#I might not post again for a while though

[nubsdolls]

SYPNOSIS ; g/n reader x sparring partner! bakugou, fluff, not proofread .. matching bracelets , enjoy ! xoxo, jord .ᐟ

A/N; this was supposed to be a lil drabble but this came out longer than i intended .. anywaayss. I PROOOMISEEE im gonna start posting more i’ve disappeared for sosososso long.. in the meanwhile take this, luv u guys !!!!!

sparring partner! bakugou that swears he only bugs you 24/7 to “get your ass to training grounds” because you need to improve. no other reason because of course, he cant stand you.. or anything about you, for that matter.

so no, it doesnt “mean” anything when sparring partner! bakugou comes up from behind you to, “fix” your form. adjusting you by signaling you to rotate to the side by giving your hips a little push, nudging your elbows up so your face is protected by your hands.

sparring partner! bakugou who always insists to be near you, discreetly, if he can. because he obviously doesnt want it to seem like he cares, because he doesnt. even during training or maybe even an attack on the school? near you. covering you and making sure warn you of the sneak attacks from behind you.

and even though you practically hate sparring with him, because hes so damn ruthless, ensuring a trip to recovery girl by the end of it, its weirdly the highlight of your days. hearing the ding! of your phone, followed by the usual message from him.

: training grounds. 5 mins

even when its five in the goddamn morning. you never fail to meet him there.

and after a small while of this cycle, you make the (probably) safe assumption you guys are, friends? acquaintances?..hell, maybe you were even on kirishima’s level of ‘friend’. toleratable? at the least.

so while on one of your free days afterschool, youre shopping with the bakusquad. mina, jirou, denki, sero, kirishima, and obviously, bakugou. god knows how they convinced him to tag along.. you get lost in a cute little merch store, spotting matching all might bracelets. ew, corny. who would even get those?

ca—ching! “aaand heres your change, have a nice day!”

you would.

though, you probably shouldve thought this out.. who were you gonna match with? ofcourse, it could always be mina, but she also didnt absolutely fixate on all might. but, there was, one person you had in mind..

and sometime in the week after the hangout, at the end of your—no less than brutal, training session, you tiredly brought it up.

“the other day—while we were at the mall, i saw these matching all might bracelets—“ pant, “i kinda just bought on it on sight, annnd i didnt really think of who to give the other half to before i did.. but i know you like him, so..”

you trail off, simply suggesting it as you move over to sit down on a bench, taking a drink of water, while also, pulling out the bracelets from your pockets and reaching your free hand up to show him.

sparring partner! bakugou scoffs upon seeing the bracelets in your hand. golden age and bronze age all might bracelets.

“thats stupid. im not wearing that shit.” he growls, crossing his arms. his voice a little panted from training. you were getting better. not that he would tell you that directly, of course.

“chill, dynamight.” you roll your eyes playfully, emphasizing his hero name on your tongue. “i was just suggesting it, if you dont want it its fine.” you explain casually. even if, the sentence did hurt your feelings a little.

“ill just give it to izuku.” you shrug, you guys were friends, pretty close if you did say so.

and you almost swear you saw bakugou’s eye twitch. a glint of, jealousy? in his eyes as you bring up the green haired boy’s name.

he lets out an amused huff, rolling his eyes. “tch. whatever, give it to that nerd. not like i care.” before he reaches down next to you for your water bottle, taking a swing, airsip.

setting the bottle back down next to your thigh, he speaks up again. “‘aight, hurry, we arent done. round two.” he adds harshly, motioning with his hand for you to get back up.

“come on. please? one more minute. its so eaarlyyy.” you whine, almost pouty as you throw your head back. still exhausted from the sparring just a few minutes ago. 6am and hes annoyingly productive.

“hurry or i can blast your ass right here.” he glares down at you, grumbling through gritted teeth.

“im getting uupp, geeez.” you groan, lazily getting up from the bench and almost coming up to meet his full height.

later in the day, during class training, you figure you should probably find izuku to give him the other matching half, one already on your wrist.

you couldve sworn you remembered putting it back onto your other wrist so you wouldnt lose it. maybe it was in your dorm instead? whatever, youd just have to give it to him tomorrow.

today, you were working in partners, testing out new possible moves, strengths, weaknesses, and overall just trying to improve on any weak spots.

and like always, sparring partner! bakugou was next to you. basically having claimed you as his designated partner for anything by now, glaring at anyone who even suggested you work with them and not him.

and as your throwing hits at him, trying to catch him off base with your quirk, you notice a glint coming from under his gauntlet, you pause a moment.

its the matching half of your bracelet, all might’s golden age bracelet.

he notices this. feeling his ears dust the slightest pink from, embarrassment? and he uses this moment of weakness to gain the upper hand, pinning you down on the floor.

and youre completely shocked by the sudden move. somehow flipped on your chest to the ground, arms tucked behind your back with his knee holding you down.

“stay focused.” he hisses, reprimanding you for your bad habit.

“thought you said it was stupid?” you mutter. tilting your head to the side ever so slightly to look at him. a sly, cheeky smirk on your face.

“it is.”

maybe it wasnt so stupid after all.

[hyperlexichypatia]

Yeah, that is definitely a more comforting and hopeful thing to believe. It's also one of the many, many, many contexts in which I, as a liberal socialist, think the dichotomy between "liberals" and "leftists" makes no goddamn sense, but that's a separate issue. Maybe. Perhaps. But sure. It is more comforting and hopeful to believe that a political movement that has all the appearances of being motivated by malice, hierarchy, and domination is actually just motivated by material conditions.

And there is undoubtedly significant truth to this. Polls absolutely show that prices and the economy were a major factor for Trump voters; they weren't looking at any policy positions other than "Biden is president and prices are high, when Trump was president prices were lower, ergo Trump." It's highly likely that if economic conditions were better under Biden, or if Biden-Harris had appeared to have a better strategy for addressing them, Harris might have won the election. That's true! I'm not disputing that!

But we're still talking about a few percentage points -- yes, a few percentage points that could've swung an election in a two-party, winner-take-all electoral system, but still, a few percentage points, not a cultural movement.

The ideological fascism represented by Trump&Co is a cultural movement that has been thriving in the U.S. for decades and is paralleled by similar right-wing, authoritarian, nationalist, and fascist movements around the world, in Europe and India and China and Japan and many, many other countries. It's happening in countries with universal healthcare, and countries without. It's happening in countries with higher GDPs and countries with lower GDPs. It is not connected solely to economic conditions.

Also, right-wing voting correlates positively with income. The people most victimized by economic problems are not making up the bulk of the shift to the right, no matter how many hand-wringing thinkpieces about "the white working class left behind by liberal elitists" get written (you'd think The Hillbilly Elegy Guy becoming Trump's VP would have permanently discredited that theory, but thinkpiece writers have never been able to read the room).

The relationship between the housing crisis and right-wing political movements is sometimes framed as though the phenomenon is "People unable to afford housing vote right-wing on the assumption that right-wing policies will improve their economic prospects," and while there are some instances of that, people who can't afford housing are not Trump's base. Trump's base are housed people who are angry that they see unhoused people panhandling outside their Nice Neighborhood and are angry that Those Damned Liberals won't round them up and put them in debtor's prisons or just shoot them.

And. Like. Again, as a liberal socialist, I think the government should, actually, be guaranteeing everyone housing and healthcare and food and education! Those are policies I support because I think they're the right thing to do anyway! So I would very much like to believe that these policies, that I already believed in for other reasons, would also have the side benefit of making people less bigoted and authoritarian and fascistic, and, I don't know, maybe it would help a little, but for how long?

Because there will always be ups and downs in material conditions, at least until we achieve full post-scarcity. I mean. I absolutely want to abolish capitalism and economic inequality, and want the effects of ups and downs in material conditions to be borne equally across the population rather than the hoarding of wealth we have now, but even in a socialist utopia, there will be shortages. There will be crises. There will be natural disasters. There will be outbreaks at the egg farms (yes even if there are regulations and proper procedures, sometimes these things just happen!), and there will be times when there are no eggs on the shelf. If humanity is going to get hold of our climate/energy crisis before we make the planet entirely unlivable, there will be gas shortages. There will be rationing. There will be reductions in energy and material resources used for leisure travel, and that is the absolute ideal, best-case scenario. And if people's response to being told "Sorry, there's no eggs today" or "Sorry, there's no gas today," or, heaven forfend but completely necessarily, "Sorry, only a limited number of people can own personal vehicles, you'll have to take the bus, oh, and the person sitting next to you on the bus might be queer or Black or Jewish or schizophrenic or another demographic you hate" is to become fascists, then humanity will flat-out not survive. As long as people's culturally ingrained default response to adversity is "Blame a despised minority group, identify as better and more deserving than someone else, divide people into in-group and out-group," fascist ideologies will continue to be a recurring social problem.

And. I mean. That doesn't mean I know the solution! I don't! Scolding does not work! There is some evidence that exposure and personal interactions with actual people one is bigoted against reduces bigotry, as does representation of counter-stereotypical examples, but these are far from foolproof! There was integration in Germany before the Holocaust. There was integration in the Balkans before the Bosnian genocide. "Integration" alone is not sufficient to prevent bigotry nor even to stop it from becoming genocidal. But neither are better material conditions or economic systems, not when Belgium kills disabled children and China is actively committing a genocide (that half the "leftists" on this site are active deniers of) and so is Turkey and I could absolutely keep going.

But not knowing the solution to the problem of authoritarian, bigoted, hierarchical ideology doesn't mean we can write that off as a problem!

I actually think the real solution has to be fundamentally changing education away from hierarchy and competition, changing the system of children beginning in toddlerhood having to "earn" a position of being "better" than other children, but I'm also aware that this is unlikely to happen unless guaranteed material living standards are established for adults, because parents will never support non-competitive education as long as they rationally believe that education must prepare their children to compete for an ever-shrinking number of possibilities for a decent quality of life, because material conditions aren't actually separate from egalitarian liberal values and framing them in opposition is false in the first place.

(I also think a more practical relevance of material conditions to combating authoritarian ideology is not in improving the material conditions of authoritarians to make them less authoritarian, but improving the material conditions of the victims of authoritarianism so that they can better free themselves from their authoritarian abusers. Less "If that domestic abuser had a guaranteed income, he wouldn't abuse his partner" and more "If his partner had a guaranteed income, she could afford to leave her abuser." But for some reason, that isn't acknowledged as much.)

So no, I don't "have the answers" for combating authoritarian, bigoted, hierarchical, fascistic cultural attitudes, but I certainly think acknowledging that they are the problem is better than assuming that bigoted authoritarianism is Just What Happens When High Grocery Prices or Just What Happens When Feminists Are Mean or whatever else. People choose, on purpose, to subscribe to bigoted, hierarchical ideologies. People choose, on purpose, to build a worldview and identity around being intrinsically superior to some other kinds of people. It's not inevitable, and I don't buy that it's unchangeable.

Source

[dogtoling]

General life- and blog update , since I assume at least a few people might have been wondering where I've been and what i've been up to recently. I obviously haven't been posting or drawing much this year in general. This will probably be an important post if you care about stuff on this blog, and I already rambled on Sheezy, but that site isn't very populated yet and it's also very good at hiding journals so let's just ramble again...

The summary of this post if you hate reading: I'm heavily considering just stepping away from Splatoon. That decision obviously would affect this blog (mostly, my OCs, which is kinda most of the blog at this point). I don't think the blog itself will go anywhere, and I'll probably use it for something in the future... alternatively i'll cherry pick stuff from here into an archive for people who like the worldbuilding.

Longer post under cut:

So what have I been up to this year? The answer is quite simple: NOTHING. Like, actually absolutely nothing. Aside from Art Fight, this has probably been one of my worst art output years of all time, which is really frustrating. That's between my horrendous mental health and depression chasms this year and a complete lack of both focus and inspiration (which can also get chalked down to the depression to a degree, yeah). So the very real reason to why there hasn't been much activity on this blog this year is because I just haven't Done Anything in general.

Now because I know there will be a few people who think "that's fine! you shouldn't judge yourself based on productivity!" you're right! I also agree. However the issue for me specifically is that most (if not all) the time I spend NOT drawing or creating, I spend sitting around wishing I could start drawing or creating, because that is like the 1 thing that keeps me sane on this freaking earth. Unfortunately coming up with OC scenarios in my head doesn't really result in output I can feel fulfilled by in any form as much as I wish it did, lol.

Now; The Issue. It doesn't take a genius to see that if you spend 9 months trying to finish like a dozen OC pages that you COULD do in a week or 2 if you wanted to, then there's probably more than just the problem of executive dysfunction (even though that's at least 60% of it for sure). Obviously my other major problem is that I live by imaginary rules and structures that make sense, but aren't actually useful at ALL in reality and are more than a hindrance if anything (the mental to do-list in my head that says i can't do X until I've done Y doesn't do very much if task Y takes 10 months and I also don't want to do it, and it also has no structured ending).

How does this tie into stepping away from Splatoon, you may ask. Well, the issue is that I have foreseeably fallen out of love with the series. Which isn't exactly news lol. Currently, I'm not even sure i will get the next game, if and when the time comes. Yes, the loss of interest is also expected, given that Splatoon 3 has ended and every fandom has this kind of downtime and lukewarm in-between-titles period. But the truth is that modern Splatoon (almost 10 years old!!!!) is tangibly different from the way the series was back when I fell in love with it. That was Splatoon 1, and while the series has improved in a lot of aspects and is thriving, it's grown in a direction that I just don't really like. Splatoon 3 had the most freaking horrendous, immersion breaking story mode they could've done, then they followed it up with a DLC story that was pretty cool but also compounded a lot of my fears about the series' future and played into every single thing i do not want Splatoon stories to be - fully character focused, random fucking villain, mundane event that's unrealistically world-threatening just because a kids video game needs a scary climax even though it's immersion breaking AGAIN, the whole thing taking place in cyberspace and thus offering basically no worldbuilding even though there is SO MUCH WORLD. I COULD GO ON.

The gist of it is that nowadays, rather than playing Splatoon and being inspired and excited at what comes next, I mostly find myself dreading what dumbass plot they will do next to throw a wrench in the otherwise good stuff. And when that's like THE main approach I have to what's supposed to be my favorite series, it is HARROWING. I can't even really blame the game for this; the story is NOT its selling point, the developers probably do their best to get the bits to us that they really want to tell, and at the end of the day the game is unfortunately a product. Worldbuilding for Splatoon is fun to a point. It's less fun when in order to actually write or create something coherent, instead of filling in the blanks, the blanks are 90% of the freaking thing. At that point you're just better off making something of your own instead of being anchored onto an IP that gives more problems than answers and occasionally shoots you with like a machine gun. Working in the realm of Splatoon is frustrating because more often than not, the questions I have ARE NOT MINE TO ANSWER, and the likelihood that the specific-ass questions I need answers to will ever be actually addressed is really low.

Tying this back to my OCs. Obviously I love my OCs more than I love myself which admittedly isn't that high of a bar but you get the point. The problem is that I spend a lot of time mulling over worldbuilding that, again, frankly isn't mine to do. Because if I want it to be Splatoon, then it should be mostly accurate to how Splatoon is! But the problem with that is that there's really not THAT MUCH worldbuilding in the series that you can work with, and most of the core game mechanics are just abstract enough that it's actually horrendous to try and come up with workarounds and ways for things to make sense that don't require just constructing a full knockoff version mirror dimension of the game and saying fuck everything that's in place here because Inkopolis Plaza literally has no roads in or out of there and I have no fucking idea how that's allowed when your only option is to jump the fence (or, nowadays, take the train which also isnt connected to a street as far as I remember). Between the face value issue and the lack of REALLY IMPORTANT worldbuilding, like - I will always come back to this - THE INK TANK'S FUNCTION 10 YEARS DOWN THE LINE - there's a goddamn ocean of plot holes and things that end up being obstacles to creativity rather than inspiration. I feel like I'm pretty solidly at the point (and have been for a while) where hanging onto Splatoon is really only contributing to creativity block and frustration with lack of freedom and the ability to actually do things.

So I guess those are my reasonings that I've put together just sitting here for the time being. The TL;DR is that I wish I could just do stuff without Splatoon's canon getting in the way, which is a really stupid problem to have if you're making Splatoon OCs. I feel this frustration extremely strongly every time I have to work with actual bigger aspects of the world; we still don't have an Inkopolis map, we don't know what the world around Inkopolis looks like, we don't know what the wilderness is like aside from Just Normal Forest and Desert and very few snippets as to what modern wildlife MIGHT be, I still don't know how the fuck the Inklings teleport to the goddamn arctic ocean to play a turf war at Shipshape Cargo co. These are all actually really important things if you're trying to establish a setting in any kind of storytelling that's outside of immediate city bounds (and even there, you need to know the layout of the city and its important areas). Also a fucking mutant bear and a baby salmon and a squid not wearing suitable gear went to space and fought on a rocket in space. These are some things that would give me peace of mind to not have to deal with in my own writing, probably.

