#ofc i'm late with my own entries | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dean-winchester-is-a-warrior · 2 years

Text

The Quicksilver Princess Ch. 4

Series summary: A fantasy AU in which Dean is part of a long line of warriors who protect the kingdom. What happens when his rescue of the little princess with the quicksilver eyes gets him a possilble future bride?

Series Warnings: Nothing major. Show typical violence. Fantasy violence. Smut. Angst. Fluff. Each chapter will have its own specific warnings. So, watch for those.

Chapter Warnings: None.

Pairings: Dean Winchester x OFC

Word Count: 3,301

A/N: This is my entry for @awkward-and-indecisive’s “Abby’s 200 followers celebration”. The trope I got was arranged marriage and the dialogue prompt I got was “I’m tired of lying here in this stupid bed.”

Both parts of the entry have been fulfilled now! Finally - thanks for your patience Abbs!

A/N 2: So, I truly apologize for how long it took for this chapter to come out. For some reason I just really struggled with it. I'm not sure why, except that my muse has been leaving me on my own a lot lately! 😭 Lol!! But nevertheless, here it is at last!

Hope you enjoy this chapter! ❤️

Series Master List || Main Master List || Tag Lists

Melissande gasped as Dean stepped back from Bernard and unsheathed his sword. He turned swiftly, and pressed the tip against Rowena's heart.

"I should run you through." He said, deadly calm. "You sold us out."

Bernard started to charge at Dean, but Rowena held up one hand and he stopped immediately.

"No Bernard. It's fine." She gave Dean a look of mild annoyance. "Don't be such a fool. I haven't sold you out. For Pete's sake, I've aided and abetted you in stealing away the Princess and marrying her in secret. I've bamboozled a man of the cloth!"

With one finger the witch pushed the tip of Dean's sword away from her chest and folded her arms again. "My neck will stretch just as quick as yours when those guardsmen get here."

Melissande believed her and gave a sigh of relief when Dean eyeballed her for a minute more before he dropped his arm and sheathed his sword.

"Then how the hell did they know where we are so quickly?" He asked, obviously frustrated. "And more importantly, how long do we have to get away?"

Rowena shook her head. "I've no idea how they knew, except to say that the queen is much more adept at magic then she would ever let on. As to escape, I'm afraid we have very little time at all and almost no chance of it. They've surrounded us. Now, I've put up concealment and warding enchantments, but they won't hold long against their bombardment. They know we're here and they won't stop until they've gotten through."

Melissande started to stand up before she remembered she was next to nude, and pulled the sheet back up.

"Um Rowena, would you mind..." She waved a hand at herself and Rowena nodded before snapping her finger and changing their outfits.

She returned Dean to the leather doublet and breeches he'd been wearing earlier, but Melissande was very grateful that the witch snapped her into a simple white linen gown rather than the baggy tunic and torn chemise she'd worn there.

"Thank you." Melissande said quietly as she crawled out of the sheets and smoothed down the long skirt.

Dean seemed a bit surprised by the sudden costume change, but he quickly shook his head, getting back to the matter at hand.

"Alright, they may be coming quicker than we thought, but this is what we've been preparing for, this is why we took this route of marriage."

He nodded towards Melissande. "Mellie is safely married to me, so -"

"Married, but not consummated, I think. Yes?" Rowena interrupted him

Dean frowned at her and she shook her head. "I told you to get up here sooner."

Shooting her a look that said he wasn't interested in "I told you so", Dean walked back to the side of the bed and pulled his dagger from it's place at his waist. He pushed up the sleeve of his doublet and made a quick, but long, cut across his arm.

"Dean!" Melissande cried out as she watched the blood plume and then drip down onto the stark white sheets.

She dashed up to his side and pulled on the arm holding the knife. "What in the name of all the gods do you think you're you doing?"

"Assuring your safety." He said simply as he took the small cloth Rowena held out to him.

Melissande shook her head, confusion twisting her features. She turned to Rowena who explained.

"Virgins bleed, dear." She shrugged. "Or some do. But the church sees it as sacrosanct, that blood be present on the sheets of a newly married maiden. This will act as proof that your marriage has been consummated."

Melissande scrunched up her nose and felt her cheeks turn bright red. "Seems barbaric to me."

Rowena nodded. "Yes, for all their supposed civility and piety, the church can be be much more barbaric than those of us who have stuck by the old gods."

After a moment's silence Rowena looked at Dean and then back at Melissande. Her expression was almost one of sympathy. "Alright, love, I cannot keep the secret any longer. For Pity's sake the man is bleeding for you, and the truth is...well, you must know now, that we're not getting out of here without you."

Melissande looked at Rowena, more confused than ever. "What?"

Rowena heaved a sigh. "Enough. I went along with the deception because I assumed you must have a reason for keeping yourself hidden, and quite frankly, I hoped to stay on your good side. But whatever reasons you had for keeping yourself concealed, they can't be important enough to let yourself be captured."

Dean looked to Melissande, a question in his eyes, but she shook her head, shoulders lifted in a shrug. "I have absolutely no idea what she's talking about."

Dean pivoted his attention back to the witch. "Rowena, what are you talking about?"

"I am asking your wife to explain to you just what she really is." Rowena responded with a pointed look at Melissande.

All three people turned to stare at her and Melissande became completely flustered, more confused than ever.

"I'm...what do you mean? I'm a Princess...or was one...and I'm just...now I'm just...I'm nothing."

Dean turned back to the redhead. "Rowena, speak plain. What the hell are you saying?"

Rowena rolled her eyes and stared at Melissande again. As she continued to stare, her face began to lose its look of frustration and disbelief and fall into lines of incredulity.

She shook her head slowly. "Not possible."

When the room stayed silent she let out a cry of dismay. "No, gods! You're telling the truth! You truly don't know." She turned to Bernard who came forward to put his arm around her waist and hold her hand.

"We're doomed!" She cried with a dramatic wail.

"Enough, Rowena!" Dean ordered in a harsh voice. "Tell us this instant what you're talking about."

"Your dear new bride is a fairy!" She shouted, in a frustrated voice.

Absolute silence reigned for a moment before Melissande burst out laughing.

"You're mad!" She said, completely flabbergasted. "I'm a fairy?"

Another hysterical giggle bubbled up out of her. "Yes, of course. I am a tiny flying person!"

She looked to Dean who was frowning her way. She didn't like that he wasn't joining in her laughter at Rowena's ridiculous claims.

"Obviously, she's insane!" She cried, her arm flung out toward the witch.

Rowena tutted. "Ugh! First of all fairies were not TINY flying people." She shrugged. "They were just small, flying people. Well, smaller than humans anyway."

She shook her head. "And I don't mean you're a full-blooded fairy, they've gone extinct long ago. But you're descended from fairies. You're obviously a direct descendant of the fairy queen, Caryn'se."

When she didn't continue, Melissande let out a bark of laughter, still refusing to believe the lunacy. "Oh, yes, obviously! How is any of this obvious, or believable at all? You're mad." She said again quietly, shaking her head in denial.

"It's your eyes little one." Rowena said, equally quiet. "Haven't you ever wondered why no one in this world has eyes like yours?"

All three of them were staring at her and Melissande shook her head, sputtering, knowing Rowena was wrong, had to be.

"My eyes are...it's a family trait. A family trait of the royal family...it just... they're just unusual!" She shouted defensively.

Rowena was nodding. "Yes, it is a family trait. At one time, many royal family members had them, a gift from Queen Caryn'se. But as the centuries moved on, and the fairy blood became more and more diluted with human, the trait was passed to fewer and fewer descendants. So, that now, it happens only once in a generation or two."

Melissande was shaking her head. "No, you're wrong. You're lying. I'm not a fairy, I have no magic!"

Rowena was looking at her with sympathy again. "Oh my dear, I'm sorry, but you do. You do have such magic coursing through your veins. You're more powerful than you can possibly know, certainly more powerful than any other creature in this world."

Rowena walked over to Melissande and took hold of her hands. "You have a connection to this world like no other. This kingdom is a fairy kingdom, cared for from the beginning of time by the Fae. The name of the kingdom, Sanso'ye, is from the fairy tongue. It means 'Land of the Silver-Eyed People". Then centuries ago, the humans came to conquer. The Fae fought back, but had little to no knowledge of warfare, and the humans carried weapons they didn't understand. They were being slaughtered, and so Queen Caryn'se made a pact with the Human King Talbot to end the violence if she agreed to marry him. She sold herself to save her people."

The witch raised her hand to Melissande's cheek, gently cupping it. "My little one, you have that kind of bravery and power inside the marrow of your bones. All you have to do is channel it."

But Melissande pulled away from her shaking her head. "You're mad." She whispered again. "I have no power, I am nothing, just the forgotten daughter of a Fourth Queen."

Rowena sighed and shook her head. "As long as you believe that, I'm afraid we're truly doomed."

Dean cleared his throat. "Alright, Rowena, enough history lessons. Let's say this is all true, what difference does that make? I'm still married to her, she still can't testify against the queen, she should still be protected."

Rowena rolled her eyes. "Don't you understand, the First Queen is not after Melissande because she's some kind of witness. She wants her for the power the princess wields."

"I wield absolutely no power!" Melissande interrupted, but Rowena ignored her.

"My guess is the Fourth Queen was killed simply because she was there when the guards were trying to take Melissande. The Fourth Queen was the actual witness, and they wanted her out of the way. Now, I'm sure that if the First Queen could take down a rival at the same time, she saw it simply as a bonus."

"Wait," Melissande swallowed roughly as tears gathered and realization dawned. "So...you're saying, I wasn't a target because of my mother...it was the opposite. My mother...mother was killed because of me." She finished in a whisper.

