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#but we also understand that we are both now adults and that we both have changed somehow therefore we could never go back to those days

rocksibblingsau · 2 days

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Wow, I rlly like the way you wrote for Techno Branch’s relationships with the other trolls! I wanted to ask if you could do one for a country branch (Delta Dawn, Holly Darling, Gust Tumbleweed, maybe even Clampers!)

P.S. Have a headcanon that when Delta and Holly meet Brozone, they give them the worst guilt tripping ever imagined because it was DESERVED (and Gust couldn’t even feel bad for them as a bonus lolol) It would take ‘em years to recover 😊

Thank you! I can do that!

Delta Dawn would be his adoptive mom in my version of Country Branch. She's immediately worried for this small grey child. A lot of people headcanon that Branch is underweight for his age, but I like the idea that after their doctor visit, both she and the doctor worry about just HOW underweight he is... before realizing it's because he has half the amount of legs they do.

She still tries to feed him a lot. I think she'd be a lot like my grandma in that if you step in her house she's going to attempt to feed you. Branch visits her as an adult and she insists he eats and take home some leftovers.

Clampers looks up to him. She doesn't get why he looks different, so she ends up asking a lot of questions. By this point Branch is either a late teen/adult, so he ends up using this to sorta mess with her.

Clampers: Why don't you have all your legs? Branch: I didn't listen to my mama about being careful by the tractors.

Clampers: Why are your colors so grey? Branch: I didn't eat my greens. Now finish your dinner.

Holly is very outgoing and would make it her goal to befriend Branch. Unlike Poppy (or Synth in the Techno Branch AU) however, Holly attempts to bond with Branch over working in the fields. Her generosity sort of scares Branch a bit, because he doesn't feel like he can ever do enough, so he talks to her a bit and asks if she could tone down the gifts. Holly learns a bit about Branch's love language (as he prefers to receive genuine words or acts rather than presents) and adjusts accordingly. Branch also learns that gift giving makes HER feel happy, and it's not a transaction, so he eventually accepts that Holly's a gift-giver. Branch is too (see The Giver) so he can sort of understand it.

She's absolutely a protective friend, and would do her signature guilt trip on all of BroZone. I also personally see her as they kind of person to say 'Well bless your heart [derogatory]'.

Gust and Branch are both pretty easy going and serious types, so I think they'd hit it off well! I could see Branch doing Gust's job pretty well, even, so I think Branch would fill in for him when he was sick or couldn't do it. Gust is the kind of guy who would see that Branch is grey/different and be like 'That don't bother me none, we both bleed the same'. It's not that he thinks differences don't matter, just that they shouldn't get in the way of treating someone with respect. No matter how different Branch is, Gust focuses on what they have in common. They're both trolls, they both appreciate order, and they both can't resist good pepper jelly.

#sibblings qna #country branch au #trolls branch #delta dawn #clampers #trolls clampers #holly darlin #gust t #gust tumbleweed

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raapija · 20 hours

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hiiii, so youtube randomly recommended me a scotty james interview and since i was bored as fuck i actually watched it and let met tell you, this thing was full of lance lore. first of all, lance and scotty met at the urinals at the melbourne gp, like what???? 😂 and scotty recognised him instantly but didn't think lance would recognise him and didn't say anything but lance went like "oh, scotty james." whilst they were both peeing and i'm just.... lance let the boy pee in peace... 😂 and apparently after that one conversation most of which took place at a literal fucking urinal lance called up his sister and her that he had found her future husband... lance my boy, just what did you see at the urinal?? 🙃 but it worked out and now they have an inside joke everytime they're at the melbourne gp about how they should go for their piss together and i'm just like.... don't tell me these people are adults... they're literally still just children 🙃 the interviewers also asked him about dts and what the show might have missed when it comes to lance and scotty said that he's very happy go lucky and funny but also that he feels for lance in that he (and some of the other drivers) feel the need to protect themselves from people and the media because they will rip you apart for anything and as such we might not get to see their full selves as a consequence which... fully understandable.... (oh and apparently lance's hebrew name is jacob) (also sorry for the full on rant, he also had INTERESTING opinions on oscar but this is already a goddamn monologue 😂😂)

I love whenever Red Flags podcast clips show up in my fyp on tiktok 😭😭 This episode was WILD and I love how Scotty just rolled in like "Hell, yeah, let me give you all the tea, including when me and Lance saw each other's dicks" 💅✨ The Red Flags guys got such good humour, perfect for me 👌 (I really need them to get Lance on the podcast, that would be hilarious)

Their merch is also insane. I got this Alonso shirt a long time ago and it's still probably my favorite shirt ever 😭👋 Combining my love for metal music and Nando 💚

#ask

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aletterinthenameofsanity · 1 month

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Y'know, there's this gripe I've had for years that really frustrates me, and it has to do with Love, Simon and people joking about it and calling it too-pg and designed-for-straight-people and all the like. (A similar thing has happened to Heartstopper, but that's another conversation.)

I saw Love, Simon in theaters when it came out my senior year in high school. I saw it three times, once with my friends/parents on opening night, once with my brother over spring break, and once with my grandparents.

On opening night, the air in the room was electric. It was palpable. Half the heads in there were dyed various colors. Queer kids were holding hands. We were all crying and laughing and cheering as a group. My friends grabbed my hands at the part where Simon was outed and didn't let go until his parents were saying that they accepted him. My friend came out to me as non-binary. Another person in our group admitted that she had feelings for girls. It was incredible. I left shaking. This was the first mainstream queer romance movie that had ever been produced by one of the main five studios, and I know that sounds like another "first queer character from Disney" bit but you have to understand that even in 2018 this was groundbreaking. Getting to have a sweet queer rom-com where the main character was told that he got "to breathe now" after coming out meant so much to me and my friends.

But also, from a designed-for-straight-people POV (which, to be frank, it was written by a bisexual author and directed by a gay man, this was not designed for straight audiences), why is it a bad thing that it appealed to the widest possible audience? That it could make my parents and grandparents see things in a new light? My stepdad wasn't at all interested in rom-coms but he saw it with me because it was something I cared about and he hugged me when we came out of the theater. My very Catholic grandparents watched it with me and though my grandpa said he still didn't quite understand the whole 'gay thing,' all he wanted was for me to be happy and to have a happy ending like Simon did. My Nana actually cried when Simon came out and squeeze my hand when his mother told him he could breathe.

And when Martin blackmailed Simon, my mom, badass ally that she is, literally hissed "Dropkick him. Dropkick him in the balls" leading to multiple queer kids in the audience to laugh or smile. Having my parents there- the only parents, by the way, out of my group of queer and questioning friends- made multiple people realize that supportive adults were out there. That parents like those in Love, Simon do exist in real life.

When people complain about Heartstopper not being realistic or Love, Simon being too cutesy, I remember seeing Love, Simon on opening night. I remember my friend coming out and my stepdad hugging me and my mom defending us through this character. I remember the cheers that went through the audience when Bram and Simon kissed and the chatter in the foyer after the movie was over and the way that this movie made me understand that happy endings do exist.

Queer kids need happy endings. Straight people need entry points to becoming allies. Both of these things can come together in beautiful ways. They can find out about more queer culture later, but for now, let them have this. Let them all have a glimpse at a better, happier world. Let them have queer joy.

#love simon #simon vs thsa #simon spier #spierfeld #bram greenfeld #my experiences #meta #the importance of queer joy #heartstopper #becky albertalli #my mom also watched rwrb with me last year when it premiered #and let me tell you that was interesting sitting in the room with her for an r-rated romance movie like that

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frecklenog · 3 months

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i want you all to understand this.

insulin pens are very often used by diabetic children (or their parents, but they were very easy to use during the short time i was prescribed them when i was a child myself). they’re less cumbersome, produce less waste, and are far easier than pulling insulin from a vial with a single use syringe, as syringes are much more susceptible to air bubbles, which result in the diabetic not getting enough medication. i’m explaining this part because i know that some diabetic adults do also use them, and i’m sure that that’s true of diabetic adults in palestine with such scarce resources. when it’s life or death, you can’t really be picky.

the israeli occupation is now banning insulin pens from entering gaza.

lack of insulin results in diabetic ketoacidosis — essentially a very, very dangerous version of the effects of the keto diet. insulin is a key for the sugar from one’s food (both slow and fast acting, since all food has some carbohydrates, from nuts to potatoes to table sugar) to get from their bloodstream into their cells. without insulin, the body resorts to eating through its own fat stores rather than the sugar it cannot access and tries to flush the excess glucose that is in the blood through the urine. this results in weight loss, headaches, nausea, dehydration, blurred vision, abdominal pain, impaired mental faculties, and, if left untreated, will result in a coma, and eventually death within a matter of weeks. not “can.” it will kill you if not treated, and was largely considered a lethal diagnosis until insulin was discovered in the early 1900s and made readily available in 1922.

i’ve been in dka. admittedly, i was very young and have blocked much of it out. but i do remember that it fucking sucked. i couldn’t focus on anything, i was ravenous no matter how much i ate, and the room spinning to the point i felt like i was going to throw up became an increasingly regular occurrence. i was seven years old and wasting away like i was starved. i was dying. a few more days, and i likely would’ve gone into a coma and might not be here now.

to inflict that, willingly and knowingly, on innocent people, is nothing short of a crime against humanity, and violates the geneva conventions (item 2.a.ii. torture or inhumane treatment, including biological experiments and item 2.a.iii. willfully causing great suffering or serious injury to body or health). not that the israeli occupation cares, of course, as south african prosecutors have already extensively detailed their crimes in the icj, and this one in particular has already been committed near-countless times.

this entire occupation is a genocide, and this is only one more nail in that coffin. but, as a diabetic — as a human being who has been in that state and was lucky enough to have the resources to live almost another fifteen years (with the anniversary of my own diagnosis about halfway through next month), i can’t find the words to express my disgust and rage anymore. maybe it’s selfish to be so deeply impacted by this particular blow. i don’t know. but these people have done nothing wrong but be disabled in gaza, and as someone with the same disability, i know that no one deserves this, even if they have committed a crime (which, again, these civilians, largely children, have not). i will not fucking stand for it.

we need a ceasefire. we need an end to the occupation. we need a free palestine. now.

here’s a masterpost of how you can help.

EDIT: here’s a post on how to help diabetics in gaza specifically

#free palestine #free gaza #israeli war crimes #actuallydiabetic #actually diabetic #actuallydisabled #actually disabled #shut up emrys

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inkskinned · 2 years

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kids remind me, often, of the things i've taught myself out of.

i have a big dog. he looks like a deer. he is taller than most young children. while we were on a trail the other day, a boy coming our direction saw us and froze. he took a step back and said: "i'm feeling nervous. your - your dog is kind of big."

goblin and i both stopped walking immediately. "he is kind of a big dog," i admitted. "he's called a greyhound. they are gentle but they are pretty tall, which is kind of scary, you're right. their legs are so long because they are made for running fast. i am sorry we scared you. would you like us to stand still while you move past us, or would you feel more safe in your body if we move and you stay still?'

"oh. i didn't know that about - greyhounds. i think i ... i want to stay still," he said. at this point, his adult had caught up to us. "i'm nervous about the dog," he told her, "so i'm - i'm gonna stay still." she didn't argue. she didn't make fun of him. she just smiled at him and at me and held his hand while goblin and i, with as wide of a berth as we could make, crept our way through.

behind us, i heard him exhale a deep breath and kind of laugh - "he was really big, huh? she said it's because greyhounds have to go fast."

"he was big," she said. "i understand why that could have made you a little scared."

