#am i going to wait until it does? ...maybe

[buckysleftbicep]

cradles and chaos 𐙚 b.b

pairing: new avenger!bucky barnes x pregnant!reader

warning: morning sickness, loads of fluff, and team shenanigans

summary: you wanted to surprise bucky with the news—you’re pregnant. the only problem? everyone else on the team found out first. cue the chaos.

word count: 3.5k

author's note: i love writing fics with teeth rotting fluff, genuinely love them so much! i hope you enjoy them, i love ya and stay safe out there!

requests are open! i love, love, love soft!bucky

The day started like any other.

Morning training. Groggy coffee run. Bucky kissing the top of your head before heading off to spar with Alexei and you trying not to gag at the smell of the protein powder he insisted on putting in his smoothie. Just the usual.

Until it hit you.

The wave of nausea crashed into your gut so suddenly that you barely made it to the compound bathroom in time. Knees on the cold tile, you gripped the toilet bowl and dry-heaved like you were trying to launch a demon from your oesophagus.

It was violent. Loud. And, unfortunately for you, not private.

Footsteps approached behind you, followed by a dry, unimpressed voice. “If this is your version of The Exorcist, you forgot the head spin. Come on, at least commit to the bit.”

You groaned. “Yelena, for the love of—”

She stepped inside without hesitation, casually grabbing a hair tie from her wrist and gathering your hair like this was a weekly occurrence. “Let me guess. Either Alexei made you try his ‘secret stamina shake’ again, or…” Her eyes narrowed. “You’re pregnant.”

Your blood ran cold.

“Wait,” she said, pausing mid-sentence. Her expression changed, slowly morphing into that wide-eyed look she got when she spotted a new target. “Wait. Wait.”

“Don’t—”

“YOU’RE PREGNANT.”

“Shhh!” You jumped up and flushed the toilet like it would somehow erase the moment. “Keep it down!”

Yelena’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “You are! Oh my god. I knew it. That explains the pickles and peanut butter at two in the morning. Also, the weird crying over that dog food commercial last week.”

“I was hormonal! That golden retriever had abandonment issues!”

“I’m not judging,” she said, clearly enjoying this too much. “I’m just honoured to be the first to know. Or like, second, I guess?”

You bit your lip. “…He doesn’t know yet, does he?”

She froze. “Wait. You haven’t told Bucky yet?”

You winced. “Not yet. I wanted to surprise him. Big surprise. Sweet. Emotional. Crying, maybe him, not me. I’ve cried enough.”

Yelena blinked twice. Then her hand flew to her chest in dramatic horror. “Oh my God. I am in charge of a secret. I’m responsible for withholding information from Barnes. Do you know what this means?”

“That I trust you?”

“That I’m going to be the best fucking godmother in the world.”

You finally breathed again, until she added, “Though… I am tempted to tell the others."

“Yelena.”

“Relax,” she said with a shrug. “Your secret’s safe. For now. But if you die, I get to raise the kid like a tiny assassin. Deal?”

“…Yelena.”

“Deal?”

“…Fine.”

She grinned, already scheming.

You had taken every precaution.

No more sparring. No caffeine. Your prenatal vitamins were hidden behind a bag of trail mix no one ever touched. You kept your hoodie on at all times, avoided combat drills, smiled through nausea, and faked normalcy like your life depended on it.

But Ava wasn’t the type to be fooled by quiet exits and thicker sweatshirts.

She didn’t ask questions. She didn’t need to. She just watched. The way a blade waits in the dark, calculating without moving. You could feel it—her eyes on you during training, her steps falling in line behind yours a little more often than before.

One morning, you reached for your weighted vest only to find it mysteriously lighter. Five pounds missing. No explanation. She said nothing.

Then one night in the rec room, you were curled up on the couch half-watching some movie you’d already forgotten the plot of, when a packet of ginger chews landed softly in your lap. You looked up, startled.

Ava didn’t turn. She was sitting in the armchair across the room, casually typing something on her tablet like she hadn’t just sniped you with snacks.

“You gagged in the elevator this morning,” she said, still not looking at you. “Second time this week.”

You blinked, fingers tightening around the ginger chews. “I—maybe I’m just coming down with something.”

