#i'm not actually a fan of his just to be clear

[youreverydayfangirl]

DOWN BAD

pairing: charles leclerc x singer reader

summary: the one where she falls into a depression, her brother picks his side and lando moves on all to quickly

warning:

a/n:

face claim: madison beer :)

f1 masterlist

main masterilst

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f1gossip has posted

liked by 2, 495 users

f1gossip lando norris and magui corcerio spotted out recently

user1 i actually think they're pretty cute

user2 idc i miss yn and lano

-> user3 right? i wanna know the tea tbh

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"Y/n? Oh baby." Bsf muttered after opening the door to Y/ns bedroom. Her best friend immediately wrapped her arms around the girl, pulling her into her chest. Y/n began to sob, her chest heaving as everything came crashing down. "I can't do this, I mean its so stupid we weren't even together and I…" Bsf rubbed her arms up and down the younger girls back. "Shhh, just let it all out honey, I've got you." Her knees immediately gave out and the pair sunk to the floor together, bsf being Y/ns life line. "I'm so stupid." Y/n whispered. "No you're not stupid, you were just in love." And Y/n clung to the one person she knew would never leave her.

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ynspriv has posted

liked by bsfuser, thatgolfergirl and 20 others

ynspriv fuck all men honestly. and fuck everything if i cant have him. atleast i got a dog now. his name is bear.

bsfuser oh honey im so sorry

-> ynspriv its alright

thatgolfergirl we should have a girls night

-> ynspriv alright

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carlossainz55

liked by lando, charlesleclerc and 235, 495 others

carlossainz55 the best golf buddy lando

lando ⛳

-> carlossainz55 🏌️

charlesleclerc nice

liked by carlossainz55

-> user1 MY CHARLOS HEART 😭😭

user2 CARLANDO

-> user3 a reunion is just what i needed

user4 nah you wrong for this idc

user5 anyone else think this is dodgy asf after the whole yn lando situation

-> user6 they were just friends calm down

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Y/n wasn't sure how much she had drunk at that point, she did know that it was way more than she should've however. Lily and Alex were somewhere on the dancefloor, while best friend was grabbing the group another round of drinks.

Y/n quickly downed the shot that her best friend had given her before dragging her to the dance floor, "Come on I wanna dance." She said loudly as they made their way to the middle of the club.

It was a while before Bsf spoke up again, shouting loudly that she was gonna go to the toilet before wondering of. Y/n nodded aggressively before continuing to dance, as she did she stumbled, nearly face planting if a pair of strong arms hadn't wrapped her her waist to steady her.

She turned around to thank whoever had helped her but faltered when she heard a familiar voice. "Be careful, wouldn't want a pretty thing like yourself to trip." She rolled her eyes, ignoring the soft looking the man was giving her.

He went to say something but paused, shaking his head lightly, instead saying. "Little Sainz, I haven't seen you around recently."

She rolled her eyes harder than before, "Fuck off leclerc." She said loudly, the pair ignoring the fact that he still hadn't let her go.

He tilted his head slightly, slowly withdrawing his hands from her waist, "Testy testy, and here i thought we were friends."

"I don't like you, ergo your not my friend." Charles' eyes scanned her face, instantly noticing the tear tracks.

"Are you okay?" He asked her gently, his gaze intense, nearly making her melt.

"And why wouldn't I be." She questioned him, tilting her head slightly, ignoring the fact that their was no space between them.

He held his hands up, "I was just checking."

Her gaze narrowed at him as she cleared her throat, "Well, we're not friends, so theirs no reason for you to check up on me." She said sharply before turning around to find Lily and Alex.

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part 2, idk if i like it but here it is guyssssss. also oscar won miami guyssss. this ones goes out to all my 911 fans cause we're all in mourning atm.

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taglist @littlewhiterose @chlodavids @freyathehuntress @sadieurlady @pippyth3hippy @weekendlusting @ilovecharlesleclerc00 @loveitwhenhelies @bellsboops @wellimonlyheretoread @velentine @eugene-emt-roe @stinkyjax @catsdogs04 @coolcalmandc0llected @seonghwaexile @rosiemain @midnightbabylon @lil-soup @barzysreputation @gentlemonstersworld @imineverypossiblefandom @nichmeddar @formulaal @bia-wayne-west @eloriis @scorpiomindfuck @sesamepancakes @dilflover44 @primadonaprincess55 @angelluv16 @qghosty @sltwins @dark-night-sky-99 @alliwantisadonut @iambored24601

[buckbuckbarnesstuff]

Girl, I can’t even express what this did to me, so help me please 😭 It was so perfect omg. I always get so lost in your work, I feel like I'm living in all those worlds you create so beautifully.

Let me dive deeper into my feels below the cut:

For all his witty remarks and infuriatingly smug demeanour, Bucky took his job seriously. Wherever you went, he was just a step behind—silent, watchful, and always armed with that barely concealed impatience. He even waited outside the women’s lavatory, arms crossed, like a guard dog forced to sit through etiquette lessons.

Ahh I love how he takes this so seriously. And I can picture him like this so well wow. I want him to broodingly follow me around as well. It makes him so protective but also reluctant and I find that hilarous

With a sharp motion, he pulled a hunting knife from inside his coat and rushed the creature. You had no idea where your escort had produced it from nor how long he had been so easily armed on this trip of yours. But rather than worry, you were rather grateful for his cunning. The Ignivorae lunged, jaws unhinging to reveal a mouth full of jagged, needle-like teeth. Bucky ducked beneath them, rolled forward, and drove the blade deep into its abdomen. Thick, black blood sprayed across the frozen platform in thick, oily ropes.

Gosh, what are you doing to me. The way he doesn’t even hesitate. The way he's so skilled. I can’t even. This is so attractive. Also, you described the Ignivorae so interesting and vivid, I actually have a clear picture of them in my mind.

“Come on,” he growled. He gave his gloves one final shake, checked the backs of his hands, and then reached for you. His fingers curled around your wrist, tugging you toward the waiting train.

He's the only man I'd allow to manhandle me. And ugh he's so intense, I am SWOONING!! Someone bring me a fan, I need to cool down asap

“Sam’s been dead about a year now, so…” He trailed off, eyes fixed on the dark panelling opposite. “I had no way to tell Steve. So I just… held onto the letters. I figured I’d read them eventually. Once I learned.”

This made me so sad. Poor Bucky. He has to carry so much and all of that alone. Made me feel so hard for him.

“Princess.” Bucky’s hands framed your face now, gentle but firm, thumbs brushing just below your eyes. “You’re panickin’. I need you to listen to me, alright?”

“Look at me.” His voice was still soft, but it cut through the noise. “I’m right here. You’re safe. Just breathe. Just breathe with me.”

“In through your nose,” Bucky coached, his forehead pressing gently to yours, “out through your mouth. You don’t have to get it perfect. Just follow me.”

“You’re okay,” he whispered again, voice unwavering even as the train screamed around you. “You’re right here with me. There’s nothin’ in this room ‘cept you and me. Hold onto that.”

I can’t even process what this did to me. I would drop everything right here and right now just to be able to live that scene because damnnn. FOREHEAD PRESSING GENTLY TO YOURS?? Pleasee, I would black out. This soothed me so much omg. He's so soft and caring and reassuring!! Ahh I needed this!!

He reached out with one hand and slammed the door shut again.

Hell yes. Nobody gets to interrupt my guy making out with me

You made Bucky so interesting and so full of mysteries. I was so intrigued by him the whole time. Also, this whole world just makes so much sense, I don’t even know how you manage it, but the effort and thought you put into the plot and the outline is so admiring.

Your words are magic and I am completely spellbound, my beloved. Everything is so authentic and captivating. I know I am telling you this every time but gosh, you are so talented. I never want to leave the worlds you create.

Thank you so much for this! I hope you're doing better now, sweetie, and I am sending you lots of warmth and positivity 💜💜

close quarters [one-shot]

fantasy marvel au bucky x reader when you're assigned a brooding escort for your journey north, the last thing you expect is to be sharing a cramped sleeper car with him. 

Warnings: forced proximity, one bed (kinda), panic attacks, fear of dark, class difference, kissing, generous use of the petname princess, violence, bit of blood/gore/wound descriptions, fluff, kinda sweet, protective bucky, mentions of steve, peggy, sam, dum dum dugan, fantasy elements, monsters, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 9.6k

A/N: hello, i don't expect this to do well, kinda lost motivation near the end as you'll probably be able to tell. I've been working on this one and off the past two weeks but i'm so over it i just need to post it and be done with it. i've been sick and busy with uni so it's kinda mid so apologies but enjoy my flu induced insanity with this one. sorry for any typos - not proof read.

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Your brother’s insistence that you needed an escort was, without a doubt, the most infuriating part of your journey north. A close second—conveniently tied to your initial frustrations—was the escort himself.

Bucky Barnes wasn’t exactly what you’d expected to find waiting at the train station. You had arrived at 8 p.m. sharp, as per your brother’s meticulous instructions. Bucky had the typical rugged, unapproachable look you associated with Flamewardens. There was a certain brooding intensity about him, dashed by a stoic, almost indifferent air. He had spotted you easily, looked you up and down with the barest hint of acknowledgement, and let out a quiet grunt. 

That was the extent of your introduction. 

Yet, for all his glowering, women seemed to flitter around him. You had watched as a group of younger women, likely around your age, whispered and giggled as they cast lingering glances down the platform at your sullen escort. To his credit, he didn’t react or even lift his gaze from the train tracks ahead.

You let your own eyes waver on his profile, dark hair, strong bone structure, straight nose, and eyes like an oncoming storm. Handsome. That was undeniable. Startlingly so, if you were being honest. But you refused to let his looks—or the broad, muscled frame beneath his heavy coat—distract you. Especially not as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, unmistakable flask.

You shot him a scathing look as he tipped back the silver flask, his throat working with each swallow. Whatever was inside had to be strong. The slight wince as he lowered it from his lips gave that much away.

“Is that wise?” Your voice carried a pointed edge, skirting somewhere between disapproval and disgust.

Bucky chuckled, though the sound lacked any true amusement. His breath lingered in the evening air, curling into a thin mist before being carried away by the brisk breeze that serpentined through the exposed railway tracks. “Only way to stay warm, Miss. Only gonna get worse the further north we go.”

He tucked the flask back into his coat. The worn leather of his gloves creaked as he dragged a hand across his stubbled jaw as if brushing away the chill. You hated to admit he had a point. Spring had come late this year—if it had come at all. Even here, in the city, ice still clung stubbornly to the streets, and heavy grey clouds loomed overhead. The snow hadn't yet relented up north, where your brother was waiting.

In the safety of the larger cities, warmth was never a concern. The luxury of fire and heat was abundant. With proper protections and Firewardens employed, there was no fear of the light it produced, or more specifically, there was no fear of what the light might attract. Civilised folk no longer had to shiver in the dark. They had cast aside the weight of thick furs, the obscuring hoods, the need for constant vigilance. But where you were headed, where your brother waited keenly for your arrival, it was different. There, Ignivorae were far more frightening than the cold.

“I just hope you’re not a drunkard,” you muttered, eyes fixed on the empty tracks, the frostbitten metal beginning to hum with the distant approach of the train. You hadn’t meant for him to hear, but his trained ears caught every word.

He scoffed, the sound half jest, half feigned offence. “Why? You gonna rat me out to your brother?”

“You are under his employ,” you reminded him coolly.

Another scoff. “He wouldn’t care, Miss. Hell, if he were here, I bet he’d be doin’ the same as me.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line, irritation flickering through your chest. You turned to him then, meeting his gaze directly for the first time. “You don’t know my brother well enough to make such a statement.”

Bucky inclined his head, unimpressed. “Two years is a long time, Princess. Feels even longer out North. I don’t think your brother is quite the same as when he left.”

You had little doubt he was right. Beyond the city limits, out in the rural farmlands, the world stretched isolated and desolate. This was the first time your brother had taken on such a venture alone, desperate to keep the family business alive even after the sudden loss of your parents. A part of you wondered if he had conducted the plan in a haze of grief, or if it was a means of proving himself to whatever invisible pressures he envisioned pressed upon his shoulders.

