#I need my happy chemicals to keep my day going

[oobbbear]

I love food I love to cook I love appreciating foods all three meals are important and need to be treated with respect I work to eat food makes life good

[theood]

If I could change one thing in my life I'd make it so no one ever commented on food

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[gghostwriter]

Still Alive for My Lover

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: The four times Spencer brushes with death and the fifth time he's reborn to find his way back to you

Warning: angst with happy ending || [Part 2A of Death of a Love Affair; Part 2B is the sad ending]

A/n: I did a poll the other day on if I should post both different part 2s for Death of a Love Affair and posting both won so here is one of the endings--the happy one! I actually scrapped my first happy ending idea for this (I dreamt about this plot just the other night) so like a maniac, I wrote and edited it in one sitting. Also he has been through a lot so I had to choose scenes that I think would affect his psyche. Hope you enjoy!

Part one || Main masterlist || Part 2B

The first time Death came close was during an Anthrax attack

In Spencer’s quest in solving the time sensitive and nation threatening case, he made a series of misjudgments that had led him to being exposed to the chemically engineered Anthrax.

During his months of adjusting back into being single and alone, he poured all that he could to his job. No longer were the cases viewed with a clear objective mind, they all became personal. Case distance from Virginia, where you were, meant nothing. He viewed each killer a threat to your existence. In the most convoluted way, this was him protecting and keeping you safe when he no longer could beside you. 

“Hey, Reid.” Garcia softly said.

“Reid, wow, no, uh—no witty Garcia greeting for me?” Spencer joked to try and lighten the mood.

She shakily exhaled her breath. “I can’t be my sparkly self when you are where you are.” 

“Garcia, do you think you can do something for me?” His voice trailing off at the end.

“Anything.”

“I, uh-I know I can’t call my mom without uh—“ he cleared his throat. “Without alerting everyone at her hospital and I can’t call Y/N since—since it’s protocol and we broke up.”

She paused, nodding her head. “What do you need?”

“I-I need you to record messages for them, in case anything happens to me.”

“Oh, nothing’s going to happen to you,” she tried to be optimistic. “You’re gonna—brilliantly find out who did this and we’re gonna treat this strain.”

He sighed with a slight smile on his face. “I hope you’re right, but if you’re not, I just—I really want to make sure that they hear my voice.” 

“Ok, just give me a second.” The taps from her keyboard echoing in the background.

“Are you ready?” Spencer asked.

“Ready.”

“Hi, Mom. This is Spence. I just, um-I just really want you to know that I love you and—i need you to know that I spend every day of my life proud to be your son.” His tone fluctuating from holding back tears. “Y/N, I know we broke up months ago but—I need you to know that I love you and that I’m sorry—” A shiver passed through his body, a sign of his fever escalating. “Sorry for pushing you down in my list of priorities—should have done better. I don’t resent you for leaving me and if—if this is my last message, I want you to know you’re one of the last things on my mind, Angel.” 

The thought of you finding out through the news that an FBI agent had died or worse, not finding out at all, sent him into a tailspin. You were a worrier and Spencer didn’t want you to question your judgement of breaking it off with him and drown in the not knowing, what ifs of it all. He wondered where you were at that very moment as he crept closer and closer to Death’s door. Were you wallowing still? Maybe out for brunch with your friends or a date—his breathing stuttered at the thought. He tried and failed to imagine you smiling at a faceless man in front of you, preening under your attention. Who wouldn’t? He shook his head as an effect to bring him back to the present.

The pause made Garcia panic. “Reid?”

“I-I gotta go.” 

Click.

***

The second time was when Maeve died

Spencer thought he was finally going to get it right with Maeve but it was false hope, his speculation far from the truth because Maeve—his second chance in love was dead, killed right before his very eyes. He loved her, truly did even without knowing what she looked like—not in the encompassing way he loved you, no, but Maeve still carved a space in his heart that was one filled by you. She was comfort and a healing balm for the pain of losing you.

He associated navigating life with you as something like entering a luscious forest. With you leading the way though the beautiful greenery and kind animals—a fairytale kind of love. But when you let go of his hand, the forest turned dark and the animals turned into monsters that haunt his every move. Maeve was a cabin in those woods, lighted and warm with a fireplace—a respite for his lost and terrified being. He knew what was out there but housed in her presence, he felt safe and believed himself ready to defend his newfound solace. He was wrong, the security was temporary. His shelter torn down and taken away, leaving him back out in the woods with no light or guiding star to see him through. 

Curling into himself on the floor beside his bed with ‘The Narrative of John Smith’, the copy that Maeve gifted, tucked to his chest, uncaring of the the pathogens that it can carry, a folded piece of paper under the dresser caught his eye. He stretched his hand, feeling the settled dust on its surface scatter, and pulled it into the light. Gingerly, he opened the yellowing sheet and found himself staring at your handwriting—a note that he had never seen before.

He once asked about your penchant for leaving hand written notes for him to find. You shrugged then and nonchalantly called it a treasure hunt for him to partake in. During the times passed, he’d encounter lingering, forgotten notes from you all over his apartment. In his cupboard, pushed in the dark recesses, in his rarely worn patterned coat, and slotted in between the books on his bookshelf. He thought he had found them all but here was one left unread as if it knew when to make its presence known. As if it knew that he needed a sliver of light to guide him home.

Spence,

I’m not sure if we met at the right time, but because we’re both here, let’s do our best and if there does come a time were we must part, know that I love you. I’ll love you enough until we meet again. 

His tears broke free from his battered walls and streamed down his face. He loved Maeve. He was thankful for the peace each phone call had given him and although his memory of each talk may fade into the back of his mind, the relief and emotion she had given him will linger in his chest. He slowly got up from his position and approached his beloved shelf. With one last look at his book, he slotted it within the nook and walked away.

His love for Maeve will always be there but he loved you too and he thinks he always will. And when sadness and grief comes to pull him back under in moments of weakness, he unfolds his talisman—the note—kept near his heart as a reminder. A reminder that he has loved, was loved, and is still loved. 

***

The third time was when he was shot in the neck

Fading in and out. 

In—liquid seeping into his shirt and tie.

You were the only thing he could think of. Not the case, not the team, only you.

Out—sirens blaring in a distant background.

In—Morgan’s voice calling his name.

For the first time in a long time, Spencer was terrified. He was so terrified that death had come to collect his borrowed life without having a chance to right his wrongs. Without any contact and without any way to say how much he has loved you still after all these years and months. He could probably recite how long it had been, if only he wasn’t loopy from the pain. 

Out—muffled voices all around him. 

In—a gentle sway in the ambulance as it rushed to the hospital.

He wanted to tell you how much he’d learned from recalling all his memories with you. How much you had taught him about love—a teaching he could never find in books. How love was selfless and tenacious—just like when you didn’t give up on him early on—when it needed to be. How love is fueled with respect—like how you respected his choices and demands of his career, and how love—true love, knew when it’s time to go. 

Out—streak of bright lights passing him by. 

In—professionals dressed in scrubs and white coats touching him. 

Your face was the only image settling behind his closed eyelids. He tried to remember the crinkle around your eyes when you smile, the scrunch of your nose when you laugh, or the he arch of your brows when you teased him but all were hazy, as if he was staring into a deep depth of water that rippled nonstop. All he could conjure up was your face with tears sliding down to your chin from the hurt he caused. He was deathly afraid that his last memory of you were in pain. 

Out—laying cold on the operating table.

All he could muster to repeat to himself as he faded under local anesthesia was your name. Like it was a mantra, a prayer, and his own personal saving grace. 

In—surrounded by beeping noises and fluffed pillows.

Mind still hazy when he came to, he sent a thank you to the stars. Grateful that Death was unsuccessful and to have been given an opportunity to correct his mistakes. Wishing that somehow, somewhere your paths and his would cross again and he could tell the story of all his adventures and yours, and how he has changed, hoping once again to be worthy of you.

***

The final time was during his stint in prison

He’s changed. In the dark forest you’ve left him behind, the once scared and hunted by monsters had become the hunter. The anger and agitation that simmered near the surface of his every waking moment was something he did not know how to accept. He was worried about the new him and how you’d perceive it. There were no signs of who he was before and during you. If he’d cross paths with you on the street, would you recognize him? He hoped so. Would you still accept him? He needed you to.

Along his long route back to you, he grew thorns and horns. He became decorated with wounds and scars. His talisman—your note—had aged, just like him, and had ripped along the folds. His once brilliant mind—now in a haze from trauma, memorized the words. It was your writing that grounded him while he was stuck in the cell of a mad woman’s making. The slants and loops studied and the grooves and indentations caressed with his calloused, bloody hands. 

He loved you still, very much so, but with his change, it had also mutated. What once was compared to a fairytale kind of love had now been smudged with darkness and desperation.

He felt lethal in his journey back to your embrace. Gone was the boy who felt remorse in shooting an unsub between the brows and replaced with the man who felt no qualms in killing should safety be threatened. He knew he had to talk to someone about the path his thinking had taken but instead, he entered his home with a single-minded purpose, walking straight to your side of the drawer and clutched another memento that will buoy him through the ravaging waters of emotion—your engagement ring. Looping it through a chain that he now wears on his neck and near his heart, a symbolism of his will to see things through, come hell or high water, he’ll crawl home to you.

***

And his second life started when he left the BAU

Spencer wanted to see you. Once inside the building elevator going down, he fought the urge to dial your number—regardless if it was still even yours. He needed to know. To know if you’ve moved on after all those many years apart or lived just like he did—tried but unsuccessful, always comparing and always coming up short. The eyes not as kind as yours, the smile not as radiant, and the heart not as beautiful. Was it awful of him to wish for the former? Yes, yes it was. He knew you deserved happiness and support after all the times he had let you down, knew you deserved a life after him, knew you deserved a happy ending but here he was, hopelessly wishing that your happy ending was still with him. 

