#learn solidity free

[olivergisttv]

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[hatredmadeofgold]

I cannot stop drawing Raiden with iridescent hair and I am not sorry

Birthday gift for my lovely girlfriend @e6as95 💕

[cluescorner]

I cannot imagine being a Damian stan right now. You've got both Zdarsky's bullshit (where he clearly doesn't give a shit about your boy) and The Boy Wonder (where Juni Ba clearly gives so many shits about your boy) coming out on the same day. The whiplash must be insane. I hope y'all get some nice warm soup for your efforts jfc

[wiskiemonk]

piecing together an extremely rough pre-canon Gintama timeline cross referencing actual events of the Bakufu period

obv disclaimer: i'm only at ep 263 or so, so there are big gaps in my knowledge, and I haven't looked any of the Gintama stuff up to stay spoiler free, so forgive any inaccuracies. Also historical inaccuracies, because I'm researching some of this on the fly. Please no spoilers if I'm wrong!!

Also, the events of Gintama aren't 1 for 1 the same as those of the Bakufu, so there will necessarily be variation

1853-1854: Commodore Perry's "Black Ships" arrive in Edo Bay; the Treaty of Kanagawa is negotiated between Japan (via the Shogun) and the US, effectively ending the Sakoku isolationist foreign policy instilled since 1603.

We can probably assume the first Amanto landed in Edo at the same point in time.

In 1854, Yoshida Shoin (Shoyo's real life counterpart) tried to stow away on an American ship to learn Western tactics. He was arrested, and released in 1856, wherein he opened Shoka Sonjuku - a radical anti-Shogunate school

1853: Tokugawa Nariaki, a daimyo who ruled the Mito domain (modern day Ibaraki) wrote a document inspired by the writings of Aizawa Seishisai, whose works inspired the anti-Shogunate movement. "Japan: Reject the Westerner" inspired the Emperor's later edict, the 'order to expel barbarians'

The roots of GIntama's sonnō jōi movement are likely the same.

1854-1856: the Ansei Treaties are negotiated, culminating in the signing in 1858 of five treaties of commerce between Japan and other nations. These treaties were largely imposed upon Japan and were considered unfairly weighted in favour of the West. This was an inciting incident in increased anti-Shogunate sentiment.

Again, we can probably assume a similar trajectory with the Amanto.

1856: Yoshida Shoin opens Shoka Sonjuku. Takasugi Shinsaku becomes one of his most prized students.

the real life Takasugi would've been around 17 here, so either Shoyo opens Shoka Sonjuku a little later in Gintama, or Takasugi is just a lot younger. I'd bet on the former because iirc Shoyo finds Gintoki first, then opens the school - and since Gintoki was found on the battlefield he was probably orphaned either by a cholera epidemic, which was brought to Japan by Western ships, or through some other conflict (which we'll get to)

1858-1860: The Ansei Purge takes place. A crackdown against dissidents and rebels, the Shogunate, led by Ii Naosuke, targeted daimyos and intellectuals who questioned the Shogunate's authority. Shoin is executed in 1859 as part of the purge.

We know the Kansei Purge is Gintama's equivalent. It probably takes place a little later in Gintama's universe, since there were armed conflicts preceding it - either that or there were armed conflicts in Gintama's timeline with no neat analogue in the real world. This seems likely - the Joui war participated in by Gintoki and co seems analogous to the Boshin War, but it's implied in Gintama that the war lasted 10 years - the Boshin War was only 1 year and spelled the end of the Bakufu. We can probably assume, then, that the Joui war spanned the period of time between Gintama equivalent 1859-1869 - and the Kansei purge happens in the midst of all of this.

1862: the Tosa Loyalist Party is started by Takechi Hanpeita working under the sonnō jōi philosophy. Ryoma Sakamoto participates, but eventually becomes disillusioned and leaves Tosa to become a ronin. His sister commits seppuku in despair.

We can probably assume Sakamoto's family (probably his dad) was part of this movement, and was likely why Sakamoto joined the war despite being a self-confessed pacifist

1863: Emperor Komei issues his edict to expel the barbarians. the the sonnō jōi movement quickly gains steam, and attacks against the Shogunate and foreigners, often perpetrated by pro-joi ronin, increase in number.

Takasugi Shinsaku founds the Kiheitai, a volunteer militia mostly from the Choshu Domain.

The Shinsengumi are founded in Kyoto by Matsudaira Katamori.

In Gintama, it seems the Shinsegumi were formed as a peacekeeping force post-war, so the timelines are different here.

1864: the Mito rebellion, the Kinmon incident and the First Choshu Expedition take place - all skirmishes between Shogunate loyalists and Sonno Joi rebels. The First Choshu Expedition was a nominal Bakufu victory - the belligerents were from what is now Yamaguchi Prefecture.

The Mito Rebellion saw forces from modern day Ibaraki defeat a shogunate force of 6700 with just 2000 insurgents. They were forced to surrender to the Bakufu after their numbers dwindled; a large number were executed.

The Kinmon Incident was a rebellion by the Sonno Joi forces of the Choshu Domain against the Shogunate. Their defeat was the catalyst for the First Choshu Expedition.

Also in 1864 was the Ikedaya Incident - a skirmish between sonno joi ronin (including Katsura Kogoro) and the Shinsegumi (led by Kondo Isami)

1865-1866: The Second Choshu Expedition saw the Bakufu defeated and was considered to have sealed the fate of the Tokugawa shogunate. The following years were the steady decline of the Bakufu.

Obviously in Gintama the Bakufu are still very much in place - so the timelines here played out differently.

1867: Emperor Meiji ascends the throne. Ryoma Sakamoto is assassinated in Kyoto. The Shinsengumi are blamed, and Kondo Isami is executed on this charge.