You sympathised with him, truly, even if he had abandoned you in his pursuit of imagined grandeur. A part of you had stopped expecting to see him again, had never anticipated his summons. But now, it seemed, he was finally ready to need you. Finally willing to accept your help.

The thought soured in your gut as you scowled at Bucky. 

“Don’t call me that.” You snapped, refusing to let your voice be swallowed by the growing roar of the train.

“Call you what?” 

“Princess.”

The train rushed past, a violent gust of wind pulling at your coat as the metal beast groaned to a stop, sparks flaring against the melting ice before flickering out.

Bucky exhaled, shaking his head as he adjusted the strap of the bag slung over his shoulder. “Where we’re goin’, you’ll prolly be the closest thing to a princess they’ve ever seen. You’re a proper-bred lady compared to the folk out there.”

“Does that distinction truly matter that much?”

You had never thought of yourself as well-bred. Privileged, maybe, but not delicate, not sheltered in the way Bucky seemed to imply. Your parents had been wealthy, yes, and you’d received an education few could afford. You had never gone hungry, never shivered through winter, never known true desperation. But your family’s fortune hadn’t come from lineage or titles. Your parents had carved it out themselves, built it from nothing with a mix of skill, relentless work, and a hell of a lot of luck.

It was a dangerous formula, one your brother was determined to replicate.

“To them, it will,” Bucky said, his tone carrying the weight of certainty. “Especially if you ain’t prepared to get your hands dirty.”

You gave a terse, humourless smile as you stepped toward the waiting train. “Well, good thing that is my brother’s job, not mine.”

Bucky huffed out something between a laugh and a sigh, watching as you handed your ticket to the conductor. Then, with an almost imperceptible shake of his head, he followed you aboard.

—

“This can’t be right. They’re expecting us to share a compartment—?”

By the time you reached your assigned sleeper car, the train was already rocking back into motion, the shrill whistle signalling your official departure north.

The train itself was plain but sturdy, built for endurance rather than luxury. The windows were fitted with metal shutters that could be pulled down from the inside—a feature you weren’t sure was meant for privacy or protection. You had passed through the lounge car, where Bucky had eyed the open bar with distinct interest and a dining car for breakfast, lunch and dinner service. However, your silent approval of your brother's transportation choice was promptly shattered when you caught sight of your assigned compartment. 

The compartment was tight, with only a small walkway that had another space for you to stand. If you were generous enough in your observations, you could lie to yourself and say that it allowed the room for you to walk two paces in either direction. One side held a stiff leather bench, its upholstery worn but well-maintained, bolted against dark wooden panelling. Above it, a metal luggage rack with frayed fabric straps provided limited storage. 

It was the other side that filled you with horror.

You wouldn’t have complained about the cramped space if it weren’t blatantly obvious you would have to share it with your hulking escort. Two bunks lined the opposite wall, the mattresses thin and stiff, large enough to accommodate one person each. A ladder at the end next to the window allowed easier access to the top bunk. You took one look at the lumpy pillows, dull green sheets and scratchy blanket that had been neatly folded by the feet end of the beds and turned around. You barely had time to process your own dismay before you were met with a wall of muscle as Bucky pressed in close, making way for other passengers filing through the narrow corridor. His chest was solid, his coat rough against your cheek, and you recoiled back.

Unfazed, he flicked his wrist, turning his ticket over to confirm the compartment number. “It’s what is on the tickets, Princess.”

You stepped back again, putting as much space between you as the cramped compartment would allow. “Don’t call me that, and this can’t be what my brother meant by ‘escort’—”

“His exact words,” Bucky interrupted, tucking his ticket back into his coat. “Keep my eyes on you. Keep you safe. Deliver you to Glenwyck.”

You exhaled sharply, glaring up at him. “So you’re going to watch over my every move? How am I supposed to get changed? Just rely on your gentlemanly instinct to turn a blind eye? Which might I mention, I have seen very little of—”

"There's a bathroom at the end of the train car." His tone was dry, as if he were already exhausted by this conversation. "You can use that for changin’. And whatever other business you think is necessary."

"How kind of you." You dropped your luggage onto the seat with a huff.

Bucky stepped further into the cramped compartment, either oblivious or determined to rile you up. The back of your knees pressed flush against the leather bench as he closed the distance, dipping his head so near that you could feel the warmth of his breath ghost against your skin.

With effortless ease, he hoisted your luggage and swung it into the wire rack above. The movement and sway of the train forced your chests to brush. Just for a few seconds. Just enough to make you swallow hard and for a tinge of pink to dust your cheeks. But before you could shuffle away, he reached for his own bag, taking his sweet time as he secured it into place. 

You clenched your jaw, irritation bubbling hotter with every second you spent trapped between his broad chest and the wooden panelling behind you. If he noticed, he didn’t care. Or worse—he enjoyed it.

“Now, tell me, Princess. Are you going to be picky about your bunk too?” Bucky hadn’t moved, lingering far too close, his broad frame crowding the already-cramped space. He was looking down at you with a rather lazy grin on his face as if he was particularly amused with the sour expression you regarded him with. 

“No.”

“Wonderful.” He drawled, voice dripping with sarcasm. You didn’t bite back, instead feeling your shoulders droop in relief as he finally backed up. With a grunt, he dropped onto the bottom bunk, stretching his legs out as if he’d already made himself at home. “I’ll take bottom, you take top.”

You stiffly nodded, trying not to linger on how ridiculous this arrangement was. Sharing a compartment was one thing, but a room barely large enough for the both of you, sleeping in bunks not even an arm’s length apart? You hesitated, debating whether to sit across from him and pretend he didn’t exist or escape to the relative privacy of your bed. 

The choice was easy.

Without another word, you clambered up the narrow ladder, the mattress shifting beneath you as you settled in. At least up here, out of his immediate line of sight, you could pretend for a moment that you weren’t stuck sharing close quarters with a complete stranger. A man, at that.

You let out a slow breath, staring at the cream-coloured curve of the train’s ceiling as the steady rumble of the tracks beneath you filled the silence.

God, you hoped your brother had put his trust in the right man.

—

"At least open the window if you’re going to smoke in here," you muttered, tugging your bootlaces tight with a firm yank. You were perched on the edge of the stiff leather seat, dressing for breakfast, while the faint hum of the train carried on beneath you.

You’d slept well—surprisingly well. The rhythmic sway of the train had lulled you into a deep, dreamless rest, a rare reprieve from the constant churn of thought that had plagued you for weeks. For those few blissful hours, you weren’t fretting over your reunion with your brother, or what exactly waited for you up north. You certainly hadn’t been thinking about your frustrating, tight-lipped escort.

Bucky was posted by the window, one shoulder propped lazily against the frame, cigarette between his fingers. He hadn’t said a word to you since the night before, and you weren’t sure if he’d slept at all. You’d awoken to find him already awake, elbows braced on his knees, methodically rolling tobacco like it was the only thing keeping his hands busy.

Beyond him, the world outside had vanished into white. Snow blanketed the earth, smoothing the rough land into a quiet, endless plain. No houses. No fences. Just the distant silhouette of mountains breaking up the pale sky.

"I can open the window if you want, Princess," he said without looking at you, voice low and gravel-edged. "But all you’ll get is a cabin full’a coal smoke."

You shot him a glare, then rolled your eyes and stood, brushing the creases from your coat with a sigh of forced patience. You’d learned, albeit reluctantly, that pushing him got you nowhere—at least, not without a headache in return.

“I’m going to breakfast,” you said crisply, sliding the compartment door open and casting one last look over your shoulder.

He pushed off the windowsill and followed without a word. Of course, he did.

For all his witty remarks and infuriatingly smug demeanour, Bucky took his job seriously. Wherever you went, he was just a step behind—silent, watchful, and always armed with that barely concealed impatience. He even waited outside the women’s lavatory, arms crossed, like a guard dog forced to sit through etiquette lessons.

You had no doubt that, given the choice, he’d rather have spent the journey holed up in the bar car or asleep in a quiet corner. But duty clearly came first.

The train was scheduled to stop in Hollowpass by evening, a final pitstop before you boarded the next line toward Norcross. From there, you had two more days of travel—by carriage, no less—until you reached Glenwyck. Your brother’s outpost.

No train lines reached that far north. Too remote, too wild. Just frostbitten roads and vast stretches of wilderness. And Bucky Barnes, your less-than-charming, maddeningly handsome escort, to lead the way.

Wonderful.

You stumbled, the floor pitching beneath your boots just as a blur of motion came barreling down the narrow walkway. A firm hand caught the back of your collar and yanked you sharply backwards into the compartment right as a trolley clattered past, steered by a flustered cleaning woman who offered a breathless apology as she vanished down the corridor.

Your back landed squarely against Bucky’s chest, the breath knocked out of you more from the closeness than the pull.  “Careful, Princess,” he murmured, voice low beside your ear before letting you go.

You gripped the doorframe to steady yourself, heart skipping for reasons you chose not to examine too closely.

“How are you gonna survive in Glenwyck,” he drawled, “if I can’t trust you not to get run over on a damn train?”

You twisted around with an irritated look, brushing your hands over your skirt to smooth it back into place. “You’re rather dramatic, you know that?”

He only shrugged, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Just doing my job, Princess.”

You rolled your eyes and pushed past him into the corridor, leading the way.

The sleeper car stretched ahead of you, its narrow passage lined with compartments like the one you’d just vacated. The metal shutters had been slid open now it was morning, the orange glow of the sunrise casting a glow over the polished brass handles and dark wood panelling. You passed passengers still tucked into their compartments, some reading, others quietly sipping tea or peering out windows wrapped in thick scarves. You pressed on, following the distant tang of strong coffee.

When you finally reached the dining car, you were quick to find an empty table. The tables were arranged in neat rows along either side of the carriage, bolted securely to the floor with matching bench seats upholstered in deep green velvet. You slid into the booth nearest the window, the cushioning stiff beneath you. Bucky settled across from you with a grunt, his eyes swept the car.

You eyed your escort as you delicately draped one of the napkins across your lap. In the daylight, he looked younger than you had first assumed. The lines on his face seemed less carved by time and more etched by worry. His stubble had grown out further, darkening his jaw in a shadow.

“How long have you known my brother?” you asked, tone light, almost casual. However, your gaze didn’t waver from over the rim of your teacup.

Bucky’s eyes flicked to you, surprise flashing across his face like he hadn’t expected you to speak, let alone ask something personal. Until now, most of your time together had passed in silence. He kept to himself, either smoking, draining cup after cup of bitter black coffee, or nursing that damn flask of his. Always wound tight, like a viper coiled in wait. 

“‘round two years,” he said finally, guarded. “I was workin’ as a Firewarden in the city. Your brother came through and convinced a bunch of us to sign on with him.”

You tilted your head. “How did he manage that?”

Bucky gave a short scoff and leaned back against the booth, his arm slung along the top of the velvet seating.“Hell if I know. One week I’m lazin’ around the city guardhouse, the next I’m freezing my ass off patrollin’ the edge of some nowhere, nobody town I ain’t ever heard of. Your brother talked like the place was already rebuilt. Like it’s a done deal. Gets in your head like that.”

You smiled faintly. “He gets that from our father. He was like that too. Good at leading people. Better at convincing them they wanted to be led.”

Bucky raised a brow, studying you. “How’d your family even get into this line of work?”

You hesitated, then set your cup down and rested your hands on the table. “My father grew up in the city. But he met my mother at one of those old debutante balls—they used to invite girls from rural towns and farmsteads to give them a shot at something different. She caught his eye. When he travelled north to meet her family, to ask for her hand… he was horrified.”

“Horrified?” Bucky echoed.

You nodded. “They were barely surviving. No access to reliable fire, which meant no protection. No fuel, no heat. Elders froze to death in their sleep. Crops dead. Livestock gone. And the Ignivorae…”

You shuddered, though the memory didn’t belong to you. Your mother had repeated it countless times until it had practically become your own. “Towns would light pyres and pray their tenders could keep them burning through the night. Others would go dark completely. No light, no sound. Just hoping the Ignivorae would pass them by.”

He was quiet for a beat.

“So your father stepped in.”

