#big and bold cape

[handmadebynadya]

Luxury Ivory cashmere very big winter Cape, Coat, with vegan fox trim - wedding ceremony accessories- plus size clothing

[natalievoncatte]

31. Spookycorp

(Yes I know it’s late. I have a permit. I can do what I want.)

Lena adjusted her cheap plastic tiara, which she’d had chosen herself at a Spirit Halloween. Though she would never admit it, Lena felt giddy when she went shopping now. She used to just send Jess or use a high end shopping service; Lena Luthor had neither the time nor the patience to fumble with checkout lines and coupons, but post-L-Corp Lena, private citizen Lena, head of a charity org and retired from corporate sharkery Lena delighted in it. In a sweater and leggings with her hair in a simple ponytail and glasses not contacts, she felt human. Normal.

Her costume was simple, the tiara and a goofy floofy mini dress she’d picked up at a thrift store, and a wand to top it all off. Kara recognized her immediately.

“Let me guess, a good witch?”

Lena stood in the door and beamed, nudging her glasses. She was still getting used to them every day but her therapist had insisted she stick with the changes she made.

(The penthouse was going on the market and she was selling her Louboutins. Most of her Louboutins. She was finally telling that little voice in her head that sounded like Lillian to SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU’RE NOT MY MOTHER whenever it admonished her about not being perfect enough)

Kara was dressed in an all-green ensemble with a pointed hat resting on her head and a cheesy plastic bow on her back.

“Robin Hood?”

“Of Locksley,” Kara bowed.

(If I’d know, I’d have dressed as Maid Marian.)

She beckoned Lena to enter in an expensive gesture and watched her step inside, her gaze lingering in a way that made Lena tingle all over, goose flesh rising on her arms. She hopped up onto a stool and smiled when Kara handed her a beer.

“They make pumpkin spice beer now?”

“Mmmm,” Kara said, nursing her own. Lena’s eyes widened when Kara tipped a flask into it; a sticker on the side read Not For Humans.

“Just a little to loosen me up,” said Kara. “It’s a party.”

Kara sat down on the other side of the table and just… looked at her. She looked at Lena with her chin resting on her fist and a soft distant look on her face, and Lena stared back just as intently, entranced by the way her sunny curls escaped her sloppy ponytail and framed her face.

The spell, as it were, was broken by a knock at the door. The snacks were coming, an absurdly huge order that Lena had placed while she was on her way. As the bewildered delivery boy accepted her excessive tip, Kara carried the bags into the apartment, and together they began laying it all out on the kitchen island.

Brainy and Nia were the first to arrive. They wore matching silver body suits and Nia had put on a gloss of green makeup: Querl simply disabled his image inducer.

“We’re aliens!” Nia chirped. “Lena I love your outfit! Wait is Kara Robin Hood? Lena, why aren’t you Maid Marian?”

Lena froze, suddenly aware of Kara’s tense presence beside her. She didn’t dare turn her head and gauge Kara’s reaction.

“Did you purchase every potsticker in National City?” Brainy asked, almost pointedly snapping the tension.

Kara laughed. “I think Lena just wants to keep me from eating everything else.”

Alex and Kelly also showed up in marching costumes, making the moment even more awkward. They were married, of course, so they were supposed to coordinate.

Alex strutted into the apartment, grinning, and threw back the cowl of her Batman costume, as Kelly rolled her eyes behind the mask of her Catwoman outfit.

“That’s cute,” said Kara. “Did you guys like flip a coin to decide who was who?”

Alex poked the gray fabric over her stomach. “You know what, Kara? Sometimes I want people to know I have abs too. And unlike some people I have to work for mine.”

Kara poked out her tongue and shoved a beer in her hand as Kelly pulled Lena into a hug.

After a toast to James, and J’onn, and Winn, and absent friends, Kara started the first movie of their marathon. Each couple had selected one film, and Alex’s selection went first: a really weird movie called The Keep.

“This was originally three hours long before the studio butchered it, but it’s still a classic,” Alex explained. “It’s Michael Mann’s only horror movie.”

Lena found it largely incomprehensible and not very scary, and there were some scenes, especially the nonsensical sex scene, that made the experience a tad awkward.

“If I was in an ancient castle in Carpathia and the crosses in the wall started glowing, I would not mess with them.” said Kara.

“Yes you would,” Alex snorted. “Your approach to danger is to shove you arm in it.”

Kara drained her beer and rolled her eyes. Lena glanced over at her and giggled, nursing the last of hers.

“Want another one?”

Lena nodded, and Kara got up to get them more drinks. Lena lost interest in the movie as she watched Kara cross the apartment and bend low to grab two more bottles from the bottom shelf of the fridge, bending at the hips. The bottom of her tunic pulled up over her muscular backside and the buns of steel strained her green leggings.

(She would annihilate me with a strap)

When Kara stood up, Lena snapped her gaze around and found everyone staring at her, Nia suppressing a giggle. They all looked endlessly amused, except Brainy, who had a self-satisfied smirk, as if he’d beaten her at chess.

Kara sat down and passed the cold beer to Lena, saying, “these movies would be scarier if they didn’t all have a bad guy I could just toss into space.”

She looked at Lena and raised her arm to curl her bicep.

Lena felt her soul almost leave her body and took a drink from her beer to hide the shivers.

The movie ended and Nia jumped up to put on her selection, which she proudly announced to the group. “ARMY OF DARKNESSSSS!” she shouted, clapping her hands.

Lena hasn’t seen this before and even though there was a ten minute prologue explaining what the hell it was about, Lena finally just decided to stop caring about the plot and just go along for the ride.

Kara had apparently seen it and she and Nia went back and forth quoting the dialogue back and forth at each other and gobbling snacks. Alex and Kelly seemed more interested in each other and had gone fairly quiet.

Lena was more interested in Kara. Her joy was infectious, especially after a third beer.

It was getting cool in the apartment by the time they were ready for the final movie, and Lena’s outfit was hardly warm. Kara felt her shiver and got up, coming back with a stack of blankets, which the others accepted.

Kara then took her cape and spread it over Lena. The fabric was stout and heavy and lay warmly about her as she tucked it under her chin.

“Uh oh,” said Alex. “Lena gets the Superblankie.”

“Oh, shut up,” Kara said.

“Lena always gets the Superblankie,” Nia agreed.

“Guys!” Kara said, sounding a little panicked.

“Start the movie already,” Kelly yawned, breaking the tension.

Kara put on the final movie, her choice: Bram Stoker’s Dracula.

No one remarked that for movie choosing purposes, Lena and Kara had been expected to act as a couple. Kara sat down on the sofa with Lena and pulled the cape around them both, tucking them tightly together and sharing her blessed, glorious body heat. Kara ran about three or four degrees hotter than a baseline human and it made her a living space heater. Lena adored it.

She adored a lot of things about Kara, like her laugh and her smile and that funny little scar, the only imperfection on her invulnerable body. She adored the way her blue eyes glittered like sapphires in the dark apartment, and the soft pillow of her bottom lip and her big strong hands and the way she was always laying a protective arm across Lena’s shoulders, making her feel so safe and…

Lena turned her attention to the movie. It was a comfort choice of hers and she knew it by heart, so it was easy to relax into Kara and not worry too hard about how much she was utterly, irrevocably, cruelly in love with her unattainable best friend.

The apartment was quiet. Lena was fairly sure that Alex was asleep and Kelly was mellow, too entranced with her new wife to care about anything else, and the way that Brainy and Nia were tucked under their blanket and whispering to each other made Lena hot with jealousy.

Kara’s chest hitched and Lena turned to her sharply.

“What is it, darling?” she murmured.

“Nothing,” Kara lied, then whispered. “This is so sad.”

She took Lena’s hand and Lena almost died on the spot, and it got worse when Kara nuzzled her chin into the crook of Lena’s shoulder.

Out of nowhere, half an hour later, Kara murmured, “if I lost you I think I’d become a monster too.”

Lena flinched, then turned to her. Kara was looking at her with big puppy dog eyes and that crooked little smile of hers, at once an honest smile and a smile for the keeping of secrets.

Everyone else was asleep, and would probably stay that way until morning.

“Kara,” Lena whispered.

Kara took it as an invitation, gently shifting so that Lena was now in her lap, and tucked Lena under her chin. She wrapped her arms around her and just breathed, chest gently rising and falling against her.

“I want you to know how sorry I am for all the things I’ve done,” Kara whispered into the top of her head. “I’ve never told you, I was gone before I could and after I got back I was scared.”

“Kara,” Lena murmured back, “darling, it’s alright.”

“I was so scared when I was there,” Kara said, not daring to name the Phantom Zone. “That place messes with time. I was terrified that if I ever got back you’d all be gone. You would be gone. I was so afraid it hurt.”

Lena went still, just listening.

“I’m so sorry, baby. You deserve better than me.”

“No I don’t,” Lena insisted, almost too loud. “No I don’t. There is no one better. God, Kara,” she softened her voice, “I think I fell a little in love with you the day we even met. I never used to believe in love at first sight or soulmates but… I am a witch after all.”

Kara let out a slow sigh. “Lena, are you saying…”

“Even when I was trying to tell you I hated you, I was telling you how much I love you. It’s you, Kara. It’s always been you.”

“I love you so much,” Kara said whispered, “I’ll love you forever.”

“Kara, everyone else is asleep,” she forced out, her jaw trembling from excitement. “Take me to the bedroom. Please.”

Kara said nothing but stood up in a single motion, lifting Lena with ease and curling her up in the cape. Lena didn’t think her feet ever touched the ground as they slipped into the bedroom and Kara laid her down on the bed, quickly and quietly closing the door before lunging into the bed, pressing Lena into the mattress with a barrage of hot, aggressively desperate kisses.

They were both quiet, Kara pausing only briefly to implore Lena with her eyes and wait for a murmured yes. There was something thrilling about the quiet, they way they swallowed their gasps and passed their moans softly through one another’s lips, and Lena would never forget the way Kara delighted in her, virtually worshipping her.

Lena returned the favor with with enthusiasm.

By morning, Lena was exhausted in every sense of the term and was curled up in a tangle of blankets and a snoozing Kryptonian.

There was a knock at the door.

“Well lock up on our way out,” Alex called. “By the way, you guys forgot about the whole keeping quiet thing about halfway through. Thanks for etching Lena yelling “daddy” into my brain.”

Kara snorted.

“Alex, I love you, but get out.”

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

💬 I’d love to put Pin and Joel in a compromising position (as innocent or as spicy as you like) where someone walks in on them. Specifically either Ellie or Tommy. Someone that will make Joel burn bright red with embarrassment as they rib him mercilessly. And even though Pin would normally be mortified seeing Joel squirm is so endearing and hilarious for her.

(P.S. huge fan girl of your writing ♥️)

Rookie Mistake

Seams sleepover micro drabble request | 590 words | warnings: rated a very light E, making out and touching in a semi-public place | can be read independently of the series but is part of the Seams universe

This is an extension of Hallow'seams, following immediately from the end of that drabble. I recommend a re-read it before diving into this one!

Joel knows it’s a rookie mistake. It’s embarrassing, really.

But when it comes down to it, it’s your fault. All the blood from his head rushes south once he spots that little costume of yours, until the only thought left is to hold you to your invitation.

‘And what does my champion demand as punishment -'

He never thought much of the toolbelt, a hand-me-down he picked up at the local shop in his first weeks in Jackson. 

But on you, it’s something else. Gripping the well-worn leather, he manhandles you across the small space of the bathroom to press you against a waist-high cupboard, and you take the smack on your ass as a cue to hop onto the surface with a grin.

And with that, he’s fucking throbbing for you, straining against the cheap, fake leather gladiator skirt. He knows not much can happen here, but the sound of the party just outside the flimsy door lends an excitement that makes his breath ragged.

Tipping you back so that you’re leaning against the wall, he pushes your legs apart to stand in between them. He pulls roughly on the toolbelt, prompting a gasp from you when he jolts your hips into his, rasping, ‘How am I supposed to look at that from now on, huh?’

‘Let’s just hope Tommy doesn’t borrow it,’ you sass back.

He growls at your retort, as if he can get any harder than he already is. ‘I got half a mind to tell you what to do with that smart mouth, sweetheart -’

Grabbing the scruff of his cape, you pull him in for a hard kiss, the boldness coaxing a deep groan out of him as he presses into you, big hands palming your ass and pulling you flush against him, hips rolling, rubbing his clothed cock between your thighs, chasing friction through the layers -

‘Holy shit!’

It takes Joel a second to pull back from you, the beer in his system rendering him slow to respond to the sudden interruption. But still, his first instinct is to shield you from whoever it was that showed up at the door.

That whoever turns out to be his little brother, in a baker’s costume (Maria is the oven with the bun, get it?), with a shit-eating grin on his face, leaning on the doorframe like the cat with the cream.

‘Get the fuck out of here, Tommy!’

‘I don’t know about that, big brother. Looks like you need me to rescue you from the big bad contractor trying to get under your skirt,’ he grins and waves at you over Joel’s shoulder. ‘Hey, Pin!’

Going beet red, fists clenching, Joel spits out, ‘Goddamnit, I mean it, fuck off Tommy!’

‘I wish I could, but Maria needs to pee. You know how pregnant women are.’

Breathing a frustrated breath through the nose, he grunts. ‘Fine. We’ll be right out.’

The door closes with a thud, and with an embarrassed groan, he presses his forehead to yours. ‘Sorry my brother’s such a dick, sweetheart.’

‘I heard that!’ comes Tommy’s indignant reply through the door.

You laugh, combing a hand through his tousled hair, but your glazed eyes tell him that you’re no happier at the disruption than he is. ‘What else are little brothers for?’

Making room for you, Joel catches you when you hop off the cupboard, and just so you know that the night is far from over, he slants his lips over yours in a heated kiss.

‘So - your place or mine, sweetheart?’

Note: Thank you for this request @pedroacrossthestreet! It was so fun to revisit Hallow'seams, and I absolutely had to have Tommy walk in on them, you know that man would give Joel shit for months to come 😉

Thank you @firefly-graphics for the divider.

[implalazz]

Asked for some yokai fusions on reddit, this is the first batch

L-R: Frostysol, Nonoko, Venyan, Lord Lie-in, Slimatina, Whisbuzz

Some thoughts on these designs under the cut

Yayyyyyy thoughts on these because I like talking, esp about my creative process

Frostysol: I WILL SAY RIGHT NOW I KNOW I FUCKED UP THE KOSODE MASSIVELY, IT DOESN’T HAVE SLEEVES & IT’S TOO BIG….. I literally only had two ideas for this desgin, one was inspired by the yuki onna segment's backgrounds from Kwaidan & the other was inspired by the spirits from Kuro Neko. The eyes in the backgrounds of yuki onna were so striking & I had just watched the movie recently so it was still fresh in my mind. I knew I wanted her to be closer to a real yuki onna rather than just a cute snow girl spirit. And in that regard Kuro Neko helped with that. I guess subconsciously I wanted her to give off vibes of an unsuspecting girl who kills you & turns out to be a yokai. I thought a kosode would make more sense historically than a random cape, but also idk if young girls wore kosode like that or if it was just adult women. Had no ideas how to incorporate pallysol so I just used him for little details. He's more prevalent in the design intentionally than physically

Nonoko: Pretty simple what do I say. Uh I thought I could do a clover for the tail rather than a heart like Bloominoko. Wanted to make him even fatter than he is cuz he's Noko x2, also made his spots clover shaped cuz what's more lucky than a four leafed clover? An eight leafed clover! Or two four leafed clovers..... Also gave him double teeth & some little wing shaped clovers on his head kinda like Dudunsparce. This one didn't have a lot of thought go into it, I just kinda did what felt natural

Venyan: The first thing I thought about was what colour to make the fur & what colour to make the hair. I decided on red hair cuz it would pop more with dark blue fur. Also made his face pattern a part of his hair cuz he doesn’t have enough room on his face for it with Venocts bangs. I wanted him to be kind of a shitty little bastard, a real cat kinda cat. A good mix of their personalities y’know. Didn’t have much going on with this design either other than I didn’t want the scarf to be all bulky with the dragons cuz Jibanyan is very squart, so I moved them to the tails. Also just because that looks cooler. Had a hell of a time drawing them, I have experience drawing dragons but I’ve always been bad at drawing them roaring or snarling, they look okay but not great.

Lord Lie-in: Also had a bit of trouble combining these two, makes sense cuz I put this one off for more than a few weeks. Didn’t wanna give him big spiky saiyan hair so he got some stray hairs in the front. Took his face framing bangs & tied them up cuz I always like that look (They’re two different pieces tied individually then tied together, so there’s two mini ponytails instead of one. Also had to deliberate on the hair colours cuz I knew I wanted him to have white fur. One of my favourites was red hair with light blue ends but I didn’t go with that one cuz his outfit is mostly red. I also DID NOT feel like giving him a whole kimono (mostly for silhouette reasons) so I just gave him Miku-like sleeves. I originally wanted to give him split leg hakama but when looking at reference I remembered “Oh yeah these things have a lot of pleats & the crotch is pretty low so that’s not great for the silhouette I have in mind.” I gave him harem-esque pants & if you look closely at the upper thigh you can see a little slit in the side of them. Underneath his waist plate & top, the pants tie together like hakama do so I guess I got the hakama in a little bit. I didn’t have any room for his arm warmers so I made them into gloves & gave him the kind of socks that I don’t know what they’re called (Catra has them & I think they’re cool). Also gave him tengu cuz they look cooler than whatever Lie-in Heart has going on. Also cuz it makes him more like “Woah what a bold guy/character!!” And don’t ask how the sword fits in that sheath, idk magic or something he’s the king of the yokai he can do whatever he wants

Slimatina (or Frostymander): Again not much going on here it’s pretty simple. Gave the lower body muscles cuz I noticed the lower body of Slimamander kind of looked like a chest & also just cuz that makes it more creepy. I gave the main body/head some hair clips resembling the patterns on the bulbs of the other heads. Also made the openings in the head look more like a woman’s mouth cuz again, makes it creepy, but also I just thought it would fit more with the Frostina part. Also gave the main heads head eyelashes that look like the openings on the other heads. Decided to give her a cape this time cuz I’m not fuckin around with another kosode. I don’t know if it comes off in the piece but I wanted her cape to be flying up like she just summoned a harsh wind. Last thing is I gave her an eye ornament on her obi & a specially tied obijime cuz I saw one tied like that on google & I thought it looked cute

Whisbuzz: YET AGAIN SAY IT WITH ME! NOT! MUCH! GOING! ON!!!!!! Uhh gave him a frown cuz he’s depressed or whatever, made the top of his hood look like Whispers…… ahoge???? Made his wings wispy on the ends. That’s about it. Fun fact before I drew that one I had another one but I scrapped it because it looked too much like a sperm cell :]

[hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall]

The story untold no more - Bucky x Reader - part1

Summary: You want to tell a story no one has told before—not of the Winter Soldier, but of James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Journalist!Reader

Warnings for the whole story: English isn't my first language, so apologies for any mistakes. Reader has some descriptions. Angst, fluff, SMUT in 2nd chapter. So please do not interract if you're under 18, idiots in love. Not proof-read yet, so apologies...

A/N: I have been writing it for a while... having this idea in my head for over a year or so... I hope you guys like it reading at least as much as I loved writing it <3 Because the story is too long (ooopies) I need to divide it into two chapters, so apologies, but blame Tumblr, not me ;)

Words for the chapter: 15 805 (big oopsies)

The city’s symphony hummed through your half-open window—a blend of car horns, distant chatter, and the rustle of wind against skyscrapers. Beneath it all, the low, smoky cadence of jazz from your turntable added a timeless rhythm to the scene. You sat at your desk, eyes drawn to the framed black-and-white photograph perched on its corner: your great-grandfather, uniform sharp as his gaze, shaking hands with Captain America.

The photo was more than a relic. Its corners were frayed, the edges softened by years of proud display, but its essence remained undiminished—a talisman of duty, an unspoken promise that had been passed down with every new generation. To you, it was more than a family heirloom. It was a call to action.

Maybe that’s why the Avengers had always felt less like strangers in capes and more like a cause you were meant to champion. You weren’t just drawn to them; you were tethered to their story, defending them when no one else would.

Your career in journalism hadn’t begun with dreams of fame or Pulitzers. No, it had been born out of something far simpler and more profound: a sense of responsibility. The day Tony Stark stood at that podium and declared, “I am Iron Man,” the world had turned on him faster than it had celebrated him. One moment he was a hero; the next, a reckless billionaire with a penchant for self-destruction. The headlines were ruthless, tabloids voracious in their takedowns. But you? You saw something else.

Instinct, or maybe that familial debt, told you there was more beneath the bravado. With a press badge still warm from the printer and a recorder borrowed from your college newsroom, you wrote your first piece. It wasn’t perfect—raw around the edges, maybe a little too earnest—but it defended Tony Stark in a way no one else dared to.

To your astonishment, it caught his attention. Months later, you found yourself in the legendary Stark workshop, an organized chaos of brilliance and madness. Tony, tinkering with a half-finished contraption, had barely glanced up when you entered.

“Nice piece,” he said, his tone as dry as the scotch he usually favored. “Didn’t expect anyone to actually get it right.”

You fumbled for a response, somewhere between awe and intimidation. “I just… wanted to tell the truth.”

He finally looked at you, a glimmer of amusement flickering behind his eyes. “Well, aren’t you noble?”

That was the beginning. Over the years, you became a fixture in Tony’s world—not a friend exactly, but a constant presence. The one journalist he could count on to navigate the blurred lines between heroism and humanity without sensationalism. You stood by him through scandals and triumphs, from his bold experiments to the fallout of the Sokovia Accords.

“You’re one of the only people who doesn’t make me want to throw my drink at the TV,” he once told you at one of his infamous parties, raising his glass with a smirk. “That’s high praise, by the way.”

Your relationship with Steve Rogers was different. Where Tony was sharp edges and biting wit, Steve was all steadfast resolve and quiet strength. You first met him at a charity gala, where he lingered at the edges of the room like a man still learning how to fit into this new century. When you mentioned the photograph of your great-grandfather, his expression softened.

“Thank you for your family’s service,” he said, shaking your hand with sincerity that left a lasting impression.

