#T-Type Adapter

[spiritgenie]

Ok so like

Something ive always wondered and such

Canonically

How do cybertronians….reproduce or something like

Are they made? Do they do it asexually

Are they born straight already fully formed and such or is there a cycle and aging proccess

Is it vector sigma, the all spark?

Do they have a concept of children and parents, i feel like i could go so deep into this question, like some stuff im already thinking of

In transformers animated they have protoforms and prowl puts yogatrons spark into one which seems to revive him for a but but it basically has him look the same age

The all spark created so many new cybertronins

WHAT WERE THOSE SMALL THINGS MEGATRON TOOK CARE OF IN DARK OF THE MOON

the terrens in general

I honestly coyld go on but it it late and i am tired

[widevibratobitch]

cunt.

[witski]

i missed the most fucksble tetris poll

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Happy Public Domain Day 2025 to all who celebrate

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/12/17/dastar-dly-deeds/#roast-in-piss-sonny-bono

In 1976, Congress set fire to the country's libraries; in 1998, they did it again. Today, in 2024, the flames have died down, and out of the ashes a new public domain is growing. Happy Public Domain Day 2025 to all who celebrate!

For most of US history, copyright was something you had to ask for. To copyright a work, you'd send a copy to the Library of Congress and they'd issue you a copyright. Not only did that let you display a copyright mark on your work – so people would know they weren't allowed to copy it without your permission – but if anyone wanted to figure out who to ask in order to get permission to copy or adapt a work, they could just go look up the paperwork at the LoC.

In 1976, Congress amended the Copyright Act to eliminate the "formality" of copyright registration. Now, all creative works of human authorship were copyrighted "at the moment of fixation" – the instant you drew, typed, wrote, filmed, or recorded them. From a toddler's nursery-school finger-painting to a graffiti mural on a subway car, every creative act suddenly became an article of property.

But whose property? That was on you to figure out, before you could copy, publish, perform, or preserve the work, because without registration, permissions had to start with a scavenger hunt for the person who could grant it. Congress simultaneously enacted a massive expansion of property rights, while abolishing the title registry that spelled out who owned what. As though this wasn't enough, Congress reached back in time and plopped an extra 20 years' onto the copyrights of existing works, even ones whose authors were unknown and unlocatable.

For the next 20 years, creative workers, archivists, educators and fans struggled in the face of this regime of unknowable property rights. After decades of well-documented problems, Congress acted again: they made it worse.

In 1998, Congress passed the Sonny Bono Copyright Act, AKA the Mickey Mouse Preservation Act, AKA the Copyright Term Extension Act. The 1998 Act tacked another 20 years onto copyright terms, but not just for works that were still in copyright. At the insistence of Disney, Congress actually yanked works out of the public domain – works that had been anthologized, adapted and re-issued – and put them back into copyright for two more decades. Copyright stretched to the century-plus "life plus 70 years" term. Nothing entered the public domain for the next 20 years.

So many of my comrades in the fight for the public domain were certain that this would happen again in 2018. In 2010, e-book inventor and Project Gutenberg founder Michael S Hart and I got into a friendly email argument because he was positive that in 2018, Congress would set fire to the public domain again. When I insisted that there was no way this could happen given the public bitterness over the 1998 Act, he told me I was being naive, but said he hoped that I was right.

Michael didn't live to see it, but in 2019, the public domain opened again. It was an incredible day:

https://archive.org/details/ClosingKeynoteForGrandReopeningOfThePublicDomainCoryDoctorowAtInternetArchive

No one has done a better job of chronicling the fortunes of our fragile, beautiful, bounteous public domain than Jennifer Jenkins and James Boyle of Duke University's Center for the Study of the Public Domain. Every year from 2010-2019, Boyle and Jenkins chronicled the works that weren't entering the public domain because of the 1998 Act, making sure we knew what had been stolen from our cultural commons. In so many cases, these works disappeared before their copyrights expired, for example, the majority of silent films are lost forever.

Then, in 2019, Jenkins and Boyle got to start cataloging the works that were entering the public domain, most of them from 1923 (copyright is complicated, so not everything that entered the public domain in 2019 was from that year):

https://web.law.duke.edu/cspd/publicdomainday/2019/

Every year since, they've celebrated a new bumper crop. Last year, we got Mickey Mouse!

https://pluralistic.net/2023/12/15/mouse-liberation-front/#free-mickey

In addition to numerous other works – by Woolf, Hemingway, Doyle, Christie, Proust, Hesse, Milne, DuBois, Frost, Chaplin, Escher, and more:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/12/20/em-oh-you-ess-ee/#sexytimes

Now, 2024 was a fantastic year for the public domain, but – as you'll see in the 2025 edition of the Public Domain Day post – 2025 is even better:

https://web.law.duke.edu/cspd/publicdomainday/2025/

So what's entering the public domain this year? Well, for one thing, there's more of the stuff from last year, which makes sense: if Hemingway's first books entered the PD last year, then this year, we'll the books he wrote next (and this will continue every year until we catch up with Hemingway's tragic death).

There are some big hits from our returning champions, like Woolf's To the Lighthouse and A Farewell to Arms from Hemingway. Jenkins and Boyle call particular attention to one book: Faulkner's The Sound and the Fury, its title taken from a public domain work by Shakespeare. As they write, Faulkner spoke eloquently about the nature of posterity and culture:

[Humanity] is immortal, not because he alone among creatures has an inexhaustible voice, but because he has a soul, a spirit capable of compassion and sacrifice and endurance…The poet’s voice need not merely be the record of man, it can be one of the props, the pillars to help him endure and prevail.

The main attraction on last year's Public Domain Day was the entry of Steamboat Willie – the first Mickey Mouse cartoon – into the public domain. This year, we're getting a dozen new Mickey cartoons, including the first Mickey talkie:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mickey_Mouse_(film_series)#1929

Those 12 shorts represent a kind of creative explosion for the Disney Studios. Those early Mickey cartoons were, each and every one, a hybrid of new copyrighted works and the public domain. The backbone of each Mickey short was a beloved, public domain song, with Mickey's motion synched to the beat (animators came to call this "mickey mousing"). In 1929, there was a huge crop of public domain music that anyone could use this way:

Blue Danube, Pop Goes the Weasel, Yankee Doodle, Here We Go Round the Mulberry Bush, Ach Du Lieber Augustin, Listen to the Mocking Bird, A-Hunting We Will Go, Dixie, The Girl I Left Behind Me, a tune known as the snake charmer song, Coming Thru the Rye, Mary Had a Little Lamb, Auld Lang Syne, Aloha ‘Oe, Turkey in the Straw, My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean, Habanera and Toreador Song from Carmen, Lizst’s Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2, and Goodnight, Ladies.

These were recent compositions, songs that were written and popularized in the lifetimes of the parents and grandparents who took their kids to the movies to see Mickey shorts like "The Barn Dance," "The Opry House" and "The Jazz Fool." The ability to plunder this music at will was key to the success of Mickey Mouse and Disney. Think of all the Mickeys and Disneys we've lost by locking up the public domain for the past half-century!

This year, we're getting some outstanding new old music for our public domain. The complexities of copyright terms mean that compositions from 1929 are entering the public domain, but we're only getting recordings from 1924. 1924's outstanding recordings include:

George Gershwin performing Rhapsody in Blue, Jelly Roll Morton playing Shreveport Stomp, and an early recording from contralto and civil rights icon Marian Anderson, who is famous for her 1939 performance to an integrated audience of over 75,000 people at the Lincoln Memorial. Anderson’s 1924 recording is of the spiritual Nobody Knows the Trouble I’ve Seen.

While the compositions include Singin' in the Rain, Ain't Misbehavin', An American in Paris, Bolero, (What Did I Do to Be So) Black and Blue, Tiptoe Through the Tulips, Happy Days Are Here Again, What Is This Thing Called, Love?, Am I Blue? and many, many more.

On the art front, we're getting Salvador Dali's earliest surrealist masterpieces, like Illumined Pleasures, The Accommodations of Desire, and The Great Masturbator. Dali's contemporaries are not so lucky: after a century, the early history of the works of Magritte are so muddy that it's impossible to say whether they are in or out of copyright.

But there's plenty of art with clearer provenance that we can welcome into the public domain this year, most notably, Popeye and Tintin. As the first Popeye and Tintin comics go PD, so too do those characters.

The idea that a fictional character can have a copyright separate from the stories they appear in is relatively new, and it's weird and very stupid. Courts have found that the Batmobile is a copyrightable character (Batman won't enter the public domain until 2035).

Copyright for characters is such a muddy, gross, weird idea. The clearest example of how stupid this gets comes from Sherlock Holmes, whose canon spans many years. The Doyle estate – a rent-seeking copyright troll – claimed that Holmes wouldn't enter the public domain until every Holmes story was in the public domain (that's this year, incidentally!).

This didn't fly, so their next gambit was to claim copyright over those aspects of Holmes's character that were developed later in the stories. For example, they claimed that Holmes didn't show compassion until the later stories, and, on that basis, sued the creators of the Enola Holmes TV show for depicting a gender-swapped Sherlock who wasn't a total dick:

https://www.theguardian.com/books/2020/dec/22/lawsuit-copyright-warmer-sherlock-holmes-dismissed-enola-holmes

As the Enola lawyers pointed out in their briefs, this was tantamount to a copyright over emotions: "Copyright law does not allow the ownership of generic concepts like warmth, kindness, empathy, or respect, even as expressed by a public domain character – which, of course, belongs to the public, not plaintiff."

When Mickey entered the public domain last year, Jenkins did an excellent deep dive into which aspects of Mickey's character and design emerged when:

https://web.law.duke.edu/cspd/mickey/

Jenkins uses this year's entry of Tintin and Popeye into the public domain to further explore the subject of proprietary characters.

Even though copyright extends to characters, it only covers the "copyrightable" parts of those characters. As the Enola lawyers wrote, the generic character traits (their age, emotional vibe, etc) are not protected. Neither is anything "trivial" or "minuscule" – for example, if a cartoonist makes a minor alteration to the way a character's pupils or eyes are drawn, that's a minor detail, not a copyrightable element.

The biggest impediment to using public domain characters isn't copyright, it's trademark. Trademark is very different from copyright: foundationally, trademark is the right to protect your customers from being deceived by your competitors. Coke can use trademark to stop Pepsi from selling its sugary drinks in Coke cans – not because it owns the word "Coke" or the Coke logo, but because it has been deputized to protect Coke drinkers from being tricked into buying not-Coke, thinking that they're getting the true Black Waters of American Imperialism.

Companies claim trademarks over cartoon characters all the time, and license those trademarks on food, clothing, toys, and more (remember Popeye candy cigarettes?).

Indeed, Hearst Holdings claims a trademark over Popeye in many traditional categories, like cartoons, amusement parks, ads and clothes. They're also in the midst of applying for a Popeye NFT trademark (lol).

Does that mean you can't use Popeye in any of those ways? Nope! All you need to do is prominently mention that your use of Popeye is unofficial, not associated with Hearst, and dispel any chance of confusion. A unanimous Supreme Court decision (in Dastar) affirm your right to do so. You can also use Popeye in the title of your unauthorized Popeye comic, thanks to a case called Rogers v Grimaldi.

This all applies to Tintin, too – a big deal, given that Tintin is managed by a notorious copyright bully who delights in cruelly terrorizing fan artists. Tintin is joined in the public domain by Buck Rogers, another old-timey character whose owners are scumbag rent-seekers.

Congress buried the public domain alive in 1976, and dumped a load of gravel over its grave in 1998, but miraculously, we've managed to exhume the PD, and it has been revived and is showing signs of rude health.

2024 saw the blockbuster film adaptation of Wicked, based on the public domain Oz books. It also saw the publication of James, a celebrated retelling of Twain's Huck Finn from the perspective of Huck's enslaved sidekick.

This is completely normal. It's how art was made since time immemorial. The 40 year experiment in life without a public domain is at an end, and not a minute too soon.

You can piece together a complete-as-possible list of 2025's public domain (including the Marx Brothers' Cocoanuts, Disney's Skeleton Dance, and Del Ruth's Gold Diggers of Broadway) here:

https://onlinebooks.library.upenn.edu/cce/

[beardedjoel]

ride

joel x f!reader

request: "prone, leaving a hickey on their neck, in a truck bed" sent in as part of my 5k celebration! or you try to grapple with feelings for your parents' friend while getting absolutely railed by him 🤠 6.5k words.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, age gap (unspecified but college age reader and it's said that joel is over twice her age), oral f receiving, unprotected piv, pr0ne b0ne, creampie, hickeys, dirty talk and pet names, bit of daddy kink (sue me okay), angsty feelings, alcohol, reader has a mom and dad and clothing is described (shorts and t-shirt).

a/n: saw this prompt and instantly loved the visual! such a fun one to write, and i got weirdly caught up in these two having history and a bit of angst so it ended up way longer than i anticipated (aaand everybody is thinking we are not surprised julie couldn't shut up).

