#i might color some of these if i feel like it

[homelessnerd]

Don’t mind me posting something that rotted in my drafts for a few months

Oooo I have reasons to not pick some as much as I have reasons to pick the two I want so I’m gonna list it. Color coded based on severity of feelings (Nope, maybe, confused, yes, satisfied)

1) I wouldn’t pick this because I enjoy the process of growing so far. I’m still young, almost 20, but I don’t want to stay here or at any age past or future forever.

2) Could be fun but I’m through and through someone who would rather stay at home and have people over. I don’t think I would use it much.

3) How would I even use that much? I would prefer to teach my future kids how to work hard from experience that I have. I don’t need that much money to feel comfortable or bless the people around me.

4) This is one of the ones I would take! I love language so much and I would love to have an easier time learning languages of people I meet

5) I already reconnected with my best friend from elementary school, so there’s not really anyone I’d want to bring back from the past. My grandmother died when I was 11, and I’ve made my peace with that. I have had 2 miscarriages, and while I do wish I could see my children it would feel cheap and just…wrong to have them back. Like I’m trying to fight God for no good reason.

6) I already did! Might not be my soul mate exactly but I think it’s as pretty dang close as you can get in this world

7) I would HATE a big following, I don’t want to feel like I have to interact with so many people

8) NO NO NO I do NOT want plastic surgery. Are there things about my face I don’t like? Sure, but it’s still *me*. Also I don’t want to get any unnecessary surgeries

9) This is the other one I would take, because it fits in neatly with the other one I want!

Humour me?

[woso-story]

Alexia's Soft Side

Alexia Putellas x Reader

It was a quiet Sunday morning, and the soft hum of Barcelona's streets filtered through the open windows of your shared apartment. You were in the kitchen, brewing coffee, when Alexia’s phone buzzed on the counter. She was still in bed, relishing the rare chance to sleep in, so you glanced at the screen. A text from Irene lit up:

You smiled, already picturing Alexia with Irene’s baby boy. There was something magical about watching her with kids, a side of her so tender and unguarded that it never failed to take your breath away. You quickly typed out a reply, knowing Alexia wouldn’t mind.

"Any chance you two could babysit Mateo today? Just for a few hours. We have some errands to run."

By the time Irene arrived with Mateo a couple of hours later, Alexia was awake and lounging on the couch in sweatpants and an oversized hoodie, her hair tied up in a messy bun. She sprang to her feet as soon as Irene walked in, her eyes lighting up at the sight of the baby.

"Of course. Bring him over whenever."

"Hola, Mateo!" Alexia cooed, reaching out to take him from Irene. Mateo, all round cheeks and wide, curious eyes, gurgled happily as Alexia held him close.

Irene handed over a diaper bag and gave you both a quick rundown of his schedule. "He’s been teething, so he might get a bit fussy," she warned, though Mateo seemed perfectly content in Alexia’s arms, grabbing at her hair with tiny fists.

"No problem," Alexia said, her voice softer than usual. She kissed the top of Mateo’s head, and your heart gave a little flutter.

After Irene left, the three of you settled into a relaxed rhythm. Mateo crawled around the living room, exploring everything within reach while Alexia stayed close, ready to catch him if he got too adventurous. You watched from the couch, sipping your coffee and marveling at how natural she looked.

"Look at him go," Alexia said, laughing as Mateo attempted to climb over her leg. She caught him gently, lifting him into the air, and Mateo let out a delighted squeal.

"You’re good at this," you said, setting your coffee down and joining them on the floor.

Alexia glanced at you, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. "It’s easy with him. He’s so... uncomplicated," she said, her voice tinged with affection.

You watched as she held Mateo close, pressing a kiss to his chubby cheek. It was rare to see her like this—completely at ease, her usual intensity replaced by something softer. Alexia was always so focused, so serious about her responsibilities, whether it was on the pitch or in her personal life. But with Mateo, all of that melted away. She was playful, relaxed, and undeniably sweet.

---

When Mateo started to get fussy, Alexia took him into the kitchen to prepare a bottle. You followed, leaning against the counter as you watched her work. She held the baby in one arm while using her free hand to warm the milk, her movements precise yet gentle.

"You’re a multitasking pro," you teased.

Alexia chuckled, shaking her head. "You have to be with kids, no?"

Once Mateo had his bottle, he settled down again, his tiny fingers clutching Alexia’s hoodie as he drank. She sat on the couch with him cradled in her arms, her eyes fixed on his face with an expression so tender it made your chest ache.

"You’d make an amazing mom someday," you said softly, sitting down beside her.

Alexia looked at you, her lips curving into a small smile. "You think so?"

"I know so," you replied. "Look at you. He’s completely at ease with you. And the way you look at him..." You trailed off, feeling a lump form in your throat.

Alexia’s expression grew thoughtful. "I’ve always wondered about that, you know," she admitted. "If I could balance it all—the career, the responsibilities... a family."

"You could," you said firmly. "You’re the most capable person I know. And when the time comes, you’ll figure it out, like you always do."

She leaned over, resting her forehead against yours. "You’d be part of that family, right?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Of course," you said, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions in your chest.

---

The rest of the day passed in a blur of simple, joyful moments. Mateo fell asleep in Alexia’s arms while you read a book aloud to her, the soft rhythm of your voice filling the room. When Irene came to pick him up, she took one look at Mateo’s peaceful face and smiled.

"You two are naturals," she said.

After Irene left, Alexia wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you close. "You were amazing with him too, you know," she said, pressing a kiss to your temple.

"You think so?" you asked, leaning into her warmth.

"I know so," she replied, echoing your earlier words.

And as you curled up together on the couch, the apartment quiet once more, you couldn’t help but feel like you’d gotten a glimpse of a beautiful future—a life where the two of you weren’t just partners, but a family.

[magnoliapromenadegalleria]

I take no issue with monetizing cc. You release good content and have an agreeable release window, I either choose to subscribe, or I wait. Cool. What I do take issue with is this

Perma-paywalls or ridiculous early access release windows. Anything exceeding thirty days is excessive. My opinion.

2. New creators setting up immediate early access. The skillset is just not there yet to put a price on your creations. You barely have a base to sell to. This includes creators who created for other games, then come over to The Sims and try to sell to us. For example, the creator that makes skins and admitted they don't even play the game. Simply here for profit.

3. Creators that do not qc their work, or steal from other creators. Girl.

4. Customer service. Once you start creating for profit, whether it be supplemental or your main source, you have to have a level of customer service and professionalism. You have now started a brand. A very niche brand, but that's what it is. You cannot be short with people for asking valid questions and catching an attitude with them. Like that one lady with the tree coming out in February. If you are one of those rare creators who is lucky enough money to hire someone to handle your social media, I suggest you do that. Or supply a friend with more patience with their favorite coffee or something and let them handle it. Something.

5. Not interacting with the community you are trying to sell to. Connect with people. Repost their edits, lookbooks, builds, leave comments, give a like. The creator mentioned above commented that no one comments on their stuff, at least not here. Fair. This community does not talk like it used to, but to each other like it used to, but you can go to creator pages and see that they are perfectly curated advertisements. Like a showroom. No reblogs of anyone using their content. If you want that for your main page fine, but at least have another side blog where you can do the outlined above.

6. Pushing something out just to push it. I think we have entered a space, both creator and follower/consumer, where everything feels so fast-paced. What's the new thing coming out, what's next, etc. So much so that I think it has made creators push out content just to keep up, especially if they rely on that income. This has resulted in some creators getting into hot water for releasing the same item(s) in different sets and in different colors. Or creators releasing duplicates of the same thing. It can be frustrating, but I question if it is because they're just trying to keep up, or afraid to try something new or different in fear of it not doing well. Some smaller creators who create different content don't get as much love and I question if they would receive more if they followed the wave, or were big enough to start one.

Now to this community

If a creator disrespects you or others or moves in a way that you don't fundamentally agree with, and you complain but still download and or advertise their content, you're moving counterproductive to your plight. Why would anyone reflect on themselves when you prove that you're going to advertise their content anyway?

2. Show love to these creators. Big and small, especially small, monetized or not. Everyone likes to hear or see that what they release is valued. Don't harass or disrespect creators if they take a break, or they don't get something out quickly. Especially the modders.

3. Interact with each other. Even if your aesthetics or different. This is a community. If you see something you like, LIKE IT. Share it, leave a comment.

4. Create the thing simmer. The edit, cc, build, lookbook, whatever. Create the thing and share the thing. Even if it isn't part of a popular trend or aesthetic.

I'm speaking about myself here too because I want to better about this.

I want this to feel fun again. Not just based on what is in at the moment.

This might be read. Might not. Just my two Abes. Anyway I'm about to make some soup from scratch. Toodles!

[bogleech]

I never thought about that, but I never found jigsaw puzzles enjoyable to do either! I might like the image being sold as the puzzle, but then I'd rather have it in higher resolution without all the jigsaw cuts.

Maybe it's also that I don't get a sense of challenge from it. I draw just how I want to draw and need to draw to be satisfied enough. It gets steadily better on its own just from understanding and remembering new things to do but it otherwise feels kind of like waiting in line at the DMV. It's the hurdle of a bunch of time that must be sacrificed for the drawing to happen.

This is why I always want a movie or series on while doing it. Anything to feel like I'm using the time for more than just sitting around waiting for my body to make the picture.

This post broke containment so some responses have no idea what I draw. I draw almost strictly creatures I come up with when it's not scenes for a webcomic I post.

Maybe it also sheds some light into this topic that I don't draw anything to just be a picture. I only draw things to be used in stories or games, things with a long term role attached to a narrative. These are all for my tabletop RPG setting which has over 800 monsters so far, and I love every single one but that includes thousands more that I've not yet had the time to draw. I come up with another handful of them every day without really meaning to. It's like an intrusive thought almost? And I want them all to become fully polished usable illustrations but I'm only one person.

I do enjoy the process of sketching the initial ideas, but that might be because each finished creature sketch takes me only seconds, so there isn't a sense of waiting and waiting and waiting for eternity for them to be done. Like in 6 hours I can make just one of those fully colored ones, or I can fill up an entire notebook with ballpoint pen or pencil ideas.

This is also why I cannot understand why anyone would want to use a design they got from an AI prompt. The only point of a concept is that you thought of it and that you even decided where every little wrinkle and hair and pants pocket was going to go. If an automated digital randomizer did that for you then it's not your imagination being realized :( Even when I could only draw 5% as "well" as I think I do now (and it's still not a great style by most standards) I was already willing to "wait at the DMV" for each one.

Lots of artists lately talking about burnout and how they no longer find the process fun and enjoyable.

And I'm over here like........you guys EVER found that enjoyable?? Was I supposed to???

It is not fun to do the work itself. It's never crossed my mind that it could be. Having something finished is great and I can't stop making things but the process required to have made something is just arduous tedious labor. you do it for the result alone, not the hours of sitting still staring at the same surface.

It must be awesome to ever be capable of enjoying a form of "work" 😕

[jhyoos]

Dreams Come True

Chapter 5: Stalker

summary: you and vi try to discuss what your relationship is now and how this should work, but it was interrupted by a blue-haired girl.

mentions: fluff, pathetic!vi, fame!au, modern!au, kissing, groping, stalking (saesangs), violence, choking (not by vi tho 😔)

notes : i did this while sick and on my period. it has not been proofread 😭. love yall 🫵🩷 im also resetting my taglist for this so if you want to be tagged for the next chapter comment!

The sun hung low in the sky, its golden rays spilling across the bustling streets as you and Mel stepped out of the practice studio. Your legs ached from the grueling rehearsal, but Mel’s persistent prodding about getting ice cream had finally worn you down. She strolled beside you, her duffle bag slung lazily over her shoulder, an almost mischievous grin plastered across her face.

The bell above the shop door chimed softly as you entered, the cool air inside offering a sweet reprieve from the lingering afternoon heat. The scent of freshly baked waffle cones filled the air, mingling with the bright, sugary notes of the various ice cream flavors on display. The shop was quaint and cozy, with pastel-colored walls and little booths tucked into corners.