Obviously Sakamoto and Kondo are still alive, so we can disregard this!

1868-1869: an alliance of samurai from Western Japan (mainly Choshu, Satsuma and Tosa) secure control of Emperor Meiji's court. The shogun in power abdicates and hands over political power to the emperor. This kickstarts the Boshin War, a year and a half of conflict between the Imperial Court and the Shogunate, including the Shinsengumi. The Shogunate loyalists retreat to Ezo (now Hokkaido) where forces including Hijikata Toshizou found the Republic of Ezo, at least until their defeat at the Battle of Hakodate. 8,200 men (and women - the onna-bugeisha also fought) were killed and 5000+ wounded.

Ultimately, the Shogunate is defeated and the Meiji Restoration begins.

This is likely the last stand fought by the Joui 4, and probably lasted a similar amount of time - with Sakamoto joining sometime in the early months (?) (still not sure how or when he gets there). At some point during this time, Shoyo is killed. Presumably when the war ends, the 4 go their separate ways - Sakamoto into space (iirc he leaves earlier than the others?) Takasugi forms the Kiheitai, Zura continues fighting alongside the remnants of the Joi movement, and Gintoki goes to Edo.

[aardvaark]

is it the trauma or am i autistic: a question for the ages

[bobzora]

i think if i tried hard enough i could be an ocguy. if i really tried

[not-rome]

i wish there was somewhere absolutely free that i could learn a language. like no money. no ads. i can just learn because duolingo works but i hate the ads and that i have to pay to be able to access everything i need to in order to really learn. i just want to learn enough spanish that i can start reading books in spanish and watching spanish shows without completely struggling

[gottalovecatss]

Doing volunteer work for my local orchid club and I'm about to have beef with a man old enough to be my grandfather.

Randy if you try to tell me one more time how to make posters I'll kill you and your wife will probably thank me.

[hellsvoid]

things i've done when bored (surprisingly often on trains):

- learn all european countries

- learn all european countries' flags

- learn all U.S. states

- learn all U.S. states' capitals

- learn all canadian provinces and territories

- learn all canadian provinces' capitals

- learn all great lakes

- learn all north and central american countries

- learn all north and central american countries' flags

- learn all south american countries

- learn all south american countries' flags

- learn the navy alphabet

- learn morse code

- learn Ezekiel 25:17 in Samuel L. Jackson's intonation

- write Ezekiel 25:17 in morse code

[dollfacefantasy]

caleb x fem!reader

you and caleb used to play fight a lot, but things are different now that you're older

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, fauxcest, dry humping

a/n: um hehe just a small drabble cause i've been thinking... also i like the pipsqueak thing idgaf kiss me about it. imagine this takes place when she’s staying with him.

"isn't this around the time you'd usually cry mercy, pipsqueak?" he breathes, his smooth voice warming the air next to your ear.

a small grunt escapes you as you try to lift your arm to shove him off. your effort is pointless though. his grip tightens around your wrist, and he brings your limb back down to the floor without much effort.

“caleb, quit it!” you whine.

he just laughs at you. his body doesn’t move away an inch. he stays right where he his, hovering over your smaller frame.

the two of you used to play fight all the time as kids. you’d squabble over the remote or your toys. whiny arguments would morph into a small scuffle, a test of wills. so it felt natural today to lunge at him when he held the book you wanted to read just out of reach. getting physical made sense. you’d been so agitated with him keeping you here, you needed to blow off some steam. it just didn’t feel so good when reality set in as he wrestled you down to the floor like always.

“it’s not funny,” you say and try to jam your knee up into his abs.

he dodges the move and continues to smirk at you. “maybe not to you. but it’s pretty funny from up here. pretty cute too,” he teases.

you scowl, squirming some more. in your younger years, you’d always been able to fight back a little. you’d lose in the end, sure, but victory had been in reach a few times. now, caleb is stronger. he’s bigger, and he doesn’t fight like a scrappy high school kid but rather someone with training. you’re starting to realize you have no chance now, and part of you wonders if you ever did. or maybe he’d been going easy on you.

as if to taunt you, he slides your arms up above your head and grabs both your wrists with one hand. even with his other one free, he keeps you pinned with the same amount of force. it’s fucking humiliating. you feel your cheeks starting to heat up as he drags the back of his fingers along your jaw, cooing at you.

“you always used to get so angry like this too. so frustrated. you’d think you would’ve learned not to start fights you can’t win,” he mocks.

his thumb comes to sweep along your cheekbone, back in forth in slow strokes. he stares into your eyes while he does, almost studying you. it gets you heated for a whole other reason you don’t even want to acknowledge.

“get off of me,” you squeak, your voice much less aggressive now.

“maybe i will if you beg enough,” he taunts, “if you use your manners and say please like a good girl, i’ll consider it.”

“shut up!” you say. you kick a few more times and buck your hips to try and get loose.

in response, he grabs your hip with his free hand and slams it back to the ground. you let out a little growl, assuming you’ll have to restrategize. but then he pushes his pelvis down on top of yours.

you gasp. all the fight leaves you in a harsh blow because now, unlike any of the other times you play fought with him, you feel a solid bulge pressing between your legs.

your eyes widen, and you sputter. you’re sure you look totally stupid right now. but you don’t know what else to do. there’s no question about it. he’s got a boner, and he’s rubbing it right up against you.

“i told you. you’re not gonna win. might as well surrender,” he says. he speaks in a completely even tone, as if nothing is different.

“c-caleb. what are you doing?” you start, “don’t be weird.”

“i’m not being weird,” he defends with feigned innocence, “we always used to mess around like this. what’s got you all shy now?”

you know why he’s asking. because he knows you won’t say it. the answer is so easy, yet you can’t bring the words to leave your lips.

