#that ass is a double edged sword

[regaliasonata]

With all the drawings of Pre-Dini Thunder Tommy I’d like to just say that I think this man was throwing it back in the club, like going wild on Jason and Anton. And Hayley has the surveillance tapes as blackmail.

[dostarsfallatall]

So I like kinda draw too (sometimes😓) I forgot I came here to occasionally share my art in the first place even tho my bio literally says it so here I present my first realish art post it’s unfinished tho because I have a awful habit of not finishing my art at all-

but this was originally sketched out on paper intended to be a reference for a character (the one on the left) until I got carried away and continued it onto two whole pages a little while back I really enjoy making face side profiles, arms not so much also don’t mind the art on other side of the paper that you can see though act like there isn’t a thousand yard paper stare

[bibleofficial]

left welsh cakes & a note w my name & phone number in the mailboxes of the rest of the flats here & ONE (1) of SEVEN (!!!) (though i think 1 flat is actually vacant) texted me saying ‘hi im so & so :)’ & i’m now harassing her like so ur my new bestieeeee

[babisawyer]

I hate booktok sometimes cause it's like.........imagine describing game of thrones as a spicy romantasy series.

[lord-squiggletits]

I think one of my least favorite takes on Optimus annexing Earth is the surprisingly common opinion "he should've just left Earth alone and minded his own business because they didn't ask for help," not because it doesn't have truth in it but because it's a massive oversimplification of the whole situation and seems to pretend that Optimus annexing Earth was just completely stupid and had no reasoning whatsoever.

Like, it just bothers me when people talk about it as if Optimus leaving Earth alone would've been the not-bad-guy thing to do despite the fact that the Decepticons were literally about to try colonizing Earth again under the command of a guy who was literally from the Golden Age generation that made colonizing and genociding organics popular, Galvatron. I mean Galvatron was literally there saying "so when are we going to kill these fleshlings" and even being a Functionist asshole to Soundwave's cassettes. The last time the Decepticons invaded Earth in All Hail Megatron they killed literally a billion human beings. Are there seriously people in this fandom that are out there believing with their whole ass that "Optimus should've just ignored the openly genocidal Decepticons returning to a place they had already tried to colonize just a few years ago because it's none of his business and the humans can handle themselves" like what.

[mutedeclipse]

I am cooking up a bastard..........

Making ocs nobody will wonder were they went when i forget about them is fun

[dankovskaya]

It really is sad that re3make is disappointing in a variety of ways but the character work for Jill and Carlos is sooo good and by far the saving grace of the game.

[lesbicastagna]

it's truly crazy how many people get pissed off when you're a confident (perceived) woman who is not like the embodiment of whatever type of woman is popular at that time like. strangers really look at you and go why do you like yourself so much huh

[notamortician]

i feel like I can’t even draw vent art anymore that’s how fucked i feel ugh

[misslobotomite]

realizing a pattern ...

[evilblot]

You know what, I'm gonna keep a little post-credits Mugatu on my shoulder to whisper me messages of death against my enemies.

As a treat <3c

[blitzbuckz]

【𐂃】 ❝ That's an interestin' way of puttin' it but-- yuup, more or less. There's a few exceptions to it. We're not greedy enough t' take any sinner's request. We don't advertise killin' Hell locals... 'n we certainly don't run with gun's blazzin' at yer kind. We have t' have a good reason t' go along with the hit. Like, for example, our target committing heinous crimes 'n such. ❞ he'd further elaborate; shrugging his shoulders while displaying a more poised demeanor.

Blitzø still hated their guts but, for now, he remained too fixated on his business operations to really revert to it. Seeming, for once, relaxed with them && their small talk.

❝ hmm-- judgin' by yer power display days back. I'd say... a pretty hefty amount. Like, enough to retire 'n shit. We mostly go after "humans" not fuckin' god tier magical degenerates. What d'ya take me for? ❞

he inquired with a subtle tone, yet, ready to be elevated if they were bold enough to answer his query with their witty remarks. ( because he wasn't in the mood for it )

" You don't say! So from what I make of all that, you two run a...mercenary for hire kind of business, right? And whoever's willing to pay your price can have whoever they want targeted and taken out- "

Childe would nod his head in understanding at Blitz, though his 'understanding' was far from in agreement with the imp. To the Harbinger, that kind of 'business' sounded more like a waste of time than any kind of business strategy he would've wanted to be part of. Having others pay you at the price of them getting to snap demands and pick the targets based on their persuasion alone?

If Childe had wanted to be a glorified errand boy, he would've resigned himself to sticking to the lower ranks of the Fatui!

" Not that I'm interested in your 'services' or anything- " But Childe was curious now, even if he knew his curious was more like a tease than anything else. " If someone were to ask you to take out a god-like being from my world, how much would something like that cost? "

[drakeanddice]

Haunted by a fantasy world where "adventurer" is handled in the same way as "assassin" in John Wick. An ifykyk secondary economy running on gold coins where everyone knows each other but no one acknowledges the elephant in the room because we have manners about our weird-ass line of deadly desperate dangerous work.

