#out here with their blorbos doing god's work

[orions-aether]

thinking about marya and how when you think you've lost everything you still have something. even if that something is worms you hid in the back of a chair. her silk shirts and her youth and her love for the world and for adventure. trauma is hard and bad and it strips you of everything you were and everything you think you'll ever be and it leaves you to waste. but somewhere there are worms you left in the back of a chair. and you'll wear silk shirts again. and your friends will write your story better than you ever could. and you are that person and you always will be. and some young mech-wielding bright-eyed transfem will worship the ground you walk on.

I'm like really okay and fine I swear

[humlase]

Finding out I have an animation project due in 2 days when I am only a quarter finished is so devastating because what do you mean I'm not allowed to draw blorbo rn???? He's bouncing around in my head and I'm just supposed to ignore him for some stupid classwork???? Wow. No love left in this world.

[seventh-district]

babe wake up a new Venti-coded song just droppped

“I’m as sober as a drunk.

I’m as high as rock bottom.

Free as a man with his hands handcuffed to the bar.”

[ragnars-tooth]

so very quick and sketchy but i was getting vague designs for all the tldc ladies down in one place

not so sure on gwendolen and gwilanna and i havent looked back at the books for details yet but these were just a quick cool down for the night 🫶

[unnonexistence]

oh k-science, we're really in it now

[theladyem]

I don want to sleep I want to think about Kim Kitsuragi

[tibli]

i have been trying to figure out why the whole 'fae god' and katniss everdeen things with kendrick lamar on here were bothering me, and i think i finally put it into words.

most posts like that are probably coming from well-meaning white people (i am also partially a White People, to be clear), who otherwise dont really listen to rap. they cannot find a way to 'relate' to this black man who sings largely about issues that affect the black community– and rather than try and meet him where he is, they have to fit him into these little tumblr cultural boxes before he can be 'palatable' to them.

they have to shave off the rougher/more abrasive aspects of his work and activism because it makes them uncomfortable, that way they can pigeonhole him into something that allows them to enjoy his work without the critical analysis that MUST come with it

he is not your fae god, he is not a YA protagonist, he is not a little gremlin or a cinnamon roll or a blorbo. He is a human being with opinions and beliefs that deeply permeate his work, and to ignore that truth is to ignore the entire point. PLEASE try to engage with artists' work outside of the lens of tumblr fandom, and i mean that as nicely as possible. you are doing YOURSELF a disservice

[thefreakandthehair]

smooth operator

written for ‘hole’ | wc: 404 | rated: m | cw: n/a @steddiemicrofic

Crowd-work is Eddie Munson’s favorite part of stand-up. It’s actually become a niche of sorts, and tonight is no different.

“Something I’ve noticed in my time fucking men,” Eddie leads with, strolling across the makeshift stage, “is that you can tell how hot a guy is by how he takes off his shirt.”

The audience chuckles collectively.

“Don’t look at me like that, you know exactly what the fuck I’m talking about. We’ve all seen movies. You, in the navy blue,” Eddie gestures with his chin at a man sitting at a hightop with two girls. “You’re a good-lookin’ guy. Let’s see if you’re hot. Show us how you take your shirt off.”

Without hesitating, Blue Shirt stands up and in one swift motion, grabs the back of his shirt with one hand and tugs it off over what Eddie tries not to think is perfectly soft, perfectly messy copper locks. Turns out, it’s easy to not think about his hair, because every rational and coherent thought he’s ever had about anything comes to a screeching halt.

It kills his set because that’s not the Hot Guy Method he’s been referring to but there’s not a chance in cold, dark Hell he can stand on stage and lie in front of this cheering, clapping audience. This guy is fucking hot.

“Oh my God,” he says in the microphone as Blue Shirt shrugs and flushes, just a hint of pink crawling from the hollow of his throat to his cheeks. “That’s never worked before. That’s never worked. I did not— wow, I did not see that coming.”

The crowd continues to laugh and applaud, Blue Shirt sitting confidently on his barstool with his shirt still in hand. Motherfucker doesn’t even have the decency to put it back on so Eddie can move on.

He’s really dug himself a fucking hole with this one, huh?

“Jesus H. Christ, I meant to do the motion. And that’s— listen, that wasn’t the hot way I meant but for the first time ever, audience, I admit defeat. I don’t know what the Hell just happened, but that’s the hot way now.”

Blue Shirt raises his glass and fucking winks at him, before calling out in response. “Buy me a drink after the show and I’ll show you the hot way to take off a belt, too.” 

Eddie’s jaw falls open and Blue Shirt wiggles his eyebrows with a smirk. 

author's note: sometimes, you see a video of a stand-up comedian and drop literally everything you're doing to make it about your blorbos. this is one such time. @henderdads @steddieasitgoes it’s here!

[solarstranger]

a/n. been seeing a lot of pregnancy/baby fever fics these days and while i'm all for the father versions of our blorbos and breeding kinks (lmfao), i'm someone who just can't see myself becoming a mother for multiple reasons. reposting this drabble from april for my girls who feel the same way. hope y'all enjoy this! (1.6k)

c.w. slightly heavy themes, references to abortion.

this wasn’t supposed to happen.

sneaking another glance at the stick in your right hand, it takes every ounce of the little energy you have left after what has been an arduous day at work to stay upright on your cold, bare feet.

it’s ridiculous—you know that—but you still find yourself blinking once, then twice, as if doing so as deliberately as you could would make the tauntingly faint yet present second line disappear before your eyes.

you tamp down the panic—or bile, you don’t fucking know—that’s rising to your throat, while your gaze remains fixed on the pregnancy test.

which reminds you.

you’re shaking.

why are you shaking?

…right, this wasn’t supposed to happen.

jesus. is this the pregnancy already at work? the brain fog that they say plagues a good percentage of women carrying a—fuck, you can’t even say it—fetus?

whatever answer was lying in the deep recesses of your brain doesn’t get to see the light of day, because your head snaps up in attention when you hear the telltale turning of the keys at your front door.

shit.

frantic, your eyes dart around the bathroom, before ultimately landing on the boxes containing the three different brands of pregnancy tests you hastily bought from the drugstore on the way home. you grab for them in record time, stuffing them behind the rolls of tissues on the shelves above the toilet. it’s not the perfect hiding spot, but it’s good enough—at least until you muster up the courage to tell katsuki the truth.

katsuki.

god. what’s he going to say?

“babe?”

—aside from that.

“over here!” you barely manage to call out, shoving the stick into your pocket.

the faint sound of footsteps grows from a subtle pattering to loud thuds as the man approaches, and you find yourself waiting with bated breath—one that you release not so inconspicuously the second he emerges by the door, a perplexed expression decorating his sharp features.

“what’re you doing here?” he asks, voice gruff, although he doesn’t wait for a response before pulling you in for a hug. despite your fried nerves, you find yourself relaxing in his arms as the heady smell of the body wash he keeps at the agency fills your lungs.

“had to pee,” you answer—half-truthfully—against his chest, keeping your body plastered against his firm yet warm frame. and, for a brief moment, you forget the predicament you were just in—safe and content in his presence—

right up until you feel a hand slide down to caress your side, and despite yourself, you stiffen.

you don’t have to look up to know bakugou’s frowning.

“what’s wrong?” he asks, his tone riddled with hurt but mostly caution. it pains you to hear him like this—you promised yourself you’d make him feel as secure with you as you are with him—but you still refuse to meet his gaze.

and when you don’t respond nor move: “look at me.”

now, you were never the kind to deny him of anything—even if you wanted to at times—so you do.

excruciatingly slowly, but you do.

suddenly, you’re thankful bakugou’s gripping onto your waist, because you’re certain you’d collapse from the sheer intensity of his stare if he wasn't. you try to smile in an attempt to reassure him, but your mouth only wobbles awkwardly as tears start to well in the corners of your eyes, causing bakugou’s frown to deepen even further.

“baby,” he mumbles—coaxes—the softness juxtaposing against his earlier sternness. your eyes flutter closed for a moment as a scarred hand shoots up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, before returning to where it’s taken residence at your hips.

you take a shuddering breath.

you don’t know what takes over you, but what you end up blurting is—

“promise me you won’t get mad.”

at that, bakugou’s eyebrows furrow. “the fuck?”

—which, if anyone can believe it, is a valid response.

because sure, bakugou’s been frustrated with you, sometimes even exasperated—although that rarely ever happens—but never mad. he once said he couldn’t find it in him to direct any of his anger toward you, and he’s never said anything truer.

and you know that, which is why you don’t know why you even said that thing just now. but you have no idea how else to preface what you’re about to tell him, let alone soften the blow.

when something tells you he’s not even going to take it as a blow…

“remember when i asked you to buy me some painkillers to prepare for my period?”

“…yeah?”

you gulp, fisting his shirt. “that was over three weeks ago.”

the crease in his forehead doesn’t let up. “okay?”

sighing, you close your eyes.

fuck it.

there’s no turning back from this one.

“y/n, what are you trying to—”

“i still haven’t had it,” you cut in. and when bakugou only blinks at you, seemingly shell-shocked, you finally say it.

