#so I’ll have to reblog and then @ most likely

[kryptonitejelly]

art donaldson x childhood friend reader who he hasn’t seen in a long time (whose had a crazy glow up) visits him at stanford at the same time as patrick and patrick starts hitting on her (him and tashi are in an open relationship) and art gets jealous.

(maybe she tells patrick she knows he’s in a relationship and he tells her tashi wouldn’t mind and she would probably be down to join idk)

art donaldson x reader // challengers // fluff; happy ending

a/n: i did not hit the prompt on the head 100%, but i’m not mad at it. this ended up turning into a monster i had no control off and ended up being alot longer than i expected (i haven’t done a word count, and did not mean for it to spiral into this but i enjoyed writing this very much). i am an art donaldson defender and this is my way of giving him everything he deserves (i hope you guys can see what i subtly tried to do in places - please leave comments/reblog if you see them, it would mean the world). also i typed this entirely on my phone without proofreading - you’ve been warned.

edit - as a disclaimer, i do not purport to comment on the victim/villain/any dynamic in the challengers universe. this space is purely for delusional thoughts and fiction only (see also)

-

Good luck.

Art shoots the text off to you before taking a swig out of cup of diet coke he has in hand. He leans forward, his forearms on his knees, teeth crunching on ice cubes as lets his gaze sweep across the court in front of him. It is devoid of players but already has the umpire and linesmen ready and waiting.

You’ll buy dinner if I win?

Art doesn’t expect to get a text back, so he checks his phone absently, but his face breaks into a tiny grin as he sees your reply. Most other players would have been hyper focused in the moments before a match but you, in the breezy light hearted way you always were, still had it in you to joke around.

Yes, but if you lose…

Art sends his response, the tiny grin still on his face.

I’ll feed you.

Your reply is fast and it makes art shake his head lightly a quiet chuckle dropping from his lips. He is just about to type another reply but is interrupted by the loud cheers that erupt from around him. Art looks up from his phone to see Anna Davies walk out on court in the same colour red as he had on. He claps politely with the rest of the men’s team who he was sitting amongst in the stands, in a show of support.

Art catches sight of Tashi and Patrick, both perched a few rows down from him with the rest of the women’s team both clapping and hollering in support. He notices the turn of Patrick’s head, no doubt to check in on Art but he doesn’t tilt his head or smile back in acknowledgement as he usually would - he is far too distracted by you.

Art can feel his jaw slacken slightly as you walk on court. He knows what you look like, but you in the flesh - Art thinks you are breathtaking. Your top is in a shade of your college’s colour, paired with a white tennis skirt that shows off a pair of toned, long legs. He catches a glint of metal just above your ankle, and he finds himself squinting in a feeble attempt to make out the look of the ankle bracelet that you have on. Art moves his gaze your face, taking in what he can see from his perch on the stands as you walk out towards your designated bench on the court, bright neon green bottle in hand, your tennis bag slung on a shoulder.

You had been close back home for most of your childhood and more formative teen years, and the both had kept in touch since he left for Stanford and you to your own school of choice, but too infrequently - the occasional text, more frequent reaction or comment on each other’s social media and the small conversations that spiralled from those interactions - like two planets orbiting in the same solar system, but not close enough. Life had overtaken, the excitement of moving your separate ways to a new environment, of college - tennis, academics, people, parties, it had overwhelmed you both, individually and together - made you just about forget that you had each other.

Art is transfixed. You are, lithe, glowing and with a hop in your step - Art finds himself questioning why he had never made more effort to keep you closer since you had both gone on your separate paths. He watches as you settle your bag on the bench, turning your gaze to the stands, eyes narrowing from the glare of the sun as you search the stands, only for your gaze to fix on his. Art sees you smile, lips turning up as you wink directly at him. It makes a series of heads turn to look back at him - your fellow team mates, the small group of supporters from your college who had come along, and the Stanford women’s team plus Patrick, half curious, half puzzled. Art can only raise a hand beside his chest in greeting as he remembers to breathe, letting the air he had been holding in his chest out.

He sees turn away while reaching for your phone which you had wedged in between the band of your tennis skirt and skin. Your fingers flying over the keypad briefly before you toss the phone into your tennis bag, hand fishing out your racket. Art feels his phone buzz in his hand and he looks down at the text that had come through.

Stanford still hasn’t taught you the right way to wear a cap huh.

Your text, a reference to his penchant for securing his cap on backwards, makes Art laugh, out loud, the sudden sound causing his team mates to crane their necks in attempt to look at his phone. Art swats them away as he refocuses his attention back on you, watching as you do a few hops, shifting your body weight from side to side before walking to your position on court, racket in hand. You lose the coin toss, and Anna choose to serve and yet your demeanour is one of ease, something Art can’t help but think is so stark in contrast to Tashi before a match. You aren’t smiling anymore, and yet in an unexplainable fashion, Art can feel you smiling as you bend to ready position, your hands flipping the handle of the racket around, poised to receive. He sees Anna toss the ball, her back arching, hand shooting up, before she connects her serve, and he watches you receive it with ease, your body moving in a smooth motion as you hit it back. Your strokes have their own weight and intention behind them, they are careful, thought out - but what surprises Art is he sees little calculation behind each. Instead, he watches as you let yourself feel each shot, as you let your instinct take control with each step. Art sees himself moving pieces of chess across the court when he watches replays of his game, but with your game, - Art manages to see colour, life, ease. He sees something he hasn’t seen in his tennis since he had last played with you, Art sees fun.

-

The match isn’t long drawn out, you win - effortless, just as each of your strokes and movement are. It frustrates Anna, as is evident from the increasing number of unforced errors she makes on her art which leads to her swearing loudly as she easily hit the last heavy, driving it quick and to the opposite corner of the court from where she is positioned. Art finds himself clapping enthusiastically along with the crowd as the umpire calls the game.

-

“You never told me you had such good looking friends,” Art feels an arm sling itself around his neck, pulling him close as he stands outside the court, waiting for you to finish your match debrief with the rest of the team.

“Shouldn’t you be with Tashi?” Art questions as he tugs himself out and under, away from Patrick’s hold. His eyes remain focused on the door of the tennis court, waiting for you to emerge.

“Some strategy meeting,” Patrick offers as explanation, “refocusing or something like that.”

Art starts to say something in response only to be stopped by the view of you walking out from the courts. You both lock eyes, not too similar from how you had with you on the court and him on the stand. Art thinks that your smile is more brilliant up close.

Neither of you say a word, as you walk up to him, hands reaching up to tug his cap off his head only for you to pop it promptly on your own head, the right way around.

“The right way,” you say in greeting, pointing towards his cap which is now sitting on your head, the Stanford red a confusing contrast to your your top, now a loose fitting tshirt in your college colours, as Art chuckles while running a hand through his hair, attempting to shake out any flatness.

“The red looks good on you.”

“Perhaps I should transfer.”

“Didn’t peg you for a traitor,” Art teases which makes you laugh.

“Do I get a hug,” you ask, both of you oblivious to Patrick who is just watching.

“C’mere,” Art says, his words inviting, but just almost slightly shy as he opens his arms to you. You step into his embrace, arms slipping around his body as Art brings his arms around your shoulders, hands bumping into the tennis bag you have on your shoulders. His embrace is familiar, and you let yourself relax into his hold.

“Could I get a hug?” you hear a different male voice chime in and you pull away to look curiously at the brunette who is standing just beside you both.

“Fuck off Patrick,” you hear Art say with no bite, but notice as he steps just that one inch in front of you in an attempt to place himself as some sort of barrier between you and the brunette.

“Patrick Zweig,” the boy says, ignoring Art as he proffers a hand to you which you shake to be polite while introducing yourself.

“Do you go to Stanford as well?” You take in his attire of jeans and a white tee, the lack of red - you would guess not but it didn’t hurt to ask.

“I’m just visiting,” he says, “I’m actually playing on tour.”

“Losing on tour,” Art corrects.

“Your tennis is insane,” Patrick comments, ignoring Art, “when will I see you on tour?”

“I don’t intend on turning pro,” you respond with the flash of a smile.

“Why?” Patrick continues the conversation, now slightly befuddled, “you’re a natural.”

You shrug with a laugh, not answering and simply brushing off his question.

“Why don’t I take you to dinner and you can tell me why.” Patrick’s statement makes Art roll his eyes.

“Aren’t you taking your girlfriend our for dinner?” Art chips to which Patrick simply shrugs not phased in the slightest and answers with a no.

“Thanks, but I already have a dinner to cash in on,” you offer Patrick a smile, before glancing at Art.

“I’m sure Art wo-”

“Nope, fuck off Patrick,” is what Art says again, not even giving the other man a chance to finish his sentence. It makes you laugh, but you follow as Art grabs your hand, tugging you off in a direction away from Patrick.

“It was nice meeting you Patrick,” you call out, turning your head towards him giving him a wave with your free hand, “good luck on the tour!”

You walk for a minute or two more until the tennis courts are out of range before Art stops. He lets go off your hand, but reaches instead to grasp the top of the tennis bag on your shoulder. You raise a brow questioningly only to have him tug again with a slight tilt of his head. You relinquish the bag to him and he hoists it on his shoulder instead.

“What a gentleman,” you joke, but with a smile on your face.

Art does a mock bow with a flourish of his hand which makes you laugh with a shake of your head.

“Your chariot awaits my lady,” he extends a hand to you, waist still tilted in a bow, but his head up and looking at you.

“Lead the way,” you place your hand on top of his again.

“My car is that way,” he says jerking a thumb towards his right as he intertwines his fingers with yours. Its the second time in the day where he’s holding onto your hand but you don’t think too much of it and neither does Art. It feels right, comforting, familiar and like it’s supposed to be - and you go with it.

-

“Sorry about Patrick,” Art says as he fiddles with the paper casing of the straw. You are both sitting in a booth, plates cleared, your drinks left in front of you. Art is leaning back but being across him you can feel his knees knocking into yours. Dinner had gone by way too fast for Art’s liking. There had been both plenty to catch up on, as well as new information to learn and yet - it had felt like no time had passed between you both.

“He’s a bit of an ass isn’t he,” you say as you lean back, a mirror of Art. Your comment elicits a bark of laughter from him.

“Girls don’t usually say that about him.”

“What do they say?”

“Well not say, but they usually fall at his feet or into his bed,”

“No,” it makes you crinkle your nose while you shake your head.

“His girlfriend Tashi,” Art says, fingers still fiddling with the wrapper, “we played tennis for her number, she chose him.” Art said referencing the tennis match between him and Patrick. His sentence is blunt, to the point, and yet manages to be vulnerable at the same time. Art surprises himself as the words slip out from his lips so easily but it feels easy to tell you, safe to let himself be vulnerable, fine to let you view him for who he truly is.

You both sit in silence for a beat or two, the only sound between you both being the rustle of paper in Art’s fingers.

“Well,” you begin, “if she made you play for her number, maybe its for the better you didn’t win.”

