#but this one's going to be for THREE MONTHS instead of a week this time

[mooningningg]

notes, back to the fluff version

genre. fluff all fluff, you're safe here.

★ Roommate!Sukuna when you slip and hurt yourself.

You don’t mean to slip — honestly, you don’t. One second you’re grabbing a bowl from the high cabinet like you’ve done a hundred times, and the next, your foot misses the chair leg, and you go down hard.

Your elbow slams the tile. A sharp, involuntary cry leaves your throat.

You hiss, rolling onto your side, cradling the arm close. Shit. That actually hurt.

And of course — of fucking course — Sukuna bursts into the kitchen three seconds later.

His sweats riding low. Hair a mess like he just got up from a nap, or finished his 3rd rewatch of John Wick for the week. He takes one look at you on the floor, and the attitude’s already cocked like a loaded gun.

“The fuck did you do?” he barks, storming over. “You tryna remodel your bones without tellin’ me?”

“Go away,” you mutter, trying to sit up with your good hand. “I don’t need you.”

“Clearly,” he scoffs. “Fell like a sack of bricks. Smooth, princess.”

But he crouches beside you anyway.

You glance up — expecting mockery. Instead, you catch a flicker of something else in his face. His eyes dip to your elbow. His jaw clenches. His voice lowers, rough and quieter.

“You hit it bad?”

“…Yeah. Maybe.”

“Let me see.” It’s not a question.

He gently — surprisingly gently — pulls your arm toward him. His touch isn’t practiced, but it’s careful. His fingers trace the red swelling forming just under your sleeve. You watch his face tighten, like he’s personally offended by your injury.

“Idiot,” he mutters.

“You don’t have to do this,” you say, still bitter. You’re both still mid-cold war after last night’s screaming match about him never cleaning and you "nagging too much."

He ignores you. “Where’s the ice?”

“In the— Sukuna, I said I’m fine—”

“Yeah, well I didn’t ask,” he cuts you off, already grabbing a towel and a Ziploc of frozen peas from the freezer like he’s on autopilot. “Fucking stubborn ass,” he mutters under his breath.

You’re sitting at the counter now, cradling your arm again. Sukuna shoves the towel-wrapped ice into your hand, then leans against the counter next to you, arms crossed.

His voice is lower when he speaks again.

“You could’ve told me you needed help.”

You snort. “And have you gloat about it for the next month?”

He doesn’t rise to the bait. His next words come out almost begrudgingly.

“I don’t like seein’ you hurt.”

You blink.

That one hits different.

When you glance up at him, there’s no smirk. No sharpness. Just tired eyes. Quiet tension. His fingers twitch against the counter like he wants to reach for you but doesn’t know if he should.

“I’m still mad at you,” you murmur, voice softer now.

He shrugs, biting the inside of his cheek. “I’m mad at you too. Doesn’t mean I want you in pieces.”

Then, after a beat, he turns to you. Really turns to you.

“You gonna stop climbing chairs like a damn toddler now?”

You glare. “If you’d help put things away, I wouldn’t have to.”

“There she is,” he says, dryly. “Back to being annoying.”

You don’t answer.

Instead, you lean into him — not fully, just enough for your arm to brush his. And he doesn’t move away.

He lets you sit there like that for a while, eyes flicking to your arm, then to your face, then down to the floor again.

And when you sigh, shifting the ice against your elbow, you feel his hand reach over, low and slow, settling gently on your thigh.

Just resting there.

Like he’s anchoring you. Like even when he’s pissed — he’s still got you.

Taglist, @humeysaga @williamafton26 @aranisbaee @probablynotleahhhh @probablynotleahhhh. @beaniesayshi @levifiance @rinofcike @fushiguroooozzz @gojoscumslut @bellsoftheball @kunascutie. @after-laughter-come-tears. @minasuniverse, @chewiebee @ilovebeansya @drowsysausagedog, @shroomysstuff, @angel4-miba @paperalphys. @eyeless-kun @etsuniiru @inzayneforaj @domainexpansionmypants @bloodb3nders @toesucker59, @qsidrea @spidergirlnr1

[fleurfiles]

TREAT YOU BETTER. ft violet

୧ ‧₊˚ vi is the best roommate and friend that you could ask for. however, it's hard to keep your feelings for her a secret, especially after her and her girlfriend break up.

pairings and aus. roommate!vi 𝑥 fem!reader

warnings. friends to lovers. no verbal confession of feelings, but implied. pining. fluff. some swearing.

gabi’s quick thoughts. hi this was rotting in my drafts for three weeks so...lol, here you go.

word count. 2.5k

masterlist ‧₊˚ taglist

IT’S A SUNNY SATURDAY MORNING. the birds call to each other outside your windowsill, the curtains in perfect harmony with the swaying of the wind, the ac blasting and the fan whirring, the same exact sound that had lured you to sleep the previous night.

there’s a thick sense of tranquility in the air, and you turn over to your side, the covers crinkling as you reach for your phone. you blink the rest of sleep out of your eyes and thumb through your notifications, your eyes catching two missed calls from your best friend and roommate, vi, followed by a couple of text messages.

[vi, 10:48 am]: i’m assuming your ass is still asleep because i literally called you twice 

[vi, 10:48 am]: anyways

[vi, 10:48 am]: i’m at the store, ill bring groceries 4 dinner 

you smile, sending her a quick thank you text, and teasing her for finally paying attention to your list that you specially curate every week, instead of buying things on a whim.

violet was the perfect roommate. before the pair of you moved in together, you were both living in separate apartments, but always spending the night at each other’s places, so often that you had half of your wardrobe and a toothbrush at vi’s place. she had a few of her belongings at yours as well, but you had always preferred violet’s home, due to it’s comfort and larger space.

one early morning while you were sitting in her kitchen, eating up her food and wearing her borrowed clothes, vi had stumbled in to sit with you, half-asleep and hungry, rummaging through her cupboard to find something to snack on before the two of you settled on grabbing brunch together before work. 

“we should honestly just move in together,” you had suggested with a laugh, taking a bite of your cereal and dropping the spoon back into the clean bowl. you slid it across the counter, the very one that vi was leaning against, and she grabbed it to place it in the sink, “i’m not against it, honestly,” the red-haired girl spoke, shrugging, “though, i will have to kick you out when my girls come over, unfortunately.”

“you’re so disgusting.” you had spoken with a warm laugh, and you assumed that though the idea was out on the table, nothing would ever really come from it.

until not even a week later, vi had showed up to your apartment in a cropped muscle tee and shorts, the kind of wear that she only used to work out or fix her car in– so you knew she was preparing for something active. at first, you had assumed that she just got back from the gym, until you eyed the literal u-haul that was parked right next to her car.

“wait, violet!” you screeched as she playfully pushed past you into your home, already gathering things in your kitchen and putting them into piles to making the process as quick as possible. literally that same day, your belongings were all transported into vi’s home, and just a few short months afterwards, your apartment was back up for rent and you were splitting bills with vi.

she was probably the easiest person to live with. she, for the most part, was very clean, and made sure that neither person was doing more work than the other– everything was fair. sometimes, though, she’d leave her dishes in the sink or clothes on the floor after a shower, but she got it together eventually when she got exhausted from you constantly scolding her.

however, as time went on, things between you and vi got…weirder, at least from your perspective. 

for starters, she had a brutal staring problem. every time you’d catch her looking at you, it wasn’t in a way that was just normal eye contact or attentive listening– no, she would look at you like you were the only thing that existed. and vi being vi, she knew that you had caught onto whatever her problem was, but she didn’t care. not one bit. her eyes would dart all over you, examining you until she had to say something in response to whatever you were talking about. and often times, it would end in her blinking harshly and murmuring, “huh? sorry, repeat that?”

vi also found a way to be around you as much as possible. if you were showering, she’d claim that she needed to brush her teeth before bed or that she was sad and really wanted some company– so she’d take a seat on the toilet and talk to you while you showered. it didn’t strike you that it was necessarily abnormal at first, until one day, you had forgotten your towel and told vi to close her eyes so you could step out and grab one, but when you pulled the curtain back, her eyes were wide open.

she had apologized to you for days after that, claiming that she didn’t know you were coming out right that second, and she thought that you would’ve told her when to actually close her eyes– but you literally did. however, after you assured her that it was fine and she had already seen your body before, it wasn’t all that serious to you, and the both of you never talked about it again from that day forward.

stuff died down after the fact. vi had met a girl, and from the bottom of your heart, you genuinely hated her. no– actually, hate wasn’t even a strong enough word to describe how you felt about violet’s girlfriend. 

it wasn’t like you hadn’t tried to like the girl– you had, and had even pushed your immediate thoughts and opinions about her to the side when you met her initially. but as time stretched on, the ability to tolerate her had waned significantly.

the first thing that turned you off from her was her words. she was an overly negative person, and always found something to complain about, whether the situation was even that serious or not. she always pushed her dissatisfaction onto vi, which led to your roommate often coming home to you angry crying or pissed off due to a stupid argument or fiery disagreement.

you knew that actions spoke louder than words, so you tried to give the girl the benefit of the doubt, but those didn’t reflect good character either, and you were honestly beginning to grow unsure of what vi even saw in this girl. you didn’t strike her as the type to tolerate shitty characteristics, but vi seemed like she was genuinely head over heels for this girl.

her girlfriend was also often touchy with other people, and not in the way that can pass as mere friendliness, but in the way that blurred the lines between a relationship and a friendship.

vi being vi, though, her mind was always focused elsewhere, especially on work. you doubted if she even liked vivienne, but she always got offended when you would ask about anything related to her, so you kept your quiet.

well, for as long as you could.

one day, vi came home so fueled with anger that she nearly toppled you over when trying to grab something from the cabinet next to you in the kitchen, and you finally lost it. all of this bickering and attitude that she was giving you– yeah, you had plenty of enough of it.

