#a lily girl not made for this world’s pain

[petaltexturedskies]

Oscar Wilde, from "Madonna Mia" originally wr. 1881

[the-winter-spider]

Yours, Always | Part Eight

Steve x reader, Bucky x reader AU

Word Count: 6.1k

Warnings: Angst, fluff, little bit of this little bit of that

A/N: Only like 2 more parts of Bucky in the hospital, I just want him home so we can get to the good stuff 😅🤪

Masterpost

---

The door clicks shut, the sound hanging in the silence like an aftershock.

Bucky stares at it for a long moment, like maybe if he looks hard enough, it’ll open again. Like maybe you’ll come back, but you don’t.

His chest feels hollow, his hand still tingling from where yours had been just minutes ago. He swallows hard, then drags his free hand over his face, his fingers trembling against his skin.

Winnie watches him, her gentle, knowing eyes never leaving his face.

She saw it the moment you walked out of the room the way something inside her son cracked. Bucky lets out a slow, shaky breath and in a voice that’s so small, so quiet, he asks “Who’s Steve?”

Winnie’s brows pull together slightly, her lips parting. “What did she tell you?” she asks softly.

“Not much,” Bucky murmurs, his voice tired, strained. He leans back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling as his jaw clenches, unclenches.

On an exhale, barely above a whisper “Not much about anything.” His throat bobs, his brows knitting together as his lip quivers, just barely. “Her life isn’t anything like I hoped for,” he admits, the words stinging his tongue like acid.

Winnie’s expression softens, something deep and heartbroken settling in her gaze. “Oh, James,” she whispers, shaking her head. “What did you expect?”

Bucky says nothing. Because he truly doesn't know what he expected but it didn't feel like this.

His jaw tightens, his eyes still glued to the ceiling like if he blinks, if he moves, the pain will swallow him whole.

Winnie lets out a breath, sitting down beside his bed, her hand covering his forearm, grounding him.

“That girl loves you so much,” she says softly. “Her whole world stopped when you were gone.”

Bucky flinches, because he knows he heard it in your voice. Felt it in the way you held him like he might disappear again. Saw it in the way you couldn’t even look at him when you talked about your life.

“She said there was a funeral for me...” he murmurs, his voice barely holding together. Winnie closes her eyes for a moment, as if she can still see it the way you stood at that funeral, hands curled into fists, face vacant, lost, broken beyond words.

“She never really believed it,” Winnie admits. “Not completely. Even when we had to bury an empty casket. Even when they handed me that folded flag. A part of her always thought maybe just maybe you’d find your way home.”

Bucky presses the heel of his hand against his eyes, inhaling sharply. “Who’s Steve?” he asks again, his voice raw this time.

Winnie sighs, her heart aching for him, for you, for all the years that were stolen. “Her husband.”

The air leaves Bucky’s lungs all at once. For a second, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink, then, he exhales through his nose, sharply, his hand dragging down his face.

“Right.” His voice is flat, unreadable, but Winnie can see it the devastation in his eyes, the way his fingers twitch like he’s trying not to clench his fists.

“He’s a good man,” she continues softly. “He loves her and Y/N, she loves him and Lily too. Maybe not the way she loved…loves you but its there.”

Bucky’s brows pull together slightly. “Lily?”

Winnie hesitates for half a second, gently. “Her daughter.”

Bucky closes his eyes.

And for the first time since he’s been back, since he’s been rescued, since he’s been breathing, since he’s been staring at the ceiling in this goddamn hospital bed, he wishes he hadn’t made it home at all.

Bucky’s entire body goes still. Not just still, paralyzed. His fingers twitch, then curl into the thin hospital blanket, his grip tight like it’s the only thing tethering him to this moment.

“She has a daughter?” The words barely make it out. His voice is hoarse, strangled, like they were ripped from somewhere deep in his chest.

Winnie watches him carefully, her lips pressing together before she gives the softest nod. “Not in the way you think, sweetheart.”

Bucky’s throat bobs, his breath uneven.

Winnie’s voice is quiet, steady, filled with something he can’t quite name. “She’s her daughter legally, on paper and in her heart. But she didn’t birth her, that’s all I’m saying. The rest… she’ll tell you when she’s ready.”

Bucky just stares at her, the words should mean something but they don’t sink in.

Not yet, all he can hear…all he can feel is the ache in his chest, the one expanding, consuming, suffocating.

“A daughter,” he repeats, like if he says it enough times, maybe it’ll start making sense.

But it doesn’t.

Because how the fuck is he supposed to make sense of any of this?

Of years stolen, of an empty casket, of a love that never got to be anything more, of a life that kept going without him?

His heart is hammering, his breath is short and vision blurs.

He presses his fingers against his eyes, hard, inhaling sharply, forcing the lump in his throat to stay down, forcing his grief into the cracks of his ribs where no one can see it.

“James.” Winnie’s voice is gentle, but firm.

Like she already knows exactly what’s going through his head, like she knows that in the seconds since she spoke those words, he’s already convinced himself that he should have never come back at all.

“Look at me, baby.”

He doesn’t want to. He knows if he does, he’ll break. Slowly, reluctantly, his eyes meet hers.

They’re the same eyes that used to look at him across the dinner table when he was sixteen.

The same eyes that welcomed you into their family like you were always meant to be there because you were.

The same eyes that had to bury an empty casket and pretend it was enough.

“What did you expect?” Winnie says softly. Her voice isn’t harsh, isn’t cruel but it still feels like a knife between his ribs.

Because he doesn’t know, he doesn’t know what he expected.

That you’d be waiting? That time would have frozen in his absence, just like he did? That you’d still be his, in some way, any way, even after all this time?

“I…” His voice cracks.

He looks away, shaking his head, running a hand down his face again like it might wake him up from this nightmare.

Winnie sighs, squeezing his arm. “That girl loves you so much, James,” she says. “Her whole world stopped when you were gone.”

Bucky flinches.

“And when she had to start it again, she did the best she could.”

Bucky swallows, staring at the ceiling, blinking rapidly. A broken sound leaves Bucky’s throat.

A breath, a sob, a fucking plea for something he doesn’t even know how to name. He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “She deserved better.”

“She deserved you.”

His breath stutters and his jaw clenches.

“James,” Winnie murmurs, rubbing slow circles on his arm. “She made a life for herself. She did what she had to do to keep moving forward but don’t think for a second that it didn’t cost her everything. She lost you, baby. She lost herself right along with you.”

He felt it the second he saw you. The way you looked at him like you’d seen a ghost, the way your hands shook when you held him.

The way your voice cracked when you spoke his name, the way you couldn’t even look him in the eye when you talked about your life, because somewhere deep down, you knew it was never supposed to be like this. None of it was.

Bucky swallows then clears his throat. He tells himself not to ask but he does anyway. “Do you think she’s happy?”

Winnie watches him for a long time.

So long that his stomach twists, turns, knots itself into something unrecognizable. She sighs. “I think she tries to be.”

Bucky nods once. Slowly and quieter than ever. “Does she love him?”

Winnie pauses.

She doesn’t answer right away, like she’s choosing her words carefully. “She loves him the best she can,” she finally says. “And he loves her and she loves that little girl with everything in her.”

Bucky stares at the ceiling, silent and suffocating.

“But,” Winnie continues gently, her voice so soft he almost doesn’t hear it “Not the way she loved you.”

His chest caves in. It doesn’t feel like victory, it doesn’t feel like hope. It feels like a slow, agonizing death, like mourning something that’s still standing right in front of you, like grieving a love that was never given the chance to grow.

“Get some rest, baby,” Winnie whispers, brushing his hair back like she did when he was a kid. “Goodnight my sweet boy.”

He nods absently. “Goodnight Ma.”

---

The night air was cool, wrapping around you like a soft whisper. The sky stretched endlessly above, a dark canvas splattered with stars, the moon casting a soft glow over the riverbank.

You and Bucky lay side by side on an old plaid blanket, the fabric rough against your skin, the scent of pine and damp earth grounding you.

This had been your thing for as long as you could remember. Escaping the noise, the weight of the world, and just… being.

Bucky sighed beside you, his hands resting behind his head, eyes locked on the constellations above.

“Do you ever think about love?” His voice was quiet, but it cut through the stillness.

You turned your head slightly, studying his profile. His features were relaxed, but there was something behind his voice, something careful, hesitant.

“Yeah,” you admitted, turning your gaze back to the stars. “I think about it.”

“What do you think about it?”

You breathed in deeply, the scent of cedar and the lingering smoke from your small fire filling your lungs.

“I don’t know,” you said, voice softer now. “I think it’s rare, especially true love…I think when it’s real, it’s the most powerful thing in the world but I also think it’s messy and complicated.”

Bucky hummed beside you. “Yeah.”

A beat of silence. “Have you ever been in love?”

You froze.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of the blanket, your heart hammering against your ribs. You kept your eyes fixed on the sky, but suddenly, the stars didn’t seem so captivating anymore because how do you tell your best friend, your only friend that you’re pretty sure you’re in love with him and you have been since you were eight? You don’t.

You could feel Bucky watching you. “Y/N?”

You wet your lips, swallowing hard. “I…”

And blessedly, cruelly he kept talking. “I am.”

Your breath hitched.

Your stomach twisted, a dull ache spreading through your chest. You forced yourself to breathe, to keep your face neutral, to not let it show.

“Oh?” You managed, your voice painfully even.

He let out a breath, something like a laugh, but it was softer, like he wasn’t sure if it was funny or not. “Yeah. I have been for a while, I thought it would go away if i ignored it but it's not, it's just....stronger."

Your throat tightened as you swallowed the lump caught in your throat.

You thought of Stacy. She was pretty, she was sweet, kind, popular pretty much everything you weren’t and would never be.

She had been hanging off his arm for weeks now, giggling at his jokes, showing up at his locker, touching his shoulder whenever she spoke to him.

You had told yourself it didn’t bother you. That it didn’t matter and you didn’t care.

You inhaled sharply, forcing a small smile. “She’s lucky, then.”

Bucky turned his head to look at you, his brows pulling together slightly. “Huh?”

“Whoever she is.” You swallowed around the lump in your throat. “She’s lucky to have you.”

Bucky didn’t say anything for a moment.

Until quietly, carefully he did. “Do you think anybody could ever love me?”

Your chest ached.

You turned your head, meeting his gaze in the dark. He looked so vulnerable, so open, like he didn’t even realize it.

“Bucky,” you murmured, your voice trembling. “Any girl would be stupid not to love you.”

Something flickered in his expression. Something unreadable.

“Yeah?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

He looked at you for a long time, too long and he turned back to the stars. “What about unrequited love?”

Your stomach dropped.

“What about it?” you whispered.

“Do you think it’s worse than never loving at all?”

You licked your lips, feeling like you were unraveling.

“Maybe,” you said carefully. “I think it depends.”

“On what?”

You hesitated, your fingers digging into the blanket. “On whether or not the person you love ever really sees you.”

Bucky let out a shaky breath.

“Yeah.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “I think you’re right.”

The air between you was too heavy now, too thick, filled with words neither of you had the courage to say.

Bucky sat up abruptly, stretching his arms above his head. “C’mon,” he said, his voice suddenly lighter, different. “It’s getting late.”

Just like that, the conversation was over, it was buried.

You let out a breath, blinking up at the sky one last time. The stars were still there but they didn’t look the same anymore.

---

You don’t remember walking through the hospital.

You don’t remember saying goodbye to Winnie, don’t remember the quiet hum of nurses and the faint beeping of machines as you moved through the halls.

It’s all a blur, a haze, a dream that refuses to make sense.

All you know is that one moment, you were in his hospital room, holding onto him like you’d lose him all over again, and the next you’re outside. The cool night air wraps around you, but you barely feel it. Your legs move forward, autopilot taking over, and then you see blonde hair.

Steve, he’s there, he’s always been there, leaning against the rental car, arms crossed, waiting. His eyes land on you immediately, and whatever tension he had melts away when he sees you.

He pushes off the car, his expression softening. Before you even realize what you’re doing, you walk right up to him, straight into his chest. His arms are instantly around you, wrapping you up, pulling you flush against him.

Your breath comes ragged, uneven, as you grip onto the front of his jacket like he’s the only thing keeping you upright and barely above a whisper. “It’s him.”

Steve’s hold tightens.

“It’s really him, Steve. This is real.”

His lips press against your hair, lingering there, warm, reassuring. “It’s real, baby.” His voice is gentle, steady, the kind of calm you desperately need.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his thumb brushing against your cheek, and for the first time since you walked out of Bucky’s room, you exhale.

Steve presses a soft kiss to your forehead, then moves to open the car door for you. “Come on, let’s get you out of here.”

You nod numbly, stepping into the car, your fingers curling into your lap as Steve shuts the door behind you.

A moment later, he’s in the driver’s seat, keys in the ignition, but he doesn’t start the car right away. He just watches you. You stare straight ahead, completely still, completely silent.

The hospital entrance glows behind the windshield, the weight of it all sinking in, pressing into your ribs, your throat, your lungs.

“Sweetheart.” Steve’s voice pulls you back, but barely.

You blink, finally turning your head to look at him, and the moment your eyes meet his, the dam breaks.

Tears well up, spilling over, and a sob tears through you before you can stop it.

Steve doesn’t hesitate. He reaches for you, his palm cradling your cheek, his thumb swiping away the tears just as fast as they fall.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, his forehead pressing against yours.

“I don’t…”Your breath stumbles. “I don’t know how to feel, I feel, its so much Steve, I...”

Steve exhales slowly, his free hand finding yours, gripping it tight. “You don’t have to figure it all out tonight, okay?” he says, his voice calm, certain. “You’re allowed to just… feel it. Process it.”

You nod shakily.

“I was so scared,” you whisper.

“I know.”

“I thought…” Your voice breaks. “I thought if I ever saw him again, it wouldn’t be him. That it would be some version of him I wouldn’t recognize.”

Steve nods.

“But it’s him.” You suck in a sharp breath. “It’s Bucky. It’s really him.”

Steve doesn’t speak for a second, softer than ever. “I know.”

He squeezes your hand gently. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

You hesitate, because you don’t know what to say. You don’t know where to start, where to end but you do know one thing. “I don’t want to go back to the hotel yet.”

Steve studies you for a moment before nodding. “Okay.”

He pulls away, his hand leaving yours just long enough to put the car in drive and as he pulls out of the parking lot, the city lights stretching out ahead of you, you close your eyes.

The city lights flicker past the windows in soft blurs of gold and white as Steve drives, the hum of the engine filling the silence between you.

Your mind is somewhere else.

Somewhere back in that hospital room, somewhere between the past and the present, trying to find a place where they can coexist without breaking you.

Steve’s voice pulls you back. “Lily says she misses you.”

You blink, turning to him. “You talked to her today?”

He nods, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I did, she kept asking to see you.”

Something in you softens. “Do you think she’s still awake?”

Steve glances at the clock on the dashboard before huffing a quiet laugh. “Of course, it’s Saturday. She’s probably still watching movies with my mom.”

You hesitate for half a second before reaching for your phone, your fingers trembling just slightly as you hit FaceTime.

It rings once.

Twice.

“Mommy!”

Lily’s beaming face fills the screen, her strawberry blonde curls a wild mess, her little pink pajamas slightly wrinkled. The sight of her is an instant balm to the chaos in your chest.

“Hey, baby.” You smile, your grip on the phone tightening like somehow it’ll bring her closer.

“I miss you,” she pouts, eyes wide, sweet, so full of love.

“I miss you too.”

“Are you coming home tomorrow?”

Your breath catches, because home, your true home is wherever he is, wherever Bucky is and now you have her too and suddenly you don’t even know what that means anymore. “Soon, angel,” you say softly. “I’ll be home soon.”

She tilts her head, studying you the way only a child can. Then, her brows pull together. “Why do you look sad? Why are you crying?”

You exhale slowly, forcing a small smile. “They’re happy tears, Lil. I’m happy.”

She frowns, unconvinced. “Good, you always look sad.”

Your heart clenches.

A sharp, aching twist in your chest. You swallow hard, nodding quickly. “You make me happy.”

She watches you for another second before nodding, her expression softening into something so small, so knowing. “I’m happy that you’re finally happy.”

You feel it like a punch to the gut.

Because when had she noticed? When had she learned to read the sadness on your face like it was written in ink?

Your throat tightens, but you keep your smile steady. “I love you, Lily.”

“I love you more!” she grins.

“Not possible.”

She giggles, covering her face with her hands before peeking out between her fingers. “Good night, Mommy. Good night, Daddy!”

“Good night, baby girl,” Steve says, smiling.

The call ends.

The car is quiet again, but it’s a different kind of quiet now.

You stare down at your phone, your mind circling back to her words, over and over again.

“You always look sad.”

Steve must see the shift in your face because he reaches across the console, taking your hand in his, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. Softer than ever. “Things are gonna change, aren’t they?”

“I'm not sure how much more change I can take.” Your voice, quiet, broken.

---

The air was still warm from the afternoon sun, golden light spilling in through the open kitchen window as the sound of Lily’s laughter echoed from the backyard. She and Sarah were out in the garden, something about finding the “biggest, most beautiful flower ever” to bring inside.

You were standing by the counter, drying dishes while Steve put them away, the two of you working in perfect sync, like you had been doing this forever, in a way, you had.

Steve leaned back against the counter, watching you, his eyes filled with something soft, something warm. “So, I was thinking…”

“That's never good.” You smiled, glancing over at him, wiping your hands on a dish towel. “About?”

“Ha ha, funny.” He breathed out, then he hesitated for a second, running his fingers over the edge of the counter, almost nervous. “About Lily.”

Your stomach did that little flip it always did when he talked about his daughter. “What about her?”

He inhaled deeply, steady, certain. “I want you to adopt her.”

You froze, the dish towel slipped from your hands. “You….what?”

Steve pushed off the counter, stepping closer, close enough that you could feel his warmth, the steady presence that had held you together for so long. “I want you to be her mom, officially. If…if you want to.”

Your chest tightened, your heart slamming against your ribs. “Steve…” Your voice was barely above a whisper.

“I mean, you already are,” he continued, rushing now, like he wanted to say everything before you could stop him. “She calls you Mom. You tuck her in at night. You make her lunches and hold her when she cries and tell her stories about mermaids and astronauts and whatever else she’s obsessed with that week.”

His voice is quieter now. “You love her, she loves you..” he swallowed “And if anything happened to me, you’re the only one I’d trust to take care of her.”

Your eyes burned. You did. You loved her so much it terrified you sometimes. “I just…” You wet your lips, blinking fast. “I just don’t know if I have the right…”

Steve’s hands found your arms, gentle but firm, grounding you. “You have every right, Y/N. If you want it.”

You exhaled sharply. “But Natasha…”

“What about her?” His voice was soft, sure.

“She’s her mother, she always will be.”

Steve nodded. “She will and you know what? She would’ve loved you.” His lips curled slightly. “She would’ve been happy knowing Lily had someone like you in her life. That she had you to love her.”

Your breath caught, your throat tightening as you blinked up at him. “You really think that?”

He smiled, warm and certain. “I know it.”

You stared at him, at the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered, at the quiet confidence in his voice, like there was no doubt in his mind.

Suddenly, there wasn’t any in yours either. You let out a shaky breath, nodding once, then again, stronger this time. “Okay.”

Steve’s brows lifted slightly, his breath catching. “Yeah?”

A small laugh slipped from you, wet and disbelieving. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s do it.”

Before you could say anything else, Steve had you in his arms.

His grip was tight, almost desperate, like he wanted to hold on forever. You felt his breath against your hair, his heartbeat steady against yours.