Art’s fingers give pause and he looks up at you. His expression is unreadable, but you don’t feel like you’ve said anything wrong - just the obvious.

“I guess you are right,” he says after a few seconds of silence, before raising his head to look at you. There is a small smile on his face that you can’t quite place.

“When have I been wrong Donaldson?” You challenge in jest as you lift a leg under the table to jostle one of his lightly. Art leans forward, managing to capture one of your legs, your calf in the warmth of his palm.

“You really want me to start?” Art questions as you wriggle your leg in attempt to get away but no no avail.

“No.”

“Let’s see, the time we were six and you thought that the way to get strawberry milk was to dump pink food colouring in normal milk.”

“Stop,” you protest, but with a laugh on your lips.

“Or the time we were ten and you were convinced that the park we passed by on the way home from school was haunted and we had to sprint past that stretch of sidewalk for 3 whole months.”

“It was creepy!”

“How could we forget the one time we were thirteen and you thought that the way babies were made wa-”

“Arthur Donaldson,” you protest, managing to wrestle your leg out of his grasp which has grown looser with each anecdote. It allows you to set your foot on the ground, body shooting up to lean across the table, your palm coming to cover Art’s mouth to prevent him from announcing any further recollections from your youth.

You can feel his breath hot against the palm of your hand as his muffled laugher fills the space of your booth.

“Art,” you huff, relinquishing his full name for his nickname again. You move to drop your hand from his face, but Art catches a hold of your wrist. You sit back down, butt hitting the seat again, but with your hand still stretched across the table, wrist still loosely wrapped in one Art Donaldson’s hand. His shoulders are still shaking, now with a silent laughter.

“Art,” you try again.

“I’m sorry, it’s just so funny,” Art exhales, trying to collect himself as best as he can. He doesn’t remember the last time he laughed like this, freely and with such reckless abandon over something so innocent.

“Your dedicated court jester, always here to serve,” you mock with a roll of your eyes.

“You’ve been derelict in your duties,” Art says, now calm, but his eyes still twinkling under a mop of strawberry blonde hair. He keeps his tone light but what he really means to say is that it has been too long. You chuckle, not really having an answer for him.

“It’s been a while,” you finally admit, both your hands now resting on the table between you, you wrist now lying upturned in Art’s open palm. You had always been close

“It has, hasn’t it,” it isn’t really a question. Art has missed you - something he hasn’t realised until today. He had let himself be distracted by the complex, focused toxicity that was tennis, Patrick and Tashi, letting himself get sucked into the whirlpool, that he had forgotten to hold on to the things that grounded him.

“Maybe we should change that.”

“We should change that,” Art corrects you and you can feel the tips of your ears burning, and the skin across your cheek bones tingling for some reason.

-

You aren’t quite sure how ended up here, but one thing had lead to another as you both made your way out of the restaurant and back to Art’s car, and the next thing you knew you were heading back to his dorm to watch reruns of Buffy the Vampire Slayer for some reason.

“How do you not find her hot?” You ask again for the tenth time as you both focus on the screen of Art’s laptop which is perched half on his thigh and half on yours. You are both sitting on his bed, shoulder to shoulder, both of your heads damp from (separate) showers in Art’s ensuite, and you smelling quite like him from having used his toiletries and borrowing a short and shirt set, both of which which were a baggy fit for you.

“I don’t know, I just don’t.”

“You’re rubbish Donaldson,” you snort, nudging your elbow lightly into his ribs with a simultaneous yawn.

“Tired?” Art asks, as you stifle another yawn.

“Yeah,” you accept, seeing little point in trying to hide it. You had after all, played a match today.

“I should really get back to the hotel,” you mumble, the back of your head leaning against the wall beside Art’s bed, eyes closing.

“You could just stay here,” there is a hint of hesitation in his voice because he isn’t sure if you’ll stay.

“Here?”

“My bed’s a double,” Art shrugs, “it would also be quicker for you to get to the matches tomorrow.” You aren’t playing but Art knows you would be expected to show up as a supporter for the series of matches between your two schools that continued tomorrow.

“Are you sure?” You don’t mind, after all - it’s Art, the boy you had known growing up, shared milkshakes and apple slices with after school, but you wanted to be sure he was truly fine with it.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Art moves to shit his laptop, lifting himself to bend over the edge of the bed to place the laptop on the floor, “you can take the inside.”

He flops down on the outside of the bed that is further from the wall too easily, his right hand going behind his head. Him moving forces you to move in tandem as you flop down on Art’s left, legs scrambling under the covers which Art has somehow managed to worm his way under in the flurry of movement.

Art reaches a hand over, his arm extending over you in the process to hit the light switch that he has beside his bed. It plunges you both into darkness, the only light the faint glow from the street lamps creeping in from below his curtains, and the glow of his digital clock.

You flip onto your right side, eyes closed, missing the turn of Art’s head as he observes yours features, closed eyes, lashes, nose, lips, finding his gaze lingering a moment too long on your lips.

“Stop staring Art.”

“Am not.”

“I can feel it,” you respond, lips curving into a smirk. It was a habit he had developed from the sleepovers you both had either in his living room or yours when you were both younger. You would close your eyes, just about to doze off, only to hear the faint shifting of a head against a pillow while Art turned to stare at you, his blue-brown eyes boring into you.

“Am not.”

“Go to sleep Art.”

-

“So I guess I’ll see you around,” You are standing just a distance off the side of the bus which is supposed to take you back to campus. The matches for the day had ended, with your school having won by one match.

“Yeah,” Art replies, drawing out his words as he takes you in, he finds himself think that he had very much preferred you in his clothes despite them being oversized and not as well fitted as your own. You had managed to change into a fresh set of school colours before the matches started earlier that morning, having pleaded with your angel of a roommate to help you lug your overnight bag, which you hadn’t even had the chance to unpack the night before, over to the courts before the matches had begun. She had taken one look at you in Art’s tshirt, shorts with his hoodie thrown over, and had given you the widest smirk known to man despite your insistence that nothing had happened.

“I think you are scheduled to come play next month,” you refer to the Stanford men’s team, “I’ll see you then?”

“Or I could see you next week?” Art says almost shyly as he raises a hand to rub the back of his head. Art was a walking oxymoron, easily grabbing your hand, asking you to sleep in his bed, and yet somewhat bashful in the moments in between, “the drive over is an hour, max.”

“I would like that,” your response earns you a mega watt smile, his eyes twinkling at you. You both hear voices calling Art away from the bus, one male, one female - but Art ignores them both.

-

“Yeah and I told her-” your sentence is cut off by a nudge to your shoulder.

“Stanford” you friend explains with slightly too much glee in her voice. She had seen the smile on your face after returning from your away game last weekend, and the way you had been constantly glued to your phone, grin on your face, laughter peppering your days, the name Art Donaldson a constant fixture in your notifications.

Your head swivels up and to your left to spot Art leaning against his black jeep, hands crossed loosely across his chest. He smiles when he sees you, and your face mimics his expression.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t,” you friend calls out as she pushes you in Art’s direction. You pull a face at her while rolling your eyes, but letting your legs carry you towards Art.

“Are you stalking me Donaldson?” You ask in jest. Art had texted you half an hour earlier, asking which part of campus your last class of the Friday was in and where he should pick you up from.

“Hundred percent,” he says as he opens his arms; you step into his embrace for a brief hug, before he turns to open the car door for you. You unload your bag from your arm, dropping it onto the floor of the passenger’s seat before climbing in. You move to close the door, but Art is in between you and the door, reaching over to click your seatbelt into place.

“Ready?” He asks, and you nod, gazing into bright blue-brown eyes.

-

“Positivism,” Art says simply at your question of what theory of jurisprudence he found himself most inclined towards. You think for a moment, the side of your face propped up with a hand, elbow on the counter of the bar you both are seated at, your body turned towards Art who is likewise, facing you.

“Positivism,” you roll the words around your tongue, “I guess it tracks,” you shrug, before raising a brow slightly, “but how does an engineering undergraduate so much about jurisprudence?”

“I read.”

“On jurisprudence?” You frown nose wrinkling as you reach your hand out to place the back of it against Art’s forehead as if to check if he had a fever, “are you alright?”

“You mean you don’t read engineering daily in between sets?” Art questions you with mock horror as he reaches up to tug your hand down from his forehead. Your hand ends up, yet again, in Art’s, which is resting on his knee.

“Why engineering, and not something with a lighter course load?” The underlying question is clear - Art had every intent of going the pro track post-Stanford, and it wasn’t that he would be making full use of his degree anyway.

“I don’t want the only skill I have to be hitting a ball with a racket,” he shrugs, “it feels good to know I can do something else.”

You hum in bother understanding and agreement as you feel Art’s thumb begin to stroke the back of your hand. It distracts you, his calloused thumb sliding across your skin.

“In another life I’m sure you would have made a darn good engineer Art Donaldson.”

Your words make Art laugh, something he found himself doing a lot with you.

-

“So, this is me,” you point towards the dormitory buildings up in front and Art slows his car to a stop, pulling the gear into park. He kills the engine before hopping out of his seat. Your hand is on the handle of the door, ready to open it for yourself but Art is faster, his hand on the outside lever, pulling the door open for you.

Art offers you a hand as you hop out of the jeep before he shuts the door behind you.

“I had fun tonight,” you find yourself saying, suddenly feeling slightly shy for reasons you cannot fathom.

“Me too,” is what Art says in response, his hands stuck on the pockets of his jeans, heels rocking in a back and forth motion. You see his gaze on you, locking with yours before flickering to your lips. It makes you bite down one on side of your lip, an action which causes Art to gulp, making the Adam’s apple on his throat bob.

“We should do-”

“Can I kiss you?” Art blurts out his question in a burst and you can see his face flush slightly as he asks, a surprising and yet apt contrast to the Art who had no qualms about holding your hand in his. You feel your heart quickening, and with the silence between you both - you almost feel as if you can hear each beat.

“Yes,” you breathe out, a small nod accompanying your response. You see Art’s gaze flicker to your lips again, but you would be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about this.

Art takes a step forward, pulling his hands out of his pockets. You feel him cupping your face gently, and you tilt your head towards him. Your eyes flutter close and your lips meet.

Art’s lips are softer than you imagined. You feel his hands move, slipping down the sides of your body, circling your waist and pulling you closer. You drop your bag off your shoulder onto the floor as your hands move up, one to cradle the side of his face, and the other reaching behind, fingers weaving into soft curls as you tug him closer towards you. First kisses with someone new had always been awkward for you - teeth, lips, noses, as you each try to figure out the grooves and crannies of each other, but with Art - there was no such thing. It felt as if you both had learnt each other long ago, each in and out, the curve of his neck, and the the planes of your body.

You break the kiss first, pulling away, eyes still closed, feeling as if the breath had been knocked out of you in the best way. Your forehead pressed against Art’s, body held firmly against his.

“I hope you aren’t going to send me packing after that.” Your eyes flutter open at his words.