“okay, what the fuck is going on with you?” you asked, tossing the towel in your hand down onto the counter. vi didn’t even look at you, pulling the cabinet door open so hard it slapped the adjacent one, and you could tell that whatever happened when she was out was enough to send her over the complete edge.

“nothing,” she had snapped, grabbing a half-full bottle of tequila and setting it on the counter with a loud thud, “just a long day.”

“i’m calling bullshit.” you crossed your arms, unconvinced, “you’ve been walking around like a firecracker for weeks, i mean– vi, you practically knocked my shoulder out of its socket just now. you’re not fine.”

vi ignored you and reached for a glass– though it wasn’t really a glass, just the nearest coffee mug– and poured without saying a word. her jaw was tight and locked, and she looked like she was trying to swallow every emotion down with the liquor that swished in her cup.

you watched her take a long, hard sip, the muscles in her throat worked, her fingers curled tight around the handle, and you swallowed thickly. 

“it’s vivienne, isn’t it?”

that made her pause.

she didn’t say anything right away. she just set the mug down gently, which was such a major contrast from her demeanor just seconds ago. she stared at the tiled floor, not saying a word, and you felt yourself burn with guilt from pushing her too hard.

you softened, “vi…”

“i caught her flirting with someone else,” she finally said. her voice was low. a little hoarse. “like, actually flirting. not her usual weird fake-friendly shit. she gave this girl her number.”

your heart cracked. not because of vivienne, but because of the way vi was looking at the floor like she was mad at herself for letting herself finally be vulnerable with someone.

“gosh,” you whispered, “i’m…i’m sorry.” 

“yeah.” she laughed once, sharp, but it was obvious that she cared. though her mug was still half full, she pushed it into the sink, the clinking of the porcelain not phasing her at all. she turns around and leans up against the counter, her hands gripping the granite so harshly that her knuckles bleed white. “and i still stayed. can you believe that? like a fucking idiot. i trusted her and she threw that away like it was worth nothing.” 

you moved toward her slowly, arms uncrossing, “oh, vi…you’re not an idiot. you let yourself love, and that’s a beautiful thing. it’s okay to be upset, but she’s got some personal issues, ones that have nothing to do with you. i’m sure you’ll find someone who will actually appreciate you for all that you are.”

yeah, you. 

“i feel like one.” she looked up at you, and her eyes were rimmed red. not from tears— but you could tell that she was close, “gosh, i just wanted it to work. i wanted something to last. but every time i try, it just ends like this.”

your chest ached and throbbed against your ribs. you knew how deeply vi felt things, even if she pushed out this front of being stoic and heartless— it wasn’t the real her. you knew how much she craved loyalty, even if she pretended not to care about it, and you knew this was the first time that she didn’t leave before she got hurt. 

“you deserve more than that,” you said with a light shrug, “i mean, really— you’re an amazing girl, and vivienne didn’t deserve even an ounce of what you gave her.” 

vi blinked at you, pushing on her palms to prop herself up onto the counter. she then placed her hands in her lap, letting her feet swing naturally, and the room felt quiet for just a few, comfortable moments. she looked up at you with full, teary eyes, “you think so?” 

“i know so,” you affirmed, making your way over to her slowly, positioning yourself between her legs. you avoided eye contact, feeling your heart race as you tried to focus on anything other than her. you bit your tongue, knowing that if you said anything else, it would become more obvious that you had some type of feelings for the redhead. 

vi raised an eyebrow, but she says nothing. you’re both engulfed in another beat of silence, the only sound present being the faint whirring of the air conditioning and the machines working in the fridge. 

you attempt to enlighten the moment, “plus, i never liked her.”

vi scoffed, a real laugh breaking through as she wiped her thumb underneath her cheek, “yeah, no shit.”

“but seriously. she made you cry twice in one week. who the hell does that to you?”

“guess i’m just that lovable,” vi murmured, but the joke didn’t quite land. you frowned, your fingers brushing against  her wrist, trying to add a comforting touch, but you pulled back when her breath hitched. 

“i’m sorry,” you said softly, but with quickness, immediately withdrawing your hand and shoving it into your pocket. you stepped behind you and turned to your side, pretending to be interested in whatever was going on in front of you. 

but truth be told, you were nervous now. you had pushed a little too far, a bit too close for comfort, bad you weren’t sure how vi would react to that. she’s heartbroken and more vulnerable than ever, and now wasn’t the time to try to slide hints at her or make moves when she was clearly grieving someone she loved. 

“…come here,” she whispered out, arms beginning to stretch open. though hesitant, you obliged, stepping  into her arms, and she buried her face in your neck. the hug was tight— a little desperate, her fingers curled into the back of your shirt like she didn’t have any intentions on letting you go, and you didn’t want her to, either.

you stay like that for a while, buried in vi’s arms, your head falling into your shoulder, and hers did the same to you. she smells like smoke and musk and something darkly floral, and it makes your skin tingly. she’s warm and comfortable, and you wished you could stay in this position forever. 

all good things come to an end, though, and she pulls back, eyes searching your own. she sighs, “can i…stay in your bed tonight?”

you nodded, “yeah. of course.”

you spend the evening curled on the couch, head fallen onto vi’s shoulder as you watch some show that’s rolling on TV, but you’re not really watching it. you catch her eyeing you a couple of times when she thinks that you aren’t looking, but you are. you always are. 

and that night, she didn’t fake flirt or tease or make light of anything at all, she just curled up next to you under the covers like she belonged there, like this was something routine that you guys did on the regular. 

in the hush of the dark, while you eyes are fluttering close and your mouth is slightly parted out of relaxation, you feel a hand graze yours, a whisper floating through the dark. 

“i think it’s always been you.” 

₊⊹ taglist: @drunkinyourbenz

[charmedreincarnation]

MOAB subliminal challenge

(Click links)

The Mother of All Boosters, commonly known as MOAB, is a high-potency subliminal booster originally created by the user ItsaKid (also known as Synergeticboy). Developed over the course of nine months and upgraded in three, MOAB is engineered to serve as the foundational accelerator for any subliminal system, built with both speed and complexity in mind. While multiple versions exist, MOAB 1.0 remains the go-to for those prioritizing rapid, concentrated results. It activates deep neural, energetic, and subconscious layers, effectively removing resistance, integrating affirmations faster, and collapsing the delay between intention and manifestation.

MOAB is structured around a modular design system—each formula is written in code-like expressions, such as {B} = {Topic} or {S} = {Topic[Submaker (Formula)] × Topic[Submaker (Formula)]}. These modules allow users to target specific goals (like confidence, wealth, or void state access) and fuse them together to multiply their effects. The booster works in tandem with these scripts, interpreting them like psychic commands. MOAB 1.0 is optimized for velocity: it initiates a kind of subliminal combustion that prioritizes speed over subtlety, making it ideal for users who are mentally stable and spiritually prepared for rapid transformations.

We will be using 1.0 rather than 2.0 because it focuses on speed. In essence, MOAB 1.0 acts like a raw psychic amplifier. It does not hold back. It is especially compatible with other generative subliminals, morphic fields, or void-based systems. When paired with clean scripting and a clear mental field, MOAB doesn’t just boost results—it warps time around them, often collapsing what would take weeks into hours or days. Due to its sheer intensity, scripting clarity, hydration, and intentionality are strongly recommended. This is not a casual track—it is the Paragon Core for speedrunners of the subconscious realm.

If you’d rather use your own subliminals instead of the ones I picked, you’ll need to learn and research how the module system works on your own. Direct any specific questions to the original creator on Reddit or to ishteham. I just don’t have time to build individual module setups for everyone. :)

The challenge

This challenge is extremely simple and honestly, you don’t even need to overthink it or do deep research unless you want to. I’ve already done the work for you. Everything is set up. The subs are chosen, the formula is written. All you have to do is follow the steps below and stay consistent.

1. Every morning, listen to the MOAB Booster. (Download here)

It’s about 45 minutes long. If you’re short on time, just set an alarm for an hour before you need to wake up, play it, and go back to sleep. That’s it. One listen per day.

Then, throughout the day (and overnight if you’d like), listen to the two subliminals I’ve assigned for this challenge. You can loop them while you work, study, sleep—whatever works for you.

2. Make a playlist called: MOAB Challenge

Add these two subliminals to it:

Infinite abundance by moza mroph

Problem solving by slade

These are your daily subs. Listen whenever you feel called, or just keep them looping gently in the background during the day or while you sleep.

3.important (!!!)

Save this in your Notes, Google Docs, or wherever you track subliminals. DO NOT CHANGE ANYTHING. This is your energetic formula. Just copy and paste it lol.

{S}= {infinite abundance[Moza morph (C.O.D)]} X{Problem solving[Submaker (Formula)]}

{S}= {infinite abundance[Moza morph (C.O.D)]} X{Problem solving[slade (thestral wings)]}

{B} = {Lucid Dreaming}

{B} = {Manifesting}

{B} = {Reality Shifting}

{B} = {Self Concept}

{B} = {Luck}

{B} = {Wealth Building}

{B} = {Mental Health}

{B} = {Void State}

{B} = {Lucid Dreaming(G)}

{B} = {Manifesting(G)}

{B} = {Reality Shifting(G)}

{B} = {Self Concept(G)}

{B} = {Luck(G)}

{B} = {Wealth Building(G)}

{B} = {Mental Health(G)}

{B} = {Void State(G)}

{R}= {Infinite Abundance [Moza Morph (C.O.D)]}

{R}= {Problem Solving [Slade (Thestral Wings)]}

{C} = {MOAB Challenge}

{H} = {Lucid Dreaming}

{H} = {Manifesting}

{H} = {Reality Shifting}

{H} = {Self Concept}

{H} = {Luck}

{H} = {Wealth Building}

{H} = {Mental Health}

{H} = {Void State}

If you’re using your own subliminals instead of the ones I provided, you’ll need to create your own formula and module sheet. If you have questions about how to structure them, I recommend reaching out to the creator directly—@Itsakid has a Reddit community and can explain everything way better than I can. He built the system, so you’ll get the most accurate answers there. But here’s the module explanation.

