#like. how many girls did you know who were forced by their parents or even school administration to wear dresses to prom?

[hiimcanadia]

Most of the time when someone tries to use "women can wear pants but men can't wear skirts" as proof that masculine women are celebrated, I see people responding that the only reason women can wear pants is because women and trans men fought for the right to do so. Which is absolutely true. However I don't think I've seen a lot of people take that argument to the obvious next step, which is that people fought so hard to normalize women wearing pants that it's simply not seen as an exclusively masculine thing in the modern era. When we talk about masculine women, we aren't talking about someone who buys a pair of skinny jeans with embroidery on the butt and wears them with a flowy blouse. We're talking about women who wear work jeans covered in dirt and layer their clothes to disguise their chests, or even wear binders. We're talking about women who have buzz cuts and thick body hair and sometimes even facial hair. We're talking about women who use pronouns other than she/her. We're talking about women who date other women. These women still face social stigma and discrimination, and are not celebrated by society at large just because crossdressing in public isn't a literal crime right now

[beloveds-embrace]

Dukedom au but instead of the men noticing reader post marriage, they already notice her pre marriage like maybe before they went to war and meet each other. She use to be so radiant especially on her debut to society. She dances John and Simon and they were entranced since then. Maybe she likes sneaking out bro mingle with the commons and met Johnny and Kyle that way. Then war happened and many other things by the time they were back they’re not exactly expecting their dream girl to be unmarried, she’s so beautiful why would she be unmarried, besides they have each other now.

Imagine their surprise when they found out not only is she unmarried but rather unpopular in society for one or two petty reasons too.

ANONNNNN I LOVE YOUR MIND

It wasn’t until after his return from the military- when he finally came home with Simon by his side, Kyle and Johnny already settled into their places in his household- that John actually heard the full extent of the rumors surrounding you.

You were barren, they said. Damaged. A woman past her prime who had rejected too many suitors out of pride and was now paying the price. Not docile enough to be a good wife, too much of a spitfire. Hysterical, the last time you had snapped at a man who had gotten a little too close to you. A stain on your family’s lineage, who were trying desperately to marry you off.

Kyle had been the first to bring it up, muttering about what he’d overheard at the bakery one morning while helping Johnny’s parents prepare for the day. Johnny, normally so cheerful, had been uncharacteristically quiet about the whole thing- quiet in that dangerous, simmering way that meant he was ready to fight anyone who so much as looked at you wrong.

And Simon?

Simon had just looked at John.

“Fix it.” he’d said, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

But it wasn’t simple.

Not when the love John felt for you had been complicated from the start. Not when Kyle and Johnny and Simon already occupied so much of his heart, and the idea of forcing you to share that space- even with men who adored you already- felt like asking too much.

So he waited, and waited.

He waited until he saw you again, looking so perfectly soft and sweet and untouched by the harshness of the world around you, even despite all the hate-filled rumors aimed your way, it nearly broke him. He waited until Kyle started dropping more and more excuses to see you, until Johnny began dragging you into their outings, until even Simon- gruff, stoic Simon- began pausing to ask how you were doing when he saw you in passing.

He waited until he couldn’t not ask.

And when he finally did- when he knelt before you and offered you everything he had, everything he was, everything they were because he would keep anything a secret from you- you didn’t answer right away.

“John…” You were at a loss for words, eyes shifting to a fro. You could hear your parents practically yelling at you to just accept, no matter what, within your mind.

Your cheeks turned warmer than a furnace, and you lowered your head, gritting your teeth. “Surely you all know that- that I’m not… exactly the best candidate for you.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Your eyes widened, mouth falling open, and he wanted to kiss that expression off your face. Replace it with something happier, brighter.

“It doesn’t matter.” John repeated, voice soft and so painfully fond. “They can say all they want. It’s you who I care about- we care about. Nobody else matters. Nothing else matters, except for your happiness and what you want. So I ask again… will you be my Duchess?”

You bit your lips, ignoring the tiny little voice of your nanny scolding you for your terrible nervous habit. You wanted to accept. You ached to accept.

“Promise me, John,” you breathed out. And he listened, more than anyone else ever has. “Promise me. I won’t ever be a simple accessory on your arm, or a forgotten relic in your home. I won’t be brushed aside, while everyone around me is loved. Please, John. If you can promise me that, then I accept.”

And for John?

It didn’t even take him a second before agreed; already, he could imagine the relief that the others would have, as well.

He could also imagine you, blooming in their home.

[rainydayathogwarts]

Love at first sight - Sirius Black

summary: lily's sister who goes to beauxbatons throws the party of the summer which sparks likely friendships, and an even likelier romance. wc: 2.3k

Lily came into the Great Hall the same way she always did: a determined look on her face, chin lifted up confidently, carrying overflowing papers in her arms, but something was different. Those paper she carried? They weren’t filled with head girl applications or polished assignments, no, they were party invitations.

She sat at her usual seat, and as per usual, the marauders ruffled through her papers. “Party invitations?” Whispered Sirius excitedly, as though it was something secret. Lily puffed her chest out “Y/n’s throwing a party, and encouraged me to extend the invitations to some Hogwarts students.” James cleared his throat to stop himself from choking on his tea. “I’m sorry? Your parents are letting you throw a party? The same two people who didn’t let you come over to Marlene’s tea party?” Lily grinned widely. “Well, y/n only comes home during the summers. I’m there every winter and spring break , so she kind of has a way with our parents. All she had to say was ‘this is our last summer before we graduate’ and she had them.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Marlene cut in, her face lighting up, “If this is y/n’s party, does this mean it’s going to be filled with sexy french kids?” Lily nodded happily, sharing a look with the other marauders. It was going to be the party of the year.

You and Lily were the epitome of opposites. You’d engrossed yourself in getting to know all the kids in the neighborhood and quickly because friends with your french neighbour, while Lily only befriended one — Severus. By force of being around the young boy, you’d learned his language, his language which quickly became your own. Whilst you and Lily had your own friends, no one was closer to you both than each other. You were twins, not only blood brothers but best friends. Due to your linguistic talent, you’d not only received a letter from Hogwarts on your eleventh birthday, but from Beauxbatons too. Petunia, ever so jealous of your relationship and your magic, had duped your parents into sending you away.

Petunia had ran off crying, locked in her room alone until she formed the plan of the century to break your relationship with your twin apart. “Well, they’re always together. Isn’t it better for them to learn how to live apart from each other?” And your parents had fallen for her trick. Now, you only saw each other during the summers, and your relationship was stronger than ever. But things would soon change.

The only thing Lily heard of for the rest of the day was this party. Who was she inviting? How many people would be there? “Sirius, it’s not my party. I don’t know the details. All I’ve been told is that I have these invitations to give out to people.” Sirius stared at the front of the boldly decorated invitation on the top of the pile which read in a glittery font ‘No invite, no entry!’ He ran a rough estimate in his mind and decided there had to be at least seventy invitations in the stack of papers. “Can I help give them out?”

Lily and Sirius had proudly made up a list of who to invite, or not to invite, the rest of the marauders eventually gathering around to put in their own two cents. When the invitations had been given out, Lily returned to her dorm whilst the marauders all sat in front of the black lake, soaking up the limited sun rays whilst staring at their own invitations. “This is some high end decor.” Commented Remus, turning his invitation in his hands. The fonts had been carefully chosen, and a textured disco ball sat in the centre of the page. “Yeah, according to Lily, y/n loooves to party.” Marlene added, laying on her back. “I’m excited to meet her,” started James “She sounds fun, and we barely ever hear about her from Lily.”

Sirius hummed, gears turning in his brain. “Lily said they’re nothing alike.” He recalls. It was true. You and Lily weren’t only opposites in terms of personality, but looks too. Despite being twins, you had taken all of your father’s genes while Lily took after your mother. No one ever believed you when you said you were twins, let alone siblings.

The party was nearly an entire month later. The marauders found themselves outside an ordinary muggle house, glancing at each other nervously. Had they arrived too early? Marlene glanced down at her invitation, ensuring that they were there right on time. A knock on the door and they were waiting. The door slammed open and they were met with you, a bright smile on your face and a tray in the other with an array of pink and blue jell-o shots. You weren’t the only thing that welcomed them, but the loud roar of noise from inside the house blasted them too. Remus cocked an eyebrow, thinking ‘That’s one mean silencing charm.’ “Grab a drink you guys!” You called, holding the door open with your foot as you moved to the side for them to come in. You introduced yourself over the noise, clueless to the mesmerised eyes following you.

Sirius let himself be dragged into the house by Remus, though his eyes followed you as you escaped into the backyard. Lily had been right, you weren’t nothing alike. You wore fishnets under your small denim shorts, your top exposing more than just midriff. He gulped, trying not to be caught staring at your breasts when you turned around, instead moving his gaze to the endless jewellery you wore.

Sirius heard himself gasp — apparently the french like to be early. The party in the backyard was lit, he finally noticed, with groups of people already playing beer pong, dancing to the music, and even exchanging light conversation. Lily ran to join them, trying to properly introduce you to her friends, but you were running back to the door as the bell rung once more.  Apparently everyone arrived at once, because a crowd of people suddenly flooded the living room. A mix of elegant french and fast english chatter filled the air, and Sirius saw Marlene’s jaw drop, already picking the girl she was going to spend the rest of the night flirting with. Just as Lily was about to catch you, you jumped onto the coffee table, pointing your wand to your neck with an amplification charm.

“Okay, listen up everyone!” You called out, and from within the crowd, Sirius caught your eye, his muscular arms thrown over two of his friends' shoulders. You hadn’t properly noticed him when he walked in, but now? You shook the thought out of your head. “We have about 200 wizards in this house. A house that you can tell is in a muggle neighbourhood! Now, my silencing charm may be great, but it doesn’t hide magical activity! So if we can keep the magic down to a minimum and get the party up to a maximum that would be great! Where’s my music!?” And suddenly the music roared to life. Sirius shoved to the front of the crowd, offering you a hand to help you down from the coffee table. You felt your stomach jump at his offer, the light reflecting off his silver jewellery. Instead of taking Sirius’s hand, you wrapped your arms around his neck, swinging your legs off the table. Sirius snaked his arms around your waist without missing a beat, spinning you around so you let out a joyous laugh. “And who might you be?” You asked, running your hands down his chest before letting them hang by your sides.

Sirius curtseyed, miming saluting you with a hat whilst very poshly saying “Sirius Black, at your service.” You giggled, putting both your hands on his bicep. “Hey, you met Sirius!” Lily cut in, bumping you with her hip. You met her eyes, and they glinted with mischief. She most definitely knew how attracted you were to Sirius in that moment. “Come meet the others!” She didn’t give you time to respond, instead tugging you away from the curly haired boy. You waved at him, yelling “I’ll see you later!” and then “Shut up” to Lily when you turned around. You didn’t have to look at her to know she was smiling like the cheshire cat.

James was the first to bring you into a hug, his hands respectfully patting your back. You turned to look at Lily, nodding in approval. Your introductions with Remus and Marlene were quick, witty comments given by each of them before Marlene so boldly asked “Hey, is that cute brunette over there into girls?” You laughed, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Sweetheart, you’re going to have to be more specific, but for you? Anyone would be into girls.” Simple to say, Marlene turned bright red, and not because of the warmth the alcohol had given her.

When Sirius returned to the group, you were already gone, dancing with your friends. He threw his arms around James’s shoulders, resting his head on his best friends’s shoulder. “James, we’re going to be brothers in law!” The boy barked out a laugh, pushing Sirius away to look at him properly. “I’m in love with her James.” Remus laughed, slapping a hand on Sirius’s back. “Well what are you going to do about it buddy?” He asked, sharing an amused glance with James. “I’m going to convince her to come to Hogwarts. Wait! First, I’m going to make her fall in love with me!” Sirius frowned at his two friends’ loud laughs, muttering something like “I’ll show you.” But he didn’t have the chance to come find you in the crowd, because two pairs of hands were placed upon his shoulders, and you appeared, saying “Come dance with me.”

Sirius almost passed out at your offer, blindly following you onto the dance floor and missing the surprised look Remus and James shot each other. Apparently, you wouldn't need much convincing to fall for Sirius. Sirius took your hand, spinning you around, and you looking him up, looking around as though it would hide the bite of your lip. Sirius’s jeans were just tight enough around the crotch, and low waisted enough that every time he raised his arms too high, a sliver of his abdomen would show as his top would ride up. You spun around in Sirius’s arms, pressing your back against his chest. His hands trailed down to your hips, tugging them closer to his own. You giggled, moving your body alongside the music. Sirius groaned, whispering the lyrics in your ear, his hot breath hitting your sweaty skin.

The next time Sirius groaned, it wasn’t out of enjoyment, it was because someone had called out your name. “Viens avec nous? Just une cigarette!” (Come with us? Just one cigarette!) You had laughed at your friend’s words, shaking your head. “Non, il est trop beau, je ne veux pas le quitter!” (No, he’s so gorgeous, I don’t want to leave him!) Sirius hummed as you turned around in his arms, putting both your hands on his chest. “Come outside with me! Somewhere we can talk!” You grinned, sliding both your hands down in his, and letting him drag you outside.

You let Sirius guide you to a less crowded side of your garden, where you could people watch without being disturbed. You pushed Sirius against the wall of your backyard, watching as his eyebrows flew upwards in surprise. “So, Mr. Black, what would you like to discuss?” Sirius felt his heart surge, its pace quickening by the second, and he was sure you could feel it under your fingertips too. “Go out with me.” He heard himself blurt, and his eyes went wide at his own question. You laughed, looking around. “Aren’t we out right now?” The silence he left you with made you giggle, leaning your head forward on his chest. “I’m just joking.” Sirius shoulders slumped down in relief, hands loosely gripping your hips.

“I don’t want this to just be a little party flirt. I want to really get to know you. You… you seem cool.” You pressed yourself onto your tip toes, leaning forward to softly kiss Sirius. He sighed as you pulled away, chasing the kiss softly, but you refused to reconnect your lips. “I’d really like that.” Sirius smiled widely, pulling you flat against his body. “And hey, who knows, maybe you can show me around Hogwarts?” Sirius nodded, replying with “Yeah of- wait, what?” You straightened your back, cocking your head to the side. “Yeah, I’m moving to Hogwarts next year. Mum and dad finally had enough of me being so far away.” You interrupted yourself with your own laugh, pushing yourself off of him and looking around. “That’s what this is! My goodbye slash welcome party. Didn’t Lily tell you?” Sirius shook his head, stepping closer to you. “Well since I’ll be seeing more of you, can I properly kiss you now?”

Nodding at Sirius, you let him tug you closer to him, bringing you into a passionate kiss. You gasped at the force of his kiss, letting Sirius slide his tongue into your mouth. Moaning softly, you brought your hands up to cup Sirius’s face, pushing your body even deeper into his. “Oh my!” You pulled away from Sirius harshly, stumbling away from him. “I mean, I knew you guys had something going on, but I didn’t know it was going on.” You felt your face flush at Lily’s words, and heard Sirius cry out from behind you “Why didn’t you tell us she’s joining next year!?” James, from next to Lily, turned to face her, surprise overtaking his features. “I wanted to see how you guys got along before telling anyone!”

Remus approached the four of you, tipsily mumbling “Marlene has a roster of like three girls right now, and I just overheard some guy saying he wants to jump in the lake. I didn’t know there was a lake.” Remus stood silently, finally taking in the scene in front of him.

“I’m sorry, did I miss something?”

taglist:

@ravisinghs-wife, @amatoanima, @starry-remus, @pain-in-the-ashe

[hrrtshape]

things i manifested in the last 5 months.

◞ a trip to paris with my mom, because, obviously, i deserve cinematic montages of me walking along the seine in sunglasses and a red coat.

◞ a trip to italy’s ski resorts with my dad and brother, living my best après-ski la dolce vita moment, probably in a fur-lined coat, giving ‘mysterious heiress with a past.’

◞ a trip to ibiza. . .do i even need to elaborate? the sun, the sea, the absolute lack of thoughts in my head, just vibes.

◞ becoming more prettier. a few months ago, i took that test where a robot “according to science” calculates how pretty you are. i got about 52%, skip to right now and it shows 80%!!!!

◞ a trip to the belgium grand prix because i am a girl of culture and i like watching millionaires drive in circles really, really fast. everyone PLEASE manifest that charles leclerc falls in love with me.

◞ losing weight after ED recovery, but in a way that felt good and right, not in a ‘war with my body’ way, but in a ‘my body is thanking me for treating it with kindness’ way.

◞ and by extension… eating however much i want. not only in that “oh, i eat however much i want and don’t gain” (although, yes!!!!), but also that i don’t feel absolutely horrible, horrid and disgusting after eating past 8 o’clock.

◞ excuse my french, but, growing an ass!!!!!! this one gets its own fanfare because how does one thrive off a diet of carbs, croissants, burritos, and soy milk lattes AND still develop the physics-defying, gravity-defying, renaissance sculpture of a derrière??? the laws of biology are in shambles. the gym hasn’t seen me in months and it will continue to do so.

◞ my mom’s business POPPING OFF. the celebrities in my little nation are in her dm’s, the business is expanding into so many places, and the success!!!!! it’s only just beginning.

◞ shifting to my fame dr for 20 minutes and meeting timmy t!!!!! one second in my bed, the next in a make up chair. a cameo from hollywood’s favourite brooding poet boy. did he fall in love with me instantly? maybe. was i effortlessly captivating? always. the chemistry? palpable.

◞ cocktails!!! everywhere. i don’t even have to ask my parents anymore, they’re always in my hand at the perfect moment. divine intervention in mixology form.

◞ always being at the right place at the right time. no missed busses, no wrong turns, no long lines, no awkward “why am i here” moments. just perfectly timed entrances like i’m starring in my own movie. I AM the meet-cute.

◞ my mom and dad FINALLY getting along. a historic event. peace treaties (actual contracts) were signed, egos were dissolved, and my mental health got a break it so desperately needed. love this for 9 year old me who was probably getting bpd as everything occurred.

◞ my little safe space (shifttblur, my little prophet oracle shenanigans) taking off. the church of muad’dib is THRIVING. and i’ve gotten so many kewlest friends<3

◞ my hair isn’t as oily anymore. and i DIDN’T EVEN SWITCH PRODUCTS. science is flailing, trichologists are confused, but i’m simply basking in my newfound ability to go days without dry shampoo.

◞ my nose??? smaller? upturned?? nature is quite literally BENDING to my will. my face is sculpting itself to perfection, no consultation necessary.

◞ also!!! my lashes have grown an INSANE amount. falsies who???

◞ my intuition reaching oracle of delphi levels. i don’t even need to second-guess things anymore. if i sense something, it’s FACT. the accuracy? terrifying. my inner knowing? undefeated. the people around me? spooked.

◞ eloquence. this is, lowkey (high-key), the most fortunate thing that had ever happened to me. i am patiently sitting and waiting for that 100% on my essays.

◞ me and my dad finally getting along. not in a dramatic, movie-moment way, just in the little things. the conversations that didn’t feel forced. the jokes that actually landed. the quiet understanding that we’re both trying, in our own ways.

◞ money. just… money. not in a lottery-winning way, but in a “somehow, i always have enough” way. in a “random discounts appear when i need them” way. in a “people keep handing me little opportunities” way. a quiet, steady flow.

◞ my painting and drawing skills getting better without me even noticing. one day, i just looked at something i made and thought, wait….when did i get this good? and that was a nice feeling.

ib the amazing @solanasreality who i got the idea from !!

[lady-ashfade]

Pretty girl

Yandere Percy Jackson x Aphrodite!Bimbo fem!reader. (Slight Yan! Aphroditesiblings)

Plot: Maybe the power of your beauty worked a little too well on him. Percy can’t get you out of his head.

