#they sent fringe files

[qlossytbh]

𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐜𝐮𝐭 - 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝 𝐱 𝐛𝐚𝐮!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 Spencer reacts to your new hair-do

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 fem!reader, just a lot of disgustingly sweet fluff, Spencer’s a blabbering mess, sweetheart!reader, sunshine!reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 1.3k

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 i actually find this one so cute oml

𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

You walked the corridor, taking long strides as the sound of your heels clicked and echoed across the hall. You smiled sweetly at your fellow co-workers, as you struggled to hold the papers and books in your arms. 

People around the BAU usually loved bumping into you in the morning, mainly because of how infectious your good mood seemed to be. You always walked into work with that huge smile displayed on your features, immediately infecting those around you. No one understood how someone as bright and, in a sense, pure as you could work in such a mentally demanding environment. You’d sometimes take part of seeing the crime scenes and assisted in a few of those cases, but during most of them, you’d stay around and help Garcia with certain tasks and whatnot. 

You waved at one of your more familiar coworkers as you hurriedly made your way to the conference room, desperately trying to make it to the meeting where the rest of the team was waiting. A small wave of anxiety rushed through you, knowing that Gideon was bound to scold you one way or another for being late.

As you turned the corner, your body collided with someone else's, causing a few files to fly away along with two or three books, landing lightly on the ground. A small groan left your lips as you rubbed your arm, before you began to profusely apologize. "I’m sorry, I didn't—"

But to your suprise, when you motioned your gaze upward, you were welcomed with the familiar view of one of your favourite people in this whole office. "Spencer!"

You couldnt help how an increadibly wide smile splattered onto your face as you realized it had only been him whom you bumped into. You noticed however, how Spencer was just staring at you dumbly, moth slightly fallen agape, looking as if not a single thought was going through his head— which was a rare ocassion. 

"Your hair—" He said barely above a whisper as he took in your face. 

You furrowed your brows before dawning with realization. “Oh!”

You hand ran up to your now shoulder length hair and combed your fingertips through the ends of it with a small.

"Yeah, I felt like cutting it all off, seemed eaiser to maintain and I was aiming for it to be healthier, but I’m still getting used to it you know.." You said, leaning on your heels and looking at your friend who seemed too dozed off to be listening to anything you were saying.

And that he was. Spencer had been too busy rerunning his daily schedule in his head as he walked the halls, coincidentally, just as late as you are to the exact same meeting. He felt like an idiot for bumping into someone, cursing internally at himself, and felt even more horrified as he realized that it had been you. And to make matters worse, he had sent all your papers flying everywhere. The embarrassment he was feeling at that exact moment was uncomparable. 

But every running thought stopped when he looked at at you and god. He felt like wind had been knocked directly out of his chest and suddenly his mind went blank. He stared at your now short hair, admiring how incredibly breathtaking it made you look. 

The length framed your face perfectly, encentuating your cheekbones and jaw structure and from what he could see, you’d also gotten a small fringe done. Your cheeks glowed a natural pink hue while your eyes gleemed happily and Spencer couldve sworn in that instant second that you were the most beautiful thing he’d set his eyes on. 

"—Spence." You cut through his thoughts, reeling him back to reality. "You in there?"

He swallowed nervously before nearly jumping to his feet just to answer and prevent you from thinking he had some sort of mental problem for staring so much. "Uh— Yeah! R-right here.."

You dipped your chin slightly as he continued to look at you, your ever persistant smile still plastered onto your features. The sudden pattering of your heart didn’t deter you from observing Spencer with a curious gaze, wondering what was going on in that big head of his. "It's short…”

He mentally slapped himself. You laughed.

"Yeah, it is actually! Didn’t really plan on it being so short, I asked them to leave it longer but the hairstylist lady didnt really listen," You chuckled to yourself, running a hand nervously through your hair. "Do you like it?"

Spencers stomach was doing all sorts of flips and turns as you gazed up at him, looking so sweet. But he couldnt seem to emit any sort of words, anything he thought of responding seemed wrong and the words he wanted to say wouldn't move past the back of his throat. His eye quickly caught a glimpse of your scattered papers. 

"Shoot, uhm—“ He bent down and began collecting all of the pages together nervously. You offered him a humored smile before beinding down and helping him with all the fallen objects, shaking your head at his endearing antics.

It was always so humorous to see how collected and steady Spencer usually was, alwasy able to keep his thoughts into one straight line, aiming to get as much information out as possible, in the most cohesive way possible. He usually held himself so cautiously and carefully. His intelligence was something you loved about him. 

But to see how much of a blabbering mess he’d become around you, made you think very fondly of him. How his hands would begin to fidget nervously and how his words became all twisted. Spencer always had so much in his head, but the second you came into the picture, everything vanished— except the thought of you. 

Derek specifically always teased Spencer with his ‘oh so obvious’ crush, stating how he had 'no game' and if he didnt ask you out sooner he was going to do somethng about it. You were an absolute sweetheart and everyone knew you and Spencer would work perfectly. 

You finished collecting your last book and stood up, sighing in relief. You took one last look at Spencer, beofre looking up at him with a glint of mischeif in your eyes. "You should be careful next time Dr. Reid," 

Spencer could feel his pulse in his neck. He opened his mouth and closed it before clearing his throat. "Yeah, I wasnt really—“

"Spence," You called, pulling him out of his thoughts before he could become a stammering mess. "I’m just teasing."

Spencer swallowed and offered you his signature side smile, wihch cuased your own to grow. You looked behind you and gestured towards the other side of the hall. “We should proabably start walking if we want to—“

"It looks really good." Spencer spat out nervously, too quick for you to catch. You tilted your head, ever so slightly and raised your brows. You hummed, not quite sure you had heard the words that left his mouth. 

"Hmm?"

"Your, uh, hair—“ He prodded, pointed to your new haircut. "It looks really good— you look really good,"

Your smile grew and your eyes softened. You probably looked like a child on christmas morning. Heat rushed up to your cheeks as you tucked a piece of hair behind your ear timidly, suddenly scared by the way your pulse had quickened. 

"Thank Spence," Your voice was sweet as hunny and all he wanted to do was for you to continue looking at him the way you were right now. You stopped with a bit of hesitation, before welcoming him to come walk with you towards your conjoined meeting. "Walk with me?"

He nodded silently and walked by your side as you rambled about your weekend. Spencer loved talking about the things he knew, and sharing as many facts and statistics as he could, but when it came to you, all he ever wanted to do was just listen.

i may or may not have a little series in the works🤭

[the-winter-spider]

Willow | 1/2

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

Word Count: 10k

Warnings: Nothing really

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Winter Soldier.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your internal monologue began to surface, unbidden.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The mission had begun.

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

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

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

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

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

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

James Buchanan Barnes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You are a ghost. Leave no trace.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just for a little while.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You glanced at him, curious. “Who?”

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

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

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

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

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

“He’s lucky to have you,” you said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He frowned, stepping closer. “You okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bucky—”

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

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

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

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

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

But there was no turning back now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Always.”

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

“Impressive,” Bucky murmured as you slipped inside.

You gave him a quick look. “Focus.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And what about you?” you asked gently.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And so were you.

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

But Bucky.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[five-rivers]

Cracked Clay Cup Chapter 2

For @greatbigolhampuckjustforme

“How is this organized, anyway?” asked Daniel.  “It isn't alphabetical.”

Clockwork shuddered.  “The debate about which alphabet to use would be interminable.  No.  The list is arranged from eldest to youngest, with groups being averaged.”

“So, the oldest person is on top and the youngest person is on the bottom.”

“That is correct.”

Daniel hummed and wiped up the last of his syrup up off his plate with the last piece of his pancake.  “This Jasmine person is the youngest person who wants me.  Ick, that sounded wrong somehow.”

“She is the youngest person,” said Clockwork.  He was doing something strange with the plates in the sink.  