After some debate, you both settled on your orders—Mel opting for a double scoop of chocolate fudge brownie while you stuck with a classic strawberry swirl. Finding a table by the window, the two of you slid into the booth, the faint chatter of other patrons blending into the background.

“So,” Mel began, her spoon poised above her ice cream as she leaned in slightly, “are you going to tell me, or am I going to have to pry it out of you?”

You gave her a confused look, though you knew exactly where this was heading. “Tell you what?” you replied, feigning innocence as you took a bite of your ice cream.

“Oh, don’t play dumb with me,” she teased, narrowing her eyes. “Vi. You two were all cozy at the club, and now you’re walking around with this dreamy little smile on your face. Spill it.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the blush creeping up your cheeks. “There’s nothing to spill,” you said, shrugging. “We haven’t confirmed anything yet.”

Mel’s spoon clattered against the side of her bowl as she gasped dramatically. “Yet? So, you’re telling me there’s a ‘yet.’ What does that mean? Did you two talk? Kiss? Make declarations of undying love under the moonlight?”

“Mel!” you hissed, though you couldn’t help but laugh at her theatrics. “Okay, fine. Yes, we talked. And... we might have said ‘I love you.’”

Her jaw dropped, and for a moment, she just stared at you in disbelief before breaking into a wide grin. “Oh my God, you’re back together, aren’t you?”

You shook your head. “No, not yet. It’s... complicated. We’re figuring things out.”

Mel’s teasing expression softened slightly as she leaned back in her seat. “Well, for what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re giving her another chance. You two were kind of disgustingly perfect together.”

You rolled your eyes again but smiled, a small, hopeful feeling blooming in your chest. As you sat there, sharing laughs and finishing your ice cream, you realized how much you’d missed moments like these—simple, carefree, and filled with the warmth of friendship. For now, that was enough.

The peaceful moment in the ice cream shop was abruptly interrupted by a loud knock on the window. Startled, you and Mel both turned your heads toward the sound. Outside stood a small group of fans, their excited faces pressed against the glass. Some of them had phones in hand, already snapping pictures.

You smiled politely and gave a small wave, as did Mel, though her grin was a bit tighter. “Guess we’ve got some fans in the neighborhood,” she murmured, trying to sound casual.

At first, it didn’t seem too serious—just a few people recognizing the two of you and sharing their enthusiasm. But as the seconds ticked by, the crowd began to grow. More people gathered outside, camera flashes illuminating the window in quick bursts. Their murmurs grew louder, and some started knocking again, calling out your name.

You exchanged a concerned look with Mel, who quickly glanced toward the door. “I don’t like this,” you admitted, lowering your voice. “It’s getting out of hand.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Mel replied, scanning the shop. “Let’s get out of here.”

You hastily placed cash on the table to cover the bill, grabbed your bag, and reached for Mel’s hand. Together, you ducked toward the back exit, keeping your heads low to avoid drawing even more attention. The two of you slipped through the rear door into the parking lot, your steps quickening as you approached Mel’s car.

Once inside, Mel made sure to lock the doors immediately. You glanced nervously over your shoulder as you spotted some of the fans spilling into the lot, their phones held high as they rushed toward the car. “They’re taking pictures of your license plate,” you said in a hushed voice, your stomach knotting.

“Not for long,” Mel muttered, her hands steady on the steering wheel as she started the car. She pulled out of the parking lot, her jaw set in determination. The fans ran after the car for a few seconds, some shouting and continuing to record. Mel turned onto a side street, taking back routes she clearly knew well.

The tension in the car was palpable as she zigzagged through the unfamiliar streets, checking the rearview mirror every few seconds. After what felt like an eternity, she finally let out a breath. “Okay, I think we lost them.”

Your own sigh of relief filled the car as you leaned back against the seat. The adrenaline was still coursing through you, making your heart pound. “Holy shit, that was intense,” you said, shaking your head. “We just debuted... I didn’t think we were that popular.”

Mel laughed nervously, her hands still gripping the wheel tightly. “Yeah, I thought we had some time before all this crazy fan stuff started. Guess not.”

You looked out the window, trying to process what had just happened. Your thoughts were interrupted as Mel’s voice pulled you back to the present. “Where should I drop you off?” she asked, her tone steady but still tinged with concern.

You gave her the address to Vi’s apartment, leaning back in your seat and letting out a sigh. “Make sure you change your license plate as soon as possible,” you added, your voice slightly strained from the earlier chaos.

Mel nodded with a small grin. “Don’t worry, I’ve got it handled. No way I’m letting some overly excited fans track me down.”

When you arrived at Vi’s apartment, you thanked Mel and watched her car pull away before heading upstairs. You still had the key Vi gave you, so you let yourself in. The familiar creak of the door echoed in the apartment, and you were immediately greeted by the sight of Vi sprawled lazily on the couch, a bag of Doritos in one hand and a Dr. Pepper can in the other. She was watching The Boys with the volume high, her focus on a particularly dramatic scene.

Hearing the door, she turned her head and smirked when she saw you. “Hey, hot stuff. Sit down,” she said casually, patting the empty spot on the couch beside her.

You couldn’t help but smile as you set your bag down and joined her. “Aren’t hockey players supposed to be on diets? You’re eating Doritos and drinking Dr. Pepper,” you teased, gesturing at the junk food scattered on the coffee table.

Vi chuckled, shrugging as she took another sip of soda. “Well, I’m not an idol, am I? And besides, I need the calories. Helps me bulk up, and you like that, don’t you?” she teased back, giving you a playful wink.

You rolled your eyes, a soft laugh escaping your lips. “You’re ridiculous.”

The moment was interrupted by a notification on your phone. Your smile faded as you opened it to find a TMZ article detailing your earlier encounter at the ice cream shop with Mel. The headline was bold and dramatic, emphasizing how close you and Mel came to being trampled by a growing crowd of fans.

Vi immediately noticed the change in your expression. “What’s wrong?” she asked, leaning over to grab your phone before you could stop her. Her brows furrowed as she read the headline, her expression shifting to concern. “You almost got attacked by fans?”

You shook your head, trying to downplay it. “We didn’t, so it’s okay. It’s normal… I just didn’t think it was gonna happen so soon,” you admitted, your voice quieter than usual.

Vi placed your phone down and turned her full attention to you. “Baby, your group’s account has over 12 million followers across Twitter, Instagram, and TikTok combined. Of course, you’re popular,” she said matter-of-factly. Her tone softened as she added, “You should probably get a bodyguard.”

You let out a small sigh, leaning back against the couch. “I didn’t think I’d need one this early on. I just want to enjoy things like going out for ice cream, you know? Without all… that.”

Vi reached out, taking your hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I get it. But your safety comes first, okay? We’ll figure it out.”

The next few weeks settled into a comfortable routine: you and Vi alternating between each other's apartments to talk, cuddle, have sex, and then cuddle again before practice. It was a rhythm that felt natural, almost like you were already in a relationship—but Vi hadn’t asked you to be her girlfriend, nor had she even hinted at it. The silence on that front gnawed at you, and today you decided to finally bring it up.

When you unlocked the door to Vi’s apartment, ready to address the question head-on, you were greeted by an unexpected sight. Standing in the middle of the living room was a tall, elegant woman with striking blue hair. Her posture was effortless, exuding a kind of natural grace that instantly caught your attention. The two of you locked eyes for what felt like an eternity before Vi appeared from the hallway, her usual confident grin plastered across her face.

“Hey, baby,” Vi greeted casually as she walked up, slinging an arm around the woman’s shoulder. “This is my friend Caitlyn. We’re gonna be modeling together for Vogue.”

You looked between Vi and Caitlyn, your mind scrambling to process what you were seeing. Caitlyn was stunning, her poise and beauty making her seem almost unreal. When she extended her hand for a handshake, it was with the kind of grace that made even that simple gesture look elegant.

“Hi, I’m Caitlyn. I’m an ice skater,” she said, her voice smooth and polite.

You accepted the handshake, your own movements feeling stiff in comparison. “Hi, I’m (Y/N),” you replied, your voice steady despite the sudden tightness in your chest.

Caitlyn’s eyes lit up in recognition. “Oh, I knew you looked familiar! You’re from the group AURORA. You look even prettier in person,” she said with an easy smile.

“Oh, thank you,” you managed, forcing a polite smile in return. Your eyes darted to Vi, searching her face for any kind of explanation or acknowledgment of how awkward this felt.

Before you could say anything else, you tried to speak, “Hey, can we talk in priv—” but Vi cut you off by leaning in and kissing you. Her hand casually slid to your ass, giving it a quick squeeze before she pulled back.

“I’m sorry, but I gotta go,” Vi said nonchalantly, as if the entire situation was completely normal. She grabbed her things and started heading toward the door. “We’ve got interviews and stuff downtown, so I’ll just be staying with Ellie and Abby in their penthouse for the week.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Vi barely gave you the chance. “I love you,” she said casually over her shoulder as she opened the door, holding it for Caitlyn to follow her out.

And then they were gone.

You stood in the middle of the living room, staring at the closed door in stunned silence. The sound of the lock clicking into place felt deafening in the otherwise quiet apartment. Confusion churned in your mind as you tried to piece together what had just happened.

Vi’s words echoed in your head. I love you. Yet she’d just left you standing here, no explanation, no conversation about the questions you’d been holding onto for weeks. All of it—her sudden departure, the presence of Caitlyn, and the way she’d brushed off your attempt to talk—left a bitter taste in your mouth. You couldn’t help but wonder: was this love, or was it just convenience?

Hours of stress cleaning had left Vi’s apartment spotless, every surface shining like new. Yet despite your efforts to distract yourself, your thoughts remained restless. Finally, you decided you couldn’t stay there any longer. You changed into one of Vi’s oversized hoodies, the familiar scent bringing a small measure of comfort, and grabbed your bag before heading out the door.

Instead of going straight home, you decided to stop by a nearby burger joint. Your stomach grumbled, reminding you that you hadn’t eaten all day. Once inside, you ordered a burger and fries to go, leaning against the counter as you waited. The minutes dragged on, but eventually, your order number was called. You thanked the cashier, grabbing the bag with a polite smile before heading back to your car.

As you approached your car, keys in hand, a tall man suddenly stepped into your path. His presence was unnerving, but his expression didn’t immediately raise any alarms.

“You’re (Y/N) from AURORA, right?” he asked, his tone overly enthusiastic. “I’m a really big fan. Can I have an autograph?”

You forced a polite smile, trying to keep things cordial. “I’m sorry, I’m kinda busy right now,” you said, hoping he’d take the hint.

But he didn’t. Instead, he stepped closer, his demeanor shifting from eager to insistent. “Come on, just a quick one. It’ll only take a second,” he pressed.

Before you could respond, his eyes drifted to the hoodie you were wearing, his expression darkening. His nostrils flared as he caught the faint scent of cologne clinging to the fabric. Without warning, his hand shot out and grabbed your wrist tightly, making you drop the bag of food.

“What man were you with?!” he demanded, his voice seething with anger. “I thought I watched you carefully enough!”

Panic surged through you as you tried to pull away. “Sir, I don’t know who you are! Please let go of me!” you pleaded, your voice trembling.

His grip tightened, and before you could react, his hand moved to your throat, squeezing with terrifying force. You clawed at his arm, gasping for air, your vision starting to blur.

“Sir, please…” you choked out, your voice barely audible.

His expression twisted with rage. “If I can’t have you, no one can,” he growled, his grip unrelenting.

Just as the edges of your vision began to go dark, you felt the pressure on your neck suddenly release. You collapsed to the ground, gasping for air and clutching at your bruised throat. Blinking through tears, you saw the man being yanked backward and slammed to the ground.

The commotion drew a crowd, and amidst the chaos, you caught sight of your rescuer. Recognition flickered as you realized it was Ekko, Jinx’s boyfriend. His face was steely with anger as he held the man down, delivering a punch to keep him subdued.

Moments later, Jinx appeared, rounding the corner in search of Ekko. Her eyes widened in horror as she took in the scene: Ekko restraining the man on the ground, and you, sitting on the pavement with a large bruise forming around your neck.