He didn’t keep up with your life as much as he wanted to. The wounds of his failure and the battle scars he received along the way were still fresh. He didn’t have the right to know—a self imposed punishment. Although Garcia offered to look into you whenever he would reach rock bottom, and he’s been there a lot, he refused. By returning your ring, the engagement ring hidden underneath his shirt, you’ve taken back his privilege and he respected your decision.

You deserve better than to have him contact you without his life in order. If you’d still have him, you’d get the best of him. And so for the past six months, he focused on himself. He gained his footing in teaching young agents, he worked on his anger and made progress with his therapist, and he got to know who he was again beyond being an FBI agent. And it was as if the stars took notice of the changes and decided to reward him.

It was late into the night when he decided to make a quick grocery trip for some perishables missing in his pantry. This was out of his normal routine and he was forever grateful to the impulsiveness that took over him that night ever since. It was what led him to cross paths with the only person he had once considered home—you.

As he was entering the store, you had come out in all your beauty, struggling with one bag in each hand. Whenever he would recall this story, you’d scoff and tell him that you didn’t feel beautiful then—hair in a sloppy bun, t-shirt all crumpled, and face bare from any makeup. He’d object as no matter what the circumstance, you were always the most beautiful to him. 

He cleared his throat then. “Y/N.”

“Spencer,” you breathed out, surprise painting across your face.

“Do you need help with that?” He asked, voice cracking at the end. He thought he outgrew his shyness, time in prison does that for a person, but here you were reverting him back to how he felt when he first met you. “I’d like to walk you back to your car, if that’s alright,” he added on as he was afraid of your refusal. The parking lot was dimly lit and almost deserted. Years of solving cases has made him hyper vigilante and even if he was technically no longer a fed, his experience stayed the same. He still wanted to make sure you were safe, after all the time away.

You hesitated before nodding once in agreement. 

He smiled, letting go of his breath he didn’t know he was holding, and reached out to take your grocery purchases. “Let me get these for you, lead the way.”

The silence was uncomfortable. Years of being away from each other has made him a stranger to you and you to him.

You crossed yours arms, a sign of defense, before clearing your throat. “How’s the team?”

He pressed his lips into a straight line, not wanting to spill every little change that has happened while you were gone. “Good, good.”

Silence.

“No case tonight?”

“Uh—I only consult now,” he explained. “I went into teaching.”

Your arms dropped, a sign of openness, and you peered at him. “That’s—different. I mean, are you happy about that?”

He laughed and almost felt like preening at the care that you still had for him. “Yeah, it’s nice to have a normal schedule for once.”

“Somehow normal and you being mixed together doesn’t compute in my head,” you teased, swinging your hands in a clear sign of nervousness. He felt good—glad that he still could read your tics. How the slight downturn of your eyebrow meant you’d table the information to ruminate on it later. How the little bounce on your walk, that wasn’t there earlier, meant you were accepting of this situation. And how you slightly shifted closer to him meant you find his presence a protector. 

As he was documenting each non-verbal cues into his memory, the back of your hand brushed with his, sending a jolt of electric charge. It was as if both your bodies needed a physical reminder that the other half is back and nearby. It was as if a defibrillator had charged his black and blue heart to life once again. 

You giggled. “Sorry about that.”

It was a cold night but each laughter wrapped around him like a comforting blanket, warming his weary bones that had been lost in the dark cold woods for so long. “It’s alright,” he stated as he watched you unlock the trunk of your car. 

Loading in your grocery in silence, he shuffled ever so slightly out of the way as you closed the trunk and rocked on your heels.

He stuffed his hands into his pockets. It was the only way he could prevent his hands from reaching out and caressing your pink cheeks. He didn’t have the permission to touch you yet��not matter how much he wanted to. So wanted to.

“You look—you look great, by the way,” you stammered out.

“Thanks, you too—look great, I mean,” he stated. He wanted to sing out more praises on how you’d gotten more beautiful, more radiant, and more lovely but he settled on something simple lest he scares you away with the intensity of his feelings. “Do you think could have your number? You know, just in case you’d need help with groceries again.” A feeble excuse.

You smiled. The type of smile that was once reserved for him and he wished for it to still be his. Please don’t say no, please, he realized that if you do, that will be it. That there will no longer be any saving the tragedy between him and you.

As he was starting to slide down the familiar slope of sadness, you nodded. “I never changed it.” You unlocked the driver seat before facing him once again. “Spence—”

He basked in hearing you say his name.

“—I’m different now. So you’ll have to get to know me again.”

“I’m different now, too,” and while you uttered yours as if it was an apology or a forewarning, he uttered his as a promise. A veiled promise that he was now the man that you wanted him to be after all those years.

He reached his hand out. “Hi, I’m Spencer Reid,” he hoped you’d play along.

You laughed, clearly intrigued at changes that had happened to him. Here he was, a germaphobe, reaching for a handshake to a stranger regardless of pathogens. You weren’t really a stranger, not really, but he wanted to write a new beginning. The last time was too tragic and ended with goodbyes. This time, this time, it’ll be perfect, he vowed to himself. A perfect fairytale with a happy ending that he could share with his kids with you one day. 

“Hi, Spencer,” you reached out your hand into his, engulfing yours in his tight grip. “I’m Y/N.”

He watched as you got into the car, fastening your seatbelt and roll down the window. “I’ll call you.”

“Please do, I’ll be waiting,” you whispered out before backing away from the parking lot.

And he did.

And after a few dates, he slid back the ring that once hung around his neck, sitting near his heart, back to where it belonged—back to your fourth finger where the Romans once believed a vein ran directly to the heart. Vena Amoris, the vein of love. Where it will stay forevermore, never allowing time and the outside to separate what once was meant to be. Never allowing ‘him and you’ as separate, there was just ‘them’.

[prettieinpink]

 ♡ PRETTIER HIERARCHY ♡

HAPPY 1.2k+ TO PRETTIEINPINK! Thank you guys for the support, here’s a lil gift from me to you. 

If you don’t want to read all of this, I created a hierarchy of everything you need to do to glow up, right at the end!!! But I recommend reading everything first <3

I’ve been trying to ‘glow up’ like forever, but there was no actual content out there that helped me glow up. Most people sugarcoated, or their lifestyles of glowing up just weren't sustainable for me. So, I created this post for everyone planning to glow up or maximise their prettiness! 

DISCLAIMER – THIS POST IS NOT DETAILED. I wanted to do a simple outline to give you guys an idea of what to do to maximise your pretty. A little help to plan, especially as we enter 2024, but I’ll expand on these individual topics in the future. 

GRADE 1 – HEALTH

Being healthy can make you SO pretty. Being healthy is the foundation. There are other ways to be physically healthy, but after doing these 4 the rest usually fall in place.  Here are some simple ways to become healthier, and then eventually prettier!

HEALTHY EATING.

 I'm not going to go super deep into this, as no diet fits everyone + Please consult with your doctor before taking any extreme advice. Though, I'll tell you a bit of things that helped me !!

Stop drinking soda. Please, it's so unhealthy and it's full of so many sugars. Even the ones that are 0 cal, have weird chemicals that I don't trust. Many more alternatives taste just as good, like coconut water, herbal drinks, smoothies etc! Especially because nowadays most large calories and sugar intakes are from sugary drinks 

Stop restricting, moderate it. I am a big fan of dairy, yoghurt, milk, and cheese, I love it all. However I acknowledge that dairy isn’t the healthiest, so instead I always ensure I'm eating in moderation. E.g I put a tablespoon of shredded cheese in my omelettes instead of a handful. You will enjoy healthy eating so much, but only if you're not restricting. 

Have one serving of fruit, vegetables, or both with each meal. It provides so many good nutrients, makes you fuller and keeps you hydrated. Measure with your palm to ensure you’re eating enough. 

Know that just because one food has fewer calories than the other, does not mean it is the healthiest. I struggled so much with this, especially because many weight loss accounts will mention this, but it is so wrong. White bread has fewer calories than brown bread, but brown bread is higher in nutritional value. 

Plan snacks. Planning snacks for throughout the day, instead of spontaneously eating is so much better. I recommend this for anyone who gets hungry during the day but not enough for a meal (like me!)

Drink more water. Not 1L a day, because it is so much more ideal for you to have a glass of water with each meal + when you feel thirsty. 

Start educating yourself. This is as much as I can tell you, im not a nutritionist or a dietitian but if you plan to ensure that healthy eating becomes your lifestyle, educating yourself is essential!! 

EXERCISING.

Once again, I'm only going to go surface level with this because it is only based on my personal experience + Consult with your doctor before doing anything extreme. 

Start aiming for 5k+ steps. I see a lot of people advertise 10k+ steps as the standard, or what's active, but it's not sustainable If you're a busy person with a sedentary life or a beginner at exercise it is gonna be hard to sustain that. But walking is so good for you and simple too.

Join your local sports! Such a fun way to socialise while still exerting energy. 

If you can't do that for whatever reason, there are many ways to exercise at home. Research and pick a workout that you like and is sustainable. E.g. jump rope, pilates, home exercises, weightlifting, biking

Start standing more, it exerts energy. While very little, it still is very good. 

That's it, but remember to always start small with exercising, and RESEARCH!

BETTER SLEEP

To me, it doesn’t matter how much sleep a person is getting, but much more rather the quality of said sleep. So, here are some tricks and tips to get better at sleeping!!

Investing in a good quality pillow is so good for your sleep, the more comfortable you are, the better + it reduces the chances of poor posture or hump necks 

Research about different sleeping positions, as some positions at night promote back pain, difficulty breathing or poor posture. 

Start sleeping in complete darkness. Remove all sources of light or invest in good light-blocking curtains OR binders. Though, binders seem to be much more effective but are more pricey. If you cannot do either of that, buy a good sleeping mask. 

Sleep in the cold. Your body easily falls asleep if your environment is cold, and you’re less likely to wake up in the middle of the night. 

It is ideal for you to stop using devices an hour or two before bed, but if it is not sustainable for you, wear red blue-light-blocking glasses instead of clear ones. Red ones are more effective. 

