#exhibit A: T-rex arms | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lycheeflavr · 8 days ago

Note

Hiii i js stumbled into your blog and its superr cutee!! I really love your writing was wondering if you were open to wrote about Tsukishimaa? If not, its okay :))

Heiii, first of all, thank you very much, and also thank you for the request <3 yes, of course!! I honestly had so much fun writing this, also I didn't know if you would like some smut as well, so I added a little smutty bonus scene at the end. You can skip it, it doesn't really matter to the story :)) now I hope you have a lot of fun reading this!!

The Bones Beneath 🧢🐠

pairing: timeskip!tsukishima kei x GN!reader tags: slow burn (ish), mutual pining, coworker tension, art & science themes, tsuki being a secret softie, slight angst with comfort, banter & emotional closeness, confessions without confessing, fluff if squint, reader is an exhibit designer/artist, tsuki is an AV tech/paleontology nerd, almost love, quiet longing summary: You were never supposed to get attached to the quiet AV technician helping set up your fossil exhibit. He was there to wire the lights. You were there to make bones beautiful. But somewhere between late-night fixes, museum shadows, and cups of burnt breakroom coffee, something between you began to take shape—slow and fragile and maybe a little ancient in its own way. word count: 5.8k

Tsukishima Kei liked his hours quiet and his fossils older than God.

The museum opened to the public at nine, but he was always there by seven. The early mornings were his: no chattering tourists, no interns asking questions he didn’t care to answer, no toddlers smudging glass with sticky hands. Just silence, bones, and the low mechanical hum of the lights flickering to life row by row.

He walked the exhibit floor with a mug of instant black coffee and a clipboard he didn’t really need. The Tyrannosaurus rex stood tall in the center of the room, jaws frozen in a permanent snarl, ribs exposed like cathedral arches. Tsukishima paused beneath it every morning like it was ritual. One sip of coffee, one glance upward. The bones never changed.

That was the point.

He liked things that stayed the same. Fossils. Labels. Dust motes in the morning light.

At exactly 7:43 a.m., he opened his laptop behind the front desk — not where the general staff worked, but the tucked-away station he’d unofficially claimed. It had the best Wi-Fi signal and worst chair. He preferred that no one else wanted to sit there.

Emails loaded slowly. He sipped his coffee and scanned subject lines. One caught his attention, marked URGENT – EXHIBIT SUPPORT REQUEST. He clicked it without much enthusiasm.

To: Tsukishima KeiSubject: Visiting Artist Collaboration | Exhibit Support

Kei, You’ve been assigned as the museum liaison for our upcoming interactive exhibit, “Extinction Echoes.” The guest artist arrives tomorrow to begin work on the installation surrounding the T-Rex centerpiece. Please provide access and assist as needed — you’ll be their primary point of contact.

Let us know if you have questions. — Ms. Fukuda

He stared at the screen. Then took another long sip of coffee.

Artist, he thought, in the way someone might think pest infestation. They always asked too many questions. They moved things that weren’t supposed to be moved. They cared about aesthetics over accuracy, emotion over science. It made his teeth itch.

He clicked the artist’s attached bio and scanned the page.

You had a list of gallery credits longer than his patience. Installations in Kyoto, Seoul, Paris. Something about “immersive spaces challenging temporal experience.” He didn’t know what that meant and didn’t care enough to pretend. There was a photo of you attached — mid-laugh, head tilted back, paint-splattered hands. You looked loud, even in stillness.

Tsukishima closed the tab with a sigh.

This was going to suck.

He stared at the skeleton of the T-Rex for a while longer, like maybe it would offer sympathy. It didn’t.

Back to his feet, clipboard tucked under his arm, he continued the routine — checking casing screws, labeling touch-up requests in pencil. As long as you stayed out of his way, maybe this wouldn’t be a disaster.

Maybe you wouldn’t talk too much.

Maybe you’d cancel last-minute and spare him the headache.

He doubted it.

The fossils, at least, wouldn’t leave him unread.

The next morning, Tsukishima arrived five minutes earlier than usual.

Not because he cared. Just to set the rules. It was important that people knew their place in a shared ecosystem — especially the kinds of people who used phrases like temporal fluidity and wore too many rings.

The exhibit hall was still empty, the bones calm and familiar in the blue-toned light of early morning. He was mid-sip of coffee, debating whether he had time to finish it before the chaos arrived, when—

“Hi!” a voice called from the far end of the gallery.

He turned, already bracing himself.

You were a splash of color against the muted sandstone walls — all layers and movement. A long, oversized coat in a shade too bright to be taken seriously, mismatched socks barely visible beneath wide-legged trousers, a bag slung across your shoulder like it weighed more than you did. One hand held a battered sketchbook. The other, naturally, clutched a drink in a cup aggressively labeled LAVENDER MATCHA in bubble letters.

He blinked once. Then again.

“You’re Tsukishima, right?” you asked, walking toward him without waiting for an answer. “Sorry I’m early �� I just couldn’t sleep last night, I was too excited. This place is incredible.”

He nodded once, clipped and formal. “I know.”

That stopped you for half a second. Then you laughed.

“Oh, cool. Confidence. Love that.”

He didn’t respond. Just turned and started walking toward the control panel, trusting you'd follow.

You did, footsteps echoing lightly behind his. “The bones are even more haunting in the morning. Kind of like they know they’re supposed to be asleep, but they’re still here. I mean, isn’t that sad? In a poetic way.”

“I’m pretty sure the skeletons don’t have feelings,” he muttered without looking at you.

“Well, someone’s a morning person,” you teased, grinning.

He resisted the urge to sigh. “I assume you read the layout brief?”

“I did, but I don’t do great with maps,” you said, flipping open your sketchbook and holding it up like proof. “I just take notes like this. Shapes, light impressions, space planning... it makes more sense to me.”

He stared at the mess of charcoal strokes and layered watercolor swatches that resembled absolutely nothing useful.

“This is your system?”

“Mhm.”

“It looks like a bird flew into a window and died.”

You snorted — actually snorted — and Tsukishima narrowed his eyes.

“Wow,” you said, grinning. “Are you this charming with everyone, or am I just special?”

“I’m not charming.”

“Well, you’re something.”

He stared at you, unreadable, then said, “Let’s get this over with.”

You followed as he walked, still chattering, unbothered by the blank expression he wore like armor. He gave you the tour — exhibit boundaries, restricted zones, lighting rig limitations — and you nodded along, eyes darting between him and the bones above like you were seeing a world he couldn’t.

“This place feels like a cathedral,” you said eventually, voice lower now. “But broken. Like worshipping something that’s already gone. That’s why I want the light to move slowly across the ribs. Like… memory.”

He paused.

The quiet stretched. For a moment, you thought he hadn’t heard you. Then, softly:

“They weren’t worshipped. They were feared. The T-Rex was a predator.”

“Still deserves a little reverence,” you said.

His jaw twitched.

You smiled. “You’re kind of a fossil snob, huh?”

“I’m a paleontologist.”

“Oh, that explains the glasses.”

“I don’t wear—” He stopped himself. Exhaled sharply. “You’re going to be exhausting.”

“I’ve been called worse,” you chirped.

You sat cross-legged on the floor a few minutes later, sketchbook open on your lap, head tilted at an angle only artists and toddlers attempting handstands ever attempted. You tapped your pen against your lips thoughtfully.

Tsukishima hovered nearby, clipboard in hand, pointedly not watching you.

“I think we should try sound too,” you said suddenly. “Subtle—like a low hum. Maybe faint echoing footsteps, like ghosts. Not too literal.”

“That’s not in the budget,” he replied, immediately.

“Not yet,” you shot back, unfazed. “But maybe if I bribe the right intern—”

“Please don’t.”

“No promises, dino boy.”

The silence that followed was immediate. You looked up, blinking. He was frozen mid-step, like you’d just said something blasphemous in a sacred space.

“What?”

“Did you just call me—?”

“Oh. That slipped out,” you said, sheepish. “Sorry. I mean—Kei, right? Or… Tsukishima? Do you prefer one?”

His expression flattened. “I prefer not being called a pet name designed by a cartoon character.”

You grinned, and there it was — the spark. The part you hadn't expected. Under all that sarcasm and sharpness, something coiled and unreadable. Maybe not warmth. Not yet. But interest, flickering low and quiet like the gallery lights overhead.

“Well,” you said, tucking your pen behind your ear and getting to your feet, “I guess I’ll just have to earn it.”

His eyes narrowed. “Earn what?”

“A less embarrassing nickname.”

He rolled his eyes so hard it was practically audible.

You turned, already halfway to the next room, your voice floating behind you. “Come on, fossil prince. We’ve got work to do.”

He muttered something under his breath — probably unflattering — but followed.

Not because he cared.

Just because you clearly needed supervision.

Tsukishima wasn’t sure when it stopped bothering him.