So where do we go from here? Unsure. I haven't really made a decision on this front yet, though right now I'm leaning more towards actually going ahead with trying to do my own thing. That will result in obvious design and setting changes for my OCs whenever I get around to it. This blog probably won't go anywhere (again, unless I impulse delete it during a mood swing like i've almost done on like three separate occasions this year), but it will probably get less use, and I will probably end up making a new blog to post about whatever I end up doing once I get to a point where it feels like it makes sense. There's a chance that I will delete this blog and put all the interesting stuff on an archive blog for the people who are here just for the worldbuilding. My actual true passion for a long time now hasn't even been Splatoon anymore, it's just been cephalopods. I'm kind of done having Splatoon get in the way of the cephalopods, as thankful as I am that it introduced me to them...

If you read this to the end heres a treat for you = 🍪

[sulumuns-dootah]

Assigning WHB demons plants/flowers based off the vibes: Abyssos

⟡ Masterlist ⟡

A/N: I think I need to start attending some botany classes again bc from the way these post are turning into me rambling about plants i can tell I miss it :D

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Nepenthes rajah

I don't think this plant has a common name, but if it did it would be smth like Rat/Mouse eating pitcher plant

Bc that's exactly what the plant does

It's just big enough for the small rodent to climb into and never see the light of day again

This also probably explains why I picked it for Beel

I mean, he literally eats angels whole

(I find pitcher plants really cool bc they're literally just a pitchers filled with digestive fluid, but they're not necessary carnivorous - some life off of animal droppings or insects)

       ༺☆༻

Venus flytrap - Dionaea muscipula

At first i was gonna include maybe some other pitcher plant or completely different plant...

But then again, Bael is literally catching the King of flies on daily basis

Idk why, but looking at pics of the open leaves is really calming to me

Having them is kinda cool bc sometimes you just walk past and see one of their leaves closed bc it caught a fly and you'll feel kinda proud of your little baby for catching something

From my experience they don't close when you give them dead one, though

They might also be a bit harder to keep alive...

Mine made it few months, but then bloomed and died shortly after I cut the flower off (similar thing also happened to my friend who specialises in succulents and carnivorous plants so I don't think I did anything wrong)

       ༺☆༻

Poison Ivy - Toxicodendron

At first I was thinking I'll give Stolas something bird-named, but I really wantd somethinig that looks harmless, and the moment you mess with, you're in for a lot of pain

And this plant baby delivers

I've never had the misfortune of meeting it, but I haver heard the stories

For those who don't know: Contanct wiht the plant gives you a nasty rash, sometimes with some blisters

Interestingly, looking it up on wikipedia, there's even what would happen if you smoked or eaten it....

As if you'd wanna do that after getting a rash just touching that thing

(You skin is pretty much reacting to the oil on the leaves, so after you come to contact make sure to wash it off or you'll spread it on other things too)

       ༺☆༻

Hypoestes

I can only talk about this moody beauty from experience since there isn't much info online

From what I've found there's about 150 scpecies in this family

Doesn't require much sunlight, but needs water

And oh boy, the amount of water...

The reason why I picked this plant for Amon is how easy it is for the leaves to start drooping

Just like him being constantly tired

But oh boy, the drooping... One minute she looks good and then two minutes later she's on the verge of death

It's not good to have planters just sitting in water bc of the risk of mold, but this one might just need it

       ༺☆༻

Common Ivy - Hedera Helix

Originally I wanted to go again with a plant based off his animal form, but then while writing for Amon, I saw normal Ivy

The ultimate Dark Academia plant that looks so good growing around anything

It's perfect for a demon they sometimes call Class President

I really love Common Ivy bc of how much you can use her for

Amazing use for Ivy is putting her into floral arrangements and the amazing thing is that it'll mostly keep its color as long as it's not left out in the rain or your glue gun set on too high temperature

Fun fact: The leaves of the plant are different on normal branches from the branches with a flower

[generalluxun]

Reblogging my own post again because I have more fun hooks to add.

So going with this Ballet Chloé actually gives a better way to address classism and privilege than we got, too. It even has the twisty-aha moments the show is fond of. Let me break down the layers, which could be episodes or slot into a b-plot of some episodes.l, in roughly sequential order.

1)André buys/intimidates Chloé's victories in competitions. Chloé actually *doesn't* know this. She's still an arrogant and bullying butt about things though. Marinette&co. Work to expose the cheating! Chloé is humiliated! She is forced to confront the trith

Get your haha moment.

2)Thing is she's *pissed* at her daddy over this. She insists she's good and could win/excell anyway! Of course no one will believe that. Teist- no she is good, and she does win her next competition, no cheating. Marinette is forced to face the fact that this horrible person can still actually be skilled at something. Learning moment!

3)Chloé is being mean to another dancer, grab Aurore for this? It would be a fun reuse for her character to have her come from dance too.(Common track for entertainers) Marinette and Co. come to Aurore's defense. They point out Chloé's demands and expectations are insane! Chloé has so many advantages! Not everyone has the money for the best equipment, private lessons, parents(or servants) who can chauffer them around to lessons, a nutritionist, and more. Sure Chloé works but she has so many advantages from the beginning that shouldn't be ignored. It's not about dragging her down, the good kids point out, it's about recognizing how your privileges have helped you and that others might not have them.

4)Via Audrey's introduction Marinette gets a bit of a glimpse into Chloé's life and- oh- sees how the ridiculous demands and Chloé's over the top behavior are just her *way of life*.

Kids rolled their eyes when Chloé brought out the gram scale to measure her portions. They smirked when she had an absolute meltdown over a new outfit not being ready for an exhibition. Her anger and demands arel legendary. But to her that 's just *life*. One parent who wants a shiny gold trophy daughter to reflect his own prestige as the 'Symbol of Paris' and the other who demands perfection just to get a moment's attention.

Marinette gets to see her nemesis break down over being .1KG overweight because it absolutely means her mother won't even meet with her on this visit. Marinette gets to appreciate her own privilege, parents who support and lover her unconditionally. A loving family environment that allowed her to grow at her own pace and in her own ways. She was watered regularly in fertile ground while Chloé was pruned and cut into a pleasing shape.

We see privilege comes in all forms.

5)???

None of this solves the issues between them. Understanding can help and there's plenty of directions to go with, but it isn't an instant fix. What we have done though is provide our child audience with several progressively more complex situations to teach and expand upon the themes. We've hopefully taught them to look deeper.

Isn't that what kids shows are for?

You know, Chloé honestly shouldn't be the way she is in the show, even with André and Audrey. Why?

Ballet.

Specifically the kind of extremely expensive top tier ballet she would be thrust into. As of Frightingale she had 8yrs of ballet. That's starting at 5-6, latest.

No high class ballet teacher will take anything from a 5-6yr old. No mayor will intimidate them. They will boot anyone they feel is slacking. Making it this long Chloé could be a bully, she could be vicious, she could be mean, but she *should* be driven, and disciplined. She should value physical precision and poise. Picking on Marinette for being clumsy flows perfectly from that, but only if we see her comparing herself favorably.

In the absence of a strong parental figure, that teacher should be an integral part of her life.

We got none of that though, because 'lol spoiled rich girl' and the story writing isn't as deliberate as they claim. The '8yrs of dance' was a throw away line made up for one episode without thought.

Going beyond her character, this helps explain a lot of the other ??? Moments and lose ends too.

[the-winter-spider]

Willow | 1/2

Pairings: 1940sBucky x Agent!Reader, Bucky x agent!reader

Word Count: 10k

Warnings: Nothing really

A/N: This fic was inspired by @vibraniumqueen message sent to me!! Hope its sort of what you requested! I got carried away and now have to post this in 2 parts lol

Im not like the biggest fan of this buuuuut after writing over 15k words total for the whole fic i gotta post it lol ALSO i definitely did not edit this lmao oopsie

The door slid open, and in walked Nick Fury, his presence commanding the room as always. He didn’t bother with formalities; he never did.

“Agent,” Fury began, his voice low and steady. “We’ve got a mission. One that never happened, and one you’ll never speak of again.”

You nodded, your face impassive, though your mind was already racing. Missions like these were your specialty. You didn’t operate in the spotlight. You weren’t one of Fury’s public heroes or a celebrated Avenger. You were a shadow, a weapon honed in the dark, moving through the world unnoticed. A ghost.

Fury crossed the room, his trench coat brushing the floor as he moved. “We’ve identified a Nazi stronghold in 1941, deep in occupied Europe. They’re in possession of critical documents — plans and technology decades ahead of their time. We can’t let those files survive the war.”

You glanced at the map, your mind already calculating. “Time travel,” you said, your voice calm, though the weight of the mission began to settle on your shoulders.

Fury nodded. “You’ll be stationed as a nurse with the 107th Infantry. They’ll be arriving at a field camp near the stronghold in a few days. Your cover is simple: blend in, gain access to the target, retrieve the files, and get out. No deviations. No attachments.”

You resisted the urge to scoff. No attachments. That had been drilled into you since the beginning. You were trained to be invisible, to serve a mission and then disappear without a trace. Your past in the Red Room had taught you that much, and SHIELD had only refined it.

“I assume I’m working alone,” you said.

Fury’s expression didn’t change. “You always do.”

It was true. You were a ghost in every sense of the word. You’d spent your entire life operating on the fringes, never part of a team, never part of their world. You knew of the Avengers, of course—who didn’t? But they didn’t know you. You weren’t a part of their grand battles or their legendary victories.

Well, except for one. Natasha Romanoff. She’d been a fleeting presence in your life, a reminder of your shared origins in the Red Room. You’d trained in the same shadows, fought the same demons. But even then, you hadn’t truly known her. She’d been a specter of a different life, one that had moved on without you. While she got recruited there, Fury thought you were best suited in the shadows.

You refocused as Fury handed you a dossier. Inside were detailed maps, forged documents, and a small vial containing a glowing blue liquid. The device that would send you back in time.

“You know the drill,” Fury said, his tone as sharp as ever. “You’re not there to change history, only to secure our future. In and out. No one remembers you, and you don’t bring anything or anyone back.”

You nodded, flipping through the dossier. “And the 107th?”

“They don’t know who you are, and they never will. You’re a nurse. That’s it. But one name on that roster might ring a bell.” Fury tapped the folder, and you found it instantly. Barnes, James Buchanan.

The name didn’t spark recognition, but it did send a strange ripple through your thoughts. “Why him?” you asked.

Fury shrugged. “No reason. He’s just another soldier in the unit. But don’t let that distract you. This mission isn’t about making friends, and it damn sure isn’t about saving anyone who doesn’t need saving.”

You clenched your jaw. Fury’s words were a reminder of the line you couldn’t cross. You’d trained for this moment for years, honing your skills to perfection. You were designed to be unseen, unheard, and unfelt.

Fury’s voice snapped you back. “You’ve got your orders. Do your job, Agent. Leave no trace.”

You took the dossier and the vial, tucking them away with practiced efficiency. “Understood,” you said, your voice steady, devoid of hesitation. But as you turned to leave, the familiar mantra echoed in your mind: No attachments. No connections. You’re a ghost.

Later, when you finally opened the dossier, your eyes landed on a photograph. Barnes. The name was familiar, but it wasn’t until you stared at his face that something inside you stirred. A strange sense of recognition flickered in the back of your mind. You knew him—or at least, it felt like you did.

You flipped the page, your pulse quickening as more details came into view. And then, you saw it.

The Winter Soldier.

The words stared back at you, cold and unfeeling, but they sparked a storm of emotions you weren’t prepared for. You knew the name, of course. Everyone in this business did. The ghost story whispered in shadows, the assassin whose presence was felt long after he disappeared into the night. But what you didn’t know was the man behind it.

Your gaze drifted back to the photograph, and for a moment, everything else fell away. His eyes. Even through the grainy black-and-white image, they stood out—haunted, distant, yet somehow familiar. There was innocence there, a quiet humanity buried beneath the weight of the darkness he would come to bear.

You tightened your grip on the file, your knuckles whitening. Ghosts weren’t meant to feel, and yet here you were, shaken by a face from the past you couldn’t place but somehow couldn’t forget.

Flipping through the pages, you scanned his history—Brooklyn, 1941, the 107th Infantry. Your breath caught as more images filled the pages. Pictures of him before he became the Winter Soldier: laughing with other soldiers, standing beside a scrawny young man labeled Steve Rogers, of course you knew him as Captain America but no one would ever know you. Then, the darker photos followed. HYDRA. The experiments. The cold, dead stare of a man who had been stripped of everything.

The door to your quarters slid shut with a soft hiss, and for a moment, the silence was almost suffocating. You placed the dossier and the small vial of glowing blue liquid on the steel table in front of you. The mission parameters were clear, the risks higher than usual, but none of that was new. You’d done this before, moving through missions like a shadow, leaving no trace. Yet, something about this one felt… different. Heavier.

You sat down, the cold metal of the chair grounding you. Flicking open the dossier, you reviewed the details again, committing every piece of information to memory. Maps, personnel lists, cover identities. You’d be stationed as a nurse in a field hospital near the front lines. A perfect cover for blending in. Your forged papers were flawless, down to the tiniest detail.

Your name was different now. Your past erased, rewritten to fit the narrative of a 1940s nurse.

Ghosts didn’t get attached. Ghosts didn’t feel. You weren’t there to alter history or forge connections. Your mission was simple: retrieve the files, destroy them if necessary, and get out.

You pushed the dossier aside and picked up the vial, turning it over in your hands. The blue liquid shimmered faintly, a reminder of the power it held. Time travel was a delicate operation, one that required precision and absolute control. There was no room for error.

You placed the vial carefully into the injector and secured it around your wrist. The faint hum of the device powering up was the only sound in the room.

Your internal monologue began to surface, unbidden.

You weren’t supposed to be here, not in this timeline, not in their world. You’d been forged in the Red Room, molded into an instrument of precision and silence. SHIELD had found you, given you purpose beyond the shadows of your past, but you had never stepped into the light. You were designed to operate in the margins of history, invisible to the heroes who saved the world.

It hurt thinking of Natasha, her voice, her presence in the Red Room. She had been a beacon of strength. But she had walked away from that world, found a new family. You? You remained in the shadows, bound to missions that no one could know about, missions that didn’t exist on paper. You didn't exist on paper.

You stood and approached the small mirror on the wall. The face staring back at you was calm, unyielding. But behind your eyes, you could see the tension creeping in.

You’re not doing this for glory or recognition. You’re doing this because you’re the only one who can.

You reached for the pack of clothing and equipment laid out on the nearby table. The nurse’s uniform was meticulously crafted, down to the period-accurate buttons and insignia. As you slipped into the attire, you felt yourself becoming the role. The transformation was seamless, automatic, a ritual that pulled you deeper into the identity you were about to assume.

Finally, you secured the last piece: a silver locket around your neck. Inside was a tiny microchip, a piece of technology far beyond anything the 1940s could comprehend. It was your failsafe, your tether back to the present.

A soft chime from the injector reminded you it was time. You glanced around the room, taking in every detail, knowing this might be the last familiar sight you’d see for a while. Then, you pressed the button on your wrist.

The world around you began to shift, colors bleeding into one another as time folded in on itself. Your heart pounded, but your expression remained stoic. You’d trained for this, prepared for every contingency. You were ready.

As the light around you intensified, your final thought was simple, resolute: You are a ghost. Leave no trace.

And then, the world snapped into focus, and you were standing in a field hospital in 1941, the distant sound of artillery fire echoing through the air.

The mission had begun.

The salty breeze off the English Channel carried the smell of sea and steel, a sharp reminder of the battles waged across its waters. You stood at the edge of the field hospital camp, the makeshift tents and wooden crates around you blending into the mud-soaked earth. The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting long shadows as the air grew cooler.

From where you were stationed, you could see the transport ship docking at the pier. Its hulking frame loomed against the gray sky, the gangplank lowering with a heavy groan. One by one, soldiers began to disembark, their boots clanging against the metal as they descended.

You were trained to observe, to analyze every detail without drawing attention to yourself. These men were exhausted, their faces grim and hardened by the horrors they had faced. Their uniforms were wrinkled and stained, helmets tilted at weary angles. They moved like a unit, but each step spoke of personal battles, of stories carried in silence.

You stayed rooted in place, your nurse’s uniform a perfect blend of authority and anonymity. A clipboard in your hand gave you an excuse to linger, but no one paid you much mind. This was war. You were just another face in the chaos.

Your eyes scanned the line of soldiers disembarking, cataloging them with practiced precision. You were supposed to be looking for weaknesses, details that might help you blend in more effectively. But then, your gaze landed on one man.

He walked with a quiet confidence, his posture upright despite the weight of fatigue. Dark hair peeked out from beneath his helmet, and his steel-blue eyes scanned the camp with a soldier’s wariness. His face was sharp, shadowed by stubble, but it was his expression that caught you—equal parts focused and distant, as if he were both here and somewhere far away.

James Buchanan Barnes.

You knew his name, knew his story—or at least, the parts that history would remember… the parts in the folder. But standing here now, seeing him in the flesh, was something else entirely. He wasn’t just a name in a dossier or a ghost from the past. He was real, and the weight of that realisation hit you like a wave.

I’m like the water when your ship rolled in that night.

His arrival had stirred something deep within you, something you couldn’t explain.

You weren’t supposed to feel this way. Your mission was clear: stay invisible, complete the task, and leave. No deviations, no entanglements. But as you watched him, your chest tightened with an inexplicable pull. There was something about him, something magnetic.

Bucky paused near the base of the gangplank, helping another soldier with a crate of supplies. His voice was low, his words lost in the din of the camp, but the kindness in his gestures was unmistakable. He was a soldier, yes, but there was a warmth to him, a spark of humanity that hadn’t been extinguished by war.