Today had you on edge, taking in your surroundings more dutifully, fearing the rounding of corners on campus in case you’d run into him. You try to pretend you don’t want to see him, but can’t deny the sinking feeling in your stomach as you arrive for your shift that evening without having any chance encounters. You hate that you’re imagining how one would go as you wait on your tables, how you’d pretend you hadn’t even thought about the possibility of him also being on campus for parents weekend. Casual. It was totally, completely casual - the same sentiment you’d been trying to convince yourself of for months.

His daughter Sarah is only a year younger than you and ended up at the same university a couple of hours from your hometown. You’d played little league soccer together for a few years as kids, and your parents became much faster friends with Joel than you and Sarah ever did. 

Despite Chip’s Bar & Grille being located off campus, it doesn't seem immune to the influx of people due to parents weekend as you weave through your tables, a sweat breaking out on your neck. Your asshole of a boss - the Chip of Chip’s Bar and Grille - never quite learned how to keep the temperature comfortable in here for the workers. He’d also declined your request to have tonight off to spend with your parents - too many other coworkers of yours had the same idea as you with people’s parents being in town, apparently. You know he also simply just enjoyed telling people no.

You plaster on a fake grin as you carry a tray of beers over to a rowdier group of men, probably here to watch Friday Night Football or something, judging by their team spirited paraphernalia. They’re already a few drinks deep, getting increasingly more bold with their commentary towards you, but it’s nothing you haven’t dealt with here before. You easily brush it off, navigating your way through their charged remarks with grace and sweet looks that should only boost your tips, letting the act drop dramatically as soon as you walk away from them.

Karina, the hostess - a sweet girl around your age - flits up to you, buzzing information in your ear. “Table 19 just got sat. Said it’s your parents, I think?”

You smile to yourself - it’s thoughtful that your parents would brave the greasy, unappetizing food at Chip’s just to see you twelve hours earlier than planned. They instantly glow and warm up at the sight of you, looking slightly out of place but nothing short of comfortable. They were the type of people that could adapt nearly anywhere.

“Hey, honey!” your mom trills, hugging you tight, pressing the slightly damp t-shirt you’re wearing into your back. 

“Sorry. Sweaty,” you warn her too late, getting a chuckle in your ear. Your dad squeezes you tightly next, and when they go to sit down, you notice with confusion that Karina has placed three menus on the table. 

Your eyes snap up to the front door just in time to see a familiar, broad form step into the fray, weaving his way through the bodies and tables. His eyes scan across the restaurant - dark and brooding as always - then land on you, standing tall above where most people are seated at their respective tables. Your stomach leaps, leaving your breath caught in your throat, him letting his lip twitch into some semblance of a smile - or a smirk, rather, given how haughty he looks right now.

For that brief second, it’s only the two of you in this bustling, noisy room, before the bubble bursts and he stalks over to you and your parents. It’s only then his eyes are torn off of yours, leaving you breathless and confused. And angry.

“Oh, good, already got us a table. Parkin’ was weirdly a nightmare out there,” he says, smooth and silky, announcing his presence. With one more flicker of his eyes to yours just before your mom pops up to hug him, blocking you from view, you see the mischievous amusement behind them. He’s enjoying the fact that he’s caught you off guard, that you’re flustered by his mere presence alone.

Yeah, angry sounds right. Joel Miller: certified prick.

After the fuss settles down, your parents explain they ran into Joel at a cafe when they got to campus this morning while you were still in class. Being their gracious, hospitable selves, they’d promptly invited him to come out to dinner with them tonight to catch up. Just your luck.

“The rest was history. Joel seemed awful happy to get to see you too, know it’s been a while,” your dad happily and obliviously trills. 

You’ll bet he seemed happy.

Joel moves in for an embrace, and you stiffen before feeling his meaty, thick arms draping around you, the warmth of his chest pressing closer, his breathing in your ear. Everything feels lit up inside of you, sparks skittering across your skin. You beg your knees not to buckle, reminding yourself that refusing to hug him begs more questions than you’d like from your parents. You try not to melt into the familiarity of it when your arms fling around his neck, try to keep it… casual. The word bites at you, stinging deeper each time you try to convince yourself of its place in this relationship. 

“Hey there, sunshine. How you been?” he mutters in his slow, sweet drawl. You can’t help but smile at your favorite pet name he’s had for you for years, wishing to wipe it off your face as he pulls back and sees it. There’s a returned softness there beneath all his amused loftiness. 

“G-good. Good,” you manage to stammer out. “How’s the business… How's Sarah?” 

You watch on as Joel stays planted right in front of you, the moment lingering longer than necessary or normal. You watch him have the same realization, clearing his throat and turning to pull out his chair, sitting down.

“Good,” he echoes you, smiling softly. “And good. Girl’s too busy with friends to see her old man tonight, though. Stuck with these two now.” He jabs a thumb in the direction of your parents. 

The dig gets a hoot out of your mom, her hand playfully nudging him. The noise of her balking breaks you out of your reverie where your eyes had been plastered on his features, begging them to tell you anything. 

You suck your lip between your teeth, blinking a few times to snap yourself out of this haze. You’d wanted this, hadn’t you? A chance to run into Joel, knowing that parents weekend would likely bring him this way. It’s too much, too… intense, to see him in your workplace, somehow merging his life with the one you lived separately from him. Back home the two of you had been on equal footing, but now he invaded your space, the places you were able to go to get away from whatever this was, to get away from him.

“I - I’ll go check on my tables. You guys decide what you want to order and I’ll come back. And I’ll talk to Chip about a family discount, or something.”

Your dad insists it’s not necessary before you scurry away, but you ask anyway. Chip unsurprisingly argues with you, huffing and puffing and generally being the asshole that he is. 

“You want a discount for your family? And where’s that money gonna come from? Maybe from your tips tonight? Would that work for you? Hm?”

“Forget it, Chip.” Muttered under your breath, you roll your eyes, feeling dejected as he stalks off to likely terrorize someone else or put on his fake schmoozing act with a loyal customer. 

When you glance back at your parents across the room, Joel’s eyes are on yours, intense and questioning. They burn into you, making you immediately turn away, trying to hide the glistening of tears from Chip’s beratement. It’s dumb, really. He’s always this big of an asshole. You aren’t sure why you expected anything other than his default or a single generous thing from him.

After pulling it together enough to do the rounds on your tables, you stop back to take your parents’ and Joel’s orders. Joel seems like he’s stewing, his energy quiet and distracted as he glances down at the menu, ordering a cheeseburger with a distant voice.

It’s not until you’re off at the point of sales system tapping in their orders that a presence sidles up beside you, the voice deep and hushed.

“That your boss there? The one lookin’ like he’s got somethin’ shoved up his ass?”

You do a slow turn to peer at Joel incredulously, glancing around as if you’re caught in a compromising position. You suppose maybe you are, but at least your parents are out of view from where you’re tucked back in the little hallway leading to the restrooms. It’s cramped back here with the service station, leaving Joel’s body close to yours.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you hiss, instead of answering his question.

“It’s not a crime to go to the bathroom,” he quips back. “Answer me.”

“What? You’re gonna beat him up?” You give Joel a pointed look before focusing back on the screen, punching in your dad’s Dr. Pepper.

“No, jus’ wanna know why a boss is out here makin’ his employees cry.”

“I wasn’t crying. He - he’s just an asshole. And why do you care? You’re not my -” you cut yourself off, shaking your head, pinching the bridge of your nose. “It’s fine. I promise. Please just… why are you here, Joel?”

“Havin’ dinner with your parents.”

You have to force in a deep, calming breath before sighing it out. “You like this. Surprising me, catching me off guard. You’re the one being an ass now.”

Joel visibly softens at your stressed demeanor. “It’s also not a crime to want to see you, y’know. And have some fun trippin’ you up along the way. I didn’t realize -”

Your eyes linger on his face for a long, quiet moment, burning with frustration and contempt and something deeper you won’t allow yourself to access. “I’ve got to get back to work,” you say, concluding the conversation as you snap the notebook containing your orders shut and push away from the computer. You brush past Joel’s shoulder, turning to glance back at him.

“It is nice to see you,” you utter, half hoping he can’t hear it over the bustle of the restaurant. When his lips twist to the side in a lopsided smile, you know he did.

“You too.”

Joel seems to behave the rest of the evening, paying the proper, appropriate amount of attention to you, treating you like the family friend that you are and nothing more. Just as it should be, you remind yourself every time a pang of sadness pulses through your chest.

When they pay and leave, you breathe a sigh of relief, working the rest of your shift with an odd buzzing in your head, picturing Joel’s tanned skin and rugged lines. The memory of the feeling of his body close to yours in that hallway makes you shudder, then curse yourself.

A mixture of disappointment and irritation worms its way into your mind as you realize that was your chance. That was the time you got to spend with Joel this weekend, when he was so close within your grasp. He’d be busy tomorrow, spending time with Sarah, letting her tote him around campus - showing him where she takes her classes, her favorite places to eat, her dorm that is likely decorated with purple accents and posters of her favorite bands.

You’d missed the opportunity to actually see him, too busy being pissed at him for existing in your sacred space, for never leaving you alone no matter how hard you tried to get him out of your head. You never knew when the next time would come around - even if you were back home, time spent around Joel was never guaranteed. Nor was it appropriate.

You worry your lip into oblivion, realizing it’s for the best, anyways, as you push the back door to the bar open after your shift, letting the cool night air greet your grimy, post work skin. You go to round the building, heading for the bus stop on the main street that will take you exactly twenty five minutes and eleven stops back to your dorm.

A voice cuts in, seeming to come from the darkness itself. “You always wear shorts that short to work?”

God damn it. You flinch and then press your lips together, slowly turning your head to the corner of the parking lot, following the gruff, familiar voice. You see Joel leaning against the front of his truck, arms crossed over his chest. He’s half illuminated by the streetlamps placed periodically across the asphalt, casting long shadows on him. The blue flannel he wears is stretched tightly over his arms, the sleeves rolled up to reveal those forearms that make you feel more than you’d ever care to admit. 

“Better tips,” you reply, nonchalant. You adjust your bag on your shoulder, walking over to him. You stop short, giving a wide berth between the two of you, attempting to avoid the always inevitable pull you feel towards him.

“That so?” he says, sounding amused. Joel lets his eyes roam up from your feet, scanning your bare legs, drinking you in all the way up your chest until his gaze rests on your face where it softens. He’s obvious about it, not caring to hide the lust that lives between the two of you now that you’re alone.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, feeling like a broken record. You watch as he turns and starts walking to the back of the truck. You peer around to see the bed is open, staunchly crossing your arms and not following him.

“Thought I’d give you a ride home,” Joel throws over his shoulder.

“What if I had my own car here?”

“You don’t,” he punches out. “Parents told me they hate you takin’ the bus so late.”

You quietly groan to yourself. Of course they did.

“And I thought you could use one of these after a long shift,” Joel adds on, proudly holding up a six pack of cheap, generic beer, strung together by plastic loops. You give him a sardonic laugh, finally giving in and making your way to the back of the truck. Joel has it parked with the bed facing the far corner of the parking lot, looking directly into the thicket of trees beyond that separates Chip’s from the McDonald’s behind it. It’s late, the lot nearly empty and the businesses around you all quieted down for the night. Some kind of thickness hangs in the air, otherworldly and separating you from reality, pressing in on you to be so alone with Joel.

“Aren’t you driving?” you ask, brows raised. 

“Ain’t for me. It’s for you.”

“Miller Lite,” you say, gesturing to the six pack. “Clever. And disgusting.”

He smirks, tearing one out of its loop and handing it to you. It’s chilled, but not cold, and you nearly grimace. You don’t even like beer, but being around Joel still makes you nervous so you crack it open, listening to the little click of the pull tab and ensuing fizzy noise from the liquid inside, then take a long swig. 

“Attagirl,” Joel comments passively. Your heart flutters at the small praise and you peer at him, doelike, from over the can, hoping your eyes don’t give you away. Of course they do, they always do. You look down, shuffling your feet, clad in your black, non slip work sneakers.

His hand is hesitant, reaching out to you from where he now leans against the open truck bed, clasping around your wrist with a gentle authority. It tugs you, forcing you to take a step towards him.

“Joel…” you warn, still unable to bring your eyes up. You know if you do, you’ll fold.