You were in the exhibit every day. That part made sense — you had work to do. What didn’t make sense was how you did it.

You hummed when you worked. Never full songs, just little pieces, shapeless and aimless, like you were keeping yourself company. You talked to the bones like they were old friends. Called the Stegosaurus “Big Spikey Boy” under your breath. Left coffee cups in bizarre places — behind glass cases, perched on light fixtures, one time balanced delicately on the rib of a hadrosaur like it belonged there.

He found himself moving them instead of snapping at you.

That annoyed him most of all.

You sprawled on the floor to draw. Sat backwards on chairs. Doodled stars in the margins of your blueprints. You weren’t messy — you were chaotic. But not in a way that ruined things. You took up space like you belonged to it. Like you’d earned it.

He hated it.

He really, really didn’t.

Tsukishima started staying later under the excuse of “supervising.” In truth, he just… didn’t want to leave. Not when your sketchbook was open across your knees, feet bare, toes tapping the air in rhythm with the music you played from a tiny Bluetooth speaker you weren’t technically allowed to use.

Soft stuff. Dreamy. A little sad. Fuzzy guitars and synths like melted sunlight.

He told you to turn it off.

You didn’t.

He didn’t ask again.

Most evenings, he brought work with him — real work, grant edits or exhibit updates — but he barely touched it. Instead, he watched you in the corner of his eye. The way you moved around the bones, measuring with your hands, frowning thoughtfully at light angles. Talking to yourself under your breath.

And once, when he stayed too late without realizing, he looked up and caught you lying flat on your back in the middle of the exhibit floor.

At first he thought something was wrong — your limbs were outstretched, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling like you’d fallen and simply given up.

Then you spoke, quiet and unhurried.

“It’s beautiful how it still takes up space after all this time.”

He didn’t answer right away. The gallery was too still, the air too thick. It was the kind of sentence people usually said in museums when they were trying to impress someone. But you’d said it to no one. Like you didn’t expect to be heard at all.

His voice came out rougher than intended.

“You mean the T-Rex?”

You didn’t move. Just blinked, slow. “Yeah. It’s been dead millions of years, and it still makes people stop. Still commands a room. Like… it never left.”

He stared at the curve of the bones — the arc of the ribs, the open jaw — and swallowed.

“It’s not really the same,” he said eventually. “This is a reconstruction. Most of the bones are casts.”

“Still,” you said, softer now. “It’s the shape that matters.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. Or maybe he did, but it sat too heavy on his tongue.

Instead, he sat beside you.

Not close. Not touching.

But that was the first time he didn’t go home early.

Over the next week, something shifted.

You stopped asking if he wanted music on — just played it. He stopped pretending to glare.

You started bringing two coffees, not one. Always black for him, always in a plain cup labeled KEI in smudged pen.

He never said thank you.

You never expected it.

You adjusted a lighting fixture one evening, standing on the lowest ledge of the exhibit’s frame. Tsukishima reached out instinctively when you wobbled.

His hand curled around your waist for half a second. Warm. Steady.

You froze. He stepped back like he’d touched a stove.

“Careful,” he muttered.

You smiled. “You do care.”

He didn’t answer. But he didn’t let go as fast next time.

He started reading your notes after you went home.

Not snooping — just... curious. Your sketchbook was a mess of lines and light notations: “bone shadows curl here,” “weight of silence stronger in this quadrant,” “add faint shimmer to mimic breath.”

Breath.

He didn’t know how to explain how badly that word undid him.

You treated the exhibit like it was alive. Not a museum piece, but a memory you could still talk to. An echo with ribs.

And you never once made him feel like he wasn’t allowed in that echo, too.

One night, he walked into the exhibit after hours to find you asleep on the bench beneath the T-Rex.

Your coat was bundled under your head, sketchbook lying open on your chest. The gallery lights glowed faintly overhead, casting soft shadows across your face. You looked peaceful. Quiet. A part of the space now, not just working on it — woven into the silence.

He sat across from you, pretending to read a paper he wasn’t holding. Time passed. Maybe ten minutes. Maybe more.

Then your voice, soft with sleep:

“Are you watching me sleep?”

He didn’t flinch. “You’re not even fully asleep.”

You peeked at him with one eye open. “Maybe I was dreaming about you.”

“Unlikely.”

“Rude.”

He rolled his eyes — but a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, unguarded for once.

You caught it.

“Kei,” you said, like it meant something new now.

He looked up.

“Yeah?”

You blinked like you hadn’t expected that response to come so easily.

Then you just smiled and said, “Nothing.”

He didn’t press. But he stayed until the building closed.

It started with the lighting.

You stood in the center of the exhibit with your hands in your hair, gesturing to the overhead rig like you were conducting some invisible orchestra.

“We could do a soft fade that moves with the visitor — like the bones respond to presence. Just a slow, low shift as people walk through. Imagine how alive it would feel.”

Tsukishima didn’t even look up from his clipboard.

“No.”

You blinked. “No?”

“That’s not what this exhibit is. It’s not a haunted house. It’s not a performance.”

“You haven’t even seen it yet, Kei. I have a test set-up. It’s subtle. Thoughtful. It adds mood.”

“It adds distraction,” he said flatly. “And it compromises the fossil presentation. Light distortions throw off color perception and may damage the casts over time.”

“Oh, come on,” you snapped, heat curling into your chest. “We’re not burning them under stage lights. This isn’t your personal lab. It’s a space for people to feel something. You said you wanted more engagement.”

“I want clarity. Not theatrical gimmicks.”

The word landed hard.

You went still, mouth pressed into a thin line.

“So that’s what you think this is,” you said, voice tight. “A gimmick.”

Tsukishima looked up then. Slowly. His expression was unreadable, but his jaw was set like stone.

“You act like you’re saving them. Like making a dinosaur look dramatic is the same as making people care.”

“And you act like people will care just because you slapped a plaque on the wall and stood under a spotlight!”

It burst out of you, louder than you meant.

“You’re so obsessed with being precise, with being right, that you don’t even see how cold you sound. No wonder no one sticks around.”

The silence was immediate.

You heard it the second it came out of your mouth — the way his face didn’t flinch but froze, eyes going cold and glassy like he’d just flicked off something vital inside himself.

He stared at you. Long and flat.

Then:

“You think people care about your lights? You think they’ll walk out remembering ‘how it felt’ and not just take a photo and leave?”

You swallowed hard. Your chest ached.

“I don’t know what they’ll remember,” you said. “But I’m scared they won’t remember anything. That they’ll walk past bones that are millions of years old and shrug. That all this work will fade into the background because it didn’t shine enough to be seen.”

That cracked something in your voice. The quiet truth beneath the fire.

Tsukishima looked at you for a long moment.

Then he muttered,

“People always care about spectacle.”

And walked away.

You didn’t talk for two days.

You kept your head down when he passed. You played your music softer. Your sketchbook stayed closed, and the second he entered the exhibit, you left.

It shouldn’t have hurt like this.

He wasn’t yours.

But it did. Quietly. Deeply.

Because for all his sharp edges, Kei had made space for you in the quiet hours. Had let you stay. Had sat beside you under fossil ribs while the world turned slow. You’d let yourself think he was listening. That he maybe even believed in some part of your vision.

Apparently not.

That night, Tsukishima stayed late in the office alone. The building was too quiet. He hated how much he noticed the silence now when you weren’t filling it.

He didn’t even mean to open the sketchbook.

It was sitting on your stool, slightly askew, pages fanned like it wanted to be read. He stood there for a long minute before touching it — fingers brushing the paper like he was afraid it might burn.

The notes were messier than he remembered. Half-formed thoughts, shorthand, tiny arrows. But there was a page marked with a sticky tab in the shape of a cartoon bone. He opened to it.

The full skeleton was drawn by hand — not just a diagram, but alive, posed in a way that almost made it look like it was breathing. Lights were sketched in around it, rays tracing the angles of ribs and jaws like sunlight through water. At the bottom of the page, in your handwriting:

I want people to feel like they’ve stumbled into something sacred. Like the bones were waiting for them. Like they’ve walked into a memory older than the Earth they came from.

He stared at the words until they blurred.

He hated how it made his throat tight.

Tsukishima didn’t sleep that night.

He didn’t know how to say it — how to apologize. He didn’t do sorry very well. He usually didn’t need to.

But the shape of your fear haunted him. The way your voice cracked when you said, “I’m scared they won’t remember anything.”

Because he understood that. Too well.

He spent his whole life being remembered for the wrong things. Or not remembered at all.

And you? You wanted your work to matter so badly you were willing to fight him over it. Risk looking soft. Sentimental. Even foolish.

He thought that was brave.

He thought maybe you were brave.

You noticed it the second you walked in.

The lighting rig had changed.

