#if not with him just with someone who might actually see me and love me again

[heylittleriotact]

I've never heard this banter and I'm going to go the fuck off.

Firstly: Everything @emmg said. The whole "I want to become a lich" arc is actually incredibly contentious for my death-positive, mortality embracing Rook. Like to the point where she basically tells him at one point: "I really like you, and I really like us, and it's important to me that you're happy, so I won't try to change your mind or interfere with your plans, but I think it's only right to be transparent now about the fact that I can't see a future for us should you successfully pursue lichdom." She's very up-front about it, because she isn't at all comfortable with the radical change of the entire power dynamic of their relationship: they would no longer be equals, and she's not interested in ultimately becoming one more rag that he's dragging behind him (to quote the absolutely beautiful song by Josh Ritter called 'The Curse' which is about an Egyptologist who discovers a mummy who comes back to life and they fall in love but since he is undead and she is mortal, it ends tragically and it reminds me SO MUCH OF a Emm!Lich/Rook romance, or honestly any future romances he might find himself in as a Lich.) Here - listen to it: go. Right now. Cute af music video too:

Secondly: BULLSHIT, EMMRICH. That's such absolute fucking bullshit. "There's always something to discover in the world" and "I think I should never grow tired of that" are both such insanely pompous, self-aggrandizing statements that he flings out there in an effort to frame himself in the light he wants to be perceived in: the Quintessential Academic - forever curious and eternally learning: an inspiration to curious and inquisitive minds everywhere to be celebrated and lauded for his immeasurable services to society.

The truth is, he knows it's bullshit, and is painfully aware that lichdom - even without a partner or someone like Rook is bound to be soul-crushingly lonely. Dude is lonely af and he's still got a fucking PULSE. But he's made it this far in life shouldering the burden of feeling like he'll never find someone. Loneliness isn't new to him, and it's really easy to suggest that after a few thousand years of existence under one's belt that picking up new friends will be as easy as popping down to the pub and saying "hi" to a stranger. Pffft! Trifles!

Emmrich is smarter than that. He knows better than that, but he's trying to convince himself just as much as he's trying to convince Lucanis that having to embrace the fleeting, transitory nature of relationships as he watches the ebb and flow of life and death cycle repeatedly before his eyes is not only what he wants, but it's what will make him happy and it's such a brazen contradiction of himself that if my Rook overheard this she would be unable to keep herself from snorting and going, "... really?"

This man is trying to put himself above love and friendships and relationships in a way that makes them seem like specimens to be studied and written about, when we know that he's probably written no less than a dozen poems about how Rook's hair looks in the sunlight, and is annoying the shit out of Vorgoth and Myrna because all of his letters home since he and Rook got together are less about their progress against the gods, and more about how absolutely wonderful Rook is and how pleased he is that he decided to accompany her on this journey blah blah blah...

He's collected a little family with the Veilguard, and he makes no secret of how much he cares for all of them.

Delusional, pookie: you're fucking delusional.

Lucanis and Emmrich about immortality

[bestlilithian]

My experiences with synastry

8th house synastry

By far, my favorite. Intense, transcendal, deep. It goes beyond the physical and mental, reaches straight into your soul. The sexual tension is palpable, and at the same time it feels like home.

( do note that i have pluto influencing my ic and moon so your and my idea of 'home' might be a bit different ♡ lmao )

Moon in 8th house:

- absolute favorite. the connection runs deep, if you let it. when you meet this person you will know pretty early on that the potentional for intense bonding is immense. for every person i met with this, after a while i look in their eyes and think 'we could absolutely ruin eachother in the best way possible'.

- the sexual tension breaches the physical and turns almost emotional. like, 'i want to fuck you so hard that you cry' type shit. of course, every 8th house connection has some kind of sexual electricity constantly present, but i've found that w this placement, it's .. profound.

- so far , i've only been the house person, and i've found that the way the moon person looks at me is like nothing i've seen before. i mean, the eye contact being intense is a given w any 8th overlay but w this one it's ... wow. it's a simultaneous pleading to 'come closer, enter my world, feel my essence' and a threat to 'stay away, you see to far into me, you know too much'.

- it's obsessive. on my side (house) at least. by obsessive i mean ... obsessive. one of them is a crush that i haven't been able to put out for a fucking year, even with no contact. in fact, funnily enough, when i thought i was totally over it, all it took was to see her again and make eye contact - immediately, i was thrown for a loop. we didn't even exchange words directly, it was a group setting .. but the eye contact was absolutely enough. crazy.

- as the house person, i feel like the moon person can feel that i see straight through them. another thing i've noticed is that the moon person usually seems a little intimidated/nervous around me, especially at first.

- the thing with this overlay is that it can get hard to take real action on the connection because it's anything but lighthearted. you can clearly tell that if you pursue it, it's gonna get deep and that can range from inconvenient to uncomfortable, or even scary for someone who's not used to 8th house/pluto/scorpio energy.

Lilith in 8th house

- the sexual tension. is. insane. i'm talking .. concerning. i've had this w a friend, a guy who's not my type in the slightest (and i dont really like guys in general, mind you), but there's this kind of ... sexual energy in the air. like, we're not gonna do anything about it, but it's there. and it's not even physical, for me at least - i dont find him attractive physically its just .. a compulsive feeling.

- now, when i have it w someone i actually find attractive, even a little bit, it gets scaled up to the extreme. the moment i see this person, i'm immediately attracted to them. instant. they don't even have to be my type, but if they are - my god, if they are ...

- i am usually lilith in this overlay, and i often find myself wanting to corrupt the house person, to pull them into my dark erotic world. this synastry really brings out my lilith energy even more.

- as lilith i love teasing the house person & i want to see them squirm. i wanna dominate them & see them fall apart beneath me (in the best way possible)

- this is very much a 'i can ruin them' type connection (not in a malicious way)

- i automatically feel confident around this person, no matter if i felt insecure the rest of the day; its like the house person awakens my dark feminine energy just w their presence (and thats a damn good feeling)

Sun & Mercury in 8th house

- honestly this ones interesting; if your connection is platonic, it wont add weird undertones, if its not , it will heighten the attraction significantly.

- it will be really easy and satisfying to talk about your secrets, your past, your traumas, your pain, as well as your kinks, sexual preferences & sexual experiences w this person.

- you will be able to tell this person the naked, blunt truth about them to their face, and vice versa, esp eith mercury in 8th overlay

sun conjunct lilith

- i was lilith and its .. fun. sun brings out my 'bad' side. the fun one.

- as lilith, i find sun really cute, and i try to figure them out, cause i feel like they arent really as naive & innocent as they seem to be.

- sun may be a little scared of lilith here. :)

pluto conjunct lilith

- i have yet to experience this but from what i've heard i love, love, love .

- think bonnie n clyde, mr and mrs smith. they can appreciate eachothers shadow and its very exciting

- hearsay says the sex is mindblowing but i cant confirm or deny

pluto conjunct ascendant

- my mothers pluto is conjunct my ascendant and she literally fucked me up royally soo be careful w this one yall

- pluto will try to control the ascendant and have power over them

- pluto tries to control ascendants behavior, appearance, mannerisms, social etiquett, even food intake sometimes

- i have never seen this be a healthy dynamic but i would love to be proven wrong

lilith square ascendant

every time a man's lilith squares my ascendant, an angel dies. i swear to fucking god, this synastry is a hot, headache-inducing mess.

now, ive only ever had this with men so take it w a grain of salt.

whenever a mans lilith squared my ascendant, the situation was the same:

he had a crush, and then there was .. me. he loved one girl, truly, but had an intense, weird, sexual obsession with me (that often scared him).

he was extremely attracted to me, but reluctant to admit it directly. wanted to 'tame' me, make me 'well-behaved'. we argued at least once within 24h of knowing eachother.

heavy sexual tension, but in a irritating, conflicting way. reallyy intense eye contact, but almost forbidden.

they all, at some point, iced me out in one way or another, deliberately avoided me, seemingly for no reason.

lilith in 7th house

this ones weird.

- we kinda have beef, but not really

- we either completely agree with eachother or utterly disagree

- mixed feelings

- switching between liking and disliking eachother

- sexual tension, but in an annoying way

[wheels-of-despair]

It's a Wonderful Life (Even in Hawkins) Pairing: Eddie Munson x Evil Woman Summary: What would the lives of Eddie Munson's loved ones look like if he didn't exist? Contains: A bad night for all, a violent outburst, regrets, a bitchy ghost, a peek into another life, a Christmas party, a happy ending. Words: 5k

(This is inspired by It's a Wonderful Life. There are mentions of suicide and visions of a dark world without Eddie Munson. Takes place sometime after graduation.)

Eddie Munson can't wait for the worst night of his life to be over.

He screeches to a stop in front of the garage Corroded Coffin "practices" in and leaps out of the driver's seat, ready to get the band and all their shit out of his van and out of his sight.

"Well that was fucking embarrassing," Gareth grumbles, rolling out the back doors with an armload of equipment.

"We might as well have played kazoos," Jeff adds, yanking out his guitar case.

"Never showing my face in public again," Grant whines, joining the unloading parade.

Eddie fumes and slams the back doors shut. Well, he tries. Instead of latching, they bounce and fly back at him. He gets it on the second, slightly-less-violent, try.

Corroded Coffin just opened for a band from two towns over that people actually show up for. Someone from a record label was in the building. This was supposed to be their shot at getting noticed by someone who mattered. They were supposed to rock everyone's socks off. But no. They played the worst show of their stupid little lives. Even Wayne, who hardly ever got to see them play, looked horrified at the shit-tastic show they put on.

His girl leans against the side of the van, next to the busted taillight that earned him a ticket from that asshole Callahan on the way to the show. Not even she can pretend Corroded Coffin didn't suck a fat one tonight. There's pity in her eyes, and it makes Eddie even madder. He turns and directs his rage at the band, not wanting to crack under her annoying gaze.

"See you dicks around," Eddie snaps. "Since there's no point in ever fucking practicing again."

"C'mon, man," whines Gareth.

"What about the Henderson's Christmas party?" asks Grant.

"At least we can go drown our sorrows in cocoa," Jeff sighs.

They just bombed so hard, they'll probably never be allowed to perform in the tri-county area ever again. Their careers are over before they even started. And they're worried about a shitty little Christmas party thrown by Dustin's mom?

Eddie Munson is mad at himself for being a failure. Mad at his woman for feeling sorry for him. Mad at his dumb band for sucking ass. Mad at the Hendersons for scheduling a party and being a distraction on a night this important. Mad at Wayne for not coming on one of the nights they actually sounded good. Mad at the world for giving him a sliver of hope and snatching it away just when he thought he had a chance of making it big and getting out of Hawkins Fucking Indiana.

He needs to get out of here. Right now. He turns with the intention of stomping to the driver's side door and driving off like a bat out of hell, but she's blocking his way.

"Baby, it's not the end of the world," she says calmly, putting a hand on his chest. The act breaks a barrier and unleashes his barely-contained rage. He smacks her hand away, maybe a little harder than he meant to, and her eyes widen in shock.

"What would you fucking know about it?" Eddie seethes. He can feel the blood boiling and the vein pulsating in his neck. He can't stop. The words keep coming, and Eddie closes in on her. She shrinks. "You've never had a fucking dream! You've never wanted something more than this shitty little life in this shitty little town! I'm sick of you fucking holding me back!"

"Shut the fuck up, man!" Gareth yells, stepping between them and giving Eddie a shove backwards.

"Oh, now you react to something on time?" Eddie laughs cruelly.

There's a blinding flash of pain, and Eddie's suddenly staring to the side. He slowly swivels his head back to Gareth, standing in front of him with balled fists and a red face. Eddie's jaw throbs. Did his own drummer just punch him in the face?

He attacks.

Grant and Jeff are on them in an instant, trying to get Eddie and Gareth apart. Everything becomes a blur of grunts and blows until Jeff gets Eddie's arms behind him and drags him out of the open garage door.

"Cool off, man!"

This isn't how tonight was supposed to go. He was supposed to be signing a contract and sipping spiked cocoa and eating cookies. Kissing his girl under the mistletoe and promising her a mansion in Beverly Hills. Celebrating his talent and good fortune with everyone he loves. Instead, he's standing outside a cold garage, staring at the disappointed faces of all the people he let down.

A sniffle draws his eyes to his girl. His Evil Woman. The love of his fucking life. The look in her teary eyes makes his insides turn to ice. He hit her. He yelled at her, and he fucking hit her. He takes a step closer, wanting to hug her and tell her that he didn't mean it.

She flinches.

She's scared of him.

He's just like his old man.

Eddie climbs in the van without another word. He doesn't know where he's going, but he knows he can't stay here.

He speeds and spirals and re-lives the worst night of his life over and over. It takes him several miles of squinting into the dark to realize his headlights aren't even on. When the van finally comes to a stop, he's at the quarry. He doesn't know why he came here. But by the time he turns off the ignition, he's exhausted from beating himself up.

He slides down from the driver's seat and walks to the edge of the cliff, kicking rocks as he goes. Each breath sends out so much fog, it looks like he's smoking. A smoke would be nice. That'd take the edge off. He pats his pocket for his pack and pulls it out. Empty. Of course.

He tosses the empty pack over the edge and leans over just a little bit, hoping to see it fall. The darkness swallows the little white box almost immediately. It's a long way down. The only light comes from the moon, and it reflects on the still water below like glass. It's both beautiful and unsettling.

The cold starts to seep into his bones, but he welcomes the ache. He deserves it. Eddie sits near the edge, sighing and looking up at the starry sky, wondering how the fuck his friends are ever going to forgive him for this.

Maybe they weren't really that bad. Maybe they tried their best. Maybe he put too much pressure on the younger guys. Maybe the person from the record company didn't even come. Maybe the band that they opened for sucked too, and they could all chalk this horrible evening up to bad acoustics.

Maybe Eddie hadn't just ruined all of the most important things in his life in the course of one night.

His heart hurts at the thought of what he said to his girl, whose only crime was caring about him. Holding him back? Where the fuck did that come from? It's all a little fuzzy, now that he thinks about it.

Eddie touches his swollen jaw and winces. Little Drummer Boy packs a hell of a punch.

He fucking deserves this pain.

Eddie pulls his knees to his chest and hunches over, curling into a ball near the edge of the quarry cliff.

He wishes he hadn't blown up and said those awful things to the person he loves most. He wishes he hadn't forced his friends to practice until their fingers bled. He wishes he'd never begged (and traded a considerable amount of weed) for the chance to play a three-song opener for some douchebag band from the city. He wishes he hadn't turned into a total cunt the second he saw a chance to live out his stupid teenage dream of becoming a rock star.