“Hm?” he rasps, moving you closer still. Joel’s legs and feet come into view, thighs thick and meaty in their denim, his work boots dirty and scuffed. It made something inside of you flutter again, these details about him. You liked his mess and his manliness, the way he didn’t give a shit if his shoes were dirty, but that they were functional. You like his worn denim with the outline of his wallet seared into the back pocket from too much use. You like… him.

“Come sit,” he begs of you, and despite your best efforts, you’re unable to resist. You hop up onto the back of the truck, letting your feet dangle while taking another sip of crappy beer. He pulls himself up next to you, and leans closer, knuckles brushing along your neck, making you shiver. It’s heavenly and electric, everything you’d craved and missed and wanted, never able to stop thinking about these calloused hands and the man they’re attached to.

“We… we can’t do this again,” you force yourself to utter, fiddling with the pull tab on the can held in your lap.

Joel’s hand freezes. “You got a college boyfriend now or somethin’?” he spits out, unable to hide the greed from his voice.

“No…” you admit.

“Alright, why not then?”

“We just… shouldn’t.”

“Y’weren’t sayin’ that over winter break. Or durin’ Thanksgiving, or the summer before that when I was fuckin’ myself deep inside of you, lettin’ you call me your daddy,” he drawls out lazily, continuing to softly revere your neck with his hands, slowly moving to your shoulder and back, fishing underneath the collar of your branded Chip's tee shirt to find bare skin. 

You swallow hard, feeling your cheeks blazing at the memories of how caught up in it you’d gotten. “I - I don’t think…”

“That’s right, sweetheart. Just don’t think.”

You finally dare a flash of your gaze to his, finding his eyes dark and wanting. “Joel…” you plead again, unsure of how to express anything else. “This isn’t… right. Who you are to me, my parents. You know that, right?”

He licks his lips and nods, moving in close and ghosting them over your neck. Your eyes roll back, your touch-starved, needy body begging you for more. “Torture myself over it all the damn time, pretty girl,” he rasps right next to your ear.

“Then why did you come here tonight?” you ask in a lusty whisper as his lips attach to your skin, sucking softly. Your breath catches in your throat, fighting a whine.

“I don’t know. I jus’... did,” he says earnestly, sounding pained. “I wanted it. Didn’t care ‘bout the rest. I wanted to see you, just us.”

Your heart pitter patters in your chest, that pesky, squeezing feeling of it that always takes over around Joel pulling taut. You know he doesn’t mean it, that he doesn’t want you. He wants what you offer - your body, your naïveté to stay involved in this, your company when he’s lonely. It was hard to say just how Joel felt about you, because he’d never dare say it out loud for fear of making this too real. 

His scent invades you - musky and something fresh and nature inspired, pine maybe - and you feel yourself folding in real time.

“Joel…” you warn one last time without any resolve behind it, eyes fluttering shut as he nuzzles into your neck. You want this. You don’t want this. You want him. You don’t want this uncertainty, this unstructured and wild thing that you two have become tangled up in. 

It happens before you can even register your body moving of its own accord, crashing your lips into his waiting ones. His hands are fast, eager, to touch every part of you now that you’ve given some semblance of a go ahead. Squeezing, groping, one hand relishing in the feel of your tits, the other cupping your cheek, pulling you deeper into the searing kiss.

“Fuck,” he mutters when your hands move with equal fervor on his body - squeezing his thigh, wrapping around him the to clutch the hair at the base of his neck. “The hell says we shouldn’t be doing this…”

You shake your head, smiling into the kiss. “Probably everyone.”

“Makes me want you more, baby,” Joel counters, and you nod feverishly in agreement, squeaking in surprise when he pushes you down to the truck bed, swinging himself over to straddle you. His weight crushes down, comforting and arousing all in one, no time to even dwell on it before his lips are on yours again, a hand plunging between to cup you through your shorts. Warmth flows freely between your legs, the fabric dampening the sensation but it’s still too much, too built up, and you buck your hips.

“I want these shorts gone,” he demands. “Everyone wishin’ they got a peek under these, givin’ you all those tips, except at the end of the night it’s me right here, gettin’ everythin’ they want.”

Your head goes fuzzy, swimming with lustful thoughts as his dirty talk ramps up. It turned out that Joel Miller had the filthiest mouth you’d ever encountered, something you’d never have expected from the quieter, gruff man. He was an archetype of southern politeness most of the time - not without his sass, sure - but you’d never expected… this.

“Take them,” you breathe out. Joel grins above you, unbuttoning the shorts with ease, hooking his fingers in the sides.

“You’d let me, really? Right here… right out in the open?” Joel tsks, the grin on his face spreading into something wicked. You blink back to reality, to the parking lot around you, and yet your answer remains unchanged.

“Yes,” you whisper, feeling shame burn at your cheeks.

Joel works your bottoms down slowly, taking your panties with it and speaking unhurriedly. “Let anyone who comes to see what all the fuss is about see all of this, would you?”

“Yes,” you answer dutifully.

“God damn.” He chuckles, tossing your shorts to the side, leaning back to glimpse at the bottom half of you, now exposed to him. “Dunno what’s worse. This, or that closet at your parent’s place. You’re a dirty little bitch, ain’t you?”

You nearly growl. “You love it,” you shoot back, spreading your thighs wide open for him. 

Staring between them with a certain wonder about him, he answers. “I do.”

He sinks himself down, moving to pleasure you, pulling your clit into his mouth and giving it a gentle suck. You yelp, a tiny squeak that has your hand flying over your mouth to quiet yourself down.

Joel moves his tongue to lap at your folds, drinking in the sweet slickness you’ve already poured out for him. The slickness that had been pooling between your thighs just at the sight of him earlier tonight. 

“You been this wet all night for me?” he asks incredulously, toying a finger through it now, circling your clit in a slow, tortuous circle.

You whimper first as an answer. “You - you make me -”

“I know I do. Ain’t easy to hide a hard fuckin’ cock under the table with your parents either, y’know. Wearin’ shorts like that on that gorgeous ass of yours.” He tsks into your pussy before slurping again, groaning as your arousal starts to coat his beard.

Your chest heaves, desperately needing more from him, his satisfaction with toying with you going longer than you can handle tonight. Not after how long it’s been.

“Please, J-Joel.”

He chuckles darkly. “We both know that ain’t the name you want to call me right now.”

He was right, the word had hung on your tongue since the second you’d been alone together, since you felt his warm hands exploring your skin. It came out somehow more naturally than you’d expected or even wanted, but something about it just felt… right.

Self conscious, you hold back and grumble as he withholds contact from you, staring up expectantly. “Come on, angel. I wanna hear it, too. Been too long.”

“Please, daddy…” you correct yourself shyly, readjusting to the word on your tongue. Joel’s face, shadowed by the yellow light of the closest streetlamp, breaks into a smirk.

“That’s right. Right now, when we’re like this, I’m your daddy, aren’t I?”

You nod and he continues to lick your needy cunt as a reward, swirling his tongue over the delicate bud near the top. “Yes, you are.”

Joel’s tongue moves faster, urged on at your breathless cries for him. “And you’d want to come for your daddy, wouldn’t you?”

The words twist your core tighter, the warmth building to a near breaking point. “G-god, yes. Y-yes!” You cry out louder as he sinks a finger inside, crooking it to make you go a little dizzy. You clamp a hand over your mouth again, tighter this time, stifling your cries.

Joel pulls back, a string of saliva and arousal connecting the two of you. His finger keeps the pressure on that spot inside of you, his breath ghosting over your sensitive skin as the most painful tease.

“Nuh-uh. Think you should be loud. Unless… you don’t want your coworkers to hear ya? Or better yet, that asshole boss of yours?”

You picture the ramifications of what Joel is saying, the way Chip’s face would go red, twisted up in anger before he likely fired you. You break into a cheeky smile, and without conviction you say, “I - I shouldn’t."

“You should be doin’ a lot of things right now, sweetheart. But here we are. Don’t act like you don’t like the idea of pissin’ off that bastard.”

You chuckle, nodding in a dazed agreement as Joel glides his nose over your sex, flicking his tongue out periodically and making you start to squirm impatiently. “Bet he wants to fuck you, too. Such a pretty, perfect girl. Bet he wants to bury his mouth in this sweet god damn perfect cunt.” He punctuates his words with a deep inhale to your pussy, his nose now tracing a little circle over your clit. 

His words send you reeling - something about the possessiveness he holds over you makes you clench around his digits like you’ve never done for anyone else. “Please -” you beg before you can even think.

“Please you want him to fuck you?”

You sigh in lustful, irritated frustration. “D-damn it, Joel. No. You.”

“Need daddy to fuck you good, don’t you? These college boys ain’t doin’ it for you, are they?” he purrs into your skin, finally pulling himself from between your legs to glide up over your body, shielding you completely.

You feel yourself flush hot, still sheepish even after all these months affected by his dirty words and that stupid, yet hot - so hot, god why is it so hot - title he’s bestowed himself. A tickle of embarrassment creeps into your belly knowing that you’ve hardly pursued anyone at school, never able to find exactly what you’d already had all along - only it wasn’t yours to keep. It never could be.

“I - I -” you mumble, avoiding eye contact as his face hovers above yours.

“What? They’re that bad?” he teases, and you bite your lip.

“There aren’t many… relations going on, okay?” You grimace, finding his dark eyes and seeing him amused, yet studying you carefully, more seriously.

Joel throws you the tiniest smirk, but his voice is deep and sincere. “Damn shame for all of them. But makes me awful happy to hear on account of myself.”

You swallow, nodding, feeling an anxiousness playing in your belly. “Have - have you…? Since we last…?” You don’t know why you even ask, why you’re hellbent on setting yourself up to be hurt.

Joel hesitates, debating for a moment, then leans in to kiss you, long and deep. He pulls back, then shakes his head. “Not since December, no.” The words are hushed, whispered, one hand squeezing at your hip. 

The moment is tense - too much so - and the urge to escape it crashes into you. You shift underneath him, pressing your hips up into his to entice him. “Don’t you want to fuck me then before ol’ Chip gets his chance?”

Joel practically growls, his hold going tight. “Wouldn’t fuck you like I do.”

You shake your head, licking your lips and feeling the flicker of desire reignite between your thighs that had briefly paused. “We’ll see about that,” you say, raising your eyebrows.

“God damn it, kiddo, you’re tryin’ to piss me off.”

“It’s better when you’re irritated with me -” You lick your lips, your hands finding the waistband of his jeans, toying with it. “Daddy.”

That same growl erupts from his throat, aggravated and breathless. His hands scramble with yours to free his cock, and you can’t help but peer between your bodies to catch the sight of it. You love every bit of his body, love seeing the way it moves for you, with you. The way that it evokes things in you you’d never known possible, hitting all of your buttons just right.

Only getting a short glance at his erection, your body is quickly handled by Joel’s rough, eager hands rolling you onto your stomach. You’re held down immediately, his weight crushing into you, nearing on uncomfortable with the bumps and ridges in the bed of the truck. One hand presses to the back of your head as he mounts you, the hot skin of his cock teasing at your ass.

All you can do is whimper, your head straining to look back at him as he spreads your ass cheeks, slipping between them and to your slick core, nudging at your entrance. Anticipation hangs in your labored breaths until he enters you, the tension released in an exhale of relief and sharp tenderness at the full stretch of him. 

Joel wastes no time slamming into you, satiating every fantasy you’d had of him, every desirous, late night thought that caught you off guard since your last rendezvous. It was always just as you’d remembered it - a miraculous connection of your bodies that seemed to stump the two of you every time you’d tried to make sense of it.

“Hell yes, angel, you always take me so good, so perfect,” Joel grunts out as he thrusts into you. “Never complainin’, jus’ takin’ what you’re meant to.”

Your eyes roll back slightly as he presses impossibly deep inside of you. Despite everything - his size, your ages, the myriad of reasons this shouldn’t even be happening right now - it feels like the perfect fit.

“S-so good,” you whine , breathless as his body starts to lean in close, his chest pressing against your back.

“So good, who?” Joel reminds you, his voice now rumbling right in your ear.

“F- Daddy. So good daddy,” you quickly spit out, lost in the moment. Joel had once called you cock dumb, and you’d wanted to scoff, but moments like these proved it to be a very real phenomenon. You typically consider yourself relatively level headed, but right now you’re completely helpless to the power he holds, all thought centered on the way he slips in and out of you, every sensation and nerve lit up from the drag of the head of his cock inside of you.

You shudder, feeling his hulking form so close as he brings his lips to your ear, wet kisses trailing to your neck. He’s always loved your neck - it was the first thing he’d deigned to touch all those months ago that had felt charged, different than your typical interactions. That’s when he’d drawn you in, hooked you and pulled you into this whirlwind.