“Is she, like, really into plants or flowers or something?”

“Are you really into Daniels?”

“I mean.  I don’t know.  My memory’s been erased and all.  For all I know, my name isn’t even Daniel.  It could be William.  Or David.”  Still, he got the point.  He shook his head.  “Ghosts just picking random names.  What is the world coming to?”

“You could always choose to go by another name,” said Clockwork, mildly.  “You are not trapped in it.”

“I know,” said Daniel.  “I’ll keep it for now, though.  Is, um, is the…”

“Her section of the file is colored teal.”

“Thanks,” said Daniel.  He flipped through.  “These aren’t in the same order, you know.”

“I know,” said Clockwork.  He sounded very put upon.  

“You’re not the one who does the organizing, huh?”

“If only I were.”

Daniel looked over the teal pages.  There wasn’t a lot of information on them.  The name, Jasmine, her height, hair color, eye color, a few lines about interests.  

“Not a lot here.”

“You are meant to form your own opinions,” said Clockwork.  

“Enjoys pushing forward the boundaries of knowledge?” he read from the page.  “Interested in modern psychology and brain surgery?”  He looked up at Clockwork.  “This sounds like mad scientist material.”

“You can always skip her, if you feel uncomfortable.”

“No, if I’m going to do this, I’m going to be fair.  So, uh, let’s go.  Let’s do this.”

“In your pajamas?” 

“Well, it’s not like I have anything else, do I?”

“In fact, you do.  There is a closet in your room upstairs.”

“With clothes that are mine?”

“With clothes in a variety of styles in your size.  They are all new, acquired for this process, although you can keep them afterward.”

“So, no way to figure out my style except for experimentation.  Cool.  Great.  Another mystery to solve.”

“Think of it as an interesting puzzle.  An amusing way to pass the time, whilst you are experiencing the various persons who wish to gain custody of you.”

“Uh huh,” said Daniel, pushing his chair out.  “I’m going to go get changed.  Do I need to pack a bag, too, or what?”

“What, in this case.  Any clothing and toiletries you need will be sent to you.”

Daniel nodded and climbed back up the stairs to ‘his’ room.  There was a closet there that he hadn’t noticed before, across from the bathroom.  He opened the door and started to shift through the different outfits.  

That one was too complicated… ugh, weird texture… too much body exposure… ooh, gothic… but also complicated… nice skirt… robe… kilt?  He prodded at the maybe-kilt a little.  He wasn’t sure that it was a kilt.  Well, whatever.  Jeans.  T-shirt.  Hm.  Tempting, if only for its simplicity.  But maybe he wanted something that vibed with his tail a bit better.  Ooh, Egyptian.  

Eventually, he hit on a combination of loose pants, long shirt, and fringed wrap.  Yeah.  That would look good.  Comfortable.  He took off his pajamas and fluffed his tail.  That did feel good.  He put on the pants, then the shirt, and then discovered he did not have great skills with wraps.  So.  He probably didn’t wear them on a daily basis.  Still, with the help of the bathroom mirror, he managed to get it into a more or less presentable arrangement.  He thought he looked good, anyway, and that was all that mattered.  After all, if they already were getting into fights over custody of him, he didn’t exactly have to dress to impress.  

He went back down the stairs, to where Clockwork was waiting, staff in hand.  “Okay, I’m ready.  How do I look?”

“Dressed,” said Clockwork.  

“Helpful,” said Daniel.  

“I am to please.”

“So… How do we get there?”

“Through this,” said Clockwork.  He held up the staff, and a portal spun off the clock at its top.  Then, he held out a small pocketwatch.  “When you want to return, merely click the button on top.”

“Okay,” said Daniel, taking it and looping it's chain around his neck.  “And… I just go through?  No other tricks?”

“No other tricks.  It is the journey of a single step.”

“Right,” said Daniel.  He took a deep breath and stepped forward.  

The transition between places really was smooth.  One minute, he was in Clockwork's purple kitchen, the next, he was in what looked like a completely normal entryway.  

There was a girl there.  She looked human, and was about half a foot taller than he was.  Her hair was red and her cardigan was the same teal as her paper in the file.  Her eyes, too, were blue.  She… really didn’t look like a ghost at all.  She didn’t particularly look like him, either, except for her skin color.  Unless maybe some of her facial features were similar?  Nose shape, perhaps?  He didn’t really remember what he looked like well enough to say.

But, definitely, what stood out the most about her was the fact that she was a girl.  A teenager.  Not a woman, not really.  She couldn’t be more than a few years older than he was.

“Danny,” she said, jumping out of the chair and starting to smile at him. “Hi, I’m–”  She stopped.  

The girl stared.  Daniel stared back.  

“Danny, what are you wearing?” she asked.  

“Clothing,” he said.  He didn’t think this kind of outfit had any particular name.  At least, if it did, he didn’t know it.

“Oh.”

“And… you’re…”

“Oh!  I’m Jazz!  You… really don’t remember me?”

Daniel shook his head, slowly.  

“Well… They did tell me that would happen…”

“I knew you before?”

“Yes!  Yes.  I… was your mother.  Am your mother!”

“Uh,” said Daniel.  “You’re, like, seventeen.  Eighteen, maximum.”

“Time travel was involved.”

“Time travel.”

“Time travel.  You know how things are in the ghost zone.  You get a natural portal, and then, boom!  You’re fifteen years in the past, or the future!”  She laughed, nervously.  “But I’m here, now!  This version of me.  Who is definitely your mother.”

Daniel realized, then, that just because the memory wipe meant that he couldn’t know what his prior connections were, that didn’t mean that other people couldn’t try to capitalize on them.  Or lie about them.  Or lie about them badly.  

“Time travel,” said Daniel, again.  

“I mean, you’re staying with Clockwork, right?”

“Uh, yeah, so?”

“So, he’s sort of a major player in the time travel scene, right?”

“He is?”  It’d explain the clock theme, at least.  

“He is.”

“Oh.  Cool.”  He still didn’t believe her time travel story, though.  “So, like.  If you were time traveling, who raised me?”

“Your, uh, grandparents.  But they can’t really, uh, do it, anymore.  For reasons.  And I’m back!  In the proper time!   So I want to take care of you now.  And this will start our bonding bonanza!  We can start with a tour of the house!”

What.  She did not just say that.  

“Are they the ones who’re disputing your custody?  Because it is a dispute, right?  That’s what this thing is all about.”

“I mean, um, there are seven groups, right?  Counting me?  So, no, it’s not because of them.”

“Right,” said Daniel.  That didn’t rule them out, though.  Maybe they were the ones at the top of the list.

“So, obviously, this is the entryway… At least, you know, when there’s a door.”

Daniel looked behind him.  There was, indeed, no door.  “What?”

“Something about the rules to these things.  We’re not supposed to leave for the duration.”

“What about food?”

“It’s brought in, the same way you were.  So, over here is the kitchen.”

The kitchen was a long, galley affair, with tile countertops and cute floral backsplashes.  It was much more normal than Clockwork’s, at least in terms of colors.  There was a fridge, a microwave, a toaster, and a dishwasher.  

“Do you know who the other six groups are?”

“I mean… I have a guess about some of them, but I don’t really know.  I’d thought Clockwork would be one of them for sure, but…”

“What, really?”  That, at least, didn’t seem like a lie.  “But he’s the neutral party?”

“Yes,” said Jazz.  “But I thought that the two of you were close.  But maybe it was more along the lines of being, I don’t know, work friends.”

“Huh,” said Daniel.  “I… Okay.”

“Yes.  Okay.  So, the fridge is completely safe, no biological or ectobiological samples stored in it.  Just food.  Normal, edible food.  We’ll do the dishes together, of course.  Cups are in here, dishes, pots and pans–”

“Your profile said you were interested in brain surgery,” said Daniel.  

“Oh, yes, that’s one of the things I’m thinking about studying in college!  Once I get into college.  Which will be soon.”

