#i have so many thoughts about souls and perfection and what makes a soul perfect

[tokiwarcube]

Kisses

Just some thoughts on kissing the guys -- Just Pickles, Skwisgaar, and Toki for this one! Rest of the boys to follow soon <3

Pickles the Drummer

Molasses thick and syrupy sweet; leisurely in its endeavor, with just enough presence to keep your attention, but calm enough to melt into the motions. Kissing Pickles is an experience — lazy, messy, and hot.

To be abundantly clear, he’s like this nearly any time he can get his hands on you for more than a few seconds, regardless of what’s in his blood at the moment — what can he say? Kissing is more fun when it’s messy. Although, when he has to keep it brief, he still has this air of casualness. Strong hands gently tugging you to him so he can press a kiss to your temple as a greeting; lazy kisses across your abdomen close enough to feel the scratching tickle of his beard; half-awake smatterings against whatever he can reach in the morning as a plead for just a few more minutes… He has quite a range, and he knows it damn well.

He’s also liable to murmur little thoughts against your lips, at the most random of times. It’s not entirely surprising, considering how many of your moments together are spent intertwining casual and the carnal, but it always makes you laugh a little.

Skwisgaar Skwigelf

Skwisgaar Skwigelf drips sex appeal in damn-near everything he does. He’s all lithe movements, lascivious even in the way he breathes — so really, it shouldn’t be surprising that this would apply to how he kisses too, right?

Well, you might be shocked to learn that this isn’t necessarily true… not always, anyways. Sure, he’s a fantastic kisser — the best, even. To say he’s had practice would be an understatement, but he’s also a savant when it comes to picking up all your little weaknesses — always just the right amount of everything to leave you panting and wanting. Perfect, perfect, perfect.

But that’s just it — perfection. A honed skill, rather than an avenue for connection. It’s not until he’s comfortable that you start to see the guise of perfection slip, and start to see the real Skwisgaar bleed through into his affections.

Stupid jokes muttered against your lips to feel you smile, to feel your huff of amusement against his lips; Long, lingering kisses to the inside of your wrist when you’re half awake at night, so he can count your pulse. The same little trick against your neck in the early hours of the morning, to keep you from leaving the bed. Kisses to the top of your head when you’re least expecting it, because he knows the way he flaunts the height difference — not the difference itself, but the way he flaunts it, he’s found — pisses you off to no end, and he likes the way you playfully scowl at him afterwards.

What was once a method to get you riled up has since turned into a method of knowing you — not just for sex, but for the pure experience of knowing you. Of being close.

He’s still a great kisser, though.

Toki Wartooth

Toki Wartooth, known velcro boyfriend. This man lives, breathes, and dies by the power of physical affection, and this is no more apparent than with you.

Living in Mordhaus is a jumpscare simulator, except instead of some garish monster jumping out to steal your soul, it’s your boyfriend jumping out to steal your breath away when you least expect it. A kiss to your forehead when you’re staring at your phone, only to walk away when you look up to respond; a kiss to the cheek when you brush by each other in the halls; stolen kisses you’re wrapped up in a rant about a new interest, because you’re just too cute to resist — it’s not that he doesn’t need a reason, it’s that everything is a reason. Every smooch has it’s own intent behind it, even if it’s a bit hard to connect the dots in your own mind.

I will say though… he is also a love biter. Do with that what you will.

Sure, sometimes there a specific intent behind it, of which I doubt I have to explain… but not always! In fact, there’s many a time where he’ll be casually resting his head against your chest, and is just overwhelmed with love, and thus, the urge to press his canines into your upper arm, or your sides, or really anywhere he can reach. It’s a sweet thing, really.

He knows his mustache tickles, and he likes using it to his advantage to get a little laugh out of you sometimes. He also does this really cute thing when he steals a particularly quick kiss where he’ll scrunch his nose a little. He’s adorable.

[aithusarosekiller]

I saw your Jegulus post about them not being the typical teenage romance and can I just give you a double high five in agreement! I then HAD to find one of many moments I've written for them which exemplify this and share it with you. And this one is the one I settled on. Remus' POV, year five for the Marauders, year four for Regulus. Context is, this is the first time Remus has spent time with James and Regulus together after discovering their secret relationship. It's James' birthday and Lily wants James occupied all day so she can prep for his party. Lily also knows about James and Regulus BTW, makes contextual sense in the story (Sirius does not know, doesn't apply to this scene though).

Hope you enjoy. :)

>>><<<

There were people who loved each other, like Remus loved Sirius. He would have handed Sirius his body, heart, and soul. He loved him with every ounce of his being. And yet�� There were people who loved each other, and then there was James and Regulus.

Remus could think of no other way to describe it. They weren’t two hearts beating for each other. They were the void between heartbeats. They occupied the infinitesimal moment as an inhale became an exhale. They were two people, who shared a single soul. And being around them was both intoxicating and strange. Remus felt like if he breathed too hard in their direction he’d mess with their air, which was exactly perfect between them as their breaths mingled. For surely two people so melded would only breathe the air of the other. And then they would poke fun at each other and their aura would brighten, literally bringing each into sharper visual focus, before it blurred again as they melted back into each other. 

They didn’t even have to be touching (though they nearly always were) for this phenomenon to take place. And for half the day Remus thought he was merely groggy from the Pamoja wielding. He thought his brain was sending him confused signals as he watched James and Regulus be James and Regulus. 

But a massive lunch, plenty of teenage goofing off, and exploring the surrounding forest left him with a very clear mind and the same mental signals. At which point Remus decided James and Regulus were an exhibition in their own category of relationship, absolutely unique to them. Love was not the word he would use to describe them. It was so much more. They filled the spaces no one else even noticed. And it merged their existence into a single organism. 

It was fucking intense. 

After they parted ways, as James and Remus continued up to the castle together, Remus said tentatively, “hey, so is it always like that?”

“What do you mean?” asked James absently. 

“Er, do you really not know.”

James glanced over at him. “It’s always like that, yeah.”

“Bloody hell.” Remus couldn’t get a good read on James’ face for they were walking side by side, but he thought James might be smiling. “I knew he had to be something special and way more substantial than he looks to withstand your affection, but Godric James. I don’t even know what to call that. I’m not sure it’s physically sustainable.”

“He’s my star.”

“Mate, he’s your fucking universe.”

James playfully threw out an elbow and definitely didn’t look at Remus. 

“What can I say, we are infinite. Don’t look so scandalized, you and Sirius aren’t so different.”

“No, we are very different. We exist in the physical world James. You two are already way out there in your own orbit.”

“See why I can’t lose him.”

They took several paces before Remus spoke.

“James, I’m scared for you. That kind of connection has to be dangerous.”

“Want to stop and have a smoke?”

“Took the words right out of my mouth mate.”

<3

JUST REMEMBERED I HAD THIS IN MY INBOX FOR AGES I AM SO SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG TO RESPOND TO THIS

But honestly it's one of my favourite things about them, the poetic quality makes it feel like they're finding each other again just when they need it at the same time as we're finding them when WE need it, you know?

That's so real though, the idea of the two of them being able to almost spiritually feed off of each other's presence is so true. Like existence is centred around them for a moment. They take over everything.

And it's probably bad in the long run but it's so beautiful that the pain is okay. Because without all of the painful bits, were the good parts really all that valuable?

Also I love your style, it feels real and almost factual if that makes sense? Even when you're describing metaphysical aspects the certainty gives a strong feeling of truth and rationality. I like it.

[blu3-ja3]

Chapter 2: We Let It Go

Chapter 1

Chapter 3

The nightclub bouncer job is going well and the regulars have already given Simon a nickname that being Ghost. Because he's got very quiet footsteps for such a large man and he's constantly wearing black. If you aren't paying attention and just see Simon from the of your eye it's like seeing a ghost. He's learned Gary and Kyle's nicknames are Roach and Gaz. And no one questions Simon about his mask or the constant covering of his face. The only problem...

Simon Riley cannot handle his hot as sin roommate... At all. If he didn't know he was gay before John MacTavish would very quickly change that. Simon has been living with Johnny for 3 months, they've been a good three months.

But Johnny is one hell of a tease and Simon Riley is as dense as a brick when it comes to being flirted with. He's also not good with his own emotions so he's having one hell a time figuring out if he likes Johnny or if he just really wants to fuck him and be done. But Simon's starting to think it's more the former than the latter.

The first big tip to that thought is Johnny refusing to let anyone else call him Johnny. Simon has heard patrons trying to call MacTavish; Johnny, only for him to cut them off. At first Simon was worried that Johnny was going to tell him to stop but one night he heard MacTavish talking to Price about he nickname.

"Only Simon can pull it off, he's the only one I let call me Johnny..." Simon hearing those words from MacTavish made some deeply possessive, feral part of him purr with satisfaction. A small voice keeps telling him to make Johnny his, forever and always.

There's so much about John MacTavish that Simon finds irresistible, that makes his heart jump and his soul beg to make Johnny his.

MacTavish's eyes are the first one that comes to Simon's mind. The heat Simon feels every time Johnny stares at him makes his heart speed up. There's such a critical curiosity to them, like Simon holds the answers to every question MacTavish has. And when his dark brown eyes meet Johnny's endless blue eyes, Simon feels like he's been set adrift in the endless ocean.

Those eyes paired with Johnny's smile makes Simon's heart stop beating. It's like Simon is staring into the sun and he's all too happy to go blind if it means he can see Johnny smile just one more time. And when Simon gets that wolfish smile from Johnny it does something to Simon that makes him go mad with an ache that Simon has no idea is called lust. He's experienced wanting someone but this was a million wants wrapped together and set a flame.

Another part of Johnny that makes Simon ache like that is the man's voice. He's very talkative which Simon miraculously finds endearing, no what sets that ache aflame is when Johnny stretches out. When the man raises his arms above his and reaches up, the moans and groans that fall from Johnny's lips are heavenly. Then he does it in public around his friends and Kyle laughs at Simon, the shock that must have been visible in his eyes and on his brows. Only for Kyle to inform Simon that those are very common and normal noises for MacTavish. That small possessive voice in Simon's head isn't happy about that little fact.

But it's quieted by the fact that no one else comes home to Johnny after a long day. The satisfaction Simon feels knowing he's the only one who gets to see Johnny sprawled out over the couch is immense. Seeing him laid out, legs spread, one arm slung over the back of the couch and the other covering his eyes is like Simon staring at fine art. Simon is more than happy to give up the couch for a bit if it means seeing such fine artistry.

And Johnny truly is the perfect muse, Simon has seen the man shirtless a great many times due to Johnny working out shirtless in his room. The first time will forever be engraved into Simon's mind, he walks into the kitchen to do something he's immediately forgotten about as he watched Johnny's back as he does pull ups in the frame of his door. Watching the construction and release of MacTavish's muscle as he moves felt almost pornographic to Simon. It took everything he had not to do filthy things to Johnny against the door frame.

But the memory that still haunts Simon, the one that reappears into his mind at some of the worst possible times, is when Simon first touched himself to the thought of Johnny. It had been a very long day for both of them, Johnny and Gary had to work hard at the nightclub bar. There was a huge bachelorette party that took a particular liking towards Simon and Johnny that night and they milked that for all its worth. But that took a toll on them so they were exhausted.

Simon was sat on the couch watching something he doesn't remember when the bathroom door opened. Steam clouds billowed out and perfectly framed the sight before Simon.

Johnny, still toweling off his hair, almost completely naked aside from a small towel hugging his hips. Simon's eyes immediately catch on the two silver nipple piercings and matching belly button piercing. Simon figured Johnny had more piercings beyond his ears and nose but seeing them is very different than thinking about them.

And then Simon's eyes caught the single water droplet that started to slip down Johnny's body. It started at his collarbone going down his chest, down his stomach and hip only to slip into the V of the man's navel before disappearing into the towel. Simon slowly raked his vision back up towards Johnny's face only to see a deep shade of pink across his cheeks and ears. Simon met Johnny's eyes for the briefs of moments before they darted down to his lips.

"Sorry... I, uh, completely forgot you lived here too..."

"Bloody Hell" was the only thing Simon's brain supplied him before he got up and left for his room. He waited until he heard Johnny's door closed before slipping out and into the shower. He took longer than usual that night to shower.

It took a few days before Simon could look at Johnny in the face without his mind supplying him with images of Johnny in a towel.

But Simon Riley was never very good at listening to his emotions and he's even worse at picking up on hints and subtle flirting.

[cakerybakery]

Also would work as to why he doesn’t really care if you go up or down. Either way you believe in him. And humans make so many kids that even if the exterminators kill sinners it doesn’t really matter.

If I already wrote that he allows Lucifer to keep his memory about God being less than what he seems, then I can fix it later, but it would be interesting if you lost your faith in God’s goodness then he can’t mess with that. Could be how Lucifer saves Adam. By showing him the truth.

It’s probably hard though for sinners to have faith in god’s goodness or etc so maybe the souls in hell are less reliable? He guides the exterminators to kill the faithless over those that believe god is good and they’re the failures.

Ohh just has a vision of Lucifer and Adam fight a weakened god, a god that due to his hubris toyed with Lucifer using Adam and didn’t think they could get the upper hand but now god’s faults are laid bare for all of heaven and hell to see.

Adam is thrown only to be caught by Lucifer and that’s the moment Adam’s heart skips a beat, looking up as he’s saved and Lucifer asks if he’s okay.

God made Adam to be perfect over the months he was altered for Lucifer. Made him impossible to resist, Lucifer did start to fall even though he knew that Adam wasn’t real. Then Adam lost his faith, maybe during labour, and God couldn’t screw with his mind anymore. He had all his memories of the last year or so, he knows Lucifer tried, he sees it. Lucifer’s slow break down. How Adam’s hurt crushed Lucifer until he finally gave in. How he was used as a tool.

When he was freed they had both thought that Lucifer’s feelings would go away but between the baby, Adam’s recovery, and their attempts to save the universe from the monster that created them, they actually got to know each other, and while Adam was no longer that perfect doll, the real him was so much better.

Now during the fight Adam gets to see Lucifer in his element and falls for real

Scene idea for that story where God is screwing with Lucifer. Lucifer is the only one to realize God sets up everyone for failure for his own amusement. God revives Adam with the belief that he’s married to Lucifer. His mind is constantly being rewritten to have him believe whatever tortures Lucifer.

