#now we leave stones at both their graves

[intersexfairy]

just wanna ramble about this for a moment but, my late grandmother had some seemingly jewish customs and im having a hard time figuring out why. if she had jewish ancestry, i wanna know (especially if she was practicing crypto-judaism). hopefully one day i get an answer..

[lyrefromthesea]

Hear me out... The hashira rival lover thing.. What if we don't get the chance/they don't get the chance to confess because we die??? 🦅🦅(I'm a sucker for angst)

Male hashira x Reader - Lost Chances

author's note: the hospital doesn't want me anymore, i'm finally back home.

pairing: Tengen x reader x Obanai, Rengoku x reader x Gyomei, Sanemi x reader x Giyuu

content warning: angst, death, descriptions of blood

Tengen and Obanai:

a month had passed since your death. neither of them had seen it coming, nor had they ever received the chance to safe you.

you left for a solo mission back then, promising them to return victorious, and while you did kill the demon in the end, you suffered from a major injury and died the same night.

your death had spread despair and sadness throughout the whole demon slayer corps, but it left the hardest impact on them.

while Tengen grieved over your death, he tried to continue his everydayness. it wasn't for his sake, but for you and the people around him.

Tengen knew you would've wanted him to continue living normally, it was one of the things that made him not only admire but also love you.

he didn't want to hurt his wives either, they didn't deserve to get caught up in his despair.

so while he wished that it would've been him, he tried to keep those thoughts hidden inside his very being, locked away where no one would find them.

Obanai, on the other hand, could not swallow his grief down like Tengen did. he had loved you with all his heart and he felt it break with the message of your death.

despite both of them suffering through the same pain, Obanai didn't have anyone waiting at home, no one too soothe his overactive mind. it was one of the reasons he didn't like to return to his estate.

his eyes were trained on the stone which had your name engraved in it, placing a fresh bouquet of flowers next to it. it wasn't the only one, he knew Tengen would visit you once a week, though they never ran into each other.

not until today.

"come, my wives had offered to invite you over." the hand on Obanai's shoulder felt different than their usual encounters. he had expected Tengen to leave a new bouquet on your grave, maybe a prayer too, and leave again.

despite Obanai's wish to remain alone and the dislike of meeting new people - especially women - he agreed this time.

and when he entered the Uzui family estate, he was surprised by the lively atmosphere and the welcoming smell of warm food.

he was quiet throughout their time eating together, at least most of the time, but he still found himself being comforted by his new surroundings.

Uzui's wives looked happy.

the thought kept repeating in his mind, wondering if you'd enjoyed this as much as they did now. he wondered if life would've been different if he had confessed to you - married you.

maybe you'd have stepped back. there would've been no harm in watching you give up your title and enjoy life.

and while the image of your life as a happy person, greeting him back home and cheerfully talking about your day, consumed his mind, he looked at Tengen.

seeing the other man's eyes soften, a twinge of hidden sadness in them, as he looked at his wives, he knew that Tengen must've imagined the same before too.

in the end, neither of them had been fast enough to hold out their saving hand.

Rengoku and Gyomei:

"take [name] with you and get to the butterfly mansion!" Kyojuro screamed, gripping his sword harder and running after the demon the three of you had fought for a while.

truthfully, people would've expected this mission to be finished without a problem, a team of tree hashira should be undefeatable.

and perhaps that would've been the case for most demons, but not for this one. whoever she was, she was a trickster out of the book, saving herself with movements you've never seen before. you quickly realized her weakness, seeing that she couldn't use her blood demon art without breaks that seemingly grew bigger. in a state of increasing distress and tiredness you shouted for the others to power her out, not expecting her next attack.

the sharp object penetrating your back, soon piercing through your front, didn't nearly hurt as much as Rengoku's expression.

"follow the plan, tire her out!" Gyomei shouted one last time, carrying your body towards the butterfly mansion. he hoped Rengoku had heard him, legs carrying him as fast as possible.

he could feel thick globs of blood escape your wound, staining his hands in a demon's wine. not much more and you'd be dead.

Rengoku, on the other hand, fought with all his might. he didn't fight for his life, he fought with the pain of knowing what this demon had done to you. after increasingly weaker attacks were thrown at him, he finally found a gap and beheaded the demon.

yet he couldn't breathe out in victory.

he turned on his heels, sprinting towards the butterfly mansion. he knew that Gyomei was faster and stronger than him, hoping that you had arrived in time.

all his hope died the second he saw your lifeless body in an infirmary bed, the giant man, who brought you here, sitting by your side.

"i didn't make it." he admitted, voice a whisper, throat running dry. the smell of your blood reminded him of days that had long passed.

Rengoku felt his own throat tighten, quietly closing the door to your room. grief was slowly climbing up his body, threatening to pull him down. even worse, he saw the same feeling behind Gyomei's eyes.

thick tears were staining the giant's face, too focused on your body to notice Rengoku stepping closer. a warm hand placed itself on Gyomei's shoulder.

"don't lower your head, comrade. [name], too, would've wanted us to set our hearts ablaze." the words that left Rengoku's mind had been heard by the male a million times already, but any trace of happiness was gone this time.

Gyomei nodded, not saying another word, not even when he heard the other male desperately try to hold back his own sobs.

Sanemi and Giyuu:

it hadn't taken more than a second - a mere second that left everyone breathless. the uppermoon you've fought wasn't that strong, not that smart, but incredibly fast. so even with three hashira, it was a huge gamble to take him on.

Sanemi was unluckily hit by the demon's attacks, throwing him over half the forest. and while he managed to land safely, it would take him some time to return to Giyuu and you.

"Sanemi!" you screamed, your eyes following him in worry, only to hear him scream back that you should pay attention.

his warning came too late, the demon lunged at you before you even got to turn around.

trying to safe your team from any more harm, Giyuu went after the demon, sword swiftly cutting through his neck. yet the sound that reached his ears with his attack was too other - too different - to be from his sword.

the demon crumbled to dust in a matter of seconds, leaving Giyuu panting. his eyes widened when you came into his line of sight again, but something felt wrong.

you weren't moving, his eyes wandering over your body until they stopped at your torso. he barely managed to land on his knees and catch you before you hit the ground.

the demon wasn't strong, but it was still strong enough to leave a whole in your side in his dying moments.

"[name]!" Giyuu felt his throat dry up, his hands starting to shake like never before. this wasn't happening. right?

"Gi.. yuu.." he wasn't used to seeing your eyes so empty, so devoid of life. you barely managed to say his name before blood spluttered out of your mouth, running down your lips.

"[name], stay alive! ..stay alive!" he didn't know when he last felt this helpless, but his legs wouldn't move. the butterfly mansion was too far away, no help was in sight. he didn't know where he should bring you.

your breathing.

it had stopped not even a minute after you've got hurt, the light having left your eyes for good. Giyuu felt his body tense, not able to move anymore. his hands were full of your blood, he could feel the crimson liquid leaking down his fingers.

the silence was broken by a guttural scream, another person running out of the forest. Sanemi's white hair was a stark contrast to the night's darkness, wind rushing through it as he ran to your lifeless body.

"[NAME]!" he fell to his knees next to you, first wanting to hold you close to his body, then pulling his hands away, too afraid to hold your fragile form. he was consumed in his panic, the sight of your corpse.

the next minutes were filled by screams and cries, Sanemi's agony soon making Giyuu quietly cry as well.

they only stopped when no more tears were left, no more screams to give. and after Sanemi has calmed down, thoughts began to fill his mind.

i should've been faster. I should've been stronger. if i had just been there a bit earlier-

he went quiet, his hands gently taking your body out of Giyuu 's hold and standing up. you deserved a grave, he couldn't leave your body here.

before he turned around to retreat, his dead eyes wandered to Giyuu, looking at him with unspoken malice. "you should've protected [name]."

no more words were said between the two males, Sanemi leaving the forest with your body in his hands, while Giyuu suffered through another breakdown, trying to drag his body back to his estate.

he wouldn't be able to see your face another time, not in this life. Sanemi was right, he failed to protect someone he loved. again.

if only he knew that Sanemi felt the same guilt swell in his chest, desperately trying to hold his cries in.

[k-hippie]

RAVENWOOD ( LIFE & DEATH ) K-303 & K-606 BASEGAME ( ALMOST ) MANDATORY K-505 UPDATE

Hello people :)

Halloween has arrived, and with it, the Life & Death expansion ! We’ve been working hard to make sure Ravenwood is a hauntingly beautiful place for your Sims to visit … or haunt, depending on their mood. Here’s what’s new :

For once, we are going to make 2 posts related to the new town of Life & Death expansion : Ravenwood ...

Of course, this not the first time maxis includes base game stuff in expansions worlds, but this time, it's not about stuff but it's all about terrains ;)

So, except the Afterlife side of Ravenwood which has its own dark rocks, Ravenwood countryside is made of its own cliffs and ... Oasis Spring Rocks/Mountains ( a desert town, just as a reminder ) ... Why Oasis Spring ? it would be more logical to create specific new rocks or at least, choose the more grayish rocks from Willow Creek but well ... ea / maxis / logic <- not the best combo :D

So, after some tests, we decided to modify the rocks/mountains of Oasis Spring, which is only based on a choice of our own. Curiously, now they are not orange anymore, they give a less flat aspect to the town ...

Then, we modified "small" things & stuff of the base game we should have done a long time ago, but not mandatory such as the stone street planter and public lavatories. They are all over Ravenwood now, and their original look seems more ugly than before :D so, we modified them ;) idem with the base short stone fence ... ( yes we know, we have to make more fences )

-> Well, you see the point ;)

Related to the other k-303, the ones included in Ravenwood ( both sides ) we made few ones in order to get a similar look & feel than the k-505 urban :) And we modified a bit the debug town banners ( mostly sharpening, colour ) and streetlamps ... well, you'll discover it, or not :D your choice of course :)

The k-303 isn’t mandatory, but it adds just the right touch to elevate Ravenwood’s atmosphere. Here’s what’s been updated:

Gravesites – Some of the graves in Ravenwood had a mix of grass and dirt that didn’t quite fit the mood. We’ve refreshed these textures to blend seamlessly with the k-505 for that true cemetery feel.

Portal & Soul Bowl – Over in the Netherworld, the portal and soul bowl were looking a little… underwhelming. Now, with enhanced textures, they bring just the right level of mystique and “cool” factor to the other side.

Solicitor Rug – Our lovely public service solicitor has a new set of rugs that better reflect the status and vibe of Ravenwood. A touch of style for the gentleman who offers advice to all ( living or dead )

Street Decor – The town square banners, street lamps, and other decorative touches around Ravenwood have gotten a glow-up.

So, dive into and see how these textures and additions bring new life ( or un-life ) to this chilling town.

About the k-606 : roofs and foundation + 3 series of fences are re-made :) One is still under work and will be released very soon.

Ravenwood has so many fences we couldn’t just leave them plain and un-haunted. These additions help set the mood perfectly for any mysterious, eerie Sim wandering through town ;)

Because the large part of grass included in some other graves, we included them directly into the Ravenwood k-505 mod :)

And now, the links !

Download here the k-505 Basegame UPDATE

Download here the k-606 for Ravenwood

Download here the k-303 Ravenwood replacements

PLEASE, do not forget : delete the existing k-505 BASEGAME files and replace them with these new ones ( date : 11112024 ). Do not panic, the grassy and groundy parts are still dated 08082024 because untouched since this time :)

-> NEXT POST : RAVENWOOD K-505 MOD

...

[sakkiichi]

CASTLES CRUMBLING.

Memories of you are both cathartic and painful when he visits your grave.

ft. Kaedehara Kazuha, Xiao, Scaramouche/Wanderer, Lyney, Neuvillette x gn! reader.

cw/genre: angst.

if you enjoy this, reblogs and comments help more than likes !

✧ KAEDEHARA KAZUHA

Autumn. The time of year that brought warm memories to the wandering samurai despite its chilly winds.

Shades of scarlet coated Inazuma’s grassy plains, like a rain constituted by droplets of dawn light when the maple leaves swayed to the ground.

And amidst this scene, you.

You, who danced to the tune of the foliage floating in the breeze; you, who snuggled his red scarf closer around your neck when he wrapped it around you, taking in his sweet cinnamon-like scent; you, whose hand used to fit perfectly in his, as you ran your thumb over the scarred skin under his bandages.

Kazuha finds himself staring at those now. He remembers all too well how you used to wrap them around his hand. Your lips brushed over every indentation in his burnt skin, overwriting storms with sunlight and blue skies.

“All healed now.” You sing-sang, the tenderness of your kiss over the wrapped scars.

It feels empty now, his grasp, still searching for you every morning, but you’re out of reach.

Even now, as the wandering poet’s head rests against you, he can’t quite feel your touch.

