#while painting has truly been just an outlet

[rotthepoet]

Come Home (Dark!Mattheo Riddle x Reader)

Notes; DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. Dark!Matty has been plaguing my mind and I need an outlet omg. I lowkey rewrote some lore for this, so essentially the battle of Hogwarts takes place but Voldemort's influence still lives on through Mattheo, who basically runs the new Knights of Walpurgis(The slytherin boys). Everyone is evil, all good business. 

Warnings; again, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. Dark!Mattheo, Murder/death/gore, stalking, kidnapping, mattheo might highkey be ooc but its fine, dubcon(reader REALLY wants him but like.. morals?), oral(F! And M!), mention of fem masturbation, predator/prey dynamic, spitting, degradation, lowkey breeding kink?, piv, lowkey porn with plot, Stockholm syndrome if you squint, at least he kinda gets a redemption arc

This one goes out to my beautiful @nottswitch i hope dark!mattheo comes to life and fucks us both <3

Word count; 6.3k

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The bitter breeze in the frigid air pricks through my thin shirt as the diner door swings open and shut again as a customer disappears into the icky black of our winter night. I stare out after him, a farewell unspoken on my lips as I cast my gaze towards an orange, flickering lamp post lining the parallel street, and I realize how truly cold it is inside the shabby eatery. 

As I tug the embarrassingly short, mandated skirt I'm forced to wear, I can only think of the comforting and safe walls of Hogwarts, my home only months ago, yearning for the soft crackle of a fireplace and the ambient chatter of portraits lining the walls. The muggles had nothing as interesting, nothing as familiar as the light of the silver moon passing through the large windows of the great hall. Nothing as comfortable as my own home back in England, with my mother and fathers smiling faces. Nothing as comfortable as the safe, unscarred arms of the once-kind boy I loved what feels like so long ago. 

Being on the lam for about a month now, I've been skipping towns and laying low where I can. It’s not often, but when I'm able to stay in a town for longer than a week, I take pitiful muggle jobs, my current being to take orders at a local diner, “famous for their milkshakes”, although fame must mean four regular visitors in this nowhere town. 

Jean, the gray-haired woman who owns the diner I work at, leans over the counter and points at the analog clock hanging on the wall. It reads almost 1:30, and it finally sets in how tired I am. She hums and looks me up and down, standing in the middle of the floor, standing stiff as a board while holding a broom. She clicks her tongue and shakes her head, a small smile gracing her aged face. 

“I’m sorry, I zoned out.” I apologize, leaning the non-flying broom against a nearby booth, and smooth out my wind-swept hair. 

Jean just shakes her head, “Go on and head home. You did good today.” she hums in approvement, tossing me my room key that was previously hanging on a hook in the kitchen. “Be careful out there, the papers said another storm is coming.” she warned, but a storm is the furthest thing from my mind as I push open the door. Silver light flashes across the street and my heart nearly stops beating, a pit forms in the bottom of my stomach. My eyes squint, finally adjusting to the lack of light, catch the face of a mannequin in the window of a shop. I let out a breath I don’t realize I’m holding and relax as I realize the moon had simply caught the silver details on the faux person. I turn on my heel and carry on down the dimly lit pavement towards my motel. 

It’s just as run down as everything else in this town, water stains stretching across the ceiling like swatches of muddy paint, and the hideous carpet crunches underneath my feet. It isn’t much. It is nothing, in fact, but a roof over my head and sanctuary from the ruthless dangers outside. 

I drop each article of clothing from my body onto the yellowing tile of the bathroom floor, stepping into the freezing cold water of the shower. I shudder, goosebumps racking through my body as I allow the water to wash away the grease and sweat, I collected today. I run a baby blue loofa over my skin, suds washing away with the now lukewarm stream. I close my eyes, and take a deep breath, and the smell of metallic rust from the old pipes fills my nostrils. 

Blood. So much blood. It covers my hands, and my knees, my face, and my clothes. I practically wade through a pool of it, the dark hallways of that god awful manor stretch on infinitely, and the smell of rot and decay suffocates my senses. My heart nearly beats out of my chest as his strong arms wrap around me as I collapse to the floor, and I'm hyper aware of the many motionless bodies lying at my feet. His lips brush against my neck, rough and wet, and I wonder if they have blood on them too. I wouldn’t put it past him. Malicious is not a word I thought I would ever use to describe my lover, the man I thought I was going to marry one day, but like many other things before, he proved me wrong. His warm hands caress the soft fat of my thighs, slipping underneath the loose fabric of my shorts, and he leans into my ear. “They’re all gone now… Let’s go take a shower.” 

I release a shaky breath and turn off the water, letting it drip from my head and down my face, mingling with salty tears. Wiping my face with my wet palms, which did nothing in retrospect, I sigh. I can’t go back there; I can never go back there. It isn’t safe anymore. He isn’t safe anymore. Come on, I can’t keep feeling bad for myself. This is ridiculous, and as I step out of the shower and dress myself, I feel a newfound sense of determination. Sleep, for the first time in months, finds me easily with her warm embrace. 

ﾟ+*:ꔫ:*﹤

As most things in my life do, my high spirits came to an abrupt end. Smoke fills my lungs, but there's a strange taste to it. It’s not a fire, no, it was tobacco. A smell I was all too familiar with. I sat up in bed, and my eyes met the inky black eyes of his silver, skull mask. My breath catches in my throat, only for me to cough out the smoke from his cigarette.

He couldn’t have found me this easily. It’s a bad dream, it has to be. Merlin forgive me, God save me, tell me this is just a dream! The mask on his face shifts a little, clearly amused at my coughing fit. “Have anything to say?”

Say anything. Stop gaping at him like a fish, you are a powerful witch, almost top of your class in DADA. Almost. Second place, notably. Right behind him.

Mattheo Riddle.

A sob racks through my body, tears falling down my cheeks before I even realize, and I’m paralyzed in place. Half of me wants to crawl into his arms, to beg for forgiveness, to beg for him to take me home. Home to that wretched, dark house, with blood seeped into the wood. With blood-stained grout on the kitchen tile. With blood-stained walls. So, so much blood. The other half of me screams at me to run. To run, to run, run, run, RUN! For god's sake, run! 

I push myself out of bed, fast enough to catch Mattheo by surprise. He flicks his cigarette to the side, letting it roll along the carpet floor. My hand reaches for my wand resting on a table beside the door as I duck out of his reaching arms, and I stumble to my feet as he lunges after me. I throw open the door, pulling it shut in his face as he screams for me.

“You bitch! Come back here!” he screams through the wood, struggling with the now sweat-slick doorknob. 

The door splinters open with the blast of, “Bombarda!”, but I scramble down the wet, cold streets, my bare feet scratch against the rough pavement as I sprint, thankful that it had been just warm enough to not freeze. I duck down another street, pulling out my wand to apparate elsewhere. I rack my brain for a safe location. Hogwarts? I might be able to, but I don’t want to risk splinching. My job? It might separate me long enough to get my shit together. 

Air is knocked out of me as a heavy body slams into mine, knocking my wand out of my hand. A heavy, black boot pins my wrist to the ground, and a silver mask that was not Riddle’s leans over me. He laughs under the mask, but I can’t tell which of his mentally fucked goons had caught me. I reach for my wand, but another set of boots kicks it out of my reach. Leather gloved hands grab my hair and lift me up to face the group now circling me. 

“She looks pitiful, really. Like an angry kitten.” An Italian accent draws next to my ear with a mocking snicker, and I thrash to kick Theodore Nott anywhere I can, luckily landing a solid blow to his shin. He curses in pain, and hisses something inaudible underneath his mask as he throws me back to the ground. The rough concrete scratches against my exposed skin, drawing blood from the soft flesh. I yelp in pain, landing at the feet of someone else. A black, steel-toed boot presses against my cheek, pushing my head to the side as I watch another figure ominously approach. I would recognize my Mattheo’s casual amble anywhere, and he peered down at my stray wand laying at his feet.

I don’t even have time to protest as he steps his boot onto the wood, sparks fizzing out around the magic object as it snaps under his weight. A choked sob escapes me as he approaches, my eyes wide with horror and betrayal.

“Enough of this, love. It’s time to come home,” He drawls, kneeling down to my level and lifting my chin to meet his empty gaze. “Be a good girl and come back to me, I’m tired of this little game of yours.”

“Fuck. You.” I spat on the silver of his skull-like mask, noting the wild look in my own eyes as the saliva slips down its reflective surface.

Mattheo groaned and tugged off his mask, and my breath caught in my throat. What the hell is wrong with me? I can’t think this awful man who betrayed me, threatened me, hunted me down, can still be attractive. Then again, he was still the man I had loved–part of me still does love– all those years ago. The handsome face I fell asleep looking at, the doe eyes I found comfort in. He looked roguish now, his brown curls were longer than the last time I had seen him, and he had a new scar running across his cheek from our last encounter. My mouth goes dry as he leans into my face, his breath hot against my lips. 

“I’ve missed you, love,” He practically purred, pressing his dry lips against my trembling ones. I whine against him, wriggling my body underneath the heavy weight of whoever was holding me. 

Mattheo groaned, gripping my chin harder, “You used to be so obedient, pet, but don’t worry. I’ll fix you.” he mumbled, kissing my forehead as I felt his wand pressed to my temple. He mumbled an incantation against my skin, and I felt my body go limp before my eyes closed themselves, and sleep consumed me. 

ﾟ+*:ꔫ:*﹤

It was cold, damp, and reeked of copper and mold. My body laid on the floor, sore and unresponsive to my will to move. As my senses came back to me, I tried climbing to my feet, but a chain tugged my ankle back to the floor. I tumbled to the stone floor, scraping my hands against its rough surface. I whimper in pain, and only as I go to wipe my hands on my pants do I realize I’m completely nude. Horror racks through my body as I take in my surrounding and own appearance. I know I'm back in that old house, that old, disgusting, horrible house of horrors, and tears fall from my stinging eyes again.

I don’t know how long I laid on that floor, shaking from the cold as I sob into the air, screaming and cursing with conviction, damning Riddle’s name to an eternity in hell. I scream, and wail, and cry until I tire myself out, my voice breaking into nothing but a hushed plea for freedom. 

I fight sleep, sitting myself against a wall near my chain, breathing deep into my burning lungs. My eyes drift closed, but I will them open as the loud creak of a door alerts me. It’s only then that I notice a stairwell, casted in a white light with the newly opened door, and my heart nervously skips a beat as a tall shadow approaches the stairwell. The stairs creak under his weight as he descends to what I can only infer is a basement, and I stare up at his form.

Mattheo wasn’t nearly as scary like this, dressed in black slacks and a loose white shirt. Had he not been so threatening, and the reason I was chained to the basement floor, I would have swooned over the top buttons being undone. Perhaps I still do get butterflies in my stomach, but that may just be nausea. 

He looks down at me with an expression I can only describe as mock sympathy, clicking his tongue softly. “Down here for less than three hours and you’ve already managed to hurt yourself,” he scolded me, shaking his head in disappointment, “My clumsy girl, what am I going to do with you?” 

The smile he cracked made me want to claw his eyes out, or kiss him, and I worry that he may have slipped me a love potion. My ears ring, and my head suddenly aches with a mild pain, and Mattheo smirks.

“Like the shirt, do you?” He teased, kneeling down to my level. I curse under my breath, face heating up with anger (Or embarrassment, I can’t really tell), of course I forget he’s a legilimens. “Drop the act darling, I know you’re going to crack eventually. Save us both the trouble so I can finally bring you back to bed.” His warm hand tenderly caressed my cold cheek, and I fought the urge to lean into the comforting touch. “I hate seeing you down here like this, but you need to remember your place.”

My eyes snap back to his, and I whip my head to the side to bite his hand. He scowls and rips his hand away, reeling it back and back-handing me across the face. It knocks my breath out of my chest, and the rings on his fingers cut my cheek. Metallic blood drips to the floor. 

“Fine. Stay down here and bleed out for all I care.” He snaps, rubbing his sore hand as he turns on his heel and storms up the stairs. The door slams loudly behind him, and I’m engulfed in sudden darkness.

ﾟ+*:ꔫ:*﹤

My cheek and hands had long stopped bleeding the next time he came back, staining my skin red with its slick. My head lifts as the door opens again, and light makes my eyes dilate painfully. Mattheo trudges down the stairs, his head hanging low, and a small white box hanging from his hand. He approaches me and kneels at my level. I meet his gaze, glaring into his soft eyes.

