#Original Writing

[milykins]

Ask for requests and ye shall receive! I'm not good at writing requests so bear with me lol. It's a silly Raph x reader scenario I've had in my head for a minute. It's the dead of winter and reader is going to the lair absolutely freezing 'cause its snowing out. Once reader gets there, they see Raph working out and looking very warm...it'd be a real shame it someone with freezing hands where to try to steal that body warmth >:3

Thank you for the ask! It was a fun prompt. I hope this is what you had in mind!

Raph×Reader

No warnings - rated E for everyone

Special thanks to @sophiacloud28 for beta reading this!

Cold Hands

Your fingers were numb. You couldn’t feel your face either. You haven’t for about fifteen minutes since you made the stupid decision to walk home from work. Miserably forcing your way through the snow, you were unsure if you still had feet or two large blocks of ice. You hated being cold, especially this cold. Mustering the effort you kept going, huffing out clouds of vapour. Only a few more minutes to the manhole cover.

With shaking fingers you hooked the metal tool for lifting it into the holes. “C’mon…” it seemed to take longer this time, adding to your frustration.

You slipped in before it was fully open. You could care less about the ping Donnie would get from leaving it ajar. It’s far too cold and your concern for hypothermia was outweighing everything.

You needed warmth and you had your sights set on your favourite bruiser.

The lair was surprisingly quiet. Good. There was only one person you wanted to see after that lovely walk.

Shaking the remaining snow from your coat, you threw it haphazardly on the nearest chair. Exposing your poor feet to the sudden warmth brought forth a gasp of discomfort. Your toes and fingers tingled like fire as your warmed blood worked through the frozen appendages.

The set temperature of the lair was not enough to really help you feel normal again. You needed him.

You located Raphael in the weight room. He appeared to be part-way through his workout, standing and facing away from you. He was grunting softly to himself, clearly associated with power-lifting a couple of massive weights. Despite how cold you were still, it was hard not to appreciate him for a moment. The way his muscles bunched and tensed. The rivulets of sweat from his efforts.

He'd once told how much weight he could curl and the amount was staggering. Around five hundred pounds effortlessly on a good day. The man certainly took his workouts seriously, that was for sure.

Watching how hot he looked, literally and figuratively, a devilish thought entered your mind. You shouldn’t, oh, but you were going to. This was perfect, and you knew he wouldn’t hear you.

Excitement building, you slowly approached, hands at the ready, craving that body heat only he could give. Without warning, you yanked his mask tails to get him right where you wanted him, placing those freezing hands of yours right where his neck met his carapace.

The sound that came out of Raph was nothing short of hilarious. It was a cross between a gasp and a cry, with in an expletive added in for good measure.

“Aaagh! The FUCK?!”

You firmly held your freezing hands in place while the dumbbells slipped from his, hitting the floor with a couple of two separate loud thumps. Thankfully, it was protected by a thick, rubber mat, or they would’ve left a couple of dents.

He turned his head sharply to look at you, eyes narrowing considerably that you’d interrupted his workout like this.

Smiling innocently, you just shrugged. “I… I was cold… and you looked so hot.”

Always a sucker for praise his bunched shoulders dropped and the hint of a smile was forming. You knew he couldn’t be too mad at you.

Removing his wireless headphones, he hung them on a spare hook and turned, taking your smaller hands in his massive ones. The warmth of them drawing a small sigh of relief from you.

“Cold, eh?” Looking at you finally, he noticed your still-flushed cheeks and echoes of melted snow in your eyelashes and hair.

“Baby, did you walk?” His expression quickly changed to one of concern. “Why didn’t ya Uber it?”

You gave him a half-hearted shrug with the decency to look a little ashamed. “The weather was too bad… I would’ve been waiting an hour, so I decided to bite the bullet and walk.”

Releasing one of your hands, he brushed his knuckles across your cheek, still able to feel to lingering chill. “Ya shoulda waited… this type of weather isn’t great for me. It’ll basically cause me to slow down and sleep. You, on the other hand, could lose a finger or somethin’.”

Eyes fluttering closed a moment, you leaned closer. You craved the heat radiating from his body. “I’m sorry…”

“I’m gonna rack these, hold on.” He turned, hefting those huge dumbbells onto a custom-made rack. “Half a workout it is. I gotta get you warmed up.”

You begin to protest. You hadn’t meant to interrupt him this much. “B-but, Raph, you don’t have to-.“

He silenced you with a kiss and slid his arms under your back and legs to draw you right up against his solid form. “I need a shower anyway.”