Dean scowled at Rowena before turning to Melissande. "No, Mellie, listen to me. No matter what has happened, no matter what's true and what isn't about who you are, your mother was killed to further the Queen's attempt for power. Nothing more, nothing less. Your mother died because of the Queen, NOT because of you."

Rowena nodded. "He's absolutely right, my wee one, all of this is the fault of the First Queen, not you or your dear sweet mother."

Melissande nodded solemnly, still not sure she agreed with them, and Dean straightened up and looked at Rowena. "Why is she doing this now? She's had Mellie's whole life to come after her."

Rowena nodded. "Yes, but the magic of the Princess's eyes are likely the most potent at this age, right after she's reached maturity but before age has left its mark. I'd also wager that the queen's been waiting for the eclipse that will be taking place the day after next. The power of magic is multiplied when it's bound to a natural phenomenon like a solar eclipse."

The witch shook her head. "She must be planning to attempt an incredibly powerful spell, if she's trying to draw that kind of power."

One part of Melissande's mind was desperately trying to take all of this in, while the other part was busy trying to deny it outright. None of this could be true, surely? It was too fantastic a story.

To think that the First Queen, who had never even acknowledged her existence, had been plotting her whole life, just waiting for her to grow up so she could snatch her up and use her eyes in some kind of spell during the dark of an eclipse?

It was ludicrous.

And yet...

She could feel the weight of truth in the words Rowena spoke. Her mind may be balking at the idea, but a surety had settled into her soul, no matter how much she tried to deny it.

This was real. And if this was true then there was only one option left open to them.

She turned to Dean and took hold of his arm. "You have to let me leave with the Guardsmen."

Dean stared at her a long moment before he seemed to fully comprehend what she was saying, but when he did he scoffed. "Mellie, don't be ridiculous."

He turned back to Rowena. "Do you have any exploding powder here?"

The witch shook her head, but before she could respond, Melissande took Dean's hand and stepped in front of him.

"Dean, this is the only way and you know it."

Dean scowled down at her. "If the only way for us to survive is to hand you over like a lamb to slaughter, then there is no way for us to survive. Because that will never happen, do you understand me?"

He looked to Rowena again. "What weapons do you have on hand?"

Rowena sighed. "I have magics and potions which work fairly well one on one, but I won't be able to take on over a hundred men. The best I can do is shield us for a time, as I'm doing." She closed her eyes to concentrate. "But the warding is failing even now. They'll be through in minutes."

Melissande pulled on his arm again. "Dean."

Before she could say any more, however, Dean's face became thunderous. "Enough! There is absolutely no way I'm letting you go."

She opened her mouth, but he stormed past her and out of the bedroom. She ran after him and felt Rowena and Bernard trail after them.

"Winchester!" She shouted at him as he made for the front door. "I command you to stop and listen to me at once!"

Dean stopped and turned back to her, his expression softening slightly. "I told you before, I'm not a Winchester anymore, and you're not a princess. You have no power to command me."

She ran to him and reached up to cup his cheeks. "Then I'm begging you as a wife, to listen to me, please."

When he didn't immediately move away she smiled. "I'm not telling you to walk away and let me die. I'm asking you to trust my plan."

"What plan?" Dean asked skeptically.

Melissande drew in a deep breath. "Well, the First Queen is planning to kill me under the solar eclipse the day after tomorrow. So, let them take me now, and that gives you a day and a half to come save me."

Dean looked at her as though she'd gone truly mad. "That's not a plan, Mellie - that's utter insanity! You want me to let you hand yourself over in the hope that I can get to you in time to save you. And just how exactly am I supposed to save you from a castle overflowing with Guardsman, if I can't even save you from these few that have come now?"

"There aren't a few of them, Dean, there are more than a hundred of them, and they've caught us off guard. I'll go now, and give you time to regroup, to rally forces, gather weapons." Melissande had a sudden idea and her eyes lit up with it.

"Go to the Warriors, tell them what's happening. Rally them to your side! They've always protected the kingdom, and I can't think of a time when the kingdom has been more in need of them. Whatever the Queen is planning with this powerful spell, it can't possibly be good for the people, or our land."

Throughout her speech Dean was shaking his head. He barked out a humorless laugh. "I'm a traitor, remember? None of them are going to listen to me!"

Melissande smiled. "You fail to understand your own strength, Winchester. You are an honorable man, and a leader! Go to them, they'll listen, I'm sure of it."

When Dean tried to speak again, she raised her finger to his lips. "Do you remember when you slayed the dragon that held me captive?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yes, vaguely." He said sarcastically.

"Well," Melissande explained, "this is just the same. I'll run forward and distract them, make them stumble, and you come up from behind and slay the beast."

She stood on tiptoe to press a soft kiss to his closed mouth. She pulled back slightly and spoke against his lips. "I believe in you, my Winchester Warrior."

Dean was quiet a moment before he shook his head and raised a hand to cup her cheek. "I can't do it, Mellie. You can't ask me to let you walk out, and be swallowed up by a monster. I swore an oath to protect you and -"

"Abi!"

Melissande squealed in fright as Dean went hurtling through the air and smashed into the finely paneled wall, cracking it. She turned back to Rowena who was still pointing a finger in the direction Dean had sailed.

She ran to his prostrate form and knelt down next to him. "What have you done?" She shouted to Rowena.

"Listened to you." Rowena answered with a shrug. "I believe your plan is a sound one, or at least the only real option we have. But there was absolutely no way that man was going to let you go. So, now he'll wake up and be furious, but he won't be mad for long because he can't afford the time."

Rowena came and took Melissande's elbow, pulling her to her feet.

"Alright, little princess, this is your chance. They'll be through in under a minute. Go now." Rowena patted her arm and kissed her cheek.

Melissande nodded and moved toward the door. As she reached for the handle, Rowena called out.

"Melissande!"

She turned back towards her and a slight glow seemed to emanate from the powerful witch. "Remember who you are, wee one. You are the direct descendant of Queen Caryn'se, Ruler of the Fae and these ancient lands from the time the world began. You've such power in your bones, little girl, and magic in your very soul."

Melissande nodded, feeling goosebumps run up and down her arms in spite of the fact that it was still nearly impossible for her to believe Rowena's words.

The light around the witch faded and she gave her a worried smile. "Go on now, child. And may the old gods go with you."

Melissande took a deep breath and walked out the door just as the veil hiding them dropped, and a legion of men riding hot breathing horses, and dripping weapons stood before her.

She held her hands high in pretended surrender.

#dean winchester fic #dean winchester au #dean winchester fan fic #dean winchester fantasy au #knight!dean #dean winchester angst

36 notes · View notes

hesbuckcompton-baby · 3 years

Text

Old Money, New World - Eugene Roe x OFC - Chapter 4

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3

Summary: As Easy Company heads into Holland, Camille finds herself posted at a nearby hospital, which proves to be far more eventful than expected.

Warnings: Smoking, wound/blood description, language

Word Count: 4k

Tags: @honey-im-emotional

Please let me know if you're interested in being added to the tag list!

Eugene sat at their old familiar table in that old familiar pub in Aldbourne, a glass of beer in each hand as he watched Camille fail miserably at darts with some of the other boys. They were enjoying their leave prior to their return to mainland Europe, and she had only just caught up with the Company after hurrying off to visit Elaine and Ruth - the two young women she'd stayed with the first time they were in town.

Gene himself was rather hopeless at darts, he always had been, but upon confessing that she'd never played, Camille had been roped in by Buck and Luz, although all their efforts to teach her to throw had thus far failed. She let out another dismayed cry as her dart missed the board completely, and he laughed as she approached the table, hands covering her face in embarrassment.

"I don't know how they do it!" She confessed, sitting down opposite him with a huff. Her face was flushed bright pink, hair frizzed in the heat of the packed pub. For a moment Eugene froze.

She was beautiful.

This wasn't a new realisation. Hell, he'd been stuck thinking she was beautiful every time he'd seen her for over a year at this point. But every now and then, the light would be just right or she'd smile in a certain way, and the air would be sucked from his lungs with all the elation and adrenaline he'd felt in his very first practice jump.

He passed her a drink, having kept a close eye on her glass whilst she wasn't around. Gene trusted the boys in his company, but he also knew that large supplies of alcohol and men deprived of female attention didn't always go well together. He was just looking out for Camille. He always did.

She took a long sip, white foam lining the top of her lip and making him chuckle. "My re-entry into Europe's been postponed again," She said.

"Oh?" Eugene frowned, but really he was quite relieved. Keeping her off the front line wasn't exactly a bad thing in his mind, although he couldn't help feel guilty about it, as he knew it was where she most wanted to be.

Camille nodded. "Mhm. Found out this morning, Captain Nixon stopped by to let me know. I'm heading over to Holland the day after you, but they're sending me to do hospital work until you finish the upcoming Operation." She sounded slightly bitter. "Still, I suppose hospital work is better than the time they left me in Upottery for a week."

He shrugged, his frown sympathetic. "They know you're skilled, I suppose they just want to keep you safe where they can. From what you've told me, I think your uncle would be at Sink's throat if you got hit."

She supposed he was right. Although she'd never thought him fond of her, her uncle Charles had seemingly become quite attached to Camille in recent months. He'd never married, nor had children of his own, and she reckoned he must've taken pride in helping any of the Whitney family join the war effort, even if it was just the daughter of his estranged half-sister.

Eugene spoke up again. "Have you heard from your family lately?" He asked.

Camille shook her head. "Not since the letter I got from Arthur last month, but I think they were planning something big, so he and Julien are probably all tied up these days."

Gene asked about her family a lot, always making sure they were writing to her and that she was replying in due course. As far as he was concerned, she was the youngest of her siblings. Camille had never spoken of Peter to him, nor to anyone else. Her dead baby brother was something she kept entirely to herself, it was easier to live without him that way - if she created a world in which he'd never existed, she didn't have to miss him.