You scramble a hand back to reach for him, touch him, but he grabs it, tracing his fingers over your palm, interlacing them with yours for a brief moment before your wrist is pinned down. He fucks you harder, faster, his lips bouncing against your neck before they latch on, sucking hard.

“J-Joel!” you cry out in a panic, realizing the possibility of a mark being left with an impending meet up with your parents tomorrow.

“It’ll be fine,” he purrs against your sensitive skin, sucking a little harder before moving to another spot. "Jus' leavin' you with a little somethin'."

You see stars as his cock presses as deep as it can go on his next thrust, and you lose the will to fight a losing battle. You have makeup for a reason, you suppose.

You moan, loud and clear, suddenly unable to even care about the world around you, an audience or Chip or any of your coworkers rounding this truck and seeing you getting absolutely ruined by a man well over twice your age. None of it matters when you have Joel so close to you, so ready to please you and take care of you.

“G-god, you’re so deep,” you whimper out in a garbled haze as he keeps up his punishing thrusts, letting the head of his kiss the deepest parts of you.

Joel chuckles dryly, doubling down on his efforts, the both of you panting, close to reaching something extraordinary together. “Mmm,” he groans into your ear, still lapping at your neck periodically. “What d’you want with an old man like me anyway, huh?”

It’s a question you’ve asked yourself dozens of times, one you’ve never quite found the answer to, even after searching deep within yourself. Joel was brutal in the sheets but also sweet, and maybe that was a balance you’d been seeking without knowing it. The illusion he created of not caring was always overpowered by the look in his eyes that told you there was something more there, something you both wanted to build upon but knew you never could. So you took moments like this - dark and rushed and secretive in parking lots - and made the most of them while you could pretend that the rest of the world didn’t exist.

Instead of saying all of that, you just mumble out through your panting, “Y-you know why.”

“That’s right, this big cock, fuckin’ you like nobody else can,” Joel replies for you, and you nod languidly, your eyelids heavy, your mind concentrated now on the heat building deep in your belly, furling tighter with every thrust.

“R-right there, oh my god,” you breathe, pressing your hips into each thrust to pull him that much deeper, to make each crash of your bodies into one another that much harder.

Joel moans quietly, attempting to stifle the lusty little sound but it's music to your ears, listening to him fall apart for you. “Come for me, sweetheart, s-shit, daddy needs to hear you…”

“D-daddy!” you whine out loudly, knowing he loves to hear that name nearly pornographic off your lips in these heated moments. Your pants and noises break into little moans that crescendo as bursts of pleasure wash over you. Every muscle is taut and taking Joel’s harsh, relentless thrusts into you, nearly making you scream with how vibrantly every sensation seems to crash over you.

“Y-yeah, let ‘em hear it. Christ you sound so pretty f’me, baby. Milk daddy’s cock, f-fuck that’s it…” Joel’s string of praises reaches your ears in a distant fog before his hips stutter inside of you and he’s spilling himself deep and full. You clench around him one last time, shuddering at the sensation as your skin tingles pleasantly. You feel floaty, far gone as you try to regain your bearings, slumped and ass up on the cool material of the truck bed. Reality comes back slowly as Joel kisses down your back, planting one on your ass cheek before giving it a playful bite and kneeling next to you.

“You okay, sunshine?” he asks softly, and for some reason, despite feeling elated, tears prick at the back of your eyes. It’s too much, too emotional. You will them away in a second, not daring to let Joel see.

“Mhm,” you weakly utter, nodding. Joel’s hand strokes along the side of your head, and you peer up at him with a slack smile, finding that he’s giving you one back. 

He comes down to your level, kissing your forehead. “Best yet, maybe,” he says playfully, but you aren’t sure you feel like laughing.

“Maybe,” you ponder, watching Joel’s face morph into a more serious expression. He curls his fingers around your ear, tracing shapes along your hairline, your neck, your shoulders as you stay just as you are for a long, quiet moment. He guides you to sit up, silently handing you your discarded clothing, helping you dress as the mess of him slips down your thighs. You have the passing thought that maybe he has napkins in his glove box, but then decide you’d rather have the reminder of him.

Joel sits next to you on the edge of the truck bed again, and interlocks his hand with yours. “I - I’ve got a hotel, right on campus. I could take y’home, but I’d like if you came back w’me for the night.”

His words give you pause, a tiny inhaled breath as you go to speak, snapping your lips closed and looking down at your lap for a beat. “Is that a good idea?” You ask for so many reasons, knowing that Joel is as acutely aware of all of them - the worst being that the longer you spend together, the harder it is to come back to reality.

“It ain’t a bad one,” he rasps, sultry and rough, and you crack a tiny smile. Always persuasive and charming when he needs to be.

“It’s not,” you admit, looking into his inquiring gaze.

“W-well?” he asks, nudging your side. “Jus’ one more night. I hardly get to see you, an’ you can go in the mornin’.”

You know how the night will go. You’ll both think you’re there for the sex - to sweat and say dirty things and pant all over again until you both come so hard that it boggles your mind. You’ll convince yourself that’s all it is, until you end up staying up late - talking, laughing, held in the other's arms. Intertwined together, bodies naked and comfortable with the other, because you’ve been here before.

You’ll both find yourself wanting to shy away from that fact that more is there - a real connection, two people with unlikely similarities, that just… get the other. You’ll both get lost in it, until the sun shines the next morning and you have to pretend that it doesn’t exist, that it was some figment of the power that the night holds over a person’s emotions, those dark twilight hours taking over your minds.

But you’ll both know that isn’t true, and there is nothing you can do about it.

“Okay,” you tell him, knowing the fate you’re subjecting yourself to - one that’s as wonderful as it is confusing. It hurts at times, but the spectacular things this man makes you feel outweighs it all. It’s worth it, that pain, to be able to find one another time and time again, and maybe even dream of more someday.  “Let’s go.”

divider by @/saradika-graphics!

[zhelin-thames]

Danny meets JL Members #2

Danny: So… you’re the Batman? Batman: Correct. Danny: Cool, cool. Heard a lot about you. Big fan of your whole brooding aesthetic. Very goth. Batman: …I’m not goth. Danny: Yeah, sure. Says the guy standing on a gargoyle in the rain.

Batman: Who are you? Danny: Danny Phantom. Half-ghost superhero. Batman: Ghosts don’t exist. Danny: Says the guy who dresses like a bat to fight a clown.

[Danny in the Batcave]

Danny: Dude, your cave is so cool! You’ve got, like, all the gadgets and a freaking dinosaur?! Tim: It’s a T-rex, actually. Danny: Okay, but why? Batman: It’s a trophy. Danny: Sure. And I’m the king of the Ghost Zone.

[Group Chat: “BatFam + Phantom”]

Jason: Who let the glowstick in here? Danny: Wow, you must be fun at parties. Dick: Ignore him. Welcome to the chaos, Danny! Danny: Thanks! Btw, do you guys have a “no ectoplasm on the Batmobile” rule? Asking for a friend. Tim: [frantically typing] Ectoplasm is corrosive?!

Damian: Why is there a child with ghost powers in Father’s city? Danny: Why is there a child running around with swords in Gotham? Damian: … Dick: He’s got a point.

[Batman observing Danny fighting a ghost]

Batman: [Batarang passes through the ghost] … Danny: Yeah, no. Ghosts aren’t a “punchy” kind of problem. Batman: I adapt. Danny: Okay, but adapt faster, Bat-Dad.

[at the manor]

Alfred: Master Wayne, the half-ghost boy is currently floating through the kitchen walls. Batman: …And? Alfred: He’s helping himself to a sandwich. Should I prepare another plate? Batman: Just keep him out of the wine cellar.

[nineslugs]

Kee are incredibly varied sophonts. As a whole they represent not a species, but a species complex. Not all kee can successfully reproduce with one another depending on how distantly related they are, but all types of kee can interbreed with at least one other group. This can lead to gene transfer even between groups that cannot successfully hybridize.

Even within a single kee group there can be a lot of variety in coloration and markings (melanism, piebaldism, dilute color, etc.), which I will cover later.

Six distinct groups of kee currently exist, all descended from an extinct ancestor that began to diversify about 2mya. These groups are as follows:

Dextral/Narrow Wing

Average Wingspan and Weight N-type: 36in, 1.0lbs T-type: 25.5in, 0.7lbs

Dexral kee are closest related to the ancestral ur-kee from which all other kee descended, existing nearly unchanged for longer than any other group. They are also the most common kee group found outside of their biotope. They can reproduce successfully with all groups of kee but don’t hybridize as easily with Little Island and Proximal kee.

Their n-types are very similar in appearance to Sinestral and Middle Island kee but their t-types have a characteristic dark cap and long, straight beak spike.

Sinestral/Broad Wing

Average Wingspan and Weight N-type: 36in, 1.0lbs T-type: 31.5in, 0.8lbs

Sinestral kee are most closely related to Dextral kee but also readily hybridize with Proximal kee. Unions with all other groups often produce sterile hybrids.

Both n and t-type Sinestrals have a domed profile to their head thanks to thicker integument along the top. Their t-types have an upward curved beak spike and darkened integument around the upper beak. Their wings are slightly broader than those of Dextral kee but they have a largely identical flight pattern.

Central Islands/Long Wing

Average Wingspan and Weight N-type: 51in, 2.8lbs T-type: 43in, 1.8lbs

Central Islands kee are the physically largest of all kee. They also have much longer necks and wings, making them look even bigger still.

They are most closely related to Dextral kee and can form viable hybrids with them and Sinestral kee. Hybridization with Middle Island kee results in sterile offspring, and their greater genetic distance from Proximal and Little Islands kee leaves them incapable of reproduction.

Unlike other kee groups, who have shorter wings for bursts of speed and maneuverability, Central Islands kee have long wings better suited for soaring and longer distance flight. This aids their more migratory lifestyle, traveling between the larger keeland central islands and the many smaller islands surrounding them. Their coloration is naturally the most blue among all kee in order to better blend with the sea and sky. They tend to have more lightweight clothing and personal effects than other groups of kee since they spend more time in flight.

Proximal/Cold Weather

Average Wingspan and Weight N-type: 26in, 0.8lbs T-type: 26in, 0.8lbs

Proximal kee live closer to the biozone’s central ice sheet than any other group. Adapted for the colder climate they have much thicker, fluffier integument than other kee groups and smaller wings to prevent heat loss. They fly in short bursts and are very maneuverable, but can’t fly as long distance as most other kinds of kee.

Unlike other kee, who tend to have slightly smaller t-types than n-types, Proximal n and t-types are roughly the same size.

Due to their relative genetic isolation from other groups, Proximal kee cannot reproduce with either Central or Little Island kee. Crosses with Dextral or Middle Islands kee usually produce sterile hybrids. Proximal kee can only readily reproduce with Sinestral kee.

Out of all kee Proximals are the most likely to pierce their patagium for clothing use. Kee usually live in warmer climates and wear minimal clothing, most often around the head, arms, and neck. Since Proximal kee live live in a colder climate they need to affix clothing around more of their body and patagium piercings allow for clothing to be worn more tightly around their core, conserving heat and leaving the wings and patagia unobstructed.

Middle Island/Curl

Average Wingspan and Weight N-type: 33in, 0.9lbs T-type: 31.5in, 0.7lbs

Middle Islanders are most closely related to Dextral and Little Island kee, both of with which they can successfully reproduce. With all others they usually yield sterile hybrids.

While Middle Island n-types look very similar to n-type Dextrals and Sinestrals, their t-types are very distinctive. Their beak spike and flanges are elongate and downturned, and their integument forms dark “eyebrows” on their mask (these eyebrows are also present to a lesser extent in n-type Middle Islanders).

Along with their striking faces, t-type Middle Islanders have very elongated integument around the edge of their wings and hind leg fins. While this slightly hampers flight it is a good show of a Middle Islander t-type’s health and is considered the mark of a promising cliquemate in Middle Islander cultures.

Little Island/Crowned

Average Wingspan and Weight N-type: 25.5in, 0.7lbs T-type: 24in, 0.7lbs

Little Islands kee are physically the smallest of all kee, both by weight and wingspan; an example of island dwarfism. Ancestrally they come from the dextralmost island of the greater keeland landmass, where they inhabit it’s dense expanse of forest. They have small round wings that help them tightly maneuver in their cluttered habitat.

They can only reproduce easily with Middle Islanders, and have sterile hybrids with Dextrals and Sinestrals. With Proximal and Central kee they are incapable of reproduction.

