#like going through this process of going at scientifically and trying to get to the how and why behind the handwavy bits

[strawburry01]

Nothing's Gonna Hurt You Baby

Ford Pines x Fem! Reader (no Y/N mentions)

Summary: Ford and you are trying to find another cryptid but a thunderstorm causes some emotions.

AN: Thanks for liking the first one all! This is technically a Part 2, but doesn't rely on anything from the first part so don't worry.

Part 1

Word Count: 2k

 You stood in your dark room, humming along to the spinning vinyl as you painstakingly converted your camcorder footage to a VCR tape. Ford always noted that you could just save them to a computer, or just keep it on the camera itself- not understanding your insistence on saving it as physical media. Something in you liked the process though. It was meditative. Being able to uncap your marker and squeakily write the date and contents on the side, and then slide it alongside the rest of them in your growing library. It was rewarding to see the pile growing. Ford still had his growing notebooks, and you now had your growing video library. Between the two of you, both of your research had really been taking off.

As soon as the grant was passed, Ford and you shoved all your collective crap into his car and drove through the night, and then some, to make it to Gravity Falls. From the moment you crossed into town, you could tell he was right with his analysis. Something about the town felt so distinctly, well, weird. It was a quiet, small town, but everyone you met had been kind, although not very outwardly chatty. To be fair, two strangers from the east coast just moved in and were far too excited to be there. It was enough to confuse and freak out anyone.

But the two of you were fine with being the talk of the town. In fact you secretly thought Ford enjoyed the positive attention based on how much he convinced you to go to Greasy’s Diner for brunch. 

“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, it’s scientifically proven,” Ford would always say trying to defend the addiction. As long as he paid, you weren’t complaining.

In the background your vinyl began to skip. You grumbled and flipped it over for the next side of songs as Ford entered, head deep in his notebook, not even acknowledging your presence.

“Knocking is considerate,” you commented as you focused on your work, glancing up at him as he sat in the chair nestled in the corner of the room. You had found it on the way into town on some random road with the word FREE spray painted on a sign nearby, so after mild convincing, Ford and you were able to balance it on top of the car.

“The door was open, you relinquished knocking privileges,” he said, without looking up,

“What if I was changing?” you said, “I could’ve been naked you perv,”. You watched as his face reddened and you couldn’t help but smile to yourself as he snapped out of his reading. 

You both liked each other. You felt like it was painfully obvious to everyone, even each other, but something kept you both from ever admitting it. Was it your scientific brains always insisting that it was some stupid imbalance of hormones and forced proximity? Both of your egos trying to constantly one up each other, never wanting to admit you liked the other? Perhaps the fact that if you actually admitted to liking each other, what would that mean for research? Or even worse, liking each other would mean you fell into the cliche.

But god, you had been around each other practically 24/7 for the past months now in Gravity Falls and it was only getting worse each day. Like a growing vine, only getting larger and larger. The only reason you were so confident Ford liked you back was the fact he never attempted to deflect your teasing. He was one to always correct you, or really anyone, if they said something incorrect, but whenever you taunted him, he would just redden and try to change the subject. 

Ford coughed in his chair and shifted as he uncapped his pen to continue an entry in his journal, trying to move past your teasing.

“Sounds like a safety hazard if you were in here without clothes,” he muttered. You threw a marker at him across the room.

“Don’t judge the artist, perhaps I was trying something new,” you said as you slid another tape, labeled “Gobblewonker Part 3” besides Part 1 and 2. 

“Let’s move from this hypothetical,” he said, firmly closing his journal, “there’s a storm coming in tonight according to weather reports. I wanted to try and see if we could catch the Thunderbird at some point,”.

“Pretty elusive fella, no?” you asked, scanning your tapes to see if you had anything on Thunderbirds.

“Yes, and unless you agree to a goat sacrifice this time we’ll just have to be patient and attentive,” he nodded. He really wanted you to agree to a sacrificial goat to draw one out. You crossed your arms and stared at him.

“Stanford Pines I’m not letting you go to hell for animal sacrifice,” you said.

“Fine, but don’t blame me when we can’t see one, because someone has strict morals all of the sudden,” he said as he stood up and left. 

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN ALL OF THE SUDDEN PINES?” you shouted after him.

It was no use. He disappeared into the small cabin you were both calling home for now. It was dark when the rain started. Big drops pelleted the roof, which didn’t enthuse you as Ford insisted on setting up outside. You bundled your rain slicker close, trying to create some warmth, but instead only making your clothes underneath damp. Ford on the other hand couldn’t be bothered it seemed. He was moving around his instruments too much for his hood to actually stay on, causing his hair and glasses to be drenched. 

“Do you need help?” you asked, not being able to watch him struggle for much longer.

“Can you just line up that telescope with the gap in the trees there?” he asked with a point towards the sky. You nodded and risked your fingers in the cold to swivel the telescope until it was centered on the break in foliage. You stood back up and saw Ford staring at you before he quickly looked away. He seemed stressed, so you spared a joke.

He let out a sigh as he stood back, looking over the set up. He dragged over two lawn chairs and held out his arms, gesturing for you to sit in one. Ford was damn lucky you believed in his confidence, you thought to yourself as you sat down. You couldn’t even use your camcorder out here because of the rain. You didn’t want to risk it. 

The two of you sat, listening to the rain fall off the trees for a while until you started dozing off, catching yourself every time and jolting up. Ford scooted his chair closer and put his arm on your chair. 

“Sorry it’s so late,” he said, “sleep on my arm if you need to. You’ll ruin your neck if you keep sleeping like that,” he noted. You smirked to yourself as you took him up on the offer, leaning onto his shoulder, not minding the drops that had accumulated on his coat.Before slipping into sleep you felt him put a hand on your leg, gently running over it with his thumb.

You weren’t sure how long you were out for when a crack of lightning lit up the sky and awoke you. Ford was instantly up and checking all his devices for the elusive Thunderbird, but you were frozen to your chair. The rumble of thunder filled your ears and paralyzed you in place. It was stupid, it was so stupid. You’re from the damn east coast, get over it, your brain chided, but your body couldn’t agree. You’d always been terrified of thunder, despite your knowledge that it was unlikely anything from a lightning storm would ever hurt you, you couldn’t help that loud noises from the sky scared you to death.

“Shit, are you okay?” Ford asked, realizing that you were not by his side. He turned and saw you, sitting down, but looking thousands of miles away. You wanted to nod your head yes, that everything was fine and you were over your dumb overreaction, but you couldn’t. You stared up at him through his dewy glasses and shook your head.

“I hate thunder,” you muttered, embarrassed, flinching as another rumble went overhead, “I thought I’d gotten over it…”. Ford stared at you and then turned back to his devices. 

“Let’s go inside. These will get any data and recordings I need,” he said as he pulled you up out of the chair. 

“I’m sorry-” you started to say before he cut you off.

“Don’t apologize. It’s a very understandable fear. It’s not worth your wellbeing,” he said as he continued leading you inside. 

Inside the house the noise from above only reverberated more it seemed, causing you to jump. You caught Ford almost commenting on it, before he closed his mouth and helped you out of your rain jacket instead. You kicked off your boots at the door and they thunked with mud against the wall. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you scared,” Ford quietly remarked as he hung up his own jacket. Before you can reply there’s another rumble of thunder, louder now, causing you to jump into Ford’s arms. You feel him seize up under the sudden touch, but he quickly wraps an arm around your back with the other on the back of your head, pressing you into his red-sweatered chest. You slowly let out a shaky breath as you tried to calm your nerves. Ford slowly started running his hand up and down your back trying to calm you as well. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he repeated.

You two stood like this for a few minutes as lightning lit up the sky outside.

“I-I’m sorry Ford, I’ll be okay, I’m just going to go to my room,” you said as you stepped back out of his arms, despite your brain screaming at you you were a fool for doing so. 

“Can you actually sleep like this?” Ford asked, watching you walk to your room only to get stopped by another thrum of thunder. You looked over your shoulder.

 Swallow your pride you idiot, you both thought.

“Would you-”

“I could-”

“-keep me company?”

“-stay with you?”

You bit your bottom lip as you laughed, Ford laughed too and rubbed the back of his neck. Both of you could’ve been mistaken for high schoolers in that moment. 

You changed into your flannel pajama pants and oversized t-shirt as Ford dutifully faced the wall before changing into his boxers and one of your other oversized shirts you threw at him. 

“I don’t need this,” he said, holding it up.

“I can’t handle this much skin on you yet,” you replied as you slowly got under the covers. You felt the weight of the bed as he got in behind you. He softly grumbled complaints about wearing a shirt as he snaked his arms around your waist. 

"Is this okay?" he asked into your hair.

“Yes, now hush Pines,” you mumbled back. You shuddered a little as thunder rolled overhead again, causing Ford to tighten his hold on you.

“It’s alright, it’s alright,” he repeated as you calmed down again. You sighed into your pillow as you began to close your eyes.

“So…” Ford said, causing you to open an eye, “does this mean you like me?”.

“Do you like me?” you asked, tilting your head so you could try to face him. Ford took his chance to quickly kiss your cheek before you hid your head back into the pillow.

“Of course I am, are you kidding me? I’ve liked you since the first week of knowing you,” he said, “people aren’t friends with me, let alone people like you. You’re really important to me,”. You could feel your face heating up at his compliments as you tried to hide in the pillow, “Are you blushing? I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you do that…” he said with a chuckle.

“For fucks sake of course I am Ford, I’ve liked you for so long now too,” you admitted. The two of you were silent as rain continued to patter on the roof.

“Damn,” Ford said before nestling his head into the back of your neck, “I guess my brother was right,”.

You smiled as you began to doze off, with Ford holding onto you. Neither of you knew that you wouldn’t sleep alone again as long as you were in this universe.

Part 2.5 up

[murdrdocs]

anxious reader; thunderstorms; couch sex; MDNI 18+ w/ TYLER OWENS

a loud clap of thunder rocks the house, and your eyes squeeze shut as you breathe through it. a half hour ago, that sound would have made you curl up and attempt to ignore the way you shook.

now, the sound of thunder sends you closer to tyler, your head resting on his shoulder as you press your hands into the muscles of his back.

"still scared?" he asks you. he sounds like he's teasing you, a small smile audible on his lips, but you hear genuineness in his tone. he really wants to know if you're still scared of the thunder and lightning outside, and if you were, you know he would do his best to make you feel better. it's what he's doing now, gently driving his cock up into you in an attempt to make you feel better.

it is making you feel better, just not completely.

living with a storm chaser meant you heard the good and the bad. all of the close calls, all of the adrenaline-filled retellings of things that made you sick just hearing about. it settled in your brain, night after night, until eventually thunderstorms brought terror. thunderstorms brought "what-if"'s. you could never stop the thought process once it started, letting each of tyler's stories fuel your anxiety-ridden brain. tyler consistently told you how unpredictable tornados could be. they were trackable, yes, but at their core they were part scientific and part miracle. it's what he told you.

you find ruminating now, ignoring the pleasure settled deep in your belly in favor of a vivid image of strong winds sending a sign through the window in your living room. you're stuck in the image, body still and eyes staring straight at the wall behind tyler as you picture it. the road sign crashing through the window, shards of glass flying onto the floor, wind blowing your shirt around the frame of your body. rain would get pushed into the house, soaking the furniture, floors, walls, and the both of you. you start thinking about the cost of the damages, and then you start thinking about if the damages were too severe. if a tornado formed, touched down, and then swept your house away—with you and tyler in it—before either of you could do anything.

you wince, eyes squeezing shut as you picture it all, and tyler stops.

"what's wrong? did i hurt you?" he grips your cheeks, turning your face to look at him, his eyes searching for any sign that something is physically wrong.

when he finds nothing, it clicks for him. "just breathe, sweetheart. don't think about anything but me, alright?"

usually, it's easy. you spend most of your time thinking about your roommate. hours upon hours imagining something exactly like this happening. this is a dream come true, so why can't you live in the moment?

tyler tries to help. he presses his lips to your neck, trailing kisses from your erratic pulse point down towards your sternum, one hand pulling the neckline of your tee shirt down to get access. "focus on the feeling," he begins, his voice soft compared to the harsh way rain pelts down outside, "of my lips on your neck," he presses twin kisses onto each side of your neck, "my hands on your hips," both hands settle onto your hips once more, massaging your skin as he moves lower down to your thighs, "the weight of my dick inside of you," he stares up at you with wide emerald eyes, watching the way your own gaze gets heavier and heavier with each instruction. his voice is so soothing, each word slow and meticulously spoken better than the guided meditations you would force yourself to listen to late at night.

sensing that you're doing better than you were before, tyler nods at you. "think you can move for me?" you give it a try, lifting your hips just a bit and then sinking back down. "there you go," he coos approvingly, "keep going just like that."

you dig your hands into the couch behind tyler's shoulders, closing your eyes and letting your head loll as you finally get lost in the feeling. it's an easy glide, tyler's cock warm as it slides in and out of you. the storm starts to pick up outside, and in turn, you speed up.

you tire easily, though, but tyler lays you back on the couch and takes over for you. the cross chain around his neck hangs over your face, slapping your chin with every punctuated drive. you get more confident, allowing yourself to enjoy the thing you've wanted since tyler—then nothing but the grandson of your grandparent's friend—called your landline.

you reach up and grip the gold cross between your fingers, pulling tyler down by it and letting him kiss you. then, once he pulls back, you clamp your teeth down onto the pendant, effectively keeping tyler right where you want him.

thunder booms in the sky, the sound reverberating below as well, but just as you hear it tyler finds that spot. the sound you make seems to mimic the weather—a deep sound coming from the bottom of your throat. your back arches as you let it out, your head tipping back and tyler coming with you like you have him on a leash.

he lets you tug him down, doing nothing but grinning down at you as he makes you cum and almost forget about the storm growing outside. when the flash of lightning is followed by a crack of thunder two seconds later, you still jump.

[alwaysmoncheri]

𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐠𝐨 | 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

summary: spencer gets drunks and you offer to take him home. your intentions are clear, you long for him to offer you to stay, but when you do, your relationship becomes more unclear.

cw: fem!reader, mentions of alcohol, drunkenness, drunken confessions, general confessions, kissing, mutual pinning, idiots in love, some angst, fluff, lightly proofread, 3.7k words

<3

the crowd of people in the bar is unexpected, normally there aren’t many people lined across the countertops, snapping their fingers for drinks. it appears that you and the rest of the team have caught the bar at a particularly busy time. you have never been one for bars or alcohol, but whenever the team decides to all go out together, you always find yourself making an exception. after all, who were you kidding? you could use a little distraction from your lingering feelings for a certain pretty boy, genius. 

the entire team sits around a table, nose buried in each of their hands of cards as you compete in an intense game of poker. the air is warm and you can feel each piece of clothing uncomfortably sticking to your stick like a humid summer day. you shift in your seat, bringing one hand away from your cards and to the edge of your tight shirt, carefully pealing it away from your perspirating skin. and though, you meant to erase him from your mind, if only for one night, spencer peeks up from behind his hand of cards, noticing your sudden movement. and when he tilts his head to one side, the motion sending you a silent question, asking “are you okay?” you can’t help but adore him for everything that he is. with a gentle nod in his direction, you silence his worries, before returning to your game of cards without the rest of the team’s knowledge of your interaction. 

"and I win!" morgan’s sudden and triumphant declaration echoes through the room, the resounding slap of his cards hitting the table punctuating his victory. a cocky grin adorns his face, reveling in the satisfaction of his unexpected triumph. the rest of the team, caught off guard, let out a chorus of exasperated groans, their cards dropping onto the table with defeated thuds, and frowns of disbelief etched on their faces. morgan, seizing the opportunity to revel in his victory, turns his attention to spencer, who had been the reigning champion in the previous few games and, truth be told, usually emerges victorious in most gaming scenarios. "would you look at that? pretty boy must've lost his touch," morgan teases, a mischievous glint in his eye as he playfully nudges spencer.

spencer, caught off guard by this unexpected turn of events, sits there with his mouth agape, his usually quick and analytical mind momentarily stunned by the twist in the game. the unexpected defeat has him grappling with a mix of surprise and amusement, and he blinks in disbelief as if trying to process what just happened.

