#ILL NEVER GET OVER YOUR ART ITS SIMPLY TOO GOOD

[nostalgebraist]

Imagine that you can still draw, or paint, if you feel like it, and have the tools. That hasn't changed.

And (no, this post isn't about AI, there we go, where was I) all the other newer tools still exist too: Wacom tablets exist, and Adobe Photoshop, and every sort of camera, and so forth. If you have these tools ready at hand, you can just pick them up, and make pictures with them.

And tumblr still exists, and all the rest of the internet with it. And so – if you like – you can use these venues to share the pictures you make with others, easily and immediately, for free.

However, there is also another venue, for sharing pictures.

That is the only thing that is different.

The other venue is... let's say it's a magazine that only prints visual art, and which has an extremely large number of subscribers.

Everyone knows about The Magazine. Most people you know are subscribers.

Before the internet, The Magazine was the main way that visual art got into people's homes (if it wasn't created there in the first place). Your parents speak of The Magazine as though it's just where art lives, as though the notion that there might be art somewhere else has never really crossed their minds.

Much of what appears in The Magazine is, in fact, pretty good. Conversely, much of the truly great art of the recent past made an appearance in The Magazine, at some point, before or after appearing in galleries and/or being reproduced in other ways.

But a lot of it is just... fine. Trendy, competent, workmanlike.

You flip through the pages and mostly you think, yeah, this sure is the sort of thing that gets printed in The Magazine, in the current year. Occasionally you're impressed by something you see there, and even more rarely something moves you, transfixes you.

Much the same could be said of your tumblr dash, of course.

It must be noted, however, that The Magazine has a higher quality floor than your tumblr dash. Everything that appears there looks polished, professional, carefully worked-over. This counts for less than one might think; that professional gloss can do nothing to elevate ill-conceived or simply dull work (and The Magazine does print such things fairly often).

In a gallery, you might encounter mere sketches, or blatantly unfinished paintings (Leonardo left behind plenty of both, after all). But you will never find such things in The Magazine.

The Magazine's cultural and psychological prestige is immense. It holds the popular conception of "art" in its tight, totalizing grip. If you ever pick up a pencil and draw, it will be assumed – by default – that you aspire to eventual publication in The Magazine. If you are not very good, people will tell you to keep at it; maybe someday you will make the grade. If you are good, people will tell you so, and ask you whether you've prepared anything for submission, whether you've sent it, whether you heard back.

It is tremendously inconvenient to appear in The Magazine.

After all, anyone can pick up paper and pencil, but The Magazine only has so many pages per month. So, The Magazine has standards. It is persnickety. It couldn't afford to behave differently.

But even if it could afford to behave differently, it would not want to. For it so happens that The Magazine prides itself on its active role in the production of "art" (meaning, "that which has appeared in The Magazine").

Even if you are one of the "lucky" few who does not receive a simple rejection letter from The Magazine, you will not simply be allowed to put your drawing or painting or what-have-you into The Magazine as it is.

Unmediated transmission of art, straight from artist to viewer, is for lower-class venues ("tumblr.com," "physical reality and its tendency to project images of nearby objects onto the retina," etc). The Magazine has standards, and they have a full staff of not-quite-artist, not-quite-art-critic people who are employed to impose them. If you do not get a rejection letter, what happens instead is that you begin a long and laborious transaction with one or more of these strange middlemen. They will tell you that your work is a good start, but that you really should have put this part over there, or made the symbolism more obvious or less obvious, or "applied your evident talent" to a more socially relevant choice of subject matter, or something of this nature.

Eventually, after a protracted interaction like this, you might succeed! A new, different, quite possibly worse picture – produced by laboriously adjusting your original one (which, being original/unmediated, is of course unprintable by definition) until The Magazine's staff feel satisfied in the relative scope of their role versus yours in the collaborative act that is "art" production – will end up on a page somewhere in the next issue of The Magazine.

And, finally: real art has been produced! You've made it!

You're in The Magazine. And your work ("your"? you don't feel so sure anymore) does look nice, sitting there on one of those oh-so-glossy pages.

It is nice enough that you spend nearly a minute lingering over it, before you go back to tumblr.com, where all the rest of the pictures are.

(And then, on the weekend, you go to a museum, and look at pictures which were being lauded as masterworks centuries before The Magazine was even founded. You could never produce anything like them, you know – and you feel envious of their creators, not so much because of their greater talents, but because no one ever praised them by saying, hey, this stuff is good enough to be in The Magazine!)

But at least your mom and dad will look at your drawings, now, and think: my child is an artist. You were an artist before, too, but it was just amateur stuff. Now it's for real. Professional. In The Magazine.

Professional? Well, The Magazine did pay you a little in the end, as a prize. And there are some people who make their livings this way. They have good, longstanding, hard-won relationships with The Magazine's staff of intermediaries. They are unusual; by sheer force of numbers, only a select few can make a decent and reliable living in this manner.

(Indeed, The Magazine's insistence on imposing its standards is essentially inimical to steady, reproducible money-making for individual artists. You shouldn't feel secure already that they'll print your next picture without delay, before you've even sent it in for assessment – that would mean they are not keeping standards at all, wouldn't it? And so, cultural forces within The Magazine conspire to degrade its value as a potential source of one's livelihood.)

Those who appear regularly in The Magazine have unparalleled reach. As a child, perhaps, they shaped your notion of what an "artist" was; as a child, maybe you wanted to be just like them, when you grew up.

But then you did grow up – and so, you realized that they were employing the tools at hand (pencil, paper) to a very unusual end. Anyone can pick up the tools and draw. But few can make it into The Magazine, and perhaps even fewer than that should want to appear there.

After all, there is something almost shameful about the exercise, isn't it?

The Magazine says: I am the means by art is produced and disseminated. And many people, passively following the ambient culture, unconsciously nod along.

But in fact, The Magazine has no potency in it whatsoever. It is you, and the viewer, who create the work of art and create the experience of experiencing art. You can just draw things. You can just show your drawings to people.

And The Magazine cannot turn an uninspired artist into a genius, or an unskilled artist into a master; it can only trim perceived fat, arrange perceived rough edges into a more agreeable shape, apply gloss and trendiness and "professionalism." But those were never what anyone liked about art to begin with. You don't need them – unless you do, for your own artistic reasons (and your viewers'), and in that case home-made versions will probably do the job well enough.

There is, in fact, not much reason at all to want to appear in The Magazine.

And that, in itself, is a strong argument against the idea.

You ought not to play along in the charade, pretending that the whole laborious exercise has a point after all, if you know that it is in fact pointless. This is a matter of integrity, if nothing else.

Anyway, that's how I feel whenever anyone's like, "so are you gonna try to get this stuff published or what"

[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. 

・゜゜

[not-poignant]

Hi Pia,

I just wanted to say you are an inspiration to me. I'm in my twenties and also struggling with an insane amount of health issues with new ones constantly popping up, which makes me feel like I will never be able to do anything with my life. Except maybe for writing, because I can do that in my bed and I love escaping into fictional worlds.

I don't know much about your life except what you share in the author's notes, but knowing that you're living life out there and writing these amazing stories despite all your health issues gives me hope. Unfortunately I live in the US, so it's easy to fall into a spiral of doom, but maybe I can be like you one day. The choices you make every day to keep pushing forward, keep doing things that make you happy, is what makes me believe that it's possible for me to keep going, too.

Hiya anon,

Health issues suck, don't they? I started my Crappy Pokemon Collection of Chronic Health Issues in my teens but I remember I really started to get concerned in my 20s when it just kept happening. And kept happening. I think there's a sadness/grief and depression and anger that comes with that too, and a fear.