Rolling into town, looking immaculate. Checking into the Inn. Not an inn, or the coaching house, or the traveler's hostel. The Inn. The one that takes my ridiculous oversized coin and says that my room is ready, and will I need to visit the Smith today? Perhaps a meeting with the Vintner? Shall I send up the Gourmand?

"Good afternoon, Master Whicke," the Smith says, putting aside the barrel scraper he's been working on to flip a switch beside the forge. Racks of tenpenny nails and trowels and hammers fold back to reveal the glittering points and edges of a score of swords and axes and spearpoints lit with the flicker of finely-tuned enchantments. "Shall we tour what's new?"

"What sort of occasion are we hosting, Master Whicke?" The Vintner asks, pocketing the coin with a sigh. "A funeral," you say.

"Ah, well perhaps something light to start, then," she says selecting a straight-walled flask that glitters with contained starlight, proof against the touch of the undead. " And something for remembrance," she plucks a small crock of something evil-smelling and phosphorescent. "And then something to really bring down the house." She gingerly selects a double ampoule of energetic looking jellies.

The Gourmand carefully runs his knife through the salted flank of a cockatrice with a pursing of the lips. "So many neglect trail rations, Master Whicke, and it is their shame. Paired with goldenwheat pancakes and carrion honey, a mouthful of cockatrice--properly seasoned of course--will keep the mummy rot at bay, even post-exposure. I have been given to indicate by the Management that your current escapade may make such information useful to you. I will of course wrap your purchases exceedingly carefully. Rot will be your constant companion in the Black Pyramid."

There's something here.

[the-moon-files]

I’m not sure if I’ve said this one already or not, but I wanted to tell you anyways! It’s about the humans-are-not-hylians AU!

You know the uncanny valley evolution? That thing where when you look at something that resembles a living being too closely and some part of your mind is screaming that it’s not whatever it looks like and to get away from it? Imagine that with the reader! They can spot shapeshifters easily because of this, but it instills the same extreme primal fear we’d experience, so it might be hard for the reader to confront them at first and they’ll instead just tell the Chain for a while.

This might be a double edged sword, though, because when Twilight is in his wolf form, the reader still gets that same feeling when “Wolfie” is looking at them, whether or not they know it’s Twilight. In this case, the first time the reader spots Wolfie approaching the camp, they probably freak out and try to avoid him, even if the Links are okay with him or if he seems familiar to them.

The bottom line is that wolf isn’t a wolf, so what is he?

“It’s okay, he’s a really friendly wolf!”

“...That’s not a wolf...”

Sorry i took forever to respond!! im slow as always, life is too busy for even my hobbies lately sobs 😭

bro this is especially true bc someone looked back at TP games and how he looks in his “wolf” form, and apparently he is actually a dog lol - like at most a wolf-hybrid, i added this in to support this Hyrule-is-hella-Uncanny AU lol

Moon: Guide! - Gender Neutral/Masc!Reader (”you”/he/him)

Orbit: Short headcanons

Stars: mentions of most of our Links <3

Comets & Meteors: CWs: typical LU/Loz violence, mild swearing, etc & TWs: mild possible derealization trigger, talk of Link’s Awakening and Koholint.

Please comment if I missed any. /gen

The Yiga clan members have never fooled you, not Once in person, unlike back when hyrule was still a video game

it was the constant smell of bananas, the way their eyes were always a little unfocused or they moved their head to move around their eyes, rather than their actual pupils moving, the facial muscles all stiff, usually stuck in an uncomfortable smile-

it makes more sense once u realize that they technically have a mask under that glamour hylian face, but its never not hilarious to see Wild look over his shoulder at you before approaching a lone traveler on the roads and watch him get increasingly frantic to get ur attention to see if theyre yiga lmao

u bet ur ass every link was relying on you on their adventures to know shapeshifters/illusions/glamours/etc. on sight and tell them to better prep them/warn them

tbh they all got at least a little better at being able to tell the difference the longer they heard you point out stuff/talk abt exactly why it was off-putting

(that said some of ur heroes are better at it than others, both in general, and certain aspects of it: like Twilight isn’t able to pick up illusions/glamours for the life of him, literally, sometimes, but he is more likely to figure out shapeshifters by scent after you Guided him)

(no, your heart didnt crack a little after learning that the boys had a harder time with deceit after you stopped playing the game = “were forced to leave after their adventure” bc while they were better at detecting it, they werent on ur human level yet..)

(…the only deception you ever really fell for was Koholint. It was so painful too, because Legend quietly disclosed to you one late night that you would constantly get strange feelings/uncanny disturbances, but were never able to put a name to it for him, which both made you jumpy/paranoid on the island, but made him regret ever letting his guard down all the more or feel guilty for what felt like dismissing ur instincts the more he relaxed… Legend never doubted your sense for the uncanny ever again. He takes it seriously every time now.

