#and then i cannot share that art the moment it's done

[genderfluid-draws]

watch this space tomorrow 👀

[caluette]

the truth

[mylight-png]

I have thoughts in regards to That Photo of Shani Louk receiving an award.

But first, I'd like to address something I've seen in our community about how the situation has been handled.

Many people I've seen have been sharing their anger and pain in regards to the photo and the award, rightfully so. However, many of these people have shared those thoughts alongside That Photo. While I understand the intent of this, I'd like to just ask for people to not do that.

Do not distribute That Photo in any way, please.

Shani Louk's family has asked for that photo not to be shared. Her family has asked for her to be remembered for her life, not her death.

Instead, I encourage you to share your views alongside a photo of Shani from her life. Share her as she lived, not as she died.

Let Shani's memory be who she was, not what was done to her.

Now, I know there's little I can say about the photo and award that hadn't already been said. I'd like to talk about it anyway.

First and foremost, receiving an award for photographing a woman being subjected to the worst a person can endure is disgusting. That award was given for taking a picture of a woman who has been raped and killed, and of her body continuing to be violated and paraded around. Not for protecting her, not for intervening, not for doing anything to help anyone.

Additionally, as I mentioned before, Shani's family has asked for that photo not to be spread around, and the resurgence in publicity that this photo is getting as a result is a direct blow to the family's wishes.

In that photo, for the purpose of that photo, Shani is used as little more than a prop. It is dehumanizing and violating. It is beyond that, but I cannot even come up with words to articulate how horrible it is.

I'm sure we've all heard the phrase, "people love dead Jews" at this point. This photo receiving a major award is simply confirmation of this. This photo, a photo of a dead Jewish woman, receiving such a highly esteemed award, proves this. I am sick to my stomach just writing about it.

There is nothing about that photo that would merit an award and it tramples upon Shani's memory and dehumanizes her even further than she already has been.

In protest of that award, I encourage you to share photos of her that aren't of her lowest moment.

Share photos of her life, share photos of her art. Do not share photos of her death.

Here are some photos I am choosing to share:

You can find these photos online, there's a whole Instagram account dedicated to sharing photos of her life. The first and last photos are from an article about her art being put up in an exhibition. These photos are out there, just find and share them please.

May her memory be a blessing and may it be protected from further desecration.

[captain-mj]

Bro you cannot just drop prep/jock soap and goth ghost and dip. We need you to give us your brain worms so we can analyze it like a science project

When you have time of course

I will put my worms in a petri dish for you

Soap was an artist! He liked sketching and painting and the act of making art. But he didn't like art essays. The explaining over and over again each detail. Breaking down everything until it felt like a bunch of paint strokes instead of art.

But part of an art degree is a ton of art essays. So Soap went to the museum to write what he needed. He preferred museums to finding art online. A big part of art for him was texture. His preference would've been to touch the art, to feel the paint underneath his fingers. But the assignment specified art from the Baroque period and therefore they had to be older and no museum was going to allow his grubby hands to touch the art.

Soap glanced down one of halls to see if there was anything interesting there when he faltered.

Oh lord.

The man was big. His shoulders. His height. The thighs he had that looked like tree trunks. It was all covered in tight black fabric and silver chains. A work of bloody art himself.

Soap had to hold himself back from wolf whistling.

Once he was done objectifying admiring the man's body, he looked higher up. There was a mask covering the bottom of his face, the only thing visible being his eyes which had heavy eyeliner on them. He could still see the locs of bleached blond hair that surrounded him like a halo.

Soap wanted to paint him.

"You gonna stare all day?" Someone snarked at him and he jumped, glancing at a slightly smaller blond man. He looked at him like he was gross and for a brief moment, he worried he might be about to be hate crimed. The man looked a lot the other one actually now that he was looking closer. Dressed the same way too.

"Aye, what's your fucking problem with it?"

The man's face scrunched. "Ew." He walked away, leaving Soap rather confused but now a bit determined to talk to mystery man.

Pretending to be looking through the paintings, he got closer to him.

Dark brown eyes quickly glanced over at him before glancing back at the paintings.

"Hey. My name is Soap."

"Ghost."

Ooh, he's from Manchester and sticks with his aesthetic. Nice. He'd prefer a not British person, but as far as British people go, he could do worse than Manchester. He glanced at the painting Simon had been admiring.

The Raising of Lazarus by Rembrandt.

"It's a lovely painting." Soap put on his normal charm, acting suave and polite.

"Aye." Ghost gruffed and went quiet again, staring in simple contemplation. His arms were crossed, making already large arms flex.

Soap started to take notes for his assignment. Although he was definitely hoping to score well in more than one ways, he did need to take notes for his assignment.

Ghost glanced over at what he was writing quizzically and Soap answered the unasked question. "I'm doing a project."

"Fun." He huffed and looked back at the painting.

Soap looked down at his chest and licked his hips. "Yeah, it's a good one." He kept writing stuff. "You a college student?"

"Yeah."

"What do you study?"

"Forensics. I'm assuming you're art?"

"Chemistry with a minor in art!" Right as Soap went to mention how funny it was that they didn't share any classes, Ghost interrupted him.

"Wait. Johnny? Johnny MacTavish? We share several classes."

Soap brightened. "Do you dress like this all the time?" There was zero chance he did or Soap would already know his name, address and dick size.

"We have morning classes together. I don't dress up for morning classes." Ghost said decisively. He stretched and shook his head.

How did he manage to not notice the shoulders though at least? The man was huge. He was also several inches taller than Soap and therefore the majority of the class. Maybe if he sat in the back and left later than everyone?

Soap nodded. "Understandable. You look nice."

"Nice huh?" Ghost smiled at him. He could tell cause his eyes scrunched slightly.

"Yeah. Nice." Soap said softly, his chest doing something weird.

They stared at the painting a while before Ghost pulled away to start exploring the rest of the exhibit.

Soap finished up the notes he needed to write his paper and then started to walk with him. He tried to find his opening during all of this.

Ghost stopped at a very specific painting.

ARTEMESIA GENTILESCHI, JUDITH SLAYING HOLOFERNES, C. 1612–1613

The art was... stunning. The red, faded from time and wear, was still beautiful against the white of the blankets.

The women held him down and there was a movement to it that Soap wanted in his own work. His fingers trembled with the want to touch it. To feel the texture of the paint under his fingers. Ridges and bumps and smooth layers of the different strokes.

Ghost hummed. "I don't really get art. It's pretty but some people look at it and it... gives them something. An epiphany."

Soap hummed. "I find touching it helps."

Ghost looked at him, raking his eyes over him. "I see. Do you want to head out then?"

Soap frowned. "Why?"

"You're a piece of art and I'm looking for an epiphany."

[orobaxis]

I loved your Ominis fic so much! It felt like I was there with him 🤭 for prompts I couldn’t decide between “You need to know that I have grown to care for you. Deeply." and "I can't fathom the idea of my life without you in it." It could be angsty or not I don’t mind 😊

“deeply”

ominis gaunt x f!reader (hogwarts legacy)

ominis starts to avoid you.

word count: 2849

warning: some pureblood purity nonsense, f!reader may be muggleborn or a half-blood

beware of spoilers in the comments/tags/reblogs!

“what's wrong with you and ominis?”

you frown, eyes not leaving your plate as you give anne a shrug. you don’t know, really, what’s going on between you and ominis. he just suddenly became so distant to you.

at first, you thought it was just you. you thought you were going a bit paranoid, or that you were overthinking it. because ominis always sits with you, that was his place, that was where people expected to find him in the great hall. wherever y/n was, ominis wasn’t far behind.

it started when he raced anne to sit beside sebastian for lunch. you don’t think they noticed, and anne was just all too happy to sit beside you and chat, but you did. he was supposed to sit beside you, so why didn’t he? you chalked it up to him wanting to talk (argue) with seb, and thought nothing of it.

next was when you arrived to the library shortly after your potions class. you always go to the library after potions to try to work on your homework, you had a dedicated nook and ominis would join you and you would both nag the twins to start their homework (and not copy yours). but one day, he just…wasn’t there. you were beginning to get worried, then, wondering if he wasn’t feeling well, or if you did something to upset him. so that night, you try to catch him in the common room.

he didn’t show up. you four would usually sit by the large windows overlooking the lake, waiting for the giant squid to greet you while pranking other students. but when sebastian told you that “he said he wanted to rest”, your heart formed a little crack in it. and every day he started to avoid you, the crack just grew a little bit bigger.

“i think…he’s avoiding me,” you tell anne. despite being close to ominis, you and anne share a sisterly bond that was forged early in your lives and stronger than the very foundations of magic. there are things you simply cannot talk to seb or ominis about (for one, your…budding feelings towards the latter), and it’s always anne who you turn to in times like these. “he hasn’t talked to me for days now.”

anne scrunches her face in displeasure. “that isn’t like ominis at all, he’s not ignoring me, and certainly not my brother,” she turns to you warily, “do you think it was something you did? something you said?”

