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ageofevermore · 1 year ago

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OH, LORD SAVE ME

SUMMARY — after a night out with the girls, wanda gets possessive after learning maria couldn’t keep her hands to herself. oh, lord save me my drug is my baby i’ll get using for the rest of my life.

WARNINGS — nsfw minors dni, alcohol consumption, marijuana and cocaine usage, smoking a blunt, biting, face slapping, ass slapping, strap-on usage, vibrator usage, blowjob, brief nipple play, scratching, fingering, doggy/missionary, degradation, mommy kink, orgasm control, overstimulation, multiple orgasm, dom/sub dynamics, brat shenanigans

A floral aroma hits your nose the second you enter the bedroom. The rest of the house holds the scent of weed, and the scattered lighters in the living room tell you enough. The lights are low, and a nature documentary is paused on the television screen across from the bed, but no trace of your girlfriend is visible from the doorway. Remnants of white powder cling to the oak furniture you recently bought, and her credit card lies beside the evidence of a chased high. Wanda D. Maximoff is stamped into the card, already an obvious give away as to who the perpetrator is. The room spins as you walk deeper into it, and clumsily your body collides with the bedpost.

The fan is running in the bathroom, and the faintest tinge of yellow peeks out from beneath the door, shining into the room like slivers of sunlight hitting a prism. The shower isn’t running, and neither is the sink, either of the two an indicator that she’s ready to call it a night. It’s approaching two am now, and the sunlight that filled the bedroom before has turned to inky midnight. The spontaneous night out with some girlfriends from work has left you giggly, artificial cherry on your lips as your tongue swipes across them. You don’t bother knocking as you enter the bathroom, though the seconds you spend fumbling with the doorknob are enough warning that you’re coming in, not that she’d mind either way.

The sight of her, sprawled out on the floor, brown hair scattered about and bloodshot eyes staring at the ceiling gives you a pause for a second before you burst into giggles that shake the gold chains holding your dress up. The skimpy black number was one of Wanda’s personal favorites, but your girlfriend hadn’t been home when you left to comment on it. If she had been, your neck wouldn’t be as clear as it is now, only soft, healing hickeys remain from nights prior, not too bad for your usually bruised up appearance. Wanda startles at your added sound, but her eyes never peel away from their concentrated dedication to the fan on the ceiling. There’s an abandoned bowl laying next to her, and your customized red lighter is left on the countertop next to a bottle of water. Having to hear her whine about how dry her mouth is when she’s high is a nuisance, so you’ve begun to leave bottles of water in her favorite smoking spots, and clearly, it did you some good.

“Baby!” Your voice drags, slightly slurred together and raised in pitch as you tumble to the floor to lay beside her. Hating when your hair ends up in your face, you’d been proactive for a change, and had decided to braid it for your night out, and as you fall to the ground, it whacks Wanda in the face, but you don’t notice, too absorbed in trying to see what she’s so interested in. “I missed you!” When the fan no longer interests you, because why would it, you roll on top of her effectively elbowing her in the chest, and it’s enough of a commotion to finally break her concentration. The second her eyes are on you, a darkness blooms in the typically evergreen centers. Her huff of surprise for the air being knocked out of her lungs is only a half second long, before she's scanning your smudged makeup and biting down on her bottom lip that's in desperate need of some chapstick. “You smoked without me!”

“You weren’t home.” The accented edge to her words sends warmth spiraling down your bones. The alcohol having already flushed your cheeks and tickled your belly only amplified the desire that burned in your bones, igniting a flame so hot you were sure tomorrow wouldn’t see the light of day. “You look hot.” Her hands leave where they had been lying flat on the tile floor, grabbing your ass in rough handfuls that make you giggle.

“Mmm, wore your favorite dress. Maria got a little handsy. I think it’s a fan favorite.” You taunted her, dancing your lips across hers before pulling away to look at her face fully. Cocaine is still clinging to her porcelain skin, dusted between her nose in what looks like an attempt to wipe it away. Whatever makeup she’d been wearing before was gone, only a faint stain of black below her eyes that indicated she’d been rubbing her eyes before she took her mascara off. You shouldn't be so bothered by the state of her, but the combination of her wandering hands and hungry eyes was pulling you apart piece by piece.

Wanda growled at the mention of your mutual friend who was known for her wandering hands and sultry commentary, though it didn’t bring Wanda any amusement to hear about her interest in the dress. Not when she wasn’t around to remind Maria that you were hers. Your attention drops to Wanda's exposed neck, and your teeth find a home sinking into the soft flesh. Hints of her perfume twist with the scent of cocaine and marijuana, and it's entirely intoxicating. “Maria needs to learn to keep her hands to herself.”

“And what if she doesn’t?” Mischief swims in your eyes, and you sink your teeth into a particularly sensitive spot on Wanda’s neck, just beneath her ear. Her breath hitched, her hands grabbing at the fabric of your dress around your hips. Her entire body shudders, and for a moment, she freezes entirely to just enjoy the sensation that travels through her previously numb limbs.

Your tongue soothed the bite, dancing circles around the marks you’d left. Wanda’s eyes fluttered shut, bunching your dress up around your hips in favor of twisting the ridge of your lace panties between her delicate fingers. “Do I need to remind you who you belong to?”

“Why don’t you remind me?” You nipped her neck a final time before pulling away to watch her process your words, which were more like a silent invitation for her to have her way with your body.

Wanda shoved you off of her messily, a growl crawling from the depth of her throat as she watched you smirk like you’d been caught with your hand in the cookie jar. “Get in the bedroom.”

“What? Don’t want to fuck me on the bathroom floor? Again.” Your breath tickled her wet skin, a cold shill crawling up her spine that she very narrowly avoided reacting to. “I’m sure Maria would.”

“Go.” Her tone left no room for arguments this time, and you scrambled to comply, although clumsily with your still strapped heels and spinning vision. Giggles spilled from between your lips when you rammed into the doorframe, completely absorbed in completing Wanda’s direction and not noticing how she spent a few extra minutes fumbling for something in the bathroom.

Your body sank into the soft bed, black sheets blending into the tiny dress you squeezed yourself into. The skin tight material still bunched around your hips in messy folds, exposing the front of your lacy black thong that left little to the imagination. Suddenly aware of how desperate you were without Wanda’s neck as a distraction, one hand slid between your legs while the other fumbled to grab your breasts through the thin material. Your panties were soaked through, sticking to your folds uncomfortably. Your thighs spread without any invitation, and you pulled them aside desperate for attention where you most needed it.

Eyes fluttering shut at the first stroke against your engorged clit, you didn’t hear Wanda shutting the cabinets and turning off the bathroom lights, only feeling her presence when a hand grabbed around your neck and startled you enough that your antsy fingers stilled between your legs.

“Did I tell you to touch yourself?” She growled, leaning over you with a dominating presence. Your head shook side to side quickly, your pussy abandoned. You ached for something more, but words failed you as you stared back at her. Something landed beside your head, but before you could look to see what it was Wanda was demanding more from you. “Use your words, you had no problem doing that before.”

“N-No.” You spluttered, fighting to keep your eyes open the longer she held your neck. Her fingers tightened, and it was then you realized she was still wearing her rings, the metal digging into your skin harshly.

“No, who?” The words pulled the breath out of your lungs, and you’re sure you looked like a fish out of water scrambling to find the right words to answer her. “Huh? Don’t make me wait. No, who.”

“N-No, Mommy.” You managed, gasping for breath when her hand finally left your neck, and it was only then you realized she had dug out your red strap, and her hand was holding the base tightly.

“Stupid slut.” She scoffed, moving backward so she was standing farther from the end of the bed. “Since you had so much to say before, I figured we’d put that mouth to use. Get on your knees.”

You dropped to your knees so fast you were sure they’d be bruised by the morning, but the only thing you could think about was how badly you wanted to feel her in your mouth. Bracing your hands on her thighs, you waited for her to instruct you to begin, knowing you were already playing a dangerous game. A smirk crept onto her lips at your clear impatience, and she was no stranger to making you wait. Spitting on her hand, she brought it down to the silicone cock, spreading it around teasingly. You whined, silently begging her to stop her torture and let you have a taste.

“What's wrong? See something you like?” Your girlfriend taunted, throwing her head back as she stroked the silicone cock, your favorite of the collection you’ve acquired since getting together a few years ago.

“Please.” You begged with hooded eyes, wanting to be the one that was turning her on and giving her pleasure.

“Please what?” Wanda cooed, voice dripping with lust as she watched you writhe in front of her, desperate for anything she wanted to give you. “Do you want to suck my cock? Feel it against your tongue? Let me fuck your mouth? Is that it?”

You nodded, tears pooling in your eyes the longer she made you wait. Your thighs pinched together, looking to relieve the aching in where you needed her most. She didn’t say anything about your actions, and for that you were grateful, but it wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy you and she knew that. “Please. Please let me suck your cock, Mommy.”

“Get on with it then.” You wasted no time, one hand holding onto the base of the strap while the other stayed in place on her thigh. Her salvia has slickened the silicone, making it easier for you to take more of it quickly. She was heavy against your tongue, and for a second, you just enjoyed the feeling, before you began working the length with your hand and your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and letting the bulbous head ram into the back of your throat, desperate to please.

Wanda’s hand fell onto your head, a guttural moan leaving her lips watching you take her length. The strap wasn’t small by any means, one of your bigger ones, and yet you devoured her. Your eyes watered when she began to thrust at first shallowly, but losing her reserve the longer she watched you endure it. You gagged when she forced your nose to her pelvis, the cock practically down your throat, but she didn’t pull away, forcing you to feel her and remember who owned your throat. She pulled away with a pop, ready to absolutely obliterate your pussy.

“Strip. Panties and heels stay on.” You scrambled to comply, rising to your feet with shaky movements, not only from the anticipation of finally getting what you want, but the alcohol that was still coursing through your system. “Hands and knees. Ass up.”

Your dress ended up in a puddle on the floor to be dealt with later, and the bed sank with your weight as you got into position, impatiently pushing your hips backward to meet the scarlet strap. A slap left your ass cheek tingling, your body jolting forward in shock.

“Patience.” Wanda demanded thickly, sokovian accent twisting her words into something dangerous. Your entire body shuddered in anticipation, keeping your eyes forward knowing how much she likes it. You jumped when her fingers found your panties, tracing the lace design before slipping lower. Wanda groaned at how wet you are, thighs glistening with your arousal and panties clinging to your folds. She pulls them to the side, fingers toying with your lips and narrowly avoiding your clit each time she makes a pass around your pussy. “What got you this wet, moya lyubov'? Hmmm?”

With shaky breath, your head dropped onto the comforter, fists balling up the cotton material, “Y-You, Mommy. You did. You got me this wet.”

Her fingers pressed against your weeping entrance but never farther, pushing you farther and farther toward the edge of desperation, and from experience, you knew it was a steep fall. She wanted you at you breaking point, she wanted you to remember who owned you the next time you decided to fuck around. “Not Maria? But I thought you liked her touching what's mine?”

Brattiness tempted you to fuck with her, but your desperation to be touched was winning the fight, and you bit back your sarcastic answer in favor of finally feeling her and being given some relief. “N-no. I like when you touch me. I’m yours.” You gasped when she slipped two fingers inside of you, giving you a second to adjust before she began to scissor your sopping pussy. Every ridge of your pussy fit her fingers like a glove, and Wanda yearned to hear your whimpers as you sought out pleasure at her control.

“You gonna let Maria get handsy with you again when I’m not around?” Her fingers were set at a brutal pace, but still she avoided your aching clit that was begging for attention. Your hips stuttered, your eyes pinched shut so impossibly tight you thought you were seeing starts. When her fingers caressed the sweet spot inside of you, all thoughts vanished from your mind as you whined for more and less at the same time. “Are you. Going to. Let her. Get handsy. With you. Again?” Wanda repeated, annunciating each word with a harsh stroke against your g-stop.

“N-no! No I’m n-not! Please. Please!” You needed more. You needed her cock in your pussy, pounding you into the bed, or her fingers on your clit, you needed something more than just her brutal pace going in and out of your cunt knowing full well you wouldn’t be able to cum from just that.

“Please what, moya lyubov'?” She taunted, stilling her fingers all together but not pulling them out, just leaving you full enough to want more.

“Fuck me already!” You sobbed, turning your head to meet her eye, watching how she enjoyed breaking you down for her to play with.

“Are my fingers not enough for this slutty pussy? You need more? Desperate whore wants to get fucked?” She teased, pulling her fingers away from you completely and watching strings of wetness bead between her knuckles as she plays with your slick. She moans when she tastes you, fingers running your wetness across her tongue. “Get on your back.”

You watch as she walks away, pulling out a pre-rolled blunt and a lighter she stole from Natasha the last time the redhead was over. The black design stood out in the otherwise near darkness, the gold snake that wrapped around your favorite design in the stolen collection you both kept adding too. Wanda lit up, grimacing at the first hit that burnt the back of her throat. She blew the smoke out in a near perfect o shape, taking another drag before she came back to you. She passed off the blunt, climbing over top of you when you accepted it and took a drag. The grungy taste of smoke filled your mouth, adding to the heaviness in your limbs almost instantly.

“You ready?” She asked, positioning the bulbous head of the dildo with your entrance. You nodded, taking another drag before offering it to her. Her lips wrapped around it angelically, a stark contrast to how filthy the both of you were being. Wanda wasted no time, burying the dick in your pussy in one thrust, and setting a brutal pace as she fucked you.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, the blunt burning a hole in the comforter as ash fell off. You gasped at her brutal pace, reaching to set the blunt in the ashtray on your bedside table, immediately bringing your newly free hands to her back, digging your nails into her bare skin. Her tits bounced with each thrust, hanging over you with an invitation to pinch her perfectly pink nipples. Wanda's hands squeezed at your hips, gliding down your body until they reached your thighs. Pulling your legs further apart, the head of her cock rammed into your cervix, shooting white ropes of pleasure through every nerve in your body. Your back arched off the back, nipples pointed to the sky as you searched for more. The pebbled buds taunted your girlfriend, who leaned down hungrily and took one between her teeth, pulling at the sensitive flesh that was a one way shot to your clit.

“Please Wands, touch my clit.” You begged, tears welling in your eyes as pleasure built. Wanda's pace was brutal, and you were impossibly full, but she had still yet to touch your clit and every nerve in your body was burning with need.

“Hand me the vibrator.” She grit out through clenched teeth, leaving your nipples in favor of pointing to the scarlet vibrator she’d thrown on the bed before. Your hand fumbled to grab it, limbs shaking not only from the power of her thrusts but from desire. “God, I love this pussy.”

Wanda switched the vibrator to its second highest setting, settling it right on your sensitive nub. A sharp whine left your lips, back arching and hands searching for her skin. Your nails dragged marks down her back, your orgasm approaching quickly as she worked your over sensitive body.

“O-Oh, o-oh! Right there, r-right there!” You gasped, digging your nails into her hips, hips writhing to meet her thrusts and fall over the edge that was just out of reach. A hand slapped your cheek before moving onto pinch your nipples, your body alight with so many sensations you didn’t know how to react. “I-Im gonna cum! Mommy! O-oh I'm so close! I'm so close!”

Wanda slapped you again, shaking her head with pinched shut eyes, “Hold it.”

“I can’t!” You moaned, head thrown back and neck perfectly exposed for her to grab. Her fingers wrapped around your soft skin, squeezing in all the places that made you melt and worked you up simultaneously. Your head felt so heavy, your limbs each weighing a couple hundred pounds as they dropped onto the sheets and grabbed handfuls. “Wanda! Wanda I’m gonna cum! Im gonna cum!”

Minutes passed without a response from your partner, and the coil in your belly was desperately close to snapping with or without her permission, but before you could warn her, she was speaking, “Cum for me. Cum for me, slut.”

You came with a screech, but Wanda’s thrusts didn’t stop, they only seemed to amplify as she worked you through your climax and fought for her own, switching the vibrator to the highest setting despite the tears already falling from your eyes. “It’s too much. W-Wands it too much!”