“I love you,” he murmured.

“I love you too.”

When Lily ran inside a moment later, dirt-streaked and breathless, holding up a flower that was much too big for her little hands, Steve knelt beside her, his eyes shining.

“Hey, baby girl. How do you feel about making it official?”

“You asked her daddy?! She said yes?!” She squealed and threw her arms around you, burying her face in your neck. You knew you’d never be able to live without her being your daughter ever again.

---

The morning air is cool, crisp, the sky a dull gray, mirroring the weight in your chest. Steve pulls the rental car to a stop outside the hospital entrance, shifting into park but not moving to unbuckle just yet.

You exhale, smoothing your hands over your jeans, the fabric cool beneath your palms. Neither of you rush to speak because this is it.

Not forever, not yet, at least but for now. You decided your stay till Bucky heads home, Steve’s heading today.

You finally turn to him, your lips parting slightly, but he’s already looking at you and you see something in his eyes that you don’t quite recognize.

You don’t know what it is but he does. He’s been coming to grips with it for the last few days, and now, sitting here with you, he feels it down to his bones.

He knows how this ends, how you two end because if it were Natasha, if she had somehow come back to him after all these years, after all the mourning, after all the grief he knows exactly what he would do and he knows exactly what you’re going to do. He doesn’t know when it will happen, or if it’ll even be you to do it. He hasn’t decided yet, but for right now he’s going to keep you as long as you’ll let him.

“I don’t have a flight booked yet,” you murmur, forcing a small smile. “But Bucky said he should be getting released soon, so I should be home in a couple of days.”

Steve nods, you don’t notice the flicker of something behind his gaze. The way he’s memorizing this moment, committing it to memory because he knows, this is the last time you’ll say it like that, the last time you’ll consider him…home.

“Take as long as you need,” he says instead, his voice gentle, steady, warm. “Lily and I will be waiting when you’re ready to come home.”

You nod, reaching for his hand, squeezing it. “Thank you,” you whisper.

You wanna say more, say thank you for everything, for understanding, for never holding you back, for never demanding more than what you could give.

He swallows, then lifts his hand to your face, brushing his thumb along your cheek and he looks at you like he’s already mourning you. Like he’s saying goodbye without saying it, like he’s letting you go, even before you’ve made the decision to leave.

But you don’t see it because you still think that maybe, somehow, you can hold both pieces of your life together.

That somehow, this doesn’t have to be a choice, but Steve knows better.

So, he just smiles. “I love you.” He says it like It’s not a question, not a plea, just a fact…one that will always be true, even after this.

You smile back “I love you too.”

Steve nods once, then pulls away, his hand leaving your cheek, his warmth fading as he reaches for the gear shift.

You step out of the car, the door closing softly behind you and as he pulls away, you watch him go, lingering in front of the hospital doors longer than you should.

You step through the hospital doors, the cool air inside a stark contrast to the warmth of the morning sun outside.

You move down the hallway, rounding the corner just as Winnie is walking out of Bucky’s room.

She spots you immediately, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Just in time,” she says, giving your cheek a quick kiss as she passes. “I was just heading to grab some breakfast. I’ll see you later, sweetheart.”

You nod, offering a small, tight smile. “See you later, Winnie.”

She squeezes your arm before continuing down the hall, disappearing around the corner.

You take a breath, then another and it still somehow doesn’t feel like enough but you knock lightly on the door before pushing it open.

Bucky is sitting by the window, his good arm resting on the windowsill, staring outside. “Ma, I told you, I’m not hungry.”

You smirk, leaning against the doorway. “Jeez, Buck, it’s only been ten years. Didn’t think I aged that much.”

His body stiffens and faster than you can even register he spins around, eyes wide, disbelieving. “You’re back.”

He’s on you again, his sling is gone now, his left arm still wrapped at the shoulder, but it doesn’t stop him from wrapping both arms around you and you feel it.

His hands, both of them pressing against your back, pulling you flush against him.

You swallow hard, your fingers clutching the back of his shirt. “Of course I’m back,” you murmured into his shoulder. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Bucky doesn’t answer right away. His arms just tighten, holding onto you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. “I don’t know,” he finally whispers.

You don’t say anything to that, you just let yourself sink into the feeling of him, a feeling that will never be enough, not after all this time apart.

After a moment, the two of you sit down by the window, you pulling another chair beside his. The view outside is nothing special, just the distant skyline, the tops of trees swaying in the breeze, the occasional car moving down the street.

But Bucky stares at it like it’s everything. “One of the things that kept me going,” he says after a moment, voice quiet, distant, “was looking up at the sky.”

You turn to him, watching the way the morning light touches his face.

“No matter where I was, no matter how far away it felt, I kept thinking…” he pauses, swallowing, ”that you were under the same sky. That we weren’t really that far apart after all.”

You squeeze your hands together in your lap, swallowing back the lump in your throat.

You don’t say anything, you don’t think you can.

Bucky turns to you. “Tell me about Steve.”

You freeze, your stomach tightens.

“You mentioned him a couple of times yesterday,” Bucky continues, watching you closely. “And I heard Ma say he was waiting outside for you.”

You nod slowly, your fingers fidgeting with your left hand, the one that should have your ring on it. “He’s my husband.”

Bucky goes still, he knows of course he knows, his Mom already told him but it feels different hearing you say it. It was something he thought maybe, just maybe if he played his cards right you would call him some day but he doesn’t say anything.

You keep going. “He’s… amazing, really. He anchored me, I don’t know where I’d be if he hadn’t…” You shake your head, trying to find the right words.

“Where did you meet?” Bucky asks, his voice calm, steady, unreadable.

“A grief support group.” His brows furrow slightly.

You exhale, looking down at your lap. “He was the first person who really tried with me after I lost you. He didn’t have anybody for the first little bit, either. It was just… us.”

Bucky nods slowly.

He’s trying to picture it. Trying to imagine you, his girl, showing up to a grief support group because of him. Because he left, because he felt like he had something to prove because he felt he would have it all figured out if he just did a couple of tours. Because you thought he was dead, he should have been.

“Steve lost his fiancée,” you continue. “Natasha, she died giving birth to their daughter, Lily.”

Bucky’s head tilts slightly. “Lily?”

You smile softly. “She brought out a kind of joy in me that I hadn’t felt since you.”

Bucky’s chest tightens.

“After a couple of years together, we eloped.”

Bucky stares at you. “Really?”

“Yeah.” You nod, your smile turning a little sad, distant. “Nothing crazy. Nothing big.”

“But you always wanted some big wedding,” he says, almost like he’s confused.

You meet his eyes then and you see the realization settle over him before you even say it. “That was before I lost you.”

Bucky’s mouth opens, then closes and nothing comes out.

Because what the hell is he supposed to say to that?

What is there to say?

You clear your throat, breaking the silence. “After we got married, I legally adopted Lily.”

His brows pull together again.

“She knows about Natasha,” you assure him. “We keep pictures of her all over the house. She knows who her mom is.”

Bucky nods slowly. “You have a family,” he says after a moment.

You nod. “I have a family.”

Bucky inhales deeply, running his hands over his thighs before exhaling slowly.

“Are you happy?”

And without hesitation, it slips out before you have the chance to even think it through. “No.”

Bucky flinches, like the answer actually hurts him. Hewas expecting you to say yes, to tell him that you were fine, that you had moved on, that you had found happiness again.

But you didn’t and he doesn’t know what to do with that. “No?” he echoes, his voice almost uncertain, like maybe he heard you wrong.

You just stare at him. “No.” You take a deep shaky breath looking back at the buildings surrounding the hospital watching the car drive by, you can feel Bucky staring at you waiting “I tried to be, I really did. I have moments where I feel joy but they always get dimmed. I just, my life isn’t what I dreamed it would be, I think that's why.” You pause and in a low voice “I thought about it y'know.”

“Thought about what?” Bucky's voice is soft, gravely, his eyes never left you.

You finally turned to him making eye contact “Ending it all, I almost did it once but I just thought what if you were still out there.”

“Y/N…”

“I know it's heavy and you have enough going on I just, I’m so happy you're here.”

He reached out taking your hand in his squeezing “If you ever, ever think like that again please, I beg you please talk to me.”

You nod, deciding to change the subject your eyes go to his shoulder, the one wrapped up. “What happened Buck? Your Mom says you wont talk.”

Bucky inhales sharply, his fingers twitching where they grip yours, he doesn’t say anything not right away he just stares down at your intertwined hands like maybe if he focuses hard enough, the past ten years will disappear.

Maybe you’ll be kids again, sitting in the back of his truck, dreaming about the future that never came.

He sighs. “Because there’s nothing to say.”

You narrow your eyes. “That’s bullshit.”

He smiles slightly at that, the you from before never letting him off the hook that easily.

He watches your eyes drift to his shoulder, wrapped in thick gauze, the skin underneath bruised, raw, healing. “What happened?”

His gaze flickers away for a second and he exhales hard through his nose, his free hand dragging over his face, quietly, reluctantly. “They almost took it.”

Your stomach twists violently. “Took what?”

His lips press into a thin line before he finally looks at you. “My arm.”

A chill crawls down your spine. “Bucky…”

“It happened right before they found us,” he continues, voice flat, almost detached. “We didn’t know help was coming. We thought that was it. We thought we were gonna die in that fucking basement.”

You stiffen, your fingers tightening around his.

“They must have figured out a rescue was close,” Bucky goes on, staring at some invisible spot on the wall. “Because they started executing us. One by one, taking us out before anyone could get to us.”

You stop breathing.

“It was my turn, they went to drag me out,” he says, his voice eerily even.

He huffs a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Carlos tried to stop them. I told him not to, told him it was too late.”

His throat bobs. “He didn’t listen.”

You can barely keep yourself together.

“Carlos tackled one of them before they could pull the trigger and in the chaos, I got loose… but one of them had a machete.”

Your stomach drops.

“He just started swinging the thing, tried to take my whole arm off. Got through most of my shoulder before the blast happened.”

Your lips part, but no words come out.

“I thought I was dead,” he admits, voice rough, raw. “I thought…I felt myself slipping and then the whole place shook. I woke up in a helicopter with a medic shoving a needle in my neck.”

Your hand flies to your mouth, trying to stifle the sob that’s rising in your throat. “Bucky.”

He finally looks at you. “They saved it,” he says, glancing at his shoulder, at the thick gauze covering the mangled skin beneath. “It’ll never be the same, and it hurts a lot, the nerve damage is irreversible.”

You shake your head, tears burning in your eyes. “But you’re here,” you whisper.

His expression softens, he nods. “I'm here.”

[scoobydoodean]

If you had to pick five moments that you think best summarize Dean as a character… What would they be? Like, either each individually makes you go “yup THAT’S the character” or as a whole they male up the most of his facets?

Oooh that’s difficult. Hmm. HMMM.

1.02 "I figure our family's so screwed to hell... maybe we can help some others"

"Saving people, hunting things, the family business" etc etc yeah. But ALSO we often ignore that this whole conversation is centered around not letting desperation for revenge consume you, and Dean's care for others including strangers—wanting to keep them from experiencing the traumas that he has.

DEAN Listen to me. You've gotta prepare yourself. I mean, this search could take a while, and all that anger, you can't keep it burning over the long haul. It's gonna kill you. You gotta have patience, man. SAM How do you do it? How does Dad do it? DEAN looks over at HALEY and BEN. DEAN Well for one, them. I mean, I figure our family's so screwed to hell, maybe we can help some others. Makes things a little bit more bearable.

4.22 "Stepford Bitch in Paradise"

This one is a good representation of Dean's refusal to back down, caring about the whole world, and arguing fiercely to protect it, as well as his ability to stir up the care and love in others.

DEAN Destiny? Don't give me that "holy" crap. Destiny, God's plan... It's all a bunch of lies, you poor, stupid son of a bitch! It's just a way for your bosses to keep me and keep you in line! You know what's real? People, families -- that's real. And you're gonna watch them all burn? CASTIEL What is so worth saving? I see nothing but pain here. I see inside you. I see your guilt, your anger, confusion. In paradise, all is forgiven. You'll be at peace. Even with Sam. DEAN You can take your peace... and shove it up your lily-white ass. 'Cause I'll take the pain and the guilt. I'll even take Sam as is. It's a lot better than being some Stepford bitch in paradise. This is simple, Cas! No more crap about being a good soldier. There is a right and there is a wrong here, and you know it.

12.22 "I hate you and I love you"

Just a very good summary of Dean's childhood experiences and how they have effected him, and how he (yet again) stirs up the care and love in others (and pulls people from mind control over and over via the power of love <3)

I hate you. You lied to me. I was a kid. You promised you'd keep me safe. And then you make a deal with Azazel. Yeah, it saved Dad's life, but I'll tell you something else that happened. Because on November 2, 1983, old Yellow Eyes came waltzing in to Sammy's room, because of your deal. You left us. Alone. 'Cause Dad was just a shell. His perfect wife? Gone. Our perfect Mom, the perfect family... was gone. And I... I had to be... more than just a brother. I had to be a father and I had to be a mother, to keep him safe. And that wasn't fair. And I couldn't do it. And you wanna know what that was like? They killed the girl that he loved. He got possessed by Lucifer. They tortured him in Hell. And he lost his soul. His soul. All because of you. All of it was because of you. I hate you. I hate you. And I love you. 'Cause I can't – I can't help it. You're my Mom. And I understand...'cause I have made deals to save the ones I love more than once. I forgive you. I forgive you. For all of it. Everything. On the other side of this, we can start over, okay? You, me, Sam. We can get it right this time. But I need you to fight. Right now, I need you to fight. I need you – I need you to look at me, Mom. I need you to really look at me and see me. Mom, I need you to see me. Please.

5.22 "Well, then I ain't gonna let him die alone"

Bobby and Cas try to convince Dean that they've lost and there's no point in trying to reach Sam.

BOBBY: You just don't give up. DEAN: It's Sam! CASTIEL: If you couldn't reach him here, you're certainly not gonna be able to on the battlefield. DEAN: Well, if we've already lost, I guess I got nothing to lose, right? CASTIEL: I just want you to understand – the only thing that you're gonna see out there is Michael killing your brother. DEAN: Well, then I ain't gonna let him die alone.

Dean pulls up at Stull right in front of two archangels who could blow him to smithereens, blasting music from his car and making an obnoxious scene. THEN Cas and Bobby show up right behind him (just as Michael says "you are not a part of the story!") Dean's refusal to give up defies causality, and his attitude is infectious.

While Dean is being beaten to death, he's saying,

DEAN: Sam, it's okay. It's okay. I'm here. I'm here. I'm not gonna leave you. I'm not gonna leave you.

Dean's refusal to abandon his brother fills Lucifer with jealous rage making his control slip, while simultaneously bringing dozens of memories of traveling with Dean to Sam's mind helping him surface and take control.

3.10 "I didn't deserve what he put on me"

I have trouble picking a 5th because there's so many different directions I could go (Dean and Cas in the Crypt, Dean reusing to abandon Cas in Purgatory, Dean in the cemetery in 2.20 crying over John's grave, Dean's "I'm not mad I'm worried" from "Lily Sunder Has Some Regrets" or the similar scene in "The Future", Dean convincing Chuck and Amara to make up, Dean refusing to give into Chuck's writing and kill Jack, Dean telling Chuck "We will never give you the ending you want", etc).

I think I have to go with 3.10 "Dream A Little Dream of Me" because it summarizes a lot of Dean's intrusive thoughts and his overactive sense of responsibility and guilt, identifies the origin of those feelings, connects all of it to his depression and suicidality, and then circles back to the fact that he knows deep down that he doesn't deserve to feel this way, that he's not a tool for others to use, that he is his own person, and that he deserves to live.

DREAM DEAN I mean, you're going to hell and you won't lift a finger to stop it. Talk about low self-esteem. Then again, I guess it's not much of a life worth saving, now is it? DEAN Wake up, Dean. Come on, wake up. DREAM DEAN I mean, after all, you've got nothing outside of Sam. You are nothing. You're as mindless and obedient as an attack dog. DEAN That -That's not true. DREAM DEAN No? What are the things that you want? What are the things that you dream? I mean, your car? That's Dad's. Your favorite leather jacket? Dad's. Your music? Dad's. Do you even have an original thought? No. No, all there is is, "Watch out for Sammy. Look out for your little brother, boy!" You can still hear your Dad's voice in your head, can't you? Clear as a bell. DEAN Just shut up. DREAM DEAN I mean, think about it ... all he ever did is train you, boss you around. But Sam .... Sam he doted on. Sam, he loved. DEAN I mean it. I'm getting angry. DREAM DEAN Dad knew who you really were. A good soldier and nothing else. Daddy's blunt little instrument. Your own father didn't care whether you lived or died. Why should you? DEAN Son of a bitch! My father was an obsessed bastard! All that crap he dumped on me, about protecting Sam! That was his crap. He's the one who couldn't protect his family. He- He's the one who let Mom die. – who wasn't there for Sam. I always was! He wasn't fair! I didn't deserve what he put on me. And I don't deserve to go to Hell!

[hollowbutcanlove]

The language of the flowers Pt. 2

warning: the hard moment with the Cypher.

Sova - rose red (bud) - confusion; "I think I've fallen in love with you," "I'm glad we met," "Every day my feelings for you grow stronger."

On the spacious streets of St. Petersburg, you and Sova decided to spend your little vacation. After visiting many memorable places, you decided that it was time for a little rest on one of the shores of the Gulf of Finland. He left you alone for a while, saying he needed to get something to eat.

The cool breeze ruffled your hair, making you wrap yourself tighter in your sweater. Growing up in a warm climate, you weren't used to the fickle weather of Sova's homeland. Suddenly, something that isn't a human hand touches your head, causing you to throw it back. You see a bunch of red buds that cover almost everything above you. The bouquet moves back a little and you see Sova's satisfied face.

"These are for you. In Russia, it's considered that giving fancy bouquets to your beloved is the basis of a strong relationship." He chuckles. "In fact, some men give a single rose in cellophane, which our women consider an insult."

"Then it could be considered a very very big compliment." You run your finger over the scarlet petals. "How many are there, anyway?"

"One hundred and one roses."

"One hundred and one?" - you take the bouquet into your hands admiringly, then give a light kiss on Sova's cheek. He sits down next to you.

"You deserve all the flowers in the world, but it remains to be seen - which ones specifically should you give? Peonies, perhaps? Or lilies?"

"Any flowers from you would be my favorite."

Cypher - yellow carnation - rejection; "You're avoiding me"; "You've disappointed me"

It was hard to tell when your communication with Cypher had gotten to the point where it was hard to tell if you were friends or lovers. It was even harder for you to understand why he was pulling away and running away, like a kitten who'd tried to confide in people but had gotten scared again and fled into the darkness of the street. He was either not in his office or the door was locked. He didn't answer messages or calls. But you knew he was watching you. Every move you made. But what was he feeling in that moment, doing all those things? You didn't know.

"Cypher, why don't you open up finally? I know you're in there." - You've been trying for the second week to get through to the masked man who's been so diligently avoiding you. "Please, we need to talk."

There was only silence in response.

"Shit... "You slump down next to the door, hugging your knees. "You should know how disappointing you're making me feel right now. I thought there was something between us...Or at least there was. And you're doing this..."

"You didn't know he had a wife and child?" the sudden voice of Viper shakes you out of your trance.

"A wife and child...?" you look at the woman, who at that moment was looking at you with a kind of sympathy, with incomprehension.

"Don't kid yourself, girl. He's still pining for them, and you...you just got caught up in the moment. Forget it and move on." She wanted to support you in some way, but it didn't come out well.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, tears starting to well up in your eyes. Just a substitute? An attempt to dull the pain of longing?