The movement was smoother now, less of a fade and more of a pulse — like breath in the air, like shadow and presence mingling gently along the curve of the fossil display. It responded, but didn’t overwhelm. Subtle. Intentional. Balanced.

And the tech setup? Upgraded. Clean wiring, reinforced bracketing. Your original sketch still hung nearby, but someone had gone over it in pencil — adjusting angles, improving placements.

Your stomach flipped.

There was only one person meticulous enough to have done that.

You found him in the staff lounge, hunched over a mug of black tea and pretending to read a paleontology journal.

You stood in the doorway for a second, then cleared your throat.

“You… fixed the rig.”

Tsukishima didn’t look up.

“It was sloppy.” He turned a page, like the conversation bored him. “I fixed it.”

You smiled despite yourself.

“Thanks.”

“It was bothering me.”

“Right. Of course.” You stepped fully into the room, grabbed your own mug, filled it just to do something with your hands.

The silence that settled wasn’t heavy, but it was strange — like the room didn’t know what to do with the absence of arguing. You sat across from him slowly, letting the mug warm your palms.

Outside, thunder rumbled.

“Looks like the storm’s rolling in,” you said, glancing toward the windows.

Tsukishima gave a quiet hum.

“Museum’s closing early. They already put the signs out.”

You nodded. Another pause.

“I guess we’re stuck for a bit.”

He didn’t answer, but he didn’t leave either.

Rain began to patter against the windows — soft at first, then sharp, like tiny bones clicking against glass.

You didn’t speak for a while. It wasn’t awkward. Just… quiet.

Eventually, you exhaled.

“I used to think museums were holy.” The words slipped out so gently you almost didn’t notice yourself saying them. “Like sacred, somehow. Even the air felt different. Like I couldn’t breathe loud.”

Tsukishima didn’t move, but you saw the way his eyes lifted, just slightly.

“When I was a kid,” you continued, “we didn’t go many places. But my aunt took me to this little natural history museum once. It was kind of sad, honestly — half the exhibits were broken, one of the audio guides just screamed static. But there was this fossil in the middle of the floor. Some ancient sea creature I couldn’t pronounce. And I just… stood there. For, like, half an hour. Didn’t say a word.”

You smiled a little at the memory.

“She asked if I was bored. But I felt… I don’t know. Seen? Like something that big and that old still being here meant I could be too.”

You rubbed your finger around the rim of your mug.

“I just wanted to make something that someone remembered. Even if they couldn’t explain why.”

The thunder cracked closer now. The lights flickered faintly.

You weren’t sure if he was going to say anything. He didn’t meet your eyes. But after a moment, he spoke — quiet and firm, voice low enough that it didn’t sound like performance.

“Then make something that can’t be forgotten.”

You froze.

Your breath caught.

Not because of what he said — but how he said it.

Not dismissive. Not mocking. But earnest.

Like he meant it.

You looked up. He still wasn’t looking at you, but his fingers had stilled on the page.

The storm roared outside.

Inside, something softened.

You didn’t move. You didn’t speak. You just let the quiet stretch — filled with the scent of tea and rain and the unspoken possibility that maybe… just maybe… you weren’t as far apart as you’d thought.

You didn’t expect to cry. But as the lights came up—soft, fluid, breathing in harmony with the slow rise of ambient sound—you felt something tighten in your chest.

It was exactly what you’d imagined.

The fossil hovered like a ghost over time, suspended in silence and reverence. The light kissed every ancient curve, every bone, every inch of its long-buried story. There was a stillness in the room, as if the crowd understood that breathing too loudly might break the spell.

Your piece. Your concept. Alive.

Applause came gently at first. A few quiet murmurs. And then a wave of sound, camera flashes, hushed voices saying your name with excitement.

Someone clapped you on the back. Another handed you a glass of cheap champagne.

“Brilliant work,” one of the donors said. “Unforgettable,” a curator whispered. “You should be proud,” your boss told you, beaming.

You smiled. You said thank you. You tried to listen. But your eyes were scanning the room for him.

Tsukishima stood in the shadows, off to the left side of the exhibit hall, mostly obscured by a pillar. He was still in his uniform jacket, arms crossed, gold glasses catching the shifting light. He wasn’t clapping. Wasn’t even pretending to mingle.

But he was watching.

You met his eyes across the crowd.

There was a pause. A flicker of something you couldn’t name. And then—he looked away.

You turned back to the small crowd around you. Smiled again. Nodded. Said something about collaboration. You think someone took a photo of you mid-sentence. You didn’t mind. This was what you’d worked for.

But you kept glancing toward the pillar. He was gone.

You slipped out not long after.

The night air was sharp and wet, still humming with the electricity of the earlier storm. The exhibit hall door clicked shut behind you, muffling the buzz of celebration.

You found him near the back entrance of the building, leaning against a railing, eyes tilted up toward the cloud-covered sky. He hadn’t heard you approach.

You paused.

He looked taller out here. The pale security light washed over his cheekbones, caught on his lashes. He hadn’t even changed out of his work shoes.

“You disappeared,” you said quietly.

Tsukishima’s shoulders didn’t shift.

“Didn’t feel like standing around.”

You walked over, hands in your coat pockets.

“But you were part of this.”

“I just fixed the wiring.”

You scoffed, half amused.

“You didn’t just fix the wiring, Kei.”

That made him glance at you. Just a flicker of gold through those glasses. And then he said something you didn’t expect.

“It was beautiful.”

Your breath hitched.

He looked away again. Like it cost him something to say it. Like it meant something more.

“You could’ve said that inside,” you said.

“You didn’t need me to.”

You studied his profile in the silver light.

“But I wanted to.”

Silence again. Not heavy this time. Just… tentative. Careful.

Then:

“You’re going to do big things,” he said, like it was a truth he'd known for a while. “And I’ll be here. Resetting lights. Screwing metal into walls.”

Your brow furrowed.

“Is that what you think?”

He shrugged.

You didn’t know what to say at first. Not because you disagreed, but because you’d never really thought about how he saw himself in all this. How he saw you.

You stepped closer.

“Tsukishima,” you said quietly, and the way his name sounded in the dark felt like a confession. “It’s not just mine, you know. That exhibit. It’s yours too.”

“Don’t say that if you don’t mean it.”

“I wouldn’t.”

He looked at you again. This time, for real. Not through the fog of tension or sarcasm or pride. Just… him.

And you almost leaned in.

Almost.

But instead, you stood there — too close, not close enough — breathing in the same sharp air, hearts too loud in the silence.

And when he turned to go, he didn’t say goodbye. Just brushed past you gently. Like the beginning of something, or the end of something else.

You watched him disappear down the long path behind the museum. And for the first time all night, you didn’t feel victorious. Just… full. And hollow.

At once.

A few days pass. The exhibit continues without you. Your name is printed in neat black ink on the display cards, and people wander through, praising your “vision,” your “emotional composition,” your “eye for stillness.” You’re already being emailed about new opportunities.

But the only thing you can think about is the shape of Tsukishima’s silhouette in the silver museum light. The things you almost said. The things he almost said back.

You return one quiet afternoon to pick up the last of your things.

It’s raining again.

The museum feels different in the daylight—less mysterious, more skeletal. You walk past school kids and bored parents, past tour groups and sleepy guards, toward the side hallway that smells faintly of sawdust and old lightbulbs.

He’s at the workbench. Same posture. Same headphones. But you can tell he saw you come in—his hands falter for just a moment before resuming whatever careful task he’s pretending requires all his focus.

You clear your throat anyway.

“Hey.”

No reply. He’s sanding something. Aggressively.

You smile to yourself and set down your tote bag, beginning to gather the few things you left behind. A notebook. A print draft. The sweatshirt he let you borrow when the AC broke one night and you stayed too long.

He still hasn’t turned around.

You don’t push it. You just take your time, folding the sweatshirt with unnecessary precision, letting the silence stretch long enough to sting.

When you finally zip your bag and sling it over your shoulder, you pause in the doorway.

“Thanks,” you say, voice quiet. “For everything. The project… it only worked because of you.”

For a second, you think he’s going to ignore you.

But then, still facing away, he mutters:

“The bones were already there. You just made them louder.”

You blink.

And then you laugh. Soft, surprised.

“Getting poetic, dino boy?”

He finally glances at you. The corner of his mouth lifts just a little.

“Don’t get used to it.”

You take a step closer, a hand still gripping the strap of your bag like a shield.

“Well. It was nice hearing you say something beautiful for once.”

“I’ve said a few beautiful things.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

A long pause. He looks down at the thing he was sanding. Then back at you.

“Come back sometime,” he says, casual but not really. “The fossils get boring.”

Your heart stutters. He doesn’t even flinch.

You tilt your head, grinning now.

“You mean you get boring.”

“That too.”

And it should feel like a joke. It should feel like nothing. But it doesn’t.

You both hold each other’s gaze for a second too long. Not quite smiling. Not quite speaking. Just letting the moment breathe between you—thin and fragile and unbearably loud.

