#project battle shell

[nerves-nebula]

Hi, it's the battle shell anon again. I officially made my blogs, which I'll be working on updating tomorrow (as I have a bit of a backlog from working on my battle shell very rough prototype to figure out sizing, shapes, curvatures, etc).

My new main blog is @dynami-tello and my blog dedicated to my adventure making the battle shell is @dynami-tello-battle-shell. Thanks for the encouragement in this projects and to make the blogs and best of luck with your own projects! I hope you feel well/not horrible soon

FADSFHIAFHASD WOOOO WOWOWOOWOWOOWOWO if anyones interested in someone building a real life battle shell you NOW KNOW where to go AGUHAUGH Im so HAPPY HAHHGn

[dynami-tello]

Another night to hyperfixate on working on the Battle Shell prototype. I'm making a SUPER rough prototype of the plating system right now and I've roughly have the measurements and placements figured out for the top half of the battle shell. I'll make a post later officially updating it on the side blog with pictures, but right now I'm doing tests on positioning and sizes of the plates, and places for the connection points.

Currently I need to adjust my plans for the shoulder pieces. On the prototype it's too weak and causing issues, and the bend isn't holding up to the movement tests. And yeah the prototype is REALLY sad to behold but it's for size measurements and will be destroyed once Project Battle Shell is done. I'm trying to keep the shoulders down to two connection pieces, but it might have to be three? I'm going to reinforce the prototype's shoulders so it can be tested better, and I need to adjust the spine because right now it's completely disconnected from first row side plates.

Plus I gotta figure out the sides for lower back plates and how they'll overlap. They need to be a lot thinner than the top back pieces but the angles will be awkward. Also getting the length right, but I'll get to that when I get to it lol

[cat-sithe]

TW: depictions of autistic burnout

burnout sucks balls

currently Going Through It™ and i started thinking about how burnout could affect donnie. personally, the tiniest thing going wrong feels so much worse than it actually is. knowing he struggles with equating his self worth to his tech i can see this being a source of frustration for him during these periods.

p.s. please ignore the updated outfit + old lab combo, i was being silly :P

take care of yourself guys

[dynami-tello-battle-shell]

PROJECT BATTLE SHELL: EXPLANATION (MATERIALS)

Here's my thoughts on possible materials for this project! My goal is to make the battle shell in the most cost effective way, so I'm not going to be going out and buying custom shaped stainless steel parts, even if it would be super cool to do so.

Here's a rough overview of what this post contains, and below will have all the details.

Materials: For the flexible bits I'm planning on going with a mesh. The prototype I'll make, if it uses a mesh base will be made out of an old recycled shirt, but for the official build I want to use a tougher mesh. I'll probably go to a second hand store to find a piece of material that will work for this, as it needs to be stronger than the average shirt.

And metal vs no-metal. A big debate is picking between including metal in the Battle Shell or leaving it metal-less. I've done research into both, though I'll be going into more specific studies and balance the thoughts more.

Breakdown below

OKAY so the metal vs no-metal debate.

I'm tempted to go with metal purely because of the strength metal provides. Will it be harder to get metal for this project? Absolutely! Would it be super cool? Hell yeah!

Realistically my ideas for including metal falls more under implemented weaved metal wires into the framing of the Battle Shell rather than making it out of metal (and while I know where to get scrap metal, I don't have a sound proof area for forging and re-shaping it. Although it would be so fun to do that).

Weaved metal wires would provide a knit-like binding pattern that would help support and strengthen the individual parts of the shell. Metal could also be used for any screws, etc implemented into the build. While I do have screwdrivers of various sizes in my possession (including ones small enough to work on watches) getting the parts for that would be more difficult.

For example, in the plating system I could make each plate out of wires weaved into the correct shape, and layer two or three identical pieces together. Then wrapped in another layer of material, this would theoretically provide some of the durability of metal while still staying as flat as possible.

For the hexagonal pattern I could cut and shape groups of hexagon structures together out of weaved wire, with interwoven wire in the centre of the hexagons to boost strength. However that would take... quite a while. Unfortunately, and I'd have to buy wire to maintain size consistency.

The alternative is to go without metal! My main issue here is that unless I'm patching things together (which I'll likely still have to do in the more polished build) it will require making moulds. I've been doing research into metal alternatives, while also eliminating some from my choices.

I won't use wood or clay (or any clay-like materials). The material left that's available to me without too much hassle is plastic. However I am.. not a huge fan of plastic, and would prefer not to create more.

But that doesn't leave me without any options! I've been doing research into plastic alternatives [1][2] and have come up with a few that I'll consider for the Battle Shell.

First is, as you could likely guess, biodegradable thermoplastic. This plastic-like substances is different than the stereotypical "true plastic," the plastic made from oil, aka synthetic plastics. These are made out of materials that allow the plastic to wear down over a period of time, typically reactive to heat, while maintaining most of the same core properties as plastic.

You may wonder, how will I get these? I'd make my own plastic of course!

There's a few different approaches to making DIY "plastics". There's the more recycling-aligned strategy of melting down plastic yourself, there's a method of melting down grocery bags in heated oil and re-shaping it.

Other ways of making DIY "plastics":

Making casein "plastic" out of milk and vinegar. This method only requires heating up milk, adding vinegar, and straining and removing the casein at the end. It must be shaped/moulded before it cools, and takes over 24 hours to fully harden, depending on how thick it is. The issue with Casein "plastic" is that it's rather weak and prone to crumbling/fracturing, and therefore wouldn't work well as a battle shell (however historically it's quite good at being used for replacement buttons!). It can be strengthened with a clay additive (I believe it was "Montmorillonite" I was reading about). I need to do more research into the creation process, as it does involve curdling the milk which leaves much milk waste.

Making "plastic" out of Liquid Wood. This is an interesting option I've been researching into, and while it is a fascinating topic it's likely an option I won't pick. Liquid wood is made primarily out of honey and sap, and is biodegradable and eco-friendly. You can also buy liquid wood in stores, however it's decently expensive. Must be considered further.

Making Aliphatic Polyesters. Polyesters aren't typically known for being biodegradable, or even semi-decent for the environment in the first place. Additionally the processes of making the different types of Aliphatic Polyesters are beyond my scope, although again an interesting rabbit hole to research into.

Making "plastic" from starch. There's multiple types of starches you can use to make this bio-plastic, it can even be made out of gelatin too. Typically made with vinegar, replacements can be made to the recipe. However it's more difficult to find a balance between brittleness and durability with this bioplastic and runs the risk of creating entirely un-usable batches of plastic if the measurements are off or the heating isn't done correctly.

There's other methods too that I'm researching currently, so expect another post detailing my adventures into possible materials in the future.

If you want to read a bit about plastic alternatives here's some sites to help!

1 https://science.howstuffworks.com/environmental/green-tech/sustainable/5-plastic-substitutes.htm#pt6

2 https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S2666893921000189

3 https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/abs/pii/S1359836822004085

As a side note, do be careful when researching such topics, as I -by complete accident I must add- found many articles about creating homemade explosives. As to avoid any possible suspicious internet traffic I avoided these articles, but the presence of them alone surprised me greatly. I'm unsure if this is simply a "me" thing, as I accidentally found multiple websites for cults while researching mathematics in my grade 10 math class once as well, even when no one else seemed to be able to find such results.

[cedarmoonzz]

between the bars •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

followed by: once more to see you and slow like honey

fandom: gravity falls

ship: ford pines x reader

warnings: brief mention of boners, making out, angst

summary:

being engaged to the world’s smartest idiot feels like navigating a storm while he’s engrossed in his portal research. you wonder if there’s anything you can do to help him.

Three months.

Ninety-one sleepless, tormented days. 

That’s how long you’ve watched Ford, once so full of life, become a shell of himself.

Each day seems to blend into the next, weighed down by the crushing demands of his portal. His bright eyes have lost their spark, replaced by a weary, distant look that suggests he is fighting a constant battle with exhaustion. He’s always buried in his research, disappearing into a maze of endless calculations and theories, only coming up to ask for coffee, food, or help with his measurements. Each interaction is a reminder of the distance that has grown between you, making you ache for the vibrant person he is beneath all the work. It allows you to realize something.

Stanford is an incredibly stubborn man.

You count your breaths, letting the full force of Ford’s distance fill you. Once a day, only in the evening, you allow yourself to feel abandoned, lost, and alone—but only here, only in the evening, before Stanford trudges upstairs for his third pot of coffee. Afterwards, you must set these feelings aside, for there is still so much work to be done, so much still at stake.

Stanford lets you handle all the paper calculations and complex math for the portal, trusting you with the intricate details crucial to his project. Yet, despite your role, he keeps you from seeing the fruits of your labor. You are barred from the basement, the place where the results of your hard work come to life. This exclusion only deepens your sense of isolation and frustration, as you toil endlessly without ever truly understanding the impact of your efforts. The distance between what you contribute and what you’re allowed to see only reinforces the feeling of being a cog in a machine, valued for your skills but denied any real connection to the end result.

Beyond the kitchen door, you can hear your lab mates arguing. The last light of day was leaking through the fissures of the window shutters, changing shape as they paced outside, their shadows stretching to where you sit, hidden, not yet prepared to face them. Though you could not make out their words, you could detect the urgency in their voices. You pressed your palms against your eyes and sighed, then rolled up the loose sleeves of Stanford’s (now your) sweater.

With a harsh, abrupt grunt, akin to the percussive crack of a twig beneath a boot, your fiancé wrenched the splintered door open, slamming it shut with a resounding thud. You were jolted from your thoughts, having been lost in your own reverie as the unexpected noise shattered your concentration. As he stood there, his face etched with a mixture of anger and exhaustion, you could see the deep lines of fatigue and frustration carved into his features. He muttered a stream of incoherent curses under his breath, his visible irritation and weariness painting a stark picture of his emotional state.

Softly, you encouraged him. “Ford, what is it?”

He didn’t answer; he only stood, looking at you as if he might scream.

“It’s Fiddleford!” Stanford growled. “He’s speaking nonsense! Trying to propose that only bad can come from the portal we spent months on! Your calculations, my handiwork and experience? All down the drain because McGucket is scared? It’s ridiculous! I should’ve never trusted him. It seems I can trust no one with my work these days!”

His words caught you between places: you stare down at the ring that graced your finger, the tea kettle whistling, trails of steam emitting behind you, leaving you in between your selves.

“No one?” you repeat, but did not elaborate further. You did not want to be cruel to him, but now that he had insulted you (now, of all times, when you were working so hard to understand him), it was difficult to resist lashing out at him.

Ford paused, words caught between his teeth as you stood in silence. “[Y/n]… my love.” Regret crept into his voice, daring to color his words with a warmth you were sure was genuine—but rather than comfort, it only wounded you. “Of course I can trust you. This portal… It wouldn’t be possible without your work.”

