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tomriddleslove · 3 months

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I’m here.

✩Mattheo Riddle x Reader

Summary: The one where Mattheo is spiralling and he needs a way out. He doesn’t expect to find it right in front of him. Alternatively: He doesn’t realise he is loved, by you.

A/N: Riddles 🤝 Internal Monologues. I’ve postponed a smut to write this because my heart belongs to angst. REQUESTS ARE OPEN 😻

Warning: Mentions of Abuse, Child abuse, Substance Abuse, Unhealthy Family environments, Depression. This is quite a heavy read.

Mattheo liked to think of himself as an independent person. It wasn't of his own volition, of course. He didn't exactly have the most supportive home environment. From the day he turned up to Hogwarts after the summer holidays, with scuff marks on his shoes, ragged clothing, hunger gnawing at his insides like a ravenous beast and a bruise spattering the left side of his face, he learnt that the world would not show mercy on him. No, Mattheo had to do it on his own.

He did indeed feel grateful for his friends, who didn't need to utter a word in their support. It wasn't hums of sympathy or pitying looks. It was them brushing off his back when he fell, it was saving the work for him when he had rough evenings, it was pouring him a coffee when he sat down for breakfast without saying a word. Their friendship was not reflected in their words, no, for words were futile. It was in their actions. And Mattheo would be eternally grateful for them.

But even then, it was he who was surrounded by so many, who felt the most alone.

He couldn't ever speak of his issues, he didn't think he ever could. His friends loved him, but not in the way unconditional love came. It need not be romantic, no, Mattheo was not a fool. He didn't care for that when he could barely get himself together. But his deepest secret was not his family's past, nor was it the hidden bruises under his uniform.

Rather, it was that Mattheo simply, had the most terrible, incredibly human need, for love.

For the sort of love that would let you look at the most broken down, raw parts of a person, and still speak of them with reverence.

It tears at your skin. It digs its claws into your feeble skin, and it pulls, It tugs, and it screams. It bares its teeth, it etches its name into your soul. It feeds on you, it consumes you, it hurts you. It bleeds in front of you.

It bleeds, yet it does not cower under the weight of its own vulnerability, because it knows you love it. You lean down, and you cradle it as though it was the most delicate thing on earth. It shrieks in your arms, it continues clawing at you.

You hold it. You are not afraid.

It bleeds, and it makes you bleed with it.

It’s ok.

You'll clean it. You are not afraid.

It was, in its purest form, an ugly thing. Ugly, yet so undeniably beautiful. His heart could only ache, and clench at the thought of such an unconditional love. The idea that someone could see him for him, see Mattheo for Mattheo and not for his father, or for his friends, or for his loud, raucous persona that he put on, or his unhealthy habits.

But how could someone see Mattheo for himself, when he himself didn't know who he was?

He wondered what the rest of his life held for him, often. Sprawled out on his bed, a near-empty bottle of Odgens’ fire whiskey loosely clutched in his hands. His hands are cold; they never warmed.

He always had this feeling in his throat. A sort of suffocating weight, a pain that restricted him. It made it hard to swallow, and even harder to speak.

People would think he'd be out partying. Maybe getting with a girl. With his friends.

It's not that he didn't do that. He did. But it got to a point where the face of one girl blurred into another, he couldn't tell his mornings from evenings. Floating on a high that would sink into an undistinguishable low, one and the same.

He never slept. Whilst they didn't outwardly question it, his friends would jibe and jeer at him, assuming the bags under his eyes were due to his late-night rendezvous with another girl.

Would they look at him differently if they knew it came from nightmares?

He couldn't sleep, because every time he closes his eyes the depths of his mind torment him with images from his past.

His father’s hand comes down, cruel and unforgiving. The bruises mar his skin, but it became the norm. The purples and greens became akin to home more than anything else he had.

In his dreams, his legs do not reach as far as they do now. His calloused hands are smooth once more, and his eyes are wide and honest.

He is young once more, and it does not bring him ease.

He seeks out his mother, he yearns for comfort. She does not give it to him. He is met with the harsh sound of a slap resounding, and his cheek starts hurting. He's confused, and then-

Oh.

Right.

His eyes close, and they open again. He is now looking in the mirror, and he is back to the way he is now. He is standing there, and he cannot tell why he is. He looks the same, yet somehow unrecognisable. Mattheo knows himself well, but right now he feels as though there is a stranger in front of him. That can't be him, he thinks, but he has the same faded scar on his right eyebrow, and his jaw is clenched in the same way. His nose is slightly crooked from when he tried to mend his broken nose at the age of 8.

He meets his eyes in the mirror, and they stare back at him. There isn't that familiar gleam of exhaustion. There isn’t sadness, yet he isn't relieved to see it. He looks in the mirror, and he sees himself. He sees his father reflected in him.

He is watching, and a child approaches him. He is young, as Mattheo was. He barely manages to walk over without stumbling. He looks up at Mattheo - the one in the mirror. Mattheo looks down, but he does not see the kid next to him. He stares back at Mattheo in the mirror, and his reflection is looking down at the child. His stomach starts to hurt. His insides churn, and the reflection raises a hand. The child looks up at him, the same way Mattheo looked up at his mother. The hand comes down, and the harsh sound of a slap resounds throughout the room. The child cries. Mattheo's cheek hurts.

He wakes.

Gasping, sweat clinging to his forehead. His body is freezing, and his mind is reeling. His heart is pounding frantically, and he throws the blanket off him, rubbing a hand over his face as he groans.

He couldn't sleep, He was terrified of trying to do so. His eyes flicker over to the clock on his wall.

2:00 am.

Every time he shuts his eyes, he sees the child looking up at his reflection in the mirror. He sees his reflection raising its hand. In the silence, he hears the sound of the slap, he hears the cries of the child. It mingles with his own, he cannot not tell whose is whose.

He gets up, slipping his hoodie on. His movements are groggy because even if his mind couldn't sleep, his body still needed it.

Then again, one more night of resorting to drinking himself to sleep and he wouldn't be sure if he would wake again. His feet lead him to your room before his mind registers it. He doesn't know why he's standing outside your door, but you were his friend. Perhaps, a closer friend than the rest of them. He knew you'd be up, and he needed to not be alone right now.

Mattheo was a very independent person most of the time, but now was not one of those times.

That terrible, incredibly human need comes back again.

His hand rests on the doorknob, the cool metal still warmer than his own skin. He hesitates, but he pushes the door open.

Your door was always open for him.

As he expected, you were awake. Stretched out on your bed, propped up on a few cushions as you read a book. Your eyes flicker up as you look over at Mattheo, the confusion on your face very quickly fading as you see the state he's in.

You do not say anything, and he is grateful. You put your book to the side. You do not slide over to the side and offer Mattheo a spot next to you like you always do. You instead, continue looking over at him. Instead, you open your arms. You do not say anything, and you beckon him over.

He does not move immediately. He gazes at you for a second and once again, his feet move, and he gravitates towards you before his mind can even compute what he’s doing. The mattress squeaks slightly under your combined weight, as he comes over. He lowers down onto you, his head resting on your chest as he wraps his arms around your midsection. You cradle him as though he was the most delicate thing on earth. His cold skin meets yours, and its intransigence wavers.

He warms, and it is the most beautiful feeling.

He clings to you, as though trying to merge his existence with yours, afraid you'll slip away.

You hold him.

“I'm here,” You whisper.

It doesn't take long after that.

His head is hidden in your chest. Your fingers card through his brown curls.

You hold him.

He weeps.

You hold him.

You do not let go. He cries, and he cries till his throat is dry, and your shirt is soaked. He cries, and not once does your hold on him waver.

You are not disgusted by him. You do not look at him differently. It is amidst those tears that he comes to the realisation that he did not have to search very far. He is not just seeking comfort; he's holding onto the love and acceptance he's always craved. The raw, unfiltered emotion takes him by surprise, and he lets it wash over him. He did not cower under his own vulnerability any more, no, for his vulnerability is both liberating and overwhelming.

His sobs gradually subside, and your hold only loosens slightly when his body no longer shakes with the weight of his emotions. The feeling in his throat is gone.

He doesn't look up at you, but it's okay. You still look at him the same way. Your lips press a tender kiss against his messy hair lightly. His arms wrap around you tighter. You both remain silent. You don’t need to speak the words, because Mattheo knows.

Everything would be okay, if only for tonight.

#harry potter #slytherin #tom riddle #mattheo riddle #mattheo x you #mattheoxreader #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle x you #slytherin boys fic #slytherin boys #lorenzo berkshire #draco malfoy #theodore nott #blaise zabini #harry potter fic #mattheo riddle angst

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delululand · 6 months

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could u pls do txts kissing styles ?? <33

soobin - gentle kisses: soft, delicate kiss like way to show love, respect, and affection

you agreed to have dinner with soobin together, but he had to stay late for rehearsal. this was not the first time, so this situation upset you. arriving home and seeing you in the kitchen clearing everything from the table, soobin came up to you and gently put his hands on your waist, looking with his big puppy eyes. looking at him you said “stop looking at me like that, I’m angry” but after he sees your barely noticeable smile he leans closer and whispers “well, I know that you can’t stop yourself in front of my eyes, hm?” and gently touches your lips with his lips, after which you finally give in and kiss him back, wrapping your arms around his neck

yeonjun - intimate kisses: intense, deep kiss that expresses unconditional love

yeonjun had been on tour for almost two months and hearing the front door open on the day of his return made your heart flutter. when you saw him in the doorway, you immediately ran to hug him. seeing him after such a long separation seemed unreal. you looked into each other's eyes for several seconds, not believing that you were together again. you’re felt how hearts racing and breathing quickening. your lips automatically reached for each other. a kisses started off slowly, but grew more intense with each passing second. you ran hands through each other's hair, caressing and kissing way down the neck, shoulders, and chest. you totally couldn't control yourself, losing yourself in the moment and giving in completely to yours feelings

beomgyu - teasing kisses: playful, flirty kiss on the neck or ear

you spent lazy weekends at home because you didn't want to go out. everyone around was talking about some new super popular movie and beomgyu suggested watching it. he stares at you the entire movie. you feel his gaze on you and without turning away from the tv you say “stop staring at me like that” and he just grins, moves closer to your ear and whispers “or what?”, burning with his breath while simultaneously touching your thigh with his fingertips. he’ll move your hair to the side and begin to slowly run his nose along your neck, moving you closer to him, placing his hand on your waist. you sigh in surprise and he just turns down the volume on the tv, leans closer to you and captures your lips in a hot kiss

taehyun - romantic kisses: a long, passionate kiss on lips

you are cooking breakfast, your throughs make a gentle smile on your face. you are pouring milk into a cup, beating eggs in a bowl, and chopping veggies on a cutting board. suddenly, you feel a pair of arms around your waist and a soft kiss on your shoulder. taehyun puts his head on your shoulder, gently hugging you from behind while you stand dressed in his shirt. his hair is wet from the shower and the smell of his shampoo fills your nostrils. he nuzzles into your neck saying “in the morning you look even more beautiful than at night”. he turning you around kisses you on the lips while sliding his fingers along your thighs making you want more

huening kai - healing gentle kisses: tender, healing kiss that soothes and conveys support

after a long and tiring day, you were so happy to see your boyfriend home. he was lying on the bed and only his smile already warmed your heart so when he called you to lie with him it seemed like a heaven sent as a reward for all the hardships of that day. you lay sprawled on the kai’s chest, talking about your day. he listened to you attentively, stroking your hair and kissing you on the face and top of your head. a gentle breeze from opening window brushing against yours faces. he continued to kiss your face and hands until you fell asleep. you felt so comfortable and relaxed as everything bad that happened to you during the day just evaporated in his arms

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bigfatbimbo · 1 month

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you ask me to talk about any of the vees?

why of course. and yes it’s vox i want to talk about.

okay hear me out here…i hc him as obviously a bottom, a sub, and definitely someone needy for their partner. i want more clingy Vox!! we’re talking quadruple-texting, clinging to your side, asking to shower together purely so he can be with you, always running behind you as you flit around town running errands, etc etc.

but this side of vox obviously translates into the bedroom as well.

picture him, dick or boycunt (both are delicious), just absolutely clinging to you as you fuck the shit out of him.

we know this man has a mommy kink at this point, but just picture how well you could play to his clinginess, edging him breathless and then ruthlessly overstimulating him again and again as he clings to you, unable to form coherent words, only “mommy, please!”

and the aftercare…ohhhh, the aftercare. poor baby wouldn’t even want you to leave to get him a glass of water. you’d have to pry yourself off him just to get what you need to care for him, and even after that he’d cling to you, sleepy and needy, falling asleep atop you like a cat, rendering you unable to move for the next few hours.

anyways yeah, vox. we love him.

warnings — smut, unorganized, actually just a long ass ramble, your going to want to kill yourself by the end, dom reader, use of mommy, NOT PROOFREAD

summery — A terrible ramble because you got bimbo all worked up about clingy subby vox. Also this isn’t a drabble or headcanons, but a secret third thing (a mess.)