-

Adam was all over him. Lucifer had tried to push Adam away but the look of hurt in his eyes broke Lucifer.

It wouldn’t hurt to let Adam cuddle.

He put a hard stop to the touching. Reminding Adam for the millionth time they weren’t married, it was a trick by god.

Adam’s hands felt good after so many years alone. It got harder and harder to say no. Especially since Adam had trouble understanding his no. His brain seemed to nearly constantly update Adam with new information and override the facts as he knew them.

Lucifer would tell him no and Adam would forget and start again.

Every ‘no’ hurt Adam anew.

Adam was warm. His hands large and firm. His eyes pleadingly sweet, shining innocently. “Lucifer,” dripped from his mouth like honey in his ears, “let’s have a baby.”

Over and over, Adam forgot that Lucifer just told him no.

It was wrong.

It was wrong.

Lucifer had to break Adam’s heart over and over because making love to Adam, a man who believed they were in love and married, was wrong.

Adam’s tongue licked up Lucifer’s neck and Lucifer whimpered. That had always been a weak spot for him.

“Lucifer, let’s have a baby.”

His legs shook. “No, Adam. This is a trick. Please remember.”

Then Adam’s eyes welled up with tears. “Why don’t you love me?” Adam’s heart shattered anew and the weight of the broken pieces were added onto the sins of Lucifer’s soul.

Adam brightened, his mind erased once more.

He licked Lucifer’s neck once more. His voice honey sweet, “Lucifer, let’s have a baby.”

Lucifer broke a little more each time. He couldn’t push Adam away but he couldn’t stop him either.

Adam cried and asked why he didn’t love him.

“Please, it’s a trick. The real you has to be in there. Please Adam.”

“Lucifer,”

No, not again. Lucifer couldn’t. Not again.

“Let’s have a baby.”

No, was on his tongue but Lucifer have to force it out.

Again.

“No.”

“Why don’t you love me?”

“Adam please. I do love you. Just not yet.”

He cried.

“Lucifer,”

No, please stop. He couldn’t stand anymore of the crying.

“Let’s have a baby.”

Lucifer’s eye’s were hot.

“No.”

“Why don’t you love me?”

He was going mad. This needed to end.

“Lucifer,”

No more. No more. Lucifer couldn’t hear it anymore.

“Let’s have a baby.”

He swallowed hard. The no was right there but his resolve crumbled. “…okay.”

Lucifer screamed at himself as Adam kissed him. As they stripped. As Lucifer prepared Adam.

Adam was tight, although his memory told Adam they’d had sex countless times, this was his first time with any man.

He insisted on riding Lucifer, and Lucifer had no more resistance in him

As Adam rode him, he looked beautiful in his happiness. Smiling and teasing, asking who Lucifer thought the baby would look like. Lucifer tried to smile, to not ruin this for Adam.

Suddenly Adam froze.

Those sweet eyes turned hard.

“What the fuck?” He looked horrified down as Lucifer. “You sick freak.” Adam start to get off him, only to realize it was far more than just Adam sitting naked atop of Lucifer. “You! - feel so good.” The sweet, memory altered, Adam was back.

Lucifer wanted to throw up. That had been the real Adam. God gave him back for just long enough for Lucifer to feel the full weight of what he’d allowed to happen.

Adam rode him hard. Even if Lucifer wanted to, he couldn’t stop himself from cumming.

Cuddled up beside him, Adam asked if Lucifer thought it had worked.

He was sure it had.

Lucifer was God’s favourite punching bag.

[kiisuuumii]

Dorothea Lasky, "Love Poem," Awe

[iknowwhereyousleepatnight]

people begging me to do something to make a certain someone happy aren’t taking into account that i hate this person and i will revel in the knowledge that i kept them from getting the most perfect version of what they wanted. in fact i hope they mourn the loss of this for the rest of their life and die unhappy about it

[pomefioredove]

only one bed room

summary: it's the sdc and everyone's staying over at ramshackle but, oh no! you're one room and one bed short. being the generous (or gullible) soul that you are, you agree to share characters: all sdc competitors, separate additional info: fair warning I have no replayed book 5 in a while, reader is yuu, reader is gender neutral, rook is rook, most scenarios end in cuddles. can be interpreted as romantic or platonic (nix vil and rook's part)

Deuce Spade

"I don't mind sleeping on the floor!"

it's a big fat no from Vil. waking up sore and tired is unacceptable, and will affect his performance during practice. he will use the bed, end of story.

you offer to take the floor or one of the many stiff and uncomfortable couches in Ramshackle, but he refuses

what kind of aspiring honor student would he be if he kicked you out of your own room?

so, yes, you end up sharing the bed

he's a perfect gentleman about it

he insists on sleeping on the complete opposite end of the bed

to give you your space, of course

not because he's nervous

obviously it doesn't pan out- he's kind of a messy sleeper, and on the first night you wake up with him sprawled on top of you

you decide not to wake him up

you'd been thinking about saving for a weighted blanket, anyway

Ace Trappola

"you better not hog the blankets,"

takes it like a champ, though he might be screaming internally

he already sleeps in a dorm with three other guys- this can't be any different, right?

it totally is

sharing a bed with someone? someone he likes, who he isn't just forced to live with for convenience?

he's not sure how to tease you about this one without coming off as nervous himself

so he just shuts his trap about it (for once) and accepts his fate

in the end, it's no big deal for a player like him

he ends up hogging the blankets, though. hypocrite.

Kalim al-Asim

"YAYYY SLEEPOVER!"

he means exactly what he says

not a care in the world

all he's thinking about is how fun this is going to be! just him and his favorite Ramshackle prefect (Grim heard the news and will be staying in deuce's room to avoid any cracker mishaps)

Kalim, admittedly, is not a creature of great thought. he tends to be dictated by his feelings, and he can be a little selfish sometimes

so when Jamil pulled him aside and asked him to just buy another bed for ramshackle, he ignored him entirely

why would he do that? the situation is resolved, and everyone's happy!

well... not everyone, but Kalim's happy!

he stocks up on Vil-approved snacks, insists you two braid each other's hair and stay up late into the night talking with no one to remind you to go to sleep

(he tried to invite Jamil and got the door slammed in his face)

this arrangement lasts approximately one night

when Vil sees the dark circles under your eyes, it's over

you are confined to the couch, and Kalim is forced to sleep alone

Jamil Viper

"okay,"

really. he's totally fine with it.

besides the fact that he doesn't want to cause any more trouble, he's shared beds with his siblings before. no big deal

he just wasn't expecting to wake up with you snuggled against him

but this is fine

totally fine

he's barely conscious and it's early morning, still dark, the time he's used to getting up at

Vil has things covered, right? he can stay here for a little while longer. it would be awkward trying to get up without waking you

it feels nice having something all to himself for once

he smirks, imagining how jealous everyone else would be:

the beautiful, kind, intelligent ramshackle prefect in his arms? oh, the looks on their faces would almost make this whole thing worth it!

but in the end, he decides to say nothing

he wants to keep you all to himself, after all

for just a little while longer

Epel Felmier

"ain't no way I'm sharing!"

that's what he says in his head, anyway. but it's late and he's worn out from practice (and being shouted at) so he just sighs and accepts his fate

of course Vil would make him do it. it's probably because he's the smallest, isn't it?

you can tell he's unhappy with the arrangement (not that he's making much of a secret of it- he's grumbling under his breath all evening)

he starts coming around to the idea when he wakes up holding something warm

his heart jumpstarts and he nearly panics before remembering where he is

and then he realizes the thing he's holding is... you. somehow the two of you had ended up spooning during the night

but, more importantly... he's the big spoon!

he's almost tempted to wake you to announce that he, in all his manly glory, had naturally assumed the most masculine cuddling position!

(yes he sounds ridiculous. just let him have this one)

he lets you sleep, though. just a little more won't hurt anyone, right?

he's okay with the arrangement after that

Rook Hunt

"I will do it!"

Vil isn't even able to finish his sentence before the vice housewarden is practically jumping up and down

pretty much everyone breathes a collective sigh of relief; a volunteer! thank the sevens. otherwise, this could get awkward...

of course, he quite intentionally ends up with you in his arms

but not for any nefarious purpose, he insists!

he's a light sleeper, and can be stirred by any sudden noise or movement

you appeared to be having some kind of nightmare

it reminds him of a small animal caught in a trap, struggling for its life. he can't bear to see it- it's cruel to let a poor creature go on suffering before you can make the kill

of course, instead of killing you (thank the sevens), he decides to comfort you

he presses your head against his chest so you can hear his heartbeat, and he runs his fingers through your hair until you calm down.

then he keeps you there, just to be sure you don't have another bad dream

if you gave him permission, he would gladly be all over you in seconds. kissing up and down your shoulders, caressing every perfect inch of your body, whispering words of admiration

but he's perfectly content just cradling you for now

hopefully, you will continue to have these nightmares and give him excuses to do this again

Vil Schoenheit

"don't argue with me,"

initially, you just gave him the bed

maybe you were afraid of him; maybe you like him; maybe you just wanted to avoid a conflict altogether

either way, you spent the first night on the terribly uncomfortable floor, and trudged through Ramshackle like a zombie the next morning

Vil was feeling guilty watching you

what? he's not a monster

and he's a leader, which means he has a responsibility. and you had so graciously invited them all into your home...

fine! he'll share. he insists, even

when you try to argue, he shuts you down, repeating all that stuff about responsibility and hospitality, blah blah

and he doesn't want the team manager dead on their feet

arguing with him is pointless, so you just agree

he wakes up with you against him, sleeping peacefully

now, if it were you clinging to him- he might have had a good chuckle. can't keep your hands to yourself, prefect? I'm just that irresistible?

but the way he's holding you, the way his arms are so tightly wrapped around your waist, the way he's so clearly pressing you against him...

he hates to admit it, but you're an elegant sleeper. it's almost cute

the tension is relieved from your face, your breathing graceful and steady, and your perfect lips open just a sliver...

he is a perfect gentleman, and would never dream of doing anything without your explicit permission, but for one shameful second he thinks about how easy it would be to kiss you

... and then he quickly puts those thoughts aside and tries to get back to sleep

he doesn't want any dark circles, after all

[griddleharkbrainrot]

I’m currently thinking about how John and Co. refused to call Alecto by her name. They named her fury and vengeance but could not acknowledge what made her thus. They call her Annie Laurie, reducing her to her looks, those so inhuman and frightening yet beautiful all the same. John gave her the name Annabel Lee, naming her existence as a tragedy in that she was his love lost. In both instances the literary references reduce the woman mentioned to nothing but set dressing for the man of the story and it truly betrays John’s thoughts on Alecto for as much as he claimed to love her, he sees her only as the stepping stone for his own story. “For John so loved her that he had made her she. For John had loved the world.” And that is the crux of the matter, John had loved the world but she is not the world, she is its fury. John wanted her to be calm beaches and lapping waves, he wanted a wife, sister, mother, and daughter all in one, but instead, he got 7 million silenced voices crying out in agony, furious at the injustice done to them. I think subconsciously he understood that when he named her Alecto, fury of wrath from Greek Mythology. But even if he had called her Gaia she would still be furious, for was it not Gaia who gave her children the scythe to kill her husband? Was it not Gaia who roared and shrieked to the depths of Tartarus when her children were torn from her arms? The first bearer of prophecy was forged from the grief and rage of an anguished mother; the earth has always been furious. John’s fatal flaw was that he could not comprehend that the rage was for him. He who promised love and safety but cut and stripped her soul stole her children and butchered her corpse. John could never truly comprehend that what he deemed his perfect creation could resent him the way she did. He took her away and reforged her into something she could never be. John denies the resentment Alecto feels for him and we can see this reflected in how he refers to her. John is the sort of man who thinks that if he sees a woman as nothing but her looks, he can make her lesser. To him, she is Annie Laurie of beautiful bust and a personality nonexistent; To him, she is Annabel Lee, a woman so pure and lovely that the angels stole her away from him. Subconsciously, the lyctors have adopted this as well, calling her these names out of fear and not realizing the implications of what they are doing. Even in writing, she is A.L. to them because somewhere deep down they know that to name her wrath is to invite it and invoke it. John believed that if he could compress the Earth into a beautiful shell then he could control it. The Earth has been around for far longer than he could ever truly comprehend, and she is furious.

For @commanderbabygirl thoughts?