"yeah. next time i - next time do you think i could maybe ask to touch him? when - i mean, next time, maybe, if i'm not nervous."

later, going to a work event, in the big city, i stood outside, trembling. my social anxiety as a caught bird in my chest. i took a deep breath and turned to my coworker. she's not even really my friend yet. i told her: "i feel nervous about this. i am not used to meeting new people, ever since covid."

she laughed, but not in a mean way. she said she was nervous too. she reached her hand out and held mine, and we both took another deep breath and walked in like that, interlinked. a few people asked us - together? - and i told the truth: i feel nervous, and she's helping. over and over i watched people relax too, admitting i feel really kind of shy lately actually, thank you for saying that.

the next time i go to an event, and i feel a little scared, i ask right away: wanna hold hands? this feels a little dangerous. i hesitate less. i don't hide it as much. i watch for other people who are also nervous and say - it's kinda hard, huh?

i know, logically, i'm not good at asking for help. but i am also not good at noticing when i need help. i've trained myself out of asking completely, but i've also trained myself to never accept my own fears or excuses. i have trained myself to tamp down every anxiety and just-push-through. i don't know what i'm protecting myself from - just that i never think to admit it to anyone.

but every person on earth occasionally needs comfort. every person on earth occasionally needs connection. many of us were taught independence is the same thing as never needing anything.

each of us should have had an adult who heard - i feel nervous and held our hand and asked us how we could be helped to feel safe. no judgement, and no chiding. many of us did not. many of us were punished for the ways that we seemed "weak".

but here is something: i am an adult now. and i get nervous a lot, actually. and if you are an adult and you are feeling a little nervous - come talk to me. we can hold hands and figure out what will help us feel safe in our bodies. and maybe, next time, if we're brave, we can pet the dog that's passing.

#spilled ink #warm up #so i have worked in childcare as a teacher for like 15 years #hence the language behind ''what helps you be safe in your body?''#like you can tell by what i say here i have EXPERIENCE with kids.#but tbh the REAL teacher moment is watching a 6/7 year old say #''this makes me nervous #can you please not come closer?''#as a teacher i was IMMEDIATELY like ... ahh whomever is raising you is doing an EXCELLENT job holy shit #verbalizing your fears? trusting an adult to listen?#ability to recognize a way you might feel safer?#like .... this kid's caregivers.... that one moment... i was like .... who are u i wanna french kiss you big on the mouth

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chaos-bringer-13 · 1 month

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I've seen a lot of people writing Danny as a space ancient and Dan and Dani as ghosts with moon and sun cores, being sort of parts, versions of Danny and therefore weaker. Now, consider: Dan and Dani are both powerful ghosts with really cool cores and stuff but Danny is just some guy™

Dan, who came from an alternate timeline and is kind of from the future but also not, is Clockwork's apprentice and will eventually become an ancient of time. He probably only agreed to have some lessons with Clockwork to understand better what happened to him, but he enjoys his apprenticeship now.

Dani, with her love of travelling, loves seeing all the different places the world offers to her, and that includes space and different planets and maybe even parallel universes, and she accidentally ends up being an apprentice of the space ancient. For now she's probably a baby ancient of freedom or something like that, but she might become an ancient of space in the future.

We can also have something like Dan having a core of destruction or Dani being the Speed Force if you want it to be dcxdp, or any headcanon of yours about their cool powers.

And then there's Danny. And yeah, everyone knows that he's super powerful, but also he's just some guy.

It can go different routes. Does everyone know that Danny is just Danny? Or do they think that with siblings (well, technically a clone and an alternate version, but whatever) so powerful, he must be even stronger? Is Danny actually something terrifyingly eldritch and ancient and strong, almost a god, but he just doesn't know himself? Or is he just really some guy?

Now, because it's obvious that I have a dcxdp brainrot, have a regular "JL summons/meets a powerful ghost" but its Dan and Dani, and they keep mentioning their original/brother who won a fight against them at some point. The JL is very concerned about Dan and Dani's godlike powers, and they can't imagine what Danny is like. And then they meet him (in his human form), and it's just a young adult in casual clothes, very friendly and helpful, with no evident powers. Imagine the confusion. Imagine Dan and Dani, radiating power, in their eldritch ghost forms, admitting that fighting Danny for real is the dumbest thing to do and not even they would succeed... And then there's Danny is jeans and silly t-shirt, waving shyly.

#DO YOU SEE MY VISION #please #I'm not getting enough sleep #my brain is obsessed with weird stuff #I want Sam who barely looks human because she's one with nature #I want Tucker who looks regal and dangerous in his pharaoh clothes #I want Dan look like he can destruct the Earth with a wave of his hand #I want Dani who is everything there is in the world and you feel it in your bones #I want Jazz who sees your soul and your mind and you know it and there's nowhere to run #I want JL to meet all of them before meeting Danny #I want all of them to admit in their different ways that Danny is the greatest of them #I want JL to be VERY worried about meeting Danny #and then I want Danny to be as normal and friendly as possible #and I want him to treat all those eldritch creatures (his family and friends) as they're regular humans and nothing is weird about them #just hugs and love and praises #because it would cause so much confusion #this is NOT ghost king Danny #unless it is but he doesn't know (and either no one knows or no one told him because it's funnier this way and he's super oblivious)#dpxdc #dcxdp #dp x dc #dc x dp #DPxDC #DCxDP #danny phantom #isn't a crossover if you don't want it to be #could be any crossover if you do want it to be

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long-live-astronerd-ghost-king · 2 months

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DPXDC prompt. Adult!Danny x Sleep-deprived!Constantine: We seem to have a misunderstanding.

Warlock was willing to admit that the Phantom’s company was mostly useful and not unpleasant. Because of the specifics of his work they had to meet quite often. It was nice to be at least a little sure that you wouldn’t get stabbed in the back. The new ghost king seemed to be amused by the World of the Living and that was quite useful. In addition, the Infinite Realms had a history of endless conflicts with Hell, so when demons was messing with him, Phantom was happy to put sticks in their wheels.

However, the current enemy of the League was another alien. Both John and Phantom happened to be nearby. But it seems ghost had no reason to help Hellblazer now, as this fight had nothing to do with his kingdom. Given that Batman had explicitly instructed John to stay on the battlefield, it seemed that if John Constantine wanted to count on a weekend, he would have to use his trump card now.

Constantine: In view of the urgency of the situation, I would like to make a proposal. Life offers many challenges. I know I can meet them if you're willing to face them with me. In the spirit of saving time..[holding up a ring] This is for you. You in?

Phantom: I..I don’t know, John. I mean i want to say yes but It’s all so sudden. Please gimme some time to think, okay? And let me help to deal with these invaders first and then we’ll talk about it.

John: ..Sure?

~~~~~

Tucker: Whoa crazy battle dude. John: Civilians are not allowed here. Danny: It's all right. We were going to meet at a cafe, but now, well, there is no cafe. I mean, he's with me and not so civilian, okay?Ehem..John, meet my best friend Tucker. Tucker, meet my..Em, this is John, and he's kinda my John. It's new for us.

Damn. He was in a hurry and offered more than he should have. It turns out the ghost had an interest in protecting the city. It is unlikely that he would allow the destruction of the place where one of his humans lives.

And worst of all, Phantom did not accept the ring (for which John had to hunt for several months) as payment. Constantine got it specially in case he needed a favor or a way to calm the anger of the spirit he was starting to get along with. Like, really, John spent a fair amount to own the artifact which would have neutralized the consequences of wearing a ring of rage. But Ghost didn’t want it? Why? And yet he helped. So John was in debt.

And how it's all at a bad time. The peace treaty and the treaty of cooperation between the States and the Infinite Realms was concluded only recently. Of course John didn't even have time to discuss the terms of their deal because the blushing ghost flew away to fight but to say that he won't pay for the service is like admitting that you want to start a new conflict. Constantine was starting to have a headache. He'll think about it when he gets at least a couple of hours of sleep. Whatever payment the ghost needs, it can wait a couple of hours.

~~~~~

But as it turned out, the ghost couldn’t make up his mind and decide what he wanted from him. He started showing up at John’s place and looking at him thoughtfully, also recently dragged him to pick out a suit. How he could be mistaken for a stylist John did not understand but preferred not to unnerve a potential ally.

Moreover, for some reason the chaotic creature decided that he had the right to condemn John for always forgetting to have dinner or take a bath. This scoundrel dared to lock him in a bathroom with strange scented candles and colored water. Whatever these bath bombs were, dumb spirit failed to poison him but now John smelled like peaches. Disgusting.

After breaking down the door he found the same mess with candles on the kitchen table. Phantom fought a fierce battle with the green goo in the pot that he brought to John's house, but eventually gave up and they ordered delivery. All in all, it was a pleasant evening. Of course John didn't admit it but for some reason Danny decided that he could make such a mess every Friday.

~~~~~

Danny: So..me and Morningstar are friends now. Do you mind? I know you don’t get along very well. John: Why should I care? Your friends are your business. Considering you’re crazy about the stars I’m surprised you’re not sleeping with their maker.

Danny: Hell no, Lightbringer is great. And I’m glad he’s sharing with me what I wouldn’t find in books but I would never cheat on my partner. John: Good to know. (Wow, who knew the Phantom has a lover.)

~~~~~

Morningstar: I have no idea what you see in this arrogant man, stardust.

Phantom: I don’t know. It’s interesting to be around him. You never know what’s going to happen tomorrow. And his determination and sarcastic nature are really charming.

Morningstar: Well, I’ll get rid of some of his contracts for your wedding but only because I like you and not because I’m willing to deal with this liar.

Phantom: Thanks, Luci, you’re the best.

Morningstar:That’s true. But it's not free. I need you as a babysitter to keep Spawn busy while, well, Detective and I are busy.

Phantom: No problem :)

#dpxdc prompt #dpxdc crossover #dpxdc prompts #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc #dpxdc #dc x dp #dcxdp #have no idea what this ship name is.help?!#danny x constantine #dannyxconstantine

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qqueenofhades · 6 months

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i registered to vote for the first time ( i feel old) now that im an adult but my state has closed primary elections which i was wondering if you have an opinion about. my initial thought was that its bad because i had to register democrat (rather than my states green party which represents my beliefs more) just so i could vote between democrat candidates, which feels like being pressured into supporting the weird pseudo two party system we have. but then i looked it up and apparently a reason for this is so that people from opposing parties wont purposefully mess up the votes just so that their preferred candidates have an easier time winning, and i think that makes sense too. but is that actually the reason theyve closed it or is it just to force us dem/republican?? cause it feels strange

Okay, look. I respect the fact that you're a young person, and I appreciate that you have not only registered to vote, but plan to vote in the primaries, so I don't want to lecture you too much. That said: I am taking you out for coffee, I am sitting you down, I am looking into your eyes, and I am urgently telling you the following:

The Green Party is a scam. It is a scam. It has existed for decades in American politics as an empty shell corporation weaponizing the good intentions of young people like yourself, because all it theoretically stands for "it's good to save the planet maybe." Which is not something that any non-insane person seriously disagrees with, but there is no world in which that cause is actually furthered by registering/voting Green (you mentioned that you did vote for Democrats, which -- good, but listen to me here, youngun, okay?) It ran Jill Stein in 2016 to siphon more votes from HRC, and this election it plans to run Cornel West, a pro-Russian tankie who positively equated Bernie and Trump, as another spoiler candidate. It does not stand for "protecting the planet" or America in any real way. It has never elected a single senator or congressman, let alone a president. It stands for empty performance/grievance political theater by those people who feel too morally superior to vote for/affiliate with Democrats, often because the internet has told them that it's not Cool or Hip or Progressive enough.

If your main priority is climate/the environment, you're doing the right thing by registering as a Democrat and voting for Democrats. (Also: the adjectival form is Democratic. It is the Democratic party and Democratic candidates, otherwise you sound like the Fox News host who wrote a book literally entitled "The Democrat Party Hates America.") They are the only major party who has in fact passed major climate legislation and have made environmental justice a central tenet of their platform. As opposed to the Republicans, whose Project 2025, along with the rest of its nightmare fascist prescriptions, openly pledges to completely wreck existing climate protections and forbid any new ones, just because we weren't all dying fast enough under their death-cult rule already. That's the main logical fallacy I don't get among both the Online Leftists and the American electorate in general: "the Democrats aren't doing quite enough as I'd like, so I'll enable the active wrecking ball insane lunatics to get in power and ruin even the progress we HAVE managed to make!" Like. How does that even make sense?

