#filled polymers

[cylexplastics]

PTFE Filled Modified Materials: The Key to Enhancing Wear Resistance and Mechanical Strength

In the world of advanced polymer materials, PTFE (Polytetrafluoroethylene) stands out for its exceptional properties. However, when enhanced with filler materials, PTFE transforms into an even more remarkable engineering solution. This article explores how PTFE filled modified materials significantly improve wear resistance and mechanical strength for demanding industrial…

[iambittythings]

New beasts up in the shop and looking for new homes! Go take a peep if you'd like a lil guy for your tiny things collection.

We bugs and rays and glowing guys, cryptids and fantasy and sharks! And a bunch more, too.

[brandwhorestarscream]

Okay, weird question warning, but how do you feel about robotic boobs? Usually called pouches or refineries.

I am of the opinion that everyone looks hot with tits. Alien robots are not exceptions to this rule 😌

Why do you ask, anon? 👀 got something juicy to share? 👀👀

[eggatha]

OMG I LOVE THIS

How I join skeins

[quandaplastic]

Conductive POM vs. Antistatic POM: Special Modified Materials and Their Application Scenarios

In the world of engineering plastics, polyoxymethylene (POM) stands out for its excellent mechanical properties, chemical resistance, and dimensional stability. However, standard POM materials have limitations when it comes to electrical properties. This is where specially modified versions – conductive POM and antistatic POM – come into play, offering unique solutions for industries where…

[heron-knight]

decided to crack open my skull and pour the contents of my brain onto the keyboard. thought the denizens of tumblr might enjoy it. bon appetite

Mech Pilot Care guide

You never expect it, do you. Even as you see the flashes of pulse-decay fire in the sky, illuminating a scene of violence on the cosmic scale. Planetary defense satellites forming Monolithic structures in the sky, their purpose now revealed as they scatter constellations of destruction across the night horizon, drowning out the stars and replacing them with ones born of death. The oxygen in a ship catching fire and burning away in an instant, a flash of light that marks the death of its crew of hundreds. Even if you take your telescope to watch this spectacle, this war in a place without screams, you still feel profoundly disconnected from it.

Even as you see a pilot cleave through a drone hive with a fusion blade, the molten metal glistening in the light of the explosions around it, scattering without gravity to the corners of the universe, even as two mechs dance across the sky, their reactors pouring into the engines enough energy to power the house atop which you sit for ten thousand years, flying in a 3.5 dimensional dance with only one word to the song that can reach across the vacuum: “I Will Kill You.” you don’t feel even the slightest glimpse of what goes on inside their minds. You don’t feel the neurological feedback tearing across the brain-computer interface, filling her mind with more simultaneous pain and elation that an unmodified human could ever experience. You don’t feel it as the pneumatic lance punctures through steel and nanocarbon polymer, the mech AI sending floods of a sensation you could never truly know through the skull and into every corner of the body carried on enhanced nerves for every layer of armor punctured, tearing into the enemy chassis with a desire beyond anything the flesh can provide. Let the stars kill each other. After all, I am safe on earth. No, you don’t expect it when the star is hit with a sub-relativistic projectile, piercing through both engines in an instant. You don’t expect it to fall. You never would have expected it to land, the impact nearly vaporizing the soil and setting trees aflame, on the hill beyond your house, and you would never have expected, beneath the layers of cooling slag, for the life-support indicator light to still be visible.

All the fire extinguishers in your house, your old plasma cutter that you haven’t used in years, and whatever medical supplies you think they might still be able to benefit from. All that on a hoverbike, speeding at 120 kilometers per hour through the valley and up onto the hill, still illuminated by the battle above, unsurprisingly unchanged by this new development. 200 meters. 100 meters. You don’t know how much time you’ve got. It wasn’t exactly covered in school, how long a pilot can survive in an overheating frame. You’ve heard rumors, of course, of what these things that used to be human have become. That they don’t eat and barely need air. That they don’t feel any desire beyond what instructions are pumped directly into their brains. Not so much of a person as much as an attack dog. It’s understandably a bit concerning, as if they are alive, then it’s not guaranteed that you will be. Three fire extinguishers later, the surface of the mech is mostly solid, and the cutter slices through the exterior plating. With a satisfying crunch, the cockpit is forced open, revealing the pilot, and confirming a few of the rumors, while refuting others. Pilots, it seems, are not quite emotionless. In fact, there seems to be genuine fear on its face when it sees you, followed by… a sort of grim certainty as it opens its mouth, moves its jaw into a strange position, and you only have half a second to react before it would have bitten down with all its force on the tooth that seemed to be made of a different material then all the rest.

Your thumb is definitely bleeding, and is caught between a metamaterial-based dental implant, and one containing a military-grade neurotoxin. You’re not sure exactly why you did it. The pilot looks at you for a second, before the tubes that attach to its arms like puppet strings run out of stimulants, and it passes out after who knows how long without sleep. This battle has been going on for weeks already. Has it been fighting that long? Its various frame-tethered implants disconnect easily, the unconscious pilot draped over your shoulder twitching slightly with each one you remove. It’s a much longer ride back to the house. Avoiding having the pilot fall off the bike is the top priority, and the injured thumb stings in the fast-moving air. 

An internet search doesn’t lead to many helpful sources to the question of “there is a mech pilot on my couch, what do I do?” a few articles about how easy targets retired pilots are for the “doll sellers,” a few military recruitment ads, and a couple near-incomprehensible legal documents full of words like “proprietary technology” or “instant termination.” However, there is one link, a few rows down from the top-- “Mech Pilot Care Guide.” It’s a detailed list, arranged in numbered steps. The website has no other links on it, just the step-by-step instructions: a quick read reveals that this isn’t going to be easy, but looking at the unconscious pilot, unabsorbed chemicals dripping from the ports in its arms and head onto the mildly bloodstained towel, you come to the conclusion that there’s no other option.

Step one: the first 24 hours.

The first thing you should know is that pilots aren’t used to sleeping. They’re used to being put under for transport and storage, but after the neural augmentations and years of week-long battles sustained by stimulants that would fry the brain of anyone that still has an intact one, they’ve more or less forgotten what real sleep is. If they see you asleep, they’ll think you’re dead, so don’t try to let them stay in your room yet. Once you’ve removed the neurotoxin from the tooth (it breaks easily with a bit of applied pressure, but be careful not to let any fall into their mouth or onto your skin.), start by moving them into a chair (preferably a recliner or gaming chair, as the mech seat is about halfway in between), and putting a heavy blanket over them. Don’t worry, they don’t need as much air as normal humans do, and can handle high temperatures up to a point. This is an environment similar to the one they’re used to. It’ll stay like this for about 12 hours-- barely breathing, trembling slightly underneath the blanket. Feel free to check if it’s alive every few hours, not that you could help it if it wasn’t. It won’t freak out when it wakes up. In fact, it doesn’t seem like they can. Turn down the lights and remove the blanket from its face. It’ll stare blankly at you, trying to evaluate the situation with a brain that’s not connected to a computer that’s bigger than they are anymore. Coming to terms, if you could call it that, with the fact that it isn’t dead. Don’t expect it to start reacting to things for a while yet, give it a couple hours. 

It’s been a bit, and its eyes are starting to focus on you. The next thing you should know is this: pilots only have two groups into which they can categorize non-pilots: handler and enemy. You need to work on making sure you’re in the right one. Move slowly, standing up and walking toward them, making sure they can see where you’re going to step. Place both hands on their shoulders, then slide one under their arm and carefully pick them up. Don’t be startled by how light they are, or how they still shake slightly as they realize their arms don’t have anything connected to them. Most importantly, don’t break. Don’t reflect on how something can be done to a person so that this is all that’s left. Just focus on rotating them as if you’re inspecting all the brain-computer interface ports, while holding them at half an arm’s length. Set them back down, wrap the blanket around them, then lean in close and say “status report.” they won’t say anything, as they usually upload the data via interface, but what’s important is that now they recognise you as their handler. Their entire mind will be focused on the fact that they exist now to do what you want. Now it’s up to you to prove them wrong.

Step two: the first week.