I did not realize just how many opinions I had on this until I started typing

[inkskinned]

so one of the things that's so horrifying about birth control is that you have to, like, navigate this incredibly personal choice about your body and yet also face the epitome of misogyny. like, someone in the comments will say it wasn't that bad for me, and you'll be utterly silenced. like, everyone treats birth control like something that's super dirty. like, you have no fucking information or control over this thing because certain powerful people find it icky.

first it was the oral contraceptives. you went on those young, mostly for reasons unrelated to birth control - even your dermatologist suggested them to control your acne. the list of side effects was longer than your arm, and you just stared at it, horrified.

it made you so mentally ill, but you just heard that this was adulthood. that, yes, there are of course side effects, what did you expect. one day you looked up yasmin makes me depressed because surely this was far too intense, and you discovered that over 12,000 lawsuits had been successfully filed against the brand. it remains commonly prescribed on the open market. you switched brands a few times before oral contraceptives stopped being in any way effective. your doctor just, like, shrugged and said you could try a different brand again.

and the thing is that you're a feminist. you know from your own experience that birth control can be lifesaving, and that even when used for birth control - it is necessary healthcare. you have seen it save so many people from such bad situations, yourself included. it is critical that any person has access to birth control, and you would never suggest that we just get rid of all of it.

you were a little skeeved out by the implant (heard too many bad stories about it) and figured - okay, iud. it was some of the worst pain you've ever fucking experienced, and you did it with a small number of tylenol in your system (3), like you were getting your bikini line waxed instead of something practically sewn into your body.

and what's wild is that because sometimes it isn't a painful insertion process, it is vanishingly rare to find a doctor that will actually numb the area. while your doctor was talking to you about which brand to choose, you were thinking about the other ways you've been injured in your life. you thought about how you had a suspicious mole frozen off - something so small and easy - and how they'd numbed a huge area. you thought about when you broke your wrist and didn't actually notice, because you'd thought it was a sprain.

your understanding of pain is that how the human body responds to injury doesn't always relate to the actual pain tolerance of the person - it's more about how lucky that person is physically. maybe they broke it in a perfect way. maybe they happened to get hurt in a place without a lot of nerve endings. some people can handle a broken femur but crumble under a sore tooth. there's no true way to predict how "much" something actually hurts.

in no other situation would it be appropriate for doctors to ignore pain. just because someone can break their wrist and not feel it doesn't mean no one should receive pain meds for a broken wrist. it just means that particular person was lucky about it. it should not define treatment.

in the comments of videos about IUDs, literally thousands of people report agony. blinding, nauseating, soul-crushing agony. they say things like i had 2 kids and this was the worst thing i ever experienced or i literally have a tattoo on my ribs and it felt like a tickle. this thing almost killed me or would rather run into traffic than ever feel that again.

so it's either true that every single person who reports severe pain is exaggerating. or it's true that it's far more likely you will experience pain, rather than "just a pinch." and yet - there's nothing fucking been done about it. it kind of feels like a shrug is layered on top of everything - since technically it's elective, isn't it kind of your fault for agreeing to select it? stop being fearmongering. stop being defensive.

you fucking needed yours. you are almost weirdly protective of it. yours was so important for your physical and mental health. it helped you off hormonal birth control and even started helping some of your symptoms. it still fucking hurt for no fucking reason.

once while recovering from surgery, they offered you like 15 days of vicodin. you only took 2 of them. you've been offered oxy for tonsillitis. you turned down opioids while recovering from your wisdom tooth extraction. everything else has the option. you fucking drove yourself home after it, shocked and quietly weeping, feeling like something very bad had just happened. the nurse that held your hand during the experience looked down at you, tears in her eyes, and said - i know. this is cruelty in action.

and it's fucked up because the conversation is never just "hey, so the way we are doing this is fucking barbaric and doctors should be required to offer serious pain meds" - it's usually something around the lines of "well, it didn't kill you, did it?"

you just found out that removing that little bitch will hurt just as bad. a little pinch like how oral contraceptives have "some" serious symptoms. like your life and pain are expendable or not really important. like maybe we are all hysterical about it?

hysteria comes from the latin word for uterus, which is great!

you stand here at a crossroads. like - this thing is so important. did they really have to make it so fucking dangerous. and why is it that if you make a complaint, you're told - i didn't even want you to have this in the first place. we're told be careful what you wish for. we're told that it's our fault for wanting something so illict; we could simply choose not to need medication. that maybe if we don't like the scraps, we should get ready to starve.

we have been saying for so long - "i'm not asking you to remove the option, i'm asking you to reconsider the risk." this entire time we hear: well, this is what you wanted, isn't it?

[redeemingvillains]

obliviate - mattheo riddle

summary: when voldemort finds out about you and mattheo, he devises the perfect way to keep you apart.

word count: 5k

a/n: okeeey i know this is longer, but i actually adore it so much! kinda put my heart + soul into this one! extremely special shoutout to @pizzaapeteer's research on mattheo's favorite quidditch team, which provided a name i needed at the very end (hint hint!) ♡

warnings: angst (but also fluff, pls, it's me), use of the cruciatus curse, voldemort being voldemort.

soundtrack: dancing to the sound of a broken heart - galantis

OBLIVIATE (v.) -- To forget, to wipe from existence.

You noticed before he did.

It was early; the morning sun was just barely sneaking past the curtains in the window that fluttered gently in the autumn breeze, setting his bedroom in a deep golden hue. Your limbs were heavy with sleep and you were settled warmly in Mattheo’s arms, you could feel the rise and fall of his chest at your back, his warm breath on your neck. Normally this was your very favorite way to wake up, but something was off, something had made your eyelids flutter open, a feeling, a foreboding.

You didn’t want to wake him, gods knew he needed his sleep, so you squinted slowly around the room until your eyes rested on the very arms that were wrapped around you.

It was his dark mark, writhing against his skin.

No— you thought, but in an instant, Mattheo jolted awake, breathing heavily like he was coming out of a nightmare, or coming into one, and within a moment he was pulling his arms out from around you and you immediately felt cold for their absence.

“Matty” you whispered, turning to face him and reaching out for him, but he was already up and out bed, pulling his clothes on haphazardly.

He turned at the sound of your voice, looking longingly at you for the briefest moment, tangled in his sheets, perfect in the morning glow, your eyes begging him not to leave.

“Stay?” you asked quietly, and his stomach lurched. Fuck if you didn’t have the ability to bring him to his knees with just one word; but his arm burned and ached with impatience… He wouldn’t be kept waiting much longer and Mattheo could only come up with so many excuses as to why he was always late without exposing the truth, desperate to protect you.

“I have to…” he started, but he didn’t finish the statement, didn’t want to say what exactly he’d have to do and thank the gods you never asked.

“I know” you sighed.

“I love you” he said, leaning forward to kiss you sincerely, his fingers brushing your jawline, taking one last piece of humanity and goodness with him.

“I love you more” you whispered as his form disappeared in front of you, leaving you alone.

Mattheo knew the moment he arrived that something was deeply deeply wrong.

He recognized his surroundings at once: the Riddle family manor. The halls echoed with a silence so familiar to him and his childhood it felt like his heart stopped beating so as not to make a sound. Besides silence, though, he also felt the other hallmark of his childhood: loneliness. He was alone; not one in a mistakable mix of followers that he could slip into undetected, he was home, and he was alone, and he felt an uneasiness, a sickness settle over him as the hairs on the back of his neck began to rise and he turned to see his father stepping out of the shadows.

“Twelve minutes” he said by way of greeting, avoiding Mattheo’s eyes as he approached him like a predator would its prey.

“Twelve minutes. From the time I summoned you, until now. What, pray tell, was so pressing, so urgent as to cause your delay?”

Mattheo’s mind swept quickly over the image of you in his bed, your hair splayed on his pillow, the smile on your lips and your soft whisper as he’d apparated, but he quickly dismissed the thought.

“S’early” he said, kicking himself for how his voice waivered in its reply.

Voldemort nodded in mock understanding, like he was considering this, drawing out the silence between them, painfully so.

“So not only are you late, but you are also lying” he said, emphasizing the last word, spitting it like a hiss, his black eyes snapping to Mattheo’s in way that caused him to jolt in reply, an automatic defense mechanism against the only living being capable of scaring him as Voldemort stormed towards him, entering his personal space as his voice rose.

“Do you remember what happened to Alexei Donovan when he lied to me?” he asked.

Mattheo’s eyes shifted between his fathers, swallowing, vividly remembering watching Nagini devour Donovan limb from limb.

“ANSWER ME!” his voice boomed.

“Y-y-yeah” he stuttered.

“Yes, my Lord” Voldemort corrected him.

“Yes, my Lord” Mattheo repeated.

And then Voldemort’s tone changed completely, as he took a step back and a smile spread across his inhuman face, which was somehow more disturbing than the alternative.

“But I am a merciful Lord, aren’t I?” he asked, his head cocked, daring Mattheo to disagree.

“Yes, my Lord” he said.

Voldemort nodded in approval.

“Yes, I am. And what a relief that must be to Ms. YLN at this very moment, hmm?” he asked, his eyes clocking Mattheo’s reaction as the blood drained from his face, his eyes blew wide and his shaking hand reached for his wand.

You watched the empty space where Mattheo had apparated like he might change his mind and come back, perhaps willing him to, before you laid back down, settling for his lingering warmth and his smell against the sheets when you heard footsteps outside the door.

You sat up, excited...naive you would think later, so fucking naive with the hope that he had returned, only to feel the blast of the door getting blown off of its hinges as you moved to cover your face from the flying debris.

Mattheo was breathing erratically, his chest visibly rising and falling with pure, unadulterated rage mixed with a fear so palpable it was like he could taste it on his tongue. He was desperately trying to rein in his emotions and failing miserably as his mind catapulted over every worst case scenario.

He spoke, finally, conjuring the only thing he could think to say as his brain continued in overdrive.

"Don't" he said firmly, threateningly, his voice level for the first time that morning.

His father smiled broadly without an ounce of kindness behind his eyes as they narrowed.

"You never learn… What did I tell you? What have I always told you? This—" he said, gesturing to Mattheo's body shaking in fight or flight mode "—is weakness. Look at you!" he said with disgust, with disdain, "You're worthless. You can't decide what to you, your mind is divided when it should be focused; you're thinking of her when you should be thinking only of yourself!"

Mattheo heard every word he was saying, but all he could think about was you, about how to get back to you, how to stop whatever had already begun; but it was like chasing a train on foot that had long since left the station, no matter how badly he wanted to jump in front of it, it was far too late.

"So, one question remains" Voldemort said, circling him again. "You...Or her?" he asked, sneering.

Mattheo's eyes flicked darkly to his father. "Me or her what?" he said through gritted teeth.

"Surely you understand that I can't allow this relationship to continue with the way it's destroying you, and while the Carrows provided me with a lengthy list of ways we could enforce that" he said, smiling, letting the threat of his most devoted followers linger. "I have something much simpler in mind." He stopped pacing, snapping to face Mattheo fully, his robes flourishing around him.

"I will have your memories" he said proudly. "And one of you will forget their feelings for the other... forever" he whispered as Mattheo felt weak in his knees, like they'd buckle beneath the weight of what had been said.

"So, whose will it be?" Voldemort asked.

You felt excruciating pain in every limb, every tendon, every bone, and when you opened your mouth to scream, the Carrows took your words.

All you could do was watch them through the tears that poured out of your eyes in your silent struggle, willing, praying for Mattheo to come back, pleading with him in your mind; please, please, please you thought even as you felt your resolve and strength waning.

Mattheo's mouth had run dry and there was bile in the back of his throat at the impossible decision before him: Either forget the brightest light in his life, perhaps the only thing keeping him steady in an ever-spiraling world, forget the way your skin felt under his fingertips, the smell of your shampoo, how tightly you squeezed him when he hugged you, or the sound of your laugh, the way you listened sincerely to him with your full attention or rubbed his back when he couldn't sleep; forget the only and most sincere feeling of love he’d ever experienced.

Or worse, meet your eyes and not see a light behind them, the way they'd twinkle with adoration for him, watch you forget him completely and live life instead as your friend, a bystander, maybe even watch you fall in love with someone else... His stomach lurched.

...But in a way, isn't that what you deserved? To live a life free of all of this, free of him and the pain he caused you, constantly, every time he had to leave, every time he had to live this second life. You were meant for more than this, you deserved to be loved by someone who could give you everything in return.

"Hers" he spluttered. "Take her memories" he said quickly before he could change his mind.

Voldemort nodded obligingly before waving a hand, dismissing him.

Your eyes fluttered open as you lay in your four-poster bed, a soft smile on your lips as you saw the morning sun just barely sneaking past the curtains in the window that fluttered gently in the autumn breeze, setting your bedroom in a deep golden hue.

Your limbs were heavy with sleep and you were settled warmly in your sheets. You felt refreshed, though you had the smallest echo of a headache that you attempted to rub away as you got ready for the day.

You made your way down to breakfast, settling in amongst your friends.

"Good morning!" you said cheerfully as you took your usual seat between Pansy and Blaise.

"Good morning, babes!" Pansy chirped as the boys nodded, waved, and greeted you in various acknowledgements. You grabbed a pastry and pressed closer to Blaise to help him with the crossword puzzle in the Daily Prophet. You were deeply focused on the black and white print when Mattheo wandered in, sliding onto the bench across from you. His movement caught your eye and you glanced at him and offered a small wave before returning your attention to the paper.

And that was all he got.

A glance, a smile that he tried to hold on to, to see if there was even a glimmer of recollection behind it. But there was nothing.

The spell was strong. It had tied up every lose end. Your things were gone from his room, your pictures together wiped clear by the time he returned, even your hair tie had disappeared from his wrist. And when he crawled into his bed, and realized your scent was gone from his sheets, he pulled his pillow over his head to mask his muffled sob.

Now not even his friends remembered your relationship, he realized, as he looked around at them, all totally unphased by the fact that you weren't glued to each other's side. At once he craved the way Theo complained incessantly about your PDA, and Blaise teased him for being whipped. He would give anything anything for something other than the complete ignorance in front of him.

He'd never felt so alone.

A few days later, you noticed Mattheo was...off. Even moreso than usual. You were used to him being standoffish, reserved, a total closed book, but you sensed something different about him. You had never been close, but something about his demeanor kept catching your attention.

"Are you okay?" you asked him that weekend at the Slytherin house party.

You'd had to raise your voice to be heard over the crowd and the loud music and his eyes snapped to yours, almost in shock, before they began intently searching your face.

You looked back at him, confused, waiting for a reply.

"M'fine" he said finally, taking a long drink from his cup in an effort to occupy hands that desperately wanted to pull you into him and lips that desperately wanted to tell you a truth that didn't exist anymore.

"Lighten up, Matty!" you said, gently shoving him on his chest as you walked away, and he nearly choked on his firewhiskey, because there was only one person in his life that had ever called him that, and it was you, beginning the night you'd first time told him you loved him.

He watched you walk away and fade back into the crowded party, wondering, daring to hope that there was a way to get you back.

After that night, Mattheo’s attention on you increased tenfold. The following morning he'd squeezed his way next to you at breakfast, nearly knocking Blaise off the bench as he slid you your favorite coffee.

"Oh!...Thank you?" you'd said, surprised as you peered over his shoulder at Blaise and then looked down at the latte. "How did you—?"

"—Can I walk you to class?" he asked eagerly, a smile on his face.

"Suuureeee" you said hesitantly.

Then, he wanted to walk you to every class, and he'd even offered to carry your books. It was kind, endearing even, but it felt misplaced, so out-of-the-blue that it caught you off guard and confused you.

"Mattheo, I really want to thank you for everything you've been doing for me" you said finally as you walked out of your potions class to find him waiting for your eagerly, like a puppy, a smile on his face. Your eyes shifted to the classmates that walked by, eyeing the two of you together. "I just want you to know, I'm not really looking for anything serious. We're friends, that would be a little...weird, you know?" you said gently.

A moment.

And then he felt a chasmic split in his heart that he didn’t think he’d live through once, let alone twice. It had never occurred to him that there was a world in which you wouldn’t fall madly in love with him again as your words brought a memory rushing forward...