"Argh... Come on, I'll give you a job to distract you."

Gekko - anemone - sincerity, hope, joy, emotionality; parting, fragility; "Why not?", "I feel really good with you", "Let's have a party?"

The beautiful scenery opens up from the Venice rising in the air, where one of the training grounds is located. You and Gekko watch the sunset while the other agents finish their training. The green-haired guy's creatures were snoring somewhere nearby, exhausted from the training.

"Hey, guess what?"

"What?"

"What if I offer you to be my girlfriend? Would you say yes?"

"Why not?"

"So you'd say yes?"

"Yes."

"Say it again."

"Yes, I agree, Gekko."

A bright smile appeared on the guy's face before he gently took your hand, brought it to his lips and kissed it. You giggled and tilted your head to the side. Such small and happy moments were rare in the hard life of a protocol agent, but nevertheless you tried to cherish them and live them as long as possible.

[herefortheteadandthed]

One of the (your) girls -

Max Verstappen x Fem!Reader

first imagine what do y’all think? ive loved this song since it came out it’s been on my mind and max is simply the hottest so. enjoy luvs

lock me up and throw away the key

“fuck yeah take it shatje, so good” he pounded into your throat and gripped your hair unforgivingly.

This was your typical night, when he wasn’t on his sim or partying he was with you, he didn’t love you, you both knew that but the way he fucked you made you feel ethereal. He saw you as merely an object but you weren’t exactly opposed to it, just as long as you felt loved while he thrusted into you with force.

He knows how to get the best out of me

He shoved his fingers further down your throat as you gagged, attempting to pull away.

“no no no shatje, i know what you can take, trust me?” you nodded apprehensively

“bad idea”

i’m no fools for the world to see

you and max were arguing. Again.

“you can’t just fuck me, treat me like shit and then go and tell everyone!”

you screamed at him as he walked over, admiring how his shirt swam on your smaller figure.

After a few moments of silence and him coming closer just to stare depose into your eyes

“say something!” you finally snapped, growing angry at the love? he was looking at you with

“oh shatje you never were good at shutting up”

he taunts you placing a callused hand on your wet cheek.

with a sudden burst of confidence you say “fuck you max” immediately cowering seeing his expression shift from admiration to dissatisfaction.

trade my whole life just to be

You stumble, the sting against your skin was cold at first, before heat and pain began radiating from your right cheek. You stare at him in disbelief as you burst into tears.

“come here mijn schatzi” he opened his arms, and you mentally shunned yourself for collapsing into his chest. Arms tucked in front of yourself protectively as his firm grip rests around you. He places gentle kisses on you head before resting his chin atop your head.

top of the world but i’m still not free

“why do you care Max?!?” you yelled at him trying not to cry out of frustration “you have said so many times - We. Aren’t. Dating” I emphasise the words.

“That doesn’t mean you care wear this slutty dress and let men look at you as if they want to do what only i’m allowed to!”

Max raises his voice to conquer my feeling of control.

“It’s just a dress, Max!” you can barely finish the sentence before he pushes you against a wall pinning your hands with one of his big, strong, veiny hands.

“Listen here, you EVER raise you voice to me again and you will fucking regret it” he is dangerously close to your face, daring, waiting for you to say something. You bite your tongue and look up at him with pure anger.

“brat” he spits “can’t even go to one gathering without my dick so you wear this?”

it was a dark red cocktail dress with a deep neck line and a split up the leg. It showed off his favourite parts of you and in one of his favourite colours. You were teasing him. something in your eyes while you were talking to charles said “come on, play with me.” he wouldn’t.

“well i guess if you won’t, someone else will” you say under your breathe. He caught it.

this is a secret that i keep

The jealousy pulsing through his body as he violently rubbed your sensitive clit while fucking you into the bed was unfamiliar to him. This was his way of taking back control.

He told himself continuously that he felt nothing for you, but the warmth of your skin against his became his favourite feeling.

-

“so what’s even going on with you and Max” your best friend Ella asked for the 100th time.

“I know Ella, it’s complicated-“ She gripped your hand with a pleading look in her eyes.

“I know what you’re going to say, and i won’t comment but please” she grips tighter looking into your soul. She always had a way of doing that, she had helped me through so mandy harsh places and she was now helping me through my first ever “relationship” that was basically just fuck buddies but he would buy me things sometimes.

“you’re a beautiful person inside and out, don’t let him abuse that”

Until he’s gone I can never find peace

Sitting on my bathroom floor as he begged me to let him in, he knocked on the door.

“Baby please, come out we can figure this out, we can talk” You could’ve sworn you heard his voice break towards the end. Manipulator.

I quickly stood up opening the door, as he stumbles back I push him, he barely flinches.

“HOW FUCKING DARE YOU” I have never been this angry, the anger only a boyfriend should be able to cause.

“baby please! i swear it was a few months ago” i had found texts on his phone some slut who he fucked when we were still “together”

“It doesn’t matter, we never have dated and we are not dating! you can fuck who you want!” Wrong.

“I just care that you can be balls deep in a girl and i’m not even allowed to flirt with a guy!”

It was true, Max and you both know how jealous he is, so sensitive to rejection.

“Oh shatje, it’s not like that-“ he raised his hands in emphasis.

“Then what is it like?! HUH?”

Trained my whole life just to be

Before Max you were a virgin, barely even made with a guy before. He loved it, relished in the innocence, the way you gripped his arms and scratched his back as he first entered you.

“So tight” he repeated, praise and degradations fell from his lips as he refused to kiss you. He doesn’t want any romance, just a stress reliever, to ruin that innocent. No intimacy.

Now you were well trained to him, so responsive and most of the time obedient. Unless you were acting up, in a bratty mood which he loved as well.

“Still want to act like a brat?” he stilled his vicious thrusts into your sore centre.

“N-no i swear i’ll be good”

On him the instant you wanted to be filled to the brim.

We don’t gotta be in love no, i don’t gotta be the one no…

You knew you meant nothing to him, just a pet, a few holes to fill when angry or bored.

However recently things had shifted

“Fuck you’re so beautiful like this, my pretty girl” your heart exploded in every way possible as the rare praise fell from his lips that were now attached to yours.

He kissed you? he never did that, to intimate, it meant he was admitting what you would never believe- he was in love with you.

i just wanna be one of your girls tonight

“i can’t do this anymore max” you shamefully admitted as you sat next to him on his couch avoiding eye contact

He looked at you in shock and sadness, who wouldn’t want him.

“what?” he struggles to get out and his heart drops at the thought.

“I’m in love with you max, and ignoring this is killing me, It’s driving me insane knowing you couldn’t give less of a shit about me when i would do anything for you” you didn’t even realise that tears had started to fall from your tired eyes.

“I can’t keep waiting for you to call me, just to kick me to the curb once you finish. The sec is amazing, i can’t lie” you are now facing him as he fiddles with his hands. He usually intimidating aura shattering at the thought of losing you.

“But this” you say gesturing to the air between you “is driving me insane”

“You’re in love with me?” no one had ever said such things to him, the rare conversations you would have, the laughs, the times where you would fall asleep in his arms after going at it for hours and he could actually sleep for once. holding you protectively against him.

“Yes max” there’s no need to say more. you stand and reach for your bag, his hand catches your wrist.

“But i treat you like shit, but i don’t want to, i don’t mean to, I-I-I just” did max verstappen just stutter?

He stands to be facing you “Can’t you see, i’m so in love with you it drives me insane, you so funny, and smart, and you are the most beautiful person i have ever seen, please just-“

You look into his now teary blue eyes with an expression he can’t really read, anger? sadness? frustrating? all of it.

“And you just say this now? seriously?”

“I was to scared to admit it! i’ve never been in love but i fell so hard and i thought that maybe if i treated you like this then i could get over you but i can’t- i can’t Y/n” he is gripping the sides of your face begging you not to look away, not to leave.

“This way everyone would stay away from you, and i could be with you without the commitment” He finally admits.

“Max is cant-“ your mind is racing a mile a minute.

“Please, please, please don’t leave, i promise ill- i don’t know” he is now on his knees, hugging your hips.

“I don’t want to be like this, teach me please, how to love, how to treat you like you deserve, because you deserve the world” These soft words, these compliments, confessions feel foreign to you both, but they feel good.

After a moment of silence you pull his hair back to be looking up at you, his usually cold demeanour broken down.

“one chance, and you better give it all you have-“ you can barely finish before he’s lifting you and throwing you over his muscular shoulder.

“max!” you yelp as he places you on the bed, crawling to suck, kiss, bite every part of you. Anything he can get.

“I will do anything, i will buy you everything you want” you stop him

“I don’t want jewels and bags, i want love, i want to be on you’re mind, i want you to be driven as crazy as i was, i want to fill that massive hole in your heart that you told me about when you were drunk” You tell him sweetly.

“I will, dates, snuggles, love i will be your first, best and last i swear!” he looks up to you with that look you claimed you hated, like you hung the stars in the sky, like the the reason the planets are in orbit, like he’s in love.

You’re not one his girls, he is your man, and you - his woman.

[whorediaries-09]

down bad;

pairing- james potter x reader warning(s)- death, angst. a/n- i'm in my moods lately. a bit of angst to calm my soul and to feed my babies. short and sour :)

little train.

death was easy. unlike the concept of pain that came along with death, which had been ingrained into your mind as you grew, it was easy. even if you lay on the cold hard ground, slowly losing your senses as the acid from your stomach burned your organs, destroying them. your eyes ran dry, hands slowly losing strength and senses to hold back the blood flowing from your stomach.

or perhaps it was interest you lost. in saving yourself. the bloodcurdling screams had stopped, your ears were cold, devoid of hearing anything.

bellatrix knew how to kill. she didn't kill for vengeance. she killed because it was her passion. to kill and hurt people. to destroy them and their loved ones. her words were colder than any sword that could kill one. one could see the mad love behind her eyes as she killed.

you knew that. nobody could've known it better than you. but yet when it was time to choose between your life and your friends, you'd chosen your friends. your friends had families to build. your friends had someone waiting for them. but you had no one.

so, you decided to confront her, despite the protests of your friends.

the duel had been going pretty well, before she decided to puncture your emotions. it began with calling you a nobody in the wizarding world. it ended with you on your knees, as she taunted you for falling in love with a married man.

'what would you know about love, bellatrix? you belong to generations of inbreeding,' you spat. you saw the color leave her eyes. you saw yourself touching a nerve. and before you could do anything, you found yourself lying on the cold hard ground, blood oozing out of your stomach like a fountain.

she screamed, hysterically, maniacally, joyfully.

'oh i know about love! look what it's done to you now,'

*-

with shaking hands, james put the tape in the tape player. it was an anonymous mail. he knew better than accepting anonymous mails, given the high risk due to the circumstances. he'd just lost a friend. the grief and guilt still weighed down upon him.

he consoled himself by thinking that the death eaters wouldn't know the muggle ways of tapes or mails. they were petrified of the idea of death.

there was a static noise, before a cough. a cough he knew a bit too well. it hit him like a jab in the stomach.

'hi. if you're hearing this, then i'm dead. but i cannot simply die without confessing a few secrets you should know. so, this is my confession.'

james knew this voice a little too well. the girl he'd first fallen in love with. the woman who was dead, and would never return.

'i've never actually loved someone. it had just been you i'd decided to fall in love with. but of course. fate has always been cruel with me.'

james felt a growing lump in his throat. his eyes burned.

'before i could ever confess to you, i found out lily had finally said yes to your date after the years you'd spent pestering her. i don't remember feeling anything particularly. i remember it hurt me. it wounded me, it made me numb.'

the tears that flowed down his cheeks were warm and salty. the day was crystal clear in his memories. how you'd stopped talking to him, and started avoiding him and his constant confrontations asking you about your absence.

'but then it started to hurt. so much. it began with you changing places with peter to sit beside lily. then began her melodious laughter ringing into my dumb eardrums. then began the start of your beautiful relationship. which was nothing but an eyesore. i knew i had to get myself out from your friendship to end what i'd been feeling.'

he swallowed thickly, tears uncontrollable. he remembered how he'd had a crush on you as a fourteen year old, but you weren't quite close to him or his friend group back then. as he got to know you slowly, he realized that he'd never liked you. he liked the idea of you. he had always loved lily.

'then started your confrontations. i tried to ignore you, and i thought it wouldn't be too hard, given there was not much time left for school to finish anyways. turns out i was wrong. we had to join the order, since voldemort is at large. and we had to spend more time together. at meetings. at missions.'

james could remember the first time he'd seen you after hogwarts. you had changed a lot. it seemed as if you'd lost your charm. your shine.

'then you took me to choose the ring with which you proposed lily. and i think, that was my last straw before i let loose of any hope. and i knew it is wrong. but i'm doomed aren't i? always have been.'

james hated the fact that he hadn't done anything. even if he'd never liked you romantically, he'd loved you. you'd left the world without any closure. the closure you thought you didn't need. the closure he thought you deserved.

'you thought that it would be a nice way to catch up. but you only lost me. but trust me i was happy for you. i was happy that you got to marry the woman you'd always wanted to marry. i am happy that you got to marry the woman you'd loved. but sometimes i turn sour, thinking why couldn't it be me? and i really hate myself for it.'

your voice paused, and you took a deep breathe. cold air chilled down his spine.

'i didn't opt to be your odd man out. but i guess, that's what i was. but now that i'm no more, and you can't confront me anymore, i just need to say this, no matter how morally wrong it might be.'

james felt his heart pause. it was like a rare breathe.

'i love you.'

****************************************

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[nomie-11]

Chapter 27 - Starchild Rising

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“Genevieve!” Genevieve’s mother called out, her eyes flickering with joy in the sunlight. “Don’t go too far!”

“I won’t!” Her little voice carried far in the wind. May was Genevieve’s favorite month of the year, despite being born on the spring solstice in April, because the flowers bloomed after it rained all April, and the fields cleared for her to run through. “I promise, mama!”

And the little girl laughed as she ran, her bare feet sinking into the soft earth as the sun bathed the world in golden warmth. Genevieve’s heart soured with the freedom of youth, her long hair flowing like ribbons behind her. The world felt boundless, safe. The meadow stretched endlessly before her, the air filled with the sweet scent of blooming flowers and the hum of bees. In this place, everything was perfect, untouched by darkness. 

She darted between the tall grasses, her giggles echoing in the open air. Her small hands reached for the wildflowers, gathering them in bunches of color—violet purples, lily whites, poppy reds. 

Her mother’s voice was distant now, but Genevieve paid it no mind. She felt invincible. The sky seemed as endless as her dreams, and the meadow was a world where nothing could go wrong. 

But the memory, vivid in her unconscious mind, suddenly darkened. The sunlight dimmed as if clouded by an unseen force. The flowers in her hands faded to black and withered, turning brittle and dry, crumbling to ash. The wind, once warm and inviting, turned cold, biting at her skin. 

“Genevieve!” Her mother’s voice, once filled with joy, was sharp now, almost panicked. “Genevieve, come back!”

The little girl turned to run back toward the sound of her mother’s voice, but the meadow had changed. The grass was no longer soft, but sharp and thorny. It cut at her feet, leaving trails of blood behind. She stumbled, fear swelling in her chest as the world around her seemed to close in. 

Her mother was nowhere to be seen. 

“Mama!” she cried out, but only the cold wing answered her. The vibrant colors of the world faded to gray, the sky turning an oppressive shade of stormy black. 

Suddenly, there was a figure in the distance—a shadowy form in dark purple robes with blood red eyes that loomed large, watching her. This was no longer a memory but a nightmare, but Geneiveve, even in this child form, could feel the malice emanating from it. She backed away, her heart pounding, but her feet wouldn’t move fast enough. 

A voice, deep and menacing, whispered through the air, “you will never be free.”

Genevieve’s breath came in panicked gasps as the shadow advanced. The ground beneath her feet cracked open, and she fell, tumbling into darkness. 

The last thing she heard before the ground closed up around her, and the darkness consumed her, was her mother's voice, faint and filled with sorrow. “I’m sorry, my starchild…” 

Genevieve’s body twitched in the present, her unconscious form lying broken and battered. The fever dream blurred the lines between past and present, pain and memory. Until she shot up in her bed. 

 A horrid cough wracks her body for a second, before she immediately pushes the covers off of herself and attempts to stand, startling Xaden out of his wide eyed trance. Clattering to the floor, Genevieve’s shaking hand made contact with the nearest trash bin and pulled it in close, throwing up stomach bile and tears. 

Xaden was on her in seconds, his hands steady as they rubbed her back in slow, comforting circles. “Gen, you’re safe,” he whispered, though his voice was thick with worry. She could barely hear him over the sound of her own retching. 

Her body convulsed, violently rejecting whatever remnants of the poison still lingered in her system. Her hands shook uncontrollably, her vision blurred with tears and nausea. The taste of bile stung the back of her throat, and her chest heaved with every gasping breath. 

When the heaving finally subsided, Genevieve slumped forward, trembling, her forehead resting against the cool metal of the trash bin. her entire body felt weak, drained, like every ounce of energy has been ripped from her veins. 

“Here,” Xaden’s voice was closer now, softer. He crouched beside her, holding out a glass of water that he had clearly been holding onto for hours—no, days, in hopes that she would wake up and take it from him. She flinched at his touch, her mind still reeling from the nightmare, from the searing pain that had held her captive. 

“Don’t—” Her voice cracked, rough like sandpaper and barely above a whisper. She couldn’t even meet his eyes, couldn’t even bear to see whatever mix of emotions he might be feeling—anger, guilt, maybe even pity. She wanted none of it. 

“Don’t what? What’s wrong?” His voice was steady, but there was an undercurrent of something more. Desperation? Fear? It was hard to tell. 

“Don’t touch me,” She croaked, pulling herself away from him, even though every muscle in her body screamed in protest. Her arms shook as she tried to push herself off the floor, but she didn’t make it far before she collapsed once more, tears stinging her eyes. “What even happened?”

Xaden hesitated for a moment, his hand hovering near her back before he withdrew it slowly, respecting her wish for space. His jaw tightened as he looked down at her, the weight of the situation crashing over him like a wave. “You… saved Violet,” he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “You nearly died doing it.” 

Genevieve squeezed her eyes shut, her breath hitching as memories of the battle of Liam’s last words, and of Violet’s pale, dying face came flooding back. Her fingers curled into fists, nails biting into her palms. “Liam…?” She didn’t dare ask, didn’t want to hear the answer, but she couldn’t stop herself. 

Xaden’s expression darkened, the weight of his silence crushing her. “He’s gone, Genevieve,” he said after a long pause, his voice barely above a whisper. “He… he made sure you got to Violet. He knew what it would cost.”

The room seemed to close in around her, the air suddenly thick and suffocating. Genevieve shook her head, denying the truth, her heart shattering anew. “No… no, no, no.” Her voice broke, and she pressed her hands to her forehead, trying to stifle the sobs rising in her throat. 

Xaden knelt beside her again, close but not touching, his own grief etched in the hard lines of his face. “I’m sorry, Gen,” he murmured, his voice softer than she had ever heard it. “Liam… he knew. He knew what you had to do, and he made the choice.”

Genevieve shook her head violently, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I should’ve saved him,” she choked out, her voice thick with guilt and regret. “I promised him. I promised I’d save him and Violet, and I—I couldn’t… I couldn’t save him” 

“You did what he asked, Genevieve,” Xaden said, his tone firm, but still gentle enough to not startle her. “He didn’t want you to stay. He wanted you to save her. He wanted you to live.” 