You take a breath.

“I might come back,” you say finally. “Just to check on the fossils.”

He nods once, slow.

“Sure.”

You don’t say anything else. You just walk past him, the hallway stretching out ahead. But this time, your steps are slower. This time, you hope he’s watching.

And he is.

When the door closes behind you, he exhales like he’s been holding his breath for days.

NSFW bonus scene 🧢🐠 (female reader)

It starts with silence.

You’re standing just inside the workshop door, bag dropped, rain sliding down the windows behind you. You don’t know what made you come back — not really. You just knew the thought of leaving felt more like a loss than a choice.

He looks up. His brows twitch in confusion, but he doesn’t say anything.

So you walk up to him. Slow. Careful.

“Do you want me to stay?” you ask, barely above a whisper.

He swallows, throat working.

Then, simply:

“Yes.”

The word lands heavy. So much more than yes. Yes, I missed you. Yes, I thought about it. Yes, I don’t want this to end yet.

You kiss him.

It’s awkward, at first — all angles and hesitation. He doesn’t move right away, like he’s still computing what’s happening. But the second you breathe his name, something gives. His hands come up, hesitant but firm, catching your waist and pulling you closer like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

The kiss deepens, slow and uneven, as if he’s learning it in real time — a little desperate, a little stunned. His glasses nudge your cheekbone. His breath shakes against your lips. You slide your fingers into his hair and feel the shiver roll through him.

“You’re sure?” you murmur.

He nods, eyes locked to yours.

“Yeah. Fuck—yeah.”

You're on the workbench within minutes. It's cluttered and dusty, but neither of you care.

His mouth is at your neck now, hungry in a way that feels new — like he's been holding back for weeks, months. His hands are firm where they grip your hips, but his touch is almost reverent, like he's afraid to take too much all at once.

“Been thinking about this,” he says against your skin, low and wrecked. “You. That night you fell asleep in the AV room. The way you said my name.”

You exhale a shaky laugh.

“You’re such a freak.”

He huffs, presses a kiss to your collarbone.

“You like it.”

You do. God, you do.

His hands slide under your shirt, slow and searching. You lift your arms, and he helps pull it over your head with surprising care. His fingers brush over your chest, your stomach, reverent and unsure.

“You’re allowed to look,” you tease gently.

He does — and the way he looks at you makes your whole body flush.

“I’m not great at this,” he admits quietly. “Just... tell me if I mess something up.”

Your heart pulls. You cup his face and kiss him again, slower this time.

“You’re not messing anything up.”

When he finally touches you in earnest, it’s a little clumsy — he’s clearly overthinking, too aware of your reactions, too in his head — but it’s sweet. Honest. Every movement feels like it means something.

You guide his hand. Help him find the rhythm. And once he gets it—once he really sees the way your breath hitches and your hips shift—he gets bolder.

His mouth finds your chest. Then your stomach. He murmurs something against your skin, but it’s too quiet to catch.

You tangle your fingers in his hair and gasp when he finally pushes your underwear down and touches you properly — one finger, two, slow but insistent.

“Fuck, Kei—”

That’s what breaks him. Your voice like that. His name like that.

He presses his forehead to your shoulder, still working his fingers inside you, lips parted as he groans softly into your skin.

“Want you,” he says, low and ragged. “I—I wanna feel you. All of you.”

“Then take it,” you whisper. “I’m right here.”

It’s not fast. He makes sure you’re ready. Makes sure you’re looking at him when he finally pushes inside, like he needs to see you fall apart for him.

You breathe his name again and again, and every time you do, he fucks into you a little deeper. A little harder. Still holding back, like he's afraid of hurting you. But you can tell he’s close — his body trembles against yours, his breathing fractured and tight.

When you come, it’s with his name on your lips, your fingers digging into his back, your legs tight around his waist. He follows right after, buried deep, biting down softly on your shoulder to muffle the noise he makes.

He doesn’t move for a long time.

Just breathes with you. One hand tangled with yours, the other resting over your heartbeat.

“You still want me to come back?” you whisper after a while, voice hoarse.

He lifts his head. Meets your eyes.

“Only if you plan on staying.”

authors note: I absolutely loved writing this!! I hope I stayed true to tsukis character and I also hope your happy with your request! :) reqs are still open and very much welcome! ly all <3

#tsukishima kei #kei tsukishima #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #haikyuu #tsukishima x reader #haikyuu tsukishima #tsukishima fluff #kei haikyuu #kei tsukishima smut #anime #tsuki haikyuu #request

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fiftyfiftyfinchy · 6 months ago

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Mischief in the Museum - ArthurTV One Shot

“This is ridiculous,” Arthur muttered, glancing over his shoulder like a kid sneaking candy into class.

“It’s not ridiculous,” you whispered back, tugging on his arm. “It’s called appreciating history.”

“It’s called getting kicked out of the Natural History Museum,” he said, but he followed you anyway, his free hand clutching the oversized, colorful dino hat you’d forced him to wear.

“Stop being dramatic,” you teased, pulling him closer to the towering skeleton of a T-Rex. “It’s not like we’re robbing a bank. Now, come on—pose for a picture.” The two of you had crossed under the velve ropes, trespassing into an exhibit that was not yet open. You dared him to snap a picture in the forbidden area and like two little kids, you had snuck around the security guard, trying to stifle your giggles.

Arthur sighed, adjusting the ridiculous hat on his head. “This is the least cool I’ve ever looked,” he whispered.

“You say that like it’s a high bar,” you shot back, raising your phone to snap a photo.

His mouth fell open. “Excuse me?!”

Before he could launch into a playful defense of his image, you snapped the picture. Arthur was mid-gasp, his hands flailing in mock outrage. It was perfect.

“Oh, this is going on Instagram,” you said with a smirk, waving your phone at him.

Arthur lunged for it, laughing. “Absolutely not. Give it here!”

“Never!” You darted around the display and back into the open exhibit, weaving between tourists as Arthur chased after you, his laughter echoing through the museum.

“Babe, I swear—if that picture sees the light of day…”

“You’ll what?” you called over your shoulder, grinning as you slipped into the nature exhibit.

Moments later, Arthur caught up, wrapping his arms around your waist and spinning you to face him. “I’ll make you wear the hat next time,” he said, grinning mischievously.

“Fine,” you said, still laughing, “but only if you promise to smile for one proper photo.”

Arthur groaned but relented, pulling you close for a quick selfie in front a butterfly display. As soon as you snapped it, he looked at the camera, frowning.

“You’re still posting the bad one, aren’t you?”

“Obviously,” you said, tucking your phone back into your pocket with a grin.

Arthur sighed, shaking his head with a small laugh. “Remind me why I bring you places?”

“Because you’d get bored without me,” you shot back, already dragging him toward the next exhibit.

#arthur frederick #uk youtubers #arthurtv #archertv #george clarkey #italianbach #sidemen #chrismd #arthur hill #harry lewis #wroetoshaw #chris dixon

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dykeadvocate · 1 year ago

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— Dinosaur Museum

Pairing; Ellie Williams x GN!Reader

Summary: You take Ellie to a dinosaur museum, giving her the chance to unload all her nerdy dinosaur facts on you.

a/n: this is also the chance to unload all my nerdy facts on you :3

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

"Babe, this is gonna be the best day of your life, I promise." Ellie excitedly pulled you through the gate of the dinosaur museum. You giggled as Ellie's eyes lit up at the sight of the dinosaur exhibition. There were large statues of dinosaurs at the entrance, and towards the back, you could see dinosaur bones encased in display cases. Her grip around your hand tightened and she pointed towards one of the statues. "That's a Stegosaurus. They were herbivorous and lived in the late Jurassic period. Their fossils have been found in North America and Portugal. People used to think they had two brains but that was just a myth that started in the 1870s." Ellie explained "Whoever believed that myth had to be stupid. Two brains? What idiots." You laughed and shook your head at your girlfriend's words, "You would've believed it too" She gasped and pulled away from you, "Are you calling me stupid?"

You shrugged, walking towards a large statue of a T-Rex, "Take it as you want." Ellie decided to ignore your comment as she noticed the dinosaur statue you'd walked up to.

"What's this one, Els?" "You don't know what a Tyrannosaurus Rex is?" She raised an eyebrow.

You rolled your eyes, "I'm giving you the chance to be a nerd, nerd."

Ellie let out a soft "Hmph" before starting her ramble.

"Well, that's a Tyrannosaurus which lived in the Cretaceous period. Their name means 'tyrant lizard' because well, you know, they were cruel and are reptiles. Strangely enough, they aren't considered to be in the same family as lizards, so I have no idea why they're called a lizard."

You hummed, "Why do they have tiny ass arms?"

"It's believed they were used to attack prey that were close to them." Ellie shrugged, "They look pretty stupid with those arms, if you ask me."

