it.

×Youre a strange one, and you don't care.

×You like physical touch, but you'll stiff when someone touches you.

×You probably have some hyperfixations which you keep to yourself.

On your bad side/red flags:

×You convinced yourself you're better off alone. You're used to it, and you have no idea how to react to kindness or new people without being paranoid.

×You hide your emotions till they bottle up and you break down.

×Youre a professional in whatever sphere you have chosen, until the situations falls from control.

×Youre getting very quiet when focused, to the point you might creep people out by silence.

×People always tell you to socialise more and you brush them off, 'im content with being by myself'

Your love language: basically anything, more likely quality time or acts or service

SPY

On your good side/green flags:

×Youre actually a nice guy when you warm up to people(if you can do that)

×Youre protective over the one's you love, but in a cat way. But once people make a comment on that you might stop.

×People might dislike you, but most of them go for you for an advice, especially if dating advice. And if you never had a relationship, you're good in pretending.

×Youre more on a quiet side, but if you're comfortable, and you actually trust the person, then you get extremely talkative, well, till you won't get bored.

×You can be stealthy when you want to. You can be helpful. But you'll do it only if you'll get something from it.

×You can easily adapt to new situations.

On your bad side/red flags:

×You run away from responsibility, but youre still number one to take it if no once will act on it.

×You are scared of commitment, and you don't like people. You'd do anything to push them away, even of it involves lying about your whole identity and actions. Involves acting like an absolute asshole.

×You can't let yourself get close to anyone, once you did and regretted it. You don't want it to happen again. Even if you knew the person for 10 years, you'll never trust them fully. What if they'll betray you? What if they'll suddenly realize you're actually not a good person? Hell, you don't even trust yourself.

×You think your past is forgotten, but it always comes back to you, be it a person from the past, or just something else. That involves no one knowing the real details about your past.

×You can easily get bored by people, even if you loved someone dearly, the unexpected disgust will come out and you'll be slightly anxious about it.

×You pretend you're alright with people disliking you, and you even make it into crudy jokes, but deep down you actually care for reassurance and affection, not like you'll ever admit it though. You still might slap a person if they'll touch you.

One of your love languages might be: quality time, words of affirmation or gift gifting.

Additional, in short:

Ms.Pauling

If you kin this woman, I'd say you're a hardworking person who always gets overworked no matter what. But if the jobs needs to be done? It'll be done.

You avoid any attachments and try to keep a quiet life, which doesn't always work.You tend to ignore people, give them a cold shoulder, but if people get to know you, you're an exciting person, just you dont show that often.

You'd enjoy quality time with people, and acts of service because you don't get a lot of time for yourself.

Get sleep. Medic & Engi kins, you too.

#team fortress 2 #tf2 #engineer tf2 #Medic tf2 #Sniper tf2 #Spy tf2 #miss pauling #engineer x reader #Medic x reader #Sniper x reader #Spy x reader #Miss Pauling x reader #tf2 x reader

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saelrum · 7 months

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Local Group "Sliver of Ocean"

As you know, I've been doing all kinds of crazy stuff with iterator designs lately xd

So, I decided once again to try and finalize what I imagine them like and how they'll be presented in Dark Rain AU (tho, I'm still having a lot of trouble designing Chasing Wind for some reason...)

- A LOT OF TEXT-

But beforehand, two things to explain:

1. "Clusters" with directions are referring to closest neighbours and their general direction of location on the continent

2. All models are taking root out of two bases - "Sliver" and "Luna".

— The HHLE series stand for HighHeightLowEmpaty. They are tall, slim and usually have lower empathy levels.

— The SHHE series stand for SmallHeightHighEmpathy. They are small, chubby and usually have high empathy.

— M stands for Middle

Why are they like this? Well, usually smaller and cuter things have popularity with people, and iterators with high empathy are better at taking care of their citizens. Low-empathy iterators, on the other hand, are usually used as industrial types and/or situated in harder climate zones, so they are not as inhabited, but have a vital role in providing resources. There's no need to make them look more socially acceptable xd

Cluster "North"

Includes Sliver, Sun and Nish, who took up all of northern direction.