Your body was alight will the combination of marijuana and alcohol, and your second orgasm was being pried from your body with a force that could break bones. Your teeth bit into your bottom lip so hard you could taste the metallic tell of blood, but the pleasure was so intense you didn’t care. “C-cum with me! Cum with me, dorogoy. Fuck. F-fuck.” The both of you exploded with a scream, Wanda dropping the vibrator somewhere on the bed and falling on top of you, heaving to catch her breath. The clock on your wall said it was after five am, and the drugs mixed with general exhaustion was pulling on her muscles.

“I love you.” She gasped, pressing soft kisses into your skin and wiggling until her feet weren’t dangling off the edge of the bed anymore. Her thighs were sticky from her orgasm, but neither of you cared to clean yourselves up. You kick your heels off, and Wanda undid the strap, throwing both objects somewhere in the room to clean and put away later.

Shimming out of your soaked panties, you grimace as the cold wetness brushed against your sensitive clit. “I love you too.”

A beat of silence fills the space, and you think she’s fallen sleep before she speaks again, “Did Maria really grab your ass?”

A giggle rustles your chests, and you shake your head while brushing your fingers through her tangled and sweaty hair. “She was too preoccupied with Nat to spare me a second glance.”

“You could’ve just asked to be fucked.” Wanda laughed.

“This was more fun.”

#wanda maximoff #stoner wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff fic

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updownlately · 1 year ago

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i want you to be (the only one for me)

| leah williamson x reader | angst | 10.3k | a/n: part II of this fic based on this ask! thank you guys for all your lovely messages on the first part! two months later and we finally got a part two 😅. huge huge s/o to @rockyren for beta reading this! hopefully you guys like this one as much as the first! happy reading! 🫶 (read part i here)

~~~

Two days.

Two days is all it took for Leah to realize how miserable she was.

If the blonde thought that you being distant earlier was painful, then she was sorely unready for how bad your actual absence would hurt.

There was something utterly unsettling in the way the car seemed so empty as she’d entered it, a lump in her throat forming as her drives to and from practice were now blanketed with silence, a stark contrast to the music-filled joyrides she would have with you.

From what used to be one hand casually on the steering wheel with the other firmly intertwined with yours was now both hands tightly gripping the steering, knuckles nearly white as they resisted the urge to reach out into the nothingness to her left, to the ghost of your presence, a taunting reminder of what she had and then lost.

Trips that were once accompanied by your shared laughter and obnoxious singing now consisted of pure quiet, the radio long since on mute. Jaw clenched as her eyes would, without fail, get misty each time she sat in the driver’s seat, the empty seat beside her remained a constant reminder of how you’d left.

The drastic change left her feeling hollow, chest wound up so tight as the space in the car felt like too much and too little- felt like it was wrong for the blonde to be here without you sitting in the passenger seat- in your seat.

She could almost imagine your presence, having become so accustomed to it over the past months.

Now, every time her hand mindlessly wandered over to blindly reach for yours, all she was met with was cool air and an aching heart, a shuddering breath escaping her as reality came crashing down.

And if the car rides hurt, god the way her chest constricted as she’d return to an empty apartment each evening was another story.

It was as if the hand around her heart was tightening with every passing second as she’d walk through the dark apartment, the weight on her shoulders heavier with each footfall of hers.

Only her kitbag to be placed by the door. Just a single pair of trainers on the shoe rack. No trailing body behind her own as she’d enter- the once lively four walls now barren, devoid of emotion.

With just her pair of footsteps echoing throughout, only dinner for one to be sorted, grief buried itself in her chest as she flicked on the tv, mindlessly scrolling, shaky breaths escaping as your half finished nature documentaries taunted her on the ‘continue watching’ list.

Sure, it felt wrong to be here, in your apartment, without you, but she didn’t think she could bear to return to her house, to return to a place where pieces of you didn’t exist- at least not as much as they did here.

There were snippets of you tucked everywhere in the apartment. In the coffee table that held an ever growing stack of sticky notes you’d never read.

In the records that were nestled away neatly under the tv, your favourites jutting out slightly, something you justified with the words ‘easy access’ and a smirk as the blonde would complain about them looking messy.

In the way Leah couldn’t find it in herself to close the blinds, memories of you standing by the large windows overlooking the city at all hours of the day playing painfully in her mind whenever she tried.

And yes, of course there were remnants of you scattered throughout because this was your apartment, but there were also chunks of you because it was your apartment- because you being you, you loved so hard, so unconditionally, so unabashedly, that it couldn’t help but seep into the walls, into the worn-out book covers and spines, into the cushion that permanently rested against the arm of the couch, your tendency to lay on the couch post practice practically a ritual now.

Love couldn’t help but bury itself in every little thing, each item precious and cared for deeply.

There were hints of you tucked into every inch inside these four walls and Leah couldn’t help but grasp at them in a futile attempt to hold on to your love- love she didn’t know if she’d ever get the chance to be bathed in again.

So with tiredness buried in her chest, Leah tried her best, collecting her grief quietly as she’d see your favourite mug on the drying rack. Another ounce of it bundled deep in her heart when she couldn’t bring herself to cook in the mornings, too many memories of breakfasts you’d cook as the blonde would be draped across your back lazily as you hummed a song only you’d know.

With a hole in her heart, she’d gotten up these past few mornings, choosing to head to a nearby cafe instead of entering the kitchen- the cold sheets that met her hand as she’d instinctively reached across the bed already ruining her a day that had barely started.

She didn’t want to talk about how she went out of her way to head to the bakery slightly farther from your house, purposely going past the store nearby that you both frequented often. How she avoided it like the plague since you had left because she didn’t think she could order there without a tear or two falling, silently crying as she ordered.

So while the ghost of you haunted her, as she lived in an home that was yours but a shell without your presence, she quietly begged the universe to convince you to come back, hoping, praying, waiting endlessly for a chance to mend things, because, if she was honest, nothing felt okay, nothing felt right ever since you had left- ever since you weren’t there to love the blonde anymore.

~~~

Before the blonde knew it, it had been a little over three days of your absence.

Three days of Leah quietly letting her heart constrict a bit more, the smile on her face becoming tenser, more forced.

Seventy two hours of the blonde looking at your contact in her phone, the number staring back at her tauntingly, daring her to dial it.

Four thousand three hundred and twenty minutes of contemplating whether she should send a text or a call. She didn’t want to pressure you, or worse, make you any more upset.

Sighing to herself before locking her phone for the millionth time today, she tossed it to the side, head falling ungracefully into her hands.

With every passing second you were gone, with each minute she spent alone, in an empty apartment that didn’t feel like home, the heart of it gone the second you had sped out of the parking lot days ago, it felt as if her world was slowly crashing down, her unable to do anything but watch in horror at the destruction occurring around her.

The most she had seen you since was the practice this morning, you appearing on the pitch mere seconds before it had started, an anomaly considering you’d often be in earlier than needed, wanting to do some of your own warm-ups before practice. It’s one of the things you and the blonde agreed on, her never needing much convincing to join you.

Today though, there you were, seconds before you had to be, once energetic, now quietly running through the drills as you hung your head low, coasting by, avoiding Leah’s piercing staring.

You ignored the way she shuffled closer to you, inconspicuously taking a step back each time she got nearer.

You did your best not to shiver as you felt her gaze on you multiple times throughout the two-hour long practice, a shaky breath escaping you as you realized the roles were reversed from the day in the club- except you both were hurting.

And as much as a piece of you craved to gather the other girl in your embrace and take the brokenness out of her dull orbs, you knew you couldn’t- not with the way she had grasped your heart and let it fall so many times before, the poor thing nearly shattered into pieces by now- bits you cradled so gently now as they cut you, doing your best to put them together, scars littering your hands.

Even if you wanted to comfort the midfielder, you couldn’t find it in yourself to, for your own sake, for your own sanity.

And, in your defence, while you had a very likely feeling that Leah wasn’t doing great, her dark eye bags anything to go by, you weren’t okay right now either.

You’d been crashing with Steph since you had left the game that day, and it hadn’t been pretty if you were honest.

Having spent the better part of the first twenty-four hours newly single cooped up in the spare bedroom, you’d been cocooned in one of the fluffiest blankets the defender could find, an old Arsenal hoodie of Leah’s that you kept in the trunk of you car fitted on your frame and matching your bloodshot eyes.

It was only the second night that you had even left the room, head aching from the never-ending tears, blotchy cheeks and swollen eyes, a dead giveaway of your heartbroken state.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

Hell, it wasn’t supposed to end at all.

But you didn’t know how many more ‘maybes’ you could take.

How many more times you could handle taking a photo with the blonde only to be quietly asked not to post it anywhere.

How many times you could watch as she acted like she was single, only to join you in your bed when night fell and there was nobody but the two of you to witness it.

You’d been grateful that while Steph had been shocked to find out about your relationship with the English skipper, she hadn’t said a word to anyone else, taking somewhat of an older sister role, immediately protective of you.

It’s why no one questioned the distance between you and Leah, more than accustomed to how you both would only sometimes interact, blissfully unaware of the rift between the two of you, only the left-back in the loop.

So you hid behind Steph throughout the practice that morning, dodging each and every single attempt Leah made to talk to you, counting down the minutes until it would be over so you could escape.

Communicating with the others only as much as you needed to, you ran the drills, grateful that your position as a winger meant you didn’t see much of Leah.

It was only when it came to five-a-side did you interact with her, keeping it minimal as you quietly asked Lina to switch, you now attacking on the right instead of your usual left to lessen your contact with the blonde.

You held your breath as Jonas announced the teams for five-a-side, only letting it go when play had started and the two of you were on different teams.

And as you walked to the other side, trading spots, you couldn’t help but take a brief glance at the skipper, immediately turning your head to the side as you saw her face fall, the smallest hints of hurt flashing through her eyes, unrecognisable to everyone but you.

Pressing your arms tightly to your sides, hands clenched into fists as they fought to reach out, you did your best to focus on the movement of the ball.

Watching it be passed around in front of you, you begged your mind to figure out the lapses in the defence, only for your gaze to fall on the blonde and your mind to go wandering yet again.

It wasn’t fair that someone could look so beautiful even after sweating for nearly two hours.

Closing your eyes as the thought ran through your mind, you took a deep breath in before trying to refocus on the game, willing for your heart to get it together.

How was it fair that even broken up she still had this effect on you, playing with your heart strings ever so teasingly.

You knew loving her had been hard, but you’d never known breaking up with her would’ve been even harder.

Sighing as you got passed the ball, you did your best to stay professional, your broken heart hidden carefully away with the rest of your relationship- a secret heartbreak for a secret relationship, how cruelly fitting.

~~~

It’s later that same day that Leah’s patiently waiting at home for your return.

She had hoped that maybe you had changed your mind by now, or at least maybe have decided to swing by in order to grab a change of clothes, or do laundry, or maybe grab that book you had started a week ago.

Really, something- anything- that meant that she’d get to see you. Anything so that she could fix what she had broken.

You’d been miles away from the blonde at practice and Leah couldn’t remember the last time she felt so small.

Sure, she’d met with multiple sports personalities, royalty, execs of some of the biggest companies for partnerships but she couldn’t recall the last time she felt so out of place.

The absence of your mere presence beside her, brought the defender a sense of unrest she didn’t know existed. She’d gotten used to having your constant presence around her, a quiet love that manifested itself as relief, any tension almost immediately slipping away whenever you were near the blonde.

With it gone, all Leah could do was sit in agony, searching for a sense of comfort that she knew she wouldn’t find.

Hands balled into fists as she sat on the couch, an old UWCL game playing on the TV, her notebook long forgotten as was her attempt to distract herself by taking notes, the blonde let herself fall back into the couch, palms of her hand harshly pressing into her eyes.

Three days.

Three days had passed with you not here and Leah was an absolute wreck.

Leg bouncing anxiously, a half-eaten takeout haphazardly tossed into the fridge, hair a mess from the countless times she had ran her hand through it, the blonde was on edge, perking up at the tiniest sounds she heard, hoping that one of them would be you.

But as hours passed, afternoon turning to dusk, dusk to night, Leah sat on the couch, no sign of your return in the distance.

Fuck.

~~~

Five days.

That’s how long it took for Leah to come to terms with the fact that she was, in fact, in the wrong.

Five long, lonesome days is what it took for her to realize that there was a difference between private and secret.

To realize that maybe if she’d been confident enough to keep it private, you’d still be here, in your apartment, in her arms.

That maybe if she hadn’t been terrified of what people would say, or the focus that would be placed on you both, she wouldn’t be alone right now, heart in pieces, body exhausted, no thanks to herself.

If she was honest, these past few days had given her more than plenty of time to realize she didn’t want to lose you. You were the best parts of her. You loved the worst parts of her and still stayed.

Yet, here she was, about to push you away with her stubbornness- so stuck in protecting her identity, her career, her future, herself, she blissfully ignored that she’d been hurting you the whole time.

It’s why, even though it was nearly quarter past twelve the night before another training day, the blonde sat in the bed with her laptop in her hands as her eyebrows furrowed at the screen.

Sighing in an attempt to fend off the oncoming tears, she rubbed furiously at her eyes.

After having convinced herself it wasn’t a good idea to ring up your friends and the teammates you helped close in an attempt to find you, the midfielder had settled upon planning on how she could convince you to give her another chance.

It’s sometime between figuring out whether she should bring you your favourite to practise, wary of the other girl’s reactions, that the defender’s phone buzzes, jolting her out of focus.

Heart leaping at the thought that it might be you, the blonde scrambles to find her phone in the mess of sheets.

Paper’s flying as dug underneath to locate the source of the vibrations, she could feel her heart pounding, nearly rising to her throat as she pulled her phone from beneath the papers.

Lia.

The three letters was all it took for her heart to break again, shoulder’s dropping as her stomach sank.

Dejectedly hitting swiping to open the notification, she swallowed hard as she scanned the message, Lia asking whether they were still on for breakfast before practice tomorrow- somewhat of a ritual over the past few months, every few weeks before late morning training a recent tradition for the two to catch up.

Eyes flickering between the pages strewn across the bed and the tabs mockingly facing her on the laptop screen, the words nearly typed themselves as Leah watched.

‘Can’t. Got plans. Sorry.’

She had more important plans tomorrow….namely to get her shit together and get you back.

Not bothering to wait for a reply, mind already determined, she threw her phone away and let herself fall back into the head, praying that the gamble she was about to take would work.

She could only hope.

~~~

Five days.

Five days without a single text, a single phone call, a single voicemail.

Leah had five days and you had zero indication that maybe she ever even wanted you at all.

Sighing to yourself as you dropped the phone onto the couch beside you, you could feel Steph’s judgemental stare.

“You could just call her, y’know? Phones work both ways…”

Eyes shooting over from where you were looking out the window, you shrugged your shoulders in response, a cold shiver running through you, mind a mess.

“I could…but why…”

Swallowing to hold back the tears that you knew were coming, you shifted in your seat in an attempt to get rid of the anxiousness in your spine.

“I could, but she’s had the time to as well. She’s had five whole days for fuck’s sake. And what did I get in that time? A text? A call? Any indication that maybe she misses me? Misses our relationship? That it meant anything to her? None. Not a single one Steph.”

Closing your eyes as you felt your heart clench as the words that had been floating around in your mind finally rang through the quiet house, you clenched your hand in a fist.

Wiping away the one tear that had escaped with your other hand, you took a shuddering breath before continuing.

“I’ve spent the last two weeks wondering if I was ever good enough for her- if I ever meant anything to her. Two weeks telling myself that maybe she cared an ounce of what I do. That she actually wanted me in her life, in her future.”

“And you know what? You know what Steph? I don’t think she does. I don’t think so. Because maybe, maybe, if this all meant anything to her, something to her, I wouldn’t be having this conversation with you right now. Maybe she’d be with me. I’d be in my apartment, with her, wrapped up beside her. But I’m not. I’m not and she’s not the one beside me. She’s not, and I think that’s telling enough.”

Breathing heavily, your heart pounding as you felt it constrict, you did your best to swallow the lump in your throat and pick your book back up.

And as Steph stayed quiet, you silently wondered if you ever meant anything to the blonde, the question continuing to haunt you as quiet voices in your mind answered with resounding ‘no’s’.

~~~

The drive the next morning to practice is silent, but Leah’s mind isn’t.

Variations of apologies are floating through, the blonde testing the ones she likes out loud, wincing as they gradually sounded worse and worse.