For what it's worth, science comes up with new medications all the time, new discoveries, new breakthroughs. I have started medications that have helped some issues I've had for 25 years, thinking they'd just progressively get worse. And to be fair, some of my issues do progressively get worse, and I do have new chronic illnesses or chronic or stupid health things come up fairly frequently. And as I'm sure you know, maintenance and surveillance and chasing this shit up is its own job and labour that is extremely thankless.

But outside of that, there is a great radical activism in simply being kind to yourself, loving yourself, trying hard not to see yourself as wrong in the world, as still deserving to take up your space, no matter how much that changes over time.

I have loved ones in my life who spend most of their time in their bed (and otherwise in a wheelchair), all in their 40s/50s, all who have rich lives filled with loved ones. That doesn't mean they're not sad sometimes, or not frustrated with an ableist world (especially around how quickly everyone gave up on us), but it does mean when everything feels awful and despair-filled, they have people who love them, they have hobbies and interests (game coding can be done from a bed, art can be, cross-stitch can be, writing can be, and even sometimes chopping fruit and vegetables can be if you have one of those sturdy overbed tables and can trust your hands), they have things that get better and things that get worse, they all think their lives are better now because it does just take time to...learn how to live in a body that does this when you're younger and had different visions for yourself.

I spend a lot of my time in bed. I need to lie down every afternoon for several hours or I'm non-functional in the evenings and that's on my best days. Escaping into fictional worlds is honestly such a blessing, whether it's in writing or movies or TV or anime or manhwa etc.

Sending hugs and solidarity and much love for how things are in the USA right now, especially for ill / disabled folk. There are lot of people fighting the good fight, so please make sure you take the time to rest, even on the good days, when you might be tempted to push past your limits to get everything done.

It took me forever to stop overspending energy on my good days, and I still do it all the the time, lol.

[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.

[sqgeism]

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.

[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

[dawnlune]

I wondered how my cosuin was :D doing about her her boyfriend issue. I checked in and she said he came back around but after we comunicated she got alot of clarity on what was good and bad for her. This made me really really happy. But i acted dumb cus i didnt wanna be like i told you so i knew better. Nah im happy she’s not sad Valentine’s Day should’ve been beautiful for her 😆 shes been dating someone for what 2 years the older the relationship the more romantic and crazy it should be because come on 😭 like isn’t is crazy that you made it so far with someone and if that person is a good person for you you both have this happiness to remember when you met I promise you wouldn’t want to regret anything later that’s why do little at first and build little by little no rushing even if that’s what you want. Any how I told my cousin I was open to listening.

She found out she’s unhappy like she didn’t understand why it took a while to see things and stop putting excuses for someone’s behavior. I was like it’s okay it happens to everybody i promise 99% of people give up on someone whos not good or cant recipicate the same emotions at some point in their life its not the end of the world woman and men go through it player or not a player unless your a monk or church person who cant date for religous reasons or being mentally ill which is not a bad thing those are all part of the 1% ig ... Ngl i predicted this was gonna end rather it be my cosuin than her now ex saying its over 😅😂. No hate though it’s just some people are meant to really show us what love isn’t. He came back around and he spoke on how he was having a hard time he was evwn crying and he didnt even leave his house at all he promised but Mr cool boy was partying on Valentine’s Day and also going out happier than when he was with my cousin for weeks and you can’t tell me it wasn’t easy to say “I’m not ready for a relationship rn but I hope you find the right person.” Rather than ignoring and having a good time with hmm … let me guess there was another girl with him .. Yep I felt it from miles away .. Idk im a fearful avoidant when your single it feels good it feels like nobody can tackle you down your free yk obviously never put yourself out there too much cause then people want to date and thats the last thing you want.

Ive always been scared of love and relationships and closness. Heck i still have issuess with closness its scary but id put this in the very final part of my relationship its not that important to me but communication is still important atleast a text is still important for me to do ik i can be kinda distant in my own world and its scary to feel locked down at times like im not so free and im afarid i cant leave but these are fears that come up its almost a lie i know that im in a safe loving realtionship if i leave im pretty sure ill be back so why create chaos of back and forth behavior that will hurt my person when i can simply ask for space kindly and lovingly so there’s no confusion to my person or worrying cus they are anxious attachment style so they feel scared of your absence like no im not leaving i just need space for me and you need space for you and your art and all those awesome things you want to achieve my presence will only make you slower 😂. But enjoy my solitude doing healthy things and this proves im free frs. If i was being treated badly and those thoughts came up id defiantly would talk to my person and id say we need to break up and think about this dynamic on my end id prob leave for good and say goodbye.. idk ive learned that my energy is pretty valuable everyone should be this way if you have anxious tendencies if you give more than you get this is how you should think all the time people should treat you right if they don’t don’t give too many opportunities to be disrespected and stepped on or ignored people treat you how they feel about you i understand that avoidants yess I also will say the FA as well if those people do not see your value DO NOT FORCE IT try to communicate in a calm manner but belive me when a DA or an FA sees you worthy of a relationship they might not say alot but actions will , trust that changes do occur but it is up to you if you feel valued or treated right cus ive been workingbon my attachment style since last november and worked even more since late Febuary i met pookie in Early March 😊 i think i saw pookies jacket though like when we saw each other face to face i saw the same jacket and a pink blouse ?👚 what an intresting combo 😂 anyways I met pookie when I was already doing some work on my attachment style for some time.

Soooo when you meet someone and they havnt even done any work on That DA OR FA attachment style you will meet a devilish person 🤣 someone who will push you away and bring you back. Someone who hates you because your making them feel and its not what they wanted, someone who has a phantom ex or someone who thinks about the past more than the present. They might even self sabatoge things with you to push you away and then come around asking how you been 😂. Oh believe me every FA or DA in the beginning of this journey can tell you they had NO idea they were a mess I can tell you this is true. Me in 2023 & 2024 😂 i saw my own FA issues and i didnt really know i was a mess i thought i was a quiet boring girl who loved to not care she was aching sometimes cus she remebered her ex bestfriend alot and how things didnt work out she beleived she would never find someone who loved her the same way or that she can feel emotions again but was confused badly like why was i happy without the person but out of the blue I remembered and it kinda hurt a little it was terrible i felt so much one moment and the next i was happy climbing fences to leave school cus I finished my credits before most people and I hung out alone by nature reading / listening to my fav rock bands or going to Burger King for my sandwich. Ps yes i saw the police and i hid away many times 😂.

Yeah I understand myself so much it sucks I didn’t put work in 2023 when I found out cus I read the book (i wa slike idk and i dont care) I would’ve felt better and understood. I feel far from helpless . I never felt understood not to myself not to people around me like how was I so there for people and very kind and the next few weeks I was nowhere to be found 🤣 My ex beatfriend from HS was probably an FA too 😳 she understood me like no one ever did but she was too clingy onto me and it bothered me like she saw me as her big sister and i was like 😬 dont hang onto me why you always trying to get too close its really weird i ditched her many times jumping over the fence or leaving her on the roof tops of the institution i loved the trees the heights on there the view it was warm up there and not too hot ever the trees gave air yeah she ran after me many times and yelled omg are you crazy get down from there but called me late ror texted how i was at times it bugged me like what you want? I need solitude bruhh ... I had like mood swings but i guess it was my truama too i was healing from ptsd and she was going through scary flashes too idk she understood this and said i was able to talk about it but i never did i had flash backs and she saw me and she hugged me and said id be okay she cant judge me at all she knew what i was going through .. Yeah she betrayed me later on but im glad that i was there too when she dranked and i didnt but i understood her too like ik cus i hurt myself or dissociate away my issues so yeah i stayed around when she cried and spoke on how upset she felt i listened and patted her to take naps and id leave poor girl ik how bad our minds can be.. . She told me her stuff I’ll take it to the grave.. I’ve healed so much I could barely believe this 😭 :) proud of myself.. She is no longer in my life she did betray me and shes sorta gone now but i hope she sees her life differntly one day ..

