#I need to lie down lol

[bill-ciphers-nightmare-blog]

If you get out of the Theraprism, will you let Calypso go?

SOUNDS LIKE AN OFFER

[baekslight]

BAEKHYUN - Hear Me Out Behind the Scenes

[lonelyisamyw-0love]

Holy...fuckin..i

I i have to revist this when I can coherent thoughts

Blorbo thought of the day #7

Call me: (feral!Steven Grant x fem!reader)

Summary: Steven needs you. What else is new?

Genre: pwp, established relationship

Author’s note: ya seemed to enjoy feral!Steven getting sucked off and so… I brought him back. So, here is Steven just being all out needy and desperate for you… at the most inconvenient of times. (Dashes of Marc.)

Warnings: masturbation (at work), phone sex, sorta dirty talk.

MINORS (and ageless/untitled blogs) interacting will be blocked. 18+ only

“I’ve got a bit of a problem,” Steven breathes through the phone, and you immediately note how his voice sounds alarmingly wobbly.

In response, you pace just as urgently to your office, seeking privacy, and keeping your voice hushed as you swerve through the corridors. “What is it? Is everything alright?”

“Mmhmph. I need you.” His voice is quivering now, and it only adds to your sudden, spiking concern. “So good to hear your voice, I…”

“Okay. Okay, Steven, I can be there,” you reassure without a second thought, clicking your office door closed behind you and scanning your desk for your car keys. “Just tell me what happened.”

“Oh. Oh, no. I’m fine, love,” Steven backtracks. “I don’t want to worry you. It’s just. It’s just that I… I need you.” His emphasis on the word need is a little bratty. Almost petulant. Stretched out, low and slow.

Oh. Oh it’s like that, is it?

You plonk yourself down into your office chair, with relief that he’s okay. And then, it doesn’t take long at all for you to reframe the conversation so far. To rethink the breathiness and tremor in his voice.

You recognise it.

That desperation.

That want; the pleas normally delivered into your skin, your throat, your arousal, spoken in between obedient swipes of his tongue.

“Oh, you do, baby? Well, I need you too, Steven,” you purr, voice hushed - as though someone else in the building could possibly hear you, even though you’re relatively sure that would be impossible. You slam the lid on your laptop shut all the same though, just in case you somehow initiate a video call against all conceivable odds. Then, licking your lips, you think up something tantalising to offer him, and it doesn’t take you long. “Just wait until later, baby. I’ll take all of you in my mouth until-“

“-No.”

“No?” But he usually likes that.

“No. I can’t wait,” he pleads, and the neediness in his hoarse, fractured voice has you pulsing with your own want. Squeezing your thighs unconsciously together. “You’ve got to help me. Please.”

“Fuck. Where are you?”

“I’m downstairs. In inventory.” You bite your lip. Steven hates that room. His need must really be a problem if he’s willingly taken himself down there. Out of sight. He must really be driven to distraction, and God, the thought of him working himself up behind that gift shop desk - with no possible hope of relieving himself - makes you feel some kind of way.

“Are you alone?”

“Of course I’m alone. I’ve had to lock the bloody door, haven’t I? I’ll get blimmin’ arrested if I walk around the museum with this in my trousers.” Your mind short-circuits a little at the thought of his bulging arousal. “I’m just so… uhhhhh. You have to help me, love. Can’t stop thinking about you and your beautiful body and I…” he huffs a punched breath into the receiver. “I need you.” The plea sends a warm honey melting through you core, and you can’t help but tease the pad of your finger along the centre seam of your trousers, enjoying the pressure against your now aching clit.

“Mmmm. Are you all hard for me, Steven?”

“Y-yes,” he flusters, and you can imagine his pretty eyelashes fanning against his cheek. Imagine the feel and girth of him, warm and heavy in his hand. “Aching. I thought hearing your voice would make it better but it’s… even harder to… concentrate on anythin’ else…”

Fuck.

The effect you have on him. How open he is with his want. Some men would be derogatory about how earnest Steven is, you’re sure. Personally, however, you find a man who knows what he wants and who isn’t afraid of it so endlessly hot. Especially, of course, when what he wants so badly is you.