“i’m trying to remember, but i’m certain i haven’t said or done anything that could have upset ominis,” the tone of your voice is sadder now, disparaging, “that i know of.”

anne, ever the optimist, reaches for your hand and squeezes it, “well, whatever it is, i’m sure ominis will come around. he can’t stay away forever, you know?”

feeling somewhat comforted, you give her a terse smile. do you know that?

-

it might be best to stay away. ignoring the thumping of his heart and the fluttering in his stomach, ominis flicks his wand, and the howler is engulfed in flames before it can disintegrate. he is thankful for the privacy of the undercroft at this moment, although he knows that any one of his friends can pop in, the message in the howler was not something he wanted them to hear.

son,

we have heard rumours about you associating with some…unsavoury folk—

is that really what they think of her? of y/n? because she wasn’t born from a prominent pureblood family, because she associates herself with muggleborn professor garlick, because she loves all things that grow and not fascinated in the dark arts?

does his family really think less of her because of her birth?

ominis made a hard and rash decision, and it has been going well. however, he’s certain that you are starting to get suspicious by now. you are a smart witch, you know that he’s been avoiding you. but ominis thinks there is no other option. in order to keep you away from his family’s sharp and piercing gaze, it is better to distant himself from you. it is for your own safety. he cannot have them sink their infected claws into the only comfort he has away from home. no matter how hard it is, ominis has to keep away.

which is becoming hard, seeing your history together. having barely separated, you have all the same classes together. herbology, for one, is your favourite class, and you had paired with him to care for a pot of chinese chomping cabbage. this is going to be a lot harder than he thought, seeing as you had rooted yourself deep into his routine, his life, and his heart.

-

feeling emboldened by your conversation with anne, you are hopeful that ominis will finally break his silence in herbology. you are partners, and you have to discuss how to properly care for this rather…biting…flora.

your anxious smile drops a bit when ominis says nothing when you greet him, only standing away from the potting station, seemingly indifferent.

“so…i thought we should start trimming our cabbage and feed it some carrots,” you suggest slowly, trying to gauge any reaction. “and maybe water it before we leave. what do you say, ominis?”

the smile is replaced by a frown when you see him looking away from you, something he hasn’t done since you two started being friends. he is attentive like that, whenever you talk to him, he would turn to your general direction, making sure you know that he was listening to you. now, you aren’t so sure that he’s not let your words pass through one ear and out the other.

ominis only shrugs, “do whatever you think is right,” and turns away from your completely.

disheartened, you turn to the potting station, trying to ignore the tightening of your throat and the sharp sting of tears threatening to fall down your cheeks. you silently tend to your plant for the rest of the class.

-

“why are you ignoring y/n?”

sebastian finds him sulking close to the defense against the dark arts classroom. this is also one of your favourite hauntings, enjoying the tea the biscuits when you have a free period.

ominis sighs, knowing that he cannot really avoid the question forever. he also knows how persistent sebastian can be, and it would be no use to hide it from him. despite this, he tries to play dumb at first, “what makes you say that?”

“well, for one, you haven’t been sitting next to her or talking to her for a couple of days now. and in herbology, you’d think someone made her watch a niffler getting tortured with how sad she looked.” sebastian’s tone is accusatory.

the gaunt boy frowns as he imagines how much his actions hurt you, only giving you one sentence answers whenever you ask questions in class and avoiding you as much as he can. he hates that he’s the reason you were so down in herbology earlier.

“and anne has been pestering me to ask you,” sebastian adds, “which means you better tell me now before she comes here and beats it out of you.”

ominis scoffs, “like she’d eve—”

“ominis, the only reason she hasn’t hexed you is because she’s busy comforting y/n right now. as soon as she’s done, you best believe we’ll both be on the receiving end of a mean stinging hex.”

well, ominis couldn’t argue with that.

“it’s my parents,” he tells sebastian, “they owled me, wrote to me that i shouldn’t be associating with ‘unsavoury folk’ and those who are ‘lesser’. that i am slytherin’s heir and should not be seen with someone who has muggle parentage and friends with muggleborns.”

sebastian blanches at that. “how dare they!”

“you might think that’s that, but it’s also a threat. they are telling me to stop now, or else they will find her.”

“and this…this is why you’re staying away?”

ominis nods, “i don’t want my family to even think of her. to look at her or touch her. i cannot have them taint her.”

he waits as sebastian goes silent, trying to process what he just said. he is not hoping for a solution, nor comfort.

“but…you’re hurting her. and yourself.”

ominis says nothing. he doesn’t need to. what more can he say?

-

you want to believe that you’re getting used to the silence. but you really can’t. it’s so different without ominis’ presence, without his (overly) doting nature, or his commentary whenever seb does anything stupid. while you still wonder what it is you did to make him ice you out, you also start to muster the courage to talk to him alone and ask him about it.

relaying this to anne, you two try to find the right “opportunity” to catch ominis off guard so that you can confront him. he seemingly catches on to it though, now sticking beside sebastian at any cost. sebastian is also a bit subdued, and that is something you should ask about in a while as well.

it’s so strange to find ominis across the table from you in the great hall, face turned away from you like he is deliberately letting you know he doesn’t want to acknowledge your presence. anne has been helpful, sitting beside you and initiating conversation, but it’s not the same.

it’s not the same without him.

so when the owls started arriving and delivering packages, you consider it a welcome surprise to receive one.

“oh, a package!” anne exclaims excitedly, “who is it from?”

you turn over the package, the smile on your face replaced by a frown, “i don’t know. it’s unmarked.”

at that, ominis can feel the hair on the back of his neck standing, and he sits up straighter. “don’t open it.”

you look up to ominis, surprised that he not only was listening to you (and ignoring you on purpose), but that he talked to you. even if it was just to tell you not to open a package.

sebastian purses his lips and nods, “he’s right, y/n. it could be some prank from someone.”

or something related to the dark arts that is meant to curse you, he and ominis think.

ominis has a gnawing feeling of anxiety, wondering if it was his family who sent you this mysterious package. do they really think he wouldn’t know about it? why would they send something potentially dangerous in such a conspicuous way?

“alright,” you acquiesce, now thinking that it couldn’t hurt to be on the safe side. it would be terrible if the package turned out to be a prank, wondering if it would explode when you open it or splash you with something pungent. “i’ll open it outside.”

“i will open it,” ominis states, and it sounds final. you stare at him, contemplating on whether this would be the right time to ask him, if he has decided he’s had enough of ignoring you and you can go back to the way it was. the finality in his words seem to suggest that he does not tryst whatever is in that package. his arms extend across the table to you, “i’ll keep it in the undercroft for now.”

blinking in surprise, you raise your eyebrow, “you want to hide it there?”

he nods tersely, “just to make sure it doesn’t explode on you. after classes we will go to the beach and open it.”

resigned, you hand the package over to him, taking the moment to bask in the feeling of his fingers brushing against your own. as quickly as it happened, ominis’ hands are gone, and he stands up, wand blinking red in front of him. he doesn’t say anything as he leaves for the undercroft.

sebastian says nothing when he hears your sigh of defeat.

-

the four of you find yourselves at the beach after class, eyeing the suspicious package tucked under ominis’ arm.

“i didn’t find any traces of dark arts in the package,” he says, “but we can never be too careful. i will place it on the ground and i need you all to back away as far as you can.”

“will you be safe?” you blurt out, your worry for him trumping the other confusing feelings you have bubbling up your chest, “if this is some kind of…dark arts artifact…i think it would be best if we get a teacher involved.”

ominis thought about that, of course. “if it’s dark arts, then i might be able to find a way to control it. and then you can go and fetch professor hecat.”

still wary, you voice your assent, grabbing anne’s hand for support.

you watch ominis take a deep breath, sebastian standing not too far from him, ready to catch him if anything happens as well as to guard you and anne.

ominis waves his hand in a flourish, and you all held your breaths as the packaging tears open to find…

a book.

thick, and well-used, it looks like…an ordinary textbook.

you shuffle towards ominis curiously, ignoring sebastian’s calls, and peeked to see what it is.

“oh, it’s a book,” you comment. you get close enough to read the title, even as ominis extends his arm to stop you from getting any closer. “it’s the herbology book i’ve been looking for!”

“what book?” ominis asks, still distrustful.

“i asked deek the house elf to help me find a book on herbology that professor garlick mentioned. he said he knew where that missing book may have been hidden. he must have sent it to me when he found it.”

you cautiously move away from ominis hold, reaching for the book. “see? it’s harmless. deek probably just didn’t put his name on it.”

“so, it’s not evil?” sebastian asks.

you raise the book and wave it, smiling, “nope!”

“merlin’s beard! that gave me quite the fright,” anne exclaims, hands on her chest, “this was all just a big misunderstanding!”

you smile, before subtly turning your gaze to ominis. he is quiet, once again icing you out. he nods stiffly before raising his wand, proceeding to walk away.

“ominis, wait!” you call out.

you see him hesitate, stopping his tracks for a moment. he clears his throat, “i’m glad you’re safe.”

