#I only wish there were individual photos of the others I could find from this shoot

[northwestofinsanity]

Argybargy era Squeeze being funny in a photoshoot

[neofelis----nebulosa]

saw a living oriole irl for the first time today!

[faebled-stories]

Finding True Beauty

Kinkvember Day 4: Mirror Sex

Park Jihyo x Male reader

6.8k words

AN: I really adore this photo, It fits so well and she looks absolutely stunning

Jihyo had always felt the weight of expectations pressing down on her, unyielding and relentless. In Korea, beauty was revered to an almost mythic degree—a cultural ideal that demanded flawlessness, leaving little room for individuality. It wasn’t just about looking good; it was about embodying perfection, fitting neatly into a mold that felt impossible to achieve. Living in this reality, she spent her life feeling like an outsider, always just short of the ideal.

Billboards and magazine covers showcased faces with flawless skin, bodies that seemed more sculpted than human, impossibly slender and toned. She knew, logically, that many of those images were enhanced, that even those models weren’t perfect in real life. But logic didn’t ease the ache. The pressure she felt wasn’t only social; it was deeply internal, a voice that echoed with every glance in the mirror, whispering, “Not enough.”

Jihyo had done her best to fit the mold, adopting a skincare routine so meticulous it consumed her evenings, each cream and serum a silent plea to feel closer to the ideal. She followed strict diets, counting calories, always conscious of her figure. Even though her natural build was curvier than the thin bodies praised in magazines, she was constantly trying to slim down, to soften her edges, hoping one day she’d look in the mirror and feel like she belonged.

But no amount of dieting or creams could erase her natural curves, and her chest—fuller than most—often felt like a burden. She knew others saw her figure as attractive, yet she couldn’t shake the discomfort it brought her. Sometimes, she’d catch herself staring longingly at the clothes in store windows, delicate dresses and slim-fit tops that seemed to be designed for someone else. On other women, they looked effortless, perfect. On her, they stretched awkwardly, pulling tight across her chest in a way that made her feel out of place. No matter how she adjusted her posture or tried different sizes, those clothes never felt quite right.

And there were the comments. The lingering glances from strangers, the sly remarks from acquaintances, and especially the words from men who seemed to think her curves were an invitation. Compliments rarely felt complimentary; instead, they left her feeling exposed, as if her body were the only part of her that mattered.

In her most vulnerable moments, Jihyo found herself retreating, creating a barrier between herself and the world. She’d wear loose clothing, hiding her form beneath baggy sweaters and oversized coats, each piece carefully chosen to let her slip unnoticed into the background. The fabric became her shield, a buffer against curious glances and unspoken judgments. There were days she wished she could disappear completely, blend into the crowd without a single gaze finding her.

At home, she rarely ventured near mirrors, looking away from reflections that felt like harsh reminders of everything she felt was wrong, everything she couldn’t change. The mirror seemed to amplify her perceived flaws, highlighting the parts that felt too different from what she imagined beauty to be. Even a quick glimpse of her own face or body sparked a familiar pang—a longing to be smaller, softer, to have the delicate features she thought the world admired. Each time, she’d feel herself shrink inside, as though her very presence were too much, her reflection a sight unworthy of admiration.

Yet, beneath those pangs of self-doubt lay something else—a glimmer of yearning that refused to disappear. She wanted to see herself differently, to look in the mirror and find beauty staring back at her. Part of her longed to shed those layers, to one day strip away the loose clothing and stand openly, seeing herself as more than her insecurities. Still, that dream felt distant, like a hazy mirage on the edge of her vision, just out of reach.

This quiet, unspoken longing stayed with her, hovering in the back of her mind, whispering that there was more to be found beneath the layers she used to shield herself. It was as if a part of her knew that her reflection held a depth she had yet to discover—that beyond the clothes, beyond the guarded glances, lay a woman capable of seeing her own beauty, of embracing her own strength.

But for now, she pushed the thought aside, choosing the comfort of concealment. Yet even in these hidden moments, a faint desire lingered—a hope that one day she could look into her reflection unafraid, finding acceptance and maybe even beauty.

