#this is the longest its been since i became ill

[krispiecake]

I am officially an entire year free from suicide attempts

[mononijikayu]

the other woman — ryomen sukuna.

“Do not mistake this for affection.” he warned, his voice low and rough. “I am still who I am. I am still the monster you should fear.” But you could only nod, your heart aching with a mixture of sorrow and hope. “I know,” you whispered. “I know, but I’m still here.” And for the first time, you thought you saw a hint of softness in his eyes, a flicker of something that could almost be… understanding. Maybe, just maybe, you were starting to reach him, one fragile step at a time.

GENRE: alternate universe - heian era;

WARNING/S: nsfw, angst, one sided romance, conflicted feelings, hurt/no comfort, unhappy marriage, hurt, physical touch, character death, mourning, loneliness, pain, grief, unhappy ending, depiction of one-sided relationship, depiction of grief, depiction of complicated relationship, depiction of illness, depiction of canon related violence, depiction of loneliness, mention of grief, mention of illness, mention of loneliness, heian! sukuna, long suffering concubine! reader;

WORD COUNT: 11k words

NOTE: this was always going to be long, because it's heartbreaking. and heartbreaking ones have to be something that has to be expressed well. i listened to this in a audio software like its a podcast and i actually liked it. the other woman by nina simone was the constant in the writing. also, this is the aftermath of ashes of love, which is a series i did about heian sukuna. anyway, i hope you enjoy this!!! i love you all <3

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YOU KNEW THAT YOU WERE THIS UNLUCKY. The moment you were born, there would be a bleak fate for you to live. You were an accidental child, and multiple times, your own mother had nearly miscarried. Perhaps even as a fetus, you had always known this. How cursed you were. Even if you had done nothing. 

When your mother brushed your hair as a child, she would tell you of how you were born. She said that when you breathed the air for the first time, you were melancholic in the silence to the world. Somehow knew that you were built for this miserable world. And every day since that day, you knew. You were meant to live life without true joyous jubilation.

It did not help that the day you were born, there was a lone dark star in the morning sky, one which had been considered a bad omen. And with that, the whispers of fate echoing long before you had even had consciousness to know. Your village nestled in the shadowed valleys of Hida province, a place of whispered dread and ancient pacts. And for the longest of times, the once prosperous Hida province was in turmoil. 

And so, in those days, if there was anyone who controlled the ruins of Hida, it was that god-like curse user Ryomen Sukuna. His name alone was a talisman against the unknown horrors that lurked beyond the mountains, a deity whose power and wrath commanded fear and reverence in equal measure. And all either quivered at the sight of him or drew fanatic fervor. 

The Ryomen clan, his kin at one point, were at war—embroiled in brutal conflicts with neighboring clans for so long. And this had been going on before you were even born. The blood had soaked the earth for so long that the soil seemed to thirst for it. And the people were exhausted. 

The clan struggled to maintain control over Hida for a long time now, their influence fraying like an old tapestry torn at the seams. And with that, a power vacuum had long been in existence. The chaos of the era was a tide that threatened to drown them all, and Ryomen Sukuna's protection became the last fragile hope for those who called this land their home.

Your parents spoke in hushed voices of the offerings, the sacrifices made by the villagers to appease their god, the man who can save them,  this man to fear and worship, Ryomen Sukuna. To ensure his protection, they said. For years, the sacrifices continued, the chosen ones becoming mere footnotes in a history written in blood and fear. 

It came upon you rather quickly when you were young and it struck you—that the villagers saw you not as one of their own, but as a piece on a board, a pawn destined for slaughter. A sacrifice to their god. You would be among the countless, one more life to be cast into the jaws of the demon god they all feared.

The day of your sacrifice came as the sky was painted with hues of blood and gold, a cruel irony that did not escape you. The air was heavy with incense and prayer, but there was no comfort in their muttered words, no solace in the chants that pleaded for Sukuna's mercy. They adorned you in ceremonial robes, marked with symbols and sigils, your skin painted with the sacred ink that was supposed to cleanse your soul before the offering.

You were led through the village, a procession of death that seemed to stretch on forever. The eyes that watched you pass were filled with a mixture of pity and relief—relief that it was not them, not their child, not their blood that would be spilled today. Mothers held their children close, men bowed their heads, and the elders chanted in a low, continuous hum that sent shivers down your spine.

At the shrine, they bound you to the altar, thick ropes biting into your skin as you stared at the sky, searching for a sign, a miracle that never came. The high priest began his incantation, his voice rising above the murmur of the crowd. You could feel the cold seep into your bones, the air around you thickening as if the very world held its breath.

And then, you felt it—the shift in the air, the heavy presence that pressed against your chest like a vice. You had never seen him before, but you knew it was Sukuna. The villagers gasped, a collective intake of breath as his form materialized from the shadows, a figure cloaked in malice and power.

His eyes, crimson and unforgiving, swept over you like a cold blade. You felt your heart hammer against your ribcage, fear clawing at your throat. You were nothing to him, just another offering, another desperate plea from a village clinging to survival.

Ryomen Sukuna smiled, a slow, cruel smile that sent a tremor through the crowd. He stepped forward, each movement a ripple in the air, as if reality itself bent to his will. You met his gaze, defiant in your fear, knowing that you were one of many. Countless lives had been given to him, countless souls lost to his hunger.

And now, it was your turn.

  

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YOU HAD NEVER EXPECTED TO MEET THE MAN IN THE FLESH. But before you stood this man, this god, with dark crimson eyes. Taller than any tree, intimidating than any curse. Frightening than hell itself. You could remember when you were younger. The whispers reached you before you even stepped foot in the shrine, everyone has. Tales of Ryomen Sukuna had traveled through the villages like the wind, carrying with them rumors that were both terrifying and tragic. 

You had always known that the man was delighted with the worship of the human people. But they said he had taken no other concubines, that he showed no interest in any woman who dared come near him.

And if he did, they were more likely to be servants than anything close to a concubine. And some were not so lucky. Some spoke in hushed tones, their voices trembling with fear, that he was a monster of unspeakable debauchery, one who had killed the women for even daring to breathe in his presence.

But the truth, as you had come to understand it, was far more tragic. At least from how you see it. The people of Hida knew—oh, they believed—the story was told long ago. There was someone who had been so loved long ago and most of all, by Sukuna.

Ryomen Hiromi, the one who had captured Sukuna's heart, the one he had loved beyond reason. There was another Sukuna a long time ago, many were aware. But there was nothing proven.

If anything, the children of Hiromi reject any notion of such a relationship. But the tale was woven into the very fabric of tales told, whispered among the elders late at night and shared in riddles among the children who barely understood the weight of what they spoke.

Hiromi, they said, had been his sun, his moon, his stars. A woman of beauty and strength, whose laughter could calm the wildest storms and whose voice was like the sweetest song. She had been the only one to ever touch his heart, to see the man beneath the demon god. But she was gone now, lost to time and tragedy, leaving Ryomen Sukuna to languish in his grief. 

No one dared speak her name aloud, not when Sukuna’s rage could split the earth itself. People have seen it. It was said he mourned her loss every day, that his fury was born from the emptiness she left behind. And that was why he would not tolerate any other woman. No one was going to be like her. None would match her wit, her beauty. Why should the king of curses settle for less when he had the world? 

As you lay on the cold altar, the ropes cutting into your skin, your thoughts were consumed by the stories. What kind of man—no, what kind of creature—was Sukuna? You wonder about this paradox of a man, this creature like god.

Did he truly mourn, or was that just another tale spun by terrified villagers to make him seem more human? What was he, actually? You had a million questions, and you know they will never truly be answered.

A gust of wind stirred the trees around you, the leaves rustling like whispered secrets. You heard the shuffle of feet, felt the eyes of the villagers upon you, their fear palpable. Then, you heard his voice. You could feel it all, that powerful cursed energy, coming from one direction. For a moment, you had no words. Only uncertainty.

"Why do they send another?" Sukuna's voice was like a low growl, rumbling through the air with the force of a storm. "Do you think I am so easily appeased, you fools?"

You dared to lift your head, the ropes pulling at your skin as you met his crimson gaze. He was tall, imposing, and every bit as terrifying as the stories had painted him. But there was something else there—something in his eyes that spoke of deep, simmering pain.

"Do you truly want to know why they sent me?" you found yourself saying, your voice steady despite the fear clawing at your throat.

His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, you thought he might strike you down then and there. But he didn’t. Instead, he tilted his head, a cruel smile playing at the corners of his lips.

"Speak, then, girl." he said. "Tell me why I should not turn you to dust where you lie."

You swallowed, gathering your courage. "They send me because they fear you, because they believe you will protect them if they give you what you want. But… no one knows what you truly want, do they? No one speaks of her. Of Hiromi."

His expression shifted, a shadow passing over his face, and you knew you had struck a nerve. The air grew colder, a chill that seemed to seep into your very bones.

"Hiromi is dead." he said, his voice quiet but filled with an edge that could cut through steel. "And no one speaks her name. It is what I command.”

"But you still mourn her…." you continued, unable to stop yourself. "Do you not, my lord?”

His dark gaze bore into you, the weight of it almost unbearable. For a long moment, he said nothing, and the silence stretched on like an eternity. Then, slowly, he laughed—a sound that was bitter and hollow.

"You dare ask?" he repeated, as if the word was foreign to him. "What do you know of it all, little one? What do you know about such a life lived?"

You felt a tremor run through you, but you did not look away. "I know enough, my lord." you replied softly. "I know enough to see that your anger is not born of hatred, but of grief."

Sukuna's cruel smile quickly faded, and for a brief moment, you thought you saw something in his eyes—a flicker of vulnerability, quickly swallowed by the darkness. He hated how you said it, you know it too well. But there was no other choice. You were here for a purpose and you must fulfill it. You must. 

"You are bold, little one." he murmured. "Bold….for someone so close to death."

"Perhaps, my lord." you whispered back to him. "But if I am to die, I would rather die knowing who you truly are, rather than the monster they say you are."

He stared at you for a long time, his expression unreadable. Then, he stepped closer, so close that you could feel the heat radiating from his body, the power that thrummed through him like a thunder strike.

"Then you are a fool, little one." he said quietly. "For believing that I am anything more than a monster."

But there was something in his voice, something that made you wonder if perhaps… he wished you were right.

For the meantime, you were lucky to have your life, despite speaking so boldly, despite saying her name aloud—the name that everyone else dared not utter. Sukuna’s silence stretched on, his crimson eyes still locked onto yours, unreadable, cold yet burning with something darker beneath the surface. He could have ended you with a flick of his wrist, reduced you to ashes for your insolence. And yet, he did not.

He leaned closer, the edges of his form blurring into the shadows that seemed to ripple around him like stabbing waves in the ocean. His breath was hot against your skin, his presence overwhelming, suffocating. You felt your heart pound in your chest, each beat a drum that signaled your fragile hold on life.

“Perhaps you are simply foolish. Many have died for far less than what you dared to speak.” Sukuna finally said, his voice low, almost contemplative. “Huh, you speak brashly.”

The villagers around you seemed to hold their breath, waiting for his judgment. They looked at you with a mixture of horror and awe, unable to believe you were still alive after uttering the forbidden name. You, a mere sacrifice, a lamb thrown to the wolf, had survived what so many others had not.

“Why do you think I will let you live?” Sukuna’s voice cut through the tense silence, his tone curious, but with a dangerous edge. “Do you think I find you interesting? Amusing? Or perhaps I see something of her in you, something worth sparing?”

You swallowed hard, the reality of your situation settling in. You had survived speaking out of turn, but you were still bound to this altar, still at the mercy of a being who could destroy you on a whim. Yet, something in his words gave you pause, a flicker of something unspoken that lingered just beneath his surface.

“I do not presume to know your reasons, my lord.” you replied carefully, choosing each word like a step on thin ice. “But if you see something of her in me… then perhaps I am not so different from you after all.”

Sukuna’s gaze sharpened, his eyes narrowing. “Not so different?” He laughed, a sound that was both mirthful and bitter, filled with a deep, aching emptiness. “You compare yourself to me? To Ryomen Sukuna? You are a child, a mere mortal who knows nothing of gods or demons, of love that scorches the soul and burns the world to ash.”

“And yet…..” you dared to continue, feeling the tightness in your chest. “If my lord felt nothing, you wouldn’t care enough to be angry… or to remember.”

He stiffened, and for a moment, his expression faltered. The shadows seemed to deepen around him, his aura flickering like a candle flame caught in a strong wind. You sensed that you were dancing on a razor’s edge, but you could not stop now. There was something here, something raw and real beneath the monstrous exterior.

“Enough.” Sukuna hissed, his voice a sharp command. The air grew colder, and you felt a shiver run down your spine. “You dare much, human. Too much.”

You pressed your lips together, bracing yourself for the inevitable blow, the moment when his patience would finally snap. But instead, Sukuna’s lips curled into a faint smile, one that did not reach his eyes.

“Perhaps I will spare you.” he murmured, almost as if speaking to himself. “If only to see how long that fire burns before it is extinguished. Or perhaps to see if you will end up like the rest—broken, hollow, pleading for mercy where there is none.”

He turned away from you then, his back a wall of power and darkness, his form towering against the dim light of the shrine. The villagers started, stunned, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“You will reside in my temple.” Sukuna commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You will remain there, under my watch. Let them see what comes of those who speak of things best left forgotten.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd, a mixture of fear and shock. They did not understand why he had spared you, why you, of all people, were allowed to live. Perhaps they thought you were cursed, or perhaps they thought Sukuna had some darker plan in mind. But you knew better. You knew that, in some small way, you had touched on a wound that had never healed, a scar buried deep beneath his monstrous exterior.

And as Sukuna vanished into the shadows, you realized that your fate was no longer in the hands of the villagers, or even in the hands of the gods they prayed to. No, your fate was now bound to his—a god who mourned like a man, a monster who remembered what it was to love.

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IN A WAY, IT IS NOT SO BAD, BEING HIS CONCUBINE. You spent your days in isolation, your life confined within the walls of Sukuna's palace. You were nothing more than a servant, though they called you a concubine. The title meant little, for you were given no special privileges, no adornments, no tokens of affection. 

But it was a life. Your life. And it lived in some comfort, more than what is experienced by the rest of Hida province. You had multiple meals a day, you had rooms to yourself and even servants that address every bit of your needs.

Still, your world was small, your days filled with the quiet tending of the gardens, watching the shifting sky as the hours bled into one another. The flowers you nurtured became your only friends, their petals a fragile comfort against the cold indifference that surrounded you.

Perhaps the peace came from the fact that you did not see Sukuna often, and when you did, his gaze never lingered on you for long. He had no interest, no affection, no fondness to spare. You were simply there, like a shadow in the corner of his realm.

A figure lost amidst the vast emptiness of his domain. And perhaps that was for the best. It was better than being forced into Sukuna’s bed. You think that all women in the harem think that it was better that way.

But slowly, ever so slowly, something changed. His dark scarlet eyes began to linger, just a fraction longer than before. You felt the weight of his gaze like a chill running down your spine.

The other servants noticed it too, their whispers growing louder, bolder. You finally caught his attention. But it wasn’t because he had come to care for you, to see you as anything more than the nothing you were.

No, the truth was much crueler than that.

You were a spitting image of Ryomen Hiromi, the woman who haunted his every step, the ghost who lived in the shadows of his mind. At least that’s what the people say. But you did not want to believe them. Yet, looking at the murals at the glass gardens, the resemblance was uncanny.

It was obvious somehow. It was similar, everything. Your eyes, your hair, the curve of your smile. Every feature, every gesture seemed to remind him of her. And though you knew you could never be her, you had become a cruel echo, a reflection of something he had long lost.

And soon enough, the people talked. Of course, they did. They always talked. You tried to shut them out, but the more they whispered, the more people listened. And the more they listened, the more people spoke.  

“She reminds him of Hiromi, I am certain!” they whispered. “She is nothing but a shadow, a poor replacement for the one he truly loved. She lives in her image, as if she could ever hope to fill her place.”

You became the other woman, even when you didn’t want to be. No, not even that. You were a pale imitation, a mockery of a woman who had captured the heart of the king of curses. Every glance Ryomen Sukuna spared you was not a look of admiration or desire—it was the gaze of a man staring into the past, into a memory that was forever out of reach.

And so, you lived your life as another woman. No, the other woman. To a dead woman. To a love that had died long ago, but never truly left. 

Sometimes, in the dead of night, when the silence was so thick it pressed against your skin like a heavy shroud, you would wonder about her. About Ryomen Hiromi. Who was she, really? What had she meant to him, this fearsome god, this creature of darkness who now watched you as if searching for something he had lost in her eyes, now reflected in yours.

He never spoke of her. He does not want to. He does not dare to. Not to you, not to anyone. Some servants have been here longer than you and they have seen people killed over even a mumble of a prayer for the lady. And so you don’t ask. 

Not even when there were times he would come closer, when his dark eyes lingered on your face, searching, always searching. Yet he will never truly find it. He knew this, as much as you did. But it was as if he was trying to see her again, trying to find her in your skin, in your voice, in the way you moved through the gardens like she once had, perhaps. It was hope, a foolish hope. And yet you cannot escape this foolish hope.

The weight of her memory suffocated you. You were not allowed to be yourself, to have your own name, your own identity. You were always, always compared to her, measured against a ghost that you could never be, never touch. And Sukuna, with his cold gaze and his empty eyes, reminded you of it every day.

"You’re not her, little one." he said once, his voice low, more to himself than to you, as if testing a truth he could not fully accept. “You’ll never be her.”

His words cut deeper than any blade, leaving you with the bitter taste of something unnameable, something that tasted like defeat, or perhaps longing, or perhaps both. You had never wished to be her, to be anyone but yourself. But here, in his domain, under his shadow, you were not allowed that freedom.

You were trapped, forever bound to a life that was not your own, in the shadow of a dead woman who would never release you, and a man who could never let her go.

Days bled into nights, a blur of routine and solitude, and you began to feel like a ghost yourself, haunting the corners of Sukuna's palace, where life seemed to move around you but never through you. The servants kept their distance, wary of your resemblance, as if fearing you might be some ill omen, cursed to echo the tragedy of the past.

And Sukuna… he watched you, always watching, his eyes a deep crimson that saw too much and yet revealed nothing. He was like a storm contained within the fragile walls of the palace, his presence a force of nature that you could neither escape nor fully comprehend. His mood was mercurial; one day, he would barely acknowledge you, and the next, his gaze would linger on you, heavy with something you couldn’t name.

“Do you enjoy the garden?” he asked one afternoon, his tone deceptively casual, as if he were simply inquiring about the weather.

You glanced up, surprised that he had addressed you at all. He rarely spoke directly to you, even when his eyes seemed to follow your every movement. “I do,” you replied, careful, measured. “It is quiet there. Peaceful.”

“Quiet…peaceful.” he repeated, almost as if tasting the word. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips, but it did not reach his eyes. “Yes, she liked the quiet too. Always wandering among the flowers. Trees too. She’d like that then.”

You stiffened at the mention of her, the ghost you lived with every day, who lingered in every corner of this place. “I am not her, my lord.” you said, a tremor in your voice. You had repeated these words to yourself countless times, but they sounded fragile, almost insignificant when spoken aloud.

Sukuna's expression did not change. If anything, his gaze grew sharper, like a blade pressed against your skin. “No, little one.” he agreed softly, almost mockingly, “You are not her. But you will do… for now.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, refusing to let him see the fear that coiled within you, like a snake waiting to strike. “Why do you keep me here?” you dared to ask, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Why do you watch me as if you expect me to become someone else?”

He laughed then, a low, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “You misunderstand, little one. I do not expect you to become her. I know you never can. But you… remind me of her. And that is enough… for now.”

The way he said it, the way his eyes darkened with something unreadable, made your blood run cold. You were nothing more than a stand-in, a living, breathing reminder of something he had lost. A cruel joke played by fate, a shadow dancing in the place of the one who truly mattered. To be kept alive, your village kept alive — because you look like a ghost. 

“I am not a replacement, my lord.” you insisted, your voice firmer this time, surprising even yourself with the strength behind it. “I hope my lord knows that I will not live my life as a mere echo.”

His smile faded, his expression turning serious. “You think you have a choice?” he asked, leaning in closer, his face so near to yours that you could feel the warmth of his breath. “You are here because I allow it. You exist at my whim, not because of who you are, but because of who you resemble. Do not mistake this for anything more than it is.”

