#sometimes feels like a haunting and a curse

[aeth-eris]

★ dark truth of the planets in the 12th house ★

★ sun in the 12th house feels like a life spent unseen. people with this placement often grow up feeling like they’re destined to exist in someone else’s shadow, never really finding their place in the world. they learn to hide their light, terrified of showing who they really are, afraid that if they did, they’d be rejected or forgotten anyway. every attempt to be noticed feels like it falls flat, and so they retreat, choosing to be invisible rather than risk the pain of invisibility. this placement creates a quiet ache, a life spent watching others live fully, wondering if they’ll ever be allowed to step out of the shadows. ★

★ moon in the 12th house is like a heart locked away, buried so deep that even they can’t reach it sometimes. people with this placement feel emotions so vast, so all-consuming, but they have no safe space to share them. they may spend their lives aching for comfort, for someone to understand, yet feeling that they’ll be crushed under the weight of their own emotions. they cry alone, in silence, their pain invisible to the world. this placement often makes them feel like they’re drowning in emotions they can never express, longing for a release that never seems to come. ★

★ mercury in the 12th house often leaves people feeling voiceless. there’s so much they want to say, so much they want to express, but words feel just out of reach. every attempt to share their thoughts feels like fumbling in the dark, tripping over silence and misunderstanding. they’re plagued by doubts, haunted by thoughts they can’t escape but can’t articulate. this placement leaves them feeling isolated, watching conversations from the outside, yearning to connect but forever feeling unheard, as though their mind is trapped behind glass. ★

★ venus in the 12th house knows what it’s like to love in silence, to ache for a connection that must stay hidden. people with this placement often fall in love with people they can’t have, or they love quietly, without hope of reciprocation. they know the pain of unspoken words, of yearning for someone who barely knows they exist. they give and give, always hoping, always waiting, but they’re often left in the cold, their love unseen and unacknowledged. this placement teaches them the loneliness of love, the ache of wanting someone they can never fully reach. ★

★ mars in the 12th house feels like a fire that’s forever dampened, a spark that’s always smothered before it can catch. they may spend their lives feeling frustrated, knowing they have so much passion, so much drive, but never finding the courage to bring it to life. every step they take feels tentative, as though they’re afraid of their own power, terrified of the anger that simmers just beneath the surface. they often feel like they’re fighting a silent battle, wrestling with an enemy they can’t see, their own strength a distant, unreachable dream. ★

★ jupiter in the 12th house is the quiet ache of lost potential, the sense that they’re destined for something more, something grand, yet they’re always held back by invisible chains. they may feel cursed with bad luck, as though every opportunity slips through their fingers just as they’re about to grasp it. they yearn for meaning, for purpose, but are often left feeling empty, their dreams just out of reach. this placement fills them with an aching loneliness, a silent grief for the life they feel they should be living but can never quite attain. ★

★ saturn in the 12th house is a lifetime of bearing burdens no one else can see, a quiet, relentless weight that presses down on them. they live with a sense of responsibility they can’t shake, often feeling as though they’re atoning for sins they don’t even remember committing. every moment is shadowed by guilt or regret, a haunting feeling that they’re never good enough, never strong enough. they’re alone in their suffering, burdened by fears that no one else can understand, and they may spend their lives trapped in self-imposed isolation, afraid to let anyone see the depth of their pain. ★

★ uranus in the 12th house is the constant, gnawing feeling of being misunderstood, of being a stranger in a world that will never truly accept them. they often feel like an outsider, always on the fringe, watching life pass by in a blur of rules and routines that suffocate them. they yearn for freedom, for a life that feels authentic, yet every attempt to break free leaves them feeling more isolated, more lost. they’re haunted by a restlessness that won’t go away, a desire to belong yet knowing they’ll never fit in. ★

★ neptune in the 12th house is a soul that’s always slipping away, a life lived in the shadows of dreams and illusions. people with this placement often feel like they’re drowning in a sea of emotions and fantasies, unable to grasp onto anything solid. reality feels harsh, unforgiving, and so they retreat into their own world, drifting through life in a haze. they ache for connection, for clarity, yet they’re haunted by an endless fog, a sense of loneliness that’s too deep to articulate. this placement brings an endless yearning for something just out of reach, a longing for escape that’s never fully satisfied. ★

★ pluto in the 12th house is like carrying a dark, unspoken weight, a lifetime haunted by shadows and fears they can’t explain. they often feel as though they’re hiding something from themselves, as though there’s a darkness lurking within that they’re terrified to confront. they may carry unresolved trauma, past-life memories, or a deep sense of dread that follows them like a shadow. this placement can leave them feeling haunted, trapped in a cycle of self-destruction and rebirth, unable to break free from the patterns that control them. the only way out is through, but the journey feels endless, the darkness too overwhelming. ★

★ chiron in the 12th house is a wound that refuses to heal, a pain that feels eternal. people with this placement often feel cursed with a suffering they can’t explain, as though they’re carrying the pain of generations past. they may feel like they’re destined to suffer in silence, to bear a burden no one else can understand. every step forward feels like it’s met with resistance, every attempt to heal only brings them closer to the depths of their own pain. this placement is a lifetime of learning to make peace with suffering, to find strength in vulnerability, even when the world feels like it’s crumbling around them. ★

[sforzesco]

When I was a teenager I read Macbeth, and the part where he s haunted by Banquo never left my soul. The way you write about hauntings has unlocked a critical part of my brain.

you with macbeth 🤝 me with hamlet: shakespeare's impact on teenagers and hauntings is unparalleled

[whotfelsewantedtobelynnyx]

Definitely real deleted scene from the Agatha All Along Finale (it happened in my heart, okay?)

⚠️‼️Warning: SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT! ⚠️‼️

Billy, after tracking down Jen: So…that’s how it happened.

Jen, sipping her wine: Mmhm.

Billy: Aaaaaandddddd now Agatha’s haunting me. Somehow she’s become MORE annoying as a ghost.

Jen, finishing her drink: That sounds about right.

Billy: You’re…surprisingly not surprised by any of this. Did you figure it out already, or…?

Jen, pouring herself another glass: I had an inkling.

Ghostly Lilia, poking her head into the room: We helped.

Billy: *chokes*

Bonus:

Billy, eyeing Ghost! Lilia: So, uh…you said we, right? Where’s Alice?

Jen, sighing: She’s outside. She gets all poltergeist-y when she’s upset and my house’s electrical system can’t take it.