“you know what,” you whine softly.

he chuckles and leans in even closer to your face. “maybe i do. but i don’t think that it’s weird. we’re not kids anymore. you can’t whine and wriggle around like that and expect me not to react,” he murmurs.

your heart beats harder in your chest. you can feel every thump. before you can say anything in return, he grinds his hips again, rolling his hardened length right up against you. and this time, it feels good.

“i- caleb- we can’t,” you whimper, biting your lip.

“we can’t? we can’t what? we’re not doing anything,” he says before grinning at you, “it doesn’t count if it’s over the clothes.”

you want to smack him, but both your arms are still immobile.

“it’s still weird. we’ve never- i don’t see you like this,” you insist, though the last statement is a complete lie.

he tsks and shakes his head before pushing his erection between your legs for another time. this one draws a whine out of you. his hips jump forward at the sound, but he doesn’t let his face show that burst of desire.

“what do you see me like then?” he whispers.

silence fills the air between the two of you as you fail to answer. you know what you see him as. you know your crush on him goes back years. you know what fantasies fill your head at night when you’re alone.

but you also know how you want to see him. what you’re supposed to see him as. what you’ve tried to limit his role to for so long.

“it’s ok,” he finally says, “i won’t make you say it if it’s that hard. but i know you like this. i know you, remember?”

he grinds against you again, but this time it’s not only once. now he sets himself into a rhythm, consistent swings of his hips against your center.

“i know when you’re happy, when you’re sad, when you’re ashamed,” he says, “i know when you want something, but you’re too scared to ask.”

ducking in, he kisses your neck. you moan in response, putting no effort into suppressing the noise now.

“that’s right, princess. your big brother knows you better than anyone, doesn’t he?” he coos mockingly.

“caleb!” you whine. you internally cringe at both titles, but outwardly, your face still contorts with pleasure.

“what?” he laughs, “that’s what you were gonna say before, wasn’t it?”

“but i didn’t,” you whimper.

“but you thought it, and it’s all the same to me,” he teases.

he refocuses his mouth on your neck again. his lips move over the column of your throat while his cock continues pressing right on your pussy. it feels better by the second. maybe it’s because he’s kissing your neck too, you’re not really sure. all you know is the hot, sparkling feeling in your stomach is building.

nipping at your pulse point, he then sucks on the skin like he wants to leave a mark. his tongue laves at it for a few moments before he pulls off.

“i’m gonna let go of your arms. you’re gonna behave, ok?” he mumbles against your skin.

“mhm,” you whimper and nod. the overt submission feels pathetic, but losing the feeling of him would be even worse.

“good girl,” he praises.

he keeps his word and releases his hold on your wrists. the air feels cool on your skin that’s all warmed up from his hands. now with his other arm in use, he can snake one around your ass and boost your hips. the new angle allows him to thrust against you harder.

“fuck, baby,” he grunts. you feel his lashes brush your neck as his eyes flutter.

your arms loop over his shoulders, pulling him impossibly closer. more little mewls spill from your lips. you can feel his stiff length sliding right up against your folds through your clothes. every swipe brings a blissful burst of friction to your poor throbbing clit.

“there you go. i got you. big brother’s got you,” he mumbles mindlessly. he chokes out a moan into your shoulder as his hips move like they have a mind of their own.

your body starts to squirm more. that hot feeling inside is reaching a boiling point. you clutch at his shirt, your nails digging in so hard they threaten to tear the fabric. the constant push and pull of his lower half is nearly hypnotic. it seems like you’ll be under him forever while also on the brink of letting go.

after a few moments more, he pulls back to look at you. his eyelids hang low, heavy with his desire for you.

“god, you’re so pretty. so fuckin’ beautiful now,” he says and presses his forehead to yours. his eyes shut while your breaths mingle. “i knew you wanted this too. just look at you. almost falling apart, and i haven’t even really touched you. i knew no one else could do this better.”

all you can do is whimper softly and cling to him harder. you pull on him as if trying to pull him into your body, to meld your two beings into one. the pressure down below feels dull and muted, but it’s blooming nonetheless.

“yeah… you’re gonna cum all over your pretty panties,” he mutters, “get ‘em all nice and wet so i can have some fun with ‘em later.”

“caleb…” you whine, useful words falling out of your grasp in this moment. one of your hands flies up and laces in his hair. your fingers clench into a fist, giving the strands a sharp tug.

he groans and bucks his hips extra hard. “c’mon. cum for me, baby. let me make my sweet little angel cum,” he murmurs.

it really doesn’t take much to get you there. the friction burn he’s rutting you both into works, and you feel yourself hit the high. euphoria rushes through you. a little breathy whine erupts from your lips. your back arches off the floor, but he keeps you cradled against him securely.

the whole time you’re cumming, he’s still humping you like his life depends on it. it’s when you start to come down, that he finally explodes. he buries his face in your neck, letting out the loudest moan you’ve heard so far. his arms tighten up around your frame as his fingers dig into your malleable flesh.

his hips jolt forward in random twitches now, chasing the last remnants of release while he spills inside his pants.

when he’s done, his breaths are harsh and labored. he nuzzles the crook of your neck before kissing your cheek and receding off your body. his palm runs over his face lazily.

“fuck, i gotta change now,” he says, not bothering to look down at the dark patch at the front of his pants.

without even really thinking about it, you reach forward for the waistline. you’re already craving more of him. but before your hand can get there, he takes your wrist.

“not so fast, pipsqueak. i think you should actually beat me before i let you have the real thing,” he smirks.

[differenteagletragedy]

Simon, while having a solid amount of sexual experience, has just never really done the whole relationship thing. He knows what he's like at work, he knows what he's like with friends, he knows what he's like in bed, but Boyfriend Simon? No clue who that guy is.

