#how I set up light in blender

[phoenixiancrystallist]

Month 5, day 19

MOAR PROGRESS! Tonight I have:

Rearranged the trees

Adjusted the vine textures to fit in with the world better

Tweaked the vines to coil a little tighter around the sword

Fiddled with the atmospheric scattering

Added a nice starry sky background that you can't really see because of the depth of field effect I have going on but it adds a certain something to the whole deal that I'm really enjoying lol

All in all it's coming along SO GOOD and I'm so happy with it! :D

And to think, I was scared to start bc I didn't think it would turn out as good as I envisioned. Pffft, take that, imposter syndrome!

[kissandtellus]

LADS : ‘Current Boyfriend’ Prank

ᯓ Synopsis: How would the LADS boys react to you pulling the TikTok Video ‘With my Current Boyfriend’ Prank!

ᯓ Caleb

You set up the camera at the perfect angle, making sure to get Caleb’s massive frame into the shot. You take a few steps back and give a twirl of your dress.

“Hey everyone! I’m doing a ‘OOTD’ with my current boyfriend, Caleb!”

Caleb’s goofy smirk falters, and you swear you see his eye twitch.

“Current, Pipsqueak?” He grabs your arm, pulling you back away from the camera, his hand cups your jaw ever so slightly, even as the camera continues to roll. “Nah, you better change that tone baby. What was that?”

You cheeks are squished between his forefinger and thumb.

“M-my boyfwend fowever.”

“Thats right, Pip. Good girl.”

ᯓ Rafayel

Rafayel always finds these trends annoying. He immediately knows something is up by the way you are already giggling to yourself. You set the phone on the tripod and take a few steps back.

“So today, I am going to be asking my boyfriend a series of questions about myself-“ you break off into light laughter, struggling to finish your sentence as you catch the upmost SASSIEST look from Rafayel in the corner.

“Current? Is there one after me, Cutie? Perhaps I should let them go ahead and have their turn.” His lower lip is jutting in a pout, even as you try to pull him back in to finish the video. Rafayel dramatically recites old tales of doomed lovers, and how if you were to leave him he would throw himself into the deepest edge of the sea.

You are busy the rest of the day trying to repair Rafayel’s wounded pride.

ᯓ XAVIER

Xavier is rubbing the sleep from his eyes after waking up from a nap. You had promised him a delicious smoothie, if you could record it.

You stand by the blender and prop your phone. “Hey everyone! I am here with my current boyfriend Xavier! I am go- Xavier? Wait, no-“

You are barely able to wrestle back your phone before he snatches it and throws it into the blender, his finger dancing over the ‘blend’ button.

His sharp blue eyes burn into you.

“Current? My shining star, what have I done to deserve such a mediocre attempt at a joke.”

“It’s a trend, Xavier!”

“I am going to start revoking your phone time.”

ᯓ Zayne

Zayne looks over the rim of his glasses as you prop your phone up on his desk. You sit on his knee which he gladly welcome. He gazes up at you like you out the stars in the sky.

You hit record and wrap your arms around his neck. “Hey everyone, today I’m going to ask my current boyfriend, who’s a surgeon, about what the-“

Zayne calmly reaches over and shuts off the video.

He slides his glasses off of his nose, resting the ear piece against his lips with narrowed eyes.

“I know you are far too intelligent to think that’s funny,” he grabs your chin and tilts your head to him. “Go on, apologize.”

ᯓ Sylus

Sylus is used to your antics by now. He’s currently fixing a loose piece on his bike when you extend the tripod and place your phone onto it.

He perks his head up just enough to wave to the camera.

“So today, I am going to be asking my current voting to quiz me in motorcycle facts!” He nearly busts his head under the bike from how quick he shoots up.

His hand grabs a handful of your ass and you squeak like a little mouse. “Oh Kitten, if you were so desperate for attention, you could’ve just said so~”

A few minutes later you are restarting the video, clearing your voice and trying to act like Sylus didn’t kiss you within an inch of your life.

“I’m here with Sylus, my husband.”

[incognit0slut]

Champagne Kisses

A night involving champagne gives you the perfect excuse to end up naked after weeks of harmless flirting. Spencer thinks one night isn’t enough.

category: smut, fluff word count: around 8k content: softdom!spencer, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v (but no creampie he’s testing his pull-out game), alcohol consumption, food play (more like drink play), and i wanna say spit kink but they’re using champagne instead so does that count? a/n: merry 2025 please tell me you remember me or else i might actually cry

You’re doing it again.

You’ve been clawing at his face for the past hour, stealing fleeting glances and looking away just as quickly, because every time you do, you find the same thing.

Brown eyes. Chocolate, marbled in hazel with tiny golden speckles. Pinning you in place. Dismantling you layer by layer. And somewhere in the quiet heat behind them, in the barely-there twitch of his jaw, you’re pretty sure he’s already mapping out the fastest way to get you out of your clothes.

It’s nerve-racking. Smart Spencer you can handle, awkward Spencer you can charm. But flirtatious Spencer? Flirtatious Spencer is dangerous.

Even more so when you’re squashed between Penelope and Luke at the overcrowded booth of O'Keefe's, who are mid-argument over something you can’t even muster the energy to care. Not when long legs stretch in front of you, and strips of neon lights slice across the table in a glow that crosses his form, curving around handsome features that make him look far too inviting.

Because that’s what your mind keeps drifting to. Taking him back to your place, where the only thing glowing would be the dim light of your bedroom.

Or maybe the pale light from the hallway.

Perhaps the soft flicker of the lamp in your living room.

Either way, your mind is already drawing images of him doing whatever it is he’s picturing in his own head. The location doesn’t matter.

“Don’t you agree?”

Your gaze fall over him once more before you force yourself to look away, catching Penelope staring at you expectantly. “Agree to what?”

“That margaritas are objectively the most fun drink and clearly better than boring beer.”

This is the argument they’ve been debating for the last five minutes?

Luke scoffs from your left. He doesn’t look angry though, his expression is more amused than irritated, lips formed in a cheeky smirk. “I can tolerate margaritas if we’re on a beach. But beers are solid all year round, pop a cap and you're good to go."

“You’re such a guy."

“I'm telling you, you don't need fancy ingredients or a blender. No little umbrellas."

“Literally proving my point. Beer has no personality.”

“Are you saying I have no personality?”

Bright pink-framed glasses shift as Penelope tips her head. “If the shoe fits.”

You’re at the point where you’re no longer surprised by their arguments. Loud and pointless, is how you'd describe them. You suspect Luke does it to get a reaction, and normally you’d add fuel to the fire, because Penelope is a pretty fire-cracker when her nostrils flare in absolute indignation. But your attention is elsewhere tonight.

Knees brushing yours under the table. A small smile curled at the corner of his lips. Deep set of eyes dragging over your face, your neck, the spot between your collarbone and shoulder where the pulse of your heartbeat seems to echo louder each second.

You slide with your back against the chair, thighs clamping shut. 

You feel him imprinted on you, heated gaze traveling beneath your skin. You wonder if he realizes what he’s doing, if he’s even aware of the effect all the time his eyes fall on you. Since the moment he walked in the room, since he took that seat directly across from you, and if you’re being completely honest, that glint in his eyes has been there probably for weeks now. The when of it all is a bit fuzzy.

Tonight feels adamantly different though, and you feel like you might just need a little extra something to quiet the nervous hum beneath your ribs.

But you’re not entirely sure whether it’s nerves or something far more indulgent that has your mind secretly leading you to a very unholy place. A place where you wonder if the rough, scruffy drag of his jaw feels the same below his navel.

You’re a hundred percent certain that it does.

“You know what’s a better drink?” your voice cracks, desperately needing that extra little something. “Champagne.”

Penelope’s head whips toward you. “Champagne? Here?”

You glance around the bar and raise a hand, trying to flag down the bartender.

The wood-paneled walls are covered with vintage beer advertisements, and the sticky floor is dotted with peanut shells from the complimentary bowls on every table. It’s the kind of place where the closest thing to champagne is probably prosecco poured into a plastic flute for a wedding after-party.

“What’s wrong with champagne? It’s a classic drink, great for celebration.” You order a bottle and four tall glasses before fixing her with a look. “It’s the New Year.”

She snorts. “We’re already halfway through January.”

“Penelope, we had to work on Christmas and New Year’s. We finally have this night to breathe, let me have this.”

There’s a beat of silence before she sighs dramatically. “Fine. But it still feels weird drinking champagne in a bar where the most sophisticated cocktail is a rum and coke.”

“Which is exactly why we’re elevating the night,” you reply, watching as the bartender sets the bottle down with (thank god) proper crystal flutes. You pour the first glass, the golden bubbles racing upward like tiny fireworks as you pass it to her.

Luke accepts the next glass without the same hesitation, but when you offer one to Spencer, the curly-haired man shakes his head.

“Right. I forgot you don’t really drink alcohol.”

The faintest smile tugs at his lips. “I don’t have anything against alcohol, just not in large amounts.” His gaze shifts to the bottle on the table. “I also happen not to like champagne.”

Penelope looks mildly offended. “Why not?”

“Because the carbonation overpowers the flavor. It’s hard to enjoy a drink when it’s constantly popping on your tongue.” You stifle a laugh before you can stop yourself. He looks at you. “What?”

“I think you’re overthinking it,” you reply with a grin. “Here, maybe this will change your mind.”

You pour him a glass and nudge it toward him. He simply looks from the glass to you.

“Come on,” you coax. “We’re celebrating the New Year.”

“Seventeen days late."

You suppress the urge to roll your eyes.

"Do not ruin the fun. We’re still celebrating, and you can’t toast with water. That’s practically begging for bad luck.”

He exhales sharply, lips twitching in what might be defeat or mild amusement, before reaching across the table. Everyone raises their glasses. The instant the bubbles hit his tongue, his nose scrunches in subtle distaste, and the sound of your laughter flies through the small space.

“It’s not that bad,” you insist.

“I still don’t understand the appeal.”

Champagne isn’t exactly your first choice either. You’ve always been more of a wine person. A good wine. A rich Burgundy that makes you close your eyes on the first sip to taste the faint of autumn in a glass. But champagne feels right for the occasion.

This taste blooms on your tongue, crisp and bright with hints of green apple and citrus and that faint yeasty richness at back of your throat. They dance across your palate, leaving a lingering sweetness through your veins that doesn’t soothe your nerves so much as ignite something beneath them, something warmer, deeper, curling into your bloodstream.

It makes you very bold.

Bold enough to hold his gaze without flinching. Bold enough to let your tongue flick across your lips. Bold enough to let your foot glide slowly up the length of his long, long leg.

You’ll have him taste his own medicine.

You, too, can play with fire.

“Maybe you’re drinking it wrong,” you hum, feeling him tense for the briefest, tiniest moment before he relaxes. “There’s another way to make champagne better.”

He grips the stem of his glass. “Something tells me you have a suggestion.”

“I do.”

He tilts his head. The din of conversation around you slowly fades into a muffled hum, the clinking of glasses and Penelope’s laughter barely registering as you notice the curve of his smile, the question lingering in his eyes.

Will you show me?

And that’s how you find yourself naked between his thighs two hours later.

It started innocently enough—or at least that’s the lie you fed yourself when you watched Penelope and Luke stumble their way to the dance floor, giggling as they poured yet another round of sparkling wine. But the champagne didn’t keep your attention for long. A few more stolen glances later, you found your hand wrapping around his arm, the other clutching a half-full bottle of champagne like some reckless lifeline.

It is reckless. Even you can’t deny that. You’ve always been cautious when it comes to bringing a man home. But this isn’t just anyone. This is Spencer. Someone who already knows too many pieces of you, someone who doesn’t need to be deciphered or explained.

And maybe that’s why you couldn’t stop yourself from dragging him out of the bar.

The ride in the stuffy cab felt like an eternity and a blink at the same time that the moment your apartment door clicked shut behind you, his mouth was already on yours. You barely had time to process how surprisingly good he tasted before your clothes started to disappear.

It’s a dizzying rush of hands and heat, and you’re now standing over him, knees brushing his as he sinks into your couch.

Yes, your couch. The soft, slate-blue one you’ve spent countless evenings curled up on, legs tucked under a blanket, flipping through books or half-watching shows you never finish. But now it cradles a completely different weight—the heavy heat of him radiating with tension-laced curiosity and a barely contained lust that seems to bleed right into the fabric.

“I can’t believe I’m kissing you,” he mutters dazedly, trailing his lips along your jaw with a hand resting on your naked back.

“I can’t believe you can unhook my bra that fast.”

He catches the sheer black fabric now hanging haphazardly over your lamp where he’d tossed it aside moments ago. “It wasn’t that hard.”

“Should I be concerned about how much practice you’ve had?”

“Not really. I’m a fast learner.”

That, you believe. But you’re not entirely sure if it’s his innate skill or the way your body seems to respond to him so effortlessly that leaves your lungs feeling like they’ve forgotten how to work. Breathing is no longer instinctive now. It’s a function you have to remind yourself to do as his tongue dances along the curve of your breast, and by the time he takes the achingly hard tip into his mouth, your chest tightens.

You suck in a desperate need of oxygen while he sucks the last thread of composure from you.

“Sweet.”

“Huh?”

“You—” He pulls back just enough to let his teeth graze the delicate skin before soothing it with a slow drag of his tongue, “taste sweet.”

Your hand slides to the back of his neck with a sigh. “You’re exaggerating.”

“What do you mean?”

“Bodies don’t taste like anything, it’s skin.”

Spencer shakes his head as he cups the weight of your other breast with the same care you’ve come to expect from him. Taut nipple rolls under his thumb. “How do you explain this then?”

You don’t respond. Not with words, anyway. Your body speaks first as you arch into his touch, chasing the warmth of his hands before you can form any thoughts.

“How do you explain,” he continues, his lips trailing down the slope of your stomach, “why I can’t get enough of how sweet you taste?”

Your mind finally catches up, and the words settle over you like honey itself.

“You think so?”

“It’s not a thought, it’s a fact.” He presses a kiss to the soft skin just below your navel. “I don’t know how you can taste better than this.”

Your laugh is breathless, barely steady enough to be called one. “You’re laying it on thick now.”

“I’m just being honest.”

It’s cute how he says it with such conviction, like it’s the simplest truth in the world and not a line that’s turning your legs to liquid. Your knees threaten to buckle as you step away, reaching for the half-empty champagne bottle perched on the coffee table. The glass feels cool against your overheated skin as you twist the cork free.

“What are you doing?”

“Considering your words.” You hold up the bottle, the champagne fizzing invitingly at its neck. “What do you say we make this even sweeter?”