Genevieve couldn’t hold back the sobs any longer, her body wracked with the force of her grief. The weight of everything she had lost—Liam, her friends, even pieces of herself—was too much to bear. She had done what Liam asked, but at what cost? She had sacrificed a part of her life force to Violet, and now… now she wasn’t sure she’d ever feel whole again.

“Genevieve—” Xaden moved to catch her before she could fall fully, his grip firm but not overbearing. He didn’t let her fall, but he also didn’t force her to stay. “You need to drink the water.” 

She wanted to push him away, to shout at him, to scream that none of this was fair. That the world had twisted her, torn her apart, and left her with nothing but ashes and the guilt of the lives she couldn’t save. But the words wouldn’t come. The fight was gone, replaced by a hollowness so deep it consumed her. 

“You should have let me die.” The words slipped out, unbidden, harsh, raw. 

Xaden’s expression hardene. “You don’t get to say that.” His voice was sharp now, cutting through the lingering fog in her mind. “Not after what you’ve been through. Not after everything they’ve done to keep you alive.” 

She laughed bitterly, hand moving to her head to ease the headache that still persisted, though her laugh was more sounding like a wheeze than anything. “Keep me alive for what, Xaden? To keep fighting? to be fed more lies? To watch more people die? I couldn’t even save—” Her voice cracked, and she had to swallow down the tears. Now Xaden knows that she remembers everything. “I couldn’t save him.” 

Xaden’s eyes darkened, shadows flickering across his face as her words cut through the room like jagged glass. He sat back slightly, his jaw clenching tight. “Don’t do that, Genevieve. Don’t blame yourself for Liam’s death.” 

Her eyes snapped up to meet his, the exhaustion melting away just enough to let the raw anger, the pain, and the guilt rise to the surface. “How can I not? I promised him, Xaden. I promised that I would go back, that I would save him once I saved Violet. I was supposed to get him out alive, and now he’s gone.”

Xaden’s hand hovered just shy of touching her shoulder, like he wanted to comfort her but knew she would recoil. His voice was low and steady, but there was an edge to it—sharp, but forgiving. “Liam made his own choices. We all did. And I won’t let you destroy yourself over something you couldn’t control.” 

Her throat tightened, tears threatening to fall, but she swallowed them back. “You weren’t there,” she whispered. “You didn’t see his face, hear his scream, see the way he looked at me. He trusted me, and I failed.” 

Xaden fumbles for a moment, shoving his hand into his pocket to retrieve a carving of two dragons. The two dragons were unmistakable, the larger one was Tairn, no doubt, but the smaller one wasn’t Sgaeyl or Astrape. It was Deigh. The two dragons stood side by side, each and every scale intricately arranged. 

She turns in his direction, her gaze immediately lockeding on the figurine, and her eyes water. “It’s my fault,” she whispers once more. 

“No, it’s mine. If I had just told you everything sooner, you would have been prepared. Hell, you and Violet probably could have figured out how to kill them.” Xaden’s heart breaks all over again as she swipes at the twin tears with the back of her hands. He sets the carving down in the palm of her good hand. “I know I should have, but I couldn’t bear to burn it. We laid him to rest yesterday. Well, the others did. I haven’t left this room since we got here.” Their gazes collide, and it takes all of his strength not to reach out for her, but he knows he’s the last place she’ll seek for comfort now. “I haven’t left you.” 

“You shouldn’t have brought me back here,” she whispered, her voice hoarse, barely audible. “You shouldn’t have risked everything.”

Xaden hesitated for a moment, then leaned closer. “We didn’t go back to Basgiath, Gen.” 

Her eyes snapped open at that. Confusion clouded her expression as she looked around again, realizing for the first time that the room wasn’t familiar. It didn’t have the cold stone walls of Basgiath. There were no healers bustling around or familiar faces from the war college. Everything was quieter, softer, as if the world outside this room was… peaceful. 

“Where are we?” She croaked, throat still burning. 

Xaden stood, moving toward the window. He didn’t answer immediately, instead drawing back the heavy curtains to reveal the view beyond. Genevieve squinted, her head throbbing, but as her vision cleared, her breath caught in her chest. 

The city outside was familiar. It wasn’t crumbled, so no, it couldn't be… this wasn’t the ruined Aretia she remembered from the rebellion’s devastation. It was rebuilt. The stone towers, the arched bridges, the marketplace teeming with life—it was like a memory of a place that should have been long gone. But it was real, standing tall against the horizon, bathed in the soft glow of the morning sun.

“We’re home,” Xaden said quietly, his back to her as he looked out over the city. “Aretia.” 

Genevieve’s heart stuttered in disbelief. “But… how?” 

He turned to face her, his expression serious but soft. “You know how.”

Genevieve’s breath hitched as she processed his words, her gaze flicking between Xaden and the city beyond the window. Aretia, her home, wasn’t lost. It had risen from cinders and fallen pillars of smoke and ash. 

“You’ve… rebuilt it,” she whispered, barely believing it herself. 

For the first time in what felt like forever, Genevieve didn’t know what to say. The weight of her guilt and her pain still hung heavily on her, but there was something else now, too. A glimmer of hope—fait, but undeniable. 

With some miraculous wave of strength, Genevieve pushed herself to a stand. “Give me like ten seconds to get dressed, and then you have a lot to spill.” 

“Kicking me out of my own room,” he reaches for that sarcastic, teasing tone he used to use with her before… everything flipped upside down. “That's a new one.” 

“Now, Riorson.” 

Ouch. Xaden can’t help but wince. Genevieve never uses his last name. Maybe it’s because she doesn’t like to remember the world her father isolated her from when mentioning Fen Riorson, but he’s always been Xaden to her. The loss feels like a bottomless abyss, a death blow to every ounce of hope he was clinging to in their relationship. “Bathing chamber is through there. Call if you need anything, ok?” He points to the far wall and strides for the exit, swinging his sword over his back on the way out. 

As he leaves, Bodhi is leaned up against the wall, talking to Garick, who’s boasting a new six-inch scar from temple to jaw, but they both fall silent as he shuts the door behind him. They tense and Garrick stands to his full height. “She’s awake.” 

“Thank Amari,” Bodhi says, his shoulders sagging. His arm is still in a sling, recovering from the four places a venin fractured it. 

“And the poison? Is her hair still all weird?” Garrick asks, concern in his eyes. He’s already told Xaden that he thinks the effects will be temporary, or won’t really affect her on a daily, but the real worry is for Xaden’s mental state if she doesn’t forgive him for not telling her sooner. 

“The black is mostly faded from her hair, just a few streaks here or there,” Xaden shrugged, glancing back at the door to his room which held the very girl they were talking about. “Any word from the fliers?”

“Syrena is alive, if that’s what you’re asking,” Bodhi answers. “So is her sister. But the rest…” He shakes his head. 

At least they made it out, and now that Genevieve is awake, Xaden can finally breathe. “You figure out that that box was that Chradh was drawn to back at Resson?” He asks. Garrick’s dragon is apparently remarkably sensitive to runes, which allowed them to retrieve a small iron box beneath the rubble of the clock tower Violet had blown up. 

“No clue. They’re working on it right now. Hopefully we’ll have an answer in the next couple of hours. I’m glad she’s all right, Xaden. I’ll tell Violet and the others.” He nods once and heads down the hall confidently, knowing the castle lay out almost as well as Xaden does, considering he spent every summer in this very building, in this wing, before the apostasy.

Bodhi wrinkles his nose. 

“What?” 

“No wonder she kicked you out. You smell like dragon ass.” 

“Fuck off,” But he catches a whiff, and can’t argue. “I’m using your room.”

“I’ll consider it a personal favor, your majesty.” Bodhi snickers. 

Xaden flips him off, and heads to his room. 

—----------------------------------------

An hour later, Xaden is bathed and impatiently waiting outside of his own room in a fresh set of leathers with Bodhi, who’s doing his best to lighten Xaden’s irrevocably dark mood like he always is, when the door opens and Genevieve is just standing there. 

He nearly swallows his tongue at the sight of her unbound, damp hair curling just above her shoulders. She awkwardly glances between Bodhi and Xaden, her hands fidgeting with the edge of her own fresh set of leathers, that was definitely not originally hers. 

Bodhi grins, flashing a smile that looks exactly the same way Xaden’s aunts used to. “Good to see you up and about, Hale.” Then he smacks Xaden on the shoulder as he walks off, looking back over his shoulder. “I’ll go fetch the backup plan. Good luck.” 

She looks back at Xaden, and with her good arm, she struggles to put her hair up into a bun, before just huffing in annoyance. “I would normally just have Violet do it,” she grumbles. “Well, come back in, you’ve got shit to explain.” 

“As long as you've invited me.” He walks in, loathing the distrust and discomfort in her eyes. 

Genevieve moved toward the small wooden desk by the window—his small wooden desk by the window—her steps slow and deliberate, her body still aching from the aftereffects of the poison and the battle. She sat down with a quiet exhale, her gaze fixed on the city beyond the glass, not looking at Xaden as he approached. 

Xaden took a cautious step into his own bedroom, unsure of where to begin. His mind raced with everything he needed to explain—why they had left Basgiath, why they had come here, the rebellion, the secrets he had kept from her. The weight of it all pressed down on him, and for a moment, he wondered if any of it would matter. Would she ever trust him again?

“Is this all original?” She asks, her gaze sweeping over his bedroom. 

“The majority of the fortress is stone,” He says as she studies the detailed arches at the ceiling, the natural lighting from the windows that consume the western wall. “Stone doesn’t burn.”

“Right.” She nods. “And my manor…?”

Xaden’s gaze flickered with hesitation before he answered, his voice low and cautious. “It’s in ruin, abandoned, Genevieve. No one has touched a single thing since you were taken.” He watched as her face tightened, but she remained silent, staring out the window as if the city beyond could give her back what she had lost. 

Her jaw clenched, and for a moment, he thought she might lash out, but instead, she let out a long, shaky breath, as if steeling herself for the inevitable truth. “So, nothing from my old life remains,” she whispered, more to herself than to him. 

“The manor is still standing, but not of use, no.” His throat felt tight, knowing that her entire world had crumbled in ways she hadn’t even been conscious of. “But we salvaged some things. I had them brought here.”

That got her attention. She turned slowly to face him, a flicker of curiosity cutting through her otherwise guarded expression. “What things?”

“Personal items. A few heirlooms. I couldn’t save much, but your father’s journals… they’re intact.” 

Genevieve blinked, a brief flicker of emotion crossing her face before it was gone, replaced by the same hollow exhaustion she had carried since waking. She glanced away, the weight of her father’s legacy hanging in the air between them. 

“The journals,” she echoed softly, her voice distant. “Of course.”

”I can get them for you if—”

“No.” Her voice was sharper than she intended, and she shook her head quickly. “Not now. I… I can’t deal with that right now.” 

Xaden nodded, not pushing any further. He could see how much it took just to stay upright, to focus on the conversation. “That’s fine. Whenever you’re ready.” He swallows. Hard. “I think after all you’ve seen, the question I have to ask before I tell you anything more is pretty simple. Are you in? Are you willing to fight with us?” She could just as easily decide to turn them all in. She didn’t know enough to condemn him before, but she does now. 

“I’m in,” She nods, her eyes narrowing at the mere prospect of the question. 

Relief surges through him in a rush more powerful than anything he could channel from Sgaeyl, and he reaches for her. “I’m so sorry I had to keep…” His words die on his tongue as she steps back, avoiding him. 

“Not happening.” A world of hurt flashes in her light eye, and he withers. “Just because I believe you and am willing to fight with you doesn’t mean I’ll trust you with my heart again. And I can’t be with someone I don’t trust.” 

Something in his chest crumples. “I’ve never lied to you, Gen. Not once. And I never will.” 

She stands at the window and looks down, then slowly turns back to him, her hand snaking around her ribs as if trying to ease some pain or pressure. “It’s not even that you kept this from me. I get why you did it. It’s the ease with which you did it. You let me love you, you let me trust you with my heart, and promised it in return.” She shakes her head, and he sees it there, the love, but it’s masked behind defenses he had once crumbled but now foolishly rebuilt. “And you didn’t give me it in return.” 

But he loves her, of course he loves her, he loved her months ago and he loves her now, but if he tells her now, she’ll think he’s saying it for all the wrong reasons. And honestly, he is. But he will not lose the only woman he’s ever fallen for without a fight. “You’re right. I kept secrets,” he admits, pressing forward again, taking step after step until he’s less than a foot from her. He palms the glass on both sides of her head, loosely caging her in, but they both know she could walk away if she wanted. But she doesn’t move. “It took me a long time to trust you, and an even longer time for me to realize I fell for you.” 

Someone knocks, they ignore it. 

“Don’t say that.” She lifts her chin, but he doesn’t miss the way she glances at his mouth. 

“I fell for you,” he lowers his head and looks straight into her gorgeous eyes. She might be rightfully pissed, but she sure as Malek isn’t fickle. “And you know what? You might not trust me anymore, but you still love me.”

Her lips part, but she doesn’t deny it. 

“You reminded me why I don’t give out my trust easily, and it will be very hard for me to give it to you again.” She masks the hurt with a quick blink, a perfect porcelain mask slipping right into place. 

Never again, Xaden thinks. Those eyes will never reflect the hurt I’ve inflicted ever again. 

“I fucked up by not telling you sooner, and I won’t even try to justify my reasons. But now, I’m trusting you with my life—with everyone’s lives.” He risked it all just by bringing her back here instead of taking her body to Basgiath. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know and everything you don’t. I’ll spend every single day for the rest of my life earning back your trust if it means I get to spend it with you.” 

Genevieve blinks. She’s forgotten what it felt like to be loved, really truly loved. And he’d forgotten as well. It’s been so many years since his father died. And his mom… not going there. But then Geneiveve gave him those words, gave him her trust, her heart, and he remembered. She remembered, too. He’d be damned if he doesn’t fight to keep it. 

“And if it’s not possible?” 

“You still love me. It’s possible.” Gods, do I ache to kiss her, to remind her exactly what we are together, but I won’t, not until she asks. “I’m not afraid of hard work, especially not when I know just how sweet the rewards are. I would rather lose this entire war than live without you and if that means I have to prove myself over and over, then I’ll do it. You have my heart, and I’m keeping yours.” 

Her eyes widen, as if she’s finally seeing the resolve within him. 

It’s time she knew everything. Knowing Genevieve, he knew she wouldn’t stay tucked away, safe behind Basgiath’s walls, especially not now that she knows just how corrupt those walls are. And whether or not he likes it, Violet is going to come along as well. 

She’ll fight this war at his side. 

There’s another insistent knock at the door. 

“Fuck is she impatient,” he mutters. “You have about twenty seconds to ask a question, if I know her.” 

She blinks. “I’m still hoping that the missive at Athebyne was really about the War Games. Do you think there's any chance we just happened to end up in the middle of a wyvern attack at that outpost?” 

“That definitely wasn’t an accident, my girl,” she says from the doorway. 

Xaden sighs and moves to the side, watching Genevieve’s eyes widen as she sees her standing in the doorway. “Told you I knew someone better than Nolon,” He says softly. 

“Mother?” She stares at the woman in the doorway, her own mouth open in shock. 

Aviva Hale just grins and opens her arms. 