Ghost! Alice from out the window: YOU KILLED ME FOR MY POWER AND THEN DIDN’T EVEN USE IT?! YOU LITERALLY THREW MY LIFE AWAY FOR A KISS, YOU ASSHOLE OF A LESBIAN!

Ghost! Agatha, poking her head out the window: So…no hard feelings?

Ghost! Alice: *glaring at her*

[cookinguptales]

now that I'm done imagining a jar of peanut butter, can I just say that I love that Shane and Ryan have shifted away from traditional true crime to just shootin' the shit about weird-ass mysteries?

I always liked the "let's talk about weird mysteries" aspect of buzzfeed unsolved, but being real with you, I'm uncomfortable with true crime and the culture surrounding it. like... as someone who lost a loved one to a violent (and temporarily unsolved) crime, I've seen firsthand how internet theorizing can make a traumatizing time even harder and like. it's fucking rough, man.

I get that it makes money and all (which... is a whole other can of worms) but when you view human suffering as entertainment, it's so easy to forget about the real people who will actually be affected by what's put out there on the internet.

so I'm happy that Shane and Ryan seem to be leaning a lot more into "wow, some unhinged shit happened! how fucked up is that?" on mystery files. more of this, please!!

[sorrowsaint]

im going to bed

heres a song i like goodnight

[adrianastrix]

I refuse to believe it was drawn in anger. It was someone who secretly loved werewolves and wanted him to feel better, but had to disguise it as a diss to not be persecuted.

That's my headcanon now, screw reality. What are they gonna do, time travel to the future to sue me? *looks around nervously, then breaths a sign of relief* Well, I though so!

Thinking about the werewolf from the hate mail Lemgo council pharmacist David Welman (1595 - 1669) got after being accused of being a werewolf

[bi-writes]

ok but soulmate au with ghost but it's the fucking opposite of rainbows and sunshine. (18+)

you share his trauma. his stress. his anxiety. you do not know who he is, and yet you know the pain of a thousand punches because it's the only feeling he has ever given you. you know the grueling ache of abandonment and the terrible neglect of abuse and the disgusting amalgamation of all your worst nightmares before you even turn 20. everything that he gives you feels aggressive, like it burns, and he only ever gives you reprieve for so long until you just feel it all over again.

it makes you tired. it makes you sick. at first, as a girl, all you wanted to do was comfort him. you wanted to know who he was so you could kiss the cigarette burns that you feel and soak up the blood you know he bleeds.

but as you age, you begin to hate him. you hate him because he does this to you, he hurts you, doesn't he know that he's hurting you? doesn't he know that everything he feels, you feel tenfold, doesn't he know that the terror and the horror of everything he witnesses weighs down your chest, makes you feel like you're drowning over and over and over again?

for a few years into your adulthood, everything is quiet. you feel little except the ache in his back he never tends to, the creak of his knee joints that he refuses to stretch out. you wish you knew him so you could scold him for it, but you curse at a ghost. sometimes you think about doing something to get back at him--you think about carving a FUCK YOU into your arm, about throwing yourself in front of a bus just so he can fucking understand that his entire life is one fucked-up cycle of pain and misery and horror, but you can't bring yourself to do it.

you can't hurt him. you just can't.

and then, the real pain begins. it brings you to your knees, this pain. you scream, you wail, because it feels like you're being carved from the inside-out. your face burns. your chest heaves. you feel like your ribs are breaking, you can't breathe, you claw at the invisible wounds that your soulmate must be wearing, and you beg him to stop, you beg him to let me go--just fucking die already--please, please, please--

those weeks haunt you. the torture he endures, it is branded to you. you wear no scars, and you never lost any blood, but the phantom flesh that you know is gone follows you in your sleep and never shuts up. it talks, it snarls, it eats at your insides. even when he heals, you are never the same. you wake up from nightmares that you know you share with him. you look over your shoulder for the predators you know he has encountered, and you cry yourself to sleep over the loss of something that you can't even decipher because you have no idea who he is or what he buried to feel this way inside.

he's sick. he's twisted. he's a walking corpse, he has no redeemable qualities, he is selfish and mean and cruel, and you hate him, and if it wasn't for the pain that you would feel, the first thing you would do when you saw him is drive something right through his heart to finally stop the undying infection he spreads to everything that he touches.

you know it is him when you finally meet him. you would know him anywhere; you’d know him just by the scars alone who he is because you remember what it felt like when he got them. when you eye the sleeve of tattoos along his left arm--the fucked, shitty, sunburnt art that made it impossible for you to finish your university exams. the faded, grey circles that line the other, ones you recognize being from the burning cigarettes that you would smell when you closed your eyes. and when he removes his mask briefly, you recognize the scar that cuts above his lip and strikes through his eye--that one left you reeling on the bathroom floor particularly loudly. you thought he might be blind if it wasn't for seeing the darkness of both of his eyes.

you start to cry. you start to cry because as soon as he realizes who you are, as soon as you see that flicker of knowing flash across his eyes, all of the hatred and the anger and the poison that plagued you for all this time vanishes. everything you fought so hard to feel, all the misery you wanted to bestow upon him for making your life a living hell, it's gone.

because the universe is cruel, the universe has done what it has done, and it has made this singular person just for you, and against everything you believe, you know that you love him, and you hate yourself for it, and you hate the universe, too.

you have endured. but maybe you endured so he didn't have to. maybe you endured so that he could have this, the feeling that he feels right now, that feeling of sudden relief.

he slides a large hand over his chest, flinching slightly. he blinks, understanding suddenly that he's feeling your joy, your elation. when you shuffle your way over to him, breaching the conversation the men around him are having, you ignore their confused stares as you fling yourself into his chest.

ghost forces you against him, trapping you to him. he practically chokes, tangling a gloved hand into your hair, and you sob into the warm skin of his neck as he hoists you into his arms, into his lap. you don't pay attention to the curious voices around you, you just bury yourself into him and cry. his body is the evidence of all that has happened to him, and you aren't angry anymore because you're relieved.

he's real. he's alive. he's here. he's okay.

when you pull back to look up at him, you blink away the tears that are falling fast down your face. he stares down equally as intensely, drinking in the sight of those big, wet eyes. when he smooths a big hand down your face, he grumbles when he realizes what you are, how you know him.

he never realized this was what he and his soulmate shared. you in your life had never felt pain like he had--he had no idea what he was doing to you. he had no idea what you were surviving at the same time.

he closes his eyes and rests his forehead against yours, and your lips tremble as you cup his cheeks and hold him close.

it feels wrong to feel this kind of comfort, but he does anyways. he thinks, maybe, that perhaps the only reason he survived was because of you.

because there was someone else, far away, that loved him enough to keep him breathing. even when he thought it was over.