Steve earned your trust slowly, just as you earned his. There was no pretense with him, no theatrics. He respected your work—even when it challenged him—and you, in turn, respected his unwavering moral compass. That respect brought you to his Brooklyn apartment one crisp autumn morning, your notebook clutched tightly in your hands.

Steve greeted you at the door, his hair slightly mussed from an early run, dressed in the kind of casual simplicity that made him seem all the more unassuming. He waved you inside with a curious smile.

“What’s this about?” he asked as you settled onto the worn couch.

You hesitated, knowing the weight of what you were about to say. “It’s about James Barnes.”

His expression hardened, his guard rising instinctively. “What about him?”

“I want to tell his story,” you said, keeping your tone steady but earnest.

Steve’s eyes narrowed, his posture stiff. “Why?”

“Because people deserve to know the truth,” you replied. “Right now, all they see is the Winter Soldier—a weapon, a killer. But that’s not who he is. It’s not who he was. I want to give him a chance to tell his side, to show the world the man beneath the headlines.”

The silence that followed felt endless. Steve stared at a spot on the floor, the weight of your words sinking in. Finally, he looked up, his gaze filled with both caution and hope.

“And you think an article will fix that?” he asked softly.

“It’s a start,” you said. “Let me interview him. Let me write a series that goes beyond what he’s done—to who he is. Let people see him as more than his past.”

Steve exhaled slowly, the conflict evident in his furrowed brow. “Bucky doesn’t trust easily,” he said at last. “And I don’t blame him. What you’re asking… It's a lot.”

“I know,” you said, leaning forward. “But I believe in him, Steve. And I think you do, too.”

For a moment, the room felt heavier than the two of you. Then, Steve nodded, his resolve softening. “I’ll talk to him. But it’s his decision. If he says no…”

“Then I’ll drop it,” you promised.

As you stepped out into the brisk fall air, your chest felt lighter, the ache of doubt replaced by the spark of determination. This wasn’t just another story. It was a chance to rewrite the narrative, to shed light on the shadows Hydra had left behind.

And you wouldn’t waste it.

---

The kitchen in the Avengers Compound was unusually still, save for the soft hiss of the espresso machine steaming milk. Early sunlight filtered through the tall windows, catching motes of dust in its golden glow. Steve Rogers sat at the island, his hands wrapped around a glass of water. His fingers tapped an unsteady rhythm against the countertop, betraying the careful composure of his expression. He was rehearsing his words, running through the conversation he was about to have—one he knew wouldn’t be easy. But then again, when did anything involving Tony Stark ever come without complications?

The sound of footsteps broke the quiet. Tony breezed in, tablet tucked under one arm, a coffee mug in the other. His T-shirt, emblazoned with a faded logo of a band whose prime was decades past, hung loose over a pair of well-worn jeans. His mismatched socks peeked out as he moved, their carelessness somehow perfectly in character.

“Cap,” Tony greeted without pausing, setting his coffee down with a deliberate clink. “You’ve got that look. What is it this time? End of the world? Time travel? Or did someone touch my lab without leaving a thank-you note?”

Steve sighed, rolling his eyes. “Relax, Tony. It’s not that serious.”

“Uh-huh,” Tony drawled, taking a long sip of his coffee. “Serious to you usually means catastrophic to the rest of us, so go ahead. Lay it on me.”

Steve leaned forward, resting his elbows on the counter. “It’s about Bucky.”

Tony stilled mid-sip, his shoulders tightening almost imperceptibly before he set the mug down. “Of course it is,” he said, his tone sliding into mock exasperation. “Alright, what’s going on with Barnes this time? And don’t tell me this is where you ask me to bankroll his therapy bills. I will, but only because I’m a masochist.”

The corner of Tony’s mouth twitched—a shadow of humor undercutting the still-fresh scars of their shared history. Years had softened the rift between Tony and Bucky, but some wounds lingered like phantom pains, waiting for moments like these to ache.

“It’s not that,” Steve replied, shooting him a sharp look. “This is… different. Someone wants to help him.”

Tony’s brow arched, skepticism flickering in his dark eyes. “Someone? Oh, no. Don’t tell me you mean her—our resident do-gooder with a press badge.”

Steve nodded.

Tony whistled low, leaning back in his chair. “You’ve got to hand it to her. Girl’s got guts. And a death wish if she thinks she can crack open that vault of suppressed trauma Barnes is carrying.”

“She’s not just doing this on a whim, Tony,” Steve said firmly. “She wants to tell his story. The real story. Not just the headlines or the conspiracy theories.”

Tony tilted his head, his lips quirking in thought. “I’ll give her this: she’s got a way of spinning truth into something people can stomach. Hell, if it weren’t for her, the world would still think I’m just an egomaniac with a God complex. Not that they’re entirely wrong.” He grinned briefly before sobering. “But Barnes? That’s a mountain of baggage even she might not be able to unpack.”

“She can handle it,” Steve said, unwavering. “If anyone can, it’s her.”

Tony ran a hand over his face, the humor ebbing from his expression. “Alright, Rogers. Sell it to Barnes. But if he snaps and puts another dent in my walls, you’re footing the repair bill this time.”

---

In the compound’s gym, the rhythmic thud of fists against leather echoed through the space. Bucky Barnes was relentless, his punches driving into the heavy bag with the precision of a man who had fought too many battles to count. Sweat slicked his brow and clung to his shirt, but he didn’t pause. The steady impact was the only thing keeping the noise in his head at bay.

“Bucky,” came Steve’s voice, quiet but firm, from the doorway.

Bucky stopped mid-swing, his breath heavy as he turned. Steve approached slowly, hands in his pockets, his expression calm but resolute—the way he always looked when he was about to say something he knew wouldn’t go over well.

“What is it?” Bucky asked, reaching for the towel draped across a bench.

Steve leaned against the wall, his arms crossed. “It’s about someone who wants to talk to you. Someone I trust.”

Bucky frowned, suspicion tightening his features. “Talk to me? About what?”

“Your story,” Steve said simply. “She’s a journalist. Someone who’s been with us since the beginning. She’s defended Tony, stood by me… she understands what it means to fight for the truth, even when it’s hard.”

Bucky scoffed, tossing the towel aside. “What truth is there to tell, Steve? The world doesn’t want to hear it. They don’t care about who I was—they only see what I’ve done.”

“That’s exactly why she wants to do this,” Steve countered. “To show people who you are now. Who you were before Hydra. To give them a reason to look beyond the Winter Soldier.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched, his gaze falling to the floor. “You think one article will fix everything? That people will forget the blood on my hands?”

“No,” Steve said quietly. “But it might make them see the full picture. And if anyone can get it right, it’s her.”

Bucky was silent, the weight of Steve’s words pressing down like the memories he tried so hard to suppress. Finally, he looked up. “Why her?”

“Because I trust her,” Steve replied. “And if you can trust me, then trust this: she won’t make you regret it.”

Bucky sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll meet her. But I’m not making any promises.”

“That’s all I need,” Steve said, a hint of relief softening his voice.

---

As Steve left, the gym fell back into its familiar stillness. Bucky sat on the bench, staring at the floor. The idea of sharing his story—letting a stranger into the labyrinth of his past—felt impossible. But he owed Steve. And maybe, just maybe, he owed it to himself too.

He resumed wrapping his hands, his movements slower this time. Somewhere deep in his chest, beneath the doubt and the fear, a small flicker of hope sparked—a fragile ember, but an ember nonetheless.

---

The gym at Avengers Tower was still, an expanse of silence broken only by the faint hum of the air conditioning. The sharp tang of leather, sweat, and faintly metallic cleaning agents lingered in the air. You arrived earlier than planned, your footsteps soft against the polished floor as you took in the emptiness of the space. It was better this way. You’d asked Steve to let you handle this alone—not out of pride, but because this conversation required something unspoken, something delicate.

This wasn’t just about Bucky Barnes. It was about trust, a foundation that could only be laid between the two of you.

The door creaked open, and a shadow spilled across the floor. Bucky stepped inside, his movements deliberate, shoulders broad and heavy with tension. His dark T-shirt and track pants clung to a frame honed by war and survival. His long hair framed his face, softening features etched by years of conflict. But it was his eyes—those stormy blue-gray eyes—that hit hardest. They swept over the room, sharp and assessing, before landing on you.

You felt the air leave your lungs. Steve had warned you about Bucky’s presence, the way he carried himself with a silence that could fill a space, heavy and unyielding. But standing there, facing him, it wasn’t just his silence—it was the weight of his past, worn like a second skin.

He lingered by the doorway for a moment, the hesitation subtle but unmistakable, before crossing the room. His steps were quiet, almost predatory, his body language cautious but not unkind. Without a word, he sank to the floor in the far corner of the gym, his back to the wall, knees bent, hands resting loosely on his thighs.

“You’re early,” he said, his voice rough, like gravel scraped over stone.

“So are you,” you replied with a soft smile, easing yourself to the floor across from him. You kept the distance respectful but not distant—close enough to bridge, far enough to let him feel in control.

The silence between you stretched, taut and uneasy. You could feel it radiating off him—the tension, the readiness to retreat or fight if the moment called for it.

“I appreciate you meeting with me,” you began gently, your tone steady but warm. “I know this isn’t what you wanted.”

Bucky’s lips twitched—a flicker of dry humor that barely creased his face. “You’d be right.”

You chuckled softly, the sound light, unobtrusive. “Fair enough. Let’s make a deal, then—if you want me gone, just say the word, and I’ll leave. No hard feelings.”

He tilted his head slightly, his sharp gaze pinning you. “Steve said you’re stubborn.”

“He’s not wrong,” you admitted, your smile widening slightly. “But I promise I’m not here to push you into anything. This is just a conversation.”

Bucky studied you for a long moment, the weight of his stare pressing down like a physical force. Then, with a reluctant nod, he gestured for you to continue.

You introduced yourself, offering your full name. “I’m a journalist. Though, I like to think of myself as a storyteller. I’ve been writing about the Avengers for years. My first piece was about Tony, back when he announced he was Iron Man.”

Bucky’s brows lifted, faint amusement flickering across his face. “Tony Stark. Bet that was something.”

“It was,” you said, laughing softly. “He thought I was some starry-eyed rookie—and, to be fair, he wasn’t entirely wrong. But over time, I guess I earned his trust. I’ve been writing about the team ever since. I don’t take sides. I just try to tell the truth.”

Bucky leaned back, the tension in his posture easing just slightly. “And Steve? How’d you meet him?”

“My great-grandfather,” you said, your voice softening. “He was in the 107th. Steve saved him during the war. There’s a picture of them shaking hands—it’s been in my family for decades. When I met Steve, I told him about it. I guess that’s how it all started.”

Something flickered in Bucky’s eyes—recognition, curiosity. He frowned slightly, tilting his head. “Your great-grandfather… William, right? Had the weirdest way of talking I’ve ever heard.”

You froze, your breath catching. “You… remember him?”

Bucky nodded, a faint, almost wistful smile tugging at his lips. “I do. He was a good man. Brave. Had this sharp sense of humor that could catch you off guard. You’ve got his eyes.”

The words hit you harder than you expected, the connection unexpected and profound. You swallowed against the sudden lump in your throat, managing a quiet, “I didn’t think you’d remember him. That means… a lot.”

Bucky shrugged, but there was a warmth in his expression now—a subtle thawing of the guarded lines around his mouth and eyes.

Clearing your throat, you reached into your bag and pulled out a stack of printed articles, sliding them across the floor. “These are some of the pieces I’ve written. About Tony, Steve, the team. I thought it might help if you got to know me a little better.”

Bucky picked up the stack, flipping through the pages. His eyes moved over the headlines, lingering on a photograph of Steve. “Why are you doing this?” he asked, not looking up.

“Because I believe in second chances,” you said simply. “And because the world only knows one side of your story. I think it’s time they saw the whole picture.”

Bucky set the articles down, his jaw tightening. “And what if I don’t want them to?”

“Then that’s your choice,” you replied. “If you tell me no, I’ll walk away, and you’ll never hear from me again. But all I’m asking is for a chance. Let me tell your story—with your permission, on your terms. Nothing gets published without your approval.”

His gaze lifted to meet yours, sharp and probing. “You’re putting a lot of faith in someone you don’t know.”

“I am,” you admitted, holding his stare. “But sometimes, the people who don’t think they deserve faith are the ones who need it the most.”

Bucky leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. His expression was unreadable, a swirl of conflict and curiosity. “I’ll think about it,” he said at last.

Relief bloomed in your chest, but you kept it tempered. You stood, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Thank you for hearing me out, Bucky. That means more than you know.”

As you turned to leave, you glanced back and offered a small smile—unguarded, honest.

Bucky blinked, caught off guard by the gesture. It wasn’t pity or fear—it was something he hadn’t seen in years. And for the first time in a long time, he felt something crack through the armor of his guilt.

It terrified him.

---

The morning light spilled through your apartment window, golden and soft, stretching across the room in fractured beams. It casts a gentle glow over your desk, illuminating the scattered notes, books, and the faint ring left behind by your coffee mug. You sat motionless, fingers poised above the keyboard, your laptop’s screen glowing faintly in the quiet.

The cursor blinked, mocking your hesitation. Words had always been your refuge, your weapon, but this was different. This wasn’t just about telling a story—it was about trust, about reaching into the shadows of someone else’s life and hoping they’d let you in.

The room was silent except for the faint hum of the city below. You adjusted the blanket draped over your shoulders, feeling its weight settle around you, a comforting barrier against the uncertainty creeping in. Finally, you exhaled a long, slow breath and began typing.

Subject: Something to Think About

Hi Bucky,

Thank you again for meeting with me the other day. I know how much it cost you to be there, to sit across from a stranger and let your guard down, even for a moment. I don’t take that lightly, and I want you to know how deeply I appreciate your time and your willingness to listen.

As I mentioned before, I want to approach this project carefully and with the respect it deserves. I’m not interested in sensationalism or rehashing the narratives that have already been written about you. The world has enough stories about the Winter Soldier. What I want to do is different—I want to tell the story of the man. The friend. The brother. The soldier who existed long before the shadows ever found you.

I’ve been thinking about how to begin, and I wanted to share a rough outline of the first article with you. This isn’t a finished piece; it’s just a concept, a foundation I hope to build with your guidance, your voice, and your trust.

Title: The Soldier and the Shadows

Before the world whispered his name in fear, James Buchanan Barnes was simply a boy from Brooklyn. Born to a city that thrived on resilience, he was shaped by streets where laughter mixed with the roar of trains and kindness could be as fleeting as the breeze off the East River. He was the boy with the quick grin and sharper wit, the teenager who walked with a quiet confidence and an unshakable loyalty to those he loved.

He became a soldier, not for the glory but because it was the right thing to do. His sacrifices were not grandiose; they were quiet and deeply personal, offered not to the world but to the people who mattered to him. He stood shoulder to shoulder with heroes but never sought to be one himself. He was, in so many ways, a reflection of the best his generation had to offer.

But history can be cruel. And fate? Even crueler. Through no fault of his own, James Buchanan Barnes became a name that conjured fear, a figure cloaked in tragedy. To the world, he was the Winter Soldier—a ghost forged by the hands of those who sought to strip him of everything he was. For a time, they succeeded.

But what the world doesn’t see is the man who fought tooth and nail to reclaim his humanity. They don’t see the friend who would give everything to protect those he loves. They don’t see the man who carries the weight of choices he never made yet feels responsible for all the same.

This isn’t just a story about redemption���it’s a story about survival, about finding identity in the aftermath of unimaginable loss. It’s a story about what it means to fight your way out of the dark and into the light, scarred but standing.

The world knows the myth. The shadow. The weapon. But James Buchanan Barnes is not a ghost of the past. He’s a man, living proof that even in the aftermath of tragedy, there is hope, resilience, and the possibility of something more.

This is his story. Told not by those who fear him or those who sought to control him, but by the one person who knows it best: him.

There’s something else I wanted to share with you—a photo. It’s the one I mentioned during our meeting, the picture of my great-grandfather with Steve during the war. It’s been part of my family’s story for as long as I can remember, a quiet reminder of courage and loyalty.

But now, it means even more to me. When you said you remembered him—his voice, his humor—it reminded me how deeply our stories can ripple through time, even when we don’t realize it. That small moment of recognition meant more to me than I can express.

[PHOTO ATTACHMENT]

Take your time, Bucky. There’s no rush, no pressure. This isn’t about a deadline or a byline—it’s about something bigger. I’m here to listen, to answer your questions, your doubts, anything at all. All I ask is that you think about it.

Whatever you decide, thank you. For your time. For your trust, however fragile it may feel.

Best regards.

---

As you reread the email, your fingers hovered over the “Send” button. You hesitated for a moment, the weight of what you were asking settling over you. Then, with a final, steadying breath, you clicked.

The email vanished into the ether, and with it, a piece of your hope, your determination. The sun climbed higher through the window, casting the room in golden light, but you barely noticed. Instead, you sat there, still and waiting, the faint hum of your laptop the only sound in the quiet room.

---

Bucky sat on the edge of his bed, the dim glow of his phone casting pale light across his face. He hadn’t expected to hear from you so soon, if at all. Yet there it was—your name, standing out in bold at the top of his inbox. His thumb hovered over the notification, hesitating.

Part of him wanted to ignore it, let it sit there untouched. Not because he wasn’t curious—he was—but because he wasn’t sure he was ready. The idea of someone wanting to dig into his past, to lay bare the scars and shadows he’d spent years burying, made his chest feel too tight.

But then he thought of the way you’d looked at him in the gym. Calm, patient, unafraid. And that damn smile you’d given him before you left—a smile that wasn’t forced or laced with pity, just honest. It had lingered in his mind longer than he cared to admit.

With a low sigh, he tapped the email.

The words hit him harder than he expected. He read the outline twice, then again, each pass leaving him with a knot in his chest he couldn’t quite untangle. This wasn’t what he’d anticipated. There was no pity in your words, no attempt to paint him as a tragic figure or a monster. Instead, there was care—an earnest effort to understand him, not as the world saw him, but as the man he was trying to be.

Then he reached the photo. His breath caught.

The image filled his screen, black and white but vivid all the same. Your great-grandfather, standing tall in his uniform, shaking hands with Steve. Bucky enlarged it, his fingers brushing the edges of the screen as though touching the past itself.

The memory surfaced, distant but clear. He remembered the firm handshake, the soldier’s steady gaze filled with quiet gratitude. He remembered Steve’s smile—small but unwavering, the kind that could make you believe they’d already won the war, even when the odds said otherwise.

“She’s really got his eyes,” Bucky murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips, fleeting but real.

He set the phone down, leaning back in his chair and scrubbing a hand over his face. The photo stayed etched in his mind, a bridge between the past and the present he hadn’t expected. His gaze shifted to the articles you’d included, still neatly stacked on the table beside him. For a long moment, he just stared at them, debating.

Finally, with a reluctant sigh, he picked up the first one.

It was about Tony. One of your earliest pieces, written back when the world wasn’t sure what to make of Iron Man.

"Stark isn’t perfect—far from it—but he doesn’t hide behind a mask of infallibility. He owns his flaws, his mistakes, and his triumphs. That kind of honesty is rare, and it’s exactly what makes him worth believing in."

Bucky’s brow furrowed as he read, his lips pressing into a thin line. He could picture Tony in those early days, all sharp edges and bravado, as polarizing as he was brilliant. And yet, your words cut through the noise, painting him not as an enigma but as a man.

The second article was about Steve. Bucky’s fingers tightened slightly on the paper as he read.

"Captain America has always been a symbol, but symbols are rarely understood in their entirety. Steve Rogers is not just the man with the shield; he is a man who bears the weight of his choices with quiet strength. To reduce him to hero or villain is to miss the heart of who he is."

By the time he finished, Bucky sat back, the papers still in his hands. Each article told a story, not of perfect heroes but of flawed, complicated people. People who’d been trusted with the weight of the world and had carried it as best they could.

And then there was you. Your voice threaded through every word—not just as an observer, but as someone who cared, who wanted the world to see what you saw.

Bucky’s mind raced. Steve trusted you. Tony trusted you. And now, maybe—just maybe—he could, too.

He picked up his phone again, his thumb hovering over the reply button. His chest tightened at the thought of agreeing, of opening himself up to something he wasn’t sure he could handle. But then he thought of that smile again, the way it had silenced the doubts just long enough for him to believe this might be possible.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he started typing.

Subject: Re: Something to Think About

I’ve read the articles you sent. They’re good—honest.

I don’t know if I can do this, but I’m willing to try. You’re right. I need time to think, but I’ll give you a chance.

Thank you for the photo. It means more than you probably realize.

Let me know when you want to start.

Bucky,

He hit send before he could second-guess himself, setting the phone down quickly, almost like it might burn him if he held onto it any longer.

The silence of the room pressed in around him, but for once, it wasn’t oppressive. It felt… lighter, somehow. Like maybe, just maybe, he’d taken the first step toward something he hadn’t allowed himself to hope for in a long time.

---

The gym felt quieter than usual as you stepped inside, the faint hum of the air conditioning blending with the soft creak of the door. Morning light filtered in through the high windows, casting long shadows across the polished floor. The space felt familiar now—not in a comforting way, exactly, but in the sense of stepping into a story already half-written, waiting for its next chapter.

Bucky was easy to spot, sitting near the far wall with one leg bent, his arm draped over his knee. He seemed relaxed at first glance, but there was an edge to him, a tension in the line of his shoulders and the way his gaze flicked briefly toward you.

“Hey,” you said softly, approaching with a small smile, one you hoped might ease the weight in the room.

He nodded in return, his eyes shifting to the notebook tucked under your arm. “No laptop? No recorder?”

You chuckled as you sat down across from him, leaving a comfortable amount of space. “I figured they’d stress you out,” you admitted. “Plus, I’m old-fashioned. I like writing things by hand—it helps me think.”

That smile—the same unguarded one you’d given him before—spread across your face again. You noticed how it shifted something in Bucky, just the faintest softening of his expression. His shoulders dropped slightly, and the guarded look in his eyes dulled, if only a little.

“Old-fashioned, huh?” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

“Very,” you replied with a laugh. “And this way, you can read everything I write. Line by line, if you want. Nothing gets recorded, and if something goes wrong…” You tapped the edge of the notebook lightly. “I burn it. Problem solved.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking further. “Burn it?”

“Yep,” you said, your tone mock-serious. “I’ve even got a metal trash can ready for dramatic effect.”