Final words

The subliminals used in this challenge also work perfectly with the Lucid Dreaming Challenge so if you want to combine both, go for it.

That’s it. I lucid dreamt immediately using this method. It’s simple but powerful especially if you’ve struggled with manifestation, resistance, or stagnancy. The booster handles integration.

[bumpen-underbeds]

It lived in the attic, but winter meant hibernation, and as strange as having an unwilling roommate that pops out of the roof from time to time is, it's kinda cute when it sleeps.

And they were roommates... Drider that has always lived in the houses attic, won't leave and so whoever lives there has to deal with an unblinking watcher.

A three-bedroom house in a decent neighborhood for under two thousand a month? It was too good to be true, attending the inspection you found a normal home, a little old but not outdated or falling apart at the seams and it had been renovated a bit, had new kitchen features, a retiled bathroom and a shiny gas heating system that the landlord would pay the bill for, all in all, it was a fine home just too cheap for such space and amenities.

Then the twist was revealed, a small panel in the ceiling opened and bright white eyes peered at you from an upside-down face, short grey hair dangling around their head as they blinked slowly, chittering before disappearing back into the ceiling.

Looking at the agent is comical how they try to brush past it, saying it wasn't anything to worry about and that you should ignore it as they shuffle with papers trying to brush it under the rug, taking the application paper they shove at you before ushering you out feels like it should be in a cartoon followed by a dust cloud as the agent drives away.

A little bit of research on the listing you find the previous tenants had left a review on the leasing agencies website, there was a drider living in the roof it had been there since day one and the landlord never said a word about it, apparently they asked to have it moved or rehomed by the landlord started the eviction process instead even in the face of legal consequences.

Tossing up between living with a drider for the cheap rent and having to slog through new applications that may well go now where, it's easy to send in your application to the cheap rental, under two thousand a month for a good home with a little 'character' was just... You'd be stupid to not apply, and the landlord would likely take anyone who would be willing to live with the creature in the attic.

It took around two weeks to get the acceptance of the offer and to get everything packed, moving in was a slog but new places always took time to settle in too, only this time you have to settle into being watched from sliding panels in the ceiling of your new home.

The first time you saw the drider after you moved in was three weeks after everything was set up and out of its boxes, the same white eyes and grey hair dangling from the ceiling as you stood in the kitchen, swearing as you dropped your glass of water, glaring at the retreating pale mass as you have to clean up spilled water and glass shards.

Your new roommate was a bit of a shit, popping up and spooking you only to chitter softly as it'd slink back into the roof moments later.

Plastic cups were the best investment you had ever made since you had fully settled in, sure the pale spider thing in the roof was less and less surprising now after months of living here but it was still beyond spooky to be half awake on a Saturday morning and see white eyes dangling from the roof.

Occasionally it would come out of the roof, finding it tucked up on the carpet in the living room, the spire half of its body fluffy and an almost pigeon grey, on the days it came out fully you'd sit nearby not really talking but hanging out in the same area too hopefully coax it into speaking to you in more than short bursts of chittering. The first time it spoke to you was when winter started, the cold slowly seeping into the house and likely making the roof inhospitable to the drider, he was on the carpet again, heater on as it seemed to be dozing slightly eyes lidded and soft as it looked your way, "Too cold up there, stay here, warm."

Simple direct, and the whole truth, it settled on the carpet, snagging the throw blanket on your couch and draping the human half of its upper body across your couch as it seemed to fall asleep.

Through the three months of winter, the drider woke occasionally to eat or stretch itself out, mumbling and chittering as it made grabby motions at you occasionally, begging for water or the like when it was too sleepy to skitter towards the kitchen. It became normal to come home, take off the layers of warm clothes and settle in on the couch next to it as it slept the evening away, only to wake and shuffle its way across you to soak up the warmth of your body and chitters softly as it goes back to sleep.

Your drider roommate is a bit of a shit, but nowadays it's because your legs have gone numb as it lays across your lap begging to pets as it sleeps the cold nights away.

[kissmeizuku]

"Embarrassed to be your boyfriend." Bakugo x Reader (ANGST + FLUFF)

--------------------------------------------------------

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You and Katsuki had been in a relationship for over 5 months, and it's been going very well!

Well, until one morning he woke up and said "Yeah, I'm gonna be a complete asshole to Y/N without reasoning."

On that day, you had screamed like a banshee, "KATSSS!!!" like you always do.

You ran up behind him and hugged him tightly, but he, instead of smirking a little and turning around to ruffle your hair and kiss your cheek, decided to grunt in annoyance and shrug you off.

You blinked in confusion. Maybe hurt, maybe shocked, maybe concerned. But mostly confused.

"Did I do something wrong, sweets?" You asked, tilting your head.

He rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue, his upper lip pushing up a bit to show his sharp left canine tooth. "Jus' leave me alone." He growled out.

You paused there for a moment. Well, maybe he's just stressed from homework... if that's even possible for him. You thought, before ultimately nodding and leaving him alone.

A day after that, you grinned when you saw him leaning against the hallway wall, through the swarms of crowds trying to get to their classes on time. You hugged him tightly and leaned in to kiss his neck, but he just placed a rough hand on your forehead, pushing you back.

You pouted slightly. "You're still mad about something?" You asked.

He nodded, grunting in irritation, turning his head to the side so he didn't have to look at you.

You grumbled something under your breath and turned away, walking away to leave the explosive boy alone... again.

A week. An entire week. You were drowning without him. You were confused, sad, and scared all at the same time. Did you do something wrong? Is he cheating on you? Did he lose feelings? It was horrifying.

You couldn't take it anymore, and you stood up, walking around to hopefully find Katsuki. And there he was, talking to Denki, Kirishima, and Sero.

You gently tapped him on the shoulder, staring up at him with big innocent eyes.

He tensed up feeling your touch, and he growled, snapping. You broke his last straw.

"What the fuck do you want now?!" He yelled, eye twitching.

You froze.

He was yelling.

He always yells.

But never at you.

"...I just wanted to ask som-" He interuppted you.

"God, could you fuck off for once? I'm embarrassed to even be dating you! You're so damn clingy, overly affectionate and touchy. Tch. Pisses me off!"

Denki, Kirishima and Sero watched with wide, blinking eyes, the juice boxes in their hand forgotten and comically, slowly slipping out of their hands while they watched the scene before their eyes.

You swallowed thickly, shrinking into your shoulders, as if trying to make yourself invisible so he'd stop yelling at you (God bless Hagakure).

"I-I'm sorry..." You mumbled out, fidgeting with your fingers, slowly backing away and then leaving.

He snarled, rolling his eyes as he tapped his foot impatiently on the ground.

"Can you believe that extra?" He muttered to the other three, who were still frozen like they just saw All Might commiting a murder to an innocent person.

"Dude..." Sero started, blinking.

"What?"

"Bro..." Denki added.

Katsuki cocked his head to the side.

Kirishima cleared his throat. "That... wasn't very manly of you..." he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck.

"The fuck do you mean?"

Denki stepped forward, frowning a little. "That was a total dick-move. All she wanted was to ask a question."

"And then you yelled at her and called her clingy..." Sero reminded, as if Katsuki forgot it.

Of course he didn't forget it.

He wanted to.

But he couldn't.

And the guilt was eating his insides.

"And?" Katsuki questioned, acting nonchalant.

"Bakubro... She's your girlfriend. You know who you just yelled at, right??" Kirishima said awkwardly.

"Of fuckin' course I know. Why would I yell if I didn't? I said she's being clingy, and I meant it. You would get sick of it too if you were her boyfriend." Katsuki shot back, crossing his arms.

Denki blinked, golden eyes wide. "...I mean, if you don't want her, I'll gladly take her." He offered, shrugging.

Kirishima snickered, and Sero stifled his own laugh with a hand clamped over his mouth.

Katsuki growled. "Fuck off, Pikachu. You wouldn't be able to handle her anyway. She's too clingy and annoying for your own good."

"Naaahh! I can handle her! Me personally, I'd be swooning and tripping on my own shoes if she were being clingy with me." Denki grinned.

"You're already swooning for her when she's doing literally nothing." Sero snickered out.

"Exactly! Just number 396 why I should be dating Y/N and not Bakubro dating her." Denki said boldly, smirking.

"Hey, I have an idea." Kirishima mentioned, grinning with his sharp shark teeth.

"What is it now, shitty hair?" Katsuki replied, his hip tilting to the side. (gay pose I mean what who said that)

"If you're clearly so tired and sick of Y/N... why not let Denki borrow her?" Kirishima suggested smugly. "Because you so very obviously don't want her..."

His brain said "kill all 3 of them right now" immediately at that suggestion. Sharing you? As if you were some trophy? Oh, fuck no.

But did he really want to back down on a challenge?

Also fuck no.

So he reluctantly agreed. "Fine. Whatever. Go ahead. See how long it takes until you get sick of her clinginess."

Denki bounced up and down, grinning. "WAIT, REALLY?! OH, HECK YEAH! THIS IS GONNA BE AWESOME! I'll ask her out tomorrow!"