The reality of his words hit you like a blow, the finality of it sinking deep into your bones. You were nothing to him, nothing but a passing fancy, a painful reminder of a past he could not reclaim.

“I am not her, my lord.” you repeated, your voice shaking with defiance, with a spark of something that refused to be extinguished. “And I will not be her for you. You must understand.”

For a moment, something flickered in Sukuna's eyes, something almost like surprise, perhaps even respect. Then, just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by the cold, unfeeling mask he always wore.

“Brave words, little one.” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “But words mean little here, in my domain. You will learn that soon enough.”

He turned away from you then, leaving you standing alone in the empty hall, your heart pounding in your chest, your hands trembling at your sides. The silence closed in around you, heavy and oppressive, and you knew that nothing had changed. You were still trapped, still living in the shadow of a dead woman, still bound to the whims of a god who mourned like a man.

And yet, deep inside, something stirred—a flicker of defiance, of hope. You might be a ghost to him, a reflection of a lost love, but you were still alive. You were still you, and as long as you drew breath, you would not allow yourself to be consumed by his shadows. Not without a fight.

Time passed slowly in Sukuna’s palace, and with it, your heart began to change. You did not notice it at first; how could you? Day after day, the monotonous routine of your existence lulled you into a sort of numbness. The gardens became your refuge, the sky your solace.

Yet even as you tried to find comfort in these simple pleasures, you found your thoughts wandering back to him—Ryomen Sukuna, the fearsome god, the monster, the man who mourned like a human.

At first, you hated him, hated him for what he represented, for what he had made you into: a replacement, a mere shadow of someone who had meant everything to him. But as you watched him, as the days turned to weeks and weeks to months, you began to see more.

You began to notice the things others did not—the subtle tension in his jaw when he was angry, the way his eyes softened just a fraction when he spoke of her, the quiet moments when he thought no one was looking, and the mask slipped, just a little.

You were in the garden one afternoon, trimming the roses, when you heard footsteps approaching. Sukuna rarely came to the garden, but today he seemed restless, pacing along the paths with a dark expression on his face. He stopped by the old cherry blossom tree, his eyes distant, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

Without thinking, you moved closer. "Is something troubling you, my lord?" you asked quietly, keeping your tone as neutral as possible. You had learned not to provoke him, to keep your words soft and your gaze steady.

Sukuna looked at you sharply, as if surprised you had dared to speak. "Why do you care?" he snapped, his tone harsh, but you had seen the flicker of something else—a fleeting vulnerability, perhaps? “Such matters are none for you to care about, little one.”

You hesitated, choosing your words carefully. “I see you every day, my lord.” you replied softly. “I see how you… struggle over something. And I cannot help but… care.”

He scoffed, but it was a hollow sound. “Care?” he echoed, almost mockingly. “You think you understand me, mortal? You think you can comprehend the depths of what I am, of what I have lost?”

You bowed your head, feeling the sting of his words but refusing to back down. “I don’t pretend to understand, my lord.” you murmured. “But I see the pain in your eyes, the way you linger in places she once loved, the way you… look at me.”

He was silent for a moment, his gaze unreadable. Then he turned away, his shoulders tense, his hands unclenching. “You are a fool, little one.” he muttered, almost too softly for you to hear. “A fool to think you can feel anything for me.”

And maybe you were a fool. A fool to care for a man who did not care for you, who saw you only as a shadow of someone else. But you could not help it. You could not stop the way your heart ached when you saw him, the way your breath caught when he looked at you with those sad, tired eyes.

Day by day, you found yourself drawn to him, not by his power or his beauty, but by the quiet moments when he thought no one was watching. The moments when his face softened, and you saw the man beneath the monster, the man who had loved so deeply and lost so terribly.

You saw the cracks in his armor, the places where he had been wounded, and you wanted, desperately, to reach out and touch them, to soothe the pain you knew he carried.

You found yourself thinking of him when you were alone, wondering what had made him this way, what had broken him so completely. You imagined him before all of this, before the darkness, before the loss, and you felt a strange, deep sorrow for the man he might have been.

One evening, as you were leaving the garden, you saw him standing by the cherry blossom tree again, his face turned upward, staring at the pale blooms against the darkening sky. He looked so lonely, so unbearably alone, that you felt your heart tighten in your chest.

Without thinking, you approached him, moving slowly, cautiously, as if approaching a wounded animal. “My lord, look.” you said softly, and he did not turn away. “The blossoms… they’re beautiful this year.”

He glanced at you, his expression unreadable. “Hiromi loved them.” he said quietly, his voice thick with something you could not quite name. “Fond of them.”

You nodded, your heart aching for him. “I imagine she did, my lord.” you replied. “They’re… peaceful.”

He was silent for a long time, his gaze fixed on the flowers. Then he spoke, his voice barely more than a whisper. “She was… my peace.” he admitted, his tone so raw, so vulnerable, that it made your chest tighten painfully. “And now… there is only emptiness.”

You wanted to reach out to him, to touch his hand, to tell him that he was not as alone as he thought, but you knew he would not accept it. So you stood there, beside him, sharing the silence, hoping that maybe, in some small way, your presence could ease the ache in his heart.

And slowly, painfully, you realized that you were falling into the saddest position in the world. You were beginning to care for him, truly care for him, despite knowing that he did not, and could not, care for you. You were beginning to understand him, to see the depths of his sorrow, to feel the weight of his loss as if it were your own.

You were living as a shadow, and yet… you found yourself wishing, hoping, that someday he might see you as something more. Even if you were just a reflection of a memory, even if you could never be her, you wished, desperately, that you could become someone to him.

But as you looked at him, at the emptiness in his eyes, you knew that day might never come. And still, you could not help but care.

Days continued to slip by in a blur of silent moments and stolen glances, and though you tried to keep your heart guarded, you felt it slipping further and further away from you, like water through your fingers. You had resigned yourself to your fate—a concubine in name, a ghost in truth. You had accepted that Sukuna would never see you as anything more than a mere echo of what he had lost.

But as time passed, you noticed a subtle change in him. It was in the way his gaze lingered on you a moment longer, or how his tone softened when he spoke to you. It was in the quiet moments when you would catch him watching you, his expression inscrutable, as if he were trying to decipher some mystery he could not quite solve.

As the sun dipped below the horizon and painted the sky in shades of crimson and gold, you found yourself in the garden again. Sukuna was there, seated on a low stone bench beneath the cherry blossom tree, his face turned upward as if searching for something in the dying light.

You approached cautiously, unsure if he wanted your presence or not. He did not turn to look at you, but he did not send you away, either. You took it as a small mercy, a silent invitation to sit beside him.

For a long time, neither of you spoke. The silence stretched between you like a fragile thread, delicate and unbroken. Finally, Sukuna spoke, his voice low and contemplative. “You are always here, little one.” he murmured. “Always watching. Why?”

You hesitated, searching for the right words. “Because I see you, my lord.” you replied quietly. “I see the way you carry your pain, the way you hide it behind your eyes. I… I understand it, in a way.”

He turned to you then, his gaze piercing, searching your face as if trying to find the truth hidden within your words. “And what do you think you understand?” he asked, a note of challenge in his tone.

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his stare. “I think you loved her more than life itself, my lord.” you said softly. “And I think losing her broke something inside of you that will never heal.”

He was silent for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he laughed—a harsh, bitter sound that cut through the stillness like a knife. “You presume to know my heart, mortal.” he said, but there was no true malice in his voice, only a deep, hollow emptiness. “You think because you look like her, you can speak of love and loss?”

“I do not pretend to be her, my lord.” you answered, your voice steady, even as your heart pounded in your chest. “But I know what it is to lose, to live with emptiness. I know what it means to be alone, even in a crowded room.”

His eyes softened, just for a moment, and you could almost see the man beneath the monster, the one who had loved and lost, who had once been capable of kindness, of tenderness.

“You think you know loneliness?” he asked, his voice quiet, almost vulnerable. “You think you know what it is to love someone so deeply that their absence is like a knife in your soul, cutting you with every breath?”

“I think I’m starting to understand, my lord.” you whispered. “More than I ever wanted to.”

He looked away, his jaw clenched tight, and you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands curled into fists at his sides. “You are a fool.” he muttered, but there was no heat in his words, only a weary resignation. “You should hate me. You should despise me for what I am, for what I have made you.”

You shook your head slowly. “I can’t, my lord.” you admitted, your voice breaking. “I don’t know why, but I can’t. Maybe it’s because I see the pain in your eyes, the way you look at me… the way you remember her. I can’t hate you for that. I just… I wish things were different.”

He turned to you sharply, and for a moment, there was something raw and desperate in his gaze, something that spoke of a longing he had buried deep within himself. “Different?” he repeated, almost scoffing. “There is no ‘different’ for us. This is the world we have been given, and we must live in it.”

You felt your heart clench painfully, knowing he was right, knowing that no matter how much you wished for it, you could never truly reach him, could never become more than what you were—a shadow, a reflection of a woman long gone.

But you could not stop yourself from caring, from hoping that somehow, someway, he might see you, truly see you, not as a ghost or a replacement, but as a person in your own right.

You sighed, turning your gaze to the blossoms above. “I know, my lord.” you murmured. “I know that better than anyone. But I still… I still want to understand you. I still care, even if you don’t care for me.”

He was silent, his expression unreadable, and for a moment, you feared you had said too much, crossed a line you could never return from. But then, slowly, he reached out and took your hand in his, his grip firm but surprisingly gentle.

“You are a strange one, little one.” he said quietly, almost as if to himself. “To care for a monster… to care for a man who has nothing left to give.”

You felt a tear slip down your cheek, and you did not bother to hide it. “Maybe I’m just a fool, my lord” you whispered. “But I can’t help it. I can’t help but care for you, even when I know you can’t care for me.”

He stared at you for a long moment, his eyes searching yours, as if looking for some answer he could not find. Then, without a word, he pulled you closer, his lips brushing against your forehead in a gesture so tender it took your breath away.

“Do not mistake this for affection.” he warned, his voice low and rough. “I am still who I am. I am still the monster you should fear.”

But you could only nod, your heart aching with a mixture of sorrow and hope. “I know,” you whispered. “I know, but I’m still here.”

And for the first time, you thought you saw a hint of softness in his eyes, a flicker of something that could almost be… understanding. Maybe, just maybe, you were starting to reach him, one fragile step at a time.

══════════════════

TIME FLEW BY AND WITH THAT, YOU AGED TOO. Slowly, like the steady drip of water carving its path through stone, Ryomen Sukuna began to accept your presence as something constant in his life. At first, it was subtle—the way he no longer sent you away when you appeared by his side, the way he allowed you to linger in his chambers or the garden without a word of complaint.

Over time, it grew into something more. He began to call for you, not often, but enough that you noticed. Sometimes, it was just to sit in silence while he read or stared into the fire, and other times, he would speak to you, his voice low and distant, as if he were speaking to himself rather than you.

He did not love you; you knew that much with painful certainty. His heart belonged to another, to a woman whose name he whispered in his dreams, whose memory seemed to haunt his every step. You were not her, and you never would be. You were a shadow of what he had lost, a pale reflection of a love that had burned too bright and consumed itself in the flames.

But he tolerated you, and in this dark, twisted place where fear ruled and love was a forgotten dream, that was enough. You had learned to find solace in the little things—the way his gaze would occasionally soften when he looked at you, the rare moments when his voice held a note of something other than indifference. 

You knew you would never escape Hiromi’s shadow. Her ghost lingered in every corner of this place, in every whispered word and hushed breath, in the way his eyes darkened whenever he spoke of her.

You were not foolish enough to think you could ever replace her in his heart, nor did you wish to. You had come to terms with your fate, with the cruel twist of destiny that had brought you here, to this palace where the walls seemed to whisper her name.

For the finite years of your mortal life, you would be what you were to him—an echo, a shadow, a living memory of something lost. You could have fought against it, could have railed against the injustice of it all, but you chose not to. You chose to make peace with what fate had given you, to find what small joys you could in the fleeting moments he allowed you to be near him.

There were times when the weight of your existence threatened to crush you, when you longed to scream, to demand that he see you for who you were, not for the woman you resembled. But those moments were few and far between, and you had learned to push them down, to bury them deep within your heart where they could not hurt you.

Instead, you found contentment in the little things—in the way his presence filled the room, in the rare, unguarded moments when he would speak to you of things he had buried deep within himself. You listened to his stories, the ones he told in quiet tones when he thought no one was listening, and you treasured them like precious gems, tiny fragments of the man he had once been.

You learned to be grateful for what you had, even if it was not what you had dreamed of. You accepted that you would always live in the shadow of Hiromi, that you would always be the "other woman"; the one who was not loved, but merely tolerated. And for as long as you had breath in your lungs and life in your veins, you chose to find peace in that.

You sat beside him by the fire, you felt a strange sense of calm settle over you. He was quiet, his eyes fixed on the flames, his expression thoughtful. He did not look at you, but you could feel his presence, warm and solid beside you, a reminder that you were not entirely alone in this world.

You turned your gaze to the fire, letting the heat warm your face, and you whispered, almost to yourself, “I do not ask for more than this. I am… content with what I have.”

He glanced at you, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if trying to understand your words. “Content?” he repeated, a hint of incredulity in his voice. “You are content being nothing but a shadow?”

You smiled softly, a hint of sadness in your eyes. “Contentment is a choice, my lord.” you replied. “I chose to be content with what fate has given me. It is not happiness, but it is enough.”

He looked at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable, and then he nodded slowly. “Perhaps you are wiser than I thought now, little one.” he murmured. “To find peace in a place like this… it is no easy feat.”

You nodded, knowing he spoke more to himself than to you. You had accepted that you would never be more than a shadow in his life, but even shadows had their place, their purpose. You would be content with that, for as long as your mortal years allowed.

The days passed with a creeping heaviness that settled into your bones, a fatigue that no amount of rest could cure. You began to feel the strain in every step, the way your breath came shorter, the way your limbs feel heavy and uncooperative. At first, you dismissed it as exhaustion, a lingering effect of sleepless nights and endless thoughts that twisted in your mind like shadows.

But then came the coughing fits, each one more violent than the last, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth and a sharp pain in your chest. You ignored it at first, waving away the concerned glances of the servants who attended you. You kept your back straight and your face serene, refusing to acknowledge the way your body seemed to betray you.

Yet it grew harder to hide. The pain became more frequent, stabbing through your lungs like a knife with every breath, every step. The first time you coughed up blood, it was a shock—a bright, vivid red staining your hand. Your heart raced as you stared at the crimson stain, panic rising like bile in your throat.

You quickly wiped it away, glancing around to see if anyone had noticed. Thankfully, you were alone in your chamber, and you pressed a trembling hand to your chest, willing yourself to calm down. There was no reason to be afraid, you told yourself. It was just a momentary lapse, nothing more.

But it wasn’t. It happened again, and again. You found yourself waking in the night, gasping for air, your throat raw and burning. The servants began to notice the dark circles under your eyes, the way you would clutch your side when you thought no one was looking, the way you moved a little slower, a little more carefully.

There was a day that you sat in the garden, trying to find solace in the soft petals of the cherry blossoms, a violent fit seized you. You doubled over, coughing hard, and felt something wet and warm splatter against your lips. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and saw the unmistakable smear of blood.

A sharp gasp came from behind you. One of the younger servants had seen, her eyes wide with fear and concern. She rushed to your side, her hands trembling as she reached out to steady you.

“My lady, oh my!” she whispered, her voice filled with worry. “You’re… you’re bleeding.”

You shook your head, forcing a smile that felt like a grimace. “It is nothing.” you said, your voice hoarse. “Do not worry yourself over me.”

The servant looked unconvinced, her brow furrowed with concern. “I must tell Lord Sukuna.” she said quickly, glancing toward the entrance of the garden as if she expected him to appear at any moment. “He must know—”

“No, no…..” you cut her off sharply, your voice firmer than you had intended. “There is no point in that.”

She hesitated, confusion clouding her eyes. “But, my lady… you are unwell. He should—”

“He would not care, little girl.” you said softly, looking down at your blood-stained hand. “There is no use in troubling him with this. It would make no difference. Sukuna does not love me, nor does he care for me in that way. Do you think he would be moved by something as trivial as this?”

The servant bit her lip, clearly torn between her duty to you and her fear of Sukuna’s wrath. “But… if he knew, he might—”

“Might what?” you interrupted, your voice edged with a quiet resignation. “Send a healer? Take pity on me? No, he would not. I am nothing more than a reminder to him, a shadow of a past he cannot let go. He tolerates me, yes, but that is all.”

The servant looked at you, her eyes filling with tears, but she nodded slowly, understanding the weight of your words. She knew as well as you did that Sukuna’s heart was a barren, desolate place, filled with ghosts and haunted memories. There was no room for you there.

“Promise me, little girl.” you whispered, reaching out to touch her arm gently. “Promise me you won’t tell him.”

She hesitated for a moment, then nodded, her expression tight with worry. “I promise, my lady.” she murmured, though you could hear the doubt in her voice.

You leaned back against the tree, closing your eyes and letting the cool breeze brush against your skin. You knew there was no point in hoping for more than what you had. Sukuna had given you a place by his side, but it was not out of affection. He had lost the woman he truly loved, and you were only a semblance of her—a shadow he tolerated, nothing more.

You were dying, that much was clear. Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise, a way to free yourself from this liminal existence, to escape the torment of being a living reminder of what he had lost. You could find peace in that, you thought. At least, you could try.

You would not burden him with your illness, with your slow, inevitable decline. You would carry it quietly, with dignity, for whatever time you had left. After all, what was one more life in the grand, cruel scheme of his world? You were just another fleeting moment in the endless march of time—another sacrifice, another offering to a man who had already lost everything he had ever cared for.

══════════════════

YOU DECIDED TO LET FATE RUN ITS COURSE. You let time pass by, letting the illness be hidden in the shadows of low whispers and painful tears in your long suffering days and nights. And sure enough, Ryomen Sukuna had returned from his long and exhausting trip within the next few days.

He had been famished from his trip and sent word that he would be having supper with you that night, which you had obliged without another word. You dressed in your finest, watching the servants prepare the table in your chambers and calmly thanked them one after another as they left.

The evening had settled into its usual quiet rhythm, with the two of you sharing dinner in the dimly lit chamber. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across the walls, and the scent of roasted meat and simmered vegetables filled the air.

It was a routine you had come to accept with a resigned sort of familiarity, a ritual that offered a small measure of normalcy in your otherwise constrained existence.

You sat across from Sukuna, picking at your meal with an absent-mindedness that spoke more to your weariness than any lack of appetite. His presence was imposing, yet tonight, he was unusually subdued, his attention focused on the food in front of him rather than on you. And somehow, you were a bit more grateful for it.

As you took a sip from your cup, you looked up at him, your expression earnest. "My lord, do you not think you should be more understanding of your subjects?" you began, your voice gentle but firm. "I must implore you once more to be more lenient with the people. The fear you instill is one thing, but mercy could win you their loyalty and respect."

Sukuna's eyes, dark and inscrutable, met yours. He did not respond immediately, his gaze lingering on you as if weighing your words. This was not the first time you had made this plea, and it was not likely to be the last. You had grown accustomed to his silence, to the way he would listen but rarely act upon your suggestions.

"It is not for me to coddle them, little one." he said finally, his voice low and dismissive. "Fear is a more effective tool than mercy. It ensures obedience."

You sighed softly, knowing well that your words often fell on deaf ears. Still, you persisted, driven by a conviction that even the smallest act of kindness could make a difference. "I understand your perspective, my lord,  but sometimes even the harshest rulers find strength in showing compassion. It can—"

Before you could finish your thought, a sudden, sharp pain gripped your chest. You gasped, doubling over slightly, and a violent coughing fit overtook you. You struggled to steady yourself, but the force of it was too strong. Blood splattered onto the table, the vibrant red stark against the white of your kimono and the pale wood of the dining surface.

Your heart raced as you quickly wiped the blood away with your sleeve, hoping to hide the evidence of your distress. You tried to maintain your composure, but your hands were trembling as you looked up at Sukuna, who had gone still, his eyes fixed on the crimson stain.

For a moment, there was a silence so thick it felt like a physical presence. Ryomen Sukuna’s gaze was heavy and unyielding, his red eyes locked onto the blood that had marred the table and your attire. You could feel the weight of his scrutiny, his silence, a heavy burden that pressed down upon you.

