hello fellow artists. google has fallen. pinterest/duckduckgo AI filters don't work. do not despair; here is a list i made of places to find reference images without having to sift through piles of worthless garbage. (for future editing convenience i am just linking my blog post on dreamwidth.)
âš good places to find art reference that are not full of AI trash đ
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So as my followers might be aware both my cats Oreo and Nugget had to be hospitalized on Saturday for acute liver toxicity. We aren't sure what caused it as they weren't exposed to any obvious toxins but to be safe we got rid of all their food and replaced it. Nugget is doing better and is now home however Oreo is still hospitalized. I love my babies and would do anything for them but i won't lie and say this wasn't a major financial hit,. My parents are helping, but the vet bill is going to top out over 10k, and we don't really have that money lying around.
So to make a long story short i'm opening up Emergency commissions as seen above. Bust sized icons with light shading and simple background. I might be a bit slow to work on them as i am still going back and forth from here and the vet hospital daily and am very stressed, but any help would be appreciated.
If you are interested in purchasing them you can here.
And of course if you have any money to spare and just want to share it I would be endlessly thankful.
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Copyright class actions could financially ruin AI industry, trade groups say.
AI industry groups are urging an appeals court to block what they say is the largest copyright class action ever certified. Theyâve warned that a single lawsuit raised by three authors over Anthropicâs AI training now threatens to âfinancially ruinâ the entire AI industry if up to 7 million claimants end up joining the litigation and forcing a settlement.
Authors have until March 30th, 2026 (That is just 9 days as of this reblog, which I am posting on March 21st, 2026) to file their claim against Anthropic to be reimbursed up to $3,000 per work found in the list.
Updated February 18, 2026 IMPORTANT: The Claims Deadline Is March 30 Background Bartz v. Anthropic is one of the major copyright lawsuits b
Please click the above link for all of the exact details of how to file a claim and to check for your works, and share this post as far and wide as you can before March 30th, 2026!
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hi, i have a request for hotch if that's okay with you :)
when they're on the jet, yn is smiling a lot at her phone so the team starts to tease her because the think that she has a mysterious boyfriend. and she does, but he's sitting right next to her and he's also wondering who's making her smile like that since it's clearly not him
tysm!
Hotch is trying hard to award you your privacy, but your smile makes it difficult. You're actually squared away from him despite sitting in the seat beside him of your own free will, your phone to your chest, a huge smile curved across your cute mouth. 'Cute mouth', Hotch thinks to himself with derision. He's thoroughly whipped for you. It might not work out.Â
You've been secretive and strange on your phone for an hour now. With nothing left to do but wait for the jet to touch down, you can watch whatever or text whenever you want. Hotch just wishes it wasn't so distracting. Who are you texting? He feels ill.Â
"Who's that?"Â
The dam finally breaks. As soon as Morgan asks, Emily pipes up, "Yeah, who is it?" as Rossi laughs and declares, "I know that look. Young Y/N's in love."Â
You side eye Hotch. "Workplace harassment," you say.Â
"Who is it?" Hotch asks.Â
You gawp but laugh at his unprofessional questioning, pressing your phone screen tight to your chest. "Hotch, it'sâ"Â
"Your not-so-secret boyfriend? Come on, we all know you have one," Morgan says.Â
"I know you know, you're like sharks," you say, giving them all a great long look.Â
For weeks now, you've glowed. This overzealous smiling and laughing is the straw that breaks the camel's back. Your nosy coworkers can't hold back their curiosity any longer. Hotch was stupid enough to think that your secretive dates and nights spent curled in on one another might be the reason behind your new hopped up sprightliness, but apparently not.Â
"So you admit it!" Emily cheers.Â
"Maybe. But it's not what's happening on my phone."Â
"Well, what is it?" Spencer asks.Â
They've leaned in on you, a circle of eager faces. Your sudden decision to admit you âmaybeâ have a boyfriend is as much as anyone's gotten out of you in weeks. If anyone could tease the truth from you, of course it's Hotch, and so the team looks to their leader pleadingly.Â
He's not sure he wants to know. "They won't leave you alone otherwise," he says, hoping that his expression shows his leniency. Your secrets are your own if you want to keep them.Â
You smile at him. Again, he thinks you have a cute mouth, and that he's biassed but you definitely smile sweeter at him than anyone else. You and Hotch know something the others don't, amusement like light behind your irises. "I'll show you," you say smugly, "and only you, Hotch."Â
"Typical," Morgan murmurs, sitting back on the couch.Â
Hotch clenches his sweaty palms beneath the table. "Alright."Â
You lean in against his shoulder. Your phone turns on, and he's taking deep breaths as you click to your photo app, and then an album labelled with a simple, '<3'.Â
It's photos of him. Most he knows you took, sitting across from you in dark restaurants or kneeling in your apartment putting together a new set of drawers. Your giggles begin in earnest as you swipe through them to a more recent photograph. You couldn't have taken it more than a week ago, when he'd stayed the night with you by accident, too tired to leave. His face is slack in sleep. He realises it's a video when you click a button and the sound of crinkling fabric plays from your speaker. In the video, you unbutton the tight collar of his shirt, stroking his neck briefly with a loving knuckle. The video moves down to frame his arm, his hand clinging to your other one like a sucker.Â
Hotch looks up from the video and blinks at you. Your hand on his sleeping neck, the sound of your tired laughter âhe can't not smile. "Oh. That'sâŠ"
"What did you show him?" Morgan asks, his voice coloured with both amusement and frustration. The team echo his question.