“Hello, my dove.” He begins, fingers brushing over the dendrobiums surrounding you. Moondust lashes kiss his cheeks when the sunsets in his stare cloud over, the image of your smiling face behind his lids. “It’s already autumn, remember how you called it our season, my angel?” He softly says, turning his head slightly, so that his forehead partially leans on you. “The leaves are turning red already, I’ve picked some for you.” Kazuha utters, as he gently threads them around the stone.

Hard. Cold. So unlike the warmth you radiated. He sighs, opening his eyes, tender hearths to warm your paralyzed heart.

“I’ve been writing too…” Dampness pools around his lashes. “Haikus, poems, because I know you love them, hummingbird…” The samurai’s voice cracks, vision blurry, as he traces the letters of the name he used to breathe in between kisses.

Your name. The only one that will forever echo through his sweetest dreams, double edged now.

Droplets of molten moonlight slide down Kazuha’s cheeks, colliding with the earth separating you from the world.

“We will meet again, my dove.” He vows, kneeling on the grass, moist by his tears. “In some corner of the next life. I promise, love.”

As he stands up, retracing his steps, the wind picks up.

Kazuha clutches his red scarf closer to him.

Your scent still lingers.

✧ XIAO

Spring had never felt so cold.

The sun over Liyue’s mountains is too dull; the glaze lilies appear closed off; the days feel too long.

The conqueror of demons makes his way through Guili Plains, his steps slow, as if that would keep away a cruel reality that’s set in stone.

He’s coming to meet you, and yet he’s never felt so far away from you.

In the few steps that separate the yaksha from you, an infinity of memories and bittersweet dreams seem to wash over him. They mingle with the scent of morning dew over qingxins bloomed anew.

Qingxin. What he used to call you.

“Xiaooo!” You cooed, a smile sweeter than the treat you offered him alight on your lips. “Dessert’s ready, love.” You called, offering him the plate of delicious almond tofu.

It was always his favorite, especially the one made by you.

His cheeks took on a tint not unlike the lipstick marks you left on him when you felt like teasing him, peppering his face with your honeyed kisses. You always used to chuckle at the sight.

“Qingxin…” his voice quivered, in awe, gaze of gold widened, sparkly. “There is no need for you to go through this trouble for me…”

“Nonsense!” You cut him off, hands cradling his cheeks. “I love making your favorite food for you, baby.”

Now he brings one of his own scarred hands to his face.

It’s so cold in comparison to your comforting warmth.

Yet even colder is the grey hue of the heavy stone that comes into view: the one marking the spot where you were laid to rest for good.

Slowly, resigned to the inevitability of reality, the vigilant yaksha reaches you.

Even though he knows he will no longer have you.

Xiao’s whole form trembles when he leaves the handmade butterfly over your gravestone. Its petal wings are all crooked, his grip vice-like in his anguish.

Now the flower-made insect will never fly again. A crystal bubble, lit up on his darkest nights, inside which dreams warm and sweet were recounted, as long as the adeptus stayed in your embrace; now shattered, only sharp fragments left to pierce his heart.

“I’m sorry…” is all the demon conqueror can manage as greeting, the moment he sits before you, head hung low.

The karma he bears had never crushed him this badly.

✧ SCARAMOUCHE

Winter squalls leave nothing but ashes behind.

The layers of snow have started melting, decrepit twigs following, the aftermath of a furious gale, death in its wake.

The wanderer seems to verse in the bony hands of it often, after all. This life, this world… they only ever took from him, shattered mirrors as the only remains of promises to never come.

He rests the back of his head on the frigid stone. He doesn’t care about the last remains of snow seeping into his very crafted bones.

Scaramouche’s hand closes into a fist, dirt and melted ice on his skin.

“They took you away too…” The puppet breathes, inexistent puffs of his words sifting against the blackened skies in the cold. His indigo gaze is clouded over, despite stars littering every corner of the midnight above.

A lie.

Make believe. Like thinking he could be happy for once.

Turning around, Scaramouche presses his forehead against what’s left to symbolize you.

“Why?” He asks, teeth gritted, to stop the helpless quiver of his lip. “Why you too?”

The softness of your human embrace takes ahold of his memories, as you both lay beneath the endless firmament above.

“Have you ever wished upon a star, Kuni?” You asked, your warm fingers combing through the distant nights contained in his shiny locks.

“Pft, are you serious?” He used to retort, the mirrored galaxies of his stare coming into view as his eyelids opened.

“Very.” You stated, without stopping your movements, eyes never leaving the starfields above.

“Why?” He asked, focused on your profile, as if a part of him knew how ephemeral instants like this would become, committing to memory the only constellation that lit up his hollow heart.

“Because it’s nice, to hope, to believe in things… wouldn’t you agree?” You smiled down at him, tender hands cradling the coolness of his jawline.

“Huh, if you say so…”

“You know I’m right!” You chuckled, poking his cheek playfully, his nose scrunching up in feigned annoyance.

“Ugh, whatever.”

“Make a wish?” Your fingers found his in the night breeze, entwining together, the warmth of a small sun just for him.

“Fine…” He sighed, closing his eyes, lashes of concealed dreams leaning on his perfect cheekbones.

“I wished for forever with you.” He croaks out now.

An almost god brought to his knees by the treacherous fate written in devious stars.

His vision blurs, headed skyward, the universe above, a multitude of molten wildfires to him, raining down in flammable rain, his own tears the match to ignite them.

The failed god weeps. Winter burns.

✧ LYNEY

“You never know what can happen in the blink of an eye.”

Those were the words the magician once uttered, as your eyes lit up in wonder. He believes to recall it was a summer night, when his dusky gaze set on you for the first time.

Beaming and shining with excitement, you marveled at his sleight of hand, as the lumidouce bell on the performer’s hand vanished, only for its petals to have tinted in rosy shades of rainbow when the bloom next appeared in your hair.

If anyone had told Lyney, in that moment, that you’d end up putting his heart under spell, he wouldn’t have quite believed it.

But thinking back on it now, the time spent next to you certainly feels like mere seconds.

A peculiar figure sporting a top hat makes his way towards Fontaine’s graveyard.

His steps are monotone, the usual cheshire-like grin on his visage is nowhere to be seen, and in his hands, flowers abound.

Lumidouce bells.

The color of goodbyes, separations.

And the summer nights under which he used to kiss you.

“Please, Lyney! I want to see another one!” You begged, hands clasped together, eyes reflecting the last rays of the setting sun.

Your lover hums, his gaze, the backdrop against which the sunsets in your stare sparkled.

“Well, mon coeur,” the magician leaned forward, “I’ll have to charge you for it this time, you know.”

You pouted, marcotte colored lips irresistibly sweet, a bite of sugary peach in the heat of an early midsummer’s night.

“Close your eyes, my rose.” Lyney breathed, in the little dusk-lit millimeters separating you two.

“Okay.”

Warmth flooded around him the instant his lips enveloped yours, akin to fairy lights in the coziness of a familiar room, fiery arrows that linked two hearts. Your lover’s hands cupped your jawline, spells written in the caress of his gloved touch over your skin.

A new breed of magic, with the sun dipping behind the nation of hydro’s mountains to give the lovers privacy.

When he next opens his eyes, the allure has faded.

No trace of you remains, save for the emptiness and cold beside him.

And the only nightmare he can’t undo; your tombstone all too palpable, too real.

“You really never know how everything can change in the blink of an eye, huh?” Lyney utters, his voice raw, hoarse.

Despite the lumidouce bells’ petals shifting from dusk to dawn the moment he lays them to rest over you, the magician feels like he’s shooting arrows made of shadows; there’s no fiery beacon to light up this night.

The curtain closes when he steps away, rainbow roses bleeding and lonely in his wake.

The sun has set.

✧ NEUVILLETTE

Off-key birdsong and steely skies.

Those are Fontaine’s Chief Justice’s companions today.

Alone, he sits next to the ghost of someone he used to adore.

Someone he still loves.

Crystalline amethyst eyes scan the horizon. Even the seas seem turbulent today, relentless waves colliding against jutting rocks, as if by persistence alone they could cut through them.

The wailing ocean mirrors Neuvillette’s actions; as if by staring in the distance, he could somehow conjure you up back into the world, on forgotten dreams and pieces of flashbacks alone.

“It looks like it will rain soon, my dearest.” He softly says, the words lost in the monsoon overcasting the heavens.

Naturally, no answer follows, except for the agonized cry of a fallen sparrow.

The Iudex of Fontaine sighs. An upheaval in the blowing mistral combs through his hair, the sensation unlocking the pages of a diary once rose-colored, now only scattered petals over a lake that’s gone still for good.

“Isn’t the weather so nice lately, Neuvi?” You chirped, knees folded over the azure flowerbeds. Your hands were carded through your lover’s long locks, silver seafoam running almost hypnotizingly between your fingers.

Sunbeams glittered all around you when his eyes opened up to you, enigmas from the depths being laid bare for you alone.

“It is, darling…” He trailed off, one of his hands touching the side of your face, eliciting giggles from you.

Pink dusted over the pallor of his cheeks whenever you did that.

If only all days could be sunny, if only he could have kept the symphony of your laugh forever playing…

The sea’s surface turns charcoal, undulating with the low whistling of uprising gales.

Dark spots start appearing over the stone where your name’s been eternally put to sleep.

Beneath the blindfold, Justice mourns.

It’s raining again.

[minimomoe]

How to Train your Demon

Pairing: trueform! Sukuna x Fem Reader

Summary: Life has all kinds of wins and losses. You don't know which category to put your new demon husband in though.

Tags: MDNI!, red string of fate trope, true form sukuna, librarian reader, soul mates, reincarnation, accidental summoning, love at first sight (but it's one-sided (until it's not)), Sukuna is demon, but he's v much in love, smut and stuff eventually i guess....

Part: I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. X. XI.

Rule no. 5: Never leave him unattended

“Are you going to stay with us, To–”

“I am not helping you babysit your demon. I already deal with Megumi on my own,” Toji said. You rolled your eyes as you walked into the vast shopping mall. It was the morning time on a Sunday. Not too many people meandering about, but the ones who were looking found the trio (rightfully) strange. Sukuna stood behind you like a guard of sorts, and no matter how many times you told him that you were fine he was insistent on not standing too close. 

“The market has changed,” he said gravely. 

“It has quite a bit,” you responded. You tugged on his robe, wanting him to follow you into the closest store that you found. Sukuna squinted at the mannequins with no face posing with the latest season trends, tapping his fingernail on the lifeless body. 

“Are they cursed?” “They’re not real.”

You carelessly turned your attention away from Sukuna. A new shimmery gold handbag grabbed your attention, and you wheeled it around in your hands trying to find the price tag. The scent of burnt plastic tickled your nose, and you were going to call Sukuna to follow you back when you realized that the smell was coming from him. 

The mannequin that once was jumping in joy now bubbled and hissed in a molten puddle on the floor. You had no idea what happened but Sukuna stood over it with his arms tucked in his kimono. 

“It was weak.” 

“Don’t just stand there, move before an associate comes by,” Toji hissed. He grabbed your arm, pulling you out of your shock and in turn you grabbed Sukuna’s hand. 

“I thought you were leaving?” You gasped. 

“And leave with that lunatic?” Toji exasperated. “It’s almost time for school to start. I could buy Megumi some new clothes.”

You were going to ask about Megumi when Sukuna caught your attention again. People who worked in kiosks that usually have no shame when it comes to shoving a new product in passerbys, were distancing themselves from Sukuna. The only person brave enough was a jeweler who looked at Sukuna with bright eyes. 

“Hey, why don’t you come over here so we can get you dripped out? Let’s see a smile, we can get you some grills.”

“N-no, we’re good,” you answered for him, tugging Sukuna away. 

“It’s a shame. We got diamonds as big as he is!”

“Trust me, we don’t need them,” you waved. You were yanked back into place despite your attempt to move forward. Sukuna had stopped walking and was looking at the kiosk intently. 

“You used to be adorned in jewels. Emeralds and rubies were your favorite.” He gazed back at you. “Did your preferences change?”

You had no idea why your heart fluttered at his words. Maybe it was the fact that those were still your favorite stones but you only wore them on special occasions. Maybe it was the sincerity in which he asked you. You shook your head, taking his hand in both of yours. “It’s still the same. I just don’t have the money to buy you a cuban, that’s all,” you laughed. 

“Money should never be a barrier,” he insisted. He rummaged through his robes in search of something but with no avail. “But then again, if you want something, take it.”

“Slow down, big guy. I don’t need it that bad,” you stopped him. If he did to those workers anything like he did the mannequin you’d have a lot more trouble on your hands. The mailman was an easy mess to sweep away considering that he barely remembered anything, but there were cameras everywhere in the mall. 

“Yeah, when you guys are done fucking disgusting in public we can go to another store,” Toji rolled his eyes. 

Once again you three trailed into a new story with Sukuna under close surveillance. You were glad Toji decided to stick around so he could help you choose the clothes to put on Sukuna. 