-£ he’s aged up and I’m thinking of book Percy

Warnings: Spoilers for the books? Yandere tendencies, Jealousy, Percy being possessive, Percy thinking he as some of claim on you, Reader being a bit naïve and the baby of her cabin, and not knowing how to fight, Percy being kinda mean to the reader, over all toxic.

if there was one thing he wanted in this life. it would be to call you his.

percy never saw anything more beautiful in his life then when he looked at you for the first time when he arrived at camp. sitting with your sisters and giggling as they braided your hair, you didn’t notice him. he was with luke while getting to know the camp, he just stopped at stared at you. his cheeks flushed and heart beating faster as he heard the faint sound of your cute laugh. the older boy took notice and realized what was happening.

“Aphrodite’s daughters, the one in the middle is y/n. She’s the camp’s sweetheart, I don’t think there is a mean bone in her body.” Percy pulled away from you for a second to look at luke but just went back to you. “is she seeing anyone?” luke just laughed and patted him on the back.

“Aphrodites cabin keeps her away from anyone other then them, no one as been bold enough to try. So good luck,” after a few seconds of standing there like a love struck idiot he was pulled away and forced to go found out who is godly parents is.

Percy was proven right when he tried to approve you many times. your sisters just glared at him and pulled you away without you noticing he was even there, and he tried so many times. that only tempted him more. so he started following you around and watches you. laughing, playing in the water as your sister watched, or brushing your hair. where ever you went he wasn’t far behind.

this sparked his yandere behavior. he was convinced you were waiting for him to take you away. you need someone to kiss the ground you walk on and protect you. he was always watching you and when he went a day without seeing you he get cranky.

luckily, after months of just watching you he was finally able to find you alone with no sibling in sight. he watched you with a smirk as you cut through the air with your sword and played pretend. he never saw you in training or around, and never with any weapons. you must have stunk away from your cabin and tried to train yourself.

it was adorable how you thought you could teach yourself. being so weak and clumsy. Percy watched for a few minutes as you copied some simple moves you must have saw and small screams.

it wasn’t until you tripped over a root sticking up from the ground he was rushing towards you.

“Poor thing,” you turned your head at a voice behind you while you sat on the ground getting your pants covered in dirt. “Need some help?” as you looked up at him he realized how bad he had been craving to have your attention on him. he was close to you now. all alone. this was his opportunity.

embarrassment set inside of you and your body heated up and started to sweat. you looked away from him and started to get up on your own. “how much did you see.” You picked up the sword and played with the handle.

“not much, just you taking a nasty fall.” You nodded your head as he spoke and started to walk closer to you. “I could help if you want, I’ve fought a few things before.” His cheeky smile and tone made you look at him. You knew who he was, of course you did. he saved camp, he stopped a war. he was a hero.

and the most handsome boy you have seen.

it was unreal to think about how he was talking to you now. offering to help you after you embarrassed yourself in front of him. “um, you can if you want.” the small sound of your voice made his heart pulse faster. he was finally getting what he wanted. so he only smiled and grabbed ahold of your hand that held the sword.

as he spoke he moved behind you and wrapped his arm around your waist and pushed your foot back to get you balanced. his other hand still holding yours. you could barely focus when he was so warm, your crush was helping you! Percy noticed how quiet you got and he was so smug about it. “Y/n.” He looked at you as your eyes stared over his face barely hearing the words from his lips.

“Not much going on in that head, hmm? Maybe fighting isn’t for you.” his hand took the blade from your grasp and he stepped away from you. you got shy when you realized he had caught you staring.

your fingers play with the ends of your camp shirt, “I wanna protect myself.” He titled his head and his hand reached up to play with your hair. “You have the camp to do that, and of course I’ll keep you safe. But you just have to stay and look pretty.”

you looked so embarrassed and shy at his statement you eyes stayed away from him and stood awkwardly. Percy smiled and chuckled, “Maybe you should hang out with me? I could teach you a bit to protect yourself…Or you probably don’t wanna-” as he spoke he started to move away from you, knowing you’d actually take his offer.

“No, no! I’d love to.” You reached for him again with a smile. “Please.” He looked back at you and let out a fake sighed. if only he could show the huge smirk he had to fight back. you were just to easy to manipulate.

“then you stick by me now then, pretty girl?” you nodded your head and clapped your hands excitedly now having someone to train you. but Percy was happy you would stay by him now and no one could pull you away from, he had his hooks in you. and so what if they tried? not like they’d find their bodies anyway, who would look in the lake? no one would miss them away.

all that matter was you and him.

[disneyprincemuke]

the other woman * mv1

everything falls into place in your mind when max fails to show up for you at the one event you desperately wanted him to be at

pairings: max verstappen x fem!reader

warnings: cheating, jake gyllenhaal type behaviour

notes: hi i know i promised this on xmas eve and then i failed to deliver mY BAD BABY GIRLS! i am trying my best but then again i did get a fever and all but its ok lfg and NO I WILL NOT BE WRITING A PART TWOOOOO

(f1 masterlist)

your eyes watch your front door, bottom lip caught between your teeth as you try to hold yourself back from crying. there's a sob bubbling from the deepest part of your gut as you glance at the clock one more time.

he's late.

but one can also say that he's simply not coming. did he lie when he told you that he would make sure he showed up for you this time? or did he just simply forget about you again?

your eyes have been staring at that door for the better part of the last hour or so since guests started arriving for the party you'd thrown.

a party you'd thrown, admittedly, just to get his attention. you were never one to make a big deal of your birthday anyway, but he made you think otherwise. because he promised you that he would be here no matter what happened. it's stupider that he was the one that encouraged you to throw a party today.

only for him not to show up?

this is the one time you needed him to so desperately show up for you. but here you are, looking like a fool waiting for somebody who wouldn't come; for somebody who didn't even make you a first choice.

because you know that when if push comes to shove, he would still pick her. max would always pick kelly and penelope over you, no matter how much he tells you that he loves you. no matter how many times you endured him telling you that he no longer wants to be with her.

you know better than to be his little secret. your parents had not raised you to be a potential homewrecker, but are you really being one if he's the one that keeps coming back to you?

you've tried staying away, and you've attempted to cut all sorts of contact with him, but he eventually crawls right back to you a couple of weeks later claiming that he will break up with kelly soon.

you've even bought a new dress for the occasion; in max's favourite colour and a cut that you knew he would say you look amazing in.

only for him to bail on you. you'd even taken the effort to sit for an hour to do your makeup and hair. for nothing, essentially.

fast forward a couple of hours of holding back tears and forcing smiles, you're hunched over the couch, picking up empty beer cans and tears streaming down your face. at the end of the day, you're left alone in your apartment with a heavy heart and the eerie silence the room can only offer you.

you watch the last car from your guests drive away. you sigh and throw yourself on the couch, finally letting the tears fall from your eyes. you had no idea it was so difficult to pretend like you're okay until today.

it's totally different when it's got something to do with the heart, it seems. you were totally banking on the fact that he would be here today, at least today. just today. because it's your birthday.

it's your day.

a knock on the door sits you right up, hands darting up to wipe the tears that smudged your makeup. "give me a second!"

"it's just me."

the anger suddenly hits you. so he is available to travel out to come and see you. just not a couple of hours prior when everybody else was here? just not at the time when you actually wanted him to be here?

you stomp your way over to the door and swing the door open and a string of apologies quickly spill from his mouth. you immediately notice the wrapped present in his hand and the bouquet of flowers.

"i'm sorry, i got held up at home," max apologises with a frown. "p had a fever and she wouldn't go to bed unless i tucked her in. i'm sorry, i know i'm late."

you sigh, rolling your eyes. "you're not just late," you scowl, "you missed the party entirely, max."

"oh," he slumps his shoulders, "i was wondering why it was so quiet when i was walking up."

you shake your head and walk further into your apartment. "max, just go home. you don't have a reason to be here."

"what do you mean? it's your birthday," he says gently, following you in. he closes the door behind him and follows you into your living room. "is there still cake? maybe you can blow the candles with me before the day ends? i even got you a present."

"no, i let people take home pieces of the cake," you say softly, returning to your agenda of cleaning your home from the traces of the party your friends left. "what am i going to do with cake that i don't even eat?"

"you bought chocolate cake on your birthday? you don't even like chocolate," he points out softly. "nevermind that, i got you a present!"

"i don't give a fuck about your stupid present, max!" you burst, standing up and turning to finally face him. "i didn't ask for a fucking present! i asked you for one thing and you couldn't even do that!"

he stares at you, dumbfounded with his lips parted in shock at your outburst. you're not typically one to have outbursts, which is the one thing he claims he finds very refreshing about you. you're calm and collected most of the time, and you assess the situation before picking fights. "p was sick. what did you want me to do?"

"you're telling me you're a sole parent to this little girl?" you ask. "kelly couldn't have tucked her in so you could show up to the party that you asked me to throw? on my birthday? max, you had one job and it was to show up for me tonight! i waited for you all night!"

he seems to have lost all ability to speak because he just pulls out a chair from your dining table and takes a seat. "i'm sorry. you're right, i should have been here."

"seriously, max! are you actually ever going to leave them or do you just lie straight through your teeth whenever you tell me that?" she scolds him, throwing her arms in the air. "i'm not stupid, max! this has gone on long enough!"

"i am, and i will!" he answers you, running his hands through his hair. "i just need more time. there's a child involved, i really hope you understand. i can't just leave."

"you say that every single time! it's been seven months!" you cry. "you've made me the other woman for seven long months! am i supposed to just sit here and take that? just because i love you?"

"i do love you! but it's complicated, okay? i can't just leave p like this!"

you clench your jaw. how many times have you heard that excuse in the past year? and how many more times will you be fooled by the sweetness in his voice and his glistening blue eyes? "max, i think you should go. lose my number, and forget that i ever existed. i can't do this anymore."

his head snaps up to you. he quickly walks over to you, throwing his arms around you from behind. "wait, don't say that. please, i promise. i'll leave in the next month. don't leave me. i really don't love her anymore."

"i'm so tired of the lies, max," you sigh, desperately tearing his arms away from your body. you take a step back and turn to him. "you will always choose them over me. it doesn't matter how much you love me, max. you're too attached to them to leave."

"listen to me, okay? i will leave them. and then we can be happy together like we talked about all those nights we spent together," max coos, putting his hands on your shoulder. he bends down slightly to look into your eyes. "please, just give me one last chance - more time. i just need time. i will let p down easily and i'll leave kelly. please."

"i don't know how many more times you think you can fool me with that lie, max!" you frown, shoving him back. "just leave! leave me alone! i refuse to let you make me look like an idiot! i'm better than this."

"i thought you said you understood my predicament. with p in the picture..."

"yeah, for seven long months. do you know how many days that is? how many hours i'd spend with you wondering when you'd finally take me off the backseat and make me your own officially?" you throw your head back and a dry laugh passes your lips. "max, just leave. don't call me again."

"you don't really mean that."

"i do this time," you say firmly, turning around to face him.

you circle around him and walk over to your front door, pulling it open and gesturing towards the hallway. "i'm done. take your flowers and your stupid present and leave."

he does what you say, hesitantly. he keeps his eyes on you, hoping that you will immediately change your mind. he travelled this far to get to you, hoping that you would somehow forgive him for missing your birthday party.

but you're right, now that he's had a couple of seconds to think about it. in the past seven months, he's told you that he'd up and leave kelly and penelope so he can finally be with you openly. it's much harder to keep you in the shadows when everyone's got eyes on him all the time.

perhaps it's the attachment to penelope that he can't get himself to pack his things and call it a day. he genuinely does love that kid. and his girlfriend has her good days - not all make him want to pull at his hair in frustration anymore.

but he also really does love you. if there hadn't been a loveable child in the picture, one that's grown very attached to him, he would have been able to walk away months ago. it could've been that easy.

"just hear me out," max says, stopping right by the door and giving you one last pleading look. "don't leave. not like this. we haven't even had a real fighting chance."

"that's because of you. not me," you answer dryly, looking up at him. "just go. i can't keep having this conversation with you."

"please."

"i gave you too many chances to make this right," you sigh, putting a gentle hand on his back to guide him out the door. you press your lips together as a lump forms in your throat. you're more shocked that you hadn't fully started bawling moments ago. "i should have done this a long time ago."

"i'm sorry."

"i'm sure you are. too little too late." then you close the door on him and whatever could have been with max.

[solkara]

❛ 𝐕𝐎𝐘𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐀 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 , rhaenyra targaryen ❜

⌗ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 , you since you were young you would be a sailor just like your father you loved the water but the only thing that you loved more than the sea was your family

⌗ 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 , rhaenyra targaryen x fem! velaryon! sailor! reader

⌗ 𝐬𝐨𝐥'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 , ahhh part 2 is here !! so this part is more from rhaenyra's perspective and before you ask idk if I will be doing a part 3 or not maybe if someone send me in an idea then I will

previous part , house of the dragon masterlist , next part

⌗ rhaenyra had always been infatuated with you. though she had never spoken to you directly. she had heard her dear friend laena velaryon tell many tales about you. and while she often saw you at gala's and events. the heir never dared to approach you. as something about the confidence that you excused made you seem untouchably intimidating. so she watched from afar.

⌗ the targaryen had heard the rumours about the eldest valaryon and her younger brother laenor. whispers of how they had a taste for partners of their own gender. and not of the opposite. and part of rhaenyra grew curious.

⌗ spending many a sleepless night imagining what type of lover you would be. would you be loving and gentle? or rough and passionate? oh what she was willing to give to find out. which led her to the brothel with her uncle. and while he indulged himself for the night. rhaenyra ended up bedding a whore who bore a remarkable resemblance to you. even going as far as to call your name allowed as the whore pleasured her.

⌗ but people's tounges wagged. and word of the princess's adventures in the belly of the brothel reached her father. though most assumed the heir spent the night with her uncle. which made it slightly easier to talk herself out of it with a few well-placed excuses. but ultimately left her in a situation where she was forced to wed laenor velaryon to quiet the whispers.

⌗ now while part of her did not wish to wed him. she ended up seeing it as a way to be closer to you. silently praying to whatever gods that exist that this union between her and your brother. could lead to some sort of closeness between the two of you.

⌗ but much to her dismay you ignored her the whole wedding. preferring to nurse cups and flirt with serving girls instead of paying attention to her. rhaenyra envied the closeness laenor shared with you. how he could so easily capture your attention and converse with you. wishing for nothing more than it to be her who you held such great affection for.

⌗ and to dampen her mood even further you did not say long after the disastrous event either. as the very next morning you and your crew had departed after you bid goodbye to your family. leaving her heart yearning once more. and as the years passed the yerning the princess felt did not fade. as she bore children that were not her husbands and dealt with the whispers of the court. the only comfort she found was at night when she closed her eyes and imagined a life with you and her children.

⌗ and that day finally came. but not as she had hoped. as both of your siblings are dead. well laena was and leanor probably a quarter way to essos by now. but no one could know that. rhaenyra watched as you got off your beloved ship tides. and walked passed her and her children as if they did not exist.

⌗ marching towards your parents. who stood watching with a heavy heart. as you stood before them. one look at their faces was enough to tell you that the rumours were true. your siblings were dead. and with that your tears fell. as you clung to your parents you felt as if the floor had been pulled from under your feet. you should have been here. but you weren't and now they were dead.

⌗ that night you did not eat or sleep. you cried as you stood looking over the waters that you and your siblings were once so fond of. only now they served as a reminder that they were gone. and you were alone.

⌗ "I'm sorry for your loss" you didn't turn around as you knew who it was. the woman you have been avoiding since your arrival home. rhaenyra targaryen. truth be told you didn't care much for her outside of the fact that she was once your sister's close friend. and the girl that laenor was forced to marry. but now you hated her. but not for baring bastard's children or her blatantly lusting over her uncle. no. you hated her for the pure fact she was the reason laenor was dead.

⌗ as on your voyage home you had heard whispers. that she had ordered the assassination of your brother so she could go and hump her uncle whenever she pleased. you said nothing in response. as you turned to leave. you would not listen to another word she had to say. but was stopped by a far more masculine feeling hand. daemon. and with that you turned and punched him.

⌗ as you looked at the two before you couldn't help but seethe with rage. as daemon clutched his jaw in pain. and rhaenyra watched in some mixture of shock and arousal. there they were. the reason your siblings were dead. "come near me again and I will kill you" and with that you left.

[cherie-doll]

COD Men; including Nikto headcanon reaction. Of their wife using corporal punishment on their kids; ie, using a belt, slipper or even a coat hanger on the kids. Because it was ‘used on me and I turned out fine’ mentality.

lol this brought back memories

ᡴ Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Rudy, Phillip Graves, Makarov, Keegan, König, Horangi, Nikto

Price

He'd prefer if you didn't use any physical force, ofc tho he understands why you do it sometimes

However he can't help but feel bad because even if he isn't the one spanking the kid with a belt, he sees them crying and comforts them afterwards because he doesn't dare intrude in the moment

Even when he tries to use his role of captain you shoot him a look saying that just because he has authority out there with other people he certainly needs to know his place as a father here

Shoots a remorseful look to his kid and leaves but at least he knows where to go to afterwards to find him

Ghost

Absolutely hates you for pinching your kid awake at the family function, and he thinks you're the one overreacting

You did the minimal thing in the moment but here Simon is acting as if you were being an abusive parents already, you try and tell him it's nothing but he's not having any of it

Honestly it's kind of endearing watching him get so protective of his kids like that

Soap

He thinks sometimes you get too ahead of yourself when you're scolding the kids but he won't hesitate to step in when it comes to physical punishment

Tries to reason with you on why it's okay to give them a pass, just this time alright? You hate how easily you give in

Gaz

The one time he found his little girl crying silently in bed after you had sent her to sleep was enough for him to gather her in his arms and literally beg you to not do it again

"She gets so scared" he pleads because he doesn't like seeing her cry which sort of irks you because you don't know how else to discipline them

He doesn't like it, doesn't care if it was used on him when he was a kid or on you but he certainly doesn't want to continue it

Roach

Even he flinches when you raise your voice indicating you've reached your limit and are about to spank the kid, you don't even need a belt or slipper, you use your bare hand

When he nervously asks why he does it you just shrug and say that's how your mother disciplined you and it worked so

"Can you... not do that?" because he doesn't wanna risk stepping in himself

Alejandro

It might be normal to him, it's not unusual to be yelled at or hit on the daily because that's how he grew up, if anything he might even say when a kid needs it

To a certain extent of course, he will interfere if he thinks the punishment has had its effect on the child

But don't ever ask him to do it, especially not when your kids were very small, but he had no problem doing it when they were teenagers

Rudy

Don't ever even ask him to lay a hand on his babies and can't stand to see you do it either, no matter how many times you've explained to him why it's sometimes needed he doesn't like it

When you want to try he'll instead take the kids aside and prefer to speak to them, they should be old enough to understand

And it surprisingly works, they come back apologizing to you for making you angry and Rudy will just come and squeeze your shoulders saying "See? They're not bad kids"

Phillip Graves

He knows that when you use physical force for punishment it's not for just any reason, he's learned it that way because his own mother was like that

She'd give warnings and stern looks until her patience was thin and was reaching for his father's belt

He did have a serious talk with you once when he thought you started spanking them too young, like as toddlers because they didn't know what they were doing yet

Makarov

Either really on board or is prohibiting you from doing it ever again, like who cares if his kids run a little rampant? Who's gonna be the fool to try and stop them when Makarov is their father

On the other hand he's sending warning glances to his kids that your temper will be rising the more they act up so it's best they listen and sit still

Keegan

He really was about to go and ask if you were crazy but then he saw you deliver a single slap to your kid for speaking disrespectfully and he turned right around only giving the kid a "you're on your own" look and a shrug

When the kid asked him why only you hit him and Keegan doesn't he shrugged and said that's how you were raised

They both hide when you find a mess and are trying to find the culprit

König

Sometimes he's not there when you punish the kids but when he comes home and goes into their rooms only to find them playing on the floor quietly he asks them what's wrong

They'll softly whisper into his ear that you only just gave them a spanking and he's cradling them in his arms and hugging them, promising he'll talk to you so you're not as "harsh" on them

Horangi

He sometimes plays favorites with his children without even realizing it, like he won't do anything if the boys get in trouble and you have to spank them

Oh, but if it's one of his girls he's defending them, there's a reason they run to him first when they do something they know is wrong

Nikto

Despite how he was raised he for some reason doesn't like it when you punish your kids, he gets all serious and doesn't speak to you for a while until the anger wears off

Instead of hitting them with a coat hanger like you do he prefers if you pull at their ears instead and let them off with a warning, it's the least you could do

[battlekidx2]

“Do you like girls?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you like boys?”