• Sliver of Straw (HHLE-M01) is located in the North-West direction, closer to West. Culture of her people was connected with moth-like creatures, who, as it was believed, possessed power to ascend and were considered to symbolise peace after death.

• Seven Red Suns (HHLE-M02) is locaden in the North. It is the coldest region, so Suns produces a lot more heat than other iterators without needing large amounts of water. He also has intricate designs in his clothes because of the cultural background of his citizens, who generally wore a lot of warm clothes and worshipped the Sun (hence the name)

• No Significant Harassment (SHHE-M02) is located in the North-East, closer to North. She was created as an assistant for her citizens's scientific and medical research, and because of that Nish can control laboratory facilities in her town and structure to certain extent. That's why she has more opportunities, and knowledge, to experiment with genetic material than most of her kin.

Cluster "South"

Includes Moon and Pebbles.

• Looks to the Moon (SHHE-M01) and Five Pebbles (MHHE-04) both stand extremely close to each other, so they are taking up only middle South direction. Moon faced overpopulation, as her city became one of the largest and most prosperous in the local group, so Five Pebbles was built and connected to her for safe passage and direct communication. Building two iterators so close to each other was considered an innovation at the time.

Cluster "East"

Includes Innocence and Wind. This group stands as the closest to the Eastern Ocean.

• Chasing Wind (MHME-M03) is literally located on the shore of the Eastern Ocean, so his structure is extremely well protected from weather conditions. However, he and his citizens regularly face problems with communication due to frequent storms.

• Unparalleled Innocence (SHLE-M03) is located in the South-East, pretty close to the Cluster "South". Her structure stands near tropical forests and has a good climate overall, so it was a second most popular city in the Local Group.

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insomniamamma · 7 months

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Gravity: Ezra x f!reader

A/n: Written for my year of kisses. @yearofcreation2023 The prompt is a kiss on the eyelids, and I originally intended to write it for Boba Fett (which I may still do) but then I rewatched Prospect and gave myself the yearns. Title inspired by this song. This jumps around in time.

Warnings: Much flirting and fluff. Reader has unspecified medical condition that keeps her from going to space. Ezra needs his own warning. Medical treatment. References to sickness and medical procedures. References to sex but nothing explicit.

Ezra hums contentedly beneath your hands. Shirtless and tilted backwards over the deep sink, towel draped around his sun-freckled shoulders. He positively purrs as you smooth the conditioner through his curls, scratching lightly over his scalp, tugging, but just a little. Real shampoo and conditioner are an imported nicety, expensive and not often used. Seems a shame to so thoroughly clean his hair only to shear so much of it off.

Long hair is a pain in the ass when you’re doing suit work, a pain in the ass in microgravity. You can tie it back but if it comes lose, you have random threads sweat-plastered to your face or tickling your nose or nape or eyebrow without being able to fix it. You don’t know this from your own experience. Born sickly, you could not follow your brothers off world, never as strong as them, failed the g-tests and the orientation tests and the flight instructor took you aside, look, you get the right combo of meds and cautery and you might be able to work a tug or a yard-switcher up to the Bench, but you’re not gonna get out of this well.

So you stayed. Da long gone, died way out towards the end of the Great Arm. And your brothers faded out of your life one by one by one. Once in a while you’d get packet drops, grainy vids squirted between can-haulers and freighters, a game of telephone that stretched the length of the Great Arm, but those became less and less. Even after contact waned, the points would still accrue in the family account, remittance from Kevva knows where. Until they didn’t. Faded out of your lives like comets flaring bright before slinging out into the black. You stayed behind and made due.