Some outfits the demon agreed with and you cheered happily. Others he turned his nose up at and Toji would mutter “what the fuck does he know” under his breath until you pinched him to keep quiet. 

When you had a large pile of clothes in your arms, you directed Sukuna to a dressing room to try them on to ensure the sizing was correct. You sat on a couch next to Toji in the waiting area for Sukuna to flaunt his new clothes. You leaned back into the chair, letting out a deep sigh while looking up at the ceiling. 

“Oh– how is Gumi by the way?”

“He’s fine,” Toji grunted. “Worried since he can’t take the dogs with him to school and is convinced that I don’t feed them on time, but fine.”

You snorted. That does sound like the Megumi you know. He was the main reason why you ended up with Toji for a short while. He was so quiet yet inquisitive you immediately grew a soft spot for the kid. It just so happened that his very attractive father was into you. It didn’t last, your incompatibilities stacking up faster through the months, but you still cared for the little kid. You fondly smiled at memories with Megumi when Toji pulled you from your thoughts. 

“Hey, are you really gonna stay with… him?”

You took a peek at Toji. His arms were crossed over his chest and he had his signature frown on his face, the one he got when he was trying to work out a problem. 

“Sukuna?”

“No. The other demon you’re tethered to,” he deadpanned. 

“Um… I don’t know. I really don’t know what to do in the long run,” you answered honestly. 

“He can’t stay here. In our world, I mean. He has to go back,” Toji concluded. 

You weren’t sold on the idea. Toji could feel your hesitance and attempted to talk some sense into you. “He has a natural form that has twice as many arms, eyes, and legs than needed. You didn’t see it, but he burnt that mannequin down with his hand,” he said raising his palm “Oh and let me guess, he probably doesn’t have a normal diet. You cannot expect me to believe that a burger will satiate him.” 

Your silence was confirmation enough. Toji sighed and shook his head. “Send him back.” 

“I can’t,” you admitted. 

“Why not?”

“The book is technically lost,” you mumbled through your hand but Toji has impeccable hearing. 

“You lost the book,” he repeated. “You lost the only thing that can send him to whatever hellhole he came from.” 

“I didn’t lose it, thank you very much,” you snapped. “There was a mixup at the library and it was gone before Sukuna popped up. You can use his name every once in a while.” 

“Do you know how to get it back?” Toji asked, ignoring your suggestion. 

“Yeah, it’s supposed to be back at the library soon.” You twisted your hands together, biting your lip. “But Toji, he said that we are soulmates.” 

“He’s a demon. They lie,” he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Perhaps it was. That would be the most logical thing to consider. “He could be using you to free him and then he can really start destroying shit.” 

“You’re not wrong,” you mutter quietly. “I just don't feel that way. I think he’s telling the truth.” 

Toji stared at you like you had grown four eyes and horns. “I can’t explain it, okay? If he really wanted to hurt me, he could’ve easily done so and found someone who’s much more willing. Even though he can’t stand you, he seems to be getting along with you for my sake. You can’t tell me that’s normal for demons, whatever that is.” 

Toji returned to his usual thinking frown. You patted your knees and stood up abruptly. 

“He’s been in there a long time, don’t you think? I wonder if he needs help,” you say, already drifting to his stall. Toji didn’t stop you from walking down the hall and you rapped the stall door. 

“Sukuna? Are you okay in there?” 

“It’s all children's clothing,” said his voice from within. 

The door clicked open, a sliver of the inside appearing to you and you pushed it forward. 

Inside you found Sukuna in a tangled mess of clothes. One t-shirt was far too small despite being the largest size you could find and his pants bulged uncomfortably from his thick muscles. The expression on his face was utterly annoyed. You stifled  a laugh, not wanting to offend him. 

“Okay, let’s try something else,” you offered. After struggling to remove the shirt for five minutes you managed to remove it from his body without tearing it, a feat you mentally patted yourself on the back for. 

“I think we should stick with shirts with buttons,” you said, grabbing one of the white button down short sleeves. “But it just makes it a little harder since you have long nails.”

“Put it on for me,” he ordered. 

You raised a brow. “‘Please’ would be nice to hear.”

“You expect me to beg?”

“Not beg. It’s called manners. I won’t do anything unless you ask nicely.” 

An annoyed puff of air pushed through Sukuna’s nose. ‘Please’ was a desperate word. Sukuna was not desperate for anything. However, you were not changing your stance. You stared at him expectantly and another huff left him. Only you could bring him to his knees. 

“You’re as stubborn as ever. Please put it on,” he said through clenched teeth. 

You beamed, a reward that made the unbecoming plea worth it. “Of course I will.” 

You filled the air with bubbly conversation. “I think these shirts suit you the most. I could buy it in a couple of different colors so you have something that matches the time when we go out. I know another place we can stop by and maybe they’ll have t-shirts in your size so that you can put on your clothes without assistance. What do you think?” 

You faced the mirror to admire Sukuna. You wanted to step out of his way so that he could take in the shirt properly, but his hand slipped perfectly into the curve of your waist. He tilted his head, giving the shirt a quick glance before capturing your image. He leaned down and whispered in your ear. 

“I believe you have great taste. I am forever in your care.”

Your heart pounded in your chest. Demons are meant to be smooth talkers, you reminded yourself. And this one wanted to talk you out of your clothes. 

Thanks for reading loves!! lemme know what ya think xx

Part: I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. X. XI.

M.list || Twitter || Ao3

[monarchberrysblog]

📄 — xx.emo_boy.exe (early y2k au)

now presenting…

⛓️🩷 kinktober | week three → dry humping and mutual masturbation

🖤 emo boy! miguel o’hara x pastel! reader 🖤

🎮 summary: “it may not look like he gets bitches, but honey, that dick was eleven inches.”

🎮 content warning: peeking under the skirt, voyeurism, public sex, mutual masturbation (kinda), dry humping, and switch behavior in both parties (more submissive behavior from Miguel.)

🎮 word count: +1.5k words (something smol)

🎮 author’s notes: I originally posted this last Wednesday, but I didn’t feel satisfied with the story's ending and layout. Take this as an unofficial sorry. And if the ending feels weird, I apologize in advance as well 😖

📀 not proofread 📀

Dedicated to @opaloharas and @miguelhugger2099, to my cuties. Thank you for the inspo and y'all deserve some mandarinas 🍊

Regulars. The best or the worst damn thing to exist on the planet.

But for Miguel? Seeing you as a regular in Spencers' always caused a flutter in his stomach. You were a pretty little thing that starkly contrasted in the dim store. The white ribbons in your hair and the pink and purple pastels made you glow. But the kicker?

The thigh highs you always wore.

The nylon material screamed to be ripped and accessible from your plush thighs. Every time you bent over to pick out a shirt or weekly browsing of piercings, he could have sworn that he heard the souls of your thigh highs wanting to be free, but they never ripped.

They either were little bows or fishnets. But your favorites? They were black thigh-highs with big satin bows, matching with your shorts or black skirts. The nylon thigh-high made you look soft, so soft to sleep on, to bite, and to squeeze.

But the little mini-skirts only fed his perverted ego—the tiny bit of fabric barely covered your rear, which caused you to flash anyone who happened to be within your radius accidentally. It has happened so often that he practically memorized your underwear drawer and how much you frequent his job just to look for clothes or piercings.

Being the bigger man, he asks you out. (In which you accept happily after he said he would help you take a couple of pictures for your MySpace.)

“Could you move to the right?” He mumbles, trying his best to not eye you with how you leaned on the marble headstone. “Should I arch my back?” You quip. Your fingertips graze the cold stone while you pose.

“Nah.” He dismisses, fighting back a blush on his cheeks and hoping the autumn air did him justice to blow the warmth off his cheeks. The digital camera's flash lit up the radius momentarily before the small digital device beeped an obnoxious tone.

“Damn, out of storage.” He huffs and turns the camera downwards, away from you. “Here, let me delete some old pictures.” You jumped off the marble, patting the cold stone and whispering a thank you.

You place a crystal at the foot of the grave and make your way over to Miguel.

He hands you the digital camera before looking around the flat land that is only filled with marble stone or flowers.

“Are we even supposed to be here?” He bites the question, seeing an old couple leave the graveyard, holding onto each other while shuffling away. “Yeah, graveyards used to be known as hangout spots.” You reply and push down on the tiny buttons on the digital device.

“I don't mean to sound like a pussy or whatever, but this place rubs me the wrong way.”

“Don’t worry. They mean no harm. Just respect them and don't step on their graves. I think we got enough pictures…”

He dismisses your statement with a grunt and haphazardly moves his feets towards you instead. He didn't need a heavy stomach after this.

There was no way that this was the cutesy, pastel girl at his job two days ago looking for cat plushies…

“I know it's early to call it a day, but,” You raise your brow and exhale a shaky sigh. “Wanna hang out a little while longer?” You exhaled a nervous chuckle as you fidget with the hem of your skirt, nearly ripping off the lacy frills.

His heart leaped into the back of his throat—the urge to scream a loud yell that was enough to wake up those asleep in the afterlife. “Yeah, sure. It's no big deal.” He answers with a light dismissal and shrugs.

The dried grass's vibrant orange and red leaves provided a stunning contrast to the color of your hair. The soft earth underneath cushioned you as you lay back, and a giggle escaped your lips. Slowly, he crawled over to you, and with the utmost tenderness, he planted a soft butterfly kiss on your cupid’s bow.

The soft gesture contrasted the careless nature he bumbled about. “This is new.” You quip, reaching up to comb a loose strand of hair away from his face.

As you lean in for the next kiss, the playful smirk on your lips fades away as a surge of sweet warmth envelops you, stealing your focus and drawing you into the moment. Tilting your head slightly, you tenderly press your lips against Miguel, savoring the gentle and innocent connection.

His gentle hands glided along the curves of your body, reveling in the warmth and tenderness as your skin resisted the chill of the cemetery.

His hand hovers the swell of your breasts, itching to ravish your warmth and softness. “You can touch me.” You look up at him through your faux lashes. His fingers were taut like a cadaver. He wanted to touch and ravish you like a seafood boil on a summer day. The goose pimples on his skin trembled and seeped into his core like poison coursing through his veins. “Right.” He exhaled and moved his cramped fingers to squeeze your breast gently.

Warm and soft. He did another squeeze as if he was confirming what he felt was genuine and it wasn't one of his perverted dreams from the night before.

“Your face… are you okay?” Your question plagues the silence. “Yeah, of course. You’re just… soft.”

“Can I take this off?” His eyes gesture at the pastel-pink sweater—his fingers toy with the zipper pull.

You nod adamantly as you squirm closer to him and pull yourself closer. His fingers tremble, but he manages to pull the zipper down. The sight of your simple tank top and hardened nipples peeking through the cotton top.

“Are you sure?” He swallows, ready to back down from the close proximity. “Yeah, go ahead.” You whisper and gently guide his hands back to your figure.

His crimson pools leaked into your honey ones, the contrasting colors mellowing out to one another into one. His mouth latches onto your clothed nipple, gently licking and sucking. His sharpened canine grazed the sensitive skin, earning a shudder from you.

He pulled away, leaving a wet patch against the cotton tank top. The dark color of your areola peeked through, pleading for more attention.

A soft growl escaped before he gently pins you down on the soft patch of grass. Your hand wanders down, snaking into his dark denim. The clothes bulge against your fingertips ignites a fire deep in your core.

A soft groan escapes him. You had him wrapped around your pretty little fingers. Quite literally. He jerks his hips towards your palm, seeking friction to relieve the aching, numbing pain in his lower stomach. “Wait, hold on…” You squirm about and pull your hand away.

Your hands move quickly, removing his chunky belts and disregarding the faux leather. You yank down his jeans to free him from the restraints of his jeans. He softly groans when your fingers gently probe at his tip. The taut, moist skin seeks attention, twitching for contact. Then, your warming palm firmly grasped him and gently began to move up and down his length. It felt as if his body took a screenshot. The sensation ached slowly as his body trembled for a release.

His pleads were soft, afraid of his voice being heard from unseen presence at the flat lands around them. He adjusts himself, and moves his hand down south. The wet slit against his fingertips enables him to gently rub the pads of his fingers at the thin, wet slit on the cloth. His fingers gently pull at the gusset, and finally, his fingers probe at your clit, rubbing the nerves in tight, slow circles. The slow build up caused you to squirm about, ready to coat his fingers.

Soft pants filled the cemetery while your fingers produced more squelching noises from each other’s bodies. “Give me a moment…” You pant, letting go of him and moving your clothed cunt toward the tightening friction of his jeans.

The moist, soft sensation against the bulge softened into him. He melted and adjusted the two of you, gently settling you down onto his hardening arousal. He gently moves his hips, seeking relieving friction to his aching cock. If he could, he could almost imagine the sticky coating of your juices seeping out of your panties and coating his cock. The imagery plagued his mind like a vice as he continued with the gentle motions against your clothed pussy.