"cat got your tongue, reid?" morgan continues to taunt, while you and the rest of the team watch, amused, fond smiles cast upon your faces as the friendly banter unfolds.

"must be all those drinks," hotch quips, his tone playfully accusing as he crosses his arms in the seat next to spencer, "starting to cloud that genius brain of yours."

you playfully roll your eyes before spencer calmly counters, "i've only consumed a total of five drinks, which technically wouldn't be enough for the neurotransmitters in my brain to stop fully functioning. they could be slowed down, but I'm still fully capable of winning a game of cards at this stage in the evening." a ripple of laughter and teasing remarks follows spencer's scientific explanation, the team thoroughly enjoying the conversation. you, hotch, rossi, and prentiss exchange amused glances. 

morgan, chuckling at spencer’s very sober response, quips, "okay, it's time for you to have another drink."

spencer raises an eyebrow, contemplating the proposal. "but first, I demand a rematch."

the room erupts in a mix of cheers and groans as the team anticipates another round. penelope, observing from the sidelines, can't help but interject with enthusiasm, "oh, this is getting good! i’ve got my money on reid for the rematch!"

morgan sends penelope a look of faux offence, before returning his attention to spencer with a challenge, "whoever loses, drinks the same number of shots as the highest card in their hand."

spencer considers the terms before nodding in agreement, "deal."

"alright, I think it's time for me to grab another drink," emily declares, her eyes twinkling mischievously as she stands from her seat. she turns her attention to you, a playful glint in her eyes, "care to join me?"

you can't help but laugh in response, the invitation exactly what you need. glancing over at spencer, you notice his keen observation, as if he's scrutinizing your every move. you playfully divert your attention, standing up with a grin. "sure, why not?" you reply, the corners of your mouth turning up.

as you follow emily toward the bar, you observe the clinking of glasses and the hum of conversations surround you, and the lively energy of the bar becomes more apparent. the dim lighting casts a warm glow on the faces of the maybe people all around, creating an inviting feeling that contrasts with the intense focus of the card game.

“so, what’s going on between you and reid?” emily asks nonchalantly, as if the question wouldn’t have the effect on you. she slides you a drink across the countertop before grabbing her own and taking a small sip. you body tenses in response to the question and you don’t want to know what color your cheeks must be. 

“what do you mean?” you ask, trying to ignore that fact that you can’t seem to compose yourself. emily raises her eyebrows, shooting you a look of disbelief. 

“I mean, pretty boy over there, hasn’t stopped glancing over here since we left,” emily explains, her words prompting you to turn your gaze towards spencer and the rest of the team. true to emily’s observation, spencer’s eyes are fixated on you, the intensity of his gaze evident even from across the room, “and I’m pretty sure he’s losing.” emily adds, a small smirk resting on her face and the two of you watch as morgan, once again, slams his cards onto the table with a victorious smile. 

“oh, I don’t think that’s because of me.” you reply quietly, trying to downplay the situation. your gaze shifts back to your drink as you swirl the glass around in your hand and watch the liquid flow. 

“are you sure?” emily questions, her eyes twinkling with mischief and her posture relaxed yet keenly attuned to the movements of the conversation.

“I mean, yeah, we like each other,” you admit, looking up at emily’s smirk, which is accentuated by a slight tilt of her head, before quickly dismissing it away, “but not like that.” 

“but you want it to be, like that.” emily suggests and you don’t respond, confirming her suspicions. the weight of emily's words lingers in the air as the two of you watch the team hand spencer drinks, the effects of the shots he's taking becoming increasingly evident. the atmosphere is charged with unspoken tension, and you find yourself caught in a whirlwind of emotions.

“I don’t know what I want.” you finally confess, answering emily’s last question with your eye lingering on spencer’s drunken self. 

“I think you do.” emily responds, her voice gentle but probing, “but I don’t think he does.”

“emily, I–” you start to respond, urgency to end the conversation evident in your tone, but before you can, emily interrupts. 

 “oh, it looks like he’s coming over.” she says, her eyes widening with anticipation and her smirk evergrowing on her face.

“what?” the sudden realization sparks a flurry of movement within you, a mix of nerves and excitement intertwining as you prepare for the impending interaction.

“i’ll leave you to it.” emily grins, giving you a supportive pat on the shoulder before slipping away into the crowd.

“hi,” spencer greets and you can practically hear the amount alcohol he has consumed within the tone of his voice. it isn’t the same shy tone that you know and love, there’s a little more sweetness and a slight edge of confidence embracing his voice.

“hi, spence.” you respond, your eyes meeting his in a moment that seems suspended in time.

“you’re so pretty,” spencer suddenly slurs, expressing his admiration with sincerity as he hops on the stool next to you and slumps over the edge of the bar, “you’re always so, so beautiful.” he sighs with a soft smile. you hum in agreement, sipping on your drink as you watch spencer with loving amusement. 

“you know, you’re my favorite person ever.” he adds, before his eyes widen suddenly and he leans forward, gesturing for you to lean with him, “but don’t tell morgan, he thinks it’s him.” spencer whispers, earning a loud cackle from you. that seems to make spencer happy, earning that kind of reaction, even if he’s too drunk to truly understand what he’s saying. 

“I love your laugh.” spencer’s words spill out with a warmth that feels like a comforting embrace in the dimly lit bar. his eyes, glazed but loving, reflect a vulnerability that tugs at your heartstrings. 

“spencer, honey, how much have you had to drink?” you ask, concern evident in your voice. in response, spencer clumsily grasps your hand, his fingers fumbling to intertwine with yours. the touch is a blend of affection and intoxication, and you can't help but smile at the endearing sight.

“shh, shhh, you can’t tell anyone,” spencer replies with a giggle escaping his lips, it makes your heart race and sends a delightful shiver down your spine, “I lost another round of cards.” 

“oh, spence, I think it’s time for you to go home,” you suggest gently, running your thumb across his hand, “do you want me to take you?”

“would you?” spencer’s eyes widen with a hopeful glimmer, lifting his head before a soft curl falls onto his sweaty forehead, “I hate taking the bus alone.” spencer admits, his eyes glistening, almost as if he’s about to cry. 

“let me give you a ride, spencer.” you offer, your voice carrying a soothing reassurance, “you shouldn’t ever have to take the bus alone.”

“I know, I know.” spencer replies quietly, feeling ashamed, before you reach out with the hand not holding his to brush a loose curl away from his face.

“alright, let’s go.” you say, gently standing and guiding him towards the exit of the bar, “do you have all your things?” you ask, stopping to face spencer to see his response. he nods, squeezing you hand, before you smile and walk towards the table where the rest of the team sits in order to grab your purse from your chair. 

“hey guys, we’re heading out. I have to get him home safely.” you announce to your teammates, sending them a gracious smile, thankful for the night out, “we’ll see you in the office on monday.”

a series of goodbyes and drive safes echo from your teammates as you allow spencer to hold your hand and lean on your shoulder for stability. together, you make your way out of the bar and towards your car. unlocking the door, you assist spencer into the passenger seat before settling into the drivers seat and taking a moment to reach over to buckle spencer in.

“I can do that myself.” spencer protests, attempting to push your hands away with sluggish movements. 

“sure you can.” you retort, a gentle smile playing at your lips as an annoyed, “hmph,” leaves spencer’s mouth. 

the drive to his apartment is marked by a comforting quietness, the soft hum of the engine interweaving with the occasional murmurs from spencer. when you arrive, you jog over to the passage door, eager to assist him as you navigate the stairs together. reaching his apartment door, spencer retrieves his keys from his pocket, his attempts to unlock the door met with visible frustration. recognizing the need to intervene, you gently step in, placing your hand over his, “hey, hey, let me help you.” you whisper giving spencer a sympathetic smile before he allows you to take his keys and unlock the apartment door. 

“thank you, y/n.” spencer says, letting go of your hand to take a step into his apartment, while you stand just outside.

“you’re welcome, spence.” you respond gently.

the two of you stand there for a moment, locked in each other’s gaze. but, the silence is too much, you can’t handle the truth of what you and spencer are and are not. 

“I guess I should—” you start, but the hesitation in those few words lights a match of hope in spencer’s heart and he can’t help but interrupt. 

“don’t go.” 

“what?” 

“stay.” spencer says with such emotion that your heart feels like it’s about to stop. and when he reaches out for you to take his hand once more, you don’t hesitate.

“yeah.” you nod, stepping through the doorway and into spencer’s apartment, “yeah, I can do that.” you repeat, taking in the space before you. it looks all too familiar to times that you’ve been before, warmth, inviting, just like him. 

before you can engage in any conversation, spencer's sluggish movements guide the two of you towards his bedroom. he briefly releases your hand to sift through his drawers, searching for a set of less damp clothes to wear for the remainder of the night.

"feel free to use the bathroom," spencer mumbles, his words slightly slurred as he gestures in the direction of the adjacent room. the soft glow of the bedside lamp casts a warm hue, revealing the disheveled state of his bedroom.

in the bathroom, you peel the sweaty material from your skin, feeling the immediate relief of shedding the remnants of a night spent in a crowded bar. the mirror reflects your image, and you assess yourself. the makeup, meticulously applied before the evening's festivities, shows signs of wear. small smudges underneath your eyes and imperceptible flaws on your face catch your attention. you find a washcloth and gently wipe away the remnants of the night, revealing the natural contours of your features.

returning to spencer's room, you find him seated on his bed, his gaze fixed on his lap as his fiddles with his hand. the room is dimly lit, shadows playing on the walls like silent spectators to the unfolding scene. spencer glances up as you enter, his eyes carrying a mix of longing and fatigue.

“stay, with me, please," spencer practically begs, his words carrying a weight of vulnerability that echoes through the room.

"okay," you find yourself saying, the decision flowing from your lips with zero hesitation.

silently, the two of you climb into his bed, laying side by side. your gazes linger on each other for a moment too long, the air thickens and you find yourself momentarily breathless. as you notice spencer lean toward you, searching of your lips, you feel as though your heart beating out of your chest, the rapid movement making my breath catch. but when he kisses you, you know you’re an absolute goner.

his lips are soft and his kiss is gentle, so gentle, like he’s afraid if he kisses too hard, you’ll break. but when you pull away, the realization of spencer's drunken state washes over you.

"I love you," he confesses, the abruptness of his words catching you off guard. your eyes soften with sympathy, understanding that his declaration was led by intoxication. 

"oh, spencer," you hum, reaching forward to gently cup his face, which he tenderly leans into. "tell me when you're sober."

"okay," he murmurs, a whisper of agreement that lingers in the air, before the both of you wrap in each other’s arms and spencer falls into a comforting sleep. yet, you lie awake for moment, questions about your relationship clouding your mind, until finally you give in and fall asleep too. 

—

the morning sunlight filters through the curtains, casting a soft glow on the room. as you slowly regain consciousness, a dull ache pulses through your head, the sign of a mild hangover. the warmth of the body beside you serves as a gentle reminder of the events that unfolded the previous night, and a rush of memories floods your mind. you glance at spencer, and you can’t help but notice the furrowed brows on his forehead, confirming your suspicions of a major hangover of his own. the desire to kiss away his discomfort lingers, an unspoken gesture to alleviate the tension etched on his face. however, uncertainty about the nature of your relationship holds you back, even after the intimate connection you shared last night. 

silently, you slip out of the bed, careful not to disturb spencer's peaceful slumber. the soft creak of the door announces your departure as you head to the bathroom, intent on changing back into your own clothes. spencer's clothes, a reminder of the night's events, lay neatly on his dresser. the room retained the echo of shared laughter and whispered conversations, leaving you in a contemplative state.

once dressed, you tiptoe through the hushed space and navigate through the familiar halls of spencer's apartment. in the kitchen, you leave a glass of water, a tylenol, and a quick note on the counter, a small offering to soothe the aftermath of the night. with each passing moment, your thoughts swirl like leaves caught in a gentle breeze. questions about the nature of your relationship with spencer remain, and the quiet house seems to hold the weight of those unanswered queries. you hesitate before leaving, casting a final glance at the still-sleeping spencer, his vulnerability exposed in the morning light.

summoning a cab, you venture back to your own apartment, the familiar surroundings offering a respite from the whirlwind of emotions. the click of your keys on the kitchen counter echoes through the space, and you collapse onto the couch with a sigh. running a hand down your face, you lean back against the cushions as you repeatedly replay the events of the previous night in your mind. 

—

monday morning unfolds with a swiftness that catches you off guard, a reminder that the enjoyment of the weekend has drawn to a close. seeking solace, you head to the bau office early, hoping to avoid spencer, at least for the time being. the comforting hum of the coffee machine beckons, and you find yourself mechanically preparing a cup to ready yourself for the day ahead. a yawn escapes, betraying the exhaustion that lingers from the weekend. as the rich aroma of coffee envelops you, a familiar chuckle interrupts your thoughts.

"how was the rest of your weekend, gorgeous?" morgan inquires, his tone light-hearted, though you can sense a mischievous undertone.

you roll your eyes in response, leaning back against the counter with the warm cup cradled in your hands. "it was good."

morgan, undeterred, pours himself a cup of coffee and continues his interrogation, a sly grin on his face. "and your night with reid? how is pretty boy treating you?"

your eyes widen before narrowing in suspicion. "what do you know?" you question, the accusatory edge in your tone not lost on morgan. he raises his free hand in defense, a playful shrug accompanying his innocent expression.

"hey, I was just wondering," morgan replies before taking a sip of his coffee. "it's obvious that you two like each other," he adds slyly, leaving you momentarily stunned, echoing the shock from your recent conversation with emily.

"no, it's not," you retort, your gaze still narrow as you fight to defend your emotions.

"whatever you say, sweetheart," morgan comments, walking away, leaving you standing by the coffee machine, your mind swirling with the weight of recent revelations.

as you ponder emily's words, spencer's drunken confession, and morgan's casual observations, the scent of books and wool approaches beside you. your heart skips a beat in anticipation of the impending conversation.

“hey, can we talk?” spencer asks, his voice regaining its sweet, shy tone, replacing the confident echoes of his intoxicated self. the smell of books, wool, leather, and a hint of coffee instead of the burning scent of alcohol. his gentle smile and shy gaze. his curls tucked perfectly behind his ears, and his form tall instead of slouched toward the ground. you prefer him this way—sober, gentle, sincere. 

“um, yeah. yeah, we can talk.” you nod, each word a conscious effort to maintain composure.

“look, we can pretend I never said what I said if that means—”

your eyes widen with shock before you interrupt, “what? no! you can’t take it back!” you almost yell, catching the attention of a few of your teammates, who are walking around the office, files in hand. 

“then I don’t really know what to do,” spencer admits, his vulnerability laid bare, “because I meant it, y/n. I love you and I’ll say it a thousand times even if it means that we aren’t friends anymore. and I want you to know I haven’t stopped thinking about you all weekend but I thought you needed space. and—”

“I love you, too, spence.” you confess, stopping spencer’s rant from going any further, and ending any confusion between the two of you. 

spencer's face lights up, delight evident in his expression. "really?" he asks, and a giggle escapes your lips as you revel in his excitement, mirroring your own bubbling joy.

"yes, really," you respond, placing your cup of coffee on the counter. spencer takes a couple of quick strides towards you, a beaming smile seemingly etched permanently on his face.

"can I kiss you?" spencer boldly asks, his excitement momentarily overriding his usual composure. you nod, and spencer gently grasps your face, his palms pressing against your cheeks as he kisses you in such way that tells you he’s been wanting to for a very long time. when you pull away, wide smiles adorn both of your faces, the giddy excitement, like a child’s, taking over your senses and it’s not long before your lips are on his once more. 

