#ILL NEVER GET OVER YOUR ART ITS SIMPLY TOO GOOD

[slowd1ving]

KILLER ・゜゜MOZE NSFW

"All you are to me is a bleak obsession I am the mark intent on burning the street How many times can I ask you? How many days can I go without you?" Hǎoshì chéng shuāng. 好事成双. Good things come in pairs, even if the pair in question is a homicidal crow and a brokenhearted cryptologist. art by @ ma_mori74 on x!!! moze can we honestly e date? you’re so beautiful. You always make me laugh, you always make me smile. You literally make me want to become a better person I really enjoy every moment we spend together. My time has no value unless its spent with you. I tell everyone of my irls how awesome you are. Thank you for being you. (joke) (not really) this was kinda rushed so :3 errr consider this like part 3 of tales of a disgruntled corvid pairing: moze + male reader warnings: nsfw, male reader, mentions of blood/death/violence, alcohol consumption, jealousy wc: 4.5k  

HONKAI STAR RAIL MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

Hǎoshì chéng shuāng. 好事成双. Good things come in pairs. 

Fortune. It is a humorous concept for Moze: tasting of a fleeting childhood dream and the dregs of hope. Fortune, as some know it, comes in all forms. From gilt wealth and corruption, to finding a strale dropped on the street and getting to bed on time—everyone, it seems, tastes good fortune somewhere along their paltry lives. 

Moze’s good luck surmounts to meagre things: not getting blood beneath his nails after a mission; evading the prying eyes of the Yaoqing as he slinks into the shadows; working by himself; and most of all, not running into you. Good luck equals a tidy house and leftovers in his fridge. Good luck equals not needing to stock up on the tools of his trade and knives that don’t need sharpening. Good luck equals a fresh steamed bun and a slow day perched on the roof of a building. 

The point must be made. Moze does not experience auspicious encounters often. 

Conversely, those afflicted by confirmation bias might say misfortune comes in threes. Misfortune, for Moze, is significantly easier to quantify—but to stratify it into threes grossly underestimates the cesspit of chance he’s been allotted. 

One: being outside currently at Jiaoqiu’s food stall while rain drizzles down on him. It could be argued it’s only by his own volition that he’s slurping on steaming chilli-infused noodles as petrichor stains the air, yet that stupid fox decided this was the way to go in terms of conveying intelligence from Feixiao. This was the hell crafted by Jiaoqiu’s hands seeped green with pungent herbs. 

Two: getting his apartment lease renewal rejected a week ago over a development project at his block. Though he had been planning on starting afresh—never one to stay in the same area for too long, just like the rest of the Shadow Guards—he quite liked the nondescript studio. It’s a tidy place: plain and unassuming. What a pity. He’s read the message from his landlord over and over: growing a tad bit more incensed each time. 

Three: the sudden absence of suitable apartments in the districts that he sticks to. None of the flats he browsed were innocuous enough, and the ones that were perfect for his schedule and profession were in dismal condition. 

Four: you purchasing a flat a month ago which perfectly fulfilled his conditions. Two-bedroom, in the lower districts of the Yaoqing, with reclusive neighbours and a walking distance of the Seat of Divine Foresight. Had he gotten the notice for his lease rejection earlier, it might’ve been him there. 

Five: upon asking about his dilemma, Feixiao’s eyes gleaming bright. This was the indicator for certain disaster—an omen as ill as he ever saw. And unfortunately, her gaze next fell on the scripts you were working on, before flickering back up to you. Shit. That was the only thought running through his mind, before she pitched her idea to have him simply move in with you. Say no, he pleaded mentally, but alas—

“Sure,” you mutter, red ink spilling from your pen onto the parchment. Bold characters sign the form off and the letter is folded neatly onto a cycrane absent-mindedly; before you finally look up at the assassin who flinches as your eyes land on his. “S’long as he pays rent.”

Six: you agreeing to this stupid deal. Why? Why? It can’t possibly be the deep veneration for the Arbiter General. Surely your adoration of her cannot be deep enough to let this guy room in your house—an assassin, at that. You aren’t a follower of Qlipoth, but where the hell is your sense of preservation?

Seven: him not actually finding any fault in the building. Not in the surroundings, nor the modest room across from yours, nor the lazy grin on your face as you showed him around the apartment—still expecting him to vehemently shake his head. 

He signed the damned contract, and that was that.

“What’s got you sighing?” Jiaoqiu eyes him from where he’s pulling noodles: sleeves rolled back to avoid dusting the salmon hues with flour. Fragrant red wafts from the pot on the stove, and he’s suddenly reminded of the crimson shirt you wore just this morning—rippling around the taut lines of sinew and muscle as you worked diligently on decrypting ancient alchemical texts. “I thought you found yourself a place to stay, so why the long face?”

Moze keeps his silence. Well, tries to—but it’s not like a singular word will make him any less laconic. Tapping his chopsticks against the rim of the blue-toned porcelain, he evades the question and focuses right on the middle of Jiaoqiu’s sentence. “Somehow.” 

“Right! Your dearest partner—” Jiaoqiu drags the word out, characters stretched tight until they wind right against Moze’s eardrums. He glares: visibly annoyed, yet this only makes the man in his peripherals close his own eyes in satisfaction. “—took pity on you, didn’t he?”

“Maybe.” The assassin slams down the rest of the piquant broth: lips dripping with sanguine. His response is a question in itself—because why the hell did you agree to Feixiao’s request?

“Curious?” Of course he’s curious. 

“It’s not much of a surprise, really,” the foxian sighs, twisting the strands into a neat circle and letting it drop into the boiling water. “Poor thing’s probably still in shock from his breakup. I think he would’ve agreed to pretty much anything coming out of Feixiao’s mouth at that point.”

The man can only stare incredulously. Every part of that sentence is laden with a bombshell. 

“Wow, I thought you would’ve known. Guess what’s said at Qiu’er’s stays there too.” Jiaoqiu’s golden eyes gleam slightly at the mention of the downtown bar. No, Moze didn’t know. No, Moze isn’t currently outright staring at the man no longer in his peripherals. No, Moze cannot hear his chopsticks creaking beneath his grasp. “Woah, don’t break those.”

The fox eyes the crow warily. “Seriously. Cool it.”

Eight: you’re still not over your boyfriend cheating on you. In the drizzle beneath the canopy, this is how your new roommate diligently listens to how his work partner and resident cryptologist really can’t catch a break from bad men. 

“That includes you, you know,” Jiaoqiu squints at an unusually contemplative Moze. Flickering amber lights and the buzz of cicadas makes the assassin seem even more shady than usual. “You don’t have a chance, so don’t even try.”

“The hell are you talking about?” For someone like Moze, his piece of good fortune is that his voice remains steady in almost any sort of situation. This means that anyone hearing this man speak right now would naturally presume he’s affronted at Jiaoqiu’s response out of its complete implausibility. But on the flip side, those who’ve known Moze longer have learnt to watch for other irritated tells of his rather than a wavering voice. The subconscious flex of long fingers. Minute shifts in the elbows propped up on the bar. Biting the inside of his lip, just enough that it’s unnoticeable. But these aren’t things the assassin really takes stock of. 

For a brief moment, Jiaoqiu’s friendly smile drops and he peers at the man askance. Is he brain dead? “...Okay.”

And that is how the tall man—hunched over in the downpour to not let his noodles get too cold—first learns of matters of a more personal note of yours. In the rare grey skies that cast over the Yaoqing, it’s a chance to digest this information he’s learnt. 

But he doesn’t care. 

He doesn’t. 

・゜゜

A painful month passes for Moze. 

There’s nothing else to describe it—psychological torment is the only fitting description of your behaviour. Outwardly, nothing changes. He still hates you, and you still hate him—two arguing peas in a pod with a mutual dislike being the only thing in common between the two of you. Outwardly, behaviour-wise, nothing changes. Outwardly, appearance-wise, something does. 

He first notices it about three weeks after that waterlogged conversation with Jiaoqiu. There’s a faint aroma of sweet-smelling smoke on you—a long cigarette holder between your fingers as you read a thick book on the couch. He’s never seen the thing before in all your months together. Sure, the Yaoqing tobacco scent fades quickly away to not linger  in the case of a borisin’s especially sharp senses—but he’s never seen that sort of heavy-lidded expression on you before. When you glance at him, it’s usually irritatedly—not like this, where your glance is hazy and your lips are parted to blow plumes from your mouth. 

Shit. He doesn’t quite know why his heart speeds up. 

The second thing he notices is that every week or so, there’s a clinging perfume to your body: never your usual clean scent, one that clearly belongs to a different person. This is the same time he starts noticing you slipping on shirts with longer necks on missions—a darker imprint just about peeking above the material. 

He’s not an idiot. He can put two and two together. 

The third instance of misfortune is your habit of wandering around after a shower with nothing but a towel wrapped around your waist conservatively. Sure, the area from your hips to your knees is covered—but what about the rest? He finds himself growing more irritable during work hours. Marks not caused by injuries still bruise your skin; as you turn your back in the kitchen to make yourself a mug of tea, his eyes rove the dips and valleys of your back. Categorising each wound. Systematically detailing each little infringement on your skin. 

He doesn’t particularly know why. Maybe his obsession with tidiness crosses over to people too. 

・゜゜

It happens like this. Occasionally, a man as ill-fortuned as Moze receives gets a break. 

There’s a tumbler of whiskey on the low coffee table in the living room. Polished chestnut—if you had to describe it—with the light shining through the amber liquid just so, until it reflects onto the varnished surface. A cube of ice sits dainty in the middle, clinking as you tip the glass this way and that. 

“Don’t spill it,” the assassin murmurs. From behind the couch, breath ghosting just past your ear. You don’t shriek (perhaps he hoped you would)—you don’t even glance his way. 

“I feel like that was a redundant warning,” you remark brusquely, taking a swill of the liquor. It’s sweeter than it would’ve been normally: courtesy of the saccharine pipe nestled betwixt your fingers and the smoke still lingering in your mouth. “Were you hoping I’d jump?”

“Yes.” Short. To the point. Laconic. That’s how those outside this home would describe the man currently leaning down, hands splayed on the backrest of the couch. “We’ve got a mission tomorrow, and you still haven’t done the dishes.”

“It’s your turn,” he adds, because he likes seeing how this man’s expression wrinkles in exasperation, likes that stupid cant of your head—for it means Moze has won this little encounter. It’s all because he strongly dislikes his roommate, no other reason. 

“You suck.” Syrupy plumes ghost his face as you exhale into his face above—he doesn’t move back, even as the traces of burnt caramel become far more prominent, even as it feels like you’re blowing him a kiss more than anything.

