#the cocoon (sensitive subject)

[shouyuus]

some roommatevi! stuff i'd go rabid over you writing >:333

helping vi dye her hair

sharing a bed during a winter power outage (pre-relationship)

pretending to be a couple in front of someone from your past

vi accidentally sending you a flirty text meant for one of her hook ups

wrote the first two :) saving the next two for maybe later hehe

college roommate!vi cinematic universe

"hold still --"

"it tickles!"

you roll your eyes, tugging on a strand of vi's hair, frowning even as she hisses and casts you a half-hearted glare from the mirror you're both staring into, her sitting cross-legged in front of it, you kneeling behind her with your hands in black plastic gloves, trying to lather her roots in enough dye to cover them properly.

"tickles what? your scalp?" you ask, glaring right back as you flip a strand over and pick up a new one. vi bites her lips, huffing out a breath, a faint pinkness creeping into her cheeks.

"nevermind."

you sigh, "well next time you ask me to help dye your roots, tell me before if you have weird scalp sensitivities," you flip over another strand, though this time taking care to be gentler.

vi tuts, "it's not -- ugh. forget it, cupcake."

"alright. there. i think that's..." you look over your work, nodding, "about as good as it's gonna get."

vi shoots you a grin, patting your leg as you stand up and groan, rubbing at your knees, the skin there red from kneeling so long on the hard floor of your apartment.

"thanks cupcake, i owe you one. here --"

you nearly topple over as vi leans in to press a kiss to your knee, her eyebrows kicking up when your ass knocks back into the dining table, staring at her.

"ow -- w-what --"

vi smirks, "to kiss it better."

you press your lips, heat flaring up the back of your throat as she blinks innocently up at you, one of her palms still resting against your thigh, holding your leg up.

"it's -- it's fine, you don't have to --"

but vi's already letting go of one leg, to reach for the other. and you swear there's a dark, almost predatory glint in her eyes as she glances back up at you before dropping a quick kiss to your other knee.

"there. all better, right?"

and you know she's teasing, but your heart is beating hummingbird fast at the back of your throat, and there's a dull humming in your head that makes you wonder if an entire hive of honeybees have moved into the space between your ears.

you can almost taste the sweet syrup of honey on your tongue as you gulp down a breath and vi pushes up to her feet.

"thanks again, dollface. i really do owe you one."

---

"this is insane."

"i know. i've already called the electrical company and the building management --"

"hey sweets, c'mere -- i wasn't talking about you --"

you sigh, letting vi pull you into the pile of blankets atop her bed. she wraps an arm around you, letting you snuggle into her side.

"i know, i know but it just --" she groan, burying your face in her pillow (it smells like her, god it smells like her), "you know i hate it when --"

"stuff doesn't go the way it's supposed to?" you feel her pinch at your waist; you squeak, shooting back up to glare at her. "yeah, trust me. i know."

but her expression is warm, and her laughter, even more so, as she pulls you tighter into the bundle of blankets.

"c'mon... it's not so bad. i mean. at least we can keep each other warm, right?"

you laugh, letting yourself slump into the massive pile of blankets and sheets. you feel her arms looping around you, tugging you closer, and her skin is so hot, so smooth -- smells so good --

"yeah, and you're a human space heater -- god, how do you live during the summers?" you ask, giggling as the pair of you curl up against each other.

"mn. lots of ice-baths."

you shiver, crinkling your nose. you're face to face now, the pair of you cocooned in a nest of fluffy blankets.

"ice baths?"

"yeah, it's good for muscle recovery."

you giggle, shaking your head, "i can't imagine willingly subjecting yourself to that for... muscle recovery."

"yeah? and you think drinking fifteen cups of coffee in a 12 hour span is good for you?"

you let out an indignant squeak even as vi grins.

you bicker about this or that for another fifteen minutes or so before vi inches closer; your noses almost brush in the midnight dark, the winter moon half-full and glowing distantly outside her window.

"think it'll be fixed by tomorrow?" you ask, sighing as you pull a bit of blanket closer to yourself over your shoulder. vi makes a noncommittal noise, jerking you towards her till your entire bodies are pressed, and you have to stop yourself from trying to count all the different and distinct points of contact -- ankles, knees, thighs, hips, her palm pressing to the small of your back, holding you close, close, closer --

"maybe. maybe not. but if it isn't --" vi shifts so that your noses actually do brush and it takes everything inside you not to either pull back or press in closer, "at least you'll still have a me as a human space heater."

you smile, nuzzling in, reaching out to press your palm against the bend of her waist. she gasps, just the smallest breath, but you hear it. up this close, you can almost hear the sound of her heartbeats. you wonder, in the same breath, if she can hear the sound of yours.

"yeah," you say, grinning as vi tries to cough away the blush threatening her cheeks, "that i do. and i guess i should thank my lucky stars, huh."

vi smiles, "or, you could just thank me instead."

[firingstars]

in this life | ch. 5

bucky barnes x female reader

summary: "There's only one God, doll, and He's gonna bring me back to you." "I don't need God," you told him, fresh tears brimming over your eyes. "I just need you."

warnings: 18+, mdni, brief descriptions on an injury/blood, reader momentarily gets depressed, reincarnation trope, language, mentions of financial instability/being hungry, memories are written with italicizes, no use of y/n, angst, yearning, longing, everyone's alive no one is dead because i said so, alternating pov's

word count: 5.7k

a/n: idk why this chapter was kinda difficult for me to write... i know how i want the story to end and its already written out and ready but idk whats going on the middle of this story is irking me

previous chapter | next chapter

Unknown [10:14am]: What does Traumatic Memory Rehabilitation Science actually entail? I tried Googling it, but I didn't find anything on the subject.

You stared at your phone for a few moments, hiding the device behind your laptop screen. You were in the middle of a lecture, and your professor would definitely call you out if he saw you right now. Of course, it didn’t matter to him that he was going on and on about how his wife was somehow related to this neuroscience class and there must be something wrong with her pathways in her mind for her to leave him. Sometimes you think this class was just an easy way for your professor to be able to rant to people that had no choice but to listen.

You put your phone face down, and pulled up the messages on your laptop. At the very least, you could look like you were taking notes. 

Me [10:17am]: science that focuses on how trauma affects the structure and function of memory, and how the patient’s memories could be stabilized, restored, or rewritten in ethical ways. could be natural trauma or artificial trauma given by outside means

Unknown [10:19am]: Artificial trauma?

Me [10:21am]: wasn’t a huge part of why america didn’t want to give you that pardon bc of what that organization did to you? and your lawyers argued that it wasn’t your mind there?

Unknown [10:22am]: Ah. I see.

Unknown [10:23am]: I didn’t know you kept up with the case.

Me [10:26am]: my grandpa was still around when you were going through it. he would talk my ear off on the phone about how you were being treated awfully by the country and was part of the support groups outside the courtroom demanding a fairer sentence for you.

Me [10:27am]: and it was pretty big news, sergeant. 

Bucky doesn’t respond, and you think you may have scared him off. After saving his phone number officially in your contacts as Sergeant Barnes, you close the messaging app. You go through the rest of your class, finishing off with another surprise quiz that you thankfully knew all the answers to, and head off to grab something to eat before going to the library to study. 

You should apologize to him, you think. It may have been a lot to say all of that, all of a sudden. It could still be a sensitive topic for him, and you may have brought up a bunch of memories for him that you didn’t mean to. You want to hit yourself over the head. Your field of study is meant to help people like him, and yet you just caused issues for him. 

You really could use a shot. Tequila. Vodka. Something strong. But it’s barely noon, and you still have the rest of your day ahead of you. 

You push open the door to the Campus Grounds, and stop in your tracks. 

You didn’t scare him off. 

Your eyes fall on his figure almost instantly. Buckty’s wearing that same leather jacket that he always seems to wear. He looks a little cleaner today, beard a little shorter than the last time you saw him. The dark circles under his eyes are lighter, an indication of more sleep. His shoulders aren’t wound up too tight either.

And he turns to you, as if he’s been waiting for you this entire time. Your heart flutters as caterpillars hatch from their cocoons and turn into butterflies in your stomach.

“Doll,” he greeted. The nickname still makes your mind run circles, but you force yourself back into reality as you focus on his next words. “Fancy seeing you here. Didn’t know you came here, too.”

“At my university’s cafe?” you asked, tilting your head. “The university where I attend school? Spend a majority of my day at?”

Bucky cleared his throat, obviously caught. “Stark told me that the food here was good. I’m expanding my palate…” The man before you pauses, eyebrows furrowing at the menu. “What the hell is a matcha?”

“Depends. Do you want it iced or hot?” you chuckled, stepping into the line.

“How do you take it?”

“Iced, with oat milk, and a pump of vanilla,” you answered. 

Bucky looked a bit helpless at your words, so you repeated the order back at the barista, including two ham and cheese croissant sandwiches to be warmed up as well before giving her your phone number to use your meal points. 

When the drinks come out, you watch as Bucky takes an experimental sip before looking a little confused at the flavors on his tongue before seemingly accepting whatever was going on. You let out a small laugh.

“Not bad?” you guess.

“Not bad,” he agreed, following you as you make your way out towards the door. You hand him his croissant. “What’s your plans today?”

“Studying. We’re towards the end of the semester, and I have finals coming up in a few weeks. I’ll graduate in the winter once I’m done with the upcoming term.”

“Impressive,” Bucky hummed beside you, taking a bite of his croissant. 

“Any Avengers need a therapist?” you asked, glancing at him. Thankfully, he doesn’t look too bothered by your text conversation from earlier this morning. If he was, you were sure that he wouldn’t even be here, still walking beside you right now.

The man chuckled beside you, smiling. “None of them wants to admit that right now.”

“Pity,” you said sarcastically. After a beat, you added, “Sorry. If my message to you earlier was a bit heavy.”

“Not at all,” he shook his head, “I just started driving, so I couldn’t reply.”

“Ah.” So you were overthinking it. Makes sense. 

“It would’ve been nice,” he cleared his throat before continuing, “If your field of study was finalized and completed when I was first put back out in the world. I think it would’ve been helpful for me to be regulated back into society.”

You give him a small smile. “Sorry about that. Took me a bit to decide what I wanted to study. Took a few years of a gap year before I went back to school.”

Bucky chuckled, and took another sip of his matcha latte. It looked like it was growing on him. Either that, or he just wasn’t picky about food. 

“You’ll have plenty of opportunities to help people other than me,” he told you. 

“I hope so. Otherwise all this student debt will be for fucking nothing,” you grunt. Another smaller laugh escapes his lips, and you find that the noise awakens a small flutter in your chest that will keep you feeling warm and fuzzy. 

Your feet come to a slow as you stop at the library commons, and you turn to look at Bucky. He looks back at the building briefly before turning to you, giving you a small smile and nod.

“Well. Happy studying,” he said, albeit a little awkwardly.

“Is that all? You just came here to get some matcha and walk me to my university’s library?”

“I just wanted to see your face today,” he admitted. 

You really didn’t expect him to be so upfront with his words. You couldn’t help the smile that came to your face. You bit the inside of your cheek to prevent your lips from curling even wider than they already were.

“I would say I would FaceTime you later so you can see my face again, but I noticed that the message bubbles I sent you weren’t blue. What do you have? Android?”

“Uh. Flip phone.”

You stared at him for a brief second, searching his face for the joke. 

There was none.

“I’ll call you later,” you settled on.

“I’ll wait for it,” he replied, letting out a breath of relief.

Adding calling Bucky to the list of things to do every night was as easy as adding something to your nighttime skincare routine. First step: remove makeup with micellar water. Follow up with a makeup balm. Wash your face with a cleanser. Pat dry with a towel. Use a toner. Moisturize. Call Bucky.

The first night had your heart racing on whether or not you should even call him, too. You were pacing around in your apartment. You stared at your phone on your bed as if it was a bomb that you had to defuse within the next few moments. You told him that you would call, but it was past midnight and you just got off your shift. You had no idea what the bedtime schedule was like for an Avenger, but you told him that you would call. Eventually, you decided that you would at least try to call. If he didn’t answer, then you would send a follow up text for an apology.

Bucky answered right away.

“Thought you weren’t gonna call,” is what he said as soon as the line connected.

