#i will say i am the only person i can think of who grew up in dc/nova and considers myself to be southern BUT i dont consider myself to be
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writerdownbookworder · 22 hours ago
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The princess smiled at him happily from across the battlefield as she rode away. 
Edmund smiled back and waved. The minute she was out of sight, his hand dropped and he ran it through his hair nervously as he returned to work, carting away the bodies of the enemy and friends alike. It was hard, emotional work, and thankfully, it took his mind off of the explanation he would have to give his family in a few short hours.
Finally, he was able to go home. As soon as Edmund walked in the door, he was bombarded with hugs from all six of his little siblings. They were all between the ages of 2 and 10, and the smaller ones tried climbing him like monkeys. Edmund laughed as he hugged them all, then his parents and grandparents who all lived with them in the four bedroom house. 
After Edmund finally got the little ones calmed down and regaled them with some of the tamer stories he had, he looked at his mother. 
Reading his mind, she started corralling the kids. “Come on, everyone,” she called. “Bedtime!” She ignored the groans and moans that came as she whisked them into their bedroom.
Edmund shifted awkwardly in his chair as he waited for her to come back. When she did, taking a seat beside his father, Edmund took a deep breath.
“I have some news to share,” he began. “I am…engaged.”
His grandmother hooted with joy. “Ha! Finally!”
“Really, Mabel,” Edmund’s mother said reproachfully. “Let the boy speak.”
His father turned to him. “Do we know the girl?”
Edmund wouldn’t meet any of their eyes as he mumbled, “Sort of.”
His grandfather crossed his arms. “It’s not that Katrina, is it? You do know she’s a bit strange. I don’t think you should marry her. Can you call it off?”
Edmund sighed and rubbed his forehead. “It’s not Katrina. And that’s not very nice, Grandfather.”
“Hmph!” his grandfather pouted. “Well, then, who is it?”
“Itstheoldestprincessprincessisolde!” Edmund said, all in a rush.
His grandmother put a hand to her ear. “Eh?”
Edmund took a deep breath. “It’s Princess Isolde.”
“What?!” came a shriek from behind them. Everyone whipped around, only to find seven-year-old Avalie peeking around the corner and eavesdropping. 
She started bouncing on her toes with excitement. “You’re gonna marry Princess Isolde?! She’s my favorite!”
Edmund’s mother put her hands on her hips. “Young lady, you are not supposed to be up. You weren’t supposed to hear that.”
Edmund sighed. “She might as well stay now.”
Avalie ran over and jumped on his lap. “You’re my favorite! How did it happen?!” she asked eagerly.
He couldn’t help grinning at her. “Well, last year, remember when I was gone for so long? I was one of her personal guards. A few days ago, we ended up near each other again, out on the battlefield. I thought…” he let his voice trail off, remembering he was talking to a seven year old. The adults in the room knew what he meant, so he continued his story. “I knew I loved her, and I was pretty sure she loved me too. We grew close last year. I asked her to marry me, and she said yes. And…here we are.”
“Are you gonna go live in the palace?!” Avalie shrieked, ignoring when five adults shushed her. “That’s so exciting!”
Edmund laughed. “Yes, I suppose it is. I believe she said she would send word in a few days. I’m…not too sure what to do next. We did just get out of a war.”
Avalie clutched him tightly. “Can I come with you?” 
He laughed again. “Fine by me! You’ll have to ask Isolde though.”
Avalie’s eyes went wide.
She, Avalie, was going to meet a princess! And not just any princess. Her very favorite one!
And Princess Isolde was going to marry her own brother!
That would make them sisters!!!
The rest of the adults were not as excited as Avalie, to say the least. The minute she was shooed off to bed for a second time, the questions resumed.
“How?”
“Why would you do such a thing?”
“What in the world possessed you?”
“Her?”
“She’s the heir to the throne! What does that make you?”
“Why would she even say yes?”
Edmund glared at his grandmother, who had asked that particular question. “Gee, thanks.”
She shrugged. “Don’t mention it.”
The soldier had proposed to the princess out of a mix of getting it out now and the belief he wouldn't make it. Now that the two are alive after the final battle, she intends to make good on what he promised and he's now wondering on how to explain it to his family.
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loveanddeepspice · 3 days ago
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𝕋𝕖𝕞𝕡𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝔾𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕖
✞ synopsis:  you've come back to the small town you grew up in for a visit. though your relationship with the catholic church and faith in general have been strained since you were younger, you find yourself drawn back to the church... or more specifically... the new priest... you aren't ready to share your secret sin with him... but you may not be able to help yourself.
✞ pairing: sylus x curvy fem!reader
✞ rating:  18+ (minors do not engage)
✞ cw:  religion (catholicism), priest, lapsed faith, adultery, priest kink, suicidal mention, dead parent, sex, masturbation, drugs (marijuana), mentions of other drug use, drinking (more will be added when/if they arise)
✞ disclaimer: this fiction explores a romantic relationship between a lapsed Catholic and an unconventional priest. it is not designed to be inflammatory or critical. catholic authors were asked to participate in the process. we hope you enjoy it, but we know that these topics can be sensitive, so please skip this fiction if it will in any way offend you.
✞ chapter:  6 / ?
✞ co-authors:  redbriony, confuseddoughnut (they do not have tumblr)
✞ ao3 link:  here
✞ chapter synopsis: "the only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it." - oscar wilde
✞ index: chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4 | chapter 5| chapter 6
Please comment on this post if you want to be added to the tag list for updates!
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Despite what happened, you would have done anything to face Father Sylus again. 
He was the type of person who radiated energy from within, dedication unlike anyone you had ever met - which could be a good or a bad thing. The thoughts became an obsession, all that seemed to fill your brain. The recollection of his touch made you sweat. It was the last thing you thought about before drifting off to sleep, the first thing you thought about when you woke, and the next few days stretched.  One thing was sure: you longed to see him again, if only for the courage to apologize.  But did you even have to apologize? He was the one who had kissed you first, right?  It was so unbelievably confusing. You’d talk yourself through circles; for once, no amount of sleeping seemed to help.  You weren’t even given the option to sleep it all off anyway or mellow properly in your self-pity. Upon learning of your ‘arrest’ from Talia, your father forced you out of the house that Sunday to go to church with him.  “What’s going on with you, Y/N?” Dad raised his eyebrows and frowned as he gripped the steering wheel, and you could tell he was trying hard not to get angry or frustrated. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, hon. You came back, and you’re acting weird.  Can you just tell me what’s wrong?”  Shaking your head, you shrugged, trying your hardest to maintain eye contact on the door handle, ignoring your dad’s question and wishing he’d just leave you alone.  “You went from being happy to totally distraught since you moved out. What am I supposed to think here, huh?”  ‘Maybe everything went to total fucking shit,’ was what you wanted to say, and tried not to roll your eyes. Dad tried so hard to not act like the authoritarian or pushy father, especially after your mother had died. He was never like that. And it was because of that you figured it was time to be at least a little truthful.  “I quit my job. I don’t know what I’m going to do from here, but -” you said, “I just…needed some time to think things through.”  Your dad parked the car and turned to offer you a subtle smile. You were convincing enough, obviously. “Okay, fine. Work in the store until you figure it out. It’ll be like old times.” One hand gripped the steering wheel as he looked at you, almost seeming to peer into your brain as his eyes flicked ever so slightly. “So, uh, is this about your mom? I didn’t know you were still upset about that. I should’ve tried to talk to you more.”  You bit down your reply, feeling a bitter taste in the back of your throat, and willing it away.  “No, it isn’t. Just forget about it.”  A long sigh filled the small space as your father pressed his lips together. “Christ, I can’t be mad at you right now. I’ve always let you do what you want.”  This was strange, a particular ache settling inside and spreading to your limbs like an infection. Maybe it wouldn’t stop now that it had started. And the first instinct was to get away and run. Run and run and just get away.  “Hon, Y/N,” Your Dad’s voice was pleading, and you nearly missed it. “We can go talk to -”  “No!” You blurted, immediately regretting it, mortified at just the thought. How did you speak so fast? “No, it’s fine. Let’s just go inside. We���re gonna be late.”
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You didn’t feel any better inside the church, but you weren’t expecting much to begin with. All you could do was suck it up and seat yourself beside your dad. It wasn’t crowded, but there were a few unfamiliar faces, so maybe not everyone would notice your fucked up mood. 
Everything felt surreal. You were sitting there in church with the sun streaming through the stained glass windows, and your gaze landed on the one depicting the Virgin Mary.
The word ethereal came to mind. 
Everything seemed like it would evaporate into thin air. Like if you moved too quickly, you’d wake up from one of those dreams that just turned out to be inside of another dream. 
And when a hush fell over the congregation, you had no choice but to look forward. No matter how your brain fizzes or your fingers tingle. You were forced to look at that handsome face in front of the church and feel the emotion well inside you. Something that felt different than embarrassment or frustration. 
Even from this distance, Father Sylus exudes that particular aura, daring to fill the whole church with its strength. You are once again reminded of how inescapable his presence is—not through belief or goodness, but something, someone who felt unearthly, even celestial, as absurd as it felt. 
Ethereal. Once again, with that pretty word. How could you even begin to explain it? It was so easy to feel some sort of bitterness, perhaps even selfishness. Who could blame you? Everything always seemed too simple when you looked at it from a distance. 
“Good morning,” He began, his voice taking on that strangely powerful, lilting cadence. He paused, hands clasping, and his posture was different. Shoulders broad, spine straight, chin lifted slightly. “I want to take a moment before we begin to discuss why we’re here.” 
You were drawn to his words, which had formed an invisible link to you. Maybe if you closed your eyes like you did at night, you could picture that night in the car. It felt foolish because you were certain your own thoughts were desperate. How stupid did it make you seem, trying to replay the sensation? A stupid crush. That is all you wanted it to amount to, even if looking into his fiery gaze had made you feel like you were melting.
“We’re here, in the house of the Lord. Why is this?” 
If a month’s insistence on chasing after a flame could be compared to anything -
 “Free will.” His tone picked up. “Through our actions, we make conscious decisions. As far as humankind is concerned, free will also makes us human.” 
Your breathing stilled. Something terrible seized your gut, a cramping feeling causing you to grit your teeth. 
“This is a sanctified place,” he continued, voice rich and filled with energy. “Within these walls, you should experience peace. Not conflict or anger. All are free here because it is with our actions that we build ourselves.”
How the hell did he manage this? The words continued spilling from his mouth, something pulling you further. And after a pause, his gaze filtered over the room again - and landed on you. 
Time was beginning to stand still, and you swore your face began to heat up. But, thankfully, the look didn’t linger on you, moving on as he cleared his throat. 
Well, fuck. 
There was only a tiny shift in expression, and perhaps you were the only one to notice how his pause seemed more lengthy than those before it. 
"We - uh.” Father Sylus made a show of glancing down at the notes before him and shuffling a few pages. “Sorry.” He cleared his throat again, a little louder this time. “What I mean to say is, with free will, we struggle against our urges and temptations. Sin beckons - uh,” another loud cough. He looked nervous. Vulnerable. In more ways than one. 
Father Sylus hastily pushed aside the pages, shoulders lifting in a deep breath before looking again at the people gathered. He straightened a little, and his powerful tone returned as he folded his hands neatly. “So, how do we resist? It can be hard to…admit one’s faults.” He let out a little huff of air, glancing down again. Then, he stepped away from the podium, stepping along the carpeted dais, hands clasped behind his back and thumbs tapping against each other. 
The congregation started shifting. A glance here and there, unable to guess what he would say next. Probably wondering why their priest was acting so…off. If you weren’t glued to your seat in, well, any number of the emotions you were feeling now - you would have high-tailed it out of there already. But instead, you were frozen in place, feeling like an outsider, feeling the shift in the air more than the others around you. 
“Take those feelings and multiply them by ten.” He stated, looking towards the back of the church at nothing in particular. It was as if he was somewhere only his mind knew. 
“Opportunity is often just an invitation to sin, yes. Free will is a man’s greatest power but also his biggest weakness. With that power comes responsibility. Satan doesn’t come dressed in a red cape and pointy horns in the middle of the night.” 
Oh God.