[lamambanegro]

bloodsworn part I.

[vampire!bucky barnes x f!reader]

synopsis: Original story where y/n is a recently single Black millenial living in modern day Seattle. On a whim you take a backpacking trip through Europe and through a series of events, find that you are the mortal woman unknowingly promised to vampire king Bucky Barnes.

themes/warnings: language, power imbalance, worship, obsession, vampire human dynamics, violence, eventual enemies to lovers, eventual smut (18+),

bloodsworn part I. exit wounds.

The rain hasn’t stopped in three days.

Typical for late winter in Seattle, but this one feels heavier, more personal, like the city itself is mourning with you. You stand at your apartment window, tea gone cold in your hands, watching the gray water streak down the glass like veins.

Your suitcase is open on the floor. Half-packed. Half-committed. A mirror of you. You haven’t told anyone where you’re going. Not really. You left a vague away message on your work email: Taking some time to reset. Will check in intermittently. That should buy you at least a week before anyone starts asking questions. What are you running from?

Not who. That’s too easy. He’s already gone. Breakups are never easy. You’re running from the echo. The emptiness that follows a person who tried to be understood and was instead asked to shrink.

He said you were "too hard to read." That you felt distant. That he never knew what was going on in your head. He never asked, not really. Just got frustrated when your silence wasn’t for him to solve. You'd given more than people realize,stayed longer than you should’ve, until even your solitude felt like someone else's shadow. Until you realized: you didn’t know what you sounded like anymore, not without someone’s expectations in your ears.

So you bought a one-way ticket. No plan. Just Europe. A few months of drifting. Of remembering how to be in your own mind again. You’ve always been good at disappearing when you need to. But something about this trip feels different. Like you’re not just leaving. You're being pulled.

Your phone buzzes. A weather alert. Another storm rolling in. You finish your tea, already cold and bitter, and zip the suitcase shut.

You land in Budapest at dawn.

The airport is quiet, cast in a pale, fluorescent hush that makes everything feel dreamlike. You pass through customs, retrieve your bag, and walk out into the cold Hungarian morning. The air feels different here, sharper, like it remembers things Seattle’s clouds never could. You blink up at the sky. Overcast, but not raining. That feels like an omen in itself.

The hostel you booked is tucked away on the Buda side of the city, near the castle. You take a tram through streets lined with faded baroque facades and peeling iron balconies, everything stitched together by tram wires and silence. You pass old churches with blackened spires. Statues of kings you’ve never heard of. And alleyways that seem too narrow to be accidental.

Your room is small but clean. Warm. You shower, change into something layered, and set out with your camera, your notebook, and a feeling of freedom.

Just you and your shadows.

You spend the next few days wandering the city, crossing the Chain Bridge at sunset, climbing up to Fisherman’s Bastion, ducking into pubs with mismatched furniture and sticky floors. You feel lighter here. Looser. No one expects you to perform, to shrink, to explain.

But there are strange moments too.

A woman on the tram stares at you with wide eyes and murmurs something in Hungarian you can’t translate. A dog growls when you pass an old bookstore. You see your reflection in a shop window, only, for half a second, you swear it wasn’t moving when you were.

Then, on your fourth night, you dream.

You're walking through cobbled streets lit only by torchlight. Everything smells like stone and smoke. You hear music, something stringed, minor key, ancient. And then you see him:

A man at the end of the street. Stoic. Still. Eyes like iron. Hair black as night. Skin pale as the moon. He doesn’t speak, but the moment you look at him, your whole body reacts like it’s been waiting for him. Like your blood remembers what your mind does not.

You wake with a start.

There’s a single train ticket on your nightstand. You didn’t buy it. It’s dated for tomorrow morning, one-way, to a town you’ve never heard of.

Viscri.

Your name is written on the back. In old ink. A hand you’ve never seen. And beneath it: “It’s time.”

The train ticket sits in your hand like a dare.

You stare at it over breakfast, alone in a cheap café that smells like burnt espresso. Viscri. You looked it up. Tiny village. Carpathian Mountains. Population under five hundred. No Instagram geotags, no travel blogs. Just a few grainy photos of a crumbling fortified church and some vague tourist copy about “stepping back in time.”

Absolutely not where you intended to go.

You had your sights set on Vienna next. Art museums, cute thrifting options, overpriced pastries. Familiar enough for comfort. European enough to feel like you’re doing something with your life.

So you toss the ticket in your bag, because littering isn’t cute, and you board the train to Vienna. 

But three hours in, the train slows.

And then it stops.

A mechanical voice buzzes over the intercom in Hungarian. People murmur. The man across from you checks his watch and sighs. A conductor walks through, explaining in clipped English:

“There is problem with the track ahead. We will be rerouting to smaller line. Temporary stop in…Viscri.”

Your blood runs cold. You blink. Surely not.

But an hour later, you’re with the rest of the train passengers, standing on the narrow platform of a town that looks like a forgotten fairy tale, fog clinging to rooftops, hills rolling out behind the village like a sleeping giant. It’s eerily quiet. No taxis. No tall buildings. Just old houses and stone roads.

A crow watches you from the roof of the station. The train idles longer than it should. Something inside you twists. Stay, it says. You don’t know why.

So you do.

From the platform, you watch the train leave the station. Your boots crunch on gravel and you take a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

Within the hour you find a place to stay, a small hostel run by an old local woman named Magda. She doesn’t ask for your passport. Just looks at you for a long time before finally saying, “Room for you is upstairs.”

You ask about the rerouted train. She shrugs. “Trains come. Trains go.”

That night, you dream again.

This time, you’re in a stone room lit with a thousand candles. A man kneels before you, his head bowed, face hidden. His voice is reverent, raspy and broken:

“I have waited lifetimes to kneel here.”

You wake in a cold sweat, breath caught in your throat.

In the early morning with the window cracked, the sunlight, thin and gray, leaks through sheer curtains. You shower. Dress. Pull on your heaviest coat and wrap a scarf around your locs to block the wind. Then you head out into the town.

Viscri is beautiful in a way that feels slightly wrong, like a set built too perfectly. Cobblestone streets curve gently through rows of pastel-painted homes with wooden shutters and iron gates. Horses pull carts past centuries-old houses, and a large hill rises at the edge of the village, crowned by a crumbling church with an iron bell.

You pass locals who pause in their tracks to look at you.

Not just glance, stare.

Some nod politely. Most don’t say a word.

One man crosses himself.

You tell yourself what you’ve always told yourself: People stare. You’ve got a look. You're a Black woman alone in a very white, very quiet village tucked into the bones of Eastern Europe. You’ve got American written all over you. You remind yourself not to take it personally.

You stop by the quaint town bakery. The woman behind the counter hesitates before taking your money, then sets a hot roll in a paper wrap without a word.

A group of children follow you for a block before their grandmother grabs one by the arm and mutters something sharp in Romanian. You catch a word or two, străină. Stranger. Sânge. Blood.

You keep walking.

Eventually, you find yourself at the base of the hill. The old church is calling to you, and you’re not the type to resist curiosity. So you climb.

The trail is quiet, the air colder up here, and by the time you reach the gates, your heart is pounding, not from fear, but exertion. That’s what you tell yourself, anyway. 

The church is older than anything you’ve ever touched. The wooden door is partly ajar, its hinges rusted with time. Inside: silence. And the scent of candle wax long gone cold.

You take a few careful steps forward. The floor creaks. Dust motes dance in a shaft of winter light cutting through a cracked window.

And then, a whisper. Right behind your ear.

“She walks the land.”

You spin. No one’s there.

The door slams shut.

You steady your breath and rub your gloved hands together. The old wood door that slammed shut behind you now hangs slightly ajar, swaying in the breeze like it never moved at all.

You glance around the empty nave.

Nothing but pews, cracked stone walls, and candle stubs melted into sconces. Still, you feel watched. Not threatened, just seen. Like someone has been waiting for you to step foot inside this place again, even though you've never been here before.

You’re halfway to the altar when the rustle of movement behind you makes you pause.

A priest, if the black and heavy silver cross are anything to go by, has stepped through a side door near the pulpit. His hair is white and thin, his skin weathered like old parchment. He looks right at you.

And he frowns.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says, his accent thick but his English clear.

You raise an eyebrow. “I’m just looking. I thought this place was open to the public.”

“Not to you.”

That stops you. You shift your weight slightly and fold your arms. “Excuse me?”

He walks closer, slow and deliberate, and for a moment you brace yourself, not for danger, but for disappointment. You’ve met this kind of man before. The gatekeeper type. The one who thinks your presence is a disruption. He stops a few feet from you and lowers his voice.

“You carry his mark.”

Your jaw tightens. “What are you talking about?”

He reaches into his coat and pulls out a small iron charm. It’s a twisted symbol, part sigil, part something that looks vaguely like an eye. He presses it into your hand, and it’s almost as if it glows in your hand.

“When he comes for you,” the priest says, “you must not go willingly. He will say you belong to him. But he lies. You must not drink. You must not answer. And whatever you do, do not step into the woods past the village.”

You blink.

“Wow,” you say flatly. “Do you rehearse this with all the tourists, or just the Black ones?”

The man doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t flinch.

He simply says, “He will find you before the week ends.”

You step backwards outside into the cold, mountain air and don’t look back. But the charm is still in your palm. You don’t remember picking it up.

The sky has darkened by the time you make it back down the hill. The sun never really came out, but now it’s hiding entirely, folded behind thick gray clouds as the cold seeps deeper into your coat.

You don’t pass anyone on the way back to the hostel. Just the wind and the sound of your boots on stone.