She inhaled sharply. "I suppose I should call it a night and go pack my stuff," Camille said, standing up from her seat, glass still in hand. She finished her beer - far too quickly if you asked Eugene - and put it back on the table. For a moment, he thought that she was going to leave without another word, but she stepped over to him, leaning down to plant a kiss on his cheek.

"You take care of yourself, Doc," Camille spoke softly, inches away from his face as she smiled, before straightening back up and walking away. Gene's cheeks were burning red, and he grinned to himself a moment before he noticed Babe Heffron wiggling his eyebrows at him from across the room and he cleared his throat roughly, awkwardly trying to avoid eye contact with any of the other boys as he finished off his drink.

Camille hadn't been so scared to let the men go without her this time - they'd seen themselves through D-Day, and whilst Operation Market Garden was a big deal, it didn't sound nearly as dangerous. She'd seen them pull through tougher scrapes than this, and she trusted them to get through this one as well.

Within a few days, she herself had arrived in Holland, driven by jeep through the city of Eindhoven. Easy Company must've only been a day or so ahead, as she'd received a letter from George that morning describing the parade they'd encountered, and the city streets were still littered with dutch flags and flowers.

There was comfort in her new position, she found. She was going to be set up at a relatively crude little army hospital, just a mile or two outside Nuenen. If any of the boys were to get seriously hurt upon entering the town, she'd be the one they came to - although frankly, she hoped she wouldn't have to see them if it could only be in dire circumstances.

The hospital turned out not to really be a hospital at all. Camille's brow furrowed as the jeep turned down a narrow lane, pulling to a stop outside a small farm. There was something of a courtyard in the middle, dry mud inlaid with tyre tracks and stacked with crates and boxes around the edges. On one side of the courtyard stood a little brick farmhouse, smoke piping from the chimney, and paint chipping slightly off the open shutters. Next to it was a stable, although the horses themselves had been moved out into the nearby field to make room for more storage. The 'hospital' itself was set up in a long barn, boards laid down on the ground, fresh sheets hung out to dry on the washing line outside. It wasn't exactly the sanitary refuge she'd envisioned, but there was something surprisingly charming about the place, and Camille supposed that must supply some comfort to the men who ended up here.

Upon arrival, she was supplied with her uniform - a light blue button-up dress with a red cross on the breast pocket. It was exactly the kind of uniform she'd always envisioned herself getting to wear in all those years at med school, but now that she was wearing it, it didn't quite feel like it fit.

Camille had worked into the evening - cleaning sheets, re-dressing wounds - and by the time it started to grow dark, she was grateful for a break.

She'd managed to build a rapport with one of the other nurses there by the name of Karoline - she was a few years older than Camille, with caramel skin and hair all pinned up in curlers, which she'd hurriedly put in upon finishing her shift for the night. The two women leant up against a stack of crates outside the barn as Karoline passed her a cigarette, lighting them both with a match before stomping it out with her heel.

"So," She spoke, breathing out a cloud of smoke. "You're a medic, huh? How'd you manage that?"

Camille shrugged, watching the end of her cigarette burn away. "My uncle pulled some strings with the Colonel."

"Ah. Nepotism." Karoline nodded. Upon noticing Camille's frown she chuckled, waving her hand dismissively. "I'm just kidding, doll. You seem a damn good doc, you've got talent."

A smile graced her face, but was quickly stifled as they were interrupted by terrible wailing noises from the end of the drive. Resting her cigarette between her lips, Camille hurried across the courtyard, eyes narrowed as she tried to watch down the unlit lane in the dark.

There was a figure approaching - barely more than a silhouette - wrapped in a coat several sizes too large and letting out choked, painful sobs.

"Careful, Whitney," Karoline warned.

She stepped slightly closer, and as the figure came into the light, Camille's eyes widened.

It was a woman, thin and pale, dried tear lines from where her mascara had run covering her face. She was clutching a little girl to her chest, wrapped up under her coat, and her scalp had been messily shaven, scabbed and bleeding through tufts of light hair.

Camille was frozen for a moment, but quickly broke into action, stomping out her cigarette and calling to Karoline. "Go get the doctor! We're gonna need to clean and dress her wounds."

The nurse hesitated for a moment, brow drawn in distress as she stepped closer to Camille, their faces only inches apart as she spoke in a hushed tone. "The doctor isn't letting these women into the hospital, Whitney."

"What? Why?"

"Those cuts on her head? They're punishment from the Dutch... she slept with a Nazi."

Camille paused. She hated the Nazis. She despised them without an ounce of compassion or sympathy. But the woman standing before her looked so frightened, in so much pain, and even if she was a sympathiser, the shivering toddler in her arms was most certainly an innocent.

"She's got a baby, Karoline," She whispered. "I'm not sending them away. If they can't go to the hospital we'll take them to the stable."

Karoline looked uncertain, but she agreed nonetheless, and hurried off towards the water pump.

Camille extended a hand to the woman. "Come with me," She smiled. "You speak English?"

The woman made to follow her, but shook her head weakly. "Geen Engels," She sniffed.

She nodded, guiding the pair into the stables, and gesturing for her to sit down atop one of the wooden supply crates. The little girl crawled out from inside her mother's coat, fiddling with her chubby little fingers. It was clear that the woman was exhausted, and Camille suspected she must've walked here all the way from Eindhoven.

Karoline returned minutes later with a bowl of water, and set it down as they both scrounged the supply crates for bandages and gauze. Camille's hand wrapped around a little green bottle of disinfectant and she smiled, pulling it out and turning back to the woman.

Her cuts were messy and uneven - some shallow grazes, some deep gauges where chunks of flesh had been lost. The little girl sat quiet and polite beside her, wispy blonde hair tied with ribbons in two short plaits, and wide blue eyes that seemed to shine even in the dim light of the stables. If Camille had to guess, she suspected that this child was probably a result of the woman's fraternization, as she couldn't be much more than two or three years old. Still, she was sweet, and both Camille and the child's mother couldn't help but smile at her gibberish babbling.

She dressed the cuts as best she could, but even once the woman's head was cleaned and bandaged, she couldn't help but feel that it was wrong to send her on her way. Of course, they couldn't offer her a bed, the doctor would surely find out, and that would end badly for all of them. Camille looked down at the woman's feet, her shoes threadbare and breaking at the soles.

"Here," She spoke. Crouching down, she began to unlace her nurse's shoes, a pair of practically unworn Oxfords. "Take these,"

The woman seemed to understand what she was offering, and began to shake her head.

"Please, take them." Camille insisted.

She smiled, teary-eyed as she put on the new shoes, which clearly provided relief to her sore feet. Karoline approached then, gently handing over some tinned peaches and a packet of biscuits. It wasn't much, but it was realistically all they could steal without anyone noticing. Besides, Camille still had her field boots with the uniform in her bag.

They'd snuck the woman and her daughter back down towards the road under the shadows of some nearby trees, and she had hugged them both, thanking them profusely in what little English she could muster, which was strained and accented on her tongue. Camille had gone to bed that night beaming, confident that, although she may not have realised it, this was the help she'd wanted to give her whole life.

It had taken longer than was probably reasonable for her to explain away her mysteriously vanishing nurse's shoes to the doctor the next morning, but he'd given up arguing with an irritated sigh when Karoline butted in with some wild story about them getting carried away by some farm animals in the night, which she swore was true, and had been exactly as strange as it sounded. The hospital was busier today, and she grew more anxious as the morning went on when she realised it was the day that Easy Company was set to enter Nuenen.

Unfortunately, she hadn't had to wait long before wounded men began to pile in, taking up every bed and bench they could spare. Camille darted about, administering help and trying to keep track of who exactly they had bleeding under the barn's thatched roof, when a familiar shout from outside shattered her focus.

"Doctor!" A Cajun accent yelled from the courtyard, and despite the chaos, she couldn't help but smile.

This smile, however, quickly subsided when a pair of men carried in Buck Compton, who was lying uncomfortably on his stomach atop a piece of wood, blood seeping through dressings on his ass.

"Aw, Buck, not you too," Camille teased, almost breathless as she hurried to gather bandages.

"Just carryin' on the Easy tradition," He grunted as he was positioned on a bed. "Good to see you, Doc,"

"Good to see you too, although I wish it was under circumstances where I didn't have to take your pants off,"

Buck laughed at this, wheezing a little from the pressure of lying on his chest. Eugene had come in too by now, and he sent Camille a brief, warm smile of greeting before they both got to work.

Within the hour, they'd patched Buck up nicely, and all that was left to do was wait for a transport to take him somewhere to rest and recuperate properly.

Gene finished washing his hands, sighing as he dried them on a nearby towel. "Well, I'd better be going."

Camille frowned. "What? No, stay for a little while, you need to rest too, I'll make coffee,"

He looked sad to leave, but he shook his head nonetheless. "I can't, Camille. I'm sorry. Randleman's MIA, I wanna be there when he gets back in case he's hurt."

Her breath caught for a moment. No one had told her Bull was missing, and she certainly hadn't missed Gene's pause, as if he'd almost said 'if he gets back'. Hell, if she could she'd have gone out looking for him herself, but someone needed to keep Buck company, and she was the last person to abandon her post.

"Alright," Camille nodded. "Alright, yeah, you should go. I'll see you in a couple days, ok?"

Eugene didn't say anything, but he pulled her close into a tight hug, squeezing her shoulders as his breath ruffled her hair slightly. She had no way of knowing what had happened in Nuenen, but she figured it must've been bad from the way he clung to her.

Once he'd left, she headed back inside, crossing the room towards Buck's bed and noting the untouched plate of food beside him.

"Not hungry?" Camille asked.