"Is this going to be weird?—" you asked, breathless, until his lips cut you off again, crashing to yours as his hands pulled you further against him in the broom closet. "—Darling, I could not care less" he murmured against you, and you laughed as your fingers tangled into the curls at the base of his neck and he felt your tongue against his own. “Mmm our friends are going to lose their mind” you whispered, grinning wickedly at him.

"Matty?" you asked, concerned at the look on his face, pulling him out of the memory, even as he tried and failed to hold on to it.

His eyes refocused on yours as his face darkened.

"Why are you calling me that?" he asked abruptly, his eyes narrowing.

"What?" you asked, taken aback at his tone.

"Matty. Why are you calling me that?"

"I—" you started before looking up at him, confused, feeling the dull ache of one of your more frequently occurring headaches coming on. "I-I don't know" you said quickly, a blush rising to your cheeks as you pushed past him.

He turned and punched the wall forcefully, feeling his knuckles crack in response.

Weeks went by. Every second in your existence was a painful reminder of what he would never have again, and yet he refused to distance himself, desperate for your laugh even if was for someone else, your smile, even if he wasn't the one to put it there.

Sometimes he swore he saw the slightest recollection in your eyes; he'd catch you looking at him, and you'd smile when he caught your eye, but it was always friendly, never like the look you used to give him, with the glimmer of something sinfully mischievous beneath it that had the two of you tumbling into his bed between classes.

The whole situation was setting him on edge, making him more anxious and fidgety than he'd ever been. But, of course, no one seemed to notice, his friends either chalking it up to his normal idiosyncrasies or bewitched to ignore his unusual behavior.

Now he was staring at the book in his lap, reading the same line over and over and over again, his mind running ragged as you sat beside him. At this distance he could smell your perfume, could feel your warmth radiating next to him and his heart ached at your proximity.

He hadn't realized he was doing it at first, but his leg was jiggling incessantly between the two of you, his jitters working at the pace of his mind, his body's panicked response to being so tantalizingly close to you, so desperate for you and not being able to have you. Suddenly he felt a warm hand on his leg, resting there gently as fingers began to trace a familiar pattern on his thigh, causing his jittering to slow along with his heart, which had now dropped into his stomach.

He glanced sidelong at you, afraid to move an inch, terrified that you would stop. He noticed you hadn’t broken your concentration on your book, perhaps hadn’t even realized you were touching him, it was like your body was moving on autopilot to comfort him in the very way you used to, tracing hearts on his thigh before nuzzling into him or pressing a warm kiss to his cheek.

He held his breath with the hope that this might mean something deeper, that there was a piece of you that remembered him as he closed his eyes, and tried to focus on the pattern of your fingers, the simple touch nearly bringing him to tears as he tried to let himself live in the memory of you.

You were right at the very best part of your book, the plot finally taking off, when you felt the familiar ache in your head that very quickly turned to a throbbing that brought you back to the present moment, and made you realize your hand had been resting on Mattheo’s thigh.

“Oh, gods!” you said suddenly, pulling your hand back quickly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—” you started until you saw the pained expression on his face, his eyes closed, his head hung as his hand carded through his hair. Your headache was pounding in full now, enough to make you wince and touch your temple. His eyes fluttered open, looking at you with concern.

“YN—?”

“—S-Sorry!” you said quickly, gathering your things and beelining for your room.

“Have you noticed anything… different with Mattheo recently?” you asked Pansy that weekend.

You were laying on your stomach on your bed, flipping casually through a magazine as she sat next to you, admiring her nails as she painted them a deep emerald.

You’d tried to ask as nonchalantly as you could, but she looked up at you with an eyebrow raised in question.

“I don’t know he’s been so… strange with me. He’s wanted to walk me to class, and carry my books, he wants to hang out all the time and he somehow knew how I liked my latte…?” you trailed off, leaving out the way your hand had ghosted over him, the expression on his face, and your recurring headaches that didn't feel like a coincidence anymore, flaring up every time you were around him.

A moment passed but Pansy didn’t reply and when you looked at her you saw that her expression hadn’t changed; she was staring blankly at you, not saying a word, which was extraordinarily odd to put it mildly.

This was the type of gossip that would usually have her on her feet, screaming, spiraling, devising a messy plan to get two of her best friends together, but you were getting nothing in return, less than nothing.

“Pans?” you goaded, prompting a response.

Her head tilted slightly, abnormally in a way that was starting to creep you out as her blank stare continued and you slowly pulled yourself upright and away from her.

“Let it go” she said flatly. “You’re imagining things.”

You were taken aback and started to respond before she interrupted you.

“—I mean, you can’t think that he’s into you or something, do you? He would never go for you… what would he see in you? What could you possibly have to offer the Dark Lord’s son YN? He’s got girls lined up out the door for him.”

You felt tears sting your eyes as you sat up fully now. Never once in your almost ten years of friendship had she ever said anything like that to you before. You were hurt, but you also couldn’t help but feel like something was very very wrong as fear fluttered in your heart at her dark words and unnatural expression.

Suddenly, your mind snapped black for a moment to another time you felt foreboding, felt fear in your bones, screaming silently with no one to hear you and you stumbled to your feet, wiping the tears from your eyes as your head throbbed so hard you were afraid you were going to be sick.

Pansy looked up at you, and smiled, unphased by the way you were shaking or swiping at your running mascara as she smiled. “Want to go to dinner babes?” she asked cheerful again, like she had forgotten everything she’d just said to you.

“I-I’ve got to go” you said quickly, as you made your way for the door, desperate to find the person you sensed was responsible for this all.

You made your way to the common room in slow motion, like one of those dreams where you’re running but not actually going anywhere. You felt flushed and feverish as your body began to tremble and the room felt like it was distorting itself. You looked around frantically and found Mattheo walking in your group of friends on their way to dinner.

“YN!” Blaise cheered, noticing you approach as Draco and Theo turned in concert, smiling widely at you with uncannily happy expressions.

But the minute Mattheo’s eyes landed on you, his smile dropped to concern and he quickly approached you, closing the distance between you.

“What’s wrong?” he asked immediately, reaching for you before pulling his hands back awkwardly.

“Can I talk to you?” you winced as your headache intensified “Please?”

“Yeah, of course” he said eagerly, motioning to his friends, “I’ll catch up with you” he said, nearly ignoring them completely as he led you back towards their now empty room.

He shut the door behind you both and you swayed on your feet before moving between the four poster beds and sitting on the edge of his.

There were five identical beds in the room and he tried not to read too much into the fact that you’d known which was his, even though in this reality you’d never been here. And then he tried to calm the erratic beating of his heart of you being here, alone with him, in his room, shaking the thought from his mind quickly as he took in the pained look on your face, your eyes pinched closed as you rubbed your temple

He came quickly to you, kneeling in front of you, moving to place his hands on your legs and pulling back, never knowing what the fuck to do with them anymore around you.

“What’s going on—” he started.

“—What did you do to me?” you whispered harshly, your eyes fluttering open, your face scrunched angrily in accusation.

“What?” he asked, confused.

“Mattheo, something is very very wrong, and you can’t tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

He stopped breathing. It couldn’t be.

“Our friends aren’t normal, people around us aren’t normal, and I feel like my insides are on fucking fire” you said, grimacing. “And it only happens when I’m around you. I’m not an idiot, Mattheo, is this because I turned you down?”

For his part he looked like he was about to cry, he didn’t look threatening or guilty, just enormously sad as he looked up at you with his amber eyes and your headache split to a nearly debilitating degree and tears flowed from your eyes in pain.

“My head” you said in a muffled sob.

You felt his warm hands rest on your legs, the first time he’d let himself touch you in months and you felt another flash in your mind, him smiling down at you with a lopsided grin in a way you’d never seen him look at you before, with adoration, with longing, with love, but it didn’t feel weird this time, it felt normal, so familiar…

“YN?” he whispered and your eyes fluttered open to see his transfixed on you, scanning your every feature, his expression full of concern. “Please hear me when I say I would never ever hurt you.” A lie he realized too late as he looked at you now.

“I-I know that?” you said shakily. “Somehow I know that but I don’t know how else to explain this or how I’m feeling” you said, sniffling.

“Fuck!” he muttered in frustration as he stood up and started pacing, running his fingers through his hair. He was certain that something was happening and yet he had no idea how to help you, the image of you crying in pain on his bed making him physically ill.

You sniffed again and said the next sentence so softly he swore he'd dreamt it.

“You have a scar on your shoulder, here” you said, gesturing over your own shoulder blade, tracing the same pattern of the raised skin on his back.

“You take your tea with milk and two sugars” your voice wobbled but was gaining strength as you kept speaking and he turned to look at you.

“You write left-handed but play quidditch right handed.”

Your eyes squeezed shut, words tumbling from your mouth now, like a broken dam.

“You always wanted a dog growing up and if you’d had one you would have named him—"

“—Zoryn” you said simultaneously. He moved to approach you, crouching in front of you again as he stared at you in awe, unable to believe what was going on.

Your eyes opened at his voice.

“After my favorite quidditch player” he said. “YN you’re the only person who knows that.”

“Why do I know these things?” you asked, pained.

He opened us mouth but nothing came out.

“Matty” you were practically beginning him to help you understand but he was too scared to be wrong, too scared to tell you the truth.

“...I’m the only one that calls you that” you whispered, and he nodded encouragingly.

“Yeah, you are” he said quietly, gently.

You reached out tentatively, your hand trembling and touched his cheek and he let his head fall against the palm of your hand, nuzzling into you as his eyes fluttered closed. You sniffed again.

“It’s okay, love, I’m here” he said tenderly.

“B-But you weren’t there” you said, breathing heavily all of a sudden, panicked. “I-I was scared and I wanted you there and you weren’t there…” and just like that your eyes blinked to his and memories came like an avalanche as you stood and he rose his feet beside you.

The first time he kissed you, the feeling of his warm palm in yours, tangling your fingers in his curls, feeling the gentle rise and fall of his chest in bed, the way he’d pull you onto his lap at breakfast and everyone would moan about it, him nuzzling into your neck, his arms around your waist and his hand at the small of your back in the corridor between classes. His lopsided grin as his amber eyes twinkled down at you and he whispered “Gods, I’m crazy about you, darling”

“I remember! I remember!” you said finally looking up at the real Mattheo standing in front of you, his face somewhere between sheer panic and shock and suddenly the inches between you were too much as you flew into his arms, wrapping yourself around him as he lifted you off the ground.

“Fuck baby” he said as you felt him shaking beneath you. “I’m sorry I’m so fucking sorry. He made me. M-made me choose, your memories or mine and—“ he choked up as hand came to rest on the back of your head, holding you closer to him “—I didn’t want you to live a moment in any reality thinking I didn’t love you.”

“It’s okay, Matty, it’s okay” you murmured against him, clinging to him, to the moment.

“None of this is okay” he said back.

“It’s ok now” you reassured him.

He made to pull back but you squeezed him tighter, afraid.

“I don’t want to forget” you mumbled into his neck.

“You’re not going to” he said through a laugh, the first time the sound had left his lips in months.

“Let me guess” you sniffed against him, fighting the knowing smile on your lips, “because you’re unforgettable” you grumbled at his cocky humor.

“Well, yeah” he said, laughing genuinely now, even as you pinched him.

“But more importantly—” he said as he took a step forward to lay you down on his bed so he could look at you, could finally see the sparkle of recognition in your eyes that he had been craving. You were looking back at him like you were committing his every feature to memory, your stomach flipping at how beautiful he was, at how you could ever forget it, tracing the scar at his eyebrow, his flushed cheeks, his lips and noting the twinkle in his eyes.

“—You’re not going to forget because the most powerful wizard alive already tried to make you, and it didn’t fucking work.”

You smiled at him, resolutely. “I could never forget you.”

“That’s right, baby” he said as he leaned down to brush his lips against yours, lingering for just a moment, savoring it like it was the first time all over again.

taglist: @dustie-faerie, @urfavfrenchgrl, @darlingshecried, @thegoddessofnothingness, @kenjikishimotoswifey, @mattiesgf @sleepiibunniiii @girllblogging777 @foivetimesacharm @clar2aa @broadwaybaby123 @slytherinscreamqueen @sectumsempraaa

[ihaveverything]

Limitless manifesting for beginners

part I - the basic concepts

part II - states, techniques, change

part III - mental diet, sats

part IV - daily life, time

ʚ part V - resistance, faith, the ''real'' world

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

Changing your life can happen faster than you ever possibly imagined, but you first have to understand the basics of who you are. This goes beyond the common saying of “you don’t manifest what you want, you manifest who you are” into a deeper spiritual truth about our existence as souls and a reality far greater than what we see now. Each of us has many probable lives, access to infinite probable realities, and is truly the sole creator for our individual reality.

“First of all, a soul is not something that you have. It is what you are.” – Seth Speaks: The Eternal Validity of the Soul

Resistance

To enter a state is not the most difficult thing. In fact, it should be rather effortless, until the factor of resistance and strain comes in. There is no benefit in affirming or visualizing against how you feel, because the latter will always be the victor. In fact, it only reinforces lack because of avoidance.

“There is a great difference between resisting evil and renouncing it. When you resist evil, you give it your attention; you continue to make it real. When you renounce evil, you take your attention from it and give your attention to what you want.” – Neville Goddard, The Power of Awareness

Since we live in a physical reality, we often identify with the part of us that is responsible for daily activities, and we barely give any thought to the unconscious portion of ourselves that is the basis for creating the experience around us. We rely on our senses to survive and allow the outside world to determine how we feel. However, the concept of us being more than a physical form has been discussed in both scientific and spiritual fields. As you have likely learned from Neville and / or Seth, our consciousness is far more than a production of the neurons in our brain. Our own physical form, which we have so strongly identified with, is just like a custom fitting glove that we are constantly creating to suit our needs. We are in the physical as Gods in training, learning how to use our thoughts to create our human experience. This gift is something we were born with, and although the Law is not common knowledge to most people in this world, the truth about reality and our identity is not hidden. It is displayed in each of our lives on a daily basis, with a perfect correlation between the states we’ve been entertaining and the events that occur.