And that was that. He was already taking long strides to the bathroom. You shivered in excitement that had nothing to do with how cold you’d been. He was heading to the one with the huge walk-in shower that you adored. Unsurprisingly, you couldn’t find a single reason to argue with him.

“I guess a shower doesn’t sound so bad… as long as I have you to keep me company…” You wrapped your arms around him pulling yourself up just enough to squish your cold cheek against his warm one.

Raph shivered a little before moving on. “Oh, that’s something you never gotta worry about sweetheart… warming you up is my specialty. Plus, those ice picks you called hands were absolutely criminal.” You couldn’t help but laugh softly at that teasing smirk of his.

“So, I can’t steal your body heat when I’m cold?” You were really playing it up, sticking your bottom lip out and giving him those ‘eyes’.

He kissed your pout and chuckled low in his throat. “Maybe not when I’m doin’ curls, alright? Yer lucky I didn’t drop those damn weights on your feet.”

Laughing more, you nodded. “Deal, now undress me and get me in that shower.”

He growled softly as he brought you in. Closing and locking the door behind himself he was fully intent on a making good on that promise.

Things had never been hotter between the two of you.

End

Until the next ask! This is the first of three!

Taglist

@danceingfae @thelaundrybitch @iridescentflamingo @redsrooftopprincess @ninnosaurus

@the-cauldron-witch @thepinkpanther83 @avery73 @adebauchedsloth @sophiacloud28

@definitely-canon @scholastic-dragon @truffle-reblogs @fyreball66 @yorshie

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[shyjusticewarrior]

Tim: Who's your favorite brother?

Jason: Dick. Don't tell him.

Tim: Not me?

Jason: You can't be mad, he's your favorite too.

Tim: Fair enough.

[sacriificiallamb]

i wept tears of blood for you, mary, can you hear me cry at night? can you feel my tears running down my cheeks like they’re your own? i feel so alone, i feel so alone, i feel so alone out here. you’ve taken everything from me but still i pray. and forever i will. i’ll kiss the ground you walk on, eat from the palm of your hand. you speak the truth and i hear it. that you’d never hurt me. i know that now. i can feel you with me, holding me like a soft summer’s wind. yes, yes i can smell her breath now, honey and strawberries hanging onto her every word. and i worship. and i worship. and i worship.

[angelofsmall]

cemetery from my eyes

11/24

[maracujatangerine]

89. Leaving

CW: medical, institutional slavery, pet whump, dehumanisation, box boy universe

Coriander was still a bit unsteady when he walked out through the main entrance of the hospital, arm in arm with Lydia and Indira. His long blonde hair intermingling with Lydia’s brown and Indira’s black locks.

The cold air of the overcast winter’s afternoon enveloped them. Lydia took a deep breath in relief.

Leaving the hospital had been undramatic. Indira had changed into her private clothes and wore black jeans with a marine and white knitted woollen jumper. With combined efforts, they had helped Cory change into a dusky orange t-shirt and dark grey joggers. Then, they had just wheeled Coriander to the entrance, left the wheelchair in its designated place, and helped the young man to walk away.

There was no reason for anyone to react. Cory seemed a little bit dizzy, still, but that was hardly out of place at a hospital. His bandaged arm poking out from the sleeve of his black jacket clearly marked him out as a patient, even without the hospital gown. Still, Lydia felt an immense sense of relief as the automatic doors swished closed behind them.

After walking the short distance to Indira’s car, they both helped the pet into the back, behind the driver’s seat. Lydia reached over and buckled Cory’s seat belt for him before closing the door. India sat down in the front and Lydia walked around the car to sit next to Cory in the back.

Both women sighed when they closed the car doors.

“Oh my god.” Lydia laughed. ”That was… something. Good that you are quick at thinking on your feet, Indira!”

Indira nodded, closing her eyes for a second, then smiling at them both.

“It was… a bit more intense than expected. But we got clean x-rays.” She playfully hit the wheel of the car in triumph. “Still a success, I’d say!”

Lydia turned solicitously towards Coriander.

“How are you doing, love? I’m so sorry that it was difficult for you. You were very brave.” She nodded to emphasise her words. “How are you feeling now?”

“T-this pet i-is fine, Miss Lydia.”

Coriander did not look fine. His eyes were still red from crying. He still shivered with long, drawn-out tremors shaking his whole body in an undercurrent of fear. Lydia and Indira had felt him shaking on the way to the car, and the shivers did not seem like they were going to let up any time soon.