My cousin seemed happy today like even dressed up nice 😄. As she always should though. But she told me she told him to go because she fell out of love. She moved on and all that time he was gone she gave herself freedom to meet new people too like he was doing without letting her know he was gonna be away specially on Valentines day . Like oop 😳 that wasnt me that was all her.. He didnt take it too well he called her a little hoe basically .. why do emotionally unavailable avoidants do that? Like i myself as an avoidant saw offense when i heard my childhood crush was dating and I wasn’t but i left the school right ? But I wasn’t expecting him to move on but it’s not like i was gonna go look for him and tell him to not date and to love me but i did say whatever im good i felt good i worked on more art stuff if gave me motivation to move on but yk how FAs ans DAs function ps he was a DA from my pov 😂 i never said he was anything though but i did find ofense back in 10th grade he also got into drinking and drugs and partying :0 he was shy ans hated people so it was odd at the time. I hear most avoidants ik personally say really mean things out of ofense towards the anxious partners or secure ones when they move on. I also notice later they try doing things to talk or get close to you but in a weird way.. yeah my childhood crush asked friends about me rather than contact me. But never let an avoidant control your happiness. You deserve more ☺️ than emptionally unavilabe people of course that also means work on you ❤️

Like i learned if you cant commit let people go its a big sign for you as an Avoidant that its not the right person for you its okay to see someone as a potentional but the right person will have you more woke doing more and maturing no biggie but let the person go if you don’t feel like growing or doing anything if you feel like that person doesn’t inspire you some how let go. 😁. And my cosuin really said if im a little that , what are you ? a bigger one ? cus you were only playing with peoples emotions at parties while i was genuinely meeting people and getting to know who it is i want to know and date 😂.. WOW 🤯 she said we don’t need time we need to break up and call it an end to this i wish you well though heres your clothes in a suit case dont come to my place anymore and give back my key don’t help pay bills either i got this now . He said yeah cus you had someone else didn’t you? I was like oop he’s showing his own cards now but she said No after you left i was looking at options yes , I didn’t expect you back so soon 😳😂... Mr cool boy left and said whatever idc anymore bye.

she is empowered I LOVE IT . He might come back around 😅 avoidants do that if they lived the honey moon phase with you and they had a year together ? BUT I showed my cousin , explained how our minds work we come and go right and so on I told her the truth and the deal I also explained her own attachment style and how it’s not too much for the right people I promise ur not a burden and ur not asking for too much :D I pushed her to value her energy to love being herself to know herself to give what is also being given to , to ask and not feel bad about it and so on I also encouraged her to look for help or learn about her own attachment style Anxious Preoccupied attachment style on her own even showed her some of my fav attachment style YouTuber licensed people who can explain even better than me. Healing an anxious preoccupied Attachment style is easier & faster than your Avoidant attachment styles :( but the more time given to it for growth in all areas of your life the more you’ll get better at seeing your avoidant behaviors that are the reason why your single , always sad or anxious about everything if your an FA and so on . This guy said things how they are I’m an FA and it’s no offense if someone gets tired of my unhealed mess if I’m not doing anything about it. My persons friend said they wished their avoidant ex was more like me that they came back and changed like me 🤣. I was like 😔 it takes lots of big ego death , big growth stages , big realizations but I said I promise the right person will treat u right 🙂 avoidant or not they will be open to change and getting to know you truly and meeting you in the middle. 🥲 she smiled in a hopless manner I was like I mean if ur friend here found me someone who wasn’t looking I was just wondering in life again like meeting new stores , new cities , new beaches 😂, exploring life rather than relationships and emotions late febuary was me exploring life in a healthy way like idk i wasnt sad but i was feeling lost? Sorta helpless? Idk but it changed. Life is great 😊 take everything decently slow when healing i was scared of my now persons love and my FA tendencies intruded and gpt in the way many times. It still does but im aware and its now less if i ever see lack un growth here with my FA self im going to look for help frs im not about to die as an FA 😂 on day ❤️‍🩹

[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.”

[redpandaramblings]

The Art of Blind Dates. Deku x GN! Reader

This piece was written for @rat-zuki 's the deku agenda escapes no one collab. Happy Birthday to our favorite broccoli.

Content warning- This fic rated PG-13. Aged up characters, Allusions to sexual activity, swearing, gender neutral reader.

“You know, we really have to stop meeting like this.”

You jumped, the spray can you had been using left an unsightly streak of bright red across your masterpiece. You scowled behind your mask as you turned to face the man who had spoken.

“We do. You keep making me mess up my hard work!”

You smirked, pleased with yourself as you saw Deku, the number one pro hero, recoil at the sight of your mask. It had taken a few weeks to convert the All Might mask into an ahegao face, but it was worth it if it horrified your number one pain in the ass. Izuku blinked a few times, sighing and bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He was clearly choosing to ignore your choice of disguise.

“I wouldn’t have to mess with your work if you chose to do things that were, you know, actually legal? You’re talented, Brushstroke. You could get paid to do murals or something instead of…” Deku gestured towards your latest creation. You were rather proud of it. It had taken a good amount of planning to manage to paint a fifty foot tall mural of pro hero Dynamight mooning the city with the bold caption ‘The Hero Commision can kiss my ass.’ It would be perfect if not for the red streak from where Deku had startled you. With a contemplative hum you shook your spray can and quickly turned the offending mark into a cartoonish lipstick print. Midoriya sighed heavily. “I’m standing right here, you know.”

“I know.” You grinned behind your mask. The voice distorter you used did nothing to hide your chipper tone. “I also know you like it. And you can’t tell me Dynamight wouldn’t love it. He literally said that on live interview!”

“Yes, but not with his pants down to his knees.”

You bent over, throwing your cans of spray paint and climbing gear into your duffle bag. It wouldn’t do for your nemesis to get his hands on some of the tools you used. Mei’s stamp was all over it.

“Which is such a shame. The man’s got cake for days.” You chuckled as Deku pulled a face.

He observed you, hands on his hips. “And where do you think you’re going?”

“Away, obviously.” You said as you threw the strap of your dufflebag across you.

“And I’m just going to let you go?”

“Oh no. You’re going to chase me like you always do. And I’m going to escape like I always do. And it’s going to drive you crazy because you can’t figure out how I keep doing it.” You began stretching, exaggerating each movement.

“A teleportation quirk isn’t that hard to figure out.” Izuku began stretching as well, rolling his shoulders and popping joints.

“Guess again.” You sing songed, bouncing on your toes.

“Wouldn’t have to guess if you just told me.”

“But that’s no fun. Unfortunately, I do have to be going. Catch you later, hot stuff!” And with a sprint, you raced to the side of the building and jumped off before activating your quirk.

Time slowed around you. It was like you were hovering in the air instead of falling. Freeze Frame was a quirk you had learned to perfect over the years. Between the quirk and the assorted gadgets in your bag and on your person, it was definitely enough to baffle the number one pro hero. Speaking of, you better work quickly before your quirk wore off and splatted you across the sidewalk.

