#there's a lot of sleeping or rather non-sleeping actually

[aquietjune]

Little Bird: Chapter 5, of the space for the dead and that of the living (part 2), is out on AO3

“The Eldians can do with less space.”

Nobody wants to live near the drainage channel in the internment zone, where the air is suffused with rancid odors and the humidity eats you alive; the chemicals dumped in the river impede the growth of anything edible. That was why we live here, Annie. These sick trees are our only company while we train, the only witnesses to my child-rearing, the only lives you’re not asked to take.

We have space to live, here, like there was in my home country once; we have peace.

But look, here comes the committee for the habitability in the internment zone, they are telling us we can do with less space. We have too much. I can curl up and turn into a little cube, but what about you, my child?

Can you live on this little strip by the riverside? If we put a bed here, right at the edge of it, will you fall into the river while you sleep? Anything is better than taking something that is not yours.

If you can’t, then you’ll also be put in a suitcase and be shipped somewhere else, on an island far away…

(continue)

[bacchuschucklefuck]

species medley ft. gorgug and riz

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[deadsetobsessions]

Tim Drake had a lot of free time.

In between the time little Timmy was deemed old enough to not need a nanny and his ninth birthday when he got his first film camera, Tim Drake had so much time after school to explore his big, empty house. And so he did, hours upon hours were spent exploring his house.

Mansion, Tim corrects himself. His house isn’t a house. It’s an abandoned mausoleum disguised as a mansion. He intimately knows every creak of the floorboards in the out of the way galleries, every heavy weight curtain shut closed so what little sun that makes it way through Gotham’s gloom is reflected in order to protect the artifacts stored within the walls. Tim probably knows the exact amount of fleur-de-lys on the fourth sitting room’s wall paper- by extrapolation from preexisting data and personal data collection. Basically, he laid on the floor and counted.

Tim had a lot of time. He also had a lot of artifacts to pore over, making stories as he goes and double checking the actual history of the object.

Tim thinks he’s an artifact, almost. To his parents, at least. A child, a thing, they collected at one point in their lives and put on display at the galas they deem worthy to return to Gotham for. Perhaps he’s worth even less, had his parents bothered to look at him more than the lesser art pieces in their storage-mansion. The story everyone knows about him is prerecorded by people who weren’t really there.

Regardless, Tim Drake knows every single corner of his prison mansion. He’s catalogued everything, after all, on a nice spreadsheet. 

And that’s why, as he entered the fifth- and least used- guest bedroom, Tim’s attention immediately cut to the wrong bit of detail. Eyes flickering between the indent on the bed, the mussed- but not terribly dirty- state of the sheets, Tim slowly backed towards the door. His eyes fixed on the spot on the bed, he called out a soft “hello?”

He immediately cringed. He’s not an amateur, and that little “hello” was a mistake that might get him killed.

Tim trembled as the panic set in, tears pooling at his eyes. He wished Batman and Robin were here, they’d know how to-

There’s something appearing on the bed. Tim Drake stares as a glowing figure with white, wispy hair and a black hazmat suit appeared sitting cross crossed on the guest bed. His gloved hands were held out in the universal I-mean-no-harm gesture.

“Don’t- don’t panic!” The thing said, looking rather panicked itself. “I’m, uh, Phantom.”

Tim Drake’s curiosity and mystery-solving mindset slammed down on the toddler’s mind, quickly banishing the fear and panick in favor of interrogating this new, exciting thing.

“I’m Tim. Are you…” Tim frowns, wishing he had Batman’s intimidating growl. “A ghost?”

“Got it in one, kiddo. I’m, uh, not here to harm you. Or steal anything! I just wanted to rest.”

Tim blinked. He decided right then and there that he likes this person. This… Phantom. If his trust was based on the fact that the loneliness was worse than a dead person, no, it wasn’t.

“I thought you sleep when you’re dead..?”

——

Danny stared at the child in front of him, watching the kid- Tim- pout at something. Danny is distracted from the staples holding his ghostly guts from falling out of his non-consensual vivisection when the kid asks him if he’s a ghost.

“Got it in one, kiddo!” Oo, he should tone down the energy. Danny’s too tired right now to maintain that level when speaking to Tim. Now, gotta reassure the kid he means no harm before he reports Danny’s presence to whatever authorities around.

His parents, at best. The cops, at worst.

“I’m, uh, not here to harm you. Or steal anything!” He could tell he landed in some richie rich mansion by the opulent decorations in a seemingly impersonal room alone. “I just wanted to rest.”

Ancients, that had been more honest than he’d wanted. He really was out of it.

“I thought you sleep when you’re dead?”

Danny snorted.

“Yeah, but you can almost never have enough sleep, you know?”

The toddler looks unsure but nods anyways.

“Listen, would you… not tell anyone that I’m here? I’ll be out of your hair soon, promise.

Tim looks like a smart kid. There’s no way he’d fall for-

“Okay.” He fell for it. Danny blinked, stupefied. “My parents won’t be home for a while.”

“What.”

Tim shrugged. “You can stay. The housekeeper is only around a couple of days.”

“You… are you supposed to tell me that?”

Tim sent him a derisive look, clearly bolder now that Danny made no moves to hurt him.

On his cherubic but skinny face, the effect is both adorable and absolutely devastating.

“You’re hurt.” Tim fidgeted with his hands. “I can… I can get you water…?”

His core purred.

“Please. Thanks… Tim?”

The kid beamed at him and left.

Crap. New fraid member it is.

——

Danny, naive: “Surely him trusting strangers is just a one time thing, he’s so well behaved”

Tim, staring Danny in the eyes as he jumps out of the window to go stalk his vigilantes: “I’m gonna go take a walk in Crime Alley”

——

Tim gets Danny water, but it’s tap water from Gotham and is infected with both an ungodly amount of toxins (that doesn’t affect either of them bc one’s dead and the other had been chugging it since they were a baby- Gothamites get bottled water or from Wayne Foundation’s Clean Water Stations) and also like trace amounts of ectoplasm.

Danny: woah this is so healthy water!

Tim, pleased because Danny ruffled his hair: yes, I’m perfect

The rest of Gotham, if they knew: making warding sigils against these two eldritch gods

——

Basically, Danny gets attached and stays mostly because of said attachment but also Danny could see Tim’s budding world dictator tendencies and went yeah gotta curb that

[nereidprinc3ss]

rubber duck

in which reader is sick and spencer takes care of his girl!!

fluff (18+ for nudity) warnings/tags: reader referred to as girl, non-sexual undressing + nudity/intimacy, reader takes bath, spencer doesn't but he is in fact present a/n: heeeeyyy guys.... sorry for not posting for a month... accept this as a token of my gratitude and know that smut is in the works. keep sending requests, might not answer them but you never knoww!!

Spencer gets home around ten PM. Granted, it’s not a completely unreasonable time for someone to be asleep, but for you? A person who’d rather not go to bed at all than wake up before eight in the morning? You being passed out on the couch at this time is definitely abnormal.  

He drops his bag on the coffee table as he approaches, kneeling next to where you’re curled up in the dark room. Part of him doesn’t want to wake you if you’re tired, but he’s mildly concerned. Normally after him being away all week you’ll stay up until he gets home regardless of how late (or early) it is. Ambient light coming in through the window allows him to see the sickly sheen to your skin, and he feels your forehead with the back of his hand. 

“Spence?” you murmur, trying to blink the sleep out of your eyes. His response is equally quiet, wavering slightly. 

“Hey. Are you feeling okay, angel?” 

Even though you decidedly are not, your spirit lifts considerably at the sight of him in front of you. A wave of caramel hair falls over his furrowed brow as he scans your face, looking for signs that something is wrong. You brush it away, hand coming to rest on his cheek. 

“I’m fine. I missed you a lot.” 

Your voice is a paper-thin whisper, giving you away even as you try to downplay your condition. 

“I missed you too, but I’m a little worried. You’re pretty warm.” His eyes dart away from your face and down your body, seeming to notice your attire for the first time. “Did you go to work?” 

“I tried to. But I had to come home at early. I guess I didn’t make it all the way to bed.” 

This seems to worry him even more, if the way his eyes narrow and the line of his mouth tightens is anything to go by.  

“How long have you been asleep?” 

“Well... what time is it?” you ask sheepishly, still disoriented. 

“10:20.” 

“Oh god,” you moan, burying your face into a pillow (which does not make breathing any easier through all the congestion), “I’ve been sleeping for eight hours!” Panic wells in your chest at the ridiculous notion that you somehow lost an entire day to sleep.  "I didn't mean to-"

“Shh, relax, it's fine. Your immune system works a lot more efficiently when you’re asleep. It’s the best thing you can do when you’re sick. Studies show that melatonin may actually be an effective antiviral, and people who sleep seven hours a night are 300% less likely to develop an illness than people who sleep only five hours a night.” 

Despite yourself, you smile into the pillow at his unprompted information dump.

“So... am I... 500% more likely to be better tomorrow?” 

He laughs, running a hand through your hair. 

“I don’t even know where you got that number.” 

“I failed statistics in high school,” you mutter, pushing yourself up onto an elbow. 

“Honey, that’s Algebra.” 

You bury your face in your hand and laugh at your own stupidity- before it devolves into a coughing fit.  

“Ugh, I’m sorry. I know you hate germs,” you say once you’ve managed to get the coughing under control. You look at his face, but there are no signs of disgust or fear. 

“I could never hate your germs. But I am worried about the cough... do you think a bath would help?” 

You mull it over. Part of you wants to rot on the couch forever, but the more rational part knows you should definitely get up and try to take care of yourself. With a helping hand from Spencer you rise, stumbling into his waiting arms like a foal on shaky legs. Immediately you feel fatigued, but he patiently guides you to the bedroom and sits you on the mattress before disappearing into the adjoining bathroom. 

For a few minutes the only sound aside from you catching your breath is the tub filling from the other room. Soon he returns, to find you curled up on the bed and barely conscious once more. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” he sighs, gathering you up in his arms and helping you to your feet once more. “You really don’t feel good, huh?” 

You shake your head, allowing yourself to be carefully herded into the bathroom. Spencer moves to sit on the edge of the steaming tub, pulling you forward gently by your belt loops. Deftly he begins to undo your jeans as you fumble with the buttons on your shirt. 

“I feel like I’m dying,” you groan. He glances up at you.

“I wish you would have told me you were sick. I would have come home earlier.”  

“I thought about it,” you admit sheepishly, “but I figured better I be sick and alone than more people potentially end up dead because I’m too needy.” 

Your boyfriend sighs, resting his hands on your hips as he looks up at you with a mix of earnestness and admonishment.  

“At least tell me next time. I don’t like the idea of you here all alone without anyone knowing you’re ill.” His fingers press gently into your flesh to emphasize his point. “Okay?” 

“Okay,” you agree softly, without hesitation. Spencer’s expression softens too, and he leans forward to press a kiss to your sternum. 

“In,” he directs after you wiggle out of your jeans, getting out of the way and helping you into the water. He watches as you carefully submerge yourself, a little tense as if he’s ready to jump into action at any second. “Is it too warm? I tried not to make it too hot because your body temperature is al-” 

“It’s perfect,” you reassure, sinking further in. Steam billows up around you and you sniff. “Lavender?” 

Spencer nods, settling on the floor next to you. 

“And mint. I’m surprised you can actually smell it.” 

Normally you’d tease him for his fussing, but the minty steam really does seem to be helping you breathe a bit easier. After only a few minutes, you feel noticeably better. 

“Will you read to me?” you ask dropping your head to your shoulder to look at him. 

He’s leaning against the wall and monitoring you with a contented look on his face. At the suggestion his eyebrows raise. 

“Of course. What do you want to hear?” 

“Fairytales. But only the super gory ones. The more disturbing the better.” 

“What? No Jane Austen?” 

“Ugh, no. I need to hear about terrible things happening to beautiful princesses so I can feel seen.” 

A small smirk graces his lips as he regards you, eyes sparkling with humor and thinly veiled affection. 

“You are utterly ridiculous.” 

“You have to be nice to me when I’m sick,” you whine, slinking lower into the bubbles. Spencer hums in sympathy, running his hand through the water to check the temperature before trailing his knuckles over your arm. 

“My poor sick girl,” he teases. You huff indignantly, attempting to hide the way his words make you melt into the bathwater. 

“Just get the book, Spencer.” 

“Yes ma’am.” He kisses your forehead (covertly gauging your fever, you’re sure) before pushing off the ground. You watch him leave, heart overflowing with adoration even though you still feel sick. Maybe it’s the bath that’s helping, or maybe it’s just his presence.  

A minute later he returns to his post beside you bearing Grimm’s Fairytales and a tall glass of water, which he tells you to drink all of before he starts reading. Regardless of how unwell you feel, you find the energy to make sarcastic comments about the characters’ intelligence and the implausibility of the plot (it’s a fairytale, Spencer reminds you) but soon the soothing cadence of his voice enthralls you. The illustrations and the story capture your imagination as you rest your head and arms on the side of the tub. 

More time has gone by than you realize when you begin to shiver in the now lukewarm water. Spencer notices, finally setting the book down. 

“Ready to get out?” 

You nod and he helps you step out of the tub, pulling you close and wrapping you with a fluffy towel. Absolutely no heed is given to the state of his own clothing as your wet skin soaks his shirt, or his own health as he breathes in your air. 

“I’m gonna get you sick, Spence,” you say anxiously, making a feeble attempt to pull away. Spencer doesn’t even begin to allow it, holding you even tighter. The honesty of his words is reflected in his eyes as he looks down at you adoringly. 

“I can live with the idea of spending a few days at home together.” 

You lean into him further, too tired to hold much of your own weight up. 

“I can’t believe you have to intentionally get sick to get time off work.” 

“You’re definitely worth it.” He kisses the top of your head and rubs your back for a moment.  

“And to think,” you muse, the words muffled by his shirt, "when we first met, you wouldn’t even shake my hand.” 