 There was a tense pause and stillness, and you wonder how you managed to sit here and listen. Those crimson eyes trailed around the room, but for another second, a brief and terrifying second, they burned into you.
“Satan comes as everything you’ve ever wished for.” He laughed, bitter and slightly hoarse. Then his eyes snapped forward again, unabashed. 
He coughed, cleared his throat again, and gestured with a finger above his head. “We all - well, we all think we can overcome any challenge. Big or small. Big and small.” Father Sylus let out a shaky exhale. “Um, the point is...The point is that the devil is ready to collect when you can’t. So, the point is that - uh,” His tone shifted to something smaller that made your insides tremble agonizingly. A breathless, tight sort of anxiousness that stole through your lungs and caused your heart rate to increase. It was impossible to deny that despite the words coming out of his mouth, you actually wanted to hear him continue. “Um, sometimes I think the hardest thing is that we are human, and we are weak.” 
Before he could even continue, his voice cracked. “I’m sorry.” He swallowed, grimacing, an anguish that you recognized. “Excuse me.” He looked like he might break, the wavering tension almost stifling the room, his expression almost tormented. 
“I’m sorry. Excuse me.” And with that, he disappeared into the back, leaving everyone shocked. 
Everyone except for you. 
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“And that’s why I’m never going to church again.” You rolled your eyes as you leaned against one of the shelves in your dad’s store, looking over at Rafayel, who was leaning against the counter, making it his personal mission to get every last drop out of an iced coffee. “You should have seen the look on his face. What a fuck up.” 
Rafayel wrinkled his nose, looked around the otherwise empty store, and then glanced at his phone. “Yikes. Poor guy.” He sighed and tapped his foot on the floor. “Talia came home and said he had a migraine - but it’s even more hilarious that a near-public breakdown was because of you.” 
“My God, you are awful.” You frowned and stepped forward to lightly punch his arm, reaching out and catching his elbow with a grimace as he pretended to almost fall over. “That’s a horrible thing to say! You were the one who was practically encouraging me!” 
“I would never,” Rafayel huffed, clicking his tongue and shaking his head. “Anyway, it’s been almost a week now. You’re gonna have to suck it up and face him sooner or later.” With a firm nod, he shook off your hold and dusted his hand on the faded denim of his jeans, turning his attention back to his phone and shaking the ice in the cup he held. 
“How would I do that?” You asked. 
As if oblivious, Rafayel arched a brow and smiled tightly, peering at you over the edge of his phone. His tone was less-than-reassuring, sounding almost pitying. “No fucking idea.” 
You opened your mouth to argue but thought better of it as the shop door opened, just in time for the chilly afternoon to bring in your dad and Xavier. You took a deep breath at the sound of the bell and forced yourself to calm down.
As if on cue, Rafayel pushed himself away from the counter and looked in your direction. “Well, Y/N.” He said, tossing a wink in your direction that made you want to reach out and knock the silly grin off his face. “Good luck.” With that, he turned and walked out of the store with a shake of his head. 
Your dad mumbled something under his breath before tossing a wave a little too late and heading into the back of the small building. 
Unease had settled in your stomach at your friend's departure. You felt as if you had more to say, ask, or get a general idea of as you stared at the shop's door. You ran a hand over your tired face and sighed. 
“Hi,” Xavier gave you a careful, controlled smile as you turned toward his voice. “Need help with anything?” 
You tried your best not to fidget or bite your lip. “No, but it’s nice of you to offer.” You shrugged and glanced away briefly. “Why? Got nothing else to do?” 
“Uh, I work here?” He blinked as he stepped forward. You could take in his softening facial features now that he was closer. His smile didn’t quite fade as he looked around the quiet shop. “Anyway - I um. I tried to call you last night? About dinner?” 
Tilting your head in confusion, you froze. Then, you processed the sentence. 
Dinner. Shit. 
“Oh! My phone went missing. I’m sure it’ll turn up soon or something. Wasn’t the nicest phone anyways,” you brushed some hair behind your ear. “I still can’t figure out how it disappeared!” You forced a laugh at your lie and shifted uncomfortably.
You’d completely forgotten about agreeing to go out with him. How fucking stupid were you? So caught up in the idea of -
“Well, uh, I didn’t plan much. So it’s okay, we can just do something another night. Right?” Xavier suggested, and you couldn’t tell if he had let it go so quickly or was suspicious about your behavior. 
Either way, you smiled, rationalizing with yourself for what felt like the millionth time that spending time with him would be a good thing. Any way to keep your mind distracted. Clearly, he still wanted to go out with you, and you certainly wouldn’t say no. After all, who could blame you for latching on anyone who showed the slightest interest? 
This would be a step in the right direction, right? Things would get better. They had to. No matter how weird it felt for you to think so. 
“That’s fine. Sorry, my head’s all over the place.” 
The worst part of it all was the sudden weight in your stomach, the ache in your chest that was becoming all too tiring. Something pushed you in the complete opposite direction of the young man in front of you, towards what you really wanted, and had no explanation for why you did. 
“Y/N?” Xavier spoke again and stepped closer, watching your expression with careful scrutiny, his hand reaching out to touch yours, giving you a new feeling of unease. “Hey, um, - you alright?” 
Your heart wrenched a little at the worry, and you wondered exactly how pathetic you appeared. “I think so. Can you take over? I gotta step out for a while.”
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It grew colder as you walked along the sidewalk, sticking your hands inside your jacket pockets. Clouds gathered in the distance, inching their way towards the suburb. The air smelled fresher, as if it might snow lightly sometime at night. A breeze swept over the street, stirring pieces of your hair from its confines, and you briefly thought you should have remembered your scarf. 
Then, you came to a stop in front of the church. 
You looked down at your outfit, the jeans and the oversized blue sweater you had found in your mom's closet, when you couldn’t be bothered to do your own laundry. Perhaps she would give you strength, or at least enough willpower from wherever she was to give you the courage to turn right the fuck around and go back home.  She was always straightforward in that way, even without the drinking. If only you had taken after her in that aspect. 
For a moment, you almost turned to leave, giving yourself the opportunity to simply walk away and go home. However, after a few seconds of mental debate, you stepped along the worn walkway and up the steps, slipping your hand out of your pocket to place it on the worn wooden door. 
Somewhere in your mind was a glimmer of hope, the possibility of resolve.
Now that you had gathered whatever courage you had left, you took one last, bracing breath before pushing the door open. A jolt of energy speared up your arms, a buzzing sensation against your fingertips. Once you were inside, everything felt eerily silent. Almost too silent. But as the familiar warmth enveloped you, your body relaxed slightly as you shrugged off your jacket. 
The last light from the day was casting through the windows, and the interior was a muted, golden glow and soft orange. It felt warm in more ways than one. Despite the hushed nature of the building, energy thrummed within you. The atmosphere was inviting, but for some reason, you couldn’t quite muster the ability to step forward any further, feet stuck to the floor beneath you. It was ironic, yet in a way, expected; you felt like crying or throwing something, but maybe punching Father Sylus would give you the most satisfaction. 
The chapel seemed alien to you as you made your way further inside. 
Loneliness was all-consuming, a fear ever present and threatening in the back of your mind. You wondered why it hurt so much. And, you considered whether you have ever experienced a real connection in your life. You zeroed in on the cross beyond the rows of pews as if you could use it for answers. It glinted a little in the evening light that filtered through the stained glass. Your eyes felt dry as they fixed upon the illuminated wood, searching, listening, walking towards the front of the church like a mouse. 
“You think this is funny, don’t you?” You asked your question out loud. The silence of the building taunted you in return, and something constricted within your chest. The rush of it all was consuming, filling your every thought with hope and expectation. A breath sucked in, and you shook your head, blinking. Everything felt off, and you had no idea what your body was supposed to do with itself. “This is so fucked. You know, this is all…just so messed up,” you choked out the whisper and, with a small gasp, swallowed. The emotions swelled. Heavy and pounding and suddenly overwhelming. 
Who gave a shit? Nothing would change. 
But, maybe - 
Would God be willing? Could He lift the spell put on you that would continue to grow? 
“Mom is dead, and she’s not coming back.” The words spilled and dropped like shattered glass. “And, uh, it’s just like, that’s fucked up. Isn’t it? Please, it’s - well, I wish I knew, God damn it. Motherfucker!” You swore louder than you should have, not recognizing your own voice. A feeling that had no name gripped your heart. This was it. You were giving up. “Totally fucked up. And you go and make me do stupid shit? What kind of test is that?” 
Only silence answered. You wondered how you should feel. As angry as you were, it felt strange to voice it. Finally, saying the words brought unusual comfort, and it was too easy to admit everything now. “Yeah, yeah. You should really apologize, God. Lord. Jesus. Whatever.” 
“I’m sorry.” The voice that spoke back did not belong to you. Echoing off the walls and the stained glass, it sent a jolt up your spine, causing you to spin in its direction. Leaning against a doorframe was Father Sylus, looking down at the floor, that shameful expression resurfacing on his face. You witnessed the repentant facade as he lifted his head and looked at you. 
It felt like a flood rushed through you, coursing, washing away the anger, seeping into every cell, and filling you with something new. Warm and soft, somehow breaking you apart as it passed. Something indecipherable but true. 
Something almost wonderful and exhilarating. 
He looked like something you could draw. That raw, exposed sort of aura. 
That same warmth enveloped your heart, the comfort expanding across your chest. There was something profound and affectionate within his gaze and the sense that you had underestimated what was truly meant by the phrase ‘care and concern.’
It could have been a few seconds. Or minutes passed as you stood rooted to the spot. The beating of your heart seemed to echo in your ears. Blood pulsed through your veins, the silence around you growing louder. 
“For what?” You were almost afraid to speak up. 
“For whatever you’re feeling,” Father Sylus stated plainly. Then he straightened, and his look shifted, and for a split second, he stepped forward, only to pause with his fingers twitching at his sides. Maybe there was confusion flickering in his gaze. Or longing. But he still didn’t move from where he stood, as if unable to break the tension he had with himself. After a time, he studied your face and added, “For everything and for nothing.” 
After a moment of thought, you shook your head. “That’s vague.” 
“It’s all I’ve got.” Father Sylus ran a hand behind his neck, almost nervously, eyes shifting and gaze searching. Another pause lingered between you, and you blinked a few times. He opened and closed his mouth, finally settling on placing both his hands on his hips, inclining his head to look at the stained glass windows. “That…and guilt.” 
His admission seemed weighted, and his voice was heavy. You watched him take a step forward, then hesitate. 
In that second, there was a great leap in understanding. You understood that he would not look directly at you because it would break this sacred reverence between you and whatever else was going on within his mind. 
Maybe it’d always been a game, and perhaps you knew deep down that this would be his next move. The inevitable, silent communication. Slowly, you folded your shaky arms over your chest. The look that flashed in his eyes made you shudder. With a new boldness, you swallowed and whispered: “Why are you telling me this?” 
Exhaling hard, you weren’t sure whether to scream, laugh, or cry as you awaited your answer.
He swallowed, his dark gaze teeming like a fire in the low light, the red burning. His lip curled. “Because I feel like you can understand it. Why I feel this way.” 
A sick urge, sharp and needy, had you crossing the space between you, the air shaking and trembling as he finally took another stride forward. Your eyes traced over his face. Deep and pained and beautiful. His chest heaved. A strange, bittersweet satisfaction filled you. 
“I - I can’t stop thinking about -” you broke off, words quivering as you spoke. “Us. The other night - it keeps going through my head, what I said, and -” your voice was breaking again, the achy, miserable desperation settling in. 
You could tell he was holding his breath, hands now clenched into fists, gaze searching and uncertain. “I didn’t mean to deceive you.” The words hung heavy as he stepped closer, finally closing the distance between you, tilting your chin, and forcing you to look at him. The grip held you firmly, though his eyes remained gentle and pleading. “I want nothing more than to pray - beg for your forgiveness. Try and restore whatever trust I’ve betrayed - but in all truth, God, I -” 
Another thick swallow, and he paused, the corner of his mouth twisting. He squeezed your chin lightly as if in search of some answer. Then his hand fell to his side, his head turning to look at the cross behind the altar. Something burned beneath your ribs. 