I AM IN SUCH A VOX MOOD RIGHT NOW!! Who’s surprised? Anyways, let me jibber jabber about this for the next few messy, unorganized paragraphs.

So I love your idea, and so i’m going to take it and put in into a more canonical in-character little ball. Let me start off with getting Vox to this point and how it would take literally forever.

Because even if he trusts you, he still wouldn’t be overly clingy or submissive. I mean, obviously he’s submissive, but in a harder to break, bratty kind of way.

Well, let’s think about this; what would it take for us to get a clingy, subby Vox? It would take lots of time, and lots of building of, not only trust, but reliance. Say you’ve been dating for a while, he’s obviously subbed before, but still in that entitled power bottom kind of way.

Now, we all know his job is stressful, he’s a CEO and his coworkers aren’t the most relaxed people in the world. He’s stressed out and things go wrong. As per usual, he bitches to you about it.

But here’s where we start to break down his walls. Giving him a back massage while calmly giving him actual advice on the situation. Carefully recommending him ways to solve the problem, while relaxing the tense muscles in his neck.

Thats more than simple trust, like I said before, that establishes a small undertone of reliance. He’s independent, a control freak, but fuck, your ideas were good and now he can finally calm down. Now there’s a newfound trustworthiness that you’ll be there for him when he’s too angry or bugged out to think of a strategy.

Maybe you do little thoughtful things for him too, make his coffee the way he likes it, leaving little sticky notes around the house with sweet things on them. He thinks it dumb, probably laughs in your face about it, until he doesn’t. Because on some days, his fragile ego has taken so many hits that he needs your unconditional support and love.

That’s when we see him get more clingy. Even still, it would only show after specific situations, but it’s there. You are his source of comfort in his hectic, exhausting, businessman life. He wants to be powerful and dominant all the time, that’s a given. But it’s the fact that with you, he doesn’t have to be.

Okay enough character analysis, let’s make this interesting. Quadruple texts are very in-character because of his attention seeking tendencies. He’s texting you all sorts of things, while probably watching you on his cameras. Especially if you’re talking to someone else, then he blows up your phone to take the attention off of them.

Clinging to your side would probably only happen alone, but he would try to be so slick about it. Oh you need to get up and get water? Here, he’ll do it— oh, ouch, oh no! His back hurts. Could you maybe stop what you’re doing and come rub his back until it’s better?

Showering with you is a given. Walking behind you in the city while you’re running errands is interesting, however. Because I don’t think he would walk behind you, that’d make him look like some stupid lapdog. No, no, he’d keep up the pace perfectly, maybe even walk a little faster.

But he’d try to be slick about following you around too. Like, oh, you have errands to run? Well, wait up. Coincidentally something just popped up for him as well.

Okay, everyone shut the fuck up we’re gonna talk about sex now. Because once you get him to trust and depend on you this much, he is so needy all of the time.

I’ve talked about his mommy kink before, but this shines a new light on it. We know he’s desperate for validation, attention, and overall someone to stroke his ego, making him the perfect candidate for a praise kink. However, this paired with the fact that he’s not surrounded by the most supportive people in the world, and he’s normally stressed out of his mind and dying to be taken care off but too prideful to do anything about it mommy kink city.

And because, as we’ve established, he trusts and relies on you so much, making him super clingy, also gives him that extra ingredient to fuel his mommy kink. He wants you to take care of him and make him feel loved (fantastic when degrading him because it makes it all 100x more effective.)

So I actually think him being super clingy and needy, with zero to no reciprocation let’s be real, would for very well with this.

Imagine pegging him, as Vox sits in your lap, arms slinked tightly around your neck as his nails dig into your back while you fuck him rough. He’s came several times already and the cities power is long gone, but he thinks he’d genuinely die if you stopped.

His screaming out for you, clawing at your back while shouting anything he can think of. ‘Mommy— mzzz—more!’ ‘Don’t stop, ‘ve been so good.’ ‘Fuck, call me your g—gzzz—good boy.’

Too much praise and too much degradation both make him sob his eyes out and lowkey fucks with his wiring. If he’s getting strapped up good enough he’d probably electrocute you, all while moaning and whining for his mommy.

Sub-top Vox with a mommy kink also does something to be, ask me about it, I dare you.

And he’d be the cutest during aftercare. Still coming out of subspace, hiding his screen in your chest while you rub his back softly, wincing when you get too close to his neck where all the bite marks are.

But he’d be totally collapsed on top of you after you clean him off a little, and because of his sleepiness he’d probably still call you mommy.

a/n — this was lowkey my good night post because i’m too tired to do anything else. Looking forward to reading your Vees requests though, and writing hate sex Lute!

#hazbin hotel x reader #inbox open #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel smut #dom reader #vox x reader #sub vox #vox x you #vox smut

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indiaalphawhiskey · 2 months

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Oh India, reading your tags for the latest post about Louis´ sexuality -

I think of everyone Louis was the most comfortable with himself the earliest and that confidence is a big part of why *Harry* is the way he is having someone like Louis love and accept you for everything you are so early in life would change anyone and make them confident

Preach!!! I mean I´m not here for that long but I immediately understood that it was Louis, Louis and only Louis who made Harry the way he is now and the way he represent himself, the way he´s comfortable with himself and having confidence to bring some of his most bold and extravagant looks. Because Louis always encouraged him to do it. From encouraging him to paint his nails, to wear a dress if he wants to or that he would look nice even with shaved hair. It just makes me mad that noone *couch couch harries couch couch* knows it by now. He´s the most supportive boyfriend everyone would wish to have tbh.

Honestly, I believe this down to my bones.

As someone who has battled insecurity her whole life, and has Louises in her life, I’m so acutely aware of how that one friend can change your outlook on yourself so completely just by showing up for you and really being like “I love you for everything you are. You can be as weird as you like.”

And that’s platonic love. I cannot imagine the power of having that in a romantic partner and at sixteen no less. That’s the kind of love that makes you invincible, especially if you’re naturally offbeat (which Harry clearly has always been, bless his goober heart). It could have easily gone the other way without that kind of unconditional support and love — really, really easily too, considering management and the pressure Harry was under as a “heartthrob”.

I think what’s especially amazing is Louis was saying things like “just do the whole nail, for God’s sake!” in the early 2010’s, when there was almost zero mainstream conversation about gender expression, and people were still saying shit like “no homo”. And he was saying that at eighteen or nineteen — usually an extremely impressionable age to perform traditional masculinity particularly when surrounded by boys and constantly under public scrutiny.

Thinking about it with that level of nuance and hindsight, you can clearly see that Louis’ confidence and encouragement and love was absolutely extraordinary and waaaaaaaay more mature for, not only his age group, but the time.

In conclusion, Louis is just fucking wonderful, thanks.

Related to this.

#iaw ask #iaw anonymous #louis’ confidence #Louis and Harry

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hiraeth-sonder · 15 days

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Delusive Masks - Nasu

Yan! Tamamo no Mae x Reader

Old foxes aren't the best servants, they're wily and complex, and most of all, possessive

TW: Mentions of violence in the form of burning, general toxic manipulative behaviour, not really proof read

//The brainrot hit so bad that I wrote a bad fever dream. A whole bunch of liberties taken with the way being an onmyoji works and with characters as per usual. Poem is from 陽成院歌合, topic of 夏虫の恋 and is number 06 of the whole collection

あふことを, いつともしらぬ

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

To be a good person is not difficult, to be a good onmyoji perhaps less so. For many people, merely getting the skill and natural ability to qualify as one is already a kind of privilege, it taints the way they view themselves, creating grandiose splendours that they can transcend beyond the mortal principles. Yet when one becomes powerful enough to summon shikigami beyond weak spirits imbued into paper dolls, it gets to their head. They suddenly, foolishly believe themselves capable of nothing short of miracles. How fast they fall, turning themselves into cruel masters, bidding their servants to acts no better than the very yokai they seek to exorcise, kicking upon their shikigami to which they had entered that sacred contract.

You are grateful for many things in life, the first that you had good parents that supported your wishes, the second that you could become a practising onmyoji, and the third being your master’s consistent and persistent hammering of humility and altruism. No lesser or greater than any being that walks upon this world, whether human or spirit, your duty was to protect the innocent and excise the guilty. Of course, he had worded it much more eloquently than such, but the motive was still present in his orotund words.

Your shikigami are as equally deserving of respect as you are, unconditional kindness could very often make the difference between an evil spirit and a good one. You have stuck by such truths for as long as you have started, even when the only spirits under your command were Ubume and Zashiki Warashi. It became a promise of kinds, that you would always do right by them so long as they showed the same sentiment in return. Eventually, you ended up with quite a few of them, a good entourage of them you knew you could trust. Yet, it was rather difficult for people to take you seriously without certifiably powerful spirits, or perhaps it was more accurate to say that there was a certain gap between the perceived disciple of the great Abe no Seimei, and the reality that you were.

There was some part of you that did resent that expectation, partly that others should have no right to comment on your ability solely on your patronage, and partly because it felt too close to home. Of course you knew it was shameful to be so powerless when you study under one of the best practitioners, it is only natural you did.

The smell of incense fills your nose as your eyes adjust to the dim room, a talisman before you laying on the wooden floor. With a brush in hand, dipped in ink and poised for use, you calm your pounding heart. You have already summoned a few shikigami before, yet at this very moment, you could feel nothing but inexplicable foreboding. It made no sense, with your current living quarters more than protected by both your and your shikigamis’ efforts, yet you could not merely shake off the tenseness in your joints and the roiling in your stomach.

It hurts, everything still hurts. Your hands from all the preparation, your knees from kneeling on such hard floors, your head from everything that has been and shall be. It is as though your body only knows to bear suffering, pain from which is borne from being mortal, pain borne of the pure action of breathing.

Still, you close your eyes and take a deep breath. Picking up your brush in a ramrod perfect posture, the incantation so familiar to your lips spill out as ink stains the talisman. Your voice starts soft, barely a whisper in the wind and as your hand scrawls and scrawls with a fervour not quite known to human consciousness, it rises until the only sound in your ear is your very own words.

The moment your brush lifts off the paper and the ink settles within, placed within the circle, it resonates and glows, bursting with light and into flame as it burns into a brilliant blaze. It threatens to engulf the summoning room, grazing at the ceiling as even the fire from your candles are absorbed into such a violent inferno. You can feel the heat, practically licking your skin and singeing the ends of your coat, sweat beading at your brow as you shield your eyes from the bright display.

Even when the flames dim, what is before your eyes is merely the shaping of the firestorm into nine distinct tails, a vulpine silhouette that eventually reveals a tall figure, draped in silks and brocades. With an elaborate fox-like mask hiding the top half of his face, this spirit which presented himself as both court official and decadent noble snapped open his fan to further hide his jade white visage. Among the cool night, all you could feel was the radiating heat from his form, even if he retracted his flames, it was as if there was nothing beyond him and his fire.

The high wooden geta clacks against the wooden floorboards, elegant footfalls approaching you ever closer as he steps out of the circle. He makes no effort to lower himself to your level, fervid eyes burning behind the mask as he tips his fan beneath your chin and lifts it. The spirit takes a gander at your appearance, scrutinising your every feature with an intensity far beyond mild interest.

“This place has experienced great change since I’ve last been here,” The old fox’s lips curl into a smile, the peek of sharp canines peeking from behind. His voice is sultry, a minacious bite to his words, “Onmyoji, we finally finally meet.”

No matter this first introduction, dealing with this great spirit will be much more complicated than any you have ever met. A venerable kitsune in which vagary destruction lay right at the snap of his fingers, no matter what kind of fate he deems worthy for your mortal self, it is exactly because you are mortal that you should meet this trial.

Bowing, you raise your clasped hands in front of you and dip until you feel your back screech for mercy, “Tamamo no mae-sama, it is an honour to meet you.”

“Do take care of me, little lady,” He croons and a shiver runs through your bones, no matter how gentle his words were.

