#but like. shorter and digestible

[forgettable-au]

WELCOME BACK!

I'm so happy I got inspiration for this AU again honestly, brings back good memories

And I was honestly so surprised so many people are still interested??? Wow

[owl-with-a-pen]

Outside of superhero emergencies, Kara didn’t tend to lean into her super hearing where she could avoid it. Girl’s night at her apartment, for example, definitely shouldn’t have called for it. Then again, she wasn’t usually the subject of discussion in just about every apartment block on her street.

So, maybe that wasn’t completely true. She’d certainly heard her name mentioned a lot more since the whole secret identity reveal thing; it was just, nowadays, instead of hearing Supergirl, it was usually Kara Zor-El.

She was used to it. She’d been used to it for years; her name was normally a hot topic days, if not weeks after a major save was broadcast. The only difference now was… not all of those voices were as positive as she’d come to expect.

Like right now, for instance. No matter how hard she tried to shut it out, she couldn’t help but listen for that same voice echoing from hundreds of homes across the city, streaming from earbuds, speakers and laptops alike. His voice was charismatic and quick, like a less polished Maxwell Lord, and while he may have been a nobody just a few weeks ago, he’d certainly gained enough traction now to give Kara one hell of a headache.

Unfortunately for her, she’d inadvertently tuned herself in at just the right time for her downstairs neighbour to hit play:

“Alright folks, if you missed our last episode I’ll catch you up to speed. Last week, we rounded off at the crux of the Supergirl Problem; that she hasn’t just been living in our midst this whole time, but that she’s been actively working as a journalist for CatCo Worldwide Media. And, just a few weeks ago, she was publicly put in charge of the editorial process for that same media outlet minutes after she came clean about her alter-ego to the world. And, as I doubt Supergirl will want to speak for herself on the matter, we have one of her self-proclaimed super-fans in the house today to speak on her behalf. Say it with me at home folks, debate me, Supergirl!”

The aforementioned ‘super-fan’ let out a surprised scoff at her introduction. She didn’t waste a minute of her airtime, jumping immediately into the conversation: “Well, for starters, I think you’re taking this whole thing out of context. Supergirl didn’t just become a journalist for CatCo overnight. If you knew anything about Kara’s story, you’d know that she worked her way up the food chain for years! I mean, how empowering is that? She started as a PA!”

“Yeah, a PA with superspeed, how difficult. No wonder she ended up in Cat Grant’s palm! And yes, I do know her origin story, thank you very much.” The host’s voice crackled as Kara imagined him relaxing into his microphone. “Let the audience not forget that she was a PA for Cat Grant before she became a journalist. Are we really going to pretend that wasn’t her foot in the door?”

“Cat Grant wasn’t even her boss when she got into journalism,” argued the young woman. “And by the time Kara made a name for herself, Cat wasn’t even leading the company anymore! She got to where she is now on her own merit, no one elses!”

The host spoke over her: “It begs the question, did Cat Grant know this whole time? She takes a sabbatical only to re-emerge just in time to offer Supergirl a promotion. On top of that, she’s been promoting Supergirl for years! She created her – her words, on record. And now she’s put her in charge of media distribution. Get this: Supergirl is now in charge of the media we consume. Isn’t that a little self-indulgent?”

The young woman didn’t back down. “Kara Danvers was a Pultizer winning journalist long before we found out who she really was,” she argued. “She’s been standing for truth and justice just as much as Supergirl has. In fact, she’s just as much a hero as—”

“But what’s the agenda here?” the host continued with a conspiratorial air. “How can we even believe the news now it’s being headed by a liar? And she did, didn’t she? She lied to us all! She had a secret identity this whole time, and what? We’re just supposed to accept that? What’s the bet that this story will make a headline at CatCo magazine tomorrow morning, with my comments made out as Supergirl’s latest villain story? Or, better yet, will I be Kara Danver’s first official nemesis?” He barked out a laugh into his microphone. “There’s no freedom of the press anymore, folks, not when CatCo is bias towards the very hero that made it so popular in the first place!”

Before she could hear any more, Kara was thrown from her super-eavesdropping rather unceremoniously when a hand shot out in front of her face, waving impatiently.  

“Earth to Kara,” Alex said, snapping her fingers in front of her sister’s nose. “Hey, anyone home?”

“Huh?” Kara said before screwing her eyes shut, swatting away Alex’s offending hand. “Hey, hey, stop that!”

It was only then that she realised that it wasn’t just Alex who had been trying to get her attention. Lena and Kelly were staring at her from the opposite sofa. Nia sat cross legged on the footstool by the coffee table, nursing her drink with an expectant expression.

Kara glanced lamely at the TV. It didn’t look like anyone had been paying attention to the movie for quite some time.

Just how long had she been…?

Kara tried not to cringe.

Kelly cleared her throat, smoothing her hands over her lap. “From your expression, I’m guessing you were listening in on something pretty important.” She hesitated. “Is everything okay?”

Kara’s eyes widened. “What? Oh, oh no, it’s not a superhero emergency, I swear. Girl’s night continues uninterrupted, I promise!”

“Okay,” Nia said with a slow smile. “Then what was with the—” She mimicked Kara’s spaced-out expression a little too well, earning a few grins at her expense.

Kara pursed her lips. “Uh—I mean. It was nothing. Just…” She sagged in on herself awkwardly. “Okay, so I may have been listening to this podcast…”

“Oof.” Alex winced. “You don’t wanna do that.”

Kara groaned, falling back against the sofa. “I��ve been trying not to, but it’s kinda hard when half of my building’s listening to it.” She rubbed aggressively at her ears. “Super hearing can really suck, you guys.”

“Wait,” Nia said, perking up. “Are you talking about the Debate Me, Supergirl podcast?” When everyone turned to stare at her, she shrugged. “What? Brainy’s been keeping tabs on all social channels for this stuff ever since your interview first went public, y’know, calculating the odds on them picking up any real traction. In case things go… south.”

“And what are the odds on this guy?” Alex asked seriously.

Nia made a vague gesture. “I mean, until a few days ago, Brainy had him in the unlikely category. But his latest interview with a Supergirl stan got a whole lot of attention on social media. They were basically at each other’s throats the entire time.” She took a mild sip of her drink. “People ate it up.”

Alex rolled her eyes. “Of course they did. And I’m guessing from your tone, not much of the audience were on this super – uh – stan’s side?”

Nia pulled a face, taking an even larger swig.

Kara groaned again, burying her face in her hands. “This is awful. I- I just can’t believe how little faith they have in me now that they know the truth!”

Lena smiled her sympathy. “Take it from someone who was once deluded enough to fall right into that same category of hatefully ignorant.” She toasted her scotch glass to no one in particular, swirling its contents with a gentle twist of her wrist. “It’s not easy for people to accept that their larger-than-life hero was living amongst them.”

Kara’s head shot up in protest. “I never wanted anyone to put me on a pedestal.”

“Want has nothing to do about it. Like it or not, they did.” Lena paused, tucking her legs into the sofa’s arm. She fixed Kara with a level look. “Kara, I say this as your friend, but you have to understand how powerful you are in the eyes of a regular citizen. You fly, you shoot laser beams from your eyes, you’re bullet proof and fire proof. Your power is limitless and even though this city has seen you fall, they’ve also seen you get back up time and time again.”

Kara bit her lip. “That part I can understand, but it’s not just that. This podcaster isn’t only targeting my Supergirl persona. It’s Kara Danvers, Kara Zor-El that they don’t trust.” She snorted, throwing her hands wide. “They think the fact that I’m working as CatCo’s Editor-in-Chief makes the whole platform inherently bias. And – yes – I know I’ve fought my own biases in the past, and it’s not like being impartial was what won me a Pulitzer, but to them— a superhero in the press just doesn’t appeal. They think I’m a fraud, that I’ve been manipulating public opinion.” Kara could feel her face begin to flush in frustration. She ran a hand through her hair, standing just to put her energy somewhere. She slammed a fist against her palm, taking a step around the coffee table with every beat. “But, I mean, don’t they remember how CatCo turned on Supergirl after the Red Kryptonite incident? And rightfully, too. I lost the people’s trust then, and now—now it’s happening all over again and I just… I don’t know how to win them back,” she laughed through her teeth, “or if I can win them back!”

Alex took Kara’s arm swiftly as she passed her by, tugging her to her side. “Hey, no one said this was gonna be easy.”

“I think those were Cat’s exact words, actually,” Nia said helpfully, pointing in Alex’s direction.

Kara huffed, anchored by her sister’s steadying hand. “Yeah? Well, they didn’t say it would be this difficult, either.”

“Don’t listen to a few angry voices,” Nia insisted, her voice sobering. “They aren’t worth your energy, trust me.”

“Are they just a few?” Kara asked grimly. If she tried hard enough, she was sure she could still tune into hundreds of versions of that same podcast playing from across the city. Whether they agreed with him or not, the people of National City and beyond were listening to this nameless podcaster, and that was dangerous enough on its own.

Nia smiled tightly, balling her knuckles against her lap. “Just don’t listen to them, okay?” She closed her eyes. “Look, people like to make a lot of noise when they feel like they’ve been lied to, but the truth is, they were never entitled to that information to begin with. When I did my Dreamer interview with you, a lot of people were so supportive; some of them even saw themselves in me, but there were always hateful voices that tried to drown out the positive ones.” She straightened her back, opening her eyes. “But, y’know, they make that much noise because they know they’re in the minority, and they do not have the power that they think. Putting it into perspective like that… it’s a lot easier to ignore them, especially when I know how many people I’ve helped by sharing my story.”

“You’re right,” Kara said softly. Because she was. Of course she was. A single podcast spouting a single negative view didn’t diminish everything good that had come out of Supergirl’s identity reveal. Yes, the celebrity-level thing took some getting used to and openly flying to work made her something of a spectacle when it came to the office situation, but for the most part, Kara was relieved to have that weight off her shoulders, and it was a joy to know just how many aliens felt more confident to live as themselves now that they knew Supergirl had also shared their struggle.

In truth, the world knowing where she had come from, who she had been ever since she’d landed on Earth, grounded her to the people in a way that had never struck quite the same as just Supergirl. And that was worth any amount of growing pains.

Kara reached out for Nia’s hand over the coffee table, squeezing tight. “Thank you.”

Nia’s smile softened. “Any time.”

Lena cleared her throat, shifting higher against her pillow. “And, as for your job,” she said with a sly smile of her own, “let’s just say I know a thing or two about the public coming for your throat, deeming you unworthy of the position you’ve fairly worked your way up to. It’s just like Nia said, you ignore it, Kara. You ignore it because you have nothing to prove to anyone, you’re already doing one hell of a job as a journalist. Remain honest with yourself, and eventually people will see it. Not everyone of course.” She tilted her head, raising her glass to her lips. “You’ll never have everyone’s approval. If you did, well, I’d say you were on another planet, because that’s certainly not how the human race are wired.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Nia chimed in, leaning up to clink her glass with Lena’s. She caught Kelly’s glass on her way back.

Kelly smiled fondly, though there was a strained edge to her expression when she said, “We’ve all had to work twice as hard to prove ourselves. And as much as it hurts, that extends to Supergirl as well.”

Kara sat back down with a sigh, leaning into the embrace that Alex readily offered her. “Cat once told me the same thing; right after she’d first claimed Supergirl, actually.”

“Exactly,” Alex said with a sage nod. She kissed her sister’s hair. “And, hey, Cat Grant won’t let a podcast beat down her creation. Hell, her empire is built on powerful women, it always has been, always will.” She gestured to everyone in the room. “You are all prime examples of that.”