Hell, why stop there?

Eddie Munson wishes he'd never even been born.

"Don't even think about it, asshole," a voice rumbles from behind him.

Eddie turns, surprised that he let someone sneak up on him. A guy really lets his guard down when he's got nothing left to lose.

An ass thumps against a rock nearby and Eddie squints at the silhouette in the moonlight. That curly hair looks familiar, but he doesn't know for sure who it is until the stranger takes a drag off a cigarette and his face is illuminated by the burning cherry.

"Hargrove?"

"Knew you couldn't be as stupid as everyone said you were." Eddie can't see the smirk, but he can hear it.

"Not a good time, Hargrove," Eddie sighs. "Don't have anything on me."

"I'm not here for drugs, dumbass," Billy says, taking another drag. "I'm here to save your eternal soul or some shit."

"Sounds like you've already been into the good stuff tonight," Eddie deadpans.

"Nobody ever fuckin' believes me," Billy groans, staring upward and blowing a long stream of smoke into the air before turning his intense gaze to Eddie. "Listen up, dickhead. You fucked up, you hurt people, you wished you were never born, et cetera. I was sent here to show you the error of your ways or whatever. Let's take a little trip."

"What is this, like a Christmas Carol thing?" Eddie snorts. "What are you on, man? I want some."

Billy sighs and flicks his cigarette out over the water. He stands and stares at Eddie, his eyes glinting in the moonlight.

"Let's go, fuckface," Billy orders.

"I'm not going anywhere with your stoned ass," Eddie laughs, trying to pretend he's not a tiny bit afraid.

Billy stomps over and grabs Eddie's jacket and hauls him to his feet with surprising strength. Maybe he was right to be scared.

"Woah, calm down, Ghost of Christmas PCP," Eddie snarks, sounding braver than he feels.

"I said, let's go," Billy repeats, dragging Eddie backward. Eddie tries to dig in his heels and resist, but his sneakers slip and slide on the loose gravel.

"Where are we going?" Eddie asks, his ears beginning to ring.

A blinding flash of light makes him cover his eyes, and when he lowers his arm and opens them, he's standing in front of Wayne's trailer. The glow of a street lamp shows more of Billy's face than Eddie has seen tonight. He stares at Eddie through unblinking, half-lidded eyes. Eddie doesn't like it. Not one bit.

"Kay, thanks for bringing me home, I owe you one," Eddie mumbles, trying to side-step him and get away. Billy blocks his path.

"This isn't your home."

"Yeah, it is," Eddie argues. "Since I was eight."

"You wished you'd never been born, remember?" Billy asks pointedly. "Now you get to see what that's like."

"Isn't the first ghost supposed to be the nice one?" Eddie asks. "I thought the third one was the mean one."

"You only get one ghost," Billy says. "Only gonna need one stop, too. Made a bet that I could break you quick."

"Good fuckin' luck," Eddie scoffs.

"C'mere," Billy orders, reaching for him.

Eddie feels the urge to bolt, but before he can act on it, Billy grabs him by the collar and drags him up the steps and through the door.

Like, through the door.

"Did we just--? Did you just--? What the hell?!" Eddie splutters, looking around him for answers. The door is still closed. And then he begins to notice other things. This isn't that ugly brown carpet that's been here since the 50s, when this hunk of junk came off the lot. Those aren't the right curtains. Where are Wayne's mugs? And his hats? And his chair?

There's a small Christmas tree on a table by the window and a few wrapped gifts beneath it. There are plastic toys and wooden blocks on the new-ish rug, which is an odd green color. Photos of prettier places than Hawkins adorn the walls. Carefully arranged pillows line a yellow couch that doesn't belong here. Aside from the toys on the floor, it's neater than he's ever seen it. This isn't his house.

"What is this?" he asks, turning to Billy. "Why are we here?"

Billy nods his head toward Eddie's room, and Eddie follows his gaze to a body stepping out of it. A woman. She lingers in the doorway for a moment, then reaches in to flip the light off and close the door.

Eddie's heart drops into his stomach when he sees her face.

His one and only.

His Evil Woman.

She looks tired. The dark circles around her eyes remind him of the time they experimented with zombie makeup. Something is different with her hair. Has she lost weight? He inwardly cringes at his own question, knowing she'd give him a smack for it. But she can't read his mind. She doesn't even acknowledge his presence.

She tiptoes down the hallway and takes a left in the kitchen, pulling out stuff to make a sandwich. Four. Four sandwiches. She assembles four peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, packs them in crinkled brown lunch bags that have seen better days, then folds down the tops. There's one bread heel left. She stares at it for a moment, then wraps it up and puts it back in the bag.

She looks around, as if she can feel someone watching her. Eddie shifts uncomfortably, almost wishing she'd make eye contact and laugh because he fell for whatever sick joke this is. But she looks right through him with her dull eyes. Where's that wicked twinkle he loves so much? Why does she look so sad? What's she looking at? Eddie glances behind him. Is she waiting for someone to come in the door? Looking at the tree, maybe?

Just when Eddie thinks he can't possibly stand that blank stare for one more second, her face crumples. She sinks to the floor, grabbing a kitchen towel on the way down and holding it to her mouth to stifle her sobs. Eddie wishes he could look away and save her this indignity, but he can't. He can't take his eyes off of her.

"What happened to her?" Eddie whispers, afraid she'll hear.

"It's more of a what didn't happen to her," Billy answers somberly. "She never met you."

"Is that all you got?" Eddie scoffs, turning to his companion with annoyance. "She never met me, so she cries sometimes? Get fucked, Hargrove."

"No, asshole," Billy seethes, taking his attention from the crying girl on the floor to the metalhead at his side. "She never met you and became a social pariah, so she actually made friends with the popular kids. Became quite the party animal. Hooked up with some older guy one weekend, who happened to possess some illicit substances that needed to be distributed to the desperate students of Hawkins High. Sound familiar?"

Eddie thinks for a moment, and when he understands, his jaw drops.

"Rick?" Eddie asks. "My girl was selling for Reefer Rick?"

"She's not your girl," Billy growls. "You don't exist, remember? Anyway, she was doin' a lot more than selling for him."

"No fuckin' way," Eddie protests.

"Yes fuckin' way," Billy argues. "They were together for almost a year before she realized he was stickin' his dick in anything that would let him. By that time, it was too late."

"Too late?" Eddie asks hesitantly.

"She'd already had the baby."

Eddie feels the blood drain from his face. Wait, does he even have blood in whatever this freaky little fever dream is?

"While her classmates were dancing to Cyndi Lauper or some shit at prom, she was in the hospital having a baby," Billy continues. "She never got to graduate. Got into a real bad fight with her mom. When her dad found out that his unwed teenage daughter got knocked up by the town drug dealer, he took her mom to court and won full custody of the little brother. After the kid got shipped to his dad, her mom sold the house and went back to live closer to the rest of her family. And then when she found out Rick was fucking around, it was just her and the baby…"

Eddie tenses, sensing an "until".

"Until me."

"You?" Eddie asks with an accusatory tone.

"Me." The corner of Billy's mouth twitches, like he's remembering something nice. "I liked her in school, but she was Rick's… until she wasn't. Then I moved in. Then came the triplets. They're absolute hellions, but she loves 'em," Billy sighs. "And me. Nobody ever loved me like she did. I wish to Hell,"

Thunder booms, and Billy winces.

"I wish to Heaven," he says, looking up at the ceiling apprehensively, "that I hadn't tried to drive that night. It was hard sometimes, but we were happy, y'know? I didn't mean to leave them all alone like this."

Eddie focuses on the longing in Billy's eyes, rather than the broken woman he's staring at.

"She didn't deserve this," Billy whispers. His face hardens, and he turns to Eddie. "She didn't deserve that shit you said to her either, asshole."

Eddie feels almost as bad as he did the second those words left his mouth.

"So you're dead?" Eddie asks, desperate for something else to think about.

"Yes, I'm fucking dead," Billy rolls his eyes. "You don't exist at all in this world, and I got drunk and drove my car into a tree just before Christmas last year. What a fuckin' pair we make, huh?"

Eddie sighs and turns his attention back to the girl who's now staring blankly at the floor, silent tears still streaming down her cheeks.

"Why's she in Wayne's house?" Eddie asks suddenly.

"Thought you'd never ask," Billy says, lighting another cigarette. "Only place she could afford. Guy cut her a real good deal, after what happened to your uncle."

Billy pauses and makes Eddie ask: "What happened to my uncle?"

"He blew his brains out," Billy says matter-of-factly, pointing to the spot where Wayne's chair should be with his cigarette. "Right there."

"Bullshit."

"Why do you think a trailer this old has a new carpet and wallpaper?" Billy asks.

Eddie surveys the place. The kitchen is mostly the same; same sink, same stove, same fridge, even some of the same ancient magnets he used to play with as a kid. But the living room…

"Why?" he breathes.

"Hmmm," Billy hums, pretending to flip through the pages of an imaginary book and pointing to some imaginary answer. "It seems that dear old Uncle Wayne had a little bit of a drinking problem."

"Wayne never drank anything but beer," Eddie argues.

"Well, funny thing," Billy says, taking a drag of his cigarette and blowing his smoke in Eddie's face. "Seems he gave up hard liquor when his punk-ass nephew came to live with him. And since in this universe, he didn't have a nephew… he just kept on drinking. Even though he was already depressed, and the liquor just made it worse… and worse… until one day, he'd had enough."

"No," Eddie breathes.

"Yeah," Billy nods, not looking very sympathetic. "Wanna hear about your little sheepies at school?"

"No."

"Tough shit," Billy scoffs. "Little Drummer Boy, before he got shipped back to Daddy-O's, was in the marching band. Wedgie City, man. The big guy with the curly hair got bullied so bad, his mom decided to home-school him. He's so scared of everything, he hasn't left the house in months. Brace-Face joined the fucking Mathletes, thus ensuring him a lifetime of virginity. And the rest of those little weirdos just try to lay low and survive. Your little club that brought them all together and made them proud to be freaks? Doesn't exist. Never will. Most of 'em don't even know each other."

"Stop," Eddie says weakly.

"You want more?" Billy asks. '''Cause I can keep going. Wanna know about the worst thing your girl's ever done to make rent? Or how she'll never be able to fix the relationship with her mom? That her own brother won't bother to invite her to his wedding, when he finally finds some four-eyed geek who will have him?"

"Stop," Eddie begs.

"Maybe you want to hear about your parents? How they only had you as an attempt to save their marriage, and how they fared with another miscarriage instead? It wasn't pretty, man."

"Stop," Eddie begs.

"Wanna circle back to the uncle? And how all he ever did was work and drink and had no friends and no reason to live? About how the first time he'd smiled in years was the night he loaded that pistol?"

"Stop!" Eddie shouts.

"YOU STOP!" Billy shouts back. "You've got a good life on the other side of this shit, and you're wishing it away like a fucking loser! Oh, boo-hoo, you're not gonna be a rock star. You've got a fucking family and friends and people that love your stupid ass! You know what, I don't think you even deserve to go back. I should tell the man upstairs to make this reality the real one, and as payment for erasing your sorry ass from existence, I should get another shot at this life!"

Billy and Eddie stare at each other for a moment, both breathing hard and wondering who's going to break first. Then, the clock in the living room chimes, and Billy looks at in a panic.

"She needs you, man," Billy says quickly. "She needs you to pull your head out of your ass and think about why she's with you. Holding you back? She's the only reason you made it this far, dipshit. She's the reason you graduated, the reason you're not in jail, probably the reason you're still alive. She could've gone anywhere, done anything she wanted. But she stayed in the shittiest town on the planet, and she was happy about it, because you were there together. Never had a dream? What a crock of shit. You were her dream, asshole."

Eddie feels tears prickling at his eyes.

"Now, you get your stupid ass back to your reality and you tell that girl and those nerds how fucking sorry you are," Billy yells, his voice getting louder and barely overpowering the ringing increasing in Eddie's ears. "And you better fucking mean it!"

Eddie nods. Billy grabs the collar of his jacket and gives it a tug. The light flashes white, and Eddie hides his face in his sleeve.

"HEY!"

Eddie opens his eyes and raises his head, but the light hasn't gone out yet. He lowers his head again and hears a scrape. A shower of gravel hits his side. He looks up in surprise. The light moves.

"What are you doing out here, you little shit?"

Eddie squints and makes out a flashlight pointed to the ground… and a pair of boots… and tan pants…

"Hopper?"

"You hurt?"

"No?"

"Then why aren't you at Mrs. Henderson's Christmas party?"

"Uh…" Eddie racks his brain, trying to think of something to say that wouldn't make Hop beat his ass.

"Only a Munson would choose to freeze his balls off alone at the quarry instead of being at a Christmas party with all his friends," the chief sighs. "Get goin', kid. People are worried about you."

"Doubt it," Eddie mutters without thinking.

"Oh yeah?" Hop asks, lighting a cigarette. "Then why am I out here looking for some dumbass when I could be riding out the last of my shift at the station with Flo's fruitcake?"

Eddie doesn't know what to say to that. Someone really sent Hop looking for him? After all that?

"I'm off in thirty, and I'm coming by for the cookies Dustin promised me. If you're not in there having a good time with all your dumb little buddies, we're gonna have a problem. Got it?"

"Got it, Hop," Eddie confirms. He can't help but smile.

"Move your ass, then!" Hop orders.

Eddie scrambles away from the edge of the cliff, heading for the van.

Hop follows him down the quarry road, saying goodbye with a honk when they part ways. Eddie smiles when he sees Hopper's lights turn in his rearview mirror, almost missing the chief's company after his crazy night.

He doesn't have to feel alone for long; he can see the glow of the Henderson house from almost a mile away.

Dustin's mom loves Christmas more than anyone else Eddie's ever met. She's hosted a Christmas party for Dustin and his friends every year since they moved to Hawkins, and other moms may try to compete, but they simply can't. Claudia Henderson bakes the best cookies in the world. She decorates the house like she was trained at the North Pole. She has never once run out of hot chocolate or snacks, or let a guest leave empty-handed.

Eddie hopes his friends are having too good a time to stay mad at him.

The turnoff is easy to find. He's never seen so many lights in his life. The mailbox is covered. Every tree in their yard has a string of lights on it. The driveway is lined with lights and filled with cars Eddie knows, including Uncle Wayne's truck and Jeff's car. There's a light-up Santa on the roof. There are plastic reindeer in the yard.

And there's a black shape smoking on an otherwise well-lit carport that looks very familiar.

