#like simplify it even more than it is now but

[sygneth]

Echoes of Elysium | Chapter 1 | Page 17

Page 16 Page 16.5 Page 18 Info & index - ComicFury

The plot thickens.

(Oh my god, I did it. I am having an extremely tough time lately (as half a year lately), and even pursuing my hobbies is hard, so I am glad for every page of this comic that I draw. I am not going to force myself to do more than I am capable of, but I hope it will eventually get more regular but I can't even try to predict when may this happen. Hopefully soon. Lots of love to everyone who reads, comments, and makes me keep going one way or another <3)

[gobstoppr]

hey guys am i allowed to say on main that i dont like metadad . am i gonna get beaten up for saying this.

guys i think we all took the term found family too literally and now everythings flattened into a boring nuclear family. guys can we stop. hello . is anybody there

[burning-sol]

Oh boy oh boy I DID IT. Finally. After all this time I made my ref for Rumi!!! Now I won't have to look at the official ref (which it so detailed I can't handle it) or cross reference my own art (time consuming) to draw them.

[raiiny-bay]

today's progress: i think i'm done with the face

[thedreadvampy]

every so often I discover new things I'm unhappy with about the Sandman adaptation and each one is pettier than the last

what do you MEAN the word battle is between Dream and Lucifer? no it's NOT. it's between Dream and Choronzon who's acting on Beelzebub's behalf it's about the petty politics of Hell which is in large part what Lucifer finds so tiresome.

also why does Dream have human eyes give that bitch some contacts or Something

[ocdhuacheng]

Asa thinks too much while denji doesn’t allow himself to think at all they’re perfect for eachother

[galaxyofender]

well. this took longer than i thought it was going to. have a silly little comic about martyn and doc!

(the bottles from the river bit is a reference to fallen london, if you’re wondering)

[cherrypikkins]

@dimiclaudeblaigan asked for a tutorial on how to begin drawing. Good news! If you can draw a funky looking stick man, you have already started!

I think that stick people are a great starting point for artists because of the things you can learn from them that will be important later on.

If you are able to draw a circle and a couple of lines, you can easily put together a stick person.

Congratulations! You have started to draw. :)

A stick person is a very minimal artistic representation of a real life person. It is simple yet recognizable, and is widely used in art, media, and signage.

But what can a stick person teach us about drawing people that look more like… well, people? Lets have a look!

By simply adding a few more lines, we can add a pair of eyes and a mouth. Maybe even a little triangle nose! Or half circles for ears. We can now draw a face, which provides a basis for all sorts of expressions.

These simple additions can allow us to explore the wide range of human emotion and individuality.

This may seem like the basics of the basics. But that is what we want! In order to get to the point where we are able to draw complex, elaborate representations of humans and objects, we will need to start with simple shapes like lines and circles and build our understanding from there.

For instance, lets give our stick person some cool new features, such as hands and feet. I chose little squiggly circles to represent hands, and triangles to represent feet.

We can go a step further and modify the body of the stick person to include shoulders, hips, elbows and knees. These parts of the human body are quite complex in real life But here, all we need to do is add a few simple lines and dots to our stick person.

The lines provide some additional structural elements to our stick person's body, which are the shoulders and the hips. The dots indicate the points of articulation - elbows and knees, the places where the arms and legs bend!

Now we can use our stick person to show us an even wider range of human movement, action, and expression.

Our little drawing of a human being is evolving! All it took was adding a few more lines and shapes here and there.

By elongating some of the existing lines and making the head an oval instead of a circle, we can give our stick person proportions that resemble that of a real life human.

By this point, we have managed to add more complexity to our stick person simply by using our ability to draw lines, circles, and other basic shapes!

These basic ideas are the building blocks that will enable us to create more complex shapes.

The next part may be a considerable step up if you are absolutely new to drawing, but I have decided to include it in order to show you how complex objects like the human body can be built from shapes that are a bit more complex than circles and lines.

For example. Two ovals and a rectangle can be combined to create a cylinder.

Six squares can be combined to create a cube, or a box. Here, each square is distorted slightly depending on which way the cube is facing.

Note that the back faces of the cube and the bottom of the cylinder are hidden. These shapes allow us to visualize that which should not normally visible.

A sphere from all perspectives can be represented by a circle. But we can make it more like a sphere by adding lighting and shadow if we so desire.

Cubes, cylinders, and spheres are examples of 'solid shapes' because they consist of 3 dimensions.

Lets see how these solid shapes can be used to compose the human body.

By stacking three cylindrical objects, we can create a torso. Two spheres have been added to form shoulders, while a smaller cylinder forms the neck.

An arm is an alternating sequence of spheres and cylinders connected together. Note that the hand has been simplified for this example.

We can apply these solid shapes to the rest of the body to give us a more recognizable representation of the human form. It doesn't even have to be perfect. And just like that, our stick figure now has a silhouette that is unmistakably a person!

In the above examples, notice that we kept the stick person at the beginning while building up the shapes and solids around it. This is because the stick person serves as a guide for positioning the body and its various parts -> also known as posing.

You can do the same thing to everyday objects! Here, I drew a wine glass by stacking these three dimensional solid shapes.

The cup and its contents are two ovoid shapes that were cut in half. The stem is a very thin cylinder shape. The base is a cylinder with a slightly wider bottom.

Solid shapes help inform us how objects and parts of the human body may appear from different perspectives.

For example, a sphere can be used to demonstrate how the human head appears when looking up or down, turned to the side, or tilted at an angle.

With these examples, I hope I have managed to convinced you that if you can draw a circle and a couple of lines, you can draw a person! You just have to train your eye to recognize the simple shapes within complex objects. Try it with everyday objects as well! Or even your favourite media! A drawing subject can be as simple or as complex as you envision it to be.

Once you have mastered that, there are many aspects of drawing you can explore from here that may require you to seek additional resources or a fellow artist's advice.

Last of all, remember that drawing is an iterative process. Even if you draw something correct the first time, you will need to draw it again and again to get it right all times! And by making small changes like the ones we explored in this tutorial, your drawings will gradually transform!

I hope what I've demonstrated here are enough to provide the basics of how to get started with drawing objects and people, and also to help refresh more experienced artists. :) Hopefully I didn't go too off topic with what was requested, and let me know if there are any more questions I can answer.

Cheers :3

[chisatowo]

Thinking abt unit swap vbs again and I thinkkkk I might have an idea for Akito sona design? My main thing rn is outfit but tbf that's an issue for everyone else too dhdjhdkd

[creatingblackcharacters]

Lesson 1: "White Man Painted Black"?

Okay, I recognize that this is a strong foot to step off on! But! If you learn nothing else from this series, if you decide for whatever reason to forsake me: this is the ONE perspective I'd like you to take away!

You may have heard this quote before, when Black fans deride a character design as 'a white man with the brown bucket tool'. On its face, it means exactly what was said. But specifically, what it means is that we recognize that whomever designed the character drew the way they normally draw for a 'default' character in their mind- default usually meaning White/Eurocentric features- and they added a shade of brown within the line art to make that character now 'Black'.

Now if you're feeling defensive, wait just a moment! This discomfort is not inherently a bad thing!

I'm going to use both a 'real world' example first, to show you what your Black fans and peers are seeing, and perhaps you will also understand our discomfort!

(if anyone was curious, my folder for this lesson is titled 'brad' lmao and you'll see why)

(I'll have y'all know that I actually worked very hard to make Blackface Brad look mildly presentable lmao I'm sorry, I'm wheezing, I can hardly breathe looking at him 🤣)

You see how, despite knowing where this was going, and using one of the darkest shades of brown in my Skin Tones arsenal, you still know that that's Brad Pitt? That nothing about his hair texture, his lips, his nose, or really anything other than the palette change... changed? And you can still see that?

It's incredibly hurtful to be told that that's supposed to be you. You know it's not, you know why it's not, but rather than hearing how it makes you feel unseen and what they could do to be better (since they wanted to draw a Black character!), the artist lashes out at you.

And as an artist, you might have worked VERY HARD to do this! That might be a real handsome guy you drew!! But... is he really Black? Did you walk into it with the intention, that you were drawing a Black Character, or did you draw a character that just happened to be Black? It seems like a silly thing, but it matters!

Okay. I just finished laughing over Brad. Now let's get into some more perspective changes:

Now, imagine you drew a character. You want to make her Black, so you change the hair and skin colors. All right! You have your Black character... right?

Changed ONE feature about her? (You should obviously change more than one feature, but let's just go with the simplified example.)

What if, instead of just changing her palette, we changed her:

Hair?