She didn’t answer. Just gave the softest hum. Like she was humoring you. You waited for her to press, to demand answers, to ask what Bucky somehow hadn’t noticed yet.

But she didn’t.

“You’re not gonna say anything?” you asked after a beat, quieter now.

“I don’t care,” she said, voice flat, eyes on her screen. “Unless you get yourself killed. Then it becomes my problem.”

You exhaled through your nose, smiling despite yourself. “So this is you being… concerned?”

“This is me avoiding paperwork.”

You bit your lip to stop yourself from laughing. Ava didn’t do affection, not in the traditional sense. She did proximity. Action. Silence that somehow felt like reassurance. She didn’t say much, but she never missed anything.

“Don’t carry anything heavy,” she added after a moment, her tone just as even, like she was reading off a grocery list.

Over the next week, you noticed the little things.

A decaf coffee cup on your desk, slid across the surface wordlessly while she passed by. Her cutting her own training short to spot you during stretches, silent and watchful, and you were never more grateful.

Once, you opened your locker and found a small bottle of prenatal vitamins tucked neatly beside your usual supplements. The label had been peeled off. There was no note. But you knew exactly where they came from.

Bucky, meanwhile, remained adorably clueless.

He still kissed your cheek every morning, still asked if you wanted spicy noodles, the ramen kind for dinner, still rubbed your back when you sighed too hard without even realising why you were sighing.

“You’ve seemed kinda tired lately,” he said one night, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You okay?”

And just like that, Bucky let it go.

The next morning, there was a new water bottle waiting on your desk. One of those fancy ones with the hours marked on the side like hydration was a full-time job. You didn’t need to guess who left it there.

Ava just knew. And that was enough.

It was bound to happen.

You were doing your best. Truly. Between Yelena’s feral excitement and Ava’s silent protection, you were managing.

Bucky was still clueless (somehow), not that you were complaining, and the rest of the team had stayed suspiciously uninvolved.

But then came Alexei.

Loud, dramatic, built like a brick wall and absolutely no understanding of what the word subtle meant.

You didn’t mean for him to find out. In fact, you weren’t even in the room when it happened.

It started in the kitchen.

You’d left your tea steeping on the counter—ginger with a splash of lemon, the only thing that didn’t make you want to retch—and stepped out to grab your hoodie from the lounge.

Two minutes. Maybe less.

And that’s when disaster struck.

Alexei strolled in, whistling some vaguely patriotic tune, spotted the mug, and immediately sniffed it like a bloodhound. You weren’t even there to defend yourself.

“Hm,” he muttered to himself. “This tea… I know this tea. My babushka (russian for grandmother) used to make this for woman in village. When they were… what’s word? With child.”

From across the kitchen island, Yelena looked up from her cereal with mild panic in her eyes.

“Do not do this,” she warned, spoon halfway to her mouth.

Alexei didn’t listen.

Instead, he sniffed the tea again, leaned back with both hands on his hips like some kind of Soviet sommelier, and declared, “It is pregnancy tea! Very good for nausea. Calms stomach. Boosts circulation. Ancient remedy.”

Yelena slowly set her spoon down. “Alexei—”

“WAIT.” His eyes widened. “IS SHE WITH CHILD?!”

You walked in just in time to see him throw both hands into the air and look around like he expected confetti to fall from the ceiling. “IS THERE A BABY? ARE WE HAVING BABY?!”

Yelena let her head thunk against the table. “You absolute moron.”

Alexei turned to her with wild-eyed enthusiasm. “YOU KNOW?!”

“Of course I knew, you donkey. Bucky doesn't, yet."

He gasped like someone had stabbed him—but dramatically, like an actor in a very bad stage play. “You betray me! I am her family. I am her protector. I am baby future grandfather!”

“I’m gonna throw up,” Yelena muttered.

And then he saw you.

Alexei’s expression softened, somehow, impossibly, turning from full-volume chaos to absolute, genuine awe. He crossed the room in two heavy strides, grabbed your hands in his like you were made of glass, and stared at you like you were the eighth wonder of the world.

“You,” he said, lowering his voice like it physically hurt him to be gentle, “are miracle.”

“Okay—”

“No, listen. You are tiny, like small baby rabbit, but you carry powerful legacy. You carry strength. Heart. Warrior blood."