You forced yourself to look away, focusing on the clipboard in your hand. Stay sharp. Stay focused. You couldn’t afford distractions, not here, not now.

And yet, your eyes betrayed you, flickering back to him as he moved through the camp, his presence impossible to ignore. You told yourself it was just curiosity, a natural reaction to seeing someone you’d only read about.

For a moment, you allowed yourself to wonder what it would be like to speak to him, to share even a fraction of the weight you carried. But the thought was fleeting, quickly buried beneath the weight of your training.

You are a ghost. Leave no trace.

The smell of antiseptic and damp canvas filled the air as you moved between the rows of cots in the makeshift medical tent. Their arrival—was what you’d been waiting for.

You were focused on checking supplies when a familiar commotion at the tent entrance caught your attention. A group of soldiers sauntered in, their uniforms caked in dirt and their faces shadowed with fatigue. Among them was a man who immediately stood out. His dark hair curled slightly at the ends, his blue eyes bright despite the grime smeared across his face. He carried himself with an easy confidence, even as he favoured one leg.

Your mission dossier hadn’t prepared you for the sheer presence of him.

As the soldiers dispersed to their assigned cots, he made a beeline for you. His limp was subtle but noticeable, and despite yourself, your training kicked in.

“Take a seat,” you said, your voice steady as you gestured to an empty cot. “I’ll take a look at that leg.”

Bucky flashed a crooked smile, his eyes sweeping over you with interest. “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he said, his voice smooth, tinged with the faintest Brooklyn accent. “And here I thought this camp was all bad news.”

You arched an eyebrow, setting down your clipboard. “Flattery won’t get you out of a medical exam, Sergeant Barnes.”

His grin widened as he sat down, wincing slightly. “So, you know my name. That’s a good start. What do I call you, Nurse…?”

You hesitated for half a second, then gave him your cover name. “Nurse Johnson.”

“Well, Nurse Johnson,” he said, leaning back on his hands, “if I’d known there were nurses like you out here, I’d have gotten shot a long time ago.”

You gave him a pointed look, crouching in front of him to roll up the tattered leg of his uniform. “Let’s try to avoid that, shall we?”

Bucky’s laugh was soft but genuine, his gaze never leaving your face. “You’re all business, huh?”

You pressed lightly on his shin, watching for a reaction. “Someone has to be. Looks like you’ve got a nasty sprain, but nothing’s broken.”

“Guess I’ll live to fight another day,” he said, wincing slightly as you adjusted his leg.

“Barely,” you muttered, grabbing a bandage from your kit. As you wrapped his leg, you could feel his eyes on you, the weight of his attention almost unnerving.

“So, what’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” he asked, his tone playful but curious.

"Thats the line you're gonna go with?" The corners of your lips slightly turned as you tied off the bandage, sitting back on your heels. “Helping stubborn soldiers like you survive long enough to get home.”

Bucky chuckled, his head tilting slightly. “You got a smart mouth on you, Nurse Johnson. I like that.”

You rolled your eyes, standing up and crossing your arms. “And you’ve got a sprained leg. Try not to make it worse.”

He grinned again, leaning forward slightly. “You know, if you’re ever looking for a dance partner when this war’s over, I’d be happy to oblige.”

Despite yourself, you felt a small smile tug at your lips. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Bucky’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “You better. A guy like me doesn’t make that offer twice.”

Shaking your head, you gathered your supplies and turned to leave. “Try to stay out of trouble, Sergeant.”

“No promises,” he called after you, his voice warm and teasing. “But I’ll do my best if it means seeing you again.”

As you walked away, you couldn’t help but glance back, finding him still watching you, his smile softer now. Your mission had just gotten a whole lot more complicated.

The first few days at the field hospital were a blur of motion and noise. Soldiers came in with fresh wounds, some minor, others devastating. Your hands worked tirelessly, stitching cuts, setting broken bones, administering whatever pain relief was available. You moved through it all like a machine, your focus never wavering.

You’d trained for moments like this, where life and death were separated by a thread, but this mission wasn’t about saving lives—it was about staying hidden long enough to complete your objective. The files you needed were still buried somewhere in enemy hands, and every moment you spent here was one step closer to obtaining them.

Still, blending in was vital, and that meant interacting with the men around you. They were polite, for the most part, offering nods of gratitude when you patched them up. But one soldier in particular seemed to be making it his mission to capture your attention.

“Hey, Nurse,” a familiar voice called out one evening as you worked on organizing supplies. You turned to see Bucky Barnes leaning against the frame of the medical tent, a lopsided grin on his face. “Got a minute?”

You raised an eyebrow, but kept your expression neutral. “That depends. Are you here because you need actual medical attention, or are you just bored?”

He chuckled, the sound rich and warm. “Bit of both, maybe.”

You sighed, setting down the bandages you were sorting. “Let me guess—another soldier got into a scuffle and you decided to play referee?”

Bucky stepped closer, his helmet tucked under his arm. “Something like that. You know how it is. Boys will be boys.” His eyes sparkled with mischief, and despite yourself, you felt a flicker of amusement.

You crossed your arms, feigning exasperation. “Well, if you’re not bleeding, you’re wasting my time, Sergeant.”

“Ah, but see, you didn’t check.” He tilted his head, his grin widening. “Maybe I’ve got a battle wound you missed.”

You rolled your eyes, fighting the small smile threatening to break through. “If you’re trying to flirt, you’ll have to do better than that.”

“Flirt? Me?” Bucky placed a hand over his heart, mock-offended. “I’m just trying to keep morale up. Can’t have our best nurse getting all serious on us.”

“Best nurse?” You arched an eyebrow. “You’ve known me for all of three days, Barnes.”

“Three days is all I need,” he said smoothly, his voice dropping just enough to send a small shiver down your spine. “I’ve got a good eye for people.”

You turned back to your supplies, determined to maintain your composure. “Well, maybe you should use that good eye to look out for your men instead of distracting me.”

Bucky chuckled again, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. “I do that too. Multitasking, you know?”

You shot him a pointed look, but before you could respond, another soldier poked his head into the tent, interrupting the moment. “Sarge, we’ve got a situation by the south perimeter.”

Bucky’s demeanour shifted instantly, the playful glint in his eyes replaced by sharp focus. He gave you a quick nod, then turned to follow the soldier out.

“Don’t work too hard, doll,” he called over his shoulder as he left. “Wouldn’t want you wearing yourself out.”

You shook your head, finally letting out a small laugh once he was gone. Bucky Barnes was trouble, that much was clear. He was charming, confident, and far too good at making you forget the rules you were supposed to live by.

But he was also a soldier, just like the rest of them. And you were here for a mission, not for him.

Stay focused, you reminded yourself, though it was getting harder with every interaction.

The next few days followed a similar pattern. Bucky found every opportunity to stop by the medical tent, whether it was to check on his men or to toss a teasing remark your way. He seemed determined to pull you out of your shell, to coax a smile or a laugh from you no matter how busy or serious the day became.

One afternoon, as you were tending to a soldier with a shrapnel wound, Bucky appeared again, his presence filling the tent like sunlight cutting through a storm.

“Thought you might need some help,” he said, leaning casually against a supply crate.

You didn’t even look up. “Unless you’ve suddenly become a medic, I think I’m good.”

“Hey, I’m a fast learner,” he quipped, stepping closer. “Show me what to do, and I’ll be the best assistant you’ve ever had.”

You finally glanced up at him, your expression skeptical. “You’re serious?”

“As a heart attack.” He grinned, unflinching. “C’mon, Nurse. What’s the worst that could happen?”

You sighed, gesturing toward the supplies. “Fine. Hand me the gauze.”

Bucky’s grin widened as he moved to your side, and for the next few minutes, he actually did as he was told, passing you tools and supplies with surprising care. But of course, it didn’t take long for him to start talking again.

“So,” he began, his tone light, “you always this serious, or is it just an act?”

You didn’t miss a beat. “Maybe I’m trying to keep certain soldiers in line.”

“Ah, so I’m a bad influence,” he teased, leaning a little closer. “Good to know.”

You gave him a sidelong glance, trying not to let his proximity affect you. “You’re definitely something.”

The playful banter continued, but beneath it all, you felt the weight of unspoken truths. Every moment with Bucky was a reminder of what you couldn’t have, of the life you were just passing through. But for now, in the fleeting quiet of the field hospital, you allowed yourself to enjoy his presence.

Just for a little while.

The sun was setting, painting the horizon in hues of gold and crimson. The camp had grown quieter, the hum of daily activity fading as the soldiers took what little rest they could before nightfall. You were sitting on a wooden crate just outside the medical tent, enjoying a rare moment of stillness. A cup of lukewarm coffee sat in your hands, its warmth a small comfort against the cool evening air.

The sound of approaching footsteps broke the silence, and you didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

“Mind if I join you?” Bucky’s voice was softer than usual, lacking its usual teasing edge.

You glanced at him, your heart giving a small, inexplicable flutter. “It’s a free camp,” you said, gesturing to the crate beside you.

Bucky sat down with a tired sigh, his helmet resting on his lap. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the quiet settling comfortably between you. He looked different in the fading light—less like the cocky sergeant who flirted with you during the day and more like the weary soldier you knew he was. His eyes were distant, reflecting the weight of battles fought and losses endured.

“You don’t talk much about yourself,” he said after a while, his voice thoughtful. “Most of the nurses here, they talk about home, family. You… you’re a mystery.”

You kept your gaze on the horizon, your grip tightening slightly on the cup. “Maybe I just don’t have much to tell.”

“Everyone’s got a story,” he countered, glancing at you. “Even ghosts.”

Your heart skipped at the word, but you kept your expression neutral. “Ghosts don’t have stories. They just… exist.”

Bucky frowned, leaning forward slightly. “Is that what you think you are? A ghost?”

You hesitated, caught off guard by his insight. He was perceptive, more than you’d expected. Finally, you spoke, your voice low. “I’ve spent a long time learning how to disappear. It’s easier that way.”

Bucky studied you for a moment, his gaze softening. “Easier, maybe. But doesn’t it get lonely?”

You swallowed hard. “Loneliness is part of the job.”

He shook his head, his expression gentle but firm. “Doesn’t have to be.”

You turned to look at him then, your eyes meeting his. There was no teasing now, no flirtation. Just quiet sincerity. It made your chest ache in a way you hadn’t expected.

“I don’t really have anyone to talk about,” you admitted after a moment. “No family, not that I remember. My parents… I don’t even know their names.”

Bucky’s expression shifted, his eyes filled with empathy. “Were you… a orphan?”

You hesitated, the term feeling both accurate and not. “Something like that. I was raised by people who didn’t care about who I was, only what I could do for them.”

The words hung in the air, heavier than you’d intended, but Bucky didn’t shy away from them. His gaze softened further, and he nodded slowly. “That’s a hell of a way to grow up,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

You shrugged, trying to deflect the weight of the conversation. “It made me good at what I do.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, his voice tinged with something that sounded like regret. “But it doesn’t mean you deserved it.”

You looked away, unsure how to respond. Empathy wasn’t something you were used to, especially not from someone like him—someone who seemed to wear his heart on his sleeve, even in the middle of a war.

After a long pause, Bucky spoke again, his voice softer this time. “You remind me of someone.”

You glanced at him, curious. “Who?”

“Steve,” he said with a small, fond smile. “He didn’t have much either. His mom passed not too long ago, and his dad when we were kids. But it's always been just him one way or another just fighting to survive in Brooklyn. Always getting picked on because he’s small, but he never gave up. He had this stubborn streak, always standing up for people, even when it got him into trouble.”

Steve Rogers. Captain America. You knew his story, but hearing Bucky talk about him like this—like he was just Steve, not a legend, because to this Bucky he wasn’t one yet—it painted a different picture.

“Must’ve been tough,” you said softly.

Bucky nodded. “It was. But he never let it break him. That’s just who he is.” He paused, his smile growing a little. “He can't throw a rock without wheezing but he never let that and will never let that stop him.”

You couldn’t help but smile at that, the warmth in Bucky’s voice cutting through the weight of the conversation.

“He’s lucky to have you,” you said.

Bucky looked at you, his smile fading into something more thoughtful. “I’m lucky to have him too. He’s always been there, even when I didn’t deserve it.”

The vulnerability in his words mirrored your own, and for a moment, the two of you sat in comfortable silence, the weight of your shared pasts hanging between you.

Bucky reached out then, his hand brushing against yours. “You’re not as invisible as you think,” he said softly. “Not to me…I see you Nurse, and the view is amazing”

The camp was eerily quiet, the kind of silence that preceded something terrible. The usual hum of activity had slowed, and even the soldiers seemed more on edge. You felt it too—the tension in the air, the weight of something approaching.

You were in the medical tent, organising supplies when the call came.

“Enemy movement spotted near the south perimeter!” a soldier shouted as he rushed past. “They’re coming!”

Your heart dropped. You knew this moment was inevitable. The enemy had been closing in for days, and now they were here. But it wasn’t just the impending battle that had your stomach in knots. It was the mission—the files.

You quickly grabbed your hidden satchel from beneath your cot. Inside were the tools you’d need to breach the Nazi stronghold, which was now dangerously close to enemy lines. You’d been waiting for this opportunity, but it was coming at the worst possible time. The camp was about to become a battlefield, and every second counted.

Before you could slip away, Bucky stormed into the tent, his rifle slung over his shoulder, his face set in a grim expression.

“There you are,” he said, his eyes scanning you quickly, as if ensuring you were unharmed. “They’ve called all hands. It’s gonna get rough out there.”

“I know,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

He frowned, stepping closer. “You okay?”

You nodded, avoiding his gaze as you tightened the straps on your satchel. “I’ll be fine.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, his suspicion growing. “What’s in the bag?”

You froze for a split second, but it was enough for him to notice.

“Don’t lie to me,” he said, his voice low but firm. “What’s going on?”

You took a deep breath, meeting his gaze. “I can’t explain right now. I just… I have to go.”

His jaw tightened. “Go? Where? The perimeter’s crawling with enemy troops, and you’re talking about running off?”

You stepped past him, but he grabbed your arm, his grip firm but not harsh. “Talk to me,” he pleaded. “You’ve been keeping secrets since the day you got here. Please, dont do this….What’s really going on?”

You hesitated, the weight of your mission crashing down on you. Bucky wasn’t supposed to know. No one was. But in this moment, with his piercing gaze locked onto yours, you realized you couldn’t just walk away without saying something.

“I’m not who you think I am,” you said quietly. “I’m not just a nurse. I’m here on a mission.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed “A mission?” confusion and concern mixing in his expression. “What kind of mission?”

You glanced around, ensuring no one else was within earshot. “I can’t tell you everything. But there’s something I need to retrieve from the enemy. It’s vital.”

His grip on your arm tightened slightly. “You’re planning to go out there alone?”

“I have to,” you said, your voice firm. “This is what I was sent here to do.”

Bucky shook his head, his frustration evident. “You’re gonna get yourself killed. Do you even have backup?”

“No,” you admitted. “This mission is off the books.”

His eyes widened slightly, and he exhaled sharply. “That’s insane. You can’t go out there alone.”

“I’ve done it before,” you said, trying to reassure him. “I’ll be fine.”

But Bucky wasn’t convinced. “Not this time,” he said, his voice resolute. “I’m coming with you.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the look in his eyes stopped you. He wasn’t going to let you go alone.

“Bucky—”

“No,” he interrupted. “You don’t get to push me away now. If this is as important as you say it is, then you’re gonna need someone watching your back.”

You hesitated, torn between the mission and the growing connection you felt with him. Bringing Bucky along wasn’t part of the plan, but the truth was, you knew he was right. The enemy would be everywhere, and the odds of surviving alone were slim.

“Fine,” you said finally. “But you follow my lead. No questions.”

He gave you a small, determined nod. “Deal.”

Together, you slipped out of the tent and into the night, the distant sound of gunfire growing louder with each step. The mission was about to reach its breaking point, and so was your fragile trust in Bucky.

But there was no turning back now.

The camp was already descending into chaos by the time you and Bucky slipped through the south perimeter. Gunfire echoed in the distance, mingling with the shouts of soldiers and the thunderous roar of artillery. The enemy was closing in fast, and every second felt like borrowed time.

You led the way, keeping low as you navigated the uneven terrain. Bucky followed close behind, his rifle at the ready, his eyes scanning for threats. The weight of your satchel bounced against your side, a constant reminder of the mission’s stakes.

“Where exactly are we going?” Bucky asked in a hushed voice as you reached a narrow trail leading toward the enemy-occupied forest.

“There’s a stronghold about a mile from here,” you replied, keeping your voice low. “That’s where they’re keeping the files.”

He gave you a skeptical look but didn’t press further. “And how do you know this?”

You hesitated. “Let’s just say I have access to intel most people don’t.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. “Fine. I’ll trust you.”

The tension between you was palpable, but there was no time to unpack it. You pressed on, the shadows of the trees swallowing you both as you moved deeper into enemy territory.

The stronghold loomed ahead, a dark silhouette against the night sky. It was an old stone fortress, fortified with barbed wire and patrolled by armed guards. You and Bucky crouched behind a cluster of bushes, observing the layout.

“Two guards at the main entrance,” Bucky whispered, his breath warm against your ear. “And a patrol circling every few minutes.”

You nodded, scanning the area. “There’s a side entrance near the east wall. It’s less guarded, but we’ll have to time it perfectly.”