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

なつむしの, おもひはかぎり

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

“Master, I did not think you would arrive so quickly.”

Your hands are steady as you tip the lacquered teapot, fragrant tea pouring in a steady stream from its slender spout. The dark liquid a blend you rarely take out other than to entertain your master, there is a certain trepidation that comes with such an act, one you are not sure when will finally leave you. The joints of your fingers ache, throbbing even as you lay at rest.

“It is so wrong for me to worry for you?” He raises a brow, azure eyes regarding you with some placid gleam.

Despite your admittedly out of place nerves, your master has done nothing to warrant such, that in spite of his graceful and aloof poise, Seimei may likely be one of the kindest people you have ever met. You understand that a person can in no way be entirely benevolent nor evil, for that is what makes a sentient being sentient, but there is merely something about him that brings forward ease within a person.

You only shake your head, an abashed quirk tugging at your lips. Watching him take a sip from his cup, your mind drifts back to the message you had sent. A letter that was hastily scrawled and messy beyond reason, the paper carried the distinct stench of smoke and ash, it was a moment of panic now that you could look upon the incident with a much clearer head. The minute you had situated the old yokai in conditions appeasable to his own tastes, you remember sprinting back to your room, sweat clinging to your skin and staining the paper as you wrote, informing your master what had just occurred and asking for his guidance.

“Of course not, I just thought you would have taken more time to get here,” You hum, your voice lowered and sheepish. “Were you not at the capital when my letter arrived?”

Your master only nods, “Your words were so fearful, I thought you had come across a great trouble.”

He takes a moment to partake from his drink once more, a silence falling upon the sun-lit room as birds chirp in the nearby trees and the sound of your shikigami going about their lives ring from the distance. You rest your eyes upon his form, noting the seeming flawlessness of his presence. Sharper features that hinted at some otherworldly grace, just the most minute sign found in the form of the slight furrow of his brow revealed the distress that plagued him. Then, his long lashes flutter open, and your master merely seems to smile, relief all but seeping from his eyes.

“I am glad you are well.”

Averting your gaze, you thank him under your breath as heat flushes at the tips of your ears, not quite certain whether such bashfulness stems from troubling him or emotions else explained.

You can only move the conversation of topic away from that moment, putting on a facade of ease, “I thought you would have more insight about him.”

The expression on his face shifts ever so slightly, a sudden hardness in his eyes as he grips the teacup just the little tighter.

“He…has experienced a great number of losses due to both divine and human action,” He manages to breathe out, the sound almost all but serene if not for the lengthy pause between his words. Your master inhales, as though to continue his words, yet he only sighs, “I am afraid that is as much as I can disclose for now, it is not my place to tell what he does not wish to be revealed.”

Just as you think to pry just a little further, Hana’s voice echoes from beyond the closed doors, asking for your presence. There is a concern tinging her words, and judging by the pattering of rushed footsteps, this was a matter that required your immediate and utmost earnest attention.

“Master, I must apologise but…” Your eyes glance between him and the door, chest tightening ever so slightly as blood rushes through your veins.

Seimei merely shakes his head, an assuaging expression on his face as he waves you off, “Do not worry about me, go ahead.”

Nodding, you rise as quickly as possible, rushing off as you are swiftly carted off to the issue. The white haired man remains in his seated position, taking in the scent of his tea as he closes his eyes. He hears the silence of the wind, with neither bird song nor liveliness of existence. Seimei finishes the rest of his tea, herbal and heady fragrance greeting his senses for the last time before he places it down alongside your abandoned cup.

He takes a breath, not bothering to open his eyes as he speaks, “Uncle, I know you are there.”

From beyond the door and announcing his entrance through soft clicks, a masked man deigns to show his face as he lowers his fan. With his lips almost permanently lifted in mirth, the scarlet markings that painted his mask aided with the unease that your master suddenly feels creeping onto his spine. He is unfamiliar with this sensation, especially from the man before him.

“Seimei, its been a long time,” The old fox croons, insouciant tinge to his voice.

Without missing a beat, your master finds a new urgency within him, “What are your intentions with my disciple?”

“We have yet to see each other after so long and this is your first question for me?” Tamamo hums, an unexplainable expression on his jade white face. His fan taps against his jaw in a rhythmic manner, voice much more playful and recondite than Seimei would have liked, “She called out and I responded, nothing more, nothing less.”

“If you have any malintention upon her, I fear I may have to take action.”

Not quite a threat, for even he is unable to deny their relationship, but more so a warning. This tension between the two of them has an unspoken depth, one that had existed long before this clandestine reunion, and with Seimei’s admittedly almost obvious concern for your wellbeing, it only seems to sour so.

The old fox smiles, and the younger finds that he does not enjoy the way those golden eyes seem to shine with burning regard from beyond the mask. Tamamo only muses, yet despite the airy nature of his voice, behind his lilt was a zealous avariciousness, “I promise you, no harm shall befall her so long as I am by her side.”

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

なくやあるらん

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For all that the froglets incident was worth, a situation that had been more so confusing and hysterical for the regional townspeople than any life-threatening catastrophe as you had been led to believe, it was only a mild inconvenience. A few dozen little frogs dressed to appear as great yokais were merely wandering around and acting as if they were the spirits themselves, of course they had also been imbued with some kind of ability that allowed them to recreate such acts, but it was still not some matter that would raze the whole of Heian-Kyo.

Still, that had not meant you expected to return to your abode with said froglets nipping at your heels ready to make themselves useful.

“Master…” At a loss for words, Momo could only cock her head at the image before her.

Rather than being seated at your desk pouring over documents, you were instead making yourself quite busy with some leisurely reading while the froglets dedicate themselves to stacking your books in an order only they seemed to know.

“It’s okay, they are not causing any issue,” You smile, an amused huff escaping your nose when your eyes drift to Susabi Frog balancing on top of Ichimokuren Frog as it just barely pushes a star chart into place, “I am just keeping them busy.”

Turning your attention back to Momo, you place down your book as you roll your shoulders back, the vertebrae in your spine not quite as sore. “Did you have something for me to look at?”

“Ubume asked whether you wanted to join us for lunch or have us eat with you.” Her voice is slightly hesitant, just one step away from wavering.

It feels like instinct at this point, you rest your head upon your palm and squeeze your eyes in delight. If you had to be honest, you did quite miss being able to have meals with your shikigamis, always some lively affair and certainly occuring far too sparsely for your liking.

“It has been some time since we all sat down together and ate, has it not?”

She nods her head, a hopeful expression on her face as her eyes widen in mock innocence, “Mhm! So will you?”

You laugh, shaking your head as you get up and dust your clothes. An excitement fills her as the little blooms in her hair burst open, grabbing your arm and all but dragging you out. Turning a glance to the froglets, you wave them over and they come scampering to your side at the first notice, almost all too excited to follow along. They clamour in the occasional croak or ribbit, asking about this and that. More akin to children, you wonder when that sentiment started.

By the time you arrive in your courtyard, it is all but a wonderfully teeming gathering, noise filling your ears in a manner that only served to coax your heart from its tight cage. Seeing them like this, you are happy that you get to have such a sight, living free from suffering and safe, that was the most important point, that they were safe.

“I see you all are in good spirits,” You hum, an announcement that is swiftly followed by a symphony of ‘Master’s’.

Some of the younger shikigami immediately leap from their seats to your side, to which you only greet them with on overfond smile and a pat on the head. Those busy with serving food or handing out cutlery likewise greet you, not quite able to pull themselves away from their tasks but still sending a smile or a wave. Momo is quick to join everyone else, flitting between chatting and aiding. Ootengu had busied himself with scooping soup while Hana had been floating around ensuring everyone had some kind of meal, leaving one person notably uninvolved.

“Little lady,” The old yokai calls for you, resting his head on his palm as a smile plays on his lips. Sitting beneath the plum blossom tree, he almost looks like the subject of a great painting under falling petals and soft sunlight. Just the view of such makes you almost afraid to approach him, yet still you do so. You are unable to tell exactly whether his levity is real, but you can only assume so by his leisurely tone, “Have the froglets been helping you?”

Glancing at the frogs now being babied by the rest of your shikigami, a notion you did not think they would take up so fast, you only laugh, “They are very earnest, thank you.”

Silence falls upon the two of you and for a moment, it truly does feel that all is right in the world. There is little discomfort in your body, joints no longer cracking at every minute action nor head pounding at every little stimulus that dared to exist. The smell of sweet flowers and delightful aroma of proper food fills the air, and you yearn for nothing more than these days to continue on.

Those froglets, troublesome at first though they may, had ended up being a kind of blessing. For ever since their attempted marauding, you have had little, if any issues that required your action. You spend your days reading and writing, responding to correspondence and finally able to focus on your studies.

It is while reminiscing that Tamamo’s silvery words reach your ears, pleasant and coaxing.

“These few weeks have been rather peaceful, don’t you think?” He tilts his head to the side, meeting your gaze in a single move.

You squeeze your eyes again, a soft sigh escaping you as a smile tugs at your lips, “It has, I can finally get to some marriage proposals I had apparently recieved.”

For a moment, just the slightest second late, you thought the old fox’s expression darkened. Yet just as quickly as it came, it left, and he simply continues on. His eagerness almost resembles that of those older ladies, that crooning voice asking for more and more, ready to give advice you never thought you would need, older yokais surely were no different than mortals.

“Oh? And who is the lucky fellow?” His nails, scarlet and far longer than you remember, clasp around his fan.

“Just another onmyoji, he isn’t from the big name clans that sent their pathetic excuse they call letters,” You sigh, then hold your hands up in clarification, as though to correct yourself from your perceived distate, “Which is good, less likely to be some bigoted oaf.”

Tamamo merely hums, snapping open his fan to hide the bottom of his face, yet there was an odd wry tinge to his words, “How intriguing, our little lady seems to be quite popular to attract even onmyojis from the big clans.”

“Don’t flatter me, they just want to find someone they can continue their bloodlines with.”

Rolling your eyes, an acerbic grin appears on your face as you take a drink from the teacup one of the froglets brought over. Just like those old ladies, he places a hand on your shoulder and with an assuaging tone, a sense of warm reassurance is poured into your being.

“Well, you won’t have to worry. I’m certain you will have no trouble.”

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

またまたも, みをぞすてつる

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

Kiyohara Genjirou, a practicing onmyoji that had sought you out not only for his pursuit of the craft but admiration as well. So he cited in his first correspondence, and so you would like to believe.

As he wrote to you, you found him an eloquent and diligent man. Genjirou, though not hailing from a noble family nor considered talented enough to join a major clan, wandered through the country aiding when he could. All he had were paper dolls and simple talisman, yet that was all he needed. He had heard tales from those whose qualms you have solved, and had grown curious of your being. It was natural, yet this natural curiosity had grown to longing when he caught a glimpse of you in the city.

The image he described of you had seem otherworldly when you first read it, donned in simple robes and merely another face among the crowd, his eyes had no choice but to follow along your form, entirely unable to pull away from you. As if sent down from the high heavens, even the slightest whisper of your voice had made him understand why men should turn to religion.

You thought of him less fondly, perhaps not an infatuation such as his but an interest nonetheless. He had only sent two letters, the first that had been introductory and more similar to polite courtesy, the second much more personal and akin to courting. Still, you had been touched by his words, further still when you read the last portion. He would make the journey to your estate, to meet you and to perhaps, if you would allow him the chance to, to court you.

It was by no means a demand, but rather a suggestion. Genjirou had gone so far as to write that should you not find him appealing in any manner, that should you deem him overstepping, you were in every right to have him kicked out and his hair cut short.

You remember showing Tamamo the letter, surrounded by the froglets as he read from behind your shoulder. You told him that you would like to meet such a staunch person, and perhaps at the time, you had laughed alongside him when he said that should Genjirou truly act as he feared, then it would not be humiliation that he would bear. There was nothing to worry for, all you had to do was await his arrival.

Yet, despite his staid words and his solemn promises, he never came.

Under the moonlight and through the cold night wind, you can only let out a soft sigh. Your shoulders slump beneath your robes as all of a sudden, your body feels too heavy for your feet. Leaning against the wooden pillars of the front gate, that familiar tightness in your chest returns once more. Yet rather than what feels like your ribs enclosing onto your rapidly beating heart, what occurs to you now is more akin to that sentimental organ squeezing against its cage, yearning to pry straight through to leap out and wither away. Your lungs long for air, forcing in and out and yet it is not enough, never enough.