Freeze Frame was named after what your quirk looked like from the outside. It was as if you teleported, or you had frozen time around you for everyone except yourself. In reality, you were a speedster. When your quirk was active, you were able to move at speeds so fast you were undetectable to others, and to you it seemed like everything was paused in time. You probably could have been a phenomenal hero or villain if you wanted. But currently, it was much more fun to thwart a certain green haired man.

With a press of a button, you deployed a grappling hook, snagging it on the building across the alley. You swung over, keeping a countdown in your head. Would you be lucky enough and have time to…? Yes. There! A balcony door was cracked open slightly. You gracefully landed on the balcony and used the door to slip into what appeared to be someone’s bedroom, thankfully unoccupied at the moment. Taking no chances though, you slip into the closet just as the effects of your quirk wear off. The other reason you had never turned to heroism or villainy- no matter how much you trained, you could only keep your quirk activated for ten seconds at a time. It wasn’t a lot. Plus you could only activate your quirk a couple dozen times a day without getting seriously ill. But it still was usually more than enough to be able to give any law enforcement the slip. Just like now.

Deku curses as he runs to the edge of the roof. You’re nowhere to be seen. “Brushstroke! Get back here, you damn brat!” He shouted, running a hand through his hair in frustration. One of these days he was going to figure out your quirk and how to counteract it. And when that day comes he was going to take you over his knee and… No. He shook his head, blushing to clear his thoughts. What to do with you. Well, he wasn’t sure yet. You weren’t a villain, really. More of a public nuisance. The murals you did showed a lot of talent and a good chunk of the population agreed with the social commentary behind them. But that didn’t change that you had painted ten foot tall asscheeks on a building without permission. And, technically, it was within his job description to apprehend you. “Brushstroke!” Deku called again as he made his way down to the ground. There was no sign of you anywhere. Invisibility quirk maybe? Though it would be unusual if you could turn all the stuff you had been wearing and carrying invisible as well.

Meanwhile, as Izuku was getting lost in thought, you were getting naked. You stripped out of your gear and paint covered smock, moving as quickly as you dared while still remaining quiet in your hidden location. Just because the bedroom had been empty doesn’t mean the rest of the place was, after all. You shoved everything into your dufflebag, pulling out a clean set of clothing from a zippered pocket. Getting changed was a simple affair, as was ruffling your hair, messily getting it to look like a different style. One of your favorite tricks happened when you pushed a hidden button on the edge of your duffle bag. The previously dull gray bag quickly morphed into a loud riot of tye dyed color. Chameleon bags, Hatsume called them. Still in a prototype stage, your friend and employer would probably make a mint on them if you put them on the market. After a final brush off and deciding you looked acceptably civilian, you peeked out the closet door. The bedroom was still empty. You crept out slowly. The balcony wasn’t a feasible exit anymore. Not without the gear you had had to store away. You were going to have to sneak out the front door. You activated your quirk, feeling a little queasy at having to use it again so quickly in succession. It was simple to race through the apartment and out into the hall within your short time limit. In fact, with your speed, you were easily able to exit the entire apartment complex. You still had a few seconds to spare when you shot out the door. You grinned at seeing the number one pro hero standing in the middle of the street. You knew you shouldn’t do what you were thinking. Instead you should use your last few spare seconds to put some distance between yourself and the large, green haired man. Instead, you quickly dug around in your bag and found your tube of lipstick. You applied a nice thick coat as you waltzed up to him. With a giggle, you planted a firm smacking kiss on his cheek, leaving behind a clear and perfect lip print. With a grin, you hurried back to the apartment complex. It was easy to make it seem like you were just coming out of the door as time snapped back to its proper speed. You watched, hiding your smirk as you observed the clearly frustrated hero scanning the crowds for any sign of you. His eyes passed right over you, barely giving you a glance. You almost felt hurt that he thought your normal look was that unremarkable. But that was the point, after all. As Deku continued to call out for your pseudonym, you turned and walked away, blending into the crowd. You were almost out of earshot when you heard a loud cursing exclamation that would have been more in character for a certain blond hero. You bite your knuckle to muffle your laughter. Someone had informed Deku of the lipstick mark.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You sipped from a bottle of water as you watched Mei work her magic. It was strangely relaxing to watch her in her element. Though it seemed chaotic the first few times you had witnessed your friend work, there was a clear method to the madness if you just knew where to look. And you knew exactly where to look now that you had been working with her for the past three years. You were simply listed as one of her assistants. Most days that involved a random jumble of cleaning, paperwork, schedule management, and coffee making. The real reason Hatsume loved having you around however, was days like this.

“Okay! Set!” She chirped happily. “You good to go now?”

You nodded as you slid down, and walked into the testing area. “Remind me what I’m looking for again?”

“Well, obviously the usual. Make sure it’s not lethal, of course. And then I want to make sure the grid is deploying at the right time. Should be about a quarter second after detonation.”

“As long as everything looks good, want me to be full blown dummy this time?”

Hatsume tilted her head, and considered a moment before nodding. “Yeah, should be fine. Have the explosive levels where they should be. If anything messes up it’s going to be the grid deploying too soon or too late and not restraining you right.”

You gave her a thumbs up as you got into position. She counted down, though that didn’t matter much to you, honestly. One of the best perks of your quirk was that it gave you insane reflexes. You waited until the moment you saw the detonation begin to happen and activated your quirk.

As usual, it felt like time slowed to a crawl around you. Hollywood directors would give a kidney to have access to the detailed slow motion you could experience every day for free. You walked around the device, looking it over. It was meant to be a capture aid for pro hero Cellophane, a small explosive that would shoot nets of tape in all directions. It had to be safe and effective. Better to have a few civilians stuck to the walls than to risk letting a villain escape, after all. You peered into the explosion that was slowly rippling outward. Everything looked good so far… Yep, there were the grids starting to deploy. Sure that everything was safe, you deactivated your quirk and instantly were thrown backward and stuck to a padded wall of the testing room.

“Looked great!” You called as Hatsume entered the room. “I think you’ve finally got it!”

While she cheered and began praising her baby for performing so well, you tried wiggling. No luck. You were stuck rather firmly. Apparently she had upped the strength of the adhesive. After a minute, Hatsume finally noticed your struggles.

“Oh good!” She chirped. “Looks like the new formula is holding up nicely. I mean, I still need to test it out against, like strength and fire quirks, but looking good so far.”

“Little help, please?” You ask, giving her a look.

“Maybe in a bit.” She said, turning her back and leaving you there, pinned. “Want to test how long it holds. Besides, I have some questions about your last escapade and how my babies held up.”

You let out a resigned sigh. Of course. Your friend had found out about your after hours hobby about a year and a half ago. Instead of discouraging you, it hadn’t surprised you that much when she blackmailed you. She wouldn’t tell the police or heroes…. If you used some of her experimental babies on your future excursions. You had been dubious. Hatsume’s babies could be a little dangerous in the prototype stage. But it ended up working great! Your pieces went from small tagging jobs to huge fifty foot murals. Though that had caught the attention of a few public figures, including a certain green haired pain in your ass.

“I didn’t use anything directly against Deku this time.” You sighed, going limp to test if the tape would hold your weight. It did. “Grappling hook works great. The painter drones are okay for filling in large areas, but aren’t able to do clean lines well. The gecko boots continue to be amazing, but the gloves need a lot of work. The control for when they release still isn’t great.”

Hatsume nodded, quickly making notes about everything you said. There was a bit of a quick back and forth where she asked questions and you answered. Though ten minutes passed and you were still stuck to the wall. She eventually sets her notes aside and turns to face you fully. “So,” she drawls. “You saw Deku again.”

“I always see Deku nowadays!” You groan. “I swear Mei, if I find out you’re tipping him off or something...”

