#or is it Dwarf Math?

[psychidelias]

Shoutout to Arnold Rimmer and his hyperactive leg, he is too real to handle and I hate it.

[thedansome]

Speaking strictly from personal experience, don’t trust wizard with gold. They will literally 200 spells scrolls if left unsupervised.

[mischief-causes-mayhem]

I was doodling the dwarf planets in class earlier and the kids next to me started talking about dnd I found that funny

I don't usually post random school doodles but I thought this one was cute SO!!

[sanerontheinside]

speaking of PTerry tho idk if this was by design, but the really really cool thing about trolls being in a base four number system is the fact that they're probably automatically pretty chill (lol) with complex numbers

because if you multiply i's they cycle in powers of 4

i is √(-1)

i x i is (√(-1))^2 = -1

i x i x i is -1 x i = -i

i x i x i x i is (-1)(-1) = 1

and then i x i x i x i x i just restarts the cycle at i

I mean there's no guarantee that rock trolls are on speaking terms with complex numbers but seriously imagine coming back to the meat futures warehouse and seeing your buddy literally doing shit that only kings do, that's pretty fascinating

[maslickonachlebik]

Damn...

Math is so boring I started doodling Trixie La bouche 😭🙏 I want to show her but I'm too lazy to go find that paper I draw her on

Sooo I'll maybe post it tomorrow XD

[pratchettquotes]

"It has not been a nice day," said Cuddy.

"That the truth."

"I'd just like to know something, in case...I mean...look, what happened in the pork store? You did all that maths! All that counting!"

"I...dunno. I saw it all."

"All what?"

"Just all of it. Everything. All the numbers in the world. I could count them all."

"What did they equal?"

"Dunno. What does equal mean?"

Terry Pratchett, Men at Arms

[lottiboombalotti]

Had a dream last night that 7 dwarfs mine train ran through the 2010s math blaster map. Does this mean that mercury is in retrograde bc I feel like it does

[carewyncromwell]

“I had my books to read --  Didn't know that I would ever need Other ponies to make my life complete... But there was one colt that I cared for -- I knew he would be there for me! My Big Brother Best Friend Forever! Like two peas in a pod, we did everything together! He taught me how to fly a kite... (Best friend forever!) We never had a single fight... (We did everything together!)

~“B.B.B.F.F. (Big Brother Best Friend Forever)” from My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

x~x~x~x

Christmas was always a very special time for Carewyn Cromwell. For as far back as she could remember, it was the time of year when she could sing lots of beautiful music and spend quality time with her two favorite people in the world -- her mother, Lane, and her big brother, Jacob. Even before she took the name “Carewyn Cromwell” -- in that time when her Muggle father Evan Bach was still in the picture and so she, Jacob, and Lane had all had his last name -- the holiday season had always been special. Understandably Carewyn doesn’t remember her time as “Carewyn Bach” that well, given how very young she was, but there were two images she held onto tightly from that time in their old house in Westminster, both of which were from her third Christmas. The first was of a tall man with his face in shadow tentatively patting the top of her head -- the second was of sitting on her stomach on the floor, squashed under the fully lit Christmas tree. If one were to ask Jacob about these fragmented memories of his sister’s, he would have the appropriate context needed to understand them.

The Bachs’ house in Westminster was a decently-sized, two-story detached home -- a rare and special thing so close to the city. It was made all of red brick, with multiple large white-painted windows and a white-painted front door with a brass door knocker. Its modest front yard was mainly covered over with brick, but hosted several white rose bushes that Evan paid to be pruned and trimmed bimonthly, to keep everything well-coiffed and respectable. The largest of the house’s windows was a bay window over the kitchen table with a ledge that Lane always put a vase of flowers in and that the family’s old Siamese cat Ella used to sunbathe on. And during the holiday season, the kitchen table was moved so that Lane could put the decorated and lit Christmas tree right beside the bay window, so that any visitors to the Bach home could see the lights twinkling out through the glass.

This Christmas -- the 25th of December 1974 -- was set to be Jacob’s tenth Christmas and Carewyn’s third. Carewyn had turned two that September, while Jacob was just two months shy of his eleventh birthday. Carewyn had grown a lot in that last year -- Lane was charmed by how quickly she’d picked up talking, even after how slow she’d been to start walking, and Jacob only egged this on by talking to Carewyn almost constantly, whenever they were together. More than a few times that December he asked his sister about what she wanted Father Christmas to bring her, though Carewyn didn’t seem to know how to answer.

“I dunno,” she’d say, as her eyes migrated up toward the ceiling.

“Oh, come on,” Jacob encouraged her. “You’ve got to want something. And with how good a girl you’ve been all year, I’m sure Father Christmas’ll give it to you, if you ask him.”

Carewyn didn’t answer, instead too preoccupied with tugging at the loose thread on the corner of her skirt. Immediately picking up on her restlessness, Jacob neatly ripped off the thread off his sister’s skirt with no effort.

“Do you want a new dress?” asked Jacob. “A new teddy bear? Or how about an Easy-Bake Oven? Then you can bake your own cakes and sweets, all by yourself!”

“I dun want a Noven,” Carewyn mumbled.

“Why not?” asked Jacob. “Don’t you want to be able to make your own treats whenever you want?”

Carewyn shook her head stubbornly. “I dun want a Noven because...you didn’t get one.”

Jacob blinked in surprise. Carewyn kept her eyes down on the skirt of her dress, flapping it up and down absently.

“Mum said...Mum said to Dad that you asked...Fafa Christmas for a Noven for Christmas. And a chem -- chem -- chem’stree sit.”

“A chemistry set,” Jacob corrected with a broadening smile.

“Mm-hmm. But Mum said...you didn’t get the Noven you wanted. Even if you really wanted one.”

Jacob’s face softened in understanding. His almond-shaped blue eyes sparkled fondly down at his little sister.

“Aw, Pip...you’re right. I didn’t get the Easy-Bake Oven I asked for. But it’s okay -- it was a while ago that I asked for it...”

Three Christmases ago, in fact -- the year Carewyn was born. It made Jacob wonder why Lane had even brought it up to Evan again after so long...was Evan rambling on about Jacob not having interests like “normal” boys his age again or something?

“...And well, I still got my chemistry set, and that was fun.”

Carewyn looked unconvinced. “But...weren’t you sad?”

“That I didn’t get my Easy-Bake? Sure, a little bit,” Jacob reassured her. “But well, I’m not as good of a kid as you are -- it’s probably appropriate that I didn’t get everything I wanted for Christmas...”

If Mum had managed to convince Pops to let me have a ‘girly thing’ like an Easy-Bake Oven, it would’ve been a minor miracle, Jacob thought sourly.

Carewyn's cute little face twisted into a deep frown.

“You are good, Jacob!” she said, sounding incredibly upset.