Alexei cupped your face—not quite gently, but at least without crushing your skull—and nodded to himself like he was solving a world crisis. “I will protect this child with everything I have. I will teach them discipline. Honour. How to disarm man in six seconds. Also fishing.”

“Alexei—”

“Shhh.” He tapped your forehead. “Little Starfish, you are busy now. You grow hero. I will build cradle. I have plans already. And foam. And tools. Maybe missile too.”

You stared at him.

“…Please don’t put missiles near the baby.”

“Decorative.”

Yelena snorted.

Alexei turned back to her. “We need banner. And possibly anthem. Something that plays when child enters room.”

You sighed into your palm. “No one is making an anthem for the baby.”

He placed a hand over his chest. “We see.”

You didn’t mean to drag John into it. Not directly, anyway.

But desperate times called for desperate measures.

You were curled up on the compound couch one afternoon, hoodie pulled over your knees, watching a rerun of Shark Tank and trying your absolute best not to commit murder out of pure hormonal rage when the craving hit, hard, out of nowhere.

You held out for a few minutes—tried breathing, counting backwards, chewing on the inside of your cheek. But by minute five, your resolve crumbled. You pulled out your phone and fired off a text.

you up? can you get me mango gummies. and pickles and vanilla yogurt. not greek. please.

There was a pause. Then:

Walker: you want me to bring you pickles and yogurt?

You: together. in the same container. i'm gonna dip them.

Another pause. Longer.

Walker: that's weird, but I’m on my way.

True to his word, John showed up twenty minutes later, slightly out of breath like he had sprinted through a Costco. He had two grocery bags in hand and a look on his face that said he had seen war—but nothing quite like this.

“Okay,” he said, dropping the bags like they might detonate, “I got four kinds of yogurt because I didn’t know what you meant, three kinds of pickles because apparently there are options, and the mango gummies."

You blinked, mildly overwhelmed. “You're a hero."

He didn’t move. Just stood there, watching as you cracked open the yogurt, dunked a pickle, and took a bite like it was the most normal thing in the world. You let out a blissed-out sigh.

John stared, horrified. “You’re really eating that?"

“Yup.”

“Like... voluntarily?”

“It’s good.”

He sat down beside you slowly, arms crossed like a disappointed gym teacher. “I don’t think that’s how taste buds work.”

You shrugged, popping another pickle. “Maybe not for you.”

There was a long silence. Then John tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling like it held answers. “Okay,” he muttered. “You cried during that dog adoption video last week.”

“So did you,” you pointed out.

“Yeah, but you sobbed. Like, full on ugly cry. For twenty minutes. Over a golden retriever named Meatball.”

“He was alone in the shelter for six years.”

“And then there’s the naps. The weird tea. The fact that Ava’s been hovering. And now you’re eating that.” He gestured vaguely at your snack combo, then narrowed his eyes.

“Wait. You sparred with me the other day and said my voice gave you a headache.”

You didn’t even look up. “Sometimes it does.”

His eyes went wide. “Oh my God. You’re pregnant.”

You froze, mid-bite.

He gasped and stood up so fast the couch groaned. “You’re pregnant, and I gave you a concussion last month!”

“I was already pregnant,” you said flatly. “You just didn’t know it.”

“Oh my God.” He started pacing, one hand on his head. “I told you to lift heavier weights. I told you to jump off that ledge. You had two plates of nachos for breakfast last week and I mocked you.”

“John—”

“I called you a sleepy turtle.”

“John,"

He turned, wild-eyed. “Am I complicit?”

You blinked. “In the pregnancy?”

He looked genuinely uncertain. You let out a long breath. “No, John. You are not.”

There was a pause. A beat of silence. Then he nodded once and walked to the kitchen like a man on a mission. A minute later, he returned with a glass of orange juice and handed it to you like it was a peace offering from a defeated warrior.

After that, he slumped onto the couch beside you with a dramatic sigh, arms flopping out over the cushions.

“I’m gonna be such a bad uncle,” he muttered.

You nudged him gently with your shoulder. “You’ll be fine.”

“I brought four kinds of yogurt.”

You smiled. “You’ll be great.”

Bob found out by accident.