“i’m pregnant.”

realistically, it must have only been around a minute that passed with neither of you uttering a word, but the silence that ensues feels like an eternity, as a whirlwind of emotions dances across bakugou’s face—emotions that you don’t even dare try to pinpoint.

it takes him another beat to seemingly gather his thoughts together, before clearing his throat that you think has gone dry in flat-out surprise. his gaze then darts down to your stomach, and you have to stop yourself from reflexively touching it, even as he looks back up at you.

and when he does speak up, the first thing he says is—

“are you sure?”

to that, you only nod reluctantly, gingerly taking out the stick from your pocket for him to see. you pass it to him, continuing as he examines the red lines. “i took three. all different brands.”

“and each one came out…?”

“positive, yeah.”

you watch him as he nods—more to himself than at you—before placing the device carefully on the sink. you can practically see the gears in his head turning as he straightens up to face you, expression betraying how hard he’s thinking about this.

and fuck if this ends up biting you in the ass, but damn it—you need to know.

so you ask.

“w-what—” you start, pausing to cough, and bakugou’s quick to lean in and rub soothing circles at your back. you wave him off with a grateful look a moment later, to which he takes in stride as he steps back, gazing at you expectantly.

“i was just gonna ask,” you rasp hastily, fighting the tightening sensation at your throat. “what are you thinking right now?”

“about—”

“about this,” you supply, rubbing your stomach absentmindedly. “us. pregnant.”

bakugou hesitates. “i’m thinking about how you are—”

“i’m not asking about me. i’m asking about you.”

there.

you said it.

and you don’t know where else to chalk it up aside from his general acuity, but it only takes a second for the plain bewilderment that etched itself across bakugou’s face to morph into palpable realization. you stare at him as he sits in the implications of your question, and even more so as he struggles to find the right words to say.

finally, and after what feels like ages, bakugou settles with five simple words:

“you know what i think.”

and with those words comes an avalanche-like weight crashing on your shoulders, and before he can continue, you beat him to it. say the two things that instantly flooded your mind the instant you felt a wave of unfounded nausea earlier this morning.

one: “i’m not ready, kats.”

and, two: “i don’t think i’ll ever be ready.”

to your un-surprise and chagrin, bakugou merely nods and takes your hands in his, as if he’s been expecting this. “that’s okay, babe.”

“no, it’s not,” you argue, although you don’t wrangle away from his grip. you need to make the most of the contact you’re blessed enough to have right now, especially given what you’re about to say.

shaking your head, you let your eyes droop to your entangled hands. “it’s not too late, kats,” you whisper, “i’ll understand if you want to break u—”

“don’t.”

“but—”

“don’t even think about finishing that sentence,” bakugou growls.

you look up, and it takes everything within you to not break down at the sight of your boyfriend’s face.

“i told you,” he begins, his hold on you tightening, “you know what i think. but i want what you want. and—”

“but your dream of—”

“—and, there’s nothing i want more than to be with you.”

and at that, you can’t help it—you whimper as the tears you’ve been desperately holding finally stream down your face, and you don’t resist—letting yourself get scooped up in bakugou’s arms and into a crushing embrace.

“…i’m sorry,” you mumble into his shirt after a few beats of comforting silence, his strong arms wrapped tightly around your torso.

“there’s nothing to be sorry for,” bakugou mouths against your head.

“i wanted to be everything you could ask for,” you admit quietly.

shamefully.

and you know it’s going to take some time—some time to come to terms with falling short, with not meeting important expectations, especially with the person you love.

but then bakugou says something under his breath, and somehow, you get the feeling that everything’s going to be okay.

“you already are, baby,” you feel him smile. “you already are.”

˗ˏˋ while likes are appreciated, they don’t do much on tumblr! if you want to support me and writers in general, reblogs, replies, and tags are the way to go. feel free to drop an ask, too—i’d love to chat. have a nice day! ´ˎ˗

[witherby]

Hey El! I’m back and god this place needs a clean! *Iooks in the booth and sees a man sleeping* is this one of your employees or not? Also with truceJuice how would Kon and the family react to an over worked mouse?

You leave that little guy alone! That's Blorbo, he's my emotional support loiterer! I give him some leftover drabbles and he scrapes all the gum off from underneath my tables and warns me when the Health Department is coming. We have a symbiotic relationship.

And, hmm. I like this question! Let's walk it through!

How does your family + Kon react to you overworking yourself at Truce Juice?

Masterlist is Here!

Bruce:

Can't say shit to you and he knows it. This man is THE overdoer of overdoing anything. Trained his body beyond typical and atypical human limits. Used to train himself to sleep in 20 minute bursts in his prime so he could spend the other 23 hours and 40 minutes a day working on bettering Gotham day and night. Made contingency plans for every single hero and villain and antihero known to him just in case he might need to put them down one day. Bruce has never done anything with less than 110% commitment. It's not a surprise you picked up that trait, as much as it makes him both proud and worried for you. So, like the hypocritical coward he is, Bruce says nothing.

To you. He's gonna lament about it to the others, though.

Hal:

Not happy about it. You're grown, and you can do what you want with your time as you see fit, but if you happen to be spending more time at your cafe and less time at home, that's when he's gonna crack his knuckles and start bugging you.

"Hey, kiddo! I think you've stocked up enough ingredients to keep this joint running for the next 6 months. Five if Killer Croc orders anything more than once a week. Don't you think you're going a little overboard? Come on home and take a rest; I'll give you a ride."

Dick:

He's gonna try to get legal about it. If you're in there working beyond your posted opening and closing times, he's threatening to fine your business. You wouldn't want that, would you? Just call it quits for the day and go lie down! Everything is fine!

(This does not work. You hand him a fat stack of cash to cover the fine, call your brother a Blüddy pig, and oink at him until he rushes out of the store, embarrassed.)

Jason:

Enforces the Weekly Family Nap Time when you don't. He calls or texts you and says you've got five minutes to wrap up the most important shit, then he's coming. It doesn't matter if you lock the doors, he's getting in the building, he's hoisting you over his shoulder, and he's taking you home and putting you and everybody else to bed. Shouldn't have skipped dinner, idiot. Now you're in a big cuddle puddle. If you use your shadows to slip away, he's threatening to cause property damage. He'll take the heat on that if it gets you to slow down.

Tim:

You're stubborn and bull-headed like the rest of your family. Once you focus on a task you're very unlikely to pull your attention away from it unless you're made to. So he makes you.

He locks down your POS system until you call him in frustration, then gets you to give it up and come home.

"It's eleven at night, M. The place closed at seven. Come back and I'll reactivate it tomorrow morning before it's supposed to open again, I promise. Whatever you're doing can wait."

Damian:

Similar to Jason, he's slipping into the cafe after hours and leveling you with a disappointed glare. Unlike Dick and Hal, his little guilt trips and speeches actually work.

"When you were six years old, I watched you flatline in a hospital bed because of your poor immune system. And you hadn't even done anything to get yourself sick back then." He leans against the counter and watches you painstakingly adjust and readjust and re-readjust all the furniture in preparation for the painting crew scheduled to arrive in the morning to give the place a fresh look. You refuse to turn around and face him. "Why are you purposely working yourself sick again? Are you going to make me sit at your bedside in the ICU while you fight for your life over something you couldn't leave to the other staff? To the contractors you hired to do this for you? Are you trying to frighten the people that love you, Flit?"

You leave the furniture where it's at and go hug your brother, then let him take you home.

+ Conner:

Sometimes you're overworked because there's too much to do, and not enough hours in the day. You aren't the kind of boss to ask your staff to stay longer than they've been scheduled for (not realizing that they happily would if you needed the help), so you take on the mundane, often laborious, after-closing duties yourself.

Conner is attuned to your needs and desires. He doesn't have to convince you to pack it up and go home. He knows that's what you want to do. But you also have to take care of your business, and sometimes that means staying for hours past closing to supervise a major renovation, or coming in so early the sun hasn't even risen to receive a shipment of baked goods from across the city.

Conner doesn't force you to abandon those tasks to go home. But he does stay to help them along. Need something moved from one end of the café to the other? He's on it. Need something dropped off at another store? Leave it to him. Need someone to prevent the creepy window washer from staring at your ass? He's already on it.

And when it's all said and done, and you can finally head out for the night, Conner will carry you home.

[babey-fruit-bat]

Mar Rosso - Red Sea

Emperor Geta and Emperor Caracalla discovered the curse of Terra Mater

🍇🏺🩸🍇🏺🩸🍇🏺🩸🍇🏺🩸🍇🏺🩸🍇🏺

Author note: There is no way in hell anyone explained the menses to these guys- (who would?) they find out the hard way

Set before plot of the movie- author finally saw it- author does NOT wanna talk about it :( Not my blorbos !! (They were terrible people)

Not a poly relationship - No Y/N used - reader is F and has a period but has no description

Geta 👑🏛️🍇

You arose with a stretch next to your husband, today was the first day of the spring gladiator tournaments. You rolled over into Geta’s arms waking him from sleep “Good morning, Dulcissima“ he says, pressing a soft kiss to your lips

As you leave the bed and the sunlight enters the room you hear a yelp leave Geta “My love! You’re bleeding?”