“Darling, you know I didn’t mean to hit you, right?” He mumbled, holding my chin to twist my cheek towards him, his rough actions bringing tears to my eyes. “I was just so worked up, and you were pushing too many buttons, you’ll forgive me, right?” He asks hopefully, but I don’t answer him.

He sighs in defeat, opening the little box and retrieving a cloth and bottle full of a clear liquid. My eyes go wide, and I scramble backwards as far as the chain allows me to. “No, No, Mattheo please don’t-” I plead, heart racing as he looks at me with confusion.

A smile breaks across his face, “Oh darling, no, no, it’s just alcohol.” he laughs a bit, a deep sound that makes pleasant shivers run down my spine and too an embarrassing heat between my legs. What the fuck is wrong with me? He approaches me again, dousing the cloth with the solution before taking my hands. He shushes my soft whines as he presses it to my scraped palms, which makes me hiss at the burning sensation. “Good girl, there we go. That’s much better, isn’t it?” he asks as he takes a roll of gauze from the box and wraps each of my hands. He lifts my palms to his lips, pressing a storm of soft pecks and kisses to the gauze and skin. My face heats up at the gesture, and I force myself to look away. He was always so chivalrous for a monster, though it hurt to call him that even after everything.

He presses the cloth to my cheek next, his thumb tracing calming circles into the opposite cheek. “Such a pretty girl, my pretty girl.” He whispered, placing a bandage over my skin. Just like my palms, he kisses my cheek, though much slower and intimate this time. “I don’t want to hurt you, you know?” he promised, leaning over my trembling body. He looked down at me, eyes drifting past my collarbone, and he whistled softly. “A sight for sore eyes… and It’s all mine.” He smirked, leaning down as he supported his weight on his forearms. His chapped lips press suspiciously soft kisses to my neck. A loud thud coming from upstairs makes Mattheo groan and pull away. He looks down at me, wide eyed beneath him, “I’ll be right back, love, don’t worry your pretty little head.” He hummed, patting my cheek as he stood up. 

He casts me one last yearning glance before he shuts the door again, much softer this time. I lean back against the stone, releasing a breath I didn’t know I was holding, and try to ignore the wetness between my thighs as I drift off to sleep.

ﾟ+*:ꔫ:*﹤

I’m startled awake as the basement door slams shut, and heavy footsteps descend to my prison. Mattheo storms into view, and before I can even get a word out, he grabs me by the hair and pulls me up to my knees. He sneers down at me, and my head is spinning from the sudden switch up.

“Incompetent assholes. Have to do everything myself around here,” He mumbled, not really speaking to me rather than himself. He doesn’t loosen his grip on my hair as his other hand tugs apart the button of his slacks. 

My eyes go wide with shock, and he pulls my hair, forcing my chin up to look at him. “Open your mouth,” He demands, his voice lacking his previous warmth, and I'm reminded that this is not my Matty. My lip quivers and I shake my head slightly. Mattheo pulls his half-hard cock from the confines of his black briefs and pulls me by the hair to his tip. “I don’t have time for this attitude, I said open your mouth.”

I don’t even have a moment to react before his leaking tip is pressed against my mouth. He pushes his way past, groaning as my wet lips engulf his mushroomed tip. He pulls on my hair again, forcing himself further into my warm hole. “There you go, not so hard, was it? Now suck.” He orders in a tone I’ve never heard him use in bed before, and as he bucks his hips towards my face, I whine in protest while the ache returns to my lower stomach. My jaw relaxes on its own, familiar with the girth of his hung cock. An almost inaudible whine slips through my throat, and he groans at the tightness. One more tug lets me know his patience is running thin, and I reach my bandaged hand up to stroke the rest of him while I focus on his tip.

Mattheo bites back a moan, his hips stuttering as I descend further down onto his length. His leaky tip presses against the back of my throat, and he holds my head in place while he rocks his hips further into me. My nose presses against his groin as he slips down the back of my throat, and his grip moves from my hair to my throat, feeling my neck bulge with every movement. Saliva drips past him and down my chin, dribbling to the floor in thick droplets. He shudders as my throat tightens around him, nearly swallowing the head. 

“Yeah, yeah… Fuck baby. Keep going for me, almost there,” He mumbles, rocking his hips faster than before. I whine around him, my own hand slipping down to the ache at my core. My fingers gingerly brush against my clit, and the soft moan I try to let out makes Mattheo’s head roll back. Hot spurts of his seed shoot down my throat and my glossy eyes go wide at the feeling.

“Swallow,” Is all he says, and obediently, I do. He pulls my head off of him, his cum mixing with the drool in my mouth when it drips down my chin. He grips my face between his index finger and thumb, collecting the mess with a swipe of his finger and pushing it back into my sore mouth. “All of it.” 

When I satisfied him, he pushed me back to the ground, and I yelped in pain as I collided against the stone surface. “When I come down here, I want you on your knees waiting for my dick. Understand?”

I nod weakly, and he smirks down at me. “Good girl. Keep it up and maybe I’ll bring you back upstairs.” He says, before pulling back up his pants and running a hand through his hair. 

When he leaves again, I’m left with an unbearable, wet mess.

ﾟ+*:ꔫ:*﹤

With nothing else to do in my makeshift prison, I sleep a lot. And when I wake up, I force myself to sleep again. I sleep God knows how long before the door opens again, and Mattheo trudges down the stairs. I scramble to my knees, honestly fearing what might happen if I disobey him, and when Mattheo catches sight of me, he smiles. 

“There’s my pretty girl.” He hums, holding a platter with a bowl of something steaming, a slice of some sort of bread, and a bottle of water. My stomach growls as its divine aroma fills my senses, and I can’t remember the last time I’ve eaten. 

Mattheo sits down in front of me and puts the tray between up. He rests his elbow on his knee and leans into his palm. “Eat,” he orders me, gesturing to the platter with the wave of his free hand. “Or would you prefer I feed you myself?” He asks with a smirk, watching how I shift from my knees to rest on my hip. I grab the water bottle first, chugging half of it in one go, before I subconsciously offer him a sip. What’s mine is his. Was his. Was. I look up at him, taking the water and sipping from it. I tore my gaze away before he noticed.

“I don’t want to stay in the basement anymore,” I mumble, dipping the bread into the soup before taking a bite, shivering at its deliciousness. Mattheo sighed and shook his head. “You know I can’t do that yet. You ran away, darling. I can’t trust you won’t do that again,” He explained, reaching his hand across the way to rub my knee soothingly. I sigh and push the tray away, my appetite gone. Mattheo frowned and moved the tray away, leaning over me. “Princess, c’mon, don’t be this way.” he hummed, pushing me onto my back. My heart rate quickened, and he definitely noticed. “But you’re right. I’ve been neglecting you… That’s why you ran away right? My poor girl was lonely and scared.” he hummed, pressing his lips to my collar bone. “Not anymore. My attention is solely on you, I promise.” 

My head rolled back a little, lolling onto the floor as he trailed his kisses down my sternum, stopping at my breasts to gently knead them. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach as I reached for his hair, tugging gently on his loose curls. He groaned in response, his lips finding my perked nipple and taking it into his warm mouth. His other hand slipped down my soft stomach, dipping between my thighs. Out of reflex, I squeezed them together, and Mattheo parted from my tit. He sat back on his haunches, using his strong, scarred hands to pull apart my thighs and admire my glistening, needy cunt.

“It’s been all about me, huh? Need to show my girls some love.” He mumbled, before dipping his head down. His warm breath fanned across my puffy lips, and I shivered at the breeze. He didn’t waste a second more, drawing a long, needy moan from my lips as he licked a long strip from my hole to my clit. My hands tangle into his hair again, and my mouth falls open with pleasure. “Fuck, Matty–” the nickname fell from my lips without a second thought, and he practically purrs against me. His hands grip my thighs, pulling them over his shoulders as he dives nose deep into my pussy. My back arches off the floor as a string of curses flies from my lips. I feel his wet appendage push against my hole, and I clench at the feeling as his nose brushes against my sensitive bud. I tug on his hair again, “Fuck, Fuck, Fuck!” I mewl, my edge fast approaching as Mattheo swirls his tongue over my clit. He sloppily makes out with my lower lips, pulling me closer to the edge with each passing second, and I’m in near tears when there's a loud crash up above us. 

Mattheo practically roars in anger, pulling his soaked face away from my aching cunt, the knot in my stomach loosening at the sudden separation. I whine and sit up, trying to pull him back down, but he stops me with a firm hold on my wrist. “Stay here and don’t make a sound.” he ordered, “I need to take care of this, and I promise as soon as I’m done, I’ll come right back.”

Anger flashes through me, and I bite back my cries. “Don’t you dare leave me like this, Riddle.” I snap, and he gives me a warning look that makes goosebumps prick at my skin. He leans in, pressing a wet kiss to my lips, and I can feel him shiver as I lick my own arousal from his lips. “I’ll be right back, princess. Be good for me, and we can talk about a reward.”

And with that, he left yet again.

ﾟ+*:ꔫ:*﹤

I was starting to get sick of his mind games, switching up his attitude, finally giving me relief before ripping it away from me. Fuck. What am I saying? I watched him murder dozens of people; I watched lives being taken right in front of me. I shiver at the memory and try to focus on anything else before it becomes too much to bear. 

I hate how he makes me feel. Sometimes he’s my Mattheo, and sometimes he’s nothing but a parasite attached to a face I can’t help but love. My back hits a wall, and I can’t count how long he’s been gone. I miss his warm, familiar touch, but anything was better than the cold, dark basement. I close my eyes, my lip trembling as I reach my hand down, fingers hesitantly spreading my folds. Cold air hit my wet lips, and I gasp at the feeling. I brush my fingertips against my hole, whining softly at the pleasure that coursed through my body. Maybe I'm sick in the head, maybe I hit my head too hard one day on the run and never recovered. Maybe I never really hated Mattheo. 

What is wrong with me?

I don’t move when the door opens again. I glare at him, anger coursing through my veins. This was not ‘right back’. As Mattheo’s black boot lands on the stone floor, my mouth goes dry. He’s weaning that stupid mask again, and that stupid costume, tilting his head stupidly at me. He approaches me in a way that makes my heart race in fear, like I'm nothing but cowardly prey between the jaws of a large wolf. 

He knees down, retrieving his hand from his pocket. Wordlessly, he unlocks the chain around my ankle, and he looks up at me. With another wave of his wand, I’m dressed in a loose tank top and shorts. It’s not much at all, but it’s better than naked. A rush of emotions rushes through my chest, and I almost gratefully throw my arms around Mattheo, but he stops me. 

“Go. Run,” He orders, stepping aside. I stare up at him in confusion, mounted to my spot on the ground. “I said run, little pet, like you want to.” He pulls me from the ground, pressing my cold body up against his comforting warmth. “Run, and if I catch you,” he leaned down into my ear, and through the skull mouth of his mask I could feel his breath fanning across my ear. “Well, I think you know what’s going to happen.”

I still don’t move, wondering if he would be less harsh if I stayed with him, but he only laughed. “Such a good girl, don’t worry,” he pulled his mask up just enough to expose his pearly white teeth. They sunk into the soft flesh just beneath my ear, “I’ll always find you. Go, now.”

I don’t know what possessed me, but my feet started moving on their own. I raced up the stairs of the basement and pushed past the door. The house was just as I remembered, dark with walls that were too tall, black cloths hung over the complaining portraits. I was disoriented in the dark, but my feet carried me through the house until I found the overtly large entrance. I pushed open the doors and ran out into the cold, snowy night. 

Frost nipped at each of my limps, and my lungs found it harder to breathe the frigid air. I ran anyway, out towards the woods surrounding the manor. I cast a glance over my shoulder, finding Mattheo staring back at me through the blacked-out eyes of his mask. I ducked into the tree line, just as he started his casual stroll towards me. Cocky bastard. 

I run for as long as I can before my lungs give out. I leaned against a tree, walking slowly into a clearing. I take a deep breath, pulling my arms behind my head to breathe deeper. Just as I find a moment of peace, a branch snaps behind me. I whip my head around, my heart racing as Mattheo approaches me. He doesn’t run, only walks towards me with his hands stuffed into his pockets. He ditched that awful mask, and I can see the smirk pulling at the edge of his lips. I stumble backwards, falling into the fresh snow. He continues his pace, unbothered by my racing heart as I scramble away from him and finally back to my feet. I don’t get one leg in front of the other before strong arms are wrapped around my waist, slipping under the loose fabric of my shirt.

“I win,” He mumbles in my ear, voice dark and raspy. It sends a chill down my spine that pools in my underwear. 