-

he finds out by the large windows in the common room, one of your favourite spots.

you were learning your forehead against the window, listening to the sound of water behind the thick glass.

“the giant squid isn’t here,” ominis remarks, “i couldn’t hear it.”

he cannot see the sad smile on your face. “thank you for letting me know, i think it’s better knowing that instead of waiting for nothing.”

oh.

he doesn’t like the sound of your voice when it’s sad.

before he can process it, he is standing in front of you, hands clenched at his sides. “i’m sorry y/n. i know i hurt you…but…”

your voice is small and muffled against the window, “i don’t know what i did for you to push me away like this.”

“my family has threatened to hurt you if i don’t stay away,” he blurts out, and you sit up in surprise.

“what?” you are shocked, to say the least.

“that’s why i was so worried about the package. i was afraid that they had sent you a cursed object because you…because you associate yourself with me.

but y/n, you need to know that i have grown to care for you. deeply,” ominis doesn’t want to admit how much he’s shaking, how it is obvious from the way he sounds that his shaky voice is about to crack and his throat tight as he struggles to keep his emotions at bay, “you are the last thing i want my family to touch. i couldn’t let them hurt you. not you.”

you exhale, tears now flowing down your cheeks. you stand in front of him and grasp his hands, which are cold, clammy, and shaking.

“oh ominis,” you squeeze his hands, slowly making your way closer until your forehead rests against his. feelings that you thought are yours to keep, buried deep and untouched in your heart, are starting to rise. “i cannot fathom the idea of my life without you in it. i don’t care what your family thinks. i will be fine as long as i’m with you. with seb and anne. with our family.”

ominis starts to break, exhaling as he feels your skin touch his, your smell invading his senses and your warmth soothing his tormented soul. “i cannot lose you, y/n. not to them.”

smiling through your tears, you raise your arms to pull him into a hug. “you won’t lose me, ominis. i promise you.”

there may be a lot of work to be done, more talks to be had, with regards to your feelings and his, on how to navigate these feelings and desires while also making sure that his family never touches you, but for now, ominis basks in your presence and in the love you have for him. and for now, that is enough.

-

aaaahhh sped write this minutes before a class presentation. i hope it’s fine. thank you for your patience with my writing styles/formatting as i try to find the best style/layout to write. thank you for the overwhelming love!!!

[the-other-art-blog]

I cannot deal with one more Benophie fan complaining about the lack of Benedict's artistic side in s3.

Aren't you guys supposed to like this character and understand him?

Everyone complains about the show's lack of accountability, continuity, and consequences. But here it is Benedict's artistic plot going through ups and downs for 3 seasons and fans complain!

That was one of my main wishes for s3: NO ART FOR BENEDICT. It had to be this way.

Benedict thought he had entered the Academy by himself, for his talent. He was so happy to have received external validation and Anthony's interference destroyed that. He destroyed his confidence. Of course, he abandoned art. He felt like a fraud.

If Benedict had resumed painting in s3, this scene would have lost meaning and weight:

What would have been the point of this dramatic moment if he would have been fine next season?

In the book, part of Benedict's arc is growing confident in his art. He has been hiding his talent forever (even more than in the show) because he's afraid and Sophie helps him realize he's an artist. The show found a way to show his art since s1, and still follow the book.

This was not the final season, we still have to see HIS season where all of this needs to be resolved. His season is when he needs to regain confidence and share his art with everyone again, thanks to Sophie.

Yes, it was sad to see Benedict holding a newspaper instead of a sketchbook, BUT IT WAS NECESSARY FOR HIS CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT!!!!!

That brief exchange with Paul said everything the audience needed to know about his art in s3:

Paul asks him if he paints (Paul was being a bit of a jerk here, too judgemental just because Ben is part of the ton, but I get it)

How heartbreaking this was!

He couldn't have said 'yes' even if he talked in past tense because Paul would have asked more. 'Why did you give it up?' And what was he supposed to say: 'My brother paid my way into the Academy'? Of course, he said no. The writers did not forget about s1 and s2, they simply were writing a coherent storyline. Benedict's still not over the betrayal and hurt he felt at the end of s2.

In the meantime, Ben has been filling the hole art left in his heart with work during Anthony's honeymoon. Once that is gone, Ben becomes a jerk (I've talked about this in this post after seeing part 1: x) He's extra grumpy and out-of-character but it makes sense narratively because he's frustrated.

It only gets better when he meets Tilley. She is a temporary solution to his frustration. Once he began his affair with her, he went back to his normal, charming self at balls. This is what he does, what he did for 3 seasons. Sex is like a palliative treatment for whatever turmoil he has inside (see how amazingly appropriate this is for Benophie?)

Moreover, Benedict's sexuality needed to be addressed BEFORE his season. Or would you have preferred to do it while Sophie was there?

Thanks to CVD, who refused to address this matter in s2, Jess had to do it in s3. Honestly, Jess did a lot of fixing this season.

This way Benedict is at peace with that part of himself that had been causing so much anxiety since he met Granville. Not only did Tilley offer a momentary escape valve for his frustration, but she helped him accept a part of his identity AND encouraged him to find love. Honestly, the hate she gets from the Benophie fandom is shameful. She did nothing wrong and only helped and supported Benedict. (Plus Luke Thompson loved those scenes, so 🤷‍♀️)

I shouldn't get so upset about other people's opinions, but honestly. These comments come from people who declare to be stans and queens of the fandom. They also have been in a 2-year tantrum and hate campaign against s3, so not really surprised.

It's so funny because if there's one character that has been written exquisitely, it's Benedict. He's the writers' favorite, 100%. Everything he has done makes total sense and prepares him for Sophie.

[thesensteawitch]

MESSAGE FROM YOUR HIGHER SELF 🍀💫

Pick A Pile Reading

(Left To Right- Pile 1, Pile 2, Pile 3)

Hello, Senstea Souls! 🩷

I am back with another collective reading! Take a deep breath and pick a pile intuitively.

In case you wish to book a personal tarot reading with me feel free to DM me on Tumblr.

I am sharing the links to my rate card and booking form below:

🌷 Rate Card

🌷 Booking Form

Here is your reading:

Pile 1

Hello, my beautiful pile 1. Your cards came out in pairs. What I felt instantly was that your higher self is talking about two paths. So I thought maybe you've got two paths in front of you, and the one you choose will define who you become. But reading more into the cards, I realized that one path leads you to your future and the other to your past. So take how it resonates for you, pile 1. For the very first time, it seems you're seeing someone in a totally different light. You're surprised. How could you overlook this person's great qualities? Your higher self is asking you to heal the past by being loving toward yourself and toward someone else. Your past is not holding you back at all, you are. So to move forward, you must learn to handle your emotions. Perhaps that was your lesson that you needed to learn from the path of the past. It seems that you've done enough for the people around you. It's time you start doing things for yourself. You were so attached to being a good friend, son/daughter, father, mother, or partner that you forgot yourself in the process. Your higher self wants you to release the past with love and forgiveness.

Now moving toward the second path, which is toward your future, I see that some people are coming in the way. This is what your higher self wants to say to you: “My love, it's time that we start pursuing our dreams. It's time to search for our inner artist. Create something of your own. You may think what you want may be impossible, but I am asking you to believe in the impossible. This full moon shows your first artwork to the world. Don't dim your light. You have all the things you need to get started. With one strech of a hand, you can grab a star. Trust me, it just seems worlds apart, but truly it's not. Ask yourself: What are you afraid of? Where does your resistance come from? Someone has always been there for you, supports you, and is rooting for you. They too are transitioning with you. They are practically rowing the boat. And if you can't think of anyone, then know that the universe is rowing your boat. You've got your loved ones with you. SHOW THE WORLD THE REAL YOU. “The Hymn Of The Weekend” is your channeled song. The moment you launch your project, you will enter a new chapter of your life! Hunt down your fears and desires before the next full moon. And show everybody your talent.” If someone here wants to use a stage name, spirit is saying you're free to do so unless you're ready to reveal the artist behind the art.

Pile 2

Hello, my beautiful pile 2. Your higher self is sending you so much love right now. You needed that pain to have a perspective shift. The cards are so blue. I feel those who chose this pile have cried a lot in the recent past. What you went through wasn't easy at all, but you took a stand for yourself. Your higher self is really proud of you to take the lead in a challenging situation. Your higher self wants you to take a break now. There's something that's bothering you because it seems your beliefs have been challenged, so it's time you learn and understand something from a higher perspective. When something challenging happens, it's our ego that breaks first. And it's important for it to break so that you become truly humble. Listen to a Guru or a spiritual teacher. It's time you again become the student of life. Your higher self sees your kind, loving, and protective side. But the guides are saying that you cannot save people from the lessons they are meant to learn. You can't fight God. Recently, you've also communicated what's important to you or about your pain. From next week, each passing day will heal you if you try to upgrade your knowledge and be wise. It's not the time to think you know everything; it's time to learn. Learn why certain situations happen; what's the root cause? Be compassionate toward yourself and others.

