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kneelingshadowsalome · 11 months

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Ok this is very random but how do you think Ghost would deal w an s/o who is still a virgin at a very big girl age 🥴 maybe they’d be seeing each other for a while, and when things heat up and she confesses, how would he deal? Would he be honored and accept being her first or would he reject her altogether bc she is inexperienced?

(Because I’m in my 20s and safe to say on top of everything else in my life except this, I haven’t come across anyone with whom I’d like to be intimate with yet and though I try not to let it get to me, some part of me sometimes feels like a freak or like something is wrong with me)

I hope I did not cross any boundaries or make you uncomfortable by sharing this, if I did I apologize and please feel free to delete this ❤️🕊️

Ghost x FVirgin!Reader Word count: 2,9 k Tags/warnigs: Mild smut, light angst, fluff, comfort, praise & size kink Summary: Reader tells Ghost they’re a virgin while things are about to go down.

A/N: Oh anon!! No boundaries crossed here at all! Your request (or at least I took it as such and got inspired to write a brief oneshot about it) was very sweet. This of course is my HC but Simon would only and only take pride in being your first. He would get a huge ego boost from this and feel absolutely privileged to hear he's worthy of such trust. I think he would want to imprint himself in your head as the best man and the best sex partner you will ever have – he would do his all to eradicate even the very thought of wanting to try others after him. Again, an ego thing, but also a desperate wish to please his partner and make them feel safe. This man screams service top to me. I think Simon has a wild side – not mean, just wild, as in he might be into rough sex and certain types of kinky stuff every now and then but only if his partner is willing. He would be very gentle and considerate (passionate as hell though), knowing you're inexperienced, he would make you feel as safe as possible and wait until you were ready and willing to explore things further. Also, I can't help but be moved by what you told me in this message. I understand where you're coming from with these "is there something wrong with me" thoughts, because gosh, I feel you! And speaking from experience… it's 110 % worth it to wait for the right person to come along! Sex can be awesome, mind-blowing, one of the best things – with the right partner. Not worth it with just whomever, imho. Stay safe and trust yourself! And I hope you like this short drabble I made for Ghost x Virgin!Reader ❤️❤️❤️ much love 😘

Simon Riley was a one of a kind man.

He put every guy on every dating app to shame, and not just with his size. He was manly, in a word, even if you never knew you wanted such an overly masculine man. At least, not until you met him.

Simon was not only sturdy and mature – he was armed with calm rage and dark humor. Just one look in his eyes told you he was not the life of the party. Actually, he was Death himself: one of those four horsemen that heralded the Apocalypse.

Perhaps unintelligibly, the same man was also extremely considerate. A true gentleman if there ever was one. He always placed you and your needs first. But underneath the calm, cynical surface you sensed fierce intensity: fire and smoke, something that screamed Danger, high voltage.

And you could not keep away. Quite the opposite, really. The combination of a wildfire and a tornado roaring upon this solid bedrock of a man was simply alluring.

Things had gone a little too far without you meaning them to. You were not a woman of one night stands, actually, you had never had a stand. But Simon changed that, too. Because now you were thinking about sleeping with him.

After years and years of waiting for someone sensible to come along, you had begun to lose hope, especially when people seemed to fuck left and right while you wanted something real.

A bedrock.

With that wildfire. Perhaps a tornado thrown in as well.

After weeks and weeks of flirting, the man asked you out, and after weeks and weeks of going out, you came to the conclusion that if someone deserved to be your first, it was Simon Riley. If there was any guy you wished would take you against a wall until you begged for mercy, it was him. At least in your fantasies, which were starting to get out of hand.

In real life, things were not that breezy.

Because what would he say if – no, when – you told him you were a virgin at this age? What if he would be bothered, what if things would get awkward between you two?

What if he decided you were simply too much trouble than you were worth?

It seemed like a miracle that the guy was still around, having been left blue-balled date after date. Either he was hellbent on conquering you, or then… Well, you didn't even dare to think about or's and then's and what if's. Especially when your own feelings were getting equally out of hand as those fantasies.

He probably had plenty of experience, and the thought certainly didn't make you feel any better. How would you compare, being not only inexperienced but a whole goddamn virgin? And it would probably hurt on top of everything. This man must be pretty damn big downstairs if 6 '4 feet and large hands were any indication.

Still, all fears flew out the window in record time every time he pulled you into a kiss. Your body molded into his already: the broad shoulders closed in around you, and it only felt thrilling. His warmth, his arms and scent enveloped you like the sweetest prison, and you held onto him as tightly as you could. Not because he wasn't clutching you with the same–if not greater–fervor, but because you wanted to make sure he was real.

And you realized what the allure of Simon Riley was.

He felt safe.

In fact, he was safe. He represented safety in all its aspects.

Who would've thought that death and wildfire could feel so good, so reliable?

You wondered if he thought this was some game; that you kept him waiting. The unwritten rule seemed to be that it was ok not to jump into bed on the first date. If anything, it was only a decent move. But what did the rules say about the second, third or fourth date? Not to talk about tenth?

Things were starting to resemble some prudent high school romance. Well, perhaps not prudent, the way you two practically ground against each other while making out after every date. Without being vocal about it or pressuring you in any way, you could tell he wished for things to go further. Hell, every fiber in this man begged for more. He would soon burn your clothes off simply with that searing gaze alone.

Watching the door close on that heated stare after at least 15 minutes of wanton, wicked kissing followed by clumsy Good night's and shy, apologetic smiles just wouldn't do anymore. The poor man was left breathless and puzzled in the cold night with nothing but a hard-on and the crumbs you gave him to keep him warm.

Things were getting ridiculous, criminally so, and you felt pity for those pants trying to keep him in confinement. You felt pity for your own soaked underwear as you climbed to a lonely bed all hot, bothered, and wet.

Which was why this evening would end with you asking him to come inside.

. . .

Lately, his hands have started to roam; they even cup your ass as he moans in your mouth – and hearing that raspy, low sound leave him forces the final decision. It's the final prophecy that tells you he is the one. You should’ve known it was only a matter of time with him.

The man hides his surprise well as you invite him in.

"Thought you'd never ask," he gives you a soft chuckle before stepping over the threshold to not only your apartment but also your life and privacy.

You barely get out of your shoes before his shadow engulfs you and strong hands lift you in his lap like you weigh nothing at all. You instinctively reach for support by clasping your hands behind his neck.

"You really know how to torture a man, don't you?" The brown in his eyes is nearly swallowed by warm darkness as he carries you to the bedroom.

"I'm sorry," you whisper, and he gives a short laugh of gravel.

"Don't be. This has been fun."

He sets you down next to the bed, and your heart is thumping so bad you fear he can hear it banging against your chest.

"But it's about time I torture you, right?"

Oh God…

Things happen so fast that it’s hard to tell who undresses who, but somehow, you find yourself standing in your bedroom with nothing but knickers and a bra on while he's taking off his pants. The man has definitely waited for this to happen for god knows how long, and it only makes your stomach lurch.

He thinks you know what you're doing, your brain offers when it should know when it’s time to shut the hell up. You can see the generous bulge this man is packing, and while perhaps compelling to other women, to you, it mainly looks intimidating. Threatening, almost.

He doesn't take his boxers off, seeing you're just standing there like some statue, still in your underwear and almost shaking from thoughts running rampant.

His form swallows you as he steps closer; wide hands slide up your arms, then draw you against him – against that demanding pulse that gets trapped between you two. Even through the black cloth, you can tell he's thick and big, just like you feared.

The man is blazing, and seems to have grown another foot in height as he towers over you with all that muscle. His shoulders are almost the size of your head, and you already know the hand that runs down your spine is experienced in crushing windpipes. It makes you breathe in shivers, and of course he notices something is wrong.

"Everything good?" He's eager and breathless, the erection pressing against you like a threat. He’s a man who has fashioned a weapon out of himself, so it shouldn't be a surprise that everything in him speaks violence.

"Yes," you try to assure him – a lousy lie only punctuated by the audible gulp that leaves your throat as you try to swallow your nerves back down.

"You afraid…?"

"Just a little nervous," you tell him, a half confession.

"Mm. That makes two of us."

He draws down into a kiss, the hands of a soldier and a killer nearly drawing you up from the ground as he pulls you close. You don't really buy his claim of being nervous too: you can feel how he throbs between you, heavy and impatient.

Hesitantly, you reach to hug him as well, and you feel so small, so insignificant when wrapped around this… giant. The knowledge that you're about to be trapped under all this crushing weight leaves you both faint and needy.

He’s a good kisser, but as he moves to devour your neck, you start to freeze from the middle.

"Alright… Come here."

He half carries, half lays you down on the bed, then crawls between your legs and changes his tactic a little. Gentle kisses are ghosted down your throat, and soon, he's at your breasts, soft as a whisper. But as he draws the fabric of your bra aside, your nipple is caught inside a hot, wet mouth, and the wildfire surges forth. There’s no way out from under him anytime soon, and you realize the colossal body is already spreading your thighs wide.

The way he already looks so damn good there between your legs: big, the epitome of raw, masculine power… It's almost sinful that a man like him is here with a virgin. It's a whole new hell how he's kissing you gently as fuck while blazing like a bonfire about to engulf and devour you. You want to wrap your legs around his middle, attach yourself to him in any way you can, but your thighs are weak pudding.

You feel both lost and found with him. In him.

He sucks and kisses your breasts like they're the only thing he's here for – and it feels good, heavenly, to be honest. But then he starts to travel down.

Shit… You need to tell him – and soon, or else there will be no time to say anything before the last of the shielding fabric is gone.

"Simon…?"

"Mm-hm?"

He doesn't even stop with the kissing, merely hums on your skin as his mouth reaches your stomach.

"You're my first," you finally force the truth into the night; a soft and desperate fact. It's only the faintest breath, but he halts abruptly like he has been stabbed between the ribs.

Great…

Here comes the awkward.

He rises. Softly, slowly, like a shadow, just a second away from getting to what's between your legs.

"Is that so?"

His voice is hoarse and dark from arousal. The whole man is intoxicating, and your heart is hammering in your chest, both from hunger and dread.

"Yes…?"

A broad hand comes to rest on the dip of your waist; gently, like you're some frightened animal about to dart off from under his touch.

"Love… Are you sure you want to do this?"

Are you? You almost ask, then bite your lip.

He just called you love, something he has never done before. You can see your breasts rising with the breaths you try to calm down with sheer willpower.

He lets out a small sigh, then crawls beside you and takes you in his arms. The bed sags and wails under his weight before your body is pulled into a delicious bear hug.

"Sweetheart."

His voice is so smooth, so different from the intense, rough smoke that has followed you up until this point that you feel vehement tears burn your eyes. First love, and now, sweetheart…

"There's no need to rush things," he says while keeping you close. Ever the gentleman, but you fear that you've ruined everything.

"We haven't exactly been rushing," you mutter somewhere in the plates of his chest. You both feel and hear how another sigh travels up his throat and is breathed into the crown of your head.

"Now… listen to me, ok? I've wanted you ever since we met. Can't deny it. But the last thing I want is to force you to do something you don’t wanna do."

You squeeze your eyes shut from what he says. Ever since you met… You can remember the lingering gazes, the way his eyes lit up with something hopeful and pure, how it drove away the exhaustion that seemed to have made a home in this big, brooding man. You remember how he stole a few stares up and down your body, too; remember the hunger he never even tried to conceal – not until now.

He is the most enthralling being you have ever seen, a mystery and a force of nature, an indomitable man, and to say that you haven't thought about him that way ever since too would be a lie.

"But I want it," you look up at him slowly, feeling much safer now that he's holding you like this.

I want you.

You realize you're pouting when the warm look in his eyes gains a playful glint as he laughs softly.

"You want it?"

"Yes."

That little twinkle turns into a downright gleam as he looks at you like you're the most adorable thing he has ever seen.

“You want it with me?”

“Yes.”

"How much do you want it?" The charred voice is so soft now: it washes over you in generous waves. His hands keep you in safe custody – and you're the most willing prisoner there ever has been.

"Pretty badly?" You breathe into the air between you and see the corner of his mouth tug.

"Well, in that case…" His hand sweeps down your back and comes to reside on the swell of your hip. "I'm glad I'm here to help."

Pale eyelashes drop to your lips just before he kisses you again. You arch in his arms, like a flower leaning towards sunlight; your mouth, your whole being unfurls under his leadership. He rolls partly on top of you, then moves to kiss you all over as you lie on your back: he kisses your chin and neck, your collarbones and the hollow little crevice between them. The hand on your hip brushes down your thigh, then back up, up, until his fingers meet the folds already soaked through the fabric of your underwear.

His touch is soft, but gains more weight as he sweeps slowly up, then brushes a thumb over the exact location of your clit.

"Oh–"

He knows what he's found, even without the evidence of your voiceless shake of a breath. He brushes another stroke over it, and it doesn't matter that you still have your undies on – you can feel his weight, the gentle pressure he applies as he draws a circle to usher another soft moan out of you.

"You like that?"

"Mhm," is the only thing you are able to answer.

"That's it…" he cheers you on with calm assurance. "Gonna make you feel good. And that's a promise."

You catch a hint of ego in that promise, but there's something else, too. A fervent devotion, a bottomless need to please you no matter what. The right man, definitely: not someone who is only after their own satisfaction. You don't exactly need the answer anymore, but you ask the final, burning question nonetheless.

"Simon?"

"Speak your mind, love."

"Are you disappointed…?"

He stops again, a breath away from you.

"Disappointed?" He sounds quite shocked, almost appalled. "...Disa–"

He huffs, then reaches to cup your face. You raise your eyes to his and see that he's…ardent, and very, very serious.

"Love, I'm honored."

You can only blink at the solemn vow, and he slowly shakes his head.

"Silly little thing…"

It's something he muses almost to himself before he drags his fingers over your sternum and down your stomach, reverently, like you're a piece of precious porcelain. But the heat in his eyes is back, and your fingers curl to grasp a fistful of sheet as his hand disappears underneath the cloth, when he finally touches you with nothing in between.

You suppose it's his middle finger that sweeps over your clit this time, then slips between your folds without effort. It coaxes your thighs open to give him better access, and access he has: he curls the finger until it almost dips inside. Your lips part with a quiet sigh as your chin climbs toward the ceiling.

"Look at that… All wet and sweet for me already."

The way you expose your neck is like an invitation: he buries his face in your neck, tries to drown in the scent and feel of you while gliding across the wetness down below. He spreads moisture on the tight bud, and you jerk a little from how sensitive it is – he huffs a smile in your ear. It makes you release the sheet and reach out to grasp him by the neck, to make him stay precisely where he is, close like this, so close…

"Do ya even know how bloody sweet you are?"

The last of your wits make a vanishing act as he breathes more praise on your skin. You're languid in his arms, feeling both weightless and heavy, like you're sinking into the mattress, and then his hand moves lower; one thick finger is plunged slowly inside.

Oh God oh God–

You feel him, all of him, filling and spreading you. And it's not enough… not nearly enough.

"We'll take it nice and slow, alright?" He whispers in your ear, and you tighten around him like on command. "Got all night to make a mess of you. That sound good?"

You can't help it: your lips draw into a smile when thinking about all the things he will do to you, all the sweet things you've always waited to happen.

"Yes."

#ghost x you #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley fluff #simon riley imagine #ghost imagine #ghost fluff #is this too soft?#is there such a thing as too soft #omg I think I'm part of the Ghost babygirl crew now #i accept my fate #also no beta we die like men

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godsfavdarling · 2 months

Text

Yellow

my masterlist

+18!!!

pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

words: 1.7k

summary: Spencer just came back from a tough case and you and him indulge in some adult activities, but during it you find yourself feeling a little anxious.

warnings: bondage, edging, overstimulation, fingering, oral (female receiving), unprotected sex, use of safe word, aftercare, dom! Spence, (tell me if I forgot something)

You and Spencer have been dating for a few years now, and somewhere along your sexual journey, you both admitted that exploring rougher sex is something you'd like to try. Things started out easily with activities like blindfolds and tying you up, while still maintaining a sense of tenderness and love.