Little Islanders have similarly sized n and t-types. Their flanges have a unique split appearance in both n and t-types, ending in multiple points. In t-types their darkened eyebrow integument connects to a dark cap on behind the top beak, and the elongate nature of the individual pieces gives them a “crowned” appearance. Their t-types also have elongate integument on the edge of their wings, much like their Middle Islander relatives.

[theladybrownstarot]

Pick-A-Card: What messages does your heart wants to give you ? [Timeless]

[collab : @divinefeminine-card ]

How to choose 🪷 : Just follow your heart's calling ~ 🤍

|𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ִֶָ |𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐝-𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ִֶָ |𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐞 ִֶָ |

𝜗𝜚 𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟏. [Divinefeminine-Card]

𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟏 ! 𝐋𝐞𝐭'𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠:

Your heart wants to convey to you that in order to feel the happiness and contentment, you sometimes need to let go of the things which do not serve, and jump into the fire. Don't worry, it won't burn you, instead you will shine brighter than any. Says, you might need to let go of something which were dear to you, pile 1, take care of your heart, even a steelheart can breakdown, it might be sad and upsetting to let go, but it's important for you, really, future you will thank present you. You need to reach out and dream for the best, work for the best. Your heart knows you can achieve the best, you just need to realize it and direct your actions towards it. You can win yourself. Light and darkness are different sides of the same coin. One side is missing or less balanced will create disruption in your life too. Your angels are with you pile 1, like sincerely they are with you, ready to hold your hand and guide you through. You are not a single entity but rather a human made up of several contradictions, ++ embrace it. Again, balancing is here. Your heart wants to tell you to balance out aspects of your life. If you are spending too much time inside then take small steps to take time outside too, or vice versa. Ah, take care of your physical health too please!!! Eat well and sport a balanced diet, play some sports of exercises, you know the drill and also, try to keep yourself calm and level headed, don't surprise your poor heart too much. Love yourself. It's pretty common thing to say, but more difficult to do. But really pile 1, love yourself and treat yourself. Treat yourself the way you would treat your favourite person. Gift yourself and pamper yourself, it's REALLY important! Your heart is saying life goes on in cycles, slowly but surely adapt to it and try to move on <33 Keep your heart young and your entire being calm, do meditation or journalling for yourself. Spend time in nature ~

Type : 111 to claim the positivity of the reading in comment section , we will bless you 🤍

𝜗𝜚 𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟐.

𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟐 ! 𝐋𝐞𝐭'𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠:

Okay , so my lovely pile 2 , you are being called to connect with your heart like to connect with it's divine energy savoring it , you are being called to introspect your life by connecting to it. It says you to be alone for some time and chase your every dream with intense focus and determination but to make sure that you are not aggressive or rushing fast to it . You are being told by your heart to read books or explore new things or with context to anything currently also not to your use your phone very much . You are being told not to do multitasking or even depend on multiple sources since you got everything you needed . Your heart says , " why are you waiting for someonelse to give you that love and care when you connect with me giving yourself the Same thing, hmm ? " , "why to wait for something so long only to hurt yourself when you have a life ahead full of so many unexplored wonders ?". Surround yourself with your own love exclusively because you are being called for to embrace yourself tightly like a mother would to it's baby 🥺 .. nonetheless to say that your inner-child too tugs your heart saying , " Tell them to love and appreciate me .. I feel sad " . Your heart is telling me that there's a new door opening up for your after loosing something in life which seemed was important to you but it wasn't. Clean up your room, make it tidy so you can cleanse the energy- a message that I got from the spirit guides too along with your heart . Lastly , your heart is telling me that you may be facing some anxiety regarding anything or unsure about what to do next ? Just don't change your plans and trust yourself also too in divine because you are where you are supposed to be. Some extra messages : Water and air signs , mars , Pluto, scorpio or sun in scorpio.

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𝜗𝜚 𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟑

𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟑 ! 𝐋𝐞𝐭'𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠:

Okay , so pile 3 your heart says you too calm and slow down like really ! You have invested and done alot the results will come accordingly so maintain your patience . It's says that you should focus on other things now and not hesitate about it , even you enjoy your life than being constant workaholics. Just feel yourself floating on a beautiful isolated lake's cold refreshing water , where sun lights your skin giving you warmth🌞 I know there's a lot on your shoulder buddy ; when You are the authority of your own life coming with lot of decisions and accountability to onself and others but for a moment just think if you spent the entire life on being stable But never enjoyed the happiness , openess or chased what you love than do you think that you lived enough to be greatful on your approaching grave time ? You cannot take your life in one linear line expecting things to work accordingly here and there adjusting . Life's uncertain and changing which is fundamental so why aren't you ? Question yourself deeply Journaling- am I really living for myself? Is that I aspire my life for ? Have I ever done something for myself which has made me feel content Than only feeling safe ? . You are simply overdoing the done thing . It's time for you to set out ahead and socialise because you have done and changed enough my darling ,you deserve a colorful happy life ! Even if you're feeling that lackness in your life Because things aren't unfolding the way you Actually expected Then , instead of asking yourself , what can you get , Ask yourself, What you can give ? Because that's how you feel satisfied in life . Some extra messages : Venus in taurus /virgo , Gemini, Libra , aquarius, Saturn in taurus , aries and Mars .

Type : 333 to claim the positivity of the reading in comment section , we will bless you 🤍

I too offer paid reading of various kinds, If interested than d.m me to get your own customized reading - link 🤍

𝜗𝜚 𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟒. [divinefeminine-Card]

𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟒 ! 𝐋𝐞𝐭'𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠:

Your heart message that it wants you to know is of friendship, hope, confidence and will power.

Your heart wants to tell you to nurture your friendships, especially the one which heal you, female friendships comes to mind, it can directly mean that, or the kind of friendship which nurtures your soul, body and mind. The type which makes you believe that maybe being alive is not so bad. Maybe, it's all worth it, even if little or big moments. Take care of your friends, and spend time with them. It will be great help to you love. Listen, you need to be confident okay? And a little smugness is fineee, be a little smug, enjoy the ride, and be confident in your abilities!!! You did not do all that work, did not put all that sweat and tears to be short of confidence, you can really do it all my pile 4, you have worked hard so far, keep going on this path. Meet your past friends, or childhood friends if possible. Contact them. If nothing then, just look at pictures or reminisce memories,+ look back at them and ponder on how much you have grown. Get in your emotions, let yourself, trust me, it's not so bad once in a while. Your happiness and emotional fulfillment is important. Your hearts genuinely wants you to be happy, just beaming with joy. You are like a ray of hope in the dark. You are a joy to be around. And people love you. Your presence brightens any room. Your heart wants to tell you to pay attention to the things given to you, you are not alone pile 4 <33 Centre yourself and meditate, forget about everything, and get deep into your mind. Save yourself from temptations too, don't over do, over commit and do not fall into any pressure out upon you! It will be difficult, but it will be worth it, your will power plays crucial role here. Believe in yourself and your power. Move with a calculated and consistent steadiness, you can do it!

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Thank you so much lovelies for reading this ! It's takes a lot of time and energy to make such pick-a-cards so please make sure you support us 🤍 also we will be happy to know your responses in the comment section below about the reading ! Don't forget to type in comment section to claim the positivity of the readings since we will personally bless you there wholeheartedly! Love you and be blessed bye ♡

[leyavo]

| Genus | 3

Part three. Previous parts > [Bug masterlist] (I just keep thinking of this)

Bugs get crushed, so mind where you go. Wouldn’t want to step on you.

It had been drilled into your head since you’d earned the call-sign, Bug. Sure the names were never something nice, but yours was given you to remind you of your place. That no matter how good you were, there was always someone bigger trying to crush you.

So you tried your best to stay under the radar, never going above and beyond what ever orders were sent your way.

After one particular training session though, Captain Price pulled you aside. The guys winding down on the opposite side of the training ground, stretching their aching limbs. Roach, however trails close by as if he’s trying to listen in.

“Are you a dog or a bug?” Price said, his hands raising to cross over his chest.

You tense, bracing for his knuckles to drive into your shoulder, but nothing.

“What am I, Captain?” You don’t even bother picking from the lot, knowing that he’ll tell you exactly what you are either way.

Is this the question he’ll ask each time you do something he’s not fond of? Or whenever you mess up. Just like your previous captain asked you, what are you? Are you to say you’re a dog now? Someone made just to follow orders no matter the task.

Anything to make your life a little easier. You’re tired of trying to dodge your superiors anger and let them have at it.

The Captain sighs, dabbing the sweat dripping down his brow with the cuff of his fleece. “I don’t want ya to be a dog, there’s more to this task force than following my orders, Bug.”

You’re not sure if this is some kinda test, something for you to slip up on. So you remain silent, waiting for him to tell you what he really thinks. Used to the verbal lashings from anyone superior to you.

“Why do you think I put you with Roach?”

He’s hard to kill. Hard to kill, that’s why you’re with him. Someone to drag you out if you ever fuck up. Your gaze wanders to Roach and he looks away as soon as your eyes connect with his. Turning his attention the dirt beside his boot, toeing the gravel beneath it.

“He’s good at thinking on his feet, adapting and bending the rules in his favour to get the job done. He listens to his orders, but is also in tune with the variables around the situation.” The Captain’s voice lowered, he’d never outright compliment Roach as he gets a mixed bag of emotions. Doesn’t want to add to the weight he already carries, so Price leans in for just you to hear.

He knows his team, knows who needs encouragement or praise, but also knows that sometimes it’s not always practical.

A pat on the back and a nod of the head from the Captain is enough for Roach.

“You want me to ignore a direct order, Captain?”

“No,” he scoffs, “I want you to embellish them, think of them as a guideline. The nitty gritty details are down to you, Bug.” The captain lifts his hand, but drops it deciding not to give you a reassuring pat on the arm. He balls his fist and shakes it, a symbol for strength.

“Yes, Captain.” You watch him walk across the training ground, falling in line with Ghost as they make their way back to the main building. Soap and Gaz have disappeared, just a lone Roach kicking the gravel a couple feet away from you.

Your legs tremble, the last few training drills settling in your aching muscles. The sun burns your scalp and coats a thin layer of sweat all over you. You don’t care how you look though, your knees crashing to the ground. The shuddering rise and fall of your chest, faltered breaths easing as a flask wiggles in front of your face.

Roach’s gloved hand grasping the neck of the flask. “Tougher than we seem us bugs,” he said, crouching down in front of you and poking your t-shirt. He lifts his finger, showing a red little lady bug perched there before it flies off.

You’re a bug, not a dog.

[Next part]

Bug’s still trying to figure out what type of Captain John Price is and doesn’t have a past superior who was good to compare him to. So she’s thinking the worse (which is what she’s used to).

[ddejavvu]

Hi! You said you wanted shy/scaredy cat reader and Tyler Owens request :) feel free to ignore this!

Maybe Tyler brings her around to something kind of like a meet and greet (I haven’t seen the movie, but kind of like whatever was happening during the “if you feel it, chase it” part of the trailer) or they are out somewhere and he gets ‘mobbed’ by a few people who recognize him and she is just feeling very out of her element? Maybe just Tyler being sweet about it to her?

Idk if this makes sense! Feel free to ignore it!! :)

Taking Candy From a Baby - Tyler Owens x Reader

come participate in tyler owens night !

You're typically one to hang back and relax in the passenger's seat of Tyler's truck when it's time for him to start rousing rounds of chanting about feeling and chasing and fearing and riding. You're simply more comfortable with a seatbelt on and a window between you and Tyler's adoring fans, because tornado wranglers are not typically the types of people you feel safe around. Tyler- well, Tyler had roped you in with his gentle hands and soft brown eyes before breaking the news that he shoots fireworks into tornados for a living. All that to say, you typically feel out of your element when Tyler engages with his fans.

He knows this, and typically you're undisturbed while he has Boone pump his gas so that he and the rest of the crew can mingle with fans, sign autographs, and sell t-shirts. This time, though, when he opens the driver's side door he doesn't climb in, and instead he offers you a hand.

"Come in with me, darlin'?"

"Hm?" You look up from your phone, brows knitting together in confusion as you take his outstretched hand. He squeezes it with a saccharine grin instead of pulling, which you're grateful for before you know what you're getting into.

"Come get snacks and drinks with me in the station?" He nods to the small building to the left of the pumps, and the brightly-colored wrappers of candies and chips are appealing at a glance, "Lily says they've got crazy Lay's flavors, and they've got the energy drinks I like. We can stock up on goodies before we head out, how's that sound?"

"0kay," You nod, before you have a chance to say no. There's something sickly and rancid twisting in your belly, tendrils of anxiety latching into the walls of your stomach and sticking tight, but Tyler's hand holds steady to yours and you're not going to let a small crowd of people hold you back from novelty potato chips.