You nodded again. “He saw the problem for what it was. Cities survived because they had infrastructure. They had fire. Steady, managed fire. But out in the rural zones, people were alone. Busy farming, raising children, barely getting by. Staying up all night with a torch and a pitchfork wasn’t sustainable. And most of them couldn’t afford to hire proper wardens.”

You looked down, fingers idly toying with the corner of your napkin. “So my father hired them himself and paid for the fuel to burn too. They’d build firelines on the outskirts, massive pyres like the ones in the city to burn hot and long enough to lure the Ignivorae away from homes. If the flames didn’t kill the things outright, the wardens would. ”

Bucky was quiet, eyes drifting toward the window. The snow had deepened outside, smooth hills like frozen waves rolling across the plain. The sun peeked over the horizon in slivers of pale gold and silver, bouncing off the frost-bitten world in blinding flashes. Mountains loomed ahead like jagged teeth, their peaks lost in cloud.

“With protection in place, people could sleep again. And once that foundation was stable, once the fireline was holding… then my father would start investing. Building industry. Bringing in trade, tourism, and shipping routes when the rivers allowed for it. Giving the town something to build on.”

The dining car had filled slightly while you talked. The clinking of cutlery and low murmurs of conversation filled the space. A few other passengers sat at the other tables, most dressed in heavy coats and wool scarves. One man read a newspaper folded neatly in front of him, while a young woman stirred sugar into her tea.

“Then my mother stepped in. I did too, once I was old enough,” you went on. “She’d open little schoolhouses, sometimes just in empty sheds or old barns at first. We taught the adults first. Reading, writing, and arithmetic so they could manage their own businesses when they came. And then we taught the children, so the next generation didn’t grow up at the mercy of someone else’s charity.”

Bucky turned toward you again, his expression unreadable. That same brooding stare, heavy-lidded and cryptic, like he was always walking the line between irritation and interest. 

“Didn’t peg you for the charitable type,” he said at last.

You gave him a dry look. “It’s not charity. It’s a foundation. If you want people to build something that lasts, you have to teach them how to keep it standing.”

He considered that, thumb tapping once against the edge of the table.

“And when the towns were strong enough to hire their own wardens and run their own schools?” he asked.

“We moved on,” you said simply. “All my father asked was one percent of their profits each year. Over time, it added up. He used that money to invest in the next place.”

Bucky didn’t answer immediately. He just leaned back, eyes still on you. The sunrise spilt gold across his features, catching on the stubble along his jaw, casting shadows beneath his tired eyes.

“Sounds borderline predatory, Princess,” he said finally.

You gave a faint smile, one without warmth. “It’s business.”

A pause settled between you, brief but heavy.

“My brother trusts you enough to send you on this escort job, and you barely know anything about him?”

“Didn’t come up much in conversation, Princess,” he said, rolling a shoulder in a slow shrug. “Too busy not getting killed. Hell, I didn’t even know he had a sister until he handed me this job.”

You frowned, studying him. “You follow someone that blindly?”

“I follow people who get things done,” he said. “And if he says protectin’ you is part of the deal, then that’s what I’m doin’.”

—

The wind cut sharp through Hollowpass Station, knifing through coats and gloves, the chill carving you down to the bone. Beneath your boots, the platform creaked, salt to banish the ice crunching underfoot. The sun was long gone, leaving the world drained of colour, lit only by moonlight and fire.

Far beyond the edge of the town, a pyre roared like a heartbeat in the dark. Massive, constant and crackling. You watched it through the flurries of snow, that distant beacon where the Firewardens stood vigil. The Ignivorae circled in lazy, sweeping arcs above the flames, dark silhouettes, long-limbed and hungry. One would dive suddenly, vanishing into the fire with a hiss and a burst of embers. The swarm would follow, mindless, forever drawn to the searing light.

Bucky stood nearby, gloved hands jammed into his coat pockets, shoulders hunched. A dusting of snow clung to his hair and the curve of his collar. He wasn’t watching the pyre, instead scanning the tracks as if willing the train into existence through sheer force of irritation.

You hesitated, teeth worrying your bottom lip, then stepped a little closer. Not enough to touch, just enough to share the heat from his body.

He didn’t move. Just gave a small, knowing smirk without looking at you. “You cold, Princess?”

You huffed lightly, eyes still on the horizon. “A little.”

“Gonna get a lot worse where we’re headed,” he said casually. 

A low whistle echoed across the pass. You turned toward the sound, the relief unspoken. You would not be the only one on the platform anxious to be on board where it was warm and sheltered. Somewhere in the dark, gears shifted, and brakes hissed, metal groaning in protest as the train began to slow its approach.

“Do they ever break through?” you asked quietly, nodding toward the fire.

Bucky’s expression turned stony again. “Sometimes.”

“And if that happens while we are out here?”

He tilted his head, considering. “Then you better hope I’m as good as I say I am.”

The train emerged from the darkness like a beast of iron, the plume of smoke engulfing the falling snow. Around you, the waiting crowd stirred, boots shifting on the frost-glazed platform, murmured conversations fading into anticipation. A conductor stepped forward, shoulders hunkered against the cold and swung down the footstools with practised rhythm. Another man unlatched the station door, shouting over the chatter of passengers as mail and luggage were wheeled out.

You felt the press of people closing in, eager to board. A woman with a bundled baby stood just behind you, and further back, a pair of merchants argued softly over seating. Bucky didn’t move, didn’t even seem to notice the gathering heat of bodies around him. He kept his eyes on the tracks, one hand resting lightly on the strap of his pack.

You leaned slightly toward him. “You travel a lot, then? You seem very at ease with all this.”

“I get around.” He drawled, gaze still on the tracks. “You always this nosy?”

You caught his eye, refusing to let it go. The cold air curled around your cheeks, but the heat building in your chest was enough to thaw any frost.

“You’re a mystery to me,” you confessed, your voice barely above the noise around you. “Maybe I find that interesting.”

He turned to look at you then—really look at you. His pupils dilated, irises flicking across your face like he was mapping something he didn’t quite expect to find. Your teeth grazed your bottom lip, but you didn’t look away.

“Yeah?” he murmured, just for you. “What exactly is it you’re hopin’ to figure out, Princess?”

“You haven’t told me anything about yourself,” you replied, letting the wind catch your words. “Other than that you used to be a Firewarden in the city and work for my brother now.”

He lifted his brows. “You never asked.”

“Well,” you said, leaning just a little closer as the platform shuddered with the weight of the train’s arrival, “I’m asking now.”

“Oh yeah?” He hummed, the shove of the crowd pulled him closer to you, his warm breath fanning across your chilled cheeks. “What do you want to know?”

You opened your mouth, but your words were lost as the train neared. The brakes shrieked against the frozen rails, a grinding howl that sent a cascade of bright sparks down the line. You flinched from the sound, blinking against the sudden burst of light.

For one breath, it was quiet as you blinked away the stars in your vision.

A scream rang out behind you. 

Then another. 

The platform erupted in chaos, boots scrambling, bags abandoned, a child crying as they were yanked backwards by the hand. Shouts rose, some in warning, others pure terror. 

The Ignivorae hit the platform with a sickening crunch, its claws punching through the wooden planks like it was paper. A monstrous silhouette of twisted anatomy, the creature loomed in the firelight, half-moth, half-man. Its gangly limbs bent at the wrong angles, ending in hooked talons slick with frost. Translucent wings stretched wide behind it, tattered and powdered, like those of a colossal night moth.

Its face—if you could call it that—was a hideous blend of bone-white mandibles and jagged teeth, stretching unnaturally wide. Two bulbous eyes blinked out of sync, scanning the crowd. 

You’d never seen an Ignivorae this close before, not mere paces away. You had seen them at a distance, grown up watching as they dived into the pyres at night. You’d heard descriptions. Your father or brother telling gruesome stories of the outskirts while your mother scolded and ushered you away—‘such stories are not appropriate for young ladies’. In all your years, you had wondered what you would do if faced with such a moment. What would you do if one broke free from the swarm, disregarded the Firewarden’s efforts, and came straight for you? Would you grab a weapon, fight, scream, run?

To your disappointment, all you found was that you froze, as if the ice from the platform had crept up your legs and locked you in place.

With one violent shudder, it threw its wings forward. A cloud of fine, shimmering dust exploded into the air, catching in the light like gold. The effect was anything but beautiful. Screams tore through the crowd as the dust landed on exposed skin, the powder causing instant stinging. Red welts rose in its wake like a poisonous plant’s touch. People scattered in a frenzy, tripping over luggage and each other to escape.

A shriek tore from its throat, shrill and distorted, like metal bending under strain.

You still stood rigid, breath caught in your throat.

Bucky shoved you back, hard enough that your shoulder slammed into a column. “Stay down!” he barked.

The Ignivorae’s milky eyes swung around and locked on Bucky.

He didn’t hesitate.

With a sharp motion, he pulled a hunting knife from inside his coat and rushed the creature. You had no idea where your escort had produced it from nor how long he had been so easily armed on this trip of yours. But rather than worry, you were rather grateful for his cunning. The Ignivorae lunged, jaws unhinging to reveal a mouth full of jagged, needle-like teeth. Bucky ducked beneath them, rolled forward, and drove the blade deep into its abdomen. Thick, black blood sprayed across the frozen platform in thick, oily ropes.

The creature shrieked and thrashed, claws tearing through the air. One struck his shoulder, ripping the fabric clean and exposing the skin beneath. Its wings flared again, dust bursting across him in a glittering veil.

Bucky hissed as the powder kissed his neck and collarbone, shoulder jerking back.

He yanked the blade free and, in one clean movement, rammed it up beneath the creature’s jaw, right into the base of its skull. The Ignivorae gave one final, horrible twitch, then collapsed in a heap of twitching limbs and curling wings.

You scrambled to your feet as Bucky staggered back, breath visible in the frigid air. The bloodied knife remained clenched in his grip. His chest heaved, and an angry rash had already bloomed across the bare skin of his throat and collarbone. 

Without a word, he shook himself off, using his gloved hands to swipe the lingering powder from his coat and pants. He moved carefully, methodically, ensuring no dust remained on the fabric before lowering the knife.

Behind him, the platform was chaos. Passengers sprinted for the station, some rolling and shrieking in pain as the dust settled, others throwing themselves aboard with panicked shouts.

Bucky’s eyes met yours. His jaw was tight, temple flecked with black blood.

“Come on,” he growled. He gave his gloves one final shake, checked the backs of his hands, and then reached for you. His fingers curled around your wrist, tugging you toward the waiting train.

You stumbled after him, breath hitching, heart racing. “Bucky, are you okay? Are you hurt?” You couldn’t stop looking at the rash blooming angry red across his throat, the skin raw where the powder had settled. “Your skin—”

“I’m fine,” he bit out, dragging you onto the train as the doors hissed open. He didn’t let go of your wrist until you were inside, pushing past confused passengers and frantic attendants. “It’s just the dust. Burns like hell.”

You followed him down the narrow corridor, voice shaking. “You shouldn’t have…God, you could’ve died—”

“I didn’t,” he said, leading you into your sleeper compartment and shutting the door behind you. The sounds of panic outside muffled instantly, replaced by the hum of the train and your uneven breath. “This is my job, Princess.”

The rash on his neck looked worse, creeping like vines toward his collarbone.

“You’re not fine,” you said, reaching for his shirt. “Let me see it—”

Bucky caught your wrist again, gentler this time. His eyes, still alert from the fight, softened just a little. “I’ll live.”

You were both breathing hard, the adrenaline still lingering in your limbs. The cabin was just like the last train, with tight quarters and iron fixtures with the same thin, cream-coloured walls and dark wood panelling. Leather seating with overhead luggage storage lined one side, while two narrow bunks lined the other, the lower mattress already creaking under Bucky as he sat down heavily, bracing his elbows on his knees.

“Let me help you.” You argued, holding his gaze with a determination that, deep down, even surprised you.

 He exhaled slowly, head tipping back against the wall. 

“Check my bag. There’s a jar.” His voice was quieter now but steady. “There's a woman in Glenwyck, a healer. She makes ‘em up for the Wardens. Helps with the rash. This ain’t the first time I’ve been covered in that dust. Won’t be the last.”

You turned to the leather satchel he’d tossed carelessly on the seat opposite. The zipper resisted at first, stiff with cold, but inside was a mess of folded shirts, a canteen, a few loose rolling papers, and the jar he’d mentioned. 