“You packed an overnight bag didn’t you?”

“I might have,” Art pulls you even closer, his arms wound tight around you.

“Presumptuous much?” You run a hand through the front of his hair, pushing his fringe back.

“Just good at reading the room.”

-

12 years later

The skin across your knuckles are visibly tight, your hands clenched into fists, the only sign of the nerves that have taken over and riddled your body. Your eyes are shielded by dark oversized glasses, but your pupils are darting left and right as the final point of the match plays before you. The stadium is silent, save for the pop of the ball and the grunts from the two players on court. You hear an exceptionally loud grunt, the whizzing of a racket whipping through the air, and then you hear it before it hits you - the roar of the crowd, the thundering claps, and you feel your body freeze as even the announcer goes wild.

“Art Donaldson, ladies and gentleman, our new US Open champion.”

You remain glued to your seat despite the commotion around you - family, Art’s team, cheering, jumping, excited hugs being passed around. Your eyes watch as Art runs towards the center of the net, hand raised as he waves to the crowd around. He shakes his opponents hand, before waving to each section of the stadium in thanks of their support and there he is, jogging towards you. His hair is dripping with sweat, plastered to his head, shirt clinging to his body. He extends a hand to you even before he reaches the sideline and your body reacts from habit, standing, your hand extending back towards him. A warm hand, the back of it still slick from sweat grasps yours, tugging you forward lightly.

“Hi,” is all he says as Art’s lips meet yours. Art enjoys the tennis, but he doesn’t need it - doesn’t need the tennis, the fame, the money, or the trophies - all he needs is you.

You hear the crowd go wild at the display of affection, the announcer’s voice booming over the sound system with something about Art Donaldson and his wife, but it all fades - the commotion, the sound, the people, the tennis, because all you see is Art.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

#art donaldson #art donaldson x you #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x y/n #art donaldson imagine #art donaldson fic #art donaldson fanfic #art donaldson fluff #art donaldson x female reader #challengers #challengers fanfic #challengers fic #challengers imagine #not cm #not tg

[peachigummi]

test my luck ꢾ꣒ mattheo riddle. - UPDATED!

summary: enemy to lovers! Mattheo and y/n have been each other's biggest haters since year 1, they're in their final year at Hogwarts. Mattheo finally pushes y/n to the edge, with his venomous words and guilt tactics.

pairing: enemy! mattheo x fem ravenclaw! reader

warnings: not for the faint of heart! mature themes/language. mentions of abuse. slow burn? bullying angst!! oh my god angst, but ends with some bittersweet fluff I promise! attempted suicide sorry (after reading this back, i dont mean it to be manipulation or to glorify or romanticize but! shit!! for a plot?)

note: i haven't written anything in literal years, the pov is going to shift a lot so bear with me. i honestly just lost any sense of motivation. but something in me just bloomed. you wont see any hp things on this blog it is my journal and i feel like sharing! maybe a part 2 in the making. if this gets enough response.

word count: 6,828

(slightly not really proofread or fan fact checked? if that's a thing ha)

playlist: should i create..? you know damn well the smiths would be in it! like Bigmouth Strikes Again?? that is mattheo!

reblogs & comments are so appreciated! i hope you enjoy <3

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

It was the start of your last year of Hogwarts, it was an okay time. You personally didn’t get into too much trouble, you liked to stick by yourself for the most part. You studied hard because your muggle parents were still confused about you being a witch, and what you would get out of it. It was hard to process that information, it was a thing of fairy tales. You had to prove yourself in this new world. That…that was hard when you were constantly looking over your shoulder for Mattheo Riddle.

“What’s a whore doing in my seat?” Speak of the damn devil. 

You turned to look at him with a sarcastic smile, “Well hello to you too Mattheo.” You nod at the three other boys that were with him, each of their arms crossed. “Draco. Blaise. Theodore.” You return to look at Mattheo, “you know last time I checked… there are no assigned seats in Potions.” You looked around and the class was still fairly empty.

“Think again and think hard.” Mattheo spoke to you in a cold shallow tone, he barely looked at you. He circled around the table you were at, your eyes following him. He suddenly stopped right behind your chair, yanking it back. There was a loud scrape, the few students that were in the room turned to look at the scene unfolding. You didn’t meet any of their eyes. Mattheo slammed his hand on the side of the table, making you flinch. You hated that you reacted that way. He grabbed the back of your ponytail, forcing your head forward where his hand was, “Look.” M. Riddle. D. Malfoy. B. Zabini. T. Nott. Their names were carved into the side. You grabbed Mattheo’s hand, the one that was still holding onto your ponytail, you tried to pry his icy cold fingers off. It only made him tighten his grip, he bent down to get close to your face, “I suggest you move unless you want me to carve my name onto your face as well.” he spat and finally let go. 

“Whatever,” you gathered your books, “this seat sucks anyways. I’ll go hang out with Professor Snape up front.” You rolled your eyes as Draco lit up a cigarette, handing the pack to the boys to share. If you’re going to try and get away with smoking, yeah do it in the back of the class I guess.

“You really like being a teacher’s pet don’t you? That’s why you’ve always got your nose up Snape’s ass.” 

“Seriously fuck off! Go continue to lose brain cells with your sorry excuse of friends.” You push the seat back and let it topple over. You mentally slapped yourself, you shouldn’t be feeding into his remarks.

“That’s cute sunshine, I’ll bet you have a hard time standing up for yourself in every aspect of your pathetic life. Do better.” Mattheo smugly said, smoking the cigarette that was in his hand.

You opened your mouth to speak but decided against it, you ended up just flipping him off. He did the same, giving you an annoyed look. You took the seat next to Hermione in the front of the class. Ugh! That Mattheo. “Are you okay?!” She asked, shooting daggers at the group, turning to you again “How can you put up with that? We have to tell someone..” you shook my head and whispered, “it’ll only make things worse. I don’t want to be a snitch. It’s already been six years anyways… how can one more year really change things.”

Blaise laughed, “you like that don’t you mattheo? Isn’t she so cute when she’s angry, you like feisty girls, yeah?”

Draco chuckles, “oh he definitely does, too bad she’s a stupid bitch.” The group laughs together.

You could hear them hollering from the back. You tried to calm yourself down and pay attention to the different measurements of the potions you were being taught. Maybe I could switch this class to a different time. You thought, focusing back to the lesson when Professor Snape mentioned something about needing to be in groups of three for an upcoming project.

Before Snape could assign anyone, Mattheo spoke up, “Sir I’d like to work with Theodore, if that’s permitted.” Snape looked annoyed by his interjection but answered, “No, Theodore will be with Y/N and Draco. Nothing will change. I already made the groups, they will be posted near the storeroom.” He gave Mattheo a dirty look.

You could hear Draco scoff but he didn't say anything. Yet. He kept to himself and his buddies while they continued to smoke and do other things to piss Professor Snape off before the class was finally dismissed. I guess I didn’t need to worry about being in a pair with Mattheo. You still wanted to protest against the group choice, but nothing would come of it. You knew better than to go against Snape’s final word. Theodore wasn’t such a horrible person, he actually can be pretty smart and helpful, if you got him alone. Otherwise when he was with even just one of his buddies, he was just like them - a jerk. It was Draco you won’t be able to stand.

“Don't do anything stupid, Y/L/N, and we might actually do okay in this project.” That was Draco himself, walking over with Theodore.

You ignored his comment, “where should we meet and when?”

“We can use one of the abandoned classrooms. Before the lunch break?” Theodore suggested, handing a note with directions.

“Okay. See you.” You said as bluntly as possible, gathering your book. You went to grab the ingredients your group might need. 

“Teachers pet!” Draco yelled after.

⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝

Of course you were the first to the abandoned classroom, you had been waiting for nearly twenty minutes before either of them showed. When they did, they didn’t bother to apologize, though you didn’t expect them to. Even with smart comments from both boys, you finished discussing the project and the presentation at a decent hour. It was quiet as you started to collect your things, Draco excused himself earlier to collect a package.

“Y/N, why is it that you hate Mattheo so much?” Theodore broke the silence, carefully watching you wrap the vials carefully. You paused, taken back. “He’s been trying to get a rise out of you since day 1, why?” He continued nonchalantly, leaning back in his chair. He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket.

You quickly grab them out of his hand and put it in your own breast pocket, “don’t smoke around me.” 

This made him annoyed, “Hey! I need those! They keep me calm!” 

“No you don't, you've been fine this entire time without them. I’m not trying to raise your blood pressure right now. You’re fine.” You give him a good look, maybe he was playing dumb. How could he not know? Theodore and Mattheo were best friends; they must have already talked about this, “I only hate Mattheo because he hates me. It’s all there's to it…” I think.

He lingers for a moment after you answered him, there is something else you haven’t said, “tell me what you think. There’s always some deeper reason for this sort of stuff” He rested his chin on his hand. See this is why I favored Theodore from the rest of his group, but should I still trust him? He could use this information against me. I took the chance.

“Over the years I suspected it was just plainly because I was a mudblood and not some perfect pure-bred like you folk.” You continued to wrap the vials carefully. 

Theodore rolled his eyes, “He does have a thing against people with different backgrounds than his own. He thinks everyone in this school should be from a wizarding family. But that’s not the case with you.” He grabbed a vial too, helping me wrap them, “He’s never said anything about your parents or how they’re muggles.” Mattheo would talk about me when I wasn’t around? Why would he do that? You looked into his eyes searching for some joke or underlying lie. There was none I could detect.

You recall the moment aloud when you first laid your eyes on Mattheo, “It was at the train station. Our first year. I remember hugging and kissing my parents goodbye, not wanting to let go of them. I turned around to go on the train and there was a much much smaller Mattheo staring at me with wide beady little eyes that were glossed over with tears. He was cute in that split second - ” You couldn’t help but smile at the memory. Theodore watched you carefully. You straightened your lips, continuing, “ - before he stuck a solid wad of gum in my hair.”

Theodore bellowed, nearly falling backwards in his chair, “Yeah that sounds like him, that’s a classic stunt he’d pull off. There was this one time in year 5 when he stuck gum on the chair of one of the professors before class…I never saw her so mad after she sat down and got up, her chair nearly followed her around!” He tried to settle himself down, “Mattheo always had a thing for doing stuff to people and acting as if it’s all a joke.”

“It’s not a joke when you have to cut your hair super short in order to remove the gum. I felt so naked without my long hair, it was so beautiful! And he made it worse when he made a point to show how ugly I was to everyone in the Great Hall. I even remember you laughing just like you are now.” You pushed his shoulder.

Theodore smirked, “yeah we all laughed, how couldn’t we?! You looked ridiculous before you grew it back out. We used to call you Baldy McEgg-head. You’d get so mad, only making us laugh harder.” At least someone cherished the memory. You rolled your eyes.

It grew quiet again, “have you ever met Mattheo’s parents? Has he ever talked to you about them?”

