#bethany babbles
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Okay guys, I was going through my notes on my phone and found this gem. Idk why I was thinking of this one day, but here you go.
I’m not sure Echo has a dick…I kinda looks the prosthetics might go all the way to the waist. But he might, since it also looks like it might stop at the knees and the bit at his waist is a support of some sort? Idk.
But here is a list of pros for him not having a dick
His finger game is legendary
His oral is masterful
The scomp on his arm could be removed and replaced with fun toys.
There could be an attachment for prosthetic dicks that can be hooked up down there.
Thigh riding
You could still ride him and just grind
Cons of him not having a dick
It would be difficult for him (if not impossible) to experience that primal pleasure from sex that others can feel. Especially if there is nothing below the belt except metal legs and gears.
But like, if he doesn’t have a dick, why wear a codpiece? Unless that’s just habit and it helps him feel normal and like his old self. Or perhaps it’s still protective in a way.
The concept art doesn’t depict him without pants, and I feel like if he didn’t have anything going on down there, they would’ve done him like they do Grievous…
Feel free to add to the list guys. I know there are more kinky ideas out there…
#star wars#the clone wars#star wars the clone wars#the bad batch#sw tbb#tbb echo#the bad batch echo#Bethany babbles
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me: *crying at work, googling other jobs in the city, composing an email to a person i haven’t talked to in months for job advice*
a new coworker on slack: hey, how is it going?
me: 😃
#ace babbles#literally one coworker was nice to me and now im not trying to actively hurl myself out of the window#i need to make friends among my coworkers instead of feeling betrayed when the boss person i thought was a friend throws me under the bus#i need class solidarity#and new coworker seems v nice#but so did boss person........until i pissed her off#BUT i won't be able to piss off coworker because i don't report to her!#i have solved all my problems#actually no bethany has#name changed to protect the innocent
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Good Wednesday afternoon Katie!
I read the first 4 chapters of your book, “Night and Day” through our library on-line program. I’ve ask for the e-book through our library & currently they haven’t gotten it as of yet, so I have it on hold when they do. I’ve been reading and looking through your posts on TUMBLR and find you very fascinating and enjoyably captivating. You are very pretty in your womanhood, Katie. But then again “why wouldn’t you” since the truth is that is who you truly are. Your countenance is radiant and shines from your spirit.
Your story is similar to my story starting out. I was born as an unexpected and unwanted accident since my birth mother was unwed at the time and soon parted ways with my birth father. I was given up at birth to my real parents who lovingly adopted and wanted me. But as I learned to walk and get into mischief as a little boy things just didn’t seem correct. And I quickly learned for any one of unknown reasons that I shouldn’t share my female truth with anyone including my loving parents and six year older sister. My closet became my haven all of the time I was raised under their roof and religion. But I loved my mother’s and sister’s closets best and found excitement as a “little girl growing up”.
I am “an old Kansas gal” now still very much internally but not physically. That in and of itself is a long-long story with both disappointments and also now piece in old age knowing who I am and not worrying about anyone else knowing. If that makes any sense!
What to me that matters eternally is my secured relationship with my Lord and my God. You quoted a happening to one of my favorite women in the Bible in John’s account starting in chapter 8. Yes Jesus saw for “who she was” and embraced her as His child. I do believe in my heart that even though she wasn’t named then, that she was “Mary of Bethany”, the sister to Mary and Lazarus.
I can go on forever truly being a babbling old woman, but I hate to think that I may bore you to tears. I have joy in finding your sight and reading a number of your thoughts and seeing your heart being revealed. Hopefully we will have more moments to share together if you so wish.
“God bless you Katie!” “Heather Caroline Huffman, a girl Jesus loves!”
Wow, Heather, thank you for such a lovely message. I cannot have enough sisters, I love your 'babbling'! Welcome to my family!
I hope you like the rest of my story, once you get a chance to read it! I hope you will come back and tell me what you thought of it.