These insecurities shadowed her into intimate moments as well. She could never fully let go, fearing that any of her partners would silently compare her to an idealized version of beauty. The fear gnawed at her, holding her back from fully embracing her desires. In those moments, she couldn’t help feeling betrayed by her own body, as though it were keeping her from the experience others seemed to find so effortlessly.

One night, feeling restless and weary from her own thoughts, Jihyo found herself alone in her apartment, scrolling aimlessly through a website filled with romance and erotica novels. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for—maybe a distraction, maybe a world far removed from her own. She just needed to escape, to silence the internal dialogue that repeated on loop, reminding her of everything she thought she wasn’t.

A story caught her eye, a tale of a woman’s journey to self-confidence. Intrigued, she clicked on it, drawn to the description of a protagonist who found her beauty not in someone else’s gaze but in her own. It was an unfamiliar idea—finding worth, finding beauty, without needing validation from someone else. She read on, her curiosity sharpening.

As Jihyo delved into the story, she found herself captivated. The protagonist wasn’t flawless; she struggled with body image just as much as Jihyo did. Yet there was something extraordinary about the woman’s journey, the way she slowly reclaimed her confidence by seeing herself through new eyes. It wasn’t a partner who helped her—it was her own gaze, her own acceptance.

The most powerful scene lingered in Jihyo’s mind, describing how the woman used mirrors to confront her reflection, watching herself from every angle as she explored her body. There was no shame, only an unfiltered appreciation of her curves, her shape, the way her body moved. The protagonist allowed herself to see the beauty in what she’d always considered flaws, to find grace in the moments she’d once avoided. It was a complete reversal of everything Jihyo had felt, and the idea left her breathless.

She read the passage again and again, her heart racing as she tried to imagine doing the same. Could she really use mirrors to look at herself with that same gentle gaze, to confront her own insecurities and find beauty in her own body? Could she bring herself to face her reflection without feeling that familiar discomfort, without the weight of shame?

The thought was both terrifying and exciting. It would mean standing before herself, unclothed and vulnerable, allowing every curve, every flaw, to come into full view. But if the woman in the story could do it, maybe she could too. Maybe it wasn’t about changing anything but about shifting her perspective, seeing herself in a light that allowed room for acceptance and even love.

That night, as she lay in bed, Jihyo couldn’t stop thinking about the mirrors. She could almost picture herself standing in front of them, the soft light catching the lines of her figure, casting shadows that highlighted her natural curves. The idea made her pulse quicken, a rush of anticipation mingling with her nerves. She knew it wouldn’t be easy, that it might be painful at first to face herself so honestly. But the thought lingered, insistent, tugging at something deep within her that longed for release from the weight of constant comparison.

In that moment, she made a promise to herself: one day, she would stand in front of a mirror and see herself as something beautiful. Not because she was flawless, but because she was real. Because she was enough.

Jihyo closed her eyes, and for the first time in a long while, her heart felt lighter. She didn’t know how long it would take, but she felt a spark of hope—a small, precious ember that maybe, just maybe, she could learn to see herself through kinder eyes.

The thought lingered with her long after she set the book aside. It wasn’t just the story that captivated her but the idea of seeing herself fully, without judgment, without filters. What would it be like to stand in front of a mirror and not automatically focus on flaws or imperfections, but on the beauty in each line and curve? Her mind swirled with the possibilities, turning over an idea that felt equal parts thrilling and terrifying. For once, her fantasies didn’t involve someone else—they revolved around her, a vision of discovering her own body and beauty on her terms.

That night, a strange mix of curiosity and nervousness pulsing within her, Jihyo decided to try it. Pulling a small mirror from her drawer, she set it by her bedside, feeling a bit self-conscious. The mirror was small, only able to capture fragments of her, but that seemed fitting—a tentative first step. Slowly, she undressed, her heart racing as she slid beneath the sheets, both eager and hesitant. Her eyes flitted between the mirror and her body, unsure of what she’d see or feel, unsure if this would unlock something within her or merely deepen her insecurities.

As she lay back, the coolness of the sheets sharp against her skin, her hands moved tentatively, her fingertips grazing her collarbone, her curves, the softness of her thighs. A gentle shiver ran through her, and her eyes fixed on the mirror, seeing only pieces of herself—the arch of her neck, the swell of her chest, a hand tracing the curve of her hip. The mirror reflected these moments, capturing a quiet intimacy that she wasn’t accustomed to sharing, even with herself.

