#so when i draw i feel very empty even though i’m creating and even though it often looks good

[websitesdotcom]

Drawing shitty things is so so fun i can’t remember the last time i’ve had this much fun drawing… let’s go let’s gooooo

[admirationandromantics]

Going overboard, Prologue

Okay, so 10 hours early, but I've gotten several requests about the start of the story, so here it is! This has been a big project (still not done with the last 3 chapters...), but so worth it. Remining the readers that this story is 18+ cause of alcohol, smut, drugs (?), throwing up (cause of alcohol, not ed) and other darker themes. Remember that Josh is severly mentally ill, so if you struggle with themes like that, I don't recommend this story.

Some chapters will not feature interactions with him, and some will be longer or shorter, but I'll try to make daily updates, so no worries! This blog is purely for my creative expression, and I don't really want tips or tricks about how to do stuff better, thank you. This whole thing is a way for me to relieve stress and just write without thought. Hope you enjoy, and if you do, please consider following and liking <3

The booze was getting empty, and the night darker. The snowstorm outside had worsened, making the inside of the cabin feel like the perfect cozy place. Emily and Jess had been talking all night about some kind of prank. I don’t know what it was about, and I didn’t want to know. Knowing the lengths they’d go, I kept my distance. During the evening they’d been regularly going away together, whether it was in the bathroom or in the kitchen. They were alone, talking, occasionally giving loud snickers. If Emily wasn’t hopelessly in love with Mike, I would’ve thought she had a thing for Jess. 

Josh is slurring around, mixing up words and almost falling over. He’s basically being carried by Matt from place to place when he wants to go somewhere. Hannah is mixing drinks, leaving them on the counter for everyone. I guess it’s tiring being hosts. Well, not for Josh, but the others. I’m sitting on the sofa with Sam, Ashley and Chris. Ashley seems fine, as she doesn’t get very verbal while drunk, while Sam’s not drinking. She’s sketching on her notepad while talking, and I occasionally look over her shoulder to see the products. They’re gorgeous, every line perfectly in place. I’m mesmerised by her talent, her ability to create something so lifelike. She’s almost like Victor Frankenstein, just a little safer with her creations. She’s drawing Chris now, making sure to add that little glisten on his glasses. I look over at him, then the drawing, then him again. It looks so real. 

“I’m in awe” I comment, looking up at her. She gets a slight blush on her cheeks, clearly not used to such positive feedback. 

“Why thank you” she smiles back at me. 

“Ohhh let me see, let me see!” Ashley shouts, reaching out both of her hands for the pad. Sam complies, putting down the pencil and giving it to her. Ashley blushes as she looks at the drawing, biting her lips in an almost invisible manner. 

“Oh look-” she points at the drawing, holding the pat in front of Chris. 

“She even got some of your freckles” she smiles, still blushing as she looks down on him. Chris doesn’t open his eyes. His head’s resting on her shoulder, and when she nudges him, he gives a slight “mmm” in reply. She gives back the drawing pad to Sam, leaning back so Chris’ head falls in her lap. Luckily she manages to catch his head with her hands, slowly putting him down. He nuzzles into her, and she runs her finger though his hair while breathing out. She’s probably scared he’s going to wake up. 

I turn, giving Sam a look before we both turn to her. The motions make her look up at us, confused. 

“Sooooo” Sam begins. 

“When are you going to ask him out?” I finish, smirking. I can’t help it. It takes a couple of seconds before Ashley realises what we asked of her, and when she does, her eyes widen and both hands immediately go to cover Chris’ ears. Sam grabs my thigh, squeezing a bit to release the energy so she doesn’t laugh.

“Shhhh he might hear you!” she whisper-shouts, looking at us. 

“Oh don’t worry, he’s out cold” Sam teases, grabbing a shot glass and filling it to the brim with tequila. 

“Well, the brain can still recognise things while sleeping”

“Nerd”

“They’re a perfect match”

“Stop it!”

We both laugh, while Ashley’s still pouting. 

“Fine, sorry” Sam continues, giving me the shot glass. I look at her, she’s got a funny look on her face. 

“What is this for?” I ask, taking hold of it and bringing it to my mouth. 

“You seem more present than the rest.” She smiles, nodding to the glass. I drink up, give a grimage and start looking for the lime. 

“There’s no more”, Ashley laughs, and Sam joins her. 

“Asshole”. I move to the kitchen, trying to find some kind of drink to make the shot not come up again. Beth joins me. 

“You look awful”

“Thank you Beth”. She gives me a beer, and I drink it as fast as I can, killing the gross aftertaste. As I look over at her, she gives me a concerning look. I finish up, another bad taste covers my insides, and I run to the sink, feeling like throwing up. 

“Fuck fuck fuck”

“Shit sorry, I didn’t think you would drink that so fast!” Beth exclaims, running to the refrigerator and grabbing some orange juice. As she hands me it, I drink like a feral animal once again, determined to not let this ruin my night. Beth stands behind me, rubbing my back and holding my hair. Just in case. Nothing comes up, and after about three minutes I stand up, giving her a bitch look. 

“Karma’s coming for you Beth, that’s not okay.” She’s still smiling softly at me, whispering for me to follow her. I take her hand, and she leads me to the bathroom. We both sit down on the floor, and I begin to feel my whole body pulsing. Every breath is grand, going to the edge of my fingers. Fuck, I’m going to be sick tomorrow. 

“I wanted to tell you something” she starts, not looking at me. 

“What”

“The others were trying to get you blasted tonight”

“You think I’m naive, of course I know that. Sam never offers alcohol to anyone, and you know how I get”

“Well, yeah. I was kind of in on it”

“I know”, I responded, laughing a little. She looks over at me. 

“You’re not mad?”

“Of course not, just fun, I wanted to let a bit loose on this trip”

“You know we have an agenda?” No I didn’t. I look up at her, her face slowly moving to the side, facing me. 

“And what is it?” She looks down in shame, and I get a weird feeling in my stomach. If this has something to do with Jess and Emily, I’m leaving on the spot. 

“Well, notice how Josh is also…”

“A little out of it?”

“Yeah, that”. Something clicks, a switch, a lightbulb, something, and I rapidly stand up. 

“Wait!” I exclaim, suddenly realising. My body is wobbling, and I grab hold of the wall so I don’t fall. Beth follows quickly, hands in the air around me in case I fall. 

“You’re trying to get me with your brother?!” 

“You like him don’t you?”

“Well Yeah"

“And you’re both drunk”

“So?”

“Drinks of bravery?”

“No”

“Yes”

“Absolutely not”, and I turn to leave. I go out in the hall, but she runs past me and corners me. 

“Okay, listen. Maybe this wasn’t the best approach, but don’t let the rest of the night go to waste, we’re having fun. No pressure on that area, okay? You’re just having fun tonight” she explains, a bit panicked. 

I can’t be mad at her, but I roll my eyes and give her a nudge, not feeling if I hit her or not. I grab her hand, and we both go to join the others. I know myself, and no matter how drunk I get, making a move on Josh is NOT something I will do. Ever. 

As we’re walking down the stairs, the people have gathered in the living room. Matt is on his way to the bathroom, walking past us and smiling. Such a sweet guy. We join the others, sitting down with Josh to my left and Emily on my right. Josh leans over. 

“Hey, want to get a smoke” he whispers, probably so Sam doesn’t hear. I look out the window, getting shivers just from seeing the snow. 

“The weather”

“We can do it through a window.” I look at the others, who are clearly busy. Nobody’s watching, and we could probably sneak out. 

“My room” he whispers, before drunkenly getting up, moving like a penguin up the stairs. He walks past Matt, who’s going down. 

“Need help Josh?”

“Do I look like I need help?”

“Yes”

“No I don’t”

Everyone laughs as Josh continues up the stairs. Hannah looks worried, but ultimately starts sipping her drink again. I don’t know how much time has passed before I decide to go. Emily, Jess and Mike went to the kitchen again, but not before drawing a bunch of stuff on Chris’ face. Nobody notices me slipping away, up the stairs and out of reach. 

I walk through the hall. Josh’s room is at the very end. The hall is spinning, doors getting mixed up. I open one of them, walking into a dark room. Makeup is spread throughout every counter, clothes everywhere. This is not Josh’s room. I drunkenly make my way out to the hallway again, noticing a door beside which is slightly ajar. 

As I arrive in Josh's room, his window is open, cold air flying through the room, giving me goosebumps. He turns around when he hears the door close, looking me up and down and smiling. He’s already got a cigarette in his mouth. I smile back, walking towards him. As I reach for the wardrobe to hold for balance, my hand slips. He’s quick to grab my arm, making a grunting sound when pulling me up. He’s got fast reflexes for someone who’s drunk so much. As I get my balance back, he grabs a pack from his pocket, opening it and letting me pull a cigarette out. 

“Got a lighter?” I ask. He smiles, taking the cylinder off my hand and holding it up to my lips. His eyebrows rise, and I take it as a sign to part my lips, leading to him placing cigarette in my mouth. His hand grabs hold of my chin, pulling me closer. He leans over, letting his burning end touch the end of mine. 

“Inhale” he whispers between teeth. I comply, lighting my own through his. I stare up at him, locking eyes. He doesn’t move away. Instead, his thumb shifts from my chin to my lips, caressing lightly. I’m drunk, he’s drunk, we don’t know what we’re doing. I pull away, away from his face and hand. 

“So we didn’t need a lighter” I say, leaning over to the window and blowing the smoke outside. He stands beside me, leaning over so we’re in the same position, arms brushing against each other. 

“You’re cold”, he tells me, looking up worried. His hand moves to my arm, grabbing. He’s warm, too warm. I sigh when he touches me, involuntary. Fuck. I blush, hoping he thinks my redness is due to the cold. 

“I don’t feel it”, I respond. A lie, but it’s okay. I’ll survive. 

“Damn, drank that much?” he says, walking over to the closet. 

“Not my fault”

“Really”, he sounds surprised. Walking back to me, a flannel shirt in hand. 

“The others are plotting” I state, as I put my hands out, letting him put it on me. When he finishes, he doesn’t button it, but leaves it open. 

“Plotting what?”

“Trying to get us together”

“Really? My sisters’ are in it too?”

“At least one of them”

“Shameless people. Trying to get her brother and best friend together”

“Yeah I know” I laugh, turning away and looking out the window once again. I take a few more drags of the cigarette, using too long, making it almost go out. He starts a new conversation. 

“You know, I thought about asking you out once”. I look surprised at him, he has his signature smirk plastered on. It’s my turn to be curious. 

“And?” He turns to me, looking down, I don’t know if he’s looking down my shirt or on my waist. 

“Well, friend group shit. Didn’t want to fuck it up”. My heart falls a bit, a heavy feeling in my chest. 

“Smart choice” I manage to answer. 

“I guess”. He sounds oddly disappointed, and I force myself to be more forward. 

“Especially since I would’ve said yes”

“What?” he asks, taking my cigarette and throwing it out the window. 

“Hey!”

“It was basically out anyway. But are you for real?” he continues, brows furrowed, and hands grabbing my shirt on each side of my waist. My face gets hot, arms wanting to feel him. 

“Yeah-”. Before I’m able to fulfil my answer, he drags me into him, chest to chest, meeting my lips in a sloppy kiss. Shocked, I pull away, walking a few steps back. I still hold onto the counter for balance, looking at him. He’s breathing heavily, a bit surprised by my response, and a little hurt. 

“Sorry, I got the signs wrong” he says, looking down. I take a breath, calming myself. 

“Is this a prank?”

“What”

“Is this a prank?” I say a bit louder, nearly shouting. Probably I am, I just don’t realize it. 

“Why would you think that?” he asks, a bit angry. 