Mattheo throws me over his shoulder, ignoring my flailing lips as he walks back to the manor. “Didn’t even get a mile, love. Lost your talent it seems, or maybe you knew you’d miss me too much.” he teased, running his warm hands up my thigh, pressing a kiss to my exposed skin. 

It isn’t long before we’re back at the manor, and I thank every god I'm in good ties with when he walks past the basement. He takes me to his room instead, our room, the room where I've fallen apart under his touch more times than I can count. 

I breathe in his familiar scent as he deposits me on the bed, and I roll over to bury my burning face in the pillows. Mattheo chuckles at me and grabs my hips, pulling me back against him as he grinds his hardening bulge against the plushness of my ass. 

“You’ve been extra obedient, haven’t you?” he asked, his voice dripping with a tone I could quite place. Lust? Possession? Love? It all blurred together as he rutted his hips against me. “Good girls deserve a reward, don’t they?” he asked, before hooking his fingers at the hem of my shorts. He pulled them down to expose my glistening cunt. He spread me out along his fingers, admiring the way my pussy pulsed around nothing. He leaned in, pressing a possessive kiss to my clit, holding my hips as I try to buck away from him. 

His warm fingers trace along my thighs, sleeping between my legs and collecting the arousal that pooled there. I release a shaky breath into the pillow as his finger circles my clit, and I arch my back to present myself further. He hums in appreciation, trailing his finger further up to my dripping hole, slowly pushing his middle finger inside of me. I gasp at the intrusion, not being able to remember the last time something so long had been inside of me. I keen under his touch, gripping the sheets for stability as he slowly pumps his finger in and out of me. A moan escapes me as he curls his finger, and his thumb brushes against my needy pearl again. Mattheo adds a second finger, spreading out my tight, gummy walls. I crumble under his touch, mouth falling open and eyes going half lidded as he pulls his fingers from me. 

I hear him dropping his pants, and the bed dips behind me yet again as he leans his body completely over mine. His arm wraps around my neck, pressing me close to his chest while his breath fans across my face. The tip of his cock presses against me, and I whine at the sensation, pushing my hips back against him.

“Needy girl, thought you didn’t need me anymore.” He teased, pushing just the bulbous tip into my hole. It’s enough to make the knot in my stomach tighten, and I shake my head. “Need you, Matty, Need you so bad.” I admit, face flushed with embarrassment as he smirks. “Gonna run away again?”

He doesn’t let me get an answer out before he’s pressing further inside of me, the stretch burning pleasantly while my eyes roll back. His arm around my throat tightens, “I asked you a question, darling.” He teased, licking away the stray tear that fell from my eyes. I gasp as his cock brushes against a gummy bundle of nerves, and my head drops to the pillows. He tugs me back against him, pushing even further until he balls slapped against me. “No! No, never gonna leave again,” I promised, involuntary whines spilling from my throat. 

Mattheo pulls his hips back before drilling them back into me, “Good girl,” He grins as he sets a punishing pace, watching my face contort into pleasure underneath him. “Who owns you?” he asks, and I push back against his hips desperately. “You! You do, God, you do!” I moan, feeling my head go light from the lack of airflow. 

“God isn’t here, Love, It’s just me now.”

He drills into my pulsating hole, my back arching at his every thrust as my brain goes mushy from the pleasure. The arm around my throat pulls away, slipping down my stomach to find my pearl. His fingers are just as fast as his pace, and I can’t fight back the whorish moans in my throat. His lips attach to my shoulder, biting a possessive mark into my skin as he fucks me good, better than he ever had before. 

Tears fall from my eyes, and my hand grips his desperately as I’m worked to my edge. “Matty, Matty please…” I trail off into a string of moans, and Mattheo adjusts himself behind me. He bucks his hips into me once more, and I fall apart all over him. My pussy flutters around his cock, and he rides out my orgasm with a few last thrusts of his hips, before he spills his hot seed deep into my womb. Mattheo collapses on top of me, still deep inside as he pins my body to the bed. He hums into my neck, burying himself in my skin. 

“That’s my good girl. Let’s go take a shower.”

[ishikawayukis]

my kimetsu no yaiba painting is making rounds again and people are leaving nice tags and i'm like Ah creating truly is so wonderful

[gallusrostromegalus]

The Van Has Officially Declared It Spooky Season

---

I've got my parent's van for the week and it seems determined to establish my status as The Local Cryptid by terrorizing an innocent 7-11 clerk.

...I might need to back up a bit.

My mother is an eminently sensible woman who knows herself well, and when The Plauge hit, she knew she'd need some sort of mentally and physically engaging craft project to keep herself from going insane and massacring the local zoning and water management boards (even if they have it coming). So she and Dad acquired a utility van and converted it into a camper van because while they love camping, they're past the age where their joints and immune systems will tolerate sleeping on the cold ground in a nylon tent.

They did a terrific job of it and my mom taught herself woodworking and carpentry and now the van has it's own cabinets, fold-away dining table, and removable queen-sized bed with memory foam mattress. My Dad was already a computer engineer, but he learned the dark magics of automotive software and electronics to install after-market backup cameras, a media player that would take a terabyte hard drive and a solar-powered battery and outlet so they could wake up and just turn on the kettle and griddle for breakfast without having to exit the van into a cold morning on an empty stomach.

Truly, the height of Camping Luxury.

My parents are both in their mid-seventies and my primary life goal is to be at least half as cool and hale as they are when I get old.

Anyway, they take it out at least a dozen times a year and it works fabulously, but, being as I am on good terms with my parents and also finishing the process of moving house, I've been borrowing it to move large and cumbersome objects that will not fit in the back of my equally lovely but minuscule Honda hatchback.

It's a Great Van. Very easy and comfortable to drive. Stunningly good MPG for it's size. The best cruise control I've ever had in a car.

It's just also. Quirky. Mischievous, even.

---

If this van has a fault its that it bears the unfortunate affliction that all lightly used white utility vans have in that the combination of an utter lack of branding features and the large dent/scrape I accidentally put on it while trying to escape a Denny's last Thanksgiving means that this vehicle is one addition of a Badly Spray-Painted "FREE CANDY" on the side away from being the sort of vehicle you see in an edgy horror movie.

It's got the same issue that Doberman Dogs have where they look like the sort of creature that likes to snack on toddler's faces whilst actually having personalities made of marshmallow fluff. This vehicle is unnecessarily menacing and I think nothing short of an airbrushed Epic Van Wizard will correct this. People see this van pull up and lean over and squint suspiciously at me when the driver's side door opens, and then look moderately confused when, instead of Charles Manson, a small, potato-shaped creature with neon purple hair and a statistically unlikely assortment of dogs emerges.

My own two dogs, Herschel the Hanukkah Goblin/Corgi and Charleston Chew The Taco Dumpster Dog, Do Not Like The Van. Even with the bed in it, they have a tendency to slide and roll around in the back, and both WILL chew through dog saftey belts or other attempts to secure them in there.

On the other hand, my house mate's dog, an exceptionally tall standard poodle whom we lovingly call "The Creature", loves the Van because SHE wears her doggy seat-belt with only mild complaining and gets to sit up in the passenger seat like A People.

Also like A People, The Creature likes to stand and walk around on her hind legs. It doesn't hurt her and it's entirely voluntary, but every so often I will feel a hand on my arm and instead of my husband or friend, it's a canine that's taller than I am on her hind legs who wants to stare at my face with soulful, concerned eyes. The Creature's favorite thing is that she is exactly the right height for me to hold her arm in Genteel Fashion and walk around the pet food or hardware store with her like I'm a count escorting a debutante around a royal ball.

---

As it stands, I am set to inherit this vehicle whenever my Honda gives up the ghost, and I fully intend to paint an Epic Van Wizard on it when that time comes.

The other peculiarity of The Van is that while Dad did manage to successfully install all his after-market electronics, not all the electronics get along. Sometimes, they fight for Dominance. The Terabyte Music Player and the Backup Camera have a particularly contentious relationship, and turning on the music has about a 25% chance of turning on the backup camera as well, and turning on the Backup Camera is equally likely to turn on the music.

Firthermore, The Van has a favorite song.

I am not kidding that Dad filled an entire terabyte hard drive with music and the software to sort it via the radio controls, but of all the Early Boomer Dad Rock (Kingston Trio over The Eagles) and Irish Folk and Symphonies and the entire discography of Weird Al Yankovic, The Van's favorite song- The one it picks to play as victory music every time it beats the Backup Camera at their weird electronic game of rock-paper-scissors -is The Liberty Bell March by John Phillip Sousa.

You all know this song already.

...but in case you've forgotten the tune:

Yeah.

The Van's favorite song is the goddamn Monty Python's Flying Circus Theme Music.

It does not play this song at a normal volume.

Every time I turn on the Backup Camera and it manages to turn the music player on as well, The Van insists on absolutely blasting this nonsense on at the maximum volume it's physically capable of producing, which I know is loud enough to be heard from the Denver International Airport's Pickup zone when they Van decided to start playing it from the economy lot about half a mile away.

Perhaps it's The Van's way of honoring the aesthetic sensibilities and sonic enthusiasm of Mr. Sousa.

...I can't help but wonder if the purpose of an Epic Van Wizard is to control this sort of faerie-like malarkey, and channel these chaotic energies into things like Spell of Don't Break Down In Nevada or Enchantment Of Always Have Good Parking.

---

So last Friday the 13th, I get a call from my friend and housemate, at said airport.

It's roughly 11PM at night, and I have already retired for the evening. I am in the exact minimum of clothing required to be a decent housemate and not scandalize the neighbors should I happen to walk by a window. My feet are up. There is a cat in my lap and fictional British people murdering each other in highly inventive fashion on the tv. -But my friend has returned from her friend's wedding,and either American or United Airlines has managed to lose her luggage, including, among other valuable possessions, the keys to her car. ...So she cannot just drive home as originally planned.

There are, as luck would have it, her spare set of keys not eight feet from me.

Being a good and decent person, I agree to bring the spare keys to her so she may get home before daybreak and not spend a semester's worth of tuition on an uber across the greater Denver traffic jam.

Being also that she Loves Activities, and it's her mom we're going to pick up, I elect to take along The Creature.

I am primarily focused on remembering how to get to the airport and not leaving my friend's spare keys on the counter, so I throw on a pair of flip-flops, step outside, remember that it's AUTUMN and my minimal evening attire is not sufficient thermal protection, step back in, grab the first coat in the closet I lay hands on, pull it on, check that I have her keys again and leave.

The trip to the airport is largely unremarkable, save that it becomes necessary for me to put on sunglasses to drive, despite it being nearly the witching hour and almost entirely darker than the inside of a cow.

It's necessary because this blissful darkness of night is violently punctured by a startling number of cars that seem to have installed miniaturized but no less powerful lighthouse bulbs in where their headlights ought to go so the oncoming traffic and sports cars that insist on tailgating me in the slow lane alike illuminate the road and my mirrors with the kind of radiance I'd normally associate with the arrival of a Seraphim.

I arrive at the distant highly discounted airport car lot where my housemate is waiting, deeply apologetic. It's nothing. I say. Once I see that your car starts up, I'm gonna go to that 7-11 across the way that I parked in front of, get a slurpee or something and I'll see you at home.

While she is retrieving her vehicle (an equally eccentric but much more stately Subaru that is old enough to be elected to congress) I rifle through the loose change in the glove box and discover that I have exactly $6.66 in small bills and coins. The Subaru, continuing it's long voyage into vehicular immortality, immediately starts up.

Upon her return, we all remember that my friend had all her camping gear in the backseat of the car and there is no room for The Creature to ride home with her parent, so I again assure her it's nothing, and will just take The Creature into the 7-11 with me. She is trained as a service animal and needs the practice after the plague.

I wave my friend off and turn to enter the 7-11.

I promptly trip over the jutting back bumper of The Van and fall, cartoonishly, face-first onto the sidewalk.

Fortunately, I have a lot of practice falling on my face, and have learned not to throw my hands out but instead cover my face, so my unexpected self-inflicted attempted curb-stomping lightly scrapes my hairline and nothing else -my sunglasses even stay in place- and I get up and resume my quest for a slurpee.

It's well known that the airport is a lawless place, and the 7-11 across from the discounted airport parking at the stroke of midnight is no exception.

I know it's the stroke of Midnight because there's one of those Audubon society bird-call clocks that makes bird noises, and my arrival is heralded by the twittering call of a Summer Tanager. I am almost charmed enough by the unusual choice of chronological device to excuse the exorbitant Airport-adjacent mark-up of Slurpee prices. I stand at the machine for some time, trying to decide on a size for the price and guess what the fuck "Blue Lighting Blast" is supposed to taste like.