"I can't kiss and tell," you say, still tucked up by his side.Â
"I think it's best if you don't, L/N," Hotch agrees.Â
Not wanting to sound horrendously lazy and or like a giant loser, you tip your head back in the pillow and think. âWell, I guess thereâs laundry to do. I need to wash my clothes for work, and you have a bunch of white socks that are collecting at the bottom of the basket, like a mountain. Then I could go get some groceries,â âClark eats like heâs trying to gain weight but never doesâ âand maybe take your watch to get fixed, the jewellerâs is right next to the market. They could probably fix it before I finish getting groceries. And then, I donât know. I could go to the gym? Or, at least do something.â
Clark makes a long groaning sound of disgust, though itâs fond, which is strange but evidence that youâre in love with him enough to be able to hear the difference. âYou could do none of those things. Iâll do your laundry and my own. Iâll get the groceries, and fix my own watch, and you could stay here in bed where you deserve to be, resting.â
âYou just asked me what I was gonna do today?âÂ
âI was hoping youâd say, âstay here in bed with my boyfriend so he can hold me, and lavish me with breakfast in bed.ââ
âYou couldnât have interrupted me sooner?â you ask. Youâd just spelled the whole day out. âBesides, itâs not your week. Laundry is my chore this week. You gotta do the dishes.â
âI will do both,â he says, like heâs trying to convince you.Â
âNot fair.â
âYou cleaned the bathroom yesterday when it was my turn, so itâs your fault I have to make things equal.â
âYou left it in a mess,â you say.Â
Clark uses his body to encourage you onto your side, your back to his chest, your legs a tangle as his arm slings over your shoulder, cuddling you with his face pressed to the back of your neck. âIâm sorry,â he says against your skin, âI wouldnât have left it all night.âÂ
âI know.âÂ
âSorry, honey.â He kisses you slowly, chastely, at the very nape of your neck.Â
âItâs fine, I donât care, itâsââ Obviously if he did it all the time it would be a problem, but he doesnât, and he doesnât need you to explain that to him. Not that youâd even want to. âClark, shut up about the bathroom.â
He tips himself over your further, more cuddling, warm as a blanket with a comforting weight to it as his arm curls around you and bunches you up, encouraging your weight further across the bed to accommodate him. âOkay,â he says, sounding very happy to be spoken to in such a way. âIâm doing laundry, and youâre watching TV. Good talk.â
Youâd laugh, but youâre distracted by the smell of him on top of you. Clark relaxes so heartily that heâs basically pushing you off of the bed, now, draped over you. Heâs squishing you. You stick your head out of his embrace and turn enough to force his eye.Â
âClark, baby,â you say, offering your softest look, âyouâre squishing me.â
âOh, gosh, sorry,â he says, shuffling back.Â
You take the opportunity to turn in toward him, your leg going over his thigh, arm over his side. Clark grasps your hip as though you need help to get comfortable, unnecessary and achingly nice of him. Worse when you lift yourself up some to move your arm and he slides his own beneath you to take your weight.Â
âThank you,â you say.Â
âThereâs really nothing else Iâd rather be doing,â Clark says, his eyes a stormier shade of blue than usual in the dim lighting of your curtained bedroom. The February sun tries its hardest to find you between the cracks, little stripes of gold breaking through to kiss across Clarkâs pale chest and arms.Â
You rub at his bicep, feeling the skin warmed beneath each sluggish ray of sun.Â
âWe canât do nothing today,â you reproach softly. âIf we donât keep up this weekend, we wonât get any time to ourselves next weekend.âÂ
âI can keep up. You know Iâm fast.â
âYou canât super speed your way through the laundry.â
âBaby,â he says, reaching to hold you by the neck, his thumb brushing along your jaw, âI promise that anything we would have done today, when weâre together, I will get done tomorrow. Okay? I just want it to be about us, just me and you. Just one day for us. Do you believe me?â
âThat youâll do everything?â
âYeah.â
When Clark promises, he doesnât tend to break them. You tilt your face down to chase his touch, letting him caress the plush of your lips with his thumb, the breadth of it, and finding youâd rather not speak and make him stop. You nod twice.Â
âYeah?â he asks, framing your face in his hand.Â
âYeah,â you murmur, âokay. Todayâs for being with you.â
He beams and gathers you even tighter to his chest, twisting around until youâre lying right on top of him.Â
âWhat the hell is going on?â you mumble.Â
Clark kisses your cheek, your nose, and the corner of your eye before hooking his chin above your head. You press your own kiss to the mildly scratchy side of his neck. âWhatâs wrong?â he asks, his cadence so soft it borders inaudible, as though your minor annoyance at being moved around is the worst of all ailments.Â