When you feel as if you should apologize, he tells u not to, that these days he takes comfort in it actually, it makes him feel safer. Legend looks to your face for confirmation that something isn’t a dream, and if you look at ease, so is he.)

its the way you casually laugh at Twi being called “Wolfie” when he’s obviously a wolf-dog hybrid or just a big dog

and when everyones confused u just explain smth smth, wolf heads are larger in comparison to their body, their legs are narrow, their paws are big, dogs are like the oppposite, or way more proportional like “Wolfie” is, dogs bob around when they run like “wolfie”, and have shorter legs,

smth smth wolves cant have eye colors like blue, only dogs/wolf-dog hybrids can silly-

and Wolfie is just like, 😐 😑 😐

turning around and walking away, bc hylias knotted fucking braid- he really cant escape the dog accusations now, you literally used ur freaky truth-seeing instinct and read his shapeshifter ass from head to literal toe/paw-

Wild/Hyrule look fascinated, Wind and Legend cant breath theyre laughing so hard, Time is coughing suspiciously into his fist and pops back up smirking, Four is laughing but also encouraging you to keep going, Sky is desperately trying to keep it together while also trying to get Twi to come back lmao, Wars is literally pointing and laughing ashkljdl-

ok but Twi gets his revenge later by tricking you into yapping abt how Hyrule/Four/Time all kind of look “off” sometimes too

like how u swear Rulie is glowing subtly when the moon is full, or how the world distorts behind his back sometimes,

or how Four’s eyes change colors all the time, his fighting style looks like its rotating between 4 diff ppl’s techniques,

or how Time’s face wrinkles like smile lines/crows feet at the corner of his eyes will randomly appear and disappear, how he’ll have some stubble one day then 3 days later despite having not shaven (u literally saw him wake up and do his morning routine) it’ll disappear like it was never there in the first place-

and when Twi has stopped asking you abt the others as they all reel over the knowledge of what all u can tell abt them,

(ur quietly relieved no one asked abt Wild.

You resolve urself to just lie if anyone asks, even to Wild himself.)

☆

hey im alive!! im slow yknow how it is,

ive been doing too much, and i cant wait to be done with this class so i can have free time guilt free again 🥲

god thats one good thing abt getting out of academia i dont miss and would only wish on my worst enemy,

the anxiety of doing smth, even necessary stuff like eating/sleeping/showering, and feeling liek you should be doing homework instead, god its so awful

cant wait to feel like an adult with my own life again lmao

that certification better work and get me a white collar job goddamit 🤞

anyway, hope ur all having a good weekend,

and just to let u know, im so happy acc that im alive to see the first zelda game that actually follows what i originally thought the plot of zelda games was when i was a kid lmao

(zelda as the protag, saving link!!)

Peace out,

🌙

[urfavfrenchgrl]

winter holidays part one

Mattheo Riddle x F!Reader ᥫ᭡ words: 5k ᥫ᭡ summary: your brother's best friend is spending the winter holidays at your family manor. ᥫ᭡ Notes: F!Reader and Theodore Nott's sister. Maybe the start of a one-shot in multiple parts. part two

Winter wraps its icy fingers around the Nott Manor, the cold air slipping through the cracks in the ancient stone walls. It smells of evergreen and wood smoke inside, a faint promise of warmth, but even the crackling fire in the grand hearth seems to struggle against the chill that settles into every corner. It always feels colder during the holidays, though you aren’t sure if it’s the air or the way the place feels hollow, no matter how many decorations hang from the banisters or how many gifts pile beneath the tree.

You’ve spent every Christmas here, in this sprawling, drafty house with its endless halls and locked doors. It should feel familiar by now, comforting even, but instead, it feels like a maze you’ll never fully escape. The only constants are your brother, Theodore.

After dinner, the warmth of the manor felt suffocating, so you slipped outside for some fresh air. The garden was blanketed in frost, the trees bare against the dark winter sky, and your breath came out in soft clouds. For a moment, the quiet felt like a relief—until the sharp scent of cigarette smoke drifted toward you, polluting the crisp air.

“I didn’t know you were here.”

Your voice broke the silence as you turned toward the source. There, sitting casually on the steps leading down to the garden, was Mattheo. The dim light spilling from the windows behind you cast just enough glow to illuminate his figure. He was leaning back against the step behind him, one knee bent with his arm draped lazily over it, a cigarette held between his fingers. Mattheo has been coming to the Nott Manor for Christmas since you were young enough to still feel shy around him, awkward and stumbling over your words in his presence. Years later, that awkwardness has gone away, but it’s taken on a sharper edge, one laced with awareness. You’re not blind to how other girls talk about him at Hogwarts, or the way he can make anyone—teacher, student, or stranger—freeze with a single glance.