The Creature is being Very Polite but is somewhat agitated, I assume because she *just* saw her mother for the first time in three days and then she LEFT with no explanation, so The Creature is on her hind legs, staring woefully into my eyes, asking to be escorted around the 7-11. Even though that's not what she's not supposed to be doing, there's nobody else in here, so I let her hang off my arm and discuss various Slurpee Flavor options with her.

We eventually decide on an experiment in which I try a Small Blue Lightning Blast, and discover it tastes a bit like licking a nintendo cartridge but in a pleasantly satisfying way.

I go up to pay and realize something is amiss.

The Cashier is a young man staring at me with wide eyes, one had over the register and the other wrapped up in his rosary.

I look down at myself.

In my haste to reunite my friend with her spare keys and service animal, I had left the house in the following accoutrements:

Flip Flops. Not matching. It's below freezing outside. That last part is not particularly odd footwear for the weather in for Colorado, but it's an important detail for the rest of the ensemble.

Assorted scrapes, bruises, cuts and welts on my arms and legs that come with doing outdoor work and living in a house with three dogs and a fully-clawed cat that all want to be in my lap all the time. It's cold out, so vasoconstriction has pulled the blood away from my skin, a trait that served my ancestors well during the last Ice Age, but leaves me with pale skin to contrast the various wounds and I look like a corpse that fell out of the back of a pickup truck.

The black Bootyshorts with "CRYPTID" painted in bright red gothic font across my ass, that @theshitpostcalligrapher gave me for my wedding present.

A peculiar but extremely comfortable garment that straddles the line between "Lacy Camisole" and "Industrial-Strength Sports Bra" like the Ever Given straddling the Suez Canal. It is also Bright Red. with black accents.

The Jacket I had grabbed out of the closet, which is in fact, a black Velour Dinner Jacket.

The Tokyo-Ghoul inspired reusable anti-covid mask a friend made me with the set of Coyote Teeth.

My sunglasses, which are shaped like a Halloween Bat. The lenses are the wings and the body is the nose bridge. It is ALSO bright red.

A Very Large and remarkably Humanoid Poodle that I have been audibly affectionately calling "Dear Creature" who is hanging off my arm like she's my Prom Date.

The Very Large and remarkably Humanoid Poodle is ALSO dressed up in a black Dog Sweater that has white bones printed on it to look like its an X-ray jacket showing off her skeleton.

I look like I am taking my Very Fancy Werewolf Girlfriend to a particularly casual Dinner Party for Vampires, but the thing that's really selling it and probably alarming the kid the most is the fun accessory I acquired in the parking lot not five minutes earlier:

The "Small Scrape At my Hairline" is actually a painless but PROFUSELY bleeding head wound that I had somehow entirely failed to notice covering my face, neck, decolletage and magnificent cleavage with blood like a Tarantino Film Extra.

This does explain why The Creature has been delicately trying to use her bodyweight to push me down onto the floor for the last ten minutes. So I don't injure myself while we wait for the paramedics she hoped this kid called to arrive, you see.

The Creature has such a High and Naive Opinion of humanity.

I decide this social situation is already fucked, and the only way out is through, and with haste, before I start dripping on the floor.

"Hi there!" I say cheerfully, to indicate this is a visually alarming but not terribly serious situation. "Just a Small Slurpee!"

The Cashier has entered the relevant code into the register before I finish the sentence. His gaze flicks off me just long enough to look at the total, and he grips his Rosary harder.

$6.66

"Oh cool! I have exact change!" I say, taking the money out of my as-yet-unsanguined pocket without looking and slap it down on the counter. "You have a good night and be safe out there!" I wave, leaving.

I get in The Van, mortified, buckle The Creature up, and as I make to leave, I have to put it in reverse, which automatically turns on the backup Camera.

It also turns on the music player.

I make eye contact with the cashier as the dulcet tones of John Phillip Sousa boom from the van hard enough to make the windshield and the windows of the 7-11 rattle for the nine-and-a-half seconds I have to wait to be able to turn the volume back down. Not knowing what else to to, I give him a thumbs up, and leave.

Anyway, now I know what my Future Van Wizard has got to be dressed like, and what their familiar is.

---

If you enjoyed this story, please consider donating to my Ko-Fi or Pre-ordering my Family Lore Funny Stories book on Patreon

[dusty-daydreams]

as someone who read the books I feel like the show creators decided to make Lady Whistledown this mean, reputation-ruining person instead of harmless gossiper simply to create drama, because in the books she kinda doesn't really add anything until Penelope's book and even their she is mainly an outlet for Penelope to write her opinions because she is too insecure to share them in public ( which is why when she gives it up after finally growing some confidence is such good moment, she doesn't need Whistledown anymore to say what she thinks). The show made Whistledown way too important and her words have way more consequences while not having Penelope face theses consequences or realize how wrong she is, so she comes off as mean and a jealous person. I thought this season might actually have Penelope realize her wrongdoings and try to make amends ( and it almost seems like they were about to do this in the first episode) but then nothing really seemed to change, in fact I feel like she enjoys her power even more so now, and having her hide her identity from Colin is honestly messed up on so many levels, like girl you are doing the same shit you judge Marina for. Also I have this feeling that she is gonna continue being Whistledown even after this season ends which completely ruins the point of Penelope finding confidence and saying what she feels without hiding behind mask.

I haven’t read the books, but based on what people say Whistledown is like in the books I think that the Show made her a bigger deal to add a gimmick to the show. It wasn’t enough for it to be a sexy historical fantasy romance show, the BBC does about five of those every year, no in order to get Netflix to sign up they needed a twist and that twist was Regency Gossip Girl - they had something like that in the books they just had to up the ante by a lot to make it more dramatic

Which is why I don’t think that they are going to have Penelope give up being Whistledown (even though in order to redeem her character they need to have her give it up and make amends). Lady Whistledown on a show production level is the edge that stops this show from being a kind of poorly written wildly inaccurate historical sex romp that people have seen before.

So they can’t get rid of Whistledown without making the show less interesting.

But all of that executive level let’s make the show more interesting completely screws over Penelope, because she is no longer a shy woman expressing opinions anonymously. Now she is a cruel vicious two-faced villain who strikes without thinking things through, and she can’t truly grow from that position because the show needs Lady Whistledown.

Yet how can we have Penelope have her HEA with Colin like we are contractually obligated to do with these changes? Why by pretending that she hasn’t been doing anything wrong of course!

Which means they heightened her villainy and lowered the consequences to desperately make it seem like what she has been doing is cool actually.

On an in-universe level, it is super messed up that Penelope is now doing the exact same thing Marina did that Penelope punished her so terribly for - entrapping Colin into a marriage under false pretences

But that’s kind of the corner the show painted itself into

Thanks for the ask Anon it was super interesting

[solcorvidae]

Modern Witcher AU: My Headcanons (part 4)

Jaskier’s full legal name is Julian Alfred Pankratz. His parents have called him Jaskier since he was a baby and it stuck. He is their little buttercup to this day. Jaskier will not respond to ‘Julian’ unless it is painfully obvious it’s him who’s being spoken to. Jaskier has never truly been ‘Julian’ but for whatever reason his parents never got his name legally changed. He has lived his whole life as Jaskier despite his paperwork, ID, passport, and medications all having PANKRATZ, Julian Alfred written on them. He will probably never do it himself either, leaving him stuck with a legal name he has never gone by.

Jaskier sizes down his base layer clothes to be slim-fitting and Geralt sizes up. They very easy could share most clothes (both ways) with no issue if they both wore clothes that actually fit how they are supposed to. However, since they don't, they run the risk of having Jaskier's T-shirts becoming stretched out.

Jaskier sticks to stealing Geralt's clothes. Geralt lets him.

Cats loathe Aiden. (Yes, he will be appearing at some point.)

Eskel’s voice carries through walls even when he is speaking quietly. It can be felt more than heard because it emanates so strongly from his chest.

Jaskier can do a scarily accurate impression of Geralt and can easily fool people over the CB radio.

Jaskier was a loud kid. Like the type of kid that will go up to a stranger, basically yell “DO YOU LIKE MY SHOES?” and then start aggressively stomping around in his light-up sketchers.

Jaskier’s family was initially unsure of Geralt when they first met. It only took twenty minutes for his mom and dad to decide they adored him. They think that he is the most polite young man and a pleasure to be around. They spend hours talking (having a friendly and enthusiastic interrogation) with him, asking Geralt a billion questions about himself and his relationship with their son… how they met, what they’ve been up to, where Geralt is from, etc. Geralt is overwhelmed but feels welcomed by the end of the night, no longer feeling the judgement boring into the back of his skull like he did when he’d first arrived.

Jaskier’s mom has plenty of embarrassing scrapbook photos of him throughout his life. Geralt half-jokingly asks to see them and she shows him every single one. Jaskier groans and hides behind his hands the whole time but finds the scene in front of him endearing… so he tolerates it.

Eskel makes tea for people. People he loves, people he’s comforting, his friends, his family, his lover, strangers, people who he’s just meeting for the first time… there’s tea for every occasion.

While Geralt’s creative outlet is painting, Eskel crochets. He makes his friends and family warm clothes to bundle up in during the winter months. He sews a custom made tag into each of his pieces. The tag reads: ‘Handmade with Love by Eskel Bellegarde’

Vesemir has three giant boxes of all the boys’ school work, projects, and art work. He vows to never get rid of any of it.

Vesemir drinks his morning coffee from a mug that is practically illegible at this point but had once upon a time said “World’s Best Dad!” across the front.

Geralt knows how to ride a motorcycle... he just doesn’t have one anymore. He bought a used one for a wicked deal in highschool but sold it for his old pickup when he realized how impractical it was only a few years later. He will probably let his license expire because he can’t be arsed to retake the test.

Geralt walks on his toes. His heels hardly ever touch the ground unless he is wearing supportive shoes. He walks near-silently when donning bare-feet or socks. However, he walks heel-to-toe when he wears his boots. He has custom insoles to prevent knee pain and the shoes really do help his aches and pains... but he can be heard for miles--especially when wearing his favourite cowboy boots. Think: a set of heels on an office building floor.

Lambert gets sympathy pains and feels ill when his loved ones are in pain or sick. This, along with the guilt he feels causes him to isolate and distance himself from them when he is not needed/wanted in the room. He is still very present and loving when he is around (even more than he usually is) but he feels tremendous guilt that leads him to spend far more time in his room/at a friends house than usual.

[Modern AU Headcanon Masterpost]

[pinkpruneclodwolf]

Flourish and Hunt

Summary: Rook simps come get yall juice.

Notes: Yuu has vitiligo in this. Reader is referred to as Yuu and uses he/him pronouns.

To close the distance between goals, from the unattainable to attainable, to outstretched your hand into the sun and slowly grasp at it the golden light that pours forth.

That was what Rook's Unique Magic was.

For he'd always felt that to be human was out of his grasp, that when he saw the various face that people made, how they would gesture and gesture like a game charades—how one could have just a piece of insight through the small tells of one's body and mind through their expressions, the wrinkling of skin and the closeness of brow when the gears would turn in their head, when eyes would flit around in search of something not yet on their tongue—whether it be lie or truth.

Rook had found it fascinating—would imitate the expressions of his sisters and his brothers, would imitate the differences in expressions that were all the same yet moved with a complexity that unmatched by others.

He was drawn to the uniqueness and yet... Found himself hollow. Like a drop in a dried up well, the bones of a bird—hollow even when life flourished around.

He'd been embarrassed about it. Watching the other kids display emotions on their striped sleeves and dirty knees from playing. How they could beam from ear to ear while all he could muster were a few smiles that never truly felt like smiles but rather the practiced moving of lips to convey just an ounce of what he felt.

His family never wondered what was wrong with him, though, never pushed him to be like other kids—because he wasn't— but instead guided him through life and offered him all the outlets he could ever imagine.

And he found acting.

He found tears, found joy, found grief, found the leaping emotions of love and found the sinking feeling of despair—he'd found it, he saw it through the eyes of others, through the faces of people who'd breathe life into characters scrawled onto paper and hidden behind hard, soft, or leather covers.

Rook had saw the unattainable and watched it fall into the palms of his hands at the tender age of eight.

And from then on, he strove for it.

The mighty, the weak, the perilous quest that was beauty in all forms no matter what others saw—from the tacky to the borderline guady, he found love etched into every piece and thus he saw.

To be a hunter is to pursue even if it is wrought in futility.

"Please stop watching me," comes the Prefect's voice from the window, squinting into the dark with a frown. "It's getting very weird."