Youâd feel sorry for him if you werenât so in love with him. At least his affections can find a mirror in you, and your soft sorriness as you work your way up his chest to kiss his cheek. âNothing, baby. âM just tired.â
clark request! maybe an insecure!reader branches out and buys cute underwear to try on for clark... can be fluffy Or smut! your choice my queen!!!!!!!!! đ«¶đ»
thank you for requesting! ââ fem, 2.1k
cw suggestive themes
The noise Clark makes when he sees you is a shriek, but thatâs getting ahead of things.Â
There are many wonderful aspects to having a boyfriend. Being doted on, kissed and hugged and cared for, itâs all worth the awkwardness of being known. But! That does not mean the awkwardness is no longer awkward. Itâs borderline painful.Â
It starts one night (or, another night, down the line, when Clark has already complimented your slight plain panties with little adornment) laying in bed beside him. Youâre wondering if Clark would want to fuck you and if there is a less strange way to ask then how youâd proposed it the last time you wanted him with a whispered question. Heâd very obviously been into it, but youâre not stupid to the world of sex, only shy âthere are subtler methods of seduction that you and Clark can enjoy together. Clark himself can be terribly seductive, usually by turning a small kiss into a better one, or occasionally suggesting ways to warm you up that donât involve clothes after showers. Heâs always charming, and kind, and surprisingly dirty-mouthed in murmurs (though he never calls you anything worse than perfect, and he doesnât cuss). You are gosh darn gorgeous in his lap.Â
The spurring thought isnât particularly sophisticated. Clarkâs stretched out beside you with his shirt riding up and his sweatpants low on one hip and he looks sexy. Thatâs all it is. Heâs hot, and he isnât putting a ton of effort in, but you know that the underwear heâs wearing beneath his sweatpants are expensive and fit him well. He takes care to look good.Â
You think about your white plain panties, and begin to debate how you can make him think like this about you. You know Clark finds you beautiful, if not for how often he tells you, then the simple basics of a relationship.Â
Clark could have anyone and he chose you, so youâre not not beautiful in his eyes. But you probably arenât sexy. And you realise that, despite the little trip of nerves at the idea, youâd like to be. Maybe you can present yourself to Clark in something nice for once to wind him up.Â
Maybe you can pull this off.
You spend time with your heart in your mouth at Victoriaâs Secret. Clark calls you while youâre there having just gotten out of work. He likes to know where you are, only to know, for mild peace of mind and the curiosity that comes with loving someone. Itâs alright. You like knowing where he is, too.Â
âWhere are you?â he asks warmly.
âDid you call me earlier?â
âYeah, I was thinking about you. Itâs alright, I didnât have anything important to say, I was just stealing a break.â
âOh, okay, good. Iâm at the mall. Kingâs Arcade. Just⊠clothes shopping.âÂ
âGreat, can I come meet you?â
You squeeze the phone, turning away from the lingerie youâd been eyeing in a rush as though Clark will catch you immediately. âSure,â you say, slightly breathless, âhow far are you? I can come meet you at the front?â
âNo, donât worry about that, Iâll come find you, Iâm like five minutes out. What store are you in?â
You turn back to the polka dot panties with the lettuce hem and the tiny black bow and its matching bra decisively. Thereâs a Bath and Body Works right next door. âBy the candle shop,â you say, snagging the panties in your size. Baby steps.Â
You pay for the panties and shove them with the receipt in your bag as Clark turns the corner.Â
He squeezes your hand in hello. Asks if youâre thirsty and buys you a drink. Then you sort of follow one another around for a bit until Clark spies your lack of clothes and encourages you into a store with your style in the front window.Â
Could he get any more perfect? (Yes! He pays for the two things you picked up, swiping his card before you can get yours out of your purse like heâd been waiting with it between his fingers.) You flush all over thinking heâs seen the panties in your rush to get your purse out and ruin his plans, which doesnât help.Â
âIâm sorry if I undermined your independence, but you have to let me pay for you sometimes. Itâs more for me than it is for you,â he says, having noticed your displeasure, your joined hands swinging gently.Â
âYou didnât undermine my independence, Clark.â
âIs that sass? Are you sassing me?â
You recognise his teasing as something that could spiral out of your control and try to duck away, but Clark pulls you right back in.Â
âYouâre being mean to me,â he says into your cheek.Â
âYouâre mean to me!â
âIâm not trying to be!â
Giggly and content, you make your way out of the mall, the short walk to his apartment becoming dawdlingly long. Youâre tired as you shuck out of your shoes. Clark palms briefly at your back before throwing himself ahead. âIâll make dinner,â he says.