[harmoonix]

Stars Waterfall

°Short Astrology Observations°

✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶

🌃 - Scorpio Ascendant in your Venus persona chart makes people to envy your beauty, or to be obsessed/manipulative with you

🌃 - Taurus Mercury/Mercury in the 4th house can have the most cutest voice ever, their voice can be light and soft and also very cute (for both genders, men with these placements are 10000/10 omg)

🌃 - Aquarius Risings with their trendsetter style, they inspire a lot of people, their mindset/clothes/personality Inspire people, and they have a really great influence in the society

🌃 - Mercury square/opposite Moon can be prone to sharing secrets/gossip/ and talking bad behind others back, they can aslo be the type of person who's always talking about someone

🌃 - How can people with Sun in the 12th house be so magnetic?? They're always surrounded with mystery and striking beauty, they pull you towards them without realizing

🌃 - Jupiter/Sagittarius in the 11th house are so good at manifesting things, and they have luck for this aswell, they're full of desires

🌃 - If you are attracted by men and you have Jupiter in Libra/Jupiter in the 7th house, you may want your partner to be romantic. I cannot imagine these natives not getting in relationships with non - romantic people

🌃 - Chiron in the 9th/12th house can be religiously wounded, they can often believe that "God" abandoned them or that he doesn't love them etc..

🌃 - Chiron in the 12th house can heal with sleep, like sleeping is the best method to do when you're hurt because while you sleep your body tries to heal so just sleep or idk transform into the sleeping beauty but don't let the prince to wake up...

🌃 - Saturn in the 4th house/Saturn in Cancer can have an very nurturing yet hurt soul, like they have this nurturing/healing/soft energy but also some of pain/sadness/nostalgic in them

🌃 - Gemini Rising natives can often look younger than they actually are, so people can mistake their age a lot like for example you're 19 and people think you're 16/17 because you look younger than that

🌃 - Leo Sun/Moon/Rising like to be everyone's favorite, they're cute but they can get so jealous if someone dear spends time with someone else rather than them...

🌃 - Pisces Sun/Moon/Rising/Venus are very clingy people, if they are not clingy it's probably because they're either very shy or introvert to be clingy

🌃 - Pisces Midheaven or MC in Pisces Degrees 12°, 24° can find themselves being attracted to multiple things at once, especially in their career/job, one moment they can like art, the next moment they may like acting/singing etc..

🌃 - Pluto conjunct/trine/sextile Mercury are very revengeful in words, when they hurt they can say things they may regret but omg, their words have a very big impact on others

🌃 - Pluto aspecting the ascendant can have that rbf (resting bitch face), to show when they're irritated, angry, overwhelmed...

🌃 - If your Dad has any earth placements especially an Earth Moon/Earth Saturn they may like country music, or just that type of old music that people listen in the old times

🌃 - Ascendant at 4°. 16°, 28° degrees > gosh I just know these natives have really beautiful eyes, they look very feminine, no matter the gender, they're gracious

🌃 - Jupiter in the 9th house can end up to travel the world around with their partners? Maybe they can end up like those couples on YouTube who travel around the world with their van or something

🌃 - Moon in the 8th house people don't fw with people who seem suspicious at first, they're very picky at people and don't like to share their time with people who seem "bad"

🌃 - Uranus in your 4th house > This placement can manifesting as you have so many ideas about your home and you don't know how to put all of them in work. It may be a bit stressing for you to decorate your house because you have too many ideas

🌃 - Mercury in the 11th house > They have the most funniest conversations ever, these natives can connect so easily with other people

🌃 - Earth Moon/Venus may enjoy traditional music. Especially if you have it placed in your 4th house, they love culture/traditions and things that remind them of their home

🌃 - Pluto in your 1st/11th house > You can get envy just because of being yourself, you have a very powerful presence in other people's lives

🌃 - Mars in 1st/2nd/10th house can have a very gorgeous body. Especially if they work on their bodies. It ends up with good results

✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶

🌃 - I love making spiritual posts because they are giving such a good vibe, its always this comforting energy coming in!🌃

🌃 Hope you all have a good day full of blessings to everyone reading my notes 🌃

- H a r m o o n i x

[starlight-bread-blog]

Why Stolas is a Terrible Person/Character

Oh this will be long. In this post I will cover why Stolas is a character that fundamentally fails at everything it tries to accomplish. I probably have to say that you can love Stolas. That's just why I hate him.

Trigger warnings for: Racism, casteism, power dynamics, sexual assault, sa apologism, abuse, and neglectful parenting. A lot, I know, but that's Stolas.

His Actions in S1

Despite the title, there will be two examples from season 2.

Racism/Casteist

Stolas is from the upper caste, a royal. He seem to often fetishize imps, or the fact that he's sleeping with someone who's less than him. I even saw fans pointing this out. He have empathized Blitzø being an imp in a sexual context.

(Notice the use of words: "little", "plaything", to me this is blatant racism and fetishism).

He also showed a certain lack of empathy for his imp butler.

Stolas isn't particularly violent, he doesn't choke people left and right. He's just angry, at Stella, so he decides to.. choke the imp.

Stolas has been dehumanizimg imps. Fetishizing an imp for being an imp, calling him an "impish little plaything", and he has been willing to choke an imp just because he was angry at something unrelated. He's racist and casteist.

Treatment of Blitzø

"Treatment" is putting it lightly. In the first episode, Stolas does something inexcusable that will taint their dynamic for all of season 1. First, he sees Blitzø in a vulnerable position, where he cannot think or negotiate. Thus, stripping him of what little choice he has on what he's about to offer.

What Stolas is saying is, "Fuck me or I'll shut down your business". This deal he makes is just a threat with extra steps. Which, is a real life abuse tactic called Quid Pro Quo:

"Quid pro quo harassment occurs when someone in a position of authority over another directly or indirectly demands sexual favors in exchange for some benefit, or to avoid some detriment in the workplace".

One element I haven't brought up yet, is the political power imbalance. Stolas is royalty, one with a lot of power, influence, credibility, etc. Blitzø has non of that. Other characters have commented on that the fact that Blitzø even has a business is a miracle.

There are so many layers of imbalance and how Blitzø has no choice or agency. A royal is """offering""" the powerless a Quid Pro Quo while he's in a life threatening situation.

And their dynamic looks exactly like you'd imagen. Stolas is consistently sexualizing him against his consent. (As it's been established, Stolas's racism feeds into this). And refuses to do the surface level courtesy, not even calling him his real name (x).

Stolas treats Blitzø as a lesser being, violates his boundries, forces himself on him, and strips him of all autonomy.

Faliure as a Father

Stolas's role as a father is directly tackled in Loo Loo Land and Seeing Stars. At the beginning, both episodes show Stolas being a good father to Octavia, but does this still hold true in the currect day? Well, no.

In Loo Loo Land, Stolas wants to take Octavia to a theme park. Octavia is 17, and Stolas ignores her when she says she doesn't want to go. (In retrospect, Stolas coud be oblivious because he's projecting onto Via his experience meeting Blitzø).

But that's just the start. Stolas then invites Blitzø to the trip and harasses with him all throughout. Essentially, Stolas is forcing his daughter to watch as he harasses "the homewrecker", all the while he's supposed to be with her, on a trip she didn't even want to go to.

After a whole day of this, as expected, Octavia runs away. Stolas chases her. (And of course, he's still thinking of Blitzø on his way to find Via). There's an apology scene that looks deep, but when you dissect it, it's rather empty.

Stolas never actually provided an explanation as to why he just did what he did, nor of the "drama" with Stella. There is nothing here. Octavia only makes up with him because he said he isn't gonna leave her. Which is bare minimum.

After he realizes that his affair hurts his daughter to the point where she feared he's gonna leave her, what does he do? What practical actions does he take to improve? Divorce Stella? Cut off his deal with Blitzø? Explained the situation?

Nothing. And now we see he's willing to stand up on a stage and let people know.

In Seeing Stars, Stolas bashes Via's mother to her. Which, does she know about their situation? Does she not? She isn't shown to hate or.. anything Stella. Is he hiding the situation (which I'll cover), while also trashing her mother? That's impulsive and negligent.

But that's nothing. She later runs away, Stolas is stressed as he should be, but the second they arravie on earth he's all calm and everything's normal.

When his daughter is missing. When he is shown to be stressed, it's for the sake of plot. But he's willing to just chill, watching Blitzø's show.

Stolas is, dare I say it, neglectful. He might care about his daughter, but he's proven that she's not enough of a priority to focus on her when it matters.

Cheating

Yes, I know what ended up being revealed, I'll cover that. In season 1, the relationship is presented to not be perfect before Stolas cheated.

But there were instances that showed that what Stolas did changed their relationship for the worse. (Some additional rebuttals).

It could have been a loveless marrige, they could hae fallen out of love, they could have been arranged. But their relationship was manageable. Love or no love, it's a committed relationship. and Stella didn't deserve to get cheated on.

Who was Stolas?

Stolas's behavior is common among royals. Stella has no problem throwing said butler at Stolas (S1 E2), and the Goetias are shown to be casteist. They're untouchable privileged assholes.

Stolas was born that wealth, never having to suffer the consequences of his actions. Always putting himself first, hurting others. He doesn't mean to, he wants for everyone to be happy, he does care.

However, when it actually matters, he acts on his worst tendecises with no self control. He never had to learn self control. That is, until Ozzie's.

Before Ozzie, Blitzø and Stolas are at obligation. Stolas's actions had tainted them. There was one redeemable moment: He saved Blitzø's life. Stolas did something for him. But this one act of goodness doesn't magically fix anything.

Stolas's family life have been escalating. Stella hated Stolas for cheating and his daughter just had to take it. In Loo Loo Land, he learns the full weight of the damage he caused. And in the next episode we see him, he proceeds to take no steps to improve the situation. In the end of that same episode, we learn that Stella hired an assasin after him. Because he did nothing.

The season 1 finale, Ozzie's, is aware of all of this and absolutly delivers.

The episode starts with seeing Stolas alone, in his big house, miserable. It appears that Stella finally left the house. (Also he later says "Octavia is with her mother this weekend"). He's eating a bowl of cereal, pitying himself, wallowing in his despair. You feel bad for him, he looks so torn down.

And then Blitzø calls. The one he loves, asks him on a serious date. It's hope, it's honest, and it's exactly what he wanted. It's almost as if the universe handed him is fairytale scenario.

Almost. Reality smacks him right in the face on that date. Asmodeus calls him out on losing everything he had. He had a family, a happy daughter, but gave it all up for an affair.

Blitzø calls him out on treating him like a pet, not earning any of that emotional connection he wants or even communicating it, just violating him, they have nothing.

The show held him accountable and called him out. While it's not perfect, Stolas is a morally grey character. Now, a character arc was set up where he learns to treat people better. Stolas is exactly the character I want to see from a show like Helluva Boss. He's a horrible person, but nuanced, who does care.

Season 2

Yeah... all of that is thrown out the window. Because apparently, Stolas is just imperfect. He simply made a lot of mistakes. He misread a lot of situations, really it's all just an accident. He's an oblivious victim. So, let's get into the woobification of Stolas.

Surrounded by Evil

In The Circus we're given Stolas's ✨️backstory✨️. And we find out he had such a terrible life.

Stella is, and always was, an abusive evil bitch. From the day she was born. Pure evil.

So you see, Stolas did nothing wrong. Let me be clear, you are not obligated to stay loyal to your abuser. We can erase "cheater" off the list. But that's the only reason why it's done. So we can erase that off the list, and that we could feel oh-so-sad for him.

Because Stella isn't written to be an abuser. She's a cartoonishly evil. We see a picture of her as a kid where she's the same person. Spongebob villians have more depth than her, you know, the abuser in the adult show.

Helluva Boss reversed an established dynamic where Stella is the victim and Stolas is at fault, except without any of the depth or nuance.

But that's not all. Stolas's dad (Paimon) is also neglectful. By "neglectful" I mean, of course, a Saturday-morning cartoon villain.

He doesn't remember his name. This is such bullshit. I can buy Stolas having a horrible father. It's also not bad to show Stolas's trauma. What is bad is that the subject matter is handled with less seriousness as the fish fight in Spring Broken. And Helluva Boss did write Crimson as a serious abuser, the episode did have comedy, but not Paimon.

The reason why all of this is happening, is so we could feel bad for Stolas. They do zero of the work to earn a good story about abuse, but still go "Do you see how sad he is? Look at how they're treating this poor baby!!"

"Recontextualization"

In said ✨️backstory✨️, we also learn that Stolas and Blitzø are childhood friends. But also not really, they just hung out for one day. Where did this come from? How does that enrich the characters? I would tell you, but I don't know. However, what I'm sure of, is that it's done to make Stolas look less problematic.

DO YOU SEE HOW CUT THIS IS? He isn't just horny for that imp, he is special, it's absoultly pure! Don't worry, totally safe.

Later in the flashback, we see how Blitzø and Stolas reconnected after over 20 years. Apparently... Blitzø was the one who sexually manipulated Stolas, selling him that he wants him.

All Stolas did was just buying into Blitzø's narrative he was imposed on. It's a role he leaned into, because he thought Blitzø liked it. I.. WHAT???

If this horseshit is true, why did he make this weird r*pe deal with Blitzø? If Blitzø was the one who acted like he's interested at first, and he was sexually exploiting him, why did he lash out at Stolas in Ozzie's? Did it just hold no weight for Stolas? It went from "Don't pretend to have something when you've been harassing me this whole time" to "You misunderstood".

The Stolitz backstory makes no sense, it's cheap, and fixes nothing. No matter what the story is trying to sell, in season 1 Stolas knew what's happening enough to try to force it. And maybe Stolas wanted Blitzø because of a connection, he still harassed, dehumanized and violated him.