Stepping down out of the truck and jumping from the runner to the dingy concrete is the next step in an ongoing mission to break out of your shell. Tyler is so- well, he's the complete opposite of you, and he's always been careful to adapt to your more introverted ways. Now, though, you're dreadfully self-conscious about ensuring that you're adapting to him, as well, and if that means you have to nod and smile at his adoring fans to get him to a refrigerated case of energy drinks, so be it.

You're wearing a pair of Tyler's broken-in boots, old ones that happened to fit you better than the fresh pair he'd bought for you. He's doing the work of breaking in the new ones, and you admire his willingness to stomp around in boots with a 1-inch heel on the sole so that you can be saved from blisters. Boots are just uncomfortable to wear if they're not broken in first, and you don't romp around enough yourself to soften the leather.

Both pairs of your boots click against the concrete and heads turn, but only a few are bold enough to approach. You're not sure if your hand tightens around Tyler's or vice versa, but when one opens their mouth you're paling Tyler's tan hands with your grip.

"Tyler, is this the missus?" One woman asks, clinging to the hand of her own beau, "You're gorgeous, honey."

Tyler laughs for you, bumping his shoulder into yours as you rush to thank the woman, "Mhm. This's my girl. You two drivin' out with us?"

"The whole family is." The man nods, clearly ecstatic to be speaking to Tyler, "We've got the three kiddos in the car. And the dog. This is one leg of our family road trip for the year! But we're keepin' out of the storm's way, of course. We're gonna end up in Kentucky and visit some of my family."

"Well enjoy Kentucky," Tyler nods, his grin on full blast as he nods politely to the couple, "And you tell those kids'uh yours Tyler Owens says hello."

"We will!" The woman gushes, and you're grateful when Tyler begins walking again, breaking off from the couple. He manages to get cornered again before you're fully inside the gas station doors, but he lets your hand go to sign an autograph for the fan.

"Head on inside, honey," He nods at the station, "Pick out some crazy chips for me, m'kay?"

You're relieved for the respite that you're granted upon stepping into the air-conditioned gas station, and you follow Tyler's orders with your head down so as not to attract attention. You're barely able to reach the junk food aisle before a little boy rams straight into your legs, and you dart forwards to grab his arm before he can topple over.

"Oh! Are you okay?" You ask, peering carefully at his chubby face, dark curls wound close to his scalp. He nods, and you let go of his arm, glancing upwards to see his mother standing over him with a reproachful gaze.

"I'm sorry, honey," She gushes, and her voice must be straight honey for the way it oozes sweetness, "I told him not to run but, well, you know how that goes. Hey, aren't you the girl who was sittin' in Tyler's truck?"

Your heart starts pounding at the thought of another fan interaction, but you're spared from answering when you feel something poking against your leg. The little boy, no older than two, you're sure, is offering you a candy bar, big brown eyes hopeful as he clutches the silver wrapper.

"You sayin' sorry for nearly tripping her, Ty?" The woman laughs, then looks back up at you, "We- uh, well, his daddy's a big fan of Tyler. Tyler actually- he saved my husband a few years ago from a big storm, not that he even knew it. My husband was driving to work one day and he saw Tyler's truck pass him on the road. He'd heard of his hobby, y'know, chasin' storms. He thought if a tornado wrangler was heading the same way he was, he should probably go somewhere else. He got off the road and missed an EF-3 headed his way. So when he was born," She nods down at the baby still offering you a wrapped sweet, his other hand clutching your jeans, "We thought it'd be nice to name him after your man."

The candy wrapper is smooth and cool against your hands as you take it from Baby Tyler, and the boy gives you a grin consisting of six teeth in total when you stick the candy in your basket.

"Thank you," You croon down at the baby, "I'm- I'm glad your husband is safe. I'm glad he was smart enough not to follow Tyler."

"Who says followin' me's dumb, darlin'?" A large hand lands on your shoulder, and you startle before you register that it's Tyler.

"I do," The woman laughs, smile crinkling her eyes, "If you're drivin' into a tornado, that is."

"Dumb's more exciting," Tyler shrugs, "Who's this little one?"

"Tyler," You and the woman answer in unison, and your Tyler grins.

"Nice name, bud," He offers a balled-up fist to the baby who slaps his palm against it in an attempted high-five, "You're smart, hangin' around in the candy aisle."

Baby Ty babbles and toddles away, mom hurriedly following in his shaky footsteps, "Sorry, he's on the move. It was nice meeting you!"

Your voice is strong when you call back, "It was nice meeting you, too!" And Tyler looks impressed by that as he stares at you and your lone candy bar.

"Three Musketeers?" He asks, and you nod.

"Baby Tyler gave it to me."

"That's sweet." He hums, "You weren't nervous talkin' to 'em?"

"They were nice," You shake your head, leading him for once as you take his hand and steer towards the energy drinks, "And he was a really cute kid.”

“Mm, yeah? Y’know, we could make some really cute kids. ‘Specially if I’ve got a few of these,” Tyler holds up the energy drinks he’s selected from the fridge, “Forget wranglin’ tornadoes, darlin’, tonight I’m gonna be wranglin’ you.”

[harryspet]

homestead [3] r.cameron

[warnings] dark!rafe cameron x pregnant!reader, farmer!rafe, pogue!reader, implied jj x reader, kidnapping, DUBCON, little editing,READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+

A/N: Hello guys, I know a lot of you asked to be tagged but I am only tagging those who reblog AND give me your thoughts on the story. Please refrain from asking to be tagged especially if you are not interacting with the story in any other way. Enjoy!

word count: 3.0k

In which you start to adapt to your role in the life Rafe's chosen for you.

homestead masterlist

During one of the three bathroom trips you made during the night, you realized your bedroom door wasn’t locked. You slipped on fluffy slippers that you’d found in your closet and slipped out of the bedroom before you could overthink your decision. Admittedly, after Rafe showed you the rest of the house, spending so much time in your room felt wrong. You thought you’d feel stronger, faster, but every thought of him gave you flashbacks to his hands pinning your arms above your head and gripping your thighs so hard that they bruised. The threat of that happening again loomed over you, and Rafe seemed to know that and used it to his advantage. 

You hadn’t known the time either, but the hallway was dark, and no light streamed in through the windows, telling you that it wasn’t yet daybreak. You moved slowly down the stairs, doing your best to reduce the creaking. You weren’t quite sure what your goal was. Escape, obviously, but it couldn’t be this easy. 

As you reached the bottom of the stairs, you were met with a silent house, except for the slight hum of the refrigerator. The front door was perfectly in view, and you quickly approached it. It was locked, but you had expected that. You noticed a small blinking red light near the front door as you looked around for something to break a window or unlock the door. The camera was pointed right at the front door. Who knows what type of alarm would sound if you even opened it. 

As you fully turned around, your eyes landed on a shadow looming at the bottom of the stairs. He crossed the walkway to the farther wall, flipping on a light switch, “What are you doing?” He asked as you rubbed your eyes, feeling blinded by bright lights. 

“Getting some water,” You lied, not making much of an attempt to look less suspicious, “Couldn’t find the kitchen.”

You should’ve known he’d have more layers of protection. After all, you were the newest addition to the livestock he was keeping. You noted his jeans, workboots, and t-shirt, realizing that he was up to start his chores. 

“Couldn’t find the kitchen?” He repeated back, his arms crossed over his chest, his face telling you he was close to lecturing you like a child. 

“I got turned around in the dark,” You added, “I’m sorry.”

“Let’s get you some water then,” He said, much to your surprise. You stepped towards him, and his hands found the small of your back again, and you instantly felt his hands everywhere. For you, he retrieved a glass from the cabinet and filled it from the refrigerator water dispenser, “Good morning, Honey.”

The clock above the stove told you it was almost five in the morning. 

You reached for the glass, but he held it out of your reach. “Good morning,” you replied back obediently. He withheld it still, leaning down to press his lips to yours. Just like on the nursery floor, you froze, but you didn’t pull away. 

When he finally let you have the glass, you tried your best not to shake. He was still watching you intently, even as you sipped at it. 

“How’s the little one feeling?”

The way he spoke was so warm and part of you wanted to accept it, to accept the care and love and warmth he so obviously wanted you to feel too. You could choose to be happier and let your baby feel that happiness too.

“Good,” you answered, “He’s fine.”

He wanted you to say more but you stared back, maintaining your calm. If you stayed calm, it was easier for him to perceive your obedience. 

“Good,” he echoed. 

You’d decided then that you wouldn’t hole up in your room if you could help it. You knew less and less about his daily schedule within the confines of your room, and you needed to learn exactly when he left, when he returned, and how long he was gone each time.

“You should get some more sleep,” You were practically pinned against the counter. Rafe reached out to tuck a piece of your hair behind your ears, letting his thumb trace against your jaw, “When I come back, we can talk about how you can start helping out around the house. That should keep you busy. Less wandering that way.”

You nodded, “Okay.”

When he finally let you go, you headed back upstairs to your room. Neither of you acknowledged the unlocked door. You didn’t want to give him a reason to change his mind, believing he was trying to quietly show you that he had loosened his grip. 

You woke again to a quiet house a few hours later. Your morning routine was beginning to consist of making the bed, taking a bath, and taking your vitamins. You found it strange when you got your own room at Pope’s house but now you found it even stranger to have your own room and not have to prepare to go to work. 

After your bath, you started spending more time just looking in the mirror, admiring your bump and how the bags under your eyes were already starting to look less drastic. You hadn’t realized you’d been depriving yourself of sleep. You rubbed stretch mark cream gently over your stomach, and you actually had the time to talk to your baby. 

Instead of your usual silk pajamas, you picked out a flowing white skirt and a blue button-up. The material felt light and breathable, which you usually required to withstand the summer heat in your current condition. 

From your closet, you pulled out the wicker basket you’d been piling your dirty laundry into. It felt wrong to open your door again, but it was a reminder that you’d been rewarded for your decisions so far. You carried your laundry downstairs, finding Rafe leaning against the kitchen island, enjoying an apple. His eyes lit up at the sight of you despite just having seen you hours ago. 

He looked dirty from the day already. His hat was turned backward to keep his long hair from his face, and sweat was on his brow. 

“You look pretty,” He said, his voice softer than you expected given his appearance. Instinctively, you wanted to roll your eyes but instead your lips pressed into a thin line. Of course he thought you looked pretty. Undoubtedly, he hand picked all the clothing in your closet. 

“Thanks,” You said, gesturing to the basket in your hand, “... I’m gonna start a load.”

He nodded his head to give you permission and you turned towards the laundry room. It was situated on a small hallway that contained the doors to the guest bathroom and a room he hadn’t shown you yet. The room was relatively small but there were tall white cabinets above each washer that seemed to provide a lot of storage. The washer and dryer themselves were updated and you assumed they’d be easy to use. You realized quickly that there was another laundry basket in the room, this one filled to the brim with what you assumed was Rafe’s work clothes. After finding the detergent, you started loading your dirty clothes into the laundry, deciding washing them with Rafe’s muddy ones would ruin the quality of yours. 

Later, you thought. You wouldn’t mind doing a load for him later. What else was there to do around here?

When you returned back to the kitchen, Rafe asked, “You think you can handle making dinner tonight? Gonna go back out later and it would be good to have a meal waiting.”

Your mouth parted. The idea of making dinner made you more nervous than upset at the fact that he was already filing you into your role as his housewife, “Um,” You started, standing on the opposite side of the island, “What would I make?”

“Anything you want, really. There’s cookbooks by the window seal if you need ideas,” He crossed his arms over his chest as he thought out loud, “Fridge and pantry are stocked. We’ve got about a million eggs and I just had one of the cows butchered so there’s plenty of beef.”

“I can try,” You said unsure.

“Good, and I know it’ll be great,” He smiled as he rounded the island, “Make yourself something filling for breakfast and then come up to my office after, okay? The door across from the nursery.” His hands brushed against your waist as he walked past. 

All you did was nod, your mind already calculating what you might possibly be able to throw together. You didn’t have much experience cooking, whatever foster family you were with when you were growing up could usually only feed you frozen stuff and ramen. With JJ, you lived the same and with Pope, his Mom usually did most of the cooking. 

Rafe seemed to have more confidence in your abilities than you expected. Or maybe he thought it was such an easy task that not even you could mess it up. 

+

You made yourself a bagel with cream cheese and after you finished it, you still felt like you were starving. You’d noticed that you’d started wanting to snack more often but you’d never had this much food available to actually do so. Rafe wasn’t nearly exaggerating enough when he said the kitchen was stocked. Knowing Rafe was expecting you, you grabbed a handful of blueberries and practically scarfed them down on your way up the stairs. 