So he does. You eat dinner with your heel pressed to the top of his foot, and share an ice cream for dessert from the same bowl with two spoons.Â
You shower first. Clark kisses your cheek when you return to the bedroom wrapped in a towel, eager for his own, and leaves you with pajamas heâs laid out including a simple pair of pink panties and a soft bralette for sleeping. Just a suggestion, never expected, which is good. You swap the panties out for your new polka dot ones and get dressed, fix your hair, laid up at the top of the bed scrolling down your phone by the time Clark comes in dripping wet. He sits down on the end of the bed, taking the towel from around his shoulders to scrub at his curls.Â
Even his back is rippled with muscle, the skin tight as he leans forwards.Â
Okay. So. Your seduction was mainly panties-based and youâre not sure how to show Clark that theyâre new without initiating. The point was that heâd see your new panties and the effort youâre making and start salivating in a more casual situation. You shouldâve waited to get dressed until he was in the room, but itâs too late now.Â
Clark tips backwards, his hair hanging in wet, dark coils behind him. âWhatâs wrong?â
âHuh?â
âI had a funny feeling about you.âÂ
Or heâs using his super senses for personal gain. âIâm fine, just thinking.â
âYeah?â he asks.Â
You shuffle down the bed to be closer. âI had this ideaâŠâ
Clark spots your timidity a mile out. Usually heâd reach to comfort you, but perhaps thereâs more in what youâre not saying, because he bites down a smile thatâs surprisingly amorous. Maybe heâs just wires-crossed, what with his lack of pants. âWhat was your idea?â he asks quietly.Â
What to tell him? You nibble the inside of your lip.Â
âItâs okay, you can tell me,â he says.Â
âItâs not working out how I imagined.â
Clarkâs eyes go wide. âWhatâs not working out? Me and you?â
âNo.â You smile at him, then shrug diffidently. âI was trying to be cute, I guess, but I didnâtââ
âSweetheart, you are adorable,â Clark says, twisting so you can see the defined ridge of every abdominal muscle, better to see you, and better to look at him.Â
Your mouth goes dry. All you can think of is how you want him to see your new panties, and instead youâve trapped him in reassurances.Â
âYouâre perfect,â he says, grabbing your knee. âYou donât have to try to be cute, youâre already the cutest girl I know.âÂ
Well, cute was a cop out. Saying sexy out loud felt silly in the moment. This is the messiest of messes.Â
You let your head hang, defeated. Morose. âThank you, Clark.â
You are kissed and cuddled, left dampened by his wet hair.Â
You arenât brave enough to ask Clark to watch you strip, nor are you eager to stand in the middle of the room and do it. The panties feel soft but too warm all night, every shift a pull of elastic against your skin. Youâre a little wet and a lot warm, wanting Clark but not knowing how to ask, and heâs so worried about your self esteem that he doesnât try to kiss you long enough to let you respond and prompt any action.Â
It gets to the point where youâre thinking a white lie is in order. You let your heart calm down, and then you get out of bed pretending that youâre gonna turn up his AC. âIf thatâs okay?â
Your asking helps trick poor Clark. âObviously you can,â he says, frowning at you where you linger by the door. âYou donât have to ask stuff like that, baby, just go ahead and do it. This is your place too.â
Itâs really not, but you like how he says it like he believes it, offering him a bright smile. You practically skip to his thermostat and mess with things, then shuffle back far more calmly, stopping again in the door.Â
Clark lays against two plush pillows, sheets down, t-shirt ridden up to show his abs again, like heâs trying to drive you crazy. He turns his head against the pillow, brow nearly quizzical at your hesitation.Â
âWhat?â
âItâs so hot, do youâ am I weird if I strip down?âÂ
Clark sighs, pained again. âWhat did I just say? This is your place, as good as. Treat it like your own home.âÂ
You take your shirt off first, meandering toward the bed, then pause to shuck it on the bed. Clark picks it up and folds it, but you can see him slowing in your peripherals as you hook your thumbs in the waistband of your pants and bring them down your thighs. You bend to grab them, but then you have nothing to hide behind, dropping them on the bed and climbing back where youâd been, legs up and knees pressed together.Â
This is when Clark shrieks.Â
Itâs likeâ quite girly. You imagine heâd make a similar noise when winning the lottery. Multiple lotteries.Â
âBaby, what are you wearing?â he asks. âOh my gosh!âÂ
He sounds so, so happy, you are immediately hot from top to toe. âWhat?â you ask, failing to maintain even a semblance of calm.Â