[carebeardean]

Charles whose dad smashed his cassette tape with a hammer learns to navigate the backpack cause, like, he needs to be useful, yeah?

and this way Charles has everything Edwin needs, and if Edwin gets sick of him he’ll just.. he doesn’t know what he’ll do.

but then Edwin gets the record player.

he suggests, tentatively, that Charles might play some of his “queen” if he liked. after all, if they are to haunt potential realtors away from their new office, they may as well entertain themselves.

so they take turns, switching out; edwin likes opera. he shows Charles how to waltz, chiding Charles to stop looking at his feet til they’re gliding, whirling around like they’re in the movies. Edwin’s smile is small and pleased and lovely. (Charles attempt to get Edwin to headbang along to queen results in a sort of awkward rhythmic nodding. Charles loves him so much he could die again.)

And, like. Edwin doesn’t like clutter. he doesn’t bother with the random tidbits ghosts give them for solving cases.

until now, apparently.

now he comes back from trading at the goblin market with little useless things—a cursed rubix cube, records from bands Charles mentioned years ago.

Charles is so busy trying to subtly read his book on Edwardian courting rituals (disguised by Nikos discreet manga covers) that he doesn’t realize what Edwin’s set down in front of him. he stares at Edwin’s spiky handwriting, the tidy numbered list.

“I thought, perhaps, that we might—start a new tradition.”

Charles blinks, eyes stinging. “Mate, did you.. make me a mixtape?”

“Crystal assisted me, and while she was absolutely insuffer—“ Edwin staggers, catching him with a surprised little noise.

“I love you so much,” Charles says, muffled into his throat. “You’re my favorite person. I love you so much it hurts, sometimes.”

“Yes,” Edwin says softly, hands curling around his waist. He takes Charles weight like it’s nothing. “I believe I know the feeling.”

this is a longer fic on ao3 now!

[aquaticmercy]

All These Things That I've Done

Summary : In which Bucky leaves behind a loving note every time he goes on a mission. But what happens when you stumble on a letter not meant to be found… yet?

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x Reader (she/her) 

Warnings : cursing, mentions of death

Requested by : myself haha

Word count : 2.7k

Note : This is just angsty fluff with a happy ending, really. It was inspired by a song by the Killers of the same title. Enjoy!

Requests are open!

You woke up in the early hours of dawn, the sunlight filtering softly through the sheer curtains, blanketing warmth over the room. You rolled over, expecting to find Bucky beside you, but your hand touched only a tangle of sheets. 

Shit. What day was it? You glanced toward the calendar on the wall, and your stomach dropped. Of course. He was supposed to leave for some sort of extraction mission today.

You couldn’t deny the worry rising in your throat. You knew deep down, James Buchanan Barnes was one of the most skilled fighters on the planet. Sam always reminded you of that the last time you saw him, as if he knew how much you worried. He’d battled alien armies and come out with only a few scratches. A mission like this? It ought to be a piece of cake. You pushed anxiety back down your stomach.

The room was eerily quiet, almost haunting. You heard a soft thud from the hallway, followed by Bucky’s muttering to himself from the other side of the slightly open bedroom door. “Where did I leave my gloves?”

You smiled at his gruff frustration and shouted out just loud enough for him to hear, “Did you check the dryer?”

There was silence before you heard a cluster of steps, and then his voice echoed back through from the washing room, “Got it!”

His footsteps made their way back to you as Bucky appeared in the doorway, fully suited up in his gear. He was strapping the glove onto his human hand, his vibranium arm reflecting in the morning light. You couldn’t help but admire him, eyeing him from top to bottom, your breath hitching at how effortlessly handsome he looked in his tactical suit.

“Morning, doll,” he said with that half-smile that always made your heart flutter like a million little butterflies simultaneously beating their wings.

You sat up, rubbing your eyes as he walked over. He reached the edge of the bed, sitting down next to you. He leaned down to brush a strand of hair away from your face and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, making your chest warm with joy. “I didn't mean to wake you up.” He apologised. 

“You didn’t,” you mumbled, still groggy from a dreamless sleep. With a tired smile, you asked, “Did you hide the note yet?”

It was a tradition the two of you had started long ago: before every mission, Bucky would leave you a little note, something for you to find while he was away. A scavenger hunt, if you will, to keep you occupied, to remind you he was always thinking of you. Sometimes the notes were practical—like ‘Don’t forget to drink water while I’m gone.’ Other times, they were a bit longer and heartfelt, and it made you feel closer to him even when he was far—even when you couldn’t feel the warmth of his touch and feel the joy in his kiss.

“Of course,” he replied, chuckling. “First thing I did this morning.”

You reached for his hand, your fingers tracing the edges of his gloved palm, craving the feeling of his bare skin. “Be careful out there, okay?”

He leaned down again, this time pressing a kiss to your forehead. His lips lingered a little longer than usual. “Always am,” he murmured, but you could hear the slight uncertainty in his voice, one that you noticed only because you knew him inside out. You could detect the slightest change of inflection, of intention, in his voice. He’d been like this for the last few missions, and you’d be lying if it hadn’t made you a bit more weary. A bit more on edge.

—

Later that evening, after a long day at work, you found the note.

You had been looking around your shared home, sighing at how empty it felt. How it didn’t feel like home without the love of your life echoing the walls with his laughter, filling the air with his scent. You had missed him so much already.

When you found the note, you had been checking for loose change in your jacket pockets. It was tucked neatly into one of them, and you couldn’t help but smile as you pulled it out, unfolding the familiar handwriting. You always wore this jacket in a specific weather—when the sun was shining and it was windy enough. When you were certain it would not rain. You smiled, knowing Bucky would have had to check the forecast to make sure he put it in the right jacket for you.

The stress of the day melted away in that moment, replaced by a gentle warmth that spread through your chest. His notes always had a way of making everything better.

 This one was short but sweet:

‘Don’t miss me too much. I’ll be home before you know it.’

You smiled, your fingers brushing over the soft texture of paper. Lately, he had been cutting the edges to soften the paper after you told him you got paper cut from one of them.