They’re shaking so hard that you’ve had to move them from the chair back to the couch, sweating heavily as they pant like the dog they’ve been trained to think they are. This was to be expected, really. Pilots are constantly being filled with a mix of stimulants, painkillers, and who knows what else, and you’ve just cut them off completely. You’ve woken up several times in the night and rushed to check if they’re still breathing, debating whether you should try to tell them that they’re going to be okay. The guide says they’re not ready for that yet, whatever that means. They’re still wearing the suit you found them in, made from nanofiber mesh and apparently recycling nutrients and water before re-infusing them intravenously. It’s been three days since you tore them out of the lump of metal atop the hill outside. Long enough that the suit’s battery, apparently, has run out. You lift them gently from the couch and carry them to the bathroom. The shower’s been on for the past hour or so, meaning the temperature should be high enough. You set them on their chair, which you’ve rolled there from the living room and covered with a towel. Removing the suit normally isn’t done except in between missions, and it’s only done to exchange it for a new one. Without the proper tools, you’ve opted for a pair of scissors. Cutting through the suit takes a bit of time, but you manage to cut a sizable line from the neck down to the front to the bottom of the torso. The pilot recoils slightly from the cold metal against their skin, but you manage to peel off the suit without incident, The Temperature of which was roughly the same as the steam filling the room, and you’ve done your best to minimize air currents. They’ve got a bit more shape to them than you expected of someone who’s been so heavily modified. Perhaps what little fat storage it provides helps on longer missions, or perhaps this is for the purposes of marketing. Just another recruitment ad that appeals to baser instincts. Either way, it doesn’t matter. Using a cloth with the least noticeable texture possible, you wash off as much sweat and dead skin as you can, avoiding the various interface and IV ports, as you’re not yet sure that they’re waterproof. Embarrassment is the enemy of efficiency, so you’re slightly glad that their eyes never completely focus on you. They shift their weight slightly, however. Despite the difficulty moving with their current symptoms, they lean in the direction opposite the places you wash once you're done, allowing you to more easily access the places you haven’t got to yet. An act of trust that you have a suspicion they weren't “programmed” to do.  As they dry out, you prepare for the difficult part. You take the blanket that previously wrapped around their suit, and gently touch a corner of it to their shoulder. Pilots are used to an amount of sensory  information that would overload any normal human in an instant, but most rarely experience textures against their skin. After about half an hour, they’re used to it enough that you’re able to replace what’s left of the suit with it, and after another you’re able to wrap them in it again. You carry them back to the couch, and place a few of your old shirts next to their hand. They pick one and touch it with one finger before recoiling slightly. Eventually, they’ll be used to at least one of them enough that they can wear it. It’s slow progress, but it’s progress.

Step 3: food

It goes without saying that it’s usually been at least a year since they’ve eaten anything. The augmentations scooped out much of their knowledge on how to survive as a human, assuming that they would die before ever needing to be one again. Start them off with just flavors. Give them a chance to pick favorites by giving them a wide selection and firmly telling them to try all of them. Avoid anything solid for the first month or so, both because they can’t digest it and because they associate chewing with their self-destruct mechanism. Trying to and surviving might make them think the “mission’s fully compromised” and attempt to improvise. They’ll typically pick out favorites quickly with their enhanced senses, so once they’ve sampled everything, tell them to pick one. Remember it, not in order to use it as a reward or anything, but them still being able to have a “favorite” anything is something you should keep in mind for later. 

Use a similar method anytime they become able to handle the next level of solidity. Don’t be alarmed if one of their favorite foods is the meat that’s most similar to humans (such as pork.) they’re not going to eat you, they just will have already formed an association between that flavor and the moment they went from being a weapon to living in your house. Don’t worry about your thumb getting infected, by the way. Pilots barely have a microbiome.

Step 4: entertainment:

Roll them over to your computer and give them access to your game library. No, really. They need enrichment, and there’s only one activity that they’re able to enjoy at the moment. A simulation of it will make the shift from weapon to guest easier. Start them off with an FPS with a story. Don’t go multiplayer, as your account may get banned for being suspected of using aimbots. Watch as they progress the story. The military left pilots with just enough of a personality to allow them to improvise, and that should be enough for them to make decisions on this level. They won’t do much character customization, but keep an eye on which starting character body shape they pick. No pilot would consciously think they have enough of a “Self” to still have a gender, but keep track of the ones they pick in the games. As for the one you’ve found, it appears that she’s got a player-character preference. You even saw her nudge one of the appearance sliders before clicking “start game.” Whether this means that a pilot doesn’t think of themselves as “it” or that it means there’s still enough of their mind left for them to know there’s more to themselves than the body they have, it’s a handy bit of information to know. Some pilots might have had this decision influenced by their handlers having referred to them as “she” in the way it refers to boats, but still, on some level they always know that “it” meant that they’re a weapon. 

Step 6: outside:

There’s a profound difference between experiencing the world through information fed directly into your brain and standing up for the first time, wandering around the room and investigating with hands not made of a half-ton of metal. She’s not used to feeling the air on her skin as she stands in front of the window, visual data coming from two eyes instead of seven cameras. It’ll take a while to get used to it again. New old data, reminiscent of a time before she’s been trained not to remember. It’ll take a while until she’s walking like a human and not a mech, as the muscles used are different, and the ones to hold herself upright haven’t been used in a while. She’s going to fall down at least once. Be sure you’re standing next to her when it happens, as pilots that fall aren’t trained to think they can get back up. It’s worth it, though, when she opens the door herself and strides into the yard, still wobbly but standing. Be careful not to let her look into the sun, partially because it looks nearly identical to the barrel of a pulse-decay blaster milliseconds before it fires. She would get hurt trying to dodge it. It will be somewhat confusing for her, standing on a hill as she once did, but not contained within a 12-meter metal chassis. A feeling of being small and alone without the voices of the computer. This means it’s time for step seven.

Step 7: 

All this time, and any idea that she’s still a person has, for her, been subconscious. Any thought of humanity is stopped when it slams into the wall of her handlers and mech AIs reminding her for years before now that she is a weapon. She’ll still ask for your permission before doing just about anything, and that’s just the rare times that she’ll do something you don’t tell her to. Even after you’ve moved her into your room, she’ll still try to sleep on the floor. She still thinks that beds are only for humans. Kneel next to her as she curls into a ball on the ground, assuming that’s what she’s supposed to do. Expect her to try to move down to the foot of the bed after you set her down on it. Gently move her back up until her head’s on the pillow. Sit on the edge of the bed, and hold out your hand to her. After a bit, she’ll take it, wrapping both hands around it and tracing her fingers along the scar on your thumb. Lie down next to her, an arm’s length apart. Place your other hand on her forearm, then slide it up her arm to her shoulder. Don’t move too quickly, and don’t surprise her. Whisper softly but audibly every movement you’re going to make in advance. Move in a bit closer, until you’re wrapped in her arms. Mech pilots aren’t used to this. They aren't used to feeling someone next to them. Not above them, but next to them, getting exactly as much out of this as they are. Even after several months, many won’t admit they deserve it. You wouldn’t waste time lying next to a gun. So why do they feel so strongly that they don’t want you to leave? Why do they hold on tighter? They often feel they’re doing something wrong. Overstepping a boundary. There’s a rift between what they want and what they’re told they can want that nearly tears their mind in half, and it hurts. No normal human will ever know how much it hurts them to think they’ve broken some instruction, that they feel things they aren’t allowed to. Nobody said it was easy, learning how to become human again. Tell her it’s okay. That she’s allowed to feel this way. She still won’t know why. It’s time to tell her. The guide can’t tell you what to say, only that you have to say it. It has to come from you. You have to be the one that tells her what she is underneath all the modifications. It’s time, say it.

“Do you feel that? Do you feel your heart start to beat faster as it presses up against mine? Do you feel your own breath against your skin after it reflects off my shoulder? Do you feel your muscles start to tighten as I slide my hand across them, then relax because you know it means that you are safe? It’s because you’re alive. Because despite everything, you’re still alive. Still someone left after all the changes, all the augmentations. And I know you’re someone because you are someone that likes food a bit spicier than most would prefer. Someone that closes her eyes and gets lost in music whenever it’s playing. Someone that added that one piece of customization to her character, even though they would wear a helmet for most of the game and nobody would know it was there but you. Maybe you aren’t the same person you were before. Maybe they did take some things from you that nothing can give back. But you’re still someone. Someone that people can still care about, and I know because I do.”

