noctuatim

Independent Stiles Stilinski from MTV's Teen Wolf, written by Denise - PERMANENT HIATUS. Siles is now at HIJACKEDHYPE.

[hoechloin]

[noctuatim]

toleaveamark​:

@noctuatim​

“Do you really think I’m going to wear that?” Kaamir looked at the shirt with blunt disgust displayed across his face. ”Just because it has the word plant?” Plant and Daddy. He rolled his eyes as a scoff left his lips. “You’re an idiot.” The words were sharp, but his eyes shone with obvious affection.

“Well, yeah. I do.” Stiles’ hurt was exaggerated with his loose posture. “It’s a gift, Kaamir. And, for the record, it’s customary to pretend you think it’s the best shirt to ever exist, and wear it for the sake of my crumbling mental health.” Stiles sized up the shirt in front of Kaamir’s chest. “Dude, I really don’t know what you’re so hung up about. It’s basically your MO. Plus,” he drew out, “it’s in your favorite color. Which, I know, because I looked in your diary.” Stiles tossed the shirt at Kaamir to catch. “You really should lock that thing.” 

[kingsleigh]

a big psa

DO NOT ! COME AT PEOPLE ! FOR NOT BEING ! ACTIVE !

this pertains to responding to dms, asks, rp responses, starters, etc., anything on here.  okay?  what gives you the right to claim how active someone is supposed to be, or not be, on here?

each person has a life outside of this website; we can’t be on here all the time, and it drives me crazy that people reach out to give others hate just for something as trivial as replying too slow.  don’t do that, please.  it hurts peoples feelings, and ruins their day; even if you think it doesn’t; and EVEN if you think for some reason you deserve a response asap.  no one else owes you anything, or is there to fulfill your happiness or needs okay.  putting that kind of expectation on someone is too much to bear, and it’s also not possible to fulfill.

we all aren’t perfect people, but don’t expect that kind of thing out of any rper, resource blog, or random person on this site.  that’s one thing that makes tumblr so toxic, and often why so many decide to delete their blogs, go on hiatus’, or stop being active at all.  just be kind to people; that can’t hurt.  for goodness sake.

please just keep this in mind.

[mieczlw-a]

Amazing Stories   -   The  Cellar.

[tredlocity]

rawing people on couches is so hard yet most of my ideas involve that

[devilscratch]

THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS CHOICE Independent Nicholas Scratch of Netflix’s Chilling Adventures of Sabrina

[stilesedit]

[noctuatim]

abulous‌:

@noctuatim​

“You can’t ignore me forever, Stiles.” Regret filled Sam’s chest, knowing for a fact that the other boy probably actually could. He’d been doing it for a solid month now. They were both stubborn though and today the blond was feeling especially annoying. “I don’t like this situation any more than you do, but we’re partners and our project is due at the end of the semester and I need this grade so can we actually work on something?” He’d cornered Stiles after lacrosse practice thanks to the help of Scott, effectively trapping them in the locker room until they sorted out their issues. Not even Coach was in his office, who’d been out the door first to get away from Greenberg. “I’m not taking no for an answer anymore.”

“Then take a “get the hell away from me” before I take this stick, shove it up your ass, and replace your entire spine with it.” Pushing distance between them, Stiles dug the head of the lacrosse stick into Sam’s sternum. He was, and had been, perfectly civil to Sam after that hot mess of a breakup. Ignoring him, leaving his texts on read, and deciding not to run him over with his jeep whenever Stiles saw him in the parking lot were all done out of the pure goodness and kindness of Stiles’ heart. “Just show up on presentation day,” he spoke dryly. “I’ll have it done.” Stiles zipped open his sports bag. He should have heard footsteps leaving. “What, Sam? What else do you fucking want?” 

[blamrps]

[noctuatim]

“I think you’ll be happy to know that I’m not wearing any underwear.”

SENTENCE STARTERS: FLIRTY/SUGGESTIVE/NSFW EDITION

“Happy?” Laughter tickled the back of his throat. “Scott. Buddy. You don’t have to tell me you’re going commando to get my attention.” Stiles switched the phone to his left ear. “Unless you actually meant to call someone else... because if that’s the case, maybe try a line that doesn’t reek of lunar desperation and inevitable chaffing? But, I mean, if they’re into that sort of thing,” he shrugged, “then go nuts.”

[userilyarozanov]

stiles stilinski meme » one episode » 3x20

[noctuatim]

revelrys‌:

“I wish you had,” he spat. “I wish I’d fucking died in that club if it meant I wouldn’t come home to this.” Betrayal rocked his body in waves. Whatever was broken in him wouldn’t be fixed by yet another facility. It wouldn’t be mended by the careful hands of medical staff. There weren’t any pills or sugarcoated scripts that would reach him. Whatever was so wrong about him had enmeshed itself to him so intricately to his being that Fhaari didn’t know how to separate it from himself. He didn’t know if he could. His chest rose and fell with stunted breaths, eyes as defiant as they were transparent to what brewed underneath.

Where did the trauma end, and where did Fhaari begin? 