How had you not noticed it in your pocket all day? Perhaps you had just been distracted. Still, the idea that his words had been with you the whole time made you feel like he’d been by your side, even though he was probably on a different continent by now. You took a deep breath, walking up to your bedroom. You folded it neatly before tucking the note into the small box on your nightstand—the box where you kept all of his letters. By now, there were dozens of small reminders of his love for you.

 You sat on the edge of the bed and opened the box, pulling out a few more letters. You took your time to read through them.

‘Don’t forget to take care of yourself. I know you get so wrapped up in work that you forget. I’ll bring you back something special.’

‘You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Thank you for being patient with me.’

‘When I get back, can we try the new coffee shop down the street? Don’t go without me.’

You chuckled softly at one of the more recent ones. 

‘I may be a super soldier, but I still can’t fold a fitted sheet for shit. You’ll have to show me again when I get home.’

Oh, what a wonderful boyfriend you had.

 —

Two days later, the ache in your chest had only grown. You missed Bucky so dearly, and you were starting to struggle to keep yourself busy from the overwhelming emotions. 

But your worries weren’t yours alone. In the past few weeks, you have noticed subtle changes in Bucky. He was quieter than usual, his smiles a little less frequent. There were moments when he seemed far away, lost in thoughts he didn’t share. You’d catch him staring out the window or slipping away into the early morning hours, as if trying to outrun something you couldn’t see. You didn’t want to press him, not when it was clear he was trying to handle it on his own. But now, in the silence of the empty house, the signs of his unease gnawed at you. 

Cleaning the apartment helped, at least for a little while. But as you organised his things, you found another note. 

It was not hidden in the usual places, not anywhere you would even think to look, therefore not one he expected you to find. 

You wondered why the note was tucked deep into the back of one of his drawers, behind all his mission files that he’d stay up late to read up on. The edges were rounded, so you knew that this would have been somewhat recent.

There was something different about it. Folded smaller than usual, like it wasn’t meant to be found just yet. Or maybe ever.

 Your heart raced as you unfolded it, curiosity getting the best of you. It was a note, right? If it was meant for you, why did you feel so guilty opening it?

But nothing could have prepared you for the words written inside.

‘If you’re reading this, it means I didn’t make it back.

I’m sorry. I tried to be careful. I always try to come home to you every time. But I knew there’d be a day when I wouldn’t make it. 

Maybe this is for the best. You deserve so much better than what I can give you. You deserve better than someone with blood on his hands. You deserve someone who isn’t always living with one foot in the grave.

Please don’t waste your time mourning me. Move on. Be happy. Go get yourself someone who can give you the life you deserve. Anyone would be lucky to be loved by you.

I love you more than anything in the world.’

Your hands trembled as the letter fell from your fingers, tears already welling up in your eyes. 

The words on the note blurred as your tears fell. You tried to convince yourself that it was just Bucky’s fear talking, not a premonition. But a voice in the back of your mind whispered, What if he’s right? What if one day he doesn't come back?

What if he’s not coming back?

You’d always been confident about Bucky's ability to survive on his missions. Sure, you’d worry about the odd wound or if he’d get a scar that needed constant medical attention, but death was, more often than not, off the cards. Now that you knew he thought of it, that’s all you could think about. 

Bucky had always been so good at hiding this fear. You knew something was off, but you always thought that he was just a bit nervous, that’s all. 

But here, it was laid bare in his own handwriting. 

It broke your heart that he had already resigned himself to the idea that one day he wouldn’t come home. That his death was inevitable. And worse, that he believed it would be better off that way. 

—

The days dragged on painfully long after you found the note. Every time your phone buzzed, your heart raced uncontrollably. You were expecting news—good or bad—but it was always something else. Work. Or people checking up on you. 

So you used them as a distraction. You threw yourself to work, met with friends, and did anything to stop your worries, but nothing worked. 

Each night, the bed felt colder and lonelier, the house quieter than you would have preferred. Anxiety has already started eating you up and swallowing you whole.

To your relief, Bucky returned a few days later, safe but exhausted. You heard the door click open, and before he could say anything, you rushed to his side, wrapping your arms around him, pressing your face into his chest, taking in his scent. As he shut the door and dropped his bag, your fingers fluttered on his back, making sure he was real. Then you sunk your palm into him as if he might slip away, as if his life depended on it.

He held you tight, rubbing slow circles on your back, his voice soft in your ear, taken aback by your reaction. You usually cracked a joke or two, or excitedly kissed him on his arrival. “Hey, I’m here. I’m okay.”

Your body was tense—almost skeletal—against his. After a moment, he pulled back slightly, his brows furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

You hesitated, your heart pounding, then quietly said, “I found it. The note.”

His face froze. He knew which one, but he had to ask. “Which one?”

“The one I shouldn’t be reading,” you paused hesitantly, “…yet.”

 Bucky’s expression fell into oblivion, looking pale and empty. He looked away. “I didn’t want you to find that,” he murmured.

Tears stung your eyes as you gripped his jacket tighter. “How long have you been carrying this stupid fucking idea that every mission is your last?”

He sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair, struggling to find the right words to communicate how he felt. “A couple of months. It’s just how I think now,” he admitted, his voice heavy, raspy. “Every mission feels like it could be the one. And if it is... ” He trailed off, his emotions hanging in the air like a death sentence waiting to be dealt. “Maybe it’s better that way. You deserve someone who can give you a normal life.”

You reached for his hand, stifling quiet sobs, squeezing it tight. “How could you possibly say that? Do you have any idea what it feels like to know you’ve already accepted that you might not come back?”

“There've been a couple of close calls,” he admitted with a heavy heart, and this was the first time you’ve heard of this. You could tell he was just blurting out words, trying to string together an explanation as best he could. “What I’m saying is, If I were out of the picture, you wouldn’t have to worry about these things.”

You sighed, trying to steady your voice but not succeeding. “I don’t want that. I want you, James.” His first name sounded gentle in your tongue. It sounded like a longing, like a cry.

His gaze dropped to the floor, tears brimming in his eyes. “You deserve better.”

He whispered it again, your name escaping his lips like a prayer. Your heart ached. This man, who had fought battles no one could imagine, who had survived horrors and rebuilt himself piece by piece, still didn’t believe he was worth loving.

You took a steadying breath and shook your head, cupping his face gently. “You don’t get to decide what’s better,” you whispered firmly. “Do not tell me what I do or don’t deserve.”

