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aneertawrites · 19 days ago

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Alien!Caleb x Fem!Reader Orbiting You

Chapter 3

As soon as you were out of earshot, the door to the guest room hissing shut with a gentle hum, Caleb exhaled sharply and swatted at his mouth.

“Stupid—”

He cursed under his breath, tugging at his lower lip and pressing his tongue against the roof of his mouth, trying to dull the sharp tingling that had started mid-meal and refused to quit. It wasn’t the saproot. He’d eaten that herb since he was a child. It wasn’t even the spices or the heat of the dish.

It was you.

Again.

Your scent had lingered long after you’d sat down — tangled in the fibers of the tunic you wore, soaked into your damp skin after the bath. It was faint, barely-there by human standards, but to a Zyrepharian male with any level of attunement, it was overwhelming. Wild, new, and maddeningly compatible.

He leaned against the kitchen wall and let his head thud softly against the smooth panel.

“Focus,” he muttered, clawing for logic, for anything rational.

He hadn’t been this unmoored since his adolescent training cycle — when his biology was still rewiring itself, and every pheromone in a ten-meter radius could knock him off-balance. But this… this was worse. This was deeper.

Caleb’s hand pressed flat against his ribs, as though he could soothe the ache sitting behind his sternum — the dull, pulsing heaviness that had bloomed there the moment you’d said Is there a way back?

The idea of you leaving… returning to Earth…

It was absurd, of course. Logical. Expected. You’d been taken from your home, ripped from your people, shoved into a galaxy that had tried to cage and sell you like livestock. Of course you wanted to go back.

But logic didn’t quiet the strange pull low in his chest, the gravity that had been slowly — painfully — threading itself through his nerves since the moment he found you in the forest, half-starved and snarling, brandishing a jagged rock with the fury of someone who’d already been pushed too far.

Caleb turned toward the hearth again, busying his hands with clearing the dishes, moving through the motions just to keep himself from unraveling.

This isn’t a mating bond, he told himself. It’s just proximity. A rescue. Hormonal confusion.

Zyrepharian males hadn’t formed true mating bonds in nearly a generation. The biological markers were too fragile now, the pair-matching sequences damaged from years of degradation and desperation. Most of what the old texts described as ��the calling” — the inner pull, the compulsion, the recognition — had faded into myth.

But your scent…

He inhaled slowly, chest tight. Even after the bath, even dressed in clean clothes, you still carried it — not floral or synthetic like the women of his world, but warm, raw, something like skin after sun and soil. And underneath it, a sharp, barely-there sweetness that hit him square in the gut.

He’d started sweating during dinner. And when you’d looked up at him — spoon paused mid-bite, brow furrowed — he’d almost dropped his own.

Worse than the scent was the sound of your voice. The way it wrapped around Zyrepharian syllables like they’d always belonged to you. The translator chip was only a tool, a filter. But your voice made everything sound gentler. More real.

He swallowed, jaw tight.

The ache in his ribs throbbed again.

Not pain. Not quite.

Something emptier than that. A shadow of loss before the thing was even gone.

He didn’t want to admit it. Not even to himself. But when you’d asked about returning to Earth — when your voice had gone quiet, your eyes turned toward the floor — something in him had clenched. Deep. Bone-deep.

He hadn’t realized how much he didn’t want you to leave until you said the words.

A low sound escaped his throat. Not a growl. Not a sigh.

A whimper.

He snapped his jaw shut immediately and straightened, disgusted with himself. He was a trained field agent, a survivalist, a handler, for stars’ sake.

Still…

He turned his head toward the hallway — toward the guest room door — and forced himself to look away again.

She doesn’t belong to you.

The thought rang loud and clear in his mind. A mantra. A reminder.

But it didn’t change the way his body leaned slightly in that direction. How he was suddenly hyperaware of your heartbeat, the soft shift of your breath on the other side of the wall.

He sat down heavily on the mat beside the fire, curling one knee up to his chest and staring into the flickering amber light.

This was dangerous.

You weren’t his. Not in law. Not in bond. Not in anything.

But the ache in his chest told a different story.

Hours passed in the same manner of overthinking, before he idea had come to him in a flash. Not a romantic one — stars, no — but a strategic, grounded, logical conclusion.

Marriage.

Not in the sentimental Earth sense, though he had studied Earth customs as part of his education. But in the modern Zyrepharian way — a system originally built to preserve the dwindling female population, and allow them full control over their pairings. The laws dictated that females could determine the length of the marriage — a week, a cycle, a year, or indefinitely. The male was to follow. Protect. Serve. Please.

Because the price for not bonding with a female — especially one not registered by the High Council — was exile. Not imprisonment. Not execution. But off-planet reassignment, under strict monitoring, possibly for life.

A silent punishment.

Thankfully, it would protect you — and him, given he wouldn’t turn down a marriage with you if it cost him his balls. Secure your identity. Shield you from the bureaucratic claws of any surviving factions tied to the ones who’d kidnapped you. And if — stars help him — if something ever happened to him, his bond to you would guarantee your claim to sanctuary.

Totally selfless.

Totally noble.

Totally not because he couldn’t stop thinking about the drawl of your voice, or the way you looked at his walls like they were made of starlight.

But just as the thought settled into something almost solid, a sharp sound ripped through the quiet of the house — high-pitched, raw, and all too familiar.

A scream.

Yours.

He was on his feet before his mind even registered it, heart slamming into his ribs as he flung himself down the hallway.

You didn’t remember falling asleep.

One moment, you were staring at the unfamiliar ceiling, trying not to think too hard about the way Caleb had looked at you across the dinner table — equal parts warrior and… something else.

The next, you were surrounded by shadows.

Earth.

You knew it instantly — the sky the wrong color, the air too thin, the feeling of gravity too sharp and real. You were running barefoot through city streets that blurred with rain and headlights, heart hammering, body aching. You knew who you were running from.

Him.

Your ex. Not a bad man. Not even a bad partner, if you were being honest. You’d left things on good terms. Clean. Polite. He was one of the last people left in your life who’d really known you.

And now, in this dream, he was chasing you. Not with malice — with desperation.

He kept shouting your name, again and again, his voice distorted, hollow, echoing through alleys that melted into each other.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he called. “Why didn’t you say goodbye?”

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t explain that you hadn’t meant to disappear. That you hadn’t chosen any of this. That you were somewhere so far away no message could ever reach him.

And then he was gone.

And you were alone.

And your mother was there. Your mother, who’d died four years ago in a hospital bed with your hand in hers, mouthing your name one last time. She didn’t speak in the dream. Just stared at you like she didn’t recognize you.

You reached for her.

She vanished.

And you screamed.

You woke up in a gasp of sweat and tangled sheets, the sob clawing out of your throat before you could stop it.

The room swam, too dark and too quiet, and for a terrifying half-second you thought maybe you’d slipped realities again. That none of this was real — not the forest, not the house, not Caleb.

But then the door hissed open.

And there he was.

Caleb.

Solid. Real. Alive.

And moving fast.

He crossed the room in three long strides, arms out but not touching you, kneeling beside the bed like he’d practiced this a hundred times and still wasn’t sure how to do it right.

“What happened?” His voice was low, urgent. “What hurt you?”

You realized you were shaking, breath still hitching as you tried to pull the blankets up to your chest like they could protect you from phantoms.

“Nightmare,” you croaked.

He blinked. “A… dream?”

“Yeah.” You forced a laugh, but it came out broken. “Just a real crappy one.”

He sat back on his heels, clearly trying to give you space, but his eyes didn’t leave your face. Not once.

“I thought—” You stopped. “It felt like I was back. On Earth. But it was twisted. Wrong. Like everything was slipping away from me. People I loved—”

Your voice cracked.

He didn’t move, but something behind his expression shifted. Something subtle. Protective.

“I know it doesn’t make sense,” you whispered.

“It does,” he said. “It makes sense to me.”

You didn’t answer for a moment. Then, against all logic, you blurted, “Do you think I’m selfish?”

He looked taken aback. “What?”

“I keep thinking about home. About leaving. About people I don’t even talk to anymore. It’s not like anyone’s waiting for me. But it still feels like… guilt. I still feel it.”

He was quiet for a long time. Then, he smiled softly.

“Guilt doesn’t mean you’ve done something wrong. Sometimes it just means you remember what it’s like to love.”

Your throat tightened.