So when he falls hard enough for you to actually be convinced to give it a try, he just assumes he'll wear the pants in the relationship. He always wears the pants, so why would it be any different in this context? Not like a Whole Thing, like he's not picturing a lifestyle in which he's the big dominant man and you're submissive, obedient ... it's more like he just pictures himself taking care of things.

You picture it differently. And he is shocked by how much he loves your take on things.

"Simon, go wash your face and I'll put some moisturizer on you, you're getting a little dry." "We're having what you want for dinner tonight and I don't want to hear another word about it." "Just sit down and rest for a minute, I can handle it."

There are all these little things that you say and do -- little ways that show that you care, and that you think about him -- that all add up to something much bigger. It all makes him realize that maybe Boyfriend Simon is someone who can rest. Perhaps he doesn't need to be constantly, relentlessly in charge and on alert. Maybe this way, he can be cared for.

Of course, the feeling translates to the bedroom too. With his previous hookups, he'd always taken the lead. Strong hands putting his partner where he wanted them to go. Never too rough, never too demanding, but focused on his own pleasure, just like he always assumed the other person was focused on theirs.

Not on your watch.

He felt like he was being torn in two the first time you knelt before him and put your hands on his belt buckle, intention clear. It was like he was being split between the Simon he knew better, the one who might have greedily pulled down his jeans, tipped open your lips with a thumb on your chin and slid deep inside your hot mouth until tears rolled down your cheeks, and the Simon you'd somehow pulled out of him. The one who was too in love to imagine using you like that.

He told you as much that night. He stilled your hand over his belt with his own, his voice sounding strangled as he murmured, "Don't have to do that, love."

"Of course I don't have to," you'd told him. "I want to."

And you did. You unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his jeans then put your soft, warm hands on his hips, just under his shirt, and pushed his pants down, along with his boxers. You took his cock in your hand first, using slow, languid strokes, then gazed up at him.

“Is this ok?”

He began realizing, when you took him into your mouth only after he said yes, that this wasn’t him using you. It was clear in the little muffled whimpers you made as you pulled him close enough for his tip to hit the back of your throat and in the way your free hand gripped his thigh, like you were the one who needed grounding — you were enjoying this too. This was just another way for you to care for him.

Now, after days and weeks and months have passed of breaking down and rebuilding, learning and growing with you into something he never knew he could be, he trusts you. He values your judgment, he believes you what you tell him. If you think he needs to rest, he will. If you lead him, he'll follow.

Whatever you want, whatever you need, whether you let it be known with words or glances or your hands on him, guiding him, steady and sure ... now, Simon listens.

[teaboot]

Feel free to ignore if this is too personal of a question but like

What did your mom see in him? Like how you describe your mom they sound very incompatible.

Straight up HER parents sucked ASS like a million times worse. He wasn’t an alcoholic had a solid job and we didn’t get BEAT beat so I imagine when he proposed she was like “holy shit a normal human being”. And like a lot of abusive situations, it wasn’t bad ALL the time, so it was easy to justify the bad things as one-offs, mistakes, frustration, and our own fault. I literally only figured out something was wrong as a kid because I had no other context but books, and I LOVED to read, so I noticed pretty quick that the only people who acted like him were bad guys.

Then back in like 2014 or something I went to my mom and was like “I just learned about something called gaslighting” and she was like “what was that?” So I told her and was like “that’s what Dad’s been doing to me.” she goes OH MY GOD. And I go RIGHT? And then she goes “THAT’S WHAT YOUR GRANDMA DID TO ME.” And I was like. Oh. Okay

But then SHE started doing research into it and eventually realized that shit was SO NOT NORMAL and after a lot of failed attempts to fix things they broke up lol

Anyhow I’d like to sincerely thank Childhood Reading and The Internet

[mercvry-glow]

Where we fit

parings. jack abbot x wife!reader

warnings. none really! implied age gap, but not mentioned (jack late 40s, reader late 20s early 30s), they're parents, dogs, it's just really soft and sweet!

notes. technically a continuation of busy bee but can be read as a stand alone! I really loved it and thought they could all use a moment to themselves. as always enjoy and feedback is majorly appreciated and I love each and every one of you!

wc. 1400+

busy bee

There were very few things Jack Abbot liked to do with his free time. Truthfully, he barely knew what free time was—life as Trauma Attending had a way of swallowing hours whole. But when the stretch of days off did roll around, there was nothing he loved more than being with his wife and their five-year-old son, Lucas.

Especially at the park, with a brand new t-ball set, two excited dogs, and the kind of sunshine that made you forget the world could be dark at all.

“Alright, Lukey,” Jack said, kneeling beside his son in the grass, “feet apart, eyes on the ball, and don’t swing like you’re trying to launch it into orbit this time.”

Lucas grinned, missing both his front teeth, and adjusted his grip on the tiny bat with all the seriousness of a pro athlete. “I’m gonna hit it so far, Daddy.”

Your German Shepherd—Ranger—stood alert nearby, tail wagging like a metronome of anticipation. Your Bernese puppy, Riley, was happily chewing on one of the old ropes Jack had brought, completely uninterested in the game.

Jack glanced over his shoulder to where you were sitting on the blanket, hair loose and sunlit, watching the both of them with that warm, quiet smile that made him fall in love all over again. You raised your iced tea in a mock toast when you caught his eye.

“Ready!” Lucas shouted.

Jack stepped back with a mock-serious nod. “Let’s see what you’ve got, slugger.”

Lucas swung hard. Too hard. The bat whooshed above the tee and nearly sent the kid spinning in a circle. He stumbled, caught himself, and looked up with wide eyes.

Jack tried to keep a straight face, but failed miserably. “Okay, maybe orbit was a little ambitious.”