Note: Stolas realizing "he imagened the relationship" is completely ignored one episode later in Seeing Stars. This is a huge deal, didn't he learn? Just further evidence that he's willing to violate the guy. (x)

Before this backstory, we had a story of a selfish man hurting the person he loves while explointing the broken system and the power that he has over him for his own selfish desires that he's forcing on him. Now, we have the same thing, but with fanfic tropes – and the story refuses to confront that.

Casteism is Brushed Off

Helluva Boss pretends that Stolas isn't racist, because he didn't want Blitzø for being an imp, but for being his fanfic trope childhood friend. Which fails to adress the disgusting fetishism of Blitzø for being an imp, and he also continued to dehumanize his imp butler in Seeing Stars. He's still racist.

Imperfect Father

In The Circus, Stolas devivers this line: "The only reason I have endured your constant insults and cruelty, was for that girl to have a normal life".

Sounds impressive, he stayed all these years just for his daughter. But that's the thing – it sounds impressive. Every time their relationship is the focus, Stolas is being the scum of the earth. What I see here, is a person. A person who despite being willing to stay passive, acts on his his selfish wants, forgetting to look around him. Mind you, this fact is also being revealed one episode after Ozzie's.

But no, one episode later, in Seeing Stars – that was covered as a prime example of everything I just descriped – Loona says this:

Yeah. He's just a good father "trying" his "best" and makes some.. "mistakes". The Circus did present Stolas as this, but Seeing Stars really solidified how his parenting will be handled moving forward. And I think it's comlete and utter dogshit.

Damsel in Distress

The title is a bit misleading. This section is mainly about Stolas's power being toned down. Both magical and in presentation.

In season 1, he was energetic and enthusiastic, while being able to set his foot down and intimidate when needed. He's still all of those things, but in some instances his characterization made my raise an eyebrow.

In Seeing Stars, he's being weirdly gentle with people kidnapping Blitzø and are later beatting him.

In Oops, he's excited to start negotiating with literal kidnappers. I have no idea why he's so nice.

(He did harass Blitzø again in Seeing Stars and bashed Striker, all of which isn't soft, but it's also the two moments where he should have shut up).

Further more, both of these conflict rely on Stolas not using his powers for some reason or another. Why didn't he just do whatever he did in Truth Seekers to track Fizz/Via?

About Via, I'm gonna have to call bullshit on the "My powers are limited on earth" nonsense because, for starters, kid Stolas is shown to remember the contents of his books and now he's been studying them for years. And two,

There is no excuse for Stolas to not use his powers and whenever the show says otherwise it's bullshitting its way out of it.

Even in Western Energy, before Stolas gets captured he was just aimlessly going in and out of his demon form. Why didn't he turn him into stone like he did in Loo Loo Land?

Stolas has been presented as weaker than he is. He's made to look more vulnerable, less "above it all". He was untouchable, and when he wasn't, it had a harder impact and made sense. Now, I almost forgot he's a powerful demon.

And his characterization is at the core of this issue. At times he's just so kind and gentle with people who should get smacked in their heads.

What about Ozzie's

The big clash, the one that called Stolas out on everything, the one that set him on a genuine path to grow, what about it? How is it adressed while the show tries to pretend he's a good person?

No, not the message Stolas is looking at, the ones in the background he just scrolled through.

I'm not breaking this down. I refuse. The only reason I put it here is to show how fast it goes. I'm not touching that.

Who is Stolas

Stolas is a moral scapegoat – "a character that is bad, but the book/movie/show portrays them as good". It's characterized by the story twisting itself to make one character look good.

Stolas didn't start out as one, but became one over one season premire and it just kept escalating from there.

Helluva Boss takes place in Hell. A horrible place filled with horrible people, the root of all evil. Stolas fits right in there. He was already problematic, awful, fed into Helll's broken system. Why trying to cover up his faults? It's Hell, and it was great. But now, we're supposed to pretend he's just flawed.

With the show actively ignoring everything he did, what's left for him? What does he have to learn? How will he grow as a person? How will he improve? What's his character arc? It's nothing. Because everything that happens to him isn't his fault, and at times could just be solved with one conversation.

[headcanonenthusiast]

Simon Riley NSFW headcanons

Ladies, gentlemen and everyone inbetween, here he is. Here's the extremely popular man himself, Simon Riley.

I know how much people thirst over Ghost, and even though I personally don't he's a character I absolutely adore. Hoping I can do him justice with this one ❤

(I completely understand that this type of content is not everyone's cup of tea, and that's ok! But, please scroll and ignore if this type of content isn't your thing as opposed to leaving any sort of negative comments.)

Enjoy!

Nsfw under the cut

-Don't really think he has the highest libido in the world.

-When he is in the mood, though, you're not sleeping that night.

-Have you seen the way this man talks? He's pretty confident in his looks. And he totally sprinkles that confidence into intercourse.

-"Look at tha', not even in you yet and you're already blushin."

-This is so random, but I feel like rainy nights get him in the mood.

-Its probably because you're less likely to go anywhere while the weather's bad. In his mind, as long as the weather isn't the best, he's got you glued to the bed for the night.

-"Where you goin, luv? Weather's nasty today."

-And no matter what excuse you give, his head will tilt slightly and he'll give the smallest smirk imaginable.

-"But it's so cold out. Wouldn't ya rather spend some time with me? The bed's nice n' warm."

-His grip on your hips is tight, so tight he usually leaves marks on accident.

-4 inches soft, 6 inches hard.

-Not the most vocal in bed, but he does grunt a lot.

-Not much of a talker, either, but depending on what you're into, he'll throw out the occasional praise or degrading word.

-"There we go, atta boy/girl. Hold still f'me."

-During sex, his eyes are locked on you, but not specifically on your face. He keeps his focus on your cock/pussy as he touches it.

-Expects your eyes to be on him the whole time, however. Does not want you to look away, even for a second.

-"Eyes on me, darlin'. Don't you look away, now."

-"Good girl/boy. Much better."

-Good with his fingers, and he knows it.

-Will totally finger/jerk you off with your back against his bare chest, his lap as your very own seat while he does so.

-"Christ, your legs are shaking. My fingers feel good, don't they?"

-His strokes are deep, and usually not terribly fast nor too slow. It's a good middle-ground that doesn't tire either of you immediately but is still satisfying.

-A big fan of pulling your hair if it's longer (consensually ofc, consent is important af yall).

-Something that really turns him on is the way his hand is able to completely cover yours. Enjoys moving a hand from your hip to your hand, giving it a few tight squeezes.

-And those squeezes aren't just him doing them because he wants to, he actually uses it as a non-verbal way to say "I love you", because like I said earlier, not very vocal.

-And he always does that at least once during sex. But sometimes he'll forget to do it, so he'll squeeze your hand as you're falling asleep, just to remind you of the fact he loves you.

-Is obsessed with painting your dick/pussy/ass with his cum. Your lips, too, when you give him a blowjob.

-When he's finished, you can see the way his body relaxes. It's like he's suddenly won the lottery and he no longer has back pain after sex.

-Aftercare isn't anything extraordinary, but he figures you need alone time after sex, so, unless requested, the shower is all yours for however long you want it.

-Also, he's not an asshole. Its not like he'd suddenly act distant after sex or anything, it's just that he knows you can take care of yourself. That's why he waits for you in bed, allowing his chest to become a pillow for your head to rest on.

-Now, Simon has never really been able to fall asleep super quickly, but after sex he passes right out.

-And it's not even because the act exhausted him, either. He just has this odd sense of contentment after being with you that lulls him into a more eased mindset, which is very difficult for him to get.

-In other words, he feels much more fulfilled with you by his side. And he'll be sure to thank you the next morning, chin on your shoulder while he gently squeezes your hand.

That was fun to write! Even though I'm not attracted to Ghost like everyone else reading this post is, he's still up there on my fav COD characters list.

Let me know who I should do next!

[howtofightwrite]

i feel like, when it comes to people trying to use violence to knock people out - rather than avoiding methods that could cause permanent injury entirely, the previous anon(s) could just go for it while acknowledging the potential consequences in-writing?

so we can say that maybe, a kidnapper knocks another person out via head injury, and the KIDNAPPER doesn't care; but when the person is rescued the rescuers are worried for them because 'what do you mean you were hit in the head?!' and immediately checked for a concussion.

one could also have it so that the person doesn't know what head trauma or other bodily harm can cause and be appropriately horrified if/when they learn - or, if it's a character who uh. doesn't care for their body or health as much, they could hear this and refuse to care. follow what the character would do on that

they don't even need to actually have the person get a permanent injury. there can be a hospital scene or first-aid responder scene where they check the victim's head and go 'you are very. VERY lucky to not have a permanent brain injury from this', and insist on them to keep monitoring for any future symptoms.

there's a lot of other ways to go about knocking someone out, but iirc this will also apply to other methods of forced unconsciousness, like sleeping pills, sleeping gas or chloroform. in real life, it's always going to risk extra consequences because it involves forcing someone's bodily functions to shut down, if temporarily

and that shouldn't stop them from writing anyway, since fiction is often going to stretch the realm of belief a little with improbable situations, y'know? a lot of stories already take liberties with it. but it's both admirable and a good thing when someone wants to be more faithful to reality, regardless, so that's why i'd like to give my own thoughts.

if the person trying to find a non-lethal angle to knocking someone out is really worried, they could just make a disclaimer saying 'unrealistic depictions of violence/recovery' or 'creative liberties taken with the consequences of bodily harm' at the start of the story and go with their previous plans

but it's perfectly fine to just write as is while acknowledging the situation in-story too, is what i feel. or even have the character actually suffer the consequences. that angle is always interesting when explored.

timeskips are also a way to cheat on the recovery period, if you want it to be really realistic. imagine this scenario; a person gets knocked unconscious during a kidnapping. they wake up and manage to escape with a concussion - but they still have the concussion from the initial assault, along with other injuries during the hostage period. they are promptly hospitalised.

timeskip to several months after. the person has recovered! (or mostly recovered, depending).

a new kidnapper enters the scene! but they don't want the victim to actually be hurt, and the waiting period was hell, so they either just get their bouncer to grab them with no chance for reprieve, nab them while asleep, or threaten them via gun to head/consequences for someone else/etc to get in the car. no actual knocking out forcefully, only unconsciousness is falling asleep in the car.

consequences make for an interesting narrative too, is what i'm trying to say; and there's no need to shy away from it, but rather acknowledge that reality as fact.

I normally wouldn't light up an ask like this, but it is doing a lot of mental gymnastics to try to skirt around the central problems with violence.

So, let's start at the top: Acknowledging a problematic behavior as problematic can still result in the author endorsing that behavior, if they present the specific examples of that behavior in a positive light. If you're having characters casually knocking people out, you are endorsing inflicting extremely hazardous, and potentially life-altering injuries onto people, “but, it's okay, because I didn't kill them.”

The problem comes from an author wanting their upbeat, happy-go-lucky protagonist to also be an absolute bad ass, without interrogating the ethical issues inherent to their “heroic activities.” Worse, in many cases, they want their character to be perceived as a good person, regardless of the horrors they inflict on their fellow human beings.

The last time I covered this, I took a passing swipe at Batman, but it remains a relevant factor to consider about a lot of action hero characters. He engages in absolutely disproportionate violence against people who are engaging in criminal activity because socioeconomic factors that are beyond their control.

A lot of fictional violence gets framed in contexts where the nobility of the protagonist is preserved either because, “they don't kill people,” or, they specifically limit their violence to groups that are “socially acceptable,” targets.

In fact, you can even see an example of the latter in the listing above, with the express targeting of, “kidnappers.” Now, I have no love for human traffickers, but seriously consider for a second that this specific, highly-specialized, career path was called out as the group to engage in this behavior. I'm sorry, “why?” What is it about a kidnapper that makes them more likely to be willing to inflict harm on their victim than some other group? But, that's not the point. The point is so that when your protagonist does truly horrible things to those kidnappers, they're still “a good person,” at the end of the day. (There's also a little goofiness about kidnappers in the ask, because they care more about the physical health of their victim than most criminals would. Think about it this way, a mugger wants your wallet, and you're just an incidental obstetrical between you and their target, for a kidnapper, you are the wallet. They want their victim reasonably intact. Whether that is for a later sale, or for a ransom, they don't get paid if their victim is “non-functional.”)

Actually, a really messed up example of this, on this blog, was a few years back, when someone was asking about their “vigilante” characters gunning down drug addicts. Which, yeah, that's pretty fucked up.

When the author botches their, “acceptable targets,” (which is the point of that Batman critique, by the way), the entire illusion can start to break apart. And it can really expose the idea that you're trying to pretend your character is a good person, because their actions target people who the author felt were, “undeserving,” of continuing to breathe.

Falling Down (1993), with Michael Douglas and Robert Duvall is an excellent interrogation of some of these concepts. I don't want to say too much else, because the film is open to interpretations, (some of which are extremely scathing), and I think the film speaks for itself better when no one is telling you how to interpret it. Just be prepared for an uncomfortable viewing.

Back when we were both regularly active, ScriptMedic and I used to have a bit of a back and forth about pharmaceutical means to subdue someone.

Chloroform is a classic example in fiction, and it was popular in crime thrillers from 80-90 years ago, in an era when ready clinical information to laypersons was far more limited. First of all, the rag over the mouth doesn't work. This is a gas used for anesthesia, and you need a lot more than a single vial to keep someone under. Second, you need to keep applying it to keep them under. Again, that rag isn't going to hold enough. Third, if you somehow got enough chloroform onto that rag, it would sedate everyone in the vicinity, because it's an anesthetic gas. (The liquid form is extremely volatile, and will quickly convert to a gas at room temperature. That gas is what is supposed to knock someone out.) Fourth it used to be a common additive in toothpaste, and frequently occurs as an out-gassing from polymers and adhesives. Popular culture hilariously overestimates how potent this stuff is. You need a lot to put someone under, and you need a trained anesthesiologist to keep them under without accidentally killing them. Also, prolonged use results in liver damage and cardiac issues, which is why we no longer use it for anesthesia. If you try to put someone under without an anesthesiologist, and you manage to sedate them... they'll die. Turns out, it also suppresses the respiratory system, and they suffocate.