“And you need to clean and go to sleep before you’re late,” he grits out, more annoyed than he was a moment ago. He’d say it was due to your lack of responsibility, but this angle allows the loose robe to expose your bitten collarbone—like some stupid fucking trophy. “Like you always are.”

“I’m never late, A-ze,” you enunciate each word in such a way that makes it clear you’re not drunk—so clearly the nickname is just to piss him off. A last-ditch middle finger; a threat that hasn’t worked for some time, one that makes his stomach churn uncomfortably but not enough to admit defeat. “You’re just up stupid early.”

He goes silent, in the way he does when you’re right. Instead of saying anything, he instead plucks the glass from your hand: downing the smooth alcohol from where you drank it, enjoying how for once your mouth closes just like his. The pipe in your hand tilts this way and that as you take a drag thoughtfully—recovering far too quickly for his liking. 

“A-ze.” Like this, with wisps exiting your mouth and silk draped over you, you look good enough to eat. He freezes at the implication of his thoughts, freezes at the sound of the name blanketed in some gruesome replica of affection. He hates it; hates how his heart squeezes and a faint flush of red dusts his cheekbones. Aeons. 

It is common knowledge to not toss a starving dog a bone before it hungers for more. 

“What, you don’t hate it anymore? Here I was, hoping you’d turn tail and leave,” you sigh, theatrically despondent—much like you normally are. Too damn dramatic for your own good. 

So desperate, drinking your sorrows away as if that’ll possibly work. He scoffs, striding the short distance over so he can tower over from the front. 

“Maybe you just like calling me that,” he breathes. There’s a smile playing on his lips: the rare one he gets when he knows he’s got a point, knows when he’s right. It’s unconscious—he’s far too oblivious to notice it only occurs around you. 

“I do,” you murmur. “Bet it warms your heart though. No one likes you enough to call you that.”

“So you like me?” There’s an odd buzz in his veins tonight. As the orange lights from the street blink into existence, and the room is no longer illuminated by ‘day’, he’s glad for the darkness that conceals the heat in his face. Your clothing rustles as you stand—practically nose to nose with the man in front of you.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Xiaoze,” you mutter, and the heated breath from your lips fans over his sensitive skin—mingling with the tobacco wisps and alcohol vapour. He swallows. “It’s pity.”

“Pity?” he sneers. “Like how you sleep around to get over your boyfriend? That’s not pitiful?”

“Like I said—” your tone becomes frigid as you shift closer: until his chest brushes up against yours, until he can count every lash that glows amber in the incandescent street lamps, until he can practically taste the rolling fury off your tongue. Warm. Scalding heat ebbs from your body and flows right into his own. “—don’t get ahead of yourself, Xiaoze.”

His breath comes in ragged waves. So close. When he stands so near to a human, it typically means he’s feeling life flow from them. Not like this; but he cannot bring himself to get away. 

He’s never been more thankful for his unwavering voice. 

“Don’t give bones to starving dogs,” he murmurs, mellifluous rather than jarringly annoying. “They’ll bite.”

Smoke wafts into his face as you survey his expression: flushed, brows knitted taut, lips still slick with liquor. 

“So you’re a dog, now?” Your fingers graze his chin, canting his head this way and that as he makes no moves to evade your grasp: heart beating miserably in his chest. There’s a strange sort of hunger in your gaze. 

He’s never seen it before. 

“No, it was proverbial—” Like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “—you know?”

“Just as desperate as one,” you mutter. Trailing your finger down until they graze his collarbones, it’s no wonder he flinches—and you stare at him, unimpressed. “If I tell people about this, your reputation would immediately disintegrate. How many years have you cultivated that stupid mysterious image?”

“Hah—who would believe you?” It’s true, not many people would—but alas, the important ones have already witnessed this man looking at you. 

“Jiaoqiu, but I guess he already knows what a loser you are.” And you miss how when he lowers his head, he looks like a completely different person—flushed visage mired in shadow, like the assassin he truly is. He’s staring right at you, unblinking as he watches the cruel movement of your lips. 

“Don’t talk about him right now.”

And so, you don’t. 

・゜゜

This is the prelude leading up to this particularly humiliating scene. 

Humiliating, because propping himself up on his elbows on your bed isn’t a position he thought he’d ever find himself in. Humiliating, because he never gets drunk, so why the hell is his head spinning? Humiliating, because for once the mellow deep of his voice is pitched a note higher—larynx taut with suppressed groans. Unsteady, in a way his voice has never been. 

You taste like the pipe still tipping in your fingers: candy-sweet and saccharic. But there’s also the heavy aroma of liquor on your breath, mingling bittersweet with the plumes of smoke wafting from your fingers. Beneath that, blood from a scrape on your lip—acrid and metallic. That is what he knows, so your lips moving gently against his feels so utterly foreign: and not just in the way they taste. 

When you pull back for air, his eyes are blown wide in surprise; his mouth has only ever been used to bite, after all. You seem to instinctively know this as you take a long drag from the stick, blowing the curls of vapour into his mouth when you pull back in: to induce a slight tingle into him presumably (but Lan knows he doesn’t need aid to feel that buzz). 

Languorous. That’s how he’d describe it—for it seems you only ever work lazily. There’s no hurry as you lick past the seam of his lips. There’s no hurry as both your scalding mouth and your arid fingertips trail downwards, past the vales of his tense abdomen. There’s no hurry—but Aeons he wishes there was, for your hand slipping under his shirt and against his stiffened nipples are much too damn slow. 

“Do you—do you even know what you’re doing?” he mocks, like he isn’t currently jolting as you roll the pink flesh between searing fingers. You raise a brow: lucid against the otherwise irritated thoughts. 

“Do I?” you copy his broken whine, gripping the fat of his tits coarsely while the rise and fall of his chest becomes ever so slightly more shallow. If only he could see himself right now: jarred at every turn, pupils blown out, and the residual sheen on his lips. Every damn hue of purple littering his neck and collarbone. And if only you could see better in this darkness—spot that obsessive fervour in his gaze, one neither of you are quite aware of. 

“Do you have any experiences to compare it to?” you counter, twisting your hand while he glares at you heatedly. Nothing. Quiet as a corpse when you make an irrefutable point. 

No, that’s right, you grin sardonically as you slip the long cigarette back into its place on your nightstand. Syrup drips from your mouth as you twine your free hand in his hair, tugging until he groans into your lips with his own in that mellifluous cadence. 

You’re harsh as winter. 

No, cruel.

Cruel, as you trail your hand from his chest to his waistband—palming him roughly through his pants. Cruel, as you pinion his hips against your bed to prevent them from bucking into your hand—fingers digging desperately against your sheets as you grind against him. Cruel, as you swallow each whine with your warm mouth: so sweet, so gentle even as you wrench your hand into sinew, flesh and everything beyond. He can taste the arid heartbeat through your mouth, and he’s sure you can feel his own—pulsing hotly as he yields his worries to you, just for a moment. 

Or two. 

He’s inexperienced, but even he knows what the tension in his abdomen signifies. The distinct tremors in his legs, the pain as he digs his nails into your thigh, the tightness coiling his body into rigidity. Puppet-like beneath your machinations: manipulated this way and that way with strings unseen. 

Fucking his hand has never felt like this. 

As he writhes, he greedily swallows you whole. Taking everything, including your bloodied lips, including the faint caramel tracing your tongue, including the strangled gasp as he grasps your nape with burning urgency. Aeons. He’s breathless; judged human lust far too soon. Against your brutal palm, the fabric of his trousers is slick with his release—wet patch a testament to his sin. 

Yet still you rock against him as he rides out the mind-numbing pleasure: limbs infinitely heavier from the tension suddenly all releasing. 

But he forgets how cruel you are. 

One final sweet kiss later—nails raking past his scalp and the other hand warmly pressed against his cheek—and you pull away with a lazy smile. 

“Go to sleep.” The directive jolts him awake, like a bucket of ice-cold water breaking apart a dream. Dissolved like candy, like the damn fluid in Penacony connecting the conscious and unconscious. “We’ve got a mission tomorrow, remember?”

Like the cat that got the cream, you smile Cheshire-bright. A fucking riddle on your lips. “And I still have to do the dishes, remember?”

He’s left stupefied: numb lips, a reeling head, and an impercipient body. Once more, the shower he douses himself in is frigid—but nothing could be as cold as what just occurred. 

What the hell? 

He presses his palm to the lower half of his face in shock. 

What the hell?

Seriously, there’s something wrong with you. And as he glances down, he realises with utmost horror that his problem has not yet died down yet. 

What the hell?

Important things must be said thrice. Duplicitous in nature, Moze’s fate both turns for the worse and better simultaneously. 

The bone has been tossed. What will the starving dog do?

・゜゜

All actions have consequences. 

That is a proverb universally recognised by all walks of life: trodden on by kings, revered by alchemists, and vowed by the weak. You reap what you sow. What goes around comes around. Equivalent exchange. 

The natural outcome from that night is mutual silence. You don’t speak of that evening, and neither does he—face flush with implication, yet unwilling to actually divulge his thoughts on the matter. Sure, he finds himself with his hand attempting to recreate your rough friction (teeth clenched around his shirt as he paws at his lean chest)—but it never quite works, and all of his colleagues are privy to his especially curt mood. 

Joint missions with you are now a thing painful. Tense. 

The strings that bind him to you are taut with the feeling. Constricting, tightening, until he can sense their imminent breakage. 

This leads this unusual pair to this scenario. You, fresh out a shower and post the nth mission of this month. It’s only been three weeks since that night, and watching you meander about the kitchen with only a towel slung low on your hips is giving him heart palpitations. Steam curls from your body; each time you shift, he’s excruciatingly aware of how it appears just like that smoke from that night. 

“A-ze. What do you want?” 

That’s the golden question—what snaps him out of the trance—and makes him realise he’s practically pressed up against you from the back. No, scratch practically. His arms are on either side of the counter, pinning you in position as you continue stirring the fragrant drink. Feeling that damned sear of your skin is driving him into the throes of madness. 

He wraps his arms around you, burying his face in the crook of your neck and not heeding the rivulets that seep into his clothes. So warm, he wants to murmur—but talking is for those who want to speak, and he does not want to. Not in this moment, where he’s appreciating the soap you used, the lotion spread onto damp skin, the inherent smell of you. 

His teeth graze the vulnerable juncture. You turn, and he can see your eyes waver, feel the rapid thrum of your pulse as you become aware of just how desperate he is. “A-ze.” And your hands roam his waist, tracing the taut muscles betraying his anticipation. 

His lips are heated as he leans into you: a snarling mess. Trembling fingers trace the expanse of your soft body, like you’ll ghost away just like the wisps you smoke. 