“Aww, come on! He’s nice! Would you rather be dealing with Dynamight?”

You frowned, not meeting her gaze. “I mean, the variety might be nice?”

“You like that with the help of my babies you’re able to out fox the number one pro hero, admit it!”

“It might be a little satisfying,” you mutter.

“And it doesn’t hurt that he’s hot either! Heard you two get all flirty during chases. The tabloids loved the kiss mark, by the way. Enjoy finally kissing him?”

“Hatsume!” you groan. “Subject change, please! Anything else!”

“Anything?” she grins at you.

“Oh god, I’m going to regret this.”

“It’s not that bad, I promise! Just, would you be interested in a blind date?”

You blink. “A date?”

“Yeah! One of my friends from school has a lot of trouble meeting people organically. You know how the industry is. Ridiculous schedules, maintaining reputation, trying to make sure they like you for you and aren’t just a fan.”

“Yeah… I guess I can understand that.”

“Well, I just think you and him would be a great fit! He’s a huge nerd in a lot of the same ways you are, but a real good guy once you get past the awkward. Plus,” Hatsume dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper “I happen to know for a fact that he’s a fan of Brushstroke’s work.”

You sighed, rolling your eyes. “You know it’s extortion to try to get me to agree when you have me literally taped to a wall.”

“I know!” Hatsume chirped happily. “So are you going to agree? I made the adhesive pretty strong this time. Who knows how long it would take to wear off on it’s own?”

“Bitch!” You can’t help laughing. “Alright, alright, I’ll go. Just get me down from here!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You fidgeted with the ring you were wearing as you stared at the building in front of you. Maybe it wasn’t too late to bail? You don’t know exactly what you had been expecting when Hatsume had told you about the somewhat shy, nerdy man she had set you up with, but you hadn’t expected him to choose the fanciest restaurant in town as your date location. You were wearing your best and still felt underdressed. Well, if the date was a disaster, at least you knew what building you were going to spray paint next. The glistening white exterior would make for a great canvas. You chuckled quietly at your own thoughts.

Squaring your shoulders, you took a deep breath and marched in. You could do this. You were an infamous tagger. You faced off against the number one pro hero regularly. Your day job was working with Hatsume. You’ve got this. With an air of newfound confidence, you gave your name to the maitre d. It was a surprise when you were led through the restaurant to one of their private curtained rooms. This guy you���d been set up with was apparently going all out. Maybe you were going to like him after all, you thought as you were ushered in. Then you looked up.

Fuck.

Standing to greet you with a stupidly flustered look on his damn stupid handsome face was your nemisis. The number one thorn in your proverbial side. The giant broccoli himself.

That BITCH had set you up with Izuku Midoriya!

You froze. In the back of your mind you were aware that your mouth was hanging open. The green haired man shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Hi,” he said quietly, scratching the back of his head.

You continued to stare.

He cleared his throat, glancing to the side. “Sorry about the secrecy, but I think it’s understandable.”

You nodded weakly.

Izuku bit his lip. You realized with a start that he might be even more nervous than you are. As much as you planned to murder Hatsume later, this wasn’t Midoriya’s fault. You could get through this date at least. Eat some expensive food, drink the best wines, make some meaningless conversation, say your goodbyes, and then go home to plot the demise of your former best friend. Long, slow painful demise. Good thing about being an artist, you had lots of traps, so clean up should be easy. Looking at the worried expression on Izuku’s face, you realize with a start that you still haven’t actually said anything to him. You open your mouth to offer some sort of generic greeting. But what comes out is-

“I’m going to fucking murder Mei!”

Izuku blinks. Blinks again. Then he starts laughing loudly. He leans one hand on the table as he cackles. You stare before starting to chuckle yourself. Soon you’re both wheezing with laughter. You both slump into your seats, trying to collect yourselves. Midoriya speaks first.

“Yeah, I… I get that. I’d think that’s a common emotion when hanging around Hatsume.”

You can’t help your smile. “Only at least half of the time. But that’s what makes it fun. No one else like her.”

“That’s for sure.” Izuku leaned back in his seat, looking you over like he’s studying you. “So, I suppose we should actually introduce ourselves. I’m Izuku Midoriya. I do hero work.”

You laugh. “Y/N Y/L/N. I work for Mei and freelance art when I can.”

“Art, huh? What kind of stuff do you do?”

You’re briefly interrupted by the arrival of the first course. After the waiter leaves, Deku apologies. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to order for you, but this is one of those places where you pay them and they tell you what you’re going to eat.”

“It’s fine.” You say as you stare at the delicate wisp of some sort of thinly shaved vegetable with a dollop of strangely colored foam on top.

“You were saying what kind of art you do?” Deku cautiously was poking at the tiny fancy appetizer.

“A few different things really, but my passion is mural work. Latest job was in a maid cafe. They wanted something cute and floral, but they let me do what I wanted within that theme.”

The night continued on and was surprisingly easy. The food was delicious, the wine was better, and you were pleasantly surprised by the company. Maybe it was the wine softening you up, but as you looked across the table where Izuku was animatedly talking about how influential All Might’s example had been for him, you admitted to yourself that the green haired man was very handsome. And funny. And interesting. And you were trying very hard not to think about the way Midoriya’s large scarred hand wrapped around the delicate wine glass. It was a surprise when the final course was finished and Izuku was quietly taking care of the bill. He escorted you out of the building and you both stood awkwardly outside. Deku cleared his throat.

“If it’s not presuming too much, I’m not quite ready for tonight to end. Is it alright if I walk you home?”

“I’d like that. Like that a lot, actually.”

He smiled at you, and it was like the sun. You walked and talked animatedly. The conversation was so easy and fun, and a little flirty. Somewhere along the way your hands brushed together and holding hands became the most natural thing in the world. Time flew by as you walked together, your true destination long forgotten. You were only brought back to reality when out of the corner of your eye you saw a massive mural of pro hero asscheeks. When Izuku saw what you were looking at, he groaned.

“Could you please not check out my friend’s ass while we’re on a date?” He joked, gently elbowing your ribs. You laughed.

“I mean, you can’t blame me. It’s hard to miss.” You made a mental note to tell Mei that her paint formula was holding up beautifully.

“It’s a little embarrassing. Brushstroke is talented and all, but every mural is a time I couldn’t catch them.”

Maybe it was the wine still buzzing through your system. Maybe it was the thrill of it. Maybe you just wanted to see those beautiful green eyes widen. But you couldn’t help the next words out of your mouth.

“Well you might have an easier time if you ever actually figured my quirk out.”

“Yeah I…” He stopped. Stared. “You…” He stared harder, pulling away slightly as he looked your figure up and down. “You!!!”

“Surprise?” You laughed, and grinned at him. He was always so handsome when he was angry. You weren’t scared at all as he hauled you close.

“Do you have any idea how infuriating you are?”

“Pretty good idea, actually.”

“You’ve been leading me on goose chases for months!”

You grinned “Yes, will be our anniversary soon.”

Izuku groaned as he wrapped his arms around your waste. “You irredeemable brat!”

You would have replied, but in the next second he was fiercely smashing his mouth against yours. The kiss started harsh and desperate. The results of months of teasing and flirting. It gentled as the two of you stood there in the night, soft and sweet and full of affection the two of you had yet to put into words. The thought occurred to you that you’d have to thank Mei later. Your eyes opened as the two of you pulled away for breath. You started giggling almost immediately. Izuku pressed his forehead against yours.

“What’s so funny, darling?”

You smirked. “I never thought we’d have our first kiss while being mooned by Dynamight.”