“I don’t have family anymore,” you murmured. “They’re all gone. I didn’t even get to bury them all properly. And now I’m—here. I don’t even know what ‘here’ is.”

Caleb leaned slightly closer.

“Then we’ll make here… yours. Until you’re ready for something else.”

You looked at him — really looked at him. The lines of his face in the dim light. The steadiness of him. The fact that he’d come running the moment he heard your scream.

“…Thank you,” you whispered.

“You don’t need to thank me.”

There was a strange expression blooming on his face then. A kind of quiet fire. Something aching but whole. You weren’t sure what to do with it.

You swallowed. “Will you… stay for a bit?”

His body stilled, like you’d said something dangerous.

But then he nodded.

And sat beside the bed — not on it, but close — cross-legged and silent.

You didn’t need him to talk. Just to stay.

And he did.

You hadn’t meant to stay up this late, not really. But sleep never came easily anymore — not since you’d landed on this alien planet, not since the facility. Not even now, in Caleb’s safe little home, wrapped in warmth and silence.

But you didn’t feel tired. Not in the restless way, at least. It was more like your body was winding down naturally, the tension in your shoulders finally starting to bleed out the longer you sat here beside him.

The room had gone quiet again, but it wasn’t an awkward quiet. It was soft, almost sacred. You could hear the crackle of the fire in the next room, the distant hum of night insects outside. Even Caleb’s breathing had become part of the background — steady, grounding. You sat beside him on the bed, curled beneath a blanket, your knees drawn to your chest and your cheek resting lightly against your folded arms.

Caleb didn’t say much — but his presence said plenty. He was close, not touching, but not far either. The distance was intentional, respectful. But somehow, it still felt like he was there with you in every way that mattered.

“You know,” you murmured eventually, your voice sleepy, “your world’s kind of beautiful. In a ‘maybe I’m hallucinating from sleep deprivation’ kind of way.”

He chuckled softly — a sound you were quickly growing fond of. “You’re not hallucinating.”

“You sure?” you teased, shifting to glance at him. “Because I’m pretty sure I saw a frog with wings yesterday.”

“That one’s real,” he said, completely deadpan.

You blinked. “Seriously?”

Caleb nodded, barely hiding his smile. “They sing during mating season. Loudly.”

You laughed, burying your face in your arms again. “God, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this place.”

“You don’t have to,” he said quietly. “Just… exist in it. One day at a time.”

You looked over at him again, the firelight catching in the lines of his face. There was something gentle in the way he said that — something understanding. And it made a soft ache bloom in your chest.

“What about you?” you asked after a pause. “Do you miss how things used to be?”

Caleb exhaled through his nose. “Sometimes. But there’s beauty in what’s left. And hope, still.”

You nodded slowly. “Earth… we didn’t really talk about hope that much. At least not in a way that felt real.”

He glanced at you, his expression unreadable. “You sound like you left a lot behind.”

Your lips curled into something small, bittersweet. “Nothing that would be there now, even if I went back.”

Another pause.

“Did you… have anyone? On Earth?” he asked gently, eyes never quite meeting yours.

You considered lying. It would’ve been easy — say no, keep things simple. But that wasn’t fair. Not to him, and not to yourself.

“I had a few boyfriends,” you admitted, eyes drifting to the soft flicker of shadow dancing across the floor. “Nothing serious. We broke up before I was taken. Some were good to me. Some weren’t.”

Caleb was quiet for a while.

You felt it when he processed the word boyfriend again. It was foreign to him. The way he shifted slightly, like trying to puzzle together a concept his culture didn’t quite mirror.

“That’s… different,” he said eventually. Not judgmental. Just thoughtful.

You nodded. “Yeah. We don’t really have ‘mates’ on Earth. Not in the same way. We just… try. Hope someone fits.”

He hummed, barely audible. “So many chances, just to lose them again.”

You shrugged. “That’s the risk. But sometimes, it’s worth it.”

Caleb didn’t respond. But you caught the way his jaw ticked — the subtle downward cast of his eyes. He wasn’t frowning, not exactly. But there was something unsettled behind the quiet. Something like… longing?

You didn’t press it. You didn’t need to.

Instead, you shifted slightly, scooting just a little closer. It was instinctive, not flirtatious. Just proximity. Warmth. Human need. You felt the bed dip under your movement, the blanket brushing your ankles as you let your legs stretch out beside his.

The moment settled again. Thick with something unspoken, but not uncomfortable.

“I think,” you whispered, half-lulled by the stillness, “this is the most calm I’ve felt in weeks.”

“I’m glad,” he said, voice low and steady.

Your head tilted, resting lightly on the pillow now. “You’re really good at this whole ‘supportive and calming’ thing.”

“I was trained for it,” he replied, deadpan.

You let out a soft laugh, your eyelids fluttering. “Figures.”

The silence stretched again — not lonely, not cold. Just safe. Caleb didn’t move, didn’t speak. But you could feel his presence like a balm. He was warm in ways that had nothing to do with temperature.

And as sleep began to gently pull you under, you felt it: the hum beneath your skin, the strange flutter in your chest. A stillness that wasn’t empty — but full. Comfort. Trust. Maybe even the early roots of something deeper.

You didn’t question it.

You just let yourself drift.

And somewhere, just before the dark took you, you heard him breathe your name — like a promise.

CALEB

The room was quiet.

Not empty. Not dead.

But alive in the kind of hush that only came when something sacred was breathing beneath it.

You were asleep, your cheek pressed into his chest, one leg tossed carelessly over his thigh, hand resting —j ust barely — over the racing beat of his heart. As if your body knew exactly where to settle. As if it had always known.

He hadn’t moved in over an hour.

He wouldn’t dare.

Your warmth had seeped into his skin, and it had become something holy. Something untouchable. If he could stay like this forever — if time would allow it — he would never get up again.

And yet, beneath all that stillness, his body was burning.

The feeling had started as a quiet pull in his chest when you shifted closer, a weightless ache. A subtle flutter, like wind brushing through an open wound. But then your breath hit the hollow of his throat, and the scent of you — stars, the scent of you — triggered something deep and old and wild inside him.

It was slow, like something waking after a thousand years.

A heat rose behind his ribcage, slow and bright, spreading down his arms like a sunbeam sinking beneath ice. His limbs trembled, and he clenched his jaw, trying to breathe through it. But it was no use.

The burn struck hard, surging into his forearms.

He didn’t scream. He couldn’t.

His body locked as if bracing for battle, but the pain wasn’t war — it was transformation.

Beneath his skin, glowing lines began to form. Like ink guided by divine hands, they spiraled and stretched, crawling up from his wrists to his elbows in elegant, curling patterns — marks no Zyrepharian could mistake.

Mating marks.

His breath caught, vision tunneling. He stared down at his arms with something between horror and wonder. The marks shimmered faintly in the dark, iridescent like spilled oil — beautiful in a way that made his chest ache.

They were real.

This was happening.

And the worst part?

The worst part was how much he wanted it.

How long he’d dreamed of it.

They never talked about that part in husbandry school.

Sure, they taught the techniques — how to be a good husband, how to support a female in all stages of emotional need, how to prepare meals rich in nutrients specific to different planetary species.

He had top scores in most of it. His fire-roasted kai root was still praised on the student boards. He could braid any hair texture with his eyes closed, and he’d been quietly top of the class in emotional attunement drills.

But none of them had taught him how to deal with the yearning.

Caleb had always been different from the other males. Not only had he never been picked by a female to wed due to his career, but where they laughed and groaned about the impossibility of bonding — how rare it was, how likely it would never happen — Caleb had held onto something more fragile. More foolish.

Hope.

He’d snuck old love stories out of the archive domes. Hidden them under his cot, where he’d read until the lights dimmed and the others slept. Stories of great pairings, of instinct and fate and soul-deep recognition.

He’d imagined what it would be like to smell someone and know. To brush fingers and feel the connection light up like electricity.

Of course, he never said it aloud.

Being a romantic on Zyrephar was like being broken. Soft. Unprepared.

And maybe he was all of those things.

But here, now, he didn’t care.

Because you were here, breathing steadily against him. And with every second that passed, the bond wove itself tighter around his ribs, curling like vines through his lungs, lacing around his thoughts.

He closed his eyes and tilted his head back against the wall, trying not to make a sound. He didn’t want to wake you. Not like this. Not with his scent beginning to shift in ways he couldn’t control. The marks thrummed with each beat of his heart, glowing faintly with each inhale you took.