You turned looking down to see a small pool of blood on the bed that had leaked through your shift. You groaned turning away to sit back on the bed, face in your hands. You’d only been married a few months and so far had managed to keep your season undetectable

“Are.. are you-you’re not hurt? What’s happened to you?” He pleads you to look at him with worry. You lift your head with tears in your eyes “I’m sorry, I- this.. this is normal- it’s supposed to happen,”

He looks in bewilderment, like you have a second head- “This ailment? Is normal..?”

“Yes..? It is a step in bringing forth a child, no child.. well- this” you gesture to the bed and between your legs

“Wait.. the blood is coming from?” His gaze drifts down to your shift. Your eyes meet and you nod, both holding your breath

“Oh… OH- oh Gods!” His eyes widened piecing the puzzle together “You must rest! Sit!” He rose from the bed donning his red and gold robe and summoned the servants to draw a hot bath for you- he stopped one of the ladies before they finished and mentioned your incident this morning. He was assured your clothing, and sheets were no worry and he ensured every medicinal herb available was added to ease your bleeding

He stood proudly before you feeling accomplished of the care he could give you, though he noticed you still wincing

“What is it now? Is this not helping stop the bleeding?”

“Stop the bleeding? Haha, my love it doesn’t work this way, it will stop on its own!” You laughed softly at his confusion

“About how long will that be? Surely not forever..” he shuddered thinking about if he had to endure that curse, how could he function? Run an empire? Bleeding? He’d sooner kill over and hand the nation to his brother

“Uhh? About a week-“ “WEEK?” He screeched

“Surely you aren’t serious!?” You nodded, no lie in your eyes

“You absolutely cannot go out today- you must stay here, rest, recover- I could never ask you to go out in this condition? Around all those people? That must be exhausting..” he trailed off eyes lowering to the floor

“Why not? All women do this, go out, continue living”

“All of them?” “Every one” you said and lifted yourself from the bath. You dried off and threw on a slip garment and sat by your vanity as the servants began to fix your hair

Geta appeared behind you, hair a mess, and a doting look in his eye- “You are stronger than you appear, Carissma”

You turned rising to cup his face in your hands

“Don’t you forget it” you whispered pulling him in with a longing kiss

It wasn’t long before you were dressed in your most comfortable stola, Geta chose a darker shade to avoid any noticeable bleeding or accidents and he held your hand guiding you carefully to your seats to watch the games, making sure you sat and the fluffiest cushion in the palace.

Though choosing a simpler style you still felt divine, still adorned in gold pieces and fine silks gifted to you by Geta, each chosen by him for your taste.

He truly cared for you and watched over you in all ways- respecting you now more now than ever. His empress, his wife, his love

Caracalla 🐒✨🏺

Opening your eyes the soft moonlight strewn about the room and you paused hearing two pairs of footsteps patter into the room. You retired to bed early from the banquet tonight, a celebration of Rome’s latest conquest and victory.

The pain in your abdomen had started in the morning and had gotten worse as the day continued. You hadn’t brought attention to it, not wanting to disturb Caracalla’s peace. He loved the games almost as much as you, and you felt well enough to press on, but by the end of the night the pain was nearly unbearable

“Shhh Dondas!! No!” He whisper yelled watching him leap onto the bed, right onto your sore abdomen

“Urgh..” you groaned as Dondas moved off you as quickly as he lept on- startled by your noise of pain

“Sorry Carissma, I thought you were asleep- but now that I’ve found you, come join the party! You’ll miss all the entertainment-we’ve got singers, musicians, and the fights! We have real fights, we’ll have swords too!” He said gleefully, like a child on Saturnalia

“I’m not sure Calla, I haven’t felt well all day-“

“Not well? What do you mean? Should I call a healer?”

“No! Well.. maybe? I don’t know..”

“Well, decide quickly and let’s go! I’ll get whatever you need don’t worry, Carissma!”

He was too loud to speak over sometimes, his enthusiasm overtaking his reason. You rose from bed stretching and rising before Carracalla cried out

“Guards! Servants! Anyone! The empress is BLEE-“ you ran wide-eyed and threw your hand around his mouth “CALLA! Not so loud!”

You shushed him and he furrowed his brows “Certainly not! You’re bleeding what if something’s happened what if I loose you!?”

You laughed softly “You’re not loosing me I promise, I’m okay- just.. hurting”

“Well I can see that, clearly! But how? How do I fix it? Fix you?”

“You don’t need to fix me Calla, this is normal, a part of life”

“What.. what do you mean?”

What DID he mean?

“Calla, this.. this must happen, it’s a natural bleeding, needed to produce an heir one day?”

He looked at you with confusion “So the bleeding is not from a wound? So where is it coming fro-..?” He trailled off gazing down to your legs

“Ooooohhh.. OH MY GODS? From..? There? You’re.. you can’t be..?”

Dondas curled into your lap softly pulling at your clothes to get closer to you, Caracalla sat beside you pulling you both on his lap

“Calla, the blood-“ “I don’t care about the blood, my poor poor empress”

He held you calling for servants to clear the bloodied cloth and start a hot bath, you told the servants which herbs to add and Caracalla listened silently for next time, something he also discovered- to his absolute horror- was this wasn’t a one time event

You left the baths and entered your room to find every candy, pastry, cheese, fruit, meat, and wine scattered around the room as if the banquet had moved upstairs

“Take what you like Dulcissima, Dondas and I will share the rest!” He said with a mouth full of food. You rest beside him on the bed and he popped grapes into your and Dondas’ mouths, each of you taking a side by your beloved emperor

“Aren’t you worried you’ll miss the party?”

“No, I could have another tomorrow if I wanted, I’d rather be here with you even if we just do nothing” he said gazing down to your eyes and kissing your forehead

Author note: One thing I’ll stand on is they were both idiots, and eat the rich (I’d want their heads on a platter if I was a peasant in yee old Rome)

Somehow CARACALLA made white boy of the month™️ ?? Beating GENERAL MARCUS, LUCIUS, AND GETA ?? Caracalla gang rise !!

Author question: LMAO Can someone break that down psychologically in the comments for me? Is it because I’m the oldest daughter and my maternal instincts revved their disgusting engine to save yet another pitiful man with wet puppy eyes? Probably. Someone tell me I need answers !!

[determunition]

new fandom, new addition to the blorbo café!

it's been over two years since i updated my tumblr banner, and i'm glad i waited until ggg jumped me in an alleyway to do so haha; i'm very happy with this piece, really shows how much less afraid i've gotten of using saturated colors

hope you all like! i don't do multifandom stuff like this nearly enough it's always super fun; close-ups and commentary under the cut!

on the left we have spamton and doze homestuck, now off having their own little convo by the window; i'm not nearly as active in these two fandoms anymore but i love em and wouldn't dream of leaving them out! also with the new chapters of deltarune set to come out this year i'm sure spamton isn't going anywhere just yet

we've also got p03 at the table! smug as he is wont to be and preparing to block tinker knight in connect 4; yes he has a drink, i like to imagine it's grease and he pours it all over himself like in robots (2005)

speaking of tinker knight, here he is distracted from his connect 4 game by the storytelling god! click clack has come to the café to get some work done and is more than happy to explain their process to a curious tinker knight

we also have a lil itchy homestuck cameo in the background (with a spooky inscryption portrait right above), as well as magnificus being nearly mike wazowski'd by click clack's beautiful hair

and finally we have propeller knight, striking up a friendly conversation in line with magnificus behind him, and a wild capochin appears! presently placing a massive order for inspekta and the bizzyboys with kris, who i imagine has been promoted to shift lead or something considering they've been working at this café for two years lmao

this has been deter's goofy banner commentary, thank you for viewing

[multi-oc-tourney]

Free For All: ROUND 3

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Callie Hewitt

(She/They)

oc by: @severevoiddragon

Propaganda:

Callie is SUCH a blorbo. She's the Chosen One but that's not a good thing because she's been chosen by something out to destroy her hometown. She has a hyperfixation on her hometown, her house, and the family that used to live there, and that propels her to start documenting her research (which you can read on @secrets-of-everwich on Tumblr!). Callie is a chronically ill 14-year-old who won't let that stop her from learning all the secrets of her hometown, which includes getting lost in some caves for 24hrs. Their character arc in the story is simply learning that sometimes if you dig too deep, bad things happen, but they then go straight back to digging too deep 5 years later in the sequel (which I need to write). I think they deserve the world, and YOU can help that!! More propaganda, if the ramble wasn't enough for you: The more rounds Callie wins, the more chapters of the sequel story I will write :D

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Dot

oc by: @tortellini-time

Propaganda:

she’s the absolute worst, a pop star, in a situationship with one of her coworkers who died 5 years ago and pretty much directly caused the end of the world! idk how much I’m supposed to say here but basically she’s a pop star who worked for an evil organization run by the sun god on the side. And during a workplace party she accidentally got the sun god killed via giant owl, which caused the sun to go out and the moon to catch on fire.

she’s made a very elaborate fake persona in order to keep others underestimating her, and is very vindictive and power hungry. She genuinely believes that everyone only looks out for themselves and thinks the same way as her.