“Wasn’t sure if you were still going to be awake,” you replied softly.

“You said you were gonna call. I waited.”

You aren’t sure why your chest squeezed at those words. You swallowed thickly, and took in a shaky breath as you clutched the phone tighter in your hands, trying to formulate another sentence to force out past your lips.

“You know I only work night shifts at the diner, right? I always close,” you told him.

“I know.”

“Then you don’t have to stay awake because I say stuff like that. What if I didn’t call you? Would you stay awake all night next to your phone until I called?” you asked. You weren’t scolding him, you weren’t badgering him– you were just a little stressed. A little worried. 

“I knew you would,” he replied. There was so much certainty in his voice. The steadiness. 

“How are you so sure?”

“I just knew you would.” Again, there was nothing in his words that wavered. 

You paused, letting it sink in for a few moments as your heart thumped in your chest. You dug your nails into your palm, allowing the bite against your skin remind you that this was reality, and you were alive at this very moment.

“Do you want me to keep calling you?” you asked in a whisper.

“I wouldn’t mind it,” he said. A pause. “I like hearing your voice, too.”

From that point forth, Bucky continued to answer every single call without fail. Most of the time, each call was answered within the first ring. Sometimes the call went to the second, but never the third. Your calls had never gone to voicemail once. It was almost as if he anticipated your calls every single night.

You began to look forward to every single one of your calls. It became the highlight of your day, the thing that you looked forward to most after the long and stressful day.

By the second week of your nightly calls, you were really appreciating it. He helped you study. You would have your phone on speaker, on your desk beside your textbooks as you pulled out concepts and verbiage from your brain as if you were teaching a lesson to him, and ask him if he understood a single thing that you just told him. Sometimes you would text him your study guides and he would test you, then let you know what you needed to improve on. You were certain that he heard you slam your forehead on your desk several times over the past fourteen days.

Moreover, Bucky was not much of a talker, which meant that he was a great listener. When you were done studying, your phone would be resting beside your pillow as you laid down. The lights would be turned off and you would close your eyes as you talked to him.

It was as if he knew you were drifting off to sleep. His voice would be softer during these moments. Lower, slightly gravely. Sometimes, both of you would get a little bit more vulnerable in your sleepier states. 

“You should really sleep earlier,” he would tell you. “Your health might take a hit if you keep this habit up.”

“I don’t particularly enjoy sleeping,” you confessed to him.

“It’s good for you. Especially with the amount of studying that you do.”

You sigh deeply, pulling your blankets higher up your body. “I know, I know. I just… I don’t sleep well. I wake up and I’m sad. I wake up and I wish I never woke up. And I don’t mean that in a… sad, depressed way– even though it sounds like it. I just want to stay in my dreams.”

Bucky was quiet for a few moments. “You mean the dreams about the soldier?”

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Does that sound pathetic?”

“No,” he answered without skipping a beat. “It means you’re happy there.”

“Then doesn’t that mean I’m sad out here?” you ask with a soft laugh.

“You tell me. Are you?”

It’s your turn to fall silent. You don’t know how much or how little time has passed in your sleepy state before you finally answer, “I think I’m not as sad since I met you.”

“That’s good. I think I enjoy life a little more, too.”

“Even though all I talk to you about is the ethics and neuroscience of trauma?” you joke.

“I have a lot of trauma myself, so it’s interesting to know how the trauma affects the neural pathways of my brain and the rest of my body,” he responds with a soft chuckle.

“Mm… Just wait until I get to the section on how your muscles hold all that trauma. It’s not just your brain, Sergeant,” you murmur, shifting deeper into your pillow. 

“I have seventy years of muscular and mental trauma. How long do you think that will take to undo?” 

“You can’t undo trauma, Bucky,” you hum. “I can teach you how to live with it, to learn how to regain yourself from the experiences that you’ve been through– but you can’t undo what ultimately has brought you here. Your trauma isn’t you. But what you do with the trauma is what’s important. Do you carry it and let it weigh you down? Do you let it fuel you and all your rage? Or do you let it be the reason to be a better person?”

“I wish you were my therapist when I had to have one,” he tells you after a few moments, his voice soft. 

Bucky doesn’t choose to elaborate on the topic of trauma any further, or tell you more about his past. You already have a decent understanding of what the Winter Soldier is and what he did based on what was leaked to the public years ago. You don’t push him when he decides to brush it off.

You let out a small laugh, smiling into your sheets. “Don’t forget to tell your Avenger friends about me.”

“I think I might keep you all to myself, sweetheart.”

“I don’t think I mind that, either.”

Sometimes, Peter disappears without a trace and MJ gets irritable. However, she knows what she signed up for when she became Spider-Man’s girlfriend. She knows that she can’t be too upset with him, though Peter really does try to let her know whenever he leaves. Peter just has a one track mind. He hyper focuses on one thing and forgets everything else. 

Bucky doesn’t do that with you. You got a message from him a few days ago letting you know that he will be busy. You expected it to come sooner or later. You were surprised that it wasn’t sooner. Bucky has a job– a very demanding job. One that you can’t ever imagine yourself being in that world or in that kind of life. However, he still communicates with you, which is more than you can say Peter does with MJ. 

Sergeant Barnes [7:27am]: I will not be able to make our meetings for the next few days. I will let you know when I am back in the city. Will be in Malaysia. My phone will be off. 

Me [7:30am]: stay safe bucky

Sergeant Barnes [7:31am]: Always.

The fact that he calls your nightly calls a meeting makes you smile at your phone. You think he’s cute. His age is also showing from the way that he texts you, but you decide to let it slide. If you think about it realistically, the man is only in his early to mid thirties if you’re doing the math right. You’re well aware he was born in 1917, but with the amount of time that he had lost in between with everything that went on with his life— that is an age gap that you can get behind.

“What are you smiling so wide about right now?” MJ grunted, hitting your hip with hers as she walked by. “Table seven needs refills.”

“I was already on my way,” you shoot back, picking up the water pitcher as you fix your grin. 

You’re overthinking, you’re pretty certain. He’s a friend. There’s nothing more to the calls that have been going on every night since you said you would call him. You don’t hang on to every single word he says like it’s a prayer, and you certainly don’t find yourself lulling yourself to bed to his soft whispers every single night like it’s a lullaby. Your mood hasn’t improved the past few weeks, and you’re not smiling more often. You’re definitely not more energized even though you’re losing more sleep by staying up an extra hour later to talk to him longer on the phone, and lying to him by saying that you truly do sleep that late anyways.

You’re a goner and you know it– and you’ve only seen the man in person a handful of times. You were more than certain that he was haunting your mind more than you were haunting his. 

“You look like shit,” you told MJ once the night was over. “Tonight wasn’t even all that bad.”

MJ glared at you as she clocked out on the computer, and waited for you to do the same so you two could walk out together. Your routes home were the same part of the way until they diverged. 

“Peter’s still gone. Still have no idea where he is or when he’s coming back,” she muttered, shoving her arms through the sleeves of her jacket haphazardly. You think she’s crazy for even wearing a jacket in the middle of summer, but you don’t mention it with her current mood. “So yes, I am a little pissed off.”

“Did he leave in the middle of the night again?” you asked, closing down the computer.

“No, he woke me up this time,” she sighed. You two walked out the back, locking the door behind you. “Still, it was really early in the morning and he didn’t explain much before he left. Though, he really can’t ever explain much.”

“I’m sorry, MJ,” you said, a small cringe running through your body. You really can’t imagine what she’s going through.

Though, then again, you’re not even sure why Bucky felt the need to tell you that he was going off the grid for a few days. Or even why he told you where he was going for the mission, either. You were certain that was some kind of classified information if even MJ couldn’t know– if Peter wouldn’t tell her before he left. 

Was it a mistake? Did he mean to tell you all of that information? Or was something going on through his mind that made him accidentally send that to you when he didn’t mean to. Either way, you had more information than MJ, and you weren’t even sure if you were allowed to tell her. You weren’t totally sure what telling her would even do. There would be no purpose in giving her the location. Malaysia was a large place– the Avengers could be everywhere and anywhere. Besides that, maybe Bucky and Peter weren’t even in the same area doing the same mission.

You decided to keep your mouth shut, even though you didn’t feel particularly good about it. Then again, you’ve held enough secrets of your own from your friends over the years. You have a lot of your own issues that they don’t know, and you’re more than certain they will never find out.

Maybe that’s why you feel a certain attachment to Bucky. He knows about your dream soldier boy, and never judged you for it. He brought him up once or twice, too. Bucky knows more about you in the past few weeks that you’ve known him versus the past few years that you have known your friends.

It makes you feel guilty, in a way. Peter has shared his own secrets with you– something that he had no obligation to share with you. It was something that was originally held between the three of them, but he felt that you were important enough to know about it. MJ has some familial issues and has problems letting people close to her, but she still finds herself opening up to you and starting conversations with you more than you start them with her. You’re not super close with Ned, but you know the guy is more than happy to talk to you about any kind of project that he’s working on at the moment. Both him and Peter enjoy spilling whatever information they can spare on whatever work they’re doing.

And yet, you’ve never told them the real reason why you’re studying what you study.

You wish MJ a good night, and tell her to get some rest as your paths split and she heads down her road to her place that she shares with Peter. You make your way down to your own.

New York’s summer nights are muggy. Slightly humid, but better than when the sun is out and beating down on your skin like it’s trying to wear you down. It’s not bad at all, seeing as you’ve lived here for the majority of your life, but you can still see yourself moving out of this busy city and somewhere quieter. 

Away from this nonsense and drama. Maybe you’d be able to run away from your own head if you tried hard enough.

You push the thought away as you push your apartment door open. It’s creaky, and you know you need to spray drown the hinges with WD-40 again.

You toe your sneakers off and hang your purse on the hooks that you nailed to the wall when you first moved in— holes that you would have to fill later on when you eventually move out if you want your security deposit back. Your feet ache against the creaking floorboards that are only slightly dampened by the carpet runner that you put in the entranceway of your apartment. 

You hate this place, as much as you try to deny it. 

You despise the overhead lighting that you never flicker on because it’s too bright, but you also never turn on the various amounts of mood lighting that you thrifted from corner stores because you simply can’t be bothered. You can’t stand the way your landlord sometimes forgets to pay the building’s AC bill, even though you slave away every single day to pay your rent and utilities. You shouldn’t have to suffer for some fucking comfort in your own home. 

You hate the cheap mattress that you barely could afford, that you cried when you bought— not out of happiness, but because you knew you wouldn’t be able to eat real meals for the next week until your next paycheck hit. 

This entire place was a death sentence in your mind. It wasn’t home. It was simply a place to rest when you weren’t running around outside, trying to pretend that your mind was right and your life was stable, and the diagnoses the doctors gave you years ago weren’t looming over your head. 

Your stomach growls, and you know you don’t have substantial ingredients in your kitchen to satiate you. You should’ve eaten more on campus earlier today, and you want to kick yourself for your lack of insight. 

You still drag your tired body to the kitchen to find what you can, ripping open the old fridge. What stares back at you is empty shelves and a half drunk water bottle along with some celery.

You settle for the celery, grumbling to yourself. 

“Maybe I’ll use the ten thousand for groceries,” you mutter, leaning against the counter. 

“Gave it to you so you could use it, not save it.”

Your heart leaps out of your body, and you drop the celery in your hand as you shriek. You turn quickly, looking over the kitchen peninsula towards your living room— in the darkness of your apartment, lit only by the streetlights pouring from your windows, you see a figure. 

He’s sitting on the couch, draped over the armrest. His head is resting against the wall— his chest falling and rising in uneven motions. He looks to be wearing gear. He looks like a shadow. 

“Bucky?” you breathe, your heart still stuttering in your chest wildly. “What the fuck?”

“Hey,” he greets with a grunt, but he doesn’t move from his place on the couch. “Sorry. Needed a place to just.. Lay low.”

“Okay,” you said slowly, moving slowly. 

You go to the windows, closing the blinds and drawing the curtains shut before turning on the lamp. Lay low— you assume no one knows he’s here. You want to interrogate him on why and how he’s in your apartment, but with proper light illuminating him, you find the question long gone and missing from your lips.

He’s injured. Badly.