It broke you—or broke what feeble grip you had on yourself, the reserves of strength you used to keep your grief and despair in check all spent.

“My work,” you spat out, almost hissing the words through clenched teeth. You threw the kettle off the stove and pivoted to confront him, closing the distance between you with two broad, angry strides. Pointing a finger at him, you seethed, “Is that all the trust you have? Just your precious portal? Ford, when was the last time you actually talked to me? I can't deal with this anymore! I followed you all the way to Gravity Falls, to the middle of nowhere, and you barely let me see the full scope of my work. Always holed up in the basement.”

Your palm remains red from the heat of the kettle’s handle, but that does not burn as bad as the heat of your fiancé’s abandonment. And still, stupidly, in spite of it all, you wanted to trust Ford. To believe that there was a reason, an explanation for all the half-truths and deceptions. You want to protect him. You want your answers. You want to see him: not a passing nod of acknowledgment, or a pat on the back as you walk past him, or a fragment of him in a dream, but his skin in the flesh, and you loathe yourself for how badly you want it… but you turn that loathing outward, funneling it through the anger, and set the air around you crackling with fury.

As you glared at him, a profound sense of abandonment and worthlessness enveloped you like a shroud. It felt as though you had been reduced to nothing more than a glorified calculator in Ford’s eyes—a mere instrument, a cog in the vast machinery of his ambitions, used and discarded with no regard for your own significance. The weight of your perceived insignificance bore down on you, each moment in his shadow a reminder of how fleeting and unimportant your role had become. The very essence of your being seemed to diminish with every unacknowledged contribution, leaving you to wrestle with the crushing realization that your efforts and sacrifices had been eclipsed by his relentless pursuit, barely noted and even less appreciated.

Stanford’s eyes met yours, narrowing ever so slightly as he took in the gravity of the moment. He measured the tension between you, a flicker of regret crossing his features as he struggled to comprehend the full extent of your pain. The silence stretched on, thick with unspoken remorse, before he finally cleared his throat, his voice betraying a hint of sorrow for the hurt he had caused and the realization of how far he had let things go.

“I'm sorry, [Y/n].” Stanford reached out to hold your waist—and did you imagine it, or did you lean into that touch, pressing your body to the warmth of his open palms? You swallowed. Softly, he asked you, “Do you want me to go?”

You shook your head, more as an excuse to look away from him than anything—now that you had reprimanded him, you realized just how close he was, and your hair fell in front of your eyes, offering you a moment of reprieve. It was difficult having him so near; when your rage subsided, you were left with a profound sense of abandonment and a wounded heart. In a voice tinged with desperation and hurt, you asked, “Why can’t you just let me help you, Ford?”

As the words left your lips, you found yourself instinctively moving closer, your breath mingling with his. The proximity heightened the tension between you, the unspoken emotions crackling in the air. Your lips nearly brushed his as you whispered, the vulnerability in your voice blending with an undeniable, charged intimacy.

“[Y/n],” he begs, but he keeps his hands around your waist. “It’s dangerous…” But even as he speaks, his head is falling towards yours, his mouth ajar and questing, breath ragged.

You lift your hand from the collar of Stanford’s lab coat to hold his face, running your thumb tenderly over the stubble that graced his sharp jawline.

“I’m just as capable as Fiddleford,” you whisper, only inches between you now, so close that you can feel his breath on your neck as you speak the words. “Let me prove myself to you.”

Ford shudders. When his eyes meet yours again, they read something within them—perhaps some hidden fate or doom—and then, he remains. He holds you in his eyes like he is weighing you, or trying to carry a piece of you away with him. With a weary sigh, he lifts his hands to frame your face instead, tracing your cheek with his thumb. He leans forward—you dare not breathe—and presses his lips to your brow, just below the line of your hair. You can feel the soft warmth of his breath against the top of your head. Your eyes sting with tears; you will your body not to shake.

“I know you’re incredibly intelligent, but what Fiddleford saw in that portal… it ruined him. I don’t want the same fate for you.” He pleads, raising a hand of his own as if to pry yours from his face, but it trembles instead, then covers yours, holding the warmth of your palm to his cheek. “It is not that simple.”

“It can be,” you insist, as you lower your other hand to rest above his frantic, pounding heart. “It is.”

The space between the two of you is shrinking before you know whether you or Ford had moved first. Then your palm was carding through the tangled brown hair at the back of his head, drawing him closer as you kiss. When your mouths first met, Ford flinched, as though he might retreat… but he parted his lips for you, and your knees weaken at the taste of his tongue. You clutched his lab coat; his hands danced across your waist to the small of your back and held you against him. His heat rose against you; you could feel him through his slacks, insistent against your thigh—

“I’m sorry,” Stanford whispers, his lips brushing against yours before he pulls away. He turns abruptly and exits the room. Without another word, he heads straight for the basement, leaving you standing there, your heart aching with the weight of unsaid confessions and unfulfilled desires. The intensity of the moment lingers in the air, a palpable reminder of the emotional distance that remains between you.

The way he looked at you was too much; so much unspoken between the two of you, so much you wish to tell him, confess to him: how he always makes you feel safe. That this whole research project, the calculations and all, had only ever been bearable because he had let you be by his side. That his presence is more valuable to you than anything; that you had treasured every moment spent with him. That you’re worried for him.

That you felt like he was in danger, and you were running out of time.

[lactoseintolerentswag]

Rise Characterizations Pt. 3!!!

Now that Leo and Raph are done, it's Donnie's turn for character analysis as a writing reference. So without further ado,

Donnie Character Notes

Language Habits:

Straight up talks like a redditor who hasn't touched enough grass (affectionate)

Oscillates between very scientific paper polished, sometimes adding a dazzle of shakespearean for dramatics, or abbreviations/a shorter version of a word with a more fun connotation (i.e. "brekkie" instead of breakfast)

Uses food as surprised exclamations or curses, "oh my peaches and cream", "banana pancakes!"

Emphasizes each syllable of a long word when he's excited or trying to make a point. Conquered becomes con-qu-ered

Either exaggerates his speech or speaks in deadpan

The science terms he uses as battle cries aren't chosen at random, but rather are related to the action/subject at hand, i.e. yelling "fibonacci" when throwing his spinning tech-bo

Will overly describe an item or a situation, and often gets caught up in these observations before processing what just happened

Will repeatedly yell "help!" when he's distressed and/or outnumbered

Refers to Mikey as "Michael"

Refers to his brothers as "brethren" or "gentlemen"

Refers to splinter as either "father", "papa", or "dad" depending on the weight of the situation

Refers to his tech as his "babies"

Answers the phone with, "You're conversing with Donatello"

Uses "gesundheit" instead of bless you

Personality:

The fixer, he supplies the family with tech and resources. He always has a trinket made for the situation at hand and/or offers his knowledge/data collected. He's always prepared to help. Even with outside resources, he likes to feel useful in solving their problems (i.e., building Todd that dog park)

The theater kid, in a similar vein to leo, Donnie has his own style of dramatics. He often uses shakespeare-like language, is mentioned to regularly recite the jupiter jim musical soundtrack, and has a music mode for his battle shell. He belongs on a stage, or at least thinks he does

Not good at lying, despite the glamour he can put on in the spotlight. This may be due to the side of himself that over explains his thoughts

An over-thinker, who really tends to over-complicate things. His first theory or idea will always be the most extreme buck-wild concept. After some filtering, he still word vomits

A dreamer/big idea guy. He does have big ideas and goals. A lot of these he's able to put into place, although some go a little haywire (see Albearto). He doesn't do things in halves, and puts everything into a project

Meticulous, someone who's very detail oriented. As mentioned before he tends to over-complicates things. This may be impacted by his love for data and collecting information (he does record Everything for a reason)

Always on the edge of violence, which is surprising. Donnie's not known as being the angry archetype of tmnt, but he can get a little violent in his fighting style and does often cite his desire to use lethal force

Low empathy, which is mainly due to his issues processing and recognizing emotions. He's been pegged as unemotional, but in canon he's rather emotional and expressionate, just lacking the skills to process such emotion (he's just like me fr)

Praise motivated, as seen with his interactions with Splinter. Also desires the praise of his brothers, who he doesn't feel understand him with all the teasing that's sent towards his direction. This also pushes him to seek validation and acceptance in other groups (i.e. the purple dragons), to feel a sense of security or belonging

Ignores his own mistakes, and will often pretend like they didn't exist or ever happen. This most likely has to do with his desire for praise, so he feels bad when he fails. If he never made a mistake, he never has to feel bad

Miscellaneous:

Fourth to unlock mystic powers

Uses "Bootyyyshaker9000" as most of his usernames and passwords, with his alt. username being "Alpha-Bootyyyshaker9000"

Has a fear of bees, spiders, and of course beach balls

Breaks the fourth wall the most

Loves the smell of pineapple, hates the texture

Has a hobby of rooting around in the junkyard and dumpster diving

Uses cheat codes in video games

Mikey's next of course :)

[blueiscoool]

A Blue Painted Shrine is the Latest Discovery in Pompeii ‘Treasure Chest’

Archaeologists have unearthed an intricately decorated blue room, interpreted as an ancient Roman shrine known as a sacrarium, during recent excavations in central Pompeii in Italy.

The Italian Minister of Culture, Gennaro Sangiuliano, visited the site on Tuesday, describing the ancient city as “a treasure chest that is still partly unexplored.”

The blue color found in this new discovery is rare, with the culture ministry outlining that it is generally associated with environments of great decorative importance.

An in-depth analysis of the room, according to the ministry, found that the space could be interpreted as a sacrarium or a space dedicated to ritual activities and the conservation of sacred objects.

The walls of the room feature female figures that are said to depict the four seasons of the year, as well as allegories of agriculture and shepherding.

The new discovery came amid excavations in the Regio IX area of central Pompeii, a residential area that is currently one of the most active excavation sites for new findings.

The excavations are part of a broader project to secure a perimeter between the excavated and non-excavated areas of the archaeological park, which currently has more than 13,000 excavated rooms.

The project aims to improve the structure of the area, making the “protection of the vast Pompeiian heritage… more effective and sustainable,” the culture ministry said.

Other recent findings in the area include furnishings belonging to a house, a bronze kit with two jugs and two lamps, building materials used in renovations, and the shells of oysters that had been consumed.

Last week, it was reported that archaeologists in Pompeii had uncovered children’s sketches depicting violent scenes of gladiators and hunters battling animals.

The drawings, thought to be made by children between the ages of five and seven sometime before Mount Vesuvius erupted in 79 AD, were found on the walls of a back room in the residential sector of the archaeological park.

They showed that even children in ancient times were exposed to extreme violence.

By Antonia Mortensen and Jessie Gretener.