“However, the understanding of the causes of your experience, and the knowledge that you are the sole creator of the contents of your life, both good and bad, not only make you a much keener observer of all phenomena, but through the awareness of the power of your consciousness, intensify your appreciation of the richness and grandeur of life.” – Neville Goddard, The Power of Awareness

Knowing this perspective of being a fragment of God, it is completely up to us to create anything we desire with our imagination. There are 3D circumstances that seem to hold us back, but if you really think about it, what’s more limitless? The 3D world or your imagination? And which comes first? The imagination. Sometimes we wish things were different, we hope this will change, we wonder if that can happen, but notice how none of these are a solid confidence in your experience now. You are the only one limiting yourself to your 3D circumstances. Breaking free of this mindset can be as simple as remembering who we truly are and what our purpose on Earth is. No one knows what your individual purpose for coming here is, but just as an example, let’s say it’s to learn how to create a long lasting relationship with someone you love because that was something you failed to do in the previous life. You chose this life and consented to your current circumstances as a second try, but when you surrender your mind to what you created in the first place, it’s really just disappointing yourself for a second time when you could’ve taken this opportunity to learn. Now that was just a probable situation, and it doesn’t apply to everyone, but if you accept a new view of life and allow yourself to feel connected to infinite possibilities, doesn’t that sound much easier and more powerful than feeling stranded in a 3D world?

“How many of you would want to limit your reality, your entire reality, to the experience you now know? You do this when you imagine that your present self is your entire personality, or insist that your identity be maintained unchanged through an endless eternity.” – Seth Speaks: The Eternal Validity of the Soul

“It is not that physical reality is false. It is that the physical picture is simply one of an infinite number of ways of perceiving the various guises through which consciousness expresses itself.” – Seth Speaks: The Eternal Validity of Soul

Manifesting is effortless because it’s a decision, not a chore. If you were asked to get from Paris to Tokyo without a plane, that’s gonna take a lot of effort. You were not asked to do so. The key points to making that mental decision effortless is understanding life from a creator’s eyes + playfully using your imagination beneficially + gentle reminders that creation is finished + repeatedly making the same choice for which reality you will experience without trying to change anything in the 3D. As the Seth quote above says, your physical reality is not fake, and it’s actually a misconception to believe so. The people you meet everyday are real human beings with the same feelings and consciousness you have. However, there are many different versions of what you can experience, so your goal is to select something new. Telling yourself that 4D is the only real world and 3D is fake can lead to delusion or inner conflict when everything around you seems so real (which it is), because it could cause a spiral. If your SP left you in this reality, it does not mean that they are a fake puppet who doesn’t have a mind of their own. All it means is that your circumstances are aligned with whatever states you were dominantly entertaining, but you can change that at any moment. People often get confused with how to view the 3D because it gives them the most resistance, which brings them closer to trying rather than effortless manifesting. Your experience is made of internal selections, choices, and decisions. Choosing something better for yourself should be as easy as second nature, because who doesn’t want a better life?

“You must begin to trust yourself sometime. I suggest you do it now. If you do not then you will forever be looking to others to prove your own merit to you, and you will never be satisfied. You will always be asking others what to do, and at the same time resenting those from whom you seek such aid.” – Seth, The Nature of Personal Reality

Everyone who reads Neville and Seth should have come to the realization that we are connected to God / source. There is absolutely no power outside of you that determines your reality, so there’s really no reason for us to trust anyone but ourselves. Seeking outside help for more knowledge is a good start, but ultimately experience and application is the breakthrough moment for most people’s understanding in the Law. Nothing beats the feeling of your first major manifestation coming into fruition and you start thinking what more you can do next. Sometimes the only thing that stops you from seeing manifestation as effortless is having one foot in and one foot out. If you take a step forward but keep looking back at where you were before, then you haven’t really bought the Pearl of Great Price like Neville says. No teacher, book, guide, or video can do the mental work for you. At the end of the day your biggest motivator will and should always be yourself, because you need the drive to change your life.

Faith

When considering the best way to manifest your desires, it’s important to recognize that if you were bound to the 3d limitations of this world, many fundamental concepts such as creation is finished, infinite versions of yourself and others, different probable realities, imagination is not fiction, etc wouldn’t exist. Having an intellectual understanding of these things is not the same as feeling an emotional connection. Since the Law of Assumption places faith in breaking free of limitations and opening our minds to endless possibilities, it would also be helpful to view ourselves from a different perspective.

When people spiral over circumstances or are feeling resistance when doing techniques or returning to the state of the wish fulfilled, it is often because they lack a sense of control. They may view the current situation as solid, or their beliefs are too deeply rooted so they can’t see how the things they put attention on aren’t actually objective facts about reality. They could also feel like they are at a disadvantage, or are unsure of what to do when met with undesirable events because they aren’t finding comfort or confidence in accepting that they are actually the sole creator of their reality.

“Do not judge after the appearances of a thing. In judging after appearances you forget that all things are possible. Hypnotized as they were to the reality of appearances they could not feel the naturalness of sanity. The only way for you to avoid such failures is to constantly bear in mind that your awareness is the Almighty, all-wise presence, who without help, effortlessly out-pictures that which you are aware of being. Be perfectly indifferent to the evidence of the senses, so that you may feel the naturalness of your desire–and your desire will be realized. Turn from appearances and feel the naturalness of perfect sanity and sanity will embody itself. Your desire is the solution of your problem. As the desire is realized, the problem is dissolved.” – Neville Goddard, I Know My Father

Essentially what Neville explains in his teachings is that it is beneficial to live life from “God mode”, or in other words, a perspective where you truly are the only cause for every external materialization in the 3d world. I understand that there are many religious people who also follow manifestation content, and their beliefs may not resonate with saying “I am God”, which is perfectly fine. Ultimately the goal of this perspective is not to claim power for vanity, but to gain confidence and understanding in knowing just because you are a human, it does not mean manifestation is a powerless being trying to do magic tricks to make a miracle happen. When we view the Law as an unbelievable or difficult promise, mental dieting becomes much harder because there is a belief that prevents us from seeing things as attainable, or even effortless and naturally promised to us. The “God mode” perspective is helpful because it allows us to feel more connected with infinite possibilities that easily dissolves doubts and fears surrounding circumstances. Think about it this way, would God worry about being blocked by their person? Would God worry about not passing a job interview or not having enough money? No of course not, so you shouldn’t worry either. What you can gain from the Law of Assumption is fulfillment of your dreams and desires, so aligning your perception of yourself with someone that is easily capable of getting such things will lift a weight off your shoulders.

When you are going about life attending to your daily commitments, it can be easy to forget this perspective, because certainly anyone would look at you weirdly if you claimed “I am God and you are too”, but if you treat this as a playful reminder and an internal understanding that benefits your manifestation, it won’t feel like you’re usurping power. If you are waiting in line at the store or cooking at home and your mind wanders to the unlovely things, observe how you’re viewing yourself. Are you surrendering to physical human senses, or are you taking control by confidently returning to this new perspective?

Resistance is often defined by the emotions and thoughts we have, but if you think about where they come from, the root is always a belief. All circumstances, no matter big or small, are no trouble if you start believing in things that allow you to feel more powerful. You cannot possibly feel upset over something when you know you are connected to God and things will change because you say so. View life from the eyes of God, and your circumstances will reflect that back to you eventually.

Additionally, faith is believing in the unseen. How do you know what is unseen and what is improbable? You need to test it out. People always want to rely on others for motivation and success, but your life is your life. You have full responsibility and control over it, and there’s no excuse for anyone to stop themselves from reaching success because they always want to hear about someone else’s story first. It does not do well to compare or to worry. All the answers you need are within you. Ask yourself before you ask someone else, and learn to give yourself the willpower you need. A leap of faith is not as complicated or scary as it seems. You will gain faith after you realize this works for me, I’ve done it and now I will do it again. Joy from seeing other people’s stories will never be the same as the feeling of winning on your own. It’s understandable to question the Law after a significant period of no results, but ask yourself this question, “Have I truly changed my beliefs?” If the answer is no, then there’s no reason to doubt the Law, because you haven’t met the condition under which your 3D will reflect your desire. If the answer is yes, then that means you believe with full conviction that you already have what you want. With that being the case, then you are someone new. Why would that new version of you question where your results are? The logic of the Law is that you won’t get hurt or disappointed from applying it. Success is inevitable, and if you’re applying it properly, then there’s no reason for you to feel negative anymore.

The ''real'' world

I’m sure many people have wondered at least once in their lifetime what the meaning of life is, why are humans here, and what happens after death. There are curious minds that think about this existential question frequently, and people who don’t care about spirituality and manifestation beyond achieving their own desires. And that’s perfectly fine. People hold different beliefs all around the world. From religious ones to scientific theories, there’s always been a central question of what is the true purpose of our existence. The Law of Assumption is closely tied to metaphysical concepts such as the multiverse theory, cognitive scientific conclusions that studies how the brain / mind alters and shapes our realities, psychological perspectives on emotions and their subjectivity, etc. Manifesting is not a baseless optimistic lifestyle, nor is it confirmation bias. The Seth Material has introduced an extensive and detailed collection of works that explain how we have come to this world to experience life as humans. We are learning and evolving, shaping our realities with our thoughts, beliefs, and expectations. Seth even dives into the afterlife to explain death, afterlife choices, and other planetary existences and communities. He explains our existence:

“I am telling you that you are not a cosmic bag of bones and flesh, thrown together through some mixture of chemicals and elements. I am telling you that your consciousness is not some fiery product, formed merely accidentally through the interworkings of chemical components.” – Seth Speaks: The Eternal Validity of the Soul

For the people who found this material intriguing, some may have come to the realization that the world is quite more complex than what we can perceive right now. It is not to say that spiritual findings and beliefs should take over our daily life and affect our ways of living by completely branching off into a secluded mindset that differs from any other normal social interactions we may have. From my perspective, it’s a proposal that may be beneficial to those who are feeling lost or powerless. To recognize and embrace life as an experiential game of choices rather than an unknown path of challenges is a way to understand effortless manifesting. The most limitless we can be is always within our imagination, because it’s truly a place of possibilities, freedom, and creativity, so enjoy it.

“Suffering is not good for the soul, unless it teaches you how to stop suffering. That is its purpose.” ― Seth Speaks: The Eternal Validity of the Soul

[strawbeerossi]

Taking Calls

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid

Description: Whenever a man who makes you feel uncomfortable asks for your number, you give him your boyfriend’s number instead. Whenever he texts him all day and finally decides to call, Spencer plans on taking care of it.

Content/Warnings: Minor case details (nothing explicit), creep officer, loving boyfriend Spencer, intimidation mention, kissing, unprotected sex, Spencer answers a phone call in the middle of sex (I didn’t know how to word that so it works lmao.)

Word Count: 1.2K

Anon Request: I had a spicy idea where a creepy cop tries to get readers number for “work purposes” and instead she gives him Spencer’s number and the cop happens to call Spencer and reader while he’s in the middle of fucking reader or the reader is in the middle of giving him a blowjob and the cop sort of hears her in the background? I just thought you’d be the perfect person to write this 😍

Navigation || Criminal Minds Masterlist || Request

🏷️ @kr-1-sta @iluvreid @nervousmoongiver @multifandom-on-the-side @ferrjulie @lov1ngreid @sobbingcryingattsizzles @doriantomybasil @thegluesong @rosiehale23

Spencer had his number given out before due to a prank on Derek’s end that had so many people blowing up his phone. It was something he vowed that he would get the man back for and specifically state that it could never happen again.

The team was on a case in Manhattan, a standard killer who had an awakened blood lust was terrorizing the city. After six victims, the NYPD felt it was best to invite the BAU onto the case, which seemed to be too little too late due to the man going dormant.

Every lead was buried so deep that you’d need an excavator to dig them up, still the team persisted. You were currently on day three, staying back at the police precinct along with Dave to interview the families of the deceased, hoping to dig up any leads.

You had currently stepped out for a brief break, standing by the coffee machine as you were getting one of the disposable cups, filling it to the brim with a healthy mixture of coffee and sugar. “Hey, Y/L/N, correct?” A voice came from behind you, making you turn to look over the person addressing you. Officer Laslow. “Hi, yes. That’s me. How can I help you?” You asked, eyebrows raising.

You didn’t like to judge people, however you had a very uneasy feeling around him. The way he was looking at you was a good enough reason to be uncomfortable, the man seeming to mentally undress you as he stared into your soul. “I was just wondering if your team had any leads? I mean, I’m sure the families know something,” He spoke, making you sigh as your shoulders slumped. “Nothing, unfortunately.” You spoke while sipping from the coffee cup in your hands.

“Nothing? What a shame. I was actually wondering if you and I could exchange numbers? No funny business, I’m just wanting to make sure we can stay in communication throughout this case. You know, share intel.”

He could’ve just asked Aaron for updates. However, in the moment of being uncomfortable and not knowing what to say, you were clearing your throat. “Well. Okay.. Just for intel though.” You murmured, slowly taking the device from his hands to put in Spencer’s number instead of your own. You’d explain things to your boyfriend later. Until then, you were doing the next best option. Spencer could handle this. You were sure of it.

As another day passed and there was no leads, the team was retreating to the hotel for the night to try and get some rest, even if they were overly focused on trying to catch the murderer running around freely. “Honey, I have a question.” Spencer began as he was walking from the bathroom, a pair of flannel pyjama pants and a white t-shirt clinging to his lanky frame. “I’ve just had a lot of texts today. The person is addressing you by name. Wanna talk about who you gave my number to?” He asked softly. He knew it had to be a big deal if you wouldn’t give someone your number.

“Some creep on the NYPD team. You should’ve seen the way he looked at me, Spencer. It made me so uncomfortable.” You shivered while looking over at your boyfriend. “I’m sorry that I gave him your number. I didn’t know what else to do.” The feeling of his hand rubbing your shoulder caused your body to relax, a soft sigh leaving his lips.

“I’m not upset with you by any means. I just wanted to ask. He didn’t try and touch you or force himself on you, right?” He asked, slowly letting his arm wrap around your shoulders as you shook your head. “No. Nothing like that. He was just twice my size and intimidating. I mean, he could’ve hurt me if I rejected him.” In this job, Spencer saw cases like that far too much, so he believed it.

“Come here.” He spoke while slowly pressing a few kisses against your cheek. “It’ll be okay. I’ll speak with Hotch about it tomorrow. It’ll get taken care of.” He smiled, the back of his knuckle gently caressing your cheek. “How did I get so lucky to be with you?” You asked softly, offering a smile as you leaned against his touch. “I’m the lucky one.” He mused, now moving to press a sweet kiss against your lips.