“Because Jess and Emily were talking about some type of prank and people were getting me drunk and-” I ramble, breathing starting to get unsteady. I’m unsure about how to continue. I’m getting dizzy, needing to lay down. Josh notices. As my vision goes blurry, arms take hold of me, quickly moving me to the bed. My head is pounding, but the room doesn’t spin as much anymore. An arm is holding my head up a bit, and I feel a cold glass touch my lips. Instinctively I open my mouth, drinking the whole glass of water. He lays down beside me, and I can feel myself drifting off. 

When I wake up, it’s still dark outside. Josh is sleeping, so I make my way to the bathroom. The nausea is catching up, and I make myself vomit. Several times. Luckily, this means I’ll probably be spared in the morning. My head feels lighter, in a good way. When I’m done, I drink some more water and brush my teeth. I feel refreshed, and a little happy that was it. I don’t need to be stressed about being sick. 

As I walk out in the hallway again, I hear voices downstairs. They’re still up. I look at the clock, and notice I was only out for about half an hour. I decide not to join them. I’ve gotten enough tonight. As I make my way in the hallway, I notice Josh’s door which I didn’t close behind me. I walk over, looking inside. Josh is up, sitting on the side of his bed with his head in his hands. I walk inside, closing the door behind me. He doesn’t turn. 

“Hey” I say, trying to put on a light tone. 

“Hey”. His voice is emotionless, nothing to analyse, nothing to take from it. I walk over, sitting down in front of him on my knees. He still doesn’t look at me, only right down between his legs. 

“Can we talk?” I ask. He finally lifts his face, looking into my eyes. Before I can begin, he starts. 

“Do you really think I would do something like that?”

“What?”

“Toying with your feelings. Being part of Jess’ and Emily’s schemes?” Now it’s my turn to look down, shame filling my chest. 

“I was so drunk Josh, still am, but I panicked, and spiralled…” I feel a tear run down the corner of my eye. I was not planning on crying, but this night had been more eventful and emotional than most. He doesn’t hesitate to dry them, catching each one with his thumbs. 

“I know, now I’m the one spiralling, sorry” he whispers. I lean forward, hugging him around his waist. He hugs me back. 

“I didn’t mean to pull away”, I explain, not being brave enough to look him in the eyes while confessing. He pulls me away, looking at me. I can’t decipher his face, something hopeful maybe, but not too much. It’s now or never, I must tell him. Before he can ask, I get up, lean forward, and kiss him. He doesn’t back away, instead he grabs my thighs, leading me on top of him, still on the edge of the bed. The kiss is sloppy, as we’re still drunk and a bit dizzy. His hands wander to my waist, grabbing hold of the top of my bottoms. I bite his bottom lip, making him grunt in response. 

“Fuck” he mutters. Grabbing harder, making me gasp. He uses the opportunity to put his tongue in my mouth. I let him. He moves his hands, signalling me to grind on him, and I do. I want him. Bad. My body warms up, the window’s still open, but I can’t feel the cold. As I move on him, he pulls off his own flannel, before dragging my shirt off. I do the same to him. Feeling him up from the lower part of his muscular stomach to his shoulders. My breathing quickens, feeling every curve of his body with my fingertips, trying to memorise it all. He's warm, tense but calm, and I melt into his touch. I lean forward to capture his lips again, and he meets me halfway. I can feel myself getting wetter by the minute, and before I know it, he turns us around, laying my back on the bed, hovering over me. He leans down again, kissing my collar and neck. I can’t help the whines that come out of me. I feel needy, hot. I need him. He stops by my breasts, looking up. 

“Do you want this?” he asks. 

“Yes Josh, please. I want you” 

He smiles in response, and I can’t help but mirror it. 

***

Loud bangs are heard on the door. I wake up with a headache, but luckily no nausea. I poke Josh, making him wake up abruptly, grabbing his head, a painful look on his face. His headache seems worse than mine. 

“Someone’s in the hallway” I say, leaning down and kissing his head. 

“Fuck” he whispers. “Let’s get this over with”

“What is it?” he shouts through the door. 

“Josh, we need you!” I hear Mike shout. “Your sisters are missing!”

[girlokwhatever]

hiiiii PLSS KATE MARTIN ANGST!!!! 🥰🥰

₊˚ෆ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊- ,, illicit affairs,,

kate martin x fem!reader

(not spell checked.. are you surprised?)

it was doomed from the start, when you told kate it had to be a secret.

she had somehow weaseled her way into your life, immediately finding a keen liking for you. for some reason you let her; you let her break your walls down until there was nothing left between you but unspoken feelings of love and admiration. it was inevitable when she kissed you, making it impossible for you to reject her advances because, secretly, you wanted her just as bad.

but no one could know. no one knew.

make sure nobody sees you leave,

hood over your head,

keep your eyes down.

you were running through the dorm parking lot belonging to the building kate lived in. your hoodie was pulled up over your head, draw-strings tugged taught until you could hardly see. kate watched you through her window, the weight of your shared secret making her feel heavy.

she hated seeing you go like this— rushed and panicked with the news that her team was coming back to the dorms earlier than originally planned. her hoodie engulfed you, creating a safe and secret place for you as you crossed the parking lot, eyes downcast as you make your way to your car.

you’d finally been able to come over to her dorm after weeks of hardly seeing her at all. not even moments ago your limbs were tangled with hers, soft kisses and a sloppy make out transpired between the two of you.

her whole team was out, celebrating a win that kate would rather miss if it meant she got some alone time with you. the time with you ended up being short-lived though. not even a full hour had passed before kate received a text from caitlin informing her everyone was going to check in early tonight.

disappointment was etched in her face as you pulled out of her embrace, quickly collecting your things to leave. all she had left was a chaste kiss on the lips and a sweetly whispered goodbye that rang in her ears as she watched your car disappear into the darkness.

what started in beautiful rooms

ends with meetings in parking lots

“i’m sorry we had to meet like this.. i thought the team would’ve been gone tonight.” kate sighs, letting her hands slip off of her steering wheel as you step inside her car.

you could tell she was tired. her hair was messily tied back, dark circles sagging under her eyes as she rubbed them. assuming it was pressure from the very demanding basketball season, you reached out, intertwining your delicate fingers with her calloused ones.

“hey, it’s okay. as long as i get to see you, it doesn’t matter where i am.”

that makes kate smile, her gaze breaking away from the rain-soaked parking lot. her relief only lasts a few seconds and is gone before you could even catch it. of course she was happy to just see you, but realizing her relationship with you has trickled down to these sort of meetings, it kills her.

you used to come to her games. you used to hangout with her and the team. you used to be seen in public together, when you were friends. and now, when you were supposed to be closer than ever, none of that seemed like a possibility anymore. it was killing kate. because now this was almost as good as it gets; secret meetings in an empty parking lot past ten o’clock at night.

kate remembers meeting you for the first time, how different things were then. she remembers meeting you in the warm and dim lights of the library late at night, catching up on late work and trying to escape the distractions of the dorm. but then she saw you. she really couldn’t help it when she started to stare, watching as the light and it’s shadow cast different shades of color over your face as you moved.

the library had been beautiful that time of night, kate always thought so. but not as beautiful as you.

leave the perfume on the shelf

that you picked out just for her

so you leave no trace behind

like you don’t even exist

it’d been awhile since kate even uttered your name in front of her friends. the fear of giving something away loomed over her head like a dark cloud, rain threatening to spill at any moment. it wasn’t until kate came home late after a night with you that your nervous activity started.

caitlin was sitting in the common area when kate got back, motioning her to come sit with a gentle pat of the cushion next to her. your girlfriend was in good spirits so she gave in without hesitation, coming to sit next to caitlin on the couch as she watched a late night basketball game.

“where’ve you been?” caitlin asked suspiciously, turning her nose in her friend’s direction.

“just out.”

“with y/n?”

kate goes stoic, eyes trained on the wall while her previously bouncing leg stands still. she hasn’t been expecting that, what gave it away?

“what? no, we don’t really.. hang out anymore.”

“you smell like her.” caitlin presses in dangerous territory and she knows it. you seemed to be a sensitive subject in kate’s life now, and she had no idea why.

kate shrugs before quickly standing up. she was desperate to escape from this conversation because somehow, caitlin always knows. and she can’t know about this. that’s why when kate shuts her door with a soft click she texts you immediately with a link to a new perfume, offering to buy it for you. she couldn’t tell you about what happened. you’d freak out, go into hiding away from kate for a little while.

so she doesn’t.

she buys you the new perfume and you replace it with the old one, the one that happened to be her favorite. the one she knew you used to wear just for her.

it was safer this way. caitlin couldn’t trace any scent back to you now. she couldn’t trace anything back to you anymore. a big part of kate hated that, but a smaller part of her knew it was better for you, so she settled.

take the words for what they are

a dwindling mercurial high

a drug that only worked

the first few hundred times

“kate, i just need time.”

it was a hushed whisper, one that kate has heard before. she believed it before, and part of her still does. but each time she loses hope, her fingers slip until she’s hanging on by her fingernails.

you promised kate it wouldn’t be like this forever. one day— soon you claimed, the two of you wouldn’t have to love in secret.

“kate i’ve never loved anyone the way i love you,” you’d whisper genuinely and she’d be hooked, fully trusting and forcefully patient. there was nothing she loved more than you, not even basketball, and she’d wait forever to be able to tell everyone that, even when it was having an undeniable impact on her mental state.

“i know.” she whispers back, lips moving against your skin as she tries to become one with you.

it was so hard to remember all the lost promises and time when you were holding her like this. hands in her hair, coddling against her and cradling her head into your chest. it was as if you were massaging all the past memories of empty words out of her brain, trying to make her forget about how you said all of this months ago.

and a couple months after that you’d whisper the same sweet nothings.

“you keep saying that..”

“and i mean it, kate.”

she stares at you, eyes turning to oceans full of complex and conflicting feelings. she was upset, disappointed, angry, and betrayed.

“look i understand what it’s like to come out. i’ve been there and i understand if you’re not ready, but don’t tell me you are.”

her first tear slips along with her conviction.

“kate.. i’m sorry,” you whisper, reaching out to wipe her tears away and she physically softens into your touch. “please don’t give up on me.”

and it was working again. your words, whether they were honest or not, had an affect on kate that made her stay. she’d always stay as long as you asked. somewhere deep down kate knew she was crumbling from the inside out. she was growing restless, a sinking feeling of hopelessness consuming her each time you failed to follow through on your promises. the promises you made while entangling your pinky with hers, kissing delicately along her knuckles.

and that’s the thing about illicit affairs

and clandestine meetings and stolen stares

they show their truth one single time

but they lie, and they lie, and they lie,

a million little times

kate glanced your way longingly, watching silently as you interacted with the people around you. she wished so deeply it could be her so close to you, demanding attention and hearing your sweet laugh.

but it wasn’t. and despite what you said, she knew it probably wouldn’t be her for a long time.

kate felt so real when she was with you. so pure, who she was meant to be at her core. being with you was so real for kate, all her feelings and commitments, all the promises and conflicts were real.

but it was a lie.

every time she’d avoid your gaze or pretend like she didn’t know you, it was a lie. lying to her friends about you, her family, or anyone who asked. she’d lie and say yes if anyone asked about her being single. she’d lie about you.

it drained kate. she couldn’t fathom the idea that this was all per your request. deliberate decisions made by you to deceive everyone around you. kate was like your little affair, a secret you kept hidden away from the world so you could still have your fun elsewhere.

kate was your lie, and you were hers.

when you finally made eye contact with her she broke. all her buried resentment and defeat, all the fake promises and compromises, all the secrecy, all the hurt and confusion, all the insecurity, all the buried thoughts that haunted kate glared back at you.

but she saw it in you too. the weight of your lies and the pain of the truth. not only were you lying to everyone about kate, you were lying about yourself, to yourself.

and you wanna scream

don’t call me “kid”

don’t call me “baby”

kate’s head was deep in her hands, sobbing as shaky fingers pulled at the roots of her hair. for some reason she never saw this coming. the hopeful and innocent part of kate always thought it’d work out, that you’d work it out together. like you always said.

but you’d broken up with her. the stress of your secret relationship finally catching up. this couldn’t last forever, and you realized you’d never come out like kate wanted you to. it wasn’t fair to her. it wasn’t fair to expect her to be okay with being hidden. that’s what you told yourself to feel like less of a coward.

you could see she was freaking out. it took a lot to speak again, too afraid and shameful. too scared you’d make it worse.