The sensation was undeniably alluring, her breathing quickening as her hands moved more freely, each touch intensifying the connection between her mind and body. But as her pleasure built, she found herself distracted. The small mirror offered only glimpses, incomplete flashes that couldn’t fully capture the experience. Even as waves of pleasure washed over her, a deeper yearning remained—the desire to see herself completely, to confront every insecurity, every aspect she had avoided for so long.

The realization struck her hard: she needed to see all of herself, every angle, every detail, without hiding. The mirror had given her a taste, but it wasn’t enough. She yearned for a space where she could truly explore, where her reflection could reveal her without judgment.

Suddenly, a memory surfaced—a flash of an ad she’d seen a few weeks earlier while online shopping. It had been one of those pop-ups, something she’d quickly close or scroll past, but now the words came back clearly. It was for a place called The Pleasure Paradise Hotel. Her pulse quickened as she hurriedly pulled out her phone and found the hotel’s website. The tagline read, “Where every fantasy blooms in paradise.” She chuckled at the phrasing but clicked on the “Fantasies” tab.

And there it was, nestled among the long lists of fantasies: the Mirror Rooms. The description made her breath catch, detailing spaces crafted for self-exploration, adorned with mirrors that reflected every part of her from every angle, allowing for a judgment-free discovery of self. This was precisely what she had been craving—a sanctuary where she could be alone with her reflection, liberated from the societal expectations that weighed so heavily on her.

Her hand hovered for only a moment before she clicked the “Book Now” button, her nerves quickly overtaken by a rush of excitement as she filled in her information. After a moment, a confirmation screen appeared, thanking her for choosing the Pleasure Paradise Hotel.

The day of her booking arrived faster than she’d anticipated. Entering the luxurious lobby, Jihyo felt a blend of anticipation and nerves. The hotel exuded a quiet elegance, with soft lighting, subtle hints of jasmine, and decor that made the space feel intimate and indulgent. Her heart raced as she approached the front desk, where a poised woman greeted her with a warm, professional smile.

“Good evening. Welcome to the Pleasure Paradise Hotel. How may I assist you today?” the receptionist asked, her tone calm and reassuring.

Jihyo hesitated briefly, lowering her voice. “Hi, I… I’ve booked a stay in one of the Mirror Rooms,” she said, glancing around to ensure no one else could hear.

The receptionist’s smile deepened knowingly. “Ah, the Mirror Rooms,” she said, her voice laced with understanding. “A popular choice for guests looking to explore and connect with themselves more intimately. We offer a few packages, each designed to provide a unique experience.”

Jihyo’s hands fidgeted slightly, the receptionist’s gentle confidence helping to ease her tension as she listened.

“Our first option is a private experience,” the receptionist continued, gesturing toward a sleek tablet on the counter. “In this package, you’ll have the room entirely to yourself, with mirrors arranged to let you see yourself from every possible angle, creating a safe space to explore your desires alone. It’s very popular for first-time guests.”

Jihyo nodded, intrigued, but a faint restlessness lingered—something told her she needed more than just the mirrors. She wanted something deeper, though she wasn’t yet certain what that might be.

“Our second option,” the receptionist went on, “is similar to the first, but you may bring up to five partners to accompany you, giving you the chance to share your experience with others, if that’s something you’d like.”

Jihyo nodded again, appreciating the variety but feeling a stronger pull toward exploring alone, without an audience. The thought of including others felt premature. She wanted the experience to feel wholly her own.

“And finally,” the receptionist said, her smile widening ever so slightly, “we offer a guided experience. Here, you’re joined by a professional guide who assists in your exploration, offering support, guidance, and whatever level of interaction you’re comfortable with.”

“A guide?” Jihyo’s voice was a soft whisper, barely audible.

“Yes,” the receptionist confirmed, turning the tablet toward her. “Should you choose the guided experience, you can select from a gallery of experienced guides, each highly trained to ensure that your experience is everything you desire. Whether you’re seeking gentle encouragement or someone to help you delve deeper, there’s a guide to match your preference.”

She tapped the screen, bringing up the gallery of guides. The display featured a diverse array of men and women, each with their own unique energy. Some wore inviting, gentle smiles, while others gazed intently at the camera with a more intense, brooding expression. Each image seemed to convey a distinct presence, as if each guide held a different key to unlocking the experience.