His hands slipped from your waist, almost helpless. You were not letting him lock himself out again, not when you had the chance to pull him out for good.

“Look at me,” you said, a little sharper now, forcing him to meet your gaze, looking into his stormy eyes that once looked as blue as clear skies. “You’ve spent years carrying the weight of everything you’ve done. You’re not that man anymore, Bucky. Deep down, you must know that too.”

He shook his head, his voice hoarse. “I’m always going to be that man. I can’t just erase that.” 

“No,” you agreed, and your hand slipped down to rest against his chest, right over his heart. “But you’re also this man—the man who leaves me little notes before every mission. The man who gets frustrated when he can’t find his gloves. The man who cannot fold a fitted sheet to save his life.” You let a chuckle escape your tight chest, and it coaxed a little, hopeful smile from him, too.

“And I love all of you,” you continued. “The parts you think are broken—I love them all. So stop trying to push me away like you’re some kind of lost cause, because you’re not.”

You pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, your lips lingering there before pulling back just enough to meet his eyes again. “Talk to me. Let me help. You don’t have to carry this alone, Bucky. But this note—this can’t be the way I find out about these things.” 

His lips quivered, and you could feel the cracks in his fortress gate starting to open. 

His arms wrapped around you in a desperate embrace.

After what felt like silent eternity, Bucky finally spoke, his voice rough with traces of a fragile kind of hope. “I don’t know if I can believe it all right now. But,” he gulped down a sob, “I’ll try. For you.”

“No,” you insisted, an encouraging smile on your lips that made his heart stutter, “for yourself.”

He nodded weakly, and that was enough. 

For a moment, you stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world outside could be burning down, and you wouldn’t care as long as he was safe.

Eventually, Bucky loosened his grip just enough to look down at you, his fingers brushing softly against your cheek. “You sure you want to put up with all this?” He just had to ask. “No take-backs.”

You laughed softly—a cathartic release, the sound filling the quiet room. You nodded, “I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me.”

For now, it didn’t matter that he didn’t truly think he was worthy of love yet.

For now, you could believe for the both of you.

And one day, maybe he’d believe it too.

-end

[shotmrmiller]

(secret lovers but simon will not be kept a secret.)

you hadn't liked him from the get go. amongst the regulars that frequent the place you work at serving drinks, had been him; a burly, massive figure that commanded attention even though his clothes were nondescript and blended into the shadows created by the sickly, flickering lights overhead. his broad shoulders were squared, imposing, the fabric of his faded jeans stretched taut over his knees, tapering down to his scuffed sneakers.

him appearing a menace isn't what made him stand out. it doesn't even make him special, to be honest. one too many rowdy oafs call this hole in the wall a haven, seeking solace at the bottom of a thick glass.

it's the very air around him. it's heavy, muted, as if absorbing sound and movement. that one time you had the displeasure of personally handing him an beer, it'd felt suffocating, pressed down on you, made it hard to breathe. the stillness had been almost palpable, the usual hum of the bar nought but a distant buzz, even the clank of the chilled glass on the table had seemed muffled.

you'd felt the drink slosh over the rim in your haste to get away, retreat, escape. he hadn't even glanced your way and you'd been overwhelmed.

fucking hell.

and that's not the worst of it. the way he looks at people is unsettling. his beady eyes glint with a manic, rabid hunger, fixated on any bare legs that come into his field of view, as if he sees nothing but prey. that turns the discomfort that pricks at your skin into disgust.

revolting bull of a man is a pervert to boot.

(sometimes he comes in with others, 3 much more approachable, charismatic men that pop that personal bubble of oppressive silence he brings with him with their boisterous laughter and lively chatter. they're good folk except for when they want to act like your eyes are on your chest.)

so it's a true shame you spent weeks snarking about how foul he is when he's one of the best lays you've ever had in your life. (and continues to be.)

it's all discreet, of course. you can't be caught having a thing with the man you'd cursed up, down and sideways because he wouldn't stop staring at the tits you let him come on that same week.

you wouldn't even know how to explain how all of this started. that'd he'd been a surprised you and strong armed a belligerent drunk off the property for you a while back? that he'd happened to be around when your car got a flat, pulled out a jack from the bed of his truck and told you to sit your 'pretty arse' inside while he changed it? or that after the nth night of him being the very last patron, you realized he'd only leave after you were done with restocking and ready to close up shop?

you kept it all of it on the down low. pretended you couldn't feel his eyes on you, boring holes into the side of your head while at work then garble out his name through the fingers you're drooling over after work.

and it stayed that way for a while. he never stayed longer than you let him (not like that meant anything, he barely let you out the bed to pick up the door dash before he sat you on the countertop and lapped at your sore cunt until you came.)

he rarely used his phone so there was no worry about sudden texts while you had friends around.

it seemed a fine thing at the time. but then he started sitting at the bar top instead of his usual corner haunt, occasionally calling you over with a curl of his fingers (the ones he had you lick clean last night.) he stopped being a total lech, keeping his eyes glued onto you and you only, being so blatant about it that your co-workers offered to walk you to your car later.

embarrassing. you'd meant to give him a talk about laying off the intensity of his stare but it slipped your mind when he slipped into you from behind while fisting your hair.

when your boss is the one that gives you the stranger danger talk, even though you have said strangers love bites mottling the junction of your shoulder, you decide that enough is enough. so after your shift, you ask to speak with him.

only to have him snort in your face.

"don't think so."

before you get to say anything else, he's sitting you on the hood of his truck, legs hooked over his shoulders, eye level with your bare pussy because he'd stuffed your knickers into his pocket before work.

the first glide of his tongue between your folds is deliberately slow, tip catching the bundle of nerves at the top. your palm stings from digging your nails into it.

the second sends a shiver licking up your spine, his hands dimpling the soft of your thighs to keep you from squirming.

"look at me."

your body reacts instinctively at the low, grating tone of his voice and you're peering down at him before your mind can even catch up.

he nips at the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. "best get used to 'avin' me 'round." this was no conversation.

the tips of his fingers grazing over your wet heat, gently prodding the entrance. when he sinks them in, scissoring, thrusting, you realize he's not going to let you come.

this isn't a reward. this is about to be your punishment.

slick glistens on his knuckles under the streetlight as he undoes the zipper of his jeans, the sound of the metal teeth deafening in your prickling ears.

simon puts his hand close to your mouth like he's done in the bedroom, and you spit on it, like you've done in the bedroom.

the searing (but oh so good) burn is both familiar and not when you take him to the root, a shuddering breath escaping your quivering lips at the sensation of him filling you until the seams feel like they're becoming undone.

he lowers his head to nose your sweat-slick temple, large hands flat by your sides. his breaths warm your throat as he speaks.