The door creaks as you open it. Magda isn’t at the front desk. A single lamp glows behind the counter. Everything feels quieter than it should.

Your room upstairs is exactly as you left it, bed made, window cracked, your scarf draped over the back of the chair. But something feels off. You scan the space. Nothing’s missing. Nothing’s moved. Still, your chest is tight when you close and lock the door behind you. You drop your coat onto the bed and pull out your phone. Two bars. Not bad, considering.

You scroll through your messages until you find the one person you know will pick up no matter the time zone.

Maya.

Ride or die.  Has known you since undergrad. The only person who called to check on you after the breakup and sent you three tea sampler kits and a list of action movies “for mood.”

You press call and bring the phone to your ear.

She picks up on the second ring.

“Hey, love. You okay?”

Your throat catches for a second, and you sit on the edge of the bed, wrapping one arm around your waist.

“I’m fine,” you say too quickly. Then softer: “Just… needed to hear someone not warning me about ancient curses.”

“…I’m sorry, what?”

You exhale a laugh, but it sounds hollow. “I found this old church today. A priest basically told me I’m cursed or claimed or something, and I don’t know, he was acting so weird. I think I freaked him out.”

“He freaked you out, you mean.”

You nod, forgetting she can’t see you. “Yeah. That too.”

“Where are you again?”

“Tiny mountain village. Viscri. I didn’t even mean to come here. The train was rerouted. But… I don’t know. Everyone’s been acting strange. I’m thinking I’ll go to Brașov tomorrow, or maybe head to the coast. I’ve got options.”

“Do you want me to help you book something? I can Venmo you for a hotel.”

“I’m okay. Just needed a human voice.”

There’s a pause. Then:

“Well don’t let the creepy Europeans get to you. Now go make yourself some tea and sage your weird little hostel. I’ll text you links for places to stay near the train station in Brașov. Get some rest.”

You nod. “Thanks, M.”

“Anytime, girlie.”

You end the call. Your room is still. Quiet. You move to put your phone down, and pause. Because the charm the priest gave you?  The one you swore you left in the chapel? It’s sitting on your nightstand again. Right next to an envelope.

You stare at the mail. It’s addressed. Just one word, in elegant black ink: Beloved.

You feel it before you touch it. The hum. The pull. You hesitate. Then you reach for it with the same care you’d give to a relic or a bomb. The paper is smooth and thick, aged but uncrumbling. You unfold it, and a scent drifts upward, something rich and dark. Like cedarwood. Iron. Rain on stone. The handwriting is perfect. Old-world. Every letter purposeful.

I have dreamed of you for a hundred years.

When your ancestor made the vow, he wept for what it would cost. And I swore I would not come for you until the time was right. Until the stars turned and the blood ripened and you stood on sacred ground of your own free will.

You are here.

And I am waiting.

You may run, little flame. You may deny me. You may even hate me.

But the bond is written in the marrow of the world. And when you are ready, you will come to me.

—B

You lower the letter to your lap, heart thudding in your chest like a warning, or a memory. The room feels smaller now. And then…

A soft thud outside your window.

You turn sharply. There’s no one there. Just a gust of wind curling the curtains and the faint scent of something burning. You close the curtains. But deep in your chest, a strange warmth coils.

Like something ancient inside you is stretching after a long, long sleep...

part ii: what you carry

[friendly-neighbourhood-archon]

@anonymousreader4d7 Aaaalright, you know I'm a yapper, I'm more than happy to indulge you and tell you about all three of them even hahaha

Blindness Fic:

During a mission gone wrong, Aventurine gets injected with a mysterious substance. As his luck will have it, he manages to make his escape. But as the hours pass, his vision slowly gets worse and worse, until he's fully blind.

With some help from some subordinates he manages to return to the IPC headquarters, where he's promptly put into the medical wing and the doctors there try to figure out what's wrong with him and what that substance was.

But as time passes, even after a few weeks, they have nothing. Nothing they try helps him in any capacity. And Aventurine struggles a lot with adjusting to this new life. At first, he basically just lays in bed. Listens to radio or audiobooks to keep himself at least a little entertained. Or talks to Topaz, who visits him sometimes, when she has the time to. His phone lies abandoned in a corner, because even if Topaz tried to help him set it up to use it while blind, he doesn't feel like trying.

Eventually, after a bit more than a month, the IPC decides that there's no use in trying further and he loses his rank as a stoneheart and they kick him out of the medical ward. So he returns home to his apartment.

Of course, he's in a pretty bad state mentally. He feels useless and like his life is over. He constantly bumps into everything and his whole body hurts because of that. As he's home, he can't even do housework or cook for himself. Even ordering food is annoying. Everything is just so hard now and he kind of gives up. Just eats whatever, doesn't take care of himself, doesn't bother trying to clean much because he can't see if it's actually clean anyways.

Ratio has messaged him repeatedly but Aventurine doesn't know because he still doesn't touch his phone. Because he wasn't able to reach him, he started getting worried and instead got in touch with Topaz, who informed him of everything that happened.

Knowing Aventurine a little, he figures that he'll go to his apartment to make sure he's okay, because he has a bad feeling. And when Aventurine ends up opening the door, he looks absolutely terrible, and what little he can make out of the apartment, looks just as bad.

So he decides to invite himself in and stay for a while. Help Aventurine get back on his feet and help him learn how to navigate this new life. And as Ratio is staying, they slowly start to get closer to one another and eventually get together and their pathetic pining since their first meeting finally has an end.

Soulmate AU:

On Ratio's homeplanet, everyone has the name of their soulmate written on their wrist in grey color. When they finally meet them and speak their name for the first time, the writing turns the color(s) of the soulmate's eyes.

For two people from that planet, only one of them would need to speak the others' name for both soulmate marks to fill in and confirm the bond. But for those whose soulmate comes from another planet, the person from the other planet doesn't have a mark at first. So the person with the mark has to say the name and then the other person gains the mark in that moment. Soulmates then also start to slightly detect feelings through their bond (not detailed, just the general feelings).

Ratio's name is Kakavasha, and when he was younger, he spent a lot of time researching where the name was from. Because it was quite clear it wasn't native to his home planet, so it had to be someone from somewhere else. But he never found out anything and eventually stops searching. Sporadically, he takes it up again, but always comes up with nothing.

He doesn't want to fully give up on his soulmate because he might meet them some day. But then he also has feelings for Aventurine and he feels guilty. Both towards his soulmate for being in love with someone else and towards Aventurine for loving him when he has a soulmate he is kind of waiting for. So he tries not to pursue Aventurine, even if he catches himself sometimes playing into the others' banter or almost flirting. At some point, he told Aventurine about this concept, but never told him the name.

One day, Ratio and Aventurine sit together and talk. And Ratio asks him about Sigonia. It's rare for Aventurine to open up about these things, but he seems to be in a good mood and so he talks about how life was there a bit. And then he starts talking about a spring festival and mentions how he was named after it because he was born during it. He may not know the exact date when he was born, because the festival was over two days, but at least he has some idea when.

Of course, he can't help himself and ask about the name of the festival. So Aven tells him that the name of the festival is Kakava, and because of that he was named Kakavasha.

Dumbstruck, Ratio repeats the name. The name he'd seen all these years, wondered if it was pronounced the way he thought it was - and as he feels a zap, he can see that his mark has color now. But he also immediately is aware that his name has just appeared on Aventurine's wrist. Aven has been marked against his will before, so internally, Ratio is freaking out.

He slips out that he shouldn't have repeated the name, it would have been better if he hadn't. Meaning, he should have just shown him his wrist and leave the choice up to Aventurine. They could have been soulmates even without the bond ever fully completing, he would have been fine.

But Aven interprets it as Ratio not wanting him of all people as soulmate. The dirty avgin slave. Of course he woulnd't be good enough for Ratio. Before he can get overwhelmed by his feelings and his mask breaks, he leaves.

It takes them a little while of not talking, but eventually they finally do and everything gets resolved, of course.

Experimented on Fic:

Inspired by the absolutely gorgeous "How to Accidentally Acquire a Half-Snake Boyfriend, a Guide by Veritas Ratio".

Again mission gone wrong type of situation, where Aventurine ends up being kidnapped by a mad scientist who does genetic experiments. He tries to create different weird hybrids or creatures to sell them off for a lot of money.

For Aventurine, he decides he'd look pretty as a naga/mermaid (undecided still, though Naga Aven would probably have a bit of an easier life afterwards than mermaid Aven) and is sure he'd make a ton of money. But he also doesn't treat his test subjects super well because he wants to maximise profits.

Topaz and Ratio team up and manage to locate him, they pose as buyers and the scientist delivers Aven blindfolded and shackled to Ratio's home. He's very thin and slightly injured, clearly malnourished.

Ratio does his best to nurse him back to health, but Aventurine is also kind of trying to avoid things because he feels ashamed/embarassed for how he looks like. Tries to hide his tail and other traits, tries not to touch Ratio and avoids being touched as much as he can.

He feels disgusting and doesn't want Ratio to have to deal with this, who must find him just as disgusting. Being Avgin is already bad enough for most, and that's just the cherry on top now.

But Ratio is sweet and patient with him, bringing him anything he might want or need, utterly devoted to help him and make him feel better.

And over time, touches linger more than they need to, glances grow longer and steadier. Aventurine feels stupid for still being in love with Ratio but how can't he when he treats him like that?

Eventually, Aven learns to live with his new self and to accept himself and these two dumbasses also end up as a couple.