“How did the Ignivorae get past the Wardens? I thought we would’ve been safe so far away.” You muttered, mostly to yourself, as you fished the jar from his bag. 

“Sometimes they get past, probably saw the sparks from the breaks and saw an easy target.” Bucky replied through grit teeth. You tossed a look over at him, noting how sweat misted his brow, wincing in pain as the train began to rumble to life once more. You unscrewed the jar lid, and sure enough, a pungent pine scent hit your nose, sharp and earthy, undercut with something vaguely medicinal.

Outside the window, the night blurred by in streaks of white snow and distant firelight. You moved toward him carefully, the jar in one hand. 

“Collar,” you instructed, and he tugged the neck of his torn shirt loose without protest, baring the angry red rash that bloomed along his collarbone and crept up his throat.

When your fingers touched his skin, his eyes flicked up to yours.

You dipped your index finger into the salve and dragged it gently along the inflamed skin, spreading it in careful strokes, watching as it sank in with a faint sheen. The silence between you grew thicker with every slow motion. You tried not to notice how close you were now, standing between his knees, your breath shallow and uneven.

“How long does it take to kick in?” You questioned, voice barely above a whisper. Your fingers smoothed up his neck, muscle and tendons shifting under your touch. You swept a thumb across his jugular, and he swallowed hard, throat bobbing.

“The pain fades first,” he said, voice low and a little hoarse. “Rash’ll stick around for a day or two.”

You were the first to look away.

You screwed the lid back on with a quiet click and stepped toward the bag resting on the seat. The train lurched under your feet, and you reached for the bunk rail to steady yourself—only to find Bucky already there, his hands catching your waist, steadying you like it was second nature.

His bag slid off the seat behind you, spilling its contents across the cabin floor.

You hid the flush rising to your cheeks, brushing his hands away gently as you crouched to the floor. “I’ve got it.”

“Princess—” he muttered, shifting like he might kneel down too.

“Sit still,” you cut in, already scooping up his belongings. He let out a sound—half a sigh, half a grumble—but obeyed, leaning back against the wall as you stuffed shirts and supplies back into the leather pack.

It was only as you blindly grasped a stack of thick paper that you hesitated, eyes glancing up. In your hand, you held a bundle of letters wrapped in twine. At least a dozen, maybe more, none of them opened. The edges were worn, some water-stained, others wrinkled from being carried too long. A few still had wax seals, cracked from travel but untouched.

“Bucky…” you said, turning them over slowly. “What are these?”

He didn’t look at you. “Letters.”

“I can see that.” You cut back, exasperated, peeking up at him. “You haven’t opened any of them.”

“I know.” He responded, and for a moment, you thought that was all he would give you. But after what appeared to be a lengthy internal deliberation, he sighed through his nose and offered you a further explanation. “They’re from my friend. Steve.”

“And you haven’t read them?” Your thumb ran down the corner of the stack, the paper flicking against your nail. “These must go back months.”

He didn’t answer immediately, just leaned back against the wall with a straight face. He was watching you with that same vigilant calm, like he was already bracing for whatever reaction he was worried you might give.

“I can’t read,” he confessed finally.

You stilled. “You can’t… what?”

Your voice caught in surprise as you turned toward him fully. “But you’ve been reading the tickets, the signs—why would your friend keep sending letters if—?”

“I can read a bit,” he interrupted. 

“I know enough words to get by. Basics. Just not enough to keep up with letters like that.” His tone was slightly irritated as if he was unsure if your questions were mocking or genuine confusion. “The letters were for me and a friend, Sam. He could read. That’s why Steve would send ‘em.”

“Sam’s been dead about a year now, so…” He trailed off, eyes fixed on the dark panelling opposite. “I had no way to tell Steve. So I just… held onto the letters. I figured I’d read them eventually. Once I learned.”

“I’m sorry about your friend.”

Your gaze dropped to the stack again, fingers gently brushing over one of the names penned in Steve’s neat, looping script. Sam must have died working in Glenwyck. You could blame your brother for drawing him to that place, but Glenwyck was no crueller than any other firepost. The Firewardens knew the risks. It didn’t make it any less tragic.

Bucky only grunted in response. From your place on the floor, you studied him quietly. Maybe you’d misread him. Maybe he wasn’t gruff for the sake of being difficult or to scare you. Maybe there really was a weight he carried, something heavy and damaged beneath the sharp edges. Had sorrow or bitterness carved itself into him after everything he’d seen?

And against your better judgment, you offered something small. “I could read them for you. Teach you how to read. If… if that’s something you’d want?”

His brows knit together, jaw tightening as he mulled over your words. Then it set hard. “I don’t want to be another one of your charity cases, Princess—”

You cut him off. “It’s not charity, remember? It’s foundation.”

He stared down at you, lips set in a fine line as he contemplated. 

“...Okay.”

You grinned, hoisting yourself up onto the mattress beside him. He blinked at your sudden movement, instinctively leaning back as you settled next to him, letters in hand. For a moment, his guarded expression cracked, just long enough for surprise to flicker in his eyes.

Reading mystery letters for your sullen escort would be the perfect temporary distraction, and the bonus was that maybe you’d learn something new about him. Something he wouldn’t explicitly tell you himself unless sufficiently prompted. 

You held up the bundle with a teasing smile. “Maybe, if you behave, I’ll even help you write back.”

He gave you a sidelong look, but the corner of his mouth twitched into a reluctant smirk. “Now you’re pushin’ it.”

You laughed, light and genuine. “Worth a shot.”

—

A few hours had passed, marked only by the clack of wheels over frozen tracks and the steady glow of the oil lamp overhead. Letters were strewn across the bunk and spilt onto the floor like fallen leaves, pages soft and yellowing, ink curling in elegant loops. To your mild disappointment, you’d discovered that the mysterious ‘Steve’ wasn’t the author of those elegant words. It was his wife, Peggy, who had penned most of the letters in his stead while he worked the pyres. You were curled into the corner of the bottom bunk, your shoulder pressed against Bucky’s as you read another aloud.

“‘—and then Steve nearly broke his own nose trying to prove to Dugan that he could knock a pinecone off the fence post from thirty paces. It was like watching two puppies try to arm wrestle. I had to bribe the store clerk with liquorice just to get him to hand over an ice pack.’” You snorted a laugh, eyes dancing as you glanced up at Bucky.

He was grinning—really grinning—for the first time all day. “Dugan always gets him so wound up. It’s a miracle the two of them haven’t killed each other yet.”

“And Peggy bribed someone with liquorice for him?”

“Of course she did. They’ve been together for years, but she still acts like the exasperated schoolteacher, and he’s the scrappy kid with skinned knees and dirt on his chin.”

You smiled softly, letting the letter drift onto the growing pile between you.

“Why didn’t Steve and Peggy go with you and Sam to Glenwyck?” you asked, hesitantly glancing over at Bucky.

He shifted slightly, gaze distant. “He considered it. The pay was better, no doubt. But they’d just got married, and they were trying for a baby… didn’t want to raise a kid in that kind of place. It’s hard enough just surviving it.”

“I get it.” You hummed, selecting the next letter on the pile. You were about halfway through now, around six months deep. “Probably why my brother didn’t want me out there with him.”

“Did he write you much?” Bucky asked. “While he was out there?”

“No.” You replied, being careful not to meet his eye as you frowned. “I didn’t expect to hear from him ever again, to be honest.”

“You thought he abandoned you?” You could feel the heat of his gaze on your cheek as you refused to meet his eye.

“Kind of… I—” You were cut off as the door slid open with a rattling clang, and a uniformed attendant stepped into the frame. He peaked around the side, down to where you and Bucky sat on the bottom bunk, knees and shoulders touching. 

“We’re entering blackout protocol,” he said briskly. “There’s been a report of a swarm of Ignivorae sighted along the pass ahead. All windows must be shut, and metal shutters secured. No lights. All lamps and candles extinguished until morning.”

You sat up straighter, a chill slicing through your earlier comfort.

“How long until we reach them?” Bucky asked, already rising to his feet.

“Twenty minutes, maybe less. Best to be ready.” The attendant gave a curt nod, then slid the door shut with a decisive snap.

Before you could fully register what was happening, Bucky moved. He crossed the compartment in two strides and dragged the heavy metal shutter down over the window with a grinding creak, locking it in place. 

You remained on the bunk, gathering the scattered letters into your lap with slow, distracted movements. Your gaze drifted toward the sealed window, then the door. Already, your imagination filled in the silence, the scrape of claws against the glass, the dry whisper of wings brushing steel.

Bucky reached for the oil lamp mounted near the door.

“Wait—” you blurted, your voice small and unsure.

He hesitated, eyes finding yours. “It’s okay.”

And then, with a twist of his hand, the flame vanished.

Darkness swept in like a wave.

The only sound left was the soft rumble of the train, the occasional jostle of the carriage, and the muffled shuffle of other passengers beyond your door. You swallowed hard, trying not to let the fear sit too heavy in your chest.

The mattress shifted. You felt Bucky’s hand brush your arm gently, guiding, not pulling. 

“You wanna head up top to sleep?” he asked quietly. “Best to get some rest before we hit Norcross. Won’t be much shuteye once we’re in the carriage.”

You didn’t move. Your knees locked, rooted in place as something old and cold took hold of your limbs. Without thinking, your fingers wrapped around his wrist, nails catching in the fabric of his sleeve.

“I don’t… I—”

Bucky stilled. “You alright, Princess?”

“You’re going to laugh at me.” The words came out in a rush, and Bucky paused. You could feel him hovering above, silence stretched between you. “I’m afraid—”

“Hell, Princess. After what you just heard, I think anyone would be—”

“No,” you cut him off. “Not of the Ignivorae.”

Your voice cracked. “I’m scared of the dark.”

A pause.

“…What?”

“See?” you muttered, already curling in on yourself. “I knew you’d laugh—”

“You hear me laughing?” Bucky said flatly. You heard the soft rustle of his collar. He was shaking his head. “I’m just tryin’ to understand. You’ve done blackouts before, haven’t you?”

“Not true blackouts,” you whispered. “I’ve always lived where there are Wardens. Never fully dark. There would always be the glow from the fires, even at night. I just got used to it, I suppose.”

“I get it. I do.” Bucky replied, though it was accompanied by a long sigh. “We can’t have any light, though, you understand?”

“I know, I just…”

“C’mere.”

You blinked as his arm eased around you, gently pulling you back. In the dark, it was a clumsy tangle of elbows and whispered apologies as he shifted onto the mattress beside you, legs stretched out. He found the wall and leaned against it, adjusting you with him until your side pressed to his, and his arm was warm and firm around your shoulders, guiding you into the curve of his chest.

You didn’t resist.

You let yourself settle there, head resting against the soft thrum of his heartbeat, the faint scent of pine and smoke on his shirt. His thumb brushed against your upper arm in slow, grounding circles.

“If there’s one thing I can promise, Princess,” Bucky murmured, voice low near your ear, “it never gets properly dark in Glenwyck. Wardens keep the pyres lit all through the night. You’ll feel right at home.”

You smiled faintly against his chest. Your eyes fluttered shut, letting yourself drift, allowing the tingling sparks in your spine and the butterflies in your stomach to drown out the shadow that had gripped you moments before.

“Thank you—” you began to whisper, but the words died on your lips as a loud bang cracked through the carriage.

It echoed like a thunderclap against hollow steel. Somewhere further down the train, a woman cried out. A muffled yelp, cut off just as quickly. You jolted upright, heart slamming into your throat.

“What was that?” you gasped, voice trembling.

Bucky’s hand found your waist again, pulling you back against him. “The start of the swarm.”

Your body stiffened. “There’s nothing we can do?”

He was quiet for a moment. When he finally answered, his voice was calm but firm. “No. Safest thing is to ride it out. We’re sealed in tight. Metals thick, train’s fast. They won’t get in.”

You tried to steady your breathing, but your head whipped toward him in the dark. Even with your faces just inches apart, you couldn’t see him—couldn’t see anything.

“Then what was that noise?”