She immediately threw her arms around her brother’s waist and squeezed. Jacob, who’d predicted the move before Carewyn made it, caught her in both arms, and his face softened further as he hugged her back just as tightly.

“Hm, well...at least you think so, Pip.”

With this, he scooped her up and started heading for the kitchen.

“Come on -- why don’t I help you write your letter? You tell me what you want to say to Father Christmas, and I’ll write it down.”

“Kay.”

~*~

Jacob did end up proofreading and clarifying Carewyn’s sentences quite a bit, when writing her letter. When he read it aloud for Carewyn, though, she was beaming from ear to ear and nodding, clearly approving of his “translation.”

Dear Father Christmas,

My big brother Jacob is writing this letter to you for me. I wanted to tell you to get him everything on his list, please, and to get Dad a new record that I can listen to. Elvis is fun! Also, Mum needs some new rainboots. Please make them yellow, so they match mine. I also want to go to school with Jacob, but Jacob says you can only give me things you can wrap up with paper and ribbons. So please just give me something pretty, wrapped up in pretty paper with a pretty blue ribbon. Blue’s my favorite color.

Don’t eat too many biscuits, or you’ll get a tummy ache.

Love from

Carewyn

~*~

When the morning of Christmas arrived, there was a large haul of neatly-wrapped presents under the tree. Every single present was wrapped in the same kind of music-note-printed white paper, with identically-tied red or green bows. Several years later that particular type of packaging would be the main thing that would clue Carewyn onto the fact that they were all wrapped by her mother Lane, rather than Father Christmas. For now, though, Carewyn didn’t think anything of it, instead taking innocent joy out of her parents neatly undoing the paper on their gifts while her brother overdramatically ripped open the paper on his, grinning mischievously at her the entire time as she tried to bite back her giggles.

“Jacob, dun do that!” little Carewyn would scold Jacob, lightly punching his back and shoulder through her giggles. Her ineffectual scolding would only make her brother laugh louder, which in turn only made Carewyn happier and more giggly than ever. The noise, however, grated on Evan, who rubbed his temple irritably.

“Jacob,” their father said reprovingly, “that is quite enough.”

Jacob shot Evan a rather sour glare -- Lane immediately intervened by leaning over her lap so that she could lightly pat her son’s shoulder from his place on the floor.

“Settle down just a bit, you two,” she said more gently. Clearly she had been a bit overwhelmed by the noise too, but had held back seeing just how happy her kids were. “Jay...I believe that one on the side is the last of your gifts. Why don’t you open it, so we can move on to Winnie’s?”

Putting down the Once and Future King anthology he’d unwrapped with the other books he’d gotten, Jacob shifted over to look under the tree. He found that last gift (which was wrapped in a red ribbon) and, once he’d reached around Ella the cat, brought the package into his lap. It was a moderately-sized gift, about the size of the books he’d already gotten from Father Christmas. It also had a tag written in Lane’s neat penmanship that read, “To Jacob, from Mum and Dad.”

With a quick, beady look at Evan, Jacob very pointedly ripped the paper right off the top so that he could see what was inside.

When he looked at its contents, though, his eyes lit up like fireworks.

“...A portable cassette player and recorder!” he cried in delight. “Mum -- you actually got it -- ?!”

“Your father paid for it,” Lane said pointedly with a wry smile. “I just picked it up at the store.”

She glanced at her husband meaningfully, who cleared his throat.

“...Yes, well...you have been behaving a bit better as of late, Jacob,” Evan mumbled. “Helping your mother around the house...looking after your sister...”

“And you clearly wanted it so much,” Lane said fondly.

Jacob’s face had burst into an amazingly bright smile, worthy of the sun. Unable to stop himself, he jumped to his feet and ran over to throw his arms around his mother in the biggest hug.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” he said, beaming from ear to ear. “It’s just what I wanted!”

Once he’d released Lane, Jacob seized the box from the floor and sat back down on the rug as he started babbling excitedly to Carewyn.

“Look here, Pip -- this is a recorder! Now I can record songs from the radio and we can play them on cassette tape whenever we want! And I can record other things too! I can record things in class and play them back for you, or I can record us singing -- I can even just leave you messages you can play here while I’m at school!”

Carewyn’s eyes lit up, just listening to Jacob. It was like his enthusiasm just bled into her like colors running through a watercolor painting, and she was soon beaming just as broadly as her brother. Evan sat off to the side of the couch, watching his son eagerly share his gift with Carewyn with a strange, almost sad smile prickling at his features.

Noticing her husband’s expression, Lane brought a hand onto his knee, giving it a supportive squeeze before turning back to her children.

“All right, Jay,” she said with a smile. “I think it’s high time Winnie started opening her presents.”

Jacob’s huge grin seemed to gleam brighter at this. “Right!"

Once again reaching around Ella the cat, he picked up one of the remaining packages under the tree, all of them wrapped in blue ribbon, and handing it to his little sister.

“Don’t forget to read the note for her, Jay,” Lane reminded him.

Jacob peeked at it over her shoulder. “‘To Carewyn, from Father Christmas.’” He smiled encouragingly at her. “Go on, then, Pip.”

Carewyn got mostly clothes that year. Both “Father Christmas” and most of Evan’s family members sent along new dresses, though Evan’s cousin Mary had sent along a set of cute little toys called Weebles, which Ella the cat ended up playing with just as much as Carewyn did.

“Don’t forget to thank Cousin Mary when she visits, Winnie,” Lane reminded her.

“Yes, Mum,” Carewyn said promptly, even while only half paying attention.

Along with the dresses, Father Christmas also got Carewyn a new baby blue romper, perfect for playing outside. Carewyn’s last gift, though, earned a strange frown from Jacob when he read the tag.

“‘To Carewyn, from Dad.’”

Carewyn didn’t notice the confused look Jacob shot their father as she took the gift into both hands and very neatly undid the bow. Once the bow was off, she ripped off the corner so she could tear off the rest of the paper.

Inside was a rather pretty blue book with a beautifully painted illustration of an angelic-looking woman floating over a princess sitting in an open coach led by horses -- “The Classic Fairy Tales.”

“Oh, Winnie,” said Lane in breathy happiness, “it’s a book! Your very first book, Winnie.”

She shot a significant smile at Jacob. Feeling confused, Jacob glanced back at Evan -- Evan’s body language was evasive as he got up from the couch to put his spent coffee cup in the sink.

“Well, yes, I...thought it was about time that we built up a proper library for the baby,” he said stiffly. “Books suitable for a girl her age...”

“They’re magic stories, Winnie,” Lane said to her, her voice soft in both volume and emotion as Carewyn flipped through the pages of the book, consulting the pictures. “They’re stories your father and I can read to you at night, before you go to sleep.”