It is cold, so, so cold. Why were you cold?

Closing your eyes, you feel a presence approach from behind you, then a hand pulls you away from your resting spot. You lay against a warm body, that even through layers and layers of silk and brocade, you do not even have to open your eyes to know who it is.

“Tamamo,” Your murmur disappears into the night, yet it is a call that he hears and responds to.

With your limp limbs that which hang uselessly, the old fox gathers you into his embrace, allowing you to bury your face into his chest. “I thought he was different…”

Methodical and rhythmic, his chest rises and lowers, coaxing your breath to follow suite. Within his hold, there is a warmth that penetrates the skin, enveloping your tendons in loving flame. Tightly held and tightly received, Tamamo lets you dig your nails into him, until your fingertips ache and your wrists cramp up. He merely returns the sentiment, as though it was entirely natural to do so.

“Will you be honest with me?”

As though ashamed to even consider such a thought an option, you can barely muster your voice to above a whisper, “Do you think I’m a disappointment to my master?”

“Of course not, my little lady is very accomplished,” He croons, his voice soft and soothing. “Do you think I would have answered your call otherwise?”

Still enveloped in his presence, you inhale the familiar smell that clings to him. When he speaks to you as such, it truly does feel like all will be right in this world. Desiring nothing more than to keep you safe, this old fox you had once shrinked from has now become your only succour. How fast you had let him in your heart, that he should treat you with the same regard and care you do the rest of your shikigami, and you would become so easily reliant on what he may give you. Ironic, yet undeniably a notion you had grown aware of since his arrival.

“Besides, he is rather foolish to give up on you,” He sighs, an undertone distantly related to triumph hidden beneath assuage and fondness.

That graceful hand cups your face, reverent as though bearing a great treasure. Your eyes flutter open, and it is then you notice that he is no longer wearing his mask, presenting that exquisite face once hidden to you. Narrow eyes of beguiling gold with long lashes, lips that more appeared as delicate petals. No matter the scarlet markings painted upon his skin, it is no wonder that men should turn to fanaticism in the face of such sublimity. You can only stare in awe, how warm your ears flush and how heat roils in your stomach upon the sonorous hum of his voice.

“You deserve much, much better than a human who only knows to lie to you.”

Lying on the beaten dirt path, Kiyohara Genjirou will be buried in an unmarked grave, neither name nor profession known to those who will find him. For all that remains of this unwitting suitor is the stench of smoke and shrivelled corpse, caught too soon in a fox’s tempestuous favour and left to burn in the same blazing rancour that once threatened to engulf the tranquil capital.

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なつむしの, なほあきたらぬ

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Being a good onmyoji is not difficult, it is not some arduous task to respect and love your shikigami, to treat them as one would dear friends and family. Yet, a shikigami that has only lost and lost, when given a second chance to make it all right, what then happens to that good onmyoji is very often known only to those hidden away.

Your master, when he had learned of the events that transpired had taken it with nothing more than a furrowed brow and a sharp exhale. Before he left, he had gifted you a talisman and instructed you to hang it in your room, to which you did. Yet, that very day, it had gone missing from your door. You had no unease at it, after all, he had given you hundreds of protection talismans, what difference was one going missing?

You on the other hand, had come to realise many things about your emotions with the arrival of both dismay and prolonged peace. That old fox who has done nothing but inexplicably care for you, with no explanation nor clarification. It had come out of nowhere, that quiet wistfulness and longing glances, you nearly thought yourself mad yet it was true. Torturing yourself with what could only possibly be, one could only imagine the joy that filled you when you had to do nothing but wait just a little longer, and even that foolish wish should come to be.

Cicadas sing in the distant night, your lover has long retired for the night and lays atop the bed, what you may see now is but his most true form, masks and disguises left at the door. Vulpine ears atop his head along with nine full tails, he once again scoops you into his embrace as even his tails move to cover you.

“Cold…” You only whine, squirming closer as though you could crawl into his skin.

Tamamo only huffs in amusement, no sign of actual vexation, and pulls you in closer. The increased contact brings burning touch falling upon your skin, the old fox noses along some invisible line at your neck, his lips pressing a kiss upon your pulse. He coaxes a sigh from your throat, soft and airy and almost all too practiced. Wholeheartedly embracing the fervid greed within him, you think you feel the prick of sharp canines against tender skin, yet you could care less.

In nothing more than your sleeping robes, luxurious clothes stripped off, legs entangled and limbs intertwined. To an unwitting observer, it would be difficult to discern whose form was whose, so thoroughly ensnared fox and human may as well be one body.

With neither onmyoji nor spirit to separate the two of you, and in this little delusion, not even the heavens will seize you from his side. He has ensured it, he shall see to it that the one he loves will never bear such suffering ever again.

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こひをたのみて

#onmyoji #阴阳师 #onmyoji x reader #onmyoji tamamo no mae #tamamo no mae #tamamo no mae x reader #yandere x reader

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2af-afterdark · 3 months

Text

Leviathan’s Curse

As I played chapter 5, especially toward the end when you get the flashback to his childhood, I couldn't help put pay attention to the game showing us the curse laid upon Leviathan that explains his actions far too perfectly. Now, I don't mean a literal curse (although his beauty seems to be its own curse given how the angels treated him because of it). I am talking about the metaphorical curse placed upon him from the moment he was taken by Heaven. More specifically, the moment he escaped to Hell.

Spoilers for chapter 5 below

87 was his number. Not a name, but a number. He knew nothing of Hell or other devils aside from the other children trapped around him. His only experience in life -- at least the experience he could remember-- was the cruelty of angels toward him and his friends/peers. These were his only friends and the people who supported one another through an experience worse than death as the angels experimented on them.

Then, one day, when a fire starts in the lab keeping these young angels captive, 87 gets the opportunity to escape... or rather, he is forced to escape because the other children trapped with him can tell he is special and they are doing all they can to get him out of there and make sure Leviathan survives.

They will not allow him to stay with them and risk dying. He is the one person who must live, even at the cost of everything else.

As he is leaving, they all request that he go out and live for all of them; to have the kind of life they know they never can.

That's his curse.

It was the innocent wish of children who knew they were about to die and was partially said to try and motivate 87 to leave like they wanted and give him the will to live, but it is burned into Leviathan’s mind even now.

They were all one another had -- children relying on one another to survive -- and they died for Leviathan. They sacrificed themselves, refusing to let him stay behind to help them the way he wanted or escape with him because they had to ensure he got out at the cost of everyone else. In order to uphold their memory, he has to fulfill their wish to live on for them.

His life is also their life. His experiences are their experiences. He has to live the best life vicariously for them because that was the wish they made and is his last memory of the most important people in his life. Everything he is must be the best, because the people that died for him deserve the best. He is the best because he is their living memory.

We could also say it's the reason he is so stringent in his values of eliminating any threat to Hell, no matter how small or improbable. His friends died for him in order to get him back to Hell, so he will ensure that it is safe no matter what. He will not let their sacrifice be in vain.

In his Bloodshed card, we also see that Leviathan keeps empty [symbolic] graves for his dead friends. However, when these graves are destroyed, he says that the graves are empty and it doesn't matter if they are destroyed because he can always rebuild them later. But the graves to him are a form of atonement. The graves don't matter because Leviathan is their true grave and living memory. He is the one that lives for them. He made a kingdom for them; one that would have accepted them if they had been born there. He visits their graves every year. They are mythologized through him and their memory lives on as long as he does.

[Unfortunately, I have hit the Tumblr image limit as I am typing this section up, so I can't fit the screenshots, so you will have to decide if you trust me or not on this point]

On a more personal interpretation, I also think that this is why Leviathan wants neither "twisted hatred" nor "unconditional worship". He has known both. Hatred hurt him and made his life worse than death, worship got his friends killed (remember that they willingly died because they could sense he was special. In a way, he was already their king and they worshiped him).

He wants a partner who expresses something more pure than unreasonable, unexplainable emotions. He wants someone to express genuine feelings towards him rather than irrational ones that seem to control their view of him.

I think it's also the reason that he is annoyed at Morax at the end of his bloodshed card; Morax is willing to die for Leviathan in order to heal him. Leviathan has already seen enough of people dying for him.

I also think it makes it very interesting that his citizens wear nooses. They say they wear them because, on a literal note, they will hang themselves if Leviathan should ever die and, as symbol, that same noose is meant to show that there is someone (+Leviathan) they are willing to fight to the death for. The mythology surrounding his escape is so prevalent that it seeps into the entire culture of his land and its people.

He doesn't want people to die for him, but every single citizen of his kingdom is willing to die in his name. It puts him in a position where his life is the center of everyone who he meets. His Bloodshed Victory (2) line is "As long as the devils of Hades are behind me, I never lose" because he cannot afford to allow more people to die in his name. They can die, of course, just never for him.

#what in hell is bad #whb leviathan #whb theory #whb spoilers

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animentality · 5 months

Note

Not to send you an essay but do you ever think about how Gortash was the only person in the whole game who didn’t want anything from Durge but Durge. Just them, as a person. Like yes he wanted the netherstone, and wanted the alliance. But what I mean is there were no prereqs for Durge as a person. Every other companion, every other NPC even, wanted Durge to either resist and refuse Bhaal or pursue power and claim their birthright. Everyone had their two cents for what Durge should or shouldn’t do irrespective of how Durge actually felt about it. It made any friendship or love offered to them conditional, even in the case of their companions. It was always “I’ll stand by you, IF”. To be fair, not necessarily unreasonable for the normal person to set boundaries on murder and such lol. But my point is that they all wanted something from Durge first.

But Gortash. OF ALL PEOPLE. Gortash didn’t want anything from them but them. Even for Durge’s biggest supporters in either moral direction - Jaheira, Sceleritas, etc - it was not that simple. Yet Gortash’s friendship with Durge (and to be clear I think they were so in love but I say friendship here to emphasise that even on top of or irrespective of any romance, they were genuinely friends too!) was unconditional. “This changes nothing” is a line I know we all talk about to death but god. That is genuinely unconditional. It is!

(If we want to push the delusion a bit further, that’s a declaration of the unconditional nature of their alliance, which can be chalked up to nothing less than real and honest love as far as I’m concerned. He has no other reason to not care that Durge just said yeah the entire divine commandment part of this mission is in the pot. But Gortash was like I Do Not Care! And he meant it! “Oh yes incomprehensibly powerful beings came to us in our dreams and asked us to do all of this in their names in the first place, and you just pissed on that, but no biggie!” Same short-tempered petty bastard who kicks you hard in the shin with his metal-toe boot if you accidentally hit him. Who straight up attacks you if you show up to his office without any of the netherstones and say you forgot them or whatever. Guy who just kills you if you GIVE HIM THE STONES LOL. But he doesn’t care even slightly that Durge said fuck off to the lord of murder who ordered this whole plot to start? Doesn’t yell, doesn’t ask Durge what were they thinking, just goes oh ok. He makes me insane btw)

I’m also painfully aware that Durge will never find that kind of unconditional support with anyone else, ever. I just feel like this would haunt my resistance Durge for the rest of his days tbh.

(And like. My resistance Durge loves Jaheira, she’s the parent he never had and she means the world to him post-canon, he follows her around like a lost puppy because ultimately he is one but I have to wonder if he would lie awake at night with the niggling thought that maybe what he has with Jaheira would not survive if he acted any other way. Plus the thought that Gortash knew him at his absolute worst, and loved him anyway. And maybe that wasn’t a GOOD thing, morally - a GOOD person shouldn’t have loved him like that, right? - but he loved him anyway. I don’t think my Durge would ever ever get over it. Especially with the fact that he can’t even remember 99% of their relationship. Gortash can’t ACTUALLY haunt Durge cause Bane is busy using his soul as a stress ball but in every metaphorical way. Durge is haunted.)

Tldr Gortash is the guy who says “just be yourself <3” and I think that’s beautiful

You know, you hit the nail on the head.

Of course it's not unreasonable to expect your friends and lovers to stipulate, that they will only love you as long as you don't go on a murderous rampage.

That's totally reasonable, that's normal, I agree with it on principle.

But. But.

As you said.

Gortash loved you even when you went on a murderous rampage.

I am obsessed with him, because he loved the dark urge without reservation, believing in their ability to control their urge, but also admiring their intelligence and their talents.

He knew what they were from the start, and he accepted it!

And he could still love them!

I just don't think anyone else in the entire goddamn game could say that!

And that's why I'm obsessed with Durgetash.

You get me.