“baby i’m so sorry, im so sorry.”

kate squeezes her eyes shut painfully. the word rings like a mantra through her ears, seeping into her soul where it freezes her feelings and numbs her mind. she shakes her head before looking back up at you with a face contorted by hurt.

“don’t call me that.”

“kate..”

“don’t call me that. seriously.”

you stare silently, guilt-ridden eyes shamefully gazing on her soft features, made even softer by the shine of her tear-stained cheeks and red puffy eyes. this was the hardest thing you’ve ever done. looking at her made you want to change your mind, to take it all back cruelly but you knew you couldn’t.

if you couldn’t accept who you were, how could anyone else?

“how could you do this to me? c’mon, i mean, i was there, through everything. i love you with everything i have. i mean.. i can’t even.. you promised me this wouldn’t happen. you promised.”

look at this idiotic fool that you made me

you taught me a secret language i can’t speak with anyone else

kate felt like a fool. she should’ve known better.

every time she’d make a harmless joke about you being a lesbian and you denied it, she should’ve known. every time you’d claim you were ready to come out to your parents but never did, she should’ve known. she should’ve seen it coming a mile away.

she could’ve, if she hadn’t chosen willful ignorance. but she decided she would rather have your love in private than not at all.

but now she had nothing and could tell no one.

she couldn’t tell anyone about you even if it was over. but caitlin didn’t need to be told twice, or even once. she knew where kate had been going late at night, she knew about the longing looks from across the room. she also saw your text to kate asking to talk.

that’s why she slipped into her best friend’s room that night when she got back home. to hold her as she cried, tell her it was okay and she was there for her.

“i love her so much caitlin.” kate choked out, crying all over again when the image of you in her bed only a few weeks ago flashed through her brain. a cruel memory.

“i know kate. you always love too much.”

and that pattern repeated for weeks, a concerning amount of time that even caitlin was restless. it happened almost every night like clockwork; kate would get back from her self-inflicted extra practice looking exhausted and battered, fleeing to her room without a single word and about ten minutes later she’d attempt to muffle her sobs into her pillow. the pillow that somehow still smelt like the perfume kate bought you.

walking through day-to-day life became harder for kate. no one understood the stupid inside jokes you built together, or the gesture of kissing fingertips you started together.

caitlin forced her friend out into the social world and it only took one conversation to break kate down into a reminiscing mess. objectively there was nothing wrong with the girl other than the fact that she wasn’t you. no one would ever understand kate the way you had, and she’s certain no man would ever understand you the way she had.

kate had to mourn the loss of your love and the connection that came with it. the unique diction you had built together. that one of a kind love could only be found with you, the girl that denied ever loving a woman.

you were a self-proclaimed straight woman. but kate knew, behind closed doors, behind her doors, you were far from it.

and you know damn well

for you, i would ruin myself

a million little times

after awhile kate could finally claim she’d gotten better.

she was enjoying her social life again. going out to bars and clubs, going to team parties, going shopping and playing basketball. she’d even visited home, getting the secret of you off of her chest to her mother.

she slowly eased herself back into normality, following a similar routine to the one she had before you.

the issue was, kate is no longer who she was before she met you. she’d never be that rational woman again. she’d never be able to say no to you again. but that didn’t occur to her, and if it did she wouldn’t mind much because she never thought she’d have to.

it’d been months since she saw you.

but suddenly you appeared across the room, lifting your head before meeting kate’s wide eyes. she knew she was doomed when you waved, a soft smile on your face when she waved back. that lasted for a few moments; stealing glances at each other from across the room before you made your way over.

“hey kate.” it was sweet, like a voice dipped in honey.

“hey..”

“kate, i’ve really been wanting to talk to you. i’m really sorry for how everything happened.”

she looked down at you, draped in your pretty outfit with your pretty hair and your pretty eyes. you sounded so genuine, and she wondered desperately what you wanted to talk about.

“do you wanna come to my place tonight?” she asked, curious and hopeful.

“how about mine?”

“oh, yeah.. sure.”

and kate knew. she knew nothing had changed. you were still the same old you, and she was still the same old her.

she’d go through it all again for you. a million times over.

₊˚ෆ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊- ,,

okay fics inspired by songs are so good

this is my first time using the lyrics in the song and i think im shitty at it.

feedback is definitely welcomed though!

pls enjoy 😛

[predestinatos]

making a mess | CL16 𓍯

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader

tags: one shot, fluff, very cheesy, soft!charles, facemask stuff, honeymoon phase

warnings: -

words: 783

note: tysm for the request @champagneholland!! i really needed tome inspo... it's a short-ish one but i hope u & everyone enjoy!

“Charlie” you said, laughing at your own use of the nickname, still getting familiar with its more playfully romantic connotation. “Stay still and close your eyes,” the simple request seemed impossible for him to fulfill, as the green clay of the facemask reached your hands, his hands and some hair.

“I can barely do one of those things when I’m with you, don’t ask for both” Charles laughed along with you, his dimples showing as he looked down at your face. “You’ll be forced to do one of those forever if I accidentally put it on your eye,” you kept giggling as he tried his best to remain still and occasionally open one eye to look at you.

Sitting in your bathroom, using the toilet as a chair, Charles let you apply the facemask carefully on your face, feeling your soft hands on his skin warming his whole body. When you were done, he got up excitedly, knowing it was his turn to do it.

You washed your hands and placed yourself on where he was previously sitting, looking up at him with glowing eyes and a smile – for a few seconds he just stared at you, completely bewitched by how lucky he was to have you. And then his hands here on your cheeks, squeezing them while he continuously kissed your lips – soft, cute pecks that then moved to your nose and forehead. “You’re so pretty” he said, giddiness written all over his expression, “and now half of your face is already covered with the mask. Much more effective this way.”

You jokingly rolled your eyes at him, his cheesiness and childlike way of loving you filling your heart immensely. Being loved as a best friend and partner was not something you were used to – previous relationships resulting in your feeling used – but as Charles stood in front of you with pajama pants and a green-ish facemask that almost matched the color of his eyes, you knew you were at home.

“Okay, Yoda, finish your work, please” you replied, pulling his hand towards you and allowing him to continue. Time went on, and he seemed to be nowhere near done, even though the package was basically empty at that point. Charles kept saying “there’s an empty spot here” when you complained about how long he was taking, enthusiastically applying the mask with such care you sometimes barely felt it.

But he could feel it – he touched every inch of your face with a gentleness that contrasted greatly with his strong hands and body, his toned chest bared before you. To him, every inch of you was precious and delicate, and he wanted to take care of it, kiss it, caress it, simply feel it.

So when he knelt down in front of you, claiming there was an “empty spot on your chin” you were surprised to feel his sudden touch on your thighs, not in a lustful way, but in a nurturing one. Leaving evidence of his touch all over your body, now looking like a canvas filled with loving strokes, he got up, pulling you softly, urging you to do the same.

As you did so, he lowered his head to your neck, kissing it and giggling as he kept painting you. You decided to pay him back for that, taking as much of the remaining product out of the package as you could and drawing silly doodles on his chest. His skin shivered at your touch, and he looked down at you, appreciating the contact he had craved for so long and now was lucky to have all for himself.

“You look like Shrek” you said, laughing and feigning pride at the masterpiece you created. He ran a hand through his hair, now completely messy, placing green highlights in it as well, cursing playfully at the movement. “I thought I was Yoda” he replied, to which you shrugged, “it’s whatever you prefer.”

“I think Shrek. He has Fiona” he replied, grabbing your hand and raising it, as you twirled under the bathroom lights cheerfully, holding him and being held in a waltzing stance as you finished. For a moment, you remained there, looking at each other’s ridiculous mess, how cozy it felt to be there, sharing breaths, memories and kisses.

After a while, Charles’ voice interrupted the silent moment, “is this supposed to burn?” he asked, suddenly concerned. “Shit, the time!” you remembered, realizing it had been longer than the amount suggested in the package instructions. “We should just take a bath” you both said, almost at the same time, laughing as he rushed to turn the shower on, not before leaving another kiss on the top of your head.

[farfromstrange]

Heya Lizzi! Happy early bday to u 🥺❤ I think it's amazing that you give away presents when you should be the one getting them!! But I do hope this can be fun for u, too: So, for my bouquet, I would love some peonies and daisies with the prompt "This is the best uniform a good lawyer could ask for" and HEAR ME OOUT: gn!reader is an artist that has been feeling down for a few months - mental health stuff, you can do whatever here - and stopped drawing, painting, doing pretty much anything for a while. so to get back in track they try out a new form of art - sewing, embroidery, and pretty much anything fashion related. What if they start by... Maybe embroidering small flowers and hearts inside the sleeves of Matt's suits or maybe a little sun in a hidden corner of his tie? Until they turn into more elaborate designs such as flowers with different sizes and shapes (Matt obviously being able to feel the patterns made with thread and needle and discern them) and he just realizes happily his partner is back to making art again... I know this is a VERY specific ask and I'm so sorry 😭 you don't have to write it if you don't want to 😭 but it would make me really happy too bc... It's sort of a self insert there to be honest... Well anyhow SORRY FOR THE LONG ASK (and for my poor english) and again HAPPY BIRTHDAY QUEEEEEN!!!!

— 🌞

AHHH this was such an amazing idea to write! Thank you so much for your request, Sun! This ask was so incredibly detailed I was scared of doing it wrong, so it took me a few days to finish. But don't ever apologize for telling me exactly what you want because getting this request was honestly a joy. I know that feeling of not being able to, in my case write because of my mental health, sometimes for months on end, so this was personal. It makes me all giddy that you trusted me to bring this idea to life. In this house, we support self-indulgence! I tried my best to stay true to your request, so I hope you enjoy! It turned from a Drabble into a whole-ass One Shot, but honestly, you deserve it. (Also I love how you signed off as a sun and wanted me to incorporate embroidering a sun into Matt's clothes, which led to me using that word a lot during this fic. I don't know it just makes me really happy).

Of Suns And Flowers

Event Masterlist | Matt Murdock Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x GN!Reader (no pronouns or physical descriptions used)

Request: A bouquet of… peonies and daisies.

Warnings: Fluff, mentions of mental health issues (depression, anxiety, but nothing explicit), struggling with creativity due to said mental health issues

WC: 1.2k

(This also marks the last request for this event. Wrapping things up with a sweet little treat.)

You haven’t been yourself lately. Depression. Anxiety over being depressed. Work. It’s a toxic cocktail that poisons you from the inside out. When it happens, you retreat into your shell like a scared turtle to somehow survive the million thoughts rushing through your mind. 

Matt doesn’t need you to say the words to know. What hurts him most is sensing the light leave your body whenever the demons take over; they turn every brightly colored aspect of your character and paint them dark. 

The art you usually burn for lies discarded in a box in the closet. Brushes, pencils, empty canvases, and even the expensive collection of oil paint he got you for your birthday remain untouched. 

Matt is aware of how guilty you feel when you can’t create, but every time he asks you, “You want to do some pottery together?” Or anything else that would tickle the light out of you, you just smile and say, “I’m sorry, I’m busy. Maybe tomorrow.” But tomorrow is always the same. 

He knows you’re not fine. Your inspiration has died, and he doesn’t know what to do. He can hold you as you cry. He can try and put out those fires of doubt that consume every fiber of your being, and he can love you, but he doesn’t know how to bring the art back into your life. 