His vest is ripped at his side, and he’s pressing his flesh hand to it, though you can still see his skin stained with his own blood. His forehead also seems to be gashed, and there’s a deep bruise blossoming on his cheekbone, and his lip is split. You’re not sure of what other injuries he could be hiding under the layers of gear he’s wearing, too. 

“What…” you whispered.

“The drawings are nice,” he said, clearing his throat. You follow his eyes to your coffee table, where your sketches of the soldier man from your dream are haphazardly strewn about. You were going to scan them and post them in the morning. “You’re talented.”

“Wait— no,” you denied. You’re not letting him breeze past the clear issue at hand here. “I need— Fucking. Washcloth?” 

Your mind is short circuiting as you quickly rush through your apartment, turning lights on as you go. You bring your CVS bought first aid kit along with a small bowl filled with water and several other washcloths to the living room, pushing your sketches and other art supplies to the floor to make space. 

You’re on your knees in front of him, gently peeling his hand away from his side to inspect the gash on his side. You’re glad you’re not squeamish from the years you’ve spent in the city, but the wound is deep and angry and red— and you are not qualified for such an injury.

“I am not medically trained. At all,” you tell him, panic flashing through your face. Then you demand, “Why did you come here?”

“You’re safe.”

Your breath stops, just for a moment. Bucky isn’t saying that your apartment is safe. That this area in New York is safe— you are someone safe. In just two words, he’s telling you everything. 

You clench your jaw and dip your washcloth into the bowl of water and bring it to the gash on his side. Your eyes flicker to his face. He never flinches. His muscles don’t ripple in pain. His body doesn’t betray him in a way that yours does when you poke at a bruise that you know you shouldn’t be touching. 

It breaks your heart and soul all the same. 

It’s quiet between you two as you go through three more washcloths to remove the dried blood from his body. Then you open up the first aid kit. You’ve never had to use it before other than for some bandaids. 

You don’t even realize your hands are trembling until his metal hand rests on yours. You lift your head to lock eyes with his. His face is gentle, despite the amount of pain that you’re sure is racing through his body at this moment.

“There should be a pair of gloves,” he said, his voice even. You blink for a moment before realizing that he’s directing you on what needs to be done. You quickly move. 

You slide the gloves, eyes darting all over the first aid kit you bought. You were paranoid when you bought it– this expensive thing. You weren’t even sure why you got it, when all you used it for was a few bandaids here and there every once in a while. You praised your past self for this very moment now.

“Saline, antiseptic, and ointment,” he continued, and you pull out each corresponding item from the kit. “Help me clean the wound. Use the gauze. After that, try to find something called a butterfly bandage, if you know what that is.”

You don’t fucking know what that is, but you’re not going to voice that out to him right now. 

Instead, you force your muscles to move past the fear in your body. Bucky is still directing you through the entire thing like you are the one that’s injured here– like you’re the one that’s a few seconds from passing out from pain. You want to scream at your own uselessness, but you know that it isn’t true. Bucky wouldn’t have come here if he thought you were useless.

As the bandage goes on, and you tighten his wound shut, he finally lets out a breath and relaxes against your couch cushions.

“Is that it?” you whispered, eyes flitting across his face.

“That’s the worst of it, yes,” he nodded, closing his eyes.

“There’s more?” you demanded, horrified. 

Bucky lets out a chuckle, as if this situation is funny to him. Maybe it is. To him, probably it is. This is just another regular Thursday to him. For you– this is the first time that you’re ever coming close to a situation like this. 

“I heal faster than the average human. I’ll be okay. This one is just pretty bad, I promise.”

You don’t believe him, not fully. You clench your jaw as you clean up the bloodied gauze and washcloths– tossing them into your garbage bin before going into your freezer to grab a few ice cubes to throw into a ziplock bag for the bruise on his face. He takes it without complaint.

Questions are spinning through your head, nagging at you deeply. The words are threatening to spill out of your mouth, and you’re not sure that you can stop it. 

“Is… Is Steve okay? Peter?” you asked. 

Bucky’s eyes flicker to you, eyebrows furrowing at you briefly. “I understand you asking about Steve. But Peter?”

“Spider-Man,” you whispered in correction, swallowing thickly. Recognition dawns on his face as you reveal that you know. Bucky lets out a small breath, a silence settling over the two of you. He doesn’t press for any other details.

“Mine was a solo mission. Everyone’s out doing their own thing right now. Most of them are in teams. Haven’t heard any of the others being injured or hurt.”

Relief fills your body. Your shoulders sag briefly as you move to sit on the opposite end of the couch from him.

“New York is pretty far from Malaysia, Buck… How the hell did you drag your battered body all the way to my apartment?” The question came from your lips before you could think that he may not even be able to answer you. 

“Tracked down the target from Malaysia to the outskirts of New York,” he answered without hesitation. “Didn’t wanna head back into the base looking like this.”

“So you thought that waiting in my apartment like this for me to come home was any better?” you asked, eyes wide.

“Well, I had a feeling that you would just take care of me rather than demand to know the details of the mission first,” he replied, shaking his head. There was the faintest of smiles on his face that you could see in the dim lighting of your apartment.

“Is it okay for me… to know all of this?” you asked wearily.

“You won’t become a target, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he quickly answered you, his voice serious. 

You shook your head immediately. “No– no. That’s not what I meant. Won’t you get in trouble? With… whoever your bosses are?”

“What they don’t know won’t hurt ‘em,” Bucky said with a shrug. Then, he looked at you, eyes catching yours. You couldn’t look away, caught in the stormy blue of his face. “You’re not scared?”

“I don’t think you would do anything that could ever get me hurt,” you murmured honestly. You pause. “You’re not afraid that I won’t leak your location to the world?”

The smile came back on his face. “Like I said, doll– you’re safe. I don’t worry about much when you’re around.”

You don’t know how long you spend staring at him, your heart thumping erratically in your chest again. It’s not from the fear of being shocked by a man in your apartment, or the panic that the man is Bucky injured in your apartment. It’s that stupid nickname that your soldier calls you, it’s the way the word falls from Bucky’s lips so casually and easily. It’s as if this was right, for him to always call you this. 

Your apartment suddenly feels whole. Warm. The space that felt empty a few moments ago is taken over with enough joy that you’re certain that you could spend the rest of your days here as long as Bucky continues to look at you the way that he’s looking at you right now.

With trust. You don’t even know why he trusts you. Why he’s so unwavering in his faith in you.

It’s terrifying all the same. You don't think you deserve it.

“There’s this Chinese place that’s 24/7,” you whispered, breaking the silence. “Do you want take out?”

Bucky’s smile grows a bit wider and he nods at you. “That sounds great.”

next chapter | masterlist

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[night-heart]

translate：

If Luna and Celestia were status reversals in the last post, then Wormcocoon and Rhyme are reversals of fortune

Crystal Cocoon is the long-serving, iron-fisted ruler of the Crystal Empire. He has a strong uneasiness about the borders of the country, and is a dull and uninteresting person who is obsessed with consolidating his power and has an overprotective and controlling attitude towards his subjects. But it is also because of the high alertness and training that he has repeatedly repelled the invasion of the Black Crystal King so that he has never succeeded.

Later, after the emergence of the Phantom Spirit race on the continent, they were pressured to form an alliance with Luna's horse country. The Phantom Spirits' method of invasion is very different from that of the Black Crystal King, and the Crystal Cocoon is almost powerless to do anything about it, becoming sensitive, thin, and neurotic from the days and nights of personal labor.

Demon Law, on the other hand, is the queen of the Illusory Spirit Clan. They are born with the ability to bewitch people, disguising themselves as glamorous and making intimate relationships with others, gradually sucking their emotional energy and turning it into their own life force.

Demon Ruler tries to cover up her broken body to fill her empty heart with the love of others day in and day out. She specializes in playing male horses into her hands, and one of the young up-and-coming archmages of the Crystal Empire's royal family, Silver Glimmer (Silver Armor), is one of them

Phantom Spirits' bodies are the same pink color as Demon Law, and even if they haven't experienced the burns of the original their bodies are still riddled with holes, and the emptiness that comes from their hearts becomes their own most feared form. Disgusted with the ugly body constantly transformed into a more shiny skin to cover their own uneasiness

Crystal Cocoon hates Demon Rhythm, and like the original Sky Ray is trolled by others for aging. Rhyme treats her people with gentleness, letting them go wherever they want to draw love back into their nests to feed themselves

[w1ld-wr1t3r]

Do you guys want a snippet from the wingfic?

That's a silly question, of course you do!

--

The way he fidgeted anxiously made Lando want to bundle him up into a permanent comforting hug. “D-do you . . .” he stammered nervously. “D-doesn’t it bother you that . . . th-that I don’t show my w-wings to you?”

Lando’s suspicions had been right. Every now and then, this topic reared its head, sometimes at unexpected moments. Any sort of wing talk was more likely to bring it out. Martijn had a lot of hidden insecurity about his wings, probably more than Lando was fully aware of. He always got incredibly anxious when asked by anyone about the mystery of his wings, yet simultaneously seemed to feel guilty for hiding them. It was the one thing that could dim his sunny disposition.

Lando really wanted to know who had hurt him so much and make them pay for it. How could anyone or anything make him so scared to show his wings? They could be covered in scraggly feathers or be nothing more than broken nubs, and Lando would still think they were perfect, because they were Martijn’s. How could anyone ever think otherwise?

Gently, Lando stepped forward and clasped Martijn's hands, setting the dust cloth aside. He refrained from extending his wings around him protectively – sometimes, when Martijn got like this about his own wings, the weight of someone else's around him could be too much.

“I have never, ever cared what your wings are like, Marty” he said softly. “Of course I'd love to see them and take care of them the way you do mine, but they're your wings, not mine. You have your reasons not to show them, and that's okay.”

Martijn looked up timidly. “You promise?” he whispered.

“I promise,” Lando swore. “If you ever do want to show them, I promise it will never change how much I love you. But even if you don't . . .” he tilted closer, touching a light kiss to Martijn's cheek, “I'll still love you just as much as ever.”

Martijn sniffled softly, leaning closer. “Even if . . . they weren't perfect?”

Lando smiled, planting a proper kiss on Martijn's mouth. “They don't have to be,” he said. “You already are perfect.”

Martijn finally smiled back, weak and wobbly, but it was a smile. He stepped a bit closer and tucked his head into the crook of Lando's neck, an unspoken message that he was ready for a proper wing hug now. Lando happily obliged, tucking his white wings around Martijn until he was safe in a cocoon of feathers. He slid his hand gently up his back until he could rub between his shoulder blades, where he knew Martijn carried a faint, persistent ache from keeping his wings consistently hidden. There was tension there now, tension that Lando carefully melted away with each press of his fingers.

He hoped Martijn knew how earnestly he was telling the truth. The first time he'd innocently asked Martijn why he hid his wings, back when they had just become an official couple, Martijn had frozen in pure anxiety and fear. It had taken a whole night of hugging and soothing him to reassure him that Lando didn't hate him for hiding his wings. He'd just been curious. But satisfying his own curiosity wasn't worth poking at what was clearly a very sensitive subject for Martijn. Whatever his reasons were, they clearly ran deep.

Martijn had waited for Lando to get over his own hang-ups with his wing color and dating before making a move. Lando could give him the same courtesy towards his own wings.

And if Martijn's wings stayed a secret forever, that was okay. His happiness and comfort were far more important than a little curiosity.

“I love you,” Lando promised, kissing the shell of Martijn's ear. “Forever and ever.”

Martijn sniffled in his arms and snuggled closer. He ran his fingers lightly over the short feathers that covered Lando's shoulders, brushing them tenderly. “I love you, too,” he whispered. “Forever and ever.”

Lando smiled. With Martijn in his arms, forever like this sounded pretty damn good.

He couldn’t wait to share every bit of it with him.

[ssplague]

Second Snippet

I noticed a fair amount of attention on my “Wolf Man Bakugou” post, so here ya go 😉 If it seems to read a bit WEIRD, this particular story was originally planned to be a long thirst/ possible drabble, but as I mentioned in my previous post I have this Chronic turn a Short Story into a series disorder 😷🤒 This is more than likely going to end up being a ridiculously long one shot, or possibly two part deal.