“Oh, my starchild, what have they done to you?”

~~~~~~~~~~~

And that's a wrap on the main chapters of Fourth Wing!! We will have one more chapter, a brief epilogue will be posted on Saturday and then my longer final notes will be posted along with that.

What did we think? Good plot twist? I don't think anyone expected her mother to show up (she didn't expect it either-yikes sorry gen). How do we think Genevieve will take her mother's presence? We havent even talked to Violet yet, theres so much to do!

Anyways, thats it for now! I'll see you with the epilogue on saturday and then that will be a wrap on the wounded healer! As always, if you enjoyed, please leave a like, comment, or kudo, and I'll see you on Saturday!

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Taglist: @awkardnerd , @hannraumari , @minjix , @glaciuswduo , @wolfbc97 , @heeseungthel0ml

[ghostofbambifanfiction]

Taking a leaf out of @bcdaily's book, enjoy this random excerpt from a fic I started years ago and will definitely never finish.

When Sirius lead the way back inside the house, which the collective household had spent the better part of a day decorating—a testament to how much they loved Remus, or how much James enjoyed drawing Adipose faces on square balloons—James followed, and split off near the living room, where he found most of the guests, and his mum, who beckoned frantically for him to come over.

"There's a girl waiting for you by the front door," she told him, pointing towards the door that opened into the hallway. "I think she's here to deliver something."

"Probably Beatrice with the cake."

"No, she said her name—wait, no, come here!" cried his mum, as he turned and made to walk away, her hand closing tight around his forearm. For reasons that were utterly beyond him, she began to brush invisible crumbs from his suit jacket—he'd gone full Tennant for the sake of the party, red Converse and all—with such force that he felt as if he was one wrong move away from a violent pummelling.

"What are you—" he began, then cried out in pain as she caught him hard in the chest. "That was a rib, woman!"

"Stop whinging, I'm just trying to help you."

"Help me with what?"

"You'll want to look presentable before you go out there."

"Why?"

"Just trust me, you silly boy," she said, and made as if to grab his tie, but James darted out of the way. "I'm just trying to fix it!"

"Ten always wore his tie tucked in!"

"It's leaning to the left!"

"Yeah, well, so am I."

"A tie should look smart, not—" his mother began, to which James turned and fled at a flat-out run, bursting into the hall with unnecessary speed and startling a girl who, until that point, appeared to have been examining a painting of the Santorini coastline that his parents had mounted on the wall.

Correction. A very beautiful girl examining a painting of the Santorini coastline.

She'd jumped when he came running into the hall, but seemed to recover fast, and bestowed upon him an extraordinarily pretty smile.

"That was some entrance," she said, sounding amused. "Are you training for a marathon?"

He was still wrong. The word 'very' was sufficient for most things, but it fell short in this instance, because this girl, this lovely, pink-cheeked, ivory-skinned miracle, with waves of dark red hair and incomparably stunning eyes, was clearly the most beautiful girl James had ever laid eyes on in his life.

The most beautiful girl in the world was standing in his parents' hallway, for some reason, while he, like an idiot, was fully dressed as the bleeding Doctor and couldn't pretend that he wasn't, because she'd very likely heard him yelling to his mother about the favoured position of Ten's tie, and he had a sonic screwdriver tucked behind his ear.

"Um," he said. Um. That was it. A sound. He'd made a sound. Well done.

Maybe he'd get really lucky, and she'd know nothing about Doctor Who, and he could pretend that the screwdriver was a really fancy pen. Woman liked fancy pens. A fancy pen meant a fancy man.

"Are you dressed as the Doctor?" she said, eyeing his costume curiously.

The fancy pen idea shat a brick and ran for the hills.

"Er, no," he lied, his brain twitching frantically. He wished there was a way to rid himself of the screwdriver in an inconspicuous manner. "This is just how I dress."

"Are you sure?"

"Totally sure."

"Oh," she said, and the tiniest crease appeared between her eyebrows. "It's just, there's a two-foot tall Dalek cake sitting outside in my van right now, and that's telling me a different story."

Were James as pale as her—and it was particularly fortunate at this moment that he wasn't—his face would have been redder than his trainers.

"You're from Lily and Bee," he said, burning with shame. "I mean, from the bakery."

The girl nodded, pointing to her own chest. "I'm Lily, if you hadn't guessed, since you've already met Beatrice—if you're James Potter, that is, which I hope you are. He's the one I'm looking for."

She was looking for him she was looking for him she was looking for him she was—of course she was looking for him, she was delivering the cake he'd bloody commissioned. "I'm him. I'm James."

"Not the Doctor?"

"Well, yeah," he admitted, and glanced down at his outfit. "But only on very special occasions."

She smiled politely, an image he wished he could record and play back when he remembered this conversation, so he could let his mind linger on the one thing he'd done right in all this ugly embarrassment. "I'm sorry if there's been any confusion—it's actually me who made the cake. I was on holiday for the week when you consulted with Beatrice and now she's on holiday and it's a whole thing, but it's all finished and ready, so no harm done."

"Ah, okay." He could do better than this. "Nice romantic week away, was it?"

Not like that.

"I was in the Lake District with my parents," she replied, regarding him with some curiosity. "So no, not particularly. Can't really sneak boys back to a Windermere-adjacent cottage with really thin walls, though I got to hear them going at it, which was horrifying." She pulled a face. "Anyway, I assume you're going to need this cake, yeah?"

[skyfallslayer]

A Stitch In Time || Prologue

-Bucky Barnes x Daughter!Reader-

Series Masterlist

° Series Summary: A Time Heist mission goes wrong, and some of the Avengers end up in the 1950s. Desperately clinging to their lives, they wind up in a place subconsciously. And unfortunately for Steve, and especially to Bucky, they find themselves face to face with someone they wish not to see.

° Chapter Summary: Worried about how his mission may go, Bucky visits a ‘touchy’ place, and recalls the short life he had with you.

° Date: 7/20

° Rating: Teen

° Word Count: 4,569

° Warning: Talks about death/dying; Reference to Suicide; Guilt; Child Abandonment; Talks of Fertility Issues; Alcohol; Allusions to Depression. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!

° A/N: The only excuse I have for taking so long to get this out is because I had an expected mental health break. One that was needed. But I'm back! And I'm slowly updating some of my other stories! So be on the look out for those! Also, let me know if I missed any warnings! Enjoy!

The freshly wetted grass squished underneath his boots with each and every step. His shoulders were slacked, but his wrists were tense as he held the delicate bouquet with both of his hands. He was always nervous to be here, even though he’s done it so many times after finding it, the nervousness never went away. The nausea never stopped too… or the guilt… the fear… the sadness. Nothing ever stopped like he so desperately wanted to. Was this a curse he was stuck with for helping to bring another child into this cruel world?

He reaches the end of his line, just a few short inches away from where his toes could touch the stone; The stone etched with words and numbers that made his heart ache. And when his knees felt weak he lowered himself to the ground, sitting back on his heels. With a bittersweet expression on his features, he removes the old lilies and replaces them with your favorite, pearly white ones. The ones you always smelled like when you came back from playing in the park. Who knew he would miss such a fragrance? 

He takes a deep inhale through his nose, and exhales quietly, gathering his thoughts. “Hey, baby girl. It’s been some… time since I’ve visited. I honestly thought I should wait until your half birthday, but…” He trails off, frowning. “But uh, I’m heading off on another mission tomorrow, a… potentially dangerous one.” He chuckles dryly. “You know the deal with those.”

He pauses like he’s waiting for your answer he knows he won’t get, letting the hot summer wind touch his face and through his chocolate locks. He waited for that as his cue to continue on.

“Uh… so…”

It hurts to even think about it.

“I was just…”

Should he even say it?

“Wondering again if it goes south I can…”

Should he repeat what he always says to your grave?

“Be next to you?”

Another pause, this time it felt more painful. It always hurts to be here. It always hurts to say those words because it wasn’t like he had a death wish, it wasn’t like he was afraid of death, he just… didn’t know if he deserved to be next to you. You were his whole world and he fucked it up. Fucked it up so bad that it makes him more anxious to want to hold you, and hug you, and kiss you, and just talk to you. He loves you. 

He’s loved you since the very beginning.

.

.

.

Bucky would have fallen back in shock if it wasn’t for the small bundle in his arms. His ex-girlfriend had just said some words that he didn’t need to hear right now. Couldn’t even comprehend it.

No, it wasn’t, ‘Can we get back together? I made a mistake’.

No, It wasn’t, ‘The baby isn’t yours’.

No it was–

“What do you mean you’re leaving?” He asked, disbelief etched in his words. There was also an underlying sense of anger and betrayal, because–

She couldn’t be serious...

Right?

He watched the woman standing in front of him roll her eyes, snatching her purse from his living room’s couch while responding, “I don’t want her. I only had her because you wanted to keep the baby after finding out I was pregnant.”

He nearly doubled over when he heard the disgust in her voice. “So you’re just going to leave?” Bucky asked, seeing his ex now putting on her winter coat. “But our daughter needs a mother figu–”

“YOUR daughter.” His ex snapped, poison on her tongue. “That baby–” She points furiously. “That baby is a spitting image of you. All the way from the shape of her face to the way she smiles. Everything. Which is fine by me, I don’t want someone looking like me out in the world.”

Bucky opened his mouth to speak as he followed her behind as she walked towards the front door. Unfortunately, she beats him to it. “As for a mother figure, you’ve got three sisters and a mom. That baby can pick up skills from them.”

She swings the door open, letting in the cold breeze of February. Snowflakes flew in, sticking to her clothes and curly hair. Bucky immediately stood sideways and drew you as far away as he could from the freezing air.

(Was she trying to freeze you?!)

“Dottie!” He called out from the doorway, stopping her on the porch.

She wasn’t even going to look back at him, wasn’t she? Or even look at you? Did she truly not feel anything?

He doesn’t know why but his voice cracked, and although he and his ex’s relationship was always rocky, and they both knew that whatever was between them wasn’t going to work out, he still doesn’t want her to leave him alone with a one week old.

“Come on…” He continued, quietly. “At least stay for a couple months until I can do this on my own.” His lower lip quivered slightly. “Please?”

He felt you shift a bit in his arms, probably from the weather, and waited for her to turn around…

But she never did.

“Goodbye, James.” Dottie said, before trailing across the snow covered path to the sidewalk. 

Bucky watches her disappear into the night, his feet glued to the floor even when part of his mind told him to run after her. It would be a lie if he said that he didn’t want to go after her, thinking that maybe she’ll change her mind if actually begs, but the mere thought went out the door when you started to get fussy and cry.

Something deep within him kicked in, probably that parental instincts he’s heard about from his own parents, and all his attention was turned to you cradled in a lilac colored blanket.

“Hey…” He whispered, readjust his hold so that he could gently brush their–

No.

That’s officially gone out the window. 

It’s just his daughter. His.

He readjust his hold so that he could gently brush HIS daughter’s cheek. To brush your cheek like a soft paint brush across a canvas. “Hey. Don’t cry.” He says, soothingly.

He makes a soft shushing sound as he closes the front door with his hip, before carefully guiding himself to sit near the fireplace. He lays you cautiously in his lap, almost in awe as he sees your eyes peeking open for the first time.

(Y/E/C) eyes. 

So beautiful like the world itself. He almost wanted to start taking pictures.

Maybe later though.

He chuckles sadly, tears in his own as he brushes your cheeks again. “Don’t cry. Don’t cry, I got you.” He said, smiling down. “I got you, baby girl.”

You cooed quietly, staring back at him with a bit of curiosity. The look you were giving him melted his heart, but it also made him feel like he didn’t deserve any of this.

“I’m sorry…”  He croaks, sniffling. “It looks like it’s just going to be me and you, doll. I’m so sorry. I hope you can forgive me.”

You made the cute sounds that took his breath away again, taking up his whole surroundings. However, if it wasn’t for his military training, he probably wouldn’t have even heard someone tumbling down the stairs. Bucky glances at the living room entrance, finding a certain skinny blond that he called his best friend. He saw his chest move slightly, and could almost hear him panting from here.

“S-Sorry.” Steve exhales, leaning against the door frame. “Your mom sent me down here when we heard everything go quiet.”

Bucky smiled a little. “She got worried?”

Steve copies him with a chuckle.  “Yeah. She wanted to make sure you hadn’t run off with her grandchild.”

The brunette shakes his head. “That sounds like my mother.” He turns his attention back on you, but from the corner of his eye he could see his friend shifting uncomfortably, almost hesitantly, in his spot. His smile grows. “Come here.”

“What?” The blond said, genuinely confused. 

“Come here, Steve. You can see her.”

He stiffens up a bit, looking unsure. “H-Her… A-Are you… are you sure?” Steve asked, pointing towards the stairs in the hallway. “I-I shouldn’t be the one seeing your baby first. Shouldn’t I–”

“Get your ass over here, Rogers.” Bucky said, almost wishing he could free his hand up and drag him by the ear (he was always so timid and too cautious sometimes).

Not even daring to question his best friend’s wish, Steve wandered over and took a seat on the couch next to Bucky. He leans in close, examining the small bundle in the soldier’s arms.

Steve’s big blue eyes lit up with joy. “Wow, Buck. She’s adorable.” He said, as you scrunch up your nose to show off your cute, chubby cheeks.

“She is.” Bucky said, fighting back the stinging sensation in his eyes again. He now wonders…

(Is this what it's going to feel like all the time now?)

After a moment of silence, Bucky threw his friend through another loop. “Wanna hold her?”

Steve held his hands up in defense almost immediately after those words left his tongue. “Oh, no. I shouldn’t.”

“I trust you.” Bucky holds you out a little, a reassuring look on his face.

Steve raises a cautious eyebrow. “You sure?”

“Yes.” Bucky laughs. “I’ll show you.”

Bucky then takes his time showing Steve how to hold you, giving him pointers and readjusting everyone once and awhile until he has you in a good position. The blond’s nerves seemed to vanish into thin air when he started to see that you were looking at him with the same curious eyes you made at your father. Those eyes of yours could melt anyone’s hard shells at this point.

Steve chuckles, and grins as he gets butterflies in his stomach from you. “What’s her name?” He asks, sparing a glance at your dad for a split second. “Did Dottie ever give her one?”

Bucky shakes his head sadly. “No.” He said, his voice feeling rather small at the moment. “No she didn’t. I’m tasked with giving her one.”

“Have you thought of any? I know you were looking through some books a few weeks back.”

“I have and I think…” He takes another good look at you, making sure the name was the right choice. “I was thinking… (Y/N).”

“(Y/N)?” The blond repeats back, testing it out like an echo chamber for his friend who nodded back.

“Yeah. (Y/N).” Bucky tests it out his lips as other names start to form. “(Y/N)... Stevie Barnes.”

He looks up in surprise. “Stevie?” Steve asks in disbelief again. 

Bucky smiles. “Well, I heard Stevie is the girl version of Steve, so…”

“But…” His blue eyes look away again, looking completely torn.

Your father raises an eyebrow over this. “But what?”

“You’re flattering me way too much, Bucky.”

“Am I?” Bucky asked, tilting his head, slightly puzzled.

“Y-Yes!” Steve said, shaking his head. “Y-You can’t– You shouldn’t name your kid after me.”

Now it was his turn to be even more confused. “Why not?”

“Because, I’m– y-you have sisters! Parents. Y-You should name her after them. Not me.”

“But, Steve, you’re my brother. Besides…” Bucky shifted in his seat, knowing what he’ll say next is touchy. “I know… the doctor said you might not be able to have kids so… think of this as me… giving you a small piece of that.”

Silence befell, the subject was something that really hurt Steve when he heard it the first time; Hell, it even hurt his mother who was present at the time. It kind of haunted him for a while because what could he offer to a person who wanted to share his life? 

Steve stares at him for a while before tearing up, laughing quietly and looking away. “Jesus, Bucky. You’re making me cry.”

A chuckle. “Well don’t, ‘cause I’ll start crying again.” Bucky says, making them belly laugh. 

The blond sniffles and tests the name out on his own. “(Y/N) Stevie Barnes.” He looks back down at you, his smile returning fully. “Not bad, Buck.”

Your father looked at him teasingly. “And what’s that supposed to mean, Steven?”

“Nothing.” Steve replies, holding back another laugh as he watches you start to drift back to sleep. “I’m really happy for you, man.”

“Thanks.” 

A few moments more passed before you were carefully placed back in your father’s arms, where all he did was stare back at you as you pulled yourself to sleep. His happy face started to falter, and there was a heavy amount of doubt in his ocean blue orbs. 

“I don’t know what I’m going to do, Steve.” He finally admits before swallowing the lump in his throat. He soon felt his friend’s hand on his leg, giving it a comforting squeeze.

“You don’t have to do this alone, Bucky. You’ve got your family and you’ve got me.” Steve said, honestly. “And you know this. However, don’t doubt yourself, you got this. You’re going to be a great dad.”

Bucky’s lip curled up a bit, not caring that he was about to cry again. “Steve Rogers. The man who always knows what to say.”

“What can I say? I try.” He asked, coping with his expression.

“And you think I’ll be great? Even with me being a soldier and everything else that comes with it?” Your father asked, doubt was still just lingering on the surface no matter what he did.

Steve gives another gentle squeeze. “I know you’ll be great. I know you’ll do anything to make sure she’ll be okay. So don’t worry too much, okay? (Y/N)’s going to be lucky she has you.”

Bucky hums, truly grateful for a friend like him. 

And without an ounce of hesitation, he bends down slowly and kisses your sleeping forehead. 

“I already loved you so much, (Y/N). I hope you realize that.” He whispers, lovingly. “And I’ll do anything to make sure you’re safe.”

He swears at that moment he saw you smile.

.

.

.

Bucky brushed his flesh fingers against the words in the stone, tracing your name and important dates. February 23rd, 1936. A snowy, snowy day. Cool and crisp. Although he had to wait and wait until you were a week old to hold you, a week old to realize he was on his own, a week to realize that he truly loved you. No upcoming birthday surprises could top this one. But if he loved you so much then…

Why were you cursed to be underground?

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

When Bucky got back home to his apartment, he found himself subconsciously grabbing the bottle of scotch in his cabinet. Although he knew he couldn’t technically get drunk, the feeling he got after a couple glasses was close enough. Sometimes… he liked the quietness in his home, the time to relax, untouched and left alone to be himself; But most of the time, after so many years of being alone in his head, he loathes being alone. Friends and family were everything to him growing up. You were everything to him growing up. 

He still wonders what it would be like if you were here, running around, asking him twenty questions, painting his toes, etcetera. He always wondered what you were like when you got older, the side of you he never got to see. He always wondered what those short years did for you.

Why did he have to get taken from you so soon?

.

.

.

You dove around your grandparents and aunts’ legs as you made your way out of the house, ignoring how your father’s duffle bag, that subconsciously you hated, was laying on the porch steps. You stumble around a bit on your five year old legs, before finding the person you wanted to see. 

“Uncle Steve!!!” You yelled, throwing your arms up.

“Hey, Pumpkin.” He said, teasingly. He wastes no time to scoop you up, and carefully holds you close to him (it’s been years and he’s still afraid he’ll drop you). “Have you gotten smaller?”

You scrunched up your nose at him, shaking your head. “No.” You giggled at the silly nickname, and it all was because you were pocket size.

“No?” Steve said, tilting his head, all cocky. “Are you sure?”

You giggled again. “Yes.”

He grins. “Just checking.”

A sigh came from inside, before the two of you saw your father exiting his parents house, all dressed in his neatly ironed uniform. He looked miserable as he gazed at his bag on the porch.

“Ready?” Steve asked, readjusting his hold on you as he frowned himself.

“Unfortunately.” Bucky mumbled, not ready for what’s yet to come. However, when he faces you his whole expression changes for the better. “And there’s my little girl!”

“Papa!” You yelled, holding your arms out. He takes you in his arms, hugging you gently. “Are you leaving, Papa?��

“Oh, baby doll, I am.” He said, pulling back to look at you. “But don’t worry, I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He taps your nose. “Okay?”

You nodded slowly and smiled. “Okay!”

“Good.” He gives you a big kiss on your head, before peppering your face with some more making you laugh. “I love you, (Y/N).”

“I love you, too, Papa.”

“I love you more.”

He gives you one more kiss and one more hug before transferring you over back to Steve. They both give each other a strong hug and pat on the back, smiling bittersweetly.

“Be safe, Bucky.” Steve said, trying to hide his concern.

“I will. You too. The both of you.” Bucky said, grabbing his bag and making sure his voice was stern.

“We will. I’ll keep an eye on her.”

“Thank you, Steve.” 

He bid them goodbye, and you and Steve watched him walk down the path to the military jeep parked nearby. It was chilling almost to watch, and your five year old mind couldn’t quite comprehend the heavy feeling you felt underneath the surface.

“Uncle Steve?” You asked, prying his eyes away from the moving vehicle. 

“Yeah?” He said, softly.

You looked at him all puzzled, something wasn’t adding up. “I thought you told me you were going with him?” You swear he mentioned something like that to you yesterday. Right?

His eyes look away from you, almost like he was recollecting himself before giving you his answer. “I am. But not yet.” He replies, honestly. His orbs finally meet yours again. “Not until I know you're okay.”

“Really?” You asked, tilting your head to the side with curiosity.

“Sure am.” He smiles once more. “Now, what do you want to do? You want to see what Grandpa and Grandma are doing?”

Your eyes light up at their names. “Yes!!!” 

He laughs at your enthusiasm. “Okay, okay. Let’s go see them.”

.

.

.

Bucky throws a bottle of scotch across the room, shattering somewhere. He didn’t care though. It’s not like he even batted an eye.