Learned the herbalist’s trade from your Ma who learned it from her Ma as far back as your first kin who colonized here, who built the house you live in now, who planted the gardens that provide food and medicines. Leaves and flowers and roots all diagrammed out, with their varied dangers and uses recipes for salves and tinctures and dyes, soaps, meticulously drawn and copied out from Ma’s book into one that you stitched and bound yourself. A right of passage of sorts, preserve what’s come before and add your own knowledge. The last few entries of your Ma’s book near illegible, from when the Wandering Sickness took her ability to write, a hash of Central glyph-speak and her own short-hand.

Ma had been gone for about a year when you met Ezra, or rather, when someone in town took pity on Ezra and sent him to your door. He was naked from the waist up skin blotched in swollen, crimson wheals. You shake your head. Off-worlders never learn. “I must apologize for my state of disarray,” he says, “The rubbing of my shirt seams became unbearable on my walk from town. I seem to have an allergy to the local flora.” He speaks a lilting off-world accent. One eye is red and puffed into a narrow slit, looks like he’s winking at you. “Humbleweed,” you say, “Looks like you rolled in the stuff. Come on in, spacer, lets get you fixed up.” “It’s called humbleweed because it puts people fool enough to touch it in their place?” “That’s right,” you say, leading him inside, “Wanna tell me how you got coated in it?” “Me and my crewmates are camped out along yonder lake. We were passing around a bottle of firewater and got to tussling. Not unfriendly like, but I took a bad step into some bushes. Didn’t think much of it at the time—“ “Please tell me none of you were stupid enough to throw any of that mess in a campfire.” “No, Ma’am, there was bone dry drift wood a-plenty.” “Good because the smoke would make your lungs do the same thing that’s happening with your skin, and we’d be calling for a dropper.” “That sounds most unpleasant,” he says, and you gesture towards the large, hammered metal tub. “Strip,” you say, “And hop in.” You say, fetching a rusty metal canister and a scrub brush from the shelf. You pull on some disposable gloves. An imported nicety, but you don’t want humbleweed resin getting under your own nails. “Ezra.” “What?” “My name is Ezra, and I’d like to know yours before you see my nether regions.” You laugh. This big, swaggering spacer with his odd, archaic way of speaking is shy. Damned if you don’t see his ears and cheeks going red. You tell him your name and rest a gloved hand on his upper arm. “You’ve got nothing I haven’t seen, okay? Unless they build men different further down the Arm. Give me your clothes. We’ll need to treat and wash them too.” Ezra reluctantly peels down. The worst of the rash is on his upper half, but there’s a particularly nasty line of welts around his waist, snaking down along the soft swell of his belly, telltale lines where he scratched at it in his sleep, got the sap under his nails and dragged it around, unthinking. He stands stone still while you run your gloved hands over him, checking places he wouldn’t think to check himself, armpits and the soles of his feet and juncture of hip and thigh, squirms under your touch. “I’m sorry—“ he says, red faced— “No need,” you say, “I once treated a man who was fool enough to wipe his ass with the leaves. He waited until it all blistered up to get help—“ You push the metal canister and scrub brush into his hands. “You sluice this over the red patches and scrub, clear? It’ll sting some—“ “This smells like engine degreaser.” “It is engine degreaser,” you say, “But it’ll do the job. Let me get your face though. Don’t want you getting this in your eyes. Get what you can reach and I’ll take care of your clothes, yeah?” His clothing goes in the deep sink, warm water and a generous pour of degreaser. You can’t help but look at him, his back to you, all broad freckled shoulders and red, puckered scars, tells of a spacer’s life, trying to reach over the curve of his own spine with the scrub brush. “Miss? Ma’am? I can’t quite—“ You find yourself smiling, take the scrub brush and canister from him, pour a cold rill down his spine and scrub, and he shudders. “Stings.” “I know.”