I’m sorry that I didn’t treat you right.

I’m sorry that I hurt you so many times…give me one more chance?

I’m sorry for being a daft.

Inwardly sighing at how dumb the last one sounded, she shook her own head.

Maybe she’d just let the moment guide her, let her heart say the words. Surely it couldn’t go wrong, right?

You’d always been a sucker for romantic, heartfelt confessions, constantly swooning when the two of you would watch romance movies, you nudging the blonde and making little comments whenever the lead actor did anything chivalrous.

Taking a handful of deep breaths as she pulled into the parkade, the blonde parked swiftly as she noted the time.

Fifty-three minutes before practice…surely you were going to be here soon.

Armed with her kitbag, cleats, two coffees, and a small bouquet of sunflowers- your favourite- Leah trudged inside, face set in a determined glare, quietly glad that no one else was here yet.

~~~

At this point, Leah figured that if you even showed up at all, it’d be a miracle.

There was something humiliating about sitting in an empty locker room, bouquet of flowers in hand, two coffees, and only one person.

If Leah looked hard enough at the ground, she was sure she’d find the piece of her breaking heart there.

She’d been hopeful as she had entered the room, fifty-one minutes before anyone was due to show up, six minutes before you typically used to show up.

By the forty-fourth minute before practice, she wondered if you’d hit traffic on the way in, or maybe lost your trainer (you had an uncanny habit of losing just one- don’t ask Leah how, she didn’t know either, but she found it for you each time).

By the thirty-seventh, doubt started to creep in.

What if you were finally, truly done with her shit.

What if that last game had unknowingly been your last straw- her last chance.

What if you’d finally given up and moved teams because of the blonde.

Maybe you’d found someone else.

As each thought got more ridiculous than the previous, anxiety creeping up her neck, Leah could feel herself sink further into her own locker, her coffee long gone, yours nearly frozen.

At the twenty third minute, cutting it close to when the rest of the girls were about to come in, the skipper picked up the flowers and her own broken heart, placing the bundle gently at the bottom of your locker in a desperate plea that maybe you’d see she wanted you back. That she was willing to try.

Pouring out the last of your coffee in the sink as loud voices of fellow teammates neared, the blonde quietly tucked away the sinking feeling in her stomach, holding her breath as she strained her ears to find your voice.

If not before practice, then she’d catch you afterwards. She needed to.

Silently hoping you’d see the little note she’d tucked in the flowers, a failsafe she had ready (thank God), the blonde plastered a fake smile as the door to the locker room swung open, making her way to her own locker as she greeted everyone but the one person she wanted to see the most.

She didn’t know how long she had left, and most definitely didn’t want to test it out.

~~~

Cursing to yourself, you sprinted into the change room just minutes before practice started, nearly crashing into the door before you just barely managed to get it open.

God, you were late.

You’d come in separately this morning, foregoing riding with Steph to instead look at new apartments this morning.

Since the night you’d broken up with the other girl, you hadn’t yet visited your home once, not yet ready to face the harsh reality that no overconfident blonde defender would be deftly coming and going as she pleased.

Coupled with the fact that too many memories that you couldn’t bear to recall would haunt you if you ever returned, you’d decided late last night that going back to your old apartment was a definite no.

You were pretty sure that you wouldn’t be able to enter the apartment without wanting to instinctively remind Leah to rack her shoes properly as she entered behind you, the blonde often opting for kicking them off regardless of the innumerable times you told her off for it.

And you definitely couldn’t enter your own kitchen, memories of failed dinners as you’d to teach the blonde to cook, the two of you always eventually ending up somehow distracted, food overcooked or burnt as the blonde would try to stifle a laugh at your incredulous expression, before you’d burst out in laughter as well, reaching for the take out pamphlets.

The bedroom was most surely off limits too, countless, countless, nights of the two of you spent late into the morning talking about nothing and everything, sometimes just holding each other in silence as you bathed in the other’s presence.

Walking through the halls would be a whole ordeal of itself as well, pictures of the two scattered throughout, pictures that the others had never seen because Leah would beg you to take them down the few times you had people over.

It’s that final thought that had you clenching your jaw hard, your eyes narrowing as you made your way over to your locker.

Cautiously setting your kit bag on your seat, your head tilted to the side as you took in the easily recognizable yellow petals that sat at the bottom of your cubby.

Only one person knew that you were a sucker for sunflowers, one person who’d just recently broke your heart.

Holding your breath, you reached towards the bouquet, the card stock jutting out of it begging to be read.

‘i’m sorry for how many times i’ve hurt you. you probably don’t want to hear from me and that’s fair but i want you to know i’m sorry and i want to do whatever it is i need to to fix us. i still love you and i can’t think of a future where i’m happy and you’re not in it. i probably don’t deserve it, but could i please get one more chance? i promise i won’t let you down. - yours, lw’

Eyes tracing over the words, all you could think was why now? Why written out? Surely, she could’ve said the words aloud to you if she’d truly meant them, having more than enough time over the past week, and really the past couple months of your relationship. Why was it that even though they were expressed, did your relationship still feel like a dirty secret- a small card tucked in the flowers that could be from anyone, signed with initials rather than a name.

And how were you supposed to believe her this time having heard these words countless times before? How many promises were you going to watch her break? Each and every time, why was it you giving her another chance to break your heart again and again, letting her stomp all over what was already broken, brutally smashed and beaten by no one other than her.

Surely you deserved better- better than a couple of flowers shoved deep into the bottom of your locker, accompanied by a card that was nothing more than ink on some paper.

Shaking your head to pull yourself out of the spiral you were going down, you tossed the card back onto the bouquet, instead bringing your focus back to getting ready for the training that you were more than definitely late for now.

You were a strong believer of second chances- but for your own sanity, it’d be better if you stopped now, at the thirtieth or so that it was- one too many to have kept count.

~~~

It’s you running sprints at the end of practice, the understandable punishment you’d received for being late, the rest of the girls slowly filling out as Leah tried to find some excuse, any excuse really, that she could stay back and wait for you.

She’s grasping at nothing, sputtering an incomprehensible reason to Lia as the Swiss is pulling her by the arm, inside.

With the brunette only tightening her hold as she disagreed, Leah had no option but to dejectedly follow.

“Nope, no. Not today, you cancelled on me....you better have a good reason.”

It was just the blonde’s luck that Lia thought the defender was avoiding her, trying to stay back so she wouldn’t be questioned on missing breakfast.

Unbeknownst to her though, if to no one else, it was clear as day to Lia that something had occurred within the past few days between the two of you.

She wasn’t blind to the way her work wife suddenly seemed ever so slightly disconnected during training, mind seemingly eons away- a surprise considering the blonde prided herself on giving 110%, even during practice.

Combined with the way you’d stormed off a few days ago and the nil interactions the two of you had had as of late- something she didn’t think was just a mere coincidence- she figured that right now, you deserved your space, and Leah likely a telling off, if the fact that your sunshine mood was in the dumps and the blonde exuded waves of nervousness was anything of a sign.

Somehow managing to wrangle her English counterpart away from the field, Lia led the blonde away from the locker rooms, instead choosing a secluded hallway near the back ends of the stadium to confront her.

Turning around sharply once she deemed they’d walked far away enough, Lia fixed the other girl with a questioning stare, her best captain’s stare if she said so herself.

“So what’s really going on?”

Swallowing hard at the accusing question, Leah contemplated telling the truth for just a second.

It would make it easier…

“What do you mean?” Instead, feigning innocence- not wanting anyone involved in the mess she created, she tilted her head in faux confusion.

Confusion that the Swiss woman could see right through.

“Cut the bullshit. You and I both know there’s something going on…You can either waste both our time denying it until I eventually go and ask her…or you can tell me and we can at least get somewhere. And I know which one I’d pick…”

Leah could read the silent threat in the midfielder’s eyes. The slight eyebrow that was raised no doubt indicated that she wasn’t messing around, more than ready to go and confront you about everything. What she also knew was that if it was Lia talking to you, you wouldn’t hold back.

The choice was clear, really- but the defender didn't choose it.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

Leah watched as the woman in front of her eyes narrowed, jaw tightening as she tilted her head back in a ready challenge.

Please don’t call my bluff.

All the blonde could do was pray silently.

“Okay.”

One word.

One word was the reply the blonde got, Lia staring at her silently for a second longer before marching away, a determined weight set on her shoulders.

It’s fear that has Leah blindly reaching out, her hand connecting sharply with the Swiss’ wrist, pulling her back before she could make it any further.

“Promise me you won’t ask her about this. You can’t Lia…please…”

Nearly begging, the skipper, eyes silently pleading, held on tightly.

“I’m going to ask this once, and only once more…Leah what happened?”

She could either tell Lia of how she’d failed to treat you right and get absolutely bashed for it, or she could push it under the rug once more, make a lame excuse and get out of this.

Sighing deeply to herself, pinching the bridge of her nose, the blonde made her decision.

Maybe it was time she grew up.

~~~

You do your best to hide your surprise as you walk into the locker room and don’t see Lia or Leah, the absence of LW squared making your heart leap into your throat, thoughts you knew were nothing but blasphemy clouding your mind.

You knew they were work wives, nothing but platonically of course. You knew they prided themselves on being the best of friends on the pitch and off it. You knew there was nothing more going on between them- well, at least you hoped, for you didn't know what you would do if they were anything more.

The thought that you’d never been enough for Leah still floated around your mind. You weren’t a crazy striker, or a mind-blowing defender. You were a midfielder that just so happened to be pretty good at their job, but that was all.

You weren’t special. You weren’t the captain of your national team. You weren’t heavily sought after for brand deals, you weren’t the popular, favourite player that Leah was- the player nor partner she deserved.

You were simply you- and you didn’t know if that was enough for the English skipper.

Your thoughts get interrupted by the thump of the door hitting the stopper, two distinct voices echoing through the hall as the owners make their way in.

Leah and Lia.

Willing yourself not to turn around, you take a peak out of the corner of your eyes, immediately regretting your decision.

The pair was close- Leah had an arm slung over the other girl’s shoulders, a soft smile on her face and the Swiss captain had her own arm around the English skipper’s waist and it did nothing to ease the rampant thoughts in your mind.

They were both sharing hushed words, indifferent to the few stares in their direction, too consumed in their conversation to bother paying attention.

It was only as Lia gave Leah a gentle squeeze in the side-hug that they had going on did the pair break up, the two still sticking close together as they headed towards Leah’s locker.

Turning to face your locker, your eyes caught the bright yellow of the petals, jealousy anger coursing through your veins as what used to be your favourite laugh rang out.

Hastily grabbing the card and throwing it back into your locker to be dealt with later, you stared at the sunflowers peering up at you.

Ironic that of all the days to receive them, you’d gotten them when the world felt anything but full of sunshine and rainbows.

Making the quick decision, you quickly grabbed the bouquet on your way out, ignoring the questions being shot your way from the teammates that heard the unmistakable sound of the cellophane.

Quietly letting Steph lead you out the door, you quickly glanced behind you in a silent prayer that Leah still cared for your presence- that she was looking at you.

She wasn’t.

Tossing the flowers into the nearest bin as a sour expression crossed your face, you helplessly let the thoughts of the past two hours take a hold of your heart, the poor thing constricting ever so painfully.

Clenching your jaw and hastily tossing on your headphones, you shouldered your kit bag, more than ready to get out of here- to go to a place that felt more like home than your apartment now ever would.

With you long gone before Leah even leaves the change room, you don’t get the chance to witness the way the blonde stops talking mid-conversation as she’s leaving, her stopping in place as her eyes notice the golden petals that peeked out from the top of the bin.

It’s why you’re unknowing of the way the blonde’s heart shatters a bit more, her eyes widening, heart sinking, and head immediately hanging low as she processed the bouquet unceremoniously dumped in the trash.

And with a rough shrug to get out of Lia’s comforting pat, instead wiping away tears she refused to let fall in the presence of the few remaining teammates, Leah hurries out, discussion on how to win you back momentarily forgotten as she focuses on soothing her aching heart.

~~~

It’s a couple days later that the weight of you leaving makes itself known again to Leah.

The past few days, the blonde had been silently stewing in the memories of you two, but had been fortunate enough that there weren’t any new stark reminders of your absence.

But now, if Leah was honest, the feeling of you not near the blonde as she walked off the pitch post-game felt like a stabbing pain in her chest.

It was odd, the way wins didn’t feel like wins as of late.

Not when you weren’t by the blonde’s side.

Euphoria wasn’t an emotion she felt of late, but with the absence of you in your rightful spot to the right of the blonde as she walked around the pitch, misery stung the blonde harder than before.

The high Leah (rightfully) expected after the win against United didn’t come.

It didn’t pounce on her immediately as the whistle blew at the end of the game.

It didn’t hit her like a truck as she headed towards the locker room.

It didn't sneakily creep up on her as she entered a locker room full of her fellow teammates dancing in celebration, music blasting, the joy palpable in the room.

All that sunk in was the gut wrenching feeling of regret in her chest as she timidly watched you make your way to your locker.

For the past few days, three or so having passed since she last saw you at training, the blonde had been crashing with Lia, not that you would know.

She’d been actively visiting your apartment, trying to find any signs of life there besides the three plants of yours she’d been watering in her visits.

Each time though, she was left with not a single trace of you, it evident that you hadn’t been home yet.

It was just slightly over a week of your absence, and with each passing day, Leah was losing a bit more hope, a bit more of her sanity, a bit more of her ability to feel anything but despair.

So it didn’t surprise her that the exhilaration of the win didn’t come. It was the norm. It was the norm for her now that she’d gone and fucked up.

Rubbing a hand over her face as the sight of her teammates came into view, Leah tried to will away the spiral of thoughts in her head, headache imminent with the lack of sleep she’d had these past ten days.

Sighing to herself at the pounding music in the room, the blonde hung her head low, trudging her way to her kit bag as she pretended to yawn in case anyone asked about her foul mood.

If she’d looked up once though, she’d have seen your concerned look.

She would’ve saw the way you had involuntarily turned to face the blonde as she entered, your arms itching to reach out and pull her into a hug, as you had done many times before in the safety of your own home.

But she wasn’t yours anymore. She wasn’t yours to hold, to hug, to comfort, especially anywhere but in the four walls of your apartment.

So you’d brought your arms taught around your own body, giving yourself a hug as your heart sank, a shaky breath escaping you as you closed your eyes, letting the overwhelming emotions wash over you.

~~~

It’s as the girls are leaving the locker room that Katie remembers to invite Leah for the celebratory night out the team had planned.

You’d been asked immediately after the game, the Irishwoman surprisingly able to sense the change in your mood as of late, doing her best to try and make you laugh more in the past few days to try and silently uplift it, bless her.

You’d thought about going. Considered getting more than friendly with Millie, your last conversation with Leah replying easily in your mind.

Maybe if you’d make her jealous she’d realize you still existed.

But just as quickly as those thoughts crossed your mind, you shook yourself out of them.

If she couldn’t see your importance in her life, you weren’t about to go and beg for her to see it. You couldn’t show her something that wasn’t there.

Having then declined the offer, you’d cited your tiredness as an excuse.

Now though, you tried to act nonchalant as you eagerly awaited Leah’s answer, well aware that she was one of the last people asked.

Maybe she’d wonder whether you were.

The blonde was tired, that was clear for all to see. But would that be enough for her to spend the night in?

Would your absence mean she’d go home in misery, or was the blonde okay? More than over you, ready to move on?

You wondered if she’d find someone to bring home tonight. Whether she’d spend the time at the bar (that they’d inevitably, somehow end up at). Would that someone be better than you? Better company? A better girlfriend?

Hearing the immediate cheers following Leah’s quiet hum of agreeance and quiet ‘why not?’, you bit the inside of your cheek.

God, how could you be so naive to think she’d ask if you were going?

And as your thoughts spiralled again, you felt a gentle hand come to rest on your shoulder, Steph protectively stepping into your space as she could practically feel you fall into the rabbit hole of your mind.

“Let’s go home, yeah?”

