#{ stag is typing... }

[hotwife-heat]

[stagtorccio]

SECOND NATURE

natalie scatorccio x gn!reader

request: x warnings: thigh riding, fingering (nat receiving), this one is actually fluff though so not many warnings. warning for misty quiggles?? i guess word count: 2638 author's note: happy pride month here's something happier than my usual bullmalarkey

[AO3]

[MDNI, 18+]

𓃢𓃦𐂂 ── .✦

The woods feel different in the summer. 

Less like a threat and more like something alive, watching, breathing with you. Gone are the brittle branches and endless white– now everything is green, damp, buzzing with bugs and humid air. Survival hasn’t gotten easier. Just stranger.

Natalie’s taken to disappearing more often since the fire. She says she needs space. Says the forest helps her think. 

But you know better. 

She doesn’t like being looked at too long now. Not by the others, not by herself. So when she wordlessly jerked her chin toward the trees earlier this morning, you followed without hesitation.

You’ve been walking for a while, letting the conversation wander– music, summer festivals you never got to go to, the way the air back home used to smell after it rained, asphalt and dew. 

It’s light, easy. Natalie is barefoot, boots abandoned nearby after a quick dip in a stream. Twigs and dirt cling to her ankles, hair frizzed out in the humidity. There’s something feral about her right now, yet equally magnetic.

“Y’know what I miss? Fucking slurpees,” she says suddenly, grinning. “The blue raspberry ones. Nothing out here tastes like chemicals. It’s kinda depressing.”

You laugh, not because it’s funny, but because she makes it so.

“I’d kill for a bag of chips. The kind that burn your mouth but you keep eating them anyway.”

“Oooh, salt and vinegar,” she says, mock-serious. “A classic.”

The smile she gives you then is softer than it should be. Her fingers reach out, brushing your arm as she walks past you, sending tingles racing upwards. 

“Honestly,” she murmurs, “this would almost be nice. If we weren’t starving and slowly going insane.” 

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling too. “Oh come on, almost nice? We’ve got sunshine, birdsong, borderline heatstroke…”

She snorts, glancing back over her shoulder with that same crooked grin. “And no plumbing. Fuckin’ paradise.”

You smirk. “Mm-hmm. Practically a beach vacation.”

Natalie stops a few steps ahead, turns with a wiley look. “Yeah?” she says, cocking her head. “Where’s your sunscreen, then? Your little beach read? Your fruity drink with an umbrella?”

You pretend to scan the forest. “Guess I left ‘em back at camp.”

She laughs at that– a real one, quick and sharp– and comes back toward you, slow. 

“Shame,” she says, tugging playfully at the loose hem of your shirt. “Would’ve loved to see you lounging in the sun. Getting all burnt up.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You’d get burnt up way before me, Nat.”

“Oh, definitely,” she says, laughing. The freckles smattering her raw, sunkissed shoulders are proof. “But I’d still be watching.”

There’s a beat. One of those moments that hangs a second too long to be casual. Her hand lingers where it landed, just at your side. Her thumb brushes the fabric of your shirt, absent-minded, like she’s not even thinking about it.

But she is. You both are. All you do is—

“You ever think about it?” you interrupt your own one-track mind, voice dipping quieter now. “What we’d be doing if none of this had happened?”

Her eyes find yours– steady, unreadable for a beat.

“All the time,” she says. “But when I do… it’s never all that different.” A shrug. “I still see you there.”

That shuts you up.

She sees it– of course she sees it, because Natalie Scatorccio doesn’t miss shit. The silence draws her in closer, step by step until her knee nearly brushes between your legs and the heat of her is right there.

“What?” she murmurs, mouth curving invitingly. “Surprised I like having you around?”

You try to play it cool. Wet your lips, shrug a little. “Maybe.”

She snorts– low, amused, almost fond. Like you’ve just said something kind of tragic and kind of cute.

“Jesus,” she breathes, head tilting as her hands slip lower, her fingers finding your belt loops and curling in. “Why do you think I asked you to come with me this morning, huh?”

Her voice softens into a hum, almost teasing. “Chit-chat?”

You open your mouth, probably to say something dumb, but you don’t get the chance. Natalie moves faster than your thoughts. Her hands push you just enough, your back bumping the rough bark of the nearest tree as she closes the space completely.