Jacob was still kind of bewildered watching his parents through this whole thing. There was something under the surface in how Lane and Evan spoke about the book that Jacob just didn’t quite get -- it didn’t feel like Lane had picked out the book and Evan had paid for it, the way they had with Jacob’s recorder, and yet Lane didn’t seem at all surprised by the gift (understandable, since she’d wrapped it) and seemed to really want Carewyn to be excited about it. Was it just because Lane liked reading as much as Jacob did and wanted Carewyn to like it too? If so, why didn’t she take some credit for the gift? For whatever reason she’d wanted Carewyn to see this gift as being just from her dad, not both of them.

That schmuck barely pays Pip any mind, in the first place, Jacob thought irritably. It was one of the things that made him most resent his father, that he ignored Carewyn so much of the time. Even now, he’s not even looking at her...

This thought made something click in Jacob’s head.

Is that why Mum wants him to get sole credit? Because she wants Pip to think Pops does care?

Jacob’s lips twitched with a smile despite himself.

Aw, Mum...you hate how he ignores her just as much as I do, don’t you?

Noticing Carewyn glancing up at him, Jacob grinned all the more brightly.

“That’s Hansel and Gretel, Pip,” he said, pointing at the picture she’d stopped on. “That’s a great story -- it’s about a brother and a sister, just like us! And that’s Cinderella,” he added, pointing to the picture on the cover. “She’s going to this really big party. See her dress? It’s pretty, right?”

Carewyn’s eyes seemed to sparkle seeing how happy Jacob was. She beamed from ear to ear, nodding eagerly. Then, with a quick look up at Evan as he returned to the sitting room, she put down the open book on the floor. She shuffled up onto her feet and toddled over to her father. Before he could sit down, she then threw her arms around his leg and hugged it, just the way Jacob had thrown his arms around Lane earlier.

“Just I wanted!” she chirped.

Evan looked completely taken aback. He stared down at Carewyn, his dark eyes wide and his expression almost insecure in how he took in his tiny daughter’s beaming face. Then, very tentatively, he reached out a hand and patted the top of her head, attempting a weak smile of his own.

“...I’m...glad you like it,” he said lowly.

Even despite his discomfort, his dark eyes did betray something oddly touched as he shifted his gaze over to Lane, who was smiling warmly. His weak smile even became that bit stronger, seeing his wife’s expression.

“Ahem,” he cleared his throat, “we’d...best get ready for the day. It’s nearly 11 already...”

~*~

After all four Bachs had gotten washed and dressed, Lane set about getting the Christmas turkey cooked in the kitchen, while Evan went out to pick up the chocolate Yule Log he’d ordered at the local cake shop for dessert. Originally Lane had suggested Jacob and Carewyn go with their father for the drive, but Carewyn was so preoccupied with her new Weebles (or, more importantly, watching Ella the cat bat at them with her paw) that Evan decided it was better to “leave the baby” at home. As soon as Carewyn was going to be left out of the little “outing,” though, Jacob immediately decided he’d stay at home too, and he promptly picked up one of his new books (A Wrinkle in Time), slouched across the armchair with his legs dangling off the arm, and started to read. Carewyn was a little put-out when Evan left the house, but she was distracted soon enough when the kitchen timer went off and she immediately toddled over to “help” her mother with setting the table. (This involved Carewyn taking the cups Lane handed to her in both hands and delivering them one at a time over to the table, as well as pulling all the chairs around the table out enough that everyone could sit down comfortably.)

After their late lunch of turkey, roast potatoes, cranberry sauce, pigs-in-blankets, and stuffing, the Bachs watched the Queen’s Christmas Broadcast -- a tradition Evan insisted on, though Jacob always found it incredibly uninteresting. He took several opportunities during the broadcast to make faces at Carewyn to try to make her laugh, which irritated Evan. The rest of the day involved enjoying the chocolate Yule Log and singing along to the family’s Christmas records. Jacob sang It’s the Most Wonderful Time of Year so flawlessly that Evan actually praised him -- something Jacob didn’t quite know how to accept, considering how little Evan did it. Jacob ultimately chose to forget the whole thing when Evan left the room altogether in response to Carewyn happily screaming out her best attempt at Sleigh Ride, claiming a headache. This left Jacob, Carewyn, and Lane alone for about an hour, during which Lane quieted Carewyn down by shifting the records over to the works of the Kings College Choir. Evan returned in time to hear Lane quietly singing along to The Holly and the Ivy, and he came up behind her to kiss her on the cheek.

“Pretty pretty, Mum,” Carewyn said, beaming as she gave a light tug to her mother’s pant leg.

Lane laughed softly as she scooped Carewyn up into her lap and gave her a big hug. “Thank you, sweetie.”

The night ended with two mugs of hot chocolate with marshmallows, one cup of coffee with milk and sugar, and one cup of English Breakfast Tea with lemon in front of the fireplace. Ella the cat curled up for a nap on the now-completely-empty skirt under the Christmas tree in the kitchen while Jacob and Carewyn played with his new recorder and Evan put the batteries in the new pocket calculator that Father Christmas had gotten him. These moments were captured in pictures taken with Lane’s own gift from Father Christmas: a snazzy new Polaroid camera.

At seven o’clock, Lane took Carewyn upstairs so she could get ready for bed. She tried to encourage Evan to come up with her, even going so far as to place Carewyn’s blue book of fairy tales on the side table near the stairs pointedly, but Evan soon became too preoccupied with setting up the new coffee maker in the kitchen and never ended up making it up there.

Looking noticeably disheartened as she came back downstairs, Lane didn’t even look at the book on the table again as she settled herself back down in the armchair -- and so Jacob once again found himself glaring openly in his father’s direction as he got up from his spot on the floor.

“I’m going to bed too,” he said very shortly.

He scooped up all of the books he’d gotten, as well as his recorder, and carried them upstairs. He pointedly didn’t look at Evan, even when he purposefully knocked right into him on his way up the stairs.

“Jacob!” Evan called after him, taken aback and disapproving.

But Jacob didn’t care. Even with how sweet and innocent his Pippa was, all that old plonker ever did was ignore her -- he didn’t deserve a “sorry.”

~*~

Because Jacob went up to bed so early, he hadn’t gone to the bathroom beforehand. That was why he ended up having to get up in the middle of the night. Once he’d left the hall bathroom and started back toward bed, though, he noticed the door to his sister’s room had been left ajar.

Pip?

Feeling a pang of concern, Jacob darted over. Upon peeking into her room and turning on the light, he didn’t find her. He looked around, taking note of the empty hallway and the other closed doors on the floor, and then as sneakily as he could, he darted across the hall and down the stairs. He didn’t find her in any of the chairs in the sitting room or on the floor either.

“Pip?” Jacob called out only as loud as he dared. “Pippa?”

There was a rustling from somewhere in the kitchen. Jacob came around the door frame and entered the kitchen, and immediately relaxed.