"Oh, but Trickster, I simply want to see just a glimpse of your life today." Rook had been enamored with the Prefect ever since he showed up, the uproar he caused still talked about even after his accomplishments against the formidable Overblots Rook had heard all about.

Though, what really drew his attention were the patches of skin that contrasted greatly against bronze skin. How they melded together like fabric and draped against his form so fittingly he'd wondered if he was a painting come to life.

"Or..." Yuu trills. "You can just knock on the door like a normal person instead of hanging up in a tree."

Rook can't help the undignified snort that comes from him, for he knows Vil would scold him from Hades and back. He found no discomfort in his perch and he'd half expected the Prefect to shoo him off and go back to helping Grim with Practical Magic, an absurd concept when considering Yuu's magicless status.

"No need to worry about me, I can assure you I am more than comfortable."

"But I'm not and neither is Grim," Yuu leans against the window sill. "He's freaking out so bad his magic keeps shorting out."

Humming at this, Rook rolls the invitation around on his tongue, letting it dissolve before a slow smile curls on his lips.

Yuu was nevrler easy prey, in fact, highly elusive having a golden ticket such as this waved in front of his face, he'd be doing himself— as a hunter—an injustice by ignoring such an opportunity.

"You truly are a Trickster in your own right."

"Is that a yes?"

"Of course," Rook tests the branch to see if it will handle the shift in weight. "However, I'd advise you take a couple steps back."

"You're actually gonna jump in my room!?"

"Why, of course."

"Are you insane?!"

Rook quirks a brow as he watches Yuu take a step back, probably realizing he wasnt going to back down. "For accepting an invitation? I might be."

And in that, he leaps—thankful that the window was generously sized otherwise he wouldn't even have considered jumping. Though, the look of absolute shock and awe on Yuu's face makes his daring taste all the more sweeter.

Stepping in, his eyes rove over the white coverings on easels and stool. "Practicing Runes as well?"

"Runes?"

Rook walks over, picking up a stray chalk—blue, deep blue. "You see, these chalks are specifically made for Rune Writing—very powerful magic drawn from the earth and inscribed onto things." Noting the confusion, he adds, "Almost like Alchemy."

"Oh, well, um..." Yuu glances around the room, more aware of where they've been studying in. "You'll have to ask the ghosts about that, this isn't really... Mine."

Rook takes the covering off the easel—a blank page, perfect—and beckons the boy over, who takes unsteady steps towards him. "You see, Rune Writing was a popular practice about a hundred years ago but fell out of favor when Gems were introduced."

"Why?"

"Better accessibility. Rune Writing and technology either canceled one another out or..." Rook makes an explosion with his hands. "Had disastrous effects as the Earth's innate magic is being called upon and well... Human v. Nature is a prevalent trope, no?"

"Oh..."

"Gems, especially from the Dwarves Mines were considered to be amazing capsules for magic as well as retaining Blot to a minimum."

"So, using the Earth's magic increased Blot because of how powerful it is?"

Rook smiles, "yes, you catch on quick."

"Of course, I do 'm not stupid."

"Never said you were; give me your hand."

"In what? Marriage?"

"Perhaps," Rook teases as he takes Yuu's hand, "I would like to show you how Rune Writing works."

He can feel the shake of Yuu's hand but doesn't comment on it for they aren't won't be evoking earth's magic.

Rook is certain that if Vil gotten his hands on the Prefect he'd make sure the calluses and fading scares that decorate the bronze and ivory patches of skin would disappear, but he found that he didn't mind the stories they told. He might not have had the strongest or the daintiest of hands but they were ones that perfectly fit Yuu, shaky and sweaty and all.

"Done!"

"Wow." Breathless, Yuu watches the traces of magic that course through the runes inscribed on paper.

"Merveilleux , no?"

"I... Yeah."

"Fugnya! What is he doing here!" Grim exclaims, butting into the room. "Why are you two holding hands?!"

Yuu breaks away like a man scorned and Rook settles on putting the chalk away to ignore the lingering warmth. "Grim, what the hell?!"

"I'll be taking my leave then?"

"Shoo! Shoo!"

Yuu whirls on his heel, "uh—sorry—thank you so much."

Rook grins, striding over to the window. "I'll see you very soon, Trickster."

To evoke such spontaneity...

Now that was a power truly worth hunting for.

Taglist: @noir-drabbles @twst-drabbles @edgymoonstone @hiraya-manwari

[smulie]

List 5 facts about a favorite sim of yours, and send this to simblrs whose sims you adore 💛

Thanks for the Ask!!!

5 facts about Arabella:

1. She’s an only child. She’d always wanted siblings and decided that when the time came she’d have a big family so her children would have built in friends.

2. Art has always been an outlet for her. She isn’t big on words but through her art she has the ability to express exactly how she feels. She also doesn’t really like selling her paintings but it pays the bills.

3. She really likes to cook. But something about watching her man make magic in the kitchen is just … *chefs kiss* 😂

4. She once entered a competition to design a company’s logo. And won. It was a year outta HS and truly, it was just for sh*ts & giggles. The company invited her to an event to celebrate the new logo roll out. While there, she met a young hot headed line cook/caterer who would go on to become her husband.

5. She’s low key a purple girly. She may not wear it but almost all her accessories are purple … phone, wallet, water bottle, key chain, etc etc

[piece-of-the-pie-if]

Could I ask a prompt question? If not please just ignore this! I borrowed the bonus word for word from another blog so thank you to that anon lol 🩷

"📚 BOOKS - how were they at school? what is their best subject? what is their worst subject? do they have a favourite subject? BONUS: which clique do they fall under/are they in?"

Much thanks in advance

this was fun to think about, and very relevant!!

+little run down of the teachers and their subjects: professor bhart(history), mr thorp(math stats&trig), mrs halberd(math algebra), professor kiernan (chemistry), mr gigandet(p.e), mrs gigandet(p.e.), miss friek(physics), mr willingham(biology), professor lewis(social studies), mrs okoye(calculus), mr davidson(geometry), miss joubert(languages deutch&french), mr allon(language spanish&latin), mr cosi(languages german), mrs liao(language mandarin chinese), miss elphard(economics), mr dain(civics), mr darren(geography), mrs pollock(psychology) and professor grupnin(i.c.t). there are others too but... this is already long.

+let me know if you guys want to know more about the teaching faculty!

It's safe to say Dylan isn't the best at school, it's not that they don't like school or don't do the work──they just have different priorities that take president over studious things like math and science... Dylan's favourite subject will always be art and it's not just because it's the only subject they excel in──art being a creative outlet for them to channel their feelings into let's them be so laid-back and easygoing with the rest of their life, art is truly an escape and a paradise to them. Their worst subjects usually depend on what exactly is being taught... they're not bad at math but they're not good at algebra or trigonometry... they're not good at history but they know so much about the renaissance era. Their teachers usually affect their focus is class, teachers like Professor Bharti and Mr Willingham make it so engaging Dyl has no choice but the pay attention where as Mr Thorp or Miss Friek are not engaging at all and Dylan has to push themselves not to fall asleep in class!

Shay is kind of a difficult one to place. He's new, completely new to the American school system. Back in England he was fairly average, maybe above average in a few classes, but he's kind of been shoved in at the deep end right now. Technically Shay is overall good at academics, basics like math and the sciences he's got down, the subjective ones like history and english, not so much──he's got to relearn and catch up to a whole different curriculum which is hard! So I think it's a little harsh to call him bad at any subject... it's p.e. it's always been p.e──he's built like a bean sprout, a string bean. There's no stamina in those lungs, there's no muscle in those arms, he'd rather not crack a rib trying to run 100 feet, thank you very much! Shay's favourite subject is actually I.C.T or computing as the Americans call it, he's very good with the digital stuff! (and Professor Grupnin is so cool it's worth the pain of going through stuff he already knows!)

Kinsley is... Above Average. She has to be, her mother expects it. Her lowest scores are never below a C and she's always firmly in the top 10 of each class overall. She excels is civics/government as well as social studies but her favourite class would have to be art too──and not just because Dylan's there with her! Kinsley isn't particularly good at art but she loves painting, like her mother used to... Her worst subjects are actually the ones where communication and group work is essential, like her language class (mandarin chinese), or english and history because of the group work... Kin isn't the best... team player... but she's not a slouch either! It might take a while busy she does her piece, she can't bring (academic) disappointment to her family's name, you know.

In a shaking turn if events, J is actually the best performing in academics of the ROs! It started as a genuine interest is learning when they were young but was twisted into spite as they grew older and was told they would never amount to much by their father. J doesn't skip classes, especially for no reason, but with their reputation everyone thinks they pay nerds or beat up losers to do their assignments for them... J's teachers have never done anything about those rumours because when sitting tests and exams, J's always had some of the highest marks... there's no cheating off of someone who gets less marks than you... J's favourite class is history, full stop. Mainly because they're not interested in civics (government) or fictional stories (english) or fancy numbers they couldn't give less if a shit about. They like history because it's real, but it's also not at the same time, they like the challenge it brings to their mind, in what they believe history is about and if it's right. They also like p.e... mostly the running but they'd never admit it! (their worst class was government, they dropped it as soon as they could. They get enough politics at home to last them a lifetime!)

Theo tries their best at school, but it's a significant challenge when they're dyslexic. They're earnest in their enjoyment of school, as a shocker their best subject is math, specifically Mrs Okoye's calculus (because Theo is also in pre-calc!), because they're good at numbers, the numbers are straightforward and don't give them a headache just to look at. Their worst subject is probably a mix between the language (spanish) they dropped and psychology (which they're thinking of also dropping)... the big scientific words in psychology hurts their eyes and they always confuse terms, and the prospect of even comprehending english is hard enough let alone spanish! Theo's favourite subject... is the music elective with a non-teacher who comes in to... teach every thursday!

BONUS! What clique do they fall under?

Dylan──the popular by opinion clique, put there because of everyone else simply since they're so friendly and easygoing. If Dyl had to name their own clique they'd probably say something like the chill clique... because that's what they are.

Shay──the new person clique... that's to say he's too new to truly be apart of a 'clique'. Shay is quickly swept up by many different people which confused most others as to where he and his 'allegiances' should lie... He talks to both Dylan and MC daily pulling him into both the popular by association clique and the nobodies and nerds (by association) clique but he's also one of the few friendly with J placing him with the rebel kids and smokers club cliques too... maybe he should be part of the chill clique for being such the social butterfly!

Kinsley──the popular by choice and reputation clique and she's on top, at least from everyone else's perspective. She's powerful, as is her family. She's got connections. People aren't sure if they want to be Kinsley, be with her or be out of her sight! Her reputation is covered in ice, as cold as her stare and as unforgiving as her opinion of you... Though perhaps behind the scenes she's not the one pulling the strings and her facade is beginning to thaw.

J──J is a bit of an enigma at school. They're cool and therefore infamous, popular by default... but they're also scary, untouchable in a different Kinsley and Dylan are, unshakable in a different way that Shay is. Truly the embodiment of the rebel kids clique, part of the smokers clique on account that J is a smoker, not that they're friends with 'the smokers'. People tend to stay away from J simply because they don't know how J will react... some brave souls attempt to enter their circle, create a door in their walls but they're all shit down... Somehow Shay is an automatic exception and now MC is suddenly entering the ring too... it puts people on edge and the rumours we'll, they're flying.

Theo──the nobodies and nerds clique. Even though, like Kinsley, Theo's parents are powerful people they're not one for the spotlight. They trip over their words and are too anxious for they own good──they're perfectly fine living under the judgemental radar until they can get through the hellscape that is high school. That being said... being part of the nobodies part of this clique is a blessing... seeing as they don't get nearly as bullies as the losers clique. Theo often ponders if they're not there because of their parents or because they're not nearly enough of a loser to be worthy of the time to be bullied... (Theo ponders if it's because the nobodies and nerds clique are a group of close knit friends instead of lonesome losers... one person is less if a target they suppose.)