“It is all over now. Let’s just go home and take it easy, yeah?” She smiled encouragingly. “I’m very proud of you, and I would like to spoil you for a bit. Maybe we can watch a movie and have a bit of cake, or what do you say?”

“M-maybe t-this pet would like to r-rest for a while.”

“That sounds good. Maybe you can have a little nap?”

Lydia studied Coriander. The lines of pain around his eyes and mouth that had faded over the long time that they had spent together, were once again visible. His face was pale. He looked worn out to the bone. She could see the shivers racking his body, making his hands shake. His hair fell down, covering his eyes. Gently, she reached out to smooth away those tresses, wanting to pet her hand over his hair to calm him.

Coriander jerked away.

Lydia started in surprise.

Grey eyes met hers for a moment, then Cory lowered his gaze.

Very quietly, he spoke.

“P-please, Miss Lydia. T-this p-pet cannot bear to be touched… to be touched right now.”

“Oh.” Lydia slowly let her hand fall. “S-sure.” She said. “That’s totally fine. Whatever feels best for you.”

Indira watched in the rear-view mirror, a sudden, sinking feeling in her stomach.

Coriander sat as far away towards the door as possible. He looked out through the window with a totally impassive face, emotionless and beautiful like a doll.

On the other side of the car, Lydia also looked out the window. She didn’t make a sound, but Indira could see her biting her lower lip hard to keep it from shivering. Her brown eyes wide and blank with tears.

Tag List Part 1: @cupcakes-and-pain @whump-em @whumpzone @wh-wh-whu @neuro-whump @carnagecardinal @cowboy-anon @whump-me-all-night-long @redwingedwhump @myst-in-the-mirror @haro-whumps @eatyourdamnpears @bloodsweatandpotato @pinkraindropsfell @whumptywhumpdump @theydy-cringeworthy @whump-in-progress @whumpsy-daisy @nicolepascaline @whumpcreations @briars7 @shiningstarofwinter @whumppsychology @alex-ember @miss-kitty-whumptastic @whumpy-writings @in-patient-princess @youtube-fandoms-bands @goblinchildindabog @mazeish @distinctlywhumpthing @inpainandsuffering @canniboylism @icannotweave @incoherent-introspection @kim-poce @broken-typewriter @the-monarch-whumperfly @whumpers-inc @grizzlie70 @lil-whumper @writingbackwards-blog @sunflower1000 @wingedwhump @thecitythatdoesntsleep @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @onlybadendings @rabass @wolfeyedwitch @melancholy-in-the-morning

[iamnothingbutaconcept]

"is this what love is supposed to feel like? am i to feel suffocated by this affection climbing up my throat?""

[sadiahakim]

"and no one can tell what's inside them — hearts are heavier than the earth and deeper than the oceans."

— Sadia Hakim

[erithel]

Two of the characters from the novel I'm writing, Marek and Jules.

[maihonhassan]

And when Mahmoud Darwish wrote;

“tumhari gair maujoodgi mein sab theek hai, siwaye mere.”

[akithewriter]

Overview: Estranged from her mother and with only virtual friends to keep her company, Sandy Meyers has always felt alone. That changes when she meets Joyce, a mysterious and quiet woman who makes one solemn promise: To keep Sandy safe. Though puzzled by Joyce’s words, Sandy treasures their brief connection—until Joyce vanishes without a trace. Fearing the return of her loneliness, Sandy quickly bonds with Carter, a charismatic and renowned artist she meets at a club. But as their relationship intensifies, Sandy’s behavior takes a dark and violent turn, inexplicably tied to the haunting allure of Carter’s art.

Get your copy of Sandy' Portrait here or check out my author website here

[a-dreamersjournal]

Will I finally write myself Happy?

I've been trying to write something for a while now. But the pages remain empty and nothing's coming out. No ink from my pen, no blood from my fingertips, no cliches from my heart. But, as unfortunate as it might be, I can feel my breath against the window glass.

Like an unwelcome guest, one you cannot do anything about. It's not like I want to die right now. But, how can I breathe in and out when words are refusing to leave my lungs? I like words more than I like air.

I need words more than I need Air.

And I know it's not romantic, But Tragic. And it scares me sometimes too. I can Imagine it so vividly, death on my doorsteps. And maybe, just maybe It will ask what my last wish is only for me to answer without any hesitation;

"Let me write once again. One last prose in exchange for my last breath."