From there, you experimented with choking, which you enjoyed, and found even more pleasure in having your hands around Spencer's neck. Your boyfriend was also very eager to explore the world of edging and would often have you begging and crying for release before finally letting you cum. And he was also more than happy to let you have him wrapped around your finger.

You didn't understand how he was able to do it. How was he able to hold himself back from giving you what you wanted? He was patient yet greedy. If he wasn't edging you for what felt like an eternity, he was on a mission to overstimulate you. Using not only his mouth and fingers but also toys, he'd have you shaking and crying, begging for him to stop.

In order to ensure both of your safety, you always discussed everything in detail and established safewords or signals for when communication might be difficult. You settled on the simplest system of colors: green if you wanted to continue and everything was good, yellow if you wanted to pause or change what you were doing, and red if you wanted to stop completely.

None of you had ever used the safewords, except for green. Spencer often asked for you to check in and confirm that everything was okay.

One night, when Spencer returned from a very long and tough case, he wanted both of you to indulge in one of his favorite activities: tying you up. You were more than happy to participate and help him take his mind off work. You loved making him feel better and enjoyed seeing him lose himself while he had complete control over you.

As soon as he came back home you both discussed what he wanted and you said that you were okay with everything. He tied you up like that before and you enjoyed every moment. You couldn't wait to repeat that night.

He asked you to get naked and sit on the bed, and you complied, awaiting his plan. He entered the bedroom with a couple of ropes in his hands and skillfully began to wrap them around your body. He positioned your hands behind your back, securing them with the ropes around your breasts to ensure you couldn’t move them.

“Is it too tight?” he asked.

“No, it's okay,” you confirmed, and he continued. He instructed you to kneel on the bed, and he proceeded to tie your legs together. You could feel yourself getting wet, with him still in his suit and you completely naked before him. His tender yet confident touch drove you insane, even though nothing had happened yet.

“Now, lay down on the bed, face down, ass up,” he said sternly, and you obeyed.

Your face pressed against the sheets while your center was up and waiting for him. You tried to shimmy your hips, seeking some friction, but he quickly intervened.

“Stop that,” he commanded.

“Sorry,” you replied.

“It's okay. Someone’s needy.”

For a few minutes, he simply stood there, his gaze fixed on you, taking in every inch of your body. Despite his lack of action, your inner walls were already clenching with anticipation, and your breathing grew heavier with each passing moment. You felt an overwhelming need for his touch like never before.

As he stood beside you, you noticed the tent forming in his pants. He was likely just as affected by the situation as you were, yet he showed no outward signs of it.

Suddenly, his hand was on your back, trailing lightly down to your ass and then your thighs. His caresses elicited a moan from you, causing you to instinctively squeeze your legs together. He undoubtedly noticed but chose to ignore it.

Next, he firmly grabbed your ass, squeezing each cheek a few times.

As he finally gave in and stroked your wet folds with only one finger, you couldn't help but whimper.

"So wet for me," he whispered, his gaze fixed on your pussy. He sat beside you, continuing to stroke your heat lightly and slowly, his touch moving from your entrance to your clit with barely any pressure.

"Please," you pleaded, your desire clouding your ability to articulate your wants.

"Please what?" he asked, his voice teasing.

You whimpered again, unable to express your desires clearly. All you knew was that you wanted to climax, and you wanted him to be the one to bring you there.

He began to play with your entrance, teasingly circling the tip of his finger before pushing it a little further inside and curling it. Adding another finger, he placed his thumb on your clit, still maintaining his gentle touch, yet you felt like you were on the brink of falling apart at any moment.

But just as you were on the edge, he stopped and pressed his face against your center, giving it one long lick with his tongue.

"F-fuck," you moaned, your voice trembling with need.

He placed both hands on your ass, squeezing more firmly now as his hot breath washed over your folds. Watching how wet and desperate you were for release, he took a few deep breaths, the contrast of hot and cold air only fueling your hunger as he teased you with his slow pace.

Finally, he put his mouth on your clit and sucked, causing you to moan in ecstasy as the vibrations ran through your body. His tongue danced skillfully over your nub, sending shivers down your spine as you felt yourself nearing the edge. The knot tightened in your stomach, your moans becoming shorter and more urgent, signaling to him just how close you were.

You prayed silently that he would let you cum in his mouth, allowing you to ride out your orgasm against his face, feeling his lips against you as you reached the peak of pleasure. You longed for him to lick up every drop of your release and then kiss you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his lips.

But just as you were on the brink of ecstasy, he stopped abruptly, leaving you groaning in frustration. How much longer was he going to keep you waiting?

Before you could gather your thoughts, he unzipped his pants, releasing his throbbing erection, desperate to finally feel you. He wasted no time, standing behind you and filling you completely. As he slid in effortlessly and your walls clenched around him, he moaned in pleasure, relishing the sensation of being completely engulfed by you.

Pulling out and thrusting back in with a quick pace, he leaned in to kiss your spine, his arms wrapping around your waist as he maintained a steady rhythm. "You feel… so… good…" he murmured against your skin between gentle kisses, his hands finding yours, still bound behind your back.

"Spencer," you moaned, sending a shiver of pleasure down his spine. He grunted and gasped, his hands tightening on your hips as he buried himself deeper in your core, grinding against you.

But suddenly, a surge of emotions overwhelmed you. It all felt like too much, and you struggled to catch your breath, not in a good way. Tears welled up in your eyes as you whispered his name, your voice trembling with unease. “Spencer…”

"Yellow" you whispered, and he immediately pulled out, concern etched on his face as he appeared before you.

"Is everything okay? What is it? Do you want to stop?"

Tears streamed down your cheeks.

"Hey, it’s okay," Spencer said, gently wiping your face. "I’ll untie you, okay?" You nodded and allowed him to guide you to a sitting position. As you sat on your heels, he skillfully worked the ropes around your body, your breathing evening out as you tried not to feel foolish for interrupting.

"I'm sorry," you whispered.

"About what? You have nothing to be sorry about. I’m glad you told me," Spencer reassured you.

"Yeah, but I was feeling good… before… earlier, and then just… I don't know what happened."

"It's okay. I just want you to feel good. I'm happy you told me that it didn’t feel right anymore."

With your hands now free, you hid your face in them while Spencer gently helped you to sit on the edge of the bed and untied your legs. Then, he inspected your skin for any signs of marks from the ropes.

Once he was satisfied, he cupped your face and whispered, "I’ll bring you some water." You nodded and curled up on the bed, glancing at your wrists and ankles - relieved to see barely any signs of the ropes. Thankfully, Spencer knew what he was doing, and you hadn't been tied up long enough to leave big marks.

When he returned with a glass of water, he handed it to you and draped a blanket around your shoulders. You took a few sips while Spencer undressed, discarding his clothes and throwing on a T-shirt.

Sitting beside you, he wrapped his arm around you, offering his comfort and the warmth of skin-to-skin contact. You sat together like that for a while, his hand resting on your knee, silently reassuring you that he was there for you and would do anything to make you feel better.

"I'm sorry," you whispered again.

Spencer looked at your face. "I'm not upset… or mad, okay?"

You nodded. "I don’t know why I said yellow. I thought maybe… I don’t know."

"Did you maybe get overwhelmed?"

"Yeah… I think so…"

He kissed your temple and hugged you tighter. "I'm glad you told me to stop. I always want you to tell me if something is wrong. I'll never get upset. I promise you that."

"Okay… thank you."

"How about a bath? To clean you up and maybe help you feel a little better? And if you said yellow because you still want to finish tonight, we can continue later, only if you’ll want to, okay?"

"Okay. A bath does sound good," you smiled softly.

#dr spencer reid #spencer reid fandom #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #spencer reid smut #mgg #criminal minds smut #dom spencer reid #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #matthew gray gubler

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hiraya-rawr · 1 year

Text

but i knew you'd haunt all of my what-ifs

characters !! al haitham, kaeya, tighnari, ayato, zhongli

synopsis !! spoilers/ you know nahida's story quest where people dreamt of people they miss? so they didn't wanna wake up? yes. you're their greatest source of grief.

contains !! gn reader, grief themes, angst/comfort? or is it angst/angst. messing with the original plot of nahida's quest but the idea remains the same. team dynamics! can be considered sagau /playable au. character death mentions aka me exploring all the ways to make mc gone

inspo !! cardigan by taylor swift 🎵

AL HAITHAM

// cause I knew you / steppin' on the last train / marked me like a bloodstain, I / I knew you / tried to change the ending

All he did was blink. He knew what he was getting himself into when the traveler and the dendro archon explained the situation; people in grief didn't want to wake up. He knew they were entering a dream realm that targeted the vulnerable. He knew he might see you— but it's been years and this dream version of you is simply a fake, this means little to him now, right?

Yet, in one blink, the city of Sumeru disappeared and what he saw instead was—

"(Name)." He mutters under his breath, barely.

"Who's that?" The traveler turns to him.

"Haitham!" You greet, voice cheery, unchanged, the exact replica down to every detail. He feels his face shift in expression, his hand raises, reaches out before he could even realize it himself and—

He blinks again. You're gone.

"Huh? They disappeared!" Paimon squeaks, flying behind the traveler, "Like a ghost! That was sooo scary."

The blonde looks on thoughtfully, "Was. . that someone you know, Al Haitham?"

Snapping out of his daze, he takes a step back.

". . . someone I knew. Yes." He straightens himself, looking away. "Let's keep going. There's no time to waste."

KAEYA

// peter losing wendy, I / I knew you / leavin' like a father / running like water, I / and when you are young, they assume you know nothing

Jumping from portal to portal, trying to find the dream host with the traveler was exhausting. Kaeya was beginning to question why, of all the characters on the team, he had to come along (then again, such events were always fun).

It was a relief when a portal landed him in Starfell Valley. The breeze ruffling through his hair, sweet flowers and cecilias gently leaning to the wind, and—

You, holding onto your wind glider, waving at him from a distance.

"Well? Aren't you going to teach me how to fly?" You yell out, huffing theatrically.

Ah, yes. Kaeya remembers this. His footsteps take him forward, closer to where you are. Grass brushing against him with every step.

"Kaeya?" You tilt your head.

He remembers this. He was supposed to teach you, you were supposed to take your license exam in a few days, you were nervous—

Archons, you were nervous and a little scared and he brushed it off. He was a natural at gliding and he believed you'd get over it and glide as easily as he could.

Then he looked away. Just for a second —a single second— and an updraft lifted you higher than you were used to. And you struggled to control your wings. And you tumbled. And there was a cliff—

Oh, Stormbearer Point used to be so lovely until he lost you.

"Kaeya, are we going to start glidi— oomf-"

His arms wrap around you, bringing you close, holding you to himself. He lets a hand rest on the glider you held on one hand, pushing it away, aside, further from you –because how dare that wretched thing fail you– until it falls to the grass.

"Kaeya? What's wrong?"

"Can we–" He nearly sobs, a lump in his throat as he holds back, ". . . Can we not do this today?"

He feels your own arms wrapping around him. It's the closest he could get to remembering your warmth.

"Alright. . . it's alright, Kae, I'll learn to glide on another day," You whisper softly, "There's always next time."

TIGHNARI

// but I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss / I knew you'd haunt all of my what-ifs / the smell of smoke would hang around this long

"Even if they resemble their loved ones, it doesn't change the fact that it's a figment of their imagination cultivated by the Akasha. They shouldn't be swayed." Tighnari said this to the Traveler on the very day they started exploring the dream situation.

Yet, as he rests in bed after a long day of investigating, there's you.

"Nari! You're back!" You greet, holding up a tea set as he enters the tree-like house.

He's quiet. Quiet as he sits on the chair he always sat on (the one practically reserved for his visits), quiet as you pour him tea (the one you brew whenever he comes over), and quiet as you sit across him with a small smile.

"How is it this time? Too bitter?"

". . . it's fine."

"Will you stay longer this time?"

". . . no, I'll leave soon." He places down the teacup, "Once my investigation with the traveler is done, this will all be over."

He stands up, the chair scrapes against the wooden floor (like it always used to do), you look up at him curiously (the same way you used to).

"Do you really want that?" You ask.

Tighnari knows that it's the dream trying to keep him asleep, trying to tie him down. You're not you, this is all fake, therefore it shouldn't matter. He doesn't need to entertain you any more than he should.

So he diverts the question because archons, once upon a dream, you were all he wanted. You are all he wants.

"I'm leaving now. Thank you for the tea."

"You stay a little bit longer each time you visit," You smile, "Maybe if I brew even better tea, you'll actually stay."

He freezes. Has he been staying longer?

He bites his lip, continuing to walk away from the tree house. It's a figment of his imagination, he shouldn't be swayed.

AYATO

// 'cause I knew everything when I was young / I knew I'd curse you for the longest time / chasin' shadows in the grocery line

He was expecting it, actually. The traveler had already explained that it's a phenomenon happening to those with losses, and he's aware -with losing his parents at a young age- that he was vulnerable to the dreams.

The minute he falls asleep, the moon high over Sumeru, you appear in his dreams.

"Ayato!"

"(Name)."

No matter how much he expected you, the surprise must still be on his face as you laugh.

"What's with that look? Do you miss me that much?"

Should he entertain the dream? Or ignore you? Then again, what does he have to lose by at least answering your questions. he misses you, how you talk, how you laugh-

"I did. I do." He replies, a calm smile on his face.

"We can't have that! If you miss me already after such a short time, how much more when I'm sent away to get married?"

Oh, so it's that part of the timeline.

Perhaps the sourness of his thoughts reflected on his expression, or maybe you guessed it on your own (you were always so good at understanding him), but you sighed and gave a sad smile.

"I. . . I have to be honest. I'm kind of scared," You chuckle, "It's two boat rides away from Narukami, and the rumors about my fiancé is. . . not so great."

Ayato knows that. Your fiancé killed you on your second year of marriage and attempted to frame it on a servant. Despite knowing all this, the only reply he could muster was a monotonous "I see. . ."

"But we promised each other, didn't we?" You stand straight, facing him with enthusiasm, "We'll make our clans great again. I'll give honor to my clan, and you'll redeem the Kamisato name! Who knows, maybe next time we meet. . . "

There's a glint in your eye and he understands what you're trying to say. Maybe next time, the two of us could be together. It was a childish dream— one that didn't consider divorces or politics or death. Maybe next time, the Kamisato clan would be powerful enough to whisk you away. Maybe next time, Ayato would be enough to marry you without shaming either of your clans. Maybe next time, it could be "us".

The dream turns hazy as Ayato feels himself being shaken awake, the high pitched voice of Paimon floating above him and the traveler next to him, shaking him, "Ayato! Ayato! You have to wake up, the dream isn't real!"

But it was real, wasn't it? It happened so long ago.

ZHONGLI

// I knew you'd miss me once the thrill expired / and you'd be standin' in my front porch light // and I knew you'd come back to me / you'd come back to me / and you'd come back to me / and you'd come back

The dream realm was turning dangerous, the host lost all control and everyone's loved ones were beginning to turn into horrible beasts.

Beasts were easy, though. For Zhongli, all he had to do was maintain his shield around the traveler and the other party members, ensuring everyone's safety. This was easy enough- for what being could actually penetrate the shield of an archon?

"Morax?"

It was you, standing amidst the chaos, as beings turned to monsters and the traveler fought back in defense. An echo of a nightmarish past— of the archon war and of dying gods. You looked no different from that day you stood next to him, ready to protect each other's backs.

He mutters your name so lightly, it fades into the noise around him.

"Morax, listen to me–" You try approaching, only to be stopped by his shield. For a second, he thinks of letting it down, but this wasn't you— this was a dream, a memory.

"Morax, you have to win, it has to be you," It's a desperate sound coming from your lips as your hands rest flat against his shield. He wants to hold you. Why is this nightmare coming back now? Why must he see you here? The logical part of him, the one trained through years of mental and physical warfare, understands that the dream wants him to take down his shield.

"You have to be the Geo Archon. You have to kill me, Morax–"

Ah, yes, he did kill you to become the Geo Archon that day. He remembers it as clear as gold in his memories.

"Get away from Zhongli!" He hears the traveler yell, a sword slashing between him and you, as you back away.

"Are you okay?" The traveler asks, posed in the defense.