“What is it?” You whispered, trembling with the effort of not spilling all your unresolved thoughts. “Tell me - tell me something, anything, or - or -” You stopped yourself, feeling a little pathetic at not being able to formulate the proper words. 
“My path was never exactly clear, but,” Father Sylus swallowed thickly, sounding more scared than ever. “Someone I loved when I was younger - she -” A long sigh escaped his lips. “We were each other's firsts and…We loved each other very much.” He exhaled again. His face creased into sadness, reminiscent and haunting. A sharp pain, almost. One that lingered from emotions held within. The truth was there, plain as day, naked, heartbroken, and fragile. “She died when she was eighteen.” 
Pain squeezed at you mercilessly, tight and almost bone-crunching. You stepped closer, your brain slowly putting it all together, realization hitting. Then your bottom lip trembles as you reach out, taking hold of his hand and squeezing it. “I’m sorry,” you manage to say after a moment, “that must have been -” Another pause, trying to settle your lungs into a steadier breathing pattern. 
He squeezed your hand, looking at you, catching your gaze and holding it, unwavering. “I went to her funeral in a church far bigger than this one with twice the congregation. And later that day, when they put her down into the ground, I listened to the Monsignor pray over her soul.” He looked away again, this time up at the beams in the ceiling. “And I really listened to what he was saying for the first time. And I don’t know why, I just suddenly felt…” He trailed off, and you moved your hand further up his arm, willing him to continue by pressing your fingertips gently into his forearm. 
He smiled at the ceiling, faint and apologetic. “I felt at peace. Everything clicked into place. As stupid as that sounds. It was like something I couldn’t understand but needed. And, well,” he shrugged. 
“At last, it finally made sense to me,” he muttered. “The power God holds over us was always right there.” Then he turned to face you, his fingers reaching and resting on your cheek, tracing the soft skin of your jaw. “And now, I stand before you - finding these feelings again, the first true connection I’ve felt in years. I don’t mean to doubt anything…but I don’t know how to...” 
He let his voice drift off before tucking your hair behind your ear, movements tender. You wondered what he could see in your expression. 
“How did she die?” You asked quietly as if the question would destroy something in the air, but you needed to ask it anyway. 
The corners of his mouth trembled as he stroked his thumb along your jawline, offering you a small, grim smile. “She was mad at something, drank herself sick. Decided a joy ride on a motorcycle might be a good idea,” he turned his gaze to the ceiling again, and it finally hit you that he kept doing that as a trick to keep himself from crying. “She lost control and swerved, hit a wall head-on. Died on impact. Stupid girl with the dumbest ideas. She used to talk about seeing if the world curved or if the stars continued forever. She was funny and smart - but not as smart as she should have been. Her blood alcohol level came back three times the legal limit.” 
“That’s horrible,” you breathed. The puzzle pieces were assembled together. A crash. Drunk. How similar it was to your mother. Only your mother hadn’t met death head-on. It was still one of those things that made you wonder; which would have been worse? The chance was so similar yet unique. Still, as Father Sylus spoke about it, you swore you felt the faint sorrow he must still carry within himself.
“Sylus, I’m -” 
“Don’t be sorry.” He said, finally regaining a certain poise about his face, somehow managing to look warm even at this moment, smiling very softly. 
At his words, you realized you were breathing harder than before, and it didn’t go unnoticed as he scanned your face. You didn’t know what was wrong with you; you felt an emotion you could no longer explain. He had experienced loss, same as you, just not in the same way. 
Father Sylus let out a dry snort. “It’s not a happy memory, but something good comes from pain. Distrust to trust. Fear to courage. Hatred to love. To an extent, those things make you understand and appreciate everything.” 
You nodded, unable to stop yourself from wrapping your arms around his middle, convincing yourself you would forget how to breathe if you didn’t. You embraced him because it felt like the right thing to do, the smoothness of his shirt beneath your fingertips. His hand ran up along your side until it rested on your neck's base, soft, gentle, and warm. He exhaled a little before resting his chin on the top of your head. 
As he held you, you realized that this was what you had wanted. This was what you had really been aching for. Everything shifted again, changing, rushing with a tangle of nerves and dizziness. Nothing else would settle more easily than being cradled right there, where you could breathe him in. 
“Hey, do you -” He leaned back, both hands cupping your face, tilting it to meet his own. It took him a moment to formulate his question. “I shouldn’t ask, but - do you still want me?” 
Of course you did. More than anything. 
But even then, you should have stepped away. Should have walked out without another word, back to whatever fucking regular life you thought you had. But with whatever strength you had left, you pushed everything aside and quietly said, “Yes.” 
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He had pressed you against the wooden door of the office, pinning you in place after dragging you in there and shutting the door. Not that you really had any intention of going anywhere. Not with his lips moving against yours, the desperation sending sparks along your skin.  His tongue darted out, parting your lips and moving into your mouth. Hungry and forceful and tasting every inch.
“You know,” he said as he pulled back, taking a second to breathe, “It’s so hard to be good when you’re so…” He trailed off, leaving you to only imagine what he would say. 
No, you had no words or any logical thoughts, really. Perhaps this was the closest thing to heaven you’d ever feel, surely. And Father Sylus ran his hands down your sides, slow and possessive, grabbing fistfuls of your sweater and bunching it up. Heat began spreading throughout your body as his fingertips crept underneath and stoked along the sensitive skin. 
“Will you let me in?” He mumbled, his lips now on the underside of your jaw as his palms spanned across your stomach as if trying to map out every inch of exposed skin. The blood pounded in your veins, pulsing in rhythm with your heartbeat.
“If this is what it feels like to be tempted,” you mused, gasping as he sucked on the skin above your collarbone, gripping the front of his shirt. “I have already failed. Miserably.” 
Letting out a hot breath that sounded an awful lot like laughter, he pulled away, a smile stretching across his lips, amused. “I suppose you really have,” he chuckled. His hands gripped your hips and spun you around so you were against his desk. Then he ducked down to press more kisses along your throat. The shivers returned as he lifted your sweater over your head, tossing it aside with another wicked grin. And for the first time, you noticed the hint of a dimple in the corner of his mouth. 
After a moment, Father Sylus fumbled with the buttons of his shirt until that, too, was discarded, skin suddenly bare. The sight made you stop, observing for a moment. For the first time, your fingers reached out and touched the skin of his chest, moving over the muscles and across his stomach. You marveled at the way he flinched slightly, inhaling sharply at your touch. 
Everything felt…hot, heavy, and inappropriate in the best way. 
And before you knew it, his hands were running up along the bare skin of your stomach, a barely-there brush that made your breath hitch. Then his hands were behind your back, unhooking your bra as his lips found yours again, rough and fervent. As it was removed, there was not a second of delay before his hands cupped both of your breasts, squeezing and drawing his thumbs over your nipples. 
“You’re so beautiful,” his hands shifted, fingers resting along the waistband of your jeans. 
It was like every little action was becoming overwhelming, sending pulsing waves through every nerve, vein, and muscle. When he popped the button, slid the zipper, and slowly eased the jeans down, the pulsing only got stronger—dizzying with its intensity. It was challenging to focus on anything else that would make more sense. Your mind was clouded. 
“Wait,” you breathed, sitting on the desk, pulling the clip from your hair and tossing it to the floor, the waves tumbling out. His hands never left you, still roaming over every little centimeter of you they could get access to, “I -” 
It didn’t need to be said, whatever it was. Because a grin broke out across his lips. A bright, glorious grin as Father Sylus pressed another harsh kiss to your lips like he could swallow the words down.
Stepping closer, he maneuvered you onto your back, your legs dangling over the edge of the desk. The smooth, cool wood pressed against the length of your spine and shoulders as you heard something that sounded like a book fall somewhere behind you. He gripped the soft flesh of your thighs, blunt nails digging in. Breath hitching, your heart thumped at the roughness and passion of his movements. Something animalistic and unrestrained lay just beneath the surface, waiting, ready. 
“Let me,” he urged quietly, fingers winding over the lace underwear, dragging them down the length of your legs. Fingers stroked up again, curling and caressing your inner thighs, one hand finally reaching the place where you were already desperate, soaking wet, and aching to be touched. Without hesitation, a digit dipped, sliding along your slick folds and slipping in easily. The motion made you bite down on your tongue as his other hand ran along the underside of your knee, urging your leg up and apart. 
You felt the pad of his thumb gliding over the little bundle of nerves, back and forth in a way that made you groan. 
“You are,” his voice was low, almost a growl, and his teasing continued. “So gorgeous, laying there. I can’t stop looking at you.” One finger became two. Slick and hot as they moved into you, each stroke moving deeper. All too suddenly, his lips were crashing down against yours, kissing you hard and desperately as if set on devouring you whole. 
The only thing keeping you stable was grabbing his shoulder and his upper arm. The sudden rise of pressure rushed around you. His thumb slipped, pressing down a bit more on your clit, drawing another gasp from you, a sound that filled the room. Then he pulled his hand away, an invisible weight settling when the digits were gone, leaving you empty and still aching for more. 
“I’m on birth control,” you managed, eyes blinking rapidly as you processed that this, in fact, was actually about to happen. The fullness beneath your belly was spooling tighter, coiling. 
It was only a few seconds; that’s all it took for him to undo his belt buckle, his length freed. Straining, leaking, begging to be inside you. The size of it makes you swallow a certain anxious lump in your throat. 
“Please.” The word spilled out before you could stop it. The coil inside you grew more and more tense and throbbing. You needed it now; the consequences didn’t matter, nor did the guilt or shame. “Please.”
His breathing hitched as if a long controlled flame within had been ignited. One of his hands rested on your hip, the other hooking under your opposite knee, parting you further and steadying himself. The tip of his cock pressed at your center. You didn’t have any time to prepare because, at that very moment, he was pushing further, sliding into you inch by inch. 
The heat and fullness and pleasure coursed, trembling through you. 
“Sweetheart,” he breathed, face buried in the crook of your neck, but you could hear the grin in his tone, the soft desperation in his voice. “You, you -” but his breath choked off as he pushed all the way inside, the moan that ripped through him cracked and hoarse. 
It took you a moment to feel him fully, gasping for air and dazed beyond what was really necessary. Holding tight, you wrapped an arm around his neck, exhaling hard. The room became a haze around the two of you, the entire moment almost suspended, paused, put on hold. 
When he moved his hips again, you whimpered as he hit somewhere deep, and your pleasure spiked. 
“Fuck,” he whispered against your skin, raising himself just enough to look at you, eyes glinting with a certain fervor. A little dark, a little feral, something wildly possessive and hungry and yearning all at once. “Oh, fuck,” he hissed, gritting his teeth and closing his eyes. Another jolt shot through you. Another strong thrust, this one harder than the last, followed by another. And another. It took a minute for him to set a rhythm, but when he did - you were sure the air was being pushed from your lungs each time. 
You couldn’t do anything but hang on. His mouth met yours in a sloppy, forceful kiss. Gasping and shuddering, you tried not to shout at the next jolt. The constant grind fills you every time. Deeper and sharper. The steady, thrumming pleasure. Intense and focused, as if Father Sylus were on a mission. Searching for something. Finding each sweet spot with whatever desperate greed drove him. Like now that he’d had the taste of something forbidden, he wanted the best of it - anything you could offer. 
He shifted slightly, and before you knew it, he hooked your leg over his shoulder, the deep angle making you arch from the desk. 
One hand tangled in his hair, the other on his shoulder, gripping hard and pulling him closer, trying to keep him buried deep inside of you. The friction built, the pace driving forward and drawing the pressure up, leaving you malleable and aching for release. But somehow, wanting it to last as long as possible. 
When the pleasure spooled tighter and tighter, every breath came short, coming fast and shorter. Until finally with one long, breathy whimper of an exhale, release washed over you, crashing like a wave. His name slipped out of your mouth, some deep, instinctual part of your brain keeping you present enough to utter it, still pulsing around him, shaking. 
And that brought him there, a little broken sound falling from his lips. Hips snapping, driving just the slightest bit further until he groaned into the side of your neck, spilling inside you. After a moment, the stillness settled between the two of you, heavy and thick. There was no actual sound other than ragged breathing. 