His eyes light up with interest. “Is this where you show me the right way to drink champagne?”

You nod and sink back between his thighs. “I know you’re not big on sharing food, but I think you’re gonna like this.”

“You do realize I’ll share anything with you.”

Your lips curl into a soft smile. You’ve already learned that kissing Spencer feels deliciously messy. It’s sloppy in the way passion tends to be when control is the last thing on either of your minds, with tongues and teeth colliding in an unpolished rhythm that’s as raw as it is consuming. Adding champagne to the equation doesn’t feel like much of a stretch.

You step forward at the same time his hands fall to your hips. “There’s a trick to drinking champagne.”

“I’m listening.”

The bottle’s rim grazes your lips as you take in his appearance. His shirt is wrinkled, hanging just a little more loosely around his chest with two buttons undone. He’s the very definition of disheveled that’s entirely your doing. He looks absolutely irresistible.

“You need to linger on the taste,” you start, your voice dipping into something softer as your eyes meet his again. “Be patient. Let it sit and overwhelm your senses before you swallow.”

“You mean marinate it in my mouth?”

A giggle burst out of you. “Exactly. The longer you let it linger, the more it softens, and the sweeter it gets.”

You tilt the bottle to your lips. The sweetness starts to bloom on your tongue, subtle at first, but then richer, fuller against the roof of your mouth. There's a flicker of recognition in his eyes when you pull him closer by the nape of his neck, the exact moment he realizes what you’re about to do.

Your lips meld seamlessly with his as the Champagne slips from your mouth.

His lashes flutter briefly. There’s a soft flush spreading across his pale cheeks, and you feel the faint hum of pleasure, vibrating against the delicate curve of his skin as a liquid thread drips down your chin.

And then you’re kissing him. Or he’s kissing you. It’s hard to tell who moved first, but it doesn’t matter. His lips part further, and you swear you can taste every nuance of the champagne in a way you've never experienced before. Sharp citrus, a whisper of honeyed sweetness, and beneath it all, something clean and cool that reminds you of first snowfalls.

His lips are swollen and wet and perfectly shiny when you finally pull back.

“What do you think?”

“I think we should drink champagne every day.”

Your hand drifts to the side of his neck with a smile, thumb brushing lightly against his pulse. “Even when we’re working?”

“Especially when we’re working,” he counters, his tongue darting out to lick his lips, tasting what’s left of you. His gaze flickers to the bottle in your hand. “Can I try it?”

You pass it to him, your eyes fixed on the way he tilts it to his mouth. You’re sure the bubbles in your system aren’t the reason your pulse races as he sets the bottle aside and rises to his feet. You’re also sure that no amount of champagne is responsible for the way your lips part eagerly when his hands cradle your cheeks.

There it is again—that sweetness. It hits you the moment his mouth captures yours, but it fully overwhelms you when he tilts his head and gently coaxes the champagne from his lips to yours.

You’re not surprised at how quickly he picks this up. It’s common knowledge that he’s a very diligent person, but it’s still a bit astonishing how he’s taken to playing with a drink he supposedly doesn’t even like. This is nothing like solving cases or flexing his impossibly sharp brain, nor the crosswords you’re used to seeing him hunched over at his desk at lunch.

This requires a different kind of finesse that involves his lips and tongue rather than a pen and paper.

It also seems like he might be enjoying this even more. He leans back just enough to let his tongue sweep across the seam of your lips, collecting the last trace of sweetness clinging to you.

A thumb swipes over the wet trail under chin. “I could get used to this.”

“Champagne or me?”

“Both.”

Satisfied with his answer, your fingers trail down to undo the last few buttons of his shirt. “Do you wanna try something else?”

He quirks an eyebrow as you push down the fabric down his shoulders. You don’t say anything all the while you start to unbuckle his belt, peeling every layer of his clothing until you’ve stripped him completely bare—and would you look at that? The faint trail of hair down his belly matches the scruff shadowing his jaw.

There’s a brief pause as your eyes travel down his body, lingering on his surprisingly impressive size, and a comment sits at the edge of your tongue. You decide to let your actions speak for you.

Your delicate fingers wrap around his delicious thickness. You swipe the first signs of precum glistening over his tip with your thumb, and a low sound of pleasure rumbles in his chest.

“Is this what you had in mind?”

He sounds like he’s in pain, and you shake your head with a playful smile curling at your lips. “Sit back on the couch.”

Spencer sinks into the cushion.

“This might get a little messy.”

His brow furrows slightly, and for a moment, he looks genuinely intrigued. What he doesn’t expect is the way you slowly pour the remaining liquid down your chest. His mouth parts in surprise, and then his gaze follows every single drop like it’s gravity itself pulling him in.

You’re mesmerizing. Always have been, actually. There is no doubt in Spencer’s mind that you’re the most beautiful person he’s ever met in his life. Your mind is brilliant. Your heart is kind. But watching the champagne mix with the sheen of sweat on your skin, you’re something else entirely. You look lethal. A different kind of captivating.

He’s already pulling you by the waist, and you’re a mass of giggles as you twist out of his grip to set the bottle safely aside. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“Can you blame me?”

Honestly, you can’t. If the roles were reversed, you’d probably look at him the same way.

When his hands finally find your hips again, there’s no point in pretending you don’t want to be caught. You bend your knees and shift on the couch. He helps you swing your thigh over his own and deposits you in his lap.

Desperate is a good enough word to depict for him because as soon as you're close enough, he’s tasting you all over again. His tongue drags slow over the curve of your shoulder, across the hollow of your throat, and down to the soft swell of your breasts. Goosebumps ripple across your skin with every pass, every flick of his tongue, his touch leaving a trail of heat that you swear you can feel seeping into your bones.

You don’t even realize when you start to move until you feel the slow, unintentional rock of your hips into him. His cock fits snugly between your folds that you start grinding as the words fall from your lips without much thought, “What do you think of sex without a condom?”

His pupils dilated, lips parting, but no sound comes out right away.

"Spence?"

His gaze flickers to where your wet bodies are pressed together. Damp moisture from his tip smeared erotically between puffy lips, clear liquid coating his hard length.

“I think… it’s very intimate."

“Too intimate?”

"No." His fingers trail along your skin before his thumb settles just under your breast, in the delicate curve where your rib meets, and finally looks at you. "Is that what you want?"

You're bobbing your head up and down.

“Then I'd really, really like that.”

You shift your weight on your knees. “So you trust me?"

"More than anyone."

“I trust you too,” you say, your voice dipping low as your fingers wrap around his cock, guiding him to your entrance. “Can I request something, though?"

"Anything."

You pause just long enough for your words to land. “I don’t want you to come inside me.”

He exhales a soft laugh. “That can be arranged.”

His answer makes your lips twitch, but as you start to sink down, your body seems to have other ideas. There’s a resistance you didn’t expect, a sudden tautness that refuses to give.

Your eyes widen in surprise.

Oh my.

“What’s wrong?”

When you first wrapped your hand around him and took in the full reality of his size, you’d been impressed. Now you wonder if maybe you underestimated just how much he has to offer.

You bite the insides of your cheeks and try again.

“It’s been a while,” you confess quietly. You can’t even recall the last time you were this intimate with someone that the hesitation feels foreign, like a hiccup in a moment you’ve been eagerly anticipating.

And you are eager. Maybe a little too much. It feels almost ironic, considering how much you’ve thought about this, how your imagination has filled in the blanks a hundred times over. Now that it’s real, your body seems to be having second thoughts your mind absolutely isn’t entertaining.

You shift your hips, determination flaring as you take a slow breath. Left, right, up, down. But then a sharp sting shoots through you. Your face quickly twists into a grimace.

"Hey,” he calls gently, thumbs brushing gentle circles against your hip. “We can stop. You don’t have to push yourself.”

But that’s the thing, isn’t it? You want him to push past whatever invisible barrier your body is putting up. The idea of stopping now feels more unbearable than the sting itself.

Your lips press into a stubborn frown. “No,” you say firmly. “We are not stopping.”

"Are you sure?"

"Mhm. I think my body's just being weird. I'm sorry."

His brows knits together almost immediately. “I should be the one apologizing.”

Frustration suddenly wells up in your chest, and this time your teeth sinks into your lip, unsure whether it’s the tension in the muscles between your legs or the ache of wanting him that feels stronger.

And you want him. So fucking bad.

“You need to relax,” he soothes, running his hands up your waist, past your ribs, across your back.

“I am relaxed,” you huff.

“I don’t think you’re relaxed enough.”

Before you can respond, he carefully lifts you from his lap and settles you back onto the couch. The cushions dips under your weight, and you barely have time to process the change before he gracefully drops to the floor.

“Should we move to your bed?”

He grips one of your ankles, his thumb brushing along the soft curve of your bone before he leans down, pressing warm lips to the skin above it.

“After this,” you reply, glancing at the sticky champagne trail still glistening faintly on your skin. “Don’t want my sheets getting sticky.”

There’s a flicker of amusement on his handsome face. “After this?”

“Did you think we’d be stopping after one round?”

His laughter vibrates against your calf. “How many times are we talking then?”

“Until I can’t feel my legs.”

The smile he gives you is slow and warm. It curves one corner of his mouth first, almost shy, before spreading fully, lighting up his face in a way that steals the breath right from your lungs.

“You’d let me have my way with you all night?”

“I’d probably let you have me anytime you want.”

His grin is almost blinding that you can’t help but give him a pleased smile of your own.

“Let’s focus on tonight first.” He moves to your other the leg. Delicate bone and tendon brushes against his lips. “I need to get you ready for me. Would you let me do that?"

Words fail you as his mouth moves closer, and the heat of his breath against your skin makes your entire body tense in anticipation. He presses another open-mouthed kiss to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

"You're still tense."

Kiss. Kiss.

“Really need you to relax.”

You try, but then again, it's impossible when his lips are so close, yet still not where you need them the most.

His name slips in a desperate whisper.

"Hm?"

"Stop teasing."

His lips quirk in response, but he doesn't argue.

He dips his head and finally— finally! —drags his tongue along your achingly wet folds. Your eyes almost roll to the back of your head.

"Better?"

The question is entirely rhetorical.

You don’t bother answering. Words seem sparse when his actions are spelling out everything you need to know in bold, underlined strokes. His touch is distinctly different from the playful, champagne-dampened kisses he had gifted your skin.

Now he’s utterly focused. He’s researching, and it appears his diligence isn’t confined to his academic when the same focus he applies to his studies is translated so flawlessly into reading your body like a favorite book. One he’s intent on memorizing every line of, delighting in every pause and whisper between the chapters of your sighs.

It’s this thought that tickles the back of your mind when he slips a finger in. He’s always been about comprehensive understanding, and well, you’re all about empirical evidence. Right now is proof of a hypothesis you’re too pleased to confirm that Spencer Reid might just be a genius in more ways than one.

Especially in how his steady thrust of his finger syncs perfectly with the hot, wet pull of his mouth, scratching such a carnal itch that it resonates deep in your brain. You sigh in pleasure when he adds another finger, and he lifts his head then, lips shiny and pink from his ministration.

"Do you think you can take a third?"

Your heart gives a few extra thuds in your chest cavity. “Please, please.”

Look at you, reducing yourself into begging, but really, how could you resist? Who could withstand the intensity of his gaze, the way his voice dips low like velvet wrapping around your senses?

Your head tips back against the couch, a soft whimper lashing out as he adds that third finger. The stretch is almost overwhelming but oh so good.

"Does it hurt?"

You let out a loud exhale. "No."

"Tell me if it hurts."

"Feels good." Your legs fall apart even further. "Don't stop."

He smiles, and then he's doing things to your body that have you questioning how you're even still breathing. The wet, sticky slosh of your arousal fills the room, a sound so explicit it should mortify you. But then three knuckles press deeper, stroking against that rougher patch of nerves and all rational thought dissolves.

A sound you didn't even know you could make escapes your throat. You're gasping, moaning, a little bit squealing as his free hand slides up your plush thigh before finding your puffy clit. And dear god, you’re choking on the breath that lodges in your throat. You're so close it's almost unbearable. A hand shoots out, and you’re gripping his forearm with a desperation you can't even pretend to hide.

You need him inside you.

“I'm ready," you gasp harshly, your lips parting in quick, desperate puffs. "I'm ready. I’m ready.”

He has the audacity to shake his head.

"I'll decide when you're ready."

Your breath stutters even more.

Why does that sound so hot? Why does that simple, infuriatingly calm statement make your thighs clench, your pulse race, and a fresh wave of heat roll through your body?

Before you know it, he’s coaxing your orgasm from you with just the right pressure, and every movement feels like it’s designed to bring you right to the edge. You’re not surprised by how wet you are, you’ve been dripping for what feels like hours. But what does surprise you is just how much your body can take. The intensity that doesn’t wane, that keeps pushing you higher, drawing out gasp after gasp until hot syrup gushes out of you in long, sticky droplets that pool on his fingers, down to the couch.

It’s endless, relentless, and you can’t even tell where one orgasm ends and the next begins. Your hand claw at his wrist.

“Spencer,” you whine, your voice breaking on the syllables. “Sensitive.”

He stops immediately, his fingers still inside you, his other hand slipping from your clit to rest on your thigh. “Too much?”

“A little,” you smile breathlessly. “C’mere.”

He crawls towards you as you lay on your back, relaxing your thighs.

His eyes trail over you, scanning your sweat-slicked skin, lingering on your perky breasts, moving down to where your legs are fallen apart, waiting for him. The sight is so overwhelmingly enticing that he finds himself wrapping a hand around his cock, muttering a low praise under his breath, “I don’t think I’ve told you how beautiful you are.”

Your eyes flick downward, and a spark of confidence—or maybe pure desperation—pushes your reply out without hesitation.

“Tell me again while you fuck me.”

You’re so blunt and shameless that a part of you might have blushed if you weren’t so far gone. Spencer doesn’t seem fazed, though. If anything, his eyes flash with a knowing sparkle that only deepens as he presses his bulbous head right at the shy of your entrance.

“I think I’m going to enjoy telling you,” he muses.

And Spencer is one to keep his promises.

He thinks you’re devastatingly pretty when he’s sinking into you. There’s a dazed look in your glossy eyes, and the sweetest sound coming from your lips as he stretches you in a way that leaves no part of you untouched.

He sings praises under his breath when the heavy weight of him finally settles deep inside your body. He patiently waits as your walls flutter around him, all the while his lips brushes the delicate curve of your collarbone, between low, broken whispers of how perfect you are.