She was having a whole toxic yuri situation with one of her coworkers, who then got killed by a giant owl before dot could realize that she’s capable of feeling genuine love for other people (yikes!).

the more bedraggled drawings are her post-moon fire where she’s being all sad.

anyways she causes all her own problems, she doesn’t have a tragic past, she will ruin your life for looking at her weird, but I mean god forbid women do anything

[reader-from-nowhere]

Curious on your opinions of prowl

Hoo boy, this is gonna be a lot so don't mind my ramblings.

I'll say first that I've never really cared for Prowl, so I don't go out my way to read many of the comics that is centered around him, most of what I know about Prowl is in MTMTE Lost Light and G1 + Earthspark, so my general knowledge of Prowl comes from fan stuff!

So I'll talk about comic Prowl since I have the most to say. I'd say I enjoy Prowl less as an individual character and more of a mirror to Rodimus (my blorbo, I know I'm guilty of only reading comics about my favs).

In my opinion, Prowl is more of a foil to Rodimus than Getaway did, though I think both are great antagonists, I just feel like Prowl and Rodimus mirrors each other more than Getaway did. They are both assholes, to others around them and to themselves, and while their intentions are genuinely good, their actions are inherently extremely selfish and egotistical.

While I think Rodimus got better, I never really saw Prowl do the same.

Prowl's relationships are also very interesting. He is very VERY detached from reality, being able to burn almost every single bridge for the 'greater good'. He is so far sighted that he isn't able to see the ditch he is speeding towards.

He admired and looks up to Optimus the most out of everyone, and desperately wants validation from his leader. His need for appreciation I think shows really well with his relationship with the Constructicons and Tarantulas. They all view him very highly, but Prowl does not, and I think will never truly be able to be satisfied with that sort of affection. Prowl has shown to want to be appreciate for being good, and while the Constructicons and Tarantulas do validate Prowl's abilities and skill, they appreciate him for all the wrong reasons (Tarantulas, especially).

That's also why I don't think ships with any of them can work out for Prowl, at least not in anyway that can be healthy in the long run.

(Also side rant here if you don't wanna read feel free to skip: I hate how the fandom AND canon treats Tarantulas, he essentially gets reduce to 'crazy ex-boyfriend' status and I think he never really gets to leave that box. Earthspark is probably the iteration that did Tarantulas the most justice. Tarantulas' character is the personification of Prowl's actions coming back to bite him in the ass, but he's also more than that. He was a bad friend to Prowl when he pressured, ignored and went behind Prowl's back with the Noisemaker, but Prowl really wasn't innocent either. I really wished we got to spend more time with him and explore his other relationships like with Springer, god he ADORED his little pod baby, even if he's real fucked up about it.)

(Speaking of getting reduce to 'crazy ex-boyfriend' status, justice for my terrible wife Pharma.)

[lis-likes-fics]

Is That a Challenge?

Pairings: Spencer Reid x Reader Word Count: 8.1k words Warnings: NSFW, smut, abo themes, omega!Spencer, alpha!Reader, (mentions of alpha!Emily) heat/rut mentions, sexual innuendos, multiple orgasms, edging oral (f! receiving), biting, claiming, praise, sub/dom themes, aftercare... A/N: This was so hard to write because I'm not really used to writing dom!Reader. I'm also not used to writing sub guys because I'm used to wanting all my blorbos to rail me so...this was new to me. I will eventually write a fic where Spencer does the railing though, TRUST! But here it is! I hope you and enjoy. Happy Halloween!

Traffic was a fucking nightmare, but at least you're here. People were moving slowly this morning for a reason unbeknownst to you. Your coffee is the only thing keeping you sane so far, and you're pretty sure it's by mere placebo.

You set your bag on your desk with a heavy sigh, saying your lazy hellos to the girls. You guess Morgan's in his office since he isn't here.

“Where's Rossi?” you wonder briefly as you switch your computer on.

“Hotch,” Emily mumbles. You hum.

“Spence isn't here today?” JJ wonders as she glances around for your boy genius.

You shake your head, plopping down in your chair with your arm thrown over the back. “No, he had to stay home,” you answer. “Not feeling too well.”

Emily turns, raising a brow. “He's not sick, right?”

You hum, tilting your head slightly. You busy yourself with your password. “Not exactly.”

You hear her before you see her. She's wearing something dangly today.

“Where is my cutie patootie?” She sounds playfully vexed. “He hasn't come to see me yet.”

“Wow, everyone is worried about my boyfriend today,” you say, turning in your chair to face all your girls.

“Well, your boyfriend doesn't miss work without plenty of notice,” Emily replies.

You purse your lips, turning away to focus on your work. You're sure there's plenty of it today. “Something came up…”

There's a very brief silence. JJ chuckles, catching your unintended insinuation. “Oh…” she says, “was that something him?”

You crinkle your nose, turning right back around to show her how unimpressed you are by her joke. “I will neither confirm nor deny.”

You probably should have confirmed or denied because now they're very interested. To be fair, it was a rather inappropriate response to respond to (not that that has ever stopped any of you from prying into the other's personal lives).

Penelope’s face shifts from her confusion into something rather mischievous. “Oh. Oh! Oh.”

Emily leans forward, a smirk on her lips as she sets her elbow on her leg. “Why aren't you staying home then?”

You cross your legs, your foot over your knee to pull close to you. “Proving a point.”

“Oh,” Penelope says again. “Oh.”

“Are you going to keep saying ‘oh’?” you question, shaking your head at her.

She sits on your desk, her enthusiasm leaking out of her ears. Maybe if you let it, she'll deflate and have to go refill your air supply.

“Yes,” she nods definitely. “Because—Oh, my God. I knew you were both little freaks.”

She is way too excited about your sex life.

You roll your eyes at her. “What's freaky about me proving a point by coming to work?”

“The fact that your point–” she pokes you, “–is so freaky.”

Emily and JJ are eating this up. They've both fully abandoned their work to turn toward you and pry. JJ’s got her legs crossed, Emily's got hers spread as she leans forward. They're all holding coffee mugs in their hands in place of tea cups.

“What’d he do?” Emily asks. She's bobbing her brows.

You laugh, covering your face with your hand as you sigh. “If I tell you, you cannot tell Morgan. He will never let Spence live it down.” Poor Spencer would have to go through that every day. It's just mean.

JJ’s the first to respond. “Deal.”

“He's getting nothing outta me,” Emily nods.

“You have my silence.” Penelope pretends to lock her mouth with a key. She stuffs said imaginary key in her bosom.

“Promise?” you warn.

“Yes!” she exclaims. “My lips are sealed. That's what the key was for.”

You sigh, trying to hold back your hesitant smile as you go through the morning. “The…” you chuckle lightly. “The heat snuck up on us this morning.” Their understanding comes in various hums and mumbles. “Obviously, I'm a little hot, too. I told him I would call in to be with him, and he agreed because,” you lick your lips, effectively conveying your slight annoyance, “I'd likely ‘be too frayed to focus anyway’.”

“Oo.”

“Yikes,” Penelope winces.

You nod. “And I told him that I could last longer than him. He pulled out all his statistics, said that my ‘kind’ was statistically less controlled at this time than his. I took that as a challenge.”

JJ hums, “So would I if I were in your shoes.” She brings her cup to her lips.

“Please,” Emily scoffs. “If my girlfriend said that to me, it would be all over for her.”

You shrug. “I told him that I'd last the day without so much as a text. First to make contact loses.” You glance at your phone, searching for anything and finding nothing. “He's doing well so far. I thought he'd tap out after the first hour. He was really bad this morning.”

“Only…” Emily checks her watch, “seven more hours to go.”

It's only been an hour since you left the house. One hour. Singular.

This morning has been so slow, and it's only been an hour.

“Seven?”

You might give up now.

Emily chuckles, though she's sympathetic to your cause. “Hang in there. Make us proud.”

Penelope shrugs. “Hey, chicks before private parts and all that, but I will be rooting for Spencer. I have faith in him.” She makes a fist to show her firm stance in this race.

JJ sighs. “That's sweet, Pen, but he'll probably tap out within the next hour. I know I probably would.” She shrugs. “But it's not for a lack of trying.”

Penelope laughs at that. “And so would I, but he's strong. Right?”

You turn back around to face your computer, snickering to yourself. “You should see him in bed.”

You hold your hand out behind you. Emily smacks it before swiveling in her own chair. JJ and Penelope roll their eyes. She scoots off your desk to leave.

~

When your phone rings, “Penny” is shining on your screen like she's already in your face. You answer.

“I need news. Anything yet?”

You roll your eyes. She hadn't even waited for a hello. “You called me for this?”

“Has he texted you?” she insists.

Your leg starts jumping. “Nothing yet.”

It's a little frustrating. You've been here for how long? Spencer was about to burst this morning. After he'd proposed his little facts, you didn't even help him out before you left. Now he hasn't called or texted or even asked about you through any of your friends.

Penelope is ecstatic. “See?” She squeals.

“He's still got another three hours,” you say. “He'll break.”

“Oh, my wonder boy?” She giggles. “Never.”