You stared at the ceiling, trembling and a bit boneless, wholly dumbfounded and satisfied. Then, with every ounce of energy left, you sat up, placing a hand on his chest.
“You okay?” 
A rush flooded through you at his question, and you struggled to make sense - to be logical and reasonable. 
“Yeah,” you said quickly, “I just. I…” What was the right wording? You trailed off, eyes focused somewhere beyond him. Struggling, you kept your eyes away. How could you possibly articulate the warmth that had settled over you, the lift in your confusion that had been gnawing at you until this moment? How could you explain feelings that make no real sense? 
“I feel at peace.” A near whisper because your words made it tangible, whatever it was. And really, you did feel lighter. It was as if something weighing on your shoulders had lifted in a way that wasn’t just because of the act that had been performed. 
“Really?” A sharp inhale of his breath. 
You nodded, reaching out to hold his face and running your thumbs along his cheekbones. Father Sylus slowly returned the nod, a tentative but wonderful, hopeful smile quirking up his lips—something bright and genuine, untouched by bitterness or remorse.
Serenity had sunken in with a comforting familiarity. Settling inside, like the feeling of returning home. Like the truth had opened its door. Acceptance and serenity. Understanding. Clarity, even. The knowledge you weren’t as broken or faulty as you thought. 
A moment passed, no words spoken. Then, still breathless and maybe a bit disbelieving, Father Sylus reached out and traced a cross on your brow with his thumb. 
“Did you just -” You blinked, a bit indignant as you huffed. “Did you just…bless me?”
He looked a bit sheepish, hands resting on your shoulders, thumbs rubbing gentle circles along your collarbone. “Guess I did.” With a slight chuckle, he leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss on your forehead. 
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Tag list: @celestialforce, @readerxyourbabe, @babyx91
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mewkwota · 2 days ago
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Kid Ica- sorry, Pit.
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Oh neat. Finally we end this long session with this sweet boy. :>
Send Me a Character
And I will tell you my:
First impression
I am one of the millions of people who only knew Pit from Smash. When Brawl's reveal trailer showed its face on Youtube, I recognized every single character. Every single one. Including Snake, especially Snake. But when I saw this kid I thought he was Roy for a second because of the sunset lighting on the Halberd. It took me a couple of seconds to register the name that popped up as someone I briefly saw in Melee. I think Mr. Sakurai knew what he was doing here.
Pit is, like, one of my most favorite characters. His design and character hit about all the right spots for me on my mental checklist. I had a huge thing for angels has a cringy tween, plus he had brown hair in this look which I preferred more, and the outfit certainly does say "this one can kick butt". Also ooh that weapon, how versatile!
But yeah, it was bad. I had an OC who I paired with Pit. And also who wouldn't wanna try on that look (I never did, but the wings would do, and the many times I'd spin sticks like he did his bow, bwaghh).
Even with all that, there was so little to him. I'd scrape around the Internet looking for whatever I could about the kid. And that's where I learned what Captain N was. So you can thank/blame Pit for getting me into Castlevania and (even more into Classic) Mega Man.
With whatever I could gather, along with Uprising's release, I had a reasonable idea as to who Pit was. He's cheery, adorable, and selfless. And I feel some of the other layers to his character that I've picked up also stem from his background as an overlooked retro character. I've discussed this aspect in a comic between him and Sora's addition to Smash. I can tell Mr. Sakurai wanted to give Pit something he didn't quite have, and I chose to translate this as the kiddo having quite the journey in making himself known. Very little by little, until that point in Smash where we know him now.
I'm not surprised if people also saw this like an "ugly swan" path.
Impression now
I may be focusing more on his friends now, but Pit holds a very-very special place in my heart. Especially now that Uprising is a thing, and I have actually grown a li~ttle sour towards it.
I know some of the humor in that game can be itty witty silly banter, but sometimes the jokes at Pit's expense can get a little, uhh, old. I get it, he's a brainless chicken who only thinks about food whatever.
It isn't like he can't be a competent character and still be silly, but sometimes the general fanbase can conflate one side. A lot. Because it's funny, sure I understand. Even I like to give Pit his silly moments, but I'd hope it's seen as him being allowed to let loose with his friends, who don't see him as someone lesser-- despite being very prolific representatives in their homelands.
This part of Pit is such an interesting thing to explore. Pit is the captain of a goddess' army. I don't think it matters the size of the army themselves, as everything is dependent on the decisions of their leader. And he's quite skilled with a variety of weapons now that Uprising has implemented that to his person.
There are so many impressive little things that Pit can call his own, but then why would he still feel inferior. Maybe it's because that's how he grew up. I can see it in the context of his place as a random retro character, but also as "that tiny angel who can't fly". (And maybe also the near-constant belittling he gets from the ones above). So as much as he's shown to be so positive, there are definitely moments where those weaknesses are seen or implied.
Long story short, it's the little things here-n-there that I like about him. It also makes for interesting prompts to write about.
Favorite moment
Am I able to pick one? Uhh, Pit randomly singing at the start of that one chapter is always gonna be cute. He does a lot of cute things. ^^;
Idea for a story
Something about Pit and Rock's relationship in Captain N clicks with me. On the outside it doesn't seem like much aside from "the two little kids hanging around each other", but perhaps that's just me picking at the words they say while mixing in the biases I already have. As a result, I see it that Rock follows after Pit in everything, but Pit also views Rock highly. They both found something in each other.
See this super ancient comic about it here.
One comic I had simmering for decades was looking at the between the two's connection after the events of Captain N and reuniting in Smash 4. It would have been in Pit's perspective and done through several letters-- that he needed help writing.
Unpopular opinion
I don't know what is unpopular.
I'm not a part of the KI fandom. I am a part of the Pit fandom, wah.
Favorite relationship
*Shoves Captain N in your face once again*
Favorite headcanon
Pit is concerningly humble. He has a lot of little talents up his sleeve, a lot of which were picked up with the various part-time things he'd volunteer to do, but he doesn't really make a big deal of them. Some were simply picked up from the duties he was expected to do, or of course, they're just things he can do (so why is that really important).
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rosewaterandpinkseasalt · 2 days ago
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if we’re going with that though—do we think steven would really figure that out during the timeline of the show? we only see him up until the age of sixteen. he’s processing everything he’s been through (which is a lot) and he’s in a terrible mental state. i think this is something he’s going to reflect on & really figure out in post canon. if anything, a tiny silver lining is that the end of canon reminds young people that they don’t need to have all their traumas resolved right away! his relationship, too, is something he’s still working on but we can kind of tell they’re always going to be together.
i can’t help but sympathize with steven & as someone who’s older than him i really like how you always acknowledge the outside perspective! lots of rose haters see the show from steven’s perspective and forget that they can have an outside one, too. i try to look at both.
through steven’s eyes, he has a whole belief system set up and so much happens throughout his adolescence that, while he changes and goes through unimaginable things, he doesn’t know what to believe anymore. he starts to only see extremes. he started off with imagining rose as this perfect mother for comfort, and then he learns things about her that are quite alarming (i.e., bismuth being bubbled, not telling garnet and ame and dad about being a diamond) and feels this bitterness & anger. he even begins to question if she’s a bad person. it’s going to take awhile for him to process and figure out everything.
in a very similar way, he has trouble with how he feels about himself. he grew up isolated from lots of kids & finding out he was a protector & a healer, but as time goes on he struggles with self blame and self doubt. he begins focusing so much on protecting others that he forgets about himself—which makes him lose some self awareness, too.
so, when he’s in fight or flight like that and he needs to make a last minute decision, he chooses something that’s extremely self destructive but with the intention to protect the person he loves most. & that’s interesting to me because he’s not only reminding me of one mom here—he’s reminding me of pearl, too.
situations involving life or death & fight or flight, when the person already has lots of unresolved trauma and mental health issues… these situations can easily bring out some troubling aspects of people.
i have so much empathy for steven & pearl that i can’t bring myself to say that they were bad hurtful partners—really, they were being self destructive. & i think connie and rose were upset but more so because they were worried about their partners and they couldn’t do anything to protect them. it’s not something that would end their relationships or lessen trust—but it’s definitely a good example of how putting your loved ones over yourself & not having self compassion can cause issues when they feel the same amount of love for you & want to protect you, too.
@selkie-soup you know steven & connverse better than i do, but this situation is just very interesting to me and i thought i would chime in! i hope this is soup approved :3
it irks me so much when people act like Connie is in the wrong for how she acted after the trial. It ignores three things. One- Connie is 12, of course she won't act "perfect". Two- she tried to talk to him irl but Steven was at the cabin with the gems + his dad. Three- Connie has a right to take space, even if it was in her best interest it's not unreasonable she was hurt. She wanted to be there for him and they promised to protect each other (not to mention if any of Pearl's ideology still effected her) and she felt like their promise was broken. It was for the best she was left behind but she can still have complex feelings about the topic.
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alliluyevas · 1 year ago
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in terms of the states whose affiliation as part of "the south" is somewhat more debatable, for a lot of them there's a sense of regional overlap. like we can all agree on the deep south but is texas southern or western or both? what about the ozarks? (i would personally include the ozarks in the south and i think texas is both southern and western). there is also a LOT of debate about virginia which i think is kind of insane because if you look at the pre-1900 history of virginia there could be absolutely no question that virginia is southern. the only reason people are arguing that virginia is not/is no longer a southern state is because of the increased suburban sprawl emanating from dc into northern virginia that is largely populated by transplants from elsewhere and i think that's definitely changed the dynamics of the state as a whole significantly but a) not all of virginia is nova b) i don't think that outweighs the historical background.
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gay-otlc · 2 years ago
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Some queer goyim don't even try to hide the fact that they view queer Jews and Jews in general as less important than they are
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plexippusangel · 9 months ago
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I either need to accept that I am just a way stronger person than this friend and can handle way more while still being able to engage with the world as a person, or recognize excuses as excuses, accept that I am not valued and be done or. Maybe both. Idk. It might be somewhere between the two. I am just sick of regular life stuff rendering him unable to spend any time with me, and of him being unable to bear any of the details of my life, when I would move mountains to rekindle our friendship. Though I'm starting to wonder if I still would.
#faer personal files#i just. really didn't want officiating his wedding to be our last hurrah of friendship even though i did kind of feel it coming#also i'm really sick of being infantilized for my chronic fatigue i am a grown adult and i know what i'm capable of#ugh. maybe i'm just being awful and not understanding in which case i'm too much of a rancid person to be his friend i guess#but i don't think that's the case#idk i'll never forget when i couldn't see this dude for a year even masked up outside for covid but when another of our old friends came up#from her job doing COVID RELATED CROWD CONTROL FOR THE FUCKING ARMY he went on a hike with her mask off#and i think that says a lot about what our friendship's been for years honestly. if he can't bear my company idk why i try#if i'm just an interesting prop for conversations and occasions but not a friend. i can't accept that#i am an interesting prop for conversations. the disabled genderfluid bisexual genius who lost everything bc of said disability#but i didn't lose everything i just have to fucking rebuild on new ground. and i am doing that. i whine on occasion but i am so strong#and i do know how to interact with people without traumadumping i haven't on him in YEARS but his concept of me crystalized at age 21#or something like that i guess. idk it just breaks my heart#bc for a long time he was my person. he was the only person who knew the authentic me. more even than my sisters at times.#and yeah that was a little unhealthy but at the time he craved that!!!#and then i grew up and stopped needing him like that around the same time he stopped wanting that and it should have been fucking fine#but like. even senior year of college when i was sick it was already starting to fall apart#like i remember being on a small hike once being exhausted and jokingly being like you gotta carry me back and then being like#no really i might actually need an arm to lean on by the end of this walk if i'm gonna make it back to the car i really don't know if i can#and he said no bc he didn't want to look straight. who the fuck CARES??? i could barely walk i was stumbling my way back annoying him going#too slow. fuck. and that really has been what our friendship has been for years. the minute my house wasn't the most convenient place it wa#more or less dead idk why i keep dragging this horse around#idk why i keep letting him break my heart like this it's so stupid he's never gonna care about me like he did when i was quick and brillian#but never quite as smart as him in his view. fuck him. i'm smarter. just bc i was a little gullible or paranoid at times bc of the#FUCKING CPTSD doesn't mean i was dumber than him. the fuck??? there's something wrong with me i swear idk why i hang on#anyway i'm irritated. but i'm also reluctant to throw away somebody who's seen me through key points in my life. so.