You can feel her tears drip down onto your neck as she pulls you closer. She tries to say something, but you can’t understand what. You tell her it’s okay. That it’s not easy, and that she doesn’t have to pretend that it is. Not for you, and not for anyone anymore. She doesn’t have to be useful anymore. No need to keep it together. All that matters is that she’s alive. 

There’s another battle going on in the night sky outside. The same flashes of light you saw the night you stopped living alone, even if the other person couldn’t admit that they were one yet. She still flinches at the brighter bursts of pulse-decay fire, still stretches out her hand on reflex to prime a pneumatic lance that isn’t there. But she knows it’s not her, it’s just a ghost of the weapon that died when it hit the ground. You can feel her relax as she realizes this, moving her hand back to dry her face before reaching out towards yours. You hadn’t noticed the tears on your own face. You place your hand on hers as she wipes the corner of your eye. Outside and above, the war continues on a cosmic scale, so far apart from where you both are now that you barely notice it. Let the stars kill each other. After all, the one before you has already fallen, and she doesn’t have to return to the sky. Together, you are safe on earth. 

[kingdom-carer]

How to regress when you’ve literally never done it and you have no idea what to expect (or it’s been a while)

*turns around in chair like Captain America* so ……. you wanna be tiny.

Awesome! :D

Voluntary regression, when done intentionally, can be immensely fun and healing. Let’s get you set up for success.

Step 1: Set Your Goals

Your goal should never be “to regress” - it may not happen. You may spend all of your time just age dreaming (acting small with your big brain still in). You need to be okay with that.

The reason you’re regressing isn’t the same as your goal. “Because I’m traumatized,” “for fun,” and “for chronic pain” are all valid reasons, but they don’t provide you with the framework for healing that we’re looking for.

Here are some specific, achievable goals:

“I want to relax and have uninterrupted fun after a long day.”

“I want to reparent my inner child through affirmation work, gentle parenting, and rules for self-care.”

“I want to work through trauma I’ve experienced through play so I can experiment with new outcomes for tough situations.”

“I want to complete easy tasks/assignments to give myself a sense of pride and accomplishment.”

“I want to allow myself to trust and be cared for in a way that I am usually resistant to.”

“I want to allow Jesus to speak to me when I feel most vulnerable and receptive to His kindness.”

“I want to improve my self/care habits by making them fun and digestible.”

“I want to revisit childhood/deep-rooted fears so I can work through them with effective coping mechanisms, like journaling.”

Step 2: Selecting Your Tools

Here, you might have seen lists of things that people like to use when they’re little, but rarely do they explain why they like to use them. These lists also may not resonate with older or alternative regressors.

So instead, I will give you categories of things that I believe are relevant to regression, and you fill decide what satisfies it best for you.

Something to wear: do you have clothing that is easy and comfortable to move around in, makes you feel good to wear, and/or gives you sensory input you crave?

Something to watch: do you know of a show, movie, or YouTube channel that holds good memories for you? Is there one out there that piques your interest? It doesn’t have to be “kid-friendly,” but its effect should be comfort and peace, not intellectual or emotional strain. We are not looking for challenge - that is for developing your grownup brain. Many regressors prefer kids media for this reason.

Something to do (with your hands): Stimulating senses other than sight is vital for grounding, especially in today’s online world … and, considering the nature of the work we are doing, you may need it. Painting, sensory sand, going to the beach, swimming, making music, woodworking, crocheting, polymer clay, diamond painting, puzzles, coloring books, and more can all bring out your inner child. Again, we are looking for joy, not challenge; perhaps your local dollar store has a craft kit!

Something to read: are you a scientist who loves learning about animals? A horror fan who loves spooky tales? Do you remember a series from your childhood that brought you joy? Reading is a great way to escape into a simpler world and evade screens, especially if it’s crafted without profanity or triggering subjects. Children’s books may also minister to you in ways that adults failed, such as teaching emotional regulation, socialization, and how to fight common fears.

Something to hold: plushies have been proven to be beneficial for mental health, but a companion doesn’t have to be stuffed! Action figures, dolls, and other friends can be thrifted, bought, or dug up from closets. They provide sounding boards for scary thoughts that get less scary when said aloud, companionship during play, travel, or sleep, and serve as willing recipients of your creative outputs (bracelets, clothing, drawings, etc). And, when you need a hug, your favorite toy can be right there with you in the absence of a human friend.

Something to nibble: food is fuel for the body, but it is also love. Choose foods that are nutritious and fun, just like you’d give a child. My personal faves are Slim Jim’s, pepperoni, berries, nuts, dairy, and veggies with dip. Treats are great too, but spend your tummy bank on nutritionally valuable food first! Regressors also find fun in experimenting with different vessels for food and drinks, like crazy straws, bottles, ZooPals plates, or character dining sets.

Something to play with: ‘play’ has many definitions and types. Below is a short list of types of play. No matter if you like toys or not, gather objects or activities that encourage play.

Symbolic play - using one object to represent another (i.e. a flower becomes a wand - try blocks or play scarves)

Locomotor play - moving play (try roller skates, online exercises/dance classes, or small exercise trampolines)

Creative play - invoking a desired or experimental outcome (try Legos and art supplies)

Deep play and rough-and-tumble play - play that involves bodily risk and movement (try hiking, rock climbing, or swimming)

Dramatic play - orchestrating play without personal involvement (“setting up” elaborate scenes with toys was a big part of my childhood play! Try small toys and accessories like Calico Critters, stuffed animals, or dolls)

Exploratory play - play to gain information (try boxed or homemade science experiments, or simply asking, “I wonder what happens if I …?”)

Fantasy and imaginative play - playing in a way that is unlikely to occur in real life and/or the rules have changed (try dressing up to be a superhero, royalty, animal, etc)

Mastery play - bringing a task to completion (build a campfire, dig holes in sand to fill with water, complete a video game level, etc)

Object play - manipulating objects to learn more about them (common in developing babies and autistic stimming; try fidget toys)

Socio-dramatic play - taking on a role that involves social interaction (I.e. playing house or doctor)

Somewhere to go: novelty can be hugely effective in delighting your inner child. Try hanging out in the backyard, going to a park/museum/aquarium, taking yourself on a “little” shopping spree with a set budget, going to a theme park/state fair, or checking out kids media from your local library. Since you are exiting your safe space, you must be mindful of those around you. This is why I usually recommend this to those who know they will only be age dreaming, unless they are completely alone. For your safety, please do not involve anyone who has not consented in your regression.

Something to see: if you can, decorate your safe space or a portion of your safe space in a way that makes your inner child happy. Try changing your phone wallpaper, collecting figures, displaying stuffies on your bed, putting up wall stickers or drawings you’ve made, or changing your bed sheets.

A note on pacifiers: pacis made for adults are a great way to abate thumb-sucking and unhealthy oral stims. They will shift your teeth only if you use them excessively; try limiting use to an hour at a time, and always wear your retainer if you have one. If you feel pain, stop. Disassemble and clean immediately after use.

A note on diapers: I personally do not use diapers because I don’t want or need them, but should you choose differently, there are lots of creators who have more information on them. Most importantly, they are not shameful.

Step 3: Meeting Your Inner Child

How do you know when you’ve regressed?

When play takes over.

When you find yourself fully engaged in what’s in front of you, finding captivation in the simplest things, you are regressed. It isn’t some magical transformation - you’re just revising a part of you that has always been there, latent. It is an unlocking of childhood whimsy … a state of being easily awed.

Thoughts may simplify; adult reasoning for comfort objects may reduce to a petulant mine. Anxious spirals may be replaced by a simple mama, I’m scared. Thoughtful analyses of character arcs and subplots may sound more like yay, ponies!

If you have an internal monologue, it may disappear, replaced with more primal emotions like “angry” or “scared” or “happy” or “calm.” There have been many times that my husband has asked little me what’s wrong, but instead of words, only sobs make it out of my mouth. Then, when he holds me, a warmth I can’t name fills my chest and makes me sleepy.

What is your inner child like? Are they more or less …

Sensitive?

Chatty?

Energetic?

Creative?

Impulsive?

Experimental?

Outspoken?

Stubborn?

Relaxed?

Giggly?

Curious?

Focused?

Defiant?

Angry?

Expressive?

Your inner child, like all children, is subject to fits and flights of fancy. This is normal! Love them as you would love a normal child.

Step Four: Caring For The Bunchkin

Since our goal is not to regress, we have the freedom to take a third-person point of view while we are in our safe space, check in on ourselves, and see how we are doing.