[smilerri]

goncharov and the homeric epics

as a classics student I honestly consider this whole goncharov thing to be a kind of breakthrough. for DECADES even CENTURIES people have been debating how the homeric epics were composed orally and I can't help but think that this is it? a community of people encounter a single piece of inspiration, in the case of goncharov a knock off label and in case of homeric society memories of a far-off war, and from it they build something beyond the imagination of any single person. with too much plot to ever fit into a 2 hour movie or two printed books, all communicated by bursts of words, art, and music.

naturally there is the issue that tumblr and the internet as a whole is far more permanent and far-reaching than forms of communication in archaic greece, but I still think that this provides us a feasible answer to the homeric question (that is, who is homer? a single man who composed two epics? a group of people? or is it an abstract term used to help us comprehend a societal phenomenon wherein oral communication and performance has permitted such epics to come into existence? (in case u can't tell I think it's the last one)). tumblr was able to creat goncharov within a matter of days because of the speed and reach if online communication. the odyssey and the iliad, however, we have no specific start and end date for. rather, the period in which they may have been composed stretches from the late 8th to early 7th centuries BCE (Before Common/Current Era) - what's to say it wasn't in the process of composition that entire time? slowly, very slowly, word would have spread from person to person, each adding their own ideas, characters, and themes, until a plot began to emerge, over the course of many, many years. then came the bards, the performers, who pieces together these floating ideas until they had something cohesive, which they then performed at festivals or privately or wherever, and then their audience would add their own ideas - to put in into modern terms, "fanfiction" and "headcanons" would make excellent equivalents.

or maybe the artwork came first. vase paintings, graffiti; anything to act as an outlet to preserve just a few of these ideas that otherwise would disappear as human memory fades. goncharov has an advantage in that way, as posts online are more accessible and, to an extent, immortal, while the spoken word is quick to dissipate and material items are perishable. for as long as tumblr survives (which it's proven itself to be very good at), those fanarts and posts will remain preserved in their original condition.

I'm no expert on all things goncharov but I checked out the masterdoc for the basic plot and one thing that stood out to me was the "debated scenes" section, because that's some thing that always bothered me about the epics. what is translated of homer is mostly drawn from manuscripts dated to around the medieval period, many many years after the epics were supposedly composed - meaning that, as oral tradition began to lose its popularity, the epics were recorded physically, and in doing so lost their flexibility. I have no doubt that there are hundreds, even thousands of different versions of the homeric epics, whether those are complete narratives - like goncharov, with it's "directors cut" and "private screening" versions - or individual scenes and stories that slot into the (arguably shaky) narrative we currently have, just like goncharov. I truly hope that, unlike this, no one tries to permanently tie goncharov down into one "correct" narrative, because what makes this phenomena so great, and what makes the oral tradition so great, is precisely it's flexibility.

there is a beauty in ambiguity, that is only emphasised by our yearning to find the "truth". for homer's epics, that ambiguity has somewhat (not entirely!) been lost as people settled with the narrative we have been given as the "true" version, but for goncharov, which has essentially been plucked from the air rather than dug up from under thousands of years of history, ambiguity is its main allure and the reason it has gained so much popularity - people saw the potential in its ambiguity, picked it up and ran with it. and, all those thousands of years ago, an ancient people very well may have done the same.

I could go on to talk about thematic similarities because it makes me laugh how society continues it's tendency towards homoeroticism to the point that, when a microcosm of a global (though primarily english-speaking) community is given the chance to create an entirely new piece of media with so little prerequisite they immediately saturate it with homoerotic subtext and, in some of the "debated scenes" they just make it fully homosexual which I respect so much you people are geniuses and the ancient greeks would be proud (also the parallels between goncharov and andery and achilles and patroclus are THERE and you bet I'm going to talk about them. just not right now lol). but unfortunately I have many essays to write on this very topic that I have been ignoring! so enjoy this rant I hope it's not entirely unintelligible!!

[meirimerens]

HI BESTIE HI BESSSSTTTIIIEEEEEEE. HELLLOO. Are We Talking About Religion Over Here. Hi.

anyway full agree with your Thoughts about Dankovsky. very interesting to see what saint you picked for my boy over here. i also love the idea that like. Orthodoxy is even very Picky about religious art because of any perceived connection to old Slavic pagan religious art. love the idea of Daniil “Grew Up Staring At The Icon Corner With An Inexplicable Feeling Of Dread” Dankovsky arriving in town and being like. whuh. huh. what do you mean they paint their bodies in beautiful complicated sigils and dance as a religious ceremony. what do you MEAN their tits are out while doing it.

i did my dissertation on orthodox portrayals of Mary so as you can tell im. insufferable. sorry ❤️

^ you get it!

i think his mom specifically is really big into her theotokos frames, she has her favorites (the ones where the shadow painted over the brow makes it look like a unibrow, she would never admit that is because she feels mary looks like her like this, but she does think it).

^ this one for ex. i think she'd love it they so so have the icons corner at home.

it is the catholics who are like almost recklessly horny due to how much emphasis catholicism puts on self-punishment, repentance, self-restraint to unhealthy degree (hence this)

but [most?] christian denomination have like. their fetish for asceticism, self-restraint, self-punishment almost, silence and denigration of the flesh and starvation [...] so i think dankovsky who quickly realized he. wanted None of that. + had Desires beyond what the church allowed (as in. gay) truly quickly felt it Very Hard to navigate an upbringing under these symbols and also this like. hunger. really.

i also think he had a bunch of "❓" moment like what do you mean i'm supposed to kneel under this man's shawl and confess. doesn't god know already. why does this man want to know. [really quickly feels The Sin creeping on [it's not a sin it's just him. being gay]]

tldr... yeah....... in a world that values a sense of satiation (even if you have to lie about it to save face) dankovsky's Hunger quickly felt like a cumbersome animal he couldn't quite tame.

christianity also has the confusing veneration of the flesh (the wounds of christ, the entire body of work around his dessecated, dying body [in the catholic faith]) paired with the denigration of it [asceticism, the covering of the women,...] so dankovsky had to navigate that, While having Desires for the flesh that were not very leviticus 18:22 of him which i think. that alone would have made him atheist. and coming from that and stumbling into 1) a culture in which women waltz and dance and run and prance hair unbound and dresses torn to smithereens with devotional violence, in which the body is adorned with sigils and drawings and is the direct conductor for divinity 2) a. relationship in which touching and being touched feels as close to divinity as he has been able to reach in almost 30 years of being alive i think it feels like putting his fingers in an electrical outlet it does. it does but he loves it and it's good for him.

[findingcrowncity]

Yo if anyone’s out there, it’s been a while, and a lot has changed. Life can really bring you from here to there and back and make you wonder how the hell we even got here. It’s always times like this do i ever come back to “dying” media and air out my mind because I feel like another shift is in the air. I was just reminiscing with my best friend, Ngia, that too bad Myspace was gone and took a lot of our childhood out with it. There were years of art and “life” on that site, just as much as on this site. It’s crazy years ago thinking that was the beginnings of an internet media and we were there for it at the time. Also crazy thinking of all the times spent on AIM has come and gone. And if all that has came up and left, what else will to? What else stays behind? What should we intentionally bookmark to make sure we leave something behind? ----And when it’s all said and done, does it even exist? The internet exists in binary code yet we hold so much weight in our world. It’s truly crazy to wrap my mind around it because we still very much have experiences in this world that doesn’t really exist. So what about the world that does exist? How are our lives right now huh? There are moments in the barbershop where folks just dive into their phones because they’re tuned into that world. Into some digital screen ya know? I’m not baggin on it right now.. But I’m saying it’s truly manifested its presence in our world, you wouldn’t be reading this right now if you weren’t tuned in. This internet world has manifested itself so deeply into our societies that we’re hyper conscious about it. Over stimulated with so much media from all over the world at such a fast pace. Everything really can exist everywhere all at the same time. I’m speaking for myself right here, but I’ve enjoyed my many detours away and trying to grasp on to whatever I have left, here in the real world. After close to a decade away from making any serious art, I ended up taking a life changing shroom trip a year after finishing barber college and unexpectedly got back into art. I also chalked myself up as a has been, and I believed myself to being a barber because I felt like that was the life I chose and I had to let everything else go. Young Rich, there was so much for you to learn. There’s a lifetime’s worth of lessons waiting for you. Coming back into my art forms and finding myself and my identity through it all has been one of the most rewarding experiences of my adult life. But this world of mine, where does it exist? It has always lived in the corner of my old mobile home. It has always lived in my small room where from my corner I’ve always drawn out and painted since I was a kid. It has always lived in this corner of my world, where the music has always played. I’ve went my entire life in this corner and brought it with me to the rest of the world I’ve seen. From constant practice here at my desk for years I’ve always had my art and it was always my outlet. All of a sudden in another world, I have to ask this question right now... IF AN ARTIST PAINTS A MASTERPIECE AND DIDN’T BOTHER TO POST IT, DID IT EXIST? Call me selfish all you want but I would rather horde my art away and keep it to myself than let the other world decide shit for me. I’ve always felt like this world we live in acts like everything has to be commodified and side hustles should be made. This is coming from a hustler, but some things are just more sacred than that and goes deeper than the money. I want to share my art but for my own sake. I want to share my life but my way. I didn’t work on these skills to change the world. I didn’t work on these skills to change yooouurr world. I hate labels and I just want to paint all over them. I felt like sharing my art world with the internet made folks think they knew me or think they knew what I wanted to do with it. It made folks think that I could maybe make something for them, because of course I caaan... but nobody ever asked if I even want to. Talk to someone who actually wants to do that shit. I became even more selfish. I kept things to myself and kept working. It made me feel at home when it’s all mine. Once again, life can bring you from here to there and wonder how the hell we got here... I’m ready to share that world again. This time, more intimately than ever before. I want to create stuff for me, for me soo harrd that if you cared, it would be for you. I don’t want to make any compromises just because of “marketing” or “networking”. I lowkey don’t give a fuck about that. Not being a hater of the world and how this game is played today. I’m just not a promotor of any kind. I’m a creator of all kinds. Let me do my thang, I’ll let the world do its thang and things will pan out the way they do. These past 10 years have been a full cypher around with these experiences and only now do I feel like the Richmond I was always supposed to be is ready to manifest. The Jack of All Trades is ready to Master them All. Shouts out tumblr. Always been the place for me to air this piece out back when I didn’t know shit about how to use my words. I’m thankful for my old lives that got me here. It’s time to bring all these worlds together. Constantly leaving behind old lives and picking up new names. This is the Cutty Flamenko era. It’s time to go out there and build a ship worth seeing the world. SUPER!

[isntthatwrite]

sweetener,

happy birthday, sweetener! love you fr

brief astro moment- midnight chart for sweetener. i could say a lot here but mostly living for the moon jupiter conjunction in scorpio harshly squaring mercury in leo while also trining neptune in pisces. i think everything i'm about to say is a testament to that- expressing pain, sharing feelings hard to process, transmuting/alchemizing, romanticizing, hyperbole. plus libra venus for pretty packaging.

i enter the space first and foremost as a top 0.1% fan of ariana grande (as of 2023, we'll see how i fare this year). i stand here firmly. i also believe that some may say she has some "more influential" albums, some songs might be ""better"" (whatever that may mean), so on and so forth. this isn't the point. this is strictly a love letter to sweetener. not an album review, not lyrical analysis, just from the spirit.

summer 2018. summer of In My Feelings - Drake, Nobody - Mitski, The Middle - Zedd, I Like It - Cardi B/J Balvin, One Kiss - Calvin Harris/Dua Lipa, Make Me Feel - Janelle Monáe etc etc. grounding us all in collective memory. other notables: Meghan and Harry royal wedding, Anthony Bourdain's passing, Aretha Franklin's passing, Black Panther, A Star Is Born, Crazy Rich Asians, netflix Queer Eye reboot, Beychella, i googled an article of 2018 pop culture moments so i am surely forgetting essential lore but we will have to move on

the story truly begins with the release of sweetener's first single "no tears left to cry" on april 20, 2018. hours into taurus season 2018, if anyone was counting. a little about me and where i was on april 20th, 2018.....

finishing the spring semester of my 3rd year of college

preparing to start my 2nd of 3 co-ops (akin to an internship, for the uninitiated) for the 6 months of late summer/fall 2018

feeling an enormous internal pressure to have a substantial creative outlet

Very Very Sad (multiple reasons)

spring 2018 semester, i went a bit rogue with my coursework and i created one mega final project that connected every class i took that had a fairly open-ended final paper/project. i did a geographical, sociological, historical, and political analysis of graffiti vs street art (what's permitted, what belongs to each, styles, criminalization, media representation) in new york city. i explored so many angles and talked about so much material and learned and created on repeat for WEEKS and then april 20th hit and i had to turn everything in in the next few days. it would all be over. peak of my creative agony and i was also engaged in an emotional cold war that would go on to affect me for Years after. i certainly had several tears left to cry. as i had not cried any of them just yet and wouldn't for a while.

while coping with this creative blockage, i turned my attention toward having more agency in my dating life. i was distinctly unhappy with how my romantic affairs had been going, deep in shame and insecurity, and wanted to meet people and figure out what my deal was. i saw a tiktok a few months ago that posited that many of our crushes/situationships are actually people who should've been our creative partners, we just don't always have the language to express this (or even identify ourselves as artists). this framing opened the world to me - not just this statement itself, but drawing this link between flirty/sexual energy and creativity really opened my eyes. i could tell there was a distinct connection. spring/summer of 2018, it was emotional agony, but i was exploring and creating as i could. some painting first dates, always punctuated with "i'm not really an artist but this could be fun!" it was humble, but it was hugely liberating, in its own way.