This is what your higher self is saying to you: “My love, it's time to find your emotional balance again. It was just a bad day, not a bad life. You're overthinking, trust me. Your life is going to be far better than what you think it is going to look like. In fact, there's a new start coming into your life. Before that, you must learn what this challenging situation was trying to teach you. And you cannot learn it by yourself. You need to look for the deeper wisdom from books or spiritual gurus. What's true to you may not be true to others. So don't fight with yourself. The horror is in your heart, not in your life. Respect the differences. By the next new moon, if you continuously seek wisdom from the right and trusted source, you'll be out of this mental rut. Journey to your better mindset/mental state begins after 3 days.” ‘Just The Way You Are’ by Bruno Mars is the song I've channeled for you.

Pile 3

Hello, my beautiful pile 3. For how long have you been waiting for love? But what I see looking at your cards is that love has always been around you. You were blocked from it because you were not mentally ready for it. Your higher self is saying that love is selfless. It doesn't expect anything in return. There's someone in your life you misunderstood in the past (it can be anyone). Maybe you went through a tough cycle with them. For most of you, I think it was a romantic connection. Your higher self is asking you to show compassion toward yourself and work through your fears. Don't be so indicisive. There are no right or wrong decisions in life. Someone seriously has eyes only for you, pile 3. You're their dream come true. It seems that you worked really hard for this connection or on yourself, and your higher self is saying that your hard work is paying off, though you may not feel so. Your higher self is emphasizing these words: trust, choose, love, and be fearless. All along you were just running away from your patterns and your trauma that needed to be addressed.

This is what your higher self is saying to you: “You have the power to design your destiny! Do you get that? All along, you've painted your life with every stroke as per your wish! Ask yourself: What do you truly want? How can you work on your relationship with yourself and with others? If you really give it your all, you will have the kind of relationship you want. Yes, you did all you could, but there were some patterns being played from your end too in your connection. That did more damage than good. So be kind to yourself and to the other person. You're a warrior. You've come so far in your life. What you're afraid of is just in your head. You can easily defeat your shadows and rise above them. Every time given a chance, you got afraid and walked away thinking you'd done it all. But all these signs that you've been getting were leading you to this moment. You were where you were meant to be, and you're where you're supposed to be. So don't you ever think that you were on the wrong path? The obstacle in the path is the path. It just took you some time to understand the maze and find your way out of it. Open your heart and spread love. The song I am channeling for you is “Firework” by Katy Perry.”

If you're a writer, painter, or any sort of artist, you're being called to heal yourself through expression. Love and let yourself be loved, pile 3. You've built your life brick by brick, and your foundation is strong. Listen to your heart; what do you truly want? The truth is buried in the deepest corners of your heart, and the moment you'll show it in your art, you'll find it coming to the surface.

[perfectlyoongi]

EX-BOYFRIEND!NAMJOON who rereads your conversations on the loneliest nights. every joke made, every plan desired, every love you promised, a whole conversation without beginning or end was read and reread by Namjoon when the longing for you tightened his heart. in a way, in the pain he caused himself he found a little comfort, knowing that for a moment what you had was true, it was felt by both of you. but then reality hit Namjoon like thunder, sending shocks of agony and sadness through his body that shook his entire soul. if that was true, why did you leave? were the Namjoon’s stories too detailed for you? were the photos shared by Namjoon too hopeful for you? speak! tell him! tell Namjoon why you stopped talking, why you decided to take with you all the conversations that could comfort him on the most turbulent nights. tell Namjoon why you stopped talking, why you decided that you no longer needed Namjoon to have jokes and plans and promises in your life. tell Namjoon why you left and he swears he’ll try to understand your side. “i’m trying to look in so many words exchanged where i went wrong to lose you. please, tell me that the reason for your departure is not forever on my phone.”

EX-BOYFRIEND!NAMJOON who looks for you at the bottom of the alcohol bottles he drinks. Namjoon wondered why he wasn’t hearing you. you went with him everywhere, you always laughed when he said he could drink faster than you, you always gave him an alcohol-laced kiss when he almost spilled your drinks on you. but now you weren’t. now, in every bar, in the comfort of his house, you just weren’t there. it was as if you had disappeared, taking with you the joy of moments well spent, leaving behind a small haze of longing. now Namjoon drank alone. glass after glass, Namjoon drank alone, wanting to hear your laugh once again, wanting to feel your lips once again. just one more bottle and he was done. but what if it’s in the next bottle he finds you? you could be in the second bottle waiting for him to spill it all over him. yes, you were definitely in the third bottle. “alcohol has lost all its charm now that you’re not here to make me feel alive. the more i drink, the more i miss you. but there is something in me that pulls me to drink more in the hope of hearing you laughing at the end of each glass. i don't know what to do.”

EX-BOYFRIEND!NAMJOON who can never finish a song because he's afraid of causing it the same pain he felt for you leaving. it all ended suddenly for Namjoon. your relationship simply came to an end one day and Namjoon never understood how or why. all Namjoon knew was that your words dug a huge hole inside his heart, and flooded him with an eternal hurt that only overflowed in a constant waterfall of pure pain. it was an end. a painful end. an end that Namjoon didn’t want to repeat. his art came from within him, in the small drops of pain that spilled from his heart; words written with the ink of melancholy that painted Namjoon’s soul had difficulty finding a home; the papers seemed too rough to use, the computer screen was too bright to contain so much darkness — where could Namjoon ease his pain? would Namjoon be able to ease his pain? finishing creating something… wasn’t that similar to the end of a relationship? all the love and effort that Namjoon felt was going to come to an end. abruptly. no explanation other than it had to end. how could Namjoon subject his entire art to such pain? it wasn’t enough for Namjoon’s heart to suffer, did he also have to make his art suffer? “the anguish that runs through me is something i wouldn’t wish on anyone. this eternal despair of not knowing when something will get better because you know it can’t get better. this anguish, this pain, i cannot give it to anyone. this pain should only be mine.”

EX-BOYFRIEND!NAMJOON who saw you leaving with his heart in your hands. bring back his smile. bring back the sparkle in his eyes. bring back his will to exist, for you left and left behind a prison of pure agony and despair where you trapped Namjoon without giving him a chance to escape. and it was in that prison that Namjoon had been since you left, pondering his crime of having loved, of having loved you, of having loved you too much, knowing perfectly well that there was no possibility of freedom now that you left with the cell key, left with Namjoon’s heart. how could he dream of freedom when you had tied him with ropes of anguish and chains of hurt? Namjoon constantly lived on a bed of melancholy, surrounded by bars of pure suffering that prevented him from seeing the light of the world, retaining all the colors, expelling any and all happiness that could try to appease Namjoon’s broken heart. all because you left and took Namjoon’s heart with you. “i wasn’t able to stop you because you still held my heart with the same love that formed these bars, but you left. with two hearts. one mine, two yours.”

EX-BOYFRIEND!NAMJOON who only sees you when he tries to move on. but maybe it’s time for him to forget, for him to put his past behind him and try to focus on a future he once dreamed would be bright. with you. the future Namjoon had dreamed of was bright and it was with you. no. it couldn’t be with you. Namjoon would move on and forget about you. yes. he would force himself to move on from now on. focus on his happiness. that previously only existed with you. Namjoon’s happiness only existed with you because you were the happiness in Namjoon’s life. no. it couldn’t be you no more. you are not here anymore. Namjoon needs to move on and forget about you. forget all the promises he made to you. forget all the kisses exchanged. forget all your idealized plans. forget you. you. Namjoon’s happiness. in the past. in a present in another reality. in a future dreamed of by Namjoon. he couldn't move on. in whatever direction Namjoon looked, he only saw you. and it was you he wanted, because you were the one he loved.

EX-BOYFRIEND!NAMJOON who stops distinguishing reality from dreams. Namjoon could have sworn he woke up next to you — why wasn’t your pillow there? Namjoon could have sworn he heard you calling him from the kitchen — why weren’t you eating breakfast? what witchcraft was happening from the moment he opened his eyes? why did all of your essence still travel through Namjoon’s house when you weren’t there? did you go back to him? just for one night? no. he didn’t remember having you in his arms. he would remember it perfectly if you had returned to his arms. so how did he hear your voice asking for help making the bed? what was happening to Namjoon? how did he le—

EX-BOYFRIEND!NAMJOON who knows he’s not worthy of being loved, but still hopes to see you again just to be proven wrong.

[instantlyhauntedstranger]

@yennyinc shared this on twitter and i truly cannot stop sobbing. obviously, we knew this episode was going to be devastating, and bones absolutely outdid itself with the production. but all of the fan art is what is really getting to me.

katsuki only now, in his final moments, looking back on his past and what could have been. what he could have done different. the JOY in those false memories. all of it just out of reach, just a breath too late. it hurts, so good, and really puts a nice shine on kacchan’s character development throughout the series. absolutely harrowing, heartbreaking, beautifully phenomenal work.