He wanted to tell you.

He wanted to wake you up, cup your face and say, It’s you. You’re my bond. You’re the one I never stopped dreaming about.

But he didn’t.

Because you’d talked about Earth only hours ago. About your old life. Your friends. Your ex-boyfriend, whose name you hadn’t said but whose memory made something tighten in Caleb’s throat.

You were still healing.

And Caleb would never ask you to choose him before you were ready to choose yourself.

So instead, he lay there, still as stone, while your leg shifted again — curling more tightly around his.

You hummed something in your sleep, barely audible, a sound so small and trusting that it made his eyes sting.

Gently, he brushed a thumb over the edge of the blanket near your shoulder, careful not to touch you directly. He let the warmth of you soak into his skin like sunlight through soil.

Even if you left one day — even if Earth called you home — he would never forget this. The night when the ache in his chest finally had a name. When the bond he’d always prayed for began to carve itself into his flesh.

And if, by some miracle, you chose to stay…

Well.

He had a thousand recipes memorized. A thousand poems he’d never shown anyone. And a heart that had only ever waited for you.

Wait—

It hit him like a punch to the gut.

Your scent.

It changed.

One moment, Caleb was lying still as stone, arms aching with the heat of newly emerged mating marks, his chest barely rising as he tried not to disturb you.

The next — he caught it.

Just a hint.

Just a thread.

But it was enough to wreck him.

He sucked in a breath, fast and quiet, chest clenching as his pupils flared wide. The scent curled through his lungs like smoke, sweet and warm and wanting. Primal. Subtle. Unintentional.

You were still asleep.

Your face was soft, peaceful, lips parted slightly. But your breath had grown shallower, quicker. And then—

Then you made a sound.

A soft, whimpering moan. Barely audible. Breathless. Like a dream had caught you by the throat and refused to let go.

Caleb stopped breathing altogether.

He froze.

His body — already humming, already trembling from the intensity of the marks — reacted instantly. Heat bloomed in his belly, sharp and dizzying, and his claws instinctively flexed against the bedding. His scent spiked, thick with instinct, but he bit down hard, curling his spine slightly away from you in a desperate attempt to keep it contained.

It was too much.

It was all too much.

Your scent… it was the one thing they warned about in the books. The one thing his instructors had only theorized about because no one had felt it in generations. It was supposed to trigger full biological readiness. Full mating instinct.

And now it was wrapped around him like a blanket.

His throat went dry. He clenched his jaw so hard his teeth ached.

No.

No, no, no.

This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.

Not now.

Not while you were asleep. Unaware. Vulnerable. Dreaming.

Wait, who the hell were you dreaming about?

He couldn’t think straight. Every nerve in his body was alive and burning, screaming to respond, to touch, to move closer, to soothe you, to satisfy whatever dreams were making you whimper like that.

You let out another faint moan, shifting your hips slightly where your leg lay across his.

His vision blacked out for a second.

Goddess have mercy.

He barely stifled the strangled sound that tried to crawl up his throat.

It wasn’t desire. Not in the way he’d understood it before.

It was need. Biological. Brutal. Cosmic.

Like the universe was screaming Mine through every vein in his body.

And still—

He didn’t move.

He didn’t touch you.

He’d rather rip his own arms off than risk making you feel unsafe. You were already raw. Already torn from your home, your life. He wouldn’t take anything from you. Not now. Not ever without your consent.

Even if every cell in his body screamed otherwise.

He held himself still with sheer will alone, whispering prayers he hadn’t spoken since childhood, muttering them silently into the dark.

And then you rolled onto your back.

Softly. Unconsciously.

You turned over to the other side of the bed, facing away from him, leg slipping free of his thigh, your body no longer pressed against his.

The shift in heat should’ve calmed him.

It didn’t.

It gave him space to breathe.

And with it came shame.

Need. Overwhelming, spiraling desperation.

Caleb sat up so fast he nearly tripped over the blankets, his heart thundering as he bolted from the bed like it was on fire.

He didn’t even glance back at you.

Couldn’t.

He stumbled into the washroom and shut the door, pressing his back to it, hands in his hair, nails digging into his scalp as he let out a long, guttural sound into his palm.

Pathetic.

He felt pathetic.

A grown male — trained, honorable, strong — reduced to a trembling wreck because his mate moaned in her sleep and his body betrayed him.

He splashed water on his face. Again. Again.

But nothing helped.

Your scent was still on him.

Clinging to his chest. His throat. His hands.

He stared into the mirror, breathing hard, his mating marks pulsing dimly beneath the surface of his skin.

This wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

You weren’t supposed to be real.

He had imagined his mate for years — soft eyes, a sharp mind, someone who laughed with her whole soul and didn’t shrink from the weight of his emotions. But he never thought she’d be human. Never thought he’d find her broken and scared on the edge of the wilderness, dreaming of Earth.

Never thought the bond would come like a lightning strike, unwanted and undeniable.

And he never thought she’d moan in her sleep and leave him drowning in the echo of it.

Caleb braced his arms on the counter and bowed his head, trying to breathe through the wave of arousal and guilt and longing.

He didn’t touch himself.

Didn’t dare.

Even though his body was on fire, every nerve screaming for release — he refused.

Because it wasn’t just instinct anymore.

It was you.

And even though you didn’t know it yet — you were his.

But that didn’t give him the right to act like you were.

Not until you chose him.

Not until your eyes opened and you looked at him like he was home.

So he stayed there, trembling, muttering ancient calming mantras as he forced his body to cool down, to regulate, to remember who it was trained to be.

And when the worst of it had passed, when the tension had dulled into a throbbing ache in his bones, he returned to the bedroom.

You were still turned away.

Still sleeping soundly.

He slid beneath the covers again, this time with careful distance between your bodies. Just enough to make sure your sleep wasn’t disturbed.

He stared at the ceiling until dawn began to stretch its fingers over the horizon.

Morning edged in quietly, smudging the ceiling with a thin wash of lavender‑grey. You surfaced from sleep in ripples, heartbeat still lagging behind the heavy rhythm of the dream you were drowning in only moments ago.

Heat is the first thing you notice — a slow, liquid warmth pooled low in your belly, the ghost of slick thighs, a pulse you can still feel between them. Your face was hot against the pillow. You kept your eyes shut, even as your body reminded you of the images that slipped beneath your eyelids all night.

There had been hands. Large, careful, learning the map of you like it was a holy text. Someone’s lips had hovered an inch above your pulse, not touching, just letting breath drag over skin until you begged for contact you never voiced. A voice — low, rough velvet, whispering in a language you almost recognised. The forest around you had smelled of silver leaves and turned soil, but beneath it all was something deeper, musk and spice and safety, a scent that had made your knees tremble even in the dream.

You do not say his name, even inside your own skull, but the shape of him clings to you like after‑taste. Tall. Broad across the chest. Unguarded eyes that always look as if they’re bracing for your next question.

Caleb.

You swallowed hard and rolled onto your back, eyes still shut, forcing yourself to catalogue the neutral now: the soft mattress, the faint hum of the house’s energy conduits, the cool sheets where another body is conspicuously absent. A fresh draft tells you the door to the corridor is half open. He must have risen already.

Good.

You needed a second to remember how to breathe without thinking of the dream version of him— the way his mouth had fitted over yours, patient and reverent, his hands spanning your ribs as if checking they still existed.

It was just a dream.

You repeat it twice. It doesn’t help.

It also doesn’t help that your body is betraying its own need, thighs pressing together, nipples pulled tight against thin fabric of the clothes Caleb provided you. You exhale through your nose, shoving both palms over your face until the heat ebbs to something manageable.

Only then did you sit up, pushing loose hair back, listening.

Voices— just one, really— low murmurs from the kitchen, followed by the clink of ceramic. Caleb must be talking to himself again; you’ve noticed he does that when concentrating. The memory coaxes a reluctant smile.

You swung your legs over the side of the bed and stretch, wincing when your toes hit cool floorboards. The house smelled of something savoury and sharp: herbs seared in a pan, maybe that citrus‑pepper spice he likes. Your stomach growled on cue. A glance at the wall clock tells you you’ve slept far longer than planned.

No screaming nightmares, you realise with a start. Your sleep, despite the… intensity… was unbroken. The understanding leaves you oddly raw. You promised yourself you wouldn’t need him to feel safe and yet— apparently— your brain believes otherwise.