There isn't nearly enough time in the world, let alone in this little scribble and blurb, for me to describe the IMPORTANCE of Black hair in Black character design. There are so many ways to do curls, afros, braids, twists, locs, SO MANY HAIRSTYLES!! Get used to searching in the 3C-4C hair textures!!!! I plan on doing an entire lesson or two on hair alone, but suffice it to say, Hair Texture is thee BIGGEST giveaway that you 'painted a white person Black'- from cartoon styles to realistic! It reveals itself in your writing as well- just based on how your character takes care of their hair, how your describe the texture, how other people might perceive it... it lets me know just how much research was done. Because we can have straight hair! But again, that's a conversation for a whole 'nother lesson so- come back later 👀?

Lips?

I love our lips, I really do. There's a long history of shaming Black women in particular for the way our lips look. So when I see them done in all their glory, it makes me very happy. Two-toned lips vary in shade and intensity, so make sure you're using references if you want to be 'realistic', but it doesn't have to be that hard. Even a little subtle shift like this in the design/story description lets me know that a creator was thinking about me.

Nose?

One thing I've noticed ever since I starting drawing is that... people in a lot of mangas/manhwas barely have noses! I admit, out of all the features on the face, the nose isn't the most important. I think they should be, especially when you want to emphasize that your characters look different! People have different types of noses! I especially want to gear this towards those with a goal of drawing realistic portraits and the like- there, the nose is ANOTHER dead giveaway. There are Black people with aquiline and straight noses- we aren't a monolith- but is that why you drew it? Consider why you went for that nose specifically. That's part of the intent, in all this!

Now, you might be looking at me and going "Ice... this is just character design". To which my answer is: Yes! It is! It feels so basic, and yet if you ask your Black friends/peers how often they've come across this feeling of not being properly drawn/written, from fanart to professionally produced works, it's unfortunately common despite how simple of a concept it is.

I hope that you can walk away from my first lil lesson with new eyes. Remember, it's the thought that counts, but the action that delivers!

[astyrra]

a local, reasonably successful artist whose work i hate is having an exhibition and i got to have a very satisfying conversation with my boss about it (my boss also hates his work)

[smallfrenchstudyblr]

"The biggest issue is students using it, me spotting it and having no recourse whatsoever to do anything about it." can you elaborate a bit further

Hello !

So to explain a bit more: we [aka your lecturers, teachers, teaching assistants, etc...] know that some students will use ChatGPT.

And there is a discussion to be had about how to work with this, how to design assessment which allow students to leverage something which may simply become a fixture of writing in a workplace environment, but that is not the discussion we are having here. Because that is not what we are worried about.

The defensible, problematic situation is: a student straight up entering the essay prompt on ChatGPT, and using the grand skills of Ctrl+C / Ctrl+V, submits it as their own paper.

And our main worry, I think, was for a long time that we would not be able to catch it. That students would, actually, be able to fool us and that we would actually think this was a student who understood the course, who put in the work, and who deserve to be rewarded for their grade. That was the main fear.

But here is the thing.

And listen up, students :

Essays written by ChatGPT :

Suck

Are spotted from a mile away from the person reading it

For real. They suck.

I cannot stress enough how easy they are to spot. You are NOT fooling anyone. I do not need the platform's AI-detecting tool to know when an essay was written by Chat GPT. It is so, very painfully obvious when that's the case.

But the problem then becomes : ok, I have spotted a student who cheated.

What am I even supposed to do with it.

It is one thing to KNOW that an essay was AI-generated, it is another to defend it to a plagiarism committee. First of all, does it actually count as plagiarism ? Second, how do prove, with certainty, that the student did not write it ? How to I convince the plagiarism committee that this is worth looking into ? I am in the role of a police officer, who needs to convince the DA that this is a winnable case, that prosecuting will not be a waste of their time. But I don't have a Similarity Percentage to rely on. I don't have an original source to say "look, this is the exact same wording!" like in a classic plagiarism case.

Best case scenario, I can make my case for thee student to actually be called to the plagiarism committee, where we probe into how, exactly, they wrote their essay, until they fold. Unlikely, morally questionable, and in all likelihood, ineffective on students already so confident in their bullshit that they have the audacity to submit a fully AI-generated work for their finals.

Now, students, gather up, especially if you have considered using Chat GPT this way. Because right now, you might think it means you can get away with it.

But let me tell you something. First, that essay is getting the shittiest grade we can give you. Because you know what is more difficult than a lecturer proving that a student used AI to generate their essay ? A student proving that they deserve a better grade. Once we give you a grade, burden of evidence is on you to prove that you have not been graded properly. And we can come up with 15 reasons why an essay is a shit essay. We put on kids' gloves, when we lecture and give feedback. We give the simplified version of most theories, we give the basics of how to structure an essay, the bar we set is spectacularly low, because students come in good faith, they are learning, they will not be held at the same standard as academics. But if you try to argue that you need a higher grade, when you had the audacity to not write a single word of your work, the kids gloves are going to come off real quick, and your lecturer will be able to very convincingly explain why, actually, giving you a passing grade was a mercy in the first place.

Second. Academics, especially angry academics, are a gossip machine.

You may get a passing grade, and there may be no official note of it in your file whatsoever. But I can guarantee you that your lecturer will chat with their colleagues. That every single one of your essay that year, and the years to come, will be looked at with so much scrutiny I hope your referencing for every single work reaches perfection. Every single paragraph will be looked at with the knowledge that you are likely to have had it AI-generated. Lecturers will tell their TA to look at for That One Student when they grade you .You will not be getting any flexibility from us, no extension without full documentation to support it, no letter of recommendation from any member of the faculty, no word in your favor if you are bordering a grade bracket. If we are feeling especially petty, we might even forget to answer your emails or answer any question you have with such warmth and kindness you really still never feel like asking a question again in our class. And I know that, because that's already happening. I have the name of three undergrads that we know, for a fact, did not write their own essay. Two are not even in my modules at all.

Now. That's pretty mean. But if you have the absolute audacity and lack of ethics required to submit an essay for which you have not written a single word, and thought it would actually work, when your lecturer spent probably more that 80 hours working in this module this term, gave you the opportunity to meet for office hours, to ask any question in person or in email, to have extensions, accommodations, additional time ? When you decided that putting exactly zero second of your time, considered that you were above that - and above other students- and yet we were not able to officially sanction you for it, we had to give you a passing grade, the same passing grade as students who actually made an effort?

Yeah, sorry, you are not getting any sympathy from your lecturers anymore.

[darantha]

How to Spot AI images (Hopefully)

So, I did see GailyNovelry's excellent post on this (Link here), but saw that there also were some confusion and they were using a environment image as their example, so I thought I'd do a breakdown that was more character centric.

The key thing with AI images is that the program does not know what it is making. And, arguably, they thrive on that we are currently conditioned to not really look at things for too long before we hit that engagement button and/or just scroll onwards to whatever next the algorithm feeds us.

It's hard to fight that urge, I know, but if you just pause and look, you'll soon start spotting things that just do not make sense, and I don't just mean that the pretty booby elven fighter is sporting seven fingers on one hand. Those are the obvious things. I'll try to cover the general sort of artefacts that tend to tip me off to the fact that a image is generated rather than actually hand-made by someone making informed design decisions as opposed to trust what amounts to RNG. I think this is important as there's those who do not tag their images as AI generated, and try to scam people with commissions.

And, as the saying goes... The devil is in the details.

To start with I picked this image from deviantuser CeiEllem. At first glance, it looks... very impressive. Sharp looking elf lady with killer hair. 10/10 wish I could rock that haircolour.

But, it is AI generated. Aside from the general tell that is this hyper rendered, near photorealistic style that AI images often have, there's a lot of details that tips it off to just not having been made by a human who actually made the decisions.

Since AI is just working off patterns and not actual decisions, things like hair is a immediate giveaway that you're looking at a AI image.

(Deviantart users: daralyth, DavidZarn and lunayokai)

In all these three images you can see just how hair whisps off into weird nonsense shapes or even meld into the background or clothing. Because, again, the AI doesn't know what its doing, just working with shapes. Similarly, background elements that just stop and start randomly is a dead giveaway, like the tail in the first image.

As I've said, details is the key to spotting these images, and another giveaway is the sheer density of details that is just noise.

This is from users Rigtorok7, and the details are so noisy, absolutely miniscule in scale, and hypersharp, yet have no actual design to them. Artists imply details all the time. We don't render out every single nook and crevice, and since we actually know what we want the viewer to look at, we'll pull back and simplify things so you don't want to look at the big chunk of very noisy hair ornament or necklace instead of the face of the character.

For comparison, this is how it looks when I, personally, indulge in doing 'overdetailing' of something (because I am forever weak for painting jewelry).

BUT I want to stress that the key here isn't that detailing equals AI generated. The key is the lack of design choices IN the details. There's a lot of artists out there, and someone painting out all those nooks and crannies in something doesn't mean they are a AI user. This painting by Leighton is super detailed but you see the intent with all the details. You have a focus with the people in the boat and secondary read of the figure in the door, where the details are a lot more implied and less sharp.