“So, you don’t have, like, a mad science lab in here where you do brain surgery or something like that?”

The girl stared at him.  “Are… you sure you don’t remember anything?”

This was not a promising question.  “Yeah, why?”

“Because you’re assuming that I have a mad science lab in here.  I’m  a high school senior.”

“Which means it’s weird that you’re here with a house at all.”

She made a face.  “It’s… I had some help getting it.  The house, I mean.  But there’s no mad science lab.  There will never be a mad science lab.  Unless you want a mad science lab.  I could probably make some calls.”

“I don’t want a mad science lab.  Why would I want a mad science lab?”

“I don’t know, to tinker in?  You used to do some, um, tinkering.  Mechanical engineering stuff.”

“That’s more of a garage thing, though, isn’t it?”

“I… don’t know.  You only ever did it in the lab.”

“So, we used to have a mad science lab.”

“That’s– I mean–  No.”

Definitely a lie.  They totally had a lab.  Or, at least, Jazz used to have a lab.  What was going on that they had a lab?  Something sinister, doubtlessly.  

“Did you dissect brains in this lab?”

“No!  Like I said, I’m only a student.  A student that is interested in a lot of things, but right now, my thesis is about Ghost Envy.”

“You’re a high school student with a thesis?”

“I’m a high achiever.  Have to make up for all that time lost time traveling.  You’d think you’d gain time!  But.  Yeah.”  She smiled tightly and nodded.  “Living room next!  We have a, er, one of those consoles.  For video games.  I got it from a friend.”

Daniel let Jazz drag him around the house.  It was kind of nice, except for how nervous she got whenever he probed about his past or her supposed time travel.  He didn’t really feel threatened by her, per se, but the lying… it definitely gave him a bit of, how should he put this, anxiety.  

“And here’s your bedroom, Danny!”

The bedroom was actually really cool.  Unlike the rest of the rooms, it had a very clear, very obvious theme beyond just house people can live in.  The theme was space.  The walls and ceiling were painted with constellations.  There were model rockets on shelves.  The desk had an astrolabe and a small model solar system on it, alongside astronomy books.  There were also some novels, composition notebooks and sketchbooks, alongside a variety of markers, but those were tiny points about the overwhelming amount of space.  Even the decorative throw cushions on the bed had galaxy patterns on them!

Danny… he really liked it.  He guessed he had to admit that, at least, Jazz had known him before, and had known him reasonably well.  Even if she wasn’t his mother.  

She’d also turned around to play with a deadbolt on the door.  

“It locks from the inside, because, well, I figured you’d be a bit nervous, staying with someone you know nothing about, and a lock might make you feel safer.”

She wasn’t wrong about that.  “Hey, speaking of safety, you’re still, like, alive?  Human?”

“Yes?” said Jazz.

“Isn’t it a bit weird, trying to get custody of a ghost?”

“Oh, um, I suppose it’s a bit unusual, but you’re my b– My son.  Definitely my son.  So, it’s worth it.  It doesn’t matter to me if you’re a ghost or a human or– Wait, Clockwork told you, right?”

“Told me… what?”

“That you’re not, you know, a normal ghost.”

“I… he might have said something about that.  About being an unusual kind of ghost.”

“So he didn’t tell you that you’re only half ghost?”

“That’s not a thing.”

“It’s a thing.  You can change back and forth between a human - more human - form, and a ghost form.  Like this.”  She gestured at him.  

Danny stared at her.  “That’s not a thing.”

“It is!  Oh, jeez, I can’t believe Clockwork left it to me to explain.”  She crossed her arms and turned away.  “I don’t know how to explain this.”

“Wait, does that mean my dad is a ghost in this story?  Are you saying that you, as a human, and a ghost–”

“No.  You died.  That sounds terrible.  I mean, you, um.  You sort of died.”

“How did I die that I managed to die only halfway?”

Jazz opened and closed her mouth several times.  “I didn’t witness it–”

“But you know.”

“It was– Do you really want to know?  I mean, regardless, I’m still your– your mom.  And I want to be.  And that kind of thing is really traumatic.”

“What was it?”

She looked like she didn’t want to answer.  Danny poured all his effort into a forceful, expectant stare.  

“It… was a lab accident.”

Silence.  

“Like, um.  A ghost lab.”

More silence.

“Okay,” said Danny.  He bit his lower lip.  “Right.”

“I’ll just leave now,” said Jazz.  “Make yourself at home.  Because it is!”  She stepped out.  

“Yep,” said Danny.  He closed the door and slid home the deadbolt.  Then he put his hand around the pocketwatch, lightly touching the button on top.  “Okay.  I’ll be okay.  I can always leave if she tries to examine my brain, and… I should give her a fair chance.  Right.”

[lifewithroseglasses]

Pairing: Umemiya Hajime x f!reader (f! reader in mind but can be read as gn!reader)

WC: 728

CW: Alcohol, mentions of beer

A/N: Hey there, this is my first time sharing my writing. I'm feeling extremely nervous about it. The email really did happen at my first job after graduating!

@spookuna thank you for your support 💖

The bar is crowded. Its dimly lit corner filled with laughter and clinking of glasses. At a small, round table in the center, a group of coworkers leans in closer, their voices mingling with the bartender’s playlist of choice as they share tales of office frustrations, each drink in hand serving as a temporary escape from their corporate hellscape. Along the fringes, cozy booths cradle pairs of lovers, their playful giggles punctuated by whispers and stolen kisses, creating intimacy amidst the chaos. Nearby, at the polished wooden bar top, a pair of nervous first-daters fumble for comfort, their knees grazing awkwardly in the crowded space, each glance revealing a mix of anticipation and uncertainty about their budding connection. 

Seated at the far edge of the bar, Umemiya lounges comfortably on a high stool, his eyes glued to the flickering images of a cult comedy projected on the TV screen above the bartender’s head. He takes slow sips from a bottle of cold beer. The condensation forms droplets that trail down the neck of the bottle, creating a ring on the bartop. Clad in his iconic fitted white t-shirt, the fabric gently outlines his lean physique, while the round glasses perched on his nose--usually reserved for cozy evenings spent lost in the pages of his favorite novels--add a charm to his thoughtful demeanor. You slide onto the vacant barstool to his left, the one he intentionally left unoccupied, reserving it just for you. As you settle in, you carefully hook your work bag beneath the bartop, ensuring it's safely out of sight while also maintaining a sense of closeness to Hajime. 

“Hi baby,” Hajime greets warmly. His voice fills with a familiar affection as he shifts his gaze from the film to meet your eyes. A soft smile spreads across his lips, lighting up his steel gaze, and with a gentle lean forward, he closes the distance between the two of you, planting a tender kiss on your lips. Hajime twists his body and raises his index finger to signal a number one to the bartender. A moment later a cold beer is set down in front of you, mirroring the one already in front of Hajime. 

“Do you want to hear some juicy office gossip?” Hajime’s brow, marked with the deep scar that tells the story of his past trauma, arches in intrigue. His usually downturned eyes crinkle slightly, hinting at a flicker of interest at the prospect of something scandalous. He turns back to you, moving in closer, his posture eager and inviting, subtly urging you to spill the secret that sits at the tip of your tongue. “You might be worse than Nirei,” Hajime quips, ���but I am listening.” A playful glint dances in his eyes and the smile that lit up his face moments ago lingers as he sips his beer.

“Okay, so remember the colleague I was telling you about who found out that her husband was cheating on her?” Hajime nods, clearly intrigued by what will come next. “Well, she composed an email stating that she is going to file for a divorce, attached a naked photograph of him, strategically edited to have the word ‘cheater’ embellished over his groin, and sent it to the entire department.” Hajime chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief, his eyes reflecting a mix of amusement and respect. “Now that takes guts,” he replies.