"i won't be your dirty little secret, pet."

a hand creeps up to the nape of your neck, claiming a fistful of hair. simon pulls a sibilant hiss from you when he tugs hard enough to ache.

ouch.

"can't shove me in a closet and pocket the key." he rolls his hips once, twice before widening his stance.

oh.

oh no.

"now be good and let me take what's mine."

there'd been no arguing with him before he fucked you in earnest, and certainly not after when he takes you home, spend dripping onto his seat on the way there, where he makes you ride him on the driveway, only letting you go inside once he felt he got his message across.

(message understood.)

the next morning you wake to sore thighs, a throbbing pussy, a dry mouth and a text from your boss.

i've got cameras outside the place, by the way. go home next time.

at least you didn't get fired 🥴

[cammys-imagines24]

°•Astarion Being Touch Starved•°

The dastardly rogue would scarcely ever admit it- not in a thousand years.

But the sensation of your touch sends a thrill through his heart so loud, so potent, that sometimes he swears it still beats.

Beats only for you.

Sure by the light of day Astarion has a devil may care attitude and more sass than anyone really ought to.

And though you've both voiced your sincere affections to each other, he is never shy to continue with his playful flirtations towards you.

But that does not mean he views your relationship as a trifle. As something to play at.

You are the first person he's cared for in hundreds of years. The first he's opened himself up to. The first to show him that he can be free.

And with that long sought after freedom he wishes to spend it with you. For as long as you'll allow him the gift of your presence.

But though Astarion is unshackled now, the hauntings of Cazador never leave his mind. Not entirely.

On more times than he'd like to acknowledge, he has awoken from horrid nightmares of his past enslavement.

Cursing himself for even bothering to close his eyes in the first place considering he doesn't actually need to sleep.

But then there you are, right beside him.

Warm and vulnerable. Slumbering soundly and oh, gods, does he love your warmth.

The chilled Vampire would bathe in the heated feel of your skin if he could and often while you're tucked in the crook of his arm, dreaming away, he takes small liberties.

Letting just how starved he is of gentleness be shown.

Brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, kissing the column of your throat, breathing in your scent.

Admiring your beauty. Committing each freckle, scar and feature to memory.

Dining on the feel of your form close to his and relishing in the company of one who truly, faithfully loves him. Just as he is.

So reverential of your body. Savoring the perfume of your blood, the thump of your heartbeat. Your every breath a hymn to his ears.

Of course you know how starved Astarion is. You can read him like a book.

But his yearning for tenderness is an unspoken truth between you two.

So you attend to it in your own subtle way.

Holding hands with him while around camp. Sitting next to him beside the fire. Your thighs touching. Placing your hand between his shoulder blades while walking.

Your gaze never straying from his for too long. Your medicinal touch the one to mend his wounds after a rough fight.

He thinks of you as a goddess. Your warmth a healing balm and he thanks his lucky stars everyday he met you.

The feel of you beside him is enough to make him enjoy living again.

Astarion's love for you eternal and ever growing.

[verstappen-cult]

i love ur writing sm🥹🥹 i would love a scenario where y/n is dating max & charles,and she's a somgwriter who often wakes up in the nighttime with lyrics in her mind and has to sneak out of bed to write them down/make voice notes of the songs so she doesnt forget😭😭 maybe sometimes they wake up and they love to listen to her singing but keep it a secret between them so she doesnt feel bad ab waking them accidentally 🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶

Max is the first one to wake up when he feels you getting out of bed, being very careful as to not wake them. As always. He pretends to be asleep when he sees you turning around to make sure they’re still sleeping, and Max can’t help the smile that appears on his face.

He lies there, unable to fall back to sleep knowing what you’re doing in the living room.

Charles wakes up when he turns around and doesn’t feel your body next to him. He rubs the sleep from his eyes and snuggles closer to Max, who happily opens his arms for him.

“How long has she been awake?” Charles asks, head resting on his boyfriend’s chest.

“I’ve been hearing her for about ten minutes.” Max answers, closing his eyes and trying to make out your whispered words from across the hall.

“You think she knows?” Charles smiles against Max’s chest when he hears your beautiful voice, followed by a curse when it doesn’t sound right.

Max shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”

They stay silent, barely breathing, when you start signing again. They’re glad that it’s three in the morning and the city is sleeping because it’s possible for them to make a few words of the song. You never let them hear your songs, at least not after they’re finished, so they feel pretty lucky when they witness these kinds of moments.

“Passed down like folk songs, the love lasts so long,” Max smiles. You’re back to writing the song that has become his favorite, even though it is definitely not finished but the words, the way you sing, what you’re trying to tell through those words? Max feels identified. “And I’ve been meaning to… ugh no!” He hears the frustration in your voice and wishes to be there with you to tell you how beautiful the lyrics are.

“You think we should tell her?” Charles looks up at Max, hand caressing his naked chest.

“No, or she’ll stop.” Max leans to place a kiss on Charles forehead.

“I don’t want that,” Charles pouts, closing his eyes to try to fall back to sleep with your voice. “I like listening to her process.”

Max silently agrees. He follows Charles’ example and closes his eyes too, still paying attention to the words falling from your lips.

“And I’ve been meaning to tell you, I think your house is haunted. Your dad is always mad and that must be why,”

Charles hugs his boyfriend tightly and places a soft kiss right above his heart. They both know the meaning of those lyrics, even if you haven’t told them anything yet.

“And I think you should come live with me and we can be pirates. Then you won’t have to cry, or hide in the closet.”

Those are the last words they hear before falling asleep.

They don’t know at what time you went back to bed, but the next morning you’re sound asleep, snoring peacefully, snuggled between them. The only proof of your little escapade is your bulging notebook of lyrics on the coffee table and a blanket on the couch.