It's about loving someone for who they are, and not what they are to you.

They were never just the Chosen of Bhaal, whom he must work with, not to him.

Never.

They were never the Bhaalspawn, the savage dark urge, the scourge of Faerun.

They were themselves. And he liked that.

Guys, he LIKED them.

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #dark urge #enver gortash #durgetash

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mikuni14 · 3 months

Text

I've already written about how last Twilight pissed me off, but there's something else that annoys me - it's the way Mhok feel expendable for Day and his family. You see, I remembered a certain video I've seen somewhere and scene from the series, after watching the last episode of Last Twilight.

In the first video, a guy says that women should fix their men, stick with them when they can't cope with their traumas, and generally that they should be their "therapists, coaches" and not leave men alone with their problems. Supposedly a "positive" video, right? And under his video there were a lot of women's comments who wrote that they did exactly that, that they "improved and fixed" the men who, when they decided that they were already "fixed", they broke up these women and started new relationships as the "new, improved men". There were a lot of these voices.

The second was a scene from some series (with my memory of a goldfish, I can't remember which one, maybe Elite?), where a poor boy gets involved in the bunch of rich people and someone warns him that nothing good will come of it, to not trust them, that the rich people will take advantage of him and they will throw him away when they no longer need him or get bored with him.

And I really thought about it immediately after watching the finale of the last episode of Last Twilight and the trailer of the next one. Because that's literally what happened: Mhok "fixed" rich boy Day and got fired. I still have an image of Mhok in my head, with a blindfold trying to understand Day. I remember Mhok taking care of Day, all his small but important gestures, when he protects him from bumping into things and tripping. Mhok fixed all of Day's broken relationships. ALL OF THEM. He has done so much for Day that I don't even know where to start, the whole series is about Mhok doing everything for Day. THE WHOLE SERIES IS ABOUT THIS. About slippers, running shoes, quitting smoking, trips, various activities, literally climbing mountains for him. And the series showed Day and his wealthy family literally getting rid of Mhok under a really stupid pretext, when Day is already set for the future, for success - thanks to him. Nobody says stop, wait a minute, it's too harsh, let's talk, let's give Mhok a chance to explain himself (and Mhok WANTS to explain himself). But when he tries to talk about HIMSELF for once, his problems and traumas, he is simply thrown out the door. Everything Mhok has done for Day, for this family, all his sacrifices are completely ignored and dismissed. He's not worthy of their time to expalin, to talk. Not worthy to give a fucking chance which he deserves simply for what he's done for them.

What further irritates me is that Mhok is constantly perceived by them as someone who is FOR DAY. Day's mother tests him, checks him, evaluates him only in terms of whether Mhok is taking care of Day properly. Day kicks Mhok out for what he considers to be the wrong kind of care Mhok provides for him. Mhok does not exist as Mhok. Mhok exists as Day's carer, boyfriend, and must live up to the high expectations of Day and his family, with no room for the slightest mistake. And being thrown out the door for not meeting this super high standard that he was not even aware of! And I can't help but feel that he is treated this way because he is not someone important, rich, who could be treated this way WITHOUT CONSEQUENCES.

Last Twilight showed that people warning other people about the "savior complex" and about being "dispensable" to the rich are true lol

No matter how I look at it, no matter how many times I think about it, I really don't want Mhok to go back to Day. Mhok deserves someone who will give him back exactly what he gives, an equal relationship, unconditional love and support, he deserves a relationship with an adult, with ability to regulate and handle their emotions (like Phojai). He deserves, above all, respect.

I know trailers can be misleading, but it bothers me how Day and his family are shown in bright colors, laughing, while Mhok is shown in subdued colors, without a smile. And the fact that Day goes down the escalator without a cane. Can he see??

#last twilight #last twilight the series #thai bl #bl drama

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greiiliss · 1 year

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After this episode I have so many thoughts and feelings about the Oak-(Swallows)-Garcia men/boys that I absolutely need to write down:

Henry saw his father's example of how to treat people, and decided he wanted to be nothing like it, so he became kind and compassionate and deeply, deeply caring. And he tried to pass this onto his sons because he wanted the hurt that he went through as a child to end with him.

But Henry didn't have any good examples of how to be a parent. His father was dismissive and cruel, and his mother apathetic and afraid. He had no one to show him how to teach and guide his sons, and he was afraid of over-managing their lives the way his father had, so he erred on the side of giving them ample space to figure things out on their own and supporting them as best he can.

So the twins are told from birth that they are loved unconditionally, that no matter what they will be forgiven. They are told this so much it practically becomes white noise to them. Even if they burn down their classroom, or destroy the tree in the front yard, or start a cult in a city in another realm, their dad might get mad for a bit, but he won't really do anything about it, and it'll all be okay, he'll laugh it off and tell them how much he loves them. They're having fun, it's not like they've done anything that serious!

Until suddenly, they have done something very serious. They have done something so horrible that it very nearly ended the world entirely. What did they expect would happen afterward, do you think? I imagine that they thought -that Lark at the very least thought- that Henry would be furious with them. If there was anything for Henry to be really mad at them about, to never forgive them for, it has to be this, right?

But... he's not. Henry doesn't blame them, and when they blame themselves he says that he forgives them? This doesn't make sense to them, and we can know that this doesn't make sense to them, because Lark's spent the past few weeks hating Henry because of Walter's injury, something Henry was only indirectly involved in. We don't even know if Lark ever forgave Henry, so what reason would he have to assume his father would ever forgive him for doing something infinitely worse?

The twins are scared, because they think they should be hated, and they don't understand the unconditional love and forgiveness that their father is offering them. So Lark does what many scared and confused people do: he lashes out at what he doesn't understand. Every time Henry tells him he's not to blame for what happened, or that he loves him, or that he forgives him, Lark rejects it.

Sparrow takes a different approach. He's already been told that he needs to be a "love wolf", but he's only really taken in that lesson in a "letter of the law" kind of way. So he tries to be nice. He says the nice things, marries the nice woman, and he says the "right" things when he gets angry to try and absolve himself of all blame. He's trying to emulate his father's approach to life, but he doesn't actually understand it, so his actions are hollow, and quite often ingenuine. And he blames himself for the Doodler's release just as much as Lark does, so he also feels that he's fundamentally unlovable. He marries a woman who cheats on him because why should it matter that she maybe doesn't love him when no one ever will?

If you believe yourself to be unlovable because of something you've done, you don't believe in unconditional love, so it is impossible for you to give unconditional love.

This is the environment Normal is raised in, with a mother incapable of sharing her own opinions out of a dedication to centrism, and two father figures who believe themselves to be fundamentally unlovable and are therefore incapable of extending unconditional love to anyone else. There are conditions that he needs to meet in order to be loved by his dad, and he doesn't meet them. He probably hasn't for awhile, but he only really realized it recently when Sparrow just told him outright.

And the incredible thing about Normal? This doesn't break him. He holds onto his identity even though he's hurt and upset that his father isn't proud of him. Normal saw his father's example of how to treat people and decided he wanted to be nothing like it, so he apologizes for yelling at Taylor, and he stands up for himself, and he still loves his family even though they've hurt him. Just like his grandfather did, Normal was raised in an environment that tried to stifle him and separate him from other people, and instead chose to love himself and others as much as he possibly can.

And this difference between the generations is illustrated so well through Lark/Normal looking into the Doodler's mind:

Lark sees inside the Doodler's mind, sees that it wants to be loved, sees that it's hurt people without meaning to, fucking sees himself in it, and decides that it deserves to die.

Normal sees inside the Doodler's mind, sees that it wants to be loved, sees how things always go wrong when it tries to reach out for that love, sees himself in the Doodler, and he decides that the Doodler needs help.

(And you just know that if Henry had been the one to see inside its head instead of Lark, he would've done the exact same thing. Normal is such a good character to carry on Henry's legacy, it makes me want to fucking cry.)

#dndads #dndaddies #dungeons and daddies #dndads spoilers #normal oak #henry oak #lark oak garcia #sparrow oak garcia #i did not intend for this to be this long but once I started typing i physically could not stop lol #i just love characters who are fundamentally about love #greii talks

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writing-for-life · 26 days

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Hey there! I hope you’re having a good day. I just saw a post you made about Dream’s type romantically. Thoughts on Calliope and Dream’s relationship specifically? It always stands out to me how though Dream has had a number of lovers throughout the millennia, Calliope is the only one he married. (And of course, Melissanthi Mahut and Tom Sturridge’s blistering chemistry in the show is an additional component for me xD but feel free to respond only based on the comics if you wish!)

Hey, always happy to see your asks in my inbox!

So, first of all; I don’t care what everyone else thinks:

Dream and Calliope are the OTP even though I’m not a shipper. There, I said it, hit me over the head with a hammer, I live well in that tiny little corner of fandom 🤣

Conceptually, they are very, very alike. There is definitely something in there about dreams marrying epic poetry (and eloquence!) that’s just so on the nose.

But I also can’t help thinking: Slight power imbalance maybe, and we also get this more directly via the “all gods get born and die in the Dreaming.” I think often about how this would have played out for them once Calliope’s last worshippers have died—it’s certainly a tough one, even if their relationship hadn’t soured.

But even so: She is the Muse of Epic Poetry, he is the Prince of Stories, so there is A LOT of overlap between what they stand for. And hence, a lot of mutual understanding. They always struck me as *getting* each other (probably why they fell in love in the first place)—until they didn’t. The fact they didn’t live together was good for them I think, because thoughts need to be allowed freedom to form and develop. Plus, there’s also a lot to be said for Calliope keeping her independence that way. Not just in terms of personhood, but again if you think of how she was essentially created in, and will return to, the Dreaming. It’s probably wise for her (in conceptual terms) not to hang out there ALL the time?

She seems a lot more grounded in the mortal world than Dream is though. I always thought that was down to the fact that humans know her, as in actively worship her/ask her for inspiration, which must make her much closer in a way? Because bar a few, no one really *knows* Dream exists, although everyone does, if that makes any sense? Mortals know him on a subconscious level (that’s why he’s forever nebulous and *lonely*), but people know Calliope as a deity and seek connection explicitly. I’m not sure what I’m trying to say here, but to me, that was always a reason why, although a goddess, she seemed far less removed from the mortal plight than Dream was (at least when they were still an item—we all know he changed, even if he didn’t admit it [well, he did in the end to Nuala, which is a whole ‘nother topic]).

And when I think about why they didn’t work out, I can only think: “Orpheus”.

I mean yes, she said that they were already starting to drift apart slightly before she was with child, but there was still a lot of love between them even so. I think the death knell was to have a child on these wonky foundations. Why they did, we’ll never know.

Conceptually, there’s again something very deep and painful about dreams and poetry becoming something real. And then, that mortal child becoming immortal (until his father finally intervenes). But Orpheus was still all mortal and human to his core, even when he became immortal for a while, and that was *always* at the base of their rift. But I digress…

Back to why was Orpheus the death of their marriage? Dream’s advice to Orpheus was sound, yet it was unfeeling and lacked empathy. Calliope’s was maybe (?) not as reasonable, but she understood her child because a mother’s love is (usually) unconditional. We all know Dream’s wasn’t for a long time although it should have been.

I think if they’d all sat together as a family, supported their son in his grief in a balanced way, this whole catastrophe could have been avoided (I mean no, not really—it’s a tragedy, “doomed by the narrative” and all that). But all of Dream’s relationships (be that to his son or his lovers) fail because he is unreality (hence he has a hard time when things quite literally get real), and despite *knowing* mortals on a very deep level, I don’t believe he truly *understood* them at this point. But I think Calliope did—maybe due to who she was, maybe just because she actually *allowed* them in? Because Dream never truly did that. And when he finally did and truly understood what unconditional love actually means, he came apart at the seams and unravelled.

There’s also something really interesting conceptually in thinking of the Prince of Stories who doesn’t believe he has his own, and the Muse of Epic Poetry who inspires. Who is trying to control whom in this scenario? It’s mirrored in how they behave when the whole Orpheus tragedy takes off:

Calliope tries to inspire and, dare I say try to control the narrative a bit, and I don’t mean this in a bad way, quite the opposite: She looks for the most favourable outcome for everyone involved, even if it means bending the rules: She tries to convince Dream to put in a good word with Hades and believes he would listen because Gods respect him and, dare I say it, are even a bit scared of him.