The both of you having agreed that Australian would drop you off at her place before heading out with the team, you adamant on her enjoying the win and her night, you let yourself be led out, increasing the volume of the headphones on your ears to drown out the world, and more importantly, your mind.

~~~

The air’s chilly and Leah can’t help but wrap her arms around herself a bit tighter in a futile attempt to stave off the cold.

She’d expected the crowded club that the team had arrived at to feel stuffy and hot, but it wasn’t the case.

All the blonde could really feel was the cool breeze she couldn’t locate the source of and a constant shiver in her spine as she saw practically everyone but you there.

Having waited all through dinner praying you’d show up, and then convincing herself you’d be there as the team decided to move things to a club, the blonde felt stupid for not remembering how you hated cramped social gatherings like these.

For the months that you were together, Leah had gotten accustomed to spending nights in, cherishing them actually, for they gave her the breather she so rarely got.

It’s why she’d love it when you’d often pass up the nights out, giving Leah the perfect opportunity to leave events early, a smile on her face despite being called variations of ‘old’ and a ‘party-pooper’, the thought of going home to you more than overpowering the salty accusations.

The few times you’d both gone out together with the team, it’d always ended with you two sneaking out of the celebrations early, revelling in the chaos or peace of the night as you’d trek home, more than content to be in each other’s presence.

It had gotten to the point where the few date nights the two of you had consisted of Leah convincing you to stay in. The decision was a mix of not wanting to be in the public and getting you all to herself, but she’d never tell you that.

And yeah, sure, she’d avoided you on the nights that you’d both be out, surrounded by teammates and friends celebrating god-knows-what, but she swears she did it for your own good. You didn’t need the press, the comments, the voices that came along with the fame.

At least she made the decision you didn’t.

It’s looking back now that she realises the implications of her actions, her avoidance of you no doubt a joke- her only failing to protect you from any hurt, instead being the one to cause you grief.

God, she really treated you and your relationship like shit…

Shaking her head to herself, mood already soured with the lack of your presence, Leah excused herself from Lia’s side, heading to the table and grabbing her coat.

There wasn’t a point staying. Not when you weren’t there too.

Bidding her goodbyes and ignoring the pleas to stay longer, Leah shot the Swiss captain a grateful look as she distracted a tipsy McCabe away from trying to convince her to stay.

Taking a deep breath as she exited the stifling building, the blonde began her trek home, lost in her thoughts, wary of the empty apartment she’d no doubt be returning to.

~~~

Steph had texted you early on in the evening, letting you know that Leah was at the dinner, and you didn’t know whether to be glad or not.

All you knew was that it was the perfect opportunity for you to finally grab your things, a change of clothes, something you desperately needed now that winter was finally kicking in.

You’d expected the blonde to be gone at least a few hours, so you’d taken your time to show up, grabbing dinner before you had made your way over.

What you hadn’t expected though, was the blonde cutting her night short- the clock reading near half past nine taunting you as you heard the familiar jingle of keys as the front door opened.

You could feel your heart pounding in your chest- hell, you could hear it, as you listened to the sounds of the taller girl kicking off her boots, something you would tell her off for time and time again.

Holding your breath as you heard Leah hang up her keys and drop her clutch on the island as she always did, you wondered if you had enough time to escape.

Surely, you could sneak out, right?

Shaking your head at the stupid idea, you looked around you, contemplating on how you were going to get out of this.

What were you to tell the blonde? That you weren’t kicking her out of your apartment? That you instead were moving out, already having talked with your tenant about likely cancelling your lease soon. You wondered what Leah would think you’d ask for her set of keys back- for her to take her stuff to her house as you’d empty your apartment.

You wondered if she’d then realize that she’d likely ruined the last good thing you had going for you, a house you’d been staying in for nearly two years now, a place you cherished deeply but now needing to say goodbye to.

Sighing as you took in the sight of your clothes scattered around the bedroom, clothes you’d been sorting into a ‘yours’ and ‘Leah’s’ pile, you waited to hear the movement of the blonde.

It was only as the trudge of footsteps padding down the hall reached your ears did your throat go dry, body freezing as you anxiously anticipated seeing Leah in your bedroom for the first time in over a week.