If your goal is to heal, take things slow. Choose one activity at a time that allows you to explore your deeper thoughts, and allow ample room for fun and relaxation.

Instead of focusing on your trauma and hurt, start by asking yourself - “what are my deepest desires? What am I lacking? What is important to me? What can I give myself that I did not receive?”

Kids’ “About Me” worksheets are a great place to start, since there are no wrong answers. As you get more comfortable being small, try making or completing worksheets that ask the weightier questions.

Caring for with your inner child can be as simple as imagining them like another person. For example:

If you are shameful of your desire to connect with an old fandom, ask yourself why that might be. Did someone tell you that it was shameful? Did you have a bad experience in that fandom? Were you at a turbulent point of your life? What might you say to a child experiencing these emotions now?

If you are reluctant to make noise or take up space, ask yourself why. Did someone tell you that you were ‘too much?’ Were you afraid to be judged? Did someone punish you for getting in their way? What would you say to a child afraid to take up space in your presence?

If you are distressed at the idea of stimming openly while small, ask yourself why. Did someone - or life experience - teach you to mask? Are you afraid of being judged as a “faker?” Are you afraid of looking or feeling incapable in some way? What would you say to a child who is afraid to stim?

If you are upset with yourself for reacting to a trigger, ask yourself why. Do you feel like you should be more healed, or more in control of yourself? Are you afraid of slipping back towards a state you used to be in? Are you afraid of re-experiencing trauma?

What would you say and do for a child who struggles with a trigger?

Showing your little self compassion and modeling joy from an adult headspace is vital. Don’t say anything to your inner child that you wouldn’t say to an actual child.

You may not be quite ready to believe the healing truths you have learned when you are big, but putting them into practice when you are small is a great way to soothe yourself from the inside out.

(I filled up my star chart by making my bed each day! Good job, me! I worked so hard, and now I get a treat!)

(I did a drawing all by myself! I can put it on my fridge now. Wow, I’m so glad I made something today.)

(I went outside, and there are so many cool things to see! What an awesome world I live in.)

Healing can be tough, but it’s so fantastic. It all starts with being kind to yourself. You can do it!

Step 5 - Putting Out Fires

Oh dear, something went wrong, and now a tantrum is afoot. Or a meltdown. Or a flashback. What do we do?

Hold up your fingers like birthday candles and blow them out to encourage deep breathing.

Play a song that makes you feel good, and dance if you can. Physical movement is your best antidote.

Name 5 things you can see, 4 you can touch, 3 you can hear, 2 you can smell, and 1 you can taste.

Repeat your affirmations aloud. There is power in hearing something that isn’t your own mental hurricane. “I am loved, I am safe, I am going to be okay.”

Assign the trigger to a stuffie (don’t worry, they are willing participants!). Say, “hey, wait a minute, why should you be in charge? These are MY thoughts! Take that! And that! And that!” Toss your stuffie around and get those crazy thoughts away from both of you!

Assign the trigger to a stuffie, and pretend they are you. What would you say to calm them down and tell them you are here for them?

Get a change of scenery. Go outside, go somewhere else, take a shower or bubble bath.

Scribble your feelings on paper. No, really, go ham. Break some crayons. Then crumple them, tear them, and throw them away.

Most importantly - don’t be mad at yourself.

The debrief - what can we do for next time?

Handle triggers with care, but don’t be afraid of the feelings that accompany them. There is an unmet need somewhere in your soul - what is it, and how can you meet it?

Journaling and affirmations - record what happened and why you think it happened, and then write kind things to and about yourself.

“Do it scared” - push past the lies you have been told about yourself and enjoy things anyway.

I am a Christian, and I live by the phrase: “if it isn’t your reality, make it your prayer.” Even if you don’t believe now that you are safe, loved, and capable, saying these things to yourself constantly will help them be realized.

Obviously, avoiding negative language about yourself in your adult life is the other half of the pizza. Your inner child is doing work for adult you, too! Don’t undermine it!

The Wrap Up

Well, Kiddo, I’m so glad you’re taking this step in your healing journey. A few things to remember before you go:

You may grow out of regression! That’s good! It’s a sign that your inner child is happy and content.

You may never grow out of regression. That’s okay! Your inner child can get love all your life!

Your regression is your business. You don’t have to tell anyone about it if you don’t want to. Choose who you tell very carefully.

Ignore the haters. You’re doing great.

Bye, Kiddo! You are so loved!! 🥰

[beakers-and-telescopes]

OKAY THIS ARTICLE IS SO COOL

I'm going to try to explain this in a comprehensible way, because honestly it's wild to wrap your head around even for me, who has a degree in chemistry. But bear with me.

Okay, so. Solids, right? They are rigid enough to hold their shape, but aside from that they are quite variable. Some solids are hard, others are soft, some are brittle or rubbery or malleable. So what determines these qualities? And what creates the rigid structure that makes a solid a solid? Most people would tell you that it depends on the atoms that make up the solid, and the bonds between those atoms. Rubber is flexible because of the polymers it's made of, steel is strong because of the metallic bonds between its atoms. And this applies to all solids. Or so everybody thought.

A paper published in the journal Nature has discovered that biological materials such as wood, fungi, cotton, hair, and anything else that can respond to the humidity in the environment may be composed of a new class of matter dubbed "hydration solids". That's because the rigidity and solidness of the materials doesn't actually come from the atoms and bonds, but from the water molecules hanging out in between.

So basically, try to imagine a hydration solid as a bunch of balloons taped together to form a giant cube, with the actual balloon part representing the atoms and bonds of the material, and the air filling the balloons as the water in the pores of the solid. What makes this "solid" cube shaped? It's not because of the rubber at all, but the air inside. If you took out all the air from inside the balloons, the structure wouldn't be able to hold its shape.

Ozger Sahin, one of the paper's authors, said

"When we take a walk in the woods, we think of the trees and plants around us as typical solids. This research shows that we should really think of those trees and plants as towers of water holding sugars and proteins in place. It's really water's world."

And the great thing about this discovery (and one of the reasons to support its validity) is that thinking about hydration solids this way makes the math so so so much easier. Before this, if you wanted to calculate how water interacts with organic matter, you would need advanced computer simulations. Now, there are simple equations that you can do in your head. Being able to calculate a material's properties using basic physics principles is a really big deal, because so far we have only been able to do that with gasses (PV=nRT anyone?). Expanding that to a group that encompasses 50-90% of the biological world around us is huge.

[blackpearlblast]

[ID: A flyer titled "Toy Raffle!" featuring five handmade, red and green bipedal toys with no arms and heart-shaped faces. Two of them are full sized and three of them are miniature. Flyer text: "Would you like to have one of these things in your home?" (arrow pointing to the toys) "Donate €5 or more to Ezzideen's GoFundMe to enter the raffle for a chance to win! Ezzideen and his family are fundraising to be able to evacuate north Gaza. I made these toys to raffle off to raise money and awareness for their situation. Please read the description below for details!" There is a QR code leading to Ezzideen's fundraiser with the text "Scan or go to gofund.me/2b7f982c to donate!" end ID]

A little overview of how this is gonna work! These are small handmade toys (measuring 2 and 1/8th inches/5.5cm tall for full size and 1 inch/2.5cm tall for the minis) made with polymer clay, acrylic paint, and polyurethane varnish. The raffle will last from today, May 1st, starting from the time this post goes up until 9 P.M. Pacific (12 A.M. Eastern) on May 15th.

To enter, you must donate a minimum of 5 euros to Ezzideen Shehab's evacuation fundraiser. Donations made before this post goes up do not count. Then fill out this form to claim your ticket. If you do not fill out the form your entry will not be counted! You can also get an extra ticket after donating by resharing this post.

Each entrant can only win one toy so I will draw for the full size toys first to make sure nobody misses out. I will cover all shipping costs and ship to wherever accepts shipped mail from the U.S. You must be comfortable giving me your shipping address so that I can send them to you. Thank you and good luck!