Dream is rigid. Which is so mind-bending for someone who is the personification of hopes, wishes and possibility. But he is an immovable object: If he’s right, he’s right. That’s the rules, that’s it. And he won’t bend them, not even for his son. I’m not saying that it’s not understandable from his point of view, because he might know things we don’t (potentially also that although he *could* bend the rules because he has the power to do so, it might have knock-on effects no one else can understand or see—it’s impossible to say), only that they are fundamentally different in their approach although they are *both* about inspiration. And inspiration is so closely related to bringing on change (ouch!).

Part of me wants to say that Calliope uses it to control the narrative while Dream doesn’t, that Calliope believes that we can change our destiny while Dream doesn’t, but that’s also too simple. Because Dream *can* be controlling, but in totally different ways and areas.

I feel like I’m rambling out a lot of unordered thoughts, but I guess what I’m trying to say is that Dream and Calliope were so close because they are so similar in so many ways bar one:

Their understanding how inspiration can be used to bring on change. I would somehow go as far as saying that Calliope understands what it means to have personhood, also for herself, and that’s why she understands it in others (I think this is made *very* clear when Richard Madoc holds her hostage). Dream doesn’t—least not at the point where it would have mattered with regards to their relationship, because I think the fishbowl has changed him in that regard. This is also why he wants to make things right with her I believe. But of course he would never openly admit it (he basically stops himself before blurting it out), simply because it would also mean he’d need to admit it to himself…

With regard to that meta:

I definitely think they were highly romantically attracted, purely down to who/what they are. I can’t say too much about their sexual attraction, but after Calliope’s speech at his wake, it would be somewhat unlikely to assume they weren’t 🙈🤣

Was it unconditional though? No.

Was it pragmatic (that sounds so bad and unfeeling, but it’s not a bad thing, because a certain level of pragmatism is what grounds love in reality and makes it last)? I think they tried. But ultimately, he can never live that way because he is unreality, and I often wonder if they both knew 😭

@two-hands-toward-the-sun ask answered

#the sandman #sandman #dream of the endless #morpheus #sandman meta #calliope sandman #calliope #sandman analysis #sandman character analysis #ask answered #asks always open

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gaysindistress · 5 months

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This is self indulgent and I don’t care.

Enjoy my pain:

Panic attacks; racing heart beats,breathing too fast, the feeling of drowning but you can’t swim any longer, and the fear. The symptoms of anxiety are not new to him but nonetheless they take him by surprise.

He calls me every time. Whether on purpose or not, he calls me every time they sneak up. He tries to tell me that they’re getting better but I can hear the shallowness and breathlessness in his voice. He tries to chuckle to cover it but i hear it every time.

“Hey.”

I smile to myself as I hear his voice crackle through the phone, “hi, bubba.”

“How..how are you?”

He’s trying so hard to make normal conversation regardless of the fact that it’s 6 am and we both know he’s been up for hours.

“I’m good, how are you?”

Hesitation is never a good sign.

“I…well,” he starts before stopping to let out a shaky breath, “I’m out front.”

“I’ll be there in a second,” I tell him but don’t hang up. When he’s like this any time alone gives him too opportunities to overthink and spiral. I don’t talk but hearing me moving around and breath is enough until he can see me.

Only when I open the door and am able to see him do I end the call.

“Hi,” he says with an awkward small smile.

“Hi,” I repeat as I step back and allow him to come in. He pushes off his hood and takes off his running shoes, evidence that he tried to run from his anxiety but wasn’t successful. I watch him and offer out my hand when he straightens back up.

Bucky glances down at my hand and then to my face, waiting for me to back away or otherwise reject him. This is another thing he does every time; he gives me the chance to take back my open arms and unconditional support.

I wiggle my fingers at him as a gentle “come on” and he reaches for it with his metal hand but pauses. I imagine if he could, he would never touch me with it out of fear that he will hurt me. I also imagine that he wants nothing more than to be able to embrace me without restraints so I take his hand before he can pull away.

I grip the freezing metal hand in my own two and pretend to blow on it to warm it up. He lets out a half hearted chuckle, “what are you doing?”

“Warming you up. You’re freezing,” I state as if it’s the obvious thing in the world and that seems to release some of the tension in his shoulders.

“Today we’re buying you more layers,” I tell him as I lead him towards my room, “if you’re going to go out in the literal snow, you will be wearing a sufficient amount of layers.”

He laughs again and this time it’s more genuine than before.

We both slide under the worn and loved covers on my bed, lying so that we facing one another.

“I love you,” I whisper to him as I trace the lines of his face. It’s an unspoken understanding between us that he doesn’t have to say it back. He shows it in the ways he chooses and words is not his favored method.

“I am safe,” I start and he repeats.

“I am free.”

“I am grounded, centered, and stable.”

“I am supported.”

“I have the power to control my emotions.”

“I choose to think positive thoughts.”

“I am strong, resilient, and capable.”

“I am not my past.”

“I am loved.”

“I am worthy.”

“I belong here.”

“I have the power to choose my future.”

“I free myself from the fear of the unknown.”

“I am safe.”

“I am free.”

“What Im feeling is temporary.”

“I choose peace.”

“I am not my past.”

“I am loved.”

“I am free.”

“I am the most handsome man in the world and I have the most amazing friend ever,” I sneak in there but he catches it and laughs with his entire body. It rumbles through his chest and lightly shakes the bed, vibrating through me too.

My own smile turns into a fit of laughter and we’re both breathless from our joy as we try to catch our breath.

“Thank you,” he whispers when he able to speak and scoots closer to me.

“Bubba,” I say as sadness clutches at my heart, “I’ve told you a thousand times that you don’t need to thank me.”

While no words come out, his eyes say it all; he needs to because otherwise he’ll feel like he’s taking advantage of me.

I press a kiss to the knuckles on his left hand and nod for him to turn over. He does and I slide one arm under his head to play with his hair while the other slips under his left arm. With my arm across his chest, I lace our fingers together and hold him tightly against my body as his relaxes.

We stay like this as he finds comfort in my touch and allows himself to be cared for. I continue to run my fingers through his hair and twist the short strands long after his breathing has become heavy and rhythmic. I keep my tight hold long after his has loosened and sleep has taken him.

I refuse to stop loving him even if he wouldn’t know.

I refuse to stop because I know he wouldn’t.

#bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fic #marvel imagine #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes reader insert #marvel

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letstrythisout4 · 1 month

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GIVE ME COMPLEX SLYTHERIN FAMILIES

HP Masterlist

I will never understand how people will both say that Slytherin pureblood families valuing having children to be their heirs and carry on their legacy. AND believe that all or the majority of slytherin families treat their children like shit.

Give me loving pureblood parents. Give me loving pureblood parents who fawn and adore their children. Give me Narcissa and Lucius (heavy on Lucius) Malfoy who adore Draco whole heartedly and who had their faith in Voldemort shaken when they saw his torment not only affect each other but their only son. Give me pureblood Slytherin parents who are the CEOs of conditional love. Give me Walburga Black who abandoned Sirius the second he showed an independent thinking that didn’t fit her blood supremacy mentality but who showed off Regulus like a prize at every social event because he fit her standards. Give me pureblood parents who just dont give a damn about blood supremacy. Give me Blasie Zabini’s mother who raised him with unconditional love and spoiled him fucking rotten. Who married men of all blood status’s (many of which slipped through the cracks because seven fucking husbands…who the hell is keeping count of all of their blood status(s), my headcanon is she definitely married a couple well known purebloods/halfbloods and a couple of muggleborns who werent well known so that she can keep up her own pureblood status-not cause she believed in it but because it was useful to be a beautiful pureblood woman-especially a black dark skin woman- yes i believe racism extended to the wizarding world but thats a topic for another post). A mother who never confirmed who Blaise’s father is- despite definitely knowing which husband it was- because who needs to know his father??? All that matters is that Blaise is her son, from the way he looks, acts and thinks. He’s her baby damn the father. Give me pureblood parents who unfortunately are the stereotype, who are abusive and whose children definitely show symptoms of abuse when they make it to Hogwarts and who only experience support privately, depending on how important and dangerous their parents are. Give me complex Slytherin Pureblood Families NOW!

I explore this in my blaise zabini centered series soooo maybe go check it out babes

authors notes: thank you for reading

#slythering #draco malfoy #lucius malfoy #narcissa malfoy #sirius black #regulus black #blaise zabini #theodore nott #walburga black #i want complex slytherins #harry potter

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nterini · 8 months

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The Leftover Kids in ONLY FRIENDS

A character analysis of Boston and Ray Ep. 6

This episode reveals a bit more about Boston’s character, and while it doesn’t justify his actions (because your past doesn’t have to justify all your present decisions, especially in fictional characters) we’re able to better understand his impulse to “humble” others when it seems to him like they’re finding their own way.

We learn that Boston’s mother remarried, and flew to another continent to start her new life. And while I don’t want to make assumptions, something about Boston’s politician father (who calls him only to speak about his campaign and winning over young people) encouraging his son’s impulses to toy with the emotions and bodies of others may have had something to do with it. Boston, time and time again tells Nick that the potential of the public finding his sex tapes (with other men) would be a burden to his father’s career. We don’t know if Boston has come out to his father, but the ultimatum that Boston must graduate or be sent back to New York to live with his mom shows his father’s willingness to get rid of a son that may not fit his public image. Boston is a talented photographer and someone in the demographic he wants to target; why so eager to send him away.

In the next scene, while comforting our favorite crazy lovesick puppy, he tells Nick, that the reason he doesn’t make lasting relationships is because he knows he has to leave anyway (and some more be about how he’d be a better photographer abroad). Maybe it’s because of the pressure he feels from his father, but Boston believes that there’s no place for him permanently anywhere. No one has chosen him for an “unconditional forever love” and no ever one will. He’s had no power over that. If my assumption that Boston’s father already knows of his son’s sexuality, and is slowly freezing him out and that Boston knows this already, Boston’s view of his future in Thailand, one that will always be queer, must be bleak. His own father, a popular candidate elect, does not want him. This loss of control triggers him. We see Boston seek control of potential rejection in the way he pursues his flings. He prefers Nick over all his other flings because he’s confident that Nick will always choose him no matter what selfish things he says. He’s envious of Mew who’s constantly chosen and pure, of the perfect Top who rejected him and has his life together, and of Ray and Sands budding relationship. He believes he’ll be left alone again, so he sabotages externally against anyone’s progress.

It’s what makes his scenes with Ray that much more interesting. Because Ray is just like him, except he sabotages internally.

We were introduced to Ray’s family background a few episodes back, and the toll it took on him emotionally, physically, and mentally. His mother was a young and talented actress who married rich, and whose light was dimmed in that marriage. And whether it was resentment over her lost career, Post-partum depression and an uncaring husband, or just a worsening addiction that was left untreated, she died alone drowning herself in alcohol. We know that Ray did not receive much affection from his mother and that his father was just as neglectful. Ray has learned to use money to buy emotions, companionship and intimacy. Unfortunately, he seems to be following in both his parents footsteps.

There is a theory going around that Boston has had a secret unrequited crush on Ray. And while I don’t think there’s a lot of evidence that supports this ship, it’s a plausible theory. However, the way he constantly goes back to Nick when he needs comfort and conversations, other than just straight sex, says the opposite. I think a better conclusion would be that Boston finds comfort in Ray’s lack of growth and misfortune. After all, they’re very similar. Leftover, abandoned, rich kids that were never chosen. I don’t even think he had any ill intention against Mew when he slept with Top or even with Ray. I think deep down he’s secretly comforted by seeing Ray heartbroken. It makes sense that he was triggered when he saw that Ray might have found someone to help him come out of that misery. He doesn’t provoke Mew or Top the way he does Ray. Maybe it’s because Ray doesn’t see how similar they are. Maybe it’s because Top and Mew see right through him.

Mew’s role in their friendship is also really interesting 🤔. Ep. 7 might give us inside Mew’s thoughts and actions. Is Mew manipulating his rich friends to get his dream career and partner or is it all all a grand plan to help heal the lives of the people he cares about most.

Overall, I love how real the show feels. The discussions of drugs in Thailand’s queer community, of privilege and class struggle, it all feels incredibly genuine. It’s hot and steamy and we’ll written. Like we CAN have all of these things at once! The growth that I see in BL/Queer (the slash is necessary) content gives me hope. Please give the lesbians (AprilNamchueam) more screen time plsssssssss 😩.

(Please excuse any typos and errors.)