That earned you a quiet huff of amusement, a sound so soft it almost slipped past you. But it was there. For the first time, you saw a glimmer of something in Bucky—a trace of humor, unburdened by the weight of his past.

He leaned back against the wall, his blue-gray eyes studying you. “You’re not what I expected,” he said after a moment.

You tilted your head curiously. “What did you expect?”

“Someone nosier. Pushier. Maybe a little annoying.”

You laughed, the sound light and genuine, and Bucky’s lips twitched again, as if he was trying to resist smiling back.

“Well, give me time,” you teased. “I can be annoying when I need to be.”

His smirk lingered for a moment before fading into something more thoughtful. “Tell me about your childhood.”

The question caught you off guard. “My childhood?”

“Yeah,” he said simply, his voice even as his gaze stayed fixed on you.

“Uh… well, it was pretty normal,” you said with a small shrug. “I grew up in a loving family. My parents are still together—they’re celebrating their 30th anniversary this year. I’m an only child, so I was spoiled rotten. My great-grandfather was one of my favorite people. I used to sit with him for hours, listening to his stories. That’s probably where I got my love of storytelling.”

You smiled at the memory, but as you looked at Bucky, you noticed a shift in his expression—a flicker of something knowing.

“You already knew that, didn’t you?” you asked, tilting your head slightly.

Bucky didn’t deny it. “I checked,” he admitted, his tone unapologetic. “Wanted to make sure you weren’t lying about who you are.”

You laughed again, waving it off like it didn’t bother you. “Fair enough. It’s not my first rodeo. When I met Tony, he knew more about me than I did. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d told me my blood type.”

That earned another quiet laugh from Bucky, the sound low and unpolished but real. “I still don’t trust easy,” he said, his voice softer now.

“And you shouldn’t,” you replied without hesitation. “I’d be more worried if you did.”

He nodded slowly, seemingly reassured by your response. But then his expression shifted, his eyes shadowed by something heavier. “There’s one thing you got wrong,” he said quietly.

“Oh?”

“In your introduction to the articles,” he began, meeting your gaze directly. “You said I always did what was best. That’s not true. I didn’t volunteer to join the army—I was drafted. You can look it up. My number’s on record.”

His words weren’t bitter, but you could hear the weight behind them. This wasn’t about correcting a mistake—it was about how he saw himself, the guilt he carried.

You didn’t falter. You met his gaze with the same quiet sincerity you’d shown before. “I know,” you said softly. “I did my research.”

Bucky blinked, momentarily surprised, but you continued.

“Just because you were drafted doesn’t mean you weren’t a good man,” you said. “It doesn’t change the fact that you fought to protect the people you cared about. That you were brave. That you mattered.”

For a moment, Bucky couldn’t respond. The way you said it—not as flattery or pity, but as something you truly believed—hit him harder than he expected. His chest tightened, and he looked away, the words settling in his mind like a stone dropped into water.

“Thanks,” he muttered finally, his voice rougher than he intended.

“You’re welcome,” you replied, your smile soft but unwavering.

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt purposeful, like something unspoken was shifting between you. A bridge was being built, slow and deliberate, but solid.

Finally, you flipped open your notebook, breaking the quiet with a light, playful tone. “Alright,” you said. “Now that we’ve established I’m old-fashioned and nosy, are you ready to get started?”

Bucky glanced at you, his lips twitching faintly. “Yeah,” he said after a moment. “Let’s get started.”

And for the first time in years, Bucky Barnes felt the faint stirrings of trust—fragile but real—blooming in his chest.

---

The gym had become a rhythm unto itself, a sanctuary of quiet purpose. It wasn’t just a place for physical training anymore—it was where conversations were born, where silences grew into something meaningful, and where you and Bucky began to find a fragile but growing connection.

At first, your exchanges were cautious, fleeting, like testing the waters with bare toes. A comment here, a question there. But over time, those ripples expanded, stretching across the stillness until the silences between words became less about hesitation and more about comfort.

This wasn’t just an assignment for you anymore. You’d realized quickly that if you wanted Bucky to trust you, you had to strip away the pretense of being a journalist. What he needed wasn’t someone dissecting his past with surgical precision—he needed someone who could remind him he still had a future.

---

“Do you always carry that thing?” Bucky asked one afternoon, nodding toward the leather-bound notebook in your lap as he wrapped his hands in preparation for a sparring session.

You glanced down at the familiar journal, running your fingers over its worn edges. “Always,” you said with a small smile. “I’m old-fashioned like that. Writing things by hand just feels… more real. Like the words have weight.”

Bucky tilted his head, his brow furrowing in thought. “Don’t people say the opposite? If it’s not online, it doesn’t exist?”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Maybe. But if the world ever loses its tech, at least my notebooks will still be around.”

His lips twitched into something close to a smile. “Fair point.”

---

Another time, you sat cross-legged on the floor, your notebook abandoned beside you. “Did you see they’re opening a new exhibition at the astronomy museum?” you asked, breaking the companionable silence.

Bucky paused mid-swing at the punching bag, glancing over at you. “Astronomy?”

“Yeah,” you said, your grin widening. “Space is kind of my thing. It’s infinite. Thinking about it makes me feel small, but in a good way, you know? Plus, this exhibit has a whole section on Mars rovers. I’ve always thought they were cool.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, his faint smile betraying his amusement. “Didn’t peg you for the space type.”

“Oh, I’m into all sorts of nerdy stuff,” you said, waving a hand. “Space, ancient civilizations, true crime. I’m basically a walking trivia machine.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” Bucky replied, his tone dry but warm.

You leaned forward, propping your chin in your hand. “Your turn. What’s something you’re into that I wouldn’t expect?”

Bucky’s brows furrowed as he thought about it. “I dunno,” he said after a pause. “I used to like going to the movies. Haven’t been in a while, though.”

“Really?” you said, your excitement piqued. “What kind of movies? Don’t tell me you’re secretly into rom-coms.”

That earned a snort of genuine laughter, his smile breaking through in full force. “Not exactly. I liked the old war films. Westerns, too.”

“War films and Westerns,” you repeated, nodding thoughtfully. “Classic. Fitting, I guess.”

“And you?” he asked, surprising you with the shift.

“What about me?”

“What’s your favorite kind of movie?”

You pretended to think hard, tapping your chin theatrically. “Probably cheesy underdog sports movies. You know, the ones where everyone comes together, and the team wins in the end? Gets me every time.”

Bucky shook his head, but there was warmth in his gaze that hadn’t been there before.

---

“Do you ever miss home?” Bucky asked one afternoon, his voice quiet as he adjusted the wrappings on his hands.

You tilted your head. “You mean where I grew up?”

“Yeah,” he said, his tone casual, but his eyes sharp, watching your reaction carefully.

“I don’t really think of home as a place anymore,” you admitted, the edges of your voice softening. “For me, it’s people. My parents, my friends—the ones who make me feel like I belong. I visit the house I grew up in sometimes, though. My parents still live there. It hasn’t changed much.”

“You’re close with them?”

“Oh, yeah,” you said, smiling at the thought. “They’re my biggest fans—and my harshest critics. My mom proofreads all my articles. My dad jokes that it’s because she doesn’t trust me to catch my own typos.”

That earned a quiet chuckle from Bucky, and the sound warmed something deep in your chest.

“What about you?” you asked carefully, your gaze steady but gentle.

Bucky hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I don’t know if I have a home anymore,” he said after a long pause. His voice was low, almost a murmur. “Not the way you’re talking about it.”

Your heart tightened, and you nodded slowly. “I get that. But maybe home isn’t something you find. Maybe it’s something you build.”

His eyes flicked to yours, his expression unreadable, but you could tell your words had settled somewhere deep.

---

The sound of his punches against the bag created a steady rhythm as you sat nearby, scrolling through your phone. The sudden sight of a headline made you gasp softly, your face lighting up with excitement.

“Oh my God,” you exclaimed, turning your phone toward Bucky. “Look at this!”

He paused mid-swing, wiping sweat from his brow as he glanced at the screen. “What is it?”

“This lion cub!” you said, scooting closer. “It was just born at the zoo. Look at that face—tell me that isn’t the cutest thing you’ve ever seen.”

Bucky leaned down slightly, peering at the image. The tiny cub, all fluff and oversized paws, was curled up against its mother.

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, and you started to wonder if you’d just embarrassed yourself. Then, to your surprise, he nodded, the faintest of smiles tugging at his lips. “Yeah… it’s cute.”

You stared at him, caught off guard by his quiet agreement.

“Really cute,” he added, his voice softer now, as if the cub had cracked through some small part of his guarded exterior.

You laughed nervously, feeling your cheeks flush. “I mean, who wouldn’t want to trade lives with a lion cub? Just sleeping, cuddling, and being adorable all day?”

Bucky straightened, grabbing a towel but letting his gaze linger on you for a moment longer than necessary. “You’re kind of like that already.”

Your breath hitched. “What?”

He shrugged, his voice casual but his expression unreadable. “You’re always cheerful. It’s… nice.”

The compliment was so unexpected, so genuine, that it made your heart stutter. You quickly looked back at your phone, pretending to focus. “Well, someone’s gotta bring the sunshine, right?”

Bucky didn’t reply, but when you glanced up, his gaze was still on you, something unspoken passing between you.

And for the first time, you realized this wasn’t just about earning his trust. Something more was blooming here—something delicate, unspoken, and undeniably real.

---

The topic of food came up one day, unexpectedly light amid the ebb and flow of your usual conversations.

“There’s this food truck on the other side of town,” you said, leaning forward, your excitement bubbling over. “It’s run by locals, and everyone says it’s amazing. They’ve been doing these community food festivals, and I’ve been dying to check it out.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, his posture still relaxed from finishing his workout. “Why haven’t you gone yet?”

You shrugged, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I guess I just haven’t gotten around to it. Plus, it’s more fun to go with someone.”

To your surprise, Bucky didn’t hesitate. “I’ll go with you.”

You blinked, caught completely off guard. “You’ll… go? With me?”

“Yeah,” he said, shrugging like it was no big deal. “Why not?”

For a moment, you just stared at him, searching for some hint of teasing, but his face remained calm, open. Then, before you could stop yourself, a laugh bubbled out of you, sudden and bright.

“What’s so funny?” Bucky asked, though his tone was tinged with amusement.

“I’m sorry,” you said between chuckles, shaking your head. “I’m just shocked, that’s all. I didn’t think you’d actually say yes.”

Bucky huffed a quiet laugh, the sound warm and unguarded. It was the first time you’d heard him laugh like that, and it struck something deep within you, a warmth that spread through your chest.

“You have a great laugh,” you said before you could think better of it. The moment the words left your lips, your cheeks flamed, and you clamped your mouth shut.

Bucky tilted his head, watching you curiously, but instead of teasing, he simply nodded. “When are we going?”

---

The evening air was thick with the scent of grilled meats, sizzling spices, and fried dough. Strings of warm lights hung overhead, casting a golden glow over the bustling food festival. Laughter and conversation rose and fell around you as locals and tourists darted between colorful trucks, balancing steaming plates of food and clinking plastic cups.

Bucky walked beside you, dressed inconspicuously in a baseball cap pulled low and a loose jacket concealing his metal arm. To anyone else, he looked like any other man enjoying the festival. But to you, the way his eyes scanned the food stalls with curiosity rather than wariness was a quiet triumph.

“Okay, what should we try first?” you asked, practically bouncing on your heels as you scanned the array of options.

Bucky nodded toward a truck boasting “authentic Italian cuisine.” “You pick. I’ll follow.”

Grinning, you made your way to the truck, and soon you were holding a plate of steaming spaghetti carbonara. You handed Bucky a fork, scooping up a bite and offering it to him.

“Here, try this,” you said, holding it out.

Bucky hesitated for only a moment before leaning in and taking the bite. His eyes widened slightly, and a low, involuntary groan escaped him.

You froze. That sound—so small, so unintentional—sent a jolt through you. For a moment, you forgot how to breathe.

“That good, huh?” you said, trying to keep your voice light and steady despite the fluttering in your chest.

Bucky nodded, swallowing before replying. “Yeah, it’s good.”

You smiled, taking a bite yourself. “Told you. Italians don’t mess around with food.”

---

As you wandered through the festival, stopping at a stall serving Chinese dumplings, you found yourself rambling between bites.

“You know, I used to want to be a food critic,” you said, laughing softly. “It seemed like the dream, right? Traveling, eating amazing food, writing about it. But then I realized I’d feel awful writing bad reviews. Like, what if the chef was just having a bad day?”

Bucky let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “You feel bad about criticizing chefs, but not politicians?”

You pouted in mock defiance, crossing your arms. “Politicians deserve it,” you said, your tone playful.

His laugh came louder this time, a deep, rich sound that made you look up at him in surprise. He was smiling—really smiling—and the sight caught you off guard.

“What?” he asked, his laughter fading into something softer.

“Nothing,” you said quickly, shaking your head as a grin tugged at your lips. “It’s just nice to see you like this.”

He glanced away, but not before you caught the faintest hint of color rising in his cheeks.

---

Later, you found yourself at a shooting range game. The target? A giant teddy bear sitting proudly at the center of the stand.

You stared at the bear, your lips curling into a wistful smile.

“Why are you staring at it like that?” Bucky asked, following your gaze.

You shrugged. “I’ve always wanted to win one of those, like in the movies. But I’m terrible at shooting games.”

Bucky smirked. “Terrible, huh?”

“The worst,” you admitted dramatically.

Without a word, he handed you the food he’d been holding and stepped up to the booth. He exchanged a few bills with the operator, picked up the air rifle, and lined up his shot.

One by one, the cans toppled with effortless precision. The entire thing took less than ten seconds. The operator handed Bucky the bear, looking vaguely impressed.

Turning to you, Bucky held out the bear, his smirk softening. “There. Happy?”

Your squeal of delight was uncontainable as you hugged the bear to your chest. “Are you kidding me? This is amazing!”

Bucky chuckled, watching you with an expression you couldn’t quite place. For a moment, you thought he might say something, but he just shook his head, the faint smile lingering on his lips.

---

Back at the Tower, you sat on the floor of your apartment, the giant teddy bear propped up beside you like a loyal guardian. The box of desserts you’d brought home lay open between you and Bucky, who, to your surprise, had settled close—so close that his shoulder brushed against yours.

For a while, you ate in comfortable silence, but then Bucky broke it, his voice quiet.

“Why do you do all this?” he asked, not looking at you. “The food trucks, the conversations… You haven’t even written anything yet. Feels like I’m wasting your time.”

You set your fork down, startled by the vulnerability in his tone.

“You’re not wasting my time,” you said firmly. “I don’t care if it takes months to write anything. Getting to know you—this you—is the best part of all of this.”

He turned to look at you, his eyes searching yours.

“This,” you continued, your voice softening. “The way you laugh, the way you care about the little things… That’s what I want people to see. That’s who you are.”

For a long moment, he didn’t respond. Then, slowly, he leaned his head against your shoulder, his eyes closing.

Your heart skipped a beat, but you stayed still, letting the warmth of his presence settle around you.

---

The Avengers Tower was unusually quiet as you wandered through its familiar halls. The kind of quiet that followed the steady hum of a busy day winding down, where every footstep seemed louder than it should. You had come, as always, to meet Bucky, notebook tucked snugly under your arm and a lingering thought about whether any desserts were left over from last night.

First, though, tea.

You found the kitchen easily—it wasn’t your first time navigating the compound’s labyrinthine halls. The space was sleek and modern, all polished countertops and gleaming appliances, with enough mugs in the cabinet to serve the entire team and then some. Reaching for two cups, you began preparing something warm, something simple—black tea for him, chamomile for you.

The quiet was broken by a familiar voice, low and tinged with amusement.

“Well, look who it is.”

Startled, you turned, still holding the mug, to see Natasha Romanoff leaning against the doorframe. She had that effortless poise she always carried, arms crossed and lips curled into a small, knowing smirk that seemed to see right through you.

“Natasha,” you greeted, managing a smile. You weren’t surprised to see her—she had a way of being everywhere and nowhere all at once. But something about her always left you feeling slightly off-balance, like you were playing a game without knowing the rules.

She stepped into the kitchen, her movements fluid as she grabbed a water bottle from the fridge. “How’s it going with Barnes?” she asked casually, though her sharp green eyes betrayed her genuine interest.

“It’s going… amazing,” you admitted, the honesty surprising even yourself. Your cheeks warmed as you added, “He’s amazing.” Then, hesitating, you glanced at her. “But I can’t really tell you more than that. I promised him I wouldn’t talk about what we’ve been working on.”

Natasha’s expression softened, the smirk fading into something closer to a real smile. “Good,” she said, her tone gentler now. “He needs that. Someone who keeps their promises.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of her words settle over you. “I just want him to feel safe.”

“Safe,” Natasha repeated, her smirk returning. She tilted her head slightly, mischief glinting in her gaze. “And how safe do you feel around him? Your cheeks get awfully red when you’re with him.”

Your mouth opened to protest, but she cut you off with a laugh, clearly enjoying herself.

“It’s cute,” she teased, her voice lilting. “The way you look at him. Like he’s the most fascinating thing in the world. And then when he says something unexpected, your face does this little thing—” She mimicked a flustered expression, her grin widening as you groaned.

“Okay, fine,” you said, waving a hand in surrender. “Yes, Bucky is charming. And handsome. And maybe I have a… silly little crush. But that’s all it is. A crush. I’m not here for that, Nat. I’m here to make people see him for who he really is.”

Natasha’s smirk faded as she studied you, her expression turning thoughtful. “And how do you see him?”

The question caught you off guard, but when you answered, your voice was steady. “I see someone who’s kind. Someone who’s trying so hard to be better, even when the world doesn’t give him the chance. Someone who’s funny, and thoughtful, and—” You stopped, shaking your head. “I just want people to see him the way I do.”

For a long moment, Natasha didn’t speak. Then she nodded, her approval subtle but unmistakable.

“He’s changing,” she said softly. “Whether it’s because of you or not, I don’t know. But he’s more open. More… himself.”

Her words sent a warmth through you, though they carried a gravity you couldn’t ignore.

“But,” Natasha added, her tone firm now, “you can’t forget that he’s still struggling. Progress isn’t always a straight line. It’s not going to be easy—for him or for you.”

“I know,” you said quietly. And you did. You saw it in the way his laughter sometimes faltered, in the distant look that would creep into his eyes when something triggered an old memory. But you also saw the way he kept trying, and you were willing to try with him.

“Good,” Natasha said, stepping back toward the door. “Then keep doing what you’re doing. And maybe one day, you’ll figure out what that silly little crush of yours really means.”

Before you could respond, she was gone, her footsteps disappearing down the hall.

You stood there for a moment, her words echoing in your mind as you finished preparing the tea. Two mugs in hand, you headed toward the gym, your heart feeling strangely full.

---

When you entered the gym, Bucky was already there, sitting cross-legged on the floor, his posture unusually relaxed. His hair fell in loose strands over his face, and when he looked up, he gave you one of his rare smiles.

“Hey,” he said, his voice warm.

“Hey,” you replied, handing him one of the mugs as you sat down across from him.

As you sipped your tea, the silence between you was easy, comfortable. You found yourself watching him, the way his eyes softened as he stared into his cup, the way his fingers curled around the ceramic as though grounding himself.

“What?” he asked suddenly, catching you off guard.

“Nothing,” you said quickly, though a small smile tugged at your lips. “Just… glad you’re here.”

Bucky tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. Then he nodded, his lips curving into the faintest smile.

Maybe Natasha was right. Maybe your feelings for him were something more than a “silly little crush.” But as you sat there, sharing tea and silence with the man who had slowly but surely let you into his world, you realized something else:

Whether or not you could name what you felt didn’t matter.

What mattered was that you were here, together, and that for the first time in a long time, Bucky Barnes seemed to feel at ease.

---

It started like so many of your conversations did—in the gym. The quiet hum of the air conditioning and the faint creak of leather from the equipment filled the space, a subtle backdrop to the measured rhythm of Bucky’s words. It had become a sanctuary for him, a space where his guarded edges softened, where he could breathe without feeling the weight of a world that still didn’t quite know what to make of him.

You’d learned to let the moments flow naturally, to not push or prod. He didn’t need someone to drag his past out of him. He needed someone who would listen when he was ready.

Today, he was ready.

Bucky sat on the bench, his broad shoulders hunched slightly, his vibranium hand resting lightly on his knee. You sat across from him on the floor, cross-legged with your notebook balanced on your lap but largely forgotten. This wasn’t about the notes anymore.

For a while, you talked about little things—the weather, a new bakery you’d heard about, the way the gym smelled faintly of old leather and floor polish. But then, seemingly out of nowhere, his voice softened, and he began.

“My ma,” he said, his gaze distant, his tone almost reverent. “She was the kindest woman I’ve ever known. She had this way of making you feel like… like you were the only thing that mattered when she looked at you. But she didn’t take any crap. If I stepped outta line, she’d give me this look. Just one look, and I’d straighten right up.”

You smiled, leaning in slightly. “She sounds incredible.”

Bucky nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “She was. Strong, too. Had to be. My dad worked long hours. Too long, sometimes. But he always made time for us when he could. Used to take me and my sisters to Coney Island whenever he had a free weekend.”

“Coney Island,” you repeated, grinning. “Let me guess—hot dogs?”

Bucky’s smile widened. “Best in the city. I’d fight anyone who said otherwise.”

“You had sisters?” you asked, your tone light but curious. Of course, you knew this already—your research had told you—but you wanted to hear him talk about them. It was the biggest breakthrough yet, and you weren’t about to let it slip away.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice softening even more. “Two of ‘em. Rebecca was the youngest—she was a firecracker. Always getting herself into trouble and talking her way out of it. Could charm her way past anyone. And Winnie…” His smile faded slightly, turning wistful. “She was the serious one. Always felt like she had to keep the rest of us in line. We used to fight like cats and dogs, but… I miss ‘em.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, and you gave him a moment, letting the silence stretch gently between you. When you spoke again, your voice was soft, careful.

“And Steve?” you asked. “How’d you meet him?”

Bucky chuckled, shaking his head. “Steve… We grew up in the same neighborhood. Scrawniest kid I’d ever seen, but damn, he had guts. Always getting into fights he couldn’t win. I’d end up stepping in, dragging his sorry ass outta trouble more times than I can count. But it didn’t stop him. Stubborn little bastard.”