[airborneice]

can we talk about how @the-hilda-librarians-wife is just out here writing poetry in the tags like it’s no big deal

@sketchbookweek Day 3 - Sun & Moon / Family

you know I had to bring up my sketchbook kid Mattie for this one. in my mind this is like…impromptu midnight storytime bc someone woke up the entire household and now she’s almost settled no one wants to get up or go back to bed

(Kaisa has become a little more comfortable with openly doing magic by this point, partly because of reconnecting with Tildy in season 2 and partly because no matter how shoddy her spells come out, they never fail to entertain her kids, especially her youngest. Kaisa does the best stories in this house. no child can resist magic floating pictures)

[milkbobatyun]

foolish little dove

pairing: yandere!sunday x reader

genre: angstober, events, yandere

summary: the consequences of not listening to the head of the oak family

word count: 936

C O N T E N T W A R N I N G : yandere behaviour, manipulation, fear

a/n: this can be read as a continuation of my first yandere sunday piece 'my love, mine all mine'

the plush mattress of the bed dipped underneath you, the room furnished with an abundance of luxury—silk sheets, velvet drapes, golden accents, all shining in the glow of the candlelight. it was more than any common person could afford. yet, this was just a gilded cage, a dream disguised as a nightmare,

you were the dove, wings weighed down by invisible chains, helpless as you await for the fate your captor planned for you. the balcony teased you, thick, tempered glass doors teasing you, though it remained locked, the taste of freedom just out of reach.

oh how you prayed you could fly into the sky from the balcony, to feel the fresh air blow gently against your skin.

the vast room seemed to grow larger every day, the loneliness gnawed at your insides, making you yearn for company.

the sun rose and fell, night’s moonlight flooded the room. the repetitive ticking of the grandfather clock downstairs struck through throughout the room, the gramophone’s needle scratched out the same haunting tune, echoing around the bed chamber. 

you lost count of how many days you were locked up. the staff brought you your meals, took you to the bathroom to bath, their routine revolving around you like clockwork. your days began to blend into each other, making your mind a blurry haze.

today, a key jangled in the lock, the soft creak of the heavy oak door echoing in the still room.

sunday’s heavy boots thudded across the floor, muffled by the plush velvet carpet.

your blank gaze slid away from where your hands tangled each other, your hair hanging around your face like lifeless vines, towards the new figure in the room. when you catch sight of a white coat and not the mundane black uniform of the servants, your head snaps up, eyes lighting up with hope.

your eyes meet sunday’s steady gaze, lunging forwards, hands grasping at him, at his clothes, to prove to yourself he wasn’t a figment of imagination. those hallucinations happened more often now. 

sometimes, it was your family, screaming in agony, their bloody hands clawing at your exquisite clothing, cursing you to eternal suffering, their screams worming its way into your ears. other times, it was the trailblazer, haunting the dark corner of your room, a silent visitor who would stare blankly in your direction.

the smooth velvety fabric rippled cooling against your soft and warm skin. sunday’s mouth twitched into an amused smirk, as he closed the distance in a few long strides. for a fleeting second, you allowed yourself to believe that he was here, to free you from the cold shackles around your ankles. his cold hands, concealed by his pure white gloves, traced your face.

“my, my,” he purred, voice soothing. “how is my little dove?”

“please,” you pleaded, tears streaming down your face. “please, let me go… i beg of you” your voice trailed off, dying like the hope you held in your heart.

a hollow chuckle flooded the room, sunday’s face twisted in cruel humor.

“you still don’t get it, do you?” he hisses, voice taunting. “you’re mine now, little dove. even if i let you go, where would you go? home?” 

a twisted smirk adorned his face. 

“oh right,” he continued, tapping his finger on his chin in mock consideration. “you don't have one anymore! maybe because…they’re all dead!”

his eyes were alight with evil delirium, looking down upon you like a hawk would upon its prey. 

with one finger twirling a lock of your hair, sunday leaned close to your ear, lips brushing your ear like a lover’s promise, and whispered, “remember, my little dove, you’re mine now, always and forever.”

with a gentle, almost lover-like caress of your cheek, sunday placed a kiss on your forehead, before he turned on his heel, heading towards the door.

something within you snapped and you moved before you could think, hope shining in your eyes. you tried to run towards the opening. though your legs, weak with days of sitting around, failed you. sunday watched you with sadonic delight, gaze cold and emotionless as he observed you while you flailed about, like a newborn deer. 

throwing dignity to the wind, you dragged yourself towards the door, the comfort of the carpet burning against your skin. you watched as the shining sliver of freedom shut behind sunday. 

the door clicked shut with an echoing finality. hearing the snap of the lock, turning back into its place, you remained, clawing at the door. you were but a dove in a gilded cage, weighed down by invisible chains, freedom nothing but a cruel illusion, always out of reach.

taglist (open): @yeonjunsfox

∧,,,∧ ( ̳• · • ̳)  © curated with love by milkbobayun 2024 / づ ♡

[wrr000]

"Small gestures"

The Destined One x reader - headcanons about communication +really short oneshot at the end

Notes: it's basically @szynkaaa idea!!!!!!!!!!!! go and check their blog NOW!!!!!!!!!!! i'm currently working on another headcanons with the destined one and more serious oneshot, hope y'all will enjoy this

Warnings: fluff, kinda fanon the destined one? english is not my first language so i will prob make some changes later! i also exaggerated the situation in oneshot for the fluff, forgive me

travelling with silent destined one was difficult, but soon you realized that sometimes gestures can express more than words

at first it was hard to communicate, this barrier seemed insurmountable to you

but you quickly noticed that he wasn't trying to push you away or left you behind because of it, no - he tired to show you with small gestures that he actually cared

it started with slowing down a little so you could catch up or glancing at you to make sure you were still walking next to him

gently poking you with his hand or tugging your clothes to get your attention

stretching his arm to prevent you from walking further and signaling you to hide behind him. he always made the same gesture then

finding you a safe spot to hide when he knew a tough fight was coming

when an enemy apeared unexpectedly and you were in the middle of the fight, he bought you some time to escape somewhere safe

grabbing you by forearm to make sure you didn't get hurt (you have to tell him several times that you're fine, boy is worried)

all these little things made you understand him more and at some point you learned how to read his body language, gestures and face expressions; scratching his ear when impatient or confused, characteristically touching his nose when he's thinking and all those kind of things

you just knew what he wanted to say (but couldn't)

during this time, you didn't even notice how much you were getting closer and how much you cared for each other

he never made you feel like a burden and you always tried to help him as much as you can

you could talk to him about anything and he would listen to you carefully, making sure you feel comfortable

the destined one never would have thought that he would meet someone like you(and fall in love) during his journey

of course it isn't a flawless relationship because it's still a cheeky monkey that cannot stand 5 seconds without getting into a fight, but it's a story for another time

---

Leaving that cursed land of rats was something you had been waiting for a long time. Almost from the moment you arrived there. Sandstorms were hard to survive, let alone the mad rat king and his two sons. However, you quickly missed the sandy landscapes, because the next stop was a land covered with ice.