He’s Mattheo Riddle, after all. The Dark Lord’s son. Even years after Voldemort’s fall, the name carries weight, and so does he—his presence like gravity, pulling people into his orbit. It doesn’t hurt that he’s devastatingly handsome in that rough-edged, careless way that seems entirely effortless. His reputation is a double-edged sword, but it doesn’t seem to bother him; if anything, he wears it like armor.

For you, though, Mattheo has always been something else entirely. He’s the boy who’s lounged on the manor’s sofas, spinning a glass of firewhisky between his fingers as he laughs with your brother. The one who makes sharp, sarcastic comments at dinner that leave your mother tutting and Theodore grinning. The one who’s always just out of reach, like a forbidden idea you can’t quite let go of.

He chuckled softly, the sound low and warm. “Could say the same about you. Sit.” He gestured to the space next to him without looking, as if your compliance was a given.

You raised an eyebrow, smirking at his audacity. “Ask nicely, and maybe I will.”

That earned you a glance, his dark eyes glinting with amusement. He rolled them dramatically before smirking back. “Please, your majesty. Would you be so kind as to sit your ass down next to me?”

You laughed, shaking your head as you made your way down the steps and settled beside him. “See? When you want to, you can be polite.”

“You’re a pain in the ass,” he muttered, shaking his head, though the faint smile tugging at his lips betrayed his annoyance. Leaning back against the step behind him again, he took another drag of his cigarette and exhaled slowly, the smoke mingling with the white cloud of his breath in the winter air.

For a few moments, neither of you said anything. The night was still except for the occasional rustle of the wind through the skeletal trees. The sharp cold seeped through your layers, but you found you didn’t mind. It was oddly peaceful, sitting next to Mattheo like this, even if the silence between you felt heavy with things unsaid.

“You don’t talk much at these things,” he said finally, breaking the quiet. His voice was casual, as though he wasn’t particularly invested in the answer, but you knew better. There was something in the way he glanced at you from the corner of his eye, like he was reading you even now.

You shrugged. “Maybe there’s not much worth saying.”

He chuckled softly again, the sound almost a hum. “Is that it? Or are you too busy pretending you’re not the smartest person in the room?”

The comment caught you off guard, and you turned to him, brows raised. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” he said, flicking the ash from his cigarette, “you sit there all quiet, watching everyone like you’re analyzing them for some bloody experiment. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

“Maybe I am,” you replied, trying to match his tone. “What makes you think you’re not part of it?”

That earned you a laugh, genuine this time, low and warm in a way that made your chest tighten. He tilted his head back, the edges of his dark curls catching the faint light. “I’d love to know what conclusions you’ve come to about me.”

You hesitated for just a moment, your breath visible in the cold air as you considered your response. “I think…” You tilted your head, mirroring his posture slightly. “You like to pretend you don’t care about anything, but you care about everything. And you’re better at hiding it than most people realize.”

His laughter faded, and his gaze sharpened, his smirk softening into something more thoughtful. “Not bad,” he murmured, tapping ash from his cigarette again. “But you missed something.”

“Oh?” you asked, intrigued. “And what’s that?”

He turned to face you fully now, his dark eyes holding yours with a weight that made your pulse quicken. “That you do the exact same thing.”

The words hung in the air between you, carried on the cold breeze. You wanted to say something, to deny it or challenge him, but the intensity of his gaze held you still, and for a moment, it felt like he could see right through you.

Without thinking, you reached for his cigarette, plucking it from his fingers. “You think you’ve got me all figured out?” you asked, raising it to your lips.

“Not yet,” he replied, leaning closer as you took a drag. “But I’m getting there.”

“Maybe I’m just too tired to talk,” you murmured, the harsh smoke hit your lungs, making you cough as you handed it back, your laugh mingling with his as he took it from your fingers.

“You definitely don’t look tired,” he said, smirking as he flicked the ash into the cold air. “You look as irritatingly hot as usual.” His tone was casual, but the weight of his words hung between you, sparking something in the silence.

You blinked, caught off guard by his bluntness, but he’d already turned his attention to the stars above, as if he hadn’t just said something that made your cheeks warm in the cold.

It was a beautiful night, the kind of stillness that made the world feel momentarily suspended. The frost-covered grounds glistened faintly under the moonlight, and the stars scattered across the sky like shattered glass. For a moment, you could almost forget where you were, or who you were sitting next to. The quiet stretched comfortably between you, the kind of silence that felt intentional, like neither of you wanted to break it.

But the moment didn’t last.

“Hey, you two! Get back inside!”

The familiar voice pierced the calm, shattering the peace you’d just begun to settle into. You sighed, turning your head toward the manor as the door creaked open, spilling warm light out onto the porch.

Theodore stood in the doorway, his arms crossed and a familiar scowl etched on his face. He didn’t like you being alone with Mattheo—he never had. Whether it was because he didn’t trust his best friend, or because he didn’t trust you, you couldn’t quite tell. Maybe he was worried Mattheo would try to charm his way into your good graces—or worse, that you’d let him.

Mattheo let out a low chuckle, leaning back on his elbows, utterly unbothered by your brother’s disapproving glare. “Relax, we’re just talking, mate.”