[nyashykyunnie]

˗ˏˋ Boyfriend! Jinwoo x Reader ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ ˎˊ˗

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚𝕊𝕦𝕟𝕘 𝕁𝕚𝕟𝕨𝕠𝕠˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

・┆✦ Entry : 030 ✦ ┆・

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅ Cai Bot Link ♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

╰┈➤ ❝ [ Let Me Pluck Out The Stars For You, Sunshine ] ¡! ❞

You don't know how you did it, but somehow the infamous Sung Jinwoo who is reveled in your grade level for his exceptional looks— Is your boyfriend. You were about to go home since the last bell of the school day rang in the distance. As you get up, you feel someone's chin rest on top of your hair. "Wanna walk home together, again?" Jinwoo asks with his calm and deep voice, his tone holding a sweet edge to it. "Hm?"

The pressure on top of your head had successfully snapped you out of your daze. Jinwoo removes himself from being nestled on your hair and looks down on your lovely face with the sweetest smiles on his face.

You shy away from his gaze, nodding your head slowly.

“Hm,” Jinwoo nods his head, leaning in to kiss the top of your head before stretching his large hand out to you— Offering it.

As soon as your palm touches his, Jinwoo lightly intertwines your fingers together as he leads you down the stairs.

He knew for a fact that you’re probably upset and not in the mood to talk about it. He wasn’t the type of boyfriend who would probe at his lover to get them to talk.

No.

Jinwoo was the type of person who is silent when he is upset, he’d rather be on his bed and dead asleep— Away from the world. He was often in his room whenever he wasn’t in the mood.

And today in particular, his beloved must be going through those emotions seeing how dejected and sluggish they are moving.

He shakes his head, gently tugging you to the alleyway and placing a finger on your lips to keep you from asking.

“It’s alright,” Jinwoo says. “How about we go on a makeshift date? It’s not a school day tomorrow so let’s spend the night away”

You didn’t protest, and in an instant, Jinwoo wrapped his arms around your waist, holding your waist as close as possible while the darkness beneath your feet hummed and whirled— As if it was rising. You then feel yourself getting lifted off of the ground and you panic. 

“Sarang, it’s okay” Jinwoo chuckles, kissing your cheek as the shadows rose beneath the both of you and formed into a dragon made of misty shadows. “It’s all mine, so don’t be afraid”

As you both rose above the city lights, your eyes would then sweep towards the brilliant lights of the cityscape as Jinwoo flies both of you above it on the dragon’s back.

While your eyes are busily distracted on the cityscape, Jinwoo leans towards your ear— Kissing the shell sweetly to get your attention. 

“How come you’re already this distracted, hm? I haven’t even started yet?” Jinwoo gently says as he commands his shadow to traverse over the expansive ocean glistening beneath the bright moonlight.

Fast as everything was, Jinwoo was unconsciously doing it because he felt like he would run out of time. After all, he wasn’t able to spend time with you like this before he had resetted time after defeating all the monarchs. He wanted to do so many things at once.

He spent years in the abyssal world murdering the monarchs all over again and levelling up. The stress of it all put him into a trance-like state where he feels just so lost in a complete daze of battle and bathing in blood as he leaves a river of bodies at his wake.

But either way, it isn’t about him tonight. 

It’s about you.

The you who needs him at this moment. He doesn’t know what has frustrated you to this point. It could be the piling homeworks, the anxiety of your grades, the stress over preparing for the upcoming exams. Projects had been piling left and right with each subject becoming harder and harder.

Everything had just been stressful for you and he knew that you craved isolation more than anything else and you needed something to just take your mind off of anywhere.

And thank god it was working as he had taken you to an isolated island not yet soiled by human hands.

He loves the way your dreamy eyes would twinkle as you both traversed in the vast woods of the weird place. It was all just greenery and lovely fireflies fluttering about, illuminating the little path you were both exploring. Of course, Jinwoo summons a little flame on his hand so that you could see the plants you are stepping on. 

Jinwoo loves that expression more than anything. Your pretty little face beaming with joy as it observes all the wonderful things this lone island had to bring. Tall, ancient old trees that had a comforting scent to them. The gentle rustles of the leaves as if it were singing melodies for you, the sounds of distant owls hooting were making you jump from spook and wonder, everything in here was just making you squeal like a child opening a christmas gift.

And behind you was your boyfriend, a gentle smile on his lips as he lovingly watched you prance around the fallen leaves and branches.

“Feeling better?” Jinwo asks sweetly, his arm finding itself instinctively wrapped around your waist. 

You nod your head, and he rewards you again with another kiss.

You really can’t tell how many times he had kissed your forehead for the whole day at this point, he just kept giving you pecks left and right. As if he was making sure every pore on your face isn’t untouched by him. He would bring up your hand to his lips, kissing every knuckle on it,  silently making promises.

“Baby…” He purrs softly, nuzzling the side of your head with his nose, inhaling in your scent. “If there’s anything that bothers you, tell me, tell me and I’ll bring you somewhere far away to take your mind off of it. You just need to ask me, and I will do it. Don’t hide yourself from me”

Please,...

Don’t be like him, don’t be like him who needed to bottle up everything in his heart because he had a duty as a monarch. You shouldn’t be hiding away the pain you have inside your chest, you shouldn’t be in any sort of pain.

Jinwoo had resetted time for everyone’s sake, yes, but mostly it was because of you. He wanted to make up the lost time he had with you ever since he became a player. He felt awfully guilty for not having taken you out on dates. Sure, he did a few times when he was an S-ranked but most of the time he is drowned in work and you are left in your devices. The person who had supported him throughout all of his suffering.

He is doing this all to ask for forgiveness, each kiss is a silent sorry for the many seconds he had spent away from you. 

So please,

Don’t let your heart be burdened with worries.

Don’t ever let your pretty face be crinkled with anxiety.

Let him do the heavy-lifting. Let him have the burden. Let him receive all the woe that is meant to befall on your pretty, pretty little face. 

Like the stars above your heads, twinkling from millions of lightyears away, his love for you— Will always and continue to be endless as they are blanketing the dark night sky.

A/N: Sorry, this fic is very messy aaa... I'll make it up to you guys with another fic coming out soon. But I may need to recover my creative juices for a bit and just let myself charge uueee.. I'll probably recreate this fic again with an alternative route

ʚ(੭´͈ ᐜ `͈)੭ .｡✧･ﾟ: ~♡ —! stories written by kyunnie; translations, reposts, plagiarism are strictly forbidden.

[queers-gambit]

Alpine

prompt: in an effort to help your boyfriend with his trauma, you rescue a furry feline together - a white cat named, Alpine - who rescues you both in return.

pairing: Bucky Barnes x female!Widow!reader

fandom masterlist: Marvel

word count: 6.9k+

note: been seeing a lot of Alpine recently and got inspired.

second note: no, it's not comic / canon compliant so just have fun. author did some research but there's not a LOT written / known about Alpine, so, again, just have fun!

warnings: post Endgame, pre tfaws; cursing, Lord's name in vain, small angst, mostly hurt and comfort, Nick Fury calling reader a bitch playfully, Bucky's trauma responses, small spoilers, Dr. Raynor / therapy.

other works with Widow!reader and Bucky NOT necessary to read

read here: Damage Done

"Are you angry with me?"

"No."

"Disappointed? Annoyed? Frustrated?"

"No, doll."

"Then why won't you talk to me!?"

"Nothing to say."

You wiped a hand down your face, lifting it only to pinch the bridge of your nose. Your head shook to shake away your thoughts, sniffling emotion, sighing when you dropped your hand to slap against your thigh. "I'm really trying here, Bucky, I swear to you, I am. But I can't help if you don't talk to me," you softened your voice, beginning to understand this was a losing battle.

"I never said I needed help."

"You never have to ask me for help, Bucky, I just give it because I want to! Because I love you! That's part of being in a relationship!"

"Maybe I don't want it!" Your boyfriend snapped, rounding on you with unfiltered emotion in his eyes. The horrors swam in his baby blues, vivid memories he was unable to escape haunting him, terrorizing him; creating a shell of a man who could no longer hide his avid pain. "Did you ever think about that? Ever consider that I don't want your help because I don't need it?"

"Everyone needs help sometimes, Buck."

"No, not everyone - I'm not one of your pet projects, you don't get to treat me like a broken thing that needs fixed! I certainly don't need your pity - not yours."

"I don't pity you! Fuck's sake, Bucky, I love you and want to see you heal. I know you better than anyone - "

"You don't," he sneered, cutting you off. "You don't know me, not really, not as well as Steve - "

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Steve isn't here! He's not coming back!" You snapped, instantly regretting it when Bucky's eyes coated with glassy emotion he fought vehemently to keep down. "I-I'm sorry, that was - that was really mean of me and totally out of line," you apologized, both sighing deeply. "All right, look, let's just talk this out, please."

"There's nothing to say."

Your hip cocked, arms crossing, "She called me, you know."

"Who?"

"Dr. Raynor."

"Fuck's sake," he growled. "Why would she do that?"

"Maybe because today's session was, apparently, supposed to be a couples session. She thought I was refusing, called to say I was impeding on your progress and if I want to help you, I'd have to show up to your appointments. Which is really funny because you never told me about today, so I had no idea what the hell she was talking about - but that didn't stop her from tearing me a new asshole!"

He frowned, avoiding your eyes. "I didn't need a couples session. Not today, I just - I wanted today to focus on other shit."

"And I can respect that, but you're not doing yourself any favors by hiding shit from me. To get the best results from therapy, you have to actually do the work, and not just do what Dr. Raynor says, but actually listen to her advice - "

"I don't need you on my back about this, Raynor does that enough for you both," Bucky growled. "I do the fucking work - I'm the one in that room, I'm the one applying silly little rules to my life - "

"Obviously not if you didn't even tell me Raynor requested my attendance! You should've told me, and then you should've said you weren't ready! I would've respected that, but I can't do a Goddamn thing if you don't talk to me!"

His jaw flexed as he clenched his teeth, skin twitching and distinct muscles tightening. "Like I said, there's nothing to talk about," he practically spat, shaking his head at you before grabbing his sneakers from the closet.

You didn't mean to sound harsh, but demanded, "Where are you going? We're in the middle of a conversation."

"No, we're not, 'cause I'm ending it," he scoffed, sitting on the corner of your shared mattress, exchanged his shoes. "And I'm going for a run, need to clear my head."

You shook your head before leaving the bedroom, "Absolutely unbelievable."

Bucky left your shared apartment a few minutes later, somewhere you've only lived five months - the time it's been since Tony Stark, Iron Man, snapped the other half of living beings back into existence. He lost his life in return, the ultimate sacrifice, but he managed to reverse the damage Thanos created five years prior. Five months of living in this apartment without a lick of warmth, personal touch, or real sentiment; it being dreary, dark, and mostly empty. Hell, Bucky didn't even feel comfortable in bed, so he camped in the barren living room, giving visual to the way your relationship was beginning to fray, unravel, crack.