And maybe that's when I'll finally write myself Happy?

Oh God, will I finally write myself Happy?

[aviationgeek71]

Twilight Rendezvous

In the waning hours of twilight, they meet in silence—the goddess of love surrendering to the moon's touch. Their love a whispered promise, their union a celestial ballet of light and shadow...

Venus and the moon, Pataskala, Ohio. October 2024.

By @aviationgeek71

[nunyverse-scribe]

Winter/Christmas Writing Prompts

🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄

In class, Person A is assigned Person B for Secret Santa, but they don’t really know B like that. So they try to get to know B while not making it too obvious that they’re B’s secret Santa, & in the process they end up developing a strong bond (platonic or romantic).

Person A is a naturally cold person while Person B is a more naturally warmer person so as the colder months come near, B will always warm A’s hands in their own.

More goofy dynamic based off the previous, Person A tends to attack Person B with their cold hands, going for B’s neck cus that’s a body part that emits a lotta heat. B tends to be startled and scream every time.

Person A has a passion for knitting/sewing/crocheting/etc. making sure to make new sweaters and jackets and socks for their loved ones. (Bonus Points if A decides to make matching sweaters for their friend group).

Sibling characters or any family characters upholding family winter traditions after their parents/caretakers have died as a means of letting their spirit live on.

Opposite of that, a group of friends or maybe the youngest generation in an family developing new traditions as a means to be representative of breaking the cycle of abuse that the adult figures in their lives provided them.

Characters that don’t celebrate Christmas or any other winter holiday kind of just banding together to have wintery fun outside of a cultural or religious holiday context, and treating it as a normal time of the year.

Person A being a parent from a middle class or lower class income but always sure to drive past the rich neighborhoods with dazzling lights so that their kid can look at it in awe and point out all the pretty houses with glee.

Characters turning off all the lights and lighting up candles to huddle around in a circle and tell/make up winter-themed scary stories.

Person A and Person B watching the Holiday special contests of a cooking show (I like to imagine this as a parent and kid mainly cus I remember my mom watching those holiday specials all the time)

❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️

[sacriificiallamb]

he liked them obedient

sweet, darling lambs who crawled to their own slaughter

good little things who did what they were told

so i laid still

letting him put his hands on me as he wished

twisting, pulling, groping

anything he wants

as long as he tells me he loves me

that i’m all his

i’m his paper doll

dress me, pinch me, cut me up, baby

tear me apart with bare hands

and throw away the pieces of me

[helpmeimblorboing]

Worldbuilding is such an adventure, because some days you’re just going on a metaphorical joyride, figuring out what powers the servants of the divine should have, and the incidents that are going to litter the backdrop of your story

And some days (cough, cough, today) you’re coming up with an intricate history for the religious cults of your story’s gods, including Bibles, “Footprints in the Sand”-esque poetry, and late 18th century theological schisms between factions

That’s not even scratching the surface on the absolute bullshit that is POLITICS, ESPECIALLY the Panopticon’s. You know, you’d think that the cult started by a Queen and dedicated to Control would be the one closest to the monarchy, wouldn’t you ?

But no !! It’s the Panopticon that’s acknowledged as practically an official branch of the Crown. Because as it turns out, monarchs value espionage over control

(FYI, there are three cults dedicated to Dysthymia, the God of the Mind in my story. There are more, but this story only involves those three

The first are the Wingweavers, who are led by the Priestess Emerit, and serve her aspect of Control. Created by Queen Elizabeth the First of the Tudor dynasty, who actually served as its first Emerit, the Wingweavers are a cult designed to hem in the public and drum up support for authority figures. Basically, they’re the Catholic-Church-equivalents

The second are the Church of the Everblind, who are led by the Amatios Ypiretis, and serve the Dysthymic aspect of Ignorance. Venerating ignorance, blindness, and simplicity, this cult was founded by an unknown group during the time of the Byzantine Empire, and really picked up steam after the First World War

The third are the Panopticon, who are led by the Dominus Oculus, and serve the aspect of Perception. Worshipping knowledge and the collection of data for its own sake, the Panopticon has existed since the times of the late Roman Empire, started by Emperor Octavian, though it wasn’t called the Panopticon then

Anyways, not much literature has been written on the cults, due to the critical failure of the book Blood-soaked Cross, by American author John Dennings, whose brother had been indoctrinated into the Wingweavers at the time. Scathing and critical, the book derides the Wingweavers as a heretical offshoot of Christianity, something that turned the Holy Trinity into a trifold pantheon of pagan gods