Other important Sweetener dates:

"The Light Is Coming", ft. Nicki Minaj, was released on June 20, 2018 as promo with pre-orders - released following my yearly emotional cold war of a family vacation (you may be sensing a theme here...... repression....).

"God Is a Woman", the album's second single, released on July 13, 2018 - the end of one of my first weeks of co-op. i was such a professional mess, i had too many managers in that role, lots of personalities to learn, lots of material to learn quickly. outside of work, i was bravely embarking on a new relationship while the emotional cold war was at its peak. multi-layer mess.

the full album was released Friday August 17, 2018 - the week before that year's fall RA training (yearly ego death), i was also moving in to what would be my absolute favorite apartment of college

"Breathin" was the third and final radio single from the album, released on September 18, 2018 (post album release) - right after my philly trip. for some reason, every trip i've ever taken to philadelphia has wounded me on some emotional and physical level. even my 8th grade class trip. philly and i seem to have some sort of spiritual beef. astrocartography hasn't shown me anything relating to philly but i know something must be off. emotional pain so profound and unnamed that i had stomachaches so bad i couldn't stand.

late summer 2018, i was very close to getting a tattoo which would have involved both The Fool tarot card and the Queen of Swords tarot card. spontaneity, new beginnings, and adventure meet logic, balance, and rationality - definitely speaks to the inner conflict i was in at the time. i was on perpetual pursuit of the new and fun while overly worried about presenting fairly and without too much emotion. i knew i was capable of feeling very deeply, but i was pretty shut off to this part of myself. i think i had convinced myself that i was able to do this, but certainly not many people believed it. many witnessed my "subtle" loss of the idgaf war. even the people i only very briefly dated! i think my most common feedback from people i met was that i seemed very disconnected. worth noting that the tarot tattoo i actually ended up getting years later is the death card.

this album and i were moving in such stunning parallel at times and i couldn't even recognize it then. i was so out of touch with myself. to continue on for a bit as an ariana grande historian - there was a lot of pain in her life at this time! her relationships (there is a whole song on this album named after pete davidson), fame, even a bombing at one of her concerts the year prior, all while having to put on a smile and a show for the public. and these are just the things the public knows about! there was a lot going on and she could not slow down and digest (she talks about this in interviews as well, not just my own speculation) and i think this comes out in the music. there is something alchemical to me about sweetener. if i was big into music production, i'm sure i could go into analysis about how she layered so much (sonically) in the songs on this album. or vocal techniques. or who knows. i was so frazzled at the time, i don't think i could've evaluated any of this. the grander theme through the album, however, is this alchemy for the self. through anxiety and relationships and disaster and heartbreak and pain you haven't even fully felt yet, you keep yourself going. listening to this album kept me going! i could not put into words how much it kept me going through the worst of it. now, 6 years later, i make my best attempt to put it into words. journal excerpts below -

there is a sentiment sometimes, that the feelings you feel and cannot express will be enough to kill you. as they say - is it better to speak or to die? and sometimes the speaking kills you too. everyone says what they observe and deduce would be true, but i can never fake a feeling. painfully honest, despite my best wishes to prove myself otherwise, i knew what i knew. and what i knew was so divinely painful because it comforted me with the same familiar gut-wrenching story. sometimes, falling in love and repeating a pattern can be indistinguishable to you in the moment when you are not willing to be vulnerable. you show up, you play your part, you define love in the same way you always had. and it never actually was love. any of those times. it was so easy to induce the agony and call it what you wanted it to be. and it would never make it so. it always felt like lying. like you could tell yourself it was love, but if anyone asked you, you knew it wasn't the truth. love would never do this to me. but telling the truth would be worse! never been in love would be an excruciating defeat. i would know nothing of the world if this were true. i would be a bag of flesh and bones with nothing to give, nothing to tell, nothing to offer. doomed. unknowing. separate. alone. i had to feel like i understood, best case, i had to prove it somehow. work hard and that would make it so. turns out, no matter how hard you work, you cannot create what you won't let yourself feel. so you listen to people you have no doubt in your mind knew about love.

all i wanted was to be swept off my feet. for everyone to know it, too. girl who was and had been in love. wha a romantic title! i would prove my worthiness to writing dramatic lines about the depths of the human heart. anyone could relate to me, because they too had participated in the delicious agony and ecstasy of romantic love. i would be seen and heard and in no way alone. ever forward into time and space as one who was part of the lover's world. the lover's world shouldn't have felt so far. i was anxious, i was avoidant, i was whatever kept me out. and at the end of the day, it all felt the same and i admitted to none of it. if you always ask for something in the place you know it will never exist, at what point do you recognize that you'll have to leave? and if you really wanted it, why wouldn't you go where they actually offered it?

when you use powerful and descriptive words, you'll never have to convince anyone of the depth of your feelings. even though talking about your feelings is certainly not the same as feeling those things. speaking in hyperbole does not excuse your actions and certainly does not make you feel better about your path. but sometimes, it's the only thing you can think of to get you through. to verbalize such a pitiful misery that it becomes a performance and vents off some of the subterranean steam. i do not have to recognize the depths of the pain if i speak incredibly dramatically of my inner world (which i had no contact with at that time) to my audience of zero while listening to the alchemist's album. maybe i could get out. maybe it would be fine and no one needed to worry. maybe all love would be true and mutual and if it was really there, it could never escape me. maybe i could create the world where love was a beautiful fantasy that just happened upon me and swept me up and held me above the surface and i would never come down. the pain and the grief were gone when i spoke their name, and now i was fully enveloped in the world of What Can Be. the world where i love the glamorous merely for being glamorous, i feel what i name, i move with respect for who i am. i am not afraid and i am not forcing anything. if the show is beautiful enough, it will be believable and that will make it true.

at the end of the day, happy birthday sweetener, and thank you for saying and expressing what i couldn't.

[interfree22]

How to Install a Zigbee Light Switch: Step-By-Step Guide

Want to make your house lights truly adjustable via Alexa or Google Assistant? If yes, don't have to replace all of your light bulbs with smart bulbs. Instead, just install Zigbee Light Switches to operate your current outlets. While smart light switch installation isn't that complex, so, you might handle it yourself if you follow these simple steps:

Step 1: Learn About Your Smart Switch Set-Up

To convert an existing light switch to a Zigbee Light Switch, first ascertain the type of set you have, since the type of smart switch you purchase must be compatible. If you only have one switch, you'll need to purchase a "single-gang" setup. Two smart switches may require a two-gang, whereas three switches require a three-gang.

Step 2: See What Type of Wiring You Have

To examine the wiring, you must first turn OFF your main power at the fuse box. Since you do not want to risk getting an electric shock while probing about inside. Next, ensure that you have a non-contact voltage tester. 

Important Note: If you're replacing more than one old fixture, don't assume they're all wired the same. It's fairly usual for each room to have a distinct switch configuration depending on who installed it and when. As a result, these actions must be performed in every room.

Step 3: Be Sure Where You Want To Install Switch

This is quite simple - just unscrew the wall plate and pull it off the wall. If it is stuck, it is most likely due to the paint drying and fusing to the wall. A flathead screwdriver or even a butter knife should do the job.

Step 4: Check the "In," "Out" and "Neutral" Wires

Examine that your existing switch contains the four basic types of wiring required to install a switch. There should be an “Out” wire, an  "in" wire, and a "ground" wire. As well as a "neutral" wire (usually white). 

Step 5: Connect Wire to One From Your Wall

After you've disconnected the cables, simply remove your old switch. And then begin installing the smart light switch. It's really straightforward; simply connect the "in" wire to the "in" wire, the "out" wire to the "out" wire, and so on. 

Step 6: Power On & Test The Wire

At this point, you may turn on the electricity at the breaker box to test your new switch. If it turns on, you're good to go, but if not...

Step 7: Switch ON The Power At Breaker Box

If the new Zigbee Light Switch does not turn on, return to the breaker box and turn off the electricity before tampering with the wiring. You want to make sure they're all properly secured. If the smart light switch does not function, one of the cables is likely to be lost. 

One tip: even if the wall box is small, don't cram all of the cables inside. Make sure they are carefully positioned since they can quickly become dislodged if not ordered properly.

Step 8: Screw The Zigbee Light Switch

Once all of the wires have been connected and the smart light switch installation has gone smoothly, you may either snap or screw the light switch plate to the wall, depending on the type. You're almost completed!

Step 9: Connect With Internet.

The hardest part is over! Now all you have to do to get the most out of your new smart lighting system is complete installing your wifi light switch. This should be rather simple. The smart switch you purchased should come with an app that you can download to your preferred device. After you've downloaded the app, connecting it to your WiFi should be rather simple.

Step 10: Use the App To Remotely Control

At this point, you are free to connect your Zigbee Light Switch to the smart hub you're using. So that it can be managed by Google Home or Alexa. Plus, you may use all of the functions included with your smart switch!

[hcmhp]

What are the latest trends in karaoke in Ho Chi Minh City?

Karaoke has been a popular pastime in Ho Chi Minh City for decades, but it is constantly evolving to suit residents' tastes and preferences.

The city's KTV scene features cutting-edge technology and unique venue concepts, ensuring an exciting and dynamic experience for residents.

Hi-Tech Wonder

One of the most notable trends in 호치민 가라오케 scene is the integration of cutting-edge technology into the experience.

Many modern KTV venues adopt state-of-the-art audio and video systems to deliver crystal-clear sound and stunning visuals that transport singers to their own concert stage.

Some venues have also introduced interactive features such as virtual reality experiences and motion-sensitive karaoke, adding immersion and novelty to the traditional karaoke experience.

Culinary Delights

Speaking of novelties, themed karaoke venues are becoming increasingly popular in Ho Chi Minh City. From retro-inspired spaces that take you back in time to whimsical, fantasy-themed rooms that look like they've jumped out of a storybook.

These one-of-a-kind venues are for those looking for a truly unique karaoke adventure. Whether you're a fan of vintage vibes or want to feel like a rock star in a futuristic setting, there's a Ho Chi Minh KTV venue in the city that will tickle your fancy.

Private Party Prowess

Gone are the days when cuckoo karaoke was just for singing. In Ho Chi Minh City, many KTV venues have enhanced the experience by offering delicious dining options right inside the venue.

From sumptuous buffets to curated menus with local and international dishes, foodies can now indulge in mouth-watering delights while unleashing their inner singing senses.

It's the perfect combination for those who love to sing and eat their hearts out.

Private Party Skills

For those looking for a more intimate and exclusive karaoke experience, private party rooms have become a hot commodity in Ho Chi Minh City.

These luxurious spaces offer a cosy and secluded atmosphere where you and your closest friends or colleagues can sing to your heart's content without worrying about prying eyes or ears.

Many of these private party rooms are equipped with top-notch amenities, personalised service, and bespoke decor to make your karaoke night truly special.

Unleash Your Creativity

In a city that thrives on artistic expression, it's no surprise that karaoke venues in Ho Chi Minh City have become a canvas for creative souls.

From open mic nights that encourage aspiring musicians and poets to showcase their talents, to karaoke-themed art exhibitions and live painting sessions, the city's KTV scene has embraced the arts in a big way.

These creative outlets not only add a unique twist to the traditional karaoke experience, but also foster a sense of community and self-expression among customers.

The Bottom Line

Whether you're a seasoned karaoke enthusiast or a newcomer to the scene, Ho Chi Minh City's ever-evolving KTV landscape offers something for everyone. From high-tech wonders to themed extravaganzas, delicious cuisine, private parties, and creative outlets, the city's karaoke scene is a true testament to its vibrant and innovative spirit.

So grab your friends, loosen up your vocal cords and get ready to experience the best and latest that Ho Chi Minh City's karaoke scene has to offer. And if you're looking for the ultimate KTV adventure, be sure to check out Ho Chi Minh Hot Place, your one-stop destination for the city's best karaoke venues and experiences in one place.

[ravenspeakrp]

Welcome to Raven’s Peak, Erin, we’re excited to have you! Kara Sykes (Chyler Leigh, werewolf) has been accepted. Please be sure to stop by the CHECKLIST for the follow list, tags to track, and other reminders.