[minniethemoocherda]

Stay With Me

A/N: I cannot thank you all enough for all the support you guys have given me in response to my Morpherine fics! It has been completely insane especially all your incredible comments as well as all the amazing art over on tumblr! If it wasn't for you guys then I probably wouldn't feel as inspired to keep writing these fics so again thank you all so much!!!! Xxxxxxx

Ao3

FF.net

"NOOOOO!" Morph screamed as they woke up to find themselves sitting in a puddle of their own sweat and gloop.

They screamed again their bedroom door was broken down.

"What's wrong?" Logan demanded, claws drawn and body tensed ready to pounce.

"You giving me a fucking heart attack!" Morph cried, firing a pillow across the room.

Logan slashed through the first, but the second that Morph had launched a moment later hit him square in the face.

Morph was too riled up to feel any satisfaction at that fact.

"What are you even doing here?" Morph asked, feeling their body finally fully solidify back to its normal shape under the fabric of their oversized t-shirt.

"I heard you talkin' in your sleep." Logan grumbled.

"From all the way on the other side of the mansion?" Morph said pointedly, since they both knew that Morph knew that Logan's super-hearing didn't work that well.

That was when Morph realised that Logan was still wearing his uniform despite the fact that it was- Morph checked the alarm clock besides them- three o'clock in the morning.

"Do you want to tell me why you're not in bed?" Morph asked.

"No." Logan replied.

"Do you want to go back to bed?"

Logan sat himself in front of the remains of the doorway, watchful eyes glaring into the corridor outside.

"No."

"Do you want to come to bed?" Morph asked, which was something that if it were not three o'clock in the morning, Morph would never have asked.

After a moment's pause Logan again replied "No."

Morph sighed. The adrenaline of waking up from a nightmare and having their room being broken into was wearing off and now they just wanted to go back to sleep.

So they grabbed the duvet, sheets and blanket from their bed and carried them over to where Logan was apparently determined to stay on guard all night.

"What're you doin'?" Logan grumbled as Morph arranged the bedsheets around him.

"We are having a sleepover." Morph stated. "And I'm getting the pillow since you broke my other one."

Morph lay down on the duvet they'd placed on the floor, facing away from Logan into their room. The Wolverine still had his claws out but he didn't otherwise complain as Morph threw one of the sheets over the pair of them.

After a long time, long enough for Morph to think they might have made a mistake, Logan growled out a sigh.

"After we heard about Genosha I... I couldn't...I've been patrolling the halls all night-I just... I can't loose anyone else I care about." Logan growled, grief stumbling his words.

Slowly so as not to startle him, Morph sat back up. Logan was still facing away from them, never one to let other's see his weaknesses, but by now they had become experts at reading The Wolverine's behaviour. And they knew from the forceful shivers raking his body that Logan was literally biting back tears.

In that moment Morph would have done anything to help. But without the ability to change reality, there was little they could do. But that didn't mean that there was nothing.

Morph placed their hand on Logan's shoulder, his muscles taunt to the point Morph was worried they might snap. They squeezed their hand, hoping to share their own grief and to shoulder some of it for him.

Morph had never been on this side of loosing an X-men before. A stab of guilt as sharp as The Wolverine's claws buried its way into their stomach, at the thought that their own death could have caused the same amount of pain.

When they had learnt about Gambit's death, the only comparable pain Morph had felt was when they themselves had died. The concept that they would never again share each other's love for cooking or that they would never loose another heavily rigged card game, was impossible to comprehend. They weren't as close to Gambit as they could have been, however, as the only other openly queer person on the team, there had been a special connection between the two of them.

And Morph might not have shared the same history with Magneto that the other's had. The only reason they'd had to hate to him was that he was a generally shitty person who'd done some pretty shitty things. But when Morph had offered to take the team to Sinister's lair, he had been kind to them, making it clear that they did not have to if it brought back too many bad memories. And because of that, they couldn't help but grieve for him too.

And if Logan could finally open up, then it was only fair that Morph did the same.

"I.. I was dreaming... about that night."

They both knew what night Morph was talking about. The one where Morph was about to watch The Wolverine die and they sacrificed themselves to save him. Except in their dream there were too late. They lost him. Just like they lost Magneto. Like they lost Remy.

Because whilst being under Sinister's control was hell on earth, they would suffer through it all again if it meant that Logan was alive to lie beside them.

"I ain't lettin' nothin' get past me." Logan promised, finally turning to them. The grief was still there, it would probably never fully go away, but the pain that had been etched into the grooves of his skin, had been transformed into a steely determination.

"I know." Morph smiled, even after everything, unable to stop the fluttering if their heart at the sight of Logan's protectiveness directed at them. "And I'm not letting anything get past me either."

Feeling emboldened, from where their hand had been placed on Logan's shoulder, Morph traced his collar bone until their hand cupped the back of his neck.

"But even if you don't plan on sleeping, I have it on the trusted authority of my ex-therapist, that just lying down can help. So please, lay down for me." Morph's smile turned into a smirk. "I'll even let you share the pillow."

Logan blinked before shaking his head and snorting a smirk of his own.

"Alright, you win this one bub." He conceded, finally putting his claws away as he allowed Morph to pull him down to the pillow.

Morph reluctantly let go as they turned away from Logan to face the inside of their room, whilst The Wolverine took after his namesake and proceeded to nestle himself a den out of the bedsheets.

Now Morph hadn't really thought about the physics of sharing a pillow when they'd made the offer, as usual too preoccupied with making a joke to think about the consequences of opening their big mouth.

Because Logan's back was now placed firmly against theirs and the thin layer of his uniform was doing little to hide the solid layer muscle or stop the furnace level heat that his body was projecting. And due to his previous shuffling, the bottom of Morph's t-shirt had ridden up so that the sliver of skin between their briefs and their shirt could feel the full heat of Logan's body. It wasn't as if they hadn't touched the other before, But never that part of their body and even though the exposed skin was barely a few inches, Morph felt near naked at the touch.

They had no idea how they were supposed to go to sleep now. But eventually they must have.

Because next time Morph opened their eyes morning sun was beaming through their bedroom windows. At least that was where they assumed the light was coming from, as all they could see was the sleeping face of The Wolverine.

For a moment, Morph thought that they were still dreaming. Until they felt the breeze of Logan's breathe against the expanse of skin where their nose would have been.

As Morph blinked away sleep, they realised that the groves of anger and pain that Morph thought had been permanently etched onto Logan's face were relaxed, not completely gone but as close to peaceful as he could get.

They also realised that Logan's limbs were wrapped around their body like a koala in a tree as though he was afraid that if he didn't hold on tight enough he would fall. As a result Morph's hands, which had been trapped between the two of them, were braced against Logan's chest. Through the soft fabric of his costume, Morph could feel the individual bristles of his hair and under that the beating of his heart.

Perhaps they had died again, except this time they'd ended up in heaven instead of hell. That was the only logical explanation they could think of for why Logan would be holding them so close.

Well if this was their fate then Morph was happy to accept it, not that they were able to escape The Wolverine's grasp even if they wanted to. So with one last lingering look at the soft strokes of Logan's face, Morph drifted back off to sleep.

[nostalgicfortomorrow]

zutara fanfic recs bc absolutely nobody asked

PLEASE REBLOG AND TELL ME IF YOU LIKED MY RECS BTW :)

the art of holding on and letting go - teen and up - by evergreenonthehorizon

genuinely one of the best fics i've ever read. it's aang centric and it's from his pov so zutara isn't as prominent as you would have hoped but it's a modern au where they all go to the same high school and aang learns how to let go of his infatuation with the idea of katara rather than who katara is as a person. deeply underrated, please check it out.

we hold our hearts in silence - general audiences - by psychadelic_sya

it completely follows the canon timeline and it features geriatric and ancient zutara who meet again after many years and when you read this, please listen to last kiss by taylor swift on repeat. that's how you get the full experience. it hurts so so so much.

the colour of the stars - teen and up - by bluenebulae

it's a season 3 rewrite from the day of the black sun onwards where katara and zuko both get captured and they work together to try and find the gaang. it's pretty long but the slow burn is so well done, they absolutely nailed the characterisation and it might be my favourite fic ever. they learn everything about each other and the moments zutara shares makes my heart burn with happiness. cannot recommend this one enough.

figure it out - mature - by clearascountryair (uncompleted but ends in a good spot)

they aged up all the characters by two years and it's basically about ember island and what happened after southern raiders. it's a bit uncomfortable at times for some, because there's quite a lot of sex mentioned and featured and drinking as well but the messages overall and the lessons are really good. and it covers the non consensual kataang kiss and there's so many good takeaways. not finished, but ends up in a good spot.

the chemistry of cooking - mature - by smeditteranea

hear me out, hear me out, HEAR ME OUT, it's another college modern au (yeah, sue me, i love my modern aus) but it's really well done, the characterisation is done right, no hate to any of the characters whatsoever, supremely adorable, there's some smut but just scroll past that. so zuko and katara basically end up being lab partners in a cooking class which ozai seriously frowns upon. ozai runs this really morally bankrupt company and zuko works in it, and basically figures out that ozai is doing illegal dumpings and tries to report it.