You were in the mess hall, quietly sipping ginger tea and trying not to vomit over the smell of John’s overly seasoned reheated chili, when Bob slid into the seat across from you with a smile and a soft, “Hey.”

“Hey,” you managed.

He blinked at the tea. Then at the saltines. Then at the way you were ever-so-subtly glaring at the chili across the room like it had personally wronged you.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” you said too fast. “Fine. Just a headache.”

Bob’s brows pinched together. He looked concerned. Thoughtful. And then, as if connecting puzzle pieces like the others had in real time, tilted his head. “Wait. Is this… like a headache-headache or a pregnant and trying not to barf from chili fumes headache?”

You froze.

His eyes widened. “Oh my god. Oh my god. Are you—?”

You sighed, smiling sheepishly. “You weren’t supposed to find out yet.”

He immediately looked horrified. “I wasn’t supposed to find out—oh my god—was this a secret? I didn’t mean to—I just—I saw the tea and the crackers and you’re glowing a little and—"

“Bob,” you laughed, “it’s okay.”

He relaxed slightly, cheeks flushed. “Does Bucky know?”

“Not yet.”

Bob pressed his lips together. Then nodded. “I won’t say a word.”

You smiled. “Thanks, Bob.”

He hesitated. Then softly, genuinely, “Congratulations (y/n), you’re gonna be an amazing mum."

And with that, he stood, walked off quietly, and—ten minutes later—came back and wordlessly slid you a chocolate milkshake with a note taped to the cup that read:

“For when the smell finally clears. – Bob”

You stared after him as he walked off, hands in his jacket pockets, head slightly bowed like he hadn’t just completely melted your heart.

Bucky wasn’t supposed to be back yet.

You had counted on at least two more hours, just enough time to hide the half-built, borderline indestructible crib Alexei had wheeled in, distract John before he could bust out his laminated “Uncle Training Schedule,” and maybe, if the stars aligned, finally scrub the yogurt stain off your hoodie.

But the mission ended early. Debrief went faster than expected. And now your husband stood in the doorway of your shared bedroom, still in half his tactical gear, brow furrowed as he took in the scene before him.

There was a crib on the floor, if you could even call it that. John was crouched beside it, cross-legged, a wrench between his knees. Alexei was hammering something loudly and completely unnecessarily.

You were mid-movement, frozen between hiding a pink baby blanket under the bed and whisper-screaming at Alexei to shut up.

Bucky blinked, stepping forward just slightly. “Why is there… furniture in our room?”

“It’s not furniture. It’s a cradle.” Ava replied, almost flatly.

There was a beat. Bucky’s frown deepened. “Why is there a cradle in our room?”

Alexei perked up immediately, beaming, holding up what might’ve once been a baby mobile, now covered in polished throwing stars. “Because you, my friend are going to be papa!”

Silence.

The kind of silence that settled in your bones. Bucky’s eyes scanned the room slowly, the cradle, the weapons-grade mobile, the glittery “CONGRATULATIONS?” banner that Yelena had duct-taped across the headboard. And then, finally, his gaze landed on you.

He looked confused. Careful. Like he couldn’t quite trust what he was seeing.

His voice came soft, hesitant. “You’re… what?”

Your heart was hammering. You took a breath and straightened slowly, hands behind your back, nerves thrumming through your fingertips. “I was going to tell you,” you said gently. “I had a plan. There were cupcakes. A playlist.”

Bucky blinked, still reeling.

John, who had been trying very hard to fade into the wallpaper, raised a hand slightly and said, “Yelena ruined the cupcakes.”

You turned your head slowly. “John.”

“She punched one!” he said quickly.

“It had a baby face on it." Bob quipped.

Yelena’s voice floated in from the hallway. “It was smiling at me wrong!”

Bucky blinked, trying, and failing, to process any of it. His eyes drifted back to you, still full of questions, still locked somewhere between shock and awe.

And then you reached for his hands. Everything softened.

You stepped toward him slowly, reaching for his hands. He let you take them without hesitation, but still stared down at them like they didn’t quite belong to him yet.

“I didn’t want to drop this on you before a mission,” you said softly. “I wanted to wait until it felt like our moment. Something small and quiet. Just us.”

Another beat of silence. And then something shifted.

His shoulders dropped. His hands tightened around yours.

Then he looked up, and everything changed.