Lucas burst into laughter, running to reset the ball. Ranger barked in encouragement, waiting to chase after a ball.

Jack glanced back at you again—this little pocket of peace and joy the two of you had carved out of a chaotic world—and felt something deep in his chest.

Yeah. This? This was everything.

Eventually Lucas connected on his third swing, the ball sailing a solid ten feet before plopping into the grass. Ranger took off after it like it had been launched from a cannon, barking triumphantly. Riley followed behind, mostly just excited that everyone else was excited.

“That was a good one!” Jack called, clapping as Lucas threw his arms up in the air like he’d just hit a grand slam at the World Series.

“I did it, Mommy!” Lucas yelled, already sprinting back toward the blanket.

You reached out to pull him into your lap, laughing as he nearly knocked over the half full tea. “You crushed it, baby. Think you could show me how it’s done?”

Jack walked over and dropped beside the both of you, brushing his hand across the back of your bare shoulder as he sat. “I think we’ve got a future MVP on our hands.”

Lucas beamed and turned his attention to the dogs, who were now wrestling each other near the tree line, the t-ball forgotten. “Ranger’s not sharing,” he declared with authority, then ran off again to referee the two canines.

Jack leaned back on his hands and looked over toward you, soaking it all in—the quiet, the warmth, the way Lucas’s laughter carried across the breeze like music. “God, he’s getting big.”

“He really is,” you said, watching your son try to wrestle the ball out of Riley’s mouth. “It’s weird. Some days he still feels like our baby. And then other days I blink and swear I’m already seeing the teenager.”

Jack chuckled. “Please don’t say that. I’m not ready for puberty. Or girls. Or him learning sarcasm.”

You raised an eyebrow, smirking. “He already has your sarcasm.”

“Not possible. I am the gold standard of maturity.”

You snorted into your drink and gave him a playful shove.

You both sat like that for a while—quiet, happy. Jack let the sun warm his face and watched his family, wondering how he’d gotten lucky enough to land here. The job, the shift work, the exhaustion—all of it faded in the presence of this moment.

No sirens. No beeping monitors. Just grass-stained knees, wagging tails, and his wife’s hand finding his, fingers lacing together like they belonged that way.

Because they did.

Not long after the sun began its slow dip toward the horizon, casting golden light across the grass and tinting everything in soft amber. Lucas was finally worn out—shirt rumpled, cheeks flushed, hands sticky from the popsicle Jack had gotten him from the ice cream truck that rolled by a few minutes earlier. He was lying on the blanket now, Riley curled up against his side like a warm, fuzzy pillow, her oversized paws twitching in sleep.

Ranger sat a little ways off, tongue out, eyes alert, watching the path like the loyal grump he was. The world felt quiet in a way that only parks at dusk can be—just the occasional bark in the distance, the rustle of wind through trees, and the whisper of Jack’s laugh as you carefully attempted to fold the picnic blanket with a five-year-old and two dogs trying to “help.”

“We really should start bringing an actual bag instead of stuffing everything in the backseat like college kids,” you said, raising an eyebrow at the pile of snacks, sunscreen, a half-bucket of baseballs, and two random socks that had somehow lost their mates.

Jack smirked and leaned down to grab a tangle of leashes and water bottles. “But that would require additional planning. And maturity. Two things I gave up when I decided to become a father.”

You let out a small laugh, light and tired in the best way. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Oh, I know,” he said, brushing past her to drop the stuff by the truck. “It’s basically all I’ve got going for me.”

You rolled her eyes, but the smile lingered. Turning back toward the blanket, you paused—Lucas was fast asleep now, lips parted, one chubby hand still clutching Riley’s paw. The puppy didn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

“I’ll get him,” Jack said, already moving before you had even thought to ask.

He crouched down the best he could, gathered his son into his arms with practiced ease, and cradled him against his chest. Lucas murmured something half-asleep and tucked his face into Jack’s shoulder.

“Smells like grass and juice,” Jack muttered with a grin. “Definitely mine.”

He carried Lucas to the truck, gently settling him into the booster seat and pulling the straps over his little shoulders without waking him. While you wrangled the dogs next—Riley, reluctantly giving up her spot beside Lucas, and Ranger, who jumped into the back with the energy of a dog half his age.

By the time they finished packing up, the sky had deepened to that rich, dusky blue, and the first few stars were peeking out.

You leaned against the passenger side door, arms crossed loosely, watching Jack close up the truck bed. He turned and caught your gaze—soft, tired eyes, full of that quiet kind of love that doesn’t need to be said out loud.

But he said it anyway. In his way.

“Days like this… they save me,” he said, voice low. “More than you know.”

You  stepped into him, arms sliding around his waist, resting your cheek against his chest. “I do know,” you whispered.

His arms came around you without hesitation, holding you close, swaying a little in the cool evening air. No rush. No urgency. Just the slow, steady beat of his heart against your ear and the peace of a day well spent.

He pressed a kiss into your hair. “Let’s do it again next weekend.”

“You always say that,” you said teasingly.

“And I always mean it,” Jack replied, voice full of something warm and unwavering.

You both  stayed like that for another beat, the kind of stillness that makes everything else feel far away.

Then the dogs barked from the backseat, clearly ready to go, and Lucas stirred with a tiny snore that made you both laugh quietly.

Jack opened the truck door for you, still holding your hand, and helped you up into the seat before walking around to the driver’s side.

The truck rumbled to life, and as you pulled away from the park, the dogs curled up in the back, and Lucas sleeping soundly, Jack reached over and let his fingers find yours again on the console.

Still, always, home.

mercvry-glow 2025

[passiberri]

♡ 2,000 Patreons Gift! - Stella Tote Bag

I can't believe we're already at 2,000 Patreons! I've been having so much fun learning & getting better bit by bit. So thank you guys so much for being part of the process!! To celebrate, I made this little bag as a gift for you! 🎁 I’m so grateful for every single one of you!!