The Priestess Emerit, furious, immediately had him killed. No one really had the guts to comment on the cults after that

No one that is, until the philosopher John Frances took a crack at it in 1746, coming out with the polarising text known only as A Theory of the Divine, which posits that the cults of the Trifold Gods actually all worship Dysthymia, positioning her as a supreme ruler god, and the other two as subservient to her

Predictably, Frances was soon indoctrinated into the Panopticon, and soon rose through its ranks to become the Dominus Oculus, eventually authoring “The Seven Eyes”, an internal-use piece of religious propaganda used to proselytise the teachings of the Panopticon

Meanwhile, sometime in 1547, the Wingweavers had gotten their own holy text, called the Book of Light. Written by an unknown author, the Book quickly became the foundation of the Wingweaver’s newfound pivot into evangelism, with one of its excerpts being quoted at nearly every sermon held by the Priestess Emerit, “And Lo !! This the shepherd turned their gazes to the sky, for the star had burned its place in the dark, so bright and true that it seemed like dawn had broken. And the ten burning wings of the Administrator, she the Highest of the High, Lady Dysthymia, burned themselves forever into their vision, leaving behind a shadow of their shape, their mark forever silhouetted against the shepherd’s eyes”

Another text published by the Wingweavers is the famous poem “Eyes Over Yonder” by the Priestess Emerit in 1789, a woman named Mary Yoseph. It goes something like so “

And the blind woman asked the prophet,

What truth will reveal itself to one who cannae so much as see a lie ?

And the prophet answered,

O ye of little faith, such truth that need be seen is no truth, and such faith that need be tested is no faith

For fear not, O Child of the Light, for though thy eyes be dark, tis for greater still

To forbid the distractions of the world, to serve her great will

And though the Truth to you may be dark

The Eyes of the Lord see through you, for you, now and forever

For there is no sight sharper than the Sight of the Lady

And the Eyes Over Yonder”

This text is absurdly popular, fuelling a number of pamphlets, sermons, speeches and novellas put out by the leadership of the Wingweavers, meant to show that the true purpose of existence is to surrender your senses and lives to Dysthymia

The Church of the Everblind, however, took offence to the repeated mentions of “eyes” and “sight”, and soon, in response, they published their own poem, against the very doctrines of their church

They called it the Sight Unseen, written by the Amatios Ypiretis of the Church of the Everblind in the year 1795, Jacob Fellhaven, and it went as follows

“What use have the world of eyes, when sight be of human make ?

What use have faith of sight, when sight only faith break ?

The light that burns, misguides and lies

To what end shall the Lady be attributed to it in which faith dies

For endless pours the immortal drink from the pall of stormy skies

Writ in the dark smoke and the light’s legion lies

The light is a cruel thing and deceiving without end

But the dark is simple, true. The dark is your friend

The dark is your prophet, the dark is your sermon.

The Sight Unseen is your goal, and the Lady Dysthymia your patron.

For what use have we of eyes, of knowledge and words and tongue

When we are all from the Lady’s ten wings hung

For Children of the Dark are we and to Dark we must return

No matter how many times the Light stakes its turn”

It’s noted that in the prelude to the Sight Unseen, Fellhaven refers to the Wingweavers as the “twisted iron-fist pariahs who have decayed the word of our Lord to something unrecognisable”, adding that they should be “seen as the sinners they are, for the Devil hides amidst the flock of the Lady”

In response, Yoseph published a lengthy doctrine decrying the poem as “foolish, anti-intellectualist, reductive drivel designed to drive people away from the Light of our Lord”, referring to him as “the Golden Sheep of Baal” and “a blind old man preaching stupidity and occultism”

It’s noted that in present day, evangelicals of the Wingweavers often give out excerpts from the Book of Light on the street, on like tiny little slips of paper. In addition, some of the older Wingweaver-aligned families, like the Robinsons, who are actually descended from the 1963 Priestess Emerit, Josephine Robinson, carry their own copies of the Book of Light, leather-bound and embossed with the golden symbol of the Wingweavers, a ring with ten wings sprouting from it, five on each side, and an eye in the centre

There also exists an annotated, illustrated “children’s edition of the Book of Light”, with Eyes Over Yonder written on the inside of its back cover, along with a tiny little drawing of the unnamed prophet blessing a blind old woman. It’s quite cute, if mildly distressing”)