Thinking quickly, you unfurl your headphones from your pocket, plugging them into your phone and leaving it on the desk. If you’re going to make Steven come, you want it in surround sound. And, of course, you might just want your own hands entirely free, after all. “It’s okay, Steven,” you soothe, voice smooth as silk and dousing some of his urgency. You hear a relieved exhale sound into the shell of your ear. “I’m going to help you, baby boy. Don’t worry. I’m here.”

“Th-thank you.”

“Good, Steven. Now. Can you… can you take yourself out of your pants?” You fight now to keep your own voice level, your chest heaving slightly - getting worked up for him too.

“Wh-what? Here? You can’t be bloody serious. Donna would have a-“

“-Yes. Right there, Steven,” you say more firmly. “It’ll be okay. It’ll be good. Can you do that for me?”

You can tell that he doesn’t have the will to argue. That he wants this. “O-okay. One sec. I’m gonna-”

You vaguely hear the clink of a belt buckle being loosened. Imagine that you hear the crank of a zip. But you most definitely do hear Steven’s muffled groan into the receiver, which lets you know - with certainty- that he’s now gripping his aching shaft in his broad, warm hand.

Tension hangs taut on the line, and his voice comes back little more than a whisper, which somehow fills you head all the same. “What now?”

“Move your hand, Steven. Up and down that thick shaft of yours. Really slow. Don’t rush.” Steven is breathing so hard that the sound crackles through your headphones, like a rumble of thunder in your head. “Are you hard, baby boy? Tell me.”

“‘M so hard.”

“Feel tender?” Steven’s in the most sensitive cock you’ve had. You think of the way he jerks and bucks against every touch. The way the flushed head of him throbs. The gusts of breath which billow out as his hands twist in the sheets. As he tries to stave off his end and fails. As you make him come over and over, just the way he likes, until he’s made a mess of himself, load after load covering his toned stomach. Edging him and milking him until he can’t take it anymore - and still he begs you not to stop.

“Mmmmhmmm,” he hums affirmatively.

“Most sensitive cock I’ve had, aren’t you, my sweet thing?”

His breath and his voice are shaking now, fluttering against the receiver like fragile bird’s wings. “Y-yes. Only for you. Make me feel so g-good.”

“Mmm, Steven. Fuck. You’re making me all wet at my desk, do you know that? Keep touching yourself for me. Don’t you dare stop.”

“Won’t. Can’t stop. Anything you say.”

“That’s good, sweet boy.”

“W-will you… will you do it with me? Can you? Please.” The words are being squeezed out of him now, the way the circle of his fist must be squeezing down on his shaft. Gripping himself hard. Rolling his palm over the sensitive head of him, spreading that leaked bead of slick over his flushed, veined length. “Need to hear you, darling. B-been thinking about it all morning. The way you moaned into my ear last night when we made you cum. Like an angel, so beautiful. Keep thinking about you touching me. Making me give you everything, love.”

You can’t be blamed, can you, for popping the button on your trousers. For slipping them down around your ankles beneath the desk so you can part your legs just enough. For dragging your knickers aside just enough to skim a finger through your heat, finding it sensitive and slick. “I’m soaking, Steven. All wet for you. Do you want me to touch myself? Is that what you need?”

“Yes.” The man sounds broken. Levelled by want. You think back to how shy he was when you’d first gotten to know him. When he’d never had anyone touch him like that. About how quickly all of that unravelled as soon as you had gotten your hands - and mouth, and heat- on him.

“I’m going to put a finger inside of myself now, just for you.”

“No,” he counters.

“No?”

“Two. Spread yourself open.”

“Fuck. Okay.” You slip two fingers inside of yourself and you find that your cunt swallows them eagerly, so ready to be filled. “Still touching yourself for me too?”

“Yes. I wanna…”

“What do you want?”

“Wanna be good for you.”