Eddie eases out of the van and jams his hands in his pockets, approaching the figure cautiously. His Evil Woman meets his eye but doesn't say anything. When he gets close, but not too close, he stops. He stands. He stares. She stares back. He doesn't know where to start. Begging? Groveling? Punching himself in the nuts until she tells him he can stop?

And then she offers him the lit cigarette she'd holding.

The simple gesture floods Eddie with warmth.

Overwhelming warmth.

The kind that makes a person's eyes water.

Eddie rushes forward to wrap his arms around her. He feels her shift, like maybe she's dropped the butt and stamped it out. She hugs him back, and he melts into her.

"I'm sorry," he whispers.

"I know," she whispers back.

"I didn't mean it."

"I know," she repeats.

"You're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

"I know," she says again.

"I love you."

"I know."

"You're saying 'I know' a lot," Eddie notices.

"I know."

"We should definitely have tons of sex tonight," he says, holding his breath while waiting for a response. Too soon?

"Dream on, dickweed."

He snorts and pulls back, and she looks up at him with the smallest of smiles. He'll take it. She reaches for his hands, and Eddie takes her freezing fingers in his. How long has she been out here?

"Do you still love me?" he asks, almost afraid of the answer.

She hesitates. Eddie's blood runs cold.

"Do you really think I'm holding you back?" she asks quietly.

"God, no," Eddie sighs, fighting the urge to drop to his knees and hug her around the middle while he grovels. "I don't know where the fuck that came from. You're everything to me. You're probably the only reason I'm still alive."

She considers it. Makes him squirm. Eddie bites his lip, preparing for the worst.

"The night is young, Munson."

She smirks. Eddie lets out a sigh of relief, head swimming at the comfort of a familiar threat. She reaches up to touch his swollen cheek. Did she just wipe away a tear? Fucking traitorous eyes! Eddie wipes angrily at his face, just in case.

"I'm sorry tonight didn't turn out the way you hoped," she says softly.

"It did," Eddie cuts in quickly. He doesn't want to think about that. He doesn't want to think about anything but making things right with the people he wronged. "I'm at the best Christmas party in Hawkins, with all my favorite people. If… if you think they'll let me in?"

He glances uneasily at the front door, decorated by a massive wreath with Santa's jolly face at its center.

"You think those boys, who've been playing D&D with you for years, have never witnessed an Eddie Munson Tantrum?" she teases, with that beautiful, amazing, wicked sparkle in her eyes.

Eddie's face burns with embarrassment.

"Oh!" she remembers suddenly, digging in her jacket pocket. She extracts a folded napkin and opens it to reveal a pile of cookies. Eddie's favorites.

"I snatched the last of the double chocolate chip. Apparently they're Mike's favorites too. I know he's a skinny brat and all, but damn that boy can stuff his face."

Eddie looks from the cookies to the girl, his eyes tearing up again. She did that for him? After he did that?

"C'mere," she orders, shoving the cookies back in her pocket and pulling him in for another hug. Eddie closes his eyes and buries his face in her neck, not ever wanting to imagine a world where they don't have each other.

"I love you," he croaks.

"I love you too," she responds. She squeezes him as tightly as he's squeezing her. He's never, ever letting go.

She seems to read his mind, since her hands soon find their way under his shirt. Eddie jumps out of his skin and lets out an honest-to-God squawk when those icy fingers make contact with his warm back, and she laughs at him. It's the most beautiful thing Eddie's heard all night.

Is she really like this because of him? Fun and happy and everything a person should be?

A car door slams, and both of them turn to the driveway to see Chief Hopper approaching.

"Munson, you got a taillight out."

"Yeah, I know," Eddie sighs.

The trio stands there awkwardly for a few seconds, before Hopper asks, "Wheeler eat all the cookies yet?"

"Just about," she grins. "If we hurry, we might be able to grab a few crumbs before he licks the plate."

Hopper chuckles and walks toward the front door. She takes Eddie's arm, tilts her head to Hopper, and waggles her eyebrows suggestively. Eddie shoots her a fake glare, and she laughs again before leading him inside for the party of the year.

What started out as the worst night of Eddie Munson's life ended up being one of the best. The band had softened under the influence of sugar, and did not murder him when he reappeared. Eddie spent a great evening surrounded by the people who matter most, in a place they all call home, with hundreds of cookies and gallons of cocoa. Eddie had so much fun, he didn't even groan when all the moms started singing Christmas carols at the piano.

Although he did nearly have a heart attack when Billy Hargrove, who'd been dragged to the party by his step-sister Max, tapped him on the shoulder and asked to bum a smoke.

[leona-hawthorne]

okay i have been waiting for this on the edge of my seat and i'm so fucking grateful that i finally got to sit down and read it (alone, of course, because my reactions were quite literally animalistic)

let me also add that the warnings themselves had me fucking moaning—alright now let's get into this!!

zoya, your writing truly has me in complete awe. "english is not my first language" okay and it appears that that literally does not matter at all because this??? this was a goddamn masterpiece.

(apologies in advance bc this is going to be an extremely long reblog)

He was insane. Truly insane. Almost unhinged. Mattheo Riddle was the definition of impulsive thoughts turned into reckless actions, actions that always led him to trouble. He was raw, magnetic, and dangerously unpredictable, the kind of person who attracted attention without even trying.

okay, but this right here??? the way you captured mattheo's essence so perfectly, i’m obsessed. like, he’s not just reckless—he’s raw and magnetic, and that’s such a powerful way to describe someone who’s constantly teetering on the edge of chaos. it’s like you reached into his chaotic little soul and pulled out the perfect words. it’s giving “force of nature,” and the way you wrote it feels so vivid and alive, like i can see him and feel the tension he carries everywhere he goes. your writing is so sharp and evocative, i can’t stop rereading this bit.

He didn’t just attract trouble; he craved it, needed it like it was the only thing keeping him seen.

the truth was different: he thrived on attention, bad or good, as if he needed it to keep himself whole.

my babyyy, he craves trouble like it’s the only way he can feel noticed. it’s like he’s reduced his own worth to just being seen and perceived by others, even if it means chaos. love how you captured that desperation in such a short line.

every corner seemed like an unsettling, cavernous form that resembled a muggle abandoned cathedral. It felt sacred in a weird twisted way, as if it were built to bear the weight of sinful actions that were too heavy to confess elsewhere.

how do you set the tone so well?!? the imagery is wildly vivid—i can almost feel the heaviness of the space, like it’s got its own dark history!!

The only thing he knew for sure was that you almost had him entirely.

And for him, that was awful enough.

oh this killed me—the tension between wanting something and being terrified of it. mattheo’s vulnerability here is chef's kiss, showing how much he's fighting against his feelings, even when he’s almost lost to them. such a perfect snapshot of their dynamic.

He never quite understood why his heart raced when he was in your presence, as if it might break through his ribs, his flesh, and fall directly into your palms, fully out of his power. At times he couldn't help but press his hand against his own chest, trying to stop it, trying to hold it back, but it only frustrated him further.

Nevertheless, there were times when he nearly wished his heart would simply give way and land in your hands so you could do with it whatever you pleased, whether that meant crushing it entirely or holding it tenderly between your fingers.

okay i am genuinely so in love with this whole part, i had to reread it like 3 times 😵‍💫 the internal conflict is so palpable—like, he’s torn between wanting to control something that’s clearly already beyond his grasp, but also secretly wishing to surrender to the one person who can break him. the image of him physically pressing down on his chest to stop it??? i am actually crying, zoya. ugh, and the fact that he doesn't care whether he'd be hurt or cared for—he just wants her, FUCK he is obsessed.

This ritual, this moment—it was his, only his. Yet, for some reason, he felt a twisted satisfaction knowing he was going to share it with you.

AHDHSFG his possessive ass actually enjoying sharing something??? aw he likes her 😚🤗

Mattheo let out a low, almost manic laugh as his gaze remained fixed on the blade in his hand.

the way he kept laughing like a fucking maniac throughout the entirety of this fic OMG i can almost hear it in my head, he's so fucking hot.

his grip tightening around your hand, not to soothe you, but to remind himself you were still there

I'M BLUSHING, idk if he's doing that solely because of the ritual but either way, the fact that he wants to reassure himself that she didn't go anywhere is making my heart squeeze in my chest 🥹

Mattheo chuckled dryly, releasing your hand to stop you from gripping it, from finding any comfort in his presence.

BITCH??!?! YOU ASSHOLE, hold my hand i'm scared ☹️

He was an insensitive prick, but dear god, he was a beautiful one. 

this is so true—HE'S FUCKING MEAN, but i genuinely have never seen a more angelic man 😭🪽

Shit, you’re not wearing a bra.

Mattheo swore the zipper on his pants was going to break any second.

alr here we go (i'm horny now)

Without a word he reached up and tugged his shirt over his head, casting it aside without care.

well shit, now we're both hard, mattheo!! 🤜💥🤛 (i am drooling at the thought of this rn)

Your bare chests were almost touching, the air thick with tension, your hard nipples brushing just slightly against his skin.

no, you actually don't understand—this is so intimate, i can just imagine the silence and the only sound being their heavy ass breathing, its so 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 also i think i would lose my mind if my nips were like JUST BARELY brushing against him, what a tease

With a deep breath, you pressed the blade to your palm, hissing softly as the edge cut into your skin, making you feel even more bare and open than you already did.

idk if you've seen stranger things but this is making me think of when nancy and jonathan did the same exact thing and cut their palms. that scene and the matching scars and just them in general is so dear to me, so this is making me feel so many things rn

Without warning, his lips pressed against the spot, his tongue tracing the blood.

“It’s so sweet,” he murmured, his teeth grazing the skin of your neck, the crimson of your blood staining them as he pulled you closer, pressing you against him in a way that felt almost inhuman. “So fucking sweet.”

okay mr vampire!! (this is so fucking hot i am literally struggling to function rn and i am lucky i didn't read this during ovulation 🙂‍↕️)

Mattheo chuckled in satisfaction, bringing his bloodied hand to your stomach, the crimson spreading across your exposed skin like a mark. “You like it, don’t you?”

MY JAW DROPPED PLEASE OH MY GOD, HIM SPREADING THE COLD BLOOD ON HER STOMACH?? I CAN IMAGINE MYSELF JERKING AWAY OMF YES DADDY I LOVE IT

Mattheo chuckled again against your throat, his teeth sinking into the spot once more, making you moan. He mimicked the sound...

i'm being so serious, this part will live on in my brain forever. him MIMICKING/MOCKING HER MOAN??? HE'S SO MEAN AND COCKY HOLY FUCK THAT WAS SO HOT

he guided your hand to your neck, then down to your breasts, trailing the blood like a map. Before you could react to the sting of your hard nipple pressing against the cut, Mattheo moved faster, pulling your nipple—now smeared with your own blood—into his mouth. 

spreading her own blood all over her body just so he can lick it off, oml can you spread my legs open next, mattheo? 😇 (jk, they're already spread)

The way his hands pushed your now bloody breasts together enough for his head to dive between them as he continued to whisper praises, words of hunger.

“Your tits…”Mattheo moaned even louder, dragging a moan from your lips in response. Fuck, he was so close.

first, AJDGHFDJHDRFGJHAFGHJSRGFJHSRF him pressing her tits together just to SHOVE HIS FACE IN BETWEEN oh he's so down bad 🤭 also the "your tits..." BOY. he was so cocky and degrading before—now he's all pathetic and obsessing over her tits? ah, just what I love to see 😮‍💨

“Open your mouth,” he commanded, an order you immediately understood. You obeyed without hesitation, and before you could react, he spat into your mouth and thrust his tongue inside, kissing you deeply.

yes sir please spit in my mouth (he's so nasty and disgusting and i fucking love him for it)

You could feel Mattheo’s cheeks pressed against your thighs as he buried himself in your pussy, suffocating himself in your scent and taste. He mentally begged some higher power to let him one day die like this...

YES PLEASE LET ME SUFFOCATE YOU BETWEEN MY LEGS MATTY PLS 🙏 "let him one day die like this" he is so obsessed god i love this so much

“Such a pretty one you are,” he muttered, his words slurring into the juices of your cunt.

THE WAY HE CAN'T TEAR HIS FACE AWAY EVEN JUST FOR A MOMENT TO SPEAK AJDGSGDFHSDFG i would actually be dying at all the praise

clearly, i got a little carried away with this reblog (this is literally the longest reblog i’ve ever made 🧍🏻‍♀️), but what can i say? this was 6.3k words of art and i had to include all my favorite parts 🤷‍♀️🙂‍↕️

love you zoya!!!! 🫂🤍

𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐍

mattheo riddle x fem reader

SUMMARY. in which mattheo seeks power and needs your help to perform a blood ritual. WORDS. +6.3K. english is not my first language.

WARNINGS. smut, mdni, porn w//plot, mean mattheo, aged up characters, friends to fuck buddies, blood play, blood kink, cuts, spitting, nipple sucking, oral sex f!receiving, pussy drunk mattheo, handjob, dirty talk, biting, marking.

navigation -> masterlist

He was insane. Truly insane. Almost unhinged. Mattheo Riddle was the definition of impulsive thoughts turned into reckless actions, actions that always led him to trouble. He was raw, magnetic, and dangerously unpredictable, the kind of person who attracted attention without even trying. Every move he made, every word he spoke, every breath he took was saturated with confidence and superiority.

He didn’t just attract trouble; he craved it, needed it like it was the only thing keeping him seen.

Mattheo was like a storm no one could outrun, an enigma without resolution, and that was exactly what made him so intoxicating. There was something in his presence that pulled people toward him, whether in admiration or fear, and no one could quite decide if it was for better or worse. He wasn’t just hard to ignore; he was impossible to overlook. He demanded attention simply by existing, and it was maddening, the way he could dominate a room with nothing more than a simple glance.

It could have been for a lot of reasons. Maybe it was the way he acted like he didn’t have a care in the world, the sharp, biting comments he always seemed to have ready, words that stuck like blood on stone.Or maybe it was the fights, the way he seemed to throw himself into them too often, always coming out with the same satisfied expression. After all, he was the only son of the Dark Lord, and that alone was enough to draw all kinds of attention.

Whatever was the reason, chaos seemed to follow him everywhere, like he thrived on it. Perhaps he didn’t care at all. No outsider really knew, and no one ever tried to figure him out. Nobody had the courage to do so.

Either way, there were always whispers about him, cruel rumors about his personality and massive ego, some saying he was just like his father, or maybe even a darker version of him, while others came from students eager to get close in obscene ways, hoping to spend a night with their bodies tangled in his. 

Yet Mattheo didn’t show that he cared, always pretending to be focused on his own goals, moving through the chaos unshaken and unbothered, though deep down, the truth was different: he thrived on attention, bad or good, as if he needed it to keep himself whole.