[anaktoria-of-the-moon]

The first time I saw the “empty spaces” tag (which was yesterday) I thought dolls were an extension of mech fiction, that they were heavily cyberaugmented people - muscle replaced with durable, flex-carbon synthweaves; skin substituted with thermal-resistant ceramic plating, with pliable polymer fabrics to fill the gaps and allow movement; joints made of silicon carbide and martensitic alloy, driven by motors that never die; a heart that beats three point six billion times a second, a tiny sun made of fissile material caged in a chassis of tantalum. Perfect eyes that see singular motes of dust a mile away and do not need wetting and will not yield to puncture or pressure. A face that can be anything - human, if you like, or a festival-goer’s animal god mask, or an ever-shifting screen, or a sheet of indifferent carbon steel to match the brutal and unchanging pace of your heartbeat, the augmented fearlessness of your modified brain.

And witches, I thought, were like pilots, and also engineers, the keepers and caretakers of the highly efficient dolls who served as their blades, their spies, their wings and eyes and ears. Witches I imagined were unassuming individuals who went unnoticed in the outside world, as unnoticed as their creations were not, and inside, in their lairs, donned helmets that sparked and flared with torrents of information - three point six billion times a second - enough to kill any regular person, but with a witch’s brain, shot through with silver threading and lovingly engineered through a homebrew of handmade viruses, all those data, all the eyes and ears and hands and sword-sharp legs, become as clear as the future to an oracle of old.

The dolls are marvels of outward engineering; the witches, their inward counterparts. While a doll might walk through a crowded square and cause all around it to flinch back in awe, or shock, or fear, while there is nothing quiet about the way a doll flickers (like frames caught in a flashbulb) a hundred meters at a time toward some unwitting target and slits their throat with unthinking and graceful precision and then vanishes before you know what has happened, before the splash of blood has time to hit the ground - while a doll is one you know you must fear - the witch is the true danger.

Because it is the witch who guides each doll; it is the witch who tells the infernal heart to keep beating, the eyes to keep seeking, who spends her nights polishing and adjusting and replacing each high-grade ceramic ball joint, who scrubs the white plating clean of rust-colored stains, who uses the blood money from each kill to buy ever better upgrades, for her own head as much as their forms. It is the witch who whispers nightmare into their iron skulls, and then, once they’ve had their fill of it, it is the witch who turns off their fears again and switches dirge for lullaby, so that she might go mad in their stead.

The dolls are the body, the heart. The witch is the mind and soul.

[alexanderwales]

There was a reddit comment on some older celebrity saying "that's what happens when you fill your face with plastic".

And some pedant replied "actually, plastic surgery comes from the Greek plastikos and is unrelated to actual plastic".

How can I describe the way my heart leapt with joy when I was able to reply that "Not to be too pedantic, but technically speaking, some plastic surgeries do use plastic. PMMA is synthetic polymer that's used as a soft tissue filler. Etymologically you're right, it's just that by coincidence a small handful of procedures involve injecting your face with plastic."

And I pretended that I didn't want to be pedantic about it, but I was positively thrumming with pleasure at being that level of pedantic.

[elodieunderglass]

Did you know that gum base (for chewing gum) is a mystery and is basically just plastic, I thought it was from a tree! It's not anymore ! It's plastic from petroleum and doesn't biodegrade! It's just a macro plastic which fills your saliva with microplastics!

I love that you came to me with this! I feel like I’ve received a dispatch from a courier! Thank you!

I did not know that and had not thought about it, although I’m not hugely worried about things like plastics or polymers just because they’re not plant-based. There are plenty of not-plant-based plastics and polymers that are fairly inert, and it isn’t worth worrying about all of them; for example, food-grade paraffin wax is a petroleum product, and it’s kind of an “eh” material. Like, we could get crunchier and worry about it, but there’s other things to worry about first.

Ditto plastic: sure, it doesn’t sound tasty, exactly, but pretty much every piece of food we buy and eat in the Anglosphere has been transported and wrapped in inert plastic; has been for forty years; it isn’t like it’s lead-lined tin cans. Er.

Finally, I’d caution making too many conclusions from the findings, which are what appear to be a pilot study presented at a conference. Brilliant, and it looks well-designed, but it doesn’t appear to be published yet. I don’t personally feel qualified to assess the methodology at this distance of removal and without peer review, although the framework all seems quite respectable-looking from here.

All that being said: OH MY GOD LOL THEY ARE JUST MAKING CHEWING GUM OUT OF WHATEVER, HUH. TRADE SECRET MY ASS.

[stellaspectral]

Can you do a Bayverse turtle tots story where they meet reader on Halloween, and the reader thinks they're wearing costumes, but when they find out they're ACTUALLY mutants, they think they're cool and still want to be friends with them.

A/N: Hey, anon—this is such a cute request! I assumed the reader is also a kid, so that’s how I wrote it 💖 I also have the boys already starting to wear their signature colors; I hope that's okay!

The Best Secret You’ll Ever Keep (fluff)

🟢 Bayverse Turtle Tots & Gender Neutral Reader 🟢

CWs: None.

The autumn air nips at your cheeks.

Leaves crunch satisfyingly under your feet as you walk down the street. Gap-toothed jack-o’-lanterns grin from porches draped in fake cobwebs and dangling plastic spiders. Fake witches and bats hang on doorways. Your bucket bumps against your leg, already heavy from a successful candy haul.

Dressed as your favorite character, you scan the sidewalk ahead, looking for the next decorated house with the lights on. Suddenly, a flash of movement catches your eye, followed by a muffled giggle and a thump. Curiosity leads you to a narrow, shadowed slit of an alley between two darkened houses.

Peeking around the corner, you freeze, jaw dropping.

Four figures huddle there, decked out in the most incredible turtle costumes you’ve ever laid eyes on. The detail is amazing: green skin that looks almost real, bulky shells on their backs, and colored masks tied to their heads. They even have realistic-looking toy weapons strapped to them.

“Whoa,” you exhale, stepping fully into the alley entrance, unable to contain your admiration. “Your costumes are insane! They look totally real!”

Startled, the four of them jump before spinning around to face you.

The one in the orange mask recovers first, breaking into a wide, toothy grin. “Thanks! Yours is pretty cool, too!” He gestures enthusiastically with a three-fingered hand towards your getup, then proudly holds up his own candy-filled pumpkin bucket, nearly identical to yours.

Purple Mask adjusts the pair of goggle-looking things perched on his forehead. “The material composition is top-notch! We used, um, special polymers for the skin texture. And the shell articulation is designed for maximum mobility.” He wiggles his shoulders, and the shell on his back shifts convincingly.

The one in the red mask, his own tied a little crooked and a pair of very realistic-looking toy sai tucked into his belt, scoffs. “Yeah, yeah, lay off the big words. They’re just gonna stand there gawkin’ all night and blow our cover!” He glares at you, clutching his own candy bucket. “What, never seen awesome costumes before?”

Blue Mask nudges him. “Hey, be nice. They’re just curious.” He offers you a small, reassuring smile, though his eyes are watchful. “They are pretty impressive, right? We take Halloween very seriously. What are you supposed to be?” He tilts his head, trying to get a better look at your costume.

You tell them which character you are and what they’re from. “My costume’s okay, but yours are on a whole other level! Especially the hands! How’d you even do the three fingers? Are they, like, super advanced gloves?” You inch a little closer, your gaze fixed on Orange Mask’s hand gripping his bucket. “And those weapons! They don’t look like cheap plastic. Are they real metal?”

“The hands are like, super-duper special effects. Top secret Hollywood stuff!” he answers, wiggling his three-fingered hand, the green skin flexing in a way that makes your brain hurt trying to figure it out. “And these?” He flourishes his nunchaku; it looks like it could actually do some damage. He does a fancy twirl, and the weapon thwacks against his leg. “Oof! Totally, uh, made of foam. Super safe!” Though he grins, he quickly rubs his thigh.

“Wow! Hollywood stuff?” Your eyes are wide with amazement. You’ve never seen anything like it. “Can I touch one of your shells? They look so hard and bumpy, not like those cheap plastic ones from the store.” You look expectantly at Blue Mask, who seems like the one in charge.

He looks at Purple, hesitating for a moment. “Uh, well, they’re kinda delicate.”

“Well, delicate may be underselling it,” Purple says. “The carapace is actually a fusion of bone plates connected to the skeleton, overlaid with keratinized scutes. It can withstand blunt force, though concentrated impacts could cause a fracture. Especially considering the unique accelerated growth patterns induced by our mutagenic …”

He stops abruptly. The alley seems to fall utterly silent, save for the distant sounds of other trick-or-treaters. Red facepalms with a groan. Orange winces, looking between Purple and you. Blue sighs.