You watched it all happen in real time. The realisation, the wonder and the warmth. His features softened, lips parting as his eyes filled with something impossibly tender. Awe bloomed like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.

“You’re really having my baby,” he whispered, like the words alone could undo him.

Your throat tightened. “I’m really having your baby.”

He moved before you could say another word. One hand came up to cradle your cheek, the other curling around the small of your back as he kissed you—softly at first, then deeper, slower. Like he wanted to memorise the moment through touch, like he was anchoring himself in you.

When he pulled back, his eyes were glassy. His forehead pressed against yours, breath trembling.

“I didn’t know I could love you more than I already did,” he murmured. “But you proved me wrong.”

You smiled through the tears. “That’s my job.”

His hands slipped to your waist, pulling you against him fully. One palm eased down to rest over your stomach, warm and steady, and stayed there.

You could feel it in the way his thumb moved—small, gentle strokes over the fabric. Like he was already in love with the tiny life growing there.

A shaky laugh escaped him, part joy, part disbelief. “We’re gonna be parents.”

“Yeah,” you whispered. “We are.”

He kissed your forehead. Then your nose. Then your cheek. He couldn’t stop touching you, holding you, grounding himself in every tiny, real part of this.

You let yourself lean into it, into him, feeling more whole than you ever had in your life.

"God, I love you". Bucky said softly.

“Even after I’ve eaten yogurt-dipped pickles?” you teased gently, chin tilted up.

He pulled back just enough to raise an eyebrow. “That was you?”

“Still recovering from that." John mumbled.

Alexei cleared his throat dramatically. “I play anthem now?”

Yelena appeared in the doorway, cupcake in one hand, "Come on guys, let them have their moment.”

Bucky glanced around the room, eyes still soft but amused. “Wait. You all knew?”

Every head nodded.

He let out a slow, incredulous laugh and looked down at you again, full of something so warm it made your knees wobble.

“Well, damn,” he whispered. “Guess I’m the last to know.”

You smiled, eyes shimmering. “Yeah, but you’re the first to feel our baby kick.”

And right then, perfect, almost surreal, you felt it.

A flutter beneath his hand. A tiny, impossible shift.

His breath caught. His gaze snapped to yours. “Was that—?”

You nodded, tears spilling. “Yeah.”

“Oh my god,” he whispered, dropping to his knees in front of you, hand still over your stomach, lips brushing gently against the space just below your navel. “Hi, sweetheart. It’s me. I’m your dad.”

You laughed through your tears, fingers threading through his hair as your team stood quietly in the background, letting the room finally fall into peace.

And in that moment, with his hand on your belly, your heart in his hands, and the promise of forever in the air, Bucky looked up at you like you were his whole future.

Because you were.

[saphronethaleph]

Bedrock Assumptions

“That was… uhm,” Max said, blinking a couple of times, as they carried Bagon back to the Pokémon Centre. “That was, really impressive, but… how did you do that, Ash?”

“Do what?” Ash replied.

“The tree!” Max said. “You picked up a tree about three times as tall as I am and threw it! You’re not that much bigger or older than me, are you?”

Ash frowned, then visibly realized what Max was talking about.

“Oh, yeah, that!” he said, chuckling. “Yeah, it’s just normal for me, I guess it’s kind of a long story…”

“What kind of long story could explain that?” May asked. “And how haven’t we heard about it yet?”

“Because I didn’t actually find out about it for a while after it happened?” Ash said or possibly asked, shrugging.

“Pika kachuu,” Pikachu declared.

“Gon?” Matt’s Bagon said, looking confused.

Pikachu shrugged.

“Anyway, I’m technically made of animated rock,” Ash resumed. “I… think it’s basalt?”

“Actually it’s a welded ignimbrite,” Brock supplied. “Because it’s made of Ash.”

Ash nodded, clearly immediately forgetting the technical details.

“How does that… what?” Max asked, staring. “Is that… how does… I don’t even know the right words for that! How did that happen?”

Ash chuckled. “Uh… I actually don’t remember,” he admitted, which got Max to stare daggers at him, not that Ash noticed. “Well. Mostly I don’t remember. So what happened was, before my first Pokémon League I ran into the middle of a fight between Mew and Mewtwo.”

That did not seem to clarify the situation.