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the-au-thor · 5 months

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Little Witch | Chapter 1

A/N: IDK , I just want to post this story cause it's addictive. Any feedback or request, you know i'm available

Pairing: Spencer Reid x female reader. [No use of y/n]

Words: 2.8k

Warning: read it here!

⇜ ⇝

"There's my little Witch...""

Chapter 1

You gripped the steering wheel tightly while muttering unintelligible words. You couldn't curse in front of Matilda. The whole point of raising her was to make her a better version of yourself and Mela, so you wouldn't utter a single curse word in her presence. Besides, being a primary school teacher, it was expected that you replace any curse with much softer expressions – something that wouldn't sound like a reason for parents to complain to the school.

You were supposed to be at the school by 7 pm for the parent-teacher meeting, and you'd have to miss it if Spencer didn't show up soon.

Spencer Reid. He irritated you, it was more of a personal issue than his fault. It was because you felt he was constantly reading between the lines. He was an excellent behavior analyst, skilled at understanding people. You suspected he even knew about you before you revealed yourself. Though he insisted he had no idea who you were before meeting at the café.

Here's the thing: you could raise Matilda on your own. In fact, that was the exact plan you had laid out from the moment you knew Mela had passed away. You would take care of Matilda, and she would be yours. She had always been a bit yours, as Mela had wanted it. "You were born knowing how to take care of others. You always took care of me. I'm the one who has to learn," Mela used to say with a childish smile.

You didn't know who the father was until you found the note Mela had left inside a photo album. The force of your conscience overpowered your desire. You investigated Spencer before appearing at the University of Washington after one of his lectures. You entered the auditorium while he spoke and hated every part of it. Hated it because he looked decent and good – qualities you didn't expect from someone who had been with your sister. Mela used to attract losers who took advantage of her vulnerability to manipulate and leave her feeling miserable.

You wanted Spencer to give you reasons to leave that room and not tell him he was the father of a beautiful one-year-old girl. But deep down, you knew that if he had known about Mela's pregnancy, Spencer would have been in every little step in that journey, giving everything even if Mela was a disaster waiting to happen.

You didn't expect him to accept the news without question, and you wouldn't trust someone who acknowledged paternity without conducting their own investigations. Spencer and Matilda underwent DNA tests and went through the family system to divide responsibilities. You wouldn't just hand Matilda over; you had become her legal mother immediately after Mela's passing, and Spencer had to adapt to both of you, not the other way around.

However, you had to understand that adaptation was everyone's job, especially yours. In the past months, Matilda had perfectly adjusted to Spencer, calling him by who he was and looking at him the way she looked at you—with unconditional love. But you had much more to process than Matilda. For her, Spencer was her dad. Period. For you, Spencer was the man who could have changed your sister's life if only he had decided to stay a little longer and support her. You knew you couldn't blame him for Mela's fate, but it was easier this way. Blaming Spencer meant thinking much less about the responsibility you may had in your sister's bad decisions. So you had to make decisions for Matilda's well-being, not yours. And Matilda's well-being, whether you liked it or not, depended fifty percent on Spencer. So you had to be flexible with your time and priorities because you were raising a child with a man you barely knew and whose history with your sister was mostly a mystery.

But this was crossing the line. You understood there would be weeks when you snd Matilda would have to adjust care days because Spencer would be away for work. Or times when he would pick up Matilda very late. When you felt a pang of sympathy seeing him alone, leaving with Matilda in his arms, you reminded yourself that you were doing the right thing and that if you could take care of the girl on your own designated days, he could too. However, it was the third time this month that Spencer was late to pick up Matilda, and you couldn't continue like this. Not when you also had other responsibilities to attend to, and he needed to respect that. Instead of calling and discussing it, you headed to his workplace, and you would talk. Under normal circumstances, you wouldn't bring Matilda, but it was late, you had canceled your doctor's appointment, needed to get to the school on time for the meeting, and had no one to watch her with such short notice.

"It's fine, little bug." You stopped the car and unbuckled Matilda's car seat. Her hair had grown, even in braids. You had to fix a few loose strands that had escaped her intricate hairstyle. "We're going to make a very quick stop, and then you can get ice cream."

Ice cream that her father would have to pay for and then deal with the sugar rush by himself. It was the least he could do for being late on an important day. You had discussed it before. Matilda looked at you with a smile and playfully touched the dimple on your cheek as you held her while passing through the entrance of the BAU building. You didn't have to do much; your name was at the front desk. Spencer and you had made those arrangements—emergency contacts, key copies, names at the front desk, and so on. You had never had to use that help until now, and it was regrettable that you were annoyed. Usually, you paid attention to new places, but this time, you saw nothing except the elevator indicator and the floor tiles as you walked past the offices of the Unit where Spencer worked.

You looked through the glass of the massive entrance doors, trying to find Spencer's face. You knew you would spot him easily; his long hair wasn't hard to notice. Matilda pressed her palm against the glass, making enough noise to be heard but not enough to cause damage. You caught her hand and brought it to your lips, kissing the back affectionately.

"Wait, baby, don't do that," you stood on your toes to look towards the stairs, then felt footsteps behind you.

Turning around, you faced a blonde in a colorful floral dress and heels that would be deadly on you, but she carried them well. She looked at you and Matilda curiously but smiled charmingly anyway.

"Can I help you with something?"

You stepped away from the glass door and nodded vaguely, settling Matilda in your arms.

"Yes, please. In fact, I need to find Spencer Reid," you spoke and attempted a smile, aware that the blonde wasn't to blame for your issue with him. "Is he here?"

The blonde checked her wristwatch and nodded.

"He's about to arrive. I can make you girls company while you wait." She led you down the hallway to some chairs by the windows and smiled again as she walked carefully in her towering heels. "I'm Penelope, by the way."

You sat Matilda in the chair, straightening her dress as you sat next to her. You introduced yourself to Penelope and looked at Matilda. "Sweetie, did you hear that? She introduced herself. Her name is Penelope. What do we say when we meet someone?"

Matilda looked at Penelope, smiling broadly and showing her small white teeth. "Nice to meet you."

Her sweet voice and smile completely won over Penelope. It was the power of young children; they melted any heart.

"Oh, you're adorable," Penelope admitted with a playful voice, then gave her a genuine smile. "How old are you, Matilda?"

"I'm one and nine months" she answered slowly but clearly.

You patted her back proudly; you were working on improving her pronunciation, and Matilda was a little bright star. You used to think she was simply unique, but after meeting Spencer, you knew there was a strong inheritance in her.

"That's sensational! It's the best age," Penelope responded with enthusiasm and then looked at you, shaking her head. "I have no memory of that time." She whispered, making you chuckle, and both of you watched Matilda, who swung her legs absentmindedly, looking around with curiosity. "And what do you like to be called? Mattie, Ilde?"

The little girl laughed and looked at you hesitantly; you shrugged, raising your eyebrows.

"Don't look at me. She's asking you. How do I call you?"

"Little bug?" she asked uncertainly, making Penelope scrunch her face in an endearing pout. Matilda had her captivated.

"Yes, but how do your grandparents call you?"

"Tildie," she answered Penelope. "Daddy calls me little witch." Matilda's gaze shifted when she heard the sound of the elevator doors opening, and the sparkle in her eyes seemed to grow with joy as she jumped up. "Daddy!"

"Daddy?" Penelope asked again, stretching her face in surprise and confusion.

You quickly stood up when you saw Matilda hanging from Spencer's arms, and he smiled at her with surprise.

"There's my Little witch!"

Penelope stood up, opening her mouth in an 'o' and waved her hands in the air.

"Hell. There's. No.Way," she exclaimed in a surprised, choked shout.

Spencer wasn't alone; an older man with a mustache and a woman with dark skin accompanied him. You knew who they were. Spencer had talked about his colleagues, and you had noticed the affection with which he spoke about them. He kissed Matilda's forehead and then smoothed his own hair; some brown strands had escaped and were brushing against Matilda's forehead when she approached to kiss his cheek.

Penelope then looked at you, still with a surprised expression. "She said Daddy, right, or am I in a very weird different dimension?" she asked again.

You didn't give explanations; that was Spencer's business, so you pressed your lips, sending her a smile that tried—or so you hoped—to calm her. You walked towards Spencer with your smile starting to falter.

"You forgot again," you murmured seriously when you were close enough. He looked at you with remorse. "I have a parent-teacher meeting. I'll stop by your apartment to drop off her clean clothes, okay?" you asked, and Spencer pressed his lips into a thin line.

"Yes, I'm sorry. We had to close a case, and it took longer than expected," he whispered back, then looked at his companions. "These are Tara and David Rossi," he introduced them, and you greeted them, shaking their hands with a cordial smile. "I see you finally met Penelope," he added, turning to see the woman who still looked surprised.

Penelope put her hands on her chest with contained excitement.

"Finally?" she barely stammered at an audible volume.

You tried to smile at her.

"Oh yes, she welcomed us, right, little bug?" you asked Matilda, stroking her chin. "What do we say when we meet someone?"

Matilda looked at Tara and then at Rossi, who watched her attentively with smiles. David looked amazed, although he tried to hide it. Penelope, on the other hand, was an open book.

"Nice to meet you," she repeated the phrase as the new etiquette ritual she had been learning.

"I'm sorry I have to leave so quickly, but I have to work," you said your goodbyes to Tara, David, and Penelope with a smile. You looked at Spencer, adding the last part with a sigh, "You and I need to talk later. I'll swing by your apartment to drop off her clean clothes, okay?" you asked, and Spencer pressed his lips into a thin line.

You knew he hated every second of this, just like yoy. He looked somewhat disoriented, nervous, and surprised, and you understood because you had never set foot in that place, and judging by his coworkers' reactions, they certainly didn't expect a scene like that. So you left them to let him deal with it .

When the parent-teacher meeting ended, Levi, one of the single parents in that grade, was keeping you company while you organized things inside the classroom. His son, Benjamin, was a bright and hyperactive 11-year-old boy whom you had worked hard to help concentrate. Initially, it was just with English, but then you were assigned a grade in the school, and you had him as a student since he was 6 years old. This would be the year they graduated from elementary school, so it was bittersweet for you. Anyway, Levi and his ex-wife had an ugly divorce, and due to her mental health, he had been assigned as Benjamin's sole guardian when the boy was just a few months old. His ex-wife never attended visits and wanted nothing to do with the child.

Levi was conventionally handsome; not overly muscular nor skinny. He worked as a real estate agent for politicians and celebrities, so he always maintained a healthy and well-groomed appearance, with his well-styled blonde hair, trendy glasses, and coordinated clothing. He was kind, polite, and more concerned than most parents in Benjamin's grade, so he scored points. You had become excellent friends and confidants.

"So, he was late again," he sighed, pushing a strand of hair in a Clark Kent-like manner and adjusting his glasses.

"He wasn't late again," you rolled your eyes, organizing student files on his desk. "He was going to pick her up; he just got delayed."

Levi was the one rolling his eyes. "Is it the fourth time this month?"

"Third," you corrected, locking the drawer of your desk and grabbing your bag to sling it over your shoulder. "But it's because his job is very demanding. He's chasing criminals, Lev."

Levi shrugged.

"You're educating a bunch of little criminals." He joked, earning a gentle shoulder punch. "It's true!" he protested, still laughing.

"I'll rephrase; he's chasing psychopaths. And I remind you that one of those little criminals, as you said, is your own son," you added, and Levi didn't seem to mind, as he shrugged again with a playful smile.

"That's why I say it. I have the perspective of experience," he laughed, putting his hands in his pants pockets. "So... are you going to talk to him? You need to sort this out somehow; you can't keep changing your plans because he can't do his most important job"

"It's hard, Levi," you sighed. "I guess he's still adjusting. A year ago, he didn't even know he was a father, and I've actually been surprised by how quickly he took on his responsibilities."

"No. No," he shook his head with sudden seriousness. "Don't look at me like that. You know what I'll say; if he wanted to be part of Matilda's life when you dropped the bomb that she was his daughter, he knew that the decision had to come with some adaptation on his part. If you want to be a father, you just have to be willing. Promptness comes with the role of a father; there's no merit in it."

You knew that. But somehow, you felt the need to defend Spencer, and you also felt that even if it was a father's obligation to adapt, they deserved credit for it. It takes more than just a sense of responsibility to step back for a person whose existence you didn't know about before, even if it's your own blood.

"Anyway, Levi, he still has a lot to digest."

Levi snorted. You knew it was nothing against Spencer; it was more of a personal resentment against the circumstance. Not everyone was like him; a single father with a full-time job, a child diagnosed with ADHD, and a mother diagnosed with Parkinson's in his care.