However, the kiss was only cut short whenever he could hear the ringtone on his phone designated for texts. “This guy is a real piece of work.” Your boyfriend muttered against your lips, opting to ignore the incessant sounds coming from his phone as he carried on your shared kiss. As the kids deepened, his hands were working to push your shirt over your head before his hands were working on your work pants. You hadn’t changed just yet, so he felt like he was definitely helping you out in the grand scheme of things.

Once you were undressed to his liking, it wasn’t long until your own hands were pushing at his clothes to bring him to the same level of unclothed as you were. “Lay down.” Spencer breathed as he broke the kiss, watching you push yourself back in bed before he was crawling on top of you to attach your lips once more. You were both eager, a lot of stress from this case as well as your own yearning for pleasure making things go just a little faster than usual. He used one hand to bring one of your legs around his waist, which prompted you to mirror your actions with your other leg.

Pushing your panties to the side, your boyfriend wasted no time pushing his cock inside of your eager cunt, a low groan leaving his lips as the hand propping him up was gripping the sheets. “Fuck. I love you.” He whispered, pressing a few sweet kisses to your lips. For once today, you felt like you could forget the officer from earlier, to enjoy the moment. Until Spencer was getting a call. “Are you kidding?” He huffed out of frustration, hips still thrusting at a slow pace as he was reaching over to take his cellphone from the bedside table.

“W-we should stop.” You breathed, knowing he had to take the call judging by the look on his face. “No. No, just lay there and take it, pretty girl. I’m gonna settle this once and for all.” He murmured. Before you could object, he was swiping to answer the call. “I don’t appreciate being ignored.” The male on the other end of the phone huffed. Just hearing his slimy voice had Spencer cringing. Using his shoulder to hold the phone up to his ear, he let out a soft breath. His hips thrusted into you at a faster speed, your lip tucked between your teeth as you really did try to keep quiet.

“She’s busy but I can take a message.” Spencer answered as if he wasn’t jackhammering you into the mattress right now, whines and moans slipping from your lips as you couldn’t hold them back anymore. “Who is this?” The officer asked, now his annoyance being clear as day. “Spencer!” You gasped out, answering his question without even being aware of it.

“You heard her. Tell the nice man on the phone who has the pleasure of fucking you.” Spencer grunted, making you red in the face as you gripped his upper arms. “You!”

“My name, baby. Tell him who gets to take you home every night.”

“Spencer!” You panted, head tossed back as he was pounding into your sweet spot.

“Now. If you’ll excuse me, I have important matters to attend to. I hope you get the hint.” He murmured.

[dresshistorynerd]

The Morrisian case against fast fashion

Today I discovered that H&M made a William Morris collection some years ago. The heath death of the universe can't come quickly enough. We can stop now. Satire is dead and we killed her.

It's not just the whole concept of H&M using William Morris' designs for their fast fashion which is insanity inducing, but also the critical response it garnered. Like sure, people did realize this is insane and there was a lot of think pieces about it at the time, but I read several of them and they all seem to still miss the point in spectacular way.

The basic premise of these think pieces go along the lines of: "Would William Morris spin in his grave with a speed of light because of the H&M collection of his designs? A difficult question indeed. William Morris was a complicated man. He wanted art to be affordable to everyone. Isn't H&M affordable? That kinda fits. Though probably he would have some concerns about H&M's practices."

On the surface - yes - but like in reality - fuck no. There's no nuance in this particular issue. He talked about many times what he though of the H&Ms of his time, the retailers selling poor quality industrially produced "fashionable" bullshit. We know exactly what he would have thought of H&M. Here's couple of quotes from his 1884 lecture "Art and Socialism", which makes it very clear.

"It would be an instructive day's work for any one of us who is strong enough to walk through two or three of the principal streets of London on a week-day, and take accurate note of everything in the shop windows which is embarrassing or superfluous to the daily life of a serious man. Nay, the most of these things no one, serious or unserious, wants at all; only a foolish habit makes even the lightest-minded of us suppose that he wants them, and to many people even of those who buy them they are obvious encumbrances to real work, thought and pleasure. But I beg you to think of the enormous mass of men who are occupied with this miserable trumpery, from the engineers who have had to make the machines for making them, down to the hapless clerks who sit day-long year after year in the horrible dens wherein the wholesale exchange of them is transacted, and the shopmen, who not daring to call their souls their own, retail them amidst numberless insults which they must not resent, to the idle public which doesn't want them but buys them to be bored by them and sick to death of them."

He is describing the birth of consumerism, which was taking form during his lifetime in the late Victorian Era, which fast fashion is the extreme logical conclusion of, and he fucking hated it. He specifically railed against endless consumerist products, which H&M is the perfect representation of. It was definitely not the art and beauty he believed everyone required and deserved. He makes the distinction often.

"Now if we are to have popular Art, or indeed Art of any kind, we must at once and for all be done with this luxury; it is the supplanter, the changeling of Art; so much so that by those who know of nothing better it has even been taken for Art, the divine solace of human labour, the romance of each day's hard practice of the difficult art of living."

"And here furthermore is at least a little sign whereby to distinguish between a rag of fashion and a work of Art: whereas the toys of fashion when the first gloss is worn off them do become obviously worthless even to the frivolous—a work of Art, be it ever so humble, is long lived; we never tire of it; as long as a scrap hangs together it is valuable and instructive to each new generation. All works of Art in short have the property of becoming venerable amidst decay: and reason good, for from the first there was a soul in them, the thought of man, which will be visible in them so long as the body exists in which they were implanted."

When he thought of popular Art he thought of the craftsmanship of the common people. The art people have made from useful everyday objects with skillful handicrafts. This is what he means by "divine solace of human labour". It's not reverence of Puritanical work ethic, on the contrary, it's the reverence of creation, of the earnest joy people feel when they get to express themselves through their creative pursuits. He certainly didn't believe in work for work's sake, work needed to be worthwhile and enjoyable. He summarized his own position on what labour should be thusly:

"It is right and necessary that all men should have work to do which shall be worth doing, and be of itself pleasant to do; and which should he done under such conditions as would make it neither over-wearisome nor over-anxious."

He urged his middle class audience to reject consumerism (the lecture was for a very much middle class atheist society):

"For I say again that in buying these things: 'Tis the lives of men you buy! Will you from mere folly and thoughtlessness make yourselves partakers of the guilt of those who compel their fellow men to labour uselessly?"

I think it's glaringly obvious H&M and fast fashion in general is what he would consider luxury. Rags of fashion that are just churned out and discarded without thought and produced by compelling people to labour uselessly. It's not popular art that's made by workers and craftsmen, who are able to express themselves through it. There's no agency for the abused workers in H&M's sweatshops, they are not expressing their joy of creation, they are simply labouring uselessly.

Morris didn't shame workers for buying affortable things even if they weren't Art with big A, because that's the problem he despised the whole economic system for, for taking away the popular Art from people, making it inaccessible, and selling back mass produced products with very little practical or aesthetic value. So I don't think he would have problem with people who can only afford fast fashion today. They are the victims of capitalism too, because Art has been taken away from them. But the idea that some of these think pieces had that perhaps the H&M's Morris collection can be good actually if you squint, that H&M has the capacity to bring the art and beauty Morris advocated for for the people, is level of stupidity that's hard to express in words.

Morris didn't believe anything made with exploited labour could be truly beautiful, truly art. In his 1879 lecture "The Art of the People" he put it like this:

"That thing which I understand by real art is the expression by man of his pleasure in labour."

The way I understand this, is that art is communication. Through it we communicate feelings, ideas and thoughts, that is it's purpose. So for that communication to work, for it to be imbued with message, the person making it needs to feel passion and love for it's creation. How can there be love and passion if the hands making the garment belong to a tired exploited worker who has no agency what so ever in their work and can only think about survival to the next day?

Beyond the fundamental exploitativeness of H&M and fast fashion, this collection would still get zero points on aesthetic values from Morris even with his own designs. Because the work itself was such an important part of art for Morris, good design was nothing without good craftsmanship. Good design in his mind was always relative and dependent on it's purpose.

"For everything made by man’s hands has a form, which must be either beautiful or ugly; beautiful if it is in accord with Nature, and helps her; ugly if it is discordant with Nature, and thwarts her; it cannot be indifferent." (The Lesser Arts, 1877)

Here when he says nature, he means the nature of the thing that is made - basically it's purpose and function - and the nature of the materials it's made from. Basically, the design must always be made to bring out the function of the art and the qualities of the material it's made from, not fight against them. This is because he believed handicrafts were uniquely suitable for expressing the love of creation, therefore superior labour, and to really bring out the qualities of the craftsmanship and enjoy the creative process, the design should be suitable for that craft. The other side, which was the joy of using and experiencing art, required the craft to be selected for the suitable purpose. Using poorly functioning furniture for example is not very enjoyable, nor is using clothing that's made from materials that are not suitable for the climactic conditions it's supposed to be used in.

H&M of course utterly fails in this. They use Morris' designs in fully unsuitable ways. They print patterns made for example for wall papers on poor quality fabrics with synthetics dyes they weren't made for. This line from one blog post I came across really got me: "Therefore, without cheapening the artistic value of Morris’ designs, H&M’s collection offers an unparalleled potential for accessibility to them." No. Fuck no. They do in fact cheapen Morris' designs in every single way possible. Literally this is atrocious.

Despite the popular depiction, Morris wasn't in fact against industrial machinery or industrial art even, or at least he wasn't once his views on art and politics matured. He did think technology was useful, but he thought the people should use industrial methods for the benefit of all, not be enslaved by the industrial machine.

"I have spoken of machinery being used freely for releasing people from the more mechanical and repulsive part of necessary labour; and I know that to some cultivated people, people of the artistic turn of mind, machinery is particularly distasteful, and they will be apt to say you will never get your surroundings pleasant so long as you are surrounded by machinery. I don't quite admit that; it is the allowing machines to be our masters and not our servants that so injures the beauty of life nowadays. In other words, it is the token of the terrible crime we have fallen into of using our control of the powers of Nature for the purpose of enslaving people, we care less meantime of how much happiness we rob their lives of." ("How we live and how we might live", 1887)

However, he thought that the designer should approach it the way they approached any craft, by designing for the strengths of the machine work.

"But if you have to design for machine-work, at least let your design show clearly what it is. Make it mechanical with a vengeance, at the same time as simple at possible. Don't try, for instance, to make a printed plate look like a hand-painted one: make it something which no one would try to do if he were painting by hand..." ("Art and the Beauty of the Earth", 1881)

He did use some machinery for fabric and wall paper printing, but he was very intentional about their use. Still his designs weren't made for the type of methods these modern H&M machinery uses and he did for example use natural dyes. Particularly insulting is that some of the H&M clothes are made from viscose, rayon made with viscose method. Viscose method is extremely toxic and is known to cause long term health consequences for the workers and the people in surrounding areas. This has been well proven knowledge for ages. William Morris' wall paper factory in the beginning used the typical method used at the time which involved arsenic, but once he learned this could pose risks for the workers, he changed the method. Many of the new synthetic dyes were toxic at the time, which is the major reason he so favoured natural dyes, known to not cause health issues for workers or pollute the environment.

The question many of these think pieces about the H&M Morris collection posed was, would Morris disapprove and should we care? The first part of that is very easy to answer. Yes. Of course Morris would disapprove. He is currently powering the whole of British Isles with purely the kinetic energy his grave-spinning produces. Should we care though? If you care about Morris' art, if you want to see more of that kind of art in this world, you should care. Morris' art is not about the superficial qualities. Copying his designs and aesthetics and styles, will only lead to hollow imitations, that are exactly what he described the rags of fashion to be; as the shininess of novelty wears off they will reveal themselves to be soulless, useless and utterly empty. This collection is just that. To see more of the kind of art that makes you feel like his art makes you feel, not just something that reminds you of that feeling, you should focus more on the way the art is made and less on the specific aesthetics. If his vision of labour and art was realised, all art produced of course wouldn't be loved by every person, but all of it would be loved by someone, even if that someone was just the maker. And that would be more worthwhile than every single rag of fast fashion.

I will stop William-Morris-posting now and return to my thesis.

The full texts I quoted here:

Art and Socialism The Art of the People The Lesser Arts How We Live and How We Might Live Art and the Beauty of the Earth

[cryptidghostgirl]

hii i read your fic with the humanalastor! x reader where they become like partners in crime (i loved it sm)

and got an idea based off of it

what if Alastor dies first and a few years later Alastor and the reader reunite after she goes to the hotel? thought it would be kinda cute :)

A/N ngl I was thinking of doing something like this so I am very happy it is desired by the people as well. Also, we're gonna pretend that the timeline I created wouldn't make her like over a hundred years old when she died, okay? Okay.

Cover Up Pt. 2 (Alastor x Reader)

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of murder and blood, nothing graphic. Alastor being a depressed little bitch. Also a lot of dead bird metaphors for lost hope. Please let me know if I forgot anything.

Word Count: 1,971

Part One: Cover Up (Human!Alastor x Human!Reader)

Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List

When Alastor had died, Y/n had shattered. Their years of holding one another's bloodstained hands had finally drawn to a close. They had a good run, nearly a decade before anyone caught on. His death also came with the added downside of throwing suspicion on Y/n. To say the event changed her life would be an understatement.

When Alastor had first woken up in Hell, he had mourned his loss as if she was the one who had died and not him. The allowance of such a foolish thing was short lived. He quickly realized there was no way Y/n wouldn't end up in Hell as well eventually, with her track record. He refocused his pain, his anguish into making sure he had the perfect world to serve up to her on a platter as soon as she arrived.

As the years ticked on, the little bird fluttering away in his ribcage became more and more despondent. He tried to distract himself by continuing his work, continuing his plans for her. Always for her. It worked to a certain extent but, soon it had been sixty years and she still hadn't made her arrival. It didn't matter how many overlords he killed, how many worthless souls he tortured. There was nothing that could take his mind off that.

Alastor wondered what sort of life Y/n had made for herself after his death. He wondered if she had found love again, held out hope that she hadn't. It was a selfish wish, he knew it. Alastor had always been selfish. It wasn't that he wished for her to be unhappy, just that he knew she was the only person, living or dead, out there for him. There was no hope for Alastor that wasn't Y/n and he wanted her to feel the same way about him. He didn't want to lose, to have been an idiot, to have been the one that loved more. At the same time, he didn't want her to feel that way either. It was complicated and confusing, the twists of his own logic.