“You mean the Mew from Rota?” May said.

Max snapped his fingers. “Is that where Doctor Yung got the idea from?”

“What are you talking about?” Matt said, his voice vague and unclear, and Bagon shrugged.

“It wasn’t the Rota Mew,” Ash replied. “I… think. But anyway, I got turned to stone, which I guess might or might not have killed me, I don’t actually know and we’ve not met Yveltal yet who’s the one who’d have an expert opinion…”

He was silent for several seconds.

“Maybe Xerneas?” he asked.

“Not the point,” Max sighed.

“You died?” May asked.

“I don’t know if I died, I said,” Ash replied. “I mean, I don’t have a great memory of what happened so some of this is what Mewtwo told me. Anyway, a lot of Pokémon cried, and now I’m alive again, if I stopped being alive that is, but it didn’t turn me back from being made of stone.”

He shrugged. “Because, uh… if it turned me back from being made of stone but didn’t make it so I was alive, then I guess I’d be dead of being made of stone? Is that a syndrome? It feels like it should be. And if it made me alive again, it didn’t need to bother with making it so that I’m not made of stone, because… well, Brock alone has at least two Pokémon who are alive even though they’re made of rock, so it’s the same kind of thing, right?”

“I still can’t get over the bit about how you died,” May admitted. “Or… didn’t die. Whichever it is, it’s still weird, right? You get that it’s weird… right?”

“It probably is weird or something,” Ash shrugged. “I actually didn’t realize this until we met Mewtwo again, because Mewtwo wiped our memories, and I guess whatever was going on meant I could still eat and stuff. I’m even still the Chosen One!”

Then he frowned. “Wait, am I Lugia’s Chosen One or the Chosen One in general, or is it kind of a mix?”

“I thought I was Jirachi’s Chosen One,” Max said, thinking. “And I bet May is Manaphy’s Chosen One. But there was the thing with Lucario…”

Brock chuckled. “I can think of one Pokémon from Altomare who probably wants you to be her Chosen One,” he said.

Ash frowned. “Huh?”

“I’m sorry, what is up with you people?” Matt demanded. “You’re – he just said that he’s a rock that died and came back to life and you’re treating it as normal?”

“No, not normal,” Ash replied. “Ghost Rock, if anything. Hey, Brock, are there any Ghost Rocks or would that be a new type combination? I can’t remember. Maybe we should contact Professor Oak about it?”

“Chuu,” Pikachu said, sniggering.

[subtlenighttribute]

You Don’t Have to Clench Anymore

Selkie AU | Love and Deepspace Boys x Reader

Quiet pain | Jaw tension | Observant affection | Soothing fluff

A request completed ✨️

---

It wasn’t obvious.

Not at first.

Just a quiet ache in your jaw some mornings. A pressure behind your ears. Nothing big.

You thought it was normal.

Stress, maybe. The kind of thing you just lived with.

But the boys noticed.

Not all at once.

But slowly… one by one… they started watching.

---

🐺 Sylus

He caught it the first night you fell asleep beside him on the beach.

You dozed off with your hand on his warm, seal-soft side, curled peacefully under the stars. But your brow twitched. Your jaw ticked.

Tight.

He lifted his head, eyes narrowing.

You whimpered—barely audible.

And his chest rumbled, deep and low.

He hated that sound.

When you woke up, he was in human form, lying beside you, one hand gently rubbing your temple. No teasing. No questions. His pelt covering you both.

Just:

“You're grinding your teeth in your sleep, sweetheart.”

You blinked. “I am?”

He nodded.

Then whispered:

“You don’t have to hold everything in like that.”

---

🫧 Rafayel

Rafayel noticed when you were reading one afternoon.

You were curled up on a blanket, jaw tight, lips pressed together. You weren’t frowning, but you weren’t relaxed, either.

He flopped next to you in full seal form—then began gently pressing his nose into your cheeks.

Left. Right. Left again.

“Rafa, what—?”

He honked.

A big wet seal boop.

Then licked your chin and made a soft squeak like, “Unclench, darling. Let it go.”

He lay across your lap for the next hour like a warm compress until your whole body softened beneath him.

---

🪨 Zayne

Zayne said nothing.

But he noticed.