"It's nothing, my lord." you said hurriedly, forcing a weak smile as you tried to brush off the incident. "Just a momentary lapse. Please, continue with your meal."

Sukuna’s expression was unreadable, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied you. He did not speak, but there was a flicker of something in his gaze—perhaps surprise, or concern, or something deeper that he quickly masked.

You could feel the tension between you, an invisible thread connecting your quiet plea to his unspoken thoughts. It was clear that your condition had not gone unnoticed, even if he chose not to acknowledge it openly. You had always been a presence in his life, but tonight, the reality of your fragility seemed to cut through the usual indifference.

He took a deep breath, his gaze finally shifting away from you as he turned his attention back to his meal. The silence that followed was filled with the soft clinking of utensils and the low murmur of conversation from the servants who hovered at the edges of the room, their eyes darting to you with barely concealed concern.

You ate in silence, each bite of food tasting like ash in your mouth. The pain in your chest had subsided, but a deep weariness remained, a lingering reminder of your deteriorating health. You glanced at Sukuna from time to time, but he was absorbed in his meal, his expression unreadable.

The conversation you had tried to initiate was now buried beneath the weight of your illness, and you knew better than to press further. The battle for his leniency would have to wait for another day, another time when you were not so overshadowed by your own suffering.

As the meal drew to a close, you felt the oppressive silence settle around you once more. Sukuna’s gaze was distant, his thoughts seemingly occupied with matters beyond the confines of the dining room. You could only hope that, in some small way, your presence had made a difference, even if it was not the kind you had hoped for.

When the servants cleared away the dishes and the room began to empty, you excused yourself, retreating to your chamber with a heavy heart. You knew that your time here was growing shorter, that the end was approaching with each passing day. But for now, you would carry on, finding what small measure of peace you could in the fleeting moments you had left.

And as you lay down in your bed, staring up at the ceiling, you could not help but think of the blood you had tried to hide, of the way Sukuna’s eyes had lingered on it. You could only hope that someday, he might see you not as a mere shadow or a reminder of what he had lost, but as a person who had tried, in her own way, to make a difference in his world.

The next morning, you awoke to a disorienting cacophony of shouts and harsh reprimands. The once-familiar silence of your quarters was shattered by the sounds of chaos from the courtyard. Your heart sank as you stumbled out of bed, a sharp pain reminding you of the night before.

As you made your way through the hallways, the noise grew louder, mingling with the harsh, angry tones of Ryomen Sukuna’s voice. Your mind raced, dreading what you might find. You knew it already. You have seen it in the other households of the other concubines. And you can only know what had caused such a commotion. When you reached the courtyard, the scene before you was both startling and terrifying.

Your servants were gathered in the center of the courtyard, their faces pale with fear and their postures crumpled under the weight of Sukuna’s wrath. He stood at the center of the commotion, his expression thunderous as he raged at them. His anger was palpable, his words a relentless storm of fury directed at those who had failed to inform him of your condition.

Your breath caught in your throat, and without thinking, you stepped forward, your heart pounding in your chest. The courtyard fell into a stunned silence as Sukuna’s gaze shifted to you, his eyes dark with a mixture of surprise and irritation.

"My lord, please." you began, your voice trembling as you bowed deeply, your forehead nearly touching the ground. "This is my fault, not theirs. I beg for your forgiveness and mercy for my servants."

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed as he took in your contrite posture, his anger momentarily faltering. He regarded you with a mixture of disbelief and curiosity, his dark, unforgiving, gaze sharp as he assessed your sincerity.

"It was my decision to hide my illness, my lord." you continued, your voice barely more than a whisper. "I did not want to trouble you or cause unnecessary concern. Please, spare them your anger. They were only following my wishes."

Ryomen Sukuna remained silent for a moment, his anger still simmering beneath the surface. The servants, though still shaken, dared to lift their eyes to you, their expressions a blend of relief and apprehension.

Finally, Sukuna's gaze softened, a hint of resignation creeping into his expression. He took a deep breath, his anger dissipating as he looked at you with a new intensity. "You would take the blame for them?" he asked, his voice low and edged with incredulity.

You nodded, maintaining your bowed position. "Yes, my lord. It was my choice, my responsibility. I could not bear the thought of them being punished for my actions."

Sukuna’s expression hardened slightly, but the fury in his eyes had dimmed. After a moment of consideration, he gave a curt nod. "Very well. You will accept any punishment I shall put upon you.”

You swallowed the bile down your throat. “Yes, my lord.”

“Then I will call for healers. You will see them immediately." He says, as though it was the final verdict. “You will see them, all of them. Do you understand?”

“Yes…yes, my lord.” You whispered back to him.

He turned away from the servants, his gaze now fixed on you with an inscrutable intensity. "Go." he commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. "See to your health, you foolish girl. Your servants too can go. They will tend to you, no matter what you ask.”

You straightened slowly, a mixture of relief and trepidation washing over you. You dared to look up at Sukuna, meeting his eyes briefly before turning to address the servants.

"Thank you, my lord." you said quietly, your voice filled with gratitude. "You have done nothing wrong. Please, return to your duties."

With a final, respectful bow, you turned and headed back toward your quarters with the help of your servants. As you entered your quarters, you felt like you had lived a thousand lifetimes in that one moment. Your servants were bowing at your feet, asking for your forgiveness. But you had all but shooed them away, telling them it was your duty as their master.

You wanted to be alone right now. At least when you still had the chance. When the healers arrive, you would have a life to yourself any longer. You would be stuck in their mercy, with their potions and their whims.

You must prepare yourself for the arrival of the healers. You groaned lowly as you clutch your chest, a wave of pain hitting one after the other. It will be over soon, that’s what you hoped. That’s what you want. You want to be free from this pain. You wanted nothing more than to be free.

══════════════════

THE PAIN WAS RELENTLESS. The days dragged on in a relentless cycle of pain and futile hope. Despite the best efforts of countless healers, none seemed able to bring you any real relief.

If anything, your condition worsened, each new treatment only seeming to accelerate your quick decline. Ryomen Sukuna’s frustration was palpable; his anger had become a regular presence, casting a long shadow over the already bleak atmosphere of the estate.

You had heard the whispers of the fate that befell each healer who failed to improve your condition. It was a grim reminder of Sukuna’s volatility, a dangerous mix of desperation and rage. The once-bustling quarters were now filled with an air of fearful tension as new healers arrived, only to face Sukuna’s wrath when their efforts proved ineffectual.

On one of the rare days when you felt well enough to leave your bed, you chose to sit by the garden. The fresh air and the sight of the vibrant blooms were a welcome distraction from the constant ache in your body. You had managed to position yourself on a stool under the gentle shade of a cherry tree, finding some small comfort in watching the birds flit about, their cheerful chirping a stark contrast to the turmoil that had become your life.

Sukuna appeared in the garden, his presence as imposing as ever. He walked with a deliberate pace, his gaze scanning the surroundings with an air of detached observation. As he neared, you looked up and greeted him with a smile, though the effort felt heavy, as if each movement was a strain against the burden of your illness.

“My lord.” you said softly, your voice barely more than a whisper. “The skies are beautiful today, aren’t they?”

Sukuna stopped, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in your serene expression. The silence stretched between you, an unspoken tension that lingered like the heat of a summer day. He said nothing in response, his gaze fixed on you with an inscrutable intensity.

After a moment, he broke the silence. “How is it that you can accept death with such… calm?” His voice was low, edged with curiosity and something else you couldn’t quite place.

You blinked, taken aback by his question. A laugh escaped you, soft and brittle, more out of surprise than genuine amusement. “Accept death, my lord?” you repeated. “I haven’t accepted death, in truth. But there is no way to avoid it.”

Sukuna’s eyes remained on you, his expression unreadable as he listened. You continued, your voice tinged with a philosophical resignation. “Death will come for all of us, eventually. It’s a natural end to this life. We all must face it in our own time. In that way, we are all freed from the burdens of this world.”

He studied you with a mixture of skepticism and something akin to contemplation. “You speak as if it is an inevitability you embrace, little one.”

“Not embrace, my lord.” you corrected gently, sighing. “But acknowledge. It’s a part of life, as much as the beginning is. We can fight it or we can accept it, but it will come regardless.”

Sukuna’s gaze softened slightly, though his expression remained stoic. He seemed to be weighing your words, his usual fierceness replaced by an unusual quiet. “And you are not afraid, then?”

“Fear?” You tilted your head, considering the question. “I suppose I am afraid of the pain that might come before the end. But fear of death itself? Not so much. It’s merely another step in the journey, my lord. That is what I believe, at least.”

For a moment, there was a stillness between you, punctuated only by the distant chirping of birds. Sukuna’s eyes flickered to the sky, perhaps contemplating the vastness of existence you had spoken of. The anger that had once seemed so consuming in his presence now appeared subdued, replaced by a contemplative silence.

“I see.” he said finally, his tone carrying a trace of grudging respect. “Your words are… unusual.”

You smiled faintly, a tired but genuine expression. “Perhaps. But sometimes, facing the truth can be a way to find peace, my lord.”

Sukuna stood there for a while longer, his presence a dark silhouette against the backdrop of the garden’s tranquility. Finally, he gave a curt nod and turned to leave, his demeanor less harsh than before. The sound of his footsteps gradually faded as he walked away, leaving you alone once more with your thoughts and the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze.

As you sat there, watching the birds and the shifting clouds, you felt a small measure of contentment. Sukuna’s visit had brought a moment of introspection, a reminder of the fragile balance between life and death. Even in your suffering, you found a semblance of peace, understanding that acceptance was not about surrendering to fate but about finding a way to live with it, even as the end loomed ever closer.

And just like that, the day you had dreaded finally arrived. And truly, you were left feeling an unbearable weakness that signaled the end was near. The once-familiar confines of your quarters now seemed like a distant world, and the pain of your illness was a constant, gnawing presence. Each breath was a struggle, each moment of consciousness a battle against the encroaching darkness.

To your surprise, your lord Sukuna appeared by your side as you lay on your bed, his imposing figure contrasting sharply with the fragility of your own condition. He had not been a part of your daily existence in the past weeks, his visits sporadic and his presence usually marked by anger and frustration. But now, he was here, seated beside you in a rare display of stillness.

You looked at him through the haze of pain and weakness, your voice a mere whisper. “My lord, it seems this is my time to part from you.”

Sukuna’s eyes were steady, his gaze betraying an emotion you could not fully decipher. “I know, little one.” he replied simply, his voice holding a note of finality.

A pained laugh escaped your lips, the sound mingling with a shuddering breath. “I only wish… I could avoid being reborn into such misery again. To be the other woman, to be nothing to you.”

Sukuna’s silence stretched between you, a weighty pause that seemed to deepen the divide between you. After a moment, he spoke, his voice low but firm. “You were something.”

You shook your head, the effort to move even slightly causing a fresh wave of agony. “You lie easily, as you breathe, my lord.” you said with a faint, sorrowful smile.

The silence that followed was heavy and palpable, filled with the unspoken complexities of your relationship. As you lay there, the end drawing closer with each passing moment, you found a strange clarity in the finality of your situation.

“I love you, my lord.” you said softly, the words carrying a weight that transcended the physical pain. “As sad as it is, I do. But I have no intention of having it returned. I hope that, in the next life, I never meet you again.”

Sukuna’s expression remained impassive, but there was a softness in his gaze that belied his usual stoic demeanor. As you took your final, labored breaths, his sigh was a mix of resignation and something deeper, something that spoke to the complexity of your intertwined fates.

“I hope so too, little one.” he said quietly, his voice carrying a rare touch of vulnerability.

With those words hanging in the air, you felt a sense of release, the weight of your suffering beginning to lift. As your consciousness faded and the pain finally ebbed away, you left behind the world that had been both your prison and your refuge. Ryomen Sukuna looked at your lifeless body, pursing his lips into a flat line.

“Live on in a better life, little one.” He whispered, his fingers brushing against your hair. “May you be loved by someone who loves you. May we never meet again, my other woman."

[vampireimiko]

Neuvillette and gn! reader, they became a couple but by chance of fate they broke up, reader after a long time returned to Fontaine and saw Neuvillette again, and even though they both tried to hide it, they both still felt something for the other OEJTOEJTJIS.

Echoes of Memories

warnings, NONE !!

note, ill def be up to make a part two to this if people want it😭 BUT OMGNNGNGNG this is my first time writing something semi deep and actually the longest i've written something so 🤑

"Y/N?" The sound of your name sliced through the cocoon of your thoughts, abruptly pulling you back to the bustling reality of the café. With a reflexive start, your eyes lifted from your table to meet the gaze of none other than Neuvillette. A gasp involuntarily escaped your lips, and you felt your words stumble into fragments, caught off guard by the unexpected encounter. The sight of Neuvillette sent a flurry of emotions coursing through you, ones you had carefully tucked away in the recesses of your heart.

In all honesty, the last person you anticipated encountering upon your return to Fontaine was Neuvillette. Your intention had been to enter and exit the city swiftly, without unwrapping the layers of the past that lay dormant within its cobblestone streets and pristine waters. The mere thought of facing Neuvillette again was a surge of conflicting desires — the longing to reconnect, coupled with the determination to keep your distance.

It had been exactly 3 years and 7 months since you'd stepped a foot inside of Fontaine. 3 years and 7 months that you hadn't seen Neuvillette. You and Neuvillette were broken up, reason being, you wanted to focus more on your education and Neuvillette, being the Chief Justice, he couldn't leave Fontaine. You both decided a breakup would be best, instead of having to travel through the Desert or Liyue to continuously visit back.

It ended on good terms, but you couldn't deny the hurt that came with it. Every once in a while, you'd reminiscence about the relationship you had with Neuvillette and what you two could've been to this day, had you not gone to pursue your studies.

Neuvillette had always been the pillar of justice and order in Fontaine, and you admired his dedication to his role. The two of you had dreamed of a future together, balancing your aspirations with his responsibilities. But life had taken you on a different path, one that led you away from Fontaine's enchanting waters and into the world of akademiya.

Returning to Fontaine now, a swirl of emotions engulfed you. The city's charm felt both familiar and foreign, just as Neuvillette himself might. What had changed during your absence? How had time sculpted the lines of his face and the contours of his heart? The thought of seeing him again ignited a blend of excitement and anxiety within you.

As you navigated through the streets, memories came alive around every corner—where you first met, the park where you shared secrets, and the café where you both reveled in each other's company. The weight of your decision to prioritize your education remained, but so did the undeniable connection you had with Neuvillette.

Truth is, you hoped you ran into Neuvillette but at the same time, you didn't. But back to the present now, that wish and semi- nightmare came true.

"I- Hello Neuvillette," you managed to utter, your voice carrying a mixture of sheepishness and a nervous yet giddy smile that tugged at the corners of your lips. Your fingers instinctively found solace in the back of your neck, as if the touch could somehow alleviate the rapid heartbeat that had taken residence there.

Neuvillette's presence before you was both unchanged and subtly transformed. The years had lent an air of maturity to his already commanding stature. His tall figure still held that aura of authority you remembered, but now there was a new layer to him, a depth that seemed to have emerged from the trials and responsibilities he'd shouldered. The way he stood, his posture both confident and welcoming, suggested that time hadn't eroded the essence of his character.

For a moment, the café and its bustling patrons faded into the periphery. It was as if the world had narrowed down to the two of you, existing within a suspended breath, a heartbeat's pause between the fragments of the past and the possibilities of the present.

"I didn't expect to see you here," Neuvillette replied, his voice a warm current that mingled with the ambient sounds of the café. A smile played at the corners of his lips, a hint of nostalgia dancing in his eyes. "Fontaine seems to have a way of bringing back memories, doesn't it?"

The familiarity in his words, the resonance of shared experiences, eased the tension that had clenched your shoulders. The weight of unspoken conversations and unfinished narratives seemed to hang in the air between you, waiting to be acknowledged.

You found yourself nodding, the nervous energy gradually giving way to a sense of connection that bridged the years. "Yes, it certainly does. It's... It's been a while."

A subtle yet understanding smile curved Neuvillette's lips. "Indeed, it has." He paused, his gaze holding yours. "I hope these years have treated you well."

A swirl of emotions churned within you. Gratitude for the experiences you'd gained, curiosity about the path he'd walked, and the undeniable longing to rediscover the threads that had once woven your hearts together.

"They have," you replied softly, the words carrying the weight of unspoken stories.

Now, after this encounter you decided to stay in Fontaine for just a bit longer. You swore it wasn't just because of some tall long haired fella. As the days past you could feel the feelings you suppressed for Neuvillette grow stronger and stronger, him the same.

As the days slipped by, Fontaine enveloped you in its embrace, offering a blend of familiarity and novelty. The streets you walked were imbued with memories, and every corner seemed to whisper the secrets of your shared past. The city had changed, and yet it hadn't, much like Neuvillette himself. But what had shifted the most was the landscape of your own heart.

With every fleeting smile, every accidental brush of hands, the feelings that had long been suppressed surged forth like a tide that refused to be restrained. And it wasn't just you; there was a tangible change in Neuvillette's demeanor as well. The way he looked at you, the moments of silence that carried entire conversations, spoke of a bond that had been preserved, untouched by the years that had passed.

It was in the lingering gazes that lasted a heartbeat too long, in the way his voice softened when he spoke your name, and in the laughter that held the resonance of shared experiences. The magnetism between you two was undeniable, a force that seemed to defy time and logic. The more you tried to convince yourself that this was merely a chance reconnection, the more the gravity of your emotions pulled you in.

One evening, as the city's lights began to shimmer and twinkle like stars fallen to earth, you found yourselves standing by the city's edge, the gentle lull of water nearby creating a symphony of its own. Neuvillette's gaze held a vulnerability that matched the shadows cast by the fading sun. He turned to you, his eyes searching yours as if seeking answers to questions he couldn't voice.

"Y/N," he began, his voice, which was usually calm and confident, carrying a mixture of hesitation and longing. "Do you ever wonder... what if?"

The question hung in the air, heavy with the weight of unspoken emotions. You looked at him, your heart and mind colliding in a tempest of feelings. The echoes of what might have been reverberated through your thoughts, intertwining with the present that seemed equally uncertain and full of potential.

Your response, a mirror to his vulnerability, was a whisper that held within it the uncharted territories of the heart. You put your head on his shoulder. "Every day."

𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞; 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐢'𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 🤓☝🏾𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐑𝐀𝐇𝐇𝐇𝐇𝐘𝐇𝐇 𝐍𝐄𝐔𝐕𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄 !! 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬, 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐬𝐦 (𝐢𝐟 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐟𝐮𝐥) 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 🫶🏾

𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧

[barzfrommarz]

Why do I still love c!wilbur so much?

small essay type post to just gush about c!wilbur

One thing that always surprises me is why I stayed with c!wilbur

Before cc!wilbur even confirmed the allegations, I dropped him and lovejoy because it was becoming way too stressful and way more obvious it was him even though he had became a special interest and a huge part of my life

So why didnt I do the same with c!wilbur?

Better question, why couldn’t I?

Maybe it’s because back in March of 2022, my online friends had just stopped being friends with me a week prior. Specifically on March 17th 2022 (correct me if i’m wrong) the first stream that kick started the apology streams happened. I think that’s was what reignited my interest fully, since I had changed myself so much for my ex friends since they hated dsmp so much and it was basically my entire personality

It was also an outlet to interact with people, since these specific friends were my only friends at the time.

It was so nice to have a community of people who love the same thing I love. Making art, fanfiction, theories even songs. It was great and it was definitely one of the best times of my life (in the recent years)

The days leading up to the final were the greatest but also the most nerve wracking, esp since I wanted c!wilbur to have a good ending and basically not die

Waiting for the stream to start on Sept 3rd 2022 was so exciting, I remember sitting in offline chat just waiting for a fucking minecraft stream to start. Something I had never done

Now im not gna critique the ending in this post. I have my gripes with the apology tour in general but thats not what this post is about.

It was surprising to watch. Not what I had expected but it had its charm and I grew on it eventually. Going on twitter afterwards kinda sucked but it stopped eventually

The community was still going strong. Even if our favorite character is completely retired. The love and passion was still there, especially for me. It seemed like my love for c!wilbur just got more intense

After the dsmp ended and 2023 rolled around, thats when I noticed things kinda slowing down a bit. I know why of course. Loveshit was kicking off for William so its obvious why more people gradually moved on from the dsmp and fan content slowed down. Including me!