“Need you.” It’s not a plea—the rough deep of his voice makes him sound demanding, as arrogant as ever. “Haven’t I behaved?”

He’s so damn desperate as he grasps your body: bruising and fatal. He’s desperate as he kisses you heatedly, desperate while your hands brush past the feverish skin of his stomach, desperate as you push him against the couch—too hasty for the bedroom. Now, he chokes out. Now, now, now. Please. 

Pliant beneath your hands, it’s not exactly the longest time until he’s gasping beneath you. So tight, you may have commented: drunk on the sensation of him fluttering around your probing fingers. Aeons. 

He’s so malleable: arching into you as soon as you line yourself up. It almost makes you feel bad for him: feeling him flinch whenever you brushed past him, watching his face bloom scarlet as he saw the marks on his neck in the hallway mirror. Almost.

It’s because he’s so cute like this: drooling amidst all the broken noises as you slam into him. You’ve never quite seen him this dishevelled, not even during that night. Hungrily, he’s sucking you right in—paying no heed to suppressing the almost-pained moans dribbling past his open lips. 

What a mess. 

Physically, it can only be described as such. White globs decorate his flushed skin messily: pearlescent in the dim lights of the living room. He can’t even begin to count how many times his weeping tip has stiffened, not when you’re so damn insistent that he forgets how to speak properly. It’s not like you’re any better; each time you look down there’s that frothy ring that strings you two together. 

Emotionally, it’s also quite the mayhem. You don’t particularly know where to look when his eyes have that gleam in them—a sort of fervour that one rarely ever sees. Even now—pupils hazed with lust and eyelids lowered heavily—he’s staring right up at you, content as can be whilst you drill mercilessly into him. 

Fuck. 

“Come on, you—ah—can do better than that,” he taunts. As though he doesn’t look completely fucked-out, as though there aren’t tears leaking from his foggy eyes. You’re not sure where he gets his audaciousness from. 

He’s beautiful. 

“This is why no one likes you,” you hiss, sharply tugging his hair back to hear his surprised whines. Supplicantly, he does exactly what you expect. Loser. Aeons, he sucks. 

“Yeah?” he grins. “What does that say about you?”

“That I’m a no one from the Intelligenstia Guild,” you answer against his neck, feeling his throat constrict as he swallows. Though it’s only minutely, his nails dig somewhat deeper into the flesh of your back—marking you up just as much as you’ve marked him. An acknowledgement of your words. 

Well. 

You suppose you’ve always been drawn to the pathetic ones. 

・゜゜

[centrally-unplanned]

Oh I had a book review that I never did - Apostles of Mercy. Third in a series that I like, but while still "good" its the worst one so far! The Noumena series is a First Contact story set in Bush-era USA, telling the tale of Cora, a down-on-her-luck "everygirl" who gets dragged into being an interpreter/uncomfortably-intimate pairbond for an alien refugee named Ampersand whose home species is probably gonna wipe out humanity as a threat prevention/"why not" measure. Lets complain about things on the complaining-blog:

(The cover art continues to slap, no downgrade there)

Book 1 of the Noumena series is, fundamentally, the story of Cora and Ampersand, and how they connect. It is done really well, their differences stack on their shared contexts and a bit of alien magic to make it really believable that they become a found family unit. So in book 2... Ampersand kind of PTSD's into becoming a reclusive asshole, and Core spends most of the book away from him connecting with other people? It is an odd choice but, you know, this can work. You create space in a relationship, they grow and change from the space, then reunite and that distance in fact builds the foundation for new stuff. Its bold for book 2 but fair enough. But then she does it again in Book 3!! Cora goes off to deal with other issues and hang out with someone else, and is primarily annoyed by or made deeply uncomfortable by Ampersand's presence and decision-making for most the book. Its not as severe this time, but still; you can't play that card again, like come on! Are you telling your Transformers meets Beauty & the Beast fanfic or aren't you? Make up your mind! It comes off as too-clever-by-half, someone uncomfortable with doing the "typical" and having to constantly ~subvert, to ill effect.

Speaking of, the distraction du jour for Book 3 is Paris, Cora's new girlfriend. And she is very, very boring. She is just A Person, spends most of the book a prisoner trying to survive alien captors who don't understand her, and pretty much just has to be rescued at the end. There is no connective tissue - skills that she has that are crucial, themes she is the lodestone for, etc. In Book 2 Cora's partner Kaveh was far, far more interesting - he pushed the narrative forward, he was audacious and witty, and he had a deep internal narrative as to his motivations and goals. Paris seems like a checkbox in comparison. And I think there is something to that - in an interview Ellis remarked that she has gotten far less "critique" on her male characters than her female characters from the lens of making them interesting to read. She implies a degree of audience sexism there, but I think its probably the reverse - besides Cora (who is great) her male characters are just way more fun because, surprise surprise, they are allowed to be assholes sometimes in ways that make them complex and interesting. Even Kaveh, who is a very positively coded character, is a thirty-something rich guy sleeping with a college-aged broke trauma ball and is shamefully kind of loving being the fixer to her broken bird. That is good shit to read about - Paris could never because she is simply A Good Person. Because of Woke.

And speaking of politics! So this part of the series was always a little cringe - Ellis as a writer wears her politics on her sleeve and they are definitely a form of unsophisticated leftism with some really heavy-handed moments. But I don't mind reading the works of people I disagree with, I quite love it in fact; in the first book it is generally fine, because she sets up competent and realistic opponents. In Book 1 its the CIA embodied in Sol Kaplan, who believes in the War on Terror and all that jazz and is one of the best side characters, and Cora has to face brutal consequences for her own ideals. In Book 2 the cringe ratchets up a bit but still, here the debate is over civil rights & strategic approaches to the now-public alien refugees, and the "right-wing" factions are portrayed with intelligent arguments around security & deterrence, and also score their own wins. In Book 3, the main plot revolves around a sister alien faction's camp who specialize in biotech. And they have this whole thing where they move from place to place for secrecy, and to be away from people they find themselves in the Chernobyl exclusion zone, and then an uncleansed mine field in Cambodia. At which point they start saying things like "we should eliminate the humans, we would steward the earth better" and you in the audience are totally supposed to be sympathetic to that. Its incredibly eyeroll, the large majority of the planet is rural countryside they could escape to with nothing close to that scale of damage, they literally chose the worst possible locations on two coin flips in a row. How are they not in Montana. Or Siberia. Its cringe, guys. She does the same thing with the CIA in this book, who eventually get commandeered by a US general who literally thinks of ethnic minorities as subhuman and says so explicitly. Incredible cringe.

Finally, Mary Sue problems. Cora interacts extensively with three humans in this book, and two of them want to fuck her and the third is her evil dad. Said dad spent the first two books being a distant figure pulling off big moves; in this book he literally does nothing but putz around, with no clear agenda but "butter up Cora", who sees through it immediately and fucks him over at the end. Like you spent two books setting this guy up? That is it? So Cora can look smart? We already knew she was smart. Someone says he loves her an "angelic" platonic way. Its not a good look and tbh a little baffling coming from Ellis, who is not at all someone who typically does that kind of stuff. I have to chalk that up to "ah fuck how do I wrap this arc up" syndrome.

Okay, done! Tbc the core of the book was still solid plotting and there was progress on interesting fronts. Its just sad to read Book 3 in a series where it commits mistakes the first two books explicitly avoided, like she ran out of endurance. Hopefully this is a book where she just got it out of her system.

[fuxuannie]

ok ok I just had a request idea if you don't mind-- gepard with a fem (but I don't mind gn) reader who is good at drawing idk it just seems so silly in my head because of the wanted posters he made 😭 but anyways, tysm in advance and remember to take a break when needed!

↳ pairing(s) : gepard x gender neutral reader

↳ synopsis : request ♡

↳ authors note : hi guys its me (ive been dead for so long) (it will happen again) (sorry about that) (i ate a banana this morning)

You loved art with all your heart, your apartment was full of paintings and drawings you had made over the years and happily pride yourself on your skill.

So when you were on your usual stroll, and pass by a rather.. poorly drawn wanted poster. Those messy squiggly outline and poor form of coloring couldn't have been anyone else.

Walking into your boyfriends apartment, he's not surprised to see you carrying your bag of art supplies inside and plopping it onto a table. Of course, he was more than aware for your passion with the arts (while also finding it very cute) and figured you were just going to his place again to paint.

And so when you gave him an all too familiar glare, the blonde could only laugh nervously as you pull him into the living room and away from the kitchen.

"Gepard Landau." You state, as if a strict parent about to give a four hour long lecture. "..Pfft.. What are these drawings?" The facade breaks and laughter fills the room, not one filled with ill intent or mockery just.. a genuine question with a bit of laughs. Gepard could tell you had nothing critical or rude behind those words, so he smiles at your laugh. Not minding the topic at hand and simply admiring your adorable giggles of joy.

You sit over on his left, a reference photo in hand and two sheets of paper. "It's been 2 years of us together, and in those two years I've given you several art lessons.. you can't even color within the lines?" You chuckle, beginning to sketch as Gepard already knew to follow your steps.

But maybe there's a little white lie in the air, maybe the middle child of the Landau family was in fact a great artist, it wasn't particularly out of character considering the extra classes from private tutors.

Maybe Gepard liked to watch you and your passions, perhaps enough to fake his skills with the arts just so you can come over to his house again and again and show him the skills he knows he's far too talented at for his own good.

Oh well, never hurt to lie if it was in the best interest of the both of you. You get to share your passion, Gepard gets to have his heart race as he watches you do so.

[eternalfarnham]

Greetings!

I really enjoyed your fanfiction "How the Questing Beast chased - and caught - her own tail", and while a lot of people praise your xenofiction writing skills, I want to start with it being an exceptional insight into late teen psychology, down to very fine details, especially for the sort of community of teenagers I myself belonged to as a teenager.

Between lowkey denying your personhood for the sake of exact same kind of "half-written EEPROM girl"© (also denying her personhood for someone else's sake) as yourself, meeting up with the local doublegirl sex pest, believing that putting your emotions in information theoretical terms helps in any way if you don't have good data samples, stringing yourself together into personhood from some value function (which you found in the dumpster and/or parents) and error backpropagation, thinking that a nice girl's apparent maker is an asshole and building contraptions with later 'it' pronoun user 'lesbian situationship', this fanfiction reflects a lot of common experiences during teenage years in the kind of people you might or might not be referencing.

I don't want to make a mistake USian secret services did about nuclear submarines when apprehending John Campbell and assume that nobody can solve conundrums of my youth during fanfiction writing simply because I could not. But I believe that you are doing societally valuable work through this and wish you best.