BONUS:

i feel something (when i see you now) - teen and up - by glowgal

katara is an up and coming popular actor and is zuko's high school crush. they meet again and it's so adorable.

[netherworldpost]

I think that you -- you reading this -- should unhinge and create art because the world is full of behemoths that will not hear you coming

for they are slow, and complacent, papering the sky and land and water

with their refined committees and galleries and

focus groups quote artificial brains un quote

can you hear me sneer can you hear me chuckle can you hear me tallying the meters between us

clip clip clip clop clop clop swoosh swoosh

i am nearer to you than you think / keep saying none of this matters / keep focusing on your million dollar installations / keep your eyes forever up forever gazing up to the next tier

i am below you and you won't see me until you are ichor and I am full

i think you should create unhinged art in the joy and laughter and erotic and platonic and not affectionate and deeply affectionate and terrifying and merrily floating lazily on sunny waters on early mornings where nothing happens

i think you should make it all

everything within and without the human experience

i think you should create art and make things that your heart is telling you with whispers when you can't listen

and pounding fists on the cage of your chest when you can

i think you should make art because your canines are hungry for the throat of a segment of this imperfect world

are you not thirsty?

have you ever once been sated fully?

one of the best

feelings

of being alive

is looking at an indifferent world where "that cannot be done" and "it doesn't make sense" and "it is too hard" and "no one would like it" and tear into this raw flesh and not let go until only one of you remain alive, the other is dinner

"I did it, therefore, it can be done. It makes sense to me. I like it."

Cry this out.

Let the herd of indifference you felt a moment ago, know

You are alive.

You are full.

For now.

And when you are hungry again.

Another member of the indifferent pact will die.

And from those bones you will make new art.

Every audience is secondary to your own life. Share with others, share their joy if they enjoy it, enjoy what they share with you. This is the muscle this is the heart this is the only thing that matters.

Quality is unimportant. Personal satisfaction in the act of creating this art is omnipotent. Make. Art. Good bad weird conventional big small everything.

I have no bitterness or negativity against giant art. Every weapon every talon every tooth every gleam in my eye is aimed exclusively on "pfft why would anyone make that, why would anyone bother."

You are next, you are dinner, and I will put your bones on an altar facing the moon.

[pearlywritings]

To wear white once more

synopsis: wedding is one of the most memorable and happiest days in one’s life. What are the chances of you dressing in white again to capture this moment on canvas? Diluc makes it possible.

pairing: Diluc x fem!reader

tw: established relationship, fluff, newlyweds, Adelinde is a mother figure we all need

word count: 1.7k+ words

a/n: a portrait after your wedding was suggested by a lovely @bobaboob​ who, by the way, said that she had this fic in mind while drawing this piece of art

Looking in the mirror makes all the memories of nervousness and excitement wash over Diluc again, sending a shiver down his spine. Everything is as just as it was a month ago - his white suit hugs his body in all the right places, the long-tailed jacket complimenting his height, the golden lines on its and vest's lapels along with golden buttons forming a perfect wedding attire. The only standing out feature is a ruby brooch pinned to his cravat, matching his flaming locks, reflecting light just like his crimson eyes, momentarily clouded by recalling the events that happened on one of the happiest days in his life.

His heart skips a beat when he remembers a mesmerizing venue organized in the gardens of the Winery, guests - mainly from your side - on the benches, Kaeya and Adelinde by his side… Come to think of it, his adoptive brother was present in this very room while Diluc was getting ready, lightly joking and unknowingly helping Diluc with his nerves. Yeah, the day was a rollercoaster of emotions. Especially after you appeared.

The man adjusts his sleeves, making sure he looks perfect - it's only logical he'll match you in that. Brushing a lock of hair from the left side of his face, he hears a soft knock on his door, immediately knowing who it is.

"Come in, Adelinde."

The older woman enters the room with the most adoring smile on her face, eyes crinkling in joy, just like on his wedding day, which brings even more blissful memories back. She walks directly to him, reaching out to help with hair a little - she knows him too well, and Diluc is grateful for that.

"I've just met Master François Clouet and offered him brunch. He was very eager about it, given his long journey, so you might have another 20 or so minutes."

Diluc hums, closing his eyes and letting the maid work her magic.

"Good. And my wife?"

His wife… it rolls off his tongue so naturally and the golden ring around his finger becomes so palpable.

"Checked on the girls and they said she was almost ready. I think you can go and see her already.”

She can clearly see he wants to - it’s in the smallest details honestly. The way his lips are twitching in a hardly contained lovesick smile, the trembling of his for once bare fingers, the darting of his eyes to the door behind her and it’s quite obvious from how he forces his body to stay still in place until she is finished. If she wasn’t helping him with his hair, Adelinde is sure - he’d be running out of the door the moment the words left her mouth.

Cute. The glimpses of a young boy she used to know and care about as a mother come through, and the woman can’t thank you enough for it, for the happiness you brought in this lonesome mansion and love you rekindled in the hurt man’s heart.

“All done, Master Diluc,” when he shifts his eyes, not spotting his bangs in sight, he doesn’t even have to look in the mirror to know Adelinde recreated his look perfectly.

“Thank you, Adelinde,” and he means it, not stopping his body from moving, just like it did a month ago, enveloping the woman in his embrace, squeezing just a little. The blond-haired maid laughs, standing on her tiptoes and hugging him back.

“It’s always a pleasure to me. I dreamt of helping you with the wedding one day, and I must admit, doing some of it the second time is just as thrilling.”

Diluc cannot agree more.

When the door of your shared bedroom is right in front of him, the owner of the Dawn Winery feels his heart thumping in his chest, cravat feeling a bit suffocating and hand twitching. He hears excited giggles of the maids on the other side and your soft voice speaking to them, so full of glee and eagerness, that he doesn’t notice his fingers curling in a fist and knocking against the wooden surface. Instantly the sounds of laughter and conversation disappear, but the redhead makes out quick steps hurrying to the door.

The maid opening it gasps and turns around, immediately ushering others outside. The man moves to let five girls out of the room, all bowing and greeting him, to which he answers with a nod, entering the moment the last one leaves, closing the door behind him.

“My love, you are here,” your sweet words pull crimson eyes to your figure and his breath hitches. Basked in the sunlight pouring through the big window, your body is swarmed in pure whiteness. The dress, tailored together with his suit, makes you the loveliest bride a man could wish for. Long flowing skirt consists of many layers, streaming and moving with the slightest of your turns, the corseted waist pushes your chest up a little bit, though leaving half of your back bare… Oh how many kisses he placed there when the night was over and his fingers were working on the strings-

He clears his throat, coughing in his fist and fighting back the rising flush off his cheeks. Your smile turns teasing, lips wearing a pretty shade of lipstick, and Diluc notes in disappointment that he won’t be able to kiss you before the work on the painting for today is over. It doesn’t stop him from approaching you though, arms wrapping around your waist and bringing you closer to place a gentle peck on your cheek.

“Aren’t you a romantic one, my dear husband?” He shudders at the new term that was applied to him the moment the rings were slipped on your fingers and you two were proclaimed wedded.

“Can’t help it when my wife is this gorgeous,” it’s your turn to become bashful, sliding your palms up his back in an embrace, being careful not to crumple the jacket.

“Honestly, I didn't think I'd get to wear this dress again, not to mention so soon.”

“Sorry for keeping it from you, my flame.”

Despite already exchanging wedding presents, Diluc kept one more surprise from you. He knew you adored his father’s tradition of keeping paintings of not only nature, but important events of the family life, and your newlywed husband fully shared the sentiment. Undoubtedly, you two hired a photographer from Fontaine to capture the day marking your journey as spouses, and now have plenty of photos, but Diluc knew that it would bring you both absolute joy to have a portrait painted to hang it in the hall for every guest to know what a happy couple lives in this mansion.

Today is exactly the day for it.

“It’s alright,” your lashes flutter as he leans close again to plant another kiss - on your forehead this time. “Had you told me earlier, I would’ve been too excited to properly enjoy our honeymoon. So, good timing.”

Diluc chuckles at that. Then, on a whim he gently grabs your waist and starts swaying slowly, twirling your bodies in a tender dance, still flash to each other and foreheads pressed together, gazing into each other’s eyes. Your palms shift to his shoulders, feet moving back, right, forward, left, creating small waltz squares under the guidance of your husband who, as it seems, doesn’t want to let you go.

You dance like this for just ten minutes, but for Diluc it’s an eternity spent in your arms. He almost forgets you have plans and a man waiting for you two downstairs, until you stop, huffing a little when he bumps into you driven by inertia.

“Shouldn’t we go?” You don't know why you are whispering, but the moment is so innermost, that even the slightest rise of one’s voice might break it. You see how he releases a small breath of discontent, but doesn’t let it be shown in facial expression - after all, you are right.