Hnnng. From the bashfulness in his tone you can imagine the crimson flush creeping up his neck and reddening his cheeks all too well. You wonder if, with your words, you can make him blush more deeply again, even if you aren’t there to see it. “You are good for me,” you purr, and his breaths grow more ragged, the sounds coming hard and fast through the headphones. “You’re so good for me, Steven. So handsome. So beautiful. Touching yourself so well. Going to give me everything, aren’t you?”

“Mmmhhhmmm.”

“Use your words, baby boy. How does it feel? Tell me.”

“N-nothing like you,” he stutters. “But f-feels good. Feels n-nice.

You moan too, as you pulse your two fingers inside your heat, curling them and gathering up your dripping juices. Steven moans too as he hears your own sounds filter through the phone, and you can only imagine the glassy-eyed, pussy-drunk look washing over his face.

“So beautiful,” he gushes. “Want to be inside you.”

“Steven.”

“Again. Please.”

“What, baby?”

“Touch yourself, and say my name again. Please. Not anyone else. Need you all for myself.”

“Who’s a greedy little thing today, hmm?”

“Yeah. I am. Don’t care. Want you to be all mine. Need you so badly. Please.”

His broken, cracked apart plea breaks you, and you relish the pressure and glide of the slick pads of your fingers as you circle them against your wanting clit. “Steven,” you suspire, and that’s a wrecked sound too. You realise then the state you’re in, his brazen want inching you towards your own precipice. Dragging you over that edge with him. “Fuck, Steven, you’re going to make me come at my desk.”

“Want you to. Need you to. Please.”

“Are you close?”

“I’m going to make a mess.”

“Mmmm. That sounds delicious.”

Steven submits some broken apart syllables to you then, unable to get his words out.

“What is it, baby boy?”

“What should I think about when I…?” He huffs out a taut, loaded breath, and you know it signals that he is close to his end.

You increase the pressure and ministrations of your own hand, thinking about him doing the same. Thinking about how, if he were here, he could so easily glide the swollen head of him inside you and pulse himself into the depths of you. “Think about opening me up on your cock, Steven. Think about-“

That’s enough.

That’s enough and Steven’s blissed-out noises fill your head. You slip your fingers back inside of yourself as you picture him spilling himself over his own knuckles, the slight look of awe and surprise that always settles over his pretty face when he comes undone for you. You thumb at your clit and it’s enough. More than enough as Steven’s breathy noises punctuate each relieving pulse of his cock.

“Yes, that’s it, Steven. I’m coming now too. Fuck, baby. So good for me.”

Shit. You’re coming hard. So hard that you buck yourself against your own hand. That you screw your eyes shut as his disbelieving moans fill your head, right in the shell of your ear as though he is next to you. The sensations explode out through your whole body and you shudder with aftershocks, nervy and shaking, and sitting in a pool of your own juices on the sticky, faux leather office chair.

You relish it. Stay silent for a moment as you listen to Steven squeeze out every last drop. Wring himself dry. You enjoy each little nuance and variation of his ragged breaths right in your ear. All his little noises as he comes down, increasingly slow instead of urgent. Calm and sated rather than distressed. “Mmmm,” he hums as you curl your fingers inside of you one more time, the sound drawing a final, blooming aftershock from you which seeps warmly through your core. “Thank you, love.”

“Better?” You smile softly, feeling sleepy and cosy, despite it being the middle of the day. Despite being in your goddamn office.

“Much, thank you. You’re a goddess, you know?”

“So I’ve been told,” you smile, thinking of the man who has met actual deities and still sees fit to address you as such. It makes you feel special. Continues the warm buzz emanating through your body.

“Are you all gooey now?”

“I’ve made quite the mess,” you giggle.

“Me too.”

“Can you clean up?”

“Think so. Mostly went on the wall, thankfully. Bugger - there’s so bloody much of it.”

“Just couldn’t wait for me, baby?”

“No, angel.” There is a beat, as Steven’s feral state recedes, and his unfortunate thud back to reality begins. “Oh god, you weren’t busy when I called, were you, love?”