You rolled your eyes, suppressing a laugh as Theodore’s scowl deepened. “Inside. Now.” he barked mostly to you, his tone leaving no room for argument.

With a sigh, you stood, brushing off the frost that had collected on your coat. “I’m freezing anyway,” you muttered softly, lying just enough to avoid any further argument. You knew better than to push Theo on this—he’d hate it if he ever knew your true feelings about Mattheo. That was why you kept them buried, why you’d never breathed a word of them to anyone.

Mattheo glanced toward the window, where Theodore stood watching, his posture tense, his eyes flicking between the two of you. Without a word, you turned and stepped back into the manor, the warm air wrapping around you like a suffocating reminder of the conversation you’d just left behind.

Theo stood waiting just inside the doorway, arms crossed, his expression unreadable but loaded with meaning. You arched an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “What?”

He stepped aside to let you pass, his gaze narrowing slightly as he glanced back out to the porch where Mattheo had lit another cigarette, the ember glowing faintly in the dark. “You’ve been out there a bit long, no?”

“And?” You scoffed, brushing past him. Your voice carried a slight edge now, the protective tone in his question grating against your already fragile nerves.

He huffed, his irritation evident. He hated when you were right, but even more so when you didn’t back down.

“He’s known me for ten years, Theo,” you snapped, turning to face him. “If you don’t want us to talk, then maybe don’t invite him for Christmas every bloody year.”

You turned to leave, your patience worn thin, but his hand shot out, grabbing your arm gently but firmly. “Hey,” he said, his voice softer now, “you forgot something.”

You sighed, rolling your eyes before giving in. Wrapping your arms around him, you let out a mock-annoyed grumble. “Asshole.”

He chuckled, patting your back lightly before giving your head a playful pinch. “Love you too, midget. Alright, go to bed, little brat. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Good night, Teddy,” you murmured, nudging him slightly as you pulled away.

With that, you turned and made your way up the grand staircase, the sound of your steps echoing faintly in the quiet of the manor. For a moment, you hesitated, your thoughts drifting back to Mattheo, still outside on the porch.

A few hours later, you still couldn’t sleep. The house was quiet, blanketed in a stillness that should have been comforting but instead felt suffocating. The clock on your bedside table ticked softly, marking every second of restlessness. Giving up, you stood and pulled on your robe, its warmth doing little to quell the chill in the air.

The floorboards creaked softly beneath your feet as you made your way downstairs. The kitchen was dark and still, save for the faint glow of moonlight streaming through the tall windows. You poured yourself a mug of hot cocoa, the rich scent filling the room as you stirred slowly. Without much thought, you stepped outside, drawn by the allure of the snow-covered grounds.

The night was beautiful, the kind of quiet only winter could bring. The world seemed softer somehow, muffled by the snow, each step crunching beneath your boots as you made your way to the old swing in the garden. You sat down, the cold wood biting through your layers, but you didn’t mind. This was your favorite time of year—the serenity, the beauty, the way everything seemed untouched, as though winter had a way of preserving perfection.

You took a sip of your cocoa, savoring the warmth that spread through you, when a voice broke the silence.

“You know, you’re supposed to be sleeping, princess.”

The low, familiar drawl made you jump, nearly spilling your drink. You turned quickly, your breath catching as you spotted Mattheo emerging from the shadows, his dark curls haloed by the faint moonlight.

“For fuck’s sake, Mattheo!” you snapped, clutching your chest as your heart raced.

He chuckled, the sound deep and dark, and a smirk tugged at his lips. He stopped just a few steps away, his boots crunching softly in the snow. “You’re a bit jumpy, aren’t you?” His eyes glinted with amusement, clearly pleased by your reaction.

“Well, it’s past midnight, and it’s dark outside,” you shot back, rolling your eyes. “Anyone would have been scared.” Mattheo smirked, his sharp gaze lingering on your face. His tall figure seemed to loom over you, casting a shadow against the soft glow of the snow. His eyes flicked over your features, pausing just a fraction too long on your lips before meeting your eyes again. Another step brought him closer, the space between you shrinking to nothing.

“Why are you even out here, Y/N? It’s freezing outside.” His voice was low, almost teasing. “Shouldn’t you be in bed, sleeping soundly?”

You raised an eyebrow, sipping your hot chocolate as you began to rock gently on the swing. “I could ask you the same thing.”

He shrugged, watching you with a peculiar intensity that made your skin prickle. The way you moved, so effortlessly, so unguarded—it caught him off guard, though he’d never let it show. He stepped forward again, close enough now that his legs nearly brushed the sides of the swing, boxing you in. He smirked, clearly reveling in how easily he could dominate the space between you.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he admitted casually. “So I went for a walk.”

“I see…” you murmured, your voice trailing off as you rocked a little more, the gentle motion filling the silence. It was rare to find yourself alone with Mattheo, rare to see him without Theo acting as an invisible barrier between you. The awkwardness settled in—not uncomfortable, but quiet, laced with a tension neither of you seemed willing to address.