He noticed every time you chewed stiffly. Every time you winced when yawning. Every time your fingers crept up to rub your jaw without realizing it.

One morning, you found a cup of warm herbal tea waiting beside your pillow, laced with something earthy and calming.

A note beside it in neat, blocky handwriting: You’re tensing your jaw in your sleep. Try this blend tonight. It should help. You don’t have to be in pain quietly. Let me help you.

Your chest tightened in the best way.

---

☀️ Caleb

Caleb didn’t know what to do at first.

He noticed the way you massaged your jaw with a pained little groan and he panicked.

He immediately declared:

“YOU’RE DYING.”

You burst out laughing—and winced.

“Ow. No I’m not.”

“THEN WHY DOES YOUR FACE HURT?!”

“...Because I clench my jaw too much.”

Cue Caleb storming the beach yelling “We need jaw massages, soothing seaweed, and anti-stress rituals, STAT!”

Ten minutes later, he returned with a leaf, a shiny shell, and a sea cucumber.

“I fixed it.”

You didn’t know whether to cry or laugh again.

You hugged him instead.

---

🌊 Xavier

Xavier said nothing.

But one night, when the wind picked up and the cold crept in, you shifted in your sleep and clenched again—

He shifted human silently just to reach for you.

He brushed his fingers over your cheek, massaging gently until your muscles released.

When you woke, your head was in his lap, his pelt being used as extra padding. His hands still cradled your face.

You blinked up at him, dazed. “Did I fall asleep like this?”

“No.”

Quiet.

Soft.

“I moved you. I heard you grinding your teeth again.”

You whispered, “I’m sorry—”

He shook his head.

“No apologies. Just relax.”

---

Later…

They took turns.

Sylus made you hot cloth compresses at night.

Rafayel massaged your jaw with sea-smooth stones warmed by his own heat.

Zayne blended teas and taught you to breathe slowly.

Caleb gave you little shoulder squeezes and goofy affirmations.

Xavier always—always—watched for the first twitch.

They never said it outright.

But you felt it in their soft sounds, their stares, their warmth, their presence:

You don’t have to carry tension in silence anymore.

[9w1ft]

I think all Taylor’s relationships are fake and have been here for yours but every once and a while she does something - like this wedding - and I’m like wait, am I so wrong? Haha

hahah aw anonnnn 😂 i feel for ya. there’s no way for me to know how you think of things but if you would allow me to leapfrog off your anon and speak generally i would say that, when it comes to events like these, i feel like sometimes people on our side of the fence can set themselves up for frustration if they frame and speak of these relationships or events as inherently negative things, or ascribe specific emotions or values to what she’s doing. for example, phrases like “she looks so uncomfortable” “they look so stiff” “she looks so unhappy” “they are obviously just doing this for PR because [an upcoming project or event]” “she doesn’t even talk to him they just walk around for a few hours and leave separately” “this sets a bad example” “this is a cheap stunt” “what do they even have in common” “taylor would never date someone this sweaty” etc etc etc the list goes on.

when people add additional rules to the game like this, they’re painting themselves into a corner (unnecessarily!), because now you’re setting an extra expectation that, for example, taylor needs to look unhappy in a pap walk in order for it to be a pap walk. (which i would argue simply isn’t true). so when taylor shows up to something with a man looking like she’s having a good time, they then have to counter that in order to preserve a narrative that they’ve built up of her being unhappy, and so they unfortunately have a tendency to come off to passers by like they’re trying to come up with excuses. and sadly, sometimes the explanations veer off, “this is obviously to bury [insert news story],” “something must have happened behind the scenes,” “taylor must have been warning us this was going to happen by [insert interpretation of something taylor did earlier]” “this must be the last time this happens because [insert theory]” “this stunt is one last gasp leading up to [the most recently decided end date]” “they’re seeding the breakup because they have to get the public more interested in them again before they break up, that’s what happened with [insert past relationship example]” and so on and so forth, or sometimes the mood turns into bargaining such as “if she doesn’t stop this by [my deadline] then i’m giving up,” “i am disappointed and she should know better, this is frankly unacceptable and so i plan to [insert thing of hers to boycott or insert things you’ve boycotted of hers as of late]” and so people feel bitter but don’t really reflect on what to change for themselves so at some point the anger subsides and people move on in hopes that their goal is just around the corner… until it happens again.