The corridor is hushed. You pad to the washroom, splash water over your face until your cheeks lose their flush, then venture toward the kitchen.

Caleb stands with his back to you, sleeves rolled to elbows, forearms flexing as he lifts a covered pot from the stove. The morning light through the skylight paints him in muted silver; little motes of steam spiral around his head like a crown. Something in your chest tightens.

“Morning,” you manage, voice throat‑rough.

He startles— but only slightly. When he turns, there is a fraction of hesitation in his eyes before the usual calm slides into place. “Good morning. I didn’t wake you?”

You shake your head, sliding onto the bench at the small table. “Slept like a rock.”

“Good.” He sets two bowls down, swift but deliberate, then retreats to the counter. You notice he’s keeping a careful distance, almost theatrical in his precision. No accidental brush of fingers, no lingering near your shoulder. Odd.

He returns with a pot of something thick and aromatic— grain porridge studded with violet fruit and shards of crisped root. He ladles it out silently.

You watch his hands. They’re steady, but he moves as if he’s rehearsing every gesture three steps ahead. You open your mouth to tease him about morning formality, then shut it again; his shoulders are tense beneath the fabric of his tunic, subtle but unmistakable.

You glance down at his forearms as he sets your bowl in front of you. They’re wrapped in new, dark linen bindings from wrist to elbow.

You raise a brow. “Did you hurt yourself?”

He freezes half a second too long. “Minor burns,” he says. “The hearth sparks.”

You accept it, though something prickles at your scalp. Caleb, careless around an open flame? Unlikely. Still, you don’t press. Instead you inhale the porridge’s steam. “Smells amazing.”

He inclines his head, then sits opposite, posture immaculate. For a minute you eat in a rare hush; the porridge is nutty and bright, sweet‑tart fruit bursting under your tongue. You halfway moan before you can stop yourself. Caleb’s spoon stutters on the rim of his bowl.

Heat licks up your neck. “Sorry. It’s… really good.”

“I— I’m glad.” He looks down quickly, ears tinged deep bronze.

The silence turns thick, charged. You focus on your food until the initial flush fades, then risk a glance. Caleb is watching you— not obviously, but from beneath lashes, gaze quick as lightning away when you meet it. His throat bobs.

Something is off.

“Did something happen last night?” you ask softly.

He blinks. “You… slept soundly.” A beat. “That is all.”

You nod, though it doesn’t feel like all. You could ask, but the dream still throbs at the edges of your nerves— images of his hands sliding up your spine, warm breath against your ear. The thought alone threatens fresh colour in your cheeks.

Instead you steer the talk to plans: the day’s agenda, routes to the council quarter, how to approach any officials about a potential path back to Earth. Caleb answers, but some easy fluidity is missing. His replies are clipped, careful, weighed. And every time your sleeve brushes the table close to his, he shifts almost imperceptibly away, as though contact would singe him.

Halfway through discussing city permits you reach for your cup and your fingers graze his knuckles. Caleb flinches— not violently, just a jolt so tiny you’d miss it if you weren’t looking. His cup nearly tips. He catches it and— for the span of a heartbeat— everything in him goes still. Eyes wide, lips parted, breath held.

You yank your hand back, heart kicking. “Sorry, I—”

“No fault,” he says too fast, voice tight. He stands abruptly, gathering empty bowls. “I should clean up.”

You watch him retreat to the sink, shoulders rigid, wrists held close to his torso as though shielding them. The linen wraps are darker near the seam, faintly damp where steam has condensed. Something uncomfortable twists low in your gut. You rise, stepping closer.

“Let me see,” you say, motioning to his arm.

“It is fine,” he replies without turning — gentle but absolute.

“Caleb.” You touch his unbandaged elbow. He inhales sharply, muscles locking. You’ve never felt him this tense. “I’m not going to break you.”

He stays facing the sink, water rushing over dishes. A long moment ticks past, only the patter echoing in the room. Then, quietly: “I would rather you didn’t.”

You ease your hand back, smarting at the distance in his tone. A chill slips under your ribs. “I’ll… be in the guest room.”

You retreat, mouth dry, and the moment you cross the threshold you feel his gaze flick to your back— hot, guilty, fierce — then vanish when you glance over. He bends lower, as if scouring a bowl demands absolute focus.

In the glass‑roofed room you sat on a cushioned bench, watching alien birds flit in the high branches outside. The dream’s afterglow has curdled into restlessness. You replayed every word, every micro‑expression. Caleb, usually so open in his quiet way, was shuttered. Wary. And those wraps— thick enough to hide more than a spark burn.

What was he hiding from you?

Behind you the dishes settled; footsteps approached, then stopped at the doorway. You sensed him standing there, unseen. A soft exhale. Then retreating footfalls— heavier than his usual silent tread. You glimpsed him vanishing down the hall toward his workroom.

Whatever answers lie beneath those bandages, Caleb is intent on burying them, at least for now. And while you stared at the birds, heart knocking in confused worry, you couldn’t shake the memory of hands in a dream forest, warm as dawn, guiding you through shadows that suddenly feel much nearer than sleep.

Taglist : @etsuniiru @kyokoyya @i-messed-up-big-time @firefly1103 @gracekerzzz @mcdepressed290 @sylusgirlie7 @plzdonutpercieveme @m00nchildwrites @honeycrispangels @trishiepo0 @calebsbabyapple @inzayneforaj @wilddreamer98 @lostpsycho13

#love and deepspace fic #love and deepspace #lads smut #love and deepspace smut #fanfiction #lads caleb #caleb x reader #lads xavier #xavier love and deepspace #caleb x you #caleb x fem reader #caleb lads #love and deepspace caleb #caleb love and deepspace #caleb smut #caleb #lnds caleb #caleb xia

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niqhtlord01 · 10 months ago

Text

Humans are weird: Human cameramen are crazy

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

The greatest decision Intergalactic Wave 6 ever made was hiring Reggie Bradford.

At the time of Finch’s hiring IW6 was a relatively small news organization based in the outer worlds. Barely reaching four systems on a good day compared to the top contenders like Celestial Times which was broadcasted in inner core systems and pulled in an average of twenty to thirty systems each broadcast. The anchors for IW6 were locals, a Temrelien that needed a third grade translator unit just to be barely understood and a Myporie which couldn’t see the color green.

As the underdog’s underdog, IW6 more often fed off larger stories reported by other stations or small local stories relevant to a handful of worlds. Nothing interesting happened in their corner of the universe so as long as they broke even they were fine to never reach further than the length of their arm.

Reggie Bradford was a hired on as a cameraman to work for one of the planetary studios on Orbin VIII. You’d find him either working in the back making sure the camera bots were functioning or, more often, when they weren’t he’d be manning the forty pound cameras himself. The studio crews were always amazed how this seemingly out of shape man could heft the heavy outdated camera unit like it was as light as a pen.

They wondered what a lone human was doing so far out in the boonies as he would say, but he would always shrug and say that he felt like this is where he belonged; a notion IW6 would be most grateful for in the coming days.

When the Intherax/Coalition war broke out it was the biggest news story to hit the plasma streams since the death of Empress Karen III when she was eaten by her own corganai.

The Intherax were a militaristic society, trained from birth to kill before anything else, and spanned some fifty star systems not including client kingdoms and vassals. General galactic dealings with them often boiled down to standing aside from whatever they wanted and hoping it wasn’t you or your world, lest the invasion armadas would descend and obliterate what little civilization your people had been able to achieve and then be sold into slavery.

This time however when the Intherax made a proclamation to annex the colony worlds of Jense, Shatu’a, and New Hamburg the current occupants politely told them to bugger off and formed a Coalition for mutual defense. From there dozens of governing powers flocked to the coalition and added their strength to it in what they saw as the best chance of finally checking Intherax aggression once and for all.

Ever one for a challenge, the Interax declared war on this new found coalition and opened the conflict by orbital bombarding Jense until it was little more than a cold husk of rock trapped in the decaying orbit of its system’s sun.

What followed was best described as two sides of no holds bar warfare as the Coalition retaliated with the first ever invasion of Intherax territory against the world called Kai’de.

Naturally every news organization wanted to be seen covering the war, including IW6. Sadly they did not have anyone either brave enough to send so they settled on sending someone they believed was stupid enough and sent Reggie.