“I don’t know. I think I like TV shows.”

I remember when I was in middle school all the other girls were talking about the guys they liked and I said I didn’t like anyone. I just wanted to do my own thing.

I didn’t really get why I would want to date anyone. I understood friendship, companionship— having someone to share my interests and mutually info dump to sounded cool— but I struggled to understand the appeal of spending every day and every night with someone else. Of holding hands and going on dates. 

This led to a lot of homophobic bullying and a few of them would act disgusted that I might be into them. Constantly acting like I was looking at their boobs and sexualizing them (I never made eye contact with anyone and would frequently look at the wall or space out while looking in their general direction). Or make a big show of not being interested and many other things.

I didn’t get this either. I didn’t know why I would be interested in any of them. They treated me poorly and I thought attraction was something people made up and simply just claimed to feel towards other people.

Just like I never understood celebrity crushes. You don’t know the person so how could you possibly know you liked them? And I never understood how people “chose” who they dated. Did they just choose whoever they liked hanging out with the most?

But any time I voiced this it was always met with worse and worse reactions. It led to isolation among peers and my family. My parents made it pretty clear I wasn’t who they wanted me to be. That I wasn’t normal.

I soon learned to fake it. Pretend I understood it.

The idea of not being attracted to anyone seemed like a foreign idea to most people I met. Even when I branched out and moved away, I met a few people in the lgbt community who couldn’t grasp it either and reacted poorly and it made me feel stupid. Like maybe I wasn’t just screwed up to people who fit in the neat little box society wants you to fit in, but to everyone else as well.

Maybe I was wrong. If it’s an impossibility even in this community that champions diversity and acceptance then can that really be my reality?

I kept trying to force it. To date, but every time I did I always felt that same skin crawling discomfort and it always petered out. It didn’t matter who it was or what gender. It always felt wrong. It was suffocating.

I don’t think there’s a movie that better portrays that all consuming, suffocating stagnation of feeling so out of place– knowing you’re out of place compared to those around you– and in response forcing yourself to fit what other people expect of you than I Saw the TV Glow.

Whenever I think back to growing up or whenever I return home that same feeling this movie is centered around always drenches my experiences.

And even now it’s hard to put into words when I talk to other people what I’ve felt when it comes to this aspect of my life.

That comment from Owen about knowing there’s nothing there when talking about romance and attraction, but being too afraid to look and knowing that his parents know something is wrong with him hit harder than any other scene from a movie I’ve watched this year.

It’s that absence of something that is at the heart of asexuality that makes me always question what I choose to identify as when I have to explain it to someone. Because for the most part my explanation boils down to (in broad oversimplified terms): I’ve never felt attraction, I’m more interested in watching a Spider-Man movie than I’ve ever been into even just the idea of dating, every time I’ve attempted to date it’s been uncomfortable and I’ve actively dodged anything beyond friendship while in the “relationship”.

And when I try to voice that to another person it always feels like those experiences don’t hold water. That’s describing the absence of something. There’s no real proof of the identity.

With being bi or gay or lesbian there’s something you can I don’t know—point to?— that can help you know your identity.

And that’s the fact that you’ve experienced attraction towards one or more people of one or more genders.

It’s defined not by the lack of something but the presence of an experience.

And so every time I try and explain it I end up feeling stupid. Like I just haven’t tried hard enough to find someone compatible. That I need to get back into the proverbial saddle and try again. I always in some way feel ashamed and backtrack as a result.

This is in no way to say that it’s harder or easier to be one identity or the another. Everyone’s experiences are different and everyone experiences are valid. This is just a struggle I’ve found that’s unique to asexuality that many people I’ve talked to have also experienced.

I haven’t felt that part of my experience be seen in media until I saw this movie. Maybe I’m latching onto what I can get or maybe that was an intrinsic part of the movie. That’s not important. What’s important is that it’s something I felt seen in even if it was literally just one scene.

This is my really long winded and roundabout way of saying that I really think this movie is going to stick with me much longer than any other thing I’ve seen this year.

Things can be hard to put into words and as a result I tend to keep things inside. I’m fairly certain I’m ace but it might turn out I’m on a different romantic spectrum then I thought or I fall somewhere different than I thought on the ace spectrum. I don’t know what I’ll discover in the future.

I’m likely not going to express my label out loud to anyone but a select few. I still can’t express this particular label out loud to many people. My family is definitely never going to hear it. A friend or two might.

It’s something I struggle with on a regular basis. I’m fine with identifying with the label in my head—in a lot of ways it makes me feel comfortable and happy— but any time I try to voice it the words die in my throat and I can’t help but feel ashamed. It’s easier to just tell people I don’t want to date right now. That there are all these factors in the way (finances, time, jobs, etc) than it is to try and explain what I’ve just rambled about above.

I know many people have felt and understood that experience and I hope people know they’re valid. You can express your identity with your full chest, shout it from the rooftops and let people know, or you can keep it to yourself, identifying as your label solely in your head. Both experiences are valid. And if your label changes at some point in your life that doesn’t make what you chose to identify as at this point any less valid too. People are always learning and growing. You can gain a new understanding of yourself as time move forward.

Sorry for the way too long ramble. This movie made me feel things.

[marzipanandminutiae]

Why I fucking hate "The Handmaid's Tale" comparisons to real life (ie "this means THT is going to come true!!!")

that was not an elected government in the story. it was a fringe group that slaughtered the entire US government and took control by force. which makes little sense if you think about it, but that's because it doesn't matter HOW the dystopia happened; it just had to be there for the fiction to make a comment upon the author's present.

Dystopia is never a future prediction. see above: it's always a comment on the present in which it's written

That is massively fucking insulting to women who have actually lived with systemic oppression. They don't have to take away your name or your ability to read and write or put you in a color-coded costume. That's not what violent systemic misogyny looks like, because we KNOW what it looks like.

Sarah Emerson (1762-1784) could absolutely read. Based on what was expected of wealthy girls in her era, she probably spoke at least two languages- English and some French -as well as having knowledge of household accounting, basic first aid, history, literature, drawing, music, etc. She was still married to a man in his twenties when she was fourteen, because he wanted the inheritance her parents had left her (property she owned because, yes, women COULD own property back then). His family disapproved- they called her "the child bride" -but it still happened.

Women in the 19th century who couldn't vote, were discouraged strongly from public speaking (as in, speeches, not conversation), who sometimes had no control over that property they could in fact own, if they married, did normal things. They laughed and cried and petted cute animals. They spoke their minds. They wore what they wanted, albeit with societal constraints. They had names and voices and they still had so few rights under the law.

Women who died from backalley abortions as late as the 1960s could read and write. They had jobs. They dressed in ways we wouldn't consider remarkable today. They voted. They had access to the fucking pill, for gods' sakes. And yet that still happened to them. And yet they still died because the government didn't care about their lives as much as clumps of cells inside them.

Shirley Jackson (1916-1965) was a popular author with a rapier wit that she wasn't above using freely, living once again in a time we'd recognize many features of today. she married a Jewish man over the objections of...well, most of society back then, really. the nurse still wrote "housewife" for her career when she said "writer," during hospital admission to deliver her daughter Sarah

and that's all without getting into the double-damnations of women who aren't white, who aren't Christian, who aren't straight or cisgender. women in non-western countries where some of those things- like clothing laws or movement restrictions -have come to pass, but still not all and not in that way precisely

It doesn't have to be The Handmaid's Tale. In fact, it usually isn't, historically speaking. It's Call the Midwife. It's Harlots. It's Hidden Figures. it's Carol. It's astonishingly normal, among normal women living relatively normal- even happy lives, many of them.

Don't insult their memories by implying that it has to be speculative fiction to be real.

[queers-gambit]

Lost and Found

prompt: ( requested ) you're just friends, but on your first night at Saltburn, you get lost in the vast halls and accidentally walk in on lover boy after a bath. he wants you to stay.

pairing: Felix Catton x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Saltburn

word count: 3.6k+

note: this SHOULD'VE gotten slutty, but it DIDN'T because i'm back in the hospital and the LAST thing i need is a nurse walking in on me writing fucking smut - oh, my God, can you imagine? new fear unlocked!

warnings: RIP Queen Lizzie, cursing, sexual tension, emotions are hard, Lord's name in vain, depiction of mental illness (anxiety), author throws in a little personal detail cause writing is therapy.

"Honestly, who lives in a place like this? The bloody Queen, that's who. Her and all her fucking rooms! Jesus!" You grumbled, dipping down another winding hallway. "All right, this looks familiar, that's... Encouraging, right?" You frowned, glass of water in hand after venturing to the kitchen to fetch it - but now, you couldn't navigate your way back to your room. "Of course," you growled quietly, opening a door and finding a linen closet.

How silly, in a place like this! A fucking linen closet!

You huffed and shut the door, feeling incredibly awkward and terribly misplaced. You mind screamed that didn't belong here, you never should've set foot in a place like this! How fucking foolish you felt, like a silly little girl who was just excited her crush spoke to her, let alone invited you home with him for the summer holiday.

But it was Felix fucking Catton - certified enigma. He was all man with a boyish charm who smiled at you on move-in day at Oxford and sealed your fate. He was ridiculously nice, so very sweet, borderline annoying with his giving nature and kindness. He was loyal to a fault, intuitive, observant, admirably carefree, and so very happy to give his love to anyone who needed it. For a few weeks, you felt almost offended by his attention, wondering what kind of broken soul he thought you were; knowing he had an affinity for "damaged" or "broken" things.

At least, that's what his cousin, Oxford's registered and certified catty bitch, Farleigh Start, teased you about relentlessly when he noted the way Felix hung around you. Felix invited you out with friends, offered to study together, walked you to and from classes - even if his were in the literal opposite direction. You had no honest idea how the two were related, given Farleigh's constant attitude and Felix's overwhelming kindness, but that wasn't for you to understand. You just relished the attention Felix bestowed in-between your skepticism.

And here you are, your first night in his home, Saltburn, completely lost and totally turned-around! You didn't need water all that bad, did you? Granted, you had a several tablets to take that evening to maintain your health, but you could've used the fucking sink in the adjoining bathroom! You grew frustrated the more doors you opened, finding empty rooms or closets or another fucking library or studies or whatever! As if this home wasn't big enough, there were multiple levels and all you knew was that you and Felix were both located on the same floor with his parents above you and his sister and Farleigh beneath.

So, that helped.

But you still felt so fucking silly.

Seriously, who got LOST in someone else's home!? Fools, that's who!

Okay, okay, okay, you didn't need to be so hard on yourself, but you grew nervous and fearful for a reason you didn't understand. Your anxiety was planted in your stomach, festering, growing, taking over you to the point that you had tears in your eyes when you found yet ANOTHER fucking study!

"Oh, even the bloody fucking Queen doesn't have this many useless rooms, and she's a much bigger family, Jesus fucking Christ," you sneered to yourself - ready to give up and just sleep in one of the empty rooms. But you didn't want Duncan finding you in the morning, asking questions, forcing you to admit you were lost - you felt humiliated enough as it was! And that was without anyone witnessing this absolute mess you had made!

Well, not technically a mess - but you felt like a mess the more you crept around. And now, you felt fucking creepy - like some stalker, sneaking around the halls, trying to spy on this very nice family. You knew you weren't, but the feeling was still there - fucking anxiety would honestly be the death of you.

However, you came upon a familiar (enough) door that had a gentle light emitting from under it. With a sigh of relief, you suddenly remembered leaving a light on for yourself to return to; reaching for the doorknob, twisting it, and darting into the room while swiftly swinging the door close - but halting it to shut quietly as to not disturb anyone in the empty halls.

Yeah, anxiety was a bitch.

"Ohh-ho, evenin', love," a voice greeted, making you gasp, jump, and twist around. "Miss me that much? Heard the drain on the tub, didn't yah, had to come sneak a peek?"

Felix fucking Catton stood at the end of a messy bed in all his glory, running a towel through his wet curls. Nothing obscuring your sight, nothing hiding his manhood, nothing - literally nothing on his body except a shit-eating grin.

"Jesus, Fi! Fuck, I-I-I'm so - um," you gulped, trying not to ogle him, but failing (miserably) when beads of water rolled between the contours of his impossibly impressively sculpted muscles. "I just - you know, this place is so bloody big - um, I'm sorry - I just... Yeah..."

He smirked, nodding sarcastically, "Uh-huh. And you just happened to stumble into my room? Pretty good timing, too, wasn't it?"

You squeaked, "I didn't mean to! I swear - Felix, I'm sorry, I really didn't mean to, um, yeah, you know - uh..."

"Like what you see, sweetheart? Why don't you come in closer, get a better look?"

You adverted your eyes out of respect and fumbled messily for the door handle. "Oh, sweet Jesus. Bloody house is just too bloody big, I got all turned around - just needed some water and I just - fuck, I'm sorry - "

"Hey, hey," Felix chuckled, wrapping his towel loosely around his hips so his V-line was still on raunchy display, "I'm only teasin', love. I know this place can get confusin' t'newcomers. I actually meant to grab you some water, know you gotta take your tablets."

You swallowed your embarrassment, sighing, "I'll just - yeah - no - I'll, um, just go - I'm so sorry, again."

"You know where you're goin' all of a sudden?"

You faced the door, not wanting to make him uncomfortable, shaking your head gently, "Well, no, but I'll figure it out - I left a, um, I left a light on, you know, to help - I don't know - uh, guide me?"

"You've not stuttered this much since we first met," he laughed, tugging a pair of boxers on for your sanity (and to your dismay). "I'm dressed, doll, you can look at me now. C'mon, bit weird talkin' to your back."

"We're not talking, Felix, I'm going to bed."

"Then why haven't you left yet?"

You blinked at the intricately carved door, realizing your hand was still on the knob, but it hadn't turned. "I didn't want to be so rude as to just walk out, mid-sentence!"

"Hey, hey, you're all right, darlin', I'm only teasin'," he grinned, hearing his bare feet pad over the ground before his warm hand wrapped around your elbow. "C'mon, love, hang with me a bit - 's not that late, is it?"

"Oh, so, Duncan can walk in? Make his assumptions?" You whispered, slowly facing him and leaning back on the door with a pout. His big, brown, doe-eyes stared directly into yours, making you feel under his spotlight - something akin to a privilege, since Felix Catton didn't bestow his attention on everyone. "I just needed water, I didn't mean t'get, you know, lost like this. Seriously, this place looks totally different at night."

"Surprised you even got this far, huh?"

"I looked in any room with an open door," you admitted with a small wince. "I felt so creepy, but I was all turned around - and you know, you shouldn't leave other lights on in rooms not being used. Terrible waste of energy."

"Awh, my sweet, environmentally-conscious girl," he cooed, hand raising to gently pinch your jaw. There was a serene moment, the pair of you just staring at one another, becoming acutely aware that he was still practically naked. "C'mon, don't leave yet, we can play cards if you like?"

"I've medicine t'take - "

"Right, right, right," he nodded, letting his hand drift to hold your neck in a gentle grasp. "Tell you what, you stay here, I'll grab your meds, and bring them back? You keep 'em in that li'l pink bag, yeah?"

"I don't know how to feel that you know which is my med bag," you narrowed your eyes playfully.

"Just shows I pay attention, don't it?"

"Maybe shows we spend too much time together?"

He kissed his teeth, grinning at you, "There's no such thing - in fact! I reckon we could double our time together and it still wouldn't feel like enough."

"Well, how's that help me later? I still don't know where my room is - oh, don't laugh!" You groaned, Felix snickering louder. "Fi, c'mon, it's not funny - this place is huge! Like, illegally huge!"

He cooed, "Oh, doll, 'M not laughing at you, promise. Just... You're not the first person t'get lost here, yeah?"

You scoffed with severe discomfort, "I really don't want t'hear 'bout all the other girls you've brought home - "

"Hey, now," he cut you off swiftly, "don't do that." He shrugged meekly, "There's been no others, just friends. Mine, Farleigh's, Venetia's... They've all gotten lost once or twice... Or that time we had to actually draw Reggie a map, poor lad got lost around every bend."

You rolled your eyes, "Truly expect me to believe that, do you?" Then you let your eyes widen a fraction, teasing, "Oh, wow, you really believe it! You really believe you haven't brought home other girls who you're interested in or who are into you?"

He crowded you into the door, shifting the room's energy to something sultry, making you hold your breath as his hand slid into your hair. "You know you're the only one, right?"

"You know that's absolute bullshite, right? Like, what a fucking line!"

He tisked, "C'mon, doll."

"Be honest, Felix."

His head cocked, "Want the truth?"

"That'd be a nice change of pace."

He scoffed lightly, "I don't give a single fuck if any of our previous guests cared for me - only you. Hear me?" He took the last step so he was stood with his feet slotted between yours. "I didn't bring them here for any other reason than friendly entertainment. You've seen the place, as big as it is, can get a bit lonely without anyone to hang with. But I asked you here... For different reasons..." He whispered, eyes jutting down to your lips as he kept a firm hold on you.

"And what reasons are those, Fi?"

He smirked, "Obviously... To kick your arse at cards."

You were flooded with pure disappointment. Raw, unfiltered disappointment that deflated your shoulders. "Yeah, right, like that would ever happen," you covered, nudging him a single step away from you. "Wanna be a gentleman and direct me to my room now?"

"Nope," he grinned, snatching your hand and yanking you away from the door. "You're gonna sit your pretty self right here," he nudged you to the edge of his bed, turning for his desk, then turning back to you to slap a deck of cards to your hand, "you're gonna shuffle these, and mentally prepare to get your arse handed to you at your own game."

You chuckled slightly, "Thought you hated 51 Rummy?"

"Only when sober," he smirked, leaning down to peck your forehead sweetly. "Sit tight, doll, I'll be a moment, yeah?"

You sighed and watched him exit the room, reaching to set your glass of water down and observe the room. In a moment of weakness, you pet over his sheets as if tempted to snuggle into them - and you were! You were cold from the lack of robe you meant to shrug on, and wondering the halls of Saltburn took much longer than you anticipated - now wanting to dive into the warmth you knew was left, the same warmth that Felix left on everything.

You jumped when the door opened again, Felix slipping inside with your little pink bag. His brows pinched, "All right, love?"

"Hmm? Yeah - "

"Your feet are nearly blue," he shook his head, handing you your bag before turning for his wardrobe. "Socks or sweats?"

"Huh?"

He turned, holding up a pair of sweatpants and socks, repeating, "Socks or sweats? Figured you're a bit cold in that." The left side of his mouth quirked up in a smirk, eyeing you in your sleep shorts and loose teeshirt that had the collar ripped out, showing a hint of cleavage.

"Oh, uh, socks, please."

He tossed you the socks, dropped the sweats, and joined you on the bed as you pulled the oversized garment onto your feet. "C'mere, get close, get comfortable," he chuckled, pushing his blankets down to sit in the sheets, waiting until you turned in the bed to yank the blankets up over both your legs. "Didn't shuffle? My naughty girl," he joked, reaching for the deck of cards and opening it. He offered a much softer smile, eyes darting to your medicine bag, and then focusing on the cards - as if to give you privacy to take your meds.