Although perfection might not even capture the essence of what he sees in you at this moment. You’re a breathtaking array of contradictions. Powerful and vulnerable, fierce yet tender. You’re nothing short of divine as he gives another smooth, long thrust that pulls a sound from your lips that he knows will echo in his mind long after.

The heat of you surrounds him completely, and he swears he feels every pulse of your body welcoming him deeper. You’re slathering his entire cock with your slippery slick, and the dampness imprinting against his pelvis only seems to spur him on. He moves in steady, languid strokes, and your toes curl at the sensation burning in your belly.

He’s hitting you so good your ankles find themselves running down his back.

“Spence,” your voice is raspy and wet. “Fuck me harder.”

His quiet groan harmonizes with the rhythm of your heart. “Don’t wanna hurt you.”

“You won’t—”

You stop, and he looks through the mist of bliss you've shrouded him in. Your face twists, eyes going wide, lips parted to take in sharp breaths. He panics for a moment.

“You’re in pain,” he decides, reading the way your brows knit together, the way your breath stutters in your chest. It seems the most logical conclusion—until he realizes how wrong he is.

Because you’re writhing under his weight when he pushes in deeper, and your mouth trembles, not with discomfort, but with something devastatingly good.

“Oh,” he exhales. His smile is uncharacteristically smug. “It’s not pain, is it?”

You shake your head.

“You want it rough.”

It’s more of a statement than it is a question, but you’re nodding vigorously.

His restraint snaps like a frayed thread.

The next thrust is sharper, it pounds into you with enough force to shift your body slightly back against the cushions. Your lips mouth around another shaky breath he drinks dry with a wet kiss.

Still. Not. Enough.

“Harder,” you slur against his tongue.

What’s a hot-blooded man to do when asked so sweetly? He answers in the only way he can.

A hand curls around the back of your knee to pull you open just enough for him to drive deeper. The angle makes you feel impossibly full, how the folds of your vulva hugs around his shaft greedily, letting him claim all the space you didn’t even know existed. You can even feel the wet drag of his cock against your swollen clit with each hard thrust, a sensation so piercing it rips a gasp from your throat and a plethora of groans wailing from the couch.

“Like this?”

The relentless thwack-thwack-thwack of skins colliding is making you delirious.

“Yes,” you cry out. “Fuck—Yes. Yes.”

Your vision blurs as you blink, and—god, you think you might actually cry. And honestly, with how full you feel, with how every nerve is sparking to life under his loud rhythm, it wouldn’t even surprise you.

Your lashes feel wet as you squeeze your eyes shut, but you force them back open, unwilling to miss the way he looks above you. Jaw tight, sweat beading at his temples, eyes locked on you like nothing else exists.

Nothing probably does, not when he moves with a rhythm that feels both gentle and crude, like he’s savoring every second so sweetly while simultaneously chasing the most carnal kind of pleasure known to mankind.

Pleasure that has you melting, pleasure that has your body fully acclimating to his size. And now you’re teetering on the edge of another intense orgasm that begins its ascent from the tips of your toes and fingertips, spiraling a tingling rush up through your legs and arms, gathering force at the pit of your stomach, and exploding into the point where you’re intimately connected.

It happens all at once.

You’re trembling.

You’re shattering.

You’re pathetically whining.

Euphoria floods every inch of your body until you’re drowning in it. A liquid fire in your veins. Your cunt clenches around him, so tight you swear you feel every ridge and vein of his cock as keeps pressing you into the couch. Again and again and again, until you’re nothing but an incoherent mess, your words blabbered in a breathless rush of pleasure-induced nonsense.

One heartbeat stretches into two, then the muscles in his arms flexes as his pace falters. He’s shaking now, his pelvis moving in hurried, shallow thrusts as though he’s chasing something he can’t quite reach before the heat of him presses into you one last time.

He abruptly pulls out, his cock visibly pulsing in his hand and strokes himself with a stuttering groan as thick, pearly ropes splutters across your stomach. His fingers dig deeper into the back of your thigh while he continues to paint your skin in messy streaks, and you watch in fascination the moment his head tilts back in pure, unfiltered pleasure.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen him quite this beautiful.

His brows pinches in concentration for a few more seconds before his gaze slowly meets yours again, and a faint, blissful pink colors his cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes sheepishly, looking a little out of breath. Devastatingly handsome and sweaty. Flustered in the best way.

You brush the damp hair sticking to his skin with a small, satisfied smile. “Are you kidding? That was extremely hot.”

His laughter fills every corner in the room. Then his hand drift down a comforting path down your thigh as he leans to capture the giggle tumbling from your lips with his own. It’s then you realize that kissing Spencer isn’t just enjoyable, it’s downright addictive.

You’re beginning to think he’s just as addicted to you too, because when he pulls away, it’s reluctant, his lips leaving yours with a faint, wet sound that lingers as sweetly as the kiss itself.

“Will you really let me have my way with you all night?” he asks gently, and you can’t help but wonder why he even feels the need to ask.

“Was I not obvious enough?”

You feel his smile before you see it. “Bedroom now?”

To tangle your naked limbs with his again sounds pretty close to heaven. Absolute, indulgent heaven, except for the distinct stickiness of champagne, sweat, and a cocktail of other body fluids clinging to your skin. The thought of sinking into cool clean sheets in this state makes your nose scrunch.

“We need to make a stop to the bathroom first,” you say, running a hand up his arm to squeeze his bicep. “Have you ever tried shower sex?”

“Can’t say that I have,” he admits truthfully.

You make a sound of disapproval.

“We definitely need to change that.”

-

Spencer realizes a lot of things can change in one night.

He also discovers how much he’s capable of learning in such a short period of time. Granted, he’s always been a quick study, but this is different. The hours between midnight and sunrise completely upend his understanding of things he’d only ever read about—sex, intimacy, the intricacies of how touch can feel as much like a language as words.

But beyond the newfound knowledge (and let’s face it, an entirely new appreciation for his muscles), there’s something else. Something that surprises him even more.

He likes waking up with another warm body beside him. More than likes it. There’s a strange kind of peace in the way your leg drapes over his, your hair a tousled mess against the pillow. Peace that makes him wonder if this, too, is something he could get used to.

Even if you’re hogging the blanket. He can feel the cool air on his back while you’re wrapped in most of the covers, leaving him to soak up whatever body heat he can steal by staying pressed against you. Not that he’s complaining. He’d happily stay like this for hours, but the sun is already creeping higher through your window, and your phone has been vibrating nonstop ever since he opened his eyes.

The sheets rustle as he shifts closer, mouth puffing warmly on your cheek with a breath of your name folding into your skin. You blink through heavy eyelids, and Spencer thinks you look adorable all wrapped up like a cocoon in the tangled linens.

“Hey," you croak, then clear your throat. “Morning.”

The soft rasp of your voice is even as endearing as the sight of you.

“I think we’ve already passed morning,” he says, slipping a hand under the covers, finding the goosebumps prickling on your upper arm.

“We slept in?”

“My guess is it’s almost noon.” There’s another buzz vibrating from the bedside table that stops him from pressing you against his chest. “Someone keeps calling you.”

He wonders if you can sense the slight annoyance in his voice. He wonders if he even has the right to be annoyed. It's Saturday. You clearly have plans—or at least someone thinks you do based on how persistent they've been.

If you catch the flicker of irritation in his voice, you don’t acknowledge it. You stretch lazily for your phone instead, and his attention is momentarily snagged by the way the sheet slips down your shoulder, revealing the constellation of freckles and moles he’s spent the entire night memorizing with his lips.

"Nobody’s calling.” Your thumb scrolls through the notifications. "Penelope just doesn't understand the concept of personal space when she texts."

Spencer feels the tightness in his shoulders ease, though he doesn't miss the way your eyes narrow into sleepy slits at the screen.

"Oh."

That one syllable is enough to set his mind buzzing.

"What?"

"Um."

It’s the subtle crack in your voice that hooks him. He’s never been good at sitting with unanswered questions, especially not when your expression shifts just enough to make him wonder what could possibly warrant that little noise.

He finally curls an arm around your waist, and the faint trace of your scent fills his lungs as he gently draws you back against his chest. A relentless stream of messages glares up at him over your shoulder.

Penelope [Sent 23:37]: Where are you?? Penelope [Sent 23:45]: Is reid with you? Penelope [Sent 00:05]: Did you leave? WITH HIM?? Penelope [Sent 00:17]: You did, didn't you? Penelope [Sent 00:33]: You can’t just vanish like this, you know I have questions!!!

Spencer barely registers the way his hand drifts down to rest against your stomach. He pulls you in unconsciously as his eyes scan over the flood of texts that started piling up this morning.

Penelope [Sent 09:19]: Good morning. Penelope [Sent 09:25]: Answer me. Penelope [Sent 10:24]: Seriously, are you alive? Penelope [Sent 10:39]: YOU OWE ME DETAILS. Penelope [Sent 10:48]: Last chance. Calling you in ten.

"I think she's onto us."

It’s not so much a matter of thought as it is a fact. Your words are less a theory and more a confirmation of reality, as undeniable as the relentless stream of texts lighting up your phone.

"What should I tell her?"

Spencer leans in closer. The soft scent of your shampoo drifts up, clean and faintly sweet, wrapping itself around him in a way that makes his chest ache, though he’s not sure why. He’s inhaling everything—your warmth, the curve of your shoulder brushing his chest, the way your voice carries an edge of hesitation that feels so out of place for someone like you.

And that’s what truly catches him off guard. Not the fact that Penelope is practically banging on a metaphorical door with her texts, but that you’re hesitating. You, who rarely second-guess yourself, now unsure about sharing the details of last night with one of closest people in your life.

Or maybe the surprise lies closer to home. How easily the words form in his own mind, bypassing the overthinking that usually rules him.

He has ten minutes to think before Penelope supposedly calls, but he doesn’t need ten minutes, or even ten seconds, because the answer is already there, so obvious it practically tumbles out of him.

"The truth," he hums against the crown of your hair. "You should tell her the truth."

You’re quiet for a while.

“Are you sure?"

For someone who invited him into your home, who let him press you into the couch cushions, spread you out on the cool tiles of the bathroom, and pull every sound he wanted from you on the soft give of your mattress—on your back, your front, even sideways—you seem awfully uncertain now. Very out of character.

So what’s changed this morning? Is it the stale morning breath he’s sure he hasn’t fixed yet? The mess of his curls sticking up in every direction from a night spent pressed into your pillows?

Or is it something much deeper that he hasn’t quite put his finger on?

The thought clings to him as his thumb brushes your stomach. "I’m sure," he says. "Are you?"

You hesitate for a beat too long, and that tiny pause lands heavy on his chest.

"This is going to change everything," you finally say, sounding somewhat like a warning.

He frowns. "Didn’t you want it to?"

"I did. I do." You pull in a breath that shakes on the way out. "Maybe we should discuss this before we say anything to anyone."

Your phone slips quietly onto the bed as you twist in his arms. Face to face.

"Do you like me?"

What kind of question is that?

"Did I seem not to like you last night?"

"No, Spencer, I need to hear it. Do you like me?"

He studies the delicate fold between your brows. He watches the quiver on your parted lips. And your eyes—watery and glossy and wide. Soft lashes framing the quiet expanse of irises that shimmer like glass.

He knows what you need. Spencer has spent most of his entire life reading people, pulling truths out of their silences and decoding what they can’t (or won’t) say. And even though he hates applying that skill to you, he knows this isn’t just about reassurance. You’re not only questioning what happened between you last night. You’re questioning what comes next.

The time glares from your phone over your shoulder: six minutes. That’s all he has to convince you that his feelings go far beyond fleeting lust or the heady haze of alcohol. Six minutes before Penelope inevitably interrupts.

But he’s not the greatest with words, is he?

Sure, he’s read more books than most people will touch in a lifetime. He can recite Edgar Allan Poe by heart and dissect layers of meaning in Dostoevsky’s prose like it’s second nature. But his own feelings don’t come wrapped in poetic declarations. That’s not who he is.

What he can do, though, is tell you the truth.

“You know how you told me I could have you anytime I want?”

A strand of hair brushes against your cheek as you nod.

“You’ve already had me from the very beginning.”

Your gaze softens, then you sigh sweetly, and he knows without a doubt that the truth is exactly what you need. “Before all the sex?”

“Before we even kissed.”

The distance between you slowly becomes nonexistent. You slot your knee between his thighs, a lick of smile curling at the corner of your lips.

“So… when I ran my foot up your leg?”

His lopsided smile is no different from yours. “No.”

“Last week when I wore your cardigan because the AC got too cold?”

“You looked really pretty in it, but no.”

“Last month?”

“Even before that.”

You click your tongue. “Give me a clue. A hint.”

But you don’t need clues. Clues are for puzzles, for cases that demand solving. This has never been a mystery. He’s known it for longer than he cares to admit, and he wonders if you’re asking because you genuinely don’t see it or because you just want to hear him say it.

Either way, he’ll happily say the truth as plainly as it exists in his mind.

“From the moment you joined the team.” You pause for just a heartbeat, and he reaches out to brush away the stray of hair slipping down into your eyes. “You probably didn't notice, but I couldn't stop staring at you.”

“You’re lying,” you accuse softly.

“I’m a terrible liar.”

He watches as you mull over his words. He knows you’re trying to decide whether to believe him, though he doesn’t think it’s really a question of if. You already know he’s telling the truth.

Your voice is awfully quiet that he has to perk his ears for it.

“What took you so long then?”

Because while he’s a terrible liar, he’s always been painfully good at keeping his heart to himself. Years of compartmentalizing, of burying emotions under layers of logic and detachment, have made it almost second nature. And maybe that’s why it took him so long.

That, and bad timing.

Countless abductions.

A never-ending chase after unsubs.

Death of a team mate.

And prison.

God, prison.

He wonders if these are valid reasons or just excuses. Had there ever been a perfect moment? Or had he let his fears and the chaotic nature of his job push his personal happiness to the sidelines too often?

The words knot in his throat, and in the end, all he can muster is an apology.

“I’m sorry.”

For waiting so long.

For not saying this sooner.

For only finding the courage to make a move under the guise of flirtation and champagne.

He’s selfish. He is. Because he's reaching for you based on his time, his terms, waiting until he was ready to fit you neatly into his schedule. But you simply shake your head. Because that's what you are, isn't it?

You’re selfless, and so profoundly lovely that you offered yourself to him last night without reservation. And now you’re even more radiant, wrapped in the soft light of vulnerability, tinged with doubt, yet always so giving. Pulling him closer to your chest with a hand on his back. Fingers splay across his skin, nails dragging idly along his spine.