I wont go more into it but it was disappointing for me as someone who just couldn't move on from c!wilbur and the dsmp to see everyone on all the main platforms I used move on. Yeah tumblr was still active but I didn't use it as much back then

Then of course, the allegations came out

Im not proud of how I acted during the first night. You could say I was very very delusional and willing to make up excuses and drown out a victim all for some white guy I didn't know.

Thankfully, the next morning I came to my senses a bit and left, soon after joining everyone in just waiting for him to respond. Luckily I had some great mutuals on twitter and we were all there for eachother, even though I was the least affected since I was more mad at the fact I wasted years of my life on him than upset.

You all know how the story ends, he responded and everyone hated on him blah blah blah

but throughout all of that, I still stayed with c!wilbur. Not any other bursona. I cant engage with any of the other bursonas because they remind me too much of william, so why is c!wilbur different?

Well one obvious factor is my autism. C!Wilbur and the Dsmp is one of my biggest and longest lasting special interest so I dont think its going away for atleast 2-4 more years atp. Who knows maybe ill be 24 years old still yapping about a minecraft server that I liked when I was 11

I also think its because of the dsmp community on tumblr. Yeah the c!wilbur part has gotten understandably smarter but the people who have stayed are awesome and cool and so creative but most importantly strong

We have all been through it. From the allegations to the shit we get from outsiders for showing slight interest in c!wilbur and the dsmp in general.

I also see it as one massive fuck you to William. Taking his creation for ourselves then actively hating on him in the process. Shipping the ship he has gone on record to say its not canon is also pretty cool

So I guess I just want to say thank you. I could not have kept my interest alive if it wasn't for you guys continuing to create despite the creator being a degenerate. This stupid little character has single handedly kept my passion for creation and art going so strong. If you look through any of my recent sketchbooks most of the pages have him on it. I got into wrighting and reading fanfiction because of c!wilbur (and c!tntduo but we dont talk about the fanfictions ive read). My point is this character means alot to me so to all the remaining c!wilbur fans...

Thank you, truly

[justarandombrit]

Ride The Cyclone Knock Knock AU:

(Click for better quality)

The Choir finally moved out of Uranium! Unfortunately, the cheapest university they could find didn't have dorms. Trying to find a house to fit six people (plus with wheelchair access) is harder than you'd think. By an insane stroke of luck, Ocean receives a phone call from an old man named Ezra Lamb, who was happy to let them stay in his huge mansion for cheap.

While staying there, they soon discover a myriad of mysteries and abnormalities. A series of strange noises, gradual disappearances, a wooden girl named Penny who Mr Lamb claims to be his daughter, and a whole lot of rats.

(Disclaimer: I have no clue how University and College work over here, let alone in Canada, so this probably isn't accurate, but the Uni stuff isn't that important in this AU)

Ocean O'Connell Rosenberg:

. She / Her

. Maths major (She's currently having a breakdown and doesn't know what to do with her life ❤️)

. Burnt out gifted kid - probably needs therapy

. Less of an outright bitch now, but sometimes still says the wrong thing by accident.

. Actually Constance's best friend

Noel Gruber:

. He / Him

. Studying English Literature (until he can move to a Uni that specialises in Performing Arts)

. He sometimes talks about Monique with Savannah, who in return talks (through a text to speech device, or he sometimes writes it down if she needs to do a diagram) about her Alien cat OCs.

Mischa Bachinski:

. He / Him

. Studying English Literature with Noel (So Noel can take his notes)

. He still does music on his YouTube channel

. He barely ever goes to class, since he's too busy working to get enough money to travel to Ukraine and meet Talia. Noel takes notes for him.

Ricky / Savannah Potts:

. She / He

. Studying Graphic Design (She finds it slightly boring, but it was the only remotely creative subject this Uni does)

. He goes equally by Ricky and Savannah, Ocean and Mischa mainly use Ricky, Noel and Constance mainly use Savannah

Constance Blackwood:

. She / Her

. Studying English with a minor in Botany

. Constance is the only student who calls Penny by her name, rather than Jane Doe

Penny Lamb / Jane Doe:

. ??? / ??? (Everyone uses She / Her - except for Ocean, who sometimes says It)

. She's been in the house for so long she's forgotten her own name, so most of the others call her Jane Doe

. Her wooden limbs mean she is mainly bedridden, and can hardly walk, mostly relying on Ezra or the rats to bring her food

Ezra Lamb:

. He / Him

. He plays the role of the landlord (minus being played by Hercule Poirot)

. Claims Penny is his daughter, of course, she's actually his sister

. He sometimes just… stares at people. No one knows what that's about

Virgil:

(I had to cut his drawing out to put the lineup at the top rip)

. He / Him

. One of Penny's rats. He's been around the longest, so he's her favourite

Karnak:

(Design inspired by @timegays 's human Karnak)

. He / Him

. A nearby shopkeeper and amateur fortune teller who's obsessed with the paranormal

. His corner shop is called "The Amazing Karnak's"

. He informs the students of the significance of the legends surrounding the house, specifically to do with the rats

Penny Lamb:

. She / It (Turns out Ocean was right)

When she was only 16 years old, Penny grew very, very ill. As orphans, Penny, and its little brother Ezra had nowhere to turn after running away from St Cassian Boarding School. Fortunately, they found an abandoned manor house, where Penny rested until she would get better.

She didn't get better.

Due to the siblings' distrust of modern medicine, Ezra refused to seek a doctor for his sister, besides, he knew they'd be sent back to St Cassian's. Instead, he looked after Penny, and became its soul caretaker.

One day, whilst he was playing in the garden, he found a rat with luminescent red eyes. Excited, he showed his sibling the find, and named the rodent Virgil.

Over time, Virgil and Penny became inseparable, and when the latter's limbs started turning to wood… well, Ezra was just happy he could take care of his sister daughter… forever.

Ships:

Probably none will be canon to this AU. I might keep Ocean's crush on Ricky and Noel's crush on Mischa, and maybe if my finger slips I'll add Sugarsheep… we'll see how it turns out.

[percys-lemons]

HELLO CAN U PLEASE TELL ME A BIT MORE ABT THE DIFFERENT PLANETS' CIVILIZATIONS AND RULERS I WANNA KNOW NOW

I DIDNT SEE THIS OMG

the most developed i have is saturn. i don’t know a lot about earth history so bear with me but i kind of based it off of the tudors, for the longest time it was a monarchy ruling saturn, up til queen liza II, she was awesome, and was seemingly the only sane one in the family at the time, who would have her marry her uncle.

she grew very ill and knew that when she died the throne would go to her nasty little brother who would for sure mess up.

so on her deathbed she was as tradition granted one final decree that would pass after her death, so she decided that her dear friend the duchess be given rule over the planet, and as they had no choice she and her line became the rulers (this was highly irregular and i’m not sure it makes sense but i’ve decided everyone else in her family and the royal courts was too stupid to think of a way to avoid this so yeah)

so that brings us to present day when the duke rules the planet. he is very good friends with the general on neptune (they fought together when they were young in the wars on neptune) neptune is mainly uninhabited except for military bases and prisons.

the war happened when folks from mars wanted to build a city but the army on saturn wanted a place to train and test weapons and saturn has the superior firepower so saturn won.

there has been tension since then between the solid planets of mars and venus (venus has very few people living on it due to harsh conditions and is largely unexplored so far)

Mars is generally the base, where the Alliance of Uzark is based (Uzark was the first martian to perform the calculations necessary, and then sail all the way to saturn solo and make the first contact with the colony on saturn without being executed)

earth has remained largely the same, with primitive life forms and a severely deteriorating planet growing hotter and hotter. the council on mars generally had a grudge against earth at the way the population treats their home, and avoided making contact, but focusing on finding ways to safely settle on venus and jupiter, jupiter especially as its the largest planet and the storm has been growing much larger over the years, and it has many moons with different properties, some with conditions safe for life

the planets without a surface were settled on by way of building colossal pillars up from the core that hold the cities up in artificial atmospheres. this was done by the strange beings that seemed to have evolved naturally on saturn before deserting the city and leaving the galaxy (or so they think) for unknown reasons

a lot of this is very unfinished but i’ve thought about it a lot. now much of it is physically impossible and/or scientifically preposterous and to that i say: nuh uh. it’s my fantasy story and if it gets hugely popular someday i’ll let the nerds find an explanation for it and if not i’ll leave it as is cause its fun to make up things 👍

[laprimera]

catching up to dash since early morning is wild. but since everyones putting their two cents in lemme throw a bet in from someone who's been in poke rpc for some seven or so odd years ( hell some people have been around longer LMAO ).

I see a lot of posts focused on the individual experience, and thats great and not so great at the same time. It's tumblr, I get it. For the longest time peeps have been putting up with their time and energy being spent on the outside just to get online and want to relax. Let's not forget the mental illnesses that make energy and attention just impossible literally to do things lmao.

I love seeing people taking steps to take care of themselves. The early days didn't have carefully made boundaries and I saw so many peeps get burnt out making this a job more then a hobby, getting abused, a lot of nasty stuff but all that changed when the attitude changed. It's been so much better for everyone that way.

But I also observe the community in this .. or lack of in some ways. There's also been a lot of people leaving because of little interaction or in some cases being shunned from events that are supposedly open. That's a recent movement. I remember dash wide spontaneous events, the rpc sharing and evolving a plot that may have started from one blog before connecting so many others, raid battles with legendary pokemon that went out of control, etc!

Im not saying you can't have a circle of pals. I sure do! I'm saying have instances of being open for others to interact and get involved. I'm sure a lot of peeps wouldn't have even met their pals without having that oppurtunity to participate in something small that became something very big! This hobby is great because there's a community to share and be apart of and to deny or shun new players or even current ones who want to be part of something great is counterintuitive for a community at whole. Whether thats rb'ing memes, letting peeps comment on ic posts or dash posts, having starter calls, making aus that aren't connected to a plot so it's easier to open to new engagement, etc.

Course there's the argument of "its my X so I will say what or who goes into X" and you're right! There's a perfect balance of boundaries understood and being made and maybe opening the narrative to players who genuinely look interested and try to join who listen to said boundaries and participate fairly and with anticipation.

But more then anything make it easy to do so. I also remember the period when people would put cryptic rule passwords in their rules. Like...Im talking they broke them up, scattered them around all around their tiny text, glow up pages and if you get one word wrong theyd tell you try again....lol. We don't need that. Getting the nuisances of society is hard enough least of all for the peeps who have conditions that make this extra hard. I'm talking from someone who has an extreme case of social anxiety (doctors word for it, not mine LAUGHs) and ADHD. I don't communicate or participate like regular players. In fact I only gauge how well I can play with someone by casual one off ic back and forth first and build from there. Maybe by the third or fourth interaction Im brave enough to reach out via DMs. I literally have panic attacks and take a week to answer IMs that come out of the blue asking to participate which is just the regular thing to do in the rpc, but I literally can't do that. Sadly I've been reprimanded for trying to have casual back and forths throughout the years despite how apparent I make it that I have a very hard time going into IMs or asks without knowing you first.

We should make ourselves accessible! We talk about making front pages accessible for those hard of sight, google documents to make things easy, icons and all that but don't really talk about making the important communication between peeps accessible for people with handicaps too.

All in all this is my opinion and observation! The community changes every few years and it's interesting to see how it turns one way or the other. You dont have to listen to me or any of this really! Be as private or as open as ya like. This is after all a hobby and Im literally turning into the old man in the corner on his rocker literally and figurately.

also fuck fetish asks. that has never changed and I hate it.

[fictionfixations]

can someone tell me how to beat this boss but explained in dumb terms like i was 5 😭 i saw a long reddit post regarding it but i understood barely any of it (ive been living off of auto so me no understand fight system well)

im trying to level SR olivine to get the boost for HP (and i have like the space blade because if i get his ult up it immediately gets the character in the 5th slot to get their ult but i never last long enough to get an ult in the battle)

also my dumbass thought i should level a random character (aster) and then i speedran through the story (I'd paused on like some part before we met Quincy?) and got stuck on a boss and turns out i couldve used those coins which i no longer have 💀

i mean its prob a good idea to be at least lvl 65 and up but nothing much i can do outside of wait for energy to refill then battle rinse and repeat

you dont even have to say something you could just link something for me to read (idk maybe if i reread that reddit post ill understand this time but also ive tried reading how to do like the stuff in events that set you at a specific level and you have to do so and so and im just like what?? ???)

cause. so from that post youre meant to use your healer but all my characters are really squishy. so it knocked him down to like 60 hp(?) within like 2 turns? which i cant defend against (because he dies anyway) and i dont have an ult built (i need at least 3 turns to build idol blade and maid dante ult but i dont survive that long)

they also said to have a taunt character like morvay so olivine doesnt get hit, idk how well that works but regardless it'll still take time even if i do try him cause coins

anyway since i kept dying i tried all defense trying to build up ult but still death so im thinking my characters might be too weak (and the team comp is probably really bad, but idk what is a good team)

idk how to make him not die space blade just sat there like oh 💀 apparently it can work on dif ppl too if 5 is dead but still

dante and morvay survive the longest (only cause they do the defend thing after attack/ult ???) but oof

edit: this is the farthest ive gotten? idk i did another team but w/ auto team to see if it made a difference and idol blade and space blade survived

and space blade just kept using his ult on himself which kept healing idol blade and so it was just ult spam tbh 💀

double edit: IT BECAME AN ACTUAL STRATEGY THAT WORKS and i never wouldve noticed

well im fucked but HOLY SHIT ???? i was focusing on the wrong character 😭

EDIT EDIT: LETS FUCKING GOOOOO

😭😭😭😭 someone please tell me that the bosses dont get harder after this

[diangelofan]

Inevitable

Happy belated birthday, Ginny Weasley! (this was supposed to be a small cute Linny drabble and it became the longest one-shot I've ever written lol).

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

Everyone was surprised when the girls told them the news. Ginny’s family thought she was going through a mid-life crisis before realizing that, even though they just went through a war, she’s still just seventeen, thank you very much. Now that a month has passed, Ginny recalls with amusement the reaction that, at the time, filled her with nerves. “I am dating Luna Lovegood.”, stated clearly Ginnerva Weasley: “We have been dating for quite some time and thought you should know”. Her boisterous twin brothers, Fred and George, were, of course, the first to react with a series of exclamations. “Luna Lovegood, what a gal!”, exclaimed Fred “Yeah, covered up for us a couple of times-”, interjected George “You know, when we were escaping Filch after setting some dungbombs in his office-” “Show us a secret passage, that witch-” “Said something about an infestation of tambles-” “Nargles”, muttered Ginny smiling, but her brothers were to busy narrating how her wonderful girlfriend had aided them with their Great Escape from Filch (a feat worthy of capital letters).

“I think it started with an n not an t”, said George, his loud voice overshadowing Ginny’s. “Whatever it was, she said its strong smell led her to the passage-” “Though I don’t remember there being any stink at all-” “Quite the secret passage that one-” “Sad we didn’t find it ourselves before-” “Yeah, specially with how extremely useful it became…” Fred and George could have probably kept on talking for eternity to come, as they often did when pranking and mischief was involved (Ginny knew it through first-hand experience: they had been her teachers in the important art of misbehaving as a small impressionable child), if it hadn’t been for Ron’s loud shout. Oh, it seemed his brother had finally recovered from his shock. This is going to be interesting, she thought. “YOU ARE DATING LOONY LOVEGOOD”, exclaimed Ron, with the emotional range of a teaspoon that Hermione so often annoyed her by grumbling about (honestly how those two were not yet a couple remained a mystery to Ginny…). Thankfully, her mother was soon to reprimand his behaviour (if only she had acted similarly when she came out…, oh, well, that was a story for another day): “RONALD WEASLEY! Don’t you dare speak ill of the neighbours! The Lovegoods have always been really kind to us, though a bit eccentric at times… You know, you used to play as a kid with Luna Lovegood yourself, until you decided “girls had cooties”… bet you don’t think that now, do you?” After her mother had succeeded at rendering Ronald Weasley speechless, as well as making him as red as his hair (or her hair, or just the Weasley’s hair in general), Ginny looked expectantly at the four remaining members of her big family. Her father was the first to take the word. “Well… as your mother said, honey, the Lovegoods are good people. If you are happy with Luna, then I am very happy for you, Gin.” Arthur bestowed her only daughter a kind smile, “I am sure the rest of the family shares the sentiment.” “Yeah, Ginny. We are happy as long as you are.” stated her oldest brother Bill, quickly followed by Charlie: “Yeah, I have never talked to the Lovegoods, aside from the occasional visit mom made me do to ask for a certain plant or ingredient… they had a huge garden, that family… Anyways, what I was trying to say is that you know best. We love you, little sis.” Percy was the last to speak. He had remained silent since even before her sister’s proclamation and Ginny would be lying to say she wasn’t nervous about what he would think. Even though he had been very supportive when she came out (the most supportive one, actually, though it was no surprise given him and Oliver Wood), she had heard him comment on Luna’s “weird” behaviour more times than she would have liked during his time as a prefect. “Well… I certainly would have never thought to date someone that… outgoing… but I guess your personalities must match each other alright. I am happy for you, Ginny.” muttered Percy in a quiet voice, almost as if talking to himself, but Ginny was able to hear him alright. The youngest of the Weasley children smiled. It could have gone better, there was no denying that, but things were always a bit of a spectacle at the Burrow, specially when the whole family was around. It certainly hadn’t been as bad as her coming out and now she could invite Luna and her father to Christmas dinner without worries. She was aware that everyone who knew Luna and her separately would probably be extremely surprised by their coupling. Nevertheless, for her and her girlfriend it had felt everything but surprising (it would have been a happy surprise had there been any). Anyone who would have dared peek on the private moments the two girls spent alone together would agree with her. As shocking as it had been for outsiders that they were now a couple, for the two of them it had just seemed inevitable.

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

Luna was something out of this world. Ginny knew that. Everyone knew that. However, she meant it in a completely different way that she knew most of her classmates meant it. Luna Lovegood was just so unique and wonderful. The way she could stay optimistic, having such a positive outlook of the world despite its grievances and the darkness that often haunted its residents. Her things got stolen and, instead of breaking down crying, she turned finding them into a game. She just never gave up trying to live her best life, which Ginny found to be one of her most beautiful qualities. There was an aura that surrounded her (just as mystical as the creatures she talk so fondly about), almost like a halo, marking her as one of heaven’s lost creatures (okay, maybe she was exaggerating, but Ginny was a girl who had an amazing girlfriend and was utterly in love, so sue her). She was to be protected at all costs (even though, obviously Luna could protect herself with no problems). She, on the other hand, was another completely different matter. Ginny could be considered optimistic (after all, one doesn’t win the Quidditch Cup or survive a war without a sense of perseverance and optimism), but she was strong-willed instead of soft in her approach. She didn’t mince her words or turn away when people picked of them (not the anyone dared to do it anymore; people knew not to get on the wrong side of her winning Bat Bogey Hexes). She often had problems expressing her feelings and talking in a way that lets her walls down (probably due to living in a huge family, as the only girl with a bunch of older brothers), as Luna often did very well. Luna, saw the world as a place feel and enjoy with wonder and passion, while Ginny was passionate about how wonderfully rotten the world could be. They may not be similar at first glance, but that was what may them so good together. They resemble each other in the things that really matter: their values, goals and desires. True, they may have disagreements sometimes regarding certain opinions (such as Luna thinking wolves are naturally harmless; they are not) and actions (aka Ginny staying up until midnight practicing drills at the Quidditch Pitch, which she herself might admit was a bit excessive, but Gryffindor did win the Cup so whose to say…), but they always came together at the end and when they did, it was something truly magical. They were two opposite forces, like magnets or whatever that muggle ‘scientie’ **thingy was that her Dad had been ranting to her about during Easter dinner. Maybe that was the reason they worked so well together. “Opposite forces attract each other”, or something, her father had said. Yeah, that was it. That’s why, for Luna and Ginny, falling in love and getting together hadn’t seem a surprise at all as it had been for outsiders. It had just seemed inevitable.