You did so quickly, insecure about the rattling bottles and the amount of tablets in your cupped hand, but never once had Felix made you feel bad about your needs. After swallowing them, you cleared your throat and turned to face Felix as he divided the cards for the game, nodding to his side table, "Paper's over there, doll, for the score."

"Sure you want me to keep score?" You asked softly, reaching for the pad of paper and spare pen. "Last time we played, you lost so very miserably, I was embarrassed for you. We can save your pride a li'l, not keep score."

"It's only polite to let the pretty lady win."

"Oh, tryin' to butter me up, are you?"

"Is it working?"

"I'll let you know."

Felix chuckled, leaning back to the headboard. Then, he asked softly, "You feelin' all right?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah, all good."

"Sure?"

"Why?"

"Hands are shakin' a bit."

You eyed him for a moment, changing the subject by asking, "How're you not freezing? Seriously, 's like the floors are air conditioned."

"Nah, just not cold."

"Your nipples say otherwise."

"Lookin' at my nipples, are you?" He grinned. "Now you're a very naughty girl, knew you didn't stumble into my room on accident!"

"Oh, don't flatter yourself!" You pushed his shoulder, but he leaned closer. "Felix - "

"You could just stay here," he offered softly.

"You got me for a game - "

"No, I mean, uh..." He chuckled to himself, shaking his head and readjusting so he was supported on one elbow, facing you. "Nah, nevermind, all right, so, back to the game - "

"No, wait, say what you're thinking," you encouraged softly. "Know I hate you doin' that."

"Yeah, you get all anxious," he nodded. "I don't want t'be too forward, all right? But... You know, we sleep together at Oxford. I-In the dorms, you know?"

"Yeah, and?"

"Just thought, maybe you'd wanna stay here? With me? If you want, won't make yah, sweetheart, just thought... You know, in a house this big, you wouldn't get so lost stayin' here... Maybe?"

"Oh, aren't you my hero?"

"I know, I know, I'm just tryna look out for you, my li'l lost love. And, you know, prevent you from finding our secret dungeon," he gasped comically.

"That's not even a joke 'cause I'd believe it in a place like this. Is it a dungeon for torture or sex?"

"Wouldn't you like to know."

"Maybe I'd like to see it. Hm," you considered, "maybe I should stay here, you know - so you can show me around and go get me water when I need it. Save my toes from freezing off, wonderin' 'round here."

He grinned, "Yeah?"

"If it's not too scandalous?"

"'S not like anyone would care... Except me, you know? I'd... I'd like you to stay here. Like havin' you close, sweetheart."

"Well, maybe you could put some clothes on? You're terribly fucking distracting! I'm here to win a card game, and I'll be damned if you win 'cause your abs are... You know, staring right at me, you cheater," you grinned, turning to face him fully with your legs crossed, the space in the sheets open for your cards.

"I think you like me naked," he grinned. "I mean, you stared long enough."

"I was just caught off guard!"

"Oh, I'm sure," his grin turned wicked. "You're still staring, doll."

"Well, it's not as if you're quick to cover yourself!"

"You're not too quick t'look away, either!"

"I was - "

"Caught off guard, yeah, you've said," he chuckled, staring at you with those moony brown eyes that made you feel as if you were the only girl he's ever seen. "Maybe I liked you lookin'."

"Is that so?"

He nodded slightly, "Yeah, not such a bad thing. You're kinda the only one I want lookin' at me like that, anyway."

"You absolute cheesehead!" Your laughter was quiet, trying not to tip Duncan off to your antics.

"You know, they're not just for lookin'," he perked his pierced brow at you. "Feel free to touch whenever you want, too."

"Hm, always knew you were a slut."

He gasped dramatically. "Is that anyway to talk to your host? Especially after giving you refuge from the big, scary, confusing halls?" Your eyes rolled and reached out to pushed his forehead, making him rock back into the pillows and headboard - but he was quick to snatch your wrist as he fell. You were yanked across the slim space, pulled so you were directly resting onto his chest; forearms bracing against his pectorals. He grinned, caressing the back of your head, teasing, "'Ello, love."

"You're a fucking fiend."

"And you're so fucking beautiful."

"I'm already stayin' here, Fi, you don't have to lay it on so thick."

He hummed, "You know... If you were mine, you'd get this treatment all the time. I can't stop - you're just so easy to compliment."

Feeling bold, perhaps from being so close and him being nearly naked, you whispered, "Then maybe you should stop shuffling your feet, grow a pair, and ask me already."

He paused, the moment turning soft as you relax against his body; stretched out the length of him, but still remaining propped on his chest to look down at his sweet face.

"Was a bit afraid to, actually, love."

"Why?"

"Haven't felt like this with anyone," he admitted, "'s just so fuckin' easy with you. Organic, authentic, safe... I was afraid to ruin that, destroy the rapport and friendship we've established. I care about you so much, I just wanted you in my life - no matter what variation that was. Being just my friend, being my girl, just want you with me. Didn't want to jeopardize anything."

"Hm," you considered, nodding slowly, "I get that. Think I felt something similar..."

"So, what do we do?"

"I think we be adults about this," you offered. "If you just want to be friends, we'll stay friends, Fi, but we don't blur lines like we have been. And if you want to give this - us - a try, I think we could. 'Cause you're you, and I'm me, and if things don't work out, we can just go back. Right? Adults do that sorta thing, don't they?"

"Not entirely sure, don't feel like an adult most days," he breathed, petting his fingertips down your cheek. "But I know I want this, with you. I swear, since you came into my life, I've felt - " He paused, shaking his head with a growing smile, "Free? Elated? Light as air?"

"Mhm, I know the feeling," you repeated.

"We doin' this?"

"That's up to you."

"I think it's up to us, actually - "

"I mean, you've gotta ask, Fi, not just assume."

"If you reject me in my own house, in my own bed, doll, I'm gonna be fucking crushed!"

"Oh, my God, just ask me! You fucking knobhead!" You laughed, leaning your head on his chest. His other arm moved behind his head to keep it propped up, looking at you with so much adoration, it knotted your stomach. The hand that had been in your hair drifted down to keep a secure hold on your waist; fingers scratching in soothing motions.

"Wanna be my girl?"

"Hmm, I think you could phrase it better."

He grinned brightly, "Would you be my girlfriend?"

"Oh, that's a little too formal. Maybe try - "

"Oh, c'mere, you," he growled, swiftly using both arms to seize under your arms and literally drag you up his body. "C'mon, baby," he whispered, lips ghosting yours, "be my baby."

"Fuck, no, that's way too cheesy!"

"I thought you liked me cheesy?" He gaped, your hand petting his cheek now; shoulders straining to keep you upright, over him.

"Correction, I love you cheesy," you whispered, lowering your head to press a quick kiss to his lips. He hummed in relief, but you pulled back to promise, "I'd love to be your girl, Fi. Only took you the whole bloody school year, didn't it?"

"Hey, good things to those who wait, right?"

"Don't quote Professor Mercy at me when we're in bed with barely anything on, Jesus fucking Christ," you grumbled, unable to restrain your grin when he pulled you in for another kiss - but this time, stealing the breath right out of your lungs.

Maybe getting lost in Saltburn was more beneficial than you originally thought, and maybe Professor Mercy and ages of philosophy was right because this felt like the absolute best thing, and you'd wait a hundred lifetimes if it meant having Felix in your arms - like he was now, kissing you like it was his lifeline.

How extraordinarily warm, you felt, to be lost in this world, in this extraordinary home, and found, by Felix fucking Catton.

requesting rules and masterlist

Saltburn masterlist

[thanosscross]

Rising Stars - Kwon Ji-Yong/G-Dragon x reader

Summary: Y/n was a growing artist (Think along the lines of Billie Eilish), rising to fame quickly, despite her fame and a certain K-pop's fame, you were both a fangirl and fanboy of each other, leading to forming a close strong bond with each other

Warnings: None, some sweet ass shit

Growing up you never really cared for much, mainly just focusing on writing stories and songs as you made your way through middle and high school. As you got older through high school, you started to explore music a lot more, finding different genres, finding art in the way different parts of the world had different music styles that they loved and valued. Your exploring ended up with you finding a band you'd later become a huge fangirl of, BigBang, it got to a point to where you had even learned Korean in senior year, trying to save up money to see them in concert whenever they started to be recognized globally.

Whenever you made your debut in music, you heavily modeled your persona off of G-Dragon's from BigBang, liking the way he oozed confidence whenever he was on stage, that was until you found your own groove. After you found said groove, your music blew up almost overnight, getting to a point where you became a household name in multiple different countries. You dabbled with different genres, but you had your style, and your fans loved it, growing up you had always been told by friends and your older brother that you had a beautiful voice anytime you sang, so you stuck to using a softer gentle voice with slower music.

Life was perfect for you, having an amazing boyfriend, your music was doing better than ever, and you had just been followed on instagram by the boys of BigBang, so your month was going amazing, until seeing paparazzi pictures of said amazing boyfriend getting quite handsy at a party with another girl. After that you postponed your tour, needing some time before having to sing the songs you had written about your now ex. While you were able to postpone your tour, your management still forced you to follow through with any promotional gigs you had, leaving you to do multiple photo shoots and interviews. As they asked you questions, you started to feel yourself loosen up slightly smiling as they asked their next question "So, Y/n, We've heard about your teenage years in school, but we want the gossip, who was teenage y/n's heartthrob? who was her crush?" She asked you, slapping her hands on the table dramatically "Well..I didn't have many crushes or anything in school really, I focused on writing on my first album and music, but there was a certain boy band" You giggled blushing brightly, the interviewer smiled "Oh boy! I know this one, every teenage girl's boy band favorite, One direction?" She asked smirking, you laughed shaking your head quickly "No! no, Junior year of high school I did a lot of research of different music, how different people respond to different tones, and during that research...I found a k-pop band, BigBang, Baby Y/n immediately loved G-Dragon" You giggled, referring to the nickname your fans had given teenage you after you had posted an old yearbook photo for your birthday. "Ooooo! So our Y/n is a K-pop girl!?" She gasped before smirking at you "You know, We've actually had them on our show before?" The interviewer smiled, you just nodded sheepishly "I know..It was the episode I ended up watching during my graduation ceremony" You laughed, covering your face as you remember how upset your parents were whenever they noticed their daughter on her phone while she was in the process of graduating from high school.

Kwon Ji-Yong was enthralled with you, the minute he saw your picture come up in a news article talking about your climbing fame and your tour returning. The boys were quickly annoyed by their friend, constantly talking about you or playing your music on repeat everywhere he went. It wasn't that they didn't like you or your music, it was just the fact the only thing that Ji-Yong really ever talked about was you anymore, especially whenever he heard your interview, hearing your soft giggles whenever you had admitted you thought that him of all people was hot. As their tour started, it just got worse, Ji-Yong purposely mimicking your chorography during some moments of their shows, especially whenever they got to their America shows.

You had started your tour with a bang, releasing a new album the night of your first show, much to the fans liking. As you approached your New York show, you had gotten more confident, sending a picture of four tickets to Ji-Yong's instagram with a small message underneath 'Saw that you guys were fans and in New York for your show tomorrow, come by and maybe give some pointers? <3' You had sent the message before turning your phone off to head towards the stage for your rehearsals. Whenever Ji-Yong would check his phone and see your message he'd act exactly like one of your fans, almost like he forgot he was equally as famous as you were, jumping up and down while squealing, showing the photo to his friends before stopping to stare at them in shock "That means we have to go!" He shouted excitedly, it wasn't like you two hadn't talked before, occasionally exchanging flirty comments in each other's instagram posts, talking about different show ideas with each other over private messaging every now and then.

As your show started you stood confidently on your mark, looking at every bit of the giant arena filled to the brim, in the center of V.I.P off to the side on their own with security, stood all four boys to BigBang. Ji-Yong staring in pure awe as his friends smiled at him, knowing how badly their friend had wanted to finally meet you in person, You took a step with the beat as you started speaking into the microphone lowly, breaking character for a minute before smiling towards the K-pop idol that stood with his chin in his hands watching in pure amusement as you moved around the stage, moving your body effortlessly along with the music, as you started to sing with the track playing through the speakers.

Throughout your show, you couldn't help but notice Ji-Yong's eyes following you around, always watching you with the same amount of awe he did whenever you first came out on stage. As you approached your last song you suddenly felt shy, the chorography was a lot more sensual than the rest, which was meant to be done right in front of V.I.P. As you strutted your way down the stage with the beat you used your momentum to slide on your knees, stopping a few feet from the edge of the stage, throwing your head back as you ran your hands up your body into your hair before bringing the microphone to your lips again, singing lowly as you made eye contact with your VIP section, letting yourself slide onto your back as the music slowly faded out. Waiting a moment before popping back up, you smiled "Thank you!! I love you! And Goodnight!" You shouted before taking off in a sprint jumping onto the padded mat that sat at the bottom of the already lowered platform, giving the illusion of you jumping into the stage floor.

As you giggled moving to your feet you spotted your brother and security guard "Guys!! They made it!" You gasped, excited your plan actually worked "So you're having a meet and greet at your own concert for someone else?" You brother teased laughing, your security guard getting the hint to go get the boys and bring them backstage. "Yes. Yes I am and you're just jealous" You huffed, poking his chest playfully as you went to find your water bottle. As the boys made their way back Ji-Yong couldn't hold his excitement, the moment they got to your dressing room he squealed excitedly rushing to bring you into a hug "Oh my god! You were beautiful!" He cheered, you just smiled brightly and blushed "Thank you! This show..the vibes, the energy, everything just felt amazing" You giggled before smiling at the others "I'm Y/n L/n, It's a pleasure" You smiled, bowing in respect to them all.

After meeting the boys, you and Ji-Yong only got closer, constantly messaging each other, facetiming or sending different rehearsal videos to each other. You had both felt something towards each other, especially all the time you spent with him, you helping improve his English, and him helping you improve your Korean. You had a plan after about a month though, it wasn't a secret to anybody that you and Ji-Yong had something going on, so you had a plan that you were going record a song, just for Ji-Yong, explaining how you felt towards him, and how he made you felt, and then you'd send him the file, just like you would with any other song.

Ghosting your finger over the send button you bit your lip, taking a deep breath before pushing it, knowing if you didn't now, you never would, now you were left staring at the message

' 1 file attached'

'What do you think of this? I recorded it the other night and like it <3'

--

I tried something new, lovelies, do we like?

--

Taglist!!

@onyxmango

@ag02212023

@acehasmyheart

@mitchko11

@learninglinesintherainn

@seunghyunwifey

@alexandralibbre

@jajabro

@heartsforseo

@lilou-0401

@maenoakasuna

@ericityyy

@alexandralibbre

@jajabro

@heartsforseo

@frangiipanii

@seunghyunwifey

@sturnioloslut-b

@isssaaaa2111

[kinghijinx22]

Why Silent Hill 3 is my big favorite- a terrifying horror game about woman's experiences and the fears that come from existing as a woman in a patriarchal society

Silent Hill 3 is probably my favorite Silent Hill game and one of my favorite games of all time, and it has a story and themes that I've always really vibed with. It tells a remarkably progressive story for it's time that handles some intense themes that are still relevant even today, about experiences that a lot of woman go through and the fears that come from existing as a woman in a patriarchal society, what it's like having your own agency and bodily autonomy taken away from you, forced pregnancy and sexual assault, how harmful patriarchal societies are and this game really getting into the religious flavor of patriarchy in particular.

It's an incredibly scary game that uses a feminine sort of horror to great effect, with the design of the other world being as bloody as it is and the monster designs being representative of this. I mean there is a type of creature that are literally supposed to look like fetuses that start getting bigger throughout the game as the birth of God draws near and the giant worm boss for lack of a better way of putting, literally being a giant penis. I think the main complaint that I hear from people about this game is how slow the story is in the first half of the game, but I think the whole getting home late at night as a young woman contributes a lot to what this game is saying. And I absolutely love how this game ends with Heather literally aborting God and fighting it as the final boss, symbolizing her fully taking control of her life and rejecting all of the harmful expectations that were forced onto her. Main antagonist Claudia is such a tragic character though, someone who was so brainwashed by town's religion into think that someone HAS to give birth to God so hard that she did it herself and she suffered for it.

Also while not as intentional considering when it was written and they probably couldn't even write about this stuff if they wanted to, something that I think is worth noting is that I've heard from a lot of trans people who relate to this game as well and I can really see it. Considering it's about people who Heather knows from a past life, coming back to remind her of that past life and forcing it onto her, and Claudia referring to Heather as Alessa could be interpreted as deadnaming Heather. But yeah I've always really loved and connected with this game for how well it handles it's themes about woman's experiences and I think it's really cool how many trans people have been able to relate to it with those specific experiences as well.

Another of my favorite things about Silent Hill 3 is the main character Heather, because she really is one of the coolest characters that I've always really related to. Her struggles are incredibly relatable, but she's also inspiring in how she overcomes them and is always so confident. In fact I appreciate how her and her father subvert societal gender roles in opposite directions, with Heather being as confident and extroverted as she is, probably more then any other Silent Hill protagonist and willing to stand up to all of the men in the story like Douglas in the beginning, Vincent and Leonard, along with all of the monsters she has to fight. And Harry being a single parent who is as gentle and caring as he is, with his one track mind of looking as his daughter, he's kind of both a father and a mother in that way, and also being as physically weak as he is and the opposite of a action hero. She also easily has the most personality of any Silent Hill protagonist, like this girl is overflowing with charisma and is even a little jokey. In fact another detail that I like is how much personality comes through in her examine dialogue, where you actually get to hear her thoughts on everything instead of just basic observation "this is a thing" that the other games in the series do. Heather has opinions on everything, but how she's feeling throughout the game is also conveyed. The dialogue of her observations in the first half of the game has a much more playful and hopeful tone to it, but after Harry dies she becomes much more pessimistic, can only see the negatives in everything and just doesn't seem to care anymore.

Heather is an incredibly well written and nuanced character, and I'll be honest that this is the game I least want to see be remade because I know that they would find a way to fuck up the writing of her character and handling of the themes of this game. Even after the Silent Hill 2 remake being as good as it is, one of Blooperteams biggest flaws is being incapable of handling anything to do with woman's experiences or perspective. SH2 used to be my fav, but I came to realize that it was mostly just because it was the popular one and that I vibe a lot more with SH3 and 4. Especially because SH2 tells a story about misogyny but makes it all about the perpetrator rather then the victim, unlike Silent Hill 3 which does actually tell the story of someone on the receiving end of that type of violence and objectification. SH3 and 4 are my personal favorites, 3 because Heather is best protagonist and I really appreciate it's themes which are handled perfectly, and SH4 because it has a really cool narrative and horror concepts. I know opinions on SH4 are really split, and while I think there are some gameplay things that are jank, I love it's story and premise so much.

[drugsorgasmsandcheese]

trouble, j. miller | chapter one

mob!joel miller x fem!reader

chapter summary: after getting fired from your job at the bookstore, your grandparents introduce you to the man who’s been helping them out for awhile: joel miller. now, it’s his turn to help you.

chapter warnings: reader swears and has dry humour (she’s a bit of me x), mentions of vip’s getting touchy but it’s hypothetical if that makes sense?? reader calls her grandparents ‘pops’ and ‘nonna’, no beta cause i cba, blah blah blah that’s it

also no hate to anyone who reads romance/physical smut books, the hate is simply towards minors who read them & their parents for allowing them LOL

word count: 2518

(series masterlist)

you really don’t know how much longer you can do this.

you’re six hours into your ten hour shift. you’re bored, you haven’t had your lunch break, and your phone is charging behind the desk where you were watching criminal minds before two teenage girls walked into the bookstore.

you’ve watched them for the past twenty minutes. they practically ran to the romance section, picking up books and flicking to certain pages you know had the most pornographic scenes in them before they’d giggle amongst themselves and add it to the pile they were building.

can teenage girls even afford this many books? you had been working since you were sixteen, and you’d barely get enough money to buy yourself two books whilst the rest would be stored away for college. and is this what people were reading nowadays? a male character that exudes toxic masculine standards whilst the author plays into the whole “innocent, virginal” female character who hadn’t the slightest clue about sex or life? is this what parents were allowing their children to-

“we want these books.” a demanding voice speaks to you, and you almost have to do a double take when you see the two teenage girls stood before you at the counter. god, you couldn’t even rely on the younger generation to be polite these days, especially not when one of them is judging you for your oversized hoodie and sweats and the crocs that sit on your feet.