âCan I see?â he asks, gentling. âPlease?â
You let your legs fall flat without rush nor reluctance.Â
Clark peers down at you like this is deathly important.Â
âThey are soâ youâre so sweet, look at those, youâre so pretty,â he breathes. âWhen did you get these? Iâve never seen them.â
âUh. Today, actually.â
âYeah?â Clark goes to touch you, then hesitates. âCan I?â he asks.Â
âOf course you can, Clark,â you say, trying not to fall into whispers, âthis is your place.â
He grasps the curve of your hip and the silky fabric of your new panties, pressing it down to see the front of you, the bump of your cunt hugged by softness, better displaying the polka dot pattern and the lettuce edged hemming that kisses your inner thighs and tummy.Â
âIâd say something about your joke if there was enough blood left in my brain,â he says, then blanches, âI meanâ darn, youâre so pretty, Iâm being too much, Iâm sorry.â
âI got them for you. Wore them for you. Itâs okay if you like them.â
Clark Kent looks close to tears.Â
âI love them,â he says, âyou are the most beautiful thing, and this isââ He swallows. Shakes his head. Maybe Clarkâs laying it on thick, but if he is, you like it. âThis is the hottest thing thatâs ever happened to me. You really got them for me?â
You turn toward him slowly, letting your leg fall onto the other, and covering his hand with yours to press slowly to the apex of your thighs. âI got them for you,â you confirm. Your heart races, but your voice doesnât tremble. Youâve wanted him to touch you for hours. âSomething fun.â
Clark feels the warmth there under his fingers and closes his eyes, groaning quietly, right from the depths of his chest. âYouâre gonna kill me,â he says.Â
You move very gently against his hand. âPlease donât die right now.â
His eyes flutter open, pupils like dimes and a pretty pink flush spotting up his neck. âI almost donât wanna take you out of them.â
âYou could pull them to the side?â you whisper. âI meanâ if thatâsâ you know, if thatâs not weird.â
Clark pulls you in for a kiss before he can make any more agonised sounds, the rush of his deep sigh slipping into your mouth as he widens the kiss, his tongue a sudden heat.
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i thought it would be quite cute if our mer girl met a dog or a kitty for the first time! i think sheâd be hesitant at first but Steve would reassure her itâs okay and then sheâd adore them so much !! Hope this is ok i just randomly thought of it, please donât feel pressured to write it xx
beyond the sea au | fem, 1.1k
âThis is Tews,â Dustin says. âOr Mews the II, depending on who you ask.â
You sniffle from your place buried under Steveâs blankets and his grandmaâs lumpy, lovely quilt. It smells better than anything youâve encountered in the human world thus far.Â
Dustin has brought you a strange creature. It makes a cute sound when Dustin puts it down on the bed. Itâs roughly the size of a flounder fry but covered in soft fuzz, and it slinks up the blankets toward you with its sniffing nose.Â
âShe is nice and nice,â Dustin continues, looking cuter than the animal with his cap pushed down over tight curls, in a sweatshirt that says Eureka! whatever that means. âSo nice. She doesnât bite or scratch, I swear. She likes when you pet her back.â
You know that âbackâ is one of those dreaded two-definition words that make no sense. Your language also has words with multiple definitions, but they all make perfect sense. These are random. âBackâ means to go backwards or the flat plane of skin leading from neck to butt. When Steve says his âbackâ hurts, he means the bones.Â
You eye the new creature distrustfully.Â
âWhat is it?â you ask, wrinkling your nose.Â
âSheâs a cat! Theyâre like tigers, but smaller.â
âNot know âtigerâ.â
Dustin hums. âYeah, I guess you donât.âÂ
The cat comes up to you, over your tummy and onto your chest, sniffing, its whiskers bobbing as it worms up to your face and rubs a wet nose into your chin.Â
You laugh without meaning to, senseless, a little dizzy from the cough medicine Steveâs been making you take twice a day while this âcoldâ ravages your body. Youâre literally dying and all Steve has to offer is this awful chemically syrup, nothing at all like the stuff he puts on pancakes. Well, that and heavy kisses. They make you feel much better.Â
The cat purrs like a nurse shark and lays herself down at your neck, her golden fur shoved in your mouth unnecessarily. It tickles. You fight back a sneeze.Â
âDude,â Steve says. He has appeared from the stairway like a beautiful apparition, all tan skin and freckles ready to save your life. âGet the cat out of her face.â