Five years old. 

That was it.

That’s the last time he ever saw you.

And that hurt like a bitch.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

He doesn’t know when…

But everything suddenly just…

Clicked.

Memories of his flooded in like a broken dam. He starts to recall who he was before and after the fall. Before and after the war. Before and after everything. So as he made his way to Siberia with his friend, Steve, he remembers something that was like a knife to his heart.

“I have a daughter.” Bucky said abruptly, cutting Steve off.

When he was on the run after the helicarriers fell, he remembers his time growing up in the early 1900s. The (multiple) times he saved his best friend’s ass from being picked on, or the way he took his younger siblings to the park, or helping his mother bake, or fixing the car with his dad. But there were a few memories he was confused by for a long time.

First he only heard little laughs, or someone trying to sing a child’s song. Then he saw little toys and dresses. Then he saw a little face with big, wondrous eyes. It didn’t take him long to realize who she was.

He met with his friend’s eyes quickly, almost getting choked up by an emotion that had been under lock and key for so long. “...I have a daughter… don’t I?”

Steve, who seemed taken back by his sudden string of words, opens and closes his mouth a few times, before settling his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Yes, Bucky. You do.”

Bucky looked away, the confirmation sending his mind spiraling again, and the Captain could tell. He decides to approach this carefully since he knows his friend isn’t hundred percent in his right mind yet.

“Do you remember her?” Steve asked, watching him nod slowly. “What do you remember?”

Bucky thinks long and hard about this. What did he remember about you?

“Uh… I remember she was tiny… always tiny.” He chuckles quietly, making Steve smile. “She uh… had um… (Y/H/C) hair that was kind of wavy when she got older. Um… big, bright (Y/E/C) eyes. She… she um… smiled a lot… I think?”

“Yeah, she did Buck. All the time.” Steve said, patting his shoulder gently as he could see the joy it was bringing to his friend.

Bucky laughs again. “Uh… you used to call her by a weird nickname. What was it? Uh…” He purses his lips. “Po… Potato?”

Now it was the blond’s turn to laugh. “N-No. No. Close… Starts with a P, though.”

“Um…” His eyes light a spark. “Oh. Yeah. I remember now. We took her to her first Halloween pumpkin patch when I could hold in one hand because she was so tiny.”

“Yep. That’s what I called her.” He says with a nod. “Your Ma tried to dress her up like one.”

“Oh, yeah, she did.”

And then it got quiet, and Steve saw the bright light in his friend’s eyes go out when the wheels started to turn again. He held his breath, knowing what he was recalling next.

Bucky swayed on the balls of his feet a bit, looking at the floor. “She was five the last time I saw her.” He says, bittersweetly. “I remember, the night before, I took her to Coney Island, and we just played games and ate until our bellies ached. I got her a stuffed bear on the ring toss…”

Steve squeezed his shoulder, trying to give him some comfort because he knew there was no stopping any memories of you.

“She was with you when I left. I gave her hugs, and kisses and…” His voice starts to break. “I love you’s…. Um…”

“Bucky–” Steve begins, hating how hurt he looked.

“Steve. W-Was that last time you saw h-her too?”

Steve closed his mouth, thinking to himself. He couldn’t lie. He was a terrible liar which the brunette always sees through. So what was the point of even trying?

Cap shakes his head. “No. I saw her when she was nine. ‘Bout to be nine.”

“N-Nine?” Bucky asked, just above a whisper. “W-Why?”

“Um…” He swallows. “I had to…. I had to tell your family about, you know… the train… and you.”

The Soldier went distant. “O-Oh…”

“I wanted to make sure I was the one to tell them.” 

“Oh…” Bucky started to get teary eyed. “D-Did you tell her?"

Steve held his breath again. It was like his mind started to relive that day.

You looked so happy to see him, but he watched that expression vanish when you saw his sadden face. It hurts to take you by the hand and into your room. It hurts to see how you’ve grown, and to think he got to see it and not your dad made the situation a whole lot worse.

He wanted to lie and tell you your dad was hurt. 

He wanted to lie and tell you your dad was still at war and won’t be home for a while.

He wanted to lie and say everything was going to be okay.

But he couldn’t, and felt like it was his duty to tell you what happened to your father, to his best friend.

He knew if the situation was reversed, Bucky would be doing the very same thing now.

And when he did tell you, he hated how you kept on denying it. You called him a liar, and god he wished he was.

“I-I did…” He said, feeling his eyes sting as well. 

Bucky jaw clenches. “A-And?”

Steve looks away for a second. “She cried for three hours.”

“O-Oh…” Bucky looks away too. “I always h-hated when s-she cries.”

With his hand still on the brunette shoulder, he gave him another comforting squeeze. “She…” Cap chokes, his memories flooding in all at once. “S-She um… she gave me her blanket, the one that she came home with. She um, wanted me… to promise to come back to her. But um… I failed at that, I guess.”

Bucky frowns. “Steve–"

“I tried finding her, Buck.” He finally looks at him. “When I came out of the ice, SHIELD managed to give me some of my things from the war. I kept the blanket in my chest, so… I tried finding her, because I didn’t want to break that promise to (Y/N), but…”

“You didn’t find anything?”

Steve shakes his head. “Not exactly.” He whispers, exhaling shaky. 

“Not exactly?” Bucky asked, wanting an answer. “What does that mean?”

Now it was Steve’s turn to look all messed up. Especially since he couldn’t make eye contact again. He swallows a lump in his throat and says, “I’m so sorry, Bucky…”

“Sorry about what?” Bucky couldn’t understand what was happening and it was honestly starting to scare him. “What are you sorry about?”

“(Y/N)...” He sighs quietly, and forces himself to look in his best friend’s eyes. “Pneumonia. She, uh… got pneumonia in ‘54 and passed.” 

Now the knife has dug deeper, chilling his bones too. “She’s dead?” He said, barely audible. 

“Yeah. She’s dead.” The Captain replies, dispirit. “I found the spot where she’s buried. I can take you there if you–”

“Thank you, Steve.” The soldier says, ignoring the blond’s confused state. “I mean it. You were always so good to her, and to think you never stopped looking after all this time means A LOT to me. Do you understand? You helped my daughter when she was at her lowest, and you even found her for me. I thank you for that.”

Steve smiles bittersweetly. “No need to. I said I’ll always be there for the both of you.”

Bucky returns the gesture. “As will I.”

“Now, let’s finish this, shall we?”

.

.

.

“-Bucky.” Steve says, touching his shoulder and getting a small jolt from the man. Surprised eyes fell on him as he returned with concerned ones. “You ready?”

“Uh…” Bucky looked around quickly, remembering it was standing in the locker room changing. He didn’t even realize he had zoned out. “Y-Yeah.” He said, zipping up the front of his Quantum Suit. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

Steve tilts his head, the worriedness never vanishing. “You sure?”

“Yeah.” He nods. “Let’s get this mission completed.”

And those were the words that would change -everything-.

(TBC)

-Taglist Is Open-

@navs-bhat @liarasstuff @justmewoo @thed1v1n3

@luckyzipperscissorsbat @like-a-domino @kissesofdeadforme

@audigay

[petaltexturedskies]

A lily-girl, not made for this world's pain,

With brown, soft hair close braided by her ears,

And longing eyes half veiled by slumberous tears

Like bluest water seen through mists of rain:

Pale cheeks whereon no love hath left its stain,

Red underlip drawn in for fear of love,

And white throat, whiter than the silvered dove,

Through whose wan marble creeps one purple vein.

Yet, though my lips shall praise her without cease,

Even to kiss her feet I am not bold,

Being o'ershadowed by the wings of awe,

Like Dante, when he stood with Beatrice

Beneath the flaming Lion's breast, and saw

The seventh Crystal, and the Stair of Gold.

Oscar Wilde, from “Madonna Mia” originally wr. 1881

[artielovesfilm]

Nosferatu Review

Nosferatu is a film that explores Victorian ideas concerning purity through one of its victims; a woman who suffered from manipulation from a monster from a young age, whose sexuality is irreparably linked to him, and who controls her own opinion of herself from a world away. The monster, the ‘Nosferatu’, is the villainy of man, one that would convince a child that her desire for closeness and affection warranted her abuse. Ellen is convinced that her sexual desire is the work of sin when, in actuality, it is normal and natural, yet due to the influence of the church’s values and a patriarchal society that seeks to keep women hidden and stagnant until a man decides he wants her. That is the real tragedy of Ellen’s character, beyond the circumstances of her death and a life lived in fear; a child was convinced that having desires made her wrong, and, therefore, warranted her suffering. Nosferatu is the vampiric nature of men, personified in a gothic monster.

Nosferatu’s murder of two young girls stuck out to me. Personally, I believe it completed Ellen’s characterisation by offering a hard truth; she would not be believed or sympathised with until she was killed. Those children spent the entire film lamenting their fear, just as Ellen did, but it wasn’t until Orlok had killed them that the audience thought twice about it. Ellen’s fear, her visions, her fits, were never taken seriously until a male character (Thomas) encountered Orlok. The scene in which we see Thomas’ blood being drunk was intentionally sexual, and his expression of fear as he was approached made it feel violating to even watch. Then, he experiences Ellen’s reality, for a short while; unable to convince others around him of what he encountered, such as Friedrich, though his experience differs due to the fact that he is able to act against the monster that violated him. Ellen never escapes it, and ends up dead and half undressed in the arms of the man that tortured her for her entire life. This serves as a message about sexual abuse, one with no happy conclusion.

This was the first film where I truly felt anything about Nicholas Hoult’s acting, and I thought he was phenomenal. He truly set the tone for this movie with his initial meeting with the count. As we don’t see Count Orlok clearly throughout the scene, we rely on Hoult’s expression, through which he delivers such visceral terror that it shook me. Thomas Hutter’s devotion to his wife and all he felt for her was clear throughout the film; he feared for her, sought to heal her, and would have given his life to free her of Nosferatu, no matter how fearful he was. I thought his performance stood out, and it was my personal favourite.

Lily-Rose Depp’s dedication to this role was phenomenal. Her fits were frightening to watch, and the melancholy nature of her character was visible in her every emotion. Her desperation to be understood was tragic beyond belief, and her fruitless search for a happy ending left such an impression upon me. Other performances I really enjoyed were Bill Skarsgård, who I didn’t even realise played Count Orlok until the credits due to how incredibly he embodied him, Willem Dafoe and Aaron Taylor-Johnson.

I love the sound design within this film. Even through the breaths of the characters, you could read the film’s message; sexual or pained or terrified, all utilised to give the scene the tension it required. The audio was what made this film a horror, beyond anything we saw. It was used to perfectly capture the feelings of the characters, and in a manner that left me breathless. Additionally, the use of black and white throughout added to the gothic vibe of the film, outside of the setting and costuming. I loved that Ellen’s nightmares and her scenes with Orlok were so often in black and white; it gave her melancholy, her trauma, a physicality, and in a way validated it.

Overall, I loved Nosferatu. It explored childhood trauma, sexual abuse and the villainy of purity culture through a fictional monster, and through his victim, who found no respite from his torture. Personally, one of my biggest pet peeves is the fact that this film is reduced to a ‘monsterfucker’ movie; there is intent in Orlok’s repulsiveness, and Ellen was not attracted to him. He dominated her desire for pleasure by linking it to her trauma, which she was then deemed blasphemous for, and ruined her self opinion and made her feel hopeless until she gave in. It undermines the film’s death for the audience’s own desire, which I can’t stand when its intent is for you to feel uncomfortable at every sexually charged scene. I wouldn’t have though it would be so impossible for people to understand that, but oh well.

Also, I’m a sucker for a gothic horror – no pun intended.

[141wh0re]

Red Spider Lily- Dead Dove Do Not Eat

Pairings: Body Guard!Simon Riley x Rich Bitch!Reader (f)

TW: MDNI, DDDNE, depression, suicidal ideation, anxiety, minor character death, angst, substance abuse and addiction, implied narcissism from readers dad, alcohol consumption, vomiting (not detailed, just mentioned), hyperthermia, brief wlw, NSFW thoughts, soft Simon, grumpy x grumpier trope, fun fact: don't mix MDMA with cocaine lads and lasses (can result in hyperthermia), whump, fluff.

Let me know if I missed anything in the tags <3

Word Count: 2626

Summary: Simon retires from the SAS, taking on a job for a well known real estate tycoon's daughter, serving as her sole protector until her father can find a suitable man to sell marry her off to. Yet, instead of protecting her from outside dangers, he's finding the biggest danger is herself. Simon is determined to help you escape this life that was pre-ordained for you, and cure you of your disease. Addiction.

After nearly three decades spent in the military, Simon never expected to find himself here. Stuck in a contractual agreement, protecting and ensuring the safety and well-being of a bratty young woman with a wealthy family. It was almost insulting to him, had it not been for the hefty sum of money the woman's father wired to his bank account every week.

There were a few moments he'd almost made the rash decision to quit his job completely, and allow the someone else to look after this bitchy damsel.

But there was something that kept him here, keeping a protective eye on you and a firm hand at the small of your back in crowded rooms.

Beneath all the glitz and glam, partying and binge drinking, and the drugs... Simon saw you for what you were when you were at your lowest points.

A young girl who was forced into a lonely life of luxury. A girl who lost her mother too young and wasn't sure how to cope. A girl who yearned for her father's attention while he consumed himself in work, social gatherings, and public appearances. A girl who closed herself off from the world and kept everyone at arm's length so the venomous bite of abandonment would be less impactful when those people inevitably left her. A young girl who drowned her liver in alcohol while snorting enough blow to potentially kill her every weekend.

Simon knew you needed consistency in your life with substance. He'd watched his younger brother go through this plenty, repeating a vicious cycle of pain and torment for a fleeting moment with the impostor of joy in powder form.

He also knew you resembled that of a caged bird. Lonely, isolated, and detached from the rest of the world while you awaited either your death or an arranged marriage that would benefit your father's company, and potentially cushion his pockets a tad more.

As you emerged from the master suite of the penthouse, Simon heaved a resigned sigh, seeing you dolled up for the night ahead. Luxurious, private parties and public appearances to keep your name relevant in the tabloids and medias.

He leaned against the kitchen island, large arms crossed in his black button down, rich, honey-colored eyes fixated on you, and his signature black, surgical mask in place.

"Eat. You're not going out on an empty stomach." His deep, thick accented voice demanded. He nodded towards the plate on the counter, filled with chicken risotto with truffle sauce.

You scoffed in response to his authoritative tone before obeying anyways and climbing onto the bar stool, realizing it's probably best not to piss off your body guard.

"Where's it from?" You asked in a bland tone.

"Your kitchen." he answered gruffly as he poured an electrolyte packet into a bottle of water and set it beside your plate.

"Didn't know they taught ya to cook up truffle sauce in the military," you teased in that snarky tone he felt deep hatred for. Your metaphorical mask was going up early tonight.

"It's so cute how hard you work to save me from myself every weekend, big guy. Doesn't it get tiring?" You goaded before working at the small, yet filling dish before you.

Simon ignored your attempts to rile him up, knowing good and well you were fishing for a reason to indulge in your vices tonight. If you went out in a bad mood, it was all the more reason for you to fill your nose with booger sugar, and what better way to elevate yourself than starting it in a piss-poor mood, so your high will be that much better?

"Eat." Is all he replied with, leaving no room for questions or arguments.

As the night progressed, Simon kept a watchful eye on you, taking in your every move, expression, and breath while diligently scanning your surroundings to ensure your safety.

He watched as you finished another glass of champagne that was easily worth three months rent for his studio loft downtown.

You were pleasantly buzzed as you floated about the mansion, like you owned it, being the perfect little socialite you learned to be. Simon's dark, brooding presence loomed behind you, keeping you within at least three arm's lengths at all times.

"Going to the loo," you informed Simon as you spun on the toe of your red bottoms, heels clicking against the marble floor as you sashayed in the direction of the restroom.

You didn't even have to cast a glance over your shoulder to know Simon was already following behind you, keeping his eyes dutifully trained on you and your immediate surroundings.

Once outside the bathroom, Simon knocked on the door before entering and doing a sweep of the room before allowing you to enter.

You rolled your eyes at his precautious measures as he shut the door behind you. After clicking the lock in place, you promptly relieved yourself before standing at the vanity to wash your hands, reapply your red lipstick, then pull a little pick-me-up from your clutch.

Using the compact mirror, you pulled a tampon case from your clutch, producing a small baggie of white powder from within it, and emptied the contents of the baggie onto the mirrored surface as it sat on the vanity. You shook the small tampon case to receive a small straw, then used one of your many credit cards to neatly align the powder in a straight line.

Holding a finger to your left nostril, you plugged it and inserted the end of the straw into the right nostril, hovering over the powder as you inhaled with a strong pull from your nose and lungs.

The powder irritates your nose momentarily, causing it to scrunch and sniffle as the tingles pulse through your nasal passage. Bitterness coated your taste buds as the powder dripped down the back of your throat, earning a cringe from you as you shook your head, coughing slightly to aid the phlegm in easing down your esophagus.

You promptly cleaned up and did a final once over in the mirror, adamant not to stare too long and avoid your flaws. Clammy palms idly smooth over the material of your dress, trying to ensure you look your best, and avoid the nagging feeling at the back of your mind. Your darker-self trying to rear her ugly head and steal your fleeting moments of joy, and stir up the insufferable concoction of anxiety.

Finally, you emerged from the bathroom to be greeted with the sight of Simon stood with his back to the door, his large palm clasped firmly over his wrist.

He wasn't stupid. He knew exactly what you were doing in the bathroom. Had it only been a quick stop, it would've been three minutes tops. But when you did your pick-me-ups, it took seven minutes.

He shouldn't know that, yet considering you're a relatively well-known public figure, he has to time every second you're not in his line of sight.

Simon stepped to the side, allowing you to exit the bathroom. His dark eyes gave a disapproving look as he surveyed your appearance.

"You've got a bit of sugar on your dress." He informed you, glancing down at the skirt of your black cocktail dress.

Your eyes hurriedly followed his, searching for the spot and swiping your hand over the material, earning an amused glint to flash in his normal unreadable eyes.

You groaned in annoyance once it became apparent he was messing with you, your hand quickly came up to slap his arm in defiance.

"Arse," you muttered under your breath. Simon's stoic demeanor momentarily gave way to show off a glimpse of underlying smugness.

Simon couldn't deny that you were a good looking woman, and he always found it hard to tear his gaze away from you, especially when you were a magnet for people. You had the natural ability to draw people in, even with your resting-bitch-face. Somehow, someway, everyone gravitated toward you.

It was very much the opposite of himself, all jagged edges, harsh lines with the repellent of a rabid Rottweiler. He found it fascinating on a personal level, but on a professional level, he loathed it.

He hated how people thought they could touch you, or be within three feet of you, or even the way they looked at you.

All he saw was greed, manipulation, and control. He was certain that you saw it too; he could see the faint flicker of disgust in your eyes when someone tried to cozy up to you for their own gain.

A part of Simon's heart ached to see your life full of so many people, yet none of them truly gave a shit about you. But he also knew you did it strategically, much like he had done for most of his life. Although, Simon's was done more coldly, you had a certain finesse about it. You held a sense of attainability, allowing people in just enough to keep control of, but never in deep enough for them to control you.

Behind the rich, spoiled brat, Simon marveled at the true strength and cunning you showed within this materialistic world. He could see the fox within you, calculating and sly as she was, planning her escape.

But the escape plan is what scared him. He heard every conversation you had with yourself, when you thought no one was listening.

You longed for a life without a name. Where you could fly under the radar, only keeping close to you those who truly cared. And as much as he tried to remain detached. He was concerned that one day, you'd find a remedy for that desire.. and take flight for the heavens.

Simon watched vigilantly over you as you remained perched on the outdoor couch with your group of girlfriends. His eyes never left you as your friend slipped a pill between your soft, red lips and did the tactless act of spitting her drink in your mouth to aid you in ingesting the pill.

Fuckin' hell, love. You need better friends.

He sighed inwardly, but heaved a quiet breath as he kept watch, wanting to shake his head in disappointment. But he knew you could feel his disapproving gaze prickling at your muted senses.

Your head dipped back in pleasure as your friend kissed down your neck, across your collarbones and back up to your lips. Half-lidded eyes remained trained on Simon as he stood within your sight, your eyes appreciatively raked over his form, taking in the way his muscles strained against the black fabric of his black button-down, and the way his slacks fit his tree-trunk legs perfectly.

He was a delicious sight and you were feeling ravenous, silently lusting over the man assigned to guard your life. The only man who gave a single shit about you.

Simon internally groaned, his hand clenching into fists behind his back as he watched the scene unfold before him. If he wasn't on duty right now, he'd be fucking you within an inch of your life, and make you pray to a merciless God. Himself.