Avoid large physical or mental tasks before bed, use that time to unwind and tell your body it's time to go to sleep. 

Avoid napping for longer than 30 minutes, or it can disrupt the sleep you have at night. 

Go to sleep at similar times every day. If you go to sleep earlier or later than this, you will ruin your sleep schedule and feel groggy. 

I expand more here. 

ORAL HEALTH

This is a step many people will neglect, but the most important in my opinion. Your teeth are the only body part that fails to regenerate after a certain age. Here's how I take care of mine!

Brush your teeth for longer. Brushing your teeth should not be a sped-up process, put actual thought into it. 

Start flossing. Floss removes plaque, and reduces the chances of your teeth yellowing! Do this ideally after each meal.

Brush your teeth before you eat. Brushing my teeth is the first thing I do when I wake up because brushing your teeth is supposed to protect your teeth from the food, not wash away your food. 

If you have the means, buy an electric toothbrush, as this gets in the little nooks and crannies that a regular one cannot. 

Use a tongue scraper or your toothbrush to get rid of any bacteria on your tongue. 

Use straws to drink coffee or any heavily coloured drinks. This avoids the premature yellowing of teeth. Make sure you put the straw on the side of your mouth to avoid your teeth. 

Use good mouthwash. A total game-changer, makes your breath fresher and your gums healthier. 

If need be, definitely use a purple teeth serum as a whitening treatment.

GRADE 2: STYLE 

I do not mean literal clothes and style, that's in grade 3. This is all about basic grooming and such. This is 2nd most important, especially if you're somebody who’s never been invested in beauty.

SKINCARE 

Get a basic skincare routine, cleanser and moisturiser.

If you have other skincare concerns e.g. dry skin, hyperpigmentation, acne, or blemishes, invest in a serum. 

Avoid touching your face frequently.

Wash makeup brushes & pillowcases often.

Dermaplaning to help skincare absorb better. 

Use sunscreen!

HAIRCARE

 Invest in a good shampoo and conditioner for your hair type.

Use a good hair oil, it doesn’t have to be for growth, but just for nourishing your scalp

Sleep with a good quality bonnet on.

Find which type of hairbrush works the best on you!

Use warm water to remove product build up and dirt, but use cool water to rinse.

Buy spray suncsreen to put on your scalp during hot weather.

Once again, research. Hair is just too much of a broad topic for me to thoroughly talk about.

EYEBROW & LASHES

Trim your eyebrows regularly to avoid too many stray hairs

Tint your eyebrows and lashes. If you already have dark eyelashes and brows, try a lighter look. I seem to prefer a dark brown look to a black 

Invest in a good lash & brow serum or use any oil

Don't use Vaseline on your eyelashes.

 Limit how much you wear mascara. 

I talk more about this here. 

BODY & HANDS 

Have a daily shower routine which consists of washing, exfoliating and moisturising your skin. 

Using scented products is such a game changer, smelling good is like being a magnet 

Doing manicures, my routine is a cuticle scrub, file, buff, polish, paint then cuticle oil. 

Shave on the areas you want to. Having smooth skin is nice, but to ensure your shave lasts longer, watch a video. 

I post about creating a good shower routine here. 

LIPS

Invest in a good, portable lip balm. I prefer the ones that burn your lips to give it a more fuller effect

Make your lip scrub. Sugar, honey and turmeric are my go-to. Helps remove dead skin.

If you have hyperpigmentation around the lips, use glycolic acid, only a little.

GRADE 3 – FASHION

My favourite grade, because it is so fun and focuses more on the aesthetic side of things. However, they're not essential, which makes it all the more fun!

CLOTHES 

 I have a post about wardrobe essentials here. 

Find out about what season colours you are. This helps with using colours in fashion to enhance. ( if you don't like your colours it is okay, it doesn’t change much if you do not wear them) 

Figuring out your undertone colours for jewellery. 

Figure out what works for your figure. Experiment with necklines, bottom length etc. 

Find out your general style too, what you feel confident in and more assured. 

MAKEUP

Research and only watch tutorials of women who look like you (trust me). 

Dear Peachie has a bunch of videos of how makeup works, for beginners to more advanced artists!

Then make your signature look for every using your knowledge. 

FRAGRANCE 

Invest in a good eau de parfum and eau de toilette. Cheap fragrances suck. 

Invest in a good-scented lotion. My favourite brand is Vaseline.

Using a good nice fabric softener for laundry makes you feel and smell fresh

Using an expensive scented body wash doesn’t matter, invest in a good body lotion. 

HAIR STYLING 

Hairstyles that enhance your face shape, not shield it. 

Having a simple signature look for everyday

Experimenting with your hair is ideal, but if you can't for whatever reason once again research.

GRADE 4 – PERSONALITY

The way you seem to others can make you so much prettier. Fake it till you make it as always~

POSTURE

Having good posture makes you stand out, makes you look prettier and is generally good for your health

Chin is parallel to the floor, shoulders are down and relaxed, rib cage is elevated, pelvis is tucked in, your knees straight and flexed, and the weight on your feet should be in the center.

You can stretch for good posture, there are many videos on this on YouTube.

Ensure your sleeping position is promoting good posture, not poor. 

Buy a back brace to reinforce good posture.

BODY LANGUAGE

Learn how to move your body during conversations to seem more self-respected and confident.

Train your facial expressions for different situations, but especially for taking photos.

There are tons of books and videos on this, won’t expand because this is all about how you want others to perceive you. 

ELOQUENCE

Improve the way you communicate with others. Be fluent and clear to understand 

Expand your vocabulary, know how to substitute words on the spot and make sentences. 

Knowing what to say in like any and every conversation makes people like you more, and the best way to be more eloquent is just practice. 

There are so many good books about this.. read.

GRADE 5 – MIND

Personally, having a good mindset does boost your self-perception of your prettiness + being happier in general makes you more inclined to take care of yourself = being more pretty!!!

MENTAL HEALTH

Start journaling as a way to organise your thoughts and to truly analyse your emotions. There are a lot of journaling prompts on Pinterest and such!

Meditation as a way to clear the mind when needed is so good. There are a bunch more meditations for other purposes though like body image, productivity, focus or just general relaxation.

Go to therapy, or just have at least one person you can talk to when life becomes tough.

Cut back on social media. There's misinformation, trolls and a lot of content that isn't nourishing your mind. 

Get some sun! Simple and doable, but has a huge effect on the body. It can improve the current mood. Wear sunscreen. 

Start learning how to process situations, instead of bypassing the emotions that come with them. 

Start surrounding yourself with like-minded people. Seriously, being around people who are just too different is draining. 

MINDSET

Embrace growth and reject all forms of comfort. Being uncomfortable with something is growth. 

Don’t do things because you ‘have’ to do this, do them because they benefit you and see it in that way. E.g ‘I’m going to clean my room because I deserve a clean place to rest and work’ instead of ‘I have to clean my room’

Become detached. Stop letting everything that happens in your life affect you, start observing instead of consuming. 

Self validates yourself. Tam Kaur did a wonderful video on this that I think everyone should watch.

Stop believing that everything and everyone is out to get you. Your subconscious mind believes this, do not feed it, starve it.

There's a lot to say about mindset, but I recommend watching some mindset YouTubers who explain everything in depth.

and now,,,, here's a ANOTHER gift from lanny because u read her post. And liked it. And reblogged it. And followed her.. pleaseee

[pathologicalreid]

hello!! i've been reading your spencer works for a while and they're definitely one of my favorites from this app :) so I'd like to request something :)

I've always loved the idea of spencer coming back home from a case earlier than expected and surprising reader (gf or wife) at work to pick her up! and reader could be a chemist or a scientist so spencer is interested and involved in her work somehow and they're just talking, being cute and fluffy and just happy to he together again <3 thank you for your time, and no pressure!

pure and applied chemistry | S.R.

who? spencer reid x chemist!reader category: fluff content warnings: fem!reader, chemical burns, lab incidents, yapper!reader, kisses word count: 1.06k a/n: i wasn't even going to post this today but i wrote it and fell in love with spencer and his biochemist gf!!!!! this might be a pairing that i start taking requests for - thank you so much for requesting!

The air was barely starting to chill in the district, making it still unseasonably warm as you tried to take off your jacket without removing your book bag. It would’ve been easy to be embarrassed, but you were the only person around this part of campus – most students had a Reading Day, but your lab was still open, and your graduate student still wanted to work.

You had been the last person in the lab that she approached with her idea, having been turned down by the rest of campus, but you weren’t one to turn down a challenge. In fact, you had been so bored in the lab that you considered applying for another PhD.

Tying the sleeves of your jacket around your waist, you pulled your phone out of the back pocket to check the campus transportation app. As you started typing in your passcode, your eyes caught on a notification from your boyfriend.

Spencer Reid, PhD: Not home until tomorrow.

Sending back a quick emoticon – because an emoji would just show up as a square on his phone – you switched to checking what time the bus was supposed to show up at your stop before a passing car caught your eye, the car slowed to a stop right in front of you. “Oh,” you said, shaking your head, “It’s illegal to idle at a bus stop!” You called out to the driver, “You can’t stop here!”

Startled, you took a step back when the driver opened their car door, gripping your phone tightly as you mentally prepared for a confrontation, but only ended up confused when a familiar mess of brown hair peeked over the roof of the vehicle, “You don’t recognize my car?”

“Of course, I recognize your car! I just didn’t think it could be your car because last you told me you were in Nebraska!” You said, outwardly complaining as he rounded the hood of the car to open the passenger door for you.

Spencer smiled at you over the car door, “I told a fib in order to reap the benefits of surprising my girlfriend at work. Do you think she’ll ever forgive me?”

Rolling your eyes as you sat in your seat, “Oh, I’m sure she could probably find the strength to forgive you.” You were beaming as Spencer took your book bag and placed it in the back seat.

As you buckled your seatbelt, Spencer got back behind the wheel, checking his mirrors before merging into the road, once you reached your first stop light, you noticed Spencer looking over at you, “What did you do to your arm?” He asked, making note of the gauze wrapped around your dominant forearm.