Bucky smirked slightly. “You’ve done this before.”

“More times than I care to admit,” you replied, keeping your eyes on the patrols. “Ready?”

“Always.”

Together, you moved swiftly and silently, sticking to the shadows. When the patrol passed, you darted toward the east wall, Bucky covering your six. The side entrance was a narrow metal door, rusted and worn. You pulled a small device from your satchel, a compact tool designed to pick even the most secure locks. Within seconds, the door clicked open.

“Impressive,” Bucky murmured as you slipped inside.

You gave him a quick look. “Focus.”

Inside, the stronghold was cold and dimly lit, the corridors eerily quiet. You navigated the labyrinthine hallways with precision, your memory of the layout guiding you. Bucky stayed close, his rifle raised and ready.

Finally, you reached a secured room at the end of a long hallway. A heavy steel door stood between you and your objective.

“This is it,” you whispered, pulling out another device from your satchel. It was a miniature explosive, designed to breach the door without causing a large-scale alert.

Bucky’s eyes widened slightly. “You really came prepared.”

“Like I said,” you replied, placing the explosive, “I’ve done this before.”

The device beeped softly as you set the timer. “Stand back.”

The explosion was quick and precise, the door blasting inward with minimal noise. You and Bucky rushed inside, your eyes immediately scanning the room. It was filled with filing cabinets and stacks of documents, the enemy’s plans meticulously organized.

You went to work, quickly locating the files you needed. As you stuffed them into your satchel, Bucky kept watch by the door.

“So this is what all the secrecy was about?” he asked, his voice low but tense.

“These files could change everything,” you said, your hands moving quickly. “If they fall into the wrong hands, it could shift the balance of power for decades.”

Bucky nodded, his expression serious. “Then we make sure they don’t.”

Just as you secured the last of the files, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed down the hallway.

“Time to go,” Bucky said, his grip tightening on his rifle.

You nodded, and together you slipped out of the room, moving quickly and quietly through the stronghold. But as you reached the exit, the footsteps grew louder, closer. The guards were on high alert now.

“We’re not gonna make it out the way we came,” Bucky muttered, his eyes scanning for another escape route.

You pointed to a nearby staircase. “There’s a secondary exit through the upper level. It leads to the roof.”

Bucky nodded, and the two of you raced up the stairs, your boots barely making a sound on the worn stone steps. At the top, you found the door to the roof. It was locked, but Bucky didn’t hesitate. He slammed his shoulder into it, forcing it open with a grunt.

The night air hit you like a wall as you stepped onto the roof. Below, the camp was in chaos, enemy soldiers scrambling in response to the breach.

“There,” Bucky said, pointing to a nearby tree line. “We jump, head for cover.”

You hesitated, the drop from the roof to the ground far from ideal. But there was no time to argue. With a nod, you followed Bucky as he leapt, landing with a roll in the soft dirt below. You hit the ground a moment later, pain shooting through your legs as you landed hard but kept moving.

Together, you sprinted toward the trees, gunfire erupting behind you. Bullets whizzed past, but you didn’t stop, adrenaline driving you forward. Finally, you reached the cover of the forest, the sounds of pursuit growing fainter.

Once you were safely concealed among the trees, you collapsed against a trunk, your breath coming in heavy gasps. Bucky crouched beside you, his eyes scanning the area for any signs of pursuit.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.

You nodded, clutching the satchel tightly. “Mission accomplished.”

Bucky gave a small, breathless laugh. “You’re something else, you know that?”

You met his gaze, the tension of the moment fading slightly as his familiar smirk returned. “So are you, Sergeant.”

Despite the danger, despite everything, you felt a flicker of warmth between you. The mission had tested both your resolve and your connection, but you’d made it out together. And somehow, that made all the difference.

The firelight flickered across the camp, casting long shadows as the remnants of the battle settled into an uneasy calm. You and Bucky sat on the edge of the forest, just beyond the perimeter, hidden from sight. The distant sound of gunfire and shouting had finally faded, leaving only the quiet hum of the night.

The stolen Nazi files were secure in your satchel, now buried beneath layers of medical supplies. You’d succeeded in your mission, but the cost weighed heavily on your shoulders.

Bucky sat beside you, silent for a long time. His rifle was propped against a tree, his hands resting on his knees. The tension between you had shifted—no longer marked by suspicion but by a shared understanding.

“You really weren’t kidding about being a ghost,” he said eventually, his voice low and thoughtful.

You glanced at him, the flickering firelight catching the sharp angles of his face. “I told you it was important.”

He nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. “Yeah. But you didn’t tell me everything.”

You looked away, the weight of his words settling over you. “I couldn’t.”

“Why?” His voice was soft, but there was an edge of frustration. “Because you didn’t trust me?”

“It’s not about trust,” you said quietly, your fingers tightening around the satchel. “It’s about the mission. It’s about keeping things safe.”

Bucky frowned, his gaze searching your face. “Safe from what?”

You hesitated, carefully choosing your words. “From things that could change everything if they’re not handled right.”

He narrowed his eyes slightly, the soldier in him catching on to the weight behind your statement. “Sounds like more than just some stolen files.”

“It is,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Bucky was silent for a moment, processing your words. Finally, he spoke, his voice tinged with awe and concern. “And you’ve been doing this alone?”

“It’s what I was trained for,” you said, your tone matter-of-fact. “No attachments, no distractions. Just the mission.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened. “That’s no way to live.”

You looked at him, surprised by the intensity in his voice. “It’s the only way I know.”

He shook his head, his expression softening. “You’re more than just a mission, you know. You’ve got a life, a soul. You can’t keep shutting people out.”

Your chest tightened at his words. For so long, you’d lived in the shadows, carrying the burden of your missions alone. But now, sitting here with Bucky, you felt the cracks in your armor growing wider.

“I’m not supposed to get attached,” you said quietly. “It makes things complicated.”

Bucky gave a small, rueful smile. “Too late for that….”

His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. You felt a surge of emotion, a mix of fear and longing. You’d spent years building walls, but Bucky Barnes was breaking through them with every shared glance, every quiet moment.

“I don’t know how to do this,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Bucky’s hand stayed on yours, steady and grounding. His touch was gentle, but there was strength behind it, a quiet reassurance that you weren’t used to.

“You don’t have to do it alone. I’m here, you know?” his voice soft but resolute. “I’m in this.”

You looked down at your joined hands, the firelight reflecting off his metal fingers. It felt like he was holding more than just your hand—like he was holding the weight of everything you’d been carrying for so long.

“I’ve never had this before,” you said, your voice trembling. “I don’t know what it’s like to lean on someone, to let someone in.”

Bucky’s thumb traced small, soothing circles on the back of your hand. “It’s not easy,” he admitted. “But it’s worth it. You don’t have to carry everything by yourself.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, the vulnerability of the moment making your chest ache. “What if I’m not good at it? What if I mess this up?”

Bucky leaned closer, his voice low and steady. “You won’t. And even if you stumble, I’ll be right here. We’ll figure it out together.”

His words broke through the last of your defenses, and a tear slipped down your cheek. Bucky’s other hand came up, his thumb gently wiping it away. His touch was so tender, it made your heart ache even more.

“You’ve been through so much,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “You don’t have to be strong all the time. Not with me.”

You let out a shaky breath, the weight of his words settling over you. “Bucky…”

He leaned in, his forehead resting gently against yours. “You don’t have to say anything,” he whispered. “Just let me be here for you.”

The two of you sat there in silence, the fire crackling softly in the background. The world outside the camp seemed to fade away, leaving only the warmth of his presence and the quiet comfort of the moment.

After a while, you finally spoke, your voice barely audible. “You’ve made me feel something I didn’t think I could feel.”

Bucky pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. “What’s that?”

“Hope,” you said, the word feeling both fragile and powerful.

His lips curved into a soft, bittersweet smile. “Then we’ve got something to hold on to.”

Without thinking, you leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. It was soft and tentative, a promise of something deeper. When you pulled back, his eyes were shining, and you could see the depth of his feelings mirrored in them.

“We’ll figure this out,” he said, his voice steady and sure. “One step at a time.”

You nodded, a small, genuine smile finally breaking through. “Together.”

Bucky squeezed your hand, his warmth chasing away the chill of the night. “Together,” he echoed.

And in that moment, with the firelight flickering around you and the weight of your shared pasts slowly lifting, you believed him.

In the days following the mission, the dynamic between you and Bucky began to change. There was a newfound understanding between you, a quiet bond forged in the heat of battle and the weight of shared secrets.

Bucky became more protective, often finding excuses to check in on you, whether it was during your rounds at the medical tent or when you were working alone. His teasing remarks were still there, but they were softer now, laced with genuine care.

You found yourself leaning on him more, allowing him into the parts of your life you’d always kept hidden. And despite the danger, despite the mission’s stakes, you had the files you could go back now and have exiled beating your initial time, but you stayed you couldn’t help but feel that maybe, just maybe, you’d found something worth holding onto.

But in the back of your mind, you knew the clock was ticking. The mission was complete, and soon, you’d have to leave this time, this world—and Bucky—behind.

The glow of the fire illuminated the night, the crackle the only sound cutting through. Most of the camp had settled in for the evening, but you and Bucky remained near the fire, sitting side by side on a fallen log. The warm glow danced across his face, softening the sharp angles and making his eyes shimmer like the stars above.

Bucky leaned back slightly, resting his arm along the log behind you. “So, what’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” he asked with a playful smirk, his voice low and smooth.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Really? That’s the line you’re going with….again?”

He grinned, his teeth catching the firelight. “What can I say? I’m trying to impress the mysterious nurse who keeps patching me up .”

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest was undeniable. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re trying to get on my good side.”

“Is it working?” he asked, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping to a near-whisper.

You glanced at him, your heart skipping a beat. “Maybe.”

Bucky’s grin softened into something more sincere. His gaze lingered on you, and for a moment, the weight of the war, the mission, everything else faded away. It was just the two of you, suspended in this fleeting moment of peace.

He reached up, gently brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “You’re beautiful, you know that?” he murmured.

You felt your breath catch, your pulse quickening. “Bucky…”

“I mean it,” he said, his eyes locking onto yours. “You’re strong, smart, brave… and you’ve got this way of making me forget everything else, even when the world’s falling apart.”

His words broke through the walls you’d spent years building. Before you could stop yourself, you leaned in, and he met you halfway. His lips were warm and soft against yours, the kiss tender but filled with a quiet intensity. Time seemed to stop as the world melted away, leaving only the warmth of his touch and the steady beat of his heart.

When you finally pulled back, your eyes were wet with tears. Bucky frowned, his thumb gently brushing your cheek.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice filled with concern. “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head, struggling to find the words. “I don’t know what to do,” you admitted, your voice trembling.

Bucky’s expression softened, and he cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs tracing gentle circles on your cheeks. “Then let me show you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, his own tears on his waterline threatening to spill. “Stay. Please stay, for me.”

Your heart shattered at his plea. The sincerity in his eyes, the quiet desperation in his voice—it was almost too much to bear. But you couldn’t. Not when you knew the mission, the weight of your responsibilities, and the secrets you carried. You’d always been a ghost, moving through life without leaving traces behind. How could you let yourself stay, knowing the danger you brought with you?

“I can’t,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “I wish I could, but I can’t.”

Bucky’s brows furrowed, his hands dropping slightly. “Why not? What’s stopping you?”

You looked away, tears streaming down your face. “Because… I don’t get to have this,” you said quietly. “People like me… we don’t get happy endings.”

Bucky stared at you, his jaw tightening. “That’s bullshit,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “You deserve this just as much as anyone else.”

You shook your head, your hands trembling. “You don’t understand—if I stay, things could fall apart. I’m not meant to… to put down roots. To belong.”

Bucky reached for your hand, holding it tightly. “If that’s what you’ve been told, they’re wrong. You don’t have to carry all of this alone. Whatever’s weighing on you… let me help.”

You squeezed his hand, your tears falling freely now. “I wish I could. But this isn’t goodbye, Bucky. Not really.”

His grip tightened, his eyes filled with pain. “How do you know?”

You gave him a shaky smile, your heart aching. “Because feeling this… it’s the kind of thing that changes everything. No matter where life takes us, I’ll find you again. I promise.”

Bucky pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as if he could keep you from slipping away. His breath was warm against your hair, and for a moment, you let yourself believe in the impossible. In a different world, maybe you could stay. Maybe you could let yourself love him the way you wanted to.

But for now, you clung to him, memorising the feel of his embrace, the sound of his heartbeat. This wasn’t the end. You wouldn’t let it be.

The fire burned low, its warmth fading, but neither of you moved. Instead, you lay back together on a blanket you’d pulled from the medical tent. The stars stretched endlessly above, their light soft and comforting.

Bucky shifted, his arm wrapping protectively around you as you rested your head against his chest. His heartbeat was steady, grounding you in the moment. He let out a soft sigh, his voice breaking the silence.

“When I was a kid, Steve and I used to sneak up onto the roof of our building,” he said quietly. “We’d lie there, looking at the stars, talking about all the things we were gonna do someday.”

You smiled faintly, imagining a pre-serum Steve beside him, small but full of fight. “What did you talk about?”

Bucky chuckled, the sound low and fond. “Steve always had big dreams. He wanted to do something that mattered. Join the army, help people, change the world.” He paused, his voice softening. “Didn’t care that he was too small, too sick. He just wanted to be better, to do better.”

You closed your eyes, the image of Steve Rogers—Captain America—so different now. But to Bucky, he was still that skinny kid with more heart than anyone.

“And what about you?” you asked gently.

Bucky hesitated, his hand absently tracing small circles on your shoulder. “Me? I just wanted to keep him safe. Steve’s always been the brave one. I just… I wanted to make sure he didn’t get himself killed chasing those dreams.”

His words were filled with so much quiet love, it made your heart ache. You lifted your head slightly, meeting his gaze. “You’re braver than you give yourself credit for.”

Bucky smiled, his hand brushing over your hair. “Maybe. But I think you’re the brave one here.”

You rested your head against his chest again, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart. “We both are.”

The silence stretched once more, comfortable and grounding. The crackle of the fire and the distant sounds of the camp blended with the soft rustle of the trees.

Bucky’s voice broke the stillness. “Did you have someone like that?” he asked, his tone thoughtful. “A sibling? A close friend?”

You paused, your mind drifting back. “I didn’t have siblings,” you said slowly. “But I had a friend. Her name’s Natasha.” You smiled softly at the memory, though a hint of sadness crept into your voice. “She was like a sister to me. Strong, stubborn, always looking out for me.”

Bucky’s eyes softened. “She sounds like someone you could count on.”

“She was,” you said, your voice tinged with regret. “We went through a lot together, but… I haven’t seen her in years.”

He squeezed your shoulder gently. “Think you’ll see her again?”

You stared up at the stars, your heart heavy with longing. “I hope so. But with the way things are… who knows?”

Bucky nodded, his thumb brushing over your arm in a soothing motion. “If she’s anything like you, she’s still out there, fighting her own battles. And when the time’s right, you’ll find your way back to each other.”

You swallowed hard, his words offering a comfort you didn’t realize you needed. “I hope you’re right.”

The two of you fell into silence again, but it wasn’t empty. The weight of your shared stories, your losses and hopes, filled the space between you.

As the night deepened, you knew this moment wouldn’t last forever. But for now, you let yourself have it, holding onto Bucky like he was your anchor in a storm you couldn’t escape. Beneath the stars, in the quiet of the night, the war and the mission felt distant, like a different world entirely.

You stood near the edge of the camp, the glow of the setting sun casting long shadows across the field. The soldiers of the 107th were regrouping, preparing to move out. You spotted Bucky in the distance, his silhouette unmistakable as he spoke with his men. His voice was calm, commanding, but you could see the tension in his posture. He was ready for the next fight, even if his heart wasn’t.

And so were you.

You adjusted the strap of your satchel, your fingers brushing over the hidden compartment containing the files. This would be your last night here. By dawn, you’d be gone, pulled back to the time you belonged. Everything you’d built here—every connection, every moment��would be left behind.

But Bucky.

He made his way toward you, each step heavy with the knowledge of what was about to happen. When he stopped in front of you, the space between you felt impossibly small yet vast, like an ocean you were both struggling to cross.

“You’re leaving,” he said, his voice low, not a question but a statement, tinged with quiet resignation.

You nodded, your throat tight. “I have to.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched, his eyes flickering with emotions he wasn’t voicing. He looked down for a moment, then slowly reached up, pulling something from around his neck. His dog tags caught the fading light as they dangled from his fingers, the metal clinking softly.

He held them out to you, his hand steady even as his voice wavered. “Take these.”

You stared at the tags, your heart twisting. “Bucky, I can’t—”

“Please,” he interrupted, his gaze locking onto yours. “I want you to have them, please”

You hesitated, the weight of the moment settling over you. These weren’t just tags. They were a piece of him, a symbol of his identity, of the man he was here and now. Taking them felt like crossing a line you weren’t sure you could bear.

But when you looked into his eyes, the quiet plea there shattered any resistance you had. Slowly, you reached out and took the tags, the cool metal pressing into your palm. Your fingers curled around them tightly, as if holding onto them would somehow keep him closer.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Bucky gave a small, sad smile, his hand brushing against yours briefly before he let it fall. “Just… promise me you won’t forget.”

