hi hello if you're taking smutfic requests i'm just going to hand you a little pile of vague ideas & you can do with that as you like. um. trans newt. sleepy newt in his comfy pyjamas like in your most recent fic. domestic newmann. something about newt's hands
decided to do a throwback and fill a prompt the way I used to straight on tumblr all the time because it's fun and I miss doing it!!!! THANK YOUUU FOR THE SUGGESTIONS....
have some trans newt + both sleepy scientists in their pajamas (+domesticity to an extent???). didn't manage to work in newt's hands....another time perhaps. also i must write t4t next. warning for SMUTFIC/18+/NOT SFW belowwwww
It’s not really directed at anyone, more a general plea out into the universe. He had been sleeping, very soundly, when the loudest fucking alarm clock in the world ripped him into consciousness, and worst of all Newt’s pretty sure it’s not even his.
Behind him (or really wrapped around him) Hermann stirs, nuzzling his face against Newt’s neck with a small grunt of displeasure. The arm he's tucked around Newt's waist tightens. “Too early,” he grumbles. “Turn the bloody thing off.”
“It’s your alarm,” Newt says. “I think. It might be mine? Where even are we?”
Last night was a little bit of a blur. There was a party—whose party Newt can’t remember, but it might’ve been a birthday—and there was the worst booze Newt had ever tasted, and weirdest of all there was Hermann, who hung around Newt all night and provided a bitchy running commentary about everyone and everything like they were friends or something. Newt remembers doing shots with Hermann at one point, but whether that was a dream or his last fleeting moments of consciousness before he and Hermann hauled themselves off for the night to (apparently) spoon he’s not sure.
Statistically he’s probably about as likely to do shots with Hermann as he is the spooning thing, so the very concrete proof of the latter is making him suspect the former actually happened too. He's relieved that he doesn’t seem to be nursing a hangover of any variety, though, and that he did manage to change into pajamas. They don’t feel like his pajamas, but at least he’s in some. “You’re closer to it,” Hermann says.
Is he? Newt can’t see for shit right now (not in the least because Hermann’s bunk, or maybe his bunk?, is pitch black, his glasses are somewhere in the ether), forcing him to resort to fumbling a hand along the tiny bedside table and slapping the top of the alarm clock stupidly for a few minutes until it shuts up. He wills his eyes to function as he squints at the digital clockface. “Dude,” he yawns, “it’s like, almost noon. We way overslept.”
“Don’t care,” Hermann mumbles against his neck. “The world won’t end just yet if we take a day off.”
Newt might not be hungover, but he wonders if Hermann might be. Hermann once came to work with a high-grade fever and such a bad case of pneumonia that he almost broke his neck when he inevitably fainted off his ladder. One of their worst fights. Very pot/kettle of Newt, frankly, given that he functionally did the same thing when he powered through bronchitis to submit a grant proposal not long after that incident. Point is, the dude hasn’t taken a vacation day in almost five years and now he’s suddenly begging Newt to play hooky.
“It kinda might,” Newt says, disentangling himself from the sheets. Hermann groans in protest when Newt flicks on the lamp next to the clock. He’s delighted to find his glasses folded there. “C’mon,” he says, jamming them on, “we got shit to do. At least I got shit to do. I gotta—”
He tries to wriggle to the floor, but Hermann yanks him right back down with a fistful of his t-shirt. Newt goes lax against him with a squeak. “Mm, I’m sure it can wait for later,” Hermann says. He noses in against the shell of Newt’s ear, his hot breath tickling Newt’s skin. “I’d prefer to stay right here with you.”
Newt’s cheeks go a little warm. “Clingy,” he says. Hermann’s good moods are sudden and rare, so he doesn’t mind indulging this one for now. He’s sure they’ll be right back to business as usual come dinner.
He shivers when Hermann bites down on his earlobe and unceremoniously shoves two chilly hands up the front of his baggy t-shirt. “Jeezus,” Newt yelps, jerking against him. He can feel the outline of Hermann’s half-stiff dick against his ass getting stiffer as Hermann gropes at his flabby sides and plays with the curly hair trailing down beneath Newt's boxers. “How are you already this b-boned up?”