The temptation to just slide in…

The sticky fluid snaps him back to reality, effectively staining your already-soaked lacy panties and his boxers. His eyes dart away quickly, and he sits back, getting off of you. The milky fluid contrasted the dark panties, evidence that he left his heavy load on you.

He pulls you close, his exhale trembling into an uneasy vibrato. When he feels your skin tight and cold to the touch, the warmth of his palms rubs against it, creating more goosebumps in their wake.

tag list:

@hyjionie @zaunsin @kavimoo @keiva1000

[asklesbianonceler]

The Dear Fingers Looked After Their Mother

I was musing about how you find Cherishing Fingers only at the grave stone after you rest and it made me feel a type of way.

It isn't a drop from Ymir when you kill him. It also isn't in his bell bearing which it easily could have been if it was truly so impersonal and false, as it's literally described as "one of his spells"

But we find it after resting and then going to Yuri's grave meaning this happens not when but after he dies. The prompt isn't him leaving the grave nor him losing our fight. Its after. So my two equally depressing headcanons/theories on it are:

He spent his last moments after the fight at Yuri's grave. Dying by his child's side. Leaving behind a final spell to remember his son by.

Or, though this was one of his spells, it is Yuri no longer needing to protect his mother. A final parting gift as they can both move on now. Yuri's soul no longer being tied to rebirth and able to leave something behind at his body.

I know the description on that spell is odd and let's you read into doubt but the fingercreeper ashes, to me, negate it. As does how this spell is received. It's not needed anymore. We get it from the grave of a fingercreeper after his mother dies.

Anyways, here's my miserable art of Ymir dying at Yuri's grave 🥲

[dmwrites]

The site of Jimmy’s grave was a bit more damaged then it had been before. There were craters all over the land from the wither- a damn wither, really Grian and Etho?

Cleo opened the chest that had been Jimmy’s makeshift coffin, pulled out the bit of rotten flesh she’d put in to represent him. She brushed the squishy lump off and lifted her shirt slightly, slapping the flesh back onto her torso. It was a wet sound, and she was kind of disappointed that no one else was around to be disgusted by that.

Cleo wondered how long after Jimmy’s death could she start calling herself a psychic for having him attend his own funeral on the same day that he did, in fact, die. She put a hand on the gravestone she’d made- poor bastard, she thought to herself.

There were footsteps behind her, and she turned to see Joel approaching her.

“Hello, Cleo.”

“Hi Joel.”

“What are you doing?”

“I was just cleaning up from the funeral.”

A silence fell between them. Cleo shot a look at Joel. He held his bow loosely in his grip, staring at the gravestone. Cleo did some quick mental math. Of everyone on the server, it really must have been Joel that had lost the most. His wife. His ally. Whatever odd homoerotic thing Jimmy and Joel had going on all the time. She had heard his screams of Jimmy and Mumbo’s names as they’d perished- they’d both died right in front of everyone. Anguished cries that no one even had the time to acknowledge in the chaos.

Cleo wanted to walk away. She really did- hell, she and Joel were on opposite sides of the spectrum at this point- he’d lost so many, and Cleo had her two idiot allies back at home, green and happy and alive. Why on earth would she possibly care about anyone other than her own allies?

She sighed. She didn’t walk away.

“I’m sorry, Joel, for your losses today.”

“Doesn’t matter- was bound to happen anyway.” Joel spoke in a deeply bitter tone, like he was trying and failing to spit acid.

“Alright, play the emotionally unavailable guy, see if I care.” Cleo did make to move away, but Joel spoke again, softer now.

“Why did they have to die, Cleo?”

“We all will, probably sooner rather than later, Joel.”

“But why them? Mumbo and Jimmy and… Lizzie.” Joel’s name caught on the word Lizzie, and his face crumbled. Cleo watched him as he stepped forward, putting a hand on the gravestone. “Could you leave this up, Cleo? It would be nice for… some people on the server to be able to visit every once in a while.”

Cleo decided not to tell Joel that she’d planned on leaving the gravestone up so she could gloat about guessing that Jimmy would die.

“Sure, Joel.” Cleo said, and her heart felt like it was twisting horribly as she watched Joel sag against the cold stone, hand pressed to the sign with Jimmy’s name. She walked forward, softly, and etched Lizzie and Mumbo’s names into the wooden sign.

“You… take all the time you need. Or anyone else who needs to… mourn.”

She took a few steps away, then stopped and turned around again. Joel was tracing the letters of Lizzie’s name now, over and over again. Cleo lowered her gaze and continued walking away- it felt indecent to watch.

[sashaisready]

Since You've Been Gone: Chapter 2

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Series Masterlist

After a regrettable first meeting in the cemetery, you discover that you have something in common with a certain member of the Avengers. Unfortunately, you can't choose your neighbours, even in death.

(Setting is approx. post TFATWS)

After that, you saw him there quite frequently.

Not every time. But often when you were there, he was there too. You guessed your schedules overlapped in that way. One time you’d nearly said, ‘I guess we have the same dead-parent visiting hours’, but fortunately had managed to hold your tongue.

The two of you didn’t really speak. A nod of acknowledgement here, a mumbled hello there. Once, something fell out of your bag onto the ground without you noticing and he’d said ‘hey’ and pointed to it as you turned around, and you’d thanked him. That was the extent of your interactions.

And that was fine. You remembered all too clearly the fury in his eyes at that first meeting. Best to leave him be, and not accidentally invoke his wrath. You were still a little sore about how he’d spoken to you then, but you also cut him some slack – you’d probably be quite prickly if you’d been through what he had. Your parents’ deaths had given you some perspective in life, you tried to think the best of people and take their actions in good faith unless they proved otherwise, as you never know what they’re battling.

But you weren’t a doormat, either.

One chilly afternoon you were both at the cemetery. James…or should you refer to him as Bucky? Was standing at his parents’ graves. He’d brought flowers but now stood there in silence as he looked down at their head stones, pondering. He often did that.

You were hunched over your own family’s plot, trimming the leaves on some chrysanthemums (your mother’s favourite) with the mini garden shears you kept in your kit. You had pulled your free arm across your body in an attempt to shield yourself from the biting wind when you clumsily slipped, the shears nicking the skin on your hand.

“Ow!”, you whispered sharply as you abruptly dropped the shears and looked at the damage.

“Fuck…” you mumbled under your breath. Crimson seeped across your hand, dripping onto the grass below. You weren’t squeamish but you couldn’t help but feel queasy at the sight of all that blood, the cut was deeper than you initially realised and at an awkward angle across your palm.

You trembled slightly as you attempted to find a tissue or similar in your bag with your free hand, scrambling before locating a microfibre cloth you fortunately hadn’t used yet. As you struggled to free the cloth from your kit and move it onto your injury, a gloved hand moved across you and scooped up the cloth – effortlessly swiping it onto the cut and holding it in place over your hand.

You blinked, bewildered, as you turned your head to find James or Bucky or whatever he called himself leaning over you. He furrowed his brow as he applied pressure to stem the bleeding. You tensed up as he touched you – not expecting physical contact, his proximity so close you could smell his cologne. But he was gentle, gentler than you expected a burly, metal-armed man to be. This was all quite unexpected from your normally silent neighbour.

“You wouldn’t think those little suckers could cut so deep,” he gruffed as he glanced down at the discarded shears.

“I’m not quite sure how I managed it…” you told him, “and…uh…thank-you…for helping me”.

He didn’t respond, just expertly wrapped the cloth up and tied it at the sides to create a makeshift bandage across your hand. He worked quickly, but with the precision of an actual medical professional. You figured he must’ve had a lot of experience with this sort of stuff.

“You okay?” he asked.

You looked up at his face, searching for well…anything. Despite the care and concern shown in his actions, his tone was still grumpy and monotonous like it always was. The juxtaposition between the two contrasts was dizzying. It was as if he was doing all of this as a tedious chore, even though you hadn’t asked him for any of it. His blue eyes stared back at you, nothing given away. The man was a vault.

“Yeah, was just a little shocked. I’m fine, thanks,” you replied as you tore your eyes away, looking down as you lightly flexed your hand beneath the cloth/bandage. It was well secured – the bleeding seemed to have stopped.

“That’s good for now,” he nodded towards your hand as he stood back up, “but you should probably take a look at it when you get home. Clean it so it doesn’t get infected. Put an actual bandage on it,” he ordered sternly.

“Okay. Thanks, I uh, will,” you nodded back at him, “I need to get going, anyway”.

You began putting things away in your bag – which was harder with one hand - and to your surprise he helped, carefully packing up the kit without a word.

“You don’t have to-” you attempted to protest, but he ignored you – leaning over you sliding each item into your bag as if he did it all the time. After he was finished you slung the bag over your shoulder.

“Bye,” you hesitated as you moved to leave, “and thanks again, for all…of that”.

“See ya,” he responded casually. He’d already turned his back to you as his focus centred on the graves once again.

You kissed your fingers and placed it on your parents’ headstone to say goodbye, as you always did when you left them. As you walked away, you couldn’t help but replay the interaction in your head. Did he…like you? Or the very least tolerate you? Or were you just a nuisance? But you didn’t ask him for any help, he just-

Stop.

You did your best to remove it all from your mind. Nothing good ever came from arguing with yourself.

As you walked, you didn’t notice the intense gaze that followed your movements until you disappeared from sight.

🍂

The weeks rolled on. You saw Bucky here and there. The two of you probably exchanged ten words in total over a period of months. Hellos. Byes. Nods of acknowledgement, hands held up in greeting. Little else. You simply minded your own business, and he minded his. He seemed satisfied with that. You certainly didn’t want to piss him off.

It was a Sunday morning when it happened. Autumn was becoming winter and the air was changing, the chill sharper than it had been in the weeks before. You had bundled up in a hat and scarf but still came to see your parents as you always did. You were an all-weather visitor.

Bucky was there too, still in his coat but not quite wrapped up in the way you were. You supposed he didn’t feel the cold the way you did. He was standing quietly as usual while you swept up the last of the autumn leaves that had blown onto your family’s plot.

It was quiet which was unusual, Sundays were often busy here as it was a popular day for people to pay their respects - but it was still quite early in the morning, and it’s possible the cold had put some of them off. You liked the peace and solitude of the weekend mornings, and it seemed that Bucky did too.

You could see a man in the near distance wandering around seemingly aimlessly. He had his phone pointed at various head stones, swinging around as if filming them on the phone camera. He didn’t seem to be visiting anyone specifically but taking a scattergun approach to where he was going. You frowned. That was odd, but you didn’t like to judge how people visited the cemetery. Maybe he was trying to find a certain plot, or filming the place to show someone else. You put your head back down and ignored him as you moved away the last few leaves and became engrossed in your tasks again.

“Oh FUCK, I knew it was you!” someone squealed excitedly.

You whipped your head around at the abrupt voice. The man with the phone was now standing just a few feet away, his phone aimed at Bucky’s face as he grinned.

“Hey, man,” Bucky said calmly, the discomfort obvious across his face, “How’s it going…look, I’m just-”

“The WINTER SOLDIER,” the man yelled into the camera, “in the FLESH. THE METAL. Right here in the cemetery. I knew I’d find good content in this creepy ass graveyard but I never thought-”

“Put the phone down, please,” Bucky asked. Well, more demanded. His voice was even, but from the sidelines you could hear the hint of annoyance creeping in. His face tightened; his eyes suddenly seemed darker. You subconsciously tensed up as the air changed.

The man, oblivious to any of this, or just refusing to acknowledge it, continued.

“So why you here man?” he asked obnoxiously as he thrust the screen closer towards Bucky. “Can I get a selfie? It would be great for my channel…”

Bucky winced, “look, no offence, but I’m just here trying to keep my head down. This is a private moment for me. Can you just-”

“What, what’s the big deal?” the guy scoffed, “don’t get all diva celebrity on me. You think you’re too good to meet fans?”

“No, I just…”

“What? You visiting the grave of one of your victims or something?” the man laughed vindictively as he mimed a gunshot to the head and made a shooting sound with his mouth. You gasped at his callousness.

Bucky didn’t blink. He yanked the phone from the guy’s hand and crushed it between his metal fingers in a split second, the debris sprinkling onto the ground below. The guy gasped in response, but before he could protest Bucky had grabbed him by the shirt and was holding him in the air, staring him down with a terrifying sneer as the man’s legs dangled and he wailed in fear.

“Hey, whoa…whoa…put him down,” you said softly, moving to Bucky and placing a hand on his shoulder. “He’s not worth it…and this isn’t the place for it…”

Bucky inhaled sharply but listened to you, keeping his eyes locked onto the man but releasing him. He fell to the ground with a heavy thump.

“Everyone’s gonna hear about this…” the man said anxiously as he righted himself, his breathing heavy in spite of his clear attempt to seem tough.