âSheâs sensing that sheâs sick, Steve, sheâs gonna cheer her up.â
âSheâll be happier without fleas.â
âTews is clean!âÂ
Steve puts your promised mug of hot chocolate on the beside table and rests his hand, still warm, on your forehead. âIs she bothering you?âÂ
âBother me?â
Steve scrunches his face up in annoyance. âBother. Annoy. Make you mad.â
âUm, no. She is⊠soft.â
âShe is.â
âShe is eat me.â
âSheâs not gonna bite you,â he says with a laugh, taking your hand from the blankets and curving it around. âLook, you pet her like this,â âhe drags your hand down the cat's back, pulls it back up, drags it down againâ âgentle, because cats get kind of sensitive.â
âNot eat me,â you whisper to the cat.Â
She makes her noise again, far louder than before.Â
âWhat sound?â you ask.Â
âSheâs meowing. Itâs a âmeowâ. They do it when theyâre happy, or if she wants something.â
You make your own meow. Dustin shrieks with laughter. âDude, thatâs so lifelike!âÂ
Steve pulls the cat into one of his arms with a care that makes him even hotter than heâd been before. He gets the other around you, helps you into a seated position, and places the cat in your lap. âOkay?â he asks, taking your hot chocolate from the bedside table to encourage into your hand.Â
Tews rubs her face in your tummy and purrs as you attempt to pet her like Steve showed you.Â
âOh. She is nice,â you say approvingly.Â
âAre you ready for your lesson now?â Dustin asks. âToday I think we should learn about radio waves.â
âDude. English. Youâre teaching her English.â
âYeah, and she needs to know what stuff does so she can have the words in context, dude, itâs in Robinâs lesson plan.âÂ
Your English lesson about radio waves and communication is very confusing, but it probably doesnât help that your headâs pounding, the cat keeps bumping your hand with her head when you stop stroking her fuzzy back, and Steve sits in because heâs worried youâre going to âoverheatâ, which means youâre too busy leaning your face in his arm and thinking about cuddling to really care how you pronounce âradiationâ.Â
âSteve?â you mumble, ignoring Dustin as he packs up the whiteboard pens into a case, and his attention-seeking cat where she noses your wrist.Â
âWhat?â
âHave cat?â
âYou like her?â
Sheâs good company, this little creature. âSoft.â
âMaybe some day. For now, we can just borrow Dustinâs.â
You pillow your head on his shoulder, letting your eyes flutter shut, wiped after all the English practice and sitting up. You desire very much to be in your sea without all these human ailments, but leaving Steve sounds about as fun as getting your tailfin trapped in a clamâs mouth.Â
He rests his head atop yours. âProud of you,â he says.Â
Youâd ask him what âproudâ meant if you werenât distracted by the warm breath of the creature on your wrist, and then a horrible scagging sensation like whetstone. You jump hard. Steve shouts before you can register the pain at the back of your head. âOh, ow!â you say, flinching away from the cat trying to eat you and Steveâs mean nose.Â
âSorry!â he says, groaning. âJesus. Fuck. What was that, baby?âÂ
âCat eat me try!â you say, watching Tews in fear as she curls herself into a ball at the end of the bed, away from your fuss.Â
Dustin pokes his head up from his place on the floor. âShe licked you, huh? That means she likes you.â
âHave ow mouth!â you protest.
âHer tongue is scratchy,â Dustin says. âItâs to help her stay clean.â
âShe was eating you,â Steve says, rubbing at the bridge of his perfect nose, that has now gone a strange red. You havenât said anything to make him blush yet.Â
âMean cat,â you say. âScratch. Ow.â
Steve squints through his pain and takes your wrist to inspect for injury. âOh, no,â he laments, rubbing at your pulse gently, apologetically.Â
It is not so bad, actually, but Steveâs sympathy makes you a worse attention seeker than the cat. âEugh,â you say.Â
He pulls your wrist to his chest. Dustin rolls his eyes.Â
what would happen if mer caught a cold? has she ever had the sniffles before? maybe sheâs very reluctant to take her medicine and steveâs got to sweeten the deal for her đ
beyond the sea au | fem, 2.2k
Mermaids do not often experience human colds, apparently.Â
âIâve never had one,â Dariyay says, right at home on the couch with a bowl of crab sticks warm from the oven in her lap. âWeak body. Because she has not changed!â
âDariyay, can you not?â Steve asks.Â
It hasnât taken long for your sister to make herself a fixture in the Harrington house. In fact, itâs been less than a week, but sheâs spent it diligently getting acquainted with Steveâs hospitality, human-made seafood, and a certain metalhead nuisance. Her hair spills over the back of the couchâs armrest to kiss the floor next to Eddieâs thigh.