“I’ve been up for a bit,” Hermann admits. “I didn’t want to wake you. You looked too peaceful.”
“Yeah, I bet, you perv. Creeping on me,” Newt says. “Sniffing my hair. Watching me sleep. That’s some Twilight shit.” He frowns. “Outdated reference, not very inspired either. I can do better. Clingy is all I mean. Were you sniffing my hair?”
“You’re in my clothing,” Hermann says, like that explains it.
Newt lifts the sheet and stares down at his t-shirt. Some oversized and almost definite freebie from an academic conference of 2014, stretched out from Hermann's wandering hands now, but it’s too faded for Newt to make out much beyond the year and some cheesy Calc 101 math symbols. It smells like the cheapo laundry detergent Hermann buys religiously in bulk from a convenience store down the way from the ‘dome. Ugh, he can recognize it, don’t tell Hermann. “So I am,” he says. He drops the sheet. “How’d that happen?”
“You spilled a beer all over yourself and then insisted on following me home. You were somewhat inebriated. I was as well, to a significantly lesser extent. For the record I didn’t undress you,” Hermann adds quickly, “you started going through my drawers and did that yourself.”
“Eh, I wouldn’t have minded if you did.”
“You also used my toothbrush,” Hermann says. “Thankfully after I’d finished with it myself for the evening.”
He sounds annoyed even as he teases the waistband of Newt's boxers (which are in fact Newt’s own, thank God, they are not at the sharing underpants stage yet) and lazily rocks his morning wood against the cleft of Newt’s ass. Newt suspects that Hermann is kinda into the wearing-his-clothes thing. He’s been known to get the occasional possessive streak in him, usually when someone else tries to shoot their shot with Newt and makes the grave error of doing it within a mile radius of Hermann. It’s kinda hot so Newt can’t really complain, especially when it manifests in hickeys up his neck or a handie in a supply closet or something, though frankly also a little weird, given whatever will they-won’t they-they totally are thing they have going on isn’t exactly a capital-R relationship.
“Mm, Newton,” Hermann says with a happy little sigh. He slides one fingertip just under the elastic waistband and pulls it taut from Newt’s body, and Newt squirms at the gentle gust of cool air on his junk. Hermann plants another kiss behind his ear. “Can I touch you?”
“Aren’t you already?” Newt says, his voice strangled.
Hermann’s hand dips into his boxers and creeps through the thicket of his pubic hair to find Newt’s tdick, which he takes between his fingers without hesitation. Newt clenches his thighs tight and whimpers. “Shit. Um—”
“Shh,” Hermann says. He rolls his hips lazily against Newt’s ass.
He slides his other hand around to cup Newt’s cheek, angling Newt’s face towards him. Newt parts his mouth eagerly as Hermann kisses him. Hermann's not the best kisser—not that Newt is either—but there's something kinda sexy about how clumsy Hermann is about it. Too much teeth, not enough tongue action. He nibbles on Newt's bottom lip and slides his mouth down to kiss over Newt's stubbly jaw. Newt needs a shave. “Why are you so boned up?” Newt asks, his voice trailing off to a little moan.
Hermann hasn’t started properly jerking him off yet, has just been thumbing over his tdick. His hand stills. “You looked very…sweet,” he says, and when Newt cranes his neck around to raise his eyebrows, Hermann's cheeks have gone red. “A bit…I don’t know, disheveled.”
Newt grins. Now that he’s gotten a good look at Hermann, he can tell the guy isn’t exactly put together himself—he skipped the second button on his pajama shirt, and his hair is more of a mess than usual, the short ends by his forehead curled back with sweat. “Aw, Hermann,” Newt says before he can help it. Hermann is cute sometimes. When he's not being a goddamn pain in Newt's ass, anyway.
He slips his tongue past Hermann’s lips when Hermann kisses him again, and Hermann makes a pleased sound, sucking on it. He toys with the curls of Newt's pubes as they kiss lazily. “Want me to jerk you off?” Newt mumbles. He wiggles his ass around against Hermann’s boner. “Or I could blow you.”