You laughed. It did look pretty stupid.

Ellie gasped and ran towards another statue. You assumed it was some water dinosaur due to the large flippers.

"These plesiosaurus are so fucking cool!" Ellie was almost jumping up and down with excitement. "They're called a Liopleurodon which lived in the Jurassic period. They were huge. The biggest one found was 17 meters long. They must have been terrifying. I know I would've shitted my pants if I saw one."

"Ellie, you shit your pants while watching scary TikToks. Everything scares you."

"Oh, okay, whatever." She rolled her eyes, "That was one time. Leave me alone."

It was not, in fact, one time, but you let it go. You'll tease her about it another time.

Ellie spent another three hours explaining facts about each statue in the museum. And you had to admit, it was cute seeing your girlfriend this excited over dinosaurs.

After she had finished ramble about the last dinosaur in the museum, she turned to you with an grin on her face.

"Wasn't that so super fun?" She joyfully asked.

You grinned, kissing her forehead. "It was so super fun watching you geek out."

"Now you can take me to a space museum and listen to me geek out there!"

You laughed, "Another day, baby."

Your brain was not built to take hours of information all at once.

Ellie pouted, but you gave her a quick kiss on the lips, turning her pout into a smile.

She was your little nerdy girl.

#melposts #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams fanfic #jamieposts #ellie williams #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams x y/n #ellie tlou #ellie williams x you #ellie the last of us #tlou ellie #ellie x you #ellie x reader #ellie x y/n

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queenofhalloween94 · 1 month ago

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Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: Joel and Ellie find out the reader has never been on a field trip. Off to the Museum they go!

“What we learn with pleasure we never forget.” – Alfred Mercier

You’re walking through the overgrown streets of a ruined city, vines curling around lampposts and the sun filtering through shattered windows. Joel, walking a few paces ahead, slows when you mention you never got to go on a field trip growing up after Ellie tells you about her field trip with Joel for her 16th birthday.

“No shit?” Ellie says, turning to you with a raised eyebrow. “Not even one?”

You shake your head. “Outbreak happened when I was a kid. I was ten when it happened. My school was tiny so we didn’t really get to go on any field trips.”

Joel stops walking and glances at Ellie. There’s a silent exchange between them — something unspoken, but understood. I look at them trying to figure out their wonder twin power thing they have goin’ on.

“Alright,” Joel says, jerking his head toward a side street. “C’mon. Got somewhere we can take you.” The three of them go down a few side streets back into dense foliage that covers the majority of this side of the town.

The science museum is mostly intact, a skeletal husk of its former self. The glass dome above the main atrium is cracked, but sunlight still spills in. Rusted signs hang crooked: Dinosaurs, Space Exploration, Human Anatomy. Ellie darts ahead like she’s been here a thousand times.

“She loved this place,” Joel says quietly, nodding toward her. “Brought her here for her sixteenth. Place was still half-buried back then.” You smile watching Ellie take her role of tour guide seriously.

Ellie stops by a T. rex skeleton, arms out wide. “Still a badass,” she grins. “You’re looking at the king right here. And not Joel, before he says it.” She hurries and climbs on it urging you too as well.

You put your hands up “No way, I got a fear of heights. Plus knowing my luck I’d fall off and miss the rest of your grand tour Ellie.” Ellie relents and motions for you to go through the doors of the museum.

Ellie leads the way through the exhibits, giving her own version of the tour — half-science, half-sarcasm. “This here is the Mars rover. Took pictures of red rocks and then died ‘cause it got sad or something.”

You laugh, the first real one in a while.

Later, you all sit on the floor of the planetarium. The ceiling projection system is long dead, but Ellie pulls out a flashlight and points it at the dark dome like a makeshift star.

“Imagine it,” she says. “The sky, full of stars. No spores, no FEDRA, no clickers. Just… space.” You sigh and try to remember looking at the stars while laying in the backyard of your childhood home.

Joel sits back, leaning on his hands, gazing up like he can still see it. “Figure you deserved at least one field trip,” he mutters. And somehow, even in a broken world, it feels like you finally got one.

Joel nudges you gently on the shoulder. “C’mon. Got somethin’ better than skeletons.”

Ellie lights up. “Ohhh yeah. You’re gonna love this.”

She jogs ahead, weaving between collapsed beams and toppled display cases, leading you into a darker wing of the museum. Faded posters of astronauts in bulky suits line the walls, their faces serene behind cracked visors. Above the archway reads a rusted plaque: Space Exploration: To the Stars and Beyond.

The moment you step inside, it’s like entering a different world.

A replica of a Saturn V rocket looms over you, its white paint chipped but still proud, reaching for a sky that no longer remembers it. A model lunar lander sits off to the side, its golden foil crinkled but still glinting faintly in the dim light.

Ellie climbs onto the platform and stands in front of the capsule like a museum guide. “Ladies, gents, and fungus-infested monsters, welcome to the moon!” she declares, arms wide. “Population: badass explorers and one very, very underpaid janitor.”

You can’t help but grin as she points at a life-size astronaut figure frozen in mid-step. “This dude right here? He pooped in a bag in space. That’s commitment.”

Joel chuckles behind you, shaking his head. “Ain’t how I remembered the tour.”

Ellie shrugs. “I add flair.”

Then she turns to you, more serious now. “This was my favorite part. When Joel brought me here. I dunno, just… looking up and thinking there used to be a world where people flew out of this mess, instead of running from it.”

She reaches into her backpack and pulls something out — a small, beat-up cassette player.

“Got something for the occasion,” she says. She hits play.

Static. Then soft, warbly music. It’s Elton John — “Rocket Man.”

Joel just sits on the bench nearby, arms crossed, watching both of you with quiet pride.

You stand beneath the rocket, listening to the song echo through the empty exhibit, and for a moment — just a moment — you feel like you’re not trapped in a broken world. You’re standing on the edge of the stars, with two people who somehow made it worth surviving.

“Happy first field trip,” Ellie says, nudging you with her elbow. You smile and nudge her to keep going. Ellie chatters about space monsters while you go and stand by Joel.

You sidle up next to him, slipping your fingers into his. He gives your hand a squeeze, thumb brushing your knuckles like it’s second nature. That small touch says everything he won’t say out loud.

Ellie walks over to a dusty display with helmets and gloves behind cracked glass.

“Didn’t think you’d like it this much, though.” Joel mutters while watching Ellie try on space helmets.

You glance around — at the towering Saturn V, the silver capsule, the frayed flags on the wall — and then back at Joel, his eyes soft as he watches you take it all in.

“I love it,” you say quietly. “It’s perfect.” And it is. Not because of the rockets or the nostalgia, but because he remembered. Because they brought you here. Because they wanted to give you something you never had.

You step forward, wrapping both arms around him from the side and pressing your forehead against his shoulder. “Thank you, Joel.”

He stiffens at first — always a little surprised when he gets affection without a catch — but then relaxes, letting you pull him in.

Ellie groans. “Ughhh. Gross. Couples in space.” You laugh, and without warning, reach out and pull her into the hug too.

“Hey! Wait—what the hell is this? Nooo—” But she’s laughing too, caught in the middle, flailing dramatically. “This is emotional warfare!”

Joel huffs a low chuckle, wrapping an arm around both of you. “Ain’t so bad, is it?”

“Don’t push it, cowboy,” Ellie mutters, though she doesn’t actually move to escape.

The three of you stand there in the heart of the old world, bathed in dust and golden light. And for one suspended moment, it’s like you’ve all broken free of gravity — floating together, unburdened, in your own little corner of the stars.

*~~~~~Thank you for reading~~~~~~*

#pedro pascal #ao3 #the last of us #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fluff #also on ao3 #tlou fanfiction #joel tlou #tlou one shot #one shot #comfort

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fexrtherexper · 3 months ago

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And so, the great Titans of old stood above, looking down upon various onlookers like monoliths. Reptiles and beasts alike long since past thier time. The mouse was not exactly the biggest into history, but even he had to admit, these creatures very well could have been a formidable challenge. Such a shame, many exist naught in this modern age.

He crossed his arms, humming to himself as he looked up at the skeleton of a T-rex, mentally sizing it up. Yeah, definitly a challenge. He can just see it now.

A small smirk appeared on his features as he wandered from exhibit to exhibit, before eventually settling upon fossilized mushrooms. Now this, this was something he could really understand.

Even petrified, the roots still called to him. A pity, truly... Who knows what sights and smells, what tastes these Shrooms could have had long ago. From his cloak, came a notebook. His pensmanship was terrible, but he seemed to be writing down the names of what he was finding here.

@paleobird

#pint sized rage: verm

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lucy-frostblade · 3 months ago

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on love languages and coffee

Aster always told Solé that they didn’t have a love language, that love languages were for romantics and they weren’t that.