“wheels up in ten,” hotch’s voice suddenly interrupts, jolting you back to reality. both you and spencer pull away, cheeks flushed with embarrassment of being caught by your boss, “and I better not see any more of that in my office.” hotch adds sternly, shooting you each a pointed look. 

“yes, sir.” spencer nods nervously, casting you a quick glance, while hotch’s gaze also turns towards you. 

you offer a shrug, glancing at spencer with a soft smile, “i’m not making any promises.”

<3

masterlist . spencer reid masterlist . taglist

thank you for reading, my darling! remember to like! reblog! and comment! i’ll give you a smooch if you do, ily! send requests to my inbox!

tags: @ihrtmasong, @averyhotchner, @jordie-gvf, @annoyingmidgetwhowrites

alwaysmoncheri © ─ all rights reserved. please do not repost/translate/copy any of my work.

[mint-fixates]

Going more in depth with my many, very long thoughts on the AU concept I discussed in a previous post, which I'm calling "Domesticated Bill AU" based on a suggestion from the replies (TL;DR it's just a "What if Bill wasn't evil" AU)

First major difference: No Euclydian massacre. Bill doesn't destroy his home dimension, he just gets sick of them trying to suppress his gift and leaves. Something something he still ends up getting trapped in the Nightmare Realm while looking for a more exciting and accepting world

He spends a lot of time partying and getting up to mischief while hanging out with the Henchmaniacs (who still look up to him as a leader, but have more of an equals/genuine friends relationship with him rather than a boss/minion relationship), but after a billion years or so that starts to get boring. When they realize the Nightmare Dimension is unraveling, Bill has the idea to get someone to make a portal for him, like in canon, BUT Weirdmageddon is never part of the plan. He just needs a way to safely get himself and his friends out of the Nightmare Realm before it unravels, no apocalypse required

Bill still has a series of failed partnerships because no one has the technology to build the portal or because they can't match his freak and get fed up with him and call the deal off. But there's no evil retribution on anyone who fails to make it. He's chaotic neutral at worst, so most of his impact on history is similar to canon!Bill helping the Salem witches free themselves- but because of Earth's societal standards and expectations, he still gets painted as evil for these sorts of acts.

Bill meets Stanford under the same circumstances- Ford finds out about him and summons him to help when he hits a roadblock in his research (though he finds him through different means since there's no shaman warning/prophecy). The only initial difference is that Bill is fully honest about the intention of the portal, because he has nothing to hide.

Bill is still a bit emotionally immature and jealous of Fiddleford but generally their relationship is much healthier. Ford still worships and puts Bill on a pedestal at first, but as they get closer over time he realizes that they're equals, kindred spirits. Bill delights in having someone and who finds his weirdness intriguing and endearing rather than being put off by it. They both love having someone they can relate to, someone on a similar level of intelligence, someone they never have to filter themselves around, and with all that in mind it's really inevitable that they fall for each other.

The portal is a success, and Ford makes a ton of money and earns his place in scientific history for his brilliant discovery, but credits Bill with half the workload since he can now prove Bill is, y'know, real and not a hallucination. People are still a bit weirded out by Bill and prefer the idea of a human success story, so as far as the press is concerned, it was 99% Stanford. Fiddleford is not credited at his own request, preferring to live a quiet life while knowing he helped make the world a bit better.

Fiddleford is still crushing hard on an oblivious Ford throughout the portal-building process like canon implies, but once the portal finished and Ford can introduce him to/explain his relationship with Bill, Fidds gracefully bows out and goes back to working on making personal computers and on focusing on his family. He and Ford are still good friends and regularly email and call each other which Bill hates but begrudgingly tolerates

Bill and his friends take a tour of the multiverse to decide where they want to settle, but Bill's thoughts keep drifting back to Stanford. Ford is also touring the multiverse for research purposes, which has disrupted their ability to communicate mentally, and Bill realizes how much he misses him. They both eventually go back to Dimension 46'\ and get married. Bill finds Earth a bit boring sometimes and occasionally goes on vacations to other dimensions with Ford and/or the Henchmaniacs, but "home" for him and Ford is always Gravity Falls.

Stanley calls Ford to congratulate him on his success and they reconnect, both apologizing for their fight. Ford finds out that Stanley is homeless and immediately hires him as his publicist since he's constantly being bombarded with interview requests and the like. Stanley ends up getting his own place in Gravity Falls to be closer to work and his brother.

Dipper and Mabel's parents are going through some Things™ and decide to send the twins off to live it up with their rich, successful Grunkle Ford for the summer. Gravity Falls is still weird but the twins now have a great uncle who actively encourages and assists them on all their weird supernatural and conspiratorial adventures. And, of course, their weird extradimensional triangle great-uncle-in-law is more than happy to help them cause some trouble and solve some mysteries too (Bill 10000% helped Mabel kidnap Sev'ral Timez and hide them from Ford, suggested using the Lilliputtians to cheat in her mini-golf game against Pacifica, etc.)

Stanley and his personal assistant Soos still make frequent appearances at Ford's house, and Wendy is also there (haven't quite figured out how she fits into this yet), so Dipper and Mabel are still close with all of them like in canon

Mabel still meets and becomes besties with Candy and Grenda, just under different circumstances.

Pacifica's parents initially contact Stanford to hire him to dispose of their ghost problem, but he passes it off to Dipper because he and Bill are going to visit Bill's parents in Euclydia. So NWMM/Pacifica's character development plays out mostly the same way as canon

Gideon still meets and becomes obsessed with Mabel, but without the journals as a source of power and motivation, he has no ambition to steal the Shack or means to almost kill Dipper. He's still kind of a stalker towards Mabel but a mostly harmless one- especially after Ford, Bill, and Stanley find out he's been bothering her and have a Friendly Chat with him.

The journals still exist, but they're not hidden, they're just chilling on Ford's bookshelf. He originally intended to publish them but forgot about it with all the hype around the portal. Ford gives them to Dipper to help out with the twins' adventures for when he's busy and can't go help them personally.

[deadandphilgames]

A note from Daniel (new epilogue from You Will Get Through This Night)

Thank you for reading This Night. Writing this book in 2021, while sitting locked down in a lightless basement apartment for months, had a certain self-fulfilling irony that was not lost on me.

In many ways, I wrote this book for not only my past self that I wish could have known these things when I needed them most - but for the guy sitting in an incredibly uncomfortable, hunched, t-rex-esque position typing, that needed it right then. Like many of you, I thought those particularly fun couple of years were a temporary inconvenience, that I wouldn't have to age the book by diving into. And here we are. I hope you enjoyed that new chapter about resilience and whatever the hell a 'polycrisis' is. Turns out certain global events do have an additional effect on our mental health - it's understandable that you may try to power through it and pretend it never happened, but we all deserve to take whatever time we need to honestly process how life makes us feel. I hope you're doing alright. My journey of reflecting honestly on my own life experiences and lifestyle while writing was …like spontaneously punching yourself in the stomach. "Wow. I really live like this? That is apparently not conducive to a healthy mind. Oops. Guess I'll go touch some grass." I'm happy if that made this a more entertaining read occasionally.

Even now, I find myself continually re-reading the book in those small moments of first emotional reaction to situations where I now at least think "Wait - what was I supposed to do here? Right. Not catastrophise." If this is you - that is fine. You are not expected to perfectly memorise this book or retain all knowledge you hear in life. I know I don't. If you're ever sat next to me in the emergency exit aisle of a plane, know that you may be required to physically throw me out of the door in order to inflate the slide because I was busy during the briefing, imagining how my life would have been different if I actually had the nerve to dye my hair black that time in school. I am at peace with that.

It was honestly terrifying for me to try and mine the content of my life to try and actually illustrate advice for people that may really need it …for me to honestly look at the balance between joking about my mental health, and really getting real. Hey - if your attempt at opening up via some humour comes out a bit offensive, you still get points for at least putting it on the table. That's progress.

This is not a book about me. I am here just as an example of terrible behaviour that you have permission to have an inappropriate public transport snort at, and as a writer who has repeatedly not finished traditional 'self-help' or scientific study books for being dry, unrelatable and preachy. I just hope you found this moist, identifiable and accepting of all of your beautiful flaws. So many flaws. I often worried if any of the material was maybe obvious, or something you could stumble across on the second page of Google - then I had a small moment of honesty with myself contemplating my own ignorance, commitment to procrastination, attention span …and the fact that factually just 0.63% of all people searching online, ever bother clicking to the second page of results. If you already knew some of this, good for you. Honestly. You must literally be happy with yourself. I'm just looking in the mirror and trying to do something for the 99.37% of humanity that spend their lives never successfully researching how to not lay awake at night fantasising about their doom. Look forward to the upcoming pocket size book of 'offensively self-destructive jokes' by Dan - or 700-page memoir of my yet un-girthy, mostly unremarkable life so far if that's what you're really looking for.

Perhaps the most terrifying result of releasing this book into the world, has been coming face to face with those of you that have read it. For in these moments, all of my protective self-deprecating persona comes crashing down in an instant when someone says this book made them feel better. Hearing that this book was the first time they finished anything tangentially related to self-improvement, or that just one thing they read was a new perspective on a part of their life they needed, makes me feel my mission in life is already complete. Seeing it be recommended by bookstores amongst all the other choices, hearing that people have shared it with their therapists or had it suggested to them by a professional, is an unbelievable seal of approval that I appreciate. I am so inarticulably grateful to have been given the opportunity to do anything that could make your life easier, more peaceful, more enjoyable. I've met people who annotated this book with post-its, told me they listen to audiobook exercises on their commute - and even a few people that have had illustrations tattooed onto them as a symbolic reminder of a message.

All of this puts that year of typing like some kind of infinite monkey at a typewriter into perspective. I'd do it all again. Mostly. It has been the greatest privilege of my life to be the guy whose name is printed on this book, and I just hope that reading it helped you, as much as writing it helped me.

Love and good luck.

- Dan

[oviraptoridae]

research & development is ongoing

since using jukebox for sampling material on albedo, i've been increasingly interested in ethically using ai as a tool to incorporate more into my own artwork. recently i've been experimenting with "commoncanvas", a stable diffusion model trained entirely on works in the creative commons. though i do not believe legality and ethics are equivalent, this provides me peace of mind that all of the training data was used consensually through the terms of the creative commons license. here's the paper on it for those who are curious! shoutout to @reachartwork for the inspiration & her informative posts about her process!

part 1: overview

i usually post finished works, so today i want to go more in depth & document the process of experimentation with a new medium. this is going to be a long and image-heavy post, most of it will be under the cut & i'll do my best to keep all the image descriptions concise.

for a point of reference, here is a digital collage i made a few weeks ago for the album i just released (shameless self promo), using photos from wikimedia commons and a render of a 3d model i made in blender:

and here are two images i made with the help of common canvas (though i did a lot of editing and post-processing, more on that process in a future post):

more about my process & findings under the cut, so this post doesn't get too long:

quick note for my setup: i am running this model locally on my own machine (rtx 3060, ubuntu 23.10), using the automatic1111 web ui. if you are on the same version of ubuntu as i am, note that you will probably have to build python 3.10.6 yourself (and be sure to use 'make altinstall' instead of 'make install' and change the line in the webui to use 'python3.10' instead of 'python3'. just mentioning this here because nobody else i could find had this exact problem and i had to figure it out myself)

part 2: initial exploration

all the images i'll be showing here are the raw outputs of the prompts given, with no retouching/regenerating/etc.

so: commoncanvas has 2 different types of models, the "C" and "NC" models, trained on their database of works under the CC Commercial and Non-Commercial licenses, respectively (i think the NC dataset also includes the commercial license works, but i may be wrong). the NC model is larger, but both have their unique strengths:

"a cat on the computer", "C" model

"a cat on the computer", "NC" model

they both take the same amount of time to generate (17 seconds for four 512x512 images on my 3060). if you're really looking for that early ai jank, go for the commercial model. one thing i really like about commoncanvas is that it's really good at reproducing the styles of photography i find most artistically compelling: photos taken by scientists and amateurs. (the following images will be described in the captions to avoid redundancy):

"grainy deep-sea rover photo of an octopus", "NC" model. note the motion blur on the marine snow, greenish lighting and harsh shadows here, like you see in photos taken by those rover submarines that scientists use to take photos of deep sea creatures (and less like ocean photography done for purely artistic reasons, which usually has better lighting and looks cleaner). the anatomy sucks, but the lighting and environment is perfect.

"beige computer on messy desk", "NC" model. the reflection of the flash on the screen, the reddish-brown wood, and the awkward angle and framing are all reminiscent of a photo taken by a forum user with a cheap digital camera in 2007.

so the noncommercial model is great for vernacular and scientific photography. what's the commercial model good for?

"blue dragon sitting on a stone by a river", "C" model. it's good for bad CGI dragons. whenever i request dragons of the commercial model, i either get things that look like photographs of toys/statues, or i get gamecube type CGI, and i love it.

here are two little green freaks i got while trying to refine a prompt to generate my fursona. (i never succeeded, and i forget the exact prompt i used). these look like spore creations and the background looks like a bryce render. i really don't know why there's so much bad cgi in the datasets and why the model loves going for cgi specifically for dragons, but it got me thinking...

"hollow tree in a magical forest, video game screenshot", "C" model

"knights in a dungeon, video game screenshot", "C" model

i love the dreamlike video game environments and strange CGI characters it produces-- it hits that specific era of video games that i grew up with super well.

part 3: use cases

if you've seen any of the visual art i've done to accompany my music projects, you know that i love making digital collages of surreal landscapes:

(this post is getting image heavy so i'll wrap up soon)

i'm interested in using this technology more, not as a replacement for my digital collage art, but along with it as just another tool in my toolbox. and of course...

... this isn't out of lack of skill to imagine or draw scifi/fantasy landscapes.

thank you for reading such a long post! i hope you got something out of this post; i think it's a good look into the "experimentation phase" of getting into a new medium. i'm not going into my post-processing / GIMP stuff in this post because it's already so long, but let me know if you want another post going into that!

good-faith discussion and questions are encouraged but i will disable comments if you don't behave yourselves. be kind to each other and keep it P.L.U.R.

[stedes-tarty-pink-robe]

The finale has me thinking about Laszlo and how much kinder he's allowed himself to be as the series goes on. As he said in episode 9, vampires aren't supposed to show care, and besides his open fondness for Nadja and Sean, the Laszlo of the first few seasons fit that mold. He was a creature of self-involvement and pleasure. Then Colin was about to die, and for the first time, Laszlo placed someone else's interests before his own. He befriended and later raised Colin as his own. Sure, he still struggled with opening himself up to Colin and listening to his wishes, but the care was there. And then Baby Colin grew up overnight and forgot their time together. Yet Laszlo couldn't do the same. He couldn't go back to not caring, so when Guillermo was in trouble, of course he helped. I don't think it's a coincidence that he tried to hide his concern for Guillermo under the veneer of scientific curiosity just like he did with Baby Colin. But truth is that he didn't want ANY of his housemates to get hurt, and he liked guiding Guillermo through the vampiric process. He was even gentle with Guillermo in his own Laszlo way, encouraging his powers and even trying to apologize to Guillermo for not being able to fix things. I cannot imagine Season 1 Laszlo apologizing for anything. That's vulnerability. That's opening himself to potential ridicule and pain because Guillermo needed to hear it. All throughout the season, Laszlo's been doing little kindnesses like that. He let Nandor feel important during their night out when he didn't need to. He noticed enough about the Guide to remember the exact date they all complimented her. He helped Guillermo get Derek to the Necromancer when it would have been easier to keep out of it. Laszlo cares, and the longer the show goes on, the harder it is for him to pretend he doesn't. He's more than just a hedonist and questionable man of science. He can be a good friend, too.