“Oh my god, (Y/N)!” Jinx yelled, rushing toward you. She pushed through the small crowd of onlookers, waving them off as she knelt beside you. “Are you okay? The cops are on their way,” she said, her voice full of worry as she helped you to your feet.

You tried to nod, but the effort was too much. The adrenaline draining from your body left you weak and unsteady, and the edges of your vision blurred again. You immediately fell back on to the ground, Jinx caught you as she held you carefully. The last thing you heard was Jinx calling your name before everything went black.

chapters: one, two, christmas special, three, four , five

edit announcement: it’s a double upload today so expect chapter 6 in a few hours!

[indanmei]

Hi, and welcome to the New Year! Here’s a cute little Wangxian sketch for you—I hope you enjoy it!

Now, a few words from me, as it seems I’ve somehow become a center of controversy. Some people have voiced concerns about me using AI in my workflow, and while I understand their perspective, I don’t think it’s as big of an issue as it’s made out to be.

This particular sketch was drawn entirely in Procreate—no AI involved, for anyone wondering. But yes, I do use AI sometimes. I have a busy life and severe ADHD, which makes it hard to finish long projects. To help, I trained an AI model on my own art. I use it for things like corrections or coloring, allowing me to create more efficiently and, frankly, enjoy the process more.

Is it “cheating”? Maybe some think so, but I remember hearing the same arguments about Photoshop years ago. To me, AI is just another tool. It’s fun, it’s helpful, and it lets me finish work I might otherwise abandon.

Of course, I understand concerns about AI models trained on others’ art without consent—that’s a valid issue. But using a custom model trained on my own work? That feels perfectly fine to me.

What about you? Do you think AI in art is problematic or helpful? I’d love to hear your thoughts—even if you think I’m in the wrong here. Let’s have a discussion about it!

Wishing you all a creative and joyful New Year.

[uncle-fruity]

I've been the white person getting called racist and not understanding why, and I know how easy it is to feel defensive or flustered or guilty, but what the folks above are saying is 100% true. I've got an anecdote that I hope might be helpful for some fellow white folks to hear.

I was once at a house show and a black woman complimented my eyes, which are a very bright blue. I get that compliment a lot, and I get tired of hearing it but I also understand that people are just being nice, so I sought to amuse myself by responding with a joke. When this black woman complimented my eyes, I said, "Thank you! I'm borrowing them from a witch!" I'd only just started using this joke response in the last couple months. Just a little attempt at fantasy humor. Well, this woman got angry and called me racist in response. I was baffled, and she didn't really elaborate except to say something about witches and white people. I didn't understand, but I said sorry and let her be, as she did not seem interested in talking about it. I felt bad, and even worse that my gut reaction was, "How was that racist?"

Well, I never found out. I went home, I looked it up, I couldn't find anything. Google gave me nothing of use. I asked some friends I had, but they were just as confused as me. Even though nothing was coming up, I've more or less stopped using that joke just in case I'm missing something -- until I get more insight, at least. If anyone knows what she might have been reacting to, I would seriously appreciate a source for the information.

But I bring this up because this was one of those moments where I had to accept that I might just be the racist jerk at the house show in her mind forever, that she had a right to be mad about any perceived racism, and that I had to be okay with that. It isn't her job to unpack whether I'm actually a good person who's really trying my best. It isn't her job to get me up to speed, especially if she feels like I was trying to make a jab at her when she was just saying something nice. There are already a million and one white jerks who will ask black folks to defend their reasons for calling someone racist and demand an academic level contextualization, as if they're on trial and need proof, and not nearly enough of us who take the initiative to learn it ourselves.

There are academic papers. There are books. There are video essays. There are historical documents directly representing the sentiments & racist narratives of the time they came from. There are non-white people who have been writing and speaking about their experiences with racism for years and years and years and years. And there are people talking about it today, on this very website, and it's okay to just read & listen and to look things up if they confuse you or you need more context. A variety of sources will help you see the issue more fully.

Because the truth is that a lot of things that white people consider just part of "regular society" are baked in racism. The more you learn about racism and the history of racism and the ways racism has manifested over the years, the more you realize how much of that racism is embedded in our culture even in unassuming, casual ways. If you take time to learn about what racism really looks like, you can be more confident in your ability to avoid acts of racism. So if not wanting to be The Racist or not wanting to feel guilty about a Racist Action You Did is a real concern, the best remedy is to learn about it and try to see the ways you might be prone to perpetuating it. And when in doubt? Assume that a person of color knows more about what racism looks and feels like than you do. Reduce harm by resisting making defensive arguments to explain racism away, and just keep pursuing answers for your questions and discomfort by listening.

I highly recommend reading Ibram X. Kendi's work as a starting point, because he lays out the foundational stuff really well. I read How to Raise an Antiracist, but he also wrote a book targeted at adult learning called How to Be an Antiracist. One thing from his work that was helpful for me to internalize was that antiracism is an action, as is racism. No one is born A Racist -- it is not inherent to anyone. It is not an identity. It is learned and it is acted upon. Just so, antiracist is not an identity, but rather an action. If you care about being seen as One Of The Good White People, you will need to do the work to become one, and by the time you've done the work to become one, you will realize that that's not how it works. There is always work to do and how antiracist you are depends on what antiracist actions you take, not how antiracist your intentions were. You cannot simply say that you believe in racial equality without showing up for it. Racism is an action you take. Antiracism is an action you take. Doing nothing is still a choice, and it is a choice that tends to favor racism in practice. Learning more about racism as a topic and especially going out of your way to reflect when you've been called racist -- how you're going to better understand and better your actions -- are two very good antiracist actions that you can do for free.

And while you learn, just, know that it'll be uncomfortable and take some effort to unlearn everything. You might feel some kind of way about stuff -- parts of culture that you connected with and are only just now realize have racist tones. It's bad. It's really bad and a lot of our family members present & past do or did terribly racist things. You have probably done something racist. It's possible that you're going to do something racist in the future. It's uncomfortable to acknowledge, but we will never change if we can't accept that we need to put in the effort and do better. And we can't know how to do better or look out for non-white folks if we don't actively learn.

Sorry this got so long. I hope it is a productive addition to the conversation.

listen. white people. LISTEN to me. if a person of color yells you that you did or said something racist the appropriate response is to go "oh shit, sorry" and maybe MAYBE a follow up of "can you elaborate" if you dont understand why and thats. IT. we do not need elaborate prose about how sorry you are or how grateful you are for us telling you or how youre working on unlearning it or whatever. JUST SAY SORRY AND DONT DO IT AGAIN THATS IT ❤️

[marvelousels]

HOOKED ON YOU.

authors note — once again was listening to doja cat but this time the song was tia tamera YESSIRR sorry but that song is so iconic and gives this confident feeling to listeners. so here we are, it may not fit exactly but meh! i might write with this song except its jinx this time? omd jinx is so this song core OKAY NOW I'LL STOP YAPPING.

pairings: vi x fem!reader 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

Tia Tamera — doja cat playing!

The club was alive with the electric pulse of music, the bass vibrating through your chest as you leaned against the bar. Lights flashed in rhythmic bursts, painting the crowd in neon colors. Your drink sat untouched beside you, condensation pooling around the base of the glass. You weren’t here for the drinks or the music, though—you were here for her.

Vi was in her element, moving through the crowd with a natural charisma that left heads turning in her wake. Her cropped pink hair caught the strobe lights, and the signature cocky smirk tugged at her lips as she danced. She was magnetic, a force of nature, and watching her felt like being caught in a storm you didn’t want to escape.

You didn’t even realize you were staring until her eyes locked onto yours across the room. A playful challenge sparked in her gaze, and before you could look away, she was weaving through the bodies, heading straight for you.

“Hey, stranger,” she said, her voice just loud enough to cut through the music. She leaned against the bar beside you, her arm brushing yours. “You’ve been watching me all night. What’s the verdict?”

Heat rose to your cheeks, but you refused to let her fluster you. “You’re not bad,” you replied, keeping your tone light. “For someone who’s clearly showing off.”

She laughed, the sound low and warm, and it sent a shiver down your spine. “Can you blame me?” she teased. “Hard not to, when I’ve got you as my audience.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. Vi always had a way of making you feel like you were the only person in the room, even in a place as chaotic as this. She reached for your drink, taking a sip without asking, and you raised an eyebrow.

“Bold of you,” you remarked.

“That’s me,” she said with a wink. “Besides, I’ve got something to celebrate tonight.”

“Oh? And what’s that?”

She straightened, her grin widening. “Us,” she said simply. “You and me. We… we just work. I’ve got the edge; you’ve got the spark. Together? Unstoppable.”

You blinked, caught off guard by her words. “Are you saying we’re some kind of dynamic duo?” you asked, amused.

“I’m saying we’ve got chemistry,” she replied, leaning closer. Her voice dropped, softer now. “You’ve felt it, haven’t you? The way we just… click?”

Her words hung in the air, and your heart raced under the weight of her gaze. She wasn’t teasing anymore; there was something raw and unguarded in her expression. You searched her face, and for once, there was no smirk, no bravado. Just Vi, honest and vulnerable, laying herself bare.

“Vi,” you began, your voice almost lost in the music. “I…”

She cut you off with a grin, her confidence creeping back in. “Don’t overthink it, okay?” she said. “Just dance with me.”

Before you could protest, she grabbed your hand and pulled you onto the dance floor. The crowd swallowed you both, the music pounding around you, but all you could focus on was her. The way her hands found your waist, the way her body moved against yours, the way her eyes never left yours—it was intoxicating.

“You know,” she murmured as her lips brushed your ear, “I’ve never met anyone like you. You’ve got this energy… it’s got me hooked.”

Your breath hitched, her words sending a thrill through you. “Hooked, huh?” you managed, your hands resting on her shoulders. “Is that your way of saying you’re obsessed?”

She chuckled, her voice low and sultry. “Maybe I am,” she admitted, her hands tightening slightly on your hips. “But you’re not making it easy to play it cool.”

You smirked, leaning closer until your faces were inches apart. “Who said I wanted you to play it cool?”

Her eyes darkened, her gaze flickering to your lips. The air between you crackled with tension, and for a moment, the rest of the world seemed to fade away. The music, the crowd, the flashing lights—none of it mattered. There was only her.

“You’re dangerous,” she murmured, her voice barely audible over the pounding bass. “You know that, right?”

“Takes one to know one,” you shot back, your voice equally soft.

Her lips curved into a slow, wicked smile. “You’re gonna be trouble for me, aren’t you?”

“Guess you’ll have to stick around to find out,” you replied, tilting your head slightly in challenge.

Vi didn’t answer right away. Instead, she closed the remaining distance between you, her lips brushing yours in a kiss that was equal parts soft and electrifying. It was the kind of kiss that left you breathless, that made your head spin and your heart race.

When she finally pulled back, her forehead rested against yours, and her smirk was back in full force. “Yeah,” she said, her voice husky. “Definitely trouble. But I think I can handle it.”

And as you stood there, wrapped up in her, you couldn’t help but think that maybe she was right. Maybe together, you really could handle anything.

[certaimromance]

𝜗𝜚 The Boy Next Door.

Spencer Reid x Neighbor!reader

series masterlist

Summary: Making friends with your neighbor is one of the best things that ever happened to you, but falling in love with him? not so much.

Words: 4,1k.

Warnings & Tags: painting!reader. lack of communication. the reader has a cat. two idiots so in love. bittersweet. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: I am very excited about this, long live friends to lovers and being Spencer's neighbor (my dream).