He shook his head, propping himself up on his elbows with a grunt. "Nah, I hate hospital food, won't touch the stuff."

She frowned slightly, taking a seat beside him. "Well I skipped lunch, so if you won't eat it, I will."

Camille picked up the plate, shovelling some of the beans into her mouth as Buck watched on. When her face began to contort, he let out a cackle, grinning at her distaste.

"Holy God, what is this?" She spoke through a full mouth, lips puckered in a disgusted grimace. "Even Malarkey cooks better than this,"

"I think you remember Malarkey's cooking better than I do," He smiled.

"Maybe so," Camille admitted, spitting the food into the bin when no one was looking.

It was quiet for a moment before Buck spoke. "I think it did Roe some good, seeing you today. He's been quiet lately."

"He's always quiet," She pointed out.

"True. But I mean real quiet. He gets like that when you ain't around, y'know."

Camille didn't quite know what to say to that. She supposed she'd always wondered what Eugene was like around the boys, but if anything she'd expected him to be less quiet. Still, she'd be dammed if she let Buck be privy to her feelings towards the medic, that would be way too much ammo for the other men to use, even if it was all in harmless fun.

"How'd the attack go?" She asked. She was changing the subject on purpose, and judging by Buck's face, he could tell.

"You're in love with him aren't you?" He asked, refusing to take her bait.

"Jesus, Buck, no! I am not in love with Eugene," Camille cried.

"You like him though,"

"I like him because he's my friend," She chuckled, shaking her head slightly.

"You're friends with Luz and me too, but you don't light up like a Christmas tree whenever we enter a room," Buck teased.

"Yeah, well, that's because you're fucking annoying," Camille said, grinning as he let out a laugh at that. Standing up, she made to clear away his disgusting dinner, when she paused.

"D'you think Bull will be ok?" She asked.

Buck shrugged, his expression clouded and somewhat bleak. "He's a tough son of a bitch. He'll pull through, I wouldn't worry too much."

She nodded slowly, considering his response, and then walked away.

A week had passed since then. Buck had gone away to rest up and heal, and Randleman had returned safe and sound, a fact which had certainly risen the men's spirits. Camille had rejoined Easy Company as soon as Compton had shipped out, and was now sat with Babe and Guarnere on the front steps of some village hall, which they'd all set up around in various billets.

She chuckled as Bill went on and on with his story about some incident from his childhood in Philadelphia, taking a sip from the bottle of beer they were sharing before passing it to Babe.

"Aw, no way!" Babe cried. "There's no way in hell you got away with that!"

"I'm tellin' ya, I'm tellin' ya," Bill stressed. "He had no idea I was ever even there,"

Heffron shook his head with a disbelieving scoff, looking to Camille. "Can you believe this crap?"

"Hey, I'm not judging," She laughed. "Gonorrhoea's tyre slashing days are none of my business,"

Bill let out an exasperated sigh at her use of his nickname, slapping his hands on his knees before snatching the beer from Babe's hand. He opened his mouth to protest, but his attention was caught by an approaching figure.

"Heya, Doc!" He chirped.

"Afternoon," Gene greeted with a small smile, strolling up to Camille and handing her a letter. "This just came for you,"

She took it with a grateful nod, frowning at the handwriting on the envelope. It was her mother's. Camille tore into it, eyes scanning over the eccentric scrawl as she processed the words put before her. Without a word, she leapt to her feet, hurrying off inside, evidently upset.

"You should go after her," Bill told Eugene, all three of the men watching her go with concerned frowns.

"Me?"

Heffron nodded in agreement. "C'mon Doc, everyone knows you're her favourite, even Luz has had to admit it."

Gene didn't quite know what to say to that, but with gentle eyes and cautious sympathy he went after her. Camille had scurried back up to her room, and was stood by the window, chewing on her lip as she read the letter over and over again. In the light breaching the thin curtains, he could see her eyes watering, threatening to spill.

He paused in the doorway, hoping not to interrupt or startle, but she noticed him anyway. She sniffed loudly, holding up the paper before letting her hand go limp and fall against her thigh.

"It's from my mother," Camille said, struggling to mask the distressed inflexion in her voice. "She's just going on and on about the taxidermy fox she keeps on the mantle, says it's lost an eye," She joked, but as she forced a chuckle, a tear rolled down her cheek.

He stepped into the room, frowning with concern. "You ok?"

"Yeah, yeah," Camille nodded.

Eugene reached out to touch her arm, fingers barely grazing her sleeve, but she could still feel the warmth of his palm. "Are you sure?"

She looked up at him, lip quivering slightly as she shook her head. "Julien sent her a letter... Albert's been shot."

He inhaled sharply, letting out a sympathetic sigh. "How's he holding up?"

Camille shrugged. "I dunno, I- Julien says he's been taken off to a proper hospital,"

"So he's getting proper care," Eugene assured her.

"Or it's really serious."

He was silent then. Of all his training, of all the countless men he'd had to comfort and help, why was it so hard for him to reassure her? They were still for what felt like an eternity, quiet hanging in the air like cobwebs in an abandoned cellar.

"C'mere," Eugene muttered, finally finding his ability to act. He pulled Camille into his chest, his cheek resting on her head, as he wasn't all that much taller than her. With one hand holding her back, he let the other rest in her hair, stroking it gently as she squeezed him tight.

They stood there for a while, and he could feel her heartbeat gradually slow against him as she calmed down. Camille had begun to fiddle slightly with the creases on the back of Eugene's shirt, making him smile.

"Thank you," She sniffed again, voice barely more than a whisper as they broke the hug. Some colour had returned to her cheeks, and her eyes were far less watery.

"Always," He smiled, hand still resting on her side. "D'you want me to go see what I can find out about your brother? I can try to track down which hospital he's in."

Camille nodded hurriedly. "Yeah. Thank you, Eugene,"

For a moment, she thought he would simply leave quietly, but he turned back at the last second, gently placing a kiss on her forehead. She wanted to beam then - she wanted to smile and hug him again and kiss him right back - but really she was far too upset to do much of anything. She reached up to touch the hand he'd placed to her cheek, brushing her thumb over the back of his palm, and then she let him go.

Camille let Eugene walk out, even when everything in her wanted to hold him again. Because she knew that he'd always walk back in again when she needed him. Always.

#old money new world #camille x eugene #eugene roe #eugene roe x oc #eugene roe x reader #band of brothers fic #band of brothers oc #band of brothers #hbo war fic #hbo war #buck compton #bill guarnere #babe heffron #oc: camille #fic | old money new world

27 notes · View notes

ohhgingersnaps · 2 years

Note

for the character bingo: jonathan harker / wheatley / sebastian stardewvalley :)

Thanks for asking!! Gonna do these in order of Strength of Feeling

(From the Character Bingo post here: x)

Sebastian Stardewvalley, my beloved blorbo emo boy, current hyperfixation, love of my life, etc. He is confident in who he is and what he wants! He is an introvert who has the self-awareness to know when he needs space and enforce boundaries politely! He's complicated and independent and loves frogs and has cool hair and likes horror films and runs a fun DND campaign for his friends! He tries to be edgy and cool but really he's just a big soft nerd and I love that about him. I always accidentally romance him even when I don't set out to do it, just because I really enjoy talking to him. Whenever I hear Iris (Goo Goo Dolls) on the radio I turn it up in his honor. Also Colors (Halsey). Actually I have an entire dedicated playlist lol

Admittedly I've been on a big SDV kick lately, mostly because I've been working on this novel-length superpowers AU (which ofc features him as one of the protags), so a lot of what I like about him is definitely shaped by my own version of him viewed through that lens, but he was my first-ever SDV spouse and I'm pretty sure he's always going to secretly be my favorite

Side note: I came very close to also checking "everyone but me is wrong about them <3" because although about 90% of the fandom takes on him are good, every time I see a bad one (specifically ones that malign/mischaracterize him for being an introvert who's good at enforcing boundaries, or bad takes about how he relates to his family) it does make me angry enough to block on sight. I have a lot of strong feelings about their family dynamic actually, because it reminds me of a less healthy version of my own?? not to project my own life onto this but tl;dr nobody is really at fault and it's all mismatched expectations and badly-paired neuroses, but this is a story for another day

Wheatley! Specifically Blue Sky Wheatley is just. Chef's kiss amazing, Blue Sky Wheatley still has one of the best character arcs I have ever seen in my life. I have marked "wow! they are a horrible person" because he is, but like, in the same way all of us are, you know? It's about the redemption arc. The important bit is that he actively chooses to be better. Obviously he also works better as part of a dynamic with Chell, that's part of the point, right? He is still a blorbo but he's like, a dormant blorbo I haven't thought about in a minute. I'm sure I'll pull him off the shelf again to put him in the main rotation whenever I reread Blue Sky for the dozenth time, though.

Okay so, Dracula Daily is really my first ever exposure to Dracula (and therefore Jonathan Harker)? Like, everything I know about Dracula is via cultural osmosis, so I don't know a ton about him yet, besides what I know from fandom osmosis and the entries we've had so far. I do think it's very sweet how much he cares about Mina, and that earns him several bonus points. I also think his mentality of, "This is my first big job after passing my exams, I better get a good grade in this customer interaction," is absolutely relatable, which I enjoy. He's just a little lawyer man trying his best, and I really hope he makes it through his ordeals in one piece. (It's not looking like he will, but, you know, I can hope, right?)

#thanks for asking!!#character bingo #ask game #sebastian sdv #wheatley #jonathan harker #the supers au is 50k already lol i might start posting chapters at some point #long post #ioannemos

3 notes · View notes

sheerfreesia007 · 3 years

Text

Internal Connection pt. 1

Title: Internal Connection pt. 1

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC!