It's a similar story with most anesthetic gasses, and in fact, chloroform is one of the “sleeping gasses.” Not all of them have the liver or heart issues, but none of them are, “fire and forget.”

ScriptMedic was a fan of Ketamine for knocking out characters. And, to be fair, Ketamine is fantastic for anesthesiologists. Exceeding the necessary dosage just puts the patient out for longer, which may be inconvenient, but it's vastly preferable to, death. The problem is, it's not great for fire and forget tranq adventures. Ketamine does not suppress salivation. Which isn't a big deal on the operating table, as you can pretty easily keep someone from drowning in their own spittle, but if you just inject some poor mook, and leave them on the curb, they're going to drool themselves to death.

Actual tranquilizer guns are a real thing. They're frequently used in animal control. You don't use these on people because TV lied to you. You get darted, and if you decide to keep the dart in your neck as a peculiar fashion statement, you've still got somewhere between fifteen minutes to an hour to finish up whatever you were doing, before someone rudely added a nap to your schedule. Oh, yeah, and if the dose is too high, these anesthetics can kill you. Dosage calculations with these things are educated guesses at best, and it's why sometimes animal control really can't afford to use tranq guns. It's not callousness, it's a calculus between the threat the animal poses to others, and if they have the time to wait and see if the tranqs work.

What you really need to not shy away from, is the idea that if your character engages in violence, there are going to be consequences for that violence. Unlike in real life, as the author, you are responsible for applying those consequences to the participants. This creates a real problem when you have authors who intentionally try to skirt around the parts of the events they find uncomfortable it reduces the impact of that violence.

To drag up that Batman example, the reason it's a slightly peculiar and subversive take is because it's outside the scope of the comics. Batman goes in, beats up muggers, comes out completely unharmed, and it's all okay because we know Batman's a good person, doing this for good reasons, and the muggers are still alive to reform and become better people in society.

Except, if you step away from the idea of a superhero comic, none of that makes any kind of sense.

The story you're trying to tell doesn't need every instance of violence to be followed with an extensive interrogation of the philosophical implications of what your characters did. However, if you're trying to tell a story where violence is a spectacle that happens in a regular rhythm, it's not going to hit in the same way.

I'm pretty sure I've said this many times, but violence has diminishing returns in your story. The more you use violence (particularly non-consequential violence), the less it will matter, and like any other tool you can call upon, the less your audience will respond to it.

There's nothing wrong with putting some violence with your story, but the one thing you do need to do is be honest with yourself about it. You can lie to your readers. (Though, that's something you want to be very careful of.) But, if you lie to yourself it will harm your story. Sometimes that does require doing some serious soul searching about what you're trying to do. Because, what you're trying to do right now is tell me that you want serious violence, without really coming to grips with how that constrains your options about how violence and physical harm work.

Again, there's nothing wrong with popcorn action. But if you want to write breezy fights between superheroes, you really need to admit, to yourself, that's what you're doing. Your story will be better for it.

-Starke

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[silentglassbreak]

ok bestie I have a request for my delulu self mwuah

my scenario:

Noah’s your hot neighbor, lives in the apartment across the hall. you’ve really only spoken in passing— to exchange pleasantries and phone numbers, just in case— but you did have takeout with him and his rowdy group of guy friends (Folio, Ruffilo, and Jolly, who else?) when he was first moving in. a thank you for moving one single box (that’s all they let you touch before one of them was grabbing it out of your hands). Noah mumbles something about him not about to let “his pretty new neighbor carry his shit.”

one night you touch yourself to the thought of him, you might moan his name 🤭— he’s not even home half the time, what are the chances he’d hear you? except he does. because he’s home and the walls are thin. and your phone dings with his text.

want some help, sweetheart? ft. Noah sleeping over please!!!

preferably anonymous other than x fem!reader but I like pet names!!! sweetheart, baby, angel are my favorites <33

I know it’s a lot of details, you don’t have to include them all, it’s more so to give you an idea of the vibe 💖💖 utterly filthy but still he’s still a softie and a sweetheart

thank you this is actually so cool of you mwuah

Mmmm we love a good hot neighbor trope, yeah? What a cutie patootie he is, eh?

Mkay, let’s get into this.

After Writing Notes: This man will be the death of me…

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: smut, dirty talk, Noah being an absolute munch ��

Skin

“Good morning, Angel.” His deep voice rings in my ears, and there he is, as he always is, sitting on his balcony, joint in his hand, guitar perched against the rail. He’s likely writing again, but Christ, does he have to always be out there at 7AM? I hate being up this early, and am never in the mood to speak to anyone.

I just want to sip my coffee, clear my cobwebs, and mentally prepare for my workday. The shop is packed, and my books are completely full, my first session starting at 9AM. I don’t have time for his early-bird antics today, nor the patience.

“Morning.” I grumble between sips of steaming hot coffee.

“Sleep well?” He pushes his joint out in the ashtray, careful not to damage it, obviously saving it for later.

“Mmph.” Is all I can muster while leaning back in my chair, pulling my sweater tighter around me. The crisp October morning has brought about hues of orange and amber in the trees surrounding the building. My favorite time of year.

“Busy day today? Must be if you’re up at this hour.”

I sigh heavily, eyes darting to him. His pale yellow hoodie and black beanie look so perfectly placed.

Noah is attractive, there is no arguing it, but he’s annoying. He’s always so positive and chipper. His friends are always over, as upbeat as he is. They’re in a band, and to be fair, they aren’t bad. They just like to start practicing at 10AM, on Sundays, which are the only days I get to sleep in.

I like them. On occasion, they’ll invite me over for pizza and to watch hockey, which I usually accept. None of them have ever been creepy or made a pass at me, which is so refreshing.

Noah does some mild flirting, using pet names instead of my actual name. Nick let it slip once that it’s because his ex has the same middle name as my first name, and that bugs him. He would rather not associate me with someone like her. I suppose that’s fair, so I’ve let it go. They’re all sweet, non-provocative names anyway.

“All booked today.” I slipped out.

He nodded. “I plan to schedule with you soon.”

I rolled my eyes. “You say that every week, Noah.”

His guitar was now dutifully placed on his lap, his fingers strumming a slow melody. “True, but the struggling musician lifestyle doesn’t exactly come with a wad of cash.”

I smirked. “Told you I’d discount you.”

“Discount as in…free?” I chuckled.

Despite hating his early routine, he usually did manage to perk me up in the mornings.

I stood up, opening the sliding door and slipping inside. “Keep dreamin’, champ.”

-

The day had been absolutely brutal. My wrists were still vibrating from holding my machine the entire day. I had hoped my last client would be done two hours earlier, but he had to keep taking breaks. Because of that fact, my hands were extra tired, and there was no way I could finish my sketch in preparation for tomorrow’s client, so I had to wake up early again.

Slinging my bag over the back of the couch, I huffed out a groan as I slumped down onto it. Days like today were becoming more and more frequent, and I was exhausted. I needed to clear my books for a week and have a staycation. Do nothing and see no one.

Heaving myself up, I made my way to the bathroom, taking my hair out of the tight bun it had been kept in all day. My fingers scrubbed at my scalp before I turned the water of the shower on.

I let my wrists and hands sit under the scalding spray for what felt like hours, just trying to loosen the joints. Afterwards, I massaged a brutal amount of lidocaine cream on them to ease the tension.

Pouring myself a glass of red wine, I stepped out onto my balcony with my favorite sweatshirt and the latest book my sister had recommended to me. It was a love story with very light smut, so she figured I’d enjoy it. If only she had known the types of stories I read regularly.

Still, I humored her.

Flipping on my porch light, I leaned back on my chair and pulled a blanket from my basket over me, covering my bare legs.

“Hey, sweetheart.” I startled, nearly spilling wine all over the pages.

“Jesus Christ, Noah!”

He chuckled. “I’m sorry, I thought you saw me.”

“No, gosh you almost gave me a stroke.”

His eyes peered over the separating railing at me. “Whatcha reading?”

I snorted, taking a gulp of my wine. “Some romance novel my sister keeps bugging me to read.”

He nodded his chin at this, not verbally responding. I noted the beer in his hand, and his eyes peering out at the city below.

I didn’t know Noah well at all. In fact, I knew so little that it was almost freaky, given that I saw him all the time. That’s the price I pay for being closed off. I do, however, know that he doesn’t drink much at all, and typically only does when something is bothering him.

“You okay?” I closed my book around my fingers so as to not lose my place.

He didn’t look up at me or respond, just took a pull from his beer.

No quips or witty remarks? This was even more unlike him.

“Bad day?”

He nodded.

“Want to talk about it?” He didn’t say no, but he didn’t say anything. He just sighed heavily. I pursed my lips, watching as his eyes stayed trained on the lights flickering off in the distance of Los Angeles, entranced in his own mind.

Then an idea sparked. “Oh! I know!” I set my book down, and stood up. He looked at me, finally. “Stay there! I know what you need!”

He quirked an eyebrow and took another swig from his bottle. I ran inside, grabbing the grocery bag inside my work tote, the goodies still untouched from my way home. When I came back out, I reached in the bag, pulling out the yellow package.

“Catch.” I chucked it at him, which he caught one handed. He scanned the bag, and smiled.

“All pink and red Starburst.” He looked back up at me. “You know what I needed.”

I smirked, pulling my other candy out of the bag, Sweettart Ropes, and began munching. He popped the bag of his own candy open and began unwrapping the tiny cubes.

“Now do you want to talk about it?”

Looking down at the wrapper balled up in his hand, he sighed hard, chewing the soft candy.

“We met with our label today.” His beanie from earlier was still on his head, perfectly placed. “They want us to join a tour.”

I chewed my ropes, speaking around the candy in my mouth. “And that’s bad? I thought that was part of being a band? Isn’t that how you make good money?”

He nodded, drinking more of his beer. “It can be, but I’m nervous. And they’re pressuring us.”

“What do you have to be nervous for? You’re super talented.”

He looked over, raising a suspicious eyebrow. “When have you ever heard our music?”

I scoffed. “Every Sunday morning through the paper thin walls.”

This made him laugh, which was a nice sound in comparison to his previously somber tone.

“I just recently started working on my vocals. Our early stuff was mostly all screaming. This last album has singing, though. I don’t feel ready to perform that live.”

I nodded. “Well, you practice, I know that.”

“Yeah, but it’s not that simple. I’ve got to know I can do it. I can’t second guess myself or I fuck up. I know it.” He sighed hard, setting the candy and beer on his table, and pressed the heel of his palms into his eyes.

“Mm,” I swallowed my candy. “is it a crowd thing?”

“I’m not really sure.” He rested his elbows on his knees. “I feel like it’s a being put on the spot, thing? I don’t know.”

I mulled this around. “I see.” I played with the idea in my brain before speaking. “So sing to me.”

His eyes shot up. “What?”

“Sing to me, Noah. Right here, right now.”

“The fuck? I can’t just do that.” He looked bewildered.

“Why not? It’s about being put on the spot. So sing to me.”

Noah stared at me as if I was insane. “What do I even sing? I don’t know any Taylor Swift songs.”

I scrunched my nose up at that. “Gross. No thank you.” He chuckled at that. “Sing me something of yours.”

He shook his head. “You won’t like our music.”

“Sure I do! I know you sing one about lions? Sing me that one!”

He all out laughed then. “The one about lions? Are you kidding?!”

I joined in on his laughter. “It’s the only one I remember.”

He groaned. “You’re serious?”

I sat back in my chair, chewing my candy, silently making it clear I was dead serious. He rolled his eyes and stood up.

“Hang on.” He disappeared inside. I took a large gulp of my wine, and waited.

He returned a few minutes later with his acoustic guitar, the one he usually had in the mornings. He also had taken off his beanie and sweatshirt, his tattooed arms and freshly cut hair on display. Were his arms always so muscular? No, he had definitely been working out.

“Alright, I’ll play you the one about lions, but please don’t laugh if I go off-key?”

I leaned forward, glass in hand, giving him my full attention. “Never.”

He sighed, and strummed the opening riffs of the song. It was slower, and sadder than when I had heard him practice it.

“You set me up as a villain, but you never mentioned the root of the problem. Took what you wanted and flipped it, but you won’t be dragging my name to the bottom.”

Noah’s voice was melodic, perfectly on key.

“So much unsaid. Left me for dead. I won’t forget.”

The song sounded more powerful in this style.

“Well everyone’s listening. And they know the difference. You’re not failing our senses.”

His fingers stopped strumming for a beat.

“If you’re throwing me to the lions, you should know I’m not scared of dying. I wouldn’t take back one thing I did. One word I said, but I’m going to make you wish you did.”

I smiled at the chorus, now remembering why I remember the lions.

“Jump to conclusions, they fall for illusions, but you weren’t there trying to stop them. You’re going low at the end of the road, but that won’t be the path that I follow.”

I finished my wine, setting the glass down and intertwining my fingers.

“So much unsaid, left me for dead. I won’t forget.”

He stopped strumming again, and I noticed he had his eyes closed. He hadn’t opened them once.

“Well everyone’s listening. And they know the difference. You’re not failing our senses.”

“If you’re throwing me to the lions, you should know I’m not scared of dying. I wouldn’t take back one thing I did. One word I said. But I’m going to make you wish you did.”

The chord progression changed leading into the bridge.

“I’m holding on to this until the scale’s untilted.”

He stopped, his pitch rising.

“Well everyone’s listening, and they know the difference. You’re not failing our senses, but you’re pushing my limits.”

“If you’re throwing me to the lions, you should know I’m not scared of dying. I wouldn’t take back one thing I did. One word I said. Oh-whoa.”

I leaned back in my chair, thoroughly enjoying this private show I was receiving.

“If you’re throwing me to the lions, you should now I’m not scared of dying. I wouldn’t take back one thing I did. One word I said. Oh God, I’ll make you wish you did.”