Frowning, you looked down at your arm, having previously forgotten the gauze was even there, “Chemical burn,” you answered indifferently, studying the first aid on your arm. “Not a bad one though, probably won’t even scar,” you added. “Oh, that reminds me, I need a new lab coat,” you blurted, fishing around the center console of Spencer’s car for a pen so you could scrawl a reminder on your uninjured forearm.

“How did you get a chemical burn on your arm?” Spencer asked, returning his eyes to the road when the light turned green. Keeping one hand on the wheel, he reached over and casually placed one hand on your denim-clad thigh.

You were no stranger to a small burn on your finger – you were fairly certain that your fingerprints were no longer a viable way of identification – but you usually got away with a thorough rinse and a unicorn band-aid. “My grad student, Leslie, mislabeled something in the lab. Another person tried to get me to report it, but Leslie cried so hard while she was helping me clean my arm that I didn’t want to get her in any sort of academic misconduct trouble. I mean, who knew that hydrochloric acid caused chemical burns anyway?”

Spencer deftly flicked the turn signal as he moved to get on the highway to his apartment, “Uh, you and I know,” he said, there was a critical tone in his voice, but it was directed toward your flippancy instead of the injury itself.

“It wasn’t super concentrated, so I’m really fine,” you insisted, telling him the same thing you had told Leslie when the incident occurred, “I’ve done worse.”

Smiling, your boyfriend shook his head, “It’s a wonder they still let you in chemistry labs.” He was referring to a burn you had given yourself a few months ago, leading to an embarrassing trip to the hospital where doctors had to debride a nasty burn to your thigh. That particular incident had led to the director of your lab gifting you an enamel pin, designed to look like a hazardous materials symbol.

You looked at him, watching intently as he exited off the highway and made it to his apartment. Not long ago, an impromptu trip to Spencer’s would’ve been an inconvenience, but now you had two drawers of his dresser as your own. He led the way up the stairs and you followed him through the door of apartment twenty-three.

Locking the door before turning all of his attention to you, he cupped your face in both of his hands before kissing both of your cheeks – right over the tender, red lines left by your lab goggles. “Promise me you’ll be more careful in the lab,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around your waist and herding you over to the couch.

As you sat down on the couch, Spencer joined you, grabbing at your hips until you gave in, seating yourself in his lap, one knee on either side of his hips. You intertwined your fingers at the back of his neck, tilting your head to the side, “We’re all done with tests anyway – there will be considerably fewer chemicals involved while I get on my knees and grovel to the federal government for funding to start a clinical trial,” you told him, considering the repercussions of pressing your lips to his.

“What kind of chemicals could you possibly need to apply for federal research grants?” Spencer asked, gently resting his hands on your waist.

Beaming, you waggled your eyebrows at him, “One, three, seven-Trimethylpurine-two, six-dione, baby.”

Realization dawned on his features as he understood, “Ah, caffeine.”

[biolumien]

hello!! I loved your rooftop smoke fic so much oh my goodness could I ask for literally anything hoshina I would love to read more of your works... It would make my day if hoshina fell first/if he was the one hopelessly in love but anything that is easier to write for you I would love to read

ALSO PLS FEEL FREE TO IGNORE THIS IF ITS NOT EXACTLY IT FOR U!!! TYSM IN ADVANCE

notes: bwahhhh omg… thank you for liking my first work…  i havent written hoshina before… but uh. i hope this is good. same reader-insert from last time for this one too!

hoshina falls first (or tries not to, because to love is to be known)

soshiro hoshina x gn!reader i turned it into kind of a character study, forgive me word count: 1103

let’s get this right off the bat, to clear any misconceptions. hoshina’s not a romantic. he doesn’t fall for anyone first. he’s built up the demeanor of a sly, wily little fox not because he wanted to, but because he had to. tread lightly around others, and they will never know what lies in your heart, the insecurities that bubble and eat at you alive. never let them know how you feel, because as soon as your inherent, weak-willed intent is shown, you’ll be devoured alive.

well.

that’s what hoshina tells himself, anyway. 

it’s what he has to remind himself of constantly when he sees you.

you’re not allowed, he reminds himself, to get under his skin. not in any mean way, not in the way where you play up his insecurities–except you do, don’t you? you don’t mean to, but he gets the impression that if he were conventionally stronger, more impressive, that he’d deserve your attention, the small smile that crosses your lips and lights up your eyes when you see him, the faint exhale of breath when you see him–he’d deserve that if he were better. if he were just simply better, he’d deserve it. he’d feel worthy of it.

hoshina’s not a romantic.

he signed up for a line of very dangerous, practically suicidal work knowing it might mean the death of him.

all to prove that he was worth something.

he’s not the ashes you throw away, he’s a brilliant ball of fire, can’t you see–but he needed to prove that he could shine alone, under his own merit. he didn’t need anyone, except he needed mina to get him into the third division anyway. 

he didn’t need you, except he kept making excuses to get close to you, and not even in any particular suave way. hoshina practically pines for your affections and attention, but the key thing about it is that he refuses, in a way that’s either very cute or insanely frustrating, to make it seem like he’s making the first move. fleeting kisses he shared with you, he never properly initiated himself–he’d stand there, make a big show of leaving, and you’d pulled him by the collar to kiss him. 

but at the very least you seem to be accommodating about it, in any case. you sometimes end up preparing him a cup of tea when you go on break, as if instinctually expecting him.

hoshina wonders if he’s pavlov’s dog in this case–drawn by you, trained to behave around you.

he doesn’t know how he feels about it.

“you keep coming here,” you say to him one day in the lab. at your desk is a wide variety of papers–notes on chemical formulas for bullets, the blueprints for one of mina’s new absurdly-large guns shoved haphazardly under a stack of notebooks, a coffee cup clasped between your hands, and you blow some of the fresh steam off. “i’m starting to think the captain’s going to find you slacking off.”

there’s a sardonic smile on your lips, but hoshina’s gotten better at reading you. you’re happy to see him–he can see it in the tiny way you fidget a little bit when he takes the spare coffee mug from your desk, finding it full of coffee already. does he feel his face softening, his drawn-up shoulders relaxing? no, surely not. he’s better than that. he won’t be influenced by you–and yet. and yet. 

“you have a lock on your door if you don’t want to be disturbed,” hoshina says simply, taking a sip of the coffee. black with a single spoonful of sugar in it, because as much as it was impressive to drink your coffee purely black, hoshina quite frankly couldn’t take it. and he’d built as much a complex around that, too, as if a simple coffee preference might define how worthy he is of love. respect. the works. he watches you, sees dark under-eyes from days of restless work and the writer’s bump on your middle finger, and feels his heart squeeze.

god, he hates it. does he? does he hate it? is he insecure about that? does he hate that he doesn’t hate it? does he hate that by pining for you, by forcing his way into your life, that he’s created the rumblings of his own downfall? no. the worst part of it all is that he can’t hate you. can’t hate the way you watch him, and he wonders if you’re watching him the same way he observes you–like a prey animal, almost, twitchy and nervous, in an attempt to grasp at feeble understanding. 

“if you keep coming back here, i’m going to assume you’re in love with me,” you say.

and you have no idea what those words do to him, really. you don’t know, because hoshina has learned to obscure most of his emotions, at the very least. 

so why does his face feel so hot?

“hm.”

he can’t even come up with a proper retort. you’re staring at him expectantly, as if waiting for the classic hoshina quip–a cackle or giggle, a casual slap on the table with a you wish! attached to it. but it doesn’t come. hoshina stands there, gagged for a moment–and suddenly his grip on his coffee cup feels a little weak.

“hoshina.”

he wishes the smile on your lips didn’t trigger some gut instinct of delight in him.

he’s better than this, damn it. he’s better than this.

your smile quirks up the corners of your cheeks, and there’s something like a shy flush across your skin. and–

“i wish i could take a picture of your face right now,” you say. “you look like you’re coming down with something.”

hoshina scoffs, the sound a little more high-pitched than he’d like for it to be.

“you wish,” he says. 

“so are you?” you press. “in love with me?”

hoshina stares at you–there’s a sudden tightness in your shoulders that wasn’t there before–you’re worried about his answer. and despite it all–his bravado, his hatred of the mere idea that he might rely on someone else–that he would ever need someone to know his heart, that he might be cowed and tamed like a dog–

he loves you.

he doesn’t want you to be worried about the surety of his answer.

“yeah,” he says. “i love you.” and when that sudden tightness in your body language disappears, he finally finds the strength to quip, “just don’t faint over me, alright?” 

and when you reach out to hit his shoulder, he grasps you by the wrist and pulls you in to kiss you.

[cheapvodkaenjoyer]

Biggest reason y im a radfem is that I got chemically lobotomised at 17 for being autistic/ADHD and im supposed to just go on about my life like it didn't happen. Imagine giving a kid antipsychotics, despite her NEVER EVER mentioning symptoms that FUCKING ANTIPSYCHOTICS would help with, she gets worse because her brain doesn't make enough dopamine to begin with because ADHD, she gets worse and worse and fucking worse and they keep giving more and more antipsychotics???? I was sleepy all the fucking time and cant remember my high-school years almost at all, because it was easier to sedate me then to check whats wrong. Now im on concerta and almost all my problems went away including depression and it was only when I realised I had ADHD that I got proper help.

Guess what first psychiatrist I went to did after I said I have ADHD. Gave me more antipsychotics because she said I look unstable.

Basically I don't think feminism should take psychiatrist and psychologists seriously, and liberal feminism sure does that in ways even more damaging to what I went through. One day you lobotomise women, the next day you tell em they need small fortune worth of surgery to be happy. Fuck everything on this. planet earth.

sorry 4 swearing n saying fuck it is a genuine problem i need 2 work on but alas

[drchucktingle]

Hi Dr Tingle

Thank you so much for your work, your words really speak a lot to me. I was wondering how do you get to that feeling of joy? I think I’ve forgotten how to feel and I would very much like to know how you get to that feeling.