On a federal level, the Greens have contributed nothing whatsoever of tangible value to American or international climate policy/legislation, environmental justice, or anything else, because as noted, they don't have any elected candidates and mostly focus on drawing voters away from Democrats. There might be plenty of good candidates on the local or city level, which -- great! Vote away for Greens if they're available, or the only other option is a Republican! But on the federal/primary level, please understand: once again, they are a scam. There is no point in affiliating yourself with them. You're welcome to register Green and vote Democratic, if that makes you feel better or if you prefer having another label next to your name, but once again, I'm telling you in my position as a salty Tumblr elder that they have done nothing but harm to the causes they claim to care about, because "environment" is such a nebulous priority and has demonstrably been hijacked to stop the American government entity, i.e. the Democrats, that is actually working to improve on it.

As for your question: nobody is "forcing" or "pressuring" you to vote in primaries. By your own admission, you made a conscious choice to register as a Democrat in order to vote for Democratic candidates. If you were just a regular registered voter of whatever party affiliation, you would vote in the general election for whatever candidate the primary process produced. But if you are sufficiently vested and committed to that process that you would like to have a say in who is running under that party label, it is not unreasonable that you would register as a member of that party. Nobody has twisted your arm behind your back and made you do so; you are taking a considerable level of initiative on your own. Likewise, open primaries can be both a good and bad thing. This falls under the "the political system we have is flawed, but we can't magically pretend it doesn't exist and act according to our own fantasyland versions of reality" thing that I keep saying over and over. So yes, if you want a role in shaping the Democratic candidates who emerge from a Democratic primary process, you will usually register as a Democrat, and nobody has forced you to do that. It's that simple.

Likewise as a general programming note: I'm trying to cut back on politics a bit right now, because I don't have the spoons/bandwidth/mental health to deal with it. I apologize. So if you've sent me a politics-related ask recently and haven't received a response, I'm not deliberately or maliciously ignoring you; I just am not able to handle it as much as usual and will have to put it on pause. However, I feel as if this is important enough to be worth saying, so, yeah.

#anonymous #ask #politics for ts

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naamahdarling · 1 year

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The pharmacy got some of my ADHD meds in!

After weeks!

I took ONE full dose and 20 minutes later was uncontrollably yawning and had to take a nap.

Stimulant meds are the first line, most effective treatment for ADHD, being remarkably effective in 70-75% of people with ADHD.

People with ADHD do not get high from their stimulant meds.

Becoming relaxed after taking them for the first time or after a long time off them is a sign that they are working and is an indicator that we DO have ADHD, though most doctors don't seem to know that this happens. We relax because we are closer to a normal state than we were, initially our bodies literally respond with relief.

Again. That is not what you would call even remotely a "high". Unless you are one of those awful people who believe naps are a crime.

They make our brain chemistry more normal, not less.

For those they help, we genuinely need them. Yes, both children and adults. It's fine to take them. It should not be a controversy (nor should ADHD itself be as controversial as it sadly is).

Medicating us does not lead to abuse. We are not addicts in waiting. Treating us as such is repugnant. (And treating addicts like shit is repugnant as well. People who abuse ADHD meds deserve compassion. From the ADHD community as well. They are not why we can't get meds. It's the FDA limiting how much can be oroduced and not keeping up with increased demand due to new diagnoses during COVID. It isn't other humans.)

Forcing us off medication with no support does, however, cause serious problems and can lead some people to seek them through illegal avenues, which is dangerous. Also understandable. The medical profession blames us and does not take responsibility for their part in this situation, even though they should.

We have every right to use whatever means works best for us free of censure, disapproval, and overzealous gatekeeping. If that's stimulant meds, so be it.

More respect for us please.

Especially now as we are facing rolling shortages of meds for the next few weeks or months. Your ADHD friends are struggling. Be patient.

6K notes · View notes

miryum · 4 months

Text

A Green and Silver Ring (Mattheo Riddle x Reader)

An arranged marriage between you and Mattheo, one that might lead to something beautiful

Word Count: 10.3k

I know I haven't posted in a long time but I have a plan trust the process. Also, this is me coming out and saying that I love Mattheo Riddle and he's amazing

Warnings: Swearing, bad and manipulative parenting from both Mattheo and reader’s parents, a lot of misogyny (a bit from Mattheo but he gets better by a lot and it’s not that bad), arguments, Tom isn’t Mattheo’s brother and Tom is a creep, arranged marriage, one bed trope, enemies to lovers, greek mythology reference, talk of kids, needing kids to carry on family lines, and kids. Mistress is the feminine term for master (so reader isn’t Mattheo’s side piece when I refer to her as mistress), old timey talk a bit, reader is a bookworm

From the desk of Ginevra

My dearest friend,

My parents have informed me of your engagement. I was ecstatic, yet surprised, when I heard the news. I was of the assumption that your parents were allowing you to choose your husband as your family line is secure in your brother and his wife. Yet, once I learned who your husband-to-be is, I was trepidatious.

My thoughts are with you, my darling friend, and I pray for you to write to me the moment you get my letter.

I hate to break the news, but you and your fiancé are the talk of high society. Never before have two such families been intertwined. Even I have had to scold my brothers for their gossip. They seem to forget that our families are close friends.

I do not ask why your parents have made such a decision. I know they are intelligent adults and surely must have a motive, but I admit that I am blind in that regard. Your engagement seems sudden and unwarranted to me. When questioned, my mother sighed and said I would understand when I grew older. My mother continues to baffle me. I have borne two children and a third on the way! If I am not mature now, I better gain some knowledge quickly.

Always remember that I am by your side. If you ever need anything, my door is always open to you. I am sure Harry will agree.

I love you, my friend.

Ginny

From the office of Lorenzo

Miss. L/n,

I believe we’ve never been formally introduced. I’m saddened to say that this letter is as formal as we’ll get - at least until your wedding. I am sure you must be taciturn and mercurial as of now. My father has told me much about you and I believe we’ll make excellent friends and confidants in our hectic world.

You’re to be my new half-sister, aren’t you? My relatives and friends are petulant to meet you.

Before any rumours (either about myself or your fiancé) hit your ears, I’ll put a rest to them. Bellatrix, your fiancé’s mother, had an affair with my father. They produced me and in return, I have the privilege of being your fiancé’s half-brother.

Being a bastard child, I’m no stranger to being ostracised and ridiculed. To be blunt, I’m sure that you will be ostracised alongside me and I believe that is one reason we can connect.

For rumours of my half-brother, I simply say this: do not fear him. He relishes in the consternation he places in other people, yet when he heard he was to marry you, I saw panic in his eyes like no other. It seems the tables have turned. He is hesitant to be wed, but you are not the problem. He simply doesn’t want to have the responsibility of another’s life on his. Your fiancé is used to belittling people - not supporting them as a husband should.

Any questions you have about your fiancé and my half-brother (whom in case I didn’t make clear, are one and the same), refer to me without any qualms. I am eager to meet you and hopefully make your transition into the Riddle family smoother.

I am well aware you have also lived your life in the upper echelons of society. But, as I’m sure you know, there are multiple circles in our complicated community. The L/ns, the Weasleys, and the Potters, for example, have grown their fortunes truthfully and innocently. They have earned the respect of their people and those whom they employ. The Riddles, Blacks, and Berkshires, on the other hand, have climbed the ranks in unconventional means and by skipping a few rungs on the ladder. They thrive and make their living on the terror and duress they cause those under them.

I’m looking forward to making your acquaintance.

Lorenzo Berkshire

P.S. I hope I haven’t scared you off.

From the office of L/n

Daughter,

You’ll be pleased to hear the engagement has gone through. Your mother and I met your fiancé last night. He seems like a nice man. He will be able to provide for you. His family is influential.

We will return home late tomorrow evening. You will depart for Riddle Estate in a week. Begin packing.

Your father

From the desk of Ginevra

Y/n,

You worry me with your lack of communication. Usually, you can’t wait to gossip with me. We have such fun at dinners and balls, yet with the most important aspect of yourself, you don’t respond. I’m simply worried, my friend. Are you alright? I can envision you curled in your bed, not letting anyone, even your nursemaid, into your room. Please do not let your impending marriage affect your state of health. It will turn out alright. Everyone I know (even me!) had apprehensions about their marriage. And with everyone I know, it turned out alright.

Misters Sirius and Remus visited Harry and I the day before last. They came to see James and Albus, but I know there was a hidden reason as well. They know of our friendship and came to ask if the rumours are true. As much as my husband adores them, Sirius in particular can be prone to gossip. The pair tittered and tsked when I told them of your fiancé. Sirius wishes to distance himself from his family, and I know he has pre-existing thoughts of the Black family, and by extension, the Riddles.

Sometimes I take a moment to gaze at the family tree upon my drawing room wall. It is full of interconnected lines and squiggles that sometimes, it makes my head hurt! The web of family ties is complicated and if we’re not somehow related already, I know that we will be once your marriage takes place. It seems the Black family spreads its roots into the Weasley family and the Riddle family- the latter of which you’ll soon be synonymous with.

Give yourself some grace. Your fiancé falls far from the tree; I am sure of it.

Please write to me. I need to make sure my closest friend is doing well.

Best wishes,

Ginny

P.S. Hermione wishes to inform you that, from what she’s heard, your Mr. Riddle is quite attractive. I have yet to hear any of the rumours myself, but at least your husband will be pleasing to the eye. Perhaps it will make the marriage more bearable.

***

Mattheo strode leisurely through Riddle Manor. It was one of the many estates his family owned, and it was soon to be officially his. Just as soon as he married the L/n girl.

The manor was spacious, which Mattheo couldn’t help but detest. How was he and a wife supposed to fill this void of empty rooms and dark halls? He knew servants and cooks would move in, but they wouldn’t occupy the dozens of upper rooms that were vacated.

For a brief moment, Mattheo couldn’t help but envision a set of children running around the halls. One of the children would run up to him, shouting, “Papa! Papa!” Mattheo would scoop the child up, grinning, and would carry them to their room. The room would be bright and cheerful, and maybe, just maybe, you would be sitting on a settee, cradling a newborn or helping an older child with their school work.

But for now, the room was dark and uninviting and he had yet to meet his future wife. He had seen a portrait of the L/n family and while they were in lavish, colourful clothing, Mr. and Mrs. L/n seemed cold and stoic - just like his parents. The children, an older son and younger daughter (whom he presumed to be you), seemed kinder and by their body language, Mattheo could tell that the two siblings were close.

Mattheo slowly made his way down the hall. There were three wings of the manor; two were residential and the other was designed for taking guests. The East Wing - in which he and Miss. L/n would stay - was also fit with an office for him. He was expected to take over half of the family business once he got married. The West Wing would remain empty for now, sans for a large library and the furniture in the bedrooms.

The boy knew that his bride was to arrive later that day. She would stay at Riddle Estate until the end of the week. Just three short days before they were to be wed in name. Mattheo would move into Riddle Manor tonight, giving servants time to wipe the dust off of tables, shine the silverware, and fluff the pillows.

Mattheo walked the halls of his new home. His mind was devoid of any thoughts. Perhaps it was simply because he was always numb. Even when he heard of his engagement, Mattheo didn’t make a fuss. He didn’t remember thinking anything. Nothing such as ‘Oh, I can’t wait to meet her!’ or even, ‘I can’t believe mother and father are arranging my marriage! She better be obedient.’