“Nah. Was only in a meeting with Royce. The twatty foxhunter prick?” Steven hums to signal he remembers. “Trust me. This was much more fun.”

“I’m glad. I’m gonna have to go though, love, I’m so sorry to dash.” You glance at the clock. He doesn’t have long left of his lunch break. “I love you, so much.”

“I love you too, Steven.”

“See you later tonight, yeah?”

“Bye, baby.”

You feel blissed out as you prepare to hang-up the call; however, something prevents you from doing so. Another, even more unexpected voice on the line.

“Wait. Don’t hang up.”

Marc.

Your stomach churns pleasantly, wondering if he’s been listening to you. Maybe even watching Steven. “I’m here. Been missing you.”

“Good. ‘Cause it’s my turn next. How’s that little clit feeling, princess? Can it take another thrashing?”

“Jesus, Marc.”

“What? Getting Steven all worked up like that… Think you don’t do the exact same thing to me?”

“Mmmmph.” Words fail you right now, honestly. Sometimes, you truly can’t believe how lucky you are. “Alright. Tell me then. How can I be of service to you, Marc?”

“First thing’s first. Send me a picture of the mess you made.”

A dark smirk blooms over your mouth. “I will if you will.”

There is a beat. You hang on his every word, until he responds to you. “Copy that. But you’ll have to get me to make one first.”

Well. You might be in the office, but today, you really love your job.

[anitoshka]

[bluewaterlily]

I’m so sleep deprived I just Kubrick stared at my wall.

[mohntilyet]

illario + lucanis growing up together means a lot for obvious reasons ofc like the fact they did not have to go through the dellamorte villa torment nexus alone really helps. immediately from the moment they are taken to that house, lucanis has had something to protect and love. the snark and jokes that they share in wigmaker job finally having a chance to shine outside of the only person lucanis is socialised with and he learns that wow, he's actually likable. because up until this point everyone around him calls him a demon and is freaked out by him but ofc the veilguard only know him as lucanis "he banished harding from the kitchen" dellamorte. sure he's a big bad crow assassin but his reputation simply does not carry that much weight with people who are just equally deranged (maybe a de riva rook but that's also a little different) . and then he's able to share and extend that love with his new friends, and able to try being something that he's not had the chance to before, and his goodness is actively encouraged rather than being an unfortunate sidequest that is tolerated. and i fondly think also of how much of that humor is copied and mirrored off illario ("shoulders....... feeling tight...... need a ..... MASSAGE!") and it's his best experiences with illario that turned him into the man he is. wish the game explored this just a little more because the betrayal would have been made a lot more intense if they had just bothered to show any of illario's redeeming qualities. he has them!!!!! nobody is just born a traitor. you have to love someone before they can become that.

[qingxin-dream]

“welcome home, love. care to join us?” ❤️

[pharawee]

Big Thanakorn Kuljarassombat as KIN | KYU && Frank Thanatsaran Samthonglai as POOM | PURE —OMG! VAMPIRE THE SERIES · Episode 1

[achlysfx]

Solas' level of confidence whenever we see him walk slowly in DA:V is just so well animated, it bleeds power to me.

Wisdom has left the building & Pride is assuming his throne. It's as if he completely embodies the Fen'Harel side whenever he's not speaking with someone from the Inquisition.

[shima-draws]

Catch me being super emotional and sappy on this Monday morning. Anyway I'm so so so glad I got into One Piece, I don't regret it for a single second, I'm so mad that it took me this long to finally sit down and watch it bc now it's been what. 3 months? And I'm 400+ episodes in. I've never watched 400 episodes of anything before (except maybe Pokeani) and I thought it would feel like a chore but now I'm SO fucking addicted I can't get enough. The story is so good the pacing is so good the characters are SO good I can't help but get attached and scream and jump for joy and cry my heart out (and worry my roommates downstairs with all my yelling but. You know) because it's just EVERYTHING. The found family, the power one goofy kid has to topple kingdoms, to make friends with anyone and everyone he meets, to completely destroy anybody who hurts his nakama, to rid his crew of all their burdens and chains that bind them to their traumatic pasts. I'm going to fucking explode I love One Piece so much. And maybe I'm 20 years too late to the party but I'm here and this series has its claws in me so deep that I couldn't leave even if I wanted to. And there's people here who have been fans for years and years and YEARS at this point who are OP Veterans and you've all been so sweet and kind and nice and it makes me want to cry. GOD DAMMIT. Banging my head against the wall all these emotions ARE going to make me blow up. I love you Monkey D Luffy I love you One Piece

[seaquestions]

big dog little dog energy. uh anyway.