“No. I’ve never met them. He’s never really talked about his parents or his life outside Hogwarts. I don’t think he’s on great terms with his dad. He always stayed with them during the breaks, and wasn't ever allowed to spend it with us or here at hogwarts. He missed out on a lot of important hang outs. I wished he was there for them” Theodore explained, he sounded disappointed and angry.

“Do…do you think he’s jealous of my home life? The affection I was receiving in front of him at the train station…” 

He thinks for a moment, “I suppose it could be a possibility…hard to tell. He doesn’t allow himself to show too much emotion, again, probably has to do with the way he must have been raised.”

You wanted to do more research into Mattheo’s family…but how? “Thanks for this Teddy. You’ve given me a lot to think about.” You finished packing everything into your bag. Before you left you tossed him back his pack of cigarettes, “see you later.”

⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝

You let out a sigh of relief, to be alone once again. Mettheo Riddle, what secrets do you hide? You made your way to the library instead of the Great Hall. After a few hours of searching around the library, you finally find a section of massive thick old leather bound books. You blew on the covers, these books contained a record of all the wizards and witches that had attended Hogwarts. Kind of like a yearbook, but it told you what came of them. Who married who, what did they end up doing after Hogwarts, etc. a rare but quite the gem of a find. “R… R.. R” you whispered, touching the book ends. You look at the bottom of the bookshelf finding the one that contained the last names that began with R. You found it, and you began to look through for the name “Riddle.”

Just as you got to the last name, you felt a wave of shame. You were snooping into somebody’s life. Their history. This is wrong. If Mattheo wanted to talk about his home life, surely he would have. He was hiding something. There were heavy slow footsteps coming around the corner of the aisle. You snapped the book shut holding it behind you and you looked at the section opposite of where you just were. Mattheo, they were his steps, you could tell. 

“Of course you’d be in the library doing nerd stuff.” He doesn’t sound happy, but also when is he truly ever?

You looked at him then around yourself, “who me? A nerd for being in the library?” I mean he wasn’t wrong but ..yeah. You still point at him, “Where are you then? Because it seems to be you’re also in the library with…” you fake gasp, “...Me! Making you a nerd too!” You hoped that confused him, you shifted the leather book behind your back. It was getting heavy by the second.

“I’m ditching classes to smoke,” He takes a rip of a cigarette that was nearly at its end, he blows the smoke in your face. “Nerd.”

“Whoop-dee-doo what a stellar insult Mettheo. I’m a ravenclaw. What did you expect? I’d rather be a nerd than a-” You took a step closer to him squinting then widening your eyes in horror, “oh my god Mattheo did you lose a tooth from all that smoking?” He quickly shoved his pinky into his mouth feeling his teeth in a panic. If there was one thing he cared more about than cigarettes it was keeping up with his good looks. Uh did I just describe him as good looking?

He actually laughed once he finished counting his teeth, “They’re perfectly fine. I care about taking care of myself, unlike you. How often do you wash yourself? I doubt you even brush your hair. I did you a favor when you had to cut it off. You have no sense of style, even with a selection of uniforms! Why do you dress like it’s winter all year? You dress like a peasant from the 1820’s”

Okay ouch, that kinda hurt. You’ve been insecure with your body, you always struggled with that. Dressing in sweaters helped hide it. You didn’t know how to respond, maybe he's right. You couldn’t stand up for yourself to save your life. You just shoved his shoulder with your own and walked past him. 

Matthew continues to follow you, “did you just shove me you twat?” He snatched the book out of my arms holding it a ways away from you, “If you’re going to do sneaky shit, don’t do it so obviously. Is this a diary or something?” Your eyes widened trying to take it back, but he held it up high above his head easily with one hand.

“Yes! It’s my diary, it’s where I gush about the god almighty perfect Mattheo!” I sarcastically said, still hoping he wouldn’t look at the title of the book. “No stupid! I dont have one, I just got done working on the potions project with your buddies. Hand me back the book.”

“Oh I bet you three had lots of fun. Did you talk about me while you were there? Did you talk about how you can’t take your eyes and mind off of me? You’re clearly obsessed, following me around like a love sick puppy. You pop up wherever I happen to be.” 

“Ew no never.” You fought your expression back, did Theodore tell him something? Fuck. “Draco left, it was just Teddy and I. we spent it kissing the whole time. Super carefree. His lips surprisingly didn't taste like cigarettes, they were pretty sweet.”

Mattheo’s smug smirk fades even before you finish your sentence. He hated how you used a nickname for his friend. He despised the thought of you kissing anyone, especially his mates, “fucking liar. THEODORE, not TEDDY, doesn’t like you. He just tolerates you because he has to. He wouldn’t be caught dead kissing you. You’re disgusting and I pity anyone who has the displeasure of touching you in any way other than to harm you. 

You hold your hands up, “woah woah woah, whatever makes you sleep peacefully at night. Why else did Teddy take me to an abandoned classroom, it was our chance to get away together especially after Draco conveniently left.” You couldn’t believe you were lying through your teeth, this would forsure come back and bite you in the ass even harder. You haven’t even had your first kiss yet. You haven't even been romantically linked with anyone before. 

“Stop fucking calling him Teddy, it’s Theodore!”

“Can you guys get a room or SHUT UP! For Merlin’s Sake” A random student yelled out at us. Slamming their hand on the table. You were embarrassed because you took pride in keeping the library a sacred place to study or relax.

“Piss off. Go find a room of your own instead of listening to us talking. You must be a first year, if you’re still so sensitive to other’s voices in the library.” He continued to raise his voice, “We’ve been like this for years! Blah blah blah!!”

“Stop it Mattheo.” You shove him again, mouthing to the student, I'm very sorry. With the distraction you go and grab the book in Mattheo’s hand but he quickly readjusts his grip.

“You don’t have to apologize for me, sunshine. You should apologize to him for your existence, do everyone a favor will you?” He finally looked down at the title of the book, Who Were They and Where They Now?: Hogwarts. He carefully used a single finger to pry it open to where the fabric bookmark was, immediately seeing his own surname. He gives a manic laugh looking up at your face and slamming the book down to the floor, “you stalker. You are obsessed with me.” 

He lunged at you. You took a step back, you hit the shelving. Your heart was beating so fast you thought you would pass out from the red handed guilt. 

“What kind of information were you looking to find huh?” He pointed a finger at me, his eyes ice cold. Looking to murder. Your head suddenly hurt, there was a high pitched ringing that wouldn't stop. You went to cover your ears to find some relief but Mattheo grabbed you and shook hard, “what the FUCK did you think you would find? Tell me. Tell me NOW!” You didn’t know what to say he just stared hard at you, his nails digging into your arms. You winced. He began to speak fast and harshly as if he knew, as if you had said something. 

“Did you really expect you would find out that I had a happy home? Do you think I’m happy being born in some dingy hovel? Do you think I'm overjoyed to be related to and be abused by my father? He beat me black and blue and hated my existence. My mother just sat there silently watching. She doesn’t care. Would YOU be thrilled knowing that you came from a long line of dark wizards who’ve caused pain and suffering to people for centuries.” 

You began to cry, “Mattheo..”

“You honestly think I would be so proud of that to tell everyone?” He scoffed.

“Mattheo you’re hurting me…”

“I. Don’t. Care.” His deep brown eyes didn’t leave yours, “you should have minded your own business. Stupid girl prying into my history. What do you care? Did you think I'd be less of a jerk to you if I had a perfect loving family like yours? ”

“I’m sorry…I’m sorry! I .. I.”

“Shut up. You don't get to speak. I don't need you feeling sorry for me, I can handle myself. This is probably the worst you’ll ever experience.”

“Y-You’re right. I’m.. I’m grateful I never had to e-endure that” You were one stuttering mess. 

He moves one hand to cup your mouth to shut you up again, “what did i say. I don't want to hear another word out of your mouth.” He rose the other up threateningly. 

You closed your eyes. Do it Mattheo. Please. I deserve it. I’m sorry I tried to pry. Do it. He was surprised by your offer and looked at you in confusion, his expression didn’t change though. “What kind of sick request is that?” You open your eyes again to meet his. Both of you were in disbelief, did he just-? “Why would you want me to beat you? Because you feel bad for me? I don’t want nor need your sympathy. Trying to act like a saint that's willing to be my punching bag whenever I want.” he scoffed, letting your mouth free, taking a single step back away from you.

“Then why are you so mean to me? Tell me that. When I first laid eyes on you during our first year at the train platform, I thought we would be friends.” You wrapped your arms around yourself, rubbing where his fingers had dug into you.

“You’re a prissy annoying know-it-all goody two shoes that thinks she’s better than everyone. You can’t help but chime in whenever you have the chance and show off.”

“So it’s just my existence then huh, nothing else to it?” You felt your own anger finally rise, you wiped your tears off your cheek trying to regain composure.

“Pretty much. You’re unbearable. You are the most unexciting thing I’ve ever encountered.”

“Let me fix that for you.” Your eyes betrayed you and let the gates open, the flood starting to spill once more. Before Mattheo could get another hold of you you quickly shuffled off, dropping your things. Already feeling limp. Just hoping your legs would carry you a bit more.

Mattheo rolls his eyes, “tsk so stupid.” He stood there staring at the place you once were. Thinking about what occurred when he processed what you said, “Y/N! Hey I-..” He began to follow in the direction you went off to.

Your shuffle turned into a run, you just needed privacy. Anything. Your dorm was too far away, so you went into the nearest girls bathroom and into the furthest stall to sob.

Mattheo reaches the hallway, looking to his left and right. Fuck where did she go? He closes his eyes to listen closely. He heard something faint and went with his gut.

You sat down beside the toilet, hitting your head with your fist. “Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.” You heard a familiar giggle, “go away Myrtle. Now’s especially not the time.” 

Bathroom, you had to be in the bathroom. He went inside not caring if another girl would see him, “Y/N? You’re in here, I know you are. Look, just come out will you?” Instead Moaning Myrtle came forth.

“Are you looking for me?” she bit her finger looking him up and down, “we don't get that many cute boys in here.” She sighed, still admiring him, “Nevertheless, shame on you. How could someone as delicious as you treat someone so horribly.” She laughed in his face.

“Shut up. I don't need to be lectured by some depressed ghost. Why are you even here. Go away.” He went further inside the bathroom pushing doors in, “actually have you seen a girl come in, Y/N?”

“Yes!” She said excitedly pointing to the last stall, “She’s coming with me and we’ll get to haunt together. It’ll be so fun to not be alone anymore” She broke into another high pitched laugh, clapping her hands with joy. 

“What the hell is she on about?” That’s when he noticed broken glass from a mirror. His heart drops, “you’ve got to be kidding me…” He rushed over pushing the final door in, but this one wouldn’t budge. “Y/N. It’s Mattheo..” his heart drops and he pales when he notices blood start to seep out from under the door, you’ve hurt yourself. “Y/N!” He says again louder, “open the door! Open it right fucking now! Y/N!!”