“Don’t be,” you reply, feeling his body expand and deflate under your palm when he breathes. “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

See? Selfless. The least he can do now is give you back the words you need to hear, the assurance you deserve to hear. Your foreheads press together, and he reverently lays his hand on your cheek, spreading lean fingers into your hair.

“If you must know, I do like you.”

But the word feels so inadequate for what he’s finally trying to tell you. Like doesn't even scratch the surface of how much space you take up in his mind.

"I more than like you,” he decides to add.

It doesn’t take long before you kiss him. Soft petals bloom warmly against his mouth, puffing humid breath he tastes on his tongue. A blissful moan he swallows greedily, lets it settle deep in his chest, his bones, his veins, filling every corner of him with the sweetest weight of you.

A flutter of lashes skims against his cheekbone when you tilt your head, pulling back by the barest inch. “You’ve made a huge mistake, by the way.”

The pad of his fingers presses gently on your scalp. “Why?”

“You’re never getting rid of me now.”

His thumb moves against your hairline as he takes in your words. For a moment, all he can do is absorb them, replay them, savor them. Then his eyes soften, the corners crinkling with genuine delight, and he lets out a soft huff of laughter that melts right into the narrow space between you.

He scoots impossibly closer, hoping your skin will somehow mold with his. Because after all the surprisingly creative positions he discovered with you last night, it’s the only conclusion he can come to: you fit into him. Perfectly. Soft curves finding their place against the lines of his frame, every piece of you adhering like glue to his skin.

Chest to chest, nose to nose, and lips so maddeningly close to yours that he can still taste the warmth of your breath, sweet and intoxicating in its nearness. It’s enough to drive him a little insane, though he’d argue he’s always been slightly off-center where you’re concerned.

His fingers twitch, ready to close that infinitesimal gap when the sharp buzz of your phone suddenly slices through the moment.

Six minutes.

That’s all the time the universe has granted him, and it’s woefully too short.

"Might need to block her number," you mutter under your breath as you shift slightly to reach for your phone. He watches the way your fingers fly over the screen rapidly before placing the device back on the side table.

“What did you tell her?”

“The truth." Then you drop on him like a dead weight, limbs tangling in the most inconvenient ways until your head is tucked in the crook of his neck. "Also sent her an eggplant and water emoji.”

A crease forms between his brows. “What does that mean?”

You fail to keep in your laughter. “You don’t want to know.”

He’s fairly certain he does want to know. In fact, he’s starting to realize he wants to know everything about you now that you’ve given him the chance. Beyond the pull of bodies and the way they slot together so seamlessly, beyond the electricity of skin against skin.

Though he can’t deny his curiosity at one precise moment, the way you’d slightly gasped when his fingers accidentally brush around the base of your throat. He wouldn’t mind knowing what that meant for you, and, surprisingly, what that even implied for himself.

But as intriguing as that is, it’s not what lingers the most. It’s the subtleties he wants to unravel, the pieces of you he hadn’t even realized he’d been aching to explore.

Your wit, your thoughts, your mind—that lovely, intricate thing he’s admired for so long. Full of nuances and depths he hadn’t even realized he’d only been skimming the surface of. He’s sure there’s something far greater than even his endless mind could have imagined that ties to the beautiful shape of you.

And you’re so beautiful. He’s known that for years, but mere hours ago, he learned it in an entirely new language. Even when he understands seven different ways the world chooses to communicate and speaks four fluently, yours is his favorite.

Yours doesn’t need words or perfect pronunciation. It’s instinctive and warm, written in every sigh, every glance, every unspoken verse that linger in the subtle shift of your body. In every nuance of your taste.

God, your taste.

He knows you’re right, skin can’t be sweet. The dichotomy isn’t lost in him. Yet it doesn’t matter, because not even the crisp, effervescent bite of champagne compares to the warmth of you. Not even sugar, and he basically lives on sugar. In chocolate-sprinkled donuts that he grabs on the way to work, in the endless cups of coffee that fuel his day.

You’re something else entirely, beyond comprehension.

And if one night was enough to saccharine his senses with you, he can only imagine what forever could do.

[cmaidaartworkblog]

This video showcases my Blender model of the planet that the Scud aliens call home, the fourth and final world I've mapped out for @jayrockin's "Runaway to the Stars" project. A *lot* of maps were created in service of this final render, and also in service of presenting the special qualities of this planet. I intend to show you as many of these as I can under the cut, and also in subsequent posts focusing on some of the more interstitial, ancillary maps and figures that played a part in producing the primary maps you'll see in this main post.

Before I show the first maps I made for this project, what you see below are the satellite-style maps for the Equinoxes and Solstices, in order of (Northern) Spring, Summer, Fall, and Winter, the latter serving as the texture for the Blender object you saw in the video.

__________

With that matter covered, our next focus is this project's foundation: Geology. While I didn't spin as elaborate a tectonic history for this planet as I did for the Ayrum commission, I did work out as much detail as I could for the more recent geological activity, to set the stage for the elevation data - including a narrower focus on the coastal shallows that host the Scud populations.

__________

Once I could move on to climate, my first step was finding this planet's relative Insolation, which I managed thanks to @reversedumbrella's code and coaching. With an obliquity of only 16 degrees, this planet's yearly maximum Insolation levels stick close to the equator, compared to pole-to-pole oscillation we see on Earth

__________

Having a rough sense of where heat would concentrate seasonally and how the landmasses would deflect water in light of the planet's retrograde spin, I was able to set down the bi-annual ocean currents (Northern Summer above and Northern Winter below), then the monthly water temperatures pushed around by said currents, and finally -after factoring in many other considerations- the monthly land temperatures as well (combined in the second gif)

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Next came the seasonal air pressure maps and subsequent wind patterns (my first time creating those from scratch), which later factored into the precipitation maps. The incredible temperatures at the largest continent's interior make a desert of most of it, and the other interiors are fairly dry too, but all that heat on the equatorial ocean generates a *lot* of evaporation which ends up coming down elsewhere.

__________

With temperatures and precipitation mapped out for each month, I was able to find how the accumulation and melt of ice and snow played out, too. Given such a hot equator it's surprising to see freezing temperatures hold out in some places, but low obliquity and high elevation shield what areas they can, it seems.

__________

All this monthly data was then painstakingly combined and compared and plugged into equations to produce maps of discrete climate zones, using both the Köppen (left) and Trewartha (right) classification systems. The higher latitudes see some overlap with Earth's conditions, but the Tropics...

__________

I never really finished the map I wanted to make with my own loosely customized classification system, but I *did* get as far as this breakdown of the areas that sometimes surpass 56.7 degrees Celsius, Earth's record for highest surface temperature ever directly measured. And as you can see, that earthly record is broken by a *significant* fraction of this planet's surface, and far exceeded by the equatorial continent's deep interior

__________

The final phase of this project dealt with creating satellite maps of this planet's surface (which you saw at the top of this post), which started with a map of dry and submerged substrate, then a density map of the vegetation that sits atop it, then the colors of that vegetation under annual average conditions (demonstrating how they would appear in-person, rather than the area's appearance from orbit), and finally plant colors under seasonal conditions (same conceit as previous). In concert with the seasonal ice and snow maps, it was the four maps in the last sequence which were overlaid on the Substrate map, using the plant density map as raster masks, to produce the final Satellite-Style maps.

__________

This planet's sophonts being a marine species, it was then worth focusing on the conditions underwater, which included monthly seafloor temperatures (first gif), annual discharge of sediment from rivers (magenta in the 2nd gif), and seasonal upwelling of nutrients from deeper water (blue in the 2nd gif).

The creation of all my maps seen in this post was possible thanks to Photopea, which has been my go-to for several years now. The resolution kinda got crunched when I uploaded these here, so when I share them on Reddit later I'll add those links under this. These have also already been posted on Twitter, which you can see here if you like. Thanks for scrolling all the way down here!

[pharmasrightarm]

Hello hello!! I just wanna start off by saying how GORGEOUS your art is! Truly inspiring. I was wondering what your process was? Again, your art is truly impressive

Thank you!! Oh man, it was a saga and you've opened a can of worms because my favorite thing to ramble about outside of sad gay space robots is our unholy overlord Photoshop (warning for length)

Hatching workflow: step 1: have too many Doré artbooks The refined process is thumbnail > cleaner sketch > black-and-white base OR 3D render > cut out whites > clean up edges > mask out each building/section > hatching lines with the upcoming layer setup

One:

And another:

Below is the layer setup I use for hatching! First I separated each element into its own folder, with its own mask—

Then used this structure in each folder— I just want the hatching lines to appear black when on lit areas, and white on shadowed areas (as opposed to having to draw part of a line in white and another part in black). So, after separating the lit and shadowed sides, I copied the "Light" layer, clipped it on top of a folder of hatching lines, and inverted its layer mask.

(*I draw on layer masks because it's easier to recolor lines + toggle between drawing and erasing with the "X" shortcut (I have fore- and background colors set to black and white for layer masks))

Sometimes I do a pass of grayscale values and overlay that layer on top as a reference while hatching.

I've two main brushes: one choppier and one smoother and tapered at the ends (for thin lines, 2px-3px). Really thin horiz/vert lines are just the Pencil at 1px.

Black-and-white workflow with 3D:

Tbh at first I only intended to make that one lurking Drift illustration. But I cower from 3D like it’ll kill me, so I turned it into a 3D assignment. First I used that "separate ways" piece to make myself model at low stakes (I just made items from the comic backgrounds and jammed them together), then I modeled the Dead End wide shot and got the final lurking Drift comp from that.

1. Drew enough detail to model (>see the 5th image in this post)

2. Used fSpy to generate a Blender camera that matched my perspective

3. Shoved together the barest essentials of the clinic set in Blender (setting the 5th image in this post as a background image in Viewport)

4. Rendered at hi-res twice: once with lighting, once with Freestyle outlines.

5. Changed clinic design in the close-up, so I went back to revise the wide shot.

In conclusion, my hobby is wrangling Photoshop to minutely speed up the extremely tedious and niche thing I can't stop myself from doing If anyone's got a faster way to do any of this, tell me!!

here's a gif for funsies because I get 1 more image on this post

[hsnlv]

morning chaos | s.jy

pairing: jake x reader

synopsis: a sleepy morning in the kitchen turns sweet as jake teases you about your wild curls. when you mention straightening them permanently, he launches into a mix of playful banter and heartfelt reassurance, insisting your hair is part of what makes you, you.

others: reader has curly hair in this story (if that isn’t obvious🤭)

wc: 946

a/n: honestly, idk if this is a weird concept to write abt since i rarely see people write stories like this! but i love this (and i love how this hits so close to home) and i hope you’ll love it too!

the kitchen smelled like freshly brewed coffee and a hint of maple syrup. you shuffled in, bleary-eyed and wrapped in an oversized hoodie that hung past your hands. your curls were in their full, chaotic glory—sticking out in random directions, defying gravity like they had a personal vendetta against you.

jake was already at the counter, humming some unrecognizable tune as he flipped pancakes. his hair was still messy from sleep, sticking up in tufts, but somehow he managed to look like he belonged in a morning coffee commercial. it wasn’t fair.

he turned when he heard your footsteps, his face lighting up in that way that made your heart do a little flip. “good morning, sunshine.”

you mumbled something unintelligible and plopped down at the kitchen table, burying your face in your arms.

“wow,” jake teased, setting the spatula down and walking over to you. “you’re absolutely radiant this morning.”

“shut up,” you grumbled, your voice muffled by your sleeves.

he laughed, grabbing a mug and filling it with coffee. “here, this should help,” he said, sliding the mug in front of you.

you lifted your head just enough to take a sip, groaning in satisfaction as the warmth seeped into your soul. “you’re lucky i love you, or i’d throw this coffee at you for being so chipper.”

“noted,” he said, grinning as he leaned on the counter, watching you with that soft, amused expression he always seemed to have around you. his eyes flicked to your hair, and he tilted his head. “your curls are extra fluffy today.”

you groaned, tugging at one of the unruly strands. “don’t remind me.”

“what? they’re cute,” he said, reaching over to twirl a curl around his finger.

“cute?” you echoed, giving him a deadpan look. “jake, i look like i stuck my head in a blender.”

“a very stylish blender,” he quipped, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

you rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at your lips despite yourself.

“i’ve been thinking about getting a rebonding treatment,” you said, breaking the comfortable silence.

jake froze mid-reach for the syrup. “a what?”

“a rebonding treatment,” you repeated, playing with the edge of your sleeve. “it straightens your hair permanently. no more frizz, no more wild curls…”

he blinked at you like you’d just suggested shaving your head. “wait, wait, wait. you mean… you’d straighten your hair forever?”

you nodded, taking another sip of coffee. “yeah. i mean, it’d be easier, right? less maintenance, less… chaos.”

jake set the syrup down and walked over to you, crouching so he was at eye level. “but why would you want to do that? your curls are you.”

“because they’re a pain to deal with,” you said, gesturing at your head. “you don’t understand, jake. every morning is a battle. half the time, i lose.”

he gave you a look so serious, it was almost comical. “but you win the other half. and that’s what makes you a champion.”

you snorted, trying to fight the smile creeping onto your face. “jake—”

“no, hear me out,” he interrupted, holding up a finger like he was about to deliver the world’s most profound speech. “your hair is like… a majestic lion’s mane. wild, beautiful, and full of personality. do you think lions wake up and think, ‘ugh, my mane is so annoying today’? no. they wear it with pride.”

“jake, i’m not a lion,” you said, biting back a laugh.

“but you could be,” he said with a grin. “and honestly, your hair matches your personality—fun, unique, and kind of unpredictable. and i love all of that.”

you felt your cheeks heat, but you tried to play it cool. “you’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“ridiculously in love with your curls,” he shot back without missing a beat.

you groaned, hiding your face in your hands. “oh my god, you’re so cheesy.”

“cheesy, but correct,” he said, gently pulling your hands away from your face. “look, i get it. if it’s really what you want to do, i’ll support you. but i just think your curls are perfect the way they are. they’re part of what makes you… you.”

you looked at him, your heart squeezing at the sincerity in his eyes. “you really think they’re that great?”

“i know they’re that great,” he said confidently. “besides, where else would i get this much entertainment?”

“entertainment?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“yeah,” he said, his grin widening. “like when you get mad, and that one curl right here—” he reached out and gently tugged on a strand near your forehead—“sticks straight up like an antenna. it’s adorable.”

you swatted his hand away, laughing. “you’re the worst.”

“but you love me,” he said smugly, leaning in to press a kiss to your cheek.