No, Mattheo had thought nothing of the sort. He had spent his childhood quietly observing his father and mother, noticing the amount of fear they could inflict on people just by silence. You didn’t have to be loud and dramatic to be powerful. You simply couldn’t be afraid to follow up on your promises - however deadly they were.

The only question Mattheo had asked when Bellatrix informed him of his engagement was, “and what do we gain from the L/n’s?”

Bellatrix had shot him an callous and apathetic look. “Do not ask questions you needn’t the answers to, boy.”

Mattheo had glowered, but shut his mouth.

As he neared the foyer, Mattheo couldn’t help but think how marriage was a component in all aspects of his life. When he got married to the L/n girl, he would inherit a portion of his father’s estates, company, and wealth. Mattheo chucked to himself. Maybe he should’ve gotten married sooner.

***

“Pray tell, why weren’t you here when she arrived?” Bellatrix snarled as she gripped Mattheo’s arm. Her nails dug into his suit as she dragged him towards the drawing room.

“I was busy,” Mattheo replied harshly. Love was not a thing that came instinctively to his family.

“Doing what? Planning your suidide?” Bellatrix scoffed. “I would march to the Underworld and choke Hades to bring you back.” Mattheo glanced down at his mother, hesitantly surprised. But he knew better than to raise his hopes and dreams. “We need this contract with the L/n’s,” Bellatrix continued and Mattheo’s jaw ticked. Of course. She didn’t love him; she never had. Her son was purely business. He should’ve known better.

“Maybe if you would tell me what the L/n’s provide for us,” Mattheo pulled Bellatrix back before she threw open the door to where you were. “Then I would be more complacent.”

Bellatrix sneered. “You think you’re smart, boy. You think you have everything figured out in that pretty little head of yours. But remember: you’re nothing without the Riddle family name backing you up.” She paused and licked her lips. “But if you must know,” Bellatrix sighed, giving into Mattheo. “The L/n’s just came into some very… lucrative land that we could gain from if you marry Miss. Y/n L/n.”

Mattheo’s eyes flickered to the drawing room door. After a moment, he asked, “is that her name? Y/n?”

Bellatrix stared at him, aghast. “You didn’t bother to learn her name?!” She scoffed. “With a son like you…”

She pushed open the drawing room doors and Mattheo trudged after her, muttering, “at least I know her name now.”

You had been waiting for seven minutes and thirty nine seconds in the drawing room of Riddle Estate, the trackage of time dependent on the old grandfather clock standing ominously in the corner. Its pendulum swung back and forth continuously as its second hand ticked by. Mrs. Riddle had left seven minutes and thirty nine seconds ago to fetch her son.

While the room was perfectly clean, not a speck of dust on even the highest chandelier, it was still a cold and morose room, yet oddly epochal. The wood was the darkest mahogany you had ever seen and the lights cast odd shadows on the dark green wallpaper that had inlays of gold.

Your teacup that you were trying to hold steady was filled with a sad excuse for tea. There was a ring of gold around the mouth of the teacup. On the table beside you, a notch that looked as if someone dug a knife into the surface caught your attention. It was the little things like this that you noticed when you had nothing else to do. Your mind was trying to distract you.

The door then swung open and there stood your fiancé, his stare daring you to oppose him.

“Uh,” you stood, your teacup and saucer still in hand. You quickly placed them on the table, right over the knife nick. “Y/n L/n,” you introduced yourself. You bowed your head in an informal curtsy.

Mattheo’s eyes flickered over your face. “Mattheo Riddle,” he said coldly. His voice was practically velvet. You didn’t mean to look him up and down, but you couldn’t help it. He was to be your husband, after all.

Mattheo’s hair coiled at the end and his eyes were just as dark as his curls. His nose had a scarred cut on it that looked as if it was just beginning to heal. Your fiancés cheekbones were practically sculpted from marble and for a moment, you believed that the gods had simply breathed life into a statue. Did this make you Pygmalion and Mattheo Galatea?

If it weren’t for their lethal eyes and stern posture, perhaps more would be friendly to the Riddles.

Mattheo spoke, “you’re to be my fiancée.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes.” You had the urge to add ‘sir’ at the end, but you bit your tongue.

Bellatrix hissed something to Mattheo and thrust a small object into his hands. Mattheo rolled his eyes and stalked towards you. “My family ring,” he grumbled. He held out an intricate silver ring with three bands interweaving. A green jewel cut into a thin diamond shape sat steadily in the middle. “It has been in the Riddle family for generations. It’s tradition to pass it down to the wife of the firstborn son. And now that is you…”

He trailed off and handed the ring to you, it laying flat on his palm. You took it from him, trying to minimise contact with Mattheo. You nodded in thanks and slid it into your ring finger.

It seemed too concrete to fathom.

Mattheo stared at the ring on your finger. A muscle jumped in his jaw. “My… wife,” he murmured halfheartedly.

***

Three weeks had passed since the wedding and it was as if you had never gotten married in the first place. Yes, it was unsettling to wake up in a bed that wasn’t your own next to a man that you were supposed to call your own. But other than necessary, Mattheo had hardly uttered a word to you.

In the three weeks you had stayed there, you had seen Mattheo a total of twenty eight times, including mornings and nights when you were forced to sleep in the same bed.

Your mornings, afternoons, and nights were all incredibly boring. You took long meals, pushing your food around. Sometimes you just sat by the window and watched the wind blow bits of grass and dirt past the window. The servants were still extracting the dust between the couch cushions and you tried to stay out of the way, but it only made you feel more isolated.

Mattheo was holed up in his office day in and day out. He had now inherited a large portion of his father’s company and Mattheo was determined to uphold the honour bestowed upon him. He had drafted contracts, sold and bought land, and even hosted a few dinner parties for his associates.

You detested the dinner parties. Thankfully, Mattheo had yet to invite you to one - hell, he had yet to speak to you about the dinner parties. You had learned of the first dinner party when you had wandered downstairs one late evening because you were thirsty. You had stared at the group of strangers, all dressed in elegance, as they stared back at you in your night clothes. Not saying a word, you had sighed and returned upstairs.

You hadn’t been eager for the marriage, but wouldn't it befit Mattheo to show some affection? Or at least acknowledge your presence?

While you had continuously tried to get your husband to open up to you, his answers had been short and venomous.

It had been a long, monotonous day for you. You had returned to the master bedroom about two hours earlier than you normally would have if you were at home.

With the wealth that you came from, the opulence was sure to be evident, but you had underestimated the Riddle family’s prestige. When Mattheo had first shown you your shared bedroom, you had to allow a flicker of surprise break through your facade. The bedroom was larger than any room in your old home and had a large bed in the middle. The lamps on the bedside table were always dimly lit and the design of the room was the same as the rest of the house - dark and bereft of love and care.

Your hair had been brushed enough, but you kept brushing simply for something to do while Mattheo finished up in the bathroom. Mattheo walked out of the ensuite with a towel wrapped around his waist. His curls were plastered to his forehead and a bead of water ran down his sternum.

Your eyes flickered to his figure through the mirror, taking in the dips and curves of Mattheo’s muscles as he silently got ready for bed. You tore your gaze away, berating yourself.

You built up your courage and tried to think of a conversation starter. You commented, “my parents wrote to me today.” After no reply from Mattheo, you continued, “they asked me when we would give them grandchildren.” You set your hairbrush down and stared at Mattheo through the mirror, looking for some sort of reaction.

Mattheo hummed noncommittally and put on some sleep pants. He used his towel to begin drying his hair. “It would be behoove us to produce some heirs,” he spoke. His tone was dismissive, as if children were nothing more than an obligation or duty to fulfil.

“Right,” you muttered, knowing that an uninterested reaction was all you were going to get out of him.

You stood and moved towards the bed. “Goodnight,” you whispered, turning off the bedside lamp and tucking yourself into bed. Mattheo was still putting on his nightclothes and had yet to get into bed.

As you turned off the light and got into bed, Mattheo finished drying himself off and slid into his own pyjamas. He sat down beside you, but didn't bother turning off his own lamp. Instead, he laid against the headboard, reading a book. "Goodnight," he finally mumbled, not even looking at you.

You curled into your blanket. After a moment, you asked quietly, “what book are you reading?”

He looked at you over the top of his book. "None of your business," he replied curtly.

You simply uttered, “okay.”

Mattheo felt an unwanted and unusual feeling root itself deep in his stomach. He scoffed and said sarcastically, "fine. Go ahead and keep asking questions all night long if it amuses you so." He opened his book again and pretended to read.

A longing and lonely pang resonated in your chest at his harsh words. You didn’t respond and instead turned your face into your pillow. You had known that your marriage was to be loveless, but it still hurt at every unspoken word. Perhaps, if you had been five years younger when you married Mattheo, your spirit would still be alive with the juvenile belief that you could stand up to him.

Mattheo huffed and his gaze turned up to stare at the wall ahead of him. “If you’re so miserable, then why don’t you just leave?” he snapped, not even bothering to hide his bitterness. “I am sure your family would simply love to have you back.” He flipped another page in his book, not even bothering to look at the printed words.

“I never said I was miserable,” you answered quietly, even though Mattheo knew it wasn’t true. Perhaps, though, you believed it to be true. You took a steadying breath, closing your eyes.

Your husband smirked and leaned against the headboard. “What do you call your attitude, then? Why are you so downtrodden and defeated? Surely, you can’t blame me for being frustrated by it.” He knew that he should be taking account of making you feel this way, but he still tried to justify his behaviour.

“Goodnight,” you reiterated.

Mattheo sighed dramatically. “Whatever,” he grunted. He closed his book, threw it on the nightstand, and turned off his lamp. The room was encased in darkness except for the dim moonlight coming through the window. He shifted towards the edge of the bed, making sure a noticeable gap was between the two of you.

He thought back to your conversation. “Why don’t you just leave?”

It was too late now to apologise.

***

Mattheo let the door swing shut behind him, returning to Riddle Manor after an outing with friends. He glanced around, waiting for a servant to take his coat, but no one answered. An eyebrow cocked, Mattheo slowly walked up the stairs, hearing you instruct the servants on something, every other sentence of yours either containing, ‘please’ or ‘thank you’. Up on the landing, he found you directing a servant who was pulling a rack of your clothing. “What the hell are you doing?” he demanded. “Have you lost your damn mind? Are you trying to send a message or something?”

“You’ve made it perfectly clear that you have no interest in me, so I’m trying to make this marriage as civilised as possible,” you said diplomatically. “I believe that if I move to the West Wing and leave you in the East Wing, it will benefit our marriage.”

“What exactly do you hope to accomplish with this piteous attempt at attention?” he asked rhetorically. “Do you think it’ll make me want you more?” He stuck his tongue in his cheek, grinning incredulously. “You’re delusional if you think that’s even remotely possible.” He stepped closer to you, towering over you with anger in his eyes. “This is not some game, L/n. This is marriage. You’re stuck with me whether you like it or not.”

“I’m aware that we’re married, Riddle,” you retorted. “And don’t refer to me by L/n anymore. I am now a Riddle - just like you. However, I am not going to live in a state of constant sorrow and dejection. Having a wing of the mansion to myself may help.”

Mattheo’s jaw tightened as he stared at you, irritated by your resistance. “Fine,” he growled. “But don’t expect me to come running after you when you decide you want attention. You’re on your own now.” He turned away from you and walked into his now solo bedroom. “Just remember - this is your choice.”

You felt your anger inflate. “I thought you would like this!” Your voice rose and you tugged a hand through your hair. It was the first time in your marriage that you had fought back. “I have done everything I can to please you, yet nothing is enough for you!” Your voice turned desperate. “What do you want from me?”

He stopped in his tracks, turning around with surprise and disgust on his face. “Dammit, Y/n! Don’t yell at me like that!” His voice thundered, stepping towards you. “I never asked for any of this! I didn’t ask for a wife or for you to try so hard to please me! All of this is ridiculous.” His hand slashed through the air to make a point. “All I want is some space. Space to figure out what the hell I want. But let’s make one thing clear: I don’t care about you.”