He strummed the final chord and opened his eyes. I was smiling from ear to ear. I clapped my hands together, which made him blush.

“Oh stop.” He set his guitar down, leaning back in his chair and grabbing his beer.

“That was fantastic, Noah!”

He shook his head. “It was okay. I wasn’t on key the entire second chorus.”

I rolled my eyes. “Are you always this hard on yourself?”

He smirked. “Always.”

“Please tell me that song is called Lions.”

This made him genuinely laugh. He shook his head. “It’s called Limits.”

“Mm, close enough.” He smirked at me.

“You really liked it?”

I nodded in response. “I did. It was really beautiful.”

His eyebrow raised and his thumb traced the rim of the beer bottle.

“You’re really beautiful.”

My stomach dropped clean out of my body, and my expression stilled. He didn’t waver, however, staring at me with a stern expression.

“Thank you.” Was all I could manage to say.

He nodded in acknowledgement, throwing back the bottle and tossing it into the trash can next to his table.

“Well, it’s past my bedtime. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

I smiled. “Bright and early.”

He grinned back. “Goodnight, Angel.”

“Goodnight, Noah.”

-

I tossed and turned in bed, sleep being the farthest thing from me. I had to get some rest, as I had to be up in less than eight hours, but even the wine hadn’t been able to wash the day off of me.

To be honest, the melody of the song kept ringing through my brain, the image of Noah strumming his guitar flashing past my eyelids.

His arms are so big. He’s actually kind of…buff? He didn’t look like that when he moved in. As much as I loved his long hair, the short hair was so fitting on him, falling loose by his ears.

Before I could stop myself, my hand was snaking down into the waistband of my shorts, fingers ghosting over the top of my clit. An orgasm should help me sleep, right?

As much as I know my rose would make quick work of this, the idea of having another vibrating object in my hand made my wrists ache. I opted to just take my time, fingers circling my sweet spot, and let myself indulge in the idea of my hot neighbor, fingers running over the string of the guitar. Arms flexing when he moved his hand up and down the neck. Throat constricting as the lyrics flowed out of his plump lips.

I could feel myself getting into the idea, my body sinking comfortably into the mattress. Lips parting, I pictured him on the other side of the walls. What did he look like shirtless? Was his chest as muscular as his arms? Did his tattoos spread all the way to his chest?

My fingers applied more pressure, making me squirm, and a soft breath left my lips. I wanted to be quiet, but I was alone. Did it matter?

Noah is likely sleeping, so I doubted that he would be able to hear anything.

I let a moan escape, letting one finger dip between my lips and feel how the moisture had built up at the thought of him. My pussy ached at the idea of his hands, long fingers pressing into me. I would bet he could hit my sweet spot with the first knuckle. I gasped hard, my hips bucking at the thought.

“Oh fuck.” I groaned, my mind drifting even further.

If his fingers were that long, how long was the rest of him? Did his cock size up to his gargantuan stature? What would it feel like? Would it hurt? Would it stretch? Likely, given I hadn’t been intimate with anyone for at least eight months. Would riding him be possible?

“Mmm,” I licked my lips at the image. “God, Noah.”

His name slipped out, and for a split second, I almost blushed, until I remembered it was just me.

That is, until I hard my phone chime on my nightstand.

I groaned, stilling my hand and growling. I was so close, and now it was gone. I snatched my phone, but my body froze when I saw the text on my screen.

Noah: Having fun over there, sweetheart?

My brain melted, completely mortified. Why was he awake?! He went to bed an hour ago!

I couldn’t respond, wishing I could sink into a hole in the mattress and disappear.

His type bubble appeared, and my heart rate sped up.

Noah: You’ve been at it a little while. Sounds like you may need a hand?

What do I even say to that? Am I okay with that? The heat between my legs screamed at me, telling me to take him up on his offer, but my brain put the brakes on.

We are neighbors. Did I want to change that dynamic? Did I want to tempt the fates?

I’m not, and have not been, in a place where I wanted to be in any kind of relationship/situationship/friends with benefits agreement right now. What did inviting him over mean?

Or was it that deep? Did I need to think about it that hard?

Me: Back door’s unlocked.

My finger hovered over the send button for a good 30 seconds before finally getting the nerve to press send. Once I had, I practically threw my phone across the room in hysteria.

What had I done?

After a moment, I heard a sound of a mattress creaking and shifting, and the sound of his sliding door.

Holy fuck.

My room was pitch black, so the light trailing in to the room from the moonlight was disrupted when his tall silhouette appeared. The door slid open smoothly, and he stepped in.

Instinctively, I reached over and tapped on the lamp on my bedside table, propping myself up on my elbows.

There he stood, hair just slightly messy from his pillow, shorts hanging low on his hips, and no tshirt.

Well, that answers my question. His chest and abdomen were covered in colorful, beautiful tattoos. Behind them, his muscles were chiseled and tight.

“You good, angel?”

He stood, and leaned his back against the wall, arms behind his back.

I guess my expression had been confusing, so I shook my head.

“Yeah, just a little embarrassed.”

This made him smile. “You shouldn’t be.”

“No? How much did you hear?”

With this, he pushed off the wall, taking a few steps to the bed, sinking down on the edge next to my leg.

“Oh, not too much.” His hand reached out and his palm ran over my duvet. “Just you moaning my name.”

His eyes flicked up at me from under his lashes.

That was it. I was dead. My face turned a deep crimson and I threw my head back, pulling the pillow over it, praying it would just suffocate me.

This made him chuckle. “What’s wrong?”

“That’s humiliating!”

He snorted. “I find it extremely flattering.”

“Oh, I’m sure you do.” My words were muffled by the pillow.

“You know, you could’ve just asked me to come over.”

I pulled the cover from my face and scoffed. “Oh sure.” I put my hand up to my ear to mimic a telephone. “Hey Noah! I know we’ve never had any kind of sexual contact - ever - but would you by chance come by and help me get off so I can get some sleep, since I can’t seem to quit thinking about you?”

“Sounds good to me, I don’t see the problem.” His smile was so mischievous. I couldn’t help but sheepishly grin.

“Noah-“

He cut me off. “How many times have you touched yourself while thinking of me?”

My mouth hung open. “This is the first time…”

He nodded, his hand sliding along the blanket and closer to my leg underneath.

“What changed?”

I shook my head. “What do you mean?”

“We’ve lived next door for six months. Why are you attracted to me now, all of a sudden?”

“I’ve always found you attractive.”

He smirked, his hand slipping up over my calf, applying a small pressure. My skin tingled.

“Then the feeling is mutual.” He sighed, looking up at me. “But tonight was different?”

“I just…” I shrugged, rolling onto my side, which pushed my body closer to him. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you singing. Playing the guitar.”

His hand moved up, sliding to my hip and resting there. “Ah, okay. So I serenaded you, and you couldn’t resist?”

This made me giggle. “Gosh, you’re such a dork.”

He snickered, scooting himself closer to me. “Mm, maybe. But it doesn’t change the fact that you were thinking about me.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

Suddenly, the air was thick, and he was leaning closer to me. I leaned my head back, giving him full view of my face. When he was close enough that I could feel his breath brushing across my lips, his eyes searched mine.

“This can just be a one-night thing if you want?”

I bit my bottom lip, and nodded gently.

I felt the skin of his lips press into me as my eyes closed, and I molded, form-fitting to him easily. He shifted, his body laying sideways next to me. Noah’s hand reached up and grasped the side of my face, pulling my body in closer to him.

I couldn’t feel or hear anything but the sound of his soft breathing against me, and the pressure of his hips pressing directly against mine.

His hand fell from my face and grabbed my leg by the back of the knee, hiking my leg up to hook on his hip, pulling my body into him even further. The press of his erection behind his shorts provided the sweetest friction against my pussy, still clothed by my shorts.

He groaned into my mouth, and I bucked my hips against him, begging for more contact.

Making out with Noah was more fun than I had imagined. He licked at my tongue, and I tasted the mint toothpaste he had used right before bed. His lips made the most delicious sounds when they sucked and pulled on mine, it had my head twirling in so many different directions.

All of my fantasies were replaying in my brain. His hands, his arms, his chest. My hands began wandering down his body, feeling every last ridge of muscle he had. I felt the ripple of his skin when he flexed, his body so warm and inviting.

He pulled his lips off of mine to look down at me, eyes dark and full of what had to be desire.

“What do you want me to do?”

What kind of question was that? Wasn’t it obvious?

“What?” I felt as though I was missing some hidden meaning.

He shifted, his body now looming over me, and I laid back flat on the bed so I could look directly at him.

“What…” He leaned down to kiss my lips. “do…” Kiss to my jaw. “you…” Kiss to my throat. “want me…” Kiss on my collarbone. “to do?”

I was panting, my need to feel him against my skin causing a hot burn everywhere I couldn’t.

“I, uh” His lips were attached to my neck, nipping and sucking on the skin of the tattoo etched there. “I don’t know. I just need to feel you.”

He pulled back, eyebrow raised, and smirked.

“Well,” He huffed a breath, running a finger down the skin of my chest above the tank top I wore. “I could pull this off of you.” His hand palmed over my breasts, his thumb tracing around my hard nipple. “Suck on these until you’re begging me for more.”

His eyes glanced up at me, and I just stared at him, eyes blown wide, trying to beg with my stare.

“Or…” His hand lifted off of my chest, and swiftly reached down, grabbing hold of the waistband of my shorts. “I could bury myself between those thighs,” My legs shook at the thought. “and lick you until you’re begging me to stop?”

My hand tightened on his sides, my hips pressing up toward him.

He leaned down again, licking a stripe up my throat. “Then, when you’re a hot, shaking, whining mess, I could fuck you until you can’t see straight.”

I moaned, his hand slipping down to tangle in the small patch of hair I had above on my pubic bone. “How’s that sound, baby girl?”

“So fucking good.” I felt his lips smile against my throat.

“You’ve made it easy for me. You’re not even wearing panties.”

I huffed out a small laugh, letting my eyes fall closed. “Yeah, well maybe I was hoping this would happen.”

“Is that right?” His kisses were moving down my body, his hand pulling my breasts free from my shirt. “Knowing you were over here thinking of me had me so fucking hard, sweetheart. You have no fucking idea.”

Noah’s tongue began circling around my left nipple while his hand massaged the other, his teeth nipping at the sensitive skin.

He only focused on my chest for a moment before moving downward, leaving a trail of kisses and bites down my stomach, leaving a particularly hard one on my hipbone.

“So fucking sexy, angel. I won’t lie, I’ve thought about you before.” His fingers pulled my shorts down and off with no hesitation, his body settling between my legs.

“I’ve touched myself, dreaming about this gorgeous fucking pussy.” Noah placed a soft, gentle kiss on my inner thigh. “I can see how wet you are from thinking about me, baby. I hope you’re fucking ready.”

I didn’t have time to question what that meant, as his lips were now attached to my clit, the tip of his tongue circling it expertly while his lips sucked hard. My back arched off of the bed, the sensation nearly knocking me sideways.

“Fuck!” I screamed out, hand burying itself in his dark brunette hair. “Oh my God, Noah.”

“That’s it, gorgeous,” He licked at me, lapping up the fluid pooling between my lips. “fuck my face, pretty girl.”

My hips rutted forward, pressing myself into his lips harder. His arms circled my thighs, locking me into place while his mouth absolutely ravaged me at my core.

My entire body was vibrating, my eyes locked on his beautiful face, eyes closed and so focused.

I could feel myself beginning to crest on the edge of my orgasm, and his name came out as a string of prayers off my lips.

“Ugh, Noah…Noah…Noah…”

Without warning, he lifted me hips off of the bed, bringing himself to kneel on the mattress, so only my upper back and head were left on the pillows. The angle brought an entire new level of sensation. His tongue assaulted my clit, flipping back and forth from kitten licks to long, flat strokes, making me dizzier with each repetition.

“Noah, I’m going to come.” I breathed out, and his eyes opened, looking directly at me. His head began to move back and forth ever so slightly, him now locked onto my sweet spot. The ministrations sent me so far over the edge, I felt as though my entire body was floating.

“Oh fuck! Noah! Jesus fuck!”

He didn’t stop, however. Although he was licking me carefully through my climax, he didn’t show signs of slowing down…

“It’s sensitive. Please, I can’t take anymore.”

He disconnected from me for a second to smile deviously. “Sure you can.” And he continued.

“No, please, it’s too much.” I could feel tears welling in my eyes.

He pulled off of me, laying me back down, with a glint in his eye and a smirk on his lips. “The safe word is lions. Use it if you need it.” And he was back to it, making my vision go white.

“Noah, oh God, I can’t handle it, please!”

“You can, and you will.” His voice was factual, leaving no room for argument.

Just as I was about to protest again, I felt his tongue stop, and a sinfully long finger pressed into me, bringing about an entirely new sensation.

“Jesus Christ.” I was struggling to breathe.

“That’s it, baby. You’re so good, taking it all the way in. You’re so fucking perfect.”

My walls tightened around him at his words.

“It’s so fucking tight, baby. I’m almost worried it’s going to hurt when I fuck my name out of your mouth…” He looked up again, pressing a second finger in, a burning sensation pulsing through me. “…almost.”

My chest heaved, my breathing erratic and unstable. It was too good. It hurt so perfectly. His hand began pumping in and out of my body, causing loud, wet sounds.

“Going to make a mess, baby? I’d hope you’d wait until you were in my bed for that.” I couldn’t feel anything but his fingers inside me, driving me to insanity. “Thats alright, I’ll clean up. Go ahead and let go, honey. Come for me.”

An ear splitting screech ripped out of me, my body being rocked by another hard orgasm. His hand slowed, his fingers slipping out eventually.

“So fucking pretty. You got me all wet, I can’t tell you how fucking hot that was.”

I laid, eyes closed, working to bring myself back down to Earth. I wasn’t given much of a chance before I felt his tongue lapping at me again, making me squeal and jerk away from him.