[brookebeebe-blog]

July 26th - Travel to Taitung

The cough is very persistent. It also seems most of the people on the trip also have the same illness now and unfortunately, I think I was patient zero. So if any of the people on the trip have been keeping up with my blog to see how their illness might progress: the cough stays forever. We woke up early today for a bunch of travel. I packed my bags and got some breakfast this morning. A bit of a culture shock to me is the fact that they serve dinner food for breakfast. I had chicken nuggets at 8am for the past 2 days. Not complaining though because I love chicken nuggets. After breakfast, we headed to our train, which was going to take us to Taipei. I haven’t been on a train in forever, and this one was really nice. The ride was about two hours and then we got to Taipei for our bullet train. We grabbed some lunch at the train station and then boarded the train. This was my first time on a bullet train and it was super fun. It felt like we were flying, but it’s crazy because you stay level to the ground. On a plane, you can’t really tell how fast you’re going because you’re so high in the air, but the bullet train is very different. When we finally got in Kaohsiung, we boarded a bus to take us to Taitung. We finally arrived at our hotel at around 8pm. It is another hot springs resort. We’re here for two nights and then we go back to Kaohsiung. I also just learned that my mom is reading these so, hi mom!

Academic Reflection

Today, I would like to reflect on the construction of the bullet train. The high speed rail was opened in 2007, and since then, it has been quite the learning curve. The system costs $15 billion US to construct. The train also hits speeds of 186 mph while transporting people from Taipei to Kaohsiung. The direct train takes only 90 minutes for a 345 km trip. When the article I’m doing my research on was written, it was 8 months post opening. Domestic airlines were cancelling dozens of flights due to low demand, air traffic on competing routes plummeted more than 50%, there was a 10% decline of traffic on the north-south freeway, and tour agencies became wildly more popular as new areas to vacation were becoming accessible. Buses were also seeing fewer passengers, along with the taiwan rail. The price of the ticket is also affordable to most middle-class people in Taiwan. With a price of $45, it is a much more feasible option compared to a flight. The railway was extremely difficult to build due to the complex topography of Taiwan. Building tunnels and elevated tracks is quite expensive and due to the nature of the high speed rail, the tracks have to be straight and level. Only 9% of the track was built on the ground, the other 18% is underground and 73% is elevated, which makes the Taiwan high-speed rail the longest continuously elevated railway in the entire world. Most passengers agree that the high speed rail is an excellent addition to Taiwan’s infrastructure and a fun travel experience. In 2020, the net profit of the high speed rail was $187.5 million US.

Citations

https://knowledge.wharton.upenn.edu/article/taiwans-high-speed-rail-its-been-a-rapid-learning-curve/

[jujutsubaby]

chemical reactions (part 3)

☆ pairing: zeke jaeger x pieck finger ☆ summary: when pieck traveled to faraway trost for a prestigious research position, she expected to feel lonely. what she last expected was to find a bit of home in her supervisor. ☆ warnings: chronic illness and parental death discussed ☆ tags: modern AU, academia AU, slow-burn, hurt/comfort, friends to lovers ☆ a/n: another slower setup chapter, but we get to see more of pieck and her dad's relationship (and more of that sweet sweet angst) in this one. side note, i can't believe isayama just straight up named her dad "finger"? lol. i'm gonna hc his name as "pieter" in this since i think it'd be cute for it to kinda match pieck :3 masterlist

After her meeting with Zeke, Pieck had just enough time to return to her apartment, get her suitcase, and head to the airport for her afternoon flight back to Marley. She was excited to see her father and friends — Pieck had not realized it, but these few months had been the longest she had been away from Liberio. For all its flaws, it still was her home.

Pieck could not imagine someone like Zeke, who had been so far from home for over a decade. She was usually able to tell if people were from Marley, but it had been difficult for her to tell with Zeke. She supposed that living in Paradis for so long had estranged him from Liberio. Would the same happen to her eventually?

After boarding the airplane and hauling her suitcase into the overhead bin, Pieck settled into her seat. The flight was several hours long, but she was still grateful for that — until recently, the only way to reach Paradis from Liberio had been through a weeklong sea voyage. Still tired from her late night, early morning, and general jitters, she was looking forward to using the empty hours ahead of her to catch up on sleep.

Sleep did not arrive as quickly as Pieck anticipated, and she found her mind continually wandering to her childhood acquaintance-turned-research advisor. What a bizarre turn of events.

What was curious to Pieck was that Liberio was a relatively small city, tiny when one considered just the Eldian community. Like many tiny communities, one individual's news always became everybody's news. Pieck had at least heard of most of the Eldians from her hometown, and what they were doing now. But she had heard so little of Zeke — little enough that she had even been able to forget him, as shameful as it was to admit. The silence surrounding Zeke's name in Liberio was enigmatic, bordering on suspicious.

Eventually, the low hum of the airplane lulled Pieck to sleep, and she drifted off with vague memories of a mysterious former classmate in the back of her mind.

When Pieck disembarked, feeling significantly better rested, she was surprised to find her father waiting for her at the arrivals gate of Liberio International Airport. Unable to help herself, she ran like a child into his arms, her suitcase clattering about precariously.

"You didn't have to come, Dad! I could have caught the bus back home!" She chided unconvincingly; in truth, she was overjoyed to see him, even if she knew the trek to the airport might have exhausted him.

Ever since her mother had passed longer ago than she could remember, it had always been just Pieck and her father. The past few months without him had been difficult and alien, but she was pleased to see a little more weight on his frame and color in his cheeks. The medical care he received must have been helping.

On the drive home, Pieck talked her father's ear off about the first semester of her program, and he listened eagerly. She was especially excited to tell him about her new position with TITANLab. As Pieck explained more about the project to him, she noticed that she was avoiding naming Zeke, for some reason. Why does it feel strange to bring him up? She wondered, but not for long; soon enough, the conversation rotated to its next topic, and she and her father chatted about anything and everything they could think about. This was always how it was with them; Pieck had missed this dynamic sorely.

Soon, Pieck's father pulled into an unfamiliar driveway, and she recalled that he had moved to a new place. Rather than the rundown apartment she was used to, her father now lived in a small, comfortable bungalow. As she walked in (empty-handed, in spite of her efforts to wrest her suitcase from her father, who insisted on carrying it in for her), she noted resplendent, well-tended rosebushes that lined the entryway.

"Taken up gardening?" She asked with a soft smile.

Pieck's father chuckled.

"I have to pass the time somehow."

His response was tongue-in-cheek, but Pieck still couldn't help feeling guilty for leaving him alone. Her father must have sensed this, adding,

"It's nice to live somewhere with room for plants; I've always wanted them but never got the chance. I wouldn't have been able to come here without your help, Pieck. You understand that, don't you?"

Pieck just smiled back and went into the house, afraid her voice would shake if she responded. She knew it was true; she suspected that her stubborn sense of guilt was just a different manifestation of homesickness. Sooner or later, though, she knew she had to overcome these feelings, especially at her age.

After they both had settled in a bit more, and Pieck quickly got the lay of the new bungalow, Pieck's father put on a kettle of tea and poured out two mugs for them.

Pieck cooled the tea and raised it to her lips. The flavor that hit her tongue was gorgeous, a symphony of flowers and herbs. She had never tasted anything like it before.

"This is delicious! What is it?"

"Nothing special, just some mint, lemon balm, and rosehips," her father shrugged and responded.

"Nothing special?! Where did you get all of that? This must have cost a fortune..." Pieck murmured thoughtfully.

"I actually got it from right out there," he said, gesturing vaguely towards an array of pots in the small backyard. "I started growing plants to make tea blends. I share them with the neighbors now, and one of them said she'd stock them at her market stall, in fact. I'm just glad anybody likes them!"

Pieck fondly noted the pride in his voice. "That's amazing, Dad! How did you choose to make tea blends, of all things?"

"Well, I actually always dreamt of doing that kind of thing, but never got the chance til now. You probably don't remember, but your mother and I used to be great tea enthusiasts."

"I didn't know that about you," Pieck said softly.

"You never got a chance to, sweetheart. When did we ever have time for our hobbies before?"

It was true, and Pieck was happy to see her father rediscovering his old interests, but it was still bittersweet. It was becoming increasingly clear that, with the right resources, her father could thrive independently of her. She hoped that she could find her own path and do the same.

She thought again about Zeke, who felt like her polar opposite in this area. Where she was afraid to disappear from her life in Liberio, it seemed he had done just that. But why? Pieck resolved to find out more.

Taking a sip of tea and steadying her voice, Pieck spoke up.

"Hey, Dad? You know that research project I was telling you about?"

"Yes, with Titans Corp!"

"Right, TITANLab. I forgot to mention earlier, but one interesting thing is that it's actually run by someone from Liberio."

Pieck's father hummed thoughtfully. "That is interesting. Who is it? Maybe someone I was friends with? But I don't remember anyone I knew going off and becoming a professor in Trost..."

"Well, he's actually a bit younger, I guess, more like me." Why was her heart beating so quickly suddenly? "He actually went to school with me for a bit!" Pieck said, her voice going too high for her to maintain her false casualness. Why was asking perfectly normal questions getting her so flustered?! "Maybe you remember him? Zeke Jaeger?"

"Jaeger...oh." Pieck's father put his mug down. "Oh yes, I remember him now. Vaguely, I suppose. The name does sound familiar." He sounded suddenly serious, almost disapproving. But that wouldn't make much sense. She must have been overthinking his tone.

"Well, isn't that interesting? Nobody's talked about him in so long. It's almost like we all forgot about him, isn't it?" She persisted, trying in vain to sound lighthearted. Pieck knew she would not win any accolades with her acting skills.

"Yes, I suppose so." He said with a tone of finality. Pieck recognized that tone, and she knew he only used it when she kept asking questions about a topic that brokered no further discussion.

An unexpected dead end...she would just have to continue her fact-finding mission elsewhere. Luckily for her, she was planning to get drinks with some friends the next evening. Reiner and Porco were unabashed gossips, while Annie and Bertholt could usually serve as a reliable sounding board for when they exaggerated too many details. Marcel would luckily be there as well to moderate; Pieck knew that some of her friends could get quite heated in discussions for no good reason. Between the lot of them, Pieck was sure she could get at least some answers.

Later that evening, Pieck and her father got to work preparing a stew for dinner. As she chopped carrots, he spoke up.

"Piecky, I know you just started, but have you given any thought to what you want to do after you finish your program?"

Pieck nearly took her finger off at that (given her surname, the irony was not lost on her).

"Not really...why do you ask? I guess a few people continue the part-time Paradis Labs work full-time, or otherwise go full on into the whole academia gig. I was thinking of just coming back, though. I could probably get a job that pays well enough here at that point. Wouldn't that be best?" She asked, setting down the knife before she caused any accidental injury.

Pieck felt her father seize her shoulders and turn her to face him, his expression suddenly serious. She couldn't help but note that his treatments must have been working well if he had the strength to spin her around like that.

"Listen to me, sweetie. I know you've always thought of me and my needs first. As your father, it's difficult for me to see you taking care of me the way I should be taking care of you." Pieck opened her mouth to object to his unfair appraisal of himself, but he silenced her with a look. "But I'm so proud of the young woman you've grown up to be. It's time for you to put yourself first, now. Imagine I didn't need you anymore. What would you do then?"

If he hadn't brushed a thumb across her face right then, Pieck would not have noticed that her eyes had filled with tears. She didn't like when he talked like this — it usually meant he was asking her to plan her life after his.

"I— I don't know, dad. I...what if I still need you?" Her voice was steady, but the tears started streaming down her cheeks, catching on her lips and salting her tongue.

While it was true that Pieck made her father's health her priority, it had never felt like self-sacrifice to her. Regardless of his opinion on the matter, Pieck knew that he had raised her as carefully and attentively as he had his herb garden, and she was well aware of how challenging that had been for him to do on his own. To her, putting herself first did mean putting him first too, as she knew it did to him.

Pieck tried to stifle a sob by pressing her hand to her throat, but a strangled sound still escaped.

Her father hugged her tightly.

"I'll always be there for you, no matter where you are, no matter where I go. It's just that the last thing I want is for you to limit yourself."

Feeling her beginning to sob, he hushed her as he did when she was a baby, patting her back consolingly.

Once she calmed down, they both resumed the dinner preparation, and it was as though the discussion had never happened.

That night, however, Pieck lay awake in her old bed in the unfamiliar new bedroom. What was she even planning? She had gone to college on her father's recommendation, and she had applied for this program on Professor Magath's. She had accepted the offer for the money she could send home.

If she lived in a vacuum, what would she do?

People did not live in vacuums, however; it was an impossible scenario to imagine.

After Pieck's mother had died, her father had raised her largely singlehandedly. But hadn't the Galliards delivered meals from their family restaurant when Pieck's father was paralyzed by his grief? And hadn't Reiner's mother taken Pieck aside to help prepare her for her first period when she would not have a mother to turn to? And hadn't Annie's father picked her up from school on the days her father was bedridden?

This had always been the way of the Eldians in Liberio; they banded together, partly out of necessity, and partly out of loyalty to one another. Asking Pieck to be selfish was asking her to forsake a part of herself that all her forebears had taught her by example. An Eldian leaving Liberio for good was very rare.

But she did know one notable exception now.

What had made him leave the way he did?

As sleep finally claimed her, Pieck wondered if she would ever feel brave enough to ask.

[multiverseofmisfits-backup]

Unheard Song of the Voiceless Maiden

She once charmed countless ears with her mesmerizing voice. Yet not only was her innocence taken away but had lost the ability to speak from that incident.

A girl, perhaps around six of age, used to have a normal life with her unwed mother. The simplest thing they had was enough to make them happy as long as they were together. But such moments didn’t last long when those men intruded. The mother retaliated but was impaled by a sharp blade. The little girl, witnessing the bloodshed, was struck by immense fear as she went to her mother’s lifeless body yet such a moment was too short that she was taken away.

The following days became her life as a slave. She couldn’t disobey their orders as she’d be imprisoned without food for a week. At one point, she rebelled but gave her a worse punishment wherein it slits her neck. It was a miracle that she was still alive but brought her a deep wound. She couldn’t even voice out what was in her heart.

Years have gone by, and such a tyranny has been brought down by those who have been oppressed by them for the longest time. Those who were enslaved were set free, returning to their families. But the girl already lost one and doesn’t know where to go. Her home was burned down a long time ago while her mother’s body was still there. Perhaps her ashes are no longer there.

As she could no longer speak, no one was able to understand her. She’s been neglected, wandering with only little to consume. Was this the freedom she deserved? It was difficult to tell if this was any better than being a slave.

It has been weeks or who knows how long has passed since the rebellion. The voiceless maiden had become ill and hadn’t eaten anything. In her dying breath, she sat under a large tree and looked up at the sky nearly covered by its leaves. She can’t take it anymore, she thought. Just a moment before she passed away, she had a glimpse of an unknown figure. Is that a person? She didn’t have enough time to ponder about it.

---------

“You’ve captured your mother’s eyes. Truly fascinating.” A voice spoke to her. As she opened her eyes, everything around her was white except for that person before her. This person seemed androgynous but didn’t appear to be completely human due to the horns and complexion of their skin. More so, they spoke as they knew about her mother.

“Who are you? What is this place?” she asked in caution, reluctant at the other’s presence.

“Ah, how rude of me to not tell you about myself. I am simply known as the Novelist of Death. And you are in a small pocket dimension for the souls who passed away to stay for the time being. I wouldn’t call it a purgatory but more of a… place for a short interview~” they explained in a whimsical tone, holding a quill and an empty scroll.

Despite the odd presence they bring, it was enough to say that she died.

“I-Interview? For what?” She was also tempted to ask about her mother but the Novelist quickly answered.

“As you may know, I make the fate of the souls’ next lives when they are reborn. They can be whatever they like that they’ve never been before. Be it an offspring of royal blood, or an adventurer of countless lands. Anything that you can think of~” They would then float around the maiden. Their gaze met hers. Are those red and silver eyes real?

“A-Anything?”

“Indeed. Even become a songstress with a captivating voice. Everyone will finally hear your voice and it will be wonderful~” 

It was a tempting offer. She did want to sing for everyone. She believed that she inherited it from her mother before it was taken away from her. The thought of the distant past made her teary.

“So in my next life, I’ll be able to sing again?”

“Of course, my dear~ It will be your absolute fate. Your fame will be beyond what any other human would achieve. Isn’t it truly wonderful~?”

Absolute, they say? That sounds way better than her previous life.

“Then I’ll take it.”

---------

Perhaps a day already passed during her stay in this space. The maiden has been thinking about the offer, imagining herself in a wondrous life as a songstress. But she had a vision of her mother dying in front of her, uttered words that were inaudible in her memory. What did she say back then?

“I’ll always be watching you, my dearest angel…”

While having a flashback, the Novelist appeared once more with a book in hand. They seem to be excited upon their arrival.

“My young, dear Risette. I’m almost done with the novel–”

“I would like to be with my mother. I… won’t be taking the second life,” the girl interrupted as she appeared to be determined with her decision. That caught the Novelist stunned.

“My, what’s with the sudden change of mind? Don’t you want to have a better life than you had before passing away?”

Risette stayed silent momentarily, looking down as she pondered again on her decision. But she made up her mind. To gain fame through her singing voice would be nice but…

“I prefer to be with my mother. Also, I don’t think everyone must know me. This is my final decision.”

Looks like she won’t be changing her mind anymore, much to the Novelist’s dismay. Just when they were nearly done with the novel which should dictate her fate in her next life.

“If you insist, I shall let you leave and be with your mother. I believe she is already waiting for your arrival,” they looked away and summoned a door that should lead to the stairways up to heaven. “I suppose I won’t be able to hold you back.”

“Thank you. I appreciate being able to speak with someone at least.” While she might’ve felt sorry for letting them down, she was still glad that there was someone who listened to her. She no longer feared their presence and hugged them before going through the door. “I hope we’ll meet again soon.”

Moments later, Risette was gone. That left the Novelist staring at the unfinished novel. “Just when I thought of a perfect ending for her story. She is much like her mother.” The sadness felt in their chest. Was it because she declined their offer at the last minute?

No, it was completely something else. They’ll miss that girl for a very long time.

[lya-dustin]

Someone will remember us

Chapter 41

Cw: animal death, sexism, mentions of death in childbirth

Gif by @ben--solos

Though much weakened by his ordeal, King Viserys soon resumed the rule. To celebrate his recovery, a feast was held on the first day of 127 AC. The princess and the queen were both commanded to attend, with all their children.

--- The Rogue Prince, or, A King's Brother: A Consideration of the Early Life, Adventures, Misdeeds, and Marriages of Prince Daemon Targaryen

----

Dragons do not decompose like the other animals; they take longer as their scales are harder than the strongest steel.

Not a single dragon has turned to stone like Ghar did.

The eggs that didn’t hatch became stones, but never a dragon that had lived.

Ghar who had made a nest on grandfather’s stone city and died there.

Ghar who is given a funeral and placed in his own altar amongst the great dragons.

Elēnar Ōghar, five and ten years old, claimed by Princess Aemma of House Targaryen and House Velaryon.

There is no mention of the king, it was a secret that the dwarf dragon had attached himself to a dying Viserys.

A man could not survive with his dignity intact if it were known that a dragon that was more of a lapdog had claimed him as an owner.

“My granddaughter claims it is an ill omen.” Otto Hightower comes to stand with her and she fights the urge to run.

“It may as well be the dying of the dragons.” Aemma points to the last claimed dragon to die, Balerion. Grandfather had been twenty when his dragon died. Viserys Dragonsbane, the first man to kill a dragon after Maegor the Cruel.

An ill omen then and an ill omen now.

Less eggs were hatching since the Black Dread died, then the queens started producing fewer eggs if they had any at all after Queen Aemma died.

The last time Syrax had a clutch of eggs was when Joff was born and only one egg had hatched. Syrax was the only other dragon besides Vhagar to successfully bring forth a clutch of eggs these past four years.

It didn’t help that Dreamfyre and Meleys had lost interest in their mates, the Cannibal ate most young dragons and Sunfyre like Vermithor tended to kill whatever hatchling Silverwing managed to have.

“And yet Vhagar has brought forth an egg for the second time in its life.” It, not she as the dragon likes to be referred as.

Vhagar was the queen of the dragons and demanded that you remembered that.

She was as arrogant as Aemond sometimes.

“She, Vhagar hates being called it.” Aemma corrects. “First Moondancer and now Ēbrior.”

“The Valyrian God that ate its own children?” he asks waiting for her to elaborate on the name.