Your chest tightened, tears welling in your eyes. “I couldn’t if I tried.”

The silence stretched between you, filled with everything you couldn’t say. You wanted to tell him how much he meant to you, how this short time together had changed something inside you. But the words stuck in your throat, buried under the weight of your mission and the future you knew awaited him.

Bucky reached up, gently cupping your face with one hand, his thumb brushing away a tear that slipped down your cheek. “You’ve been trained to disappear,” he said softly, his voice steady but thick with emotion. “But not from me.”

You choked back a sob, your hands gripping the dog tags like a lifeline. “I’ve never had this before,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “I don’t know how to say goodbye.”

His hand slipped down, his fingers intertwining with yours. “Then don’t,” he whispered, begging one last time. “Stay. Please. Stay for me.”

Your heart broke at his words, the sincerity in his voice cutting through every defense you had left. But you knew you couldn’t. Staying here would risk everything—the mission, the future, his life.

“I can’t,” you said, your voice cracking. “I wish I could, but you know I can’t.”

Bucky’s grip tightened on your hand, his eyes searching yours for something, anything to hold onto. “Why?” he asked, his voice raw. “Why does it have to be like this?”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “Because this isn’t my time, this isn’t our time” you said quietly.

Bucky’s eyes glistened, and for a moment, he looked like he wanted to argue, to beg you to stay again. But instead, he nodded slowly, his hand lingering on yours for a heartbeat longer.

“Then I’ll wait,” he said, his voice filled with quiet determination. “No matter how long it takes.”

Tears streamed down your face as you gave him a shaky smile. “You won’t have to wait forever.”

With one last, lingering glance, Bucky leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. The warmth of his lips, the steady presence of his touch, imprinted itself in your memory, a moment you knew you’d carry with you for the rest of your life.

When he pulled back, he let his hand fall, his eyes never leaving yours. “Take care of yourself doll,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion.

“You too,” you whispered, clutching the dog tags close to your heart.

And then, with every ounce of strength you had left, you turned and walked away. You didn’t look back, knowing that if you did, you might never be able to leave. But with every step, the weight of his dog tags in your hand was a promise—a tether that would guide you back to him.

I could feel you sneaking in, As if you were a mythical thing

[joyfulcowboycandy]

My muse

Malleus Draconia x Reader

❥ one shot

Content warning: ...it's fluffy. Maybe that there are no established relationships? Oh, Y/n has social anxiety here and is an artist. Y/n takes yuu's place and no grim! :( he was turned into cat stew

Note: This is 4.1k words. Brace yourself ......Gosh I love Malleus, I have so many ideas for him........ I love good girl x bad boy typa dynamics I'm sooo not used to posting my ideas it's nervewrecking to share something so personal to me. I'm glad people seem to like them still!

fem reader

The sprawling stone arches of Night Raven College towered overhead as Y/n looked around, her heart a chaotic blend of excitement and unease. She was surrounded by bustling students, each one glancing her way with varying degrees of curiosity and indifference, but all carrying an air of mystique and confidence. She swallowed, her fingers fiddling with the hem of her shirt as she tried to keep herself from looking too out of place, which was easier said than done. She felt like a fish out of water—a lost, magicless girl in a sea of powerful beings, standing out not because she wanted to, but because she had no choice.

The courtyard buzzed with conversation, but every once in a while, a murmur seemed directed her way, and she could catch bits and pieces of whispered phrases.

“Is she the magicless one?”

“She doesn’t look like she belongs here…”

“Oh, she looks nervous.”

Her cheeks warmed at the attention, and she felt an urge to shrink into herself, maybe find a corner where she could hide until everything settled down. But she took a steadying breath instead. She had to be brave—she’d promised herself that she’d make this strange place work, somehow. After all, this was a second chance, an escape from a life she’d rather leave behind. If she was going to find herself anywhere, it might as well be here, in this strange, enchanted school. Even if it meant being the “magicless” one.

Lost in thought, Y/n barely noticed the approaching figures until one leaned in close, a familiar pair of mismatched eyes gleaming with amusement.

“Hey, little guppy,” Floyd drawled, his grin wide and sharp. He poked her lightly, his finger pressing right into her shoulder, making her stumble back a step in surprise. “Aren’t you jumpy? You look like you’re about to pass out!”

She let out a shaky laugh, cheeks flushed. “N-No, I’m fine! Just… adjusting.”

“Awww, look at that.” Jade, Floyd’s twin, sidled up on her other side, his voice smooth but carrying that same teasing edge. “It’s always refreshing to have someone with such… natural reactions. Isn’t that right, Floyd?”

Floyd snickered, leaning closer until she had to tilt her head up just to look at him. “It’s hilarious,” he said, his grin widening as he seemed to take in every flustered detail of her expression. “What, did no one ever tease you back home?”

Y/n’s gaze darted down, a nervous laugh slipping out. “W-Well, no… not really,” she admitted softly, her voice barely louder than a whisper.

“Well, that’s a pity.” Jade’s eyes glimmered with intrigue. “We’ll just have to make up for all that lost time.”

They laughed, and though she couldn’t help the heat spreading across her cheeks, she managed to laugh along, even if a little nervously.

As the twins wandered off, leaving her to catch her breath, she exhaled, trying to release the nervous energy buzzing through her. She caught herself fidgeting again, trying to brush off the lingering embarrassment. Her shyness had always been a part of her, something she hadn’t been able to shake, even here. It was hard enough to make friends back home; she could only imagine how much harder it would be in a school full of people who seemed so confident, so... powerful.

But beneath her anxious thoughts, there was something else—an excitement, faint but real. A tiny spark of curiosity to explore, to learn everything she could about this world and the people in it. Here, she was no longer tied to the past, to the hurt and broken pieces she’d left behind. Here, she could be whoever she wanted. She could start again.

Even if it took her a thousand blushes, a hundred nervous laughs, and countless teasing encounters.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡🪐༘⋆

Living at Night Raven College and dealing with anxiety was difficult on its own. Y/N was the only female in the entire school, a fact known to everyone. Although the boys were decent enough not to be creepy or weird, they often teased her. She was always falling asleep in class or arriving late, which frequently earned her lectures from the teachers. This made her an easy target for teasing, though the boys never meant any harm (she hoped). She just wanted to stay on their good side. She wasn’t able to make any actual friends; her social anxiety always got in the way, and while she wasn't exactly avoided, she didn’t have anyone to confide in or talk to. She never blamed the boys, understanding that her anxiety made social interactions challenging.

Art was her only way to express herself, a cherished hobby since childhood. When she drew, she didn't need to worry about stumbling over her words or fiddling with her shirt to distract from her racing heart. It was also the only thing she had from her life back on Earth. She arrived in Twisted Wonderland with nothing but her own body and knowledge—not even the clothes on her were from home. She felt completely empty, making her art even more comforting.

Unfortunately, her inspiration always struck at night. She never understood why, but she did her best work during those hours. This habit interfered with her schoolwork and potential friendships, contributing to her clumsiness and constant drowsiness in class. She didn’t get enough sleep, being too busy illustrating the random things that caught her eye around the empty campus or the garden outside the Ramshackle dorm.

One night, she was by the old fountain, peering into the dirty water and watching her squirming reflection. The garden was beautiful, with slightly overgrown grass and numerous bushes and flowers she loved to draw. It was also peaceful, offering a gorgeous view of the moon high in the dark sky. Twisted Wonderland wasn’t much different from Earth, aside from the glaring difference of magic and slightly outdated technology. She was happy they at least had art supplies and canvases, which she was allowed to borrow. No one else seemed interested in drawing, so the supplies had been rotting in the storage room. When she asked to use them, Crowley was overjoyed that someone would finally make use of them.

Sitting in peace, enjoying the silence and the slight rustle of leaves, she sketched an owl glaring down at her from a tree a few feet away. She stayed silent, limiting her movements to avoid scaring it.

However, the sound of approaching footsteps startled the owl, causing it to fly away. Y/N gasped in disappointment, standing up from her seat as she watched the owl disappear into the little forest. It was then she noticed the presence that had joined her in the quiet garden. Tightening her grip on her pen and notebook, she reluctantly turned to face the intruder, her eyes widening in surprise upon seeing Malleus Draconia.

Malleus stood silently, his eyes analyzing her with intrigue. Despite his fearsome reputation and the rumors that surrounded him, Y/N felt something akin to adoration. Under the moonlight, his horns, long hair, and calm, calculating eyes made him appear otherworldly. An urge to draw him struck her.

Without thinking, she blurted out, “Can I draw you?”

Malleus’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, a subtle reaction that she noticed. The corners of his lips curled into an amused smile, and he tilted his head slightly. The sight made Y/N's heart leap in her chest. She realized how strange her request was, especially as the first thing she had ever said to him. She felt embarrassed and stupid for being so weird, but she couldn’t deny how striking he looked under the moonlight. If he agreed to her request, she would be overjoyed.

Malleus studied her for a moment, his expression thoughtful. “Very well,” he finally said, his voice smooth and resonant. “You may draw me.”

Y/N’s eyes lit up with joy. “Thank you!” she exclaimed, her shyness momentarily forgotten in her excitement. She quickly found a comfortable spot to sit and began sketching, her eyes darting between Malleus and her sketchbook.

As she worked, Malleus watched her with a curious glint in his eyes. “Why do you wish to draw me?” he asked, breaking the silence.

Y/N paused, considering her words carefully. “Umm… you looked really pretty under the moonlight,” she said softly, her cheeks flushing. “I’ve never seen horns like yours before, or eyes such a vibrant neon green. They’re really pretty.”

Malleus’s smile widened slightly, an almost imperceptible shift. “Is that so?” he murmured, amusement lacing his tone. “You find my appearance... pretty?”

Y/N nodded, her focus returning to her sketch. “Yes! I do,” she admitted.

They continued in comfortable silence, the only sounds being the soft rustle of leaves and the scratch of her pencil on paper. Y/N’s initial nerves faded as she immersed herself in her art. When she finished, she held up the sketch for Malleus to see.

Malleus studied the drawing, his expression unreadable. “You have captured more than just my appearance,” he said quietly. “How curious.”

Y/N smiled shyly. “I’m happy you think so.”

Malleus continued to observe the sketch, his expression contemplative. “Do you come here every night?” he asked, his gaze shifting from the drawing to her eyes.

Y/N nodded, her previous excitement fading into shyness now that the high from drawing had worn off. “I do,” she replied softly. “I get inspiration here, and it’s comforting.” She fidgeted with the corner of her sketchbook, her voice growing quieter. “I like drawing here at night.”

Malleus tilted his head slightly, intrigued. “You prefer solitude?”

“Sometimes…” she admitted, her eyes dropping to the ground. “It’s peaceful. And… I guess it’s easier than trying to talk to people. Drawing doesn’t judge me or expect me to say the right things.” She gave a small, self-deprecating laugh. “I’m not very good at that.”

Malleus studied her for a moment, the moonlight casting a soft glow over his features. “I see. You find solace in your art,” he said, more as a statement than a question.

Y/N nodded again, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Yes. I-It’s the one thing I can always count on.”

A thoughtful silence settled between them. Malleus seemed to understand her in a way she hadn’t expected. Despite his imposing presence and the intimidating rumors that surrounded him, she felt a surprising sense of ease in his company.

“You may continue to draw here,” Malleus said finally, his tone gentle yet authoritative. “And should you desire company, you have but to call for me.”

Y/N’s heart fluttered at his words. “Thank you!”

As Malleus began to walk away, Y/N's curiosity got the better of her. "Wait," she called out, making him pause and turn back to face her. "Um- can I ask you something?"

He regarded her with a raised eyebrow, a hint of amusement still in his eyes. "You may."

Taking a deep breath, Y/N asked, "Are you really a prince? And a dragon!?"

Malleus nodded, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Yes, I am. Prince of the Briar Valley and a descendant of the dragon fae."

Her eyes widened in amazement. "That’s so cool! Everyone always says you're super strong, but we're not in the same year, so I’ve never seen it myself. Can you… show me?"

Malleus considered her request for a moment, then extended his hand. A green, magical aura surrounded him, and suddenly, ethereal, dragon-like wings appeared on his back, glowing in the moonlight. He didn't transform fully but gave her a glimpse of his power and heritage.

Y/N gasped in awe, her eyes sparkling with admiration. "Wow," she breathed. "That’s amazing! You’re so cool."

Malleus retracted his wings, the aura fading as he resumed his usual form. "I am pleased that you think so," he said, his tone carrying a hint of pride.

Her mind still reeling from what she had witnessed, Y/N asked, "Can I draw you again another time? I mean, like this?"

He seemed to ponder her request, his gaze thoughtful. "Very well," he said finally. "You may. It is an honor to be your muse," he said, a teasing smile finding its way to his lips. "Perhaps we shall meet again tomorrow night?"

Y/N’s felt her face flush at his words. “M-my muse? And, yes! Okay!”

With a final, lingering glance, Malleus turned and disappeared into the early morning mist, and she returned to her dorm, with only a few hours left till school would start.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡🪐༘⋆

Since their initial meeting, Y/N’s encounters with Malleus grew in frequency, with each night solidifying their connection. Malleus had essentially become her muse, and she would show up with her art supplies, sketching and drawing him in numerous ways. He indulged her artistic passion, finding himself curious about her life while also sharing his own interests, particularly his fascination with gargoyles. She soon learned that his interest was so profound that he had created his own club dedicated to studying them, a fact she found incredibly cool.

Malleus, in turn, was intrigued by Y/N’s attraction to the very qualities that others found intimidating or unapproachable about him. Her genuine curiosity and admiration for aspects of his personality that were often deemed dark or formidable caught him off guard. He began to test her, asking questions designed to make her uncomfortable or to challenge her perception of him. Yet, to his surprise, she never faltered. Her view of him remained unchanged, always seeing the good in him.

It was a quality Malleus found both unusual and deeply attractive, especially in a place like Night Raven College, where cynicism and mistrust were more common than kindness and acceptance.

It seemed like just any other night when they met up in the overgrown garden, surrounded by flowers, bushes, overgrown grass, and the occasional firefly or grasshopper that graced them with its presence. Y/N, with her sketchbook in hand, was prepared to capture Malleus’s likeness once again. 

However, her curiosity had gotten the better of her tonight. She had grown so used to his company that she had momentarily forgotten his title as a literal prince.

Her eyes kept darting to his horns, the dark, curved structures that were as much a part of him as his regal demeanor. She couldn’t hold in her adoration any longer. Gathering her courage, she finally blurted out, “Malleus, can I… can I touch your horns?”

The words tumbled out before she could stop herself, and she instantly regretted it. Her face flushed, and she began stammering nervously, waving her hands in a frantic attempt to apologize. “I’m sorry! That was so rude of me. I shouldn’t have—”

Malleus, watching her with his characteristic calm, marveled at her audacity. It was rare a person who would even dare ask him such a thing, and yet here she was, this small, magicless human, filled with curiosity and adoration, doing just that.

He found her ignorance and boldness endearing. With a soft chuckle, he said, “It’s quite alright. You may.”

She stared at him in shock for a moment before he bent down on one knee and lowered his head slightly, giving her better access to his horns. Her hands trembled as she raised them, hesitating briefly before she gently touched one of his horns. It was smooth and cool to the touch, and she couldn’t help but let her fingers wander, tracing the intricate curves and shapes.

As she ran her fingers along his horns, her hands gradually moved into his hair, entangling in the soft, well-kept strands. This was clearly not what they had agreed upon, but she couldn’t help herself. His hair was unexpectedly soft and comforting, and she found herself running her fingers through it, almost forgetting where she was.

Malleus, to her immense surprise, allowed her this intimacy. He typically disliked when people were too casual with him, but with her, it felt different. Her touch was gentle and filled with genuine curiosity, and it felt surprisingly nice.

When she finally pulled her hands away, her face was a deep shade of red. “I’m so sorry, Malleus. I didn’t mean to…”

He leaned closer to her, his eyes glinting with amusement. “May I touch your hair, in return?”

She froze in surprise, not expecting his request. Before she could respond, he reached out and ruffled her hair gently, a slight mockery of her earlier actions. The touch was surprisingly tender, and it made her heart skip a beat.

“You have lovely hair,” he said, his voice soft but teasing.

She blinked up at him, still flustered but now smiling shyly. “Oh…. thank you…,” she managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper.

Malleus straightened up, his eyes still fixed on her. “You continue to surprise me, Y/N.”

Her heart fluttered at his words. “Is that a good thing?”

“Very much so,” he replied with a small smile.

“Um, I made a new drawing of you, but… I forgot to bring it with me.” Y/N’s voice trembled, her heart thumping with anxiety. “Can I… bring it to your dorm tomorrow? I want you to have it…”

It was a big step—after all, she and Malleus had only ever met in the garden at night. By day, they moved in different circles, and he was two grades above her, making their lives all the more separate. Their nighttime meetings had always been their own little world, a space where she’d sketch him and he’d indulge her, sharing stories of Briar Valley or answering her curious questions. But the idea of entering his territory, his life outside their usual routine, felt nerve-wracking.

She braced herself, half-expecting him to refuse. Their friendship, if she could even call it that, had never been formally established. He was her quiet, mysterious muse, and she was the strange, sleepy artist who drew him in shadows and starlight. Despite herself, though, she hoped he didn’t see her as just a source of amusement. She cherished their time together, and the thought of being nothing more than a curiosity to him made her stomach twist.