He didn't want anything personal in your apartment - thinking it was ridiculous to settle down after all you two have endured, witnessed, and fought for. You agreed to keep things at the bare minimum, only stocking what was necessary, knowing this was part of his healing process and didn't want to drum-up further anxiety. It made everything impersonal, boring, bland, and down right depressing - but it was a small accommodation you could provide your lover.

You hated the distance. Hated how alone Bucky felt after Steve. Hated how reclusive he became, the anger he projected. Hated how no matter what you did, you weren't enough - not this time. For years, you've loved him despite his flaws, his brainwashing, his trauma responses, but whatever he was enduring now was something you weren't equipped to handle. Didn't mean you weren't willing to try, but Bucky was the one pushing you away; thinking his demons were his sole responsibility, never letting you be the pillar that helped support him. God, you hated the distance.

You left the apartment, too. Nick Fury had employed you for creative, solo, high profile missions; wanting to utilize your Widow training, especially now that Natasha Romanoff was deceased. And you wanna know what? Bucky hadn't even asked about her, never tried to offer comfort, only quietly attending the funeral service you hosted with the remaining Avengers to give her a proper sendoff - despite there being no body. Bucky knew you and Nat were as thick as thieves, family without blood, two lost souls who leaned on each other in trying times; bonded by trauma, encouraged by resounding bravery, disciplined by strength. The fact that your boyfriend never even checked in with you after Nat's passing obviously hurt your feelings but you remained silent.

Again, to avoid generating more anxiety for Bucky.

You met the one-eyed man at a local, bustling coffee shop, finding the sight of the hardened, burly man eating a scone amusing. "Got you one of these," he nudged a dessert plate to your side of the table when you sat down with your desired coffee, "know you like 'em."

"Blueberries are my favorite," you half-smirked, regarding the moist muffin and sighing sadly. "All right, sir, what's on the docket?"

He stared at you for a moment, chewing thoughtfully before leaning back in his chair. "The fuck's going on with you?" He asked.

"What do you mean?"

"You look different today."

"Mh," you nodded, joking, "got a hair cut."

"No, it's your aura. Something bothering you, kid?"

"You do realize I'm a fully grown adult, right?"

Nick shrugged, "I don't see age."

"You don't - nobody sees age, Nick, Jesus."

He took a sip of his green tea. "There's still something bothering you. Not sure if you should go on this mission if you're wound tight."

"I'm just dealing with shit at home."

"Oh, right, the cyborg. How is the hundred year old psycho?"

"You you want me to stab out your other eye? 'Cause I fucking will," you threatened with a fork clenched in your grasp, perking your brows up your forehead. "Say that shit again, see what the fuck I do, Nick, I absolutely dare you."

He chuckled, hands held in defense, "Sorry, sorry, that was uncalled for. What's wrong with Sergeant Barnes?"

You shrugged, "It's complicated."

"Bitch, aliens opening a wormhole in space and time to invade Earth is complicated - relationships aren't. Try me."

After an amused chuckle, you told him, "He's struggling right now. You know? After everything, it's been a lot for him and now that things are relatively back to normal, he's having a hard time trying to assimilate himself back into the populace. You know, learning to live in this day and age - a man out of time, outside his comfort zone, forced to adjust himself after living as a weapon of mass destruction for so long. Add in the fact that his best friend passed, marking another forceful adjustment he's unprepared for..."

"Hm," Nick nodded, "heard he's got a full pardon."

"He does."

"Which has a contingency he's gotta go to therapy, right? Part of rejoining society?"

You nodded, "Right, again."

"So he's in therapy and still struggling?"

"It's not like there's an on-off switch, Nick, therapy takes time and dedication. I just don't think he feels at peace, calm, in control - like he deserves any of this; the pardon especially. Think the stress, fear, and confusion is eating at him."

"Well, he's got you."

"I'm not his mother."

"No, you're his girlfriend, and it's a girlfriend's responsibility to support him, ain't it? Help him through this?"

"I can only do so much, Nick," you scoffed, "I'm just one person and he's a stubborn jackass - he just pushes me away. I'm sure I don't help the situation by accepting your contracts."

Fury considered your words for a long moment, then asked, "You said he's lonely?"

"Wouldn't you? Given his situation? He won't say, but I know losing Steve caused a part of him die."

Nick shrugged, "So get him a dog."

You never wouldn't guessed those words could ever pass Nick Fury's lips, head cocking, eyes narrowing, arms crossed over your chest. "I'm sorry, do what now?"

"It's obvious, ain't it? Dude needs company when you're gone, a sense of purpose, to feel like there was something - or someone - depending on him. Might help whatever limbo he's lingering in."

"A dog?"

"A dog. He can take it for walks or whatever."

You considered his recommendation, asking again, "A dog?"

"Do we need to get your hearing checked again? You lose the last functionality of your ears? Yes, a dog."

"I don't know..."

"It's just a suggestion, might promote his peace, help him process grief and guilt. Telling you, a dog would do him good. Now," he took another sip of tea, "onto business."

"You give me whiplash," you chuckled. "What's this job?"

"Simple and easy," he pulled up a tablet from the chair beside him, tapping it three times and handing it to you.

"None of your jobs are simple or easy, Nicky-Nick."

"I told you, don't call me that. Look, I just need you in London to investigate a string of potential terrorist activity. Just some recon, you won't be gone more than a few days - if you behave and stay on task."

You scanned the document, "When do I ever do that?" He chuckled briefly, you wondering, "Flagsmashers? Jesus, what a name. C'mon, you can't be serious. These guys are just radicals - you know, trying to vouch for those displaced after the Blip. It's actually kinda endearing, I mean, they're trying to give a microphone to those without a voice."

"They're escalating - too quickly," Fury informed. "They haven't raised any international flags yet, but something ain't right about them. I just need you as eyes and ears, maybe report if you think they're worth the worry."

Little did you know, in only about a month, you would join forces with Bucky and Sam Wilson - The Falcon - to dismantle the organization.

"When do I leave?"

"Tuesday would be ideal. But I can push it to Friday if you wanna go get that dog."

Your laughter was endearing, handing the tablet back over.

Bucky liked holding hands, though, he often wouldn't ever voice it. It made him feel tethered, anchored to reality; instilling a sense of pride to have such a gorgeous lady - such as yourself - at his side. However, the part he liked most, was being reminded he wasn't alone; even when on crowded, overpopulated streets, he didn't have to be afraid because with his hand in yours, he looked just like everyone else. You protected him even without intending to or without even knowing what you were doing.

"I'm sorry about yesterday," he sighed, people on the street sidestepping and avoiding running into you two. "I was upset, stressed out, you know how I get after seeing Raynor."

"It's okay, baby," you assured, ever the patient, loyal, and supportive girlfriend he needed. "I'm not holding it against you, but just promise me, when you're ready, you'll tell me."

He nodded, "I will - I mean, I promise." You hummed and pet his bicep with your other hand, giving his arm a hug. "Now are you gonna tell me where we're going?"

"I told you, it's a surprise."

He was ready to reply when a small commotion echoed from the alley you were passing, Bucky coming to a jarring halt that yanked on your arm, swinging you around. You were ready to ask what was happening when you clocked one of Bucky's "friends", an older man named Yori Nakajima, arguing with one of his neighbors.

"Hey, hey, Yori," Bucky intervened, you watching from the mouth of the alley, "woah, hey, what's going on?"

You couldn't hear whatever Yori was saying, but Bucky turned to the other man and growled something at him that made the neighbor scurry off. He glared at you, lip curled in a sneer, disappearing amongst patrons of the crowded sidewalk. You frowned and approached Yori and Bucky, your boyfriend still trying to calm his friend - well, 'friend' was a very generous term. See, Yori was the father of a young man that died by the hand of the Winter Soldier, being a name on Bucky's list he needed to make amends with.

However, when you took your place beside Bucky, Yori was waving you both off and shuffling down the alley, towards one of his apartment building's doors. "What was that all about?" You asked softly, taking note of the disgruntled expression your boyfriend usually wore these days.

"Just," he sighed, shaking his head, "Yori's upset with some of his neighbors - thinks they're encroaching on being disrespectful."

"When doesn't he?" Bucky sighed, you wondering softly, "You think you're ever gonna feel ready to tell him?"

"I'm working on it," he sighed sadly. "All right, c'mon - "

You both paused with furrowed brows when there came a series of shrill meows from under a couple of soggy, cardboard boxes beside a dumpster. "Did you hear that?" You asked.

"Uh-huh."

Another elongated meow was heard, Bucky curiously approach the discarded trash coated in sewage sludge. He slowly squatted, you approaching his shoulder when another meow cried out. Now, normally, you'd never investigate animal noises out of fear they were feral and carrying disease, but something just felt sad about what you heard - apparently, to Bucky, too. Gingerly, he reached out and lifted a piece of dripping cardboard, seeing a bundle moving under the next piece. He moved that one, too.

"Oh, my God!" You cooed when a tiny kitten was revealed. White fur was stained with dirt, sludge, and other nasty juices; nose pink, eyes a piercing, clear blue with brownish tear stains rimming them. The kitten mewed in greeting, pacing a tight circle before trying to back up in the brick wall; hunching its back and hissing slightly when you lowered yourself into a squat beside Bucky. "Baby, it's all alone, should we help?" You pouted.

"I don't think it wants our help, doll," he sighed. "It looks scared of us. Bet the mother's around somewhere, be a shame to move it if she's coming back."

"It looks too skinny, maybe it's alone?"

"Or maybe it's not," Buck countered. "C'mon, sugar, we can't take it."

After a bit of back and forth, you finally relented and had to walk away. You frowned for at least two blocks, but upon your halt at a crosswalk, you were greeted by another shrieking meow. Whipping around, you and Buck both looked down to discover the wee little kitten had followed you and was practically yelling for your attention. You grinned.

"Well, now we really have to help it," you told Bucky.

"How?"

"We take it to a shelter," you answered, shrugging, "good thing I know where one is."

"What's it doing?" Bucky asked nervously, the kitten dancing around your legs; brushing up against you both, meowing the whole time.

"I think she wants you to pick her up," you smirked.

He sighed and stooped to scoop the little creature in hand, regarding it carefully; weighing it, checking paws and other vulnerable spots. Bucky muttered, "All right, yeah, fine, let's take him to a shelter. Little beast needs some food it feels like, definitely a flea bath and some fresh water."

"You big softie."

"Lead the way to the shelter, princess, c'mon," he ignored your jab, tucking the kitten into his chest protectively. "He feels fragile," Bucky worried, "maybe you should carry him, I might crush him."

"You've got the little babe, Buck," you assured, "you're not gonna hurt him - I mean, if it's even a him."

"By the attitude, could be a girl," he joked, making your heart lighten. He'd been in such a funk that you missed his teasing, soft words; the little jokes he cracked, his smile - God, you missed seeing his smile. During your time on the run after DC, while seeking refuge in Bucharest for a couple years, you grew accustomed to seeing his radiant smile; remembering how easily he offered it when just the two of you. For a moment, you considered how your relationship was no longer just you and Bucky - but his trauma, too.