Swallowing hard, you wondered if this was the beginning of the end, or the end of the beginning.

~~~

Leah didn’t know how she didn’t notice the light peeking out from under the bedroom door. Nor how she missed your infamous Converse tucked behind the door.

All she knew was that you were here.

Here, in your apartment.

In your shared bedroom.

And all the blonde could do was stare at the sight of you looking like a kid caught stealing out of a cookie jar, the various piles of clothes scattered around you making you look tiny.

Flexing her jaw a few times, the midfielder struggled to find any adequate words, a quiet ‘what?’ the only thing she was able to muster out.

There’s a blanket of silence that covers the room after the word, the pair of you rooted in your spots, staring at each other.

It’s only as Leah realises that the hoodie currently in your grasp is one of her old England ones, from camps eons ago, does the silence break.

“Wait a second- I’ve been looking for that...”

Furrowing your eyebrows, your shock long gone and anger replacing it, you did your best to keep your voice level.

“That’s your concern?”

This was the first and only chance the blonde had gotten to you since you’d broken up with her, and her concern was the hoodie you were holding.

“You know what? Fuck off.”

Throwing the hoodie at her with all the rage you could muster, you watched as it softly hit your ex in the face, Leah pulling it off as her eyes widened.

“Okay wait! Wait. No. Sorry. It just took me off guard…”

Rubbing her neck sheepishly, the blonde brought the hoodie behind her in an attempt to brush over what just occurred.

Shaking your head because of-fucking-course, you pinched the bridge of your nose, pausing for a moment before realizing just how utterly done you were with the blonde already.

Waiting a second to see if she’d continue, to see if she’d ask you how you were, what you were doing, or better yet, apologise, you sighed as silence overtook the room once again.

Checking your watch, you figured that if you ran through all you needed to, you could be out of here by half-past-ten, a whole hour earlier than you had originally planned for.

“Listen, all I need is like an hour then I’ll be out of your hair.”

Muttering the words, disdain clear in your voice, you started speeding up your actions, sorting the pile of clothes behind you and tossing everything that was yours into the open suitcase.

It took a minute for the defender to understand what she just heard, to comprehend what she’d witnessed.

One hour and then you’d be gone?

Taking note of the clothes scattered across the room and recognizing her extra pairs of pyjamas and trainers in the decently-sized pile on one side, garments that looked distinctly like yours in the other, the blonde felt dread sink in.

“Wait, wait, wait, wait…what do you mean ‘out of my hair’?”

It’s as the weight of the words sunk in did Leah step into the room, squinting her eyes as her mouth fell open slightly, body rigid with concern.

Sighing deeply inwards, you ran a hand through your hair, pulling it slightly in an attempt to stave off your annoyance.

“Leah, I’m moving, yeah? It’s about time.”

You watched as the hoodie fell from the blonde’s hands, dropping unceremoniously into ‘your’ clothes pile as she swallowed hard.

Yes the pair of you weren’t together anymore, but this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. You weren’t supposed to move out, much less out of your own apartment, that’s for sure.

Shaking her head as she felt her heartbeat pick up, panic in her eyes, Leah closed the distance between you.

“You’re not moving out.”

The statement was nothing of a question, hands going on her hips as the blonde eyebrows furrowed.

“I know I hurt you, but you can’t move out.”

Watching an exasperated expression cross your face, an expression that Leah was all too familiar with, having seen it every time she declined your request to post a picture of the two of you, she dropped her own shoulders, closing her eyes in defeat.

“Please don’t move out.”

Please don’t leave me.

“Please.”

Sorting the shirt that was in your hold, you placed your hands behind you, letting your weight fall on them as you leant back, head thrown back, eyes fixed firmly on the ceiling you were very much used to seeing on lazy mornings spent with the blonde in front of you.

Making sure your voice was steady, you closed your eyes as you spoke.

“We’ve broken up. One of us needs to move out.”

“No...”

“Leah…”

“No.”

The second ‘no’, firmer and coupled with a definitive tone in Leah’s voice had you appalled, your eyes opening as you righted yourself and faced her

“No? Leah, I’ve spent enough time seeing you with another woman outside of this apartment. I’m not in the fucking mood to see it here as well, in my apartment.”

You waited to see if she’d offer to move out instead, considering this was your place after all.

You waited, only to be met with silence.

Guess it was a good thing you didn’t wanna stay here anyways.

“I mean it. Please don’t go…”

The timid voice had your shoulders dropping.

Sure, she broke your heart, but it didn’t mean you were heartless.

Deciding to humour her, for your own sake- you wanted to see just what her justification would be, you hummed in response.

“Why?”

She’d broken your heart enough. So why was it that she was asking you to stay?

You watched as the always-confident blonde wrung her fingers, her head hung low as she stared into the ground.

“I still love you…”

The weight of the words blanketed the room in quiet. Or it might have been the blood rushing in your ears. Either way, you couldn’t believe what you were hearing- unable to do anything but sigh in response, mind a frenzy.

Racking through your brain to find the right words to say, you curse at the universe for aligning so maliciously.

“You can’t just say that.”

“Ba-“

“No.” Cutting her off, your voice raising slightly, you bit the inside of your cheek.

“You can’t say that. You can’t say that when you’ve practically been a stranger to me any place outside of these four walls. You can’t say that when all you’ve done is gone and break my heart multiple- Leah, multiple times. You can’t say that when you haven’t once rung me in the week that we’ve broken up. You don’t get to call me ‘baby’ anymore and you don’t get to say those three words anymore.”

You’re breathing heavily by the time you finish, having gone and stood up at some point during that rant.

Eyes level with Leah’s as there’s a defiant look in your eyes, you wait.

You wait to see just what excuse she’d come up with this time.

“I didn’t-“

Lips pursing, you rolled your eyes. You knew how these words always ended.

“Let me guess…you didn’t know if I wanted to hear from you, yeah?”

You watched as she nodded sheepishly, nearly curling into herself as your voice got sharper with each word.

“Y’know…I told myself that maybe if I waited long enough, that you’d eventually care enough. Told myself that if I tried hard enough, loved you enough, was a better player, a better girlfriend, maybe I would’ve been good enough for you. That you’d want me as much as I want you.”

You watched as Leah looked at you, it clear that she was itching to say something, but you continued.

“I spent the last week with my ringer on, do not disturb off, hoping you’d call. Hoping you’d text. Send me a message, someway, somehow. Anything that would let you know me breaking up with you killed you as much as it killed me. And what did I get? Nothing.”

Your voice is quiet as the final word slips through, the both of you staring at each other, the room an outright mess with the clothes strewn around, suitcase open beside where you were sat.

Truth be told, you didn’t want this to end.

You didn’t.

All you wanted was for Leah to realize your importance in her life. And whether that was good or bad, you wanted to know where you stood- because you’d stick around if she loved you, but you couldn’t bear to stay if you weren’t wanted.

You couldn’t light a candle in the rain.

Watching as Leah flexed her jaw once, then twice before inhaling deeply, you felt a chill go up your spine as anticipation slowly killed you.

“It hurt more than I could ever imagine…”

The confession was quiet, barely a whisper, but it had your attention, and it didn’t go unnoticed by the other girl.

“It’s killed me every time I’ve come to this apartment alone y’know? Every single time I’ve walked into this place and you’re not behind me yelling at me to put away my shoes properly.”

Swallowing her emotions down and steadying her voice, she continued.

“Do you want to know how wrong it felt, driving to practise without you beside me? Without your humming and singing? Or how much it sucks not being able to stand beside you at practice. Or how the only thing I’ve wanted these past few days is just one of your hugs- the ones you give me when you know I’m not feeling well, too tired to do anything but cuddle you?”

“It’s stupid, but I’ve visited- stayed- at your place nearly every day since our breakup, hoping each day that you’d come back and I could- we could talk. That I could make it up to you. I’ve missed you. I really have. More than anything else ever- I swear. Spent the first night and the second too, on your couch, hugging your favourite cushion and your international hoodie.”

Smiling bitterly to herself at the memory, the blonde wiped away the few tears that had escaped.

Feeling your eyes starting to sting as you remembered just how gruelling the first few days had been for you, you quickly wiped away the one lone tear that managed to escape, holding back the oncoming sniffles.

Feeling your chest rise as you did your best to loosen the anxious feeling in your chest, you stayed rooted to your spot, too afraid to move for fear that Leah would stop talking.

“Did you read the note?”

The question was small, especially after the large confession just moments ago, and it had you nodding in response, scared that you’d break the atmosphere in the room if you spoke too loud.

“I-,” Leah cleared her throat, running a hand through her own hair as her gaze met yours again.

“I meant it y’know? Seeing you and just you in my future? I wanna fix this…us. I’d really like to fix what I broke, if you’d let me.”

Biting back a grimace because wow, were you really about to give her the power to break your heart again. The one thing you told yourself you wouldn’t let her do- not anymore.

“I don’t know how to trust you again…”

You knew the words were harsh, but they were the truth.

How could you trust someone that single handedly broke your heart over and over again.

Holding your breath as you watched Leah slowly step forward, inching towards you until she was merely inches away from where you stood, you wondered if you could ever let the blonde back in.

“One chance is all I ask for. I’ll earn your trust again, I swear. Just please don’t go. Please don’t leave me.”

You watched as her fingers flexed, jaw clenching and unclenching as the blonde fought herself internally.

As she made a decision, you smiled at the way the little crease between her eyebrows disappeared, a place you loved to kiss whenever the blonde was upset about the movie you’d choose for movie nights.

So caught up in your memories, you were only jolted out of the dreamland your mind went to as you felt Leah hesitantly grab your hand, the touch cautious and feather-like as she tried to gauge your reaction.

Looking down at your intertwined hands, you bit your lip, one question floating around your mind.

“Are you planning for us to continue being a secret or…?”

Closing your eyes as you waited for her answer, you wondered if this would be the last time you’d feel Leah’s touch.

You knew you couldn’t bear to be a secret. You liked private, sure, but all you really wanted to do was be you. Be you and her, and be able to show the world that, without bounds.

“No.”

Eyes flying open, you narrowed your eyes at Leah, surprised by the confident tone, so sure of herself, so assured, that it nearly had you convinced.

“And if you let me down?”

“Then I’ll leave your life myself, just say the words and I’ll go. But I don’t plan to let you down. Not again. Not ever. I don’t want a life without you. I’ve had a taste of if, and fuck, I needed that. I needed that because I know I’d rather deal with everyone’s comments, everyone’s judgement, their prying, their invasive questions, than lose you.”

Swallowing hard at those words, you felt your shoulders relax, mind and heart practically numb with the overwhelming emotions you were feeling.

Words a whisper, tears silently falling down your cheeks as the weight of the past week hit you, you prayed that you never felt this type of hurt again.

“Hurt me again and I’ll break your kneecaps alright?”

And letting yourself be pulled into the taller girl’s embrace, you let yourself sink into her hug, a warmth you’d missed so dearly, so fervently in the past few days- a hug that even the best Calvin cuddle couldn’t compare to, you let out a sigh.

Things weren’t alright yet. They weren’t going to be for a while.

But this was a step in the right direction. A step you’d take, praying to the universe that it wouldn’t let you fall- at least not without someone to catch you.

You just hoped it would be Leah- she was the only one you wanted to catch you when you fell. You just had to trust her word that she would.

#leah williamson x reader #leah williamson imagine #leah williamson #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso one shot #woso #my writing #fic #fic req #angst #iwytb #hcie

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tremendum · 7 months ago

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Me and the Devil; ii

(not my gif) .·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·: Paul Atreides x fem!reader previous next series masterlist

word count: 7.1k

summary: Paul knows that whatever he is feeling, you're likely feeling a hundred times more. So, for both your sakes, he will learn to live with you, and it will start tonight. It will start with the box to his right.

warnings: allusions to smut, knife kink if you squint very hard, still the same familial trauma, descriptions of blood/violence, Paul and reader are beefing, fear, Paul has one (1) almost-panic attack, still switching POVs, no betas because i am lazyyyyy

notes: thank u all AGAIN for the support and feedback, its what keeps me motivated :) i am planning on posting the next update later today over on AO3, so i figured i'd post another chapter on here too! lmk what y'all think, tysm for the support! love to u all xx

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In the revered customs of House Bourbon, the path to marriage is paved with cherished rituals and symbolic gestures, each sacred to the planet Sabberon's culture. Though the house may have dwindled in stature over the past three centuries, its customs and rituals remain a testament to the enduring legacy of a once-great lineage.

Unlike the grandiose affairs of some of the larger noble houses, betrothal within House Bourbon is a deeply intimate and sacred process, guided by the rhythms of nature. Rooted in their own ancient spiritual religion, which has endured through centuries of change and upheaval, marriage is viewed as not merely a union between two individuals, but a harmonious life in the embrace of the natural world.

This section reviews the process of Courtship and Betrothal for the House of Bourbon, including:

Betrothal Gifts

Heirloom Exchange

Harvest Festival Offering

Ceremony: Handfasting Ritual and Vows

Marriage Consummation.

- "Chapter 68: Customs of Marriage," The Noble Lineage: Exploring the Customs and Cultures of the Houses Major of Landsraad. Atreides Library.

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The video drones on as Paul stares absently, his eyes heavy. There's a skip suddenly, jolting his head on his jaw as he blinks down at the textbook. The words are blurry until he shakes his head, resuming reading along as the documentary plays; a faint twitch in his left eye has not left since he started reading the chapter.

"marriage consummations are a deeply personal and intimate affair..." the voice, factual, settles unease within Paul's stomach. Averting his eyes from the screen, he scans the page in front of him, trying to fight the resentment that bubbles in his chest.

Among the more unique of traditions of House Bourbon, the consummation of marriage takes place outdoors, through a path walked by many ancestors. Upon a pristine white sheet, under the House's Sacred Pine Tree, this ritual symbolizes not only producing legally recognized descendants, but also the sacred union of the betrothed with nature and their ancestral lineage.

Paul's eyes read the passage unblinkingly as his cheeks burn; his throat dries quickly.

A clear of his throat, he looks to Thufir Hawat, who watches the video documentary with an irritatingly calm expression. What kind of archaic ritual culture did this house have? He can hardly imagine you practicing these traditions on Giedi Prime; This thought makes his mouth sour and a wave of realization washes over Paul, leaving him with a sense of profound unease.

As his eyes flick back to the textbook in front of him, the words blurring and dancing before his vision, he bristles. They mock him with their implications; slowly he feels the weight of expectation bearing down on him, pressure threatening to suffocate him.

He was trained from a young age for this, but it is all happening much too quick. The blood slams through Paul's veins suddenly in pounding bursts; the noises are too loud, the walls too close. Anger washes over him, his jaw clenching tight.

"Perhaps I should be studying Harkonnen tactics instead of this." he mutters, crossing his arms defiantly. "She's likely much more accustomed to that, anyways." It's childish, sure - he can barely breathe, however, and his tunic is stuck to his chest. His breathing is hard.

"Paul, you mustn't-"

His rage takes hold, though. "-No! Nobody will listen. She was one of them for almost half a decade. She was accused of espionage, her family was proved of it - who's to say this isn't one big Harkonnen plot?"

The man lets him get out his anger - Mentat training can take a lot out of one, anyways; Paul can't bring himself to school his emotions today. Why is his father not more concerned with the girl's presence?

"Thufir." Paul snaps suddenly, standing abruptly, his heart thundering in his chest.

The Mentat looks to him - Paul sighs. "I will read about this later, I swear to it. But I'd prefer to train right now, if it's all the same to you."

There is a clear hesitation, but Paul's cold stare earns him a conceding sigh.

"Very well. Your father suggests you gift her soon, but..." He finishes, clearly noticing the overwhelmed look on Paul's face. "Sit down, my Lord. Let us begin today with cause and effect-"

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The sun hides behind sullen clouds when it hits midday, casting long shadows of light among the windows.

When you woke early in the morning, your handmaidens told you that the Duke wished to meet with you later in the afternoon, and that you're invited to join the family for supper this evening. Besides this, your day is free.

So you lie in bed most of the morning, staring warily at the dark corner of your bedroom, half-expecting the ghost to emerge from the shadow again; clenching your jaw, expecting him to come out, to crawl over your frame, to trap your jaw in his sinister grip.

He doesn't, though, and eventually you call in the maids for a spot of tea.

You feel like anything is better than meeting with the Duke - In your reluctance you'd been struck with a feeling of restlessness, anxiety curling warm as a small cat in your stomach.

Sitting up straight from where the maids had been styling your hair, you'd cleared your throat; "I'd like to go explore." you'd stated, fingers aching for the comfort of metal.

They'd shared looks of surprise - you pretended not to notice. You haven't left your room much in the days since arriving on Caladan, besides attending meals and the one time Paul had escorted you around the premises - truthfully, you still feel like you're in a dream.

You'd sat patiently as they insisted you bathe, eating a full meal before the sun had hit the middle of the sky. The maids finally dress you in casual clothes and quietly, with the need to do something with your hands, you decide to find the armory.

Pulling yourself together, you leave your chambers quietly, hoping to avoid contact with anyone who may be around at this hour. You can't help the smile on your lips when you take a deep breath - It's more fresh in this castle.

Perhaps your lungs are so used to heavily recycled air within your confines back on Giedi Prime, or you're trying to find something to prove that what you've endured hasn't been for nothing; That this life will be, in some way, better than that one ever could have been.

You slink through the halls, on alert each time you pass a guard or worker, hoping you run in to no familiar faces. You've chosen to deny an escort through the castle; you prefer to be alone to your thoughts, anyways.

A shiver runs down your back as you take in the patterned wooden beams that place intricate shadows over your frame; high, vaulted ceilings, old stone that feels wet to the touch. This place is truly beautiful in an ancient, grand way.

In another world, you would have felt such joy to call this your home.

Today's clothing is more forgiving; your trousers are loose but more reinforced at the hips and waist, allowing you to move much quicker and quietly through the halls. The only noise you emit is from your cloaked veil. Momentarily, you debate just ripping the veil off, burning it in one of the several hearths in the vicinity.

A small rage burns within you, simmering and igniting more each day you go on like this - resentment for the customs that you barely know, for your house that no longer exists. You wish to see the planet without green-tinted vision.

But the image of your sister's grave all those years ago; the sight of your family falling in the sand pit of the Harkonnen arena... you swallow thickly.

The walls seem much more empty as you go further into the castle's bowels, dragging your palm along the cool stone. As you round a corner, you're stopped in your tracks upon an ornate doorway, its intricate carvings catching your eye.

There is an engraving of a man and a bull deep in the wood of the door and your fingers trace over the lines of the man's shoulders before you gently push against it.

It gives easily.

Inside is a dimly lit study; The room is filled with shelves upon shelves of ancient tomes and artifacts, the air thick with the scent of old parchment and dust. The breath you take is blown back out with particles of dust in the sunlight - several pieces of select furniture are covered with sheets, as if the room is no longer commissioned.

You bite the sense that you're somewhere you're not supposed to be. You know there is no true danger - if you were to wander somewhere you didn't belong on Giedi Prime, you'd have been punished. You doubt, however, that the guards here would dare touch you unless you gave them a reason to.