You didn’t want him to see you like this, no one should have to see this. You try to hold the door closed but you were losing your strength to do anything. The blood made it slippery so your hand slid down, “M-m-mattheo haven’t..you said enough?”

Myrtle pointed to the glass, “look how eager she was! Damaging school property to break free” She did a couple spins in the air, “any minute now!”

“That’s it. I’ve had enough.” Mattheo raised his wand and shot a blast at the lock, it broke open and he flung the door open to reveal you laying on the floor. His heart seemed to stop completely. “Shit! Dammit! Y/N!” 

The blast frightened you, “No. Mattheo. No.” You could only make out his dark curly haired head. You tried to swat him away before losing consciousness due to blood loss. 

Professor Snape rushed in after hearing a blast, “what the bloody hell is going on in here, Mr. Riddle.”

Mattheo looked at him with an angry and panicked expression, “I need her in the infirmary right now.” He said through gritted teeth. He leans over you, grabbing a large bunch of toilet paper and quickly kneels next to you. Applying pressure on your bleeding left wrist.

Snape understood immediately, “Keep the pressure on the wrist, Riddle.” He was able to pick you up easily, but he was not enthusiastic about having your blood staining his robes, “with HASTE Riddle! Follow me!” And off they went to the infirmary. Once there Snape quickly laid you on a bed gently before Madame Pomfrey took over. 

She was able to stop and clean the bleeding, while she examined the cut striation she asked both Snape and Mattheo what blood type they were, “The girls lost too much blood, she needs a transfusion.” She began to stitch the wrist, the cut was near vertical to the veins. 

Mattheo in a less than a split second looked at Pomfrey, “Am I able to donate for her.” He didn’t say it as a question, he wanted it to be a command. 

“As long as you share the same blood type then yes, sweetheart. Please, fresh blood is much better. We can’t wait more time, Ms. Y/L/N is so terribly pale. She can have a seizure any minute if we dont get more blood to her brain” still carefully pulling at threads. His hand was still holding yours. 

He nods impatiently, less talking, more action. “I’m AB-” he gulped. One of the rarest blood types in the world, “what type is she?” he began to roll up his sleeve even before Pomfrey was able to respond.

“Goodheavens! Thank Merlin. She’s AB- as well!” She sighs looking up at the ceiling for a split second, calling for a nurse to help set up the transfusion. He took a seat on your left, watching the nurse insert a needle into each of your arms. He didn’t flinch, but he gave her a threatening look when she inserted a needle into your arm, thinking she would bring more pain to you. 

Madame Pomfrey stood up, finished. “If it was with a straight razor and not a glass shard, I don’t think i would have been able to-” she let her voice die down after seeing how pale Mattheo began to look too, she shut her mouth as to not worry him more with what the other alternative was. He couldn’t hide his guilt. His eyes were alternating between your face and his blood that was slowly running into your body through a single tubing. He desperately needed it to go faster. 

“Is there a chance she would wake up with problems with her veins or her nerves?” He asked.

Pomfrey patted the boy's shoulders, “Let’s hope not, let’s hope they hold. With the basics in place, there’s nothing a little magic can’t help.” This eased him, “Ms. Y/L/N wont wake for a couple of hours. She needs to be watched to make sure she doesn’t rip my stitching job or we will go back to square one my boy. Can I trust you?”

“Is that really a necessary question?” He bit his tongue, “Sorry, yes I will watch over her. I need to be here when she wakes up.”

“Best she gets a psychiatrist too, but that's a later issue to address. We’ll focus on physical healing for now.” Pomfrey looked at Mattheo curiously, isn’t this one of the trouble-making slytherin boys? She shook her head and walked out to attend to another student.

“Y/N i’m here.” He studies your face, deep with regret and guilt. He holds your right hand tightly, he whispers softly, “it’s okay, you’re going to be alright..”

“Riddle.” Snape was still watching everything from the shadows of the room, “What happened to my best student, why is he in this condition?”

“It’s my fault, Professor…I was making a fool out of myself. I was treating her like hell… it went too far. She must have had a breakdown and she-” he couldn’t bear to describe your condition out loud.

Snape held a hand up to silence him from saying more, “rather than giving you detention for the rest of your time here at Hogwarts. I will need you to attend all the girl’s classes she will be missing in her recovery. She must not fall behind.”

“Yes sir, I understand. I’ll do it.” 

Snape turned to leave but came back toward the boy and yanked the cigarette box from his uniform pocket, “none of these for you either, especially as you are sharing blood with Y/N. She never liked you smoking.” and off he turned around to change his own robes from the blood.

“Anything for you.” he whispered towards you, “please wake up soon.”

⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝

You began to stir, your eyes fluttering open. You looked around in a panic. You were incredibly sore, especially your left wrist. It stung badly. Mattheo had fallen asleep in the chair when he jolted awake to the sound of your movements, “Calm down, relax, you’re in the infirmary. You’re safe.” He couldn’t help but feel like he just lied about it being safe, if he was the cause of this.

“M…m..Mattheo” You began to cry again, “I’m so sorry.” You went to reach out and hug him but flinched. You followed the red transfusion line to him, “oh Mattheo.”

He sat up to lean towards you. He shushes you and wipes your tears with the back of his hand, ‘you need to calm down and take it easy, princess. You’ve lost a lot of blood and you're still weak. This is just to bring your levels up, you’ll start to feel better soon.”

You stared at his beautiful eyes, ones that had held so much hate but there seemed to be no trace of it now. You felt guilty, I acted like a coward. “Myrtle said it was going to be quick and painless. I’m so stupid I couldn’t even do it right.” You felt another wave of tears coming but  you tried to choke them down.

“No youre not, you’re not at fault.” He couldn’t help but chuckle cautiously as what he was about to say, “you might be a know-it-all but you just need to have more control with your thoughts. Don’t listen to Moaning Myrtle. Don’t be hard on yourself, you're not stupid. You did nothing wrong.”

“I thought I was doing you a favor.” you were so exhausted. But you needed to get this out before you lost consciousness again. With your good arm you help his hand tightly, looking him in the eyes again to emphasize the point you were going to make, “Mattheo, I really am idiotic. I Am. I did think you had a perfect life, it didn’t cross my mind that you had it any other way. You were always carefree and just let's be honest, acting like you're’ better than everyone else. It was wrong of me to have assumed that.”

He frowns. “Don’t apologize. There’s no way to tell what someone is going through ultimately. I..cope in my own way.” He softly strokes your cheek with this thumb.

If it wasn’t for the pain, you would have thought you were asleep. Dead. Or in purgatory. A realm between realms. No way the mattheo I’ve known my whole life is sitting beside me looking..lovingly at me? You felt horrible. Did I just manipulate him into caring about me? Just hours ago he was mocking and saying nasty things as usual. 

Mattheo could see the look of disbelief in your eyes from the way he was behaving, “Y/N. I’m caring for you. No you’re not dreaming or in some other realm. You’re here, with me, thank Merlin. You didn’t manipulate me, you woke me up.”

You sat up too quickly for your own good, your head feeling light “How are you doing that?” 

He shook his head, “Another time. I’m really sorry for how I treated you. You think I’m just some asshole, but I'm more than that really. I want to be more than that. No one else has gotten to see the real me.”

“Mattheo, I see you.” Despite your pain, you reach out to cup his face between your hands. For a second, you saw the boy you first laid your eyes on that first year at the train station. The same sad eyes, “I see you.”

He sighed into your touch, it was a soft and innocent gesture he was not used to. He chuckled softly, and gently placed his hands over yours, keeping them there. He didn’t want to lose the touch, “I know you do, and that’s exactly why I'm afraid.”

You couldn’t help but imagine - how different our lives could have been for the last 6 years, if he would have just introduced himself to me. Explained why he looked so pained when I was with my family. “My parents would have welcomed you as their own” you explained your thoughts to him. “I could have protected you. You could have visited me during the holiday breaks. I know saying it will not change the past and what has happened to you. But I see you Matty.”

“yeah..it’s too late to change the past, I should’ve but I didn’t think you’d understand. It doesn’t excuse the way I treated you all these years, Y/N.” His voice got shaky, his eyes starting to water. He was a mess.

“No, don't you start Mattheo please, baby.” You brought him into a hug, again ignoring your throbbing wrist. “Easy now.” you soothed the curls that were behind his neck. They felt so soft.

Mattheo rested his head on your shoulder and held you tightly, softly crying into you. He wrapped his arms around you and held onto your shirt like he was afraid to let go. He couldn’t remember the last time someone treated him like this, it felt so new and overwhelming.

You kissed the top of his head, inhaling - cigarettes. You hated that he smoked but at this moment the smalle was comforting. He let out a deep sigh. You broke the hug only because you scooted over on the bed, and tugged him to lay beside you. We watched you, he looked so tired. He nodded in agreement with a small smile, he carefully laid beside you, making sure to be careful of your condition.

You gave him a reassuring look that wasn’t hurting you. I’m okay. You looked at your arms touching side by side, still connected by the tubing. You couldn't help but laugh, “Matty isn’t it ironic? All this pure-blood and mudblood talk and look” you carefully lifted the tube, “we’re still one and the same foundation.” You smiled at him, helping wipe his tear stained cheeks now. “Thanks for your donation to me.”

He too couldn't help but grin back at you. He couldn’t believe you weren’t pushing him away for how he treated you, or for how vulnerable he was at the moment, “any time, but please actually don’t do that ever again. You made me worried to death..”

“No I won’t. Pinky promise.” You held out your pinky for him to take. 

He took it in his own nodding, “good, you’re stuck with me now.”

With our pinkies still woven, you  looked at the size difference. You turned toward his Bambi like eyes, “let's start this over on the right foot. Better late than never? Hi i’m Y/N, [insert some fun facts about yourself].”

Mattheo smiled more widely, blushing his pinky did make yours look kiddish. It was adorable. He gave you a playful look, smirking at you like he usually would, “Nice to meet you there, Y/N. I’m Mattheo, the sexiest guy you’ll meet in Hogwarts.”

There’s my Mattheo. “And you promise to…?” you coaxed him.

He gave your pinky another squeeze, “to try to be nice and kind to you, and avoid bullying you….as well as to not smoke in your presence…you happy?”

You kind of nodded, holding in your laugh, “aaaand…?”

He looked at you, trying to read what you wanted him to say. He gave your pinky another, slightly rougher, squeeze. “And I promise not to throw a wad of gum into your beautiful hair?”

“Bingo. Mr. Riddle, that’s what I was ultimately looking for.” You let go of his pinky, “but it is nice to know the other stuff too.” you waved your hand like it was nothing, but it was my everything. He gave you a sarcastic scoff, he liked that you were still acting like your old self too. 

You kissed his cheek and his face went redder than a cherry, you acted shocked “woah did I just make Mattheo, the sexiest guy in Hogwarts BLUSH?!” You slapped your hands against your cheeks in play disbelief, slightly regretting the pain it brought to your arms. He quickly shook his head and blushed even more than originally thought possible, he tried to hide his face away from you, “S-shut up! That’s a lie! I was not blushing, it’s just your imagination.”