“of course.” you force a smile, biting back on the insults you wish to hurl upon them. but, your boss is in the back. probably doing jackshit like she usually does, leaving you to work your ass off without any breaks.

the scanner scans the barcode on the back of every book before placing them in two bags. dante’s nine circles of hell sounds more appealing than this. you might just grab one of the books and hit yourself with it, hoping you hit so hard you might pass out and get to leave early. not like your boss would allow it, but the thought of having a hot shower and slipping into bed sounded nice.

“and your total is $194.68, is that going to be cash or card?” you rest your hands on the counter, looking at the two girls. one of them whips out a card, so black and matte you almost feel the courage to ask her if: it’s her fathers, and if so, is he single?

you hand her the card machine where she taps the card, and once the payment is deemed successful, one of the girls takes the bag, looks into it and frowns. “these aren’t in the right order.”

“excuse me?”

“the books aren’t in the right order.”

there’s a right order to put books in. none of them were even a series, and even then, does it really matter if your fucking fairy porn trilogy is separated?

“did you ask for them in a certain order?”

the girl gives you a look. “no?”

“so then why would i know what order to put them in?” you’re so done. you’re so fucking done, mentally, physically, and in the eyes of your boss, as well. the girls look at you, mouths agape, probably because they didn’t think they’d be spoken to this way, but you always said that the second a customer is rude to you, you’re being rude back.

the duo scowl at you as they leave the store, muttering insults under their breaths like it was a middle school friendship break up. you sigh, going to turn around to grab your phone when you jump back, spotting your boss leant against the wall.

“you’re fired.” she states.

“yes!” you fist pump the air sarcastically, grabbing your stuff and practically racing out the store. you didn’t even care if you were supposed to wait until the end of your shift to fully leave your job. you were hungry, tired, and your pops and nonna had told you that pops’ infamous burgers would be made for dinner and you were eager.

on your walk home, you listen to your music. it was relatively dark outside, and ideally, as a woman, you shouldn’t be wearing headphones in the dark. but you had always been more frightened by the noises you could hear rather than the ones you couldn’t.

you step into your home, taking your shoes off by the door and walk into the kitchen. you stop at the sight. your pops and nonna were stood in the kitchen talking to a man you have never seen before and you’re almost offended that your grandparents hadn’t allowed you to meet him because jesus christ and all things holy, that man is beautiful.

he’s tall. scarily tall, actually. and not to say you have a thing for muscular men but you would not mind letting this stranger throw you about. he leans on the kitchen counter, arms folded across his chest as he eyes you up.

“he. who is he?” you point to the man, looking at your grandparents.

your nonna tuts your name. “he is joel miller, helps us out where we need it. why are you home so early, sugar, i thought you had a ten hour shift today?” nonna embraces you, kissing your cheek as she taps your arm, signaling for you to sit down at the kitchen table.

a faux laugh escapes you. “heh, well, you see-”

“don’t tell me that damn boss of yours ‘s been givin’ you a hard time again.” your pops speaks up this time, interrupting you this time. your pops was a scary man. he used to be involved in a lot of shit back in the day, constantly being chased down streets and alleyways by the police, always having them on his doorstep which would cause his mother to scold him. you can’t count the amount of times he’s threatened to come down and give your boss an earful on both hands.

“she actually fired me. apparently addressing one’s stupidity isn’t allowed. however, i am more focused on joel. joel, what is your purpose in this here house?” your head turns to look at the man as he addresses you, and he gives you a small smirk, walking over to the table and sitting across from you.

“she got a mouth on her, don’t she?” he asks your grandparents, and your nonna chuckles.

“always has. only started living with us when she was eighteen because of college, but she’s always had something to say.”

“something that’s gotta be shared with everyone.” your pops adds, and you give him a playful pout.

“right here guys, right here.” you announce. “back to the topic at hand. joel, why have you interrupted my pops’ burger night?” you’re facing each other now, your eyes analysing his face but all he does is smirk and since when was smirking so attractive on a man?

“well, your grandparents here mentioned how you hated your job, and i just so happen to have one that needs filled at one of my clubs.” his texan accent was prominent and full as he spoke, his brown eyes never leaving yours. “‘s if you want it, of course.”

“what club?”

“apocalypse.”

you slam your hands on the table with a wide grin. “i’m sold. when do i start?”

joel chuckles. “no questions about the pay, the shifts?”

you shake your head. “nope, don’t care. you know how hard that club is to get into?” you turn your head to look at your grandparents. “extremely fucking hard, i’ll tell you that right now. and i’ll get to work in there? god, life is so generous to me sometimes.” you exhale lightly, jokingly.

joel doesn’t stay for your pops’ burgers, but he’s given some to take home anyway. you decide to walk him to the door, being the ever so kind woman that you were, ready to see him off when he stops.

“ya’ start at five p.m. tomorrow, alright? i’ll have someone show you around, get you your uniform ‘nd all that before the club opens.”

nodding your head at joel, you bid him goodbye and watch as he makes his way to a sleek, black porsche, get in, and drive off.

____

“what do you mean you’re working for joel miller?” alicia asks you. alicia was the first friend you made at college after you chewed her ear off for the entirety of your first class. a girl who followed gothic fashion and was an absolute sweetheart compared to the people you’ve known in the past.

“i mean exactly what i said, babe. he’s apparently been looking after my grandparents for awhile and he offered me a job at apocalypse after that old bitch fired me.” you shrug, taking a bite of burger you got from dining hall.

“but joel miller is…he’s dangerous! everyone says his clubs are just money laundering schemes to hide his actual money.” naomi spoke up this time. ever the worrier, she was.

“money laundering would mean that no one was using his clubs and they were just there, naomi. the clubs are exclusive. i mean, we’ve all seen the lines to get in. we’ve been in those lines!” alicia somewhat comes to your defense even though you know she’s fully against you working there.

“my friend tina, the one from the political science class, worked there last year, and she says the pay is amazing!” a woman with black curls approaches your trio, another close friend of yours: georgia. “don’t get me wrong, she said some shady stuff happens in the v.i.p. lounge, but probably just guys gambling or something.”

you embrace georgia. “see, good pay and all i have to do is not ask questions. i’ll be fine, guys. and you,” you look at georgia “need to meet me at our cafe so you can tell me about that little masc lesbian of yours.”

you finish the rest of your burger, and pick up your bag. “gotta get home, but i’ll fill you all when i see you.”

you wave goodbye to your friends, walking out of the building as you scroll on your phone. when you get to the street, you bump into someone, about to apologise until you look up and gasp dramatically. “you! are you stalking me. god, joel, i didn’t know i was worth being stalked. that’s so flattering.”

joel scoffs, and opens the passenger door to his black porsche. “get in. ‘m gonna drive you down to the club.”

“don’t have to tell me twice.” you get into the passenger seat, placing your bag down in between your legs and joel closed your door. he rounds the front, getting in beside you and starts the car.

“ya’ hungry?” he asks, driving away from your college building.

“i ate just before i left. had a cheeseburger. not the most edible thing i’ve ever had, but it worked.”

“if you’re hungry when we get there, i’ll take ya’ down to the kitchen and grab you somethin’ there. house mom might have some snacks for ya’ too.”

brows furrowed, you turn to look at him. “the fuck is a house mom?”

“older woman who works with the dancers, takes care of ‘em in between dances. she’ll have snacks, spare outfits or shoes, hygiene products. helps ‘em all like a mom would.”

“nice.” you nod your head, and soon you’re in the private parking lot for the club. joel gets out first, rounding to your side and opening the door up for you. “gotta love a southern gentleman.” you snicker, walking into the club behind him.

he walks up a set of marbled stairs, heading to the second floor. “you’ll be working in the v.i.p. lounge, ‘s where all the dancers are and most of our staff.”

the second floor of the club is lit with red led lights, creating a sultry atmosphere. there are private rooms scattered all around, but there are booths scattered in the middle. joel walks you down to a hidden room and opens the door.

“this is my office. you can put your shit in here.” you walk in and place your bag down on the cushioned sofa, taking a seat beside your belongings. “i’m here when i’m not in the booths doing business, but if anything happens out there, ya’ come and find me, alright?”

you nod your head at him.

“all v.i.p’s know dancers and staff aren’t to be touched, but you gotta promise you’ll come find me if that rule is broken.” after promising, he continues. “i’ll take you down to adele and see if she’s got any spare uniform for you. she’ll walk you through anything else.”

joel guides you down the haul with a hand on your lower back, and if there was a camera following you, you would’ve hand an office moment with this simple touch.

“momma!” joel yells, knocking on a pink door.

the door opens, and an african-american woman opens it. she looks at joel, then you, and embraces you in a tight hug. “welcome, baby. this the new girl we’ve been hearing about?”

“yes ma’am!” you answer before joel can, shooting him a shit-eating grin.

joel speaks your name, and your eyes meet his. “go inside while i talk to adele, she’ll be back to help you in a minute.”

as you step inside the room, you’re met with an abundance of dancers. some are singing, doing their hair and make up, zipping up their heels, and others are lay on sat around eating some snacks.

“hi guys!” you wave at everyone, and they all squeal when they see you, immediately asking questions.

you answer them as best as you can until adele comes in. “now, i gotta get her some heels and her uniform, and when i come back-” adele glances around the room, pointing at an east asian woman with pin straight black hair. “lucy, do her make up, just so she knows what the standard is. your hair is fine, baby, don’t need anyone touching that.”

lucy smiles and waves at you, and you return it as adele leads you into the changing rooms. “uniforms are simple. black shorts, black long sleeve, and…what size shoe are you, baby?”

you respond, and she goes over to a rack of black, leather heeled boots. they’re platformed, shiny, and you know your feet are going to hurt the second your shift is done. “and these. i’ll let you get changed and you just come straight out when you’re done. help yourself to some snacks as well.”

“i don’t have to pay you for them?”

adele chuckles. “no, baby. joel gives me the money to buy the snacks. anything for you girls, joel pays for.” and with that, she leaves the room.

you sigh, looking at the mirror in front of you. this was a new job, with a hot boss, and from what you could tell, the rest of the girls in there were lovely.

this was your life now.

____

a/n: first chapter mother fuckers let’s GOOOOO

taglist (if you want to be added, pls let me know!! & if your name is in bold, i couldn’t find your account :()

@dugiioh @amyispxnk @skysmiller @alyhull @noisynightmarepoetry @elliaze @dendulinka6 @zliteraturehoe @atyourmerci @al33naaa @mermaidgirl30 @lulawantmula @nana90azevedo @endlessthxxghts @getitoutofmymind @you-taste-so-sweet @blazeflays @iveseenstrangerthings50 @regalwhovianbrowncoat774 @aquanatalie @katw474 @ludwigxii-blog @eloquentdreamer @kyloispunk @txmel @din-jarring @daddysmilf0123 @sofiparallel @dunkinzjm @runningmom94 @ashhlsstuff @moel-jiller @isimpforfictionalmen @drewharrisonwriter @stormseyer @rodriguez31 @elliesswearjar @vvitchesh3x @joeldjarin @untamedheart81 @ellishamae25 @pedropascalfan221 @mellymbee @pedritosgfreal @yassspose @casa-boiardi

[total-dxmure]

✦ MARLEY AND ME →【ELLIE WILLIAMS】→ CHAPTER FOUR

pairing: modern!ellie williams x single mom!reader

summary: you’re a single mom just doing the best that she can to make ends meet. ellie can’t help but think that you're the kindest, most beautiful girl that she’s ever met. compared to taking care a little girl that's in her terrible twos, coming to terms with the fact that you’re a lesbian is a walk in the park. awkward first encounters, ellie’s broken gay-dar, and her overwhelming urge to take care of the care-giver. . . the road to domesticity is a long one, but it’s well worth the pining that it takes to get there.

warnings: eventual substance use, no use of y/n (you have nicknames/petnames), the reader is marley’s biological mother, talk of coming to terms with ones sexuality, mention of a shitty baby daddy ( though there is no co-parenting between them), ellie is a total girl mom, lots and lots of fluff, ellie is an anxious dork in this fic, reader is broke but happy, ellie takes pride in being a provider, this is going to be a multi-part fic, ellie is an absolute simp for the reader since chapter one and will remain her #1 fan.

The knock on the door is to the tune “Head Over Heels”- or at least you think it is. Ellie doesn’t have enough time to fully get through the chorus before you’re yanking it open, cheeks flushed all pretty and eyes wide. They glitter in the dim sunlight like jewels, staring up at her like she was the one that hung the moon. Ellie’s got that same dumb look on her face; mossy eyes wrinkled at the corners from the force of her smile. You would never know that she’s been up since seven o’clock in the morning, cramming for an exam that she had aced. She’d talked to Joel for the fifteen minutes that it took to get to your house, bragging on and on about how much easier it had been than she’d initially thought that it would be.

He let her brag. Of course he did. She wasn’t quite as talkative as she had been when she was a teenager, but she was still famous for her little tangents. Joel was good at listening, and Ellie? Well, she was a professional yapper. It was a match made in heaven.

Ellie smells like lavender, musk and patchouli incense. The scent of it clings to her hair and clothes. She’d mentioned a couple of times that she was a daily smoker, but she made sure to go out of her way to never smell when she was over at your place. The thought of your daughter cuddling to her when she smelled. . . funky made her cringe.

There’s a moment of appreciative silence as she stands on your front porch. The two of you just stare at each other, breathing the scent of each other in. The novelty still isn’t lost as far as your courting goes either. You can’t imagine the nervous butterflies ever going away. They’ve made a cage out of your ribs, fluttering away madly in your chest.

“Hey,” She breathes through her smile, her eyes dancing over your features. “Did I miss anything exciting?”

You look absolutely exhausted. Gorgeous, but exhausted nonetheless. Ellie has noticed that you do a very good job at putting others' needs before your own. You’d been at work for two whole hours before Ellie had even woken up this morning, and now you felt like you were on autopilot. You’d walked to your mom’s to pick Marley up, gotten her bathed and dressed in little play overalls and now the two of you were spending some quality time together. You could barely keep your eyes open, and yet you knew that you wouldn’t be able to get your screaming toddler to sleep for at least another three hours.

“Marles and I are making homemade play-doh right now,” You opened the door wider, tempting her into the house with a sweet smile. Who was Ellie to deny you of all people? “She’s been excited ever since I told her that you were coming over.”

Marley had taken to Ellie like a bee to honey.

The college student hadn’t had too many opportunities to be around children- especially ones as young as Marley was. She was unfamiliar with the tiny sticky hands, drooly mouths and unpredictable attitudes. Still, she was a natural. Marley gravitated towards her. Ellie was sure that the constant presents and sweet treats buttered her up, but she would be selling herself short if she claimed that those were the only reason that your daughter loved her so much.

Your three year old babbled from the kitchen, excitedly trying to piece together a sentence. Ellie closed the door behind herself, only to sweep you up into a bone crushing hug. Your laugh was muffled by the fabric of her soft cotton button up as you nuzzled your face into her neck. Closer, closer, closer. If she could absorb you into her body she would. It was hard to describe the level of admiration she felt for you. It was too early to classify it as “love”, but she supposed she did love you and Marley. Being in your house, as small as it was, felt right to her.

“I missed you.” You mumbled, arms fastened tight around her waist.

She barely had enough time to brush a gentle peck to your lips before Marley was bounding around the corner, bare feet slapping against the linoleum floors. You’d recently learned that wearing socks wasn’t a good idea. Your poor little girl had slipped and fallen far too many times for your liking.

Marley had become more comfortable in her body, which meant she was now running, jumping and climbing. Just a year ago you had been relieved that she could walk by herself without you holding her hand, and now keeping her off of your furniture was an impossible task. Nothing had prepared you for the constant changes that came with motherhood. You blinked and suddenly she was sassy and genuinely funny. She complimented you when you were wearing something unusually flashy and wanted you to put blush on her while you were getting the both of you ready so that she could “look like mommy”.

You never expected anyone outside of your family and close friends to appreciate your daughter in the same way that you did.

But then there was Ellie.

Self indulgent. Waking up this happy felt sinful.

Your fingers gently glide over her gentle planes and curves, making a map in your mind of every inch of her. Each freckles a continent, each line a river.

You didn’t want to wake Ellie, too frightened that you might break whatever magic spell was currently suspended in the air between the two of you. This moment between you felt too good to be true, and that scarred little voice inside of you that you loathed so much was begging you to enjoy this while it lasted.

You were always waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Happiness was fleeting. You felt like you didn’t deserve whatever was going on between the two of you. Your entire identity for the last three years has been summed up in a singular label: “ a mother”. You were a sexless, wantless, selfless creature meant only to teach and please. How dare you need a night off. How dare you choose yourself over an abusive relationship. How dare you need, want, desire, change.

But this? This was nice.

No, it was better than nice. Great? No. . . It was perfect. She was perfect. And that terrified you. Ellie scared the absolute shit out of you, and yet you couldn’t take a step back. It was like you were falling head first for a very, very long time. The ground is nowhere in sight.

You were free falling and you had no clue where you would end up when all was said and done. It felt selfish to put so much effort and care into so many new things at once. Especially since those new things could shatter your heart into a million pieces at any second. You knew that Ellie didn’t owe you anything. She was nice enough to give you a chance despite all of your faults. Your baggage had become too heavy for you to hold at times, so how could you ever expect someone else to help pick up the slack?

You weren’t even sure what the two of you were doing together. The two of you hadn’t put a label on your relationship, but she’d brought you flowers yesterday when she popped by for a movie night. She’d even gotten a small bouquet for Marley, who was far too small to appreciate them for longer than five minutes.

Ellie wasn’t your girlfriend, but she’d slipped Marley’s shoes on for her before you’d all left the house last night to pick up dinner. Ellie wasn’t your girlfriend, but she’d spent the night with you last night in your bed. Ellie wasn’t your girlfriend, but she’d held you all throughout the night.

She didn’t even try to get handsy at all last night, probably having seen the exhaustion written all over your face. She kissed you because she wanted to show you affection. She held you because she wanted to be close.

What you didn’t know was that Ellie felt the same way that you did. She was lost as to when to ask the dreaded “what are we?” question. The thought of pushing you away or losing you was agonizing, so instead she had deluded herself into thinking that she didn’t have to define things. It was clear that she liked you, right?

She’d never felt this way about anybody before. This wasn’t like any other crushes she’d had in the past. She felt fresh and new. Ellie even felt like she looked a bit different when she looked in a mirror. There was a glow to her; a sense of happiness that wasn’t just rare for her but something that she had once deemed an impossibility. She felt changed for the better.

It was easy to love Marley. It had happened naturally- like breathing. You don’t have to remember how to breathe. . . it just happens. With you it was different. Obsessive, maddening, all inhabiting affection. You’d wrapped your dainty hands around her heart tight, tight, tight. Every skip and butterfly is a gentle reminder that this was something. The both of you are something, and that is enough.

She smiles before she even has her eyes open. She can feel your fingers on her bare arms, and for a second she ponders whether or not she’s in heaven. . . or perhaps still dreaming. Waking up in your bed, the scent of your shampoo on all of the pillows and your soft hands on her- she could die right there, your room, her tomb. The headboard, her headstone.