And then she kisses you.

It starts soft, surprisingly so. Her mouth pressing into yours lazily, a smile tugging at the corners like she’s savoring it. Her hands stay at your waist, gripping lightly, thumbs brushing under the hem of your shirt.

You melt into it– there’s no other fitting word. Your own fingers find her hips, steady yourself there like you need the grounding. She tastes like something sweeter under all the bluster– something almost shy, if you didn’t know her better.

She pulls back just enough to breathe, lips brushing yours as she speaks.

“So… you still think I just wanted company?” she murmurs, her breath warm, smile still tugging at her voice. She slots herself against you like she’s trying to gap any negative space left. Your heart’s thudding against your ribs like it’s trying to get closer to her too.

“…No,” you say, breathless. “Pretty sure I get it now.”

“Good.” She grins. Simple and giddy. “Took you long enough.”

She kisses you again before you can say anything else. This time it’s harder, more certain, with a kind of insistence that catches you off guard with how hungry it is. Her hands slide up under your shirt, callused fingers skating over skin like she wants to memorize the shape of you. 

Your back presses harder into the tree, bark digging into your spine as you slide down, but you barely notice. Not with her mouth moving against yours like this. Not with the way she exhales through her nose every time you meet her pushes with one of your own.

She shifts her weight and drops to straddle your lap, knees pressing into the mossy earth, thighs tight around one of yours. You slide a hand instinctively to the small of her back, the other gripping her hip, steadying her. 

Natalie rolls her hips once, grinding down until you feel the press of her against your thigh, hot through the worn fabric of her pants.

Her breath stutters in her throat. You feel it.

“Fuck,” she mutters, the word half a sigh. Her forehead drops to your shoulder for a second, then she lifts her head again, eyes darker now. You slide your hands up the curve of her waist, slow and steady, thumbs brushing bare skin beneath the hem of her shirt. 

“We don’t have to rush,” you murmur, voice low. “If that’s what you want. We’ve got time.”

That makes her pause– not in her body, but in her breath. Her lips part slightly, like she’s about to argue, or pretend she doesn’t care. But you lean in, let your noses brush, your forehead tip gently to hers.

Then her hands are in your shirt again, fisting the fabric like she needs something to hold onto before she drowns. She kisses you rougher this time, all teeth. But she doesn’t stop. Doesn’t pull away.

She rocks down into you, slowly at first, grinding into your thigh in long, drawn-out motions that make her breaths stumble against your mouth. There’s nothing rushed about it now. Just focused, deliberate friction, the kind that builds slow and warm. You exhale against her skin, lips grazing her jaw as your hand slips under the waistband of her pants, fingers fanning low across her stomach. 

Her breath catches, but she doesn’t falter. If anything, she pushes down harder, chasing the pressure.

“Feels good?” you ask, barely louder than the birdsong above, thumb drawing lazy, reverent circles across her lower belly.

“Mhm,” she hums, the sound barely making it past her throat. There’s a tremble in it, half embarrassment, half need.

“Yeah?” you murmur, the corner of your mouth curling against her neck. “Good. Just want you to make yourself feel good for me, Nat.”

You feel the way her body tenses, hips faltering just a little, overwhelmed by the softness in your voice. “You work so fucking hard,” you go on, slipping your hand deeper, fingertips brushing heat. “Always holding everything together. Lemme take care of you for once.”

She whines at that, really whines, biting down on her bottom lip hard enough to go pink then white, eyes fluttering closed as her hips grind forward with more desperation now, chasing every spark your words strike. Her arms are around your shoulders, pulling herself tighter against you.

You ease your fingers lower, just enough to tease, to let her feel the promise of what’s coming. A shudder racks through her, and her forehead drops to your collarbone. You hear her breathe in sharp, then again– hitched. Her arms squeeze around you like it’s all that’s keeping her from falling apart.

“Please,” she chokes out, voice muffled against your skin. “Please…”

But still you hold back, fingers ghosting lower again only to retreat.

She lifts her head, and her eyes are glossed. Not just with arousal, but something fragile, fraying at the edges. A single tear slips down her cheek, and she doesn’t even try to hide it.