"Yes, don't worry about me," He replies, composing himself as his polearm manifests in his hand, "Rather, allow me to deal with this myself."

Because how dare this dream taunt him. How dare this dream imitate you.

note // for the holidays, im extending commissions at a special price! it's $1/character scenario and $3 minimum in fics 😋

consider support me on ko-fi or paypal! // general masterlist

taglist // @absolut-wildflower @boundedbyfate @sadlonelybagel @eissaaaa @ladycoleigh @nejibot @milkypompon @bloodreaper08 @irethepotato @x-zho @ro-river @mich-cola @mxsomn @ackrylik @nicebonescomrades @starforecasts @stygianoir @yuminako @eccedentesiast-sapphic @nebulaera @nuttytani @klutzkat @stygianoir14 @shizunxie @bluriie @aestellia @abyislan08 @scooterscoob @lordbugs

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comicaurora · 5 months

Note

If YouTube shuts down in five years or if the channel stops doing well or if you just burn out or whatever, what’s your backup career? I feel like a lot of “content creators” become super specialized into doing content creation stuff

This question is interesting, because you've given voice to one of the anxieties it took me the longest to overcome.

My thesis on life is you can't live in any sort of healthy manner if you're constantly planning for the worst case scenario - what you would do if everything in your life suddenly changed. Like how you can't live comfortably anywhere if you've constantly planning for the next time you'll move out.

For me, that question takes the form "what if youtube suddenly exploded", but everyone has a scenario like that. In fact, everyone has an infinite number of scenarios like that.

What would I do for I living if I got sick or had an accident and could no longer meet the physical demands of my job?

What would I do if I had a breakdown and needed everything to stop?

What's my contingency plan for if my entire company exploded and I got laid off without warning?

What've I got lined up if a global pandemic shut down all in-person jobs?

What's my backup plan if I lost the sense I needed to create the art I specialize in?

What if my mind deteriorated and I could no longer engage with reality at all?

What if technological advancement replaced the need my job currently fills?

What'e my plan for if I lose someone I love and it breaks me?

What will I do if a natural disaster destroys my house?

Where will I live if a meteor hit the earth tomorrow?

The idea that "content creators" overspecialize ignores the fact that most people get very comfortable doing the thing they spend most of their time doing, and very rarely seriously plan for the scenario where their One Thing is ripped away from them and they have to find something else. The phenomenon of "person loses their job after years of work" is famous for being massively disruptive, and that isn't because everyone in the world is dumb or bad at planning ahead - it's because a disruption like that is a disruption, in the same way that an injury will always hurt. I don't think it's a failing for someone to live their life as it currently exists, just like it isn't a personal failing if someone experiences a catastrophic change and has to readjust. You can't solve a problem that doesn't exist yet, and if it does happen, it'll come with information and parameters that you'll need to actually deal with it rather than just worrying about it.

If youtube explodes, maybe I'd join our other youtube friends on another platform as we all worked to solve the same problem together. Maybe I'd be in a financial position where I wouldn't need an immediate fallback plan and could take uncomplicated time off. Maybe I'd pivot 100% to writing. Maybe I'd drop off the grid and live in the woods for a while. Maybe I'd get serious about pursuing voice acting or theater. Maybe a friend would recommend an opening at their normal person job. Since we're only pondering a hypothetical catastrophe, we can't predict any of the other factors that'd be in play that would actually determine how we'd handle it.

Most of us will experience many life-changing turning points, and in turn get to experience many different lives. I'm very much enjoying this one, but I'm not worried about what the next one might look like. Overplanning will spoil the adventure with needless anxiety - I'll just be excited to explore it whenever it comes.

#asks #not aurora

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diorcities · 1 year

Text

moon boy

pairing: haechan x fem!reader, afab!reader.

genre: fluff, smut.

content: breast groping, multiple orgasms, oral sex, breeding kink, unprotected sex, haechan overstim himself, lazy sex overall. enjoy !

an: hbd to my beloved @djxia0 ｡ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟ｡

masterlist.

margaret atwood was right when she said «i exist in two places. here, and where you are» whenever your boyfriend was out of town. finding yourself looking for parallels of you in every romance. smelling fragrances that remind you of him. sounds. music. movies. books. overthinking. does he also remind you when he sees things? smiling for no reason other than your name showing up on his mind.

it's almost impossible not to look at him. his face calm, asleep peacefully beside you. the same hands that pinned you on the bed while making love to you after what felt like years away from each other, now lie lazily on your back, locking you in his chest, which slowly rises and falls. half-open fleshy lips, which make you want to kiss. a knot of limbs from the waist down.

you lose track of time. hours pass. minutes. or perhaps seconds until his eyes open, first waking up from his sleep, and then he watches you. he gives you a tired smile, before securing the grip and drawing you further towards him. “creepy woman,” he says, leaving a kiss on your forehead. “what you mean?” you ask, trying to play it cool. he hums. “you really have to love me to stare at me while i sleep.” little did you know that he did the same when you were sleeping a few minutes ago.

“i'm just afraid that someone will come and take you while i sleep.” he stops stretching his muscles to look at you, his hands caressing the skin on your arm. “i won't go anywhere.” haechan kisses you passionately, his lazy tongue playfully teasing yours. deepening the kiss as he hover over you, your hands go to his cheeks, while you melt at his caresses. feeling an entire galaxy explode within you. gently biting his puffy lips, trying to encapsulate the moment and make it infinite. he breaks the kiss and looks at you, searching for any other insecurity, but these have faded. “can you breathe with my weight on you?” he asks. nodding, you wish he knows that it's the only way to breathe you know.

your eyes move to the clock on the bedside table. he nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck, spreading small kisses on your skin. you haven't dressed since the last time you made love. your skins touch each other unscrupulously, feeling each other's warmth. caressing each part already explored. knowing each other's favorite spots. tracing paths on his back, wide and soft, hearing him sigh with pleasure. “would like to eat now?” you ask after minutes of comfortable silence. he hums in agreement. “some pasta?” you suggest, feeling him shake his head. “what, then?.” he comes out of hiding, and looks at you. eyes gleaming and hinting something you don't take long to guess.

haechan smiles drowsily, before kissing you carefully. he leaves short, deep kisses on your lips, more and more sloppy, until he slides his mouth down your jaw and down. his head is lost under the covers, as he leaves a path of kissing to your crotch. you move the fabric away in one movement, wanting to get drunk from the view. “you look so heavenly right now, honey,” he states, watching your breathing increase. “let me have a taste of you, i bet you taste just like you look.”

a lash of pure euphoria invades you when his tongue licks your folds, before feeling it in your clitoris, rocking it up and down. silky. tasting you. when he hums with bliss on the exposed skin, it sends electrical currents to your senses. his hands hold your legs open while delighting in your taste, eventually going to your breasts, rubbing his thumb on your nipples and cupping them in his hands as his tongue twirl and lick you like a starved man. bobbing his head, and moving it from one side to another as he can't get enough of you. hands pulling his hair when he hits just where you want it. “there, hyuck...” you breathe, “there.” while blinking and moaning, letting him know how good he was eating you out. feeling your mind blurring, and your heart beating erratically.

you gasp for air. “oh, h-hyck,” he delights every time you pronounce his name. he swears it's the most beautiful sound in the world. your body shakes when he sucks gently, back arching and toe-curling, raising your legs on his shoulders, revealing a now reachable area that his tongue soon attacks. your hands make the sheets fists when the pleasure is unbearable, when your muscles tense and relax again as the sweet ecstasy bathes you whole. haechan enjoys the view of you, drinking your naked body and the few love marks he made in the previous encounters, before hovering over you. his weight is distributed in one hand next to your head, while his is buried in your neck.

you receive him by rubbing his back, pulling him to you, and leaving little kisses on his shoulders. his available hand caresses your hips and thighs, and his lips spread love in all the areas he can reach. he does it until he gets tired, and then, brushes his length at your entrance. your excitement causes it to slip into you with ease, gently. wanting to drink and feel every stimulus, every reaction of your bodies to coming together. “so pretty, moaning my name,” he praises you, “so fucked. shit, i'd love to breed you.”

“push it all inside,” you plead, aching for him. “so greedy.” you bring your hands to his butt and push him in. a high-pitched moan leaves his lips, as his length buries deeper in your pussy. a giggle full of pleasure runs through you that ends in a whimper. you bite your lip, wrapping your legs around his waist as he adjusts in the proper position before starting to penetrate you. he takes his pace, feeling you take him so well. he thinks he's going to lose his mind if you keep moaning like that. with slow, deep strokes that drives you crazy.

his hands seek yours, interlacing your fingers with his. lips going to lips. soft moans filling the air as he pumps you just right. legs trembling on either side of his hips, bringing him closer, causing him to grind against you, rocking his cock side to side, and up and down inside you, stimulating forgotten areas that make you twitch under his weight. he has always known how to find those spots, make you feel this good. possessing the perfect size to fill you, to light fireworks in your chest.

his moans are melody to your ears, caressing his hair, letting him use you as he pleases. hearing him struggle to keep the pace, because it's so hard when you're wailing in his ear and throbbing like that around his stimulated cock. no stamina left. both drained from past encounters. fucking each other senseless. yet not able to stop until you have the last essence of the other. until the sky runs out of stars.

haechan seeks your gaze. making eye contact, you bathe in the warmth of his brown eyes, like taking a shot of espresso on a rainy morning. like melted chocolate. as love would feel. burning and blooming inside out as the climax devours and leaves only quivers that shake your whole body. haechan curses. “where do you want it?” he wants to know. he holds it until you answer “inside.” resulting in spasms that shake his body as he releases inside you. filling you with his hot cum, until he empties himself. he keeps rocking his hips into you while pretty whimpers falls from his lips. even though you're still drunk from your high, you can't help but tighten the grip on his waist, and let him fuck you again. “fuck,” he says with a raspy moan.

he can't have enough of you. you both can't have enough of each other. and he's been far from you for so long, that your high arrives just by grinding into each other. your body quivers due to the euphoria draining you completely, while you sense haechan's legs trembling, “o-oh fuck, love.” yet he doesn't stop. when he gets up to lock eyes with you, you catch his face contracted in an unbearable look, with furrowed eyebrows and eyes glossy, thrusting you with a sloppy pace. his breathing, ragged and uneven, let out drawn-out groans. forehead creased and cheeks painted with the prettiest shade of pink. “you're so beautiful,” you whisper, “cum in me, hyuck.” you push him in with your hands, and it's the only thing that takes him to finally reach his climax.

you trap him in your embrace until his seed starts to come out of you along with your arousal, unwrapping your legs so he can slide out of you once he passes his high, resting his length on your stomach.

“give me a minute, baby, i physically can't move right now,” he states, dropping all his weight on you, nuzzling his nose in your neck. lips awkwardly leaving small, wet kisses. “just absorbing how good you felt.” his hand rubs circles on your thigh while he hums, melting under the caresses that your fingers leave on his scalp. a minute passes and haechan doesn't move. “hyuck, love,” you call his name softly, but there's no answer.

he has fallen asleep again.

#nct dream smut #nct 127 smut #haechan smut #haechan drabbles #haechan fluff #donghyuck smut #donghyuck x reader #donghuyck fluff #donghyuck drabbles #♡haechan

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wandasaura · 5 months

Text

— 𝓂𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉

📍⊹ ˚ . 18+, men dni ⁺ 𓈒 ꒰🧣꒱ ♡ ･ full masterlist ✧

[ ꕤ ] — ageplay [ ♡ ] — smut [ ✧ ] — fluff [ 🂱 ] — series [ ౨ৎ ] — au

‎ WANDA MAXIMOFF — parts will be added as written

the plan [ 2.1k ] ♡

wanda’s been neglecting you for weeks, it’s only fair that you get back at her when she least expects it

the quiet game [ 3.7k ] ♡

nobody can beat wanda at her own game, but that doesn’t stop you from trying, and roping natasha into your little game much to her amusement

NATASHA ROMANOFF — parts will be added as written

gold thats in your eyes [ 2.8k ] ✧

you’ve known natasha romanoff since she first defected to shield, but it’s taken you years to realize that you’ve loved her since then too

WANDANAT — parts will be added as written

a promise [ 1.6k ] ✧౨ৎ

when you wake up alone, the only place you want to land is in the arms of your lovers

little dove au ꕤ ✧ 🂱 ౨ৎ

the sweetest thing that had ever stumbled into their lives was you; their innocent little dove.

the one you reached for [ 8.6k ] ♡✧౨ৎ

after you decide to be a brat as a means to get natasha’s attention, she punishes you, though wanda thinks she’s entirely too soft

lovelorn and nobody knows [ 13.3k ] ♡✧౨ৎ

your relationship with natasha is not as black and white as it seems, but you’re in no rush to figure out the logistics of it. when she leaves for a business trip, wanda is your only source of comfort, but you hate her… right?

my face in a red flush [ 7.1k ] ♡✧౨ৎ

your first mistake was thinking natasha wouldn’t use the time away to tease you, your second mistake was thinking you could handle it

end up dreaming instead of sleeping [ 1.2k ] ✧౨ৎ

you can’t hate her with your eyes closed, so falling asleep against her chest definitely can’t be held against you… right?

linger like a tattoo kiss [ 12.2k ] ♡✧౨ৎ

as the summer approaches, so does a shift in your relationship with wanda

see what’s under that attitude [ 7.1k ] ♡✧౨ৎ

wanda intends to keep the promise she made to you, but that doesn’t mean you won’t have to work to earn it

burning brighter than the sun [ 6.4k ] ♡✧౨ৎ

the annual maximoff memorial day barbecue has finally come, but so has a softer side of your dominants

it was never mine [ 13.4k ] ♡✧౨ৎ

as your year long contract with natasha come to an end, all the feelings you’ve been trying to ignore come to the surface. you didn’t think they were yours to lose in the first place, but you’d never been so wrong in your life

two people understand each other [ 5k ] ♡✧౨ৎ

in an attempt to get wanda’s attention, you end up warming the strap you hoped she’d fuck you with.

too in love to think straight [ 7.4k ] ✧౨ৎ

when you mention to your dominants that you want to further explore the dynamics of your relationship, they’re all for it

love is a ruthless game [ 10.8k ] ♡✧౨ৎ

it’s been months since natasha’s submitted to her wife, but that’s about to change. you’re lucky enough to watch the entire scene unfold

the best thing that’s ever been mine [ 7.2k ] ♡✧౨ৎ

when you take the dogs to the park, jealousy takes control when wanda gets too comfortable with someone else.

song in the car [ 5.5k ] ♡✧౨ৎ

wanda just wants to check that you’re not lying, but you can only keep yourself together for so long before you beg natasha to fuck you in the car

you are in love au ♡ ✧ 🂱 ౨ৎ

when wanda and natasha decide to add a third party their marriage purely, they don’t expect to form a romantic connection with you. they especially don’t expect for you to hate wanda.

its all my love ♡ ✧ 🂱 ౨ৎ

when you start to develop feelings for your strict slavic language professor, the relationship doesn’t come without strings… or another woman

MARIA HILL — parts will be added as written

i cant promise picket fences [ 2k ]

maria’s always been married to her job, but lately she’s been married to the idea of a future with you

WANDANAT X CAPTAIN HILL — parts will be added as written

what did i say [ 3.6k ] ♡✧౨ৎ

the four times you fucked up and called your doms by the wrong name

know my place ♡ ✧ 🂱 ౨ৎ

you spend your nights wrapped up in four different sets of sheets, but graduations approaching, and what you have won’t last forever

COLLECTIONS

spring fling

[ m ] — asks

[ ꔫ ] — asks

[ ⧗ ] — asks

[ ➳ ] — asks

[ ⧗ꔫ ] — asks

[ ꔫ ] — drabbles

[ ⧗ ] — drabbles

[ ⧗ꔫ ] — drabbles

#masterlist ౨ৎ

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eulalielatibule · 7 months

Text

The Purrfect Pair

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Black Cat!Hybrid!FemReader

Word Count: 1,600

Warnings: AU, Soulmates, power dynamics, pet play, reader has powers, mentions of grief, fluff, use of honorifics: Mistress and Kitten

Summary: The Scarlet Witch has arrived which means her familiar must finally reunite with her.