[freyafrida]

rilla of ingleside, chapter three

this turned out to be a long one bc i can't shut up about these kids lmao

This is probably the chapter I've reread the most! After hearing about the Blythe-Meredith kids from the gossipy ladies in chapter one, and meeting Rilla, Walter, and Miss Oliver in chapter two, the war generation all finally shows up in this chapter, and we get a sense of them from the way they talk and interact on the way to the lighthouse dance. Since it's the only pre-war chapter featuring all the kids, I find myself rereading it a lot for fanfic personality/relationship references, haha.

“The latter had come over from Lowbridge the previous evening and had been prevailed upon to remain for the dance at the Four Winds lighthouse the next night.”

Sometimes I forget that Gertrude is meant to be living in Lowbridge for parts of the book because she's at Ingleside all the time anyway lmao.

“It’s my first really-truly grown-up party, Miss Oliver, and I’ve just lain awake at nights for a week thinking it over. ”

Something about this sentence reads so much like young Anne to me (maybe the phrasing of "really-truly"); despite Anne's concern over Rilla's lack of ambition, Rilla is her mother's daughter in that sense of dreaminess and earnest excitement over things she loves.

Inch restingly, it seems like Rilla turns fifteen between this chapter and the last (last chapter was June, she's turning fifteen next month, it's now August, per the events of the chapter and Walter's description of "How beautiful the old Glen was, in its August ripeness"). I have thoughts about this bc I was wrestling with her birthday in a fic and realized -- the book doesn't recognize her birthday at all, not in the four years it spans. You'd think Rilla would've had a fifteenth birthday party before the war, at least, but it doesn't appear so. I don't think Anne has a proper birthday party ever, either, although she's mentioned to attend one or two over the course of the series.

“Of course Carl and Jerry can’t dance because they’re the minister’s sons, or else I could depend on them to save me from utter disgrace.”

Carl swooping in to save Rilla from utter disgrace!!! LMM why can't you let me have these things 😭 (Also, I realize they must see each other often, given that they're from two close families in a small town, but I have to admit I find it hard to believe that Jerry even knows Rilla exists.)

Disappointingly for the Rilla/Carl agenda, the bit abut Jerry and Carl not being able to dance was not in the original draft, per Readying Rilla -- instead, it says "but they're just like my brothers and I'll feel they're only doing it out of charity." LMM sniping me from beyond the grave 😩 Also curious if LMM like...forgot that minister's children shouldn't dance, or if it was more of an expectation that not everyone followed, and she made the decision to use it as a reason. (The bit about it feeling like charity is applied to Gertrude feeling that way about Jem and Walter dancing with her instead -- also, it's initially written that Jem and Jerry will take her out, but Jerry is crossed out and replaced with Walter, presumably due to the above edit.)

“I tried to draw back—and I saw that the edge of my dress was wet with blood—and I woke—shivering. I don’t like the dream. There was some sinister significance in it. That kind of vivid dream always ‘comes true’ with me.”

@batrachised pointed out that Gertrude's (I'm going to start calling her Gertrude instead of Miss Oliver because otherwise I'm going to keep going back and forth weirdly) dreams were actually based on LMM's, which, fair enough! That very much tracks with how seriously (almost) everyone takes Gertrude's visions. Idk -- I'm struggling to articulate why it comes off as almost laughably melodramatic to me -- because the war and death do come to Ingleside and touch our characters, and the shattering of their idyllic world is devastating to them (as it was to LMM); it's not as though her dream is wrong, necessarily. Maybe it's just the benefit of hindsight -- like Gertrude's going on about waves of blood on their shores and I'm just in the future like, "maybe you should save some of the dramatics because it's going to get so much worse." (Buuut I am also melodramatic and superstitious so maybe I just do not like looking in this mirror 😔)

“I think the party promises to be pleasant for young fry. I expect to be bored. None of those boys will bother dancing with an old maid like me. Jem and Walter will take me out once out of charity. There will be nobody for me even to talk to. So you can’t expect me to look forward to it with your touching young rapture.”

lmao jesus christ Gertrude. It's especially funny that she says this while also saying that she wants Rilla to have the "splendid, happy" girlhood that she didn't. Let her live then!!! (Also funny that Cousin Sophia is being portrayed as doom and gloom when she says stuff like this, while Gertrude is ~alluringly moody~)

And of course, the war is starting to become a concern for everyone except Rilla -- Dr. Blythe, Jem, and Walter are mentioned to be poring over the paper (none of the girls, even with their interests in 'ologies and 'isms, seem to care -- which sadly tracks, see Anne basically refusing to have a political opinion in House of Dreams. Gertrude, in fairness, is following the war news and mentions it to Rilla). It's interesting that part of the honor in fighting, for Jem, is entwined with defending the British Empire, considering it a family that they're a part of. Iiii...haven't developed any deep thoughts on this, lmao, I've always sort of taken it at face value that Jem -- and Ken, later -- feel this way as Anglo Dudes From 1914, particularly as there is a streak of...insularity, perhaps, in the books re: Anglo Canada. (But it is equally interesting that later on, characters express that they're fighting for Canada instead, not Britain.)

Walter's reaction to the war is telling -- he not only hates the idea (also, lol/sigh that they're just too civilized in the modern age of the twentieth century to go to war) but is kind of in denial about it, refusing to think of it and trying to distract himself with beautiful things.

“Mary Vance is a habit of ours—we can’t do without her even when we are furious with her,” Di Blythe had once said.”

I suppose it says a lot about Mary's character and general self-confidence/lack of self-awareness that she hangs out with people who talk about her like this, because I would not, lol.

“Carl Meredith was walking with Miranda Pryor, more to torment Joe Milgrave than for any other reason.”

LMAO what did Joe Milgrave ever do to Carl? I can't quite make out what this says about Carl -- it doesn't really jive with any of his behavior in Rainbow Valley; he doesn't particularly enjoy getting a rise out of people (e.g. in the chapter where he's not whipped, he feels bad over throwing the eel in the buggy; in the rest of the book, he's almost like, blissfully unaware that his various critters freak other people out). I suppose you could read him as being a bit competitive, or simply that he still enjoys mildly teasing people (which makes his friendship with Rilla pretty funny, given that being teased harrows her soul). Of course, worth mentioning that there's also not much evidence that Rilla and Carl are still close at this point :(

“Shirley Blythe was with Una Meredith and both were rather silent because such was their nature. Shirley was a lad of sixteen, sedate, sensible, thoughtful, full of a quiet humour. He was Susan’s “little brown boy” yet, with his brown hair, brown eyes and clear brown skin. He liked to walk with Una Meredith because she never tried to make him talk or badgered him with chatter. ”

Shirley being the personification of that "best friend I ever had, we still never talk sometimes" Parks and Rec quote, lol. The summation of him is so good, though -- despite what a nonentity he is compared to the other Blythe kids, you get such a good measure of him just from "sedate, sensible, thoughtful, full of a quiet humour." ❤️ I always go back and forth on the possibility of shipping him with Una -- it's lovely that Shirley appreciates her for who she is, that he likes that she's quiet and unassuming. On the other hand, like...what, do they never talk? Lmao. (Una also strikes me as having a bit of...repressed emotion, see her bottling things up and telling them to her mother's old wedding dress as a child, idk that Shirley would be able to draw that out of her...? But he is thoughtful and wholesome, so, maybe!)

“Una was as sweet and shy as she had been in the Rainbow Valley days, and her large, dark-blue eyes were as dreamy and wistful. She had a secret, carefully-hidden fancy for Walter Blythe which nobody but Rilla ever suspected. ”

MY GIRL \O/ I've seen it said that it seems unlikely that no one but Rilla suspects Una's feelings for Walter, but I actually quite like it -- it hints at Rilla actually being empathetic and perceptive under her frivolity, which she'll grow into over the war.

“She liked Una better than Faith, whose beauty and aplomb rather overshadowed other girls—and Rilla did not enjoy being overshadowed.”

Lol, it is very on-brand for early Rilla to feel she's in competition with Faith -- and I'm sure Faith doesn't think about Rilla at all, being 4-5 years older than her. (That said, I sympathize with Rilla not being a Faith enjoyer -- even though she's set up as getting into Anne-like scrapes in RV, the books lean a little too hard on how charming and intelligent and beautiful she is; she loses the flawed, earnestly trying vibe that made Anne endearing imo.) (Also, I love Rilla and Una, but it cracks me up that Rilla basically just likes Una better because she doesn't see her as a threat.)

“ bell was ringing in the little church over-harbour and the lingering dream-notes died around the dim, amethystine points. The gulf beyond was still silvery blue in the afterlight. Oh, it was all glorious—the clear air with its salt tang, the balsam of the firs, the laughter of her friends.”

I haven't been mentioning the nature descriptions because I don't really have anything to say about them other than they're lovely! Such a good sense of those moments when you're just happy, everything around you feels beautiful and you don't mind your problems in that moment -- and of course, the moment here is poised to be shattered very shortly.

“And how humanity responds to the ideal of self-sacrifice!”

Oooooh the foreshadowing! Also a very good summation of the theme of this book, in general -- there are other moments later that I think illustrate it more clearly so I won't go on too much about it now, but -- yeah, there's such a sense in this book of trying to understand and justify the pain of the war as a worthwhile sacrifice.

“We know the real charm of night here as town dwellers never do.”

Hey, leave us town dwellers out of it >:( (I do have a city girl story of visiting family out in the country when I was twelve, and being shocked by how dark it actually got at night, lmao.)

“Rilla flushed. It did not matter to her if Kenneth Ford walked home with Ethel Reese a dozen times—it did not! Nothing that he did mattered to her. He was ages older than she was. He chummed with Nan and Di and Faith, and looked upon her, Rilla, as a child whom he never noticed except to tease.”