Being a neighbor to someone like Spencer Reid had been a blessing since the first day you packed boxes of your stuff into the apartment next to his. He was kind and handsome, very much so, if you were honest. Smart but reserved, even a little shy if you looked at him too much. But most importantly, he was the kind of neighbor who would never complain about your cat, who seemed to have a particular fondness for his balcony. Whether it was knocking over his potted plants or staring curiously at his fish tank, your feline’s antics never elicited more than a gentle laugh or a patient shrug. He would simply return your wayward pet with a soft knock at your door, holding it in his arms like it was the most precious thing in the world, while you apologized profusely, your cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

What started as brief exchanges—usually you stammering out apologies while he reassured you it was no trouble—gradually became longer conversations. The simple, polite “Hi, this is my cat, I’m so sorry” turned into casual talks about your day or his work, which he always spoke about in vague terms. And you, feeling so guilty for the inconvenience your cat had caused, decided to bake him cookies as a peace offering. They didn’t turn out quite as you’d hoped—slightly burnt around the edges—but Spencer didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he complimented their colorful sprinkles and icing, likening them to a painting by a famous artist. His sincerity disarmed you, and before you knew it, you were chatting about your love for art while he stroked your cat, his expression soft and attentive as though he’d known you forever.

So you didn't question anything and started to think of him as a friend. His nice actions with you were enough, and it was always good to have new friends, especially when they lived so close to your home.

It turned out that being Spencer's friend was a thousand times better than just being his messy neighbor, and it gave you some new things. Like a copy of the key to his apartment so you could water his plants and feed his fish when he was away at work. Plus, full access to his library, full of books with names you could barely pronounce, whenever you wanted, along with his coffee maker, which was so much better than yours, and was the perfect complement to a lecture in his comfortable sofa.

Books on philosophy, complex sciences, and psychological theories you had never heard of in your life. Each one had a colored heart-shaped post-it that Spencer had borrowed from your collection: pink for the ones you would love, yellow for the ones that might entertain you for a few minutes, red for the ones you wouldn't like at all, and purple for the ones that were in other languages, but he could translate for you if you just mentioned it. His dedication to introducing you to the world of reading was so great that he even convinced you to paint some bookmarks for him. And you took him so seriously that you made one for each of his favorite books, with paintings inspired by their contents.

Being Spencer's neighbor and friend meant having a shoulder to lean on while he helped you pay your bills and tried to fit your tight budget to cover your expenses. It always ended with two empty coffee cups on your kitchen table, your big fake smile as you tried to hold back the urge to scream because your art wasn't giving you enough to survive, his hands caressing your back and reassuring you that everything was going to be okay, that you could count on his help and his wallet if you needed it. And somehow, the next day, one of your paintings would mysteriously sell, and a bag of food would appear for your cat, as if by magic. You never had to ask—he always seemed to know when you needed a little extra help, always appearing with a gentle smile and a quiet offer.

It was one of those days when you opened the door, your hands still covered in paint, when you saw him standing there, holding a small bag of groceries. “I know what you’re doing, and I appreciate it, but it’s really not necessary,” you said, embarrassed. You couldn’t hide the blush creeping up your neck as you set the paintbrush down and gestured to the cluttered table full of half-finished canvases. You knew what he was up to—he’d done it before, slipping in to make sure you had enough to eat and that your cat had food.

Spencer’s cheeks flushed slightly, and he shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other, as though trying to figure out how to explain himself without embarrassing you. “I…I didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable,” he started, looking anywhere but directly at you, “but I bought a bunch of food, and honestly, I won’t be able to eat it all. I have to work late all week, and it’ll go bad before I have a chance to use it. I thought…maybe you could use it?” He gave a half-smile, hoping it would soften the situation.

You blinked, surprised at how considerate he was being. Spencer wasn’t the type to try and make you feel bad, and you knew he was trying to help without overstepping. It wasn’t about charity—it was simply his way of offering support because he cared. You couldn’t help but smile at his sincerity, even if you felt a bit embarrassed about the situation.

“You don’t have to do that,” you said gently, trying to ward off the guilt that crept up on you. But he was already shaking his head, that familiar, apologetic look in his eyes.

“I know, I know,” he said quickly. “It’s just…I hate wasting food.” He paused for a moment, as if considering something. “And if you want, I can help organize everything in your fridge. You’re probably running low on space with all the art supplies and other things. I can make room for the stuff so it doesn’t go to waste.”

You glanced over at the chaotic state of your kitchen and couldn’t help but laugh softly, the sound both self-deprecating and amused. It was so true. Still, the thought of Spencer Reid—neat, meticulous Spencer—navigating your messy kitchen was both endearing and mildly mortifying.

“Okay,” you relented, wiping your hands on a towel. “That would actually be helpful. But don’t judge me for the mess, okay? It’s been…a lot lately.”

His face lit up with a small, genuine smile, his love for organization clear in the way his posture straightened. “I promise,” he said, his tone almost teasing, “no judgment.”

As he carefully unpacked the groceries, you found yourself talking without meaning to, your words spilling out like the colors on your canvas. “It’s just been hard,” you admitted, your voice faltering slightly. “I’ve been applying for jobs left and right, but nothing’s coming through. And art…well, it’s not exactly paying the bills right now. I’m barely getting by again.”

Spencer paused, a container of strawberries in his hands, and turned to look at you. His brown eyes were soft with concern and something else—something that felt like quiet reassurance. He placed your favorite fruit on the counter with care before speaking.

“You know,” he began, his voice soft but steady, “the last time we talked, you mentioned you used to babysit.” His words caught your attention, making you pause as you glanced over at him, unsure of where he was going with this. “Well, JJ—my friend at work—was just saying that she’s looking for a babysitter. She’s been trying to find someone reliable for a while, and I thought…well, maybe you’d be interested.”

You blinked, unsure whether you’d heard him right. Babysitting? It seemed like a lifetime ago since you’d done anything like that. You hesitated for a moment, running a hand through your hair. “I used to be a nanny when I was fifteen,” you said, feeling the weight of those words. “But, I’m not sure…I mean, I’m not exactly the same person I was back then, and I haven't interacted with kids in a while.”

Spencer’s lips curved into a reassuring smile, the kind that made you feel like you could take on the world if he believed in you. “I think you’d be great at it,” he said, his tone steady and confident. “And it wouldn’t have to be full-time—just a few hours here and there, whenever you have the time. Besides,” he added, his smile turning a little playful, “I’m their godfather, so I’d be around if you ever need help.”

The idea of him being there, silently supporting you as he always did, made the idea seem less daunting and even a little tender, almost familiar. You nodded before you realized what you were agreeing to.

“Okay,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll think about it.”

His hand rested lightly on your shoulder then, his touch warm and grounding. When you looked up at him, his eyes were filled with a quiet intensity that made your breath hitch.

The possibility of refusing anything he asked you to do, with that perfect face that often reminded you of a tender deer, was impossible, and you had learned that over time. Just like the fact that it was completely forbidden to say out loud all the things you thought when you saw him. No extra sweet words, no overly long hugs, no thinking about the kiss you wanted to give him when he started to babble. And certainly no telling him how much you loved him—not when his gentle presence in your life was already more than you could have ever hoped for.

Being in love with someone like Spencer Reid was no blessing. Especially when his door was right next to yours and it almost seemed like you lived in the same apartment. Eating breakfast together when he wasn't out on a case for work, watching him make your favorite pancakes, and putting up pink candles to pretend it was your birthday when you were feeling too sad, and even a funny tuna cake for your cat's birthday. It was all too detailed, intimate, and personal to feel absolutely nothing for so long. Watching him slowly fall asleep on the couch while you watched a ridiculously romantic movie that you chose and he accepted because he was too tired to discuss it. He looked so relaxed, every one of his features softened, forcing you to run and get your notebook to sketch him, because he was a complete work of art. The same situation happened a thousand times; you almost had a whole notebook dedicated to him. But obviously he didn't know that, because he didn't know a lot of things.

And you were okay with that, even though it felt terrible to have to deprive a genius like him of so much information his brain wasn't even expecting.

Anything was better than watching him avoid you in the hallway, or worse, with you having to move somewhere else.

You could stand the love and desire building up inside you, and you did your best not to let it go. Maybe it wasn't the best or what you expected when you imagined what it would be like to actually fall in love with someone for the first time. But at least you had moments that gave you the energy to go on living. The hug and kiss on the cheek that he gave you every time he left for work as a promise to come back, the tender good morning messages in which he wished you good luck for the rest of the day, especially when you had a lot of things to do and he was not in a state to accompany you, or waiting for you after dinner with your friends so that you could tell him in detail what had happened, every gossip and new comment that unfortunately you now had to do over the phone. Especially this time, maybe it could not be like that.

One suggestion, coming from one of your closest friends, caught you completely off guard. “You should sleep with him,” she had said so casually, as if it were the simplest solution to an incredibly complex situation.

The words hung in the air like a joke that wasn’t really a joke. You looked at her, eyes wide, unable to comprehend what she had just said. “What?” you managed, voice a little too sharp, as you quickly wiped your mouth with the back of your hand.

She didn’t seem to notice your shock, leaning forward with a grin that could only be described as mischievous. “I said,” she repeated, “you should sleep with him.”

You nearly choked on your juice, coughing and sputtering as the words rang in your ears. “Are you serious?” you asked, feeling your face flush a deep shade of red. The words felt out of place, especially when the one person you were most careful about—Spencer—was the subject of this absurd suggestion. “I can’t just…sleep with him.”

“Oh, come on,” she insisted, not giving up. “You’ve been in love with him forever. You need to get it out of your system. It’ll help you move on, I promise.”

The words swirled around you, heavy and suffocating, pressing down on your chest like a tidal wave. Sleep with Spencer? Spencer? The man who had become such an intricate part of your life, the one who made every day brighter simply by being in it? You couldn’t even begin to picture it. It felt…wrong. It wasn’t just about the simmering desire or the longing that built up every time you looked at him. Spencer was more than that. He was a friend, a confidant, a constant in a world that had often felt uncertain. The thought of crossing that line—of turning everything you had into something fleeting, something physical—it made your stomach churn. It wasn’t just infatuation anymore. It was something deeper, something that had taken root and blossomed into something far more fragile. The idea of destroying that with a single reckless and hormonal decision? You couldn’t do it.

“No,” you said firmly, setting your glass down and crossing your arms as if physically rejecting the thought. “I can’t do that. It’s not like that with him.”

For a fleeting moment, your friend’s expression softened, but then the mischievous glint returned to her eyes. She leaned back, crossing her own arms in a show of exaggerated disbelief. “You’re seriously going to sit here and tell me you don’t think about him like that?” she challenged, arching a brow. “That you don’t fantasize about him? Please. You’re practically playing house at this point. Living next door, eating breakfast together, taking care of his godchildren—you’re practically married without the fun part.”

Her words were sharp, and they stung in ways you hadn’t expected. She wasn’t wrong, not entirely. You had thought about Spencer in ways that made your pulse race and your heart ache. You couldn’t deny that you fantasized about him—about what it would feel like to hold him, kiss him, love him in ways you hadn’t allowed yourself to imagine until now. But it was more than that. It was the tenderness in his eyes when he spoke of things that mattered most and the way he held you when things felt heavy.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair in frustration, your fingers threading through the strands with a kind of restless energy. “It’s complicated,” you murmured, feeling a lump form in your throat. “He is different, okay? He’s not just some random guy I’m trying to get over. He’s Spencer.”

“Then tell him how you feel,” she shot back, her tone laced with exasperation. “You’re not doing yourself any favors by keeping it all bottled up.”

You flinched, the words hitting you harder than you’d anticipated. “I can’t do that either,” you admitted, the confession falling from your lips like a stone sinking in water. “It would ruin everything.”

Your friend’s playful demeanor faltered for a moment, her teasing grin softening into something almost compassionate. But it didn’t last long. She leaned back in her chair, tossing her hands up in mock surrender. “Fine. Don’t sleep with him. Don’t tell him how you feel. Just keep sitting around, pining, and writing bad poetry in your head. But don’t come crying to me when you’re still hopelessly in love with him a year from now.”

Her words stung, even though you knew she was right in her own blunt, infuriating way. You opened your mouth to respond but stopped when your phone buzzed on the table. The screen lit up with a message from Spencer: Hope you have a good day. Something’s come up. I’ll be back late today.

You stared at the words, your heart sinking a little. He had a way of being so thoughtful in the simplest ways, even when his job pulled him away. It was one of the many things about him that made your feelings all the more complicated.