There was Carewyn in her lacy flower-printed nightgown, nestled underneath the Christmas tree. She was lying on her stomach, with her legs stretched out behind her and her arms folded under her, and Ella the cat was stretched out on the tree skirt next to her. The Siamese cat surveyed Jacob with a mild expression as he approached.

“There you are!” said Jacob. “What are you doing under there?”

Carewyn shrugged, her eyes falling down to her hands clutching the tree skirt. Jacob crouched down to better look her in the eye.

“You’re not hiding, are you?” he said with an amiable grin.

Carewyn shook her head.

“Well, good,” said Jacob. “You know you don’t have to hide from me...”

His expression grew a bit more concerned. “Is everything okay?”

Carewyn nodded. It seemed like the truth to Jacob -- she didn’t seem the least bit distressed. Instead she almost seemed expectant: like she was patiently waiting for something.

Jacob cocked an eyebrow at the Christmas tree and then back down at his sister, his face slowly unfurling in a bigger grin.

“...Aw, Pippa...you’re not waiting for Father Christmas, are you?” he asked.

Carewyn looked up at him with a rather bashful expression. It made Jacob laugh despite himself.

“Aw...he’s not coming again tonight, Pip. It’s Christmas! Father Christmas only comes on the night before Christmas.”

Carewyn’s face noticeably dropped, hearing this. “...Fafa Christmas isn’t coming back?”

“He will,” said Jacob. “Just not tonight. He only ever comes once a year.”

Carewyn’s gaze fell down to the floor as she rested her head on her hands. Her eyes even started to water a bit.

“Aw, Pip, it’s okay,” Jacob reassured her immediately. “He’ll be back next year. And when he does, you’re such a good girl that you’re bound to get even nicer presents...”

But Carewyn shook her head.

“I dun want any more,” she mumbled.

Jacob blinked. “You don’t?”

Carewyn shook her head again. “Mm-mm...I got I wanted.”

She shifted a bit. When she did, Jacob finally took in what she’d been holding against her chest. It was the book of fairy tales Evan had gifted her -- she slid it over to him so he could pick it up.

“I got a pretty...with...with a pretty paper an’ a pretty bow,” Carewyn explained. “I wanted to say...I got I wanted.”

Jacob felt like his heart was being enveloped in a huge warm hug as he heard this. All he’d been able to wrangle out of her, when writing her Christmas letter, was that she’d wanted something pretty, wrapped up in pretty paper with a blue bow. Even though, yes, their mother Lane had wrapped up all of her gifts with blue bows, Carewyn had clearly found the book to be the prettiest of her gifts -- maybe, Jacob suddenly considered, because Lane and Jacob had reacted so happily about it. Because unlike the Weebles or the clothes she’d gotten, it was something that Carewyn could share with them, the same way Jacob had shared his recorder with her.

“I wanted to say I got I wanted.” She wanted to tell Father Christmas how much she liked her gifts.

Fondness for his baby sister washed over Jacob like a wave of warm water, making his blue eyes shine with pride and affection.

Pip, you really are a saint.

“...Well, then...”

With some difficulty, Jacob sidled underneath the Christmas tree so that he too was lying down on the floor on his stomach next to Carewyn.

“...Since you got just what you wanted...how about I read you a proper bedtime story? Since old Pops didn’t get around to it.”

Carewyn smiled and nodded. With a broadening grin, Jacob flipped open the book until he’d found the story he was looking for.

“Here we go...‘Hansel and Gretel.’”

“They’re like us,” Carewyn recalled brightly, pointing at the picture of the two siblings.

“Right, they’re brother and sister, just like us,” Jacob said, grinning as he affectionately bumped his shoulder beside Carewyn’s. He then proceeded to read,

“‘Once upon a time, near a great forest, there lived a poor woodcutter, his wife, and their two children. The boy's name was Hansel and the girl's Gretel...’”

As Jacob told the story, he took every opportunity he could to make Carewyn laugh, putting on his best imitation of his snippy English teacher when reading for the woodcutter’s wife and a cackling, “old-lady” voice for the witch. It entertained both Carewyn and Jacob greatly. Carewyn liked the first story so much that Jacob went on to read two more -- Little Red Riding Hood and Cinderella -- after which Carewyn started to nod off. Her head drooped down onto her brother’s shoulder, and Jacob smiled fondly down at her before, taking care to avoid Ella the cat, he slid both himself and his little sister out from under the tree and scooped her up so he could carry her upstairs to bed. The old Siamese cat proceeded to follow Jacob and Carewyn upstairs, only breaking off once Jacob had put Carewyn to bed and closed the door. The feline then lost interest and sidled her way back downstairs, presumably to “reclaim” her spot on the tree skirt. Jacob himself then went off to bed, a full smile attached to his face.

Evan ultimately left almost no impact on Carewyn’s life. Fortunately she never had any gaping holes left behind in his absence -- for she had a devoted big brother there to ensure she never once felt like she wasn’t special or her feelings didn’t matter.

[foursidecity]

Another day another personifying mathematical, geographical, and scientific terms. All in the days work of an autistic man with a special interest in planets

[femme-objet]

if you have a mathematics phd it means you're some sort of genius who can get a mathematics phd, but it also means you're so stupid that you didn't even leverage that genius into going into finance or even physics. it creates a deranged breed of weirdos

[izzydeadjet]

The Fall of Oilgleam

Hoo boy do I have a story to tell y'all about my latest fort (Yes, the same one Drilus used to visit)

So I had this for up and running for a good 5 years at least. Not too long but enough to be well established. A year before we had a goblin mercenary roll up to visit, turn into a werecavy and start toward the tavern. My military immediately dispatched it before it could get to any major population and resulted in three casualties (Not including a few animals and the werebeast itself).

I immediately located the dwarves that had been bitten, got them healed and then put them in a squad so I could barricade them in a room. This worked beautifully and I now had three almost invincible soldiers I could train separate from the rest of the fort.

Two of the dwarves really wanted to pray to Nadak Cradlebastions the Barricaded (Lol) so I made a chute to throw some picks and booze down to them and had them carve out a nice little temple to keep them happy. The last dwarf, Ducim Domasasiz, had an unmet need to "cause trouble". I had a good laugh at this and moved on.

At some point I wondered if weredwarves could get sun-sickness and decided to build a sort of air-lock system outside so they could have a yard to walk in if they needed. I made the walls two z-levels high with a floor lip on top to stop them jumping out and a 3-tile-long bridge to make sure they wouldn't be able to jump over that either (THIS IS IMPORTANT).

I was having a merry old time with my two fortresses on the same map. I was making plans to integrate more dwarves into the werecavy side to make a kickass military and was also working on breaking into the caverns properly in my main fort. A caravan came and we traded lots of goods, then I got distracted by a dwarf in a Fey Mood not having the correct materials.

While I was trying to figure out whether it was leather or metal bars we were lacking, I got an alert that one of my werecavies was fighting someone... No, a LOT of someones...