Regardless of that being my major impression from reading, it's also true that I cannot avoid praising your approach to xenofiction - as a student of Fridman and Retjunskikh, I am delighed to see representation of Vygotsky's description of formation of personal consciousness via internalization of speech necessary to maintain materially beneficial social role via description of a collective, who has rejected separation of labour and speech altogether to preserve what is essentially a convoluted description of psychotic grief over disappearance of its creators and how escaping this psychosis seems to them like mental illness, if you have never read Ilyenkov and Vygotsky and their students I implore you to: even if you learn nothing new, this is very likely to put a smile on your face.

A separate note is, of course, flow of action scenes, also very evocative of personal experiences and of art as a different kind of the same objective truth about the world as science and philosophy. It's absolutely satisfying to read.

Once again, I thank you for your valuable service, and give praise to your work.

With best regards,

[scroll up for clickable username]

I'll admit, I wasn't entirely sure how to answer this ask at first, but it's a series of lovely compliments and deserves some direct address. I'd like to read your theorists here, too – telepathy/speech dynamics are an interesting balancing act to write, as someone with specific emotional resonances around the concept of telepathy. I'm not sure I quite merit being classed with sources of empirical truth, but I'm glad you're getting this much out of my work, and I hope you continue to as I bring it to its conclusion.

[ryomaandgundhamkin]

GIVE @cannibaleclipseau HEADCANON ASKS ASK THE CHARACTERS ANYTHING IT CAN BE UNHINGED IDC JUST LIKE DHCHCHXHXJXH👹👹‼️‼️ ARGHGHDJDHXHD JUST SEND ME ANYTHING TO THERE… BRO I GET FREAKKNG 1 NOTIFICAGION ON THERE EVERY DAY. 😨 YES IT IS A ASKBLOG YES IT IS A RPBLOG YES IT IS VERY MUCH INACTIVE … you running out of ask ideas?? YOU CAN ASK BM, MOON, SUN OR ECLIPSE ANYTHING (maybe not the others but uh)… JUST. AGDUUDUDUFJCJDH 💔 please I fucking love attention guys. IM SORRY IM LIKE THIS BUT… please? one fucking ask is all I’m asking gays 😼… Like I GET ITS WIP BUT LIKE YOU CAN FIND OUT LORE IF YOU ASK… IDFC about my 100 other WIPS I have, I have way too much free time to just be getting off to fucking cai/j. 💀 call me fucking selfish I deserve it but dude it’s a fucking deserted island in my au blog. Am I not meeting up to your expectations? JUST TELL ME WHAT THE HELL IM DOING WRONG‼️ please you can be honest i swear. Like… i love you guys don’t get me wrong but im sorry im like this. im fucking needy and my satisfaction lasts fucking 1 millisecond 🤩!! JUST. Tell me what you want from me. And you shall receive. FUCK SCHOOL at this point. Im throwing away my social and emotional life for this stupid fucking art career. and for what..? am I really even that good. 💀 … listen I’m sorry for being such a bitch right now but i know I’m a fucking terrible person and I just want you to forgive me on that, I fucking require attention to live or ill never be satisfied. You can vote for the deletion of the blog if you want, it’s not even a big deal… 😨 all im asking is one ask and I’ll be satisfied I swear, thanks. I’m so sorry I’m like this and that you have to deal with me being such a… pain. might as well just delete it huh. I mean it was already painful to constantly be on Deviantart, what’s different? I’m destroying my life doing… everything. I WILL NOT FUCKING GET OVER HOW MUCH I AM DEDICATED TO THIS THING I KNOW WILL RUIN MY LIFE EVEN MORE, no matter how many times you convince me🤩… and I’m tired. I’m just really tired. I usually don’t write anything like this online and post it because I don’t want anyone here dealing with my emo self-hatred crap. So I’m really sorry, about everything I’ve done. All I’m asking is an ask and I won’t kill myself‼️/hj. but this whole thing mentally gets really bad for me, and I can get really suicidal but I just pretend I’m fine. I’m really sorry for asking so much of everyone, and I just want everyone to know that I am so so so grateful for all of the support I’ve gotten from my followers, moots and everyone. Be honest and tell me my au is shit. Yes I agree okay. I’m sorry I’m so terrible, I know I’m a terrible person. I don’t want to seem like I’m overreacting with this. Please don’t think of me differently because of this, I’m sorry I’m typing all of this out for everyone to read. I’m sorry you have to deal with me rambling about something so simple that I could’ve just… simply asked about. Like I know I probably sound so selfish and attention-seeking because… that’s just who I am, I’m sorry. But I don’t really care at this point, I’m just… like this 😇. And I hate that I’m reflecting this on everyone who looks up to me. So please… Im sorry. I’m really sorry. I’m actually so sorry about all of this, and me making such a big fucking deal out of a SIMPLE PROBLEM. If you think I should do anything differently, please tell me. I’d be glad to listen to any feedback you have. But for now… I hope I can get along with everyone on both blogs. And I understand that my other blog won’t MAGICALLY blow up the next morning I make it. So I’m sorry for being so annoying, so self-centered and so… selfish. I’ve never really… cared about any of you guys. But I don’t want to come off as rude, that I’m using you even if I am. Im sorry im like this way, im sorry im such a terrible and selfish person. I’m sorry i just… get so emotional when i do this shit. Please don’t take this that seriously. And please don’t judge me for being so immature. I am so very grateful to everyone, but I’m sorry I’m like this. Bye.

[yveltalreal]

The Mapler

hiiiii i'm maple! i use he/she/they pronouns and my gender is

im a student at naranjauva academy in paldea, studying to become a professor focusing on the relationship and history between people and pokemon as well as how it has changed us and pokemon over time! or for short i just like studying people and pokemon!! on the side im super interested in art, cyclizar racing, and caring way too much about fictional characters on the internet

while im currently living in paldea, my home region is actually vulgrado (if youve never heard of its its cause its apparantly rare in the grand scheme of the universe. frowns) but im also alolan and japanese on my moms side.

here is my trainer card!!

bibi (short for bubblegum bitch cause they didnt let me name her that equally) tried to fight the camera man so she doesnt have a photo.

i have two other pokemon, a vulgradian absol named tami who is my service pokemon and my rotom named .zip who occasionally posts on the blog. they're both registered as support pokemon though, so they rarely battle and arent on my trainer card.

i am. mentally ill and both physically and mentally disabled for several reasons so pleassseee keep this in mind when talking to me! sometimes i react to things weirdly i do not mean to i merely cannot help it because my brain developed weirdly!! also i will occassionally drop lore about myself some people deem concerning. DO NOT WORRY ABOUT IT :D

OOC

Tags / Arcs

Summary Of Blog

Maple is a student at NaraUva in Paldea, with a weird past and an even weirder present. A strange "Other Maple" occasionally makes posts Maple herself cannot see, she has a complicated relationship with an odd and concerning family, and she regularly gets into strange situations and bounces out basically unharmed. Something is deeply wrong with her.

All Mails (Pelipper, Musharna, etc) are off. Variants such as unmail are also off. Magic Anons are off No NSFW. Maple is a minor.

Redux is a closed universe occupied by only a few blogs. It is also, within it's lore, a very hard to reach universe, with only a few examples of things being able to get in or out. The group on Rotumblr are some of the very few within their universe with access to this multiversal version of the site. This is to prevent plot beats from conflicting with other canons and blogs, and to minimize events of people trying to insert theirselves into into our events. That being said, interacting purely online with arcs and events, trying to guide characters and give advice is completely allowed and encouraged! This story is interactive, as is the nature of rp, and certain events may be changed or improved upon by your participation

Any blog can interact in theory. I'm not necessarily against anything specific but there's no guarantee I reply to everything or want to interact with certain blogs specifically. Sometimes it comes down to vibes, or I just do not know how my characters would respond to your blog, or I just know they would not respond to it. It depends.

My characters WILL get into arguments about how their world works. Maple has a special interest in pokemon and their history with people so please assume that usually if she gives a fact about a pokemon or her world that its PROBABLY correct unless stated otherwise ooc or by another redux character!! If you come into an interaction genuinely intending to change her mind you simply will not because there's a good chance that in the interaction your character is just wrong about Maple's world.

Mun is an adult while muse is not.

[arson-09]

Yo, yo.

What OTPs in your fandom(s) do you just not get?

Have you ever unfollowed someone over a fandom opinion?

Most disliked character(s)? Why?

Is there an unpopular character you like that the fandom doesn't? Why?

Unpopular opinion about XXX character?

If you could change anything in the show, what would you change?

What are your thoughts on crack ships?

Popular character you hate?

Unpopular character you love?

Would you recommend XXX to a friend? Why or why not?

Most shippable character?

Least shippable character?

(damn, I added half of the list. Sorry if it's too much!)

Oh dont worry about adding to many, i LOVE to yap. Ill do my main Fandoms Acotar and Criminal minds and maybe a few random ones. its whatever comes to mind first.

1) For the most part i can understand every ship, theres something that I get about it. But one that i have recently seen that I just refuse to think about is Harry potter x Tom riddle?? I liked one Harry x ginny art cause i think they are cute and i started getting tons of Harry/Riddle?? anyway i blocked that tag but im mostly just confused.

2) Not on tumblr but i have on twitter and instagram. I will block people over almost any small fandom opinion i just hate. If i just mildly dislike it or dont get it i usually dont care.

3) easy answer would be rhysand. But also Cassian! He frustrates me so much but is also so boring, which is a cardinal sin. He tries to be the poor underdog bastard but hes a privileged, rich general. The way he treats Nesta makes NO sense and it annoys me. And outside of his ‘bastardness’ hes BORING and has no real personality. Thank you❤️

4) well the majority of the acotar fandom obviously hates Tamlin but you know i LOVE him. Also recently Draco Malfoy?? i dont think hes as widely disliked as tamlin but the majority of casual HP fans i know dislike him which fair. But recently he has piqued my interest. Its wayyy too much to explain here but theres a way i can relate to him in a wraparound sense and IDK he is so mean and such an asshole and also so stupid at times. Hes joined my little white boy line up.

5) This is a criminal minds one, I would change the fact the showwriters or whatever changed Spencer and Emilys sexuality. Spencer was originally written as Bisexual and Emily a Lesbian and i would have LOVED it if they kept it. I mean, both characters still act queer as HELL but its not Canon or whatever. Also JJ and Will would be GONE JJxEmily canon.. Jemily canon..

6) i love crackships and i think we need more of them. Lets stop being so serious all the time❤️

7) Im not gonna do the obvious acotar one, instead another HP one (The season has reignited my original love for that series. FUCK jkr ofc) Severus Snape. I hate him in the sense of i hate him as a person, as a character he is well written and does his role so on and so on but hes an ANNOYING mf and I also cant stand people who just defend him because what is there to defend..