You run a hand down your face at her support of him. It's sort of annoying because she's sort of right. Spencer is very stubborn when he wants to be. That's what happens when you know everything.

She hangs up on you. You put your phone down with a sigh and focus in again on your work. If you don't, you think you might lose (which would never happen).

“Pen?” Emily mumbles.

“Who else?”

~

It's the end of the day. The sun will be gone by the time you make it home. Not a single peep.

You're surrounded by the girls as you all step into the elevator. Penelope starts to say something, but you see Derek first.

“The door, the door, the door!” you whisper-shout.

You all start jabbing the close-door button, and you think briefly that you'll break it. All the boys look on, entirely taken aback by such behavior.

“Wait. Hold on!” The doors close in Derek's face.

You let out a breath of relief.

“He actually did it,” JJ smiles.

Emily shrugs, though she sighs a little. “I'm impressed.”

“No. No,” you wag your finger. “Not yet. The deal is no contact, not no texting. When I get home, he'll be all over me, and then he'll lose.”

Your annoyance is funny to them. 

Penelope almost whines. “First to touch? That's evil.”

Emily doesn't sympathize. “But worth it. Gotta do what you gotta do.”

“Wait, so what happens if you win?” JJ wonders.

“Spencer has to wash the dishes for a month No questions asked.”

“Oh.” Penelope hums, then she sighs. “Underwhelming.”

Emily leans against the wall. “I thought he already does dishes.”

“He does,” you say. “Gladly, I might add, because he knows I hate them.”

The doors slide open on the main floor. They continue to follow you.

“Then what's the challenge?” Emily asks.

You shrug. “Dignity.” Your car beeps as you press on the key fob.

“Oh, please,” JJ scoffs. “It's pride. She just wants to prove she's better than him ‘cause she's an Alpha.”

You don't look at her. “Two things can be true.”

“So what's the real deal, huh?” Penelope’s voice shifts down, and her nose crinkles in a gremlin-like manner. “Loser gets down and dirty? Are we talking who'll cry first?”

You all turn to look at her. Her smirk fades a little, and she rolls her eyes with a scoff. “What? I might be rainbows and unicorns but ya girl gets down in poundtown.”

JJ’s brows raise. She smiles as she nods, “Alright, then.”

To be honest, the parameters of the deal were fuzzy. Whatever you propose, Spencer will love. Whatever Spencer proposes, you will love. You're compatible in that way.

The ideas are making it hard to pretend you've got it together.

“I guess we'll never know.” Emily leans on your car, crossing her ankles.

“Know what?”

Morgan's voice breaks the four of you from your huddle. You turn to him as he comes forth, the Hotch and Rossi in tow. He puts his hands on his hips.

“What do you mean?”

Derek scoffs, as if to say “don't play with me”. You look at him expectantly, and he just shakes his head at you. “You said you guess you'll never know.”

You continue to play dumb. It's rather fun that way. “What won't you know?”

Derek crosses his arms over his broad chest. He raises a brow at all of you, waiting for someone to break and not expecting it to come from you or Emily.

“Does it have something to do with the kid?” He glances at Penelope, and you have to fight the urge to stare her down and remind her of the deal.

But alas. “Hearing you call him ‘kid’ in this context is really tripping me up.”

“So it is!”

“Penelope!” you scold.

She winces, covering her face to hide her blush and her smile. “I'm sorry!” Everyone's laughing by now.

You sigh, turning back to Derek. “Spencer is fine. Hotch knows. He was a little under the weather this morning.”

Everyone looks at Hotch. His face is as blank as ever. Until it isn't.

It is so, so slight. But the faintest glimmer of a smirk curves his lip, and you know it's over. The traitor.

“Oh-ho!” Derek claps. “I saw that.” He turns to you. “You mean longin’ to be under those sheets?”

You think it's funny that Derek thinks he's funny.

“Good job, Garcia,” JJ laughs.

“Sorry!”

Emily pokes fun. “Hotch, what happened to poker face?”

His hands come up. His smile is wide.

“It's fine. Spence is fine,” you insist. You begin to realize that it has been all day since he's seen you, and he's probably going to lose his mind soon. “And if you'll excuse me, I need to go make sure he's doing okay.”

Derek laughs, lightly smacking your shoulder. “Go rock his world, girl.”

Penelope raises a stern finger to him, “You are in time out, mister!”

“Oh, yeah?” He raises a brow. “Well, hopefully I can be in time out with you. How's that sound?”

They both walk away cheerfully. Derek glances over his shoulder at you, waving and then pretending to zip his lips. You smile back at him. At least Spencer can live in relative peace then.

Emily nudges your shoulder with hers. “Make us proud.” Her phone chimes. You watch something in her face change as she sucks in a breath through her teeth. “Speaking of which, I have to get home.”

She leaves abruptly, making haste in getting to her car to what you believe is going to be a good night for her.

JJ laughs as she leaves. “Still rooting for Spence.”

You look at Hotch and Rossi. “He'll be in tomorrow,” you promise.

“Oh!” Rossi’s brows shoot up, and they both laugh heftily. “Okay, then.”

“Take care. Both of you,” Hotch says. “And let me know if he's still…sick.”

You purse your lips as you nod. “Will do.”

Rossi starts backing up, wagging his finger at you as he does. “You two have fun now. But not too much fun.”

You roll your eyes. “Thanks, Gramps.”

“Hey. Respect your elders.”

Hotch laughs again. “Have a good night.” He pats Rossi on the shoulder as they both turn to leave. You open your door, stepping inside as you wave your goodbyes.

~

“Spence?” You peek your head past the door, looking around the living room to find him absent. “Baby, I'm home.”

When you close the door behind you, you're hit with it. His scent is everywhere. It's like he decided to rub his body all over every square inch of the house. If you weren't hot before, you definitely are now.

You press your thighs together, placing a hand on the wall to support you as you try to focus. How were you supposed to win if he has scented the whole house? You know he did it on purpose, too. He did this last time, when you actually stayed home. You didn't leave the bed for two days. (When you did leave, it was only because you got called in for a case.)

It's bad when you get to the bedroom. The door is closed, and you can smell it leaking out of the crack under the door. You think maybe you'll hold your breath when you get inside, but it seems highly illogical, so you don't.

As you push the door open, you're almost dizzy with the scent. “Oh, my,” you mutter, your eyes finding a lump in the bed surrounded by clothes and blankets. “It's hot in here. You should really open a window.”

Spencer sits up. His chest is bare, so are his legs, and you assume the rest of him. His hair is a tousled mess on his head. He looks almost precious like this.

“You're late,” he states plainly. He looks more grieved than he does upset.

“Sorry, baby. Got caught up talking.” You walk past him to get to the window, cracking it open to let some fresh air into the room before you lose. You turn to him, your hands on your hips as you smile. “Are you hungry? Been wanting to cook all day, for some reason.”

He shakes his head. He almost looks tired. His face is pinkish. “I'm not hungry.”

“No?” You lean against the side of the bed, facing him with a tilted head. “What's wrong? You look upset.”

He shakes his head weakly. “I'm not upset. I'm just… I want…” His voice is slightly slurred.

You bend down to him, so close that you can smell every little thing on him. Conditioner in his hair, lotion and sweat on his skin, you. He's almost shaking when your faces are so close that he thinks you'll kiss him.

“You look like you're burning up,” you mutter, keeping your breath shallow. “You sure you're okay?”

He wishes you would touch him. Any touch. It didn't even have to be a kiss. You could put the back of your hand on his forehead. You could brush your knuckles over his cheek. Anything.

You'd have to admit, you're wanting the same thing. But, no. He started it. You're not going to finish it.

“Please.”

Oh, what music.

You raise a brow, tilting your head to the other side. “What's that?”

“I'm sorry. I was wrong.”

You contain your grin. You play dumb, looking over his face and humming. “About what, sweetheart?”

He shakes his head. “I didn't last longer. I tried, but I couldn't.”

“That’s not true,” You see him start to lean forward. You pull back, gutting gently. “You didn't text me. Not once. You didn't call anyone. I haven't heard a thing.”

He almost whines. “Are you angry with me?”

“Angry?” you smile. “Of course not . That was the challenge. I can't be mad just because you tried to win.”

You linger there a moment, but it's getting to be too much. You straighten your spine slowly. You almost mess up as you reach your hand up to stroke his cheek, stopping halfway just to drop it back to your side. You sigh and walk away.

“How were you,” you wonder, “while I was gone?”

“Please. It hurts.”

He sounds so sad, you almost give in just because. You don't want him hurting. But you have a point to prove. Besides, the longer you wait it out, the better he'll be by the time you're done with him.

So you continue. “What hurts?” You slip your shoes off by the door, stretching your arms over your head with a long sigh.

“Everything hurts.” He can't think straight. It's becoming too much.

“Poor baby,” you mutter.

He needs you to do something, but he doesn't want to accept defeat. It's not fully a conscious decision. Spencer has always had trouble asking for help. It's what happens when you know everything. It's just more fun for him when he doesn't feel like he's burning from the inside out.