Solé always said their love language was gift giving. She said that if Aster could figure out how to make coffee for everyone they cared about they would. Aster would sneer and remind her that they only made free coffee for Solé. Solé would just smile and wrap her arm around Aster’s, resting her head on their shoulder.

When Aster got an email, sent to them on their school account, they rolled their eyes at it and planned to leave the cafe backdoor unlocked so they could sneak in and make themself a latte before whatever was supposed to happen. They wished they brought Solé, but something was weird about the email, something they didn’t want Solé to get in trouble for if she didn't have too.

The cafe was weird at night. When Aster worked there was always a steady stream of people moving throughout the museum and into the cafe. Aster didn’t really get why people came to the museum so much, there were only like five exhibits, and the only one that seemed remotely interesting was the insect exhibit.

(And the dinosaur exhibit, but that was a secret they’d take to the grave.)

Aster flicked the light on, pale light reflecting on the metal counters. They pull out milk from the fridge and grab coffee beans and let themself fall into their routine. Distinctly, they hear something happening on the roof, as well as a car driving by on the street, but those are concerns for later.

The steamer hisses as it heats up the milk and Aster carefully pours it into the espresso they made, adding a latte foam heart out of habit as they do. Aster puts a lid on their coffee and slides it into a drink sleeve. They flick the lights off and head out into the main lobby, locking the employee door behind them, their boots echoing on the floor as they near the crowd of people gathered.

Aster didn’t know what to expect when they got the email. Glitter and something about falcons, Aster wasn’t fully paying attention, but they were herded into a group, some people they were vaguely familiar with, but mostly people they didn’t know.

Aster wasn’t a team player, they didn’t like working with other people, and they were prepared to make that obvious, but when the groups split off, Aster trudging behind their group, sipping on their coffee and eyeing the museum like it’s out to get them, they slowly relax into the sounds of Raffa and Dust’s gossip, matching their pace with Aries as the two walked in silence. They let Charlie hold the ladder for them and handed Raffa’s knife back after the two spent a solid ten minutes in a precarious balancing act.

(Aster would barely admit it to Raffa herself, but they liked her the most. Something about suggesting the craziest ideas and also carrying a pocket knife. Respect.)

After demolishing the T-Rex skeleton- which Aster did feel a bit bad about- they suggested coffee, leading everyone back to the lobby where they unlocked the cafe doors and ushered everyone inside, pulling their apron on and situating themself behind the bar, letting the chaos of the past three hours wash off.

Aster didn’t have a love language, they didn’t do things for other people, but in the quiet of the cafe, soft chatter from Raffa and Dust filling the space, Aster realized that maybe Solé was right after all.

#they make me so sick #i love them #babe wake up elis being insane about aster again #eli writes #drabble #mountport ttrpg #elis ocs

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daily-kotlc-sentence · 8 months ago

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BOOK: Keeper of the Lost Cities

CHAPTER: One

(96/270)

They called her Curvebuster.

She finished her answer, and Mr. Sweeney grumbled something that sounded like “know-it-all” as he stalked off to the exhibit in the next room over. Sophie didn’t follow. The thin walls separating the two rooms didn’t block the noise, but they muffled it. She grabbed what little relief she could.

“Nice job, superfreak,” Garwin Chang—a boy wearing a T-shirt that said BACK OFF! I’M GONNA FART—sneered as he shoved past her to join their classmates. “Maybe they’ll write another article about you. ‘Child Prodigy Teaches Class About the Lame-o-saurus.’”

Garwin was still bitter Yale had offered her a full scholarship. His rejection letter had arrived a few weeks before.

Not that Sophie was allowed to go.

Her parents said it was too much attention, too much pressure, and she was too young. End of discussion.

So she’d be attending the much closer, much smaller San Diego City College next year—a fact some annoying reporter found newsworthy enough to post in the local paper the day before—CHILD PRODIGY CHOOSES CITY COLLEGE OVER IVY LEAGUE—complete with her senior photo. Her parents freaked when they found it. “Freaked” wasn’t even a strong enough word. More than half their rules were to help Sophie “avoid unnecessary attention.” Front-page articles were pretty much their worst nightmare. They’d even called the newspaper to complain.

The editor seemed as unhappy as they were. The story was run in place of an article on the arsonist terrorizing the city—and they were still trying to figure out how the mistake had happened. Bizarre fires with white-hot flames and smoke that smelled like burnt sugar took priority over everything. Especially a story about an unimportant little girl most people went out of their way to ignore.

Or, they used to.

Across the museum, Sophie caught sight of a tall, dark-haired boy reading yesterday’s newspaper with the embarrassing black-and-white photo of her on the front. Then he looked up and stared straight at her.

She’d never seen eyes that particular shade of blue before—teal, like the smooth pieces of sea glass she’d found on the beach—and they were so bright they glittered. Something flickered across his expression when he caught her gaze. Disappointment?

Before she could decide what to make of it, he shrugged off the display he’d been leaning against and closed the distance between them.

The smile he flashed belonged on a movie screen, and Sophie’s heart did a weird fluttery thing.

“Is this you?” he asked, pointing to the picture.

Sophie nodded, feeling tongue-tied. He was probably fifteen, and by far the cutest boy she’d ever seen. So why was he talking to her?

“I thought so.” He squinted at the picture, then back at her. “I didn’t realize your eyes were brown.”

“Uh . . . yeah,” she said, not sure what to say.

“Why?”

He shrugged. “No reason.”

Something felt off about the conversation, but she couldn’t figure out what it was. And she couldn’t place his accent. Kind of British, but different somehow. Crisper? Which bothered her—but she didn’t know why.

“Are you in this class?” she asked, wishing she could suck the words back as soon as they left her mouth. Of course he wasn’t in her class. She’d never seen him before. She wasn’t used to talking to boys—especially cute boys—and it made her brain a little mushy.

His perfect smile returned as he told her, “No.” Then he pointed to the hulking greenish figure they were standing in front of. An Albertosaurus, in all its giant, lizardesque glory. “Tell me something. Do you really think that’s what they looked like? It’s a little absurd, isn’t it?”

“Not really,” Sophie said, trying to see what he saw. It looked like a small T. rex: big mouth, sharp teeth, ridiculously short arms. Seemed fine to her. “Why? What do you think they looked like?”

He laughed. “Never mind. I’ll let you get back to your class. It was nice to meet you, Sophie.”

He turned to leave just as two classes of kindergartners barreled into the fossil exhibit. The crushing wave of screaming voices was enough to knock Sophie back a step. But their mental voices were a whole other realm of pain.

Kids’ thoughts were stinging, high-pitched needles—and so many at once was like an angry porcupine attacking her brain. Sophie closed her eyes as her hands darted to her head, rubbing her temples to ease the stabbings in her skull. Then she remembered she wasn’t alone.

She glanced around to see if anyone noticed her reaction and locked eyes with the boy. His hands were at his forehead, and his face wore the same pained expression she imagined she’d had only a few seconds before.

“Did you just . . . hear that?” he asked, his voice hushed.

She felt the blood drain from her face.

He couldn’t mean . . .

It had to be the screaming kids. They created plenty of racket on their own. Shrieks and squeals and giggles, plus sixty or so individual voices chattering away.

Voices.

She gasped and took another step back as her brain solved her earlier problem.

She could hear the thoughts of everyone in the room. But she couldn’t hear the boy’s distinct, accented voice unless he was speaking.

His mind was totally and completely silent.

She didn’t know that was possible.

“Who are you?” she whispered.

His eyes widened. “You did—didn’t you?” He moved closer, leaning in to whisper. “Are you a Telepath?”

She flinched. The word made her skin itch.

And her reaction gave her away.

“You are! I can’t believe it,” he whispered.

Sophie backed toward the exit. She wasn’t about to reveal her secret to a total stranger.

“It’s okay,” he said, holding out his hands as he moved closer, like she was some sort of wild animal he was trying to calm. “You don’t have to be afraid. I’m one too.”

Sophie froze.

“My name’s Fitz,” he added, stepping closer still.

Fitz? What kind of a name was Fitz?

She studied his face, searching for some sign that this was all part of a joke.

“I’m not joking,” he said, like he knew exactly what she was thinking.

Maybe he did.

She wobbled on her feet.

She’d spent the past seven years wishing she could find someone else like her—someone who could do what she could. Now that she’d found him, she felt like the world had tilted sideways.

He grabbed her arms to steady her. “It’s okay, Sophie. I’m here to help you. We’ve been looking for you for twelve years.”

Twelve years? And what did he mean by “we”?

Better question: What did he want with her?

The walls closed in and the room started to spin.

Air.

She needed air.

She jerked away and bolted through the door, stumbling as her shaky legs found their rhythm.

She sucked in giant breaths as she ran down the stairs in front of the museum. The smoke from the fires burned her lungs and white bits of ash flew in her face, but she ignored them. She wanted as much space between her and the strange boy as possible.