But you had seen enough to know the truth. He was cruel, ruthless, and everything people whispered about him, perhaps even worse. And yet, here you were, trapped in his chaos, each moment with him drawing you deeper into the darkness.

You were trapped. Absolutely trapped.

Perhaps it was in the way he looked at you, his deep brown eyes burning with an intensity that stole your breath away, leaving you struggling to keep your heart from racing, as if he saw something inside of you that you weren’t capable of seeing. Or maybe it was the way his words stayed in your mind long after they were spoken, carving their way into your thoughts like a knife you didn’t want to pull out, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were already in too deep.

If you thought about it more, you didn’t know what had brought you here. The main factor to why you were so attracted to an ongoing fire.

Could be the adrenaline from his strange proposal, or the way you couldn’t stop thinking about him, his presence always glued to your mind. Could also be the need to be near him, the way your body moved toward his as if it had no will of its own, or perhaps it was the way he seemed to control your heart in a way you couldn’t even understand. It was twisted, even a little scary, but neither of you cared.

After all, you were friends.

You didn’t know when it stopped feeling like curiosity—just a lingering thought— but the doubt never really went away. Instead it became prominent, tight in your chest whenever he was around. There was something darker about him, something dangerous in the way he lived recklessly, only focused on his own desires, how he thrived on the attention he got, pulling you deeper without even trying.

And now, standing there, you couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever came next, there was no turning back. No escape.

The Room of Requirement was cloaked in dark shadows, the silence broken only by the faint hiss of flickering candles. Their soft, wavering light offered a fragile sense of comfort, though it did little to ease the tension hanging in the air. The atmosphere was thick and heavy, saturated with the acrid tang of burning incense and something darker, almost unspoken.

Torchlight flickered across the cold stone walls, making jagged patterns that twisted and stretched with each almost shiny flicker. That night, the requirement room felt weird, unlike the form other students seemed to used—every corner seemed like an unsettling, cavernous form that resembled a muggle abandoned cathedral. It felt sacred in a weird twisted way, as if it were built to bear the weight of sinful actions that were too heavy to confess elsewhere.

The faint metallic scent in the air lingered, sharp and heavy, mixed with something even more heavy, felt almost like a warning. On the stone floor, crude runes spiraled out in precise, jagged lines, their edges glowing faintly as though alive and energetic, pulsing in time with the biting silence as if they were watching, waiting to know what was about to take place.

In the center of it all stood Mattheo Riddle, the one person who seemed to take up every space in your mind, his dark robes draping loosely over his strong frame, giving him an effortless air of power, his features, defined and almost angelic, partially hidden by his messy curls that always fell into his pretty eyes.

The flickering torchlight danced off his hair with every movement, making it seem almost alive; there was something strange about how his appearance seemed almost angelic, yet you knew Mattheo’s true personality, making him all the more dangerous, like a trap just waiting for you to step in.

He could look still, even controlled, but there was nothing controlled about this. Nothing about him was controlled.

Mattheo looked at the dagger in his hands, his gaze drifting over the blade, but it wasn’t the dagger that had his attention. It was you. Your eyes were on him, and it felt like he was being torn apart with just that look. It wasn’t like the attention he was used to—no fear or admiration in it.

No, this was different. It was more like an assessment. The weight of your gaze was almost suffocating, as if you were digging into him, getting under his skin in a way that made him feel stupidly exposed and making him feel a strange sensation tighten in his chest, choking his throat in ways he couldn’t understand, and he hated it.

He hated how you made him feel like this—torn between wanting to get closer and wanting to run away from that. And even if it was good or bad; neither mattered. He didn’t want to know. The only thing he knew for sure was that you almost had him entirely.

And for him, that was awful enough.

He never quite understood why his heart raced when he was in your presence, as if it might break through his ribs, his flesh, and fall directly into your palms, fully out of his power. At times he couldn't help but press his hand against his own chest, trying to stop it, trying to hold it back, but it only frustrated him further.

Nevertheless, there were times when he nearly wished his heart would simply give way and land in your hands so you could do with it whatever you pleased, whether that meant crushing it entirely or holding it tenderly between your fingers. He wasn't certain which would provide him with greater comfort, but he was certain that if you gave him that satisfaction, he will never be the same again.

Mattheo sighed and shook his head rapidly, making a dramatic gesture as he attempted to avoid your concentrated, evaluating stare on him once more. He concentrated on the tiny silver dagger in his hand, trying not to hold it too firmly in his palm, but nothing could take away the sensation, and even if it didn't cause him any discomfort, the pressure that made it was obvious.

He let out another sigh, this time frustrated, rubbing his forehead, but couldn’t help releasing another, this time a relieved one, when he saw your attention shift to the two circles drawn around him, almost like some kind of illustration, and he couldn’t help but smirk knowingly as he noticed the change in your expression; at the confusion in your eyes and at your furrowed brows as you tried to make sense of the strange symbols, carefully etched inside the circles on the floor.

Mattheo looked away, quickly shifting his focus to the symbol at his feet. In comparison with the other symbols, this one was far more complex, with each line and curve being meticulous and precise. As he raised his chin in satisfaction with what he did, Mattheo couldn't help but widen his smirk into a full grin, an equal amount of pride and arrogance coming across his expression.

This ritual, this moment—it was his, only his. Yet, for some reason, he felt a twisted satisfaction knowing he was going to share it with you. Even though you were there not completely voluntarily, you still had a place in it, whether you liked it or not. 

This time, it was Mattheo who looked at you with an intense, almost predatory gaze, his hand tightening once more around the blade in his palm as he kept his eyes on you. He was already preparing to take the first step toward the power he would gain from what you two were about to do. All he needed was your final confirmation and for you to step into the middle of the circle with him.

“Are you ready for this?” His voice broke the silence, low and almost a purr, making you look up at him. Ready? Fuck no. In fact, you were terrified. Every part of you screamed to run, to get as far away from this room and this stupid ritual as possible. But your body didn’t listen to your brain. Your heart didn’t either. Instead, you stayed still, frozen, your eyes locked with his own, already filled with amusement and something darker, like a challenge. 

You knew this was stupid. Hell, it was almost suicidal. A ritual to give him more power, cutting your own hand, spilling your blood, mixing it with his just to make him stronger. It was madness. More than that, even.

But then again, a part of you wanted it. A part of you wanted to leave a piece of yourself with him, to bind yourself to him in some twisted way. And for some fucked-up reason, you craved that. You wanted to be marked by him, to have a part of you inside him forever. Mattheo had already carved his mark into your mind, into the darkest corners of your heart, and now you wanted to do the same.

Stupid curiosity.

“Well?” Mattheo asked again, his voice dripping with amusement, though you could hear the faint edge of annoyance creeping in. He tried to hold onto his usual confident, relaxed demeanor, but it was slipping. “What’s it gonna be?” The same damn question. You wouldn’t be stupid enough to make him ask a third time. 

“I…” You paused, your voice cracking, and you couldn’t help but curse yourself under your breath as you felt his gaze digging into you, waiting for the answer he wanted. “I think I’m ready,” you finally said, taking a step forward, ignoring the part of you screaming to get the hell out of there. Yet your body moved faster than your mind, and before you knew it, you took an unconscious step closer to him, making his eyebrow quirk in amusement. 

Mattheo raised an eyebrow, his smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You think?” he repeated, his voice thick with mockery. He almost laughed; if it were not for the situation you two were in.

“Fuck—” you hissed under your breath, cursing yourself again, and Mattheo’s smirk stretched wider. “I’m ready.” You corrected yourself, the words tasting wrong. “I’m ready,” you said again, this time to convince yourself more than him.

Mattheo let out a low, almost manic laugh as his gaze remained fixed on the blade in his hand. The sound sent an unexpected shiver down your spine, and your cheeks flushed as his voice echoed in your ears. When he looked back at you, his eyes were softer than before, though the usual intensity remained, as if he was offering something that, despite not being comfort, somehow left you feeling relieved in a way.

He stretched his hand towards you, his voice calmer than before but still firm. “Let’s go. The sooner we start, the sooner this thing is going to end.” The sooner he would have control. Mattheo called you again, and you let out a soft sigh before taking that first step.

Each step you took was filled with hesitation, but your body didn’t seem to care. It moved toward the circle, fighting the doubt gnawing on your mind. When you finally stepped inside, you couldn’t hold back a small sigh as your hand found Mattheo’s. The touch sent a shiver down your spine, your cheeks flushing as you saw the same smirk on his lips, the reaction causing a tug on your heart. He didn’t need to say anything; you could feel how much he enjoyed this, how much he knew the effect he had on you.

Sometimes you wanted to punch him. 

As soon as you took his hand, Mattheo’s confidence wavered slightly; his heart pounded just by your touch. However, he couldn’t hide the dark amusement in his eyes as he watched your flushed cheeks and how your body betrayed you. It was too easy.

“This,” he said, gesturing to the intricate runes carved into the floor with the tip of his dagger, his grip tightening around your hand, not to soothe you, but to remind himself you were still there. “It’s going to hurt like hell.” He said it with such ease, as if the pain and the blood were just a minor part. You swallowed hard, the confirmation of what you already knew settling deep in your stomach. “At least for you,” he added with an eyebrow raised, his voice laced with amusement.

His words weren’t reassuring at all—not that you expected them to be. He didn’t care about calming you or making this easier to bear. That wasn’t his style, and it never had been. Mattheo thrived in chaos, in mess, and he wanted you to feel every bit of it. He wanted to pull you into the madness, to push you until you struggled to keep yourself together.

“You’re not exactly helping me calm down, you know?” you said through gritted teeth, barely stopping yourself from telling him to go fuck himself. 

Mattheo chuckled dryly, releasing your hand to stop you from gripping it, from finding any comfort in his presence. “Glad to know, sweetheart.” He said casually, like it didn’t matter at all. “But who said I want you to calm down?” he murmured, and you might have thought he was joking if it weren’t for the fact that you had known him for years.

You scoffed at his lack of sympathy. It wasn’t surprising, though; his attitude was one of the things that drew you to him, even if it wasn’t exactly healthy. You watched as he lit more candles, the flame dancing with every step he took, highlighting the sharp lines of his features. He was an insensitive prick, but dear god, he was a beautiful one. 

After a few seconds, Mattheo stood up, still holding the dagger in his hand. He glanced at you, and for a brief moment, something in his gaze made his heartbeat almost thud down his ribs. He took a few steps toward you, and your eyes met. His dark eyes were intense, unreadable, and the weight of the air between you made your stomach twist. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and steady, with a hint of mischief in his tone. The corner of his mouth twitched, the excitement creeping slowly.

“Take off your shirt.”

You blinked, shocked, and for a few seconds, all your fear vanished. “Excuse me?!”

Mattheo observed you, almost as if he were stripping you bare. “Your shirt,” he repeated, his tone annoyingly dismissive. He spun the dagger in his palm with flawless precision, taking a step closer as if your hesitancy pleased him. “Take it off,” he said almost coolly, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world.

You crossed your arms, feeling your heart race as your face flushed with heat. “And why, exactly, do I need to do that?” You snapped, your voice sharp. You had fantasized a thousand times about Mattheo asking you to do this, but you never imagined it would actually happen, especially not now, in this situation. 

“For the ritual,” he said simply, tilting his head and giving you a smirk that bordered on taunting, as though the answer should’ve been obvious. “I need access to your skin, sweetheart. The magic won’t work otherwise.” His words were smooth, but you couldn’t shake the feeling they held a hint of mockery.

You hesitated, studying him closely. There was something about his response that didn’t sit right, too casual in a way that felt almost taunting, like he wasn’t being completely honest. “You’re making that up,” you said flatly, letting your arms drop to your sides, your eyes narrowing as you searched on his face for a sign of truth. 

His smirk widened, and he continued to twirl the dagger between his fingers, his eyes locked on you. The sight of your flushed cheeks only seemed to make him think with his other head. “Am I?” He took another step closer. 

“Please, Mattheo, I know that’s bullshit!” you spat out, trying to ignore how his smug expression made your skin heat, though particularly of you couldn’t help but consider it.

Mattheo let out a low chuckle, stepping closer, the tension between you nearly unbearable. His voice dipped, rough and almost deliberate, as his dark eyes shamelessly trailed down your body before locking onto yours again.

“Alright,” he murmured, a smile laying wickedly on his lips. “Maybe it’s not entirely necessary. But it helps. A lot.”

The dagger moved lazily in his hand, the sharp edge skimming his palm without cutting his palm. His gaze never left you, steady and intense, like a predator watching its prey. “And we both know you want this to work out, don’t we, sweetheart?” 

Your breath hitched in your throat at his words, a truth you hated to admit even to yourself. You wanted him to notice you—really notice you—the way his gaze seemed to strip you bare, peeling back layers you didn’t even realize you had. But the sharp flare of anger clawed its way up your chest, tangling with the strange pull he always seemed to have over you, leaving you somewhere between furious and helpless.

“Unbelievable,” you muttered, shaking your head, the disappointment cutting deeper than you wanted to admit. You weren’t sure if it was aimed at him or at yourself for falling into this moment—this trap. Probably both. 

“And yet,” he said, taking another step toward you, “here you are.” He mocked you, making you bite your tongue to stop yourself from telling him to fuck off. 

The space between you two was basically nonexistent now, and Mattheo fucking hated it. Hated that it was him moving closer, like he couldn’t help himself. Hated how his body had a mind of its own, reacting to you in ways that made him feel like an idiot. The thought of you, without your shirt, without anything, was driving him insane, his imagination running wild no matter how much he tried to shove it down.

Fuck. He could already feel the strain in his pants, his cock pressing uncomfortably against the fabric. It pissed him off—how easily you got under his skin, how fucking hard it was to keep his cool around you. 

“Fine,” you bit out, your voice rougher than you felt, and Mattheo’s smile twisted with satisfaction, practically waiting for you to do it. You exhaled sharply, trying to ignore the way his eyes were glued to you. Your fingers lingered at the hem of your shirt, heart pounding in your chest as you struggled to find the guts to go through with it. 

Mattheo’s smirk only deepened, his eyes never leaving you, and for a moment, it felt like he was inside your head, reading you like a damn book. His gaze dropped low, just enough to make your skin prickle with awareness. You seemed so fucking soft. “Need help?” he asked, voice dripping with mockery. 

“Shut up, Mattheo” you snapped, yanking the fabric over your head in one swift motion, a shiver running through your whole body. Shit, you’re not wearing a bra.