Journey to the next Relic wasn't easy. The snow was falling heavily, limiting your vision. The horizon disappeared, you could only see The Destined One figure forcing his way through the high layer of snow. You felt that your shoes were already soaked along with the lower part of your clothes.

Even though you were following the path beaten by your companion, you were moving slowly. You sighed heavily at the thought that you probably still had a long way to go and you could only dream about a break. How nice it would be to sit by the fire and warm yourself. Suddenly various memories started coming back to haunt you here, in the middle of nowhere.

You were pulled out from your thoughts by the familiar warmth. You looked to your left and met his shining eyes, staring into your red face. The Destined One was standing next to you, wrapping his arm around you. A slight smile appeared on his face.

"Sorry", you said quietly. "I'm slowing us down"

But he just shook his head as if he wanted to say that you were talking nonsense. With a firm move, he pulled you closer to him. Your bodies touched even more, you felt a pleasant warmth radiating from him. His hot breath spread across your frozen place. Even know you could feel his unique, but nice scent.

He noticed your tiredness and how chilly you were. You had been shivering from the cold for a while now. He wished he had something to cover you with, but all he could offer was his arm. You appreciated his concern and looking out for you. That alone made you not feel so poorly anymore.

"Thank you, much better now", you said with a smile. "We can go"

He nodded, clealry pleased with the answer. You to were walking together now, hugging each other. The road didn't seem so hard anymore and the snow slowly stopped failing. The horizon became clearer, revealing hugh mountains and old temples. You finally felt like you had made progress. Previous difficulties became only unpleasant memories.

The closer you got, the more the weather was getting better. It was still snowing, but it wasn't even that cold anymore. And yet you still walked together, hugged to each other, neither of you thinking about pulling away. While admiring the views, you told him some old story from your childhood about a hard winter in your village. When you weren't looking, he was admiring you in silence, enjoying the moment.

[notglue-9]

About My AU

This is about how 8 souls in Minecraft afterlife,try to live in peace and harmony.

Random facts about world/lore:

• You can’t stay at night for long as your own nightmares and fears will begin to haunt you.

• Catnap has had corruption three times. And each time it gets worse and more painful.

• on a full moon in Cartoon world, Catnap will turn into that same creepy version of himself from his past life.

• Bobby: mother/big sister figure

Bubba: Big bro/Father figure

Kickin: best Bro/best friend

Hoppy: best sister/best friend

Crafty: comfort shy bestie

Picky: the same kind aunt who will feed and take care of you/sibling figure

• Catnap lives with Bobby or Bubba.

The guys built houses for each other while they were in the afterlife. And they built a House for Dogday in advance.

• It hurts Catnap to show other emotions with his mouth, so he always smiles. But in the animation "Overnight" he was so upset that he didn't care about the pain and to show his sadness to Dogday he erased his smile

About Medallions

medallions are their souls.

Catnap collects the negative emotions of other critters. This makes his medallion increase. Although he helps others, it’s worse for him if he collects a lot of negativity within himself. He's in pain and reaaally Sick.💀

Each critter has their own cracks in their medallions. They show their emotional state.

Why is Catnap's medallion different?

it’s just that Catnap is punished for what he did in a past life. He pays back by helping and providing therapy to others there will be a rollback from negativity only if someone helps him. But no one will help him yet. The worse the Catnap medallion stage, the more his voice disappears, his beautiful lullaby voice becomes either mute or creepy.

The reason why Catnap is still cursed with this "therapy" ability. He feels guilty for all his mistakes. And it haunts him. His guilt hits harder than other negative emotions of smiling critters.

Sometimes a big red cloud hangs over him in the shape of his past life. And until he forgives himself and does not help others. He will be forever cursed and suffer

Cracked or Cursed Medallions symptoms

When Catnap is too overwhelmed with negativity. He coughs up Red Smoke.

But it doesn’t affect the others in any way. Although other critters are scared by this smoke. Especially Dogday.

Broken medallions.

These are souls that have not found peace, traumatized, broken. They feel bad mentally.

About ARCS.

Arc 0. - Catnap's Therapy. Pilot lmao

Arc 1. - Eclipse, nightmares and dreams,"I'm sorry"

Arc 2.- Corruption,Hey Dogday,,the groundhog Day,comics about other Critters

Arc 3- (Red crescent arc) - Your face,Camping, Theatre, others in future

Arc 4.- After prank, overnight,Moon's everyday Life.

Arc 1- Everyone hates Catnap. They shun him. Beat him,kick him. Bobby was the first to befriend him.

Arc. 2.Catnap helps them cope with their traumas that have begun to appear and interfere with their lives.

Arc 3.They are all more or less well. Some notice Catnap's strange behavior. Dogday has a hard time accepting Catnap. He already wanted to more or less make the relationship better. But the Red Moon appeared.

Their voices ,Their speaking style

Dogday: The deep voice of a veteran who went through a 100-year war. But sometimes it changes to squeaky if it experiences strong emotions. He remained expressive, but his face is always angry as if it would bite you.

Catnap: Actually he was mute. But he was given a voice in the afterlife. He still can't get used to it. His voice is very gentle, cold and pleasant to the ear, like the Cradle. His voice is also designed for singing.

Bobby: Calming tone, tactile when communicating. Sometimes she makes beautiful speeches. And very chatty. Loves to gossip.

Bubba: Monotonous and calculating Voice. He speaks briefly and clearly. And doesn't gesture at all and he is very passive.

Kickin: He deliberately makes his voice tone rougher to seem cool. He comes up with different slangs and often makes funny gestures. But when he's scared, his voice becomes very squeaky and he chirps like a Chicken.

Hoppy: She has a loud and confident voice, like a fitness club trainer. She will never tire of shouting motivational words at you. She often jumps and runs around you. She doesn't sit still while she chats with you.

Crafty: A gentle and sweet voice, like a princess. She is often distracted and has Daydreaming Syndrome.

Loves fairy tales and everything that is not from reality. She can debate her point of view about creativity

Picky: She has a very fun and playful voice. But sometimes you don’t understand whether she’s happy or ready to roast you in a fire.

A truly charming farmer and chef. Loves the Western theme.