Your life and mine are stories of yesteryear ... had we been born 20, or even 30 years ago, we would have whatever support we needed to truly become the girls we are. Life is so unfair!
Don't be a stranger!
Love Katie xxx
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STWG daily prompt 08/10/23
Prompt: you’re shaking
****
“Eddie!”
“Jesus Chr-!”
“-the fuck dude?”
The van screeches to a stop. The girl stands right in front of the van staring at him, mouth open in a little ‘o’. Another cheerleader pulls her out of the road, and she runs off, strawberry blonde ponytail bouncing. Someone flips him the bird. Someone else calls him a freak.
He’s still looking at Chrissy.
People are shouting at him, inside and outside of the van. Doors are being slammed shut and yanked open. He can feel someone pull his hands from the steering wheel, only now realising he’s had his fingers tightly curled round it. Voices, which he wishes would just shut up because she was right there, and if he could only hear her, they could talk and he could say sorry. He just wants to say sorry.
Eddie takes one long, heavy blink and watches as Steve Harrington takes the keys out of the van. The voices have quietened, and when he tunes back in all he hears now is Steve talking to him like he’s a frightened dog, a steady babble of words meant to soothe.
“-gonna turn the engine off, okay? Just going to grab the keys… there ya go… I’ll look after those for you, okay?… Lets get you out of there and then I’ll drive you home, how does that sound?”
Steve takes his hand, tries to guide him out of the van, but Eddie just blinks and stares at him.
“Eddie, come on man, we need to get you home. Wayne’s going to be worried.”
And that’s the thing that snaps him back.
The cheerleader that looked like her, not stopping, Dustin and Gareth screaming at him, slamming on the brakes. He nearly hit her. Them, he nearly hit them, there were three of them but he was only looking at her. The van had stopped inches from her, close enough that he could see her name sewn on her sweater. Bethany.
Not Chrissy.
Eddie stumbles out of the van, nearly drops to the gravel but Steve catches him under his arms, holds him steady. He feels sick, starts to sweat.
“Dude, you’re shaking.”
Eddie stares at him. “Sorry.”
Steve huffs a little laugh. “Man, you’re a fucking mess.”
They ride silently to the little house close to Forest Hills where the Munsons live now. They pull up outside, Steve cutting the engine, but they don’t move.
“Where did… Dustin, and Gareth, where did they-“
“Jeff. He was still in the parking lot, he’s dropped them home.”
Eddie just nods. “How come you were at the school?”
Steve smiles at him. “Same as you, picking up kids. There was a basketball game tonight.”
“Lucas.”
Steve nods. “What happened, man?”
“I saw Chrissy.” Pull the bandaid off all at one.
“Ed-“
Eddie cringes. “No, I know. I know. It just. At the time, you know?”
Steve looks at him in a way that suggests he doesn’t know at all, but Eddie doesn’t expect anyone else to really understand.
“Do you see her a lot?”
He sees her all the time. The checkout girl at Bradley’s Big Buy. The nurse in the outpatient clinic at the hospital. The bank teller at Hawkins Savings and Loans.
The cheerleader called Bethany.
“Sometimes,” he replies.
Wayne steps out on to the porch. No doubt there’s been a phone call, from someone to someone to someone else to Wayne. It seems to be how they operate, this new little family he’s been sucked into. No man left behind, and all that shit.
“Thanks for getting me home. And um… sorry, you know. For ruining your night. And Lucas’s.”
“You didn’t ruin anything, man. There was no way I was letting you drive after that.” Steve taps at the steering wheel. “And how can a night be ruined when I’m with Eddie Munson, huh?”
Eddie smiles at him and Steve smiles back and it feels likes something. It feels like Eddie saying ‘please don’t leave me behind’ and Steve saying ‘never, man, I got you’.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” says Steve.
Eddie scrunches his face in confusion. “What’s happening tomorrow?”