You walk along the treasure trove of secrets, hidden away from prying eyes; a large hawk spreading its wings carved in the window in front of you.

It's large, proud; green and black with gold embellishments. The Atreides colors.

There's a book that your forefinger traces - a deep blue color, the spine is old and well-read. A few of the pages are even dog-eared, the dust deliberately swept off its pages as if it was read recently. Caladan: A Comprehensive Ecological Study of Biodiversity.

You nearly pull it out to study its contents, momentarily forgetting the task of finding the armory in your piqued interest; Yet you can explore further, you hear footsteps approaching from behind.

Hair stands up on your neck.

They're light, sneaking- intentionally quiet. You whirl around quick, snarling as your hand instinctively goes to your hip. You come up empty, a flash of disappointment washing over you as a reminder of your absent beloved nameday knife.

You turn just in time to see Paul Atreides standing in the doorway, his expression shockingly guarded as he takes in the sight of you standing amidst the shelves. You flounder, having expected it to be one of your handmaidens coming to redirect you, or perhaps a member of the Duke's guard.

Paul stares at you, too - clearly, he was not expecting to see you either. His eyes turn suspicious, flickering to the desk beside you, towered with old texts on the Atreides family and war strategy.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, his voice cold and accusatory. His cheeks are red, eyes narrow - he’s harsh in the dim lighting, when you'd thought he'd look soft. You don't need to see the crazed look in his eyes to see he's flustered about something. Irritated.

"This is my father's old study. It's not meant for prying eyes," Paul's voice slices through the air, sharp and accusatory.

Your heart lurches at the implication, a rush of heat prickling your skin as you stiffen. "I was looking for a place to train," you shoot back, your tone laced with defiance. You refuse to cower under his suspicion, no matter how thinly veiled. "I didn’t intend to intrude on your father's privacy. You may give him my apologies when you see fit."

The air seems to crackle in the distance between you, thick and palpable as Paul's piercing gaze meets yours, distrust laced through his gaze even as he maintains his chivalrous facade. The way his eyes narrow sends a surge of indignation coursing through you, your pride flaring in response.

"Forgive me if I’ve offended you," Paul's words are clipped, his tone tinged with an edge that sets your jaw tight. "Considering certain connections you may have, it's important to be cautious in matters of trust. But if you're lost, then allow me to escort you."

You bristle at the narrowly disguised accusation, your temper heating your cheeks. "Forgive me for assuming you’d know better than to judge me based on the actions of others," you retort, your voice sharp with wound. "Please don't exert yourself, my Lord, I'm sure I can find the armory without a chaperone."

With a sharp pivot, you brush past him in the doorway, your steps quick and purposeful. Each footfall echoes in the corridor, a staccato rhythm that you cannot bring yourself to care about hiding. Anger pulses through your veins, simmering your resentment. You refuse to be belittled or underestimated, not by him or anyone else.

Paul told you just yesterday that you will one day be Lady Atreides; if he is so afraid of your so-believed connections with House Harkonnen, why has he not insisted you be cast away?

You've observed Paul and his father together, and it's clear he is valued not just because he is the son of the Duke but because he is smart, cunning. Your face darkens at a thought as you tear past corners, finally rounding into a familiar area.

Your own lineage is gone. A house as old as the planet it ruled, burnt to the ground - the other Houses Major complacent and willing to see it happen - and they plan to use you for themselves.

You barely see anything but red.

If they think you can be manipulated to their advantage, they are sorely mistaken. you may be betrothed to Paul Atreides, but you will never be a part of their house; your blood is the ancient blood of the Pine, of the Sword.

You'll have to be a wife to the future Duke - sire an heir, live in the castle, command the planet. But you will not go down easy.

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The armory is not as empty as you'd wished.

In fact, it is one person too many; you're mistaken sorely when you storm in, chest heaving and cheeks hot with anger, to find one person standing in the middle of the floor. You are vibrating with hurt, anger boiling over - the only thing that will placate you might be swinging a knife.

"Duncan." You greet him icily, your voice devoid of warmth. He faces you, blinking back his surprise. He uses your first name like a secret as he greets you; a flip of your stomach. You'd almost forgotten that name.

"Is everything alright?" He asks. A foolish question, really. You want to scream - Why did you wait so long to get me? Where were you? Where were my parents?

But you already know the answer. They were doing nothing. You grit your teeth, instead striding purposefully towards him.

"You're the Swordmaster of the Duke." You remark coolly, masking your anger - You know this, of course; He's been Duke Leto's Swordmaster since before you were bore into the world.

"That's right." He affirms, wary of your movements as you stride towards the weapons rack.

"I find myself missing my knife - If I remember correctly, you took it from me on Giedi Prime." You walk slowly towards the center of the sparring mat where he stands, in front of the rack of shortswords. "I would like it back."

To your surprise, Duncan nods. "Of course." he replies, "Would you like to spar for it?"

He reads you like a book.

"No honor without a fight.” you acquiesce; Fighting a man is much better than fighting a dummy, anyways - more to hit, more pain to inflict. Without waiting for a response, you snatch a blade from the rack; He tosses you a shield that you activate swiftly, assuming an offensive stance as he settles his own.

For a moment, neither of you does anything; your blood pulses through you, eager to take out your anger, eager to show him who you've become.

To show that you're the beast everyone expects you to be.

You lunge at him and quickly are reminded of the skill of the man in front of you. You haven't sparred with anyone in over a week; In the commotion of your family's abdication, the arenas had been filled to the brim with your house's soldiers the whole week leading up to your exit from Giedi Prime. Even Feyd had been too occupied to fight you; Though, perhaps feeling sentimental, he’d let you pull your blade on him that last evening when you’d been on him, breath heavy against each other.

It takes only minutes before your muscles are aching, screaming; The frustration of the morning and the despair within your stomach spurs you forward, keeping your feet under your body.

Soon, your panting and the clang of steel on steel fills the room, punctuated only by both you and Duncan's measured breathing.

It’s been a long time since you trained with Duncan Idaho. You used to move together like water, even when you were just fifteen; he'd taught you how to fight like a Ginaz - your bloodline - and though his visits were sparse, he'd see you for your planet’s harvest festivals, always with a blade in your grip and your brother's hand in the other.

You were graceful when you were young and still learning. But now you're quick, snarling like a rabid dog, lashing out with teeth and nail.

It feels nothing like it used to be.

"Have something to say, Idaho?" you ask, letting out a quick gasp as he gets near to taking you down, ducking at the last second as he charges your right side. He’d been sending you looks of interest at your newfound techniques for several minutes.

He lets out a breath as you slide past him, slamming your elbow hard into his side; A dirty move, but all is fair in war, right?

"You fight different, Little Bourbon," He's at least breaking a sweat; you're drenched, muscles fatigued as you fight his blade, straining with the adrenaline of a fight. He said the same thing days ago.

You're out of breath; "You already told me that." Your voice is faint as you wipe sweat from your brow, parring an attack to your left side. "It's the veil." You grit your teeth.

To be fair, it could be the veil - it's restrictive, catching on corners, pinning beneath your arm or tangling as you fight hand-to-hand. You can't see well wearing it.

His brow lifts, "I think it's probably the four years with those beasts."

Your blood runs cold; expression souring, your hackles rise.

"What do you know of those beasts?" You snap, heart pounding as you think of the man who'd once been your intended - who'd called you his pet but paraded you like a wife. Spoiled you, ruined you. Tortured you, nurtured you - What was that old saying, about biting the hand that fed you?

But suddenly Feyd-Rautha is in front of you, wielding both curved blades with that sinister black smile. You stumble back for a second, staring at his intimidating, lithe frame as he laughs a mirthless, dangerous chuckle down at you.

Don’t worry, my pet. I will find you again.

Heart in pain, you lash out, grunting as you swipe at his face; It's Duncan, though, and you can't hide the gasp as you blink away the vision. Your heart thuds heavy between your ribs.

He jolts back, tutting. "I didn't mean to imply that it is a weakness, my lady." He blocks a blow and you struggle for a moment against his sheer strength; with a twinge of anger, you can tell he's going easy on you.

He continues on. "-Far from it. you seem to forget that I've fought them, but that is besides the point-" He's momentarily distracted when he disarms you, and you use the opportunity to flip sideways, jumping gracefully over the water station to retrieve your blade. His face betrays a look of appreciation at your acrobatics, smirking as the pitcher of water shakes slightly.

Concealing a grin, you creep back around, launching into an attack that he parries quickly, dropping you on to your side. You grunt, kicking with your legs to twist, trying to force his body off of yours - a momentary weakness, and you're done.

He stares down at you, raising his brows. "I'm just saying, maybe there's aspects of your training that could benefit from a more balanced approach." He finishes his sentence just as he bests you, your blade flipping against your own ribs as he forces your arm tight against yourself. you hiss and twist; to no avail.

He's won.

Still fighting the adrenaline from your vision of Feyd, you snarl. "What are you implying? I'm too rabid an animal for you people to tame? Is House Atreides scared of Little Bourbon?" You snap, eyes alight with heat. "Or, are they just afraid I've become Little Harkonnen?" you snap.

He does not take your bait. Instead, he rolls off of you, standing up and offering you a hand. With a sharp glance, you take it, letting him pull your full weight off the ground as if you're nearly weightless.

"What I am saying is that I am here every day. Come train whenever you please."

You sigh, side cramping as you move from his grip to pour yourself a glass of water. You pour a shaky one for Duncan, too, trying to fight the creeping sensation that he's talking to a stranger. He grasps the water gently, watching you from the corner of his eye.

The hesitation makes your jaw clench in anticipation; You busy yourself by examining the various blades that lie before you, knowing what's to come.

Finally, he says your name softly. "We haven't gotten to discuss any of this..." he is clearly trying to put together words, but you cannot bear to hear them - you drag your finger along a curved blade, eyes squinting shut.

"I'm sorry. I…" he starts gently, trailing off as if he can't bear to say it out loud, reaching out to touch your arm but thinking twice. His fingers hesitate just before your bicep.

Just as much; You fight not to recoil from his touch, swallowing hard as you step away slightly, tossing the knife back on the rack. "I'm fine," you reply curtly, voice steelier than ever. "Nothing to do about it now."

Duncan sighs, but does not call your bluff. You almost appreciate him for it.

"Now where did you put my knife?"

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:

You're struck with an observation when you sit in the conference hall across from the Duke later that afternoon: They do not sit like a council, looking down at you - instead, the table is rounded with only one seat missing, next to Halleck. You suspect Paul's is the body absent from the chair; he’s training with Duncan, then. You must have just missed him on your way back.

Cautiously, your fingers toy with your newly reclaimed blade, its shine restored with the etchings across the hilt. You're significantly tired after your sparring, but Duncan’s words have settled a thin blanket of unease over you that pulls taught when your eyes land on the Lady Jessica. Her eyes stare unblinking at you, and though there is a soft smile upon her lips, you have to fight to resist a snarl.

The Duke is serious as he regards you, hands clasping as you make yourself comfortable; he holds up a hand to stop the guards who unsheathe their blades when you set your own blade down in front of you for all to see.

A threat, or perhaps a sign of respect. You're unsure.

"Lady Bourbon, thank you for meeting with us." His voice is a deep caramel, not unlike his son's - years of diplomatic training. "We know how hard this can be. The weight of your sudden responsibility does not go unappreciated."

You nod curtly, gaze fixed on the table before you; You've never been known for your patience. "How may I be of service, my Lord?"

At your deflection, he nods slightly, "I was told you spent the afternoon training with Duncan Idaho." He speaks plainly and you are, if nothing else, appreciative of that; His eyes glance over the short sword that lays in front of you, to the signature black leather that wraps around the hilt. Once, it had served as a claim - but now, you're unsure.

"Yes, my Lord." You say, voice serious and strong.

The Duke’s brows are low over his eyes; an expression you can imagine on his son's face quite easily. You're unsurprised Paul has become such a well-respected figure in the castle even with the workers and servants who tend to you every morning - even this morning Hestia told you of his rigorous training but also of his intelligence, diplomacy, and honor. While you had clenched your jaw at her words, you now suppose in a diplomatic sense, he will assume his father's role quite perfectly one day.

"We'd like to reiterate that you are free to pursue your interests, to educate yourself, and to engage in hobbies that bring you joy. We hope for you to consider this your home, and know that we are here to support you in any way we can." Lady Jessica says, her voice quiet but intense; much like her son.

This is… not what you’d anticipated. You sit, rigid as a board, eyes wide. You're unsurprised that your unease on this planet is clear - you barely sleep, you never eat around them, you barely speak, choosing to keep to yourself.

"We would like to know of your interests so we may set you up with any materials you may need. I'd like to introduce to you Dr. Yueh, as well as Thufir Hawat, who have volunteered to help tutor you should you wish. Duncan Idaho also wishes to help you train if you see fit. I understand you knew him when you were young." The Duke offers, sitting straight in his seat.

Much to your chagrin, your eyes burn with unshed tears as you slowly process the words. For the first time in what feels like an eternity, you're being offered a taste of freedom.

It sends you into fight or flight; your heartbeat pounds against your ribs, your hands clenching hard. You feel cornered, but take a breath. There is no hostility here.

I must not fear. fear is the mind-killer. fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me.

Clearing your throat, you lift your head slightly. "Your...generosity overwhelms me. I was educated for a while in politics and local economics, and I've always been fascinated by botany and ecology- I..." your mouth is incredibly dry, voice void of emotion. You bite your lip, one tear slowly tracking over your cheek; You really must be exhausted.

"Thank you." You don't know what else to say.

There is a small gleam of recognition that passes Duke Leto's eyes at your words, his smile intrigued. "Those are noble pursuits. You have similar interests to my own son - I believe you two will have much to discuss."

Your mouth bitters at the suggestion and you try not to squirm in your seat; For a moment, you'd slipped away - into a world where you are their daughter, a world where you aren't tainted by the last several years, by the crimes of your House- where you haven’t been turned into a monster that hisses at a glimpse of the sun.

But of course, as you'd expected, there is no good will for free: The next words set your back rigid.

"Though we are hesitant to put you into another painful situation, it is hard to deny just how helpful you could be to us, my Lady." Gurney Halleck speaks from besides the Duke.

Your eyes snake to him, your back prickling. You resist the urge to run, or to throw your blade at his head.

"-and we hope, when you are ready, you might give us some insight into your previous arrangements." He says, surprisingly delicately.

You can't help but bristle at the sentiment; the offer of cooperation feels more like coercion. You don't by law owe the Atreides anything besides wedding their son, but the implications of the arrangement suggest a lifetime of servitude towards them - and you despise owing people anything.

Perhaps, if not just the Harkonnens, they prefer you for your relationship with your bastard mother's sister, the lady of House Ginaz? This thought has several times crossed your mind, but you're sure they'd be displeased to hear of how strained such relationship became when the Harkonnens started filtering your messages.

Barely any of her letters made it to you for the last several years in your time at Giedi Prime, and you're almost certain none of yours made it out at all. You haven't heard from her in some time.

You wait a moment, collecting your thoughts and willing yourself to only reveal what you need them to know. Self-preservation builds itself around you like rock-solid armor. "During my time with the Harkonnens, I became privy to certain..." you purse your lips, looking for the right word, "lateral moves."

Gurney Halleck's eyes fly to you, as do Lady Jessica's.

"-However, my interactions were primarily with Feyd-Rautha; The Baron held little interest in me until my family was caught, and Glossu Rabban suspected me of being a spy long before he'd ever met me." As you speak, Lady Jessica's keen eyes observe you closely, her lips pressed into a thin line. You pretend not to notice as her hand flicks down by her side, the Duke and War Master's eyes flickering down to observe her hidden words.

You set your jaw, ignoring their silent communication, "I do not know much about their deals on Arrakis, but I have gathered enough about their industries on Giedi Prime." You say, eyeing them all. Recalling Paul’s earlier mistrust, you add, "I have no reason to lie."

It's quiet at the table as the Duke sits in thought, Gurney turning to whisper lowly to the man. He nods, and after a moment, looks back at you. "I'd wonder if you might attend a meeting with my Strategy Council next week." The Duke proposes, shocking you. Stiffly, you nod. "There is a Space Trade Route Referendum coming soon, as I'm sure you know, and we would benefit from your insight."

You truly have to fight the flush that grows on your cheeks, reminding yourself of where you are, who you are. These are still the people who think you are some rabid dog that they may muzzle. A pawn to play.

"I'd be pleased, my Lord." It comes short of genuine in tone, your apprehension showing.

He nods, glancing down before looking back up. "If I may..." He addresses you with your first name, a jolt to your system. "We value everyone in this castle. Plans have changed quickly, and it is more than understandable if you have felt unwelcome or alienated here on Caladan, though we do not wish it."

You let a short breath, biting back a bitter quip about their son and his willingness to chew you out for exploring the walls of what was supposed to be your castle.

But perhaps your anger and fear have been projected onto the Duke and Lady Jessica, which, in fairness, is not theirs to receive; No matter if their son is mistrusting, they have shown nothing but respect for you in this transition. You hesitate, biting your lip.

"I apologize if I have come off as ungrateful." Your voice is much softer than anticipated, your throat floundering in embarrassment. You can only thank your lucky stars that the Atreides boy is not here to snicker at your misery - though as the sharp eyes of everyone at the table turn to you, the self-deprecating feeling turns towards disdain for him; anger, for daring to disrespect his future wife.

"It was never my intention." You take a breath, choosing your words carefully. "I am not unused to being treated like a spy, even in the house I am supposed to become a part of."

Your voice is strong as your chin holds high, staring straight at the Duke although he cannot see your gaze. "Perhaps, if I were less interrogated by select members of the House Atreides, I might feel more at ease." You speak honestly; if nothing else comes of this, perhaps Paul will get his ear chewed out by his father or mother - and that, you feel, is justice.

You don't care that you are a stranger to everyone at this table and they have known him for his whole life; you will not be pushed around.

Folding your hands, you continue, "I'd like to pass along my personal apologies for entering your old study this morning when I was lost." you say, "Lord Paul informed me that it is off-limits to my kind."

The looks on their faces show their varying degrees of surprise; the Duke, however, glances sidelong at the empty seat at the table before clenching his jaw, eyes something akin to irate. The two make eye contact before Halleck sighs gently, hand falling over his forehead.

You can tell the Duke is about to speak but you don't wish to listen to any excuse he could find for his brat of a son- unfortunately for you, it is not acceptable to interrupt a Duke. So you sit, foot bouncing on the floor, as he purses his lips.

"This arrangement was certainly a shock to him as well as to you. But that does not permit disrespectful behavior." This, indeed, comes as surprise to you, having expected them to support the na-Duke's every whim.