“Nice goin’, doofus.” Red shoves Purple lightly. “Way to spill the beans.”

You stare, processing Purple’s rapid-fire explanation. Carapace? Keratinized? Mutagenic? These aren’t words used to describe costumes, even really good ones. Your eyes flick between the four of them, noticing the way their skin subtly shifts as they breathe, the glint in their eyes that seems too real, the impossibility of faking this level of detail.

Blue steps forward, placing a hand on Purple’s shoulder before looking directly at you. His expression is serious but not entirely unkind. “Okay, look,” he says, his voice low. “He got a little carried away. Truth is, these aren’t costumes.”

Red huffs, crossing his arms. “Yeah, what he said. We’re … different.”

Purple nods, while Orange just gives a slightly sheepish, hopeful grin.

A slow smile spreads across your face, wider and wider until it feels like it might split your cheeks. “Wait,” you breathe, eyes wide with wonder, not fear. “You mean—you’re real? Like, actually real mutant turtles?!”

The four of them tense, clearly bracing for screaming, running. Or maybe even fainting.

Instead, you bounce on the balls of your feet, nearly vibrating with excitement. “NO WAY! That is SO COOL! SO MUCH COOLER THAN COSTUMES!” You gesture wildly. “You’re like real-life comic book characters! Actual mutants! This is AMAZING!”

Orange’s nervous grin transforms into a beam of pure delight. “We’re ninjas, too.”

Questions pour out of you in an excited torrent. “Are those weapons real? Do you have a secret hideout? Who mutated you? Do you actually do ninjutsu? Can you climb walls?”

Blue holds up his hand. “Whoa, hey, slow down. One question at a time. Yes, we train in ninjutsu. Our weapons are training versions, mostly. And the rest, well, it’s a long story.”

“Yeah,” Red adds, though his tone is less aggressive now. “People don’t usually think we’re ‘cool’.” He still sounds slightly suspicious of the word.

“Well, I do,” you declare with absolute certainty, meeting each of their gazes. “This officially makes this the best Halloween in the history of Halloweens.” You hold out your candy bucket. “Want some candy? I scored a king-sized peanut butter cup back there, and I totally got three packs of those sour gummy worms.”

Orange’s eyes light up. “Awesome!” He eagerly trades you a handful of his own candy for a chocolate bar.

Purple politely accepts a small lollipop, Red grudgingly takes a piece of taffy, and Blue accepts a small pack of gummies with a grateful nod. Then you spend a few more minutes chatting in the alley’s shadows, learning their names. Although hesitant to share many details, their excitement about finding someone who isn’t afraid of them is obvious.

After a while, Leo straightens up. “Sorry. We should probably go soon—before Dad realizes we’re gone.”

“Awwww, already?” Mikey whines, stuffing a piece of candy into his mouth.

“Can I see you guys again?” you ask quickly, the words tumbling out in a rush of hope. “Please?”

Leo exchanges a look with his brothers. Raph gives a slight, almost imperceptible nod, as well as Donnie. Mikey gives you an eager thumbs-up. Leo then looks back at you. “Maybe. But it has to be a secret. A total secret. You can’t tell anyone about us. Not your parents, not your friends, nobody. Can you promise?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” you say, drawing an ‘X’ over your chest. “Are we … friends now?”

Mikey doesn’t hesitate, lunging forward to give you an enthusiastic hug. “Totally!”

“Gotta go!” Raph urges, already backing further into the alley.

“Farewell for now,” Leo says with a final nod.

“Indeed, until our next encounter,” Donnie adds.

After your quick goodbyes, they melt back into the deeper shadows of the alley, disappearing. You stand there for a moment. Tonight, you met real-life heroes, stranger and more wonderful than anything in comic books and movies. They think you’re okay.

And they want to be your friend!

You clutch your bucket handle tighter, a huge grin plastered on your face, and head back towards the street, wondering when—and where—you’ll meet your new, secret, totally awesome ninja turtle friends again.

[skygoldart]

Cod Grian Cosplay Build!

The fish man himself, season 10 Grian!

Reference Sketch

Some notes:

I always end up changing somethings from the reference when making the actual outfit, although I stayed pretty close it it this time.

I initially drew him with a handlebar mustache and goatee to mimic the whiskers of a fish, however I switched to a fluffier mustache beard to match the guy from Frozen.

I also opted for my turtleneck shirt over the red sweater+collar to go for more of a fisherman vibe

Since Grian is usually drawn with parrot wings, I wanted to call back to that with red yellow and blue feathers on the bobbers.

The tail and fins

I wanted to lean into the “fish”er man design and gave him fish fins and a tail.

It’s design is based on a cod fish with striped fins based on the feathers of an osprey

To make it, I drew the tail pattern on a large piece of paper, cut it out, cut each section out of the respective fabric times two, sewed the two sides together, and lastly filled it with a ton stuffing.

The tail is heavy, but it’s fun to wack people with it.

The fins for the arms and beanie are made in a similar way, each hand sewn onto the beanie/bracers once stuffed.

The Overalls

I had originally planned for him to be wearing waders, but wanted to make the outfit more wearable for everyday wear without overheating. So I opted for some brown corduroy overalls instead.

To add a “wet” look to each pant leg, I briefly dipped each one into some black fabric dye before rinsing and drying.

The green pixels on his skin look like they could be kelp or patches so I decided to go with the latter and dug through my scrap fabric to find these green pieces.

I embroidered the edge of each piece with a unique stitch and placed them randomly on each leg.

The snails!

Of course we can’t forget about the snails

There are three snails for this project with two more eventually on the way (a plush pink snail, and a plush brown snail).

I made the clay blue snail first with polymer and attached tie tacks to the underside so I can use it like a pin and stick it anywhere on my clothes.

Same goes for the pink worm snail which is also made of clay.

The blue plush snail is based on a pattern from Etsy by willowynn with some slight modifications, mainly to the eyes/feelers, and doubling the size.

Facial hair

This was one of the parts I was the most excited about for this cosplay and the only part I didn’t do myself. I commissioned @basic-amoeba to make a custom ventilated beard, styled and everything. This part turned out so good!

Some final notes for this project

This cosplay took from Feb 20 to March 15th to complete since I was so determined to finish it before Grian changed his skin. Haha look at me now. He still hasn’t changed it.

Not pictured (cause why can I only add 10 photos 😭) is the mending book with a fish hook I made using scrap faux leather, cardboard, and some cut printer paper. I painted in galactic the word mending and sprayed the whole thing in my “enchanting” spray paint (a blue to purple iridescent glitter spray paint)

A small fun backstory to the fishing rod:

My grandpa is an experienced fisherman and has dozens of fishing poles. When I talked about this project with him, he brought me out to his workshop and pulled down the dustiest fishing rod there. He told me he had fished this fishing rod from a lake one day with the line and bait still attached. Can’t get anymore accurate to Minecraft fishing than that lol.

Obligatory cosplay photo:

[allthingsfangirl101]

Dancing To Break Open – Glen Powell

Glen's POV

"And cut!"

Y/N and I instantly relaxed. The cameras moved off of us, and we shared a small smile.

"We're done."

"Yes, we are," she chuckled. She may have said that lightly, but something was off.

"Any plans for tonight?" I asked, trying to get her to open up a little.

Y/N and I have worked on Twisters for a little over a month now. We didn't quite have the kind of costar connection I wish we had. Whenever I asked her to hang out or get drinks after work, she'd thank me for the invite, but say she can't. She never gives me an explanation. Just promises that we'll hang out another time. We never do.

"I've gotta work on memorizing my lines," she instantly answered. "These scientific terms are going to destroy me."

She sent me a soft smile before turning on her heel and heading toward her trailer.

I thought it was a one-time thing. It wasn't. Y/N acted the same the next day. But this time, I didn't let her think no one noticed.

When we got to work the next day, I asked her how her night was. She smiled, shrugged, and said it was fine.

I couldn't help but keep my eye on her throughout the day. First look, she seemed fine. But if you looked closer and longer, you could see that something was weighing on her shoulders. I pushed aside my worry about her and got ready for the scene.

Y/N and I stood in front of the fake laptop, pretending to analyze what will be CGIed onto it.

"So this is an EF1, perfect conditions," I recited. "Run your experiment, see if it works."