Your friend smirked, noticing the soft expression on your face as you read his text. “See? There it is,” she said, her tone equal parts teasing and affectionate. “If you’re not going to do anything about it, at least admit that you’re completely in love with him.”

Don’t come crying to me when you’re still hopelessly in love with him a year from now.

The words echoed in your mind even after you and your friend had parted ways, and even after several hours had passed, lingering in your brain like a buzzing that wouldn't go away even though everything inside you was screaming to make more noise and ignore it. It was as if he had opened a Pandora's box that you had been hiding for a long time, and it was something that made you feel small and foolish, lost in your own indecision. You tried to shake it all off, but his words kept echoing in your head, getting louder and louder. You couldn't confess. You couldn't risk ruining everything.

When you arrived at your building, your feet carrying you to his almost by inertia, you tried to distract yourself and do something nice: set the table, light some candles, and order dinner for two at a nearby restaurant you both liked. That had been your plan: a quiet evening together, the kind where you could pretend that everything was normal and there were no complexes on your mind. You knew Spencer would be home late, but at least he'd be there. You'd share a meal, talk about his crazy case, laugh, get so tired you'd fall asleep on the couch so he could carry you to his bed, sleep there barely touching, and then move on as usual. At least that's how you imagined it.

But as the hours passed, you realized something you didn't want to admit: He wasn't coming home anytime soon. At least not tonight.

The food was there, untouched. The candles flickered in the darkness, taunting you with their warm glow. The emptiness of the apartment reflected the feeling of emptiness gnawing at you. You sat on the couch and tried to distract yourself with your cell phone and grabbed a few books you didn't know from the shelf, but everything seemed strange. The clock on the wall was chiming louder than usual, each second getting longer and longer. Around two in the morning, you couldn't stay awake a second longer. Your eyes were heavy, and your mind was tired from the endless cycle of thoughts you had been wrestling with all day. Eventually, you drifted off to sleep, exhausted from the emotional toll of the day, the weight of your own feelings too much to bear when you didn't have Spencer or a canvas nearby to distract you.

You didn’t even hear him when he came through the door.

It wasn't until almost four in the morning that you awoke slightly, your body responding to the warmth and the soft sound of his footsteps approaching you. You found yourself curled up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, your head resting on the pillows and your neck aching. The dinner you had bought was still on the table, untouched, and the candles had long since been extinguished, taking away the warm, familiar atmosphere. The air smelled faintly of reheated food and something else, something familiar, something that smelled like him.

“Spencer…” Your voice was thick with sleep, the words barely leaving your mouth.

He smiled down at you, a gentle smile that seemed to reach all the way into your chest. “Sorry I’m so late…I didn't think you would wait for me,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “Work ran later than I expected.”

You nodded, still half-dazed, barely able to focus on his words. But then you felt the warmth of his hand on your shoulder, gentle but grounding, and everything seemed to fall into place.

“Why don’t you go to bed?” he suggested softly, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You’ve fallen asleep here.”

Before you could react, he picked you up and gently led you into his bedroom. The action was tender, so natural because it had happened more times than you could count. You didn't protest or move. Maybe it was tiredness, or maybe it was the way he made you feel so safe that you always wanted to fall asleep on his couch so he could hold you more, but you let him continue. You let him take care of you as he always did, even when you didn't ask him to.

As he tucked you into his bed, the soft sheets wrapped around your body like a comforting embrace, you murmured something tender and incoherent about him in your sleep, too far away to remember. The words poured out meaninglessly, fragments of meaningless thoughts: feelings, confusions, desires you had buried too deep to think you would ever say out loud. Spencer's hand brushed across your forehead, his thumb gently pushing away the strands of hair that clung to your skin and made you uncomfortable.

“Pretty boy,” you whispered, the words slipping out in your sleepy haze, a fragment of something you couldn’t quite capture.

Spencer’s soft laugh filled the space between you, the sound warm and comforting.

“I remember you said someone used to call you that; is that true?” you asked gently, a playful teasing tone in your voice. “You’re a pretty boy.”

“And you’re a sleepy girl,” he replied with a quiet smile, watching you drift in and out of consciousness.

“Pretty…” you murmured again, your voice barely audible, like a dream that was fading too quickly for you to hold onto.

“Yeah, pretty too,” he whispered, his voice low and rich with tenderness. His thumb traced your forehead one last time, lingering for just a moment before the weight of sleep claimed you entirely.

The bed shifted slightly as Spencer took off his shoes and climbed in beside you, his body warmth a comforting presence next to yours. He paused, just for a moment, to look at you with an expression so full of affection.

“Thanks for making this place a home, my pretty girl,” he whispered, his voice filled with a warmth that seemed to wrap around you like the sheets, even when you can’t listen.

Because he wouldn't have told you that if you were awake and aware, watching him with your bright eyes wide open. Not yet. Not if telling you meant facing the possibility that one day you might avoid him in the hallway or, worse, decide to move somewhere else. He couldn't bear the thought of losing you because he felt things he shouldn't have. Not you. Not his home.

Being in love with you, his neighbor and only friend outside of work, was one of the best and worst things that ever happened to him. To have someone who would wait for him with dinner even when you didn't know what time he'd be home, someone who would compliment him even in between dreams and manage to make him laugh, who would listen to him even when no one else would, and who would accidentally smear paint all over his clothes as a little reminder that you were real and not an impossible dream. He knew you were truly a miracle to someone as unlucky as he was.

Having you, even as a friend, was fantastic.

Sadly, what Spencer didn’t know—what neither of you could have known—was that this moment, this quiet tenderness and time sleeping in the same bed, would be the last time he would see you for what would feel like an eternity. At least for three more agonizing months.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

TW fandom loves to speculate and theorize about mer and beastmen anatomy like how much they borrow from their animal ancestors. How about Miss Raven? What raven traits does she still have?

[Might be referencing this post?]

wiulwoyefapa THIS IS A TOPIC I THINK ABOUT A LOT, ACTUALLY. I think it's really fun to theorize what animalistic traits our non-human characters might have :DD

Here's just some of the raven stuff that stuck around with our Miss Raven:

(Please note: I do talk about bird and human anatomy in this post! Nothing explicit, but figured I'd warn in case this is an uncomfortable area.)

I think Miss Raven's general personality matches that of a raven; they're intelligent yet playful. She's less communicative and sociable than a raven, but I think she makes up for that in her writing.

Birds cannot taste capsaicin, which is the irritant that often registers as "spiciness" to humans. (It's an evolutionary adaptation that helps birds spread the seeds of chili peppers they eat.) Miss Raven has a high spice tolerance because of this, unlike her uncle (who is sensitive to spice).

Likes shiny things; her eye is easily caught by them regardless of value, size, color, etc. (That's her bird brain talking www) She can't wear much jewelry because she might get distracted by it. Instead she keeps jewelry in a little box and stares at it for fun, amusing herself with the sparkle.

This has been mentioned a few times, but Raven sleeps in a manner that's strange for a human. Instead of lying down, she'll form a "nest" of blankets and pillows and sleeps curled up in it.

Miss Raven is a little clumsy on her feet because the weight in her human body is distributed slightly differently than in her bird body.

She equates clothes to a bird's feathers, and being naked like having all your feathers plucked. (Man, have you SEEN a bird without its feathers? Most pathetic looking dry ass babies ever, I tell you.) Miss Raven tends to cover up her skin because, in her mind, she doesn't want to be seen as a crusty ol' naked bird.

Tends to wear skirts instead of pants because pants feel restrictive to her. She's used to having her legs out and feeling the breeze down there.

Miss Raven mostly wears black because she feels like she's kind of obligated to, as that is the original color of her feathers. More recently though, she has come to terms with the freedom her human form grants her and has been more experimental with her fashion.

Likes cuddling and when people play with her hair. This is because actual ravens cuddle with their entire bodies and preen their partners.

Ravens can eat almost anything, even garbage and carrion. Miss Raven has a strong stomach and an adventurous palate because of this.

She's smaller than the average raven, but she has the same protective instincts of one. If she's upset or trying to come off as intimidating, she'll puff up (her feathers stand up) and get verbally snippy (an actual raven would try to nip you).

Doesn't like people touching her things or being in her space. This is because ravens can be territorial!

Bird mouths are actually dry because their salivary glands are in the back of their mouths. This wouldn't work for a human and the kinds of food they eat, so when Raven first gained a humanoid form, it was weird for her to have a wet mouth and teeth 😂 Words felt so strange to speak too.

Initially nervous around predator animal beastmen and actual predator animals, particularly cats. This includes Lucius, Grim, Chenya, the Octatrio, the Savanaclaw trio, Fellow, Gidel, etc. It's Miss Raven's natural instincts letting her know she has to prioritize her own safety! She usually gets over it once she gets to know the other person a little better.

Distrustful of scarecrows since they're the things put out in fields to keep crows and ravens from eating their crops. Also has weird distrust of farmers because of this.

In terms of mating, ravens are monogamous and devoted to their partners, never straying too far from each other. They often go for romantic flights together and even give each other special treats. Miss Raven has that idea of an idealized romance in her head.

When content, ravens make a soft warbling noise (similar to how a cat might purr). Miss Raven does too, but she does her best to actively repress this sound, since she feels it is embarrassing.

Mid-February to late May is an odd time of year for her, as that's mating season for ravens. That's when she's at her most sentimental/emotionally squishy... She doesn't like being in public because it's so easy to make her cry (and those terrible NRC students would definitely do that) 😔

In early summer/late fall, ravens tend to molt and replace their feathers. Now that she has a humanoid form, Raven doesn't have to worry too much about that but sometimes still scratches excessively at phantom itches that come with molting.

Really impressed by skilled flying! This is because male ravens fly to impress females and to find mates. Raven always stares in wonder during Flight class. (Unfortunately, she's not that good at flying in her new form...)

While Raven's bite isn't as strong as Sebek's, she does bite. Birds typically have three kinds of biting: biting to open nuts and berries, biting to defend themselves (which can draw blood), and love bites (which mostly occur in domesticated birds). asbiliafeafia I like to think she gives little affectionate noms...

Insecure about the size of her "breast muscle" (not realizing that humans mostly have fat there). This is because the size of a bird's breast muscle is directly related to their flying ability... and flying's pretty important for her kind. Genuinely believes that the most skilled fliers at NRC must have a certain kind of physique to be as skilled as they are. (Envious of those buff boys/j)

Being a raven, she experiences culture shock when put against the habits and behaviors of others with animal ancestry. For example, aggressive behaviors that are affectionate to a dog or a cat are seen as intimidating threats to her.

Has cute domestic fantasies! That’s because a lot of birds will build nests together and share the responsibilities of parenting. She thinks it would be nice to build a life together with someone like that.

It's not weird for her to eat eggs! Wild ravens do it :>

THERE'S A REALLY SPECIFIC BIRD BRAND OF FLIRTING THAT SOUNDS WEIRD TO HUMANS. Birds in nature are protective of their eggs and typically only entrust their partner to look after them while they do something else, like hunt for food. Because of this, Raven is really flustered by someone asking for eggs in any context. For example, maybe they're eating eggs in the cafeteria and a peer asks her to "pass the eggs".

[aventurineswife]

Hellooooooo! I rlly like your stuff and I don’t know if I’ve ever requested before, so I thought I’d send one in

Can I get a lil smth of Aventurine, Kaveh, and Alhaitham with a demon s/o who’s been hiding it? Like they get home earlier than the reader expects and they find them lounging around or napping without their human disguise? Please and thank ya!

Beneath the Mask

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Kaveh x Reader, Alhaitham x Reader, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Secret Identity Reveal, Soft Moments, Established Relationship Protective Partners Light Angst with a Happy Ending.

Warnings: Mild tension due to the secret reveal, Brief mentions of insecurity and fear of rejection, Discussion of supernatural themes (demons, otherworldly abilities) Some suggestive teasing.