You glanced at the nursery for only a moment before you turned toward’s Rafe’s office. “Come in,” You heard immediately after knocking, You expected some sort of dungeon but the room was painted a light color similar to the rest of the house. His desk was large but pressed against the furthest window. Shelves decorated each side of the walls and the only other seating was a smal, comfy brown couch, “C’mere, Honey.” 

He waved you closer and you walked until you were standing in front of his chair. On his laptop, you saw a screensaver of him and Wheezie out on the water in Kildare. You wondered if he’d told his little sister about you or if he was even planning on bringing his family around.

“Do you have everything you need for your room to feel comfortable?”  

You nodded and he grabbed ahold of your hand, “Have you thought about anything you want to add to the nursery?”

The nursery was a room you’d like to not think about for awhile, “No,” You said, “It’s a little early to have everything ready, don’t you think?”

“It's not too early, Y/N. You have to like, you know, nest.”

You raised an eyebrow, “Nest? Like a bird?”

“It means to get your environment ready for the baby. It’s like some natural, primal instinct Mom’s have. Some shit like that.”

“Huh,” You still gave him a questioning look, “Still getting used to this environment. Probably will be for awhile.”

Rafe smirked despite the fact that you were poking at him, “You seem pretty comfortable already,” He added, looking you over, “Speaking of getting used  to the environment. I wanted to go over my expectations.”

“Your expectations,” You mimicked. 

“I’m expecting dinner tonight but, in general, I want you to get in the habit of preparing at least two meals a day. I’ll let you sleep in most mornings because I have to be up so early but lunch and dinner should be prepared.” 

“Rafe, I—“

He interrupted you, grabbing your waist to pull you into his lap. You yelped in response but he continued on, “Keeping everything clean, vacuuming, mopping, doing the laundry, changing the beds, is also expected. I’m sure you can figure out how to do all those things.” 

“Rafe—“

“Don’t worry, I’m not expecting you do all of that when it gets close to your due date but I think those chores are reasonable.”

“Is that what you expect of me forever? To stay inside and clean and cook?”

“Only for now. I’ll show you how to do some of the outside chores sometime soon.”

“…that farmers market you were talking about. Will you ever take me there?” 

“What happens is really not up to me,” He pressed you closer to him, his hands started to trace the skin of your thighs, “Depends on how you react to things.” 

It was a clear message despite the fact that you didn’t want to hear it. “I think I can do more than be stay at home mom.” 

“I know you can do more, Honey. You have been doing so much more than one person should do,” Despite the fact that he was taking away everything you knew that you were, he managed to compliment you at the same time, “I can already see you’re gonna be a great Mom. Don’t you want time to just focus on being one? Yeah you’ll be home a lot but that’s so much time you can spend with the baby.” 

Not everyone gets to do that. It was a privilege. You were starting to feel ungrateful for not thinking that way. 

He continued, “Think about it. You can teach him everything, he’ll be so smart, and he’ll feel so loved because you’ll be right there to tell him — every morning, everyday, every night.” 

You turned your face from him, your eyes staring to well with tears, “Of course I want that.” 

“I want you to have that. You just have to be mine first, okay?” 

You brought your hand to your face, wiping tears before they fell, but wanted to roll your eyes, “I should get started on all those chores.”

You tried to stand, to push away from him, but he gripped your waist tighter. He placed his hand around the side of your neck, turning your head face towards him. “Don’t do that,” he was almost pleading with you. “I know you need more time … I just . . . I can’t help but get ahead of myself.”

“You’re right,” You gritted, “I need more time.”

“But the way your body responds to me,” He pushed you closer until your foreheads touched. With his other hand, he gripped your thigh tightly, and his hand started to move closer and closer between your legs, “Makes me feel like the good ol' times.”

His voice vibrated through your body, and you cursed how he could simultaneously make you feel so much. You needed the closeness desperately, but this was all wrong. You should be this close with JJ, but now you are even further from him. It made your heart ache, but Rafe’s hands and compliments made it a bit less. 

“Be gentle,” You warned. 

“I can be gentle,” He smiled against your lips before he pressed his into yours. You hesitated to move them in response, but he didn’t seem to mind. He just wanted you closer. He kissed you until you were practically out of breath, “I can be good.”

“Rafe,” You whispered, trying to find your voice.

“Relax, Honey,” He hushed you, lifting you until you fully faced him, straddling his lap. As his hands moved up your skirt, you closed your eyes, trying to control your racing thoughts. Soon, his fingers were pulling aside your underwear, “You like it, baby. You wouldn’t feel this wet if you didn’t like it. Don’t worry, I’m not gonna tell on you.”

His fingers were slow and careful, and soon you were letting out a breath and letting go of the tension in your body. You could focus for a brief moment. Forget that Pope and JJ probably thought you were dead. 

“Let me take care of you,” As you leaned forward, Rafe spoke in your hear. Your lips were tight, not letting a moan escape your lips but your body was shuddering, “That’s it, you’re doing so well.”

Your vow of silence didn’t last long when the waves of pleasure finally crashed over you. You moved your hips against him as he held you close, and he guided you through your orgasm. Of course, after the glow subsided, you regretted it, “The last time we did that, you were in the back of my truck,” Rafe said, and you could practically hear his smirk. He didn’t fight you when you climbed off his lap, fixing your underwear and skirt, “I believe you were wearing a skirt too then, your waitress uniform … You look even more beautiful now, though.”

That was hard to believe. 

He watched you with a smug smile, clearly pleased with himself. The flash of the memory made you feel like some part of you really hadn’t grown up, even after all this time. 

“I need to get started,” You said, your voice starting to shake. 

Without hearing another word, you quickly exited the office, your mind a whirlwind again. 

You spent the rest of the day immersed in household chores. You did yours and Rafe’s laundry, vacuumed the living room, and dusted wherever possible. The repetitive tasks gave you a sense of calm, a momentary escape from the emotions. You moved so you didn’t have to think, and the day seemed to pass faster that way. 

Using one of the cookbooks Rafe mentioned, you chose a recipe and made beef stew with roasted vegetables and a fresh salad. It was your first time making food that didn’t come inside a box with instructions on the side. It was more meticulous than you anticipated, and you found yourself trying the finished stew over and over, adding salt, pepper, and other seasonings as you saw fit. 

The aroma filled the kitchen, proving you a small sense of pride.

Rafe had gone back outside to work, but when he returned, he was slightly out of breath and carrying a rifle. The sight of it made your heart stop.

“What happened?” You moved closer, your voice laced with concern.

You watched as he tucked the gun into a compartment built into the wall near the door and he kicked off muddy boots, “One of our cows had a stillborn,” As he walked further into the house, walking further into the house, “Damn buzzards wouldn’t stop bothering it, and the mom was getting upset. Had to shoot off a warning shot to get them to go away. Had to bury it for her."

“Oh,” Was all you got out. The idea made you feel sick. You couldn’t help but get an ominous feeling. You rubbed your hand over your stomach protectively.

His demeanor shifted as he caught sight of you, his expression going from annoyed to excited, “Something smells good,” Rafe smiled; his mind had obviously moved on already. 

“Yeah,” Luckily, you felt your baby move inside of you, a small reassurance, “Dinner’s ready.” 

A/N: Hello guys, I know a lot of you asked to be tagged but I am only tagging those who reblog AND give me your thoughts on the story. Please refrain from asking to be tagged especially if you are not interacting with the story in any other way. Hope you enjoyed!

[disabledwhumphurtcomfort]

Disabled Whump & Hurt/Comfort 2025 Prompt List

These are the prompts for the 2025 Disabled Whump & Hurt/Comfort writing challenge, a 30-day challenge running from April 1-April 30, 2025.

Below the read more are the content and posting rules for this challenge.

Feel free to start writing your works before April, but please only post on and after April 1st.

The prompts are divided by themes, but can be mixed up or taken out of order or only a few at a time. See rules for more information

LIFE IS LIKE THAT Established disability

1. Hurt: Hitting a weak spot | “I knew this would happen” | Exacerbated injury

2. Comfort: Challenged expectations | Relapse recovery | Disabled comforter

The Long Haul

3. Hurt: Chronic pain | Forced endurance | “Aren’t you better yet?”

4. Comfort: Support network | Recognizing the signs | Reassurance

Acquired disability

5. Hurt: Accident | Deliberate injury | Medical aftermath

6. Comfort: Accommodation | Physical therapy | Learning curve

Recovery

7. Hurt: “I feel like I’m going backwards” | Exhausting recovery | Side effects

8. Comfort: Long-term treatment | “New normal” | Healing from trauma

Adaptation

9. Hurt: Destroyed assistive device | Painful healing | Go it alone

10. Comfort: “My own way of doing things” | Work-arounds | Assistive device

PAIN AND PERIL Environmental

11. Hurt: Extreme temperatures | Mobility restriction | Isolation

12. Comfort: Safe place | Survive together | Coming home

Sensory

13. Hurt: Flare-up | Relapse | Adverse reaction

14. Comfort: Quiet place | Helping them calm down | “Hang in there”

Trapped

15. Hurt: Painful restraints | Chemically subdued | “No one’s coming”

16. Comfort: Rescue | “It’s alright, you’re safe” | Support/carrying

Medical

17. Hurt: Emergency/field medicine | Hospitalized | Medical trauma

18. Comfort: Being believed | Symptoms relieved | Diagnosis

Breaking Point

19. Hurt: Self-sabotage | “Pushing through” | Collapse

20. Comfort: “You’re not alone” | “Give them time” | Loyalty

EMOTIONAL HURT Loss

21. Hurt: Frustrated ambition | Something lost permanently | Missing out

22. Comfort: Adjusted expectations | There no matter what | New paths

Autonomy

23. Hurt: “I know what’s best for you” | Defiance | “My body’s not mine”

24. Comfort: “It’s your decision” | Leadership | At home in their body

Psychological Effects

25. Hurt: In a bad mood | Out of energy | At the end of their rope

26. Comfort: Moral support | “You can rest now” | “Give them space”

Stoicism

27. Hurt: Hiding a condition | Impossible standards | “I’m used to it”

28. Comfort: Explicit support | Opening up | “I won’t leave you”

Intimacy

29. Hurt: Miscommunication | Trust issues | Fear of rejection

30. Comfort: Adapting intimacy | Let it all out | Kiss (or more) and make up

Rules below the cut:

This event will be centered on characters with disabilities and chronic conditions, both visible (ex, paraplegia; limb differences) and invisible (ex, migraines; CFS). For writing to qualify, please have one or more disabled/chronically ill characters as the focus of your story, rather than a side character/cameo in a story about abled characters. Prompts are meant to facilitate stories about disability and disabled characters in the genres of hurt/comfort and whump (also known as hurt-no-comfort).

"Disability" can have a broad definition, and many conditions can be disabling. The moderator will not be filtering or rejecting submissions based on what medical conditions "count"; the only parameter is that the central character lives with a chronic condition of some type which is disabling for them in some way. Disabililties which come about in a fantasy or sci-fi setting are welcome as long as they are portrayed as being disabling in some way which is anaolgous (eg, a permanent problem caused by magic, or vampirism as a fantasy-disability).

Please do not TAG your posts/links with the names of disabilities you are writing about, or with “disability” or “chronic illness”, as those tags are used by disabled folks to talk about our RL disabilities and in the past there have been issues with writers inadvertently clogging those tags with fiction/writing advice.

Please DO tag your posts and links #disabledwhc2025 and, in a second tag, the day (eg, #day 1: established disability) so the mod can find and reblog them to the blog!

Original work and fanfic are both welcome; anything goes in terms of settings and genres (fantasy, sci-fi) as long as it’s h/c or whump.

You do not have to write for every prompt (that’s why there’s a mix of hurt and comfort!) or every day to be featured. If you don’t have time for 30 days, do as many as you feel like. If you only write either H/C or Whump, you can do a 15-day challenge, reinterpret the hurt prompts to include comfort, and/or find a whumpy spin on the comfort prompts.

If you write prompts out of order please still tag which day you are writing for and the title of that prompt set. So if you decide to post the prompt “frustrated ambition” from the set “Loss”, which is day 21, on April 3, please still tag your April 3 post “day 21: loss”.

There are no restrictions on what content can be posted, but please use content notes for the following topics: "Rape/noncon" "Underage" "Graphic Depictions of Violence" (ie gore), and "Major Character Death" before the start of your piece. You can also use the warning "Creator Chose Not to Use Content Warnings" if you do not want to spoil fic. Please use a "read more" for these pieces.

Please tag any NSFT works (explicit sexual content) as "NSFT". Please use a "read more" for these pieces.