One morning though, when Matt adjusts his tie back at the office, he notices something different. He traces his fingers over the intricate design on the inside of the fabric. At first, he can’t make sense of it. It feels odd, almost, an amalgamation of thread in the shape of a sun. He can’t remember it being there when he first bought it, but he doesn’t question it further—until the strange sensation finds him again on the inside of his suit jacket a few days later. A flower, he’s sure of it. Most of his suits are as old as his law degree, so he’s sure it wasn’t there before. 

To study the sudden appearance of these designs further than the one thought in his mind telling him exactly what he wants them to be, he decides to pull Foggy into his office one day and ask him, “Can you look at something for me?”

His friend raises his eyebrows. “You know I don’t mind helping you, buddy,” he starts, “but I’m not a doctor.”

Matt sighs. “That’s not–” He opens his suit jacket to demonstrate. The thread is now carefully placed right where his left chest pocket lies, in the shape of what he assumes to be a bouquet of lavender, poppies, and daisies. “Here,” he points to it, “See that?” 

Foggy gasps, and he bends down a little to observe the design. “Oh, wow! That’s awesome. Where’d you get that?” 

Still not sure if his senses are betraying him, he runs his finger over it again. “That’s the thing. I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“I don’t know how it got there. It wasn’t like that when I bought it.”

“Well, they’re flowers,” Foggy states. “Embroidered flowers. Poppies, lavender… and I think those are daisies.”

“Embroidered?” Matt asks.

“Yeah. If you ever find out who did this, tell them to send me the pattern. It’s amaze-balls. Marci would love it.” 

Huh. Embroidery. It doesn’t take him long to put two and two together, and his lips curl into a smile. A broad one, not a smirk. It’s like the sky has opened up and the sun is shining down on Hell’s Kitchen again. On him. On you. And the weight on his shoulders seems to fall off almost instantly.

When he comes home later that evening to find the air smelling of his favorite Indian takeout, he drops his bag by the door and makes his way toward the sound of your heartbeat. It’s getting steadier, he notices it. Your breaths weigh less heavily in the air. The one thing he wanted to be true seems to have actually become true: you’re creating again. 

“Hi,” you greet him with a smile, albeit a little exhausted.

“Hi,” he smiles back, not wasting a second to wrap his arms around your frame and press a chaste kiss to your head. “I missed you.”

“Missed you too. How was work?”

“Lots of paperwork. How was your day?” 

“Same,” you say, “but I picked up dinner on the way home.”

He hums. “I can smell that. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

You reach for the cutlery to set the table, but Matt catches your wrist mid-action. “Actually, I have something to ask you,” he says.

You swallow. Your pulse starts to race. You’ve been waiting for this moment, he can tell, trying to figure out how long you can get away with this, and once again the sun comes out. 

“Someone’s been tampering with my suits.” He reveals the embroidery on the inside of his suit jacket as if it were news to both of you. “They’re flowers, I asked Foggy, and somehow every item of clothing I own suddenly has one. You have any idea who could’ve done this?”

Blood rushes to your cheeks. “I am so sorry,” you ramble. “I got this new embroidery set, and I got really into it, so I wanted to try out how they’d look on different fabric, and… well, your tie was kinda just there, and then I moved on to your jackets because why not? You know, and–”

“Baby,” Matt laughs, cutting you off with his hands on your shoulders, “Baby, breathe! It’s okay. I’m not mad.” 

You shut your mouth. “Oh.”

“I just… you haven’t touched your arts and crafts in, what, weeks? Months?”

“I felt like trying something new.”

“And you have no idea how happy that makes me,” he says. “These flowers… They feel amazing. Beautiful.”

“They’re a bit crooked,” you try to argue.

He shushes you, his forehead now resting against yours. “You’re making art again. That’s a big deal. And crooked or not, they’re beautiful to me.”

You melt against him. How can you not when the thing you were most insecure about turned out to be a good thing?

“I missed you,” his voice is barely above a whisper, “and I am so proud of you.”

You take his hands off your shoulders and into your own. “Thank you.”

“I mean it, sweetheart.” He kisses your forehead, your eyes, your nose, and then finally, he reaches your lips. The kiss is soft, chaste, but it conveys those three little words he doesn’t even have to utter anymore. 

I love you. 

“You really don’t mind?” you ask then, uncertainty still gnawing away at you. 

“Mind?” he says, almost offended you would ever think that, and he places your hands on his jacket. “This is the best uniform a good lawyer could ask for.”

From that day on, Matt flaunts every little (or big) piece of embroidery on his clothing. Even long after you have crawled your way out of that slump, he keeps flaunting the fact his partner is such a talented artist in everything they do, and when you forward the pattern to Marci, Foggy soon enough joins in on the trend. 

[whisper-cats]

Hellooooo! I’m working on a clangen blog of my own, so I’m going around asking my favorite clangen blogs some questions. I’m happy to get answers to whichever you feel like answering (or none at all if you don’t feel like it!)

What program and file size do you use?

If you use a font, what font is it?

How far ahead do you recommend playing?

Do you have any advice for layouts?

Do you have any tips for lighting/drawing fur?

Do you have any tips for making cats look more unique?

If you do backgrounds, do you have any advice for creating them?

If you use them, where do you recommend finding reference images?

hi hi! Thank you for the questions 1. Clip Studio Paint, my comic pages' size is 1600x2900 pixels when I'm working on it, but that includes empty space on the sides where my lines can go over the limits when needed

2. "HP Simplified Hans Regular"... I sort of want to hand-write all of my text tbh, but I thought I shouldn't make things too energy-intensive for myself

3. Depends what you want the structure of your story to be like. For me the important part was the setting that was generated for me so the moons going forward & the brisk pace that that gives you have less importance for my story than they would for most Clangen stories, and therefore I didn't go very far in the moons before I started sketching down pages

4. nah, i'm a newbie on that

5. can't think of anything, sorry

6. I think looking for uniqueness itself can be kind of a trap, and i think it's most important your characters are distinct from their surrounding cast of characters than them looking unique when looking at the wider art community. Any kind of design can be recognizable if it makes an impact. I think using patterning especially can be something people might fall back on too easily to make characters distinct. These are the other ways I like to try make a cat character recognizable and interesting (among their cast): - Experiment with different, even subtly different whiskers, ear sizes and shapes, fur texture (sleek, puffy, curly, spiky, flowy etc) and where that fur might be most prominent in each character (one fluffy cat might have a huge puffy chest fur, another long hair cat might have their long coat look more heavy and pulled by gravity, another cat might have the puffiest tail but less in the chest, etc). Also of course the usual, like different eye and nose shapes. - Use color contrast to make the character demand more attention to itself. If a cat has a big white patch on their face when the rest of their body is dark, it immediately brings your attention to their face. I often like to play up and heighten the contrast of a warm-toned body against cool-toned eyes like Whisperingpaw's reddish body against his deep blue eyes, but it works just as well in reverse or with other color contrasts. This can be muddied though if the design is full of highly contrasting small elements in unimportant places of the body which instead can just become confusing to the eye. It's why I don't really like designs from for example Genshin Impact

^ Whisperingpaw, I even made his grey pawpads more cooltoned than usual for some extra contrasting details - Try designing two characters at once instead of one at a time. When you design two at once, especially if they have some connection to each other, you can already start laying out some opposing or just different physical traits to them. If you make a huge cat next to a small cat, both of their sizes are immediately noticeable traits about the cats that you can perceive and build on. If you only drew one huge or one small cat, you might not really even register their size as part of their design because there is nothing to compare it to. Let their relationship & direct comparison be something that contextualizes them and gives them something more than an empty paper to relate to - Continuing on the "let the characters have something to compare to", a character will always look more beautiful if they are surrounded by more bland or even "ugly" characters. A character's intricate patterns will be more noticeable if surrounded by very simple-style characters. Use this to your advantage and let things like beauty or cuteness be character-specific traits instead of something expected of each design. This is just another benefit to having a diverse cast, it doesn't just give representation to less charismatic styles of characters (which already has so much value by itself), it lets the "beautiful" designs be more convincing to the eye.

for 7. and 8. i don't have an answer to!

Hope that helps :3

[egophiliac]

I was wanting to try doing an art piece in the style of the signature spell poster art pieces you create. But I’m not really the best at coming up with a composition for such a thing.

Do you have a process for how you come up with the compositions for them?

oh, awesome! it is an INCREDIBLY enjoyable style to work in; I hope you have fun with it! :D

I'm not great at putting my thought/art process into words, so my apologies if this doesn't make a lot of sense, but I'll try! my first step is always to do a LOT of thumbnails to figure out both the idea and how I want to show it; not trying to do a real sketch or anything, just little doodles to figure out what exactly I'm trying to portray. (I also call these "garbage passes" because they're not meant to be any good, they're just there to throw things out. aha. ha. ...anyway.) I think it's important during that first stage to really focus on the idea and the layout and not to get too bogged down in the actual drawing yet!

I tend to save my final thumbnails, so I'll use 'em as examples (I posted the ones up through episode 5 here if you're interested!) (and, uhhh, spoilers through episode 5 also in this post, hopefully that won't be an issue!)

the main thing I try to think about in composition is balance -- not necessarily in terms of symmetry, but in where each element is placed and how much space it's taking up. remember, empty space is still space! it's also really important to think about the parts that don't have anything in them, as much as the parts that do!

personally, I like to divide things up roughly by both halves and by thirds -- there's a lot more in-depth info out there on why the "rule of thirds" in particular works well visually, but in short, our brains tend to focus on things that are placed closer to imaginary division lines, instead of in the exact center of an image. so even when I'm doing something that is very centered and symmetrical, I try to keep that in mind and generally aim around those for landmarks like faces/eyes (or...where they would be, anyway) and other focal points.

it's not a formula of "the character's face should be in this division of this grid" or anything, more like "our minds like to focus on these areas, let's think about how to use that", if that makes sense! and of course rules are made to be broken, art is lawless anarchy, and so on. but it can be a good starting place for deciding where you want to put things!

(blue - thirds, red - half)

and against the finished versions, because they do usually end up changing a lot (including the empty space of the border):

(...these actually lined up a lot better than I thought they would. :') it makes me look like I do things way more intentionally than I do.)

other stuff I just try to keep in mind is that our eyes like following arcs and paths, which can be a good way to guide the eye:

and frame and control the focus:

honestly, composition is one of those things I feel like I struggle with a lot, so I'm not sure how much of this is helpful or actually makes sense outside of my head. but hopefully it helps a little! it's all just stuff to think about while drawing and not anything hard-and-fast, so don't, like, stress out about making sure things are lining up exactly on the thirds or anything. again, it's more "our brains think these are the dopest parts of the rectangle" than anything else! take advantage of the cool parts of the rectangle!

NOW GO HAVE FUN DRAWING seriously though, it is always super cool that other people like this idea and style enough to want to do it themselves and for other/their own characters! thank you! ❤️❤️❤️

[animeaandp]

[Emptying my drafts while simultaneously creating more. So smart.][I loved this one but wasn’t sure what more to do with it or how far to take it.]

MHA Prompt

No pairing

Hero course student who doesn’t stand out or draw any attention to herself. Participates well enough and gets good grades etc, but a fly on the wall and it seems to be how she likes it. You’re polite and a decent person but no one knows who your friends are, your hobbies, or anything of substance about you. You did your own thing all the time and were happy that way, always kindly yet firmly rejecting invitations of inclusion.

Aizawa seemed to be the only person to notice, or at the very least to be concerned about it. He’s tried speaking to you a few times but your replies stayed simple and sweet mannered; assuring him you were perfectly fine. But he knew that “fine” hardly meant okay, let alone happy. He keeps an eye on you and see’s loneliness but can’t figure out the how’s and why’s unless you open up to him.