“I wasn't good,” he tries. “I tried to fix it on my own, but I couldn't. I knew I couldn't, and I tried anyway.”

You hum. “That's okay. What else were you going to do? Wait for me?”

“I'm supposed to.”

You shrug. “You are supposed to.” You walk to the edge of the bed, tilting your head at him. “But you didn't.”

“Please,” he mumbles, moving closer. He holds his hands out, palms up to offer them to you.

“I'm not falling for that, Spencer. If you want me to help, you know how to do that.” Any second now. “Don't you?”

Spencer just stares at you for a second, his face seemingly pained with his need. He sits up on his knees, the blankets falling away from him as he cradles your face in the palms of his hands.

Your lashes flutter at the feeling of his soft hands on your cheeks, but you continue to watch him, your face blank.

He gives in. “Please.”

You cup his elbow with your hand. With a sigh, Spencer leans in and captures your mouth in his. It's hot and rough, full of a raw desire for the other.

He's insistent in the way he kisses you. If he hadn't been so needy before, you'd think he was making you concede. His hand cups the back of your neck, the other wrapping around your waist as he brings you flush against his body.

You let him move you for now, setting your arms over his shoulders as you run your fingers through his hair.

When you grasp a handful of his soft, brown locks, he whimpers when you pull it back. You have to fight the urge to clench your teeth. “Shh, it's okay,” you whisper against his lips. You keep him firmly in place, kissing his forehead and his nose and his lips. “You weren't very good today, were you?”

You feel his body tense against you. “You are angry.”

You shake your head, rutting gently. “I'm not angry with you.” You let go of his hair to glide your fingertips along his hairline. “I'm just disappointed.”

He tugs at the hem of your shirt. “That's not better.”

You smile. “It's not, is it?” You pinch his chin in your hand, brushing your fingers along the length of his neck. “But don't worry, baby, we're gonna fix that together, okay?”

He nods. “Okay.”

You kiss him quickly before stepping out of his grasp. “Lie back.” Spencer sits back on the bed, awaiting you with pleading eyes. You smile. “I'm gonna go get ready for you. When I come back, I want you to be right there. Okay?”

He nods. “Okay.”

“Good.”

~

When you return, Spencer is laying back against the headboard like he's dying of the plague. You lean your bare body against the doorframe, sighing gently as you watch him.

You gently knock on the wall, bidding his eyes open as he turns his head to you. His breath hitches, catching again as he sits up some more.

Slowly, you make your way to the bed, climbing on top of the sheets and crawling over to him. Your lips meet as you straddle his waist, hovering over him as you relish in the closeness.

With a feather light touch, you reach down to take his cock in your hand. He winces, inhaling sharply through his teeth as his eyes squeeze shut. You pull back to look at it, swollen and weeping. It looks painful, and you suspect it is. “Oh,” you sigh lightly. “Look at what you did to yourself, baby. How will I be able to do anything with this? You're already ready to burst.”

He whines. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to.” He gasps woefully when your thumb brushes the head. “Can you fix it?”

You do not envy him. Your clit is aching, your nipples are peaked, and you'll start sweating any moment now—but Spencer is suffering. He really needs this, and you're about to be cruel.

Oh, well. At least he'll learn a lesson.

You sigh, letting go of him. “I have an idea. But I need to be warmed up first, yeah?”

You kiss him before throwing your leg from over his body. He sits up, switching spots with you to let you sit against the headboard, your legs spread wide. You've been needing this all day, but you can't admit to that yet. At least Spencer had the whole house, filled with your scent in every fiber of fabric or every splinter of wood. You've been trapped at the office with nothing but his desk too far away from you to keep you company.

Spencer scurries to the spot between your legs. He might as well be salivating with how excited he is to be there. He slips his arms underneath your thighs, scooping them up and pulling you in close. Before he does anything, he looks up at you. “May I?”

He asks so sweetly. It'd be cruel not to oblige.

“Yes, sweetheart.”

Spencer's mouth is on you in a second, his hot tongue laving through your folds and his lips suckling on your clit. He's eager and desperate to taste you, to run his mouth over your cunt and cover himself in you.

You moan as you card your fingers through his hair, bucking your hips up into his mouth every time he moans right back. He eats you out like you're a feast fit for a king, licking and sucking and slurping you up.

“Oh, fuck. That's it, baby. Keep going.” You huff, savoring each flick of his tongue. “Good. Good boy.”

He makes a dreadful sound, so filled with pleasure that slick and spit seep from you like sap. You grip his hair tight, encouraging him with grinding hips and deep moans and fluttering folds. “C’mon, baby. Doin’ so good f’me.” He plunges his tongue inside of you, moaning into your dripping cunt.

He's always been very eager to do this, to taste you and to lick you whole. He's always been very good at this. You're on the verge already—all the pent of desire between the two of you makes it all the worse.

When you cum, he's all over you. His tongue and his lips devour you. Your thighs clamp around his head so tight, you think that you'll crush his skull. Not that he'll mind much. He's always enjoyed being in this position—you think he'd consider it a wonderful death.

The pleasure rushes through your body and makes you tremble as you arch your back and soak in the feeling of it all. And when the trembling has eased, you let out a heavy sigh and guide Spencer away before he works toward a second or fifth orgasm. He will, and he has.

“Good‎. Good job, baby,” you smile drunkenly, carding your fingers through his hair as you tilt his head up to look at you. His face is pink, almost darker. His chin and nose glisten with your arousal. You kiss it from his face.

He stares at you like your approval is going to make him cum all on its own. His lashes are fluttering, and he looks like he's barely holding on to reality.

You kiss his forehead to bring him back again. “Now lie back, and let me take a look.”

Spencer does as he's told. He sits up and trades places with you once again. As he lays against the pillows, you shuffle through clothes and blankets to half-straddle his legs.

He's gotten worse (as you supposed he would). When you touch his aching cock, he winces again. “Ah!” he exclaims, like you'd just hit him in the gut.

You shush him gently, using your fingertips to brush over the length of him. His arousal is pooling at the tip of his weeping cock. You do not envy him right now. You do pity him.

Though not enough to give him what he wants.

You drag your fingertips gently along his cock, grazing your thumb along the head and watching his belly tense and un-tense. You lean down, pressing your lips to his chest, and then to his belly, and then to his lower belly.

He whines when your breath fans over his erection, even worse when your lips kiss the base of his cock, and then come back up to kiss the head.

He's muttering little pleas under his breath, but he's too unfocused to form any actual sentences. You scarcely lick and suck on him, not nearly enough to get him off, but enough to elicit desperate moans and whimpers from your poor boy.

Your fingers curl around him, teasing the veins running underneath his cock or gliding gently over his balls. He's trembling, he needs you so bad.

You really should just put him out of his misery, but you find it too sweet right now. You clench your thighs and bite your lip. You bring your own free hand to your clit and rub inefficient circles over the bundle of nerves. It won't be enough right now to help you, but it sure does drive him crazy.

Spencer can't keep up with his own breath. He struggles to keep it steady when you touch him like you do. Every time you think he'll cum, you grip the base of his cock until that malcontent fills his eyes, and then you start again. You've done it a lot thus far, he's so close to the edge that everything you do nearly sets him off.

You stroke his length with a lazy, limp hand as you look down on him. “How's that? How do you feel, honey?”

Sweat sticks to his forehead, his neck—he's covered in it. His eyes are dazed. You're not entirely sure he's present right now. He's definitely not here enough to string together a coherent sentence on the first try.

“Please,” he whines. “I need it. Need you.”

There's no emphasis, or perhaps the whole thing is an emphasis. He's too far gone for you to tell.

“Yeah?” You try to catch his line of sight. His eyes find you and stick to your face, but you can tell it's not quite processing fully. “That's not what it felt like today.” You shake your head, tutting as you keep stroking, slowly building your pace. “You said you could last without me. Now look at you: you can't even make a full sentence.”

You grip the base of his cock as you feel him beginning to buck into your hand. He groans, clenching his teeth and slamming his eyes shut. “‘M sorry. I'm s-sorry.”

“You are?” You sweep the pad of your thumb over the slit in his tip. “Sorry about what?”

He sits up on his elbows. “What I said. I was wrong,” he insists.

You tilt your head just as you flick your wrist. You watch the muscles in his neck tense. “What were you wrong about, Dr. Reid?”

His hand reaches out to hold your side, grasping without grabbing you. “P-Please.”

You lean forward, pulling his face close to yours as you continue to stroke your fingertips along the underside of his cock. “No. You don't get anything from me until you say it.”

His breath is entirely unsteady. He struggles to keep up as he makes these pitiful sounds. “Omegas don't have more discipline,” he huffs out, his words coming in a rush in an attempt to get them out. “I was wrong. I would-wouldn't last longer than you. I didn't. I lost, I was wrong.”

His hair sticks to his forehead. He looks like he might start crying.

“Good,” you smile, brushing the hair from his face and pressing a kiss to his temple. His nose nuzzles in the crook of your neck, his lips stick to your own damp skin. “Good boy. So good for me.” He whines lightly, worse when you rub his tip. “I just need you to do one more thing for me now, okay? Can you do that?”

He looks at you with glossy eyes. “Yes. Anything.”