Thank you for your existence

oh this is great question first of all gotta say thank you for phrasing this way and asking what CHUCK does, not what YOU should do. i will not tell others what THEY need to do (that kind of thing is always dang red flag for chuck) but i would love to share my own journey.

finding joy has a lot of paths and roadblocks and it is different for all buckaroos. sometimes there is chemical imbalance or trauma or you are trapped in a endless maze of harmful patterns, and sometimes life is just difficult in a very average everyday way that IN ITSELF is overwhelming. just existing is A LOT bud.

here is why i am usually very happy and in a state of joy: way of GRATITUDE. now keep in mind this is not that simple and my words are not cure all for every bud, but if it helps i will explain my thoughts.

THE CALL OF THE LONESOME TRAIN is the awareness that our time here in this reality will end, and this call is a double edged sword. it can haunt you and bring great sadness, and it can tear your dang heart out when someone you love has to board. but for chuck it is also the source of my gratitude and motivation.

i am constantly aware that i will eventually have a LAST DAY on this timeline. i do not know when or where or how i will board the lonesome train, but it is a guarantee this time will come. if i picture myself on this day, lets say lyin in a dang hospital bed, i know that personally i will REALLY NOT WANT TO LEAVE. on this last day surrounded by loved ones everything has VALUE. i will think 'just one last walk in the park' 'just one last kiss' 'just one last chocolate milk' 'just one last quiet moment looking at the way light moves on the floor from the window'

i will have SO MUCH GRATITUDE FOR EVERYTHING ON MY LAST DAY and think 'i would pay a million dollars for one final trot around the block'. but here is the thing: EVERY DAY HAS THAT MUCH VALUE WE JUST DO NOT HAVE THE PERSPECTIVE TO REALIZE IT. every moment is all just grains of sand and those grains are always the same sand, we just assign different value to them.

so when i wake up in the morning i often think 'one day i will look back and give anything to be here,' even if it is a stormy day, or i have a difficult task or a hard talk ahead. even if i am sick or tired or depressed. i am aware that as a human being trotting through this reality i am going to tend to UNDERVALUE the present. and then i try to give the present the value it deserves.

hope that helps bud. my way is not the 'correct' way and maybe you can find a better one for yourself, but it might be worth giving this technique a shot if you would like. maybe you can adjust and find a good balance that is all your own. LOVE IS REAL

[whosmarii]

Said you needed love.

ᯤ Started: 25/01/24.

ᯤ Finished:

Summary:

Tony loves his wife, Pepper. He loves his last daughter, Morgan. And he loves Peter like the son he never had. But you? his first born daughter, he doesn't even know your name.

tw: daddy issues (everything that this entail), no corrections yet.

*reader is fem. slow burn. Peter x reader. Kinda rivals to lovers.

Prologue.

You are a genius, you got that from him. You study from home, a teacher for each subject meticulousy selected by Tony to give you the best clases of the country. Not because he cares for you, but because you have to reach the expectations of the people. Imagine, the daughter of Tony Stark, aka Iron man, being an ordinary person.

You didn't need all the teachers, you were a genius because it was in your genes. That wasn't enought to meet your father expectations tho.

You did everything in your power to get a proud look (or at least a look) from your dad. You have the best grades, you learned two different languages in a time lapse of two months, you read five books of classic literature in three days, you knew how to play seven different instrument plus you knew how to sing, you were a professional ballet dancer, you knew aeronautical and chemical engineering, and the list could go on and on.

Nothing seems to satisfy him.

Sometimes, because Pepper have told him to or because he couldn't escape the situation, he would mumble a "congrats" or "yeah, good" while he kept working on whatever he was working. Not even looking at your direction.

You loved Morgan, she was probably the only person in your house that actually cared for you. And you were happy she didn't have to live the same horrible situation you did. But you couln't help the self-sabotaging feeling of jealousy that warmed you heart every time they were together. You didn't understand. What does she have that i dont? why can't i be enough like she is?

Pepper loves you, she tells you that recurrently. But she never did anything to get Tony to be a proper dad. It isn't her responsability but, she is your mother. She sees you suffer because of him and does nothing.

You live in a house with two adults and a five year old little girl, and the only person that treats you pretty...is the five year old. Therefore you love to spend time with the Avengers, they fill a space in your hearts that should be fill by your father. Especially Bruce, he is so fatherly loving, it warms your heart and put tears of joy in your eyes.

Having Bruce to care for you is so important that if he asks you to have sexual relationships with him you would say yes just to keep having his love. You would have sex with all the avengers man if that meant them loving you.

When you heard Tony tell Pepper about the arrival of a new Avenger of 15 years, your heart stoped. What if she is better than me? What if they love her more than they love me? what if-

Peter. That's the name your father said. It was a male. That was soothing. You usually didn't like boys of your age, but maybe this one was different.

You already know that Tony loves him. The way he talks about Peter is almost shivery. "Peter is a genius, that boy has a future." "He is a good boy. Sweet and all" And that aunt of his... such a display" "The Avengers are going to love him".

Now the soothing feeling is gone and the fear is back.

He sounded good. That was bad.

You can't hate someone good. But you can't like him neither.

He wasn't presented to the Avengers yet. You didn't know how he looked yet. But the boy was already tearing apart the only part of your life that wasn't crumbling.

@whosmarii | Please do not copy, rewrite or translate my work without asking me and reciving my approval first. Thank you!

[lets-try-some-writing]

Absolutely adore seeing all the bits of writing on the bots reactions to the kiddos 🤣 Fr makes my day, just scrolling though feed and BOom your writing! So I randomly thought of the kids doing barbecues or picnics and sharing all their grubby food like Oo try this and maybe not as it’s spicy. What I mean is I’m sure the bots wouldn’t understand how human food can have so many flavours.

Glad to brighten someone's day! I am honestly startled by how enthusiastic people are about TFP bots reacting to things. I haven't gotten this many notes in like, three months. Its crazy.

Anyway, lets roll with this.

Cybertronians do have a degree of flavoring involved in their fuel. However due to the nature of energon, there is only so much flavoring that can be added before it loses its nutritional value, turns into high grade, or explodes in some fantastic display. Not to mention their ability to taste is severely limited, partially due to the simple fact that their sensory systems are more focused on external stimuli or processor function. In fact, most Cybertronians can hardly taste, if they have an intake at all. It simply isn't part of their biology. They have no need for it. Of course some get modifications in order to have a wider range of taste, and some are forged with heightened senses, but as a general rule most do not have the ability to note much.

At most they can read sweetness, bitterness, and anything that is metallic in nature. But spiciness, savory flavors, and most of the finer flavors humans experience are simply out of their range. Fueling can be enjoyable, but for most of their kind, it is merely a way to keep on going. But humanity? They eat for FUN, and that is odder than the team expected it to be.

Watching the children swap food around for the sake of flavor is... strange to the team. Seeing Miko give up what they can tell is vegetation that is highly nutritious to humans for a bag of chips soaked in all sorts of chemicals left most of them in a state of confusion. Jack offered up a sandwich, the arguably healthier dish, for a handful of gummies. Rafael passed over some sort of meat in exchange for Miko's rice. The exchange of nutrition was not orderly or equal in any way or form. Then sometimes the children would just eat each other's food without regard for the nutritional value.

The team couldn't understand it. Sure Cybertronians would trade fuel at times, but rarely was nutrition a concern. Humans swapping fuel left and right was just a tad strange. Not incomprehensible, but strange nonetheless.

Smokescreen has tried to eat human good once just to see if he could taste it. He could not taste much at all and ended up purging for the next day due to the food not going well in his tanks. Bulkhead also made an attempt once when Miko offered him food. He was stuck with cheeto dust in the grooves of his jaw for almost a week before he gave in and went to the washracks to handle it. Wheeljack made direct optic contact with Ultra Magnus and purposefully ate an apple that was offered to him, just to watch the commander squirm of course. He had to purge it all up an hour later, but watching the reactions of those around him made it worth it.

Ultra Magnus was tricked into eating human food when it was put into his energon once (by a certain wrecker). Magnus tried to hold it together, but ultimately he too ended up needing to purge. Ratchet has given the "do not eat organic fuel" speech far too many times to be happy about it.

[flippinpancakes64]

can you write cullens x reader who is insecure about their acne? 😽

The Cullens with a reader who is insecure about their acne

Again with you people being inside my walls. I’m convinced someone has a camera in here.

Thank you for requesting and I hope you enjoy!

Edward:

He thinks you’re perfect either way

He loves you, acne or not

He’s rich so if you want to do like a chemical peel or something else that’s expensive but will help with the acne he will do it no questions asked

And yes you can use his cold hands if your face starts to burn up from it

He hears what people think, but he doesn’t tell you

And if anyone tries to say something to you they are getting decked

Alice:

This is her department

She’s all about fashion and makeup, i feel like she knows about skincare too

She does everything she can to help you

Creams, treatments, washes

But she’s also very clear that she loves you no matter what

She’s helping you because you want the help

She also doesn’t lead you on with false hope

“I just saw that this cream doesn’t actually help you much in the future, so let’s try something else”

Jasper:

Genuinely doesn’t notice

He just sees you, feels your beautiful emotions, and loves you

But he definitely understands the most out of everyone

He has all of his scars that he hates but he can’t control

On really bad days, he uses his ability to help you feel better

But again he’s super supportive in anything that you try to help get rid of your acne

He reads up a bit on what’s supposed to help the most and he tries to do that

But more than anything he’s very understanding

Rosalie:

She is perfect, so you’re a little hesitant to bring up your insecurities around her

But she’s so nice

She keeps up with beauty trends and products throughout the years, so she has some stuff for you to try

She will do anything with you

You feel weird about using this new product? She’ll get in the bathroom with you and put it on too

And don’t even get me started on people at school

I’ve already established she will kill someone for being mean to you

That still applies here

Emmett:

He feels a lil crazy

He genuinely didn’t even notice that you had acne

Bro thought it was freckles or moles or smthn

So when you start complaining about it saying you hate it he’s like “no you’re perfect i love your birthmarks”

Cue the deadpan from you

He just steps back from that side of things

He lets you handle that cause he doesn’t know what he’s talking about lol

But he will beat a bitch up for you so you have that going at least

Esme:

She knows the struggle

I feel like she probably had pretty bad acne for a while when she was a teenager

She tells you all of the things that used to help her

She’s there for you every step of the way

Constantly reassuring you that she still finds you attractive no matter what

And yes she will fund any treatment you want to try

She just loves you and wants you to be happy

Carlisle:

Just looked it up, he is a surgeon (meow 😼 yummy)

So dermatology is not his strong suit

But working in a small town he has to know a little about everything

So he can help you on the surface level (telling you to wash your face, what foods to avoid, etc)

But he’s much quicker to schedule you an appointment with an actual dermatologist

But again, this only happens if you expressly state that you hate your acne and want it fixed

You don’t have to change anything for him

Vampire! Bella:

Some kids used to call her pizza face in middle school

So she knows the feeling

Nothing ever worked for her tho so she doesn’t really know how to help

It just sort of evened out as she got older

But she’s supportive with whatever you want to do

Or don’t want to do

If you never try anything to get rid of your acne then she’s okay

She loves you for you and you don’t need to change anything for her

[merakiui]

you've done it again Mera!!! I just finished reading 'chemic.', and I am now hooked once again for another flavor of Floyd orz

he's just so silly with his flirting attempts and chemical comparisons, I need to bully him (in bed) so bad aaaa!!! the urge to put him in a jar and shake him until he confesses to his shrimpy!!!!

once he'd drank the first potion, I very much expected an aphrodisiac, and of course you did not disappoint (⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠) I can just picture him, doubled over, trying to keep himself from moaning too loud or fucking into your hand because he doesn't want to look lame even though he desperately wants to, he's so!!!!! what a creature,,,

and the ending was so cute,,, go for it Floyd!!! Jade may be an asshole who definitely deserves his teeth knocked out, but you shrimpy has no reason to refuse!!!

all of this to say... I need more nerdy Floyb wearing glasses in my life because you've gotten me hooked, thank you for yet another most delicious meal 💙💙💙

-🦈

AAAAA 🦈!!!!!! THANK YOUUUU!!! Floyd is such a nerd!! I adore him and his silly chemistry flirts!! Even though it wasn't described in the fic, in the beginning scene where Reader speculates whether he's doodling or simply fooling around with the equipment,,,, Floyb was actually drawing Punnett squares trying to figure out what traits his and Reader's potential children would inherit more of. >:) one day Reader will find his alchemy notes and see all of the squares. If love umbrellas exist within the sphere of shoujo, then Floyd's version of that is the beloved Punnett square.

I also want to put him in a jar and shake him around,,, study him under a microscope. Silly, nerdy Floyb. (〃´𓎟`〃)

BUT YES!!! The aphrodisiac scene where darling is so clinical and disinterested all while Floyd's drooling and trying so hard to Be Normal about a handjob. Oh, he's so desperate. >_< he wants to fuck into your hand so badly, but he also wants to look cool in front of Shrimpy!

After the revelations that book 7 brought, I now have even more reason to write Jade being catty towards his brother. As much of an ass as he can be, Jade means well and does support the Shrimpy x Floyd ship. But he's still going to be a tease. <3 it's how he shows his love in his own Jade way.

I'm happy you could feast upon nerdy Floyd meal!!!! The idea of both eels needing glasses (or contacts) because of their bad eyesight has me in a chokehold... I want to write lots about Floyb in glasses hehe.

[guyfieriii]

Get Us Strung

We're back to our regularly scheduled programming with another angst-y piece. Inspired by the song Dirty Love by Mt. Joy comes the tale of John Price and his best friend. My apologies if it seems a bit disconnected, it was originally much larger but I decided to scrap a lot of it (See? I can be nice sometimes.), but I tried my best. Also, this was edited on pure audaciousness, a bottle of wine, and a pitcher of margaritas. Do with that what you will.

Lastly, the biggest thank you to @mvtthewmurdvck for once again tolerating me bombarding her with snippets galore and supporting me as she always does.

(Can we consider this as a somewhat happy ending? My original one was A LOT worse.)

Pairing: John Price x f!Reader Warnings: Explicit Sexual Scenes and a gallon of pain :)

Nostalgia is a cruel consonance of sentimentality and longing. A honeyed trap you could easily get caught in if you aren’t careful. 

You weren’t. 

All it took was one precarious step forth into its birdlime confines and you’re stuck, forever adhered to moments gone by. Try as you might to break free, to rid yourself of the persistent fog that looms and live in the present — you’re simply unable. The struggle of it brands ropes into your skin. A chemical burn that scabs eventually, but it leaves you debilitated of every ounce of strength you have to leave. 

With time, you make do. 

You adjust to the circumstances you’ve found yourself in. It’s easy enough — to simply give in. It’s like the call of a warm bed on a cold winter morning. The arms of a man you love held open in an invitation. It’s the perfect balm to your stinging disappointments and embittered thoughts. 

Witness, reminisce — rinse and repeat. 

A moment here. An admission of love there, just not the right kind. Not enough to keep you satisfied, just enough you keep you—

There. Still. Stuck in time. Recycling the same out-of-date echoes through your trench of despondency till they fossilize. 

It’s his eyes that do you in, really. Lapis set in moonstone white reminding you of the ebb and flow of deep ocean currents that gently coax you inwards to drift among the waves. 

They were the first thing you noticed about him. 

A skinny kneed boy of eleven, head full of bistre-brown hair, and the bluest eyes you ever saw that suddenly wanted to be your friend. He was loud and brutish in contrast with your more reluctant and constrained demeanour and yet—

He was your best friend. Your first. Your only. 

Is your best friend. 

Five years later, he left to join the infantry. 

He departed, eager to prove his worth. While you stayed back with a poor facsimile of a supportive smile as he promised his eventual return. 

I’ll be back on leave before you know it.

But—

I’ll be back. 

And I’ll be here. 

You clung to him when he told you he was enlisting, fingers curling into the sleeves his Fleetwood Mac t-shirt — a gift from you for his fifteenth. He’d asked if you wanted to keep it, as a reminder of him.

Wouldn’t need to if you just stayed, Johnny. 

In the fortnight leading up to his departure, you prayed for a last-minute change of his mind. Maybe the realization that he couldn’t stay without you would finally come to the surface. 

It had to. Eventually. 

You couldn’t bear the thought of walking up the morning after he left, just missing a part of you. Feeling a crater right in the middle of your chest grow wider and deeper as the distance between you and him extended. 

But as the days counted down, his excitement grew nearly as fast as your despair. 

It began with you pulling out all the stops, reminding him of the comforts of home, of you. To him, it was only the perfect gift farewell. 

It wasn’t until just the day before that you decided to take the cheap shot and just beg.

Don’t leave. Just— please just stay, okay? You don’t have to go. You don’t have to leave me— please, Johnny. I can’t—

He stood at an arm’s length and listened to you in silence, watched you scrounge every ounce of emotional ammunition you could, until your voice ran hoarse, and your tears ran dry. 

The pained expression that your outburst gradually chiseled onto his face left you shamelessly hopeful, and you took a step forward to close the distance between you and him. 

He wordlessly took a step back.

The time slowed, and the seconds hemorrhaged until he finally spoke. 

All he responded with was—

I have to. 

You saw him standing out on my pavement by your house the next morning, walking across the same yard over and over. He’d glance upward at your window every now and then in such excruciating hope that you might grace him with something as simple as a wave goodbye. 

But you didn’t. You simply stood there, watching from the shadows, trying to find some relief in tears shed, but you came up dry. 

And he left. 

When he returned, he came as Private Johnathan Price. 

Nearly half a foot taller since you saw him last. Mostly the same in disposition if only a bit more self-assured. 

In the 18 months of his absence, all you had was a shoebox full of unopened letters and that chasm left behind that grew deeper, still. Every week, unquestioningly, there’d be an envelope addressed to you. And every week, you’d hold it with measured trepidation and excitement. The first one brought you relief to know that you hadn’t lost him in your near ruinous parting of ways. But as you felt the weight of it in your hands, your fingers prudently tracing the ink, you couldn’t bring yourself to read what lay inside. It felt it would be ripping the bandaging off of a wound that had barely begun to heal. 

So, you kept it aside.  

18 months. 72 weeks. Every corresponding letter that followed underwent the same approach. You held them, appreciated them for their infallible arrival, and locked them away with repentance as the pile grew.  

The letter that followed, came hand-delivered. 

“You could have written back at least once, y’know.” He says with a smile. 

“I’m—”

Sorry, Johnny. Forgive me. Forgive me. Please—

Your ensuing apology dies at your lips, and you nearly suffocate under the weight of it until—

“It’s okay.” He promises.

“It’s not.” You assert back.

His gaze softens and he tries again. “Hurt ya when I left, didn’t I?”

“You did.”

“So, it’s okay.”

He means to placate. You know this and an infinitesimal part of you appreciates it. But what takes more prominence is one blazing question left behind.

It blisters and leaves behind the blackened soot of your unmatched expectations. A skeletal impression of his well intended albeit anticlimactic confession. 

All you’re left wondering is—

Why didn’t it hurt you to leave me, too? 

You met him in London to celebrate your collective 21st birthdays some time halfway in between them. 

It took some coordination, between your school and his training in Sandhurst. He never told you — said he wanted to keep you detached from that part of his life. 

How’re the— I don’t know what to ask, John. You never tell me anything. 

I tell you plenty. 

He does well— his mother informed you as much. But the details remained vacant. You try to fill in the blanks, hazard a guess — a poor approximation of the real thing, you’re certain. 

It wasn’t something you liked, but never fought him on it. It felt as though your paths diverged at too steep of an angle and you were the only one trying to get them to realign. He seemed content in this compartmentalization, while you worried your margin in it would grow smaller still. 