AI can't do that, because AI isn't making any decisions.

I couldn't find any good example once I went looking, but if you're into fantasy art: look for people just holding weird 'swords'.

AI is rapidly evolving, so who knows how much this'll help in 3 months, but for now, this is how I spot things.

But, in the end, the biggest giveaway that someone is using an AI generator is that they've filled up page after page on deviantart/artstation/wherever in the past like... six to nine months, and often swing between wildly different styles. If you're unsure, look up the source of a image. Another clue can be generic 'untitled' or just 'elf lady' sort of titles, since someone uploading 30 images a week isn't going to make unique titles for each image.

Also, commissioners. ... you should ALWAYS get a sketch and progress image from a artist that you hire. My art directors would have my head on a plate if I didn't send them a rough sketch and progress shot before finalising the image.

[five-thousand-loaves-of-bread]

want talk about how even high support need severe level 3 nonverbal autism tumblr skew more people with more abilities

here some stuff many HSN/severe/level 3 and/or nonverbal autistic not able do

communicate with word. any word at all. or less than 50 words. need able do that to post on social media

not able type—some use symbol base AAC get around that & on tumblr, some not

understand communication. understand words. able read words, or able understand word sound (screenreader etc).

interact with people even online. aware people exist at all

understand social media, even very very simplified filtered version

etc

others may/may not have ability be on social media but not able not allow to

institutionalized

in prison

not allow have social media

not have support be on social media

live in place without tech or internet

dead bc comorbid medical conditions or hate crime

etc

it not really inherent bad thing, even us with most ability still very erase from autism community and we deserve heard we deserve talk about us we deserve own space. like we am just existing and a lot of us found eachother & finally have maybe first ever online community that see self in and that important

but same time need know, for us & people who listen to us, both need know: that us here still not represent all of HSN/severe/level 3/&nonverbal etc autism. many similar, some us here were there people am talk about. but also imagine there some different too. must not forget and must leave space even if they not able join us.

there people who, now or ever, not able come on here talk about own experience.

[sweetimpurity]

"I Shouldn't Have Said It, But I Mean It"

Sub!MiguelxDom!Fem!Reader 6.6k words

Smut with a little fluff <3

“So, you were doing it mostly right… you just have to simplify it before you use the theorem…” Miguel explains and you nod your head. But you are distracted looking at the side of his face. How his glasses sit on the bridge of his nose and his eyes occasionally dart to you as he can feel you staring at him. A slight blush on his cheeks and a certain huskiness to his voice. 

He’s been helping you with your homework for a while now. It used to be once or twice a week. You’d tell him to come to your dorm and he’d say yes every time. He’d help you finish your homework and in return you’d suck him off or let him eat you out or bounce on his dick for a while. Sure he was a brainiac but he was super hot and he did whatever you wanted him to do. And he was a big guy in every way. Every. Way. So it was a win win. 

“So, you wanna try the next one?” He asks softly and holds out the pencil for you. Bringing you out of your thoughts and your attention to the work in front of you. “Sure.” You sigh and take the pencil from him, brushing your fingertips over his knuckles, looking down at the math problem in front of you and solving it. He watches you type into the calculator to get the different solutions, glancing at your hair and your hands as you work. You’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen and he tells you that when he can work up the courage. 

If you didn't already have a boyfriend and if your boyfriend wasn’t the biggest asshole who ever walked the planet… then maybe Miguel would have already worked up the courage to ask to be your boyfriend, seeing as you’ve spent countless nights with him whimpering into your hair as you milked him of every last drop. That’s all he wants is to be your boyfriend, spend time with you and make you happy. 

“Done!” You chirp and turn your head to him. He backs up a bit, realizing how close he was leaning into you and smiling. That damn smile that makes you want to bite his lips and swallow every moan you can pull from his throat. “Oh- g- yeah good…” He blushes and pushes his glasses further up his nose. He still gets so nervous around you even though he’s been balls deep in you more times than you can remember by now. You think it’s because sex isn’t something he ever asks you for. You just give it to him when you feel like it. And you feel like it a lot.  “Can I check it?” He asks softly and reaches across to accept the paper as you slide it across your desk. You smile wickedly, thinking of all the things you want to do to him right now. The things that he always so graciously and gratefully accepts. 

He clears his throat and starts checking over your work. Silence falls over the both of you as you gaze at the side of him. Now you’re watching his fingers, his thick fingers, typing gently into the calculator and nodding his head when he sees you’ve done it all correctly. “Looks good to me…” He says lightly and nods his head. You can tell he’s getting a little nervous. But not in a bad way. More like in a “he knows the look you’re giving him and he knows what follows” way. The kind of anticipation that makes him hold his breath anytime you look at him. 

“Thank you for helping me…” You hum and smile at him sweetly. He looks at you and smiles bashfully. “I don’t even think you need my help anymore… you sorta have this stuff down…” He chuckles and turns to you more, placing the pencil down on the desk. It’s true. You don’t really need his help anymore as he managed to help you bring your grade up. But you like having him around… and his cock makes you happier than any A+. 

“What should we do next?” He asks innocently and starts sorting through your binder. You don’t answer, you just keep looking at him, wanting to sink your teeth into his shoulder as he begs you to give him a break. “Uh… maybe Chemistry?” He suggests and grabs your binder and your textbook. You watch him flip to the chapter he knows your class is on now. He’s not even in your class and he knows that you guys are up to Chapter 15. He looks over the work you were assigned and skims the page in the book before starting to explain it to you. “So, this is pretty easy once you’ve done a few of them. What you wanna do is y-” And you cut him off by kissing his cheek. He releases a breathy, pent up laugh from his chest and adjusts his glasses again. “What do I wanna do?” You hum close to his ear and you hear another breath released from his chest. He turns his head to look at you but you gently force his head to look straight forward. “Don’t look at me…” You kiss his cheek once more and lay your hand on his chest. “Look at the book and explain it to me…” His cheeks redden at your actions and he’s holding his breath at this point. “I want to understand…” You whisper in his ear. Waiting for him to continue. “Um… so the way you do it.. is… um…” It’s hard for him to focus when you start ghosting your lips over his cheek and kissing his neck. 

“C’mon Miguel, you gotta do better than that…” You mumble and stop kissing him. Seeing him grip the pencil hard and fidget with the edge of the page in your textbook. “Uh…”’ He chuckles nervously and lifts his hand to the back of his neck. You take the opportunity to get up off your seat, grab his shoulders and swing your leg over his lap, straddling him. His breath instantly gets heavier and you can see his chest expanding. His needy hands go to your hips but you grab his wrists before he reaches your ass. With a dark look in your eyes you lift his hands off of you and place them on the desk behind you. “Focus, Miguel.” You tease him and adjust yourself on his lap, pulling yourself further up on his thighs. You lean in and kiss his neck once more, sucking marks into his skin. At the feeling of you giving him hickeys, his lips part in a gasp and his hand comes to your back instinctively. So you stop, pulling away from him and shaking your head gently. “Hands off…” You whisper and he has a sort of pleading lust in his eyes. With just the raise of your eyebrow he takes his hand off of you, balling it into a fist and placing it back on the desk. 

“Y/N…”  He breathes out and you leave kisses on his throat, making his breath get caught. You roll your hips slowly over him, feeling his dick already hard for you. Pressing up against your clothed sex. It makes him shudder. “Oh my god…” He sighs, practically in agony as you roll your hips with more purpose, smiling against his cheeks as you hold his head in your hands, grasping at his hair as you kiss his skin. Your hand moves down between your two bodies and you palm him through his jeans. He flinches and jolts forward, pushing you back with him. A sharp shaking breath leaving his throat as his hands come up to your back, grasping tightly at the material of your shirt. 

“Miguel…” You tut and pull away from him. He squeezes his hands in the material on your back, looking up at you and sighing. “Sorry… I-I can’t…” He whispers and you think to yourself for a few moments. He can tell the gears are turning in your head so he tries to think fast. “I’ll try… just don’t stop… please” He says and pries his hands from you, laying his fists on the desk once more. Hearing him say ‘please’ brings a smile to your face and you caress the back of his neck, finally bringing your lips to his. He hums into your mouth and accepts your tongue. His knuckles turn white as he squeezes his fists tight. Both of your hands run through his hair as you torturously lift your hips and push them down on the tent in his pants. Earning a whine from his throat and into your mouth. You pull away and give him air, brushing some fallen hair out of his face as he pants. His cheeks red and his glasses all crooked on his face. He looks absolutely adorable. 