“Are you real?” She whispers, her voice hoarse and still thick with sleep. She’s looking at you with those great, big green eyes. Your eyes are glued to the small collection of freckles just above her top lip, but you hear her.

“M’ real.” You mumble out a confirmation, propping your head up on your hand so that you can lean over her. You know your hair is a mess. . . but she’s studying your face with a silent sort of appreciation that has your throat feeling thick with emotion.

She’s soft. Ellie’s soft and wants to take care of you. She showers you and your daughter with affection without ever having to be asked to. Why? Because she wants to do it. You find it hard to believe that anyone would want to go out of their way like this. Especially for someone like you. You were a young mother who hadn’t gone to college. You lived in a tiny house, operated paycheck to paycheck, and had a few stretch marks on your tummy. You weren’t perfect. Not like Ellie deserved.

So why was she looking at you like that?

Oh god, how she stared at you. Her eyes were velvet soft as her eyes flickered over your face, taking in every feature. She’d never woken up next to you before. Your bedhead and glassy eyes had her heart blooming with warmth. The ceiling fan had a few strands of your hair falling into your eyes. She took the opportunity to tuck them behind your ear, feeling the softness of your skin. She committed that to memory too.

“I really like this.” Ellie finally admits, bottom jaw quivering a bit. She fiddles with her fingers under your comforter, a nervous habit.

“What?” You ask her incredulously. If Ellie’s eyes weren’t open she’d still know you were smiling. She could hear it in the way you spoke, and it had her seeing stars. And Ellie really, really loved stars. “Looking at my bedhead? You better not take any pictures.” You were already smoothing your hair down with your hands, brushing through a few tangles.

She caught your arms, shaking her head the best she could with it still resting on your pillows. “Waking up next to you. Being here with you two- this is really nice.” It was more than nice, but she didn’t want to scare you away by coming on too strongly.

You opened your mouth, getting ready to agree with her, but the familiar sound of tiny feet had you sitting up fully so that you could turn and face the doorway. You shot Ellie an apologetic smile, but she merely shook her head, sitting up as well with a small smile. She didn’t seem burdened by the existence of your daughter, which was something you weren’t used to.

Marley’s hair was an absolute disaster, per usual. It looked like she’d been caught headfirst in a tornado,wispy hairs bobbing as she shuffled closer to the bed in her footie pajamas. She had insisted on wearing them last night despite the fact that it wasn’t exactly cold enough for them. Her cheeks were pink and it was obvious that she had sweat in her sleep last night. You felt a tinge of guilt for letting her get her way, praying that Ellie didn’t think you were a bad mother for giving in so easily to her sweet demands. Sometimes it was impossible to say no to her.

She stood at the side of the bed for a few seconds, eyes still half lidded and dazed with sleep. For a second she just stared at you and Ellie, as if trying to connect the dots that someone else was in your house. It was incredibly unusual to have guests over at the house. . . well, that was before Ellie. Marley climbed up onto the bed, pushing away your eager hands when you tried to reach out for her.

Your little girl was headed straight for Ellie. You bit the inside of your cheek, feigning a look of jealousy when Marley wrapped her tiny arms around the other woman’s neck. Ellie’s eyes widened as she held the small girl to her chest, cheeks growing warm when she realized just how much your daughter liked her. She wanted to blame the constant presents and sweet treats, but that wasn’t the case. Marley loved Ellie because she was patient with her. She took the time to sit down with her, ask her questions- hell, Ellie even played with her, which your own mother often wasn’t in the mood to do.

“I can’t believe you, Marles.” You gasped out, nose wrinkling in faux dismay. You rubbed her arm up and down, trying to gently get her attention. Marley looked up at you through her long lashes, plopping her head down on Ellie’s shoulder in a very dramatic, very Marley fashion.

“She chose me fair and square.” Ellie boasted, using her hand to try and smooth down her crazy bedhead.

You took a mental picture, eyes pinching at the corners with the force of your smile. Marley had curled herself up into a ball and didn’t seem prepared to budge any time soon. Ellie didn’t even attempt to hand her off to you. Instead the woman stood up with a small groan, her black sweatpants hanging low on her waist. You tried not to stare at the exposed flesh of her stomach as her tank top rode up but failed miserably. The brunette turned her head to face you, having felt the heat of your gaze, and the both of you exchanged a knowing smile.

“She has her legs pulled up to her chest,” Ellie said with a chuckle, her arms secured tightly around your child. “You’re like a little potato.” She pressed a quick kiss to Marley’s hair when the tiny girl started giggling at the comparison.

“M’ not!” Marley squealed, sticky hands tanging into Ellie’s cropped hair. You watched as she gave her hair a tug, your stomach tensing in panic.

You started to stand up, ready to scold your daughter for her rough treatment, but Ellie was already walking down the hall. You sat in disbelief for a second, questioning whether or not you should go in and check on the two of them. You so rarely had time to yourself like this. It felt wrong to take advantage of this opportunity, but you had a feeling that Ellie had done this on purpose.

Was she trying to drop hints that you looked bad? You were absolutely exhausted last night, so you wouldn’t be surprised if your face was a mess and your clothes in disarray. You anxiously raked through your hair, kicking the tangled sheets off of your legs so that you could run to the nearest mirror.

“Are pancakes for breakfast alright?” Ellie had ducked her head back into the bedroom, a beaming Marley still propped up on her hip. You jumped at the sudden voice, glaring in her direction as she chuckled at your expense.

You weren’t used to being so hard on yourself as far as your appearance goes. Impressing people, these days, was the last thing on your mind. Ellie felt the same way though. She’d be a liar if she said that she hadn’t checked herself out in the mirror you had in the living room, anxious that she looked like hammered dog shit after drooling all over your pillow.

The weight of your head on her chest had her sleeping like a damn baby last night. Marley had acted as a wonderful distraction from her own embarrassment, especially when she realized the back of her hair was practically sticking straight up.

What you didn’t know was that she’d never spent the night with a girl. Not romantically, at least. The both of you were in the exact same anxious boat, and while Ellie knew that she was your first, you had no inkling that you were a lot of her firsts as well.

“Pancakes?” You parroted back to her, wetting your dry lips.

You began tallying up totals in your head, trying to figure out whether or not you had the cash to grab breakfast. You would like to treat Ellie and Marley. . . but after paying the water and the power bill two days ago, you barely had enough to put gas in your car. You felt your cheeks heating up as you tried to come up with a nice way to say “I don’t have the money for pancakes” without sounding like a shitty adult and an even shittier mother.

Ellie could see the way you were over thinking things, her eyes nervously flickering to your closet. You only had a few articles of clothing for yourself, and yet she’d never seen Marley wear the same outfit twice. She’d seen you with your calculator at the grocery store, nervously staring at a total. She knew that you weren’t financially secure- you were a young single mother. The brunette smiled at you, shoving her hands in her pockets as she leaned against the doorframe.

“I make really good pancakes, and it looks like you have everything I need. Marley would be an amazing help too. She’d make my job a lot easier.” She rocked back on the heels of her gray socks, biting the inside of her cheek as she looked at you.

You looked nervous, tired, and adorable as hell. Your band t-shirt was rumpled with sleep and you were standing in tiny white socks, all self conscious and overly critical. She wanted to kiss you… but she hadn’t brushed her teeth.

“Let me go ahead and take her to the bathroom first,” You ran through your daily checklist in your mind, though not forgetting to flash her a thankful smile that nearly had the girl’s legs buckling. “Oh! Uh. . . I have an extra toothbrush. You can have it. Do you want to use the restroom first? It’ll give me some time to get her outfit together for the day.”

Ellie wanted to be selfless and tell you that she didn’t want to go first, but her breath was probably stale and the last thing she wanted was for you to be grossed out by her. She couldn’t fuck this up. She refused to.

You found Marley in her bedroom, having already strewn toys around the room. You let out a small huff of breath, realizing that today was probably going to be a rough one. Each day was different with your little girl. One day she was a perfect angel, only doing what she was told. Other days. . . well, rambunctious didn’t fully encompass her level of energy. Today was going to be one of those days.

“Alrighty, Marles! Let’s pick out a pretty outfit, alright?” You started to walk to her closet, but froze as she began shaking her head. “You don’t want to put on a dress? Or what about some overalls so you can play better?”

“No!” She screamed, running to the other side of her room so that she could grab a few more stuffed animals off of her bed. She tossed those on the ground too, even going as far as to plop down on the floor.

You had hoped that Ellie wouldn’t see this. At least. . . not so soon into the relationship. If she couldn’t accept Marley on bad days like this then you knew she wasn’t the right person for you, but still- you had hoped to slowly introduce this lifestyle to her. Not flat out throw her to the metaphorical wolves. Or. . . to Marley. You felt your bottom lip quiver, but you caught it between your teeth, giving it a few nervous chews before you sat down next to her.

“Do you want to stay in your pajamas?” Your tone was nothing but loving and patient. You were used to this, but Ellie wasn’t. You could only pray that she could accept you. All of you.

“Yes! Please, mommy.” She was getting better at articulating her thoughts and feelings. You found it impossible to deny her when she spoke to you like this. Especially when she asked politely.

So you found herself nodding, flashing her a megawatt smile that she happily returned. You could make a special day out of this. Pancakes and pajamas? It sounded heavenly.

“You’re so polite, baby girl! Alright, we’ll stay in our pajamas today. How about that? And Ellie said that you’re going to help her make breakfast. Are you going to be a big help?”

“Yeah.” She replied, already focused on the baby doll in front of her.

Her hands were still stained a little pink from making the play-doh last night. Once she remembers that she has that to play with too, you can only imagine the mess she’ll make on your dining room table.

You’re beautiful and patient. Ellie watches the two of you interact from the hallway, her breath all minty and her smile all wide. She thinks that she can live like this forever.

And she prays that she gets to.

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[marvelstoriesepic]

Like a Phoenix (6)

Pairing: Mercenary!Bucky x Princess!Reader

Series Summary: An attack on your palace thrusts your only hope for survival into the hands of a mercenary who is forced to protect you, all due to a vow he made many years before. Though, those are circumstances neither of you have chosen.

Word Count: 10.8k

Warnings: mentions of murder, death, blood, knives, dead parents; crying; self blame; injuries; fever; tension; worried!Bucky

Author’s Note: I came to notice that the word counts in my chapters differ significantly from one chapter to another. I apologize if this is weird for you. Hope you enjoy! ♡

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

There’s a new kind of silence between you now.

It extends and winds itself into the trees, wrapping around unsaid words like an ivy branch.

This is not a natural silence and not the kind that felt almost comforting a day ago. It’s prickly and tense and laden and you hate how restless it makes you feel.

Each breath you take seems deafening, each movement you make achingly deliberate, and every moment of eye contact is a crack of electricity with no set destination.

Turns out, Bucky has been angry at you.

And he has chastised you for joining the fight in the first place.

But not in the way you’d expected.

You had braced for it. For venomous flames sprouting from his tongue. Ready to take anything he might throw at you.

You anticipated a different kind of anger, one that was intense and vocal, manifesting through harsh words and direct blame. Your stomach was a knot of anxiety, hands clenching.

The guilt has been bubbling within you ever since hurling that dagger, and you were ready for his rage to pour over it like oil on flames, transforming it into an intolerable blaze.

But Bucky didn’t give you that.

He didn’t yell. Didn’t even raise his voice.

It was slow and withdrawn, enough to expose the sharp rocks underneath. If anything, he sounded worn. The kind of worn that digs itself deep into a man’s soul.

“You could’ve gotten yourself killed,” he said, voice rather quiet, flat but somehow heavy. His hand has scrubbed over his face in a rough movement, as if trying to erase a hurtful memory of you standing there like the helpless girl you were, blood running over your temple. “You didn’t help. Didn’t even know what you were doin’.”

His words hurtfully slipped deep into your mind. Not because they were cruel, but because they weren’t. He didn’t berate you for stepping in, didn’t accuse you of foolishness. He simply sounded tired. Like someone who’s seen this before. Like someone who didn’t have it in him to carry the weight of your recklessness on top of his own.

It hurt more than anything he could have said in anger. There was something underneath the fatigue, something defeated, but also sharp. Disappointment, maybe - at you, or himself. Or fear. Or guilt. Or everything at once.

You braced yourself against his wrath, but instead, he gave you this hidden reprimand that left you feeling small.

It made you want to say something. Offer some sort of apology to soften the ache his words ignited in you. But the words stayed stuck between your heart and mouth. I’m sorry would have been so simple to say, but it didn’t feel like enough.

And so you just nodded your head to acknowledge you heard him. That you understood. Although you did not. Although your mind was a scrambled mess.

You saved him. You acted when you thought you had no other choice. When the alternative was losing him, and somehow, that felt more unbearable than the thought of taking another man’s life.

Yet, his words rang with truth. You didn’t know what you were doing when you started scrambling for that dagger on the ground. Nothing seemed logically possible. You just were desperate to act. Desperate to be helpful for once. But were you?

You saved him, but does he feel saved?

You only watched him as he turned on his heel, the line of his shoulders as stony as could be. He began to clear the area you stayed without another word, without a single glance back at you. Though he did keep you in his peripherals.

That’s when the silence started.

Because all you could do was sit there, unmoving, your thoughts a flurry of confusion and guilt and so many more twisted versions of those emotions.

The image of the man you killed still ticked in your head, counting the minutes you were leaving his metaphorical blood on your hands. It won’t ever stop counting. It will count you dead.

At one point, you forced yourself to rise and felt the heaviness of a tired body dragged down by a stinging stab at your side.

Bucky only tilted his head in your direction but didn’t meet your eye, continuing to tie knots, secure straps with his jaw set and clipped movements.

The routine of clearing your chosen sleeping spot for the night was basically the same as the last weeks but it felt so much more different today.

The river has been cold, shockingly so. The icy water irritated your skin, currents tugging at you as if meaning to pull you under. But it somehow grounded you in a way that nothing else had since the fight. Painfully so. It cleared a narrow path in your mind, through the wildly jumping and flickering memories.

You scrubbed at your hands, your arms, the hem of your dress, but no amount of washing could take away the feeling that still holds you captive. No scrubbing would be able to wash the blood from your hands because this is rather figurative. The metallic tang of it lingers in your nose. It will always stay.

Just like the sensation of that dagger slipping from your grip, its blade penetrating flesh, the extinguishing of life in a heartbeat. The frozen expression of shock and anguish cast over this man’s face.

Bucky washed himself as well.

You heard the faint click of metal, the soft rustle of fabric, and turned to him. He didn’t seem to care that you were only a few feet away, standing in the water with your dress on. Or maybe it was a deliberate decision not to move to another part of the river to clean himself. You weren’t sure.

But he did not so much as glance in your direction as he unbuckled his armor and pulled it off. He moved methodically. Not even thinking about it.

And then he peeled off his shirt.

Your breath caught, your fingers curling against the smooth stones at the river’s edge as you didn’t take your eyes off him. The faint moonlight that had illuminated the clearing earlier was gone, the silvery glow of the moon replaced by sunlight. And it painted his skin. It played with it. Each muscle of his torso and arms etched with stark definition.

But it wasn’t even the sheer strength of him, the building muscles that drew your attention. After all, you’ve seen him use them. You’ve seen them strain his armor across his chest.

It was the scars.

The crisscrosses over his chest, some jagged and irregular, others clean and straight as though left by a scalpel.

And then there was his left shoulder.

The scars there were different, deeper, more savage. The flesh around his shoulder and upper arm was tissue, cratered, and puckered, stretching away from the shoulder like the aftermath of some violent attempt to sever his arm completely.

It’s the thought - not the sight - that made bile rise in your throat.

And he didn’t even care about you watching. Maybe he didn’t even notice.

He moved toward the river without hesitation, stepping into the icy water as though it were no colder than a warm bath. His breathing was controlled, his muscles didn’t flinch. If anything, he seemed detached, sterile. Movements so robotic.

And it reminded you of something. Or rather someone. A soldier. A soldier of the navy army. Your fathers. Yours. Rumlow did say he was a soldier once.

You should have seen it earlier. Should have noticed the similarities. Should have been able to recognize it in the way he carried himself. But it was clear to say that he no longer acknowledged himself as a soldier of your army. It was clear to say that the manners of the soldier in him were something he revolted against.

He crouched in the shallows, water lapping at him the same way it lapped at you but he didn’t pay much mind to the currents. He only cupped a handful of it to pour over his head.

You shouldn’t have been watching him. But you couldn’t tear your eyes away.

The beat of your heart was a crazy commotion in your chest. It was shock churning with embarrassment and another feeling you could not seem to identify. Or did not want to.

These scars are stories you couldn’t begin to imagine. Stories he hasn’t dared to share and probably won’t ever bother to tell. And still, there was something sacred about watching him so completely stripped of what always seems like two layers of armor, both literal and metaphorical.

His eyes were fixed on the horizon, on something far beyond the river, something far beyond this moment. The strength of his stare was palpable, as if he was seeing ghosts that only he was able to perceive. He looked tight-lipped, his expression unreadable. But there was something sitting on his shoulders as tangible as the scars that marred them.

One hard swallow and you felt your throat closing tight. There was intrigue in the jumble of unfocused thoughts surpassing the barriers of your mind, while your rightful feelings begged for the right words to come out.

How could someone bear so much and still keep moving? How could he carry all of this - whatever it truly is - and still find the strength to protect you, to shield you, to chastise you for risking yourself for him?

You thought back to the fight although you didn’t want to. The way he moved looking so deadly, how he stepped protectively in front of you without a moment’s thought for his safety.

Just who is this man? It is a question that has been plaguing you for some time now.

Not just the man who stood in that river, water coursing over his scarred body, but the man behind the scars, behind the silence, behind the bitterness that lingers around the peripheries of all he says and does.

He turned then. And the look that cut over you was making you heat up despite the cold water. There was no surprise, no embarrassment, no anything. Just a studying look that lingered a moment too long.

“Finish up. We should keep moving.”

And with that, he stood, water streaming off his skin, and moved to the bank to retrieve his shirt and armor.

Your cheeks remained burning.

And then you were trailing him again. Through the woods.

You walked in his shadows, his presence looming even when he didn’t speak. There was something tipped about him, something like restrained that made it seem like he was trying to keep himself together. The air brimmed between the two of you with a strange energy, a fraught tension that was an uneasy, almost elemental pull.

The ache in your side flared with each step, but you didn’t complain, didn’t utter a single word.

He checked on you more often than probably necessary, his glances quick but searching. Narrowing as they flicked to your wound.

Every time his eyes met your own they carried something thick, but when he looked away he seemed to leave behind emptiness as if he was turning the locks to prevent you from coming in.

And all he said were short commands, clipped and dry.

“Sit there.”

“Hold this.”

“Tell me if it hurts too much.”

You followed his instructions without protest, without question, because the look in his eyes left no room for argument. His tone didn’t invite conversation, but it was not cruel. It was not sharp. It simply was matter-of-fact, just like everything else about him. Practical. Precise. But aloof.

The tension between you felt like it was building something, but you didn’t know what. A confrontation, maybe. Or a confession. Or nothing at all. Maybe this was how it would be now - this silence, this distance, this shared yet separate burden.

The sun had dipped below the horizon by the time you stopped to rest. He spouted an improvised campsite like every night - a small clearing, flanked by plump pines with their branches woven in dense roofs. The ground is mildly plush because of moss and littered with fallen leaves. Life seems to thrum in the forest around you, with crickets chirping and small animals rushing through bushes but it’s still muted by the tension yet to fold from the air.

Bucky set to work straight away, gathering firewood and checking the perimeter with sharp eyes.

You dropped your tired bones onto a decaying log, exhaustion pulling your shoulders down, mind not able to settle. You pulled your cloak tighter around yourself.