Arriving at the shelter, it was like an assault on the senses. Dogs were heard barking from the kennels, the pungent smell of urine and wood chips smacking you in the face, and a sort of humidity lingering in the air - a sharp contrast to the crisp outside.

"Hi," you greeted the receptionist, offering a kind smile.

"Hi, there. How can I help you two?" The man with long hair asked.

"Well, uh, two things," you explained, "one: we'd like to tour your kennels, we're interested in adopting a dog - "

"We are?" Bucky gaped.

" - and two: we found this little fella in an alley," you pointed to the kitten curled protectively against Bucky's warmth. "We wanted to make sure he was okay, maybe leave him here for adoption?"

"Oh," Man Bun blinked, regarding both Bucky and the kitten, "wow, uh, yeah, that's really nice of you guys, rescuing the little guy. You know, since everyone came back few months ago, there's be an influx of strays. A lot of people gave up their animals when their loved ones came back."

"Well, that's super fucked up," your eyes rolled.

"Tell me about it," he sighed. "Look, I'd love to help you guys out, so, tell you what. I can let you back in the kennels - no problem! Help match you to your new companion, but, uh... I don't think I can help you with the cat. You see, we, uh, we've had to start euthanizing the overflow animals or the ones who don't get adopted in a timeframe. We're at our max capacity, so... If you wanna leave him here, uh, I can't promise he'll have a place."

"You'd put him down?" Bucky growled.

"It's not what we want to do," Man Bun swiftly explained, "but it's just necessary - we don't have the room or resources to take him."

"Do you know of any no-kill shelters? Maybe one that has room?" You asked, feeling Bucky's disgust rolling off him in waves.

"Not in the area," Man Bun frowned. "Honestly? I think the closest no-kill shelter's in Maryland. Maybe Virginia?"

"Jesus," you frowned, looking at Bucky.

"Look, my best advice?" Man Bun offered, "Take the little tike home, clean him up, and call around to other shelters to see if they have space. But if you intend to adopt a dog, maybe bringing back a kitten isn't the best timing. If you give him up to us, he'll probably be sent directly to overflow..."

"We'll take him home," Bucky instantly decided, shocking you.

"We will?" You asked softly, lips curling in a small smile.

"Why not?" He sighed.

"I would've thought you'd be more of a dog person..."

"I'm not an animal person, but we're not leaving this little guy here just for him to be euthanized. We can handle him for a few days, you know, until we find a shelter with room."

"I think that's a great idea," you grinned.

"But was this your plan? For us to adopt a dog?"

"Well, yeah..."

"Why?"

You shrugged, "Just thought a dog would be nice company when I'm outta town for work. You know, could go on walks or runs together, you'd have someone looking out for you, maybe a dog would help with your stress levels?"

He eyed you for a moment, sighing, "I appreciate that, doll. Maybe another time, though? At least let us find somewhere or someone to take this guy."

The kitten gave a prolonged squeak - seemingly agreeing. "All right, noisy, we hear you," you chuckled, giving the kitten's head a scratch. You asked Man Bun, "Do you guys have the means to check him over, you know, before we go home? Make sure he's not injured or something?"

"Yeah," he nodded, "let me go get one of the technicians."

After the tech's exam, you were given the paperwork from that day's visit, the name, number, and address of a recommended vet, and before you knew it, found yourselves at the local pet store. You would've been ashamed by the absurd amount of money you spent, but Bucky rationalized the need because you weren't sure how long your new companion would stay with you. So, you ransacked the store, buying a sizable litter box, 50 pounds of actual litter, a bag of kibble, case of wet food, several different treats, a balm for the baby's feet, too many toys and stimulation activities, a carrying case in the event of transporting the kitten, and a tiny collar - if you decided to keep the little noise machine.

The sight of Bucky with the little fuzz ball warmed your heart. He still seemed hesitant and stiff, as if afraid to hurt the kitten, but he wasn't so tense anymore. However, he handed the pet over for you to hold while he carried the supplies back home; biceps bulging to support the weight. In that moment, walking familiar streets with his arms full of cat supplies, he questioned how he got here - to feel all domestic and out-of-place. He was Bucky Barnes - a Sargent in the Army, prolific hitman, something of an Avenger now. He didn't adopt cats and buy toys!

However, watching you talk to the kitten softly, he smiled - something small at first that grew like a germinating seed to split his face. You seemed so... Bright, excited, rejuvenated, even. He knew the past five months since the Blip had been rough on you, what with losing Natasha, fighting Thanos and his army of aliens, then ricocheting into 'normal life' only to deal with his emotional baggage. Watching you walk down the street with a fuzzy white ball of energy, pointing out different things, cooing and narrating the city to the kitten as if he could understand was refreshing after seemingly seeing nothing but a frown on your lips recently.

To Bucky, as long as you were happy, he was happy - and it seemed you were very content with your new little buddy. So, he was happy with your new little buddy and figured a dose of domestic life wasn't the end of the world. In fact, he actually felt... Intrigued by the newest addition to your little family.

When you returned home, it was to an empty apartment. Bucky dropped the supplies in the living room, hands to his hips, looking around, "Well, uh... At least there's room to run around, right?"

You nodded, "And no risk of ruined furniture."

"Yeah," he sighed, watching you set the kitten down. "All right, pip squeak. C'mon, lemme give you the tour - pay attention. So, in here," he moved around the wall, kitten following and listening intently, labeling, "this is the kitchen, this is where you'll get your meals - and no, you're not allowed on the counters." He pointed a warning finger, "Don't let me catch you up there or there's gonna be hell to pay. I don't wanna find your hair in my morning bagel."

"Buck, you don't eat breakfast."

"Fine, then I don't wanna hear my girl found hair in her bagel."

The kitten mewed loudly, trotting to keep up as Bucky walked around the barren apartment - giving a literal tour. You unpacked the supplies, setting up a raised food bowl beside a full water bowl. You left the treats in an empty cupboard, the litter box ready to use in the bathroom, and tossed some toys around the open, empty living room floor. You meandered, stashing other supplies, hearing the scampering thuds of excited little feet.

When your head popped out of the kitchen, you grinned at what you saw. Bucky was sat on the floor, flicking a feathered stick over the hardwood floors for the kitten to race around and try to catch. The longer you watched, the more defenseless Bucky seemed, and dare you say it, he looked calm - maybe even happy. His eyes were locked on the animal's antics as if he didn't want to miss a single movement he made; small smile making him look younger and brighter.

You made a mental note to thank Nick Fury for his suggestion. Sure, he actually said to get a dog, but this kitten seemed to have the same effect.

"Hey, baby?" You called, hanging up your phone after calling the recommended vet. "So, uh... Listen, you know how I have to go outta town on Friday?"

"Yeah?" He glanced up, letting the kitten wrestle his booted foot.

"So, I managed to get a vet appointment but it's for Friday. Is that okay? Or do you want me to reschedule for when I'm back so we can go together?"

"Oh, uh, no, that's all right, sugar, keep the Friday slot. I can take him, it's not a big deal."

"You sure? I hate having to saddle you with this responsibility."

"I'm sure," he nodded, "I can take him, it's okay."

For the rest of the week, you had a front row viewing of an incredible bond being formed. The kitten liked you, you two had many moments together, but it was obvious the little guy adored Bucky. He was stuck to your boyfriend like Velcro, following him everywhere, shrieking for attention when Bucky was preoccupied, liked being held when he cooked, even tried to get in the shower with Bucky. They played together, Bucky's laugh warming the entire apartment; positively obsessed with one another, the little guy even sleeping between you and Bucky.

It was as if you both forgot to look for the kitten a permanent home, the lack of furniture providing wide space for play and entertainment. Bucky even got one of those cat trees, couple individual scratching posts, and a laser pointer that drove your furry friend up the wall. There was some unspoken rule about naming animals - where if you named them, they were yours officially. So, one evening over dinner, you proposed a few names, Bucky giving his opinion; but then you began to consider "theme" names. Because your little buddy was white, you mused over names like Noelle or Snow, but finally settled on Alpine after narrowly beating out Aspen.

The day you flew to London, you warned both Bucky and kitten to behave themselves. Later that night, while you were sat in a tinted SUV for surveillance, your phone rang with Bucky's contact. "Hey, baby, how's it going?" You answered, refocusing through your advanced camera lens to snap necessary photos.

"Good, yeah. Uh, how's London?"

"Pretty dreary, it's been raining all day. Hey, how was the vet appointment?"

'Oh, yeah, no, it was, uh, yeah, it was good. Gave Alpine a buncha shots, microchipped her, started her on antibiotics - "

"Did you say, 'her'?"

"Yeah, that was the other thing - turns out, Alpine's a girl."

You chuckled, "Well, I'll be damned. How're you feelin', Buck?"

"I'm... Okay."

"I'm sorry I'm not there," you sighed. "Nightmares again?"

"Yeah."

"Sleeping in the living room?"

"You know it."

"TV on?"

"Reminds me I'm not where I dreamt I am."

"Well, I'll be home in a few days."

"What's this mission?"

"Just a little recon, I'm only to observe. Nicky told me to keep an eye on some suspicious activity."

"Don't tell me you're sitting in a white van?"

"No, sir, it's a Rolls Royce this time," you chuckled.

True to your word, you were home by Tuesday night. The transatlantic flight was long and tedious; a storm creating steady turbulence, making it absolutely impossible to get any shut eye. When you landed, you made a beeline to the Starbucks and got the largest coffee possible with an added 2 shots of espresso before exiting the bustling airport. Outside, waiting at the curb, Nick Fury himself stood before a sleek and shiny car that probably cost more than a 4-year education at an American university.

He smirked, "Welcome back, kid."

"Nice of you to pick me up, Nicky-Nick."

"Don't call me that."

"Don't call me 'kid'."

"Get in the Goddamn car, I'm not having this argument again."

After storing your luggage, Nick drove you back home while listening to your mission report. You didn't think the Flagsmashers were extreme enough to warrant intervention, but all Nick heard was that now was the time to strike before there came the need, before a chance for escalation could occur. You left the tablet full of notes, observations, photos, and data with the one-eyed man, and before you fully departed the car, paused to lean in the open window.

"Hey, uh, I've been meaning to thank you."

"What for?" Nick asked, face hardened in a permanent look of disagreement. You never took it personally - Nick Fury having professional Resting Bitch Face (RBF).

"Your advice about getting Bucky a dog."

"No shit," he chuckled, "you actually got him a dog?"

"Uh, well, no..."

"What'd you get?" Nick asked in suspicion, watching your lips roll between your teeth to restrain your smile. "Ah, hell no! You didn't! A cat? A fucking cat?"

"I know you don't like them - "

"Bitch! One scratched out my eye!"

"But our cat didn't."

"Doesn't matter - fuck all them felines."