“Sophie, come back!” Fitz shouted behind her.

She picked up her pace as she raced through the courtyard at the base of the steps, past the wide fountain and over the grassy knolls to thesidewalk. No one got in her way—everyone was inside because of the poor air quality. But she could still hear his footsteps gaining on her.

“Wait,” Fitz called. “You don’t have to be afraid.”

She ignored him, pouring all her energy into her sprint and fighting the urge to glance over her shoulder to see how far back he was. She made it halfway through a crosswalk before the sound of screeching tires reminded her she hadn’t looked both ways.

Her head turned and she locked eyes with a terrified driver struggling to stop his car before it plowed right over her.

She was going to die.

#election day’s making me so nervous so now we get 270 sentences in honor of that #is this cheating? yes.#but also i have so many more sentences to go and i’d like to finish before i die so here we are :)#on special days or like holidays expect multiple sentences #i thought this is a good place to stop in the post since it’s the end of chapter one #kotlc #keeper of the lost cities #kotlc reread #daily kotlc sentence

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specterofarts · 1 month ago

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Remembering Robosapiens (so you don't have to - and also to paint it!)

I`m currently working on an illustration for a zine themed around Y2K - the call for artists said they're looking everything 1980s to 90s coded but my mind of course immediately went to the glitch where all our electronics were supposed to stop working on Newyears 1999 because somebody forgot to code in the ability to switch their internal clocks / date-displays upon the onset of the new milleniunm. (I was 4 when that happened, but I have some vague memories about everybody losing their shit). Since I'm an avid hauntology-enjoyer I decided to go with a sort of digital impressionist rendition of a photo my dad took at some unnamed Gartenschau (German garden-exhibition) - I like to imagine it was a Bundesgartenschau but I didn't do any research into that... yet! (My dad was a reporter for a small-town paper and he left me several folder and hard-drives of materials he collected over the years. He was also a photographer by trade so there are a ton of weird old pictures - I'll probably share some other strange finds on here at some point. In any case, I've been using stuff from his collection in my art-projects for several years now.)

Since I'm also an avid enjoyer of adding weird shit to old photographs, my next step was to add a bunch of old electronics strewn about the scenery, I'm currently still in the process of gimmicking up the characters form the original photos but to finally introduce the main subject of this post, the project got me thinking about all the weird tech-gadgets I had as a kid. I vividly remeber having a remote-controlled plastic spider with red glowing eyes at one point. My grandmother picked it up at REAL (a large German retailer that isn't doig all that well these days) and after my grandpa found a bunch of the weirdly specific batteries the thing requires and not included, I got to pilot the thing around my grandparents licing-room with a wrist-watch-style remote. It even had a button for spider-noises (whatever those are) - pushing it made the spider go 'Wyharrrwyharrwyharrrharrrharrr!'. I also a 'robot dinosaur' named 'Dino Chi' at one point - I saw it on holiday in Rostock and bugged my parents untill they got me one. I remember the thing was marketed like it was an actual robot with some sort of ill-defined AI allowing it to navigate your livingroom like an actual 20ish cm t-rex would have done way back when they still made those. The reality of Dino Chi was more like a bunch of infra-red sensors and a real, genuine mechanical button at the tip of its snout which woud 'sense' when the dino would ram itself directly into the next wall or table-leg. It also had a button on its head which you could push to make the eyes light up and the LEDs light up in a bunch of random shapes to give the dino some eye-articulation. That was pretty dope actually. It also came with a small plastic bone with a magnet in it. The dino was supposed to follow it around when the bone was near but I rarely got it to do so. Then, however, one fatefull day, entered the absolute GOAT of gimmicky 90s robot-toys - Robot Sapiens. I had seen the advertisement for several month between pretty much any cartoons I'd been watching, the robot itself was way chonkyer, rounder and masmoother than any of it's predecessors, could actually move its arms and hand and grasp stuff and little child me went absolutely apeshit when my dad found a barely used one on a fleemarket and brought it home!!!

[id: Screenshot of a work in progress digital painting in photoshop. The central subject of the part visible in the screenshot is a Robosapiens toy-robot, walking next to a child with a pink pullover. A reference-image of the actual toy can be seen in the corner of the image End id.]

Full disclosure, these days those plastic novelty toys just kind of depress me because I imagine that most of them ended up broken and discarded now, just chilling in some landfill, not to decompose untill eons after we have, produced from that prescious dino-juice we fight wars and royally fuck up the environment for, but on the other hand, Robosapiens fucking slapped! (And also the remote-controlled spider I guess. No Idea what became of that and if it's currently in a landfill, but critical support!). I'm also pretty sure our boy was on the more resilient side of 90s plastic tat - note the reference-picutuer I used is just a photo from some ebay listing I stole from google this morning! Ihave no idea if mine is still lurking somewhere in my mom's house or if it returned to the fleemarket from whence it came at some points but I'd be willing to bet money that if it didn't get got by a leaking battery, it would probably still work! Why then did I immediately think of Robosapiens when I was looking for a fitting tech object to pair with the child in the foreground of my mellow 1990s hauntology painting? Because I think it perfectly represents the promise of technology at that time - a sense of hope, speed and amazement, which accompanied me through my childhood and which arguably fuels much of the nostalgia on which a whole buch of recent tech-scams prey on. The robosapiens came with a huge remote with more buttons than the one of our VHS recorder and it could actually perform most of the functions it promissed just well enought to be servicable and capture the amazement of a child for a few days or weeks depending in how creative they are in finding objects both light and large enough for the robot to pick them up and maybe toss them a few centimeters. It had a bunch of blinking lights, stock soundeffect and even made its own music it could perform a few programmed dances to (not 100% sure but I think you could also create your own routines of a few moves and bind them to one of the keys on the remote). The robot picking up a piece of styrofoam I pilfered from a box of stuff my dad ordered online blew my mind back then and for a chonky, bipedal plastic-comrad the robot also walked pretty smoothely. The meat of this particular toy's user experience was still lining up plastic-soldiers, building-blocks, lego houses or some action-figures and then have the robot fuck up their shit!

To wrap up my thesis-lenghts post on the plastic robot I drew this morning instead of doing something for university: I have a whole treasure-trove of cherished memories about Lego - like spending all my allowance on additional cloe-trooper- and droid-figures to recreate the battle at the end of the second Starwars with the one friend equally obsessed with staying inside all day, playing with legos and listening to 'Die drei ???' audio-cassettes or me and said friend creating an intricate lore for our assorted lego-sets, involving Exoforce, Lego Alpha-Team's Ogel (the Olaf Scholz looking dude with the lazer-hookhand and the swimming servitor-skulls) and Jaba the Hutt banding together to stop a sentient mostertruck. I could write a whole manifesto about digging small trenches in the back-yard for our basic-ass plastic soldiers or pretending swords are sticks like its the great depression or something. For Robosapiens, however, my whole memories can be summarized by this post: The advertisements, going absolutely bonkers when my dad brought it home, having it pick up a small palstic bucket full of styrofoam pieces, having it knock around a buch of action-figures and eventually uncovering it in my closet way later, liely to pawn it off because I needed cash to buy a Wii.

This is the picture I'm working with by the way - further progress updates will probably follow.

[id: Photograph of a group of people in 90s attire, walking across a large garden or fairground on an overcast day. In the distance, a Ferris wheel and several pavillons can be seen. In the foreground, a borad walking-paths leads past a field of various garden-plants and flowers, including white, yellow, red and purple ones. A child in a pink pullover and blue jeans approaches the camera while a man in casual business-attire is inspecting an abstract sculpture and carrying a shopping-bag. At his side are a smaller child in a dotted pullover and a figure in a dark green blazer. A tall person in a leather Jacket and another in an off-yellow coat are walking past in the other direction. Furhter in the background a farm-house with a straw roof and several flags can be seen. End id.]

I'm also planning on adding a bunch of other retro tech like a few floppy disks and a Tamagochi somewhere. Which strange 90s toys are you weirdly nostalgic for. Did this post unlock any suppressed memories about Robosapiens. Did you have one as a child? Do you still have it? Is is still running? (Well then you better catch it - could be worth a nice sum on E-Bay) Are there any Y2K tech-products you absolutely need to see in this painting? I'd be happy abbout any inspiration!

#artists on tumblr #90s nostalgia #90s aesthetic #y2k #y2k aesthetic #robosapiens #90s toys #nostalgia art #digital painting #weird art

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pockycigar · 9 months ago

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the gang goes to the natural history museum.