His hands come to your back once more and you pull away. “Do you want me to tie you to this chair?” You ask low and soft as you pull away and he immediately removes his hands and places them back on the desk behind you like you commanded. And he holds his breath again, knowing what this means for the next few hours of his life. “I can do it… I’ll keep my hands off, whatever you want.” He breathes out and nods to you. You shake your head. “Do you want me to tie you to the chair, yes or no?” You repeat and raise your eyebrows at him. Your voice is still sweet, and he knows you’re not doing this to hurt him. At least not any injury that can’t be cured with pumping you full of his cum. “Yes.. I don’t know… do you want to?” He asks, his voice all husky. His leg bouncing slightly at the pressure in his pants. “No…” You hum as your brow furrows, looking over his shoulder at the rest of your dorm room. “I wanna tie you to the bed…” You say and he can’t help but roll his hips up to you. Trying to release some of the tension, his dick screaming at him to be inside you right now. Your eyes widen when you bob up and then down on his lap. “Would you like that, big boy?” You ask him, leaning in close to his lips. “Yes…” He whispers and his hands flex behind you. He’s trying so hard. 

“Good…” You hum and get up off his lap. He huffs out the breath he was holding and almost keels over at how painfully hard he is right now. He manages to stand up, resisting the urge to palm himself over his pants. Knowing you wouldn’t like for him to do that. 

You go to your closet and find a scarf that you never wear and a pair of tights that you also never wear. He watches you place them on the bed and get up onto the blankets, crawling over to him as he stands near the edge. You kneel on your bed, a little bit closer to eye level with him and bring your hands to the hem of his shirt. Looking in his eyes for approval. He nods his head eagerly and helps you lift it off. His chest, his perfect lean torso, and tiny waist being revealed to you. Every time you see him naked it’s like the first time all over again. You can never quite get over how perfect his body really is. You smile and bite your lip, moving to undo his jeans and he pulls them down for you. His arousal is clear to you once you see the bulge in his boxers. And again, his hands are clenched into fists at his sides. “Now me…” You say and his eyes brighten looking up at you. You usually take your own clothes off since you’re the one that’s always in control. But he’s being good. 

“Really?” He smiles and steps closer to the bed, his big hands coming to your hips and moving up to your shirt. You look up at him sweetly when he looks in your eyes to double check that you’re serious. He lifts up your shirt and you help him get it off.  Already not wearing a bra underneath and his eyes roam your naked chest. He takes a deep shaky breath and starts to pull off your sweatpants, your panties coming down with them and you lift your knees to pull them off completely. He stares in awe at your body, his hands on your back moving down to your ass as he drinks you in. He looks in your eyes, breathing heavy, needy. “Please…” He breathes out and pulls you a little closer to him. “Please what? What do you wanna do?” You hum, trying to get him worked up, running your fingers up his arms. “I wanna kiss you…” He says almost impatiently, looking in your eyes and pleading. “You wanna kiss me where?” You tease him and a frustrated sigh leaves his lips. His big hands running down your lower back, to your ass and squeezing. “I… I wanna kiss your tits…and your neck…” He whispers. You smile at him, a little proud of him for using his words. 

“Okay…” You allow him and immediately he’s on you. His mouth attacks your neck and your shoulder like a starved man. He pulls you into him and leans over you, making your back arch with his hands as he leans down to suck on your breasts. Taking your tits into his mouth and you can feel the vibrations of his hums and moans against your skin. Lapping, licking, and kissing so desperately. Gasping for air all the while. Your hands go to his hair and you can’t help but moan. “Oh!...” The sound escapes your mouth and he breathes hot and heavy against your chest. Feeling like he might cum right now knowing he just made you moan. 

He moves up to your neck, savoring his chance to kiss you and hold you. You reach down to the makeshift binds at your ankle. “C’mon Miguel…” You hum and he looks up, seeing the binds and knowing it’s time. You urge him to get on the bed and he holds you tighter. “Please, just… I need more…” He breathes out desperately and his hands splay out onto your back. “You’ll get more, but you need to be patient.” You smile almost too sweetly, knowing exactly what you’re doing to him. “Okay…” He sighs and pulls his hands off of your skin, starting to get on the bed. “Ah. But you need to take those off first” You stop him and gesture to his boxers. His dick basically busting out at the seams at this point. “Right.” He nods and looks at the floor as he takes his boxers off and lets them pool at his feet. Your eyes move from his face to his cock. Seeing his frustration in the veins and red hue that decorates his sun kissed skin. You smile at him and bite your tongue, tilting your head and silently gesturing for him to get on the bed now. He obeys your instruction and climbs up, moving the pillows so he can sit against the headboard. He knows exactly how you like him to be. 

He sits against the headboard and you crawl over to him, your legs straddling his thighs as you reach to both of his hands and bind them to the brass headboard. This bed was almost made for tying him up. You smile at him once you’ve finished and he looks at you with a weak, weary expression. Situating yourself over him, your tummy presses his dick to his stomach, putting on more pressure that he didn’t need. Pressure that’s not helping him cum, just making this all harder for him to bear. “Are you okay?” You ask softly, resting your hands on his chest and watching him in his struggle. You do care about him after all. 

“Y-yes.. I’m…I just need you…”  Miguel admits with heavy breath. “You have me… I’m here” You reassure him and kiss his cheeks. Feeling his breathing slow down just a little bit. And now you’re not so worried about him passing out or something. “But I need you to do something for me first.” You say low and deep. “Yeah?” He asks and opens his eyes. “I need you to finger me.” You breathe out and nod to him. His eyes widen and shine and he immediately nods back, holding his breath again as you move to release the bind on his right arm. “You need me to… do that?” He asks with a nervous smile, hoping you’re serious and this isn’t some cruel joke. “Well I can’t take you all by myself… Need a little helping to take you, baby…” You hum in his ear and he melts at your words and the sound of your voice. Once his hand is released he brings it to your heat slowly, cupping you as your body jolts. Looking you in the eyes as he does it, wanting to do it right.

He presses the pad of his thumb to your clit and applies some pressure, circling his two fingers around your entrance. Hoping this isn’t a dream he’s going to wake up from. “Miguel…” You moan his name erotically in encouragement and he plunges the two digits inside you, causing you to hiss, biting down hard on your bottom lip. Sounds of satisfaction vibrate in your chest as he pumps his fingers in and out, trying to feel the inside of your warm walls with the pads of his fingers. His bound hand squirms as his right hand works to stretch you out. “Does that feel good?” He pants and keeps pumping his fingers within your tight, hot walls as best he can, his thumb working on your clit, of which you’re always impressed with his ability to find. Tilting his head so he can see your face through his glasses which are once again crooked on his face. “Mm…yes… so good… faster…” You pant and roll your hips into his hand. His long, thick fingers massaging the warmth of your cunt.  He tries to move faster, leaning up more and using his shoulder to pump his fingers inside you as hard as he can. He really wants to kiss you. But you’re leaning just far enough away that he can’t reach. Your hands pushing on his chest as you feel your orgasm approaching. “Miggy, you’re gonna m- make me…” You squeal and gasp. Your arms wrap around his shoulders, pulling him closer to you and he finally gets to plant his lips on your skin. Ravishing your neck with his tongue and his lips as he keeps pumping you, feeling your walls squeezing around his fingers. He’s close to cumming himself even though you haven’t even touched his dick yet.

 “Mmm-ah!” You gasp and your back arches, press your stomach against his, putting more pressure on his aching dick as you gush on his fingers. His cock is squeezed between both of your stomachs as he whimpers loud and cums hard. His seed glistening between your soft tummy and his toned abdomen as you finally lean back from him. “Oh fuck…” You breathe out and catch your breath. His head is leaned against the headboard, his hand leaving your warmth and coming up to hold your thigh, stroking your skin softly with your slick still on his fingers. Trying to regain the breath you’ve taken from him. 

You smile and lean forward to kiss his lips. He grins lazily and already looks so fucked out by now. You haven’t even touched him and he already came. He came while he was touching you. Reaching over, you take his hand off your thigh, tying it back up to the headboard tight enough to keep him there but not so tight that it hurts. He sighs deeply and watches you do it. His arms now spread and bound again as you spread yourself over his dick. 

“Couldn’t wait, Mig?” You tease him and look down at the cum on your stomach. “I- sorry… you’re so pretty…” He breathes out and you smile, his face flushed, his body almost shaking. “It’s okay… now I just need you to hold it until I say, okay?” You say with an evil sweetness, running your soft hands over his flushed cheeks. Your fingers go up to the arms on his glasses, fixing them on his face. “Do you want me to take these off?” You ask him and start pulling his glasses off his face. His eyes blinking and squinting slightly as he tries to focus his vision on you but you’re too close up. “Can I leave them on?” He asks innocently, his breath still heavy. You figured he’d want them off to be more comfortable but maybe not. “You want to keep them on?” You giggle and put them back on. “Yeah… so I can.. see your face…” He confesses and you watch his eyes as they come back into focus and look over your face lovingly. 