🐺❤️‍🔥👣

Waking up, a cocoon of unusual warmth surrounds you; A heavy arm lays across your waist, deep breaths blow against your scalp, someone’s body is spooning you from behind. Thinking the worst, you stay silent, abruptly attempting to scramble forward and far away from this stranger. Unfortunately a loud yelp echoed throughout the cavern as you trip over a chain that connects to what has to be a collar around your neck. You immediately start hyperventilating, Where am I?! Who took me from the cabin?! “Finally up? About damn time” The deep raspy voice comes from beneath the blanket you had thrown off. A shirtless man sits up, his messy ash blonde hair sticks up in all directions, but you can just barely make out two large ears of the same color hidden beneath it. “Who are you? Where am I? Let me go!” You snap at him, yanking hard on the chain, eyes following the length of it when it doesn’t give a single inch. A heavy stone spike is nailed through the chain links, keeping it (& you) pinned to the stone floor.

“I’m Katsuki, future leader of the Bakugou Clan and a direct descendant of the very first werewolf…This is my new den, and I brought you here to claim you as my own” he puffs out his chest “I’ve watched you every day for almost a month, and have decided you will become my mate, welcome home pretty human”.

“No this isn’t right, that can’t be…I was finally happy with my life in the village…I want to go back, please let me go back” you began to sob working yourself into hysterics “I was finally free!”. “You’re safe here with me, I’ll always protect you, you’ll want for nothing I promise you…” Katsuki offers, immediately bristling when he gets no response. You just continue crying into your hands, shivering as you realize the clothes you had on the night before were gone. You sat on the cold stone floor in only your under garments. A familar numbness spreads throughout your body at the realization that not only has your newly acquired freedom been snatched away, but you were going to be subjected to the will of someone new, and any minute now you’ll be violated…it’s happening again. You feel your body being lifted, and carried back to where you had woke up, “Get back in the nest before you catch cold, I don’t want you leaving this spot until I say so” the Wolfman growls as he goes back to spooning you, “Let’s rest, we’re both going to need it for the days ahead”. You feel his hand push your hair back to expose your neck, then he begins rubbing his wrist across the sensitive skin. The deep inhale he takes upon burying his face in your hair sends a chill down your spine.

A/N: I know it’s short, but I don’t want to give away too much of the story. I’ll be sharing a third snippet of another W.I.P later! What did you think?

[dulcisregnumdorm]

Terrence Von Schweetz (2024)

More info under the cut

Name: Terrence Von Schweetz

Age: 22

Gender: Transmasc

Sexuality: Gay

Pronouns: He/Him

Year: 3

Best Subject: History

Birthday: May 23rd

Twisted From: Taffyta Muttonfudge

Class: D (No 15)

Club: Equestrian

Height: 6’0

Hobby: Ice Skating,Racing,playing the guitar

Homeland:Glace Duchy

Likes: Flying Dislikes: Politics,his mother,his father,pageant shows

Unique Magic: Dulce Metamorphose (can turn any living being into candy)

VA:Kenji Nojima

Nicknames:crybaby,prince

Pet Peeves: His fangirls

Favorite Food: Strawberries

Least Favorite Food:Bugs

Talent(s): Modeling,playing the guitar

Zodiac:Gemini

Personality type: ESTJ-T (Executive)

Personality: Terrence is a young man that on paper (and around the important people he would have to kiss up to) would be defined as “prince-like”. With a repertoire of natural skills the upper class would consider common Terrence fits the standard any person of wealth would want their child to mold. 

Or would if it wasn’t for Terrence’s general bratty attitude towards his “fans” and actual sensitive nature. These persona’s act as shields in order to get by just existing in Twisted wonderland,not only as the first child of the Duke of the Glace Duchy but also as a person dehumanized by people who were supposed to protect him from harm.

Fun Facts:

Whenever he is bored Terrence would use one of his alt magicam accounts to troll his fangirls, this has carried on for 2 years.

Normally the ringleader in the dorm when someone outside of the dorm needs a good beatdown

 Whenever he has the chance terrence goes ice skating to clear his mind

Can actually drive very well, if he wanted he could give Temperence a good challenge

How does Terrence have two different lengths of hair? Magic

Despite his prince-like demenour Terrence gets the most feral when pissed

^fangs and mandibles out, Vincent having to hold him back

Likes the cybercore angel aesthetic

^every now and then he will dress up in that aesthetic

Terrence is known for coming up with the most creative insults known to man

Is known to be the one to cry most of the time in the group

^But because of this Terrence is the most mentally stable

Has played DnD one assuming it was going to be useless

^After that one game Terrence has now hosted 2 campaigns as a dungeon master

Is terrified of Vargas because one time in his first year Vargas flung Terrence into the air to get him to fly

Terrence is known for leaving cotton candy webbing in the rafters (they were attempts are making a cocoon)

Has the sharpest claws

Used to be childhood friends with Leona

[dom-thebartender]

Biography

Dominik (Dom) DeMarc

Age: 28

Occupation: Bartender

Species: WereFox (Omega)

Dominik DeMarc, known as Dom, began his life in an environment of warmth and stability. Growing up in a picturesque town with his devoted parents, Dom’s childhood was filled with joy, adventure, and a deep sense of security. The DeMarcs were a close-knit family, and young Dom thrived under their loving care, cocooned in affection and protection.

This idyllic existence was abruptly shattered when Dom was just seven years old. A tragic accident claimed the lives of his parents, leaving him orphaned and profoundly affected. As an omega werefox, Dom was particularly sensitive to emotional distress, and the sudden loss of his family was a devastating blow. Placed into the foster system, he faced not only instability but also physical and emotional abuse. The neglect and mistreatment deepened his feelings of abandonment and isolation, leaving him with enduring scars.

Throughout his formative years, Dom felt compelled to hide his identity as a werefox. In a world where werecreatures often faced suspicion and prejudice, he feared that revealing his true nature would only exacerbate his difficulties. This secrecy added an additional layer of isolation and self-protection, as he struggled to navigate his complex identity while grappling with his traumatic experiences.

By his late teens, Dom sought to escape his relentless pain through drugs and alcohol. His addiction worsened, leading him into a cycle of homelessness and the harsh realities of street life. During this period, he was frequently subjected to disdain and cruelty, both from those who ignored him and those who exploited him. This harsh treatment reinforced his sense of mistrust and betrayal.

Determined to turn his life around, Dom entered a recovery program, marking a significant turning point in his journey. The path to recovery was challenging, involving extensive counseling, support groups, and intense personal effort. Dom’s resilience and inner strength guided him through this difficult period, helping him regain stability and self-worth.

Seeking a fresh start and a place where he could be accepted, Dom moved to New Haven, a city known for its vibrant community of werecreatures. This new beginning offered him the chance to leave behind painful memories and find a supportive environment where he could rebuild his life. Now 28, Dom works as a bartender in a popular New Haven bar. His sassy, bratty demeanor serves as a protective façade, a defense mechanism developed to shield his more vulnerable self. His sharp wit and playful banter help him maintain a barrier against further emotional harm.

Dom's experiences have left him with a deep-seated mistrust of the world outside of New Haven. The harsh treatment he received in foster care and while homeless has fostered a general disdain for humanity, fueling his preference for the accepting and understanding community of werecreatures in New Haven. Although he remains guarded, his difficult past has also given him a profound empathy for others who struggle. He often extends support and understanding to patrons facing their own challenges, reflecting his resilience and capacity for compassion.

[denimbex1986]

'Alone in his apartment, Adam (terrific Andrew Scott, seen in the series Fleabag ) tries to write a new script, but he seems lost in his thoughts. Returning to the neighborhood of his childhood, in the suburbs of London, he is assailed by images and memories. Inside his family home, he sees the silhouettes of his parents, too happy to see him again. Their interior and clothing seem frozen in the 1980s.

In the evening, a stranger knocks on Adam's door. Harry (Paul Mescal, revealed in the magnificent series Normal People and rediscovered in the film Aftersun ) is the only other inhabitant of this building in central London. He would like to invite him for a drink, but his too direct approach displeases Adam.

Throughout his trips back and forth to his childhood home, Adam shares his memories and impressions with his parents (magnificent Claire Foy, seen in the series The Crown , and Jamie Bell, from Billy Elliot ) who are now the same age than him. In front of them, Adam seems to have remained the 12 year old kid they always knew. But for him, these conversations are an opportunity to tell them everything he was unable to share with them. To tell them who he is and what he has become. These trio conversations, seemingly perfectly ordinary, result in appeasement and a form of tranquility for this solitary adult.

Passionate about romantic relationships, Andrew Haigh ( 45 years old ) films with great delicacy the signs of love and family tenderness, creating a tangible and soft cocoon for these trio conversations. At the same time, the beginnings of a queer romance are taking shape that could turn Adam's life upside down.

To weave this story, the British filmmaker was inspired by his own experiences, very freely adapting the novel Presences of a Summer (1987) by the Japanese author Taichi Yamada, who died in 2003 . He magnifies his subject through an aerial and padded photograph where superimposed faces and numerous childhood images float, illuminated by the tenderness and warmth of memories.

Quest for memories and sensations

At the same time, he films the way in which the two “neighbors” manage to break the ice. Offering the very beautiful impressions of a budding relationship, with the embarrassment and awkwardness that accompany it, and a soundtrack that carries many memories of the 80s and 90s.

In small touches, with great economy of means, but also infinite sensitivity, the filmmaker, who worked for a long time alongside Ridley Scott, composes a double story of love and consolation, a story of mourning and melancholy too. His quest for memories and vanished sensations raises the question of Adam's place among the living.

★★★  '

[corvidamned]

Ho ho ho! I'm so terribly sorry for being late these last few days, I've had my hands rather tied. Now, where were we? I come with many presents. NAUGHTY -> Is there someone that Kira utterly loathes? Would love for nothing more than to do away with that person? If the opportunity was presented, to erase someone within the Fog from that plane of existence, would he?

NICE -> When did she first become aware of the blood web? What is her favorite thing that she loves to find within the Entity's random catalog?

NAUGHTY -> Do they believe that there's a way out of this mess? That there is a possibility to escape from the Entity's clutches? If there was, would she take it, leaving everything and everyone behind for freedom?

As always, meeeeeeerry Christmas! Your SECRET secret Santa :)

First Question is going to be under the cut for the non-graphic but still sensitive subject matter. Two! First sleep following Trial One. The wiki describes it as a nexus that prevents dreamless sleep. In my headcanon, there is an actual giant web constructed in a cave or between very old trees. Every item is a cocoon in reach. And if you take something, you always cut yourself on branches or debris that remain in the shell of the cocoon, staining the webs red. It hardly matters how injured you get in this nexus, as long as you can pay the equal price for what the item is worth. When Kira wakes, she'd be the amount of injured or uninjured she was at the end of the previous trial, and her body would be whole again once she starts fresh for the next trial. As she becomes a more experienced survivor, the gathering of items process comes to her when she's awake, appearing to her as found items she can forage for in the forest, and items in the vending machine in RPD she can press a button for.

Items Kira is most interested in are Medkits of any kind. Add-ons most particularly coveted would be the anti-haemorrhagic syringe, stypic agent, abdominal dressing, gauze roll, needle & thread, medical scissors, bandages, and butterfly tape. When miraculously not available, the brand new part for Toolboxes, the black silk cord for Maps, the blood amber and the unique wedding ring for the Key are very much appreciated. Kira hoards Flashlights, rarely ever ever using them. Offerings that she snags immediately and uses often are Bog Laurels, Shiny Coins, and Tarnished Coins. Three! At heart, she always has that spark of hope she will leave this place. It would take a lot of being beaten down to no longer believe. The harsh words of a jaded friend or lover, followed by a long absence that induces a spiral into becoming obsessive and malformed. The betrayal of other survivors, if her reputation as a vampire consumes the masses to treat her as contagious or like a ticking time bomb, bound to start killing. Kira's resolve under normal circumstances, the bloodiest and most hopeless of trials, is usually steel to the end, whether it is a flawless escape or a horrifying mori.