Kara nudged her sister playfully, pushing out of her arms. “Hey, well, the amount of times the DEO has personally kept that building from crashing to the ground, I’d say you’re an honorary member of Cat’s empire, too.”

Alex’s nose crinkled. “I think I prefer the title of badass DEO leader, but I’ll take it.” She grinned, rolling her eyes. “The point is, you have us, Kara.”

“Yeah.” Nia beamed. “And our opinion is worth a million times more than some crappy podcast.”

“Oh, cheers to that, too!” Alex laughed and they all converged with their glasses, meeting with a raucous clash over the coffee table.

Cheers rang out all ‘round, and Kara let the simple joy of that moment infect her. Their combined laughter easily blotted out any chances of hearing another word from that podcaster’s mouth.

She'd lost the taste for eavesdropping, anyway.

[asvidema]

i end up sounding selfish, and i really don't want to be, but i really appreciate what i do sometimes. art wise and character design wise. lmao

[no1ryomafan]

It’s the way I gotta focus on writing fanfics but don’t got the motivation to do that kind of writing so instead my Kikaider obsessed brain goes “hold on this essay of the Komyoji and Saotome family kinda unfair in some places, what if I just condense it down to Michiru and Genki vs Mitsuko and Masaru” aka I’m rewriting this dumb essay that only ONE PERSON so far has reason and this was just a observation I made

[cloudsofnothing]

Super morbidly obese. That much weight would be impossible to ignore—and your health would feel it. Your heart would be working overtime just to keep you going, struggling to pump blood through so much extra tissue. You’d probably feel it sometimes, that heaviness in your chest, the occasional flutter or strain after a short walk or even just standing for too long. Your blood pressure would be higher, your pulse pounding harder, your body constantly fighting to keep up with the mass you’ve added.

Your lungs would labor under the weight of your expanding chest and belly. Lying down, you’d feel the fat pressing against your diaphragm, making it harder to breathe. You might wake up gasping, feeling like your own bulk is suffocating you in your sleep. Sleep apnea would almost be guaranteed, the fat around your neck narrowing your airway, leaving you snoring loudly or choking for air throughout the night. You’d likely need a CPAP just to breathe properly while you sleep.

Your joints—knees, hips, and ankles—would be screaming from the constant strain. Carrying around hundreds of extra pounds would grind away at the cartilage, leaving you stiff, sore, and slow. You’d feel it in the morning, joints aching, feet swollen from supporting so much weight day after day. Walking would become more of a shuffle, your steps heavier, slower, shorter. Stairs would be agonizing, your thighs burning after just a few steps, your chest heaving for air at the top.

Your digestive system would struggle too. The constant overeating would make you prone to heartburn and indigestion, your stomach overfilled and stretched, pressing against your other organs. You’d likely experience frequent bloating, feeling heavy and sluggish after every meal, your belly so full it weighs you down, making you lethargic and sleepy.

And your skin—it would struggle to keep up with your growing size. Stretch marks would splinter across your thighs, belly, and arms, vivid and deep, a permanent reminder of how fast you’ve grown. Your skin would chafe painfully in the folds, especially around your belly and thighs, where moisture and friction would irritate it. You might develop rashes or sores, the constant rubbing making your skin raw and tender.

Your liver would suffer too. With so much weight, you’d likely develop non-alcoholic fatty liver disease (NAFLD), your liver becoming engorged with fat, slowly becoming less efficient. You might not feel it at first, but over time, it would sap your energy, making you feel tired and sluggish even when you haven’t done anything strenuous.

And then there’s your mobility. Simple movements would become exhausting. Getting out of a car or off a low couch would leave you breathless, having to brace yourself with both arms, rocking forward before standing. Even rolling over in bed would take effort, your own weight holding you down, making you feel almost pinned by yourself.

But the scariest part? The slow decline. The numbness in your legs from poor circulation. The swelling in your ankles from fluid retention. The constant fatigue, no matter how much you rest. The aches in your chest that you ignore until they linger too long. You’d grow accustomed to the discomfort, accepting it as part of life, even as your body slowly breaks down under the weight.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Fight Scene

How to Write a Convincing Fight Scene

In practice, writing a realistic fight scene for your novel is one of the hardest things you’ll ever do.

That’s because fight scenes can be boring to read.

A movie allows the audience to take a passive stance and have the action wash over them.

In contrast, reading a fight scene requires the audience to activate their imagination.

The audience must participate in constructing the fight scene from your clues and seeing it play out in their mind’s eye.

That’s a lot more difficult than getting it fed to you visually.

Below are strategies for writing fight scenes.

Fight Scenes Should Move the Story Forward

The very first rule for fight writing (and writing any scene in general) is to ensure that it moves the story forward.

Say “no” to gratuitous fight scenes that only show off fancy moves or writing skills.

Here’s the easiest way to find out if your fight scene moves the story:

Delete it.

Now, read the scene before and the scene after.

Can you still make sense of what happened?

If the fight caused some type of transition in your story, keep it in.

And remember: Not all transitions are physical. Some are mental.

You don’t always have to discuss the physical aftermath.

You can also explore the mental fallout after a fight.

This can be how the fight moves the story forward.

Fight Scenes Should Improve Characterization

Because reading a fight scene can get boring quickly, it’s important that you focus on more than the bare-knuckle action.

Use fights as a way to explore your character(s) and provide more insight on the following:

Why does the character make the choices that they make in the fight?

How does each choice reinforce their characterization?

How does each choice impact their internal and/ or external goals?

Is this conflict getting the character closer or further away from their goals? How?

What are the stakes for each character? What do they stand to win/lose?

What type of fighter is the character? What are their physical or mental abilities? (Remember that not every protagonist will be a trained assassin, so they’re prone to make sloppy mistakes during a fight.)

Use the fight scene to reveal necessary information about the characters.

Be sure to give the reader a glimpse into the character’s soul and not just into their fighting skills.

Fight Scenes Shouldn't Slow the Pace

In movies and especially in real life, fights go by quickly.

But in literature, fight scenes can slow the pace.

That’s because you have to write all of the details and the reader has to reconstruct the scene in their minds.

However, if you employ certain literary devices into your narrative, you can actually create a taut fight scene.

Here are some tips:

Write in shorter sentences. Shorter sentences are easier to digest. It also speeds up the pace of a story.

Mix action with dialogue. Don’t just write long descriptions of what’s happening. Also, share the verbal exchange between your characters.

Don’t focus too much on what’s going on inside the character’s mind. Introspection happens before and after a fight, not during.

Keep the fight short. Fights should never go on for pages (unless you’re discussing an epic battle between armies, and not individuals).

Hit ’Em With All the Senses

One of the best ways to get visceral when describing a fight is to activate every sense possible.

This includes sight, hearing, taste, touch, and smell.

Think of how you can use these five descriptors in your writing to immediately transport the reader to the scene.

Sight 

Perhaps the most obvious.

You’ll describe exactly what the characters are seeing and what the reader should pay attention to in the scene.

Hearing 

Is a little more delicate.

A fight scene is a perfect time to introduce onomatopoeia into your narrative.

Onomatopoeia - a word that sounds like what it is describing.

Try using more subtle examples, such as:

Boom, Clang, Clap, Clatter, Click, Crack, Creak, Crunk, Fizzle, Gargle, Groan, Grunt, Gurgle, Hiss, Howl, Hum, Knock, Plod, Rattle, Roar, Rustle, Sizzle, Smack, Splash, Splatter, Squeal, Tap, Thud, Thumb, Whine, Whisper

Taste 

Be careful with going abstract here.

Instead of using phrases like, “he could taste fear in the air,”

go for something more concrete like, “blood mixed with strawberry lip gloss was a strange taste.”

Touch 

Perhaps one of the easiest senses to convey.

Describe how the characters feel and interact with each other physically.

Smell 

You often see or hear a fight, but can you smell it?

In person, what would the fight smell like? Probably sweat.

Consider other scents, such as the ambient aroma in the scene.

Example: If the fight takes place in a car garage, there may be the lingering scent of motor oil and tire rubber.

Don’t be afraid to add that into the scene to introduce a different dimension.

When Writing a Fight Scene, Edit, Edit, Edit

A good story is an edited one.

The same rule applies to fight scenes.

A sloppy fight scene can slow the pace of your story and/or confuse the reader.

When editing your fight scene, keep the following in mind:

Don’t include a blow by blow of what happens in the fight. After your initial draft, remove non-essential details that can slow down reading.

Delete flowery language. Extra words drag the pace. Remove every single word that you can.

Consolidate characters to reduce reader confusion and frustration.

Source ⚜ Fight Scenes (Part 2) ⚜ Words for your Fight Scenes Word Lists: Fight ⚜ Poking/Hitting ⚜ Panting ⚜ Running ⚜ Pain

Writing Resources PDFs

[link-is-a-dork]

Continuing from the size and height charts posted before, now that the assets are setup, we can make these smaller, more digestible images. With actual measurements listed! All of these heights are based exclusively on the poses shown.

More from Lalam24:

"These were captured on a fixed orthographic setup with the camera parallel to the Z axis. However, I can get Link to be about 3 pixels taller if I put his legs together. For the last chart, I wanted to make sure everyone fit the same overall setup, so I didn't want Link looking like a stick compared to the rest. If I do straighten his legs(with them clipped together), I can get him to 160.63cm max in this resolution, 160.85cm in a larger resolution. He is taller, in this image, than his idle stance, but shorter than he is at the height of his walk cycle. Adult Zelda can lose and gain a pixel or 2 depending on how relaxed she's standing, but her torso being bent forward here ultimately extends its vertical length, and then her head being more straight (than normal) evens out the height more (her head is very large in back). Pre-timeskip Ganondorf is standing up very straight because he's in his walk cycle, so I'm sure he could get a bit taller.. but not by much. Timeskip ganon is standing the least straight here and could definitely gain several pixels.

What's interesting is that Satoru Takizawa (OoT Ganondorf's designer and modeler) describes pre-timeskip Ganondorf as 230cm in his design notes. I would say it adds to the credibility and accurate intentions, of the lakeside laboratory meter stick, that he ends up only being 1cm different here

These are only possible thanks to Aegiker's Link viewer."

[whisperedmeg]

FRAGILE GRAVITY ―.✦ s.r. soft animal series ∘ part iii

pairing: spencer reid x fem!nurse!reader

summary: the morning after is tender and new, but reality presses at the edges. outside waits a world they’re still learning how to move through together.

genre: fluff, like the tiniest bit of smut if you squint

w/c: 5.2k

tags/warnings: post-prison Spencer, prison nurse reader, more making out ooooh, things get a lil heated but no real smut quite yet, still NSFW MDNI, a lil tension over reader’s job, but mostly fluff i swear

a/n: part 3 is here! this is much longer than i originally intended for it to be and part 4 is just as long if not a lil longer tbh, but the chapters will start getting shorter/more digestible after that!

series masterlist

It started with the warmth of him.

I’d never slept next to someone like Spencer before — so still, so quiet, like he was afraid to take up too much space. But even in sleep, he never let go of me. We shifted to a spooning position, his chest against my back, and his arm around my waist stayed firm through the night. His hand rested low on my stomach like he couldn’t bear the thought of distance, not even in sleep.

When I woke, it was to the warmth first, and then the smell of him — clean laundry and peppermint and something a little worn, like old books. His nose was buried in my hair. His chest rose and fell against my back in slow, deep waves. I didn’t dare move at first.