“Am I not giving you space?” Your fists clenched at your sides. “I am moving out of the bedroom and out of your way. Yet, you erupt at me and get angry over nothing! You send me mixed messages and I don’t know what to do.”

Mattheo took a breath, trying to regain control over his emotions. “I am not erupting! Lord, you are so sensitive!” he snapped, running a hand over his face. “Can’t you listen for once? I am not sending you mixed signals. I am trying to figure out my place in this unorthodox situation we’re in.”

After a beat of silence, you asked firmly, “did you talk about me?” After seeing a flicker of confusion on his face, you clarified, “when you were out with your friends, did you talk about me? Did you rant about how annoying I was? Did you complain about marriage?”

His lips parted before taking a breath. “Yes, I talked about you,” he admitted begrudgingly. “I complained about how frustrating I find you and how frustrated I am with my parents for arranging this senseless marriage.”

“What did they say?” you insisted. “Did they sympathise? Did they laugh at me? Did they add fuel to your fire by commenting about how… how ‘needy’ and ‘sensitive’ I am?”

Mattheo made a low sound in his chest and rubbed his temples, frustrated by your persistence. “They agreed with me, yes. A few believed that you are too emotionally attached and sentimental. Others chalked it up to the pains of an average marriage.”

Your anger flared up and you said, “Let me tell you this: I never wanted marriage either. But I at least tried. I tried to be a nice and loving wife and a kind human.” You turned on your heel, marching out of the bedroom and towards the West Wing.

Mattheo watched you go, an unwanted feeling of guilt washing over him. He sighed and walked over to the window. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. “Why is everything so damn complicated?”

For the next couple of weeks, you stayed true to your word. You avoided Mattheo and his office and stayed in your wing of the mansion. After a week or two, you decided to explore the mansion, stumbling upon a magnificent library. You inhaled in veneration when someone cleared their throat. Mattheo stood behind you, raising an brow. After a silence, you said recalcitrantly, “you never told me that Riddle Manor had a library.”

He smirked at your thinly veiled hatred, amused despite himself. “Well, now you know,” he said dryly. “It’s a perk of living in a Riddle household.” He walked over to a bookshelf and began browsing for a book he required for a contract that was being drafting. He showed no sign of embarrassment or discomfort at your presence. “You may use it whenever you want. But don’t expect me to join a book club or anything juvenile.”

“I would never dream of it,” you said sarcastically. You step further into the library and can’t help but gape at the vastness. You trailed your fingers over the book spines, breathing in the smell of old books. You crouched down to examine a series of poetry titles. “I can read any of these?” you asked hesitantly.

He nodded and leaned against the shelf behind him, crossing his arms over his chest. “Feel free to read whatever you would like. They’re here for the entire household. Well, the servants don’t have time to read books, so in a Riddle household, the parents and children use the library the most.” Your hand faltered over the titles. “If you find something that catches your eye, go ahead and take it. I won’t stop you.” There was a hint of curiosity in his voice, as if he wished to know what topics and books piqued your interest. You hummed quietly, not fully acknowledging his words. You were already picking up a book and leafing through it. Mattheo watched you for a moment, his eyes softening briefly.

Everyday, you returned to the library. It was an escape from the walls of your room and the walls that Mattheo had put up around his heart.

Eventually, the servants recognised your routine and began to start a fire in the fireplace to keep you warm. They moved a loveseat in front of the fire that you gratefully used. You devoured the poetry collection, including Shakespeare and Edgar Allen Poe, and started on the classics. Every once in a while, Mattheo would come into the library, but he wouldn’t talk. He simply took a book and returned to his study. Sometimes, you wondered if he remembered you lived in the mansion with him.

Mattheo found himself frequenting the library more often, looking for books he had never needed before. A swell of pride filled him whenever he saw you by the fire, knowing that something in his home brought you such comfort. He still refused to speak to you, maintaining distance and ignoring your existence, but he found himself increasingly drawn to your presence.

One day, on a whim, he decided to take a risk and left a stack of his favourite books on the table next to your chair. That afternoon, you found the stack of books. You smiled despite yourself, though you didn't make any comment to Mattheo. You picked up the first book, sat down in the chair, and began to read.

A week later, Mattheo was hosting a dinner party for his associates. He didn’t say a word about it to you, though you heard the servants preparing for it. You decided not to go, opting to stay in your safe haven of the library.

After an hour or so of faint music, you heard the door to the library squeak open and your head whipped up. You saw one of Mattheo’s friends, Tom, enter and look around. He spotted you and his lips curled up into a smirk. “So you’re the wife we’ve heard so much about?”

Your stomach clenched and you replied, “I guess so.”

Tom’s smirk grew wider as he took in your terse response, enjoying your obvious discomfort. He approached you with a lecherous gaze in his eyes before asking, “and how do you find life as Mrs. Riddle? Are you enjoying your… arrangement?” His words dripped with sarcasm, not believing for a moment that you and Mattheo were married for love.

You stared at him. “It has its perks,” you said simply.

Tom laughed derisively at your response, not convinced by your nonchalance. “And what are those perks?” he asked, moving closer to you. “Extravagant gifts? Luxurious vacations? Or simply the privilege of being married to such a powerful man?”

You squared your shoulders. “I am powerful without a man,” you said sharply. “I do not need a man to determine my worth and prowess.”

Tom scoffed. “Really? How exactly did you become powerful on your own?” he asked, challenging you. “I find it hard to believe that you could ever achieve anything significant without the backing of a powerful husband behind you.” He leaned in closer, grinning.

You closed your book with a snap. “The L/n family,” you said, talking of your maiden lineage, “has had control over many estates and affairs for decades. Without Mattheo Riddle, I would’ve inherited half of it, second only to my brother. I would’ve had four auspicious companies at my ready disposal, capable of doing most anything. So, yes, sir, I would have been momentous without him.”

Tom’s smirk faded as he recognised your family name. He remained undeterred, however, stating, “that explains why your husband was so eager to marry you. He must see you as a valuable asset to his business empire.”

As you opened your mouth to retort, the door banged open and Mattheo strode into the library.

Mattheo had noticed Tom’s absence from his party, but when it became too long to be excused as a restroom break, Mattheo had asked his brother, Enzo, if he had seen where he had gone. Enzo had smiled a small smile and whispered, “Tom went to the library. Where your darling wife stays hidden.”

Mattheo saw red.

He barged into the library, a deadly, lethal, and borderline possessive look deep in his eyes. When he saw Tom flanking you, Mattheo’s expression darkened and his hands clenched into a ready fist. “What the hell are you doing here?” Mattheo demanded, his voice low and dangerous. “This is a private wing of my home - not some place for you to bother my wife.”

Mattheo moved closer to you, placing himself between you and Tom as if to protect you from further harm.

Tom quickly stepped back and placed a confident demeanour on his face. “I was simply having a conversation with your lovely wife here,” Tom gritted his teeth.

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, showing clearly that Tom was lying and intruding. You saw Mattheo’s eyes flicker down to you, his eyes softening reassuringly before snapping back to Tom, malice in his gaze.

“Don’t lie to me,” Mattheo snapped at Tom. “There’s no need for any sort of interaction or conversation with my wife unless I am present.” Mattheo placed a hand on the top of your chair, his fingers gripping it and his bicep flexing slightly to warn Tom.

Tom’s eyes flicked with something you hadn’t seen before: fear. Fear commonly associated with the Riddle name. He adjusted his collar and straightened his posture. “Of course, Mr. Riddle,” he said bitterly.

You raised a brow. “I think it’s time for you to go now,” you said, your face stoic. Tom bowed his head slightly before exiting the library. You didn’t look up to meet Mattheo’s eye. You murmured, “you didn’t have to do that. I had it covered.”

Mattheo watched Tom until he completely left the room before turning to look down on you. His voice was threatening, “you may have been able to handle Tom, but I won’t tolerate anyone disrespecting or harassing you while you’re under my roof. Consider this a warning - if anyone tries to cross you again, they will regret it.”

“Perhaps you should tell your coworkers that. Not me,” you replied.

Mattheo’s expression was cold. “Fine. I will,” he growled. “I will not sit idly by and allow anyone to disrespect my wife.” He let go of your chair and adjusted the cuffs of his suit. As if in a business meeting, he said, “And consider this another warning: if you continue to act so stubbornly, I won’t hesitate to remind you of your place in this marriage.”

“My place in this marriage is your wife!” you cried out, finally standing up. “Your equal! Something you seem to forget until it’s convenient for you. Or until another man threatens your… your property! I doubt you see me any differently than this house or your assets.”

Mattheo grabbed onto your arm tightly, pulling you close and leaning down so his face was inches from yours. “Do not ever speak to me like that. You are not my equal - you are my wife and I decide what is best for both of us. If you cannot accept that, then you should reconsider your place in this marriage.” He released your arm and turned away from you, striding towards the door. “I suggest you reflect on your behaviour,” he added icily, leaving the room without looking back.

After he left the library, you let out a scream of frustration. You shoved the pile of books that Mattheo had carefully curated to the floor. They tumbled down, book after book, covers opening and pages bending. Tears pricked at your eyes as you examined the scene.

You slumped into your chair, the fire in front of your crackling softly, emitting a calming warmth.

Eventually, you fell asleep in the chair, tear stains on your cheeks. In the morning, you woke to the serene morning light filtering into the room - a vast contrast to your mood. The fire had dissolved into crackling embers. Tucked on top of you was a thick blanket and the stack of books that you had pushed over had been re-piled and stood majestically atop the table.

You sighed, knowing you should thank the servants for taking care of you and cleaning up.

After you walked to the kitchen, your footfalls heavy, you thanked the servants, who were finishing preparing breakfast. They exchanged glances and one piped up, “Ma’am, while we appreciate the sentiment, we didn’t do that. We weren’t aware that you were still in the library. We believed you had retired to bed before the social last night.” They paused and then added, “however, Mr. Riddle didn’t go to bed. He was in his study until morning light.”

“Oh,” was all you could say. You bid them an awkward goodbye before entering the dining hall.

Mattheo was already seated at the head of the table, his expression exhausted and distant. He didn’t acknowledge you when you approached, focusing instead on the uneaten plate of food in front of him.

You sat down opposite him and muttered, “the servants informed me that you blanketed me last night and cleaned up the books.” You hesitated and finally said, “thank you.”

Mattheo looked up briefly, his expression unreadable, but he didn’t respond directly. “It was necessary,” he said simply. “You should not be cold and uncomfortable in your own home.” He doesn’t make any effort to engage in conversation beyond that. Something was weighing heavily on his mind and he seemed preoccupied by it.

You hummed in response. Eventually, you stood and whispered to your husband before walking out, “you are not as cold as you want to seem. You needn’t keep the facade up with me.”

Mattheo looked up briefly before returning to his food. His expression relaxed, but he didn’t respond.

***

Later that day, Mattheo sat in his study as he always did. A knock came from the door and he glanced at the clock. It was a bit early for lunch to be delivered, but he announced, “come in.”

The door creaked open and your head peeked into the room. Mattheo’s brows furrowed - not with malice, but with scrutiny. You entered and sat in one of the two seats next to his fireplace. Silently, you cracked open a book you had brought and began to read.

Mattheo watched you intently, his gaze never wavering as he took in every detail of your face. He tried to find any acrimonious intent behind your actions, but you looked so peaceful. He found himself noticing the details of your face and your beauty as the fire cast warm highlights on your eyes. “What are you doing?” he asked eventually, his voice holding an armour of needed suspicion.

“Reading,” you said simply.

Mattheo frowned, not convinced by your answer. Why would you read in his study after the way he had been treating you? He leaned back in his chair, his work forgotten. “Isn’t there something more important that you could be occupying your time with?” he challenged.