“Nope.” His hands pulled me back to him. “I’m not done with you yet.”

The tears in my eyes were running. “Noah, please. Please!”

“I haven’t heard the safe word.” His face was buried in my folds, tongue pressing inside me. “You can do it baby, just one more, okay? I need one more.”

My head fell back on the pillows, savoring the soft, slow swipes of his tongue against me. It was almost…relaxing? He wa easing me through it, building me back up.

“Okay baby, you ready for another?”

I didn’t dare look at him, only nodded my head.

His fingers slipped back in, curling at the spot that makes my toes curl, and latched onto me again, his lips sucking hard on my clit.

This orgasm came quicker, washing over me like ocean waves hitting high tide. This time, I only managed to sigh hard when it hit me, feeling so wonderfully exhausted.

“That’s my girl. Perfect.”

I felt him lift up, but I still couldn’t make eye contact. My eyes were so heavy, and I couldn’t even fathom movement.

The bed dipped down next to me, and I cracked my lids to see him smiling. He reached down and kissed my cheek lovingly.

“Still there, Angel?”

I smiled a sleepy grin, and nodded. “That was…” There were no words. They didn’t exist.

“I’m glad you enjoyed.” I felt the blanket being pulled over me, and I opened my eyes in confusion.

“What are you doing?”

He chuckled lightly. “You need to get some sleep, beautiful. I know I talked a big game, but you’re exhausted. That was the goal.” He smoothed a hand over my stomach. “Help you get some rest.”

I rolled on my side, pouting slightly. “What about you?”

He shook his head. “I’ll be just fine.”

His hand reached over and switched the light off on the nightstand. He moved to stand up, by my arm came out to grab his. He turned his head and looked at me.

“Could you…” I cleared my throat. “I’d like it if you stayed.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Yeah? Even though it’s just one night?”

I smirked, lifting the blanket for him to crawl under. With his own grin, he did so, lifting his arm so I could tuck in, head laid on his chest and arm falling over his stomach.

“Maybe it's more than just one night.”

[bambi-slxt]

Could you write something with Matt or Chris (or both!) and a chubby/not petite reader? I don't see a lot of those and would really appreciate it!

Doesn't have to be smut, it can be more in the style of your non-binary post or love languages. Thank you!

oh honey. of course i can.

chubby!reader:

✨a concept✨

a/n: i'm not petite and i never have been. this post is not intended to cause body dysmorphia to those who are, but rather promote and uplift those who have more fat on them than what's normally represented in the fanfiction space. i hope you enjoy this one anon!

doing their makeup at a sleep over -

chris: "yeah, come on, sit on my lap. no, seriously. i don't mind. come here, mamas." *kisses* "there we go. now put this shit on my face before i change my mind."

matt: "you were saying something about hooded lids? yeah, i don't think i have those. what do you mean people have different eyelid shapes. what the fuck. you have to look up different- jesus christ i'm glad i don't fuck with this stuff."

watching a scary movie -

chris: "i never shoulda' agreed to this. what spell do you have me under? i hate you. no like actually." *holding your hand for dear life and also shaking like a chihuahua*

matt: "-genuinely fucking terrifying. what? why do I have to be the one who tells you when it's over? i don't wanna look either!" *long-suffering sigh*

swimming -

chris: "i don't want you to look like a model, i want you to look like you. you look real, and you feel real...when i look at my girl all i see is how beautiful you are. no, i'm being serious. especially wearin' the stuff i bought you."

matt: "it's just us, darlin'. i've seen all of you before. i know what you look like, and i love you because of it. get in the water so we can play mermaids."

clothes shopping -

chris: "what the Actual Fuck are these designs. this is the plus size section? what a waste of space? i'll make you better clothes. yeah, i'm serious. you like my brand better anyway. jesus christ, i'm sorry."

matt: "...is this really what you want to wear? no? okay so let's leave. yeah, this isn't your style at all. i don't care, i'll shop with you all fucking week if that's what it takes. you're not gonna settle on this shit if it's not what you want."

going to the gym -

chris: "come on, you got it. i know it hurts but you're almost done, come on. don't you dare stop, there we go...there we go, you're good, you're good, get some water...that was a new PR baby, i'm so fucking proud of you. hell yeah, you did so good...damn i don't even think i can get that...fuck you..."

matt: "why the fuck would we go to the gym when the bed is right there? absolutely not. we can work out in my bed-"

streaming together -

chris: "no we're playing fortnite, get on here. i don't care. we've played fallout all week i wanna play duos, pleasepleaseplease-thankssss. yeah we can hop on stream. nah, they love you. trust. you wanna get ready first? i think you look great, but it's up to you, mamas. i want you to be confident, you know that."

matt: "if they have something to say i'll just rip 'em a new one and kiss you on stream. yeah. no i'm dead serious. there's my girl. come on, let's play."

boyfriend hoodies -

chris: "course it fits. i got bigger ones for me so you could steal them. you're such a thief. i love you. what? i didn't say anything..."

matt: "i'm gonna freeze. no no, take it, take my only source of warmth. i'm not bitter. come here lemme cuddle you i'm fucking cold."

a/n: hope you like this nonnie!

request to be on the taglist under this post right here, make sure your mentions are on!

tags: @selenascorner @pinksturniolo @malirosee @st7rnioioss @nonat-111 @cindylcuwho @evie-sturns @h3arts4harry @fanficsbymia @dazednmatthews @sturniolo-rat @mattsmad @sturniolo04 @bellasturn @blahbel668 @yomamaslays4lyfe @stasiesturn @pleasantlycrazyworld @ariqolyx @wh0resstuff @krissy4gov @coochiedestroyer1 @madisturn @mattspolitank @sturnsxplr-25 @xtravrgnoliveoil @raysmayhem-72 @sturnpooks @certifiedstarrr @melanch0lybby @freshloveforthefit @xoxo4chrisss @stunza @meerkatzthings  @zivall @sturniolopepsi @that1fangirll @wh0schl0 @sharksworldd @mattscoquette @chrisslutx @sturnzsblog @sturniologals @quaxkingshs @certifiedstarrr @sarosfilms @mattsfavbigtitties @slutforsturniolos 

[lqfiles]

SCORE THAT GOAL! — 25. NOT my boyfriend

(wc: 1.054)

“thank you for waiting for me.” chenle had walked over to you with a happy smile present on his face. you returned the expression and stood up from the bench you had sat on. “no problem, i felt like being nice today.” you joked and handed him the bottle he had asked you to hold for him. chenle chuckled. “i better savour this rare moment then.” dapping the sweat off his face with his shirt, he quickly put on his jacket and motioned for you to follow him out the basketball court.

“did you see that c cut i did when i was cornered by all of them? i'm too good at this.” chenle boasted as he continued to gulp down his water. you shook your head. “i'm going to be honest with you, i barely understood what was going on but you scored a lot of times so i'm just going to agree with you.” chenle laughed, sparing you a quick glance. “that’s all that matters.”

“what’s with the sudden request of watching your club practice anyways? do you like my company that much?” you teased, earning a nudge from chenle who quickly went into defense mode. “don’t get too full of yourself, sungchan snuck away when i wasn’t looking and left me by myself today. can you believe he said he’d rather go home and sleep than attend the club today?” chenle exclaimed in full disbelieve, making you chuckle.

“that’s actually very on brand of him.” you responded back, smile growing as you watched chenle accept the truth. “well yes- but, what happened to bros being there for bros? what happened to the saying ‘be a keeper, not a sleeper’?” chenle sulked. the two of you had started to walk without much of an aim, barely aware of where you’re heading too. the wind was carrying the journey and neither of you cared.

“you just made that saying up yourself.” you once again chuckled and chenle sighed. “whatever, this is why you should’ve joined the basketball club instead. sungchan is fake and you’re my bff, the fact that he is in the club and you aren’t just doesn’t make sense!” chenle had a mixture of a disappointment and annoyance on his face, trying to get sympathy out of you. clearly you didn’t care, because you just laughed in his face right after. “hey, be happy sungchan joined.”

“and if i had joined the club, i wouldn't have gotten to talk to jisung.” you reasoned and chenle let out a long groan, throwing his head back before he stopped in his tracks. “what do you even see in that guy? he’s weird, can’t communicate with people for shit, tall in a derogatory way and did i mention that he is weird?” chenle tried to persuade you. yet the grin that grew on your face made it clear that non of those negative traits changed your perception of jisung.

“he’s cute and good looking, he’s fun to talk to as well now that we’re friends.” you had never seen chenle’s eyes widen like that, on the verge of bulging out even. “friends?! no way… next thing you know he’s going to replace me as your best friend. i can’t let this happen.” chenle complained, holding onto your shoulders to shake some sense it you. you removed his hands, starting to feel dizzy already.

“calm down, you’re still my bff! i want him to be my boyfriend, that’s different!” you tried to explain, but the unconvinced look on chenle’s face made you sigh. in a swift motion, you pulled him in for a hug, one tight and full of assurance that would hopefully get chenle to stop sulking. “i’m serious, it’s not easy to replace you.” you pulled back with a smile and you could see chenle fighting his mouth from twitching into a grin itself. he scoffed before nudging you away (patting your head once before doing so) “i better not be.” he finally smiled.

a smile that left all too quickly, forming into a frown. “speaking of the devil himself.” chenle whispered, making you turn around instantly. you almost screeched seeing jisung standing a few steps away, stopped in his tracks as he waited for the two of you to finish your affectionate moment.

“jisung! what are you doing here?!” you exclaimed, an awkward smile forming on your lips as you sent him a wave, simultaneously taking a few steps away from chenle. jisung was silent for a second before hesitantly lifting his hand up. “hi?”

“well, i.. i forgot something at college, but you guys were kind busy. did i.. interrupt something?” jisung said carefully, exchanging looks between you and chenle who had a scowl set on his face. you turned and almost gasped at the expression chenle wore, quickly tugging him aside and hitting his ribcage.

“ah sorry, we didn’t meant to block your path!” you apologised and moved all the way off the side walk, motioning for jisung to walk past. “thank you.” he muttered, gaze moving from you to chenle who was still threw him a nasty glare. “i-i’ll see you tomorrow..?”

jisung wishes he never assumed his previous encounters with you were peak awkwardness, because nothing could beat the awkward silence that overtook the air at this current moment. you were stood 10 meters away from, trying to give him space to walk while your friend looked at him like he was mentally putting a curse on him. all of this happening in total silence.

“y-yeah. i’ll see you tomorrow. hope you find your stuff at college.” you were hesitant to move, hoping jisung would move first. he did, picking up his previous pace, sparing you one last glance.

only when he turned the corner of the street did you let out a breath of air you had been holding in. the first thing you did now that you could breathe was repeatedly punch chenle on his upper arm. “ow! what was that for?!” chenle took steps back from you and your assault.

“no what was THAT about? did you have to glare at him? now he probably thinks you hate him.” you rubbed your hand over your face in distress, it didn’t help that you could hear chenle laughing from beside you.

“he wouldn’t be wrong.”

previous — master list — next

notes ; ngl the next chapter is going to be so cute 😝

TAGLIST ; @rksbae @222brainrot @severefireangelprune @violetvoo @prdshobi @kikookii @haechansbbg @en-dream @bbxnny-bbxtch @cvpidxo @jaeminslattes @90s-belladonna @softieluvsyou @wenjunblossoms @be0mluver @jeongintwt @myhaechan @love1again @ckline35 @cassie6392 @hibernatinghamster @starboys-gf @rllymark @mfaal @snflwrhaerecs4u @sunflowerbebe07 @ahnneyong @enhalovie @galacticpurpl3 @manooffline @luv4jeno @mikadorbs @1moo7 @ksywoo @ohdudehesflirting @savluvsmingi @finnydraws @invumi @crvzy-fujoshi @peterparkerluvvbot @hrjunluvs @i2kittenz @jisungji @http-peachie @jisyng @sweetcandycum @giaccolo @shotaroswifeyily @sinsgaybutthatsokay @be-my-sunrise @syzavxy @kyusqult @mxlly143 @o-schist @bigjishirt @snuglyjwi @hyunniesvlog @shuaadmirer

[euphoricfilter]

domestic daydreams:

[at christmas]

pairing: influencer jungkook x f. reader

genre: fluff || established relationship || non-idol au ||

summary: jungkook worries his life online bleeds too much into your relationship, but you can’t be more than happy to show everyone how much he loves you

word count: 2.1k

tags/ warnings: christmas!!!, fluff, kissing (ew), it’s sickening how in love they are, slightly suggestive in the beginning

notes: part of the domestic daydreams au, however can be read as a stand-alone :D is this me just waffling? that’s for you to decide !! it’s made a lot of sense in my head but i can’t tell if this is just words or actually a story

where you can find my other work!!

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆.

you feel jungkook’s thumb slip past the waistband of your panties, brushing over the delicate skin of your hip as his head slips onto your pillow.

you don’t bother moving, letting him twist your body until your back is pressed to his chest, bodies curled; entangled as he presses a thigh between your legs.

it’s warm. soft cocoon of the duvet wrapped around your body, jungkook’s gentle breathing tickling the back of your neck, goosebumps prickling down your back and up your arms.

it isn’t until he tugs you impossibly closer to his body does the sliver of warm morning light shine onto your eyes through the small crack in the curtains.

you groan a little, pressing your face into the pillow. somewhere in the back of your mind knowing you weren’t getting back to sleep.

you feel jungkook’s lips curl against your skin, “my love” he murmurs now that he knows you’re awake.

you hum, sinking that little bit further into his body.

“we need to get up” he whispers, lips pressing a soft kiss to your bare shoulder, body shifting so he can brush a delicate kiss to your cheek.

his words catch your attention, eye peeking open to look up at him as he tugs you onto your back, arms caged around your head. there’s a lazy, sleepy smile on his face as he looks down at you.

“don’t look at me like that” he bends down, chest pressed against yours, though careful to keep his body weight off you.