And then I felt it.

A shift in his breathing. The way his fingers flexed, slowly curling tighter against my shirt. The subtle but unmistakable press of him, hard against the curve of my ass. Not insistent, not purposeful — just there.

I bit my lip, suddenly wide awake.

He was still pretending to sleep. Maybe he was unsure if I’d noticed. But I had. God, I had.

I rolled over carefully, slowly, until I was facing him. His eyes were still closed, lashes dark and fanned out like they always were when he was deep in thought. But there was a flush climbing up his neck.

“Spencer,” I whispered.

He opened his eyes. Immediately. Like he’d been waiting for permission.

I reached up to brush a lock of hair from his face, and that was all it took — something in him came undone. He surged forward and kissed me like he’d been starved for it, hands sliding around my back, pulling me into him fully.

I gasped into his mouth. My thigh slipped between his, and he groaned — quiet, guttural, like it had been dragged out of him against his will.

“Good morning,” I managed to murmur between kisses, breathless.

“God,” he said into my neck, “I’ve been trying not to do this since the second I woke up.”

“Why didn’t you?”

His voice was hoarse, rough from sleep and restraint. “Because I wasn’t sure if it was okay. I wasn’t sure if you wanted—”

I cut him off with a kiss, deeper this time, slower. “I wanted,” I said against his lips.

His fingers tightened in the hem of the t-shirt he’d given me the night before. It smelled like him, and when he tugged it up over my hips, I arched into him without thinking.

We weren’t rushing. This wasn’t fast or fumbling. It was slow, almost reverent. His hand slipped beneath the fabric, splayed over the bare skin of my waist, and we both groaned at the contact.

He breathed my name like a confession. I whispered his back.

He kissed me like I was air after drowning, like he didn’t trust the moment to last. I kissed him back to prove it would. My hands slid under his shirt, palms grazing over his ribs. He was warm, lean, tense and rigid under my touch. He was holding in so much tension, it made me ache for him.

“You’re shaking,” I murmured.

“I know,” he said, voice cracked and low. “I didn’t think I’d get to feel anything like this again. Especially not with you.”

I pressed my forehead to his and let the silence stretch. I wanted him to feel how still I was, how steady. To let him have the space to fall apart a little, if he needed to.

He swallowed. “You’re not afraid of me?”

“No,” I said immediately, and meant it. “You didn’t scare me in there, and you definitely don’t scare me now.”

His eyes searched mine. That analytical part of him still working, as if he could catalog my honesty, verify it against every shred of doubt he had over his own goodness. But then his hand drifted down, trailing over the swell of my hip, and whatever analysis he was running fizzled out between us.

I rolled onto my back, pulling him with me. He settled over me, one knee between my thighs, his weight careful and light even though I wanted all of it.

“Is this okay?” he asked, already breathless.

I nodded, threading my fingers into his curls. “Yes. More than okay.”

He kissed me again, slower now, but deeper—like he wasn’t as afraid of being greedy anymore. His hand roamed under my shirt, splaying wide across my stomach, then moving upward so tentatively it made my heart catch. He was memorizing every inch, every reaction. He kissed the corner of my mouth, my cheeks, my jaw, my throat, reverent and hungry all at once.

When his thumb brushed the underside of my breast, I arched into him and let out a soft, unfiltered sound. His eyes snapped open, pupils blown wide, and I could feel him twitch hard against my thigh.

“Jesus,” he whispered, almost to himself.

“Spencer.” I dragged my fingers down his back, felt him shudder. “It’s okay. I want this.”

“I do too,” he said, lips brushing mine. “I want you.”

But then he paused, forehead pressing to mine again, panting softly. “But I want to take my time. I don’t want to… rush it. You deserve better than just— after everything, I…”

I kissed him quiet, gently. “Then we’ll take our time.”

He smiled into my mouth — crooked and unsure, but real. “Okay.”

We stayed like that, pressed together under his sheets, skin warm, breath tangled. Hands exploring, lips lingering, restraint thinning with every second. He never stopped touching me, but he never pushed too far. Like the whole morning was foreplay, a slow, simmering build.

I could feel how hard he was for me, but he didn’t let it control him. He just held me closer, slid his thigh between mine, and whispered everything he hadn’t had the chance to say when he was locked behind bars.

“I used to lie awake and imagine this.” His lips brushed the shell of my ear. “You. In my bed. The way you’d look in my shirt. How it would feel just to touch you without counting the seconds.”

I exhaled against his throat, and he kept going, voice barely audible.

“I’d picture your hand in mine. The shape of your mouth when you laughed. Sometimes I couldn’t remember the exact sound, and that scared me. Like maybe I made it all up.”

“You didn’t,” I whispered.

“I know that now,” he said. “But there were nights when everything felt made up. Like the signs I was picking up from you couldn’t possibly be real.”

His nose skimmed along my jaw. I felt his lips move there, slow and warm.

“You were real and kind in a place that wasn’t. You made it bearable. You found ways to protect me.”

I tightened my grip on his waist, heart aching. “I wanted to do more.”

“You did enough,” he murmured. “You were the only soft thing I had. The only person who looked at me like I wasn’t scary and broken.”

He was trembling again. I reached up, tucked his curls behind his ear, and kissed his cheekbone.

“Sometimes I imagined what your skin would taste like,” he said, voice rough with honesty. He pressed his lips to my neck and ran his tongue over the spot tentatively. My breath hitched.

“I thought I’d forgotten how to be touched. But then you touched me. That day I came in lying about a migraine…” He gave a quiet, breathy laugh against my skin. “It didn’t feel clinical. It felt like you wanted to.”

My heart swelled. My stomach fluttered. I felt every inch of him pressing against me, but his words were the thing unraveling me most. “I wanted to,” I whispered.

He pulled back to look down at me with soft, tender eyes, and he pressed a long kiss against my forehead before pulling me back to his chest, tucking my head under his chin. My body ached a little with the desire for more, more, more, but I didn’t push. He needed time. He needed slow. I could give him that. And I knew, without a doubt, that when it finally happened between us — it wouldn’t be just about lust or longing or relief. It would be about all the things we hadn’t dared say out loud yet.

I didn’t know how long we stayed like that — skin warm, breath shared, hearts in sync. His body pressed to mine, the weight of him just enough to settle the ache, just enough to not need more.

His head dipped, lips finding the crook of my neck, soft and slow. I felt him breathe me in, as if this closeness was the thing he’d been starved for. I reached up and threaded my fingers through his curls again, gently, just so he could feel it.

“I like waking up like this,” he murmured. His thumb traced absent patterns along my side, slipping just under the hem of the shirt he’d lent me.

“Like what?” I asked, voice hushed.

“With you,” he said simply.

He was quiet a long moment. He shifted against me a little, his cock pressing against my thigh. I heard him suck in a sharp, charged, measured breath.

“It’s not that I don’t want to have sex with you. I do. It’s not that,” he finally said, breaking the simmering silence.

“I know.” I cupped his jaw, turned his face toward mine. “You don’t have to explain anything. It’s okay.”

But he did anyway. Because of course he did. Spencer Reid couldn’t leave anything unexplained.

“I used to think about this sort of thing every night. Not really sex, just…this. You. Holding me like I wasn’t broken. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to feel something like this again without it feeling… borrowed. Like it wasn’t really mine to have.”

His hand moved gently along my side, not with want, but with something quieter. Reverent.

“Prison makes everything feel transactional and calculated. You forget how to want something just because it simply feels good to want.”

I kissed his cheek, slow and soft. He turned toward me just enough to press his forehead to mine. “But with you,” he said, “it doesn’t feel like that. It feels real. Like I might actually get to keep it. And I guess I’m just… scared I’ll break it if I reach for too much too fast.”

My chest ached — not from pity, not from sadness. Just from knowing him a little deeper. “You won’t break anything,” I whispered. “But we can go as slow as you need, and please don’t feel any sort of guilt over that.”

His eyes shimmered. He blinked quickly, then pulled me in like I was the last safe thing in the world. I let him. I let him bury his face in my neck, let his hands roam under the hem of my shirt and stay there, wide and warm and still.

“I like just holding you like this,” he said into my skin. “Is that okay?”

I gave the back of his neck a gentle squeeze. “Of course it’s okay.”

His body began to relax again, bit by bit. Not completely — I didn’t think he knew how to let go all the way yet, — but enough. His hand on my waist flexed now and then, like he was reminding himself I was there.

Eventually, I turned in his arms again, tucked myself closer. His chest to my back, our legs tangled. He exhaled like the weight of me against him was a lullaby.

And I realized: I didn’t need more than this. I just wanted him to feel safe. Desired. Held. If this was all we did for the next hundred mornings, I’d be more than okay.

—

The smell of coffee was already starting to fill the kitchen, warm and nutty and a little too strong. He moved quietly, barefoot on tile, sleeves shoved up, hair still mussed from where I’d had my hands in it. There was something so disarmingly domestic about watching him like this, moving about his kitchen making breakfast and coffee. Like this was already a rhythm we’d already fallen into, despite the fact it was brand new.

I swung my legs beneath me where I sat on the counter, his shirt brushing my thighs, and just watched for a minute. He looked… lighter. Not quite relaxed, but more settled than he’d been the night before. Still careful, clearly thinking too hard about whether the burner was on too high, but there was a softness to him now that hadn’t been there when I first walked through the door last night.

“You cook often?” I asked, just to break the quiet.

He glanced over his shoulder and gave me a half-smile. “I try. I go through phases. Last year I was convinced I was going to master homemade gnocchi. That lasted about three attempts.”

“And now?”

“Now I’m just hoping I don’t burn the toast.”

I laughed softly, reaching over to steal a piece of cut fruit from the bowl he’d set down. “Seems like you’re doing fine.”

“Don’t jinx it.”

The comfortable silence that followed surprised me — not awkward, not weighed down by everything that had come before. Just easy.

I let it linger a little before I spoke again. I took a breath to steel myself. “Can I…can I ask you what happens next here?”

His hand paused halfway to the pan. He looked up slowly, more cautious than startled, and searched my face like he was making sure he’d heard me right.

“I mean,” I said, gentler this time, “you’re out. I’m here. You called me because you wanted to see me. Last night… that wasn’t just something that happened. I’m not trying to force some big ‘what are we’ conversation nine and a half hours after our first kiss — I promise you, I’m not that psycho — but I am curious to know if you have any idea of what you want here.”

He turned the heat down on the stove a little and stepped closer, wiping his hands on a dish towel.

“I keep thinking about that conversation in the infirmary,” he said after a moment. “The one about our hypothetical first date.”

I smiled at the memory. “Pie and constellations.”

“And museums, and trivia, and that coffee shop on Pennsylvania Ave with the terrible chairs.”

“You remembered,” I murmured.

“Of course I remembered.” He leaned against the counter opposite mine, towel still in hand, fingers worrying at the hem. “The truth is… I thought about those things for a long time after we talked. I’d let myself imagine them when it got quiet enough. Just pieces of it, though. Just what it might feel like to look across a table and see you laugh.”

My heart twisted, but I didn’t look away.

“I guess,” he continued, voice softer now, “what I’m saying is… I don’t want that date to be hypothetical anymore.”

The vulnerability in his expression nearly undid me. Honest and open in a way that felt impossibly rare. “Then let’s make it not hypothetical.”

A smile pulled at his mouth, slow and a little shaky, weaved with disbelief. “You want to go on a real first date with me?”