Turns out Ducim the Menace had hopped over the gate, (possibly agitated by the leaving dwarven caravan) and immediately burst into the tavern to cause the most bloody brawl Oilgleam had ever seen up until that point. (PSA: No matter how long a drawbridge is, it will always retract to 1 z-level high. I essentially made a cute lil' fence for her to use as a hurdle.)

Thankfully she was dispatched very swiftly, but because she had gotten into the tavern I had no clue who she had attacked and the combat logs sometimes do not give you specific names for some reason. I combed through the nearby dwarves and lists, checked the blood on the floor and the hospitals and quickly found an Inod Oddomniles in there. "Phew", I thought, "Just Inod injured. I'll pop him in the Werecavy pit and once he's in I'll block off the yard so they can't get out."

The rest of the month goes by with no dwarves visiting the hospital. I figure I've contained the afflicted and get back to figuring out what on earth Sarvesh is missing for her Fey mood.

On the full moon I get another message that Werecavy Inod has now started attacking people in the tavern. I rush over to the Werecavy pit and...Inod is still there? He's just chilling with the boys...

And then I find out there were two Inods.

Immediately the game grinds to a halt, the window keeps fading in and out like my PC is about to pass out from the amount of carnage it is processing. I'm panicking trying to block up the tavern and fruitlessly squad afflicted dwarves. As I watch another werecavy appears, and another.

"How are more werecavies spawning?! And why are there so many blue and purple people in my tavern???" I cry! And then I realise...

Fuckin' Arat Agopi the necromancer poet is currently having the time of his life. He's reanimating corpses left and right as fast as the bodies are falling. Here's the thing though; Necromancers that reanimate victims of werebeasts cause their transformation to immediately trigger. He was just spawning more and more werebeasts in the tavern.

At this point my game is progressing at minutes per frame. I can navigate the game fine while paused. I can advance the game three or four frames just fine with ".", but if I unpause or advance any more than four frames my game chokes and threatens to crash at any moment.

I tried my best to let it ride out. I tried leaving the game unpaused while watching youtube vids on my phone. I tried advancing the frames slowly to make sure my PC had completed the math on the last tick. I spent HOURS trying to soldier through.

I had to abandon the fortress not because keeping it going was cruel to my dwarves, but because it was cruel to my PC.

I guess Ducim finally met her need to "Cause trouble"...

[wizardnuke]

DINDY IS SOOO FUN

[celery505]

This is something I’ve been doing for the fun of it and there is a huge drop in quality imo </3

[ms-demeanor]

I just wrote a thousand word assignment about this illustration, which I am completely, insufferably, unironically in love with.

It's a representation of an overhead view of a specific performance by the band Joy Division that was created as a print for a fundraising collection commissioned by an artist-run gallery.

It is doing *SO FUCKING MUCH* with a bunch of circles and a line that I kind of want to scream.

It's a totally static image. It's made of two shapes. It's made of two colors. Everything is a binary (everything is *DIVIDED*).

Except that if you look at it for thirty seconds there's an optical illusion that creates motion and more lines that aren't there. And if you look at it then start glancing at different parts of it the sharp contrast of black and white creates afterimages that make the little circles of the audience sway.

It's two values at the extreme ends of the spectrum, except that your brain fills it in. It's two shapes (line and dot) except that the circles make a square and the circles make a diamond and the line makes a rectangle.

It's perfectly balanced if you cut it in half vertically but the weight at the top of the image overwhelms the piece. It's perfectly balanced but the isolation of the band at the bottom makes them stand out and take up more space.

The dots are all the same size but the space around the dots at the bottom makes them bigger, more prominent; they aren't at a grander scale but they exist in a grander scale. But they are dwarfed by the crowd.

The band is the subject of the piece. The crowd is the subject of the piece. You look at the band because they are highlighted and isolated but can't help looking back to the mass of the audience again and again, overwhelmed by the weight. You look at the band and you see the crowd. You look at the crowd and get lost in it. The *performance* is the subject of the piece, both the crowd and the band.

It's circles and lines. It's abstract to the point of absurdity, looking more like a math problem than anything else.

And then you read the title and think about it for a few seconds and maybe need to sit down and scream.

[strangersteddierthings]

What's Eight Plus Seven?

Part One🦇Part Two🦇Part Three🦇Part Four🦇Part Five

Prompt from @devious-kitten

Steve had a mild interest in DnD as a freshmen because of a cousin or something. The interest was killed by Eddie being mean since Steve is a jock. Post vecna Eddie finds dust covered DnD handbook Steve explains and Eddie faces a still hurt Steve as a results of his biases

((Half written fic, half rambling about how it would go down. Apologies for the formatting. Also I added more angst than the prompt called for hehe))

Steve has always loved sports. This is a well-known fact. He's played on some sort of sports team from the time he was old enough for his parents to be able to sign him up.

A lesser-known fact is that Steve loves fantasy. Or, at least, he used to. On the playground in elementary school, Steve could often be found playing knights and dragons, and it was anyone's guess if he would be a knight or a dragon on any particular day.

The summer between middle and high school, Steve spent with his grandparents from his mother's side, on the farm they'd retired on in Michigan. A month long stay that he'd shared with his cousins, Amber, Robert, and Christopher. Amber and Robert are twins, four years younger than Steve, and Christopher was two years older and infinitely cooler than anyone else Steve knew.

Christopher was on the varsity basketball team at his high school when he was just a sophomore, captain of the JV football team, president of the chess club, and in a games club.

Christopher was everything Steve wanted to be now that he was going to be in high school. Minus the chess club because

It was during that summer, Steve got to indulge in playing make believe for another summer with his younger cousins, without the judgement of people (his father and peers) who thought he was too old for such things. He also got to learn about make believe for older kids, because Christopher played a game called Dungeons and Dragons with his game club the last month of school before summer break and spent many evenings going over what had happened with Steve as a captive audience.

"I wish I'd brought the books," Christopher had whispered to him one night from the bed, peaking over to look down at Steve in his sleeping bag on the floor, "we could have played."

Steve wishes he'd brought the books, too.

At the end of July, Christopher, Amber, and Robert's parents show up to pick them up, five days before Steve's scheduled flight to Indianapolis. It's a sad goodbye because one summer a year isn't enough with his cousins but they live in Washington. Steve's always jealous their parents drive all the way to pick them up, but a little proud he gets to brag about how he's flown alone since he was seven. No one else in his class can brag about that.

His mom picks him up in Indianapolis and they go back to school shopping while there.