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tim: paleontologists used to think the small forelimbs were used by males to hold the females during dinosaur sex. but ignore that. stupid theory. a more plausible theory submits that forearms shrank to reduce injury and mauling during feeding. frenzied t-rex heads are massive. (duh. use your eyes. Eye.) and have a bite force of 35,000 newtons. imagine that coming down on your arm. it'd tear right off. that'd be messed up. and if you kept your arm it'd become diseased and gangrenous from bacteria. you'd wish the damn thing came off. you'd wish you were dead. nasty. anyways i hate tyrannosaurs. the ideal dinosaur of the cretaceuous period was the anklyosaurus. magnificent creatures.

kelly: didja escape your exhibit. get it. cuz ur old. geezer lol. don't get dino-sore haha. crusty. hehe.

#ocs: kelly p #ocs: young #ocs: tim l #the supernormals #pockycigart #steven + sylphia aren't shown because steven is busy monologuing about the flying buttresses on the exterior of the museum. sylphias rivete #i really hope this doesnt make it over to dino tumblr i did minimal research for tims dino spiel...#just enough for him to rant about. please dino tumblr if you're out there...have mercy ○|￣|_ =3 #BUT if u would like to tell me about your dinosaur opinions please by all means SHARE!!!!!! i live to learn and love to live

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geomimetry · 2 years ago

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#u can see how i gradually become more and more lazy with alans design #me addicted them #if anyone has any ideas for silly scenarios with them do tell!#i feel like alans horse spine is probably not as slanted as i draw it but i think its cute #they are autism together #exhibit A: T-rex arms #subnautica #subnautica below zero #al-an #robin ayou #alyou #my art

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burrowbaddie · 2 years ago

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This was a request for Dad!Joe celebrating his son's birthday. I hope you like it @mrsshiesty

Dad!Joe is the type of dad to go all out for his son every birthday. I'm talking about he wakes up at 5 am to decorate his door. Joe has kept a neat list in his phone of everything his son even glanced at or mentioned. Dad!Joe might have gone overboard and bought him every toy he asked for throughout the year.

"Joe, do we really need to do this. I think-"

"Shhh. You'll wake him. I think it's a good tradition. Plus, he really likes it. With the new baby coming, he's been feeling left out." Joe whispers. You nod your head and pass him the tape. When you announced you were pregnant, Little Joe didn't take it so well. He did not want a sister he would have to share his daddy with. You rub your belly, watching your husband put the final touches on the door. This year, Jojo was really into dinosaurs. He had you and Joe redecorate his room to a dinosaur-themed room, including a Jeep bed with a T-Rex head hanging over it.

"It looks great. Now can we please go to bed? I'm 8 months, my feet hurt, and if I don't get my sleep in, I will be even more cranky."

Joe nods and pulls you to the bedroom. You only get two more hours of sleep before the birthday boy comes running in.

"Happy birthday to me! Jojo is 5 now!" He shouts. Joe sits up, pulling Jojo into the bed. You watch your son bounce on the bed excitedly.

"Dad! Make me the oatmeal with the dino eggs, please!" Jojo screams. Joe scoops him up, and they disappear, leaving you to sleep for a little bit more. You wake up around 10:30 to the boys watching Jurassic Park. You can't even remember the number of times Jojo has made you both watch those movies. You could probably recite the lines. Joe crawls out of the tent to pepper your face with kisses.

"Have you guys just been watching this?"

"Yeah, it's what he wanted. Hurry up and shower; you know we're taking him to the dinosaur exhibit." He reminds you.

"Actually, I need to stay here and get things ready plus, I think this will be good for you guys to talk. Our daughter will be here in 3 weeks, and he still refuses to talk about it." You whisper the last part. Joe agrees and takes Jojo upstairs to shower and get ready. The boys return wearing matching t-shirts and shorts. You kiss your boys and wish them farewell for now. You need to get everything ready for the surprise party.

"Dad. I'm a big kid now. I can sit in the front, right?"

"Not yet, kiddo. You need to get a little bit older." Joe laughs, strapping him into his car seat. Jojo starts playing with his T-rex along the drive. When they arrive, Joe gets stopped by some fans in the parking lot. He takes photos, but when the crowd gets too much, he has to decline. He didn't want to ruin Jojo's day.

"Why are those people taking photos, Dad?"

"I'm famous."

"Why?"

"Because Daddy plays football professionally; remember we talked about it?"

Jojo stares at him.

"But you're just daddy. How can you be famous?"

"Umm, you know the movie we watch? The people on there are acting professionally, so they are also famous." Joe explains. Jojo stares at him again.

"Am I famous?" He asks. Joe chuckles.

"Kinda, but not really."

"I see. Look how big this brachiosaur is!" Jojo shouts, wiggling out of Joe's arms. Joe sets him down and watches his son sprint the outside standee. Joe snaps a few photos and sends them to you. Jojo takes his hand and leads him to the entrance. Joe takes out his card to pay, but the cashier lets' him know it's free.

"I can't do that. It's fine."

"We insist, Joe." The manager says.

"At least let me pay for the family behind me." Joe hands the card over and the manager charges it. Jojo taps his foot waiting for his father to come. Joe finally finishes and takes his hand.

"We should start with the North America dinosaurs, then make our way around," Jojo shouts, holding up the map. Joe does his best to let Jojo take the lead, but people keep stopping them.

"Dad! We're going to miss the show!" Jojo yells.

"I need to get-"

"You need to get us another ring." An older guy says with his buddy nodding.

"I will try my best. Next season we plan to go harder." Joe nervously laughs.

"Dad!" Jojo screams, causing everyone to look. Joe excuses himself and follows Jojo.

"Sorry, the show started and unfortunately once it started we can't let anyone in." The worker apologizes but Jojo's eyes start to water.

"I'm so sorry little man."

"Take me home! I want Mommy!" He cries.

"Look, we still have one more floor to go to."

"I said home!" Jojo runs off, and Joe chases him. He picks Jojo up and takes him to the last floor. Jojo buries his face in Joe's neck and refuses to pay attention. Joe mispronounces the dinosaur names on purpose so that Jojo corrects him every time.

"No that is Diplodocus, dad." Jojo corrects him smiling.

"So smart." Joe kisses his head and lets Jojo down to explore. This time Joe refuses photos and autographs, which most people understand. He is not there at star quarterback Joe Burrow. Today he is only dad. Joe takes Jojo back for the show, but the next show isn't until 3, and they needed to head home for the party.

"It's his birthday today, and it would really mean a lot."

"I understand, but there is nothing I can do."

"Can you ask you, manager, please tell him it's for Joe Burrow." Joe folds his hand, begging. He hated using the I'm Joe Burrow thing, but it was Jojo's birthday, and he wanted to see this show. Joe would do anything to keep him happy. The worker pages the manager.

"Play the show, Helen. Are you insane? Whatever Joe wants!" He replies. Helen laughs and lets Joe and Jojo in. Joe is happy they are alone because he is starting to feel bad turning down kids for photos. Jojo placed his 3D glasses on and sat back, watching the show go on. In the end, he couldn't stop smiling.

"Dad, when I grow up, I want to study dinosaurs! Unless you want me to play football."

"Jojo, you can be anything you want to be. If you want to be a Paleontologist, go for it. Your mom, sister, and I would be proud of you either way." Joe says, picking him up and placing him in the car. Jojo looks down at his new T-Rex plushie and frowns.

"My sister?"

"Yes. You know mommy is pregnant and carrying your little sister in her belly right. I know you've been upset about it but it will be fun to be a big brother."

"You're not a big brother; how would you know?" Jojo rolls his eyes.

"You're right, but I'm a little brother, and having a sibling is the best thing in the world. You remember in the film how the older triceratops protected his little sister?"

"Yes. That's what I will do too. I'll protect sissy!" Jojo smiles.

"You will. And me and Mommy will protect both of you."

"unless one of us is the weaker one, then Mommy will abandon us." Jojo mumbles. Joe laughs. Maybe he shouldn't use dinosaurs to explain family. When they arrive home, Joe takes Jojo to the backyard, where everyone jumps out shouting surprise. The backyard has been transformed into a Jurassic theme. Jojo squeals and jumps with excitement. He runs around, saying hello to everyone and then to the huge dino figure near the pool. Finally, he makes his way to you.

"Mommy, I can't wait for sissy to come! I'll be the best big brother."

"Aww, my baby." You bend down to hug him feeling your little girl kick. Jojo runs around with his cousin and friends, playing. When it's time to open gifts, you shake your head at the amount Joe got Jojo. After cleaning up, and when the guest leaves, you take a much-needed bath. You find your favorite boys in bed waiting for you. Jojo lies in the middle, smiling. You and Joe got pregnant fresh out of college. At 21, you had no idea what the future would hold, but you made the decision to be a stay-at-home mom and support Joe's career. It was the best decision you've ever made. 5 years later, you are still madly in love and expecting child number two. Joe kisses your head and then Jojo's head. Jojo kisses your belly and turns on Jurassic Park 2.

#joe burrow x you #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow fic #joe burrow x reader #joe burr #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow fluff #joe burrow blurb

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