It had been a long, hard day for Aventurine—high-stakes meetings, an endless game of chess with rivals he knew too well, and his heart racing at the thrill of the gamble. Yet, there was a part of him that longed for more—a reprieve from all the tension.

As he entered his home, he expected it to be quiet as usual, the atmosphere rich with the lingering scent of expensive cologne and subtle elegance. What he did not expect, however, was to find you lounging on the couch, relaxed and unaware of his early arrival. The moment his eyes fell upon you, he froze in the doorway.

You, normally composed, were in your true form—an ethereal demon, with wings folded lazily behind you and your human disguise nowhere in sight. The glow of your eyes, no longer concealed, cast a soft light in the dim room, and your horns—hidden under the weight of your mask—now proudly framed your face.

Aventurine's lips curled into his usual enigmatic smile, eyes gleaming with interest. He took a step forward, his shoes silent on the polished floor, a calculated glint in his gaze as he approached you.

"Well, well," he said, low and teasing, "I didn't know I had a demon living under my roof."

You shifted, not realizing he was standing there at first, and he stared at you with a mixture of fascination and amusement. You blinked, too late, and realized you were caught.

"Aventurine—" you started, scrabbling to return to human form, but he reached out and stopped you.

"There's no need to hide it," he murmured, sitting beside you. "I must admit, this side of you is... intriguing. You know, life's a gamble, and I've always been one for surprises."

A faint warmth colored your cheeks as you remained still, unsure of how he might react. But instead of fear or distaste, there was only curiosity in his eyes—a dangerous curiosity, but one that made you feel oddly safe. You relaxed again, the tension in your body easing under his gaze.

"You're a real enigma, you know that?" Aventurine chuckled softly, his fingers brushing lightly over your wing, feeling the texture beneath his touch. "Just when I thought I understood you, you throw in something like this. But don't worry. This is one gamble I'm more than happy to take."

You gave him a half-hearted smile, the burden of your secret suddenly lifting for just that moment under his banter.

Kaveh had not slept a wink all week, at least not with his eyes closed. His mind had been through cycles of juggling tough architectural details and overwhelming financial struggles, but he was greeted with your presence in your true self lounging on the chair when he walked through the door.

Your eyes glowed softly in the flickering light, no longer concealed behind the human guise that covered you at other times. The spread of your wings showed the relaxation of slumber as faint flickers danced across demonic features before you fell asleep, heedless of his arrival.

Kaveh froze. His breath caught in his chest. He wasn't unused to the pangs of surprise, but to see you in your most natural state—a demon, to say the least—was truly leaving him wordless for a moment.

He closed the door quietly, walking closer with hesitant steps, unsure how to handle the revelation. Your wings twitched slightly, as though sensing his presence, and you blinked open your eyes to meet his gaze. Kaveh's mouth went dry, a mix of shock and awe painting his features.

"You…" His voice faltered, then steadied. "You're—"

"Yes," you said, your voice teasing but a little embarrassed. "I was hiding it from you. I didn't want to burden you with... all of this."

Kaveh's eyes lost their intensity, melting from hard to something warmer and more compassionate. He rose and walked over to the chair, kneeling beside you.

"Burden me? No." He smiled, though the exhaustion in his voice remained. "You've been hiding this, all this time? From me? You know, I would've preferred the truth, even if it was shocking."

You blushed, shifting slightly as your wings fluttered. Kaveh reached out to touch one of them gently, the texture of the feathers beneath his fingers soft and warm.

"You're still the same person to me," Kaveh continued, his voice soothing. "Your form doesn't change that."

You felt relief wash through you as he spoke, the weight of your secret easing in his presence. He'd always been kind, but hearing him say that felt like a small yet significant victory.

"I guess that's one less thing to hide from you," you said softly, a small laugh escaping your lips.

Kaveh smiled, leaning over to kiss your forehead. "I think I prefer you like this—young, real, no pretense, no masks."

Alhaitham had an unremarkable day—calm, logical, a day with the usual boredom of routine work. Getting home before tea time, he settled in with his book, about to relax in peace.

You were sitting on the couch, lounging in your true form, with your wings slightly outstretched, your demon features showing without the usual concealing. Your horns were no longer hidden, curved from your head. Your eyes were soft and strikingly lit, and there was a faint hum of power emanating from you, filling the room.

Alhaitham stood in the doorway for a moment, surveying the view. He didn't flinch. He didn't look like he was surprised, as if he hadn't just come across something he would least expect. He was just composed, though his very sharp eyes studied you quite intently.

"You kept this from me," he said, his voice level and not even a shade accusatory.

You sat up, quickly realizing your secret had been exposed. "I—didn't want you to think differently of me," you stammered, but Alhaitham's gaze never wavered.

"You've never seemed like the type to hide things," he remarked, walking further into the room and sitting down across from you. "But I suppose I should have known."

A part of you couldn't help but fidget with your wings, trying to figure out how to explain yourself to him. Alhaitham's expression didn't change, though his sharp eyes were free of judgment.

"You're still the same person," he finally said, his voice firm and steady. "I know many people in my lifetime—some human, some not. In the end, it is the character underneath that matters. You're not different from before."

The weight of his words settled over you, and for the first time since your secret had been uncovered, you felt yourself relax.

"Thanks," you murmured, your voice quieter than usual.

Alhaitham tilted his head slightly, his expression softening just the faintest bit. "I don't waste time with unnecessary judgment. Besides," he said with a small, almost imperceptible smirk, "I've always appreciated a bit of mystery."

You couldn't help but smile back, calming down when you settled back on the couch. Alhaitham may not be the most expressive, but in some way, you had always felt he understood you.

[roots-symphony]

Unpopular opinion maybe, but I don’t really buy into the whole fuckboy agatha/turbo virgin Rio narrative. Like it’s fun to play around with, but I don’t think it’s as canon as some I’ve seen some ppl say. I think it’s just one of like many possible interpretations of what their dynamic could have been, and tbh I think we’re all sleeping on the funniest one. Let me explain:

Agatha fucks now, that’s super obvious but there’s also been like how many centuries between now and when she was younger/met Rio? Agatha grew up during a very puritanical time, in an isolated coven, with an abusive mother, could she have been sneaking and getting action/figuring herself out on the side? Definitely. But I feel like she would’ve been more focused on trying to sneak around and learn magic and (depending on just /how/ isolated the coven was, which the ones we saw her and Nicky go through ranged from super small family to a small-medium community) might have not been either a lot of options and/or the options there were would have been like difficult to do anything about. We don’t know when she meets Rio, but presumably not /too/ long after her attempted execution just based on when Nicky was born, so she definitely in this time could have come to an understanding of herself and her body, especially in regards to how she could use her ~feminine wiles~ to get by with her entire support system gone. But I feel like another way to look at it, is that while she may not have been able to experiment as a teenager, she definitely could have run into some inappropriate books while reading the magic books she also wasn’t allowed to read. That plus just probably the whole way sex and everything was viewed during that time, I feel like she could easily come up with some weird ideas about what sex even is.

And Rio has been around for like ever. Do you know how many humans probably died doing weird sex things?? Rio knows what sex is, but her view of it is probably super skewed. (Also, we don’t see Rio from a point before Agatha which is unfortunate because all her focus after agatha is like… /on/ agatha so we have no way of knowing if she had any curiosity regarding humanity or any of the things she saw. She definitely could have experimented in her long existence, we just don’t know. Which doesn’t really matter to this, I just want to point out that even that is up to interpretation and is based in canon literally just as much as virgin Rio [which is to say not at all])

Anyway I think we’re all missing the funniest way to read this, which is /both/ Agatha and Rio having wildly different and also just wrong ideas about what sex is/how it works, and just trying to figure it out together like the blind leading the blind with all their directions based around colors. Bonus in that Rio could probably say some buckwild shit and Agatha ‘fake it till you make it’ Harkness would probably be like ‘well yes, obviously that’s how you do it’

[chrisbesitos]

⌗ warnings: alcohol; cursing; fluff.

"my brothers have a party this weekend." chris says. he's sitting on the table, watching you work. you look at him for a couple seconds before stare at the laptop screen again.

"and you want to go, hun?" you hum. chris' lips lean into a pout, shaking his shoulders.

"don't know, 'm not a big fan of parties." he says, now walking around, he's clearly bored. you close your laptop huffing, resting your back in the chair, you cross your arms and stare at chris. "you think i should go?"

"i think you should do what you want, chris." you say. "i'm not your mother."

"but the other day in your room–" he murmurs playful, you give him a deadpan and he stops, giving you an embarrassed smile. "i might wanna go, think i need to do something fun."

"you don't need my permission, if it is what you want to hear."

"it's okay for you?" he asks, sounding a bit insecure. you roll your eyes grinning, you call chris with your finger. chris walks towards you, he grabs the hand you extend to him and shyly sits on your thighs.

"honey, i'm not your girlfriend. you're free to do anything you want." you say, offering a soft smile. chris nods, resting his one hand in your chest and the other in your cheek, you put your hand above his. "go to this party, have some fun, maybe drink a bit. you deserve this, hun."

"fine, but y'know what's so much fun than this party?" he says, lips curling into a soft smile. you shake your head, grinning at him. "you. please, can we do something fun now?" he asks, embracing your shoulders. you nod, rolling your eyes.

"fine, angel boy."

you blink your eyes staring at the laptop screen, rubbing your temple tiredly. stuck in the office, you huff feeling the exhaustion from working the whole day nonstop, but since you're the boss, you have to take care of everything. you rem your glasses, resting them in the table when you hear your phone, your lips lean into a weak smile when you saw chris' face in the screen. he's at the party he said a couple days, you're happy that he's having fun with people same age as him. chris' always shy and introvert, is good for him socialize.

"hi, hun." you say, after answering the call.

"angel! hey, angel!" he says, sounding excited, more than usual. 'he probably had a drink', you think. you giggle over his excitement, chris babble something you can't understand, even more because of the loud music.

"guess you're having fun, kid. glad you're happy." you say, you hear him humming, you smile softly.

"i had some colorful drinks, they're good! don't taste like alcohol."

"hun, be careful. this drinks makes you get drunk easily." you explain, feeling a bit concerned about chris. he doesn't drink alcohol usually, of course he'll be drunk easily. "you're alone, kid?"

"hmm, no? i guess, i don't see my brothers anywhere." he babbles, laughing at something you don't know. you huff angrily, chris' drunk for the first time and his brothers can't even look for him. "angel? i feel a bit weird." he hums.

"oh, chris. can you send me your location?" you ask, holding the phone between the ear and the shoulder, pushing the office chair and looking for the purse quickly. of course you worry about chris, even more when he's alone and drunk. "kid, need your location." you say impatiently.

"are you coming to see me?"

"yes, honey. just send me your location, right?" you sigh, leaving your office. chris sends you his location, your groan just by the thought of being in a frat house. you want to hit and slap his brothers, idiots who left chris alone.

you drive to the frat house, chris keeps sending you pics of him, the ceiling, his feet and the ground, you sigh feeling the relief of knowing his not passed out. you park the car and jump out the vehicle, you stop in front of the house, seeing a lot of drunk university students, you huff and walk until the front door. once you enter the house, you feel eyes staring at you, clearly noticing that you're not one of them, you ignore the stares and keep looking for chris. by the pictures he sent, he's in a couch, you sigh when your eyes finally catch the boy in the corner of the couch. you quickly walk towards him, kneeling down to slap his face gently.

"chris? hun, wake up." you say, biting the inside of your cheek when chris didn't respond. you slap his face again, putting a hit of strength this time. chris slowly opens his eyes, blinking a couple times before realizing you're here. "thank god." you groan.

"am i dead and seeing an angel?" chris says, trying to touch your face to know if you're real. you laugh rolling eyes, holding chris' hands and helping him to sit, holding chris by the arm when he almost loses the balance. "hi, angel."