[id: two drawings of conor garland & nikita zadorov as furries (a russel terrier & a great dane) referencing the video of them shoving each other at practice. text reads "lil' push!" & "BIG SHOVE!" end id.]

[crybaby-bkg]

cw: this got long sorry 😔 but creepy/perv bakugou, recording, film major bkg x art major reader, masturbation, coercion, dubcon before it just becomes con, voyeurism/exhibitionism

as an art major, you typically did some works for a few students on campus; for their plays, as background pieces while they danced, a cover for their released songs. it wasn’t out of the ordinary for people to ask you to create something for them, and you enjoyed it more often than not. but, you weren’t usually the art itself.

Bakugou is a friend’s friend that you’ve seen a few times, ran into at the library or at coffee shops. he’s a film major, and always looks so unhappy about the whole thing, as if he didn’t choose it himself. you joke to Mina that you think he’ll graduate and become one of those directors that hate everything and yell at the actors constantly and later on get sued for being a dickhead. you never say it to him though��you’ve never spoken more than a couple words to the man.

it’s why it shocks you when he approaches you one day. it’s after one of your painting classes, and he stands outside the door with a frown and his hands shoved in his pockets, his eyebrows scrunched as if pissed at the mere sight of you. he asks you, in that low and gruff tone of his, if you could star in his final project for the semester. says it’s supposed to be a film made with this criteria and that, but, you’ve kind of checked out on the conversation after the first sentence.

“You mean, you want me to create something and that be the star of your film?” you ask him, feeling so intimidated at his stature. he always seems to loom, his hair shadowing the lights above, creates a cast over a portion of his face, makes his eyes look…unsettling. like they’re looking straight through your flesh, can find the marrow in your bones. he scoffs like you’ve offended him, rolling his eyes into his skull, mouth pulled tight.

“No.” his voice is firm, gaze concentrated only on you, like the halls are empty and you’re the focus of his lens. “I want you to star in it.”

his words confuse you—you’ve never presented yourself as an actor before, never alluded to wanting to be in the spotlight if not for what you create with your hands. but he shuffles on his feet, looks desperate even. there’s some hemming and hawing for a minute or so—why not choose Mina?—she’s busy—why choose me?—‘cause you’d be perfect for my short film—what’s it about?—you’ll find out once you get the script.

and even after you hesitantly agree and get the script—you still don’t understand what you’re doing. why you’re here, why you’re the only person, why it has to be a solo film, why there’s damn near zero lines in the entirety of the have-to-be forty five minute film.

the scenes are all so long, and maybe it’s because movies aren’t your forte or chosen major, but you just don’t get it. one scene; you’re staring at yourself in the mirror while Bakugou holds a small, black camera over your shoulder. he’s eerily quiet behind you, whispers out a faint fuckin’ go when you have to wash your face in the sink, makes you do it over because your movements are too jerky and unnatural.

the rest of the scenes go that way; you doing regular at home activities, being put under a lens, quietly barked at to do this and move that way and fix your hair and remember to frown.

“Isn’t there another way to film this?” you ask him on the fifth day of shooting in his spacious loft. there’s a bubble bath scene coming up, one you dont understand the importance of, but Bakugou tells you it’s the most necessary part of the entire thing.