They expected to get some b-roll of soldiers marching or shots of fleet warships in formation. They never expected nor asked him to go into active combat. So when the first feed came back during their late night broadcast they were surprised to see that Reggie was onboard an assault ship breaking through atmosphere.

“Reggie,” the Temrelien spoke with every other word shifting tone from the broken translator, “where are you?”

“I’m currently with brave members of the 27th Dragoons as they head to take the fight to the surface of Kai’de.”

Reggie waved a hand at the soldiers who in turn gave a rousing cheer and slammed their feet against the metal decking.

“Orders came in late last night for a massed landing to take the enemy by surprise. From what I understand the Intherax military had not expected coalition forces to invade their territory and have not had time to establish proper defenses.”

Both news anchors looked at each other in confusion.

“If that’s the case isn’t this broadcast putting the entire attack at risk?”

To their surprise Reggie laughed as the camera shook.

“The plan was to get them by surprise, but judging from the amount of anti-air fire,” he said as the assault ship rocked back and forth, “I don’t think they were fooled.”

The camera panned right suddenly as one of the armored dragoons grabbed it and spoke directly into it.

“We want them to know we’re coming! Because we’re going to kill them all!! AHAHAHAH!!”

Another chorus of cheers and whoops came from the soldiers as the soldier let go of the camera and Reggie readjusted it. The anchors wanted to continue their questions when the leader of the dragoons shouted out and interrupted them.

“60 seconds!”

With the order given the soldiers stopped their foolery and began hefting their weapons. Reggie panned the camera over them as they slapped in fresh clips or attached power cables from their backpack generators to their more heavy weaponry.

In awestruck silence the anchors and their viewers watched as the assault shuttle slammed hard into the surface and the boarding ramp flew open.

“GO GO GO GO!!!!” the dragoon leader shouted as the soldiers poured out screaming their battle cries. Reggie waited and filmed them as they disembarked but did not join the first out the ramp. A inclination that saved him as enemy gun fire began raking the ramp striking several soldiers down in clouds of viscera and gore.

The censors barely had time to cut the feed while the horrified anchors composed themselves to resume the broadcast.

In the hours that followed IW6 confirmed that Reggie had survived the battle and had been with the unit of dragoons for the entire duration. During those hours he had recorded the entire engagement from ramp down, to storming city streets as the Intherax deployed building sized walkers, to the hoisting of the coalition flag over the central governing building at the heart of the city.

With this footage viewership numbers for IW6 skyrocketed overnight as none of the other networks had been able to capture such stunning footage. In fact, by the intake of broadcasts none of them had been able to attach an anchor or cameramen to the initial assault save for Reggie. When asked how he had been able to get approved for such a deployment he did not say which only further added to the mystery. Yet for the moment IW6 was far from ready to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Reggie’s footage was shown over and over on IW6 and was soon sublicensed to other networks and shown there. Exploits of the dragoons became known galaxy wide as Reggie followed them through battle after battle; never afraid to risk his life to capture the perfect moment.

When the Intherax fleet arrived in orbit and began to bombard the planet while also fighting the coalition fleet Reggie had forgone sheltering in nearby bunker complexes to film the orbital strikes as they hurtled down all around them.

Thick columns of pure energy shattered buildings and mountains alike as the ground quaked and there stood a lone Reggie filming it all. Even when the anchors begged him to find shelter he simply panned the camera over the city to show entire skyscrapers be reduced to molten mounds the oozed and sludged through the city streets.

By the time the battle had finally ended thanks to Reggie’s footage IW6 climbed the viewership charts to be the third most watched network galaxy wide. Much to the dismay of IW6 it also drew the attention of Reggie the cameraman to the other outlets who began showering him with ever more lavish offers for employment.

Too their surprise he denied them all and said that he was right where he belonged.

#humans are weird #humans are insane #humans are space oddities #humans are space orcs #scifi #story #writing #original writing #niqhtlord01 #cameraman #news broadcast #space news

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moonsglare · 1 year ago

Note

i think you can tell im a yukong/ himeko/ natasha person by now gjfhlhgfklgslkj im out of ideas today but i would love to see your takes on your first time with them? id imagine they would be sooooo gentle and patient, and i feel like natasha would know all the ways to pleasure you considering shes a doctor and she would touch you in all the right places hehehe ~🍪anon <3

first time || hsr x reader [NSFT][MDNI]

cw. fingering, cunnilingus, first time with a strap-on specifically for yukong, entirely self-indulgent amounts of praise

notes. so............................ guess it's been a while huh

himeko

cw. cunnilingus

“If at any point it gets too much…”

You breathe out slowly, tangling your fingers in Himeko’s runy red hair. The tresses are soft against your skin, and you can glide your hand through it like silk. She so soft, but warms you like a hearthfire. “I’ll tell you, ‘meko. Promise.”

“Good,” she says, and leans down to capture your lips in a kiss. Her lips are as tender as the rest of her, and she tastes like sweet chapstick. Against the backdrop of the cabin lights, she looks like a goddess, a bright light in the vast cosmos stretching outside the cabin window. Her touch both sends you into orbit and draws you gently back to the ground—as if she is your gravity.

“I’ll go slow,” she whispers against your lips, and you nod mutely, only managing a soft mewl as she starts to kiss her way down your neck, her hands resting on your hips. She maps your skin with each kiss, pressing marks that she’ll later trace like constellations of affection. You gasp softly as her mouth finds your chest, and she uses her lips and tongue to lave all your sensitive spots with attention until you’re arching into her.

Himeko smiles, continuing to navigate her way down the plane of your body, drawing a path with her kisses until she settles between your legs. Her hands massage the jut of your hip bones as she shifts so that your legs are thrown over her broad shoulders. You shiver as her breath ghosts over your cunt, already embarassingly slick from her previous touches.

“I’m going to use my mouth on you, okay?” she murmurs, golden eyes flicking up to look at your from between your legs, and your heart nearly leaps into your throat at the sight, the coil in your stomach winding almost painfully tight.

“Okay,” you nod, voice a little small, and Himeko offers you a reassuring smile followed by a kiss to your inner thigh.

“Just relax,” she breathes, and then presses her mouth to your dripping cunt, drawing pleased, strangled noises from both of you. You, at the sensation of her tongue on your pussy, and her at the taste of you filling her senses. She has to hold back the urge to bury her face deeper into your wetness and just devour you—instead, she forces herself to take it slow as she had promised, and languidly laps up and down, from your hole to your stiff clit.

You mewl as her tongue prods the bundle of nerves, and the sound makes Himeko near-dizzy with need. She works you patiently with her mouth, though it doesn’t take much before you’re squirming in her hold, your body beginning to buzz with sensations, a knot winding tight in your lower belly.

Her tongue dips into you, two fingers assisting in spreading your lower lips for her. The wet muscle feels… odd, as it probes inside you, but certainly not unpleasant. Himeko drinks your wetness greedily, nearly voracious for you. The realisation only adds to your budding orgasm; to know you have her so needy, so desperate for you just by your taste—it’s certainly an ego boost of cosmic proportions.

Your hand tangles in her waves of fiery red, and Himeko smiles against your cunt. “Are you close, sweetheart? Just let it happen, let go. I’ve got you.”

Her lips move up from your twitching hole to your puffy clit, sealing around it. Then she sucks, a delicate pressure that nonetheless has stars exploding behind your eyelids as your eyes roll back into your head, your lips parting in a breathless cry of her name. Himeko moans into you as your cum wets her lips and chin more than it already is, and she laps up each drop eagerly.

Your hand in her hair flops down onto the bed as the wave of pleasure begins to ebb, and Himeko smiles as she pushes up, lacing your hand with hers. Her free hand brushes some hair out of your eyes, and she presses a soft kiss to your cheek.

“Good?” she asks softly, her eyes searching yours for any hint of discomfort. You only manage a tired nod, your entire body feeling floaty—in a good way. She chuckles lightly as how fucked out you look already, then lies beside you on the sheets. Her strong arms wrap around you and pull you close, your head resting over the softness of her chest.

“Rest now. You did so well, my dear.”

natasha

cw. fingering, kinda voyeurism

You’ve found that it’s a special kind of embarassing to be walked-in on while trying to get yourself off. That momentary beat of awkward staring between you and the person who walked in, that knowing look yet the refusal to acknowledge it for both your sakes—it’s terrible, and you’ve never wanted to crawl out of your skin more.