"One of ‘em. Hit the side of the train. Likely died on impact." His voice was clear and deliberate like he was trying to anchor you with the certainty of it. As if he knew that if you could just understand, truly believe the train was too fast, too strong, too sealed for them to breach, you might be able to quiet the fear clawing its way up your chest.

But, as if summoned by his words, another bang, closer this time, rang out. Then another. A few passengers gasped. Someone down the car stifled a scream. The train rocked slightly under the force of the impacts. You clung to Bucky’s shirt now, the fabric balled in your fists.

The air felt too thin, like this train of death was suddenly headed up a steep mountain where your lungs could never truly be full.

The next strike was louder like something bigger had collided with the carriage. You flinched hard, pressing your face into Bucky’s shoulder. His arm tightened around you, his other hand bracing against the wall behind.

Then, the real storm began.

Bang—bang—bang! 

A rapid succession of impacts, like hailstones the size of skulls, hammering against the train’s body. The metal groaned, wheels screeching beneath you as the train barreled forward, but the sounds of the Ignivorae overpowered everything else. The shrieks and shouts of other passengers mixed in, panicked, pleading, praying.

Something scraped along the roof.

You let out a choked sob, the noise strangled in your throat. You buried yourself deeper into Bucky’s chest, the darkness pressing in on all sides. You couldn’t see. You couldn’t breathe. Every bang sounded like the end.

The screams got louder.

The sound grew. Deafening. Hundreds of bodies, maybe more, slamming against the train, shrieking past the windows like banshees in flight. You were shaking violently now, your hands trembling as they clutched at him. A cry tore out of you, high-pitched and helpless, and you didn’t care anymore if anyone heard.

You were sobbing into his shirt, breath hitching uncontrollably as the sounds swelled into a relentless cacophony.

And still, Bucky held you.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured again and again, his voice the only thing not swallowed by the chaos. “It’s alright. I’ve got you. Just hang on. Just hold onto me.”

And in the dark, with hell crashing against the walls around you, you did.

Your chest heaved in shallow bursts. The darkness felt thicker now—suffocating, alive. Each blow from outside rattled the walls and echoed through your bones like war drums. You couldn’t hear your own thoughts. Couldn’t think at all.

Your fingers clutched blindly at Bucky’s shirt, twisting the fabric so tight your knuckles ached, but it wasn’t enough. You couldn’t feel your hands. Couldn’t feel your face. The air wouldn’t stay in your lungs, too hot, too thin, too sharp.

“Hey…hey, Princess—”

His voice sounded far away like it was coming from underwater. You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Your whole body had turned to ice and fire at once. You shook your head wildly, gasping now, sobs hitching through clenched teeth.

“Princess.” Bucky’s hands framed your face now, gentle but firm, thumbs brushing just below your eyes. “You’re panickin’. I need you to listen to me, alright?”

Another bang rocked the train, louder than before. You flinched violently, trying to curl in on yourself, but Bucky didn’t let you. He held you steady, close.

“Look at me.” His voice was still soft, but it cut through the noise. “I’m right here. You’re safe. Just breathe. Just breathe with me.”

You were shaking so hard now your teeth chattered. You couldn’t stop it. You couldn’t get enough air.

“In through your nose,” Bucky coached, his forehead pressing gently to yours, “out through your mouth. You don’t have to get it perfect. Just follow me.”

You tried.

Tried to match the rhythm of his voice, the slow inhale, the deliberate exhale. But your lungs wouldn’t cooperate. A strangled noise tore from your throat instead, a fresh wave of sobs threatening to overtake you.

“You’re okay,” he whispered again, voice unwavering even as the train screamed around you. “You’re right here with me. There’s nothin’ in this room ‘cept you and me. Hold onto that.”

You clung to his words, desperate.

And slowly, painfully, your breathing started to stutter into some kind of rhythm, still shaky, still uneven, but present. You could feel the heat of him against you, solid, real. His arms wrapped tighter around your back, his breath brushing your temple.

“That’s it. There you go. Just keep doing that. With me.”

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Your body jolted, instinct still screaming, but Bucky was already grounding you again. His hands rubbed slow circles down your back. One of them moved to rest over your chest, right above your racing heart, like he could steady it with his palm alone.

“You’re doin’ good. I’ve got you.”

The shrieking from outside started to change. The tempo of the blows against the train shifted, less frequent, less violent, like the worst of the swarm was beginning to pass. The wails of the passengers faded, tapering off into soft whimpers and whispered prayers.

It was still dark, but the sounds were thinning.

Your breath, still ragged, wasn’t choking you anymore.

You pressed your forehead to Bucky’s collarbone and let the tears come, quieter this time, not from panic but from sheer exhaustion. He didn’t say anything, just kept holding you, hand never stopping its soothing rhythm across your back.

Eventually, the last of the banging faded into the distance, swallowed by the speed of the train. A tense silence settled over the carriage, broken only by the muted sobs of a child somewhere and the faint clatter of wheels against rail.

And in the black stillness of that bunk, pressed close to Bucky’s chest, you finally breathed in fully and let it out in a slow, trembling sigh.

He didn’t say a word.

Just held you until sleep finally took you. 

—

You stirred slowly. Your cheek still pressed to the steady rise and fall of Bucky’s chest. His arm was heavy over your back, warm and protective, like it had stayed there all night. You breathed in, taking the scent of him.

You didn’t move. Didn’t want to. Not yet.

“Mornin’,” came his voice, rough with sleep. You felt the vibration of it beneath your ear.

You hummed back softly, not quite trusting your voice yet.

“You alright?” he asked.

You nodded, still tucked into his side. “Yeah… I think so.”

Your voice was quiet but true. You shifted a little, your hand brushing across his ribs, and tilted your head just enough to glance up at him.

“Thank you,” you murmured.

He gave a lazy smile, one corner of his mouth pulling up in that charming, crooked way of his.

“We’re close to Norcross now,” he said, brushing your hair back from your face. “Train’s slowin’ already. You slept right through the breakfast call.”

You blinked, surprised. “I did?”

“Like the dead.” He grinned. “Figured you needed it.”

“I must’ve…” You hesitated, glancing around the bunk before finally, reluctantly, beginning to peel yourself away from him. Your limbs were stiff with sleep and the lingering tension of last night, but the moment was already slipping from you. Duty waited beyond the window.

Still, you paused.

Hovering just above him.

He looked up at you with those steel-blue eyes, unreadable as ever, though the corners had softened.

You leaned down and pressed your lips to his cheek.

“Thank you,” you said again, with a faint smile this time.

He made a pleased sound, something deep and amused in his chest, and before you could shift away completely, his hand caught your waist.

“Not done,” he muttered.

And with that, he pulled you back in. His other hand came to the side of your face, and he kissed you—properly, this time. No hesitation. Just the soft crush of his mouth against yours, the warmth of his palm, the rough edge of stubble beneath your fingertips. You melted into it, your hand curling into the fabric of his shirt as the train swayed gently beneath you.

A knock at the door startled you both, you jerked back slightly as it slid open with a clatter.

“Passengers, we’re making our final approach to Norc—”

Bucky didn’t even look.

He reached out with one hand and slammed the door shut again.

A stunned silence followed outside the compartment, but Bucky was already turning back to you, eyes glinting with mischief as you giggled in disbelief.

“Now, where were we?” he murmured, hand sliding to the small of your back as he tugged you in again.

[revolutionsingingintherainnn]

i've seen a lot of people talk about lando fans needing to touch grass because we're mad about that picture, but you don't understand why we're mad. honestly, i have no reason to this, but i do need to get this off my chest.

a lot of lando fans (myself included) tried to ignore the way mclaren has been treating lando off track, as well as on track. we're not going to touch the subject of on track here. we're only talking about off track here. their instagram page has more oscar/oscar's car or joint pictures than that of just lando. they do post lando, but it's always in the second or the third slide. it's not the front of it, so it looks like they're posting oscar more.

now, the issue with that picture is that its fine that they clicked the picture. mistakes happen, oscar saw that he was covering lando, and he moved over for another picture where lando was visible as well. so, we, as fans, know that there are two versions of that picture that exists. what bothers us is that they not only posted it on their instagram with a heartfelt team related caption, but also made it their twitter header.

now, the instagram thing could have gone multiple different ways than the one mclaren chose to do it. they could have added a funny caption instead, or they couldn't done a little drawing of lando, just something cute, something funny, something that feels included. instead, they chose a picture where lando is completely covered. like, when i first saw the picture, i didn't even notice that lando was behind oscar. so, they chose that picture, they chose that caption, and on top of that, they chose to only tag one driver out of the two drivers they have.

and then, to go on and make that picture their twitter header? knowing full well that there is a version of that same moment where lando is, in fact, visible? that speaks volumes.

it took them over 2k comments on instagram before they changed their header picture on twitter, and before they tried to do damage control by posting lando more.

i'm not saying that the team should stop posting oscar or something. do not twist my words. i'm saying that there should be a balance of how much they post each driver, and if they're posting a team picture, it should include the entire team.

seeing that picture, as a lando fan, it is really disheartening. to us, it feels like the team have forgotten him, or put him on the back burner. to us, it feels like they have a bias and they're not being subtle about it. it kills us because we have seen lando hold his team higher than himself, work for the team instead of himself, count every win as the team's, and every loss as his own. we have seen lando do that for years, but mclaren seem to have completely left him in the trenches.

for every "mentally weak" comment regarding lando that comes up in the press, there are other drivers and other teams that are saying it's not true and are defending lando. his own team never say a word. for every mistake or bad quali/race position, lando blames himself and mclaren let him take the brunt of it from the media and the fans, and then a week later, come out with a small article somewhere about how it was actually the team's fault, not lando's.

people underestimate the power of social media sometimes. you think it's not a big deal that lando's being posted, just in the second or the third slide? sponsors only look at the face. the face on their instagram page is not lando. the way they're promoting both drivers differently is clear, and it's clear because that what we're seeing, what's being shown to us. mclaren are trying to be subtle about it, but their subtlety left the conversation a long time ago.

the narratives that they push about lando being weak, having reached his highest potential already, buckling under pressure, all of it could be debunked if the team spoke out about it and supported their driver. they're not, so these narratives are being shoved down people's throats. the hate comments on their own instagram posts are vile, and it doesn't take that long to put out a statement that those need to stop, that the fans don't know what's going on behind the scenes, and that the fans have no right to judge a driver on things they can't do. it's not that difficult, but it really seems like mclaren would rather burn to the ground than support their driver.

i don't expect everyone to understand this. i know there's going to be people who come at me and say that i'm being a conspiracy theorist or i'm overthinking this or whatever. but, if you haven't seen a person, or have been a person, who has given your all to someone or something, and get close to nothing in return, this is the type of behaviour that cannot be ignored.

[maghendearey]

Can I request a fic about Fernando?

I was thinking about him and the new stylist fron Hugo Boss, the Aston Martin sponsor, Who Will dress him and Lance for the entire season and she's at every race beacuse She work with them but with the team too.

She's about his Age, they become Friends but they're both very attracted to each other

Thank you so much. I'm so happy that you shared it. It was really fun.

:in which the two find each other between fabric and outfit planning

Tw.:/

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

You loved your job, why not? It was great. You were able to pursue your great passion, fashion, while working with models and other celebrities. Your regular clients included people like Selen Gomez, Scarlett Johanson, and many other celebrities.

But even if you liked working without a company, you quickly learned that not all celebrities were nice and polite, but they showed you much more respect when you worked for a company and when the boss offered you a job, you were happy to accept it. The pay was good, but the best thing was that you could work in F1. As a dresser for the two Aston Martin drivers, but you were still very happy. You were actually a Mercedes fan, but your loyalty to the silver files wouldn't change because of your job.

The first few months were great, lots of traveling and lots of groups. You also noticed that Fernando and Lance were really polite and implemented your ideas without hesitation. Maybe it was because you dressed them properly and not like circus clowns, but you didn't care as long as they did it and didn't argue with you. But what started as conversations about clothes and putting their outfits together quickly became more between you and Fernando. Brief touches, shared laughter, and one day a kiss.

After the kiss it was summer break and you wanted to write to him and ask him out but how could I do that, he was already famous when you were still in fashion school. You knew he could have any girl, any Model of your generation. So why would he want you? And when he didn't get in touch either, you assumed it was just an unimportant kiss for him.