“No, they’re not,” you spat back.

His eyes widened in shock as he jeered at you, “What?? Says who? You? That maniac broke my damn phone and picked me up by my collar!”

“You disturbed someone at a cemetery who was privately mourning, and were disrespecting the graves by treading all over them and filming it all for views,” you said venomously, “I’m guessing you didn’t get a permit to make a video here either, huh? They take that very seriously here, you know, after all, this is a place of rest. They could even get you on grave desecration if they decide to file a complaint with the police…”

He didn’t respond, but his panicked face said it all.

“You’re lucky all you got was a broken phone. Besides, you have no evidence,” you toed at the phone remains, “and your only eyewitnesses will say you tried to attack a veteran as he was having a private moment of mourning, so he accidentally broke your phone in self-defence”.

The man opened his mouth in dismay, looking between you and Bucky in shock. Bucky nodded, affirming your version of events.

After a few moments the man harumphed.

“Fine…whatever. You’re both crazy anyhow…” he muttered as he stormed off. The two of you watched him go.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Bucky said quietly without meeting your gaze, “I should’ve kept it together”.

“It’s fine,” you shrugged, “I hate people who are disrespectful to this place. And what he said to you was really out of line”.

“I’ve had worse. Do you really need a permit to film here on your camera? And they’d really call the police?”

“Oh…no idea. I just said that to rattle him,” you smirked.

Bucky looked at you with surprise, then the corners of his mouth turned up into a small smile.

“Thank-you” he mumbled.

“Yeah…no problem,” you smiled back at him.

“I’m James by the way. But everyone calls me Bucky”.

You gave him your name in return, and he gave you a small nod.

You both stood in the silence for a little while, until he leaned over and started picking up the broken shards that once resembled a smart phone.

Bucky, you thought to yourself. I can call him Bucky.

[sentientcave]

Heavy Weighs the Crown

Here we go friends! These chapters just keep getting longer. A larger plot begins to reveal itself to me. I am having a lot of fun here and I hope you are too.

Chapter 3 - Reading Between the Lines

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Read on AO3

Contains: Generic fantasy setting, Princess Reader, No Y/N, Some exposition, Reader's dad (deceased) was a real piece of work, Bad memories, A spot of magic, Voyeurism, Reader description kept pretty neutral but I kind of got slightly more specific about black hair care so you're just going to have to live with it.

~6k words

The next morning, it rains.

The pitter-patter of rain against your windows wakes you up, because it sounds wrong. There’s only one small window in your room in Kate’s house, and when weather blows in it’s the sound of water trickling down and dripping off the thatch roof that’s loudest, not the rain itself. Here the sound echoes strangely in the big space, and you wake with a start, disoriented, your heart-hammering in your chest.

It feels like your life in town is the dream, trickling away faster than you can cup your hands to hold onto it. You fly out of bed and wrap a blanket around your shoulders, dashing out into the hallway, bare feet cold on the stone floor. The king’s bedroom is directly across the hall from your own, and you stare at the door, frozen and unsure if you’re willing to risk knocking, breath caught in your throat, chest tight, anxiety squeezing your ribs until they ache.

You’re sixteen and twenty-six both, living two lives out in one panicking body. You no longer belong here and you’ve never been anywhere else. Your father is alive, angry, terrifying, and he’s dead and buried where he can’t hurt you anymore. You are a tossed coin landed on it’s edge, waiting to fall.

The door in front of you opens, and you leap back on instinct, but breathe a sigh of relief when it’s John standing there, looking at you with surprise first, and then concern. “Sweetpea?” he asks, stepping forward to meet you, but leaving space between your bodies, like he knows that it would be worse for him to touch you right now. “What’s wrong?”

You press your shaking fingers to your mouth, holding back a sob. You swallow it down, pulling yourself together enough to speak. “I thought it was a dream,” you say at last. “I thought he was still alive.”

There’s no question who you mean. John reaches a hand out, an offering, and you take it, clinging to him like a life-line. He reels you into his arms, and you lean in, the solid, warm bulk of him as reliable and real as the earth below. “He’s not,” he says firmly. “I put him in the ground myself. You’re safe.”

You nod against his chest, feeling small and silly now. “I’m sorry,” you say, although you’re not sure what you’re sorry for. For showing weakness, maybe, for being lost in your own memory, for needing reassurance.

“It’s early yet,” he murmurs against the top of your head. “You should try to sleep a little longer.”

You’re not sure you could even if you tried, and even though you’re still tired, the adrenaline leaving your body cold, fatigue dragging at your bones insistently. You could maybe sleep against John’s chest, holding onto him, his heartbeat steady and strong enough in your ear to drown out the still-frenetic tempo of your own. “I think I’ll just get dressed,” you say, pushing away. He drops his arms instantly, letting you put a little distance between you.

He shakes his head, smiling at you fondly, eyes crinkling up at the corners. “Sweetpea, the sun hasn’t even risen. Go back to bed. I know just the thing to help. Go on.” He turns you toward your door and nudges you along.

There’s no point in arguing with him— You are tired, and although you suspect sleep will be beyond your reach, it’s cold in the hallway, especially now that you’re no longer pressed against John’s warm chest, and your bed is still warm when you climb back in.

Darkness presses down on you, heavy as grave-dirt, and you lay there, staring at the ceiling. You touch the crystal lamp next to your bed to light up the room, but that’s no better, really.

John knocks, but doesn’t wait for your answer before coming in, a dark wolf with blue eyes trotting in on his heels. “Go on, Soap,” he says, and Soap hops up onto your bed and lays down half on top of you, his head on your shoulder, tail wagging. John pats him on the head like he’s just a dog. “He’ll keep an eye on you.”

It should probably feel weird to cuddle up with a werewolf, since he’s really a man, and you’ll have to face that silly, crooked grin in the morning, but you need someone to cling to, and you’re to proud and cautious to cling to John. “Thank you,” is all you have it in you to say.

“He gets nightmares too. Usually sleeps across someone’s bed. I’m sure he’d be happy to stay with you while you’re here.” John says it simply, without a drop of judgment or condescension, and scratches behind Soap’s ear. “He’s a real good listener when he can’t talk back too.” He withdraws, tapping the light and throwing the room into darkness again.

You don’t even hear the door click shut. You bury your face into the thick fur around Soap’s neck and fall asleep almost instantly.

When you wake up again, it's with a very large, very naked man on top of you.

You yelp, scrambling back on your pillows. Johnny’s eyes snap open at your first movement, on high alert before he’s all the way awake. He scrambles too, and falls right off the side of the bed with a solid thud.

"Oh! Johnny I'm so sorry," you look down at him from the edge of the mattress, trying not to laugh. "I forgot you were here."

"It's alright, lass. I didna mean to startle ye. Ah shift back overnight sometimes. Price didnae remember to warn ye." He sits up and leans against the bed, forearms folded over each other. He looks no worse for wear, and like he slept as solidly as you did, those last few hours. There’s a faint imprint of lace from your nightgown on his face, and half of his hair is stuck straight up, the rest pressed flat. "Are ye feelin' better?"

“I am. Thank you for staying with me.”

“S’nothin’ really. Nicer sleepin’ with you than Gaz, he kicks awl night long. An’ Nox doesnae like me none, so I cannae stay with Ghost.” He grins. “Price lets me stay but he makes me sleep at the foot of the bed like a dog. Sometimes a man wants a cuddle, ye ken?”

You giggle. “I ken.”

"Really livin' up to yer name, aye Sweetpea?"

You laugh again. "Johnny, you know that's not my name, right?"

"No? What is it?" He shakes his head when you tell him. "I like Sweetpea better. Suits ye."

"Me too," you tell him. It has no connections to your previous life. It just reminds you of the pretty pink, purple, and white flowers that grow on delicate, curling vines that you like to grow over the side of the chicken coop.

There's a knock on the door, and Johnny leaps up to see who it is. You have to hold your hand up quickly to avoid getting an eyeful of things you're not supposed to see. He's absolutely shameless-- you suspect he wouldn't think twice about strolling down the hallways without a scrap on. You have a curiousity about men's bodies that you're too bashful to indulge, even if you're pretty sure that Johnny would stand still and let you look as long as you liked. Well, maybe not stand still. But you doubt he would mind.

It's Ghost at the door. He doesn't wait for an invitation to come in, but he has clothes for Johnny hung over his arm, so you don't mind. Honestly, you can bear a few overzealous men who feel entitled to your space for a few days, because after that you'll get to go home and get back to your life.

Ghost positions himself between you and Johnny, just as he had yesterday. "Price said you 'ad a bit of an episode earlier. You olright?"

"Just fine," you say brightly. "No need to worry."

"Och, let him worry, hen. He likes ta do it."

"I'm really fine," you insist.

"You want to visit the mausoleum? Might make it feel more real."

You'd be more interested in going there to visit your mother's grave, if you're going at all, but you think that you'll wait for a sunnier day. A gray, dreary morning like the one outside your windows is no balm for dark memories or old wounds. Sunshine might be. "Not today," you say. "Maybe tomorrow." You get out of bed as gracefully as possible, well aware that you have an audience. "Perhaps the two of you could step outside for a moment while I get dressed?"

Ghost glances behind him, checking to see if Soap is covered up enough for him to move, and then walks over to your closet and pulls out a screen that you hadn't noticed sitting in the corner there, and sets it up. "There you go, Sweetpea. You'll need help with all your fastenin's anyway, won't you?"

You imagine that he's smiling under the mask, more than a little smug about it, but you let it slide. "Very thoughtful."

"Try to be."

The blank face of his mask gives you nothing when you glance over, aside from that he’s looking back. It’s not the first time that you’ve wished for more insight into what he’s thinking, but there’s a gravity to his attention that you swear was never there before, and it prickles at the back of your neck even after you duck out of sight.

You choose a sunny yellow dress today, to counter the deluge outside, and remove the silk scarf wrapped around your head so you can twist your braids on each side from your brow back to the nape of your neck, pinning the lengths into a knot. You’ll have to redo them soon, but without Kate and her wife to help you, you know it’ll take hours, if not most of a day.

You walk over to where Ghost is sitting and turn your back to him so he can button it up for you. He hands you his gloves to hold while he does so, and you run your hands over the detail of white leather bones stitched on over the well-worn black leather, decoration and extra protection both. Idly, you slip one on, but your hands are so small in comparison to his that you have to stretch your hand out just to get your fingers arranged inside it properly. He stands behind you, and leans over you to gently pull them from your hands, as though to underline again how much bigger he is than you are.

The top of your head brushes his chest when you tip your head back to look at him. “Thank you,” you say.

“I’m always ‘appy to ‘elp,” he says. “I’m with you for the mornin’ anyway. Might as well make myself useful, eh?”

“Stuck minding me?” you tease, sweeping around to fold back the sheets on your bed, only to find that one of them had already done it. Ghost, most likely, judging by how neat it is. You touch his arm lightly in silent thanks, and the three of you leave your room together.

Other than insisting you eat breakfast (served in a communal dining hall, where they insist on bringing things to you rather than let you suffer the indignity of standing in a line, and watch you eat with unnerving intensity), they’re content to follow you around as you refamiliarize yourself with the castle, mapping out changes so you don’t get turned about looking for anything. You find a number of familiar faces here and there, and have an perplexingly similar conversation with anyone you know, where they welcome you back cheerfully, and grow a bit quiet and nervous when you insist that you won’t be staying long, and when you try to press them on that, you’re ushered out, told they’re too busy to chat, and that you’ll find time to catch up later.

You suspect that Ghost and Johnny are the source of their nerves, but both of them always seem to be a few paces out of (human) earshot, and minding their own business, talking about something else quietly between them.

"Where's Kyle?" you ask as you're hustled out of the the healer's work shop and back out into the hallway. It’s become abundantly clear, no matter how well they feign innocence, that your hulking shadows are making the staff nervous, and you decide not to subject anyone else to their company. If you can slip away from them later, you might be able to have an actual conversation.

“Prob’ly ‘oled up in ‘is workshop,” Ghost says. “Some weeks we ‘ardly see ‘im.”

“Wizardy shite,” Johnny adds, his tone disapproving. “As if there aren’t a thousand ways ta blow shite intae bits withoot wigglin’ yer fingers. Can blow up flour, did ye know, Sweetpea? In barrels isnae much different than black powder.”

“Still useful to have a little magic,” you say, flipping your palm over and conjuring a flame in the centre of it. It’s one of the few spells in your cache, and you’ve mostly just used it to light candles and the stove. Your lessons barely dipped beyond simple control— You’d been told that magic was no proper pastime for a lady. When you think back on it now, you think it’s more that your father never wanted you to have defenses that he could not control, or that could be used against him. A grim thought, from this side of things.

“Forgot you ‘ave a little magic in you.” Ghost holds his hands above yours, feeling the heat coming off the small flame. “Come on, pet. Let’s find Kyle. Might be enough to pull ‘is nose out of ‘is books.”