One day, you learn that you won a raffle you entered during the sports festival. It was a quiz about Allmight and the person with the highest score won a grand prize. You filled out the quiz just for the fun of it and didn’t expect to win, especially not against Midoriya. Allmight surprised you with the grand prize himself, thrilled that a hero student had won this, and then you surprised him by rejecting it. You did so in your usual polite demeanor, with a small smile on your face, “It would mean more to someone else I’m sure. Besides, I’m not the best company. I appreciate the offer though.” You side step Allmight and continue walking as if you didn’t just reject the chance to spend an entire day with THE Symbol of Peace.

When Aizawa hears about it he goes to speak with you. He knew you were a fan so it didn’t make sense that you’d refuse this. “He’s a busy man” “I’d just be wasting his time” “I didn’t care about winning anyways; it’s not a big deal to me” “I’m happy to give the opportunity to the runner up” every excuse to refuse, you came up with but Aizawa had to put his foot down on this one. “I can’t believe I’m saying this but i am ordering you to accept the reward. This Saturday you’ll meet Allmight in front of these dorms at 8am and not a minute late.” You keep further protests to yourself and just nod before Aizawa left your room.

He goes to speak to Allmight about the decision he ultimately made for you and why. Aizawa gives him a heads up that his previous interaction with you was about on par with your usual disposition. “She doesn’t like to feel like she’s taking up space” is the best synopsis Aizawa can give Allmight, who thinks he understands.

The next day, Aizawa made sure to hang around to hear how it went but “It was nice. Good night.” is all he got. You didn’t even wave back to Allmight and head straight up to your room. Truly, you stunned the hero. Aizawa waves Allmight to follow him to the kitchen. “So; how’d it actually go.?” “It uh, went well, I suppose.” He takes a seat at the island and thanks Aizawa for the coffee. “She kept quiet, followed my lead-even helped apprehend some villains but,” Aizawa puts his mug down and frowns. “What are you talking about?” It was just supposed to be a leisurely day together.

Allmight explains how a report came in about an active villain attack. Some small group was wreaking havoc nearby and Allmight was the closest hero to the scene. You were a timid person in general but when it came to hero work you were as professional as any pro. Allmight took care of most of them himself, they were no match of course, then found you around the block apprehending the last one. “She had a few scrapes and bruises but swore she was fine, and looked fine. She did an excellent job.” Aizawa wanted to feel proud but something felt off, even in regard to you.

After Allmight leaves Aizawa goes to check on you. Your light’s on and he knocks on your door “Y/n?” but there’s no response. He knocks again then jumps hearing something break. “Y/n?!” Your voice shakes trying to assure him you were fine but he’s never heard such a boldfaced lie in his life. So he doesn’t waste time and bursts through the door.

Aizawa’s focus is on the small pool of blood on the floor first, then the blood covering you. You’re doubled over your desk surrounded by a mess of books, papers, standing in the shards of a broken flower vase from your desk. Your arms struggled to keep you up as you gasped for air. “Y/N!!?!” “It’s…not, that…bad-“ Aizawa rushes to hold you upright as you vomit another wave of blood on the floor. He doesn’t understand what’s happening but Recovery Girl should still be on campus! “Hold on sweetheart.!” He scoops you into his arms and rushes across campus. The staff had been locking up but are quick to get you in a room. It was difficult keeping Aizawa out while they treated you, he was in such a panic. Someone finds clean clothes for him to change into, but he struggles to fully scrub all the blood off his hands…his hands stained in it and he can’t stop them from shaking.

An hour later

Recovery Girl finally steps out of your room and looks beat. “She’ll be okay. She’s sleeping now.” Aizawa’s relieved to hear that but needed to know what happened. “Internal bleeding. A heavy blow to the chest broke a few of her ribs and one created a hairline puncture in one of her lungs, filling with blood at a trickles pace. There was more damage but that was the worst of it…*sigh* she’s healed now. Just needs some rest.”

It was the weekend and already very late; Aizawa offers to take you back to the dorms and watch over you there so everyone else can go home. A nurse uses their quirk to comfortably and safely transport you back to your room. Aizawa grabs a pillow and blanket from downstairs to set up shop on your floor. You shouldn’t need anything but he had everything you could ever think of needing ready and on hand. He tucked you into bed before lying down and staring up at the ceiling. This had to be from your encounter earlier with Allmight, but it didn’t make sense. If you had sustained an injury that severe, you wouldn’t have been able to hide it, not well enough to fool both Allmight and Aizawa. A limp, strain in your voice, difficulty breathing-something. Aizawa did pick up a weird vibe when you came back but he never would have guessed this.

He’d contact Allmight in the morning to inform him of the situation but then what? It was an accident; the students sustained injuries all the time, this wasn’t necessarily new news. “…….” His jaw locks. The difference was how you weren’t going to say anything. If he hadn’t come by your room you would’ve choked to death on your own blood in the very spot he laid now. What could’ve possibly possessed you not to say anything is the only question Aizawa would have for you in the morning.

But he wakes up alone.

Your bed is made, room polished, and the morning breeze rolled through the room airing out the lingering smells of bleach. He see’s you sitting out on the patio, curled up onto your little sofa, sipping a steaming mug of something in your hands. For a moment Aizawa questions if what happened yesterday was the most vivid nightmare he’s ever had. More so when you turn to see he’s awake and smile warmly at him. “Morning. I thought I’d let you sleep in; you looked exhausted.” You get up and walk back into your room, “I made some tea. I know you typically drink coffee but I worried the door opening/closing might wake you” “Y/n…” “It should still be warm-“ “y/n.”

“…”

“What happened…?”

Your usual smile flickers out like a candle, “I guess it’s pointless to try and act my way of out this one” you set the kettle down and sit at your desk “but there’s no need to worry. I’m perfectly alright now.” “That’s not what I asked.” Aizawa didn’t want to interrogate you but he needed answers and couldn’t tiptoe around the matter. You try shrugging it off, “the villain caught me off guard, hit me with a couple heavy punches that did more damage than i realized.”

“I can’t believe that.”

“It’s true,”

“No it’s not.”

“…”

Aizawa squats down at your feet, trying to place himself into your line of sight as you lowered your head. “it would’ve been painful. Difficult to breathe. Moving and speaking would have been a struggle…there’s no way you didn’t know that you were seriously hurt…y/n, why didn’t you say anything.?”

“…”

“…”

“…I didn’t want to worry you.”

“What?”

“You-…you have so much on your plate…I see how exhausted you are, all the time. There’s so many of us and as much as you care I can imagine how draining that must be as well. Worrying about us, stressing about our wellbeing and our futures…I just…I didn’t want to be one more thing that burdened you…there’s plenty of far more important things-“

“Y/n y/l/n shut. the hell. up.”

“!?! Huh-??”

“SHUT.UP.”

You look up from your hands to see Aizawa seething in-…anger?? Disappointment or…? His expression was sort of scrunched and cold but with sad eyes. So, it was hard to tell. Regardless he didn’t like your answer as expected. You avert your gaze again, “I’m sorry” and wait for him to reprimand you, the very thing you’ve been trying to avoid. His time was precious and now it was being wasted babysitting you.

“Y/n”

“Yes sir. ”

“Come here.”

“?? What?…?!…what are-?”

“I need to see it with my own eyes that you understand that you can come to me with anything at any time. So please,” Aizawa out stretched his hand to you. You pull away from it though, “I’m fine though, i promise-“

“Were you scared?”

“!?”

“Did it hurt..?”

“..I-I…”

“You can tell me sweetheart. It’s okay”

“…”

“You said it yourself; you understand that I care about my students. That includes you and your well-being.”

“…I’m fine…you don’t need to worry about me-“

“I do. If i didn’t worry then I wouldn’t have come to check on you last night. I wouldn’t have found you in time. Then what; i find your body instead? Do you think that that’d be better?”

“No(!) I just..”

Aizawa leans forward to swipe your tears away, his expression much kinder now. “You’re not alright. And it’s okay that you’re not.”

“…well…well, what about you.? You’re not okay.”

“I am” he answers honestly “so long as each and every one of my students is okay, then I am as healthy and happy as can be. All of that worry; stress and anxiety, is nothing in comparison.”

“But…doesn’t it get lonely; aren’t you sad sometimes, Doing all of this alone”

“…sometimes, but I’m not alone. Believe it or not but i do have a couple friends” His teasing gets a small laugh out of you “and as it turns out, i have a student who seems to care about me almost as much as i care about her. How could i be ever be sad now??”

“…”

“…so; did it hurt?”

“…a bit..”

Aizawa tucks the hair in your face behind your ear, showing him eyes filled with heavy tears. “Just a bit??”

“…a lot…it really hurt.”

“There you go” his arms outstretch again “were you scared?”

“Y-Yes”

“That’s okay” you finally inch closer into his arms and let him hold you as you cried “you did so well. I’m proud of you sweetheart.” You sniffled in his shirt, “I’m sorry I got hurt” but he stroked your hair and kissed the top of your head while reassuring you it was okay. “Promise to tell me whenever you’re hurt from now on. Anything more than a paper cut, I want to know about it.”

“What if I get two paper cuts…”

“Two paper cuts is more than one.”

“Okay. I promise…..I just wanted to ease some of the weight off your shoulders.”

“…Thank you for that.”

[dlstmxkakwldrlarchive]

250106 Makestar Listening Event

ONEW Ment

I think, in a way, this is also my personal story. The reason is that, earlier when i was talking about <Conversation>, there was a moment when i was alone, and since i was alone, i thought i’m doing better than anyone else, though? I’m really amazing for this, though? While being such (a person), i was just drawing, and what, did i only draw stuff? I also read books and traveled. As you know, i learned (the concept of) failure at that time. It’s not a bad thing to ask for directions. I thought that if i asked for directions, they would just say they don’t know. “it’s senseless” I thought it was a useless idea (to ask).

however, everyone i talked to smiled brightly. and there are also people who will say the station is just over there, but it’s 1km away yet but will drag me along there (laughs). I learned so many things. That’s why I remembered that I was outside my room at some point, just broke free and left. But actually, before I broke free, I don’t think I even thought I wanted to “break free.”

I couldn’t even think I was lonely, but then i felt empty and that something was missing, that’s when I just gave myself up (towards breaking free), for the sake of my life. Now i can think more (about things) for a long time, and i thought we could see each other for a long time. That’s why I thought it was necessary that i take a short break, and because of that short break, I am now very healthy and running forth very well, as you know. Right? So, at that time, I may have been saying it nonstop, but I was very grateful that you waited for me and that we could have fun like this in the future as well. For this reason, I realized once again that I am a very, very happy person. So I really wanted to say once again “thank you,” and again, “i love you”. It was really like that this time. I thought, "What do I do when I meet someone? They will talk about their TMI & I won’t listen to it anyway,” i had thoughts like that. And when I get a phone call, i feel scared, and even in texting where i pay attention to what i type since i have thick hands that I make a typo, when (typing) it once is difficult enough for me. So I had these thoughts, but when i went out there, I was like, “Ah! The ‘outside’ is nice” and I thought I could recommend it like this to someone. So if i go out and try making conversations once, asking for directions somewhere once, and do various things, wouldn’t i be able to entirely follow my own path? And I think I also had a thought of “wouldn’t we become winners at whichever moment it will be?” when i was creating this album.

trans. source

[mochegato]

Out of the Blue

This is a fic about a latino and an immigrant, both of whom are treated respectfully and as humans.  If that’s a problem, I suggest you move on and please block me.

Marinette was enjoying a rare quiet day in Titan Tower.  Despite the massive size of the building, it seemed like there was always someone everywhere she went, her bedroom being the only exception, and even the sanctity of that was regularly violated by someone needing to talk about something that absolutely ‘could not wait’.  It almost always could.