Author: @sheerfreesia007

Words: 2,695

Warnings: Violence, Gun violence, Drive-by shooting, angst

Permanent Tag List: @paintballkid711, @fioccodineveautunnale, @phoenixhalliwell, @linkpk88, @weirdowithnobeardo, @athalien

Author Notes: This would’ve been a meetcute if Bucky wasn’t so set in his ways. Angst is on the way my dears! Be prepared for it. Anyway I do hope you enjoy this chapter.

Gif Credit: @thompsons-tessa

Taxis splashed through the puddles that were forming on the New York streets as rain gently fell from the dark cloudy skies. Walking at a quickened pace she dodged the puddles on the sidewalk and kept her distance from the curb so that she wouldn’t be sprayed by the mindless drivers not paying attention. Her olive green wool coat fell down to just below her knees and her black boots covered from her knees down protecting her from the weather.

She spotted the corner cafe from across the street as she came to the corner and looked both ways as she walked into the crosswalk. The cafe was diagonally across from where she was coming from so she would have to cross two streets to get there, but she hoped she wouldn’t be too late. As she was only a few steps from the curb a large black Cadillac slammed to a stop on its brakes honking it’s horn at her as it was trying to turn onto the street she was crossing. Glaring at the dark windshield she frowned as she continued walking before hearing the SUV speed around the corner right behind her.

Waiting at the corner for the light to change so that she would be able to cross the last street she spotted the group of high school friends that she would be meeting up with. Her friend Timothy turned his head and spotted her through the large window before waving at her animatedly. She laughed as she ducked her head and hurried across the street when the pedestrian light turned white. Coming around the side of the cafe she was finally able to breathe a sigh of relief as she opened the door and stepped into the warm interior.

She grinned and laughed as Timothy swept her up into a tight hug as her own arms wrapped around him. The warmth of their soulmate connection filled both of them and she rested her forehead against his just melting into the connection. Her eyes fell closed but she could still see the bright blue glow through her eyelids making her heart sing with being this close to him once again.

"I missed you Twitch." Timothy said softly and she grinned softly at him.

"Missed you too Timmy. It's been too long." She said softly and he hummed at her before letting her feet touch the floor again.

"I know I'm sorry. Work has been a mess, lots of traveling lately for me." He replied as he turned her to the front counter so she could order her drink. "How've you been? The mayor running you ragged? You look great!"

"Thanks. It's been a little hectic but nothing too crazy." she replied as the two stood next to each other in the line.

“That’s good. Any cool parties or galas that you need a date for anytime soon?” he asked with a smirk on his face making her laugh softly.

“You know, it’s almost as if you only keep me around for the parties and galas.” she teased him and he gasped dramatically as he placed a hand over his heart. Rolling her eyes she stepped up to the counter and with a bright happy smile she placed her order. Moving with Timothy to the side counter to wait for their drinks she heard the cafe doors chime with a new entry and looked over her shoulder to see Sam Wilson, Joaquin Torres and James “Bucky” Barnes enter the cafe. She nodded at Sam who grinned at her and waved a small wave before he turned to Joaquin.

She let her eyes glance over the trio and felt her eyes continuously being dragged back over to James. The man was towering and menacing as he stood there with his arms crossed over his chest and a lazy scowl on his face. The black leather jacket he wore pulled at the shoulders and she could see the muscles underneath. His left hand was covered in a black leather glove and she knew it was to cover his metal hand, according to Sam it was to put the public at ease when he went out. His hair was cut short on top and almost shaved on the sides and his bright blue eyes stood out and almost seemed to glow.

“Oh my god, do you know Sam Wilson?” Timothy whispered in her ear as he leant against the counter next to her pulling her from her thoughts. She smiled as she could feel him almost vibrating with excitement next to her. Turning to him she saw his eyes darting over Captain America with almost awe shining through his eyes.

“Yep, him and the mayor are close friends who have meetings all the time.” she replied before turning back to the counter resting her forearms on it. She watched as suddenly Timothy’s eyes widened and she felt a warm pressure on her side.

“Hey Maeve, did the Mayor finally let you have a night off?” Sam teased warmly and as she turned her head to him his signature smile on his face. Stepping back from the counter she grinned back at him and opened her arms for a hug which he gladly pulled her in for. She sighed softly at his arms wrapped tightly around her and enveloped her in warmth that didn’t come from a soulmate connection.

“He finally stopped scheduling late evening press conferences.” she joked back and Sam laughed loudly at her words as he pulled back and held her at arm's length.

“Good, I’m glad he finally listened to us about that. You look good.” Sam said with a wicked grin on his face and she ducked her head softly before shaking it in amusement. “You know I can’t help myself from teasing you.” he cajoled and she nodded her head.

“I know, I know. Sam, this is my best friend Timothy Furness. Timothy, this is Sam Wilson, Captain America.” you happily introduced the two men near you as you gestured to Timothy at your side. Sam easily smiled and held out his hand for a handshake.

“Please just call me Sam. She knows better than to introduce me as Cap.” Sam said good-naturedly as he hip checked her while she grinned at him.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Sam.” Timothy said a little star struck and she had to hide her laugh behind a cough when Timothy kept shaking Sam’s hand. Sam leaned close to her and whispered in her ear as he still shook Timothy’s hand.

“He’s a huge fan?” he whispered and she burst out laughing as she nodded her head at his words. Timothy finally was pulled from his stupor as the barista behind the counter called her name to let her know her order was ready.

“Sorry about that.” Timothy apologized and Sam waved his apology away as he smiled. She stepped forward and collected her drink before stepping back again.

“It’s always nice to meet a fan. Hey Maeve, I’ll see you next week at the Mayor’s office alright? You have a good evening, you deserve it.” Sam said friendly as Maeve nodded her head and took a sip of her drink. Timothy then began guiding her back to the table where their friends were all sitting and talking.

“Finally! I thought Tim was gonna pop Cap’s arm off with how hard he was shaking it.” called out Abby as she laughed at Tim’s embarrassment. The other two of the group all laughed along as Tim blushed deeply up to his ears.

“Shut up Abby.” Tim grumbled and Maeve cuddled into his side watching the blue glow in her chest intensify.

“Hi Abby, how’ve you been?” Maeve asked softly as she placed her cup down onto the table in front of her. Abby smiled over at her from across the table as she flicked her asymmetrical black hair away from her face so that her vibrant green eyes were uncovered.

“I’m good, I've been busy at the parlor. Ever since you and the Mayor came by for a visit business has been crazy busy. Everyone wants to get a tattoo at the same place the Mayor goes to.” she said fondly and Maeve laughed softly at that. “You know Twitch, you should come by and get something done.” Abby suggested and Maeve started to shake her head.

“No, no. You know I’m not good with pain.” Maeve said softly and Abby frowned softly before reaching forward and grasping her hand softly. The blue glow thrummed softly in both of their chests and Maeve smiled softly at her.

“Wait, why do you call her Twitch?” came the question from the only other male in the group. Maeve turned her head to look over at him and he frowned softly at her with confusion which made her laugh softly.

“It’s a high school nickname. When I turned eighteen my soulmate connection was so active that every time I felt it during school I would twitch and it was so intense that it put me in the hospital a couple of times.” Maeve explained with a shrug of her shoulders.

“Oh my gosh really? That sounds horrible.” said the man sitting across the table from her. “And what about now? Do you still feel the connection?” he asked curiously and Maeve smiled softly as felt Timothy’s hand grab onto her free one that was sitting in her lap under the table.

“No, I’ve been on medication that dulls the connection to a manageable level ever since I turned eighteen.” she explained and the man looked at her with wide eyes as his mouth hung open slightly.

“Close your mouth Nick or you’ll catch flies.” Camille teased as she nudged his side with her elbow before smiling over at Maeve. “Twitch is a trooper and has been through a lot.”

“Thanks Camille.” Maeve said softly as she took another sip of her drink. The conversation then turned to what has been going on in everyone’s lives as they hadn’t been able to meet up in months.

*-*-*-*

Maeve took the last sip of her drink as Abby was retelling a horror story about a nightmare client who had changed her mind half through a tattoo. Chuckling softly Maeve stood from her chair letting them know she was going to put her cup in the wash bin over at the counter.

She weaved around the tables that some patrons were sitting at and spotted Sam sitting with Joaquin and James in a booth along the wall. Sam was sitting in the inside seat while James sat next to him on the outside and Joaquin sat across from the two of them. Sam waved at her as she passed and she smiled and waved back at him.

Placing her mug in the dirty bin she turned around to walk back to the table when she heard a loud engine revving. Suddenly a loud popping noise sounded and Maeve looked up confused. She watched as two large black dark tinted cadillacs sped along the street near where her friends were sitting, idly Maeve wondered if it was the same cadillac that was impatient with her crossing the street.

The windows shattered and Maeve tilted her head in confusion wondering what was causing them to do this as people began screaming in fear and surprise. She then saw the bullets whizzing through the air into the cafe. Her mind wasn’t working fast enough to process what was going on as she watched a few people get hit with bullets and fall to the floor. Her line of sight suddenly narrowed to one bullet that was traveling through the air straight towards her.

Standing there she panicked and froze as she watched the bullet near her, the cafe became silent as her world focused on that one bullet. She grimaced as she waited for it to hit her but suddenly found herself falling to the floor as a warmth flooded her body and a glow consumed her eyesight.

Her body fell on top of something that was solid and warm that made her gasp softly before a large arm wrapped around her waist and a large hand came to cup the back of her head keeping her head down. She gazed up through her lashes to be almost blinded by a bright amber glow emitting from her chest and the person below here. Her eyes were only able to focus on James’ face when he shifted on the ground to roll over her and protect her body from the spray of bullets that continued to penetrate the cafe.