[oranos]

🎁🎉Dustin TS2 T-Shirt [The Sims 25 Anniversary Gift]🎁

-Yes, I may be a little late for the 25th anniversary. (Because of my work) :P-  Anyway, today I wanted to give a gift in honour of this anniversary. Sims is a very special game for me, it gave me very good memories, friendships, adventures, directions.  On this special day, I loved playing with Dustin Broke in the town of Pleasantview in Sims 2, and why don't I adapt his iconic t-shirt to Sims 4 by adding a little something of my own. And I finally succeeded! I hope you like it and see you in your new ''Dustins'' in Sims 4 :P

Base Game Compatible

12 Colors (Number 96 and 25)

New Mesh [Completely from scratch!]

T-shirt: LOD0: 3299 LOD1:2050 LOD2: 885 LOD3: 420 polygons

I redraw the iconic llama (Concept belongs to EA)

Custom thumbnail

Compatible with All Body Types

my T.O.U

You can find me on Instagram , Tumblr , Pinterest

Download [Patreon - GIFT] 🎊HAPPY ANNIVERSARY EVERYONE!🎊

[jjwolves]

Hi! just wanna request ( you dont have to abswer ofc) any ena hc you have? ooor maybe some moonie ones?

─ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ─── Yellow Magic, Blue Miracle ─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆─

What: 5 ENA X Reader Headcanons (Romantic)

Who: ENA, from ENA by Joel G

How Much: ~800 words; reading time ~3 mins

Images: Top -> Joel G; Divider -> @cafekitsune

Warnings: None

Genre: Romance

ENA is pretty unaware of romance in general, at least starting out. She doesn’t have a very good reference point for your feelings, nor her feelings for you. But she does start to feel… very strongly about you the more you two hang out and go on adventures together. “I mess up everything I touch! I’m a disaster!” she wailed once when the two of you were stuck in a vat of glitter glue. “Don’t say that!” you yelled back. ENA’s face flickered. “You’re the only reason we even got this far! Give yourself more credit!” How confounding! On one hand, you sounded angry, but on the other, your words were encouraging. This was a puzzle she looked forward to solving.

Upon figuring some things out after reading a scroll on the subject made out of a butterfly’s wing (many thanks, love scroll!), ENA makes a beeline for wherever you are, obstacles be damned. She finds you and, yellow side as polite and unclear as usual, says, “The butterfly scroll has opened the shower curtain for me, and I’m now rinsing off the grime of formality.” “What?” A turn of the head and a pass of the emotional baton. “I was thinking that you loved me… But you don’t even know what I’m talking about!!” Before she can cry more than she already has, you take her hands, one soft and one blocky, and tell her the truth. “ENA, I do love you.” Her eyes widen and she’s buffering. "T-Truly?" But when she recovers from her stutter she’ll be crashing back into sunshine-colors in no time. You two adapt to the new relationship pretty quickly; it’s essentially just your friendship but with a new side unlocked. And she’ll need a new nickname for you to accommodate this, of course. She can’t call you “my good chum” anymore, so she calls you “my good love”. She says that it’s a reasonable meeting point. She assured you that “good” was the most accurate descriptor that she could grant your new title.

ENA is weird, obviously, and while you love her for it, it takes you time to adjust to her behavior now that you’re close. That is to say, she’s not the most stable person. When she thinks you’re hurt, emotionally or physically, she goes into panic mode. If ENA finds you crying, or bruised, or clutching a new sprain, she’s already blue, white and running around, her arms flailing and knocking things over. You’re flattered that it means so much to her… but there are times when it’s seriously inconvenient. If a poor soul enters ENA’s panic bubble when you’re near, she’ll be running over to them to frantically swat them away and cause a scene before running back to you and freaking out some more.

ENA’s sunshine-y side is big on chivalry, and while she wouldn’t hesitate to show a cartoon animal sent to assassinate her the common decency of saying “Hello, good sir!” before running away, she cranks it up to eleven with you around and becomes the most unhinged gentlewoman you may ever meet. She’s the type to run ahead and pull open a door for you, beckoning you inside. “May your feet march on unimpeded, my good love!” You stop at her side and raise an eyebrow. “That’s not the door we need to go in, but thanks.” She blinks once and you wince as she lets it slam shut. Loudly. Like, echoing. Another time, there was a puddle of acid on the ground you could easily walk around (or jump across if you could afford to lose some skin). ENA, sweetheart she is, plucked a coat off a nearby stranger and set it over the puddle for you. “The one I love should never have to fear a goopy fate.” Then the tall, imposing, and now jacketless shadow she stole from turned to you both and his hands became knives, so you two agreed that it was time to get the heck out of there.

Being so close to ENA means that you end up finding new sides to her you didn’t know existed. Everyone knows about her yellow and blue sides if they’ve known her for more than a minute. But she trusts you wholeheartedly with other sides of her that might be less palatable to other people. If she’s drunk, sick, or high off some strange substance or fae mood she encountered, she doesn’t feel the need to suppress her more monstrous forms, where she grows paler, darker, twisted, ceremonial. Instead, ENA just splays herself out on the couch next to you with her horns and flames jutting out of one side and a mischievous pale face smiling eerily from another, crawling over to you and laying in your lap. You both fall asleep pretty easily given the circumstances, resting in the home you found within each other. As you start to drift off, ENA’s regular face, now a symbol resting on her forehead, blushes and closes its eyes.

A/N: I hope that classic ENA is alright for now. I will probably do a Moony one in the near future. Or I may do one where they're both involved and one is the wingman for the other or something similar. Also, when I read ENA fics, I feel like they try to paper over ENA's blue side a lot, but I feel like it's a pretty important part of who she is, at least pre-Temptation stairway, so it's included pretty heavily here. Happy reading! More to come soon...

[gold-onthe-inside]

shape of you

who? spencer reid (s8/9) x blake!reader summary: when a terrible, horrible, no good day leaves you less that satisfied with your body t-minus 20 minutes before dinner with your boyfriend's friends and colleagues, it's up to spencer to cheer you up. content warnings: implied body dysmorphia/insecurities, weight and body type is ambiguous, spencer being the best boyfriend ever word count: 1.3k author's note: written by request for spring-fest. read more blake!reader here. divider courtesy of @/ saradika-graphics

It’s just one of those days where everything feels wrong, hyperaware of everything that doesn’t go to plan. Woke up an hour before you were supposed to, then having an unsatisfying extra hour of sleep where everything felt too warm. Burnt your tongue on coffee so you spend the rest of the day not really tasting anything, constantly aware of the abnormal numbness on the tip of your tongue. Bumped into a glass door twice during rounds, in front of your colleagues, juniors, and patients. And that was all before noon.

Your terrible mood carried to the end of the day, having tried three different dresses, wholly unsatisfied with all of them, and desperately going for the jumpsuit instead. But as you zip up the back, it doesn’t look right either. It feels like it’s hanging off of you rather than fitting you, and suddenly you can’t tell if it’s all in your head or if you really just look like a strangely shaped blob. You let out a sigh, considering giving up on the whole thing when your phone trilled on the counter beside the bathroom sink, a silly picture of Spencer with the cheesiest smile flashing on the screen and you picked up.

“Hey, so I might be like, 5 minutes late.” He never used ‘like’ as a filler word until he met you, mostly because he was too precise to need approximates or guesses, but precise is not a word you could use to describe the Metro system. “The train just randomly stopped past Union Station.” You could hear the fatigue in his voice, and slightly petulant frustration.

“It’s okay, take your time,” you replied, staring at yourself in the mirror. “It’s not like I’m getting ready anytime soon.”

“What do you mean?” Spencer asked and you could hear the confusion in his voice, and he heard the puff of breath that came from your lips.

“Nothing, just… Today’s just been a bad day,” you said lamely, moving to the bedroom and sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Oh,” Spencer said, his voice suddenly small. “You could’ve told me, I would have had Rossi reschedule.”

“No, it’s fine,” you said, flopping back onto your mattress. “It’s not every day you take down a whole trafficking ring.”

“They wouldn’t have minded,” Spencer replied, picking at the belt of his satchel. “Everyone’s exhausted. It’s just that noone’s about to turn down a free dinner.”

“Cheapskates,” you replied with a small giggle.

“Hey, not all of us get paid like you do,” he retorted, knowing you were probably rolling your eyes at him.

“What did you think you’d get paid working for the U.S. Government?” you scoffed.

“First of all, ouch. Second of all, someone has to work for the government, and if I wasn’t, then we would never have met.”

“So you’re saying our meeting trumps being able to pay for your own meal?” you asked, raising a brow.

“Pretty much. And then you wouldn’t be able to tell me about your no-good, terrible, horrible day.”

“It really isn’t that big a deal,” you said with a sigh, staring at the ceiling. “Just one of those days that confirms the existence of general adaptation syndrome.”

“Exhaustion phase, huh?” he asked and you smiled faintly, loving how he just understood you.

“Pretty much,” you murmured. “How far away are you?”

“Heading out of the station right now. Give me 3 minutes and 12 seconds. 9 if I don’t have to wait for traffic.”

“Look both ways before crossing,” you reminded him tiredly.

“That was one time,” he protested and you chuckled. “And in my defense, you’re very distracting.”

“You’re lucky that Subaru didn’t deck you,” you replied, smiling as you gently swung your feet. “Would’ve folded you up like a deck chair.”

“Aren’t girlfriends supposed to be nice?”

“Not this one,” and he can hear the cheek in your voice.

“Think I’m starting to miss the honeymoon period,” he said, and you can hear the jangle of his keys, the slightest loss of focus on your conversation, and you went and unlocked your front door for him before returning to the bedroom.

“Aren’t those meant to last like… a year at least?” you asked.

“Six months to 2 years, actually,” he answered. “In some cases, up to 2 and a half. Did you know honeymoons come from the tradition of marriage by capture? The groom would steal the bride and go into hiding so she wouldn’t be taken from him, and the intention was that she would be pregnant by the month’s end.”

“Well, that’s all kinds of wrong,” you murmured, staring at yourself in the mirror, and you can hear the door swing open so you hang up. “In here!” Your call is half-hearted, hand running over your stomach, willing it flatter.

“Do you think it’s okay if I just stick to a clean dress shirt?” he was asking, heading towards your voice, oblivious to the chaos in your head, only to find that you’d set out a suit for him. “You think of everything, don’t you?” he huffed with a smile, moving to hug you from behind and pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“Figured you wouldn’t have time to pick one up,” you replied, your smile too faint for him to be convinced you were okay. His arms tightened around you.

“Why won’t you tell me what’s going on?” he asked, his voice impossibly soft and you rested your head against his chest.

“It just… I tried like… three different outfits and nothing fits right,” you murmured and he frowned.

“You look the same as you always do,” he said, running his hand comfortingly over your stomach, where your hand had rested, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder. “Insanely pretty and out of my league.” The all-too-familiar huff escaped your nose and his brow furrowed again.

“Hey, none of that,” he countered, tugging your back against his chest. “You’re so pretty,” he murmured, gently kissing the crook of your neck, hair brushing your jaw, as he scraped his teeth against soft skin. “It doesn’t even matter what you wear, you know that? You could be coming home after a 12 hour shift, exhausted and sweaty and still look completely beautiful to me.”

He rested his chin against your temple, still hugging you. “And we can do whatever you want. We can eat takeout and ice cream in our pyjamas and watch your favourite movie. Or, we can finish getting ready and go spend time with people who care about a lot more than how you look.” He pressed another warm kiss to your temple. “Or you can keep trying on dresses and I’ll tell you how beautiful you look in all of them.”

You can’t help but grin at him, turning your head to kiss him properly, as he deserved. Long and sweet, pouring all your love into it. “You’re the best boyfriend, you know that?” you murmured, looking up at him, all adoring.

“I like being reminded,” he said simply, shrugging. “So, what do you want to do?”

You took a deep breath, looking at the pile of dresses on the corner of the bed. “I want you to pick one,” you said eventually, tucking hair out of your eyes, then watching with a smile as Spencer critically analysed each one before settling on a mauve bodycon dress, holding it up to you. Of course, he’d pick his favourite colour on you.

15 minutes later, you’re both horrendously late, Spencer behind the wheel of your car, using every moment of standstill traffic to look at you, caught between wanting to making a U-turn to take you straight home and wanting to show you off, even if it was just the team he was showing off to. He ended up choosing the latter, and all criticisms of tardiness were forgotten as the team warmly welcoming you, an extremely giddy Penelope gushing over how pretty you looked, JJ and Derek already making fun of Spencer’s possessive grip over your waist. All in all, it was a night spent well, Spencer’s adoring gaze more than making up for your terrible, horrible, no-good day.

comments and reblogs appreciated <3