Usually, the company was a good thing.  She absolutely loved her teammates… some more than others and in different ways, one in particular had become extremely important to her.  But occasionally, she wanted a bit of personal time outside of her room, a change of scenery to let her mind wander and create.  So, she was relishing this time and let her mind get lost in the peace.

But that was where she made her mistake.  Because peace never lasted long at Titan Tower.

She was just in the middle of a new design, an electric blue dress with black strips wrapping around from the back to the front, the strips tapering toward the end, allowing the blue to shine and evoking images of being enveloped in a protective shield, when she felt very real arms wrap around her.

She threw up her sketching pad and let out a shrill screech that was so loud, it echoed off the walls of the empty room.  It took a full minute for her thundering heart and gasping breath to calm enough for her to hear the rich, hearty chuckles behind her.

She tried to duck away but the arms tightened around her, preventing her from pulling away and bringing his laughter, and warm breath, directly against her ear.  As soon as she heard it, she relaxed into her favorite teammate’s grasp.  “Sorry, Mari.  Didn’t think you were that engrossed,” Jaime snickered.

Marinette let herself enjoy being cocooned in his tender embrace for just a few seconds before darting forward to grab her sketchpad so she could smack him with it.  He only half-heartedly attempted to defend himself, his laughter and smile increasing with each hit.  “Hey, you’re going to make the beetle think I’m getting attacked.”

“The beetle loves me,” she scoffed and harrumphed back into the seat, very intentionally focusing on her sketchpad.

It took a few seconds for him to respond, almost long enough for her to look up, but she refused to let him see the blooming color on her cheeks.  “Yeah,” he finally agreed softly.  “Yeah, he does.”  After a few more seconds, he collapsed next to her as obnoxiously as possible, draping himself over the back of the couch.  The dramatic huff he let out was almost as loud as his groaned words.  “I’m bored.  Let’s go do something.”

Marinette scoffed and rolled her eyes.  “Yeah?  What do you want to get out and do?”

His grin returned as he launched himself over the back of the couch in one deft, elegant move, settling so close to her, she could no longer had full movement of her arm as she sketched.  “I don’t know something.  Nothing.  Just out of here.”

Marinette let out a long, exasperated sigh as though he was wearing on her, despite both of them knowing she wasn’t.  “And who else?”

“Just us,” he shrugged but didn’t quite meet her eyes, instead trying to sneak a peek of what she was working on.  Her hand froze for just a second before continuing on the line she had been drawing.  He didn’t seem to notice she had stopped breathing.  “Plus,” he added finally looking up to meet her eyes, “Damian and Raven are doing that thing they do.”

She snorted and nodded in understanding.  “That weird dance thing they do there they won’t admit they like each other so they snipe at each other then get upset the other person was mean back to them and are in a horrible mood all week because of it and take it out on everyone around them?”

“Yes!” Jaime exclaimed bouncing up, “exactly that.  I can’t watch it any longer.”  He absentmindedly rubbed his arm.  “Or feel it anymore.”

Marinette looked down at her sketchpad for a few seconds, but she had already made up her mind.  Alone time was overrated anyway.  “Yeah, okay.”  She snapped the pad shut.  “Where are we going?”

His responding grin was heart-stutteringly beautiful.  “Trust me?”  He cocked head to the side an affectionate smile blooming on his lips as he waited for her response.

How was she supposed to respond to that except, “Always.”

And she meant it.  Of all her teammates, he was the one she trusted the most.  He was the one she understood the most.  The one she spent time with the most.  He never failed to make her feel better.  He didn’t even have to try.  Just existing out near her was enough to make her feel less stressed.  The nights they spent on the roof of Titan Tower, staring at the stars and talking about everything and nothing, were her favorite nights and she hoped he felt the same.

In fact, she REALLY hoped he felt that way because she was about to do something either very brave or very stupid.  But either way, she was tired of their dance.  While not as dangerous to the people around them as Damian and Raven’s, it was dangerous to her heart.

“Hey, I have an idea,” she stated, with a lot more indifference than she felt.

“Shoot, Cielo,” he answered without taking his eyes from the road.

She paused for a second to take a breath so she could continue as casually as possible.  “I want to try one of the Tik Tok challenges.  Park somewhere.”

He shot a questioning look her way but complied.  They’d done a few challenges and not one of them had actually worked.  Inevitably, she fell, he missed a cue, she didn’t follow the rhythm, or he messed up the words.  But regardless of how epically they failed, they always had fun.  But that was kind of the mantra of their entire relationship.  As long as they were together, everything felt right.

It only took another few minutes to pull into a garden parking lot, which was lucky for Marinette because her anxiety increased with each passing second until she couldn’t hide it anymore.  Jaime watched her, brow furrowed with concern.  She frequently got anxious before a challenge, but it was an excited energy.  This was something else.  It looked like she was scared, which made him scared.  What were they doing that she was scared about how it would play out?

Her hands were shaking so much, she dropped her phone a few times until Jaime had to set it up on the dashboard for her.  “Okay,” she started, her voice unsteady and breathy.  “Are you ready?”

Her apprehension ramped up his apprehension.  He nodded shakily.  How bad could it get?  They were still in the car.  The phone was pointed toward them, so they weren’t going to leave the car.  They wouldn’t be able to get enough momentum behind anything they did to cause damage… right?  He took a deep breath.  Oh God, he was about to find out.  “Yeah, let’s do this.”

She turned on the video and the song and kept looking at the phone while he looked at her.  She started mouthing the words of a song and looked over toward him shyly after the first verse.  He was so caught up, he didn’t even hear what the verse was, but his lips turned up in a soft smile, the same smile he always gave her when she wasn’t looking.  He felt the loss when she looked back toward the phone, but immediately felt the warmth in his chest again when she turned back toward him with another sweet smile, lips still moving in time with the song.  He really needed to listen to the lyrics.

As soon as the thought popped into his head, it was destroyed and all breath evaporated from his lungs when she leaned in close to him, her lips so close to his he could feel her breath against them.  But then as quick as she was there, she pulled away to sing the next lyric, “we should be lovers instead.”

He stared at her stunned for a few seconds before a slow smirk spread across his lips.  He raised a questioning eyebrow, his smile beamed when she bit her lower lip and nodded, but she was still too far away.  He pulled her back to him, his hand wrapping around her throat, his thumb grazing her larynx and fingers wound into her hair.  He paused just a second before crashing his lips to hers.  His hand moved up to cup her face as their lips melded together.

At some point, the song had ended, but he had no idea how long before they pulled away from their kiss, but when they did, it was silent in the car except for their panting breaths.  He grinned brilliantly, almost as brilliantly as she did.  “That was very unexpected,” he breathed.  “But so very, very welcome.”  His eyes drifted down to her lips moments before pushing toward her again, much slower this time, like he was savoring each millisecond of their contact.

They pulled away just as slowly, just enough to search each other’s eyes and get a bit lost in what they found there.  Her hand raked through his hair and settled on his jaw.  “That went so much better than I expected.”

He chuckled.  “I think that’s the first challenge we aced.”  He ran his finger along her jaw.  “I think we should celebrate.  Can I take you out to dinner, Cielo?  On a date?” he added quickly, just in case there was any confusion about the true impetus.

She pulled her lower lip between her teeth, but even that couldn’t stop her smile.  “Yeah, I’d like that.”

He grinned again and stared at her for just a few seconds before turning the car back on and pulling out.  “Best challenge ever,” he beamed.

[formosusiniquis]

“Try again.” Steve orders.

Sweat is pouring down Eddie’s face. He’s reaching for something, he thinks, some power that is supposed to live in him. Channeling it feels like trying to summon his liver or kidney. He’s reaching for something that is supposed to exist in him innately. And he’s having as much luck forcing that power as he could trying to get his stomach to digest faster.

But they keep trying. Hour after hour, day after day. He comes and he meets Steve in the empty throne room. He goes and he fails again and again and again to find anything that so much as hints at the spark they insist is there.

Make the ball stop, make the shirt move, alright fine just try to stop yourself from falling. Not like that, like this. It’s easy Eddie, are you even trying? Fine, no it’s fine, something easier. Change your form. Change your face. Change your eye color. Can you at least change your goddamn hair? No, sorry, sorry. Something easier. Something easier. Something easier.

Steve flicks his wrist and another new orb appears. They stack in the corner like dewdrops on a door frame spiderweb. Something easier. Steve creates something from nothing. Something easier. He doesn’t remember much from science, but he knows you can’t make something from nothing. Something easier. Breaking the very laws of physics.

It’s one of the first things Steve learned how to do. Just make the orb. Just make the orb. Just leave. We don’t need this. We need more. We need to take from this place.

“Just try. It’s kids stuff.”

We hunger. Hit him, draw blood.

“I am trying,” he bites out. Teeth catching his hunger, the blood lust.

“It should come from your chest. Draw out the want.” A hand tossed up into the air sends a toddler’s bubble wand's worth of crystalline spheres floating all around them.

He wants. He wants . What is hunger but want? Visceral and primal.

They've been at this so long he doesn't know what day it should be anymore. He has been reaching. Has reached. If he tried any harder he would have his intestines in his hand. They would burble and gurgle in his fists, starved and wanting. Something physical to show Steve that it is not a lack of want keeping him from making that shitfucking orb.

The deeper he reaches the more he wants. Deeper and deeper until the hive singing chorus of his wants filters down into a singular voice again.

Take. Take. Take.

Eddie flicks his wrist again an easy, though less graceful, mimicry of a gesture he’s seen too many times. He might as well be jerking off the air for all it produces.

Just do something. Anything. You have to want it. If you don’t want it enough you’ll never be able to do anything more powerful.

The threat hangs unsaid over top of them.

“I’m trying.” It feels like the only thing he’s capable of saying. Straining to find a muscle that doesn’t exist, sweating while standing still. The flouncy shirt that has become his uniform here sticking to the small of his back, bangs stringy and sticking to his forehead.

“Try harder,” Steve insists. Eddie can see his mouth continue to move but whatever he was saying gets drowned out by the too fast thumping of his heartbeat in his ears.

You’re better than he is , the voice Eddie dug so deep to find says. It doesn’t sound like himself but maybe it’s the real him. Maybe he should have listened a little closer to Dustin’s half-assed attempts at psychoanalysis.

He needs you , it says, he can’t do this without you. All this place knows how to do is wait and wish and steal from the people who have the power to do actual things. 

Steve is watching him, the hand of his good arm on one hip, brow raised in kingly expectation. Waiting for Eddie to do something. Answer a question he didn’t hear or to continue failing at the impossible task that had been set for him.

He isn’t sure he has powers. But he knows what someone looks like when they want to take. When they want to seal a moment to laugh or mock

“I’m done,” Eddie says. His whispering Id is cheering him on as he drops his arms to his sides, the cold, damp of his shirt under his arms the only real sign he has for how long he’s been holding them there.

Steve nods, something relaxing in his face. “You’re right, let’s take a break.”

“No. Not a break. I’m done. ”

“Done? What does that even mean done? It’s still, well mid-afternoon isn’t early but it’s too early to just leave. We’ll break from lunch and then get back to it.”

Take and take and take. Your time, your energy, your free will. That is the problem with the wishers, they take from the willful and think they are powerful.

“No, Steve. I’m done. I’m leaving.”

They’ve maintained a careful professorial distance during these lessons. Steve never comes as close as he did the first time when he stopped Eddie from falling. But he steps closer now, face screwed up in something Eddie can only assume is anger as he opens his mouth to no doubt say some bullshit that we’ll force Eddie to stay here and keep working. To keep trying. As he takes and takes and takes more time and more of his will to resist, to get home.

“ Stop.” The command leaves him with a force he has had trouble finding in this miserable place. Powerful enough to freeze a king in his tracks. And Eddie doesn’t want to wait and see what Steve will do when he snaps out of it. Doesn’t want to hear whatever spell he’s going to cast in revenge.