“Not particularly,” you responded. “You’re in charge of the companies and estates. I have nothing to do. I thought I would accompany you. You must get lonely in a study by yourself.”

Mattheo narrowed his eyes, but ultimately nodded slowly. “Alright,” he agreed after a moment. “But don’t think I will stop working simply because my wife is here.” His posture grew taut as he began looking over documents again. “This is still my office and I expect you to behave accordingly.”

“I’m simply reading,” you murmured, a smile inching its way up your lips.

Henceforth, a routine was established. Every morning, you would knock on Mattheo’s study door, usually an hour or so after he began working. There was rarely conversation, the silence being broken by Mattheo’s scratch of a quill or you turning pages, occasionally being disrupted by the loud crack of a log in the fire.

One day, you had finished your book (it was an excellent book, one from the pile Mattheo had recommended) and stood to go retrieve another one. At the sound of your footsteps leaving his office, Mattheo’s head darted up and he suddenly asked, “where are you going?”

You paused and turned back to him. “I’m to get a new book. Unfortunately, as wonderful as this one was, it had an ending like all books do.”

Mattheo frowned and a hint of vulnerability broke through his exterior. “Get a servant to do it,” he offered.

“Well, I don’t know which one I want,” you counted, raising a brow in a smirk.

He huffed and shook his head, returning his eyes to his documents. He grumbled, “I will commission the servants to build you a small bookshelf for my office. You can keep your books there.” You stood, watching him for a moment, admiring him until his gaze snapped up. “Well, go get your book,” he said sharply. “… but hurry back,” he added in a mumble.

You finally smiled at him before exiting and Mattheo gazed at the place you once stood, trying to memorise how your lips curled up and your eyes crinkled when you smiled.

He rather liked it when you smiled.

***

“Are you alright?”

You sniffed and laughed. “Yes, yes. I’m being foolish.” You wiped some tears from your eyes. “My book is very good.”

Mattheo chuckled lowly. “And what made you cry, hm?”

“A daughter and father interaction,” you replied quietly.

“Was the father cruel to the daughter?” Mattheo laughed tersely, shaking his head at his documents. “Are your feelings not strong enough to withstand their wrath?”

You frowned at Mattheo, setting the book down. “No,” you corrected slowly. “The father was being kind to his daughter. He was supporting her and loving her; as a father should.” There was a pause as Mattheo looked up at you. “I know that the Riddles are a harsher family - I’ve known ever since I knew I was to marry you. But… but are you alright?”

You felt absurd asking the question. Yet, when Mattheo couldn’t meet your eye, a wistful sadness blanketing the room, you felt as if you should’ve asked the simple question weeks earlier.

For a moment, he said nothing. Then Mattheo turned in his chair so his back was facing you. "I'm fine," he finally answered, his voice rough and strained. "I am used to dealing with it, I suppose." Despite his insistence that he didn't need anyone's pity or concern, your words seem to have affected him more deeply than he wanted to admit.

“May I ask a question?” you asked softly.

Mattheo hesitated for a moment before nodding, his eyes never leaving the window as he spoke. "Ask away," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. He then cleared his throat and said, "but I won’t give a warm and fuzzy answer."

There was a pregnant pause in the air as you gathered your courage up and suddenly thrust your fears upon your husband. “If we ever have children, which we’re somewhat expected to,” you added hurriedly. “I don’t want them to grow up in a household where they feel as if they have to vie for love or attention. And I don’t want me to be the only one giving them attention.” Mattheo turned his head so his face was angled toward you, but his eyes could still stray to the window if need be. “If we have kids, can you promise that you’ll love them? Even if you don’t love me?”

Even though your voice was steady, Mattheo knew of the vulnerability deeply rooted within you.

He nodded cautiously, his expression serious. "I promise," he said firmly. "I may not love you, but I will love our children unconditionally. They will never have to compete for my affection or feel neglected. I may not be a fond father, but I will provide for them and protect them as best I can." A protectiveness filled his veins just at the thought of something happening to his future children.

You nodded once, a sad smile on your face. “Perhaps we’ll have a big family. Enough children to start a sports team.” You smiled at the thought, laughing lightly.

Mattheo smiled, despite himself, imagining a large brood of children running around the manor. It was an oddly appealing idea, even if he wouldn't admit it out loud. "We'll see," he said noncommittally. "I'd rather have lots of sons; they'll carry on the family name and ensure my legacy continues." He turned back around and attempted to focus on his work.

“And daughters too.” You frowned, staring at your husband, even if he wouldn’t spare you a glance. “Daughters can carry on the family name just as well as sons.” A muscle in your jaw ticked.

Mattheo scowled at your defiance, his eyes narrowing slightly. Why hadn’t you just fallen into line? "Fine, daughters too," he reluctantly agrees. "But make no mistake, they will be raised to be strong and capable like their brothers. The Riddle name demands nothing less."

“And the sons can be soft and caring and sensitive,” you said firmly, crossing your arms. “I thought we agreed that they wouldn’t have to vie for affection. I thought we agreed that they wouldn’t have needless competition in their life. I don’t want them to grow up… like, well… you.” You finally uttered the words that had been hanging off your tongue dangerously.

Mattheo’s expression hardened as he clenched his fist tightly. "Fine!" he snapped. "They can be whatever the hell you want them to be! But don't expect me to sit back and watch while they become weaklings and failures. We need to teach them to be strong and ruthless like I am." He stood up abruptly, knocking over his chair in the process.

You jump up after him, crossing towards him. You whirled to a stop in front of him, jabbing a finger towards his chest. “Listen here, Riddle. Just because someone is kind and vulnerable doesn’t mean they’re weak!” You growled, “and just because you grew up like that, does not mean that’s the type of household I am going to have.”

Mattheo stepped forward and his hand flew up to grip your wrist. His eyes blazed with anger, but then something changed in his expression and he took a step back, looking surprised at his own reaction. "You're right," he admitted begrudgingly. "I shouldn't have assumed that being vulnerable meant being weak." He ran a hand through his hair, looking embarrassed, yet resolute in his decision. "But don't expect me to be a pushover either. I'll still teach them to be strong and independent."

“Strong and independent are good qualities,” you conceded. “Both for the boys and girls.”

"Agreed," he said. Mattheo straightened his cuffs and cleared his throat. "Our children will be taught to be strong and independent, regardless of gender. They will know that they are loved and valued by both of us, equally." He held out his hand to you, indicating that the argument was over - for now at least. "Deal?"

“Deal.” You shook his hand defiantly. It was a business deal, but a good deal at least.

Mattheo exhaled and brushed past you. “I’m to a meeting,” he informed you. It was a simple comment , one that was an offhand remark, but to you, Mattheo had just let you into his life. It was something he had never done before. Even if it was just a response to where he was off to, it was a window into his life. A life that now may have enough room to hold you.

Mattheo paused when he reached the door. “I never knew the way I grew up was wrong until I saw other families. I saw the parents bending down to listen to their children instead of hushing them. I saw parents comforting their children after scraped knees, not pushing them to the kitchen for some rubbing alcohol. I saw parents beaming when their child could plunk out the simplest of tunes on the piano. No one else got berated for being out of rhythm or playing a D instead of an E. I never saw another child get slapped by their parents or scolded as harshly as I was. It was around then I realised that something was wrong. But what was I to do about it?”

Words dried in your throat. You wanted to cry at his words, but you felt dried out. How could someone treat their child like that? It explained so much…

Your husband was a fragile man, you were just realising. And he was trying to pick up the pieces and present them to you in the only way he knew how.

"The stars remind me of you,” he said quietly, the change in conversation sudden. “I mean that in the best possible way.” His voice was the softest and most tender as you had ever heard it. You hoped he would keep speaking the melodies that made your heart sing in tune.

“How so?” you asked, afraid to break the plane of existence that you and Mattheo were carefully standing on.

"They are so beautiful, yet so far away. I may see them, but I can never touch them."

***

The servants didn’t know what to do. The master and mistress, Mr. and Mrs. Riddle, seemed to be at a ceasefire. The cooks lamented at how they had seemed to be doing so well. The maids thought they were destined to doom from the start. The butlers gossiped about Mr. Riddle’s letters to a Mr. Tom, terminating their long-term partnership. The scullery maid still had hope that the husband and wife would come to their senses and live a happy life.

It perplexed the servants when the mistress requested to move her belongings back into the master bedroom and the master looked on, a soft smile on his lips. It confused the servants when the Mr and Mrs began taking meals together and talking in hushed tones late into the night. And it bamboozled the servants when, one summer afternoon, the Lord of the household stood from his desk, cautiously moved to his Lady that was reading by the open window, and asked her to accompany him on a walk. She had accepted.

There was to be a dinner party, this time hosted at Mr. Draco Malfoy’s manor, that Mr. Riddle was expected to attend. Per usual, the master didn’t invite the mistress, but she was content to stay home. A maid briefly heard the madam whisper to her husband, “hurry home, please? I don’t like it when you’re away.” The maid had scurried away before she could hear the reply.

Mattheo returned home that night, just before the sun was setting. He climbed the steps, unbuttoning his cuffs and loosening his tie. The soft glow of light was still shining under your shared bedroom - something he still hadn’t gotten used to - and Mattheo couldn’t help but smile.

“Why are you still up?” he asked quietly when he entered the room.

“You promised to be home early and I wanted to see you before I go to bed,” you reminded him, a small book in your hands.

“Right, right.” Mattheo chuckled and shook his head, slinging off his tie and jacket.

“How was the dinner?”

Mattheo hummed noncommittally. “Not the worst. A couple of my good friends, Theo and Pansy, were there to help alleviate the pain of socialising. But… I found something odd happening.”

“And what was that, husband?” Mattheo took a moment to relish in the way that word curled off your tongue effortlessly.

“I found myself wishing you were there. Nay,” he quickly corrected himself. “I wished I was here with you.”

“Oh?” Your eyes flickered up towards Mattheo, a slight blush coming to your cheeks. “Why… what do you mean by that?”

Mattheo began to unbutton his shirt and moved towards his closet. “Well,” he admitted, mumbling to himself. “I simply mean that instead of having to socialise with people who are too tightly wound and whose only intent is to take my money,” he chucked his belt into his closet and rolled up his sleeves, “I would rather be at home with my darling wife.”

A smile inched up your lips. “Really? Tell me more about this darling wife of yours.”

Mattheo hummed, stepping towards the bed. He crawled down on the bed, leaning on his forearms to lean up towards you. “My wife… I’ve come to care deeply about her. She is a beautiful, elegant woman, one who has a fiery tongue about her and an intelligent brain that even I cannot rival. She always seems to get her way, even when I try to fight back. It’s as if my wife has a command over me that I have willingly submitted to. And I am not ashamed to say so.” He lightly caressed your arm, sending a trail of goosebumps up your skin.

“You must be careful, Mattheo,” you uttered. “That sounds an awful lot like love.”

Mattheo brought his eyes up to meet yours, the sting of tears building up behind them. His voice cracked as he said, “that’s the first time you’ve called me by my name, Y/n.”

Your lips parted in shock. “I- I didn’t realise. I’m sorry-”

“Don’t you dare apologise,” Mattheo demanded before reaching up to pull you into a kiss.

His lips were soft and meaningful against yours, hungrily trying to gather every ounce of love from you. His kisses were feverish at first, his strong hand coming up to cup your jawline, his fingers just teasing behind your ear, before his lips slowed. Mattheo was a starved man and he wouldn’t let anyone take away his only solace. He shifted so he could be closer to you, gently taking the book from your hands as you surrendered yourself to him. Your hands found his silk shirt, gripping it in your fists. He placed the book on the nightstand and moved so he was hovering over you, never once letting a second go by without feeling your skin against his.