Mattheo’s eyes roamed over you again, unrestrained in a way that felt both deliberate and involuntary. His smirk softened, but it didn’t fade entirely, as though he couldn’t quite help himself. The proximity, the stillness—it was doing something to him, muddling his usual sharp focus. His gaze lingered on the curves of your body, on the way the swing cradled you, before snapping back to your face, catching himself just in time.

“Are you going to sit on the other swing,” you asked, breaking the silence with a laugh, “or are you just going to stare at me like a psychopath?”

He huffed out a laugh, rolling his eyes. “I am not a psychopath, thank you very much.”

He paused, glancing down at the empty swing beside you. A smirk tugged at his lips as he dropped onto it with practiced ease, his body tilting slightly as he leaned on one of the ropes. His dark curls caught the faint moonlight, and for a moment, you were struck by how naturally he fit into the scene—as if the cold, quiet night belonged to him.

“There. Happy now?” he teased, tilting his head as he watched you take another sip of your drink.

“Delighted,” you replied dryly, but the corners of your mouth twitched upward despite yourself.

The quiet returned, but this time it felt less heavy, more companionable. The swings creaked softly under your weight, their rhythmic motion blending with the faint whisper of the wind through the trees. You felt his gaze on you again, steady but less intrusive, as though he was trying to figure you out without saying it aloud.

“You always liked the swing, didn’t you?” he asked suddenly, his voice softer now. “Even when we were kids. You’d come out here, no matter how bloody cold it was.”

You looked at him, surprised. “You remember that?”

“Of course.” He shrugged, his gaze dropping to the snow at his feet. “You used to follow us around when we were kids, always begging him to push you higher. Drove him mad.”

A small smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. “He hated it.”

Mattheo’s eyes flicked back up to yours, his expression unreadable. “I didn’t.”

The words hung between you, carried on the crisp winter air. You weren’t sure how to respond for the second time of the night, your heart skipping a beat at the way his gaze lingered, heavy and unreadable. You took another sip of your cocoa, more for something to do than anything else, the warmth doing little to calm the sudden flutter in your chest.

“You’re not what I expected,” he said after a moment, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he hadn’t meant to say it aloud.

You frowned, tilting your head slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He hesitated, his jaw tightening as he looked at you. The smirk was gone now, replaced by something quieter, something more vulnerable. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice rough. “I guess… I always thought you’d stay the same. That you’d always be Theo’s annoying little sister. But you’re not.”

Your breath caught, and for a moment, you couldn’t find the words to respond. The weight of his gaze was almost too much, like he was seeing you for the first time, and the intensity of it made your pulse quicken.

“People grow up, Mattheo,” you said softly, your voice steadier than you felt. “Even me.”

A small, almost sad smile flickered across his face as he straightened, flicking his cigarette into the snow. “Yeah,” he murmured, rocking with you. “I’ve noticed.”

There weren’t any words for it, not really.

It was impossible not to notice how Mattheo had changed over the years. His brown eyes had darkened, holding a sharper, more dangerous edge now, like they had seen too much of the world too soon. Faint scars marked his face—one along his jawline, another faintly cutting through his brow—evidence of his penchant for fights he never backed down from. Yet somehow, the wild, boyish curls that framed his face remained untouched, softening the sharp lines of his features.

The little boy you had known—the one who used to tease you relentlessly, who would sneak sweets into your pockets to make you smile—was gone, replaced by someone almost unrecognizable. And yet, in the quiet moments like this, when his smirk softened and his eyes searched yours, you could still see traces of him. The ghost of that boy lingered beneath the surface, making the man he’d become all the more breathtaking.

You looked down, your fingers tightening around the mug in your hands. You had finished your hot cocoa a while ago, and the absence of its warmth was beginning to seep into your bones. You shivered slightly, the cold nipping at your skin through the thin fabric of your robe.

Mattheo kept his eyes on the sky, though you could feel his attention flicker to you in the silence. The proximity wasn’t helping either of you. His gaze shifted briefly from the stars to you, and his voice broke the stillness—low, quiet, almost raspy.

“Cold, princess?”

You shrugged, your breath forming faint clouds in the air. “Well… I probably should’ve grabbed something warmer than this robe.”

He rolled his eyes, his smirk returning. “You’re wearing a robe, Y/N. Of course you’re cold.” He muttered something under his breath, a mix of exasperation and amusement, before shrugging off his jacket in one swift motion. The fabric landed in his lap, and he glanced at you again, this time with something unspoken in his eyes.

“Come here.”

“Excuse me?” you asked, blinking at him.

He tilted his head, his smirk widening as though your cluelessness was both amusing and maddening. “Just get your sweet ass over here,” he huffed, patting his lap for emphasis.