You pulled yourself up from the couch on slightly unsteady legs, and sauntered over to him, only stopping in front of him once your hands were on his chest.

Simon gazed into your dilated pupils, already noticing the effects of your meeting with your little friend, Molly.

"Wanna go home," you demanded, pouting up at him.

"So soon? You looked like you were having a bit of fun." He replied in a neutral tone, keeping his aloof and disinterested persona in place.

"It's boring here," you whined, "wanna have fun. At home. With you."

"Mm, you wound me, bird. Here I thought you knew not to associate me in the same sentence as fun." He scoffed lightly, trying to keep the inflection of amusement from his tone.

He reached a large, callused hand to rest on the small of your back, acting as a stabilizer for your current state. Tingles ran up your spine as every nerve-ending desperately sought out the rest of his warm touch, igniting hot flames of desire along your spine, and pulsing directly to your rapidly slickening cunt from your heightened state.

Simon watched you closely once you were back in the safety of your home. He gauged you as you stripped off your dress carelessly, leaving it discarded on the floor, much like you had done with your heels the moment you were off the lift earlier.

He sighed as he watched you prance around the room topless, going about your business in your flimsy g-string.

"It's too bloody hot in this damn house," you whined as you adjusted the thermostat.

Your body swayed on unsteady legs, your skin glistened with intense perspiration. A wave of dizziness struck you, forcing you to lean against the wall momentarily while your heart rate soared, soft, frantic breaths escaped your lips while your vision blurred in a not so fun way.

Simon's eyes narrowed with concern before he immediately recognized your symptoms, having realized what would force this reaction out of you.

"How many lines did you do tonight?" Simon asked in a firm tone, scooping you up in his arms effortlessly, then rushed you into the bathroom.

He helped you kneel before the toilet, gathering your hair in one hand so you wouldn't have to focus on much.

"T-three," you panted out, feeling waves of nausea swell and your stomach to roil.

You retched into the toilet, firmly grasping the edges in a white-knuckle grip.

"And you only took one pill. Molly, right?" he asked with concern, gently rubbing his large palm at the center of your shoulder blades.

"Yeah," you croaked weakly before lowering your head again.

Simon grunted in frustration, yet remained vigilantly at your side, helping you through your sickness.

After a while, the vomiting finally ceased as he gently cleaned you up and propped your back against the bathtub. He quickly grabbed a washcloth and a disposable cup for mouth wash before handing it to you.

"Swish and spit in the cup, bird," he instructed while pressing the cold washcloth to your forehead, then moved it to the nape of your neck, trying to quickly cool your body down from the sudden onslaught of heat exhaustion.

You did as Simon instructed before handing it to him to dispose of. Your eyelids were hardly able to stay open, your body felt weak as if each limb was weighed down by imaginary anchors, and your skin felt like it was on fire.

Simon returned with a thermometer in hand, taking your temperature.

102 degrees.

"Fuckin' hell, bird." he murmured gruffly.

With quick efficiency, Simon collected you in his arms again, carrying you out to the oversized sectional in the living room.

You were already drifting in and out of consciousness, finding new items surrounding you each time you opened your eyes.

Simon worriedly administered an IV, a bin was placed beside the couch, cool washcloths littered across your body.

"What's all this?" you slurred nearly unintelligibly.

"Hyperthermia. Just rest. Let me take care of you," he answered in a softer tone than ever before, and had your body not been fighting for it's life, you might have caught the worry in his eyes and concern and care in his deep voice.

For several hours, Simon remained by your side, using a dropper to dispense electrolytes on your tongue, checking your temperature every hour, and gently running his fingers through your hair while you slept on the couch.

"M' gonna get you fixed up, bird... don't wanna see you like this anymore," he whispered in devotion, and pressed a tender kiss on your forehead.

| Next |

[smilesatdawnmain]

Qi Xue

(I gave her a redesign!) As delicate as a lily, and as cunning as a viper, it’s never easy to know what is on this young lady’s mind. As cheeky and cute as her Dad, but as clever as her baba, she seems like the best of both worlds. 

Haoyu: There is a sense of exasperated jealousy when she considers her eldest brother. Being the oldest he is entitled to the thrown, the power, and the expectations to rule- all things she herself wants and KNOWS he does not. Still, there is a soft spot for her mellow and quiet sibling, who she oftens steals away to join her for shopping. As someone who is often listening instead of screaming his own opinions, there comes a sense of wisdom from him that she values. Yet, she also knows that he is a gentle soul. Too gentle in fact, that is easy to trick him. Which she does, often. With a bat of her eye lashes and pucker to her lips, she has him running tasks for her that she quite easily could do herself. And when he realizes later, all she needs to do is offer a little “I’m sorry, Gege (Elder brother),” and the man bends over backwards to forgive her. She wishes this world was a tad kinder to her Brother, even if she isn’t always. 

MK: Many often say Haoyu is the most like their Father, the Monkey King, but she would have to argue that it is Xiaotian that best holds that title. Haoyu may be their Father’s spitting image, but MK is the very essence of his soul. Overprotective, a bit conceited, lovable, cheeky, and someone you can’t help but love with everything you have. All her plans he’ll come barging in with “good intentions” and ruin all the progress she’s made. Xue would have a lot more suckers under her thumb if her big brother didn’t have this insistent desire to “be the hero”. And when he does realize he accidentally stopped one of her schemes her gives her the Baba speech of “I’m not mad. Just disappointed”. Such a pain… she supposed there was something admirable about it too however. Her brother was a charmer, and everyone knew it. Pretty like Baba, bubbly like their Father, all with his own MK adorableness. Shame he never uses all that to gain favor in the political world. 

Xiaohua: The “little flower” of the family. Being his name yes, she never felt it matched him as a person. He was smart. As smart as their Baba, with just a smidge of recklessness that their Father was known for. It made him unpredictable though, which was an asset in of itself. If she needed something done, and done right, he is the person she could go to. Need a precious gem stolen for 24 hours to use for a ball? He’s got it. Need to toss an ​​uncooperative asset into a pit until they squeal the info they had? He’s already taken care of it. Need to gush about crushes while dolling themselves up- Yeah, you go to Xiaohua. If there was one sibling she could turn to for anything, no questions asked, no judgment given, it was him. Now, if only he would just focus a bit more on his appearance and stopped dressing in the strangest clothes- then he’d be perfect! Alas, he was not, but it gave her something to do every morning as she critiqued his wardrobe and got him set right for the day. 

Sying: Her only sister. Of course, Rumble was her “Sister” for a time, but is now one of her many brothers. So… that leaves the one and only sister. It was hard sometimes being a girl in a male-dominated family. Though, many in the tribe are females, in their close blood-related family, it is only them. This means nothing to Sying, of course, as she never thinks of such trivial details. It was something to admire, Xue admits. They can’t talk about clothes, or gossip, or politics- they can’t even talk about boys for pete sake since Sying much rather prefers the fair maidens of the world. They have nothing in common as far as Xue can think. Yet, despite this, Sying rushes to her the moment any pretty-eyed lady catches her fancy. It makes Xue happy that her big sister values her opinion on the matter. Is even willing to stand still for a few hours while Xue uses her as a model for her latest clothes. Hardly close in hobbies, but close in the ways that truly matter. 

Savage: He’s an idiot, if she is honest. And she is nothing if not honest. She loves him, of course she does, but if she had the chance to just step in his brain and clean the place up, she would. He spends his days pranking others, which isn’t an unenjoyable pass time, but if he put even an ounce of that effort into something more constructive, he’d go so far. He knows nothing of politics, the ways their kingdom is structured, the tasks that is expected of him as a Prince- its infuriating! The fact that he would have claim to the throne before her is just-!!! UGHHH! At least he has learned lately not to even consider dragging her into his little pranks. He’ll wind up completely shaved from head to toe if he even tries. Still- he has his moments. She likes how cheerful he is. A blissful idiot, perhaps, but… sometimes a smile made the day brighter. He also always buys her a ton of sweets and treats, so he isn’t the worst allll the time. Just most of the time.  

Rumble: Xue does not understand how Rumble and Savage are twins. Put all the annoying muck to the left, and you’d get Savage. Put all the sweet fluff to the right, and you’d get Rumble. Sensible, quiet, creative- Rumble brings so much into the world with hardly a sound in return. Rumble sees beyond what is on the outside for who a person is deep down, which is something Xue struggles with sometimes. Baba says it is because of her age, and that it will improve as she gets older, but Rumble has been introspective like that since he was little. Probably because he himself felt different then what the world saw him as. She often thinks of Rumble when considering who she considers allies. “Never judge a book by it’s cover”. If Xue needs a sense of peace, she will got to Rumble. Rumble also doesn’t take anyone’s BS, which Xue appreciates more than anything else. 

Bao: The only younger sibling Xue has, she feels they understand her best. All of Bao’s older siblings are her older siblings. Even know, despite being just a bit older, she can tell their parents look at both of them as delicate little things to protect. Bao is sweet. Eager to play with them all, eager to be like them- they are still figuring out who they are as a person. She however, feels she knows Bao a little better then most. On their own, Bao doesn’t show a lot of aptitude for fighting. They can sing incredibly well, and certainly has their Baba’s creative gene. As for their Father’s fighting prowess, that has yet to be seen… at least, that is what everyone else says. Xue feels she sees Bao a bit differently. They are showing early talent with a sword… with a bow… with a staff, a spear- you name it, if you put it in Bao’s hands, they pick it up very quickly. Then there is that Shade of their’s. Something about it feels different- and she has never seen anyone even get close to Bao with that thing around. Bao has power. Power that just hasn’t been realized at their young age. And she is so incredibly excited to see where it goes. It is a sharp tie between Bao and Xiaohua as her favorite sibling

Previous sibling Qi Rumble

Next Sibling Qi Bao

[zilabee]

Living The Beatles Legend:

After a lifetime of self-doubt over body issues and inveterate shyness, he simply couldn’t control himself. “Big Mal was a demon for sex,” Tony wrote. “[...] Like sacrificial virgins, a lot of the girls willingly accepted that they would have to do it with Mal to get to John, Paul, George, or Ringo, and Mal knew it.”

“A couple of newspaper friends put on a private show involving several prostitutes for our entertainment, one of them being very pregnant.” As Mal recalled, “It was a little unnerving to have these ladies performing before our eyes with each other in one room, with Brian, George Martin and Judy, and the rather more staid members of the press in the adjoining living room.”

“I was being entertained by a young lady late one evening,” Mal wrote, “when George rushes into the darkened room, stoned out of his mind, tearing the bedclothes off, shouting, ‘My turn next—come on, give us a bit!’” Mal gave way to the Beatle, concluding that “apart from that, I was the one that got screwed.”

By this point, [Lily] wasn’t just finding “silly groupie letters” in his suitcase, but also the occasional stray pair of knickers and other telltale signs of infidelity. She recognized that Mal was being seduced—and had been for some time—by overwhelming forces, impulses with which she could hardly begin to compete.

After her brother returned from the States, June recalled that “Malcolm came home knackered, absolutely shattered from that tour.” [...] Her brother and the Beatles were living in a “totally unreal world—an extraordinary, horrendous, wonderful, terrible place that they were all existing in during that period. And they were all damaged by it. They suddenly could have anything they wanted.”

After sharing a convivial dinner with Victoria’s father, who retired early, Mal (31yo) and Victoria (16yo) returned to the hotel and went up to the twenty-seventh floor. [..] “Mal was very sweet,” she recalled, “and we talked and we talked, and we sort of made out.” And while she was unable to meet the Beatles the next morning to do an interview, she exchanged contact information with Mal. And later that year, the letters from her new pen pal began arriving, elegantly adorned with “this beautiful British handwriting.” *

Eventually, Mal would develop a vital relationship of his own with the Scruffs, although he had his detractors—namely, Carol Bedford, a peripheral member of their scrum and a George aficionado who later claimed that Mal tried to put the moves on her. Apparently, Mal had continued to approach women in the Beatles’ universe in the same transactional manner in which he and Neil had “auditioned” willing fans during the band’s touring years. Another Apple Scruff recalled a similar instance when Mal’s attempts to cozy up to the Scruffs went terribly wrong. Apparently, he had crawled under one of the girls’ blankets and “touched something he shouldn’t have.” With that, the offended Scruff came flying out from under the blanket yelling, “Who do you think you are, Paul McCartney?” **

Since leaving the hospital, [Arwen (21yo)] had reared Little Malcolm in her cramped lodgings in West Hampstead. At some point, around the age of six months, he was put up for adoption, leaving her care lock, stock, and barrel, with Mal’s teddy bear as the baby’s only consolation. Mal’s diary would enumerate lunches and telephone calls with the young woman at various points across 1969, but eventually, Arwen chose to move on, putting the whole painful episode behind her. ***

[For his son's birthday] Mal made a cassette recording in which he offered his sincere wishes for the coming year. [...] But any goodwill Mal hoped to deliver was quickly undone that morning as Gary listened to the recording over breakfast with his mother and sister. To his incredible pain and embarrassment, the tape didn’t end with his father’s birthday greeting. Apparently, Mal had recycled the cassette, and as Gary and his sister prepared to go to school, they heard the unmistakable sounds of Fran fellating their dad. The boy’s only solace was the knowledge that his eight-year-old sister didn’t understand the sounds emanating from the tape player.

[..]for the first time, Fran found herself afraid of her boyfriend, whose darkness had never been more acute. It all came to a head one night when Mal, drunk to the gills, began threatening her with his Colt Woodsman pistol, at one point placing the gun against her head before discharging it into the washing machine. When he sobered up, Mal couldn’t have been more apologetic, swearing to mend his ways and be the boyfriend she deserved.

____________________________________

Another quote under the cut, with trigger warning for rape and attempted suicide - and a few notes about some of it.

____________________________________

June 1964 - New Zealand

At the time, the official story involved a twenty-year-old female fan who, having secreted her way into the hotel, chose to slash her wrists in Mal’s room after being unable to talk her way into the Beatles’ suite. Fortunately, police caught sight of the young woman through a window and broke down the locked door with a battering ram. She was subsequently taken to a local hospital and discharged that same day.

[There are then some bits about how Derek tried to ensure it didn't link back to the Beatles in anyway, and the way the press reported it as "Girl Tries To Die For Beatles", and someone else claiming she'd actually had sex with someone and then got 'hysterical' because she realised he wasn't going to get her in to see the Beatles... but eventually it cuts to the quote from Mal's diary below.]

“On arriving back at the hotel at two in the morning,” he wrote, “I was greeted by a crowd of police and detectives as the elevator doors opened at my floor. On verifying that I occupied a particular room number, they very solemnly escorted me there, where to my horror on opening the door, I found the bathroom and bedroom covered in blood. Apparently, what had happened [was] several people had gang-banged her in my bedroom. She was so distraught, she took a razor blade from my razor and slashed her wrists, but was discovered in time and recovered in hospital. Obviously I was a prime suspect, but I had the best alibi in the world—I was drinking tea with her mother.” ****

____________________________________

* Victoria was 16, and Mal was 31. He wrote with her for a few years and met up with her again several times, and there's a quote where she says she "thought she was in love with him", and another where she was surprised to find out he was married. He's a grown man with a family and it's creepy as fuck that he was leading on/grooming a 16 year old girl - although I think according to the book they never had sex.

** I've bolded a lot of the wording which fucks me the fuck off in that passage about apple scruffs, what a fucking weird piece of writing. Apparently apparently apparently - I don't even think he's using it to suggest it might not be true, I think he's just using it to make it sound a bit casual, oh turns out he was just treating them like shit like he used to! Oh he was just 'cozying up' ??????? The last bit also feels like the girl being able to fight her corner and tell him off is being used to suggest it therefore didn't matter - not to suggest that there were probably lots of other girls who didn't want his hands on them but didn't know how to say no. It's also quickly followed by a quote of another apple scruff saying he took care of them like a big brother and they all loved him. Which is fine. But teenage girls feeling as though the creepy guy who is being nice to them in order to take advantage is just being nice to them, doesn't mean much. It's creepy that he was trying to befriend the young vulnerable girls that idolised anyone who worked with Beatles, you've literally just said he was doing it in a 'transactional manner'.

*** The author used a pseudonym for Arwen - a young woman that Mal had an affair and a child with. He wrote in his diary when the child was born, and visited them, "gifting the boy with an oversize teddy bear from Harrods". Personally I think 'chose to move on' covers an awful lot of pain very glibly. Imagine having to give your baby away after six months, imagine what she went through. It is not a small thing that he carelessly got a young woman pregnant and then offered her nothing.

**** I think we all live in Beatles fandom knowing that the people we enjoy did awful terrible things, but sometimes it's good to confront how bad it was, even if we'll never know who was involved in this particular incident. Or how often it happened to other women. Whether Beatles were involved here or not, they were around this, they were inside it. They were influenced by and friends with horrible people. Imagine writing that in your diary like it's a good joke that you were having tea with her mum while she was going through that, and not how awful that would actually feel if you had a heart. The author adds that this incident affected Mal, saying, "His “demon” persona was still alive and well, to be sure, but there would be perceptible shifts in his outlook as the group’s touring days moved forward." I didn't really pick up on these, so I'm not sure how so.

[padfootscoldleathers]

ladies, gents, bents, non-conformants!

welcome welcome one and all to me posting about my fic and welcome to my mailbox if you want to send me stuff you'd like to see in the fic (i will consider them even if they dont make it to the fic)

this is a band au for the marauders era BUT the original marauders are not the band. let me explain. also i want to preface by apologising because i just jump from character to character w the povs so

Moths to a Spotlight: Sirius, Peter, Marlene, Dorcas (no band name yet so shoot your shot if you want to)

the marauders era characters have a LOT of different roles here. Regulus and Pandora are ballet dancers, Mary and Peter grew up together & met Remus in highschool in America and did music but now Mary and Remus are like what billie is to finneas? (also i made Remus southern) Alice is a ball of whimsy and the next artist of our time painting only in vibrant and swelling colours BUT has one singular monochrome painting and i'll explain later. Evan manages Mary and Remus and MINERVA, queen that she is, is basically the band's mother/manager. fluffy black brothers!! oh, and andromeda is dead. whaaaat who said that

i know what you're thinking "where the fuck is james?? lily?? barty??" heh heh WELL you're not gonna like this. lily is the villain here and not in a good way. it was a VERY toxic marylily and lily is the Casual girl (chappell roan) ANYWAAAY you're gonna see a LOT of that BUT she does have her redemption arc. i think. maybe.

barty broke up with sirius right before they went on tour, a couple months before the beginning of the fic. they grew up together, its very bittersweet, might give you heartburn. AGAIN redemption arc.

and uh the jegulus here will just slap you in the face

OR. Mary and Sirius break up with Lily and Barty respectively and have to figure out how to clean up the mess from here only to be slapped in the face with new love interests. Mary joins Sirius' band as an opener for the european leg of their world tour and along the way finds that to love someone isnt pouring all of yourself down their drain hoping they'll eventually be satisfied but to be respected, remembered and cared for. While Sirius slowly falls head over heels for an oblivious Remus who joined Mary on the tour. At every stop it becomes more and more obvious until finally Sirius, a rockstar, ends up performing a sweet love song completely different from his music style as a love confession with help of Peter.

ch. 1

don't worry guys, every couple shall get their minute of fame

basically the journey of their lives together. they find love, they find FRIENDSHIP, they find beauty in the little things, they find laughter and peace and passion. this entire fic for me was to discover all the little things, the day to day things that makes life what it is. the shitty things people do and how they can come back from that. it's filled with jokes and family and bittersweet memories, pain and heartache and stretched silences. its all those moments you weave into stories to tell when you're old on a porch swing or young in a rocking chair. its their life.

ships & sexualities (let me cook)

alice - aroace bi

peter - asexual bi

mary - bisexual

pandora - pansexual

remus - bisexual

sirius - the gayest man to ever gay

regulus - transmasc gay

james - demispec pansexual

dorcas - lesbian

marlene - demisexual lesbian

lily - "not a lesbian"

barty - aroallo

evan - transmasc ace bi

mary x pandora = bitterhope/pandamary/ rosemary (my roman empire)

pending* peter x alice = palice (most beautiful qpr to ever qpr in the marauders era)

sirius x remus = wolfstar

regulus x james = sunseeker

dorcas x marlene = dorlene (they need something cooler)