You laughed at his reaction, taking his hand in mine once more comparing the hand sizes. You put my head against his shoulder, before dropping your jester attitude. Making him form another pinky promise with you. “Mattheo, I promise to be there for you. I want to protect you. You shouldn’t live in the shadow of your home life, especially not alone. Just as much as I’m stuck with you. You’re stuck with me. That’s my promise to you.”

His heart beat fast, it nearly melted his heart to hear your promise. He let out a deep, shaky breath. He couldn't stop the small tear that rolled down his cheek, he didn’t bother wiping it. He just leaned his head down to rest on your own, “deal…”

There was a pause, before you spoke up again.“I know we just started the year but please, come back home with me this Christmas holiday when it rolls around.” You blinked up at him. You started to feel really sleepy, that was to be your last request and plea for the moment, “I’ll show you how muggles get down to holiday business.”

Mattheo looked down at you and smiled softly, as your eyes were struggling to stay open, “yea sure, i’ll spend the holidays with you” he wasn’t sure how he would, but he would worry about that later.

Many promises were made this day, and you intended to keep each and every single one of them. In many ways, you knew this would still be the same Mattheo you had always known, but it would all be so different now. You managed to break through his extremely guarded shell, the hardest way possible. But it needed to desperately be broken.

You turned Mattheo’s head to look at you, he met your gaze. The corner of his lip curled up as he knew what you were about to do. He let you take the lead, closing his eyes. You kissed his lips slowly, cherishing how it felt. You wanted more of him, but your body was pleading for rest. You hugged his arm and surrendered.

He couldn’t help but touch his lips afterwards with his fingertips. He watched as you gave in to exhaustion, he followed your lead and let out a deep sigh before closing his eyes, “Goodnight princess.” Mattheo fell asleep to the sounds of you breathing and the sound of your heartbeat, they would surely become one of the most blissful lullabies to be heard by him. He intertwined his fingers with yours, he wouldn’t ever let go.

#mattheo riddle #oh my god i havent done tags like these in a minute #*cracks knuckles* #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle blurb #mattheo riddle fanfic #mattheo riddle x you #harry potter #slytherin #ravenclaw #slytherin boys #draco malfoy #theodore nott #blaise zabini #i realized i didnt include enzo into this sorry #mattheo riddle angst #mattheo riddle x y/n #ive never done smut..should i try for the first time if this gets reads? #mattheo x you #mattheo fluff #mattheo riddle drabble #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo riddle scenarios #do i tag ben? he hates this character tho #enemies to lovers #slow burn #Legilimency

[whatbigotspost]

I’m gonna start coining tumblr specific cognitive biases and logical fallacy terms…here’s the first ones I’ve theorized so far. (I’m using “actor” here meaning “the person, acting out the fallacy or bias for us all to see.”)

1. The unique contribution fallacy—reading a post of over 10k notes and the actor thinks of something they surmise is very clever to add. The actor imagines themselves to be the first special unique soul to contribute this add, when OP has actually received this “clever” comment 5000 times of those 10,000 notes driving OP up the wall.

2. The whataboutism bias— reading a post on any given particular topic, and believing that OP should say every single thing that you could possibly say about that topic under said single post. The actor doesn’t know they have a personal agenda on the topic and expects OP would have that same bias to talk about the side of the given topic that correlates to the actor’s personal bias, instead of allowing OP to be somebody who just writes what they wanted to write. This often works in tandem with… 

3. The TLDR bias— seeing a post that is actually extremely long and thoroughly well written, often times with sources, numerous added threads of detail etc. but the actor doesn’t actually read the content of the FULL post. Then, in reblogging it or commenting on it, “adding” something that OP definitely originally said, and revealing oneself as somebody who doesn’t even read the detailed things that they re-blog or add on comments about.

3. The literal URL fallacy— not understanding the total chaos that is the Tumblr URL, in this fallacy the actor thinks that someone’s username is ALWAYS telling you exactly what the content of their blog might be. I’ll illustrate this one in like a totally random example way… Let’s say that you hypothetically made a blog that was all about calling out bigots back in the days of yore, the early twenty teens. And yet somehow, despite the fact that every other user around you seems to not be taken literally by their URLs, the actor decides that everything that you post is therefore bigotry…….even if what you’re posting is your own original content that you’re writing, calling out bigots. Too bad, so sad! Because in this fallacy, the actor is going to see you as what your URL says, literally, always.

4. The missed URL fallacy— this of course is the exact opposite of number three. It is where a blog has a very particular theme and format to it, that is the most important thing you can notice to understand the context of a post. So, again, just a random example here… But let’s just say that the intent of a blog is to always post submitted weird ass dreams people had, but the actor doesn’t realize this in their relogging and thinks that somebody is reporting a real life situation that was definitely, very specifically a wild fever dream.

5. The throw the baby out with the bathwater bias— a fan favorite among left leaning and social justice corners of the site, this bias is when the actor reads a post where somebody doesn’t use the most optimal, virtue signaling language for them personally, so the actor ignores the whole entire point of the post. It could be something as serious as and attention demanding as genocide, but somebody uses a word like “crazy” or “stupid” or “bitch” in it and so the actor’s worldview and general proclaimed values are casually tossed aside because the language that was used to deliver it was not “perfect.”

6. The choose your own reality bias—The actor reads a post and reblogs it, adding commentary that is responding to things that are definitely not said in the original post and definitely not anything in the realm of what OP was talking about. Close cousin to…

7. The this is definitely about me/self-own fallacy— this one is actually one of my favorites to spot out in the wild because it is SUCH a tell. It is like a slightly more specific version of the “choose your own reality bias” but this is when the actor reads a post and blogs it, adding commentary that is responding to things that are definitely not said in the original post as if OP is talking about them personally, and therefore revealing themselves as potentially shady or suspect in someway because why did they make it about them, if it’s not about them, you know?

8. The zombie post fallacy—in this one, the actor most likely does not have time stamps enabled on their dash because that isn’t something that happens here by default, and this site has a higher presence of zombie posts (by the way its designed and how it functions) than any other social media site I know. So when a zombie post from 2011 shambles across their dash in 2024, they react to that content as if it is completely new and relevant information or news or a situation to be dealt with in the modern era.

What needs added?

#tumblr shit #cognitive bias #logical fallacies #this is part joke part real 😂

[fictionally-driven]

Chapter 2: Purple Sage

pairing: Wriothesley x f! reader

trigger warnings: violence, blood, murder, imprisonment, suggestive, ptsd, mentions of child abuse, false convictions, recovery, anxiety, scamming

AN: If anyone wants to be a part of the taglist for this series, please let me know via comments/reblogs or asks. Reblogs of the work are always appreciated. Thank you!

Prev chapter | | Chapter list | | Next chapter

Wriothesley closed the file with a heavy thud, a deep frown etched across his face. (Y/N) was her name; he’d gathered that from the file. She was a florist, which explained why she had seemed quite annoyed about the flowers when she stumbled against him that evening in Fontaine. Her records up until recently were clean—those of a law-abiding citizen. But the last few pages of the file painted a damning picture: she’d been convicted of the murder of a merchant.

The case was laid out methodically, almost too neatly. The merchant, a man with whom (Y/N) had a known feud over business disputes, had met a gruesome end. The bouquet of Lumidouce Bells and edible flowers was sprayed with the toxic concentrate of Lily of the Valley, a deadly concoction. He had touched the flowers, unwittingly transferring the poison onto his skin, and then used the edible flowers to make tea. The poison took its toll swiftly, leaving little room for doubt.

The investigation had moved quickly. The merchant's son-in-law was the first to raise suspicions, his voice ringing loud and clear in the aftermath of the merchant's death. The body was analyzed in the morgue, revealing traces of the toxic concentrate. Vials of similar toxins were found in the backroom of (Y/N)'s flower shop, seemingly sealing her fate. She insisted on her innocence, claiming she had delivered the flowers to a servant, but the evidence was damning. The court sentenced her to twenty-five years in Meropide.

Wriothesley placed the closed file to the side, his fingers drumming thoughtfully on the desk. Everything was too convenient, too perfect in its damning assembly. He had been informed by the Gardes that Sigewinne had taken (Y/N) to the infirmary after she was tricked for her coupons and given stale food. Anyone in Meropide knew the cafeteria food was free, though randomized. How could someone who allegedly planned a murder so meticulously be naive enough to trust strangers with her coupons?

His curiosity piqued, Wriothesley rose from his chair and made his way to the infirmary. The corridors of Meropide were familiar to him like the back of his hand. After all, for most of his life, it had been his home. The metallic clang of doors and the distant murmur of voices faded into the background as he approached the infirmary.

Inside, Sigewinne was at her desk, humming a cheerful tune as she filed paperwork. The Melusine’s small form was a stark contrast to the grim surroundings, her presence a rare beacon of warmth for the inmates of Meropide. A mug filled with what could only be one of her infamous milkshakes sat beside her, its odd color indicative of her peculiar tastes.

"Your Grace!" Sigewinne beamed as he entered, her eyes sparkling with delight. "Would you like a milkshake? I made it myself."

Wriothesley chuckled awkwardly, shaking his head. “No, thank you, Sigewinne. I think I’ll pass.”

Sigewinne’s milkshakes were notorious in Meropide for their peculiar ingredients, which she swore by for their health benefits. Wriothesley had tried them multiple times, and it had taken all his self-control not to gag. He couldn't help but wonder what bizarre ingredients she had blended this time.

"How is she?" he asked, his tone softening.

Sigewinne glanced towards one of the infirmary beds where (Y/N) lay, her face pale and drawn. “She’s resting now. I’ve given her something to settle her stomach and some proper food to regain her strength.” Her expression softened. “She was in pretty bad shape when I brought her in. Dehydration, fatigue, stress… you name it. I have also given something for the blisters on her palms."

Wriothesley walked over to (Y/N)'s bedside, his gaze taking in her fragile state. Even in her weakened condition, there was a quiet strength in her features. His mind drifted back to their encounter in Fontaine. She had been full of life then, her eyes sparking with annoyance and fire. Now, they were closed, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.

"Thank you, Sigewinne," he said, turning back to the Melusine. "Keep an eye on her for me, will you. I have a feeling she’ll need any assistance she can get here to get back on her feet." Wriothesley moved closer, his presence imposing yet gentle. He could see the faint lines of worry on (Y/N)'s forehead, the dark circles under her eyes. She had clearly been through an ordeal.

(Y/N)'s eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, confusion clouded her gaze. Then recognition dawned, and she stiffened, clearly remembering their previous encounter. "You," she whispered, her voice hoarse.

Wriothesley nodded. "Yes, it's me. I'm Wriothesley, the Warden of Meropide."

Her eyes widened in shock and horror, her voice barely above a whisper. “I... I'm so sorry about your shoes..."