“Vhagar coiled with a dragon called the Cannibal, seemed fitting.” Aemma said making the man she loathes chuckle. “Besides, my son will choose the name for his dragon when the time comes.”

“Son?” Hightower latched on the word and Aemma knows he is trying to catch her saying something he and his supporters can use.

“I have five brothers; I know the signs. I will have a son, so if the lords wait long enough, they will see a king once again.” This is the longest conversation she has had with the overreaching snake.

Aemma prays it lasts a little longer.

“If they aren’t patient, what then, your highness?”

“Their good names will be soiled; the ringleaders will be executed and perhaps the lesson will be remembered far longer than the one Jaehaerys taught his uncle’s followers.” The princess hides her smirk as she lights a candle in front of Quicksilver, Aenys’ mount. “To quote him, every person in Westeros is House Targaryen’s hostage, if they wish to supplant the King’s heir with their puppet, they will pay for their treasons with fire and blood.”

“Your grandmother has taught you well, your highness, a shame the two of you could not have been men.” Hightower says thinking it is the highest praise he could ever give a woman.

Gods, she couldn’t wait until this man was dead.

He is the curse that’s befallen on her house.

He is the reason their house has begun to decay just like the king.

-----

They were happiest in those four moons away from everything.

They were free to be themselves ---not that either had any fucks to give about people’s opinion to begin with---- and best of all, free from the headache inducing bullshit in court.

His eye plagues him from time to time, migraines or just the damage leftover from his disfigurement. This day is one of those.

Aemond used to rest his head on her stomach and she’d stroke his hair until he fell asleep. Then her belly grew and now she cried because she had enjoyed that moment of intimacy between them.

The babe is strong, kicking like a mule and refusing to give his poor mother any peace unless Aemond draped his arm over her belly.

He is seven and ten, six moons older than Aegon was when the twins were born.

And just like his brother, he does not feel up to the challenge.

Not that he will tell anyone, no, he is a Targaryen, he is a prince and he must always be in control.

And unlike Aegon, he will be a good father and husband.

“What are you thinking, Aemond sapphire-eye?” she asks as he rests his head on her shoulder as she reads.

“If all their progresses were like ours, it is no wonder the Old King always loved traveling.” He lies and hopes she doesn’t pry, but his Aemee knows him too well.

“You know, I am scared too.” Aemma was not taught to swallow her feelings and thoughts and make sure no one knows.

No, Aemma was taught to express such things and worse, talk about them.

Teora had been a wonderful mother to her, but Aemond wished she had taught her to repress things like all the nobles teach their children.

“Hm,” he scoffed. “Your mother and father despite their faults were good at being parents, my mother’s love is conditional on me not being a disappointment like Aegon.”

He speaks nothing about his father, who would he say was his father, Viserys who was too ill and indolent to care or Cole who would have done more if his post allowed him to?

Gods, he is going to fuck up their son.

But that is not his biggest fear, no it pales in comparison to the real thing. Like comparing the now defunct Ghar to Vhagar.

“And yet, that feels trivial because you are the one who may die and leave me to love the child that killed you.” And if her vision comes true, their son will be left orphaned because Aemond’s fucking father did not bother codifying the amendments to the law of primogeniture nor keep his grandfather away from the honeypot.

“I am not dying, and you are not dying either. Aemon will have two parents, an army of nurses and four younger siblings.” She takes his hand and comforts him when he should be the one comforting her. “We won’t fuck up our son, this I promise you, Aemond.”

----

“I have a new job for you.” Mysaria toyed with the silver in her hands as Talya finished her report.

The Pearl was to have a son, Hightower did not trust the One Eye and the King was given a month to live as all his sores reopened following the death of the little dragon.

The winds of war could be felt, the Greens and Blacks alike readied themselves for it while maintaining the façade of peace.

“Whatever you ask for, my lady, I am your servant.” The woman said unprompted.

“I need you to gain the Princess’ trust, I need you to tell her about the tansy tea the queen has.” Mysaria ordered.

The Green Queen had warmed up to the Black Princess, the realm would lose its chance for good rulers if this friendship was allowed to continue.

-----

The Princess is writing in her diary when Talya is allowed an audience with her.

She was not like the Queen, the queen may be kind, but never friendly nor even treating her as an equal like the Pearl of Dragonstone does.

Septa Teora had been like that, so nice and good. If her children take after her and not their father, the realm will thank her.

“Has the Queen sent you, Goodwife Talya?” the princess asked closing the journal shut.

What had been in there that Lady Misery had read? What was so secret about it?

Could it be true that the girl is a lightskirt like her mother, or that she is mad?

“No, my lady. I came by my own accord.” Talya had been trained enough no to fuck it up. “I, there,” she feigns nervousness and clears her throat for effect, “I know things that I am afraid will be used to hurt you and your unborn baby.”

The princess falls for the lie like the gullible little girl she still is.

At first, she doesn’t believe it, but then, remembering how awful the queen was to her and her brothers as a child, she starts to consider her words as truthful.

“The Queen has had me copy the maester’s recipe for moon tea, this morning she asked me to purchase tansy and pennyroyal for her.”

Talya swallows her guilt as the princess gasps and places a hand on her swollen belly as the handmaiden plays on her secret fears just as Lady Misery told her to.

[monochrome-dreamer]

Am I posting a stupid amount today ? Yes ! And I will not stop ! I like getting my thoughts out ! This is gonna be a long one, and might not be 100% accurate, but buckle up and strap in because this has been in my head.

Anyways, I thought about this pretty hard, but for some reason when I think “Matsukaze Tenma”, I think of the Winnie the Pooh quote; “You’re Stronger than you Seem, You’re Braver than you Believe, and You’re Smart than you Think”, and I’d like to give my thoughts on why I think this is, by going over each statement. Also ! I will be focusing on the ANIME ! I have not played the game !

“You’re Stronger thank you Seem”

From what I vaguely remember , as it’s been a while since I watched it , Go Chrono Stone and near the End of Go S1 is when Tenma became Captain, and then questioned his abilities AS Captain. I’d like to point out that in Go Chrono Stone, there was (technically) 3 captains on that team, excluding Tenma. These being Shindou, former Raimon Captain, Taiyou, Arakumo’s Captain, and (technically), Tsurugi, who was the captain of that Fifth Sector team at the very beginning (he doesn’t quite count tho, which is why I said technically.). We can also include Fei in this lineup, but he hadn’t been a “captain” at this time, so I am not going to. Anyways,

Shindou, A tactics man who controls his team like a conductor does his orchestra. He’s organised, he knows what he’s doing, and his coordination is nothing short of S tier. Taiyou, the Genius who comes once in a Decade. He’s strong willed, he’s passionate, all despite being ill enough to be hospital bound since a young age.

Tenma wasn’t particularly any of these qualities when he was first made captain. He wasn’t quite as exceptional at soccer; the most he could do really well was dribble. He wasn’t an expert tactician, he was in no way “organised”, and he struggled a lot to become a good captain, doubting himself a LOT. This is seen when he goes to Shindou in the hospital about how he can’t be captain, or when he seems to doubt himself when they travel to King Arthur’s Era in CS, when their Time Machine has its little hiccup, and Taiyou and Shindou are the ones to make sure everyone is calm. Not Tenma.

It’s also stated in Galaxy that Tenma being captain was something of an Unspoken Agreement, despite it meaning to be only temporary, and that he had been holding himself back for the sake of his teammates. He was holding himself back. He could have been so much more, but he held himself back and limited himself until someone told him off for it. The guy that’s been telling people to give it their all, has not technically been giving it his all. But that didn’t matter to his two longest teammate, and his closest friends; Tsurugi and Shindou, who merely agreed that they’d have to work harder to catch up.

“You’re Braver than you Believe”

Tenma kicked off the revolution, in a way. Albeit by accident, his passion , love, and sheer enjoyment of free soccer, HIS soccer, drove him to go against Fifth sector, an organisation that seems to have been around for a few years at that point that most people FEARED and wouldn’t dream of going against. But Tenma did. Despite everything, his teammates initial dislike of him and distaste towards the revolution, the fact that Fifth Sector was SO much stronger than him, Matsukaze Tenma went against them for the sake of his Soccer. For Free soccer.

Even when things were difficult; when there was little to no cooperation, when schools were getting DESTROYED by fifth sector in an attempt to guilt trip the rebels, he pushed forward. Albeit with a push from his teammates, (namely Shindou; who checked on him after the news of the school destructions was brought to their attention, and when he found out Ishido Shuuji, the Holy Emperor at the time, was his saviour from 10 Years ago and that Fifth Sector destroying schools was indirectly his fault,) he persisted, and ultimately won.

In CS, the whole fate of soccer, of his friends lives, those were on HIS shoulders. His own future was even at the mercy of Protocol Omega and El Dorado. When they tried to change his reality, the accident of Tsurugi and Yuuichi, the making of Raimon’s soccer team as a whole, those were on Tenma’s shoulders most of the time. And all of it happened while he was in Okinawa. All of it happened when he wasn’t even there. He came home to his friends not knowing who he was, save for Aoi, who he’d known since childhood.

And even still despite the fate of soccer and their reality being in their hands, he fought. He travelled through time, made friends with people from almost a dozen time periods, and reclaimed his future, despite every hardship. If that isn’t some form of bravery, then I’m not sure I know what is. (Mild exaggeration maybe)

ALSO, HE WENT UP AGAINST LITERAL ALIENS AND A BLACK HOLE THAT WOULD HAVE WIPED OUT A LOT OF PEOPLE !! He fought in the Grand Celesta Galaxy practically against his will, had his “super best friend” (as stated by Sakura), taken from him for a seemingly large amount of time without his knowledge ??? Only to then PLAY AGAINST SAID FRIEND IN WHAT THEY THOUGHT TO BE THE FINALS (I think ?? I haven’t watched Galaxy in a minute so take that last part with a grain of salt !!)

“You’re Smarter than you Think”

Tenma strikes me as a character who doesn’t often Look before he Leaps. He’s an “everything will work out” kind of guy similar to Endou, but in a very different way. He puts his trust into Soccer. He trusts that Soccer will help him and give him strength. He puts his trusts in his team, who he’s sure will reciprocate and respond to his trust. He trusts in others, and that’s an amazing quality. That he can trust people so wholeheartedly. He trusted Tsurugi, he believed Tsurugi had good in him, that he could be redeemed, and trusted him in their game against Teikoku. He trusted Fei, even despite him turning on them. He trusted his teammates of the Earth Eleven, because he was their captain.

I can’t think much of this line right now , but I do think about it much more than I thought I would, but I genuinely love both this quote, and Tenma. I feel like it just fits him perfectly. He’s so much more than just a guy who REALLY likes soccer, and I think it’s amazing. I love Tenma as a character, I relate to him heavily so there’s a chance I’m being incredibly biased, but I cannot fathom enough how dear he is to me, and how much I see myself in him in so, so many ways. That, however, is for a different post entirely.

I’m not sure what else to say at this point other than I’m a really big nerd, and a very big enjoyer of Matsukaze Tenma, so this will be Maki, Signing off ! 🌻💜

[sniper-rifle-coffee]

So had a tough day Saturday me & the family had a funeral for our grandmother and grandfather, long story not short, my oldest brother broke that night I had to take control of him & my younger brother, so oldest blacked out making me regret leaving my kids then told me every day he thinks about his dad walking out then as he became older he felt that he had to become the father of the family an we see that in him I look up to him but after him all this I still need to be there for him he was in so much pain he then talks alone to our little brother at some point they were on the ground hugging crying screaming that was bad because as soon as I went to split them up our little brother bolts to the highway yelling screaming I chased him down an get him back to the car after calming him down oh lord it was so fucked that night traumatized both of us I'm pretty sure our little brother won't be going to anymore family events because of what my older brother said an did there's so much my older brother broke me talked about my kids made me feel worthless even though he said he feels like a bum lower then me since I'm a father he then started to yell in my face I have to keep all the family members together every year or two I have to contact all our family even though he was doing that telling everyone there that we have to meet least a 1 or 2 year for now on, the thing about my family we only meet when death occurs its rare for us to come together ever it's just were not social that much so we meet near never,

I get why my brother wants us all to come back to being a family there's not many of us left he then also started to say he's now the oldest one in the family on our moms side this all seems so fucked up didn't help that my older brother did nothing for our oldest brother that's why I had to deal with them seem I'm always the one that needs to keep pushing on but I'm fucken tired lately I stay up nights in a row the longest I've gone without sleep was nearly 3 days keeping busy cleaning my place my roommates parents place even cutting there grass just to keep busy just getting fucked up after work high asf drunk I'm so tired but can't sleep I have so much going on since this funeral, bills family friends roommates fighting daily so im popping pills painkiller for my body hurting my fucker feet I still need to see my doc for that & a bloody fucken refill been near a month trying to get my 15mg so nearly a month having only 2mg of my Anti psychotic my mom thinks I can't sleep because I've pretty much been off my meds I need 17mg I'm missing 15mg so smoking weed is a high risk but I've been risking it need it helps me slow down, plus bills an debt collectors keep emailing me and calling me every day I just started to pay for my child support a wonderful 310$ each month now that'll be great for rent tight asf they took this amount when I was doing windows and doors that was a great paying job, the job I do now is like half a cheque compared to windows so my CS is little high weird timing so my son is also going to have a new brother or sister she told me that she's with child from a guy she put in jail he's out an guess they're having a child that's pretty awesome but little fucked up this guy man should have stayed in jail he hit her an yelled at my boy fuck him but eh as long he don't fuck up ill be chill don't like him one bit,

ah anyways so I got my bills paid for living here but my phone bill is fucked for my ex I have her on my plan she don't pay for this bill even though she gets heavy charges going to the USA using data roam my last bill mine 240$ hers 350$ to 400$ because going to the usa so much it hits the bill fucken hard I paid 410$ few days ago the remainder is 600$ an due on the 24th so I have to message her again to help pay the bill or get cut off I can't afford for her to up fuck the phone bill just to fuck some guy in the usa thank fuck the night we fight I told her I don't trust her & that she's paying for the fucken suv I got her she's got a really good paying easy family job in IT she could easily pay for some of the phone bill but won't so seems if no pay by Saturday she's off it I just pray I can get her off it.

Still hurting missing my kids I had to leave I couldn't live with her an her dad any longer in the ghetto bug Infested Projects with her lies an doing things behind my back it even shows soon after i left she just went right to the other guy..

you know what's another fucked thing she pays 400 for fucken rent I pay 1750 three ways maybe 2 ways soon fuck me man then pay for water an hydro internet foods house hold things so like I said too roommates been fighting an I'm the guy in the middle listening to both sides seems I'm the one that keeps them from losing it fully on each other one mate been sick missing lots of work not cleaning after him self & get real messy when his gf comes visiting even though all he does is game on pc every day n night so me an other mate talked he said if he misses rent or borrows off me again he wants him out I get it but I said we got to give him a chance even though there had been a few chances already fuck hate being the nice good guy for people I'm so tired left an right just trying my best to keep peace an people happy I did my best for my kids the girls probably maybe miss me or hates me for not getting to say bye or why,

I finally just met my son while back for the first time had a great day getting to know him an play in a park together ate some food had Ice cream that was a great day at the forks,

but I was there for my girl 9years an didn't even get two years for my daughter I hate my ex why would she do it leave me in the dark I known we were drifting apart but I wanted to be there for the kids so badly I feel so useless & cowardly I just couldn't live with her for months I wouldn't hold her I'd sleep far in the corner against the wall most nights to hold my daughter as she slept in the middle of the bed my heart hurts not feeling hers anymore I'm crying again I keep missing out on so much I only get updates from my mom about how my daughter's are doing I'm in so much fucken pain feel lost an stuck suffering daily guess it's what I deserve I could have stayed but I knew what was happening an I mentally couldn't do it any longer if I stayed I would have had psychosis again it would have been some time but it was going to happen living like that small rooms I've learned what triggered my last one her an her family with a mix of alot of alcohol an weed. Last few days non stop thinking life is really fucking me it's so hard I sometimes get to vent to my mate helps but I still feel so alone my freinds don't get or feel what I deal with or gone through I feel so depressed and Defeated my only fix is weed alcohol an painkillers lately that's all I do keep busy fix clean move shit work I'm tired same thing daily work coffee music I go out now again just to try an social hang out with friends but ever night is rough sleep maybe few hours then repeat over an over shit just keeps building up I need a real break I'm hoping this weekend to finally chill out I wanna keep venting but this is alot an probably enough bitching it's me I shouldn't do this but I feel breaking writing things out I stopped writing on my notes since the ward guy in there I let him use my phone & he fucked with my notes this is my last place to escape vent talk just to feel a little better.

I just need a break soon it's killing me slowly living like this. Fucken trauma keeps creeping in my mind since the family get together for our grandparents.

[real-jane]

nftn: what is home?

(bucky barnes x female!reader, shield)

summary: at your sister's urging, you return 'home' for your mother's birthday with bucky in tow. the result is chaos.

warnings: angst with reader's family/mother, mentions of past relationship issues, bucky and y/n face the horrors of suburban family drama.

word count: 9,147

a/n: part nine of ‘nostalgia for the new’. i wanted to give you a little background on our girl, and a little challenge for our fav couple navigating some familial drama. this also accidentally became the longest installment so far. c'est la vie! :) enjoy!

series masterlist

It had been so long since you and your mother had been in the same room that you weren’t even sure she’d recognize you.

Everything about you was different; as far as she knew, you were still serving in the Army overseas, and not an operative for the world’s foremost defense organization. You were a tactical marvel, according to Nick Fury--who had admitted that he thought so to the least discreet man in the compound over several glasses of whiskey. Tony’s victorious text message was printed off and mounted in a small picture frame, which hung beside the mirror in your washroom.

But to the woman who raised you… you were failing at every major life milestone that she expected you to meet. It didn’t help that you were the oldest child and your sister was perfect. Jenny had gotten married straight out of high school to Brad, a reanimated cardboard cutout with prolific sperm, and promptly birthed a gaggle of children with names that sounded like side-effects on a tube of hemorrhoid cream. She lived down the street from the house you grew up in, too. It was not your dream, never had been, but Jenny made it look like the peak of success (at least on instagram), and so when your sister sent the ill-fated text…

I wish you would come home for mom’s birthday. She hasn’t been well.

…you felt like you had no choice but to go. Jenny had a way of guilting you which made you worried for her children’s future therapy bills.

Which is why you were seated on an economy flight headed for your birthplace in-between missions in quite the state: tray table down, littered with peanuts and several empty cups which had once held ginger ale, and occasionally sighing loudly. The man beside you kept casting you worried looks.

It wasn’t the idea of bringing him home that worried you. He was wonderful. But facing down your mother and Jenny and Brad and the little McNuggets after seven years away was scarier than your first field mission--and that time, you had gotten stranded without a working comm in the middle of a deserted highway, somewhere in Arizona in August. Your nieces didn’t even know you, a fact which Jenny never failed to remind you (on the very few chances you had had to speak with her since becoming spec ops).

The last time you’d been in your family’s presence was for your dad’s funeral, and the only person who had looked pleased that you were there was your father’s gently smiling corpse.

Dad would’ve loved Bucky, you thought sadly, shoving more Cheezits than is safe into your mouth while staring at but not comprehending the in-flight movie.

“I’ve never seen you this nervous,” your companion murmured.

He was seated in the middle chair, which was almost comical considering the sheer width of his shoulders (but Bucky would try to fold himself into any uncomfortable place to prioritize your comfort). When you turned to look at him with the widest eyes he had ever seen… he couldn’t help but laugh.

“This is serious!” you furiously whispered.

“What are you worried about?” Bucky squeezed your knee. “I’m very charming. As you know.”

“Oh ho ho, you’re cocky now, but you’ve never met Roberta. Every car she’s ever owned has had the paint rust off of it as punishment for its incompetence.”

“...And not because she lives in a climate where they plow the roads and throw down salt all winter.”

“She has never approved of anything I have ever done. She thinks I’m a total failure. And she loved my ex--”

“Honey,” Bucky soothed, taking your cheese-dust covered fingers between his own. He spoke as softly as he could so the people surrounding you wouldn’t overhear. “Remember when you shot a man over my shoulder, before I even realized he was there, in a crowded museum, in Paris, wearing this ring--” he touched the thin metal band, which hung from a chain around your neck-- “and a Gucci coat, and nobody saw you do it? You’re hot shit, baby.”