You take a sip of your beer and casually scan the dimly lit room, searching the faces of the other patrons for any signs of surprise or intrigue, wondering if they too had caught wind of the office scandal. As you continue weaving the tale, Hajime's laughter fills the air, momentarily lifting the weight of the surrounding chaos, and for a moment, it feels like you are the only two souls in the crowded bar. 

Talking to Hajime has always come naturally to you. From the very start of your relationship, you were amazed by the comfort he possesses, allowing you to freely share the whirlwind of thoughts swirling in your mind. Every time you spoke, his attentive gaze and warm demeanor reassured you that your words were safe, creating a sanctuary where you could express your deepest worries and dreams without fear of judgment or dismissal. Some years have passed since those days, yet the comfort you find in your conversations remains unchanged. 

[leiascully]

X-Files OctoberFicFest Day 6: Quagmire

Mulder had to believe there was more to the stories of Big Blue and its ilk than fear of the unknown. There had to be wonders left in the universe, corners of the map no one had explored. Here be monsters, but not because people were afraid. Because there was still space in the world for wild places, wild things, experiences that defied explanation.

He couldn’t comprehend why Scully didn’t understand that. As a scientist, she ought to love the fringes of things. That was where questions formed and hypotheses could be tested. Scully ought to have been the first one seeking Big Blue. Wouldn’t she have rather seen her dog eaten by a mythical monster than an imported pest? Yes, there had been monster boots and an alligator, but she fought him so hard every time, insisting on the quotidian. She was Occam’s Razor embodied, unless the simplest explanation had any whiff of the paranormal.

She would tell him that he was reasoning in advance of his evidence. She would tell him he was cherrypicking, that he only saw what he wanted to see. What he wanted to see was possibility. What she wanted to see was not just quantifiable but already quantified.

Except that didn’t give her enough credit. She’d stretched her credulity for him, over and over, trying to reason through the unreasonable. Sometimes her world seemed so small to him, but she saw other dimensions. The stars were no less magical to her, but her reasons were her own.

Maybe he was the mad captain. Maybe she was the steady first mate, opposing Ahab’s quest at every turn. Hell, she’d already shot him to keep him from sacrificing himself for revenge. Maybe they were doomed to play the same roles for the rest of their lives. They’d always rub each other the wrong way. He saw himself sometimes careening toward his end. Nothing held him back, except Scully.

And still, somehow, she was the one he wanted to be stranded on a rock with, waiting for death or the sunrise. She’d been sent to him as a ball and chain and she’d been an anchor instead.

When he considered it from a distance, the tension between them brought balance more often than not. The friction sparked inspiration. They’d drawn new maps together, sketching fresh lines over old landmarks, and there in the margins: here be monsters, labeled neatly with their crimes and species. Maybe a known world could still hold mysteries. Maybe he and Scully could hold them together.

[sparkles-and-trash]

When Keigo was 16 he kept getting in trouble with his handler at the Commission and gets sent to «voulenteer» at an animal shelter.

It started when he pierced his own ears, then he dyed his hair bright red to match his wings, and when he finally got busted reading files he had no business reading his handler put their foot down.

However, Keigo was rarely allowed outside of the Commission on his own, and secretley he looked forwards to a few hours without handlers and in company of some cute animals.

He hadn’t had the chance to meet many, but he goes in with a positive attitude as always!

What he didn’t expect was just how freaking attached he would get to the little creatures.

Not just the cute puppies and kittens, but the wildlife ones who were there for treatment as well.

He cried for the first time in years when he and the vet running the shelter released a now healthy possum that he’d gotten especially attached to.

After a while Keigo was allowed to run the night shift himself, as there was nothing to do besides keeping watch, and Keigo were just two years away from being a full fledged pro hero anyways.

He’s a little nervous the first night, but he truly has no reason to, because it all goes well.

Until there is a president knock on the door, that is.

Keigo knows there could be people coming in with animals all times of the night, so he sharpens a feather and carefully opens the door to peek out.

It’s hard to see the person outside properly because of the rain and the dark, but it’s clear that whoever it is isn’t bigger than Keigo, and is holding something gently in his arms, so Keigo opens the door.

The person stumbles inside on shaky legs, and Keigo is shocked to see it’s a boy, probably around his own age, gently cradling what looks a lot like a baby racoon.

The boy himself is wearing a oversized, ragged, and most of all wet hoodie, and his skin is shockingly pale, his turquoise eyes standing out in stark contrast to his pale skin and white hair.

He was kinda really pretty.

Also really skinny, pale and shaky, but most of all, pretty.

After a little back and fourth between them, mostly consisting of Keigo trying to understand the pretty boy’s raspy, quiet voice, but after a while Keigo has the raccoon in a warm and safe cage and have called the owner of the shelter.

Just as he’s about to turn around and thank the stranger, he realizes with a sinking feeling that the boy has already left.

Luckily, it doesn’t take that long until Keigo gets a second chance.

Two nights later, a familiar knock on the door makes Keigo’s wings fluff up and he excitedly runs for the door.

Once again the pretty boy is standing there, this time he’s carrying a small cardboard box filled with way too young kittens.

«Someone just left them,» the boy says in that quiet voice of his, and Keigo’s heart squeezes.

«I got it,» Keigo say with as much reassurance he could muster, and as he took the box from the boy he noticed just how thin and freezing his hands were.

Keigo had a feeling the boy wasn’t keen on accepting any charity, and the last thing he wanted to do was scare him off again, but luckily he thinks quick.

«Could you help me with them? Just for a few hours!»

The boy looks startled, but after a few beats he finally nods.

So together, the boys carefully warm up the tiny kittens, feed them some bottled milk, and make sure there’s no visible injuries on them.

When the sun starts rising, the boy gets antsy, and Keigo tells him it’s okay if he needs to leave.

«I could use your help again tonight you know?» Keigo adds shyly as they’re about to part in the doorway.

The boy looked up trough his fringe, meeting Keigo’s eyes straight on.

«Really?»

Keigo smiled.

«Yeah! They’re a lot of work, and it gets really lonley here at night anyways.»

The boy nodded slowly.

«I’ll try my best,» he said hoarsly, and Keigo nodded.

«One last thing?» Keigo added nervously.

«Yeah?» the boy asked, already halfway out the door.

«What’s your name?»

The boy looked paniced for a second, before he whispered the answer.

«It’s Touya.»

Keigo beamed.

«Cool! I’m Keigo!»

Touya actually smiled a little at that.

«Yeah, you told me that already Birdie.»

Keigo blushed and ran a hand trough his hair.

«Heh. Right.»

Touya smiled shyly before he dissapeared into the first signs of dusk.

Keigo was already looking forward to the next night shift.

For the next few weeks the boys kept this little routine up.

Keigo would sneaking buy some takeout and insist he got too much and didn’t want to throw out the leftovers, and Touya would pretend to believe him.

They would talk about very light and unpersonal topics, but they still get to know each other slowly, and get more comfortable around each other as they work with the kittens together.

When Keigo’s voulenteer period is close to ending, he’s real sad about it.

He tried to beg his handler for more time there, but the upper heads of the Commission flat out refuse.

Keigo hated himself for waiting until the last night to tell Touya. He was such a chickenshit.

He hates himself even more when he finds a letter on the doorstep when he arrives.

The tattered envelope only has one word on it.

«Birdie ~»

Keigo takes a deep breath, and opens the letter.

«Hey Birdie.

I’m so sorry for leaving this way.

I know you know my situation better than you want to admit, and you probably know that it’s a risky one.

I won’t tell you much, for your own sake, but I needed to say thank you.

For treating me like a person, and for pretending like you didn’t know I was starving, or that I needed a safe place to spend the nights.

I’ll never forget your kindness Birdie.

- T»

Keigo’s heart breaks for a million reasons that night, for the boy without a home, for the friend lost, and for the death of the warm feelings he’d been experiencing for the first time.

For the next two years Keigo kept that letter with him, the memories of the pale boy with the pretty eyes who was his first real friend one of the reasons he got trough the last gruelig years of Commission training and hero prepping.