“Are you ready, Miggy?” You ask him sweetly and stroke his dick in your hand, lubing it up with a mix of his cum and your slick. He shutters and his hands squirm in the binds, flexing and balling up into fists. “Yes… please I- I’m-“ He stutters and in one motion you lift yourself up and slide yourself down on his aching cock. Even with the stretch from his fingers, his size still splits you open. His head falls forward, mouth agape and his stomach muscles tense and relax over and over as you accept the whole of him. Sinking yourself down to his base and staying there. Your hands move to his thighs behind your ass and you wiggle your hips slightly. Helping yourself to adjust to his thickness before moving forward. His head pulls up to watch you as your head throws back, watching your breasts and the small ripples that spread across your soft supple body as you move. His eyes scan your pretty face as your jaw falls open. Feeling a swell of pride in his chest knowing he’s making you feel this way. His eyes move down to where your bodies connect. Watching your body swallow him whole. Willing himself not to cum again so soon. 

“Tell me if you’re gonna cum, okay?” You moan and lay your hands on his shoulders. “O-okay…” He grits out, desperate not to cum right now. Not wanting to disappoint you. “Breathe with me” You whisper and wrap your arms tight around the back of his neck, face to face with him. Your mouth opens as you urge him to take deep breaths. He looks in your eyes, his low-lidded eyes glossed over. He tries his best, takes in a deep breath and as he does you lift your hips, dragging his cock through your tight walls, making the breath he takes get caught and strangled in his throat. As he’s forced to breathe out you push your hips down on him once more. His tip going deep inside you, pushing up against your cervix, feeling him almost painfully deep in your guts. At this his breath is morphed into a moan, an urgent and desperate moan. “Y/N… oh- oh my god-“ He whimpers and his eyes shut tight. “So sensitive, Miggy…” You smile and kiss his cheeks as you start moving your hips as a consistent rhythm. Up and down, back and forth, wiggling your hips as you squish his big dick into you over and over. His hands fight against the binds and his knees pull up slightly in reaction. A moaning mess with a sheen of sweat on his broad chest.

“Y/N… Y/N… oh my god- oh m- oh fuck” He moans and squirms. His voice becomes more hoarse and cracks every time you squish your pussy down onto his sensitivity.  Rasping out cries of your name, how perfect you are, how beautiful you are, how much he needs you. He watches your greedy pussy drink him up and listens to you moaning like the porn he watches while he’s thinking of you. “I-I’m.. I’m gonna cum- Y/N!” He whimpers urgently and his arms are shaking, his hands clenched into fists in the binds and his chest heaving. “Hold it, Miguel… hold it for me” You moan as you bob on his cock. The air of sex and the mix of your moans and his pleads filling the air. “I’m gonna- I-“ He pants and you stop moving. Halting your hips and rubbing your hands over his chest. “Shhh… hold it for me… you can do it…” You hum sweetly and kiss his red flushed chest. “Okay…” He whispers and you kiss his cheek. Starting to move your hips once more, slower this time, letting yourself feel every inch of him pulsing through your heat. 

He closes his eyes tight, hoping that maybe if he’s not looking at you he can hold out for longer. He purses his lips together, trying to hold back everything. Trying to think of all the ways he can hold back so he can hold it for you. You roll your pussy on his aching, pulsing dick and moan loudly, sending shivers down his spine. “Look at me…” You whisper and hold his face in your hands, bouncing on his cock and squeezing him so perfectly. “Miguel, look at me…” You repeat and kiss his lips. “Open your eyes…” 

You watch his pretty brown eyes flutter open, glossed and glazed over. Completely fucked. “I can’t look at you… I can’t…It’s too much…” He whispers and tries to close his eyes again, letting them flutter. “You have to..” You whine and pout, wrapping your hand around the back of his neck, tangling your fingers in his hair. “Y/N, I’m gonna cum, I can’t…” He whimpers and pulls on the binds that restrain him. “Please Y/N… please… I n- I need to…” He pants and begs you. His hips rolling up into you to meet your movements. His dick twitching and throbbing inside you. Needing release. 

“Shhh… breathe… breathe for me…” You smile against his cheek and kiss him. “I can’t!” He rasps and groans. “You can.” You assure him and slow down your hips, making him hiss and protest. “Don’t stop! Don’t stop, please don’t stop!” He begs and bucks his hips up. His teeth clenched and bared as he exerts himself in frustration and need. 

“Please please please!” He whispers and you’re about to soothe him but your phone starts vibrating and ringing loudly on the bedside table. It draws your attention but he’s too much of a mess to even hear it right now. You flip over your phone, not even looking at who’s calling and press decline

“Miggy…” You start to say softly and run the backs of your hands over the sides of his face. Him leaning his head into your touch. And your phone rings again. Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzzzt. On the bedside table. A little annoyed, you do the same thing. Press decline without even seeing who’s calling because you don’t really care right now. 

“Just a little longer Mig-“ And the phone rings again immediately after you decline it. “Oh my fucking god.” You groan and grab your phone. Miguel is still a shaking mess beneath you. You sigh and look at who’s calling so many times. It’s your boyfriend.

“Please don’t stop please don’t stop” Miguel breathes out and he’s chasing the high that’s slowly dying down. You start moving over him again slowly, earning a deep moan the depths of his chest. 

You answer the call and put the phone up to your ear. Immediately met with a lot of noise on the other end. He must be out drinking with his friends again. “Fucking bitch, why don’t you answer the fucking phone?!” He slurs and yells in your ear. “Excuse me?” You’re immediately angry with his tone and his choice of words. You hate when he’s drunk, he’s always such a dick and he’s been going out every night lately. Some nights he doesn’t come home and you know he’s cheating on you. But you’re cheating on him too. 

 “I know you pressed the fucking decline! You don’t decline my calls when I’m calling you, you fucking pick up!” He yells into the phone and you roll your eyes, moving your hips faster and harder over Miguel’s weeping dick as he fights the binds on his wrists. A hoarse whimper escapes him and you clasp your hand over his mouth. His glossy eyes shoot open and he stares in your eyes. And you slam your hips down on him hard. Watching his eyes roll back as his moans are muffled into your palm. You bite your bottom lip and smile deviously as him. 

“Hello??!” Your boyfriend's loud obnoxious voice rings out through the phone and your smile turns to a scowl. “What?” You ask sharply into the phone, listening to Miguel moans humming through the prison of your fingers and his heavy breathing through his nose. “Is there a reason you called me?!” You raise your voice a bit. And your boyfriend is silent on the other end for a while. “Just wanted to let you know that I’m having a great night and if you weren’t so boring you could be having a great night too… and I’m wasted… and just so you know I could get any bitch in this club right now if I wanted to.” He rants loudly into the phone. “Wow, great, thank you for letting me know.” You say sarcastically and your brow furrows. But what he says really bothers you actually. You hate when he’s like this and he gets in your head. Miguel can’t hear what your boyfriend is shouting about but he can see how you’re reacting and he doesn’t like it. 

“Fuckin’ whatever…” Your boyfriend scoffs and slurs drunkenly. Abruptly hanging up the phone. You lower your phone from your ear, turning off the screen and angrily slam it down on the bedside table. Taking your hand off of Miguel’s mouth, you slap it to his chest and use it at leverage as you pump your pussy down on his dick. And Miguel gasps for breath. 

“C-can… can I cum?” He begs with his teeth bared and his brow creased, his glasses still crooked and too fucking adorable. Way too adorable. “No.” You say sternly and you didn’t mean to say it in such a harsh way. But you’re pissed off right now. Feeling bad about yourself. You fucking hate your boyfriend so much, why do you even stay with him? Is it because you think you really don’t deserve to be treated any better?

You slow your hips to a halt and he whines in protest. “Nooo… no please” He whines softly, panting and trying to catch his breath. You look at his face… and his stupid adorable crooked glasses and you just feel awful inside. All you know is you need Miguel. You need him because he’s the only person who’s always there for you. When you need help with your homework, when there’s a spider on your ceiling, when you’re too scared to go down to the laundry room at night by yourself. 

“Are you okay?” Miguel asks softly. His body is still now as his attention is on you. “I’m okay…” You lie and nod to him, resting your hands on his chest, feeling his heart beating under your fingertips. “Are you sure?” He tilts his head and asks, trying to look at your face.

“I wanna try something new.” You suddenly say, feeling tender and needing to be soft. Soft for him. Soft for yourself. “Okay… whatever you want…” He says sweetly. So sweetly it just adds a little more to your frustration. You frown a bit and look up at him in his eyes. Looking at his chest and his neck covered in marks, his perfect face. 