“No,” he grunts out, looking at you from under his lashes as he sits on the lid of the toilet. “But I’ll make it soapy, so the camera won’t see much.” the camera? much? you weren’t worried so much about what the camera captured as you were the man behind it. he looks at you with such intensity, you feel naked already despite the robe you wear that’s suspiciously already your size.

he leaves the bathroom when you sink in the hot water, returns before you can say it’s okay, hears the water splashing and thinks that’s good enough. he kneels on the floor beside you, camera pointed directly in your face, makes your chest hot and your skin feel prickly. the scene passes on regularly enough; you run the water over your arms, tilt your head back as you sigh, whisper the few lines scripted, lean back and close your eyes, sigh again. it’s almost relaxing, makes you forget about the friend of a friend recording you naked right now. almost.

“Touch yourself.” Bakugou suddenly demands, hushed and quiet behind the camera. your eyes immediately shoot open, looking to him in question, how he’s eerily still in his spot hovering over you.

“Huh?” you ask, unsure if you heard him correctly, looking around the rounded lens in your face, trying to ignore the red blinking light. but Bakugou only frowns.

“It’s a masturbation scene. Touch yourself.” he repeats, voice louder, more demanding this time. your stomach twists at the thought of doing something so intimate in front of him. he’s a handsome guy, for sure, even made you consider asking him out after this, figured he was just serious about his work and awkward about certain things. but…something had been off about this entire thing since the start.

“But—but I don’t, I’m not,” you stutter, sitting up a little, the bubbles covering your chest starting to disperse with your movements. but Bakugou only sits a little higher on his knees, finally pulling the camera away from his face for the first time since he’s asked you to do this for him.

“You want me to fail?” he asks, booming voice eerily quiet in the silent bathroom, carmine eyes dull, shaded over with something terrible. “Then do it.” he tells you when you shake your head quickly.

you stare at him until he gets back into position again, camera back pointed at you. when he doesn’t say anything else, you swallow thickly, wondering if the art that will come out of this will be worth it. so you listen, sneak a hand under the water, start touching yourself in a way you never have in front of anyone.

is it bad to say that it’s exhilarating? being watched and recorded by someone who breathes so heavily every time your voice hiccups? being directed to touch your chest next when the suds start to disappear and your nipples start to peek through? is it bad that you want him to send you this portion of his film, only, just so you can watch yourself again and again? make a portrait of yourself with your fingers on your nipples and your knees raising from the water and your head thrown back from the intensity in oil pastels?

“That’s a wrap.” Bakugou announces when you finish, head spinning and still panting. you look over to him, how he closes the camera, the obvious bulge in his pants. “I’ll get you a towel.”

you wonder when’s the next time he’ll need you. or better yet—maybe he could be the star in your final drawing project? you had finished it already but, what was the harm in starting over with him as your muse? as naked as you are? camera not blocking his face so you can paint the similarities of his blushing cheeks and eyes when you direct him to look at you? to touch his chest? to play with himself just like that?

[vaguely-concerned]

playing through where the dead must go with an ingellvar rook and......... oh. rook LOVES loves the grand necropolis actually huh. you can hear it in every line they say. I'm. so full of feelings I didn't expect this to hit so hard but between the voice lines, banger music and astounding visuals (TELL ME this game is ugly and that the visual style sucks while you meet me in these halls of grieving I fucking dare you) I feel second hand drenched with grief and melancholy on the inside what the fuck

(feat. lucanis coming along unwittingly meeting future in-laws and realizing that rook has been clenching their teeth with the effort of only seeming about 5% of the freak they actually are the entire time he's known them fhsadkjfsa. local man learns that the one thing future spouse is deadly fucking serious about is their role as a watcher. it's a little hot)

[jungkookverse]

JUNGKOOK @ Chinese music platform KUGOU MUSIC

[plutorine]

So... I just finished Demons...

heavy spoilers below the cut!

Honestly, I have no idea as to how I’m supposed to structure this review, given that I have many thoughts (and feelings) about having just ended another novel that’s full to the brim with things to talk about. I’m just going to write this according to the flow of my thoughts.

I’ve been told months before starting Demons that the first part is a little boring to get through, but in retrospect, I don’t subscribe to that belief anymore. Setting up the backdrop with Stepan and Varvara’s relationship was essential in establishing the main themes of the story.