Mattheo slowly, achingly pulled away from you and his eyes fluttered open to meet yours. “My darling, my love, my life,” he murmured, dragging a knuckle down your cheek. “I apologise for everything I have ever done or said that made you feel inferior. I would be happy to kneel for you in front of my associates and family members - just to show them how much power you have over me.” He took a breath before persisting, “I was foolish. I was incompetent. I didn’t realise how much love I held for you. It is, and always will be, only you. I will promise you this: you will be the only woman I ever touch, the only voice I ever want to hear, the only skin I will ever caress, and the only eyes I ever want to see. I will wake and fall, every morning and night, thinking of you. You are the other half of my heart, for it is you who I love. I will place the galaxies and stars in the night sky for you. If you are ever unhappy, my love, I will not rest until I see you smile again. If you are ever mad, my love, I shall smite whatever upsets you, even if it is I. And I would die a happy man if you could give me only an ounce of what I give you.”

Your breath shook and you swore Mattheo had injected ambrosia into your veins for you were sure your blood was singing with the love that was filling your soul. “I wrote a letter to your mother today,” you offered quietly, as if your mere words could ever compare to the love poem Mattheo had just gifted to you. “And I thanked her.” Mattheo’s eyes flashed with confusion. You continued, “I thanked her for birthing such a wonderful husband and for raising him. I know you u wish to renounce your family, but as of now, I want to thank them with all my heart. Mattheo, I love you.”

“And I you,” Mattheo whispered, bringing his forehead down to rest on yours. His nose bumped against your cheek and he couldn’t contain his grin anymore. “How did I ever get so lucky?” he mumbled.

You laughed lightly. “Luck? Fate?”

Mattheo shook his head and his nose brushed light curves over your skin. “No, my wife. Simply love. Pure, unconditional love.”

***

The house was bright, the curtains pulled as far open as they could be. Some servants scuttled around, holding laundry or preparing for dinner. Meanwhile, Mattheo strode leisurely through the halls, smiling lovingly as his nephews chased each other through the halls. “What do I say, boys?” he called after them.

“Have fun, be safe, and don’t get caught!” they yelled back before running around a corner.

Enzo jogged after them and grumbled to Mattheo, “it’s not your duty to rule them up.”

“As their favourite uncle, yes, it is.”

“Your wife is in Andromeda’s room,” Enzo told his brother before sprinting off after his sons. Enzo wasn’t usually at Riddle Manor, but today was a special day. It was Orion’s birthday.

Mattheo chuckled to himself before Orion raced up the steps, panting. “Papa! Papa!”

Mattheo grinned widely and scooped Orion up. “Are you alright, hm? What’ve you been up to?”

“Aunt Pansy’s carriage just pulled up!” Orion bounced in Mattheo’s arms, beaming.

“And you’re not even dressed,” Mattheo stared at Orion, pretending to be stunned. “Where’s your mother, Ori?”

“She’s helping Andy get dressed,” Orion announced. Mattheo nodded and carried his son to his daughter’s room. “Mum!” Orion cried out, seeing Y/n standing behind Andromeda, knotting her hair into a braid.

“Oh, my darling,” Y/n tied Andy’s hair up before crossing to Mattheo and taking Orion from his arms. “Are you excited for your birthday?”

Orion hummed excitedly and wiggled down from Y/n’s arms. He darted to Andromeda and wrapped himself around her in a tight hug. Andromeda grumbled, but allowed him to cling to her as she finished her hair and rouge.

Mattheo took Y/n’s hand and pulled her back toward him, nudging his nose against hers. “Look at that,” he murmured, reaching down to play with the silver and green ring on your finger. “Mine.” He pressed a kiss to your temple. Slowly, as to not arouse suspicion from your children, he backed you up and caged you against the wall in his arms. “Seven years with you and two beautiful children to show for it.”

“Hey, mum? Where’s my- eugh!” Andromeda turned around and reeled back from the scene in front of her. “For the love of Salazar, please get a room!”

“We are in a room.” Mattheo smirked, glancing up from the crook of your neck.

“Aren’t you two, if I'm doing my calculations correctly, nearing thirty years old?” Andromeda tsked and rolled her eyes.

“You believe that simply because we’re getting older, I’m going to stop loving your mother?” Mattheo chuckled before pressing a light kiss to your jawline.

You shivered and tucked your face into your husband’s chest. “Matty, spare the poor children,” you chastised lightly. “What do you need, darling?” you turned towards Andromeda.

“You used to call me that,” Mattheo whined. He stepped back from you, letting you out of his embrace.

Andromeda sighed and asked, “where is my white shawl? It’ll go well with the dress I’m planning to wear to Orion’s party.”

“Why does it matter what you wear to Orion’s party?” Mattheo asked, puzzled.

“Because Albus Potter is going to be here,” you said as if it were obvious.

“Harry Potter’s son?” Mattheo asked incredulously. “That scumbag?”

Both you and Andromeda ignored Mattheo and Orion left the room at the sound of Aunt Pansy entering the foyer and shouting out for her favourite nephew.

“Your shawl should be in the library,” you answered. “Ori was using it as a blanket yesterday.”

Andromeda sighed and turned towards the door. “He needs to stop taking my things. Just last week he stole my candelabra so he could read in the dark. Perhaps you should accelerate his schooling. He’s getting bored, you know.”

“We’ll raise our own son, thank you, Andromeda,” Mattheo raised a brow. Andy huffed and and flicked her dress out behind her dramatically, exiting the room. Mattheo turned to you and said, “they get that from you. The love of reading.”

“Yes, but they get their flair for the dramatics from you. And lest us not forget, you keep fuelling our love of literature by buying more books and expanding our library,” you countered.

Mattheo hummed. “‘Tis true. But how could I live without spoiling my wife and children?” He whirled you around in his arms and pressed a long kiss to your lips. “Speaking of children, what would you think of expanding our family?”

You let out a laugh. “You simply like the act of making a bigger family.”

“I love my children too,” Mattheo defended.

You reached up and brushed some of his hair away from his face. “Yes you do,” you smiled up at him. “You love your family very much.”

“Always.”

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lightblueminecraftorchid · 2 years

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An incomplete guide to how to talk to young children (3-5 years old):

- Do not assume they understand your instructions the first time. They will ask you the same question three times. Answer it the same way, patiently. They will get it eventually.

- Children will ask strings of “why” questions. They’re not trying to be annoying; they don’t have a lot of the context older people have. Answer until you can’t, then admit you don’t know and ask them a question back. They’ll get distracted for the moment, and trust that you take their questions seriously.

- If you need a kid to do something, give a reason, but don’t give up at “I don’t want to”. If they don’t listen, it’s okay to say “I explained why, and I still need you to do it.” Be calm, and firm. Usually, kids will listen the second or third time.

- If a kid doesn’t listen to an instruction repeatedly, there’s probably something in the way. Ask them why they’re not *without accusing them*, and they’ll tell you what’s going on most of the time. Common reasons: I’m scared, I don’t know how, I miss my parent/sibling, I’m tired, I’m angry/frustrated/sad, I need help. Address the roadblock and help find a compromise that works for the both of you.

- Threats are only as good as you can enforce them. If you threaten them with a countdown, you need a consequence to back it up that is appropriate to the request. For example: “I need you to stay in your chair. I’m going to count to five. If I get to five, and you’re not sitting in your seat with your feet on the floor, I am writing down that you were not listening during snack time on your behavior report.” Keep in mind that these threats only work if the consequence is at the right level; too harsh, and they’ll get overwhelmed and shut down, but too light, and they won’t see it as a consequence. A kid who doesn’t care what their behavior report says won’t worry about a bad report as a consequence.

- Never scream at a child. Never hit them. Never continuously escalate consequences until they do what you say. These behaviors cause a child to panic, and their fear response will prevent them from doing what you want them to, as well as make them more distrusting of you in the future. It’s not just cruel, it is actively counterintuitive to correcting their behavior.

- Make a point to notice and compliment/reward good behavior, especially with kids you are biased to view as “rude” or “badly behaved”. Kids take the views of adults seriously, and if they feel as though they can’t redeem themselves in your eyes, they won’t waste energy trying. Complimenting good behavior when you see it will encourage them to repeat good behaviors to earn your praise. In addition, if there’s other children nearby, they will also mimic the complimented behavior to earn the same praise. Give it.

- Kids want to feel heard. If they want to show or tell you “something cool”, and you have a few moments, watch/listen and compliment them *regardless of if you get it or not*. If you don’t have time, say “That sounds really cool! Can you tell me after we do [insert thing]?” This tells them that you care while still making sure they do what they need to.

- Kids can be downright frustrating sometimes, especially when they need to do something and they just *won’t*. Recognize when you’re getting angry, and learn to stop talking before you direct that anger at them. Take some deep breaths, remind yourself that this too shall pass, and try a different approach.

- Always understand why you’re asking a child to do something. Not only does this help you tell them why they need to, it helps you find replacement behaviors if they can’t/won’t do it. For example: “I need you to lay down and try to sleep, because your friends are sleeping and what you’re doing right now is waking them up. If you can’t sleep after trying for a while, we can work together to find you a quiet activity that you can do at your cot.”

- Don’t expect from a child what you wouldn’t expect from yourself. Could you stand laying still and staring at the ceiling for an hour when you’re not tired? No? Don’t ask a kid to do it. Could you stand staying out in the cold for an hour without a jacket? No? Don’t ask a kid to do it. Could you stand someone yelling at you without feeling angry? No? Don’t ask a kid to do it. Even if you think you could do it, consider if you could do it with the same limitations this child has. Could you do it without the emotional regulation and impulse control you’ve developed as an adult? Could you do it without the inference skills you’ve learned after years of social interactions? Could you do it when you felt angry, tired, overwhelmed, hungry, thirsty, desperately needing to pee with no bathroom nearby? If not, don’t ask a child to do it.

- Don’t react to potty words, insults, or offensive language. Don’t laugh, and don’t act upset. Use the same tone you would if someone said something innocuous, and correct them in that tone. “We don’t say that; that’s a hurtful thing to say to someone.” Or “That’s not funny. Let’s talk about something else.”

- Kids don’t (and should not) have a sense of sexual innuendo or puberty. A four year old doesn’t understand that reaching up to hug you and touching your breasts in the process is gross. A five year old doesn’t understand that “why aren’t you a mommy?” or “why does your face have red dots on it” are weird questions to ask random people. Enforce boundaries without delving into details. “Don’t touch me there; that makes me uncomfortable” and “That’s just how it works sometimes” can be used to great effect. Importantly, don’t act angry or use a tone that indicates they did something wrong; this will seem to them like you’re arbitrarily angry.

- Kids at this age don’t have a strong sense of cognitive empathy or predicting the future. The idea that actions have consequences beyond the immediate result is a very, very new concept to them. Be prepared to explain the obvious of “why can’t I bite her when she makes me mad?”, “why can’t I steal his toy when he stole mine?”, and “why do I have to do what you tell me when I don’t want to?”

- Give explicit instructions. “Stop that” isn’t likely to be understood by a four year old. “Stop throwing the toys; please put them in the bucket gently” is far easier for a kid to follow.

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sixosix · 7 months

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SOMETHING HAPPENS | XIAO

summary verr goldet and huai'an playing matchmaker, basically

warnings wc 1.7k, this fic is xiao pretty much watching over reader in his very xiao way so if you’re not into stalking elements pls don’t read LMFAO + xiao having a crushhh

You’ve felt the looming presence of someone watching you ever since you’ve set foot in Liyue.

It wasn’t anything sudden—in fact, no ordinary human being would have noticed it. But you’ve been trained to deal with all sorts of animals, from wild Rishboland Tigers down to slippery Red-Tailed Lizards. You could sense the tiniest snap of twigs and freshly fallen leaves that could have only occurred from an interference.

And having dealt with animals for so long, you can safely conclude that whatever has been following you for the past ten days is definitely not an animal. If it were, it would’ve been some skilled predator that somehow disappears into thin air when you steal a glimpse. The only possible trace you could find is the barely discernible mark on the dirt.