[callmedaleelah]

— Pinnacle [ tsukishima kei university au series ]

— i got wasted like all my potential ; after your repeated mistakes, struggles with the lab work, and lack of progress, tsukishima scolds you harshly till you’re breaking down in front of him

author’s notes : no mention of (y/n), written in second person pov, semi alternative universe, timeskip!tsukishima, college life, not proofread, english is not my first language

[ masterlist ] | #daleelahwritings🐭

The air in the lab was always thick with the scent of chemicals, the hum of equipment, and the nervous energy of students trying to avoid mistakes. Each week, the practicum grew more complex. What started as simple measurements and basic reactions quickly escalated into multi-step processes that demanded precision and a deep understanding of biochemistry—both of which you struggled with.

Today’s experiment involved a protein extraction procedure. The lab instructions were dense with scientific jargon that made your head spin. You reread the steps multiple times, trying to make sense of them, but it was like trying to decipher a foreign language. Around you, your classmates were already setting up their stations with practiced ease, moving in groups they had long since formed. You couldn’t help but notice how seamlessly they worked together, exchanging tips and helping each other out.

You glanced over at Tsukishima, who was busy assisting another group with the accuracy of their results. He looked so calm and collected, his tall figure standing out as he leaned over to explain something with a level of patience that was hard to reconcile with the way he always seemed to snap at you.

Determined not to mess up again, you carefully measured out the reagents, trying to remember everything Tsukishima had scolded you about last time. But as you transferred the solution into the centrifuge, your hand slipped, and the liquid spilled across the countertop. Panic surged through you as you frantically tried to clean up the mess, knowing that this mistake would not go unnoticed.

And it didn’t.

Tsukishima’s shadow fell over your station, and you froze, your heart pounding. He let out a long sigh, his frustration palpable. “Are you even trying to read the instructions?” His voice was low but edged with irritation. “I showed you this step just last week. How could you mess it up again?”

You bit your lip, tears threatening to well up in your eyes. The entire class seemed to have paused, all too familiar with the routine by now—another day, another scolding. It felt like everyone was waiting for you to break under the pressure, to finally admit that you didn’t belong here.

But Tsukishima, as harsh as he was, didn’t walk away. Instead, he grabbed another set of reagents and started the process from scratch. “Pay attention this time,” he muttered, demonstrating the steps once more. He moved with the precision and confidence of someone who had done this countless times before. “You need to stop being so careless. This isn’t something you can just half-ass.”

His words stung, but you nodded, forcing yourself to focus on what he was doing. He had a way of making you feel like a complete idiot, yet there was something in the way he didn’t just abandon you that kept you from giving up entirely.

As he handed the equipment back to you, his gaze softened slightly. “If you keep making the same mistakes, you’ll never get this. You need to practice more, or you’re going to fail.”

“I’m trying,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I really am.”

“Try harder,” he snapped, but his tone lacked the usual bite. You couldn’t tell if he was genuinely angry or just tired of seeing you struggle. He watched as you completed the step under his supervision, nodding slightly when you finally managed to do it correctly.

Over the next few weeks, the pattern continued. Each lab session brought a new challenge, and with it, more opportunities to mess up. Whether it was miscalculating concentrations, mixing up solutions, or just getting lost in the labyrinth of complex procedures, it seemed like you were always on the verge of disaster. And Tsukishima, true to form, was always there to call you out on it.

“Did you even check the pH before adding that buffer?” he asked one afternoon, his eyes narrowing as he looked over your notes. “This is basic stuff. You should know better by now.”

You hung your head, feeling the heat of embarrassment rising in your cheeks. It wasn’t just his words; it was the weight of knowing that you were disappointing him again and again.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered, not for the first time.

He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Being sorry isn’t going to help you pass this class. Are you just trying to waste my time?”

His question hit you harder than you expected, and you could feel your throat tighten. You had spent so much time just trying to survive each practicum that you hadn’t really stopped to think about why you were doing this in the first place. But instead of answering, you chose to keep silent, hoping that maybe this time, your apology would be enough to placate him.

Tsukishima remained silent, clearly waiting for you to say more, to give him something to work with. He wanted you to argue back, to tell him what you were struggling with so he could actually help. But when all you offered was another weak, “I’m sorry,” you could see the disappointment flicker in his eyes.

He hissed with tiredness and frustration. “Well then, you’ve got your goal so perfectly. Congratulations on making me waste my time on you.” His tone was bitter, laced with a sharp edge that cut deeper than any of his previous scoldings. “If you’re just going to keep saying ‘sorry’ and not actually try to improve, then maybe you should rethink why you’re even here.”

After his scolding, Tsukishima turned away from you, leaving you to struggle on your own. The weight of his words pressed down on you, making it difficult to focus, but you forced yourself to push through. Determined not to be the failure he saw you as, you stayed long after the other students had left, methodically redoing each experiment that you had messed up earlier.

The lab was eerily quiet, the only sounds being the faint hum of the equipment and your own breath. It took hours, but eventually, you managed to complete the tasks, albeit with trembling hands and an exhausted mind.

You silently placed your lab report on Tsukishima's desk, hoping this ordeal would be over. As you turned away to return to your station and pack up, you heard him flip through the pages. His silence was unnerving, and just as you were about to make your escape, his voice, laced with irritation, stopped you in your tracks.

“Is this your idea of fixing things?” His tone was biting, and you flinched, slowly turning back to face him.

He was staring at the report with a look of deep dissatisfaction. “You’ve been here for hours, and this is the best you can do?”

You felt your heart sink. “I—I tried to—”

“Try harder!” he snapped, his frustration boiling over. He stood up, towering over you, the full weight of his height and anger making you feel small and insignificant. “Do you even care about this? Because right now, it seems like you’re wasting both your time and mine.”

You bit your lip, trying to hold back tears, but his harsh words felt like daggers. “I’m sorry���”

“Stop saying you’re sorry!” he cut you off sharply. “I don’t want apologies. I want results! Do you even understand how much effort it takes to fix your mistakes? And yet, you keep making the same ones over and over. It’s like you’re not even trying to improve.”

The tears you’d been holding back started to well up in your eyes, blurring your vision. You wanted to defend yourself, to explain that you were doing your best, but the words got stuck in your throat. All you could manage was a pathetic, “I’m trying…”

“Trying?” Tsukishima scoffed, his voice dripping with disdain. “If this is your idea of trying, then you’re hopeless. At this rate, you’re going to fail this class, and I’ll be the one who has to watch you flounder around, wasting everyone’s time.”

His words were like a punch to the gut. The tears you’d been fighting so hard to hold back finally spilled over, and you quickly looked down, not wanting him to see.

But it was too late. Tsukishima noticed, and for a moment, his expression flickered with something other than anger—maybe regret, or concern—but it was quickly masked by his frustration. “Crying isn’t going to help either,” he muttered, though his voice had lost some of its edge.

You wiped your eyes with the back of your hand, trying to steady your breathing. You wanted to disappear, to run away from his harsh gaze and never come back. But you were stuck, rooted to the spot by your own shame and helplessness.

He sighed heavily, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “You’re impossible,” he murmured, almost to himself. Then, in a quieter tone, he added, “Why are you even here if this isn’t what you want to do? If you’re just going to half-ass everything and cry whenever things get tough, then maybe you should think about whether this is the right path for you.”

That was the final straw. The weight of everything—your struggles, his harsh words, the pressure from your parents—came crashing down on you all at once. A sob broke free, and before you knew it, you were crying in earnest, the kind of crying that came from deep within, raw and uncontrollable.

Tsukishima looked alarmed, clearly not expecting this reaction. For a moment, he stood frozen, unsure of what to do. But then, awkwardly, he stepped closer to you, hesitating before finally placing a hand on your shoulder. “Hey, stop that,” he said, his voice much softer now, almost gentle. “I didn’t mean to… damn it.”

You couldn’t stop crying, no matter how much you tried to pull yourself together. The stress, the fear, the overwhelming sense of failure—it all came pouring out.

Realizing that his words had done more damage than he intended, Tsukishima, still awkward and hesitant, did the only thing he could think of to comfort you. He pulled you into a hug, his tall frame enveloping you, one hand gently rubbing your back as he murmured a quiet, “I’m sorry.”

You clung to him, the warmth of his embrace and the unexpected softness in his voice finally starting to soothe the raw edges of your emotions. Tsukishima held you, his own heart pounding in his chest, wondering how he’d let things get so out of hand.

As your sobs began to quiet, he pulled back slightly, just enough to look down at you. His usual cold demeanor was gone, replaced by an expression of concern and regret. “I shouldn’t have been so harsh,” he admitted, his voice low. “But you have to understand… I just don’t want to see you fail.”

You sniffled, wiping your eyes with your sleeve, still shaken but calmed by his unexpected kindness. “I… I’ll try harder,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

Tsukishima sighed, his hand still resting on your shoulder. “Just… don’t push yourself too hard, okay?” He paused, looking down at you with something softer in his gaze. “We’ll get through this, together.”

He sighed, letting go of you and running a hand through his hair. “Look, just… try not to take everything so personally. I’m hard on you because I want you to do well. If I didn’t care, I wouldn’t bother.”

You blinked up at him, surprised by his honesty. “You… care?”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t read too much into it. I just don’t want to see you fail.”

Despite his words, you couldn’t help but feel a small spark of hope ignite in your chest. Maybe, just maybe, there was more to Tsukishima’s grumpy exterior than he let on. And maybe, if you kept trying, you could prove to him—and to yourself—that you were capable of more than just making mistakes.

[cuubism]

Made in an Instant (1/5)

part 3 of Wish, aka Dream's eldritch pregnancy

--

Hob had thought he knew what he was getting into with regards to pregnancy. He had seen it twice with Eleanor, after all. Not to mention having plenty of friends, family members, and acquaintances who had been pregnant over the years. Granted, things were more scientifically advanced and better understood nowadays, but such a fundamental human bodily process didn’t exactly change over time. And sure, Dream wasn’t human, but his pregnancy couldn’t be that different, right? So much of him was made up of the human unconscious, which included understandings of pregnancy. Right?

Boy was he wrong.

“He’s being a terror,” Matthew says, hopping at Hob’s side. They’re standing at the edge of the throne room, watching Dream loudly upbraid some tiny little pathetically harmless looking dream. Hob doesn’t know exactly what this is about, but he knows Dream has been kind of… erratic, lately. More than he usually is, being a dream and all.

It’s been several months now since Dream revealed his strange and improbable pregnancy and Hob hasn’t noticed any of the usual first trimester signs. Not that he knows if there are trimesters here. He doesn’t know fucking shit.

Dream is being erratic, though.

“You told him that?” he says to Matthew.

“Fuck no. I like not being bird stew.”

That does seem like a more likely than usual outcome, considering.

“It’s probably pregnancy hormones,” he says. Not that he knows if Dream has hormones. He hasn’t even been able to get a straight answer on whether Dream has a uterus now. He’d asked, and Dream had just said, you are assuming I did not have one before, which raised several questions and answered none.

Matthew squawks hysterically. “You can say that to his face if you want, dude. I’ll give your eulogy.”

Across the room, Dream yells, “I am NOT! ANGRY!”

Yells. Dream doesn’t yell. He Speaks With Ultimate Authority, when required. He doesn’t yell.

He’s yelling now.

“I simply need you to—” he continues, at incredible volume, as the poor dream that’s done whatever to piss him off cowers pitifully, and Hob decides to intercede before it gets out of control.

He strides over to the throne, and takes Dream by the arm. “Hey, Dream, I need your help for a moment, love.” And before Dream can protest, he practically drags him out of the throne room. Dream goes, seeming too surprised to argue.

“What ails you?” he asks as they stop in a side hallway, looking at Hob with all seriousness as if Hob might really be plagued by some terrible problem.

“Nothing. I just wanted to talk to you for a second. What’s going on?” He squeezes Dream’s hands. “Looks like you were scaring that little dream in there witless. Did he do something so terrible?”

“Scaring him?” says Dream, looking back towards the throne room as if only just now realizing how loud he was being. “That was not my intent,” he continues, deflating. “I am finding my patience to be… shorter. Than usual.”

“I could tell.”

Dream bristles, but Hob rubs his hands up and down his arms, soothing him. He’s not going to mention the pregnancy hormones, he’s not, Matthew is absolutely right about that being a surefire way to get his head bitten off.

Dream hasn’t been talking about it much at all, really. And Hob’s been trying not to press, because he knows Dream will be irritated if he feels Hob is treating him differently. They’ve continued on mainly as they were, seeing each other when Dream is available, going on dates and having sex or just laying about in Hob’s flat.

It’s fine, Hob tries to tell himself, to act like it’s all normal. It’s better than scaring Dream off with overprotectiveness and mother-henning.

“You want to take a walk with me?” he asks, offering Dream his hand.

Dream frowns. “You will likely wake soon.”

“All the more reason.”

Dream finally takes his hand, and Hob leads him through a door, one which leads, of course, right out into the flower gardens instead of dropping them ten stories down from the castle, as would be reasonable. Nothing in the Dreaming is reasonable, and Hob loves that.

Dream is quiet, more so than usual, as they walk through the hordes of wildflowers. There’s a pinch in his brow that suggests he’s thinking about something, perhaps deliberating on whether to say it. When Hob is finally about to break and ask what, Dream says, the words slow, but the question measured: “Are you not… happy about this?”

Hob blinks hard. Tries to go back through their earlier conversation and figure out where that jumped off from. “What?”

“I had expected that you would be… involved. Perhaps overly so,” Dream says, looking down. “At the beginning, you warned me that I might feel smothered, and yet I have found it to be very much the opposite. Nothing seems changed, if anything I cannot help but feel you have been distant from me.” He sounds sad as he speaks, but then his voice ticks up, as if anticipating a fight. “So I ask again, are you unhappy? Speak now if so, for I will not bring a child into—”

Hob listens to this in increasing horror, then finally manages to interject, “Dream, whoa. Whoa, easy. Pause a moment.” Christ, how has he been so far off base? He pulls Dream close, kisses the side of his head, speaks against his skin, holding him tight. “I’m not distant from you. I’m not trying to be. I just thought you would hate being treated any differently. I didn’t want you to think I felt you were incapable of living your normal life.”

Dream considers this. “You are not unhappy, then?”

Hob squeezes him tight, rocks him back and forth where they’re standing. Good work, Hob, he thinks. Make assumptions. See where that gets you. “I’m so happy. You’ve no idea how happy I am.”

Dream smiles and, if Hob’s not imagining it, all the flowers around them seem to bloom a little brighter.

“I’m so sorry, love,” Hob says, kissing his cheek. “Don’t go unhappy without saying something, yeah?”

Dream nods seriously, then takes Hob’s hand again as they continue their walk through the garden.

“You were not entirely wrong,” he concedes. “I admit that I would take offense if strangers or even my subjects were to treat me differently. But I am finding my feelings on the matter to be… different, when it comes to my husband.”

Hob pulls him close by the arm until Dream’s leaning against him. “You’ve no idea how much I’ve actually been wanting to coddle you,” he admits. “You deserve everything. You know that, right?”

“Mmm. As you say.”

“As I say,” Hob says, firm, and Dream chuckles.

“You have to tell me what to watch out for, though,” Hob adds. “This isn’t exactly a normal case. I don’t think helping with morning sickness is going to cut it.”

“I am fine,” says Dream. “I do not care to be nauseated, so I am not.”

“Sure, of course it works that way for you.” Mind over matter, Hob thinks. Or, mind only, no matter at all.

“The baby, likewise, feels fine,” Dream adds.

“I wouldn’t think the baby was developed enough to be feeling much of anything, right now, but I’m glad they’re doing okay.”

“That is where you are wrong,” says Dream.

Hob turns to look at him. “Come again?”

“While it is true that the baby’s ‘physical form’ is poorly developed at this time”—he says ‘physical form’ like it needs quotation marks, perhaps in the same way Dream’s own physical form requires quotation marks—“her emotions are strong and varied, if imprecise.”

“Did you say her?” Hob demands. How has this not come up? “How could you possibly know it’s a her?”

“I simply know,” says Dream solemnly.

While Hob tries to internalize this, as well as the fact that Dream can apparently feel the baby’s emotions, Dream adds, “It was not something I knew until quite recently. Not until the child herself did.”