The disconnect it created left you unsettled. Like a trail down the woods that suddenly ends midway. You’re disoriented and unanchored, forever caught in an abridged narrative with his part missing. 

But you couldn’t keep waiting around—

Something you tell yourself to make it better. 

“Didn’t bring him with you, then?” He slides a glass of ale across the table to you, the bottom of it catching on the adherent buildup of many a spilled drink, causing the foam at the top to dribble over. 

“You asked me not to, John.” You mutter, indignant. 

You wouldn’t have asked to begin with, but for appearances sake—

“Didn’t want to have to share you with some other bloke, is all.” His self-satisfied grin tells you he sees right through it. 

The implications that simmered beneath that statement cut through you instantly. 

He didn’t want to have to share. 

What would happen if you told him that it was never even brought to question? That you were his, and his alone. 

Would he make it come true? 

Would he—

“I’d like for you to meet him eventually, y’know.” You opted for a safer route. Something more dependable. Everything John isn’t. 

That’s a lie. He’s nothing but. 

“If he stays around long enough.”

“Johnny.” You snap, irritably.

“Been a while since you called me that.” He murmurs, his grin slipping into something less presumptuous and more unshielded. Vulnerable. 

“We’re not kids anymore.” You turn your gaze downward, nails digging into the chipping laminate on the cheap bar top until he flicks the side of your palm to make you stop. 

“No, we’re not.” It’s his tone that makes you look back up— hinting at some kind of unspoken understanding that you recognize right away. 

Let’s not pretend, then.

It’s in the dimming obscurity of alcohol when it finally happens. With your dress hiked up over the curve of your ass, and panties pulled to the side — he fucked you in a rush, outside in the cold fall air. The grain of the brick wall scratched your cheek with every thrust he buried himself in you. His ale-laden breath at the cusp of your ear, his hands cupping your breasts, squeezing — they were your only source of warmth.  

“Fuckin’ hell, I’ve wanted to—” He confessed.

“So have I, Johnny.” You matched his revelation with your own. 

But this wasn’t how it was supposed to—

You’ll take what you’re given. Even if it’s just this once, just tonight. A fleeting taste is better than the fantasy of him you’ve held on to. 

He’s better than what you’ve had in the past. Better than what you’d thought he’d be like. 

Or maybe, it’s just how well knows you. 

He knows how deep you need to feel him, no matter if it hurts just a little. It’s the kind of hurt you enjoy. 

How many women have you been with, John? 

Does it matter?

Yes. No. Maybe? 

It was you that crossed the line. A temerarious lapse in judgment, a flick of a wrist that knocked down an already precipitous house of cards when suddenly your lips descend upon his. He tastes of stale beer and the cigarette you bummed off an old man at the pub. With a grunt of surprise, he reciprocates, his tongue invading past your lips. 

In a flash of somewhat sloppy adjustment, your back remained firmly pressed against the brick wall of the side of the pub, while his hands to the side of you effectively cage you in. 

It’s not soon after that he takes the reins.

His mouth is everywhere — your lips, glossing over your jaw to the underside while he firmly grasps a fistful of your hair at the root, tilting your face upwards. He lays siege to the delicate column of your neck, armed with a stinging bite and the consolatory swipe of his tongue after. 

John. Johnny.

The straps of your top hang loosely off your shoulders as he pulls the front of it down haphazardly to latch on to your nipple. You helplessly mewl beneath him, fingers trembling as they undo the buckle of his belt. 

“Tell me to stop, love. Tell me, or I’ll—” He groans. Your hands sink in past the zipper to palm his erection. Warm. Solid. 

“Please, don't.” You sink to your knees with the excitement, the need to taste him chafing at your rib cage with every beat of your heart. 

“Fuck— fuck, okay. Just slow down—”

“John. Please.” 

“I’ll make it good, yeah? For you. I will.” He swears. 

I know you will. 

You moved to Liverpool a year later. Something about staying in Hereford without him just kept you trapped in a state of inertia. Spending your time waiting more than anything else. It was time to move on. 

Or try to, at any rate.

Humble beginnings for you — a modest apartment, a job that paid the bills and nothing else. 

You settled into a routine — oscillating between work, home, and bisected friendships that you formed. 

It’s not the same. It’s not the same. 

It’s hard not to hold him somewhat accountable for your perpetual state of futility. There’s an essence of banality that follows you wherever you go. A life lived in half measures, mediocre and prosaic. It isn’t fair, and yet—

Why couldn’t you just stay, John? 

It’s usually at night when the bitter tendrils of your regret slink up your limbs, like stalks of Golden Pothos, that collect around neck and squeeze. 

A fire that kindles all too easily.

Can you even call it your own, when it’s caused by the choices of another?

It’s when you think back to that night in London, the weight of his cock in the palm of your hand— the way his eyes pinched shut and his head tilted back as you attempted to take him all the way in. 

“Where the fuck did you learn how to do that?” He’d asked in a choked groan. 

Had the head of his cock not been pressed against the back of your throat you’d have answered with:

Upset you weren’t the one to teach me, aren’t you Johnny?

Whatever remnants of that night that weren’t washed away by the glassy comber of one drink too many, replayed themselves a hundred times over. Every reiteration leaves you breathless and wanting — the evidence of it clearly shining on the inside of your thighs and the tips of your fingers. 

Until—

A knock. 

“You moved.” His voice was weight down by many an unspoken accusation. 

“I did.” There’s no point in an apology— he’s here now.

“You never said.” Anger. Hurt. Betrayal — all in coalescence that lacerates you so deeply, you might stain the walls blood red. 

“I— Do you want to come in—?” 

He walked across the threshold, brushing past your shoulder before you even finished inviting him in.

“You— it’s not much. I’ve only just—” You stumble your way through some kind of explanation as he sheds himself off his duffel and coat. Any reasoning you were able to muster trickles back down your throat as he makes himself comfortable on your sofa, the floral embellished cushion sinking under the weight of him like it’s his right to be. 

“It’s nice.”

You’d have expected him to feel out of sorts in this new home of yours, but he finds his place in it so naturally it fucking stings. 

It really could have been that easy— a life with him. It’s a dangerous thought experiment but you wonder if he also aches for that near miss of a surrogate life. A peripeteia of decisions that might have led you down a different path entirely. 

“How long are you on leave this time?” It’s a jibe and he notices. There’s an unmistakable clench in his jaw, a steely look set in his eyes at your question like he’s willing you to challenge him. 

You almost do. 

Good of you to waltz by after a year, Johnny. I’ve been waiting. 

You really have. 

“Two weeks. If you’ll have me.”

You considered turning him away simply out of spite. A laughable thought, really. An egomaniacal deliberation you pretend to have. 

You’d never—

“Aren’t you going home?” 

Don’t say yes. Please, don’t say yes.

“Would’ve — yeah. But you moved.”

Fuck. Don’t—

“You make it sound like I’m the only reason you come back.”

The words decamp themselves from you without any realization. Subdued embers relight themselves. Veiled desires now unwrapped — a festering infection that itched beneath near-mended dermis now touching air simply because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut. 

“Would— would it be so bad if I said yes?” He asks, wavering slightly in his footing only to gauge your reaction, and you pray you’re not giving anything away. 

Yes. Yes, it fucking would, John. Because—

It means nothing in the scheme of its payoff. You don’t know what he expects, because to you his disclosure only exacerbates the acridity of his absence tenfold. It makes his eventual departure seem like a harsher slap to the face. 

You could accuse him of pretense. Tell him how hollow it makes you feel.

Or simply—

“No. Of course not.” You lie with a smile, instead. 

He believes you. 

His parents pass within a year of each other. He attends both funerals in uniform — having only singular days granted to him in lieu of bereavement. 

It might have been a personal choice in his father’s case, which happened to be the latter. 

The first was an open casket, the second closed — both lowered into the ground while his hand firmly grasped yours. 

And after—

On both days, he found himself buried in you, however in polar opposite ways. 

It began gentle, with his need to be held and your need to oblige. You straddle him in the backseat of your busted-up Mondeo Estate, soaking in his silent grief as you whisper condolences. He finds his home in the crook of your neck, bedewed with the warmth of his breath and his tears. 

He tastes of grief. 

Regret, even. 

Maybe, one day, you’ll tell him it didn’t have to be that way.

Imagine what we could’ve been, John. 

Only seven months later, you find yourself in circumstances alike only in one solitary way. This time, it’s his anger that transcends the grief. You’re turned away, bent over the disjointed desk in the corner of his childhood bedroom. His fingers etching your skin in a mosaic of blue and purple, willing you to acquiesce to his baser instinct rather than envelop him in comfort. He fucked you, brutally — bare teeth, white knuckles. A lacquer of vitriol to coat you in. Only apologetic in the aftermath. 

And—

He wouldn’t let you kiss him. 

Change is a weight borne poorly by most relationships. 

You try to blame the distance between his visits, and the fact that he always seems more worse for wear than the last. A chronic transformation with every visit, like rust on iron — sandstone shaded corrosion bleeding into his edges. 

He tries to shed himself of it when he’s in your company but it’s ever-present, like a phantom limb. An undeniable extension of himself. 

You tell him not to pretend. 

Not with me, John.

You might as well be white noise. 

What started out as concern he’d brush off with a ‘this isn’t something you need to be worrying about, love’ slowly evolved into disregard which concluded with blatant contempt.  

This isn’t what I—

He stopped himself a moment too late. 

“This isn’t what I came back for.”

“Glad we’re both disappointments to each other.”

Finally, some truth spilled out. It felt oddly cathartic, even if it meant having your worst fears confirmed. 

He makes an implicit plea to retract what’s been said, undo the hurt caused, and return to your perpetual state of synthetic decorum. Two people who tip-toe around each other, chat about the weather, and when all redundancies are through and done with—

Let’s just leave it be. Dinner’s nearly—

He feasts on your cunt like a man starved. 