“We have to get your van back, man.” Steve grins at him. “Can’t have Eddie The Freak Munson being chauffeured around town in a BMW by the jock that peaked in high school. Would totally ruin your image, dude.”
Eddie is fucking exhausted. Feels adrift. But he laughs. He laughs like he means it, not because it’s expected. Feels like there’s all this shit, all this horror, but he got these people from it. Got Steve from it.
Steve pulls out of the Munsons driveway, and Eddie heads up the porch steps. Wayne takes a good hard look at him, and pulls him in to a side hug. “You okay?”
He’s not. Not really, not yet anyway. But it’s coming, right? He can feel it.
“Yeah, I’m okay.”
It will be true eventually.
#stwgdailyprompt#eddie munson#steve harrington#steddie#steddie fanfic#steddie fanfiction#my writing#dreamy writes
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WIP Wednesday (Werewolf Niamh/Werewolf Bethany)
Tagged by the lovely: @jellydishes
Tagging: @noeldressari, @this-is-something-idk-what, @chaosroid, and whomever else wants to feel like sharing something!
I think I’m running out of things to share though. 😂 Have a scene from one of my AUs!
AU: You’re the Sunshine on My Life (formerly known as the Mated Pair AU set in a modern Thedas)
Pairing: Niamh Cousland/Bethany Hawke (OTP: In Search of Silver Linings)
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Niamh was at home out in the wilderness.
It was ever a freeing experience, running across open, grassy plains still wet with the morning’s dew. Leaping over one of near endless, babbling streams, she allowed the natural gravity of the world as well as the comforting scent of pine and earth to ground her when her feet hit the rocky bank on the other side. Her body was already unconsciously on the move as she came out of her crouch, sprinting through the forest of towering trees. It was there that ancient instincts sprang to life. She couldn’t help her grin, allowing her fangs to elongate with the gesture, as she basked in the sensation of complete and utter abandon.
Why?
Her keen hearing easily caught the rush of footfalls behind her as she ran further from her pursuers, but the act itself was a challenge—a test most daring to capture a woman who would not allow herself to be caught by anyone other than the best.
And was Bethany not the best?
Niamh knew her answer when she felt the woman’s magic sing in the air, followed by startled yelps and the sound of cracking tree limbs—a likely indication Bethany had just flung her would-be rivals out of the way. The chase could only end with one logical conclusion after all.
Darting past boulders, bushes, and fallen trees, Niamh traversed deeper into this sacred, wooded place, but she didn’t slow nor did Bethany. In fact, she could feel the warmth radiating from the other woman as she quickened her own pace.
The mating run had gone on for hours by then—long enough that the stars had already blanketed the sky to frame the twin moons overhead. While Bethany’s determination had never waned, Niamh could sense her weariness.
The fatigue had nothing to do with physical exhaustion of course; Niamh had long understood all that the other woman was capable of.
No.
Bethany grew weary because she desired her prize.
Bethany wished to claim her.
No sooner had that thought finished that Niamh felt herself tackled from behind. Instantly, her sense of balance was lost, but worry didn’t fill her. Bethany would never intentionally harm her, and that point was proven well when the world around her shifted with a final rollover. When Niamh’s back met the cool grass once more, it was with utmost care, and she looked up to see her intended mate looming over her.
The gleam of pure satisfaction blooming within the amber depths of Bethany’s eyes was an attractive sight along with her lazy grin. Bethany adjusted her weight then, shifting to lay her elbows on either side of Niamh’s head as she leaned down toward her. Niamh could feel the low vibrations emanating from Bethany’s chest as the other woman gave a quick lick across her lips, sending a bolt of desire down her spine.
“Mate?”
Niamh could easily turn her away.
The capture held more weight than the chase itself after all. The latter was a test of her would-be suitor’s prowess to ensure they could hunt and provide for her, but the former also allowed her to assess them. Per the bylaws of their culture, if Niamh found them wanting in any manner, she could demand her release, and they would have no choice but to let her go and find a more suitable mate.