After the summer break, you wanted to meet up with Lance and Fernando to show them the first outfit, but as your karma would have it, Lance was late, which led to an uncomfortable tension between you and Fernando, who was already sitting at the table. "How was your summer break?" you asked to break the silence and without looking at him. As you asked, you noticed his gaze wandering to you with his beautiful brown eyes, but you didn't want to look up. "Very good, I was in Madrid visiting my mum and dad," he said, and you had to swallow when you realized that you were in the same city at the same time, because you were in Spain too. But only to go on holiday, not to see your family. "Me too," you admitted. Within seconds, Fernando had moved and gently cupped your face, forcing you to look up at him. "You know, I wouldn't really care if someone didn't contact me, but don't you think it's unfair to kiss me and then ignore me the whole summer break?"

This time it was your turn to look at him defiantly. What does that mean? He hadn't contacted you. If he had expected that from you, he could have written to you. "You didn't either," you said defiantly. His look was astonished and he pulled his phone out of his pocket and showed you the screen, on which it was clearly visible that he had written to you.

"You probably don't want to talk about it, but if that kiss meant something to you, give me a call."

"Hey, I don't know what you're doing over the summer break, but if you want to meet up, give me a call."

And dozens more in that direction. But with one look at the profile picture, the problem became clear. It was your old number, from the phone that was stolen during a grand prix weekend. "Nando, that's the number of the phone that was stolen from me. I have a new one. I thought you were ignoring me, so I didn't want to write to you." You admitted shyly; maybe you were overreacting a bit; after all, you could have written to him. Before you could say anything else, he had pulled you towards him and pressed his lips to yours. You kissed him back. This was how it had to be - everything was perfect.

Hi guys, I hope you enjoyed it. Feel free to leave a comment or like.

Love you💋

[acourtofthought]

It's genuinely quite frustrating when certain fans try to dismiss the importance and buildup elucien has had due to their recency bias. Like I'm sorry elucien has been a thing since book TWO, if you really have been paying attention - you know THEIR book is next. Let's put some respect on their names and have some self awareness when it comes to your own ship biases.

I just think it's so odd that, when Sarah first started talking about wanting to write books for the sisters someday and was then signed on for the books, when she said "I know who the first two books will be about but I'm leaving open the third and possibly want to write a book set in the past", the fandom would have collectively agreed that during the release of ACOWAR, the first two spin-off books would almost certainly be: Nesta and Elain (with Elain's endgame being either Lucien or Az). During the release of ACOFAS, I imagine the fandom would have collectively agreed the first two spin-offs were going to be Nesta's and Elains with the only discrepancy being in her love interest.

So that means from 2017 all the way up until 2021, it was not talked about that Az would feature in the second spin-off with another love interest who wasn't Elain. But suddenly, all those years of Sarah plotting and planning on who the first two spin-offs were going to be about no longer mattered with the addition of Gwyn's character. Suddenly, there being someone special for Lucien (said in a Q & A) wasn't as important as there first being someone special for Az. Suddenly Az wanting his own mate means more than Lucien going through it with his actual mate. Suddenly Elain's story and trauma can take a backseat because a new character also has trauma and that's more important right now.

I'm not saying Sarah can't or won't write Gwynriel next but the mentality of why some think Elucien can't be next baffles me. Years upon years of there being setup for Nesta's story and Elain's story and that's all undone by one new character. When it seemed clear she had no real direction for Az in ACOWAR or the novella but because she now does, it suddenly trumps all else. All the times she talked about Elain's book and the research she'd done and the seeds she planted early on and it no longer matters? She might wait to go on a journey with a specific couple as she's writing their book but she still has an overarching plot in mind and certain characters have been connected to that overarching plot more than others since way back when. So why when she only now decided to give Az a tie to certain (new) plotlines (time-travel / discovering who once had TT), with most of it being in a different series, does that mean that he is definitely next? That his newly introduced possible plots have jumped the line so that Elain's trauma can wait, Lucien's heritage can wait, Vassa being taken back by Koschei? She can suck it up for a bit right? The Spring Court people are fine to continue living in a court that's falling apart while being ruled by a severely depressed High Lord so long as Az can figure out why he's got his special dagger.

If Eluciens story can be pushed back, then why can't Az's?

It's not that Az's book can't be next, it's the thinking with such certainty that he's definitely next with no chance for anyone else and they mock Elucien's for being delusional thinking Elucien would actually make a lot of sense for being next.

Yes, he was heavily mentioned in SF and yes, Gwyn was too. But what exactly would Lucien be doing in Cassian's book? Why would Elain be in Nesta's book when Sarah wrote Nesta as avoiding her and not wanting to see her? The one time Elain did head to the HOW Cassian told Rhys maybe it was better for the sisters to stay away and it's not surprising, when Nesta tried to blame Elain for being the reason their father was killed that she chose to avoid her after that.

Do you think Gwyn would have had as much page time had Nesta told her she was to blame for her sisters death?

Sarah wrote Elain out of the story so that Nesta could heal because Nesta was never going to become her own person so long as she was constantly watching over Elain.

Using the lack of Elain and Lucien page time in a Nesta and Cassian book as proof of something is an odd viewpoint. Do you think we'll have many mentions of Az or Gwyn in their book if Elucien is next? Or Elain's name count being high up there if Gwynriel is next?

And again, if people think Elain and Lucien's story can be pushed back despite all the traction they had in ACOWAR then why can't Gwynriel also be put on pause?

I do think Gwynriel is still a possibility, but not because they'd be the logical choice based off years upon years of what all the books have set up and her comments on the order of the spin-offs. If they're next then to me it really is because Sarah decided to chuck her original (fairly clear) plan out the window, where the spin-offs were meant to deal with the politics of after the war, and go in a wild new direction. Where time travel is now the more relevant plot for the current ACOTAR series though it was never the focus for the 4 books prior and never mentioned in connection with Koschei or the Human Queens before (it still hasn't been mentioned in relation to them). I do think it will be the direction she takes ACOTAR characters at a future point (maybe in an actual ACOTAR spin-off series rather than it still falling under the "Feyre and Co. ACOTAR umbrella) but it doesn't make as much sense for us to explore that just yet.

[lemotmo]

I know a lot of us have said at this point we don’t care how we get buddie canon we just want it because we’ve been waiting for it for so long now. Which fair because it’s been years lol.

I’m not dooming or well I’m not trying to anyway so i apologize if it comes off as such but im curious on your thoughts and if after the last few episodes you’ve changed your mind and become a little more actually yeah i would rather them not do it this way and do it this way instead?

Because for me I was def at the point of I don’t even care how it’s done at this point as long as it’s done but I do believe we have hit a point of yeah actually scratch that I do care.

Because this? If this is how they are going for buddie canon? I can’t say I’m a fan of it. No one is happy. The vibes are completely off. The dynamic between them is off because the show has taken Eddie Diaz main character and turned him into

“This week With Guest Star Ryan Guzman, playing Eddie Diaz, Evan Buckleys Love Interest”

And I just. I don’t want that. I can’t imagine anyone wants that. We know for sure Ryan and Oliver don’t want that. They have said so many times they don’t want Buddie unless it’s with them keeping their dynamic and relationship in tact. And you can not do that when you suddenly sideline one of them and treat them like a guest star love interest. All their development happens off screen. They aren’t in the episode unless it’s to propel the others storyline and then they disappear for weeks at a time again. Moments between them happen off screen.

Idk. I guess congrats to Tim because he apparently did find a way to show me I’m not just a I don’t care beyond it happening after all.

#giveEddiehismaincharacterstatusback

First, I want you to know that I fully respect your views and your opinion here. I don't think you are dooming at all. You are just concerned and disappointed. I get that.

But my opinion is quite the opposite of yours. 🤷‍♀️ Let me explain:

Have they treated Eddie really badly these last episodes? YES! YES! YES! Did I hate the way they treated him? YES!

He should have been notified about Bobby's death. Hell, he should have been in the episode in the first place. They never should have done the Vertigo plot either. It was just one bad idea after another for Eddie.

Eddie Diaz' story has been sidelined for waaaay too long and I HATE it! I've been pretty vocal about it too.

I loved how he seemed to get some focus in the beginning of 8b. I was so relieved to see his storyline progress. I didn't even mind him not being in 8x11, because while he wasn't physically present, he was THERE in everything Buck said and did.

Eddie is my favourite character and I would gladly watch this show just for him and him alone, even if he did only have 2 minutes of screen time last episode. I'm there.

I think the idea behind having Eddie move to El Paso was two-fold:

A. They needed to find a way to get Chris back.

B. They wanted to show us how much Buck missed Eddie and how Buck and Eddie's lives are so intertwined that their friendship never faded into nothing. They were constantly in contact with each other.

They did a good job with that in the first half of 8b, but then 8x14 happened and he wasn't there at all. Now, logically I understand what they were trying to do here. They wanted the audience to wonder if Eddie would ever come back and if he might stay in Texas forever.

The problem is that it was pretty clear from the get go that Eddie was never going to stay in Texas in the first place. Ryan's name was still in the credits, as was Gavin's. There was no exit announcement and in interviews Ryan never said anything about Eddie leaving forever.

So Eddie was always going to come back. Everybody knew this. In that case, why couldn't they find a few seconds to add in someone calling Eddie to tell him about Bobby?

And when he finally did come back, he was only there to eyefuck with Buck, eat crumpets and look gorgeous while a tear was rolling down his cheek.

I do think this was all plotted and planned to make us wonder if we wouldn't only lose Bobby, but Eddie as well. But the execution of the storyline fell flat. No one liked Eddie's absence and everyone was very vocal about it as well. 😋

But I do think the Buddie dynamic and relationship is still very much intact Nonny. I don't see a problem there. I'm sorry. Eddie was only gone for 2 episodes and in the third one Buck picked him up and brought him home. I mean, they picked up right where they left of.

So I can't lie. I'm very happy with this progression. I do expect some more Eddie scenes and development in the next two episodes. I think we'll see more of him then. But as usual, only time will tell if my expectations will be met. 🤷‍♀️

And as for the vibes Nonny? The vibes are still very much there for me. Even in those brief minutes he was on screen in 16, he got to spend those minutes practically glued to Buck's side. They were presented to us as a unit, which I found very interesting.

Their connection and chemistry still has soooo much untapped potential. Their story still needs to be told.

I love Eddie so much and I want to see him achieve the kind of happiness he dreams of. And I do think that finally admitting that he is in love with Buck, a man and his best friend, will set him on the path of joy.

Same for Buck by the way. The man has been looking for love for his entire life. He has been left too many times. It's time for him to recognise what real love looks like, embrace it and just go for it.

These two idiots are perfect for each other.

So yes Nonny, no matter how Buddie begins, I will be sat and I will be there every single step of the way.

It's just how I roll.

¯\(ツ)/¯

[taran-wood-beast]

So I think the main thing I've learned here is that Kerblam! could have worked if they had just made that guy the World's Most Annoying Piece of Shit Asshole. Like, I'm no fan of the CIA. But if they fed, I dunno, Chris Rufo to the terror dogs from Ghostbusters, I can't really pretend I'd have a problem with that?

I've been wondering for weeks now why McTighe is the one Chibnall era writer to get invited back and it seems pretty clear now that it's because he actually is pretty solid at both characterization and propelling forward an entertaining narrative. He just can't stop stepping on politics rakes Sideshow Bob style.

Also I still haven't forgiven him for girlbossifying Ace

Some little details I really enjoyed here:

* Love when Ncuti rolls his Rs McCoy style.

* The costuming on Conrad and Ruby's first date, where they're both dressed in riffs on Fifteen's outfits.

* The little domestic bits between Kate and her hunky trophy BF. This is how UNIT is supposed to function.

Actually the main thing threatening to completely break this episode is that the eternal tension between "UNIT is a familiar and loveable ad hoc family of Earth based supporting characters we like" (Season 8 UNIT) and "UNIT is a ruthless clandestine international paramilitary with world-ending technology and little to no oversight" (Season 7 UNIT) is stretched to its furthest ever extreme. Another user refers to it as the Avengers-fication of UNIT. I don't think that tension gets resolved here. I'm actually not sure it can be resolved. And I sort of wonder if stretching and prodding at that tension may actually be the point of the exercise for these 45 minutes? It would be in keeping with other deconstructions of aspects of Doctor Who RTD has overseen in the past

Moving on, the actual most interesting part of the episode for me is the "Ruby has PTSD" section. It's deft character work, well acted, and crucially it's an angle on Life After The TARDIS thats never been done before. It gets paid some lip service with Martha but we don't stick around long enough to dig into it. Looking forward to see where they go with this in the finale.