Thankfully, Natasha—angelic as she is—took it remarkably in stride, settling down at the edge of the bed, a patient expression on her face. Her hand encircled your wrist, drawing it from the waistband of your sleep shorts, her eyes glinting as she notes the slickness on your fingers.

“Were you close?” she asks gently, and all you can manage was a tiny shake of your head. Natasha smiles, relaxed and easy, and places her hand on your waist. Her touch is cool against your heated skin. “Do you want me to help?”

Your eyes nearly bug out of your head at her offer, a choked noise escaping you. “T-That’s— you don’t have to, Nat—“

Natasha only chuckles, pressing a finger to your lips to hush you. “I know, but I want to. May I?”

“I’ve never… you know,” you say, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “I don’t know if I’ll…”

“Don’t worry,” she assures you. “I’ll take good care of you—and we can stop whenever you feel like it.”

And so, that is how she has you where you are now: squirming under her touch, one hand held tightly in hers while the other grips her other wrist, where two of her long, dextrous fingers sink all the way to the third knuckle inside you. The feeling of fullness between your hips is foreign but not unpleasant, the pads of Natasha’s fingers rubbing the softness of your cunt. She toys with a spot within you that has you seeing stars, your thighs almost snapping shut around her arm.

“T-Tasha—“ you cry out as her thumb finds your stiff clit, and she soothes you with a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth. She draws delicate circles around the little bundle of nerves as her fingers continue to coax more pleasure from you, curling in a come hither motion to brush against your g-spot just right.

“You sound so lovely, my dear,” she hums, the hand holding yours bring it to her lips to kiss your knuckles. “So perfect.”

“Tasha, ‘m gonna—“ you whimper, eyes squeezing shut, and she speeds up her fingers ever so slightly.

“Come for me, sweetheart,” she coos, leaning down to press her forehead against yours. “Relax, and come for me.”

With one last expert curl of her fingers, Natasha sends you far over the edge, the strongest orgasm of your life winding up your spine and bursting like fireworks behind your eyes. You can distantly feel and hear her work you through the high, and you shiver as she withdraws her fingers. They glisten with your slick, dripping from her digits down to her wrist, and when Natasha’s tongue darts out to lick at the droplets you nearly whine.

“Tasha…”

She smiles at you, and it’s like the sun emerging behind grey clouds. She indulges you as you make grabby hands towards her, shifting on the bed so you can wrap your arms around her. “Yes, dearest?”

“Thank you,” you mumble against her shoulder, and she laughs softly, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“Anything for you, sweetheart.”

yukong

cw. strap-ons

“H-Hurry up, already…”

Your whine is almost petulant as it leaves your lips. You wriggle your hips—or do your best to, what with Yukong’s firm grip on your waist—trying to push back on her silicone cock. Yukong grunts at that, her hold on you tightening ever so slightly.

“Patience, sweet thing,” she rumbles, low and soothing. “There’s no rush.”

Any smart-mouthed retort dies in your throat as Yukong pushes another inch into you, your head dropping down against the soft sheets. She’s filling you up in a way so different but just as good as her fingers—you can feel the artifical veins on her cock press against your inner walls, and the thickness of it creates a delicious pressure that has more of your wetness slicking the remaining length not buried in you already.

“Good girl,” Yukong breathes, leaning down to nose at your shoulder. “Such a good girl, taking me so well. That’s it, sweet thing, you’re almost there, just relax—“

By the time her hips meet your ass, she’s stuffed you so fully that you’ve already gone brainless. Your pussy squeezes and clenches around the false cock like a vise, tight enough that even drawing back is a challenge for Yukong. But she doesn’t, and lets you adjust to the length inside you first, her fingers traveling beneath you to tap on your clit to get you to relax.

Pleasure and an aching fullness buzzes throughout your body, and it is nothing but pure instinct that eventually drives you to rock back and forth on her cock. Yukong chuckles softly above you, her free hand gently tilting your head to the side. Her pupils blow wide as she notes your already fucked-out expression, and she kisses you with just the slightest hint of teeth as she starts to slowly pump her cock in and out of you.

The movement pushes breathless moans from your lips that Yukong devours greedily. The sound of your wet cunt taking her is the only thing she can hear, her sharp, foxian ears swiveled to focus only on you. She has to consciously pace herself, pulling back to nuzzle against your nape and drawing deep breaths through her mouth. If she breathed in any more through her nose, the scent of your slick would drive her to wildness and she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from pounding you into the bed.

But there’s always time for that in the future. For now, she moves slowly but rhythmically, hips slapping against your ass with each thrust. You babble her name in between whiny moans, your fingers clawing into the sheets.

“You’re doing so well,” she praises breathlessly, eyes flicking back to your cunt to see the way you spread around her cock, and it sends a bolt of need right down to her own cunt. “So good for me, darling, taking me so well. Such a good girl, aren’t you?”

You make a loud, keening noise at that, toes curling, and Yukong knows you’re close. She smiles against your shoulder, forgoing her slow, deep strokes for small, sharp thrusts as she’s buried fully within you. Her finger on your clit doesn’t let up either, and soon enough you’re squirming on her cock, that familiar tightness in your tummy ready to snap.

“Go ahead, darling,” Yukong croons, her teeth ghosting the soft flesh of your nape. “Come.”

And you do, beautifully, your cunt bearing down on her cock with enough force you nearly push her out. A white ring forms at her base, and Yukong swallows thickly as her throat dries at the sight. She manages steady, languid thrusts to work you through the daze of pleasure until you slump boneless into the sheets, utterly satiated. You whimper as she pulls out with a wet, slick sound, and she kisses your shoulder in apology.

“Come here,” she coos, discarding the strap somewhere on the bed and gathering you into her arms. You’re hardly able to move, all the sense having been fucked out of you, and Yukong chuckles at the sight, brushing a few strands of hair out of your eyes. “Good?”

You only answer with a pleased hum, snuggling close into her neck. Yukong smiles fondly as she cards her fingers through your hair, nose pressed to your temple to inhale your scent.

Seems like her strap will be seeing more action now.

#sev.responses #sev.writes #[nsft]#🍪 anon #hsr x reader #himeko x reader #natasha x reader #hsr natasha x reader #yukong x reader #himeko smut #natasha smut #hsr natasha smut #yukong smut

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thethronezone · 5 months ago

Note

What can be better than the HC of Mortarion's spouse being the complete opposite of him in personality and disposition?

Konrad finding a SO who likes pink and has too much sunshine in their veins that it hurts to watch them. They are so out of touch with their common sense that the first thing they thought when seeing Konrad for the first time was that "He had the most beautiful eyes" and my guy just couldn't process the compliment.

The possibilities, dude.

Konrad calls them his "spring flower". His "moonlight". He almost dares not to touch them, afraid of destroying that wonderful inner light of theirs, but Konrad has never been a perfect man. He can't help himself, can't resist the pull they have on him. He's an asteroid caught in the gravity of a star, a meteor burning up in orbit of a planet, a moth drawn to the soft light of a candle.

And how could Konrad ever hope to resist? Because when they look at him, they don't see the Primarch of the 8th legion nor the Dark King of Nostromo or even the Night Haunter. All they see someone beautiful. They liken his pale skin to marble, his black hair to silk and his dark eyes to onyx. They talk about him like they are reciting poetry and while Konrad would usually despise such beautiful words used in reference to him, their honesty, their genuineness, captivates him.

He looks ridiculous next to them. A looming shadow next to soft pastels. Yet Konrad would rather carve out his hearts and replace them with the sense of fulfillment they provide him rather than live without them.