8) simply Tamlin💚 I don’t need to say more.

9) I could never in good faith recommend Acotar, Criminal minds or HP to anyone💀💀 Criminal Minds MAYBE but since it deals with so many sensitive subjects I have to give a TW list when i talk about it. The other two are obvious i feel.

10) Almost all the characters from Acotar are SO shippable and i know its not on purpose from sjm but she has accidentally created the perfect ship verse for those with the eyes and creativity to see it. I have my little handful of beloved ships and for the most part i nod and go “i get it” to almost every other ship. It actually quite amazing esp with how some of the fandom hates it😭

11) The least shippable character from acotar is probably feyre imo, mostly after Acomaf because her character basically becomes a conduit for Rhysand. It makes it hard to put her with other characters because her whole personality becomes Rhysand. First book feyre or non canon compliant feyre is aye okay

Ive been away for most of the week cause of the holidays and visiting family and i am so happy to be back and yapping💕 If i missed any its not my fault, i just got home from a 16 hour drive last night😭😭😭

[meat-pvppet]

Hiii hey helloooo really happy i found you! Im in love with your art, its so good! I wanted to learn about your ocs through that one post. Would love to get an answer for every single one, but to spare your time and fingers: alone, desire, future

I love Chasm and Tara so much you have no idea

YESSSS I GET TO TALK ABOUT MY GOOBERS HI HELLO ANON I LOVE YOU /plat

ok for this ill do both chasm and tara cuz theyre my little gabagoos and yes yes yes

ask game

CHASM

alone: How does your OC deal with loneliness? Have they ever been completely alone before? How do they act when there's no one around to see them?

Chasms alone most of the time so he's gotten kinda used to it, but he still has bouts of time where it gets to him, yknow?

Of course, hes never been truly truly alone cuz of Bridge, but generally speaking he gets really introspective about himself and how he interacts with others

how he wishes he could be more outgoing and expressive

hes tried that before though and its simply too draining to him

and it doesnt feel real cuz hes just acting and he knows it

so what would be the point?

he tries to distract himself as much as he can when he starts spiraling like this by doing maintenance on his guns, ship, sparrow, himself

read a little

do some organizing

anything to get him out of his own head

desire: What's one thing your OC wants more than anything in the world? Are they open with that desire? Why or why not? What would they do to fulfill it?

peace

whether that be peace in his own mind or across sol

he just wants all the fighting to stop

for the conflict to end

hes not even sure if he'll make it out of the next world-ending scenario that hes gonna get thrust into

or if his daughter will survive

he doesnt really talk about how he yearns for a day where a threat isnt looming over his shoulder every second of his existence

a day where he can freely relax with his daughter without wondering whether or not he'll get to see her again

or who will take care of her when hes gone

is that cuz he wants to keep up appearances? no

its cuz he knows everyone probably wants that too

no need to state the obvious

to fulfill it, to him, theres not much he can do than continue on as he is

continue on as a war machine

fight for his and all of humanity's peace

future: What's the worst possible future for your OC? Are they taking steps to avoid that outcome? Are they even aware it's a possibility?

i think itd be either he dies, leaving tara alone to fend for herself

or she dies

one he can try to avoid but he can never guarantee

the other is unfortunately inevitable

teehee mortal daughter immortal father moment

TARA

alone: How does your OC deal with loneliness? Have they ever been completely alone before? How do they act when there's no one around to see them?

tara isnt usually alone since she'll be online talking with friends or (on the rare occasion) out n about with them or playing gigs

when she is alone she ends up alot like chasm a little

quiet and stone faced

she gets pretty lonely whenever shes not around other people, but sometimes she just doesnt wanna be around other people at the same time

so she'll rot in bed for a while

or play guitar

or do whatever to entertain herself

she kinda suffers from chronic loneliness much like her dad so yeag

desire: What's one thing your OC wants more than anything in the world? Are they open with that desire? Why or why not? What would they do to fulfill it?

same with chasm id think

she could wish and pray and hope for this but theres not much she can do about it

other than spread peace and love through her music of course but she wishes she could be more proactive about it

like her dad

future: What's the worst possible future for your OC? Are they taking steps to avoid that outcome? Are they even aware it's a possibility?

probably also losing chasm tbh

she already had the wake up call that chasm isnt actually immortal fully from the red war and him losing his light

so she knows he can die

and by the nature of being a guardian, he could die

and it would be a very violent death

[manie-sans-delire-x]

Lol you’re actually not hot. Or loved.

Lol look anon, I dont know what your problem with me is, but lets address this on-going issue. I literally dont even know who you are, and your one-sided obsession with putting me down in any way you can is getting pretty old and by this point, its past pathetic. Youre getting desperate, grasping at every single thing you could say "nuh uh actually youre dumb/ugly/etc" to me about. Its not the first time someone has become obsessed with me. But yeah I dont think about you at all, and you clearly think about me quite a lot. You are so filled with hate and bitterness that Im genuinely starting to feel a bit sorry for you, because happy, healthy people dont feel the need to do this.

You are too cowardly to even come off anon. How do you feel after sending these messages? Proud of yourself? Ive worked with kids who curse you out everyday and physically attack you, so you think you accomplished something with doing that? Your attempts at making me sad is a gnats bite, sorry. Youll have to do a lot worse than some meany words.

(Ok wait something Ive genuinely been curious about- You know those typical 10 IQ bully tropes in movies? What do people like you think when you watch those scenes? Do you agree with the bully? Do you even realize youre the same? Do you realize everyone else who watches hates the bully and thinks they have low intelligence and are pathetic and weak? Like no seriously Im actually asking, I wanna know how self-aware people like you are. Because seriously, look at what you just send me. Its like a lazy, unoriginal writer writing a schoolyard bullys dialogue. "Youre actually not hot. Or loved." Heheheeee!) (Unless you are actually are a middle or high schooler, which, if thats the case, makes a lot of sense. If thats the case please let me know, as I would talk to a kid differently to how I would speak to an adult. Otherwise I will continue to assume you are an adult.)

You clearly are projecting some kind of personal issue onto me, I think you may be perceiving me to be someone that I am not, or think something that I do not, and with all sincerity, I suggest you look internally to resolve your clear unhappiness and lack of self-confidence. Being a bully never looks good on anyone, and it wont make you any happier or get you what you want. In fact it will only lower your self-esteem, because no matter what you portray outside, you see yourself doing this, so inside you will always know that you are a pathetic, jealous loser who bullies strangers behind the shield of anon on tumblr.com lmao. Using your one life well I see.

Is this some misguided attempt at asking for help? You must want something from me, to keep coming to bother me. Im always willing to counsel, even for you, even though youve been nothing but vile to me for no reason. If you want to talk about something thats going on, you can dm me. Im willing to start over. If youre polite, Ill be polite. Its that simple.

Otherwise maybe do something that you can feel proud of, that makes you feel good when you go to sleep tonight. Create art, show kindness to others, meditate, do something for your future. Read a book. Go help your mother.

If you choose to continue this bad behavior and send more hate messages, I will not be responding and they will simply be deleted.

Try to have a good day today, yeah? Im going to go make a blackberry and vanilla milkshake, would you like one?

[all-doggirls-go-to-heaven-2]

Hey I got kinda emotional and into it here so. Skip this one if you dont care but if you're my friend idk read it see if it resonates or smth

I think ill never get over the feeling that im inept or a loser because its not the fact that I'm. You know. That. Its because before even making the comparison between this person's absolute best life and my sick week I already think that. Its bad to the point that whenever I see someone share good news abt. Anything. I get jealous

And like im rlly not trying to brag but I have a decent life by my standards. I have partners that love me but don't require my affection constantly, so when I kinda shut down for 9 hours as I often do no one freaks out. I have sex quite often! (Not right now because im sick and slowly losing my mind) (and yeah this is childish but im very hypersexual and if I did not have this it would be bad for the mind) like there are people who consider me a sexy being and want to have sex with me and then we do.that. often in trios which is such a thing that my 16-year old me would have said NICE!!! To me and now its kinda of the norm for me. When its not just me n my gf having like casual fun sex its a threesome. And that fucking rules!!! I have money now!!! Saved!!!! Im moving out in like four months!!!! I already bought like paintings and tables and shit. Im finishing uni and can go pursue my dreams of becoming a film professor!!!! My art constantly gets praise!!!! And yeah, we kinda got fucked festival season because we botched some documentation but I made people cry!!! With my writing and camera work!!!! And I did that with my friends, too!! No sellout shit, no contracting a pro to get good shots, no youtube tutorial bullshit, i got three people that really liked each other and we made a fucking movie!!! And people cried watching it!!!! Like I got a legacy now. Even if its a small, insignificant one, its a fucking legacy!!! Its there!!! I can like crochet now!!! And im good at it!!!! Better than my fucking aunt who mocked the stuff I made back then!!!! And I make money selling it?? Online??? To friends??? Thats fucking cool as hell!!! Im feeling pretty? Like actually pretty? Not in a fabricated, made up, photoshopped version of me but like. I look in the mirror and I see a girl. Shes kinda messy and probably needs to brush her teeth more but its a girl. I pass all the time??? Old people call me little missy and shit. And yet I have not lost the transfem swag.

Sure, maybe some shit is bad. Sometimes you feel like drowning. Still not quite over that one breakup. Sometimes there's nothing to do. Sometimes your friends are having way more fun than you and you have no excuse to not be having fun. Sometimes uni is suffocating. Sometimes you love people so intensely that you start hating them when they dont like you as intensely as you do them. Sometimes you still put other's happiness over your comfort or safety. Sometimes you still romanticize things to make it seems like you're a less boring person than you think you are. Sometimes you need more affection than you're getting from your partners and you simply stay quiet, because you fear you're becoming like your abusers. You still havent gotten over the "I was heavily emotionally abused for the better part of a month" and recovery should have ended by now. They moved on. Why haven't you? Why do you still think of them? Why everytime someone thinks the kind of sex you have is weird you remember them telling you that and then doing it anyway? You're still the black sheep of the family. No matter how many intense life-ending fuckups your cousins fuck up, you'll still be the worst one. Because you were supposed to be perfect, to study overseas, to be the golden child. And you failed. Sometimes you wonder if you're wasting your life trying to be happy. Sometimes you wonder if you even can be. Sometimes you cry because you're sure you cant

And we just.... gotta keep on living. Trying, succeeding and failing to be happy. To have my needs met. Isnt that what its all about?