"hi, hun. 'm gonna take you home, alright?" you say softly, caressing his cheek. chris looks zoned out, but nods his head slowly, you hold him by the arm and help to stand. holding him by the waist now, you walk with him in the way the door. "move." you say to a random kid, standing in your way.

with chris in your car, you buckle the belt and drive back home. he babbles random words you don't care to understand, your eyes changing from the highway to chris to certify the boy is okay. when you get home, park and help chris to get out of the car, you think about check if his brothers are home, but they left chris alone and deserve a bit of concern and guilty. you change the way to your home, holding chris by the waist while you open the door. you put your finger in front of chris' mouth, asking for silence since miles' babysitter are home.

you check if moon is around, probably in the living room watching tv after putting your son in bed. you take chris to your room, almost falling with him in the stairs because chris' losing his balance. you push the door, stepping in and gently laying the boy in the mattress, rubbing his hair with your nails. chris opens a lazy smile, still feeling the drunkenness running on his blood.

"i'll be right back, alright? be quiet." you murmur, giving chris a kiss in the forehead. "if you feel sick, use the bathroom. 'm not kidding, kid."

stepping out of the room, you close the door and walk downstairs, you know the sound of the high heels denounce you're home. moon is laying on the couch, eyes glued on her phone, she realizes you're coming and shifts on the couch and sits properly.

"i'm late today, 'm so sorry, moon!" you say entering the living room, the blue haired girl shakes her hair lifting from the couch. "i'll pay you an extra, right? is everything okay with miles?" you ask, guiding the girl to the door.

"yes, he's fine! he made a draw for you, is in the fridge." she says softly, you smile proudly. miles' such a lovely boy, you're gonna check his draw later. "have a good night, miss y/l/n!"

"thank you, sweetie. see you on monday!" you say, waving at the girl, closing the door then. you walk towards the kitchen, your lips curling into a smile when you see miles' draw, you grab a glass of water and walk upstairs again.

you push the door, hearing chris soft snores, you rest the glass in the nightstand, stepping to the closet and looking for a chris yellow hoodie. you tug the high heels out, rolling up the shirt sleeves, you throw the hoodie on the bed and touch chris' chin. you shake his face a bit, watching he opens his sleepy eyes.

"sorry for waking you, hun. take off this clothes, right?" you say softly, chris blinks before nods his head slowly, he sits on the mattress with your help. you tug his polo shirt, handing the yellow hoodie, chris wears it. you tug his shoes out, throwing on the ground, the boy unbuckles his jeans and tugs out.

"you look pretty tonight, angel." chris says, giggling a bit. he tries to touch your face, but you shake your head, stepping to the nightstand and grabbing the water glass. "i have fun at the party tonight."

"really, kid? that's good." you offer a gentle smile, handing him the glass. "drink a bit of water, honey. careful, you're gonna gag." you say concerned, your hand resting on his thigh. you grab the glass, resting it on the nightstand, chris covers his mouth when he feels his stomach churn. you glance at him. "you sure you're fine, kid?"

"i guess i am." he murmurs, you nod slowly, obviously concerned about him.

"lay down, 'kay?" you offer a gentle smile, helping chris to lay down on the mattress, you cover his body with the blanket and give him a kiss on the forehead. "i'll be right back, alright?" you whisper, chris nods closing his sleepy eyes, the alcohol making him fall asleep faster. you give him a last look, just to certify he's okay, knowing the real problem is gonna be when he wakes up in the morning.

chris groans when the sunlight hits his face, he can't open his eyes properly and has a pounding headache. when he finally blinks his eyes, he asks himself where he's and how he ended up there, he relaxes when realize he's in your room. chris shifts on the mattress, looking for you in the bed, but he's alone, he groans frustrated. he supports his body on the elbows, hearing the door open, he tries to smile at you, but looks more like a grimace.

"fuckin' headache." he groans, voice sounding deep and rasp from sleeping. you raise your eyebrows and grin at him, stepping towards the bed, you sit on the corner, reaching for his cheek to give a gentle rub.

"your first hangover, how's it feeling?" you ask, giggling at him. he groans in response, laying his head back in the pillow and covering his eyes with the forearm.

"like horse shit." he murmurs, you raise your eyebrows giggling, chris don't curse normally, so you're surprised. you move your hand to his hair, scratching his scalp the way he likes. "why didn't you tell me how bad the hangovers are?"

"because the funny way to find out is having one." you hums playful, chris gives you a deadpan, your lips lean into a smile. "sorry, hun. i know you feel like horse shit."

"can i have a tylenol? my head hurts so bad." he asks, looking at you with his blue eyes. you give him a head movement, denying it with a playful smile. "why not? angel, i really need it now."

"you need to eat first, 'm gonna make breakfast and then you can have one." you explain, his face contorts in a grimace, shaking his head vehemently.

"god, no. if i eat, i might throw up." he groans.

"no, you're not. you'll feel better once you eat, trust me, hun."

you left chris sleep more while you make breakfast, miles are not awake yet, so you can cook without looking for him. order food is way easier than cook, but you always think homemade food is better for hangovers, this and a lot of cuddles. chris just need to rest more, he'll be okay after his first terrible hangover. you return to the room, grabbing a plate and a glass in your hands, opening the door with your elbow, you ask chris to sits up and put the plate on his lap and the glass on the nightstand.

"i'm still not hungry." he says.

"you're still gonna eat." you respond. "i'm being serious, kid, eat that food."

"fine, mommy." he mockes.

"be careful with your words, kid." you point your finger at him, sounding more serious, narrowing your eyes and tilting your head. chris sighs and just nods, deciding to not argue with you. after a while, you wake miles and give him breakfast, letting him watch cartoons in the living room. you go to your room to check on chris.

"you were right, i feel better now." he murmurs, making you smile.

"of course i was right, kid." you say, giving him a kiss on the cheek. you walk towards the bathroom and return with the tylenol, you give it to chris and he swallows with the juice. "can't stay with you here, hun, but you can join us in the living room." chris' face turn into a grimace, he's still feeling the pounding headache, but agrees just to be by your side.

you give him the jeans he was wearing last night, you two go downstairs to be in the living room with miles. your toddler knows chris and knows you're friends, so it is not a problem.

"hi, chris!" miles says, hugging chris' legs. he smiles softly, patting the toddler's head.

"hi, bud."

you and chris sit on the couch, miles playing with his toys on the rug. you grab chris' shoulders and lay his head on your lap, massaging his hair with your nails to help with his headache, chris snuggles on your thighs. he's almost falling asleep again when he widens his eyes remembering his brothers have no idea where he's.

"my brothers are probably looking for me, i didn't talk with them." he says, trying to sit up, but you shake your head and lay him down on your legs again. "y/n, they probably worried."

"don't worry about them, hun." you say, smiling softly. chris frowns his eyebrows, but eventually lets go. if you say everything is fine, then you're right. you always are.

"you look like shit, y'know?" moon says to matt, resting her chin on the boy's shoulder. matt groans and shakes his shoulders, making the blue haired girl move giggling.

"thank you, moon. i really appreciate it." he says ironically.

"don't have to thank me, i know i'm the best girlfriend." she says, now hugging matt's back. "saw your brother last night."

"i thought you were babysitting last night." he responds grumpy.

"yes, silly. i saw chris and he was waaasted"

"wait, really? where? we missed him and nate said he left with a girl."

"a girl? love, she's a woman. 'm pretty sure i saw him at her house last night, she tried to hide, but didn't work." moon says, matt frowns his eyebrows and tilts his head, he's genuinely not understanding. "i thought you know her, i mean, she's your neighbor."

"y/n?!"

⌗ author's note: guess chris' brothers know about milf!reader now 🤭🤭🤭 and chris 'n milf!reader relationship is so cute.

⌗ taglist; @lizzymacdonald06 @lushjunkie @watercolorskyy @ivysturnss @brianna-grace12 @blahbel668 @gabri3la-sturns @stvrnzcherries @pvssychicken @all4l0vee @i4longhairchris @sophand4n4 @sturniololetstrip2 @sturnsmia @sofieeeeex @ifwdominicfike @jetaimevous @leclecwifey16 @mattswifeyx @voqueflms @pepsicola-pussy @sturnobsessedwh0re @chrissturnioloswifeee @sturniolossss @imonlyhereformattfluff @sturniolosluttt @st4rsturns @sturn777

[crazerk]

Im thinking that when my mc gets shown to our husband along with the other new concubines he sees a thin rope around her ankle and asks why is she tied and the servants try carefully telling him I already tried to run away two times as I was a slave

Lol. This scene probably won’t appear in the books but it was fun to think about so I made a little drabble.

You stand in a line like a prized horse at auction, head bowed in proper deference as the shah makes his way down the row of girls, preening for his attention. You can feel the weight of his presence even before he reaches you, like the heaviness in the air before a storm. The silk rope around your ankle feels impossibly conspicuous, despite Orgion's attempts to arrange your skirts to hide it.

The soft whisper of expensive robes against marble grows closer. Then silence. You can see the edge of his shadow falling across the floor before your feet, can sense his stillness as he pauses.

"Why is this one bound?"

His voice is quieter than you'd expected, touched with something that might be curiosity or might be disapproval. You keep your eyes fixed on the floor, though every instinct screams at you to look up, to see the face of the man who now owns your fate.

You hear Orgion clear his throat delicately. "Ah, your majesty... there have been some... difficulties with compliance." The chief eunuch's usual unctuous tone has taken on a nervous edge. "Two attempts at... unauthorized departure, thus far."

"Two?" There is definitely curiosity now, and something else – a hint of amusement? "In less than a week?"

"The first was during her initial examination, your majesty. She... ah... managed to evade the guards and make it as far as the outer courtyard before she was intercepted."

"And the second?"

"Yesterday morning. She had somehow acquired a set of servant's robes and very nearly made it to the kitchens. If one of the cooks hadn't recognized her..."

You fight to keep your face neutral, though your cheeks burn at having your failures laid bare. You hadn't even made it to the actual palace gates. Some great escape artist you're turning out to be.

"Look at me."

The command is soft but unmistakable. You hesitate for a heartbeat, then slowly raise your head.

The shah is younger than you'd expected, though his eyes hold a weight that goes beyond his years. They're an unusual color – not quite brown, not quite gold, but something in between that seems to shift in the light filtering through the high windows. His face is all elegant angles, with high cheekbones and a strong jaw that speaks of his foreign blood. But it's his expression that catches you off guard – not anger or offense at your defiance, but something that looks almost like recognition.

"Interesting," he says softly, more to himself than to you. Then, to Orgion: "Remove the rope."

"Your majesty?" The chief eunuch's voice rises slightly in alarm. He gaze bounces from you to the shah. "I must advise against—"

"Remove it." There is steel beneath the quiet now. "We are not savages, to keep our women in bonds."

"As you wish, your majesty." Orgion gestures sharply to one of the attending servants, who hurries forward to untie the silk cord.

You feel the rope fall away from your ankle, but you don't dare move. He is still watching you with that strange, measuring look.

"Tell me," he says, "what would you have done if you'd made it to the gates?"

The question catches you by surprise. You should lie, you know – make up some story about missing your family, play the part of the frightened girl who just wants to go home. But something in those unusual eyes compels honesty.

"I would have run," you say simply. "As far and as fast as I could."

A spark of something that might be approval flickers across his face. "And now?"

"Now?" You meet his gaze squarely. "I suppose I'll have to find other ways to escape."

Orgion makes a strangled sound of outrage. "Your majesty, you see how intractable she is! Perhaps if we were to—"

"Enough." Kaz's voice cut through the eunuch's protests like a blade. He turns to face Orgion fully, and though his tone remains quiet, there is no mistaking the anger beneath it. "Let me be very clear. These women are not animals to be leashed and caged. They are members of my household, and they will be treated with the dignity their position demands." His eyes flick to the discarded rope. "If I ever see another concubine bound like a common criminal, you will answer to me personally. Do I make myself understood?"

Orgion's face has gone pale. He bows so low his forehead nearly touched the floor. "Yes, your majesty. Of course, your majesty. I only thought—"

"You thought wrong." Kaz's gaze sweeps the room, taking in the other officials and attendants. "The same goes for all of you. These women are under my protection. Remember that."

He studies you for a moment longer, then the corner of his mouth curves up slightly. "You might want to avoid the kitchens in the future. The head cook has an unusually good memory for faces."