You close your hand, extinguishing the flame, and let them guide you through a few corridors and up a spiraling stone staircase.

Johnny hesitates at the door, nose wrinkling at the slight, hard to identify smell of complex magical wards that are carved neatly into the doors. You can feel the slight hum of it in your teeth. Ghost pushes the door open without knocking (you think all four of these men might be allergic to knocking), and steps inside.

You follow, and stop right there in the doorway while Ghost ventures in further. Kyle is shirtless, doing pushups over a heavy looking book. He doesn't look up, doesn't even stop when he turns the page, just continues the exercise one handed. He's in perfect shape, every muscle well-defined, putting even some of the finely-carved marble statues you've seen to shame. He has a frame for wiry muscle, but he's worked so hard that he's gotten bulky too, and although he's not as broad as Soap or as big as Ghost, it's clear that he's stronger than most men. Certainly stronger than men of his occupation have any need to be.

"What do you want, Ghost?" Kyle asks, still focused on his reading. "I'm busy, you know."

"Brought our girl by to see you, and you don't even bother lookin' up."

Kyle’s attention does snap up at that, brown eyes sliding past Ghost’s legs to you, still hovering in the doorway, Johnny a step behind, peering over your shoulder. Kyle scrambles to his feet, sending the book flying with a gesture. It settles on the desk behind him as he steps around Ghost, dusting his hands against his trousers before he takes yours, pulling you more fully into the space. His skin gleams with a thin sheen of sweat, but he's not the least bit out of breath. “Come on in, Sweetpea. Did you come all the way up here just to see me?”

“Of course,” you say. It’s a silly question, although now that you look around the space, you’re gripped by curiousity. The circular room is lined with bookshelves, each full of thick, leather and linen-bound tomes that hum with power. The whole room sings like a chorus, the sound not in your ears, but tickling the back of your mind instead. “I was wondering where you’d gone off to. I don’t want to interrupt, of course, if you’re working on something.” Although, now that you're looking, it seems like he’s working on many things, all at once. He has a carousel of research tomes open next to the desk, and neatly written pages laid out over the desk to dry, a stack of opened and unopened correspondence in a basket hanging from the side, ingredients measured out by a shelf full of bottles and jars of strange and familiar ingredients, and there are unlit candles set around the perimeter of an open area on the floor, a circle of iridescent tile set into the stone, pale and glittering.

“Nothing important this moment. Just studying while I wait for ink to dry. The mind grows dull if you don’t take the time to keep it sharp.” He glances at Johnny meaningfully, and receives a rude gesture in response.

“There’s more’n just books if ye want to keep sharp,” Johnny says, his voice flinty. “Isnae the only way to learn, ye know.”

You glance at Ghost. His mask looks back at you, blank as ever. “There’s a place for books, and a place for practical application,” you say diplomatically. “Wisdom can be found in many places.”

“In a pretty girl, for one,” Ghost says approvingly. “Would be good for you to crack a book once in a while, Soap. And for you to spend a little less time ‘oled up in ‘ere.” His head turns toward Kyle.

“I have a lot to do, you know,” Kyle says. “I can’t just shove everything to the side whenever I please.”

You drift closer to the desk, peeking at the tome he was referencing earlier, the pages opened to a chapter on illusion spells. Curious, you glance to his notes, humming with interest at the first page you glance at. It’s something about setting spells of illusion into fabric, weaving magic into the very stitches. “Are you trying to make a cloak of shadows?” you ask, picking up the page carefully by the edges, still mindful of the mostly dried ink.

Kyle looks over at you and smiles, but it’s all teeth. “Something like that. I didn’t know you were interested in magical theory.”

“She’s got a little sorcery in ‘er,” Ghost explains. “Maybe you should give ‘er a lesson or two. While she’s ‘ere.”

Your ears perk up at that, and you drop the paper back to the desk, forgetting it entirely. “Would you?” you ask excitedly. “I really would love to learn more.”

Kyle slips his shirt back on and beckons you over to one of the bookcases, smile turning sly and conspiratorial. “Can you give me a hand Sweetpea? I need something off the top shelf.”

You look up at the top shelf, which is well out of your reach. “Kyle, I think maybe you should ask Ghost.”

“Sorry, pet, I’m busy keepin’ Soap from pilferin’ alchemical ingredients.”

"Wasnae pilferin'! Just takin' a wee looksie. Isnae a crime."

"Soap," Kyle says pleasantly. "If I find anything missing we are going to have a long talk about it." He shakes his head lightly, sweet brown eyes finding yours, amused.

"D'ye think he means a good rough fuck?" Johnny asks Ghost, not quite quiet enough for you not to hear it. "Or an actual chat? Because that's goan ta change what I do here."

"I really don't think I can help," you say to Kyle, ignoring Johnny's query as much as you can. "Unless you'd like me to climb the shelves."

"Here." He crouches down in front of you and hugs your knees to his chest, other hand a higher on the backs of your thighs to hold you steady, and pops up. You let out a little shriek, and press your hands against his strong shoulders for support. "Don't worry, Sweetpea, I've got you. Now, can you grab that slim blue volume to the right? The one with no title on the spine."

Scanning the neat row of books, you locate the one he means and pick it up. "Ive got it," you inform him, laughing. "Now please put me down."

He slides you down his front carefully, adjusting his grip, your skirts bunching up and exposing your stockinged calves, and he holds you just above him for a moment. You loop your arms around his neck reflexively, holding the book behind him. He looks up at you, so dazzlingly handsome, you're almost surprised that he's real.

"Kyle," you remind him gently. "Please put me down."

“You sure?” he asks, bringing you down just a little more, so that your face is just above his own. “You look a bit tired today, princess. Could just carry you around for the rest of the day if you like.”

“That will not be necessary,” you say firmly. “But it’s a very kind offer.”

You hear a snort from the other side of the room, but you’re not sure if it comes from Ghost or Johnny. “Nothin’ kind about it,” Johnny says, crossing his arms. “Bastard just likes the idea of bein’ pressed up against ye all day.”

“You slept in her bed last night,” Kyle reminds him. “There’s no need to be jealous.”

“Ahm no’ jealous! Yer just bein’ a fandan charmer tryna cop a wee feel, an’ ye willnae admit ta it.”

You look over at Ghost, and he shakes his head. You imagine that he’s rolling his eyes, just as exasperated by the two of them as you are. He comes to your rescue though, carefully pulling you out of Kyle’s arms and setting you back down on the floor. “Thank you, Ghost,” you say archly, shaking your crumpled skirts out with one hand.

“Sorry, Sweetpea,” Kyle says, and you can’t help but note that he certainly doesn’t sound sorry. “If you read the first chapter of this tonight, we can do a lesson in the morning. This will probably be a step up from whatever paltry lessons the old wizard gave you— I know he took offence to the idea of training you at all, the closed-minded old bastard. If you have any questions, make notes, and we can go over it.” He taps the top of the book you hold. “You can write in it, if you like. I’ve scribbled in the margins a few times myself.”

You tuck the book into your pocket. “Thank you, Kyle. I appreciate that.”

“Anything for you, Sweetpea.”

You hesitate, a bit nervous to ask a favour when he’s already agreed to take time out of his day to give you a lesson in something you’re not sure you have enough talent in to warrant. He’s cleary a busy person, and you don’t want to waste his time.

Kyle senses your hesitation, and reaches for your hand, squeezing reassuringly. “Anything,” he repeats, brown eyes oh-so earnest.

Your ears feel hot. Flirting comes as easily to him as breathing, and even though you’re sure he means little by it, by his relationship with Johnny and the claim that John has laid on you, it’s hard not to grow flustered when he directs the full force of that sunshine smile at you. “Did you ever, um, help your sisters with their hair? I’d like to have a bath this afternoon, and wash my hair, but it’ll take me ages to rebraid it alone. I would really appreciate an extra set of hands if you have a spare minute tomorrow.”

He grins at that, pleased to be able to help you with something that Ghost and Johnny are ill-equipped to. The scar on his cheek dimples slightly when he smiles this hard, the slight flaw in his complexion more a dashing accessory to his charm than any detractor. “Would be happy to help. Do you have everything else you need? Oil? Curl cream?”

You hadn’t thought to check what was in the cupboard in the bathroom. “I’m not sure,” you admit.

“I have some. I’ll bring them by your room later this afternoon, just in case.”

Ghost offers to walk you back to your room, leaving Johnny behind to discuss something with Kyle, although as soon as the door closes, you hear a crash and a series of colourful swear words. You glance behind you as Ghost ushers you down the stairs. “Should we—”

“No. Trust me, Sweetpea. They’re just fine, and not doin’ anything you want to see.”

“Oh.” The implication warms you from the tips of your ears to somewhere in your belly.

“You’ve got the lads all worked up,” Ghost adds, as though you needed more context. “Competin’ with each other to get a smile out of you. Let ‘em blow off a little steam.”

“I don’t understand why they’re so concerned with me, if they have each other,” you say, trailing one hand over the wall, feeling the bumps of cool stone and seams between the cut blocks as you descend. “And John has made no secret of his intentions.”

He touches your arm to halt you, and moves past, taking a few extra steps so he stands below you, the near-hidden gleam of his eyes on level with yours. The two of you are alone here, where the curve of the stairs create a private universe, a pocket of stone and crystal light casting meagre shadow. "What are your intentions?" He asks. "Are you goin' to just let 'im take what 'e pleases?"

"I intend to go home," you say. "I won't be staying."

"Olright, maybe you do go 'ome. And what'f Kyle or Johnny came sniffin' round to court you themselves?"

"They won't."

"Why wun't they? You're a ray of sunshine sweet girl. You're the only one that don't see it."

"Ghost--"

"No, hush up for a moment, princess. You've got the wrong idea. I personally threatened every man that so much as looked your way. For years. Din't think about 'ow that'd make you feel. You're beautiful. Enough to chase, enough to go to bloody war for." His body is still, save for the slightest twitch of his fingers. “I don’t know why you can’t see it. You make us all crazy.”

The surety that John would really let you go slips as Ghost speaks, something fundamental about your footing in the world shifting uneasily beneath you. You had found comfort in the idea that you were quotidian, unremarkable. That the crown alone was aggrandizing, and you could pass unnoticed without it. Now you wonder if you’ve ever gone unnoticed, or if it was just that you had been too obtuse to see. “It doesn’t matter,” you insist. It’s easier to reject what he says outright, even if Ghost has never lied to you, never given you a reason to doubt his words. The ground settles. “I will be going home in a few days, and once John has my official endorsement none of you will have to keep an eye on me again.”

“You won’t rid yourself of me that easily,” he says firmly. “Keepin’ you safe’s one of the only jobs that I do that’s worth doin’. I promised your mum I would, an’ I don’t intend to break my oath just because you don’t think you’re worth it.”

“My mother asked you to?” You had always thought Ghost’s orders had come from your father, setting the quiet, faceless, black-clad knight on your heels, as close as a shadow, only leaving your side when the king sent him off to fight, somewhere far and away. “Why?”

“Figured she could tell I ‘aven’t got an ounce of ambition in me. Used to, before I came ‘ere. Didn’t do me any good. Can’t trust my own head, sometimes. But if I can trust what’s ‘ere—” He puts his hand to his chest, head tipped slightly to the side. “— Then I know I can trust what’s in there.” He lifts his hand and taps his finger against your forehead lightly.

You blink at him, surprised by how much he’s said all at once. Abruptly, he turns around and continues down the stairs, finished the conversation. You spur yourself back into motion, sweeping your skirts up with one hand so you don’t trip. There’s no doubt that you could trust Ghost to catch you, but the risk of sending you both tumbling down the long spiral staircase has you moving cautiously.

He stays with you for a bit, offering help unbraiding your hair and unbuttoning your dress, and leaves without protest when you ask him to. Predictably, he’s quiet the entire time, as though he used up his daily quota of words all at once in the stairway.

You lay out everything you need close to the tub, and sink into a hot bath, sighing. This is perhaps one of the few things you really did miss about castle life— Hot running water. If you wanted a hot bath in town, you would either have to go to the public bathhouse, or spend a good hour boiling enough water to fill a tub at Kate’s house.

You hum happily to yourself, which turns to singing out loud, the acoustics in the tiled room too good to resist. You sing your way through a number of folk songs as you run a cloth over your skin and scrub your hair clean, hot water and soap washing away what little of the darkness from that morning that company and distraction hadn’t banished, clinging shadows in the corners of your mind scoured clean again.

You pull the plug and let the water start to drain, and stand up, wringing your hair out before you reach over to the towel you’d set aside for yourself, bracing you hand on the side of the tub.

“What are you two muppets doing?” John’s voice coming through the cracked open door startles you. And it startles Johnny and Kyle too, because they tumble through the door onto the tiled floor, landing on top of each other in a heap.