It’s funny how rarely you consider the sheer probability of his safe return. Is it simply denial? Is he so deeply rooted within your being that imagining him not being there isn’t an ending you can enumerate? 

To you, there is simply no finality to John Price. Forever seems like a paltry presumption to have in his line of work and yet, you can never imagine the alternative. 

You’ve tried. You even asked him once.

Just once. 

“You’ll be informed if— I — they know you’re my— you’ll be informed.” He spoke with such unambiguous apathy like he was reading it off a manual. 

Ten different ways to prepare your loved ones for your eventual demise. 

“I’ll be informed?” This isn’t the hill to die on, but you just can’t help yourself. 

“I don’t know how else to—”

“I’m glad to know I’ll have the privileges of being your widow without you having to marry me, John.”

He recoils away like you just struck him. 

It was an unscrupulous remark to make. Atonement is futile, he’d see right through it. All you can do is wait for the dust to settle and carry on. 

But he— 

“I’d marry you tomorrow if I thought it would fix things.” 

It wouldn’t. 

Some things are just predestined to remain broken, you suppose. 

“I know you would.”

You find yourself at an impasse. Anyone pragmatic might think to cut their losses and retreat. Start anew. 

That’s just not who you are. 

You find other ways to meet each other halfway, on an equal plane of vulnerability and certitude. Nothing to hide behind in the arms of one another. There are shared breaths, harmonies of impassioned confessions and you find yourselves in the other once more. 

You shed the pain you wear like a second skin, disrobed in ways both actual and metaphorical. 

He’s kinder and you’re more forgiving. 

He tells you it’s his last night with you for a while and you request your goodbye before the morning. You need something to remain unsoiled. 

He leaves before you wake.

Sometimes, he leaves a note. 

I’ll be back soon, darling.

Empty words. Hollow promises. An interminable echo in a cave that ripples in the subterranean waters you float in.

Except—

I’m doing the best I can. 

And that’s enough. 

[drjholtzmann]

going thru the drafts. this one was originally a fluffbruary prompt (whoops) but i chickened out

shower | blessed | layer

Dream is already in the kitchen when Hob gets home. Clattering through the door in a flurry of muffled curses and rustling fabric. He shucks off his coat and violently jabs it onto the coat hook, continuing to curse his way out of his shoes before standing upright again, flicking soaking wet hair back off his face. 

“Hello, stranger.” He says, aiming for casual but falling a little closer to perfunctory, unable to fully hide his frustration. 

“You’re –” Dream’s deep voice begins softly as Hob rushes to add, “I know – I’m late, I know.”

Dream, hands deep in his pockets, shoulders square, resting in one of Hob’s kitchen chairs, does not move to finish his sentence. 

“‘Light morning showers’, my eye,” Hob mutters murderously as he passes Dream and the kitchen table and continues to clatter on into the kitchen. “Fucking pissing down all afternoon! Shoes are soaked. Thought my jacket would be enough for light showers so I didn’t take a sodding umbrella, like a fucking bellend. The tube was disgusting – full of everyone trying to get out of the rain. So it was full of rainwater and the water-soaked public which, let me tell you, is a particular bouquet I don’t need to experience again in a hurry. Not at the end of a work day. I mean – you want some of this?” He pauses, wine bottle in one hand, glass in another, gesturing with the bottle towards Dream. Dream inclines his head. “I mean say what you will about the past,” Hob continues, placing the first glass down and grabbing out a second, “plenty of smells of all kinds. But at least we didn’t have fuckin’ Lynx Africa. A tube full of B.O., soaked woollen suits, stale air, muddy rainwater, all coated with the chemical tang of Lynx fucking Africa?” He gags and pours a generous, sloshing glass of red. “Adding insult to injury. Didn’t know how good we had it.” He spins the cap back onto the bottle with a metallic little hiss. “Anyway,” he places the second glass down in front of Dream. “How was your day?”  

At this Dream stands, eyes passing over Hob’s hair, falling to his shoulders, then down to his feet. “You are wet.”

“Yeah. Did you not hear the whole vitriolic spiel just now?” 

Dream looks at him like he’s stupid. “You are still in your wet clothes.” He clarifies, emphasising each word even more than usual, his eyes glinting with mockery.

Hob swallows his mouthful of wine. “Yeah, well.”

“Your socks, at least.” Dream suggests. And Hob makes a show of rolling his eyes, putting his wineglass down, and slouching back to the door.

He bends to pull off his sodden socks, and they hit the floor with a wet and heavy splat. “Meugh,” his lip curls. His eyes slide back to Dream and he resists rolling them. “Happy?” He crows, arms wide.

“Are you?”

He wiggles his damp toes against the floorboards, head tilting to the side. “Better. At least.” He concedes. 

“You ought to get out of your wet layers.” 

“When did you become mother hen?” But by now Hob is struggling to keep up the fever pitch of his frustration, a smile starting to tug at his words. 

“If you do not want my help…” Dream turns his back on him, picking up his wineglass.

“No! No. Of course I do.” He’s still playing along with the teasing, but it’s true. Always. And Dream knows it. He turns towards Hob again, a smug little smile hiding behind the rim of his glass. Hob holds his hands out to his sides, letting them fall back against his thighs. “Help me?” 

Dream scoffs, but the smirk is still in place as he sets his glass down and walks over to Hob in the entryway. “How you survived centuries between our meetings I will never know,” he tuts, plucking at Hob’s unbuttoned overshirt, slipping it down off his shoulders, then free from each wrist. 

“Made a deal with a lady.” Hob parries back, but it sounds distant even to him, far too hypnotised by watching Dream’s movements to commit to continuing their banter.

“Mm. Quite.” Dream draws the neck of Hob’s t-shirt between his thumb and forefinger and, assessing that it, too, is insufficiently dry, pulls it upwards. Hob is pliant, and increasingly calm in his grip. 

Hob is shirtless for barely a second before there is a soft warmth sliding up his arms. Something that looks a little like a smoking jacket but feels more like a soft fleecy dressing gown has been conjured within Dream’s palm and his being fitted neatly across his shoulders. It feels like sinking into a warm bath. The warmth between sleep and wakefulness. The heavy-muscled heat of laying close to a fire for long night hours. And Hob can’t help the full-body contented sigh that comes out of him. He feels his shoulders relax down an entire inch. His head almost falls forward, eyes closed, ready to drop right off to sleep. 

“Is that not better?”

“Mm,” Hob shuffles closer. “Better,” he agrees, curling his hands into the sweeping lapels of Dream’s coat and, allowing his eyes to finally close, drops his head against Dream’s shoulder. 

“We are only half done.” Dream says after several seconds of silence and stillness from Hob. 

Hob huffs against his neck. “You just wanna see me in my pants. Cheeky.” 

“You’re impossible.” Hob can hear the smile in Dream’s words. Smiles in return, hidden against his neck, as Dream’s hands snake around his back and hold him in a warm, impossibly fond embrace. And Hob melts against him a little further. 

“S’me. Impossible. Wearing a robe my love just conjured from the ether. Which is very normal.”

“I only wish for you to be comfortable.”

“I am, love,” he promises, voice soft, all fight and frustration drained from him. “So comfy. 'n I promise I’ll take off the trousers in a minute.” He sighs, deep and cleansing. “Can we just go to bed? I know it’s still early but fuck I’d love this day to be over.”

Dream’s hands press tighter against him, soothing up and down his back. “You will hear no complaints from me,” he murmurs against Hob’s temple, pressing a featherlight kiss into his hair.

[artydonsgf]

What do you think the challengers trio would be into if they weren’t into tennis? Like their ambitions/goals and stuff.

Idk why but I see Tashi as interested in going into something law medicine because of the human connections present in the field but also the ambition needed to become a doctor is something she could have. Just what i think. I couldn’t think of anything for patrick or art, bur would love to see your thoughts on all three.

ouuu i love this, thank you sm for the request anon! enjoy my thoughts on careers for art, tashi, and patrick that aren’t tennis!

Art Donaldson

- art likes the fast paced nature of tennis but he also likes to slow down

- for that reason, i’m gonna say he’d go into something sciencey

- i think art would excel in school and would be able to go to any school and get any degree, he just chose tennis as his focus

- without it, he goes into chemistry and becomes a very good chemical engineer

- he loves it because on some days he can work in his office and be home in time for dinner and tucking the kids in bed

- other days, he gets to go to the lab/do field work and do something really exciting and cool

- it keeps him away from home for a week at a time but when that week is over, he has a bunch of exciting stories to tell

- loves the work life balance it brings him

Tashi Duncan

- tashi would 100% go into sports medicine.

- i think if she couldn’t go pro, she’d still want to stay in the sports world

- she thrives in a setting where she is helping people

- sports medicine means helping people and also still having that proximity to tennis

- shes also good at her job because she’s able to deliver bad news with the utmost kindness and empathy since she gets it

- extremely well loved by all her patients, so she travels to multiple schools within the country since she can’t pick just one

- ask any college athlete and they have a story about how dr tashi duncan basically saved their career with her magic touch

- first doctor in her family and she’s so happy to be inspiration for kids in her community

- loves hearing people call her doctor, it proves that all her hardwork was well worth it

- tashi is the type to go all in with something so she’d be married to the job

Patrick Zweig

- he’d wanna be a stay at home husband

- joke but i honestly kinda struggled with this

- lowkey, i can see firefighter patrick….

- he needs something straightforward, something that doesn’t need mind games to solve

- being a firefighter is perfect

- go into burning building, get people out, pour water on aforementioned burning building, get praised for it

- it works for him

- enjoys the rush and excitement of the job

- also loves when he helps someone and they thank him with genuine words

- interested in all the work that’s adjacent to his (think emts, doctors, law enforcement)

- contemplated switching to the station’s emt team but decided against it

- he doesn’t have a family till later in life so the crazy hours don’t really bother anyone but him

- for this reason, he’s basically married to his job

tashi’s came to me the easiest (i am so passionate about her), art was a little harder, but patrick’s was so hard, i hope this lives up to your expectations! enjoy!