He glanced down at his boots, now cleaned and showing no signs of the events from earlier. "Don't worry about it," he said, waving her apology away. "It's just a pair of shoes, they’re all cleaned up."

She tried to sit up, but Wriothesley clicked his tongue, gently pressing her back down. "Rest. Rest here as long as Sigewinne allows you to. After all, the mattresses here in the infirmary are far more comfortable than the ones in the dorms." He paused, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. "But don't tell anyone I said that. I’d get into trouble as the Warden for admitting such things."

A chuckle escaped her lips, a small but genuine sound that seemed to lighten the room as he wiped away the remaining tears from her cheeks.

Wriothesley’s expression softened further. "How many coupons did you lose earlier?"

Her gaze wavered, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. He repeated his question, his voice gentle. "You won't get into any trouble, (Y/N). Just tell me who tricked you."

Her gaze became downcast, avoiding his eyes. "I... I don't remember their names," she stammered.

Wriothesley could see she was lying, her eyes wavering and unable to meet his gaze. He decided not to press further. "How much did you lose?" he asked again.

"200," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Wriothesley sighed. He had seen her records and knew that it was her first wage from the production zone. Even now, when she had the opportunity to lie about the credit coupons to inflate their number, she stuck to the truth. He reached into his pocket and handed her 200 coupons.

She shook her head, her eyes widening. "I can't take these," she protested.

"Yes, you can," he insisted, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"No, really, I can't," she said, pushing the coupons back towards him. "I don't deserve them."

Wriothesley clicked his tongue again, shaking his head. "You're not in a position to refuse help. Take the coupons. Consider it as me compensating it for damaging your flowers a few days ago.”

"But—" she started.

"No buts," he interrupted. "You need these more than I do."

She hesitated, her hand trembling as she finally took the coupons. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice breaking.

Wriothesley nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "Just get some rest and recover. We'll figure out the rest later."

(Y/N) let out a very shaky breath, covering her eyes with the back of her arm. Wriothesley could see her lips quiver, understanding that she was holding back her tears. He understood the need for composure despite her vulnerable state.

“It was all a mistake,” she stammered, her voice breaking. “I shouldn’t be here. I… I didn’t kill anyone!”

Wriothesley didn’t respond immediately, the weight of his position pressing down on him. As the Warden, he was expected to remain impartial, to enforce the law without bias. But his conscience whispered that there was truth in her words, something in her demeanor that spoke of sincerity and desperation.

“Be that as it may,” he said carefully, choosing his words with deliberate precision, “if what you say is true, it will eventually come to light. The truth has a way of surfacing, and when it does, you will be a free person.”

(Y/N) let out a bitter laugh, her gaze fixed on the ceiling. “Who knows how long that will take,” she muttered, frustration lacing her voice.

Wriothesley hummed in agreement. “I can’t change the verdict that’s been passed, but I can assure you that Meropide isn’t as terrible as the surface world makes it out to be.”

(Y/N)’s eyes flashed with a mixture of anger and sorrow. “My experience says otherwise,” she shot back, her voice rising slightly. “I dislike it here. It’s so gloomy, and the constant metal clanking noises startle me. People are rude and hostile. There’s no sunlight, no fresh air, and not a single plant or a shred of greenery here that isn’t mold!” Her words tumbled out in a tense ramble, each complaint pouring from her as if a dam had burst. “Here, everything is gray and lifeless. No offense.”

Wriothesley chuckled softly at her last remark. “Of all the things you could list, you’re concerned about the lack of plants?”

She looked at him, her eyes fierce despite the tears brimming in them. “You’d be surprised how plants can liven up even the dreariest environments,” she retorted. “I miss my flowers and plants. They brought me peace, a sense of normalcy. Even in the worst of times, they were a constant.”

Wriothesley nodded thoughtfully, her words resonating with him. "I suppose you're right," he conceded. "Plants do have a way of brightening up a space."

(Y/N) sighed, the tension in her body slowly ebbing away. "I miss my shop, my work…" she murmured, more to herself than to him. "The smell of fresh flowers, the way the sun would filter through the windows in the morning. It was my sanctuary."

Wriothesley leaned against the infirmary bed, his arms crossed. "Tell me about it," he encouraged, sensing that talking might help ease her distress.

She glanced at him, surprise flickering in her eyes. But she took a deep breath and began. "It wasn't much, just a small shop in a quiet part of Fontaine that I inherited from my grandmother. I grew all the plants myself, tended to them every day. There were always fresh bouquets in the window, and people would come in just to admire them, even if they didn't buy anything. I loved seeing their faces light up. There was this one little girl who would visit every week, just to smell the flowers. It was... peaceful."

Wriothesley listened intently, picturing the vibrant little shop she described. "Sounds like a lovely place," he said softly.

"It was," she whispered, a tear slipping down her cheek. "And now... it's all gone."

Wriothesley leaned closer, his expression softening. "Don't give up hope yet," he urged. "If you were wrongfully convicted, then I have faith in the Iudex of Fontaine to uncover the truth. Chief Justice Neuvillette is no longer reliant on the Oratrice. He's thorough and fair. If there is evidence to prove your innocence, he will find it."

She looked at him, a flicker of hope mingling with her lingering despair. "But what if it takes too long? What if it never happens?" she whispered, her voice fragile.

"Once you've recovered and feel well-rested," Wriothesley continued, "come see me in my office. We'll talk more about your case and see what we can do to get you a fair review."

(Y/N) nodded slowly, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. "Thank you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Wriothesley turned to Sigewinne, who had been silently watching their exchange. He gave the Melusine a nod, a silent request to take good care of (Y/N). "Keep an eye on her," he said, his voice gentle. "Make sure she gets the care she needs."

"Of course, Your Grace," Sigewinne replied with a warm smile. "She'll be well looked after."

With one last glance at (Y/N), Wriothesley left the infirmary, his mind already racing with thoughts and plans. As he walked through the familiar corridors of Meropide, he mentally prepared himself to write to Neuvillette. He knew that if anyone could uncover the truth, it was Neuvillette. The man's dedication to justice was unparalleled.

Arriving at his office, Wriothesley sat down at his desk, pulling out parchment and ink. His thoughts were focused, determined. He wrote to Neuvillette first, outlining the details of (Y/N)'s case and his concerns about the evidence that seemed too neatly arranged. He trusted Neuvillette's judgment and knew that if anyone could see through a potential miscarriage of justice, it was the Chief Justice.

Next, he penned a request to the Spina di Rosula, something that was second nature to him despite remaining elusive to its boss. He’d often contacted them to make requests for material and goods for Meropide and this time was no different.

Sealing the letters, Wriothesley leaned back in his chair. (Y/N) deserved justice, and he was committed to doing everything in his power to ensure that the truth was uncovered. Meropide might be a place of punishment, but it was also a place where hope could still thrive in the form of second chances and a reset, whichever was to one’s liking. He handed the letters to his trusted Gardes as he retired for the day.

The corridors of Meropide seemed a little less cold as he made his way back to his quarters. The clang of metal doors and the murmur of voices faded into the background, his thoughts focused on the task ahead. He would ensure that (Y/N)'s voice was heard, and that if she was indeed innocent, she would find her freedom once more.

Prev chapter | | Chapter list | | Next chapter

taglist: - @local-x-reader

#lina writes #wriothesley #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x you #wriothesley genshin #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #wriothesley fanfic #genshin fanfic #fontaine #genshin wriothesley #genshin impact fanfics

[fantasykiri5]

Day 6 of @hermitadaymay and it’s the one and only Sans Undertale!!

#my art #Ijevin #ijevin fanart #jevin #jevin fanart #hermitcraft #hermitcraft fanart #hermitcraft art #hermit-a-day may #hermitadaymay #hermit-a-day may 2024 #hermitadaymay 2024 #hermitaday #Shoutout to this dude for having the most simple and easy to draw while still being visually satisfying design fucking ever #so few colors but not few enough to be boring. Enough details to be fun but not enough to be cumbersome to draw. #such good shapes.. transparent elements that are still fairly simple… AND i don’t have to draw toes this truly is a Fun To Draw Guy #also this is going out like two minutes into day 7 because I hit post limit with my reblogs today 💀 #I plan to miss as few days as possible I wanted to do keratin but got busy during the day. And then I had work yesterday. Wan’t super- #-pressed about missing Sundays before since they’re extra prompt days but I would have liked to not miss TFC #maybe I’ll get to them at some point after the event or if I end up with extra time. OOH maybe I’ll put them in some of the future ones #that would be easy. Yeah maybe I’ll do that. I could but Keralis with xB. They hang out right (<- doesn’t watch either of them) #Ooooh yeah actually I have a good idea for that that’s what I’m doing. I’ll figure out somewhere to put TFC i think

[gaydexvocaloid]

archer kaito wip 2!! & please read tags if possible ^_^ sorta important info!! !

#wip #kaito #pjsk #okay so i’m having a sort of minor surgery tomorrow so i’m going to be inactive then + a couple days afterwards most likely for recovery #so i’ll be gone for a bit #i will be back soon hopefully to finish this though!! i hope i can finish it before the event starts ;;;; #ty all for the continued support for my art #you all mean the world to me and more <3 #and thank you for being so patient with me as i know i don’t post very often to begin with #but i try really hard #all the comments/reblog tags/comments and likes i get always make my day #<333

[myfandomhalf]

Season Finale

Sick and tired of reading about people say that Dazai knowing about the plan beforehand somehow takes away from the genuineness of the skk moments

You mean you WANT Dazai to choose to kill Chuuya for the greater good and then not give a shit immediately after?? Ignoring the speech for a second, the reason he was able to be so carefree after “killing” Chuuya is because he KNEW Chuuya was gonna be okay.

First of all, Dazai knowing Chuuya wasn’t gonna die doesn’t take away from his speech. He replayed all those memories for himself, nobody else was seeing what was happening in his head. He was GENUINELY upset at the idea of losing Chuuya and having to put Chuuya through that, DESPITE knowing Chuuya would be okay. He was STILL upset. That’s way better than him thinking he just killed Chuuya, sparing him a thought, not even crying (bc no that wasn’t a tear) and then just moving on being silly as if nothing happened.

And then the other speech him saying that they’re destined to - do you seriously think he’d just make that up for shits and giggles? He was being serious. If he was gonna play it up for Fyodor’s sake he would’ve said the most emotional out of pocket line to ever be written, which to them would be related to him leaving Chuuya behind. But no he just said they’re destined to do something.

Dazai talks a lot about the past to Chuuya (Chuuya does not participate) but those two are clearly emotionally constipated bc they never have a conversation about what they mean to each other (which I think is bc Asagiri is not ready to reveal that yet). This was clearly Dazai taking his opportunity to say what he REALLY thinks / feels forcing Chuuya to listen without the commitment. Bc if anyone gets the ick later he can use the convenient excuse of “oh I didn’t mean that” which is bullshit.