His hand that held the back of her head slipped out and pressed down into the floor so that his body wouldn’t crush hers. Her hands were trapped between the two of them as her fingers pressed gently into his chest where the amber glow was coming from. As her brain caught up with what was happening she gasped loudly and jerked her head upwards to stare at a shocked James.

The cafe was quieting down as the bullets ceased their barrage on the patrons of the cafe and Maeve locked eyes with James as the amber glow thrummed between the two of them. James watched her with shocked widened eyes as his mouth hung open. Her eyes danced around his face taking him in when suddenly it all clicked inside of her head. James was her soulmate.

“No. No, this isn’t right. It can’t be true. I don’t want this.” James said gruffly and Maeve felt the sting of his words pierce her heart as he began to avidly shake his head. He let go of her waist and pressed his hands into the floor picking himself off the floor and away from her as if she would burn him. The amber glow began to dissipate as he stood up still shaking his head at her.

“Wait! We can talk about this.” Maeve said as she held a hand out to him but James scoffed at her and quickly turned away and gestured at Sam before hurrying out of the cafe and towards where the Cadillacs had driven off.

Maeve watched speechless as James just left without a backwards glance at her. Timothy rushed over to her holding his hands out to help her up to her feet. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and hugged her close to his body.

“Is everyone from our group okay? Do any of them need to go to the hospital?” Maeve began to ask quickly as she clutched onto Timothy’s arms.

“They’re all okay. No one got hurt from our group. But there’s others who need medical attention.” Timothy said softly and Maeve nodded at his words as she pulled her phone out of her pocket and dialed 911. After telling the dispatcher that police and medical services were needed at the cafe she hung up and turned to Timothy who was watching her with a concerned look on his face.

“What’s wrong?” she asked curiously and Timothy huffed softly at her question. His hands came out to rub up and down her arms in a calming gesture.

“Are you okay? You just found out that your soulmate is James “Bucky” Barnes. And he just left you here.” Timothy said concerned, making Maeve remember that her and James were soulmates. Instantly questions filled her head at that knowledge and things began to make sense for her in how she was affected by the soulmate connection. Groaning softly she placed her hand to her forehead as a headache began to form. “Are you okay?” Timothy asked again and Maeve nodded her head as she looked up at him.

“Just a headache. Let’s help these people first and then I’ll worry about my soulmate situation.” she said diplomatically and Timothy nodded his head at her words. The two of them began helping and calming the other patrons of the cafe while Sam and Joaquin took charge of the situation. Maeve didn’t miss the way that Sam would continuously look over at her with a pensive look on his face.

#my writing #internal connection #bucky barnes x ofc!#bucky barnes #marvel

3 notes · View notes

jojoreadwhat · 4 years

Text

i'm the best book you'll never read / honey & smoke - m.h. x OFC story

Lucy's POV.

It's been a weekend and three days since Matty tried kissing me under the stars. His breath still a lingering scent that wouldn't subside, so close to my pale skin. Laced with the red wine shared between us and the minty menthol he had threw before hovering over me. Sending this racing chill through my body that was fitting with the warmth of the wine I had consumed. His dark chocolate eyes like daggers against my crystal blues, tracing my face like transparent paper. A scene that wouldn't leave, a scene I was wish I played into instead of pause.

The words replaying in the savory tone of Matty's thick accent, 'You're not one of them' his calloused index finger running over my forehead. Moving the little strand dancing across it. 'Not in the slightest.' Watching as his rare lips, so defined and gloss-like. Curl into this unconventional smile that was so.. inviting.

I sighed to myself, opening my eyes to the window with the picture perfect scene. Lightly shaking my head to possible mistake I had made. His strange absence painting the bigger picture that all was not the truth, that I was different in that moment. Only because I wanted more grammar rather than the tongue tied language he wanted to perform.

It was best to keep it a subtle memory, keeping me at bay for all the wonders I was expected to see in London. Matty was just an introduction to it all, starting the carpet that would lead me to all I was hoping to find here. Experience.

I looked down at my leather bound in my lap, writing the finishings of my entry before reading the watch on my wrist. Today is my first day working in the university's library. I buckled the strap of my journal, throwing it into my bag before grabbing another coffee for the walk.

I walked to the west wing of campus to the building separated from the rest of it, I swear the library for this campus was bigger than two mansions. Three floors full of magic aligned each shelf. A different world for a different day of the week. The smell ventilating so much that I could catch it into a jar like you would sand on a foreign beach.

I clocked in, placing my belongings into a locker in the back. I bent down to fix the buckle of my mary jane's, before I stood in front of a community mirror. Straightening out my navy and green plaid skirt, readjusting the black tulip hem shirt following the placing of my lanyard over my neck.

Taking a breath, before going to look for my supervisor, Matilda. Blonde long haired woman approaching her fifties. Blue eyes similar to mine and this angelic face that you only seen in those old Victorian paintings in museums. With a very laid back style, a different patterned skirt everytime I seen her during study hall. Loaded with different amounts of jewelry, and smelling of fresh eucalyptus.

She was marking books with little color tags on their linings. Separating them from different genres. I lightly tapped her because you know the rules of libraries, six inch voices. She spun around with a warming smile, kind of like the one my mom gave.

"Ah, Ms. Collins. It's your first day!" She exclaimed ever so quietly. Placing her arm around my shoulders blades as she directed me. Her light embrace warming me heavily, "I've been looking forward to working with you."

--------------------------------------------

Matty's POV.

I stood at the counter of Rocket Records as each strike of the clock moved and people browsed through the plastic wraps of wonders. I was in the mist of heading to uni when James called in a frantic. Ryan, the morning shift had an emergency to attend too. Taking me out of the terrible excuse of books and lectures. So I could stare at the girl a few rows in front.

Friday kept replaying in my head.

The way she danced to the strums of my guitar. The way her face squinted after her first sip of her drink. Her refreshed skin glistening against the neons as she came out of the ladies room. Her little hand in mine as I led her on the outskirts, buying cheap wine to watch the street lights and stars make align in her eyes. That laugh cascade over the sounds of the stale city, making it ever so bright in the night. The way she was so small laying slightly beneath me, how every bit of the details etched on her face. Were what she considered flawed, but to I so beautiful blended. Lastly how guarded her valuable heart was as her small hands barely amounted to the strong opinions running from her mouth.

I smirked in thought at the way her eyes widened when I didn't move my stance. Which them open from fear she was trying to have subside, to the curiosity of why I was still lying there. Showing that what I remarked back was the most truth I had ever spoken. She was not the red head in the bar when she seen her hands resting around me. Not the blonde that left my flat the day I found Lucy in my Creative Writings class. She was Lucy. Lucy Collins, a girl with lines to read and understand.

The little bell over the door had rang, my two friends and bandmates Ross and Adam peering from the sunny autumn breeze. Holding bags of clanking bottles and snacks as they rested them on the counter in front of me.

"It's Wednesday." I reminded. Very aware of the events taking place tonight.

Ross looked at me taken back on my greetings. "It's two days till Friday. We are just preparing." He replied, Adam chiming in beside him with a chuckle. I sighed to myself, taking the tagging gun and running along a pile.

"Is it a big one?" I asked, my mind flooding with papers due and studying to do. As much as I would be usually stoked for the midnight ride, I wasn't feeling it much.

Adam shook his head, "Preparing remember?" He remarked, resting his arms on the counter. "It's just enough for good food, good tunes and some nice company." He added, picking up a record.

"Plus, we think you should invite Lucy." Ross added once more, "She's quite the catch."

For my usual laid back, very unreadable expressions. I could feel the curl in my cheeks with only the truth filling the room. She's a definitely a catch. A catch so difficult to grasp.

----------------------------------------------

Lucy's POV.

Matilda had directed to me the front desk, giving me light duty today because we were pretty swamped. It was the middle of the next week now and there was essays and exams due. I felt all the same pain, I had a double whammy of exams on Friday that I was dreading to bits.

I worked with the computer, helping my fellow classmates if we had books available or if they had been checked out. It was definitely a sucky job, I hated the feeling knowing you didn't get to a book in time. It was like getting to class late... And naked to top it off.

Eventually it had died down. Matilda was now at the desk with me, eating peanuts and checking library check out slips.

"So Ms. Collins. What are you studying?" She asked, during my interview it was cut short so she didn't get to ask about why this American was in London.

I helped check slips with her, "Literature. I write." I explained, I didn't really have a direction when it came to what type of writing I was studying. I took up creative writing and women studies as extras cause many books I read were along those lines. But honestly, I just wanted anything to everything about writing at my fingertips. Writing never had directions, just flows.

She seemed pleased, "My daughter is a writer too." She went on, looking just like her I bet, pretty long blonde hair, taking the world by storm. Writing about experiences she had and was experiencing things as we spoke. Wearing a coat of many colors without any shame. That would be a level I'd like to reach after this.

"I bet you have great stories." She continued, I smiled at her positivity. She had no idea that I only had a first kiss in Junior high and talked to a homeless guy once or twice. All my experiences being so blah and that standing in this library. In a place so new, was more exciting than all of them combined. "I bet he knows that too." She added once more, my face immediately flustering into confusion.

She smiled at my questioning look of her mentions. "He was here a few days ago when you had picked up My Life On The Road." She explaining more specifically, "His eyes were all over you more than the book in his hands."

She went on to describing him but I didn't need more, instead I was beginning to feel more guilt than I already had. Totally judging him by his past when mine was just a sheet of lined paper. Jotted with scarce notes that never even made it to the market, just a list of things I never did.

Matilda set the alarm before locking the doors and saying goodnight. Day one of work had been surprisingly smooth than I expected. Leaving me now with enough energy of diving into textbooks and paperbacks of my own. Excited for the fresh bottle of pumpkin spice creamer in the fridge, the Coldplay record that was delivered to the house via email and the half eaten tub of apple crisp flavored ice cream. Waiting to be devoured in the freezer hidden behind the stack of frozen peas.