#warhammer 40k #konrad curze #x reader

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honkowo · 21 days ago

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MORE ANGLEPOSTING AT LAST!!!!!! YAY YIPPEE

FINALLY POSTING MY MODIFICATIONS 2 ANGELS + POST-SPACE-AGE ANGLE (excluding 1 but thats cos they need playing w a bit more so ill post them laterrrrrrr)

ok first: angels have had a bit of a change, i was having trouble drawing them in dynamic poses cos their bodyplan was a major fuck 2 work with, ive p much fixed that now by moving the "wing finger", making the legs longer(& technically digitigrade), & repositioning their inner wings 2 sit upright & out of the way of the outer wings rather than have them all stacked on the lower half of the body(turns out its much easier 2 draw a guy when all their limbs arent BLOCKING THE VIEW OF THE BODYYYYY)

now we get onto the FUN STUFF AKA POST-SPACE AGE ANGEL MORPHS:

salt desert angels stay suprisingly similar to their homeworld counterparts, with exclusively pale colour palletes, lithe bodies & hardy disposition; this is intentional as over the centuries, salt desert culture shifted from worshipping the star homeworld orbitted to worshipping themselves(as leaving their home solar system was interpreted by their leader at the time as "rising above the power of the sun & becoming gods themselves" which was taken on by the rest of the population), which pushed them to intentionally modify the race to stay as similar as possible, at the cost of a higher rate of genetic issues in the population. theyve also become a lot more annoying as a side-effect of their newfound arrogance.

tundra, central cliffs, & tropical angels, after gradually being forced to stay near eachother by the rapidly growing & increasingly unpleasant 2 deal with salt desert angels, began intermingling & spreading out to form new colonies & satellites, becoming the MERCHANT & PILGRIM angel variants. merchants would inhabit artificial satellites & ships, developing lighter figures & longer wings + sails to manoeuvre through lower gravity better. pilgrims inhabit the colonies established on planets & moons, & typically have widely varying body types to better suit different levels of gravity. despite being named as 2 distinct variations, merchants & pilgrims do not have much in the way of genetic differences, with the 2 regularly exchanging genetics & individuals from each group often switching places depending on personal preference.

#owo whats this #angel tag!!! wahoo #xenobiology #speculative biology #spec bio #YAYY I THINK IM FINALLY SNEAKING BACK INTO MY ANGEL BULLSHIT PEACE AN LOVE #ive had these pics sitting in my gallery 4 a good bit but wanted 2 finish the last angel variant b4 i posted them #ultimately decided 2 leave them 4 another day cos eghhhhh theyre proving 2 b a bit of a pain but its ok ill get it done eventually #expect a couple more angleposts soon ive got more art stacked up that i wanna post >:)#n e way bye i got shit i need 2 do that i got distracted from by ANGLES #OOGH FUCK I GOTTA REDO CLINK + RIBBONS REFS I FORGOT ABT THAT

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apod · 3 months ago

Photo

2025 April 11

The ISS Meets Venus Image Credit & Copyright: A.J. Smadi

Explanation: Made with a telescope shaded from bright sunlight by an umbrella, on April 5 a well-planned video captured a crescent Venus shining in clear daytime skies from Shoreline, Washington, USA at 11:57AM Pacific Time. It also caught the International Space Station in this single video frame. In close conjunction with the bright planet, the faint outline of the orbital outpost seen at a range of about 400 kilometers appears to be similar in size to the slender planetary crescent. Of course the ISS is much smaller than Venus. Now appearing as planet Earth's brilliant morning star and climbing above the eastern horizon in predawn skies, inner planet Venus was nearly 45 million kilometers from Shoreline.

∞ Source: apod.nasa.gov/apod/ap250411.html

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pinkcottoncandyss · 2 months ago

Text

FINALLY TALKING ABOUT MY AU!! Anyway! I'm going to make 2 posts to explain this story! This post will explain about before the apple incident:) I hope you guys like this story!

Notes

This AU was made with the intention of merging the story of the original Undertale with Dreamtale, so many characters that were previously not relevant in Dreamtale are here!

Dream and Nightmare's designs were changed because it simply didn't make sense to have two Sanses in the AU (no hate on Joku)

I'm going to use a LOT of drawings already made (I'm lazy)

Anyway, going to the story:)

In the beginning of everything... On a small, lonely planet orbiting a small, lonely star.. Nim resided sadly. She didn't know if she had always existed or if she had been created at some point, but god, she was alone. She had no company, she wondered every day if it had been a horrible joke by the universe, if she was born for the entertainment of someone bigger. After so many millennia, she began to cry, from her tears, great oceans were created. She was so alone, without company, without anyone... she would go crazy there. But one day, she noticed that inside the water there were little bases of vegetation there. She was delighted to discover that it had come from her! She could create life!

Suddenly, overnight she was no longer alone. She created great forests and beautiful animals that loved her, but she was thinking of something bigger. This is how the first monsters were created, one of the first children of the goddess who were created in her image. The monsters were made entirely of magic, looking even more like their mother. Nim, despite this, wanted more, but with each life she created, she used her own vitality to do so, which is why humans were born so weak. The goddess was already weak when she created humans, unlike monsters, they were weak, fragile, did not live long! This created great fear between both species.

Humans lived away from monsters and their own mother, they were afraid of monsters, and soon this fear turned into hatred and anger. It wasn't long before war broke out, thousands of lives were taken and Nim couldn't directly interfere due to her health. She decided to make a drastic decision, she sacrificed the rest of her life to create Alora and Aller (Dream and Nightmare).

The poor children were meant to lead monsters and humans when they came of age. They were neither monsters nor humans, they were the very materialization of Nim's feelings! Powerful elementals who should together make decisions that would be completely impartial and fair.

Nim immediately turned into a tree as soon as this happened, giving the responsibility of the twins into the hands of Toriel and Asgore, both parents who had lost their son in the war. They saw Alora and Aller as a chance to redeem themselves with Asriel

(No, I haven't designed Asgore yet, just Toriel for now)

Anyway, the twins grew up happily without knowing the responsibility they carried at the time, the kingdom of monsters was built around the tree that Nim became. That tree bore two fruits; golden apples and black apples. The golden apples fulfilled a consumer's desire, but at a price (Think of Gimmi from Miraculous, but with the exception that the consequence would not only apply to the world, but you would be directly affected by it, for example; You have a terminal illness and eat the apple wanting to cure your illness, a new illness will be put in its place :D) and the black apples revealed your inner self, were widely used in criminal trials.

ANYWAY!!! The humans did not accept defeat and, driven by greed, planned an invasion of the monster kingdom, where they would kill everyone and conquer the tree for themselves, At first the plan worked, they killed Toriel, Asgore and almost everyone in the castle, However, they didn't count on Alora convincing Aller to both eat the apples to stop them

When Alora ate the apple, their greatest wish was to escape from that place, and so they was turned into stone, but Aller wished in his heart to have strength, strength to stop them and so it happened, exchanging his own sanity for power. He defeated them all and cut down the tree his mother had become.

Aller had hatred in his heart, he saw everyone he loved die in front of him while his cowardly twin turned to stone, leaving him alone in despair. He made a decision that day, he would make humanity pay for their sins

For the next 500 years, Aller pretended to be a god, telling half-truths to the leaders of the human kingdoms and causing war after war so that they would destroy themselves. He COULD have ended humanity if he wanted, but that wasn't enough to calm his hatred, he wanted to torture them and make everyone feel what he felt. If Alora had woken up a little later, humanity would have been completely extinct and Aller would have succeeded in his plan

Here is a design that I made for him a time ago:) He's copying Toriel's pose, cute

Some curiosities and my inspirations, why not?

I was inspired for Aller's design by the following characters; king of nowhere (centaur world), mystic flour (cookie run kingdom), a sheep (he's a "wolf in sheep's clothing") and Selene, goddess of the moon

Alora was inspired by Grillby, Pure vanilla (cookie run kingdom too, but it's most notable in his design after Aller is defeated, I'll show it soon), and in his own newborn form from the original AU

Daydreamtale is heavily inspired by Steven Universe, you can see certain similarities in the story

I apologize so much for any grammatical errors, I'm using the translator to write this lmao

I hope you guys like it⊂⁠(⁠(⁠・⁠▽⁠・⁠)⁠)⁠⊃ Then I want to make some posts just to explain about Aller and Alora's personality! Any questions please ask, I love interacting with you all

#drawing #art #undertale au #undertale #sans #sans au #toriel #nightmare sans #dream sans #dreamtale

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sweet-cha · 3 months ago

Text

Another Blue sky repost!!

Have this theory/headcanon that jack gives people nightmares by sleeping. Basically he can detach his subconscious and dream hop the person he wants to target in order to not cause any suspicion if MC ever wakes up in the middle of the night or if they a night owl.

However this ability has it draw backs if jack is unsuccessful he will pay the price he'd most likely wouldn't sleep well so he'd sleep in a lot longer. Lowkey headcanon he's a little cranky when he doesn't get his sleep but he won't take it out on MC of course he'll just be more quiet that morning

Honestly this idea sorta came from how in game after the intimacy scene the MC wakes before jack while he still seem to be tired/sleepy. Just always thought it was interesting to point out even though it probably doesn't mean anything and I'm just over analysis 💀.