But Niamh merely smiled as she cupped the side of Bethany’s face. Her thumb swiped across her lips before she used the pad of it to slowly caress the long fang peeking out from them. At such a close distance, there was little denying the way those honey-brown eyes suddenly went dark with aroused interest. Bethany shifted above her again before settling herself more firmly between Niamh’s legs before leaning down to purr against her lips.
“Mate.”
Passion accompanied that insistent tone—of what Niamh was to her and what she wished to do with her.
And Niamh found herself unable to deny Bethany.
“Then come take me.”
#dragon age#bethany hawke#female cousland/bethany hawke#OTP: In Search of Silver Linings#lee's AU ideas#ALSO the DA2 AU WIP with niamh and bethany is still in the process of being written#i got sidetracked by work stuff but i'll have time within the next few weeks to share a couple scenes and give you all a taste of it 😏#AU: You're the Sunshine on My Life
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realising I haven't actual done a single one of my hobbies besides reading in like, a whole year
and reading / listening to music is more escapism than like, actually enjoyment
is this burnout
am I just dead inside forever
I've tried to advance in my current job and apply for others, but failed
over
and
over
this is just my life now forever
until I either die or make it to retirement and then die
what is even the point, I'm not even on most social media because its the same 50 things on repeat from 'influencers' and companies interspersed with constant news updates of how fucked the planet is, the wars are, the economy is, everyone's dying from covid and poverty and genocides and yet still expects me to care about little bethany got a new puppy or going out for drinks with the girls tonight wooooo
shut up
shut up
shut up
stop babbling about inanities for five godsdamn minutes and listen to the world burning down around us
I'm so tired
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Happy friday, which is also dadwc!! For a prompt, I would like to send: Hawke/Merrill, “You always stop at the same part, when it’s very beautiful and interesting.”
Thank you so much!! I've not written them before and Merrill's voice is hard for me, so here's some very rough Act 3 bonding on the Wounded Coast for @dadrunkwriting
Rated: T for mention of family loss
Words: 590
~~~
“You always stop at the same part, when it’s very beautiful and interesting.”
Emrys glanced down at Merrill, who had laid her head on his knee. He carded his fingers through her hair — grown out a bit now, and loose of its braids — and leaned forward to stir the fire. It spat sparks up into the dusky sky.
“I don’t know about beautiful, Merrill.”
“Oh but it is!” she insisted. Her foot began to bounce in the grass, as it did when she got agitated or excited. “We managed to get ahead of the Blight, and rebuilt in the Free Marches. I never saw it with my own eyes. Was it really so bad? All wasting and brown death? The Brecilian was so green, it’s hard to imagine it dying back and — oh I’m babbling again.”
“Don’t mind it,” Emrys told her. “I’d rather listen to you talk.”
She huffed and turned to glare up at him. Her eyes were very green, and shone with a mirrorlike flash in the dim light. “You aren’t distracting me that easily. I want the rest of your story, ma vhenan.”
He shrugged noncommittally, then leaned back until his back rested once again against his mabari’s side. Egg huffed in his sleep. “Usually left it to Varric to tell them. To make up what he wanted. Feels weird to say what happened out loud.”
“But you met Asha’bellanar!” Merrill groaned. “Just as I did, but she cares about you! What did you do in the before times? To earn her trust?”
His hand slid from her hair to the slim lines of her back. She was like a limp, warm cat, curled against his side. “Killed an ogre.”
“No no! Not like that, you said you left Lothering, described it, and then went quiet. What happened?”
He shrugged again. “Killed an ogre, Merrill. We’d met Aveline and Wesley, Wesley threatened Bethany so I threatened him back, and finally we decided to keep going towards the Wilds. That’s when we pushed on and got to the top of this burnt rise and —”
His next words choked him. Merrill’s eyebrows furrowed with her omnipresent worry, and her thin fingers plucked at the placket of his jacket.