“I need it,” she says, voice breaking. “Need your hand— please. I want it.”

You still her with a kiss, slow and deep, tasting the salt on her lips. Then you press your palm firm, cupping her fully, dragging a moan straight from her throat as her back arches and her grip turns bruising.

“That’s all you had to say,” you murmur.

You slip your hand lower, finally giving her what she’s been grinding toward. Fingers find her soaked and wanting, and when you stroke up, just slow enough to drag it out before circling the top, her whole body jerks.

She groans, forehead dropping to your shoulder like she can’t hold herself up anymore. Her grip on your back tightens, knuckles white where they clutch at your shirt. Still, she doesn’t stop moving. Her hips roll faster now, chasing friction. 

“Oh, fuck,” she gasps, sharp and breathless, like the wind got knocked out of her.

“You’re doing so good,” you murmur, pressing your lips to the corner of her mouth. “So pretty like this.”

She buries her face in your neck, breath hot and uneven. Every muscle in her body’s tight with effort, trembling as she rides the tension higher, closer. You match the rhythm of her hips, stroking with gentle precision, coaxing her with each pass.

“Just like that, baby,” you murmur, and you feel the way her body clenches at the praise. She whimpers– soft and broken– and you’re not sure if it’s the nickname or the pressure or everything at once, but it nearly undoes her.

Her hips stutter, motion becoming messier, more frantic as her fingers twist in your shirt, desperate to hold on.

“Close?” you murmur, voice steady, coaxing, even as your own heart slams against your ribs.

She chokes out a sound– half a gasp, half a sob– and her hand fumbles up to the back of your neck, gripping tight like she needs to anchor herself somewhere. Her nails dig in, sharp enough to sting, and it only spurs you to keep going. Her body’s coiling tight, every muscle drawn taut like a bowstring.

“Yeah– fuck,” she breathes, voice cracking as her hips falter. “I’m– shit, I’m gonna–”

“You can.” You kiss just below her ear, your fingers circling with just the right pressure now, steady and sure. “It’s okay. I got you.”

She shudders once, violently, then again– jaw clenched, breath caught. And then she breaks, right in your lap. Her whole body jolts with it, hips rolling through the high, breath leaving her in a series of short, sharp exhales, forehead pressing hard to your shoulder. 

You feel her legs tremble on either side of yours, her grip on your neck slackening as the tension bleeds out of her all at once. You keep her close, hand softening its motion until you’re just holding her, cupping her through the aftershocks, stroking gently as her body settles.

“Jesus,” she mumbles, and it’s not even to you, not entirely. It’s like she’s just trying to remember how to speak again.

You press a kiss to her hairline. “You’re alright. You’re okay.”

She nods– barely a movement– but doesn’t lift her head. Her arms are still looped loosely around your shoulders, and her weight is slumped into you like she doesn’t have the energy– or maybe the will– to pull away.

You shift a little, just enough to sit more comfortably against the tree. Natalie doesn't protest when your hand settles on the small of her back again, fingers splayed out. She stays there, chest against yours, breathing still a little uneven. Her lashes brush your neck.

You think maybe she’s falling asleep like that, but then you feel the slow drag of her thumb over the curve of your shoulder, lazy, bashful.

“Thanks,” she murmurs, so low you almost miss it.

You tilt your head, lips twitching. “For what, exactly?”

She gives a snort of laughter. “Oh, fuck off. You know.”

You don’t say anything at first. Just tighten your arms around her a bit more and smile into her hair.

“You’re welcome,” you finally say. “You needed it.”

After a moment, she pulls back just enough to glance at you, cheeks pink but not from the summer heat this time. She looks down between you, then back up through her lashes. “I could, um… I mean if you want, I could maybe—” 

She clears her throat, suddenly self-conscious in a way you rarely see from her. “Only if you want.”

You’re about to answer— honestly, maybe kiss her again just for how fucking cute that was— when a voice cuts through the trees, shrill and oblivious:

“Natalie? Natalie! Hello? You guys have been gone all morning and Shauna and Mari are fighting over shit bucket duty again and I really need help cleaning the animal pelts–”

It’s Misty, of course. Her bright yellow coat bobs between branches like a frantic canary.