Get out. Go deeper into the labyrinth. You’ll find something there that you can use against him later.

He doesn’t think. Just listens to that voice that feels so entwined around him. He turns and runs, knowing from experience that whatever creature he may stumble on in the maze will be less trouble than their king.

Read the rest on AO3

[evermarch]

Hi. I love your fanfic us amongst the living. I think you really have Katniss and Peeta in character. How easy do you find writing them as in staying in character with who they are and showing how they will be different after they have gone through?

hi!! thank you so much!! i apologize in advance that this is so long. i’ve spent the last two weeks legal writing which has sucked all the joy out of words for me, so i’m starved for an ounce of creativity. please bear with me. your message means a lot, especially because the main purpose for me of writing the fic was to work on my characterization. i won’t say it’s easy, but i have my system down at this point. it’s different for katniss and for peeta (as well as the other characters), because katniss is the narrator. my approach is designed to get myself inside her head. i have two techniques i use for that.

first, i think about how she feels about whatever she’s doing and why. for example, i personally don’t hunt, and have no desire to. i’m more of an indoor person than an outdoor person, so i can’t understand the solace being out in the woods brings her. i grew up in a sunny, humid, beachy climate, so my connection to nature looks and feels entirely different.

but i do love sea glass hunting, so i focus on what it feels like to be barefoot on the beach, no noise, just the sound of seagulls and water crashing to the shore. it doesn’t matter if it’s bone-chilling cold or suffocatingly hot. to dig in the rocks or the sand for different pieces big and small, usually green or white or brown, but if i’m lucky, sometimes i’ll find a deep blue or a piece of pottery. once, i even got a little red one. the weather and terrain tell me everything i need to know about what i will find. some days are better than others. sometimes i come up empty, but other times i’m pleasantly surprised. it’s so frustrating to find a gorgeous piece and have it slip between my fingers. it’s worth it, though, because of the quiet moments i get to spend with a friend, the love of my life, or even alone, with just the seagulls as company. using that as my base, it’s easy to convert my experiences into katniss’.

the second thing i do is to process the story in katniss’ voice. this tactic is a lot more practical. i love audiobooks, and i must have listened to tatiana’s reading of the trilogy about a thousand times by now. katniss’ voice is very, very clear in my head. so if the dialogue i’m writing for her doesn’t sound right in her voice, she shouldn’t be saying it.

i relate to peeta more palpably, possibly because the struggles he faced through his childhood are a lot more comprehensible to me. we share some talents, but just as many flaws. and because we don’t know the post-hijacking peeta, i feel a lot more free to characterize him as the boy i fell in love with when i was a little girl reading the books for the first time. except, all grown up. so he looks and sounds like my fiancé, really.

but, as you indicated, keeping them true to the characters we know and love as they change adds its own challenges. so i spend a lot of time thinking through each of their actions in the trilogy. i put myself in their positions and see how my gut tells me i would react, and think about what makes me different and what makes me the same. the more i get to know why they act the way they do, the more i can draw on how they’ve acted in the past. in the end, it’s just pattern recognition, with a little deference to the human condition known as hypocrisy.

at first, it was pretty easy. the pattern was so clear to me by the time i sat down to write. but the further i got into my story, the harder it was to hear their voices. and i realized it’s because i’m no longer simply continuing the patterns from suzanne’s writing. i’m pulling from my own now, too. and that means trusting the patterns i’ve created. which is a lot easier said than done.

the last thing i’ll say in this response which is likely about eight times the length of what you expected (but if you like my writing you know brevity is not my strong suit) is that after i took a break of several months, i went back to the trilogy and reread. when i finished reading the hunger games, i texted a friend about how wrong i’d gotten katniss. she assured me it wasn’t true and i kept reading, convinced i messed it all up. but by the time i finished mockingjay and started my reread of uatl, i understood once again why i’d written what i wrote. i pondered every single character choice i made, and agreed with the logic for almost all of them. and it’s because katniss grew a lot in three books. 16 year old katniss is astoundingly different from 17 year old katniss. so 18 year old katniss, will be, too.

[literatureloverx]

morning mother! (it’s morning for us right now) just wanted to ask who your favorite song artist was (sorry if you already answered this im bad at remembering 💔) do you also have a favorite painter? mines Claude Monet, he’s actually my idol ❤️ how are you today mother? hope you’re doing well <3

-♦️📖

Claude Monet is also one of my favourite painters, my dear.♥️ I am extremely fond of how Monet’s work captures light as something felt rather than seen—an essential quality of Impressionism, which deliberately broke away from academic realism to explore fleeting moments of perception. It always reminds me of memory and atmosphere more than landscape. There is something quietly emotional in the way Monet paints softness. It is not dramatic, just gently persistent; like something returning without needing to explain itself.

I have many favourites besides Monet, and these are just a few:

Starting with John William Waterhouse, I believe his paintings draw me in with their emotional depth. His approach to myth feels intimate and warm, even when it is tinged with sorrow—reflecting the later influence of the Pre-Raphaelite movement’s interest in medievalism and symbolism.

Caspar David Friedrich’s landscapes are beautiful as well. They evoke solitude and introspection. His vast skies and foggy horizons create a space for thought and feeling; there is no emptiness, only quiet contemplation. Friedrich’s work is foundational to German Romanticism, emphasizing the sublime and spiritual over the rational. Friedrich Heyser’s portraits share this same subtlety, for example. They observe without overwhelming, leaving room for mystery and introspection in the faces he paints. His “Ophelia” is one of my favourite paintings.♥️

John Everett Millais (I can’t talk enough about his works, I’m holding myself together here) has always fascinated me. Some call his technique unnatural—this criticism comes from academic debates on his almost photographic precision as a founding Pre-Raphaelite—but may they rot in hell, because I find it masterful.🙄

I adore “The Eve of St. Agnes” and “Jeanne d’Arc” especially, as well as “The Princes in the Tower”… two beautiful children who will, undeniably, be murdered soon. Only they don’t know. They are scared, perhaps they already feel it, but they (particularly the older prince) are trying to hold themselves together nonetheless. It is so restrained, and yet the dread is unmistakable. His “Ophelia” is iconic, of course, though I tend to prefer the more ghostly or dramatic depictions of her.

Speaking of the Pre-Raphaelite era, there is a gorgeous painter named Edmund Blair Leighton. He did not paint during the Pre-Raphaelite period itself, but he carried on its legacy—its revival of medieval romanticism and attention to detailed narrative scenes. I believe his most famous work is “The Accolade”, which I am fond of as well because it depicts scenes from the Middle Ages in a romanticised light.

I am also extremely fond of Ivan Aivazovsky’s “Birth of Aphrodite” because it blends myth and atmosphere in a way that feels private and haunted. It’s less idealised than Sandro Botticelli’s “Birth of Venus”, of course, which I also admire, as a masterpiece of Early Renaissance humanism. But Aivazovsky’s sea makes the whole phenomenon raw and more real, in my opinion. Or perhaps that is because I am very fond of paintings that present the sea or the ocean as it is; sometimes wild, sometimes calm. In fact, I find such paintings extremely calming. Any painting that depicts the sea is something I am interested in (I must have been a mermaid in a life before this one, haha), and that is likely why I am drawn to Aivazovsky’s work. So many of his paintings feature the sea; it is a great mix of haunting beauty and tranquil reality. Less idealised than Monet’s paintings, nonetheless.

Miguel Carbonell Selva’s “Death of Sappho” lingers with me. It captures the moment before disappearance. It is intense, full of longing and beauty, never collapsing under its own symbolism—a quality often debated in Symbolist art. (Again, the sea in the background, haha.)

Giovanni Battista Lusieri appeals to me for his careful restraint. His precise technique never takes away from the mood or atmosphere of his scenes, which is something I appreciate deeply. (*Cough cough*… the sea… again…) Lusieri’s work reflects neoclassical discipline combined with romantic sensibility.

Francesco Hayez’s romanticism is rich with political feeling and memory. His work speaks of passion and history, balancing emotion with narrative—a hallmark of Italian Romanticism’s engagement with the Risorgimento. Have you seen his work called “The Kiss”? If not, you absolutely must look it up!

Going further, I also like how Arnold Böcklin’s paintings are textured and suggestive, like half-remembered stories floating between reality and imagination. I like the subtle fairytale-esque (no one else would say that about his paintings haha) quality mixed with dark themes. Böcklin occupies a fascinating place bridging Symbolism and early Modernism.

Speaking of fairytales, one of the first names that comes to my mind when I am thinking of such artworks is Eleanor Fortescue-Brickdale. Her feminine and mythic subjects are handled thoughtfully, showing beauty without excess or dismissal, and echoing late Pre-Raphaelite and Symbolist ideals.

Ask me anything about art, Greco-Roman mythology, or the Ottoman Empire (and their war strategies), and you shall receive an unnecessarily deep dive into my mind, haha. Anyway, I hope that was satisfying to read at least, my dear!♥️

[eternalpassions]

Illicit Affairs

Outside Characters. University Setting. Rated: Explicit

My heart skips a beat as the bell rings, signaling the end of class, and I watch the students crowd together to leave the room. There's something I need to do today, something I can't avoid. I wish I could put it off, but I have to face it to improve my grade in this undergraduate chemistry class. It's a general education requirement—one of those mandatory courses needed to graduate.

Talking to teachers has always made me anxious—especially professors. It's nerve-wracking to approach them, put yourself out there, and risk looking stupid by asking the wrong questions. But that's not the only reason I'm on edge. I'm nervous because of him—the graduate student teaching assistant who oversees the undergraduates for this section. My grade is in his hands, and I’m not even sure he knows who I am.

He’s only a couple of years younger than me, even though he holds an authority position over me in this class. That’s because I’m a bit older than the average undergraduate. No, I’m not old, but I’m not fresh out of high school either. At 27 years old, I guess you could say I’m a bit of a late bloomer when it comes to my education. I took some time off to figure out what I really wanted to do before coming back to school.

He’s an expert in the subject, effortlessly solving any equation in the textbook—even the challenging ones that seem like they were created just to stump students, probably without the professors even knowing the solutions themselves.

I take a deep breath, rise from my seat, and start walking toward him. The classroom is empty now, and as far as I know, this is his last section of the day.

“Sir?”  I ask.

“Yes ” He turns around at his desk and looks at me.

“Hi. My name is Alex. I’m in your undergrad section”

He looks at me with an unreadable look and his gaze penetrates throughout my body. I blush and look away.

“Yes I know who you are. What can I do for you?”

"Oh, you know who I am?" I blurt out before I can stop myself. I'm genuinely surprised—after all, I don’t stand out in class. I don’t talk much, I don’t ask questions, and I don’t draw attention to myself. I’m just... there.

“ Yes of course I know who you are. I know all my students” He says with a small smile.

Oh, so he remembers all his students. I feel a little embarrassed—and maybe just a bit disappointed—hearing that. I guess a small part of me had hoped I was the one student who stood out in his mind.

"So, why don’t you tell me what you need help with?" he continues, his tone patient and encouraging.

“ Well I wanted to see if you had some time to help me review for the exam. There’s a lot of concepts I’m not understanding”  I tuck my hair behind my ear feeling embarrassed. It’s a difficult subject, I wish I didn’t struggle but I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t need any help.

"Sure, nothing to be embarrassed about. That’s what I’m here for," he says with an easy smile, his tone reassuring.

“ Oh okay thank you” I say as I start to walk towards his desk. I feel nervous to be approaching him. I’ve only seen him from the back of the classroom and not up close.

I take a seat in the chair propped up next to him. I begin to fish for the materials from my bag. A chemistry textbook and my notebook. As I bend down to get my stuff, I fail to notice that my skirt is riding up exposing my thong covered pussy to my teacher.