[lou-blooms-bitch]

diary entry

woah cursive

whatever this is, i dont know if i like this or not

fancy shmancy

anyways its currently 2:26 am im tired as shit but i cant fucking sleep.

i cant wait to get home tho. tomorrows our last day here and holy fucking shit ive never been happier to be going home from a holiday. i miss my cats so much and i dont think i like not seeing my dad for this long.. although we live in the same house and sometimes dont see eachother for entire days, i do miss his fuckery.

i miss my babies most of all tho, ive been worried sick this entire time with paranoid thoughts about them not being okay or being sick or god forbid passed on. ive been so worried. so fucking worried and scared. i dont even know why really. i think i just have a lot of fear within me.

and then aswell my period is due sometime soon and i know i said that like 2 weeks ago but i thought wrong but its definitely coming in the next week or two so i was kinda worried about that the entire time too. really did not wanna be bleeding from my cooch on holidays.

and then aswell i think i just miss home. i havent been sleeping too great either, it fucking sucks. like ive been so drained this whole time and i think i just need a mid day nap in my bed that i wake up all discombobulated from… and my babies.. i miss my cats so much man. i feel like im gonna cry if i keep talking about them but god i cant wait to see them. were gonna go to lauryns at some point too and see her cats which im really excited about. i love her cats to bits, especially boo !!! oh my god boo is such a lovely little cat and shes so fluffy and soft too but she makes my allergies act up so thats not good but like i really could care less ill take the allergic reaction over not being able to cuddle her. omg and little buster too cant wait to see him hes such a cutie. and of course nugget and gem theyre funny little things.

but god how i miss molly and scamps. i cant wait to get home and see how scamp is, ive been wondering if shell be all crazy running around and meowing when were home lol. idk about molly tho this is the first time ive been gone so long being so close with her, i wonder how shell be. i hope shes happy to see me god ive missed her so fucking much.

i might be getting an ipad too and a pencil ?!! im gonna have to wait to get home to talk to mother about it but i really hope that she says yes. everything ive tried to do the maths for just wont work out

like if i spend 100 per month itll take me basically a whole year to get it

if i spend 50 per month itll take me 7 months to get it

and if i spend 40 per month (which simply just wont work out) itll take me 5 months to get it

and like that was the shortest amount of time i could come up with

like i know its an ipad and pencil and then a drawing app (probs procreate or something iwl) on top of that and its gonna take a while to save up for like im not stupid im just impatient and ive really been wanting to do digital art but my surface is literally going to explode

like i shit you not the battery in it is inflated and the screen is taped together. like thats not okay. that thing will explode on me and disfigure me forever. not risking that.

but im just fucking PRAYING that my mam gets it for me when im home and i can just pay her like x amount per month or even just what i have left over cuz im fairly good at saving money its just that theres a lot of shit in between that i spend it on like alcohol and shit so

but yeah i cant fucking wait to get home man ive been feeling down and theres no better place to feel down than in your indented bed from where you sleep every night. i wonder how that indent is actually. i hope its gone back up lowkey.. like its not even an indent its a full on dip in my bed from me sitting there all day its crazy

anyways im gonna go its like 2:49 am and im fucking tired

goodnight and godbless

GOD IVE SEEN WHAT YOU DO FOR OTHERS PLS LET ME GET THE FUCKING IPAD I CANT WITH TRADITIONAL ART ANYMORE

[theveryworstthing]

So over on patreon Trevor asked for my take on the Addams Family and I grew up LOVING the Addams family movies so here we are. Instead of doing a straight up style interpretation, I decided to do a full on design challenge, using the characters as bases to make a black southern gothic Addams au. I actually drew the kids first, using the character bases of Wednesday and Pugsley to create some delightful kiddos I'm calling Sunday and Blanche. I of course then redesigned Gomez and Morticia into Carlisle and Mortesha.

The Addams have a very specific high aristocratic goth aesthetic (they've got a butler and nobody really works among other things) so in this re-imagining I wanted to go with vibes that run a little more middle class/upper middle class.  I thought it would be interesting to think about what would be considered weird and off-putting in an entirely different culture, and how being a big ol' goth is way less controversial than it used to be.

I tried to keep this short (HAHAHAHAHAHA) so I didn't spin off into an essay about villain coded families, black people in the horror genre, and normalcy as it pertains to social survival, but just...bits of that are in these designs and lore. Keep that in mind.

Also I made the kids twins because they've flip flopped in age so much in different media and also twins run in my family (i'm the daughter of one). And let's face it, I'm pulling a lot of their southern gothic traits from living as a southern goth so *shrug*.

10 thousand pounds of lore incoming loooooooooool.

The Parents

From the moment he saw her he knew that there was a 50/50 chance of him either never making it out of that swamp alive or marrying the figure that was creeping out from under the distant willow tree in a black cocktail dress. The third time she found him trussed up in one of her traps, he complimented her rope work and asked if she'd like to go out sometime after his head wound stopped bleeding.

Or while it was still bleeding.

If she was into that.

Some kids and a mysteriously burnt down Piggly Wiggly later, their love is still as strong and inescapable as a bear trap in a sink hole.

Carlisle Guillermo (now Addams through marriage but I wanted to give him two first names for a name since Gomez has two last names) makes a vaguely described living practicing ‘law’ around town. A loophole king, people come to him from miles around with contracts signed in blood, fights over chunks of hair buried in their rivals’ yard, dehydrated primate hands, memories that seemed like dreams until the evidence of their happenings became too real, and other regular Legal Items asking for counsel which he is all too happy to give. For a price. Sometimes that price is a homemade pie and sometimes it’s a million dollars, depends on who you are. Whatever you’re asked to pay it’s worth that price, and if you try to scam him out of work or he just plain doesn’t like you? Well. He knows how to twist a contract better than anything at the crossroads.

And he always gets his due.

He doesn’t just serve the local (living)humans though, there are many things that need proper legal representation in this day and age. You wouldn’t believe how many city councils try to build on sacred burial grounds even after he lets them know that his ghostly clients are totally gonna haunt the FUCK out of the ensuing shitty condos and curse their families for all eternity. At least 50% of his energy goes towards dealing with real estate bullshit.

Carl is an excitable and good natured(?) man who loves his family, cigars, dancing, and his many knife-based hobbies. People find him very charming once they get past the feeling that they’re talking to a sultry gator badly disguising itself as a human. I didn’t put a ton of deep thought into designing him, mostly I wanted to make a middle aged dude who looked like he would have been voted ‘most likely to smooch the literal devil’ in high school. Tbh he probably has, but no demonic ex’s can compare to his lovely wife~

Mortesha Addams(her name was already perfect so I just tweaked it)is a woman of many talents. A self proclaimed homemaker, she prides herself on a greenhouse full of Concerning Foliage, a beautiful wasp apiary, and a coop full of what are probably chickens that she keeps for what are probably eggs. She’s also an avid creator of the outsider art that can be seen around the estate. She has taken on the family business of selling her homemade goods in a little stall by the road just outside the swamp with her mom, and makes pretty good money doing so. A surprising amount of poison gets bought in quaint southern towns.

Speaking of poison, people who come out to the edge of the swamp to buy it are usually carrying a lot of secrets around, and Mortesha knows most of them. It’s not like she pries the truth out of people, it just so happens that many nervous hellos eventually turn into the tragic backstory power hour if she’s alone with a client for long enough. She supposes that’s just how people are. Despite the fact that the Addams are very active in the community (whether the community likes it or not) she especially, as a direct descendant of the first Addams matriarch, is seen as…Well not an outsider because the community feels A Certain Way about outsiders and despite it all the Addams are their people, but maybe something like an exception. They feel like whatever weirdness they’re hiding can’t be weirder than any given Addams, so they get a little loose with their words.

This is amusing to her, since Addams’ don’t naturally keep the kind dramatic secrets that their surface level prim and proper neighbors do. It’s much more fun to openly talk about those things.

Do they have a sadly decrepit yet terrifying grandma up in the attic? Yeah, like three. They got a tv, all the creepy porcelain dolls they could want, and they’re close to family. Where do you keep your gram-grams?

Any bodies buried on the property? Yeah some, but most are thrown to the gators.

Any creeping through the balmy summer night with ill intentions? Yeah dude, everyone loves a nice family stroll.

What about dangerous forbidden love? If an adult Addams isn’t incorporeal then they’re either queer or in a torrid romance with some person/thing mysteriously drawn to that awful swamp. Sometimes both at the same time. Most times actually.

Mortesha would know.

The current head of the Addams family is just as outgoing as her husband but a lot quieter and harder to read. She never really seems to get mad about much and always has a genteel smile for everyone whether they deserve it or not. A seven foot tall human shaped “Oh, bless your heart”. A perfectly composed Lady even when she’s, oh I dunno, burning down a Piggly Wiggly. You know. A regular southern mom. Chat her up at the hair salon for 50% off a jar of wasp honey with your next purchase of a mysterious but foreboding packet of herbs.

Designing her was pretty easy because I just drew a lankier Grace Jones and called it a day. I had some problems with her outfit simply because if we were going HARD southern gothic then she’d probably be wearing a white/cream dress with a fuller skirt but I thought keeping the silhouette and the black was more important. She’s supposed to be an anti southern gothic southern gothic character anyway. A woman who looks like she has a million secrets who is actually the most open person you could meet. For better or worse. The red hair came from a coloring error that I really ended up liking (my mom had red hair her whole childhood that only darkened up in high school so I can buy that an Addams can be naturally fire engine red) and the veil was to get more of that classic Morticia silhouette in there.

The Children

Sunday and Blanche are the twin children of Carlisle and Mortesha Addams. Some say the Addams clan got their cursed homestead when a wealthy local businessman made a deal with the devil and lost, leaving his grand mansion to his least favorite maid and cutting his losses once he realized that the swamp would do everything it could to drag the house into the water and take what was owed with its horrible curse. Others say that the family has just always squatted there and no one really cares because man, fuck that particular swamp. Have you been in there? Absolute horror show.

Anyway.

Blanche is the more outgoing sibling and quite the engineer/mad scientist in the making. He started going grey at 2 weeks old but considering he was also rocking some extra fingers, toes, and a tiny tail (he takes after his dad), his parents just put it on the 'not life threatening' pile and decided not to worry about it. He's the kind of smart that teachers find utterly infuriating, less a dog eagerly learning and obeying commands and more a hyena who keeps teaching itself how to pick locks. He has a few friends in his school's robotics club (which they honestly allowed him to make so the school could contain his... creations) but mostly hangs out with his sister exploring the swamp. They find all sorts of neat things in there! wedding rings, suspiciously lumpy garbage bags, cloaked cultists who can't read private property signs, it's an adventure every day!