You laughed at that, the image of a wiry, determined young Steve Rogers standing his ground against impossible odds vivid in your mind. “Sounds like you two were troublemakers.”

“Maybe a little,” Bucky admitted, his smile widening.

“Rumor has it you were a bit of a ladies’ man back then,” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

Bucky shot you a sidelong glance, his lips twitching into a smirk. “Is that what they say?”

You grinned. “Are they wrong?”

He didn’t answer directly, but the knowing look in his eyes was answer enough. You laughed, the sound warm and unguarded, and it drew a softer smile from him.

“Okay,” you said, leaning forward with genuine curiosity. “What were dates like back then?”

Bucky leaned back slightly, his eyes growing distant as he thought. “Simpler,” he said. “We’d go to the movies—cheap seats, usually. Maybe get ice cream after. And if you really wanted to impress a girl, you’d take her dancing.”

“You danced?” you asked, your tone tinged with playful disbelief.

“I wasn’t much of a dancer,” he admitted with a small shrug. “But it worked. Most of the time.”

You smiled, imagining him in those days, his charm and easy confidence lighting up every room he stepped into. “Sounds romantic,” you said softly.

“Maybe,” he replied, his voice quieter now.

The conversation slowed, a quietness settling over the room, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt like standing on the edge of something—like there were more stories waiting, more pieces of him still to be shared.

When he spoke again, his voice was lower, almost hesitant. “I don’t think about those days much anymore.”

“Why not?” you asked gently.

“Because it feels like another life,” he said simply. “Like it happened to someone else. And I’m not sure I deserve to keep those memories.”

The weight of his confession pressed down on you, but you didn’t look away. “You do,” you said firmly. “You deserve every good memory, Bucky. Every single one. They’re yours, and no one—nothing—can take that away from you.”

His gaze flicked to yours, his expression unreadable, but you thought you saw something in his eyes shift. Not quite belief, but the beginning of it.

“Thanks,” he said finally, his voice rough.

“You’re welcome,” you replied softly.

For the first time in a long time, you saw a glimpse of the man he used to be—the boy from Brooklyn with a quick grin and an unshakable loyalty to those he loved. And for the first time, you thought maybe he saw a piece of that boy in himself, too.

---

The gym felt heavier than usual when you walked in, a tension hanging in the air that made your chest tighten. Bucky sat on the bench, his posture rigid, his gaze fixed on the floor. His metal hand rested on his knee, the faint hum of the vibranium audible in the otherwise silent room.

“Hey,” you said softly, stepping closer but leaving a careful distance between you. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he muttered, his tone clipped and cold. He still didn’t look at you. “Let’s just get this over with.”

You frowned, setting your notebook down on the floor beside you as you sat across from him. “Bucky, if you don’t want to talk today, we don’t have to. I don’t want to force—”

“Everyone wants something,” he snapped, his voice cutting through your words like a blade. His eyes finally met yours, sharp and filled with a storm you hadn’t seen in weeks. “They want me to talk, to act normal, to live like none of it ever happened. But it did happen. I can’t just forget about the people I killed, the ones I hurt. How the hell am I supposed to move on from that?”

His voice grew louder, more raw with every word, and you felt a pang in your chest at the anguish spilling out of him.

“Bucky—”

“You don’t get it!” he shouted, his fists clenching at his sides. “No one does. You think I can just sit here, smiling and talking about movies, like it’s all fine? Like I’m fine? I’m not!”

His voice cracked on the last word, and before you could respond, his fist slammed into the wall beside your head. The sound reverberated through the room, loud and jarring, but you didn’t flinch. You stayed perfectly still, your breath caught—not because you were afraid, but because of the tears streaming down his face.

“Bucky,” you said softly, your voice trembling under the weight of the moment.

He froze, his hand still pressed against the wall, his shoulders rising and falling with uneven breaths. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice breaking. “I didn’t mean—”

Without thinking, you reached for him, standing to pull him into a tight hug. He stiffened at first, his body like a coiled spring, but then he collapsed against you, his arms falling limply to his sides as his sobs wracked his body.

You slid down to the floor with him, your arms wrapped around his trembling frame. “It’s okay,” you murmured, your hand moving soothingly over his back. “It’s okay. Nothing happened. I’m here.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, his voice barely audible. “I’m so scared, so damn scared that I’ll hurt someone. That I’ll hurt you. And you’ll leave, and I can’t—I can’t handle that.”

Your throat tightened, and tears pricked at your own eyes as you held him closer. “I’m not leaving,” you said firmly. “Even if you kick me out, I’m staying. You hear me? You’re stuck with me, Bucky. I don’t care how messy it gets. I’m not going anywhere. Remember? I’m nosy like that.”

A faint, broken laugh escaped him, muffled against your shoulder. Slowly, his metal arm came up, wrapping around you with surprising gentleness. He buried his face in your shoulder, his breathing uneven but beginning to calm.

The two of you stayed there for a long time, the weight of his pain settling around you like a storm finally breaking. You didn’t say anything more—you just held him, letting him pour out everything he’d been carrying for so long.

When he finally lifted his head, his eyes were red and swollen, but there was something quieter in his expression. He looked at you as though searching for cracks, for some sign that you were afraid or pulling away.

You smiled softly. “We’ll figure this out,” you said. “Together.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, Bucky nodded. And you knew he believed you.

---

The hum of the elevator seemed louder than usual as it carried you to the common floor of Avengers Tower. Tony had called for you—no, insisted on seeing you—and you couldn’t shake the suspicion that it had something to do with Bucky.

Stepping into the lounge, you found him leaning casually against the counter, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. His gaze flicked to you as soon as you entered, and he didn’t waste time with pleasantries.

“Alright, spill,” he said, his tone light but his eyes sharp.

You frowned, crossing your arms. “Spill what?”

“Don’t play coy,” Tony shot back, gesturing vaguely with his glass. “Something happened with Barnes. He’s been acting… weird. And by weird, I mean less broody than usual, which is frankly unsettling.”

You sighed, the tension in your chest tightening. “Tony, if Bucky wants to talk to you about something, he will. But that’s between him and me.”

Tony raised an eyebrow, his expression shifting. “Between him and you?” he repeated, his voice taking on a sharper edge. “So now you’re the Winter Soldier Whisperer?”

Your jaw clenched, the words stinging more than you expected. “I’m his friend,” you said evenly.

“Are you?” Tony countered, his tone cool but pointed. “Because last time I checked, you were supposed to be writing about him, not playing therapist.”

The accusation hit harder than it should have, but you didn’t flinch. “This isn’t just about writing,” you said, your voice firm. “It’s about helping him. And if you don’t trust me by now, Tony, I don’t know what else to tell you.”

The room seemed to hold its breath as the two of you stared each other down, the weight of unspoken words pressing between you.

Finally, Tony sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Fine,” he said, his tone softening. “You’ve proved yourself enough times. Just… don’t let him down. He doesn’t need any more of that.”

“I won’t,” you said quietly but with conviction.

Tony studied you for a moment longer, his expression unreadable. Then, his usual smirk tugged faintly at his lips. “Good. Now get out of here before I start saying something sentimental. Can’t have that getting out.”

A smile flickered across your face, and you turned to leave, your chest lighter than when you’d arrived.

As the elevator doors closed behind you, you couldn’t help but think about what Tony had said. This wasn’t just about writing anymore. It hadn’t been for a long time.

It was about Bucky. About being there for him, no matter what.

---

Later that evening, your apartment was bathed in the warm glow of a single desk lamp. The city’s muffled sounds filtered through the half-open window—honking cars, distant laughter, and the hum of life carrying on outside. Your notebook lay open before you, the first blank page staring back at you like a challenge.

It was time.

You twirled the pen in your fingers, hesitating for a moment. The weight of what you were about to write felt heavier than usual, as though the trust Bucky had placed in you was balancing on the tip of your pen. Taking a deep breath, you began.

Title: James Buchanan Barnes – The Boy from Brooklyn

Before he was a soldier, before he became a shadow in the history books, James Buchanan Barnes was just a boy from Brooklyn.

He grew up in a neighborhood where the buildings leaned too close together, where streets buzzed with life—vendors shouting out their wares, children’s laughter echoing in the alleys, and the distant hiss of trains passing by. Mornings smelled of fresh bread wafting from corner bakeries; evenings carried the smoky tang of burning coal.

Bucky’s family wasn’t wealthy, but they were rich in the ways that mattered. His parents filled their modest apartment with love, loyalty, and a sense of unwavering stability.

As the eldest of three siblings, Bucky took his role as protector seriously, even when it meant teasing his sisters mercilessly. Rebecca, the youngest, was a firecracker—always talking her way into and out of trouble. Winnie, the middle child, was quieter, her serious demeanor often earning her the title of “the responsible one.” But Bucky adored them both fiercely. His sisters would later say he was equal parts troublemaker and guardian, the kind of brother who could make you laugh even as he scolded you for making poor choices.

His father worked long, grueling hours, returning home with hands calloused from years of labor. But he always made time for his children. On weekends, he’d take them to Coney Island, where Bucky would wolf down hot dogs and swear they were the best in the city.

His mother was the cornerstone of their home. She was kind but firm, with a gaze sharp enough to silence even the most defiant child. She taught Bucky how to tie a tie, how to hold a door open, and how to treat people with respect. From her, he learned the quiet strength of standing tall in a world that could often feel like it was trying to knock you down.

It was in that same Brooklyn neighborhood that Bucky met Steve Rogers. Steve was scrawny, sickly, and stubborn—a kid with a lion’s heart trapped in a frame that couldn’t always keep up. The two became fast friends, a duo that seemed inseparable despite their differences.

“He was always picking fights,” Bucky had said once, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Didn’t matter that he couldn’t win. He just didn’t know how to back down.”

Where Steve was unwavering in his ideals, Bucky was the one who kept him grounded. And in turn, Steve reminded Bucky of the kind of man he wanted to be—a man who fought not for glory, but because it was right. Together, they became a team. Trouble found them often, but so did moments of quiet triumph—sneaking into a movie theater, sharing a laugh over melting ice cream cones, or walking the long way home just to enjoy the cool Brooklyn nights.

---

The words flowed easier than you’d expected. You didn’t write about the Winter Soldier or the wars he’d fought, the darkness he’d endured. That part would come later. For now, you wanted the world to meet James Buchanan Barnes—the boy who lived, laughed, and loved before the weight of history settled on his shoulders.

---

The next day, you handed the draft to Bucky. Your palms were clammy as you watched him read, the sound of the paper rustling unnervingly loud in the quiet room.

He sat on the edge of the bench, his posture stiff as his eyes moved over the page. His expression gave nothing away, and you found yourself holding your breath.

When he finally looked up, his gaze was searching. “It’s… good,” he said slowly. “Really good. But…” He hesitated, his brow furrowing. “Weird.”

“Weird?” you repeated, tilting your head.

He set the notebook down, his metal fingers tapping lightly against the bench. “Reading about myself like that. Like I’m… normal.”

You smiled softly, leaning forward. “Well, you are normal, Bucky. Or at least as normal as anyone else.”

He chuckled at that, a low, quiet sound that felt like a victory. “Normal, huh? Don’t know if I’ve heard that one before.”

“First time for everything,” you teased gently.

---

Before you left, you handed him a small, carefully wrapped package. He frowned slightly, his gaze flicking from the package to you.

“What’s this?” he asked, his voice laced with suspicion.

“Just something I thought you’d like,” you said, feeling uncharacteristically nervous.

He unwrapped it carefully, his movements almost hesitant. When he finally revealed the contents—a set of classic movies on Blu-ray—his brow furrowed, but the softness in his expression betrayed him.

“You didn’t have to do this,” he said quietly.

“I wanted to,” you replied simply, your smile shy but sincere.

For a moment, Bucky just stared at you, his blue-gray eyes flicking between you and the gift. Then, to your surprise, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you.

The hug wasn’t born of desperation or pain like the others had been. It was soft, deliberate, and unprompted.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice warm against your ear.

Your heart fluttered as you hugged him back, the solid weight of his arms around you grounding you in a way you hadn’t expected. When he finally pulled away, your cheeks burned, but the look on his face made it worth it.

For the first time, you thought maybe Bucky wasn’t just starting to trust you—he was starting to trust himself again, too.

---

That night, the quiet of your apartment felt heavier than usual. The city’s usual soundtrack—distant sirens, muffled music, the occasional rumble of a passing train—faded into the background as you sat cross-legged on your couch. The notebook in your lap was open to a blank page, the pen in your hand poised but unmoving.

The weight of your feelings for Bucky pressed against your chest, a slow, steady ache you couldn’t quite shake. It scared you, how much you cared. How deeply you wanted to see him smile, to see the light in his eyes grow brighter each day. You’d told yourself this was about helping him, about showing the world who he truly was, but somewhere along the way, it had become so much more.

You thought of the way he had laughed at your jokes, the way his face softened when he spoke about his family. The way he’d hugged you that day—not out of desperation, but out of something real, something unspoken.

It didn’t matter if it hurt, you decided. Even if you risked your own heart, even if you never dared to tell him how you felt, it was worth it. Seeing Bucky Barnes slowly come back to life was worth everything.

---

Brooklyn was alive with its usual hum of activity when you met Steve Rogers the next afternoon. The air was crisp, the kind that turned your breath into soft clouds and made your cheeks tingle. The late afternoon sunlight bathed the old brick buildings in a golden glow, the shadows stretching long across the cracked sidewalks.

You stood on the corner, nervously gripping the strap of your bag as you waited. When Steve appeared, his presence was as steadying as you’d hoped. He walked toward you with his familiar purposeful stride, his jacket zipped against the chill, his face carrying that calm resolve that had a way of grounding you.

“Hey,” he greeted, his voice warm and low. He offered a small smile as he stopped beside you. “What’s this all about?”

You hesitated, your heart pounding as you turned to look at the house across the street. It was small and worn, its brick facade faded with age. The shutters were hanging slightly crooked, and the front yard was overgrown with weeds. A “FOR SALE” sign stood askew in the yard, weathered and forgotten, as though it had been there far too long.

“Steve,” you began, your voice trembling slightly. “I found something. I wasn’t sure what to do, so I thought I’d talk to you first.”

His gaze followed yours, his brow furrowing as he took in the sight of the house. His expression shifted, a flicker of recognition softening the lines of his face.

“Is that…” His words trailed off, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded. “Bucky’s childhood home.”

For a moment, Steve said nothing. His jaw tightened, his blue eyes fixed on the house as memories seemed to flood him. You could see it in the way his shoulders squared slightly, as though bracing himself against the weight of it.

“I checked,” you continued, your words spilling out quickly to fill the silence. “His sister, Winnie, passed away about four years ago. The house has been on the market ever since, but no one’s bought it. It’s in rough shape—it needs a lot of work—but it’s still standing.”

Steve’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his hands clenching briefly at his sides. “Why are you showing me this?”

You shifted on your feet, suddenly unsure. “I just… I thought maybe it could be something for him. A place to ground him. Something familiar, something that’s his. He doesn’t have much that feels like it belongs to him, and I thought…” You trailed off, your voice faltering.

Steve finally turned to look at you, his blue eyes searching yours. “You really think this could help him?”

“I do,” you said earnestly. “It’s more than a house—it’s a piece of his past, something real. I know it’s falling apart, but it’s his home, Steve. It could be a step toward helping him feel like he belongs somewhere again.”

Steve’s gaze lingered on yours, thoughtful and a little heavy. He turned back to the house, his eyes scanning every worn corner, every crack in the foundation. Finally, he nodded. “I’ll talk to Tony. See if we can figure something out—a loan, or whatever it takes.”

Relief washed over you, and you exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “Thank you,” you said softly.

Steve glanced at you again, his expression shifting into something quieter, more introspective. “You care about him a lot, don’t you?”

The question caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to answer. “Of course I do,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “He’s been through so much, and he’s still here. Still trying. I just want him to be happy. To feel like he has a chance at a life.”

Steve tilted his head, studying you closely. “That’s not what I meant,” he said gently.

Your cheeks flushed, and you glanced away, a small, almost shy smile tugging at your lips. “It doesn’t matter,” you murmured. “What matters is that he’s okay. That he’s well.”

For a moment, Steve didn’t reply. Then, slowly, he clapped a hand on your shoulder, his grip firm but kind. “You’re good for him,” he said simply.

His words stayed with you as you walked back through the bustling streets of Brooklyn, the hum of the city blending with the thoughts swirling in your mind. You didn’t know what the future held—for Bucky, for you, for the fragile connection growing between you. But you knew one thing with absolute certainty:

You’d do whatever it took to see him smile again, to see him find a piece of peace in the chaos of the world. Because he deserved it. And, selfishly, because you wanted to be there when he did.

---

That evening, the soft glow of your desk lamp cast a warm circle of light over your workspace. Outside, the city hummed with life—a soothing backdrop of distant horns, muffled conversations, and the rhythmic click of your pen against the edge of your notebook.

The second article about Bucky had been surprisingly fun to write, a departure from the heavier pieces you’d drafted before. You wanted this one to show a different side of him—a side that wasn’t defined by war or pain, but by the charm and warmth that still lingered beneath the surface.

---

Title: James Barnes – Brooklyn’s Own Casanova

If you’ve heard whispers about James Buchanan Barnes being a ladies’ man back in his day, let me tell you: they weren’t whispers—they were practically shouts. The legend of Bucky Barnes, the heartthrob of Brooklyn, is as true as it is amusing.

“I didn’t try,” Bucky tells me, a smirk playing on his lips, his tone so casual you almost miss the confidence behind it. “It just… happened.” He shrugs as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

And really, it probably was. A young James Barnes had it all: the looks, the charm, the grin that could disarm you faster than any weapon. But Bucky wasn’t just about turning heads—he was about making connections, about making people feel seen. He wasn’t just a flirt; he was the guy who actually cared.

“So,” I asked him, leaning forward, “what made you such a hit? Was it the hair? The smile? The whole ‘knight in shining armor’ thing you had going on?”

“Maybe the smile,” he said with a chuckle, clearly amused by my curiosity. “And the fact that I didn’t talk much about myself. Women like a good listener.”

There it is, folks. The secret to Bucky Barnes’ success: shutting up and letting the other person shine. Revolutionary, isn’t it?

But let’s talk about dates. Because when Bucky Barnes took a girl out, it wasn’t just a night—it was an experience. “What did dates look like back then?” I asked him, ready to be transported to the days of big band music and soda fountains.

“Well,” Bucky began, leaning back with a distant look in his eyes, “you’d pick her up from her place—on time, always on time. You’d take her to the movies, maybe grab ice cream after. If you really wanted to impress her, you’d go dancing. I wasn’t much of a dancer, but…” He trailed off, a small smile playing on his lips.

“But you pulled it off anyway,” I finished for him, grinning. He just shrugged, not confirming but not denying it either—a true master of mystery.

Bucky’s approach to dating wasn’t about grand gestures or flashy moves. It was about the little things: remembering her favorite flavor of ice cream, pulling her chair out for her, walking her home at the end of the night.

“So you were a gentleman,” I teased, my pen tapping against my notebook.

“Always,” he replied, his smile softening, and for a moment, I could see the man he used to be, unburdened by the weight of the years.

I couldn’t help myself—I had to ask. “Do you ever miss those days?”

“Sometimes,” he admitted. “Things were… simpler. You didn’t have to think so much about how you were being seen. You just… were.”

But while the world may have changed, some things haven’t: Bucky Barnes still has that same charm, that same wit, and that same ability to make you feel like you’re the most important person in the room.

So, what’s the verdict? Is Bucky Barnes still Brooklyn’s Casanova? I’ll let you decide. All I know is that he could probably win over the entire city if he tried.

And between you and me, I’m not sure he even has to try.

---

The next day, you handed the draft to Bucky. You sat across from him, watching as he read, your nerves buzzing quietly beneath your skin.

He finished, setting the notebook down with a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You’re making me sound like some kinda heartthrob,” he said, shaking his head.

“You weren’t?” you teased, leaning forward with a grin.

He chuckled softly, the sound warm and unguarded. “It’s funny, reading about myself like this.”

“Funny good or funny bad?” you asked, tilting your head.

“Just… funny,” he said, his voice lighter than you’d heard in a while.

You couldn’t resist pushing a little further. “I’ve gotta say, I’m kinda curious what it’d be like to go on a date with you. You know, for research purposes.”

Bucky looked at you, his eyes crinkling faintly at the corners as a smile spread across his face. “Maybe one day,” he said quietly, his tone sincere.

Your heart stuttered in your chest, but you managed to play it off with a laugh, shaking your head. “Guess I’ll have to wait and see.”

---

Meanwhile, in the Avengers’ lounge, Steve and Tony were deep in conversation about your discovery of Bucky’s childhood home. Steve’s voice was steady, but you could hear the undercurrent of hope as he laid out the details.

“The house is still there,” Steve said, his hands clasped in front of him. “The porch, the brickwork—it’s rough, but it’s intact. It hasn’t been sold yet. And I think it could mean something to him.”

Tony sipped his drink, his expression skeptical. “You sure he’d even want it? Barnes doesn’t exactly strike me as the nostalgic type.”

Steve nodded slowly. “He wouldn’t, not at first. But if it was his project—his space—it could help. He’s been looking for something, Tony. Something to anchor him.”

Tony sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Alright, fine. I’ll make the arrangements. But it has to be his decision. If he’s not 100% on board, we pull out.”

Steve smiled faintly, his relief palpable. “Agreed. I think he’ll come around. Especially if she’s the one to tell him.”

Tony’s smirk returned, his tone light but teasing. “Ah, our Winter Soldier Whisperer. Why am I not surprised?”

Steve rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. And deep down, he knew Tony was right. If anyone could make Bucky see the value in reclaiming a piece of his past, it was you.

---

You sat in your car outside the gym, the world around you fading into a blur of streetlights and distant sounds. Your hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly your knuckles ached, but it was the only thing grounding you in the moment.

“Bucky, I found something…” You tried the words aloud, your voice trembling slightly. No, that was too abrupt. “Bucky, there’s something I want to show you…” Still wrong—too vague.

With a frustrated sigh, you leaned forward, resting your forehead against the wheel. You had spent weeks planning this moment, rehearsing it in your head over and over again. But even now, with everything in place, doubt gnawed at the edges of your resolve. What if he thought you’d overstepped? What if this wasn’t what he needed? What if you were about to ruin everything?