Stiles' eyes wandered from the drawing on the fridge, held on by letter magnets and floral-printed tape, back to the rehab pamphlet. They both had smiling faces and coarse, saturated colors. They looked... hopeful. Stiles tapped the prominent title. “It’s not too far,” he noted. “An hour drive. We can visit. And you don’t need to pack anything.” He pushed his chair back to stand. “They’ll have everything you need there.” A crackled voice broke free, interrupting his train of thought. He lowered the volume on his walkie with a groan. “I have to go back to work, Fhaari.” His lie was smooth and unrehearsed. “We can talk about this more later if you want, but I’ve made up my mind." His throat was sore and his heart was heavy. “You don’t go, you won’t see her again. I’ll make sure of it.”

[userilyarozanov]

stiles stilinski meme » 2/3 friendships

[noctuatim]

why do you hate your husband -sandra

Stiles remained quiet, eyes forward and cold. Her words were filling the room and Stiles was finding it hard to breathe. His therapist repeated her question as the water rose, placid beneath his chin for the time being. He sputtered softly, “You think I hate him.” He raked his fingers against his right thigh twice before pulling them into a fist. “No,” he exhaled. “I don’t hate him. I hate what he’s doing." Pen scratches echoed in his ear. “I hate that he’s so selfish all the goddamn time. I hate that he doesn’t take any responsibility for anything he does. I hate that he doesn’t try to fix things and talk to me.” he confessed. “I hate that I don’t know who I am when I’m without him.”

[dear-indies]

We are creating a masterlist for every Teen Wolf roleplayer.

The list is here. 

[noctuatim]

hungres‌:

Fhaari didn’t know if it was Stiles’ sentiments, or the brush of their shoulders, but he’d felt something shift just then. He’d thought about the prospect of them separating before in passing–always alienated from the reality of it–but voicing it aloud made it suddenly feel so real. Fhaari promptly dropped Stiles’ gaze and instead focused on the skyline. He wasn’t quite ready to think about how he was meant to function without Stiles in his corner, and not yet composed enough to keep up the banter between them. Instead, he deflected with a question of his own. “Can I sleep over tonight?” 

“You’re actually asking this time?" Stiles didn’t mirror Fhaari’s faux enamor towards the setting sun. He kept his eyes on his best friend, noting the orange glow that kissed the tip of his nose and the gentle, deeper hues that hid beneath his eyes. “Don’t tell me you already lost your key.” Stiles scooted back and stood fully from the edge with a wobble. It’d be dark soon. He immediately offered Fhaari his hand, and wiggled his fingers with impatience when Fhaari didn’t move. “Stubborn ass.” A tally mark scratched inside his mind with an involuntary stroke: one less rooftop rendezvous. “Oh my God,” he groaned. “Yes, dumbass, you can sleep over. Come on.” 

[noctuatim]

hungres‌:

There were no words for the ache that dwelled in his chest; so tender and raw. It was violence, he decided, that festering fungus that had feasted on the remaining husk of himself. Feasting; always feasting. His chest heaved with anguish, punctuated by a spluttering wet cough. He felt like a wind up doll, cursed to repeat the same things over and over and over again. He was being as clear as he could possibly be, and still it didn’t register. “I don’t fit here,” he tried, voice racked by the sob whose grip had no mercy on his throat. He didn’t fit in their house, their life, his own life. How could Stiles not see that? How could he claim to love him and yet be so blind? He’d rend his eyes clean from their sockets if it meant he could finally see things as they were. 

“I–” Fhaari’s skin was blotched and bare; haphazardly painted with red and pink watercolors. His lashes stuck together when he blinked, heavy with salt and dirt. There were even marks on his face from where he’d wiped his tears, all muddy and messy. He felt vile. Bared vulnerability had turned him into a mewling mockery. “I have given you everything and you give me nothing. You take, and you eat, and repeat. I begged you to love me, and somehow–somehow I’m the bad guy? I’m the one that doesn’t love you? I begged you! I fucking begged you to fucking love me!” Fhaari’s throat constricted beneath the weight of his grief, fingers digging into the meat of his thigh. “Do you want my life, too? What more could you possibly want?” 

Fhaari and Stiles were beating a dead horse. Its organs were mush, splattered pulp between their fingers. There was nothing left.

Stiles stepped back over to Fhaari, lifting him up to his feet like a drawstring bag of bones. “I haven’t asked you for anything,” he growled. Stiles forced his hands down Fhaari’s pockets. “And I don’t take from you.” Their hearts ached to beat the same as their limbs fought against each other. This was closer than they’d been in weeks. 

“All I ever do is--” His knuckles scraped against rough fabric and metal teeth. “Is this why you don’t fit? “Stiles pulled back. “Is this why you don’t belong here?” A small stamp bag dangled from between his fingers. Everything connected suddenly, yet failed to make sense at all. “You know what my dad used to tell me?” Anger shook his voice. “Once is an accident. Twice is a coincidence.” He crushed Fhaari’s life in his fist. “Three times is a goddamned pattern. And it’s been more than that, hasn’t it? HASN’T IT?”