A bit ironic, all things considering, but Keigo had no way of knowing that, yet.

Yet.

[lifewithaview]

Joshua Jackson and Anna Torv in Fringe (2008) Grey Matters

S2E10

When a patient of a mental institution is submitted to an intriguing brain surgery and is left behind with his brain exposed, he surprisingly regains sanity. The Fringe Division is assigned to investigate the case and while Olivia and Peter check the surveillance footage, Olivia recognizes one of the men. She check the FBI file and finds his name as Thomas Jerome Newton, the leader of the shapeshifters that have stolen the frozen heads. They discover that the patient's doctor is Dr. Paris and there are two other patients sent to other mental institutions by the physician fourteen years ago. Soon they learn that the two patients have mysteriously recovered and the Fringe Division discovers they have been also submitted to brain surgeries. When Walter is submitted to a CT-scan, they find that three pieces of his brain were removed and implanted in the three patients. What is the intention of Thomas?

*The glyphs for this episode spell out: PORTAL

[mariacallous]

A doctors’ organization at the center of the ongoing legal fight over the abortion drug mifepristone has suffered a significant data breach. A link to an unsecured Google Drive published on the group’s website pointed users last week to a large cache of sensitive documents, including financial and tax records, membership rolls, and email exchanges spanning over a decade. The more than 10,000 documents lay bare the outsize influence of a small conservative organization working to lend a veneer of medical science to evangelical beliefs on parenting, sex, procreation, and gender.

The American College of Pediatricians, which has fought to deprive gay couples of their parental rights and encouraged public schools to treat LGBTQ youth as if they were mentally ill, is one of a handful of conservative think tanks leading the charge against abortion in the United States. A federal lawsuit filed by the College and its partners against the US Food and Drug Administration seeks to limit nationwide access to what is now the most common form of abortion. The case is now on a trajectory for the US Supreme Court, which not even a year ago declared abortion the purview of America’s elected state representatives. 

The leaked records, first reported by WIRED, offer an unprecedented look at the groups and personnel central to that campaign. They also describe an organization that has benefited greatly by exaggerating its own power, even as it has struggled quietly for two decades to grow in size and gain respect. The records show how the College, which the Southern Poverty Law Center (SPLC) describes as a hate group, managed to introduce fringe beliefs into the mainstream simply by being, as the founder of Fox News once put it, “the loudest voice in the room.” 

The Leak

A WIRED review of the exposed data found that the unsecured Google Drive stored nearly 10,000 files, some of which are compressed zip files containing additional documents. These records detail highly sensitive internal information about the College’s donors and taxes, social security numbers of board members, staff resignation letters, budgetary and fundraising concerns, and the usernames and passwords of more than 100 online accounts. The files include Powerpoint presentations, Quickbooks accounting documents, and at least 388 spreadsheets. 

One spreadsheet appears to be an export of an internal database containing information on 1,200 past and current members. It contains intimate personal information about each member, including various contact details, as well as where they were educated, how they heard of the group, and when membership dues were paid. The records show past and current members are mostly male and, on average, over 50 years old. As of spring 2022, the College counted slightly more than 700 members, according to another document reviewed by WIRED. 

The breach exposes some material dating back to the group’s origin. It includes mailing lists gathered by the group of thousands of “conservative physicians” across the country. (One document outlining recruitment efforts states in bold, red letters: “TARGET CHRISTIAN MDs.”) The ongoing recruitment of doctors and medical school students seen as holding Christian views has long been its top priority. The leaked records indicate that more than 10,000 mailers were sent to physicians between 2013 and 2017 alone. 

While the group’s membership rolls are not public, the leak has outed most if not all of its members. A cursory review of the member lists surfaced one name of note: a recent commissioner of the Texas Department of State Health Services, who after joining in 2019 asked that his membership with the group remain a secret. (WIRED was unable to reach the official for comment in time for publication.)

The SPLC’s “hate group” designation, which the College forcefully disputes, haunted its fundraising efforts, records reveal. A barrage of emails in 2014 show that the label cost the group the chance to benefit from an Amazon program that would eventually distribute $450 million to charities across the globe. Amazon would deny the College’s application, stating that it relied on the SPLC to determine which charities fall into certain ineligible categories.

A strategy document would later refer to a “unified plan” among the College and its allies to “continue discrediting the SPLC,” which included a campaign aimed at lowering its rating at Charity Navigator, one of the web’s most influential nonprofit evaluators. One of the group’s admins noted that despite SPLC’s label, another charity monitor, GuideStar, listed the College as being in “good standing.”

The College’s GuideStar page no longer says this and appears to have been defaced. It now reads, “AMERICAN COLLEGE OF doodoo fartheads,” with a mission statement saying: “we are evil and hate gays :(((”

The Google Drive containing the documents was taken offline soon after WIRED contacted the American College of Pediatricians. The College did not respond to a request for comment.

The Talk

Leaked communications between members of the group and minutes taken at board meetings over the course of several years speak loudly about the challenges the group faced in pursuing its deeply unpopular agenda: returning America to a time when the laws and social mores around family squared neatly with evangelical Christian beliefs.

Many of the College’s most radical views target transgender people, and in particular, transgender youth. The leak, which had been indexed by Google, includes volumes of literature crafted specifically to influence relationships between practicing pediatricians, parents, and their children. It includes reams of marketing material the College aims to distribute widely among public school officials. This includes pushing schools to adopt junk science painting transgender youth as carriers of a pathological disorder, one that’s capable of spontaneously causing others–à la the dancing plague–to adopt similar thoughts and behaviors.

This is one of the group’s most dubious claims. While unsupported by medical science, it is routinely and incuriously propagated through literature targeted at schools and medical offices around the US. The primary source for this claim is a research paper drafted in 2017 by Lisa Littman, a Brown University scholar who, while a medical doctor, had not specialized in mental health. The goal of the paper was to introduce, conceptually, “rapid onset gender dysphoria”—a hypothetical disorder, as was later clarified by the journal that published it. Littman would also clarify personally that her research “does not validate the phenomenon” she’d hypothesized, since no clinicians, nor individuals identifying as trans, had participated in the study.  

The paper explains that its subjects were instead all parents who had been recruited from a handful of websites known for opposing gender-affirmative care and “telling parents not to believe their child is transgender.” A review of one of the sites from the period shows parents congregating to foster paranoia about whether there’s a “conspiracy of silence” around “anime culture” that was brainwashing boys into behaving like girls; insights plucked in some cases straight from another, more notorious forum (widely known for reveling in the suicides of the people it has bullied).

A 2021 prospectus describing the group’s focus, ideology, and lobbying efforts encapsulates a wide range of “educational resources” destined for the inboxes of physicians and medical school students. The materials include links to a website instructing doctors on how to speak to children in a variety of scenarios about a multitude of topics surrounding sex, including in the absence of their parents. Practice scripts of conversations between doctors and patients advise, among other things, ways to elicit a child’s thoughts on sex with the help of an imaginative metaphor. 

While the material is not expressly religious, it is clearly aimed at painting same-sex marriage as aberrant and immoral behavior. Physicians lobbied by the group are also told to urge patients to purchase Christian-based parenting guides, including one designed to help parents broach the topic of sex with their 11- and 12-year-old kids. The College suggests telling parents to plan a “special overnight trip,” a pretext for instilling in their children sexual norms in line with evangelical practice. The group suggests telling parents to buy a tool called a “getaway kit,” a series of workbooks that run around $54 online. The workbooks methodically walk the parents through the process of springing the topic, but only after a day-long charade of impromptu gift-giving and play. 

These books are full of games and puzzles for the parent and child to cooperatively take on. Throughout the process, the child slowly digests a concept of “sexual purity,” lessons aided by oversimplified scripture and well-trodden Bible school parables. 