The second the shirt left your body, the air felt heavier, but you felt the coldness against your exposed skin and nipples. Mattheo’s expression shifted, his smirk slipping for a moment as his eyes scanned over you, taking in more than you were prepared to show. You cursed yourself for not wearing a bra under the thin fabric, your chest bare under the dim torchlight and his searing gaze. Mattheo swore the zipper on his pants was going to break any second.

You couldn't help but feel trapped by his piercing stare as his eyes remained on you, shamelessly tracing your hard nipples. He seemed oblivious; nonetheless, his eyes burned with need as his mind wandered, thinking about the taste of his tongue on your nipples, sucking and biting until all you could think about was the feel of his wet tongue. He held the dagger tightly, only reacting when the blade cut into his flesh.

“Well,” he began, attempting to put the thoughts flowing through his head to the back of his mind, his voice rougher than before, “guess you were more ready than we thought.” He mocked you again, but it seemed like he was also mocking himself.

You could feel your cheeks burning, a mix of anger and something else boiling inside you. You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to block him out, but the moment you saw the way Mattheo’s eyes were fixed on you filled with desire, your hands fell to your sides, betraying your own brain. You wanted this. You wanted him to see you, to really see you.

But as you realized you were staring at him in the same way, you quickly shook your head, trying to push down the desire and need, force some control back into your own voice. “Just get on with it,” you ‘snapped’, trying to hide how much it stung, how much you craved that attention. 

Mattheo’s smirk returned, but this time it was sharper, full with devilment. He took another step toward you, his eyes never leaving yours, and gestured toward the circle with a lazy flick of his hand. “As you wish.”

His expression didn’t shift, his confidence simmering just below the surface as he stepped even closer to you, trying not to look at your bare chest. His eyes flickered to the symbols on the ground, their faint glow reflecting in the depths of his gaze. Without a word he reached up and tugged his shirt over his head, casting it aside without care. He didn’t look at you but still waited for your reaction. You had already drawn one from him—only fair if he returned the favor, right?

You, on the other hand, swallowed hard, your gaze shamelessly tracing the lines of his abdomen and bare, muscular chest. The candles and torchlight cast sharp shadows across the scars etched into his skin, and you held your breath without meaning to. When he glanced forward slightly, his eyes still on the ground as he did so, he had to stifle a chuckle at the sight of your clenched fists, trying to control yourself.

This was going to be fun, at least.

For a brief moment, neither of you spoke or moved. The silence stretched thin, both of you consumed by the same thoughts, the same dirty images racing through your minds. Your chests rose and fell heavily, both of you struggling to regain a normal breath. It was fucking madness. 

Mattheo quickly composed himself, standing at the point of the small symbol on the ground, making sure you mirrored his position on the opposite side. Your bare chests were almost touching, the air thick with tension, your hard nipples brushing just slightly against his skin. He gave a low sigh, words slipping from his lips in a language you couldn’t understand, his voice deep and commanding.

As soon as the words left his mouth, the symbols on the floor pulsed to life, glowing with an eerie light, while the candle flames flickered wildly, as though responding to his words. 

He looked at the dagger in his hand, a proud glint in his eyes before letting his gaze drift up to your face. His eyes lingered on your features, the softness of your eyes, the way your lips parted just enough to drive him insane. He almost couldn’t stop himself from reaching out to touch you, but he stayed still, his jaw tight. “Are you ready?” he asked, his lips moving without sound. “I am,” you mouthed back, the hesitation in your eyes impossible to miss. But he ignored it, choosing to focus on the way you stood there—no turning back now, and honestly? He didn’t want you to cover up. 

Mattheo gripped the dagger with steady hands, his brown eyes flickering briefly to the runes as if making sure everything was aligned. Without a second thought, he pressed the sharp blade to his palm, slicing through the skin with quick, practiced precision. The blood surged from the cut, dripping thick and dark onto the glowing runes below. They reacted violently, flaring brighter, more alive, as if the blood was feeding the symbols, feeding him. 

You held your breath, knowing you were next. But you couldn’t stop yourself from glancing at the ground, watching his blood drip onto the floor beneath both of your feet.

After a few seconds, he lifted his chin, pride in his eyes, his curls moving like the magic around the circles. He grabbed your hand without a word, pressing the dagger into your palm, his gaze never leaving yours. He was waiting, daring you to cut yourself just like he had. 

You felt his blood drip onto your wrist, the warmth of it sending a jolt through your veins. As the dagger pressed into your palm, a breath caught in your throat. The weight of the blade was more than you expected, and for a moment, your eyes lingered on the crimson stains left by Mattheo’s cut, almost hypnotic, tempting you.

Your heart quickened, your pulse echoing in your ears. You hesitated—for a moment. His eyes found you once again, a look that urged you to continue. The hesitation lingering in your heart suddenly dispersed; you wanted nothing but to mark him as yours.

With a deep breath, you pressed the blade to your palm, hissing softly as the edge cut into your skin, making you feel even more bare and open than you already did. The pain was sharp, fleeting, quickly replaced by the blood spilling down your skin, as the runes reacted violently to your action, their glow flaring in response. 

It was instantaneous. The moment your blood touched the floor, the room seemed to exhale, the light flaring brighter and the air humming with a charged, almost electric energy as the ritual began. But the reaction was brief, for Mattheo’s focus shifted.

Mattheo’s gaze was fixed on the cut on your hand, his eyes wide and unblinking, as if he was mesmerized by the crimson blood streaks trailing down your wrist, mingling with his the drops of his blood already on your skin. His jaw clenched, and you swore you saw him swallow hard as he continued to look, his chest rising and falling with a depth of intensity you’d never seen in him before. 

“Mattheo?” You called softly, your voice barely above a whisper, your heartbeat quickening against your bare chest. Yet, it was enough to break his attention.

His eyes naturally met yours once again, vulnerability flickering in his gaze, though the rest of his expression remained unreadable, like a contrast to the hunger simmering beneath. But Mattheo didn't step back. Instead, his calloused fingers brushed against the blood on your wrist, smearing it slightly. The contact sent a jolt through you, and for a moment, neither of you remembered how to breathe.

“Mattheo…” you called out again, but this time it was almost a plea for him not to stop. He obeyed your unspoken request, his fingers tracing your skin as if exploring new territory, so gently that it almost made you forget the lingering sting in your hand. 

Mattheo’s hands moved deliberately, spreading the blood from the deep cut on your hand. He seemed oblivious to the matching wound on his own skin as he dragged the crimson trail up to your neck, smearing it across your skin. Without warning, his lips pressed against the spot, his tongue tracing the blood. He let out a low groan at the taste, and you couldn’t suppress your own when you felt the warmth of his tongue against you. 

“It’s so sweet,” he murmured, his teeth grazing the skin of your neck, the crimson of your blood staining them as he pulled you closer, pressing you against him in a way that felt almost inhuman. “So fucking sweet.” His teeth continued to drag along your skin, while his hand slid down your arm, seeking more of your blood. His fingers tightened around your palm, squeezing to draw out more of the liquid, making you groan in a mix of pain and pleasure as the burn surged through you. 

“Shhh, it’s okay, sweetheart,” Mattheo whispered, biting your neck, his teeth sinking into your skin painfully. He didn’t care about the grunt of pain that escaped your lips, not when more blood joined the one already staining your throat. Right after his first bite, you moaned, your thighs rubbing together in an attempt to ease the wetness in your cunt. 

Mattheo chuckled in satisfaction, bringing his bloodied hand to your stomach, the crimson spreading across your exposed skin like a mark. “You like it, don’t you?” he murmured against your throat, pressing his lips to the marks he had left with his teeth. But when he noticed you hadn’t answered, he bit your neck harder than before and squeezed your stomach, causing more blood to spread across the area. 

You swallowed hard, locking eyes with him as you tried to form a sentence, but the only words that escaped your lips were a barely audible, “Yes, fucking yes,” which only made him laugh harder. He tightened his grip on your skin, sending a sharp sting through your own body. 

“Of course you do… such a fucking slut,” Mattheo chuckled again against your throat, his teeth sinking into the spot once more, making you moan. He mimicked the sound, feeling his pants tighten around his cock as he tasted your blood again on his teeth. His tongue throbbed with desire, savoring the metallic taste. Holy shit, he could cum just from the taste of your blood. “But you taste so damn good.” 

He seemed to have completely forgotten the ritual, and you, too, had let it slip away. You didn’t want to remember, not when his blood stained your skin, not when your own blood marked him, and not when his mark lingered on you. 

Mattheo pulled back slightly, looking at your state and the way your plush lips were parted as you stared at him, your eyes filled with the same desire he showed. 

Without warning, Mattheo grabbed your cut hand with the one resting on your stomach, his blood mingling with yours as he guided your hand to your neck, then down to your breasts, trailing the blood like a map. Before you could react to the sting of your hard nipple pressing against the cut, Mattheo moved faster, pulling your nipple—now smeared with your own blood—into his mouth. 

You let out a loud moan as you felt his tongue teasing the tips of your bloodied breasts, the taste of your blood on his tongue making him swirl around your breast more eagerly. The sensation only made him harder beneath his robes, each moan of his growing louder as he savored the taste of you. 

You were lost in the pleasure of his mouth, concentrated with the way his tongue lapped like a hungry animal. The way his hands pushed your now bloody breasts together enough for his head to dive between them as he continued to whisper praises, words of hunger. You didn’t hear nothing but the sounds of his mouth nor saw how he desperately reached for release, your body causing him to react out of character.

“Fuck...” he murmured, his hand releasing the softness of your skin as he reached down towards his pants. Fast, uncoordinated, he released his cock from the restraints, his bloody hands wrapping around his cock that dripped with precum. His movements grew faster, driven by the growing intensity of the taste of blood on his tongue.

You looked down, catching a glimpse through the small crease of his neck as he dragged his palm over his hard cock while sucking on your nipples. You couldn’t help but moan louder, your bloody hand gripping his shoulders as you tried to ignore how your body was responding—the wetness between your legs that you knew he could feel. 

“Your tits…”Mattheo moaned even louder, dragging a moan from your lips in response. Fuck, he was so close.

“Fuck, your blood tastes so fucking good.” He moaned louder, and as he sucked harder on your nipples, his mouth closing around the bud tighter. Your chest was now covered in his bites, the marks of Mattheo Riddle, almost like a sign of ownership. Your body quivered against his hold, rubbing pathetically against him as you felt the tingle flutter in your stomach. You were close, lost in the daze, you had no idea whether it was from pleasure or the lost of blood—or both. You were desperately clinging to his shoulders, his name falling from your lips like a spell.

The hold on his length tightened in his hand, and he came instantly. Another hoarse moan escaped his throat, and he pulled away from your chest for a moment, gasping for air. You gripped onto his shoulders once more, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. So sudden, so quick you fell against his hold as your body convulsed with pleasure.

Mattheo leaned against you, allowing himself a moment to relax. But when he noticed the blood still running down your throat from where he had placed your hand, he couldn’t help but let out a growl. He yanked your hair back harshly, making you gasp and exposing your throat, your scream barely escaping as he did so. 

“Mattheo…!” You tried to speak, but he didn’t care; he never did. He only pushed you further against him, your nipples pressed against his bare chest as he licked your throat, letting out another groan as he tasted the metallic flavor again. His tongue traced the line of your throat, dragging the blood up to your chin, before he licked it off obscenely, making you sigh at the sensation. 

Mattheo’s hand in your hair tightened, and in one swift motion, he turned you onto your back, pulling your hair even harder as your back arched against him. “Open your mouth,” he commanded, an order you immediately understood. You obeyed without hesitation, and before you could react, he spat into your mouth and thrust his tongue inside, kissing you deeply.

The kiss was rough and erotic, the fire burning from the inside making it impossible to avoid it. You could taste your own blood on his tongue, and it only made your cunt wetter, the intensity overwhelming. It was too much—more than you’d ever imagined.

You had pictured moments like this, where you and Mattheo would kiss, tasting each other’s tongues, but this was different. It wasn’t the fantasy you had dreamed of; it was raw, wild, and rougher than anything you could have ever anticipated. His teeth clashed with yours, and your tongue tangled with his, as he unleashed his most primal side. He was giving you a taste of the part of you he had consumed, and you were trapped, just as you always would be.

You didn’t care about the pain in your scalp, only the hand that held you.

Mattheo’s hands were rough, touching everything he could. His mouth marking you over and over as he swallowed every small noise you released. He was warm, too warm, a sting feeling in your mouth as he sucked and bit into your lips, the softness of your skin tethering as his mouth was once again filled with the sweetness of your blood.

He was about to lose his mind.

Mattheo sighed against your now split lip, “Stop me… Tell me to stop, and I will.” He wouldn’t; you both knew it.

You held him against you tighter; you were already too deep into him—all you wanted was to devour him, mark him enough to show everyone he belonged to you, only you. You wanted to inflict a pain he would never forget, a pain similar to the pain he caused you, so you did. Your hands wrapped around his neck, your mouth tracing his lips, then his cheeks, then suddenly the warmth of his neck. Mattheo gripped you hard; he made no sudden movement, anxiously awaiting your motive. You bit into his neck, sucking the flushed skin as your teeth marked him with the same strength he did to you. 

Another soft flow came into your mouth, you gasped, the metallic taste odd in your mouth but enough to send your heart thundering.

Mattheo whimpered, his dominant facade slipping as he sickly enjoyed the way you took control. You were so sweet, so delicate—you were completely the opposite. The idea he corrupted you twisted a sick, powerful thought in his brain. You were his. 

Your tongue reached towards his mouth again, finding yourself eye to eye with the man you wanted nothing more than to control. “Don’t ever stop; I need you.”

Mattheo grinned, his lips bloody, his brown eyes becoming dark as he suddenly pushed you towards the runes that glowed against your body. The symbols glowed, vibrating with the blood that dripped onto it. As he stood over you, he wished to capture the moment forever. You looked so fucking pretty.

He leaned over, his knees staining with the blood smeared against the cold tiles. His fingers moved quickly, desperately. He watched as your body spoke to him, reacting to every touch. Your breasts covered in his marks, his blood and yours on them that caused his cock to twitch violently.

He wanted more than the taste of your breasts; he wanted to taste the juices that gathered in the silk of your panties. He wanted to feel the way your cunt twitched and throbbed against his mouth, and damn, did he want nothing more than to have you fuck yourself on his tongue. The sweetest angel from Hogwarts all displayed for him, to hell with the ritual; now he just wanted to swallow you whole. 

Without warning, he hoisted your legs onto his shoulders with an almost violent urgency, a deep moan escaping his lips as he leaned closer to your wet pussy. The intoxicating scent filled his senses, making his bloodied hand tighten around your thigh, gripping it as if commanding you to choke him; a command you had no intention of disobeying.