With the unlikely exciting things to be thrilled about for some when getting home. I retraced the familiar route to the tube that would lead me to my happy events of the night. The mixed aromas of firewood and the brisk winds tickling my nose, I went to slip in my headphones. Finishing from the middle of Moose Blood when the voice I kept hearing replay in my mind. Was now colliding against the autumn winds.

"Hey Blue." His voice sliding down my spine like ice.

Leaning against his car that was dark like the sky above. His hands in the green army jacket over the white and blue of his flannel, edging out all the tone of his build. His black infamous holed jeans meeting at the bottom where his vans were crossed. Casually playing the aesthetic he walked.

I walked towards to him, stopping two feet but only itching to get closer.

"How did you know I was here?" I asked with his absence from Creative Writing remained on my mind.

He smirked, probably mentally preparing for all the questions to roll off my tongue like a ball on the ground. "Abby told me that you were working." He replied, surprised that he went looking for me in the first place.

"Were you hoping I fetched your homework?" I remarked. My mind immediately regretting the bantering remark.

He shook his head, "No." looking down at his shoes. "I was hoping to catch you." Before his brown eyes met mine again, even with the indigo that surrounded us. They were so bright, golds so prominent like the moon dancing with stars.

"The boys and I are having a party tonight." He said, "I was hoping you could stop by."

My mind playing tricks splitting like a Gemini on a off day, one part wanting to cover my face with apple crisp ice cream. The other was Matty opening the door to the passenger seat of his car.

The party was smaller than I had thought about on the drive here. Just a handful of friends, good brews and fresh tunes.

Matty grabbed me a drink before grabbing my hand and pulling me to the dance floor. I was never much for parties or the way my hips move off beat. But for Matty's hands to lay on my waist as his wine breath danced along the skin of my neck. I was fabricating more ways in my head for this feeling to be more frequent. The past thoughts of earlier as I was dealing with guilt for Friday. Were beginning to feel sighs of reliefs with all the words Matty babbled and the laughs he caused to ripple against the music.

More people started coming in from the yard, changing the vibe and it was getting more difficult to listen to Matty talk. Finding the words that would fall so easily were being replaced by nods and smiles. Trying to hint a bit that it was beginning to be crowded and he was all I wanted to listen too.

"Let's go to my room." He slightly slurred without waiting for a response, his hand moving from the fabric resting on my waist. Now running along into my hand as he moved through the crowd till we reached stairs.

He turned the knob of a door covered in nonsense stickers of bands till we entered his room. The room loosely matched his door, posters in multiple different sizes overlapping, collages, and a tapestry of different faces he admired plaster on the walls. I looked around, Matty turning on a lamp on his nightstand before sitting on his bed. Silently watching me as I silently observed the things that hadn't fallen from his mouth.

I chuckled to myself as I counted a few more pictures of Prince than Michael Jackson. The first week of his friendliness and his one man protest of who was better coming to mind. "You really think Michael Jackson is better?" I recanted, pointing out some of the snippets of articles I had found. "Okay, maybe. But Prince definitely has killer style." He replied as I shook my head in amusement. Trailing my eyes to the colorful bookshelf with bold names seeping. Picking up Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman. A book I had all intentions of picking up in the bookstore back home, but it never made it to the register.

The sound of a lighter clicking as Matty lit his menthol was followed with his towering figuration standing from his gray duvet covered bed.

"Ever read it?" He asked, the cigarette moving with every curl of his lip. Wrapping his fingers around it as he pulled it away to exhale. I shook my head, a look of surprise gracing his face. The English major failing to read a book that fallen between cracks and rolled up lists.

I watched as he brought the cigarette back to his perfectly formed lips, inhaling once before exhaling into a question. "Do you remember your first English class?" He began, middle school replaying in my mind, Ms. Lindsay's pretty floral dress, the posters aligning the walls with every author you could imagine. She was a big part of my decision of devoting my life into words, journals and novels.

Matty's voice breaking me from my memory, "Remember when they taught you to never judge a book by it's cover?" He added, I looked back down at the book that was falling to pieces, the cover was beginning to wear and the colors becoming stale. "Even if it's a over read story or just a plot you'll never fully understand?" Inhaling once again, "Or just a author with too much exposure?" I ran my fingers over it's folded pages, the old and fresh notes made in the indents.

All his questions beginning to connect like the lining of the book. Matty was a book, folded at it's edges, full of knowledge and secrets some old from past lives, some new. Over read like the one in my hands.

I looked up at Matty who was beginning to raise his hand to take another swing of his cigarette. I had other ideas when I gently grabbed his wrist before I reached up and met his lips with mine. He was taken back my sudden action, making two of us. I was nervous about what I had begun but it all subsided when his hands wrapped around my waist. Pulling me closer, tasting what I was about to guard myself from, like he was a banned book that I was going to go through all lengths to read.

#the 1975 fanfiction #matty healy imagines #slutforbritdick #wattpadarchives

2 notes · View notes

harusha · 5 years

Note

Hey so I'm debating buy the new fire emblem and i was wondering to get yoyr opinion on it?? This is the first one I'm gonna get or would get of the fire emblem franchise. Do you think its a game that is worth buying?? What are some downsides?? What about upsides?? If I play as a female can I have the option to marry whichever girl I want or is it only a selected few??

I think it’s worth buying! It’s a fantastic addition to the FE series. However, where it excels, it excels, but when it’s lukewarm, it’s really lukewarm imo. You can marry 5 potential woman as F!Byleth (Edelgard, Rhea, Sothis, Mercedes, and Dorothea). If you choose to buy the game, don’t listen to people and play whichever route interests you; there is no “ideal” order to play them in

For me, the pros are

Characters- the characters really benefited from all that Fire Emblem: Heroes Gacha money. Due to the higher production value, all the characters have more supports (ie. more characterization) and feel really well-rounded overall. Unlike the previous entry, Fates, there are rarely any “superfluous” or “useless” character supports.

Setting- The setting has a lot of history imo, and you’ll learn about Fodlan as you progress through each route.

Routes- Both a pro and a con imo, but I’ll just list it here. The routes give a lot of replayability, and cross-house supports even more if you wanna complete the logbook. However, the routes also created a rather “incoherent” at times narrative for each route. It’s like...why didn’t this organization intervene after their appearance in the Blue Lions route? What happened to this character after their disappearance? It’s like they saved content so all the routes could be “unique,” but at the cost of making the routes’ stories questionable at times. As much flak as Fates gets, it did much better on this front than FE3H imo. While Hoshido, Nohr, and 3rd path all have their questionable decisions, they at least felt self-contained enough to where I wasn’t scratching my head trying to figure out who approved this.

Story-I’m told the story is really good so I’ll just put it here. Imo, the story isn’t the greatest imo, but it’s definitely up there for FE. For me, the incoherence caused by the route splits is what’s making not enjoy it as much. And the refusal to seriously approach the outcomes that you could expect from the endings (ie. they’re all rather happy overall imo). But this is also a heavy personal taste thing.

Limited Free Roam on maps-Minor thing but it really adds immersion. It’s kinda wonky to use, however.

On Cons,

Poor gameplay- I might get knifed for this one, but I found FE3H’s gameplay to be drab after the glamour wears off. The maps are frequently reused in their own routes and between routes with few changes to terrain. It creates a repetitive experience at times unless you keep upping the difficulty. There’s good chapters ofc like a particular one in the post-skip. It’s better than Echoes of Valentia’s maps imo, but that’s not high praise considering Valentia is a faithful remake (and its OG version didn’t exactly have great maps). Not as fun as Shin Monsho no Nazo’s, Conquest’s, etc. maps for me. Also put everyone on a mount or suffer in this game because this game is where movement counts (just like FE4).

Poor Gameplay (again) but in relation to classes- The class system is wonky. Some classes don’t have upgrades, others are sidegrades, and some don’t have a coherent pathway to follow (ex. early-game fliers).

Underutilized mechanics and archaic character development method- FE3H may have excellent characters, but you have to seek out their development. This wouldn’t be a problem if the game had more cutscenes/required events for characters pre-skip, but as it is, it makes it to where their (potential) deaths in postskip don’t have impact. That is killer in a game where it emphasizes the brutality of war and killing your students (and thus your bond with them).. It’s particularly noteworthy because this game uses a calendar system, but there are barely any meaningful events on it. They could have certainly attached more events in there, AND had supports for you to seek out. Basically give development to characters outside of your chosen house, and allow you to seek and recruit them if you liked what you saw. Requiring the player to play badly (ie. spread out time for people they aren’t gonna recruit) so they can feel the full impact of their decisions is poor design imo.

Poor LGBT+ options for M!Byleth-Not as noteworthy (and also subjective) since you want to play F!Byleth who gets five gay options but I thought I’d mention it anyway, but 2 out of 3 of M!Byleth’s are actual gaybait (ie. you marry a woman or end up alone) and the new one is free DLC which wouldn’t be “bad” if he wasn’t route locked. It kinda stings because outside of 2 options, all of F!Byleth’s aren’t locked. Also, she gets a lord romance and M!Byleth doesn’t.

Attack animations-Minor again, but for a Switch game, the attack animations are pretty bad imo, but most 3d (and 3ds) titles for the series are that way imo. There’s just nothing as exciting as the GBA animations were.

Overall, fantastic game, but I wouldn’t call it perfect or even the “best” FE game (which is a hefty and subjective title; personally, my favorite is Shin Monsho no Nazo). The story is certainly up there with the Jugdral duology and Tellius, but I wouldn’t say it outpaces them in that department. And on gameplay, it isn’t great, but it isn’t the worst. What makes the game, however, is the characters, setting, and the fact that none of the routes are purely ideal. It’s no SMT on that front, but it’s a very good try on Nintendo’s part.