“I’m gonna untie you… and you’re gonna fuck me. You think you can do that?” Your eyes darken and he swallows thickly. And you can feel the pressure building inside you as his dick comes alive again. Your brow creases in desperation and it’s the first time he’s ever seen it. Both of your hands go to the binds and take them off as fast as you can. “I need you to fuck me, Miguel, please” You grab his face in your hands and press your cheek to his. “Please Miguel!” You whimper and beg him. And he can’t believe this is actually happening. “Okay… I will” He whispers, his chest already heaving again and he wraps his arms around your back, squeezing your flesh. He runs his hungry hands up to your shoulder blades and down to your ass, squeezing pleasantly and pushing you backwards with his body. As he leans you back your arms wrap around the back of his neck and your legs around his waist. He pushes you back and supports you as you lay down on the other end of the bed. His mouth coming down on your neck and your chest as you rub his back. Feeling angry. Feeling bad. Needing him. He makes you feel good. 

He pulls off his glasses and places them on the bed and out of the way. Dipping his face into the crook of your neck. Kissing your skin, inhaling your scent, absorbing your heat, listening to the soft moans that escape your throat. “Miguel!” You practically sob his name, fingers digging into his back as you feel his cock pressing against your thigh. Needy to be inside you again. “I know, I got you…” He hums and kisses down your chest. He knows you better than to know you’re okay. He hates your boyfriend for being able to affect your mood so strongly and so quickly. Miguel would never question why you’re still with him, as he knows the answer is not a simple one. So he’s just thankful for the time he gets to spend with you and avoids your boyfriend in the hallways. 

“Okay, okay, it’s okay…” He whispers as your hands run through his hair and down the sides of his face. He positions himself at your entrance and slowly starts pushing in. Capturing your lips in a searing kiss. With his thighs pushing your legs to spread wider, he presses himself deep inside you, shuddering at the feeling. You cry out loudly for him, your hands, one on his bicep and the other on the back of his neck, holding him so close to you. He bottoms out and kisses your neck and your collarbone. Basking in his own little sliver of heaven. One of his big hands comes to cradle your head, holding you like you’re the most precious thing in the world. And you are, to him. His face falls to the crook of your neck, breathing hot into your hair as he holds you. His chest pressing down, weighing on top of you, grounding you as he thrusts into you hard and fast. Pumping into you with all the pent up tension he’s been holding for you. You’re both so sensitive already so it doesn’t take long for that familiar blooming feeling to burn in your thighs, blossoming its way up to your stomach. You clutch onto him, your legs wrapping around his waist and rubbing your thighs over the sides of his hips as he thrusts into you. You squeal and gasp at the rush. 

“With me… please Miguel… oh fuck-” You beg him to release. Give you all of himself. Giving him permission. With the last final pushes he slowly stops as your cunt contracts and squeezes him. Your orgasm rips through you like fangs in flesh. He holds you so tight as he finally lets go, pumping you raw and full of him. Moaning your name into your neck before he rasps out: 

“I love you… I-I love you, Y/N” 

As you come down from the high and you hear his words, your eyes flutter open. Did he really just say that? You feel him tense around you. Realizing his mistake and he loosens his grip, pulling away from you slowly. “Sorry… sorry Y/N…” He mumbles and looks at your face worried. Pulling out of you slowly and sitting up more, looking for his glasses on the bed. Once his hands touch them he puts his glasses on as fast as he can, looking at your face. Seeing your eyes a little wide and your eyebrows raised. He’s not quite sure how to read your face right now. “I’m really sorry, Y/N, I shouldn’t have said that… I didn’t mean that…” He runs a hand through his hair, anxious that he’s ruined everything. He’s pushed you away. “Which is it?” You sit up and ask him, face to face now. “What?” He asks and his eyes tell you all that he’s thinking right now. “Should you not have said it or did you not mean it?” You ask so softly. And your voice to him is like a warm safe blanket he wants to wrap himself in. He looks in your eyes and works up the courage to say what he feels. “I shouldn’t have said it… but I mean it.” He sighs and he’s sure this is the last time he’ll ever be this close to you again. 

You stare at him in silence, not knowing what to say. He sighs and dips his head down, his shoulders slumping, his head in his hands. So you lay your head upon his shoulder and wrap your arms around him tight. It takes him a second to realize what’s happening. But he doesn’t question it and he wraps his arms around your waist. 

“You don’t have to say it back.” He mumbles into your hair. And you can hear how hard it is for him to say that to you. “I love you too…” You sigh into the crook of his neck and hold him close. You can almost hear the flutters in his chest when you say that to him. His arms tighten around you and wrap you up in the warmest, safest embrace. “I love you” He says again into your hair and you can hear the smile in his voice. It feels like a weight has been listed off of his chest now that he’s finally said that to you. You’re done with your boyfriend. You’re done letting yourself let yourself be mistreated. You love Miguel and he makes you happy. So you have to stop shying away from the way you feel about him for fear of messing things up or getting hurt. You don’t think Miguel could hurt you if he wanted to. “I love you” You repeat in reply and you feel yourself smiling too. 

“Please will you stay the night?” You ask softly into his neck and a soft laugh rumbles in his chest, a laugh of relief and pure happiness. “Of course. I’ll always stay. Whatever you want. Whatever you need.” He says softly and you think he’s almost too good to be true. You look forward to the future with Miguel, making love with Miguel and letting him love you freely while you let yourself love him with no restraint. Still, he’ll never pass up the opportunity for you to tie him up.

[tomriddleslove]

What’s left of me?

✩Mattheo Riddle x Reader

Summary: The one where your pursuit for excellence leads you down a path of self destruction, and you’re slowly loosing yourself. You didn’t expect a certain boy in your year would be your saving grace. Alternatively: Mattheo makes you realise you’re more than what you think you are.

A/N: I guess this could very easily be like a prequel to the other mattheo one shot ‘i’m here’. This is definitely a bit self indulgent but we all have our things 😻😻

Warnings: Allusions to overdosing (brief), mentions of not eating.

Songs: Nothings New - Rio Romeo

18 days.

18 days till you would be finished with all of this.

Technically, it would actually be 408 days till you finished school and graduated from this godforsaken place, but 18 more till you finished with exams.

You weren’t sure how many more hours you could spend hunched over indecipherable handwriting, pouring over text till your eyes stung and your back ached. Surrounded by a stack of books and rolls of parchment, you couldn’t even begin to figure out where you ended and the library began. You had taken up a huge table (that could seat at least 4) for the better part of 17 hours, sat on the same chair since 6:00 am.

You stifle a small groan of pain as you roll your wrist, stiff and sore from the hell that was ancient runes.

There are ink splotches all over your skin, and you’re sure the amount of work you were pouring into this stopped being effective nearly 5 hours ago.

Your eyes flicker up and scan over the once-packed library that had slowly dwindled down to a few students, half of whom were in the same boat as you.

To you, being the last person in the library was a huge sign of success. It meant you were more dedicated and more hard-working.

In reality, the truth couldn’t be any further from that, but in your mind, if you weren’t milking yourself over every last piece of work it simply wasn’t being done right.

The hushed murmurs and sounds of parchment being unfurled fade into the background as your quill scratches furiously against the parchment, mind running at a million miles an hour.

You ignore the pang in your stomach as you work; you haven’t eaten today. You didn’t want to get up at any point to get food, for fear of your place being taken.

Now, you didn’t want to get up for another reason. It was well past the library's open hours and Madame Pince was angrily fussing about, bustling around everyone as she got them to leave. A testament to how long you had been there, she didn’t even seem to notice you, and you were worried getting up and walking about would break this sort of invisibility shield you had going on.

Come to think of it, you hadn’t really drunk any water either. You brought your bottle with you but had forgotten to fill it up. It was fine though, the human body could last for 3 days without water - it could wait. Your upcoming exams were far more important.

In Scandinavia, the Elder Futhark remained in use until some time around the eighth century (the time of the Eddas), when drastic changes in the Old Norse language occurred, and corresponding changes in the runic alphabet were made to accommodate the new sounds. However, unlike the Anglo-Saxon Futhorc, the Younger Futhark (as it is now called) reduced the number of runes from 24 to 16, and several runes came to represent multiple sounds. The forms of the runes were also changed and simplified.

Gods, you couldn't take this anymore. You felt sick and exhausted. You ignore the hunger that gnaws at your stomach, rubbing a hand over your face as you contemplate finishing off and going to bed.

But every time you think of stopping a horrible feeling emerges in your stomach, consuming you with anxiety. The weight of impending exams and the fear of not doing well gnawing at your determination. You glance at the clock, realizing it's well past midnight, and the library is now completely empty except for you.

Madame Pince, finally noticing your presence, approaches with a disapproving look. "You know, the library does close at a certain hour. I can't have students staying here all night," she scolds, but her tone softens as she sees the exhaustion in your eyes.

“Sorry. I lost track of time” You mumble, haphazardly cramming your stuff into your bag. You get up, and the room spins for a second. You stumble but manage to catch yourself, holding onto the table as Madam Pince reaches out a hand to help you recover.