âI not want change now, Dari,â you whine, bunched up in the two-seater with a cold flannel held over your warm head. âFeel bad too much.âÂ
âIf you feel bad enough, you only have to get in the pool and itâll do it all by itself,â she says.Â
At her side on the floor, his mouth pursed with thought, Eddie strums the strings of his acoustic guitar. âMaybe itâll make you feel better, angel.âÂ
âNot feel better,â you say, searching for Steveâs eye over everyone else. âTell them, Steve. Please. Not want.â
âIf she doesnât want to change yet, she doesnât have to, and sheâs right, she already feels shitty.â Steve pulls the dish towel off of his shoulder and ferries to you, leaning down to wipe the wetness from the side of your face where your wash cloth has dripped. âNot like the companyâs helping,â he adds.Â
âIâm playing relaxing stuff,â Eddie says.Â
âYouâre sniffing around,â Steve says.Â
Eddie laughs, then coughs. âHey, I resent that! If these beautiful women require my musical talents, who am I to deprive them?â
âPlay the moon,â you demand.Â
Eddie begins a plucking rendition of The Whole of the Moon for the tenth time today. Heâs wearing his more impressive garb fit for when he had reason to want to look smart, a ragged jacket and a denim vest overtop (a reimagined homage to his original battle vest), jeans with rips that are purposeful rather than gaping, and his brightest whitest sneakers. Steve is relieved that Eddie hadnât put so much effort in when it was you alone taking refuge in the house; Eddie had the decorum consciously or otherwise to mind his manners when it came to you, considering Steve was obviously, and irreversibly dialled into you and whatever being yours would entail.Â
You sink deeper into yourself as Eddie plays. Your brow is screwed up from what might be your first ever headache, but your lips are twitchy, smiling despite the pain. Steve knew asking Eddie to come cheer you up would work, because you havenât laughed all day and you love music more than his shit jokes. He wouldâve preferred to have managed it alone, but Eddie wouldâve come snooping sooner or later. Heâs been pretty obvious about how cool he finds the actual real-life mermaids having doubled their numbers. Steve would find it pretty cool if he could forget his fear âhow amazing it is that thereâs more to the world than just humans and the Upside Downâs freakshow of evil. How he canât enjoy the thought, because your homecoming has been on his mind since the moment Dariyay wrangled you out of the mall.Â
Your symptoms are all signs of a cold. Steve looked it up. A cold does not usually get worse than a runny nose and a headache. Heâs sweat himself awake twice since you came down with it worried heâd have to take you to the hospital and that theyâd find something they couldnât explain. Itâs a nightmare. He can see you strapped to a metal table having skin scraped from the inside of your mouth, blood drawn from a tender crook.Â
He theorises that itâs actually an easy cold, but you donât know how to cope, never having been anything except healthy.Â
This isnât an injury, itâs just annoying. Being unable to breathe from your nose freaked you out, and teaching you to blow it had been reminiscent of Robinâs little cousin.Â
âI want the one with the Start Me Up,â Dariyay says, taking one of Eddieâs dark curls between her fingertips and twisting. âSing again.â
âThat was for a private audience,â Eddie says, rolling his eyes.Â
âDo it, Eddie Munson.â
âAs you wish.â
You arenât as pleased with The Rolling Stones or Eddieâs wild singing. Your eyes go pleading, arms held out, and Steve gets the memo. His hand slides behind your back and he drags you into a sitting position, where you stand, slumping into his side.Â
âGonna take her up to bed for a bit,â Steve tells the room.Â
âFeel better, seababy,â Eddie says, offering a genuine, genial smile.Â
âSing, Eddie,â Darius says, though she does deign to lift her head from the cushions and give you a look. Steve only has Dustin, but he recognises his own dispassionate defeat in her eyes as she adds, âSleep, if you can. It wonât last forever. The first cold is always the worst.â
The sounds of plinking guitar fade as Steve helps you up the stairs. Youâre in the hump of if, with phlegmy coughs and snot and fatigue to the bone, but it isnât so bad, this cold. Itâll be over soon.Â
âYouâll be better tomorrow,â Steve says, nudging the ajar bedroom door open to lead you to your usual spot on the left side of the bed, closest to the window and furthest from the landing. âI promise. Colds donât last.â
âHead hurts,â you say, letting Steve mountain the blankets back as you sit in the sheets.
Your pajamas are damp with sweat. Steve changes his mind about tucking you in and makes for the dresser for your clean clothes. He likes, very much, opening the top drawer and seeing your things smushed in with his, smelling of his laundry detergent, things he picked out for you and paid for. The smallest shells on the tie of his bracelet brush the wood of the dresser as he grabs the first pajamas he sees, your softer ones, leaving the cutesy babydoll alone at the bottom of the drawer. He closes it quickly.Â
âCome on, letâs get you changed. Yeah? You sweat through your shirt.âÂ
You slouch back into the pillows. âDariyay say⊠tell me⊠Steve and humans notââ You gesture at your damp shirt. âSorry, not know how to say.â
âItâs okay. When has it mattered before? It doesnâtâ not bother me if you donât know, right? Say it how you can and I will try to understand what you know.â
âNot help clothes andâ help a lot. You help me lots, and Dariyay says that⊠this not okay.â
âIs that what she said, âokayâ?âÂ
âNo. She said different word.â