Spencer didn't have it easy either; he had a more than full-time job that constantly put him at risk and absorbed his complete attention and energy. He also had to adapt to fatherhood and take care of his mother with schizophrenia and Alzheimer's.

"You and him would get along," you murmured, making him snort again.

"Not at all," he responded almost defensively, making you laugh.

"One day, I'll invite you both to the same restaurant and not show up. You'll see that you have more in common than you think, and you'll become best friends. And you'll forget about me," you smiled confidently.

"Let him stop standing up Matilda, and then I might consider being his acquaintance," he said sarcastically.

You sighed impatiently, walked to his car, and looked at him, deciding that you couldn't convince him to change his opinion of Spencer.

"He didn't stand her up," you rolled your eyes in response, then looked at him, raising your eyebrows. "I guess I'll see you at the winter dance," you added mockingly.

Levi rolled his eyes with irritation. "I had no choice; no other parent volunteered. Kids. At his age, I didn't have dances, just a bag of candy and maybe a day off from school."

You laughed, getting into the car.

"Now you sound like an old man, Levi. Take care. Get home safely."

"Good luck with Spencer," he wished as a parting remark and got into his car to leave the sparsely populated school parking lot.

You played music on the way to Spencer's house. You could drive there with your eyes closed. You had to go thousands of times in the first few weeks to help him with Matilda. It's not that she didn't want him from the moment they met, because she loved him. And he loved her, there was no doubt. But the adaptation was on both sides. Matilda lost her mom, with whom she lived in a small apartment downtown above a little shop, and had to move to your suburban home in Washington. In addition to that, she met her dad, which was a completely new concept for her. She called her grandfather "dad," and let's say he didn't take the new title well.

They were delighted with Spencer. You can't forget their radiant smiles when they visited Washington to meet Spencer and see Matilda. Of all the bad decisions Mela made, Spencer was undoubtedly an exception. They didn't say it, but you saw it in their eyes, and sometimes it became a bit unbearable. Mela was difficult, but she was good, and life had simply been too unfair to her.

You parked the car outside Spencer's complex and took your bag and Matilda's backpack with you, entering the building and starting to climb the stairs. You didn't have to wait too long outside the apartment, and in a couple of seconds, Spencer invited you in.

He was wearing sweatpants, a beige T-shirt, and over it, a long unbuttoned knitted vest.

"I made tea. Oh. Wait; Do you want herbal tea instead?" he offered immediately with courtesy.

"Herbal, please," you softly requested, sitting on the sofa, avoiding getting too comfortable, although you were so tired that you could very well stretch out and take off your heels. "I brought the cat," you added, taking out Matilda's favorite stuffed animal.

Spencer quickly took the crocheted toy. He had told you it was a gift from Penelope. One of her many talents, he commented—besides her programming skills and well-intentioned gossip—was creating these dedicated crocheted amigurumis. For one of his birthdays, she gave him a cardboard box with the cat inside, and despite it not being conceptual, Spencer couldn't help but note the symbolism in it. He quickly caught Matilda's interest as soon as she started exploring everything in her father's apartment, and Spencer decided to give it to her as a metaphorical gesture. That way, a part of him would always be with her.

"Schrödinger," he murmured, delicately taking the toy in his hands and looking at it for a few seconds before returning his attention to you. "I promised her I would put it in bed with her, so she'd wake up with him. It took me a while to get her to sleep tonight."

You rolled your eyes as he went to Matilda's room and returned. Matilda fell asleep right away with Spencer. She loved listening to him talk and always asked him for stories. At least Spencer still needed you to make sure he ate his meals.

"She's sound asleep. As soon as I put the toy next to her, she hugged it," Spencer went to the kitchen with a smile and came back with two steaming bowls of tea, handing you one. "I hope you don't mind the honey."

You sniffed the ginger and lemon tones and smiled. "Not at all," you replied. "Thanks."

Spencer sat in his seat across from you and looked at you with his lips in a thin line.

"I'm sorry for today. I really wanted to be on time."

You nodded, acknowledging his honest tone, and took a sip of your tea to gather some courage to do something you weren't used to doing with him; have a personal conversation.

"You could have been on time if you had told your colleagues that Matilda existed, you know? It makes things easier," you said calmly, not wanting to sound accusing. You didn't want to make him feel guilty; he surely had his reasons. The truth was that you were doing it because you had personally experienced the benefits of letting others know about the existence of a little person who depended on you. It made your life a bit more flexible, and you could adapt to Matilda's needs.

Spencer nodded slowly, as if he had expected that response.

"They were very surprised to see me with Matilda. I had to give a lot of explanations," he admitted, then released the accumulated air from his cheeks. "I guess if they didn't find out, then... my life as her father wouldn't feel boxed in," he tried to explain.

"Are you ashamed of being a father?" you asked in a tone of surprise. Even for you, that possibility seemed strange for someone like Spencer, who despite the complications, seemed to thoroughly enjoy his fatherhood and the time he spent with Tildie.

Spencer furrowed his brow at your question, almost offended. "What are you talking about? It's wonderful. Matilda is the most wonderful girl in the world. It's not that. It's... I feel that not mentioning it made it easier than explaining her existence. If I talk about Matilda, they'll ask about her mom, and if I talk about her mom, then I'll have to talk about everything I did wrong. About a past I want to forget."

Every word hurted you, but you couldn't be angry with him for thinking that way. You didn't talk very often unless it was about Matilda. You had never shared tea and discussed feelings. You figured that starting to do so felt hard to process. Even after a year and a few months since Spencer became involved in Matilda's life, you still didn't know the story that Spencer and Mela had shared, and to be honest, you weren't sure if you were ready to hear it.

"I'm sorry I forced you to have to talk to them about Tildie. It wasn't fair," you admitted with an uneasy tone in your voice.

"Don't worry," he shook his head. "They had to find out, and you have an important job to do."

You nervously bit your lips. "Was it tough explaining it to your boss?"

"Hotchner is a father; he understood my situation better than anyone. Although, of course, everyone was a bit angry, asking me why I hadn't asked for help."

"I figured if they're your friends, they would be a bit upset about that. At least J.J knew about her," you shrugged, trying to stay optimistic about it.

Spencer looked up at you and nodded calmly.

"Yes. J.J is my best friend; she wouldn't forgive me if I hadn't told her. I wish she had been there today; I know she would have supported me a bit. Although, thinking about it, Penelope made an effort to talk to me today just because her curiosity about Matilda is greater than her anger."

You hid a amused smile behind the tea cup. "She was lovely with me and Matilda. And she really looked completely flabbergasted," you added with amusement as you recalled her face.

Spencer stretched in his seat, leaning his head back with a relaxed and genuine smile. "If you had stayed, you would have seen Derek lose his mind."

"Don't get me wrong, I just want to know who Matilda is surrounded by when I'm not around, but I'm not worried because I know you wouldn't put anyone dangerous near her," you admitted, furrowing your brow, drinking the last part of your herbal tea. "I have to go home. I'm dying for a bath and my bed," you complained and went to the kitchen to leave your cup. Upon arrival, you found dirty pots, plates stained with food, and stacked in the dishwasher. You sent a look to Spencer.

"No, no. You don'thave to..." Spencer entered the kitchen, rubbing his eyes when he saw you roll up your sleeves and start washing. "I'll do it."

"You were about to die on that couch; your dark circles have dark circles," you accused. "And Matilda will probably wake you up because she's been having nightmares about some monsters she saw in Aliens."

"Why would she watch Aliens?" Spencer asked.

"Because she knows how to use the TV. My father, who loves Sigourney Weaver, was babysitting her; it was all a bad combination. Now she wants to work in space."

Spencer stifled a laugh with a mix of pride and amusement. "That little witch," he chuckled, scratching the back of his neck and frowned. "I think you should talk to your father about what Matilda should and shouldn't watch."

You couldn't help but laugh ironically.

"Oh, yeah. I'll try that," you replied, whistling with humor. "Although I think he'd listen to you more. Did you know I tried seafood in my first year of life? Dad didn't want to listen to the pediatrician and gave me oysters."

"You're kidding" Spencer tilted his head in defeat.

You flashed a wistful smile.

"That's how we found out Mela was allergic. Very allergic," you added. Suddenly, the mention of your sister seemed to intensify the air in the kitchen. Both of you tensed, and silence filled the space. You looked at the clean dishes. "Done," you announced after a few minutes when everything was cleaned, and you walked into the living room for your bag. "Hey, in the backpack, I brought some word games to work on her pronunciation. The Rs are giving her trouble, and she's starting to read words."

"What? When?" Spencer asked surprised.

"Uh... it was like... three or four days ago. It's not surprising. My house is full of books, and so is yours. I'm always reading to her, and you tell her stories before bedtime. It's not a big deal, really; it could be worse."

"What could be worse?" Spencer laughed halfheartedly. "Now, I have to filter everything she reads. There are things in my library that aren't for a 2-year-old."

"One and nine months," you corrected him with humor. "I know, but listen to this; Benjamin, the son of a friend, started talking at two, and the only way he communicated was by talking super fast because he wanted to imitate the rappers he listened to on his phone." You shrugged. "It could be worse," you emphasized and smiled "I also brought two books that are totally perfect for her, and you won't have to filter them, Papa Bear."

Spencer sighed. "I know you take care of everything. Thank you." He sounded honest and grateful, but there was something in his look that concerned you.

You couldn't help but worry about him too.

"What's going on?" you asked, and even before Spencer denied anything, you insisted with a half-smile, "Come on, you can tell me."

You watched his lips tremble with doubt before responding.

"It's Matilda," he murmured. "I'm not sure if I really want this for her."

You furrowed your brow. "Want what?"

"All of this; reading at two and a half , knowing how to use technological devices, and all that," he explained.

You looked at him, confused, and gently shook your head, taking a step toward him.

"She's very bright. I know not everything is inherited, but there's a clear genetic predisposition, and to be honest, we've both encouraged her. And that's not a bad thing. The truth is, she's wonderful."

"I know!" he exclaimed, his eyes lighting up at the mere description of Tildie. You knew he loved her deeply; that kind of reaction couldn't be faked. "But I went through this. It's enormous pressure. Kids teased me, and I was always alone. I couldn't have friends my age."

You nodded, trying to understand. You had lived in an isolated place, and Mela had always been your best friend. However, making new friends was never a problem for you. You still maintained friendships from school and university. It hadn't been a problem for you, but you saw children daily struggling to connect with others and constantly being excluded for being different.

"Well, here's the thing; maybe I don't have superior intelligence in my genes, but I have the ability to defend myself very well. You can trust that Matilda will be brilliant and learn to stand on her own. We won't let her suffer for being different. She'll never be alone, I swear "

He looked at you hesitantly. "Do you promise?"

You slightly furrowed your brow, looking at him with more tenderness than you thought you'd feel for him. He looked vulnerable, and for the first time, you stopped seeing the genius doctor. You stopped seeing the man who slept with your sister and then left her. You stopped seeing the licentiate you met in a university cafe. You saw Matilda's father, loving her and caring enough to tell you, his fears and you had no idea how much it meant to you until now.

"Of course," you smiled. "And my father won't let anyone bully her. I promise." You tried to break the ice, successfully eliciting a smile from Spencer. "Besides, she won't be the only brilliant girl. She'll have you. No one else will understand her better than you."

After that, he studied you calmly.

"You look tired. I'm sorry I was late today; otherwise, I would have picked up the little witch, and you would have gone straight home after your meeting."

You shrugged again. "No use crying over spilled milk. Just try to do better next week if you're in town at least."

"I will be, and we'll have break for Thanksgiving and Christmas. I'll call your parents."

You swallowed with surprise and discomfort, covering the emotions with a smile. Great, now you'd spend Christmas in the countryside with Spencer and your parents. All together and without Mela. Yey.

"I'll say goodbye to Matilda and head home," you announced, carefully walking to her room and giving her a gentle kiss on the forehead. The little one continued to sleep peacefully even after the gesture. You saw her beautiful lips open as she let out a relaxed sigh and smiled.

You couldn't quite describe how the love for her burned in your chest. It was akin to a sip of good whiskey, but without any consequences. You said your goodbyes, knowing she wouldn't hear, and left the room Spencer had prepared for her. You said your goodbyes to him, who tiredly gave you a smile and a wave. You left with your heart pounding, as it always did when you walked away from Matilda, deciding not to think about how lonely your house would be when you got there.

#criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic

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