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rimouskis · 2 years ago
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okay I've decided against pursuing any sort of diagnosis re: my growing suspicions I have ADHD/something of that ilk for a variety of reasons, but it will NEVER stop galling me how I lack object permanence. like a baby. I need to have clear storage containers because if I cannot see something I forget it exists. it's both a relief to know that there is a potential "explanation" for such behavior but also realizing that most other people can do convenient things (like: remembering the existence of stuff) is also FRUSTRATINGGGG because I wish that was me! imagine being able to remember things not only casually but well! imagine that! god!
#it's also frustrating because it can bleed into interpersonal relationships and depending on people's friendship styles it can have a...#large impact. like back in high school my best friend would regularly be hurt by me not remembering things#(ranging from stories she'd tell me to stories I'd already told her to people's names to pieces of information I'd been made aware of)#and I took it personally at that age and sort of took it as:#''I am an inherently selfish person who can't remember things about other people and I am Bad''#and while that friendship grew apart and she sort of resigned herself (eventually) to me being the way that I was#I guess I never really let go of my guilt around it... and even now I still feel Very Bad about not remembering things#and I've often thought to myself of how I could mitigate it to be a better friend#but I short of ''keeping notes on your friends and the stories they tell you which you will need to reference often''#I've not had much luck in cracking that#I feel like as I've grown older I've found friends who (for whatever reason) don't take my ''poor memory'' personally#[and hilariously I've seemed to befriend people with FREAKISHLY GOOD memories who more than make up for my own]#and that's been... a bit better because it's been many years since I've had a friend make me feel bad for not remembering something#and in fact I have friends now who HAVE diagnosed ADHD who (obviously) Get It#but back of my head I still think that I do the people around me a disservice by not frequently/accurately committing things to memory#I think it makes me a worse friend and a worse employee for that matter#and I do in fact wish there was a magic pill that would grant me that ability and that ability only. it feels like it would change my LIFE.#anyways this tag essay is brought to you by:#me looking for my concert earplugs (which I have never used despite buying them FOR three concerts I went to last year since I kept...#say it with me... forgetting about them the day of the concert!) and finding a stash of two different battery types I had no idea I owned#anyways. earplugs are going into my car so I will have them on me#and batteries have been moved to the clear container in my closet with the other batteries. sigh.
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britneyshakespeare · 5 months ago
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I wonder if Shakespeare had a dog
#it would make complete sense#lance and crab in two gentlemen of verona. come on#recently i forgot the name of lance and i only remembered that his dog's name was crab#text post#shakespeare#other references to dogs in the play do come off to me as mostly positive#not that you should interpret shakespeare's work autobiographically but i can read in the imagination of it#someone who has had an appreciation for that animal on some personal level before.#if he ever had dogs in his life. that'd be just like me fr#just in general the analysis of animals in his play is very interesting to me#particularly wild versus domestic animals#there are so many hunting metaphors sprinkled throughout the play but perhaps the dog references stick out to me#and that's my own personal bias.#however it's. you know. hardly what i'd call unlikely to imagine that a man who grew up in stratford would've been raised around animals#u can see in his treatment of many subjects that he had a less urban/londonite lens than his contemporaries#for instance a midsummer night's dream would be much less likely i think to be written by a city-dweller#forests in general feature heavily in shakespeare but i am particularly thinking of the fairies. which some countryfolk still believed in#at that time period. again here i go saying u shouldn't read things autobiographically but i do like to analyze and make conjectures#our backgrounds do inform how we see the world and how we see the world informs our creative potential and processes#do you think he had a dog?
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bmpmp3 · 7 months ago
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i NEEED to be more annoying about being mixed race in public i keep forgetting how dire it is. sometimes i point out stuff in like visual culture classes about like a magazine cover with a biracial model or something and it blows peoples MINDS because the whole class forgot mixed people were real
#sometimes im like nooooo i shouldnt be too loud about it people find it annoyinggggg sometimes#but then i remember. if i dont. my white peers. i love them i do they're ready to learn and they do a lot of thinking#once you point stuff out. but by god you need to point this stuff out first LOL classmates put a lot of care and thought into all kinds of#issues but HOO baby. race is a BIG blind spot for a lot of em hfkjdjdkfh#i just get surprised is all. i didnt realize how little the average non-mixed-race person thinks about this stuff#i like to call myself whiteboy. because i think thats funny. its my internal monologue. but also i am not actually whiteboy#and i forget the real whiteboys (gender neutral?) dont know much about mixed issues hjskasjfkd#oh speaking of i guess as a quick primer: i should probably mention. i tend to call myself mixed race#just the terminology i grew up with. but in most professional and academic settings i'll use biracial or multiracial where applicable#or when referring to people who are not myself or someone i know prefers the term mixed#i dont know why i like the term mixed. maybe its just easier to say and explain LOL but yeah#not everyone likes the term mixed race so its usually better to call someone biracial or multiracial if you dont know#multiracial identities are vast and can be vastly different. one persons experience is much different from anothers#my experience is different from my older brothers and we have the same parents and look pretty alike#and our experiences are different from like. my biracial cousin who grew up in the US#and all of us have different experiences than the only other multiracial classmate ive had in years#really the best thing is to read stuff written by multiracial people. books articles blogs. watch video content#theres a lot to learn constantly even if youre multiracial yourself! lots of people on this earth. but it can be fun!#interesting and fun to connect with others by listening to their stories and experiences!
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cerastes · 16 days ago
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Habe you ever had a "did we even play the same game?" moment with someone?
My favorite game ever used to be Metal Gear Solid 4, it’s still up there in my top favorites, and this time at a party I met a guy that said he didn’t like MGS4 because he felt like it ruined Snake as a character and that it misrepresented him. I asked if he could elaborate and his response was that they took this Rambo dude, this super manly war hero and emasculated him into a weak old man.
I need you to understand that Solid Snake was without exaggeration fundamental in my growth as a person: I am from a latino country, grew up in what’s widely considered the wrong side of the tracks in the middle of nowhere, being macho, manly, tough was incredibly important to me, because that’s how it was in there, and Snake (plus “The Knight In Rusty Armor” by Robert Fisher) basically made me question all of what I’d grown up thinking up until then, because Snake isn’t a badass because grrr manly beef jerky I kill and swear, he is this incredibly solemn guy who hates what he can do, but is the only one that can do it, and if he doesn’t do it, then nuclear war happens, or worse. There’s a whole angle of expectation as a narrative arc in regards to Snake: Meryl expected a glorious, boisterous war hero, Otacon expected a grizzled, badass action hero, Liquid expected Himself But Better In Every Way, Ocelot expected a tool and nothing else, Naomi expected a callous and cold killer… And they were all wrong, he is, ultimately, an exhausted man that cannot stop no matter how much he wants to stop, because if he does, the world might likely go up in literal flames.
So to hear this self-proclaimed superfan of Snake say this just made me skip anger and go all the way to pity. In-universe, those in the know of Snake worship him as an actual God of War, and it’s a common thing that gets addressed in-universe: The whole point of MGS2 is that Raiden could never have won if he tried to be Snake, because you don’t want to be Snake. Snake hates being Snake. Snake isn’t manly because he beat a tank on foot one on one, Snake is admirable because he does the right thing, even if he’s breaking down molecule by molecule as he goes and he wants nothing more than to fuck off and raise dogs in the arctic, but keeps on going anyways because he can do something about it. The most important message he imparts on Raiden and Meryl is Don’t Be Me; Create A World Where Snake Doesn’t Need To Exist.
I felt pity because if you feel like MGS4 misrepresented Snake, then you really and explicitly are exactly the kind of fodder PMC nobody that feeds the proxy wars in MGS4. I think only by skipping every cutscene you can come out thinking that way. The only thing super about him was ficial.
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pyrrhiccomedy · 6 months ago
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I am genuinely so proud of my wife for becoming a crafts person over the last few years.
Like, I was always a crafts person. I was an arts and crafts kid. My parents sent me to classes or summer camps or after-school clubs pretty much continuously from when I was about 5 years old, and over the years I did metalsmithing, stained glass, polymer clay sculpting, loom weaving, oil painting, charcoal drawing, clothes-making & tailoring, carpentry, woodcarving, macrame, miniatures, beading, jewelry-making, basket weaving, leatherworking, paper-making, bookbinding, papier mache, decoupage, sand sculpting, and probably more that I'm forgetting. There was never a day in my life while I was growing up when my entire bedroom floor wasn't taken up by 2-5 different ongoing art projects. As an adult, it's given me the firm confidence that I can walk up to pretty much any crafting skill, and get the hang of it, and enjoy doing it.
My wife never had that. She wrote, but that was really her only artistic outlet. Art & craftsmanship were just not any of her business. She always expressed admiration for my gumption when it came to making things with my hands, usually with a "bigger idiots than me have done it" attitude, but she was certain she'd be bad at it if she tried it, and that she wouldn't have fun. As evidence, she would offer every time in her life when she had attempted to learn a craft, and didn't have fun, and all the Arts And Crafts kids picked it up a lot faster than her.
Which like - yeah! Learning how to do a new craft is a skill all on its own! Fine motor control is a skill developed over time! So is spatial reasoning, and materials intuition! She wasn't just 'trying to learn wreath-making,' or whatever, she was trying to learn how to learn how to make something with her hands AND wreath-making, at the same time, so of course it would take her longer than the kids who already had the first part, and of course it would be more frustrating for her. I knew she wasn't uniquely bad at crafts: she just didn't know how to approach picking them up, because she was never encouraged to learn.
And then the pandemic hit.
And while we were all trapped inside and going insane in new and exciting ways to all of us, she tentatively decided to pick up embroidery. She probably wouldn't stick with it, she explained: she'd probably be bad at it. It probably wouldn't be fun. But she thought embroidery was pretty, and literally what else did she have going on?
And then she did stick with it. For over a year. And she got pretty good at it! She embellished a baseball hat for her sister with cactuses and wildflowers from where they grew up which came out adorable. She made an embroidered portrait of one of our friends' cat that they still have displayed in their entryway. And she discovered - and remarked on it often, with mild surprise - that she was having fun. She'd say a lot of stuff like "this stitch was so frustrating at first, but now that I get it I really like doing it," or "I kept getting this tangled but I've figured it out now. I just needed to relax."
Then she took up pottery. We did that as a couple for about a year, too. Now she's a knitter.
And it's just been so great, to see her eyes light up when she sees a sweater she likes, and hear her say, "I could make that!" She's slowly let go of the perfectionism that I think holds a lot of people back from doing crafts: that dismay when you make a mistake which leads to discarding a whole project, or starting something over. More and more she's taking on the veteran crafter attitude of "oops lol, whatever I'll just keep going." She's picking things up faster. She's taking pleasure in learning incremental steps. She's started to see crafting as something that relaxes and engages her, instead of as something inherently frustrating. I've gotten to watch her learn to find joy in making something with her hands. I always knew she was creative and artistic and capable of learning how to do anything. It's been so much fun to watch her start to take that on as part of how she sees herself.
We have this running joke about how she will prematurely declare herself to be in an era. Like, she'll go swimming twice and announce that she's now in her "swimming era," and then never go swimming again. Or she'll make one smoothie, buy a bunch of fruit, and declare that we are now in a "smoothie era," and then a week later we have to throw out a bunch of fruit that's gone bad.
The other day (while she was knitting, and I was sitting on the couch next to her doing crochet), she went, "I feel like I've gotten - like, I'm a bit crafty these days, I think. Like, I've done a couple of different crafts, and gotten pretty good at them. I think this is now, kind of, you know...something that I can say that I do."
I supplied that I would even go so far as to say that she was in her "crafting era."
Her eyes widened. "It's an era?"
I pointed out that it was something she'd been doing pretty much continuously for the last three and a half years. That feels like the start of an era to me.
"Yes," she decided. "It's an era. This is my crafts era. I'm a crafts person now."
She's planning to make me a sweater with a duck on it for fall.