Natalie groans and drops her forehead to your shoulder with a muffled, “Fucking Quigley.”

You laugh, rubbing soothing circles between her shoulder blades. “Guess that’s our cue.”

She doesn’t move. “Do we have to?”

“Unfortunately,” you say, kissing the top of her head. “C’mon, Your Highness. Duty calls.”

She sighs dramatically, then shifts off your lap, fixing her hair with a quick brush of her fingers. Before she stands, she leans in and pecks your cheek, fast but warm. 

“Later,” she says, like a promise, before she’s shuffling aside to grab her boots and shuck them back on– and fix her jeans where the waistband has been stretched to sit low on her hips. 

Misty emerges not a moment later, announcing herself with an: “aha, there you are!”

Natalie rolls her eyes so hard you think she might dislocate something, muttering a pointed “mhm”, but you catch the little smile still gracing her lips from earlier.

“What were you guys even doing for so long?” Misty prattles on as you both stand to follow her back to camp, “Re-setting the snares? Did you catch anything? Oh! I actually heard that leaving trails of food is better than just putting it right in the middle of the trap–”

You’re both a little too fucked, so you just nod along and chime in when appropriate. 

You do, anyways. Instead of paying attention, Natalie gives you a sidelong smirk as her fingers graze yours once, twice, then stay, laced, thumb circling a knuckle slowly. 

Butterflies swarm your stomach as you flush all the way to your ears.

You’re going to be hard-pressed for sleep tonight.

[nicegirl222]

[beetleplex]

Giant Stag Beetle

[deer-a-day]

023

trying to vary lineart width

[begun-to-blur]

hahah nice hannibal reference, local park !

[that-stag-aemilianus]

I wish there was a ghost-type eeveelution

[light-wrath-paradise]

It just keeps happening

[whatudottu]

Presently going insane rn:

Anyway let me talk about the one question that I have been contemplating ever since I began rotating petrosapiens in my mind. How the fuck do babies?

If you caught the reblog before this post, you might have noticed that a post about fat in aliens brought me to think about petrosapien fat, which contradicts a lot of what I've already established for them being an exoskeletal species, let alone being a hard sell in the sci-fantasy of rock crystal people of canon. Turning to one of my two animal inspirations of petrosapiens - bugs and more specifically in this case insects - I found out that insects can't build up fat, not in the way mammals or reptiles can, BUT they store the most of it in a very significant stage;

Larvae!

Then it fucking hit me, I already made some early headcanons about child development in petrosapiens (though I can't remember if I posted them or had a post ready to send) where they were already in a metamorphosing stage, though the responsibility fell solely to the layer who would use crystallokinesis to feed an 'egg'. I didn't fully like the idea though mostly in retrospect, because it felt strange in the 'pulled out of my ass' kinda way, a method of child rearing that felt more obligated to use crystallokinesis as a primary source for feeding to sorta justify at the time the inherent power petrosapiens have towards crystallokinesis.

Instead, between then and now I fully connected the idea that crystallokinesis is less of a power and more of an extension of a petrosapien's nervous system, compression of quartz through the use of a more electrical based nerve network that happens to not distinguish between person crystals and the similar crystalline structures of Petropia. With this in mind and the new idea that petrosapiens have larvae, wouldn't it be so cool if the larvae had the typical Earth-like electrochemical nervous system of humans (or I suppose bugs here) that adapts to an electrical focused nervous system through the process of metamorphosis? Where the larvae creates it's petrosapien crystal skin by building a chrysalis and melting within it to create their new body?

Unlike my old headcanon where the layer had to remain with the egg and constantly feeding them with crystallokinesis, this larvae version can feed itself when provided and so long as the chrysalis is well protected, the moment metamorphosis stage takes place the parent(s) can have momentary reprieve from child rearing and better prepare themselves for the toddler/adolescent stage for their child. The little grub probably doesn't even eat crystals in the early stages of their larvaehood since eating crystals initially marks as the materials for chrysalis building before it becomes a nutritional food source. Instead the little grub might be feed plants and potentially animal products in order for it to inherit and develop the chemicals required to build a crystallovorous stomach and the acids used to break silica down into digestible nutrition.