Jihyo’s gaze lingered as she took in the faces on the screen. Some were soft and nurturing, others exuding strength and confidence, each inviting her into a different possible experience. She felt the tension between choosing solitude and allowing someone else to witness her vulnerability, to help her confront her insecurities in a way that felt both terrifying and thrilling.

Then, her eyes fell on one photo—a man with an aura of quiet confidence that stood out from the rest. He wasn’t overly posed; he looked relaxed, a calm strength in his features softened by a warm, genuine smile. Something about the ease in his posture and the spark of curiosity in his eyes made her heart skip. He looked approachable yet held an unmistakable air of control, someone who could help her feel both seen and safe.

Underneath the photo, your name appeared.

A quiet thrill shot through her as she clicked to read his profile, each detail deepening her intrigue.

“He seems…” Jihyo began, her voice trailing as her gaze lingered on the photo of the man she’d chosen.

The receptionist smiled knowingly, sensing her indecision melt into interest. “He’s one of our most popular guides,” she explained warmly. “He has a gift for making guests feel at ease. Intuitive, patient, and incredibly thoughtful, adapting to whatever you need—whether it’s gentle guidance or firm direction. He’s here to help you explore at your own pace.”

Jihyo swallowed, feeling a new spark of excitement flare in her chest. A sense of reassurance steadied her as she nodded. “I think… I’d like him,” she replied, her voice soft but resolute.

“An excellent choice,” the receptionist confirmed, tapping a few buttons on the tablet. “your guide will meet you directly in your room. If you wish to adjust the experience or set any new boundaries, just let him know. His sole focus is on your comfort and fulfillment.”

Jihyo nodded, feeling both reassured and anticipatory. The idea of having a guide through this exploration—someone attuned to her desires and limitations—was thrilling yet calming. Somehow, it felt right.

“I’ll take care of everything else. You can head up to your room whenever you’re ready,” the receptionist said, handing her a sleek key card and a small, discreet goodie bag. Inside, she found tiny bottles of lube and a couple of condoms. “And remember, this is your experience. You’re in control of how it unfolds. If you need anything replenished, just call the front desk.”

As she headed toward the elevator, her heart raced. Her decision was clear now; she was ready to step into this unknown space of self-discovery.

The room was exactly as advertised, but the reality of it was more powerful than she’d imagined. Four mirrors framed the bed, each offering a unique angle. But it was the ceiling mirror that drew her attention, catching her off guard. A surge of vulnerability washed over her, seeing herself reflected from so many sides, so exposed and open. Yet with that vulnerability came an undeniable power—a sensation of strength in being fully seen, even if only by herself. She let herself take in the room slowly, breathing in the potential it held, the beauty of the setup that invited her to confront herself completely.

“Hello, Ms. Jihyo. I’ll be your guide this evening,” you say, your tone friendly, though your gaze holds a depth, a quiet intrigue that mirrors her own emotions. Her cheeks flush as the experience becomes tangible, their connection palpable.

With calm confidence, you enter the room, carefully closing the door behind. “Have you done something like this before?” you ask, your voice gentle and curious, free of any judgment.

Jihyo shakes her head, her own voice barely a whisper. “Just Jihyo is fine… and no. I’ve thought about it, but… I haven’t gone this far.”

A soft smile crosses your lips. “Curiosity is a wonderful place to begin.” Moving with unhurried grace, you gesture toward the mirrors surrounding her. “This space is yours to explore, to experience however you choose. There’s no rush, no expectations. I’m here solely to support you.”

The warmth in your voice deepens the intimacy of the moment, your presence both soothing and emboldening. As you move around the room, adjusting the lighting and taking subtle cues from her, Jihyo feels ease settle over her, tension gradually dissipating. The mirrors no longer feel like mere reflections; they become invitations—portals into her own depth, her own truth.

Taking a steadying breath, Jihyo reaches for the edge of her clothing. She hesitates, fingers hovering as she catches her reflection in the mirror. Slowly, she begins to undress, her movements almost tentative, as if each piece removed exposes more than just skin. Her gaze remains fixed on the mirror, her eyes tracing the curves and lines of her body with a mixture of scrutiny and reluctance. There’s an involuntary judgment in her stare, her expression tinged with dissatisfaction as she examines each perceived flaw with a familiar, critical eye.