First mention of Ken! The funniest bit about this is that his name was originally "Selwyn", and the first like 2/3rds of Readying Rilla have every single mention of him written as "Selwyn Ken". Anyway -- there's kiiiind of a set up for Rilla and Ken here; he teases her and she hates it while secretly liking/wanting more of his attention. There's a short story in TBAQ that adds on to this (honestly, it reads a bit like it's still trying to explain Rilla/Ken twenty years later lmao) -- it mentions that Ken and Rilla fought a lot as children, implying that he liked getting a rise out of her, sort of in a "pulling on her pigtails" kind of way. (Also, again, Nan and Di are set apart from Rilla here 👀)

some stuff from the glossary (minor frustration, the glossary isn't footnoted and is in alphabetical order, so you just kinda have to flip through it and try to remember what each entry is referencing):

More Readying Rilla bits:

After Rilla mentions that Jem and Faith will sit out on the rocks all evening, the next sentence starts with "They're", which is then crossed out and Rilla just starts talking about sailing to the lighthouse. While I'm sure it wasn't a big deal, it reads like someone being cut off right before saying something juicy lmao, tell meeee the Jem/Faith gossip

The line about Rilla being the only one unaware of the worry over the war originally said "only Rilla and Susan", lmao.

Miranda Pryor's name was originally Jennie.

Shirley's originally described as being "full of humor and quiet fun" (instead of "full of a quiet humor"), which does read as something a bit different to me -- the final version makes him sound like more like a quietly amused observer than someone that actually gets into hijinks.

Re: Rilla's silver slippers, the book says that Mrs. Ford (Leslie) sent them to her. The original draft says "Jean gave", which like...who tf is Jean?

[swan2swan]

Cartoons won, but at What Cost?

[kirishwima]

yup. im gonna quit

[omanu]

finished the song of achilles and i loved it and i cried hard but i cant believe apollo was a little bitch like that wtf i used to like him!!

[tallaennatargaryen]

Wife Speak

Bucky Barnes x Wife!Reader

Synopsis: You asked Bucky to install the security camera a month ago, and he still hasn’t done it. You take matters into your own hands, to his vexation.

Warnings: Bucky's been too busy to do what you asked, you put yourself in slight peril, worried!Bucky, gentle manhandling, protective!Bucky, mention of previous injury, my own lack of construction know-how so I apologize for any inaccuracies, no use of Y/N

This is my first time writing in second person so hopefully I did okay! This was inspired by this short I saw on YouTube.

You were good at a lot of things. The team’s go-to “girl in the chair,” there was no one better at intel, strategy, quick escape plans, and getting into just about any system you were presented with. You’d had the Avengers’ lives in your hands countless times, and never led them to put a foot wrong. Somehow, you, a girl with just a bachelor’s degree, a–perhaps excessive–perfectionist streak, and a mini fridge full of energy drinks to help you stay sharp on overnight missions, had become indispensable to the Earth’s mightiest heroes.

But you couldn’t install a security camera above your front door.

As smart as you were, you were probably equally as uncoordinated. All the bruises in odd places told the tale of your frequent misfortune. Walking by itself often presented a perilous challenge, so standing on a ladder, balancing precariously with expensive equipment and sharp objects in your hands seemed like a perfect recipe for a trip to the ER and a costly bill for tech replacements.

Which was why you’d asked your husband, a super soldier with a metal arm and a keen eye for home repairs, to do it.

A month ago.

And three weeks ago.

And two weeks ago.

And last week.

You were tired of waiting. Bucky, of course, was busy, and often away on missions, but you only ever asked him to do it when he had a moment to spare. He’d said he would, every time you’d asked, but there was still no camera above your front door. On top of it all, the camera had been Bucky’s idea, a little extra security for when he was away on missions; it was one of Stark’s smart cameras, which could differentiate between a mailman dropping off a package and a criminal about to break into the house. Bucky didn’t exactly know how all of that worked, but he was good with the installation, and you both knew better than to assign the job to you. But the camera had sat there for a month, collecting dust on the dining room table, and despite all his promises, you knew it was time to take matters into your own hands.

And maybe get a little payback while you were at it.

It was a warm spring day, and the front door was open to let the breeze in but the screen door was in place to keep the bugs out. Bucky was in the kitchen, making lunch, so he’d be able to hear everything easily, between his proximity, the open door, and his enhanced hearing. Smirking to yourself, you set up the ladder as quietly as possible, knowing that that alone would tip Bucky off and make him come rushing out before you were ready. If this was going to get done today, you needed to execute the full plan.

Picking up the electric drill and the mount for the camera, you put one foot up on the ladder, and held down the trigger of the drill for a few seconds, causing a loud whirring sound to tear through the quiet midday air. Just as you took another step up and held down the trigger again, Bucky’s voice carried out from the kitchen.

“Doll?” he questioned, and it took everything in you not to laugh. You gave no answer, instead only whirring the drill once more as you climbed to the top of the ladder. “What are you doing?”

You might have felt bad about the panic and concern in his voice, but if he’d done this a month ago when you’d asked, you wouldn’t have to go to such lengths to have it be done. Natasha had called it wife speak, when women use their sly little tricks to get their husbands to do what they need to. She used it with Banner, Pepper used it with Tony, Wanda used it with Vision; it was a universal language amongst women when requests and orders just weren’t cutting it.

Holding the mount up against the wall, you furrowed your brow in concentration as you tried to figure out how to hold the mount, place the screw, and drill it in all at the same time with only two hands. Judging by the purposeful footsteps pounding towards the front door, you knew you wouldn’t have to keep trying to figure it out for long. Still, you kept up the ruse, because he needed to think you were serious about doing it yourself if he was going to get it done right this minute.

“Baby, what are you doing?” Bucky asked, voice raising with alarm as he found you balancing precariously on top of the small ladder. Paying him no mind, you decided to just wing it and put the drill into the head of the screw, pulling the trigger to send the screw spinning into the wall. For extra effect, you added a little wobble, just enough to make Bucky worry more but not so much that your uncoordinated self would actually fall. “Honey! Stop! What are you doing?”

“What?” you responded innocently, still not turning around. “I’m putting up the camera.”

“Why?” His hands grasped at your waist, but you pushed him away as you continued your ruse and placed the next screw.

“Because it needs to go up?” you said it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, because it was, hello, and you’d asked him to do it so many times. Once more, you placed the drill into the screw head and let it rip, watching it spin into place. Maybe you could do it yourself. Maybe impatience was all it took to overcome your incoordination. 

“Baby. Baby, baby, baby.” Bucky’s hands were on your waist again, this time with a firmer grip so you couldn’t brush him off so easily. “Come off the ladder.”

“It needs to go up, Bucky,” you insisted, milking your moment of acting for all it was worth.

“I know, so I’ll do it, okay? Just please, come off the ladder.”

“I’ve asked you a million times over the last month to do it and you still haven’t, so I’m gonna do it and then I’ll know it's done.”

The drill was slightly stuck in the screw head once it was screwed all the way in. You gave it a tug, and the force of it combined with the resistance of the drill to come loose caused you to tip backwards slightly; for a moment, you thought you might fall, but you regained your balance after a second or two. Still, it was a second or two too long for Bucky, who’d had enough of asking nicely and being patient. 

“Alright, that’s it,” he declared, using his strength and his grip on your waist to lift you off the ladder and set you on the wooden boards of the porch like you were little more than a doll. You almost grinned at the move, as being on the receiving end of his enhanced strength and fierce protectiveness always made your stomach do somersaults. By the time he spun you around to face him though, you had regained your self-control and regarded him with a displeased scowl. “What are you doing, huh, doll? You know I don’t like you up on that thing.”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you huffed, “Well, someone has to put the camera up, since you’ve proven yourself incapable.” You turned to step back onto the ladder, but Bucky grasped your arm gently and pulled you to him, maneuvering at the same time to take the drill and the remaining screws from you. You resisted, but even when he was diluting his strength, you couldn’t hope to best him, so instead you started to complain, “Bucky-”

“I know, doll, I know,” he said, voice soft as he pried the drill and screws out of your hands. He pressed a kiss to your forehead and then your nose for extra contrition. “I’m sorry. I should’ve done it when you asked me to, but I’ll do it right now, okay? Just…please stay off the ladder?”

“Why? ‘Cause I’m a girl?”

Bucky chuckled in amusement, his free hand rising to cup your cheek and pull you closer so he could press a sweet kiss to your lips. You melted against him instantly, as you always did, because Bucky always kissed you like he was trying to transfer his heart from his body to yours, deeply and wholly and with every ounce of love that he had. After a moment, he pulled away, though he kept his nose touching yours as his twinkling eyes gazed at you adoringly. “It’s not because you’re a girl, it’s because it’s you, doll. The last time I trusted you with a drill and screws, you drilled your sleeve into the wall and broke your finger trying to pull it free.”

Nose scrunching and lips pouting, you did your best to fight off a smile, trying to lay it on just a little thicker to make sure you would get what you wanted. “Promise you’ll do it right now?”

“Pinky promise.” Bucky held up his pinky finger between you, and you locked yours around it. “You can stay and watch if you want, just to be sure. I think you’ll like the view.”

Rolling your eyes, you gave him another quick peck before stepping back and nodding for him to climb up the ladder. Once his back was turned and he was on the top step, your mischievous smirk returned in full force, not only because of your triumph, but because you really did like the view.