You smile gently, your face unchanging as you simply say, “Apologize.”

His brows pull together. A tear rolls down the side of his face. “I did.”

You shake your head. “No,” you squeeze his base, “you said you're sorry, and that you were wrong.” He sighs shakily. “I want an apology. A good one. What did you do? Why did you do it? Why won't you be doing it again?”

He whimpers when you tickle his balls with your fingertips, pulling your hand away to watch his face scrunch up discontentedly before continuing again.

“C’mon, baby,” you encourage.

“I-I’m sorry for saying I don't n-need you,” he stammers. “I do. I thought I knew everything, but I don't. And-and–”

You raise your brows. “And what, Spencer?”

“And I won't do it again because–” His words are interrupted by a moan when you tug on his cock.

“Because what, huh?”

He places his hand on your cheek, gazing up at you with teary eyes and a face red as cherries. “Because I need you. Because I love you. Please, I love you.”

Your hand stops entirely, looking upon him with softened eyes and a gentle face. You bend down to whisper against his lips. “You promise?”

“I promise,” he breathes. “Fuck, I love you.”

You set a hand on his cheek, brushing your thumb over the reddened skin and easing hair from his face. His face is so warm, he's burning beneath your palm. “I love you, too, Spencer,” you smile. He hums into your mouth as you kiss him, leaning into you and your warmth. He missed you so much.

“See?” You cup his neck in your hands, cradling him in your palms as you look over him. “That wasn't so hard, now was it?” You kiss him again, but he's shaking beneath you. You hover above him, straddling his lap and placing a hand on his chest.

“You ready?”

“Yes!” he exclaims, grabbing at your sides and letting his hands feel your hot skin. “Yes, please.” He starts to ramble again.

“Shh. It's okay, it's okay,” you whisper against his lips.

You line his cock with your pussy, almost as needy as him as you anticipate the feeling. You sink down on him, and you're so dreadfully wet and aching that he slips right in with ease.

You both moan, long and deep sounds that reverberate in your chests. Your eyes fall shut, your folds flutter around him, your mouth parts. A gentle curse falls from your lips, and Spencer is glad he isn't the only one who needed this so bad.

He sits deep inside of you, filling you to the brim with his cock. He's so hard, you can feel him pulsing inside of you. His hands take hold of your waist and squeeze so hard that you think you'll bruise. You clench around him and try to keep your breath steady.

He really needs you to stay focused right now, you know it. You set your hands on his belly, holding his close as you slowly begin to grind yourself in him.

He really isn't going to last long. You've been teasing him for the better part of ten or fifteen minutes, pulling him to the edge just to ease it and watch him suffer. You'll be surprised if he holds out the first minute.

“That’s it, baby,” you sigh, your voice a little pitchy with your own pleasure. He grasps your hips and guides you a bit as you roll your hips steadily atop him. Your gentleness only lasts a moment. In the next, you're grinding atop him like you’re the one who's been trapped in the house all day begging for an Alpha to come help you.

Your sounds mix with his, almost as pitiful as you both whine and moan, blinded by the pleasure finally being awarded to you.

Spencer's head tosses back into the pillows. He clenches his jaw and tries to stifle his moan as he holds your hips down on top of him. You grip his shoulders, gasping as he cums inside of you. He moans your name, grabbing at flesh like he's kneading dough.

You shush him gently, easing your pace just enough to let him come down. Once his breaths settle down, you kiss him as you start again.

If there's one thing you love about this time of the month, it's how fast Spencer recovers. He can go for rounds and rounds at a time before he needs to rest.

You pick up Spencer's hand, guiding it to your belly as you press his palm into you. “You feel that?” you mutter, adjusting his hand. “That's you. That's you inside me. You're so—Ah!—so fucking deep, baby. Making me feel so good.”

He huffs, thrusting up into you suddenly. He laughs a little when he feels the way it moves, hears the way you moan. “It's perfect. You're perfect,” he rambles. He buries his head in the pillows.

When his dull nails dig into your skin again, you take his hands and pin his wrists above his head. He gasps and moans as you fuck him, riding him with all the vigor you have.

“You like that?” you huff, your control slipping with every roll of your hips. “This feel better?”

“Yes!” He's a mess, laying there and letting you ride him. “Yes, so much better.”

You can feel some of his cum leaking out of you, joining your arousal and making the schelp! of your thrusts easy. It soaks your thighs and his waist, creating this loud smacking sound that fills the bedroom.

Holding both his wrists in one hand isn't easy but it's manageable as you bring your hand to your clit, rubbing fast circles that immediately spur you on.

“Fuck,” you huff. “Spence, I'm gonna cum.” He answers you by thrusting his hips up some more, meeting your thighs as you come down.

Your legs shake as you cum, your cunt fluttering and gushing around him. One of your hands slips under his head to pull at his hair, enjoying the way he gasps. You attach your mouth to his throat, biting and sucking and licking.

It's like that for a while. It gets really wet and really loud. You ride Spencer for a while, holding him and kissing him and biting him while you both keep coming undone, moaning and gasping each other's names and grabbing at limbs to keep you steady.

Spencer is trembling beneath you. He's a complete mess, grabbing at your thighs and bucking his hips up to meet yours. His hair is all over his face, you keep having to brush it away. You praise him with every roll of your hips, grinding down on him and telling him how good he's doing. He whimpers every time you do.

The dynamics are always so different during heats like this. Spencer requires your lead, and you enjoy taking it. But when things are normal, when the need isn't so high, it's not so desperate.

That's not what this is. It's a raw feeling that sits in the pit of your stomach and demands attention as you hold Spencer down by his throat and sink your teeth into his flesh as you shudder around him in the middle of another orgasm (which makes him lose it and cum inside of you again).

You look at him as you settle again, catching your breath as you move slowly on top of him. His eyes are glossy, he's beet red. He looks so precious. His hand reaches up to cup your breasts, grazing the pad of his thumb over your nipple.

“Better?” you breathe. “Does that feel better, honey?”

He nods, not fully present. “Yes.”

“Good. That's good.” You sigh, bending down to kiss him gently. “Can you do something for me, love?”

“Anything.”

You brace yourself, pulling yourself up from his lap as he slips out of you. He whines, bucking his hips up to meet you again. “Shh. It's okay.”

You're shaky as you sit down, reaching over to grab his cock. It looks better, but he's still hard. He's got a couple loads left in him. If you weren't in a rut, you don't know how you would be able to keep up.

“Go ahead and get on top of me, okay?” Your voice has lost some of its intensity, replaced with breathless gentleness. At this point, you're just trying to make sure Spencer is okay, and you're losing some of your energy to guide him on top.

You lean into the plush pillows, keeping your hips up as he sits up to follow. Spencer grabs your hips gently, guiding himself inside of you once again as he presses his chest into your back.

You groan into the pillow when he thrusts, reaching one hand to card through his hair and setting the other palm up for him to hold. Spencer buries his face into your neck, kissing you needily as one of his hands plays with your breast. “Do whatever you want, I'm okay,” you whisper, clenching around him. The rock of his hips becomes insistent. He thrusts into you in quick movements, though not as rough in fear of hurting you. 

“It's okay, baby,” you breathe again. He whines, squeezing your hand a little tighter. He listens anyway, adjusting his pace as his hips snap into yours, reaching deep and groaning with every thrust. You moan, pressing your face into the pillow. “Good, just like that.”

Spencer lets go, rocking back and forth and moaning and grabbing. He holds you carefully as he fucks you recklessly, enjoying the shudder and the swell of his body when he cums.

His fingers find your clit, and he rubs at it as he continues to thrust. He rubs tight circles, coaxing the frayed nerves with every intention of making you feel as good as he does. He kisses the back of your neck, he grinds his hips deep inside of you.

You hear the way his breath starts to rise again, the way his hips stutter once more. You grip his hair a little tighter, clenching around him and huffing when your own edge starts nipping at you.

“Baby,” he whines. “M’so close. Almost there.”

“C’mon, honey.” Your voice is a whisper muffled by the pillows. “C’mon, c’mon. I got you, c’mon.”

He flicks his wrist, and you gasp. Everything is covered in a white haze as you clench and gush around him. Spencer moans weakly, burying himself deep inside, pushing forward against you just to get closer. With a final thrust, he spills inside of you with the most dreadful sound, filling you to the brim with the warmth of his cum.

Spencer wraps his arms around your midsection, keeping you close to him and sticking together with sweat and warmth.

He rolls onto his side, taking you with him. He's still buried inside of you, refusing to pull out just yet as he lays there, catching his breath. You lay there, resting against the bed and enjoying the warmth of his body against yours. You don't know how many times he came, but you do know that if you weren't so dedicated to your medications, there is no earthly way you would come out of this without being bred.

It takes a while for Spencer to fully come back around. By the way his breath slows and his arms hold you, you'd say he'd fallen asleep for a moment. You don't blame him, you've dazed out a couple times as well.

When he comes to, he presses his lips to your skin. “Baby?” he mumbles, slipping out of you on the way to look at your face. Your eyes are closed, and you look tired. “Are you okay?”