Malleus, however, seemed blissfully unaware of her concerns. He regarded her with his usual calm, interpreting her nervousness as another shy moment—something she was known for, after all.

“Very well, then. Seek me out after your classes in Diasomnia,” he agreed with a nod.

Y/N’s face lit up, her relief breaking into a bright smile as she nodded eagerly. “Okay! I will.”

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡🪐༘⋆

That night, after they parted ways, she returned to her dorm, her mind buzzing with thoughts of him. She often wondered how he managed to look so well-rested while she dragged herself through the day half-awake. Somehow, despite their nightly rendezvous, he attended all his classes, excelling in every subject. It was something she’d definitely ask about later, though for now, her focus was on perfecting the drawing she wanted to give him.

The next day, her morning went as expected—late to class, with her uniform haphazardly thrown on. Professor Trein made her stand outside for twenty minutes before finally letting her back in, and she gratefully slipped into her seat between Ace and Deuce. Though the two were notorious troublemakers, they left her in peace, allowing her to nap behind a book she propped up to look as if she were reading.

The following classes went in much the same way: some mild prodding from her classmates in her second class, a merciless session with Floyd in the third where he wouldn’t let her close her eyes for even a second, and finally a lunch break where she napped in the library. By her last class, she was somewhat awake, counting down the minutes until she could go to Diasomnia with her drawing.

As the bell rang, she set off, her heart pounding with excitement and a touch of nervousness. She’d spent so many nights working on this drawing that she wanted it to be perfect. Walking through the school, she felt the usual wary stares and heard the murmurs of students discussing Diasomnia and its prince with hushed voices. Most feared Malleus, but she couldn’t understand why. Perhaps it was because she’d met him alone in the quiet of the night, where they’d spoken freely without any pretense. She couldn’t help but feel that her bond with him was something rare, and maybe a bit fragile, too.

Upon arriving at Diasomnia, she noticed it was fairly quiet. When she asked after Malleus, most simply shrugged or said they didn’t know. A little disappointed, she learned that the third years might still be in lessons. Deciding to wait, she found a cozy spot in the lounge and settled in, passing the time by flipping through her sketchbook, which was filled with sketches of Malleus and scenes of Briar Valley as he’d described them.

Gradually, she began to grow drowsy from the soft, warm atmosphere of the lounge. The couch was incredibly comfortable, and before long, she’d drifted off, her sketchbook slipping onto her lap.

Some time later, the sensation of a weight lifting from her lap stirred her from sleep. She opened one eye groggily and noticed her sketchbook was missing. She shifted slightly, assuming it had fallen to the floor, and shut her eyes again, settling into the warmth of the armrest, deciding to look for it after another minute’s rest.

As Y/N rested peacefully, the sound of soft footsteps drifted through the lounge, though she remained undisturbed. Lilia, who had been wandering through Diasomnia’s halls, paused when he noticed her asleep on the couch. With a fond smile, he tilted his head, taking in the scene. Her presence here was unexpected, yet oddly familiar; she reminded him of Silver, the way she slept so soundly, though perhaps for entirely different reasons.

Lilia's gaze shifted to the sketchbook that had slipped onto her lap, its pages splayed open to reveal a delicate, meticulously drawn portrait of Malleus. He raised an eyebrow, his eyes sparkling with curiosity. Careful not to wake her, he gingerly picked up the sketchbook, his interest piqued.

“Ohhh, my, what do we have here…” he murmured, flipping through the pages with a mischievous grin. Nearly every other page was filled with sketches of Malleus—his contemplative gaze, his horns under moonlight, the sharp angles of his jaw. Each drawing captured a different side of Malleus, showing an unusual softness to the usually distant prince.

“So many drawings of our dear Malleus…” he whispered to himself, chuckling. The comment stirred Y/N from her slumber, her eyelids fluttering open as she took in her surroundings with bleary confusion.

“Huh…?” she mumbled, rubbing her eyes. The sight of Lilia holding her sketchbook made her jolt upright, her cheeks flushing.

“Ah, good evening!” Lilia greeted, closing the sketchbook with a smirk as he looked at her, amused by her flustered expression. “Didn’t mean to wake you… though it seems you have quite an eye for detail.” He gave the sketchbook a playful wave.

“Um… th-that’s…” She stumbled over her words, her face warm with embarrassment as she tried to reach for the sketchbook, but Lilia held it just out of reach.

“Is Malleus your muse, perhaps?” Lilia teased, inspecting one of the more recent drawings. “This is really quite impressive. But I wonder… did he know about this little ‘collection’ you’ve made of him?”

She stammered, her hands shaking as she reached out. “N-no, he just… I mean… um, it’s for practice! Just practice! He has, uh, interesting… features.”

“‘Interesting features,’ is it?” Lilia laughed. “Yes, I’m sure the horns and dragon scales make for good practice. I’ll have to tell him he’s become quite the artist’s inspiration.”

Y/N’s face reddened even more, and she quickly snatched the sketchbook as Lilia relinquished it with an amused smile. Just as she was about to stumble over another explanation, a familiar voice interrupted.

“Y/N,” Malleus’s calm voice echoed as he entered the lounge, looking between her and Lilia. “I apologize for keeping you waiting.”

“Oh, Malleus!” She nearly jumped, clutching the sketchbook to her chest. Malleus’s gaze softened when he looked at her, though his attention soon turned to Lilia, who was watching them with a look of dawning realization and unrestrained amusement.

Lilia clasped his hands together with a dramatic sigh. “My, my, Malleus. I didn’t know you had such devoted company in our dorm, coming here to deliver artwork no less.”

Malleus raised an eyebrow, glancing between them as understanding dawned on him. “I see you’ve made yourself acquainted with Y/N.”

“Oh, yes, indeed,” Lilia replied, giving Y/N a conspiratorial wink. “She’s quite the talented artist—though I must say, your likeness seems to be her specialty.”

Y/N ducked her head, overwhelmed and burning with embarrassment, but Malleus simply looked at her, intrigued. “Is that so?” he asked, a slight smile gracing his lips as he reached a hand out toward her. “If it’s ready, I’d like to see it.”

Flustered, she nodded, opening her sketchbook to the finished drawing she’d been working so hard on, holding it out with trembling hands. Malleus examined it, his expression softening as he traced the lines with his gaze.

“It’s… beautiful,” he murmured, glancing at her with a look that held an unusual warmth. “Thank you, Y/N.”

Beside them, Lilia’s eyes gleamed with silent amusement, watching the two of them with interest. “Well, I suppose I’ll leave you two alone,” he said with a wink, sauntering off with a chuckle.  “Just don’t keep her out too late, Malleus. I’m sure she needs her rest for all those upcoming drawings, hmm?”

Malleus watched Lilia disappear around the corner, shaking his head slightly as a small sigh escaped his lips. Turning back to Y/N, he noticed her still clutching her sketchbook tightly, her cheeks flushed. A gentle smile softened his normally serious expression, and he inclined his head to catch her gaze.

“You don’t need to be so nervous,” he said, his voice softer than usual. “It’s only me.”

She managed a small, tentative smile, but the blush on her cheeks remained. “I know,” she murmured, looking down. “I… just didn’t expect Lilia to… well, you know…”

Malleus chuckled quietly. “He does have a way of surprising people, doesn’t he? Though I find it intriguing how many drawings of me you’ve created. I hadn’t realized I was such an interesting subject.” He paused, an amused gleam in his eyes as he leaned forward slightly. “Or perhaps I’m only interesting when it’s nighttime?”

Y/N’s breath hitched as his words sank in. Her blush deepened, and she stammered, “I-I mean, you’re… interesting all the time, I just… it’s easier to focus on drawing when there’s less going on. At night, you’re… well, easier to approach.”

Malleus raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Am I, now?”

She nodded quickly, gripping the edges of her sketchbook. “Yes. I… I feel like I can be myself more when it’s just us. I don’t have to think too hard about… everything else.”

A warm silence settled between them, broken only by the soft rustling of the leaves in the courtyard beyond the lounge window. Malleus took a seat beside her on the lounge sofa, close enough that their shoulders nearly brushed. His hand rested casually on the cushion near her, though she could sense his attention focused entirely on her, an intensity lingering behind his composed demeanor.

“And I quite enjoy these moments we share at night,” he said quietly. “They are rare moments of solace. There aren’t many with whom I’d wish to spend this time.” His gaze was steady, almost possessive as it held her own. “You’re… different, Y/N.”

The way he spoke made her heart skip a beat, a warmth spreading in her chest that was both comforting and strangely unsettling. She swallowed, glancing down as she fumbled for words. “I… well, I like being here with you, too.”

Malleus smiled, satisfied with her response, and gestured toward her sketchbook. “May I see more?”

Wordlessly, she handed the sketchbook over, feeling a flicker of shyness as he carefully flipped through the pages.

[ijwtbap]

ㅤㅤ★ㅤA promise — Bakugō

— Bakugō x GN! reader.

You like Katsuki, he likes you — is a fact not a maybe. He doesn't seem to believe it thought.

a/n. I had to keep my promise ig. Is VERY short so im sorry, also Im bad at english and is my first one shot so have some mercy plz.

You were going insane. Just a little bit. Well, actually, you were ready to rip out your hair and scream into the void, standing naked as flames consumed you. That's kind of insane.

Every time Bakugō referred to you as his friend—even if he only said you weren’t that annoying and didn’t mind having you around (which was close enough)—you wanted to disappear.

You had done everything but treat him platonically. Sure, you could see how holding hands, cuddling, or crying together might seem platonic. But kissing in bed and saying “I love you” in a completely serious way?

You were completely lost.

At first, you thought it was a joke, then maybe just a game to him.

But now? Now you’re convinced he’s just... dense.

You could tell Bakugō you love him dead serious while looking him dead in the eyes, on your knees and with a big sign that said 'plz marry me,' and he would still think you're joking.

And it was killing you.

"Are you going to study or what?"

You were in his bedroom, "studying." Yeah, right—studying. You just wanted to be there with him. You’d barged in without warning, and yet, he hadn’t even questioned your presence.

"No."

You knew he liked you back. There was no way he didn't, but fuck, he refused to acknowledge it.

"I like you."

His eyes widen for a second before he looks back at his notes.

"Shut up."

"I really do, tho."

"Yeah, whatever."

"I love you."

"If you don't stop, I will kick you out."

"I love you."

" __________ "

"I love you so much."

"Stop it."

"I want to marry you, one day when we're adults. Small or big wedding, or none at all, whatever you prefer."

"I'm being serious."

"So am I."

You two look at each other, him holding his pen so hard that it looks like it's about to break and you looking at him as if he were the most wonderful and prettiest dense idiot you have seen in your life.

"What do you need me to do to make you believe me?"

He ignores you. Mostly because he knows that paying attention to you would just make him more annoyed (because you clearly weren't going to stop) and because he didn't want to accept it.

"Die."

A small smile comes to your mouth. How many people would get offended by that? A lot, but you knew Bakugō didn't mean it.

"You want to recreate Given now?"

Bakugō rolls his eyes, making more notes in his notebook, but you were able to notice a small smirk.

You had forced him to watch it a couple of months ago, and he swears he didn't cry. You knew the truth, though.

"Shut up."

"Shut me up yourself, you coward."

He lets out another scoff, and he continues to avoid your eyes.

"Study already."

You loved Bakugō Katsuki, and he loved you back.

No matter how much time it would take you, you were going to make sure to take his last name and hold his hand in a not-platonic way.

One day.

"I love you."

I totally didn't use like 3 grammar online correctors, and re read this like 20 times (It will still have an issue, and I know it). I also didn't copy inspired my introduction (?) from a random post.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed my bad writing style. Im not doing this again, unless I get REALLY bored.

521 words.

[the-s1lly-corner]

Wearing their jackets (CRP) (Part 3/3)

last part! yippie! since its finally getting colder i might do this with a few other fandoms i write here on the blog... maybe... well see! characters: eyeless jack, laughing jack, bloody painter, puppeteer notes: reader is gn, short post cws: none

EYELESS JACK

the jacket doesnt do much for him warmth wise, he often takes it off when hes not actively stalking someone down for some food. so its up for grabs a lot more often than youd think

aaaaand.... he doesnt care all that much. cool, you have it. just give it back when he asks for it. hes not going to take you playing games with his possessions, so its best not to joke with him that its going to be yours from now on

though... he will give it to you if you ask while youre walking together in the woods, the cold doesnt do anything to him all that much so its all yours until he needs it again

why not just get your own jacket though? that way you dont have to share... he doesnt get it... the idea that there could be any reason outside of being cold eludes him

LAUGHING JACK

he.... doesnt wear a jacket... on top of that i am under the belief that his clothing is stuck to his body so you cant exactly... steal anything off of him without skinning him- assuming you can even get the far. no point in getting a jacket for him because he doesnt seem at all phased by temperature outside of using it as a set up for a joke

the next best thing is a blanket but even then he would only snatch it out of your hands as a joke before handing it right back to you

the only time he uses it is when hes cuddling with you under it- ironically he is a blanket thief... though its all an act, hes not really sleeping

PUPPETEER

hes in the same boat as laughing jack- yes he does have a jacket but i also think its a part of his body. you cannot simply walk up to him and take it off of him whenever you please

the blanket compromise does not work either due to him not really using blankets- the cold never really bothers him. maybe that comes with being a ghost? he is rather cold himself... hmm...

he finds your struggle amusing if he ever picks up on the fact that you cant try to take his jacket vaguely distresses or upsets you

BLOODY PAINTER

sometimes wears a jacket over his coveralls/overalls, and he only wears it when hes going outside. why get paint and.. cough... his other supplies... on it when he already has something to wear to catch them all? doesnt make sense. leaves a wide window for you to take it

he is sensitive to the cold though so hes being very serious when he asks for it back when he needs to go out for one reason or another. he will not entertain you, you better give it back when he asks

he doesnt... get mad exactly... but you can tell hes quieter after you try to make it into a game of having him (albeit in your eyes playfully) fight for his belongings back... the back and forth of trying to keep his jacket- and his other belongings- will not go over well

[anguishedlurker]

I've been Isekaied into Paulina's Novel?!

Welcome to the fic for the EctoImposion 2024 event! I was paired with @thebooo-merang for this wonderful fic, and you should go check them out! And check out the ao3 posting HERE

After an incident with Box Ghost solicits a fight with Ghost Writer, Ghost Writers out for revenge. And Paulina has a convenient little fanfiction that Ghost writer could use. Now Danny just has to survive it, with a starstruck Paulina in tow.

The first chapter doesn't especially need warnings, as everything remains cannon typical. It's under the cut!

~

"Get back here!" Danny shouted, ready to be done with wit for today.

"I, THE BOOOX GHOOOST, WILL-"

"Piss off Ghost Writer!" Do you just break into random lairs in search of weird boxes!?" Danny screeched, trying to dive after a flying notebook.

"I, THE BOX GHOST, WILL-" Box shouted over Danny, waving wildly as he went and sending even more boxes and books flying back and forth.

"RUIN WHAT LITTLE TRUCE I'VE GOT GOING WITH HIM!" Danny cut back, struggling to grab books mid-air with one arm and blast Boxy into submission with the other.

"THE BOX GHOST HAS NO NEED FOR LECTURES ON YOUR INTERPERSONAL RELATIONSHIPS! PREPARE TO BE DESTROYED!"

Danny was gonna kill him this time!

~

Boxes and books rained over the town, causing havoc and mild property damage to the unprepared. Paulina could only huff and puff as she bolted across the open street from shop to shop, trying to find somewhere to camp out while Phantom dealt with the box menace, trying to keep an eye out for whatever storefront Star had managed to find for herself.

Another keeper kept their shoulder into the door as she pushed, and bitterly she cursed them out. She probably didn't get any sympathetic glances through the wood door, but whatever! Rude ass motherfuckers locking out innocents while there was an attack!

It was tempting to keep under the eave, but beyond being mere cloth too much was getting tossed around- plenty enough room for something to slam in sideways and get her then!

God! One good day is all she wanted right now.

Though a few more after wouldn't go amiss...

There! The geek shit shop was probably going to let her in! Maybe!

She didn't care, actually, she'd punch through the glass if she had to! Take that, losers!

First, she needed the mental psyche up to dart across the road again. Three, two, one, go!

The owner, or possible customer, waved behind the glass as she ran.The door opened and closed near instantaneously on her entry.

The sound of Phantom yelling at The Box Ghost dampened as the bell rang, and the store owner gave her an uneasy smile and gestured towards the windowless back. 

“Everyone’s in the back. Might be cramped by now, but there’s a lot of shelves to sit behind.” He nervously informed, eyeing the glass windows.

The casual thumbs up sent him away as she bent slightly to wheeze out the adrenaline.

Yeah, cheer takes some stamina, but adrenaline really messes up her rhythm!

Breath caught, it was time to pack in with the other unlucky idiots back here. With care and precision she marched over behind the popular shelf, examined the bodies packed like sardines, and picked a new shelf to hide behind.

This one was packed with books instead of weird anime figures and dungeons and dragons minis, the spines a cold comfort as she sat down and started staring.

The titles on this sort of crap were so weird… 

But she supposed Star seemed to enjoy them, Star's rants echoing clearly in her head. 

She wouldn’t admit it with a gun to her head, but after enough of those rants… she may or may not be able to pick out a few of the series on display.