That sounds like a lot of self-awareness for a child that’s about negative six months old, in Hob’s opinion. He has no idea what that bodes. He’s also realizing just how little they’ve really talked about it, and feels abruptly so much worse—he’d wanted to avoid making Dream feel like the only thing he wanted to talk about was the pregnancy, like he didn’t care about all of the other things that Dream is and does. But Dream’s in uncharted waters here, and Hob’s essentially left him out there alone.

“Tell me about it?” he says now, still holding Dream close by the arm. “You can feel her emotions?”

“I can feel her consciousness, and her power as it forms,” Dream says, sounding content now. “The Dreaming cradles her, and keeps her power safe, and controlled, as it develops.”

“It could get out of control?” Hob doesn’t particularly like the sound of the baby’s power, whatever it is, trying to war with Dream’s.

“As she grows, it is a possibility, but I can manage it,” says Dream. “My realm is, and will remain, far vaster, for she is part human.”

“Not Endless?” Hob asks. Having seen what Dream goes through, he’s not sure he would want the baby to be Endless. It seems an unenviable job.

“No. Not to that level,” says Dream. “Were she Endless, she could not have been conceived by us. But she does have a locus of power, a feeling that she harnesses… it is still coalescing and I am not yet certain of it. I can show you?”

This is said with some hope, as if he truly thinks Hob might not want to see it. “Can you do that?”

“In a sense.” He stops in the middle of the garden path, takes Hob’s hand and presses it to his stomach, under his shirt, skin to skin. He doesn’t feel pregnant at all, his stomach is completely flat—not that Hob would have expected much to show at this point even if he were human.

“Listen,” Dream says, and then— he must stop shielding the magic or something, because suddenly Hob can feel it.

A shimmering in the air around them. A swirling, ephemeral magic like iridescence on a soap bubble, like twinkling lights. A warm breeze gusts over him, carrying with it the smell of chocolate and candle smoke. Dream’s magic too can be whimsical and strange, but this is different, it’s bright and quick and oh-so-fleeting.

“Wow,” Hob murmurs, mesmerized, as Dream stands watching him, the breeze dragging his coat to the side. He’s not sure… he’s not sure this felt real to him, not until this moment. He’s not sure he truly believed it was happening. “You can feel that all the time?”

“Except for when she is sleeping, yes.”

“You’re incredible, Dream,” Hob says, and Dream fidgets, uncomfortable with the praise.

“It is not my magic,” he says.

“No, but you’re helping her manage it. And handling your own realm at the same time.”

“It is what I must do,” says Dream.

Hob leans in to kiss him, just lightly on the mouth, and Dream smiles. Then Hob pulls him close again, wraps an arm around his waist, releasing his hold on his belly and on the magic, which fades away back into the background hum of the Dreaming. “I love you,” he says. “You know?”

“I believe I do,” says Dream, dipping his head, looking pleased. And they continue walking on through the Dreaming gardens.

--

Another few months tick by. Dream comes to the Waking world more often—apparently “it’s quieter there than in the Dreaming”—though his work still keeps him busy, as always. Hob tries to distract him with casual outings, and by making him the few foods that he tends to eat, and encourages him to rest as much as he can.

Whenever Dream’s away, Hob’s been baby-proofing his flat. He’s well-aware that he’s going to be doing the bulk of the childcare, at least while the baby is awake. For better or worse, Dream basically is his job, and can hardly just bail at any time to do whatever he wants. Fortunately, Hob can—and he’s kind of looking forward to just dropping work for a year to spend time with the baby. It’s not something he’s ever done before, devote all his time to raising a child. It’ll be an adventure.

Maybe a little bit of a nightmare, too.

One good thing: with Dream as a parent, he’s not going to have to worry about the baby sleeping through the night. Thank fuck. He can imagine Dream at work in the Dreaming, their dreaming daughter strapped to his chest in a baby carrier and playing with some horrific looking doll Dream’s made out of dream sand. It’s an absurd but adorable image. The baby watching as Dream creates nightmares. Lording over the throne room as he disciplines his dreams. Babbling as Dream holds diplomatic negotiations with Lucifer—

“I shall not be taking our daughter to Hell,” says Dream, appearing behind him. Hob doesn’t jump, this time. He’s used to it by now, his gremlin of a husband.

“I think you like being sneaky,” he says, not even getting up from where he’s sitting on the ground, power drill in hand, halfway through building a crib. “Little stalker, you. Spying on my daydreams.”

“They were concerning,” says Dream, sitting down crosslegged on the floor beside him. He doesn’t help Hob with the crib, though, which is for the best as Hob can’t for his life imagine Dream wielding power tools.

He drives another screw into one of the crib legs, the drill’s loud whirring briefly drowning out their ability to talk. “I know you’re not going to take her to Hell. You know that I know you’re not going to take her to Hell.”

“Very well,” concedes Dream. “You have caught me out. I simply wanted to visit.”

“Don’t need an excuse, love.” Hob leans over to kiss him on the cheek. “Always want you here. Come and demand love any time you want.”

“‘Demand love,’” Dream mutters, as if that’s not exactly what he’s doing, what he wants. Like a cat that plops itself in your lap without so much as a hello.

“It’s yours to demand,” Hob says, and puts down the drill. The crib still only has two legs, but it’s standing, technically. Well, more like leaning. Eh, he’ll finish it later.

He scoots back against the base of the couch, and pulls Dream unceremoniously into his lap. Dream looks peeved about the manhandling but immediately curls up, tucking his head into Hob’s shoulder.

Hob pets up and down his side, and Dream vanishes his own coat back into sand, presumably to facilitate this touch. He’s so adorable.

“You know, it is a little sad you don’t have a proper baby bump,” Hob says. Dream would be showing by now if he was human, but his belly is the same as ever.

Dream says, “Mmph.” Actually enunciates Mmph, all disgruntled.

“It would be cute,” Hob insists.

“It would be annoying,” says Dream.

“Just for a little bit,” Hob counters. “You’d have the literal rest of eternity not to deal with it anymore. I think it’s fair trade for the cuteness.”

“I could show you the ‘cuteness’ of such bodily changes if you like,” Dream says darkly, though he doesn’t move from where his face is still planted in Hob’s shoulder, so he can’t be that peeved.

“…I genuinely can’t tell if you just mean you’re going to make me dream about the horrors of pregnancy, or if you actually want to impregnate me.”

Dream is silent for several very long moments. “Which would you prefer?”

And hell if that question doesn’t make something very strange flip around in Hob’s stomach. “One baby at a time, love,” he manages, voice almost a squeak.

Dream looks up at him, his expression hot and considering. But all he says is, “hmm,” before settling down again. Gonna go trawl through alllllll of Hob’s fantasies when he gets home, Hob bets. Monster.

“I could have crafted a more elegant cradle of dreams,” Dream informs him then, because he really is apparently in a pissy little mood. Hob’s inclined to give him more leeway about it right now, though—not that he doesn’t give him miles of it anyway.

“Oi,” he protests. “This is a perfectly serviceable crib! Besides, you don’t have to do everything.”

“It has but two legs,” Dream says of the crib.

“It’s incomplete.” Hob taps Dream’s belly. “And it doesn’t need to be complete until that’s complete. Worry about your part of things and I’ll worry about mine.”

“I will strive to,” Dream says. Then sighs. “It was not only my choice to visit today. I was becoming a distraction in the Dreaming. Or so I was told. By many.”

“They kicked you out?”

“They strongly encouraged”—it has the sound of a Lucienne quote—“me to leave for a break.”

It’s probably not the worst thing in the world. “Normally I’d expect a whole thunderstorm when you’re told that.”

“It irritated me greatly,” Dream agrees, either ignoring or just missing the gentle ribbing in Hob’s tone, “but I did not want to cause chaos. This is a delicate time for her.”

Hob can just hear Matthew’s reaction to that line in his head—oh you don’t want to cause chaos for the BABY? what are we, chopped liver?—but doesn’t mention it to Dream. “I think a lack of thunderstorms is probably best all around.” He cards his hand through Dream’s hair. “So’s you taking a break. You work too hard, you know.”

This is true always, but it seems even more true right now. Why he seems to be working harder while also dealing with the stresses of pregnancy, Hob doesn’t know. He doesn’t have anything to prove.

“You can take a step back for a while if you want,” he adds. “Nobody will think less of you, I promise.”

Well, maybe some of the more distant Dreaming residents, Hob doesn’t really know them all—but not those who truly see Dream. Hell, Lucienne and Matthew will probably be fucking thrilled if Dream takes a sabbatical.

“I believe I will after she is born,” Dream says, which Hob takes as its own small victory—even if he suspects it’s more because it’s what Dream thinks is best for the baby, rather than because he truly believes in letting himself rest. “For now, I am trying to ensure enough work is complete that it will be possible.”

“Don’t burn yourself out, darling,” Hob says. “Do it for my sake, so I don’t have to worry about you.”

“Perhaps I enjoy when you worry about me,” Dream murmurs, winding his arms tighter around Hob’s waist. “That I know you are thinking of me.”

“I’m always thinking of you,” Hob says.

Dream hums in pleasure, smiling against Hob’s throat. He would claim all of Hob’s attention if he could. Already does, pretty much.

“Sure you’re going to be able to share me with the baby?” he teases. “Babies require a lot of attention, you know.”

“Are you implying I could be jealous of my own daughter?”

“You could be jealous of a plant if I spent more than two seconds watering it instead of admiring your glory.”

“You will admire her glory, once you see it,” says Dream. And Hob can’t wait for that.

He holds Dream for a time. Eventually he has to insist they get up, as his legs are falling asleep, and unwinds Dream—who’s wound himself around Hob not unlike a plant himself—from him to maneuver him up to the couch. Dream curls against him again and sleeps, in the fashion that he does—something he only does when he truly is tired. Hob doesn’t wake him, not even when his limbs started to fall asleep again. Instead he cherishes this one small moment when Dream is letting himself rest.

[n3ptun3e]

—SUNSHINE BOY!

shisui uchiha x reader + headcanons

how shisui would eventually fall in love with you!

notes: listen, i’m no writer and my english is kind of shit, but desperate times call for desperate measures and i’m starving for cute shisui content with no inc3st in it, so this was born!! please enjoy it!

honestly? i just did this because it’s too fun to decorate the posts

You two became friends in the short period he was in the academy speed running through classes. He was pretty popular just like any other clan kid with the prodigy title, and since the whole “ostracize the uchiha clan” didn’t happen yet, at least not as obvious as it was in the series, the both of you would train or just spend lunch together, probably invites you to his house. Training in a secluded part of the forest and having deep talks would be one of his favorite activities to do with you. He loves loves to delve into the depths of other people’s minds and try to figure them out, what makes you act this way, your thought process, how does your mind works? he wants to know this because he wants to know the real you, to understand the puzzle that you are, it’s his way to show that he cares, otherwise he wouldn’t keep you as close as you are. He probably doesn’t even realize his thoughts are way more…technical? for scientific purposes only☝🏻 than your average person, because he’s a prodigy and all that, so he can come off as a little bit blunt (though as he grows up he’s much more suave and smooth when sharing his thoughts. Clan meetings and political bullshit does that to someone) but he has the bestest intentions in mind being the altruist that he is. He’s a curious and smart boy!!!

Either way, he likes to spend time with you, you saw the real him, not shisui the prodigy, shunshin no shisui, or the “weird and show off guy”, but him. If he had any other friends besides you, they would be gone once the kyuubi attack happens. Konoha doesn’t have the best education, so the kids would just follow what their parents told them and some adults already didn’t like him, so there really wasn’t anyone else around. It’s around this time that he met Itachi, seeing a glimpse of him and his long dead friend on the child, he decides to take him under his wing.

I’m not sure if it’s canon, but it’s stated in some places that he unlocked his mangekyõ because of his teammate, his friend that was more powerful than him, shisui was envious, jealous even. one day on a mission his friend got hurt and needed assistance, but shisui as team captain decided to follow through with the mission and his friend ended up dying. and THAT’S the crucial moment where he’s going to need someone the most. He’s a uchiha, they have big hearts and just feel more, much more than your average person, the blame crushes him, he’s already a gentle soul who is forced to kill others for his own village, and to make matters worse they are in war times, you saw how obito and naruto turned out very different because of it right? that, plus the start of the apparent hate and suspicion of the village towards his clan, makes way for rumors, “he’s an Uchiha, what else would we expect from him…? you should be careful, they are not to be trusted”. I imagine his clan would push and pressure him to become more powerful, to “Bring pride into the clan” moving him up in the ranks, making him enter anbu as a child even if he’s already a jõnin.

He just breaks, childish glint in his eyes gone, so he comes to you, “i didn’t know where else to go…” he breaks down in your arms, silent tears falling from his eyes as he clings onto you, his grip tight as if you would disappear at any moment, his only friend that didn’t left him. All the tension and adrenaline from battle would eventually leave his body as he relaxes, letting out all his frustrations away, feeling so fucking tired, body getting out of survival mode, his thoughts and feelings finally getting to him, you hug him tight and strokes his unruly dark curls, soothing hand on his back and whispering calming and reassuring words in his ear, his tears in your shirt slowly turn red, and when you pull away to dry his tears you gasp as you see the intricate pattern on his bleeding red eyes.

THAT’S when you two become even more close. Shisui was always caring and protective of you, but now as you two have grown up he gets even worse, always having a hand on you, arm around your shoulder as he teases you, giving you a little wink before flicking off existence. god, when he finally perfects the body flicker he becomes a menace, appearing out of nowhere inches away from your face, blowing out a puff of air into the back of your neck as you almost rips him in half thinking it was a enemy ninja, cheeks burning red. Though it’s undeniable how your heart beats quicker and smile warms up as he leaves, he’s always there to cheer you up and support you, he’s loyal okay? you have been there for him and now he’s going to follow you for the rest of your life, you feel like safety to him, a light in the dark, he trusts you with his life. he would never EVER left you behind (only if you asked him to, but duh why would you dummy), especially on missions, he will bring you back alive even if he has to sacrifice himself for it.

i know it’s obvious but PHYSICAL TOUCH!!!! it’s his way of communicating affection alright? hugging, ruffling your hair after training, THE UCHIHA POKE, you name it, he especially likes to put a arm around your shoulders and lean close to you, teasing you about whatsoever, whispering in your ear about the random guy on your right hitting on the lady next to him, chuckling and laughing to yourselves, you don’t even notice when he has a hand around you anymore because it just feels natural at this point, it gives him a excuse to be so close to you. Also looves to spend time with you, it’s kind of hard since the both are you are busy with missions but he would always use shunshin to see you, especially during breaks on the uchiha military police forces, asking you to have lunch with him, his treat! he’s a gentleman okay? Sometimes he would appear and gently put a kanzashi 簪 (hair ornaments used in traditional Japanese hairstyles) in your hair, saying it reminded him of the color of your eyes, he would always do that, giving you thoughtful gifts he would find along his missions, smiling at you as he says “i knew it would suit you” it means you look pretty in it.

His touch starts to linger more than necessary, appearing out of nowhere always with a warm hand on you. God he always runs so hot? maybe it’s because he’s a uchiha but his body temperature is high. Shuffling closer to him when you both go on a mission in the middle of winter, a teasing smile on his face as he asks “what was that?” a eyebrow raised in amusement, though he quickly chuckles and opens his arms, hugging you close, making jokes so you don’t feel awkward. He’s just so gentle and soft with you, stroking your hair as you both fall asleep. Always blushing if you reciprocate his barely hidden affections. He’s shy on these matters okay? i imagine him being just like minato but with the determination and sense of humor of naruto. so he can be all serious and in mission mode but if you pass him by and gives him a smile he’s all smiley and red cheeks, sheepishly expression on his face with a hand scratching the back of his head, snsksuzysowb cute. Sometimes he would look at Itachi and Sasuke interacting, imagining how it would be like if one day he ends up building a family with you, it’s one of his favorite daydreams jakajansja definitely a family guy. Yearning for the feeling of coming back home after a long mission and sink into your arms, sighing as he feels how soft, warm and alive you feel, he would do anything to keep you that way, even if he’s not the one you love, being able to be by your side is enough, at least that’s what he tells himself.