That does mean that early child rearing is a little bit more functionally deadly towards the very crystalline parents, who have to legitimately watch so that their fingers aren't bitten off, but holding the little grub is easy when it's covered in silicone membrane. The larvae at this stage is a little bit more resistant to any crystallovorous plant secretions due to the polymers of it's membrane, as well as the higher diversity of oxygen, hydrogen, and carbon in it's body it has in comparison to adults or adolescents who've undergone metamorphosis, their innards becoming a more uniform silicone and their skin being the crystalline silicon many crystallovorous stomachs have adapted to eat.

It also means that the shape of a grub is also considered to be cute to a petrosapien. Things from caterpillars to maggots look so much more charming to a petrosapien's eyes that back on Petropia there would be a large proportion of pet owners having what would considered on Earth to have bugs for pets. In fact, a rather common form of pet Petrosapiens might have would be a large millipede/centipede like animal that would be the size approximate of a feather boa and often held that way too, because while they do not undergo metamorphosis, they look like a larval grub well into adulthood and are considered to be very cute for it. Pet owners with these pets who are also parents love to see their little larvae and their 'dog' getting along and would love telling their adolescent all the cute stories of the little grubs curled up against each other. Petrosapiens in the age of the Surface Craze might have had the opportunity to get a few baby pictures like that, and it would be considered very cute unless you were a human afraid of bugs or not personally a fan.

Petrosapiens on Earth might see the miniature bugs and explode with cuteness overload, others might fuck around and find out that they can make human-petrosapien hybrids Makarat you chupacabra you're lucky petrosapien kids aren't born with crystals pay child support to your human wife who birthed a grub-!

And that's the post send tweet-

[a-lonely-dunedain]

oh? she doesn't want to date you say? she hasn't shown interest in taking a husband you say? more concerned with hunting than courting? hmm interesting..... I wonder what that could possibly mean....... (aroace Elain is now my official headcanon forever and I will not be taking criticism at this time or ever)

[blueberry-obsessed]

Another tag game let's gooooooo!!! Tagged by @starrwrrld <3

Tagging @marieshyperf1xations @eterniravioli @iamred-iamyellow (no pressure as always!!) and anyone else who wants to join!!

[stagtorccio]

SUMMER LOVIN' natalie scatorccio x martinez!reader (gn) request: i NEED more nat x martinez!r summary: travis skips out on hunting. you're next in the line-up. what could go wrong? warnings: none this one is actually normal word count: 1k author's note: wasn't gonna drink tonight but i miss smiley nat

𓃢𓃦𐂂 ── .✦

The forest’s alive with the thick hum of summer– mosquitoes, cicadas, the low chatter of wind through endless green. 

You keep pace behind Natalie, sweat clinging under your arms and down your spine, shirt plastered to your back, rifle slung carelessly over your shoulder. 

She doesn’t talk much on hunts. Today she’d started with a grunt and a muttered, “your brother’s being a dick again.” You’d nodded, grabbed your pack, and followed her into the trees like it was instinctual.

By now, it kind of is.

It’s been months since the plane crashed. Months since your dad died. Months since this, months since that. You’ve fallen into mind-numbing routine to stave off the ache in your chest you wake with every morning.

Halfway up the slope, she pauses to wipe the sweat from her brow with the hem of her shirt, exposing a flash of stomach and bruised hipbone. You don’t mean to stare, but you do. 

She catches you, like a snare hooks a rabbit. 

“Hey, eyes up here,” she snaps, and you flinch– but then she grins slow and crooked, words melting into a breathless laugh, low and from the chest. 

“Chill out,” Natalie mumbles, smacking your shoulder with the back of her hand. “I’m fucking with you.”

You grin back, shake your head, breath catching in the humid air between your bodies. 

“Right.”

She looks at you a second longer than she should– eyes narrowed like she’s trying to read smudged writing. 

You feel the faint prickle of embarrassment at the back of your neck– but then she turns, muttering something like “come on,” and starts walking again, boots crunching dry pine needles, leaving the smell of her sweat and the bite of her smirk lingering in the air like heat off a match head.

You follow, rifle heavy in your hands now, drumming pulse louder than the cicadas’ song.