A week later, Steve receives a package from Christopher. Inside Steve finds Advanced Dungeons and Dragons books, three of them, and even though Christopher said nothing about advanced, he's sure he can manage. On the inside cover of the players handbook, Christopher has written:

Hey Steve, I think you'd rock playing a dwarf paladin. Let's play next summer? Christopher 1981

He spends the last three weeks of summer vacation reading the player handbook cover to cover and making a character. It's slow going, because letters don't stay where they're supposed to be on the page (that's a problem he's had his whole life, so he's not surprised but he is determined), and he's never been good at math, so getting the stats down on paper isn't easy. He can't decide what he wants to play, so he makes two characters; an elf magic-user and, of course, a dwarf paladin.

(He's a little disappointed you can't be a dragon.)

Steve's never been one to dread the first day of school, but he's never actually looked forward to it, either. It's just been another day.

Until today.

Today is his first day as a high schooler. And the only people who go to the first day are Freshman, except the upper classman that have volunteered to man the booths for school activities for the last hour of the day. It's supposed to help the Freshman get the lay of the land without being overwhelming and Steve's excited for it. He needs to see if Hawkins High has a games club like Christopher's school does.

Here Steve is, that last hour of school. He's already been to the basketball booth, promising to sign up as soon as the season started, and the swim booth because he's got a pool at his house and has been swimming for as long as he can remember and knows he enjoys it. He also stops by the football booth even though he's never played, or cared much, for it. (Maybe he's trying to emulate Christopher, sue him.). So, the final thing is to see if Hawkins High offers a chess club and a game club.

Steve is delighted to see that, though there is no games club, there is a Dungeons and Dragons club! That delight wavers because of the kid manning the booth. His hair is curly and falls just below his ears, with big brown eyes. Steve hates to think it, but he'd be cute if he didn't look like he wanted to stab Steve.

"Yeah, no, keep walking," says the boy, pulling the flier with meeting information on it out from under Steve's hand, where he'd been attempting to read it.

Steve looks up, brows furrowed in confusion. "I was reading that."

"And I said no. Jocks don't play Dungeons and Dragons."

"I could," Steve says, offended. He squints at the name tag sticker slapped diagonally across the way too big jean vest this guy's wearing. E-d-d-i-e. Eddie.

"Have you ever played?"

"Well... no, but-"

"No buts. Mitch let a jock join last year and that was a nightmare. He could barely read the rule book. And with how you were squinting down at the flier, and then my name tag, you're not going to be much better."

Jokes on Eddie, Steve's already read the rule book. Even if it was slowly. "I can read just fine."

"Can you math, then? What's eight plus seven?"

"What?"

"Simple addition. Eight plus seven. What is it?"

Steve knows simple addition. This is fine. It doesn't matter than he's been put on the spot, and that math is hard for the same reason as reading. He can do this. His hand twitches with wanting to pull it up and use it to keep track. He's faster at math when he can do that, but this jerk is mean mugging him and he just knows if he moves his hand, this guy will mock him the rest of the school year.

Eight plus seven. Ok. Make it easier, get to ten. It takes adding two to the eight to get ten. Ok. Take that two away from the seven now. That makes... five! Ok. Ten plus five is-

"Dude, it's fifteen," Eddie snaps.

"I knew that!"

Scoff. "Right. How about seventeen plus six."

Steve can feel his face turning red with embarrassment but he's not going to let this jackass be right. Round up. It takes three to get seventeen to twenty, so take three away from the six-

"23. Point proven. Go. Away. Go play your jock games and leave me- us alone."

Steve opens his mouth to argue, or maybe plead, that he can do this, and that, more importantly, he wants to do this, but laughter cuts through the air and for the first time, Steve notices the audience that has gathered. Three people are laughing at him, and his inability to do mental math, and it makes Steve snap his jaw shut and swallow.

"Mental math isn't that hard, Steve," one of them, Brant, says, as he elbows the guy next to him.

"Thank you!" Eddie says, "that's what I'm saying."

"Whatever, man, like I'd want to play make believe at this age anyway," Steve mutters and rushes away.

If, two weeks later, Steve watches Kyle trip who he now knows is Eddie 'The Freak' Munson in the bathroom, and drag him into a stall for a swirly, well, no he didn't. He briefly thinks of saying something to stop Kyle, but shoves the words down and instead turns on heel and leaves that bathroom just as the sound of flushing and Eddie yelling start. The thick bathroom door does a good job of muffling the noise and if Steve feels any guilt about that, he shoves that down, too.

Besides, Kyle's the captain of the basketball team and if Steve wants a chance to be on that team, he can't stay anything. It's a well-known fact that Steve likes sports, after all. He's going to stick to that. Screw Eddie Munson and his Dungeons and Dragons club.

Steve will get to play Dungeons and Dragons with Christopher next summer.

Except, halfway through the school year, Steve and his parents quickly board a plane bound for Washington. Turns out being as perfect as Christopher was is hard. Overwhelming.

They arrive the day before the funeral, and fly out right after it. Steve barely has time to mourn before they're shuffling him back to school that Monday.

Christopher died, and with him, so does Steve's desire to be just like him. He quits the football team. He keeps basketball because he does like it, even without Christopher's influence. He can't bring himself to get rid of the Dungeons and Dragons books, but he can't look at them, either. They end up in the downstairs hall closet, forgotten on the shelf.

So, years later, after rising to the top of the food chain (no one was ever going to embarrass him like Eddie Munson had again) and then falling to the bottom (who cares about high school popularity when interdimensional monsters exist) and of course, the years of fighting against said interdimensional monsters before ending it all in spring of '86, Steve finds himself, unwillingly, agreeing to host Hellfire since the school banned the club following the events of spring break.

Damn Dustin Henderson. Steve usually has the backbone to say no but Dustin had to play up 'getting a chance to finally just be kids' and fuck, how was Steve going to say no to that? Despite how quickly his own desire to be a freshman playing Dungeons and Dragon had been squashed, he can't be the one to ruin this for them.

"Thanks for hosting, man," Eddie says when Steve lets him in. He's an hour early but had asked if that was okay. Apparently the dungeon master has a lot of prep to do? Not that Steve would know.

"Sure," Steve says, dismissively, because while Eddie and he went through hell together, and Steve carried his sorry ass out of the Upside Down, Steve can't quite let his guard down around him.

It's funny. In the Upside Down, Eddie had made a point to tell him he's changed, is a 'good dude' now. So, what's funny is how much Eddie is exactly the same person he was five years ago. He was an ass to Steve five years ago, and as far as Steve is concerned, was also an ass to Lucas for wanting to play basketball just this year.

He swears to God, if he hears one negative thing about Lucas tonight, he's punching Eddie unconscious, no matter what the rest of Hellfire will do or say about it.

Eddie's been in his dining room for maybe five minutes before he finds Steve in the living room. Steve's got a movie playing but he couldn't tell you which one. He's not really watching it.

"Do you got a table cloth for that big table? Jeff's got a set of metal dice and I'd feel like a real ass if we scratched it on accident."