Taking a shaky breath, you reached for the apple pie on the passenger seat—a small gesture, something to soften the conversation ahead. You stepped out of the car, the cool evening air biting at your skin as you walked toward the gym, clutching the pie like a lifeline.

---

The gym was quiet, dimly lit, the faint scent of leather and cleaning solution hanging in the air. Bucky was sitting on the bench, his head tilted slightly as he watched you approach. His expression softened when he saw the pie, and the corner of his mouth twitched into a small smile.

“This feels like a bribe,” he said, his tone lighter than you’d expected.

“Maybe it is,” you teased, setting the pie on the bench between you. “But I’m hoping it’ll earn me some goodwill for the questions I have.”

He chuckled, shaking his head as he leaned back slightly. “Alright. Fire away.”

You tucked your notebook beside you, deciding this moment was better left unwritten. “Tell me about the house you grew up in,” you began, your voice gentle. “What did it look like?”

For a moment, Bucky’s expression shifted, his gaze growing distant as memories surfaced. “It was small,” he said finally, his voice soft. “Brick on the outside, narrow hallways on the inside. The kind of place where you could hear everything—Ma cooking in the kitchen, my sisters giggling through the walls, no matter how hard they tried to be quiet.” A faint smile touched his lips. “The porch swing creaked every time you sat on it. Dad always said he’d fix it, but he never did. Ma loved it that way, though.”

“What about your room?” you prompted gently, leaning forward.

He huffed a soft laugh. “Not much to it. A bed, a dresser, a desk in the corner. Rebecca used to sneak in during thunderstorms. She’d bring her blanket and curl up by the foot of the bed. I’d pretend to be annoyed, but…” He shrugged. “It felt safe.”

“And the holidays?” you asked, your tone warm.

His smile grew, brighter now. “Ma went all out for Christmas. She’d bake for days—cookies, pies, the works. The house always smelled like cinnamon and sugar. Rebecca and Winnie would string popcorn for the tree. It was messy, but we loved it.”

As he spoke, you watched the tension ease from his shoulders, the weight he always carried seeming a little lighter. His voice held a softness, a warmth you hadn’t heard before, and it made your heart ache in the best way.

When he finished, you hesitated, your hands twisting nervously in your lap. “Bucky,” you began carefully, “can I show you something?”

He raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. “What is it?”

“First, promise you won’t get mad,” you said quickly, your voice tinged with nervous laughter.

“That bad, huh?” he teased, though his tone was gentle.

You shook your head. “It’s not bad. I just… I don’t want you to think I overstepped.”

After a moment, he nodded. “Alright. Let’s see it.”

---

The drive to Brooklyn was quiet, the tension in the car thick but not suffocating. You glanced at Bucky occasionally, but his gaze remained fixed on the passing streets, his expression unreadable.

When you pulled up to the house, your stomach twisted in knots. You parked the car, your hands trembling slightly as you turned to him.

“Why are we here?” he asked, his voice cautious.

You gestured toward the house—the faded brick, the crooked shutters, the porch swing that still hung from rusted chains. The “FOR SALE” sign that had once stood in the yard was gone, replaced with a crisp new one that read “JUST SOLD.”

“That’s your house,” you said softly. “Your childhood home.”

Bucky’s entire body seemed to go still. His eyes were locked on the house, his jaw tightening as he took in the sight.

“I found it,” you continued, your words spilling out in a rush. “I was looking for your family, but… there wasn’t anyone left. And then I found this. It hadn’t been sold yet, so Steve and Tony bought it. It’s yours now, Bucky. You can do whatever you want with it—fix it up, sell it, anything. It’s your home.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Bucky didn’t move, didn’t speak. His hands rested on his knees, his knuckles white as he gripped the fabric of his jeans.

“Bucky?” you said hesitantly, your voice trembling. “I’m sorry if—”

Before you could finish, he turned to you, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. Without a word, he pulled you into a hug, his arms wrapping around you with a strength that made it hard to breathe—but you didn’t care.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice breaking. “Thank you.”

Tears blurred your vision as you held him tightly, your own emotions spilling over. The two of you stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, wrapped in the weight of the moment, in the enormity of what it meant.

When he finally pulled back, he brushed a hand through his hair, his gaze returning to the house. “I never thought I’d see it again,” he said quietly. “I figured it was long gone.”

You smiled through your tears, your voice soft but steady. “It’s not perfect, but… it’s still standing. Just like you.”

A shaky laugh escaped him, and he shook his head, glancing at you. “There’s a lot of work to do.”

“Well,” you said with a grin, “I’ve got vacation days to burn, and I’ve been looking for a good project. So if you need a hand…”

He smiled then—a real, genuine smile that made your heart skip. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Taking your hand, he led you toward the house. The front steps creaked under your weight, the familiar sound drawing another soft laugh from Bucky. He didn’t say much as you walked through the door together, but his eyes said everything.

It wasn’t just a house. It was a piece of his past, a foundation for his future.

And for the first time, it felt like he was ready to build on it.

---

When you told your boss you were taking a month off, her reaction was as dramatic as you’d expected.

“A month?” she repeated, lowering her mug of coffee and staring at you like you’d just announced plans to join the circus.

“Yes, a month,” you replied, keeping your voice steady. You’d rehearsed this conversation in your head a dozen times.

She blinked, setting the mug down on her desk with a soft thud. “Are you… okay? You’ve never taken more than a long weekend. What’s this about?”

Your fingers fidgeted with the edge of your bag, but you held her gaze. “It’s personal,” you said finally. “But it’s important. Really important.”

She tilted her head, scrutinizing you with the kind of look that could unearth secrets. “Alright,” she said slowly. “But if you come back and tell me you’re quitting, I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear you.”

You laughed, though the thought had crossed your mind more than once. “Noted.”

---

When you told Bucky about your month-long leave, his reaction was priceless.

“A month?” he repeated, his eyes wide with disbelief.

“Yes, a month,” you said, echoing your earlier conversation with a grin.

He shook his head, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You really didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to,” you replied, shrugging. “Besides, I figured you could use the help. Just don’t expect miracles—I’m not exactly Bob Vila.”

Bucky chuckled, the sound warm and soft. “Just having you here is enough.”

The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten, and for a moment, you forgot how to breathe.

---

Part 2

[possumcollege]

Crittertongues Past: Mule, Me, and The Moon 🥐

I love a big animal in a cape.

[foxyd101]

Masquerade AU

Imagine a ball that happens every night and draws in crowds from far and wide in which the gates of the grand mansion open wide for everyone and reveal a breathtaking fountain framed with two flights of stairs and a balcony above it all that has a big circular window that watches you along with the host leaning against the railing of the balcony. The host of this grand nightly ball is Wally Darling, and he is quite a mysterious and charming host that tends to observe his guest and ensure that everyone is enjoying their night. Now, if you are one of the lucky guests or one of his estate residents, you may have a chance to dance with the infamous host.

Anyway, with a party that goes on every night and nine residents that people don't know much about or have a strange feeling of familiarity with, there are secrets and strings tied throughout the ball, especially with the host, Wally, and a second host that is rarely seen or has never been seen before by all guests. Sooner or later, one resident starts to question things, especially when Y/N becomes a resident/guest of the mansion, to which questions begin to arise on how every resident even became residents of the estate or their lack of memory of their past.

This Castle has nine residents (soon to be 10 with Y/N), and they are:

Wally: The host of the nightly ball and the owner of the mansion. He is noted to be charming, observant, kind, mysterious, and can be pretty threatening. He tends to observe his guest from the balcony of his chambers and, of course, join the fun of the ball to which he will dance (with his residents/friends or guests) and sing (with Juile, Sally, and Eddie). He will also be seen carried around by Howdy and Barnaby, which saves him from the crowds, or he will be hiding behind Poppy's cape.

Home: He is the mansion and is where the ball happens every night. He watches over everyone and is considered a resident of the estate.

Sally: The singer and performer that entertains guests at the ball. She will also host/provide plays and theatrics in the main stage area of the mansion. She is very energetic and bold and LOVES to make an entrance. She can be seen dancing with guests and her friends/residents or just hanging out around the stages.

Juile: The singer and decorator for the ball. She is a very bubbly and energetic puppet and loves to help anyone that needs it. She is also considered the life of the party and will drag you out to dance if you are standing around or seem down.

Poppy: The chef/cook of the mansion that also preps food for all the guests at the ball. She tends to keep to herself and is quite timid. And she will freeze up or politely decline if offered the hand for a dance. (But if she did dance, she tends to do it privately or away from crowds.) She's nice to hang out with, primarily since she provides a safe space for those who don't take well with big parties (introvert heaven).

Eddie: The main male singer for the ball. He has a very chill and charismatic personality and loves to hang out with the other residents of the mansion (especially with Frank). Eddie is quite clumsy and a bit forgetful, but everyone loves to have him around, and he can deliver small messages around the ball for guests or between his friends/ residents.

Frank: The libertarian and gardener of the mansion that plays violin occasionally during the ball. He tends to sit around the corridors of the mansion or somewhere seculife in the ballroom reading, in which Juile drags him out to dance, or he will hang out with the residents during the ball. Frank is often described as a small ball of anxiety that is quiet, knowledgeable/nerd, kind, and grumpy.

Barnaby: The jokester of the residents. He tends to be the comedian of the ball and is considered another life of the party since he has quite an outgoing, chill, and goofy personality. He would also be considered a bouncer of the ball and will stop guests from acting out. He will be seen joking and hanging out with residents or guests, and if not, he will be sitting at the bar or table smoking and providing drinks for the guests.

Howdy: The co-chef of the mansion that helps Poppy prep the food for the ball. He will also play piano for the ball and will be seen assisting Barnaby in being a bouncer of the ball and providing drinks for the guests. All guests alike can say that Howdy is quite a charmer and is silly/ fun to be around like Barnaby.

Y/N: The newest member of the mansion.

(Hi, everyone; I hope you like the info I have dumped about my Masquerade Au! I have so much more info to share for the characters but am still working around the details of them, which would be on what the residents do during the day time, what areas they tend to be in the mansion, etc. Anyway, feel free to draw my Au and @ me to them, and if you have any questions, my ask box is open!)

(Also, the Masquerade Wally drawings I did is still Canon; they are just missing small outfit details that I added in my reference sheet here.)

Home's and Y/N's designs are here: Masquerade Au

[severeaesthetic]

I see that you are accepting requests so I would love to request a 7 minute in heaven scenario with all the dorm leaders plus Lilia. You can make it fluffy/suggestive and if you wanted to do an 18+ continuation. You can if you want to. Thank you

7 minutes too little

For the sake of keeping it gn as possible I will refer to the reader as Yuu and you

Some you're dating them some you're not

⚠️some NSFW content, mentions of male genitalia, some strong language⚠️

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle is already uncomfortable being at a party with the rest of the heartslabyul. Cater had the idea to play 7 minutes in heaven. Trey collected all the names and Riddle being the dorm leader pulled out two names. He got a little pissed off when he read it was You. he begrudgingly unfolded the other paper and let out a surprised yelp when he read his name.

I'm not gonna name names, but Cater charmed the fake papers to only say Riddle and Yuu.

I can feel the heat radiating off Riddle's nervous body as you two walked into the closet. Now this can go multiple ways. All of them involve him being in love with you.

So, if you return his feelings and haven't made them obvious, like me. I would be just as nervous as him and be awkward.

But if you are the opposite and constantly flirt with him, you might make the first move.

kabedon him. Or don't. I would. his face would be funny.

I don't think Riddle would last the full 7 minutes.

He would probably get a boner and a nosebleed just from kissing you.

He would be too embarrassed after time is up and cover his boner with his cape and quickly walk out of the room.

This is when you slip Cater and Trey their 20 Thaumarks each for helping you make a move on Riddle.

Leona Kingscholar

Smug mfer.

There was literally only five of you. Leona, Ruggie, Jack, and Rook.

Leona didn't even read the name on the paper before he threw you over his shoulder and took you out of the common room leaving grossed out jack and Ruggie and a smirking Rook.

I hope to God that Leona knows a silencing charm like in Harry Potter.

Let's go with Beastmen have heat/mating cycles. and lets say leona had just started his the day you were all hanging out. Beastmen get time off from classes for their heat cycles, so their partners do too. So for the next week you are Leona's prey and I wish you luck. All you wanted to do was play a game of 7 minutes in heaven, not 7 days of rough sex (that was followed up by soft aftercare cause Leona is soft for you)

Azul Ashengrotto

Okay so you weren't actually playing 7 minutes in heaven. You were actually on your way to see Azul to work on a project. Floyd just so happens to scream really loud that Azul likes you and says that you should kiss and barricades you two in his office.

Azul wants to hide in his octopot. He is bright red.

He desperately tries to avoid looking at you as he tries to focus on the project you two are supposed to do.

Me personally I would wait until he thinks I forgot about what Floyd did then I would attack. A single kiss on the cheek then back to work like nothing.

"Are ya kissin em' Azul!?" Floyd yelled loud enough for the whole restaurant to hear which made him even more embarrassed.

The best you would get from him if he didn't have a heart attack would be a kiss on the hand before you leave.

If you made a move you could kiss him and he wouldn't complain.

Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim has no filter. So you might be playing 7 in heaven but there wouldn't be time for a closet before you could see big hearts in his eyes and gasping before immediately kissing you even if everyone was complaining.

He is super excited and he sits next to you after kissing you and holds your hand the entire time.

no joke there is no need for 7 in heaven. All you have to do is ask this sweet boy for a kiss or hug and he'll give it to you.

Vil Schoenheit

Bold of you to assume he would stoop to the level of childish games such as that. No no. He would never, especially if it would ruin his makeup or disrupt his necessary sleep.

No. He will not play. He only uses smudge proof makeup and so he will give you a kiss. A single kiss. Not only does he respect you not to go overboard with PDA but he also has an image to keep up.

So don't ask him to play that stupid game, just ask for a kiss little sweet potato (his words, not mine)

Idia Shroud

Nononononononononononononononononononononononononono

He doesn't ever leave his room, he would rather be caught dead than in a situation where this game would be played.

However, you would make your Thems (Sims) characters play this game which would still make his heart melt. I mean, he would call you a cringey normie but still. He absolutely thinks it's cute. He would record it and watch it over and over and over again. He won't tell you that though. (Ortho would sow you the video and Idia watching it)

Malleus Draconia

What is this heaven and why do you have to go in a closet to get there?

Poor baby is so confused. If you want him to kiss you why do you have to go to a different realm to do it?

I think Lilia would put you two up to it, not necessarily playing the game as Malleus wouldn't understand the concept. Probably like Floyd he locked you guys in a room in Diasomnia. He would be polite about it and ask to kiss you. Straight up no shame.

He wouldn't make out with you like a horny teen. All kisses would be romantic. However, he would absolutely tangle his fingers in your hair or put his hand on the back of your neck not letting you get away from the kiss.

He would not have sex with you in a stuffy closet if it escalated to that. That is for peasants. He's gonna treat you right with his incredibly soft bed and incredible love making. Also literally the king of aftercare. Any pain you have is taken away when he gives you a potion.

Lilia Vanrouge

you would literally just be walking down the hall and Lilia would appear and drag you into a closet

Cheeky mf

Literally would make a huge show of setting his timer. Actually it's an hourglass cause he's old. 🙃

He would take his time rolling up his sleeves like he's about to cook that nasty wonderful cooking he always does.

He would draw everything out to tease you saying shit like 'Oh I'm not as young as I used to be I don't know how to kiss anyone' like he didn't make out with you before class Spiderman style???

Anyways, after he makes this grand show he finally gets ready to kiss you.

He puts his hands on your cheeks, looking into your eyes all sweetly. He teases a bit by looking down to your lips and back to your eyes. He asks if he can kiss you, such a gentleman. You close your eyes and prepare for a kiss. You feel his breath on your skin.

Just as you expect to feel his soft lips against yours

.........

YOU FEEL HIS TONGUE ON YOUR CHEEK!!!!!!!

Then you hear his little keehee tee laughter before he disappears and leaves you in the closet.

This man can't be serious in his old age. Ever.

[bts5sosempire]

the tyrant (vi); side one

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: sukuna ryomen x reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 4,583

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: old time period, mention of arranged marriage, polygamous marriages, slow-burn yandere, power imbalances, peer pressure, nothing major atm, mentions of infertility, etc.

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲:  "you were the apple of Sukuna's eyes, the one who brought him solace and everything. The only thing you were incapable of was giving him a child, an heir he wished to spoil like he did to you."

𝐚/𝐧: splitting this into two parts, leaving y’all on a cliffhanger. pls like, comment below for tagging, and reblogged. (edit: forgot there were "broken" links or something when clicking to find the chapters, those are also fixed too.)

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

In front of you were two boxes, one that was gunpowder with a bold black label written at the top of the crate, and the other was written in potassium chlorate. You notice that these two items share similar fates but different structures. "Handle with care," you instructed, snapping the fan in your hand shut. Walking off with shoulders squaring, your eyes trail around when you stop right in the center of the trading post. You finally owned a small port that allowed you to transport essential items from different countries. From using the money, the inn has accumulated over time.

All the time you've spent inside your room, stuck reading boring materials and trying to navigate into the world as a man, was brutal. You would never have the luxury and freedom as a woman, but you've become too accustomed to dressing up as a man. It doesn't mean you let yourself fall freely. This world wasn't built for women; you've always known that from the start, although that doesn't stop you from bending the rules to your will if you wish for it. The effects of reinforcing you into roles from everyone start to wear off when there isn't anyone keeping tabs.

And it feels liberating, you admit.

The first few steps you have taken for yourself without the help of anyone powerful give you a sense of clarity—something normal among the norms. You eye the small port, seeing the future play out in front of you. If you kept a steady trade of items from the small shops, you have gambled around the area for their compliance (you were hasty, something you ought to keep in check, too), then the port would grow big in no time. But quality wares is something you noted and took from the vendors you think would make it big if they produce what you're looking for. Owning important essential items or daily use objects was often sought out, and knowing what was going on in the market with the ledgers you kept, the vendors were happy to update it every week.

The smell of sea salt brushes against your nose when a spray mist of the ocean settles across your face like a thin veil. It brought you back from reality. The dark soft fur that clings around your neck tickles your jawline. It was a cape that had a lined coat inside for heat insulation. It was a gift to you from the seamstress. At first, you refuse such a gift as you weren't expecting anything in return but their devotion. The seamstress was an elderly lady named Rue with pure grey hair with specks of white, with milky pupils who ran the shop with her granddaughter, who was the age of fifteen. For someone blind, they have an impeccable sense of design, where to thread their needle, and even hand spin the silk threads with deer tail fur to tone down the bright arrogant colors.

Last but not least, you didn't bypass her as male.

You wonder how at first, Rue could tell, but you couldn't stop them from shoving their hands all over your face to see as further confirmation. It isn't until when you're alone that she sends her blushing granddaughter, who keeps gawking at you, to fetch warm jasmine tea from the kitchen. When she breathed out how the light footsteps and breathing differed from men, the soft scent of your natural smell under the musk of pinewood wasn't enough to fool her. Years of blindness hone her other senses.

To say you give a nervous smile even though Rue can't see, but she could sense it. You remember how she didn't ask questions about your true identity, but traces of understanding was written across her withering face. Rue was indeed an enigma and a master of changing the topic onto herself with woos of stories of her ambitious youth. You don't mind her rambling; as long as it's not you divulging into your life, then you're fine.

Readjusting the cape, you walk off the port onto the mainland, and before you can go any further, a woman who is a bit tad shorter than you bumps into you. They let out a yelp and seemed to trip over their heel as they braced for impact when falling back and shut their eyes. Based on reflexes, you grab their wrist to pull them upright, but all it does is wring their weight your way as they collide into your chest with a delicate sound of discontent.

"Hey! Watch where-" The words died on their lips when they opened their soft pomegranate-colored eyes. Their eyes almost remind you of someone. As if they couldn't utter a word after nearly insulting you, the shade of their face became gradually warmer, like the colors of their eyes. "I'm sorry!" They sputter out in nervousness. You only look down at her with your questioning piercing gaze that has her even weaker in your arms. Unknowingly. Ripping themself out of your hold, she set a space between you both.

"What are you sorry for? It was my fault for not seeing you." Simply reassuring her, the woman across from you became a more blubbering mess. You don't know what's going on in her head; the more you observe, it becomes a headache to decipher each passing second. Cutting her off, you notice the sky gradually getting darker and bid her farewell with a tilt of your head down.

It wasn't until that you were gone she allowed herself to bask in the memories of you. With both hands on her flaming cheeks, she gushes over her Prince Charming and starts to create scenarios in her head. "They were so cool!~" The aura around her was warm and pleasant, and even some bystanders who walked past her glanced at her—some young love.

"Lady Kiriko!" The young woman's handmaid finally reaches her as they huff and pant. They stop in front of her. Kiriko only clicked her tongue in distaste as she lost her sense of a heart-warming aura. "I finally found you! We have to go to the inn before it gets dark." The handmaid wheezes out.

Like a flip that has been switched, Kiriko activated her brat mode. "Why do you always have to ruin my fun?" She pinches the maid's arm harshly, and they cringe back. "I still have a bit more time left before sundown." Kiriko overlaps her arms, but her thoughts trail back to you, and then brat mode is switched off. She had a deluded smile on her face. Then again, it was back on instantly when she turned around to her maid. "By the way, did you see a handsome man on your way here? They walk where the way you came from."

The handmaid crinkles her brows in confusion.

Kiriko rolls her eyes, "You know about this tall?" She gestured to where your height would reach, which is a head taller. "They wore a cape in the color of brown, but it looked like gold with intricate design, and the neck had soft black fur surrounding it." Kiriko waited a few more seconds, "And they look adorable too."

The maid then snaps their eyes at the lady, "Ah yes! I saw them; they walked into a rented house near here!" Kiriko didn't waste time asking which house the handsome man rented, and the maid told her it was the Red Koi and sped away.

Eisha coughs as the weather gets colder and harsher. With the months flying by and winter coming, she tried to stifle another hack. "Where are the imported red coals?" She asked nearby maids, who gave each other a look, deciding who would break the news. They were a jittering mess and kept avoiding eye contact.

Eisha's lady-in-waiting ensured her Master was comfortable as she brought the finest furs and pillows to create a sturdy and warm nest. "Your Lady asked you a question, and you won't answer her?" The personal maid sternly made a face, and the lowly ranked servants quivered.