You laughed and slapped the metal door, "Well, thank you anyway for the idea of a companion animal. Bucky's a lot calmer it seems."

Nick Fury sighed, waving you off like a pesky insect. "I'll call you when I got another job. Have fun with the little demon."

"You talkin' about Bucky or Alpine?"

"The cat - wait, Alpine? The fuck kinda name is that?"

"You know, Alpine... Like the Alps?"

His head shook, "I know what fuckin' alpine is."

"Why don't you head off - looks like you're gonna give yourself a stroke. Didn't realize getting a kitten would stress you out this bad."

"Get out my Goddamn window and I can leave."

You grinned and dropped a wink, again, patting the car and stepping back onto the sidewalk. Nick peeled off, leaving you alone to shoulder your duffel bag and head inside your apartment building. When you got to your desired location, the door opened without the usual creak, Bucky obviously WD-40'ing the hinges. "Hello?" You called softly, hanging your keys on the little peg in the foyer, toeing out of your shoes, glancing around the empty apartment.

Ready to call out again, you actually almost choked on air when you inhaled but stopped abruptly. You pouted your bottom lip at the sight of Bucky sound asleep in his nest on the floor, TV's lighting flashing and creating shadows, giving clear sight of Alpine curled in a tight ball on Buck's chest. His flesh hand was raised to rest on his chest, keeping Alpine cuddled to his warmth.

Quickly, you pulled your phone from your back pocket, snapping an adorable picture of your boyfriend before silently tiptoeing away to dispose of your duffel and purse. You sent the photo to Bucky's phone, positive you were keeping the kitten. After a long, hot shower that washed the travel from your body, you changed into loungewear, pulled your hair back, then reentered the living room where you knelt at Bucky's side. In-sync, your presence made both Alpine and Bucky flinch awake - your boyfriend jerking away from your warmth as the kitten hopped off his chest.

You winced, "Oh, shit, I'm so sorry, baby, I didn't mean to wake you."

His head shook, "No, it's all right, doll, I wasn't sleeping."

"You were, don't deny it," you grinned, settling on the mound of blankets.

Bucky chuckled gently, "I tried to stay up for you. C'mere," his arm opened in invitation, smirking gently. You settled down and turned into his side, his arm now coiled around your form, constricting to pull you closer so his lips could plant on your forehead. "How was London? Your mission?"

"Easy peasy," you sighed, "nothing too strenuous or stressful. The most 'complicated' part of the whole thing was using a different car each day to avoid suspicion."

"Hmm... Who was the target?"

"Some radical group," you sighed, head resting on his pectoral. "How was it? Just you and Alpine?"

"It was pretty good, nothing to complain about. She's nice company."

As if understanding she was the topic of conversation, Alpine mewed several times in a row as she walked up the seam of your body pressed to Bucky's. She turned in two circles before settling down between you; your grin authentic as a manicured fingernail extended to scratch her head.

"Actually, sweetheart, I've been thinking..."

"Hmm? About what?" You mumbled, eyes drooping with each passing second.

"About how we should keep her - Alpine, we should keep Alpine."

"You're just figuring that out now?" You teased, sluggishly lifting your head to smirk at him. "I knew she was ours the moment you picked her up. It'll be nice having her around, don't you think? I know she's not a dog you can take on walks but with Alpine, you don't have to be alone."

He nodded, "I like that idea. She's a good cat."

"Check your phone in the morning."

"Why?"

"Mmmh, I sent you a picture, you'll see - but it's just confirmation that Alpines part of us now, part of our crew."

"Our family," Bucky agreed softly. He watched you resettle on his chest, spending the following couple hours in the glow of the TV, watching you and Alpine. Bucky's heart warmed to a degree he's never known, making the comparison of himself to Jim Carrey's, the Grinch - a movie you made him watch. Eventually, exhaustion outweighed his domestic thoughts; falling asleep with you safe in his arms and Alpine curled up between you.

"Well, this certainly is a surprise... I was beginning to think James made you up."

"Oh, please, nobody could make me up - I'm too complex, nobody's got that kinda imagination," you smirked, legs crossed, seated beside Bucky on a sofa; both facing his therapist.

"I'm glad you could finally join us - I've been asking James to bring you for a while now," Dr. Raynor's eyes darted between you and Bucky, making you feel as if she was seeing right into your soul. However, her tone was accusatory, as if scolding Bucky.

So, you swiftly defended, "Well, I'm happy to be here. Bucky's one of my top priorities, I'd do anything for him - including attending any of these silly mandated sessions. Which are bullshit, by the way, because he's not the Winter Soldier anymore so why is Bucky being crucified? Why is this being pinned on him when he technically didn't do anything? The Winter Soldier did."

"Well, healing often takes time and dedication, and must be done in a series of steps. That's how you see real progress. These sessions are a condition of his pardon - "

"I can't believe your government would even enforce these silly little rules considering Bucky's assistance. He fought against Thanos, he fought on our side, and by all means, helped restore what was lost. I just find it pretty dehumanizing to force him to jump through hoops. I mean, for Christ's sake, half the universe was snapped away, you'd think after that, there wouldn't be need for pardons or contingencies - or for holding onto grudges."

"This is simply how we keep order in a post-Blip society. Everything changed in those five years, it's necessary to keep balance amongst all worldly citizens."

You scoffed lightly, "Ever consider these sessions might be doing more harm than good?"

Raynor frowned, "Despite the Winter Soldier being decommissioned, James still has trauma to process and skeletons to clear out of the closet. Yes, the Winter Soldier is gone, but the man remains - and James needs to focus on healing that part of himself. Whatever he did as the Winter Soldier wasn't Bucky's doing, but he still remembers all he did, which creates a heavy toll on the mind. That's part of the reason these sessions are mandated - because the assassin might be gone, but the residual effects still linger."

You hummed, "Well, let's get into it, Doc."

"You know... I've heard a lot about you. James paints you in a very bright light, says your bark and bite are equally as vicious."

"Hm," you nodded, brows perked, "yet I don't know shit about you."

"Perfectly natural. Typically, most people don't gossip about their therapists. It's nice that you could join us for this session."

"Nice to be invited."

She clicked her pen and settled her pad securely on her lap, just staring at you and Bucky for a long moment. You were ready to snap at her when she opened her mouth, "So, I hear you adopted a cat?"

"We did," you confirmed.

"Alpine," Bucky supplied, body rigid with tension and nerves.

"Right... Alpine," Raynor nodded, leaning her elbow to an arm of her padded chair. "How did this cat come into your possession?"

"We rescued her from a dumpster," Bucky answered stiffly.

"Really?" Raynor perked both brows.

"She was under some pieces of cardboard, screamin' her li'l head off," You chuckled. "Though, I think it's safe to say she chose us, adopted us as caregivers."

"How's that?"

"She wouldn't let us pick her up and we were afraid to take her in case her mama was lingering around. Turns out, she followed us. We were at a crosswalk when she caught up, demanding we pick her up and take her home."

"Is that so?"

"I'd like to think so," you nodded. "We were already on our way to the shelter, so, we took her with us, got her checked out."

"Why were you heading to the shelter to begin with?"

"Oh, uh, to adopt a dog. I had a colleague recommend an emotional support animal - or a companionship animal - to help Bucky feel less alone."

Raynor made a note of something. "You work often?" She asked.

"Often enough that I feel guilty for leaving. Figured getting a dog would instill a sense of dependence, you know, help Bucky feel like there was someone depending on him. Help usher in comfort and stability, help keep him calm, focused, distracted. But Alpine does the same thing - no dog necessary, apparently."

Raynor nodded, her wrinkles dimpling as she frowned and wrote down another note. When her eyes lifted, so did her lips; a smirk on display as she praised, "I actually think that's a wonderful idea. You know, there's been a lot of research about soldiers with PTSD benefitting from an emotional support animal. You're right, they promote peace, stability, distraction - gives patrons a tangible purpose, taking care of another life not their own."

"For sure, again, anything to help," you agreed, holding Bucky's gloved hand he kept covered by leather - only worn in public.

"Although, I wonder, why get a pet? I ask because James speaks highly of you, credits you for keeping him stable and on-track. Do you feel as if she's not enough, James? Is that why you kept Alpine?"

"No," he answered instantly, "she's my best girl and will always be enough. Watch your mouth, Doc."

"But sometimes extra help is nice," you tacked on, tightening your hand in Bucky's. "But for what it's worth, Dr. Raynor, Bucky keeps me sane. I keep him balanced. We keep each other safe. Alpine's just an added bonus, a quiet menace to help quell the business of our brains."

Raynor smirked, "I must say, you surprise me, Miss."

"I'm no stranger to mental health. But as I said before, I just want to help." You looked up at Bucky, finsihing softly, "He deserves peace in this lifetime - and if a little ball of fur can help, sign me up..."

requesting rules and masterlist

Marvel masterlist

[oleander-nin]

The Coldest Heart(Yandere Future Rise Donatello x Reader)

A/N, not important: Any criticism is welcome, constructive or not. This is supposed to be a gender neutral reader, so if I screwed up somewhere, please tell me.

-Ollie

CW: Apocalypse, kidnapping, freezing, dark themes, yandere themes.

Words: 1291

Summary: Donnie cuts off the heat

Winters were always frigid in the apocalypse, the broken terrain and weather making the places that have never seen a snowflake now completely frozen over. The “snow” that covered the barren wasteland outside the base’s doors was a poisonous brown, bubbling when it touched the ground instead of sticking. It may be frozen, but it was nothing like the fluffy white snow you held dear in your memories. You shiver under the blankets you were given, your body curled up in a weak attempt to preserve the heat trapped under the blankets with you. You were exhausted, sleep pulling at your eyes and trying to coax you under, but the cold biting at your fingers and toes was unrelenting. Your ears and nose burned, keeping you alert as you try to keep out the frigid air. The small amount of heat Donnie allowed in his lab was gone, the furnace broken and vents turned off. Cold had seeped into every crack and was now trying its best to choke you out as well.

You turn your head towards Donnie as he types onto a monitor projected by his ninpo, sticking your face into the bitter cold. His outfit amazed you, the mutant only being dressed in a thin sweater made to stretch over his battle shell and sweats that were a size too small. You look at him in envy, not understanding how he could withstand the freezing temperature in the thin clothing he had. Donnie turns his head at the feeling of your boring gaze, his eyes meeting yours and his tridactyl hands leaving his keyboard which causes it to falter, then disappear. For the first time in the months since he had stuck you in his lab in claims of protecting you, you don’t break your gaze. Whether it was from exhaustion or the cold, you no longer cared about such a simple thing as keeping your eyes off the man you hated most. If he was truly upset with your staring, he could come and close your eyes himself.

“You’re shivering.” Donnie muses, his voice teasing and airy as if the frostbite creeping over your nose was a mere tasteless joke. You scowl, burying yourself back into the plethora of blankets that covered the cot Donnie had you share with him. You hear him chuckle at your childish display, driving in the belittled feeling he had sunk into your heart.