(a) Control. For a woman in that century, seizing the opportunity to have the upperhand over a man is the most viable and beneficial option for Varvara. Sure, she might be more financially well-off than Stepan, but in the eyes of the conservative society then, she’s still supposed to defer to him due to her sex. There’s a passage wherein (I think) Stepan contemplated marrying Varvara (after Vsevolod Stavrogin’s death), but he ultimately decided not to. Even if he did push through with it, I don’t think Varvara would have agreed, either, because that meant succumbing to someone who she obviously thought was below her (“...no doubt, Varvara very often did hate him…”), and of course, knowing her character, she would absolutely not do that. 

(b) Projection/idealization. Varvara quite literally had Stepan dress up like the Kukolnik portrait that she saw as a young girl. She saw Stepan as her “creation”, even; she defended him from everything and so whenever he acted in a way that betrayed her image of him, she’d grow resentful of him. Varvara, having invested a lot into Stepan — emotionally and financially — now expects him to slavishly obey and go along with her every whim. Here, one can also see the transactional element of the relationships in Demons, and we see this, along with the other aforementioned themes, become more fleshed out as the story progresses. 

We’re introduced to Nikolai Stavrogin next, who is Varvara’s only son. I’ve spoken a great deal about Nikolai here already (especially on Twitter… My mutuals are probably so sick of seeing Maxim Matveev’s Stavrogin’s face on my account XD), but this is yet another opportunity for me to talk about him again. Having the privilege to be able to see him from a larger perspective and know about his childhood, I honestly felt sorry for him, even until his death. I tweeted this about him three months ago:

I’m not going to go on a rant about nature vs nurture here, but I really do believe that those nights where Stepan would just trauma dump unto this kid unprovoked without providing any good opinion of the world afterwards was what began Nikolai’s self-contained view of the world. I doubt he was able to make a lot of friends his age, too; he was quite the shy kid and he often kept to himself, not to mention that Varvara wasn’t the best parent, either. She provided for Nikolai, yes, but she fell short in actually being his mother. Nikolai was more of a status symbol for her than a son she cherished, really, and when she felt that something really disturbing had taken root within him, it was too late to do anything to counteract it. I gush about him a lot (like a lot, and this is more true if you follow me on Twitter), but it’s Matveev who I like, honestly. Not Nikolai as a person. I feel sorry for that loser (lovingly... and pitifully), because he’s carrying a weight inside of him that he can’t even grasp, and everyone around him is busy projecting whatever onto him. He voices out his frustration over this after the duel with Artemy Pavlovich, and it’s one of those moments that show how Nikolai isn’t just some figure of mystery and intrigue. He’s still a person, and he’s so, so tired of it all.

I also had a phase where I really got into picking apart Pyotr Verkhovensky’s character. As a psych grad, it’s so fascinating to see the theories I’ve learned that touch on the effects of parental neglect come alive through Pyotr. This, coupled with that childhood fear of his, molded him into the master manipulator that he was. Everything he does is for the sake of harnessing control, even if it makes him look stupid in the eyes of others. Pyotr’s “deference” to Nikolai is not an actual display of submission — it’s only a front, because what he really aims to do is to gain control of the latter through such an act. He’s boot-licking since he needs the influence that Nikolai has, not because he truly respects or sees him as someone so great; at the end of the day, it’s all about control. It’s why Pyotr does a complete 180-degree turn and goes from calling Nikolai the “sun” to “scoundrel” when he heard about him leaving town. And I bet that that struck a really sensitive nerve in Pyotr, having been abandoned by his own father as a child. I’ve also noticed something about him — he has his way with using his words on others so they’d go along with what he wants to do, but whenever someone attacks him with facts (e.g. Yulia Mikhailovna calling him out on his behavior towards Andrei Antonovich; Fedka telling him that he’s but a yapping dog and that Nikolai sees it as “...a great honor just to spit on him from above”), he cannot, for the life of him, handle it at all. Like, he gets MAD mad when someone lays the truth on him.