It would take a while for a confession tbh, he doesn’t want to lose you or ruin the friendship you both have, would probably talk about it with Itachi, sighing and telling him for the hundredth time if he should tell you or not. itachi’s already tired from this bullshit, staring at his cousin with a deadpan expression “i do believe it would be for the best if you finally told her how you feel” he would repeat, for the millionth time.

I doubt he would like or even look at somebody else in the same way he looks at you, he’s a uchiha and they feel deep, so when he falls, he falls hard, he’s a racional, loyal and busy guy, he wouldn’t even have time for romance outside of his barely there free time that he spends with you >:) so i really don’t think he’s the type to get with someone just because of their appearance or frivolous things like that, he needs the connection, heart, love and trust, so it takes time.

HE’S A JELLY GUY, not overly so, and would never seriously harm someone because of it, BUT HE IS he may not look like it, but if he sees a guy getting too close to comfort with you he’ll pop out of nowhere between you and the man, hugging you from the back and talking with the both of you, hands stroking your sides gently, or just pulling his arm around your shoulders, acting all friendly. You probably don’t even notice he’s actually jealous because he’s too smooth about it (and because you are trying to hide your blush from him).

By the way, you and itachi are friends! he’s a cute kiddo that follows shisui around, and he also has a little shadow following him (lil sasuke) it’s the cutest thing to see Shisui waving at you with a big grin on his face, eyes crinkling with happiness, a little shadow behind him, and a even more tiny figure following behind just like little ducks following their mother lolol.

Eventually shisui would have the guts to finally tell you how he feels, but only after a long while, probably when the whole uchiha fiasco ends (AND IT ENDS WITH EVERYBODY ALIVE) he would be so relieved and happy that his family and the village now are all safe and in peace that he would decide to finally take a step forward and be honest with you, he’d plan everything too, choosing your favorite place and all kinds of things that make you smile awww it would be perfect. You would blush, having at least a suspicion with the way he acts around you, not being able to contain your smile, putting your hands on his cheeks, gently caressing them, his ridiculously long eyelashes brushing against your thumbs as his eyes flutter at your touch, his own cheeks red. When you say “i love you” back, he would be so happy and excited he wouldn’t stop grinning, cheeks almost hurting from how happy he felt, taking you by the waist and spinning you around, the both of you laughing as he does so, just like when you were children, it feels like being home. Time seems to stop as you two gaze at each other, him staring at you with the softest eyes, carefully putting you down on the ground, running his fingers through your hair and saying one more time, “i love you” before his hand travels to your jaw, caressing and tracing the skin there, slowly inching his face closer until you feel his warm breath on your face, brushing his lips lightly against yours, leaving you breathless, fluttering your eyes close, he presses his lips harder against yours as you don’t pull away, sighing and pulling you impossibly close, one hand on your waist softly stroking your skin, the other on the back of your neck, playing with your hair as he finally gets to taste the lips of the girl he longed for all those years.

notes: oh wow that took much longer than i thought it would? what the hell i started to write this at night and now it’s MORNING ughhh i hope you guys like it, we need to keep the shisui simps people alive! happy new years for all of you!

reviews, likes and reblogs are much appreciated! thank you very much!

[stellanix]

something i saw once that has stuck with me ever since was a comment on a post about some scientific discovery made by the mars rover perseverance that said "why are we wasting time looking at rocks when we should be preparing for colonization?

another comment was on a post about the environmental issues surrounding the spacex launch site in southern texas, which said "human expansion to mars delayed to protect some turtles"

and comments like these perplexed me. space is a subject of science, and people interested in space are always talking about the wonders of the unknown, and how many fascinating and beautiful things are out there. so how could people interested in space be so fundamentally uncaring and incurious not only about the places they're supposedly interested in, but about nature in general?

it's not just random people in twitter replies who are like this. elon musk once posted this picture:

thing is, that's not mars, that's the moon during a lunar eclipse (when sunlight tinted red after passing through earth's atmosphere lights up the moon in earth's shadow). you'd think that someone known for wanting to bring people, himself included, to mars would care enough about mars to at least know what it looks like, but apparently not

he also rather infamously says he wants to nuke the ice caps of mars to warm the planet up. the ice caps of mars look like this, by the way (image credit: ESA/DLR/FU Berlin/Aster Cowart):

they are beautiful places, that hold an irreplaceable scientific record of the geologically recent martian climate, and are shaped by unique processes. there's no other place quite like them in our solar system. but elon musk thinks we should nuke them. again, no care, no curiosity

nothing has made me feel jaded and cynical about the entire enterprise of spaceflight quite like learning that the people ultimately in charge of it and funding it don't give a shit about space. it's not just elon musk. space nerds love quoting kennedy's "we choose to go the moon" speech as inspiration, but kennedy is also on record saying "I'm not that interested in space" in a conversation where he was arguing to the nasa administrator that they should prioritize beating the soviets to the moon over space science. no curiosity, only a desire for geopolitical showmanship and maintaining hegemony. it's the same thing when many modern politicians only seem to care about space exploration as a way of keeping a technological lead over china

this leaves the people who do genuinely love and care about space in an awkward position. they basically have two choices: A) become jaded and give up on space exploration, or at least parts of it (abandoning human spaceflight but maintaining interest in robotic science missions, for example) or B) give in. work with military contractors. spout the jingoistic rhetoric that the politicians writing the checks want to hear, even if you don't believe it. go along with the colonialist ideology, the hypercapitalism, and the extractivism. sell your soul for pictures of mars and let your passions be exploited for the ends of powerful people who don't care

the sad reality is that our society only values those things deemed useful or profitable. we hear it all the time. the idea that schools should only teach things useful for jobs, that people who try to make a living in fields like art, the humanities, or philosophy are all getting useless degrees and will inevitably end up stuck working retail, and of course, the idea that space exploration is a waste of time and money

space nerds are often deeply insecure about their greatest passion, because it's true, space exploration offers no immediate practical benefit. but they still love space and want to explore it

so they believe the lies. they repeat the colonialist ideology. they say there's money in mining asteroids, that we can terraform planets and let number go up forever. they let themselves be exploited by companies and governments that see everything in the universe and all the people in it as things to be used, and that will ultimately chew them up and spit them out if it's expedient to do so. and those who reject the ideology and keep their love for the cosmos pure often find themselves with no place in the project of space exploration

i don't know how to fix this, but i do hope that i will live to see the day when our curiosity and interest and love for the wider universe is valued for its own sake, and no longer shackled by colonialism, capitalism, and political ambitions

[russellsppttemplates]

Your mummy is my hero (Lance Stroll)

Lance and Y/N continue their journey into parenthood

Note: english is not my first language. Like the last pieces, this piece is written from experiences I know and not from such a scientific point of view, so it is probable that there are some mistakes as I'm not a doctor. Still, I've tried to treat this as respectfully as possible as this is very close to my heart.

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!

my masterlist

Tw: mentions endometriosis, fertility issues and treatments and associated topics (needles, blood), pregnancy, baby feeding

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog

"Hey, darling", Lance greeted, setting the wooden spoon on the counter and wiping his hands on the towell by the cabinets, "how was your day?", he walked up to you, placing his hands on your waist as pulling you to him close enough so he could kiss you, "it was good, but I'm really tired, like, really really tired", you hummed before blushing at your own admission.

Lately, the smallest efforts, both physical and cognitive, were leaving you with a tiredness you couldn't recognise. Pairing that with the fact that Lance had been extra doting on you since the transfer, which meant cosy nights in his chest always available for you to lay on, there hadn't been a night in the last week where you hadn't been in bed by the time the news finished on the TV.

"And you managed to eat lunch?", he asked, walking back to the stove so he could finish plating up the food he just cooked, "yes, it was fine. I think this whole eating and going to bed routine, as lovely as it is, is not agreeing with my stomach", you shrugged.

Approaching him so it would be your turn to hug him, you positioned yourself so you could get close enough to his neck, kissing the thin skin there and whispering in his ear, "am I crazy if I think this means our little bun is making themselves warm and cosy in my uterus?".

"I think it's okay, because I'm hopeful, too", he whispered back, smiling as he kissed your cheek, "tomorrow we will know for sure", Lance offered, "until then, I have one of your favourite dishes and some cuddles that hopefully won't turn your tummy upside down", he smiled, holding your plate out so you could bring it to the table and you could both eat dinner.

.

"Dr. Marlin will call you shortly", one of the nurses informed as she escorted you out the the room she had taken your blood in, smiling warmly at Lance.

"Everything okay?", your husband asked, "yes, at this point, I don't even mind it", you reassured him, holding his hand in yours, "whatever happens today, we'll get through it, okay?", he whispered. Even though he cried happy tears when you had the transfer, he had gotten back to be the strong person in the process. He was the one caring for you and making sure you were both standing with your feet on the ground, regulating any emotions and allowing you to breakdown every time you needed to, never failing to bring the smile back to your face.

"I have your results back", Dr. Marlin said once you had sat down and had small talk, "congratulations, Y/N! You're pregnant", she announced.

Lance was quick to pull you to his side, hugging you as best as he could and kissing the side of your head as you cried, "I'm sorry, but these good news are also a lot to take in", you chuckled, wiping the tears with your thumbs before looking at Dr. Marlin, sensing she wanted to carry on.

"It's okay to feel like this, it's completely normal", she offered, "while this is still early, so we have to be careful, your levels looks really good", she pointed the screen so you could see your results and the interval they have to be for successful procedures, "everything is looking good, your HCG levels are very good even. You already know the risks and what you should keep an eye out for, but so far, we are headed in the right direction, congratulations!".

After prescribing you prenatal vitamins and booking the next appointment, Dr. Marlin sent you both on your way to enjoy the rest of the afternoon, "I love you", Lance said once you sat in the passengers seat, kissing your lips passionately, "I love you, too, handsome, so much", you smiled, cupping his cheek softly and rubbing the skin with your thumb quickly before he moved so he could close the door.

.

"And then I was like 'wait, I've learnt how to do this in a better way!', so I gathered the things I needed and so far, it's going along well", you said as you walked around the bedroom, grabbing your underwear from the drawer and putting it on, untying your robe's belt as you walked to the head of the bed so you could grab and put your pyjamas on, "and what about you?", you asked your husband, "did they change the shape on the front wing?", you asked, taking off the robe completely.

"Yes, they ran some tests and it looks promising, and I also d- woah", he gasped, adjusting his position onto the bed, "it wasn't there last night", he whispered, rolling on the bed so he could approach you, his head in line with your midsection.

"What wasn't th- oh", you noticed, too. The swell under your boobs was prominent. Not like whenever you had a little bit too much of your mother's cooking or whenever your period left you feeling heavier, but rather like a baby bump.

"It still feels surreal", you whispered, pulling your shorts all the way up so they sat lowly on your hips and sitting on the bed next to Lance, his hand going straight to caress your skin while you pulled the thin material on to rest just under your boobs, "our little one is growing, made themselves cosy and warm inside mummy? You're very clever already", he spoke to the bump as his hands continued their ministrations on your skin, pressing his lips above your belly button and leaving small kisses there, "you still have a long way to grow, but mummy and daddy are here so excited to meet you, love".

.

"She's growing my baby, and I don't mean this to sound so animalistic - maybe it's that instinct though -, but she's growing our baby that we made together and she's the best, she's taking everything like a champion. I know that there are hard days, but she's still doing it 24/7", Lance said.

"Well, it's not something you can tag out or have a break", Chloe retorted despite knowing where her younger brother was getting at.

"I know, but- she's been through a lot, we've been through a lot, and we're finally so close to meeting our daughter", he admitted.

You didn't want to make a big fuss around it, but you insisted on gathering both families for a dinner to celebrate your baby and to spend some time together before your routines changed. You and Lance spoke to a caterer who delivered the food at your place while Chloe, Scotty and your husband set the big table while you played with your nephew, the little boy forever entertained with your games and occasionally kissing your clothed bump like he had seen his uncle do so many times.

When Chloe brought the small box with balloons, her smile was beaming, "open it, open it! I'm very proud of myself for not taking a peak, but please, open it!", your sister in law beamed, clapping her hands as the rest of the family members waited expectantly for you and Lance to rip the tape and lift the lid of the box.

When you did so and it revealed lavender coloured balloons with silver writing announcing "it's a girl!", everyone cheered and clapped, Lance hugging you as one hand travelled to your bump whole the other pulled your closer, "ready to be a girl dad?", you teased, kissing his chin, "I was born ready for this, my love".

Knowing you were carrying his little girl made Lance even more attentive to you, if that was possible, and it brought out an even softer side of him. He tried to be there for all the appointments he could, had organised a list with you so you could both have input in what you'd need to buy for your baby girl, and anytime he saw something he liked and thought "she absolutely needs to have this", he would bring it home along with your favourite dessert in a take out bag.

"I'm back", you announced as you walked back into the living room, "hopefully she'll let me sit for longer than an hour and not use my bladder like a dance floor", you chuckled, seeing Lance open his arms so you could sit next to him as he hugged you sideways.

"Have you thought about names? I remember me and Scotty went back and forth with so many names until we found the one that felt right", Chloe questioned.

"We have a list with a couple of them", you began, "and we're set on one, Addalynn. It's a strong name, we can do Addy for a short nickname", you explained, rubbing your bump as you felt her kick, "and she seems to like it, too! She always wiggles harder whenever we say it!".

.

The rumble in the corridor was practically unheard inside your hospital room as Lance exited the bathroom after washing his hands, looking over to you and seeing your sleeping figure. The labour had, as expected, taken a lot of energy from you, so after the medical team made sure you were in good health and after you fed your babygirl, they urged you to rest for a little bit, reassuring you that they'd be around if anything happened.

"Hey, little love", Lance cooed, noticing his daughter give a little scrunch in her bassinet and prompting him to take her out and hold her against his chest, "what a delicious scrunch you've got there, hm?", he complimented as he grabbed a blanket, sitting down and covering her back with the blanket after making sure she was in a good position, "Mummy is resting now, you gave her a hard time to come out here, did you know that?"

"Mummy and I have dreamed of this day for a really long time, and you've made our dreams come true", he cooed, softly touching Addalynn's soft chubby cheeks, "mummy put her body through a lot so we could be a family, and that's why she's my hero", he noted as she made a small noise, meaningless to the conversation and yet Lance felt like she was reacting to what he said.

"I know, right? She's sleeping now, but you probably fell in love with her the minute you were put on her chest, like we did with you. Mummy is kind, selfless and resilient. Sometimes she's stubborn, too", he chuckled, "but that means she loves extra hard, too, and that we just need to keep an eye out when she's taking too much of a burden so we can share it. You and I are going to be a team for that, okay? Always keeping an eye out for mummy", he smiled, kissing her forehead, "your mummy is my hero, and from now on, you are both my priorities", he promised, the sigh from his daughter's lips as she opened and closed her mouth, "are you hungry? Mummy is asleep, isn't- Oh, she isn't, hm?".

You chuckled, rubbing your eyes as you smiled tiredly, "were you two having a chat? Without me?", you feigned offense as you watched your husband get up so he could place your daughter on your chest, "let's have some food, hm? Such a gorgeous girl, you are, and maybe me and you can also have a chat about daddy. I'm sure you've figured it out already", you added as you lowered your top, "but he's the best daddy ever".

[gothicgaycowboy]

please please me

Word count: 3.9k

Summary: you persuade Calvin to spend a little less time at the lab and a lot more time with you.

Warnings: 18+ no minors, smut, masturbation (m), oral (f receiving), brief thoughts of somnophilia, praise kink, brief mentions of breeding kink (but no really because it’s mostly just taking about cum and creampies lol), pet names (sweetheart, honey, little wife), no use of y/n, fem reader, a little fluffy ending!