Kira keeps this very close to her chest, but she would jump through a portal or let a merciful fog consume her even if it only takes one. She would hope someone dear to her would be able to follow, or use her notes and clues left behind to which tomes one ought to look for to be able to follow. But come daylight, under these hellish circumstances, Kira is of the mindset she should put her oxygen mask on first before helping others. Even if that means the possibility of never seeing the people she's met again. It's why I have this au arc. no exit where someone she knows is so pissed off, they make a pact to see that she comes back and is stuck here with the rest of them

I think Kira is in the majority with most people wanting the dream demon, the Nightmare, to not be a part of the roster. It's not the dreamscape. It's a challenge as difficult as facing the Pig. It's his origin, that one can easily deduce with the presence of an elementary school in Springwood, that's repulsive. He wasn't a indiscriminate killer, or a soldier that committed war crimes on behalf of a government or private corporation, or child himself. He was a older man who took advantage of his position as groundskeeper and abused children, marked them, and killed them. And those that got away until teenager years or adulthood were slowly hunted down until there were nearly none left and the myth had to be retold by future generations in order for his spirit to have form and influence.

I'm a fan of the Freddy films, and I can consume fucked up content in healthy amounts. My fictional character has fictional standards of who should live or die an ugly death. Kira, who is a csa survivor, would personally want to stab Freddy thirty-six times in the face, and then pray the Entity would wipe her memory of the incident, and send him back to the real world, where he can possess actor R/obert En/glund into doing one more script to feed the ancient entity that constantly needs its story to be told in safe media like movies in order for it to be trapped forever.

[subpar-ghoulfriend]

Live In Nanny Pt 2

Villain!All Might x Reader

All Might raising baby Deku but is in desperate need of a nanny (Pt 2). The morning after and basically wayyyy to long so the smut is gonna have to be in pt 3. (word count: a little over 2k)

pt 1 here

TW: Yandere themes, day after dub con, reader is held against their will

You were sore. Your hips, wrists, back, pussy, everything ached. A silky sheet was the only thing covering your bare form. You could feel that you were alone in bed, Toshi's bulkiness was no longer weighing down the mattress. It must be mid morning because light was streaming through the curtains. Maybe if you remained still you could absorb into the mattress. Not only because of your tender body, but because you would prefer to never see your boss again. But speak of the devil. "Are we staying in bed all day?" You groaned. Hating how he worded his question. We. It was condescending, patronizing, and somehow filled you with butterflies. Something was placed on the bed, definitely not heavy enough to be Toshi. And then you realized, not something but a tiny someone. Baby Izuku crawled over to you, babbling, and tapped your sore shoulder. "Morning, Zuzu," You mumbled. Your joints crackled to life and you tightened the covers so you could face the little one. Behind him the clock read 11:00 am. "I need to get dressed." The villain cocked his head, "I tossed your clothes in the laundry do you want me to go get something from your closet?" No, you didn't want him running through your belongings. He would probably make a mess. "Just give me one of your shirts." That provided you enough modesty to get to your room and you were surprised the menace didn't follow. You scrubbed your body raw under the shower, subconsciously punishing yourself for taking pleasure from the night before. You were frustrated. Clean and covered in giant sweat pants and a hoodie you stormed into the living room where Toshi sat watching izuku entertain himself. "I quit." There was a pause. You tried not to look at the child. He would sway your resolve. This didn't have anything to do with him, it was between you and his father. "Alright." Oh. He wasn't going to challenge you? Figures, the man got what he wanted from you. You turned on your heels and rushed back to your room. You didn't own much so it wasn't hard to shove your belongings back into the suitcase. Opening your bedside drawer you froze. Your keys and phone were missing. This was their spot. The dedicated key-and-phone drawer. You check the room once, twice, then Izuku's room, the playroom, the kitchen. "Where are my keys?" You hissed, to hell with the phone you could buy a replacement. "Why would you need those," His voice was taunting. You felt your fists ball up and your nails dug into your palms. You stomped your foot like a frustrated child. "Because I'm leaving, I quit, now give me my keys." "I agreed you can quit, if that's what makes you feel better. I didn't say anything about leaving." The tension could be cut with a knife. He wasn't speaking or moving, he was eerily looming. In the other room Izuku was getting fussy. It knotted your stomach not going to check on him, but you kept your eyes on the villain. Toshinori was the first one to move, he went to check on his son. Clearly you weren't a threat. You could do without the keys, even sacrifice your suitcase. You made it all the way to the front door where you expected him to be, but he wasn't. He was with Izuku. With a twist at the knob the door didn't budge. You tried once more before angrily shaking the door. All Might called for you, "I told you that you aren't leaving. It's a two way security system but feel free to keep trying." When did he install this? You didn't see anything obvious like a box or camera indicating a security system. You could've thrown a fit or tried to break open the window but you had a feeling you wouldn't make it far. "What are you getting at?" You asked, rejoining the father-son duo. "Nothing aside from what we discussed last night in bed," he was making your cheeks burn red. "Making sure we stay a happy family." By the tone of his voice you knew there was no room for discussion. He didn't chastise you for slamming the door your room. He didn't pester you through out the day. He didn't even open your door to tell you he made dinner. He came by later to tell you (through the door) that he left you a plate in case you get hungry. By midnight you were. You tip toed down the hall, peeking into to the nursery to see Izuku fast asleep. You scarfed down the food before crawling back to bed. --- The next day you shuffled out of bed and into Izuku's room where you picked up the quiet but awake baby. You were gentle as you combed through his green curls with your fingers. He was still warm the way babies gets when they sleep. Holding him soothed you. Toshi melted when he saw you two curled up on the couch. He didn't want to ruin the mood so he stayed out of your line of sight for a few more minutes. Finally he entered the threshold of the room, "I'm heading out for the day but I won't be out late." You could've ignored him, but Izuku's grubbing hands were grabbing for his daddy. You had been defeated by the toddler. You weren't a monster. You moved toward your now ex-employer so he could tell his son goodbye. Goodbye before he goes off to commit atrocities. Toshi kissed the child’s chubby cheeks without removing him from your arms. He was too close for comfort. You took an awkward half step back before his huge hand caught your hair. With a tug, your chin jutted forward and he pressed his lips to yours. "Zuku, keep an eye on mommy," Chuckling as he stepped out the front door. Your mind was fuzzy for a moment before looked down at the boy on your hip who was giggling and clapping his hands together. --- The jovial villain was focused at work. He was on edge, quiet and irritable. Eager to return home and help you with his son. All Might wasn't delusional — well at least not entirely. He anticipated that this would be a rough time for you, but you were a good girl, you would adjust.

When he placed that ad to scout for someone to watch Izuku he didn't plan for this. But you were so perfect. He ached for you in a way he never hurt before. Had you been anyone else he would've killed you when you found out his villainous ways. But no, he could never bring himself to harm you. God, you even took the news in stride. Yeah, you weren't thrilled and may have walked out of their lives if he hadn't stopped you; but you weren't trashing his house or treating Izuku any differently.

And you were so pretty underneath him, whimpering while you took his length, your nails digging into the man's shoulders when he released into you. You slept like a rock afterwards, rolling unconsciously into him. Your body sought his comfort, knowing you were safe with him. He just needed to give you time to adjust.

--- It didn't take long for you to stop leaving the room any time he entered. And soon you were back to your normal routine of caring for the child and keeping up with the house. You resumed playing around with Izuku and began reading a ton of books to the boy. You told Toshi that Izuku could even pick which books he wanted you to read. It was nice that you were talking to him again, sometimes making jabs at his life choices and always kept a distance between yourself and him. Izuku was becoming quite the talker, well the babbler because he hasn't said his first word yet. He was figuring it out though. He knew he could say 'Ap-ap' for apple or to get picked up. You were sure he would say his first word any day. --- The three of you were in the living room when it happened. Izuku was watching some baby show, the first "lesson" was colors and the little one did his best to make nonsensical noises. The next subject was family members. Siblings, sister, brother. Parents. Mom, mommy, mama. Dad, daddy, papa. Grandma, grandpa. Aunt, auntie. Uncle. Over and over again until the show was done. Toshi looked at the izuku who was wearing the face of a thinker. He looked at his dad, the little one was trying to get something of importance out. You both cheered for him once he finally got out the word "papa." It was cute to see the man beam with pride, even though he was a villain. The butterflies were breaking out of their cocoons again. --- Toshi didn't get much alone time with his son and he liked it that way. That meant you were with them. But when he did get time with son he worked on teaching the boy that you were the mommy. Mama. And Izuku would try to repeat but hadn’t quite got it. --- You were struggling to maintain your composure in between watching the news and cooking dinner. All Might was robbing a bank. There were hostages. You recognized the location immediately as a bank you passed almost daily before working for Toshinori. Did you know anyone inside? A small part of you worried for the man, probably because you were thinking of him as Izuku's father rather than a villain. You shut the TV off when you heard Izuku start to wake from his nap.

That night you couldn't help but notice a slice on his arm; it was superficial, not even bleeding but enough to draw out the question: Why do you do it? It's easy, he shrugged. All Might never initiated an attack unprovoked nor directed his actions towards helpless civilians. He stole, dabbled in the black market, and made sure everyone knew not to mess with him or anyone in his circle.

You just couldn't understand. When Zuku gets older he will ask questions. All little boys idolize their dads. What if someone tried to hurt the boy? 

The two of you were whisper yelling with each other. You more so than Toshi but he was still running low on patience; it had been a long day, after all. Izuku was picking up on the changing atmosphere, watching you both through furrowed brows, the quiver in his lip worsening. You stopped when you heard the whimpering begin. He was a sensitive child. Maybe you just needed to sleep. Toshi picked up the baby, bouncing Zuku in the way that always prevented tantrums and wails. He kept babbling and you could tell he was doing his best not to cry. You started to head towards your room when a cry broke out for 'mama.' This time it wasn't Toshi “putting you in your place”. This time it was Izuku.

"It's okay, Zuzu," Toshi soothed. "Mommy just needs a minute."

The crushing realization of just how trapped you were knocked the wind out of you. You couldn't leave the house. Toshi was always being too kind and patient. Somehow he managed to teach Izuku that you were his mommy. The most infamous villain had ensnared you and no matter what he wasn’t letting go. You would never be able to convince him to leave you alone and you'd never be able to leave Izuku.

You were tired of stubbornly holding out. Pathetic tears cascaded down your face, gentle and oddly relieving. Izuku practically leapt into your arms. The tot clung to you and his crying calmed down. you turned away, not able to look at the man.

"Are you going to think the worst of me forever?" Toshinori whispered. Maybe? Probably not. It was hard to tell. You didn't want to.

He continued, "I'm a good father, I would never let anyone hurt Izuku. Or you. Sure I don't have a lot of redeeming qualities but there are some."

You were tired of being stuck inside. It wasn't good for Izuku either. You wouldn't admit it but you weren't so sure you would abandon them even if given the chance. You were tired of trying to hate the man behind you. Tired of pretending you didn't fantasize about that night when you were alone in bed. Toshi moved right behind you and you relaxed against his huge chest. He was surprised and hesitant to move in case he frightened you to your senses. He couldn't just stand there though, that would be weird. Two thick arms wrapped around waist. "Tomorrow I wanna take Izuku to the park," You whispered. Toshi was equally defeated.

"Okay."

---

After putting Izuku to bed you made your way down the hall. The shower in Toshinori's bathroom was running. That was fine. You needed a moment to collect your thoughts. If this was going to work without you feeling like a hostage he was going to have to be open to loosing the reigns. 

He was surprised to see you in his room when he exited the bathroom in nothing more than a pair of sweatpants. 

"More fighting?" He cocked an eyebrow. 

You shook your head, "I hate All Might, just as much as I hate every other villain. But when you come home I don't see All Might, I just see Toshinori, Izuku's dad. That's the man I care about and no matter how much I fight it I can't stop caring."

It was hard to keep eye contact with him but you continued, "I want to be with you and Izuku, not with All Might. And I want to be here on my own accord. I want to be able to go out with Izuku and with you. Can't we just try that?" 

You didn't come in here to berate him again? Or to demand to leave? His heart softened as he realized that the person he wanted, wanted him back. You were willing to remain in their lives. 

"I can try that." 