Author's Note: Ahhh I'm so excited for this! I did a ton of research for this fic and I really like it. I intend for it to be a series as I would love to explore how Wanda and her Kitten get along and what trouble they get into!

If you enjoy, please reblog and comment!

Darkness.

Nothingness.

An empty void.

You were asleep one minute, the next something flickered inside your brain. You woke up and stretched out, a little yawn leaving you; you had no idea how many thousands of years you had been asleep. You shook your sleepiness off, your black furry ears twitching in excitement.

Wanda Maximoff.

That was the name that filled your head. That was the person who you were to find.

Your owner was finally here, the one and only Scarlet Witch.

🐈‍⬛

Wanda exhaled, watching as her breath fogged up in the chilled mountain air. The tea cup she was holding kept her hands and the tip of her nose warm, and she sipped the sweet beverage with a hum.

After everything that happened in Westview, she had to get away from everything. Too much sadness has been filling her life, and now that she had the new status of being the Scarlet Witch? Well she had to learn how to deal with all the power and responsibility that held too.

It was a lot of stress, and what better place to deal with stress than a cottage in the mountains?

The woman had been spending her time finessing her powers and learning how to control it. She had help from Doctor Strange and Wong, the Sorcerer Supreme, which she was grateful for. She felt like she was finally getting a hang of herself.

But there was a feeling she couldn't quite shake off.

There was something missing, a piece of her that she had to find.

Wanda was used to loss, having lost pretty much everyone important to her. This was different however. She didn't lose something, it was more like she had to reunite with someone.

As she was lost in thought, electricity filled the air. The witch broke out of her zone and looked up at the sky- it was still clear like normal- No sign of a storm. Goosebumps rose on her skin, and her red magic began sparking from her fingers unexpectedly.

What was happening?

As anxiety coursed through her, a bright light appeared a few feet in front of Wanda. Standing up, she watched with caution as the light dimmed away, revealing in its place a woman.

Everything about you was normal. You had on some comfortable clothes- a brown knitted sweater, jeans, boots. Your hair was styled out of your face and you had an excited smile on your face.

The thing that startled Wanda?

Your cat ears and long, fuzzy tail.

"Are you Wanda Maximoff?" Was the first thing out of your mouth.

"Depends- who are you?" Wanda asked, her hands twitching as her magic swirled around her fingers. You gave her your name and bowed, making Wanda quirk an eyebrow.

"I have been looking for you for so long, Mistress. I can't believe you're finally here."

"What the hell are you talking about?" The redhead dropped her hands now, but still stood on guard. This was very bizarre and she needed answers.

"You don't know who I am?" This time you were the one confused, your ears twitching and your head tilted slightly to one side. "Wanda, I'm your familiar."

"My– what? Can you please just explain what you're doing here? What do you mean, my 'familiar'?"

You approached the woman slowly. "You're the Scarlet Witch. Thousands of years ago I was bound to you as your companion for eternity. I was created to help you, guide you, and service you in whatever you need."

Wanda blinked slowly as she processed what you said. She knew that the myth of the Scarlet Witch was centuries of years old and that she had a lot of learning to do about it- well, herself- yet she had never heard of a familiar. But all her caution faded when she dove into your mind, searching for any kind of malicious intent.

All she found was your complete devotion and love for her.

It made something inside of the witch spark and she couldn't help but smile a bit. So this was why she was feeling so incomplete lately.

"Come here, sweetheart." Wanda spoke softly, a hand extended for you to take.

Her pet name for you made your belly flutter and your tail twitch happily. You happily took her hand and stepped closer, and Wanda gently cupped your face into her warm hands with a soft hum.

"Thank you for coming all this way to find me. Let me get you some tea and maybe a snack and you can tell me more about yourself?" Her thumbs caressed the apples of your cheeks as you gazed up at her with sparkly eyes. You simply nodded which made Wanda chuckle softly at how sweet you were.

She took your hand in one of hers, the other picking up her mug, and she led you inside her little cottage. You noticed how it was a little bare inside, only the necessities and a few cozy items. You couldn't help but frown at the thought of your mistress not having the very best of everything.

Wanda took you into the kitchen and took out another mug for you before pouring some tea into each mug.

"Don't worry about me, I don't mind being a bit minimalistic." Your cheeks heated up in embarrassment- how could you forget she could read minds??

"I– I'm sorry mistress, I hope I didn't offend." Your head tucked down. You heard Wanda's chuckle and then she was tilting your chin up to look her in the eyes.

"Don't apologize, kitten. I know that it isn't exactly homey in here. I never liked much clutter, but seeing that you'll be living here now I can conjure up some things for you."

"Live– I can live here? Really?" Your ears twitched as excitement came over you.

"Well of course, I can't let my little familiar live outside." She spoke with such conviction that you felt butterflies in your stomach. There was a little smirk on Wanda's lips and you knew that she knew how she was affecting you which just made you even more excited.

Soon Wanda was handing you a cup of chai and the two of you were sitting on her couch. "When you came here it was like you entered through a portal. I'm guessing you have powers too?" She asked as she set her tea on the table in front of her. You took a sip of the sweet liquid then nodded, licking your lips.

"I do, I'm not a witch though. I can teleport, shapeshift, I can also turn invisible. Not being human means I am also stronger than normal. And since I am bound to you, I can feel what you feel." You explained and Wanda quirked a brow.

"What can you shapeshift into?" You grinned and set your own cup down before closing your eyes, and a second later you were changed into a little black cat. Wanda giggled as you headbutted her hand, giving you little scritches behind your ear. You licked her hand before sitting back and changing into your human form again.

"I can also hide my ears and tail, but I don't like to do that unless I'll be around humans."

"I don't blame you, your ears and tail are very cute." Her words made you grin proudly, the two of you continued to chat and you finished your tea.

🐈‍⬛

The rest of the day was filled with you helping Wanda around the cottage and outside. Thanks to your strength you chopped up maybe too much wood to build a fire. Not that Wanda minded- she loved how cute and eager to please you were. And you used your teleportation to pop into a market and get some food and other necessities.

Wanda was already loving having you around. Thanks to the bond the two of you had, you had an instant connection and it felt like you two had known each other all your lives. Plus living in the mountains often got lonely- and while she had gotten used to solitude, being a lone wolf wasn't something she wanted forever.

She wanted a forever partner, someone to share her life with. And maybe with you, she was getting a second chance at that.

"Mistress, may I lay with you?" Your sweet voice shook Wanda out of her thoughts. She smiled when she noticed you were done building the fire and she nodded, patting the cushion next to her.

"Yes, Kitten, come here." At her approval you quickly made your way over and laid on the couch next to her, your head in her lap. Her slim fingers ran over your hair, stroking it. She could hear soft purrs coming from you and it made her heart bloom with affection.

"I am so glad I found you today, Mistress. I've missed you." You spoke softly, a small pout on your lips. It was hard living without her for as long as you did, but it was all worth it to lay in her lap like you were now.

"I'm glad too, Kitten. I promise I'm here now, and you won't be lonely ever again." Her words were just as soft as yours as she leaned down to kiss your forehead. You closed your eyes, the excitement of the day wearing you out.

Wanda flicked her wrist, her powers grabbing a blanket from her- your- bedroom and laid it over the both of you.

Her own words echoed in her mind: You won't be lonely ever again. And Wanda couldn't help but think that maybe it was true for herself as well.

#Wanda Maximoff fluff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x poc!reader #wanda maximoff x woc!reader #my writing #au: the purrfect pair

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winterrrnight · 1 month

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HI BAE!!!!!!! CONGRATS ON 600!!! 🙌🏼💓💓

go on without me - 16 + 21 with rafe🤭🤭🤭🤭

ahh thank you so much sweet abi!! I'm so sorry it took me so long, I just wasn't feeling satisfied with what I was writing :( I hope you like reading this! but please feel free to not read this if you aren't comfortable w the warnings given :)

protective

PAIRING: toxic!dark!rafe cameron x gn! musician!reader

SUMMARY: rafe doesn’t like another man touching you, not even as much as talking to you or looking at you.

WARNINGS: dark content! minimal swearing, established relationship, slight use of nicknames like babe, jealousy, over protective & possessive rafe, canon!rafe, toxic!rafe, threats to kill, allusions to anxiety and being scared, and kinda shitty writing (??) (please please let me know if something should be added!!!!)

EDITH SPEAKS: this is very, very new for me. this is my third attempt at this fic, the first two just didn’t turn out how I wanted, and the best approach just felt like dark!rafe. this is me basically exploring my writing and trying out new things and testing myself, so if it’s not as good as the rest of stuff you may have read, I’m really sorry, I’m a beginner 😭😭

please please heed the warnings, and it may not be as dark as some other stuff on here, it felt pretty dark while writing, and if at any moment you feel this isn’t for you please feel free to click off.

moreover, if I am being honest here, you might have read a lot of rafe fics based on this idea/prompt. so please don't think I copied someone off for this, this is completely my own creation.

and if you liked this, please please share your feedback with me, and reblog it to support my content <3

PROMPTS REQUESTED: “Actually, we’re leaving. We have something to get to.” “No we don’t – oh, okay fine I’ll call you guys later.” & “You can’t just lose your temper like this each time you get a little upset!”

600 followers celebration (now closed!) || navigation

Everyone around you cheers out loud, glasses of champagne raised in the air as huge grins form on everyone’s faces. Your new single – after a break of over three years came out today, and you have already received an overwhelming amount of support. You’re in your studio, celebrating with your team and your amazing boyfriend.

“Congratulations babe,” Rafe smiles as he hugs you tight, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. You grin at him, hugging him back even tighter as you mumble a ‘thank you’.

You all celebrate for some more time, drinking fancy champagne, eating food, and taking pictures to savor the moment.

You, Rafe, and Jim, your producer, are just talking at the side when you hear your name being called. You turn to see it’s Saylor, who is one of the interns at the record label you are signed with. Your single was the first project he worked on.

“Yeah?” You ask, smiling as you approach him.

“Congratulations on the release,” he smiles, and gives you a small hug. You gladly hug him back, a grin on your face.

“Thank you Saylor,” you smile. “You were absolutely great for your first project,” you say. “I was actually asking Jim if you’d like to continue working for the upcoming singles too,”

Saylor’s lips are pulled in a huge grin as his eyes light up. “You’re serious right now?”

You chuckle as you nod your head. “Yes, of course! I would love for you to be able to gain as much experience as you can,”

Saylor absolutely can’t contain his excitement as he pulls you in for another hug. You are caught off guard but gladly hug back, chuckling a little as you do so.

“Thank you so much,” he smiles. “Seriously, it means a lot to me,” he says, a certain spark in his eyes.

“Of course, a talent like yours shouldn’t go to waste,” you say.

His smile doesn’t falter as he speaks again. “Can I get a picture with you, if that’s not an issue?”

“Oh of course not!” You say, turning to look at Rafe. “Rafe?” You call out.

He breaks from the conversation he was having with Jim and walks up to you. “Yeah babe?” Saylor passes him his phone and asks him to take a picture of you two.

Saylor stands next to you as his arm wraps around your waist, maybe a little too tighter than it should be but you don’t really say anything. However, it doesn’t go unnoticed by Rafe, and he takes a sharp inhale when he sees Saylor’s side pressing more against you, as your arm rests around his shoulder.

Rafe tends to be… possessive, and you’ve always known that. Even when you both weren’t together, he wasn’t the biggest fan of how others would usually hit on you at parties, and would feel enraged when they wouldn’t let you go after you would politely ask to leave you alone.

But that possessiveness only increased when you both got together, when you officially became his girl. There’s nothing you can do about it, because that’s how Rafe is.

You can see the expression on Rafe’s face; the subtle ticking of his jaw, the acute twitching of his eye – you’ve known him long enough to identify his facial expressions just the second they appear. You are quick to remove your arm from Saylor’s shoulder, your arm now resting on your side, but Saylor doesn’t seem to catch on that; instead his grip on your waist tightens a bit, because he most probably wants you to wrap your arm around his shoulders again.

Nevertheless, Rafe takes the picture, and hands Saylor’s phone back. Saylor takes a few seconds before he lets go of you, which only happened because you gently removed yourself from his grip. You quickly appear at Rafe’s side and intertwine your hands, squeezing his hand tightly.

“Thank you for the picture,” Saylor smiles as he looks at the phone screen. All you say is ‘welcome’ with a small smile, and Rafe pulls you to a different part of the studio.

As the small party carries on, Saylor makes subtle moves – or moves which he thinks are subtle, but aren’t missed by Rafe at all. It’s Rafe’s last straw when Saylor gently grips your waist to move past you, saying a ‘sorry’ as he walks by. At that very moment, you decide it’s best if you talk to Saylor about it yourself, tell him that you know what he’s doing, and you clearly have a boyfriend. But before you can do that, Rafe’s arm wraps quickly around your waist, and his grip is tight.

Jim says something about going to a nice nearby restaurant for dinner, but Rafe cuts him off. “Actually, we’re leaving. We have something to get to.” He says firmly. You look at him with a slightly confused expression, thinking if you both do have any other appointments today or not, but your mind is blank.

“No we don’t –,” you say, but Rafe snaps his head at you, his jaw muscles tense, and your eyes slightly widen at the sight as you catch up in the fraction of a second. “Oh, okay fine I’ll call you guys later.”

Rafe leads you out of the studio, and you barely save your half full glass of champagne from falling off the table you’re trying to keep it at as he ushers you out. He opens the door of his truck for you and as you sit down, he slams it a little too harshly than usual. He walks around the truck and sits down next to you, his grip tight on the steering wheel as he starts to drive.

You take a deep breath as you lean back in the chair. This is not the first time this is happening, and you know it’s certainly not the last. You aren’t scared because you already know how this entire situation plays out. He will raise his voice at you, say stuff like how you’re his and only his, how he absolutely hates other guys looking at you a certain way because he just can’t bear the sight, and how he gives you the best treatment you can get.

You’re just silently listening to the soft music from the radio as you look out the window. You steal a glance at Rafe and see his jaw is still tightened, his grip tight on the wheel.

“Relax your jaw Rafe,” you say plainly, turning to look back out the window. You hear him take a sharp breath.

“I did not like how he was looking at you and holding you,” he utters.

You just roll your eyes at him, as if you knew that’s exactly what he was going to say. “It was just a picture Rafe, you don’t have to be so protective about that,” you say.

Rafe snaps his head towards you, but quickly turns back to look at the road. “Just a picture?” He echoes. “So you’re telling me you loved the way he was holding your waist hm?”

“Oh god when did I say that!” You retort. “And besides, did you not see? I literally removed my hand off his shoulders the instant you saw it, and moved away from him the moment you took the picture. There’s no need for you to get so worked up!”

You can see Rafe’s chest heaving as he takes rapid breaths, his jaw ticking as you can literally see a thunderstorm brewing up in him.

“You can’t just lose your temper like this each time you get a little upset!” You say exasperatedly. “You shouldn’t have been upset in the first place because there’s literally nothing to be upset about!”

Just the second those words leave your mouth, he bellows your name causing you to shut up right that moment. “Shut up!” He yells, smacking his palm against the steering wheel once. You feel the truck speed up, his foot pressing harder against the accelerator. You glance at the speedometer and see the needle pointing to larger numbers more and more with each passing second.

“Rafe-” you mumble out but you are cut off the very next instant.

“You just refuse to see it huh?” He hissed. “You refuse to see how I am the best for you. How I can, how I do treat you better than anyone else,” he goes on, and he uses his free hand to gesture around in the air.

“Get this in your head okay?” He speaks, his voice now eerily low as he gestures to his head, tapping his fingertips at his temple. “I never, ever want you as much as looking at someone else, you got that?”

You can feel the truck speeding up more. Your hands are clutching the sides of your seat, as your nails dig into the leather. Your lips are parted as you let out shaky breaths, your eyes wide and shiny with the layer of tears that have formed over them.

You thought you had seen the worst. Which was him arguing with you and telling you he’s the best for you. But right now, when his foot only seems to be pressing more and more against the gas pedal, your back pushed back against the seat due to the fast speed of the truck, you realize there’s a hidden side to Rafe you’ve never seen before.