"The red coals that you requested were given to Lady (Name)," one spoke up, still refusing to make eye contact; they whispered the last part in a hush, "by Lord Sukuna's order."

As if what they said were whiplash to their Lady and the personal maid, Eisha's lady-in-waiting was about to blow a fuse for her Master. "All dismiss." She tried to say calmly. Although it was barely contained, all the servants could see how Eisha's handmaid eyes bled red with rage, and no one wasted a second to flee the room. If Hell existed, it would be this very castle.

Eisha's handmaid, Miyo, turns to their master. "Your Lady, even Lord Sukuna knows about your condition and that regular coals could suffocate your lungs and worsen it with the amount of smoke it emits." Miyo then curses you inside her mind; like everyone else, she couldn't understand why Lord Sukuna would put you above all else. Are you made of gold or something? Miyo was sure you were nothing; you hadn't made yourself worthy with a single childbirth. Something that everyone knew was important.

"Don't worry about it," Eisha's quiet demeanor made Miyo even more raucous, but she held it inside. "Go to the clothing department today and pick up my lined fur fleece and my daughter from her study." With the command, Miyo respectfully now to Eisha and left the room.

There was a quick and sudden announcement from Hanami about her niece visiting her from a different region of Japan in a week. So the Doom Mother (Motherzilla) had expected everything to be perfect and lavish. Even the concubines were putting on their best behavior as they discussed what to wear to welcome their mother-in-law's niece.

This was the first time the girl would make an official trip to visit Hanami alone. But that doesn't mean you haven't heard of her before; there were brief mentions of her throughout your marriage to Sukuna. Where Hanami had plotted the idea of her only son marrying a cousin with who he had no interest. Additionally, Sukuna only met her once when she was only eight. Even the age gap was a decade between them. In the faint memory of her ten years ago, Sukuna had said she was a spoilt brat to the brim and expected the world to bow down to her.

You could almost laugh at how ironic he was judging someone when he was the same way. Well, minus the spoilt parts, then it would be perfect.

"Lady (Name)," a lady you recognize was two years older than you, was part of Hanami's entourage, Ubi. Judging by her clothes, she was in the second rank, closely behind Hanami's vassal, Naiyu. This instantly made you put on an air of neutrality; you didn't know what to expect from her as you didn't know much about her. Out of all of Hanami's retainers, only Ubi and Naiyu were the ones you watch out for, as Ubi was specially trained under Naiyu, so their facade was perfect craftsmanship.

Since they both represent Hanami's strengths, they had to be fearless in what they do, and you suspect that much—being the blade for their master. Still, they have shown indifference toward you, but doubt lingers in your mind. You can be careful and wary of them, but that would invite your demise if you failed to see beyond, so you try to harden your eyes.

Ubi, who senses you putting up barriers, instantly tries to disarm it with a soft smile that is part of her service. "The Head Mother has requested your presence," and around you, the air of jealousy and envy from concubines rises through the roof and filters through the hallways. Whether it's deliberate or not, Ubi semblance never falters. She held onto that patience.

"Lead the way," you monotonously said, and she turned around for you to follow. Starting at her back, it's unsettling how you can't pick what's happening inside Ubi's head, unlike how you did with Sukuna. For them, it's a blank slate.

"Ugh, look at her acting like she's so important just because the Head Mother had called for her," Sena whispered with hidden jaundice around her little clique, and they all agreed. One rolls their eyes, and a few sniggers at the action. Her eyes trail close to where you left.

It took a few minutes to lead you to Hanami's residence.

"Head Mother, I have brought Lady (Name) as per your request," Ubi announces, and the door slides open. She side steps to the side to allow you in without looking up.

You enter the room with quiet steps and sit on the zabuton, and before you can bow as a greeting, she lifts a hand to stop you. "There's no need." Hanami tries to mask her displeasure at seeing you, and you weren't stupid to not see it. It's just you didn't bother to point it out. Since she has an important matter to discuss and it involves you, Hanami decides to make it quick so your face isn't a constant reminder of your Aunt.

Hanami: "You're going to take over on welcoming my niece."

You: "Pardon? Isn't that supposed to be Lady Eisha's role?"

"Yes, it is," Hanami spoke as a matter of fact, "due to her ailing health, this task might be arduous for her since the doctor has told her to stay warm, so Eisha is taking bed rest to recover. Thus I'm assigning this to you."

Well, this is news to you. Out of all the people she could've picked, she had chosen you for such a task. You would have thought she might select one of the lower concubines to do the job. With her blatant prejudice against you. "Wouldn't any other concubine be better for the job?"

"Are you shrinking your role as the second wife of my son?" Hanami blurts out in annoyance as her tone rises an octave high; she looks up and down at you repeatedly with quick eyes. Like, you have gone crazy for even suggesting that.

With lips service smile, you retort back politely, "Head Mother, you seem to be offended by my innocent question. I'm only asking since you seem to tolerate my presence barely, let alone we haven't spoken to one another within five years of being married to your son. The only time we spoke was, instead, very brief and short, two days after the wedding consummation." It was the first greeting for the mother as a new in-law from the wife or concubine as respect.

Hanami clenches her jaws tightly; your sharp tongue and dim-witted acting seem to prick her nerves. You and your Aunt are very much alike in some ways, unbearable and arrogant. "Are you going to refuse my order?"

"Ah no," you quickly reply, "that would bring shame if I didn't uphold my duty as the second wife of Sukuna and Lady Eisha's left hand too."

Hanami didn't know if what you said was pure mockery, but each passing second in this room with you got her blood pumping in anger. "Since you have understood, you're dismissed."

You courteously bow deliberately (on purpose) to bid farewell before standing up with grace. Hanami was sure you were playing with her; your ungenuine smile wasn't even hidden. She curses daily due to her son's favoritism of you; you're like a plague that never vacates. And have you grown uncouth that you don't even respect her?

"Lord Sukuna, Lady (Name) will be taking over Lady Eisha's task of welcoming your cousin in a few days," Uraume informed their master, who quirked a brow.

"Oh? So that brat of a cousin is visiting?" He asked no one in particular; it was more of saying it to himself out loud. "Mother has finally given her such an important task for once." The thought of his Mother warming up to you sounds so funny that he can't help but chuckle. His Mother barely tolerates the idea of you and loathes Sukuna himself for a self-evident reason sometimes. "Make sure my wife doesn't overwork herself and help her if necessary; I'll tend to her afterward."

Uraume silently left the room, and Sukuna mulled over his thought. He rests his temple against his knuckles and watches the candlelight flicker under a breeze. But in his spare hand was a familiar thick jewel; Sukuna toys around with a gold bangle with assorted gems in various sizes, colors, and labyrinth designs indented into the gold.

It was your bangle.

After the night he had spent with you, he took what's most precious to you, and it was what was given to you by your deceased parents. There were years of work on it, seeing how the inside of the jewel was fading away from constant use. Sukuna noticed how the clasps were loose, most of all when he kept twisting the bangle around to feel every rigidity and bump.

The more he looks at it, the more something seems off.

Sukuna barely saw small noticeable lines on the inside of the bracelet; it was in the shape of a square. A small hidden compartment; if his keen and trained eyes missed that tiny detail, he deserved to be killed on a battlefield for not seeing an enemy, ambush, or assassination. Still, Sukuna was curious and grabbed a small wooden toothpick to unlock the small door.

He was surprised when multiple seeds fell out of the bracelet when he shook them out onto the table. The color of the sources was rather old, seeing how raisin and dried they were. Something stirs in his chest, and he doesn't like it. Sukuna's fierce eyes were glaring at the jarring sight before him. Cold like Hell has washed over.

"Someone, go and fetch me the doctor. Right. Now." His voice was low, with his wrath was barely concealed through clenched teeth. "Now!" Sukuna repeats their voice bellows out from his room to outside when no one makes a move to move. One male servant scamps away to do what they're told out of fear.

You're crafty. He gives you credit for that; whatever you're hiding, he would sniff it out. Sukuna then set the jeweled bracelet down and ran a hand through his hair; he puffs out a shallow breath. He's barely an anxious man, but his opinions of you and your sensitive nature slowly etched their way into his mind as he started to pick them apart one by one in a logical sense.

When emotions run high, clouds of judgment obscure his views. Sukuna is a man led by ideals and a futuristic sense; scarcely emotions ever run by him. He knew deep down when he allowed himself to feel emotions, it would cause him trouble, and he was right. Few selected people could be worthy of his regard, but to him, it didn't change his output of you very much. He dislikes being blind by someone, even so, he fully lets himself be when it comes to you, but seeing differently from a different angle, Sukuna should know that you're not soft and malleable.

You're like glass, pretty in the light, but there are still sharp edges around it. You shouldn't be underestimated. When he thought he had you at the center of his palm, you find a way to slip away. The game of chase was a back-and-forth thing, with its up and down.

Sukuna took another breath and exhaled deeply, pushing away the negative introspections.

You were busy interacting and directing where everything should go the next few days. It almost felt like a routine when you were dressed up as your alibi, Seijuro Hajime. Your breath fogs up in front of you, and your nose itches when cold air brushes against it; turning your head to the side, you sneeze.

"You should dress up warmer for the occasion," a voice snuck up behind you, and you froze for a quick second when a heavy cape was draped around your shoulders. Sukuna had made his presence known, and the servants around you suddenly worked harder than before. You were about to shrug off his cape, but his hands were on your shoulders, "Keep it on."

Another moment of pregnant silence passed through; no servants bothered to be in your and Sukuna's line of sight. They make sure to steer clear away from the invisible bubble that was presented around their Lord of the House. Sukuna presses his broad front against your back; you can feel his heat seeping through, then he slides his hands down your shoulders until it reaches your cold hands. His callous palms envelopes your own, and there was a minor battle of you struggling to tug it away.

"Could you please let me do my job," you patronize Sukuna, who only takes it as amusement and doesn't move an inch.

"No, I came here to spend time with my lovely wife." He tunes out, and his voice is much lighter, much chirpy to your liking. "Do you want to know what I discovered today?"

"No," flatly refusing him, one of Sukuna's hands retracted for a second, and you felt something cold and heard a slight click on your wrist. You look down to see your bracelet that has gone missing adorned your wrist. Toring yourself away, you whirl around to meet his eyes; you accuse him with a quiet, burning, seething look, "So it was you who took it."

The corners of his lips quirk up. You have spent days looking for your precious bangle, even flipping your room upside down. You didn't think it was this menacing man in front of you swiping it right under your nose during that day he had forcefully bedded you. You even thought that you lost it during your outing to the castle and that anyone could pick it up and pawn it to set themselves up for life.

"It was a pretty little thing; I know it was a special gift to you from your parents. So I took it as an inspiration to see your taste, as you never wore what I gifted. " Sukuna explains while lazily giving you a nonchalant expression without losing his carefree nature. He lops his head to the side, "And here's the fun part, I fixed your little bracelet problems for you."

You clench your jaws and roll your eyes again with a deep breath, "There's nothing wrong with it."

"No, no, no," Sukuna tuts out as if he's dealing with a lying child, "There is a problem with it. You, my lovely wife here, have been plotting something bigger against me this whole time." The light in his eyes darkened and was replaced with something entirely devious. Mentally preparing yourself, Sukuna brushes his knuckles against your cold, bitten, ample red cheeks. "There are many things I've been tolerating from you," Sukuna's tone reeks of hurt and betrayal, despite failing to mask it, "but not this."

The hand caressing your cheek was suddenly behind your nape; Sukuna grips, and for once, he didn't care how he made you look in front of his servants, who were surprised at his treatment. Many hold their breath and further avoid the personal bubble as they could see trouble brewing between you both. All we're opting the long way to complete their task.

"You know I always wanted a child with you, but seriously, basil seeds?" Sukuna let out a haughty laugh when he saw your expression crumble a bit from fear of realization that he knew. "Yes, I now know what has caused your infertility."

The smile he wore never seemed so big and scary in front of you. Your mind was repeatedly reeling that Sukuna knew. He. Knew. Now you're not safe, and you can no longer avoid his advances.

Sukuna could see the vulnerability displayed before him; this was what he was waiting for. You're so open for him to take and relish. "I admire the length you're willing to go, and honestly, I genuinely do." You don't know what will come out of his mouth anymore. "No one can save you from me now. Not even your precious bracelet."

[Days Ago]

Sukuna patiently waited for the physician to arrive at his headquarters while drumming his fingers against the dark red oak table. His eyes trail to your bracelet that sticks out like a sore thumb, along with the seeds. The doors to his room snap open as the physician enters. "Finally," Sukuna said out loud; he has patience, but not today.

The doctor stopped in front of Sukuna and greeted him with a bow. "Lord Sukuna, w-what seems to be the problem?"

The man smirked, "You always seem to tremble whenever you meet me, but never mind that," Sukuna motioned with his head where the bracelet and seeds lay, "Tell me what is on the table." The physician saw and quickly took action.

They took a seed and examined it before sniffing it, and a faint scent emitted. "My Lord, this is basil seed."

Sukuna: "Basil?"

"Yes, basil." They confirmed it.

"What's so special about it?" Sukuna asks with interest.

"Lord Sukuna, basil seeds are used for many things, and especially if consuming it, doing it in small quantities once in a while not to cause side effects. Too much may cause bloating and abdominal pain. This is also used to help... " The medic explains in tangent detail.

"Then explain why it was inside the bracelet." Sukuna cuts to the chase when asking about something the doctor does and tends to run their mouth sometimes.

"A-Ah, yes." He took the bracelet from the table, "May I ask who the bracelet belongs to?"

Sukuna: "(Name)."

The doctor should not be surprised it was you. They took a moment to examine the bracelet and saw the open compartment door and sniffed the inside of the bangle, and found traces of it. "My Lord, how long has Lady (Name) worn this bracelet?"

The sound of urgency in his voice caught Sukuna's interest. "For as long as I married her. It was from her parents. What's the problem?"

Since there was no time stamp on how long, the doctor could only conclude one thing, "If Lady (Name) has worn this for a long time, then the cause of her infertility could be this all along." The words are like a cold wake-up call from the doctor; Sukuna's eyelids droop low with fury. The thought of you, 'How dare you (Name).' The doctor nervously continues, "Long exposure to basil seeds entering the bloodstream could thin out the blood, affect her hormones, and even her menstrual cycles. This could also explain—"

Sukuna raised a hand for the medic to shut their mouth as he was complimented on how he should deal with you and what he had just learned today. At first, he took your bracelet to understand your personal preferences, then return it to you later, and now he doesn't regret stumbling onto your long secret by chance. The amount of time he had bed you and you failed to conceive a child was out.

"You're dismissed, and keep your mouth shut." Then he looks at the corner where Uraume resides, "Take the bracelet to get it modified from a nearby jeweler. Fix the clasps and seal the door."

•

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[rkay07]

The Traveler

c!Technoblade x fem!reader

(I don't have time to put warning so read at your own risk I guess and this is an UNFINISHED fanfic so sowwy (:)

Word Count: 6.1k (that's a big number)

Living alone has its benefits, privacy, everything and anything is on your own time, and you don’t have to worry about anybody. At least almost anybody.

You were having some time up in your attic reading about potions, even though you’ve read that book about seven times already. You zoned out, staring off out the window. It took you a second but you came back and focused on the snow that was falling outside, you smiled at yourself knowing that you haven’t gotten fresh snow for a good couple days. Admiring the scenery, you stared off into the distance at the trees. Beautiful spruce trees, covered in white powder is something you couldn’t get enough of when you looked out from your house. In all the years you’ve lived here alone, you never took them for granted. You get up from your chair and stand in front of the window, opening up your view to the whole field of snow you had. You leaned on the window sill and closed your eyes as you felt the coldness from the glass pane kiss your face.

You grinned and opened your eyes. But as your eyes adjusted, you could see wrestling off to the side of the tree line. The tree branches tossed and turned with leaves falling from the disturbed sticks, you were eager to see what it was but you didn’t have a great view. So as fast as you could possibly go, you booked it for your ladder, sliding down and hopping over your stairs to get to your front door windows. You grabbed your bow and arrows as you flew through your room, setting up right in front of the tree that was still moving rapidly. Honestly, you weren’t scared but confused, you thought the thing was trying to get something out of the tree but what? There was no food in the spruce trees. It was very strange to you. You thought about it again and took a deep breath setting your bow and arrows down under the window. You unlocked your door and headed out onto the porch, you had your sword with you in case of an emergency.

The tree line was a great deal away from your house, 25 yards to be exact. As you slowly walked up to the forest you thought it might be your horse that had gotten lost a couple days earlier while you were hunting for rabbits in the same forest but he could have been anywhere. You got a few feet away from the forest when you heard murmuring like someone was talking to themselves so you held your ground, planting your feet in the snow and having your sword ready behind you. You hesitated to speak but then it stopped, the talking had stopped. You froze at the sound of silence, your eyes narrowed in on the trees, jolting at the slightest movement. You held your breath but your heart rate sped up, skipping a beat when a rabbit jumped out a little ways down the tree line. You focused on the place in front of you trying not to become impatient with the lack of noise. You took one step forward but a voice from beyond the trees' bold and thick vibrates your head, “Don’t.” It said. So you stopped, daring not to take another step for the sake of not knowing what’s back there. The voice speaks again but sounding softer this time, “I’m just passing through but I think I have something that’s yours.” You scrunch your eyebrow together, not really thinking of what this person might have.

You hear sticks crack and see branches move as the person steps closer towards you. You take a big breath and a single step back when you finally see what was talking to you, tall, short pink hair, and tusks. Wait, no, he’s wearing a mask but still tusks? Huge cape too, gosh he looked like royalty. You slid your sword back into its spot and straightened up, “Sorry.” Was all you could muster at the sight of him. He continued to walk out from the forest, making a path with his sword through the branches. He had a horse with him, it was walking behind him, slow and tired, it looked like it hadn’t rested in days. When the man finally got into a good spot off the tree line, he turned around and clicked his tongue, “Is this your horse?” Your horse came running out of the trees, bucking and trotting around the snow like he hasn’t seen snow in forever. You chuckled and smiled at the sight of your horse prancing around, “Oh my goodness, Rusty! Where have you been?” You glance at the man petting his horse and decide to walk over to Rusty, your horse.

When you got Rusty settled down you walked back to the man and stuck your hand out, “Thank you, sir.” He looked at your hand, finger tips red and cold from standing outside for a little too long. He took your hand and firmly shook it. His hand was warm despite it being frigid outside. You took your hand back and turned to look at your house and back to him, “This sounds odd but would you like something to eat? I just got done making some mushroom soup and I think your horse would enjoy hanging out in my barn for a little bit.” You gave him a weak smile and cocked your head. He looked over your shoulder towards your house and at the barn that was a bit farther away. He looked at his clock and finally back at you, “I don’t think so.” He started to walk off, every step going deeper into the snow. You press your lips together at his statement, “It’s the least I could do for you because you found my horse.” He shook his head and kept on walking but his horse stopped behind him. The man turned around to his horse and gave the reins a tug, signaling that he wanted to keep going but the horse had other plans. His horse turned around and walked back to you. He nudged your arm and rubbed his face against it, “How long have you guys been walking?” You tried to sound caring more than anything. He exhaled and walked to his horse, mumbling under his breath, “A day or two.” He took his horse by the reins and pulled him away from you. “Have you rested at all?” You ask, trying to look around his horse and at him. You could hear him murmuring to himself again, the same exact tone you heard earlier behind the trees. You could tell the horse was tired the moment you saw it and now questioning if he’s even rested for a straight day or two. You look at Rusty and signal him to go to the barn, he stomps his foot and trots off to the barn as you walk with the man and his horse.

“I think you would get to wherever you’re going faster if you rest for a couple hours.” You said quietly, wondering if he even heard you. It takes a couple seconds before the man stops in his tracks making the horse bump into him. The man turns around and faces you. Not prepared for you to be so close to him, he stepped back, “Fine. But when I’m done, I’m gone.” You smile and start walking to the barn.

You made a bowl for you and the man as he sat over at the table, you occasionally looked back at him sitting there very quietly. You hadn’t had another person in your house for a very long time and it felt weird but not uncomfortable. You grabbed the two bowls and took them to the table. You sat across the table from the man, you had so many questions and you didn’t know why. He probably didn’t know the answers to them anyway so you asked a more relevant question to break the silence, “So where are you traveling to?” You had looked up from your bowl but he didn’t, he kept his eyes on his bowl. Looking at it like it was going to be the last meal he was going to eat. You put your eyes back on your bowl and took a sip from your spoon, you were a little surprised, you had made the soup very good this time. You got a little excited because you got to share with someone else but you kept your cool and kept eating.

He looked up from his bowl and at you, seeing that you were eating the soup, that made him feel a little better about eating it but it was still questionable. His skepticism got in the way of him actually enjoying a meal with you, he couldn’t go anywhere without feeling like everyone was out to get him. He was looking at you longer than he should have, observing a person that he had never seen before. His eyes widened when he realized that he might have a crush on you, he immediately looked back at his bowl and started eating. He had a feeling this wouldn’t be the last time he would see you. And next time wouldn’t be an accident.

He did what he said, he was gone when he was done. You watched from your porch as he galloped away on his horse, set off down the field and into the forest again. He was gone in a blink of an eye. You felt this warmth inside you that you had never felt before, you were outside on your porch in freezing temperatures and you felt warm, you thought you were going crazy, it was so unknown to you. You walked back inside and closed the door behind you. You sighed leaning against your front door. You thought about the man and buried your face in your hands, you never got his name. You were ashamed of yourself, asking where he might be going instead of asking him what his name was. You couldn’t believe yourself. You pushed off the door and started to walk to the stairs when you saw a napkin still on the table where the both of you ate. You picked it up to throw it away in the trash but it had writing on it, you couldn’t help but read it. 

The name’s Technoblade but you can call me Techno, I’m headed off to the town a few miles from your house. If you don’t mind, I'd like to stop by your house again on my way back.

You smiled at the note and walked up to your room, happier than ever.

You waited for him to come back, you were excited to see him again but got a little worried when it hit the fourth day. You tried your best not to think about it like hanging out with Rusty and moving hay bales but it was hard not to.