As I start to speak, he holds up a hand. "One second," he says, standing up from his seat. He walks to the door, closes it, and then turns the lock with a quiet click.

"I like to have total privacy when helping my students," he explains as he heads back to his seat. It’s surprising, but maybe it’s a good thing? He seems like a very devoted instructor, genuinely committed to his students' success. I mean, how many other section instructors would go this far to provide such focused, one-on-one attention? It’s not common, right?

"So, what do you want to start with?" he asks, looking directly at me. For the first time, I notice the details up close—his warm brown eyes, his soft, long brown hair, and the gentle smile that lingers on his face. It’s disarming, and I feel my heart flutter in my chest.

“ Um..Ionic bonds?” I say and it comes out as a question

"Sure, we can do that. And you can sit closer to me—I don’t bite, you know," he says with a playful smile, motioning for me to move closer. I already thought I was sitting close enough, but now I can’t believe I’m about to sit even closer to my chemistry instructor. My heart races as I slide my chair forward.  

"So... can you do a problem on your own?" he asks, his tone gentle but curious as he leans slightly toward me. His question lingers in the air, and I feel the pressure building up. My hands fidget slightly as I prepare to respond.

I shake my head in embarrassment. “ No.. I can’t”

“No problem.. Look, here, I’ll help you like this. Watch how I do it” He moves a a bit closer to me and I can feel the atmosphere heating up. I can feel the warmth transmitting between our thighs touching each other. He shocks me when he wraps his large warm hand around my waist and gently pulls me closer to him.

All I do is stare at him with my mouth agape. As I took at him, easily answering the problems, the way he works with such authority and his hand easily wrapping around half of my small waist, I feel my pussy moisten through the thin material of my panties.

It’s hard for me to hold back. Why is he touching me this way? Isn’t it a bit intimate to be professional.

I moan suddenly as I feel his hand move up from my waist to my breast and him squeeze the big cup.

“Professor?!”

“Yes Alex?”

“What are you doing?”

"Nothing much, just waking you up. You seem a bit distracted, after all," he says, his tone shifting. When did his warm, kind gaze turn so arrogant and dangerous? The change catches me off guard, making me more nervous than before—but, strangely, also more excited.

“But this isn’t appropriate” I argue. It really isn’t. Yes, he’s a couple years younger than me so an age gap isn’t the issue here. But there’s boundaries that would be broken. Rules that would be broken.

“What’s not appropriate? I’m simply helping my student focus the way she wants” He smirks while pinching harder on my nipples.

I let out a gasp and repeat “ The way I want?”

“Yes, I’ve noticed,” he says, his tone confident. “Don’t think I haven’t caught the way you look at me in class, the way you’ve been eyeing me all this time. And let’s not forget the outfit you chose to wear today, just to see me.”

His eyes travel slowly over my body, making me suddenly aware of my choice. Why did I pick this outfit today, of all days? A tight V-neck top that dips low, showing off my tits, and a snug mini skirt that clings to the curves of my ass and reveals my panties when I bend over.

“Don’t worry... I won’t share your secret,” he says with a mischievous smile, followed by a playful wink

“ Or would you prefer I stop?” He immediately retracts his hand and I whimper at the loss of pleasure.

“No!” I exclaim. “I want this,” I admit, my voice softening. “I’ve always wanted this.”

And just like that, the mask is finally removed. I don’t know how he saw through me all this time. Maybe it’s because he was hiding behind a mask too, just like I was. Maybe we were both shielding our hearts, covering up what we truly longed for.

But one thing is clear: he saw through mine. A deception can only last for so long.

As we both look into each other’s eyes and pant I know we are thinking the same thing.

I’m not sure who starts it, but our mouths crash together in an intense, fiery kiss. His lips are firm, his tongue commanding mine as I give in to his touch. His hands roam over my body, reaching eagerly for my curves. I rise from my seat and straddle him, and he grabs my soft, full ass with a hunger that feels like he’s been waiting forever for this moment.

His lips move down to my neck, leaving kisses and gentle suction on my skin. My hands slide down to his crotch, where I start to rub his firm bulge. He lets out a groan, and I can’t help but smile.

“Hungry, aren’t you?” he mutters with a low groan, his voice thick with desire as he reaches down to unzip his pants.

I moan as I see his cock bare in front of me. It is as I always pictured it. Thick and pink, my favorite. I want him inside me desire rushes through me—I want him, all of him, to feel us become one.

I wrap my hand around his length, stroking him slowly, before turning around and bending over, presenting my ass to him with deliberate intention. Glancing back at him with wide, innocent eyes, I tease him, my expression daring yet playful.

He lets out a frustrated groan, his control slipping, and lands a firm slap on my ass. It’s as if he’s scolding me for knowing exactly how much I’m driving him wild.

“ Fuck your ass is so huge” He gropes the cheeks and I feel the hunger through the way he gropes me. His touch is so dominant and lustful it makes me so excited. I hear his shoes from behind me and gasp as me pushes me against the desk.  I gasp surprised at his dominance and feeling the cool touch of the surface of the desk against my chest.

“Can you feel what you do to me? You make me like this,” he growls, his hard cock pressing against my ass. A moan escapes my lips, followed by a soft whimper. I ache with need, I need him inside me now

“ You got me wanting to fuck you and nut in you without a condom”

I whimper and he holds me still in place. “ I’m on birth control” I breath. I can feel my nipples pressing against the hard cold surface of the desk.

"That’s good, but honestly, I wouldn’t have cared either way," he says with a sly smirk. "I would’ve risked it... even if it meant knocking you up."

His words make my breath hitch as he pulls my panties down, his smirk widening. "But something tells me you’d have liked that," he adds, positioning himself at my entrance.

I gasp sharply, and a scream escapes my lips as he pushes inside me—slowly at first, then all at once.

His thrusts are slow and deep. I can feel them deep inside me.

“ Fuck.. you feel so good. So tight and fuckable” He groans and thrusts deeper. I moan. How is it that a man just a couple of years younger than me can ignite such fires in my heart? I think it’s the combination of his youth and the authority he holds over me that makes this feel so forbidden—and that much more thrilling.

As he pounds harder into me, he grips onto my hips tighter and I moan. He does something that is so dominant and sexy. He reaches over to grab my hands that are in front of me gripping onto the edge of the desk and clasps them into his own and holds our hands there in front of us.

This is definitely an illicit affair.

[rriavian]

For the fic writer ask game :3

3, 5, 14, 18, 24

Thank you for the ask! <3 I've tried not to ramble on too much but these questions are so good and I wanted to answer them as in depth as possible.

how you feel about your current WIP

I have a lot on the go at the moment, but Deliverance is probably the oldest unfinished work. I’ll always love it but I have to admit at the moment it’s making me want to shake past me for a) writing it and b) not finishing it sooner. It’s been so long since I updated and this is the last chapter so…really want to get it right.

It's going to take more focus than newer ideas. I feel like I have to cup my hand over my ear and listen close to hear its sound, like an echo of my own words from very far away.

first sentence of the fifth paragraph of an unpublished WIP

"The input itself is paltry; compared to all he holds it’s microscopic, yet it’s sensation from the wrong places, a pinprick of light in the emptiness where the rest of him should be."

where do you get your inspiration?

Connection, I think. If I can feel connected to a piece of media, or an idea, then I can write about it. Doesn’t have to be a positive connection either, it just has to draw me in.

Usually my fics start from a question, a ‘what if’, or a character trait my attention is drawn to. And when I think about it I can’t help but visualise; get into character almost, walk through it with them, map it out to find the ‘how’ of what would happen. I need to breathe with them you know? I need to know who they are to feel inspired, even if it’s just the slightest sense, even though I always learn more as I write.

Inspiration is like a light shone in a place I’ve not yet looked just as much as it is shining in a room I've been in many times before. 

Stray lines can help, things I hear in every day life, or things I see. And honestly so much comes from other people! Posts on tumblr. Asks people send me. All the beautiful fan art. Though being inspired to write sex isn’t something I ever thought would happen…I’m asexual so it’s not something I personally feel all that fussed about. Sex has to really work to be interesting to me.

if you keep them, share a deleted sentence or paragraph from a published fic

I do keep them! Usually to potentially use later in another work :) here is one:

“If you want me to help you,” The Corinthian swallowed his fear, forced it aside. “Then get down on your knees and beg for it.”

how do you recharge when you’re not feeling creative?

Usually I flounder for a bit while trying to create anyway, but I'm quick to identify that pattern now. I tend to just stop entirely…leave all the ‘deliberate’ creating alone for a minute and wait for an idea to wander my way. I’m a very instinctive writer anyway, I have to be able to feel my prose when I write it, which doesn’t always bode well for trying to plan what to write!

(Fic Writer Asks)

[16woodsequ]

(For the writers truth and dare ask game)

I was unsure how many I could pick so I chose two, 🍓 because I’m genuinely curious and 🍦for the fun of it!

Also excuse me for not interacting as much as I usually do, but now I’m back :)

(From this ask game)

Thanks for the ask! I always love them :D

🍓 how did you get into writing fanfiction? 

Oh that's something I haven't thought about in a while! Okay, so my first introduction to fandom was through DeviantArt. I grew up on transformers and went looking for cool fanart. I found some but couldn't comment without an account, so I made my first fandom account. I wasn't planning to post anything, but a stranger followed my empty blog and sent me an encouraging note saying they couldn't wait to see what I did. (I still think of them, we never became mutuals or anything, it was like they were a benevolent fairy godmother telling me to create, and then I never saw them again, but I owe them a lot!)

So I posted a few drawings and followed a bunch of people and groups on DA. I began reading fanfiction there. But I still never even thought to post my own work at the time.

But circa 2014 I am very invested in reading fic and I have a favourite Transformer character (Starscream) whom I have created an entire backstory for (sparked by a take I didn't agree with in a fic). I'm deep into mentally writing stories, with my own Mary Sues and everything. It's my daily pass-time, daydreaming these stories and meta.

It still doesn't occur to me to write any of these until one day I'm watching The Hobbit, and Ed Sheran's I See Fire plays and hits me like a lightning bolt. This song is perfect for my fav character!! Someone's got to have written about it, right???

So I scour fanfiction sites (I can't remember if I'd started reading on Ao3 yet, but I'd definitely been on FNN) but No One had written this Very Niche idea???

And that's when the concept of writing my own fic started. I just had too. The idea was too good. So my first fic was a song fic writing on the DA STASH program (not even Word lol. This thing didn't even have a word count, and my editing process was to read the wip backwards word for word, searching for misspellings or other typos).

And after that I suddenly realised that if I wanted people to see my fav character in the same light I did, I had to write it. And so it began.

I eventually started posting on FNN, and then in 2016 on Ao3. My first Marvel fic followed a similar process where I got an idea and it was just too good and people needed to know about it, so Lessons Learned was written on STASH. (I think around then I finally moved to Word XD). I still have an old account on DA, but I haven't been active on it in many years. It does hold a special place in my heart for being the place I started learning about fandom and writing in though.

So I guess I started writing fanfic because no one seemed to be writing my stories, and I had Opinions that needed to be shown.

🍦 name three good things about a character you hate

Oh geez, lemme think.

Quickest name comes to mind is Rumlow. But that's in a Love to hate situation. I know some people like to redeem Rumlow, but I love how he can shorthand so easily as just the worst guy you know.

He's just the worst (positive). No matter what AU you're reading you know any character named Rumlow is going to be the worst scum ever.

I mean, I've heard about what it's like to live with large, bad burns. So good for him for making it through the acute period and living with it I guess.

Kind of ties in to the first point, but there's not much he wouldn't believably do. You want an unhinged bad guy? Rumlow will help you out. Does he have morals or did he lose them with the burns? Your choice writer! He's up for anything.

Hope you enjoyed the ask! Oh and don't feel bad at all about engagement! I know how life can get sometimes and I'm not ever going to get mad for something like that.