I slid off the counter and crossed to him, resting my hands on his chest. His heart was beating faster than mine. “More than just a first date, if you’ll have me. A second and a third and a fourth would be nice, too. I think we have too many great ideas for just one date.”

His arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me closer, forehead dipping to rest against mine.

I squeezed him tighter and grinned. “For the record, I still want that planetarium date to be the first.”

“You’ll get it,” he said. “Stars and pie. Just like I promised.”

We stayed like that for a few seconds, long enough for the pan behind him to start quietly hissing again.

“Shit,” he muttered, turning back to the stove. “Eggs.”

I leaned against the counter beside him as he tried to salvage what he could, watching the way his brows furrowed in quiet concentration. There was something so endearing about how seriously he took it — like a decent breakfast was the first rung on a ladder he hadn’t dared start climbing until now.

“Should I be worried?” I teased. “Am I about to eat prison-grade eggs?”

“I’ll have you know these are organic,” he said, feigning offense. “And I used salt and pepper.”

“Oooh, fancy.”

He glanced over at me, grinning as he slid the eggs onto two mismatched plates. “You say that now. We’ll see how smug you are after the first bite.”

“I work there, Spencer. I’ve eaten the food before. And I can’t cook to save my life. Trust me, my standards are already on the floor.”

He handed me a plate and sat beside me at his small kitchen table, both of us still barefoot, still half tangled in the quiet comfort of waking up in a place that didn’t feel temporary. I watched as he took a bite, chewed carefully, then nodded like he was evaluating himself.

“Okay,” he said. “Not great. But not bad.”

I took a bite of mine. “It’s food. It’s hot. You made it for me. I give it five stars.”

A few minutes passed in quiet chewing and the clink of forks against ceramic before he spoke again. “I have a few things to take care of today. Nothing major — just errands, calls I’ve been putting off, bureau paperwork I need to fill out, mundane stuff as I try to get my life together again.”

I nodded. “Do you want company?”

He considered the offer. “Actually… yeah. If you’re up for it.”

“Of course.”

“And maybe after…” He hesitated. “We could find a bookstore or something. There’s this one I used to go to before. I’d like to see if it’s still there.”

I smiled, nudging his foot with mine under the table. “Then we’ll go. But it’s not a date. Pie and stars will be our first date, so you better get to planning that.” He chuckled and nodded, taking another bite of his eggs as his eyes lingered on mine.

The day was already starting to press in, real life creeping at the edges — messages waiting, tasks returning, maybe even headlines that still had his name in them. But for now, the toast was warm, the coffee was strong, and we were sitting at a table without any distance between our chairs.

Not a perfect morning, but a real one.

—

While he got dressed and ready for the day, I changed back into the clothes I’d walked over in, folding his t-shirt neatly and setting it on his coffee table. Then, I wandered.

Not snooping exactly — more like orbiting. Letting my fingers trail across the edge of his bookshelves while the morning light filled in all the corners I hadn’t seen clearly last night. The place was quiet, modest. A little dusty in spots, like it hadn’t been fully lived in for a while. But the bones of him were everywhere — in the rows of battered paperbacks, the overstuffed folder of old jazz and classical records, the framed photo on the end table of him with his mom, both of them squinting in the Vegas sun.

He had a chessboard set up near the window, half a game frozen mid-play. Next to it sat a mug of pencils and a folded newspaper crossword, filled in with dense black ink. A photo strip was wedged between two spines — four blurry shots of him making faces in a booth with someone I didn’t recognize.

I paused at the bookshelf. Rows and rows of titles, some worn nearly to disintegration. A few in other languages. A first edition Asimov. A cracked-spined Vonnegut. Multiple copies of the same Arthur Conan Doyle book. His world was vast and carefully kept, even when everything else had been out of his control.

“You’re gonna get lost in there,” he said behind me, voice low and amused. I turned to find him dressed and buttoning the cuff of his shirt, eyes crinkled at the corners.

“Too late,” I said. “I already found three things I want to steal.”

He crossed the room, kissed the side of my head, and murmured, “I’ll frisk you before you leave.”

I grabbed my bag, giggling. “You’re always welcome to frisk me,” I teased. “But good luck. I’ve got an entire stolen hospital pen collection you don’t even know about.”

—

We walked the five blocks to my place side by side. We didn’t hold hands, but his arm brushed against mine every so often. I unlocked my door and let him in first. He wandered around my apartment the way I just had his while I ducked into the bathroom, peeled off my t-shirt and jeans, and stepped under the hot spray of the shower.

Fifteen minutes later, hair damp and face fresh and dressed in clean jeans and a loose cardigan, I found him at my kitchen counter paging through one of the used cookbooks I never actually cooked from.

“I thought you said you can’t cook,” he said.

“I can’t. Doesn’t mean I don’t aspire to.”

He smiled, then glanced at the time. “You ready?”

—

The rest of the day wasn’t glamorous — and that was part of the point. There was something oddly reassuring about the shape of it, how ordinary it all felt. We stopped by the dry cleaner, where he had to spell his name out three times before they found the smoothly pressed suit and four dress shirts he’d abandoned there over three months ago. Then we walked to the bank to reactivate an account that had gone dormant. Lunch was fast — takeout noodles on a bench while he skimmed forms from the Bureau, glancing up at me every few minutes like he couldn’t quite believe I was still there.

We hit the post office so he could pick up a hefty stack of mail they’d been holding. He bought a new phone charger and grabbed a bottle of antacids at the drugstore. He made a call to someone from his legal team and waited on hold for twenty minutes with a look of resignation.

At some point, I bought us both coffees. At another, he asked if I minded if we stopped by the bookstore after all. I said yes before he finished the question.

“Everything okay?” I asked, somewhere between the forms and the phone calls.

He nodded. “It’s a lot of boxes to check. But…I’m glad they’re mine to check now, you know?”

We didn’t talk much more after that. There wasn’t really a need. The rhythm of his errands did the talking — the reaching for keys, the polite small talk with strangers, the standing a little too close in line because he kept leaning into me like a magnet drawn to its opposite pole.

By the time we walked back to his place, the sun was dropping low, casting long shadows between buildings. He looked tired — not just from the day, but from the slow, careful act of re-entry. Of trying to reclaim his place in a world that had kept on spinning without him.

He unlocked his door and beckoned me inside, his hand lingering on my lower back for a long moment until he pulled it away to untie his shoes. I dropped my bag by the couch, and he asked if I wanted to stay for dinner.

I said yes. Not because I was hungry, but because I couldn’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be.

—

He let me borrow another shirt to sleep in. A different one this time — softer, a little too big in the shoulders. It still smelled like his laundry, like his soap and his skin.

The night wasn’t as quiet as the last. There was more movement in it — brushing teeth side by side, shifting under the covers, a moment when our knees bumped and neither of us adjusted right away. We talked a little. Nothing heavy. Just…space-filling noise. He told me about a book he wanted to reread. I told him about a dog that came into the ER once, how its owner was out of his mind on edibles and thought his beagle had grown two heads. We laughed, but it felt like talking around the center of something.

And we still didn’t have sex.

Not because the moment wasn’t there. It was — humming at the edges like something half-finished. His hand lingered on my hip when the light was already off. My breath caught when he shifted closer, one leg nudging between mine, his fingers ghosting over my wrist before curling away.

But he didn’t move. And I didn’t push.

And still, as I lay there in the dark with his breath warming the space between my shoulder blades, something in me turned over — not impatient, just…aware. Aware of the fact that we hadn’t defined anything. Aware that I didn’t know what I really meant to him. I told myself it didn’t matter. That what he needed right now wasn’t clarity or pressure or declarations. He needed quiet. Familiarity. Space to choose.

So I stayed still. Let myself fall asleep before I could overthink it into something it didn’t need to be.

—

The next morning, I woke up before he did.

The sun hadn’t fully climbed over the buildings outside, and his room was bathed in a watery kind of light — soft, indirect. I watched him sleep for a moment, his mouth slack, his lashes twitching slightly with whatever dream he was stuck in.

It felt strange to get dressed in silence. Stranger still to find my jeans folded neatly on his bathroom countertop, like some part of him had expected this. Like he knew I wouldn’t stay for breakfast this time.

When he padded out to find me, sleepy and mussed and half-buttoned, I was already lacing up my sneakers.

“You’re leaving early,” he said, voice still rough from sleep.

“Yeah. Work,” I replied, and winced a little as I waited for the moment to hit.

There it was — a flicker in his expression. Something pulled tight behind his eyes. He nodded, but didn’t say anything.

I stood, walking up to him. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he said, too fast. Then softer, “I just…sort of forgot. That you’re still going to be there. At Millburn. In my mind it feels like no one good should ever be in that place, even for work.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want you to think I’m upset with you for it,” he added quickly, eyes meeting mine. “You were never part of what made it—” He broke off. “It’s… just hard. The reminders.”

“I get it,” I said softly. And I did. But it still stung — not his honesty, just the truth of it. That my job, the thing I’d built my life around, now existed as a haunting shadow at the edge of his recovery.

“I don’t want to make this process any harder for you,” I said quietly, my gaze falling to the floor.

“You’re not,” he replied, shaking his head. “You’re the opposite of that.” He lifted my chin gently, but the silence that followed had weight to it. There was something he left unspoken hanging between us like cloudy smoke.

I stepped forward and kissed him, soft and brief.

“I’ll call you later,” I said.

He didn’t say much else, just lingered in the doorway barefoot, one hand braced against the frame like he couldn’t hold the weight of the moment up without leaning against it. I could feel his eyes on me as I stepped into the hall, like he wanted to say something more but hadn’t decided what it should be. So I turned back and smiled at him, and he gave me one in return, just enough to carry with me for the rest of the day.

—

The infirmary was slow that day — a couple of bandaged hands, a sprained ankle from a basketball game, a few medication distributions. Nothing unusual. Nothing that should’ve rattled me. And yet, I caught myself watching the clock more than I usually did, nerves hitching with each passing hour like I was waiting for something to happen. Something to crack open.

It didn’t. The day passed quietly. But the weight of him never left the room.

I kept hearing his silence from that morning — not harsh, not even cold, but… measured. And maybe that was worse. He hadn’t really flinched when I mentioned work. He didn’t shut down or pull away. But he also hadn’t said much at all. Just that small shift behind his eyes, like a door closing softly from the inside.

By the time I made it home, I was tired in that strange, uneven way — the kind that doesn’t come from work itself but from what you carry with you through it. I kicked off my shoes, dumped my keys into the dish by the door, and called him before I could talk myself out of it.

He picked up on the second ring.

“Hey,” he said, voice scratchy from sleep. “You home?”

“Just walked in,” I replied, pressing the phone between my shoulder and cheek as I peeled off my jacket. “Did I wake you?”

There was a pause — long enough to hear the rustle of sheets or maybe a sweatshirt being pulled over his head. “No. I was just… lying here. Thinking.”

I hesitated. “About this morning?”

“Yeah,” he admitted quietly. “About a few things. But mostly that.”

I sat on the arm of my couch, the line humming gently between us. “You don’t have to explain anything,” I said. “I just… wanted to check in. I didn’t like the way we left it.”

“It wasn’t bad,” he said quickly. “It was just… complicated.”

“I know.” I pressed my thumb to my temple, let out a breath. “It’s just my job. I don’t really plan to stay there that much longer, to be honest. Maybe another year, then I’ll go back to the ER. But I get why being with me might always feel like a reminder for you.”