Another document the group shared with its members contains a script for appointments with pregnant minors. Its purpose is made evidently clear: The advice is engineered specifically to reduce the odds of minors coming into contact with medical professionals not strictly opposed to abortion. A practice script recommends the doctor inform the minor that they “strongly recommend against” abortion, adding “the procedure not only kills the infant you carry, but is also a danger to you.” (Medically, the term “fetus” and “infant” are not interchangeable, the latter referring to a newborn baby less than one year old.)

The doctors are urged to recommend that the minor visit a website that, like the aforementioned website, is not expressly religious but will only direct visitors to Catholic-run “crisis pregnancy centers,” which strictly reject abortion. The same site is widely promoted by anti-abortion groups such as National Right to Life, which last year held that it should be illegal to terminate the pregnancy of a 10-year-old rape victim.

The Professionals

The effort to ban mifepristone, legislation the Supreme Court paused last month pending further review, faces significant legal hurdles but could ultimately benefit from the appellate court’s disproportionately conservative makeup. Most of the legal power in the fight was supplied by a much older and better funded group, the Alliance Defending Freedom, which has established ties with some of the country’s most elite political figures—former vice president Mike Pence and Supreme Court justice Amy Coney Barrett among them.

A contract in the leaked documents dated April 2021 shows the ADF agreeing to legally represent the College free of charge. It stipulates that ADF’s ability to subsidize expenses incurred during lawsuits would be limited by ethical guidelines; however, it could still forgive any lingering costs simply by declaring the College “indigent.”

In contrast to the College’s some 700 members, the American Academy of Pediatrics (AAP)–the organization from which the College’s founders split 20 years ago–has roughly 67,000. The rupture between the two groups was a direct result of a statement issued by the AAP in 2002. Modern research, the AAP said, had conclusively shown that the sexual orientation of parents had an imperceptible impact on the well-being of children, so long as they were raised in caring, supportive families.

The College would gain notoriety early on by assailing the positions of the AAP. In 2005, a Boston Globe reporter noted how common it had become for the American College of Pediatricians “to be quoted as a counterpoint” to anything said by the AAP. The institution, he wrote, had a rather “august-sounding name” for being run by a “single employee.” 

Internal documents show that the group’s directors quickly encountered hurdles operating on the fringe of accepted science. Some claimed to be oppressed. Most of the College’s research had been “written by one person,” according to minutes from a 2006 meeting, which were included in the leak. The College was failing to make a splash. In the future, one director suggested, papers rejected by medical journals “should be published on the web.” The vote to do so was unanimous (though the board decided the term “not published” was nicer than “rejected”). 

A second director put forth a motion to create a separate “scientific section” on the group’s website, strictly for linking to articles published in medical journals. The motion was quashed after it dawned on the board that they didn’t “have enough articles” to make the page “look professional.” 

The College struggled to identify the root cause of its runtedness. “To get enough clout,” one director said, “it would take substantial numbers, maybe 10,000.” (The College’s recruitment efforts would yield fewer than 7 percent of this goal in the following 17 years.) Yet another said the marketing department advised that “the College needs to pick a fight with the AAP and get on Larry King Live.” Another, the notes say, felt the organization was too busy trying to “walk the fence” by neglecting to acknowledge that “we are conservative and religious.” 

[thefringespod]

Its #AudioDramaSunday once again my dear wanderers and there were so many good things listened to this weekend

Starting off with @thesiltverses because I'm about half way through season 2 and it's marvelous. Every ep leaves me going "Huh. That was fucked up!" in the best way!! Also Michelle Kelly was in one of the episodes I listened to this week and while her character does get brutally murdered she did a great job 🥰

@re-dracula has officially entered the list of podcasts that have made me cry at my desk at work. Even knowing what happens to Lucy I was still there, sobbing in front of a spreadsheet. Excellent excellent work by everyone involved

My beloved Shed GangTM has returned in Tiny Terrors which means its officially spooky season. Also there was a patreon episode that has been haunting me since I heard it. I love Tiny Terrors and can't wait to hear more from the Shed Gang

Speaking of patreon, patreon early access for @malevolentcast was this week and whooboy. Another fantastic episode from Malevolent and that is all I will say on that

At Louis @ethicstownpod'srec I listened to episode one of @thewyrdsidepodcast and wowowowowow. I need to finish the Silt Verses first so I can fully devote myself to the Wyrd Side but it's scratching that perfect spooky season/Ghost Files itch I adore it so much already

And of course we had @kingmakerpod triumphant return for season 2! I love this show so so much and this episode was so fucking fun. They sent my favorite criminals to prison and gods it was great. Brilliant foley work and sound designing this ep. Also @doctorloup . That is all.

On the Fringes front I'm starting to edit in earnest and gods this CAST!!! Writing is also underway for season 3 and its a hell of a ride so far :)

In other podcast news, writing is also underway for @forgedbondspod and im sending some emails to see if I can fill out the last 2 spots on my lead cast 👀 I'm so excited about this show! And I can't wait to announce the 2 cast members I've got already, yall are gonna love them

I'm training a new hire this week which means less podcast time at work but hopefully there will be enough time to Audiodrama Sunday next week

I've got a lot going on both with writing and with day job and I'm just

I'm in a really good spot and am so happy to see it

[tsintotwo]

I just had a major TIFU moment... 

I was supposed to send something to the World Bank DC Office along with some details in the email. Okay, fine, I did that, all good. But no response/feedback yet. So today I went to recheck my email. And guys... the file I was supposed to attach, its name starts with a V. But I did not send THAT file, oh no. My blind ass, as I realize now, had clicked on the next thing in the folder. And I sent them vocals(1).mp3 instead.

It's Morpheus' isolated dialogues from Sandman episode 6.  

Y'all, I SENT TOM STURRIDGE ASMR TO THE WORLD BANK.

I am fucking dying, not knowing whether to hysterically laugh or freak out. WHAT?

Luckily the communication is on behalf of myself and I'm not representing anyone else/any other institution or company. And it's with just one person in a pretty fringe team so I can explain it away. But seriously, I still can't believe I did that. What even... 🤦‍♀️

[prcfuse]

@.𝙿𝚁𝙲𝙵𝚄𝚂𝙴      …         an   independent   ,   selective   ,   mutuals   &   21+   only   MULTIMUSE BLOG —   including original & canon characters written in the universes of stargate , the x files , jurassic park , doctor who , transformers , fringe , star wars , marvel & dc & etc. 𝕗𝕠𝕔𝕦𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕠𝕟​   ﹕   the found family trope , eldest child syndrome , dealing with childhood traumas & not being able to let go —   adored & loved by kiwi. (   28   ,   she/her   ,   gmt 10+   timezone   )   

⚠️ trigger wanrings ⚠️      :      written descriptions of gore , violence , sexual content , abuse , mentions of stalking , pregnancy ( including descriptions of miscarriages ) , paranoia and general horror themes.

⌜ ⁰¹.𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚍. ⁰². 𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚜. ⁰³. 𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝. MAIN BLOG.

MUSE LIST UNDER READ MORE WHILE CARRD IS UNDER CO.

SASHA O’NEILL STARGATE  —  MAIN

niece to colonel jack o’neill, sasha was a nurse in training when she helped daniel jackson solve the mystery of the stargate. being the medic for sg-1, she makes sure that the team survives the day.

MAX TURNER STARGATE —  SECONDARY

he was sent to earth to blend in and learn about the humans by anubis himself; what he wasn’t planning on was falling in love with the enemy herself. max turns against the system lords and reluctantly tries to help sg1, this is the only way that he can make sasha happy.

STEPHANIE MULDER THE X FILES —  MAIN

the fbi’s best criminal photographer. she’s the probie whose stuck in the basement along side her brother, fox mulder. tagging along on most cases, steph gets herself into trouble more than she would like to count.

ISABELLA GRADY JURASSIC WORLD —  SECONDARY

a psychologist who is over qualified to run the local bar in the jurassic world park. owen grady's little half sister - things get turned upside down after one fateful day.