“unfortunately,” you teased, though the warmth in your chest betrayed your words.

“seriously, though,” he said, his voice softer now. “i love your hair. i love you. and if you want to change it, that’s okay. but i think you’re perfect just the way you are.”

you looked at him, his messy bedhead and his hopeful, lopsided smile, and you felt a surge of affection so strong, it almost overwhelmed you.

“thanks, jake,” you said quietly.

“for what?”

“for being the weirdest, sweetest boyfriend ever,” you said, leaning forward to kiss him.

he smiled against your lips, pulling back just enough to say, “you know what they say—find someone who loves you and your crazy curls, and you’ve hit the jackpot.”

“nobody says that,” you deadpanned.

“well, they should,” he said, reaching for your hair again.

you laughed, swatting his hand away. maybe your curls weren’t so bad after all.

© all rights reserved | hsnlv 2024

[christopherisfoive]

Lemon Tea & Truce {Request}

Hello my little anon pie, i can't find the request in my inbox. I hope you see this. Order up: #8 sick reader and #14 enemies to lovers!

The dorm usually buzzed with choreography counts and videogame shrieks, but flu season had emptied the halls. You lay marooned on the living‑room sofa beneath three mismatched blankets, throat raw, fever pulsing behind your eyes. Each cough rattled the half‑empty mug of ginger tea on the coffee table.

Only one member remained in the unit: Lee Minho, resident neat freak, arch‑nemesis of your mess. He whistled while folding laundry in perfect squares.

From the hallway you croaked, “Robot Cat, can you keep it down?”

He poked his head out, arms stacked with towels. “You sound like someone swallowed a blender. Whistle’s the least of our issues.”

You meant to retort, but another cough stole the words. He set the towels aside, gaze flicking to the unused cold‑medicine packet. “Have you actually taken anything?”

“Waiting for a miracle,” you rasped.

Minho muttered something about helpless children, then disappeared into the kitchen.

He re‑emerged ten minutes later holding a steaming mug, plus two fever tablets balanced on the rim.

“Take these. Warm water first—don’t fight me.” His dry tone implied you would.

“You poison them?”

“Haven’t had time.” He rolled his eyes. “Swallow.”

You obeyed. The lemon‑honey drink soothed the sandpaper in your throat, surprising you with how good it tasted.

Minho checked your forehead with the back of his hand, frown deepening. “Still burning. Where’s your thermometer?”

“Somewhere in the medicine drawer… maybe.”

He sighed the sigh of a man who labelled every spice jar. “Of course.”

While he searched, you drifted. A crash jolted you awake—Minho had found the cluttered drawer. Bottles clattered; a tape measure flew out.

“Why is there sewing chalk in here?” he called.

“Multifunctional storage,” you croaked.

“More like chaos theory.” A muffled curse followed, then, “Got it.”

He returned, disinfected thermometer in hand. You glared as he tucked it under your tongue.

“For once, silence suits you,” he said.

Your glare intensified; his lips twitched.

When the beep sounded, he read the numbers. “38.9. Great. We’re courting a hospital visit.”

He vanished again. Water ran; cupboards closed. The scent of rice and chicken wafted out—a sign he’d started congee.

Between dozes you recalled last month’s prank war: Minho swapping your instant noodles with uncooked spaghetti; you switching his cat‑ear headband for pink bunny ears before a V‑Live. Neither of you apologised—score‑keeping was half the friendship you never admitted having.

Now that same Minho padded over with a cold compress, gentling it against your temple. The contradiction made your chest ache in a new way.

“Thanks,” you murmured.

He didn’t answer, but his thumb brushed your cheek—just once—before retreating.

Dusk blurred windowpanes when he nudged you awake with a bowl of steaming porridge.

“Eat slowly,” he ordered, handing you a spoon.

The first bite tasted of ginger, chicken, and comfort. “You cook better than you fold laundry,” you whispered.

He raised a brow. “Folding is an art. You’d know if you owned an iron.”

You mustered a smile. “Hit me where it hurts.”

He settled on the floor beside the sofa, arms on his knees. “Serious question—why do you leave lights on in every room?”

Blinking, you shrugged. “Dorm felt empty until I joined. Light makes it look lived‑in.”

He stared, expression unreadable. “It drives me crazy—but maybe I missed it today.”

Heat pooled under your fever. “Maybe you like chaos more than you admit.”

“Maybe.” A ghost of a smile curved his lips.

Later, a thunderclap wrenched you from fevered dreams. Panic clawed; you gasped. Instantly Minho was beside you, steady hands holding your shoulders.

“Hey. It’s just rain.” His voice, low and firm, anchored you.

Your vision cleared to find his face inches away, worry unmasked.

“Why are you… this nice?” you managed.

He swallowed. “Because I don’t actually want to see you suffer.” Pause. “And because you distract me. Loudly.”

“By leaving lights on?”

“By being you.” Nerves flickered in his eyes, quickly hidden by sarcasm. “Don’t let it go to your congested head.”

“Too late.” You smiled, then coughed.

He pressed the mug to your lips. “Small sips.”

Near midnight, fever broken, you shifted to sit up. Minho’s hoodie dwarfed you, smelling faintly of his detergent and citrus body spray. He dozed against the sofa edge, arms folded.

You nudged his shoulder. “Nurse Minho.”

He jerked awake. “Temperature?”

“Down. All thanks to Robot Cat.”

Relief softened his features. He helped you stand, hand warm at your back.

At your bedroom door you teased, “You know this earns you one free mess—you pick the prank, I won’t retaliate.”

He considered. “I’d rather cash it in for dinner when you’re better.”

“Deal.” You stepped inside, but he cleared his throat.

“Y/N—”

You peeked back.

He rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks pink. “Bring my hoodie to dinner. No backing out.”

Your laugh—scratchy yet bright—filled the hallway. “Who’s backing out?”

“Guess we’ll both find out.”

You closed the door, pulse steady and warm. On the sofa behind him, lemon tea cooled beside an unfinished prank tally—no longer needed.

[salemsimsrender]

Sims 4 Render Lighting Tutorial

"Environmental Lighting" won my most recent poll, so let's get right into it!

A few notes before we begin:

I render exclusively in cycles!

This tutorial assumes some basic knowledge of blender

Though this tutorial covers the basics, HDRIs can be used in conjunction with any scene/your built scenes

I decided to focus on environmental and other lighting in this tutorial, since they all kind of go hand in hand.

For this tutorial, I'll be using my recent Cupid Sim. Here's a render of her with no additional lighting:

1. Base lighting

In any full body, single sim render (like lookbooks, for example), I really like to use a glowing base. It grounds the sim a bit and casts some interesting lighting on them.

To do this, I add a circle under their feet by pressing shift+A and selecting circle.

An empty circle will appear, but we need it to be a solid disk, so go into Edit mode (by pressing tab while the circle is selected) then hitting F on the keyboard to fill it.

After that, you can go into the Materials tab and add in color and glow.

Mine is adjusted like this:

And gives this rendered result:

2. HDRIs

HDRIs (High Dynamic Range images) are extremely useful when it comes to environmental lighting, I always use them now to add better/more dynamic lighting to my renders.

HDRIs are 3D/panoramic, which makes them extremely useful.

You can find/download HDRIs online in a few diff places: PolyHaven, AmbientCO, and Blender Market.

There are also several available for FREE using BlenderKit (my preferred method).

So how do you use an HDRI?

We can add HDRIs to our render by navigating to the world tab and changing the color to "environment texture".

I chose this vaporware HDRI from BlenderKit, & here it is with no adjustments, but it's looking a little rough so let's adjust it.

By adding vector nodes, we can adjust how the HDRI behaves. Here I mostly use the Z rotation and the background strength:

Here's the same render with the Z-rotation set to 50, 150, 200, & 250.

You can put in any value for the Z-rotation, this is just an example of how the HDRI turns. This is maybe not the best example of the rotation, but putting her in a forest just didn't feel right lmfaooo, hopefully you can see how the light changes on her depending on the rotation.

You can also adjust the strength of the HDRI. Here's the HDRI (rotated to 150) set at .5 and 1.5 strength:

For this tutorial, my favorite lighting is the HDRI set to 150, and the strength set to .5, like this (this is a rendered image):

3. Transparent HDRIs + Point Lights

But I'm not fully happy with the lighting. I don't love how the HDRI is a bit blurry, so I'm going to set it to be transparent.

To do this, go to the Render Tab, scroll down to the Film option, and check Transparent:

The lighting effect from the HDRI will stay the same, but the background will be transparent.

From here, you can add a background (when I do this, I like adding a plane, & moving/shading it until I'm happy (kinda like this):

NOTE that you have to put the plane far enough behind your sim so it doesn't affect the HDRI lighting too much.

SECOND NOTE You can use this same method to use HDRIs in conjunction with scenes. They can provide the perfect backdrop!

This is still really dark, so I'm going to add three point lights: -Two on either side of her head/shoulders that will be smaller (in radius) and brighter -One in front of her to add actual light (so details aren't lost)

Here's how I set up my lights.

The pink light settings are for the two point lights on the sides The white light setting is for the light in front of her

For a basic render, this is almost good enough for me, but I really like the glowing effect I get in my renders.

To achieve this, we have to go to the compositing tab:

4. Compositing

Full disclosure, my compositing tab is set to glow by default (that's how much I love it), so all of the renders in this tutorial have it turned on.

I use the glare node and set it to fog glow.

Here's my preferred setting:

I prefer the fog glow effect, but bloom, ghost, streaks and star are also options.

Here's a guide to the glare node!

Tbh, I never use any of the other settings, so I'll leave this tutorial here for today.

Here's the final result (with no additional editing):

If you have any questions, please don't hesitate to send an ask, message or join my discord (no minors pls) for help! <3

[simmersedbuilds]

Grunge CAS Background - with mirror

CAS background number two is here! And while I wanted to make thins one a more minimal, light room, I just got caught up in my grunge era and went all grungy! I love the lighting in this one! Please note that I used reshade so colours won't be exactly like this in your game.

I used CC from my own Teen Grunge Decor set, that you can find here   if you want to add some grunge to your teen rooms.

♥ I used littledica's original CAS room files (with modifications)

♥ I followed thatonegreenleaf's tutorial on how to create the room (excellent tutorial)

♥ Base Game compatible

♥ You can only use one of these backgrounds at a time

♥ DOWNLOAD ♥

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

TERMS OF USE

Please Do not reupload / paywall / include my meshes in downloads (please link back to my original download) Do not sell my meshes or include blender scenes for download.

Recolours are welcome as long as you do not include the mesh.

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

♥ Gallery ID: SimmersedBuilds ♥ Support me on Youtube ♥ Support me on Patreon ♥ Support me on Curseforge ♥ Follow me on Pinterest ♥ Follow me on Twitter (X) ♥ Follow me on Instagram

[deeversuswords]

‧˚₊ Whipped

pairing: bakugou katsuki/f!reader summary: Katsuki comes home to a disaster. In the middle of it is none other than you. contains: established relationship (more like married), domestic mishaps, fluff • ao3 link a/n: based on a real story... enjoy! 🧡

Katsuki swore his soul packed and left his body.

His kitchen. His kitchen, which he had renovated a month ago, was in shambles. It was like a damn hurricane swept through, ravaging everything in its path. Dirty dishes and balled up paper towels everywhere he looked. Smudges of yellow on the counters, on the walls, on the floor, and probably on the ceiling too, but he didn’t dare checking. His blood pressure was already up and running in his temples.

Smudges that sparkled in the blinding light as if they were something other than…what even were they from?

He inhaled deeply, nose twitching at the strong smell of egg, before finally acknowledging the kneeling person, scrubbing the hell out of the floor—you.

“What the fuck happened to my kitchen?” he gritted in your direction.

You shot him a glare. “Shouldn’t you ask what the fuck happened to me?”

“You look fine, but my kitchen…” He pinched the space between his brows. “Did someone break in, or some shit?”

“Yeah. The stupid hand blender you bought,” you snapped. “It’s a trap. I wanted an omelet, Katsuki. An omelet! But I was feeling lazy and wanted to skip the beating the eggs by hand, so I thought ‘Hey, let’s try this tool my wonderful husband just bought.’” The back of your hand smacked your forehead as you groaned, frustrated. “The eggs flew when I tried whisking them. On the lowest fucking speed!”

He blinked. This couldn’t be real. “You got your ass kicked by eggs? Damn.”

“Are you mocking me right now?”

Not a chance in hell could he stop himself from choking on a laugh. The images his mind worked so hard to visualize were next-level comedy. His pretty wife, all excited for a quick meal, taken out by a slimy blob of protein and whatever the hell was in the yolk.

“Not funny, you jerk!” You hurled the dirty rag at his head, and he dodged to the side, wincing in absolute disgust when it hit somewhere behind with a wet splotch. Hiring a cleaning crew it was. Fuck’s sake.

He tsked, crossing the distance in two long strides and crouching in front of you. A grin broke on his face as he grabbed your face with one hand and squished your cheeks between his gloved fingers. “Wanna watch how it’s done?”

“Want to befriend the couch tonight? Maybe snuggle up to that blender from hell?” you shot back, ending it with that sweet, sweet smile that only fueled him into teasing you further. You were too fucking adorable.

In all honesty, he couldn’t care less about the mess. You could set the whole house on fire, and he’d still feel this maddening warmth spreading outward from the center of his chest. “And have my pretty girl miss me in bed? Not a chance.”

You scoffed. “I won’t—”

He pulled you into a kiss, shutting down your lie. Sure you weren’t going to miss him. As if he didn’t know your antics. Half an hour without him in the bed and you’d stomp your way out of the bedroom and sneak into his arms.

He kissed you slow, with every single drop of love his soul had. A silent apology for briefly focusing on what didn’t matter. But only for a few moments, because mere moments were all Katsuki could manage before his greediness took over.

Too hot, and too fast, he burned. From the inside out.

And you weren’t helping his case. Ravenous little thing, hungry for his taste, for his touch. Yanking him to the floor with you, in the mess you created, eager to make another.

[not-terezi-pyrope]

AI continues to be useful, annoying everyone

Okay, look - as much as I've been fairly on the side of "this is actually a pretty incredible technology that does have lots of actual practical uses if used correctly and with knowledge of its shortfalls" throughout the ongoing "AI era", I must admit - I don't use it as a tool too much myself.

I am all too aware of how small errors can slip in here and there, even in output that seems above the level, and, perhaps more importantly, I still have a bit of that personal pride in being able to do things myself! I like the feeling that I have learned a skill, done research on how to do a thing and then deployed that knowledge to get the result I want. It's the bread and butter of working in tech, after all.