Mesh created by me! So BGC

All LODS

There's 2 versions of this bag, one with the classic simlish LV texture (created by me!!) & a version with solid colors. They each have 19 different swatches!

You can download whichever you want, or you can download both, they will appear seperately in your game!

The bag is 4k Poly's so I think that would be considered high-er poly, but nothing too crazy.

Like my other bag, it functions as a backpack! So you can put items in it for storage!

p.s. the bag is named Stella after my dear friend Jodie, she knows why! ♡

More info & download on Patreon (free member exclusive)

And as always, much love, Passie ♡

[biscuits-and-gracie]

My Sweet Little Crybaby

summary: Rafe learning how to handle his sweet crybaby. characters: rafe cameron. crybaby! reader warnings: just rafe being a little mean. word count: 1.2k

The afternoon sun slanted low through the windows of Rafe’s room, staining the air gold. The ceiling fan whirred tiredly overhead, stirring the heavy heat that clung to the walls. Rafe’s shirt lay crumpled on the floor, his shoes half-kicked under the bed, abandoned like everything else when you’d stumbled back from the chaos of the beach and the races and the noise.

Now, it was the slow, honeyed part of the day - the part where time stretched soft and quiet around you, where the only thing that mattered was him.

You were curled into Rafe’s side, arms looped tight around his waist, your cheek pressed against the warm skin of his chest. His heart thudded steadily under your ear - a tether, a comfort, the one thing anchoring you after the frantic, endless weekend.

Rafe lounged against the headboard, scrolling lazily through his phone with one hand, the other resting heavy and absent on your lower back. His fingers tapped idly against your spine like he didn’t even realize he was touching you - like it was just muscle memory now.

You squeezed him a little tighter.

Rafe shifted, sighing, but didn’t look away from his screen.

"Jesus, babe," he muttered, voice rough and amused. "You’re like a damn koala today."

You only nodded against him, your fingers curling tighter in the waistband of his jeans, grounding yourself.

He chuckled under his breath, low and smug.

"You scared I’m gonna run off or somethin'?" he teased, voice lilting with lazy affection. "Clinging like that, huh?"

Still, you said nothing. You just pressed closer, breathing him in - the salt of his skin, the faint sting of sweat and ocean and Rafe - and soaked in the solid, irrefutable realness of him.

It had been a long weekend. Too much noise. Too many people. Too many ways you could have lost him if things had gone wrong.

You needed to feel him. Real and safe and breathing, alive right under your hands.

Rafe finally glanced down - caught the small, stubborn way you buried your face harder into him, the tremble he hadn’t noticed in your hold.

He snorted.

"God, you’re such a little crybaby sometimes," he said lightly, his voice playful but sharper than he realized. "You gonna start bawlin’ if I get up to take a piss?"

It was meant to be a joke. It was supposed to make you huff, maybe smack him and laugh it off.

Instead - You sniffled. A small, broken sound you couldn’t bite back.

Rafe froze.

His phone dropped somewhere onto the mattress as he tilted your chin up with two careful fingers, forcing you to meet his gaze.

Your eyes - big, watery, shimmering with unshed tears - blinked up at him, your bottom lip trembling pathetically.

Rafe’s heart cracked clean down the middle.

"Aw, fuck," he muttered, his voice crumbling into something soft and desperate. "Hey, hey- come on, baby girl. Don't cry. I didn’t mean it."

A fat tear slipped free, tracking a slow, shimmering line down your cheek. Rafe let out a miserable, helpless laugh - the kind of sound you make when you realize you’ve just hurt the only thing you care about.

"Jesus Christ," he whispered, almost to himself.

He dragged you fully into his lap, wrapping himself around you like a shield. One big hand smoothed over your back, the other cupping the back of your head, cradling you like something fragile and precious.

"I’m such an asshole sometimes," he murmured into your hair, pressing desperate, apologetic kisses against the crown of your head. "You know I don’t mean that shit, right? You know that, baby?"

You hiccupped softly, clutching the front of his shorts like you were afraid he might vanish.

"You’re my girl," Rafe whispered, voice low and urgent against your temple. "You’re my whole fuckin' world. You hear me?"

He wiped your cheeks with the rough pads of his thumbs, slow and careful, like he was terrified of hurting you again. His forehead pressed against yours, the warm brush of his breath grounding you in the sticky, quiet room.

"You wanna be clingy? Fine. Be as clingy as you want," he whispered, almost smiling. "You wanna follow me around like a little lost puppy? Good. You’re mine either way."

You sniffled again, the sound smaller this time, your body slowly melting against him.

"You scare me sometimes," you whispered, the words barely audible - more breath than voice.

Rafe's arms tightened instantly, locking you against him like he could anchor you both by sheer force of will.

"I know, angel," he breathed, fierce and ragged. "I know. I scare myself sometimes too."

He kissed you then - once, twice, messy and lingering - the kind of kisses that left you a little ruined, a little more his with every brush of his mouth.

"Not gonna leave you," Rafe promised against your lips, voice raw and solemn. "Not ever. You hear me?"

You nodded, silent tears slipping free again - but this time, they weren't from hurt.

This time, they were from how loved you felt. How completely, utterly, hopelessly loved you were.

And Rafe - reckless, cruel, brutal Rafe Cameron - just held you tighter, like if he let go even for a second, the world might swallow you whole.

He wouldn’t let it. He’d burn it down first.

Later, long after the sun dipped below the horizon and the house settled into silence, you were still tangled up together in the messy, rumpled bed. The soft whir of the fan filled the room, mixing with the slow drag of Rafe’s breathing.