“I don’t want it to be,” he said. “I don’t want that place to take this from us.”

Something in my chest loosened. “I don’t want that either,” I said.

Another pause — softer now, easier.

“What’re you doing tomorrow?” he asked eventually.

“Nothing I can’t move,” I said, a small smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.

“Come over,” he said. “We’ll talk. Or just hang out. I don’t want that weirdness hanging between us.”

Relief threaded through my voice before I could catch it. “Okay. I’ll come over tomorrow.” The smile on my face as I said it was almost audible in itself.

“I’ll have another shirt ready for you to wear,” he said, a hint of something lighter returning to his voice.

We said goodnight not long after that, sweet and quiet and tender. Just two people trying to stay in step, even when the ground under us still felt a little uneven.

ᝰ.ᐟ

part iv

[little-miss-apple]

Hii I loved your one shots! Would you be willing to do one where Caleb is sick and hiding from MC again so she decides to get him to comply by doting on him and wearing a sexy nurse costume.

((gonna be really honest, i took some creative liberties with this request on accident... im not 100% happy with it but i feel like if i dont post it now, i'll never do it... also keep telling myself to writer shorter stories, but i like to suffer... hope u like it a bit regardless))

Whatever was the opposite of ‘the man flu’ is, Caleb had it. No matter how many times you had pushed him back into his bedroom, he kept sneaking out, claiming he couldn't leave all the chores to you.

You just wanted to take care of him, let him rest and sit back while you took care of the house and him for once. But Caleb is like a working cow, the life energy leaving him whenever he's not on the field... or whatever the saying is.

You were dancing and sining around the kitchen, absorbed in the music while grabbing more ingredients for the stew you were cooking. Sure, you were never as great of a chef as Caleb, but you could make him some healthy stew at least. Easy to digest and packed with vitamins.

"Needs some more curry powder, pips..." His unusually weak voice says from behind you.

You let out a yelp, having been to engrossed in the music to notice him sneaking out of his room again.

"Holy shit, Caleb!"

He fake gasps.

"Language, pipsqueak!" He says with a teasing glint in his tired eyes.

"I told you to stay in bed," you scold, hands on his chest as you try to push him away from the stove and back to his room. "You think just because you're a colonel now you can ignore my orders?"

He lets out a weak chuckle as his hands come up to hold your face.

"I wouldn't dare... who knows what you'd write about me in that little grudge ledger of yours..."

Of course he has to bring that up again...

"But seriously, pipsqueak, I'm feeling a lot bet--" He starts to cough mid sentence. 

"Liar." You mutter as you turn to grab him a glass of water, handing it to him while patting his back gently. When his coughing fit dissapates, you lead him back to his room, ignoring any protests.

"Caleb, why is it so impossible for you to just let me take care of you for once?" You ask when his tired frame is back in bed, posted up against the headboard.

A blush, unrelated to his fever, creeps up on his cheeks.

"...I want to be the one taking care of you. I want- No, I have to protect you... That's my role, pips..."

For a moment you are unsure what to tell him...

"Just... get some rest, okay? I'll bring you some stew when it's ready..."

You feel his eyes on you as you leave the room, he wants to say more. This discussion isn't a new one, but both of you know that right now he doesn't have the energy for this.

You're mindlessly stirring the pot of stew, his words about his role replaying in your head. If that is his role, what is yours? And what role do you have to take on to be able to take care of him? Then it hits you and within seconds you have an order placed.

Bless Skyhaven and it's drone speed delivery service, because within half an hour your new uniform has arrived. It was quite a bit shorter than you had imagined, but maybe you should have expected that. It was a halloween costume after all and not a real nurse's uniform.

The uniform is a light pink dress with red lining, a little nurse cap and matching stockings. A little red heart with white cross emblem is found on the cap and one the chest of the dress. It even comes with a hot pink plastic stethoscope and syringe. You don't even want to imagine Zayne and Yvonne's faces if they ever caught you like this...

Uniform on, tray with stew and the syringe in hand and with the stethoscope around your neck, you walk into the lion's den.

"Good evening, Mr Caleb. Your stew is ready!" you say as cheerful as possible.

His eyes grow incredibly wide the moment he lays eyes on you.

"Pips-"

"Nuh-uh, that's nurse Pipsqueak to you mister!" You say as you sit down on the edge of the bed, grabbing the bowl and spoon, blowing on it before guiding it towards his mouth.

He looks at you, a bit unsure for a second before finally daring to take a bite. 

"W-what's with the uniform...?"

"Well, since you said it's your role to take care of me, I thought i should adjust my role so i can be the one to take care of you now... Say 'ah'." You explain while feeding him another bite.

His eyes never leave you. Not when you feed him, not when you put his clean laundry in his drawers, even when you leave his room he asks you to keep the door open so he can continue taking secret glances when you bend over while cleaning, giving him a perfect view of your panties. In return he does everything you say, no protests, staying in his room and even taking the medicine he claimed he didn't need earlier today.

It doesn't take long for a healthier glow to return to his face and, according to the thermometer you are currently holding to his head; "Your fever has gone down significantly.. If you keep this up you'll be all good again tomorrow!" Your smile is bright but he can't help but frown a bit.

"You should sleep early! Getting enough shut eye is crucial to a speedy recovery!" you say as you get up, ready to leave his room and shed off the costume, but he holds you back. His fingers wrap around your wrist and he looks up at you with those puppy like eyes, an uncharacteristic darkness to them as he pulls you back down.

"Nurse... I have another problem..." 

He gently guides your hand under the covers, his eyes never leaving your confused face. Before long your hand is put on something thick and hard. Your eyes shoot wide open in bewilderment, but his gaze doesn't falter. Just the light touch of your hand where he needs you most has his chest rising and falling in a quickened tempo already.

Your mouth opens and closes a few times, unsure of what to say.

"You know Ms Nurse, I've heard sweating out a fever is quite effective..." his hand slides from your wrist, instead entrapping your hand in his so he can apply some pressure, making you cup his rock hard cock a bit tighter "Won't you help your patient, hm? Make him feel better?"

The feeling of him in your hand, the way he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear and the seductive tone in his voice make you involuntarily rub your thighs together, craving friction to your already wetting core. It doesn't go unnoticed by Caleb, he knows he has you exactly where he wants you now.

Within seconds the covers are slung to the side and he is sitting on the edge of the bed, legs spread apart, inviting you between them. Your hesitation is quickly thrown to the side when you see his shape through his grey sweatpants. You kneel in between his legs, noticing the semblance of a smirk forming on his face as you quickly start tugging at the waistband of his sweats.

You're taken by surprise a bit when his rock hard cock basically jumps out, smacking against his stomach. No matter how many times you see it, the intimidation from the size of it never leaves. Your fingers gently trail over the veins as you nervously swallow the saliva that had been pooling in your mouth. 

Carefully you begin to stroke his length, receiving instant affirmation that you're doing well as soft curses leave his lips. You let your thumb glide over the tip, spreading around some of his pre cum to help lubricate. You notice the muscles that are peeking from under his shirt contract with your every move.

"Come on, pips... Put your mouth on it..."

Wanting so desperately to please him, you waste no time, spitting on it before your lips quickly envelope around his velvety tip. 

"Fuck, you feel so good..."

Eagerly you take more and more of him in your mouth, not stopping until he hits the back of your throat. Whatever doesn't fit is massaged by your hand. You cant help but let your other hand wander between your own legs, playing with yourself through the fabric of your panties. It's sticky and messy, but feels oh so good. The vibrations of your moans as you bop up and down his length make him feel euphoric.

The sight of you like this, tits almost spilling out of your dress, your focussed face as you desperately try to please him and rubbing your clit, it almost makes him cum on the spot. His hand tangles into your hair, applying a light pressure when you go down on his cock. God, you feel heavenly. 

But he wants more.

The second he notices you getting sloppy, so close to rubbing yourself to release, he pulls your head back. The sight of your confused and fucked out face makes his cock twitch.

"Not yet..." he growls, at your frustrated pout. His shirt is pulled over his head and casted aside.

His lips surge towards yours, capturing them in an all devouring kiss. It's messy and chaotic. Tongues clashing, drool spilling and lip bruising. He pulls away a bit, admiring your hazy eyes and plump lips, before pulling down your lower lip with his thumb. He spits in your mouth, a proud smirk adorning his lips.

In one quick motion you are thrown onto your all fours on the bed and your costume is hiked up to your waist, giving Caleb a perfect view of your ass in those cute panties of yours. To be fair, all your panties were cute to Caleb, as long as they are yours. But right now, they're in his way. 

He pulls them to the side, taking note of the string of wetness attached to it. He throws his head back for a moment, eyes closed and breaths steady as he tries to compose himself down.

Wondering what is taking him so long, you turn your head around, only for him to suddenly align himself with your entrance and begin pushing himself fully into your sopping pussy. A strangled moan leaves your throat as your arms quickly give out, causing your head to fall into the sheets. Caleb's hands snake to rest on your waist, pulling you further onto his cock with every stroke. His tempo increases, balls slapping against your clit and making you dizzy with pleasure. 

Caleb loves the way you clench around him, the way he is moulding your pussy with his cock. Your combined juices are dripping down his thighs, fuelling him more and more, but he is also aware that he isn't full himself yet. His usual vigour isn't fully recovered yet, making his strokes rather messy and inconsistent. Frustrated he pulls out, making you snap back, confused why he has suddenly stopped pounding into that good spot.

"You need to ride me." 

He leaves no room for questions, already hoisted up against the headboard, pulling you into his lap. He aligns you with his still rock hard cock, pushing you down on his length. You whimper at the new position, feeling him in a different way all of a sudden. The cute sounds make him smile and he presses a gentle kiss against your forehead.

"Ready baby?"

You nod, eager to try a position you're not that familiar with. You're about to lift yourself up, but a familiar feeling takes over instead. Caleb's evol makes you feel weightless, unbound from the laws of gravity. His hands are still on your waist, his pointer finger going up and down in the same pattern as your body. 

The feeling of weightlessness continuously exchanged by the feeling of gravity pulling you down adds a whole new sensation, similar to riding a rollercoaster with steep highs and lows. The speed of his finger increases and so do you. He fucks you onto his dick with little effort, enjoying the way your face contours in pleasure and your tits bounce up and down right in front of his face. 

It doesn't take long for you to feel a familiar heat flow from your cores to the tips of your limbs. He can feel it too, the way your moans become more frequent and less controlled and the way you clench onto him more tightly. He is about to burst too, ready to coat your walls in his milky cum. His grip on your waist tightens as he can't help but use some more of his own strength.

"You close, baby? You wanna come on my dick?" 

"Yes, yes, yes.. please..." you beg him breathlessly, so close to the edge that it makes your tear up.

He bucks up his hips, slamming into you whenever you go down, hitting a spot so deep inside that it makes you gasp. With the limited energy he has he keep repeating the motion until you let out a string of curses, clenching onto his cock and milking him to his own orgasm. 

You can feel all the strength leave your body when you are hit with the hard, warm waves of your orgasm, limbs growing weak within the blink of an eye. You feel Caleb's cum fill you up, making you feel full and satiated. When he has completely emptied his balls inside you, the hold his evol had on you relents and you fall into his chest. And like always, he catches you. Holding you close as he whispers words of affirmation in your ear.

"You did so well... made me feel so good.. 'nd you looked so beautiful on my cock... such a pretty girl..." The words keep spilling from his lips as he pulls out and scoots down with you on his chest. Both of you are too tired to make another move, both unable to fight the tiredness taking over.