You were outside when you heard trotting in the distance, a big smile was plastered on your face when you saw Techno on his horse. You stopped what you were doing and walked to your porch to greet him. You took your gloves off and set them on the thick railing of the porch and crossed your arms. You grinned as he slowed down. He got off and whispered to his horse, the horse pranced around finally making its way to the barn where it found Rusty eating some hay. He took one step onto the stairs but stopped, he looked across the field from where he came from and took a second to stare. You noticed he had a little more emotion on his face than last time, he looked worried. You pressed your lips together, “What’s wrong?” You asked, taking a step down. He closed his eyes and was still facing the field, he didn’t know how to put it but he wasn’t at all worried. He turned back to you, “Nothing.” A smile tugged at his lips but never seemed to form. You nodded your head and walked into the house, he followed close behind, closing the door to not let the nice warm heat escape the house.

It was colder than usual at your house so you had the fireplace going. Techno sat in the seat he sat in the previous time, staring at the fireplace. He couldn’t tell if the heat was coming from the burning wood or his blushed cheeks. To be honest, he was also delighted to see you again and he was hoping that he could spend more time with you and not just on this occasion. He liked the company, and knew you did too but he didn’t know if you liked him. He whipped his head towards you when he heard you speak, waiting to hear that lovely voice of yours for days. “So do you have family? Brother, Sister, Father, Mother?” He was caught off guard by your question, he thought about an answer, one that wasn’t so complicated. He didn’t want to lie so he only said the basics, “A Father, a wonderful Mother, and…” he paused, you thought you heard him sniffle but it was probably you. He rubbed his chin before he finished his sentence, “And a little Brother.” You smiled at yourself, knowing he had family made him seem not so big and scary but a lovable giant. You picked up the board of bread, cooked chicken, and two wooden plates and walked over to the table sitting in the same spot as last time. You notice that he took off his big cape, exposing the rest of his figure. You thought you were prepared to see but he looked too hot. He was wearing a tight wool long sleeve making his arms seem massive, and brown wool pants that looked comfy as clouds. You didn’t know if he knew what he looked like but if he didn’t you would show him one day.

It seemed like the both of you talked for ages but when Techno checked his clock, only three hours had passed. He wanted to hit the road but he didn’t want to leave you here all alone. He was tempted to ask you if he could stay the night but his mind quickly discarded it. When you saw him check his clock you knew it was time for him to go, you got up and stacked everything. You made your way to the sink, rinsing the board and plates off. You rinsed your hands, drying them off with a towel. You started walking back to the table but Techno was already sitting on your couch watching the wood pop and sparks flying in the air. A smile tugged at your lips as you looked at him, you walked over to the couch across from him and sat down. You looked at the fire mesmerized by its light, your gaze trailed off to Techno. Your eyes met his, that made heat rush to your cheeks and your eyes widened slightly. He had taken off his mask before you guys ate but his facial feature glowed in the light of the fire, you couldn’t help but stare.

He leaned back onto the couch, putting his foot on his knee and resting his arm on the back of the couch. You had to look away before you walked over to him and kissed the living daylight out of him. You grinned as you looked down at your hands, “You’ll be traveling in the dark if you don’t leave soon.” You sounded as if you were trying to convince not only him but yourself too. He nodded and tapped his leg. He knew he had to go but he was convinced that you liked him back. He didn’t want to push it though and tapped his leg again. He got up and walked over to you. He held his hand out and waited for you to take it, “Thank you for letting me stay.” You took his hand but didn’t expect him to pull you into his arm and hold you by the waist. You were starstruck looking up at him, he was so tall and muscular, at that moment you didn’t know what to do.

Your brain froze for a second from being so close, his body was at your fingertips. But you knew better if you wanted him to at least have some sun for his travels you would have to let him be for the time being, “Anytime.” He leaned down as if to kiss you but hugged around your waist, bringing you up on your tippy toes. You hugged him back, wrapping your arms around his neck and burrowing your face into the crook of his neck. He hugged you back even tighter when you did that, moving his hand from your back to the back of your shoulder basically strapping you against him. You felt safe, that was something you didn’t feel very often but with him you were never going to get hurt. You ran your fingers through his surprisingly untangled hair, you leaned back but he held you close. You chuckled, cupping his face with your hands, “Would you like to take anything for the road?” The words of your request slipped your mind but he took notice of your ‘mistake’. He opened his eyes and looked deep into yours, if looks could kill. He tucked some hair behind your ear, “You.” Your lips curled into a soft smile and butterflies formed in your stomach. You shook your head and patted his shoulder, not believing what he said, “I meant food, Silly.” You made your way back to the kitchen and he followed you, walking incredibly quiet, “And I meant you.” You shook your head once more.

He ended up not taking food but he did take some night vision potions you had and some fire resistance. He was impressed by how many books you had of, well, everything. From potions to cooking, from ruins portals to strongholds. He had mentioned earlier that he was the boredest man alive when he was traveling through the tree because he couldn’t go fast unless he wanted to hit a tree at 35 mph. So you gave him a book of his choice because you don’t like being bored yourself and that gives him a reason to come back but to be honest he didn’t need a reason to come back to you.

It was over two weeks until you saw him again. It was a relief to see him and his horse walking out of the forest and finally getting to have time with him. You weren’t letting him leave until you got at least one kiss. You leaned on the porch watching him signal his horse off to the barn, the horse trotted away behind the house but you kept your gaze on Techno. He kept his eyes on the ground for his own reasons, walking up the stairs and finally looking at you. He looked sad but smiled anyway. You smiled back at him as you cocked your head, tilting up when he got close to you. You blinked at him, you would never get used to his massive stature, you were tiny compared to him and you think he liked it. He moved some hair out of your face and behind your ear. He glided his thumb across the skin of your cheek, you were cold and hot at the same time. You closed your eyes as you melted into his touch, “We should get inside.” Your voice soft and shy. He was taken aback with the sudden change of appearance, he nodded and let you lead the way with his hand on your back.

You went to the kitchen as usual but he followed this time. He hung his cape and mask up and walked over to the counter that you weren’t using and leaned against it. Your back was turned to him but you knew he was staring, tracing your body with curiosity and affection. A slight smile appeared on his face as you turned to give him a bowl of beetroot soup, your shocked expression came across your face when your eyes met his. And it didn’t help when you saw his smile get bigger, his canines showing and his hands on the counter. You raised the bowl to him and he took it, sipping on it as he looked at you. You didn’t know what to make of it, you stood there quite flabbergasted and he liked every moment of it. You stepped closer to him and leaned against the same counter he was, you finally felt ok to eat. You didn’t if you were uncomfortable with it or if it was just awkward to you but it didn’t matter because you snuggled next to him and he wrapped his arm around your shoulders. He rubbed your arm and took a sip from his bowl. The both of you sat in silence for a while before speaking, enjoying each other's company.

You guys had a few things in common, like you both lived alone, you both lived in snowy areas, and you both liked reading. Not much but it was enough to get on topics you could talk about for hours. You and Techno were sitting across each other on the couch, the fire going ablaze and your conversation getting hotter by the minute. You felt the tension between you and him but you were nervous, you didn’t know how he was going to respond so you stayed put, holding your tongue every time you thought your remark was too much.

He saw how jittery you were and wanted to make sure you were ok, “How long has it been since you’ve had someone else in your house?” He leaned forward his elbows on his knees, your mouth parted slightly at the sight but you were brought back instantly, thinking about his question for a moment. You messed with your fingers as you spoke, “Honestly I can’t remember the last time I had company other than you in my home…” you trailed off, your gaze landed on the very bright fire, dancing in the fireplace. You had the sudden urge to cry, tears filled your eyes and you didn’t know why. You quickly rubbed your eyes and face, trying to remove any evidence of sadness off. You felt the couch shift and strong arms wrap around your shoulders, big hands softly rubbing up and down your back. He was unbelievably soft to the touch, he wasn’t scary at all to be clear, someone couldn’t be any further from the truth if they said he was scary. Sure, he was humongous and built like a spruce tree but that wasn’t even close to his heart, he cared, he cared about you. He had one leg on the couch and one foot on the ground, you moved in between his legs and leaned against his chest. It didn’t seem like he was phased but he was, but not because you were close to you know what but because you were so small, you fit perfectly between his legs and he couldn’t get enough of it. He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you as close as possible which was actually quite close but you didn’t care. You settled into him and held onto his arms, you couldn’t believe how thick his forearms were so you stared at them as you tried to calm down.

He couldn’t help but think that it was his fault that you started crying. He nuzzled into the crook of your neck and whispered, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry.” He nuzzled even further into your neck to hide his flushed face. You chuckled lightly, “No…no, you didn’t make me cry.” You brought your hand up to his hair and ran your fingers through it. He chuckled and came out of his hiding place, resting his chin on your head for a second. You looked up at him and gave him a soft smile, he cocked his head and smiled back. You moved your hand down to his jaw and gave his lips a couple glances. He took notice and cupped your cheeks with a free hand, wiping a tear that had escaped from your eye. He examined your face and gave your forehead a gentle kiss. You looked up at him with pure fondness, you didn’t kiss him, it wasn’t time but maybe you should have because before you know it someone’s knocking on your door.

You looked at the door shocked, almost scared. You never get visitors, never. This was frightening. You look at Techno, he saw how scared you were and told you to either not move or go up to your room and see if you can see anything. You nodded and quietly sprinted up the stairs, finding your bow and arrows and peered out the window. You had a perfect view but the porch was covered by the awning. You saw no horse standing out in the snow so you were confused by how anyone could get to your house from anywhere if this person didn’t have a horse. You sat up there, waiting for absolutely anything, then you heard Techno open the door.

Techno watched as you ran up the stairs making sure you got up before he pulled anything out. He was silent, not making a sound whatsoever, he picked up his cape and satchel from the bench next to the front door and pulled out his sword. He looked through the window next to the door, being as stealthy as possible. How could he miss the guy standing outside? It was the last person he ever wanted to see, especially at your house. It was like seeing a ghost, this guy was thought to be dead but he was standing right outside the front door. He took a deep breath and gripped his sword behind his back. He put on his mask and opened the door slowly. “Hi.” The man spoke as if he was waiting for this moment his whole life. He had a huge scar across his eye that the one and only Technoblade had given him not so long ago. Techno held the blade by his side to show that he wasn’t messing around. “Oh come on, Techno. I’m just here to chat. Nothing more should happen unless you decide to be difficult.” Techno narrowed his eyes and scanned the man, he trusted him once but after what happened, after he tried to execute him, it would be the last time he could ever trust that man again. Techno stepped out onto the porch, appearing much taller than said man, “What do you want, Quackity?” Quackity grinned looking all around the porch, the floor, the walls, the windows. He sighed, “Techno, you know how it goes- I find you…I kill you.”

You stared at the tree line, questioning if this person had more people with them. You could hear muffled conversation, a short conversation, from downstairs. You slowly opened your window to pull your bow back, ready for some action. You stepped back to be more in the room, hidden in the dark shadows. Straight away you saw movement in the trees and pulled back all the way. You saw a person, who seemed to be taller than Techno, walk out of the forest holding an axe. Then right after him was another person, shorter than the one before, holding a crossbow already loaded and pointed at the porch. You had multi-shot on your bow so this was a piece of cake, it seemed as if time slowed to a snail’s pace. Your eyes jolted around the treeline, no one else was coming, you could feel it so you lined up for a shot but they dropped their weapons.

Two guys emerged out of the trees, one after another. One holding an axe and one holding a loaded crossbow. Techno chuckled at their gesture, “You really think you can kill me, after you failed to do it the first time.” He steadily raised his sword, resting it on Quackity’s chestplate, “Put it down Tubbo.” He said looking over Quackity’s shoulder, “You too Ranboo.” They only gripped their weapons tighter, eager to get a hit but knew they had to wait for the signal. Techno breathed out in disappointment, he really thought after everything they’ve been through he would put it down, for him. Techno leaned down to Quackity’s ear, “I can kill all three of you in a heartbeat.” Quackity gulped as Techno leaned back, straightening up he let the tip of his sword drop to the ground. Making quite a loud thud but surprisingly you didn’t hear it. Techno glanced at all three of them knowing they weren’t leaving until he was finally dead, “Fine. One last fight. But first let's get even, you take off your armor and I’ll take off mine and we’ll only use swords.” Quackity stared at Techno for a second to see if he was kidding but he was not. He turned around and gestured to lower their weapons, they dropped the weapons in the snow. The axe sank lower than the crossbow into the fresh blanket of snow that came that morning. Techno watched as they threw the weapons, taking a breath as a sigh of satisfaction. Techno and Quackity took off their armor at the same time, not breaking eye contact from one another. An evil grin appeared on Quackity’s face, “You’ll be lucky if you even get a scratch on me.” He threw a right hook to Techno but it couldn’t compare to his reflexes as he caught the punch and twisted around to his back, making him walk towards the porch stairs as Techno’s sword was held across his neck. They got to the first step of the stairs, Tubbo picked up his crossbow but it was too late, an arrow went straight for his shoulder, sending him to the ground. Ranboo looked up to see where the arrow came from but he saw nothing but an empty window, he went for the crossbow hoping to grab it before the next shot came but another arrow went right through his forearm. It sent a shock of pain through his arm up his shoulder making him wince and grip where the arrow was. Techno pressed his lips together, “See, told you I could kill all three.” Quackity stared at the aching bodies in the snow, “Well where’s the third one?” His breathing was now heavy, probably from adrenaline and the lack of heat running through his body. Techno shook his head and pushed Quackity into the soft snow, “I was going to spare you but I guess I’ll have to put another scar on you for you to understand.” As Techno talked he took a small step down the stairs, one after another after another and after another, making each second more painful than the last. Until he was standing over Quackity with his sword in his face, waiting for him to make the last snarky remark he would ever make for the rest of his life.

After shooting a couple shots, you saw a man fly down the stairs of your porch into the snow. Techno walked down the stairs, talking while he was taking steps, finally getting to the man and looking down at him with the sword in the man’s face. You had your bow ready for another shot, ready to take it whenever. You saw Techno kneel down to the man, gliding the sword not even an inch over his skin. Your eye caught the guy with the crossbow, trying to take a shot again. You fired and missed by a centimeter, as you quickly grabbed another arrow you heard someone gasp in pain. Pulling back and firing again. You sent the arrow straight through the guy’s other shoulder, he poofed into thin air before he hit the ground. 

Techno knelt down to the ground and glided the sword across Quackity’s face, “You can avoid all pain if you leave right now.” Two arrows were fired, one missing and one hitting Techno’s right peck, he hummed in pain trying to keep his noise level to a zero. There was a moment before another arrow was fired hitting Tubbo and sending him back to respawn, wherever that may be. Quackity looked to see who was shot, his eyes widening when he only saw Ranboo. He looked back at Techno, who was trying to stop the bleeding, he looked up past his shoulder and saw you standing in the window with your bow pulled back aiming at him. He tried to squirm out from under Techno but he pierced Quackity’s leg before he could get away, “Finish him!” Techno yelled, knowing you were up at the window. You breathed out and let go of the arrow, it went flying straight for him, penetrating him and he was gone in a cloud of dust with only a blood stain left behind in the white snow. Techno was unbalanced and dizzy from losing blood. Stumbling to get up, he used his sword as a cane to help him. He looked up at Ranboo, “Go. It would be a waste of your time to try and fight me.” Ranboo honestly didn’t know what to do, he could either fight and die or run and hide. And he chose the better option. Run and hide. He disappeared back into the woods and ran for his life.

You ran out to Techno to help him get up the stairs, he was slow but ‘stable’ as you took off his mask. You got him inside, setting him on the ground with a pillow to rest his head. You laid him down on the floor and took a look at him, it didn’t hit anything severe which was great. You moved some hair out of his face and slid your hand to his neck, “You’re going to be fine.” He nodded and let out a light cough. You got up and ran to your kitchen, grabbed your box of potions and pulled out regeneration and healing potions. You also grabbed a bunch of bandages from your box and quickly get back to Techno. You set all the bottles down and gave it to him one by one, you could already see he wasn’t so tense anymore. You asked him if he could take off his shirt, for medical reasons, and he said yes but he also told you that this wasn’t the only way to ask him if he could take it off. You scoffed and helped him take the shirt off. He was more handsome than you could ever imagine, his pecs were huge, his shoulders also huge and those light abs. You blinked away the images and carefully pulled the arrow out, you tried your best to be soft but it was an arrow. You swiftly wrap him up in the white bandage, applying all your pressure to the wound so it would stop bleeding.

When you were done, he took your hand. His touch was gentle as he ran his thumb up and down the back of your hand. His hand was cold for once, it felt like you were holding ice that was never going to melt away. You put your hand under his, raising it up and rubbing it against your cheek. He looked at you with love in his eyes, “Thank you.” He gave you a small smile and you smiled back. You set his hand down beside him and leaned down, giving him a kiss on the forehead. He leaned into the kiss wanting you to stay there for a little longer. You gave him a couple more kisses on the forehead before resting against his. You moved more strands of hair off his forehead as you spoke, “You need to rest.” He looked up at you, lightly gliding his fingers up and down your arm. He nodded and you nodded as well, you got up to go make something to eat but he held onto you. You looked back at him concerned but he had a smirk on his face, “Stay with me.”

[artbyblastweave]

You said you needed to be prodded to elaborate on why Worm should have been longer? Well consider this a prod, if I may be so bold.

A big chunk of it is rote contrarianism. Part of it is that I like Worm, my experience reading so much Worm was "Sweet! Even More Worm! I've got so much Worm left before I'm out of Worm!" So a version of Worm with More Worm is prima facie an enticing prospect.

In the non-reflexive, genuinely considered sense, there possibly should have been an interlude arc to flesh out the timeskip, make it feel like it was as much of her powered career as it objectively was. And I'm far from the first person to make this observation. But on another level, there's a sense where "Worm Should Have Been Longer" is conflated in my head with "Worm's Timeframe Should Have Been Longer." Which is tricky, and invites further unpacking-

One thing about Worm I've noted in the past is that the villain portion of Skitter's cape career- more than two thirds of the book- only takes place over about three months, but- speaking only for my reading experience- this was surprisingly easy to miss or elide in my consideration of the narrative. One reason for this is that Taylor and her supporting cast are so heavily fleshed out, are so well-realized, undergo so much character development in a compacted timeframe, that it felt like I had been following them for much longer than I had. This is enhanced (was enhanced?) by the out-of-universe passage of time; The S9 interlude arc is, like, a little over the one-third mark of the story, but Worm had been running for a year at the time that that was published, and it certainly felt like I’d been reading a years' worth of fiction while binging it. In this way Worm was truly faithful to its comic book origins; story arcs that take place over the course of hours but are published over the course of months, building reader familiarity with characters who objectively haven’t been at what they're doing for very long. A third element (noticed on rereads) is that Wildbow often opens with scene transitions/cold-opens or what-have you that, are generally contiguous with the preceding events, but simultaneously slightly obfuscate exactly how much time has passed. Arc 6 opens with Taylor finishing up with the ABB mop-up, and it’s blocked to demonstrate how far she’s come in such a relatively short time period. It can’t have been more than a few days since Lung. It explicitly wasn’t. But it had the vibe of having been a while.

What I’m working towards here, inch by inch, is the following conclusion: Worm has what I call an eyedropper approach to Taylor’s three-months and 22 arcs. Any given escapade feels like it’s just one vignette, emblematic of a longer, two-or-three-year stage of her life, scooped out and displayed as a representative sample of what’s going on. When shit hits the fan with Dinah, it feels like the upset of a longstanding status quo, even though by that point, Skitter has only been in five or six major engagements alongside the Undersiders. When they spend Arc 21 lancing various supervillain incursions into the city, it felt like I was watching a day in the life, like this was something the Undersiders had been dealing with, and would be dealing with, for a while- even though arc 21′s handful of engagements are basically the only times Skitter did that before she left. Purely from a vibes-based perspective, you could tell me that the first two thirds of Worm are occurring over the course of eight to ten years, and I might roll with that for a minute.

But the catch is- her villainous career has the vibes of lasting a long time, but it’s actually really thematically and logically important that it doesn’t. Skitter’s friendships within the Undersiders are strongly predicated on her ping-ponging from crisis to crisis so quickly that no true reckoning about their differing morals can ever come about. Skitter’s ability to administer as a benevolent warlord is heavily predicated on her lines of credit from Coil- and you cannot stretch that tension out much longer than it was stretched in canon without Dinah dying or Coil getting fed up with Skitters non-profitability. Breathing room is anathema to the story’s depiction of a pressure-cooker society where every crisis begets a new crisis. Nothing between Lung and Alexandria plays out the same way if anyone is allowed any amount of time to think about or process anything. And you actually see this in arc 21; it’s the first time that Skitter has a real opportunity to think about what the long-term looks like, and there’s a whole sequence where she’s getting nervous about her ability to reign in Regent over the long-haul. It’s the first time in three months where she’s had the luxury to worry about that kind of thing. 

You square this circle by.... basically, by striking the canon balance. There's a sense in which I'm increasingly convincing myself that I'm not talking about a problem Worm has so much as a problem Worm already has a workable-but-imperfect solution for. Create distinct periods in Skitter's development- "Rookie era," "Warlord Era," "Wards Era," whatever-each of which feel like they could balloon out into a years-long status quo if this were a comic, even though the cast are really living through the weeks where decades happen. Rely on the Sheer Amount Of Worm to smooth over the breakneck pace at which everyone's character growth and interpersonal connections are developing. There are a few points in the story where "fuck, has it only been three months?" is a salient mood to invoke. The get-together with Danny's coworkers, the back-to-school portions of arc 20. But for the most part the work already does a really good job of making the pinched timeframe a minor bit of fridge logic and not something hugely dissonant and immersion-breaking.

In the process of writing this I've basically argued myself out of thinking that there's much to gain from fucking around with this delicate balance. I don't know if that has implications for whether or not additional arcs covering the timeskip would help or hurt that balance- at a certain level of focus, that whole "you liked us, but you didn't love us" bit about Skitter's time with the Wards vs. The Undersiders becomes a much harder sell. It was already one of the hardest sells in the book for me, the thing that got me thinking about this in the first place. (two years vs three months!) But at some point, I have to bite the bullet- in a work as ambitious as Worm, "good enough" is a fine thing to settle for. It's good enough!

[ravennaortiz]

October 7th is Opie with the prompt: You can run but you can't hide from me. Requested by the lovely @darqchilddaydreamz *AU-Werewolf Smut*As always 18+.