Toshi trained his eyes on your body, fighting every instinct to close the space between. But you moved first, gingerly placing your hand on his shoulder to steady yourself as you straddled his lap.

"Can I sleep in here tonight? I want you to hold me," You whispered.

He nodded and rested his forehead against the crook of your neck. "Is that all you want from me tonight?"

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Sorry if this is a bit too specific: legolas marries the readers on the request of his father and a lord. Reader thinks it's ok .. they can work it out, but decades pass and they have never been intimate and watches the lingering glances he has towards tauriel. But she keeps trying to get his attention, but when legolas decided to run after tauriel during the DOS she runs away leaving a letter and wedding ring behind. Legolas admits to Tauriel he loved her cause of everything she had done for him after BOTFA, but tauriel is absolutely confused saying that was never her. Legolas horrified coming to realise it was all the reader's doing, he tries deny it first but out of shock and thranduil almost shouts at him to open his eyes and see the truth. So when legolas returns and sees the letter and ring left behind, he sets out to find her again 🤔 and does he? Fluff ending? Up to you, because i marvel at how you write and bring a story to a close .. that is not heavy on the mind.

- Thank you and sorry for being very specific. Change it along if it easier for yourself. You are the writer and I'm your simple requester with an idea too big and a writing too rough and small 🤪

Dear anon, this was indeed very specific...

So, to keep the suspense up, I'll do this in two parts :D

Vows - Part I

Words: 1,1 k

Warning: Marital problems, pain, hint at infidelity (emotional)

The news of your impending betrothal had come one sunny morning and – obedient to a fault – you didn’t even think it necessary to agree explicitly.

It was, after all, a great honour to be married to the prince of the woodland realm – a young Elf so charming and handsome that many a maiden would have killed to be in your shoes – according to the express wishes of both the king and your eminent father.

The fact that you did not know Legolas or had ever spoken to him beyond the courteous exchanges that were both usual and expected in your circles did not dissuade you from believing that everything would work out fine.

You were – in a word – full of a faith that bordered on naïveté; while you had spent your youth in the protective cocoon of your parents’ love, Legolas had been raised to be a warrior and a royal, but you were convinced that you’d find common ground eventually.

Your wedding was a very formal affair – much to your disappointment – and you silently bemoaned the impossibility to find a single quiet moment to get to know your betrothed a little better.

At all times, there was some kinsman, subject, or friend interrupting and pulling away your newly minted husband to drink with them or exchange news pertaining to subjects hardly meant for the sensitive ears of a porcelain court doll.

It hurt you to admit it, but you felt utterly and miserably lonely at your own wedding and still, you had faith in your marriage.

You had been born and bred to be a wife; you knew that you could be a good one and Legolas struck you as a gentle soul you could even grow to care for.

That night, and every night after though, he would refrain from joining you in your marital chamber. You knew not whence he left until – months later – you followed him discreetly and found out that he would sit in a tree until morning light.

No doubt, this was hardly restful!

The years crept by slowly; you grew used to that presence at your side that was so much like the sun and the moon: ever there and yet impossible to touch.

Your husband turned out to be mild and very kind; he would make pleasant conversation with you at banquets and formal dinners, but he never actively sought out your presence when you were alone – reading or watching the stars – in your private quarters.

Moreover, you were not blind to the lingering looks he would lavish on that red-haired Elven guard – Tauriel – and you couldn’t help the incessant, voracious growth of the grapevines of envy and jealousy that slowly choked the life out of your heart.

Legolas knew that he was doing you wrong.

At first, he had resented the meddlesome attitude of his father upon learning that a bride – a total stranger – had been selected for him and the fact that you had meekly agreed to that devious plot did not inspire great trust in him either.

He was aware of his social standing of course and he was afraid that it had merely been his title and not his person that had swayed a young lady of the court to accept the proposal made in his name and without his knowledge.

Upon seeing you though, he had to admit that you were indeed of a rare beauty, but your obedient, gentle demeanour still rubbed him the wrong way; he was relatively young and he desired to challenge and to be challenged in turn.

His heart had long been set on his friend – feisty, courageous, outrageous Tauriel – who made him feel as if he – as a person independently of his name and standing – had some inherent value.

Nonetheless, he could not deny that he felt guilty about having given his word – and his hand – in matrimony to a lady only to turn around and neglect her.

You acted so much like a merely decorative thing, sitting around like a perfect life-sized doll, that he found it a little too easy to discard you and pursue his own interests selfishly.

It was not even as if he didn’t like you; on the contrary, you were a great conversationalist and – being warm-hearted and kind – he did not doubt for a single second that you would be a great princess and – in time – maybe even queen to the realm.

Mindful of the safety and well-being of the subjects, you often spoke about concerns that sounded painfully dull to him.

How disappointed Thranduil had to be in him, Legolas thought, for his father had chosen a good match for the part of him that was prince and son to him. It followed – quite naturally – that, if you were not a good match for him as a person, it was inevitably due to the inferiority of said character.

Ultimately, Legolas ended up avoiding you because looking at you filled him with feelings of dread and guilt; he knew that he was running away from his own responsibilities and future by choosing to spend so much time with Tauriel rather than with his own wife, but he couldn’t help himself.

The burdens imposed upon him threatened to crush him and he was unsure if sharing his doubts with you would not lead to either even more weight being piled on his shoulders or – which would be far worse – to you being ground to a pulp as well.

You sat and suffered, in silence, in private, in vain.

Your pain was like a violent storm that never caused so much as a single ripple on the smooth surface of the lake that was your complexion.

Raised to be a lady, you watched your husband stray in mind and heart, seeking the company and solace of another while you wilted like a flower deprived of sunlight in your deserted chambers.

What did Tauriel have that you lacked?

You had wondered about that so much that the insidious, poisonous thoughts had left grooves in your soul like the deep gouges etched into the skin of the survivor of a warg attack.

She was impertinent and tempestuous, things you had been told and taught never to be, and it baffled you as much as it insulted you to see how bitterly you had been betrayed by your upbringing.

Had you been cultivated like a merely decorative plant? Had they – your parents, your tutors, your companions – known that you’d be pushed aside for a creature who had not had their wings clipped and their claws ripped out prematurely?

For years upon years, you had toiled and tried to be a good and worthy wife to Legolas, but he had never heeded you beyond the niceties that you had shared even before being betrothed.

In the end, your vow had been a hollow one for – no matter how well you performed all the tasks and tricks learned during arduous years of study – he was no closer to you now than he had been in that time before anyone had even thought of matrimony.

I hope you liked this, stay tuned for Part II (if there's any interest for that of course :) )

[kiamescribbles]

Got Bored, Decided to introduce y'all to my BNHA Oc.

School Uniform! (Antennae 'down')

Aizawa Kiame

Only daughter of pro-hero Aizawa Shouta; aka. Eraserhead. Mother died in labor and Dad-zawa is a platonic yandere who can and will threaten others to stay away from his daughter.

Was born with obvious Quirk (Moth Wings + Antennae) and at around 5-6 years old her less obvious abilities started showing up.

Abilities;

- Flight (unless it is raining or snowing in which case it becomes far more difficult for her to fly).

- Extra sensitive to chemical changes in the air (antennae pick up chemical differences and subtle air movements, making it easy to navigate in the dark/zero-light conditions, also dampened by rain).

- Powder; moth wings produce a very fine dust-like powder. The powder from her wings can take on different qualities, ie. Paralysis powder, sleep powder, poison powder, aphrodisiac powder, hallucinogenic powder,

- Regrowth; moth wings are fragile as are antennae, her wings are semi-strong and can bend/crumple/be tugged on without damage, but they can still rip, tear, freeze, ect but will regrow if given enough time.

- Cocooning; intensive recovery from injuries or fights, usually in case of completely removed or damaged wing. Cocoons in silk-string and has an expedited healing effect. Can also cocoon others, but it is a long process, so subject must be willing participant or unconscious. Can only do a full-body cocoon.

Sensitivities;

- Bright light is very distracting and can cause a trance-like state. (Moths do like light a lot)

- Nocturnal habits due to the nocturnal nature of moths and father.

- Intense smells (ie. Chemical presence) can cause distraction or disorientation.

- Extreme sweet-tooth, moths like nectar and all sorts of sugary substances, has a habit of binge eating sweets.

- Poor eyesight, when you have antennae that pick up on things around you, there is little need for eyesight. As a human, however, eyesight is important. Practically blind without glasses on.

- Water. Water is hard to swim in when you have wings that weigh you down once they get waterlogged. Rain makes it harder to fly, harder to sense chemical change, and near impossible to make powder in. Snow is powdery and has different impact as it isn't too hard to fly in- just freezes the wing tips off- chemicals are easier to pick up when not actively snowing but snowy in general, easy to make powder.

- Fragile wings; they can rip or tear easily and can freeze or burn quickly. They still have feeling so they do hurt when they are injured despite the regrowth capabilities. Very sensitive to touch.

Personality; Tired. Always tired and usually has a shorter temper as a result. Didn't want to be a hero but was targeted so often she may as well be a hero just to know how to protect herself. Doesn't like relying on her father- though she does adore him- or his pro-hero status for things or clout. Believes heroes should never be in it for the fame, just for helping others regardless of who. Has no interest in rank or fame, just wants to help however she can.

Hero Costume (antennae 'up')

Hero Name; Moth (as uninspired as her father)

Design Choices;

- No need to see when antennae see 10x better without even using sight. Bright lights are distracting to the eyes so eyes are covered to prevent such distractions.

- Hair tied up and back to prevent it from getting in the way during a fight.

- Several flasks of collected powder from wings, each with different uses for more immediate and intense impact when needed.

- Skirt/Short combo so extra fabric doesn't get in the way but more concealing than spandex (Dad-zawa insisted on NO revealing costumes)

[glowinggator]

Cuddles - All Turtles

Request: Hi I really like you writes! keep up the good work, I was wondering if you could do a rottmnt cuddle Imagines? If that's fine?

Pairing: All Turtles! (Non-Poly) 

Content: Fluffy as FUCK. Brush your teeth after you read this, cause it’s sweet as hell. 

Raphael: 

He loves to cuddle! But...he’s nervous. He doesn’t want to prick you with one of his spikes, or...worse. With his brothers, it’s different! They’ve got hard shells and plastrons, but you’re so... squishy! What if he hurts you? 

He gets so happy about casual touch. Putting you on his shoulders? Throwing his arm around your shoulders? Affectionate hair ruffle? He’s the physical embodiment of :) 

If you want full cuddles, though, you’re gonna have to be the one to initiate it the first few times. He’s just too nervous, otherwise. 

Rest your head on his plastron when you’re watching a movie and he’ll melt. 

Seeing how your arms maneuver around his spikes to embrace him, how gingerly you hold him...Maybe it’s possible. Maybe you two can cuddle without getting any boo boos.

He can’t really lay on his back because of his spikes. He’ll either get stuck that way when his spikes inevitably get embedded into the material, or he’ll shred up whatever he’s laying on.

(He’s banned from the beanbag chairs.)

He wants to be the little spoon so bad, but it’s physically impossible. He’s forever bound to big spoon duty. He’s okay with that, though. 

(One time you showed up wrapped in mattress foam and bubble wrap to try and be the big spoon. It's a very fond memory, even if you were padded too stiffly to actually hold him.) 

He likes to rest his head in your lap. Run your nails along his head or shell and he’ll be asleep in no time.

He won’t lay on your stomach or chest though. He really wants to, but he’s afraid he’ll crush you. There’s no debate with that topic, unfortunately. 

He’s such a good big spoon!! He’s so strong, and he cradles you like you’re the entire world. Because you are! 

He likes to rest one hand on your stomach and tangle his other hand with yours. It’s so cool to look down and see how his spikes cradle you. Almost as though you were a treasure encased in barbed wire, protected from the outside world. 

You always feel so safe when you cuddle. I mean, it’s hard not to when you’re cocooned in 1000lbs of muscle and spikes!

His hold is firm, but noticeably gentle. 

He runs pretty warm, compared to the rest of the turtles. Great in the winter time, not so great in the summer.  

He traces little doodles on the back of your hand. You can never tell what they are, though. And he won’t tell you what they are, if you ask.  

(They’re dogs.) 