“Rafe I-”

“Say it!” He yells, cutting you off swiftly. “Say it, that you won’t even look at anyone else!”

“Rafe please-” you mumble out, squeezing your eyes shut as hot tears flow down your face, leaving a sticky trail as they go down.

“Say it before I crash this truck in a fucking tree!”

His breathing is heavy, his eyes are wide, and you can’t recognise him anymore. His eyes are an icy blue instead of the usual dark blue you get lost in so easily, and that’s the moment you realize Rafe will never ever let you exercise any control over him. Ever.

“I-” you hiccup, “I won’t look at anyone else, okay?” You gasp, gulping down the lump in your throat as the tears keep on streaming down.

When you don’t feel Rafe slow down the truck, the seatbelt starting to dig into your neck harshly and your grip on the seat gets harder, your breathing gets more erratic as you try to gather more air to speak up again.

“Rafe, baby, please please slow down I…” you whisper, looking at him desperately.

You expect him to lash out, but he doesn’t, and the truck starts to slow down, coming at a normal pace. You move a shaky hand to your face, running your fingers across your skin to wipe off your tears, but your breath keeps on coming out in short gasps, and you feel yourself tremble a little; your heart loud in your chest.

The truck slows down more and more, and you see Rafe has parked it at the side of the road. The truck comes to a full stop, and you turn to look at Rafe through your still slightly blurry vision, your eyes now red, and panic being the only feeling clouding your mind.

Rafe rests his forehead against the steering wheel, taking in a deep breath. His grip on the wheel loosens a bit, the knuckles not so white anymore as their color flushes back. He lifts his head from the wheel and turns to look back at you, his eyes now not so icy, but still not the comforting warm blue you’ve always loved and adored.

A smile tugs on his lips, and it’s not the kind which always warms you up the moment you look at it, but it’s… sinister. It’s a smile you’ve never seen before. It’s the kind of smile that shows that he is enjoying seeing you this way. Seeing you so weak under his control.

He moves his hands to your face, brushing any loose strands off your slightly sticky face and gently running his fingers across your cheeks.

“Now baby,” he says softly, but the softness doesn’t comfort you – no. It scares you even more. “You made that a little too hard didn’t you, hm? Next time when I ask you to do something, just do it, okay? Don’t have time to wait, or- or to see how you react m’kay? Just… agree to what I say. It’s not as hard as you may think,”

He leans forward and presses a kiss to your forehead, but at that moment, all you want to do is to scrunch up into a ball and be far, far away from him and his cold, unknown touch.

Your breathing fastens up, but all you can do is stare at him with wide eyes, wondering where did that sweet, loving boyfriend of yours go and got replaced by this?

When he sees you aren’t arguing back, his menacing grin only widens, and he takes his hands off you, turning to start up the truck again and continue to drive – as if absolutely nothing happened.

A hand rests on your thigh, softly rubbing the skin through the material of your pants, but you’re too afraid to even slightly move under the touch. It’s cold, it sends shivers down your spine, and you don’t know who’s hand it is.

If only someone could stop and tell you that you had lost your ‘loving’ boyfriend forever.

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

TAGLIST: @runningfrom2am @saccharinesammie @maybankslover @totalswag @madelynie @chenslucy @ietss @elle-mp3 @viawritesstuff @wallsdreams @lunalitva @sadfury @newsies-pape-girl @jamesbuckybarneswify @xxxlaura @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @callsignwidow @starkowswife @drewstarkeyswifehoe @jjchaer @f4ll-for-you @wearemadeofstardust0 @drewsmusee @rafegirly @addriaenne @leighbronk @rafesdrew @bejeweledreverie @raf3sgff @aerangi @drewstarkey1bae @moneymaybank @spideysimpossiblegirl @the-tortured-poets-depxrtment

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thedevilssinner · 7 months

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Elven soulmates - Astarion x Elf!Tav - Headcanon

I listened to one song and for some reason it screamed Astarion x Tav at me. This man is really ruining my life 😅

Anyway… the song was ‘IDK you yet’ and I just thought about the two of them being soulmates or something like that and then I found a thread on https://www.enworld.org about elven relationships and someone mentioned soulmates which got me searching and I found this page https://www.realmshelps.net/charbuild/races/elf/leaf.shtml where is mentioned that elves can find someone they call their thiramin which should mean soulmate in elvish language.

Here’s the part from the https://www.realmshelps.net :

Upon reaching adulthood, elves continue their sexual explorations. Eventually, though, each discovers that his heart has developed a capacity for lasting and exclusive love. Like most other important things in their lives, elves describe this in mystical terms. They believe that a person's spiritual progress is unknowingly intertwined with that of another. This soulmate is called a thiramin. Upon meeting his thiramin, an elf's heart fills with passion and certainty. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, the other party is felled by the same feeling of immediate and eternal devotion. (Though rare, an unrequited feeling of thiramin is always disastrous, bringing centuries of wrenching heartbreak. Sufferers often commit suicide or succumb to the temptations of evil.) Elves almost always feel thiramin for people they meet for the first time: In other words, visitors from other communities. Intermarriage between communities strengthens the bonds of communication between settlements, allowing them to quickly band together against the armies of evil that march across the land.

Now… You can imagine what that did to me, when I thought about the idea of Elf Tav knowing Astarion before he was turned into a vampire so… here’s some headcanons. Suffer with me.

Tav and Astarion met in Baldur's gate. Tav being new to the city. Young elf exploring the world outside their home.

Maybe they met in an art gallery or a tavern or some other place… that’s up to you, but when their eyes met, they immediately knew the other one was their thiramin. Heart beating wildly as they smile at each other.

They start dating, of course. Trying to get to know each other and spend as much time together as possible.

I think that Tav would call Astarion their star… or maybe even ‘my starry night’

Astarion would call them ‘my moon’ (idk, I just love the idea of them using moon and stars as pet names)

Or… inspired by Game of Thrones - Astarion would call Tav ‘my sun and stars' while Tav would call him ‘the moon of my life’

Maybe they dated for a year or two, thinking about buying a house together.

But then Astarion was beaten ‘to death’ by the Gurs.

Tav could immediately tell that something was terribly wrong. The connection they felt with Astarion severing and sharp pain piercing through their heart. Panicked, they tried to find Astarion, going to his home but they already came too late.

Their blood turned into ice when they saw the mercenaries from the Flaming Fist already around his home. Seeing them carrying an awfully pale and beaten body of Astarion. (I don't remember if it was mentioned if Astarion lived in a Lower or Upper city before he was turned, so I chose a Lower city 🤷🏻‍♀️) (Also, not sure how and where exactly were he turned so I hope this is fine)

After a few days, Tav still couldn’t comprehend what truly happened. They felt just… empty. As if every color, every piece of happiness was ripped away from their soul. Not even able to visit Astarion’s grave because of that.

When Tav's family found out, they came to them, taking them to their homeland, because they knew how bad losing your soulmate could end for an elf. Tav fell into a deep grief and depression that lasted almost 100 years, doing some questionable things here and there until they started to function again.

On the other side - Astarion was beaten by Gurs but his final death came from Cazador, the change itself working just like if he truly died. His connection to Tav is severed and the shock of his change into a vampire erases all memory of them from his mind.

And then the 200 years of torture begin. Astarion doing anything he could and needed to do for survival. Flirting and luring victims to Cazador. He was good at it, great even, but something always felt wrong.

Well, everything he did for Cazador was wrong, but touching another person, sleeping with them, and whispering words of love to them seemed wrong for another reason he couldn't understand. It was as if his subconscious was always trying to tell him something, but he couldn't say what.

There was just always something wrong with the victims. Wrong eye color, wrong tone of voice or even their pet names they sometimes used for him.

Is he missing something? Someone? Longing for the embrace of a specific person that is unknown to him.

He always blamed his vampirism for this feeling. Thinking that’s just how it is. The feeling of wrongness and emptiness residing in him for the 200 years of his unlife.

Until the Mind Flayers and Nautiloid.

But back to Tav:

After a hundred years of grief, Tav finally started to get better. Diving into learning the profession/class they have chosen. Trying to enjoy life as much as they could, but the emptiness never fully disappeared. As if part of their soul was still gone.

They even tried to date, pressured by their family to at least try, but when their new partner tried to kiss them… they just couldn’t do it, dull pain spreading through their body and guilt flooding their mind. They immediately break up with the person and decide never to find a partner again.

But apart from that, they were relatively happy. Another 100 years slowly drifting away, the memories of Astarion remaining, if a little faded.

Until the Mind Flayers and Nautiloid.

Game plot:

Tav was walking with Shadowheart and Gale when they heard someone call for help.

Of course, they immediately headed for the voice, trying to help all the survivors of the crashed ship.

But when they finally came to the person they heard, the blood ran cold in their veins, the weapon they held falling from their grasp. It was like seeing him for the first time in their life but at the same time not… Astarion.

They notice that he looks different. His eyes are the wrong color and he’s so pale… but it’s him. They know it is because their soul sang when their eyes locked… but how?

“Hurry, I’ve got one of those bran things…” Astarion's voice trailed off as he fixed his eyes on Tav and gasped as an unfamiliar sensation filled his body. It was as if everything finally clicked and his mind was flooded with memories he didn't know he had.

That's how far I've come with this idea. I'm not sure how it would have gone on, but I imagine it would have taken a while for Tav and Astarion to become partners again. Both mourning the years they could have spent together if it weren't for Cazador. Tav learning to love the new Astarion he has become, because he was different from the elf they knew before and Astarion learning to love again overall.

#astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x elf!tav #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion ancunin #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #headcannons #astarion fanfic idea #fanfic idea #astarion headcanons #astarion x gn tav #astarion x gn reader #elf tav #Spotify

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majorbaby · 2 months

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it takes a conscious effort to break your patterns of consumption and unlearn the notion beauty, interiority, diverse ways of existence aren't exclusive to whiteness or maleness. part of that isn't your fault. certain music is played on the radio, certain shows survive cancellation no matter what, certain people seem to be able to commit the worst possible acts against other human beings and are excused on account of their creative genius. others are selectively punished, with good reason sure, but still, selectively.

now more than ever it's easier to immerse yourself in art made by people outside of the mainstream. reading lists, free resources, playlists... all this stuff is more accessible than ever, but you've got to make an effort to give it a try. it's black history month, the recs are pouring in, go have a look. or take a chance on something absolutely no one has recommended anywhere and if you find something you like, rec it to someone else because the likelihood is they haven't heard of it.

tracy chapman's "fast car" is one of eleven songs that appears on her self-titled debut album. can you name the second hit single from it? if you're american and you fell anywhere left of center as of the 2016 election, it should be on the tip of your tongue if you were engaged in your country's politics at the time, regardless of your level of actual investment in the system. if not, the next time you're doing a task you need both hands with, washing the dishes, having dinner, doing your makeup, put that album on.

there's a post with over 100K notes on here that i see all the time of bruce springsteen and clarence clemons kissing. there's a part of that that is immediately meaningful to many if you're lgbtq, and a part that is harder for non-black lgbtq people to feel the weight of. but it is worth trying to do and was part of the reason why they kissed so often in the first place. clarence clemons was from norfolk, virginia. he released multiple albums outside of his work with the e street band. they may not be for you, but give them a try.

give enough music, or movies, or books that aren't a part of the approved canon a try, and there's no way you won't find something you don't feel as passionate about as you do about springsteen, siken, the beatles, what have you.

james baldwin was a prolific artist. see if you can't find something of his you like more than giovanni's room.

immerse yourself in ringo sheena, who mitski cites as one of her influences.

if you have difficulty paying attention to music you don't recognize, (i get it) make a playlist that alternates tracks you know and love with brand new tracks. start small. 5 faves of all time, 5 you're going to try out. you won't like everything, but you might find yourself looking forward to 6 songs instead of 5 eventually.

for movies, pick an actor whose performance you loved in something and explore their work. last year i picked whoopi goldberg, also a prolific artist, with a vast body of work that's pretty accessible as a result of her constant, intentional effort.

if you're an artist yourself, you can only stand to improve by getting to know your fellow artists better. so expand your notion of what art is. you can do it for free in lots of cases, and you're spending that time listening to music or reading or watching movies or series anyway, what have you got to lose?

anti-racism sometimes means engaging in real-world narratives of pain endured by brown and black people. that pain permeates much of our art, but we're just as three-dimensional as everybody else, and every aspect of our experiences come through in our work. you know that already, because what else is happening when you indulge in various genres. for everything you love or enjoy, there's a brown or black person who's doing something along those lines, in many cases, those genres wouldn't exist in their current form without the influence of our communities, some more than others, depending on where you're from. you can actually keep one foot inside your comfort zone and dip your toe into something else. that choice is both a joy and a luxury.

#im saying this with generosity #the best time to start was ten years ago the next best time is today #hope i don't regret this. lol.

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liberationtheology · 5 months

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I’ve found that malleability over the years where I once found hate, cobbling a faith together from a variety of sources: affect theorist Lauren Berlant; sci-fi author Octavia Butler (and her emergent religion of Earthseed); Episcopalian priest Pauli Murray, Trappist monk Thomas Merton, Quaker Bayard Rustin, Zen Buddhist Rev. angel Kyodo williams, and Dorothy Day. I have spent the last decade moving between faith spaces, queer spaces, and organizing spaces, watching the divisions between them melt away. What I once saw as contradictions that could never be resolved now look more like a modern theology for and by LGBTQ+ people pushing for a different world. Long before Javelin, Sufjan Stevens embodied that very promise: that queerness and divinity could coexist and thrive. Being gay and being into God never had to be a binary choice. [...] In Sufjan’s essayistic liner notes for Javelin, he beautifully, confoundingly explores his own faith crises, the experience of sight, and his understanding of God. “I was once again myself waiting to happen again and again and again and again and again … until the end,” he writes. This latest batch of words from the artist, both written and sung, feel very much like an outpouring from someone who is still here, despite it all, trying to reconcile a heart full of love with an often cruel world. As we try to continue living past the initial shock of how badly a bigoted world want us dead, we will keep losing the good ones, again and again. But there is more for us who are still here in the struggle. As Berlant wrote just before their passing, “Once you let in the deaths, all that follows is life. A thing to be used.”

#u #sufjan stevens #queer #religion

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0luv9 · 4 months

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this love || mattheo riddle

Summary: he should know better, he should understand that it's pointless but he is a fool, acting like he knows better despite the years of fruitless pining. He lingers just for the off chance- that you could be his.

[post hogwarts setting]

Beware: angst, a bit of fluff, minimal plot (the plot itself hasn't been explored much), she/her pronouns used, mostly written in second person, kinda fast-paced, brief mention of drinking, reader has been wronged, some parts of it are fast-paced, reader's oc boyfriend, marriage, misusage of magic, blood and fighting, hospitals.

(I don't know what I just wrote)

Words: 8.1k

He knew he was fighting a losing battle, knew that from the very moment, his eyes fell on you for the first time. Yet he can’t help but try, try and win this battle, to win you over because he knows it’ll be worth it. There’s no explaining behind this unreasonable love for you, there’s no clear moment where he came to the realization, that it’s something he’s always known, to be in love with you.

But you are in his arms, your boyfriend, the perfect man, the sight telling him to look away, telling him that you are off limits.

How can he forget you though? You are the reason he breathes nowadays, but you are so blissfully unaware of the turmoil you’ve caused. Whenever you are in his sight, his heart pounds violently against his chest, he has never felt this way towards someone else and he doesn’t think he’ll remain sane any further.

Mattheo was never a sane man, so why pretend otherwise?

He’s a fucking hypocrite, has made you a bad habit of his, he wouldn’t like it if someone stole you away from him, but he’d gladly steal you away from anyone else. But you are you, ever so loyal to your boyfriend, you've been with the guy for over 5 years now, sweethearts of Hogwarts and now sweethearts of the ministry.

It's been three years since you've all left Hogwarts he was waiting for you to break up with your boyfriend, but it never came, it wasn't some case of stupid teen love like he thought it was, in fact, it became even serious-

He should have given up long back, but he just couldn't help himself, he hasn't changed much over the years, old habits die hard. Troublemaker then, troublemaker now. Mattheo wanted to beat the shit out of your boyfriend Lucas, how could he though? It would hurt you and there was no excuse he could give; it would only strain your relationship with him.