Izuku groaned loudly before sweeping you up into his arms. You squawked and clung to him.

“That’s it.” He rumbled. “I’m going to spank you when I get you home, you fucking brat.”

“Promise?” you giggled.

You didn’t mind in the least when he shut you up with another kiss.

[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?

[missymurphy1985]

The Lesson

After breaking up with your long-term boyfriend, you finally found the courage to enrol at university, studying Modern Theatre. Your life now taking an unexpected detour to its original plan of marriage, babies, settling down. This is going to be an interesting year.

Tag List (message me to be added): @queenshelby @peakyscillian @ntmynouis @margoo0 @cloudofdisney

Warnings - smut / teacher.student relationship

Main Characters - Cillian Murphy (he's 35 and single for the purpose of this fic, no children)

"Hey!!! Over here!!" You heard Sarah, your best friend, shouting from the other side of the hall and made your way over.

"Thank god, I was starting to think I'd gone to the wrong place! This place is huge!!" You laughed as you hugged each other. Your bag slung over your shoulder, you linked arms with Sarah with your other arm as you made your way down to the Lecture Theatre.

"So how are you feeling?" Sarah asked.

"Nervous! I never, in a million years, thought I'd be doing this! I feel so old!" You laughed. At 26, you were easily the oldest student here, but Sarah laughed your worries away.

"Trust me, you're not. Once they revealed who the teacher was going to be this semester, a fair few extra people signed up to do that course y/n!" You looked at her confused.

"What, Mr Allen?? He's about 75 isn't he?" Sarah laughed again and left you at the door to your classroom, making her way to her own Design Studio at the bottom of the corridor to teach her own class.

"You'll see when you get inside!" She called behind her, smiling.

You took your seats near the front of the room, looking behind you you could see a gaggle of ladies in the back corner, all of them easily over the age of 40 with no clear interest at all in the subject at hand. They were all giggling like children.. this was going to be fun, you thought, rolling your eyes. Turning back round, you caught a glimpse of a dark haired man making his way through the door at the back of the room. As he made his way to the desk in the centre of the stage area in front of the students, you couldn't help but gasp a little. Jesus he was cute....

The ladies at the back squealed in delight and the man rolled his eyes.

"Right then, let's make a few things clear from the off shall we folks?" He spoke, his Irish accent booming through the auditorium. Everyone fell silent.

"I have a passion for the arts - I've been involved with them since I was 19. I'm here to teach you all I've learned over the last 16years and I plan on teaching it to like minded, dedicated people. People who want to make a career out of the beauty that is theatre. Those of you here simply to catch a glimpse of anything OTHER than a teacher doing his job, the doors at the back of the room." He stood still, leaning against the desk. The gasp at the back of the room was so loud, you couldn't help but giggle a little. Busted ladies. They all whispered to each other, a few of them glaring in the man's direction as they made their way to the back of the room. Slowly but surely, a few others also left sheepishly, men included, and you couldn't help but notice the man smiling a little underneath his floppy brown hair and round glasses. Who was this man??

"Now that's taken care of, I'm hoping I'm left with students that are here to learn the theatre and nothing else..." He paused, looking round the room. His eyes met yours and he paused for a second, raising his eyebrow slightly. You were now the oldest in the room, and you felt even more out of place. You kept a straight face, and maintained the eye contact with him. He wasn't bullying YOU out of here, you didn't care who he THOUGHT he was.

"Right... Well we'd better get going then!" His demeanour changed, he smiled broadly clapping his hands together. "My name's Cillian Murphy - please for the love of God call me Cillian... Mr Murphy is my Dad and I'm not quite ready for that level of old yet." A few chuckles in the room - that tension was gone. "This isn't the first time I've done a class like this, and I've had to evict people part way through for.. ah.. shall we say inappropriate behaviour. Wanted to nip that in the bud from the offset, so I apologise to you all now for the way the class started. Now, do you all have the textbooks the school sent out last month? Let's start on page 35 shall we?" The class, including you, opened the books in unison to find the chapter on Lighting and Sound. Cillian glanced back over at you, a look of uncertainty on his face. You could feel him staring, but refused to look up at him.

"So how are your classes going y/n?" Your mum walked into your apartment to find you studying, book one side, laptop the other and you making notes in the middle of your desk in the corner of the room. You'd given her a key a month prior so she could let your dog, Juno, out during the day while you were at uni.

"It's hard work! I had no idea there was so much to learn about the theatre, they make it look so easy!!"

Your mum laughed and went to the kitchen to put the kettle on for you both. Kicking back, you allowed yourself a break after 3 hours studying and met your mum at the small breakfast bar.

"I hear you have a new teacher too? Cillian Murphy?"

"Yeah, he's amazing! He's been there and done it all mum, the stories he tells are fascinating!"

"You know who he is, right?" You did know. You'd googled him when you got home after that first lesson. Pretty big hot shot actor, but you weren't bothered. He seemed pretty down to earth and normal to you.

"Yep I know - you'd never think it though, he's so... Normal I guess?"

"Cute too."

"Mother! Behave!" You both giggled. You couldn't deny he was very attractive though - but you could tell he was a professional. No way had he even looked at you that way - in fact you were convinced he thought you were there purely for him, rather than the course, so you were even more determined to pass this semester with flying colours to prove a point.

The following weeks were filled with more information than you could get your head around. You hated to admit it, but you were struggling to keep up. You hated admitting defeat, but you were really starting to wonder if you could carry on at this pace. Your work was starting to slip, and Cillian had noticed it too, much to your dismay. He'd called a 1-2-1 with you this afternoon, and you were convinced he was going to pull you from the course. You knocked on the door of his office, the defeat written all over your face.

"Come in y/n.."

"Hi.." you tried to smile as you sat across from him. He had your latest piece of coursework in front of him on the desk and he was leaning back in the chair, eyeing you through the rims of his round glasses. Standing up, he made his was over to the drinks cabinet in the corner of the room and pulled out a bottle of Irish Whiskey. You watched him, silently, as he put two glasses on the desk.

"Shouldn't be drinking this during the day, but felt the need. Want one?" You smiled, nodding your head.

"Conversation is clearly not going to be a fun one, no?"

"What makes you say that? I'm just lightening the mood y/n, you walked in here looking like you were going to either cry or knock me out!" He laughed, and offered you the glass. You took it, and sat it in your hands. Your fingers connected and you forced down a gasp at the contact. You'd refused to show him any kind of attraction but it was difficult while he was sat so close to you.

"Listen, I know I'm falling behind Cillian, I'll make it up I promise -"

"Stop. It's okay. Yes, your marks are dropping slightly, but not by much, okay? I'm seeing real potential in you. I invited you here to talk to you about some extra classes to help bump you back to where you need to be. What do you say?" He took a sip of the whiskey and so did you. Relief washing through you as the warm liquid fell down your throat. Hopefully it hid the blush in your cheeks.

"Um.. wow... Okay.. yeah! That'd be great, thank you!" He smiled again. God that smile... Stop it y/n.. he's your teacher, stop.. he sat back down at his desk and handed you a book.

"Great! I've put my phone number on the inside cover. Have a read of this, and call me when you're done. I think you'll like it." You took the book and smiled. A history of Modern Theatre. You agreed, definitely an interesting read.

"Is it classed as 'appropriate' for a teacher to give a student his phone number, Cillian?" You smirked, referring to his opening outburst on that first day. He chuckled.