He’s not coldblooded, due to the way he was mutated. As such, he doesn’t really have any issues regulating his body temperature. He does find himself seeking out heat sources, however! Donnie calls it a vestigial response. Raph absolutely does not care about no scientific names or explanations: he just knows that he likes to sit under the heat lamp in the morning.

Prepare to be his next heat lamp. 

If you come over in the mornings, prepare to be greeted with a very sleepy Raph the instant your feet hit the lair concrete.

He’s never on his phone when you cuddle.

He is a talker, though. He doesn’t quite whisper, but he definitely invokes the gentle voice. 

He falls asleep very quickly if he doesn’t keep himself talking. Your presence is just so calming to him, he can’t help it! 

He’s a very deep breather, and it’s really calming to listen to!

Unfortunately, he starts to snore about 15 minutes after he falls asleep. And he’s loud. 

You’ll get used to it, eventually. 

Donatello

He doesn’t sleep consistently, so full cuddle sessions are far and few between.

He read that fake rumor that Albert Einstein only slept for five hours a year: while it’s since been debunked, it’s stuck with him. He started training himself when he was little to power nap instead, and now it’s hard for him to get out of the habit.  

But..you’re a good motivator.

He’s a little nervous around the concept of cuddling, at first. He’s very touch-starved, and once you warm him up to the idea, it’ll be hard to pull him off you! But he’s incredibly nervous about it at first.

It’s...intimate, you know? He’s vulnerable, and that freaks him out.

His shell is super sensitive. Partially because it’s soft, but wearing his battle shell all the time has removed a lot of stimuli that would have made it less sensitive.

He reflexively rolls his shoulders when you run your hands along his exposed shell. At least, for the first few times. If you do it enough, it’ll quickly become a way for him to relax.

Likes to pull you to his chest and hold you like that. He usually has your head under his chin so he can scroll through his phone while you cuddle. He doesn’t move his arms much though, so it’s okay.

(He also likes it when you’re facing him so he can steal glances at you once you fall asleep. He thinks you’re even prettier when you’re completely relaxed.)

You’ll rarely see it for yourself, but his eyes get all soft while you’re cuddling together. The quietest, calmest smile graces his features when you’re in his arms.

However, you do notice how all the tension fades from his body, and how his breathing seems to slow down.

He’ll run his free hand along your back every now and then, pressing a quiet kiss to the top of your head.

He runs fairly cold, which is awesome in the summertime. He always lets you borrow his hoodies when you cuddle. If you ask nicely, he’ll let you keep ‘em, just so long as he has one or two in the closet.

His bed has super soft blankets, and they’re so nice to curl up in. You’ll probably stay there for a little while after he gets up, honestly.

He’s not a talker, surprisingly. Every now and then he’ll pull his arm back to show you some meme on his phone, but that’s about it. He’ll listen to you though! He actually really likes it when you mutter about whatever's on your mind while you cuddle.

King of “Uh huh,” “Wow,” “Mmhm,” and “Damn that’s crazy.”

He really is listening, though. He just likes to tease you a little bit.

His grip is either iron-tight or loose as hell.

On bad days he’ll curl up as the little spoon, and not even the gods could convince him to let go of you.

It takes him a while to warm up to the idea of being a little spoon. Both because his shell is hyper-sensitive, but it also kind of erodes that “bad boy” persona he’s got going on.

Once he’s more comfortable with it, he’s about 50/50 on it. He’s more likely to indulge himself on bad days, but it honestly just depends on his mood.

If you pull him away from work, you can bet that he’ll pull you to his chest while he’s sitting on the bed. He’ll lean forward to rest his chin on your shoulder as he explains his latest breakthrough. He shakes a little bit when he’s excited, and you can feel it as he holds you.  

He panics a little bit when he’s on his back, but he really likes it when you lay on his plastron, so...Chair cuddles!

He likes to have you in his lap while he works.

He also likes to kick his legs up onto your lap when watching TV. If you guys have the couch to yourselves, he’ll also lay all the way on your lap. If anyone sees you guys, or if anyone comments on it he’ll just hit ‘em with a very snarky quip.

“Okay, and? At least I actually have a partner :)”

You don’t know how he said “:)” outloud.

Leonardo 

He thinks he’s so smooth, but honestly? He’s such a dork.

He’s huge on touch. But cuddling? It’s a whole ‘nother ball game. He loves it a lot, but...he’s so vulnerable! It’s so intimate to him. He’s not adverse to it in the slightest; in fact, it’s the exact opposite! He’s super excited when the topic comes up.

You can tell that the idea of fully cuddling affects him more than he lets on, because he won’t stop talking when you bring up the subject for the first time. He rambles when he’s nervous.

(He talks with his hands a lot, and it’s really cute how he rambles and rubs the back of his neck.)

He’s actually a great cuddler, though.

Big spoon? Hell yeah. Little spoon? Awesome. Horrific entanglement of limbs that would put eldritch horrors to shame? Sweet! He’s just happy to be close to you.

He can go 50/50 on having his phone with him. If he does, he’s usually either watching memes with you or playing a mobile game.

(Kind of unrelated, but he was very excited about that weird, Subway Surfers revival that happened earlier this year. It was all he played for a while, and now you have the tune lodged in your brain forever.)

He’ll talk for a little while if he doesn’t have his phone, before you settle into a comfortable silence.

He’s either ranting about something shitty that happened that day, or shitposting. There’s no inbetween.

“If I shot someone from Texas while I was on the moon, would that fall under Texas’ jurisdiction or the moon’s?”

He also likes to trace little patterns on your hands, if he has access to them that day! You can usually tell what they are. Other times, it just seems like he’s finding an excuse to hold your hand. It’s really cute.

(If you ask him what he’s drawing, he’ll say he’s reading your palms before dropping a sweet little line about how he’s in your future.)

(He does NOT know how to read palms but it’s the thought that counts <3)

Not ashamed about cuddling in public. Hell, if you’re fine with it, he’s more than happy to cuddle during movie night. In fact, it’s kind of a source of pride for him!

He looks so cocky about it that Donatello has to make a physical effort to NOT hit him.

Please run your palms over his shell, he’ll melt.

If he’s the big spoon, squeeze his biceps. He might not say it out loud, but he’s melting internally. It sticks in his head for at least a few weeks afterwards. Ego Boost 100

If you’re ticklish, prepare yourself for tickles. He strikes without a pattern, and without warning. He doesn’t always do it, though. Maybe about one in ten times. He just likes to hear you laugh :)

He’s very nice to cuddle with overall. He’s the best cuddler in the lair, hands down.

Michelangelo

Literally the only one in the lair who isn’t embarrassed when you bring up the topic.

He’s been WAITING for this moment, actually.

Doesn’t care about whether he’s the big or little spoon.

He’s super talkative when he cuddles, it’s cute. He usually likes to spend this time talking about one another’s day. He’s a great listener too!

He’s always 100% engaged in what you have to say.

He has trouble settling down outside of his normal schedule, so it’s rare that he’ll fall asleep while cuddling.

If you’re in a position that gives his arms a lot of mobility, he’ll draw on you. Not just tracing patterns, but he’ll actually bring out his markers and draw on your arms, back, or just any exposed piece of skin.

He always manages to find the prettiest colors to compliment your skin tone. You never want to wash it off, honestly.

He HAS to keep himself busy with something, or else he’ll explode. At least, that’s how he describes it. If you try and get him to lay down and fall asleep...well, he’ll try! But he’ll be squirming the whole time.

It’s best to throw on a Jupiter Jim movie if you want him to stay still.

He likes to tangle his legs with yours while you cuddle. Whether he’s taller or shorter than you, he WILL find a way.

He’s the lightest out of all the turtles, so there’s a possibility of letting him (partially) lay on you without shattering your sternum! Congratulations!

(He’s around 525 lbs. He’s only half of what Raph weighs, but he still has to be careful about how he lays on you. It’s crazy to think that you’re so small compared to him.)

His hands are so cold, and he’ll absolutely use that to his advantage. If he gets bored, or if he just wants to make you laugh, he’ll grab your waist with his cold fucking hands. Hope you’re a northerner <3

He also likes to tickle you, way more than Leo.

Don’t try and tickle him though, he HATES it. He’s absolutely the type of person to just Scream if you try.

Like I said, he gets bored really quickly. He also just likes to make you laugh.

If you’re cuddling in bed though, like right before he falls asleep? It’s so nice.

He’ll still tangle his legs with yours, but he moves so much slower. He loves to let his hands lazily roam across your form as he pulls you closer to him, savoring the comfort and heat that you bring. If he talks, it’s in drowsy whispers that only you two can hear.

[reflectionsofneptune]

little things I associate with the Mercury signs.

Little dreamy, abstract things I associate with the Mercury signs in Astrology.

Aries Mercury

Authoritative. When I want something, I make it clear. Crystal clear. No beating around the bush. A forceful way of speaking. Don’t talk about it, be about it. Short sentences. A hint of arrogance. Competitive edge seeping through my words. What can I say, I like to be a winner? At all times. A raspy voice. Adopting a youthful charm when it suits me. Attuned to perceiving danger in my environment. Disliking an over-emphasis of niceties in conversation. Keeping it real. Exercising to clear the mind. Pep - talks. The rev of an engine. Pedal to the metal. Talking to me, I need you to bring your A Game and something new. Conversation needs to be stimulating. 

Taurus Mercury

Savouring. Words need to be savoured. Like beauty, they only get better with age. Listen carefully and hear what I stand for. Slowing down. Something about the handwriting. Cursive. An even tone. Words flow out of my mouth like maple syrup oozes down the height of a stack of fluffy, warm pancakes. Stubbornness. When am I ever wrong? Pictures, or it’s not real. Proof being recognised from what my base senses pick up. Inspiration from nature. A level-head. Choosing to see the beauty in my environment. For better or for worse. Don’t be fooled by my lack of conversation, I peep everything. 

Gemini Mercury

Riddles. I’m not going to tell you the answer but the curve of my lip might reveal itself when you’re getting close. Starting one conversation with one subject. Finishing the conversation with a completely different one. Playfulness. Humour as a tool of deflection. Quick texts. Leading conversations. Making a best friend in the supermarket. Another one, on the bus.  Seeing the duality of things in my environment. Information is like crack. I can’t get enough. Multiple tabs, open. Nervous energy. Fiddling. Mimicking your mannerisms if I like you, verbally ripping you apart if it tickles my fancy. Or not, I get distracted quite easily so you may be let off the hook.

Cancer Mercury

Introspective. Thinking about the past. Sometimes not finding my way back to the present. Emotions filtering through my words. Perceptions are protective. A vintage film, the introduction devoid of colour. An interest in knowing where one comes from, what comforts someone. Needing to cleanse myself of everybody’s emotional baggage. Again. Pathetic fallacy. Finishing your sentences. Promise its not on purpose. Wanting security from my environment. A psychological slant to conversations. A rich inner imagination. A diary, signed, sealed and under my pillow. Withdrawing into the cocoon of my thoughts when I feel threatened. 

Leo Mercury 

Commanding. A leadership position sounds good to me. Confidence in my thoughts. Words that can brighten up your life. Disney movies. Teasing conversations. Class clown. My thoughts are copyrighted. Bluffing. The curve a chest, puffed out to its maximum, makes. Talking loudly so I’m sure you hear me. Describing something in such detail, so you can feel as if you were there. Piping hot tea. Intellect and ego tied together.  Creativity expressed through speech. Seeing my immediate environment as a stage. Conversations in the mirror. The little grooves formed at the corner of the eyes when the smile is genuine. Blowing my own trumpet because if I don’t, who will?

Virgo Mercury

Organised. Seeing flaws in my environment. A to-do list, covered on both sides. Polite but not foolish. The spine of a book, crease free. Stepping back in conversation. The few creases that appear on the skin when a nose is wrinkled. Monotone. Advice given freely. Or withdrawing all help if I see it going through one ear and out the other. Discernment in conversation. Sticky notes. Attuned to see the bullshit in conversation. In life. Helpful suggestions. Take it or leave it. Mind feels like a hamster wheel. How do you turn this thing off?  An upward line of a tick, in red. Not an excuse, but know that the harder I am on you, the harder I am on myself really. 