He flinches when you bring the degreaser soaked cloth to his face, draws back, his eye a puffed red slit leaking tears, his hands circle your wrists, stilling you. “Ezra. You need to let me do this.” “Perhaps this can wait for the Bench, this may be beyond what you can do here, not saying that I mistrust your skills or judgement but—“ “Look up. You see that bundle of Kind Sister? The star shaped flowers?” “Yes, but I don’t- “Look up and hold still. You keep your eyes right there.” You wipe the degreaser over the puffed skin below his eye, and you can feel the tension in him, thrumming beneath his skin. “Breathe, handsome, I’ve done this many times.” “It’s not that I don’t trust—“ “Just keep looking up.” “Burns a little.” “It will.” You dab the cloth over his skin, right up to the fringe of his lashes. “Close.” “I don’t think—“ “Don’t need you to think. Close your eyes.” He feels the chill on his eyelids and flinches away. “Sssshhhhh. Hold still. Not gonna hurt you.” He stills and lets you wipe his eyes with the degreaser, and you can’t help but admire the way his dark lashes fall against his cheeks.

“You’re unsettled.” “Maybe I don’t want to shear off these pretty curls.” You thread your fingers through his hair and raise the scissors to start cutting, but his hand curves around your wrist. “You’ve not been this unsettled before,” says Ezra, “Talk to me Gentle, tell me what’s bothering you.” And you can’t help but smile, his nickname for you always manages to make your chest tighten, someplace between swelling love and crippling fear, presses his lips to the soft skin of your wrist where the veins rest so close. “You’re going so far this time, and you know I can’t go after you if things go wrong—“ “The risk is greater, but the reward is….” he trails off, fingers tracing the landscape of your knuckles. Ezra has words for everything, three words when one will do, and to hear him go silent, to see him search for words feels wrong, like you’re witnessing something you shouldn’t. He draws inward for a beat and then those dark eyes find yours. “The reward is such that I could stop my rambling ways. If we find what we suspect is there.” “You’re saying you’ll stay.” “I am.” The shiny scissors in your hand tremble, sending little arcs of light across the rough hewn walls. “You’ll come down the well. For keeps.” “For keeps, Gentle Hands. My heart already resides here. I finish this job? You’ll have all of me. For as long as you can put up with my nonsense.” Your hands still. Dread replaced by spreading warmth. You smile. “You’d be surprised at how much of your nonsense I can tolerate.”

“Oh, Kevva,” Ezra sighs and sags against you, “You are surely one of Her kind sisters. She has given you the touch, the blessing—“ You lightly slap his cheek with a gloved hand. “Don’t you go boneless on me, handsome.” You’ve been liberally coating the red wheals and rising blisters with a salve of kind sister, sersath and bird-eye berry. This salve counters the miserable itch of humbleweed, and triggers a kind of euphoric sedation in maybe one in five people you’ve treated. “You’re having a strong reaction. It’s not dangerous. Kevva’s just smiling on you. That’s all. You’ll feel right as rain in about a sixteenth. Hey! You go limp and I will not heave your ass off this floor.” “I will gladly spend the rest of my days gazing up in admiration.” “Hmmmm. Might hold you to that, pretty spacer.” “Would give my life into your gentle hands,” “Okay. Okay, let’s get you settled,” You steer Ezra naked and greasy towards a fresh-sheeted cot you keep against one wall, just in case. He’s not the first stray to rest there a spell and surely won’t be the last. He stretches himself out like a cat lounging in a sunbeam, yawning hugely, even covered in angry red wheals and pinkish goo he’s quite the sight. Pretty man, you think, too bad I’ll probably never see him again. “y’can look all you want, Gentle Hands,” he mumbles, and you feel your face go hot, “I don’t- I don’t mind.” “Here,” you say, pulling the top sheet up to his chest, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean--“ His hand finds yours, warm and enfolding. “Gentle Hands,” he says, but his eyes are already closed, his holding hand already letting go, dropping away from yours, arm dangling stiffly off the edge of the cot, “Kind heart.” And you know it’s the salve, maybe you’ve got the proportions wrong, the strength of the bird-eye berry varies depending on where it’s picked. Have to pay more attention next time, or maybe this pretty spacer just reacts stronger than most for a whole slew of reasons that have nothing to do with you. Ezra snores. You smile and lay his hand over his chest so his arm doesn’t fall asleep. And then go to fetch his clothes from the deep sink so you can rinse them out.