Another decade and he began wondering if somehow his beloved wife had gotten into Heaven instead. He knew it was a long shot, after everything she had done but, she had also never killed anyone who didn't deserve it. Maybe there was some exception for women who killed their pursuers, when the pursuers were coming on too intensely or had ulterior motives. He wondered if she'd remarried, if she had kids. If she was still on earth, there would have to be something that was keeping her there and that was the only thing that made sense.

Eighty years, as it turned out, had been all he could take. The bird had died and its corpse had rotted, festering into anger. Not anger at Y/n no, never anger at Y/n but anger at the world, at the system of the afterlife. He became bolder, brasher, more foolish. He got caught in a bad deal.

Coming to the hotel had been a command, yes, but it had also ended up being something of a salvation for the man. In the seven years of his disappearance from the rings of Hell, there had been little to distract him from the growing hole of Y/n's absence. It was a hungry thing, a deep seated want, a controlling desire. The hotel served to fill it. Not completely, but a little. It was better than nothing. Besides, for all her violence, Y/n had always had a way of seeing the best in others, in the world around her. He was certain she would have liked Charlie if she ever got to meet her, certain the hotel would shine in his wife's eyes.

Husk and Nifty were the only two who knew. They had both met him when Alastor's focus had been the creation of a world for Y/n, it was impossible for them not to. They had both noticed how as the years had passed, he had said her name less, how he had become crueler. Not even Charlie had in inkling of an idea that Alastor might be missing something, might be unshakable heartbroken. He hid it well.

Even now as he entered the lobby intent on finding Charlie in order to discuss some of the decor on the upper floors, he made sure his smile was firmly fixed in place. A smile was the strongest weapon a person or demon could have, the strongest disguise. He made sure he was never without one.

"So you just arrived today?" he heard Charlie saying as he began to make his way down the stairs.

He could see her by the door, talking to a demon whom her position obscured from his vision. A new guest. Internally, Alastor sighed. This was throwing a wrench into his plans for the day.

"Yeah I... it's all so confusing here. Wonderful in a way, don't get me wrong but... when I heard about your hotel, it seemed safe."

The unknown demon's voice was soft, it pulled at his heart strings. The corpse of the bird was a puppet at its familiarity. It was a sickening feeling, the dead body of his hope being pulled up and twitched around for another's unknowing amusement. Alastor nearly faltered, hesitating on the last step.

"So are you actually interested in redemption?" Charlie asked, sounding downcast.

"Well, I'm not really sure yet. Is that okay? I mean, I just got here today and... either way, I love the idea of your hotel and I want to help. I could work as a maid? Or I'm a pretty good cook? My husband always said so anyways. I'm sort of trying to find someone too so... What I'm trying to say is that I could work until I've figured it out, if that is alright with you?"

Charlie hummed in thought as Alastor began to cross the room, heading straight for the pair.

"It's a bit unorthodox but, I suppose. We could always use another helping hand."

"Really!?" the stranger exclaimed, "Oh thank you!"

Alastor was over Charlie's shoulder practically now. She shifted on her feet, allowing Alastor to at last see the person she was talking to.

"So, what's your name?"

The demon opened her mouth to speak but, before a word could leave her lips, she was interrupted by a static filled voice. It brought back memories, hurt her heart to hear.

"Y/n."

There was no doubt about it. Even in her new demon form, Alastor knew. It was the curl of her hair, it was the brightness of her eyes, the way she held herself. She looked up at him with wide eyes.

"When did you get here?" Charlie asked in confusion as she turned to the side, turning the pair into a group of three all facing one another, "Also, you know her? Oh my gosh, wait. Are you okay? I don't think I've ever seen you not smiling before."

Neither payed the princess any mind, each absorbed in one another's eyes. Y/n took a sutering half step forwards, her mouth slightly open.

"Alastor?"

It was barley more than a whisper. She took another step towards him, then yet another. Lifting her hand, she gently cupped it around his cheek. Instinctively, the Radio Demon leaned into the touch.

"It really is you... isn't it."

Alastor pulled Y/n into his arms, wrapping her in his frame and resting his chin on the top of her head. Y/n was frozen in shock for a moment before she returned the gesture, balling her fists in to the back of his coat.

"Wow. You guys really know each other." Charlie mumbled to herself, eyes wide.

The pair pulled apart, Alastor still holding Y/n's waist as Y/n held his coat. She looked up at him, disbelief etched into her features, her sentiments reflected back to her in Alastor's own face.

"I thought..." he mumbled, raising a hand and tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, "I thought I'd never see you again."

Y/n laughed tearfully.

"Me too."

"Where have you been? What happened? What... what took you so long?"

"If I had known I was coming to you, I would have died way sooner. I lived, Al. That's what happened. I only just got here today."

"I know, I heard, but what... what kept you?"

Y/n heard the tremor in his voice, the fear. She looked up at him, eyes narrowed.

"Are you jealous?"

Alastor's eyes flicked to the side momentarily. One of his ears twitched. It might have been nearly ninety years since they had last seen one another, they might've looked completely different and had whole lives the other wasn't in, but it felt like they had just seen one another yesterday.

"Oh, you so are!" Y/n teased brightly.

"Y/n."

"Yeah, yeah. It's just dumb is all, especially now I know you've been here all along."

"So tell me."

Y/n had always loved his insistence. It was what kept Alastor to his code, kept him to her, kept him him. She smiled once again.

"Soooo..." Charlie stepped in, her hands behind her back, "Either of you want to explain?"

Both Alastor and Y/n at last turned to look at her. He was smiling again, Charlie noticed. Not the normal ear to ear grin, teeth bared, she was used to. Something smaller, something softer. They released one another, only for Alastor to immediately drape an arm over Y/n's shoulders. It almost seemed like each feared the other would vanish into thin air if they weren't physically touching. She reached a hand up, gently holding his hand where it hung off her shoulder, keeping him to her.

"Charlie, this is my darling, lovely wife."

Y/n shoved him playfully and he smiled down at her.

"You're married!?"

"Yes." Y/n nodded, "We are. Have been for what, like one hundred years now?"

"So what kept you?" Alastor asked again and Y/n sighed.

"You really aren't going to let this go, are you?"

He shook his head. Y/n slipped out from under Alastor's arm, taking both his hands in hers. Her fingers traced his knuckles, the lines of his bones beneath the surface of his skin. Her eyes watched their hands, she sighed.

"After... well, Al, you died burying a body. It was hard for people not to know. I..."

"You got caught? You went to jail?" Alastor interrupted, his smile having fallen once again.

Y/n laughed slightly under her breath.

"No, heart. I stopped my own work but, the whole world knew of yours. I thought that... it was so dumb! I thought that... if I was alive, then so was the real version of you in some way. Not the true crime, vandalized version, but the person I knew."

Alastor lifted her face to his, his hand lingering under her chin.

"You were always secretly quite the romantic, weren't you."

"Oh hush you."

"Make me."

Y/n cheeks suddenly flushed bright red.

"Okay!" Charlie interrupted, laughing nervously, "Okay, well, I'm happy for... this, um, Alastor! Why don't you show Y/n around?"

"With pleasure."

Alastor leaned down, kissing Y/n gently. Her hand was half raised to burry itself in his hair when he pulled away, smirking in response to Y/n's irritated glare. Linking arms with her, he began leading Y/n to the staircase.

"I must say, I rather like this new look of yours." he hummed placidly.

"You're not half bad yourself deer boy, if a little cocky."

"I was always cocky. That's what you liked about me."

"Wrong. It's only one of the things I love about you."

----

Next Part -> Cover Up pt. 3

[lixies-favorite-cookie]

calling skz clingy headcanons ◦ ot8

Paring◦ ot8 x reader

Words◦ 3,578

Genre ◦ hurt and comfort

Warnings ◦ reader blows up at the boys a few times, mild cussing I think, hyunjin is lowkey toxic in this but the reader is more toxic, honestly all of our boys are pretty dramatic lmao, they keep getting lazier and lazier😭, I fucking hate y/n in this like fr I'm gonna kick her sorry little ass, seungmins is... suggestive...dirty talk and fingering only for like one line, so is hans lmao all happy endings because I am not sadistic... or realistic

Taglist ◦ @thetoastghost222, @ur-fav-lvr

A/N ◦ honestly this is my super random chaotic thoughts I had at 2am bc I was really hating the way I was writing a love lived between the stars and the sea so I wanted to take a small break and clear my pallet I hope you all like it even though it lowkey sucks lmao <33

Also im lowkey fucking with making headcannons this is kinda fun...

~cookiecreates 🍪

chan

I feel like Chan would be the most emotionally mature about the whole thing, especially when he sees the storm brewing in your eyes before you even spit those venomous words.

"Fuck Chris, do you have to be so clingy all the time?" You shout, your mouth curling in a disgusted sneer. 

You've never flinched away from him like that, never been so mean-

He's first hurt then he sees it-

There are cracks in your demeanor; large gashes in your heart; he could read you like an open book; the stories your soul wished to tell resided in your glassy eyes.

Hurt people hurt people.

You didn't think he was clingy; no, you loved his touch. You were simply overwhelmed, overflowing with so many simmering feelings—his love did not have room to shimmy through.

So he makes room-

He tilts your chin up with a sincere voice and asks, "What's the real reason why you are shutting me out?"

The unadulterated dedication in his words leaves you in shambles. 

Chan would tear open his heart before your eyes just to prove that there are openings for your soul to pour all your pain into him.

and he would still find a way not to spill a drop

"It’s so hard,” you sob. “They told me you were too good for me, that I wasn’t enough. They said I should shut you out, run away before I got too attached. I had to make you hate me so that I could never weigh you down again."

Chan is fuming.

He wants to ask who said that? He wants to ask where they live? He wants to ask if you want to witness their destruction? He wants to ask if he should use a knife or a gun?

But instead, he says, ‘Darling, you would have more luck breaking the bounds of the moon than untangling the way you are threaded into my soul."

what. the. fuck.

Chan the next William Shakespeare up in here

...was this based on something I wrote for my new series...yes. am I ashamed... no.

I'm a hopeless romantic who wants to marry a poet.

Sue me.

You never thought the apocalypse would be so rewarding, because you are reeling, spinning out of orbit, a meteor spit out into space, hurling towards unknown destruction—destruction that tasted like fresh morning dew.

Chan was perfect.

what the fuck were you thinking?

He holds you through the night, chasing away the whistling of the cold winter wind, his warm arms creating a home around your heart.

lee know

do not ever ever ever ever ever ever ever call Lee Know clingy unless you are willing to dedicate your life into creating the next wheel of time because after you plant the seed in his head, he will blossom a garden of newfound insecurities.

"Can you please not be so clingy right now? I'm having a really bad headache," you whisper through the thick fog clouding your brain; you have been living with a red hot rod skewed through the back of your brain all day. You didn't mean to say the word clingy, but it is futile to search a thesaurus from a blurry page, and right now the world seems to be nothing more than a piece of abstract art.

He just wanted to hold you and you call him clingy??

To others, the sentence would be like water rolling off their backs, but to him, it was a ragged shard of glass stabbed straight into his chest.

Lee Know is extremely inexperienced in the world of intimacy, often clumsy with his actions—hesitant with his words, so why would you say such a thing?

Knowing how insecure he is??

You would only ever say it if you meant it fully and completely??

Honestly, in his head, he would be lowkey, really dramatic, but he's so beyond hurt, feeling like you're just picking at a gaping wound.

like I said, dramatic.

justified. yes.

dramatic... also yes.

I am a firm believer that his tough-guy act is only that.

an act.

He was pretending like he didn't care what you said, but when he gets into the other room, it takes everything in him not to shatter into a million different pieces, feeling so overwhelmed with how many emotions are coursing through him.

No matter how much you apologize after that, no matter how much you prove what you said was nothing more than your head foggy and in pain, it still will take lifetimes for that scar to fade.

and he will only ever get over it with a million reassurances and a thousand conversations

which you are willing to do as long as he needs it

changbin

Honestly, I dont really have a clue with this one, but I am definitely leaning towards him being more like Chan in the emotional mature way he handles it, but instead of comforting you at the drop of a hat, he just leaves the room and lets you stew on your sorrows.

"Your so clingy," you groan, shoving his arm off; rolling your eyes as the mattress shifts with his weight. You just want to be left alone. You weren't sad. You weren't mad. You were just tired and did not want to be touched.

In perspective, could you have handled it better? Yes, but what can you do now? I'm going to punch this bitch in the face I swear I hate y/n and I'm creating her

He's first very confused, then the hurt hits like a falling star crashing into his chest.

What do you mean he's clingy??

"Fine," he states, still dizzy from the utter whiplash you were giving him.

like what the hell?

Sleeps on the couch that night (bad idea don't do this)

He stews about it far past the dreams in his head

That is, until you trudge out of your bed in the morning with red-rimmed eyes and a face filled with regret.

After a shitty nights sleep without the heat of your boyfriend's arms, you realized very quickly what it would feel like if you were to never feel it again, and all of a sudden, you never want to be left alone like ever again.

The grudge he was previously trying to hold drained out of him, and in that instance, he jumps up, pulling you into his arms.

He is very quick to forgive you, when you voice your reason for snapping at him, was nothing but compressed frustrations manifested into the wrong source.

hyunjin

hyunjin. hyunjin. hyunjin.

I feel like in a fit of both hurt and the toxic trait of self-isolation, he would be petty and stay at the boy's house for a few days.

He had tried to give you a good morning kiss that day, but you were stressed and late for work, rushing to put on your clothes. The way he whined about wanting to be touched ground your gears beyond belief. You got stuck in your shirt, which was too tight after you shrunk it in the dryer, and your firm has yet to give you another one. Hyunjin's flighty hands wrapped around your waist, trying to help you untangle yourself from the mess of fabric, only for the button to get caught in your hair, pain ripping through your scalp.

"Stop it hyunjin!" you shout, attempting to unthread the way your hair has meshed into the slits of the button. "You're so fuckin' clingy."

It was all a mess—your heap of shifting fabric and jerking limbs, hair sticking up at every angle. His heart was crushed somewhere in a pulp on the floor in front of him.