Steve takes a deep breath before answering. He hates that Eddie is considerate like this, has been since spring break if Steve's being honest, but he doesn't want to see Eddie's good qualities. So, he waves in the direction of the closet. "Yeah. There should be some in the hall closet there. Help yourself."

"Thanks."

He twists on the couch to watch Eddie cross the room to the closet door, listens as the door creaks opens, hears the quiet, pleased noise Eddie lets out when his eyes land on the stack of table clothes. Steve continues to watch as Eddie just grabs the whole stack and yanks them off the top shelf.

Which means his watching as the stack of non-fabric objects, which must have been half atop the table clothes, also tumble out of the closet, bouncing off various parts of Eddie. It's a bunch of miscellaneous items. However, Steve realizes with horror, the book that bounces off Eddie's head is his copy of the Monster Manual. Eddie has stepped back in surprise (and possibly pain), so the Dungeon Master Guide and the Players Handbook bounce off his torso and leg before landing on the ground.

"Fuck," Eddie curses, before he stares down at what just assaulted him. Steve just stares at Eddie, watching as he slowly comes to comprehend what he's seeing. He watches as Eddie bends down and grabs the Player Handbook, the last thing to fall, from a top the pile. "What the-"

Steve stands, suddenly defensive, but doesn't actually say anything or move closer. He just watches as Eddie examines the book, flipping it from front to back in his hand like the title will change if he does that enough times.

Then, Eddie turns to him, bewildered. "Present for one of the kids? Thought they all had their own copies."

"No."

Eddie flips the book open. Reads the words written in there so many years ago. "Who's Christopher? Wait. 1981? You were playing D&D in 1981?"

"None of your business, and no," Steve says, now kicking into action, stomping up to Eddie and snatching the book from his hands.

Eddie hold his hands up in defense before his eyes turn mischievous. The same glint in them now that was there when Eddie'd leaned into this space in the RV and called him big boy. "Are you lying to me, Stevie? You've played before, haven't you?"

It makes Steve's blood boil. "No. I haven't played!"

"Alright. You could now, you know," Eddie says. And it's the way he says it, all nonchalant and like he's trying to be coy about it- it tips something over inside Steve. A bottle that held his humiliation and hurt from all those years ago.

"Oh, now I'm good enough for D&D? Now I can join? Aren't I too much of a jock for you!?"

"Whoa, what's with the hostility-"

"What's eight plus seven, Eddie!?" Steve snaps. His memory might be shit these days, with all the concussions, but the unfortunate part about Steve is that he always seems to remember the bad. And he remembers Freshman First Day like yesterday. "No? How about seventeen plus six? Come on, mental math isn't hard. Or don't you remember? I'm just a stupid jock too slow on the uptake, or no, what was it you said? It'll be a nightmare to play with me, 'cause I might be barely able to read the rules?"

He watches as Eddie's face morphs from confusion, to understanding and horror. "Holy shit, Steve. That was you- you wanted to join Hellfire-"

"Yeah, and you made it pretty fuckin' clear I didn't belong in it."

"I'm sorry man. I shouldn't have- if I'd known you, I never would have-"

"That's the problem, Eddie!" Steve shouts, waving the book in front of him. "You didn't know me. You looked at me and decided for me that I was going to be a jock and nothing else and then humiliated me in front of other people! You didn't even bother to try to know me. I spent three weeks reading this stupid book cover to cover because I knew I was shit at reading and I still wanted to try anyway."

He sees Eddie puffing up in anger. "Well, I wasn't exactly wrong, was I? You were a jock, a bully even!"

"Yeah, because I was a dumb, hurt kid who decided that it was better to hurt than be hurt. As if you weren't exactly the same that day, lashing out at me first, at my reading ability, and mocking me for not being quick at math. Fuck you, Munson!" Steve walks away, not hearing anything Eddie shouts after him as he sprints up the stairs and shuts himself in his room.

Steve knows he was a dick in high school, and it's not Eddie's fault he was a dick. Steve made choices he's not proud of and no one forced those choice on him. But Eddie doesn't get to throw that back in his face. Not when Eddie made him feel humiliated and stupid on the first goddamn day of high school, long before Steve became mean himself.

[mynameismckenziemae]

Underestimated

Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x You/Reader/OFC

Summary: Being mistreated isn’t uncommon for a woman working in a male-dominated field, but Bob isn’t going to let it slide when he witnesses it happen to you.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI! Smut, oral (m receiving), p in v, military/mechanical inaccuracies (I’m assuming), misogyny, etc.

——————————————————————————

For as long as you can remember, people (men) have underestimated you. Starting with your older brothers thinking you were an easy target, though they quickly learned that wasn’t the case. Next, your math teacher overlooked your intelligence because you were female. Your guidance counselor tried to persuade you away from the Navy after graduation because you weren’t tough enough for the military. The RDC laughed in your face the first day of boot camp, saying someone of your stature would never make it through; it sure felt good to see the smile fall from his face when you received ‘Outstanding’ marks in your physical readiness test.

But just because you were used to being underestimated; doesn’t mean it doesn’t get old.

It’s been two months since relocating to your hometown to be the lead aviation structural mechanic of North Island and none of the men you oversee have warmed up to you. The look of disappointment on your crew’s faces when you were introduced was obvious; your name was gender-neutral so they were counting on a male. You hadn’t expected them to befriend you, but you did expect respect; which was definitely lacking.

“A little help over here,” you call out, struggling to not lose your grip on the intake part you were trying to replace.

“Hello? Can someone help me?” You ask again a few minutes later, muscles trembling as it slides further off your shoulder. Not only would it hurt like a bitch if it lands on you, but it’s also not a cheap part if it bends or breaks.

“Equal pay for equal work, sweetheart. You can’t do the work yourself, you shouldn’t be here,” Jackson, the smug asshole, replies while the others chuckle in agreement.

“Fuck,” you grit out, trying not to panic as it begins to fall. But strong hands are helping you guide it into place. The same hands that have been on your mind since he dwarfed yours when he shook it on your first day.

Your attraction to the rest of him has only grown in the time since, along with your feelings; you adore his sweet, quiet demeanor. Natasha keeps telling you he feels the same way about you, but you haven’t built up the nerve yet to make a move.

“I’ll hold it here while you attach it,” Bob says softly near your ear. Your heart races as you do so, getting close enough that you can smell his signature leather and clean laundry scent.

Bob’s brows furrow as he watches your arms shake from the exertion. “How long were you holding this up?”

“About 5 minutes,” you reply, catching him shaking his head from the corner of your eye.

You’re done a moment later, sighing in relief when you put your arms down.

“Thanks,” you say as you set down your screwdriver and wipe your hands. You can’t help but notice how good he looks in his flight suit.

“No problem. Why didn’t you ask for help?” He asks as he wipes off his own.

“I did,” you sigh. “The boys here uh…aren’t too fond of me being their supervisor.”

“Why not?” He asks, perplexed.