You stare after him, unsure whether you've just made a terrible mistake or somehow passed a test you hadn't known you were taking. But as you watch him move on to inspect the other girls, you could have sworn you saw a flash in his eye, of barely concealed mirth.​​​​​���​​​​​​​​​​

[fuctacles]

<< 14 | 0 | 16 >>

looking for dog-themed songs for the fic playlist

They sit facing each other on the warmed up concrete, having given away the lawn chairs to the girls. Steve is sliding every piece of onion off his skewer and onto Eddie's plate, which sits right next to his for easy sharing. It reminds him of cafeteria meals and swapping snacks with friends, something he never had with Steve, because of how different they were in high school. It makes him wonder if what he's feeling could really be mutual. 

"Are you staying for the movie?"

His eyes snap back up to meet Steve's, waiting for an answer. 

"I guess so. What are we watching?" It might not be the wisest to keep around while figuring himself out, but what is he going to do? Not spend time with his friends? 

Steve rolls his eyes. 

"The jury is still out," he answers dryly. "But I can guess some nerd shit will get majorly outvoted."

Eddie snorts.

"What would you pick? A baseball game?" he asks, chewing on a piece of meat. His fingers are getting greasy, but they forgot to grab napkins and standing up sounds like too much exercise. 

Steve moves the grilled bits on his plate with the now empty skewer. 

"Not really..." he says, all quiet and shy, which immediately grabs Eddie's attention. Wary of the food and drinks between them, he leans in conspiratorially. 

"You can tell me, I ain't a snitch," he reassures, and when Steve looks up, he adds a wink. Steve huffs out an amused breath.

"I like romantic comedies," he admits, watching Eddie warily, like he's awaiting judgement. 

"Huh." He sits back to properly take him in. "That kinda makes sense."

"Yeah?" Steve raises an eyebrow. 

"Yeah." Eddie shrugs, and now he's feeling self-conscious. "It suits you. We could watch something one day, your pick."

Ohmygodsohmygodsohmygods, do not invite Steve for one-on-one romcom watching—!

Steve's face lights up with a wide smile. 

"Oh, I'm going to hold you to that one, Munson," he teases, but it's obvious he's genuinely excited by the offer. 

"Already regretting I said it," Eddie teases back, but offers Steve a strip of bacon so he knows he doesn't mean it. 

Without thinking, he starts licking the grease off his fingers, and it takes him a moment to realize Steve stopped moving. He looks up with a questioning hum, fingertip in his mouth.

"You need a napkin?" Steve asks with a raise of his eyebrows. 

"Nah, I'm good," Eddie mumbles around his finger just to be difficult, and pushes it deeper, sucking with gusto. For once, Steve doesn't look into his eyes, too focused on his mouth. His cheeks are colored the faintest shade of pink, and Eddie finally realizes what he's been doing. He slides his finger out with a wet smack and smiles apologetically. "Sorry. Want me to lick yours too?" he offers, like the good friend that he is. 

Someone nearby chokes, but he's too focused on the bit to check who. Their fault for listening in, right?

Meanwhile, Steve's face turns tomato red. 

"Uh, I'll manage myself. I'm good at licking," he cringes as soon as the worlds leave his mouth, and Eddie almost chokes himself with how hard he laughs.

====

After the party, comes more cleaning. This time, as there's more people and everyone gets forced into using their two hands and opposable thumbs, it goes faster, though with much more complaining.

Sometime in the middle of filling the trash bags, Robin has changed the music. Steve sighs, when the first song plays, but by the next two, his head is nodding to the beat. On the chorus, his hips sway, and Eddie almost drops the plate he's holding. 

"Your song, dingus!" Robin yells when the next song starts, making Steve roll his eyes. But he's shimmying his shoulders and mouthing along to all the lyrics. 

They tie away their bags at the same time, which gives Eddie the misfortune of watching him free his hands and make a silly little dance.

"Well, you ain't never caught no rabbit, you ain't no friend of mine!" he mouths along, and when he catches Eddie staring, he gives him a sheepish smile and a wink.

"Should I find you more dog themed songs to dance to?" he raises his eyebrow with a smile.

"No—"

"Yes!" Robin pops out from behind him, seemingly out of nowhere. "I'm constantly on the look out, but there aren't many good songs. I want to make a playlist." She grins. 

"Oh, I'm in." Eddie smiles back, extending his hand. Their palms slap together, and Steve shakes his head.

"Wow. Traitors." 

"Oh, I'd never betray you, Hound Dog," Eddie declares with a hand to his heart. Steve flips him off.

====

They pick The Battle for Endor, which Steve accepts with a sigh and a quiet "At least it has teddies," something probably only Eddie can hear, since he's sitting right next to him. He starts dozing off halfway through anyway, but Eddie doesn't wake him up until the movie ends and they have to plan how to get the younger lot home. It was a busy day, after all. 

"I'm going home anyway, so I can take them," Nancy offers. 

"Don't be stupid," Steve mumbles in his half-asleep state. "You won't fit them in your car."

"I can get Max and Super Twins," Eddie says, and the grasp around his arm tightens. He looks down at Steve, suddenly awake and frowning.

"You're not staying?" he asks, audibly upset. 

"I'll come back," Eddie reassures him quickly, patting his hand. "Okay! Mad Max, Wonder Twins, grab your shit. The sooner we leave, the closer I am to getting wasted," he commands, gently prying himself out of Steve's grasp. He scratches behind his ear as a consolation. "Should I grab anything while I'm out?"

"No," Steve says quickly, even though Jonathan has already opened his mouth, most probably with a request.

Something twists in Eddie's chest.

"Okay, buddy, I'll be back as soon as I can, no detours," he reassures again, with another scratch. 

"Okay, thanks." Steve closes his eyes briefly, but then blinks them open and pushes at his thigh, like his mind has suddenly cleared from the remnants of sleep. "Be quick, but without breaking the law." He smiles up at Eddie.

"Ugh, fine." He rolls his eyes. "Be right back," he nudges Steve's head before motioning the kids to follow him outside. 

It's suddenly silent, with the movie over and most of the people gone from the room. Steve clears his throat, watching Robin crawl over the carpet to rewind the tape. 

"So only Nancy isn't staying?" he asks, looking around the room. 

"I already told my parents I'm sleeping over." Robin shrugs. 

Jonathan and Argyle look at each other, like they are communicating in a way not dissimilar to Steve and Robin.

"It's good vibes here, man," Argyle says, his hair swaying as he nods. 

"Eddie promised we'll compare the goods," Jonathan adds. 

"Oh, right!" his friend perks up, his eyes sparkling. "Almost forgot about that."

Robin makes a face. 

"God, I really hope you mean the weed," she says. "You think I can still persuade Nancy to come back?"

The boys start snickering, but Steve quickly collects himself to answer her question, no matter how unserious it is. 

"I think she wouldn't be comfortable," he winces, because they all know why. "But I could drive you to hers if you want to?" he offers instead. 

She shakes her head. 

"Nah, just give me a beer and I'll lower my joke standards to yours."

"Okay, you don't have to be mean, Robs," Steve rolls his eyes, but he's smiling. On his way to the kitchen, he tugs on her hair. "Beers for everyone?" He turns to look at each of his remaining guests.

Jonathan nods, but Argyle shakes his head. 

"I don't mix my substances," he says, pulling out a joint out of his pocket instead. 

When Eddie comes back, he makes a beeline upstairs, hoping he hasn't been spotted. He doubts his van hasn't been heard, her old-lady coughs being a part of her charm, but maybe he was stealthy enough inside not to be traced. 

But once he's back down he realizes how foolish that thought was. Because somehow, Steve is ridiculously attuned to him and has his eyes on Eddie immediately, like he's been expecting him. A cold bottle of beer is pressed into his hand when he sits back in the seat that's been waiting for him. 

"Dropped some stuff upstairs, since I'm sleeping over again," he explains quietly without prompting, his nervousness making him yap unnecessarily, as usual. "Uh, are we bunking together too, or...?" It was probably stupid of him to assume, considering there are more people in the house today that need a place to sleep. 

Considering his own freak out this morning. 

"Of course," Steve says with a smile that tells him no other option had crossed his mind. "Unless you don't want to?" he cocks his head, almost like he's tilting curious, pointed ears. "I promise to wear pants this time." 

Jonathan chokes on his beer, and when Eddie snaps his head that way, Argyle gives him a supportive smile and that weird surfer gesture, while patting Jon on the back.

He hopes the dim light of the room hides the flush of embarrassment on his face. 

"Well, since you promise to be decent, how could I say no?" he says, rolling his head back to Steve. 

Steve, who gives him a relieved, dazzling smile, and presses their thighs together, flooding his whole body with warmth.

It's terrifying, how good it feels. 

tags: @noodle-shenaniganery @jaytriesstrangerthings @imaginary-maggie-waggie @samsoble @croatoan-like-its-hot

@dragonmama76 @storyranger @scoops-aboy86 @ollyxar @estrellami-1

@stevesworldxx @ajeff855 @live-laugh-love-dietrich @thelittleclare @wheneverfeasible

@bumblebeecuttlefishes @blasvemous @phantomcat94 @n33dlew0rk @manliest-of-muppets

@ravenfrog @dreamercec @tartarusknight @eyehartart

[literatureloverx]

Fyodor with a reader that is also russian?

Hello, my dear!♥️ I’m not sure what this turned out to be… I intended to write headcanons, but somehow it turned into something else (?).♥️

Fyodor x ideal type fem!reader, yandere tendencies.

Fyodor’s gaze often drifts to the quiet snowfalls of his homeland, the soft, endless white of his childhood that felt as if it held the world in perfect stillness.

It’s a color he often associates with purity—a concept that lingers somewhere between his complex moral code and his cold, calculating nature.

But when he looks at you, he doesn’t just see a woman, a delicate thing like a winter’s breath, he sees home.

The bond you share runs deeper than just being fellow Russians.

You speak in the same tongue, and each word that leaves your lips feels like a whisper of his past, a connection that ties him to something he once believed lost. Russian, to him, isn’t just a language—it’s a memory, a feeling of nostalgia that tugs at his heart, however cold it might be.

And hearing it from you, the way it dances from your lips, brings a certain peace, one that even he can’t fully explain.

You don’t need to speak often, nor do you need to fill the air with unnecessary words. It’s as if you understand the quiet language of the world around you, the same stillness that has shaped him.

And in that silence, in the way you are with him, Fyodor sees more than just beauty. He sees his homeland reflected in you—pale, fragile, and perfect, like something he could hold close without it ever breaking.

You remind him of the untouched snow of his home—the purity of it, the silence that speaks louder than any words ever could.

He’s always had a fascination with beauty, with things that seem almost unreal in their perfection, and you are the epitome of that.

You’re not the kind of woman to simply exist in the world, you’re the kind of woman who brings serenity, who quietly holds a place in a chaotic, troubled mind.

He loves that about you. The softness in your presence, the quietness in your heart.

It contrasts so beautifully with his own darkness.

Where he is calculating, you are instinctively nurturing. Where he finds power in silence, you find peace in it.

And it is in this balance, this delicate mix of fragility and strength, that he finds something he never expected—home.

Fyodor has never been one to trust people. He doesn’t need to, he doesn’t want to, and yet with you, it’s different.

He knows there’s something real in your affection, something pure, untainted by manipulation.

You see him in a way that no one else can—not for the mind games, not for the darkness, but for who he truly is underneath. And that’s what draws him to you the most.

It’s not that he loves you like the others. This isn’t some grand romantic declaration.

It’s something deeper, something quieter.

He appreciates you in a way he’s never appreciated anyone before—because, in you, he finds what’s missing.

You’re a piece of his homeland, the place he once longed for, and with you, he feels something he’s never quite known: a strange peace, a fleeting sense of belonging that comes only with someone who shares his roots.

You’re his, and that’s something he’ll never let go of.

A woman like you, so delicately intertwined with the very essence of his being, can never be allowed to slip away.

The game has changed, and he’s drawn to you in a way he never imagined possible.