Sue her, she's a sucker for some of the romances even if they were trashy a lot of the time. And Star's collection at this rate was pretty impressive, to the point Paulina was convinced she was the only reason a store like this could keep afloat in a town like Amity.

The other nerd shit probably helped it keep alive, though. More screaming outside, this time sounding like it was from The Box Ghost in rage. Good. Phantom could pummel that no good fool to goo for what it mattered.

... Ugh. The fight could easily take a long time; Box Ghost might be weak, but he clearly had a lot of material to use this time. But whatever. Here she is in a castle of weeb books. Maybe some could be a good distraction.

~

"No! Not you!"

"Yes, me! Did you think you could trash my library and get away with it!?" Ghost Writer roared, trying to come up from behind.

"It wasn't me, it was-"

But Box Ghost was already gone, the leftover boxes of books now floating to the ground in a suspiciously gentle manner.

Coward. The thought wouldn't leave as Danny shifted the books he'd been trying to save around, awkwardly offering the armful to Ghost Writer. 

Ghost Writer loomed ominously.

~

All at once the outside world went quiet, some shouting occasionally coming close enough to hear, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief loud enough to drag Paulina from her pile of books.

Five more minutes would've been great to finish the book she'd had in hand, not that it mattered...

Now she needed to find where Star ran off to without her, the books carefully left behind in a pile.

Phantom and a ghost she couldn’t recognize quipped back and forth, the day still significantly quieter than it had been fifteen minutes before. The area remained strewn with books, the ghost gesturing to some on a roof.

Now, she could walk around the district lost and confused looking for Star... Or just sit back down on a nice ledge and wait for Star to come to her while watching Phantom.

Phantom made an odd twist in the air as he shouted, still a little too distant to make out properly.

Yeah, watching sounded so much safer and calmer. One hop later and she was perched on top of one of the lower walls purporting to be defensive.

Fat lot of good they did...

Phantom and his assailant came closer, lending her a nice view of what was going on.

Maybe she shouldn't be here, but it seemed to be more arguing than fighting, so whatever.

"While I'm sorry my NOT PARTNER didn't have a spine, you can have yours back!" Phantom shouted as they passed overhead, throwing a book at the weird ghost.

She had to huff out a clipped laugh as the ghost was whacked, even as the ghost elected to bolt as it realized its inferiority.

She could just hear the stunned silence from Phantom, right before he cried out "Get back here!" 

Truly, a foolish thing to think it could stand up to the town hero.

With a certain lack of ceremony, the book the from the fight fell onto her 

"Ouch!" She yelped, one hand raising to rub her scalp as the other fumbled for the offending book.

The whole thing might be a sign it's time to get up and go. Still...

"Raining books is a new one." She muttered, far too late for the comment to be witty but all the same a perfectly serious remark on the latest weird shit Amity came up with.

She cautiously eyed the book in her hands, looking for any oddities. You could never quite trust some of this stuff...

It was just a notebook. Nothing special about it, besides being a trophy for today. The decoration and signature on front was incomprehensible to her, an initial she didn't recognize against the slightly plain front.

Caving to curiosity, the book opened easily. Not that she’d expected anything else. 

It revealed... nothing. Nothing at all. None of the pages had any sort of writing in them.

Well she can't be begrudged for snooping- it's her prize right now. An apology for getting assaulted in broad daylight. This G-W could just deal with it, and the spat was already away from her, so it's not like she was going to be in more danger sitting here.

The blank notebook continued to be uninteresting, and she couldn’t help her annoyance as she shut it. There wasn’t a damn thing to pay her back for getting hit.

Or... well...

She could feel her lip work up into a slight smirk.

I have been wanting to write a new Phantom fic...

The thought was clear as day to her, even as she couldn't wait for the night. What better way to celebrate this particular trophy?

~

Ghost Writer was forced to watch on in abject misery as he realized his collection had been tossed around like a toddler’s toys. No respect whatsoever from the box obsessed lunatic for the actual contents of the boxes.

The nerve! The audacity! To treat his writing like this! The ghost may well need a lesson in manners.

But first, Phantom.

Sure, the boy wasn't the sole force at work- but undeniably the lunatic never would've gotten close to his manuscripts if Phantom hadn't been snooping around in his library.

But don't think he's lost the plot of getting his own books tossed at him! The tactical retreat was nothing more than an admission of lack of home turf!

Nothing to do with not having his typewriter or any notebooks activated!

Ahem... So the child would need an appropriate punishment as well.

Sometime after he collected his books

The whole lot of them, all across town! Lunatics.

It was easy enough to threaten people away from his scripts, but nonetheless annoying and time consuming. Go here, show up there, yell to get their grubby mitts off his stuff. 

Ugh.

The annoyance was the cost of getting everything back. though. He pointedly ignored Phantom’s continued patrolling, likely looking for whatever trap Ghost Writer would end up creating.

Easy enough to stay low and out of sight in the meantime. Whatever he was about to do, it wasn't a ‘now’ plan. Such things take planning, and unfortunately it's not the season to stick the boy back into Christmas stories.

So he was collecting his books, and chasing fools away from them. The cost of love, he supposed.

Still, he was being forced to waste hours upon hours taking his books out of the hands of fools. Having such a collection was not currently a point of pride; He’d have to figure out what went where later.

Slowly but surely his boxes filled back up as he found his manuscripts. There was his old horror story from the eighties, there was his attempt at something akin to a superhero comic, there was his dabbling in... well he couldn't remember either, but if he sat to read it right now it'd take hours for him to finish the book. No reading for him.

Finally, it was time to find his blank notebooks again. He'd be forced to admit that he simply cared less if these ones vanished mysteriously, for a blank notebook was nothing more or less than a possibility.

Most were alright, scattered down the streets carelessly. Some had been picked up and put back down to be examined by wretched hands at a later date.

There was an exception though, something swaying as if held at the edge of where he could feel things. Curious, for how late at night it was getting, but that'd just mean he needed to scare another pathetic mortal off his books.

The pull and search brought him to a cracked window in the suburbs. Nothing meaningful crossed his path, though it was good to be wary; The boy was likely still patrolling, and no doubt Ghost Writer's appearance had put him on edge. As it should.

Slowly rising up to look through, invisible to the mortal eye, he could hear a girl rambling slightly. 

His look through the window was enlightening, the girl curled onto her bed as she wrote with ink that even from this distance sparkled with glitter.

"And then Princess Paulina lived happily ever after with Prince Phantom, aaannd the end." She whispered, pleased with herself.

Barely pausing, she snapped the book shut and laid it on her nightstand, moving to stand and stretch.

Shouting called her away, which was plenty convenient for him even as she huffed and puffed out of the room.

It was child's play to take the notebook back, even with it defiled by mortal hands. It wasn't a toy to be left with creatures that didn't understand what could be done with such tools.

The cover had already been decorated with a couple of stickers and a flowing cursive he couldn't bother deciphering at this second.

Phasing back out of the room and coming to rest back outside of the window, he flipped the cover open.  The inside was decorated similarly.

Oh, yes. That was glitter pen. The pages were coming away bedazzled with runaway glitter.

This book was most certainly going to have to be put in its own container, but for right this second the name on the inside was of modest curiosity.

Paulina Sanchez in bold strokes, fancy flourishes forgone in favor of legibility. If found, return to owner, do not read.

Well now he just had to, didn't he? It wasn't like the rest of the books were going anywhere, the grand total of three he still had to find now could rest safely.

Or well... No, he could spare the time now> What would the boy do, if it blows up on them both? The books shouldn't even be in the town anyways, and it was most certainly his fault thank you very much!

He quickly leafed through the beginning burning through thanks to his superior-ness and a speed reading class he'd attended before.

... hmm.

Hmmmmm.

He'd recently been complaining about what to do with the boy, no?

"This could work." He spoke to no-one, clapping the book shut. For now.

~

Barely past sunrise, Danny squinted at the sky and grumbled. Damn malicious blob ghosts, eating billboards.

Not that he cares about the billboards, but first it's a billboard and then it's drywall.

"Catch!" Got shouted, an object (presumably) sailing from behind him.

Snapping too and turning, he could see Ghost Writer grin manically in glee as a book opened wide.

All he could do was choke out an "eh?" as he reflexively reached, the book splayed open and glowing. Illustory pages floated up and off, and he had a really bad feeling about what was coming next as the world around him went white.

~

Coming to under Ghost Writers writing was not a fun thing to experience, see. One did not simply fade into one of his chaotic and weirdly random worlds. You blink and then suddenly you're just there!

Danny was there, wherever there was. Somewhere was currently a bright grass field, with a decorated horse beside him.

Which he would grant was a better entrance than the last time he'd been flung into one of Ghost Writer's many insane stories.

He would never forget that anglerfish...

But almost just as fast as he got here there was another stupidly bright light, and someone was falling into his arms, briefly bundled into his chest before quickly popping back up to look at him.His tongue was stuck in a way that implied Ghost Writer had ideas about what he should or shouldn't be saying at this time, but that didn't stop the extremely strained noise he gave when he realized the person was Paulina, looking VERY enthused.

[redvexillum]

Hey there my sweetest, beloved Vexi ♡

I just wanted to share something personal with you that you can then share with others because I know that they feel the same.

Writing has always been my passion. It's been the one thing that has kept me afloat in my life. Regardless of whether people love my writing or hate it, I would continue for the sake of continuing because it is my life.

But when I rejoined fandom spaces, I was terrified after hearing stories of how the culture had changed significantly. Interaction is lower, and hate has unfortunately always made its home in these communities. Given I share fanfiction solely to share with the aforementioned communities, I found myself afraid that I would get hate messages. I was afraid I wouldn't have a community that would stand up for me if that were to happen. While it would never deter me from what I love, I was scared that friendships and positivity were long dead in this space. Fandom felt lonely.

You know what though? I have met wonderful person after wonderful person. And then I met you too. There you are, getting some of the most horrendous messages I've ever seen sent to another human being, and you continue to push for positivity - smiling and laughing with us about how much you just want to see people happy.

Then you went on to start share some of the wonderful messages you recieved throughout that ordeal, only to begin writing positive affirmations and thoughts for us. Once upon a time, I struggled to accept this sort of positivity, I will admit that. When I was having a rough time, I would often see messages like that as 'hollow' for a lack of better words. I would be angry or bitter that others could think like that when I struggled so much to feel like those words should have meant something to me.

While time has passed since I was that person, I still remember the feeling of hopelessness, yet that doesn't deter from the fact that people like you - and countless others - single handedly restored my faith in these communities.

People like you remind me why I cling to my ideals of treating everyone with kindness no matter what. To try to understand other people. To help others. These are all things that bring us closer together. People like you, @silva-daemonium, @fraugwinska, @macabr3-barbi3, @chrisemrysfics, @melodyonthewireless, @dewdropdinosaur, @xalygatorx, @kewpikayo, @jurijyuu, @jalicecookie, AND SO MANY MORE do so much to support those around you.

All of this came about because I wanted to say thank you for posting those short little messages of encouragment. I know that I have appreciated them. Sure, they might seem a little cheesy to me on a morning when I'm tired - but they really make me smile, and prepare me to tackle whatever the day gives.

You're the beating heart of positivity.

It's a fairytale ending to the horror stories I expected.

I know that other people will see this too, so I just wanted to wish everyone that sees this a relaxing morning, afternoon, evening - timezone in general! You're here, and you've worked hard to be here all this time. Everything you've needed to do to achieve that, you've done. That's huge. I'm so proud of everyone, and my DMs are always open to anyone who might be struggling or just wants to talk. I'll always aim to help my community in the same way that Vexi has demonstrated.

Love to you all, and again, thank you for your messages, Vexi!

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Cirice, I honestly don’t have the words to fully capture how much your kindness means to me. You are truly one of the most thoughtful, beautiful souls I’ve ever had the honor to meet, and I can’t thank you enough for your words. Knowing that something I’ve done has made even a small impact on people like you is still so surreal to me. I’m just deeply grateful that you’re part of this community.

You and so many others are the reason why I’ve stayed here longer than in any other fandom. It’s been the most heartwarming experience. This community, especially people like you, has genuinely transformed my perspective on what fandoms can be: a space filled with compassion, creativity, and connection.

Thank you for sharing your story, for giving me (and others) a piece of your heart. I hope your words reach others, inspiring them to create, to feel they belong, and to understand how wonderful it is to be part of something like this. Knowing we’re all here together, finding meaning in these connections, it makes the world feel a little less lonely and a lot brighter. 💖

Also tagging the people that didn't get properly tagged because tumblr is broken: @dewdropdinosaur @xalygatorx @kewpikayo @jurijyuu @jailcecookie

[copaline]

WIP WEDNESDAY IS UPON US!

@man--eater (You just posted a fic chapter but here I am demanding more!)

@sunsetofdoom (the menacing continues)

@i-prefer-base-twelve (At this point I can't not tag you.)

@punedrr (Tell me you got Ford to cuddle something other than a mannequin!)

@ancharan (Sorry but you made the list. I'm tagging you in everything now.)

And as always, if you see this and want to join in, please do! Consider yourself tagged by me! The banner is free to use!

More Horror Vacui shenanigans happening! I'm 12 pages into Chapt 10 so this is the home stretch. Turns out writing fluff is harder than I thought:

“Sounds like you’re gonna need a tracker,” Wendy grinned, “you’re lucky I’m here.” “Not a chance.” “Aw c’mon Stan, I’ll even do it for cheap,” she smirked, “five bucks now, another five onced we’ve gagged, bagged, and tagged your man.” “Kid I’ll give you five right now if you never say those words to me again,” Stan scowled at her. “Deal!” After some grumbling, Stan reached into his jacket and handed her a five dollar bill. All the while, Wendy’s confident smirk never left her face. “So what now?” he humphed. “Now we climb!” she cheerfully replied and Stan looked at her as though she’d asked him to throw himself off the ledge. “It’s perfectly safe, Grunkle Stan!” Dipper said in what Stan felt was a little too cheerful a tone. “And how would you know? What are you, some kind of rope expert now?” he huffed, “Just because my idiot brother jumped off a cliff, it doesn’t mean I gotta do it-” “GUYS WHAT’S THE HOLD UP, UP THERE?!” Mabel’s unmistakable voice called out from the bottom of the drop. “We already climbed up and down the rope a bunch of times. It’s safe,” Wendy shrugged before calling down, “STAN’S BEING A BIG CHICKEN ABOUT HEIGHTS AGAIN!” “What? I am not!” “I THOUGHT WE WORKED THROUGH THAT!” Mabel replied. “IT STOPPED WORKING! I’M GOING TO TELL HIM TO GO AROUND SO HE DOESN’T BREAK HIS WEAK OLD MAN BONES!”  “OKAY! SO SHOULD WE WAIT HERE OR…?” “THINK SO YEAH! HE MIGHT WET HIMSELF ON THE WAY DOWN!” “Alright! Alright! I’m goin'! I'm goin'!” Stan yelled interrupting the very loud, very humiliating conversation happening between the two girls. For what must have been the tenth time that day, Stan grit his teeth and vowed to deck Ford the moment he had him in his sights.

[izzyy-stuff]

For your 300 follower bash, can I request a short story/drabble where the reader is either the sixth member of TXT or a member of a gg like maybe Le Sserafim or Aespa and is in a relationship with any member (I'm ot5 so it really doesn't matter who <3) I do kind of like the idea of Hyuka being the love interest and can totally picture the other members teasing him a lot, but again any member is fine <33

𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋 - 𝐇𝐔𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐊𝐀𝐈

bf!blond!Kai x fem!reader

in which no matter how much his friends tease him about his girlfriend, he knows they love her just as much as he does.

wc 1.4k

warnings kissing, slightly suggestive

↪ izzy speaks... first fic for the 300 bash!! I am happy it's with huening too! I've been meaning to use these pictures for a while now.

event post | event masterlist

The smile on your face slowly fades away as you watch the three dots disappear, leaving you on ‘seen’. You raise an eyebrow in confusion, but you don’t get a chance to pay it any more attention as your best friend, Yunjin, wraps her arm around your shoulders, smirking.  

“Look who’s being all lovey-dovey again,” she teases, giggling as she snatches your phone. “You guys are so adorable it makes me sick.” Kazuha and Chaewon share a laugh with her, shaking their heads at the brunette. “Hey! Give it back! I’m in the middle of a conversation!” You try to take your phone back, but it only leads to more of Yujin’s laughing. 

Little did  you know that your dear boyfriend Kai is in the same situation as you, hiding his face in embarrassment as Beomgyu holds his phone. 

“Can’t wait to see you again,” Beomgyu reads out loud, running around the room. Usually, he wouldn’t dare to do something like this. It was Kai’s privacy, and there was no way he would cross the line, but a dare was a dare. 

“Just read it all! Get it over with,” Kai whines, his cheeks red as he stares down at his lap, listening just like everyone else. “Oh, god. I’m not reading that. That’s for sure,” Beomgyu frowns, catching Yeonjun’s attention. The youngest’s eyes widen as he realizes what chats one of his best friends has just stumbled upon. “No, no, no, don’t look through that! This far is enough. Give it back,” the blond looks up again, his eyes full of fear and awkwardness. 

But before Beomgyu can do as he asked for, Yeonjun is already up, stealing the phone from him. “Yeonjun!” Kai yells, his mind too clouded with thoughts to use honorifics. “Oh my god!” The eldest gasps. “How can our fans call you an angel?” He dramatizes. “You’re nasty.” 