#swwsdj #sdj #sunny day jack #sdj ian #Star's inner orbits #sorry about the slow writing schedule kinda have low energy/motivation a the moment #had to repost this since it was oddly not showing up in the tags which is werid

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lets-try-some-writing · 8 months ago

Note

I wonder what was Mars reaction to humans sending him rovers the first time. i imagine Earth probably warned him in advance that humans planned on sending him something (Sojourner was the first sent if i believe correctly) and he knowing what humans are like prepared for the worst definitely

Mars: I really hope this thing won't infect me with anything..

Sojourner: *beeps*

Mars:

Sojourner:*starts collecting rocks*

Mars:

Moon: Earth asks if you're al- *senses Mars em field*Are you crying??

Mars: *deep in fatherhood*No *he is*

This is adorable and it deserves a mini fic. Enjoy.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━

Mars always told himself he didn’t mind the solitude. He was near his brother and close enough to Mortus—or rather Pluto—to feel content with himself. Sometimes Halley came to visit, which was always a pleasant surprise. It was not often someone immune to the rust corroding him happened to be both nearby and actually interested in communication. Earth was certainly nice enough, and Mars eagerly awaited her every message when she saw fit to reach out to him or use Moon as a proxy.

Moon. Mars. Pluto. He would never fully adjust to the new names given to them by his brother’s beloved Terra. Personally, he preferred his Cybertronian name, but he would never dare say as such aloud. Mortus didn’t care, and Fengari, his elder brother, would be prone to lash out if Mars ever voiced his objection to his new name. Not only that, but he wasn’t keen on making Terra upset.

How many vorns had he been in orbit around the Unmaker and the life giving Titan who shielded him? It was hard to keep track without any citizens on his surface to constantly chatter to and about him.

Right. Citizens.

Being in his alternate mode, Mars was incapable of sighing as he wanted to. But as he took control over one of his drones and piloted it to the surface, he let the drone pause and linger on the view. Why had he lived while his wards died? It was not fair. He should have carried them until the very end, bringing them to salvation and away from the fires of Cybertron.

If only there hadn’t been plague. Maybe then he could at least have the chance to take on new citizens and ease the ache in his spark.

No, no. He couldn’t think like that. Contemplating such things almost always led to dark thoughts. It was not allowed. He had to stay calm and composed for Fengari. His poor brother was blind for Prima’s sake. Fengari lost his optics, his citizens, and his ability to take to the stars if he so desired in order to stay with Earth. Fengari suffered more. It was not Mars’s place to weep when he at least had remnants of his people upon his frame in the form of paintwork.

He still had them with him, in his spark and through the echoes they left upon his surface. Sweet Solus, many of their inner habitations were still untouched. He’d ensured it remained that way.

He still had relics. He had echos. He was fine. He had no reason to cry.

Right?

“Primus, our maker... we are so far from you. Can you hear us? Do our sparks still resonate with yours?” He spoke through his drone, letting his voice ring out with only a slight bit of static due to the corrosion of his vessel. He sighed as he received no answer, not that he really expected one. He stared though his drone in silence for a while, the quiet of the void all but deafening.

If he listened closely with his real body, he could hear the faint song of stars, the thrum of their very being radiating nearby. Earth’s Star had quite the pleasant melody. Enough for him to fall into recharge.

But he couldn’t allow that. If he slumbered, he may not wake. Instead, he endured the silence, the isolation. Perhaps Mortus would be kind enough to come and pay him a visit during one of his patrols.

‘Mars? I have news.’

He stalled for a moment as waves of emotion crashed against him. Mars had to pause to translate the EM field communication he found himself assaulted with. Young Terra was not the most educated in matters of gentle or polite correspondence, but she could most certainly be heard.

‘Earth, it is a pleasure to hear from you. What news do you have for me?’

He tried to keep his communication controlled and neutral. But as he sent back a response, he sensed something coming near to him. It had been heading in his direction for a while, but for the longest time he’d simply assumed it to be space debris. Looking more closely, it appeared to be some kind of device.

‘My children have created a drone of sorts. They are sending it to your surface to analyze you. Do not fear; the drone appears to be insignificant and designed purely for observation. I simply wished to warn you.’

Mars almost stiffened, but he forced himself to relax so that his surface would not shift as the thing drew closer. Without a second thought, he moved his drone as far from the potential landing site as he could get without losing track of this incoming drone that was apparently headed his way. He forgot to send a reply for a long while as he watched the thing draw ever nearer.

Earth’s humans were such deadly and destructive beings when they were left unchecked. Mars had witnessed the horrors himself when he watched them drop bombs all over poor Terra’s surface. Even now, the wounds still brought her pain from time to time.

What would happen if her humans found him to be of use for some grand scheme? Would they harm him too? Mars was a Titan; he could survive if he had to. But he would rather not expose himself and, consequently, his kin to Earth’s destructive little scraplet farm. Why she loved them so dearly was beyond him.

‘Thank you for the warning.’

He eventually sent back curtly as he watched the drone finally land on his surface. It felt so very strange to have a new entity roaming his frame. Halley rarely landed, and when she did, her very frame eliminated warmth like a young star barely contained within living metal. This thing was cold, but not necessarily in a wicked sense. It seemed... almost like a protoform, yet lacking a spark. The emotions were familiar, the feeling of potential almost overwhelming.

Mars stared through his drone, his very spark flaring in its chamber as ancient desire rose within him. The drone was tiny, barely the size of the smallest newsparks that he had nurtured before the fires of Cybertron. And yet, as he looked upon the small wheeled entity roaming and prodding at rocks and pebbles like they were the most interesting thing on this side of the galaxy, Mars, or rather, Bellum’s spark, swelled with love.

The ache that had long burned within his core seared as he gazed upon the youth of the small thing roaming his surface. So small. So pure. So full of potential.

Ancient coding sang within him, and before Bellum knew it, his drone moved just a bit closer, although still out of view. This one did not appear to be affected by the rust of his surface. It roamed freely, without a care in the world. Such innocence… Bellum needed to guard it.

Had Earth’s humans sent him this little gift out of kindness? No. They couldn’t have. They did not know he lived. And yet, he couldn’t help the way every part of his processors screamed at him to accept the offering. Such things were done for the sake of an alliance between Titans back on Cybertron. Old habits died hard, and Bellum could hardly contain himself as he fought the urge to have his drone snatch the Earth-born drone and drag it toward his core so he could connect to it intimately.

He couldn’t expose himself. Not yet. But Bellum was a patient being. Let the humans explore through their gift. His scans indicated that the poor drone wouldn’t last more than a few years without maintenance. He would wait until the humans abandoned it, and then, when all was done, he would finally have a chance to serve his purpose once more.

“Sweet little roamer, do not fear. You may not understand now, but soon, when your creators have let you fly away from them, I will take you under my wing.” He all but purred, keeping his vocalizations below the range of the drone as he observed it.

“You will not know fear. You will suffer no illness. I will give you a spark, and when the time is right, I will make you into something more.” His spark flared in affection as the tiny Earth-born gathered rocks, observing and producing soft sounds of affirmation as it went. What a lovely voice it would have once Bellum granted it a spark.

He could hardly wait.

‘Mars, are you in distress?’

Fengari, Moon, whatever designation he went by, sent a message that snapped Mars back to attention. Only after he refocused did he realize he’d been sending out waves upon waves of countless emotions in short, and likely unsetting bursts. His brother’s concerns made sense now.

‘I am perfectly fine, brother. In fact, I feel better than I have in millennia.’

Confusion met Mars’s response. He didn’t pay it much mind as he continued to observe the drone upon his surface. It was just so small.

‘Let Terra know that so long as more of these drones are sent to me, she shall have my full allegiance.’

Shock met him this time, but Mars merely hummed. He had something to hope for now, and he had no intention of missing a single moment of his new firstborn’s life. He would have to get his visual images printed at some point for the little one to see once they developed mentally.

“Explore to your spark’s content, sweet roamer. I shall wait for you.” Mars felt his frame ease and a faint song escape his true vocalizer as he watched the small drone pick up a rock and stare at it.

Soon. Soon he would be a Sire again.

#transformers #maccadam #alternate universe #transformers oc #unicron and earth au #u&e mars #u&e sojourner #transformers fanfic #u&e moon #u&e earth #cute family feels

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