He wants to make a move but knows your answer will always be negative, so he keeps a stone over his heart and pines after you from afar.

...

But it's not enough, it's never enough. One look at you entering the room with fucking Anderson feels like a hundred knives stabbing through his heart all at once. You are in emerald green, the same shade as Lucas' shirt, his arm around you, looking ever so beautiful. Mattheo closes his eyes, hand over his burning chest trying to calm himself down as Lucas leans down to kiss you.

"They look so good together," he hears Pansy gush from his side, his friends agreeing, and he can't even bring himself to look in your direction. Would it be the same if it was him instead of him? He can only imagine being Lucas, it's pure jealousy he feels towards the man.

Why did he even come to this party? To see you, of course, there hasn't been a single day where he hasn't seen you, but he fucking forgot that you wouldn't be alone, you are never alone, he's always with you. It wouldn't be the same without the two sweethearts, it was the ministry's doing after all.

He thinks though, would Lucas love you like him? Mattheo just wants you to be his, it pains him to know that he can never be with you. You have so much control over him, but you don't even know, he smiles when you smile, he's angry when you are angry, he's sad when you are sad-

Has memorized each detail of yours, made you a constant in his life, fell in love with you all over again, with every smile of yours, with every word of yours, with every hum of your voice, with every movement of yours, he just couldn’t help himself, you took over him, it was inevitable.

Ever since the day you walked into his life, he walked with you, always together. Two worlds of their own, revolving around each other, that was until you found your sun, found someone else to revolve around but he was still tied to you, still circling you and always ended up colliding with him.

...

Why did you have to choose Lucas and not him? He's known you longer, he's liked you long before him, you were his best friend before you were Lucas’ girlfriend but why did he come first in your books?

You turned his world upside down that Thanksgiving day during your sixth year, running to him smiling and blushing, he thought you were about to confess to him but instead, you told him about your crush on Lucas and how you had scored a date with him- all out of the blue, he never saw it coming, who even was Lucas? “Lucas Anderson, he’s in the same year as us, the Ravenclaw perfect!” Then he never heard the end of it.

You with that stupid smile of yours, it was a sickening sight really, he loved seeing you smile but he couldn’t stand to look at it when he knew it was because of your boyfriend. It was as though, he had been replaced, it was no longer “Mattheo this, Mattheo that-” “Lucas! I’ll be wearing this to the party, or should I wear that dress, you know the blue one you love,” hanging off Lucas’ arm, navigating through the mess you and the girls had made in the common room, with those lovesick eyes-

‘Get over it’ he tells himself, but he can’t help the ugly feeling creeping up on him, Mattheo feels like throwing up as the nostalgia surges through him at the sight, you used to hold onto him like that, he silently looks at you, there’s grief in his eyes.

As the days pass by, he realizes how you no longer sit with him, how far you’ve been. And he can do nothing but watch you from a distance, can’t object so he seals his lips together, never mentions it, waits for the sweet honeymoon phase to be over but it never ends...

It’s been five years, and you two are still sickeningly in love with each other, it’s all in his face, he steals a few glances in your direction, can’t spare much more than a few seconds because it pains to look at you all happy in some other guy’s arms, the one who does right by you, the one who never gave you a reason to walk away.

Anderson made it all look so easy, he swayed you off your feet the moment he met you and here he was, Mattheo Riddle, still trying to quantify his unending love for you, he misses you, so he drinks your favourite drink, in the memory of you, you are the star of the night, the centre of the ballroom, too bright for his eyes, too sweet for his tongue, like the wine and rum you drink.

But he savours it, it’s the closest he can get to you nowadays, he’s gotten used to living like this, in pieces, each part seeking you in different ways, some part of him begs to hear your voice, some part of him longs for your touch but he can do nothing about it because Mattheo Riddle doesn’t have the privilege of being loved by you, he’s just another man in the endless sea of your admirers.

Even the silence feels uncomfortable now, he can’t just stick to his old ways, he can’t just silently watch the two of you dance in each other's arms, moving gracefully around the expanse of the shiny floor, he excused himself, a strong drink in his hand. Tears prickled down his face the moment the midnight breeze made contact with his skin, his head spinning with images of you, the memories of you, of the last moments of you with him, the last time you properly talked to him.

Mattheo remembers how you’d clean him up after he was bloodied up during some fight, how you’d lecture him, how soft and careful you were with him. How you’d patiently listen to his rants, helped him with his short-tempered nature, helped him navigate through all the academic stress. He remembers the healing touch of yours, the way your fingers threaded through his hair, massaging his forehead, humming to him as he lay his head in your lap, easing him of the sharp stingy headache, continuing your ministrations until he dozed off comfortably in your lap while you rested your head uncomfortably against the wall.

His heart swells as he reminisces those days, those memories that probably meant much more to him than they ever meant to you, even today’s grief and sorrow can’t stop the fond smile from appearing on his face. He’s been on this journey for so long, he understands this feeling too well, letting his mind wander, smiling at the sweet times till he remembers how it’s no longer in his fate to be in your arms, reality punches him in the gut, old habits die hard- he had gotten into a lot of verbal sprawls at the ministry, it got physical a few times and you weren’t there beside him, instead you were beside Lucas, sending him a pitiful look and that was about it, he had come to expect of you to be by his side whenever things got nasty, you had always been there but now, you were a stranger, were you even there to begin with? The look of pity was so unlike you-

The loud conclusive thump of the band pulls him out of it, out of all the questions, of what was and what could’ve been. He hears footsteps nearing him and quickly walks into the first door he sees. Wiping away his tears, ruining the sleeves of his navy suit, it’s draining him to love you but but but he can’t just fucking stop.

Mattheo didn’t realise what happened in the next few seconds, the door to the closet he was hiding in opened and someone entered the tiny space closing the door after themselves, it was you, damn his unfair fate.

You look surprised as you take notice of him, your hand reaching the door handle shaking it frantically, locked.

You glance down at the handle whispering “Alohomora,” It doesn’t work instead your head feels heavy, and you don’t have your wand on you, you look at Mattheo and then look towards the handle, silently asking him to open the door, “Don’t have your wand?” you shake your head, it’s amusing, the situation the two of you are in, he has his wand with him but he’ll pretend otherwise, he’s gotten you with him after so long, “Me neither and I was never good at wandless magic,” it was a lie of course, but anything to be with you.

It was strange though, why wasn’t your wandless magic working, that too with such a simple charm, he pushed that thought to the back of his mind, he couldn’t focus, not like this, not with you so close to him. Breathing the same sir, enclosed in a tight dark place, it feels surreal, he’s losing it. Mattheo can feel your strong gaze on him, you try to create some space between the two of you, but he holds you close, there’s no space what were you even doing?

You close your eyes at the contact, the touch was cruel, it was intrusive, it felt as though your mind was being probed- it hurt, physically hurt. It felt wrong, it burned where he touched you but there was an itch his touch was scratching, the longer he held onto you, and you started melting, the pain minimising by seconds, it no longer felt like a punishment instead it felt familiar, comforting, knocking you off your alarmed senses. You slowly breathe in, taking in the smell of his cologne and the smell of strong whiskey on his breath and... and- strawberry daiquiri, his hand left yours as you opened your eyes, his eyes were sad, he was Mattheo, your best friend!

Your vision unfocused and focused back again, body aching at the loss of contact, mind blank, veins burning, he looks away for a second and your heart clenches uncharacteristically. There's no actual logic behind your next move yet you do it because you ache for it, you don't exactly know why but you pull his face down and kiss him. He pulls away almost instantly after the initial shock, what the fuck are you thinking?

The light that seeps through the little cracks of the door falls onto your face, lighting it up, making Mattheo gulp at the sight, you look up at him with eyes so unnaturally blown off, hazy and dilated- you tug his collar staring at his lips, Mattheo inhales sharply and bends down to kiss you because, "Fuck it."

He holds your face tightly in his hands, cold metal rings digging into your skin, it's all he has ever wanted, there's no morality to hone here not when he has you right where he wants and why should he care that it's wrong, when you clearly don't? Mattheo kisses you with such fervour that your mind spins, your knees going weak all of a sudden making it hard for them to hold you up and body going numb unable to pick up on the feel of his body against yours, darkness surrounding you even when you shoot your eyes open, you feel yourself sink and then- nothing.

Mattheo freaks out when you go limp in his arms, he mutters a quick spell to unlock the door and pulls you out, making you sit against the door, patting your face and trying to wake you up. “Riddle!”– it’s Lucas, rushing by your side, taking you from Mattheo’s arms into his own, the worry on his face is akin to the one on Mattheo’s but there’s terror in his eyes too as he looks up at Mattheo, “What- What happened–” he just looks back down at your unconscious self, gulping hard at the crease of your brows, easing the tension with his fingers, “I don’t know- I just found her, like this you know...” he lies through his teeth and Lucas shakes his head, not paying any serious attention to the man in front of him when his girlfriend is unconscious in his arms, “I’ll take her back home, don’t worry-,” then Mattheo hears the man mutter to himself, “I hope, she’ll be alright,” Anderson picks her up in his arms, spares Mattheo a quick glance and rushes out.

…

Are you even there-? He tries to be around you, but you always look out of it, never paying any attention to him, in fact you don’t even look his way while he’s out here staring at you, every thought leads up to you, it was tiring and worrisome because you are smiling, so brightly, so close to him but somehow your light doesn’t reach him anymore.

You both work in different departments of the ministry but he always has found a way to be around you, he’ll never stop. Why should he stay away from you? He doesn’t fucking like the fact that you are ignoring him and it’s more annoying because it’s not like you are actively trying to avoid him, you just act like he doesn’t exist, like he's some stranger, there’s no active effort in your actions- he is your best friend for fucks sake the least you could do is treat him like one.

How can he live with such distance from you, you who acts like he’s a nobody, he’s always near you, always around you but somehow you keep straying far away- how is supposed to handle you, the you- who pretends that the kiss never happened, who pretends that you didn’t stain his lips with your lipstick, the woman who tainted him and pretended like she didn’t do it, why’d you kiss him like you love him and then act like it didn’t fucking happen- running off to your happy to go relationship, there was something off, very off about you, you didn’t look bothered in the slightest, it wasn’t like you, at all.

Mattheo couldn’t stand to look at you kiss Lucas as though you weren’t onto him the other night, how can you just move past it?

…

It hasn’t even been a week since the party and his friends are getting ready for another one, he loves them, but he is in no mood to party not after what happened, how would they know anyway- neither you nor him have spoken about it, why’s there no guilt in your actions as you hold onto Lucas?

The party, yes something about ‘the current events that took place, call for a big celebration’ he didn’t pay much attention to his friends, not until they mentioned your name, “They both will love it, especially her-” “I am sorry, what are we celebrating?” he finally took part in the conversation, all heads at the table turned towards him, “She didn’t tell you?” Blaise was the first one to break the awkward silence, “Tell me what?” at this, his friends shared a look, as though he had said something ridiculous. Why can’t they just tell him, instead of asking rhetorical questions? His patience was wearing thin at their silence, he stared at Draco, the closest to him, gaze so intense it compelled the blonde to speak, “Anderson proposed-”

Mattheo was on his feet the next second, he had heard enough, storming off to your department floor, you had some explaining to do. You sure had the audacity to play with him, he never expected such a wound from you.

There you are, alone and working, he walks towards you in vexation, you stand up as you hear his angry feet, he stands in front of you breathing heavily.

There’s no longer a spark in your eyes as you look at him, you are within his reach, yet you feel so far away– your sweet smile is still there but it feels different. “Good afternoon! What can I do for you today?” your voice is polite, and his eyes fall to your left hand, there it is– the sign of his blatant rejection. You kissed him and now not even a week later you are engaged to someone else, he doesn’t get it. Should he be selfish and break the truth to Lucas, have you all for himself? Would you even want that- will you ever fucking choose him? He harshly grips your hand, pulling it up, in front of your face, as if mocking your decision, “what’s this?” he squeezes your ring finger so carelessly, it hurts him that he doesn’t seem to care about your happiness for once, you only smile at him tilting your head to the side, “An engagement ring, sir-” he drops your hand, your words sting but your actions sting more, there’s not an ounce of guilt on your face, you simply look at him as if he’s some rando, who has no place to question you.

Mattheo balls his hands into tight fists, nails digging into his palms, shutting his eyes, bringing the fists up to his forehead trying to soak it all in, it’s nauseating, what happened?! What’s happening- you looked, felt, heck even sounded so different, it was you but then he looks at you a second longer and he no longer sees the eyes he fell in love with. Your mere existence is like poison, spreading throughout his body without his permission, he tried, okay? Tried to get rid of you, tried not to fall in love with you-

You used to smile, and he used to look for the source, capturing the moment in his heart, trying to recreate it, he loved to make you happy. Mattheo doesn’t remember a life where he didn’t love you, he couldn’t just think beyond you once the inevitable happened, you made him happy, you made his life better, and he knows no other way of existing other than being helplessly in love with you, no matter how much it hurts, just tell him you love, even if it’s a lie.

No. Don’t do that, he won’t be able to let go of you, no matter what you do, you send his head spiralling, he just wants you to love him, is that too much for him to ask? You were his happiness throughout the years but why were you withdrawing now? After getting him hooked up, addicted to you, he blames you for this, but he doesn’t- how could he? You are so sweet, the one he loves.

He can’t handle it, it’s stupid to love someone who doesn’t love you back, he looks at the huge blue stone on your finger, and his hand itches to throw the ring out, but he can’t do that, so he walks away from the woman he loves.

‘There’s something special about diamonds no matter how generic. Colours are pretty, sure, but I love the simplicity of a diamond, if someone proposes, I don’t think that’ll ever happen ha-ha-ha, but I’d love a small, polished diamond imbedded in a thin rose gold band. Something fragile, worth the extra care, like this life of ours,’ He remembers your exact words, he had been pestering you near the end of the fifth year to tell him about your future, about your ideal wedding, it was him trying to plan for you, for both of your future together, both of you were tipsy when you had your heart to heart, it was a darn cringy way of doing it but back then he thought you liked him back, he thought it was given that you’d get with him when the two of you grew up, how fucking naïve-

…

Mattheo was tired, he was just existing for the sake of it, going through the endless files, signing here and there on parchments, he hadn’t spoken in the past few days, he held onto his silence, there was no point. “She resigned, honestly, I didn’t see that coming but if that’s what she wants, I support her,” there they were, his friends talking about you, “I mean, Anderson just got a promotion, he makes a lot of money, she doesn’t really have to work,” this was new, something was very wrong, did you really change this much? There’s no way you’d leave your job just like that, Mattheo knows how much you cherished that job, it was your dream job after all. Money was never in the equation before, but why is it such an important variable now? You told him you’d work that job even if you made only a few knuts throughout the year.

“Anderson asked her to leave the job and she just did, she really loves him to do that, he didn’t even have to repeat himself,” Even with Mattheo making much more than Anderson he wouldn’t even think of asking you to leave your job, the one you worked so hard for, the one you tirelessly competed for, nothing made sense anymore. He couldn’t stop thinking about you, had you really given up this easily? What’s going on? He can’t even talk with you without breaking down, he can’t talk to you because it seems like you no longer recognize him, he himself doesn’t recognize you, he doesn’t see you in these choices of yours.

Maybe he doesn’t know you like he thinks he does, you have changed but he still doesn’t find himself falling out of love, why can’t he stop caring? And why can’t he do shit about it?!

...

It’s been days since Mattheo has last seen you, it's night, and he hasn’t properly slept in days, why did you have to steal his peace? He roams the streets like a crazed man, he goes wherever his feet take him and it’s no surprise that they halt right in front of your house, what was he even doing here? You were getting married in a week, time was flying by so fast, and he was running low.

He wanted to tell you to not do it but what will he even say? ‘Don’t marry him because I love you?’ Would you even care- Does he even have the right to say something? Would his words even change a thing? Riddle didn’t come here to cry but he can’t help the tears, he’s a wretched man, he feels helpless, there’s not much his body allows him to do these days. He sinks to his knees for a moment, to shed tears at the nameplate on your door, it’s the name of the woman he loves, the one who is soon about to be an Anderson, taking the name of some other man, the one he could never be. He tries to collect himself and walk away like the coward he is.