You clutch the towel to your front, unable to keep yourself from letting out a surprised shriek. It takes a moment for surprise to give way to anger, your shocked, wide-eyed gaze traveling from Johnny’s red face to Kyle’s guilty expression to John in the doorway, a complicated mix of stony anger and surprise in his blue eyes. Both emotions fade as his attention lingers on your exposed legs, crawling up slowly.

“I came to drop off— But he was—” Kyle starts to try to explain himself.

“Dinnae try to blame tha’ on me, ye fuckin’ roaster, Ahm no’ a’ fault for what yer doin’,” Johnny cuts him off angrily, shoving Kyle off of him. “Yer no’ better than me just ‘cause ye weren’t here first.”

“I wouldn’t have—”

You level a glare at him that has his mouth shutting so fast that you can hear the click of his teeth. “Get out.”

The two of them scramble up and nearly fall over themselves trying to get out as quickly as possible, mortified to have been caught. They start sniping at each other before they’ve even gotten out of earshot.

John, however, doesn’t budge from the doorway. You direct your fury at him. “John. Get out.”

He doesn’t scramble to obey like the younger men did, as is he has any more right to be there than they did. “Sweetpea,” he says evenly, as though he expects to be able to talk you down from your very justified anger with a few measured words.

“Now,” you snap. “Before I lose my temper.”

He hesitates a moment longer, but the look on your face makes him reconsider trying to have a conversation with you for the moment, and he leans into the room just enough to grasp the door handle and pull it closed behind him as he retreats.

You look at the ceiling for a long moment, swallowing down the urge to scream.

By the time Ghost comes to fetch you for dinner (unsurprising that the other three didn’t have the nerve) you’ve mostly calmed down, untangling your emotions as you do your hair. You hope that John will have news of your cousin’s witness, so you can count down the days. The longing for home has intensified, and all you want is to curl up in your bed in Kate’s house and cry. If it will be weeks, you’ll ask if you can go home in the interim, and come back when the time comes to make your speech.

Ghost helps you button up your dress. You’re so tired of needing help from them. Your ire bleeds over, and you’re snappy with him too, annoyed that you’ve had to spend so much time with men lately. Aggravated that you’re forced to rely on them for something as private as getting dressed, when they shouldn’t even be alone with you in your room to begin with.

You apologize on the way down the stairs, however. Ghost just chuckles in response. “Even when you’re snappin’, you’re a peach,” he says. “Don’t think you missed a single opportunity for a please and thank you. Can’t ‘elp yourself from bein’ sweet.”

“Well, you didn’t do anything,” you say. “I’m not angry with you, I shouldn’t be rude.”

“Think it would be a bit of a lark, you bein’ rude.”

You laugh, and it clears away some of the lingering bitterness, like sediment washing away downstream. You feel remarkably clear-headed when you enter the dining room and face the three sets of guilty eyes.

All three of them start to speak at once, and stop as soon as you raise your hand. “I don’t want to hear it,” you say firmly. “All three of you are grown men, and you should know better than to behave so shamefully.”

John frowns, not happy to be receiving the same share of the blame. “Sweetpea, I wasn’t—”

“I am not finished.” You cut him off with a sharp look. “I know I do not need to chastise any of you. All of you were in the wrong. But I share some of the blame too, allowing you all free access to my space in the first place. So here is what will change. One, I would like a lock on my door. No more popping in without permission. Two, you will all learn how to knock. Three, I would like a lady to accompany me for the rest of my stay here. It is not appropriate for me to accept assistance from any man with dressing, and I do not require shadows following me everywhere I go.”

Ghost shifts beside you. “Now ‘old on,” he says. “You need protection.”

“I need no such thing. I do not believe there are assassins waiting around every corner for me.”

“I should be with you,” he insists. “If somethin’ ‘appens—”

“What do you expect is going to happen?” you ask hotly. You’ve lived on your own for years, and your hiding place was apparently well known to everyone. If an assassin was coming to dispatch you, they would have already come. The opportunities had likely been plentiful.

“Ghost is right. You need to be kept safe.” John holds up both hands when you look at him, half a surrender and half a plea for you to hear him out. You raise your eyebrows slightly, waiting. “A compromise. A fighting woman. Someone that can help you with anything you need, and can defend you if something were to happen.”

You incline your head. It’s a reasonable compromise. “That would be acceptable.”

“Farah?” Kyle asks.

“If she’ll say yes, she’d be the person I trust most with Sweetpea’s safety.” John glances at you, and offers you a little smile, like he’s not sure that you’re entirely done scolding. “You’ll like her. I’ll have her meet you in town tomorrow. Want you fitted for something nice to wear for your speech.”

“There is a closet full of perfectly nice dresses in my room,” you say. “I do not need anything else.”

“Indulge me. Your cousin’s man will be here tomorrow night, and the day after we’ll have you make your statement.” John’s smile widens, turning the slightest, inexplicable bit smug. “Want you to look your best, if it’s to be your last day as a princess, hm? And then on to better things.”

You sigh. It can't hurt to give in on this matter, since you won't have to stay much longer. “Very well, John. Although I think it’s a waste.”

The look in his deep blue eyes is inscrutable, but his smile doesn't slip. “I disagree. Nothing you let me give to you could ever be a waste.”

***

Image credits: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - Divider by CafeKitsune

[nthspecialll]

The slaughter of the old

In Red Dead Redemption two you can find two referneces to vikings, both of which are points of interest laying in Mufree Brood land and at first glance there is nothing wrong, but when you look into it, it tells a gruesome tale.

The Old World Scrips is a stone you can find about as west as you can possibly travel on the map, and while half of it remains untranslated, the other half tells of friendly folks.

"We arrived by boat. Beautiful land, gracious people. So we left them to live in peace" Is the meaning of the text in the middle, the text in the snake looks to be a mix between Elder Futhark and Younger Futhark, however when translating it just comes out as gipperish to me and I haven't seen anyone have any luck online either.

The second thing which can be found is the Old Tomb which is a half, open, half closed alter tomb, something where you can find the Viking Helmet, the Viking Hatchet and the Viking Comb.

Now the thing about this place is that it makes no sense at all.

This very clearly looks like a sacrifice but vikings weren't keen on human sacrifices, it wasn't a common practice and when it was done, it was done very differently. One of the largest amount of human sacrifices by vikings in one spot was seven in Trelleborg Denmark, which is the remains of a massive old viking fortress. If we look at the pictures, there are clearly more than seven people here, and even with seven, it was over a longer period of time, with those seven people were also over two hundred animal remains. It was not common.

And the few sacrifices that were made were not done like this. Vikings either hung, strangled or drowned their victimes and they would afterwards be thrown into water, often wells as there is a connection between wells and nordic mythology. Which is why you can find a bigger amount of bog bodies in Denmark such as the Grauballe Man and the Tollund Man.

Now my second thought was, maybe it is a burial ground, just a regular one. But vikings did not bury people like this, regular people were just buried like you would to this day, rich people were buried in grave mound, and I highly doubt that this is someone that the vikings fought as they probably would not make this for enemies and also they said they would leave the people in the area to live in peace.

However the vikings were still in that tomb, their things are all over the place, but I see it more possible that the vikings were the victims, not the perpetrators.

[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

[tofapam]

AFTERWARD

Summary: Genya's S/O survived the battle fighting Muzan and how it effects her after it.

Disclaimer: Spoiler after the training arc and it contains angst with no fluff ending.

I'm sorry mate, English is not my first language

We got separated eventually, i was contradicted to believe in him at that time, i thought i could comprehend both of our trust that we build with each others from the start. He always tries his best to be better, good God he has a mind of his own, why did i think i have the authority to always save him?

Save him.

Save him save him.

Save him save him save him save him save him save him save him save him save him save him.

Save him save him save him save him save him save him save him save him save him save him save him save him save him save him save him save him save him save him save him SAVE HIM SAVE HIM SAVE HIM SAVE HIM SAVE HIM SAVE HIM SAVE HIM SAVE HIM SAVE HIM SAVE HIM SAVE HIM SAVE HIM SAVE HIM SAVE HIM SAVE HIM SAVE HIM SAVE HIM SAVE HIM SAVE HIM SAVE HIM SAVE HIM SAVE HIM SAVE HIM SAVE HIM SAVE HIM SAVE HIM SAVE HIM SAVE HIM SAVE HIM SAVE HIM SAVE HIM SAVE HIM.

I just want Genya to make a promise to me to survive, i didnt even care if i'm going to die here, im not a hashira after all, but no matter how i tried i dont have the courage to told him....

From the look of his eyes I know he waited for me to say something, but this is not a place to show expressions, I don't wanna get distracted.

Who am i kidding, i was never good at expressing my own thoughts.

He survived fighting uppermoon 4 and 5, he'll survive this war, he must be, i dont need to tell him to survived, he'll live right? I don't have to worry too much.

The battle ended 3 months ago, many flowers are putted on every grave of the people that are miscarry after fighting Muzan with the others,"Zenitsu san, don't you think its disrespectful to whine about the time we have to put these flowers on everybody's graves?" Zenitsu keeps whining, althought it die down after i tried to talk with him to make him feel less tired and bored.

A few hours later, its almost done, only one more grave. "Tanjiro, can you tell the others not to wait for me after this?" Tanjiro raised his eyebrows,"is everything alright?" I tried to explain everything to him, thankfully he understands my purpose, i gave a smile to him as a silent thank you after i saw him leave with the others.

It has been a breezy day lately, its very calming, i have been waiting for this weather to come, I put the flowers on the graves, I never dared to look at its name. I always hate this one grave personally, last time I look at its name I can't even bear to hold my tears to look at it.

I still remember our last conversation.

He thought I would be the last person to stay on his gravestone, he was wrong.

I turned out to be the first person to leave his gravestone, i respected Sanemi for staying there longer than anyone could, because I know myself, if i look at Genya's name craved on the stone more than one minute I can't hold back all my despair.

Now, it's already 3 months after the battle. I thought i finally had the courage to look at your gravestone longer than before, Genya. But no matter how many times I tried i can't help to have such a heavy emotion.

"I'm sorry we didn't have a proper goodbye,"I don't even know how many times i said that word.

For a few months i try my best to keep on living until now, Tanjiro and Nezuko tried to make me ate more saying that my proportion was too small. I just thought, maybe if i eat less i could die faster so i can meet you, but will you look at me after i die? I doubt it, you're probably already feel happy to be with your family again.

One thing that is always on my mind is, if you still alive, will we still be together?

I don't even want to think about it anymore.

[lunamania2024]

I love you and Nothing can change that

Togame Jo x Tomiyama's older sister!Fem!reader

Summary: Togame Writes you a letter, apologising for not protecting you.

WANING: ANGST with Fluff

_______________________☙

Dear Y/n,

Hello, my love. How are you? I hope you are doing well where you are. Well... I know I don't have a proper place to write you a letter, but I just want you to know that I have changed after our conflict with the Furin. And that's not all; Choji, your younger brother whom you always spoiled, is now grown up and embarking on his chosen path. He is also taller than before. Additionally, I met a Furin boy who is just like you - a perfect copy of you. He's strong, brave, and even tsundere, just like you.

Love, I know it's too late, but I'm sorry. I remember the time when you asked if I would cry if you were gone, and you probably heard me that time. But I want to reiterate to you, to tell you a million times, that every time I think of you, tears always spill from my eyes. I am truly sorry, my love, and I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me. I believe that when we reunite, wherever you may be, because death cannot separate us, not even god. Once again, I love you.

Sincerely,

Togame Jo, your charming husband  

BONUS!!!

"Jo," you quietly called, your eyes half closed, lips turning pale, and hands trembling. "Would... you cry... or miss me... if I died?" you asked between coughs, smiling softly at him, masking the pain in your chest and body, which made moving unbearable. Togame began to answer but was interrupted by the monitor beeping, and he watched as the green line turned straight.

Tears streamed down his face, answering the question he knew you wouldn't hear but one that would bring you comfort. "Yes, I would because it's you," he muttered with a tightened grip on your hand, pressing your cold, pale hand to his forehead, pleading for you to wake up and silently begging the gods to bring you back. "And I love you," he murmured, tears uncontrollably falling from his eyes.

-PRESENT:

"Kame-chan," Choji called, looking at the Furin leaving the base. "You know, that it's been 2 years since I saw that smile."

"Really?"

"Yeah, since Sis died you never smiled so sweetly before, so beautiful." Choji smiled, remembering her older sister playing with him.

"Your right, it's been two years but I still can't forget her beautiful smile, the image of her still stuck on my brain." he laugh, and glancing over his short friend "Wanna visit her? It's been a while after all."

"Hm." Choji agreed, "Let's also bring her a [Favourite Food/drinks]!" he exclaimed.

_______________________☙

"Good morning, Sis! Look what we bought!" he happily said, placing your favorite food and drinks on your grave stone.