“Of course, dear," your heart skips a beat, when he brings your hand to his lips and kisses the back of it, right over your wedding band. "Let’s go, Master Clouet must be waiting for us.”

The old man, who happened to know Master Crepus personally, seems to be gruff at first, but turns out to be a sweet person at heart, being extremely patient with both of you and occasionally commenting on how nice it is to see the boy, whom he last saw as a little kid, standing in front of him all grown up and with a wife by his side.

You are awe-stricken by the speed with which his dry and sinewy hands are moving, putting layer after layer of paint on the canvas, glancing up and down with his strikingly lively and bright eyes. He is nice to have around, and he treats you like human beings and not like statues, which many artists tend to do. He gives you breaks of course, doesn’t scold for moving an inch and doesn’t have a problem with fixing your poses if one of you happens to ruin it. He readily partakes in lunch and dinner and accepts Diluc’s offer to stay in one of the guest’s bedrooms, promising that it’ll take him only three nights.

And just as promised, on the morning of the fourth day, you watch the big painting getting hung in the hall as Diluc is handing Master Clouet a heavy pouch of mora, shaking his hand and saying something that makes an old man heartily laugh and pat the redhead’s shoulder. He then nods in approval, adding a couple more words of farewell, before following Adelinde to the exit. Diluc returns to your side.

“It’s brilliant,” your voice is shaking a little, happy tears brimming your eyes. Your body leans back on your husband’s chest, feeling him wrap his arms around your middle and putting his chin on your shoulder. “I love it so, so much, ‘luc. Just… I didn’t know a brush could recreate something so accurately! It’s unbelievable. Just look at our faces! It’s so detailed, I can practically see hearts in my eyes! Yours too, by the way,” the man snorts, pressing a kiss to the side of your jaw, absolutely enjoying your amazement and teasing. He fully shares your feelings about the painting and almost opens his mouth to tell that he made a deal to invite your recent guest to make more paintings of you - some of the walls are pretty empty, if you ask him. However, he decides against it - after all what is life without pleasant surprises?

[rosella35]

Okay, so I’ve been meaning to post something about this for over a week now and figured using it as a very productive way of procrastinating on writing an assignment is the perfect time.

G/T community, and to all the incredible people who have supported my writing of Borrowed Courage over the years:

Go read @fireflywritesgt s ‘The Art of Love and War’. I cannot stress this enough.

This story has been my hyperfixation for the past week and will in all likelihood stay that way for many more to come because it’s just that damn incredible. Even if you’re not a huge G/T fan, I continue to be blown away by Warren’s writing style and the way they capture every character’s personality and emotions so beautifully. I only wish I could do this so well.

Joe and Harry, my god. Those two have been rotting away inside of my head all week because I just can’t get enough of their relationship and its complexities. This story is practically preying on my love of psychology and exploring those tricky and taboo themes of prejudice and power imbalance that got me into G/T in the first place. The way Warren has slowly built up the lore of their world and the culture of the miniatures captivated me from the moment I started reading. It’s the kind of thing I love exploring in my own writing, but done in a way that’s completely authentic, and a whole new spin on the classic borrower trope - I just love it!

So yeah, to sum it all up in one sentence, please check out their story, it honestly does not disappoint. But also to Warren, thank you for sharing your world with this community. I’m sure I’m not the only one you’ve inspired with your writing, and I look forward to more of Harry and Joe’s misadventures in the future! ☺️

TL;DR:

Read The Art of Love and War by @fireflywritesgt it’s very good

[mcbride]

Daryl Dixon Rewatch S1E03 - Paris Sera Toujours Paris

this ep wasn't as good as the first 2, but we got to meet Fallou and Antoine, so they made up for what felt like another ep of Daryl absolutely done with everything while relentlessly looking for a radio or a boat.

i feel like Carol's "presence" has been a constant on this show, but in this ep more than ever. her name is not mentioned, but there's at least a couple of pieces of dialogue alluring to her existence, her importance in Daryl's life, and how she is the driving force behind Daryl's urgency to get back home. more after the jump....

so Nicotero got his walker orchestra, which was cool, but def not one of the reasons i watch the show. as Daryl said this was just a stupid detour and now we gonna start doing things his way!

it bothers me how these two warrior nuns are completely useless and helpless when they have to deal with a couple of walkers. in each case, Daryl had to "save" both Sylvie and Isabelle while they were stuck dumb looking at walkers dangerously approaching them. are they warriors/survivors or what?? writers do better!

Laurent spewing some philosophical bullshit about fortitude was top TWD gimmick - kids wise beyond their years are annoying to me! but if you know me, you know i legit dislike most kids written in apocalyptic shows. adding insult to injury, Laurent be like "Not to fret, Monsieur Daryl. You will not die in Paris." *eyeroll* legit. main character plot armor. thanks, captain obvious!

in the "make everything about Carol" segment, we got "La mort et le bucheron:" i think an analogy could be made about hope, and how when we are so close to losing it all is when we hang on tightly to something and finally feel the urge to live, but to do that we need to learn how to share our burden. and i think that applies to both Carol and Daryl, if they are to move on, evolve, take the next step, they must be willing to share, to talk openly, and share their burdens with each other- let the other carry a bit of their weight.

it will never not be hilarious to me how Fallou continuously ignores Daryl's request for a radio, until he introduces him to Antoine, the pigeon guy, and their only form of communication. Daryl is SOOOO done with y'alll.

most interesting lines in the whole ep are about pigeons, heck yas! "Maybe he has a girlfriend... yes? We all have a person who waits... who waits for us somewhere." Daryl's face screamed CAROL and her name has never even have been mentioned on this show YET!!!!!

Daryl and Isa have a moment when she says they are the same, "broken until the world ended." YEAH, NAHHH. not the same! sorry girl, but your bohemian lifestyle chosen by yourself got nothing to do with how Daryl was forced to grow up and survive even before the zpoc.

omg Daryl's idiot longing face looking at the water lilies, saying it reminds him of home... and all i can think about is when Daryl took Carol to watch those Cherokee roses blooming as an apology back in s2 of the original show. that's art!!!!!!

and once again, i am not disappointed Daryl is a true man of honor, and wouldn't let Isa and Laurent suffer the consequences for a shot at getting a boat to return home. it's a very Daryl thing to do, and Isa called him out on it.

AND FINALLY she tells us something we did not know.... Daryl made a promise to whom is not revealed to get back home, and that's all he cares about. he doesn't deny it!! HE CANNOT

Daryl is just so ready to leave AGAIN!!! but not without first telling Isa she's good at making things up (ouch!!), but she needs to tell Laurent the truth.

then Daryl becomes the most reasonable person ever to have ever existed. he says, "maybe he's just a regular kid, a regular kid that got lucky and lived. maybe that's your miracle." 👏👏👏 - that's Daryl being the most Daryl since ever, calling out the bullshit, and keeping shit real. i love this show for bringing him back!

Laurent runs, Codron arrives... "the reasons are everywhere." once again, right when Daryl was leaving again, something happens that stops him from doing so. the universe works in mysterious ways indeed cause what he doesn't know is that he needs to stay around so Carol can find him, and she's on her way there already!

See y'all next week for ep 4!!!

42 days left until the premiere of THE BOOK OF CAROL!!!!!

[oftenwantedafton]

Secret Smile - College English Professor/Vampire Steve Raglan x Female College Student Reader

Chapter 1

Rating - Explicit

Warnings - nothing explicit in this chapter

Summary - Your freshman year of college begins with a last minute transfer into an evening session of English Literature 101 with Professor Steve Raglan.

From the moment you first meet, the man puzzles you. Challenges you. Invites you to bring him the words you’ve never shared. Promises you something darker in every secret smile.

Also available on AO3

English Literature 101 - Steve Raglan

That’s the class you’re sitting in this semester. Evening slot, surrounded by non traditional students. A schedule conflict brought you here. A last minute change. You’ve already missed the first three classes. You think you must be the youngest person here, glancing around nervously at a sea of foreign faces. These are people that have stayed home to raise children; people who have had second thoughts and are switching careers. You are neither. You are just starting out, still an undeclared major, adrift in that vague notion of a liberal arts education.

You decide to occupy a spot in the back corner, waiting for the instructor to walk in. The door opens and the chatter among the students becomes subdued.

The middle aged man that enters the classroom is tall, his impossibly long legs carrying him in a brisk stride to the front of the classroom. He places a leather briefcase that looks ancient on the desk along with a couple of books and some papers. You see white threaded through the darker hair, especially at the temples and running through a neatly trimmed beard. The gold framed aviators he’s wearing have eased down the bridge of his nose and he pushes them back up with a gesture that looks like he’s done it hundreds of times, an absent, impatient adjustment. The bowed head lifts and his eyes meet yours.

You freeze, your breath held. There is something in that look. A predator targeting its prey. Piercing light slate blue eyes trap you. A slight twitch of pale lips. Amusement? You don’t know what to call it. Had you thought him middle aged because of the marbling in his hair? His skin is smooth, unblemished. You cannot mark his age by these aspects of his appearance alone. It is something in those eyes. In that weighted stare.