You don’t talk, but your footsteps fall in sync. Natalie ducks under a low branch, and you copy her, the movement almost choreographed. She glances back, catches you doing it, and for a moment there’s a glimmer of mischief in her eyes– a childishly amused quirk to her lips.

She stops at a clearing, throws her pack down, and flops into the grass without ceremony. You hesitate at the edge, but she pats the space beside her without looking up. 

“Sit,” she says, eyes on her boots. “We’re not catching shit in this heat anyway.”

You drop beside her, elbows brushing, warmth between you that has nothing to do with summer.

Her fingers pluck absently at the grass. You turn your head to look at her, but she keeps her eyes on the trees now, lashes dark with sweat. You say nothing. Just wait.

After a minute, she flops back onto the grass with a groan, hands over her face like the sun’s personally out to get her– which might be a valid concern, given the burn already blossoming across the bridge of her nose. 

“God, your brother’s a total dick. Like, Olympic-level. Takes home the gold.”

You snort, toss a pinecone at her thigh. “He’s not that bad.”

Natalie peeks through her fingers, grinning. “Please. If I had a dollar for every time he looked at me like I kicked his fucking dog, I could buy us a plane out of here.”

“He’s just awkward,” you argue, lying down beside her. “Has a weird way of showing he cares.”

“Yeah, well, if that’s him caring, I’d hate to see him not give a shit.” 

She turns her head toward you, one brow raised. “Is it like, genetic? The whole broody, emotionally unavailable thing?”

“Rude,” you mutter, grinning. “I’m a goddamn delight.”

Natalie hums, unconvinced. “Mm. Jury’s out.”

You bump her with your elbow. “Y’know, you and Travis might actually have something in common.”

She groans. “Please don’t say hunting.”

“I was gonna say being insufferable assholes, but sure, let’s go with hunting.”

That earns you a shove to the shoulder, light but pointed. “You’re such a little bitch.”

You grin wider. “Takes one to know one.”

Her lips twitch, that familiar smirk creeping in like the sun breaking through clouds. “Wow. Sick burn. You rehearse that one, or–?”

“Shut up,” you laugh.

And then, she’s looking at you again, really looking. The kind of look that makes the air tighten between your ribs. Eyes soft, half-lidded, flicking to your mouth, then back up like she’s asking a question. 

You don’t move. You don’t have to, because she grabs the front of your shirt and tugs you in, easy and unceremonious, and kisses you.

It’s messy– teeth bump, her nose smashes into yours a bit, but it doesn’t matter. Her lips are warm and a little chapped and it feels like something that’s been trying to happen for a long, long time.

She pulls back just barely, breath mixing with yours. “You really think I’m a total dick?” she murmurs, a grin playing at the corner of her mouth. “Kinda hurts.”

You snort. “Only sometimes.”

She kisses you again, firmer this time, like she’s trying to prove something.

“You’ve got a type, huh?” you say, voice low, teasing. “Broody, stunted, kind of an asshole—”

“Shut up,” she laughs, shoving you back onto the grass. “You’re projecting.”

“Maybe—” you grin, leaning up on your elbows— “you’re just a freak, Scatorccio.”

She straddles your thigh without thinking about it– just drops there, lazy and unbothered, her hands bracing against your chest. 

“Okay, Freud,” she says, biting back a smile. “What’s your type, then?”

You look up at her, the sun a halo behind her head, wild tangles of her hair lit gold, green light flickering through the trees like the whole forest is holding its breath for her.

“You,” you say, simple.

She snorts, rolling her eyes. “Terrible choice.”

You shrug. “More of an acquired taste.”

That gets a laugh– real and sharp, breaking open her face in a way that makes you ache. She leans down again, lips brushing your jaw, your cheek, then finally your mouth. Softer now. Sweeter.

For the first time in months, the weight in your chest doesn’t feel so heavy.

[thmadethis]

INKTOBER//LOGOTOBER_03_PATH

•

"Pathfinder Outerwear" - For the ultimate comfort in the wilderness. @inktober

[archer-ko]

069 Bellsprout|127 Pinsir The crime is solved, and the culprit is found. But will he be punished by someone?

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[dj-litness]

If your man would be jealous if you DM me, you should definitely DM me. You know how wet you'll get being a fuckin whore for me?

[txisoftware]

I’ve been cookin up in the lab