You thread your fingers through his hair and cut like you’ve done many times before. Always makes you a little sad, seeing the curls he’s grown in his time with you piled on the floor in front of the deep sink. Ezra luxuriates under your touch, relishes the feel of your hands carding through his curls, tugging, measuring with the width of your fingers, ruffling his hair this way and that, making sure things are even. You’ve done this for your brothers and now you do it for your lover. Brush the stray bits of hair from his shoulders, letting your hands wander the breadth of him, tuck yourself into the join of his shoulder and neck and his arms come up around you, cradling you against him, the two of you swaying together. I’ll be back before you know it.

Ezra finds you in the front garden says your name and snaps you out of your reverie, the muscle-memory motions of removing errant weeds and dead leaves. You stand and wipe the dirt on your pants and turn to look at him, feel yourself grin. He’s wrapped the top sheet around himself like a toga, shuffles along the walk like a newborn calf, a bit unsteady and blinking in the bright sunlight. The swelling around his eye has already gone down significantly. “Ezra. How you feeling?” “A little tingly,” he says, “A little foggy headed, truth be told, I don’t recall dozing off. I hope I haven’t inconvenienced you-“ “You haven’t,” you walk the narrow path through the herb beds to where his clothes hang on the line. You frown. “Still damp. Come on. I think I’ve got something that might fit you. Don’t want to send you back into town with a wet ass.” You move to herd him back into the house, but he stops you, his hand curled gently around your wrist. “I, uh, I worry that I may have said something untoward,” says Ezra, “My mouth has a tendency to run along on it’s own and Kevva knows I have not experienced such gentle care in a whole heap of stand-months--“ “You flirted with me a little,” you say and feel yourself smile, he drops your wrist but you catch his hand in yours before he can pull away, “But I flirted right back.” “Did you now?” “Mmm-hmm.”

Ezra kisses you in that slow way of his, soft press of his lips to yours, his way of lingering, lips hovering over yours sharing breath between kisses, soft pecks and nuzzles, coaxing your lips apart so he can dip his tongue between them, his hands sliding warm beneath the hem of your shirt and when he breaks away so he can dip his face into the curve of your neck to nip at that tender place below your ear, you push him back, a firm hand on his chest. “No.” His brow knits, but his eyes are smiling. “No?” “Go shower off, Ezra. I don’t want all those little stray hairs in my nice clean sheets.” “Those sheets won’t be clean for long, Gentle Hands,” “Doesn’t mean I want to be all scratchy while we’re making a mess of them. Go on now.”

“This isn’t right,” you say, poking at the screen of your much repaired data-pad, “This is far more than what we agreed on.” “You’ve taken very good care of me,” says Ezra. He’s dressed in clothes your middle brother left behind, his own folded into a bundle and tucked under his arm. You reject the transaction. “I take very good care of everyone, Ezra, it’s my job.” “Still I spent a quarter cycle snoring away in your great room,” he says, “I expect most others would have roused me and sent me down the road. I wish to repay you for your kindness.” “I don’t need payment for that. Not with points anyway.” Ezra smirks, and cocks an eyebrow. “You got some other currency in mind?” “Maybe. You’re not boosting tonight are you?” “No,” he says, “We’re hopping the Magra-Tripoint line. Don’t need to hit the bench for three cycles and a little. You got something in mind, Gentle Hands?” You feel blood rise in your cheeks, something about his newly minted name for the you and the way he says it, lilt and rumble of his voice holding something that could be want, something that pulls on you, maybe a cycle or so of fun with a pretty man, but maybe something more. “There’s live music in the square tonight,” you say, “They usually start up around dusk--“ and you feel suddenly shy. Ezra’s a spacer, he’s been places you probably can’t imagine. “It’s not that weird twitchy shit coming out of Central these days is it?” You laugh. “No, nothing like that. What do you say? Take a girl dancing?” “I would be honored,” says Ezra, “But I’ll have you know that I am a terrible dancer.” “The steps are easy. I’ll show you.” “I look forward to it,” he says, “I’ll meet you in the square at sun-down.”