Blanche is all about experimentation with his creations, his look, and his tether to this mortal coil. Is lipstick a cool thing to try? Let's find out. Can he get out of a strait jacket fast enough after being pushed into the depths of the swamp by his sister? let's find out. He's not dead yet and confused local doctors can attest to the fact that he's rarely attained more than a bad bruise so he's pretty set on continuing to kiss rattlesnakes on their cute little heads and have his sister practice her knife throwing at him until that fact changes.

Blanche is very much a country goth. Cowboy boots (customized by his mom), knife, and lighter are daily accessories. He likes to wear the crusty swamp jewelry they find (the rust adds a splash of color!) and despite appearances he does try to keep himself neat. He's just got  natural Grunge Colors and a tendency to wear clothes he likes until they fall apart. Pugsley always seemed the most modernly styled to me (which might just be because little boys clothes have been the same for a long time) so I wanted Blanche to be the most purposely fashionable Addams. Everyone else is goth by nature, but he's the only one truly familiar with goth as an alternative fashion.

I got really into designing Blanche because honestly, I find Pugsley to be the most boring member of the family. And he was hard to design! I had to mess with his vibe a lot to get him looking how I wanted. I know he's supposed to evoke an " 'evil' little boy next door who's parents never reign him in", but that's just goth Dennis The Menace.  I's 2020. We can at least go queer goth Calvin.

Sunday was much easier to design. Wednesday was my favorite as a child (of course) and I really wanted to keep the spirit of her look while adding things like billowy sleeves (it gets HOT down here), big poofy twists instead of braids, and a nice tie. She's a professional after all, been running the local pet cemetery since she was 6 and the previous groundskeeper met with an unfortunate accident after telling her that tarantulas don't have souls. Her specialty is creating beautiful naturalistic animal funerals similar to those that Maquenda (https://linktr.ee/artofmaquenda) makes, and she takes pride in creating miniature dioramas of her subjects after each burial which she uses as a kind of 3D catalog for future clients.

She really wants to try out her skills on humans one day. Well. Publicly try out her skills. Lotta random bodies float into the swamp. None of them have turned down her requests for diorama models so far. Most seem downright flattered. Plus, she usually figures out which graveyard/crime scene they floated over from and gets her parents to give them a lift back. She'll even help enact terrifying revenge from beyond the grave on whoever put them there if she's not, y'know, busy.

Besides arts, crafts, and pet based funerary arrangements, Sunday is an avid lover of archery (any ranged weapon really), books where little fantasy adventure animals die dramatic deaths, and history. She is That Kid who eagerly raises her hand when asked who Christopher Columbus was and ends up being sent out of class after 15 minutes for making 'a scene'. Her favorite party trick is just picking an item in the room and talking about how it relates to either some obscure historical figure with a buck wild life or a horrible disaster. At least one charity pancake breakfast ended with children in tears after her vivid description of the Great Molasses Flood of 1919.

Social-wise, while Wednesday is the girl that people ask to smile because they think she'd, "look so pretty", Sunday is rarely asked anything at all. People just kind of assume from her quiet nature (in between horrible history facts) that she's angry all the time and that she hates everyone. This is untrue. She hates some people but she's ambivalent to most everyone else and even downright friendly if you bother to talk to her like a person instead of a terrifying cryptid. Like, she IS a terrifying cryptid but she's also a little girl.  

That’s about it for now. One day I might do the other family members but for now I’m happy with the four I’ve redesigned. Making an au! Lurch in a family that doesn’t do butlers could be interesting. Over on patreon I put forth that he could just be Motesha’s mute little brother (similar bone structure) but Amy Crook had the nice idea of quote: “ a mysterious "cousin" that "helps around the house" whose origins are both long in the past and faintly unsettling. He's good for lifting heavy things, like that tank of propane you're about to throw into the burning Piggly Wiggly... “ which i now consider canon. Who's kid is he? How old is he? Not important. Anyone willing to commit arson with you is family.

Annnnyway.  This challenge was a lot of fun! I love indulging in AU’s.

[servantofthefates]

How to Have a Great Self-Esteem

Do not be fooled by the inspirational quotes you see on Instagram or Pinterest. It is not just about rainbows, butterflies and positive thinking. Self-esteem is a very real, tangible thing. You cannot achieve it simply by going within. Having confidence is a big part of it. But it’s not everything.

Step 1: Find your passion.

Because you need a reason to live. If you do not have one, you get depressed. You become lonely. You develop suicidal thoughts. You feel worthless.

And no, going to college, having a job or getting married is not enough. These are goals that society taught us to adopt. What you need is your own personal aim. And you will only discover that once you start living your true passion. Which could be anything, from painting and dancing to spellcasting and tarot reading.

When you have a true goal, you have the will to live. Neither mental illness nor poverty can stop you from chasing it.

Step 2: Look your best.

Body positivity is all well and good in theory. But in reality, body positivity has become a sorry excuse for some people to accept their average self instead of striving for their best self.

In truth, many body positivity champions are simply too lazy to work out, diet and take care of themselves.

You need to ask yourself if you are one of them. Because if you are, there is insecurity inside of you masquerading as self acceptance. And one way or another, that truth will come up to the surface. It will always prevent you from truly loving yourself.

Step 3: Seek material stability.

Hating on rich people and bashing capitalism may be cool and all, but it will not help you pay your bills and buy the things you want.

Success is like a game. Complaining about the rules will not help you win. It will only make you look bitter and stupid, even. Instead, play it. And play as well as you can. Study hard, find a job, start a small online business, sell your art. Or even find a rich romantic partner, if you want — to support you before you can support yourself.

Remember that spirituality is amazing. After all, that is what this blog is all about. But if the gods wanted us to just be spiritual, they would not have made us corporeal.

Step 4: Do not tolerate disrespect.

Respecting yourself means eliminating everyone who does not respect you. 

That means cutting off your toxic friends and breaking up with your abusive lover. If that is easier said than done, ask for help from those who can give it. No one with a healthy self-esteem stays in any abusive relationship. If your parents refuse to give you love, you may not be able to leave them yet, but stop craving their affection and work on yourself while you wait to get out of there.

Same with social media. Block everyone who sends you malicious energy. If that energy is particularly malevolent, avenge yourself by putting a curse on them. Even arguing is not worth your time. Let them drown alone in pathetic jealousy.

Step 5: Never need anyone.

Humans are social creatures with complex emotions. So I do not mean, be a hermit and stay a virgin forever.

What this is, is a culmination of all the previous points. 1) If you know what you want out of this life… 2) If you genuinely feel happy each time you look at your own reflection… 3) If you can financially support yourself in this material world of ours… 4) If you never let anyone walk all over you in any way at all… then and only then are you actually complete.

And when you are complete, it does not matter if a friend betrays you, a lover leaves you, or the world turns its back on you. You will always feel whole at the end of the day. And that is what it truly means to have a great self-esteem.

[faulty-writes]

Thank you so much for writing out my request but if you dont mind it's another one for iida because am a huge fan of him and I just love the way you write for him. But if it's too much can I have some headcannons of reader that can paint really good but has a crush of iida and was keeping it a secret because they paint portraits of him in their spare time. They paint in the art room and leave their pieces because no one goes there but then the class finds the pieces and they try to figure out who has a crush on iida based off the paintings. If its too much you don't have to write this and if you do thank you and have a good day.

[ Oh no need to thank me. I love writing for Tenya, I'm happy he's getting so much attention. A lovestruck artist sounds amazing! ]

It started out as mere curiosity, a way to convert your feelings into works of art. Painting was always a hobby of yours, something you were taught at a young age, and something that was useful to pass the time. Portraits were by far your favorite thing to bring to life, watching a blank canvas turn into a familiar face brought you a sense of joy.

But since coming to the realization that you had developed a crush on another classmate by the name of Tenya Iida, you found yourself painting his likeness. From his perfectly combed hair that hung so delicately in his face to the smooth and perfect curve of his cheekbones, to those deep and mysterious eyes. Everything was painted with detail by the stroke of your brush.

You were always the shy type, never one to be bold when it came to your feelings. Yet, the countless canvases splattered with his image said otherwise. It was almost like your heart was silently crying out to confess your feelings, but you continued to ignore it and simply painted him over and over again.

While Yuuei was filled with countless students, the art room always remained vacant. Even more so after school hours which was the time you often spent painting away. You thought nothing of leaving your paintings to dry overnight as the art room was also empty during the early morning hours where you'd make subtle adjustments and then hide your artwork away.

Once you formed a habit, it was quite hard to break and often took a harsh dose of reality in order to change. Much like many nights, you had left your portraits of Tenya to dry only to come in the next morning to see the entirety of Class A crowding the artroom and observing your paintings. It felt like a violation, and you could barely keep it together when you were bombarded with questions.

You were almost thankful that no one knew of your ability to paint as it saved you from being labeled as a suspect in the mysterious case of the artist who painted Tenya Iida. Yet, Class A seemed relentless in trying to find who admired Tenya so much as to paint several portraits of him. "Perhaps they were merely practicing their artistic talent and picked a student at random," Tenya suggested and you almost wished the rest of his class hadn't blown off his words.

The teachers of Yuuei seemed to get a little suspicious when they found out about the paintings Class A obtained but eventually dismissed the issue due to Tenya's own view on the subject. "I do not believe these paintings though a tad concerning, demonstrate any indication of ill-will. Rest assured, as class president I will find who created these portraits," you knew deep down he desired to meet you, and yet you couldn't bring yourself to admit the truth to him.

The paranoid thoughts began that someone else might claim to be the artist of the portraits and possibly steal Tenya away from you, though you knew he was not yours. The idea of someone else being with the one you desired nearly drove you mad with sadness and jealousy.

The fact that you found yourself without a safe space to paint was beginning to take a toll on you. Without the ability to express your feelings in another form, Tenya's image and voice constantly passed through your mind and at times led you to daydream about your desired future with him.

With Class A's search slowly coming to a halt, you took your chances and decided to set up canvas outside, a little ways from the Height's Alliance buildings. Attempting to paint a landscape instead of Tenya was your last resort to try and break this love curse. Unfortunately, the strokes of your brush wouldn't work, and instead of a work of art, you ended up with splattered lines of green and runny clouds of blue and white.

Despite your artistic hiccup, you once again returned to the art room which looked rather empty without Tenya's painted reflection staring back at you, to place the poorly depicted scenery canvas up to dry. However, unlike your usual routine, you didn't return for the painting the next morning.

A few days passed before you finally decided to retrieve your latest work of art, but you ended up stumbling back when you saw Tenya admiring it. "Forgive me, I didn't mean to intrude. I assume you are the artist who created this? It's rather lovely," at that moment, whether it was bravery or stupidity you ended up muttering you admired painting him the most. Guess not all things are kept secret after all.