“Just kill me,” Huening sighs, closing his eyes. Taehyun chuckles, patting his back. “It’s not the end of the world,” he reminds the blond, rolling his eyes when he notices Yeonjun taking pictures of the chats on his phone. Sometimes, he doubted if Jun was actually the eldest of them all. “It might be, though! She is going to kill me if she finds out you’ve read our chats.” 

“I won’t tell a soul,” Yeonjun proclaims, still laughing as he hands Kai his phone back. “But I’m glad you don’t act like a complete angel, at least with your girlfriend. Honestly, the whole innocent act has been freaking me out.” 

“I’m not even going to say anything to that,” Kai answers, gripping his phone tightly as if he were scared someone might take it away from him again. “Now, answer your girl. You don’t leave a girl waiting when she asks to hang out.” Hyuka rolls his eyes at him, opening his phone again, “I’m not stupid. I know what to do and what not.” 

“Right,” Beomgyu is the first to scoff, but it doesn’t move Kai a bit. Once his girlfriend had his attention, nothing bothered him anymore. 

♡⸝⸝  

You watch Sakura, Yujin and Kazuha go over the choreography repeatedly, mentally going over the steps along with them. You definitely couldn’t say you would excel the dance yet, but you’ve had enough for today. If you went through the choreography again, your legs might as well give up. 

“Okay, we’re clocking out now! Have fun!” Eunchae grins, swinging her bag over her shoulder while Chaewon stands beside her wearing the same annoying smirk. You catch Yujin rolling her eyes and have to laugh. “I am going to leave in a bit, too,” you say, and your best friend immediately turns to you. “What? I thought we were grabbing dinner together after practice!” She complains. 

You open your mouth to answer her, but all that leaves your lips is a shaky breath full of regret. You squeeze your eyes shut as you remember the plans you made, clapping your hands together and muttering a quiet “sorry” through them. Yujin sighs when she notices your eyes. She can’t even blame you. Not when you seem so genuine with your apology. “I kind of…forgot about it,” you admit. “And made plans with Kai instead.” 

“Alright then. You’re lucky I know Kai has been busy, and you haven’t seen him much lately,” she shakes her head, and you smile again, jumping up to hug her. “Thank you, thank you!” Yujin smiles as she wraps her hands around you. “We can have dinner tomorrow. What do you think?” You ask hopefully, and she chuckles, nodding. “Go hang out with your boyfriend now,” she says, pushing you toward the door with a laugh. 

“I’ll see you tonight! Bye!” You quickly wave at Sakura and Kazuha before the door closes behind you, and you stand in the hallway, beaming as you notice your boyfriend sitting on the side, scrolling on his phone. “Hey,” you greet him quietly, making him raise his head immediately. “You should have come in. No one would mind.” Kai grabs his bag from the bench, slightly shaking his head as he walks to you. “It’s fine,” he assures you before gently pressing his lips on yours, one of his hands wrapping around your waist while the other rests on your cheek. “Hi, pretty,” he mumbles his greeting against your lips, making you bite your bottom lip to constrain your smile. 

Hyuka holds your hand as you walk through the HYBE building, telling you about his practice and some of the stupid dares they did during their break – purposefully not mentioning the one involving his friends reading your chats – while you tell him about your practice and the main points of your new choreography, bragging about how fun they are. 

He only lets go of your hand when you get to the entrance, smiling as he lets you walk outside first, watching you walk to your car while he waits for a few minutes, just like he did many times before in order not to get anyone suspicious about your relationship with him. People don’t need to know that you’re on your way to his dorm. 

♡⸝⸝  

You chuckle at the familiar voices as you step inside the dorm room. You feel at home. Not only because of your boyfriend, but also his friends, who’ve never been anything but welcoming to you. 

“Don’t mind then. Beomgyu and Soobin got immersed in League again,” Yeonjun simply waves at you as he passes the front door on his way to his room. “Taehyun just finished making dinner, or you know where the snacks are,” he smiles. “Thank you,” you smile back, taking off your shoes. 

It doesn’t take much longer for Hyuka to arrive, too, pulling you in for a hug as soon as he gets to you. You giggle, wrapping your arms around him and relaxing. “Have they been bothering you a lot?” Your boyfriend asks softly, and you swear you could get lost in his eyes when they lock with yours. You shake your head, grabbing his hand. “You know that’s not possible.” You’re right. No matter how much his friends tease him about you whenever they get the chance, they love you just as much as Kai does. He has to smile, remembering all the times they had told him how happy they were for him. 

“Right,” Kai mumbles quietly, his eyes on your hand holding his as you take him to his room. 

No matter how much time he spends with you, every moment and touch will always be as important to him as when you first got together. “Get a room!” Beomgyu yells, making Hyuka snap out of his thoughts. “Shut up!” He yells back at him, hiding his flushed cheeks as he follows you. 

You never need to do much with Kai to have fun. Honestly, you prefer not to do anything when you’re with him. Being able to relax after a long day with some lazy kisses and back rubs sometimes means so much more than having big plans. And today is no different. 

Kai tugs your hair behind your ear and pulls you in for a kiss as soon as he sits on his bed. You get comfortable on his lap, grinning into the kiss as you close your eyes. “You’re so pretty,” he mumbles against your lips. “I haven’t been in the shower yet. I’m all stinky,” you laugh, cupping his cheek. “Still beautiful,” he assures you, not wasting any time and pressing his lips on yours again, unable to get enough. “I love you.” 

“I love you too,” you whisper back with a smile.

⋆✶ izzy's tags @beomiracles @seoulzie @adel222 @inkigayocamman @flowzel @love-be0m @virgo-and-libra @hwanghyunjinismybae @liaatiny @minaateez ✶⋆ Want to get notified? Join taglist here !

[divineerdrick]

Homestuck: Beyond Canon Upd8 for November 11, 2024

*flops*

Don't mind me.

Just gonna lie here while I do the Homestuck liveblog thing.

I am going to give a heads up. If my next migraine treatment brings me a bit more back in line, I'll be doing VLogs again. I have a bigger video project planned, but it's not Homestuck related. I'll be posting the updates here though, so you'll still know when I blog an upd8. Then you'll all get to see my haggard and aged face.

We begin with the monthly news upd8 from James. Except no! It is in fact an upd8 from Miles! James fades into the background, and apparently Miles will be our flattering correspondent from now on.

It looks like Miles is putting potential spoilers in the news post, so I might have to be careful in the future. Of course these might be jokes. We'll have to see.

Work continues on the planned [S] page and more Beyond Canon merch. We won't be getting an upd8 for December, but they will be running the Patreon. The next upd8 looks like it might be as late as February.

That's all unfortunate. But I fully support if the team wants to take a well earned holiday.

Upd8

Tavvy has decided to join Yiffy on an adventure. This can't possibly end well. His attempts at being her lackey have so far landed him mostly in trouble. And there's a heap of trouble brewing on the soon to be battlefield.

Yeah that's not happening.

Heh! Harry brought the trail mix.

Oh wow. And oh no!

OH NO!!!

That can't possibly count as Heroic though. Getting sniped while performing a purely tactical role is not a hero's end. Still, Rose is probably glad the kids aren't seeing that.

And button.

Interesting view to cut to.

Again, I don't think this will count as Heroic for anyone. But a lot of people are about to die. And let's not forget, none of the trolls currently outside for the Plot Point are God Tiers. This is bad. This is really bad. This is the kind of moment that calls for an extreme, deus ex machina, like the Plot Point has the potential for.

But we're not getting to see it yet.

Edit: @vriedi reminded me that Meenah is a God Tier. Though this does make me wonder, what happens when a dead God Tier dies?

Orange curtains.

Okay! Legitimately fantastic Psyche Out. They actually got me pretty good there.

Okay, we have a new troll it I think.

gavageCunctation is messaging Vrissy. Though that doesn't necessarily tell us much, except that a new player may have entered the drama.

And they're "negging" Vrissy. So this troll clearly sees themselves as a "player" too.

We've got a "game" that's about to be played. A game being run by a TC. Now Gamzee is dead, but that doesn't mean he didn't setup something before Vriska killed him. Still, it's likely these are two completely new troll kids.

We've got a new AA too. So we might be seeing more troll descendants. After all, they used cloning to kick things off. This troll is typing in purple, but blood typing may not be universal anymore. I do find it interesting that we're continuing the nucleotide pairs though. They could have gone for a different motif. Maybe they're trying to symbolize that these are potential paradox clones for a new session?

AA is apparently our chronic auspistice for this group. And potentially our Seer, though we've had fake-outs on that before.

And our actual cliffhanger ending is this new GC's computer exploding.

So yeah. Something has to happen for a lot of our beloved characters to not bite it. I'm also curious how Rose's vision of future events can come true if Jane has unleashed her weapon. But I mentioned last time that Rose is playing a dangerous game here. I don't think any of our God Tiers are in trouble, and I'm pretty sure the Plot Point is fine.

I'm wondering if this is how Calliope ends up sacrificing themself, if Rose was even correct there. Either way, this a dark ending for the year on a community that's already seen some dark endings.

*Returns to flop*

[sophieinwonderland]

Response to Sysmed on the Boundaries With Normality

Here's the original post.

Yay! You finally found it!

Did anyone else catch what they did there?

Here is the full text for comparison:

For those who are not aware, "e.g." is short for exempli gratia, which essentially means "for example."

Acknowledging this, the boundaries with normality could be rephrased as such:

The presence of two or more distinct personality states does not always indicate the presence of a mental disorder. In certain circumstances (such as experienced by ‘mediums’ or other culturally accepted spiritual practitioners, for example), the presence of multiple personality states is not experienced as aversive and is not associated with impairment in functioning. A diagnosis of Dissociative Identity Disorder should not be assigned in these cases.

The use of e.g. intentionally leaves it open for other nonpathological forms of plurality.

But it seems to have been strategically omitted by the OP in their quote of the text.

I find it extremely deceptive to pull that part of a sentence out of context, and cut the e.g. from it, without showing readers the full text.

If they were specifying that only those practices apply, it would have used "i.e." instead.

There are a bunch of claims here that are being made at once. Let's see if I can dispel them.

#1 "Tulpamancy is a spiritual practice"

This is largely false. Although it's a claim that sysmeds love repeating and spreading among their circles.

In Varieties of Tulpa Experiences, by Dr. Samuel Veissière, 76.% of tulpamancers surveyed reported having purely psychological explanations for their tulpas. Comparatively, only 8.5% reported purely metaphysical explanations.

Tulpamancy is largely a psychological practice, not a spiritual one.

#2 "Spiritual Practices Are Inherently Intentional and Therefore Aren't 'Natural Systems'"

Genuinely, not sure how they are making such a reach.

If you listen to spiritual mediums, many will describe having connections to spirits at a young age, and that being a medium wasn't something they chose.

For a concrete example though, here is one case study describing a spiritual leader who experienced possession states since childhood.

While this is just a case study, one wouldn't need to venture far into spiritualist circles to confirm this as fairly common and natural.

#3 "Being a System is More Than Just Headmates"

We've entered into the semantic part of the conversation. "This isn't a system because it doesn't meet my baseless and arbitrary definition of systemhood."

Anyway, the use of "system" in reference to people with multiple parts has also been applied by Internal Family Systems therapy since the 80s. And researchers into endogenic systems have frequently referred to endogenic systems as systems.

See Dr. Michael Lifshitz referring specifically to tulpa "systems" in the r/tulpas AMA.

The fact is that there is no strict definition of system that only applies to DID and OSDD.

If you disagree with this, I might ask under what basis you would have for believing Dr. Lifshitz is misusing medical terminology.

No.

But you are intentionally misleading people by omitting the "e.g." from the quoted text because you know it would undermine your argument to quote it in full.

I find it incredibly dishonest and deceitful to cut words from your quote but make it clear that this is just an example which inherently implies that there are other scenarios where someone can be plural without a disorder, then accuse me of stretching the exclusion.

It does NOT specify that.

It uses that as an example.

Again, it only has the appearance of specifying because you selectively removed part of the sentence.

Do you possess clairvoyance to know what the authors intended?

The ICD-11 was published in 2019.

This was 3 years after Varieties of Tulpa Experiences delved into the tulpa community's plurality.

This was 2 years after "Multiplicity: An Explorative Interview Study on Personal Experiences of People with Multiple Selves," the first interview study into the online plural community outside of tulpamancy, which interviewed plural systems and concluded that multiplicity made up a spectrum.

This was 1 year after Transgender Mental Health was published by the American Psychiatric Association, affirming that you can be plural without trauma or a disorder.

Trying to read the minds of the authors of the ICD-11 seems like a pointless endeavor to me. And also, a distraction.

It's distracting from the fact that the ICD-11 explicitly confirms that there are other ways to experience plurality (i.e. what it refers to as multiple "distinct personality states") without a mental disorder.

We've shown our sources. Now burden of proof is on you to provide this evidence you claim exists.

Thus far, the only sysmed sources pertain to DID exclusively, and do not address plurality outside of that. This makes these sources utterly useless against the mounting papers affirming the existence of endogenic plurality, and the ever-growing number of professionals who have acknowledged that endogenic plurality is a real psychological phenomenon.

*Makes sideways glances to my list of sources on endogenic and non-disordered plurality.*

Though to be honest, I actually like the Guardians doc better since it gives a brief overview of what each one is about.

Mine has become more of a personal thing. A list of sources I'm familiar with to be able to easily find and cite as needed, stored in one easy location and categorized with simple sifting in mind.

But the sources are there.

Wrap-up

Overall, as a rebuttal to the Boundaries With Normality, this seems pretty weak.

The fact that you've conceded that plurality can be caused by intentional effort heavily undermines the trauma-exclusive claims.

You've acknowledged that some endogenic systems are real. Specifically those with spiritual origins. Though I'm sure if given the chance, you would invent stipulations why only certain spiritual origins are valid.

But the most important part of this is the acknowledgement that you don't need trauma to be plural.

It seems the goalposts have moved from "you can only be plural with trauma" to "you can only be plural from trauma or intentional practices."

Which I suppose is a good start. 🤷‍♀️

[possiblyreallyme]

Oooo headcannon’s…If possible can we get Ace with a reader who’s fire resistant due to a devil fruit?

Hello!!! I love love love receiving your asks! i'm so sorry this took so long, i finished writing it at the start of november but it got deleted when i went to post it😭

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

He is a silly goose at heart, and if you're his friend, you'll need to be ready for a few pranks once he finds out about your fire-resistance. For example, setting you ablaze when meeting strangers because their reactions are priceless, or annoying you with little fire-punches that have flames licking at your cheeks when sat next to each other at dinner (his fist never actually came in contact with your skin— he's not that stupid), or anything else he can come up with.

Also, expect a lot of testing. Like, constantly bothering you and begging you to be a guinea pig for the new move he's been wanting to try, or seeing how hot he can make his flames by slowly trying to burn your palm, things like that. Of course he'd be careful if you were unsure of it, but he would trust you enough to be 100% confident that you'd be fine if you told him that there was no way he could burn you.

If he had a crush on you though, he's a little bit more careful. Yes, he knows that you won't get burned no matter what, but with the added complexity of having feelings for you, he doesn't really want to risk anything. That doesn't mean he won't show off though, because trust me, he loves to do that.

He'll create firework shows just for you, or come up with excuses to use his powers whenever he can— including warming you up by making himself a human bonfire.

Now, if you're his lover, the whole game changes.

If you were a badass, cool, tough kinda babe, he has little issue with creating small flames in the palm of his hand and letting you play around with them, but that's about where he draws the line before he gets too worried. If you were the sweet, kind, shy type however, I don't think he'd be able to bring his flames anywhere near your skin.

He'd be WAYYYYY too paranoid to set his sweetheart on fire— what if he burned you?? What if your devil fruit powers worked differently then you thought???? WHAT IF YOU HATED HIM AFTERWARDS????

"Ace, come on, stop being a party pooper!" You whine, wanting to test out your abilities. And what better way to do so then with your fire-fist boyfriend? "Babydoll, I'm not gonna set you on fire..." He murmured uneasily, as if the thought made his skin crawl. "Fun hater😒" "Love you too, angel-face!😚"

For afab readers, he most definitely works as your full-time heating pad when you're on your period.

It wasn't even your idea— he just asked Marco how to ease your cramps (tearfully, might I add, mans was terrified for you), and he just about jumped with joy when he found out that heat makes it better, skipping back to your cabin to fulfill his God-given duty, which was cradling you like a baby to his chest and heating your back and stomach.

NSFW HEADCANONS BELOW! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!

While on the topic of periods, hear me out: heated period sex.

My man loves him so good period sex, especially if you let him act as an internal heating pad by warming his cock. He'll keep his large hand on your stomach to feel the bulge of his cock and heat up his palm to ease your cramps, whispering sweet praises into your ears while he keeps himself to the hilt, letting you adjust to his large size while he himself tried not to cry out in bliss.

Mess? What mess? You think the Fire Fist Ace is afraid of some blood? Honey, we have towels for a reason, don't even worry about it.

100% into temperature play, but again, only uses real fire if you're the tougher type or you beg. Though you'll never forget that one time he teased your nipples with a flame on the tip of his tongue...

In summery: Ace is a complicated guy, so your personality and role definitely change his opinions a lot (sorry if the way i'm writing it is annoying tho).