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whitexwolfxx310 · 6 months ago
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|| Baby Mine ||
Pairing: Bucky x female reader || Bucky x y/n
Summary: Bucky comes home from from a mission and finds you sick. You make an appointment at the medical bay expecting a routine visit only to find out some pretty surprising news.
Warnings: Unplanned pregnancy, minor talk of options pertaining to, morning sickness, a disgusting amount of fluff, and a small sprinkle of spice at the end just because I felt like it.
Word Count: 3323
A/Ns: First and foremost, I would like to apologize for my hiatus. It was not intended and I hit a writers block. With that being said, I do have a decent amount in my drafts and have been working on getting some new things out there!
I would like to say a special thank you to @lil-darhk who gave me some encouraging words that I really needed to hear & helped get me back on here. ♥️
This is a ONE SHOT. This is not part of my BBWWS. I am still working on that but this is something I have been thinking of for a while and just felt like writing about. I know that a pregnancy troupe is not for everyone. (Personally, I love it and I'm not sure if I will write it into my other storyline.) SO because of that....I give you this. I hope you all enjoy it because the idea of Daddy Bucky to me is just 🤌🏻💋
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Waking up to the smell of fresh ground coffee was always a tall tale sign of Bucky being home. Missions can be unpredictable. He can be gone for a few days, to a few weeks, and sometimes even months at a time. Luckily, this time he had only been gone about a month and a half.
Excitement took over as you forego your usual procrastinating in bed stretch to run out of the bedroom. Opening the door, the aroma was heavenly- as if a coffee shop had replaced your kitchen overnight. But your eyes immediately fixed on Bucky who was wearing a smirk while plating two separate stacks of pancakes.
“Breakfast, doll?” His voice as smooth as the warm syrup flowing down from those pancake stacks.
Running and jumping to wrap your arms around his neck was your response. Bucky chuckled, holding both arms out wider so he didn’t drop the plates. He put them down gently onto the counter so that his arms would now be only consumed with you.
“I missed you too.” You don’t have to look up from being buried in his chest to know that he’s smiling, it’s in the lighthearted tone of his voice.
Leaning back slightly with his arms still holding you, he looks into your eyes and plants a petal soft kiss on your lips.
“How come you didn’t wake me up when you got in?” You frown slightly looking up at him.
He shakes his head slightly and shrugs, “You just looked so… peaceful. I couldn’t bare to wake you up. At least, not without sustenance,” Bucky laughs.
Shifting your eyes from Bucky to the pancakes and back, your lips tug in each corner. “Smart man.”
His cooking always felt like home. It was filling, delicious, and you could almost taste the love it was made it with. “Mm,” the small noise escapes low in your throat as you take the last bite. Looking across the kitchen table, Bucky is slumped in his chair, arms folded with a warm smile as he watches you. “What?” The question comes out as a half joke and half concern.
Shaking his head slightly the smile grew. “Nothing, doll. Just missed you is all.” Leaning forward, Bucky rests his elbows on the table continuing to stare a tad bit more than normal.
“You’re acting weird.” You say, adjusting in your seat feeling slightly awkward.
“So what have you been up to while I was away?” He completely ignored your statement, asking an easy and lighthearted question.
“Um..” you start, breakfast starting to feel suddenly heavy in your stomach. “I uh-“ your teeth start to clench down as you swallow hard at the pooling saliva in your mouth. “I went out with Nat-“ your brows furrowed, starting to have difficulty with getting the words out. Bucky’s face quickly contorts to concern as you continue to fight the inevitable. “and her sister for some…s-some drinks-“ the word makes you gag.
Almost as if you channeled some super soldier serum, you pushed back from the table and ran- praying that the pressure of your hand over your mouth will be enough insurance to get to the toilet. It barely was. Breakfast came back up violently, loudly as you kneeled in front of the porcelain king. Even when you thought there couldn’t possibly be anything else to throw up, your stomach wrung on itself, forcing up every last drop of bile.
Breathing heavily into the bowl, skin now glistening with cooling sweat, you realize that your hair has been pulled out of your face. Your eyesight, now no longer blurry, sees Bucky sitting next to you; his right hand holding your hair back in a make shift ponytail and his left hand on the nape of your neck, the coolness of his metal hand being your favorite thing in the world at the moment.
“I’m sorry…” your sob echoed lightly in the toilet. “I’ve never been hung over like this before,” you sit back on your knees, grabbing some tissues to wipe your mouth. You bring yourself to look up at him through hooded and puffy red eyes, feeling instantly embarrassed. Bucky gives you a small reassuring smile as his hand gently rubs up and down your back.
“I’ve had the Russians drink me under the table a few times too. C’mon…” He helps you off of the floor, “let’s get you cleaned up.”
A warm bath, some fresh comfy clothes and a plain cup of tea seemed to make the nausea subside.
“I knew I shouldn’t have drank last night,” you say, looking into the lightly steaming mug. “My stomach hasn’t felt right in a few weeks. I actually have an appointment this afternoon in the medical bay, but I didn’t know you would be home. I can cancel it-”
“What time is your appointment?” He cuts you off,
“Um,” you look towards the wall and squint at the clock. “Actually in 45 minutes,” you laugh softly at the realization.
“Do you want me to go with you?” He offers.
“And miss your debriefing? Why, Sargent Barnes, that’s highly unlike you.” Even with not feeling great you can’t help but give him shit. This is the normal
Shaking his head softly he lets out a small laugh. “Alright,” he puts his hands up in a surrendering gesture, “but call me if anything comes up, okay? I’m worried about you.” Bucky’s voice is soft and sincere as he leans in and plants a small kiss on your forehead. His eyes hesitate, locking on yours for a moment. Leaning back in, he presses his lips to yours. “I love you. So much,”
“Love you more, Bucky.” You smile back up at him.
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Sitting on the exam table in nothing but a medical gown, you swing your legs gently back and forth while gently nibbling the tip of your thumb as you wait for the provider.
You jump at the sudden knock at the door. In walks the new physicians assistant for The Compound, a young and beautiful woman who looked like she was straight out of school.
“Hi! My names Bree and I’ll be working with you today. According to the nurse who did your intake, you’re here for-“ she scrolls through your electronic chart on a tablet, “some abdominal issues. Tell me about that,” she sits down on a stool, listening intently.
“It’s.. really not a big deal,” you start, she keeps quiet waiting for you to explain in more detail. “I don’t know,” you start to fumble with a few loose strands of hair. “I’ve just felt this sort of… heaviness? It hasn’t gone away and is just always sort of there?” Your voice is unsure, feeling self conscious as you describe this silly little symptom that you felt the need to make an appointment for. “This morning I got sick. Well, I went out drinking last night, so I’m assuming I’m a little hung over.” Your words start to sound like your rambling.
“Hmm,” Bree says in response. “When was your last period?”
“Um,” the gears start turning in your head as you try to backdate events, plans that had been interrupted because of aunt flow. “About 4 months ago?” It probably wasn’t on purpose, but you could see the clinicians eyebrow raise a centimeter in question. “It’s not what you think!” You quickly try to defend, “I’m on the pill! My periods have always been irregular which is part of the reason I’m on birth control in the first place.”
“Okay,” she responds, skeptical. “And you take the pill religiously?”
“Yes,”
“Everyday?”
“Yeah…”
“At the same time?” Bree’s eyebrow inclines just a little more.
“Well,” now she has you questioning everything that you’ve said. “I always have an alarm on my phone and try to take it the same time everyday.” That makes you feel better, justified.
“Have you been sick recently? Aside from this morning, any need for any prescriptions, antibiotics?”
“I had bronchitis, but that was… god months ago?”
“Okay,” she says flatly, “so we’ll just go ahead and do a minor work up to see if we can figure out what’s going on. The first thing I want to do though, is a pregnancy test.” Even though you could feel your face change, Bree quickly added, “Routine stuff. It’s one of the bases that we always cover early on.”
You suddenly become hyper focused on the urine sample you left on the counter top, as asked by the nurse. Bree takes out a small, flat test from a nearby drawer and uses a pipette to transfer the fluid.
It could have been 30 seconds or 20 minutes, but the idea that pregnancy was even a remote possibility has your insides feeling like they’re folding in on themselves.
“Okay so,” Bree starts, getting your attention. “The test did in fact, come out positive. Since your cycles have been irregular, I’d like to do an ultrasound to see how far along you are and then we can talk about options. Just go ahead and lay back on the table, feet in the stirrups.”
"Positive?" You repeat. "But... What? How?" It comes out breathless.
"Well, sometimes antibiotics can actually cancel out the effects of birth control. We try to advise women to not be sexually active as the body might seize the opportunity to ovulate and result in an unplanned pregnancy. How about we just take a look and go from there, okay?" Bree says just a little too cheerfully as she pats the stirrups.
Following her directions is the only thing you’re able to focus on. Going through the motions of laying down, putting your feet up and opening your legs. Bree’s voice is a murmur mixed with a high pitch ringing as you look up at the ceiling tiles, counting each spect while she sets up the portable sono machine.
“Just a little pressure,” she says, guiding the wand like probe, looking at the screen. “Okay. So, judging from the size… I’d say you’re close to about 9 weeks, give or take a bit. Do you want to hear the heartbeat?” She asks, sweetly. And it’s the first time you’re able to look at her since lying down. Bree patiently waits for your answer with a warm smile. You reluctantly nod your head.
The room fills with soft, muffled whooshing. “It’s so fast. I-is that okay? Is everything okay?” You’re searching her face for any hint of something being wrong. In return, Bree just nods gently as she keeps her smile, still examining the screen.
“A fetus’ heartbeat is a lot quicker than ours. Everything looks perfect actually. Would you… like to see?”
“Yes, please.” You didn't hesitate with your answer this time.
The screen gets tilted towards you and your eyes start darting all around looking for the baby. Your baby. At first you don't see anything. It doesn't look like photos you've seen on Instagram of pregnancy announcements. But then, in the middle of what looks like a black balloon, is a bean with limbs. In the center of this bean is a lively flicker. Bree uses her index finger to point to the screen.
"There's the fetus' arms and legs," she points to the extremities, "and here," her finger gently taps on the pulsing center, "is the heart."
The whooshing matches the pace of the flicker; lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub. Hearing the heartbeat in synch with the pulsing on the screen causes your own heartbeat to match for a moment.
So this is love.
After a moment, Bree removes the probe and rips a paper from the ultrasound machine. "Here's some pictures for you," she hands them to you as you sit up on the bed. "I want to see you back here in three weeks for another check up... unless you want to discuss other options?" You shake your head. "Do you have any questions for me?"
“No, not right now.” You’re solely focused on the pictures now in your hand. Even though the image is burned into your brain, holding a physical copy has some how made it more real.
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The rest of the afternoon was a whirlwind. There was no possible way that you’re actually pregnant. Even with the new noticeable symptoms and bathroom counter littered in double pink lined tests, it still seemed so unbelievable. That’s not even the hardest part. How am I going to tell Bucky?
Just as the reality starts to set in of having to tell the other adult who is directly involved, the front door to the apartment opens.
"Hey, doll!" Bucky calls loudly from the hallway, the thumping of his boots following his voice. "Sorry that the meeting ran late. I figured we could order in tonight. What about that Thai place you like?" He waits for a response while buzzing around the kitchen, no doubt making himself coffee for the dozenth time today. "Doll?" The question echoes through the quiet apartment.
"I'm in here," you acknowledge softly from the living room couch. Bucky pokes his head out from the hallway, breathing a sigh of relief.
"There you are," he starts walking towards you. "If you tell me what you would like for dinner, I'll call it in and then-" his voice and steps stop abruptly. "Hey... you okay?"
"Uh, yeah. Yeah, I'm okay." You answer, obviously distracted.
"That doesn't sound too convincing," Bucky hesitated, looking you over and taking a few steps closer.
"I-I have to tell you something." Your tone is soft, scared. You’re fidgeting with the edges of your sweater sleeves.
“Is it something the doctor said?” His voice is softer now, reluctant and afraid. While his piercing, cerulean blue eyes continue to search yours for the answer, wide and terrified.
“I-“
Should I have gotten balloons? Made him open a box with one of the pregnancy tests or a cute onesie inside? Bake a damn cake?