"Okay," Y/N said as she pretended to look at the notebook and type in the numbers, "so, um, 1,500 kilos of polymer absorbing 300 times its weight."

"So, it's 450,000 kilos of precipitation loading into our water-filled polymer to load the updraft. Let's see how the model responds," I recited.

"Buoyancy of the rising air is reducing," Y/N said as we watched the green screen."

"It's reducing," I repeated. "Slowing the updraft."

"Temp is going down."

"Kate?" I waited a second before softly saying. "Kate, in theory, this should've worked."

Y/N looked up at me and said, "In theory." We held our eye contact for a second before she looked back at the screen. "But it wasn't an EF1 that day. I mean. . . We never had a chance."

"You want one?"

I looked at Y/N and waited for her to look at me. When she did, we held our eye contact longer. Eventually, Y/N looked at the barrels behind me. I turned, following her gaze. We held that spot for another second, waiting for Lee to yell cut.

"Cut!" He finally yelled. "Nicely done, you two!"

I looked back at Y/N expecting to see her excitedly smiling at me, but she wasn't. She was looking at her hands. I opened my mouth to say something to her, but closed it when I realized that whatever I said, she'd just lie to me again. Instead of talking to her, I decided to do something else.

I grabbed her hand and spun her around. She gasped when I spun her around. As I pulled her into my chest and started dancing with her, she giggled.

"Glen," she elongated, "what are you doing?"

"What?" I shrugged. "Anything wrong with wanting to dance with a pretty girl?"

Y/N giggled as I spun her around. When she was back in my arms, she looked up at me through her eyelashes.

"Nothing," she whispered. "Absolutely nothing."

We kept our eye contact as we swayed side to side. I couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. As we danced, my mind filled with questions.

Was Y/N embarrassed?

Was she struggling with something in her personal life?

Did she think she wasn't good enough to be in our movie?

Was it something I did?

Did I make her uncomfortable?

Was someone bothering her on set?

Was Y/N in trouble?

That thought made me finally speak up. "Y/N, I can't shake the feeling that something is going on," I started. "You can talk to me. I'm not going to tell anyone. Plus, maybe I can help you. Am I wrong? Y/N, are you in some sort of. . ."

"Alright," Lee laughed. "As cute as it is to watch the two of you dance, let's get things ready for the next scene."

Before I could do anything or say anything, Y/N walked away. Despite my attempts throughout the day, I couldn't talk to Y/N again. It seemed as if we were never alone. I walked out of my trailer tired from filming, but annoyed that I couldn't talk to Y/N.

As I was leaving, I walked past Y/N's trailer. I froze when I saw the light still on inside. I didn't hesitate.

I walked to her trailer and knocked on the door. I waited for her to say something, but she didn't. Slowly, I opened the door and peeked my head in. My heart jumped into my throat when I saw Y/N asleep on her couch. I walked in and knelt next to her.

"Y/N," I whispered. I gently touched her on her shoulder to wake her up. I struggled to ignore the feeling in my stomach as she slowly woke up.

"Glen?" She sleepily mumbled.

"Hey there, Sleeping Beauty," I teased.

She sat up and instinctively fixed her hair. "Why are you asleep in your trailer and not at home?"

Her eyes slightly widened. She opened and closed her mouth, clearly trying to come up with a lie.

"Y/N," I said gently, "please. What's going on? I can't shake the feeling that something is wrong."

"It's nothing," she instantly stuttered. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not."

When she still refused to say anything, I grabbed her hand and sat next to her.

"Please, Y/N," I whispered. "Talk to me."

"It's stupid," she said, her eyes on our hands. I intertwined our fingers to try and get Y/N to look up at me. I smiled when she did.

"I bet it's not," I gently teased. She studied me for a second before sighing.

"I broke up with an old co-star of mine," she confessed, her voice soft. "Our movie ended, and we were never around each other. The longer we went without seeing each other, I realized that I wasn't in a rush to see him. You know? And I don't want a relationship like that. I want a guy I can't wait to see. A guy that if I go even one day without seeing him, it's too long. I want a guy who is eager to see me, too."

"I get that," I said gently. "He wasn't that guy, so you broke up with him."

"Not a first," she sighed. My heart sank when she looked away from me. "I tried to talk to him about this. He brushed it off. It turned into a fight, and that's when I found out that he was only with me because he thought it would improve his career."

"I'm so sorry, Y/N," I said, subconsciously scooting closer to her.

"I told him I wasn't going to be used," she said, her voice breaking.

"Good for you," I tried to praise her. "How long ago was this?"

"A week?" Her voice broke again, causing me to move closer to her. "I got a call from him a couple of days ago. He was clearly drunk and swore to ruin my career, my name. . . my life."

"He threatened you?" I asked, my jaw clenched. My tone of voice made Y/N look up at me, shock clearly written on her face.

"He hasn't done anything," she said slowly.

"Is this why you're afraid to go home?" I asked, struggling to control my anger. She looked away, giving me her answer. I took a shaky breath to try and calm down before standing up and pulling her with me.

"What are you. . ." She stuttered.

"I'm taking you home," I said, not noticing my jaw was still clenched until I spoke. "And if that guy is anywhere near you. . ."

"Glen, stop," she said, pulling on my arm and turning me toward her.

"I am not going to let him hurt you."

"I don't think he will," she said, but there was fear in her eyes. "I'm probably just overreacting."

"But. . ."

"I'm fine," she cut me off.

"I will let you go home under one condition," I offered. "You promise to call me if your ex ever shows up."

"Glen. . ."

"I mean it, Y/N," I cut her off. "I need to know that if something ever goes wrong, you'll call me so I can come help you. If I let you go home and something happens to you. . ."

"It wouldn't be your fault," she continued when I didn't. Without thinking, I gently put my hands on her arms, rubbing them up and down.

"I couldn't handle if something happened to you and I wasn't there to protect you."

"It's not your job to protect me," she tried to joke.

"What if I want it to be?"

My question surprised her.

"Why would you want it to be?" She asked slowly.

I smiled as I took a step closer to her. I heard her gasp when I wrapped my arms around her waist, pulling her closer. "Because," I whispered, "I want to be the guy who is dying to see you all day. The guy who can't wait to leave work and wrap you in his arms. A guy that if I go even one day without seeing you, it's too long. I want to be eager to see you."

"You do?"

To answer her question, I leaned in and gently kissed her. My heart jumped into my throat when she slowly started to kiss me back. Any happiness I had disappeared when she suddenly broke the kiss.

"I can't. . ." She stuttered, shaking her head.

"What's wrong?" I asked, pulling her into my chest to keep her from walking away.

"This is what happened with him," she said, her eyes on our shoes. "We dated because we were filming together. Our feelings were only attached to our movie and our characters' relationship. That's what's going on here, Glen. Can't you see? You don't like me. Your character likes my character. I can't. . . I can't do this again, Glen. I'm sorry."

She started to walk away, but I caught her wrist. I turned her around and instantly connected my lips to hers. I broke the kiss and leaned my forehead against hers.

"It'll be different, Y/N," I whispered. "I promise."

Masterlist

[bumblesimagines]

The Deal

Request: Yes or No

Summary: When Pope needs some extra cash, he takes up the opportunity of helping others with their studies. However, things take a turn when he decides to help out a known troublemaker.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

CW/TW: Typical OBX warnings, teasing over virginity, (Y/N)'s kinda an asshole, mentions/implied JJPope (should've been canon), implied bisexual JJ, Pope is bisexual and possibly ooc,