You have to go into town anyway. You sell your wares at the general store. Balms and salves and tinctures and teas, bird-eye berry gel for teething babies, kind sister and chamomile for sleepless nights. Callie takes her cut, but that’s the price of not having to man your own shop. Everyone in town knows to send the severe cases your way, and otherwise leave you be. There are always a few special orders, things not entirely above board, a powder made of bloodspot spores that will end a pregnancy, opium and bird eye berry dried and made into a tea that can ease someone’s passing with few questions. Giggle-weed infused syrup to help a man get hard, everything passed out in folded envelopes, dark glass jars,blank and innocuous. You do your rounds and make your way to the square, watch the first band set up. A cello imported from Kevva knows where, goatskin drums, a flute carved from a reaper-bird’s hind strut. Rough made guitars. You scan around the square and see the usual faces. There’s a couple of nightclubs closer to the docks, places where the spacers go and you imagine him there. Little prickling like a thorn inside your chest. Never going to see him again anyway so what does it matter?

“Well, there you are!” You turn from the pint of cider you’ve been nursing and smile. “Ezra! Wasn’t sure I’d see you!!” You stand and he pulls you into a strong embrace, and then holds you at arms length. “Wasn’t sure I’d see you either,” he says, “Pretty lady who soothed my hurts and listened to my yap and saw my pale and unimpressive ass? I’m surprised you didn’t run for the hills.” “I knew you’d be pretty once the swelling went down.” “You clean up nice, too.” You wonder for a second if he’s making fun, traded your usual workday clothes for your favorite dress, not fancy by off-world standards, river-linen dyed summer sky blue, but there’s no judgement in his eyes and widening smile, just warmth, slides his palms down your arms and squeezes your hands in his. The band plays and the caller names the steps, and people swing their partners and turn and Ezra’s face tightens. “This looks unduly complicated,” “Let’s get some cider in you. It won’t seem so complicated then.” “If you say so, Gentle Hands.” “I do say so. Just watch for a bit and then let me lead.”

Despite your best efforts, Ezra is truly a terrible dancer, the reels and jigs and square dances see him dazed, unable to tell his right from his left and after one particularly disastrous dance the two of you collapse into each other, laughing, clinging to each other and then the band starts a slow one, which means that the caller picks at his guitar and sings a song of lost love while the rest of the band hit the bar and give everyone else a chance to catch their breath. A handful of couples make their way to the floor, and Ezra holds his hand out to you. “This is a dance I know, if you’d do me the honor.”

You expect you’ll never see him again. You’ve come to regard the spacers you meet as spring-sprites, all sun glittered wings, pulling themselves out of the mud only to live a hand of cycles and then vanish. He’ll persist in your thoughts for a bit, this pretty man with his odd way of speaking and his lovely dark eyes, but once he leaves the well he’ll fade like they all do, become a tender memory and nothing more, but for now you ache pleasantly from his attentions. The dock is swarmed with clotted crews of spacers, stacks of luggage, piles of gear waiting to be loaded, low hiss of regulator-valves triggering along the snake-work of cable leading from the tanks to the transfer ship, a squat soot-stained wedge, plated in dingy heat-tiles like a fish’s scales. You suspect this craft is older than you. “This isn’t goodbye, you know,” says Ezra, and your heart squeezes. You’ve heard this before. A delirious hand of cycles, but they always go and they never come back and most times you are able to guard your heart, but not this time, not with him, and your usual glib response doesn’t come. “Ezra, I—we—it’s not?“ He reaches for you and cradles your face in his warm, rough hands, and you expect to feel his lips on yours, his mouth hungry and fever hot, but instead he stretches up and kisses your forehead, and something inside you tugs, pulls, cries out at this unexpected tenderness, tears sting your eyes so you close them, as his breath fans warm over your skin. Ezra kisses your closed eyes, right then left and then rests his forehead against yours. “I’ll see you again, Gentle Hands,” he says and pulls you into a crushing hug, and then the deck hand calls out a string of numbers over an intercom, balky speakers strung up on wooden poles all around the port and he’s gone into the surging crowd.