[nightwishesworld]

Oh, I have a request! How about the daughters (who love the reader very much) always taking the reader and practically stealing her every time she’s with Alcina? (Cuz we need more daughters and reader interaction 🥲) And maybe to the point of our precious big dommy mommy gettin ya know ya know jealous? ;)) HAHGSHAHAHAHA, that would be hilarious to see. Anyways, hope you’re havin’ a great time~ ✌🏻till next time!

I’m so sorry this took me so long anon! I’ve gotten more requests than I ever thought I would and I’m starting to get behind. This was a really sweet one to put together though- really enjoyed it!

Slight Gore warning for Cassandra! Nothing too detailed but it is referenced. If you don’t like it just skip her

Bela

Being the eldest sibling has made her the most level-headed of the three. After decades of ending squabbles between her younger sisters, she’s discovered the pleasures of retail therapy. 

She takes great joy in popping off to neighboring villages for a few hours perusing the various aromatherapy shops.

And she takes even greater pleasure bringing you along. Dragging you, really. Even if you’re otherwise busy. Sometimes she’ll buy you a few scents or lotions that catch your eye.

She calls it “compensation for being dragged away from Mother,” but really she’s just happy to spoil you

Also loves asking you for literature recommendations. As vast as the castle’s library is, Bela had read through most of the literature over her lifetime

Is absolutely fascinated by modern day novels. 

She takes you on a day-long shopping spree visiting five surrounding villages just blowing through money buying almost every book that peaks her interest

Most of your time together is spent relaxing in the library talking about your novels. 

Eventually you’ve collected enough books to make an entirely new section in the library just for the two of you.

Even when cuddled up with Alcina in the library, there is simply no escaping Bela when she’s looking for recommendations or simply someone to talk to

At the end of the day, you really didn’t mind. You were more than happy to spend time with all the girls and happy they wanted to spend time with you. 

You knew as annoyed as Alcina got when interrupted she found it incredibly sweet that her daughters will go out of their way to be with you

Cassandra (Cassi)

Suffers from middle child syndrome hardcore

She’s a bit too old to understand Bela’s interests, but too old to join Daniela in her delusional fantasies. So naturally, she tries to cling onto you.

At first she tries to convince you to enter the basement with her so she can show you her “Art Gallery,” but Alcina forbade it. So things between you and Cassi went quiet for awhile

Alcina says Cassandra is an artist of some sort and all her work is done in the basement

After about a month of silence Cassandra came barrelling into your private study with some kind of canvas in her hands

“I’m sorry I haven’t been around much, y/n, but I’ve been working really hard on your gift.”

You gush, “oh Cassi, you didn’t have to make me anything. That’s so sweet of you.”

She eagerly flips over the canvas to reveal her painting of a human heart.

It was beautifully detailed, the heart really jumped off the page against the black background...but something was off about it. It took a minute for you to realize it but once you did, you couldn’t stop staring. The heart was painted with blood.

You were lost for words. 

“Well?” Cassi, asked with a broad smile on her face. “Do you like it?”

All you could do at first was nod you head. “Oh Cassandra, its gorgeous. You really made this?”

The girl’s eyes were rapturous. “It’s my favorite hobby! But this particular piece was my first try at observational painting. I hope I did a good job...”

“Are you kidding Cassi? It’s beautiful! I’ve never seen anything like it. Can I hang it on my wall?”

She lunges at you, wrapping you in a suffocating hug. “Thank you, y/n. I made it a heart so you know how much we love having you here with us.”

Tears were starting to prick your eyes. “I love you guys, too.”

You looked up lust long enough to see Alcina walk in your study, roll her eyes and walk right back out.

Daniela (Dani)

Being the youngest Dimitrescu definitely has its advantages and Daniela knows how to use every single one.

Gets away with absolutely everything and anything under the sun. Even things her older sisters could only dream of getting away with and it irritates them to no end.

Daniela is definitely the most daring of the three. Always pushing her boundaries with her mother and will go out of her way to annoy Alcina just for funsies.

Is comfortable (and has) appearing in your bedroom while your, erm...busy with Alcina. Literally grabs you by the arm and swoops you away in a swarm of moths giggling the entire time. You hear Alcina shouting obscenities as you’re taken away.

You’re both thoroughly embarrassed.

Daniela seems to be, just like her mother, very needy. Attention starved if you will. So of course, she’s in need of your presence every hour. Sometimes more. 

And for the dumbest freaking reasons!

“Y/n come quick! Look at the birds in the garden. They’re so pretty!”

You laugh at her excitement “They’re crows, Dani. We see them every day.”

Other times she will drag you to her room and pull out her vast collection of weapons and tell you different stories associated with each one. You loved hearing how passionate Daniela was about her collection.

On a few rare occasions, she even gifted you a set of daggers, or crossbow, or whatever your favorite weapon is.

“You don’t own any y/n, which means you’re vulnerable to attacks. One day I’ll teach you how to use them.”

BONUS: Alcina being absolutely done with her girls not sharing

Late hours of the night are Alcina’s favorite time of day

She gets to relax in bed with you all to herself while shedding away all the stresses from the day. 

More often than not she’ll lazily sip a glass of wine and reread her favorite novel to you while you’re nestled in her lap.

It was the only time of day she knew she had you all to herself

...usually...

One night all three of her daughters barged in your bedroom arguing who you would spend time with first. Alcina tried shouting over them to take control of the situation, but none of them were even paying her attention.

Situations like this call for drastic measures.

Alcina covered your ears and shouted at her girls from the top of her lungs. Once she knew she had their attention she reached over to the nightstand and pulled out a...spray bottle? They were about to laugh at her before she explained that the spray bottle contained holy water.

That scared them enough to make them back up a few steps. Daniela even hisssed at her, baring her fangs like a feral animal.

“I am tired of you three stealing away my y/n and I’ve reached my breaking point. This is the one time of day I’m allowed exclusive time with them and I will not have you getting in the way of that.”

You couldn’t process what was happening before you. Was Alcina really prepared to spray her own daughters with holy water just because she wouldn’t get her cuddles tonight? Really?

Daniela felt bold tonight. “As if you would actually do it. I bet that’s not even holy water.”

Alcina only arched a brow. “Well you’re more than welcome to come see for yourself, Daniela. By all means.”

The redhead was about to do just that until Bela pulled her backwards. “I guess we can wait and see y/n tomorrow. Goodnight, mother. Goodnight, y/n.”

As soon as Alcina knew they were gone she fell back onto the mattress, pulling you with her, peppering you in kisses. 

“Darling,” you ask. “Is that really holy water?”

She chuckles into your neck. “No, it’s not, and they should have known that. If it were I wouldn’t have been able to hold it without it making me feel ill. But they’ll figure that out eventually and once they do they’ll be back.”

“What then?”

“Pelting them with fake silver should do the trick.”

[save-the-villainous-cat]

SORRY IF I SPAM-LIKE YOUR POSTS TOO OFTEN BUT YOUR BLOG BRINGS ME JOY LOL

I hope you have a good day <33

Also I have a snippet idea where the villain (nb) lures hero (female) into an elaborate trap with a super romantic message at the end just to ask her out :)

Thank you for the awesome stories <3

Art wasn’t the heroine’s preference. Not really.

Sure, she liked to look at a painting for a few minutes. But she didn’t need to spend hours at the museum, walk around and gawk at the manifestations of the artist’s intellect or mental illness. She didn’t need to overanalyse a whole painting to figure out that a bird was actually standing for oppression and hatred. Art didn’t have to be complicated.

But this. This was quite the catch.

The art gallery had had this painting in its position for forever. But just recently, one of the employees got an anonymous call about it.

“It’s a fake,” the employee said. “I don’t know how we haven’t noticed it sooner. It’s so stupid. We’ve had it on display for months now.”

“And you called me because…?” the heroine asked. She was chewing on the inside of her cheek. She knew nothing about the painter and even less about the painting itself but now she was staring at it as if it was about to reveal its secrets. Though she didn’t know what exactly she was looking for, she squinted her eyes, making out the details.

“The call I got was addressed to you.” She turned around, staring at the employee as if they were the painting. With one quick glance, she analysed the employee better than the painting in an hour. They seemed nervous, anxious even. Their voice had been shaking ever since the heroine had walked in. Surely, they hadn’t had an encounter with a superhero before.

A call addressed to her. This was personal, then. Her interest piqued, the heroine leaned forward, studying the painting again.

“They didn’t tell us exactly that it was a fake. They just said we should contact you and look over the painting. I found the mistake only an hour ago.”

The employee cleared their throat, their voice still trembling. They stepped forward, right beside the hero. When they pointed at the mistake, they raised a slightly shaking finger.

“Uhm — so the street sign reads Carl Witting Street. The original however suggests no such thing. The real name is Blandford Street. I don’t understand how we didn’t notice that-”

The heroine was quiet for a moment. Carl Witting Street.

Unfortunately, the employee seemed extremely distressed. They were shifting the whole time. The heroine couldn’t concentrate.

“It must’ve gotten replaced very recently. It’s not your fault. Don’t be so hard on yourself.” She turned to the employee shortly and winked, letting a hopefully encouraging smile ghost over her lips. Always the friendly heroine. This was part of her job. A slight blush crawled into the employee’s face.

“I will get the painting for you,” the heroine promised before the employee could force more words.

Exactly seventeen hours later, she was still occupied with researching Carl Witting, the painting and the painter but all she found out was completely unnecessary or simply not useful. She hadn’t slept in twenty-four hours.

There is a difference between being motivated and being obsessed, the villain had said once. At least she could admit that she was obsessed with this painting. Carl Witting had to be the key to all of this. Why else swapping the paintings, addressing it to the hero and change nothing but the street name?

The villain would’ve figured this out within minutes probably. They loved riddles. Maybe this was the villain’s doing, maybe-

The heroine’s eyes widened in shock and she let her pen fall. Of course. Of course. A short lived laugh escaped her mouth.

Carl Witting.

Twirling cat.

It was an anagram. It was the fucking anagram for the small café the hero and villain had agreed on to never ever, under any circumstances, damage during their fights (because it was a cat café, obviously). This was the villain’s doing.

She jumped up, almost forgot to grab her jacket and was in twenty minutes at the café, even though she usually needed half an hour for that walk.

Barely restraining herself, she banged the door open and walked up to one of the baristas, asking for any abnormalities. They seemed confused at best, even asked a coworker who was also not quite sure until finally someone mentioned that it was rather abnormal to reserve table five for the total of two weeks.

There, the heroine found the fancy letter. It looked like one of the notes from elementary school.

You are cute. Do you wanna go out with me?

Yes.

No.

Maybe.