"Maybe not, but I'm not a teacher, I'm an actor helping out the local university for a semester while the actual teacher takes a leave of absence." You'd heard Mr Allen had fallen ill, Cillian was just a temporary stand in for three months. Nothing permanent. "I have a new job starting in January, I'll be done here by Christmas." You couldn't help but feel a bit sad at the thought of him not being around anymore. Without admitting it, you'd looked forward to seeing him every day in class. He stood again, and raised his glass in a toast. You raised yours.

"What are we drinking to?"

"You. We're drinking to you y/n. I'm telling you, I'm seeing some real potential with you - you're going far, just need to focus more on the content, that's all." You blushed again.. was that the reason you were distracted? Him? Maybe. "Meet me back here tonight, around 4:30? Should be done with marking by then, we can make a start?" You agreed, a nervous knot forming in your stomach.

**************************************

You'd been having your 1-2-1 meetings with Cillian for more than a month now, and your marks were certainly improving. You had finished the book he gave you, but you hadn't plucked up the courage to text him yet. Watching TV alone in your apartment one evening, you downed your third glass of wine and picked up your phone. He wouldn't have given you the number if he didn't expect you to use it, come on y/n...

"Hey Cillian? Just letting you know I finished the book. Really good read, thank you! I'll have it back with you in the morning. And thank you for spending time with me helping to improve my marks too, it's really helped. Y/n x" pressing send, you cursed yourself, why the hell did you put a X at the end!!! You cursed again when it was delivered... Then again when its status changed to 'read'... Oh crap... A reply.

"Glad you liked it! It's been a pleasure, you're doing a great job! Cx." He put one on his text too... Come on y/n, you're not a teenager anymore, get a grip of yourself!!! Your phone pinged again.

"Looking forward to seeing you tomorrow xx" 2 kisses? Ping.. "Maybe we can finish more than your coursework.x" What did that mean? Was he flirting with you?

"What did you have in mind? X"

"There's still half a bottle of whiskey in the cupboard, shame to let it go to waste X"

"I don't think you'd be able to keep up with me Cillian 😉" you typed, feeling a bit braver.

"Challenge accepted y/n. I'll see you tomorrow afternoon X" you knew his stint at the university was coming to a close, was he flirting with you?

****************************************

You knocked Cillian's office door at 4:30 sharp, knowing how much of a stickler he was for punctuality. You felt nervous, after your texts last night you didn't know what to expect - was he flirting or were you just overthinking it? The door opened, and he stood aside to welcome you in, a smile on his face as he greeted you.

"Good to see you y/n, come on in!" He walked to the cabinet in the corner. "I never turn down a challenge, you in?" You smiled, nodding, as he poured two glasses.

"Good job I left the car at home this morning," you chuckled as he brought his glass to meet yours. Both of you sinking it down in one, you grimaced as the liquid slipped down your throat and he took the glass from you to pour another.

"We'll take this one a bit slower y/n, what do you say?" His eyes darkened slightly, the alcohol clearly having an effect. You couldn't help the warm feeling running through your groin as he licked his lips to clear them of the whiskey remnants that sat on them.

"Whatever you say sir.." he glanced up at you as you said 'sir', and leaned against the desk.

"Sir? Since when did you call me sir?" He tilted his head back slightly, glass swirling in his hand. You sipped your drink and stood to face him, confidence growing. You could see his attraction towards you, and you decided to go with it.

"Since you decided to try and seduce your student... Sir." He swallowed hard, the game clearly up, watching you take a step towards him. Your bodies inches apart, he brought his hand up to rest on your hip, pulling you that little bit closer.

"Probably shouldn't have put kisses on a text to your teacher, then, should you.."

"Probably shouldn't have given me your phone number then, should you.." the air was hot now, your bodies touching gently, your breathing becoming deeper. You brought your hands to his chest, over his shoulders, and he quickly spun you round so you were now sat on his desk. His lips found yours and he ground his hips against your core, your legs parted allowing him access, skirt hitched up to your waist.

"I've wanted you since that first day... Fuck y/n you're beautiful... Sexy... Smart..." He kissed your neck between each word, breathing becoming hot and heavy. Suddenly stopping, he kissed your lips before making his way to the door, turning the key in the lock, before coming back to finish what you started. Unbuttoning your blouse and opening it, his hand snaked around your breasts, underneath the black lace bra. Groaning slightly, he moved his hands lower, down your abdomen.

"Leave as much on as possible... I'm taking you on this desk, right now.. you okay with that?"

"Like I said sir, I don't know if you'll be able to keep up with me.." your leg pushed him away slightly as you stood up, pushing him against the wall. You sank to your knees, taking his trousers and boxer shorts down with them, his cock springing up, twitching, begging for attention. Gasping, he watched you lick a circle around the swollen head, down the shaft, before taking one of his balls into your mouth and sucking lightly. His hand in your hair now, pulling it gently as he groaned. You continued teasing him with your tongue, before taking the tip of his cock into your mouth, giving it a hard suck, releasing it with a pop, sending his head back against the wall.

"Fuck... Take it y/n.. take it down..." You smiled, before sinking your mouth over his cock, all the way down the back of your throat, groaning into it sending shockwaves through him.

"Lets see how much you can take..." You sucked harder, not giving him time to react. Moving your head quickly up and down his shaft, you felt your core begin to leak, you'd never felt as turned on in your life as you did right now. You felt his legs start to shake...

"Yes.. fuck yes... Feels so good baby... Suck it... Harder.. god fuck yes..." His balls tightened, you could feel him trying to pull back but you held him firm with your hands on his hips, willing him to empty into you. "I'm gonna... You might... Jesus.... Fuck...." He came hard, gripping your hair for support as he came hard, you felt his cum shoot in the back of your throat and swallowed as much as you could, some of it spilling down your chin. You pulled your mouth away, holding your mouth slightly open so he could see his cum on your tongue before swallowing it back down.

"That was... My god... Fuck y/n..."

"Oh you will sir, you definitely will. I'm not done with you yet.." you stood up and sat back on the desk, legs parted again to reveal your core to him, completely bare. He didn't see you remove your underwear while you were sucking him, but he wasn't complaining. Gathering himself, he moved to stand between your legs and pulled your lips to his, kissing you passionately, tasting a little of himself in the process and feeling surprisingly aroused from it. He moved his mouth down to your core, running his tongue along your open slot painfully slowly.

"Cillian... Please... Need to cum...."

"You will, baby, oh you will..." You moved your hands to his soft, floppy hair and pulled his face where you needed it. He loved you taking control and took your clit with his tongue, pressing it, rolling it around his tongue as he felt you begin to shake. You lifted a leg onto the desk to give him better access, and he inserted two fingers inside you, tipping them up to meet your g spot deep inside, emitting a sharp cry from you as you three your head back.

"Yes!!! Oh god yes... Right there... Fuck!!" Your hips were involuntarily rolling against his face now, riding his tongue as he brought you more pleasure than you thought was possible. Within minutes, your orgasm was building, and sensing it, he pumped his fingers harder against that one spot that was making you see stars. Three pumps and you came hard against his face, liquid flowing from you like a waterfall, hitting the floor underneath you as you screamed Cillians name. He leaned back on his ankles, watching you coming undone, smiling. Once you'd caught your breath, your eyes fell onto his his.

"Feeling proud of yourself there Mr Murphy?" You smiled. He stood between your thighs again.

"Extremely. But I'm not done with you yet. Turn around y/n." His blue eyes darker now. Your core throbbed, knowing what was coming. Standing up, turning round, you bent over his desk, his hands parting your legs. Taking a condom from his bag behind him, you heard the packet rip open and you rotated your hips, teasing him. He groaned deeply as he started to push his length into you, inch by inch.