And I do think an element of this idea that it’s worse that Dazai had everything planned comes from the misunderstanding that Dazai has completely changed since he was in the port mafia. Dazai just tends to make “better” (as in more objectively good) choices, but he very much still puts on a front. You guys do realize that his silly persona is just that right? A persona? He’s literally being fake every time he’s silly. That’s not his real personality. He’s a morally gray character. He never became a purely good person and he never will. It makes MUCH more sense that he planned everything out with Chuuya beforehand.

He met up with Akutagawa before getting arrested, he probably did the same with Chuuya.

And yes, this means he DID use and manipulate Sigma the entire time. Why wouldn’t he? Sigma has an ability Dazai needed. I’m sure Dazai planned for sigma to not die bc in his role as a detective it’s part of his job to mitigate losses of innocent lives, he knows this, but also bc Dazai needs to know what sigma learned. I genuinely hope there isn’t anyone out there thinking Dazai wouldn’t manipulate sigma bc he cares about him? He just met him. He has no personal investment in him. But he WILL make sure sigma is alive bc of the aforementioned reasons.

#soukoku #skk #bsd skk #yes I did just make a new side blog to post this lol #I just read something and it made me angry so this probably sounds really aggressive 🥴 #I swear I’m usually more chill #I also can’t explain how angry and heartbroken I was when I saw in the manga that Dazai didn’t care he just killed Chuuya #and started just messing around with sigma #I genuinely can’t fathom why you guys want that to have happened #I can look back at those scenes and breathe now knowing Dazai knew Chuuya was gonna be okay #I will probably be less angry if anyone replies in a few hours and will be able to have a civil discussion if anyone disagrees lol #tho pls be aware since this IS a side blog I can’t reply directly bc it forces me to reply with my main blog #and I don’t really want anyone to see my main blog #so I’ll have to reblog and then @ most likely #unless this has been fixed?? #if I can reply with a sideblog pls lmk #also pls don’t be rude I’ll reply if you respectfully disagree that’s fine but not if you’re just gonna yell at me #I know a lot of this is probably a hot take #but I’m feeling brave what can I say

[kicktwine]

feel like I have to fire rent lowering shots now that I posted my tumblr link on twitter though

#not sure what KIND #umm……… #kipspeak #I’ll think of something. like. furries are cool ship discourse is lame. I do rb cartoon gore? im religious in the way merle highchurch is #mint chocolate chip ice cream sucks. So does most fruity ice cream #take the first exit if u have excessively negative opinions about sora/riku/nami/roku/Xion/ven/vani shipping #im not dealing with you despite not talking THAT much more abt shipping on tumblr vs twitter #I have very strong opinions about animal conservation and zoos lmao?? What else. khux/bbs are the best kh games in the parasitism way #like they’re in my brain forever. ever and ever and ever #I like homestuck I do reblog it and kismessitude is the best and most fun and sexy quadrant #these are rent lowering party poppers I’m not sure what to do here. just don’t be weird now that you can see me reblog and liveblog

[rosicheeks]

You could post cute pics and get validation from strangers on the internet while you wait.

Fr tho I hope you're doing okay ❤️

What do you think I’ve been doing 😂😘

#haven’t posted in literal ages #and then I post multiple things in the past day or two l o l #your girl wants attention and validation all the damn time!!! #was trying to reblog old content but yall have seen that too much and don’t have the same reaction #I want your mouth to drop and you can’t help but drool from looking at me #that’s my goal 😇 #but seriously I’ve been looking at a lot of my rosie content and deciding what’s good enough to post #looking for someone to go through all my content and tell me what are the true gems #so I can post those #it’s actually insane how much content I have #and most of it has never been seen before lol #have this school girl post I’m working on 😇 #just working on the cute tags hehe #if you guys are ever bored and looking for something to do #give me attention #and praise #and worship me #pretty please 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 #on a real note I should be fine? I hope. #every day is different… today I’m doing my ehhh alright? #but I can’t complain cause some days I feel like death #I’m also lucky I have weed to use as my crutch #I’m just in between jobs right now cause I was trying to get into this dumb program #but now that I’m on a waitlist I’m gonna have to find some sort of income #I saved up some from my last job but that is slowly dwindling away #maybe I’ll do some sort of driving/delivery job #I’m just so sick of working when I know it doesn’t make a difference #I’m going to be poor and broke the rest of my life so who cares #welp getting sad and don’t wanna do thaaaaaat….. also running out of space lol. so gonna smoke the little weed I have left and ignore ignore #ask

[gatheryepens]

A LEVEL RESULTS DAY AND I DIDN’T FAIL AAAH

#I was shitting bricks for my results #buttttt #I’m super pleased with myself since #I can reapply to the course I want to do :) #I hope anyone doing a level gets the results they need #and just remember that your self worth is dependent on 3-4 letters #and that you are amazing :) #I’m taking a gap year #because 1 I didn’t get any offers lol #and 2 I really need a break from studying since during my a levels my mental health really went 📉 #plus I’m hoping this year I can rediscover myself #and do the things I enjoy most like crocheting and reading #basically this year is going to be me relaxing #and working #so I will not be posting any study content for about a year or so #so I will predominantly be posting bookish stuff #I’ll still be reblogging study posts #but I won’t be posting any #I might have some random photos that I’ll post #or some timelapses #but from the looks of it I’m mainly dancing in them 😭😭 #for anyone receiving their A level results I’m so incredibly proud you are amazing 💙💙💙 #gathertalks #gatherrambles #a level results day

[domripley]

.

#it just sucks I spend so much writing fic for like 1 reblog that isn’t myself lol #it’s discouraging as shit and I #have so much stuff I wanna write but when I spend weeks writing it’s just #🤷 #don’t mind me I’ll be deleting this soon most likely

[moonlightperseus]

some spooky buckley siblings icons 👻🦇🎃

#evan buckley #maddie buckley #buckley siblings #911edit #911 icons #my edit #mine #my icons #brotp: buckley siblings #feel free to use! likes/reblogs appreciated 🥰 #(i’ve truly made. a horrendous amount of spooky icons over the past couple days so i’m trying to just dip my toes into posting some) #(i unfortunately did not save just the background of the middle most one so they cannot be seperated. sold only as a set) #(i do have a buddie version and a hen & chim version with that background tho) #anyways idk if these will interest anyone but if they do i’ll post more of the ones i made! #911 spooky icons #undescribed #911

[kingofthering]

BESTIE can we have some MotoGP/Marc blog recs??

Hello, I did a list with some MotoGP blog recs back in October, you can find it here.

#ask #might have to update it / make a new version at some point because it’s been 4 months #I never really feel comfortable categorising people by riders because I feel like most people I follow are multi riders posting anyway #so I’ll let you be the judge of who has enough marc content for you #(almost everyone reblogs content of him anyway)

[pepprs]

it’s that time of year where i want to remake my blog so so so bad it’s unreal and then i don’t. lol

#i have way too many followers to be doing the shit i do on here and im kinda getting tired of it. i wish the crab post hadn’t blown up #purrs #i just don’t want to lose the years of posts or like my sideblogs being attached to this blog or anything. and i would want to still be #pepprs but i wouldn’t want ppl to find me easily. idk. ughhh. head in hands #delete later #i wish there was a function to like remove followers en masse. that would fix me #all of u who like regularly like my personal posts would stay of.c it’s just like the literal resacteds of ppl who idont even know and i #feel claustrophobic on here sometimes and all i do is just close the app when i feel like that. but idk #it’s not sustainable. and i miss the freedom that comes w like having fewer ppl perceiving you iykwim. maybe i’ll remake for 2023 idk #i think tumblr has started recommending me to new users too like it’s that bad. and idont ahve any ill will towards ppl who follow me or #anything like i appreciate it. i just want privacy and i get so many asks and stuff all the time ajdni don’t want to sound ungrateful bc i #rly do appreciate it but also i have abt 2% social battery most days and i feel guilty and stressed bc the amount of ppl who want to talk to #me just keeps growing and growing and most of the time i want to hide and just reblog posts and not think abt it. that sounds so mean and is #very very evidential of my lockdown induced mental illness and again i do not want to sound ungrateful bc i really am. im just tired and #overwhelmed and overstimulated every day and i need… whatever you call this. even though i already isolate myself too much irl anyway

[thomine]

TELL ME 5 RANDOM THINGS ABOUT YOURSELF!

(Let's try and pass this thing on) And after you finish, tag five different people just to tell them how much you appreciate them for being with you on this platform! <3

thank you @sarcasticqueerblob for the tag! decided to make my own post because the original post is long & my contributions will make it worse, HAHA.

i tag @paimonial-rage @mimi-cee-genshin @andromeda-nova-writing @pen-observing @dustofthedailylife (just nice. i only know 5 people on his hellsite AHDJSJDJSJKD. no pressure btw)

i can only write chronologically. by that i mean in the order the fic will be read. i've tried writing the middle or end before the beginning, but it didn’t click with me.

most of my works were written while i’m travelling. i love being alone for long train/bus rides because it’s the perfect pause to retreat to my inner world.

i started reading fanfics on wattpad in 2013. i don’t remember how i found reader inserts, but it’s wattpad. so… :P

i draw! it’s not great, but it’s something. now i just got to dip my toes into music production (e.g. lo-fi, instrumentals) and then i can take the first step to be the triple threat younger me always wanted to be for storytelling.

i started a tumblr in… early 2010s? unfortunately, i deactivated that account, which would have been an amazing time capsule. i wasn’t thinking much when i let it go.

#from a cursory glance of ur blog i think u read the tags so i’ll write a more personalised reply here!! #esp since ppl might reblog this post to add their own facts #idw them to have a personalised reply in their reblogs LOLOL #THANK U SM FOR TAGGING ME!! i’m actually so 😭😭😭 to know you like my works?? i only have like. 2 LOL #and i wldnt say they’re the most popular among the gi reader insert community (i write for a niche audience which is me LOL) #but then i saw u also tagged CRY*CULUS???? i’m such a big fan of them too #to be tagged with someone i also admire is so mind blowing!!!! #they r part of my fanfiction spine fr fr. i remember stumbling on their older works and being mindblown at their ability to finish a story #finish it WELL too. then guard dog (touma) dropped and i read it all in one sitting and CRIED. man. #i want to evoke such emotions in my readers as well!! #anyways sorry rambling aside‚ i admire your bravery to tag me!! #if u ever wanna chat my discord is thignari. let’s be friends <3!! #oh but i am an adult tho so like if that makes u uncomfy then u know what to do AHHAHA #idk ur age so to play safe i shan’t make the first move of being friends hahahaha #ALSO FUN FACT did you know i have the telegram sticker pack for ur pfp pic #the sticker pack is 领结猫 which translates to bow tie cat and every single sticker is my favourite #.g

[flippedorbit]

psps chat send in drawing requests

#queue #this is queued so that I remember to reblog it throughout the day #since I’ll be on the road for about three to four hours tomorrow in total. and I will be bored most of it. #and the academic team I’m on is probably gonna lose in the first game (like always; but it’s okay we all have fun)