You hesitated, but the cold won out. Slowly, you moved to sit on his lap, his hands guiding you with a gentle firmness. The heat of his body against yours was immediate, and you stayed silent, unsure of what to say. The size of his jacket engulfed you completely, and for the first time since stepping outside, you felt warm.

“But you’re going to get cold,” you murmured, glancing at his body only covered by a sweater.

Mattheo’s smirk widened, his gaze raking over you wrapped in his jacket. “You really think I care right now?” His hand moved from your chin to your thigh, his palm pressing against your skin with a possessive gentleness. His thumb began tracing slow circles, the movement both comforting and electrifying.

“Well… you should,” you whispered, leaning against him instinctively. Your head came to rest on his chest, and you felt the hitch in his breath at the contact.

He didn’t move for a moment, as if adjusting to the new closeness. Then, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you flush against him. His grip on your thigh tightened slightly, as though he wanted to keep you there forever. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat echoed faintly in your ear, and you wondered if he could feel yours racing in return.

“You’re going to be sick,” you murmured, your voice soft against his chest.

He chuckled, the sound vibrating through you. “Stop being so rational, Y/N. You’re ruining my moment of protecting you.”

You let out a sarcastic laugh, tilting your head to look up at him. “Since when do you even want to protect me, Riddle?”

He rolled his eyes at your remark, a huff of frustration escaping him. “Dammit, Y/N. Can’t you, for once in your life, just let me be sweet to you?”

Your teasing smile faltered at the sincerity in his voice. You looked up at him, your gaze meeting his. Snowflakes clung to his dark curls, softening the sharp angles of his face, and his expression held something that made your chest tighten. He wasn’t smirking anymore.

“Why?” you whispered, the word barely audible above the quiet rustle of the wind.

He hesitated, his eyes searching yours as if trying to find the right answer. When he spoke, his voice was quieter than you’d ever heard it, and it carried a weight that settled heavily between you.

“Because you deserve it,” he said simply, his thumb still tracing slow, deliberate circles on your thigh. “And because, for some reason, I can’t help myself.”

Your breath caught, and the snow seemed to fall slower, the night folding in around you both. You weren’t sure what to say, but the way his eyes lingered on you—like you were the only thing keeping him grounded—said more than words ever could.

Neither of you moved for a long moment, the weight of his words lingering in the frosted air. Mattheo’s gaze never wavered, and you felt as though he was searching for something in your expression—permission, maybe, or understanding. Whatever it was, you weren’t sure you could give it. Not when every inch of your body was hyper-aware of his hand resting on your thigh, his jacket wrapped around you like a cocoon, and the steady warmth of him against you.

The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable—it was heavy, charged, filled with things you both knew could never be spoken aloud. Not with Theodore asleep inside, unaware of the lines being blurred on the swing outside your home.

A soft flurry of snow began to fall, dusting Mattheo’s curls and the edges of his sweater. You glanced up, watching as the flakes floated down, catching on your lashes and melting against your skin. The quiet around you deepened, the world reduced to just the two of you and the snow.

Mattheo’s hand tightened slightly on your thigh, grounding you, before his other hand came up to brush a stray snowflake from your hair. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, and it sent a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

“You’re going to freeze,” you whispered, your voice breaking the silence.

“So are you,” he murmured back, his lips quirking into a faint smirk. “But I guess you’ll just keep arguing with me about it instead of going inside.”

You laughed softly despite yourself, the sound warm in the cold night air. “Maybe.”

Mattheo’s gaze dropped to your lips for a fraction of a second before he shook his head slightly, pulling back just enough to create a breath of space between you. “We should go in,” he said, though the reluctance in his tone betrayed him.

You nodded, but neither of you moved right away. There was something about the moment—the quiet, the closeness, the unspoken weight of everything you couldn’t say—that made it hard to leave. It wasn’t just the snow keeping you rooted there; it was the impossible pull of Mattheo Riddle, the boy who had always been out of reach.

But the snow began falling harder, the wind picking up and sending chills through both of you. Mattheo sighed, his hand slipping from your thigh as he helped you to your feet. His jacket stayed draped around you, the warmth of it feeling like a faint echo of his touch.

You glanced back at him as he stood, brushing the snow from his curls with an almost frustrated huff. There was something in his expression—something raw, unguarded—that made your chest ache. Whatever Mattheo was feeling, he was fighting it, and you knew why. It was impossible, the two of you. It always had been. But that didn’t make it any easier to ignore.

“Come on,” he said, his voice softer now. “Before Theo wakes up and starts a bloody war.”

You laughed lightly, pulling the jacket tighter around you as the two of you made your way back to the manor. The snow muffled your steps, and for a moment, it felt like the world was holding its breath, waiting for something you both knew would never come.

The two of you climbed the stairs in silence, the kind that felt almost sacred, heavy with the weight of everything left unsaid. The manor seemed to hold its breath, its ancient walls groaning softly under the weight of the falling snow. Each step was careful, deliberate, a shared understanding that the stillness of the night was not to be disturbed.