Libra Mercury

Flirting. Feels as natural as breathing does. A sweet talker. The stem of cherry. A gentle lilt that comes alive in conversation. A fickle mind. Forever weighing up the pro’s and cons. Birdsong, cutting through morning dew. Wanting peace from my environment. Trying to maintain peace in my environment. A white flag fluttering in the wind, atop a hill. Indecision feels paralysing. Waiting for you to finish speaking before I provide an opposing point of view. Feigning innocence. Learning about myself through conversations with others. Sometimes not liking what I see. 3 sides to a story. I am capable of a decision, I just feel better when the internal scales of my thoughts are balanced. 

Scorpio Mercury

Power. Power plays in conversation. Checkmate. Words are comparable to pieces on a chessboard. Not a fan of small talk. Unless it’s for my benefit. Intuition on point. And then some. Probing. Trust issues. Talking to someone for a minute but deducing years of their life from a single meeting. Burner phones in a drawer. The eerie silence that comes around, say 4 AM. Secrets, mine and yours, help me fall asleep at night. Receipts for weeks, days and months. I’ve got it all. Past hurts cut deep in my psyche. Eyebrows pulled together. Pretending to be deaf when convenient. Subject changes. A full stop. Knowledge is power. I am capable of sharing intimate details of myself…..you first though. 

Sagittarius Mercury

YOLO. Sending those kinda texts to the wrong group chat by mistake. Saying what we were all thinking, even if it’s not the ‘right’ time, ‘cos fuck it. Slidin’ in the DM’s. Popping up like it’s nothing. You know me. Is time even real? The underside of a desk, covered with tags, love notes, and condom wrappers. Going off on social media. For a good cause, most of the time. Falling back on spirituality when life gets tough. Thought patterns are expansive and influenced by cultures and theories different than mine. Appreciating the differences in life. In people. Gift of the gab. That person who’s laughing when no one else is. Believing in abundance because that's what my environment reflects back to me. Stretching the fine line between truth and fantasy…….’cos fuck it.

Capricorn Mercury

Blue ticks. Time is of the essence. Thoughts are disciplined. A 3 tier desk organiser, stuffed to the brim with documents. Elocution lessons. Did you know I used to stutter? Deadpan jokes. A raised eyebrow. Judging people. We all do it, it’s innate to us. Keep your friends close. Enemies closer. Voicemail. I don’t need people to like me, but respect me is all I ask. A calculating mind. Always planning ahead. Sudoku puzzles. People give themselves away all the time, you just need to listen. Believing people’s actions over words. Thoughts focused on external recognition became a burden I often didn’t ask for, weighs me down.

Aquarius Mercury

Observant. Seeing the subtle layers that make up human behaviour. People are fascinating. A 360 way of looking at things. Reverb on an electric guitar. Solution-focused. A finger on the pulse of undiscovered knowledge. Static from a radio dial. I’m not afraid to question everything. An outdated statue, tipped. A love and hate relationship with time. Flashes of intuition. Needing time to process thoughts. A cool perspective. Shades of sunglasses, tinted yellow. Including people I’ve never met in my thoughts. In my dreams. My wishes. A Brave New World? I’m still waiting for people to step up and take responsibility.

Pisces Mercury

The red and white swirls of a helter-skelter ride. The path connecting my thoughts and my words is a little beaten. But not many people have bothered to venture this way. Pillow talk during the day. Drifting off in conversation. Overspilling in conversations. Or people, overspilling details of their life onto me. Missing appointments. Two circles merging into one if you stare long enough. Tapped into Source. Weaving you a dream with my words so good, I start to believe it. The afterword in a novel. Doodles in a margin. Sensitivity in conversation. Picking up a million and one signals from my environment. Using music to lose myself and ironically, find myself in the end.

————

| little thoughts about venus placements

| little thoughts about the mars placements

| little thoughts about the saturn placements

[infinitesofnought]

Awareness of seeing is invisible. Awareness of hearing is silent. Awareness of touching is intangible. These three awarenesses are part of one indivisible personal awareness.

Personal awareness exists beyond both entropy and negentropy, it cannot seek itself or avoid itself by trying with direct personal effort.

To succeed in harmonizing mortal personal awareness with eternal transpersonal awareness, remain sensitive to sensitivity and aware of awareness, divesting from seeking or avoiding direct personal effort.

...Here I think that Taoism makes a decision to conflate the absence of subpersonal qualities of personal consciousness with an assumed absence of sensed qualities in sense itself. While I think this is false in an absolute or scientific sense, it is true enough locally that it is quite profound and leads to a useful philosophy for living our personal lives. This is the “Eastern Way” toward the attainment of a fully satisfied selfless self, in diametric opposition to the “Western Way” toward material attainment by a forever unsatisfied self that is selfishly ‘full of itself’.

Going back to the re-interpreted text, I think that the advice given is that to follow the Tao, aka seek ‘flow states’, one should, seemingly paradoxically, neither try nor avoid trying to take personal action. Perhaps it is the opposite of the Western sentiment attributed to Thomas Paine and George Patton “Lead, follow, or get out of the way.” The Eastern sentiment could be read as “Do not seek to lead or follow. Get out of the way.” The idea is to use personal motivation to integrate itself with transpersonal sense and motives rather than to assert its personal agenda onto the rest of the (interpersonal, subpersonal, impersonal, transpersonal) universe. ...MSR proposes that while it is true that our personal cocoon of insensitivity causes a disconnection with all other conscious experiences, this disappearance of consciousness is no enigmatic ‘non-existence’ or ‘suchness’ as Taoism suggests. MSR suggests that beyond the sensory cataract of personal experience is not a grand nothingness to which all sense returns, but one lone Holos or totality within which all experience is preserved forever in some sense (similar to the concept of the Akashic Records).

The Totality of experiences are eternally present and experience-able in an Absolute sense, but all component experiences are diffracted through complex nested modulations of relative insensitivity. This diffraction temporarily limits the totality of sense experience to a single timeline of experience that senses itself in terms that echo the very condition of that temporary limitation. Each diffracted partition of the Holos is a temporarily temporalized version of eternal experience into an episodic stream of memory-laden feelings and thoughts. This is the the binding of our subjective qualities of experience, including the sense of being a subject.

...In MSR, I critique physical entities like mass and energy as reductionist quantitative abstractions that accidentally deny the underlying universal fabric of qualitative sense affect and motive effect. Primordial sensory affect and motive effect replace mass and energy as the local modes of participation. The physical universe of anesthetic-mechanical appearances is understood to be a kind of shadow of the Aesthetic Holos that reflects the ability of consciousness to partially divide and alienate itself for purposes of multiplying and enriching itself. The physical world is not an illusion, simulation or maya, it is just that reality in the local sense is an inverted reflection of reality in the absolute sense.

...Everything from social media to the Metaverse to AGI is expanding our connection to disconnection. I think that because of that grounding in disconnection, all of these projects are ultimately doomed to failure in the ways that truly matter to us, despite promising exponential success in the ways that Western-Materialist model and its virally expanding institutions have conditioned us to think that we should want. We dreamed of extraterrestrial conquest, and instead we are conquering ourselves with anti-terrestrial nauseas. We have mistaken the uncanny for the sublime.

...Taking this back to the Tao Te Ching, I propose that Lao Tzu’s error is only an error in the absolute sense, not in a personal sense. While we are alive, the transpersonal conscious experience that envelopes our personal conscious experience is silent, invisible and intangible. We can only get glimpses of it when we’re not looking and our envelope of limited personal awareness is slightly breached such as noticing synchronicity or completely opened up in a life altering event. When those larger breaches occur and the personal intellect is flooded with its version of transpersonal awareness, some contents are necessarily distorted and omitted. Personal awareness correctly identifies its contact with transpersonal awareness as more significant than ordinary experience but without any means to ground it in its ordinary sense-making terms. Hence, to the outside observer, the psychedelic or mystical experience is seen charitably as visionary or uncharitably as psychotic.

To temper that extreme, chaotic end of the spectrum of consciousness, MSR should be seen as only an outer framework of philosophy to point toward the possibility of a new synthesis between the systemizing and empathizing modes of awareness. That possibility would be fulfilled when people free themselves from pathological extremes and find common sense closer to the terrestrial center of our universe and the fully individual and human center of ourselves.

– Craig Weinberg (x)

I agree with most of this post and suggest reading it in its entirety, but I don't think that the concepts of "nothingness" and "suchness" are really where the error is located. I think the error is a disavowal of "everythingness" - but it goes the other way as well. Going beyond either duality or non-duality means recognizing that "nothingness" and "everythingness" are really the same.

What is "suchness"?

Difficult to describe in words - but the "suchness" of, say, a flower means its unknowable essence, which includes the fact that it points to, and implies, everything that exists beyond or outside of it (the Totality). It is merely an expression of everything that came before it, as well as the ultimate principles that determine how things evolve.

(And yet it is what it is as well - this flower, here - nothing other than that.)

"They say each thing conceals some hidden thing. Yes, it is the thing itself, this unhidden thing, That lies concealed within." (Fernando Pessoa)

And yet. All of these principles and how they evolve, all of this totality, is nothing other than what it is. None of it actually "means" anything other than: this is how things are, in this universe. There's no, say, universal signifier that says that this is the way things have to be. It just...happened this way. This implies that the opposite could be true. Every affirmation contains within it its negation, and vice-versa.

(Again, difficult to describe in words, because there's in sense in which it had to be this way, couldn't have been any other way.)

Not only that, but when we refer to Totality we have to take into account how things could evolve in the future. In other words, what we have is not an inert record, but a record that pulses with potentiality.

That potentiality, which exists...before or behind everything, is the sense beyond sense. It is the taught string of the lyre. The Totality is every way the string has moved in the past, and every way it will move in the future. But what of the silence to which the string returns when its vibration dies down?

[honeyteo]

loyalty, or lack thereof

I finally wrote something on Canals of Sensitivity! This is a short story prompted by someone asking if such a story existed. I love angsty shit, so here’s my try!

[Teo x MC] tw: cheating As always, all of my writing is intended for 18+ audiences.

Sumi holds her phone close to her face, nose nearly touching the screen as she scrolls through the new messages from her boyfriend.

He’s having so much fun on the set, and even though he’s exhausted, he’s enjoying himself. He’s excited. Her toes curl at his smiling face in a selfie he sends, smiling back at the screen.

Her thumb runs over his cheek, and she feels a deep pang of longing in her heart, and in her body. She wants him so badly, but they never seem to broach the subject of meeting.

Sumi lets out a sigh and rolls over, tangling herself further in her sheets as her eyes peer up at the ceiling. Didn’t he want her, too? He would sometimes vaguely hint at it, but it wasn’t… enough. She needed more. She couldn’t survive off of texts and calls alone.

Which is why…

“Your phone screen is so bright,” a voice next to her mumbles from beneath covers.

Sumi tilts her head towards the sound, smiling a little as she moves to tug the covers aside enough to see his face. He grunts, dark eyes closing against the phone glare as he stretches in his cocoon of blankets.

“Well I need to see it. It’s important,” she replies in a teasing voice, running a finger down his nose.

He opens his eyes to look at her for moment before closing them again. She bites her lip as his breathing slows.

“Hey. I wanna go again.”

His eyes open again at her words, staring into hers for a long moment.

“Again? What are you looking at on your phone?”

She smiles pleasantly, but her eyes gleam less warmly at the question. “I told you. Something important.”

He averts his eyes, as if lost in thought. She hardly minds him as she looks at her phone, reading Teo’s last messages and typing out a quick response.

“Okay,” he finally mutters, beginning to push himself up and reaching for her.

Her heart leaps in excitement, body buzzing. She’s barely looking at him while he pulls the blankets off, eyes glued to her screen.

Another message pops up.

Teo: Can I call you, honey?

She smiles, chest warm at the thought of hearing his voice. She pulls her hand away from him and types out a reply.

Sumi: I can’t right now, but I’ll call you in a little while! Muah <3

“Are you gonna put your phone down?” he asks, sounding a bit put-off by her distraction. She doesn’t respond, clicking on picture of Teo and staring at his face to memorize it.

“Okay,” she finally says, locking her phone and setting it aside, “I’m ready.”

She smiles up at him, seeing purple in his eyes.