“Welcome back, everyone. I understand we have a new student joining us. Why don’t you introduce yourself?”

Oh God, not that. You hated having the spotlight on you. You stammer your name and your major. Apparently that satisfies the English instructor and he begins the lesson.

You hate being forced to read. You don’t mind reading; quite the opposite. You just don’t like being told what books to enjoy. How you’re supposed to feel about them. Maybe that wasn’t the theme the author had intended to present. Maybe they just wrote out of boredom and it somehow accidentally became popular. You didn’t think anyone should be able to dictate an individual’s response to literature.

The instructor’s voice is unusual, a combination of a harsh rasp that makes you wonder if he’s a smoker and a slightly nasally intonation to some of his words. It’s not unpleasant, just different. You’re focusing more on the sounds of the words than the words themselves and you belatedly realize people are gathering into groups to discuss the last several chapters that had been assigned.

“Would you come up here, please?” Steve’s sharp eyes find yours again.

You slide out of the chair and make your way to the front of the classroom. He drags an empty chair over next to his and you both sit down.

This close, you now learn there is a distinct scent to the older man. Also not unpleasant. Not cologne, not soap, something else. It reminds you of a candle recently extinguished, of smoky reeds of incense, of damp earth after summer rain.

The long sleeved striped shirt Raglan is wearing doesn’t quite reach his wrists. You see surprisingly willowy joints and lines of fine dark hair. There are tiny diamonds printed on his tie.

“I have a copy of the syllabus here for you. You’re going to have to put in some extra work to get caught up to the others. I don’t typically allow students to join this late into the semester.”

The stapled packet of papers that you assume must be the syllabus still sits on his desk, trapped beneath his long fingers.

“I’m sorry. Something happened last minute and—”

“I’m not interested in excuses. I need to know if you can do the work. If you are worth the investment of time, as it were.” That twitching smile reappears. A canine pokes from beneath his top lip. Very white and very sharp looking.

“I’ll get caught up.”

“We’ll see.”

You reach for the syllabus. He keeps it imprisoned and you tug futilely, letting your hand drop.

“Give up that easily, do you?”

He was…testing you? What was with this guy? You glance back at the rest of your classmates, but no one seems to notice the scene unfolding in front of them.

“No.” You reach again and this time his fingers lift to brush yours in the briefest graze that could certainly be considered accidental, except you know it isn’t.

“Why undeclared?”

“What?”

“Your major. You’re that indecisive?”

You hesitate. “I don’t want to choose the wrong career path.”

“Plenty of people return to school. The group behind you is evidence of that. There’s more to it than that, isn’t there?”

You chew your bottom lip. “I know I’m supposed to pick something practical. Something that I can support myself with. That doesn’t line up with my interests.”

“Which are?”

“I mainly enjoy writing.”

“What type of writing? Journalism or…No. Creative writing, isn’t it?”

You nod. How had he guessed correctly?

“And why don’t you think you can make a career of that?”

“I don’t want to teach. And there’s no guarantee I’d be successful. It’s too much of a gamble. I just regard it as a hobby.”

“Times are changing. There are a lot of self published authors out there now.”

“It’s too risky.”

“So you’d rather be miserable doing something you don’t enjoy simply because it ‘pays the bills’.”

“That’s kind of how the world works, isn’t it?”

“You’re awfully cynical for someone so young.”

“You’re awfully judgmental towards someone you’ve just met.”

Steve leans forward. “There it is. A little spark. Not completely resigned to your fate then, are you? I think you’re destined for something more.” The chair creaks as he eases back again. “I’ll give you until the end of the week. Come to my office on Friday evening. The hours are posted there.” He points to the packet you’re holding.

You flip through the pages. “I can’t do Friday evening, I’m working. Do you have anything during the day?”

“I never work during the day.”

“Why not?”

Another smile. Both canines exposed, both equally sharp. “The night is what I’m accustomed to. If you can’t do Friday you’ll have to be ready that much sooner on a different night. No excuses. Understood?”

You nod, about to stand when he halts you, fingers curling around your wrist, blocked from view by the desk, if anyone had cared to look. “Bring me something you’ve written. A sample of creative writing.”

“I don’t write for other people. It’s just for myself.”

“Well. Add that to your assignment then. You’ll write something for me. Yes?”

“I’ll try,” you manage evasively. His touch is warm, firm, unyielding.

“Try very hard.” The manacle of his hand vanishes abruptly and he stands, addressing the classroom once again. You return to your seat.

You can still feel his fingers on your skin.

***

The coursework piles up that week.

You struggle to keep up but you’re determined to finish getting Raglan’s assignment done at the very least. The reading that is; you’re still not comfortable with the idea of sharing your personal writing.

Even more uncomfortable with the man himself. He’s attractive, but intimidating. You can’t tell what he’s thinking; he seems to be able to read you like an open book. His smiles that border on condescending confuse you; even more so when they soften to something secretive, amused. You’re not in on the joke. You don’t understand.

You manage to swap shifts at the coffee shop you work at part time and now find yourself outside your English professor’s office door that Friday evening. The rest of the building—a house that has been converted to offices, actually—is empty. Most of the teachers and administrative staff have left for the weekend. You’ve arrived a bit later than you’d intially intended. It’s already dark outside.

You inhale deeply and knock on the door. You hear Steve’s voice beckoning you inside.

“Come on in. Have a seat.”

The office is small, crowded. Lined with shelves of books. The furniture looks well worn, like the battered briefcase he uses. A single hardbacked chair is positioned before his weathered desk.

You sit. He folds his hands and rests his chin on them, regarding you. The silence lengthens. You squirm and clear your throat.

“I finished the reading assignment. I’m all caught up.”

The hands relax, no longer supporting his bearded face. “And the other?”

“I wasn’t able to.”

“You’re lying.”

“Excuse me?”

“Why are you so afraid of someone reading your writing?”

“I’m not afraid. It’s just…it’s mine. It’s personal. Not meant to be shared.”

“Yet you want to do this for a career.”

“No. I told you. It’s just a hobby.”

He removes his glasses and sets them down on the desk, the frames still unfolded. “Do you want to pass this course?”

You frown. “Yes. And I’ve done what you asked. I got caught up. I switched shifts to be here tonight.”

“You didn’t do everything I asked, though.” He rises, moving around the desk. The desk lamp throws his shadow, dark and menancing on the rows of books.

“You can’t make me. That’s not anywhere in the course description. The course name is English Lit, not Creative Writing. I can go to the Dean and…”

“And what? What will you tell him, exactly?”

“That you’re making me do extra work.”

“Maybe I see potential and I’m trying to foster it.”

“Harassment.”

He barks a short laugh. “Harassment? What have I done to harass you?”

You swallow nervously. “Touching my wrist in class, for one thing…”

“My dear, that is not a touch.” His fingers wrap around the metal armrests of the chair you’re seated in and he leans towards you. That smell from before is heavy in your nostrils. “Would you like to know what a touch is? Hmmm?” His face moves so his lips are beside your ear. “When you have crossed a century. When the only dawn you see is one printed on a page or captured on a screen. When the stale blood that circulates with the beat of an immortal heart is invigorated by another, gifted, teeth in skin, that is the touch I speak of. How fast your own heart is beating…”

Your breath rasps. This cannot be real. He cannot be real.

“You will give me new words. Transcend the tedious mediocrity and monotony of an ephemeral existence.” He sinks a hand into your hair and pulls your head back, exposing your throat. “Do you want to know what it is to be truly touched? A brush with eternity?” You feel his lips dust over your throat. The points of his upper cuspids scrape over your skin. The line of your pulse is drawn for him along the arch. Your eyelids flutter. His scent is all around you. The fragrance of forever. Unyielding earth and undaunted metal. “How strange evolution is. Once canine teeth were a sign of prowess, lending dominance when choosing a mate; then withering away over time to more gentle points. Working quite in reverse when I was granted a gift of everlasting life.” Another soft kiss, a gentle counterpoint for what is to come.

His voice and his scent have you spellbound, captive. You cannot move. Sharp fangs pierce your flesh. The pain is there and gone in a flash. His mouth seals wetly against your throat. Pulls at you, drinking from you. He moans at the taste and it vibrates along your skin. A new frequency.

The hand tightened in your hair eases; the sucking pressure abandons your neck. There is a trail of crimson leaking from the corner of his bottom lip. A bloom of color in his cheeks. Mouth no longer pale. Your color, now on him. Inside of him.

Just enough to satiate. Decades of practice. So many more years between you than you’d intially thought.

“You will bring me your writing.” He wipes at the blood trail and it stains his beard. “I’ll give you one more day. You’ll return to me tomorrow night. No excuses.” He holds out a hand, offering you assistance to stand. You find yourself needing the support, suddenly lightheaded. You do not protest when he tugs you with more force than necessary, drawing your body against his.

You do not resist when those smirking lips close over yours.