Mattheo looked at your face, the dried blood around your parted lips, your cheeks flushed from everything he was doing to you, and your dilated pupils watching him anxiously. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, and you instantly bit your lip. Fuck, he was about to get hard again. 

“Please, I need you, Mattheo,” you begged, rubbing your hips desperately, trying to get closer to his flushed face. You needed his mouth, and he was more than willing to be a good friend and give you exactly what you wanted. 

“No need to beg like a slut, sweetheart,” he said, moving closer to your pulsing cunt, the light from the dunes making your wetness glisten even more. You held your breath as his warm breath ghosted over your slick folds. “I’m eager to give you what you want,” he murmured, leaning even closer, his nose brushing against your arousal as he took in your scent. Just as you were about to beg him to do something, his tongue was quicker—teasing, tasting, and finally giving in to the need to lick you.

Mattheo followed his instincts and hunger, his palms gripping your thighs even tighter, leaving bloodstained marks on your skin just as he had on the rest of your body. The sting of his own cut burned with the pressure, but he didn’t stop, sliding his hands to your hips as his tongue moved swiftly against your folds, savoring and memorizing every inch of you.

You could feel Mattheo’s cheeks pressed against your thighs as he buried himself in your pussy, suffocating himself in your scent and taste. He mentally begged some higher power to let him one day die like this—only after his hunger was completely satisfied. Your back arched, heat swirling in your stomach as Mattheo licked your pussy with reckless desperation.

He was ravenous, savoring every part of you, and when your nails dug into his scalp, he let out another growl, pushing himself even deeper between your legs, making you moan even louder.

“Fucking yes, sweetheart,” he murmured against your pussy, sucking harder as your cries of pleasure filled the room. “Keep moaning like a slut, keep saying my name.” He bit down on your flesh, making you moan even louder, your legs trembling around him. He chuckled darkly, the vibrations of his laughter sending shocks through your body and making you cry out even more.

Fuck the ritual, fuck the power—the only power he craved was the power he held over you.

“Mattheo,” you moaned even louder, rocking your hips against his face as your fingers tangled in his hair, pushing him closer. “Right there, oh my—!” you cried out, feeling him lose himself between your legs, consumed by his thoughts and the blood still staining his lips.

Mattheo’s fast, steady movements continued, his almost feral tongue lapping at your cunt as his hands roamed your body. He could feel his cock harden at the sound of your sweet moans. Fuck, the taste of your blood mingled with your arousal was divine—almost too much for him to bear. 

He continued kissing your clit, desperate to savor your full taste, his tongue messily exploring your folds, drinking in every drop he could. All you felt in the moment was him. The sounds muffled as if underwater. Your fingers dug into his scalp, causing him to flick his tongue against your bud faster, his fingers circling it, his grin plastered with pride as he heard you cry loudly.

“Such a pretty one you are,” he muttered, his words slurring into the juices of your cunt.

You only released a jumble of words, your bare back arching as you squirmed beneath him. You were on the edge, and you could feel it—both of you could. The anticipation was electric, and you were both eager for the release. All he wanted was to make you cum.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he murmured against your folds, the scent of your cunt making him dizzy. “Come for me.” No sooner had the words left his mouth than you let out a final scream, the orgasm hitting you hard as your body arched, feeling your cum dripping from your pussy.

Mattheo groaned against your cunt once more, lapping at your release as he lost himself in your flavor. Quickly, he grabbed your cut hand, spreading its blood over your pussy to mix with the cum. When he felt it was enough, he ran his tongue over your folds, savoring the metallic taste of blood combined with the sweet remnants of your orgasm, only stopping when not a drop remained, and you pushed him away.

The runes still flickered on the ground, glowing brighter with the smell of your release in the air. Blood stained both your bodies, marking each other, marking the new connection between you that neither of you wanted to escape. Mattheo stood there, watching you, his brown eyes observing, shining with pride watching your state. His eyes traced the blood on your skin, lingering on the cut on your hand, before meeting your eyes again. 

“We didn’t finish the ritual,” you managed to say, your voice soft, timid once again compared to the wildness you held as you let Mattheo control you, your body still shaking from one of the best orgasms you ever experienced.

Mattheo’s smirk grew, just a little as he continued to look at the mess he had done. “It’s fine, sweetheart. We can always try again.”

He was right; after all, friends helped each other.

© 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚝₂₀₂₄ — 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚍𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚎𝚕𝚜𝚎.

— please be nice, it’s 4 am it probably has some mistakes!

likes and reblogs are appreciated 🫶🏻

also a big thank you for my favorite beta readers @earth4angels & @astrxq , without them i couldn’t write all this!! i love you both off you forever

venting: sometimes, i hate english because my hard lines in portuguese don’t make sense and seem so repetitive :(

[wilhelminyard]

compilation of nice/sweet things the foxes said to neil because even though they're a bunch of assholes who'll insult anyone in their vicinity they all just love him so damn much (part 1) :

WYMACK :

"if your parents are a problem for you, we'll move you to south carolina early."

"foxes are foxes for a reason and they know we wouldn't sign you if you didn't qualify. that doesn't mean they know specifics. it's not my place to ask and I'm sure as hell not going to tell them."

"it's about second chances, neil. second, third, fourth, whatever, as long as you get at least one more than what anyone else wanted to give you."

"I have never, ever hit someone without provocation and I'm sure as hell not going to start with you. you hear me?"

"I'll take care of this. you take care of you."

"do you have any idea what could have happened to you between here and there? what were you thinking? you should have called me"

"any of us would have come and gotten you"

"it's not your job to take care of yourself anymore. it's your job to play, and mine and abby's job to look after you."

ANDREW :

"oh you might actually turn out to be interesting"

"you be something. kevin says you'll be a champion. four years and you'll go pro. five years and you'll be court."

"curious that a man with so much potential, who has so much fun, who could 'be something' wouldn't want any of it"

"a liar who practices occasional honesty. clever."

"are you going to tell kevin?" "don't ask me stupid questions"

"oh neil, as unpredictable as he is unreal"

"what would it take to make you stay?"

"I'll stand between you and the moriyamas"

"you gave your game to kevin. give your back to me."

KEVIN :

"neil is exactly what the foxes need right now. his inexperience is inconsequential. we went through a hundred files looking for a striker for this year, but neil is the only one we approached. we knew as soon as we saw him we needed to sign him. we're just lucky we got there before anyone else did"

"our primary concern was keeping neil safe"

"*to riko* leave him alone."

MATT :

"are you bleeding anywhere?"

"coach says [neil's] got potential. andrew says you're fast. [...] andrew bets you can outrun everyone on this team."

"seriously are you okay?"

"I'll owe you one" "you won't owe me anything"

"you be careful, okay?"

"I'm fine" "you say that a lot. I'm starting to think you don't know what it means."

"coach says stupid but I say you have balls of steel"

NICKY :

"neil, you clean up good"

"andrew is keeping you, same as he kept kevin. it means you're part of the family now. [...] family means something different with us because it has to. it's not about blood. it's not even about who we like. it's about who andrew's willing to protect."

"that makes you invaluable to andrew"

"you're one of us, which means we'll never push you further than you're willing to go"

DAN :

"are you okay?"

"coach said you hitchhiked your way back here. I'd yell at you for being stupid but coach said he handled that already"

"we didn't let him [in]. he didn't make it further than the front door."

"neil? you don't have to do this, you know"

ALLISON :

"looking fancy"

SETH :

"maybe you're not as stupid as I thought"

AARON :

(I know it surprised me too but it's probably the only compliment he gives neil throughout the entire series and they literally just met at that point)

"at least you're not going to completely drag us down. it'll take most the season to get you where we need you to be but I can see why kevin picked you"

[epickiya722]

Okay, I read what I can from the epilogue and I just want to put out that I'm not saying I'm right about anything I say here because it's not an official release and I read from fan translations.

『Also refer to this post and this one!』

So, again, I was right about Ozawa meeting Yuji again and they have a little heart to heart.

Talking about snow, what they're doing in the same place, bit about Shibuya, it was cute.

But the ending of it was more open ended (which isn't something I hate to be honest).

Before anyone goes "Oh, they pulled a MHA 431, it's so homophobic", I get that it might feel that way but... in no way did Yuji express anything romantic to Ozawa, let alone any kind of feelings for her. Like, let's take a step back FOR ONCE and analyze what's up here. Here, take my hand. Come on and follow along with me.

If anything, from his side, he thinks she is a cool girl. However, he still barely knows her and I doubt him if confessed to he would be like "Oh, I like you like that, too, Ozawa! Let's date!" She's, at best, an acquaintance. Someone in passing, someone he did go to middle school with.

So, her epilogue isn't even homophobic. At best, it's once again just Ozawa being all starry eyed over Yuji who doesn't know how she feels.

It's actually sad when you think about it.

In no way is her feelings are mutual. If Yuko was looking for love, Yuji may not be that person for it. I get it, sometimes you'll have feelings for the one person who was nice to you, but that doesn't mean it will be the only person.

Yuko being too busy hung up on Yuji may have missed a person who likes in the way she likes Yuji. What if there was someone else who did pay attention to the way she writes? Who did meet her at some point and got to know her and liked her for who she was?

And if not that, Yuko should have took Yuji's words to heart and realized how great she is and learn to love herself a little more.

The thing about the middle school flashback I feel, isn't just a flashback about her, but also to show the kind of person he is.

It shows that he's attentive and thoughtful. But also that his actions tend to be swayed by other people, even forcefully. Which happens often for Yuji. He told those boys he didn't like anybody and when asked again if he had to choose, he choose someone who he thought was a neat person. Those boys forced Yuji to give another answer despite him saying he didn't like anybody the first time.

If anything, that flashback serves as a more gentle example of who Yuji contrasting to Rin, another person who knew Yuji when he was a middle schooler (Rin is actually older than Yuji). In Rin's flashback, we see Yuji defend a kid that was being picked on.

Yuji was being attentive, he didn't ignore a kid being bullied. He stepped up and told them to leave him alone and when they didn't and decided to charge at Yuji, he was then forced to act violently. In turn, Rin was left with the impression he had of Yuji, just as Yuko was.

Bringing up the snow bit, it was cute. I liked it! Yuji being compared to snow. But this is not the first time someone has came across Yuji and thought of snow.

What was the incident they bring up this chapter? The Shibuya Incident, right. And who did Yuji have to fight and had cowering by the end of it? Mahito, yes, him. And other than a wolf, what else did Mahito imagine when he became fearful of Yuji? SNOW!

So like with Rin, Mahito's perception of Yuji is opposite of Yuko's. She got to experience a gentle side which she admires. Rin and Mahito got his violent side, which they feared.

With all that being said, even with this epilogue ending the way it did, it doesn't smell "canon" to me. Especially, on Yuji's end of things.

Yuji may have a type of girl he likes, but he is also someone who doesn't express romantic interest in anybody.

While this is Yuko's epilogue, I do feel like she is also just another character to showcase the kind of person Yuji can be. She being present shows a gentle side of him while characters like Rin and Mahito shows his violent side.

And no, again, I don't think this means they're canon. So I beg, certain shippers who like the same ship I do, don't jump on Yuko, Yuji or Akutami for thinking this is some homophobic chapter when the romance between a girl and a boy here once again went nowhere.

It really didn't feel like Akutami-sensei was really trying to make them canon. And given the track record of F/M ships in this series? Yeah... no...

[irrealisms]

hi! yr probably not lookin for asks anymore, but. what's your lifesteal elevator pitch? i know absolutely nothing abt it or any of the folks on the server except the vague things i've absorbed frm reading yr analysis as it crosses my dash, but it compels me, etc.+ also merry christmas! <33 🎄🌟

good news: i am always looking for asks

bad news: my parents DID go to sleep and i was able to wrap presents and put them beneath the tree and so on, so i wasn't going to do more asks tonight

good news again: i actually already have a lifesteal pitch. in a google doc. bc i'm normal

the pitch does assume you're basically already into mcrp and just curious about lifesteal in specific BUT we went to dsmp together so this works out

I really love shitty little tryhards causing problems via impressive feats of minecraft, and lifesteal is full of those. if you like people being good at minecraft, I really recommend lifesteal--in s2, clownpierce was top 50 worldwide at crystal pvp, and now he's washed and in s6 there are 2-3 (depending on who you ask) lifestealers who are better than him at pvp (admittedly maybe not at crystal); in s4, there's some stuff that's impressive in ~vanilla (eg parrot wins a 1v1 while on one heart) and some stuff that's impressive through exploits/social stuff (eg a group of people use a glitch + social engineering to get /op and prove to mojang that the glitch is a security issue that needs patched). every season is like this! lifestealers have backdoored the server 3 seasons in a row (s3-5). for a more recent weird Lifestealer Behavior, rekrap and jumper filled in every end portal room and built new fake ones to make it look like the world glitched and generated without them. lifesteal is weird and constantly coming up with new weird yet impressive things to do. a lot of stuff that's currently banned on lifesteal (F3+A, pie ray) are things i only learned were possible from lifesteal. (on the flip side i'd say: if you are not into shitty little tryhards making weird impressive clickbait, you probably won't like lifesteal, although you may still like hearing about it from time to time.)

related to them being shitty little tryhards causing problems: the rules are...more of a suggestion. getting around the rules, and hiding from the server owner and/or other players that you're doing so, is often part of the fun of lifesteal! (see also the thing where i mentioned that it's been backdoored three seasons in a row.) if that's intriguing: check it out. if not: once again, you have been warned.

lifesteal absolutely has lore and some people roleplay on it, there is nonzero c/cc divide, but it's more like traffic life than, say, late dsmp--it's fully improv, not scripted, and even more than traffic life it is genuinely adversarial. you can sometimes be confident that someone is in character but you can never be sure if someone is out of character, on lifesteal-- things like "going to someone's house irl to turn off their computer" or "lying about your homework/school/sleep schedule" or "changing your entire discord layout so that when you DM someone they think you're someone else" or "claiming you need their footage of an event for your video when actually you just want to see where their spawn point is" are all things that have been done on lifesteal that are considered fair game! everything on lifesteal is real; sometimes this goes well, sometimes it doesn't, but both are interesting to see imo because they are real

partially for this reason and partially for other reasons, lifesteal is fascinating to me as a piece of unique storytelling? a lot of mcyt is doing interesting things with its medium and being improv, lifesteal's not fully unique in that, but definitely if you like that you might like lifesteal. along with the improv, there's the fact that many lifestealers lie about what actually happened in their videos (comparing different videos with the vods, or in some cases with "what people say in various vods" when events weren't streamed, gives some fascinating insights imo--how do people frame their stories? how honest are they? what do they blatantly lie about, what do they gloss over or omit, what do they include in full? who, if anyone, do they see as the heroes or villains? whose videos agree with each other, and whose present a totally different story?), and the fact that conflict about "where do we want the story to go next, what do we think would be an interesting video/the best ending" is often the driving motive for in-character wars and conflicts! if you're interested at all in lifesteal and storytelling, check out barrier blocks part 2 by @mering/@myrmica, which is a deep dive on eclipse federation and the end of lifesteal s4 (those are my special guys); it dips into some academic game studies and it's really, really good. i genuinely cannot recommend it highly enough. (part one is also real good for non-lifesteal-specific discussion of mcrp!)

if you want a more specific plot summary (esp of s4) and/or "how do i actually, like, watch this" (of any seasons): hmu! but that's my pitch. also, read barrier blocks

[deathofpeaceofmiiind]

Christmas Eve // Quinn Hughes

be my date this Christmas Eve, be my holiday, my dream

summary: a heavy snowfall changes Quinn’s Christmas plans

warnings: light fluff, kissing and cuddling. Sorry it’s short! I just wanted to post something Christmas themed 🎄

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

Quinn paced back and forth in front of the window, his phone glued to his ear. It was Christmas Eve and we were supposed to be heading to Michigan to spend the holidays with his family, but our plans might be changing despite our best efforts. Vancouver was covered in a heavy blanket of snow, not a single car was seen on the road all morning. Quinn gets off the phone, a small exhale left his lips as he walked towards me. I was buried under a blanket with a cup of hot chocolate wrapped around my hands, doing anything I could to stay warm. Christmas music filled the room as I watched Quinn, he was stuck in his own head as he sat down beside me. My eyes never left his face, he bit his lower lip, something I’ve noticed he does when he’s deeply thinking.