"-As for my former study, it is now used as an archive room. I apologize if there was any confusion regarding its accessibility - I will speak with my son about the importance of clarity and respect in our household rules." His words held a note of sternness; a silent admonishment directed towards his absent heir. "You are allowed wherever you wish."

Once again, you're flooded with emotion; Perhaps they do want you to come into your own here. Perhaps the Duke's son has his own opinions about you and your history, but that does not mean his parents feel the same.

You feel a sudden spark of rebellion - could you find some kind of purpose with House Atreides, despite their ulterior motives? After all, your house was once a strong ally of theirs. The thought flickers tantalizingly before you, only to be swiftly extinguished by the reality of your situation.

No, you remind yourself bitterly. You are tainted with blood - not Atreides, not Bourbon - but Harkonnen. Paul will always see you as a beast, wife or not.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:

Supper is called later than Paul expects.

His stomach growls by the time you come into the hall; though he and his parents have been at the table for some time.

There is a box in his hand, one that will sit next to him until the end of dinner. It glares at him tauntingly; he avoids its stare.

You may not always like her, but you will treat her with the respect and care befitting of a future spouse.

How foolish he’d been this morning - flustered, angry at the arrangement - what awful coincidence he'd run into you snooping around the old study. He knows better than to treat you that way, even if he does not trust you.

Paul ignores the twist in his stomach as his father glances at him; The air is tense with their previous conversation - his parents are upset with him. But Paul knows he must amend his actions; It does not matter his apprehension. You will be his wife, and he your husband. He rolls his neck, feeling it pop as he waits.

Paul knows that whatever he is feeling, you're likely feeling a hundred times more.

So, for both your sakes, he will learn to live with you, and it will start tonight. It will start with the box to his right.

You enter through the doors, your pace slow as you look around. Despite himself, Paul's cheeks heat up; You're wearing a simple dark dress, your figure snug with flowing sleeves - but the veil you wear this evening is significantly less thick than any you’ve warn yet.

You're still concealed behind the fabric that falls over your head, but your eyes are large behind it, meeting his for what feels like the first time.

With a chill, he realizes he can see your stare, the fullness of your lips, the upturn of your cheeks, the way you take in a quick breath; He's struck with your beauty and forces himself to nod and greet you.

There's that look to you - contained, schooled to be polite - but he knows better. You nod back tersely as your eyes glow against the dark green mesh and beads that fall over the crown of your head, and he's suddenly struck with the strange desire to see more of you.

Instead, he forces himself to look down at the table.

Dinner is less uncomfortable than he'd feared; you seem much more relaxed than he's ever seen you, though your voice is still quite calculated - even his mother is relaxed, asking about the wintering sport you'd mentioned learning in your youth.

His heart hammers in his chest when the dishes begin to be cleared, knowing it is his time to present the first of several of your House's courting steps. He'd poured over them before going to train this afternoon; Perhaps this won't be the most traditional example of your culture's marriage customs, but most of your people are gone.

There's no use in fighting it, and he can only try his best to make you feel more comfortable.

His parents excuse themselves, but with a jump of panic, he calls for you to stay, just for a moment. Paul waits silently as his parents wish you a good evening, sending him a stern look that sets his teeth on edge. When they are gone, you remain seated as if frozen, your eyes wary. Perhaps you expect him to berate you again.

Gifting heirlooms is a sacred tradition, passed down through generations, where the betrothed proudly wear the sigil of their new house as a symbol of unity and commitment.

Paul's heart races nervously as he stands, straightening his dark tunic before approaching you, the small velvet box clutched tightly in his hand. With each step closer, your eyes sharpen with suspicion. You shift your hand through the skirt of your dress, as if searching for something- a weapon, maybe - but you have no chance to wield it as he rounds on you.

He offers you the box with a slight tremor in his hand, small enough that you likely don't notice; Flipping it open, he tries to swallow his reluctance. This is his duty. You stare down at it, your demeanor guarded and unreadable.

Plush lips partially hidden behind a sheet of green part -for a moment, Paul wonders why you seem completely shell-shocked; he brushes aside the thought, attributing it to the formality of the gesture after his childish behavior earlier in the day.

"My Lady," he begins, his voice steady but tinged with nervousness, "I hope you will accept this pendant as a token of my-" He clears his throat awkwardly, "Of our betrothal." He's incredibly thankful to be so well-versed on diplomacy; "I apologize for how I acted this morning. It was childish." His voice comes out strong, if not slightly quiet.

You stare at the necklace, eyes taking in the green and gold sigil of Atreides; a hawk, small but ornamental. It was his great-great-grandmother's from her wedding day, cherished for many years. After his lesson this morning, he’d searched for something that seemed fit to uphold your family's tradition - the color would suit you well, too.

He waits for your response, hoping against hope that you'll see the gesture for what it truly is: An attempt to bridge the gap between the two of you; Suggested by his parents, yes, but chosen and executed by himself.

Your eyes harden, as if a decision has been made in your sharp mind. He tries not to sway on his feet when you move your hands towards the box.

"Thank you." Your voice is much too cold. Your eyes hold none of the shine he'd seen previously, and it is with a pain in his stomach that he recognizes your sharp glance sideways. Your eyes are lethal, he decides - just as lethal as the rest of you is.

You would not be as civil if it were just you and him, he is sure of it; His parents may be gone, but there are servants who watch on out the corner of their eyes as they clear dishes.

He can't help but feel slightly dishonest, perhaps he should have waited until the two of you were truly alone.

Your own hands shake as you reach under your veil, clasping the necklace around your neck slowly. He watches with a dry mouth, knowing better than to think your shaking is anything but resentment on your part.

"It is a gorgeous collar." You utter.

Turning to stare up into his eyes, Paul's heart thuds.

"I shall wear it like a dog."

The choice of words unsettles him completely, but you are out of the door before his lips find anything to say.

follow @tremendumnotifs for updates.

#paul atreides x you #paul atreides x reader #paul atreides smut #feyd rautha smut #feyd rautha x reader #dune fanfiction #dune smut #me and the devil; series #paul atreides i need you so bad #paul x reader

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teecupangel · 29 days ago

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So. We’ve seen Desmond going back in time and becoming a doctor in Altaïr’s time and Ezio’s time, but I’ve never seen Desmond becoming a doctor in Ratonhnhaké:ton’s time. Any ideas?

The first thing I thought about is Desmond going to the homestead and just staying there as a doctor but that would be taking Dr White’s place and Ratonhnhaké:ton would never turn him away when he clearly needed help.

The next idea that I thought of is that Desmond just kicked the door open to the manor, told Achilles that he was Altaïr’s descendant and that he’s trying to hide from people out for his blood so he’s gonna stay there. Achilles tries to shoo him away, Ratonhnhaké:ton thinks he’s telling the truth (Desmond didn’t say that the people out for his blood was far into the distant future but he didn’t lie) so he’s supportive of Desmond staying in the manor.

That’s how Desmond starts his ‘unofficial’ job as the private physician of Davenport manor.

More often than not, he takes care of any wounds that Ratonhnhaké:ton gets and checks him every time he returned to the manor after his missions. He also visits the dock and check on the crew of the Aquila to ensure no one was on their way to suffering scurvy.

And most importantly, he takes over cooking duties to make sure Achilles eats well and healthy and absolutely not skipping any meals and just drinking tea and eating some biscuits.

He and Dr White form a kind of partnership. Dr White takes care of the residents of the homestead, Desmond takes care of the two men in the manor.

Dr White also shares his medicines and tinctures (although Desmond isn’t really keen on a lot of them) and Desmond teaches him what he knows of.

Where did he get his medical background?

Well…

Let’s just say Desmond really got into House MD and started researching and watching actual medical documentaries and books. He knows a lot about first aid and medical properties of herbs and plants because of the Farm’s education so he’s really a mix-match 21st century survivalist medical know how and ‘all theories but no practice’ medical student rolled up into one molotov cocktail ready to explode.

Dr White finds him fascinating but also knows that there would be doctors who would dismiss Desmond’s practices and maybe even call him a charlatan.

It should be fine if he remains in the homestead.

Because he will remain in the homestead.

Right?

Of course not. Desmond leaves the homestead once things really starts moving for the revolution and becomes a field doctor.

And that’s how he got the interest of George Washington.

#assassin's creed #ask and answer #teecup writes/has a plot #fic idea: assassin's creed #desmond miles #ratonhnhaké:ton #connor kenway #achilles davenport

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mauesartetc · 1 year ago

Text

FREE PALESTINE MASTERPOST

Trying to keep this blog more art- and creativity-focused in general, so I'll be removing the Gaza-related reblogs that are about a month old. But I'll use this post as a permanent archive that will update periodically (some of this information will grow dated as the situation develops, but I think it's important to keep a record of just how fiercely opposed people were to Israel's actions from this moment forward). We should all continue to raise our voices about this, and refuse to support politicians who enable genocide. Remember, they work for us, not the other way around. Keep going.

October 2023

-Donation links

-Social media links

-US congress ceasefire script

-Decolonizepalestine.com (information, mythbusting)

-More donation links

-Ways to pressure politicians for a ceasefire

-HUGE resource list

-"Is there anything I can do to help Palestinians besides call my representatives and beg them to stop killing people?"

-"We are isolated now"

-Palestine and landback

-210 PAGES of dead people's names.

-Bail money for Palestine Action

-Article list

-US action items

-Boycott info

-Grand Central Station shut down by protestors

-Message to white American citizens

-UK ceasefire petition

-How YOU can help Palestine (regularly updated!)

-"Please try amidst all this fury and grief to still have faith in the common people." (+donation links)

-Reminder about protest etiquette and privacy

-Prints for Palestine

-"We have no communication with the outside world. They are using their military might to harm us. We have no power but the power of God, no one but God. Please, pray for us." (spoken over mosque speakers)

-DAILY donate button + more donation links

-"Doesn't Israel have a right to exist too?"

-Script for US Congress calls

-Queerness under apartheid

-Sudan is also at war

-Hundreds of thousands of protestors in London

-Half a million.

-Tips for folks with phone anxiety

-This comic got real

-European and Canadian ceasefire scripts

-"The people of Gaza see the protests. That is reason enough to come even if nothing else." WE HAVE NOT FORGOTTEN YOU. WE ARE HERE.

November 2023

-More genocides than just Palestine

-How to buy e-sims to circumvent Gaza's internet blackout

-"Occupying territories is illegal. Resistance to occupying forces is legal."

-MASSIVE resource list

-"For decades now the media has told us Muslim men are savages, terrorists, wife beaters and everything in between. I want you to challenge this trope the next time you see it in the media. Let these photos serve as a reminder."

-"Don't stop talking about the Palestinian genocide. IT'S WORKING."

-UN resignation letter

-Israel won't allow Irish or Brazilian citizens to leave Gaza

-"Palestine must never be forgotten. Promise me that." (from the documentary "Children of Shatila")

-Gifs of pro-Palestine rallies around the world

-Support Palestine's last kufiya factory

-Protestors flood the streets in Washington DC

-Explanation of why calling representatives is a numbers game

-FREE ebooks on the history of this conflict

-Petition to screen films by Palestinian directors

-Call to boycott Gal Godot's work

-Indigenous activists block weapons shipment to Israel

-If you're attending a protest, DON'T TELL YOUR GOVERNMENT SHIT. Y'know, friendly advice.

-Links to support Palestine Action and Palestine Legal. Get in the way.

-Parallels between Israel and the surveillance tactics used by NYC mayor Eric Adams

-Don't spiral into doomerism. Persevere.

-Want a different strategy to contact your representatives? Try faxing them!

-Florida rep Michelle Salzman calls for the death of all Palestinians

-"The phone doesn't stop" :)

-Indian trade unions call on the government to scrap deals with Israel

-An overview of Israel's human rights violations, and two major political groups that have exacerbated Zionism in the US

-Israeli man explains why he's protesting

-"Whoever stays until the end will tell the story. We did what we could. Remember us."

-US House of Representatives votes to send billions of dollars worth of weapons to Israel

-Canadian email campaign and petitions

-"Canada's First Nation standing with Palestine"

-"Freedom is infectious as it is just and no one is free until they ALL are."

-Israeli forces invade al-Shia hospital

-Leaked list of weapons the US has sent to Israel

-Only 32% of Americans believe the US should support Israel

-Cop City action demonstrates how to protest effectively

-Refugee grandmother "doesn't have to imagine a multicultural and integrated Palestine- she remembers it".

-Protestors block the Bay Bridge in San Francisco (plus bail fund)

-Israeli forces attack schools in northern Gaza. SCHOOLS.

-Journalist shares an update from an Indonesian hospital and pleads for others to spread it around as it "may be the last video we are able to send"

-Scottish Parliament votes overwhelmingly to demand a ceasefire

-Sobering texts from a friend providing humanitarian aid in Gaza. "They have been distributing guns to the civilian settlers and allowing them into the West Bank to terrorize people" "We have been given option to leave. None took it"

-"the absolute bare minimum in this situation is 1) a complete ceasefire and immediate humanitarian aid in Gaza, 2) complete halt of all military foreign aid to the Israeli government, 3) the Israeli government being prosecuted for its war crimes in the International Criminal Court, and 4) land back and reparations for the Palestinian people. free Palestine means free Palestine, not just temporarily stop carpet bombing Palestine."

-"It's important that you keep posting and speaking about the ongoing genocide. This 5 day agreement isn't the end of things."

-Boosting the incredible, FREE daily donate button again

-Protests at the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade

-"REMINDER THAT ANTISEMITES AREN'T WELCOME HERE AND WON'T BE TOLERATED"

#free palestine #masterpost #master list #long post

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kingofbodyrolls · 2 months ago

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For this rainbow, I finally picked up my professional camera again. The last images stored there tells me that the last time I used it was the 1st of December 2023. Wild. But I picked it up thanks to this pretty rainbow, which was actually a double rainbow. So pretty. This image is made up of three into a panorama shot, and Lightroom was a bit funky with putting them together, so please don't mind the badly processed house in the middle; no, we're not looking at that 😂

For people who want a wall of text status update, it's under the cut.

How are you all doing? I'm hanging in there. Not active much, but I still haven't gotten myself into deleting my tumblr app. So I still see and get all your notifs, even if I don't reply right away! I'm still taking time off, trying to figure out what I want to do with the blog for the future... I have not written a fanfic in some time now, but I have two finished stories that are ready to be published, but I'm not sure. I'm not sure about a lot of things these days... I've had dark days, written a lot of sad and dark poems (that will go on my sub blog some time in the future), and I've begun to write an original story. It's really fun; about magic, witches and mages; about good and evil and all the gray in between. It will probably bore you, but it's fun to write, even though I don't think anyone would read it except for a few friends (even though this thing might be the longest thing I'll write, turning into either two or three books lol).

Serotonin boost I get happy when I get notifs with comments and/or reblogs of my stories; it really touches my heart. To be honest, this is why I left/taking time off. I've always felt that interaction was low, and my stupid brain will not let me stop comparing myself to others, so it slowly killed my drive for writing and posting. If no one interacts, what's the point of posting? If no one interacts, what's the point of writing? But I love writing, and it's one of my creative outlets, so I couldn't let that go completely, hence I started writing original stories instead; no ones gonna read them anyway, but I can still play with characters, world building and storytelling. Those are the things I loved about fanfics---and I still do, don't get me wrong. But I feel so discouraged being on here. But I'm happy to know that a few people still care.

The Downfall This also made it quite hard for me to read; because I felt so unmotivated... I haven't read much this month at all. I tried to read a fanfic this Monday, didn't finish it and haven't picked it up since. Honestly, I've just been watching documentaries because I'm in a (tumblr) slump. I feel drained though; I feel like I've given so much, and I love it. I love making people happy, leaving lovely reviews, and it's as much for myself as it is for making another person happy---but to be honest, it has drained me. I know I shouldn't ask for anything in return, but I feel imbalanced. Like I'm not being filled with much love, if that makes sense? I don't really feel appreciated, but don't get me wrong, I don't feel hated (yeah, I'm so good at being black and white), sorry---I know I sound very pessimistic. But you guess have always been so kind to me, and I love you a lot, and I have a few super lovely mutuals and friends that are lovely internet friends that I adore, so I wanted to be real with all of you. You can hate me for it if you want to. Go ahead.

I don't think I'm going to make a recommend list this month. I haven't really read anything, so it'll be really small. And I don't like the pressure of it anymore... which is why for a long time I've thought about not doing them anymore. Maybe some day I will again in the future. But I'd still love to make rec list on the member's birthdays! And I think this will help me, take some pressure off myself (that I've created myself), so I'll still read and rec, it will just be slower---whenever I feel like it, and not because I have to read to make a monthly rec list. This isn't my job, I'm not getting paid doing all of this, and the amount of time I've been spending on both reading and writing is more than 37+ hours a week, sooo. I have to slow down.

A part of me thinks that I flew too fast, too high and too close to the sun, lol. I'm still gonna be here, you can still send in asks for rec list or whatever you want, all is welcome (except hate, because then I'll simply just delete my blog, my mental health can't take that).

To post, or not to post? Should I post the two stories that I have? Both of them are for the series Friendcation.

And for the unfinished mermaid stories I still have left, I hope I'll finish them in the future; when, I don't know. Maybe one day I'll feel love for them again, to finish them. I have them all planned out, but like I mentioned before, with low interaction, I'm really not motivated to finish them, even though part of me really want to for the like five people that are so sweet and invested, and always comments and reblogs (you guys know who you are, and I love you so fucking much 🥰).

To all the stories I'll probably never write...

I still have some other unfinished but planned stories, and I'm gonna list them here, just for the hell of it. Don't know if people would have found them interesting anyway, but here goes:

Words on a Page (a Namjoon x reader, idol!au where reader is a fanfiction writer and interviewer for a magazine and has to interview BTS). Author's comment: probably never gonna write it. It has been done before, and it was just a very very silly dream I had.

Songs of The Heart (a Jimin x reader, musician!au where Jimin is a single father and reader moves into the house next to his, hear his lonely songs etc, they meet, talk, very angsty, sad and nostalgic and 'Who' coded). Author's comment: this idea came to me after listening to 'who' and then thinking about Jimin being my next door neighbor, yeah, that's it. Don't know if this will ever get written.

IT Support (a Jimin x reader, office!au where Jimin is your nerdy coworker, but a freak in the sheets, lol). Author's comment: this has honestly been on my list for years, but I never written anything for it, and I probably never will, even though I've made the banner and all.

I do have a few more, but I've already scraped those, and then there's the four mermaid stories to add to the list. I'm probably mostly excited about the mermaid stories, and those would be my priority if I ever get back into writing fanfiction again.