Earlier he used to say, ‘at least she loves me in my dreams,’ but nowadays, he doesn’t sleep too well, the dreams don’t come to greet him anymore- his imagination is no longer blissful, the reality is too dark, too etched in his life to ignore, to think otherwise.

He gets up and kicks the trash can in front of your house in frustration, he doesn’t anticipate it falling over and making such a loud sound.

But you are glad, the noise breaks you out of the deep trance you were put in, you wake with a jolt, your heart beating rapidly, and there’s not much going in your mind, you take a second to look around, it’s your room but it looks so different from what you remember, you feel weak, drained. You peek out of the curtains beside your bed from where the sound came, it was Mattheo!

You jump onto your feet and run downstairs, swinging the front door open, you don’t have a single thought in your mind except the one that asks to see him, your heart aches, there’s no other way to describe this painful longing that burns you, you’ve numbed everything out, you don’t feel the cold floor beneath your feet, the sting of the cold air that pushes past you, you just want to be close to him.

The sight of you was like a wound to his chest, the dishevelled state of you, the weakness on your face, the visible lines of despair on your face. You freeze for a second when you see him but then you are onto him, throwing your arms around him, hugging him tight, it all came crashing down when his arms wrapped around you pulling you even closer. There’s unending comfort in his embrace yet it doesn’t take away the sorrow, all you feel is relief surging through your body at his touch, it’s overwhelming, everything dawns upon you, and the mind that had shut itself earlier now begins running a thousand miles a second, you can’t help the tears, there’s no other way of saying that you are not fine, everything feels too real, you feel alive- like you are breathing for the first time in forever. There’s so much left unsaid, untouched but you can’t pull away just yet.

But he can, he puts his hands on your shoulders, examining your face contoured with hurt, but there are no physical wounds he can whisper cures at. There’s just the continuous stream of tears gushing down your face, the ones that wet his shirt, he can only wipe them away. He watches you with such concern, so much worry, you open your mouth to tell him that it’s okay, but nothing comes out, his hands come to hold your face, you try again, ‘Mattheo’ no sound still, only your lips move, your throat burns, you cry again. What’s happening? There are just tears that could give him the answer, but he doesn’t understand, has no clue, your breath hitches again and through your blurred vision you beg him to hold you close.

He pulls you back into his embrace, rubbing your back trying to soothe you, the other hand holding your head close to his heart. Mattheo had always been stupid when it came to you, but it never hurt him this much, so stupidly in love with you, always overtaken by his delusions that if you were with him, he’d never let you feel any pain but now that you were in his arms, eyes pleading, he couldn’t do a thing. He just wants to take away all the ills that bother you, wants to take away all the pain but he doesn’t understand a thing, he begs the stars above to let him understand this silent cry of yours.

There are innumerable questions he wants to ask but he wouldn’t understand so, the words die on his tongue, like they always do when you are with him. This love that had always been silently killing him, hurt him like no other, was now threatening to spill all that was left unsaid into the silence of the night, words protected within the vicinity of his mind, it was overbearing, ready to spill, and it was getting hard to hold onto it.

You release yourself out of his hold and suddenly he feels a lot colder, the cool breeze seeps through the wet patches on his shirt, making him shiver but he pushes it all aside when you hold onto his hand and tilt your head. “Should- Should I take you in?” he hesitates as he speaks, all his focus on you trying to understand whatever it is that you were asking of him, you shake your head and point at him, “My house?” you nod, the frown on your face softening a bit at his words.

Mattheo holds you close and walks you to his house, but you stumble quite a few times for him to just ignore, he silently picks you up, you don’t protest, there’s no point, your mind is hazy, there’s no strength in your limbs, so you just hold onto to him. But the hold you have on him is suffocating to him, he can’t be happy about you being close to him, not when you were hurting.

Gaunt Manor, it's your first time here, he dreamed of bringing you here albeit the scenario was different, it was happy, but the present was sad, in his dreams he’d bring you into the house as his happy wife, but it never worked out, you were entering the residence of the man who didn’t dare to call it his home, it was never warm and welcome, it was just familiar, he doesn’t know how it’s supposed to bring peace to you, how it’s supposed to make you any feel better than the cold outside.

He places you on the couch of the huge living room, mutters a spell and the lamps light up the room, then he’s kneeling in front of you, waiting for you to ask anything of him, a bit disappointed in his inability to make things better. Your eyes are red and puffy, you try to speak again as you look at him instead your mouth runs dry, and you can’t feel your voice, it’s a sad attempt at nothing.

Mattheo suddenly rises to his feet, and an unwanted thought strikes him, you'd rather be with your fiancé in such a moment of vulnerability, “Should I call Anderson?” He doesn’t want to look at you because it’d sting to know that he’d never be your first choice- you are quick to shut his train of thought, you hold his hand and urge him closer, shaking your head, the thought left him as soon as it came, the tears were back, they tell him, that all this has something to do with Anderson and it fucking angers him.

His grip tightens around your hand as you try to pull away once he kneels in front of you, you frown when he doesn’t let go, there’s grief in your eyes, sorrow that he doesn’t get, he sighs lets go but keeps close and looks out for your next movement. You breathe in slowly, chest heaving with tension as you look at your left hand resting in your lap, the blue gem on your finger sending shivers down your spine, it was ugly, the feeling that it gave you, you close your eyes not wanting to look at it as you try to pull it off your finger, your jaw clenches, teeth crushing each other. Several small needles poke at your skin, they dig deep into your finger as you try to remove the ring, you feel the hot blood starting to ooze out.

Mattheo’s eyes dart up to your face, you can't scream, you can't tell him how much it hurts, you can just shake your head at him and cry, tears rapidly running down your face wetting your collar. You go to wipe them instead you make a mess, staining your face with blood, the scene breaks him, you being so helpless.

He wipes off the blood and tears, you don't shoo away from his touch instead you close your eyes and lean into it, biting your lip because the needles are still digging into your skin, his attention shifts to the ring, he tries to pull at it, but you flinch away, he instantly lets go, muttering all the spells he knows, it doesn’t work.

He asks if you can write it all down, you try to hold the quill, but the tremors are evident in your grip, your hands are shaking frantically, and you clench your fists trying to make it stop but it’s fruitless, like all your attempts at taking control over your body.

Mattheo clasps his hands over yours in a reassuring grip, the touch sends sparks through your veins, then you hear screaming, something trying to wake you up, then breathing becomes a manual task, you feel your throat tightening, you start coughing, pulling your hands away from his and cover your mouth.

You taste iron, then the salts from the tears and sweat along the way as you purse your lips. The vibrations of your heart started ringing in your ears, all your senses heightening, making you cower into the couch, it was cold, it was hot, you were being pushed into pitch darkness, and you hear different voices going round and round, it’s Lucas, it’s Mattheo, it’s your friends, all calling your name, you are falling- it's an endless loop you are stuck in. Why should you go through this torture when you did nothing to deserve it? When all he can do is watch, watch you go through all that pain. Lucas is in front of you, smiling and holding a bouquet, of all the flowers you love, you are in a white gown, he’s in a white suit, there are people around the two of you, and you are tied up? There are binds around your wrists and legs, and you can’t move a muscle while Lucas walks towards you bending down to kiss you- and black.

Happens again, he bends down to kiss you, but you don’t- can’t move, Lucas’ shirt gets red, his smile gets even wider as he pulls back, it stretches and stretches, and there’s blood on your lips, on your dress, you try to move but your body doesn’t cooperate, as though it has been paralyzed- “Mrs Anderson,” and it goes black.

Mattheo wanted to be your knight in shining armour, wanted to be the person you’d blindly fall back on but right now, things were different, he felt hopeless, and he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if something happened to you under his watch, he quickly grabbed a piece of scrap parchment and ink, writing to St Mungos, they’d know how to help you, right?

…

He’d always wait for you, even if it takes you an eternity, no matter how many lives it takes, he won’t truly live until you become his, happily his. He’d take anything you give him but he much rather take away all your pain than see you in such agony.

Mattheo sits by your bed, the surroundings worry him more, ghostly white all around, putrid smell of different potions, incoherent yelling from behind the curtains, he can’t seem to secure a private room, no matter how many times he tries, all the wealth and so-called influence seems useless now.

You wriggle and twitch in your sleep, his hold on you never falters, they put you on some drugs, and your body was trying to fight it, it’s been two hours since he brought your unconscious self here, you screamed and cried in your sleep. No one was telling him what was going on, all the nurses did was come ruin your peace every few minutes, pushing a vial of liquid past your lips making your body stiff with tension and then you’d cry, he could feel your skin get hot, could feel the quickening of your pulse.

He was about to yell at some people because why the heck was no one talking to him? They’d spare him a glance and then rush past him, they were hearing him, but they weren’t responding properly, dismissing every question of his with an excuse. You coughing up blood was his last straw; he grabbed the first nurse he saw; he didn’t give a flying fuck that she was an older woman, didn’t care about the nasty look she was giving him, “What’s going on with her?” he pointed to your bed, his eyes were red, tired and frustrated, they turned sombre at her scrutinizing gaze, “Please just tell me,” he was quite literally begging.

The woman walked over to your side, holding your hand, muttering a few enchantments and cutting the ring band off your finger, sighing as she faced Mattheo while checking up on you, “Strong dosage of Amortentia,” “WHAT?” Mattheo was towering over her, yelling, eyes wide with anger, “Yes, an accumulation of over four years-” “WOULDN’T THAT KILL HER?” “You would know-” ”WHAT?!”

” Don’t act so innocent, it doesn’t suit you,” and there it is, the filth that is attached to his name, Mattheo Riddle, son of Tom Riddle, a father he never had, the one who died before he was even born. But it’s the truth, his truth, one he could only wish to escape from. He had always been his son, it didn’t matter if tries to change his name, he’d always be Riddle, and everyone knew him as one. Abandoned by death, he never knew himself- Mattheo as someone who could love or someone worthy of being loved. It was unfair, to be treated as his father’s son, that’s all he could be.

Embraced by fellow Slytherin heirs, not because they still believed in blood superiority but because they were alienated and knew the fate that shone at his feet, for it was the same colour as their own shadows.

Maybe that’s why he fell for you, the first person to smile at him who wasn’t adorned in green.

All his life he had been paying for the mistakes he never made, and had been trying to get rid of the black stains on his name, they were slowly fading but it was hard, to have to constantly prove himself, there was no integrity in their judgement, he always had to walk an extra mile to show them that he was worth it, for years he tried to walk away from the very name he was, a Riddle. But today, he doesn’t try, he’ll gladly be what they made of him, son of the dark lord.

Because the spell is right at his tongue, he very well means it but it’s you that stops him, you sit up on the bed, looking around frantically, he rushes to your side and hugs you tight, sits on the edge of the bed, you wrap your arms around him, crying yet again but this time you call out his name, “Mattheo,” and there’s nothing he could be more grateful for.

And right on cue, the nurse gasped loudly rushing out the small space, realizing something. He looks at you though, in relief, your voice is back, “How are you feeling?” he whispers, distress visible in his tone but he tries to hide it from you, “hurts,” you croak out and it hurts to even talk, you hug him again, his touch was soothing, his presence was made you relax but it was short lived, few nurses rushed to your side, trying to pull you off him but you were crying not letting go, being away from his touch tormented you.

“It’s going to be okay, you are going to be okay,” he presses his lips to your forehead, he himself didn’t want to pull away but he knew no cure, he was dependent on them, he promised you again, there was hope in his words, it was definitive, you were going to be okay, he’ll make sure of it, he squeezed your face before being pulled away, “I’m here.”

They put you to sleep, some things happen right in front of his eyes but all he sees is the grief-struck face of yours, the sunken eyes and he tries not to think of what he had been told, he seals his eyes shut, the way yours are. But the horror is still present, it’s dark after all.

Lucas is there, walking up to you, his white suit turning red as blood drips off him.

Mattheo was about to beat Lucas up. He won’t though, not yet, not until you are breathing properly, and speaking properly. “I’m sorry,” it’s the nurse from earlier, she walks away just as he opens his eyes, “At least tell me what’s going on,” desperation clings to his words, the woman sighs glancing at your sleeping form, she gulps as she tries to find the words, there’s humility in her voice, “someone has been giving her small dosages of amortentia but gradually as her resistance level rose, so did the dosage and there are negative effects to this, the love potion has been perfected so many times, each version stronger than the previous one, the side effects also become worse. Retaliation makes it worse, she tried her best to break free.”

At this point, the woman started shedding a few tears, it was hard to believe such a monster would exist and it was not his son, these wrongs weren’t done by the man in front of her but because of the man in front of her. You should have burned from his touch, but you didn’t, he wasn’t the man he was supposed to be.

‘Antidote side effect- the victim will burn from everyone’s touch except for the supposed true love-’ Infirmary guidebook volume one.

...

You love him?

He is loved back?

There’s so much to feel, it overwhelms him. His chance at a good life was snatched away from him, his love was stolen from him, and he was angry. You were in love with him all this time, he would have never known if it wasn’t for his stupid heart walking up to your doorstep. He can’t bring himself to be happy because you are sad, you are in pain, you were about to die, a few more doses and he would have lost you forever. This dumb fucking love, it’s maddening.

Mattheo looks at you, the red patches on your legs, the scars on your arms, the uneven tones caused by bruises, the side effects, the reason you were covered up all the time. He wanted to knock fucking Anderson out but he dare not leave your side.

He wants to beat himself up for not noticing, he prided himself in loving you, and thought no one would look at you like he did, but what was this love worth when it couldn't save you from all this trouble. What was this pride even about? There was nothing to be proud of, not when he couldn’t see the bright eyes dimming, not when he didn’t see the unusual becoming the usual when he didn’t see constant becoming the story of the past and change becoming the new constant.

He blames himself; he blames all the excuses he gave, that you were doing alright just because he couldn’t put his pride away and just ask you.

He didn’t like that you had to suffer just because you loved him, was his name that cursed? In his dreams, for you to love him, the consequences were always bright. This love isn’t fair, he would’ve died not knowing any of this, the truth would’ve haunted him for the rest of eternity, and he’d forever be stuck in a loop of regret and guilt.

Why couldn’t it be simple? Why did you have to get hurt?

There would be no one left if there were no you, he’ll make fucking Anderson pay, he risked killing you just so he could keep you to himself, this obsession is not admirable, it’s unfathomable to do such things to someone you claim to love.

Mattheo will never be able to forgive himself, not when he ought to be the one who cared and loved you the most.

...

A week later you were on your legs, weak but stable, and both of you were summoned for Lucas’ trial. Your chest swelled when the judge declared a lifelong punishment, Mattheo held your hands in his as Anderson was being escorted out, you knew the reason behind the determination in his eyes, who were you to stop him? You sighed and looked down, it’s not something you could watch though, he gently kissed your hand and reminded you, “He deserves it,” yes, he does, you were still recovering from side effects, and others’ touch still burned. Therefore, Mattheo’s touch was comforting in ways beyond physical, you didn’t want that touch to be corrupted by his blood.

“ANDERSON!” before the man can turn around, Mattheo’s fist meets his face, there’s no stopping this, no spell would amount to the satisfaction the hit gave him. Mattheo won’t be done till death threatens the man, he loved you too you know but he would have never sacrificed your happiness for his, yes, he was selfish, but it never came at the cost of your peace, your freedom.

It was torture, to confine someone, to close all their options, make them braindead, to hurt someone, to steal someone away from themselves, to do all this without feeling guilty, doing it intentionally, over years and still not sensing the wrongs and fucking stopping.

No one tried to stop him, no one drew their wands up, they just watched- a man trying to find compensation for what he had lost, what she lost- he would never find it and Anderson needs to know that no amount of punishment would compensate his wrongs. No amount of begging or apologising would save him, he is what he made of himself. He knew what he was doing, till his blood wore thin, till he saw death, Mattheo won’t stop and for the first time, in the court of law, violence is the answer.