As she glances at the reflection beside her, she notices you undressing in the background, your movements natural and unguarded. Your frame, by contrast, seems to fit easily within the accepted ideals she’s grown accustomed to seeing, adding a new layer to her own self-consciousness. A quiet comparison arises, unbidden, and she finds herself thinking how effortlessly you seem to belong in your own skin. Her shoulders stiffen slightly, insecurities whispering reminders of all the ways she feels she doesn’t measure up, each perceived flaw amplified as she stands there exposed.

She shifts slightly, as if hoping another angle might soften the imperfections she’s focused on. Yet, she allows herself to remain fully bare, lingering in the vulnerability despite the discomfort that rises within her. She feels the weight of her own self-consciousness, and though the impulse to cover herself hovers, she resists it, reminding herself that here, in this space, she doesn’t have to hide.

Still, the unease doesn’t quite fade. Her eyes remain cautious, holding onto traces of the self-doubt she can’t seem to shake. The familiar instinct to take control tugs at her, but there is another part—hidden, quieter, and long-buried—that yearns for release, to feel what it might be like to let go, to be seen as she is.

“Can you… take the lead?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper, soft with uncertainty.

You meet her gaze with understanding, your expression gentle and reassuring. “Of course,” you reply, reaching out to touch her shoulder with a steadying presence. “Let me guide you. You’re safe here. Just relax and be exactly as you are.”

Her heart pounds as she nods, releasing her defenses for the first time in a long while. As you move behind her, hands tracing gently along her sides, Jihyo turns her attention to the mirrors. In their reflections, she sees herself in a new way—open, vulnerable, fully visible from every angle. A tremor of anticipation runs through her, magnified by the warmth of your touch, which sends ripples of sensation down her spine.

Each movement is deliberate, a steady rhythm allowing her to lose herself in the feeling. Your fingertips skim over her shoulders and down her arms, grounding her in the present, reconnecting her with her own body. She watches, captivated, as you guide her, your touch both tender and commanding, knowing exactly where to linger, allowing her to ease into herself.

Her breath quickens as you continue, each touch more intentional than the last. Glancing from one mirror to another, she sees her own body reflected from every angle. The ceiling mirror above captures her in the most vulnerable, raw view possible. Seeing herself like this makes her heart race, each angle revealing parts of herself she’d never fully embraced.

With every trace of your fingers across her skin, her breath hitches, anticipation building. The sound of her own shallow breaths, the sensation of your presence, and the reflections encircling her all merge into a heady, intoxicating mix. Every sigh, every subtle movement, mirrored back to her—a tangible reminder of her own beauty, her own strength.

The intimacy of the moment deepens, warmth spreading through her with each gentle touch, every lingering look at her reflection. You adjust her posture ever so slightly, positioning her to meet her own gaze from every angle. There is no hiding, no escape from the image of the woman staring back—her beauty raw, her presence powerful and real.

Each touch, each mirrored glimpse, becomes a quiet yet profound invitation for her to embrace herself fully, to revel in a beauty she’d often overlooked. The control she so often held onto now slips away, leaving only the freedom to feel, to see herself as she truly is. With you there, guiding her with a steady hand and calming presence, the weight of expectation and insecurity begins to dissolve, replaced by a deep sense of acceptance she has rarely felt.

The tension between you grows, thickening the air with anticipation. You slide your body onto the bed, beckoning her to sit Infront of you, Jihyo slowly gets on the soft sheets and leans her back on your chest.

Your hands move with practiced precision, each touch making her skin feel like it’s coming alive beneath you. Starting at her hips, your fingers brush lightly along her thighs, stirring a subtle ache that resonates deep within. You trace upward, skimming the sensitive inner thigh, your fingers moving closer to her center but stopping just short, building her anticipation with every teasing pass.

Your fingers drift to the edge of her folds, each movement languid and measured—never quite giving her what she wants, but keeping her hanging on each touch. You press the pad of your thumb over her clit in a slow, circular motion, firm enough to draw her hips forward, her body instinctively urging you to go further. But you don’t rush; your touch expertly coaxes her reactions, guiding her to match your rhythm. The gentle circles over her clit send waves of pleasure through her, a steady pulse that grows with each pass of your hand.