“What’s the verdict?”

“Nothing is flying out of the airport right now, so it looks like we might be spending Christmas here.” His voice was low, almost like velvet. His face was hard to read, he looked upset our plans changed but also keen on us just staying in Vancouver. His hand traced small circles around my ankle as he locked his eyes with mine. They were the perfect shade of green, always adapting to whatever emotions he was feeling.

“I’m really sorry.” My heart sunk, I was looking forward to seeing his family again too. His parents welcomed me with open arms and his brothers treated me like I was the sister they never had. All I knew was that I had to help fill the void Quinn was going to feel not being with his family, and those were hard shoes to fill.

“It’s okay.” His words mumbled as he continued to chew on his lower lip. “I’m actually okay with us being here instead.”

Confused by his reaction, my head titled to the side, “what do you mean?”

“Every time we celebrate a holiday, or a birthday, I rarely get to have you alone.” His voice somehow lowered more, it was husky this time, making my stomach flutter. He guided my face towards him, pulling me into a delicate kiss. His lower lip, arguably my favourite part of his body above his belt envelopes my mouth so effortlessly.

We pulled apart briefly, my lips trailing his jaw this time, “that’s the whole point of the holidays though.”

“Yeah but…I’m tired of sharing you with everyone else.” he replied, brushing my hair out of my face so he could admire what was in front of him, “I love that my family adores you but I want you all to myself this Christmas Eve.”

He was right, every time we’ve gone out to celebrate something, we’re surrounded by our friends, his teammates or family. We should be so lucky that we have so many people that love us, but anytime we tried to have a moment alone we were interrupted by someone. Most birthday parties ended up with our friends sleeping on our couches, even our own bed and leaving us somehow separated. This might actually be our first time celebrating something together, with no interruptions.

“This is so tedious.”

I looked over at Quinn who was squinting as he iced some sugar cookies. He looked so adorable in the Christmas sweater I forced him to wear, I was gonna save it for tomorrow but now seemed like the perfect time to wear it. He looked like he belonged in a Christmas hallmark movie.

“You’re doing great.” I commented coming up behind him. He turned around and put some icing on my nose, making me grab some to return the favour.

“Let me taste test.” His tongue ran along my nose as he got rid of the icing. I went to do the same but he ran away from me.

“Quinn, get back here!” I yelled as he made his way into our room. He stopped, laughing like a little child until I pushed him onto the bed. I had him right where I wanted as I crawled over him, licking all the icing off his face. He squirmed but my thighs kept him locked into place. We fell into a fit of laughter, completely enjoying each others company.

“I made a call when you were in the shower.” Quinn said, breaking the silence as he propped himself up with his arm.

“About what?”

“I got the owner to let us have the rink so we can go skate before dinner…maybe pass the puck a little bit.”

“You’re so cute.” I mused, “always thinking about hockey.”

He licked his lips before his bright eyes looked into mine, “I didn’t want to spoil the surprise but I got you new skates I was hoping we could’ve used in Michigan. I guess our arena will have to do.”

A few hours later we were in the Canucks dressing room getting our skates on. Quinn rolled his eyes at me when I said I wanted to sit in JT Millers booth to put my skates on instead of his. He knew he was my favourite player besides him so he let it go. He placed my foot on his lap and he knelt down in front of me and tied my skates up. My stomach flipped just watching him so effortlessly tie them for me. As he finished he sat up and pressed his mouth gently to mine for the hundredth time today, but I didn’t care. My eyes fluttered shut, making me want to savour this moment with him.

“I’m gonna tell JT we kissed in his booth.” I snicked as we walked down the tunnel towards the ice.

Quinn just shakes his head as he opened the bench door for us, “you’re such a brat.”

He grabbed my hand and led me onto the ice. I admired the empty arena, it felt like a completely different place compared to how it was during a game. You could’ve heard a pin drop in here right now. We did a few laps around so I could break in my new skates. I was a pretty decent skater but I felt like Bambi compared to him.

“One on one?”

I just nod as Quinn passed me a stick. It was a little long for me but I was determined to make it work. He dumped a bucket of pucks onto the ice as he began to fish one out with his stick. I watched him, bewildered. The way he controlled the puck was so effortless. He looked up, cheeks flushed as he realized what I was doing.

“What?”

“Nothing.” I replied bashfully, “am I not allowed to admire my boyfriend’s stick work?”

“This is doing it for you?” He smirked, raising his eyebrow. “I do this every night.”

“I know.” I breathed. I’d be lying if I didn’t say watching him play was my biggest turn on, because it definitely was. “I guess I never get tired of it.”

Quinn threw a sarcastic remark at me, I rolled my eyes before he pulled me into a deep kiss. My stick dropped to the ice as my lips parted for his tongue that was begging to enter my mouth. Despite it being cold in here, my cheeks were completely flushed.

“I wanna take you home.”

“Soon.” I replied, grabbing my stick and slowly guiding a puck into the net. We played one on one for a good hour before we decided to go home. Quinn will never admit I scored more on him than he did on me, so I guess that will be our little secret…for now.

Our dinner wasn’t perfect. We had hardly any groceries considering we weren’t supposed to be in town. We found spring rolls in the freezer, made a small charcuterie board with cheese, crackers and grapes we had in the fridge. We polished off a bottle of red wine as we watched a few Christmas movies, both agreeing Christmas Vacation was our favourite. Our hands slowly wandered more and more during the movie as the wine started to hit us. Quinn swooped me up into his arms and brought me into our room, his lips never leaving mine. All the lights were out in our room, all you could see was the snow falling from the sky, Christmas lights in the distance, along with the pale glow of our tree from the living room. It illuminated Quinns face, making his eyes sparkle more that normal.

His movements were so slow, nothing could be heard but our laboured breaths. Quinns face was buried in my neck, his stubble that he’s been growing out more grazed against my skin. It felt rough, but I was so lost in his touch that it didn’t even phase me.

“It’s midnight.” Quinn whispered in my ear, his lips pressing into my neck, “Merry Christmas baby.”

“I’m sorry we couldn’t spend it with your family.”

“It’s okay.” He replies, kissing my forehead before peering into my eyes, “spending today with you was the greatest gift of all.”

Quinn envelopes me into a hug as we began to fall into a blissful sleep, unaware of how much snow would fall during the night. Maybe sugar plums would dance in our heads but all I knew was my heart was full. I didn’t need a bunch of gifts under the tree, I had everything I needed, and he was wrapped up in my arms… the perfect present.

[velvetvexations]

Since we're talking about forcefem, here're most of the forcefem-related asks I've had in my inbox, some of which are a few days old on account of technically going in the vexatious tag if not exactly kink asks. I wanted to answer one from today on it's own which I'll get to later but I wanted to get to the older ones and also get to a few of the others from today while I was at it.

i just saw a post where a trans guy was showing some messages where someone was (unconsensually) basically roleplaying forcefemming him. despite him telling them that he did not want that and that it was very much transphobic, and he atill got a message boiling down to "you're not a man, silly, you're a girl :D" and. to be honest. this was the thing that stopped the brainworms of "what if the whole concept of transandrophobia is actually transmisogynistic and i am entirely wrong" bc at least some of these people will just say the most bog standard transphobic shit to trans guys and not register it as transphobia. so why the fuck would they be right about anything transmascs experience also on that note thank you for being so outspoken in favour of transmascs getting to discuss their oppression. it's really helpful to see trans women stand with us here, especially when it comes to aforementioned brainworms

congratulations to that transphobe for creating a new transandrobro

the 'forcemasc isnt revolutionary' shit is the most annoying iteration of stupid tumblr discourse. like im going through the tag trying to read some horny shit and oh look. theres someone being stupid and hypocritical. in my horny tag.

people are getting tribalist about kinks and it's depressing

Every time people are saying that trans men & mascs cannot possibly fathom being objectified & fetishized, I think on all of the posts I’ve seen that did that exact same thing. And yeah, some of it might have been kink, so no hate no judgement I dabble in that tag too, but I’ve also seen “get in the dress” type posts that seem to be genuinely calling for trans men to be more feminine, untagged & in the wild, enough where I’m like — am I just imagining this? Like am I crazy? Am I missing something, or was that extremely detailed post about why I MUST stay feminine — or become more — for someone else’s benefit being 100% serious? And, again — if it’s kink, all the power to them, I love that for them, I even occasionally love that for me. But I have encountered enough people who were dead serious that I sometimes want no one but trusted friends & advisors to ever witness me again. And then I look at statistics & feel genuinely ill. And yeah, I’m gnc — and there’s the rub, because while I feel genuine joy being fem as well as masc, I want it to be a Choice, not something forced upon me.

people need to be fucking normal

Yh like ik a lot of shitposts don't have any tags but people have. Really gotta tag forcefem. I've blocked a large amount of people making these jokes + filtered their names n I still see it

I'm sorry, anon. <3

Fuck thank you so much for talking so openly about forcemasc. I’m so dumb I thought there wasn’t a name for that kink that I’ve been into for years, albeit my version is way more weirder. It would be like a… forcemascfem??? Like first it’s forcemasc and then it turns into forcefem and then right back to forcemasc…. And then back to- Idk my gender is weird and my kinky fantasy for that is weird

Cross as many boundries as you want, that sounds rad. Forcefem has a lot of infrastructure to jump off of.

“I’m doing a kink in a non kink way so it’s not kink blog!” Sorry this pisses me off It’s still a kink. Like. If someone made an I-suggest-BDSM blog and tried to claim it wasn’t a kink blog I’m sure more people would see how silly this is but because it’s the transfem approved virtuous forcefem they just let it slide??? Like. You are engaging in a kink and thats fine. You can say there won’t be anything explicitly sexual! But it will still be a kink blog because it’s a blog about a kink! A kink blog if you will! It doesn’t matter if you’re not getting off to it, it’s still a kink! That you are participating in! On your blog about that kink!

It SHOULD piss you off! It's extremely fucking scummy!

what the hell? for like one solid minute(longer than that but i like saying it this way) all the forcefem on my dash was tagged and i could blissfully not have to see it every other post and then just today i had to unfollow a buncha people for an assload of untagged forcefem :/ like im transmasc i think its understandable that i do not wish to see that anyway hope your day is goin well miss velvet

yeah it's praxis to not tag kink anymore

trfs are perfectly aware what the "force" bit means when forcemasc comes up in conversation

strange how that works

[birdyisthewordyy]

hii!! i wanna start by saying i really enjoy ur work & i love ur writing 🫂🫂

i saw ur hcs about jimmy x reader w self harm scars and as someone who struggles with self harm i felt very seen!! i was wondering if u would write the same hcs for the rest of the crew because it would make me very happy 😼

feel free to ignore this if u dont want to do it ofc!!!!

A/N: absolutely I will! I’m so sorry I’ve been dead for a bit but I’m back!

Crew with a reader who has self harm scars

Warnings: self harm scars mentioned but no actual self harm takes place

Curly

He didn’t think you’d be the type to self harm at all

You always seemed so full of life

Whether you were joyful or not you just seemed so self assured and passionate

So when he sees you crying one day and asks what’s wrong and you SHOW him what’s wrong

He feels awful

Hugs you instantly

Lets you wet his shirt with your tears

Eventually he lets go and he pats your back

He talks to you about life

And how you’ve gotta roll with the punches

Curly pep talk trademark

Copyright

Spends the night with you

Stays up as late as he can watching over you

And then falls asleep beside you

Wakes up and acts like nothing even happened

You’re like “what are we”

And he’s like “that’s what friends are for don���t worry about it”

Jimmy

Click here

Swansea

Swansea knew something was up with you

He wasn’t sure what but he knew something was up

So when he sees clusters of little scars on your arm he can’t help the sharp inhale he takes in

He knew it

He’s been around his fair share of angsty teens

He finds a way to pull you to the side and talk to you about it

Puts a hand on your shoulder all fatherly

He wants to help any way that he can

So he lets you talk about your past and how you recovered

Tells you he’s proud of you

Might get a little misty eyed

MIGHT

Big might

Daisuke

Doesn’t even notice until you trust him enough to tell him

He immediately hugs you and cries a little for you though

He cares so much about you and wants you to be okay

It doesn’t matter if they’re 3 years old this man will BAWL

kisses your scars

Platonic or romantic he doesn’t care

He will maybe buy you some creams or lotions if you mention that you don’t like the way they look

If you’re confident in them though he says they make you look gorgeous

Says that anyway actually

Thinks you are gorgeous all over

He doesn’t care what your past is

He loves you all the same

Anya

Click here

[stupidlittlespirit]

Hello!

Sorry if this has already been asked before, but do you have any tips for writing Ford?

Thank you and I'm sending you a virtual hug <3 🫂

Hey!

Thank you so much <3

I'll put some of the stuff I find helps me below here. I find it really hard to describe sometimes so if it doesn't make sense or if you want clarification then let me know :)

Be familiar with the source material. This might sound silly but I've seen fics where the a/n is like 'yeah I haven't read Journal 3 or finished the show but I wanted to write-' .....Please. Just. Finish the show and the Journal. The Journal gives you TONS of useful insight into Ford's actual personality and I think you see a lot more of his mannerisms in it. Rewatch his episodes. Use what you've got of canon stuff.