evan x barty = rosekiller (gonna happen eventually though i kinda just dunno how)

i'm going to post in snips on this blog until i figure out the ao3 tags etc. main blog: @morallyundefined

@moonyswarmsweaters @sspadfoot @thingthatoncewastruee @babygirlsteddie @probs-reading

@labyrinthhofmymind @percabeth-trash @drunktayloratthevmas @cheekyboybeth

@starving-marauder-lover @yourlocalbadgerscales @taleofapart-timepoet @mirrs-ball

@tea-blankets-andstars @where-is-vivian @amberlink @wastingawayinmyroom @ashes-to-ashesxx

@equippedtolove @moon-girl88 @starregulus @siriusly-insane @jamespotterbbg

[ninapi]

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Premise: The line between being rescued and captured can be very thin, it all depends on who gets to be in charge for the day. Battling against their own feelings, they were only allowed to feel one emotion each, even when they had feelings for the same person, they were really the same demon after all. Could it be possible they fell for a filthy treacherous human? Nah…

Word count: 4337

┊┊┊✧ ⁺ ⁺╚══ Upper Moon Four╝

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Hantengu wasn’t one of the most popular upper moons.

His squeaky cowardly self annoying everyone in the infinity castle to their cores. Though, that didn’t stop Muzan from entrusting him with a very important mission.

Even if in the end, the goal was there for every moon, Hantengu was personally tasked by the man himself to find the blue spider lily, he had to, there was no other choice.

Even if he wasn’t the strongest moon there was, he had an advantage the others didn’t, and that was the reason he was chosen for the task; he wasn’t one, but seven.

While he didn’t like to use his clones unless it was absolutely necessary, he knew he had the option to do so, and that was an advantage during reckoning missions. He could cover five times more land than if he was on his own.

But that wasn’t the case for this mission.

He had a lead, an important one.

The daughter of the local flower merchant had been talking way too much about this rare flower she’s been cultivating secretly, even behind her father’s back. If that wasn’t enough of a clue, she told someone it was a spiderlily, a beautiful one at that.

This had to be it, he was certain of that.

So going in his tiny form, he climbed into her basket full of flowers while she was attending her regular deliveries down town, allowing him to follow her home undetected.

When the basket was settled down though, a loud scream could be heard coming from the owner of the basket, prompting him to get out from his hiding place.

Her house was on fire, there was no structure left standing at this point, just a burning pile of ashes.

Even if you didn’t notice, he did.

About three members of the demon corps fled up into the mountains, while one of them was hiding something.

This had to be it, they figured it out as well and got rid of the evidence of its existence. But they forgot something very important.

If you did it once, you could do it twice.

And he had you in his possession now.

Though Muzan wouldn’t spare his life if he allows the demon corps to be in possession of said flower, he had to do something to stop them, fast.

Invoking his clones, he took two with him and sent the other two to keep you captive.

“Sekido, Karaku, take the girl to someplace safe, as far away from here as possible without driving attention to yourselves. Aizetsu, Urogi, you come with me, we need to stop those pesky rats before they manage to reach their camp.” even if he was trembling with fear at his own instructions, everyone listened and got to it immediately.

You were still stunned by the entire situation, your sickly mother was bed bound, there was no way she got to leave the house before it fell to the ground. Just thinking of the painful death she might have incurred in made you lose your senses to the outer world.

Noticing this, Sekido hit the back of your head with his staff, Karaku quickly reacting and catching you on the spot.

“Jeeze you could have said something before doing that, man…”

“There’s no time for that. Take her.” without further questioning, he cradled you to his chest, following his counter part deep into the forest.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Day 1: Anger

Sekido decided to take on the first watch.

They didn’t know what you were capable of, you were just a weakling, a human with not even one ability besides cultivating flowers, yet he knew you were valuable, having you escape was not an option.

“Karaku, you stay outside, make sure none of those rats followed us and report to me anything out of place.”

Sekido was bossy, everyone knew about this, but it still irked his own clones. Karaku was quite his opposite and not the best match to keep around an angry Sekido, but he’d do his best to not get in his way and enjoy the pleasures a bright full moon could bring, a little bottle of sake making its way out of his pocket as he chose the best rock to sit on and drink to his heart’s content.

They found an abandoned cottage in the middle of the forest, way far in the south. Nobody should even guess they were there, the obvious path to follow being north, or east even, but definitely not south.

The cottage was fully equipped yet clearly abandoned, so Sekido tied you to a chair while he laid on the bed in front of the fire, keeping an eye open at all times.

You’ve been unconscious for hours, but who knew when you’d wake up and try to escape, he couldn’t just rest.

As if on cue, your eyes started to flutter, the light coming from the fire hurting them. “Where am I…” you looked around, this was not your house, nor any you’ve ever visited, though the fire being so up close reminded you of your mother’s demise and how you no longer had a house. “Father…I must find him!” thrashing around on the chair, you realized you were tied and was until that moment you saw the handsome demon staring at you with disgust.

“Stop moving around woman, you won’t escape with me guarding you.” his anger display startled you, making you recoil into the safety of the chair. “W-where am I…?”

“Ugh, somewhere up a mountain, not sure myself. You won’t be going anywhere though, that much I can tell you.”

“But sir, my father, I must tell him what happened to mother and the house!”

“If you’re talking about the gray-haired man selling flowers downtown, I’m pretty sure he’s also been killed, by the demon corps, mind you, not us. Something to do with the flower you were cultivating secretly.” you couldn’t believe what you were hearing. You knew keeping secrets was a bad idea but why would someone be killed for a rare flower? This made no sense at all.

“The lily? Why would my house be burned to the ground and my family killed for a lonely flower sprout in a small pot, sir?”

“People stronger than you wanted it to themselves, you have no idea what you created.”

“I did nothing sir, the flowers cross pollinated on their own, I just separated it from the rest into a spare pot.” Sekido couldn’t care less for the process itself, he knew his main self wanted you to recreate it but that was honestly not his problem, his mission was to make sure you didn’t escape, that was all.

“Don’t talk to me like I was your friend, human. I’m here just to keep you from escaping not to listen to your rambling self.” his voice was gruff, came out as a low growl, a vein popping out of his forehead.

Until that very moment you hadn’t noticed his horns, this fascinating you more than it should. You should probably be nervous, terrified even, he was definitely not human, but he was beautiful, his eyes so alluring, you just couldn’t stop staring.

“What now?”

“N-nothing…was just looking around.” he could see through your bullshit, your lips were wet and trembling, your cheeks looked like a fall sunset, he’s never seen a reaction like that, all humans he’s met want to kill him right away and he wants to kill them just as much, but you had no blood thirst in the slightest, it was like if you were somewhat enjoying this.

You kept quiet for a while, not wanting to infuriate the demon that kept you captive any further, but your eyes kept wondering to his face, his long hair so shiny, probably super soft, his long fingers, the way one of them tapped on the mattress in annoyance each time he caught you staring, even his choice of clothing was entertaining to you, a fascinating subject, you almost wanted to paint him just to be able to remember his every bit, not like you could though, but one can dream.

Even if Sekido would tell you otherwise, each time he caught you staring, he wasn’t able to keep his own eyes away from your figure. The way your shyness battled the boldest side of you, the way you chewed on your lips, how you wiggled uncontrollably on the chair, how your chest raised and fell with your every breath. You were honestly a lovely prisoner, didn’t try to escape, followed commands, weren’t crying all the time, he wouldn’t mind this sort of missions more often, not like he would admit to any of this out loud of course.

“Sir?”

“Sekido.”

“Uhm?”

“Don’t call me sir, is disgusting. Call me Sekido, that’s my name.” you just nodded, smiling shyly his way.

“Sekido-san, can I have some water?” grumbling, he got up from the cot, pressing a water container he was carrying to your lips. The way you looked up at him through your lashes while wrapping your lips around the lid, entranced him like a spell, one he didn’t know the way out from.

Snapping from the dreamlike experience, he shoved some water roughly down your throat, then slammed the empty container against the floor angrily.

“There, now shut up, you’re not camping here, you’re a hostage. Don’t forget that.” without uttering another word he went out of the cottage enraged.

The sun was still far from coming out but he couldn’t handle it any longer, he’s never been this angry before, his hands were shaking, his entire body sweating, he couldn’t concentrate and all he wanted was to smash something, other than your lips with his own.

He needed to get out of there, quickly.

“Karaku, your turn. I must report my findings.” before getting an actual answer from his counterpart he disappeared into the forest, escaping from the surreal experience he didn’t know how to handle.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Day 2: Pleasure

When Karaku finished his sake, he went inside the cottage just to see you had fallen asleep.

It caused him to chuckle seeing your silly drolly face, the alcohol in his blood making everything a little funnier than it really was.

You couldn’t escape if you were asleep, even if you weren’t, you wouldn’t be able to undo Sekido’s knots, so he would just take a nap, sunrise was coming, the birds were out and about already signalizing time for bed had come.

When you woke up from your slumber your body ached tremendously, just like your head. The images of the traumatic experience of the previous night plus the uncertainty of not knowing if your father was still alive or not adding to your distressed tired body. The skin around your wrists was now raw, your back hurt badly and you really needed to pee.

You noticed the handsome demon from the night before was nowhere to be seen and had now been replaced by another that somewhat resembled him but not quite at the same time.

His face was so relaxed, he was completely asleep, mumbling and giggling on his sleep, his hand constantly scratching his belly; he reminded you of a cat taking a nap on a warm sunny day.

Very different to the one from last night, Sekido.

Though, this one was just as handsome and a bit less scary, at least for now.

“Excuse me sir, I need to relieve myself.” he didn’t even budge turning on his other side so you would face his back instead, prioritizing his nap. The sun was still out, were you out of your mind?

“Sir? Please, I really need to….” your shy mumbles caught his attention, you were wiggling and squeaking like a little mouse, interesting.

“Can’t you just do it there? This bed is too comfortable.”

“Sir please, I couldn’t do such thing…it’ll be just a moment I promise not to escape.” to this he just groaned, you wouldn’t let him sleep if he didn’t do something.

“And what’s in it for me? I let you pee, and what do I get for that?” his suggestive tone made you uncomfortable, you didn’t know how to handle men like this, suddenly Sekido felt like a safer option.

“What could I possibly offer in this condition, sir?”

“Oh, I can think of many things you could do while still being tied up like that, maybe use those pretty lips of yours? It wouldn’t be fair if only you got to relieve yourself….” his smirk was honestly terrifying, peeing there was suddenly a better idea.

“I…um…where’s Sekido-San?” your question threw him off, making him go back to the bed, he wouldn’t waste his time with someone so unwilling.

“The hell would I know. He’s not here that’s all you need to know.” he caught a glimpse of your saddened face, and somehow he couldn’t keep to himself, he needed to see more of that face.

If you wouldn’t indulge in his very entertaining practices he had to do something to take care of his needs.

“Why? You miss him? Old meanie Sekido made a friend?” his teasing tone of voice caused a hurt frown to cast over your features, eyes glossier than before.

“I do, if you may know. He was nicer with me.”

“He was what? Wait wait, are we talking about the same demon? How did his staff look like? Maybe we’re talking about a different clone.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, sir.” your trembling lip and saddened eyes were the responsible of the waves crashing insides his gut right now, he wanted to see your tears, wanted to hear you cry. He didn’t know pleasure could take this form, it had always been either carnal or bloody in the past, it confused him.

“Well he’s not here and never will be again, so deal with it. You won’t be alive for long anyways.” that’s all it took for your resolution to crumble, you were tired, in pain, worried, sad, hungry, tears kept coming out of your eyes like little waterfalls decorating your rosy cheeks, the light reflecting on them and turning your beautiful face into an iridescent work of art.

Karaku didn’t know what came over him but he had the need to feel you, his hand coming to wrap around your face, squishing the soft skin of your cheeks in awe. Who would have thought humans could be this pretty when broken? He’s been missing out, maybe toying with food wasn’t so bad after all.

“Stop it, you’re hurting me!” but the only thing leaving his lips at your pained outburst was a sultry low moan, his face turning in delight at the feeling of your tears going down his hand while you wiggled under him, powerless.

Panic filled your insides when someone walked into the cottage. For a second you thought it was Sekido, even if he was scary he would at least keep his distance and treat you accordingly, your current captor being as terrifying as one could be.

“Karaku, your turn to chase the rats away. We killed two, well Sekido did. We are still missing the one with the flower.” this creature was different from the other two, even if they basically had the same face, this one had wings; things were escalating quickly.

Karaku was still in a post bliss high, he didn’t know he could feel so much by doing so little, he wanted more of this, wanted to take you away and hide you someplace else, his main body would know about it, but not the other clones, he could keep you to himself without his other sides knowing.

Oh boy, all the things he could do to you….

But before he could keep dreaming of wonderful things, a gust of wind made him back off from you and out of the cottage.

“Now Karaku, I won’t face Sekido’s rage again, not because of you.” the sly grin on his face and the way he spoke somehow brought a sense of safety, he didn’t seem as intense, didn’t seem interested.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Day 3: Joy

Honestly Urogi preferred hunting the kids in the forest, it was way more fun, he’d get to fly around, play with them for hours, but now that Sekido was supervising the entire thing he wasn’t allowed to do as he wished, and was very much intrigued by his counterpart’s decision of sending him to guard you instead of Karaku.

Sekido had barked his instructions out, even angrier than usual. He was to come and take Karaku out of the cottage, not let him anywhere near the captive human. His instructions were usually more vague but it was clear to him he didn’t want Karaku around you for some reason. Not like he cared, honestly. All he wanted was someone to play with.

“So you’re the human girl Sekido is protecting. I see.”

“Protecting? Am I not a prisoner?”

“Oh you are, darling. But I was sent out to protect you from Karaku. Seems like I arrived just in time am I right?” he was smiling at you from his seat, his wings flapping behind him in a playful manner, it made your tears dry out on their own, a smile mirroring his own coming your way.

“You did. Thank you.” this caused the winged demon to flush uncomfortably, he isn’t used to others thanking him for anything, it was fun though, a wholesome experience, made his grin grow wider.

“Did he feed you? Sekido told me you hadn’t eaten when he left.” you shook your head, a loud noise coming from your stomach at the mention of food making Urogi burst out laughing.

“Karaku is such an idiot, I caught this fish on my way here.” he held a very much dead sweet water fish by its tail, pulling it out of his pants pocket as if it was the most normal thing to do in the world, making you chuckle. “Will you be cooking it or do you need some help?”

Your sweet laugh was invigorating, felt similar to when he’s roaming the skies freely, he thinks he can understand now the way Sekido and even Karaku was acting around you, you weren’t like the other humans who feared them, you weren’t food, but someone entertaining to have around, even for the grumpiest of them.

“Can you cook? I’ve always wanted a woman cooking for me, but I always end up eating them first.” he chuckled reaching behind your back to untie the intricate knot.

“Thank goodness I taste awfully then.” you laughed together for what felt like hours, the fish turning out great as you cooked it over an improvised bonfire with sticks as your only tools, the stars above you being the only witness of the odd pairing nightly adventure.

This one was fun, you learned his name was Urogi and he even showed you his tongue so you could see the kanji on it closely and stop staring, the act was more intimate than both of you had anticipated though and ended up in a cuddling session of sorts. More like he pulled you over to his chest while you both laid on the grass enjoying the beautiful starry sky above.

It didn’t feel like you were a prisoner anymore, he even made you forget about the awful couple of days you’ve had, though it was an odd feeling and you couldn’t keep it away from your gut.

You could escape if you wanted to, but being with Urogi was better than affronting a painful reality and that’s all what’s left for you back home.

Another night went by, another demon by your side, a tender one this time, but a demon indeed, his wings and horns being a constant reminder that you were in danger and probably wouldn’t live for long.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Day 4: Sorrow

Spending such a long time with demons made you get used to sleeping throughout the day, sunset being your new sunrise.

Urogi was happily humming a silly tune while skinning a small forest animal for breakfast when a very agitated Aizetsu came running in his direction.

“Where’s the human?”

“Ugh, inside why?” he thought he’d be the one in charge of taking care of you, that’s what Sekido had said the day before, why was Aizetsu there now?

“I will take her, you go cause a distraction.”

“Aizetsu what the fuck is going on, use your words properly.” groaning, he got up from the log he was sitting on, discarding your breakfast in annoyance.

“The flower, we found it. It wasn’t blue. She must be eliminated.”

Panic surged through Urogi’s veins, he thought you’d be staying with them for the long run, if Douma had human slaves they could certainly have one, right? They all liked her, he was sure Muzan-sama would allow it, all they had to do was convince Hantengu.

“What? Why? Even if it wasn’t blue, she knows how to make this weird color flowers, she might be able to get it done!” a defensive arm and wing came to block the entrance of the cottage, now afraid of his own counterpart.

A sad long sigh came out of Aizetsu’s lips, gently removing his other half’s arm out of the way, “I’m not trying to kill her, Urogi. I was sent here by Sekido to help her escape.”

Nodding in understanding, he moved out of the way calling for you, “(Y/N) darling, he’s Aizetsu, one of us. He’s going to help you get away safely, ok?” one of his hands cradled your face as if it was made of glass, his eyes roaming over your beautiful features to remember them properly.

“What about you? And Sekido-san? He’s still not back.” it filled his heart with warmth and joy how you didn’t want to leave them, how you worried about them, he was so full of happiness that it hurt.

“I’ll buy you some time, be safe.” he kissed the tip of your nose before flying out of the cottage, Aizetsu carrying your weeping self out of the back and into a darker side of the forest.

He ran silently for a good couple of hours until he felt it was safe enough to put you down, remembering he had cut your breakfast short with his appearance.

Kicking a tree, he caught an apple placing it on your hand as he sat quietly on the opposite direction.

You smiled at his kind selfless action, enjoying the sweet treat while admiring your not so captor anymore and more like savior. “Thank you for helping me, you’re very kind.”

“I’m no such thing, I’m a demon. Just following orders. It was very sad seeing Sekido so desperate. We share the same core after all.”

“Does that mean you all feel the same thing at the same time?” that intrigued you, they all looked the same but were so different from each other.

“Not really. We can only feel an emotion each, that’s kind of our thing.”

“So you’re always sad…?” he just nodded, his fingers playing with the straps of his shoes.

“And Sekido-san is always angry…Urogi-kun happy….how about that Karaku guy? he was…difficult to read….” your declaration made Aizetsu laugh just a tiny bit, it was a refreshing sight, “pleasure….”

“Oh…makes sense….” your face was as red as a tomato, even in the darkness of the dense forest he could see it.

It was immensely sad being able to understand his other parts, he knew just by spending some hours with you why they wanted to protect you, why they wanted you for themselves, but their actual form wanted you dead, unable to fight against his lordship’s wishes.

“Where are we going by the way?” the sun wasn’t too far away from coming and you were still pretty exposed, you knew he need to find shelter soon or he’d be in troubles.

“We aren’t going anywhere, just you. This is where we go in different directions to distract our main body, he thinks you’re with me, so he’ll follow me while you reach a safe place.”

“But the sun is almost up…can’t you come with me…? I was told the sun hurts you....” it clouded his heart to see how you were so concerned for his well-being, gut wrenching, tears were pooling on the side of his eyes, life was just so beautifully sad…

“I’ll be fine. You need to go now, he’s getting closer. Find a safe place to hide and don’t come out of there for a week. Never go back to your old house…or you’ll get yourself killed…”

He got up, dusting his pants as he got ready to leave when he felt your tiny hand clutching at his wrist, “But what about you guys? How do I get to find you…?” your eyes reflected his, sadness had never been a shared feeling among those who surrounded him, they were always angry or scared, this was the first time he felt understood, a stray tear leaving one of his beautiful eyes as he removed your hand gently away from him. “It’s very unlikely we’ll ever see each other again, and that’s for the best; otherwise we’d have to kill you next time.”

Leaving someone behind had never been this hard, being one split into different bodies had never been this heavy.

Once Hantengu absorbed them all back a flood of feelings kept pouring deep into his shaky terrified heart.

He would get killed if his lordship ever finds out that his clones had all fallen in love with a human rat…a lovely…beautiful human rat at that.

Being a demon, had never felt this lonely before.

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