Her breath quickens, her fingers curling as she sinks into the pleasure you weave around her, the tension winding tight within her as you keep her on edge. Your eyes meet hers in the mirror again, your gaze holding a subtle command, urging her to comply. “Look at yourself,” you murmur, with a tone low and warm. “See how beautiful you are.”

As she gazes into the mirror, her reflection captivates her. Her cheeks are flushed, a deep rosy hue that contrasts beautifully with her soft skin, her breath quickening as she watches the way her body responds to your every touch. There is an aura of pure bliss surrounding her, a glow that highlights the ecstatic expression on her face. The way her chest rises and falls, the subtle arch of her back, all blend into a portrait of surrender that sends a thrill through her. It’s a sight that makes her pulse race, the beauty of the moment wrapping around her like a warm embrace.

With practiced patience, one hand travels up her side, pausing just below her chest. You meet her gaze in the reflection again, fingers ghosting over her skin. “May I?” you ask, your breath warm against her neck. A shiver runs through her, and she replies, breathless and quick, “Yes,” her voice trembling with eagerness.

With her permission, your hand slips over her breast, your touch firm yet gentle, sending sparks across her skin. The other hand remains at her core, circling slowly, pressing just enough to make her hips tilt toward you. Your mouth traces a line along her neck, your breath hot just behind her ear, unraveling her composure further. Her breaths grow faster, soft and uneven, each exhale mingling with the quiet hum of the room, enclosing you both in your own world.

Your hands work in tandem, the deliberate squeeze and tug on her breast blending with the rhythmic pressure below. Her mind grows hazy with need as you hold her close, every movement perfectly timed to her building tension. Her fingers tangle in the fabric beneath her, grounding herself as she climbs higher, each sensation building on the last.

Finally, with the combination of your hand possessively gripping her chest, the other pressing into her core, and your lips igniting her neck, her climax surges. It begins as a slow, shivering wave, rising from her center and spreading outward, consuming her in pulses that leave her breathless. Her back arches, pressing into you as the tension within her snaps, transforming into a raw, rolling pleasure that seems to echo through every inch of her body.

Her gaze stays locked on the reflection, and as she watches herself surrender, it amplifies everything—the sight of her flushed cheeks, the quiver of her parted lips, the rise and fall of her chest. The intensity of watching her own body unfold in pleasure makes her climax feel endless, a powerful rush that pulls her deeper with each second. Her hips buck in need, her fingers clutching at the fabric beneath her, grounding herself as she rides each wave. She can’t look away; the vulnerability and beauty of her reflection hold her captive, amplifying the sensation, making her feel as if she’s both inside her body and observing herself from a distance, awash in her own surrender.

As her breathing steadies, she looks back at the mirrors, feeling a newfound determination stirring within. This experience was hers to claim. Meeting your gaze in the mirror, her expression shifts, her resolve clear. “I want to take the lead this time,” she whispers, her voice steady with newfound confidence.

A smile of admiration softens your expression, your eyes alight with encouragement. “Then take it,” you reply gently, leaning back to give her the space to step into her own power. “This is your room, Jihyo. It’s yours to explore.”

A pulse of excitement thrums through her as she positions herself over you, her legs framing your hips, her posture upright and commanding. Facing away, with her gaze fixed on the mirrors in front of her, she’s fully absorbed in the view—a woman confident, unashamed, with every angle of her form magnified in the glass surrounding her. For the first time, she feels the full thrill of being in control, the power in shaping her own pleasure. The image is intoxicating, each movement captured from all sides, revealing a beauty she’d rarely allowed herself to see.

With a shared, silent understanding, she lifts herself slightly, giving you the space to reach for protection. You slip on a condom as she steadies herself, her breath quickening with anticipation. She then takes you in her hand, guiding herself, and slowly lowering her hips, placing your length inside. A shallow gasp escapes her lips as her eyes remain on the mirror while she moves, watching herself take control and savoring every second of the connection.