IN CHARACTER 

FULL NAME: Kara Sykes SPECIES:WitchWerewolf (bitten) AGE: 38 DATE OF BIRTH: August 24th GENDER IDENTITY: ciswoman, she/her NEIGHBORHOOD: Downtown OCCUPATION: Detective WORKPLACE: Raven’s Peak sheriff’s department POSITIVE TRAITS: spontaneous, free spirited, determined NEGATIVE TRAITS: head strong, quirky, loquacious LENGTH OF TIME IN RAVEN’S PEAK: A decade FACE CLAIM: Chyler Leigh 

BIOGRAPHY

TRIGGER WARNING: violence mention

Even from a young age Kara knew that she didn’t quite fit in with the rest of her kind. While her siblings were all ritualistically practicing their magic alongside the coven from the time they could walk, Kara was more fascinated with finger paints and coloring. Instead of following in her parent’s footsteps and using her magic for the betterment of the coven she preferred to prank her siblings or get things to go her way with a bit of persuasion. She was made of pent up energy, a constant moving target that couldn’t keep all of her things straight or show up on time, while everyone else in her coven were calm, collected, and punctual.

Her parents always stressed to her that she needed to get back in line, to join the rest of the coven and hone her witchcraft. She was blessed with powers other humans didn’t have, she should use them to benefit the family, to make an impression, to make something of herself. Her coven always had a ‘too good for you’ type of attitude towards the outside world; they gave off an air of ‘better than’. Better than mere humans, better than the blood suckers, better than the silly dogs. Better than the other covens, even, because they stood united and strong. They were not separate entities, but one whole. They didn’t support creativity, didn’t support being your own person, and it was stifling to Kara. She simply wasn’t one of them.

She decided she wanted to make a name for herself - be it helping people with the powers she been blessed with or finding another outlet for her constant pent up energy. She enrolled in a criminal justice program on a whim - and found a new way to flex her creativity and make use of her skills to not only benefit herself, but maybe even her entire community. Community being - not just the stuck up family that wanted her to fit in their perfect little box. It was upon her siblings’ encouragement that she broke free from her family, and her coven, and started searching for a new beginning. They could tell that Kara was a puzzle piece that just didn’t fit quite the way everyone around her wanted her to.

She finished her schooling, earned her degree in criminal justice, and started training as a detective. While the work was tough and seemed to be never ending, it proved to be an outlet for Kara’s high energy personality and determination. But there was a constant feeling of something always missing, like a tickle in the back of the mind. It wasn’t so much that she missed her coven, per say; just more that connection with people. People like her. She had plenty of friends from the police department, from school, from the ‘real world’ so to speak. But they didn’t quite fill that void she’d made when she left her family behind.

She caught wind of Raven’s Peak and it’s status as ‘supernatural safe haven’ and followed the tip right to its front door, thinking maybe finding her place among people like herself might make the difference. She met a whole slew of different supernatural beings - vampires, werewolves, and witches alike; and felt more welcomed among her kind than she ever had growing up. With some hesitance she joined a coven that at least seemed far more relaxed than her family’s, and for a while she truly felt that she belonged and was whole again.

For years she lived in relative peace alongside vampires and werewolves and she had no problem with them as species in general - in fact, her friend and partner was a werewolf himself. She knew better to be out at night on a full moon, particularly on her own trekking through the woods. But there had been a tip at the station that needed tending to and her partner was…otherwise occupied, so it was up to her to check it out.

Her memories of that night are foggy at best, but the most distinct fragments that still haunt her worst nightmares are those bright eyes and the agony of teeth sinking into flesh. A part of her wanted to believe it would all be okay, that everything would just go back to normal and that it was just some crazy fever dream as she fell ill for a few days. When she came back to herself what felt like a handful of days later with the bite seemingly magically healed, she was hopeful. But it was hard to ignore the lack of magic that used to thrum through her system, instead replaced with louder sounds and brighter lights and heavier smells. Even though a part of her recognized what all of this meant, it wasn’t until a couple weeks later - the next full moon just around the corner, that she really let it sink in. She couldn’t do this on her own. She was scared…and she needed help. So she turned to the people she had met along the way, the ones who would know how to manage what she was going through and more.

Since that day, Kara has worked through the transition into life as a werewolf and, frankly, is mostly thankful for it. It feels freeing, in a way; like now more than ever she’s finally the person she was meant to be.

EXTRAS

FILLING CONNECTION: No INSPIRATIONS: pinterest

[thebandcampdiaries]

An interview with Joel from St Eriks Street: Keep reading to learn more!

1) Congrats on this amazing new release! How did you develop this unique musical vision, and what inspired you to blur the lines between genres in your compositions?

Thank you so much for the kind words! The vision for "Imagination Invasion" came from a fusion of my long-standing love for electronic music and a desire to explore new, untapped emotional landscapes through instrumental compositions.

From an early age, I was fascinated by the power of electronica to evoke complex emotions without the need for lyrics. The genre's inherent flexibility allowed me to experiment with a wide range of sounds, from ethereal synthesizers to pounding drums. Over the years, I found myself drawn to a variety of other genres as well—classical for its emotional depth, rock for its raw energy, and jazz for its improvisational freedom.

The idea to blur the lines between genres emerged naturally as I began composing. I realized that genres are essentially boundaries, and sometimes those boundaries can limit creativity. In this album, I aimed to move beyond those confines to create a sonic experience that isn't easy to label but is emotionally resonant. Each track is like a new world, built from the ground up, borrowing elements from different genres to create something fresh and unprecedented.

The name "Imagination Invasion" is itself an invitation—to let your imagination take over, to break free from the expectations of what music 'should' be, and to embrace the full emotional spectrum that music can offer.

So, in essence, this album is my attempt to break down walls and encourage listeners to open their minds to new sonic possibilities. It's been a labor of love, and I'm thrilled to finally share it with the world.

2) Could you tell us about your creative process in crafting such immersive sonic landscapes, particularly your use of synthesizers on the album?

Absolutely, I'd be thrilled to delve into that! Crafting immersive sonic landscapes is something akin to painting, but instead of colors and shapes, I'm using frequencies and rhythms.

My love for synthesizers plays a critical role in this endeavor. They're more than just instruments to me; they're like sonic paintbrushes that can create a broad spectrum of textures and moods. Modern synthesizers offer an incredible range of possibilities—from mimicking the natural world with sounds like rainfall or bird calls to generating entirely alien, unidentifiable timbres.

When I start building a track, it often begins with a single sound or loop that captures my imagination. It could be a rich pad, a striking lead sound, or even just an intriguing rhythmic pattern. From there, I construct layers, each one adding depth and complexity to the composition. I like to think of it as sculpting with sound; each layer chips away at the block of silence, revealing the form within.

But synthesizers are just part of the equation. To make the sonic landscape truly immersive, I also employ various techniques like spatial audio effects, dynamic panning, and intricate automation curves. These help give the music a three-dimensional quality, like you're not just listening to a track but stepping into a new world.

Ultimately, my aim is to create music that not only engages the ears but also envelops the listener, inviting them to explore, feel, and contemplate. It's an intimate process, and one that I find endlessly rewarding.

3) How did your broad range of creative interests influence the production of "Imagination Invasion”?

My broad range of creative interests has been invaluable in shaping the unique texture and tone of "Imagination Invasion." While music is my primary outlet, I'm also deeply interested in various other forms of art and expression, such as visual arts, literature, and even science fiction.

These interests work synergistically to inform my music. For example, my love for visual arts like painting and sculpture influences how I visualize music. I often approach each track as a blank canvas, where each synth pattern, beat, or melody is like a brushstroke that contributes to a larger auditory painting. Similarly, concepts from science fiction such as alternate realities or futuristic landscapes often inform the narrative arc of a track or the album as a whole.

Literature plays a role as well. The emotive power of well-crafted words has always fascinated me, and I strive to achieve that same level of emotional nuance and complexity in my music. Each track aims to tell a story or convey a mood, much like a chapter in a novel. This narrative approach often influences the structure of the tracks, encouraging me to deviate from conventional song structures to better serve the 'story' I'm aiming to tell.

Even my interest in science and technology has a role. I love staying updated on the latest advancements in audio engineering and sound design, which allows me to take advantage of new techniques and technologies that can add a distinctive touch to my music.

In essence, all these varied interests coalesce to create a multidimensional approach to music production. They enrich my understanding of what's possible, inspiring me to push the boundaries and create something that is not only sonically engaging but also emotionally and intellectually stimulating. By blending these different facets of creativity, "Imagination Invasion" becomes a project that is richer and more complex than it would be if influenced by musical inspiration alone.

4) The album features a variety of tracks, each with its own distinct vibe and atmosphere. Was it challenging to create a set list that felt right for the album track order?

Absolutely, curating the right track order for "Imagination Invasion" was both a challenging and rewarding experience. Given that each track has its own unique vibe and atmosphere, finding a sequence that offers a balanced listening journey required considerable thought.

I approached this challenge much like a film director might approach editing scenes in a movie. The pacing, the emotional highs and lows, and the thematic connections between tracks—all of these elements had to be weighed carefully. Just like in storytelling, you want to open strong to capture attention but also save some of your most impactful material for key moments throughout the album.

I experimented with multiple track sequences, listening to each one from start to finish, gauging how well the tracks flowed into one another. I wanted to create a sense of progression, an evolving soundscape that would take listeners on an emotional and sonic journey. Some tracks naturally fit together, sharing similar tempos or complementary emotional tones, while others provided the necessary contrast to keep the listening experience dynamic.

Another factor I considered was the narrative arc of the album. While "Imagination Invasion" is an instrumental project, I still aimed to create a storyline or thematic progression through the sequence of tracks. For instance, the album opens with "Memories of School," a beatless track that sets the stage for the listener's journey of nostalgia and getting in the mindset of thinking about childhood, and concludes with “Memories of School – Reprise” which offers a sense of resolution and reflection by essentially being the same song but slightly longer and it has new melodies. I really liked the idea of starting and ending the album with those two songs, because the idea was to have the album be about the concept of memories.

It was almost like assembling a puzzle; each piece had its own intrinsic value but needed to fit seamlessly within the broader picture. In the end, I believe the track order we settled on does justice to the individual songs while creating a cohesive, engaging whole. And I hope that listeners will appreciate the thought and care that went into crafting not just each track, but the album as a whole.

5) The album takes listeners on a sonic journey that feels both familiar and fresh. Could you discuss how you manage to maintain a cohesive musical narrative while experimenting with such diverse sounds?

Creating a cohesive musical narrative while also delving into diverse sonic terrains was one of the most exciting challenges in crafting "Imagination Invasion." At the core of this balance is a commitment to emotional honesty and thematic consistency, even as I ventured into new musical realms.

Firstly, I always had a core set of musical and thematic elements that serve as the "spine" of the album. These could be certain recurring chord progressions, rhythmic elements, or synth timbres that make appearances throughout the album. Even when branching into wildly different styles or moods, these unifying elements serve as touchstones that remind the listener of the album's central ethos.

For instance, the main synth motif introduced in the opening track, "Memories of School," makes its reprise at the end of the album, to create a sense of unity, familiarity, and ultimately closure – like closing the chapter of this book of songs that I created.

Secondly, I paid close attention to emotional flow. While each track explores different vibes and atmospheres—from the uplifting crescendos in "Recess" to the introspective moments in "Falling Leaves"—there's an emotional thread that ties them all together. I aimed for the album to reflect the complexity of human emotions: joy, sorrow, excitement, contemplation, and so on, but in a way that feels like a single, unified journey.

Lastly, despite the diversity of sounds and styles, I maintained a consistent approach to production and sound design. The same "sonic palette" was used throughout, even if the individual "colors" were mixed in different ways. This ensures that even when a track ventures into new territory, it still feels like a part of the same world. For example, I used the same electronic drum kit on several of the songs, in order to maintain a consistent feel throughout.

Maintaining a cohesive narrative amid such diversity is like walking a tightrope. It requires a deep understanding of both the individual elements and the larger structure they inhabit. But when done successfully, it allows for an album that is both diverse and unified, taking listeners on a journey that is at once familiar and refreshingly new.

6) Do you have any plans for future releases or tours?

I do! I have two new singles slated for release in September and October of this year. I’m not sure if I’ll be creating a new album any time soon. “Imagination Invasion” is my 7th album that I’ve released as an independent artist, and it really took a lot of time and effort to put it all together. I’m taking some time to “reset” my creative side and to focus on other things for a while and to gain more inspiration for what the next album will be about. I’m sure there will be a new album released at some point in 2024 😊.