Also the fact that Ruby explicitly cites "getting trapped in a double bass" as one of the things that traumatized her is hysterical. Doctor Who is such a silly silly show but even the silly parts would be completely terrifying if you had to actually experience them!

Also also imagining Belinda one day having a similar conversation but one of her traumatic experiences is "I met some nerds."

Trinity Wells you will always be famous. Also love that we're just stuck with Fox News Trinity Wells now.

Re: the TARDIS scene at the end...You can tell McTighe has only written Jodie's Doctor before now because the Doctor talks like a cop here. It's his version of the Capaldi one-liners in Boom.

I really liked this scene actually. It's completely in keeping with other times the Doctor has gone Vindictive Bastard mode on people who've personally hurt his friends. And its great to see Ncuti get a proper Vindictive Bastard Doctor scene! It's really good, juicy stuff. Just, man. The actual lines he's given...you can really hear the Supercilious Yorkshire Lilt in some of those authoritative moral condemnations...

It's naturally mostly Ncuti's performance that makes it interesting. Because right at the end, when Conrad refuses to show remorse, the look on Ncuti's face is just...sadness. Because this Doctor would be sad about it! He starts the scene seemingly brushing off Conrad's suggestion that the Doctor is there to "save his soul" but then when Conrad refuses to have his soul saved...he's disappointed after all! He was hoping to save his soul! It's a really savvy performance note that cuts against the obvious reading of the scene. People who keep saying they "don't know Ncuti's Doctor" aren't watching!!!

That said, its extremely frustrating that we have three Doctor Lite episodes for a Doctor who might only get 18 and a half episodes total.

[glowettee]

Hi! I hope your day is going great. your blog is so pretty and your posts are really inspiring. I was wondering if you have any good book suggestions? 📚

thank you so much for your sweet message! i'm literally so happy you find my blog inspiring! book recommendations are one of my favorite things to share, so here are some reads that have totally changed my life, organized by category just for you:

✧ fiction ✧

• "normal people" by sally rooney (the way she writes relationships is sooo real)

• "the seven husbands of evelyn hugo" by taylor jenkins reid (glamour + heartbreak!)

• "little fires everywhere" by celeste ng (family drama at its finest)

• "circe" by madeline miller (mythology but make it feminist)

• "the midnight library" by matt haig (perfect for when you're feeling lost)

✧ fantasy fiction ✧

(i mostly read fiction, more so fantasy fiction, i'm such a huge fan of this genre)

• "the night circus" by erin morgenstern (magical + romantic in the best way)

• "a darker shade of magic" by v.e. schwab (parallel londons? yes please!)

• "uprooted" by naomi novik (dark fairy tale vibes that i'm obsessed with)

• "the invisible life of addie larue" by v.e. schwab (immortality with a twist)

• "ninth house" by leigh bardugo (dark academia meets magic at yale)

• "the starless sea" by erin morgenstern (underground library dreams)

• "piranesi" by susanna clarke (strange + beautiful + haunting)

✧ self-help + personal growth ✧

• "atomic habits" by james clear (literally changed how i build routines)

• "burnout" by emily + amelia nagoski (for when you're feeling overwhelmed)

• "the mountain is you" by brianna wiest (healing your self-sabotage!)

• "untamed" by glennon doyle (finding your inner voice)

• "buy yourself the f*cking lilies" by tara schuster (self-care that actually works)

✧ poetry + essays ✧

• "milk and honey" by rupi kaur (for your soft girl feelings)

• "the princess saves herself in this one" by amanda lovelace

• "trick mirror" by jia tolentino (essays that make you think)

• "salt" by nayyirah waheed (short poems that hit deep)

• "what kind of woman" by kate baer (feminine power on every page)

✧ academia + productivity ✧

• "deep work" by cal newport (how i get through finals week tbh)

• "make it stick" by peter c. brown (revolutionized my study methods)

• "digital minimalism" by cal newport (for when social media is too much)

• "how to do nothing" by jenny odell (because sometimes we need to just breathe)

• "grit" by angela duckworth (staying motivated when things get hard)

✧ cozy + comfort reads ✧

• anything by taylor jenkins reid (her characters feel like friends)

• "such a fun age" by kiley reid (so readable yet thought-provoking)

• "beach read" by emily henry (romance that doesn't feel cringey)

• "the house in the cerulean sea" by tj klune (like a warm hug in book form)

• "the secret history" by donna tartt (dark academia vibes)

hope these suggestions bring you as much joy as they've brought me! let me know if you read any of them, i'd love to hear your thoughts! just a little note: my favorite genres to read are fantasy, mystery and romance, and historical fiction as well, but i do try to broaden my genre-range, so this was a long list of books i've read in different genres, hopefully you can find some you'd like. <333

xoxo, mindy 🤍

[sweetfictionalworld]

Verus Amor ⸸ Chapter 1: Luxuria

⸸ Pairing: Vampire!Papa V Perpetua x Human!Female Reader

⸸ Summary: A story about soulmates, true love and raw, carnal desire.

⸸ Warnings: NSFW, Smut, Vampire bites, blood.

⸸ Author's notes: Verus Amor = True Love | Luxuria = The deadly sin, Lust | Bellus = Beautiful | Amor = Love

The dark clouds loomed menacingly in the sky above you as you stood at the front door of the Clergy Ministry. Taking a deep breath, you rang the doorbell, ignoring the thickening sensations surrounding you. This was a job offer you couldn't ignore, didn't want to ignore. You'd been a fan of Ghost since you were a teenager, this was an opportunity of a lifetime. You jumped when the door opened and you stood face to face with Cardinal Copia himself. Your eyes widened and you found yourself staring at him dumbstruck.

The Cardinal looked at you with interest, his right eyebrow rising as he eyed you up and down. You hadn't known what to wear, so you just put on a simple, black dress that apparently peaked The Cardinal's interest. You could feel your face getting warm from his gaze as you tried to find the words to speak.

"C-Cardinal C-Copia...I...I'm..."

Copia smiled and raised his hand. "I'm afraid I'm not Cardinal anymore. I'm Frater Imperator."

"O-Oh...yes, of course. I knew that. It's just that...you'll always be Cardinal Copia to me," you blushed with an awkward smile as Copia's eyes lit up and he smirked at you.

You cleared your throat. What the hell was wrong with you? Were you actually flirting with Cardinal Copia himself?

"Uhm...anyways...I've been hired as the new assistant...for Papa Perpetua."

"Oh." Copia's smirk faded and it almost looked like he was...disappointed?

"Well, welcome then, to the Clergy," Copia smiled and let you inside.

"Thank you," you smiled back and stepped inside, your eyes widening at the size of the hall inside.

"I will have one of the sisters show you to your room, then I will introduce you to Papa Perpetua. He's busy at the moment, promoting the new album."

"M-My room?" You stared at Copia. "I will live here?"

"Well, yes of course." Copia looked at you, surprised. "Papa Perpetua has stated very clearly, that he needs his assistant to be by his side at all times. In fact, when you stay here at the Ministry, your room will be next to his."

You kept staring at him, hearing the beat of your heart in your ear. This wasn't what you'd signed up for, to give up your entire life for Papa Perpetua. But, could you really say no? Turn this offer down?

*

Perpetua grimaced as he tugged on the collar of the cassock. Was this photo shoot done soon? He really wasn't a fan of this robe, he was more comfortable wearing his suit. And he needed to feed, he was getting hungry. He licked his lips, trying to moist them as the drumming of the humans blood pumping through their veins echoed through his longing body. He hadn't tasted a human in a long time, he had to settle for the rats at the basement of the Ministry and the occasional hunt in the forest. But, for once, he wish he could feel the thrill of hunting a human, feel the taste of their fear in their blood and hear the sweet whimper trembling on their lips as he feasted on their blood. Fuck, he got hard just thinking about it. Perpetua groaned and shifted his position when a whiff of something new, someone new, hit his nostrils. He inhaled deeply and a low purr rumbled in his chest as the scent flooded his senses and settled in his core as a steady rhythm of aching desire. Whoever they were, he needed to find them and make them his. Now.

*

The room was nice, you had to admit that. Much nicer than your one-room apartment. And here, you would get food every day. For free. Maybe, it wouldn't be so bad living here?

There was a knock on the door and you opened, greeted by Copia's kind smile.

"Papa Perpetua is free to see you now."

"Oh, okay," you smiled back and swallowed the nervous lump in your throat. You'd only seen what the new Papa looked like briefly at the end of the video of their new song, but what you'd seen had been menacing, so different from the previous Papas. Copia took you to the main hall, where you saw the back of a shiny suit.

*

Perpetua knew the second you stepped inside the room, that you were the one he scented earlier. Turning around, he was struck by an invisible force that took his breath away as he met your beautiful eyes. He felt pulled, drawned to you like a moth to a flame. In that moment, he knew you were destined to be his. Forever.

The man turned around and you couldn’t help the gasp leaving your mouth as his piercing eyes met yours, feeling as though he stared into the depths of your soul. He was wearing a metal mask covering the upper half of his face, whilst the lower half was bared, lips and cheeks painted in black. His dark, curly hair was slicked back, framing his haunting face. He was daunting and enchanting looking at the same time, making it impossible for you to tear your eyes away from him.

"Miss y/n," he said and took your hand, his voice vibrating through your core like a rumble in the ground. Smirking, he raised your hand to his lips and kissed it, the touch sending a current of electrifying sparks throughout your body. You were transfixed, paralyzed as his eyes gazed up at you.

"Bellus...you are exquisite," he purred and the sound sent a jolt to your clit, making it throb and ache to have him inside you, fill you deeper than anyone had ever done before. Perpetua smelled your arousal and smirked.

"Frater, leave us," he growled and glared at Copia, who's eyes flickered between you and Perpetua, as if he felt uncertain that he should leave you alone with Perpetua. But the look Perpetua gave him was enough for him to make a decision. Still hesitant, Copia left, leaving you alone with Papa Perpetua.

You still hadn't said a word, still spellbound by his eyes, by his dominant presence. Perpetua moved closer to you, his head moving like a snake as he seemed to smell your neck as he circled around you. You gulped, fluttering your eyes as you glanced down at him, breathlessly wondering what he was doing.

"Your scent...," Perpetua growled, his long, gloved fingers embracing your shoulders as he stood behind and leaned closer to your neck, inhaling deeply as another purr left his lips. "It's intoxicating...addicting..."

You moaned at his words, at the closeness of his body, and blushed at the embarrassing sound leaving your mouth. Perpetua only chuckled.

"P-Papa Perpetua," you finally managed to speak, though your voice was barely a whisper.

"Please, call me Papa," he replied, little growls leaving his lips as he continued to brush his nose against your neck, the touch as light as a feather.

You gulped and licked your lips. "Papa...W-What are you doing?"

Perpetua's hands moved from your shoulders to your waist, fingers digging into your hips as he whispered into your ear.

"I want to fuck you, and I know you want to fuck me too. I know you feel the same as I do. I can smell the arousal dripping from your cunt, Amor. So tell me...do you want me to fuck you?," he asked, his fingers digging deeper into your hips as his varm breath caressed your neck.

"Yes...yes, please...please fuck me, Papa," you mewled, not knowing where your words came from. Not that it mattered, because everything he said was true. You wanted him, desired him in ways no words could describe.

Perpetua growled and pushed you down on the floor, pulling your dress up and ripping your underwear apart. You gasped, everything happening so fast. Perpetua opened his trousers and pulled his fat, leaking cock out. He grabbed your hips and you instinctively pushed your ass up, cried out when he shoved his cock inside you. It was primal, animalistic lust taking over the both of you, Perpetua's snarls matching the sound of his hips slapping against your ass. He pumped his hips faster and faster, inching his cock deeper and deeper inside you until his heavy balls was pressing against the folds of your pussy and your thighs were shaking from how deeply he pressed against your cervix. Neither of you said anything, no words were needed to express the primitive craving and licentiousness taking of your bodies.