She begins to move, her hips rolling in a slow, steady rhythm that sends shivers of sensation through her, intensifying with each shift and sway. Every part of her feels alive, attuned to the heat building between you, her body becoming the focal point, the center of her awareness. Each curve, every subtle arch of her back, every sway of her hips is captured in the mirrors that surround her. She feels more real, more tangible, than she ever has before.

Her movements grow more purposeful, a quiet confidence driving her, deepening with each slow, deliberate motion. Her breath quickens as she watches herself, captivated by the image in the mirrors—a vision bathed in warm, golden hues that soften her form while enhancing the allure in every line and curve. The room’s gentle lighting casts her skin in a rich glow, accentuating the lines of her body, the sweep of her shoulders, the strength in her arms. She sees herself with newfound respect, a fierce ownership over her form that feels both freeing and grounding. In each reflection, she doesn’t just see her body; she sees the strength she’s beginning to claim as her own. Yet in the end, it’s her eyes, focused and unwavering, that hold her attention the most, her gaze fierce, filled with intent.

A soft groan escapes from you beneath her, your hands resting lightly on her hips, grounding her yet allowing her the freedom to move. She feels your admiration, senses it in the subtle tension of your grip, in the way your gaze never leaves her. You look at her with awe, but she realizes the most powerful gaze in the room is her own.

“You’re absolutely stunning, Jihyo,” you murmur, your voice warm with admiration. “Look at you—so strong, so beautiful.”

A soft flush blooms on her cheeks, but your words only heighten her awareness of herself, fueling the desire pulsing steadily within. She can feel it now—the raw beauty of her control, the unfiltered confidence that has blossomed from the moment she took the lead. The mirrors don’t just reflect her body; they show her strength, her self-assuredness, qualities she has only begun to embrace. Each roll of her hips, every deliberate shift, feels like an assertion of her power, each soft gasp a quiet acknowledgment of her own beauty.

Her rhythm intensifies, movements growing faster as her body responds eagerly, the tension building low and insistent in her belly. Fingers gripping your legs for balance, she leans into the sensation, chasing the release that feels tantalizingly close, riding the wave of pleasure that surges through her with every motion. She can feel it all—the heat, the friction, all blending into a heady mix that sweeps her closer to the edge.

Lost in the rhythm, her head tilts back, and her gaze catches the ceiling mirror. She had nearly forgotten it, too absorbed by the other reflections, but now, seeing herself from above—a fresh angle highlighting the curves of her breasts, the strength in her posture, every movement purposeful and commanding—sends a shockwave of pleasure through her. The image is almost overwhelming. She looks powerful, entirely in control, moving with an instinctive grace as she rises toward her climax.

The sight is intoxicating, and in that moment, her breath catches, her body tensing as the release finally surges forward, consuming her. “Oh—yes,” she gasps, her voice trembling as the waves of pleasure hit her with full force. “I'm gonna cum... Yes! I'm cumming!,” she screams, her words slipping out in between each pulse, each wave of bliss that crashes through her. Her muscles tighten, her voice rising as the sensations build, and she lets out a cry, unrestrained, raw. Her eyes stay locked on the mirror, watching as her face softens in pleasure, her body quivering, her back arching as she succumbs to the intensity.

The sensation deepens, amplifying as her reflection stares back, grounding her in the sheer power of her release. Her lips part as a moan escapes, her body trembling under the force of the climax, every inch of her alive with sensation. She feels herself unraveling, yet within that unraveling is a new, unity with herself, a reclaiming of every part of her. The image in the mirror transforms her, revealing a woman fully unbound, lost in the depth of her own ecstasy, her pleasure radiating outward in waves.

As the final tremors ebb, she falls backwards, her body softening, surrendering as she relaxes against you. Her heartbeat echoes through her chest, her breath slowing in soft gasps as she lets the experience settle around her. She lies still for a moment, savoring the fullness of what she has just felt, the echoes of pleasure still vibrating through her, lingering in her limbs, in the hum of her skin.

The mirror has revealed something far beyond beauty—it has shown her strength, her vulnerability, her raw, unfettered power. She has taken control, and in doing so, she sees herself with a clarity that transcends simple reflection. She isn’t just a body; she is a woman of immense power, a woman capable of holding her own beauty with reverence.