Sunlight hits your face, waking you up from the peaceful slumber you spent nestled in his muscular side. Caleb, who seems as healthy as ever, is already awake and seated against the headboard as he checks reports he missed from work. His hand is on your head, gently brushing his fingers through the strands.

"You're awake, pips?"

You groan a bit in response and stretch, only now noticing you are no longer in the nurse costume and instead in the shirt Caleb discarded yesterday. 

"Where's my dress?" you ask curiously.

"Threw it in the laundry.. I cleaned you off too but we should probably take a shower, we can save some water and take one together..."

"tsk... sounds like you're all better." you scoff trying to hide your grin.

"Had a great nurse..." he smiles teasingly.

"Maybe I should change career paths... I'll ask Zayne if he's in need of an extra nurse.."

"Nope," Caleb swiftly lifts you into his lap "Only I get the privilege of being cared for by you... Especially in that outfit."

His hands find their way to your cheeks before he plants a kiss on your lips.

"Now, let's get you all cleaned up, pipsqueak!"

[bogleech]

Captain bogleech do you have handy references for the faces of mosquitos, fleas, houseflies, and ticks? I'm picking at an idea of a character who is themed around disease, and is strictly a source of disease and not diseased themself so like... Worlds best spreaders. The one I'm most locked on is miss aedes aegypti because of her good taste in stripes. SO in season (I dontactually know if stripes are in season)

Yes! First its good to know how a "normal" insect mouth is set up:

In most insects, like a grasshopper or a cockroach or the majority of beetles, there's a labrum covering the top of the mouth, kind of like a duck bill! The chompy mandibles are under that, then there are the maxilla to either side of each mandible, which include the "palps" it uses like little hands to hold food. The labium is the bottom part, and also has another set of palps! @revretch has gone into lots of detail on this but they put it best by explaining that the insect mouth is like a four sided box, formed by the labrum, maxilla and labium, with the mandibles usually inside the box. It's just that lots of insects do weird things with these parts, and many have big giant mandibles that always stick out.

Mosquitoes have all these parts, but they're all long and thin, and they all fold together to form the proboscis, with some of them bending back as it drills into flesh.

Fleas have similar to mosquitoes, but shorter and more compact. And many species have that AWESOME looking "mustache" of thorns right above the mouth, used for anchoring to furry hosts while they feed :)

In the non-biting flies, the mandibles are GONE, the mouth extends on a flexible hose and the labella is modified into a big flaring two-lobed pad. Digestive enzymes flow down the labrum and into grooves on the pad, so it works like a sponge soaked with acid :)

Ticks are a lot different because they're arachnids rather than insects, and arachnids have fewer mouthparts; normally just one pair of palps and one pair of chelicerae, which are the "fangs" in spiders! Below all that is an arachnid's real mouth, usually just a tiny little hole. In ticks, the palps are fused into two flat flippers, which the tick uses to pinch the skin of its host. The chelicerae are formed into a pair of jagged "scissors," if the blades of scissors were on the outside! These dig in and widen a small hole. Then the mouth is surrounded by a long extension, the hypostome, which is thickly covered in sharp tiny toothlike blades. Look how rad it is:

I say this a lot but the entire part people think of as the "head" of a tick is really just the mouth, because ticks are related to mites, and in mites, the head is fused entirely with the body. So when ticks have eyes, they're here:

It's tragic the world sees ticks as fat blobs with tiny heads, when in fact they are just big heads with legs.

For fun here are some of my Mortasheen monsters that hybridize humans with all the above, though my mosquito is very dated and due for a big overhaul someday; I didn't bother trying to merge real mosquito mouthparts with fleshy human ones and just had the whole mouth spiral together:

I also drew the flea without its "helmet" piece first, and went on to draw several alternate helmets :)

I put the most effort into the tick as you can tell. I also incorporated the fact that they smell with their front legs. :)

[copperbadge]

So, I have a friend who recently had fairly serious surgery, of the "high risk but lifesaving" kind, and afterward between the pain of recovery and the painkillers to deal with it, he understandably had issues with focus. He couldn't read anything longer than an email for about six weeks; even audiobooks were too difficult. He spent a lot of time falling asleep while watching nature documentaries on Netflix.

This week he finally felt like he could concentrate enough to start reading books again, so I asked him what book he'd chosen to start with, and he said, "Don't judge me for it being Tom Clancy."

Now of course I wouldn't. Genre fiction, especially your average thriller or romance novel, are easy to digest, so it makes sense. But it got me thinking, if I couldn't read for six weeks, what would I choose to return with? New book or old favorite?

I think for me it would be something familiar, but I'm torn. On the one hand something easily digestible like Anne McCaffrey's Dragonsong would be simple and well known. On the other, something like Jack London's The Sea Wolf which I read almost ritually every few years, has deep emotional resonance...but is a bit complicated as a first book back.

I think I've settled on The Great Gatsby, which I reread often like The Sea Wolf but is slightly less philosophically complicated. And shorter than East of Eden, another strong contender.

Either that or a Rex Stout novel, but I feel like a whodunit would be stressful.

[hellsenthero]

Stressed Out

Written by: hellsenthero

Stucky X Reader

Back to back missions have gotten everyone stressed, but no one is quite as stressed as Captain America. What happens when he takes that stress out on his girlfriend?

Warnings/themes: Angst, fluff. (1.2K Words.)

MASTERLIST

-----

With back to back missions came sore bodies, tired minds and a mountain of paperwork.

Y/N didn't mind it for the most part. The paperwork gave her a chance to sit down and mentally digest her missions as she sipped her coffee. Bucky didn't mind either, it was the organization of it all that helped him, something he never had with Hydra.

But Steve, Captain America, had more paperwork than Y/N and Bucky combined. He had reports detailing missions that he wasn't even on. With his finished pile about the size of one sixteenth of his to do pile, Steve was fucking stressed, and it was getting to him. His normally mile long thread of patience was shorter than his fucking pinky nail. God help whoever comes into his office next.

God help his partners.

God help you, as you knock on your boyfriend's office door before quietly peering in. "Hey baby, how's it goin'?" You say softly. Steve doesn't give you an answer, doesn't even look up from his paperwork. His lack of response has you stepping further into the office, walking up to the side of his desk. You lay a gentle hand over Steve's shoulder and you can feel how tight his muscles are with stress. "Baby?" Finally, you catch Steve's attention.

"What?" Steve growls. It's shocking enough that you pull your hand away, recoiling away from your boyfriend.

"Excuse me?"

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose as he let out a heavy sigh. "I'm busy, Y/N, what do you want?"

A scoff escaped you before you could hold it back. "I wanted to check in on you. You skipped lunch and I made dinner for everyone."

Steve waved his hand at you before looking back down at his papers. "I don't need dinner right now, I'm busy working."

"Steve, you need to take a break-"

"Y/N! I'm busy! I have more paperwork than you or Bucky combined!"

"Fuck! Steve! You need to-" your heated words were cut off by Steve slamming his hand down upon his desk. You were surprised it didn't collapse from his strength.

"Fuck off!"

It was now, as his words hung in the air, that Steve's gaze finally met yours and your eyes stayed locked. Those two words felt like a physical blow to your chest, enough that you stepped back, once, twice, before Bucky came into the room unannounced.

"What's going on? What's with the yelling?" Bucky asked as he came to stand by you, his blue eyes flicking between you and Steve.

"Ask Steven," you bit out. Truthfully, you didn't know what to say to Bucky, you didn't know what was going on, not with you and Steve, he had never spoken to you like that before.

"Steve?" Bucky asked as he took a step closer to his desk. He's not stupid, he knows his boyfriend and girlfriend have just been in a blowout, but about what, he hasn't a fucking clue. Steve’s cheeks are tinged red, his knuckles are white with his grip on the table and you look like you've seen a ghost. Your eyes are wide and your stance is ridged, ready to flee at a moment's notice.

Before Steve can answer his boyfriend, you're speaking up again. "I'm going to go," you say to no one in particular before facing Bucky. "Maybe you'll have better luck getting Steven to pull his head out of his ass," you throw a hard look at the blond male before walking towards the office door, still open from when Bucky barged in. "Or perhaps he'll just tell you to fuck off as well." With that, you shut the door to the office behind you.

Bucky turns to Steve, whose head is now hung, his shoulders deflated. "What the fuck is she talking about, Steve?"

Steve shook his head, already feeling the self hate bubble up inside himself from how he'd treated his girlfriend. “I fucked up-”

“Clearly.” Bucky bites out.

“I took my stress out on Y/N, yelled at her.”

“Fuck, Steve,”

“I know!” Steve's voice raises again and Bucky shoots him a look that says, really, you wanna take that tone? Steve huffs, blowing out a long breath before he repeats his earlier words, this time in a softer tone. “I know,” Steve says, “I fucked up.”

“Then go find our girl and apologize.”

Steve nods once, twice, before standing from his seat and walking around his desk. He stops in front of his boyfriend for a moment, putting a gentle hand on his wrist. “I'm sorry.”

Bucky shakes his head for a moment before he leans forward and presses a kiss to Steve's forehead. “I know, but I'm not the one you need to be apologizing to.”

—

You were curled up in your bed, hiding beneath a mountain of blankets when Steve finds you. You're in your old bed, what was now only used as a spare room. Just that told Steve that he'd fucked up.

“Baby?” Steve's voice is hesitant, in turn, he receives no answer from you. “I’m sorry,” Steve goes on. He pauses again, waiting for a response from you, for a huff or some yelling, but all he receives back is silence. “Thank you for making dinner,” Steve tries again. “I didn’t mean to be such a jackass, especially when you were just looking out for me.”

Finally, you turn around and Steve is met with your sullen expression. Your cheeks feel hot and you don’t know if it’s from your fight or from being curled up in your bed. “You’re right Steven, I was just trying to look out for you before you reached a burn out and you fucking exploded at me.”

Steve's silent for a moment, thinking over your words before answering you. “I think,” He pauses for a moment before carrying on. “I think I’m already burnt out, baby. I never should have reacted to you like that, and if I was in my right mind, I wouldn’t have.”

Shame fills Steve like hot acid, coiling in the pit of his stomach. “I'm so sorry. I wouldn't ever want to hurt you, Y/N. Being burnt out isn't an excuse for my lack of stress management. I'll try to manage my work and stress better from now on, baby.”

Pushing the covers back you sit up in bed. “Yeah, I think you are.” You pause, adjusting your position in bed before continuing. “You hurt me, yelling at me to fuck off.”

It's then that Bucky enters the bedroom with a gentle knock. “Are we all made up?” He asks.

Steve looks to you for the answer. “Yeah,” you smile softly, “we’re all made up. Stevie is just burnt out.” Before Steve can sag in relief at hearing his nickname slip from your lips, you point your finger at him. “But pull that shit again and you can go sleep outside for a fucking week.”

Quickly, Steve nods his head up and down, up and down, and up and down. “Can I hold you?”

“Yes,”

“Thank fuck,” Bucky interrupts. The both of you look at him with raised brows. Bucky shrugs his shoulders at the looks the two of you give him. “Just glad Stevie has his head out of his ass finally.”

A small chuckle escapes you as you shoot your boyfriend's a wink. “Yeah, but he still has some making up to do.”

[colorfulwastelandvoid]

In defense of MelJay

I just need to say this…SHUT UP! Yall are all tap dancing on my last nerve.I’m am at my wits end with this fandom. Every time I think we take one step forward some dufus pushes us two steps back.