I swear, I'm almost finished... Okay, this whole thing has gotten incredibly long. Sorry. Before I end this post, I just want to say how happy and grateful I am to each and everyone of you. I've met some incredible nice people on here, some really caring ones. I'll never forget that. And I'll never forget each wonderful and lovely comment, some people have really helped me, motivated me when I felt low, and when I wanted to stop writing a few months back. Thank you. I kept going, and I wish I could keep going for you, making something special, for the special people I met here. I actually really wanted to do requests for you guys in hopes that it would motivate me into writing, but I just don't know. I still want to give so much back to the people who have hyped me up, so I'm going to tag a few of you lovely people--- if you have a request for a story, you're welcome to message me or send me an ask. I don't know if or when I'll write it, but in case I get a bit of motivation, I have some things I could write from, so if you want to, you can send me a request (just keep in mind the story will probably be a one-shot from 10-20k max or maybe shorter, lol, you never know with me). You don't have to send me a request, I simply want to give back to some lovely people. I wish I could hug you.

@letjungcoook7 @honeybloomyyyy @babystarcandyjk97 @minpdrecs @bobathi @allie-is-a-panda @back2bluesidex @gimeow @antisocial-mochi267

These are but just a few of the people that have supported me on there, either by commenting, reblogging, ask, messaging--you name it. I could list many others, and one day I might make a post celebrating all mt lovely mutuals, that means a lot to me. Thank you for interacting; you've (as long with others) helped me when times were tough. Thank you.

I had actually planned to open a "recommend a fic" section/box, but I'm not sure about that. I still have so many fics on my to read list, and right now I don't want to pile more onto it. Might do it in the future, when I've finally made it through my own lists.

Okay, I have to end this post for real now.

I'm still on tumblr, I still have my app. I deleted my discord app on my phone, but I'm still part of the servers I was before, I'm just not active. It's better for me that way right now, because it all got to be too much. I was just reminded of how much of a failure I feel like (no, we're not getting into that not, store it away). But you can always contact me here. I'm lurking sometimes. I look forward to reading in a more leisurely pace and hopefully not feeling pressured to make the rec lists as I did before (even though just for the completionist in me I want to finish them for just this year, lol).

Okay. If you read this far---thank you, I adore you, I love you, you're nice, keep going 💜

#lissa updates #lissa talks #personal

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ashintheairlikesnow · 1 year ago

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In the ruins of Pompeii, there is a room inside a house where two men were painting on the day Mt. Vesuvius erupted in AD 79.

The master painter was at work on the fresco itself, twining vines in green, men and women looking out of the image to one side. His partner, probably an apprentice or lesser, younger painter, was laying down fresh plaster nearby. We know it was fresh because the pumice left significant pockmarks in it as it dried that we can still see today.

There are holes where a shelf stood holding the different colors of paint, in the wall just below the unfinished fresco. We found jars of paint on the floor - red green blue white yellow black. We found his tools, the brushes and the pot of lime that kept the paint wet.

He spilled lime on the painting.

We can tell that, too. It is caked clear as day over the unfinished work.

In a documentary I am watching, an Italian anthropologist discussing the moment of eruption looks to the cameraman and says, with real sincerity, "We found their tools, but we didn't find them. We hope that they ran away, that they survived."

Next door, a baker left his livestock behind when he fled. We found the skeletal remains of the animals who helped to move the millstone, but we did not find the baker.

Not that we are certain of, anyway.

I just wanted to take a moment to think about a modern Italian anthropologist looking at unfinished paintings and bread turned to stone by ash and time, hoping to himself that those people made it out in time.

We are separated by almost two thousand years, but we still have empathy for lives facing terror beyond their understanding. We still hope against hope that two painters ran out of town and made a new life somewhere else, that they escaped before the final pyroclastic flows descended.

We hope the baker moved to another town.

We recognize ourselves in what was left behind, and hope that these people - who could have been us, but for a trick of time and place - had a fighting chance to survive.

I just.

Sometimes, I love people.

I love us.

#history #pompeii #mt. Vesuvius #mount vesuvius #vesuvius #volcano #italy #people have always been people

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whileiamdying · 4 months ago

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All the Films in Competition at Cannes, Ranked from Best to Worst

The twenty-two films that premièred in the 2024 festival’s main program offered much to savor and revile.

By Justin Chang May 26, 2024

The seventy-seventh annual Cannes Film Festival came to a startling and joyous conclusion on Saturday night, when the competition jury, chaired by Greta Gerwig, awarded the Palme d’Or, the festival’s highest honor, to “Anora,” a funny, harrowing, and finally quite moving portrait of a sex worker’s madcap New York misadventures. It was startling because the movie, though one of the best-received in the competition, had not been widely tipped for the top prize, which seldom goes to a U.S. film; with “Anora,” Sean Baker becomes the first American director to win the Palme since Terrence Malick did, for “The Tree of Life” (2011), thirteen years ago. And it was joyous not only because the award was bestowed on a worthy and remarkable film but because Baker used the occasion to deliver the best, most eloquent and impassioned acceptance speech I’ve ever heard a Palme winner give.

Reading from prepared remarks, Baker singled out two other filmmakers in the competition, Francis Ford Coppola and David Cronenberg, as among his personal heroes. He dedicated the award to sex workers everywhere, a fitting tribute from a filmmaker who has put their lives front and center, with drama, humor, and empathy, in movies like “Starlet” (2012), “Tangerine” (2015), and “Red Rocket” (2021). He tossed some exquisite shade in the direction of the “tech companies” behind the so-called streaming revolution—including, presumably, Netflix, which came away as one of the night’s big winners; its major acquisition of the festival, Jacques Audiard’s musical “Emilia Pérez,” won two prizes. And, in a moment that drew rapturous applause, Baker delivered a plea on behalf of theatrical films, declaring, “The future of cinema is where it started: in a movie theatre.”

I was fortunate to see all twenty-two films in the Cannes competition on the big screen, projected under superior conditions in houses packed with fellow movie lovers. It’s my hope that, when these movies are released in the U.S., as the great majority of them likely will be, you will seize the chance to see them on the big screen as well—even “Emilia Pérez,” which Netflix may not keep in theatres for long, but whose bold dramatic and stylistic risks have the best chance of winning you over if they have your undivided, wide-awake attention.

I have ranked the movies in order of preference, from best to worst. Here they are:

1. “Caught by the Tides”

Jia Zhangke, a Cannes competition veteran, has long been the cinema’s preëminent chronicler of modern China (“Mountains May Depart,” “Ash Is Purest White”), mapping its social, cultural, and geographical complexities with great formal acumen, and also with the longtime collaboration of his wife, the superb actress Zhao Tao. Jia’s latest work, drawing on an archive of footage shot in the course of roughly two decades, unfurls a story in fragments, about a woman (Zhao) and a man (Li Zhubin) who fall in love, bitterly separate, and have a melancholy reunion years later. It’s an achievement by turns fleeting and monumental: a series of interlocking time capsules, a wrenching feat of self-reflection, and a stealth musical, in which Zhao dances and dances, standing in for millions who have learned to sway and bend to history’s tumultuous beat.

2. “All We Imagine as Light”

As the first Indian feature invited to compete at Cannes in nearly three decades, Payal Kapadia’s narrative début (after her 2021 documentary, “A Night of Knowing Nothing”) would be notable enough; that the movie is so delicately felt and sensuously textured is cause for outright celebration. Winner of the festival’s Grand Prix, or second place, it tells the story of two roommates, Prabha (Kani Kusruti) and Anu (Divya Prabha), who work as nurses at a Mumbai hospital. It teases out their personal circumstances—Prabha’s estrangement from her unseen husband, Anu’s frowned-upon romance with a young Muslim man (Hridhu Haroon)—with a quiet truthfulness that, like the glittering lights of the city, lingers expansively in the memory. (A forthcoming Sideshow/Janus Films release.)

3. “Grand Tour”

The Portuguese director Miguel Gomes (“Tabu,” “Arabian Nights”) delivered some of the most virtuosic filmmaking in the competition—as the jury recognized by giving him the Best Director prize—with this characteristically yet extraordinarily playful colonial-era travelogue. Shifting between color and black-and-white, set in 1917 but full of fourth-wall-breaking anachronisms, the movie tells a story of sorts about a roving British diplomat (Gonçalo Waddington) and a fiancée (Crista Alfaiate) he’s in no hurry to marry. But its true fascination lies in the humid atmosphere and wanderlust-inspiring splendor of its East and Southeast Asian locations, ranging from Singapore and Bangkok to Shanghai and Rangoon. It’s a movie to get lost in.

4. “The Seed of the Sacred Fig”

It’s impossible to absorb this blistering domestic drama without thinking of its dissident director, Mohammad Rasoulof, who recently fled Iran after being sentenced to prison and a flogging. (His appearance at his film’s première made for one of the most emotional moments in recent Cannes memory.) Shot entirely in secret, the story follows a Tehran-based husband (Missagh Zareh) and wife (Soheila Golestani) who are increasingly at war with their progressive-minded young-adult daughters (Mahsa Rostami, Setareh Maleki) during nationwide political protests led by women. The result is a thriller of propulsive skill and blunt emotional force, marrying the muscularity of an action film to the psychological intensity of a chamber drama. (A forthcoming Neon release.)

5. “Anora”

The director Sean Baker is near the height of his storytelling powers with this dazzling (and now Palme d’Or-winning) portrait of a Manhattan strip-club dancer (a revelatory Mikey Madison) who impulsively marries the ultra-spoiled son (Mark Eydelshteyn) of a Russian oligarch. Much comic chaos ensues, some of it pushed past the brink of plausibility, but Baker’s multifaceted love for his characters proves infectious and sustaining, as does his belief that acts of unexpected kindness can redeem even the darkest nights of the soul. (A forthcoming Neon release.)

6. “The Shrouds”

Early on in this elegantly sombre yet mordantly funny new movie, which stars Vincent Cassel, Diane Kruger, and Guy Pearce, the director David Cronenberg, a master of cerebral horror, unveils his latest invention: a technologically advanced burial shroud that allows people to watch a loved one’s body decomposing in the grave. So begins a drolly fluid inspection of classic Cronenberg themes—the deterioration of the flesh, the instability of the image, the paranoia-inducing incursions of technology into every aspect of life—but imbued with a nakedly personal dimension that the director has noted in interviews; the story was inspired by his wife’s death, in 2017, from cancer.

7. “Megalopolis”

In this legendarily long-gestating passion project, which I’ve written about at length, Francis Ford Coppola posits that our fragile, battered civilization is headed the way of the Roman Empire. The grimness of that prospect is unsurprising from a director accustomed to peering deep into the heart of American darkness (the “Godfather” movies, “The Conversation,” “Apocalypse Now”). For all that, the filmmaking here glows with a particularly hard-won optimism, even a welcome sense of play—borne out by an ensemble of actors, including Adam Driver, Giancarlo Esposito, and especially Aubrey Plaza, who fully embrace Coppola’s rhetorical and conceptual flights of fancy.

8. “The Substance”

Sympathetic or sadistic? Feminist or misogynist? Coralie Fargeat’s body-horror bonanza, which won the festival’s award for Best Screenplay, has been one of the competition’s more polarizing hits, which is unsurprising; divisiveness should be expected from a story about an aging actress and TV fitness guru who, desperate to regain her youthful bod of yesteryear, effectively splits herself in two. Whether the outlandish premise (think “The Picture of Dorian Gray” by way of “Death Becomes Her”) and its blood-gushing fallout withstand intellectual scrutiny, there’s no doubting the ferocity of the two leads, Demi Moore and Margaret Qualley, or Fargeat’s sheer filmmaking verve as she pushes her ideas to their sanguinary conclusions.

9. “Motel Destino”

Just a year after the Brazilian director Karim Aïnouz appeared in competition with a surprisingly stiff-corseted English period drama, “Firebrand,” it was bracing to watch him rebound with the competition’s most sexually uninhibited and flagrantly horny title; corsets don’t apply here, and even underwear proves blissfully optional. Set at a seedy roadside motel where the clientele never stops moaning, it’s a feverishly shambling erotic thriller starring three very game actors (Iago Xavier, Nataly Rocha, and Fábio Assunção) in a romantic triangle that plays like James M. Cain with sex toys—“The Postman Always Cock Rings Twice,” as it were.

10. “Emilia Pérez”

A trans-empowerment musical set against the backdrop of Mexico’s drug cartels might sound like a dubious proposition on paper, and, for the many detractors of this genre-melding big swing from the French director Jacques Audiard (“A Prophet,” “The Sisters Brothers”), what actually made it onto the screen was no better. But I was disarmed from the start by Audiard’s quasi-Almodóvarian vibes, his touchingly imperfect embrace of song-and-dance stylization, and, most of all, his three leads: the remarkable discovery Karla Sofía Gascón, a scene-stealing Selena Gomez, and a never-better Zoe Saldaña. All three (along with Adriana Paz) were recognized with the festival’s Best Actress prize, awarded collectively to the movie’s ensemble of actresses; Audiard also won the Jury Prize. (A forthcoming Netflix release.)

11. “Oh, Canada”

After a tense trilogy of dramas about male redemption through violence (“First Reformed,” “The Card Counter,” “Master Gardener”), the writer and director Paul Schrader has taken a gentler turn with an adaptation of “Foregone,” a 2021 novel by the late Russell Banks. (It’s his second Banks adaptation, after the 1997 drama “Affliction.”) In exploring the fragmented consciousness of an aging documentary filmmaker (played at different ages by Richard Gere and Jacob Elordi), Schrader bravely forsakes the narrative fastidiousness of his recent work and takes on grand themes of memory, mortality, and artistic self-reckoning, to formally ragged but sincerely moving effect.

12. “The Girl with the Needle”

This stark and terrifying black-and-white drama from the Swedish-born, Polish-based director Magnus von Horn (“Sweat”) was perhaps the competition’s bleakest entry. Set in Copenhagen immediately after the First World War, it pins us so mercilessly to the hard-bitten perspective of Karoline (an excellent Vic Carmen Sonne), a factory seamstress who becomes pregnant out of wedlock, that we scarcely notice her story shifting in a different, more sinister direction. It’s a bitterly hard-to-stomach brew of a movie, at once hideous and beautifully made, with a chilling supporting turn by Trine Dyrholm as a friend whose interventions turn out to be anything but benign.

13. “Three Kilometres to the End of the World”

The setting of this well-observed but emotionally opaque drama, from the Romanian actor turned director Emanuel Pârvu, is a small rural village where a closeted teen-age boy, Adi (Ciprian Chiujdea), is brutally beaten after being caught in an intimate moment with a male traveller. Pârvu teases out the legal, psychological, and moral fallout with the pitch-perfect performances and laserlike formal focus that have become hallmarks of new Romanian cinema. But, though the movie is persuasive enough as an indictment of small-town religious fundamentalism and homophobia, it proves curiously incurious about Adi’s perspective, to the detriment of its own human pulse.

14. “Kinds of Kindness”

After his Oscar-winning period romps “The Favourite” (2018) and “Poor Things” (2023), the Greek director Yorgos Lanthimos scales back—but goes long—with a sprawling, increasingly tedious compendium of comic cruelty. My favorite of the film’s three disconnected stories, all featuring the same actors, is the one where Jesse Plemons (the ensemble M.V.P., as the jury recognized with its Best Actor award) plays Willem Dafoe’s Manchurian candidate; my least favorite is the one where Emma Stone joins a sweat-worshipping sex cult. The one where Stone slices off her finger and cooks it for Plemons falls—much like the movie in Lanthimos’s over-all œuvre—somewhere in the middle. (A Searchlight Pictures release, opening June 21st in theatres.)

15. “Bird”

My admiration for the English filmmaker Andrea Arnold (“American Honey”) is such that I’m eager to revisit her latest rough-and-tumble coming-of-age story and find that I undervalued it. Arnold is certainly skilled at integrating recognizable actors, which in this case includes Barry Keoghan and Franz Rogowski, into her grottily realist frames, and she has an appealing lead performer in Nykiya Adams, as a twelve-year-old girl who overcomes persistent abuse and neglect. But the story may lose you—as it lost me—with a magical-realist turn that magnifies, rather than minimizes, the tortured-animal symbolism that has often dogged Arnold’s work.

16. “Beating Hearts”

An exchange of insults at a high-school bus stop provides a saucy meet-cute for a good girl (Mallory Wanecque) and a ne’er-do-well boy (Malik Frikah); so begins a raucous and endearing love story for the ages, in which the director Gilles Lellouche, with outsized glee and little discipline, merrily appropriates the conventions of classic Hollywood musicals and gangster flicks. The result is much too long at nearly three hours—the story spans several years, with Adèle Exarchopoulos and François Civil playing older versions of the two leads—but I can’t say I didn’t warm to its rambunctious cornball charm.

17. “Limonov: The Ballad”

Why make a film about Eduard Limonov, the globe-trotting Russian dissident poet and punk provocateur reviled for his pro-fascist sympathies? The filmmaker Kirill Serebrennikov never musters a satisfying answer in this muddled English-language bio-pic, despite an energetically uninhibited central performance by Ben Whishaw and a cheeky panoply of filmmaking techniques—jittery camerawork, lengthy tracking shots—meant to catch us up in the épater-la-bourgeoisie exuberance of Limonov’s revolt. Considering his earlier work, I prefer the rebel-youth vibes of “Leto” (2018) and the dazzling cinematic assaults of “Petrov’s Flu” (2021), both of which also screened in competition here.

18. “Parthenope”

Nearly every new picture from the Italian auteur Paolo Sorrentino could be reasonably called “The Great Beauty,” the title of his gorgeous 2013 cinematic tour of Rome. (It left that year’s Cannes empty-handed, but won the Oscar for Best Foreign Language Film.) His latest work remains most intriguing for its ambivalent but still sensually overpowering vision of the director’s home town, Naples, from which springs a modern-day goddess, named after Parthenope, a Siren from Greek mythology. She’s played by Celeste Dalla Porta, a great beauty indeed and an empathetic screen presence, though only fitfully does her character seem worthy of this movie’s epic enshrinement.

19. “Wild Diamond”

Another disquisition on beauty and its discontents, this time from the débuting French writer and director Agathe Riedinger. She hurls us the life and busy social-media feed of a nineteen-year-old, Liane (a terrific Malou Khebizi), who has nipped, tucked, and tailored every part of herself to realize her dream of being selected for a hot new reality-TV series. Part influencer-culture cautionary tale, part bad-girl Cinderella story, the movie glancingly suggests the soul-rotting effects of beauty worship, but it falls victim to the trap that Liane is trying to avoid: in a sea of worthy candidates, it doesn’t especially stand out.

20. “The Apprentice”

Donald Trump’s attorneys have threatened legal action to block the release of this drama about his early rise to fame and wealth under the mentorship of the attorney Roy Cohn (Jeremy Strong). It speaks to the useless proficiency of Ali Abbasi’s movie that the prospect of such censorship provokes more indifference than outrage. Shot to evoke cruddy nineteen-eighties VHS playback, the movie is well acted by Strong, Maria Bakalova as Ivana Trump, and an increasingly makeup-buried Sebastian Stan as Trump himself, depicted from the start as a sack of shit that gets progressively shittier. It’s not dismissible, but it’s hardly the stuff of revelation, either.

21. “Marcello Mio”

In this trifling meta-comedy from the French filmmaker Christophe Honoré (previously in the 2018 Cannes competition with the lovely “Sorry Angel”), the actress Chiara Mastroianni embarks on a strainedly whimsical personal odyssey to examine the legacy of her late father, the legendary Italian actor Marcello Mastroianni, and her own conflicted place therein. To that end, she spends much of this overstretched movie in “8½” and “La Dolce Vita” black-suited drag as she navigates a roundelay of industry in-jokes; among the French cinema luminaries making appearances are Fabrice Luchini, Nicole Garcia, and, most welcome, Chiara’s mother, Catherine Deneuve.

22. “The Most Precious of Cargoes”

The French director Michel Hazanavicius continues his uneven post-“The Artist” run with this animated Second World War fable, adapted from a 2019 novel by Jean-Claude Grumberg (and narrated by the late Jean-Louis Trintignant). It has an affecting opening stretch, in which a baby girl, thrown by her desperate father from an Auschwitz-bound train, is rescued and raised in secret by a woodcutter’s kindhearted wife. But when the child’s provenance is discovered, stoking local antisemitism, the movie becomes a bathetic wallow in Holocaust imagery, drowned in an Alexandre Desplat score whose every surge turned my heart increasingly to stone. ♦

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