Sorry for the late reply as well. I had to type this up, and I went to go make beans with toast before this since I was kinda hungry.

2 notes · View notes

fifidunks · 8 years

Note

hi fifi. i'm so incredibly lonely. and 3 days ago I got my heart broken so bad. what should I do to ease this pain? i see no perspectives in my life and ive been feeling this way for the last 5 years or so. thank you

you’ve funny timing angel. under the force of Saturn, relegated to my bedroom for lack of FUNds, I just started writing personal stuff again. waking up with words on my fingertips… their goal seems to be to cast a s-p-e-l-l that’ll set me & all my girls free. so we can stop taking things so personally. this morning:

All my life, or since puberty at least, it’s been easy for me to see that others were alive and hard for me to feel it except in extremes. I’ve sought to exist with regards to others by feeling seen, by getting hurt, and by loving like it’s a service. This lead to crisis.Most of the women in my life seem to be afflicted with something similar. We’ve anxiety disorders. Suffer depressions. Bipolar swings. And furies. We’ve anger and overcompensatory vanity and intellection. High-achievers, my girls are public successes, even famed. But I’ve seen them in their living rooms, gauntly yellow, telling me if they didn’t perform as they do, they’d kill themselves, and that anyway, they’re convinced they’re dying or will soon, which is probably true, if they think it. Becoming real friends with real women changed my life. It was maybe the first step to becoming real which I hope to soon. I want to take their pain away. I will eat it like I do my feelings, slathered in nut butter. And I will shit it in the form of writing. Everything I write is shit; why do I think this?

That was something like a riff on this diary entry, from dec 23/16 (sorry sleepy you’re getting copy/pastes):

from ~puberty until recently (i’m 29), i experienced Life like gravity that is under low to high tenor anxiety with bouts of low to deep depression, blue moons of depersonalization, and breathtaking reprieves of manic joy, lust, hunger, anger, inspiration, illusion, freedom, n fun, usually facilitated by drugs, especially that most potent one - love. i thought this was “normal” not that i wanted to be normal - in fact, my wanting to be + have more more ______ is largely responsible it seems for the anxiety depression mania etc. only now do i get - oh wait - u can live day in n out in blissful simple stable renewable energy generous blessed okay so so so okay with being OK just dust laughing awestruck responsible plus bigger orgasms. never too late to remember how to be. love, fifips this was here all along ofcpps respect we may lose it again truthfully it’s very likelyppps bliss has a lot to do w/ accepting lack it seems, while anxiety/depression/addiction - addiction - is filling that void which can’t be

So after that day, as if to check my hubris, Life brought me Drama & I “lost” It again. he he.

Then last night my something like a boyfriend who I avoid when I’m not Real cause how could he love something that’s not Real? called me “not to judge but…” (I’ve been unreal more than less since Dec 24.) he ended up reading me this letter by Rilke, which his dad had shared with him, and which he prefaced with “it’s common—maybe you’ve heard it.” I hadn’t. I’ll share it with you now, as for some reason I’m assuming you’re a woman, and those lines made me cry, and even if woman’s not how you identify, it’s all good, and this is really what I want to get to, that loneliness is so good dude, first step to solitude (read it out loud):

…you should not let yourself be confused in your solitude by the fact that there is something in you that wants to move out of it. This very wish, if you use it calmly and prudently and like a tool, will help you spread out your solitude over a great distance. Most people have (with the help of conventions) turned their solutions toward what is easy and toward the easiest side of the easy; but it is clear that we must trust in what is difficult; everything alive trusts in it, everything in Nature grows and defends itself any way it can and is spontaneously itself, tries to be itself at all costs and against all opposition. We know little, but that we must trust in what is difficult is a certainty that will never abandon us; it is good to be solitary, for solitude is difficult; that something is difficult must be one more reason for us to do it. It is also good to love: because love is difficult. For one human being to love another human being: that is perhaps the most difficult task that has been entrusted to us, the ultimate task, the final test and proof, the work for which all other work is merely preparation. That is why young people, who are beginners in everything, are not yet capable of love: it is something they must learn. With their whole being, with all their forces, gathered around their solitary, anxious, upward-beating heart, they must learn to love. But learning-time is always a long, secluded time ahead and far on into life, is—; solitude, a heightened and deepened kind of aloneness for the person who loves. Loving does not at first mean merging, surrendering, and uniting with another person (for what would a union be of two people who are unclarified, unfinished, and still incoherent—?), it is a high inducement for the individual to ripen, to become something in himself, to become world, to become world in himself for the sake of another person; it is a great, demanding claim on him, something that chooses him and calls him to vast distances. Only in this sense, as the task of working on themselves (“to hearken and to hammer day and night”), may young people use the love that is given to them. Merging and surrendering and every kind of communion is not for them (who must still, for a long, long time, save and gather themselves); it is the ultimate, is perhaps that for which human lives are as yet barely large enough. But this is what young people are so often and so disastrously wrong in doing they (who by their very nature are impatient) fling themselves at each other when love takes hold of them, they scatter themselves, just as they are, in all their messiness, disorder, bewilderment… : And what can happen then? What can life do with this heap of half-broken things that they call their communion and that they would like to call their happiness, if that were possible, and their future? And so each of them loses himself for the sake of the other person, and loses the other, and many others who still wanted to come. And loses the vast distances and possibilities, gives up the approaching and fleeing of gentle, prescient Things in exchange for an unfruitful confusion, out of which nothing more can come; nothing but a bit of disgust, disappointment, and poverty, and the escape into one of the many conventions that have been put up in great numbers like public shelters on this most dangerous road. No area of human experience is so extensively provided with conventions as this one is: there are live-preservers of the most varied invention, boats and water wings; society has been able to create refuges of very sort, for since it preferred to take love-life as an amusement, it also had to give it an easy form, cheap, safe, and sure, as public amusements are. It is true that many young people who love falsely, i.e., simply surrendering themselves and giving up their solitude (the average person will of course always go on doing that — ), feel oppressed by their failure and want to make the situation they have landed in livable and fruitful in their own, personal way —. For their nature tells them that the questions of love, even more than everything else that is important, cannot be resolved publicly and according to this or that agreement; that they are questions, intimate questions from one human being to another, which in any case require a new, special, wholly personal answer —. But how can they, who have already flung themselves together and can no longer tell whose outlines are whose, who thus no longer possess anything of their own, how can they find a way out of themselves, out of the depths of their already buried solitude? They act out of mutual helplessness, and then if, with the best of intentions, they try to escape the conventions that is approaching them (marriage, for example), they fall into the clutches of some less obvious but just as deadly conventional solution. For then everything around them is — convention. Wherever people act out of a prematurely fused, muddy communion, every action is conventional: every relation that such confusion leads to has its own convention, however unusual (i.e., in the ordinary sense immoral) it may be; even separating would be a conventional step, an impersonal, accidental decision without strength and without fruit. Whoever looks seriously will find that neither for death, which is difficult, nor for difficult love has any clarification, any solution, any hint of a path been perceived; and for both these tasks, which we carry wrapped up and hand on without opening, there is not general, agreed-upon rule that can be discovered. But in the same measure in which we begin to test life as individuals, these great Things will come to meet us, the individuals, with greater intimacy. The claims that the difficult work of love makes upon our development are greater than life, and we, as beginners, are not equal to them. But if we nevertheless endure and take this love upon us as burden and apprenticeship, instead of losing ourselves in the whole easy and frivolous game behind which people have hidden from the solemnity of their being, — then a small advance and a lightening will perhaps be perceptible to those who come long after us. That would be much. We are only just now beginning to consider the relation of one individual to a second individual objectively and without prejudice, and our attempts to live such relationships have no model before them. And yet in the changes that time has brought about there are already many things that can help our timid novitiate. [This was where I started to bawl.] The girl and the woman, in their new, individual unfolding, will only in passing be imitators of male behavior and misbehavior and repeaters of male professions. After the uncertainty of such transitions, it will become obvious that women were going through the abundance and variation of those (often ridiculous) disguises just so that they could purify their own essential nature and wash out the deforming influences of the other sex. Women, in whom life lingers and dwells more immediately, more fruitfully, and more confidently, must surely have become riper and more human in their depths than light, easygoing man, who is not pulled down beneath the surface of life by the weight of any bodily fruit and who, arrogant and hasty, undervalues what he thinks he loves. This humanity of woman, carried in her womb through all her suffering and humiliation, will come to light when she has stripped off the conventions of mere femaleness in the transformations of her outward status, and those men who do not yet feel it approaching will be astonished by it. Someday (and even now, especially in the countries of northern Europe, trustworthy signs are already speaking and shining), someday there will be girls and women whose name will no longer mean the mere opposite of the male, but something in itself, something that makes one think not of any complement and limit, but only life and reality: the female human being. This advance (at first very much against the will of the outdistanced men) will transform the love experience, which is now filled with error, will change it from the ground up, and reshape it into a relationship that is meant to be between one human being and another, no longer one that flows from man to woman. And this more human love (which will fulfill itself with infinite consideration and gentleness, and kindness and clarity in binding and releasing) will resemble what we are now preparing painfully and with great struggle: the love that consists in this: the two solitudes protect and border and greet each other. And one more thing: Don’t think that the great love which was once granted to you, when you were a boy, has been lost; how can you know whether vast and generous wishes didn’t ripen in you at that time, and purposes by which you are still living today? I believe that that love remains strong and intense in your memory because it was your first deep aloneness and the first inner work that you did on your life. — All good wished to you, dear Mr. Kappus! Yours, Rainer Maria Rilke

MoreYou can always email. [email protected]. I’d prefer it. I fear publicity aka the Internet lately. Words Are Not Safe Here.

32 notes · View notes