You sagged against his shoulder. “I am?”

“You are. Roberta is lucky to have you for a daughter.”

“Even though I can’t tell her that I kill people for a living.”

“...right. Now. Can I help you clean this up so the flight attendant can take our trash on his next pass?”

You sheepishly allowed him to sweep the chaos of your peanut massacre into one of your empty cups. He fished a moist towelette from his backpack between his feet and handed it over.

“What else do you have in there, Mary Poppins?” You wiped your fingers clean.

He blinked at you. “Who?”

“Noooo… you’ve never--oh my god. Sometimes I forget you’re fucking ancient. It’s a movie. She’s a… like a witch, and she nannies children with awful parents, and she carries like everything you can think of in her bag, somehow. She has a lamp in there. And a coat rack.”

“Remember when I said you are terrible at summarizing movies?” You smacked his arm. “No, hey! This was not one of those times. That sounds fantastic.” He smiled softly, but as soon as your brow furrowed again, he took your hand. “What can I do to help you right now?”

You let your head fall down on his shoulder. “I’m sorry. You’re here. That’s what matters.”

“Every step of the way. I take this little piece of junk around your neck seriously.”

“How romantic,” you snickered.

“You like it, though?” Bucky kissed your temple and his tone belied a slight nervousness to ask.

You look up at him finally. His brow was furrowed in that distinctly Barnsian manner, and he had that same near-bashfulness which had been rampant in him in those first few months of your acquaintance. But you curled your hand around the ring and nodded, and he breathed out in relief. The little band he gave you looked like hammered copper. It was so thin that when you wore it on your finger, it in no way impeded your work; the metal itself didn’t get cold like silver or gold, and it didn’t set off a metal detector. For someone who spent so much time covert, it was--

“It’s perfect, baby.”

“I didn’t think you’d like a diamond.” He shrugged. “You’re not that kind of girl.”

“Frivolous?”

“No, I mean…” He laced your fingers and thought about how he wanted to phrase it. “You absolutely deserve beautiful things, don’t get me wrong, but you don’t take the things you have for granted. Anything you own isn’t for the benefit of other people, and a big flashy diamond that attracts commentary wouldn’t do. Because for one thing, you don’t give a shit about other people’s opinions on your life.”

You just blinked at him for a moment. “...yeah, I gotta lock this guy down permanently, and through whatever means, legal or otherwise.” You squeezed your clasped hands together. “Just. Wrap it up, I’ll take the whole man to go!”

He chuckled. “Stuck with me, honey.”

You inclined your head to offer him a sweet kiss. “Only you would give me a vibranium ring, and know it was more special to me than a diamond.”

“I mean, it was repurposed from my old prosthetic--”

“You didn’t tell me that!”

“Oh,” he said sheepishly. “Shuri melted down scraps from the ring finger of the last arm. Or so she said… could be the elbow for all I know.”

You resisted the urge to hit him in that I can’t believe you’re real and here and you love me and you’re about to face my overbearing mother kind of way, and chose instead to just… weep from the eyeballs. Just a little. Enough that Bucky kissed your cheek to interrupt the tear trail.

“Love you the most,” he whispered.

To demonstrate how very much, your fiancé handed over a handful of trash to the flight attendant, who shamelessly flirted with Bucky whenever he passed by. Then, Bucky reclined his seat a little bit and rubbed your arm.

“When do you want to do this thing?” he asked softly.

“I’d say we go to the courthouse the moment we set foot back in DC except I think Sam would have a coronary.”

“Sam could come with us,” Bucky laughed.

“I know. But we’re only gonna do this once, so… maybe we can have something a little bigger than us, Sam, and a judge.”

“Okay.”

“Do you have any opinions on that front?”

“If you’re there, I don’t care,” he smiled. “And we should have food.”

“You’re bafflingly easy to please.”

“You’d know that better than anyone--”

“Bucky Barnes!” The people in the next row were giving you exasperated glances, and you poked his ticklish side. “We’re being disruptive,” you whispered gleefully as he grabbed your hand in warning of what he might do to you if you persisted in tickling him. He narrowed his eyes.

“If they’re mad because we’re happy, I don’t know what to tell them.” He cupped your chin and kissed you.

You smiled against his mouth and gave your seat neighbors a little show until the woman made an annoyed huff. You pulled away enough that Bucky kissed your forehead. Then, you leaned against his shoulder.

“Can I ask you a more serious-ish question?”

“Fury is not marrying us.”

“Agreed,” you laughed. “I… well. You’re the last Barnes, yeah?” Bucky nodded solemnly.

You had only talked about it one time, when you had spent a particularly interesting evening having dinner with Tony and Pepper. It had taken a while for Tony to be comfortable talking to Bucky about the past without being fairly intoxicated, but at that particular dinner, they had bonded over being the last of their families alive, and the guilt they both felt about their roles in that truth. Afterwards, Bucky had admitted to you that he couldn’t ever see himself being a father… that was where he and Tony’s feelings on being the last man standing diverged. Tony felt compelled to continue the Stark legacy. Bucky was content to let it end with him.

Bucky didn’t know if he had any living family; anybody left would be a distant relative, and not likely a Barnes. That was the nature of being someone with a third chance at life. But you had the distinct feeling that it need not be tied up like something bittersweet. Not when you were planning to spend the rest of your own life committed to him.

“I never really thought I'd get married until you, and my name isn’t going to be passed down through me, and so I wondered--”

“Doll… you wanna be a Barnes?” His expression changed from curiosity to astonishment.

Your cheeks flushed in excitement. “Is that okay?”

“Okay?” he scoffed. “If the seatbelt sign wasn’t illuminated, I might run up and down this aisle right now. I’m honored, honey.”

He flagged down the flight attendant, who was très amusant by comparison to your seat neighbors. The man brought the two of you a miniscule bottle of extraordinarily cheap champagne and two plastic cups, told you pointedly how very lucky you were to ‘land such a whopper’, and walked away fanning himself when Bucky insisted he was the lucky one.

Bucky poured equal shares of the sparkling wine into your cups. You clinked your plastic vessel to his.

“Team Barnes, yeah?”

“Forever.”

“When do you want to start telling people?”

“I’m pretty sure Sam has us figured out,” Bucky said with a smile. “But we don’t have to tell anyone until we’re ready.”

“Let’s see how we feel after this trip. I don’t want to tell my mother until I know she’s not going to be a Mom-zilla about it.”

“Okay. Just tell me when to show up. I’ll be there.”

The two of you made promises too quiet for anyone else to hear, while you sipped the rest of the disgusting champagne, and it still felt like a moment more special than Bucky ever could’ve reckoned he’d find, back when his life was shattered. What was a woman, back then, but a principle to be eliminated? What was a dream, but something he hadn’t deserved? If only he could go back, push scared and broken Bucky into your arms and tell him: this is how you find your way out. You get to dream, bud. Someday, a woman is going to teach you how to touch her best, and you’re going to find yourself believing that she does it because she loves you.

He wished, just for a moment, that he had met you before his deprogramming.

If, instead of Ayo’s steady but charged energy, he had you to meditate on. He could’ve handed you those trigger words in his mind’s eye, and given over to the release with so much more reassurance that he was going to come out on the other side and be able to recognize himself again. Recognize Steve. Be a person, again.

The other part of him, which he wasn’t sure he’d ever even admit to you out loud, was very grateful that you didn’t intimately know the ugliest parts of him. With you, Bucky was free to heal as himself. And grow. And age again… you’d be the cause of some of those wrinkles he was earning.

He was serious: he’d marry you anywhere, because for the first time, he understood why people did that. Standing up in front of people who loved you both, taking a vow to give you everything… he took oaths seriously. He wanted the world to know that he had made such an oath, too. Maybe this was the first step to reemerging into the public sphere.

If he could step into the light, married to you, with a pardon he only could’ve earned with your support… Bucky Barnes’ name might mean something good again. If not good, then at least not be a smudge on Captain America’s ledger. All the better if it let him be just ordinary.

***

Bucky had this strangely adaptable quality which made him stick out exactly the same amount in every town, like someone too handsome to be from there, and too unhurried not to be. Which helped distract your fellow airport dwellers from the fact that you looked like someone who was coming home for her high school reunion in revenge leather. Bucky hadn’t said anything when you grabbed your moto-jacket instead of your light, springtime coat, but he had whistled appreciatively. He knew you required some armor to face your family. He didn’t even mind being part of that protection. In fact, you might say that he was more than happy to stand at your side, looking grumpy while also trailing one finger down your spine to remind you that he was there, and you were loved, and nobody could touch that.

Your sister was late to pick you up and wasn’t answering her phone, which brought you no end of stress--you were always chronically early, which had made Bucky learn very quickly that he had to communicate if he wasn’t going to make it until your arranged meeting time--so Bucky pulled out his phone (which he was good at using for approximately four apps) and called a car. As the blue suv with a pink monkey hanging from the rearview mirror pulled up along the curb and Jordan waved from the driver’s seat, Bucky held open the door. You gaped at him.

“Jenny is going to be pissed.”

Bucky shrugged. “Jenny shouldn’t keep the future Mrs. Barnes waiting.”

He patted you on the butt gently and nodded for you to slide into the backseat of the suv. He tossed your bags into the trunk, and joined you.

Your driver was kind and gave you free reign over the type of music playing (you chose the 40s Junction, a satellite radio channel curated with music which comforted you both), and took you on every shortcut… which meant that you arrived at your mother’s home, the house you grew up in, only five minutes after you had promised to arrive (making up for the twenty minutes that had passed waiting for Jenny). You both stood on the curb, flanked by your luggage, and Jordan drove away.

The house was a quaint bungalow which had barely avoided being swallowed by the renovated beasts on either side by virtue of the crawling ivy, which had already done the job admirably. It looked like it was sagging at the corners. The porch surely wasn’t viable for foot traffic, but it would make a mighty fine termite colony if it weren’t so cold in the winters. It didn’t make sense that you had been raised in that house, but then again--a lot of things about you defied logic.

Bucky laced your fingers together.

“We should go in.”

“What if we just call Jordan back and go home?”

“...I have Tony on speed dial.”

“As tempting as that is,” you sighed, “if we don’t do this, I will never hear the end of it.”

“I am your human shield.”

He tugged you along the broken front walk towards the door, which burst open when you were only halfway up the path. Your mother emerged in all her glory, arms thrown wide… looking like she felt absolutely fine. Not at all sick, as Jenny had implied. She took one look at Bucky and seemed to go through several phases of shock.

“Did you tell her I was coming?” he whispered to you.

“I told her I was bringing a man. I did not elaborate.”

“Maybe you should have. Shit…” He gritted his teeth. He could not say to you what he was thinking because your mother had made her way down the stairs, ripped you out of Bucky’s hold, and was currently crushing you to death in a hug. If he had had a moment to pull you aside, he might have said if we run now, we can make it home by dawn. He had not realized, despite all of your stories, that he would likely have to answer questions from this force of nature… he wasn’t even sure he had answers to much of anything, beyond you raised this woman, and I love her, and my name is Bucky.

Staring down a squadron of trained HYDRA agents who all had been injected with the same serum as he had was nothing compared to telling someone about himself. He hadn’t even told YOU things about himself. You just needled it out of him, little by little, until he was in love with you and it was too late to hide how much he liked popcorn, or that he was allergic to penicillin and stupidity.

You were a stunning, crafty, evil perfect woman.

He squashed the rising panic, but only because you were fiddling with the ring where it sat against your sternum. He gave you that ring, it was your touchpoint. He could do this for you.

“Hi sweetheart,” your mom crooned. “It’s been so long!”

“It’s good to see you, mama.” You were trying your best to sound genuine, and Bucky knew you loved your mother despite how it sounded… but you still had your shoulders hiked up to your ears like you were bracing for her criticism to begin.

“And who is this??” Your mother’s eyes widened when she realized that you weren’t alone.

“Mom, this is Bucky.”

You winced at him over your mother’s shoulder as she approached him appraisingly. Bucky was pretty certain that your mother had figured out his underwear size, given her laser focus on every inch of him. She swooped in for a hug, and he felt the rising panic when she gripped his left bicep. But she made a delighted sound.

“Who knew you’d come back after a decade--”

“It’s only been seven years,” you sighed.

“--with a man. He’s taller than Collin.” Your mother clicked her tongue in a way that Bucky couldn’t tell whether or not it was a good thing that he was taller than this Collin.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he said pleasantly.

“Is Bucky your given name?”

“It’s uh… James. My middle name is Buchanan. Like the President.”

“Well, James. I’m Roberta. Welcome to my home.” Roberta hooked her fingers in Bucky’s elbow and dragged him towards the house, leaving you to trail behind. “I thought your sister was picking you up.”

“Jenny never showed,” you said. Bucky cast a nervous glance back at you. You gave him a look that said something along the lines of it’s too late to save yourself, I’ll miss you!

Roberta stroked his forearm. “Are you hungry?”

“I could eat,” Bucky replied, knowing that he would probably regret it.

***

In short order, Bucky had been handed several Pyrex containers with various pasta-based foods—cold pasta salad was your mother’s love language. He learned that Roberta’s secret ingredient to most dishes was ketchup, and that it made all her food taste the same. Meanwhile, you were asked repeated questions about what you had been up to—most of which you had to answer vaguely. When attention would turn to him for an answer, Bucky would stuff a bite of food in his mouth and very apologetically gesture that he couldn’t speak as such.

It didn’t occur to him until his plastic fork had hit the bottom of the glass bowl that you two hadn’t discussed what was appropriate to tell your family about him. He wasn’t even sure what to say.

Remember about five years ago when a masked guy with a metal arm was in the news a lot for going absolutely feral looking for Captain America? That was me. I’m domesticated now.

It became very clear why Jenny hadn’t picked either of you up when she came blustering into your mom’s house almost an hour later wearing massive sunglasses, an outfit with approximately eight different layers (from the clothing line that she sold, you had told Bucky all about it on the plane and prepared him for the visual eyesore which was your sister’s wardrobe), and with four little girls under the age of six in matching dresses. The sound was almost deafening, and inescapable--Roberta had trapped you and Bucky in her living room on the loveseat, and it meant that you were gripping his hand so hard that he felt your nails through his glove. Jenny’s husband came inside a few minutes later. He nodded at Bucky, the relief on his face evident that he was no longer so outnumbered. He held out his hand.

“Brad Davis, nice to meet you man.”

Bucky coaxed your fingers loose with his left hand and shook Brad’s with his right. “Bucky Barnes. Pleasure.”

“Hey, Y/n.”

You waved. “How’s it going, Brad? How’s work?”

Jenny hadn’t so much as greeted you or Bucky; instead, she had pulled your mother into the kitchen for a loud but unintelligible conversation, while her girls ran around her in circles. Brad sat in the la-z-boy chair with a sigh.

“It’s okay,” Brad said. “Work is work. All I do is go into the office and then go home. Ya know?”

Bucky absolutely did not know… the work that you and Bucky did took you to such interesting places that it never felt like just work in that way. It was reliably unreliable. Not that Bucky had ever had a job in his life that could be called ‘ordinary.’ Still, Bucky nodded.

“Want a beer?” Brad pointed between Bucky and you. “Should be some Bud in the fridge, still.”

“It’s barely ten am,” you laughed. Your brother-in-law shrugged. “I’m okay, Brad. But thank you.”

“Suit yourself. Bucky?”

“Sure,” Bucky said.

Brad got up again like his knees were made of walnuts, even though he looked your age. He disappeared into the kitchen, in the direction of the cacophony. You leaned over the moment Brad was out of hearing.

“This was a really bad idea,” you said softly.

“Brad seems nice.”

“Brad is nothing if not consistent. Um… do you want to take off your coat?”

He frowned. “Are you sure?”

You nudged his shoulder with yours. “No hiding. Right?”

“Your family--”

“You’re my family, Mr. Barnes.”

He wrinkled his nose at you because that was all he could do, other than become a puddle of absolute goofiness at your feet. Bucky gestured for you to lean in, so he could thank you. He took your lips as if to say “I don’t know what I did before you.”

“Oh, fuck! I completely spaced, y/n!” Jenny screeched from the kitchen. You rolled your eyes, but you kissed him in a lingering way. In a bedroom-y way. He shook his head. You knew what you were doing, you minx.

“I think I have to go in there, now.” Your breath tickled his lips.

“Scream if you need me,” he murmured.

“We’ll save that for home.”

You stood, and retired to the kitchen, at which point Brad was swiftly ejected, carrying two bottles of beer and an annoyed grimace. He sat down in the cushy chair again and considered Bucky, who had removed his coat at your urging. The super soldier crossed his legs discreetly.

Half of Bucky expected Brad to have some grand reaction to meet a man with a gleaming, reticulated, cybernetic implant sitting across from him, but… Brad just took a drink of his beer. He played the drums to some tuneless song on his knee, and then handed over the spare drink.

“What do you do, Bucky?”

Bucky sipped the proffered beer. “…for a living?” No, Barnes. What you do when you’re trying to think of how you’ll even explain what the fuck you do with yourself all the time.

“Yeah, man.”

Oh, I fly copilot for Agent 257 with SHIELD spec ops, running tactical missions to subvert and eliminate splinter cells from the terrorist organization known as HYDRA. I shoot people between the eyes from very long distances--don’t worry, they’re really bad people, I’m not a MONSTER. Bucky shook off the intrusive thoughts and focused. This was him being normal. This was a normal query. Brad didn’t seem to care either way, he was just being polite, so...

“I travel. With Y/n—we do… surveys.”

“Oh, nice. You get to choose where you go?”

“Nope.”

“Dang. Last place you went?”

“Paris.”

“Good place to propose.”

Bucky nodded nonchalantly, but he had to bite back a triumphant grin. “I’ve heard that, yeah.”

“Nice. I proposed in the upstairs bedroom here, after Jenny found out she was pregnant with McKynleigh. You, uh… thinking about locking that down?” Brad gestured to the kitchen, where you were presumably fielding some pointed questions from your sister and mother.

Bucky nodded. “Yes I am.”

“Nice, man. Classy.” Brad seemed thoroughly impressed.

“Thanks.”

“How long have y’all been together?”

“Four-hundred and five--I’m sorry, six days.”

“Nice. You, uh… you like baseball?”

“Grew up going to Mets games. Being back in a stadium these days would feel completely different, I’m sure.”

“Nothing like a ballpark hot dog!”

The rest of Bucky’s conversation continued with exactly the same amount of excitement from Brad; the man breezed through conversation topics like he was sleepwalking. It wasn’t until you came out of the kitchen with a pained look on your face that Bucky realized he had finished his beer. And then, you gave him a look that almost had him panicking. He stood. He was at your elbow before you could take another breath.

“My mother has booked a restaurant for her birthday dinner,” you said softly, as if it were the most devastating news you could ever have received. “So we are to ‘freshen up’ and then be ready to leave for some Italian food in an hour.”

“Okay,” he said readily. He was in no way hungry after being force-fed, but it would be okay. Probably. He searched your face for some iota of calm or cheer, but you looked worried. He levelled his eyes with yours. When you finally held his gaze for longer than a moment, he nodded subtly and winked. You pressed your palm to his chest.

“Do I need to change my shirt?” he asked lightly.

“Um… hey, mama? How fancy is this place?” you called.

Roberta stuck her head around the doorway. “It’s not black tie, but you could go a little nicer in honor of my special night.”

“That’s mom-speak for ‘you look like bums.’ We should change.”

***

Fifty-five minutes later, you and Bucky sat in the back seat of Roberta’s Buick Continental with rusted wheel-wells, while Roberta Flack was competing with the stagnant air for which was killing you softly-er. Jenny and Brad drove separately.

Sixteen minutes after that, you all squeezed into a booth at La Traviata Fine Italian Cuisine. Bucky and you were seated at one end of the U-shaped booth, blessedly saved from being trapped in the middle by your mother’s god complex. She was flanked on either side by her granddaughters. Jenny and Brad sat far enough apart that they could barely be considered seated ‘together.’

Jaedyin kept handing Bucky broken crayons. He doodled little circles on the paper table cloth, and the four-year-old filled them in. You were grateful vibranium was indestructible because you would’ve crushed his left hand. He discreetly shook you off in favor of rubbing your knee.