“You need to take care of yourself. No exam is worth this much stress,” She says, eyeing you with concern. If only she knew how far that was from the truth. You felt as though you had so little to your name. Performing well, overachieing. That was what you were known for. It was the only thing you felt was yours. Everyone else had character, they were distinctly themselves. They had hobbies, interests, and friendships that defined them. But for you, it was always about excelling academically. Without that, you became nobody. You were no more than the number on your papers, and the reminder weighed down on you like an unrelenting burden.

By some miracle you manage to stumble down the empty halls of the castle into the Slytherin common room, which seemed paradoxically warm considering its grandiose stone structure and dark, moody lighting. You carelessly drop your bag onto a table closest to the fireplace, trudging up to your room as you battle the sleep that threatens to consume you.

It's dark, and your roommates have long gone to bed.

“Lumos” You murmur, hiding the blinding light that emerges from the tip of your wand with the lining of your school robes, dimming it slightly. You grope blindly at your bedside drawer, stopping when you feel the familiar smooth glass bottle, that fits perfectly in your palm. You slip it into the pocket of your robes, slowly shutting the drawer as you make your way back down to the common room. You dismiss the light that shines from your wand, tossing it onto the sofa as you take a seat on the floor, in front of the low table. You read the instructions on the back of the small bottle as if you hadn’t been consuming this religiously for the past month.

Wideye potion User Guidance:

Take no more than one teaspoon every 6 hours. Effects will last for up to 8 hours. Excessive use of this potion may lead to adverse effects, and in rare cases, severe bodily harm. Users are advised not to use the maximum dosage for a consecutive 72 hours.

You’ve read it so many times, you were sure you could recite it by heart. Choosing not to heed any warnings, you pop open the cork and down the whole bottle in one go. The rancid taste of the potion burns, eliciting a shudder down your spine as you swallow down the bile that threatens to emerge. Pocketing the empty glass bottle, you stretch your arms before retrieving your books, ready to continue working.

If you were lucky, the potion might give you a boost of energy for about 3 hours or so. You had been taking it so much you had developed a sort of immunity to it, and the effects were not as potent as they used to be. The sacrifice of your well-being for the sake of productivity had become a routine, a desperate attempt to squeeze every ounce of time and focus out of your exhausted mind and body.

You have attempted to brew a stronger concoction, in the misplaced hopes that increasing the potency would counteract the effect of the immunity. However, the violent cramps and palpitations it had given you very quickly told you that wouldn't work.

You knew it was bad. It was causing irreversible damage to your body, killing you at worst. It simply wasn't sustainable. But you couldn't drag yourself out of that mindset.

Failure. Nobody.

You gritted your teeth and carried on working.

You managed to get through another potions essay, and the time on your watch read 1:00 am.

You could carry on for longer, right?

You zone out for a second, staring off at the orange embers that emerged from the fireplace, shining bright for what seemed like a millisecond before falling to the floor, turning into nothing but ash.

The orange embers flicker, and for a moment, you see yourself in them – a fleeting brightness that threatens to be extinguished. The battle between ambition and self-preservation rages on as you grit your teeth and carry on working, oblivious to the embers slowly falling into nothingness, much like your own fading sense of self.

“Why on earth are you up at this hour doing work?” A voice calls from behind you, and the momentary intrusion shocks you, sending a burst of energy through you as you spin around.

Flopping down onto the sofa next to you, leaning back with his legs lazily outstretched, was none other than Mattheo Riddle. Clad in a plain grey sweatshirt and black jeans, he eyes you with curiosity, smelling distinctively of smoke. He had most likely been out, as he so usually was at this hour. You shrug, turning back to your work.

“Exams. Need to revise” You mumble, voice cracking. You swallow, massaging your dry throat as you grimace, trying to get back to your writing.

“Revise? Merlin, you're the smartest person in our year. You don't need to be revising” Matthep leans forward, plucking a piece of parchment from your pile and examining it with a raised eyebrow.

You snatch it back, a protective instinct kicking in despite the fatigue. You hated that sentiment. Despised it, even. People always assumed your performance came naturally. That you were simply born with the ability to do well. No one seemed to consider what you had to do to get to that point, how you wore yourself down, day in and day out, till you either passed out from exhaustion or pain, neglecting your most basic needs.

"I might be the 'smartest' person, but that doesn't mean I can afford to slack off," you reply, a hint of frustration in your voice. The adrenaline from the sudden interruption starts to ebb away, leaving you feeling even more drained.

Mattheo leans back, momentarily caught off guard by your defensiveness. He had never seen you this on edge. He was so accustomed to seeing you as this familiar presence during the school day his partner for the many lessons that he didn’t have his friends in. The two of you would work together and on rare occasions, hang out with one another in the common room as well. It was a rather unlikely duo, the king of Slytherin and the academic prodigy. Yet, More often than not Mattheo found himself seeking out your presence. He never admitted it outright, but he hugely admired you. Your intelligence, your drive, it all captivated him. There were times when he hoped he could be only half the person you were.

How funny it was, for you felt the very same thing when you saw him. He seemed content. Happy. He was loved by nearly everyone. Popular, with a fun social life. He had everything you wanted without putting in any of the work.

You wanted to be like him. But you weren’t. And if you wanted anything like what he had, you had to work damn hard for it. So that's what you did. With a small sigh, you turn back to your work.

“Hey,” He says gently, his voice softening slightly. "I’m sorry. I say stupid things sometimes.” He apologies, brows furrowed as he looks at your back facing him.

“It's fine. I should be saying sorry. You didn't say anything, I just…. I’m just a bit tired, that's all.” You mumble, apologising as you get up. You stretch, a yawn escaping your lips as you wearily rub your eyes.

“I'm gonna run up to my room and grab some more parchment. I’ll be down in a second,” You say, shrugging off your school robe as you turn to walk away. You ascend the stairs leading to your dorm, tossing your robe onto the sofa next to Mattheo as you do so.

Your robe slides off the sofa and hits the floor, a faint clinking sound echoing through the empty room as you disappear.

Curious, Mattheo looks down at your carelessly discarded robe. He reaches down, picking it up. It weighs heavier than it should be, and Mattheo can't help but feel a twinge of curiosity, He eyes the now empty staircase before reaching into your pocket, fingers brushing against a smooth glass vial.

Not just one, but a few.

Frowning, he turns out your pocket, and four identical glass vials tumble into his lap. Picking one up, his frown only deepens as he reads the label.

“Wideye potion?” He mutters to himself, the confusion on his face morphing into something else as the pieces fit in place.

He had admired you for your intelligence and drive, and now he was confronted with the reality of your struggles. The contrast between your achievements and the seemingly carefree moments he sought with you becomes stark. He berates himself for not having noticed early, for having let you fall down such a destructive path.

Jaw clenched, he gazes at the piles of books you had been working through, rolling the empty vials between his fingers as the sound of your approaching footsteps snaps him out of his thoughts.

You pause in confusion, noticing the scrutinising depression plastered on his face as he looks up at you, rolls of parchment bundled in your hands.

"What's the Wideye potion for?" Mattheo questions, his voice cutting through the silence with an uncomfortable heaviness. He holds up the empty vials as evidence, his gaze piercing through the exhaustion in your eyes.

Caught off guard by the confrontation, you glance down at the vials and then meet Mattheo's eyes. A brief moment of silence hangs in the air, the crackling embers of the fireplace filling the empty silence.

“Research. For uh, potions.” You respond, internally berating yourself for coming up with such a weak excuse.

Mattheo's expression remains stern, a mix of frustration and genuine concern etched on his face.

"Don't bullshit me," he says, his tone direct and uncompromising. "I found these in your pocket, and 'potions research' is a shit excuse. I’m going to ask you again. What’s the wideye potion for?"

You shift uncomfortably, feeling small under his scrutinising gaze You clear your throat, speaking.

"It's just to stay awake, you know? To keep going. I only take it in extreme circumstances" you explain, your voice betraying the exhaustion that has settled in.

Mattheos jaw clenches, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek as he looks to the side with a sigh, visibly frustrated.

“Extreme? And what would that be, hmm? Because right now I'm looking at four empty bottles, and God knows how many more you’ve thrown away.” He snaps, his expression softening as he looks at you.

You feel a lump forming in your throat as you struggle to find the right words. Why on earth were you close to tears? Why did you feel like crying?

“I-” You start, trailing off as you stare at the floor.

Mattheo cuts through the silence, his tone still stern but laced with concern. "This isn't okay. You're smart, and you know better. You can't keep doing this to yourself. What if something happens? What if you collapse or get seriously sick? It's not worth it."

After a moment, Mattheo's expression softens, and he exhales deeply. "When was the last time you ate?" he asks, the concern evident in his voice.

Shit.

You pause, hesitating before admitting quietly, "Breakfast...yesterday."

Mattheo's features tighten at your admission, his eyes reflecting a mixture of frustration, anger, and genuine worry. He rises from his seat and strides towards you, his footsteps echoing in the otherwise silent room.