When you reached your bedroom door, you stopped, your hand resting lightly on the worn brass handle. You turned to face him, the quiet settling between you like freshly fallen snow. His dark eyes found yours immediately, unwavering and unguarded in a way that made the air between you feel impossibly thin.

Neither of you spoke. There was no need to. The silence stretched, intimate and unbroken, as if the moment itself was afraid to shatter.

Mattheo’s hand lifted slowly, almost hesitantly, his movements uncharacteristically soft. His fingers brushed against your temple, tucking a strand of snow-dampened hair behind your ear. His touch lingered, warm and fleeting, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

For a second, his eyes roamed your face, not with the sharpness he usually carried, but with something quieter, something deeper. It wasn’t just a glance—it was as though he were committing every detail to memory: the curve of your lips, the faint rise of color on your cheeks, the way your lashes glistened faintly with melted snow.

He exhaled softly, his breath stirring the air between you. “You should get some sleep,” he said, his voice low and rough, barely above a whisper, yet it carried the weight of something unspoken.

You nodded, unable to do much else, your throat tight and your heart pounding against your ribs. The faintest flicker of a smirk ghosted across his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes. There was something about the way he looked at you that made the moment feel far too fragile, like one wrong move could shatter it entirely.

He stepped back, just slightly, as though the distance might make this easier for both of you. It didn’t.

“Goodnight, princess,” he murmured, the endearment softer now, gentler, almost reverent.

You hesitated, the door halfway open, and turned to glance back at him. He hadn’t moved, his eyes still on you, dark and searching. It felt like he was trying to say something, something neither of you could bring yourselves to admit.

You offered him a small, hesitant nod before slipping into your room, closing the door softly behind you. The quiet click of the latch felt deafening in the stillness.

Leaning back against the door, you pressed your hand to your chest, your breath coming unsteadily. The warmth of his touch still lingered on your skin, but it was the way he’d looked at you that stayed.

It was impossible. Whatever this was—whatever it might have been—it couldn’t exist beyond these secret fleeting moments. And yet, as you leaned back against the heavy wooden door, your pulse still racing, you knew you would never forget the way Mattheo Riddle had looked at you.

In the dim, flickering light of the Nott Manor hallway, his dark eyes had held something unspoken, something that felt achingly close to longing. It was as if, for that brief instant, the weight of the world he carried had vanished, and all that remained was you.

But the world would return. It always did.

You closed your eyes, willing the ache in your chest to fade, though you knew it wouldn’t. Some things weren’t meant to be, no matter how much you wanted them. How were you supposed to get through the rest of the holidays like this? With him here, so close yet so unattainable?

And somehow, that made wanting him feel all the more inevitable.

[pygmi-says-hi]

writing tips - weapons! (the bladed ones)

weapons are like stupid people; they're everywhere. especially in writing!

bad joke mb guys.

Welllllll for those of you sadistic nerds who like all things sharp, shiny and dangerous, here you are!

Whether or not your character is an assassin or a casual hunter, proper knowledge and use of weapons is important knowledge for a writer! especially if your editor won't get off your ass and you need to dispose of them find a new perspective.

Now, the thing about weapons is that they can be used for many things, but have one 'correct use'. such as - a knife can be used as a nail file, scalpel, scissors, razor and a fork, but it's really only supposed to be for cutting. or stabbing.

here are guides to blades and stabbies alike.

Scythes

Scythes were originally designed for reaping grain. They are a crescent shaped thingamabob with one sharp edge and one blunter edge. The sharp is on the inside of the crescent. You might see them carried by reapers in folklore, as in the idea of 'reaping/sowing souls'.

Good uses: slicing, cleaving, swiping, one-hit kills

bad uses: stabbing, blunt force, combative fighting. the blade is curved and won't make proper contact with the flesh to really jam in there. it'll just be awkward and messy.

Rapiers (NOT THE SAME AS BROADSWORDS!) i included pics dw

this bad boy.

Double edged, very sharp, thin blade.

good for: combat, thrusting/stabbing

bad for: impact hits, leverage (as in bracing a door or using as a lever), and a defensive weapon.

Swords like broadswords

Shorter blades than rapiers, with a thicker steel and a fatter handle. Can be double or single edged - double edged are good for stabbing, single are not.

Good for: fighting, stabbing, slicing, decapitating, impalement, impact

Bad for: melee

tips on swords: swords are really fucking heavy. Like idk if you have ever held an honest-to-god sword (not the amazon ones) but they weigh so much. If your character has an injured arm, they are gonna be really slow. the fighting is gonna be sloppy af.

also, the butt of swords are fantastic for blunt force trauma!!

Garrotes

garrotes are thin, sharp wires used to strangle people. can honestly be made out of anything rope-like but are most effective when wire or coarse rope.

Good for: strangulation

Bad for: everything else. except as a shoelace idk

Pretty narrowly useful, good for close-up stuff but only work if you have good bodily leverage over the opponent. small margin of error with these.

I will make a part two. bye for now!