He just wanted to help...

Your red-hot anger quickly bled into a tightening anxiety that pulled underneath your ribs as you imagined the look on your boss's face when you came in disheveled and late.

"I just wanted to help," Hyunjin sniffles, bouncing his eyes around the room, filling with tears. You heartlessly roll your eyes.

"Here come the waterworks," your voice is steady, flaming with annoyance mixed with a sickening tilt of mockery. His jaw drops.

you're being so mean

His ears burn when you glare at him, disgusted by the tears streaming down his cheeks. He desperately wipes his emotions away with the back of his hand, suddenly embarrassed to even be showing you the cracks in his soul.

He runs away, like, quite literally runs out the door, sprinting to his car and driving straight to the group's house, collapsing in a fit of sobs in Chan's arms.

He stays there for a good 3 days, ignoring all your calls and texts.

No matter how much it hurts his heart not to talk to you, he shuts you out in a weak attempt to show you what it would be like to live without him.

But this tactic is short-lived when you arrive at the boys' house, snot sobbing into his chest.

"i-im so sorry," you repeat over and over and over into his skin, hoping the further you dig into his chest, the closer the words will hit his heart. 

He's not going to lie; no matter how much you cry, a little bit of pettiness will still stay during the conversation, a small scar of his hurt dictating his choices.

"Why didn't you come home? I thought we were over?"

"I thought that asking to sleep in the same bed as you would be too clingy"

Your heart cracks. He sees it, immediately regretting all his words.

"I'm sorry!" he yelps, pulling your head straight into his chest again.

You shake your head remorsefully, "No, I deserved that."

Even though so much of him still wants to be petty, his love for you trumps the feeling.

(I'm not forgiving you though wtf)

han (this one is long asf)

Han is freaking out.

I mean like the devil's bony hand gripping at the base of his spine, stale breath wafting down the skin of his neck type of freaking the fuck out.

You had a job that required you to go on-site, on-call often, like Han’s—that’s why you were so understanding about his busy schedule; yours was just as bad.

Today was a nightmare. Your coworker, the devil in disguise, didn't show up for the presentation she had created, and since she threw you under the bus saying you helped her (you didn't), you were forced to come in and present it.

Leaving Han at the restaurant waiting for you to arrive-

You forgot-

It was debatably the biggest presentation of the year, showing off her new design to multiple new investors, and yet your phone kept buzzing.

You told Han this was important

You never sent the message

You don't think you have ever seen your boss so furious

From Han's point of view, he's been sitting here for 2 hours, and you are still not here.

There are so many scenarios flying around in his head—

Are you okay?

Did you stand him up?

Are you breaking up with him?

Did you get kidnapped??

Han got tunnel vision when he was scared, his restless brain shooting out dire scenarios faster than he could decipher the impossibility of them. It was overwhelming. The walls were closing in on him. Nowhere in the world was safe. His head was swimming, the room was spinning, the earth was popping through space.

He keeps texting and calling and voice mailing. The icy anxiety crystallizing in the pit of his core turns his fingers brittle, creaking as he jams them into his phone screen.

He can't breathe.

Too many possibilities.

Untill-

Your boss got fed up with your phone ringing, screaming at you to go answer it since it was clearly more important than your job.

he was a prick

You answer it, the heat of your building anger curdling a deadly brew inside your soul. Without looking at the 200+ messages Han had sent you, you answer the 50th call of the day, immediately hissing into the speaker, "Do you know what you just did, Han? I got yelled at by my boss in the middle of a presentation because your clingy ass can’t exist without constantly needing my attention for more than 5 minutes. Stop texting me." Your finger smashes the end call button before unruffling your skirt and walking right back into the room.

Han feels like he might just melt straight into the seats, the way his whole body burns.

The whole world stops for a moment, the earth bleeding down the walls, swirling into pools of muddy color. He was sinking, lungs filling with the ink of a million different sweltering elements.

He ruins everything.

He was so wholly overwhelmed he could barely crawl into his car, desperately gripping the steering wheel while the earth collapsed in on him.

He ruins everything.

It's almost impossible to get to his house the way his tears blur the road.

(that's actually fr dangerous don't drive while crying)

He ruins everything.

He doesn't cry when you walk through the door.

He doesn't touch you when you run to him, standing over him, huddled on the floor.

He doesn't breathe as you cry over his body, twinkling in and out of consciousness.

He ruins everything.

Your makeup runs down your cheeks as you try to shake him awake.

He fainted in the kitchen. It wasn't uncommon when he was alone during his panic attacks, the anxiety ripping harsh bouts of oxygen from his lungs.

You squish his cheeks together, forcing his lips into a pout, shoving your faces together, pouring unadulterated passion into his system.

He short c i r c u i t s.

"I'm so sorry," you sob against his lips. "I didn't mean to be so mean. I didn't mean anything I said. I was just stressed, and I thought I sent the message telling you not to text me, and I didn't. I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry." Your voice is high and wet, pushing his mouth deeper into yours.

It would be sceintifically impossible for your lips to get any closer-

and yet his tries.

He pulls your trembling body into his lap, fireworks exploding from the ashes where your words had lain.

"So you don't think I'm clingy?" His voice cracks, fresh tears collecting on the outer corners of his eyes. You have never shaken your head so adamantly in your whole life.

"No, never, never ever."

"Then come here."

You two have never been so close before in your life, hearts tangling in your chests as he presses your body into his.

You were going to prove just how much you loved his touch.

:D

felix

Oh Felix, my kind sweethearted boy that deserves nothing less than prince treatment. He’s so kind, even though he’s so hurt. He’s actually scared he’s annoying you, so he makes himself more distant so he doesn’t bother you.

""Fuck, Felix, can you not see I am clearly just trying to relax? I mean, you don’t always have to be up my ass all the time," you snap, curling back up into the sheets Felix ripped off. You were exhausted—there was no excuse; you were just really tired. Felix, being the loving boyfriend he is, wanted to hold you while you slept, but of course, you being the dumb idiot you are, shouted at him.

are you stupid like fr cause like THE LEE FELIX WANTS TO HOLD YOU AND YOU SHOO HIM AWAY

you deserve federal prison

Felix is so many synonyms for destroyed that it should be physically impossible to still be alive with a heart that lies shattered in the pit of his stomach.

Felix doesnt know how to feel sad, angry, hurt, upest, embarrassed.

He just clenches his jaw, trying to keep his bottom lip from trembling.

Felix has always been secretly self-conscious about the way he expresses his love toward people, often being very touchy-feely. He understands that this isn’t everybody's favorite thing and how it can get fairly annoying.

He’s already so terrified you’re going to leave him; he overanalyzes every interaction.

But this interaction did not need to be analyzed to know what you meant. You were very direct about that.

The way your venomous words attached to his stomach, pumping him with poison that swirled his stomach sick.

You don’t apologize when you wake up, not believing you need to justify yourself. He was being clingy, and you had every right to express your opinion about it.

im going to punch this bitch in the face

As surprising as this is, he actually doesn’t cry about it. He doesn’t cry about it because he is so worried that him crying about it would annoy you, so he would rather let his sadness seep into the back of his brain than show you emotions that could potentially turn you off.

Like I said, destructively kind.

He really takes what you said to heart, trying his best not to give you any skinship unless it’s to guide you through a crowded room or pull you away from the bustling activity of the road, holding your hand until you get to your destination.

He actually feels like he can’t function without your touch, but he muscles through it, relishing in the small actions he can get.

He tries to show his love in other little things that aren’t physical touch. It gets to the point where he is so deep in his head he shies away when you try to initiate skinship, terrified he’s going to get back into the habit of the joy of touching you and make himself seem annoying again.

He’s so beyond scared of being a nuisance.

It’s been two weeks with this flighty physical touch, and it all finally starts to click when you notice his smile isn’t nearly as bright anymore and some of the stars in his eyes have faded away.

"I want you to be clingy again, please, please, please. I mean, cling wrap, Kola. If you ever think you’re being too clingy, please hug me a little tighter. I’m an idiot, a complete and utter moron. Really, I should be evaluated on why I am even able to exist in society."

His heart literally bursts so relieved he can finally touch you again.

He gives you the most dopamine-coddling, brain-boggling cuddles known to mankind that night.

Your skin is so close together it feels like there isn’t a part of your body Felix doesn’t occupy.

He has created a home in your heart that no other man will ever stay, where he will rest until the day you fade away.

seungmin

Oh bro is pissed

"You're so clingy," you deadpan as his arms wrap around your waist. You had seen a stupid TikTok prank on your For You page and had the brilliant idea to try it on your boyfriend. But the way his whole body tenses against your skin, muscles rippling underneath your fingertips, you know you are so beyond fucked. "What did you just say to me, baby?"

well you just signed your death certificate

So many ideas brewing in that beautiful head of his-

Like, your ass will be red, your stomach will be painted, your mouth will be filled, and you will be descending into the grave. Like all the rest are lovey-dovey 'I’m sorrys,' no—your sorry will be told on your knees.

He will edge you intill you are teetering on the ledge of oblivion

"You want to cum, baby?" He's so condescending, easily lifting your waist from the sheets, his sticky fingers creating bruises when he pins your legs down to gain more access to ruthlessly abuse your g-spot.

"Yes, Yes, Yes, please," you beg, body trembling on the bed, large qaukes of pleasure rushing through your bones as his mean fingers plunge into your messy cunt.

"But that would be too clingy wouldn't it?"

oh how i want his fingers

(this one is really short bc i hate writing smut but i feel like this would be smutty)

jeongin

I honestly have no clue. I feel like he’d be more confused than anything because, like, me?

clingy?

mf I barely touch you?

Honestly, kind of annoyed more than sad—like pissed that as soon as he wants to touch you, you think he's clingy. But he's like Chan in the fact that he sees past your words and into the anger brewing in your eyes, allowing both you and him to cool off before he says something he will regret.

He just walks out of the room and lets you calm down.

I am also a firm believer that this man is healthy as hell.

He could tell that his heart was starting to beat a little too hard and his head was getting a little too fuzzy with all the raging words he wanted to say. But instead, he just walks away and lets you calm down, then talks to you about it before you go to bed because he is also an extremely firm believer in the fact that you should NEVER go to bed angry.

this one is shorter bc like I'm lowkey running out of motivation and ideas

did you like this? check out my new series a love lived in between the stars and the sea here

or maybe read doomsday here

[theshiftingwitch]

Reality shifting

Demystifying the basics:

In order to have a better grasp of the concept of shifting, we must address the beliefs that brought us here in the first place.

Shifting got really popular on TikTok in 2020 (thank you DracoTok) and with it, misinformation came a plenty. So let's deconstruct the notion, pull it apart, and make it as simple as we can.

What is reality shifting?

To shift is to become aware of a different reality.

That's it. That's all there is to it.

Like changing the channel or flipping through the radio, all of creation is finished and all of the possible realities that you could potentially think of already exist. All you have to do is switch your awareness from one to the other.

But how did we get here? How do we do it? CAN we do it?

Well, let's see:

In order to believe in shifting in the first place, you have to at least be a little bit spiritual. And if that's the case, then ask yourself this:

Do you believe that you are the universe having a human experience? That you are the creator and the creation?

If the answer is yes, then you have a grasp of the basics.

You see, there is no fundamental separation between you and the universe. You are not a separate entity from the Cosmos.

You are the Cosmos.

This idea is not new. It is not some new age spiritual BS that sprouted into existence a few decades ago. It is an ancient philosophical and spiritual belief spanning back decades. Hinduism, Buddhism, and Taoism emphasize the concept of Atman (the soul) being identical to Brahman (the ultimate reality), suggesting a unity of consciousness. Many mystical traditions, from Sufism to Christian mysticism, have explored the idea of divine consciousness within the human being. Contemporary spiritual movements often incorporate this concept, emphasizing personal transformation and connection to a higher power.

In simple terms, you are all that there is, all that there was, and all that there will ever be.

So if you answered no to my previous question, read this again and tell me your thoughts.

Now that we got the basic concept out of the way, let's talk about shifting, other realities, and your moral compass.

If you agreed that shifting is becoming aware of another reality that you already exist in, and if you're on board with the notion that you are the divine, the creator, the universe herself, what is actually stopping you from shifting?

Nothing.

Nothing is standing in your way, nothing is blocking you from shifting. There is no more work to be done, no more attempts to fail, no more research to explore. All you have to do is let go. Release this hold that perfection, stress, and eagerness have on you, breathe in and know that you have already shifted.

It is done.

You are successful.

In the same vein, if you are completely and utterly convinced that you are the universe, you are all there is and all there will be, you are everything and nothing, what makes you so sure that your current form is your true one?

If you believe in reincarnation then you know that you have had many faces, many bodies, many races, many ages, many lives, many experiences...

Same with shifting. This reality is not the metric in which you measure someone's righteousness. It is not the one and only form in which you are stuck within forever. You are the creator, and you, as you experience yourself, already are all of the ages, all of the faces, all of the genders and the races and the ethnicities and the creations around you. You are the rock and the house and the cat and the butterfly. You are the mean neighbor who constantly complains and the little girl skipping rope on your driveway. You are the bus driver who is always grumpy and the old lady at the market who always smiles when she sees you. You are the dictator causing havoc and the victim suffering from oppression. You are both the bad and the good, because that is the essence of your experience. You are me, I am you. We are the one consciousness.

Morality is by no means subjective, but it is also your creation. You made the rules and you enforced them and you rebelled against them. You are the one and only.

So why measure someone's morality by where or who they decide to shift to? Why judge their existence and believe yourself superior for adhering to a set of rules you created? Nothing is set in stone and no two people shift to the same exact reality, so why hinder yourself? Why limit your experience?

Do you have any idea how lucky you are to know about shifting in the first place?

There are currently 8 billion people at this point in time in this reality, and you happen to be among the very few who are aware of such wonderful experience, of such divine knowledge. Are you really going to spend that time judging other people's choice of reality? And on the other hand, are you really going to let other people dictate, police, and limit your experience?

At the end of it all, we all go back to the same origin.

The one great consciousness, where there is no judgement, no superiority or inferiority complex, no finger pointing and virtue signaling. We simply exist.

Have fun on your shifting journey, know that your experience is yours and that you decide how it goes.

Be a good person, live your best lives, and spread love as much as you can ❤️