There was something about Bucky in this moment that felt unreachable. As though the man you had come to know - the man who shielded you with his body, who taught you to throw a knife, who hated seeing you fear him - was retreating. Pulling back into himself. And you hated that you didn’t know how to bridge the gap.

Your emotions swirled fiercely and unmanageable. It wasn’t just the guilty prick lying in knots in your stomach, but it was accompanied by fear and anger. Though you didn’t even know if it was directed at him, at yourself, or even the world that had shackled you into this lunacy.

When he finally sat in front of you, the fire crackling softly between you, you avoided each other’s eyes. Perhaps even each other’s presence altogether.

There was something feeling almost intimate, as though the firelight had drawn you closer even as the unspoken things between you kept you apart.

You thought about things to say that might ease the tension, but your chest felt too heavy to let any word come up.

And so you sat there, the firelight flickering in between, the forest shedding all its secrets in the dark.

You didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, or how you would face it.

All you knew was that the silence between you edged on being both a barrier and a bridge, and you didn’t know which it would become.

You sigh heavily. Relieving the day in memory and emotion.

The ground beneath you feels harder tonight, the ache in your muscles sharper, the wound at your side a constant throb you’re not able to ignore.

The forest floor is rocky, the thin carpet of leaves and moss providing little cushion against the roughness of the roots and stones pushing at you against your back.

You’ve been lying here for what feels like hours, though time has lost its meaning since the sun disappeared behind the horizon.

The night is thick around you, with the stillness broken from time to time by the faint rustling of branches overhead, stirred by a wind too weak to reach the forest floor.

You know he’s there, just a few paces away. His presence is profound. As tangible as the pain in your side and the sting in your pride. He is silent. Too silent. He isn’t sharpening his knife, a sound you’ve come to associate with him as much as his footfalls when he resigns to pacing at night.

But he doesn’t. He isn’t even shifting. The rustle of his movements absent in the hush of the woods.

But you know that he’s awake. You can feel it in the air between you. A vibration, almost imperceptible.

He’s lying there too, as still as you are, but his stillness is different. Alert. Vigilant. You don’t dare turn your head to check, don’t dare disturb whatever you hold between you.

You wonder, what he’s thinking, whether he’s still angry with you, whether he’s even capable of anger right now. He seemed so tired earlier, so worn down.

You stay with your back to him, trying to match his silence with your own shallow breathing so as to convince yourself you are not even there at all. That you’re somewhere else entirely. Anywhere else.

Maybe even the palace.

It comes back to your mind immediately in vivid detail. The soaring arches of marble halls, lanterns casting their diffused glow through the gilded walls, the cool and polished floor beneath your feet.

You picture your chambers, the bed that had always been too large for a single person but always felt too small to hold your restlessness. The bed you would give anything to climb into right now.

You can almost feel the silky and soft linen sheets against your skin, pillows downy and cuddling your head. Almost hear the palace life at night, the distant sound of guards patrolling, wind whispering through stained-glass windows.

You can almost taste the security of it, the confident certainty that tomorrow would come as it always had, with the same routines, the same expectations, the same smiles.

But the more you picture it, the more it mocks you. The differences are too sharp, too cruel, too much and it makes a lump rise in your throat. A knot that feels like it’s tied to the weight in your chest, tugging you further down.

You think bitterly about the irony of wanting the home you had once longed to escape more than anything now. You had believed freedom to feel bright and airy but it only ever feels disgusting and cold and everlasting.

Out here, beneath the sky, encased in a moon of brilliant enormity, you feel incredibly small, tender to your soul, and so unanchored to anything.

You feel lost. Lost in a way you didn’t think was possible. Lost in a way no map or compass could ever remedy. You thought you already were a lost soul as the princess in the castle but you’ve been so off the rails.

Your heart seems misplaced in the way it’s beating, uncertain where to send the blood. Your thoughts are darting like startled birds, too quick to catch but too loud to ignore. But all that resounds in your mind is the reflection of your desire extending infinitely into the emptiness you have yet to flee.

You stare at the faint pinpricks of light above, stars that barely break through the tangled mesh of branches. It is beautiful in its own way. So vast and wild. But tonight, even that feels like a cage. No. It feels like you are the only caged thing in it.

A faint heat blooms behind your eyes, the pain of too much thinking with nothing resolved.

None of this makes any sense. The freedom you thought you wanted came at a cost you weren’t prepared to pay. You have nothing but the clothes on your back and the man sitting silently behind you, watching the dark as if it might rise up and devour you both.

You wanted this, didn’t you? You wanted to escape the palace and see the world beyond it. You thought you understood what that meant. Oh how wrong you were.

Your lips press together as a tear slips free. It seems to come out of nowhere, tracing a hot path down your cheek like a secret you need to keep. Your jaw tightens at the vulnerability you can’t suppress, biting on the inside of your cheek, pearling saliva in your mouth. Though the harder you try to will away new tears forming, the harder it becomes to hold them back from spilling over.

More wetness pools in the corner of your eyes. This is weak. You know that. And you hate it. Because he might hear it. He might hear you losing your mind. But you can’t let him. You won’t.

You shift slightly, turning your face toward the ground as though burying it in the crook of your arm might somehow hide it. From yourself. From him. From the forest.

The grief and guilt and helplessness all twist inside your chest like a knotted rope not so easily undone. You feel so utterly adrift, like a ship lost at sea with no stars to guide it home. And the funny thing is, there are stars. But they won’t steer you home. Because there is nothing like it.

Your shoulders shake ever so slightly with the effort of staying silent. You can’t bear the thought of him knowing, of him looking at you with those eyes of his and seeing your inner turmoil, hearing the sobs that tremble in your throat. It terrifies you. Bucky has his own demons. You’ve seen them in the way he moves, the way he fights, the way his gaze would drift past anything like he was seeing something else, something darker.

You swallow hard, letting the tears fall - silently enough you hope - leaving them to soak into the earth beneath you.

Clenching your fingers into the fabric of your cloak that hangs over you, you attempt to find stability in it.

Another wave of tears spill over and you bury your face deeper into the cook of your arm, pressing hard against your mouth to muffle the sound. Bucky can’t see you this broken and so far from the person you thought you were supposed to be.

You struggle to breathe through your grief, your inhalation raspy and shaking enough to make the ground underneath you seem to tremble. Telling yourself to quit crying and mend all your broken pieces of composure, but your tears keep pooling down your cheeks in hot trails. They nearly bleach the coarse fabric of your cloak and soak into the damp earth beneath your head.

You hope you are well enough hidden in your bubble of sadness, where no one, even yourself, is welcome to look too closely.

“Princess?”

It’s low, rough at the edges from disuse, yet somehow startlingly gentle. The sound hits you like the fresh air on a day of cold winds.

Your entire body goes cold, muscles locking up, stiff as if turned to stone. Even your shoulders freeze in place. But there are still tears falling from your eyes. They don’t stop. They never do when you need them to. You start clenching your teeth, shutting your mouth down so tightly with a bit of a bite so that you can actually feel the coppery taste in your mouth.

You don’t answer.

There’s a pause, long enough that you think he’s given up. Maybe he’ll pretend he didn’t see. Maybe he’ll let this moment pass through memory-

“Are you cryin’?”

It isn’t an accusation, nor is it dripping with the condescension you’ve heard from others who thought tears made you weak. There is curiosity blended with a softness that is unfamiliar for him, as if he is surprised by the possibility but not unkindly so.

You swallow hard and press your lips together to smother any sound that would give you away, despite the fact that he already knows you are crying.

It’s your self-esteem that demands you to be quiet, but your body betrays you with each shiver, each sharp hitch in your chest.

Bucky shifts behind you. The rustle of movement reaches your ears. It grates against your nerves, making you wish you could sink into the ground and vanish from sight.

You don’t know if he moves closer, or just sits up. But it seems he prefers not to intrude upon your delicate space.

A weary sigh. “How’s your side?” His voice is quiet.

You absentmindedly touch your side, where a mix of blood and sweat has dried into a sticky mess beneath the bandage Bucky put on earlier. A hot pulse runs through the wound, prickling like raw heat. But it hardly warrants any thought amid the other pains that eat away at you.

“It’s fine,” you finally utter, though your voice is hoarse and brittle, barely a whisper. You sniff out a sob.

“Don’t make me check it out myself.” His tone is almost light, close to teasing, but with a solemn undertone that squeezes your heart.

A soft huff escapes you more as breath than laughter. “You would not dare.”

“You sure about that?”

A beat of silence falls, and you realize with a strange sort of relief that he is trying to draw you out, to break through the darkness of your thoughts.

“I said I am fine,” you say softly, sniffling into your arm.

He doesn’t press you, but you hear him shift again, as if considering whether or not to take your word for it.

His next words sound closer.

“Good,” he says simply. “Don’t need you keelin’ over on me.”

There is an air of concern in the silence between you. You feel his charged eyes on you. They won’t leave you for a second. They burn you.

The pause continues to linger once more but he seems strangely patient behind you.

He lets out a long breath. “You never stayed down,”he states then, his tone somewhere between chastisement way too soft for him and admiration way too admiring for him. “Told you to stay back, but you didn’t listen.”

His words pass right through you, piercing to the core. His tone does not mean for his words to sting but they do. Your chest is buzzing brutally. So ruefully. Disgraceful.

You didn’t listen. You didn’t stay down. You tried to help, and look where that has gotten you - wounded, broken, and sobbing into the dirt like a child who wandered too far from home.

“I was trying to be useful,” you whisper, voice hitching slightly with your breath. A sob shakes your shoulders.

“Could’ve gotten yourself killed out there.”

“Why does it matter?” you murmur, voice cracking. A shiver whacks your spine. Your fingers clench around fabric. You inhale a wavering breath.

Bucky exhales sharply through his nose. More rustling behind you. “Well,” he grounds out somberly. “M’ supposed to keep you alive, not the other way around.”

You sniff. Then huff sobbingly. Vulnerability drops from your words like the tears from your eyes. “My mother is dead. It is not like she would know if you completed your debt.”

You didn’t think your words through and now they sit uncomfortably between the two of you. You still feel his eyes on your back. But if you regret those words, then why don’t you make the effort to take them back?

“I know,” he says after a beat, quietly, nearly softly. Almost careful. There is no rebuke, no anger. It’s a simple acknowledgment.

The wind sways the trees beside you, absorbing all the emptiness left by your words. You squeeze your eyes together tightly and then rub the two fresh tears away from your skin.

“But I would,” he adds after a long pause. His voice is deep, resolute and something in it tries to form an understanding within your mind.

There’s a pause again, thick with things neither of you can bring yourselves to say.

But then you break it with a shuddering breath.

“What did she do for you?” Your voice sounds barely louder than the leaves in the wind around you. You don’t dare turn to him.

Silence goes on for long enough that you believe he might not have heard you, or perhaps ignored you altogether. But you hear him adjust his position again behind you.

“What?” His voice is rough, hinting at uncertainty.

“My mother,” you clarify, though you are sure he knows. Your heart is a balled-up pain in your chest. It strikes you with every beat. “What did she do for you? To make you promise something so huge?” You don’t have to clarify that part as well. He knows what he promised. And you still wonder if he resents that promise, if he resents you for being the living embodiment of it.

Tightly wound energy buzzes around you, coming from him. Bucky is not in your line of vision but he feels gripped with tension.

An exhale sounds out. It is measured, careful even. But so heavy. Profound. Meaningful.

You don’t want to be pushy. But his past is a labyrinth you don’t have the map for and you are tired of getting lost in it. Tired of not finding a way out. Or to the very center of it. Depending on the exits you take. Depending on the dead ends you meet. Depending on how tight the walls all around are pressing in. Every path you take just doubles back on itself, each question about him folding into another.

“She was so good,” you acknowledge quietly. Maybe even to yourself. You need to get the ache off your chest with words about the loving mother you lost. To him or yourself, it does not matter. “She always looked out for people. She gave so much of herself. I used to think it was exhausting - how much she cared. But-” you swallow hard, the lump in your throat threatening to choke you. “Whatever she did for you must have been huge.”

The longing in the hollow between your ribs is moving to the surface and colors your voice. You see her in your mind’s eye - the way she moved through the court with so much regal grace but stopped for even the lowliest servants. You miss the warmth in her voice when she spoke your name, as if it was the most important word in her kingdom.

A sob silently muffles against your arm as you press your face further into the ground. You just exposed yourself with this confession. Being so vulnerable and fragile by crying in front of him alone.

You would have believed him to brush it off. To lay back down with an annoyed sigh and ignore you and your drama altogether.

But even if you thought he might actually carry on this conversation, never would you have imagined it to be like this.

“I’m sorry.” His words resound so deep, carry so much weight that it catches you off guard. “For your loss.” He exhales a sound more felt than heard.

It’s the first time he has offered condolences. It’s the first time he acknowledges, really acknowledges the magnitude of what you’ve lost. And it’s genuine, remorseful in a way that makes something crack behind your ribs.

The sincerity in his voice stops your breath.

You turn then, unable to stay with your back to him any longer. The ground shifts beneath you as you roll over, blinking against the brim of lingering tears.

“Thank you,” you whisper, voice delicate but earnest.

Your gaze captures his and it gets strong in the air. His eyes are dark and piercing, faltering now at the sight of your tear-streaked face. He works his jaw, muscles moving under tight skin as he seems to bite down on words he does not know how to say.

The discomfort glimmering in his expression is telling, but so is the gentleness hiding underneath. Something softer, something unspoken but unmistakable.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. All that there is, all that you feel is this glance held between you two, stocked with grief and understanding and something profound. Things that haven’t been there before.

And then, after his eyes study you for a while longer, intense and all, he breaks the quiet with a resigned sigh. As if he can’t believe he is doing what he does. “She saved my family,” he murmurs roughly, clearing his throat and avoiding your eyes. “My ma and little sister. Becca. Sent 'em away to another country. Made sure they were looked after, by trusted people.”

You don’t know what sinks in first, the surprise of him even telling you, or the revelation itself. But the knowledge strikes painfully inside you. Each beat of your heart bumps against a bruise you can’t see.

Words form and dissolve in your throat, swallowed before they can escape.

You take your time to organize your thoughts.

“Why were they in danger?” You know he probably won’t answer that. This is already more than you expected, more than you ever thought he’d share.

A hand moves over his face and he rasps out a sound resembling a cough. “They’re safe now. All that matters,” he says gruffly, shaking his head and brushing it off.

He doesn’t look back at you and you almost regret asking. Something swells in your throat. Maybe your next words. Maybe the meaning of them. “She never told me,” you stammer, hardly above a whisper, voice still laced with tears.

“She promised to keep it to herself,” he utters uncomfortably.

Your chest feels as if it might burst because of the jingling of pride and sorrow and pain all mixing together in a way that now has you unable to distinguish one from the other.

You take a second to listen to the leaves in the night breeze, followed by the crackle of branches settling deeper into the earth. But it seems rather drowned out beneath the thrum of your pulse, too insistent in your ears.

Shifting your gaze to the ground, you follow the uneven patches of dirt and scattered pin-needles with your eyes. You pull the cloak tighter around yourself, half to shield your shivering body against Bucky’s gaze and half to shield it against the cold.

Bucky’s presence in front of you grazes your skin and races into your nerves.

Turns out he did move closer to you while your back was toward him. He’s not in touching range, but close enough for you to feel the warmth emanating softly from him, an assurance piercing through the chill. It is strange and reassuring and terrifying in equal measures.

Your lips again begin to tremble and you press them together to stop the quiver before it betrays you further. But it’s no use. Your heart is beating too loudly, trying to outrun the revelations now planted within you.

Bucky doesn’t say anything for a moment. But his gaze rests on you. The fizzling tension in the air feels anything but hostile, but it cannot be categorized. It’s subtle and soft and also intense.

You inhale a shaky breath. The sound of your ragged breaths is unbearably loud. “I am sorry,” you ground out, voice rougher than wanted.

Bucky shifts. His brows run together in a furrow. His confused eyes meet yours before you avert them again. “For what?” he asks slowly, his tone gentle but curious.

Your throat constricts. “For everything,” you say, hating the way your voice shakes. Saying it like that is easier than pointing everything out one by one. You are sorry for being reckless, for getting hurt, for dragging him into your mess, for existing as the burden he was forced to carry.

There is a long moment of silence. Bucky’s gaze is fixed on somewhere in the woods, lost in thought, and then he exhales slowly. It drags his shoulders down. “Ain’t your fault,” he mutters heavily.

There is a soft quality sounding in his tone, like he is trying to be gentle though it doesn’t come naturally to him.

Tears prick your eyes again. You blink hard, willing them into submission, but you are losing. A tear rolls down your cheek - bright and warm against the cold air. It makes you flinch slightly, hating the display of weakness.

Bucky does not move away.

The world seems unfathomable wide and unmoving but at this moment, it is only you and him.

You begin to lift your hand to wipe the tear away, but Bucky seems to be faster.

His long and rough fingers touch your skin almost in a careful way. Calloused knuckles sweep across your cheek, followed by the pad of his thumb, wiping the tear away with a tenderness that makes your breath hitch. The touch is fleeting but it is left burning on your cheek.

You freeze a little, not really knowing what to do about the intimacy of the moment or if you even deserve it. The ground feels harder beneath you. Almost like an unforgiving bed for your body, and that is nothing compared to the wound twisting inside your chest.

Bucky’s hand slips back to his side and you instinctively follow it with your eyes before looking back up at him. His shadowed and shifting blues hold your own in a way that keeps you from turning away. There is that softness attached to his expression.

You swallow, the lump in your throat giving you full determination to stay. You bite down on your lower lip in hatred of how it quivers.

“Get some rest.” It might as well be a whisper spoken only for you. “We’ll have to keep movin’ soon.”

And though you grant him with a nod, his eyes don’t leave you for another few heartbeats.

****

You wake up with the sun in your face and birds singing in your ears.

The brightness of the sun stings in your eyes, still slightly swollen from crying.

Taking a deep breath, you savor the refreshing and strong smell of wood and soil, the earthiness due to the damp ground and new pine.

You blink hard against the sharp light, gritting your teeth, eyes feeling grimy after what couldn’t have been more than a few broken hours of sleep. Your muscles feel stiff and sore like every morning and you carefully move them around on the rocky ground.

Awkwardly rolling on your side provokes a jabbing pain that comes from the wound and pours itself into the very core of your bones. So incredibly uncompassionate. Wincing, you grab hold of the bandaged wound. Bucky will probably be on you right away and make sure to change the dressing again. You dread it already. Not wanting to show an ounce of weakness in front of him again. The crying was enough quite frankly.

But then confusion creeps in. Your limbs grow fidgety. Fingers tapping. Feet shifting.

Because something feels off. It’s too still, too quiet in all the wrong ways. Birds are chirping, leaves are swishing, but those are not the sounds you are straining your ears for.

Where are Bucky’s footsteps pacing the perimeter? Where is the crackle of the fire he always stokes back to life before dawn? Where is his voice telling you to pack up?

You turn your head sharply in search of him, expecting to find him standing somewhere between the trees, sharp-eyed and alert the way he normally is. But he is not there.

Your heart slips into your throat and panic flares in its place. Sweeping your gaze back across the clearing, you let it slice the air for a glimpse of his broad form.

And then you see him.

Still on the ground.

The sight makes you pause. It feels wrong. Something prickles down your spine. He’s always up before you. Always. But it seems not today. And there’s got to be a reason.

Uneasily, you sit up, the bedroll crinkling beneath you. You look over at him worriedly.

Bucky’s brows furrow in deep creases onto his skin, conflict etched everywhere. His lips twitch, forming words that never quite make it past the threshold of sound. Sweat gleams on his forehead, catching the morning light in beads that glisten. A ghost of a shudder flicks through his body.