“Ma vhenan, you’re alright.”
He swallowed. “Right. Yeah. Um, well, we got to the top and there was this ogre up there, charging towards us. Bethany’s twin, my little brother, Carver, leapt in the way.”
“Oh.”
Her little noise carried such weight behind it, with more sympathy than he could bear. He didn’t look at her. “Mother blamed me. We had to leave him, after I killed the ogre. It was so huge, he didn’t stand a chance. He gave me time.”
“It wasn’t for nothing.” There was no question in her voice, just soft assurance.
“Doesn’t matter, Merrill,” he said. “He’s dead. So’s Mother and Bethany. Didn’t matter in the end.”
Merrill’s silence felt heavy, expectant. He looked at her, finally, and found her staring up at him with wide eyes.
“Maybe this is the abyss Flemeth warned me about,” he muttered.
Merrill moved, all limbs, and clasped him tight about his waist. She hugged him as tightly as her thin arms could manage, grunting out her effort. “Now now,” she scolded. “There’ll be no jumping. Not while I’m here. I’ll follow you right in.”
Emrys settled his arms around her, glad for her bruising grip keeping him together. He pressed a kiss onto her scalp. “I know, Merrill. Love you.”
"Hmph. Don't forget it, either. It'd be rude."
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For the kiss prompts: tentative kisses given in the dark, for Handers, or anyone else you like ✨
Thank you!
I managed, of course, to make it angsty. I think this little snippet falls a week or two before Risk. Have some pining boys running from Templars.
prompt from this list - I'll take more if anyone wants to drop a number. (Adrian isn't the only eldest child dodging a belligerent mother over birthdays.)
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Anders runs pell-mell along, out pacing Hawke if only because his legs are longer. The Templars behind them are clanging along in their armor, shouting for the both of them to stop. It's tempting to stop, turn about, and touch the ground as though he’s genuflecting in a Chantry and send a tremor along the cobblestones that will toss them into the water. Let their armor do the rest of the work for him -- carry them down and down.
He knows what Hawke would say - probably after diving into the harbor himself and dragging the Templars back out. It’s a last resort, for most of them. You know that. Their families will starve if they don’t find some way to earn money.
Hawke had found other ways, resorted to some petty crime, and any other number of jobs Anders knows he isn’t proud of, but he hadn’t become a Templar. He’d lost Bethany though. Maybe he wouldn’t have if he’d have become a Templar. Or maybe he would have been forced into a situation where he had to turn her over to the Circle, and he would have lost her just as certainly, because there is no way the Templars would leave two siblings in the same Circle.
Leandra has been after him again. It’s easy to tell. Hawke drinks faster and harder when he’s walked away from pontificating on his various failures as a son. In between getting him to intersperse water with the various concoctions the bar kept sending his direction - Isabela valiantly took one for the team and finished off a few before Hawke could consume the entirety - Anders coaxed some of the specifics out of him. It was the twins’ birthday. Bethany - where ever she is - turned twenty-four this morning, just as old as Carver should be, except...
Understandable that Leandra’s upset. But she has no right to take it out on her one remaining child. Varric had the bar cut Hawke off, and with a bit of a shove from Isabela, Anders got Hawke out of the Hanged Man and into the cool air of the streets. He let Hawke wander and ramble, steering him away from corners that were certainly going to be trouble, and taking a bottle of rum he’d concealed in one of his many pockets away from him.
They end up on the docks, with Hawke sitting on the edge of a pier, kicking the toes of his boots in the water, and babbling about all the trouble he’d had with the twins when they were little. In seems like he’d virtually raised them between the time they were out of diapers and when their father finally retired from life as a mercenary. And then once again after Malcolm fell ill.