Okay. I’m arguing with a JayVik shipper on TikTok who says MelJay is boring and toxic. I am about to explode this shit can’t still be the main conversation about this ship.

So first off MelJay is “boring”. This isn’t unique to JayVik nor is it the first time someone has said this about MelJay, but I always find it weird when people say certain ships are boring. The ships in question are usually just chill and communicative so there is no needless drama. This probably relates more to online fandoms’ obsession with romanticizing toxicity but I digress. It’s weird that the tension and political intrigue,something of which yall claim to love about the show overall, is in someway boring. The fact they are not constantly arguing or disregarding each other was nice cause I hate that those interactions are normalized in fandom in regard to romantic ships. If one of them had something to say then they would just say it and they would discuss it and move on like a normal couple. There is a lot to digest with them though as separate characters and as a couple. While Mel and Jayce are similar they obviously are not exactly alike. Mel it’s a lot more closed off and tempered and Jayce is more emotionally open and is hot headed. Both want to do good and have enough ambition to do so. It is their methods that differentiate them. Mel is more comfortable working behind the scenes whereas Jayce runs head first. These little differences offers up moments of character growth for both these characters. Mel started to become more aggressive (she was never docile) in her emotions and tactics where Jayce became more level headed.

The second one is that they are toxic. I’m going to keep this part short cause I already addressed this multiple times on this tumblr, so I’ll just bring up my highlights. Mel was not manipulating Jayce throughout their whole relationship. The only times where we see her manipulations is with Hoskel , but f him who cares about that man, and Jayce during progress day when they weren’t even together and Viktor wanted Jayce to do the same thing Mel was asking him to do. He didn’t even listen to her either. Mel and Jayce were genuinely attracted to one another so no she didn’t eventually fall for him she liked him from the first kiss. After a certain point we must recognize that Jayce was coming to Mel for advice and she gave it. Whether he listened to her or not. The investment line, an investment to Mel is not the same as investment to Jayce. An investment to Mel is like an action word. She invested in Hextech cause she genuinely believed in Jayce and Viktors ability to do good and she wanted to help similar to how a parent invest in their child, not because they think they’ll get something in return but because they love and believe in their kid. Jayce knows that, hence why he apologized for insinuating otherwise.

A lot of the so called toxicity the fandom claims they see is cause no one is meaningfully engaging with Mel or Jayce as characters but are just trying to get them to work in whatever ship they see fit.

Listen at the end of the day ship who you want but how you ship is gonna get your critiqued. For the love of anything that’s holy engage with the characters as their own separate entities. Your ships will thank you for it.

Ps I doubt this will be the last time some one will piss me off about Mel, Jayce or their relationship but I’m trying to keep this page more happy, for a lack of better words,so I’m trying not to rant to much. I got one more though. It’ll be way shorter though.

[beuxwhoyouare]

Bewildering

The Skreat escape pod crash landing on Earth one night caused chaos in more ways than one. Several people’s lives were altered forever by the events that immediately followed the ships blazing destruction. It was dark as sirens blared through the night heading towards the blaze.

I woke up by the shrieking sounds of alarms approaching. We crashed on some foreign planet after the sudden attack. My biggest fear was being captured on this planet, what if they were the ones that attacked us? What if they took me and tortured me for species secrets. I couldn't let them know about Skreats and began slithering as fast as I could through the area lined with bark lined towers.

2 figures approached in the night, but I couldn't focus on identifying features and chose to hide. Suctioning my way up a bark tower, I chose to use my observation skills to determine if they were friendly organisms or foes determined to take me in for experimentation.

"Raph I don't think we should get closer. We should go back to camp and evacuate. It looks like it could lead to a big wild fire," the shorter of the two pleaded with the bigger one.

"Alex, dude. There's no way it wasn't like a giant secret ship or something insane that caused it. Didn't you hear that crazy crash? We gotta see this thing first hand," the taller and much more statured of the two said with a boomy resonance.

The two were going towards the ship crash at a rate faster than I could slithering on this planets gravitational pull. I decided they were my way to observe the site and get there faster. I dropped my suction and aimed to fall on their bags. After detaching, I aimed to fall on the broader one since it seemed like my size would be negligible on him.

After falling onto his bag, he turned around as if he heard something behind him, but by that point I had slid into an opening on the enclosure. We Skreats are very pliable and I made my way into his bag.

The pair of earthlings made their way closer to the ships crash site but by the time they got there bright lights and tape marked off the region. Curiosity struck many trying to get a sight at the alien ship. I peaked out of the bag only to see the blaze. There’s no way any Skreats could have survived such a blast.

Numb. All I felt was numbness as this earthling unknowingly carried me away from the scene. Was I the last Skreat? How does one internalize the idea that you’re the last of your kind? The bag shook and then got flung onto a nearby soft surface after a loud door shut. I flew inside the bag which rocked me back to cognizance. Where am I now? I peaked out of the fabric cage I resided in and saw the taller one walking around a room.

He peered into a doorway that emanated light before pulling out a round red sphere and taking a bite.

He appeared to be preparing earthen sustenance…I should become more accustomed to this if I’m the last Skreat I’ll need to blend in with the earthlings. I left the soft seat the bag was thrown onto and slid my way closer to get a better look.

He threw things into a hot cauldron item over a flame. After a few time sectors he was done and put some of the substance into a bowl, that’s when I lost my grip on some steam and fell into the bowl when he wasn’t aware.

I hid among orange, green, and tan bits of sustenance in the hot salty broth. I stung but I couldn’t risk being caught. Eventually a colder metallic platform came into the bowl and lifted me up to his front facing orifice, despite my protests I got swallowed again without his notice.

I refused to be defeated. I mustered up the energy and detoured before meeting the earthlings digestive acids and headed to his core. I guess you call it a heart.

Once there, I began inserting my tendrils and began spreading myself through his bloodstream. It’s a large task for such a small Skreat like myself to attempt a takeover of a creature this large but I was desperate to live.

The large creature began to notice and clasped hard at his chest. But it was too late for him. Pulse pulse pulse. I could feel his heart pumping and eventually I synced up with it. We were becoming one. It’s a skill of the Skreats but it was my first time doing it. I was scared to do it wrong or worse…kill the host.

I began trying to use my new lungs. A phenomenon that like sounds like gasping for air from those who normally use lungs. Eventually I calmed down and brought the heart pulsing down to a normal seeming speed. All the internal systems seemed to normalize as I calmed the body down.

Except one part of the sizable earthling….

I used the body’s messaging device to take an image for further research later. Then I continued to calm the body down leading the appendage to become more restrained. But a message appeared from someone named Babe. I opened it up to see a slimmer earthling with longer hair. They appeared unclothed with a message saying “can i come over?” I replied with my new fingers “affirmative”.

I continued to try enjoying the sustenance the human made before. Wow these sensations from my new mouth were so vibrant and exhilarating. I wonder what else I can figure out. My new thick fingers fiddled with the bag I came out of nearby. An item flopped out with a bunch of cards, I picked up one with this bodies image.

Raphael James Conrad Lee. Was that his identification? That seems very long and superfluous. Must be why that other human called him Raph before.

A knock came to the door of the housing unit I was in. I approached the door and instead of investigating almost as if the host was on autopilot it turned the knob and a tiny earthling stood there in a see through top piece of clothing and a frilly bottom one. I believe this must be the opposite gender, a woman.

She lunged at me piloting the host and placed her mouth on to mine introducing her anatomy to mine. I reciprocated before she yanked my bottom clothing down. My previously hard appendage revived itself with a mind of its own as the woman placed her mouth on it.

All I saw was her eyes as she moved swiftly. One she placed her mouth on it, it felt like all I could see was colors. Oh my what is this phenomenon. Ohhhhh unhhhhhh. What are these sounds escaping my mouth. Before I knew it, the feeling became overwhelming. I felt something coming. My hosts feet previously firmly planted on the ground, curled its toes. My abdomen contracted and then a RELEASE. I opened my eyes as she wiped something. She placed her mouth on mine again and said “thanks”. Before immediately fleeing.

What was that? What is this experience. And why does it feel so good?

I need to understand more about what this appendage does. I wonder if that tiny male human that was with “me” earlier might want to do the same activities with his appendages. I try to recall his identification. Cmon I knew I heard him say it. Lex, Ale, Alex….Alex? Yes.

I picked up the messaging device and snapped an image. I copied the text the woman sent me. “Come over”. Maybe that’s how humans that want that activity communicate it to one another.

Almost immediately the device buzzed.

“Oh bro I didn’t know you rolled like that too?”

What do these words mean? I don’t want him to out me for acting outlandish…okay I can do this.

“Yeah bro. So are you cuming?”

A hand with a thumbs up appeared above the message appeared? What does this mean? So much to learn about this planet. I better start learning if I want to blend in.

The door was never closed after the woman left and a one pound happened on the already opened door. Before I could approach it to see who it was. Alex was there at the door. I could see the same energy the woman had in his eyes. He slammed the door behind him and unclothed himself with haste. He also had an appendage hard like mine, but smaller. Was my body considered an alpha amongst men?

He approached with eagerness but also a tenderness, unlike the woman. I put my mouth on his like she did to me. I was about to show Alex everything I’ve learned about earthlings.

[i-was-today-years-old-when]

i learned why can animals eat each other alive but humans get sick eating raw meat

In Sapiens, Professor Yuval Noah Harari explains the reason. It was an evolutionary bargain. The human brain takes up 25% of the body’s energy. Compare that with 8% in other apes, and lesser in other animals.

Unlike today, the primitive Homo Sapiens did not have easy access to high-calorie food. And maintaining such a big brain took a lot of resources and energy. Our ancestors paid for the evolution of a larger brain in two ways — their muscles atrophied and their intestines got shorter.

It was a very heavy toll for the body to spend energy on digesting food, it was a lot more convenient if the food was somehow already broken down or cooked, reducing the amount of energy spent by the body that went into digesting the food.

And the cooked food saved the body vital energy to evolve the larger brain of Homo Sapiens and Neanderthals.

As such, it became difficult to digest more complex food like cellulose.

Look at our friend Mr Gorilla here, munching on raw bamboo while none of us can eat sugarcane.

That’s why we cook because we simply can not digest most food in the raw form.

And that’s because we have big brains :)

So, thank evolution that we can choose from a range of tasty stuff to eat. ;)

[jellykyunnie]

˗ˏˋ Entry : 051 - Wanderer x Painter! Fem! Reader ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ ˎˊ˗

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚ 𝕎𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕖𝕣 ˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

╰┈➤ ❝ [ A Needle and a Thread ] ¡! ❞

There was this very pretty person in the akademiya, he was known for being snobbish and... Sharp tongued. Regardless, he had quite the reputation on him since he is affiliated with the akademiya and was one of the famous students just because of his incredibly written research papers.

Have you read them? No.

Not that you are lazy, of course not.

Even if you do read it, can your brain even digest and understand anything of his works?

No.

So what's the point of doing so?

Your worlds would never cross, him being an academic genius, and you being a self-employed painter who sells their paintings to make the living— What are the odds of ever crossing paths?

But ah, your fates would intertwine with eachother.

Carrying a heavy box of paint and canvases to use.

Today is a lovely day, the breeze is gentle, the clouds are fluffy and high with the sun resting rightfully so on the blue sky.

It's a perfect day to paint, is it not.

"Woah, woah!!" You squeak, your foot getting caught on a rock.