Your stomach knots. Bucky looks in pain. You don’t know what kind of pain it is. But there seems to be an emotional component, a sort that goes deep, almost like that of someone with a hunger reaching down to eat away at the very soul - life refusing to give him a break.

The groan that slips out of him is a tortured sound.

Instinct draws you closer before you can talk yourself out of it. Your hand hovers over his shoulder, indecisive. You wonder what he would want you to do. To wake him? To let him work things out by himself? You don’t know. You never know with Bucky. He bears his burdens quietly, a fortress with walls too high to scale.

Each breath that makes his chest rise and fall is labored and strained. His fingers curl into the dirt as though he is fighting something you can’t see.

But seeing him like this - so undone - makes an ache spread across your chest that you didn’t expect. He looks nothing like the unbreakable soldier who’s been your reluctant protector. The very man scolding, bandaging, and guiding you through nights and days of peril. Bucky this unguarded is unsettling you. But worrying you even more.

You fight the urge to comfort him with whatever is stressing him out in his sleep. But Bucky is not the man to take solace easily. So what can you do?

You hover there rather awkwardly, knees pressed into the earth, hands hovering at your side.

Branches around you sway like nothing is happening.

But your heart is racing inside your chest. Tension knots your shoulders, pulling them upward, closer to your ears.

“Bucky,” you whisper, voice as hushed as the rustle of leaves.

He doesn’t stir. Well, he does, but not to the sound of your voice. Muscles tic and shudder uncomfortably and his head lolls to the side, in your direction, but his eyes stay closed. He does not wake.

Your fingers twitch with the longing to smooth the furrow in his brow, to brush away the sweat that runs down his temple. But you stay rooted in hesitancy.

Your throat bobs with a swallow but the knot stuck there refuses to loosen.

Thorned thoughts and worries lie thick and knotted, climbing up the walls of your mind and scratching against them as you stay kneeling beside Bucky.

He groans again, shifting a little. And that’s when you notice something. A dark splotch on his right shoulder. You hardly even register it at first. But it spreads. And the color demands attention. A stark crimson, savage against the muted browns and greens of the world around and the dirty grey of his shirt.

Blood.

Your breath stutters painfully at the back of your throat. Fresh blood. He’s bleeding.

It leaks wetly through the fabric of his shirt, staining the edge of the brown armor strapped across his chest, discharging slowly but it only makes your pulse pick up. It spreads like ink dripping from a feather onto parchment.

For a moment, your brain is struggling to rationalize this. The forest tilts, and for an absurd moment, you convince yourself it’s a trick of the light. Shadows, perhaps, cast by the trees overhead. But shadows don’t glisten like that. Shadows don’t spread in sinister blooms.

A sharp jolt of fear grips your chest, spreading chaos through your veins. It makes them tremor and causes your skin to prickle with urgency.

Leaning closer, you try to get a better look, tracing the rise and fall of his chest. His brown armor is scuffed but intact, yet the dark stain has crept onto the leather straps as well. He’s hurt.

How? Why? He didn’t mention being hurt. Not once. There were not even signs, no grimaces or falters in his movements.

When he washed himself in the river the day before, you noticed the blood on him. But you assumed - god, you assumed - it wasn’t his. That it belonged to the fallen men. You were distracted. By the sharp lines of his scars and the story they told. By the bulk of his body - embarrassingly. You should have looked closer. Should have seen him getting hurt this way.

Questions collide in your mind, splintering and darting and tumbling over one another. And you hate that you can’t answer any of them. How could he have hidden this from you? Is this why he hasn’t woken up before you? Is this why he sleeps so restlessly, his body shivering and stuck in whatever nightmare grips him so tightly?

You basically let him down by assuming he’s inscrutable. How foolish. How silly. Because here he is, bleeding and in pain. Silently. Because of course, he wouldn’t tell you. Of course, he would shoulder the burden alone, just as he always does. As though his pain is something negligible, unworthy of mention.

Anger pikes beneath your worry. How dare he. How dare he be so reckless with himself after all the lectures he’s given you.

Goosebumps rise as a chill snakes its way down your spine. He looks so vulnerable like this, too much so for a man like him. You don’t like it.

You let your shaking fingers hover near the stained fabric. But you don’t want to touch it, don’t want to confirm what your eyes already tell you.

The blood is not gushing, but it is fresh enough. And the coppery scent tangles up cruelly in your senses.

“Bucky,” you mumble, voice unsure.

He does not respond to you. His brow furrows deeper.

This isn’t right. None of this is right. He’s supposed to be the one who knows what to do, who keeps you both alive and moving forward. He’s not supposed to lay here bleeding and shivering in the dirt, just another thing to bear without complaint.

The skin of your palm burns as your nails press into it. You won’t let him do this to himself. You’ve already seen too much loss, felt too much helplessness. And if he thinks he can just bleed in silence and carry on like nothing is happening, he is sorely mistaken.

Your breath snags, every single one feeling sharp, splintering on the way out. Erratic and barely controlled.

The fingers creeping towards him are trembling and hesitant. You don’t know if you should disturb him in this position. But the sweat running along his face practically makes you anxious.

His lips move to utter an incoherent murmur. The sound is hoarse.

Your heart stumbles. He’s never appeared so open, so unguarded, in a way that it feels disconcertingly intimate. Sharp lines and stern resolve are what should characterize him, never this mess of tension brought low by an injury and dreams you can’t see.

The heat of his skin makes you feel nauseous as your fingers lightly graze over his temple. His dark hair is damp and sucked to his forehead and you tenderly tuck the few sticky tendrils away. Carefully, you try to wipe away the sweat with the dark fabric of your cloak. Your movements are gentle but clumsy. Your hand is shaking. His skin is feverish. It makes you chew the inside of your cheek. You only touch him as lightly as possible as though the wrong pressure might cause him even more harm.

You put off your cloak and cautiously drape it over him.

And while doing that something sitting beyond him catches your eye.

You let your gaze drift in between the trees behind Bucky, to the soft green gleam of familiar leaves peeking from a tangled cluster of low ferns. You almost let out a gasp.

Your hand falters in its path across his brow, gaze fixed on the spot behind him.

It is a narrow plant with pointed leaves, faintly shining you in the eyes. Pale white and pink flowers with star-shaped petals tucked between the greenery are swaying with the breeze. Recognition sends your heart stuttering.

Lady’s Balm.

The name blooms in you, coming into your mind with so much meaning. You basically hear your mother whisper it to you through the trees as if she were right beside you.

You remember her leading you through the palace gardens, her palm pressed warmly against your back when she would bend low to show you this very herb, nestled along others.

She would brush her fingers over the soft petals while telling you stories about ancient queens who would carry sachets of Lady’s Balm into battlefields and about healers who would save lives with nothing but their knowledge of the earth.

You carried those stories in your heart, the wonder of them filling you with something akin to admiration and belonging.

A strange, giddy anticipation wells up inside you, picking its way through that heavy gloom that has been your unwanted companion for some time now. It feels so bittersweet.

You can help him. You can do something instead of simply sitting here, wringing your hands in uselessness. You can make a tincture, or at least dress his wound with something that might actually stave off the worst of it.

Purpose hums in your body, and you steal another quick glance back at Bucky to asses his situation before starting to go for the plant. The blood has stopped spreading, for now, darkening only the patch of fabric near the wound.

The relief of that is enough to make you rise to your feet, neglecting the protest of your muscles. The forest floor feels bumpy, though you cross it with some speed, heart racing out of urgency.

Dropping to your knees in front of the plant, you let your fingers caress the leaves just like your mother used to.

It is just like you recalled. Fragrant and earthy, with a faint bitter aroma that lingers on your fingers. You gather some leaves gently in your hands, heart thumping with an unusual mingling of excitement and hope, mindful not to damage the roots. The pedals tremble as you cradle them in your hand. The clean scent wafts upward.

Glancing around, you scan the undergrowth for more treasures. If Lady’s Balm grows here, there might be other herbs nearby - ones that could help with Bucky’s pain and fever. The thought propels you forward, breath quickening with hope.

There is a strange consolation, an off kind of reclamation of loss that is making its place within you. The palace gardens may be far behind you, out of touch forever, but the knowledge your mother gave you remains. It’s something linking you to her, to a past that wasn’t always filled with tears and sorrow.

You might not have the grandeur of the palace gardens at your disposal, nor the apothecaries who once served your family, but you have your mother's knowledge.

And the knowledge alone that you even are able to do something for him kindles a spark of resilience.

After a glance back at Bucky to see him still lying there, you get pulled deeper into the woods, walking through the bushes and trees to continue your search. Picking your way over crooked roots and patches of moss, slick with morning dew, you don’t try to rush yourself to be more aware of everything you might encounter.

The leafy arms of ferns brush your fingertips. The air clogs with dampness and smells of earth upturned.

Sunlight seeps through the trees in scattered golden shafts, each catching drops of water clinging to the leaves, making them glisten like tears.

Anticipating eyes dart over patches of greenery, intently looking out for familiar shapes and hues.

Then, your fingers graze a cluster of pale green leaves, serrated like tiny teeth.

Feverfew.

The small white flowers nod in all directions. You kneel, your heart lifting with recognition. Feverfew to bring down his fever. Delicately, you pluck a few stems and tuck them into the folds of your blue dress.

Wind passes through branches above you. You continue your path, walking deeper into the woodlands. Shadows grow longer and the air begins to get cooler.

Wild mint catches your eye next. Its aroma is sharp and sweet and you breathe it in with a sigh of relief. Mint is calming and cleansing and you swiftly gather the crisp leaves and stash them in your dress.

A mass of red clover blooms stand just beyond, brilliant petals contrasting with their surroundings. You remember your mother telling you about its blood-cleansing properties, transporting the energies of fight and rescue into one's body. A warrior’s ally she had called it with a smile. The soft blossoms graze your skin when you pick them.

Somberly, you notice that this is the first time in weeks that you actually hear her voice in your head. So sweet and kind. So clear in your mind.

You picture her kneeling in the place garden with dirt under her fingernails. A queen who never minded getting her hands dirty.

It has been some time since you thought of her in this way - not as a woman cloaked in velvet and responsibility, but as the woman who taught you to recognize healing in unlikely places. The woman who regarded plants and petals with the same respect she offered to diplomacy.

It’s a strange kind of thing connecting your past to your present. You never would have imagined that knowledge born in the meticulously tended gardens of the palace might come to use in the deep and untamed wilds. But now you are following in her footsteps.

There is something grounding about it. Each plant you recognize pulls you closer to yourself, where and who you once were before everything broke apart. You feel like it makes you no longer just a runaway princess, no longer just a burden Bucky has to drag around with himself. You can actually do something, however small, to care for him for a change.

The thought is a support as you plunge deeper into the forest, eyes skimming the underbrush. There is less sunshine now slicing through the foliage above, shadowing the trees around you slightly. Wildflowers juxtapose against the green with splashes of violet, indigo, and pale yellow.

Your gaze lands on another familiar plant, wide-leaved and glossy. Yarrow. A faint smile curves your lips. “For wounds,” your mother had said with that air of confidence, “to staunch the bleeding.” she made you memorize the shapes and uses of innumerable herbs, always patient, even when your attentiveness wavered.

You don’t know if she ever believed you could actually make use of that knowledge one day. But you’re beyond thankful that she taught you anyway. And well, perhaps, she even knew that you would leave the palace life one way or another. You just don’t think she imagined it the way it actually happened.

Crouching, you pluck a few sprigs, making sure to avoid trampling the grass around. The scent lingers on your fingers - sharp, almost peppery. You tuck the narrow into your pouch with the rest. The weight of it is reassuring against your hip.

The forest around you seems indifferent to your presence but generous with her gifts. And somehow you are in tune with that.

With each step, there are new herbs catching your eye. A patch of goldenrod dances under a shaft of light, bright plumes illuminated in it. The twisted tendrils of wild thyme cling to a rocky outcrop.

Your mother would have loved this place. The thought fills you slowly, almost carefully. But it does. She would have knelt right there next to you, her keen eyes picking out the smallest details, her hands sure and deft.

Something presses against the base of your throat. It’s thick and impossible to gulp down. You force yourself to concentrate. Grief is always waiting for a great moment to rise to the surface like the horrible thing it is. But you force yourself to concentrate. It won’t serve any purpose to help Bucky now.

Nevertheless, this connection to her brings some strange comfort - a reminder that she is not wholly gone. She exists in your memories, in the knowledge she gifted you, in your bones. And here within this wild beauty of the forest, you feel closer to her than you have in what feels like ages.

So much has been taken from you - your home, your title, your sense of safety - but not this. Stubborn as the forest itself, this little gift from your past remains in your possession. And for the first time in a long while, you hold onto it fiercely.

You sweep through the bushes, looking if there is something more you haven’t noticed yet. Secretly though, you want to float out of this moment, where the burden of the world and its demands soften thanks to the flying leaves and the scent of wild things.

But Bucky waits. His fever waits. The blood staining his shirt and the torn flesh underneath wait.

Lastly, you pick some pine needles off the ground in a hurry and turn with the herbs you already collected, your heart lightening but still troubled. The path back is not marked, but you know your way. You know because it feels like the forest is guiding you as ludicrous as it may sound.

And as you make your way back, you realize that this place of nature is teaching you something your old life never could. How to survive. How to care. How to fight for what matters.

Even if that fight takes place in a shadowy forest, with nothing more but leaves and hope as your allies.

“Y/n!”

You freeze.

“Y/n!”

The calls of your name sound frantic through the denseness of the forest. They bounce off the trees, becoming tangled in the wind.

“Princess, where are you?” Bucky shouts, alarm stirring in his voice. “Say something, come on!”

A startled breath lodges in your throat, making the sounds rising to meet his desperate shouts stay stuck, leaving you to stay silent.

Your hands tighten around the bundle of pine needles and leaves in your grip, knuckles blanching as you stay rooted.

Then there’s rushed movement behind the sound of cracking branches and the scrape of bark as he seemingly barrels through the underbrush without a care for stealth or his injury. There is fear in it. He does not weigh his words and steps carefully. He is in panic.

Your name resounds in the air over and over again and the urgency in it startles you.

The way he says - or rather screams - your name stuns you. It sounds strange hearing it this way. Not in idle conversation, not in teasing disbelief, but with a gravity that matters more than anything. He says it as though it’s the only word that matters.

Another crash rings out around you. It’s nearer this time. You can hear his breathing - raspy, harsh, and wild, as if he is racing through the forest without regard for where his feet are landing. You’re surrounded by leaves crunching and twigs snapping.

“Princess, come on, don’t do this to me!” His voice wavers and cracks. Dread marks his tone. “Y/n!”

You’re not sure if you remember to breathe. Your lips part, instinct telling you to call out to him, to assure him you are here, but you don’t know why he is so worried in the first place. The call stalls halfway up your throat, dissolving into silence before it can break free.

Your legs twitch with the urge to move, to step toward the sound of him, but they lock in place.

It’s like the world closing in around you, that pine and musty smell saturating your senses. Sun rays shatter down from the canopy, drenching leaves in crystalline gold. Speak, you tell yourself. Say something.

But then he already bursts through the brush, eyes wild, chest heaving breathlessly, and looking utterly disheveled. His face is flushed, and damp with sweat that makes some strands of dark hair hang onto his skin.

His crazed eyes lock onto you in an instant and you see the exact moment relief crashes over him, folding into something aching.

“Goddam it,” he exhales, stumbling forward. His voice is thick. “There you are.”

Before you can get a word out, he crosses the distance separating you with a few long strides. His hands find their way to your face, fingers rough but careful as they cup your cheeks. He tilts your head up, urging you to meet his eyes.

“Are you hurt?” he demands breathless. Sharp eyes are searching your face, your body, every inch as though expecting you to go limp in his arms any second. “God, please tell me you’re okay! Are you okay?”

You blink up at him. Baffled at this concerned display of him. Bucky’s thumbs slide over your skin, steadying you even as his own breath shudders. His eyes are so intense, they pull you in. Every second that passes without an answer from you seems to grate on him.

“I’m fine,” you reassure, voice as weak as you feel.

Despite your answer, his eyes won’t stop searching you. His hands won’t stop holding you.

“You weren’t answerin’ me. Why weren’t you answerin’ me? And what the hell are you doin’ out here? What were you thinking, huh?” His tone drops an octave. But despite the hardness of his his tone, there is something vulnerable in the loosening strength of it due to the persistent fear and concern lingering there.

Blood rushes through your ears, so loud, it becomes deafening. “I was looking for herbs,” you manage, lifting your hand slightly as evidence. “For you. For your wound.”

Bucky’s brow furrows, confusion slanting across his features. “Herbs?”

“For a tincture,” you explain softly, voice coming easier now. “To help with the fever. And the bleeding.”

He blinks, just staring at you for a moment, trying to comprehend. His thumbs swipe your skin absentmindedly. And then his gaze drifts down to the green bundle clenched against you. His expression rearranges itself - something tender slipping into the creased lines. A brief hesitation tugs at the corners of his mouth.

He lets his hands rest against your cheeks for a moment longer, reluctant to let go. You try not to like the feeling of them, but there’s nothing you can do because it feels actually really good. Grounding. You can feel the warmth of his calloused fingers, the tremor that hints of adrenaline still coursing through him.

“Scared the hell outta me,” he mutters hoarsely. “Woke up and you were gone.”

“I’m sorry, Bucky.” His fingers flex faintly against your skin at the sound of his name. “I did not mean to,” you add, guilt building for leaving him alone like this. “I thought you needed the rest. And I wanted to help.”

A tightness pulls at his jaw, muscles twitching beneath his skin. There is something fraught and substantial hanging in the air between you.

He considers you for a while. Lips part, but brows soften. He seems contemplative. At a loss for words for a laden moment. You hear his breathing balance out slowly.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he starts, almost gently, voice softer now. But there is something suppressed in it - emotions he does not want to let in. “I don’t want you to go off alone, alright?”

You nod faintly, the smallest timid smile lifting the corners of your mouth. “I just wanted to do something.”

Bucky draws in a deep breath. The movement in his throat is slow, his adams apple jerking with a swallow, as if trying to push past something sharp.

His hands now retreat slowly from your face with a breath that shakes just a little and he looks almost nervous for a second. Bashful. But he does not take his eyes off you.

The sounds of his desperate calls for you recede to your memory. The tension is still there.

Bucky clears his throat and scrubs a hand over his face and into his hair, loosening the damp strands. Perhaps he is trying to banish the last remnants of panic. A hesitant gulp catches in his throat before he can compose himself. “Wake me up next time. Don’t matter what for. Just- just wake me up, alright?” he says gruffly, some of the tension bleeding out of his voice. There is a weariness instead, a seriousness that matches his exhaustion. “Don’t want you runnin’ off alone into the woods.”

Something hot coils in your chest. Your hands turn clammy around the herbs. You nod. “Okay.”

The pause stretches interminably between you, with neither of you moving. Maybe he acknowledges how far you would go to prove yourself useful - including yourself into a fight you obviously were not capable for, killing a man, stomping through the woods alone the very day after in search of plants that would help concoct a healing tincture.

The apparent concern he felt for you does not feel like it’s choking you. Rather, it creates room for something else - something not fully developed, but real.

“I am sorry,” you whisper, earnestly, meaning it in a way that spreads far beyond this moment.

He looks at you. There is a stillness to his expression, seeming to carefully guard his thoughts and emotions. “Just don’t do that again, yeah?”

You bob your head, eyes shifting to the ground for a moment, your heart still thudding in strange patterns.

Something seems to have fallen into place between you. Something discreet yet important enough to serve as a link that connects you both, tying you together in a way neither of you can comprehend as of now.

“Forests have secrets,” he said gently. “It’s practically what they’re for. To hide things. To separate one world from another.”

- Catherynne M. Valente, Deathless

Part seven

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