[littlestpersimmon]

Hello everyone. I'm absolutely terrified to open up about this, but I am having surgery on my thyroid to remove a goiter that has become very large / given me problems eating and breathing in general. My ocd is going crazy and catastrophizing;, I have been neglecting my health for five years until I experienced some symptoms that terrified me. My dr. Advised me that I will need two types of surgeons, one an ENT and one a thoracic surgeon. I am going to make a formal fundraiser very soon, but I was informed by my Dr. That the overall cost of this surgery (plus recovery) will be around 700,000 pesos- almost 13,000 usd. That is. My wages of three whole years. I am from the global south, in the philippines, and my wages are far smaller compared to my peers in the global north. My insurance is trying to cover around 40,000-80,000 pesos, I am unsure yet. Right now, I am unable to work all three of my jobs because I needed to do a ton of tests and resting, my new meds making me extremely drowsy as I was also diagnosed with type II diabetes and hypertension (?). I still am the only person in my family who can work- my mother is completely unable to move independently due to nerve damage from sepsis, she is legally blind and a full time wheelchair user. my father is very very immunocompromised due to heart disease and kidney failure, and my younger sister is autistic, with a low frustration threshold. Since Early April, I have had no income as I was in and out of the hospital; thanks to everyone's generous donations for my teeth that I am now allocating for this surgery instead, insurance, and my lovely friend Mango's large donation, I have been able to eat well, and cover about 12%-15% of my upcoming surgery's fund. Am trying to build up more breathing room for my gofundme, as it is common practice for philippine hospitals to prevent patients from leaving without having paid in full. I am humbly begging for everyone to please help me, Because I have not been working and will be unable to work for a couple of weeks. this is the most terrifying thing I have ever gone through, and I have been ignoring it for the past 5 years ♡ if you are blessed with disposable income and a generous heart, please send it my way! It means the whole world to me.

You can pick up a print from my inprnt here:

You can directly send a donation here:

*400+ exclusive drawings* on my patreon for only a dollar a month!

Please say it's going to ok! I cannot do this alone.

[screamingay]

they need workers bc 3 people just left but clearly they're not trying that hard bc it's feeling like they WANT us all to quit rn. jesus

[fatherbrat]

thinking about incubus!sukuna, who visits your dreams for the first time when you're several months into a dry spell. you welcome him in, eager to get off at the hands of a large, tattooed, multi-armed demon, even if it is only in your head. that first night, you cum three times—once with his fingers and twice with his mouth.

you wake up soaked and elated.

he appears to you for the second time later that week. just like the first time, he wastes no time getting to action, sitting you down on his stomach and eating you out with the mouth on his torso. he holds you down with two hands and clasps the other two behind his head, propping himself up at the perfect angle to watch you writhe and moan on his oversized tongue.

the next week, he makes you cum with just the tip of one of his huge cocks, slapping your clit while you clench around the head. it takes a couple more visits before he finally fucks you, sinking into your cunt with so little warning that you nearly lose your breath. you barely last a few minutes, not with him making you feel so full. your orgasm is so intense that it brings tears to your eyes, and you swear you see a smirk on sukuna’s normally impassive face.

this goes on for weeks: he appears in your dreams, makes you cum a few times, and when you wake up there's nothing to prove he was there except for your damp underwear. you have to start showering in the mornings instead of at night, and your mood has improved enough for your friends and coworkers to ask if you’ve started seeing someone. you start looking forward to going to bed every night, always hoping that that night will be one where he shows up.

incubus!sukuna doesn’t speak to you much, save for a few words of praise when he knows you're about to cum. because of this, and because you're too focused on your own pleasure during his visits (who could blame you?) you don’t notice when he starts becoming restless, unsatisfied with only being able to fuck you in your dreams.

it doesn’t take long for him to decide he needs to fuck you when you’re awake.

part two here

[keypostos]

caleb is 10 when he realizes that he's a physical touch fiend. the rush he gets when his hand lingers on top of your skin after playing with you is like no other. when he presses into your side while you're reading, his thoughts always circle around one topic: you, you, you. when you would run into his room after a nightmare, caleb was ready to swoop you in his arms and hold you until you fell asleep. every response towards you was involuntary.

caleb is 15 when he realizes that teasing 13-year-old you becomes irresistible. when he holds up your book, pencil, or some other item in the air, he watches as you jump up and down to try and grab it back. he's grown a lot in three years; if he had to estimate, he's a whole head taller than you now—20cm at least.

when you throw yourself onto him in an attempt to get your stuff back, he falters. you're laying against him on the couch, shuffling and moving up and down over his body, and caleb's breath hitches. you're so close and right there.

he's going insane. you can't even stand up for five seconds before caleb pulls you down against him once more, saying something about retaliation or revenge while tickling you to death.

caleb is 20 when he's about to leave for the DAA. there's an air of silence around the house. you've trapped yourself in your room more often, stressing over your senior finals. at least, that's what you've been telling him.

"i'm sorry caleb, i really need to study for this test."

"oh! i totally forgot about that project i had due tonight. shit, i'm sorry caleb. we'll have another movie night soon, okay?"

he doesn't know if you're actually this busy or if you're actually ignoring him. all he does know is that he misses you. he wonders about how he could miss someone who was in the room across from him. you were so close, but so far.

when you found out he was leaving—though you had a grin on your face while congratulating him—caleb knew you were devastated. he wondered if you were secretly mad at him for leaving.

two weeks before his departure, he practically forces you to be around him. he laid down next to you like before. he stroked your hair while you napped on the couch. he teased you and picked you up so you could hit him and grab him like you used to. he always chose to put his arm around you during a movie. he dragged you by the hand all around the neighborhood. he needed to all of that again, a thousand times more.

but at 24, it seems like there may have been a wedge between the two of you. calls are more and more infrequent.

"sorry, space signal sucks," he'd type.

"sorry, i was busy with training!" you'd reply, 2 days later.

he thinks that he would do anything to go back to before. he hasn't felt you in months. he sees you only twice a year.

it's hard. it was excruciating during the first few weeks. not only was he dealing with bootcamp, but he always found himself looking to his side, thinking you'd be there with him. at night, you were there, right next to him in bed.

he imagined that you would whisper words of reassurance in his ear. you'd hold onto him like you used to, when you had nightmares, and wrap your legs between his. there were days where we stroked his necklace, wishing that it was your hand instead. what he would give to have you next to him.

all he wants is to be able to feel you again. he chastises his 10-year-old self for taking you for granted back then. he wants to feel the apples of your cheeks when he caresses your face. once,—when he was 13 (you, 11)—he did that, and he thought you had a fever the way you warmed up. if he could, caleb would build a time machine to go back to that.

caleb is 25 when he is out of your life.

he thinks about you every day. it reminds him of when he was in bootcamp five years ago. it takes him back to when he was fifteen; you were on top of him, and his brain was fried to a crisp. caleb wonders if he's always been this way, because he can recall that at ten, you were still the only thing consuming his mind.

even during his arm repairs, you're there throughout all the pain.

when you discover his metal arm, all of caleb's instincts point to the door. he's spent so long trying to hide it from you: it's the constant long-sleeves (even though they made him incredibly uncomfortable), or making sure to only touch you with his left-hand (even though he wanted to pull you in with both hands).

but he stays. because it's you.

you freeze momentarily, listening to his writhes and moans of pain. caleb only notices you're there when he feels your hands brush his shoulder. he jolts back in surprise, and he sees you looming over him.

he stammers something, not even sure of what he said because you're here. you see him. you see it.

caleb's wanted this for so long. he wanted to see you again, in a state where you were both vulnerable, like old times. however, that moment probably wouldn't have come if he doesn't confess about this, so he relays the details.

you listen attentively, eyes wide with shock as caleb goes on. your hands wrap around his metal one, and he feels nothing. it's agonizing. he sees you examine him so gently. your fingers trace over bolts and plates of metal, lightly stroking up and down his arm. and caleb feels nothing.

how often has he dreamed of this? for you to be touching him again, so intimately and softly? he's stayed up countless nights wishing for you to be here, just so he can put his arms around you in a crushing embrace, only to be incapable of feeling you on one side of his body.

you pull away from his arm, asking if the fleet was accountable. when he doesn't say anything, he feels your weight lift off the bed and go towards the door.

whatever happens next is involuntary. he uses his flesh arm to pull you back, caging you between his forearm and his chest. there's no thought to it, no rationalization. it's just you and him. and he's been deprived of this for so long.

he breathes into the crevice of your neck, and he has half a mind to place his entire face there. he wants to breathe you in after being away from you for so long. no conversations, no contact, no touching. the last time he was this close to you was years ago. he needs this, caleb thinks.

the feel of you against his bare chest is something he cannot seem to describe. it's like he's his teenage (or even kid) self again, where he seems to short-circuit whenever he comes in contact with you. you're still small compared to him, but you fit perfectly like you did a decade ago.

he lets you go after he feels you trembling. you don't hesitate to place your hands on his waist and tackle him onto the bed. you catch him off-guard as you pin him beneath you, looking straight into his eyes.

"hold me," you plead, "with your right hand."

caleb lets out a shaky breath. there are voltages of electricity flowing through him—literally and figuratively. his skin sparks alive when he feels you. will it be the same with the metal arm?

slowly, caleb raises his mechanical arm. he wraps it around you, and feels the movement of your back shift downwards. you released a breath you didn't know you were holding. caleb held his.

you wait patiently before caleb starts running his metal hand up and down your back. you watch him exhale as he continues. you press your forehead on his, and you breathe in tandem with him.

caleb is 25 when he discovers that he loves physical touch.

wow like i didn't expect this to get so long... but like here we are???

i think we need to start embracing touch-starved caleb in all of our fics. this man hasn't seen the love of his life in YEARS (infrequently, anyway) so i think once she touches him (like INTIMATELY) for the first time in years he goes a little cray.

also sorry the ending was rushed i wanted to get this over with bc i intented this to be like 500 words but obviously it got way longer than that. what can i say... this freak has dug into my brain.