Anders leaned against a post and listened to his circular storytelling, ready to jump in the water and see if he’s still a strong swimmer because Hawke was inevitably going to fall in, given how the night was going. Idly, he snapped his fingers together, calling a bit of fire that he’d bounce between his palms for a moment or two before letting it vanish.
Stupid really. The group of Templars patrolling would have only seen two drunks when they passed by if he hadn’t been toying with fire again.
This is why we shouldn’t drink.
I’m not even drunk.
And now they’re running because they’re both sober enough to realize that trying to take on five Templars in full armor when they’re both in street clothes and Anders left his staff at the clinic is a terrible idea.
Anders’ jacket catches at his shoulders, jerking him to a halt. Then Hawke - grasping the back of his jacket - pulls him to the side, into a slot of space between warehouses. Anders expects to see an open exit at the end of the alley, and obviously Hawke was as well because he’s cursing under his breath.
“What -”
Anders was going to ask ‘What now?’ but Hawke has twisted both hands in the lapels of his jacket, jerked it off and tossed to the side. The bit of leather holding his hair back goes next, then he’s being shoved against the wall, with Hawke angling himself between Anders and the opening onto the street.
“Pretend we’re lovers,” Hawke hisses.
“What?” Right, might as well propose I pretend to be the Empire of Orlais... except I actually want... “Oh.” Anders is still tall enough that he’s far too easy to see over the top of Hawks’s head. This isn’t going to help much. He drops to his knees and puts both hands on Hawke’s waist, trying not to take too much advantage of the ruse to slide his fingers further back. Andraste’s tits.
This isn’t the first time he’s been on his knees in a Kirkwall alley. There’d been several times he’d needed more money for clinic supplies than Lorene could gather, and well, there are certainly worse ways to earn a bit of coin.
“Anders...” The pitch of Hawke’s voice is higher, strained. “Hell...”
The metallic clatter of approaching Templars cuts him off. He raises an arm as if he’s bracing himself against the wall. Anders doesn’t catch what the Templar says; he’s too busy trying extremely hard to not notice that Hawke is half hard, and Anders is well on his way to that state.
Hawke looks back over his shoulder, and the movement twists his hips, bumping one against Anders cheek, and this is not at all fair.
“Oi! Bugger off, mate!”
Don’t laugh. Anders bites his lower lip. Laughing at the pastiche of a Ferelden accent Hawke’s affecting will only make things worse.
“Can’t a bloke get his dick sucked in peace around here. Andraste’s tits.”
The Templars are muttering apologies - they must be new recruits who haven’t had enough time to become complete asses - as they back away. Waiting for the sounds of their boots on the cobblestones to become faint might rank amongst the most difficult feats Anders has ever pulled off in his life. Hawke’s breathing hard above him, each inhale and exhale raising and lowering his diaphragm. “I think they’re gone,” he says finally.
Anders gets to his feet slowly, and pushes his hair back from his face. “That was -”
He doesn’t finish. Hawke’s grinning up at him, still with a drunken shine to his eyes. He breaks into sudden laughter, and curls forward, pressing his face against Anders’ chest. Anders takes his shoulders and squeezes them tightly. This is too much.
“Andraste’s ass, you’re going to be the death of me, Adrian.”
"Sorry, I'm sorry." Hawke looks up at him, and smiles. "I just went with the first thing I thought of."
"The first thing?"
"Yeah..." Hawke's voice is soft. His eyelids lower, just a little, then he lifts himself up on his toes and brushes his lips against the corner of Anders' mouth. "Hope you don't mind." There's another tentative kiss, this one truly on Anders' lips.
"Hawke..." Anders groans against his mouth, then he's leaning in closer, returning the kiss, shyer than he's been since the first time he kissed Karl in the library. His hands slide up Hawke’s body, breaking contact for a moment to migrate, one to the side of his face, and the other sliding back into his hair. “Adrian,” he whispers when he pulls away for a second to get air inside of him and the ground back underneath him. “Don’t -”
“Don’t what?” Hawke turns his head to the side and nips at the pad of Anders’ thumb.