“Fix the heat then.” You grumble at your captor, not caring for niceties. You can hear his chair shift and you look back at him through a crack in the blankets, seeing his eyes averted downwards as he chews on his cheek. His knuckles are now digging into his teeth, his eyes looking everywhere but you as he seems to be debating himself over something. His shoulders are more hunched, like he was a little kid who got caught stealing cookies late at night.

“You know I can’t.” Donnie says, like he was trying to be firm but his voice falters. He still refuses to meet your eyes, only staring at the floor as he chews on his knuckles. Your eyes narrow, your knees pulled closer to your chest as another cold burst breaks through the blanket barrier.

“You’ve already fixed it.” You accuse, the chattering of your teeth breaking up the sentence and making it sound more pathetic than you hoped. Donnie finally pulls his fist away from his mouth as he stares back at you, crossing his arms and protesting with a loud, “indignant scoff.” If you could feel your feet, you would run over there and strangle him.

“If you’re cold,” Donnie starts, his voice tight as he dodges your accusation to try and quell your thoughts, but ends up confirming it instead. “You can grab a blanket and come sit with me. I’ll keep you warm.”

You sneer, diving back under the blanket den you had created around yourself. Even if you wanted to cuddle up to the person who was holding you hostage in the name of ‘safety’, you couldn’t. Your feet were so frozen you couldn’t feel them more than a dull pain, and your fingers couldn’t close around the thin material of the blankets anymore. Silence stretches through the lab, and you’re sure Donnie had given up and turned back around.

A quick padding of socked feet breaks the silence and two arms wrap around your covered self, lifting you from the cot and into Donnie’s arms. He mumbles a swift apology as you flail and curse, quickly moving back to his chair and depositing you in his lap. He shifts the blankets around, helping you pop your head out so you could see. Donnie cups your cheek with one hand, the other still firm around your lower back so you couldn’t squirm away from him and escape. The feeling of his hand on your face is one you always hated, but the burning head of his warmth makes you hiss in pain rather than disgust. He was an oven, his hand slowly heating your cheeks and bringing color back to your face. You melt into him after a minute, nearly crying when his warm hand leaves your cheek to cup your ears.

“You are cold.” He mutters, mostly to himself. He continues to try and warm you himself for a small while, attempting to bring your body temperature up from the dangerous levels it had fallen to. He eventually signs and gives up, summoning a projected screen with numerous switches and buttons. He clicks a few things before closing the screen and pulling you closer, easing open the blankets you clung to so he could pull your whole body against him and try to warm you up.

You hear the vents above slowly whirr to life, the room slowly being filled with a strong heat that makes your head spin. You blink at Donnie, your limbs unstiffening as you try not to cry.

“You fixed it…” You mumble, letting your head hit the dull point of his plastron. Donnie nods, rubbing your back beneath the blankets. Anger pools in your chest for only a moment, the relief of the heat taking over and the exhaustion pushing through once more.

“I fixed it within minutes of its breaking. I wasn’t going to let the base freeze.” Donnie pulls you closer, kissing your temple with a smug smile. “You, however, weren’t letting me touch you, so I turned off the heat to try and convince you to let me touch you more, but that seems to have backfired.”

You scowl, hitting his shoulder with your forehead. You wanted to scream, to bite him, to do anything to make him suffer like he had you for the past few days, but you don’t. You were terrified he would turn the heat back off. His lab was obviously able to be isolated from the other parts of the base, which horrified you. For all you knew, he could leave and seal the doors before shutting the oxygen off for a couple minutes, just to let you suffer.

Donnie continues to rub your back, his quiet humming not showing any bit of remorse for the torment he had put you through. He seemed happy with the outcome, and you figured he was. Here you were in his arms, just as he wanted. Maybe once you could feel your fingers again, you’d try and fight him, but for now, you had given up. The heat was too much of a reward for you to risk losing it now. Even Donnie’s arms were a price you were willing to pay to not freeze. His plan had worked, and now nothing would stop him from doing it again.

[wingheadshellhead]

i'm back on my "mcu steve was in the darkest timeline because he never experienced the canon event of tony stark giving him a home and a family" bullshit. post-ice steve was isolated, grieving, lonely, going through ptsd and survivor's guilt and he was constantly fixated on how he had no home or family or identity beyond cap. post-ice in the mcu, SHIELD stuck him in the costume and sent him back into the field, reinforcing the idea that he was nothing more than the empty shell of captain america.

"All my life I've tried to find a place for Steve Rogers—but still he lives under the more colorful shadow of Captain America… Perhaps it's Steve Rogers who's the legend—and Captain America who is the reality! Perhaps I was born to be a red-white-and-blue Avenger—and nothing more! But there must be more to life than endless combat! Others have found a home—a family—why can't I? Or, is Steve Rogers destined to walk alone forever—until the final battle—until he walks no more?"

— Tales of Suspense Vol. 1 #75 (1959)

"[...] But, even in the center of a crowd, I'm an outsider—a misfit! Only when I'm costumed as Captain America do I seem to come alive—to have a mission—a purpose! But, as Steve Rogers, I'm merely a name—a hollow shell—with no roots—no real life to call my own! Other men have friends—wives—loved ones!"

— Tales of Suspense Vol. 1 #92 (1959)

in the comics, the canon event of tony stark, the first person steve meets in the 21st century, giving him all of those things — a purpose, a home, somewhere to belong as himself and not just cap — changed his entire life.

"The first week after I came out of the ice… It was a dark time. I'd lost everything. My best friend. All my friends. All I had. I didn't know what I could hang on to. And then Tony Stark came in with this little… handheld cinema. Future technology. He showed me a newsreel. Right there, I saw a man walk on the moon. For all mankind. And in that moment, I felt hope again."

— S.W.O.R.D. Vol. 2 #6 (2021)

"Mr. Stark, when I woke up in this era, I had no one. Nothing. You gave me a purpose. Somewhere to belong… You gave me a home."

— Iron Man/Captain America: Casualties of War (2006) 

meeting tony and the avengers, creating those friendships and connections, living at the avengers mansion with them, gives steve hope that he can still find happiness and belonging in the present day.

i always found it ironic that in the mcu steve projects this ideal of happiness and domestic life onto tony. this scene in ca:cw is a perfect example of that disconnect between the reality and what steve assumed on the surface was tony achieving what he never could — having a partner, his own family and kids. (the fact that cacw tony is 4 seconds away from a heart attack at all times and too busy running around firefighting PR crises just further drives home the irony.)

and then in a cruel twist of fate, mcu actually gives tony all of these things: home, family, wife and kid. we see steve witnessing tony having these things and knowing it's all possible, but just not for him and not in this era. (and ultimately, tony only gets to have these things for a brief period of time before having to give it all up.)

mcu steve never got to have the experiences that have shaped every other universe's steve rogers. the presence of tony stark, his friendship, his home, his love (whether platonic or romatnic), that formed the foundation of steve's purpose within the avengers, is intrinsic to steve finding hope and happiness in the modern day. the mcu changing such a crucial canon event rewrote not only the core of mcu steve's story but the trajectory of the cinematic universe. and in the end, the writers sent steve back to the past because they believed after 6 movies and 7 years, he had nothing left to live for in the present and i honestly can't think of anything more tragic.

[purplepixel]

What if the turtles were in the pokemon world? And what if they were never turtles, but in fact, mutated pokemon? What if they lived in the Castelia sewers of Unova instead of New York?

Meet my Rise/Pokemon AU!! Waaaah this has been on my mind for MONTHS now. Pokemon is that one fixation that'll never leave me. I'm THAT pokemon fan that knows WAAAAY too much about the games and lore. For those that don't know,

Raph is Drednaw

Leo is Wartortle

Mikey is Torkoal

Donnie is Lapras

Yes. They are all shiny. I started with raph, since him as drednaw is pretty much a no brainer. The shiny form fit too well with him and his color scheme. Than I realized if I made him shiny, I had to make the other bros shiny as well so THEY ALL SHINY. (draxum shiny hunter confirmed?) Also dual rock typing fits well with raph's character.

Wartortle for leo was also a pretty obvious choice. I MEAN LOOK AT HIM. Long flowy tail? Yes please. I had to keep his markings somehow. Wartortle has little dark cheek spots, so I just changed them to be leo's markings. Water typing leo. Go with the flow, think on the spot, it worked out too well.

Torkoal for Mikey was another easy one. Fire turtle? Passionate, warm, also DANGEROUS (he can be a menace ok) Say no more. His powers in rise are already pyro related. Also having him shiny helped a lot with the color scheme. Torkoal is normally orange so having mikey be the yellow shiny form meant I didn't have to mess with his mask colors

Donnie on the other hand....OHHH BOI I STRUGGLED WITH YOU. I went through 4 DIFFERENT POKEMON, before deciding on the least turtle like of them all. I am aware that we do have a softshell pokemon with enamorous, but it's a legendary so thats not happening. But it was really important for me to keep donnie's soft shell and battle shell. I wanted this to be a RISE au and donnie's battle shell is pretty tied into his character. (there's also tirtouga which I almost went with, but I didn't like that both he and raph shared the exact same dual typing) Soooo, Lapras. Its more of a loch ness monster but it also draws inspiration from a placochelys (prehistoric seaturtle esque species) so IM COUNTING IT. Very unconventional but I have my reasons. Ice typing is a good offensive type, but is pretty bad defensively. Which ties into rise donnie's fighting style. If I wasn't a coward, I wouldve made donnie the biggest of the bros. Since lapras is like 8 feet tall compared to the others being like 1-3 feet. But uhhh, I swear I have an in universe explanation for why he's so small ok.

And than there's April. She is not a pokemon trainer in this au. At least not in the traditional sense. I've been with pokemon for all of my 26 years of life, and I always wanted to know what the normal people of the pokemon world are up to. Not everyone is out here collecting gym badges, travelling, or catching them all. How do non-trainers interact with the pokemon world? So that's where I'm at with April. She will get a pokemon partner, but other than that, she's just an average high schooler who befriended the turtles from a young age and takes part in all their shenanigans. I took some design elements from rosa and hilbert with her outfit, but otherwise its pretty much the same.

We'll see how far I'll take this. I've been using this as a break from my many other projects, but like everything I do, it grew too many legs and is slowly becoming its own thing.

[dynami-tello]

Welcome to my corner of the internet. (it/its, they/them if you must. Autstic and neurodivergent, I tend to come across more formally than intended. Please note that's just my autism swag and nothing more)

I'm a (new but) big ROTTMNT fan and and currently working on a Battle Shell project (@dynami-tello-battle-shell). Other stuff I'll post will be stuff I find interesting, but mostly ROTTMNT stuff!

Bewarned: I will infodump. I find knowledge interesting and love learning more. Topics I might post about in an info-dumpy way: Psychology, Programming, Science-related stuff, Animals, etc (I'll update this later.)