I want to take a moment and talk about the women in the story, too. I tweeted about the theme of the women being the men’s scapegoats for their wrongdoings. We see this with Yulia Mikhailovna, whose “idiotic behavior” was used to cover up Pyotr’s machinations behind the chaos that ruined the fête; I don’t intend to rid her of her influence in what happened, because she did have a hand in it, too; but it’s reductive and irresponsible to say that it was simply her who caused everything to go to shit. After all, Pyotr was the one who was living off of the influence she had, and he was using her as a pawn in his game, as well. Another example is Liza’s death. She’s killed by the townspeople because she was Nikolai’s mistress, and they believed her to be the reason why the Lebyadkins were killed, thus leading to the devastating fire that razed Zarechye. I can get behind that, but where’s the violence that is to be directed towards Nikolai himself? It takes two to tango, so why is he not getting the same kind of heat? There’s also Pyotr, who had orchestrated everything to lead her to Skvoreshniki. Again, I’m not saying Liza’s without agency (because she did choose to go there herself), but it was still a man who guided her down that path to destruction. 

One thing that sat at the back of my head and really weighed me down during my read was the scarcity of love in the story. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying it’s entirely loveless, because there were moments where love was present (e.g. Mavriky’s acceptance of Liza even after everything that has happened, Kirillov’s support while Marie was on the brink of childbirth; and Shatov seeing a new beginning for his family after the birth of the baby), but the chaos and despair just greatly outweighed it. I didn’t expect it to feel light, anyway (like of course it wouldn’t be that way, this is a Dostoevsky novel, duh), but the experience was just really bleak. 

There are little genuine relationships in this novel, too. Everyone is constantly trying to one-up everyone else, and this post will not end if I decide to cite them all and analyze them. They're all constantly grappling for power over another person, and the lengths that they'd go to are even self-sabotaging. Like, "never mind if I look like a fool, hurt myself or others in the process; what matters is that I come on top of everyone." And of course, as I've discussed in an older post, you can't expect love to come out of a relationship that's borne out of the struggle for control and dominance.

I knew that everything was going to go to shit at the end of the novel, but the awareness of such did not dull the pain at all. Watching it actually go down as I was reading so horribly was still hard for me. I think what really killed me about Nikolai’s fate was Kirillov’s words about him: “...if Stavrogin believes, he doesn’t believe that he believes; but if he doesn’t believe, then he doesn’t believe that he doesn’t believe.” Nikolai’s not entirely convinced of his own faithlessness, much less comfortable with his nihilism. Up until the end he was looking for something to believe in, but as fate would have it, he’s unable to find what he was looking for. Like Tikhon said, Nikolai doesn’t want to be just lukewarm. He’d settle to either be warm or cold, even, but he can’t, because he doesn’t know how to escape the prison of the existential emptiness that he’s got inside of him. 

This leads me back to Kirillov, too. When Pyotr came to him to make sure that he would follow through with their agreement, I could feel Kirillov hesitating to kill himself. I don’t think I breathed when I was reading that part. I felt like he, too, was looking for a way out of this bargain with Pyotr, but alas, he couldn’t find it. 

And Shatov. God. His death happened so fast (as in the way it was narrated). It absolutely broke me how a few moments ago he was so happy, so excited to have Marie back and become a father to their baby (well, I know it isn’t his, but that’s Shatov’s baby. Period.) And then… It was all gone. Just like that. I had to take a moment after that chapter to debrief myself because it was just so sudden. I have no other words for this bit, honestly.

I want to say more, but I fear I’d be rambling too much already. I might put out separate posts according to a specific theme or element that I wanna discuss, but so far, this is all I have to say about Demons. Jesus Christ. 10/10, would probably read again, but not in the near future because it was just too much. Right now I’m just excited to integrate everything I’ve learned into my fanfiction since I’ve got a more confident grasp on the enigma that is Nikolai Stavrogin. God, I wanna make him suffer all over again. See you all in my next post about this damn novel. 

[itz-pandora]

If anyone wants to send asks, I'm open