Ezra sings in the shower. He always does and Kevva have mercy that man can’t carry a tune in a bucket. Sweep his damp, shorn curls into a little pile to be scooped up and sprinkled into the garden beds, human scent revolting to the local fauna, but then it screams up at you, a little curl of starlight among the tangled dark, little twist of white hair cut from his temple that you so like to twine your fingers through, now discarded. You bend and pick the damp curl of hair from the floor and roll it between your fingers. You move almost without thinking, tuck that little curl into an envelope you usually use for dry herb blends, fold it closed and hold it in your hands a beat, press it to your chest, and then laugh at yourself. Ezra will come back.

He always comes back.

#prospect #ezra x f!reader #ezra prospect x f!reader #ezra (prospect) x f!reader #year of kisses #year of themes 2023

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queenshelby · 9 months

Text

Yes! Mr Murphy (Rewritten)

PART 24: THE LOSS

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Lots of Angst, Age Gap, Teacher x Student, Pregnancy Loss, Infertility

Your PoV (starting with a little flashback)

It was Saturday, at around 5 o’clock, when everything changed and you struggled to stand up straight, experiencing more pain in your abdomen than you had ever experienced before, all whilst watching Nina perform the chorography for her solo.

It felt like someone took a knife, stabbed you and then twisted it around, making you drop to the ground rather suddenly.

Nina, however, did not notice right away as she was focused on the music and her performance, thereby following your instructions to forget the world around her when being on stage and, unfortunately for you, she did not react when you tried to call out for her.

The pain was so intense that you could barely speak and the level of pain made it clear to you that you absolutely needed to see a medical professional right away.

“Nina!” you thus called out again, unable to move and, just as she noticed you having collapsed, you saw big red puddle of blood on the floor.

The bleeding was heavier than anything you had ever experienced and the cramping was torture, causing you to tare your nails through the ground as Nina jumped off stage.

“Oh shit” she cursed, unsure what to do.

“I need you to call an ambulance” you barely managed to say as you got even more intense pains around your shoulders and clavicle now, making your breathing rather difficult.

“Okay. I am getting my phone. Don’t move” Nina told you before racing to her locker while you tried very hard not to pass out.

It took literally everything in you to keep breathing and push through a moment that had you believing that you were living your last minutes of life while Nina called triple nine and it was just before the ambulance arrived that the pain went to a whole new level, causing you to finally pass out.

***

Waking up in the hospital, you had Emma by your side. She was your next of kin and held your hand when the doctors gave you the news which more than stunned you.

“We stopped the bleeding for now, but we must operate immediately” was what a man dressed in blue had told you and you still were not sure what was going on.

“Why?” you barely managed to say in your dazed state, causing Emma to hold on to your hand more firmly now.

“You are experiencing pregnancy complications, resulting in the rupture of one of your fallopian tubes” he explained, causing you to shake your head while the nurses rushed around to get you ready for surgery.

“I am not pregnant” you told him, still confused and somewhat besides yourself.

“You are. You have, what we call, an ectopic pregnancy and we put you on a blood transfusion in order to stabilise you for surgery. We will need operate now, remove the pregnancy, and see whether we can repair the rupture as you are still bleeding in to your abdomen. We need to act now as this condition is life threatening but we may need to remove your tube if we cannot repair it” the doctor explained to you and, all you could do by this point, was to nod.

“Okay, just do what you have to do” you then said while unable to grasp the fact that you were pregnant and, of course, since you had the implant put in at nineteen, you did not even consider the idea of pregnancy or miscarriage.