"We came to visit you, Love," Togame smiled, as the wind grew stronger but warmer, providing comfort. Togame and Choji's eyes widened as they heard a faint, sweet, and comforting voice carried on the wind.

"Thank you."

Both of them smiled and replied,

"You're welcome."

[silent-stories]

𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐎𝐌 - 𝟐

Pairing: Eddie x F!Reader

Summary: Eddie graduated and you can't not go tell his mom.

Warnings: a bit of angst, fluff

Part 1

Eddie's gaze fell on the flowers on the desk in your room as soon as he entered, and he immediately froze a few feet away from the door.

They were potted with water and tied by a thin blue rope.

They were pretty.

This meant that someone other than him had bought you flowers and the thought immediately caused him a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Was it someone from school?

Was he the blond guy who always smiled at you when you entered class? Was he the blue-eyed guy who always waved at you in the hallway? Or maybe it was the jock who was always staring at you in the cafeteria?

Did you accept flowers from them? From someone other than him?

"Who got you flowers?" He asked much more shyly than he would have liked, almost as if he expected that one day you'd find someone better than him.

"Oh, no. That's not what it seems." You started explaining, getting up from your bed and walking towards him.

Eddie looked at you suspiciously. "Who?"

"Me. I bought those flowers."

"For who?" He asked again, even more confused.

You rolled your eyes. "Since when you don't trust me?"

"Sweetheart I trust you, the thing is-"

"For your mom."

Eddie suddenly stopped talking, staring at you with those big chocolate brown eyes that you started loving the moment you first saw them.

Did you really buy flowers for her?

"I wanted to talk to you about this...I wanted to ask you if you wanted to visit her again, it's been a long time since we've been there together and I thought we could go and tell her that you graduated. Because I know she would be so fucking proud of you. But only if you want too, of course."

Eddie stood silent and you immediately feared you might have said the wrong thing. "We don't have to, really. I thought maybe you'd like it but we can do another day or if you want to go alone it's more than okay and-"

Eddie suddenly took two big steps towards you and wrapped his arms around you, almost lifting you off the ground in the process, and pulled you close to him.

A smile appeared on your lips as he buried his face in the crook of your neck and in your hair and inspired your smell, closing his eyes. "I love you fucking so much."

You giggled at the way he was basically collapsing onto you and caressed his back with your hand, tracing imaginary patterns and running it up and down his spine.

"Does this mean you want to go? With me?" You asked after a few moments.

"Of course I want to go with you." He whispered without letting you go.

Eddie was holding your hand when you arrived at his mom's grave.

You looked down at the bunch of flowers you were holding, watching a bee fly over them and land on a petal.

You passed them to Eddie as the bee flew away.

He looked at them for a moment, without taking them, then he nodded towards the grave as if giving you permission to leave them in front of it.

You took a step forward, without releasing Eddie's hand and placed the flowers in front of the headstone, murmuring a "Good morning Mrs. Munson" before you both sat down in front of it, like last time.

"Elizabeth." Eddie said.

"What?" It was his mom's name, you knew that. It was engraved in the stone, you only found out about it the first time Eddie brought you there because he didn't talk much about her.

"You can call her Elizabeth." He added holding your hand a little tighter.

You ran your thumb over the back of it, tracing a few circles. "Okay."

"Well, mom...not much has happened since we last been here. My band isn't famous yet. I haven't found a job yet. I haven't-"

"Eddie."

He rolled his eyes.

"Focus on good things."

"I graduated. It was about damn time. They made us wear those awful green tunics and we had those stupid hats on. But I went over it, because I finally graduated. Now I really need to get a job though. My band don't make enough money when we play to five drunks and-"

"Eddie, good things." You scolded him in a playful tone.

The atmosphere was less sad than last time. It almost sounded like a normal conversation you could hear every day.

"Good things..." Eddie repeated, thinking about it.

"Y/N is still with me." He finally said.

"I'm sure you can find better things."

"But you are my best thing."

You smiled. He had said it in a joking tone but he really believed it, you knew it.

"And it's really weird that she's still with me. I mean, she must be really crazy. With all the people out there she's still with me. Taking care of me. And Wayne. And now she's buying flowers for you. Really crazy. And I love her for that."

You brought his hand that still had his fingers intertwined with yours, to your lips and left a kiss on his back. "I love you too."

Eddie smiled. "What did I tell you? Out of her mind!"

You chuckled shaking your head. "It takes one to know one."

A gust of wind blew some dry leaves in front of the tombstone, near the flowers so you reached out to gently sweep them away.

"Thanks for coming." He said after a moment of silence, his brown eyes were soft when he looked at you.

"It's a pleasure. We can come back here anytime you want." You said before your eyes landed on the photo of the woman on the tombstone.

"She looked so much like you, you know?"

You saw Eddie's body tense slightly and you immediately feared you might have said the wrong thing.

"When I was little everyone said I looked like my father." He started. "They said I had his smile, even though he wasn't a big smiler." He added the last part with a bitter laugh. "They said I had his nose. And that I was as rowdy as he was. Growing up I always wished that wasn't true. I always wished I got something from my mom too."

"People must not have given you a good look. I mean, you don't have her hair, she was almost blonde. And you don't have her smile, that's true. But her eyes? You definitely have her eyes. I'd recognize anywhere your beautiful, kind, brown eyes and you got them from her, trust me.”

"You" He said pointing his index finger at you "I know what you're doing, you're trying to make me cry again. And it's not going to happen, okay?"

You laughed at his words as he pulled you towards him to kiss your forehead before whispering a soft "I love you so much".

Then he slowly got up and held out his hand, helping you up to leave the graveyard.

He wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you closer to him.

"I love you too." You said raising your head slightly towards him just to catch a glimpse of the smile on his lips.

He turned towards the grave before starting to walk away. "Bye mom." He said in a sweet tone.

You turned around one last time too. "Bye Elizabeth."

Tags: @jacklesdeanvessel @morning-sky7 @pipsqueakkitten

[theyanderebin]

Yantober Day 2! Fate!

I had a bit of fun with this one! I like making creatures :)

A dress and some stockings are mentioned like once but other than that the reader gender is pretty ambiguous, i think-

(Prompt from @Ozzgin's Yantober list, it's a very good one, if you haven't looked you should go check it out!)

it's about 1.5K words

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

How many? How many times!? How many times did it have to find you like this! Your body cold, lifeless. Blood pooling beneath your soft body. Your pretty eyes glazed over. It's blood boiled as it gently scooped up your corpse in it's large arms, silently carrying you away.

It buried you. Carefully and lovingly, in a delicately carved coffin. As it does every time. It stared out over the plot of land, grass a lively green. Unlike the stones laid in it. Each and every one, a grave of it's lover. A reminder of every time it was too late to save you. A low growl left it's snarled lips, thick tail whipped in frustration. It vowed not to fail next time. No matter what it had to do…

There's a prophecy passed through many generations. A cruel one, some might say. A prophecy of a powerful monster and it's lover. That if they were ever to reunite the world would crumble into an end, or so it says.

You're family, knew this prophecy well. Being that they were one of those to be tasked to destroy every reincarnation of it's lover and they did. Along with many other families, many times over. Despite your family heritage, your own training, you couldn't help but feel sour about the whole thing. "It kind of sucks, doesn't it?" You'd say to your siblings. They'd both only shrug, "That's just how it is." And you could only sigh in reply.

Your apparent sympathies for the monster had always drawn concern across your mother's face, her brows furrowed, lip pursed into a thin line. "We have to." She'd start, but by the second time you'd stopped her. "I know we have to, doesn't mean it sucks any less though…" Now only she could sigh "You're too good, for your own good."

It always took forever for the families to find each reincarnation. Even despite how wide spread they were, how many people were dedicated to staving of the crumbling end. Even so they managed. Your family having kept notes on small things about each and every version they'd slaughtered, did make it easier?

Well judging by the frantic energy, the answer would be. No. If anything you were beginning to think they were too obsessed with the little details. They found patterns in traits, likes, features, wherever they could. Kept drilling it all into each and every one of their heads. You'd found yourself staring into your grandmother's notes on few occasions, never particularly seeing whatever it is that they raved about. None of it ever really lined up for you. Clearly there was something though, right? They hadn't failed yet.

One thing that you'd noticed on your most recent perusal of the notes, flipping through old thin pages. The dates they had written, when they'd found and slaughtered the right person. They were becoming further and further apart. They were getting harder to find. "Maybe, we're a little too focused on the details?" You thought, "It's like they're all forgetting there's a picture at all…" You kept reading, noting briefly that man that's a lot of child murder- flicking the page to the most recently dated. A few weeks off 25 years ago. You huffed a laugh, "Wow, it's taking a real long time. At this rate I'll be dead before they figure out who it is." Closing the book, leaving on the table you meandered out of the archive room.

Weeks went by and before you knew it it was your 25th birthday. You looked yourself over in the mirror, outfit? Check. Personally you think you did an excellent job styling yourself. A cute dress and stockings that hugged your plump thighs. Picking up your bag off of the end of your bed. Phone, wallet and keys? Check, check and check! Phone pinging, you could hear the car outside.

Sat underneath an umbrella with your friends, at the outdoor table of your favourite lunch spot. The cafe wasn't exactly the busiest but the fact it was nice and kind of quaint was always what drew the lot of you to it. The outside of the cafe had a selection of garden bed with multitudes of flowers in a range of colours. You always made sure to put them in every photo you all took together. Even while you giggled and chatted away with the group. No matter what you did, something was off. An odd feeling in your stomach, it made the hair on your neck stand up. It was like something was watching. No matter what you tried, using your phone camera to look behind you. Nothing. Going inside to get a napkin. You could still feel eyes on you. No matter where you went. As long as you had people around you were good, right? It'll be fine. So you stayed with your friends all day, like you'd all been planning to. Listening to their shenanigans and ignoring the pit in your stomach. One of them lamented the time last week that they had to take their dog to the vet.

"I got in the car, started driving," She pushed her hair behind her ear, was that a shadow behind her? "And i drove myself all the way there. Like the full 45 minute drive. Without realising," Her roommate snickered and they shushed them. You could of sworn you just saw a pair of eyes around the corner of that building down the street. "The worst part. I'd parked and everything! Look back? Oh!" She throws up her hands, "No dog!" Their roommate giggling maniacally at her misery. "I'd just fully forgotten the dog! How do you even do that?" She huffed and you let out a small exhale.

The feeling never did go away. Instead it began to stay longer, like it was waiting for something. Out of the corner of you eye some days, there was something. You never managed to catch it. It never mattered how fast you whipped around. Your mother had seen you do it once or twice one day. "Are you okay?" She asked, her brows furrowed in worry. Never one to want to worry your mother "Uh! Yah! Yeah. I'm.. I'm good. just flies." You grinned awkwardly. Whatever it was you were pretty sure you could deal with it. "Flies?" Blinked your mother. "Yep." "Right… Well if something IS wrong you can tell me" She said, placing her hand on your shoulder "You do know that right?" "Yeah. Yeah um, thanks…" You breathed.

You never did end up mentioning it.

Breathing heavily you hauled yourself around the corner of a brick building, you weren't even sure where you were going. Everything was starting to blur into colours. Your lungs burned and your legs were going numb. Well if you survived this you'd have news for your family! It's resurfaced! The path changed around you. Unable to stop your momentum to put your hands out to cushion yourself and push off of the newly placed brick wall in front of you. Only you turned and collided with the fuzzy chest of the creature that was hunting you. "Shit." You thought. Fur coated reptilian tail wrapping around your waist, it's big arms enclosed around your shoulders, hand on the back off your head and pressing you closer to it.

You were the one. It could smell it. It could feel it. It could feel it in how perfect you felt in it's arms. You could only blink in confusion as a rumble emanated from it's warm body. It was kind of nice, almost comforting, familiar even… "Oh." You belatedly realised as it purred into you hair "Oh no." Your thoughts were very interrupted by it lifting you carefully off of the ground. "Finally…" It mumbled, "You are safe. I will protect you this time. I swear it" You tried to wriggle your way out of it's arms, this only resulted in it holding your soft round body that little bit tighter. Bordering on uncomfortable, it wasn't letting you go. It purred practically the whole time as it took you away, claws gently running over your scalp.

It kept you safe and tucked away in it's home, far into the woods. A simple home. You stayed there, far away from everything. The bed it gave you was far softer than anything you'd ever had in your life. Staying with you every night and curling it big fur covered body around you to ensure you're safe and warm. You weren't even sure of the actual state the world was in, you couldn't tell if anything had gone wrong. So you stayed and let it play with your hair and press kisses to you round face and chubby belly. You stayed and let it rest it's head on your thigh in the lounge room while you petted it behind it's ears that were somewhere between a fox and a cat's. All you felt like you could do was stay inside that house in the woods and let it love you almost reverently. Like the world was one big cat in a box that you didn't want to open.