Sequel to Charming Wolf

Opie sat grinning to himself as he listened to you crash through the woods. He had long since lost sight of the red cape you had on. Your arousal though was so thick on the breeze he could taste it as well as smell it making his mouth water. Yeah, he would find you easily. He sipped his beer as he put out the campfire that you two had been roasting hotdogs and smores on just a few minutes ago. You would regret your choice tonight he thought as he dropped down to complete his transformation. Giving himself a shake he cocked his head as he heard your movements pause briefly before resuming. His ears twitched and swiveled as he pinpointed your location.

 It had been a normal camping trip for the two of you.  Up until you came out of the tent in just a bra, thong and red cape that is.His eyes had burned though you and his nostrils had flared as he smelled your arousal. Little red riding hood he had thought to himself as he chuckled. When you had darted off as he walked towards you his wolf had wanted to pounce. He let out a low warning growl that had you grinning as your hands slid down your sides. Eyes locked on his now yellow ones in a silent challenge. “Bet you can’t catch me” you had whispered almost too low for his lupine hearing. Opie had snorted at the challenge. Stalking towards you with claws lengthening you had darted off again. Stopping just outside the circle of light cast by the fire.

“You can run. But you can’t hide from me” Opie stated as he slowly let more of his features change. The sound of your heartrate picking up had him licking his lips. “Better run fast before the big bad wolf eats you up” he growled as he lunged towards you. His claws caught on the fabric of your cape just slightly before you were off running through the woods.

Your legs and lungs were burning as you crashed blindly through the woods. Slipping in mud, catching on branches you began to wander if this was worth it. Teasing Opie was bold enough. Challenging him and running away? Probably not your best idea to be honest. The reward would be well worth it though you thought as your mind slipped to his thick knotted cock slipping into you. Stretching and filling you to the brim. Your arousal dripped down your thighs soaking your thong.

You had only just started running again when you heard a howl somewhere behind you. The eerie sound sent chills down your spine and had your skin prickly with goosebumps. You ran a few more steps before you heard the heavy thud of a body crashing through the woods. Stopping you looked around for a moment. Eyes landing on a low hanging branch on a tree just ahead of you. Maybe. You thought to yourself as you dashed over to it. Scrambling up the tree as quietly but quickly as possible.

Opie howled loudly as he caught your scent. The air was thick and he was drooling as he lunged around a tree. Only for you not to be there. His eyes zeroed in on your red thong on the ground. Smart he thought as he picked up your thong. Relishing in the taste of your arousal as he sucked and chewed on the soaked material. His mouth filled with your sweet vanilla taste and his cock throbbed. Closing his eyes he groaned as he pictured catching you. Your arousal soaking his fur as he forced his tongue deep inside your sweet pussy. How you would clench and milk his tongue as he feasted on you. He would make you pay for being a tease and making him chase you.

You were not sure how long you had been sitting in the tree when you heard a huff below. Glancing down you could make out a dark shape circling below. You watched as the shape moved off making a loud crash as it darted off to a tree a little away. You had tossed your bra over there. You heard a snarl before the shape was back at your tree. The sounds of loud sniffing filling the air with more snarls. When the sounds stopped you dared another look below only to meet yellow eyes just inches below the branch you lay on.

“Down. Now” rumbled Opie as he changed only his vocal cords. Heat flooded through you as you obeyed him. Once you were on the ground Opie pushed his nose into your bare core making you moan. He huffed as your scent flooded his nostrils as his thick tongue lapped at the drops of your arousal as he pushed you against the tree.

Your hands tugged on his furred ears eliciting a growl from Opie. Rocking your hips to grind your clit across his snout as you chased your release. You were almost there. The tight coil in your abdomen ready to spring when Opie pulled back from you suddenly. You fell back onto your ass whining. Opie stared down at you as he licked his lips. Sharp canines on full display as he grinned down at you before placing his front legs on the tree branch above your head. His thick cock bobbing into your face. Tip red and leaking already.

Your eyes widened. This was new territory for you. While you had given him blowjobs before you had yet to do so when he was transformed into his wolf form. “Suck” growled Opie as he bucked his hips. The tip of his cock hitting your face, smearing your cheek and lips with his thick precum. Reaching out you grabbed his shaft with both hands as you planted a gentle kiss to the tip. Slowly you licked around his head as you pumped him gaining growls and grunts from him.

Tentatively you opened your mouth and started to slide his thick length in as far as it would go. You hollowed your cheeks and flattened your tongue, licking along the vein on the underside as your hands continued to stroke him. Opie starts to thrust as his orgasm builds, claws digging into the bark of the tree. You try to keep up but the pace Opie has set is brutal, each thrust sending him further down your throat making you gag and tears to pour down your drool covered face.

Your jaw ached and you tried to pull back but he had you pinned between him and the tree. Your eyes widened as you watched his knot start to swell. You could feel it as it passed between your lips with each thrust. Opies thrust picked up and he let out a low long howl as he slammed into you one more time knotting your mouth with a wet pop as he poured thick ropes of cum down your throat. You swallow as quickly as you can as you struggle to breathe through your nose as your belly grows heavy with his cum.

“Good girl” murmurs Opie after a couple minutes panting heavily. “Going to give you what you want all night long” he continued grinning as he heard you whine and felt you squirm beneath him. “Going to knot every hole you have tonight” he continued making heat pool between your thighs as your pussy clenched around nothing. It was going to be a long night you thought as you felt his knot start to deflate.

Return to Masterlist

[rei-ismyname]

The Power Fantasy

I don't want to spoil any of it, I just want to get across how disgustingly good this book is. The premise revolves around the Superpowers - which carries a different meaning in this alternate history - an individual with the destructive capability of the USA's nuclear arsenal. Think about that. There are 6 of them currently, and they can NEVER fight directly because it would destroy the world. Kieron Gillen wrote that TPF is in conversation with Immortal X-Men, except it's a creator owned comic so the kid gloves are off. A deconstruction of cape comics because these people are so powerful that there's a constant necessary balancing act to avoid destroying the Earth. Superheroes, except not. They're all invested in the world continuing to exist (so far) but have vastly different beliefs on how to achieve that. Therein lies the tension.

Light spoilers henceforth

Take this guy, for instance, Brother Ray 'Heavy' Harris. He has absolute control over gravity, so much so he lives with his family (fellow powered individuals - Atomics - but not Superpowers) in a floating city powered by a gravitational singularity he made.

He's been described as Magneto meets The Dude (The Big Lebowski) though Gillen has said that's really only where he starts. He has a Xavier analogue too, Etienne Lux, who makes Chuck look like Mentallo. Etienne is the character we know best as issue #4 drops, but it's Kieron Gillen so it's safe to say there's so much more to learn as the tension ratchets up.

This MF is who Chuck sees himself as, but much more effective. Kills the US president issue #1.

There's no comic I recommend more confidently, and Casper Wijngaard's art is transcendental. I'm still learning how to discuss visual art critically, so bear with me. Never have I felt the visuals tell as much story as the words - every choice is bold, purposeful and beautiful. 1969 looks like 1969 if pseudo Gods were a factor in the Cold War. 1999 looks like 1999 if that cold war never truly ended, with the nuclear powers realising and reacting to not being the supreme powers on the planet.

It's exciting, it's fascinating, it's existentially horrifying, it's only just begun. It's something new done by the best in the game with nothing to stop him cooking. Treat yourself.

[return-of-a-space-cowboy]

🧚‍♀️ Anon

I’m not sure about what to suggest for your 1,000 milestone, but I want to say congratulations!!

I’m rewatching Tim Burton Batman Movies and I thought to myself, what about JJBA as a Batman AU? (But maybe different versions of Batman besides Tim Burton to give more flavor and depth)

Jonathan, Joseph and Jotaro are Batman (They all fit as Batman and I honestly couldn’t pick one) and they’re siblings

Jonathan is 28, Joseph is 26 and Jotaro is 24 (He’s in college)

Jonathan - He donates to charity and holds charity balls to help the less fortunate while working with his pal Speedwagon to make the streets better (He’s the eldest and handles the Joestar Family Company)

Joseph - The Playboy of the brothers and flirts with different women, he hangs out with his friend Caesar a detective, he’ll get serious under the mask but will mostly stay behind to keep appearances with the Public

Jotaro - The stoic and serious one of the three and is currently the only one who’s still doing school (He’s the youngest) and is friends with Kakyoin who’s an Art Major at the University they go to

Giorno, Josuke and Jolyne can fit as the Robins and Batgirl (I refuse to see how this wouldn’t work) but they’re mainly young teenagers to kid (Josuke

I’m still working on the Villains’ list but this is what I have so far

Dio/DIO - Joker (But he knows how to stay in the Shadows and hide) and his partner is Pucci who’s his Harley Quinn (I actually keep forgetting Dio is canonically Bisexual 😭)

Kars - Poison Ivy and Ra’s la Ghul (It was the earth that birthed him) and has no problem killing millions, half or all of Humanity for the planet (He also looks very cunty already)

Wammu - Bane (This works because he ‘breaks’ the Bat *Joseph*) but he’s intelligent and not an idiot (I actually rage whenever there’s versions of Bane that are unintelligent) he still has a code of honor in battle or course

Diavolo/Doppio - Two-Face (Doppio being a lawyer does sound interesting to me, but he’s seen as a joke by his fellow lawyers because he’s clumsy and timid, until his accident) Doppio and Diavolo share the same body, with one side of their Face Doppio and the other a disfigured Diavolo (Because Diavolo is the evil one) and now they’re the most dangerous Mobster out there with Passione

Darling is either a Therapist who works at the Asylum for the Criminally Insane (No she will not become Harley Quinn) or a Reporter and Photographer who thinks the Caped Crusaders are Heroes to her City instead of Threats (She’ll work with Caesar as his partner)

There’s more but I’m trying to figure out who fits where and it’s actually very fun for this AU

Ooh batman, I do love the Tim Burton adaptation, his style in my opinion really gives Gotham a stand out feel. Big fan of Tim Burton's older works. Though I do feel his modern works have lost the German impressionist roots that really drew me into his work (can you tell that I did a Tim Burton analysis for a whole semester in art class?)

Darling is a psychologist that works at the asylum and knows all three Joestars. She's very bold and speaks her mind. Both complimenting and criticizing those she speaks to.

Jonathan visits the asylum often as he wants to help reform the justice system and as one of their biggest funders it's his right to know how they are conducting their operations as well as a secret second thing...

He usually offers darling invitations to any galas as she's a huge help to him.

Joesph is a university friend of hers, they both studied criminology. Though it was Joesph's major. He has tried to ask her out but due to his playboy status she is quick to remind him that they maybe close but she doesn't believe he's serious about a relationship. (At most it'd be a secret friend's with benefits relationship)

Jotaro like his brother also chose criminology, though his major is Marine ecology. Occasionally daling comes in to help her former teacher as a guest presenter and perhaps through her was able to get an internship at the asylum.

He probably ends up going through and copying all her work files to share with the other two.

She's at this point the only one equipped enough to deal with the high risk inmates. Of course they all have specialized cells to keep them in.

Dio was adopted into the Joestar family at the age of 12 and was set to be another successful member of the Joestar family before George's death. He was found guilty of murdering him as well as planning to kill Jonathan so he could get his hands on the inheritance. Of course in the asylum he tries to gain the empathy of others with half truths. Doesn't work on darling, it's technically a conflict of interest due to her association with the Joestars but she's the only one who can work with him. She knows the other side of the story. She also knows Jonathan also visits him during his inspections and is trying his best to reason with Dio.

As she puts it

"You were set for success, you had the money, the intellect and the looks but like Icarus you flew to close to the sun"

He likes the challenge darling presents, most would have fallen head over heels for him. He just wants to get in that pretty little head of hers. He's already planned his escape with the asylum priest Pucci, who he's already charmed.

Kars was prolific scientist in the bio engineering field before his DNA was was spliced with an unknown material. He's gone mad, claims he's the apex being and that humans are destroying the natural order.

She doesn't really get anywhere with him at first. But when Wammu and Saitana (who I imagine could be clayface) got incarcerated, darling finds out they're cousins. Kars actually cared for them when they were younger but they became estranged as adults due to their careers. She brings it up and it strikes a cord. Gets him to finally start talking. He realizes that darling is a good person, just very misguided in his eyes. Perhaps he could get her to realize the truth.

Wammu was an athlete, always pushed his body to the limits and so when his body began to fail him he began relying on steroids to keep him competing. Eventually that was not enough and he underwent a experimental treatment that worked a little too well. He needs to be in a mostly metal cell in the basement as he could've easily punched through a brick wall. Even now he seems to only be getting stronger, soon steel won't be enough. The staff decide to sedate him to keep him in check. Even a specialized diet to avoid anymore muscle development.

Despite being sedated he's still awake just not entirely there. Darling does still visit him and talks. She also informs him that Kars is there and relays conversations between the two as it's giving her a lot of insight.

Doppio's life was changed when the priest who adopted him was murdered and home was set on fire. He wanted to become a lawyer to bring justice to those who who ruined the lives of the less fortunate. Little did he know the one who had ruined his was himself.

No one really took him seriously, he seemed way to soft to be in that position. Even though he was the top of his classes at university. He is hopelessly clumsy, dropping documents or tripping over himself. However during one trial he was able to put a major crime lord behind bars and it felt like he was finally getting somewhere... until one of his subordinates caught him and pushed half his face into acid.

That was when he became aware of his other, darker half. Who managed to break out of his binds and kill the perpetrator. He was let go as it was self defense but Doppio was no longer the same, two people now fully aware of one another in a shared body.

After a string of crimes he was brought in and darling was assigned to him.

Doppio is very understanding and soft spoken, and thus darling offers him the same. He knows why and has no objections to being imprisoned.

Diavolo is more cold but is prone to outbursts. Doppio is always his greatest concern and know that he has a crush on their cute psychologist and he promise him he'll get her, he promises.

[esperata]

Recommended reads

There's a lot of different Batman media and I've written versions of riddlebird for many of them. I've selected one of my stories from each fandom to hopefully give people a taste of the variety. Expect more to be added as I write for new shows or old ones I haven't got to yet.

Batman (1966) Sixties - G - Words: 4,385 As the years go on the invites turn from weddings to baby showers to funerals. In their line of work though, Penguin and Riddler consider themselves lucky to have made it thus far together. (Old Married Couple) (Wakes & Funerals)

Batman - All Media Types Minesweeper - G - Words: 269 Batman had finally navigated the typical Riddler labyrinth but what he finds isn't exactly what he expects. (Gamer Ed) (Sleepy Penguin) (Fluff)

Batman: Arkham (Video Games) Arkham Games - E - Words: 19,477 Factions are at play backing Penguin into a corner. And if that wasn't enough to be dealing with, he also has to fathom whatever is going on between him and Riddler. (Canon-Typical Violence) (Homophobic Language) (Sexual Tension) (Friends With Benefits) (except not really friends) (Stubborn Denial) (Hand Jobs) (Blow Jobs) (Frottage) (Semi-Public Sex) (Masturbation) (Rough Sex) (Anal Sex)

Batman: Caped Crusader Homme d'affaires - T - Words: 5,697 Edward Nashton just needs to land a big sale. What he finds is a whole other world of possibility. (salesman) (Implied/Referenced Torture) (Choking)

Batman (Comics) The Mind Is A Fragile Thing - G - Words: 2,454 Riddler is undergoing treatment in Arkham and Penguin is not happy about it. (Bruce Wayne) (Arkham Asylum) (Mental Health Issues)

Batman (Movies 1989-1997) Anything Yours Can Do - T - Words: 1,954 Helping Batman out was supposed to be a bit of fun. So how did she end up arguing with Riddler over who had the best lover? (Arguing) (Bragging) (Relationship Comparisons) (BatCat) (Guess which wins)

Batman Ninja (2018) Ridorā Kitsune - G - Words: 2,830 When Penguin is brought with several others to ancient Japan by an experiment gone wrong, he has a wealth of things to concern him. Not least of which is what precisely might have happened to Riddler. (Japan) (Canon time travel) (Friendly Kidnapping)

Batman: The Animated Series Do You Mind? - T - Words: 36,330 The tale of how Penguin and Riddler met, became friends, and then something more. "Words are easy, like the wind; faithful friends are hard to find." (Canon Compliant) (Arkham Asylum) (The Iceberg Lounge) (First Meetings) (Friends to Lovers) (Ed Is Oblivious)

Batman: The Brave and the Bold The Brave And The Bold - G - Words: 2,088 Fortune favours the brave, they say, but Riddler is stacking the odds in his favour as he approaches Penguin for a date. (Courtship) (Crimes & Criminals)

Batman: The Telltale Series (Video Games) Bedye Art - G - Words: 1,550 The failure of Penguin's plans had merely been a stumbling block. Now, however, he had a far more pressing concern. (Blackgate Penitentiary) (Canonical Character Death)

Batwheels (Cartoon) In The Air Tonight - T - Words: 2,150 After a heist gone wrong, Penguin and Riddler find themselves trapped with very little to distract them but each other. (Ferris Wheels) (First Kiss)

Batwoman (TV 2019) Little Bird - T - Words: 4,017 Alice has left the city to undergo rehabilatitation in a private establishment run by someone very familiar with the trials faced by those seeking help in Gotham. (long separation) (Presumed Dead)

Gotham (TV) Everything Old Is New Again - G - Words: 9,722 If you had the power to go back in time, what would you hope to change? And would you do it? Those are the questions Edward is facing now he and Oswald are free for the first time in ten years. (Time Travel) (Post-Season/Series 05 Finale) (Sharing a Bed) (Jealous Edward Nygma) (Love Confessions)

Harley Quinn (Cartoon 2019) Groping For Trout In A Peculiar River - T - Words: 2,350 Riddler's attempted seduction of Penguin is curtailed but things aren't quite what they appear. (Misunderstandings) (Flirting) (Awkwardness)

Teen Titans Go! Easy Escape - T - Words: 4,835 Edward is taking Oswald out on a proper date today, whether Arkham likes it or not. (First Dates) (Museums) (Aquariums) (Theatre) (toy shop) (Pier) (Innuendo)

The Batman (Cartoon 2004) Take These Broken Wings - T - Words: 13,508 Riddler has barely escaped the Batman but his trouble might not be over as he runs into another criminal acquaintance. Its a good thing he doesn't have a crush on him or anything otherwise things might get awkward. (Injury) (Hurt/Comfort) (Developing Relationship) (Bathing/Washing) (Gay Oswald Cobblepot) (Bisexual Edward Nygma)

The Batman (Movie 2022) Boss - E - Words: 5,555 In the wake of Gotham's flooding, Ed once again turns up at the Iceberg Lounge. (Anal Sex) (Riding) (Communication)

The LEGO Batman Movie (2017)/LEGO Batman: The Movie - DC Super Heroes Unite (2013) Private Island - T - Words: 8,282 Penguin has got himself a luxury island and his fellow rogues have been invited for a visit. One in particular has an ulterior motive for going though. (Bad Flirting) (Attempted Seduction) (Riddler has a crush) (Jealousy)

[jalapainio]

As I've been reading Comics, I've slowly been assembling a Batman readthrough Timeline, which encompasses the full scale of Batman. So far, I have only gathered the first ten years. I put the canonized Comics in Trade Paperbacks, as they sometimes throw in an extra issue or two of another comic run and it is easier for me to keep track of them that way.

Here it is! The ultimate Batman Timeline (years 1-10)

Batman Year 1: 21 year old Bruce (first of many soft head cannons) becomes Batman. Many early villains of Batman pop up, including Joker, Catwoman, Mad Hatter, Riddler, and Calendar Man. Canonized Comics include Batman: Year One, Batman: The Brave and the Bold, and Batman: Zero Year.

Batman Year 2: This year is dedicated entirely to the Long Halloween, which also introduced Poison Ivy, Solomon Grundy, and most famously, Two-Face. Canonized Comics include Batman: The Long Halloween.

Batman Year 3: Much like Year 2, Year 3 is dedicated to its sequel, Dark Victory. In it, a new serial killer known as the Hangman has started killing cops in Gotham. This year sees the end of the classic Mafia in Gotham, and ten year old Dick Grayson being taken in by Bruce Wayne. While he does put on the Robin colors and even goes out with Batman, he is not Robin just yet. Canonized Comics include Batman: Dark Victory.

Batman Year 4: This year gives the main focus towards training Dick. We can also assume that the Justice League, or at least a version of it, has been formed during this year. In addition, Killer Croc is introduced. Canonized Comics include N/A (seriously, I need something here. Anyone rec a solo Batman story that might fit in here?)

Batman Year 5: While most of the year is like the one above, a calm year for Batman, at the end of year, 12 year old Dick wears the Robin suit for the technically second time. He is the one who makes his suit, angry at Bruce for forcing him through constant training as a stall to prevent Dick from going out. Canonized Comics include Robin and Batman.

Batman Year 6: Dick goes through his next big villain during the spring of this year, facing off against Two-Face. After a brief moment when he is fired as Robin, he returns to the Cape, this time with a new perspective on his role. Canonized Comics include Robin Year One.

Batman Year 7: Dick, while working with Batman, notices Bruce's strange behavior. Collaborating with his other teen heroes he met in Year 5, he figures out that the entire Justice League is acting weird! Together, the five (Robin, Speedy, Kid Flash, Aqualad, and Wondergirl) team up and work together to take down the Justice League! They called themselves the Teen Titans. Canonized Comics include Teen Titans: Year One

Batman Year 8: Barbara Gordon, 17 years old and an accelerated graduate of College (she has to be not on a normal track, or else her entire relationship with Dick would just be so weird) puts on a bat themed costume to spite her father, and ends up going against Killer Moth. Batgirl, as she's newly christrained, is supported by Robin (but not Batman) to become a superhero. Firefly takes up the costume with Killer Moth, and Batgirl takes them down. Canonized Comics include Batgirl: Year One

Batman Year 9: Batman and Superman work together to defeat the Devil Nazha, which ends up with Dick being stuck in time. Bruce rescues him, and the rest of World's Finest goes on. Canonized Comics include Batman/Superman World's Finest: Devil Nazha, Batman/Superman World's Finest: Strange Visitor, and Batman/Superman World's Finest: Elementary.

Batman Year 10: 17 year old Dick and the rest of the Teen Titans fight off a rabid cult of fans! Canonized Comics include World's Finest Teen Titans.