You nod, smiling a little when you feel the way some of the stickiness is spilling out of you. “Mhm,” you hum lazily. You turn over in his arms, wrapping your arms around his waist and resting your cheek against his chest. He's forced to move his arms to sit over your shoulders. He doesn't mind.

“I missed you today, Spence,” you whisper. “Fuck, I thought I was gonna die.”

He hums, smiling a bit. He kisses your forehead, petting you gently. It takes a long time for him to move, to bear to pull away from you just to stand and go to the bathroom. He comes back with a cloth that he uses so carefully to clean the both of you up with. You're absolutely stuffed.

You drape an arm over your eyes, sighing heavily. “Next time this happens, we stay inside.”

“Agreed.”

You stuck your pinky out, and he interlocks his with a smile. He goes back to the bathroom to rinse off the cloth.

You sit up, leaning into Spencer when he comes back to the bedroom, sitting next to you with an arm around your waist. He really must have missed you because he buries his face in the crook of your neck and stays there.

After a while, you hear his stomach growl. It's this deep, monstrous sound that pulls you away from him.

You look at him expectantly, standing up and taking his face in your hands. “When was the last time you ate?” Spencer blushes, glancing away from you. You sigh, though not unkindly. “You haven't eaten today.”

He swallows thickly. “I was focused on other things.”

You chuckle lightly, kissing his forehead. “C’mon. Let's get you fed.”

You go to pull him with you, but he squeezes your hand. You return to his grasp. “I can do it.” His arms wrap around you and hold you tight so you can't escape.

“Hush,” you tap his nose. “I'll cook, we'll eat.”

He considers this for a moment. “Can we have sex after?”

You laugh, guiding his face to your chest as you tuck your chin over his head. You stroke his back. “You're so needy,” you laugh giddily.

He hums. “Sorry.”

A sour feeling threatens to curl in your belly. You pull him away to look at his face. He looks a little sad. “You have nothing to be sorry about,” you tell him, soft but firm. “Nothing.”

His brows furrow slightly. “But you said–”

“I wasn't upset with you. I was just playing it out for you.” You stroke your thumb over the apple of his cheek. You could never be upset with your Spencer.

He pouts now. You can't help but giggle at the way he looks, lips pursed and brows furrowed. He's silly, you think. “That was mean.”

You shrug. “You like when I'm mean to you.”

“I know.”

You pull him in and kiss him again. He's insistent on pulling close, always insistent. “I love you,” you whisper against his lips.

His voice is so small, so gentle. You taste his love on his tongue. “I love you, too.”

He brings you back in, and you slot your lips along his neck. He tilts his chin up to give you space. You kiss and suck at his skin, knocking his chin up some more as you find a nice spot beneath his ear.

Spencer hums when you bite him, sinking teeth into flesh to lay claim to him once again. His hands tighten around your waist. You feel his tired length bob against your thigh. He's yours. He'll always be yours.

When you kiss it better, Spencer dips his lips to your neck to do the same.

“Now let's go eat,” you smile, running your hands through his hair affectionately. You make him stand, tucking yourself into his side. You both need the support. “I'll make you whatever you want.”

He sounds almost pleading when he asks you. “And then sex?”

You chuckle heftily. “Of course we're gonna sex again.” He smiles excitedly.

~

You both return to work the day after the next day. You had to call off when you woke up with Spencer's head between your legs. You'd both mentally prepared yourselves in the car beforehand for the stares you were going to get from the team.

You walk inside next to Spencer, standing so close to him that it's no wonder they all immediately smirked at you. Even worse, Morgan is sitting on your desk.

“Nice outfit,” Emily points out, gesturing to Spencer in his purple turtleneck. He had to hide his blush, and you know he wished he could hide it in your neck.

“Thanks,” he mumbles. She glances at you, raising her brows expectantly. When you gave her a very small, very brief thumbs up by your side, she made a little “yes” as she spun back around to her desk. She sticks her hand out to JJ, who grumbles as she opens her wallet.

“You're lookin’ good kid. Guess you're all healed up now?” Morgan quips. When Spencer comes to his desk, which sits right across from you, the man whistles. “You're smellin’ ‎good.”

Yes. Spencer smells like you. He smells exceedingly like you. You'd spent a full day wrapped up in each other, and you'd bitten him more times than you can count. (Spencer could count. He'd say twelve times. It was eleven, but you bit him before you left the house. He's not at all upset by it.)

“I see the brains and the brawns have returned.” Rossi walks in with a newspaper under his arm, and Penelope at his side.

You roll your eyes, shooing Morgan away so you can sit down. Penelope shuffles up to you and bends down to whisper in your ear. “Did one of you cry?”

You purse your lips, considering for a moment before nodding with a stifled grin. “Yes! I was right,” she whispers.

“How was your fever?” Morgan nudges Spencer, whose mouth opens and shuts in a struggle to respond. He glances at you for help.

“Spence, how many files do you have on your desk?”

Without looking down, he answers. “Thirty-one.”

“Wow! And I have…” You look down.

“Forty-four.” Christ.

“Forty-four,” you repeat. “So I think we should get to work, huh?” Spencer nods enthusiastically.

Morgan chuckles, holding his hands up in defense as he backs away. “Okay, I get it. You get to work, little lovebirds.”

“Glad to have you back.” Penelope hugs Spencer. A look flashes across her face when she catches a whiff of his hair. She looks at you, covers her grin, and then rushes to join Derek.

Everyone decides to leave you alone. You've started turning on your computer when Spencer stands and reaches across your desk. He picks up eight of your files and sits back down with them added to his stack. When you go to reach for a couple to even it out, he lightly smacks your hand without even looking.

You roll your eyes, smiling at your screen as you tap in your password.

Criminal Minds taglist: @queermaxwooo @mdanon027 @lilianhallee @hpstuff244444 @thegr8estpuff @niktwazny303 @bubbles2300 @hiireadstuff @chloelmao67 @feyresqueen @hbwrelic @princess76179 @hc-geralt-23 Dr. Reid taglist: @swwanlake Tag yourself here...

[shorthaltsjester]

coming off the high of finishing the draft of the last of my exegetical/theory heavy chapters of my thesis and while i was writing i was thinking a lot about why applying real world political philosophies to exandria specifically tends to fall flat and like. even beyond the explicit treatment of things like homophobia as nonexistent and hegemony functioning wildly differently if it really actually exists in exandria as we conceptualize it in our actual world really boils down to the works that make up a lot of the roots of the leftist theory people apply to exandria. like obviously marx is a big guy, nietzsche has more influence than you’d think given his reputation as the internets (poorly interpreted) sad boy, and less people probably know the names of the critical theorists that came out of the frankfurt school but you’d know their ideas — and they all have their toes in countless leftist ideas today, whether their influence is explicit or not. what’s notable in all those theorists is something found in the argumentative and background work that they provide before the claims most people on the internet know re: the workers of the world uniting, god’s being dead, and the culture industry, whether in their previous work or just earlier in the same books that people have read the goodreads quotes of: first principles.

if you’re unfamiliar with the term, it’s just a philosophy word for basic proposition that cannot be deduced from a previous claim. And for a whole lot of works in the history of moral and political philosophy (as well as other less relevant branches), one of the most common first principles you could find was the proposition that god exists. so much of the work of philosophers who inform leftist theory has required them to do the work of either coming up with a different first principle and justifying it and/or providing justification for why first principles are in themselves a flawed notion. nietzsche was so impactful in his claim that god is dead because it targets the very notion that history and the philosophy in it was finding the proposition that god exists to be unsatisfactory if unsupported. marx then was only able to ground his historical materialism because that first principle re: god was able to be dismantled. critical theorists, like adorno for example, were only able to do their work in light of accepting that god is not something worth appealing to without justification. and the reason any of this is relevant to the fantasy world of a silly internet show where voice actors roll dice is because any leftist theory whose most foundational basis is the realization and gradual societal acceptance that the claim “god is real” could not be assumed but had to be given justification will always end up being unsatisfactory when it is applied to a world where “god is real” is not only factually true but is also societally accepted and the existence of those who might philosophize about the gods is a direct product of those gods’ existence.

this isn’t to say there can’t be insight granted by applying these theories anyway (looking at my blorbos and applying philosophical theories is my favourite hobby, just ask my thesis supervisor) nor is it to say that the risks of trying to apply these theories to exandria starts and ends with its failing to be philosophically apt — but there have been many great posts circulating re: the issues with viewing certain facets of exandria through an “it’s a colonialist metaphor” lens and many similar cases so i won’t dive in here. just pointing out that as a facet of the objective truth that can exist in a fictional world, especially a world established by gods (world here being a word that includes the existence of mortals), some of the foundational propositions of the philosophical arguments at work in those theories are rendered false in the exandrian context. but this also means that, if the gods leave exandria in some sense, i will have a very fun time unpacking a nietzschean interpretation of their absence. because i predict that though the gods will be dead/gone, his meaning of god being dead will Not be fulfilled since ostensibly the majority of exandria still looks to the gods in love and in doubt as providers of guidance, and i question how much their presence actually informs the depth of that dependence. anyway. that’s my philosophical enrichment for the night.