A/N: this took me an embarrassingly long time to write so I hope you enjoy, and please don’t forget to comment and reblog🫶

Calvin Evans was an incredibly dedicated chemist. He seemed to care more for his work than anything else in the world.

Late nights were almost always spent in his lab when he could be sure his scientific process would not be disturbed, more importantly there would be no Donatti banging on his door asking when his latest experiment would be done.

His commitment to his work is what many (even those who weren’t particularly fond of Evans) would list as one of his greatest strengths.

Not you though.

Definitely not you.

You didn’t want to be misunderstood, you were truly proud of Calvin and his work. He was a brilliant man who deserved every bit of praise he got. You would accompany him to every award ceremony and never grow tired of hearing speech upon speech about what a wonder he was in the scientific community.

But you were getting very tired of spending most nights in your home alone.

Every night for the past month at 1:35am on the dot, you would be awoken by the feeling of the right side of the bed sinking to the weight of his lanky body. He would apologize profusely for waking you so late, and proceed to move to the couch in the living room.

In the beginning you hoped you could at least have a brief moment of alone time with Calvin in your shared morning before he went off to work. But of course he had already left for his early row by the time you opened your eyes.

Even weekends weren’t sacred anymore since moving some of his lab equipment to his home office. Calvin would leave his office when you alerted him dinner was ready, you two would stick to light small talk ( “How’s your research going?” “This is delicious” “Anything interesting in the news lately?” “Have you heard about what happened to Mrs.Jones down the road?”) Cavin would eat quickly, finishing before you were even halfway through your food, thank you for the meal and quickly peck your cheek before going right back to his office.

Like any sane person you were growing impatient with your husbands never ending busy schedule. A woman has needs just like any man does and Calvin should know that very well by now.

Much of your early relationship was spent exploring all the ways you could please each other. After all, Calvin was a scientist and he would reason the best way to find out was to experiment. That meant hours wrapped up in your white sheets, christening every surface of his home, trying things you never would have even fantasized of doing in your wildest dreams.

You missed that time desperately now and you had a plan to get it back.

–

Calvin was never good at picking up on social cues. Luckily most people thought he was simply pulling their leg when he took a joke or a sarcastic comment seriously. But he knew something had changed with you the moment he stepped into your shared home that Friday night.

He still made sure to close the door with extra caution so as not to wake you, even though he ended up almost constantly waking you when he slunk into bed anyway. Going through his usual routine of removing his sweat soaked running clothes, grabbing a pair of clean pajamas, and jumping into the bathroom for a quick shower.

After thoroughly removing the feeling of grime from his skin he makes his way towards your bedroom rubbing his tired eyes. He knows he has only himself to blame for his recent exhaustion but he’s never been great at putting anything before his work, and that includes sleep.

As he expects there you are sleeping sweetly, your left hand resting gently under your face. No matter how many times he sees you sleep he knows he will never get bored of it.

Calvin was quickly pulled out of his state of adoration when he realized something was off with the usual picture he was used to coming home to. You were sleeping on your stomach with your leg sticking out from the duvet. And Calvin may be downright lousy at picking up social cues but he always noticed a change in his surroundings.

You most certainly never had to worry about Calvin failing to notice a change in your style or a new haircut because he was the first to comment on it. “This new dress looks lovely on you.” he’d say while kissing the exposed bit of your shoulder.

In all the years he had known you, you never once slept on your stomach (it was a deeply inconvenient position for cuddling according to you), and you definitely never let your limbs hang off the bed (some old superstitious fear you had as a child that stuck with you into adulthood).

He decided to investigate further, even if it turned out to just be him reading too much into it.

Striding over to your side of the bed he looked for anything else that might be out of place. Your breathing was normal, the book on your bedside table was laying in the same place you put it all other nights, and your nightly glass of water sat empty. He was about to scold himself for being overdramatic when his eyes caught the lack of fabric on your shoulders.

Maybe you purchased a new sleeveless nightgown, Calvin tried to reason with himself. Maybe it was just a particularly low neckline or perhaps the fabric matched your skin tone so well he just wasn’t seeing it, after all the room was dark. Yes, that was possible.

Of course he couldn’t leave it at that - oh why didn’t he leave it at that and go right to bed? “You’re being ridiculous,” he scolded himself like a child in a whisper. “Just take a quick look, there’s no harm.”

Carefully he reached for where the blanket met your exposed back, making sure not to graze your skin, as much as he wanted to.

Sure enough there it was, you, completely exposed to him. The sides of your breasts pushing out against the mattress and your round ass on full display. “Shit…” the words fell out of Calvins mouth before he could stop them. He felt like a stupid teenager getting his first glance at a nude woman all over again.

Thoughts of temptation filled his mind. What would happen if he did touch you? If his hands slipped down towards the space between your thighs. Would you wake suddenly furious that he would ever wake you from your peaceful sleep? What about encouraging him to join you and take off his towel?

Of course he wouldn’t ever be sure of the real answer as Calvin could not bring himself to touch you while unconscious. It would be downright ungentlemanly.

He shook his head to clear his mind of the thoughts.

Calvin was lifting the edge of the duvet to cover you back up when you began to move. Panic filled him as he froze completely, fearing what you would think if you caught him ogling you in your sleep. Luckily enough for him your eyes did not open, but something unexpected did come out of your mouth.

At first Calvin thought he was hearing things, maybe the exhaustion of all these long nights in the lab were finally getting to him. Although that was a strong possibility in his mind there was no doubt the noises he was hearing were coming from you. Noises he was all too familiar with. Soft, breathy, moans.

This was not a sound Calvin knew you could make in your sleep. So similar to the sounds you let out when he was on top of that if he closed his eyes he would swear that’s where he was. While being swept up by his own imagination he nearly missed the words you spoke. “Mmph…Calvin…”

That was the straw that broke the camel's back. He could no longer ignore the growing bulge under the towel wrapped around his waist. Dropping the blanket back over you, he rushed back to the bathroom.

Leaning against the sink Calvin ripped the towel from around him, freeing his hard cock. Bringing his right hand up to his mouth he spit a glob of saliva into the center of his palm. Wasting no time at all he reached down and grasped the base of his throbbing length causing a gasp to escape him. “Fuck,” He moaned, his voice trembing with arousal. Calvin couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this desperate for a release.

Reminiscing about the last time he had gotten you all to himself Calvin began working his hand over his cock. The way you bit your bottom lip when you were close to orgasm, how soft your ass felt in his hands, or how you begged him so sweetly to cum inside of you. “Oh honey,” he groaned with teeth clenched. The more he thought about you the closer he got to the edge.

Keeping his arm still Calvin started bucking his hips forward, fucking his fist while picturing you on your knees below him. Your big doe eyes looking up at him with an innocent glint was his weakness. How was someone even able to look so naive with a cock between their lips? “That’s it, God you're so good to me,” he could no longer hold back.

Picking up his pace Calvins mind went blank, only the sensation of his impending orgasm could be felt. A jumbled mix of curses sprung from his lips as he watched the cum shoot from the tip of his cock onto his fist.

Calvin remained silent in the bathroom, the only sound to be heard was the heavy panting noise of him trying to catch his breath. After a few beats he decided it would be best to clean up the mess he had made, put his pajamas on and get out of there as soon as possible. God forbid you wake up for a late night bathroom trip and see him like this.

Walking back out to the living room he began to wonder how loud he had been, did he wake you with his erratic moans? Choosing to take a quick peak and make sure he hadn’t embarrassed himself further he gracefully nudged your bedroom door open a sliver. Clearly the universe was looking out for old Calvin because there you lay, sleeping soundly.

Letting out a breath of relief Calvin moved back out towards his bed tonight – the couch.

If only Calvin had stayed watching you a little longer he would have seen the sly smirk spreading across your lips.

Everything goes according to plan.

–

The sun peeked through the blinds, shining directly onto his eyelids when he woke in the morning. He had been too distracted last night to set his usual 6am alarm but he welcomed the extra rest. Honestly after the night he had Calvin was surprised he slept at all.

Figuring there was no time to waste if he still wanted to go on his morning row, Calvin sat upright on the couch, wiping the sleep from his eyes. While rubbing his eyes Calvins nose picked up an array of once familiar scents: eggs, toast, bacon, and…was that pancakes? It had been so long since you last cooked breakfast for him –again Calvin knew that was completely his fault.

Cavin was starting to forget what your warm meals tasted like, becoming accustomed to eating the cold leftovers whenever he returned home. Perhaps he could skip the row, just this one time…

Strolling towards the kitchen with a smile on his face Calvin nearly tripped himself when he caught sight of you. Standing as he expected in front of the stove top, humming along to whatever song was playing in your head while carefully flipping pancakes. What he did not expect was the lingerie you were wearing while doing it. He’d obviously lost track of time while eyeing you as you noticed him, slack jaw and all.

You fully turned towards him with a smile, “Good morning sleepyhead.”

–

How you wish you had a camera near you now. The look on Calvins face was priceless. You had never seen him so stunned before, and that includes the first time you agreed to go on a date with him.

“M-morning,” he stuttered, clearly trying (and failing) to fix his uncouth expression.

His gaze wandered across the outfit before him. A light pink set, silk top decorated with a delicate bow in the center of the chest, short ruffled bloomers, completed with a transparent tulle robe.

You turned back towards the stove. “Did you sleep well? I missed you last night. It’s always so lonely in bed without you,” you said, exaggerating the sadness in your voice.

That seemed to snap Calvin back to his normal self, “I’m sorry honey, you know I just worry about waking you up,” the genuine concern in his voice almost made you feel bad for playing it up so much…almost.

“Well you woke me up anyway, so why didn’t you just join me, hm?” You had a feeling you could see the panic on his face without even looking back.

A hitch in his breathing and a sudden step towards you let you know you were spot on. “When exactly did I wake you?” he questioned.

“Oh you know, when you were playing with your cock in the bathroom,” you stated it simply like you were telling him something he already knew. “I have to say I was very disappointed you didn’t invite me Calvin, you know I hate to think of all the cum you wasted without me there to clean it up.” You shut the burner on the stove off, moving the final pancake off the side with the rest.

Finished with the task at hand you looked back at Calvin. No longer the anxious face you were anticipating, no this was a look you recognized instantly, arousal.

Calvin licked his lips, “You dirty little minx,” wrapping his hands around your waist he swiftly pulled you towards him. His hot breath fanning across your face, “You planned all this out didn’t you?”

Batting your lashes at him you whipped out your best virginal response, “I have no idea what you could possibly be accusing me of Dr.Evans.”

He tilted his head to the side, “Are you sure about that?” His hands were now grazing further down your back causing an involuntary shiver to run over you. “So you didn’t sleep naked last night hoping it would drive me crazy? How about moaning in your ‘sleep’ expecting me to get hard?”

You shook your head at every accusation. Watching Calvin grow more impatient with your antics was only egging you on.

He let out a huff, “No? Not even wearing this skimpy thing to cook breakfast in?”

“How do you know this isn’t what I usually cook breakfast in? It’s not like you’re ever around when I do it anyway.” The facade you had put on dropped quickly.

It was clear a lightbulb went off in Calvins head, “Is that what this is about? Have I been neglecting my pretty little wife's needs?” He moved his head into the crook of your neck, his nose pressed against your pulse.

Now it was your turn to stutter, “M-maybe…” Your eyes closed at the feeling of him being so close to you.

His lips moved to graze your neck, making his words jumbled, “Well I think I know just how to apologize for it.”

You were about to ask how when suddenly Calvins lips crashed onto yours, pushing every coherent thought from your mind. Caught off guard you forget to move your lips with his. He pulled away briefly to let out a hoarse whisper, “Kiss me,” The command was so gentle it seemed almost like a question.

You could never deny him of what he wanted. Moving back into the kiss you meet him with equal lust, like you both had been deprived of touch for years. God you missed this, the soft groans passing by your lips as your tongues melted against each other. You noticed a growing hardness pressed to your upper thigh. “Getting excited over a little kiss Calvin?” you teased. Your forehead rested against his, nudging his nose with yours.

“Can you blame me? I mean look at you,” Calvins right hand moved up from its place on your back, undoing the tie in the middle of your robe. You shook it from off your shoulders, letting it fall on the kitchen floor. Calvin took a step back to get a better look at you, making you whine at the loss of contact. “So perfect for me,” he said, like there wasn’t a single doubt in his mind that it was true.

“What are you doing?” You asked as he sunk slowly onto his knees.

His hands pulled at the back of your thighs, squeezing the soft skin. “I’m thanking my beautiful wife for putting up with me.”

Your eyes rolled at his dramatics. “Cavin I d-” the words ripped from you before they were even out as his lips moved to the inner part of your thigh. Dragging the delicate skin of his lips across you, your eyelids fluttered shut once more. “I should have known you would need me to take care of you,” he admitted.

The petals of his lips roaming higher up your thighs he shifted you so that your legs were flush against his torso. “Don’t you sweetheart, you need me to take care of you?” Although his tone was clearly mocking it still made you feel warm inside.

“Mhm, I do I do, please,” you nodded dumbly.

His smile pressed against your skin, “How cruel of me to ever leave my sweet wife and her needy pussy all alone.” Calvins right hand reached up to the center of your bloomers, thumb grazing over your clit.

“F-uck,” you gasped, dropping your hands to grip the base of Calvin's hair.

“You’re worse off than I thought you were,” he joked. Wasting no more time teasing you Calvin lowered your bloomers, pulling them with his teeth. Your eyes sprung open to watch him work.

Biting his lower lip Calvin admired the wetness dripping from you. “Miss me?”

“Yes, God Calvin Please,” you begged looking down at him with desperation flowing from you.

His eyes met your, “You don't need to beg for me anymore honey, I’m home now.” keeping eye contact with you Calvin kissed your aching clit. Gradually escalating from sweet pecks to open mouth licks you could feel your knees lock below you. Calvin shifted your left leg over his shoulder to drown himself inside your cunt, licking from your clit to your opening.

Moans falling from your lips before you even knew what you were saying, “Yes, fuck you’re so good Calvin,” you swore he always looked his best under you, even if your eyes were having trouble focusing at the moment.

Your praise was the only kind that Calvin cared about you recalled him telling you, and now that was obvious to you. Your words clearly have an effect on his performance. Encouraging him to lick and suck your clit with vigor. His moans vibrate your core pushing you further towards the edge of your impending orgasm.

Withdrawing his face from your pulsating cunt, Calvin lays his face on your thigh. Hastily replacing his tongue with his fingers and continuing the same motions. Seemingly mesmerized by his own actions Calvin stares at your pussy while speaking to you, “Yeah? You like when I pay attention to you?” His words came out wobbly like he was the one being pleasured.

Using all the strength you could muster you tried to really look at him like this. Face flush red leading down to his neck, your slick covering most of his chin, that one vein popping out of his temple. Never before Calvin have you seen a man look so determined to please.

“Mhm Yes, God Calvin, I love it when you pay attention to me,” you groaned.

“Good because I’ll be doing a lot more of it now.” going back in for another taste, he is like a man possessed. Calvin has always been an attentive man, inside and outside the bedroom and it was clear he was trying to prove something to you at this moment.

“Fuck I’m so close Calvin,” you warned.

He broke away from your pussy for a second time, “Yeah, you gonna come all over my face honey?”

You could no longer keep your eyes open, squeezing them shut tight. You wanted to say something- anything in response but the words failed you, opting to nod your head quickly.

“Do it sweetheart, come for me, please,” he coaxed, playing with your clit at the same steady pace he had been previously.

That was all it took for you to come, nearly collapsing into Calvin's arms. He held you upright as your orgasm overtook you. His praise continued as you came down from your high, “You're such a good little wife for me, that’s it honey, come just like that.”

After a few moments calming your breathing you decided to be brave and attempt to move on your own. You joined Calvin down on the floor, sitting in his lap. Letting out a sigh as you came back to your senses, “Fuck me.”

“I would but I'm afraid I may have gotten a little overly excited,” Calvin laughed. You took notice of what he was referring to, a large wet patch on the crotch of his pants.