You practically sob out your heart, bracing yourself for impact on both the floor and your lovely paint getting wasted.

Those sweet, sweet paints that you have starved yourself to buy.

At least, that was what you thought would happen until a strong and firm arm held the box and another holding your arm.

"Just what are you doing stumbling about like a toddler?" A low voice grumbles, sighing before easily hoisting the box "Pathetic, you human beings are such clutz. It's a miracle your species have lasted this long"

"...."

A large, round hat similar to a straw hat but instead heavily decorated. Long light blue strips that complement its overall appearance. You couldn't see that high since you were significantly shorter than him, but you wear you could see stars at the top of his hat.

"Well?" He sneers, sharply glancing back at you with his intense indigo orbs.

"Oh... Uhm..." You fidget before pointing at a hilltop. "I just needed uhm... To get up there"

He turns around again and without a word, he goes up— Not even glancing back at you as he ascends to the hill.

Step. Step. Step. Step.

As soon as he reached the top of the hill, he placed the crate of paint and canvas onto the grass— The stranger makes his way past you.

"Wait, mister!" You call out and he sighs before turning back to you.

"What is it?" He speaks in that condescending tone of his.

"How can I pay you? I have some pie with me—"

"No need," The stranger crosses his arms, scoffing as he doesn't meet your eyes. "I don't need sustenance, especially sweet pastries."

"Oh..." You droop, "Then, is there another way for me to repay you?"

"Don't get in my way."

Those were the last words he said before walking away, leaving you in a daze.

...

You couldn't even get his name.

That boy with a delicate and fair face, sharp round eyes that makes you shiver from the sheer dominance and leadership it holds, and a voice that makes you instantly back away— You couldn't get his name.

As rude as he is, you felt guilty for not being able to at least repay him.

Because despite his sharp words, he still helped you in delivering your art materials up this hill.

⋅ ˚ ₊ ‧ ଳ ‧ ₊ ˚ ⋅ ⋆ ౨ৎ ˚ ⟡ ˖ ࣪

You surely thought you wouldn't be crossing paths again, right?

But ah, you would.

Time and time again, he would end up helping you in carrying your stuff or he would just grumble as he entertains your attempts at small talks.

Of course, the blue haired boy shuts you down in every attempt. Claiming "Small talk" is unnecessary just to occupy the awkward silence between.

But does he tell you to stop talking? No, not really.

Even if he jabs at you here and there, he lets you linger around him.

An odd character, is he not?

Actively avoiding deep connections, but doesn't necessarily actively tell you to go away. Well, he does say "Do you have to tell me this?" But other than that? He listens.

Despite looking like he couldn't care less about anything, the blue haired boy paid attention to every story you told him.

Sometimes he would even scold you when you told him the actions you took

"How foolish must you be?"

"You humans are such nitwits."

"Are you here to gossip about your stupidity again?"

Insult on top of another insult.

Yet he would lay down on the grass and listen to your little rambles.

꒰ .... ꒱

"You never told me your name" You say as you watch the blue haired boy rest on the green field.

"Names are things only humans have to attach themselves to," He simply answered.

"That's not an answer" You smile at him, poking his cheek that earned you a light smack on your wrist.

"Knock it off," He scoffs, "I don't have one. Call me as you wish."

"Hat guy?" You muse.

"Hah." The blue haired boy simply shakes his head. "Everyone calls me that, so do what you want."

"Wanderer?"

"I don't care what you call me"

He turns around, but you swear— You must have seen a small smile gracing his lips.

⋅ ˚ ₊ ‧ ଳ ‧ ₊ ˚ ⋅ ⋆ ౨ৎ ˚ ⟡ ˖ ࣪

Kunikuzushi

Kabukimono

Kuronoshi

Shouki No Kami

Scaramouche

The Sixth of the Balladeer

And finally, Wanderer.

He went by many names, all stemming from either happiness that ended in betrayal— Or a place born from pure hate and malice.

All his names are always surrounded by pain and suffering.

Abandoned by his mother.

Betrayed by his closest friends.

And left by a sweet child due to mortality.

All that he is— Is but a sorry speck of existence born from a purpose but ultimately was found unfit for the role that he was made for.

Pathetic.

There's no one here more pathetic than him.

Wanderer says he does not dwell on the past, but in the quiet night, where nothing else is really around him— His mind would wander.

No in fact, he was always thinking about the past on his lonely days. To avoid those moments, Wanderer would drown himself in creating essays. He doesn't know how people find them absolutely genius in a way and even hold it to some pedestal he never intended to.

But whatever.

It doesn't matter. As long as they don't bother him too much, then it's alright.

Then we have you.

No, there's nothing really wrong with you.

It's a bit of a.... Curiousity situation?

He was a little intrigued towards you. Wanderer has met a lot of eccentric people in sumeru who wont stop pestering him. Even people from the temple of silence have their eyes on him.

But unlike with those other people— The lonesome and melancholic Wanderer finds himself wanting to linger around you more.

He doesn't really know why.

It's just that his chest feels oddly pleasant so long as he is around your vicinity and he can hear your gentle breathing.

Why does he feel that way anyway? He only has mechanical insides powered by whatever the hell power his mother had used. There is nothing inside his chest but just some cogwheels and whatever.

And yet he finds himself fascinated by you, entranced even. He has this type of curiosity that he cant find a solution to.

So he just hangs around you in hopes of finding the answer to his mechanical predicament.

꒰ .... ꒱

"Hat guy?" You poke his arm curiously.

"Mn?" He groans a bit, stirring from his short nap.

"What's that in your pocket?" You point at the small bump on his pants and watched as he fishes the item out.

"Just a dumb piece of cloth" Wanderer scoffs, tossing it to your palm.

Dumb?

How can a doll so cute be so dumb?

The miniature thing had Wanderer's face and its clothes are a mix of white and purple. A single tear would run down from one eye too. The craftsmanship of the needlework is extremely skilled, maybe it was done by a professional?

"But it's so cute though, it looks like you!" You protest, waving the little doll on his face to which he replied by pushing your hand away slowly.

"Of course."

"Did you make it?"

"Who else would?"

"Woah, I thought the only talent you had in you was making up insults!"

His blue eyes would glance up at you all of the sudden, making you freeze in an instant.

"U-uhm... Heheh" You sheepishly chuckle, scratching your cheek as he kept looking at you.

"Five years back I would have cut your tongue for daring to do such insolence" Wanderer sits up, gently flicking your forehead with a finger as a way to have vengeance. "You're lucky I had a change of heart."

"I didn't think you would ever hide such a cute little thing on you!" You muse, holding up the little hat guy doll on the air.

"You like it?" He quirks up an eyebrow, "It's yours then"

"Eh?" You perk up at him, eyes wide with joyous glee. "Really? But wont it be lonely without you?"

"... Now where in the world did you get that logic from? It's a doll."

It was ironic coming from his lips.

After all, he's a doll himself and yet he is all too familiar with the bittersweetness of loneliness.

"But..." He watches the way you slump down as you hold the miniature version of him.

"If it's with you, then the doll will be happy." Wanderer averts his gaze from yours. "So quit sulking."

꒰ .... ꒱

He said that and yet here he is, a bunch of cloth on his lap and a set of needles on the other. He kept grumbling underneath his breath as he started to do the basic stitching.

It's just a doll.

And yet he made sure to be extra picky about the fabrics he'll use and the quality of the threads that will make this doll come to life.

He wanted it to be perfect.

As perfect as you are in his eyes.

He wants to replicate your perfect hair that bounces every time you hop to him the moment your pretty eyes would land on someone as dull as him.

He made your clothes simple and adorable to match the little hat guy doll.

"Should be enough?" He mumbles, holding up the doll version of you after stitching the eyes up and stuffing it. "I guess it is"

He adds the remaining stitches before standing up.

Wanderer started to stroll around while recalling your schedule. It's awfully sunny today, the weather he absolutely despises. However, he wasn't as ticked off as he normally is today since locating you in such a cloudless day is easy.

After all, you're normally on top of a certain hill, taking shade from a certain tree and painting your gleeful little heart away.

Why does he know this information so well? He doesn't know.

He just does.

And certainly enough, you were there.

A paintbrush in hand, a palette on the other, and your eyebrows scrunched as you try to replicate the overall shape of a sumerian rose.

"..." He shakes his head before floating to your side, catching you off-guard. "It's just me, pretty face."

Wanderer lands on your side, a hand stretching out to your waist so he can keep you steady.

"I forgot you have a vision" You sputter out, putting your paintbrush down to calm yourself. "Erm... You normally don't come looking for me. How come today is different?"

"I can do what I want." He says gruffly before handing the doll to you. "You said the little hat guy doll is feeling lonely as of late. Here."

You stare down at his hand that placed the little thing on your palms.

"Is this me?"

"No, it's a slumbering sumpter beast."

Hahah.

He can't really keep himself from being sarcastic huh?

Wanderer observes your reaction with crossed arms, watching intently as you bring out the doll version of him and placing 'you two' side by side.

"Now he won't be lonely!" You beam happily, so distracted by the cuteness of the dolls that you fail to notice the slight twitch on his lips. "I'm going to have to find loads of cute doll clothes for them, maybe I can find some in port ormos? Oh, maybe I can buy them a doll house too so they can have a home? What do you think?"

You look up at him.

"Wanderer?"

The name slips out of your lips again.

His name.

A name he never really thought about.

He just chose it because it suits his lost and weary soul.

His soul that is full of malice and sin.

It's just a name.

But how come it sounds so sweet when you call out to him?

"Hat guy—!!!"

Your words would come interrupted as something wet and sweet comes in contact with your lips. The view is suddenly so dark with the shadow of the hat hovering on top of your head and his nose pressed right next to yours.

You can't even think straight as he flicks his tongue once, twice, thrice— No. You lost count already.

Wanderer was tender with you, so ironic of his sharp tongue to be so soft and sweet.

You can maybe taste a bit of the bitter chamomile tea he chugs down on a daily basis.

Is it really bitter?

You can't even tell, all you know is that this man is kissing you.

"Wanderer sounds prettier when it's from your lips" He said the moment he pulled back, but not enough to break the string of saliva breaking you two. "So quit calling me that dumb name"

Ah.

You don't even realize you're standing on your tippy toes as you gaze up on those mesmerizing indigo eyes of his. The eyes that held so much sadness and loneliness— Is looking at you right now as if you're the only thing he has ever wished for in his lifetime.

"Wanderer."

"Yes." He nuzzles his nose against yours. "Call out my name a few more times, make it sound like it's the most pleasant thing you've ever said."

—Because I am tired. Tired of this loneliness that I feel; of this bitter and heavy feeling that weighs in my empty mechanical heart. Make me feel what it's like to have someone precious again.

And in exchange, I will make you my heart.

꒰ 🪼 A/N: It's always Scaramouche so I wrote for Wanderer. I love him a lot. I wasn't on the train as much when he was still Scaramouche but after meeting Wanderer I'm fully hooked and I love him a lot x3!!! He's adorable and flirty, as sharp as his tongue is I get the butterflies when he sneaks in his flirty remarks. Like I see you, Wawan! You want me to focus on your mean words but on the contrary I always end up rmbering whenever you said pretty~. I'm going to write more genshin and hsr. I want to expand my roster of love interests so heheh╰⁠(⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠´⁠꒳⁠`⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠)⁠╯꒱

ʚ(੭´͈ ᐜ `͈)੭ .｡✧: ~♡ —! stories written by kyunnie; translations, reposts, plagiarism are strictly forbidden.