But here's the thing, once you move beyond beginner level Python courses and well-documented windows applications. There will often be times when you will want to achieve a very particular thing, which involves working with a specialist application. This will usually be an application written for domain experts of this specialization, and so it will not be user-friendly, and it will certainly not be "outsider-friendly".

So you will download the application. Maybe it's on the command line, has some light scripting involved in a language you've never used, or just has a byzantine shorthand command structure. There is a reference document - thankfully the authors are not that insane - but there are very few examples, and none doing exactly what you want. In order to do the useful thing you want to do, they expect you to understand how the application/platform/scripting language works, to the extent that you can apply it in a novel context.

Which is all fine and well, and normally I would not recommend anybody use a tool at length unless they have taken the time to understand it to the degree at which they know what they are doing. Except I do not wish to use the tool at length, I wish to do one, singular operation, as part of a larger project, and then never touch it again. It is unfortunately not worth my time for me to sink a few hours into learning a technology that you will use once for twenty seconds and then never again.

So you spend time scouring the specialist forums, pulling up a few syntax examples you find randomly of their code and trying to string together the example commands in the docs. If you're lucky, and the syntax has enough in common with something you're familiar with, you should be able to bodge together something that works in 15-20 minutes.

But if you're not lucky, the next step would have been signing up to that forum, or making a post on that subreddit, creating a thread called "Hey, newbie here, needing help with..." and then waiting 24-48 hours to hear back from somebody probably some years-deep veteran looking down on you with scorn for not having put in the effort to learn their Thing, setting aside the fact that you have no reason to normally. It's annoying, disruptive, and takes time.

Now I can ask ChatGPT, and it will have ingested all those docs, all those forums, and it will give you a correct answer in 20 seconds about what you were doing wrong. Because friends, this is where a powerful attention model excels, because you are not asking it to manage a complex system, but to collate complex sources into a simple synthesis. The LLM has already trained in this inference, and it can reproduce it in the blink of an eye, and then deliver information about this inference in the form of a user dialog.

When people say that AI is the future of tutoring, this is what it means. Instead of waiting days to get a reply from a bored human expert, the machine knowledge blender has already got it ready to retrieve via a natural language query, with all the followup Q&A to expand your own knowledge you could desire. And the great thing about applying this to code or scripting syntax is that you can immediately verify whether the output is correct but running it and seeing if it performs as expected, so a lot of the danger is reduced (not that any modern mainstream attention model is likely to make a mistake on something as simple a single line command unless it's something barely documented online, that is).

It's incredibly useful, and it outdoes the capacity of any individual human researcher, as well as the latency of existing human experts. That's something you can't argue we've ever had better before, in any context, and it's something you can actively make use of today. And I will, because it's too good not to - despite my pride.

[facts-i-just-made-up]

How do you build a atomic bomb?

Easily!

All you need are a few household items, a little bit of patience, and a Class 1 Top Security clearance for the manufacture of biological, chemical or nuclear weapons under the Fermi laws of 1954 contingent to permission from the United Nations Security Council.

You're gonna need-

A box of matches

A blender

Tape

Some wire mesh (Like a window screen, for sifting)

Cake mix (Yellow sponge cake works best)

Ziplock bags

String

Ice cubes (The cold kind, not the rapper/actor)

A toilet paper tube

A Catholic Missal

An empty kitty litter bucket

First, you're gonna need two rare substances- Weapons grade uranium and "heavy" water. For the uranium, just take your yellow cake mix and sift it with the wire mesh. Whatever stays on top of the mesh- That's weapons grade. For the heavy water, take some ice cubes, which are heavier than water but still made of water, and put them in the blender. By breaking up the ice cubes and releasing the water, you keep the weight but make it a fluid. This is a process that scientists call "Putrefaction".

To build the weapon, pack some uranium into one end of the toilet paper tube and then cover that end with the Catholic Missal. This guarantees what we call a "Critical Mass" of uranium. Then take a smaller wad of uranium and pack it into the other end of the tube, leaving plenty of space between the two.

Tape the box of matches to that end of the tube. It will act as an explosive device to send the "bullet" of uranium into the critical mass, thus resulting in a nuclear fission explosion.

You now have a nuclear fission device! This device has a yield equal to about 10 thousand tons of T.N.T. But fission is for wimps, right? So let's turn that fission bomb, into a fusion bomb!

Tape your string to the matches to act as a fuse, and then put the nuclear warhead in a ziplock bag. Be sure to seal it tight! Now place that assembly into the kitty litter bucket. Make sure it's empty of kitty litter before the next step.

Fill the rest of the bucket with the heavy water you made in step one, and seal the top of the kitty litter bucket with the string still poking out. Once the fuse is lit, it will light the matches and detonate the nuclear fission bomb. This acts as a heat source to boil the heavy water, and when heavy water boils- Nuclear Fusion!

Congratulations, your bomb is now complete. Remember that it's illegal to carry or detonate a nuclear fusion warhead in public (except in Texas), and bear in mind this will be quite a bit stronger than your usual firecrackers. We recommend only setting off your nuclear device on official U.S. testing grounds, such as the desserts of New Mexico or islands in the Pacific only populated by tribes under no country's protection, because that's seriously what the U.S. did.

So play safe and have a good time,

-facts-i-just-made-up.tumblr.com

[girlokwhatever]

What about Kate with a girlfriend who does makeup! We’ve seen kate admiring her teammates getting ready so with her gf? Shes hooked.

kate martin x fem!gf that loves makeup

₊˚ෆ⋆·˚ ༘ *✧.*⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ kate with a makeup loving gf,,

— UMMM defo admires you and how concentrated you are every time you do your makeup (or someone else’s)

- will just smile and stare sometimes

— she’ll always ask you “what’s this” or “what does this do”

— she lets you test out products on her and she just lets you do her makeup in general

- she’s not really a makeup girly, but she’ll do anything for you

— one time you were using liquid eyeliner and she scared you and made you mess up (oopsies)

- you said it was fine but she knows it wasn’t and apologized for the rest of the day

— she likes to do your setting power and setting spray every. single. time.

- you let her

— one time she got brave enough to ask if she could do your WHOLE FACE.

- afterwards you both went on a grocery run and the cashier complimented your makeup

- kate brags about it now every time she asks to do your makeup

— tells you that you don’t even need makeup

— takes you to sephora and lets you get whatever you want/need (mommy kate)

- oh you ran out of blush? she’s got you.

— did a voiceover of one of your makeup grwm’s and did not know what half of it was

- trust you educated her on the makeup routine

— you’re always asking her what lipgloss/lipstick shade to use

— she listens so carefully when you tell her (in detail) every step of your routine

— she loves to ask questions

- “why do you use the liquid blush and the powder blush?”

— calls you a cutie beauty guru

— all her friends ask you to do their makeup for important days (media days, photoshoots, interviews, etc.)

— the first time she turned on your ring light it literally blinded her

— her ego inflates whenever your mascara smears during 🤭🤭🤭🤭

— “ok guys now it looks likes she’s using the.. i don’t know.. the sponge brush.”

- “it’s a beauty blender babe.”

[alanaaii]

Date night.♡

Fluff! light nsfw joke.

connie is just a gentleman.

When connie asked you to be his valentine, you knew he would not disappoint. 2 days prior he’d give you the money to book your hair, nail and wax appointment. He love his girl to look and especially feel pretty on the romantic day. He felt like valentine’s day was the day to show the world how much he loved his girl. So when valentine’s day finally rolled around he was ready. He already told you that you two would be going somewhere special at 7pm which is why you were getting ready 2 hours before.

After taking your everything shower, you moisturized your body and went to your closet. You wanted to dress classy but still wanted to show some skin. After calling 2 friends and going back and fourth between tiktok and pinterest, you decide on a simple silk black dress that hugged your curves perfectly. You pair it with a bracelet that connie got you for your first anniversary and you felt like it was perfect. You felt like a bad bitch. Sitting down at your vanity you open up an inspiration picture for your makeup and began putting in work with your beauty blender.

Now playing : HISS BY MEGAN THEE STALLION.

Being so into your makeup and your playlist, you don’t notice the sound of an unlocking door. Closing your eyes and spraying your setting spray you open your eyes and see connie in the mirror. Nearly jumping out of your chair you let out a loud scream. “Connie! you need to stop doing that”

You softly hit him as he leans over to see what you were doing. Perfectly dressed in a jet black suit which precisely matched your dress. Part of his tattoo could be seen and you couldn’t help but bite your lip. “i’m sorry pretty, i wanted to surprise you“ You giggle as you stand up from your vanity and admire your dress from the mirror. “You look so fuckin’ good.” Connie’s hand wraps around your waist, massaging your hip and kissing your neck. “might fuck around and stay here..” He muttered into your ear. “thank you baby” You kiss his cheek, leaving some of your lip gloss on it. To your surprise he doesn’t wipe it off but instead leaves it there to dry.

“you ready to go mama?“

”yes let me grab my bag”

Connie grabs your soft manicured hand as you two make your way out of your small apartment.

He walks to the passenger side of the car and opens it for you. “Here you go princesa” As you throw him a smile you turn to the seat and see the biggest bouquet of pink roses you’ve ever seen. Along with some heart balloons with a pretty pink envelope.

Your mouth fall open looking at the things in front of you. “con..” He smiled Your eyes fill with warm tears that threaten to fall as you lifted your head to look him in the eyes. “all for you mama, i love you”. He muttered as your arms instantly grab his face to smother him into a wet and sloppy kiss completely forgetting about your lip combo that you’d had just applied. Softly grazing your acrylics over his cheek made his heart jump. Connie was tremendously obsessed with you. Everything about you fascinated him. From your toes ,that he always paid for to get done, to the pink bonnet you’d wear to sleep. He loved you and he wasn’t afraid to show it.

“thank you connie,seriously. i love you ”

“anything for you. now get in the car before we end up late” He moved the flowers and the balloons to the backseat for you. Sitting down in his car, the aroma of vanilla musk ran through your nose. His car smelled exactly like him. As he began to pull out of the driveway, you decided to open the envelope. It was two 500 dollar gift cards to target. Definitely not self indulgent. “Connie!!! you spent a whole band on gift cards? are you crazy?” He rolled his eyes as he payed attention to the road. “You know you like it.” Pouting your lips you put the gift cards back into the card and pull out your phone. Taking a few selfies before you two reached the destination. A fancy italian restaurant which connie knew you loved your pasta.

Connie hurried to the opposite side of the car to open your door. Holding your hand and helping you out of the car. Almost tripping from your choice of heals, you walk into the restaurant together. Instantly greeted by a waiter you both are seated in a booth closest to a window. As you sat down you looked out of the window and saw the sunset. You and connie talked it up until it was time to order. When you were done ordering you made sure to order yourself an alcoholic drink—because you deserved it.

A kind waiter brought out your drink and you took it to the head. Finishing it in 5 minutes.

After 30 minutes, your food came out. You were starting to feel the drink set in as you began to eat your food. Slurping up your creamy noodles from your alfredo ,the sauce getting all over your lips.

“that’s exactly how you look when you-“

You put your hand over his mouth as you roll your eyes. Connie didn’t move your hand and just chuckled. Licking the sauce off of your lips you finish your food. Of course connie has the bill and tips the waitress well. Holding his muscular arm as you make your way back to the car. Sitting back in the car you lean over to stare at your man. Your man that seemed to not have any flaws and kept a smile on your face.

“connie you staying over right?”

“of course ma.”

He pulls out of the driveway and makes his way back to your apartment.

Likes, reblogs and follows are always appreciated! ♡

[concreteangel92]

I'm so happy that your requests are open hehe🥹💕

I'd kill for some soft work of yours, like the whole day spent together with Noah doing something together. Going to the zoo or beach day or painting each other (the tiktok trend you know) and then finish it with some soft smut, Noah talking you through it, holding hands, soft touches and stuff🥹

Basically the softest version of Noah you can think of haha, please and thank you💕

Noah Sebastian x female reader

18+

Warnings: soft smut, praise, PiV, just some overall cuteness basically haha

The painting trend is such a cute idea that I had to use that one for this request! I hope you enjoy ☺️

So this is soft, gentle!Noah….mean dom!Noah is next on my request list 👀

Permanent Taglist: @flowery-mess @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @bloody-spades @lacy1986 @fadingangelwisp @theanarchymuse95 @w0manof-flesh44 @dream-machine-love @thisbicc @amelia-acero @badomensls @fadingintothegrey @tosoundlessdarkistare @ichoosetenderomens @hurricanesfollowyou @concretejunglefm @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @xmads-omensx @chey-h @xxkittenkissesxx @lyschko666 @rumoured-whispers @renegadebirch @floodflameschosen @ami--gami

Let me know if you wish to be added!

Masterlist

“So, what are we doing again?”

You rolled your eyes with a grin as Noah flopped into the chair across from you. “Painting each other.”

He raised an eyebrow, already smirking. “Like… one of your French girls?”

You reached over and gave his arm a playful slap, the both of you laughing. “Shut up, Noah! No. I saw this cute trend on TikTok and thought it would be fun.”

He leaned back with that cheeky smile, eyes lighting up with mischief. “You gonna post this on TikTok, babe?”

You giggled as you got comfortable in your chair. “That depends on how good they turn out.”

The next hour passed in a mix of giggles, paint smudges, and stolen glances. Every time you peeked up from your canvas, Noah was already looking at you, his gaze warm, soft and intense. It made your stomach flutter every time.

You wiped the back of your hand across your forehead to move some hair from your face, unknowingly streaking a bit of paint across your cheek. “Right… I think I’m done.”

You set your brush down and looked at your “masterpiece,” already cringing internally. You were no artist but you’d tried.

Noah, who had finished a few minutes before you, was watching you with a grin, clearly holding back laughter.

“Let me see, then,” he said, eyes sparkling.

“No, you first,” you said quickly, hiding your canvas from his gaze.

He shrugged and turned his around with a dramatic flourish.

You gasped. It was…actually good. Like, really good. Not perfect, but you could see yourself in it, the way your eyes squinted when you laughed, the curl of your smile. Your heart flipped a little.

“Okay wow…that’s actually really good” you admitted.

He looked pleased. “I used to draw a lot when I was younger. You make a good muse. Ok now yours”

Rolling your eyes, you reluctantly turned your canvas around.

Noah stared at it for a second, then burst into laughter, not cruel, just utterly amused. “What the hell is that?”

“Shut up!” you laughed, covering your face. “It’s….abstract!”

“It looks like a Picasso painting went through a blender!”