VALKYRIE CAIN SKULDUGGERY PLEASANT —  MAIN

mainly phase 2. canon divergent.

KATHRYN BISHOP FRINGE —  SECONDARY

the twin sister to peter bishop, ran away to australia when her family was broken apart. only came back to boston in order to help her father and brother solve crimes for the fbi. affiliated with @conzierge

NATHAN KEEN FRINGE —  SECONDARY

the love of kathryn’s life, died in a terrible car accident when they had only been married for a couple of weeks. that is until he comes back from the dead - but that visn’t really the nate keen that you all know, he’s from the other universe.

OLIVER SMITH " THE SCIENTIST " DOCTOR WHO —  MAIN

a time lord who was cast out by their own family. the eldest sibling to the master - oliver spends their time traveling the galaxy with their daughter and terrorizing ana’s life.

RAMONA REED STAR WARS —  SECONDARY

a drunk and a bartender at cid’s. mona is forever tied to the bad batch when they come stumbling through the doors of the bar. she may have also been long time owner of the 79s bar back on coruscant.

OLIVE LENNOX TRANSFORMERS —  SECONDARY

her best friend, sam, bought a car. that car turned out to be an alien robot. olive bought herself a car, which turned out to be an alien robot that was enemies with SAM’S alien robot. is it really that complicated? [ barricade & bumblebee will join ????? most likely. ]

PATRICIA MATHESON NCIS  —  SECONDARY

ellie’s mum and one of the most mysterious women you will ever meet. slowly losing her mind , patricia is now living in a psychiatric care facility.

[fiendishthingee]

The X-Files at 30...

My deep affection for “The X-Files,” Chris Carter’s paranormal/sci-fi series that first began airing 30 years ago this week, is rooted in two distinct and formative places in my mind. The first is a love for the richly spine-chilling stories that Carter and his writers (including the wonderfully eccentric Darin Morgan, “Final Destination” creators James Wong and Glen Morgan, and Vince Gilligan, who later created “Breaking Bad” and "Better Call Saul") offered a seemingly limitless supply of, back when seasons ran for 23 or 24 episodes rather than the paltry 12 to 13 they do now. This love came from exposure at a young age, through my Dad’s work with the psychological fringes of society, to aspects of human nature that were dark and unusual. The show had a broad “government hiding the existence of aliens” storyline thread throughout its run, but for me the best tales were the “monster of the week,” which stood alone as smart, often wickedly funny storytelling AND go for broke yarns that sent your blood into icy creeps. These appealed to my sense of an uncanny borderland that was often kept in the shadows, ostensibly for the sake of not destabilizing normalcy and prosperity but really just to avoid dealing with the bad karma built up over a century of neglecting the truth about darker forces in the world. 

The other reason is that, for a number of years, I wasn’t entirely close with my older sisters, due to both the difference in age and because I was the only boy (and a weirdo outlier, interest-wise, at that). At the time "The X-Files" appeared, my sister Heather had just had her first child, and I began to spend more time with her as she settled into motherhood. I would go to her house on Friday nights, and we’d watch the new episode after her baby, Max, had gone to sleep. To this day, I don’t know exactly why our minds met in this particular way, but it means as much to me now as it did then. We became genuine friends in the way you do with siblings as you get older, understanding each other on a deeper level and recognizing the virtues in one another that a typically combative brother/sister dynamic drowns out for so long. She saw that I was a (reasonably) smart, capable, creative adult, and I recognized that she was a warm, intelligent, funny, and nurturing person. We greatly enjoyed that time together, and have kept a strong bond since, even living far away from one another. In that sense, Carter’s odd, creepy show was a real gift, bringing us together within its labyrinth of ideas with graceful suspense and great humanity. 

[ainlifun]

Though the Lord of Shadows took after Khorne more readily than his other parent, the touch of Slaanesh was undeniable. Properly subtle, but there all the same.

Such as went he finally released Freysin back into the field, only to bog his son down with a task fit for a mere Herald. The Malicious One seethed, stepping into the mortal realm from the portal he’d been sent through. Such a paltry task for one as powerful as he! And Malaneth had even been so iresome as to place him far from his goal. It would take days, weeks to reach the Badlands and then days more to “convince” the Hellsmiths to part with their best sorcerors. 

No one could bind souls to blades better than the Dawi-Zharr. And the peices of Khade were no mere shards of some luckless daemon. No, it was God-stuff, and the souls of the Dawi-Zharr belonged to the Forge Daemon-God, Hashut. What better materials could there be to see the ritual through? Freysin tried to take pride in that; as simple as this task seemed, there would be far reaching consequences if he succeeded.

...Or failed.

That thought burning in the back of his brain, the Greater Daemon secret himself among the men of Estalia and quickly sniffed out a cult of his god’s followers: worshippers, supplicants, and thralls. Tools he would use to see Malal’s will, and his own, be done. One thing they had over the cultists of other gods? Malal’s acolytes moved with a relative freedom that even the Slaaneshi could not boast. They were hailed by the common man and even tolerated by the Witch Hunters. 

The enemy of your enemy was indeed a friend...

“ The God of Shadows hungers for the talents of the Dawi-Zharr,” He hissed at the cult he had assumed command of, secreted away on the watery fringes of Bilbali. “ But they are creatures of chaos. They will not come willingly and for all my power, I am only a single daemon.” Freysin’s eyes swept over the assembled mortals, prostrating themselves.

“ You will go to the other cults who worship my father. Tell them their god has need of them and that there is Hashuti blood that need spilling. Go! Once the number of thralls is to my liking, we will trek east to the Dark Lands.”

Obediantly, the cultist began to file off. Freysin leaned back in the comfortable, ornate chair he was afforded, a glass of wine set between his claws. A spike of frustration and anger stole through him as he recalled another of his father’s edicts: To leave Xogrym and Arlaey to their task. Do not bother them with your presence. The Hierarch had spat. Freysin growled, barking for spirits to take the edge off, and the pleasures of mortal flesh to dull his frustrations even further.

[jujupepi]

A Pre-History of Fanfiction V: Fandom Drama, More Zines, and Conclusion

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

Sources

Chapter 5: Other Zines 

Zines existed out of the K/S bubble, of course. Our old friend Sherlock Holmes laid claim to many staple pages often crossing over with the Doctor, Lovecraft’s monsters, and Count Dracula like in the pages of the SH-SF Fanthology edited by Ruth Berman. Zines like the Holmesian Federation edited by Signe Landon and written by Dana Martin Batory, Ruth Berman, John C. Bunnel, and Tina Rhea explored Holmes’ world in both fiction and non-fiction. When Lord of the Rings was republished in paperback in the 60s, zines like Bernie Zuber’s Mytholore explored Tolkein and other fantasy works. 

Duh duh duh DUN DA DUN DUN DA DUN. The premier of Star Wars in 1977 inspired many zines. B. Clark published the first Star Wars fanzine, Skywalker in 1978. Others included Empire Stars by JJ Adamson and the Mos Eisley Chronicle by Doborah Rubin. The first sexual SW content appeared in the pages of Guardian #3 edited by Linda Deneroff and Cynthia Levine. Han/Luke slash filled the pages of zine to the point where the director of the Official Star Wars Fan Club sent Guardian and other publications a letter that demanded that they stop publishing porn along with a series of guidelines for zines. 

Another fandom that comes up quite a lot in zine culture is Blake’s 7, a British SF tv show that shared many producers, writers, editors, and actors with Doctor Who (I guess that’s true of most British shows). The fandom was huge, especially for one that is not super active today. The creator, writers, and actors were uniquely involved in the fandom. The creator, Terry Nation, told zine editor Carl Hiles that he didn’t want Blakes 7 fanworks to appear in any zine that weren’t solely dedicated to Blakes. It wasn’t all negative, Nation also supplied a very kind introduction to a fanfiction titled Reflections in a Shattered Glass by Joe Nazzaro. Actor Gareth Thomas read a fan poem by Mary G T Weber out loud at a con, embracing her after. 