“Mm, no, I’d rather—” Hermann starts moving his fingers on Newt again, Newt’s precum slicking the way. Hermann has great fingers, very long and slender, like a weird, sexy, pale spider, and Newt’s happy to melt to the mattress with a soft moan and let them work him over. His thighs are wet, his boxers almost soaked through. It doesn’t take much to wind him up. Hermann likes that about him, he thinks. He starts to rock against Newt.
“Would you mind,” Hermann says, his breaths ragged, “if I…?”
Newt shakes his head: Hermann can do whatever the hell he wants to him right now, to be honest. He helps Hermann push his boxers down around his thighs and feels the mattress dip as Hermann does the same with his pajama pants and briefs. For as often as they’ve fucked in other ways he hasn’t built up the courage to properly ask Hermann to hit that yet, and as the head of Hermann’s dick nudges at his thighs, spreading them apart, he considers extending the offer now.
He starts to angle his leg up so Hermann can slip inside him, but Hermann stills him with a hand to his side. “Ah, just like this,” Hermann breathes. “Newton—”
“Can you,” Newt says, “I mean, your hip—”
“I can manage like this just fine,” Hermann says. “We’ll be quick about it.”
Hermann slides his dick easily between the slick gap of Newt’s thighs until it’s snug up beneath Newt’s tdick. Newt feels a little lightheaded as he tightens his thighs around it, hot and pulsing, the tip dragging wetly against his own damp skin. Hermann layers kisses over the back of his neck. “Keep still,” Hermann says.
“Yessir,” Newt says, aiming for irony, but it comes out a whine. He never manages to last very long with Hermann. Something about the guy gets him worked up like nothing else.
Hermann fucks between his trembling thighs in quick, measured thrusts. Newt's tdick throbs with each graze against it, each time Hermann’s cockhead catches and drags over his hole, and when he reaches down to jerk himself off, Hermann bats his hand away and replaces it with his own. Newt goes a little cross-eyed.
“Oh, fuck, dude,” he gasps, dropping his head back against Hermann’s shoulder. A low growling noise rumbles up from the back of Hermann’s throat. Newt can feel the heat of his orgasm building in the pit of his stomach: he chases it, urging Hermann’s fingers in deeper, squeezing around him eagerly, desperately. “Yeah. Keep—”
Hermann swallows his pleas down in a hungry kiss. He gives a final thrust between Newt’s soaked thighs, sliding up tight against Newt's tdick, and Newt cums on his fingers with a helpless little whimper. Hermann waits until he sags to the mattress before continuing to rock his hips. He doesn't bother with a rhythm, going fast and sloppy. “Let me blow you,” Newt begs into the pillow. He loves getting his mouth on Hermann and feeling Hermann come apart under him.
“Just about there,” Hermann says. His body suddenly goes rigid. “Oh—!” He finishes in a few hot pulses over Newt’s inner thighs and Newt fumbles to catch the mess in his boxers before they stain the bed.
Hermann stays pressed up against his back for a few moments, his chest heaving, before slipping off of Newt with a parting kiss to his shoulder. When Newt rolls over Hermann is giving him a sweet little smile that crinkles the corner of his eyes. It makes Newt feel kinda funny. He swallows, his throat suddenly tight.
“Newton,” Hermann says, almost soft, “would you mind...?”
He's struggling to pull up his briefs. “Uh, of course!” Newt says, glad for a distraction.
He dutifully helps Hermann tuck himself back into his pajamas, though he doesn’t bother doing the same himself, instead mopping their mess up with his boxers and kicking them to the floor. He’ll probably just steal a pair of Hermann’s sweatpants and make a discreet beeline to the base laundromat before heading to the lab.
Then again—he is kinda tired.
He burrows back beneath the covers and is happy when Hermann makes no move to get up either. “Let’s stay in a little longer,” Newt says, settling his head on Hermann’s chest. Hermann wraps him in his arms.
Abby pulls back, eyes searching his face. This close, he can see the way her eyebrows inch together in concern. Her voice is gentle, like she's afraid to spook him, when she asks, “Was that okay?”
Was it? “Yeah,” he replies quickly. “Yeah, of course.” It should be. “It's just been a while.” And his smile is awkward, he knows, but there isn't any good reason for it to be, is there? Abby is beautiful, and kind, and funny, and she kissed him. That's. That's a good thing.