Super short but felt like doing something with sweet ole Pope

~~~

(Y/N) watched with a lazy grin as Mrs. Heyward shuffled into the room with a charcuterie board in hand, her smile big and warm and utterly welcoming as she carefully set the food down on an empty part of Pope's desk. Her son rolled his lips into his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut at her presence, his fingers rubbing into his forehead in pure embarrassment that only made (Y/N) snort quietly. Mrs. Heyward leaned back and clasped her hands together, her eyes crinkling when she faced them.

"There you go, sweetie. Eat as much as you want. You boys let me know if you need anything, 'kay?"

"Okay, Mom, thank you." Pope practically groaned, giving Mrs. Heyward a tight-lipped smile and watching her leave his bedroom while (Y/N) quietly snickered under his breath, his knuckles pressing into his lips to muffle the noise before it could reach the kind older woman's ears. Pope exhaled heavily and stood up to fully shut his door, ensuring to lock it before he returned to his bed and softly cleared his throat. "Sorry 'bout that." He muttered, swallowing down the mortification that'd filled him when his mother had strolled into the room.

"That was cute, Heyward." (Y/N) laughed, picking up a juicy apple slice and taking a bite from it, a bit of juice dripping off his bottom lip. Slowly chewing on the crunchy apple slice, he watched Pope retrieve some notebooks and flip through them until he reached his desired pages full of biology notes and some poorly drawn scribbles. He popped open the cap of his highlighter and took a peek through the pages of (Y/N)'s science notebook, unsurprisingly finding them mostly blank.

"Okay, so, uhm," Pope cleared his throat. "You know what monomers and polymers are, right?"

And right on cue, (Y/N) promptly zoned out and fully allowed his attention to shift onto the surprisingly semi-cluttered room of Pope 'Golden Boy' Heyward. He eyed the posters and drawings on the wall, some movies he recognized whilst others were characters from anime series with bulky muscled men and petite women.

(Y/N) shoved the rest of the slice into his mouth and squinted as he looked at the Polaroid pictures pinned to the wooden wall near him, recognizing a younger Pope with his parents in a few but JJ, Kiara, and John B were the subject of half of the pictures stuck around the walls of the room. 

Scooting his chair closer to the wall, he felt the corners of his lips curl up into gleeful mischief when he took note of the way Pope looked at Kiara in most pictures; softened adoring eyes, a gentle smile, the look of knowing written all over JJ's smirking face in each photo. Pope liked Kiara, (Y/N) realized, and spun the swivel chair around to look at him. He'd never seen Pope flirt properly before, only ever spewing random weird facts that had chicks furrowing their brows and walking away when they got the chance. 

"-dehydration synthesis is actually pretty cool if you think about it. Basically what happens is-"

"Heyward." (Y/N) purred, slowly rising from his chair and plucking another apple slice from the board. Pope's eyes darted away from his notebook to look at him questioningly, his body perking up and shoulders squaring as if awaiting (Y/N)'s question about whatever he'd spent the last few minutes blabbering about. (Y/N) popped the apple slice into his mouth and nudged the notebooks off the bed, letting them slip and fall onto the floor with soft thuds. "You're a total virgin, right?" 

Pope blinked at him, his mouth flying open and then slamming shut. He visibly gulped, his adams apple bobbing and eyes flickering away to bounce around different objects in his room. "N-No, I've... I've- I've-" Pope stuttered roughly, his grip on the notebook in hand tightening and crinkling the paper. "I'm- I-"

"Wow," (Y/N) snickered, snatching the notebook from his hand and dropping it onto the floor with a soft thud. Pope's hands were forced to rest over his thighs, fingers flexing and curling into fists. "Never even kissed anyone, have you, Heyward?" 

"Okay, what if I am? Virginty- Virginty is a construct."

"Sure, if it helps you sleep at night knowing even Routledge of all people has gotten laid before, it's totally a construct." (Y/N) laughed again, albeit more cruelly, and plopped down on the bed beside Pope's crossed legs with his head cocked to the side. "You can't leave high school a virgin with a face like that, Heyward. Besides, girls like guys who know what they're doing, trust me; I'm kind of an expert on this shit."

Pope grimaced. "Yeah, I've heard." He'd seen the pouty, sullen looks on the classmates he'd snatched up and then dropped once he bored of them. He'd even seen the occasional fight with a Kook when he slept with a taken rich girl. "It's- It's fine, I don't care. Peer pressuring someone to lose their virginity is something straight from an early 2000s movie."

"I'm not peer pressuring you, Heyward. I'm making fun of you." The shit-eating grin on (Y/N)'s face reminded him all too much of JJ. "But, because I am such a nice guy-"

"That's debatable."

"-I'm going to help you, Heyward." The grin grew at the bewildered look on Pope's face, his brows knitting tightly together and lips pulling into a line. Pope stared at him, his fingers rubbing into the fabric of his jeans, the contemplation clear in his eyes. "You think Kiara has time to teach someone how to please her?" 

"W-What? I-I don't like Kie! She's like- I-"

"I can teach you how to kiss someone properly. I've had plenty of practice since middle school." (Y/N) pressed the bottom of his sneaker into the heel of the other, pushing until the shoe fell onto the floor before ridding himself of the other one. He dragged himself further onto the bed and arched an expectant brow at the stammering boy until Pope shut his mouth and swallowed again. 

"I..." He trailed off, his eyes jumping toward the picture wall, his lips pressing together. 

"Come on, you wouldn't be the first of Routledge's minions I've made out with." (Y/N) revealed and Pope's considering gaze turned into surprise as his wide eyes darted back to him. "J and I make out drunk all the time. You should try it sometime when you're wasted and bored."

Pope would've been lying if he claimed he'd never thought of kissing the chaotic Maybank. Hell, sometimes he wondered what it'd be like to kiss John B; especially on lazy days when they lounged on the boat after a swim and the setting sun warmed John B's skin, making it glitter from the droplets of water while he stared off into the distance. With JJ, the thoughts emerged more often. JJ cared little for personal space, his hand or arm somehow managing to always press against one of the Pogues, and Pope often found his space invaded by the blond. He assumed it to be natural thoughts, but he wondered if his curiosity expanded past innocence. 

His skin simmered with heat, his hands curling into fists and his back straightening with determination. If JJ trusted him, so would Pope. He gave (Y/N) a firm nod and braced himself, his eyes squeezing shut and cheeks flaring with heat when (Y/N) giggled.

The bed shifted and creaked with movement, his eyes parting immediately when he felt hands grasping at his crossed legs and pulling them apart. (Y/N) hardly gave him time to question before pressing their lips together, his hand slipping toward Pope's hip and squeezing lightly; the scent of cigarette smoke clinging to (Y/N)'s clothes filling Pope's nose.

"Relax." He murmured into Pope's mouth, half-lidded eyes finally shutting and lips pressing harder against Pope. 

Slowly, Pope forced himself to relax, his body slumping back against the pillow that began pressing into his back when (Y/N) pushed him into lying back. His lips felt soft, if not a bit chapped and sticky from the apple slices, and Pope felt a surge of insecurity bubble in his stomach at his blatant inexperience. His hands awkwardly fumbled around until he pressed them against (Y/N)'s sides, finding himself fully unsure of what else to do besides pressing back into his lips. 

"There you go," (Y/N) cooed and the way his heart skipped a beat at the praise made Pope want to bury his face into his pillows. The top of (Y/N)'s thighs pressed into the bottom of Pope's, his knees sinking into the mattress as he began adjusting his position. He moved fully on top of him, propping his upper half up by bracing himself against his elbow. His fingers took Pope's chin and lightly squeezed. "Open."

With a face set ablaze, Pope meekly parted his lips and shut his eyes again. (Y/N) kissed him again, his lips wrapping around Pope's bottom one and teeth digging lightly into him, an action that shot heat down his spine before he mushed their lips further together. Their teeth almost clacked together as Pope weakly began mimicking (Y/N)'s movements, a muffled noise leaving him when their tongues collided and he tasted the apple juice on his tongue. 

(Y/N) pulled back after a minute or two, a short string of saliva connecting them and quiet panting leaving them both. Pope's fingers dipped under the hem of (Y/N)'s shirt, carefully massaging his flesh as he attempted to ground his spinning, light-headed brain. He stared up at the ceiling of his room, chest heaving with pants and lips slick with salvia. 

"Did- Did you know-" He paused to catch his breath again. "-that kissing releases a multitude of chemicals in your brain-"

"Oh, Jesus, Pope." (Y/N) dropped his head down onto the soft pillow beside Pope, his breath fanning against Pope's ear and making goosebumps rise along his arms. "If you want to nerd out, use it as a segway into kissing."

"I'm surprised you know what segway means."

"Fuck you." (Y/N) laughed, light and breathless. "I'm not dumb; school is just boring."

Pope traced the lines in the slanted wooden ceiling over them, his hands squeezing (Y/N)'s sides when an idea struck him. "Yeah? What if... what if it wasn't boring?" Pope tilted his head to look at him, their noses brushing against each other and a smile spreading across his lips. "I can teach you something about biology and in return, you can teach me something I can do to- to... to my future girlfriend, or something." 

"Mm," (Y/N) grinned, a quiet chuckle leaving him. "You've got a deal, then."