and, disclaimer, i’m not saying these above things can’t ever be true or that its not possible for them to be valid. but that, while we await eventual gradual change, a whole bunch of the anguish doesn’t really even need to be gone through along the way in the first place for us as fans if we just think about it a little differently.

to borrow a phrase from the other side of the tracks, we could very easily just look at this and say: hey, she’s living her life. yes, she’s living her life! this is part of living her life. and part of securing the life that she has (which is an intricate life) includes stuff like sometimes bringing a guy around to events like these or taking him out on a walk or to a restaurant every once in awhile. and, in doing so, she’s able to be seen in places such as florida and missouri without anyone batting an eye, she’s able to maintain a private life on her own time with some peace of mind. and maybe just maybe, going out like this might be fun or enjoyable at times. even if only partially! maybe at the end of the day she’s had a few nice conversations or ate something tasty, or someone did something funny, or she was told something amusing, and maybe she has a few funny stories to bring back home to tell.

perhaps it’s not an ideal goal in the empirical. maybe in the eyes of some (or many), it falls short of what an ideal situation might be. and i understand that. i don’t think it’s the vision of a perfect world for humanity either. but, i can also see how there’s the potential for a lot of happiness to be going on right now, which also may have seemed out of reach for taylor for so long. that maybe, she has achieved some key things.

i really think it’s important to recognize that as humans we all have different win conditions, and that we can’t always be sure what a win to someone else looks like. so for me, i just try to see these kinds of events as her living her life. …just that it’s a little bit more complicated of a life than most swifties think of her as having, that’s all.

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Too long without a crochet or knitting project means... my first ever embroidery kits came in today

[figureitoutinthemorning]

I would eat this up so hard

WAIT I DIDN’T SEE THIS ASK BEFORE, TUMBLR HID IT FROM ME!!!

But yeah. At some point I will write it!! I have a bunch of little scenes in my head like that.

[austin-friars]

It just occurred to me that we've not had an in depth portrayal of Henry VIII and Jane Seymour since the Tudors. Or just, Jane Seymour in general. So I am really curious to see how Mirror and the Light/Wolf Hall is going to handle them.

We get to know about her family, we'll learn about Elizabeth Seymour as well, and how important she is.

[arthropodboy]

Wow people really do be being biphobic in our lords year of 2025... I cannot imagine watching the western world fall to facism (while living in the western world) and still putting time and energy into creating division in the queer community. Like. Your human rights are in major peril. What the fuck are you talking about.

[crossbackpoke-check]

Dysprosium, Mary Soon Lee

dysprosium, AN 66, is a silvery-white rare earth metal. its name is derived from the greek dysprositos, meaning “hard to get at”, owing to the difficulty in separating and isolating this rare earth element. dysprosium is used to measure neutron flux, to fuel reactors, and to activate phosphors. terfenol-d is a magnetorestrictive alloy, meaning that it changes shape when a magnetic field is applied, and is used to manufacture underwater acoustic systems.

jason “robo” robertson, dallas stars #21 for @simmyfrobby’s nhl periodic table poems <3

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

I love being within walking distance of a bakery

[yanderespamton78]

hhngngggg why must i be doomed to forever be the Weird Kid who constantly needs things to be changed around so i dont have a meltdown and is terrified of most people and cant work in any loud or busy environments and has to be with someone i know all day or i will have a panic attack and hnnhnnghnghngggg

[meowchela]

guys inanimate insanity is updating again and i kinda dgaf because the hyperfixation died years ago but i just got spoiled (??? i think) for something and ngl its making me kinda intruiged.........these days ive moved on to other things and grown up (which is ironic considering i got into II when i was a little bit over the target age in the first place) but like. should i finish it just to finish it since season 2 is finally wrapping up or nah since idk if i feel like going back to it rn

[dihalect]

i need to post about palestine on facebook but i'm fucking terrified

[teaandinanity]

Am I restarting CotL again so I can take the Pit Fight ritual instead of the Wedding and unlock that in the postgame so I can marry a tsundere cat boy without anyone else asking first? MAYBE SO.

[crossbackpoke-check]

a doc of omega yamo being a nuisance, you say?

well…

[devils-little-sistaaa]

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