You couldn’t help but laugh too, it was genuinely bad. “In my defense, you wouldn’t sit still!”

Still chuckling, Noah stood up and came around the table. “Hold on, you’ve got something…”

He reached up and brushed a smudge of brown paint from your cheek with his thumb. His touch lingered longer than it needed to, fingers grazing your skin softly.

Your laughter faded with a smile as you looked up at him, suddenly aware of how close he was.

He leaned in, his voice softer now. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

Your breath caught just a little. “Even with paint all over me?”

“Especially then…I’ve loved painting with you today” he murmured.

You smiled, your voice low. “Yeah?”

“Mm. Especially when you’re so cute when you’re focused on creating your ‘masterpiece’”

You giggled and blushed as you looked at your painting again.

“Guess I wont be quitting my day job any time soon”

“Maybe not just yet babe” he whispered and then his lips met yours.

The kiss was warm, slow, and sweet, his hand gently cupping your jaw. You melted into it, fingers still streaked with paint curling into his shirt as he pulled you closer.

His mouth was soft, coaxing, and when his other hand slid around your waist, your body responded easily, pressing into him like you were always meant to fit there.

He pulled back just slightly, resting his forehead against yours. “You wanna…?”

You nodded before he could finish. “Yeah.”

Noah pulled you back into another kiss and you felt his hands wandering over your body as he lead you backwards towards the sofa, both of you removing different articles of clothing until you were both pressed against each other’s bare skin.

“You’re so fucking perfect”

He took his time, worshipping every inch of your skin with lips and fingertips, like he was still painting you, only now with devotion instead of a brush.

A choked gasp left your throat as you felt him slip inside, stretching you beautifully as he started a rhythm of slow, deep thrusts.

You both moaned into each other, your lips never leaving the other for long. You both took your time, feeling no need to rush, you were both completely lost in the moment.

“Noah…”

His name fell from your lips like a prayer. You could feel every inch of him, buried deep, the pressure building with every gentle but firm stroke. Sweat slicked your skin, making each brush of your bodies feel even more intense. You clung to him like he was the only thing anchoring you to the world, not wanting this moment, this connection, to ever end.

His hips never stopped, every thrust was sending a warm ache through you as you felt your stomach twisting beautifully. You moaned into his lips, fingers tangling in his hair.

“Noah…” you whispered, breath catching as he rolled his hips just right, hitting that spot that made your eyes fall shut and your head to fall back against the sofa.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, lips brushing your temple as one hand slipped between your bodies to touch you, coaxing another desperate whimper from your throat. “So good for me…you’re so fucking beautiful…”

You couldn’t hold back your cry as you fell apart underneath him, your body trembling in his arms as your nails dig into the skin on his back.

Noah’s hips stuttered once, twice, then he was spilling into you with a low, drawn out moan, clinging to you like he was falling apart too. His breath came in hot pants against your skin, his hands cradling your waist like he never wanted to let go.

You both relaxed into each other’s arms, your breathing laboured as you both came down from your highs.

Noah leant up and he brushed away some of your hair which was now damp against your face as he smiled down.

“I love you so much”

“And I love you Noah, I couldn’t imagine ever being apart”

[blissfulflw]

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𝑆ℎ𝑒𝑠 𝑏𝑎𝑐𝑘

Pairing- Kim Minjeong (Winter) x fem reader

Word count- 5059

A/N: Friendly Rivalry mention?? Yes ofc.. does that mean that there’s a tiny bit of romantic tension there? That’s all I’ll say for now 😛

Previous - Next - Masterlist

The morning sun filtered through the windows of the university’s dance studio, casting a warm glow on the polished floors. Yu Jimin stood by the barre, stretching her limbs in preparation for the day’s rehearsal. Her mind, however, was elsewhere—specifically, on you. The recent group project had given her the opportunity to spend more time with you, and she cherished every moment.

As the rest of the group trickled in, the atmosphere buzzed with anticipation. Today, a new member was joining their ensemble—a transfer student who had just returned from studying abroad. Jimin paid little attention to the chatter, focusing instead on her warm-up routine.

The door swung open, and a hush fell over the room. In stepped Kim Minjeong, exuding confidence with every stride. Her eyes scanned the room until they landed on Jimin. A smirk played on her lips as she approached.

“Long time no see, Jimin.”

Jimin’s eyes widened in surprise. “Minjeong? What are you doing here?”

“Transferred back. Thought I’d shake things up a bit,” Minjeong replied, her gaze flickering to you.

You watched the exchange with curiosity, sensing an undercurrent of tension between the two. As the rehearsal began, it became evident that Minjeong was a force to be reckoned with—her movements sharp, her presence commanding. She quickly integrated into the group, her charisma drawing attention.

During a break, Minjeong approached you, offering a bottle of water. “You were great out there,” she said, her smile genuine.

“Thanks,” you replied, taking the bottle. “You too. It’s impressive how quickly you picked up the routine.”

Jimin watched from a distance, her heart sinking as she observed the budding rapport between you and Minjeong. The familiarity between the two of you was unsettling, stirring feelings she had long kept at bay.

The afternoon sun dipped lower, casting amber light across the glass storefront of a small café nestled just off campus. You followed Minjeong inside, the door chiming as it shut behind you.

She had asked you casually during rehearsal, right after she’d surprised everyone with how quickly she picked up the choreography. “I need coffee,” she had said, brushing hair out of her face with a soft laugh. “You should come with me. Help me figure out what’s changed around here.”

It hadn’t felt like a request. It felt… effortless. Like saying yes was the only real option.

_____

Now, seated across from her at a corner table by the window, you watched as she studied the menu with furrowed brows. “They renamed the entire drinks list,” she muttered. “Is an iced cloud honey oat flat cap even a real thing?”

You snorted. “It sounds like they just threw adjectives into a blender.”

She grinned, setting the menu down and leaning her elbows on the table. “You’re funnier than I expected.”

You blinked. “Than you expected?”

Minjeong tilted her head slightly, a glint in her eye. “Don’t take it personally. I thought you’d be more… polite. Reserved. The kind of person Jimin would like.”

Your heart did a strange little skip. “You know Jimin well?”

“Oh, Jimin and I go way back,” she said, settling into her seat like she was preparing for a story. “We’ve been rivals since we were twelve. Same dance academies, same school clubs. Always one-upping each other.”

“She seems so calm,” you said, surprised. “I can’t imagine her being competitive.”

“She is. Just quiet about it. Jimin’s the type who smiles while secretly trying to outdo you,” Minjeong said, but there was no malice in her tone—just familiarity. “She’s always been good. Too good, sometimes.”

You watched her fingers absentmindedly stir her iced latte, the ice clinking softly.

“And what about you?” you asked, resting your chin in your palm. “Why did you come back?”

Minjeong looked up, lips curling. “Missed the food.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“…And the people,” she added with a playful shrug. “It was time. I learned what I could abroad. Now I want something a little more… grounding. Or exciting. Depends on the day.”

The pause that followed was brief, but charged. You weren’t sure why, but the way she looked at you—eyes warm, curious, a little too knowing—made you feel like the world had narrowed down to just this table.

“You’re really staring,” you said, trying to deflect.

Minjeong grinned, tilting her head. “So are you.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but found yourself laughing instead. She had a way of turning things around without ever seeming pushy. Confident, yes. But never arrogant.

“Has anyone told you that you flirt a lot?” you said lightly.

Minjeong sipped her drink, never breaking eye contact. “Only the ones who like it.”

You felt your cheeks heat and quickly looked down at your drink.

She leaned in, voice softer. “I think I like your smile.”

You looked up again. “You think?”

“I mean,” she said with mock thoughtfulness, “I might need to see it again. Just to be sure.”

You did smile then—partly from embarrassment, partly because she was genuinely funny. And maybe a little bit because it felt good to be noticed. Especially like this.

The conversation drifted after that, becoming more relaxed. She asked about your major, your favorite local places, what kind of music you liked to dance to. In return, she told stories about her time abroad, the freezing winters, the friends she missed, the culture shocks that made her laugh.

But every so often, her eyes would drift—holding your gaze a second too long, fingers brushing against yours when reaching for napkins, her smile lingering when she made you laugh.

It wasn’t overwhelming. It was… intentional.

By the time the two of you stood to leave, the sun had fully dipped behind the buildings, leaving the streets bathed in twilight.

As she walked you back toward campus, Minjeong glanced at you from the side.

“I’m glad I came back,” she said softly.

You looked at her. “Because of the coffee?”

She chuckled, stopping near the gates. “Sure. Let’s go with that.”

And then, with a wink that made your heart thud louder than it should have, she added, “But I think I might’ve found a better reason.”

_____

Later that day, Jimin found herself alone in the practice room, the echoes of music and laughter fading into silence. Jimin stood alone, holding a water bottle she’d been sipping from but hadn’t really tasted. Practice had ended hours ago. Everyone else had gone home.

Except you.

And Minjeong.

She sat on the floor, pulling her knees to her chest, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on her.

She’d seen you leave together.

And now, as the studio lights flickered off one by one, a quiet ache settled in her chest.

She had waited so long to be close to you.

And now, the girl she had spent her whole life racing against was catching up again—this time, not just in talent, but in your heart.

The return of Minjeong had disrupted the delicate balance Jimin had maintained. The rivalry that had defined their childhood was reigniting, and this time, the stakes were higher. As she stared at her reflection in the mirror, Jimin knew that the days ahead would test her resolve in ways she had never imagined.

_____

The studio was dark, except for the long beams of moonlight slipping through the high windows. You reached for the door, Minjeong just behind you, both of you laughing quietly about the ridiculous playlist the café had been playing during your entire stay.

“I swear they went from jazz to death metal in like, three minutes,” you said, shaking your head as you gently pushed open the door.

The sound of music—low, rhythmic, and precise—floated toward you.

Inside, a single overhead light was still on. The room was mostly shadowed, except for the center, where a familiar figure moved across the floor with sharp, fluid lines.

Jimin.

You paused in the doorway.

She hadn’t noticed you yet. Her expression was focused—jaw set, brows drawn together as she executed a complicated turn into a clean landing. Sweat clung to her temples, her hoodie sleeves pushed up to her elbows.

You’d never seen her like this. She usually danced with quiet grace, not this kind of intensity. She wasn’t just practicing—she was working something out of herself, one movement at a time.

Minjeong stepped up beside you, glancing in. She didn’t say anything at first. But then, after a beat:

“She’s still here?” she whispered, almost too low to hear.

“She’s really good,” you murmured.

“She’s always been good,” Minjeong said softly, watching. Then her eyes flicked to you. “But I don’t think that’s why you’re looking at her right now.”

You blinked, caught off-guard.

She smiled—soft, teasing. “Relax. I don’t bite… unless provoked.”

You laughed under your breath, trying not to look flustered. “I just came to grab my jacket.”

“I’ll wait here,” she said, leaning casually against the doorway. “Go ahead.”

You crossed the room quietly, careful not to interrupt Jimin. But when you neared the bench, she finally noticed you in the mirror. Her movements slowed, then stopped altogether.

She turned around, breathless. “You’re back?”

You nodded. “Forgot my stuff. Didn’t think anyone would still be here.”

“I wanted to run through some things again,” she said, voice steadier than her gaze. Her eyes flicked past you—to the figure standing just behind the open door.

Minjeong.

Of course.

Jimin’s jaw tightened, just for a moment. “Did you two have a good time?”

You froze slightly at the question. It was casual—but there was something underneath it.

Minjeong took it as an open invitation. She stepped into the room fully, arms crossed, her tone light as she answered for you.

“We did. Coffee, gossip, a little flirting. You know, the usual.”

Jimin’s expression didn’t change much. Just the smallest lift of her eyebrows. “Sounds productive.”

“I thought so.” Minjeong gave you a sideways glance. “Your friend here is charming.”

“Friend,” Jimin repeated, eyes locked on her.

You stepped in quickly, sensing the temperature drop between them. “It was just coffee. Anyway, I grabbed my stuff, so—”

Minjeong moved a step closer to you, brushing a bit of dust off your shoulder like it had been bothering her for hours. “You sure you’re not forgetting anything else?”

Her voice was softer now. Close.

Jimin’s gaze snapped toward her hand. Then to your face. Her knuckles went white around the water bottle in her hand.

“No,” you said, voice a little too quick. “I’m good.”

Minjeong smiled like she already knew that.

You turned toward the door, but not before glancing back at Jimin.

She was standing still, eyes downcast, jaw clenched just slightly. You didn’t know what to say—if there even was anything to say. But something in her expression caught in your chest like a thorn.

“Goodnight, Jimin,” you said quietly.

She looked up. Her voice was soft, but unreadable.

“Goodnight.”

As you and Minjeong left the studio, the door swung shut behind you with a soft click. The sound echoed in the emptiness.

Inside, Jimin exhaled.

The music was still playing faintly from the speakers, but she no longer had the energy to move.

She stared at the spot you’d been standing.

And then at the space beside you where Minjeong had been.

She was back.

And she was already taking things Jimin had barely dared to want.

_____

Outside, the air was cool and still. The campus lights buzzed faintly overhead as you and Minjeong walked in silence for a moment, the earlier laughter from the café now replaced by something quieter, heavier.

You glanced over at her. “You didn’t have to say it like that.”

Minjeong raised an eyebrow. “Say what?”

“The flirting part. In front of Jimin.”

She gave you a look—half-curious, half-teasing. “Why? Was I wrong?”

You hesitated. “No. But… it felt like you were trying to get a reaction.”

Her smile flickered, just briefly. “Maybe I was.”

You stopped walking.

She stopped too, turning to face you fully, her voice softer now. “She’s not just anyone to me, you know.”

You frowned. “Because of your history?”

Minjeong nodded slowly. “We were always in each other’s way. Every competition, every opportunity… it was like we were locked in a game no one else could see. And she always had that same look on her face—like she was five steps ahead.”

“But this isn’t a competition,” you said carefully.

Minjeong looked at you, really looked at you.

“I know,” she said. “That’s the problem.”

You didn’t reply. You weren’t sure how.

After a moment, she exhaled, like shaking something off. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin the mood. I just—” she shrugged, “—say what I feel. Jimin plays chess. I knock the board over.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly. “That’s one way to live.”

Minjeong smiled again, but this time it was gentler. “So. Do I still get to walk you to your dorm, or did I burn that bridge just now?”

You rolled your eyes but nodded. “You’re impossible.”

“Admit it,” she said, stepping beside you again, “you like me a little more now that you know I come with drama.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. The faint smirk on your lips was enough.