"Ohh... Oh god..." You weren't ready for his size, you legs parting as much as possible. Inch by inch he pushed, allowing you to adjust, before bottoming out, his balls resting near your still throbbing clit.

"I'm gonna fuck you hard against this desk, y/n... You're gonna take every thrust like the good girl you are..." You bucked your hips up and he responded by pulling his cock nearly out, and thrusting back in powerfully enough to make you scream his name. Picking up the pace, he leaned over to grab your hair in his hand, giving it a sharp tug as he thrust into you from behind over and over, relentlessly.

"Harder... Cillian harder!!! Fucking... Oh god yes!!!" Loving the sound of your cries and the feel of your pussy contracting around his cock, he knew you were close to another orgasm.

"Rub yourself... Rub your clit baby, make yourself cum for me..." You reached a hand round to your core and found that bundle of nerves. Circling it hard, your orgasm built up again and you swore you saw stars.

"Good girl.... That's it baby... Let it go, I've got you... Let it go...." That was all you needed to hear. You came hard, and he couldn't hold back once he felt your walls contracting round him. "I'm... Oh y/n yes... Yes!" He stilled, you felt his cock pulsate, filling the condom. Both of you breathless, he fell forwards resting against your back.

He pulled out gently, pulling the condom off and disposing of it in the bin, he chuckled slightly.

"Remind me to empty the bin before we leave... I don't think the cleaner will expect to see that in there in the morning!" You laughed too, standing up to face him.

"That was incredible... Just amazing..." You rested your head against his shoulder as he wrapped his arms around your waist, kissing your hair gently.

"I enjoyed that too y/n.. and I'd really like to see you again, if you'll let me?"

"I'd like that..." You smiled. You'd convinced yourself if anything happened it would probably be a one time thing, I mean he was a famous actor, what would he want with you? You had no illusions going into this.

"My teaching finishes here in 2 weeks - what do you say I take you out for dinner when it's done?"

"Sounds like a plan Cillian. But am I supposed to stay away until then?"

"Definitely not, y/n, we've still got a few 1-2-1 sessions to squeeze in before I leave..." He leaned down to kiss you, pushing you back against the desk again. His erection pressing against your core again. "It would appear I'm able to keep up after all y/n..."

[extravalgant]

concept: the wizards' cards have textures based on their effects and how often the card is used, like literal playing cards that get worn over time. i know i shared this in the discord but i wanna see how u interpet it with art bc i cant art

AW THANK U FOR COMING TO ME LEAH im flattered u want to see my artistic interpretations omg

I REALLY LIKED THAT IDEA YOU PUT IN THE DISCORD... i never thought that the cards would get worn down over time through heavy use . ITS SUCH A GOOD IDEAAA most of your ideas are so good<33

that being sad i thought about it more in school while i was waiting for a friend to finish up in class and heres what i got

— i feel as if novice decks + cards have a sort of "block" on them - that means there is a spell that prevents newer wizards from putting too much magic into their spells and tiring themselves out quicker. the magic is more stilted, which is why some may fizzle more over others. but they are made specifically for new trainees in mind, so more experienced wizards dont use them.

(i hope the explanation makes sense....)

ANYWAYS . ill do it by groupings so elemental school is up

— i feel as if pyromancers are more prone to burning their cards and decks to a crisp - hence the charred edges around their cards. falmea has to teach novice pyromancers about fire safety and how to safely put out a fire caused by magic (rather than fire caused naturally, imo i think they're two different things)

— as they steadily grow more confident in keeping their flame up and consistent, these types of accidents will stop, and they would stop burning their cards too. however, i think that the charred edges remain simply because it's fire and you're going to expect it to get burned either way. but now there's a more smokey quality to the way that it smells and looks.

also. i think the words and appearance would also get smudged and disappear over time, so they would probably have to rely on their memory or the way that the card feels (or even cast it) to see which one it is.

— ALSO i think all spell cards all look the same, but the corners are marked with the schools colors<3 i think it looks cool

— for thaumaturges i feel as if they would always freeze their cards so that they would be unusable in battle - the magic cant really flow into a spell card when the card itself is just basically a chunk of ice omg

for this, i feel like greyrose would cross some classes with falmea - she teaches the pyromancers how to relax the grip on their flame, and falmea would teach the thaumaturges how to allow themselves to relax, flow out of their rigid state.

— as they learn to control the rate at which their ice magic manifests, their spell cards are instead dusted with a light shade of frost, that which can be easily cleaned off. the words can become a little bit more harder to read and a bit foggier, though, so sometimes they have a chance to cast the wrong spell.

— diviners are 100% wrecking their cards like crazy. some students would have to constantly get new sets of decks or spell cards because storm is such a strong school off the bat - lightning tears through the protective block sometimes, often times making them practically unusable.

some people drop out or switch schools because of this issue - it's too much work to have to constantly replace torn cards or learn how to rework your magic into a better way.

— i think with enough time, diviners can learn how to redirect magic into a more consistent way (because storm magic in general is very inconsistent) -- they are still more likely to tear their cards in a fight, but it starts more at the edges, rather than novices almost tearing huge chunks and bottom/top halves off.

— for conjurers i feel like theyre the types to start bending their cards - perhaps out of nervousness or habit. when you have an uptight teacher like cyrus, i think that kind of manifests itself into other behaviors.

— for some reason, i feel like their cards are more likely to shimmer and shine more. since their school mainly deals with the mind and creativity, the cards and decks reflect that. that being said, it may shimmer too much. to the point where novices can't even make out the creature of the card, and end up summoning the wrong one.

self-explanatory, but sometimes their mind may be clouded by other things, and i like to think that the mind and magic is connected, hence why it will affect the spell cards.

— for necromancers, i feel like when their magic takes the necessary sacrifice, it also ends up taking chunks out of the card too. you can have the right rituals down to perform a spell, but it doesn't mean the sacrificial aspect isn't the part that messes up most novices.

i think after diviners, necromancers come in at a close second at wrecking their cards. sometimes the whole card disappears and you're like "what the heck".

— sacrifice is a core part of the death school, so malorn and dworgyn teach the novices how to make the sacrifices smaller, more localized to the edges of the cards. it's why older, experienced wizards may have cards that look like they've been eaten around the edges.

— for theurgists, i feel like they're the school that doesn't wreck their cards most of the time. there's has to do more with growth than anything else, hence why i think their cards are the ones that are the least replaced.

rather, i think things begin to grow on and around the cards. tiny vines that tear through the spell cards, wrapping around the edges. they can be ignored most of the time, but if a life wizard has their emotions and magic tied particularly close, these vines can and will get out of hand.

— experienced and older theurgists will have these sorts of vines around the corners and edges of their cards, however it may differ on plant type. because magic is different for every person, the flowers that grow there might differ from each person. the spells are worn, but because of life's rejuvinating energy, they look considerably newer compared to other schools.

— AND LAST BUT NOT LEAST... SORCERERS . this one stumped me a lil bit im ngl. i think novices have problems with concentrating on flipping between each of the schools as their attacks and supports demand it.

cards that feel wet and soggy, dried in some places as they use an a elemental school card; cards that look transparent in some places, bits and pieces gone from spiritual schools; spotty and fuzzy writing that comes from using sorcery in their own school.

— ITS... A LOT TO HANDLE. which is also why some people may end up transferring out of balance. i feel like sorcerers may have a class with each of the teachers of the seven schools, to level each of the magics that come with handling all seven of them.

— older sorcerers may get special decks and spell cards to help prevent the spell cards from straight up getting destroyed or unusable. i like to think it has a time factor -- turning back time on the cards appearance so that it lasts longer, just to give a throwback to the sands of time storyline instance in mirage.