Dariyay knows English, and she knows Mer, where nobody whoâs tried to teach you English here had known both. Your connective words are growing in like teeth. Dariyay corrects you constantly, which is annoying for you but especially helpful when it comes to the words you were struggling with most, âandâ and âtoâ and âtheâ. Not perfect. Doesnât need to be.Â
âDid she say it wasnât normal? Like, itâs not how humans do it all of the time.â
âYes.âÂ
âWell, thatâs not true. I mean, when we didnât know each other, when we were strangers and you were first in the pool, sure, it wouldnât have been normal for me to help you get changed or to make you dinner, but it was because you needed help. Does that make sense? You needed help. I looked after you because you couldnât look after yourself. And now we know each other, itâs normal.â He taps you under the chin. âCan I help you get changed?â
âI need help.â
âYeah, a little. âCos youâre sick. Tired, head hurts, thatâs a good time to have help, but I would help you if you were not tired either.â
âWhy?â
âWhy?â Steve begins dragging your shirt up your back gently. âI care about you.â
The shirt comes off of your head. Steve takes his hand and puts it at the top of your breast, just over your heart. âInside of⊠love,â he says quietly. âYou told Hopper Iâm your boyfriend, right? And Dariyay.â
âYes, my boyfriend. My boy, look after me. Courting.â
Funny word. Steve doesnât know its definition. Itâs not a basketball term.Â
âLook after you, exactly. Plus, I like helping.â
Itâs honestly one of his favourite parts about being a boyfriend. He hasnât let himself think on it seriously since you said it âitâs why he took you to the mall, because if he wants to be your boyfriend you deserve the dates that come before thatâ but he supposes that he is the equivalent of a boyfriend to you, so.Â
He grabs your face in both hands, the shock of joy at the idea of being your boyfriend like a current through each capillary to the very tips of his fingers, nevermind the pajama top screwed up in one hand. âI love helping you,â he says, grinning.Â
âNice smile.â
âYeah?â Steve ducks down and presses it into your mouth. âNice everything, honey. Youâre perfect.â
âPerfect,â you say, laughing softly as he trails kisses away from your lips to the lobe of your ear.Â
âThis is okay, yeah?â
âWhat okay? Kiss? Yes. You know Iâ I like kiss a lot, you give me.âÂ
âYeah?â He pulls away, catching the sweetness in your tired eyes like a shock of sugar on the tongue.Â
Steve gets you into your new shirt. Drags your pants down and doesnât blush as much as he could when the band of your panties comes with it. His fingers donât falter as he slips it back up to just below your hips, or when he has to bring your new pants up against them. He shouldnât have picked cute panties, it was a mistake, these baby pink ones with the champagne polka dots kill him every time. Not that granny panties couldâve deterred the stirring he feels in his stomach and decidedly lower places when he catches even a millisecond view of the soft valley between your legs.Â
You hold your own wants. Just last night heâd offered you some kisses that guaranteed heâd catch your cold, open-mouthed with wet heat, your hand pressed to his stomach until it had basically heaved into your touch. Heâd been hard enough that every movement felt stiff with it, sensitive, but he had not been awake enough to know what to do about it. After your hand had wandered down and stopped just shy of uncharted territory, youâd caught his eye with a smile, like youâd known what he wanted, and youâd kissed under his ear, murmuring into the shell of it, âWarm skin, baby. So warm.â
See, maybe you hadnât needed these extra words, because that âsoâ? Steveâs never stripped himself like that in the shower before. It was borderline painful.Â
All the while youâd snoozed and snored in his bed. Poor congested angel. Evil girl.Â
âYou gonna have more of the medicine?â Steve asks, perched on the edge of the bed with his hands on your back, thumbs in your soft front. Your tired chest heaves all sluggishly and makes him sad.Â
âI not like it.â
âYou donât like it. I know, that decongestant is pretty sour, but itâll help you sleep.â
âDonât want it,â you say.Â
âPlease? For me?â
You like this phrase. He can see the cogs turning, like you know where you have him. And you do have him. Palm of your hand, wrapped around your pinky finger, right where you want him.Â
âWhat I get?â you ask.
âWhat do you get?â he murmurs back, thinking that two can play at this game. He has far more practice. His voice sinks like velvet and his thumb strokes a quarter circle into your shirt, pushing it up, letting the pad of it stroke your skin. âWhat do you want, beautiful?â he asks slowly, plain demure. âWhat can I give you?â
You laugh, âcos you know him well. Itâs a weak thing, half-cough, and Steve knows heâll sweeten any deal if it gets you to drink that spoonful of bitter char.Â
âYou can hold me?â you ask, not shy but not fanciful, either, a real suggestion. Like youâd be okay with him saying no, even though you know he wonât. âHold me, rub my head? Please. Feel better when you do.â
So Steve mixes you some decongestant into a glass of cranberry juice and watches you drink it. Climbs into bed with you and gathers you in his arms, on his chest, your face warm and every contiguity between you both already beading with sweat.Â
He doesnât know how much longer youâll be sick for, or when youâll next need to change. Doesnât know what you were running from or when youâll tell him why.Â
What he does know is that your face lies like it was shaped for the slight curve of his pec, and that your eyelashes tickle when you blink. He knows that youâre tired, and heâs a safe place for you to land.Â
âHowâs that?â he asks, rubbing your forehead with his two fingers.
Youâre already asleep, but heâd known that, too. Your only answer is a wheezy snore.