It also helped your Vision gave you the blessing of being attuned to the wind and the shift of air from a heavy presence.

You thought you’d be dead by the fifth day of your stay—murdered by this newly-acquired stalker of yours, but nothing happened. You asked (politely, with a please) this person to reveal themselves and save you both the trouble, but nothing happened.

You even went as far as to throw yourself into the first hilichurl camp you saw to see if anything happened, yet while you were defending yourself against one, all of them fell to the ground limp once you turned back to them. You search for more camps nearby, but they’ve all been cleared—and all of them were freshly beaten as if your stalker made quick work once they figured out what you were up to.

“It’s hard to tell if you’re out to protect me instead of murdering me if you don’t show yourself,” you say to the empty field, hoping for at least one answer, but nothing happens.

You suppose all that matters is that it’s hard to feel lonely with the constant presence.

“You been hanging around Wangshu Inn lately?” asks the man you went up to. It is in case you weren’t alone in what seemed to be the beginning plot of a horror movie. At your reluctant nod, he snorts, “Well, aren’t you a lucky one? Or perhaps it’s the complete opposite if you’ve been up to no good and disrespected an Adeptus.”

You don't understand what this man’s point is. You’ve briefly heard of the term ‘Adepti’ floating around Liyue, but you’re not quite sure if it’s one person or something else entirely. Have you done something to offend any deities in Liyue? All you’ve really been up to is researching the wildlife and tracking down the stalker.

“What does Wangshu Inn have to do with this?”

“Why don’t you ask and find out yourself?”

You frown. “It would save me hours if you just tell me now.”

“I already told you what I know, kid,” says the man to you, a full-grown adult. “But I suppose I can let you in on one secret: you’ve piqued the interest of someone.”

This man is crazy.

You sigh. You’ve only been hanging around Wangshu Inn for shelter, but the sun is setting a little too fast, and the warm lights and delicious aroma of their food are starting to speak to you—you suppose there is no other way.

Making your way up to an inn has never been more interesting.

While walking, you belatedly realize that you feel the presence of the stranger again. It’s stronger than before, says the winds, and they never lie with what they touch as they fly by.

You also take it upon yourself to ask the merchants and customers alike, calling yourself new and curious as to what they know about the Adeptus lingering around Wangshu Inn.

“An Adeptus? All I know is that this inn is hiding a mysterious secret, but none of us have really gotten to a point where we found more about it.”

A secret.

You’d really prefer if the man you met before weren’t lying, as you would want your stalker to at least be some sort of god than an ordinary human being who has been watching you for no other reason.

You mull this information in your head as you climb up the inn. And then your limbs lock in place once you hear a voice. It speaks to you, for some unknown reason—as if the winds have quieted down to make you listen. You’re not sure if it’s the rasp or the absolute command his voice demands that gets to you, but—

“The next person to come here will ask about me. You will say you know nothing about my whereabouts.”

Then, a new, feminine voice speaks up. It breaks the brief trance you’ve been under. “…Is this the same person you’ve been watching over for the past two weeks, Adeptus Xiao?”

Adeptus Xiao. Watching over…?

Yet when you pick up pace and hurry to the counter, it’s just a woman alone, wide-eyed as she looks at you as if you were the one acting stranger.

“Sorry,” you blurt. “I’m, ah… I thought…”

Were you really just imagining that? No. That’s impossible.

The lady smiles. “I’ve seen you around the Inn recently. My name is Verr Goldet, the boss here at Wangshu Inn.”

“Oh, yes, nice to meet you.” Embarrassed, you choose to stare at the cat resting on the edge of her desk. You wonder if that cat can sense your distress; it’s blinking up at you innocently, surely the eyes of someone who has witnessed what you’ve missed. “My name’s Y/N, and I wanted to book a room…”

Verr Goldet brightens, but you suppose anyone receiving a customer would be, too. “I see. Have you considered the room on our highest floor?”

“Not…really?”

She hums, then smiles like she's letting you in on a little secret. “You should. If not, then at least consider climbing up the stairs and see the view for yourself. Most of my customers book rooms solely for that reason.”

That does sound appealing, and you have time to spare. “I will; thank you for the suggestion.”

Pleased, Verr Goldet turns to her desk to assumably book you a room. In the silence, you find your voice, “Hey, boss.”

You look up, and Verr Goldet’s eyes are sparkling. “Hm, yes? Oh, your expression looks terrified.” She laughs, sliding a key across the desk and urging you to take it. “I’m just used to correcting people who call me ‘boss lady’. What was your question?”

“Well, I’m pretty new, and—I’ve heard something interesting about this place.”

“There are a lot of rumors about this place. You’d have to be more specific.”

She might either kick you out from where you’re standing or understand what you’re about to say. “Well, ever since I arrived here at Wangshu Inn I always felt like I was being watched over… and then a man I met outside from here told me that there’s an Adeptus nearby?”

“I see. So you’ve met my husband,” she smiles knowingly. “You’re not from Liyue, aren’t you?” You shake your head. “Usually, no one knows about this, but my husband must’ve caught it, too. You’re looking for Adeptus Xiao, and I have noticed that he’s been lingering a lot more recently. More so than usual—I’ve concluded it’s ever since you arrived.”

“Should I be scared?” Because you’re not. Your heart is pounding. It’s a little messed up, but the thought of someone so highly esteemed having noticed you sends a thrill down your spine.

“Of course not. Xiao is the slayer of demons—he keeps Liyue and, most notably, this Inn safe from harm. Of course, I can’t blame your curiosity: no one else has seen Xiao with their own eyes.”

“Am I correct in assuming my stalker could be this Adeptus?”

Verr Goldet laughs. “Why don’t you head up and find out?”

Breathtaking is the first thought that crosses your mind as you finally reach the terrace. You can’t hold back your elated gasp seeing the place from this height—the lanterns, the people, the scenery.

And then you say, “Adeptus Xiao, are you here? Verr Goldet told me you’d be.” She didn’t say it directly, but the implications were there.

The wind shifts as a presence materializes behind you. It’s an all-too-familiar feeling. Goosebumps arise in your arms, and it’s not from the breeze. You turn, and come face-to-face with the most beautiful man you’ve ever met.

Xiao clicks his tongue, his pale skin tinted red. “I did not ask for them to resort to matchmaking.”

“You heard that? So you’re not denying that you’re the one who’s been stalking me ever so creepily?”

“Do not disrespect the Adepti with your accusations,” Xiao quickly retorts, like it’s second nature.

But you now know that one of the Adepti has a little crush on you, so you hardly care less about that at this point. “I’d say that invading my privacy is more disrespectful.”

Xiao’s silence embodies a scolded puppy.

You grin, stepping closer. It widens as Xiao stares at you warily, yet doesn’t disappear. The moonlight brings out the color on his face. He’s beautiful and acting unbelievably adorable. “It’s nice to meet you, Adeptus Xiao. Thank you for protecting me during my stay in Liyue.”

It must’ve been the sincerity in your voice that has him clearing his throat, scrambling for some sense of control again. “It’s—It’s my duty.”

“To watch over one person in particular?”

Xiao glares weakly, caught red-handed. “Do not get so presumptuous.” He says, yet he hasn’t disappeared into thin air while talking to you, unlike what Verr Goldet says usually happens. That alone says a lot.

“It’s hard not to when you look at me like that.”

Xiao visibly startles, losing his calm composure by blinking. “How do I look at y—“

“I think I’ll be staying in Wangshu Inn for a little while longer,” you voice aloud, the grin on your lips never once faltering. “I’ll be in your care, Xiao.”

Xiao cannot, in fact, handle this, as his entire face goes up in flames, and he disappears into wisps of teal and black. You’re not too worried. You can still feel his presence, the way you’re already getting used to.

A/N OH MY GOD. A XIAO FIC. FINALLY. FROM SIXOSIX. SELF-PROCLAIMED XIAO MAIN... im shaking as i post this like im so nervous. and i hate this. but out of all the xiao fics i tried to write this one has been the one i actually completed without throwing out halfway through

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin x you #xiao x reader #xiao x you

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almalvo · 9 months

Text

About An Official Spiderverse Artist...

Please do not just scroll past this post; read it.

If you guys follow me on twitter, you probably already know.

But if you dont or still want to read this anyway - here you go:

I aint big, but I got a growing platform that I see as important for me to use as a force for things that matter.

So here I am.

And I got something to say about a certain "artist".

There are so many fucked up people who call themselves artists who are so heavily worshipped by us who both get and or dont get outed in the world for things they do and for their general piss-poor behaviours and persons.

Im here to talk about one in particular (and certainly wont be the last).

There is an artist that basically EVERYONE here has seen art from before, printed in the official Sony artbooks too.

If you have seen this:

Then you have seen this artist before.

His name is Alberto Mielgo. He goes by @/pinkman_himself on twitter.

He is a HUGE part of the art direction and stylisation of the spiderverse movies, if that isnt already obvious. Because he was the former original art director of Into The Spiderverse.

Yes. Former.

Cuz he got "mYsTeRiOuSlY fiReD" from Sony 2 years into pre-production and completely removed from the project.

You may have also seen this character before:

Yes. THAT asian character from Netflix's Love Death + Robots, from the episode "The Witness".

Familiar? Yeah. Because this episode was also made by the same guy, Mielgo.

I aint going to talk about what happens in that episode and hesitate to encourage anyone to watch it - cuz all it basically is is a megalo-misogynistic, assault "glorified for the sake of aRtT", racially fetishised showcase of this crazy makeup/haired bdsm stereotyped asian girl sex worker who essentially gets murdered over and over and over after running for her life completely naked through the city for all of us to see for some fucking reason.

BUt yeah anyways, you can see it in the first pic, but Ill put it here to show more clearly - this here is NOT the character from LDR. But I can understand why you might think so:

Yeah. You read that name in the bottom right corner correctly. This is Peni Parker. His concept art of Peni Parker. A 13 YEAR OLD CHILD. Lookin suspiciously like and dressed as the adult person from LDR with ALSO the crazy hair, make up - WITH AN O-RING CHOKER AND BALL-GAG LIPSTICK (BDSM).

13. year. old. child.

This man only sees east asian women this way.

He likes them crazy, sexy, broken--

and young.

Cuz this man also wrote this on a now-deleted post on his website:

Yeah. He, this whole ass middle-aged white cishet male spaniard thirstin for kids since he was 18 for 12 year old girls.

Cuz 12 year old girls are a fuckin "KNOCK OUT" when they grow up, when they ripen up into adulthood, to this man Alberto Mielgo, aka @/pinkman_himself, this creature.

And if auctioning NFTs isnt bad enough (cuz yes, ofc he does that too - its literally the first option on his website) -

His entire fucking portfolio is of drawing women he had sex with.

His fucking PROFESSIONAL PORTFOLIO is all of painting and drawing women in very compromising, questionable ways of the VERY SAME WOMEN HE HAD SLEPT WITH THROUGH HIS LIFE.

They look as creepy as they are.

But the scariest part?

While I myself had only just found out about this some days ago as of writing this, some of us have known about this man and his antics for years.

And he keeps getting greenlit by the industry, over and over and over; winning awards, getting respected, praised, admired, even by fellow at-home artists like many of you out there if you dont already do so.

And nothing will happen to him cuz he is a white cishet male artist who has money and a following and connections and influence and power.

So yeah.

I just wanted to talk about a certain official Spiderverse artist to just let yall know there are freaks everywhere, and that no matter how small it is, it's people like me and you who need to do what we can to keep up awareness and warn our communities and protect our most vulnerable.

My suggestion is to take heed of what I said, ask questions about everything you will ever see again from anyone around you, no less the industry, THINK for once, and actually give a fuck.

Keep away.

Do not support this man.

But the decision is ultimately yours.

Stay awake, yall.

-------

(His face, publicly available as his imdb profile):