Roberta insisted that nobody drink alcohol until dessert, at which time she would order champagne… but god bless you for trying to siphon any amount of liquid courage from your Shirley Temple through a cocktail straw. The conversation very quickly turned to Bucky almost as soon as the waiter had taken the orders for the table.

“How did you meet my daughter?” Roberta was lit from below by several short candles, and the question came across as mischievous.

“She lives three floors above me,” Bucky said. He glanced at you and winked. “She was listening to her music too loud—“

You scoffed. “In my defense, you have the hearing of a bat.”

“I’m sure that was very charming.” Roberta meant annoying, like I had to endure that the entirety of her teen years annoying.

Bucky shook his head emphatically. It wasn’t annoying--it was the first good thing that happened to him in seventy years. “She has good taste. And we just hit it off from there. It’s been a while now.”

“406 days,” Brad said, like he was waiting for his one contribution.

“Yep. I can’t believe it’s been that long, but I’m a big fan of hers, so I’m not complaining.” He kissed your cheek, because touch had always been his way of grounding himself to you, regardless of your audience. You laced your fingers together in thanks.

“Are your parents living?”

Jenny scoffed. “Ma, jeeze—“

“What?”

Bucky cleared his throat. “No, they’re both dead. I don’t have any living family that I’m aware of.”

“Okay. Can you stop interrogating him like he’s a criminal?” You waved down the waiter. “Hi, yes. Can we get a bottle of your house red? I’m buying.”

“No, thank you, garcon, we will not be needing that wine--”

“Yes, garcon… uh, Frank, we will.” Jenny waved her mother off when she began to get snippy. “What do you care, ma? You’re not paying.”

Frank, the very confused but dutiful young waiter fled from your tableside, and returned not long after with a bottle of something that cost the restaurant ten dollars at best, and would be costing you somewhere closer to fifty.

It took one sip to your lips for Roberta to set her focus on you, instead of Bucky. She crossed her hands on top of the table, even as Lakylenn tried to dip her fingers into the candle wax closest to her grandmother, and sighed.

“What are you doing with yourself these days, Y/n?”

You squeezed Bucky’s wrist, and he turned his palm up so you could slot your fingers between his again. He busied himself with drawing a very weird series of shapes for Jaedyin to color with the remnants of yellow and brown crayons.

“They travel for work,” Brad said quickly. “Surveys.”

You glanced at Bucky for confirmation of the cover he had shared. He gave your hand two compressions.

“Yep. Security, mostly. Helping stabilize potential breeches, pointing out flaws in certain measures which companies take.” You might as well have been saying gibberish, but Roberta’s face did not betray whether or not she bought this story. “Bucky and I work together, actually. So. We just got back from France--”

“It’s hardly a recipe for stability, darling.”

“I disagree. We have absolute job security.”

“I just mean… if you don’t get to be home very often, how do you even start to build a life for yourself? You get your little adventures, but how do you start your next phase of life? It’s so… childish.”

You blinked--the dangerous, slow blink. The one which sent Rumlow to The Raft. Bucky sat back against the bench to clear your shot; whatever came out next was going to draw blood.

You leaned over him. Bucky pushed little Jaedyin back against the seat cushion.

“How would you know a thing about having a life?” you spat. “Seems to me you sit around waiting for life to happen to you, while I’m out seeing the world. You haven’t even left this town in decades.”

“If that’s how you feel, I wonder why you even bothered to come home.”

“Because Jenny said you haven’t been feeling well, and I felt bad!”

Roberta trailed a blood-red nail across the paper table covering, ripping it as she went. “The least you could do is apologize for ruining my birthday.”

“Ruining? It’s barely begun!” You couldn’t help but laugh in exasperation. The air was thick with angry energy, and the rest of the dining hall seemed to fade away into distant accordion whines.

“I’m sorry. Is that what you want? I’m sorry your birthday sucks. Sorry I didn’t get married to Collin, Ma. But he hit me, so I hope you’ll eventually forgive me for breaking things off with him. Maybe I’m crazy--thought I deserved something more.”

Roberta was white as a sheet, but she pressed her fingers to her mouth like she didn’t dare say another word. It was enough to egg you on. All four of Jenny’s daughters put their hands over their ears, as did their father. Jenny sipped her wine like it was the best thing she had ever tasted. You were seething.

Roberta just rolled her eyes, persisting in her assumption that she would forever retain control. “God forbid you have a baby, Y/n. With your temper, you’d never build a safe home--”

“I’m not going to give you grandchildren!” You threw up your hands. “After this, I’m not even sure I’m going to come home for the holidays ever again, and I definitely won’t kiss your ass so you’ll give my boyfriend a chance. I’m grown. The things I do with my life are for me, and any ounce of pride you derive from my accomplishments is my doing, not yours.” You swiped a hand under your nose to hold back angry tears.

“I’m done. Every night that I open the door to Bucky, I come home. Your place is just a house where a woman lives who I used to know.”

It wasn’t out of your mouth before you lept out of the booth, and staggered to your feet. You fixed Bucky to the spot with a desperate glare.

The boots you had chosen (Bucky’s favorite, heeled leather things with buckles and laces galore) clicked on the absolutely inauthentic Tuscan tiles as you beat a retreat. If Bucky followed you, you weren’t sure what you’d do. He’d try to comfort you, calm you even, but for the first time in your life… the thing you wanted to say when your mother was cruel had actually come out of your mouth. You didn’t want to be comforted.

The amount of vitriol you were feeling wasn’t even fully justified--you had barely been home long enough for old wounds to open back up, but… you were different, now. Your ability to tolerate that kind of conversation from the woman (who wasted no time reminding you that you owed everything to her) had zeroed out the MOMENT that you found yourself loved by someone who didn’t dangle his love from you on a string.

Bucky’s love made Roberta’s look like a blood contract.

You burst from the restaurant, past waiters and tittering families, out into the cool evening air… Jenny followed shortly after, yelling back to the hostess that she was paying for this wine, so she was going to damn well drink it! You sat hard in the landscaping, beneath a very sad cypress tree. The mulch dug into your ass through your jeans. Your sister joined you, and offered you a swig from the wine bottle.

She didn’t say much at first. But her head fell against your shoulder, and she hugged your elbow. The red wine burned down your throat like a cheap cab ought to.

“She has been worse than ever, lately,” Jenny finally whispered. “Brad doesn’t have to work, you know? He could stay home with the girls on my dime, but mom has him paralyzed about not being the breadwinner.” She scoffed. “I make double his monthly paycheck in a week.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah. Who’d have thought little Jenny would make it big? Not our mother.”

You laid your cheek against the crown of her head. “You’re happy?” you asked.

“Psssh. Happy. Who can afford that, these days?”

“I know you’re joking, but… I am happy, Jen.”

“Yeah?” She stole the wine bottle from your grip, and drank like she hardly believed you.

“I’m stupidly happy.”

“Is it him?”

“God, it’s--it’s Bucky, and my job, our friends… we have a cat, a little white baby named Alpine--”

“Oh my god, you do? You’ve always wanted a cat!”

“I know! Bucky rescued him from the side of the road.”

Jenny sat up and looked at you through wide, unbelieving eyes. “Holy shit.”

“He’s got me riding motorcycles.”

“I’m sorry, YOU?”

“We have matching helmets. It’s very sexy.”

“What the fuck have you done with my scaredy-cat older sister?” She handed you the bottle back proudly, and watched you take a deep sip in admiration. “Shit, Y/n. This is THE. GUY.”

You shrugged. “I’m not scared anymore.”

“You’re free. If you can choose between being the person mom thinks you should’ve been or riding fucking motorcycles with that guy--I take my wedding vows very seriously, but that man is extremely easy on the eyes.”

“He helped me heal from wounds I didn’t even know I still had,” you said softly. You pulled out your phone when it beeped. “Look at this shit.” You held out your phone for Jenny to read Bucky’s sweet messages.

BUCKY: i know youre beating yourself up but you dont know how proud I am of you

BUCKY: jaden is also proud

BUCKY: she is drawing auntie a picture of a pig named hammy because *auntie is loud like mommy* and i am told that is very good

BUCKY: i know you can fight your own battles

BUCKY: but if your mother tells me one more time that youre just dramatic

BUCKY: i may give her a new definition of the word

BUCKY: anyway these breadsticks are delicious and i will sleeve a few for you when you come back

BUCKY: love you doll

Jenny sighed. “Can’t spell my fuckin’ kid’s name--”

“I’m sorry, who’s fault is that?” You laughed, taking your phone back.

“But I like how he loves you. I wish I got one milligram of that kinda love from Brad.” Jenny patted your knee. “Honestly? Fuck Ma. I wish every day of my life that I had quit town the second I graduated, so I could see the world like you. My greatest regret is not disappointing my mother.”

“You wanna go with me sometime? Somewhere tropical?”

“You and I both know that our ideal sister vacation is somewhere with massive castle ruins, so when you’re headed to Edinburgh, call me.” Jenny held out her arms, and you embraced your little sister.

“I should call you more,” you murmured.

Jenny snorted. “You think I don’t know that you have a fucking dangerous job? I know how to sell ugly leggings to the masses. I’m very intelligent underneath all these poly blends. But you’ll never be a disappointment to me, even if it takes you months to return my calls. You’re my hero. Ever since you socked Bobby DiAmelio in the mouth in third grade, I’ve been in awe.”

“You look happy on Insta.”

“Happy is my brand. It would be nice to see your face there, every once in a while. Then I could show the girls what a badass their auntie is.” Jenny touched your cheek. “Listen, it’s our miserable mother’s birthday, but… I don’t think we should sit through one more minute of her bullshit. I’ll pay for her dinner, and this cheap ass wine, and you and Bucky can go stay in a hotel.”

“All of our stuff is at ma’s,” you sighed.

“Her spare key has been in the same place for thirty years.”

“She’s going to make the rest of your night miserable--”

“Why do you think I birthed four daughters? Do you think that woman is any match for them when they get going? Put a little sugar in them, and she can’t see the forest for the trees.”

“You’re an evil genius.”

“I know.” Jenny stood, and helped you up, too. “Stay here. I’ll send out your guy.”

You held fast to her hand. “Hey… we’re engaged. I don’t want to tell her, but I hope you’ll come.”

“You think you could keep me away?” Jenny patted your hand. “I won’t tell her, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“She’s gonna be hurt when she finds out.”

“You’re not responsible for her reaction.”

“I love you, Jen.”

“Love you too, ya know? I’m sorry it took Ma being like this for us to be together again. Breakfast tomorrow? With booze?”

You held the blessed wine aloft in agreement. “God, yes.”

“I’ll text you once the house is awake, we have a great patio.” She looked you over like she was seeing you for the first time. “Y/n… I wish I had known about Collin. Back then. I’m so sorry.”

You shrugged. “I was terrified to tell anybody. But it meant I never let any of you see what he was doing to me.”

“I would’ve killed him.”

“That means a lot, sis.”

She shrugged back. “What are sisters for, if not for being homicidal accomplices?”

You hugged her tight. Your little sister, who felt more like an ally than ever, was showing you a new side of herself.

Jenny steeled her determination by wrapping her sweater around her waist, and putting on her most fearsome mom face. She waltzed back inside, leaving you staring at the sky… wondering if you had wasted years of your life not realizing how close to Jenny you could be.

When the man you loved came outside, he looked back inside the restaurant regretfully. “I don’t know if I made things any better in there,” he admitted. He kissed you. “But Jenny said you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” you sighed. “Ma didn’t razz you too much?”

Bucky scratched the back of his neck. “She certainly tried. I was… ungentlemanly about it.”

“Heaven forbid,” you laughed.

“No, really… I never leverage the Asset shit, I think it’s cheap, but… did you know that Roberta has saved every copy of the Sunday New York Times since she married your father? Turns out, she remembers some things about… me. Then. So… sorry if I just made every family reunion awkward for the rest of our lives. Supposing she wants to speak to us after that.”

“What the hell did you say?” You tugged him further from the restaurant entrance as a few families came out, bellies full of mediocre pasta meals.

“Well… first she listed all the ways in which this Collin guy was perfect for you”

“Christ.”

“And then she asked me who the hell I thought I was, so I took off my gloves. Come to think of it… I didn’t really say much of anything, she just took one look at vibranium and started wildly speculating about me brainwashing you, and other similar wrong things.” Bucky rubbed your arms and then perked up when you offered him the rest of your bottle of wine, which wasn’t much of anything. But still, he took it happily.

“Then, Brad said he thought Jenny didn’t like him. Ellyri confirmed that that is the case, and said ‘mommy likes Idris Elba.’ and your mother smacked Brad’s shoulder so hard that I felt it. She proceeded to tell me she hopes we never have children, and I asked her if she had blacked out when you asserted that we won’t be. And then she asked me for the seventh time who I thought I was. Very dramatic, all told.”

Bucky hid the empty wine bottle behind the sad cypress tree. If you were at all tipsy from said beverage, you couldn’t tell with the way your skin was vibrating with adrenaline. He had been unflinching in the face of a foe like your mother, and showed no signs of doubt. Just. He was--

“Why, you’re James Barnes,” you said softly, wrapping your arms behind his neck. “A veteran. Brooklyn native. Father of a beautiful kitten. Sometimes pro-football quarterback. And the love of my life, who looks a little bit like a man who the world failed to protect.”

“Honey, you’re very sweet, but you’re also biased.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

He tilted his head. “Wanna get out of here?”

“Yeah.”

“But first…” He reached behind your back and made a brown paper bag appear out of nowhere. “I bring garlic bread for my bride.”

You clapped your hands in excitement. “Call us a car, baby. I’m gonna stuff my face with breadsticks. Wait--kiss me!”

He gave you what could only be called a loving smooch.

“I love garlic kisses,” Bucky said, not at all ironically, as he made the first in a string of phone calls.

***

Tony booked you a rental house on the beach for a few nights, far enough away from the house your mother lived at to feel safe, once you had retrieved your bags using the spare key under the mat. Bucky had left you in the rental’s bathroom to change into more comfortable clothing.

You spent a little while staring at your reflection in the bathroom mirror. Seeing, but not knowing that woman’s face which stared back at you, so equally the two halves of your DNA as to be startlingly Roberta-like, and yet nothing like her at all. For all you had seen and done, you didn’t look angry like she did. You’d grow into your own wrinkles and scars. None of them would look like hers.

Leaving your mother’s birthday dinner felt like a severing that you had never expected to actually make. A broken wheel. Somehow, it made you feel more alive than ever; you weren’t living with the notion that everything you did would be weighed against Jenny’s accomplishments anymore, or like Roberta saw you as a failed project… because it didn’t matter what she thought.

It hurt like hell.

But it didn’t matter, because he was there to dress your wounds.

You found him sitting on the porch with a bottle of Bud in one hand, staring out over the rooftops of your temporary neighborhood. As soon as he felt you beside him, Bucky held out a hand to you. Once you took it, he tugged until you stepped down the stairs below him, and sat between his knees. He kissed your temple. His arms encircled your shoulders. You let out the breath you had been holding.

“You know… the worst did happen,” you said softly. “It was horrible. And I survived.”

“Mhm. You’re a badass, I told you.”

“Who knew that standing up to my mother and throwing Collin back in her face would feel so…” Well, it didn’t feel good, but. At least you said what you had needed to, for years on end. You shivered. Bucky pulled your hood up and traced the lettering down the sleeve… TEAM BARNES, as it were.

“Tell me about this Collin,” he murmured.

“God,” you sighed. “I thought he was it.” Bucky hummed into the crook of your neck. “We met at college orientation. I had never had anyone take one look at me, let alone dated, but he was persistent. And it was nice to be wanted. Very easy to misconstrue for love. And it eclipsed the next four years of my life like that--” you snapped. “We were one entity. Everybody thought we were the model couple. In the moment, it felt like being one of Saturn’s rings, like--people knew who I was because I was with Collin, but. There was always something that felt off, I guess?”

“How so?”

“He--I know you don’t care about social media.”

“I think I have a good excuse,” he chuckled.

“Collin wouldn’t post anything about me publicly. It took six months of us being together for him to agree that I could be labelled as his girlfriend where other people could see it.”

Bucky scoffed. “What was his deal? I can’t shut up about you.”

“Yes, well,” you laughed, clutching at his arms for purchase, “You follow your own rules, Sarge.”

“But you stayed with him.” Bucky asked the question so cautiously; he clearly didn’t want to offend you, he wanted to understand.

“Yeah. It helped that I was the perfect girl for him: never told him when I was upset, never raised my voice, never fought with him at all. Whatever he wanted, that was what I gave.”

“Do you do that with me?”

“No.” You turned around in his arms, and pressed your cheek against his chest. “I would give you whatever you needed, but nothing comes at my expense anymore. I can love you better when I tell you what upsets me, and we can work things out. Collin made it feel safer to keep my mouth shut.”

Bucky tipped your chin up. “He hurt you.”

“Yeah.” Your voice broke just enough that it broke something in him, too. Bucky brushed a thumb over your cheek. “I enlisted to get out. It was the only way I could think of where he couldn’t touch me. Once I was in, I didn’t hear a word from him again.”

“He would be lucky to breathe the same air as you.”

“Can I tell you something stupid? I never blocked him on my socials. I should… he doesn’t deserve to have access to me, but… part of me wants him to be able to see that despite everything, I have a good life.”

“That’s not stupid. That’s human. Give me your phone.”

You fished your phone out of your pocket and handed it over. He thumbed over until the camera popped open, immediately recoiling at the angle his own face appeared on the screen. Then, he held out the little thing. He dead-eyed the camera, as was tradition, but he cradled you so sweetly that you couldn’t help but watch him on the screen. Bucky took several photos (including one that looked like him trying to eat your head), and then handed the device back.

“Please promptly share all of those with your people.”

You laughed, reviewing the pictures. “You want my people to see me trying to keep you from biting me?”

“You look happy,” he said, voice dripping with the same amount of happiness that he was insinuating. “I don’t care what I look like, we’re together.”

“Hmmm… okay.”

He rested his chin on your shoulder, watching you pull up Instagram. You selected the photos (only three… to keep the people guessing), and your finger hovered over the keyboard.

“What should I write with them?”

“...Something about love, I don’t know.” He nuzzled your cheek.

So, that’s what you wrote. Something about love, idk. You tagged his account--which was run exclusively by Sam, to which Bucky didn’t even know the password--and hit post before you could think twice. Then, Bucky sighed.

“I cannot fathom a man who would have you, and think that you weren’t enough.”

You snorted. “I’m not telling you his last name.”

“Bold of you to think that’s all it takes to keep me from figuring it out. I have Sam.” Bucky did that thing you loved--the one where he held you against him, as if he never had any mind to let you go. His lips were travelers, traversing your jaw from beneath your ear and down until you turned your head to make their acquaintance. You hummed.

“I wish we hadn’t come,” you said softly.

“Your mother loves you. But not in the way you deserve, and that’s where I come in.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Never thought I’d ask a girl to marry me.”

“You didn’t quite ask,” you snickered. “Not out loud. Your terrible handwriting did the questioning.”

“Oh, excuse me,” he scoffed with feigned insult. “I forgot that you actually care about the words that come out of my mouth.”

“You weren’t chatty when we met, my love. The more you open up, the more special I feel.”

“Well… fine, then.”

The two of you sat together, sharing a bad beer under the stars, until it was long into the evening. After a while, you got curious about why your phone kept beeping, so you took a look… turns out, it was your people. Showing up, like they always did where you and Bucky were concerned.

Sure, it was just a little comment thread under three grainy photos taken by your partner, but still. It felt like love, too.

_______

wilson_not_the_vollyball: oh so we’re doing this now? i will not stand for it. y’all smothering us with your adorableness DISGUSTING

StarkforceOne: It’s contagious. Ask @ mrsp0tts. (we have news!!!!)

mrsp0tts: Miss you two! Alpine says ‘mew’

santa.natalia: i like that necklace, what’s the pendant? you’re so pretty, babe. and bucky’s there.

HRHPrincessDiane: you should take photos in better light

santa.natalia: nobody asked you @ HRHPrincessDiane

StarkforceOne: wrong @ HRHPrincessDiane’s opinion is invalid

bradleydavis1: nice

HRHPrincessDiane: @ santa.natalia @ StarkforceOne blocked

jennypenny: love looks good on you, sis.

santa.natalia: steven likes this, too, but he’s too busy looking over my shoulder to pull out his own phone. (@ americass)

Part 8

Part 10

***

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