“i’m comfortable” you murmur, eyes slipping back shut.

his fingers brush against your cheek, eyes flickering to capture every little detail of your existence as he holds you, accounting for every fibre of his body pressed against yours. how warm your bare skin is, cotton panties veiling a sacred piece of your being, soft against his thigh. how your lashes brush against supple cheeks, pretty pretty pretty. ever so pretty and lovely and the reason for his existence.

“but i have a surprise” his lips brush against your cheek, fingers curling to hold the back of your neck.

“it’s early” you argue.

“it’s almost noon” he laughs, face pressed into the arch of your neck and shoulder.

your eyes squeeze shut, arms slipping around his body “it’s the weekend”

“close. it’s friday”

you sigh, “m’ sleepy”

“my poor baby” he coos, hands slipping down your body until they’re hooked under your arms, tugging you to sit up between his legs.

you press your forehead against his shoulder, “you said surprise”

“i did” he hums, “what about it?”

“what is it?”

his hand runs down the length of your back, ever the tease as this hands slip over your sides, thumbs brushing the underside of your boobs.

“that would ruin the surprise” jungkook looks down at you.

“i’d rather it be ruined than sit here anxiously for hours while we get ready” you glance up at him through your lashes.

a gentle smile tugs at the corners of his lips, “i should have known you’d say that” he tugs you closer to him by the back of your neck, quick to press a kiss to your lips, “in that case… i was thinking of getting a real tree this year”

i pause for a moment, “huh?”

you pull away from him a little as he opens his mouth, “what about the one in the spare room?” you ask.

he shrugs, “last year you said you wanted a real tree one day”

“one day” you shake your head, “aren’t they expensive?”

“i can afford it now, baby. let me treat you”

you swallow, “but…”

“no buts. the place closes at three and we still need to eat”

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆.

you lock the door to the apartment, jungkook having gone ahead to warm up the car for you.

you slip into the passenger seat, eyes instantly catching onto the empty phone holder on the front ledge of the car.

“are you not filming?” you turn to him, eyebrows pinched.

“no?” he shakes his head, eyes wide, “this is time for us, i don’t want to ruin it because i’m filming”

you blink over at him, “oh”

he tilts his head in the way jungkook does, eyes veiled with curiosity.

“why, do you want me to?”

you shake your head, “i just thought it would be something your viewers would like”

his eyes soften, hand slipping across the console, fingers dipping into the meat of your thigh.

“i get so scared” he admits, watching now as you’re the one with the curious filled eyes.

“why?” you shake your head.

“because i don’t want every single moment we spend together looked over simply because i’m filming. i don’t want you to think i don’t care, that im not thinking of the time we spend together because i have my phone filming it all”

a hint of a smile curls onto your lips.

“you’re surprisingly good at multitasking” you tell him, “when we first started dating…” you say, and he nods, “i really did worry you weren’t experiencing everything with me”

“i never—“ he shakes his head.

“baby, i know” you placate his worries, “you gush about how much you love what we do every night” your hand slips over his still on your thigh, “and when i go back and watch the videos you post, you never take notice of the camera, you look at me too much”

“that’s because you’re so pretty” his fingers tighten between your own.

“people talk about it in the comments” you lean your head against the headrest.

“you read the comments?” he whines, pout tempting to tug at his bottom lip. because he’d told you time and time again not to— too scared you’d stumble across something mean and he couldn’t bare the idea of someone shit talking you.

your eyebrows narrow in obvious intent, “obviously. i’m nosy and i want to know what people are saying about you… i just so happen to stumble across comments about me too”

“and you’re not uncomfortable?” he worries, trying to scoot that little bit closer to you from his seat.

you shake your head, “no”

“promise?”

a quirk of a smile threatens the corners of your lips, “if anything i like it…” you start, watching the tension in his shoulders loosen, “reading about how much everyone knows you love me”

a huff of a laugh bubbles up jungkook’s throat, “ah so that’s it?”

there’s a hint of amusement in his tone, though he can’t blame you. not when he sees comments of jealous men rattling about videos of him with you. not when he sees the same, so many comments about how you look at him like he held the world in the palm of his hands, how it looks like he’d plucked a million stars, putting them in a jar for you to admire.

“makes me feel nice” you admit.

his fingers slip from between your own, fumbling around the pockets of his coat as he pulls out his phone. he slots it onto the little phone holder, swiping to the camera.

“i won’t film all day, just little clips i can edit together. then everyone can see what we did, yeah? i want today to be special, and i know you don’t mind… but for the sake of my own sanity” he tells you, leaning over the console. his hand falls to the back of your neck, tugging you forward, closing the distance between the both of you.

the kiss is soft, the type that means ‘i love you’ without having to really say it. the type of kiss that has your heart fluttering all funny in your chest behind the restraint of your rib cage. where your cheeks go all warm and your insides feel all gooey and nice, where 2 stars align perfectly in that moment and you feel utterly complete like this is where you’re meant to be.

your fingers itch to hold onto jungkook as he pulls away, warm breath fanning over spit soaked lips he he stays there for a moment.

“we’ll be late” you remind him, eyes flickering to the clock.

he hums, not before leaving over and pressing another delicate kiss to your cheek.

he’s quick with introducing what the both of you are doing once he presses the start of the video, hand still gentle over your thigh as he glances over at you every now and then. because even with the sight of your face through the video on his phone, it would be a wasted opportunity to not look at you.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆.

you tug at the sleeve of jungkook’s jacket as you cross the road to the tree farm.

“hmm?” he looks down at you, eyebrows raised in question.

you point to a parking lot, shops lining the length of the road.

“can we go in there?” you look up at him, eyes wide with wonder, the sort of look that has jungkook’s resolve melting into a puddle and seeping from every pore of his body until he’s giving in.

he taps on the screen of his phone, before looking back at you.

“if we’re quick” he murmurs, tucking your connected hands in his pocket to keep them warm.

you beam up at him, tugging him across the road to one of the home stores, christmas decorations lining the windows.

“take a video of this for your followers” you tell him, pointing to a a little candy cane, utter joy dancing across your face when you press on his hand and it starts dancing.

you bounce on your feet as jungkook pulls his phone out, barely paying attention to what he was filming, not when his eyes were on you, so much joy radiating from a fragile human body. some days he wonders if the videos are more for yourself than who follows him.

a collection of moments you want to keep forever posted on his social media for you to watch whenever you please. though he doesn’t mind, not when he can go back, and watch the small glimpses of joy when he pans the camera over to you, your happiness locked in that moment of time forever.

he’s not sure how you ended up with three new sets of baubles, or why you suddenly decided you wanted an angel instead of a star on top of the tree, but that doesn’t stop him from slinking back to the front of the store to grab a basket for you. or him following you around every isle as your hands skim over everything that looked soft, or your bright eyes when you’d show him all the things you liked the look of.

“if we’re getting a real tree this year, should we put the fake one in our room instead?” you ask him, crouched down on the floor as you look through all the reefs.

“what about the small light up one we have?”

you hum, “you can use it in your background for your streams…?” you suggest, “do you need lights too? you can use the ones in our bedroom if you need to”

“sure” he chirps.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆.

“it’s big” you stand there with your hands on your hips, “it looked smaller at the shop”

the both of you stand there looking down at the tree.

“what if it touches the ceiling” he murmurs, wondering if he’d made a mistake or not.

the camera had been rolling for over ten minutes as the both of you stand there, wondering how you were going to tackle the tree.

“it should be okay” you peer up at the ceiling, head tilting a little, “maybe we won’t need the angel then”

“but she’s so pretty” he turns to you, “right, let’s do this then”

you watch him struggle a little lifting it, eyes flitting to the little pine needles falling onto the carpet.

“just enough space for the angel, good choice baby” he grins at you.

you stand there looking at the tree, “it’s so prefect, thank you” you whisper, arm linking with his, “this is literally the best christmas ever”

“we haven’t even decorated it yet” he laughs, arms slipping over your shoulders.

“still” you tell him, “it’s more than i could ever ask for”

“merry christmas, jungkook” you look up at him, that warm fluffy sort of love blanketing your soul.

“merry christmas” he murmurs, head tilting down.

there’s nothing rushed about the kiss. time, the outside world, everything beyond the both of you stopping within your apartment as you share the raw intimacy of pure love with only the camera as your witness. another precious little moment captured and held forever, one that will never make the cut of the video. something for jungkook to hold onto forever, a secret for him.

[easy-there-leftovers]

Doctor

Summary: Spencer's been there when you had been feeling rather inadequate, for lack of a better term. It's about time that you return the favor. (Written with early s2! Spencer in mind)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem! (mentored by Hotch!) reader| cw: Spencer being unsure (is that a warning? lol), touchy reader, non canon case, vague timeline, reader and Spence being sapiosexual dumbasses, as per usual (weirdos) | word count: 2.3k

Budget cuts suck, especially if that meant doubling up and sharing a room with one of your colleagues. Or worse— your boss.

It's been a few months since your last GSW, and things haven't been much different. Or maybe it only was because you had been so out of the loop for a while that you hadn't noticed if it was. You hadn't changed up your routine nor your demeanor, so perhaps the others were just following your lead and brushing it off as nothing.

You still feel the occasional stares of literally anyone from your workplace, but you've learned to ignore it since dwelling on it never did you any good.

But you suppose something had changed.

Your relationship with your contemporary.

To be more specific, Dr. Reid had become more accustomed to seeking you out. Engaging in conversation with you more than the previous usual. It wasn't extremely unlike him to do so before, but his persistence has surely increased since your conversation at the hospital. Keeping to his intentions of having more dialogue between you two.

The same couldn't be said about the past week or two, however. While it didn't seem like he was completely avoiding you, you've noticed that you've had more opportunities to talk to Elle, JJ, and Morgan more than you have him. As if the overall frequency of his exchanges with everyone had somehow diminished.

You were going to find out why.

"Looks like we're doubling up." Your unit chief had briefed when you made it the shitty motel.

And your plan starts now.

Spencer feels an arm snake around his waist which makes him look up from his notes, and he's not surprised to see that it's yours. If anyone had to be making decisive contact with him, it would've been you.

"What is it?" He whispers carefully since Hotch is still talking. Used to your touch it at this point.

"Would you like to sleep with me, Dr. Reid?" He clears his throat instinctively.

Your indelicate remarks however, most likely never.

Since your little incident, he's discovered that you're less careful with your diction outside of work and it has certainly thrown him off but he knows that's just how you are. You and your forever unreadable expressions and contrasting sentiments.

Before he can answer however, Morgan's voice cuts through.

"I'm not sleeping with Reid." Everyone looks to him, except Garcia who immediately calls dibs on Derek, and he feels your arm slowly pull away.

Aaron looks from you to Spencer with that usual expression of his before exhaling deeply with crossed arms.

"I assume you're rooming with her?"

Seeing that you're no longer facing him, Spencer can only give your mentor a meek nod. Feeling the same wariness one would feel in the presence of someone's father.

The rest then picked their respective roommates and disband. Reminding one another to meet at the entrance tomorrow bright and early.

———————————————

Lately, Reid has become aware of a lot of things. Things that he never had to worry about before, but ever since Morgan had told him how you felt about the team, he had started questioning his place too.

He has never been ashamed of his intelligence. Far from it, actually. It's the one thing that he's ever been confident in and it's lead him to places that, he thinks, bettered him. Like coaching his high school basketball team, graduating with three PhD's, or getting into the BAU.

But he also fears that part of him alienates him from the others. That his intellect might be the very reason that will, or already, keep him from forming lasting and meaningful relationships. Even more troubling, that he might never live up to the expectations that everyone has of him.

Both as a colleague, and as a friend.

It's worse when the only person on the team that might not feel this way about him is you. Which then comes with its own set of problems.

You had been nothing but well-intentioned since the very start, practically shadowing him throughout everything. Being there to reinforce his confidence with your keen insight, your reflective encouragement, and your comforting presence—all things that made him feel seen.

But with the few times that you weren't there, it unnerved him. As if something was missing. Like it became an unshakeable habit to look over his shoulder and he would find you right there. So when you weren't there, it jus didn't seem right.

And he felt bad about it.

By the time that you had finished showering, you see Spencer with his hair still lightly damp from the one before yours. Head resting on his hand with a lone finger covering his mouth as if thinking deeply while sitting on the bedside's edge.

You take the opportunity to sit on the floor adjacent his tucked legs and he blinks out of his trance when he sees you lay your head on them. He doesn't mind, but he still feels a little bad.

And it's not about the shared single bed.

He felt as if he was taking advantage of your kindness. That by allowing himself to indulge in your brand of 'friendship,' he was effectively isolating you from the others. That for whatever reason, he just got lucky that you seemed to prefer him over them when he was arguably the most difficult to be with

That if you ever caught wind of his feelings towards you, it would ruin the current dynamic you had. He wasn't the type to catastrophize, he of all people should know the dangers of entertaining such thoughts, but lately your presence has had quite the influence on him.

Which is why he's been trying to make himself scarce until he found out how to deal with it.

You wait patiently by his legs. Gauging when he would finish his line of thought before asking, plainly and simply,

"How are you feeling, Spencer?"

In this room where it's just you and him, he's called 'Spencer.' No titles, no niceties, just his name. A luxury that no one else from the team has yet to earn from you.

He breathes out slowly when the pressure in his chest finally feels like too much, but he still can't seem to say what's on his mind. Worried that by telling you any of this, it would only add more weight onto your already abundant plate.

You trace your fingers on the skin that you can reach and he laughs a bit when it tickles. That seems to make you smile, and the sight makes his own grow ever so slightly before you continue,

"I'm not a doctor, nor do I have a doctorate like you—,"

"Three doctorates." He corrects and you roll your eyes playfully at that.

"Three doctorates. Fact of the matter is; I'm not a doctor but— I think I might be able to help."

You motion for him to lend you his hand, the one no longer holding his head, and he gives it to you willingly. Still feeling somewhat guilty when just that amount of contact does actually help him.