It's normal to feel nervous when a woman like Abby kisses you.
Maybe that's it.
Maybe Abby will believe that is it.
Something like understanding dawns on Abby's face and for a moment Tommy forgets how to breathe.
“Oh! Of course. I'm so sorry, I almost forgot." She nudges his side, grins. "Not a lot of women to kiss in the army, huh?"
Can I ask where you got your Utahraptor toe claw? That's insanely cool
i got it from a museum gift shop as a kid! i can't remember which museum, tho. might have been the field museum at Dinosaur Ridge. the claw itself is a plaster cast, not an original fossil, so there's no breach of scientific ethics in me having it. i have quite a lot of plaster casts as well as actual fossils that i've bought and found (again, all ethical for me to own)
Hi, feel free to ignore this if you'd prefer not to amswer, but I think you said something recently about ADHD medication that helped with your ADHD symptoms and like 80% of your anxiety symptoms, and I was just wondering what medication it was? I have ADHD + health anxiety, & I'm looking into medications that might help me with both.
I’m just on standard methylphenidate hydrochloride (so stimulant medication), and I take two fast-release doses a day.
Stimulant medication can make anxiety worse for some people, but I found that my anxiety was a way for my brain to deal with my lack of stimulation. Like, if I didn’t have enough stimulation to do a thing, I would get anxious, which would eventually help.
Except then it expanded from academic and social anxiety to health anxiety as well and that’s pretty much never helpful... And neither were the panic attacks, tbh.
Anyway, it seems that giving my brain the stimulation it’s craving stops it from picking at my anxiety triggers to get said stimulation. And the extra focus helps CBT to stick a little more.
Though my meds do wear off by nighttime, so my anxiety will often return in full-force before bed. But a tiny bit of exercise as well helps with that anxiety (literally 5-10 minutes of yoga) and the ADHD meds help me to do that regularly.
Also, a slow-release version of the medication might not have that drop-off at night (idk, I haven’t tried it), but you can’t mix the meds with alcohol, and stimulant meds being so heavily regulated means that you can’t pick and choose on the day whether you take fast or slow release tablets, and even though I’m not a heavy drinker, I prefer sticking on fast-release so that I can choose not to take my afternoon meds if I’m going to a thing in the afternoon where I’ll want to drink, but still be able to take my morning meds. Rather than sacrificing entire days off my meds or going 100% sober.
Also, in contrast, before I was diagnosed with ADHD, beta-blockers (which kind of do the reverse of stimulants) were also super helpful for my anxiety. So, idk, different stuff works in different ways, and it seems with this kind of thing, it’s best to just try stuff out.
(sorry if this sent twice, I think tumblr messed up the first time) Hello Vince! I really like reading about your sewing projects, and I've sort of been working my way up to making some clothes of my own. I was wondering: how do you wash your 18th-century garments, particularly the ones with a lot of hand sewing? Can they go through the washing machine, or would that damage them? (fabric permitting, of course - I know the wools and silks probably can't)
Hello!
I hand wash my shirts and hang them up to dry. They could theoretically go through the washing machine and survive, because the hand stitching on 18th century shirts has to be sturdy and small so they withstand washing, but I don’t like to.
I don’t think they’d be likely to get damaged unless there was really delicate lace ruffles, but machine washing is more damaging over time. Clothes wear out faster when you machine wash them, and even worse if you tumble dry them, and I want mine to last for as long as they can.
Plus, I find that greasy shirt collars just don’t get as clean in the washing machine. You gotta put soap right on them and scrub them by hand to get them to not be gross.
And yeah, wool and silk outer garments aren’t really things that get washed. They’d get rumpled and limp, and probably the dye would run if they were patterned. The linen underwear protects them from getting sweaty, and they wore washable linen or cotton outer garments in summer.
I don’t know what you do do with silk when it gets dirty, but I guess I’ll find out once my silk things get dirty. I have carefully hand washed my plain wool breeches and waistcoat, and they did get kind of rumpled, so I wouldn’t do that with my fancier stuff.
Edit: oh, I had forgotten the thing about spraying stuff with watered down vodka! I haven’t done it before but I’ve heard it’s great at getting rid of stink.