If you want an essay written about something feel free to contact me. I rather enjoy writing essays and love researching. In general my asks are open to everyone, submit whatever you wish, I enjoy the interaction!

Note: I will not disclose my precise age, however I am officially now technically over 18. I'm not like, into my 20s at all yet though so you can probably guess my age anyways. I won't post anything with a sexual nature, however I may reblog or post things with sensitive mental health subjects (I'll state this here just in case).

[aealzx]

“You know, I think if we had a competition for the most gnarly injury you’d win it every time,” Leo commented while he focused on properly cleaning the four definitely infected slashes across Donnie’s back. It had been tense at first, considering it had been way longer than Leo would have liked before the wounds were properly addressed. The others had tried to take care of them without him since he'd been with Splinter at Big Mama's place, but they just didn’t have his eye for the important things. And Shredder really did some damage this time. At least Donnie's battle shell had managed to take the brunt of the blow. “Raph would win on the sheer number of injuries, of course. He goes through band aids like personal sized pizza. But you definitely, somehow, always end up with the most complicated ones.”

Leo was making jokes. And while it was exasperating to listen to, it was also reassuring for Donnie to hear. It meant that while he still felt awful and kept a fistful of Splinter’s robe, Leo was confident he would be just fine. “...I think this is a competition I’d rather lose,” Donnie responded, voice muffled by the pillow his face was mostly smothered in. Leo was being as gentle as possible, but the sterile saline still caused his tissue to sting, earning hisses and flinches from him.

Leo could only chuckle in response, tenderly pressing Donnie’s shell so he could see inside the gash better. “Don’t worry pops. He’ll be just fine. I can already see improvement because of the antibiotics,” he assured when he noticed Splinter giving him a mildly frustrated look. “This isn’t even as bad as the one he got when he was a tot - oh, another piece of metal. Hang on.” His assurance broke off as he was able to confirm that there was a foreign material that needed to be removed from the wound, setting one of the many bottles of saline down in exchange for needle pointed tweezers. Donnie already knew the drill by now, and responded by sucking in a stiff breath and tightening his grip on his dad, Splinter returning the motion by holding him a little more firmly. He wasn’t looking forward to the stitches, but he was looking for the long nap he was going to take once Leo was finally done.

And at least Leo’s hands had gotten a lot more steady over the years.

____________________

Here, have a little side turtle thing unrelated to any of my existing projects |D Or well, mostly unrelated. I started drawing this like 2 weeks ago and then forgot why I wanted to draw it other than Mikey mentioning it in CDK. And sometimes I like to draw angst, but then I ran out of the super angst desire for this one and ended up making it a little lighter in the text?

I just really wanted to get something up after this long |D Even if I am more in a state of "why did I draw this again? e,e" atm X'D

[dynami-tello-battle-shell]

PROJECT BATTLE SHELL: AN EXPLANATION

OKAY SO! Here is my more in-depth thoughts on the project. These are my earliest thoughts and ideas for it, and I'll explain more about them in future posts.

First off. Why am I not just buying a back protector? Answer: That’s boring, why would I do that if I could do this instead? Yes, I fully acknowledge that it would be easier to buy a back protector and simply modify it.

Second, what makes me qualified to take on this project? Answer: What makes me unqualified? I’ve taught myself enough semi-related skills and can teach myself further skills SO. PLUS I have the power of hyperfixation on my side and enjoy making stuff, so that’s probably all the qualifications I need. ...probably, we'll see!

Below is all the more technical speak, thanks for the interest!

NOW lets get into the nitty gritty.

I have a few plans for how to approach this project, so the skills I’ll be using and materials I’ll require will be impacted by which approach I choose. Although I have many ideas for separate little bits of how the project will come together, I have two main ideas on how to approach the base structure. Plus ideas for add-ons, fun features, etc, but that all comes later and relies on the base structure.

What I'll be referring to as the Base Structure is the structure that will hold the battle shell together. Think of it as the core, the body, or the skeleton of the shell. Everything else will be planned and built around this "skeleton", so it's important to choose a base structure that can support the rest of the build.

Structurally, regardless of which base structure I chose I have a few main features for the battle armour.

First is that I’m planning to have a mesh layer that will help hold everything together. Instead of relying solely on a solid frame to hold the battle shell together, I’ll have a mesh that has key connection points that attaches directly to the battle shell. This, hopefully, will additional support and flexibility to the shell.

Second is how to wear it. I am creating this battle shell to be as discreet as possible. I want to be able to wear it under a sweater or a jacket without anyone really noticing. Below you can see my rough sketches on how it will connect to the user’s body and be held in place while also flexing with the user’s movements.

(apologies for my messy writing. All of it is similar to what I'll be talking to here. My note style is rather disorganized, as most of my thoughts and ideas are still within my brain and not yet on paper.)

With the main connections points being around the shoulders, chest, and lower back/waist I believe I’ll be able to have the shell connect close enough to the user’s body that it won’t stick out in awkward ways while wearing it. Though adjustments will be made once this can actually be tested. Best seen in the lowest left sketch, although future sketches will elaborate on the system.

ONTO THE BASE STRUCTURE OPTIONS

I have two main ideas for the base structure. These are based on two different construction points. Both focus on finding a balance between flexibility vs durability, something future me will likely have to consider further when it comes to finding materials. The structure needs to have enough strength that it can protect and absorb force, but cannot be too stiff as that can make it more fragile when bending forces are applied, and more obvious when wearing.

The first base structure I'm considering is a plate system. Akin to a fusion between a turtle shell and scales, the plate system will be dependent on connection points between the plates. The plates will be in different sizes depending on where on the back it is situated, and would need solid attachment to the material mesh for flexibility.

(here's the most recent sketch based on calculations I've been making for conceptualizing the plating system. Please ignore the ancient sudoku book, I am definitely not a time traveller).

Downside of this approach is the complexity. Each piece will have to sit perfectly in position, which means each piece will have to be 100% custom made and perfectly mirrored. There's also issues with the plates wearing against each other, the overlap points being particularly uncomfortable, and the plates jutting out.

Upsides of this approach is the customizability and testability. The most important point will be making the connection points between the shells, however once those are created making new plates, adjusting pre-existing plates, and more will be far easier. Additionally it'll be easier to test the plating system because I'll be able to adjust it and create new plates based on data collected.

I'll have another post explaining the plate system more later. That post will go into my ideas for material choices, which will be interesting <- lots of experiment and research.

The second base structure Idea I have is created a shaped (but still flexible) one piece structure. It would be formed out of small hexagons (similar to a beehive construct). Most similar to commercial back pieces, I believe that the beehive structure would allow for a durable material that can also take some flex and bend.

Downside of this approach is actually creating it. In a perfect world I'd have a 3D printer or a full on lap and materials that I could make a mathematically perfect mould for this, however that's not the case. Any changes in angles between the hexagonal pieces will take re-creating those pieces and possibly any they connect to, as well as many edge pieces. There's also the size factor for the individual hexagons, and how that would impact the actual strength of the project.

Upside of this approach is how solid it would be. Because it wouldn't rely on connection points (the entire piece would be connected to itself, so to speak) it would lose many of the weak spots that the plate system has. It also wouldn't have the overlap issue.

I'll make another post covering my thought process on the materials to use for this project, and soon I'll post an update on my physical progress. Thank you for reading.

[desceros]

me, having an insomnia: [copes by writing donnie snuggles] donatello/reader, gn!reader, rated g

You wait as long as you can before you finally give in and go find him. 

His lab is empty, which surprises you. Usually, when you’re having trouble sleeping, you can find him in here. Donnie’s good at making you interested in even the most obscure of his projects, but when you come to him in the dead of night, he has this… thing he can do where he rambles in a low comforting voice until you drift off in the chair next to him. He’s tried to explain it to you before—something about vibrations and pitch—but you like to think of it as the power of love.

Scoff, he’d say, turning his face away to hide the way his lips would go a little wobbly.

He’s not in the kitchen getting a snack or cup of tea, which isn’t too uncommon. Something about sugar boosting his brain while he’s tired, you think he said. Nor is he in the living room, scrolling through his phone in the dark while he battles his own insomnia demons. Donnie isn’t always productive, but it’s difficult for him to take a break, sometimes. 

Can’t turn my brain off, he says, eyes fluttering shut when your fingers find his face to caress it. 

You look everywhere—the game room, his lab again, the garage, his lab one more time—before you think, oh and check his bedroom. 

…He’s asleep, you realize, blinking a little to see it. His mask is draped on his bedside table, his battle shell gone to reveal the soft keratin underneath. It’s a bit of a relief to see, deflating that piece in your brain that always worries about him, even as disappointment stings just a little. A sleepless night it is, then, you muse, turning to leave and go back to your room before you’re stopped by a sleepy mumble of your name. 

“…C’mere,” Donnie slurs, reaching a hand inelegantly behind him to pat at the bed.

Completely busted, you come inside. Lifting his blanket, you crawl beneath it, pressing close to his soft shell. Instantly, there’s something inside your chest that just—relaxes. Your lungs take in a full, proper breath that smells of his skin. Cool beneath your cheek, his shell comforts you, enticing your palms to press against it even as you curl into him.

“…Can’t sleep?” he asks. 

“Mm. Okay now,” you respond quietly.

“Sure?” 

“Mm.”

A low rumble comes out of Donnie’s chest; not enough to disturb. It’s a bit like a white noise machine. You sink into it, into him, enough that you don’t feel him move to turn until he’s already halfway there. 

Facing you now, Donnie slides a hand to the small of your back and pulls. Easily, you melt into him, sliding one leg between his and slotting into place. Sighing with contentment as his plastron melds to your chest, you wrap an arm around his torso, your fingers tracing familiar divots in his soft shell.

After a few moments of just this, his fingers find the hem of your shirt. You shiver, starlight catching in your throat. Wanting more, wanting him to know you want this, that you want him, you hum softly on your next breath.

He knows what that sound means. But he asks anyway. “Good?”

“Mm.”

Slowly, sweetly, he ducks his face in close. He’s a little shy, still, about kissing you; but it takes your breath away all the same, making you stroke a long line down his shell while you tilt your head a little to meet him halfway. It’s a gentle, chaste thing that leaves your heart mostly in place, though it quivers when he makes a little chirpy sigh that betrays his feelings on having you here. The night makes him honest, his hand sure on your hip to keep it pressed to his, his beak nuzzling your cheek confidently.

Tucking your face into his throat, you feel him inhale at the crown of your head and sigh out with complete satisfaction. He goes boneless, his body meeting the shape of yours and little churrs vibrating through your chest where there’s nothing between you except the cotton of your shirt. Mindlessly, your fingers trace little hearts onto his shell, quiet little promises of something you know you’re going to slip and say, someday.

Warm, happy, you close your eyes and slowly drift off to sleep.