The people see a man they’ve wronged, they see the man they read incorrectly and the man they honoured and it’s not who they thought it was, they stay silent because it’s the only apology they can give.

In this eerie silence, all you can hear is pain, Lucas and Mattheo, the two men in pain but it’s so different from one another, one carries the wound that would heal within days and the other hones a wound of hurt that’d never heal, only fade.

You pull Mattheo away from the unconscious man, there’s only so much pain you could afford to see on his face, you don’t look back as you walk him to the restroom.

Between his legs, cleaning his wounds, not scolding him though, Mattheo smiles sadly, this familiarity strikes at his heart, “I love you,” his tone is solemn, this is what he would’ve lost- has lost, tears swell up in his eyes, Mattheo gently held your face in his bruised hands, with utmost sincerity you whisper those very words back, his lips met yours- in culmination of years' worth of longing, love, all things unsaid and all things lost. Amidst the darkness of all misunderstandings, all the mourning, there is hope, there’s love waiting to blossom, it looms over their wounded hearts, lips on each other like a seal, a promise of healing, there was no better confession you could ask for this love, the one that transcends words.

...

#mattheoxreader #matheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #matheo riddle x reader #slytherin boys #pansy parkinson #draco malfoy #blaise zabini #sorry it took me so long #i have an exam tomorrow but this is important #mattheo riddle

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crooked-wasteland · 5 months

Text

An SA Survivor's Reading of Stolitz

I don't believe that creators should be confined to telling one type of story. The beauty of fiction is to explore worlds, emotions and scenarios that are by definition unreal. It gives a safe space to interact with extremes that we would never necessarily wish to experience in our real lives with the ultimate safeword of no longer engaging with the material.

That being said, as creators, there is an ethical awareness that must be maintained in order to tell stories of things like trauma and abuse. Being alone in a cabin in the woods with a killer, that scenario is not a pervasive subculture in our society. Whereas cases of child abuse, sexual and domestic abuse are not only real, but common. And the complexities of psychological damage that perseveres long after the traumatic events are necessary aspects to telling these stories.

If you are not consciously aware and attentive to the lasting impact these events have, you run up against the horrific possibility of retraumatizing an individual unprepared for the callous invalidation of their experience.

No one should ever be shamed for engaging with media that depicts trauma they themselves may have experienced. For many, engaging in the fiction of it is a way of processing and validating their experience. Frankly saying, if you wish to write about trauma at all, you should be writing for that audience in specific. Otherwise you are simply exploiting the horrors that real people live through and struggle with every day for some cheap drama at the risk of triggering someone whose story you are inadvertently telling.

And much like most therapy speak, the term Triggered has become appropriated and misused to the point of losing all meaning in the lexicon. According to the University of North Carolina, "A trigger is a stimulus that elicits a reaction. In the context of mental illness, "trigger" is often used to mean something that brings on or worsens symptoms. This often happens to people with a history of trauma or who are recovering from mental illness, self-harm, addiction, and/or eating disorders."

The university breaks down the types of triggers as well and gives examples as to what those subcategories mean. I highly recommend that even if you are not the sort to follow up on references, I do recommend going over the article. It offers coping suggestions as well for those who are at risk of becoming triggered and helps refocus the sense of control back to the individual.

With that said, this is where I came across the inspiration for this essay. I completely removed all information for this user because the last thing someone needs when expressing how the misappropriation of abuse triggers them is how it is their fault for being triggered. These are the original tweets this response was in reference to.

As such, I feel the empathetic need to write this essay as a sympathetic reading to this person and others who have experienced SA who find that Stolitz resonates in an undesirable and even harmful way. I think this person deserves to feel seen.

To make the argument that the relationship between Stolas and Blitz isn't fundamentally abusive requires an author-intent reading of the series. It necessitates massive leaps to fill in gaping plot holes that never clarify the story Medrano is intending to tell. This is plainly just a reading of the series as is with all the context that has been physically, actually, shown in the series and that alone.

Throughout the series, Blitz is depicted as emotionally volatile and unpredictable with low self-esteem and crippling loneliness. He is constantly hounding his employees through sexual harassment from a sense of envy over their loving relationship, and infantalizes his twenty-two year old adopted daughter through an abusive dynamic where she ranges from rude to outrightly cruel while he consistently sacrifices any personal boundaries and self-respect.

The relationship between Loona and Blitz in specific feels like a masochistic self-hatred on Blitz's part where he allows himself to be used and abused by a parasitic family member to feel wanted, showing a pure desperation to be desired by someone in any way. Loona is verbally and physically abusive to her adopted father, using terms of endearment like "Dad" as a tactic to control Blitz's behavior, rewarding him when he does something for her benefit and taking it away when she deems him embarrassing or unwanted.

Blitz's tie to Stolas in the main story comes when he is called in a vulnerable time. Hiding from Martha who is hunting him down, he explicitly tells Stolas that now is not a good time to call. Stolas, who has a visual of Blitz's situation, ignores all of it. He is unconcerned about the danger Blitz is in, instead viewing Blitz solely as a sexual object as he offers the trade of the book for sex.

Stolas is more keenly aware of Blitz's situation than even Blitz is aware of. He not only is told that the current moment is not a good time, and Blitz's tense tone portrays a sense of anxiety, but he can physically see Blitz. It exists entirely within reason that he chose this specific moment to call while he knew Blitz was in a difficult position, using the tension to leverage a quick response that would get Stolas his way without needing to intimidate Blitz himself. Using the threat of a third party to pressure compliance from Blitz.

Come Loo Loo Land, the interactions between Blitz and Stolas are simply outright hostile. Blitz actively does not want to have a sexual encounter with Stolas and is even so untrusting of the Goetia that he is repeatedly asserting the boundary that he is not at all interested in sex, which Stolas explicitly mocks by being openly sexually suggestive to him. Everything Stolas has to say to Blitz is steeped in objectified sexuality as Blitz asserts his person, dehumanizing him to the point that Blitz is first and foremost an object of gratification. Even to the point of neglecting and humiliating his daughter, Stolas uses the excuse of spending time with her as a means of leering on Blitz.

In this episode we see Blitz has a history of being overlooked and unappreciated. His act in Loo Loo Land went nowhere and we see the first hints of his failed performance career. Over the course of the series, this hint towards a crippling lack of self esteem masked by an extroverted exterior is reinforced.

In Harvest Moon, Blitz is genuinely flustered when given recognition by Striker. He is quick to devalue his relationship with Stolas because there genuinely isn't a relationship at this point.

After having gone missing for two episodes, Stolas returns, being slightly less sexual and slightly more affectionate. It is a sudden recharacterization, but it is only for this scene. The rest of the episode once again shows how Stolas values Blitz physically in a sexualized manner and claims Blitz through the use of a pet name he repeatedly requests not to be called. In the opening scene, Blitz vocalizes that he "doesn't mind" their arrangement for the book, which could be taken at face value in regards to the first season. He does have the option to reject the agreement at any time and return the book in the context of this episode. It's why, despite still being an abuse of power dynamics overall, the relationship itself doesn't tip over into abuse. Blitz has the same amount of autonomy as Stolas at this time, before the context of season two, he has just as much power to end the agreement.

With the addition of The Circus, this retroactively is a situation of placating one's abuser. Blitz assuring Stolas that he doesn't mind the sex would be a way of asserting Stolas' complete control over the relationship and that Blitz isn't necessarily threatening the status quo by his question.

They don't actually know anything about each other, they aren't friends and don't spend time together outside of their forced meetings. Blitz doesn't know anything about Stolas and questioning the need Stolas has for his book could very well be read as a means of interrogating the agreement as a whole and figuring out why this was the arrangement.

(The argument that Blitz had any opportunity to negotiate things comes from an audience bias. It is probably the dumbest thing I have ever seen put into writing. Blitz doesn't know that he has any leverage in the relationship at all. He doesn't actually know Stolas has any feelings for him. That's kind of the whole point of the hot and cold romance slant that Medrano is trying to replicate.)

This is because the book is not the reason the relationship exists.

Blitz does not instigate sexual conduct, Stolas does by leading Blitz into a private room and locking them both inside with the impression Blitz would have sex with him. Blitz has no choice in the location or the isolation. He was caught trying to illegally break into the home for the explicit purpose of stealing the book. He was caught and is effectively at Stolas' mercy in every sense of the word. Not only is he still alive due to Stolas' whimsy, but if he tries to escape now after being shown this grace he could risk having the guards hunt him down and the second time will most likely not be so kind.

He literally does not know Stolas. They met for a day as a playdate and Blitz spent the whole time manipulating Stolas into facilitating his own robbery. There is no trust between them, there isn't even a relationship. While the doe-eyed pink vignette animated around Blitz shows that Stolas has an attraction to him, Blitz is entirely in the dark about this. Stolas' behavior is merely unpredictable and precarious from his position and limited knowledge.

(Just a side note, the argument that because someone decides to do something must mean they are not afraid is just asinine. Generally speaking, most people who commit crimes are in a state of fight or flight, it is more akin to gambling your actual life. Its a rewards and risks assessment, not a case of being sociopathically unafraid.)

It isn't until Stolas dramatically announces his desire for sex that Blitz realizes he has something that can be used to distract the Prince while he steals the book. And that's the issue with the argument that Blitz is the one willingly escalating the situation: it's not sincere. Throughout the entire sequence, Blitz isn't once sincerely interested in Stolas. He leans into the pretense to gain control of the situation, of which, might I remind you, he has had zero control over up to this point. Not only is he not interested in Stolas, but this is a bid for control from the position of helplessness. This way he is not relying on Stolas' unpredictable behavior, he is reclaiming power in the dynamic by playing into Stolas' desire.

("But Stolas says nevermind and Blitz keeps going!!"

Yeah, because he needs to maintain control of the situation. This is what power dynamics actually look like; there is a two-way push and pull. The only way he has any power is through the lens of sexuality. He needs to keep Stolas interested in him to keep his position. But throughout the scene, he is explicitly depicted as being put off by Stolas. In fact the entire reason he ties Stolas up is because he was becoming too into the act. He is shown to not be sensually performing bondage, he is trying to remove a problem.

And side-side note, I know I said I wouldn't lean into Medrano's intention or explicit dictation on how she demands her show be interpreted, but she was the one who said that The Circus and Loo Loo Land are connected in the timeline and Blitz's hostility in Loo Loo Land reads far more like a man who feels used and taken advantage of. So even the argument that Blitz was an enthusiastic participant is disproven by Medrano's own metacommentary and character interactions.)

And ultimately, it all boils down to that last moment scene. Between willingly having sex with Stolas when he is tied up or the book, Blitz makes for the door to leave. He doesn’t willingly engage in sex with Stolas. Either you can read the scene as a form of pity sex, which in the context of Medrano’s timeline and Loo Loo Land, shows Blitz was not enamored with the encounter or you have to read this as being manipulatively pressured into it. There is no way to argue Blitz has any leverage in the situation and no grounds to argue that it was mutually enjoyed.

That doesn’t even start to cover the fact that all the way to Ozzie’s, Blitz is repulsed by Stolas. When calling, he openly shows that this is something he would rather not be doing. He doesn’t have feelings for Stolas and despite just using the man who is using him, just having to deal with Stolas is distressing for him.

This is not an equal or fair relationship dynamic. It is not a mutual relationship. This is a relationship of self-preservation and coercion. And the fact is, it could have worked with very small changes to The Circus. Having the dynamic be actually mutual would have been a great start, but just properly addressing the actual dynamic and having Stolas take ownership of what he's done, and validating the fact that coercion is sexual abuse. Because out of all the sweeping changes, retcons and inconsistencies, the one aspect that has persevered throughout the show is just how trapped Blitz feels.

In Truth Seekers, Blitz’s hallucination is contradictory in its attempt to be visceral, and that is not inherently a problem. Trying to be abstract, it is normal for people to experience contradictory emotions over something. It makes sense in that way, but it needs reinforcement in the expanded narrative to tell it's story. As such I am just going to give my reading on the sequence based on my narrative and state it as fact.

The clown costume shows that Blitz sees himself as a joke, feeding into his low self-worth that no matter what he does, he is always the clown being laughed at. The murky wasteland is a reflection of his life. Devoid of anything bright or good, it is populated by dead trees and the ground is a quicksand like sludge, showing how he devours the good and extinguishes it in his own life. He kills his own happiness. Moxxie exists as a critical voice Blitz hears, telling him how stupid and awful he is to everyone around him. Blitz rejects his own self-criticism, reaffirming his self destructive victim mentality that appears when faced with the consequences of his own actions.

It's when the characters of Fizzarolli, Verosika and Striker appear that Blitz gives his regrets, insecurities and resentments voice, poorly impersonating the voices of those who saw the real him. Striker mocking Blitz’s need for companionship, how he lies to himself constantly and presents himself as independent and assured when really he sees himself as needy and pathetic.

Fizzarolli adds to it, pointing out Blitz’s failures to make it on his own, however this portion of the series should probably be considered non-canon as the newest episodes established that Fizzarolli and Blitz have not had any contact with each other since the accident. The more important line Fizzarolli says “You're going to die alone”, have been written out of the show. There would have been no time or place for Fizz to have ever spoken this to Blitz.

Then there is Verosika, who brings up Blitz’s self destructive tendencies, showing Blitz’s own abusive behaviors towards characters like Moxxie. It also suggests an explanation to why Blitz tolerates Loona, because her constant rejection of him contradicts his reactionary need to push others away, as well as feeds his self-flagillation.

It is when he endeavors to flee the reflections of the worst parts of himself that he runs into Stolas. Perched atop a pristine staircase of gold, being fanned by two silhouettes of Blitz. This shows the power imbalance in every way. Blitz doesn't even walk up the stairs, but crawls. Himself just a faceless accessory to Stolas’ desires, but everything he has intrinsically tied to the power Stolas' exerts over him. This is shown explicitly by the chains around his hands and neck, Stolas' reeling him in as he bears a grimace of reluctance. It is the most explicit representation of being trapped between two bad decisions. Either he is just the joke, the failure, the asshole, the stupid piece of shit, or he is the pet, the object, the toy. Stolas mentioning Blitz being "afraid to love" is less a suggestion that Blitz has any feelings for Stolas, but instead his psyche convincing himself that the relationship is not so exploitive. That he is not being dehumanized and abused, but on some messed up level he is being wanted and desired, which is better than the wastes below.

Maybe one could say that Blitz is being elevated out of his situation for how the feathers removed the costume and sludge, essentially wiping him clean of his worst self, providing a sense of safety. But he only has this opportunity because of Stolas, and it isn't free as shown by the feathers also becoming the chains binding him. Because at the end of the day, Stolas isn't the prize at the end of the climb to self actualization, the stairs belonged to him in the first place. To escape the horror-filled wasteland below, Blitz has to play by the rules of the owner of the stairs.

And ultimately, that isn't a story that is off-limits.

The Stolas apologist argument is why the depiction of this dynamic is triggering and harmful, not the fact that it exists in the media. Just owning the scenario and having Stolas acknowledge that he has sexually abused Blitz would have gone a long way. Instead, Medrano and the fandom have insistently represented this victim-blaming interpretation where Blitz is responsible for his own abuse. And that will never be okay. This goes all the way back to my "Not All Victims are Survivors" post. Blitz is the victim in this and his bad behaviour and own abusive actions directly correspond to the fact that he is a victim with a victim mindset. He actively lives in the middle of his abuse and has formed maladaptive strategies through manipulation, harassment, verbal abuse, and self harm. These do not remove his victim status. There is no such thing as a "Perfect Victim". And he should not have to be any sort of way in order to have that experience validated. And the issue that is at the heart of this show is that the narrative and the fanbase require a victim to be framed as delicate and hapless to circumstance with a soft and gentle personality to be a victim. To come out of abuse aggressive and harsh with sharp edges is framed as being less valid. But this outcome is normal and it's a difficult battle to work on oneself to feel safe again. It's absolutely a story worth telling.

But you first have to be interested in telling a story.

#helluva boss critique #helluva boss critical #helluva boss criticism #vivziepop critical #spindlehorse critical #spindlehorse criticism #vivziepop criticism #tw self destructive behavior #tw sexulization #tw sa

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