You shifted closer, nuzzling into the warm crook of his neck, and heard him huff a soft, grumbly laugh.

"Jesus," he muttered, half-asleep. "Clingier than ever. You got no self-respect, huh?"

You stiffened, heart sinking stupidly fast. You didn’t want to be too much. You didn’t want to annoy him.

You started to pull back - just a little - but Rafe’s arm snapped tighter around you, locking you in place.

"Where the fuck you think you’re going?" he grumbled, voice rough with sleep. His mouth brushed the top of your head, the press of it warm and firm. "You started this, crybaby. You’re stuck with me now."

You let out a tiny, breathless laugh against his chest, your fingers curling back into the bare skin of his side.

Rafe shifted, pulling the blanket higher over both of you, cocooning you against him. His thumb drew slow, lazy circles into the small of your back - grounding, sure, his.

"You feel good there," he murmured, so soft you barely caught it. "Stay right there, yeah?"

You nodded, every part of you relaxing, the last thread of fear or shame unwinding from your chest.

Rafe kissed your forehead, slow and lingering, and just before you slipped into sleep - warm, safe, completely surrounded by him - you heard him whisper into your hair:

"My sweet little crybaby," he breathed. "My whole fuckin' heart."

And for the first time in days - maybe weeks - you knew you were exactly where you were meant to be.

[3verythingiknowaboutlove]

the limit does not exist!

how spencer helps college!reader understand a little calculus and therefore understand how he loves her.

MDNI | smut word count: 1931 warnings & tags & stuff: fem reader, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), lil bit of overstim hehe, pure unbridled affection, LOVE, FLUFF, hugging, reader cries, this was in fact meant to be written for spence's birthday... sorry about that school is kicking my butt lets just pretend it's october! author's note: this one is for my folks who HATE their calculus class and want spencer reid to give them head instead <3 maybe this can help you romanticize it a bit. i think this is classified as self indulgent…like REALLY self indulgent… hah... anyway i hope you enjoy! let me know your thoughts if u have any, i loveeeee you!! have a great day my hands are shaking posting this smut is so scary!!!!!

You sat in bed, staring down your notebook, eyes narrowed. Limits stared back at you. You were just about at your own limit, if you were being honest. 

Your brain, however sharp and witty it may be, is absolutely not one designed for calculus. A literary analysis essay? Done in half an hour. In depth scientific research project? Easiest months of your life. But there’s something about finding the instantaneous rate of change of a curve at one point in time by finding the slope of a tangent line that hasn't clicked yet. 

A slew of other papers- notes, practice worksheets printed from obscure websites, and formulas- surround you, a sea of unfinished thoughts from the past month of the semester.

You bite on the end of your pen, the little hope you had for a good grade in this class slipping further and further away with each passing moment, like the last ember dying in the remains of a fire.

What you really wanted to be doing was celebrating Spencer’s birthday with him right now. A chocolate cake lay on the kitchen counter and pasta simmers on the stove, but you and your boyfriend had agreed to do a solid hour of work before the celebrations ensued.

You were never particularly strong willed when it came to following through on such agreements.

“Teach me calculus,” you say, a very impressive three minutes later, flopping down on the couch. Your head makes its way to its forever resting spot, Spencer’s lap. He raises his eyebrows slightly, thumb reaching out to trace over the slope of your nose. His eyes flit between you and the file to the side of him. 

“I thought we agreed on an hour.”

“Yeah. But it wouldn’t be a very productive hour if I didn’t know how to do what I have to do. And I missed you.” 

He sighs quietly, closing the file next to him. 

“What do you not understand?” You smile at that, loving how quickly you won.

“Related rates. Like, conceptually.” 

Spencer hums in response.

“It’s October. You’re not even supposed to know related rates yet.”

“Fine. Then let's open presents,” you respond, smiley. His eyebrows get impossibly higher, hand stroking your cheek delicately.

“No. I want our night to be a little more stress free when we celebrate, okay? How about you think about that lovely cake you made for me. What if I decided to squash it so that the diameter would get bigger, going from…let’s say, 20 centimeters to 26 centimeters in 3 seconds, and the height would get smal-”

“That wouldn't be nice. It took me like four hours,” you interrupt, grumbling. He cracks a smile.

“For the sake of the example, let's say I was an awful boyfriend and really wanted to ruin all the hard work you put in for me.”

You roll your eyes.

“Hey,” he says, hand moving down to touch your jaw softly. “Don’t do that. Don’t be difficult. I’m helping you.”

“Sorry. I guess I need you to zoom out a little. I don’t really get why I’m learning this as a whole.” Spencer’s eyes pore into yours, staring down at you adoringly for a small moment as he comes up with an answer.

“Calculus helps us begin to explain the unexplainable by harnessing what we can,” Spencer says simply. “Einstein once said that, ‘Pure mathematics is, in its way, the poetry of logical ideas,’ which makes it simple in practice, but I actually like to think about it as the opposite philosophically. Trying to find logic in the more poetic ideas.”

You cuddle deeper in his lap.

“Think he would agree with that?” you ask. “I do answer to Einstein before you, unfortunately.” Spencer bends down to kiss your hair.

“I think so. He also had a really nice quote where he remarked that, ‘Gravitation cannot be held responsible for people falling in love.’ He said, ‘How on earth can you explain in terms of chemistry and physics so important a biological phenomenon as first love? Put your hand on a stove for a minute and it seems like an hour. Sit with that special girl for an hour and it seems like a minute. That's relativity.’”

Spencer takes a deep breath.

“Math doesn’t explain how I love you. It can’t. But I love the fact that it tries to. It kinda makes you wanna learn it as best you can.”

You process that for a long second and nod. He keeps talking.

… 

Presents get opened, and cake gets eaten before dinner. Of course.