Jimins POV:

Jimin stood in front of the mirror, arms limp at her sides, the back of her hoodie damp with sweat that had long since gone cold. The song she’d been dancing to had ended minutes ago, but she hadn’t moved.

She replayed the conversation in her head—Minjeong’s voice, light and flirty; yours, warm and open. And that moment where Minjeong had touched your shoulder like it meant nothing.

But it meant everything to her.

She looked at herself in the mirror. She hated that the first thing she saw was not her form, not her posture—but the jealousy burning behind her eyes.

It had taken her years to even stand this close to you.

And Minjeong?

She walked in and lit the whole room on fire.

_____

Jimin sat in her dorm, earbuds in, her laptop open to a blank document she was supposed to be using for choreography notes. But her mind refused to settle.

A message notification popped up.

[Minjeong]: You still dance like you’re trying to outrun something.

Jimin stared at the screen. She hadn’t spoken to her since middle school, not directly. Not outside the studio, anyway.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard.

[You]: And you still talk like you’re trying to distract everyone from how much you want to win.

A pause.

[Minjeong]: Oh, I already know what I want.

[Minjeong]: Let’s see if you can keep up this time.

Jimin didn’t respond. She closed the chat, heart pounding, the words lingering in her chest like a match pressed to paper.

This time, it wasn’t about trophies.

This time, it was you.

_____

The next morning, the studio was quiet again. Early light filtered through the tall windows, brushing over the floor in soft gold streaks. Jimin stood in front of the mirror, stretching, jaw clenched as she stared at her own reflection—like it might answer the question burning in her chest.

Why did it have to be her?

Minjeong.

Of all the people who could’ve transferred back. Of all the dancers. It had to be the one girl who always walked into her life like it belonged to her.

And now she was circling you.

She closed her eyes, letting herself fall into the rhythm of memory.

Flashback 1:

Age 12, summer showcase.

Jimin had just finished her solo. The stage lights still warmed her cheeks as she stepped off the hardwood floor, heart pounding with the glow of applause.

“She nailed it,” one of the judges whispered to another. “Such control for her age.”

She was breathless. Glowing.

And then—

“Next up: Kim Minjeong.”

She watched from the wings.

Minjeong stepped onto the stage with a kind of fearlessness Jimin didn’t understand yet—hair tied in a loose ponytail, a hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth like she was daring the spotlight to blink first.

Her routine was different. Bolder. Messier. But alive.

And when she finished—there was silence. Then thunderous applause.

Later, backstage, Jimin approached her with clenched fists and a stiff nod. “Nice job.”

Minjeong grinned, teeth flashing. “You too. Guess we’ll see who gets the scholarship.”

Jimin hadn’t said anything. She didn’t have to.

They both knew only one of them would walk away with it.

Minjeong won.

Flashback 2:

Age 15, national qualifiers

They stood side by side at the barre during warmups. Their coach had assigned them to duet together.

“I lead the turns,” Jimin said, not even looking at her.

Minjeong had smiled. “You always want to lead.”

“Because I’m consistent.”

“Because you don’t trust anyone else to keep up.”

That day, their duet burned bright—and sharp. Controlled chaos. A battle disguised as choreography. Afterward, no one spoke, but everyone remembered.

They didn’t win.

They blamed each other.

Present:

Jimin opened her eyes, hands tightening on the barre. The ghosts of their past danced around her ankles, and for the first time in years, she felt like she was twelve again—watching Minjeong take the spotlight she’d worked so hard to earn.

Except this time, it wasn’t about routines or medals.

It was about you.

She stepped back, took a breath, and turned—only to see you standing in the doorway.

Your hair was damp from the rain, your bag slung lazily over one shoulder, and a soft smile blooming on your face. “Early start again?”

Jimin straightened instantly. “Yeah. Just warming up.”

You walked in, the rubber soles of your shoes quiet on the floor. “You’re always practicing.”

She smiled, eyes softer now. “It keeps me focused.”

You didn’t say anything for a moment, just watched her stretch, her muscles taut with discipline. “You danced differently last night.”

Jimin paused. “You were watching?”

“I couldn’t not watch.”

The way you said it—it made her heart clench in that dangerous way again.

Before she could say more, the door opened behind you.

Minjeong.

Of course.

“You guys start early,” she said, strolling in like she hadn’t disrupted Jimin’s entire sense of peace just by existing.

Jimin looked away, returning to the mirror. “Some of us take training seriously.”

Minjeong chuckled. “Some of us don’t need ten hours a day to stay ahead.”

You froze slightly between them.

Minjeong noticed.

She smiled, turning to you. “Come on, we’ve got time before the instructor gets here. Show me those freestyle moves you were talking about.”

You blinked. “I—”

Jimin cut in before you could move. “She doesn’t need to prove anything.”

Minjeong’s tone cooled just a little. “Neither do I. But I still like watching her dance.”

Your heart stuttered. The tension in the air had become something electric, nearly tangible. You were caught in it, like static between two storms.

“I—maybe I’ll just warm up,” you said quickly, moving toward your spot on the floor.

Jimin watched you go, the silent ache in her chest widening.

Minjeong walked past her with slow steps, pausing just long enough to say under her breath:

“You still haven’t learned how to share, have you?”

Jimin didn’t respond. Not with words.

But the look in her eyes said enough.

Minjeong was here.

And this time, the war wasn’t being fought onstage.

It was being fought in stolen glances, whispered words—and the way your eyes lingered just a moment too long on someone else.

The studio was alive with movement. Music pulsed softly through the speakers, not quite at full volume, giving everyone space to mark their steps and get into rhythm. The polished floors gleamed under the fluorescent lights, and the scent of sweat and faint citrus cleaner lingered in the air.

You stood in the center of the room, stretching your arms behind your head, catching your breath between run-throughs. “Okay, so the timing on the second eight-count still feels a little fast, right? Or am I just off?”

Jimin, standing just to your left, nodded immediately. “No, you’re right. The transition into the diagonal isn’t as clean as it should be.”

Minjeong, on your other side, folded her arms. “I think it’s less the timing and more that the spacing’s off. You’re drifting left on the last step. Probably because someone’s rushing.”

Her tone was light. Playful, even.

But Jimin’s jaw tightened.

“I’m matching tempo,” Jimin said, keeping her voice level. “If anyone’s rushing, it’s because someone keeps starting half a beat early.”

Minjeong raised an eyebrow. “Interesting. That wasn’t what the mirror showed.”

You glanced between them, missing the static flaring in their eye contact.

“I don’t think anyone’s off,” you said quickly, laughing a little. “I probably just need to anchor better on the pivot. I always lean too far into the right foot.”

“Your center is fine,” Jimin said, gaze still flicking toward Minjeong. “We just need to keep the support tight around her.”

Minjeong tilted her head toward you. “You’re easier to follow when you’re not overthinking. Just trust the rhythm.”

Jimin’s eyes narrowed.

You, oblivious to the laser glances being exchanged behind your back, turned toward the mirror, stepping into first position again. “Let’s go from the top one more time. Just marked for now.”

You counted them in, “Five, six, seven, eight—”

The music resumed, and the three of you moved together. Minjeong mirrored your angles with ease, her movements sharp and fluid. Jimin’s presence was more grounded—calculated but strong, always exactly where she needed to be, down to the smallest detail.

You didn’t notice the way their gazes kept drifting—not toward you, but across you.

When you spun toward Minjeong and landed in her reach, she caught your waist with a practiced hand, fingers pressing just a little longer than needed.

Jimin caught it. She almost missed her step.

You turned without a thought, flowing into the next movement, transitioning from Minjeong’s hold to Jimin’s, who caught you with perfectly measured control. She didn’t touch too long, but her fingers lingered at your elbow for just half a second.

Minjeong caught that too.

By the time the music stopped, you let out a breathless laugh, unaware of the frost building on either side of you.

“That was so much better,” you said, pulling your hair up into a quick bun. “I finally felt that lock-in at the second chorus.”

Minjeong walked over to the mirror, grabbing a towel. “Of course it was better. I was adjusting to her timing.”

Jimin’s voice was a notch cooler. “Or maybe we’ve been carrying the transitions this whole time.”

You blinked. “Wait—are you two arguing or complimenting each other?”

Silence.

Minjeong smirked. “A little of both.”

Jimin didn’t smile. Her eyes were locked on the mirror—on Minjeong’s reflection standing beside yours.

You turned back to grab your water bottle, missing the glance Minjeong sent in Jimin’s direction. It wasn’t smug exactly—just confident. Like she knew exactly where the pressure point was, and she was pressing it gently.

Jimin crossed her arms. “Let’s take five.”

Minjeong nodded, heading toward the corner to sip her drink. But her eyes lingered just a little too long on you as you sat near your bag, humming the melody under your breath.

The moment you looked up and smiled at her, she smiled back like it was instinct.

And Jimin, watching from the other side of the room, felt her stomach twist.

Because for all the ways she’d trained herself to be still, to be composed—Minjeong was still winning the one thing Jimin hadn’t dared reach for.

Yet.

_____

After the intense practice session, the room quieted as the music faded out, and the atmosphere shifted from focused intensity to a brief respite. You stretched your arms over your head, releasing a sigh, and glanced over at the others. Jimin had already gone to grab her water bottle, while Minjeong leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed, watching.

You wiped the sweat from your brow. “Alright, break time. Let’s go over the research again. We need to nail down the theme before our next full run-through.”

Minjeong straightened up immediately, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. “What’s the theme, exactly? I didn’t get the full brief when I joined.”

You looked toward Jimin, who had already started pulling out her notebook, flipping through pages with a frown.

“This piece is all about identity,” you explained, leaning against the bench. “It’s about how we express ourselves—individually and collectively—through movement. The research focuses on how our bodies tell stories of our personal histories, our culture, and how those identities are shaped by both internal and external forces.”

Minjeong nodded slowly. “Sounds deep.”

“It is,” Jimin added, not looking up from her notebook. “The choreo should reflect a journey—one where each dancer moves through different phases of self-discovery, sometimes fighting it, sometimes embracing it. We’re exploring the tension between what’s expected of us and what we choose for ourselves.”

Minjeong raised an eyebrow, eyes flicking between the two of you. “Okay, so this isn’t just about dancing… it’s about telling a story with our bodies, right?”

“Exactly,” you replied. “Each segment represents a different phase in that process. We’re supposed to reflect different struggles, different realizations that come when we question the norms we’ve been told to live by.”

Minjeong’s gaze shifted toward Jimin, who was still scribbling notes in the corner of the page, eyes narrowed as she processed the material.

“Hmm. Sounds like something I could sink my teeth into,” Minjeong said, grinning. “Especially the part about fighting against expectations.”

You chuckled, but there was an edge in Minjeong’s voice that made you pause. It was almost too eager.

Jimin didn’t look up, but her tone was tight. “The fight against expectations isn’t something to celebrate. It’s about grappling with who you are versus what people want you to be. That’s not a simple, easy thing.”

Minjeong smirked, a flash of challenge in her eyes. “I never said it was simple, Jimin. But maybe that’s the part that’s worth exploring.” She glanced toward you. “I mean, what’s the fun in a dance if you’re not allowed to break the rules?”

The comment hung in the air between them, thickening the tension. Jimin’s pen stopped moving.

You caught the undercurrent between them but tried to steer the conversation back on track. “That’s the point of the choreography,” you interjected. “We’re supposed to show the struggle of identity. The push and pull between freedom and restriction. We’ll each have our own moments to shine, but we need to stay true to the theme.”

Minjeong’s smile softened, but there was still something playful in her eyes. “Got it. A little rebellion with a purpose.” Her gaze flicked to Jimin again, just long enough for Jimin to notice, her jaw tightening slightly as their eyes met. “Sounds like the perfect fit for me.”

Jimin’s eyes darkened, her voice low. “We’re all part of the same performance. No one should be standing out more than the others.”

Minjeong’s smile only widened, but she said nothing, letting the silence linger as she took a sip of her water. You shifted uncomfortably, not quite sure how to break the tension.

“Right,” you said, your voice a little too bright. “So, we need to focus on how to express resistance versus acceptance in the movements. That’s what we’ve been building on. Every step should feel intentional, like we’re pulling against something or pushing through an obstacle.”

Jimin looked up now, her gaze sharp. “Exactly. We’ve been using the transitions to symbolize moments of breakthrough—where we step into a new phase of understanding. It’s subtle but needs to be clear enough for the audience to feel.”

Minjeong raised her eyebrows. “Breakthroughs, huh? You’re serious about this, aren’t you?”

Jimin didn’t answer immediately. She just held Minjeong’s gaze for a moment before shifting her attention back to the notes in front of her.

You felt the quiet pressure building again. You had to admit—it was hard to ignore the underlying tension between them. You hadn’t fully understood the history between Jimin and Minjeong, but it was becoming clearer by the day. They had always been rivals, both fiercely competitive, each with something to prove, even if it wasn’t always about the same thing.

“Yeah,” you finally said, trying to ease the air. “The breakthrough moments are crucial. They’re the point where we stop being defined by others and start defining ourselves.”

Minjeong leaned back, her eyes thoughtful now. “I like that. It’s raw. A bit messy, even. That’s what makes the struggle feel real.”

She glanced at Jimin again, but Jimin was already looking away, focusing on the floor instead of meeting her gaze.

The tension between them was palpable.

You continued, trying to keep the peace. “The final section of the piece represents acceptance—when we find peace with ourselves. It doesn’t mean everything gets easier, but we reach a place where we can move with purpose, even in uncertainty.”

Minjeong’s eyes gleamed. “Acceptance, huh? That’s where you’re supposed to shine, right, Jimin?”

Jimin’s eyes flashed, and her lips pressed into a tight line, but she didn’t respond. You saw the way Minjeong’s words seemed to hang in the air, intentionally placed to provoke something from Jimin.

You stood up, stretching your legs. “Okay, I think we’re all on the same page now, right? We’re looking for a balance between tension and release, and how that mirrors our journey with identity. The movements need to reflect that.”

Minjeong nodded, stepping toward the center of the room. “Got it. Time to practice, then. Let’s see if you can keep up, Jimin.”

Jimin exhaled sharply through her nose, but instead of answering, she turned toward the mirror and began stretching once more, her jaw tight as she prepared to dive back into the routine.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that the air between them had shifted again—more electric now, charged with a quiet animosity that was beginning to seep into your thoughts. You turned to Minjeong, who had her eyes locked on Jimin’s reflection.

“What’s going on between you two?” you finally asked, voice low, catching Minjeong’s gaze.

Minjeong smiled, but there was something cold in her eyes. “Nothing you need to worry about. Just a little friendly rivalry.”

But you didn’t believe her.

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