You cried out as his cock hit deeper and deeper inside you, pumping faster and faster until your orgasm hit you like a punch to the stomach and pleasure exploded to every inch of your core.

Perpetua growled when your pussy clenched around his cock, pulling him deeper inside you and pushing him over the edge. He sunk his teeth into the flesh of your neck as he came, purring as he sucked and lavished on your blood as his cock throbbed inside you, filling your womb with his seed and the sweet sensation of your pleasure-filled blood swirled on his tongue and down his throat.

You gasped when you felt a piercing sensation in your neck, panic rising in your body when you realized he was actually drinking your blood. Then, the panic was replaced with a warm sensation and you felt a sudden serenity spreading through your entire body, filling you with a buzzing, high sensation.

Through foggy eyes, you watched as he carried you to your room and laid you down on the bed. Looking up at the blur that was his face, his piercing eyes becoming your entire universe as you heard his soft whisper before your mind drifted off to sleep.

"I see you tomorrow, Amor, and I'll explain everything."

[unikhroma]

hi i need everyone to witness matpat's assistant take physical damage from hearing him merely Suggest the idea of a theory about the concept of a tumblr sexyman

[sacchiri]

Hellsing 2002 calendar illustration.

Ein wunderliche und erschröckliche Hystori von einem großen Wüttrich genant Dracole wayda Der do so ganz unkristenliche marrter hat angelegt die mensche, als mit spissen als auch die leut zu Tod geslyffen

A wondrous and frightening story about a great berserk called Dracula the voivode who inflicted such unchristian tortures such as with stakes and also dragged people to death

[hesbianyaoi]

i've seen a few posts about people being confused about the implications of these scenes, and i can't say for certain what exactly it is or what it means but:

i'm 100% sure that the "dazai" hallucinations that atsushi has are actually a way for byakko to communicate with atsushi, who has subconscious connections & severely repressed memories to the Book. i don't think it has anything to do with the dazai we know in the main storyline, but my best bets are that this is byakko trying to communicate to atsushi through other means

in this case, it could be dazai from another alternate universe created by the Book talking to him due to atsushi's role as a "bookmark". it could even be just something else entirely in atsushi's vast subconscious taking on a familiar face (someone who atsushi trusts unconditionally) to be able to properly communicate with him

we know byakko is a celestial being, and we know her soul is inside atsushi's body (atsushi's eyes being dual-toned, the tiger having an entirely separate identity and body from atsushi as seen in Dead Apple, etc.) so i think this is sort of a "wake up call" for atsushi to finally realize his role in it all and just how important he truly is

(i think it makes sense in a way where i've seen people comparing the past dazai hallucinations to the ones we experience now through atsushi's eyes. his eyes are darker, his tone is a little colder, and he feels more "serious" as opposed to his semi-playful tone we see when we first see hallucinationzai)

[expensivemistake]

Erica Schultz' Elektra run so far has been intensely frustrating to me, because on one hand, she clearly has more love and knowledge about Elektra as a character than Zdarsky ever did. Little details, like Elektra's burner phone from when she was an assassin, or just giving her a character outside of Matt – these things are pretty good, and I like them. She clearly understands the feel of the character, and she's certainly done more for Elektra than Zdarsky ever did.

But I feel like every Elektra story of hers so far has fallen short in the same way. And I think it's because she's depicting Elektra a little more like herself, but seems ignorant to how unhealthy, uncomfortable, out of character, demeaning and unnecessary Daredevil!Elektra actually is. And she keeps squandering opportunities to shed the mask.

Maybe it's that her hands are tied. Or maybe it's that she genuinely likes writing Elektra in this way.

But there's something endlessly frustrating about the marketing for Unleash Hell using "Murder is an Art!" as a tagline, but then doubling down on the fact she doesn't kill now.

They're giving Elektra her font back. They're giving her a red band comic. But they refuse to let her reclaim her own name, or to have a life outside sharing Matt's identity just to please him. It's so exhausting.

[lemotmo]

To be honest, I think Bobby will return in episode 8.18, or they’ll give a hint that he’s alive—maybe being held captive—and the season will end there. That would leave us anxious during the hiatus. Season 9 could start with Bobby being rescued from captivity, making his rescue the big emergency at the beginning of the season.

If Bobby is dead, I’m almost certain they’ll bring in a big-name actor to attract attention from the general audience and the fandom. Not to replace Bobby or to be a love interest for Athena, but just to add to the cast—maybe an old friend of Athena’s and Hen’s.

The fandom is angry and wants the show canceled. Still, I think even if Bobby is dead, we’ll have at least three more seasons without issue. Many general audience viewers will continue watching because of Athena’s and Jennifer’s storylines. Just look at Grey’s Anatomy and other ABC shows—sometimes the live ratings aren’t great, but they perform well on streaming.

I doubt Angela would want to leave, especially since she and her husband are executive producers of 9-1-1 Nashville. His production company is credited alongside Ryan Murphy Productions.

I'm combining both of your posts Nonnies, because they elevate each other.

I've also thought about it being revealed that Bobby is alive at the end of 8, just to keep people talking during hiatus and eager to watch season 9 again. It is definitely a possibility and I could see it happening.

But part of me still thinks they will want to end this season on a happy note, so that's why I'm leaning into the direction of Bobby being revealed alive in 8x17 and coming back in 8x18.

Let's just hope that it's either of the above, because otherwise it means Bobby is really dead and I'll have to deal with that during hiatus. 😭

I don't follow you with the whole 'bringing in a big name actor' if Bobby is really dead. I think by now the show is well-established and the actors are all very popular. They still have enough star power to keep going without Peter/Bobby. They might promote Ravi to a main character though. We have seen a lot of him lately.

Yeah, I'll be honest with you. I don't get the fans that actually want the show to be cancelled or that are talking about how 'deserving' it will be for Tim when the show gets cancelled.

Personally, I didn't care for 8x14, hated 8x15 and felt 'meh' about 8x16, but that doesn't mean that I would want the show to get cancelled because of three bad episodes. Quite the contrary. I want the show to pull itself together and keep going strong for a few more seasons. I love it too much to see it get cancelled so soon.

(Now, I do think that ABC needs to sit Tim Minear down and have a looong chat with him about his vision for season 9. They also need to make sure that he stays focused and doesn't deviate too much from the path he set out in the beginning of the season. That man needs to realise that structure is important when you make a TV-show.)

Also, 911 is a big TV show that employs a lot of people. Anyone wishing for it to get cancelled is basically saying that they would be okay with so many people losing their job. And over what? The death of a fictional character? I'm sorry, but that is an insanely selfish thing to wish for. 🤷‍♀️

I'm a big fan of people having their own opinions and talking about these opinions. It's okay to love, like, dislike or even hate an episode or a TV-show. Talk about it, share your opinions and look for others who think the same or who think the opposite. That's all great. But stay respectful when it comes to the people whose jobs would be on the line if the show would come to an end.

Now, looking at the numbers the second Nonny provided and the ratings of the latest episode, it is crystal clear that things like IMDB ratings or even a few less views won't affect this show in any major way. So I agree that 911 is not going anywhere anytime soon. I'm also thinking about 2 or 3 more seasons at this point. Who knows? Maybe even more. 🤷‍♀️

I had no idea that Angela is producing 911 Nashville. Thanks for the info Nonny. I can see how that would definitely keep her in the 911 universe. Interesting.

[rainbowberriesandcookies]

Pain is being an ulquihime shipper but having to block/avoid most of them because they are weirdly anti-Orihime, anti-bleach ending, or "anti how Kubo wrote Orihime" even though she's one of the most consistently and well-written female characters in Shounen as well as the fact that they try to make Ulquiorra care more about Orihime than he actually did in the manga or even god forbid try to say that Ulquiorra cared more about Orihime than Ichigo did.

[hadesknockedupintheunderworld]

I think the theme of "home", while not always in the forefront, is something that interests me about the Sonic Movie Universe (in a similar way it interested me during Prime)

For Movie!Sonic, home is where you make it first and where your family is second. After his guardian died, he presumably jumped from place to place, and it was a while before he had a stable home. He made himself a home on earth and fell in love with the land and the culture. But you get the sense that as long as he's in hiding and ostracized all the time, it never fully feels like home. So it's important that he got to really experience earth and living in Movie 1 with Tom. It's important that he made earth his home, and then made the Wachowski household his base. No matter where he goes on earth and beyond, he has a family he chose and who chose him he can come back to and be himself around. "Home" for Movie!Sonic began with necessity, progressed due to his growing attachment to earth and what it offers, and fully settled in with him having a more permanent place in this world and support.

For Movie Tails, I surmise that "home" to him is where Sonic is. He was ostracized (possibly even bullied/picked on) back home for his two tails. After listening to some of his lines in movie 2, Tails read to me like a character who'd been treated as weird or an outcast and ended up isolating himself as a result. I got the impression that when he wasn't indulging in his love of technology/mechanics (or perhaps even at the same time) he was holed up in his base, watching a live stream of Sonic and his adventures, even after the conclusion of the first movie's events. He knows everything about Sonic, down to knowing that he doesn’t take showers, before even meeting him properly. Tails is not at home on earth nor particularly entranced by earth itself (in opposition to Sonic, who became entranced with it). He only even goes there to warn Sonic and to help him out. But Sonic's place—Sonic's home—is on Earth, in Green Hills, with Tom and Maddie, and Tails has formed an actual bond of friendship with the hedgehog he formed a possibly parasocial relationship with used to watch on a screen. Before, I think Tails was just content with watching or being helpful. But now? Now that he's spent time with Sonic, Sonic makes him feel normal. Sonic makes him feel like even "weirdos" can do great things. Sonic makes him feel valued. He's no longer content just watching because Sonic is more his home than the place he grew up in ever was. Home to him is with the people you choose, the people who make you feel at home, the people you want to be around. The Wachowski household is Sonic's home because he loves earth, green hills, and because he has mutually taken Tom and Maddie as his parents. Earth and the Wachowski household are only Tails' home as long as Sonic is there.

And for Knuckles... He has the set up to fall in love with earth in a similar way Sonic did. He grew up/was born in a similar place to him. And yet, all of the beautiful nature on earth doesn't matter to him. Knuckles, as of the beginning of the Knuckles series, had adopted a different approach to Sonic. Sonic tried to make home for himself wherever he could, no matter how many worlds he'd jumped to. In contrast, Knuckles never bothered to do this. He only pursued the mission, never bothering to make a home when he'd be off to the next world soon enough (especially if it seemed trivial in the face of his life's mission). And it's pointed that although he's able to participate in what earth offers the same way Sonic is in movie 1 (Knuckles learning how to bowl or Sonic going to a bar), he is not at home because of those things. He's able to slow down and appreciate what earth offers, the same things he couldn't bring himself to acknowledge before, and yet he's not at home on earth because it's beautiful or because it has food he likes or whatever. He very pointedly makes a connection with Wade and his family. The Whipple family is home. Not the earth, not even the house itself. He feels comfortable when with them, he enjoys the time on earth he spends with them, and he is able to appreciate Earth better when he experiences it with them (in contrast to Tails, who never had any sort of arc of appreciating what one can experience on earth to me). Home to Knuckles isn't easily quantifiable (more of a feeling really), but it’s about the people who make you feel at home. It's about the people who helped him relax and feel more comfortable not always putting his focus into the mission.

Sonic, who can make home anywhere, who always appreciated what was great about living on earth, and whose "home" was finally made permanent when he spent time with Tom and Maddie.

Tails, who never truly felt home until he spent time with Sonic, who doesn't particularly care for what earth has to offer, whose home is wherever Sonic is.

Knuckles, who never allowed himself to feel at home or tried to make a home until he began to travel with Wade and open up to new experiences, who began to enjoy earth and yet considers his home with the Whipple family specifically.

Sonic would protect the earth he lives on even if everyone he cared about was gone. Tails would protect the earth he lives on so long as it's Sonic's home. Knuckles would protect the world he lives on not just to keep the master emerald secured, but so long as this place is home to the Whipple family, with whom he enjoys experiencing Earth with.

Do you... Do you get me?