Anders sighs, fighting back the impulse to drop back down on his knees and loosen a layer or two of Hawke’s clothing. Hawke’s too drunk. Too depressed. Probably desperate, too. “Tease me,” he whispers. Without opening his eyes to look at Hawke’s expression, he presses a quick kiss to the top of his head. “C’mon, let’s get you home.”
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Renewed Like the Eagle
Bethany had lain in her sickbed for three months. Lingering on the knife's edge. Coughing and retching. The doctors had stopped coming; there was no money to pay them nor any hope of recovery.
Only Mary stayed by her side. Her sister, though not by blood, who had sunk into the depths of that illness and emerged cured, though not whole. In happier times they had walked out together, took trips to the countryside, where the air was clean and brighter birds than sooty pigeons filled the skies. Bethany could name them all.
They had met when Mary walked into the street opposite The Phoenix Theatre and was nearly struck by a carriage. Bethany had jumped out, pushed her aside, taken a lesser blow for her trouble. Mary had visited her lodgings as she recovered, tended to her, brought her back stories and specimens from the markets: a stuffed hoopoe, the skull of a large crow, and all manner of things that formerly lurked in dusty cabinets of curiosities. In turn, Bethany kept Mary out of harm's way. That was the way of things, until this sickness took away that strength Mary had come to rely on.
Daily now she scoured the same markets in the alleys and fringes between pharmacies, hoping for a miracle amidst the grift and the forgeries.
In the heaviness of a foggy winter morning she finally found it. The seller was a thin man with sunken cheeks and one bright eye (the other, chipped glass). The small bundle he had sold Mary, wrapped not only in oilcloth but the silken words of promise that babbled from his lips, contained three orange-tipped feathers. Plumes of a phoenix, he claimed, from the mountains of India. Cure of rajahs. Balm of brahmins.
Mary was desperate. Ten shillings was more than she could afford, but what value could she place on Bethany's life? She knew enough to be skeptical, but also enough not to dismiss this opportunity out of hand. Coins exchanged purses. The man obligingly told her to infuse them in wine. She had only half a bottle of sherry.
By the lamplight at home, she unwrapped her prize, and held each feather up in turn to the smoky glass. Perhaps it was just the gloom, but the long plumes seemed to dance before her eyes, the orange and red flecks rising and flying like sparks against the brown and black vanes. The tip flared, casting its own light. It was as if Mary held a shining brand, a tongue of fire, pinched between her fingers.
So lost was she in the sight that she didn't notice the small copper pot of sherry boil over and smoke on the coal stove. The smell of burning snapped her out of her reverie, but in her panic she knocked the pot and the mixture ignited. Fire engulfed the stove, licked against the oilcloth she had set aside and spread. The feathers glinted, sparked, and burned.
Too much. Mary saw their home burn, paralysed by fright. She clutched the remaining feather tight, barely feeling as it singed her palm. Bethany, roused by Mary's cries and the smoke, stumbled into the kitchen coughing from both the heat and her swollen lungs. Making her choice, she tackled Mary through the door of their home, though the rush of air fanned the flames and caught Bethany's gown.
Mary turned to grab her, but could only watch as the ceiling gave way and eclipsed Bethany in debris, sparks and smoke. The door was jammed closed by the cracked lintel. Mary screamed and pounded at the door until neighbours pulled her away.
She wept as the house, and her love, burned. When the roof collapsed, she thought she saw a blazing eagle rising from the flames.
Mary visited the ruins of the house often in the years that followed, and the third feather never left her side. When her own time came, she was cremated with it, the same day a worker's accident reduced the crematorium to ash.
That year, papers in the city remarked at the pair of bright eagles seen nesting on the roof of The Phoenix Theatre, until in winter they departed for warmer climes.