Blake’s 7 was not without its troubles though. The fandom split in the late 80s when a fan revealed to Blake actor Paul Darrow the names of three fans slash producing fans, a writer, editor, and artist, who were operating under pseudonyms. Darrow sent a letter to these fans demanding them to stop publishing anything involving ‘his character or his likeness’. This caused a rift in the fandom between those who supported Darrow and those supporting the three targeted fans. (Fanlore - The Blake’s 7 War) It is speculated that Darrow was using slash as a scapegoat to obfuscate criticism he was receiving for participating in for-profit cons. This is a common theme in fandom, the disconnect between fans and those that make the show. For example, Jensen Ackles of Supernatural fame has made it clear that he does not like to answer questions about shipping his character with Castiel. 

Slash became such a huge part of fandom that zine dedicated entirely to slash without a home fandom appeared in the 80s. One such zine was Dyad edited by Divya Blacque. Dyad used a far reaching amount of derivative works including Man from Uncle, Simon and Simon, Quantum Leap, Startsky and Hutch, Lethal Weapon 2, and China Beach. Slash developed its own genre conventions and language. In this case, not only is the author decentralized but the derivative work is as well. This marks another evolution of fandom from where organizing around a particular work or works is most important to where engaging in fannish behaviors is central. 

Conclusions and Findings 

For a time in the 80s and 90s, zines coexisted with online fan forums like alt.tv.x files.creative and The Aquiter Files for Blake’s 7. However, the ease, accessibility, and ubiquity of the internet won out and have pushed zines to the fringes of fandom. That is not to say that zines do not exist but they are most certainly not the main medium of fanfiction today. 

So much has changed since the days of Gulliver and Pamela. 

Fanfiction now exists on online archives like AO3 and fandom discourse lurks on Tumblr, available to a wider amount of people than a zine would ever be able to service. Fanfiction has increased in popularity and visibility in the past two decades. Fic has even transformed into multi-media franchises like EL James’ 50 Shades of Gray and Cassandra Clare’s The Mortal Instruments. The increasing acceptance of LQBTQ+ people has made the secrecy around slash all but obsolete. 

Though there are endless problems within fandom and fandom behavior, I want to encourage you all to keep engaging with communities you love whether that be centered around a fictional work, a hobby, or anything else that piques your fancy. Keep putting your art and your words out there, you don’t need a middleman or a gatekeeper or a publisher to give you permission. Your little tumblr blog might set a precedence if you let it. 

This is not an overarching explanation of fandom and is limited to a few works, places, and time periods. If you want to know more, I’ll link my sources in other post

I would like to give a very special thank you to Fanlore, a spectacular and far-reaching wiki with thousands of pages of amazing rabbit holes. I would also like to thank those fans that wrote their own histories like Mickela Ecks and Writer’s University, Jenna Sinclair, Alec Nevala-Lee, and Gloria Comandini. Though I used academic journals, these personal histories were the most elucidating.  

[piscessheepdog]

Aledis the Blue Yorkie

Meet Aledis, a Littlest Pet Shop OC (original character) that I created on October 2019. Before I could tell information about this character, I like to say what I have done on February 2, 2024 in the morning. Initially, I was going to archive more files that I considered necessary and that were only found in a desktop computer that used to run Windows 7. Unfortunately, when I started up said desktop computer, I found out that it has been broken down sometime after the end of support of the Professional and Enterprise volume licensed versions, making most of them lost media. What a pity that I couldn't archive them before that software rot!

In compensation of what happened to the older computer, I had to write the following information of this original character from memory:

Name: Aledis

Age: More or less the same as Brown Yorkie

Species: Dog (Yorkshire Terrier)

Gender: Cisgender female

Personal gender pronoun: She/Her

Alignment: Social good

Likes: Literature (especially fiction books and poems), rationalism, science (especially physics) and art

Dislikes: Pseudoscience, fringe theories, blockchain and similar concepts, negative evaluation

Description: Aledis is a blue-furred Yorkshire Terrier that is commonly seen wearing a wreath of flower in her left ear and a green bandana in one of her forelegs. She also has a white star-shaped birthmark that is slightly hidden in her neck's fur. Namewise, Aledis' attitude is described as being intelligent, innovative, progressive, adventurous, and slightly rebellious. As a result, Aledis herself is feminist and will fight for animal rights. Despite being a ratter, Aledis can spare the lives of rodents, including mice and rats. However, she has fear of negative evaluation and a slight spatial anxiety. In some occasions, she is able to take one for the team when necessary. She is depicted as the cousin of Brown Yorkie and is rational enought to be skeptical about magic and paranormal events.

Biography: Aledis was born in Pets Plaza (a place that is found exclusively on the 2008 video game adaptation of Littlest Pet Shop) along with her two siblings. One day, Aledis was suddenly become displaced from her original dimension. To make matters worse, she discovers that the planet she is sent to, the Glade of Dreams, contains hostile beings that are more dangerous compare to that of her native parallel world. In order to deal with it, Aledis uses the survival skills her mother taught earlier. During the journey, she meets a like-minded dweller of the Glade of Dreams that she befriends. Eventually, both of them are sent to a more peaceful world and, over time, she befriends two more female nonhuman characters from different parallel universes.

If anyone asks when Aledis appeared for the first time, the earliest drawings featuring her were first posted on Rayman Pirate Community, as I have a currently inactive account and Aledis used to be the co-mascot of this account along with a Rayman OFC (original female character). As drawn in an approximately five-year-old paper, she originally looked like this in an old artstyle:

Yes, the older picture is a model sheet in the form of traditional art, and it is written in Spanish. By January 2023, I have improved this art style to the current one (such as the digital art I have made for Aledis) so that I removed these drawing quirks found on her head for consistency. Therefore, it's time to give her a chance to make a comeback.

Aledis the Blue Yorkie © Me (@piscessheepdog) Littlest Pet Shop © Hasbro (previously owned by Kenner)

[buglecourier]

Mumbai Police Gets 26/11-Like Terror Threat If Pak Woman Who Married Indian Not Sent Back

The traffic control room of Mumbai Police received the call from an unidentified person, who spoke in Urdu and said there would be a terror attack like the November 26, 2008 attack on the Maharashtra capital and the Uttar Pradesh government will be responsible for it, he said.

Mumbai: The Mumbai Police have registered an FIR against unidentified persons in connection with a call received last week warning of a 26/11-like terror attack if Pakistani woman Seema Haider did not return to her country, an official said today.

The traffic control room of Mumbai Police received the call from an unidentified person, who spoke in Urdu and said there would be a terror attack like the November 26, 2008 attack on the Maharashtra capital and the Uttar Pradesh government will be responsible for it, he said.

The Mumbai Police subsequently initiated a probe into the threat call, he said.

Following a complaint filed by the Mumbai traffic police, an FIR was registered at Worli police station on Monday against unidentified persons under relevant provisions, the official said.

The case has been transferred to the crime branch and a probe is on into it, he said.

The call was made through an app, and the police were trying to track down the IP address of the caller, an official earlier said.

Seema Haider, a 30-year-old Pakistani national, entered India illegally in May to marry her lover Sachin Meena, a resident of Greater Noida. The two had become friends while playing online game PUBG.

Ms Haider and Meena, 22, were arrested by local police in Greater Noida on July 4 and later granted bail by a court on July 7.

Police had arrested Ms Haider for entering India illegally without a visa through Nepal.

The UP Police’s Anti-Terrorist Squad (ATS) questioned Ms Haider and Meena yesterday and today.

Her questioning also comes at a time when a little-known right-wing fringe group in Greater Noida has threatened a protest if Ms Haider, who illegally entered India with her four children, is not evicted from the country “within 72 hours”.