“Well I’m glad that took care of itself because I don’t know I would have had any energy to help you with it, you drained me.” You jested, but really you weren’t sure your brain was working properly enough to think, let alone suck Calvin off.

The both of you sat in a peaceful moment of silence after that, fixing the others' wrecked appearance. You realized that these were the moments you missed most when Calvin left, simply basking in each other's presence - even if nothing extraordinarily romantic was happening.

“You know when you want me to spend more time with you all you have to do is ask, right?” he broke the silence while brushing your hair behind your ear.

“You know it would be a lot easier to ask you if you weren’t constantly away working or rowing, right?” you asked with the same cadence as him.

That made him giggle, “Fair point, I promise not to let my neurotic ways keep me away from you ever again.” You planted a quick peck in his lips at that, delighted to hear him say it. “In the meantime is there anything else I can do to make it up to you?”

You pretended to be deep in thought about his question, furrowing your brows together and tapping your pointer finger on your chin. “How about sitting down and eating the breakfast I’ve worked so hard on with me?”

Calvin moved from underneath you, causing a frown to appear on your face. He stood up and reached a hand down, inviting you to grab it and pull yourself up. “You don’t have to ask me twice,” he smiled, pulling up two chairs to the dining table.

[transmutationisms]

along w ur plato post uve also mentioned disliking marxist syllabi that make you go chronologically just to understand one author (ie greek philo - hegel - marx)

i was planning to go down this route this yr to combine both my long overdue dive into theory and philosophy, and i actually found this to be less overwhelming than immediately diving into say, continental philosophy or critical theory. i wonder then what other route you'd suggest for philosophy? (since for marxist theory youve pretty much alr answered it in a past ask)

are greek philosophers still "useful" to read for beginners or is it much better off to start with contemporaries? is this a case of "we've actually been doing the math curriculum wrong this entire time" or is it just personal preference. help

depends what you're trying to accomplish, but if someone's in my inbox asking how to get started reading theory or philosophy then i think it's a) unhelpful, and b) needlessly deferent to received ideas of 'canonicity', to perpetuate the notion that there's a single correct order in which to read, and it begins with the same 20 ancient greeks writing about geometrical forms and elemental tetravalence. like, it's worth remembering what's missing from a typical global north university's philosophy syllabus: perhaps most obviously, reams of islamicate scholarship and centuries of dialogue between 'western' and 'eastern' writers often suppressed in favour of a 'dark ages' narrative that just sort of jumps up to the 'renaissance'... and there are so many other, egregious, historically unjustifiable lacunae like this.

it's noble enough to want to know where an idea comes from or what its genealogical lineage is, but to try to discover this by reading through a list drawn up by classicists or philosophy departments is dangerously optimistic about the politicking that shapes and perpetuates such lists. even just reading the works that an author is openly citing or arguing with is lacking: what about, say, hegel, whose idea of freedom and enslavement developed partially in response to reading newspaper coverage of the haitian revolution? he didn't exactly announce that in the text! to read the phenomenology of spirit as merely the next intellectual step after kant is deeply distorted; for that matter, kant's own intellectual influences came not only from a supposed philosophical canon but also from the scientific and anthropological discourses underpinning his biological theory of race and defence of racism.

my issue with the "read chronologically" approach isn't that it's bad to follow a topic over a process of historical change. it's that these received lists of 'canonical' thinkers are artefacts of their own social and historical contexts, and are both produced to certain ideological ends, & then appealed to later in order to enforce and even naturalise those ideologies. if what we want is the context to understand what hegel or marx or adorno were really talking about, we need to engage with the texts as historical documents and with the histories as products of imperfect, biased, and ideologically laden human labour.

i'm not here to tell you not to read whatever you were planning to read. for one thing, sometimes the intellectual influence named in the syllabus is a useful one (there are certain questions about marx and marxian ideas that are easier to understand and answer if you have read at least a little bit of hegel). but, in the context of the overwhelming gatekeeping of knowledge, and the hegemonic use of ideas about canonicity and the 'right' way to read 'classics', if someone asks what they need to do in order to read xyz, i'm pretty much never going to default to "start by reading plato". read things that are interesting to you, however old they are; read about their authors; make liberal use of online resources like the SEP if you need a crash-course on certain concepts or jargon. you certainly don't need to be afraid of reading one text to better understand another. i just don't think you need to be beholden to that mode of reading, either, especially not in a context where the common wisdom on whose work belongs in such a genealogy is predicated on centuries of colonial and imperial scholarship and disseminated by institutions structurally positioned to defend the idea of an enlightened and ennobling western intellectual tradition.

in a certain twisted way, these 'standard' (to whom?) or 'traditional' (since when?) reading lists are often presented as the shortcut to the 'correct' understanding of landmark texts or authors—only, this is a 'shortcut' that considers ideas as disembodied from their real contexts, relating only to one another in an intellectual realm and developing in more or less linear fashion often to some teleological end; and, by dint of the sheer amount of material involved, it's also a 'shortcut' that many people will never actually traverse. i don't have an inherent problem with reading chronologically. i just don't automatically defer to these kinds of syllabi, and i think dethroning them could do us all a lot of good.

[calliecwrites]

Shifter HRT, part 3 – Rebirthday

I had the appointment. I passed the test. I’ve got the little package that will change everything.

I hold it tight all the way home. Part of me is still angry at my contact for messing with me like that – and the rest is in something like stunned amazement that I actually have it.

Now I’m home. I open it up.

There are two kinds of pills. First there’s antihominidone. That’s the humanity blocker, the one that lets my body change and stops it trying to change back. People transitioning to lots of different species take this one.

Then there’s the other one, the one that does the hard work of actually changing me. ‘Shifterising hormone’, it says on the label – they don’t even have a scientific name for it. There’s a little instruction book with doses – one of each a day – but it doesn’t say a lot about side effects or timelines. Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised, going DIY – this isn’t stuff you’d get from a doctor, after all. Almost no one’s been through this before. It’s super experimental, and I’m the experiment. The whole process takes two to three years, but what to expect when is pretty vague.

This is when my anxiety kicks in. Experimental treatment? Becoming another species? What am I doing?

I take one of the hormone pills out. It’s a clear capsule full of liquid. I turn it over, and the liquid slowly drops from one end to the other. It’s thick and gooey, which makes sense, since I’m going to be gooey. It looks a bit like the fluid shifters are made of, but without the life of the real thing. How do they make this stuff? Do they distil it from their own bodies or something? It’s not made of dead shifters, is it? Geez, I hope it’s not made of dead shifters. —Nope, nope, not thinking that way. Lots of other things are gooey. It could be anything. It could be literal magic, for all I know.

They’re so secretive, since they don’t want anyone else figuring out how to make it. Maybe I should save some and smuggle it to the other groups who are trying to? No, who am I kidding, this is for me – I’m not wasting a single drop.

Stop. Focus.

Changing species is much bigger than changing gender, but somehow it doesn’t feel quite as scary as that did – because this time, I’ve been through something like this before. I’ve sat here, scared and desperate, staring at pills that might as well be magic, before. Looking back, it doesn’t feel like I ‘changed’ gender at all – I just stopped pretending to be something I wasn’t. Sounds easy. Sounds obvious. Hopefully, one day, I’ll look back and this will feel the same.

I trust myself so much more than I did back then. I was right the first time, and that makes me confident I’m right this time, too.

And my friends and family? We’ve been through the fire together once. The ones who would leave left then – that’s what I tell myself. But I don’t really know how anyone will react to this. That’s a problem for another day.

The first two pills are on the table in front of me. Here goes.

* * *

It’s done. I’ve taken it. I feel all tingly, though surely it can’t be having an effect already. I think that’s just the excitement and the fear and everything.

I call the day I started estrogen ‘Rebirthday’, because that’s how it felt. I never thought I’d have another day like that. Now I have one birthday and two rebirthdays. I am a shifter. Even through all my doubts and fears, I can truly say that now, for the first time. I want to laugh. I want to cry.

I am a shifter. I am me. I know the next few years will be hard, I know there will be pain, but I can’t wait.

This is what I am.

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[matsmi13]

Devoted to his club forever

I have always been a big fan of the Paris Saint Germain football club. So, when I won a contest for an exclusive behind-the-scenes tour of the Parc des Princes stadium, I was over the moon. A whole day to explore the secret nooks and crannies, meet the players, and maybe even get a first-hand look at the world of professional soccer.

The visit began in the classic way. I discover the dressing rooms, the press room, the benches where so many legends have sat. It's all fascinating, but it's at the end of the tour that things get really interesting.

“For the more passionate like you, we've prepared a never-before-seen immersive experience where you have the opportunity to “live in the skin of a player”. Would you like to try this experience ?” announced the guide with an enigmatic smile.

I accepted immediately, all excited. I thought it was a kind of virtual reality simulation, an interactive experience where I could feel what it's like to play for PSG.

I had no idea what was going on when I was taken to another part of the stadium, an area normally off-limits to the public.

Once inside an ultra-modern room, I was taken aback by the atmosphere. The room is filled with high-tech equipment, complex machinery, and scientists in white coats bustling around various devices.

“Before we start this experiment, we need you to sign a few waivers. It's standard procedure to make sure everything goes smoothly” said the guide. He handed me a stack of documents to sign. The sheets were dense, full of legal and scientific jargon I didn't really understand. But my excitement won out. I told myself it was probably just a formality.

I signed without hesitation, then was ushered into a small booth off to one side.

“ Please enter this cabin. We need you to undress and leave all your belongings here, including any digital devices”. I obeyed, thinking it was to put on some special equipment, maybe even real PSG match gear. But once undressed, one of the scientists took all my stuff and closed the cabin door behind you.

The cabin I was in was simple, with white walls and soft lights. I was starting to feel slightly nervous, but I pushed those thoughts aside. After all, I was here for a unique experience.

But something wasn't right. The cabin began to emit a dull hum, and the walls around you lit up in a strange way. Suddenly, a breath of fresh air escaped, followed by a strange tingling sensation on your skin. The buzzing intensified, and waves passed through your body, leaving you with a sensation of warmth, first slight, then increasingly intense.

I felt strange, as if my body were reacting to something invisible. My skin began to stretch, my limbs lengthened inexplicably. I wanted to move, but I felt frozen in place, unable to control my movements.

My heart was beating faster, but it seemed to be beating outside me, as if my body had become a mere shell. Sensations multiplied as I gradually lost the perception of myself as a human being. My muscles contracted, then relaxed, slowly breaking down, fiber by fiber.

My mind was in total confusion. I didn't understand what was happening to me, but I felt that something irreversible was happening. My thoughts scattered, your identity slowly faded away as your body was transformed into malleable matter.

Once the dissolution was complete, my remaining residues were transformed into fibers. I was stretched, twisted and reassembled into a continuous thread. During this process, I gradually lost my human consciousness, turning into a textile material. I became a material, a textile substance ready to be used and shaped for a new creation.

Once the thread was formed, the machine stopped and the cabin opened. The scientists reappeared, exchanging satisfied glances.

“Let's see the final result” says one of them. He runs his fingers along the wire I've become, while another scientist checks data on a screen. “The transformation is very conclusive. The texture is homogeneous, and the molecular structure is stable. The yarn is very strong, yet light. This is exactly what we needed for the rest of the process”. “We finally have the perfect organic material to make what sir has been waiting for. After several attempts, this person was the right one. And to think that this young supporter didn't even take the time to read the documents he signed. His blind enthusiasm and unthinking devotion have led him to a unique destiny: to become a piece of clothing for his club forever. Send the wire to the factory for assembly. We have to meet the deadline”

I was wound into spools, taken away and transported to a new destination.

I was shipped to a specialized textile mill, woven into a solid, uniform navy-blue fabric, cut into pieces according to a precise pattern and assembled to create the undershirt. The sewing process finalized my transformation into a ready-to-wear garment.

I was carefully packed and sent straight to the Parc des Princes stadium. I arrived in the dressing room, where the kitman in charge of the players' equipment unpacked me and placed me carefully folded in Kylian Mbappe's locker.

The locker room was quiet as we waited for the players to arrive. Not a sound. It took forever. Then the players arrived, including Kylian Mbappe. I felt his hand close over me and inspect me for a moment, his fingers gliding over your surface, before slipping me under his main jersey.

“Hmm, this feels really different” Kylian murmurs as he adjusts the sleeves, testing the sensation against his skin. “It's light, but it's like it's breathing with me” He makes a few movements to check my flexibility. “Not bad at all. It's exactly what I needed. The fabric is soft, but it has this... sturdy feel. I feel like I'm going to be able to move freely without it bothering me”. Kylian continues to test me, raising his arms, bending down, jumping slightly on the spot. “It keeps me dry. Even here, in the changing room, I can feel it regulating the temperature. I don't get that clammy feeling you sometimes get with other undershirts”.

On the pitch, the sensations run wild. Every time Kylian sprints, makes a technical move or changes direction, I'm subjected to compression and stretching forces. The constant pressure and friction are new sensations for me. Every impact has to be absorbed in such a way as to minimize disruption to Kylian.

My fabric, designed to wick away moisture, is in constant interaction with Kylian's sweat. This persistent absorption seems crucial to maintaining his comfort and performance. As an undershirt, my fabric body have to effectively manage this moisture, distributing it throughout my fabric to avoid accumulation that could cause discomfort.

As an undershirt, I have to provide constant support. The cut and seams are made to fit Kylian's body perfectly, offering both support and comfort. Every seam, every insertion must be impeccable to avoid chafing or distortion that could affect his game.

The match is over. Every fibre of my being is saturated with sweat, soaked in Kylian's warmth. I've been worn, I've been useful, I've been... his.

But the happiness was short-lived. In one swift movement, Kylian pulls me off and throws me in his locker, like a worthless object. The air is now freezing. I lay there in the corner of his locker, motionless and useless.

Time passes... or maybe not... because the notion of time is escaping me more and more.

Finally, a hand grabs me. It's that of the person in charge of the equipment. I'm handled and tossed into a dirty clothes bag. I find myself among other clothes, all soaked with sweat, all marked by the effort of the person wearing them. We're crammed together, pressed against each other.

The bag starts moving, carrying me towards the launderette. Each jolt reminds me of my new reality. I'm just another garment to be cleaned, stripped of all traces of life and human warmth.

I'm thrown into a machine without the slightest consideration. The cold water overwhelms me and cleanses me. Every fibre of my body is abused, turned inside out, wrung out. Kylian's sweat is washed away, his musk erased... and with them, that little feeling of belonging disappears. I have become a simple piece of cloth, washed and disinfected, with no soul, no memory.

The spinning compresses me, crushes me. I'm emptied, compressed, reduced to a state of pure fabric, without warmth, without life. Drying... the hot air passes through me, making me lighter, but also emptying me of any trace of what I once was. I'm nothing more than an undershirt, clean, dry... and empty.

Finally, I'm taken out of the machine. I'm folded, put away and placed in a dark closet with the other undershirts. I'm no longer struggling. I'm in the dark, motionless... but this immobility, this waiting, is no longer important. Waiting... that's all clothes do.

The closet is silent. I am among the other clothes, perfectly folded. Time no longer has any meaning for me.

Where am I ? Who am I ? What is my real nature ? I'm... what ? An undershirt ? Yes, an undershirt. But… where do I come from ? What have I become ? The questions float unanswered, in the void. Here in the dark, all I know... is wait. Wait…why ? Why wait ? My role... is... to be a piece of clothing.

My only thoughts are of serving, of being worm. I want the sweat. I need the musk... need to comfort and support my owner. I no longer have conscious thoughts, desires or dreams. My humanity is gone, replaced by the pure essence of a piece of clothing. I no longer feel the emotions and thoughts of a human being.

I am an undershirt, a simple fabric, entirely devoted to serving my master, Kylian Mbappé. When the time comes, when he wear me again, I will be ready. But until that day, I remain here, still, accepting my destiny as clothing.

Thanks to @inanimatetffantasies for his support and advice in writing this story