“The theatre is ready, doctor” you then heard one of the nurses say and, after that, everything happened so fast that there was not even time to think.

You were shocked and scared and completely heartbroken. You never wanted to have children but this came as a surprise and you did not know how to handle it. It was not fair, and you were not ready for it.

You just wanted to break into tears and sob in protest. The tears began to well, but as they began to fill your eyes, you turned within to impart a little wisdom upon yourself.

“You can do anything” you said to yourself which was exactly what your mother told you the last time you saw her. It was when you were taken away by the Department of Immigration and placed into the Forster care system, following which you had never seen her again. But, with this wisdom in mind, you turned to joking with your medical staff as you were poked, questioned, and drugged.

As you were wheeled away and the weight of anaesthesia began to bear down on you, you had complete acceptance of what was happening and trusted that everything was as it should be. Then there was nothing…

***

Awakening from surgery was like coming back to life. The drugs had your brain filled with a thick mental fog that had you feeling as though you were waking from a ten-year coma. You were in and out and barely capable of a clear and coherent thoughts, but it only took a second for you to realise that you were experiencing the worst nausea of your life. You made this clear to the nurse standing over you and as you again fell back out of consciousness, she injected something into your IV.

You came to it again moments or minutes later without any nausea and managed to ask where Emma was before you drifted off again and then, the next time you opened your eyes, you saw the nurse walking in with her and Connie who wanted to check on you after what Nina had told her.

“Is Nina okay?” was the first thing you managed to say, seeing that the last you remembered of her was her calling an ambulance which, at thirteen years of age, must have been a pretty big deal.

“She is fine. But, how about you?” Connie asked, not knowing what had happened to you.

“I am okay, I think” you told her while Emma advised her that you probably needed some rest now and, without informing her of the procedure performed, Connie chose to give you some privacy.

“Thanks for checking in on me. I appreciate it” you said nonetheless and she nodded.

“Any time! Please me know if you need anything, alright?” she then said before Emma took the seat next to your bed for the rest of the night until, the next morning, you were woken by the nurses again, performing some tests.

While the nurses took your vitals, the head surgeon came in and gave you an update which was something that did not happen the night before due to an influx of emergency patients.

He informed you that, despite their best efforts, your left fallopian tube had to be removed. In addition to that, your uterus had been perforated as the pregnancy was attached to the left-hand side of it and you were informed that you would need some bed rest for about two weeks which included a five-day hospital stay.

The surgery itself was not easy and a large incision had to be made on your abdomen due to the severe bleeding you were experiencing, now leaving you permanently scarred.

“Okay” was all you told him in response to what he had to say and he was rather surprised by how well you took it, knowing that most women in your position would have been frantic.

“You may not be able to have children without further medical intervention” you were then told by the doctor and, again, you nodded and replied with a simple “okay” as, the truth was, that the relief of surviving something that had you so close to death had you more than happy to face whatever awaited you after surgery and that even included the prospects of infertility.

“A counsellor will be available for you when you leave hospital” he then went on to say and you to chuckle.

“Honestly, I have been through counselling so many times in my life, I can assure you that I won’t need it” you said and it was at this point that the doctor decided to give you some more space as well, allowing you to come to terms with what happened to you at your very own pace.

***

Several minutes later, you were finally served your first meal since your surgery and you could not recall the last time porridge tasted so good. You were starving and, just as you ate your mushy oats, Emma read through a magazine that had just been delivered to the hospital that morning.

“Anything interesting?” you asked as Emma zipped through it, page after page, until she gasped heavily, causing your eyebrows to furrow.

“What is it?” you wanted to know but Emma knew that now was not the time to tell you as she read through the short article quickly.

“Nothing, just some gossip about…no one really…” she said while closing the paper and dropping it to the floor, not wanting you to see its content…

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy x you #cillian murphy fanfic #cillian murphy fanfiction

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