"Yesterday? Are you serious?" he says sharply, his voice carrying a weight of both concern and disbelief.

You remain silent, unable to meet his eyes, feeling the shame and vulnerability washing over you.

“Seriously? Fuck, what’s wrong with you? Why would you do that to yourself?” He chastises you, and you snap.

“I have to! You don't fucking get it, do you? I don't have anything else to fall back on.” You start, dropping the parchment onto the table in front of you.

Mattheo's expression shifts from concern to confusion as you lash out. "What are you talking about? You have plenty more than just academics. You're talented, you're smart, and people care about you. Why are you reducing yourself to just grades?"

You scoff, a bitter smile playing on your lips. "Talented? Smart? What does that even mean? It's just a facade, a cover-up for the fact that without these achievements, I'm nothing. I don't have friends; I don't have hobbies or interests. What am I without my grades?"

Mattheo tries to interject, "You're a person with-"

But you cut him off, "No, you don't get it! I'm just a number, a ranking, a test score. Everything I am is tied to how well I perform academically. Do you know what it's like to feel like the only thing you're good at is studying, and even that's slipping away?" You snap anger evident in your tone as you spin around to face him, your weary eyes meeting his.

“It’s the same thing every single day. I wake up, bury myself in books, and push myself to the brink just to feel like I matter. I don't eat, I don't sleep, I don't talk to anyone. I’ve spent my whole life isolating myself and neglecting my most basic needs for this! If I stop now, then what's left of me?”

Tears start to well up in your eyes, and you hate yourself for showing such vulnerability. Mattheo's stern demeanour softens as he watches you unravel.

"I can't stop, Mattheo. I can't afford to. Because if I do, what's left of me?" Your voice trembles.

Mattheo's heart drops at your words, guilt and hurt clawing at his insides. He can’t fathom the idea of you suffering so much, and him being blind to it. How could you not notice how incredible of a person you are beyond all of this? He’d give anything in the world for you to see yourself through his eyes. For you to feel the way he feels when he's with you, even for a second. To know that he’d do anything you asked him to because he cared for you. Not the one who gets outstanding on all their tests.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Mattheo finally speaks, his voice softer, genuine concern written across his face.

You shake your head, a mix of frustration and desperation in your eyes. “Because you wouldn’t understand. No one does. They just see the grades, the perfect student. They don’t see the mess behind it all. And I can’t let them. I can’t let anyone see me like this.”

Mattheo moves closer, his expression shifting. “You’re wrong. I do understand. Maybe not completely, but I want to. You don’t have to face this alone.”

You scoff, wiping away a tear. “Why? What do you care? You have everything, popularity, friends, a life. I’m just the study partner, the smart one. I can’t burden you with this.”

Mattheo remains silent for a second, before he speaks.

“Every other Sunday, you go down to Hogsmesde and buy a hamper of sweets form Honeydukes. You take it to the children’s school and volunteer there for an hour. Everytime you visit, you make their day.” He starts.

"You're not just grades," he says, his voice gentle. "You have quirks that make you who you are. Like the way you absentmindedly tap your foot when you're deep in thought. Or how you always carry a small notebook, and I bet it's filled with more than just class notes. I've seen you doodle in the margins."

He continues, "You have a wicked sense of humor, even if you don't show it to everyone. I've heard you snort-laugh during our study sessions. And don't even get me started on your taste in music.How you call that dastardly jazz music, i’ll never understand, but you can’t resist humming along to the tunes of the Wizarding Wireless Network when you're studying. Your fondness for Chocolate Frogs and your inexplicable aversion to pumpkin juice.”

Mattheo's eyes light up, a small smile tugging at his lips as he recalls more details. "Remember that time in Charms class when you made your quill dance across the room just to see if you could do it? Or when you brewed a prank potion that turned the water in the Prefects' bathroom blue for a week? You have a mischievous side that not many people get to see." He continues, looking down at you sincerely. He remains silent for a second, eyes scanning over your face before he steps back, sighing.

“I don’t know how to do this emotional, sappy bullshit. I don’t do it. But with you, I do. I want to. Other people want to. That’s what you do.” He says, voice quiet.

You remain rooted to your spot, somewhere between disbelief and gratitude as you stare up at Mattheo. How did he know all that? Why did he know all that?

“You noticed?” You speak up, voice alarmingly quiet.

He looks at you as though you’ve just asked him whether the sky is blue.

“Of course i’ve noticed. It’s impossible not to.” He murmurs, and you know he’s being honest.

Tears prick in your eyes again, and it’s as though all that exhaustion and neglect has come crashing back down on you tenfold after Mattheo had called you out. You try blink them away but alas, you simply couldn’t. Before you can even say anything, Mattheo steps forward, pulling you into his chest as he wraps his arms around you in a tight embrace. He holds you tightly, not even entertaining the thought of letting go as your tears soak his sweatshirt, tentatively accepting his embrace. His heart clenches at every tear that falls from your eyes, and he can’t tell if he’s horrified or accepting of the fact that he’d give up everything to relieve you of your burdens, even if only for a day.

He rubs your back soothingly, and you can’t help but let it all out.

It’s rather cathartic, really, because you've held onto this weight for so long, and now, in Mattheo's arms, it feels like a moment of release.

As your tears eventually subside, you pull back, both embarrassed and utterly shattered. You look down, sniffling as you wipe away your tear stained eyes when Mattheo hooks a finger under your chin, tilting your head up to look at him.

People often said that the eyes were a window to the soul. You never really understood that, but in this moment, you felt as though you were gazing into the very depths of Mattheos being.

With a tenderness that betrays the boundaries of ‘just friends’ , he wipes away your tears with his thumb, looking down at you.

“Come on. Let’s get you up to rest, yeah?” He hums, quietly. You nod, having to tear yourself away from his touch.

He leans down to pack away your stuff, not letting you handle a thing as he throws your stuff over his shoulder.

“You can stay in my room, if you’d like. Theodore’s out for the night so I can take his bed.” Mattheo says.

You consider it for a second. You didn’t particularly fancy heading up to your room with Mattheo, for fear of your roommate awakening to see you in such a state. You nod, speaking.

“Yes please.” You say, voice embarrassingly hoarse from having cried so much. You pray Mattheo didn’t notice.

Of course he did. But, he chose not to draw attention to it, instead resolving to run down to the kitchen to get you a cup of tea.

You follow Mattheo into his room, which you were no stranger to. Having projects together meant endless hours of collaborating, and opting to avoid being pestered by your roommate and her friends (who had a rather amusing infatuation with Mattheo), you worked in his room instead.

“Help yourself to some clothes if you’d like. They’re on the right.” He says, carefully draping your school bag and robe onto one of the desks. You thank him, smiling softly as he cleans the mess he had left.

“Go lie down. I’ll be back in a second” He says, turning away as he exits his room. Swiftly walking down to the kitchen, his head is reeling with thoughts of you.

He chose not to confront the feeling gnawing at him in light of your breakdown. He didn’t want to deal with that just yet. In no less than 10 minutes he’s carefully treading up the stairs to the dorms once more, a cup of chamomile tea in one hand and some small crackers in the other.

You hadn’t been eating, nor drinking, and the idea of you neglecting yourself so much sent Mattheo into an uncomfortable state where he found himself riddled with anxiety.

Just friends, right?

He clicks open the door to his room with his elbow, precariously walking over with the tea and crackers in hand as he goes to set them down on his bedside table. His eyes flicker over to you, and a small smile tugs at his lips as he sees you already fast asleep, curled up under the covers. The sight of your slumber brings a warmth to Mattheo's heart. He watches you for a moment, taking in the soft rise and fall of your breath, the delicate features that are usually tense with stress now softened in sleep.

The sight brings him more peace than he wishes to admit, and the looming reality that he had to eventually confront only pressed down on him further.

But for now, he didn’t care.

Because in your peace, he found happiness. And he’s sure he’d never find anything else more beautiful.

Possessed by a wave of sentiment that betrays his usual self, he can’t resist reaching out to tuck a stand of misplaced hair behind your ear. Before he can even comprehend what he’s doing, he leans down and presses a soft , brief kiss to your forehead.

He pulls back and finds himself slightly taken aback by his own actions. The quiet room, filled only with the soft sounds of your sleep, almost seems to amplify the beating of his heart.

Mattheo stands there for a moment, looking at you with a mix of tenderness and confusion. Then, shaking off the unexpected surge of emotions, he retreats to Theodores bed , slipping out of his clothes as he goes to lay down. He had to resist the urge to turn around and catch a glimpse of you once again, and lets out a small sigh as he shuts his eyes.

Mattheo Riddle was not a man of sentiment. He was not soft, and he most certainly did not go out of his way for others.

You had changed that. And he couldn’t figure out whether the prospect was one he was ready to welcome.