“Because I’m a woman,” you reply with a shrug. “They don’t think I’m right for the job because I ask for help with lifting sometimes. Among other thing so I’m sure.”

His expression quickly turns angry.

“What’s up, Floyd?” Jackson says, smacking Bob on the shoulder. “If you need something worked on, you’re better off coming to me.”

“Why’s that?” Bob asks, shrugging his hand off and turning around.

“Come on, you know a woman’s place is in the kitchen, barefoot and pregnant,” Jackson jokes.

But you’re not laughing. Neither is Bob.

“A woman’s place is wherever the hell she wants it to be, Jackson. I know you’re an idiot but I can’t believe you’re dumb enough to say something like that in front of me, but also your female commanding officer. I haven’t been impressed with the way you,” he stops and looks at the rest of the guys that have gathered around, “any of you have been treating her since she started but refusing to help her is going against direct orders. Not only could she have been injured, but the part she was holding costs more than a year’s salary for you.”

He steps closer to Jackson as he continues. “I’ll leave it up to her if she wants to report it, but if I ever see you disrespect her again, you’ll have to deal with me.”

You’re suddenly feeling hot and flustered as the crush you’ve been harboring intensifies as sweet, shy Bob defends your honor.

Jackson visibly gulps, nodding before he looks at you.

“Go home for the day,” you say with a glance at the clock before you begin to clean up your bay. “All of you are dismissed.”

“Look, I’m sorry-“ Jackson starts but you cut him off.

“Save it, Jackson,” you sigh. “I’m not going to report you, but I will if it happens again.”

“Yes ma’am,” he replies before scurrying away.

Bob follows you as you wash your hands in the sink, scrubbing the grease off. “Sorry, if I overstepped. I know you’re more than capable of standing up for yourself. I just can’t-“ he starts but you interrupt him as you dry your hands.

“You didn’t overstep. I appreciate it,” you assure him as you look over his shoulder to make sure everyone’s gone.

You take a step closer, bringing a hand up to play with the zipper of his flight suit.

“Thank you,” you murmur as you pull him to you for a kiss.

He freezes as your lips touch his, but only for a moment before he kisses you back; the tension that’s been building snapping in an instant.

“I’ve wanted this since the moment I laid eyes on you,” he breathes as you kiss down his neck, groaning as you nip his collarbone.

“Me too,” you murmur against his neck before pulling back to take his hand. “Come on.”

You lead him to the parts room, unlocking the door and pushing him against it once closed, gasping into the kiss when you feel his thick erection pressing against your stomach.

He groans when your hand finds him next, palming him through his flight suit. You shiver before pulling down the zipper, wanting more of those delicious sounds.

“What are-oh God,” he sighs when you fall to your knees, flicking your tongue over the wet spot on his boxerbriefs to taste the precum.

“Wanna taste you,” you say, hands pausing by the waistband of his briefs. “Can I?”

You continue when he nods, gulping when his size is revealed to you. “So big,” you murmur, meeting his eyes as you lean forward to lick the precum beading.

“Fuck,” he whispers before his head falls back against the door with a thump and his hands fist at his sides when you suck him into your mouth.

You bring a hand up to stroke what can’t fit in your mouth and unzip your own coveralls with the other, slipping inside and between your legs to give yourself some relief. Your eyes fall close with a moan as you circle your clit.

“Oh-oh my God,” he gasps when you moan, his eyes zeroing in on what your hand is doing. “Are you touching yourself?”

Your eyes open and take in his wrecked expression before you hum around him.

“Ah…w-wait,” he pants, guiding you off him and to your feet. “I almost-I don’t wanna cum yet.”

You smile as he spins you, pressing you to the door. You shiver as he leaves wet kisses down your neck and whimper when he sucks your nipple through the thin material of your sports bra.

“Next time,” you promise, stopping him as he starts to kneel. “Right now I want you inside me.”

He inhales sharply at your words and nods as he reaches for his wallet, pulling out a condom.

“What are you doing?” You ask with a giggle as he puts it under the light while you slip your coveralls off.

“Making sure it’s not expired,” he replies with a chuckle. “It’s been in my wallet for a few years. It’s good for a few more months yet.”

“Good,” you reply, watching as he rolls it on.

You wrap your legs around his waist when he lifts you and lines himself up to your entrance.

Your mouth finds his as he pushes inside you, and you whimper at the sweet stretch.

“You feel like heaven” he whispers before trailing kisses to your shoulder as you adjust, withdrawing to push back in when you’re ready.

Now it’s your head that thunks against the door as he fucks into you at a steady pace, grunting softly into your neck with each deep thrust.

He pulls back to watch you through lust-heavy eyes as he wets his ring and pointer fingertips before sliding them between you to circle your clit. “Feel good?” He asks, voice husky.

“So good,” you moan, clenching around him as your release starts to build.

“Good,” he nods, “I want you to cum for me, can you do that?”

“Y-yes! Fuck, I’m close,” you whine, your hands scrambling to find purchase on his shoulders as your orgasm rapidly approaches.

He leans in for another kiss and the change of the angle is all it takes for you to fall over the edge with a throaty moan.

Bob’s hips stutter and he fills the condom with a deep groan when you clench rhythmically around him.

He sets you down gently once you’ve caught your breath, making sure you’re steady on your feet before removing the condom. You pull your underwear back on while he zips up his suit.

“What are you doing tonight?” He asks as he kneels, helping you step back into your uniform.

“I have a date with a load of laundry,” you joke. “Why, what’s up?”

“Think it’d be upset if you rescheduled?” He asks, leaning forward to press a kiss just above your bare knee, then halfway up your thigh as he pulls up the fabric. “You said I could do this,” he places a wet kiss to your clit through your underwear before continuing to rise, “next time. So I was thinking I could pick up takeout and we could have ‘next time’ tonight?”

“I like the way you think,” you reply with a smile, leading the way out of the hangar.

——————————————————————————

A/N: Thank you @lexixstewart for the idea (again!) You have such good ideas! I hope you like it!

As always, any interaction is appreciated but I love hearing what you think in comments/reblogs!

Sorry if you’re not a Bob girly, but I’ll add my taglist here:

@mamamaystbr

@its-the-pilot

@dizzybee03

@sweetwhispersofchaos

@shanimallina87

@blindedbythelightt

@getmyprettynameoutofyourmouth

@phoenix-rising-starbird-one

@mrsrobertfloyd5

@charmedkim

@k-k0129

@bellaireland1981

@hookslove1592

@amiets2

@nero4te

@eli2447

@atarmychick007

@vixenobrian

@86laura11

@hisredheadedgoddess28

@dempy

@angelbabyyy99

@buckysteveloki-me

@djs8891

@mizzzpink

@daggerspare-standingby

@mrsevans90

@littlezee80

@emma8895eb

@jessicab1991

@devil-angel-winchester