“Y/n?!” Bucky didn’t yell but definitely had to get your attention. “You’re scaring me. What’s going on?!” He pleaded. Why were the words so difficult to say? Maybe because it hasn’t been said out loud yet. Or that it’s still so shocking. Or maybe that verbalizing it will just make it that more real. You turn on your heels and run to the bathroom.
“Y/n!!” He calls after you, but you know he’ll be just a few steps behind.
Picking up a handful of the positive tests off of the vanity counter with your heartbeat pounding in your ears in combination with his heavy footsteps getting closer.
“Seriously! What is going on-“ Bucky is flustered as he steps into the entryway and stops abruptly at the sight of you facing him, holding the tests fanned out.
“I’m pregnant.” There it is. You’re holding your breath, waiting to see what he’ll say. Aside from contraceptives, you’ve never had any kind of discussions pertaining to a family.
His face softens as he takes a step forward, his eyes hyper fixated on all the double pink lines. Bucky’s chest rises and falls deeply now. “You’re… pregnant? Not sick?” He asks to clarify, being cautious.
“Morning sickness, apparently”, a small laugh escapes and it surprises you. “But other than that, I’m fine. We’re fine.”
The ‘we’re’ part catches his attention. He’s looking into your eyes once again, searching. But, for what?
“Is this… something you want? With… me?” He suddenly sounds so adolescent and anxious. Who can blame him? This took you both completely by surprise. Knowing Bucky, he would support you in whatever you wanted. Whatever decision you thought was best for you, your body, your health in every aspect, he would respect and advocate for. He is being cautious with his response to the news until he knows what your decision is.
Putting the tests down, you take both of his hands into yours and take a deep breath.
“Bucky, if you had asked me this morning, I wouldn’t have known what our future would hold. But knowing what I know now… I want this baby. I want to be a mom and for us to be a family. That being said, I know that this is something that we never talked about. If this isn’t something you want, I underst-“
You’re suddenly cut off by his lips pressing into yours. It feels like a weight has been lifted as Bucky’s arms gently wrap around you to bring you closer. Kissing becomes increasingly difficult around giggles and the obnoxiously big smiles you’re both wearing.
When your lips finally part, Bucky’s eyebrows are raised in excitement. His eyes are darting around your torso as if the news would suddenly show physical changes on your body.
“I can’t believe it…” he breathes, “I actually get the chance to be a Dad-” The word comes out almost as a choked sob. My heart.
Reaching into your back pocket, you pull out the ultrasound Bree had given to you earlier, holding it up for him to see.
"Look, our baby's first photo!"
Bucky takes the picture as gently as if someone were handing him an actual newborn baby. He just stares, probably confused as to what he was looking at similarly to you just a few hours ago.
"I know it doesn't really look like anything right now- but I go back in a few weeks and-"
"Are you kidding?" He looks up from the black and white photo to meet your eyes, a watery sheen coating his own. "This is the most amazing thing I have ever seen in my life." Bucky says softly, as if to himself, looking back down at the picture. And he's smiling. A genuine, heartfelt smile.
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That night was the closest he had ever held you in his arms. The two of you made up for lost conversations and started planning for your future and what it held as you laid in bed. Bucky talked about how he wanted to build a crib instead of buying one and was curious what the appropriate amount of time was to wait until you could both start telling everyone. Excitement was an understatement for this man.
"Can I go with you to your next appointment?" He asked, in a hopeful tone as his fingers traced along smooth, soft circles around your belly button. You giggle, wincing at one specific caress.
"Hey! That tickles! But, of course you can. You can come to all of them. I was... kinda hoping you would?" In return, your tone holds the same anticipation.
"I wouldn't miss it." Bucky's palm flattens against your belly as he places a kiss against your temple.
"Don't get used to that," You say looking down. "We're going to start growing and getting bigger any day now." You fake a frown, although there is a small part of you that isn't necessarily faking.
"Hmm." A low hum vibrates from the back of Bucky's throat as he shifts his body down along yours.
His fingertips skim the hem of your sleep shirt before pulling it up and exposing your stomach. The coolness of the air makes your abdomen tighten, but is soon replaced with petal soft kisses. "When you say 'grow', I hope you mean grow more beautiful by the day." Each firm press of his lips feels like its igniting your skin on fire with the newfound sensitivity. Your toes start to dig down into the mattress.
"Because, y/n..." Bucky repositions himself onto his knees, one now conveniently pressed in-between your legs. The pressure alone makes your heart rate spike and has you borderline panting. He hovers over you, "There isn't anything in this world I find more beautiful or more attractive than my girl carrying my child." He holds your gaze, intense and primal- more than you've ever seen.
"Do you understand?" Bucky asks with a raised brow. You nod hastily and he grins in response. "Good girl. Now, let's see if those rumors about hyper sensitivity are true. Judging by how you're writhing under me and the wet spot on my knee... I'm really going to enjoy the next few months."
If you enjoyed this, please check out my masterlist! Requests are open!
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@peaches1958 @aquabrie @elsie-bells @pono-pura-vida @redbloodedgurl @almosttoopizza @beware-my-thorns @prettylittlepluviophile @annoyinglythoughtfuldestiny @calwitch @ozwriterchick @roofwitty779 @lessersole @lil-darhk @agoddoesnotplead @saranghaey @erinallene @mrsvxder @elizabeth916 @cjand10 @bucky-barnes-lover @skyf-7
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alisonwritesimagines · 2 months ago
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If Bruce and Batmom Divorced ~Bruce Wayne Imagine~
Summary: The final straw was Bruce officially cheating on you.
Author’s Note: I saw a TikTok about a comic of Catwoman having Bruce’s daughter and I thought of the angst between Batmom and Bruce.
This is not canon to the Batmom Universe
Reader’s Pronouns: She/Her
Warnings: Mentions of divorce, angst, cheating
Do not repost this anywhere!
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You were a smart person after living with Bruce Wayne who is also Batman. You learned his tricks and gadgets while being his wife. So when you left without word the day after finding out Selina was pregnant with Bruce’s child, everyone grew into a panic.
“It’s like she just disappeared,” Tim said in disbelief.
“Now I know how she felt when I left the mansion,” Dick says.
“Where could she have gone?” Jason asked.
“Alfred, are you sure she didn’t say anything to you before she left?” Cassandra asked him with a sad and desperate look.
“If you think, she would disappear without telling me, you’re wrong. I do know where she is however, she asked me not to say anything. She only gave it to me for emergencies.”
“Then tell us, Alfred! We won’t tell Bruce,” Stephanie begged.
“I’m afraid I cannot do such thing. Not until she calls me and tells me that she is ready.”
Selina had showed up to your doorstep one afternoon and told you the news of her being pregnant with Bruce's child. You spend the first hour in shock before gathering your stuff that you had packed and left without saying goodbye.
It broke everyone when you left. Even Bruce.
Bruce would rather kill Joker and all the villains if it meant keeping you with him. He would murder every single person with bad in them if it meant he could have you with him. But what he did that finally broke you would never change your mind.
Then came the day when you finally showed up. But with a surprise.
"Mom?" Dick asked in shock.
"Hi honey," you smiled softly. Dick engulfed you into a quick hug before looking at you.
"Are you okay? How are you?" Dick asked.
"I'm okay. I'm doing well," you tell him. "Is Bruce home?"
"Yeah. He's home."
"I need to talk to him," you tell him.
"Yeah. Okay."
You followed Dick inside the manor and found Bruce sitting at the dining room table with Alfred and Damien.
"Ummi!" Damien said the moment he saw you.
He rushed over and hugged you tightly before realizing your condition.
"Oh. I'm sorry."
"It's okay sweetie."
"It's good to see you Ms. Y/n," Alfred said, giving you a hug as well.
"I need to talk to Bruce really quickly. Alone," you tell everyone.
Everyone rushed out of the room so you two could be alone.
"Y/n-"
"I don't want to hear you talk Bruce. I am here to have you sign these," you say as you took out the divorce papers from your purse; "And I am here to let the kids know that I am okay."
"Y/n, can we talk about this? Is the baby mine?" Bruce asked referring to your pregnant bump.
"It's yours. But I don't need you for them. I am going to raise this child alone and we do not need you. You are having a child with Selina so if you want to be a father, go be that child's father because you have no right to be in my life anymore," you tell him.
"I put up with so much with you. And I am done. I am exhausted and being away from you for the past four months made me feel so free and relaxed. I have a good home now and it's in a good city and good neighborhood. I just want you to sign these papers, and let me go."
"I don't want to let you go. I don't want to lose you," Bruce said, looking up at you with tears in his eyes.
"Bruce. You lost me when you went to Selina after you told me you wouldn't go back to her," you tell him, tearing up as well.
"At least let me give you alimony so you don't have to work anymore. If I am going to lose you, at least let me do something good for you one last time," Bruce begged.
"Fine. But I don't want contact with you. I'll talk to the kids gladly and they are more than welcome to visit me or live with me but I am done with you Bruce. Until our child asks about you and wants to see you, then I will tell them about you and that they can visit you with the other kids as supervision. But for now, I don't want anything to do with you," you tell him.
"Y/n-"
"You can mail the paperwork to my lawyer," you tell Bruce before walking out. You found Damien and Dick standing by the door after you opened it. You gave them a hug and a kiss on the cheek before walking out. You looked over at Alfred and gave him a small nod.
Alfred walked over to the two boys and handed Dick a piece of paper.
"If you kids want to visit her," Alfred tells them before walking off.
Damien rushed out after you. He wrapped his arms around you, stopping your tracks.
“Don’t leave me Ummi. Please.”
“I’m sorry Damien. Alfred gave my address to you kids so if you want to visit me, you can. But I need to go right now,” you tell your son. Damien nodded before letting you go. You kissed his head once more before getting into your car and driving off.
----
Bruce never interacted with you again after that day. He knew where you lived due to following the kids over to visit you. But he never went down to talk to you. He knew that you were stubborn and that you were holding your ground on not wanting to see him again. He just wished that he could take everything back to have you back in his arms.
The years went on and the kids began to grow up and move out of the house. That was until he got a knock on the door one day.
A girl who looked too much like you stood in front of him as she stared up at him. She couldn’t be older than ten.
"Are you Bruce Wayne?" She asked him.
"Yes I am."
"Hi! I'm Ella. I'm your daughter," she introduced.
"Ella," Bruce sighed in awe. He kneeled down to her height so he can look at her better. "Where's your mother?"
"She doesn't know I'm here. Which reminds me. I need to call her to tell her that I'm okay and that I'm sorry for running away to find you," Ella tells him.
"She will definitely have a heart attack. Come on," Bruce said, holding her hand.
He watched as Ella talked on the phone with you before she looked up at him.
"Mama wants to talk to you," she said, handing the phone over to him.
"Hi, Y/n."
"Is she okay? Is my baby okay?" You asked.
"She's okay. I got her."
"I don't know how on Earth she managed to get to you! I know I said I never wanted to see you again but please bring her back home. We can talk about her seeing you every weekend or something," you tell Bruce.
"Of course."
"I know you know where I live. Just come over with her please. Now," you say.
"I will."
Bruce took Ella back home where you waited for them.
"You young lady are grounded!" You sternly tell your daughter.
"But mom-"
"No buts. Go to your room!" You ordered her. Ella hugged her father before running to her room.
"Y/n-"
"Thank you for bringing her home safely. I can drop her off every weekend if you're not busy for her to see you," you tell Bruce.
"If you think that's best for her."
"She’s been asking to meet you,” you tell him. Bruce stayed silent for a moment.
“How are you?”
“Fine. How are you and Selina? Have you two been raising your child together nicely?” You asked him.
“We aren’t together. She put the child up for adoption,” Bruce explains.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“And I’m sorry for everything. Are you happy?” Bruce asked you.
“I’ve been better.”
“You know, I never stopped thinking about you.”
You stared at him for a moment.
“I’ll drop her off next weekend after she’s grounded. You can have her for the weekend as well as Father’s Day. I’ll have my lawyer draft up a new custody agreement,” you tell Bruce.
“You could always come with her,” Bruce said.
“No. Like I said years ago Bruce. I’m done with you. I can forgive you. But you also proved to me that you will never love me as much as I loved you,” you tell him.