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Bethany babbles and does little happy moves alongside her cute sounds. “Bababababaaa!” She says, causing the adults to chuckle. “Yes, that’s your Dada.” Melia coos and puts some mashed carrots onto her plate. The little girl is so in love with her tasty meal that she doesn’t care much for the ringing phone. Liselotte sighs and turns her phone off. “Sorry. Niki has been trying to reach me.” || Time goes by and soon the night arrives and with it the silence. A bit too silent. They sleep at the Bodecker’s house, something they do more and more often. There have already been jokes about moving in together and raising the kids together. Soldat watches over the babies as Bunny tries to find some sleep. But it’s hard when there’s so much going on in her mind. Soft sobs make her jump out of the bed. She follows the sobs and finds Lizzy in the guest bathroom with a wet cloth over her bloody lip. Her eye is swollen and blue, making it a bit hard for her to see.
Steve gives her a small sympathetic smile, then coughs into his fist a bit, obviously uncomfortable. “That Uh-That reminds me.” He says, glancing over to his beautiful wife then back to his mother-in-law. “Nicki showed up to my work today.”
||
At the sight of this, Bunny grows red in anger, gritting her teeth as she turns on her heel and stomps off, blinded by her rage, seeing red. She was going to find Lee and punch his fucking teeth in.
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Okay, so I’ve gotten to thinking. If Crosshair hates regs, I started to wonder why.
Then I remembered how the regular troopers treated the squad in the mess. Making snide comments and called them the “sad batch” and “defects”. They always sat alone, Tech expressed surprise when Omega genuinely chose to sit with them.
When the fight broke out, Crosshair tried to ignore it and eat his food, but got involved when that went to crap.
So I’m wondering what happened to him before he became part of Clone Force 99. Omega said that while they were all created together, they were sent off to train with the other clones. So Clone Force 99 trained with the regs.
I have a sneaking suspicion that there was lots of abuse or hazing during that time frame. And it could’ve been done by the regular troopers towards Clone Force 99. It’s entirely possible they weren’t a team during training, and that they weren’t always together to protect each other.
It’s possible the others have compartmentalized their past trauma better than Crosshair, as he has always seemed to harbor dislike for regular troopers who haven’t earned his trust (like Cody). Could it be that Crosshair’s dislike of the regular troopers be due to abuse he suffered during training with them? I think so.
He likely had the shit kicked out of him more than once in a locker room. Trainers could’ve been conveniently distracted or busy during a session, during which Crosshair could’ve been ganged up on. And this could have all happened during the time he was a child, well into adult years. Until he was placed with Clone Force 99.
Judging from how the clones simply treated Clone Force 99 in the mess hall, I seriously doubt their time with them was roses and butterflies and Kumbaya.
#star wars#the clone wars#star wars the clone wars#clone force 99#the bad batch#tbb crosshair#crosshair tbb#commander crosshair#crosshair#Bethany babbles
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Went to the beach today ☀️
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SHE’S HOME!!! 💙💙💙
#babbles#bethany tboi#bethany#the binding of isaac#IM SO HAPPY#my first run with her was like way too busted i didn’t even use book of virtues lol#got tech 2 and jacobs ladder which is already sick as hell and then EIGHT INCH NAILS AND SACRED HEART#that’s the farthest iv gotten on any hard mode run (only just started playing hard mode)
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So I'm walking around the fair I'm attending and I see a younger boy, maybe around 10-13? Anyway, that's beside the point. And he's wearing his showing clothes, you know nice flannel, nice jeans, and..
Crocs.
He was walking around all dressed nice with crocs
#fair#clothes#nice clothes#crocs#story#story time#my story#bethani babbles#thoughts of a teenaged girl
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Bearded irises
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They really have you become an overseer and build your own vault in vault tech workshop huh
#jay babbles#bethany esda what are you DOING#i bought the fo4 dlc on sale tw#so ill play thru that#entire vtw dlc left a very sour taste in my mouth
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