You’re now in bed, on top of the covers, forcing Spencer to give you a fashion show of the new sweater vest and tie you got him. He turns to you after putting it on, and you beam. 

“I really like it. You look great. Do you like it?” you ask. He nods, smiling back at you.

“I’m gonna wear it to work tomorrow.” 

You beckon for Spencer to come closer, sitting up in bed. Your hands go out to the tie, tugging at the knot softly. He stares down at you until eventually interrupting your motions with a slow kiss, hands cupping your face.

“You’re so pretty,” he mutters.

He pulls away and finishes what you started, folding the tie neatly and setting it in the drawer. Then comes the vest, and soon enough, he’s just in his boxers.

“You’re the pretty one,” you say quietly. “Come to bed.” He crawls on next to you, tugging you into his arms. “Happy birthday, Spence. I love you.” He dips his forehead to your shoulder.

“I love you.”

Before you know it, he’s shifted on top of you, moving down. Fast. You blink, hard, trying to rid your head of the hazy endorphins as you register what he’s doing.

“What? No, I was gonna do that. It’s your birthday. You don’t have to,” you protest.

“But I really, really want to, darling girl,” he murmurs back, kissing your knee and softly pushing it to the side.

You fluster and Spencer just looks at you, fingers tracing shapes on your waist, waiting for you to be ready. 

“Well. Um. Okay. If you insist. I can’t really deny the birthday boy.” Your voice is small, and a little giddy smile grows on your face. Of course Spencer Reid would want to give you head on his birthday. 

He smiles a little against the bare skin of your hip where your top meets your shorts. Then he meets your eyes. 

“You know you can, though, right?” he asks, voice a little more serious. You reach out to touch his hair softly. 

“Yeah. I know.”

Fingers hook your shorts, gently pulling them down. He presses a kiss to your thigh, and then he suddenly looks down at it. 

“Soft,” he murmurs, like he’s making a mental note. He presses another, and another, incrementally going closer and closer to your soaked through underwear. His eyebrows scrunch when he sees the wet spot. “All this from a few kisses?” 

You blush, unable to respond. 

Spencer’s fingers hook a centimeter of your underwear. “These?” he checks.

“Yes, please,” you manage. He tugs them down, silently noticing the slickness of your sex, and exhales shakily.

“How many times on average does it take for a guy to call you pretty on a given day before you get annoyed?” he murmurs, soft smile playing on his face. You smile too, head cloudy from his words, but it immediately drops when his lips press directly against your pulsing clit, kissing it softly.

“Fuck,” you say (Spencer would argue moan) softly (loudly). You let out a content sigh, and he moves to suckle it, actions becoming less and less delicate. 

It’s not harsh, but incessant. Spencer knows what you can take. He knows exactly what you can take. You’re both quiet for a bit, save for your breathy moans. 

“Spencer,” you say softly, ripping you both out of your individually hazy and dirty and distracted minds. “You’re too far away.” He looks up to you, face parallel to your aching core, hair beautifully messy and mouth glistening.

After a second, he grabs your hips, gently pushing you up against the pillows so you’re propped up at a better angle. He then shifts his body up wordlessly so he’s more above you, dipping his head down to give you a soft kiss. You taste yourself, tongue darting out to lick your lips.

His hand takes over where his mouth was, sliding in between your folds with a practiced ease. Spencer looks down at you, eyes wide and flitting between yours, searching for a reaction.

You reach out and wrap your arms around him, holding him close. “Holy shit, I love you,” you murmur.

His fingers lightly graze your clit again before one slides into you. “Angel,” he breathes out, so quietly. “I love you too. This okay? Are you okay?”

You nod feverishly and lift your hips to meet his hand, always in a perpetual state of wanting more, to be closer. Your bodies are melded so close together, barely giving him room to push his hand into you. He doesn’t even bother to ask you to use your words or keep your hips down, like he might on a regular night.

He pulls his head back to watch as he pushes another finger into you, stretching you just a little. “There we go. You always feel like heaven around me.”

Your eyes flit up to his face as he says those words, now having a little more room to observe him. You focus on the slope of his nose and curve of his mouth. 

“You’re so perfect,” you say quietly, adoringly, before you even realize it was true.

You blink at that thought. Spencer Reid is perfect, despite whatever universal odds deeming that impossible.

Those graphs, those formulas, now laying discarded & crumpled on the ground. They click, a little bit. You understand why Albert Einstein wanted to spend his life developing theories of relativity.

This is how Spencer sees you? What he was talking about earlier?

This is how he sees you?

The thought is almost too much.

Spencer sees your face, and not knowing what's going on in your head, slides down his free hand from your cheek to your carotid, feeling your racing pulse. “Take a deep breath for me, okay? You're about to come, huh?”

You inhale and are met with peace. Then your orgasm hits you like a wave. You clench hard around his fingers, and he just watches it happen, fascinated. “Baby,” he coos softly at you.

It wasn’t just your sensitivity he’s currently maximizing on or the little kisses he dips down to leave on your neck that sealed the deal, but the very thought that you could be loved in a way that is so perfectly impossible.

You exhale breathily as Spencer pushes you through the last trails of your climax, fingers not caring one bit that you just had your world tilted on its axis. 

“Spencer. Ohmygodohmygodohmygod,” you say eventually, overstimulated.

“You’re okay. Did so good.” he murmurs, fingers slipping out of you. 

His thumb brushes your cheek, wiping away a tear you didn't even realize was dripping down.

“Don’t cry, you always cry. It’s my birthday. Don’t cry on my birthday,” he whispers soothingly, affection lacing his voice.

“I’m not.” 

Another one falls. 

You reach and press out that perpetual little slope between his eyebrows with your thumb, gentle, like you might break him. “I’m not crying.”

Spencer lets you lie.