Watch other stuff with JK Simmons in. It'll be helpful for you to pick up how he sounds and then make it easier replay his tone in your head and make your dialogue more accurate. I don't actually know how helpful this tip is bc I brought this up to my partner (RE: Hearing the character's exact voice in your head as you write) and they said this isn't really something people do, so I'm not sure if I'm alone in that technique or not....? (also sorry Mr Simmons but a lot of your movies are d o g s h i t! So, suffer through them as much as you can for the sake of research. Whiplash isn't in the bad pile though btw, it's one of the greatest movies ever made. Just watch that 14 times in a row until you can quote the entire thing by heart. Or use Portal/Cave Johnson audio. Much more fun.)

Know the Ford you're writing. Is he younger, likely at college? Is he research-era? Is he post-portal? Ford presents (at least to me) as multiple different versions of himself over the course of his journey. He has fundamental traits but the degree to which he displays/shows/acknowledges/applies them varies dramatically depending on where he is in life and who he's around.

Balance him. He's strict and sharp and sometimes rude, but not so much that he's devoid of all other emotion. He's funny and he likes to get silly sometimes. We're literally told that exact thing (quite a lot actually) in the canon material. This is especially relevant if you're writing post portal Ford or pre-Bill/pre-obsession-with-work Ford. Again, he isn't all the time but he definitely is more than people give him credit for. If you're writing Ford during his Bill obsession stage then he's going to be erratic and harmful, more than anything to himself. He's going to be acting poorly because he isn't in his right mind, so extend some sympathy to the guy. You don't have to make it okay that he might be lashing out and hurting others, obviously, but there's a reason behind why he's acting like that. He isn't just 'a bad guy'.

However, he is also an asshole sometimes. Everyone can be. He's very diverse. This diva HAS the range! (He experiences the world in a very different way to most other people, I think, so his behaviour can be perceived as difficult to 'normal' people).

Ford is never one emotion at a time. No character is. If he's angry, there's going to be a reason behind that anger and then several emotions behind that reason. Is he telling someone off because he's intrinsically and irrevocably an asshole? No! He might have been afraid of them getting hurt and snapped at them, and the fear shows as anger. Maybe he's frustrated with them and doesn't know how to appropriately address that frustration. There's always a reason.

If he is just being a bit of jerk, because that's plausible, it's not going to be the case that every time he does something that can be perceived as being jerky, that he is being so.

He is very full of love. For his family, for his work, for his friends, for his object of affection (these tips apply to him in general, if you're writing ship stuff or reader stuff or gen). He is full to the brim with it, he just struggles to identify it, to know how to show it and how to express it.

I think that for Ford, acknowledging his feelings is a bit like touching a hot stove: He recoils from them immediately because feelings are painful and intense, and they're hard to handle. They hurt and he's going to be loathe to keep touching the thing that reliably burns him every time he goes near it. Ford isn't very good at being bad at things and he IS bad at emotions. Really bad. They're not finite or logical or able to be proven like science is. They're artistic and available for interpretation, and they're often nonsensical. That's hard to get your head around for someone who likes to view everything from a black and white perspective.

If you think he has a disorder (autism, BPD, NPD, HPD, whatever) and you yourself don't have that thing, then RESEARCH THE FUCKING THING! Ask people who do have it for advice. Treat it with respect. People that have 'negative traits' from these types of disorders (and believe me, people do think you're awful if you have a personality disorder or autism) are not inherently bad people and them enacting their symptoms doesn't make them evil, provided they know how to acknowledge their wrongdoing post behaviour and try to do better in the future. If I split on someone and act out by starting a fight, it is my responsibility to return to that person and apologise for inappropriately starting a fight once I've cooled down. It can be hard, it can be done through gritted teeth, it will be uncomfortable, but it must still be done because I'm an adult. Obviously, when it comes to things like this, we're always working on a sliding scale because people with complex mental health issues don't always know they've made a mistake so they may not feel like they need to apologise/may not even know that they've done something wrong if they're in a really bad episode. That's difficult to get right however, and I would not recommend writing intensely detailed stuff like that unless you're very used to/accustomed to the disorder.

HE KNOWS HOW TO SAY SORRY and he knows when he's fucked up. This is a skill he's learnt better over time. I think it would be most relevant to use if you're writing him post-portal, though. I don't think this was a skill he had when he was younger/pre-portal and if he did apologise, it was something that had to be really dragged out of him.

Show that he's tender and capable of empathy. I think it was only really during his obsessional years that he locked off that part of his brain, and even then it was more out of pure delusion and trauma/self-protection than it was an inherent drive to be evil. He's never been evil, just misguided, betrayed and a bit of an ass at times.

He does more through action than through talk. In comparison to Stan, who is all mouth and uses verbal communication frequently, Ford is more physically inclined. He tries to be very esoteric but he gives away a lot in his behaviour instead of talking. I don't actually think he knows he does this and that's why he thinks he's super mysterious.

If you're stuck on a scene, play it out as him. Not yourself. It's not so much how am I going to do this, but how is Ford going to do this? What do you think Ford would do in that moment, according to what you've seen him do in the show?

Don't be afraid to make your own Ford, to a certain extent. I'm not writing about a strictly canon!Ford. He's informed by canon for the most part, but he's also my little barbie to dress up and be silly with. I don't necessarily have to solely make him do what I think his canon counterpart would do. I think canon!Ford is aroace/just not interested in romantic or sexual relationships. I don't think he has interest in much of the stuff that my fanon!Ford does, but this is fantasy land and Ford isn't real so we can do whatever we want. He'll feel more real if you give him his canon traits and then add some of your own spices to the recipe on top.

Be nice to him. This isn't advice, I'm just begging you LMAO. When you're writing him talk about his science stuff or whatever, have your other character (reader, I presume?) be engaged and happy to listen to him. I wouldn't be interested in someone who annoyed me with their passions, so don't write it as though he pisses you off because the audience can tell if you don't actually like him that much. They will pick up on how you really feel about a character as the author unless you're an excellent liar and it's really hard to actually lie like that and retain a sense of genuine love in your story. Just treat him with love and care. Treat any character with it.

Okay anyway WHEW that's a lot! Sorry. These are just things that I do and they're not my view of how to write Ford 'correctly' or anything, they're just what I find helps me characterise him for my fics. I'm sure plenty of people would disagree with my interpretation and that's fine, we're all receptive to art in different ways so there's not really a 'right' way to be for the most part. Just listen to what he tells you/shows you about himself and the way in which other characters speak about him truthfully.

[fumifooms]

Marcille and Chilchuck are that fucking bicorn chapter sandwich where it has sweet syrup mixed into it and Chilchuck starts out like "ewww -mocks it-" but then at the end of the chapter he tries it and he’s surprised that he likes the taste. He just had to try!! He’s been so closed off and passing up on so many friendships because of it out of fear!!! But then he triessss and he opens up and it’s gooood sobbingggg optimism and pessimism are like a surprisingly good sweet and sour sandwich marchil is like a surprisingly complementary sweet and sour sandwich I’m fine…………….

I think the timeline not being mentioned through the story makes it easy to miss that he and his wife haven’t spoken in 4 years since she left and see that’s one itsy bitsy detail Marcille didn’t get while she theorized, it went that far. Imagine your wife leaving you and you start out not reaching out to her because you have a petty cold shoulder resentment, but then you start being actually worried and by then you’re scared to reach out, but she’s still dear to you, and just like that waiting and waiting and waiting four years pass. Without a single word. Get him the clown shoes The universe gave him an idealist persistent coworker obsessed with his life for the express purpose of getting him to consider reaching out to her and open up his heart to hope again it’s great

Quoting a buddy, sometimes it feels like there’s no point in trying to do things because the results may be unfavorable, but you miss out on a lot if you keep to yourself so much. There’s a real social anxiety mindset there too… Shit’s hard and life’s tough and it sucks sometimes but you gotta keep trying, there’s also good you just have to keep an open eye and an open mind. This is why I say sometimes that marchil is the meaning to life to me likeeeee. Ok but it kinda is though…… to me…………..

For as many people think Chilchuck’s demeanor with his family might have been lacking, someone will not let you forget that Chilchuck is a VIRTUOUS HUSBAND!! < Marcille says with the power of bicorn and Daltian Clan on her side. Defend his virtue like he’s a blorbo from your shows marcille go And he is so sure he is an opaque wall he sees her as silly and clumsy, but he’s transparent lmao. She really is so curious about him. And bicorn’s sorta like at her top game on that front— She doesn’t know Chil’s wife so she gets ahead of herself on some things but Chilchuck wise? She gets his pov down so well that it leaves him shaking in fear of her accuracy gdbdg. Ohh the fear of being known, "if we want the rewards of being loved, we have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known" is marchil but we been knew that.

Right from the beginning we see Marcille’s more observant with him than she seems, for example telling Senshi that Chil’s "the most mature of the party", but she does idealize him as a young little angel, similarly to Falin even when she knows logically they’re not kids, but still acts like it and oversteps boundaries, and then of course shit happens and the changelings puts the nail in that coffin- but before she can get to the bicorn convo at the top of her Chilchuck accuracy, she also first has to believe that Chilchuck committed adultery. His fall from grace from little angel to dirty old man status. She has to acknowledge he’s very much capable of fucking shit up and not soften it at all, he’s an adult and has to take responsibility for his mistakes, and give him the cold shoulder so Chil sees his life flashing in front of his eyes and goes fuck not again. "Maybe telling people I care about that I did awful things to get them off my back is a terrible strategy actually", and then when she finds out he hasn’t they’re back to being besties, but now Marcille fully sees him as an adult who’s capable of having faults. She can’t idealize him or strip him of depth anymore, him having these two hard to reconcile halves to him is key in teaching her not to judge and categorize people so much anymore.

But then… And this is the key, she saw him as a little guy to always forgive and excuse who can do no true wrong, to glaring at him and being unfriendly when it’s revealed he did something she can’t forgive easily— but when it’s cleared up, she doesn’t lean hard either way anymore, she doesn’t go right back to black and white putting him in a box, there’s balance now. When she gives her wife roleplay speech, she can recognize the faults in him that would have made her feel sad and unloved while still assuring him she’d love him and would want him back, she describes a blatantly unglamorous daily life and presents it as the greatest thing since sliced bread. She goes from idealizing impossible standards like novel princes to romanticizing a mediocre flawed everyday man 😌

And to be clear, romanticizing, not romancing. Focusing on the beauty of it and turning it into a nice aesthetic little thing like how she would a novel archetype, like how Ghibli movies romanticize slow daily life and chores. She doesn’t present it as something it’s not, she just sees the silver lining in all of it, frames it as pleasant and desirable. And isn’t that lowkey so much better like doesn’t that make life so beautiful without dangerously veiling your eyes to reality though…. Sighh marchil is the meaning of life

Giggling kicking my feet 💕 Marcille sees a rain cloud locked door locked heart locked book man and takes it as a challenge, says not on my watch I’ll befriend him, ends up reading him like an open book.

NOBODY DOES IT LIKE THEM!! THERE WILL NEVER BE ANOTHER MARCHIL AGAIN!!! Sobbing into my hands. What if our relationship and our arc examplified the theme of fantasy vs reality in relationships in Dunmeshi what then

You will fuck up and that’s ok… Shit will get tough but it’s worth it… There are still people to love and who will love you even if every relationship ends with loss, wether rejection or death. THE! MEANING! OF! LIFE!

Bad things and good things can coexist and balance each other out the way Chilchuck and Marcille do I need to walk into the ocean. Okay okay okay okay

Dunmeshi prones the importance of balance for both a healthy body and a healthy mind, and optimism vs pessimism is one such case <3

If you were too glass half-full and I was too glass half-empty, maybe together we could make a full glass

[yuwuta]

gojo would kill your work husband. but if he were the work husband, that's a different story

REAL!! he’s such a hypocrite because if someone mentioned you had a work husband, his entire world would stop and he wold devise the absolute worst plans to make sure that your co-worker, everyone at your job, and everyone in the next building over knew that he was happily committed to you 

but if he is the work husband, he’s very........ dutiful in his role. there’s a loose office/lawyer au in my head where satoru is your secretary, and for all intents and purposes, your personal assistant, and he’s good at his job, but mostly because he considers his job to be pleasing you. he has coffee for you when you arrive, he moves your schedule around without you asking, he has answers to questions before you can even ask them, he has fresh flowers on your desk weekly, pokes into your meetings to pretend to hand you a file that’s really just maybe a single document in a manilla folder with candy on top of it—he’s made himself your business, your partner; he’s made himself irreplaceable, and he loves to remind everybody of that fact. 

he’s also extremely loyal. sure, he could day a week’s worth of work done in about a day, but that doesn’t mean he’ll just use his talents for anybody. he’s your secretary, so he’s at your beck and call, and everyone knows it. they know he’s the best, but also that he’s off limits—not because you won’t share him, but because satoru won’t let himself be shared. 

he also extends his duties beyond work, of course. when he hands you a print out of your schedule for the day and you’re confused by the three-hour block of time you have in the middle of the day, satoru just helps you shrug your coat of your shoulders and smiles, “that’s for the lunch date you have with me, of course!” hanging up your coat in your closet for you, “i’m paying, see you soon, sweets.” and because you’re great at your job, and satoru helps you be great, nobody really questions when the two of you have time for a 13-course tasting menu at 1pm on a tuesday afternoon. and if they did, all satoru would say that you two had a lovely date 

[skitskatdacat63]

Roleswap anyone??

Tell me Fernando wouldn't make a fantastic general/emperor, and that Napoleon wouldn't make a fanastic driver/tp!!

[spotaus]

Late Night quick thing (New Age Sillies)

Bad news: That joke post about including Reset + Orchid is definitely not canon. (I legit got sad thinking about Reset being in a universe where Orchid isn't- because their stories are so so intertwined- but Nightmare 100% would NOT risk the whole twins exploding Error's soul thing.)

Good news: This means I COULD include Kane (Reset's older brother who usually dies in timelines where Reset is born) and use it to develope his character a bit more! Also! Perhaps a Blue × Dream kiddo is finally in the stars for me to design?

[always-a-slut-4-ghouls]

love how hua cheng is just like "I support xie lian rights and xie lian wrongs, except he can never do anything wrong ever even when he kills a bunch of people. Go off king" and Xie Lian is like “This is my beautiful husband, he has committed war crimes, but haven’t we all?”

And their relationship is somehow healthier than anything I've ever been in.