“I’m sorry Y/n. For everything,” Bruce said before walking out of your home.
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malum-forev · 8 months ago
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Dr. Bee
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Summary: Bucky has quite the reputation but all it takes for him to want to change is an hour with an outspoken little Bee.
Bucky x Nurse!Mom!Reader
Bucky Barnes has many names. James Buchanan Barnes, Buck, The Winter Soldier, Sergeant. 
But on compound grounds, and in hushed tones, he’s usually called an asshole. 
He’s developed quite the reputation. Being difficult is his natural state of being. 
Bucky is constantly late to meetings, doesn’t show up for media days and is always going rogue in missions.
He doesn’t know why he does it, Dr. Raynor says it’s a coping mechanism, but that doesn’t make Bucky want to change one bit. He stays away from people and makes it everyone’s problem when someone decides to talk in his vicinity. 
Sam has tried to talk to him but, as per usual whatever the Falcon says, Bucky does the opposite. Sam’s even tried to convince everyone that Bucky’s like an untrained dog, he needs some kind of exposure therapy. Having people stand up to him and flat out call him what he is, that’s what he needs. 
Sadly for everyone who works with Bucky Barnes, no one has the balls to do it. 
But, everything changed one day. 
Everyone scurried away once the quinjet landed at the Avengers compound. They’d gotten word from someone in Logistics that the mission had gone terribly and the agents had barely come out alive. 
Bucky stormed into the med bay, his heels digging into the floor with such force you’d think it break, only to find it desolate. 
He huffed twice, looking around for anyone who could help with a deep cut on his right arm. 
“Hello?!” He yelled out, his temples throbbing and his left eye twitching. 
Bucky Barnes waited for no one. 
“May I help you?” Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed at the meek voice coming from behind the nurse’s station. His confusion only grew deeper when he didn’t find anyone there. 
A few seconds later a tiny hand popped up, wiggling its chubby fingers at him. 
“I said,” The little voice drew out the last word, annoyed. “May I help you?”
Bucky leaned forward and peeked behind the large desk to find a little girl.
Standing with her hands on her hips, the little girl with pigtails looked up at him with raised eyebrows. 
Her expression turned to one of concern.
“Are you hard of hearing?” The girl spoke slowly and loudly.
Bucky almost had to cover his ears from the shrill and very high tone of the girl. 
“I am not hard of hearing.” Bucky finally responded. 
“Then why didn’t you respond?” Little miss pigtails crosses her arms over her chest. “I asked you: may I help you?” 
His right eye accompanied his left one in twitching.
After he didn’t respond, the little girl scribbled something down on a paper in front of her. 
“What are you writing?” Bucky said through gritted teeth, how can a person so small get on his nerves so quickly?
“I can’t tell you.” She said in a singsong tone. 
“Why not?”
“You’re not my patient.” She shrugs, rounding the nurse’s bay holding a pink unicorn lunch box, coming face to face with The Winter Soldier. Actually it was more like coming face to knee height. “Can’t talk to people who aren’t my patients. Doctor patient villigage.”
Bucky bit his bottom lip to conceal a smile. “I think you mean doctor patient privilege.” 
“How would you know? You’re not my patient.” The little girl swung her lunchbox, skipping all the way to the waiting room. 
He was equally shocked and impressed. This little girl had more balls than most of the agents he worked with. 
Bucky looked around the med bay for anyone who knew the girl. Mom, dad, cousin, hell he’d even settle for a dog. 
With a groan, he followed behind her. Sure, he was a dickhead but he couldn’t let a kid wander around the Avengers med bay all by herself. 
She sat down, opening the lunch box and taking the contents out.
Bucky couldn’t help but think it was cute how her feet didn’t reach the floor. As he came closer, her swinging feet hit him in the shins. 
He let out an obviously fake and over the top groan, throwing himself on the floor. 
The little girl covered her mouth but her giggles bubbled around the room. 
“Aren’t you going to apologize?” Bucky asked from his position on the ground. “That really hurt.”
“No it didn’t!” She laughed harder. 
“Yes it did!” 
“I know nothing can hurt you!” She said as her giggles died down. “I know who you are.”
“You do, huh?” Bucky sat next to her.
“Mhm.” She said proudly, taking a bite out of her peanut butter and jelly sandwich. “But my mommy says I can’t repeat the names she calls you.”
Bucky suddenly felt embarrassed. Dickhead, motherfucker, bastard, asshole had a whole different meaning now that he knew the little girl thought they were synonymous to Bucky.
“Well then,” Bucky cleared his throat. “I should reintroduce myself. My name is James Buchanan Barnes but people usually call me Bucky.”
The little girl placed her tiny hand in his and shook it. “I’m not supposed to tell strangers my name so, you can call me Bee.”
Bucky nodded his head once, he almost didn’t notice the peanut butter she’d smeared on his hand. “Well Bee, does you mommy or daddy work here?”
Bee shrugs her shoulders. “Can’t tell you.”
He takes a deep breath in. “Can you tell me how you got here?”
“Nope.” She takes another bite of her sandwich. 
“Can you tell me how long you’ve been here?”
“Nuh uh.”
Bucky runs a hand over his face. “Is this because of the doctor patient privilege?” 
“Yep.” Bee smiles up at him and this time Bucky can’t help but smile back. A blooming feeling erupted in his chest. 
Bucky looked down at his hand, trying to find his most surface level wound. Something that wouldn’t traumatize the girl who’s no more than seven years old. 
“Dr. Bee, I need your help. Do you have anything for this cut?” Bucky points to the small cut on his knuckle. She didn’t have to know how it came to be, or who’s cheekbone had caused it.
“Thertainly Mr. Bucky.” Bee’s missing front teeth were responsible for her lisp. She jumped off of the chair and hurried behind the nurse’s station.
She swiftly wrapped his knuckles in gauze. 
“Do you need me to look over your other arm?” Bee asked sincerely.
“I don’t think you can help with this one.” Bucky chuckled, knocking on the vibranium. “Unless you have anti rust spray.”
Bee threw her head back with laughter but the cute sound was cut short by a door slamming open. 
His mind went blank the second he saw her. Bucky couldn’t peel his eyes off of her, even his jaw went slack. He tried to memorize every single detail of her. Her hair, her eyes, her body, the blue scrubs she wore. 
“Bee!” She gasped, taking the little girl in her arms. “You almost gave me a heart attack, I told you to stay in the common room!”
“Don’t worry mommy!” She smiles up at the woman who’s taken Bucky’s mind hostage. “I’ve been with Bucky!”
The woman finally looks over at Bucky and he’s sure the world has stopped. 
But reality comes crashing down when her eyes lose some of their light. 
“Mr. Barnes.” She gasps, pulling Bee to stand behind her body. “I’m so terribly sorry about her, she wasn’t supposed to be here.”
Bucky gulps down the nervous feeling in his throat. He can’t help but feel like the biggest idiot in this universe. 
All he’s done for the past few years is be cold, and rude, and now the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, who’s got the cutest most outspoken daughter in the tri state area, is apologizing. 
His brain runs out of words and he just stands there. 
Bucky keeps quiet as the woman sutures up the wound on his arm, he’d completely forgotten about it. 
“Bee’s your daughter?” He manages to speak up after a few minutes. 
The woman nods with a smile, keeping her eyes on his wound but Bucky begs the cosmos she looks up at him, even if it’s just for a second. He wouldn’t care if she messes up, if it means their eyes could meet.
Bucky’s kept himself away from feelings for years. He convinced himself he doesn’t need them. But in a quick thirty minutes, Bee and her amazingly beautiful mother have stirred up more emotions than he’s had in the last two decades. 
“She-“ Bucky clears his throat. “She mentioned you’ve got a wide array of names for me.” 
Her cheeks burned red. “Bee must be mistaken, she’s got a crazy imagination. Always coming up with the strangest things-“
Bucky bit his bottom lip. “I’m used to it.”
The woman gulped, finally looking up at him. 
“I’m really sorry about the names.” She whispers. 
“It’s okay, darling.” Bucky’s eyes travel from hers to her lips. “But for next time, ‘Bucky’ is just fine.”
She nods, looking back to his wound. 
“And you are-“
“(Y/n).” She says. 
Bucky’s sure he’s never heard someone with a name as beautiful as hers. 
“You’re all patched up.” (Y/n) takes a step away from Bucky. “I’ll finish your report, I’m sure you’ve got more important things to do.”
Bucky stumbles on his feet as he stands up. Embarrassed, he walks straight to the door but stops before leaving the medbay. 
“(Y/n)?” He turns on his heel. “Would you please tell Dr. Bee I appreciated her help?”
The light in (Y/n)’s eyes returned as she nodded. 
Bucky left the med bay feeling lighter than ever before and he couldn’t help but think a certain little bee had everything to do with it. 
Comments and feedback is greatly appreciated!!
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inkskinned · 10 months ago
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she's three years younger than i am, and i put on cascada as a throwback, cackling - before your time! i've been borrowing my brother's car, and it's older than dirt, so the trunk is like, maybe permanently locked. when the sun comes through the window to frame her cheekbones, i feel like i'm 16 again. i shake when i'm kissing her, worried i won't get it right.
in 2003, my state made gay marriage legal. where she grew up, it wasn't legal until 11 years later - 10 years ago. if legal protections for gay marriage were a person, that person would be entering 5th grade. online, a white gay man calls the fight for legal marriage boring, which isn't kind of him but it is a common enough opinion.
it has only been 9 years since gay marriage was nationally official. it is already boring to have gay people in your tv. it is already boring to mention being gay - "why make it your entire personality?" i know siblings that have a larger age gap than the amount of time it's been legally protected. i recently saw a grown man record himself crying about how evil gay people are. he was begging us, red in the face - just do better.
i am absolutely ruined any time my girlfriend talks about being 27 (i know!! a child!), but we actually attended undergrad at the same time since i had taken off time to work between high school and college. while walking through the city, we drop our hands, try not to look too often at each other. the other day i went to an open mic in a basement. the headlining comedian said being lesbian isn't interesting, but i am a lesbian, if you care. as a joke, she had any lesbian raise their hand if present. i raised mine, weirdly embarrassed at being the single hand in a sea of other faces. she had everyone give me a round of applause. i felt something between pride and also throwing up.
sometimes one thing is also another thing. i keep thinking about my uncle. he died in the hospital without his husband of 35 years - they were not legally wed, so his husband could not enter. this sounds like it should be from 1950. it happened in 2007. harassment and abuse and financial hardship still follow any person who is trying to get married while disabled. marriage equality isn't really equal yet.
and i don't know that i can ever put a name to what i'm experiencing. sometimes it just feels... so odd to watch the balance. people are fundamentally uninterested in your identity, but also - like, there's a whole fucking bastion of rabid men and women who want to kill you. your friends roll their eyes you're gay we get it and that is funny but like. when you asked your father do you still love me? he just said go to your room. you haven't told your grandmother. disney is on their 390th "first" gay representation, but also cancelled owl house and censored the fuck out of gravity falls. you actively got bullied for being gay, but your advisor told you to find a different gimmick for your college essay - everyone says they're gay these days.
once while you were having a hard day you cried about the fact that the reason our story is so fucking boring to so many people is that it is so similar. that it is rare for one of us to just, like, have a good experience across the board. that our stories often have very parallel bends - the dehumanization, the trauma, the trouble with trusting again. these become rote instead of disgusting. how bad could it be if it is happening to so many people?
i kiss my girlfriend when nobody is looking. i like her jawline and how her hands splay when she's making a joke. there is nothing new about this story, sappho. i love her like opening up the sun. like folding peace between the layers of my life, a buttercream of euphoria, freckles and laughter and wonder.
my dad knows about her. i've been out to him since i was 18 - roughly four years before the supreme court would protect us. the other day he flipped down the sun visor while driving me to the eye doctor. "you need to accept that your body was made for a husband. you want to be a mother because you were made for men, not women." he wants me to date my old high school boyfriend. i gagged about it, and he shook his head. he said - "don't be so dramatic. you can get used to anything."
the other day a straight friend of mine snorted down her nose about it, accidentally echoing him - she said there are bigger problems in this world than planning a wedding.
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