You know that you shouldn't profile your friends, but there's a reason why you're in the BAU and not anywhere else.

"So what are your symptoms?" You sense that this is a case that must be handled with a bit of humor, so you make that evident in your delivery.

He clears his throat and furrows his eyes, as if actually treating pretending that he was your patient before ultimately shaking his head with a tight-lipped smile.

"Actually, the symptoms aren't that simple." You hum at that, and get up to stand in front of him.

When he sees you get up though, he feels his hand instinctively tighten over yours. Worried that you were closing the conversation because he was being inarticulate, he goes to apologize but he feels yours squeeze him back before he can.

You notice a few stray strands of hair from your new vantage point. You carefully free both of your hands to tuck them behind his ears, and let one rest gently on the side of his face. Holding it in place, and allowing you to see his expression more clearly.

He feels a bit shy at the attention, but he finds himself leaning onto your hand with a confused expression. You breathe out in mirth and that only seems to confuse him even more.

"You better stop looking at me like that before I do something terrible."

He furrows his brows at that. Hand coming up to rest on top of yours. "Like what?"

"Wouldn't you like to know, pretty boy." You continue to observe him, much to his chagrin. Assessing the situation before sighing out.

His hesitance from earlier told you everything you needed to know.

"Do you want to try telling me again, or would you like a diagnosis now?"

He looks into your eyes and sees that you're serious so he just nods slowly. Not really sure what to expect since there's no way that you could've gotten anything from him.

"My diagnosis says that you have 'intellectual schism syndrome.' Common to manifest in young geniuses like you. Characterized by a dependence on one's intelligence as their source of fulfillment, and yet simultaneously fear it as the root of their social isolation and relational difficulties."

You pause to gauge his expression once more before continuing.

"You may have been born with all the wonderful things that help you with this job, but you need to remember that's not the reason why people care about you. You can ask for help. Your worth as an individual isn't dependent on your perceived use."

You let the words hang in the air a bit before correcting yourself, "I mean, that's only when it comes to personal relationships. This job? Well—maybe we'll think about it before kicking you to the curb."

He lifts his face from your hold, still grasping your hand, before shaking his head. As if still not understanding something but he eventually finds the words the words to express that.

"That—That's not an actual syndrome; it's not recognized nor documented in any psychological or medical literature."

You scoff at that. "Yeah, I sure it hope it's not. I'm not a doctor, remember?"

He searches your face for an answer before breathing out incredulously. "Did you know that you have an incredible knack for saying the most terrible things?"

You smile at that. "Was I wrong?"

He think about the answer to that, before shaking his head 'no.' Because you're partially right, but he'd rather not correct you on what you're missing.

He looks down at your still intertwined hands, god he's been holding onto it for a while now, before quietly asking,

"Uh, how did you—?" He trails off. Not really knowing what he's asking.

You shrug. "You forget who you're working with. I notice these things, I notice you."

He flexes his eyebrows and thinks for a moment. "So what's your prognosis?"

You look to the corner of the small motel room to think before eventually settling on an answer.

"Only you can really find that out, Spencer."

You look back to see him already looking at you. "Your intelligence is an integral part of who you are, and that's why you're here. Your intellect isn't a barrier—it's a strength. So do what you will with that information."

"What if I can't find the answer?"

"Hm,"

Your legs are starting to get tired, so you move to get on the bed with him. Making sure that there's enough space for the both of you as you settle in. "You always have friends that can help you. Miss Jareau, Sir Morgan, Sir Hotchner, Miss—“

"Even you?"

The face he's making makes your chest feel tight, like there's a pressure building there and yet you don't know why. With his unusually shy behavior, and rounder eyes, it makes your usually impassive expression (to everyone else on the team, at least) soften.

"Especially me."

You pat the spot next to you as you recognize that you should've been asleep an hour ago. Telling Reid that you two should probably sleep so that you can make it tomorrow without being tired and he does just that.

"You don't think I rely on you too much?" You furrow your brows at that. Now looking at him from down on the bed.

"Not any more than you do sir Morgan."

He tries to see the point you're making but fails. So he turns to look at you.

"I don't really...rely on him."

"Exactly."

"...So I don't?"

"How about this," you can tell that being roundabout your answer isn't going to cut it, so you're going to have to switch gears.

"I don't think you do. But even if you did, I wouldn't mind. So if you find yourself ever needing, or wanting," you punctuate this with an earnest look into his eyes, "help from me specifically, in any way, at any time, just come to me—and ask for help. Say something like um, I don't know, uh—" you shake your head as you try to think.

'I need your help,' is too vague, you hear it all the time during cases. 'Could you do me a favor,' won't work either since it doesn't really excuse the both of you so—

"Can we look at this?", "I need you?"

You laugh. Actually laugh out loud at what you just heard. The words you just said practically blended into one another to the point where you don't even know who said what anymore, but that didn't really matter.

Spencer feels his face flush, and his volume increases due to his embarrassment. "Hey, I was just trying to—"

A loud knock is heard from the room's wall, followed by Morgan's voice.

"Newsflash, kids. Some of us are actually trying to sleep. Go argue about your theories later."

The boy-genius and you make eye contact before trying to stifle your laughter, you having a much harder time than the former before revisiting the conversation.

"You know what to tell me when you need me, yeah?"

He nods.

"Let's go to sleep."

You say goodnight, before turning your back to him so you can process what's going on. You wonder if the buzzing feeling you have would go away in time for an actual restful sleep.

You could use one on this case because it seems like the more you uncover, the more you're confused. Theories of all kinds swim in your head, ready to occupy your thoughts for a little while longer before hopefully sending you to a peaceful slumber.

Hotch is going to need you two ready and working.

And because of your nerves, you don't even notice Spencer turning his back to you too. Wondering if you had been feeling the same thing he was from the situation, from the contact, from the conversation, from everything.

Unlike you, he's for sure not getting any sleep.

[a/n] Every time I write for Spencer with this reader, he just can't catch a break-- Send in some ideas for the next part of the anthology if you'd like!! Like certain character interactions, dynamics, etc. I'd like to see what you're interested in seeing :DD

taglist: @crazychaoticizzy

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[level2janitor]

tactiquest structure

so i've posted a lot about tactiquest's classes and monsters and everything on here but i haven't really talked about the non-combat subsystems much yet and i wanted to go into detail about them, bc tactiquest has very different goals from most heroic fantasy systems.

tracking inventory, travel time, worrying about actually running out of your adventuring budget, are things a lot of big-damn-heroes fantasy systems throw out because they're just paperwork that gets in the way of your cool fights. that's not the case in Tactiquest! these systems are so core to the experience that removing them will make a lot of classes unusable. the game is built around them.

travel & exploration

tactiquest explicitly assumes you're running an open-sandbox hexcrawl and is designed to support that, including the fact the game is designed around random encounters. this is the sort of thing D&D 3e expected you to do, but people ditched random encounters because they thought they were boring and tedious. so classes balanced around that attrition of resources ended up with a huge spike in power other classes couldn't match.

the boring-and-tedious problem is mostly addressed by trying to make combat really good and resolve really fast. if i fucked that up the whole thing falls apart, but so far people are liking it

the second thing that helps with random encounters is your resources don't fully restore immediately at the end of each day like they do in 3e. resting is less effective in the wilderness and resources expended are a tomorrow problem, not just a today problem. so you don't have to have 3+ fights every single day just to maintain parity - 0-2 fights per day still adds up to difficult resource management.

because the game has such a focus on it, you can have classes like the ranger actually be good at travel and exploration instead of just giving them vaguely-naturey combat abilities.

economy

in most D&D-likes, even usually OSR ones, you accrue so much gold. just as a side effect of adventuring. to the point money no longer actually matters because you can throw piles of it at any problem. this is bad. it's a system that defeats its own purpose; there are no interesting choices involving money when you have so much the only real expense is like, 50,000-gold-piece magic items.

i don't just want players to care about money, i want them to worry about money, like a normal person. you're not batman who's a billionaire as a side hobby, you're spiderman who has to deliver pizzas in between superhero work because he's got bills to pay like everyone else. so a whole lot of effort has been put into actually designing prices and treasure amounts around this dynamic.

i also hate how games will usually go "oh adventuring gives you 900,000 gold for existing but a normal person's living wage is 2 gold a month". i don't want to be fantasy jeff bezos, thanks

inventory

this is something i just lifted from OSR games outright. you can carry ten things (and tiny things don't take up an item slot). that's the whole rule.

tracking inventory can add a lot of interesting decisions to a game and adds a new lever for abilities from classes and magic items. having a character play the merchant class which gets a bunch of extra inventory slots feels really impactful. finding a bag of holding that doubles your carry capacity feels so good when you actually have to watch your inventory.

supply

the only thing i felt was really unenjoyable when running games with strict inventory limits was tracking rations for each character that you eat every night; it felt too much like busywork with not enough payoff. so in Tactiquest rations are abstracted into a single Supply stat that's tied to the party rather than any individual character.

you can only restock Supply in towns, and it drops by 1 each time you rest. you can sleep without resting and this won't cost supply, but you won't regain any HP or other resources. this gives you the impactful decision-making of tracking rations without the annoyance of "okay it's been a day of travel, everyone make sure you dock a ration from your sheet" like twice per session

Supply is one of the things that slowly drains your funds and gives you a reason to keep seeking out treasure, tying back into the economy. it also gives merchants and rangers some extra mechanical levers for their class abilities to pull on.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Farmer's Daughter 7

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Walter Marshall

Summary: You notice a peculiar change in a family friend. (short!reader, sorry size kink is out)

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

"It was so nice of Walter to help you with the shopping," your mother sings as she puts away a stack of cans in the pantry.

"Yeah," you agree, "it was. Especially 'cause he can carry more bags than me."

She chuckles, "he is rather strong. And big..." she's quiet as she takes out a few more things from a paper bag, "handsome."

"Ma," you gasp and look at the doorway, your father in the next room, still in the recliner.

"I don't mean... not for me," she cackles again.

"Mmm," you put the sugar in the cabinet and turn back as she stares at you, "wait... you mean for me?"

"Well..." her smile falls, "he is so helpful. And nice. And..." she shrugs and shakes her head, "I shouldn't say. Maybe I'm just being ridiculous."

"You are," you insist, "he's... a lot older. Besides, he wouldn't be interested."

"Hon," she chides, "he looks at you." She tilts her head coyly, "he watches you, you don't notice?"

"Ma," you snort again, "stop. You're going to make it awkward."

"I'm just saying. It wouldn't be entirely crazy, would it?"

"Wouldn't it?" You ask.

She's quiet again. She goes into the pantry again as you try to focus on unpacking. She's just trying to distract herself, you're sure. How can you blame her with all that's going on?

Walter is too old and he's standoffish. He's just doing your dad a favour, nothing more than that. You wouldn't blame him for wiping his hands of it all at Timothy's next catastrophe.

A sudden clatter makes you jump and has your mother scrambling out of the pantry. She grasps her chest as you hear Heather's shrill cry, "Patrick!" You rush out ahead of your mom and watch Heather hold him under his arms, placing him back in his chair.

"What's happened?" Your mom shoulders past you.

"He's alright, we were just working on our exercises," the nurse assures as she pulls back, "isn't that right, Patrick?"

Your father gurgles but doesn't speak clearly. Your mother scrunches up her fingers anxiously and hovers behind the recliner, "did he fall?"

"No, no, it was just the table," Heather points to the TV tray overturned on the other side of the chair. "He's doing very good."

"Oh, oh," your mother touches her forehead and heaves, "I was just... scared."

"Ma, why don't you lay down?" You suggest.

"I can't, I got the groceries--"

"I can get the rest," you promise, "please, I know you're not sleeping."

"Hon," she sighs.

"Ma, please, we don't need you getting sick too," you plead.

"Alright, but you come get me in an hour," she demands.

"I will."

Reluctantly she backs away, finally turning at the door. You listen to her creaky ascension and leave Heather with your father. You tremble as you set away the last of the groceries and fold up the paper bags. You tuck them beneath the sink and try to shake off your nerves.

You need a breath of fresh air. Your heady is fuzzy and your eyes glossy. You go out the back door and sit on the back steps. You shudder out a breath and hold your head. The tears trickle out before you can stop them.

The last week you've outpaced the emotions. Keeping busy with your chores, watching after your mom as she does the same for your father. It's like a snake with its own tail. You can't run anymore. Your shoulders rack as you let yourself cry, heaving into your hand as you hiccup loudly.

You just want your dad back. You want the man who used to tell you cheesy jokes about his tractor and pretend to get his finger caught in the machinery. You want everything to be like it used to be. You want to wake up from this nightmare.

You still as you run out of tears. You stay as you are, hunched over and quivering. The buzzing of insects and gentle sway of the grass hums in the air.

A sudden pounding in the grass brings your head up. Walter jogs towards you, wiping away sweat from his brow as he slows. He wears only a ribbed white take, dampened around his chest and sides. Concern ripples in his forehead as he approaches.

"Everything alright?" He puffs as he kneels before you.

"I... yeah, I'm sorry," you mop your face with your knuckles, "I was just... it's nothing."

You try to smile and your cheeks pinch and your mouth downturns. The strain in your lips tugs at your heart again and you sniff back another wave of tears, another droplet slipping free.

"Sweetheart," he rasps and surprises you as he moves to sit beside you on the step, crowding you against the short railing.

He drapes his arm around you and pulls you to him, pushing your head on his shoulder. He rocks you and hushes you. Even trapped in grief, you can't help but be stunned by his gentleness.

"I'm okay," you insist and try to draw back.

"You shouldn't hold it in," he says as he brings his hand up to pet your head, "your father's a good man--"

Before he can finish, you sob again. You shake your head and bury your face against him. You can't stop. You throw your arm around his neck and pull yourself close. He welcomes you in as his arm snakes snugger around you.

"I'm sorry," you babble, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." you chant the apology over and over as he hushes you. You can't stop. It's all spilling out and there's no way to stem the deluge.