A soft smile tugs at her lips as she lets the last of her tension dissolve, her body still alive with the remnants of her climax. She feels incredible. In this quiet, profound moment, Jihyo knows that she has stepped into a new version of herself, one who can look at her reflection and see the full scope of her beauty and power, unfiltered, unafraid. And that realization, even as her breath slows and her heart softens, is a pleasure all its own.

A warm hand brushed softly against her back, grounding her in the present, and your voice came as a gentle whisper. “I hope you enjoyed your time here,” you said, your tone reverent.

She turned to you, her eyes warm and glistening with gratitude. “Thank you,” she murmured, her voice carrying a quiet depth. “This experience… it’s shown me parts of myself I’d forgotten, parts I didn’t even know were there.” Then in a moment of realization a quick panic rushed upon her. "Wait you didn't get to finish"

Your hand brushed softly against hers, grounding her in the present, and your voice came as a gentle whisper. “This was always about you, not me. Its okay, truly” you said, your tone reverent.

You smiled, meeting her gaze with admiration. “There’s such a difference in you now,” you added, a note of pride in your voice. “From the Jihyo I met just a short while ago to the one standing here now… it’s like night and day, even without words. You’re radiant—glowing with a confidence that wasn’t there before.”

Her cheeks flushed with quiet pride, and a soft smile touched her lips as she let herself sink deeper into the warmth of the moment, her body still alive with the lingering sensations that rippled gently through her. She felt incredible, her very core awakened—a part of herself that had always been there, now freed and fully embraced. Confidence, steady and unshakeable, flowed through her, filling her with a sense of wholeness she’d never quite known before. This feeling, this assurance, was wholly hers.

-----

In the weeks that followed, Jihyo found herself returning to the Mirror Room again and again. Each visit became an opportunity to peel back another layer, to delve deeper into her own story, her own beauty, her own strength. Every time she stood before those mirrors, something new awaited her: another hidden facet, another part of herself coming into the light. She found herself lingering in her reflections longer, tracing the lines of her body, absorbing the softness and strength she was coming to know and love. Sometimes, she led the experience, moving with purpose; other times, she allowed herself to be guided, reveling in the sensation of surrender. You had become an intuitive presence, familiar with the subtleties of her preferences, attuned to her every movement without needing to ask. Each time, she left the room with a richer understanding of herself, a deeper acceptance of her own worth, resilience, and beauty.

The mirrors became her companions on this journey, revealing her from angles and perspectives she would never have considered before. They offered her a clearer view of a woman whose confidence and self-love had blossomed from a place of discovery and acceptance. She no longer shied away from her reflection; instead, she looked at herself with a newfound openness, appreciating the uniqueness that made her who she was.

Eventually, Jihyo realized she wanted to bring this experience home, to let this newfound freedom settle into her daily life, beyond the mirrors of the hotel. One evening, after what she knew would be her final hotel visit, she found herself standing in her bedroom, unwrapping an oversized mirror she had ordered just for herself. The frame was sleek, elegantly crafted, its generous size designed to capture every angle around her bed—just like the mirrors in the hotel room that had shown her so much. She traced her fingers along the edge, feeling the cool, smooth surface beneath her fingertips, a soft smile playing on her lips as memories of her journey flickered in her mind.

The mirror was more than a piece of decor; it was a symbol of everything she had uncovered and the confidence she had unlocked. It embodied her courage to embrace not just her desires but her own beauty, her own strength. It was a reflection of the woman she had become—a woman who could look at herself without fear or hesitation, fully aware of her beauty in all its complexity.

After placing the mirror carefully at the foot of her bed, she stepped back, taking in the way her reflection gazed back with clear eyes and a self-assured smile. The sight filled her with a profound sense of pride and fulfillment. She had taken control of her narrative, claiming her own image as beautiful, strong, and worthy. She found herself standing there, rooted and grounded in her own power, savoring the warmth of her own strength radiating back at her.

Later, as she lay down beneath her covers. Jihyo felt a gentle warmth spread through her, a pride she hadn’t known until now. She no longer avoided her reflection or let insecurities cloud her view of herself. For the first time, she faced it head-on, proud of the strength and beauty that had been there all along. What she saw went far beyond appearances; she saw a confidence, a power, and a deep, abiding love for herself, whole and complete.

As the moonlight cast a soft, ethereal glow on the mirror beside her bed, her heart filled with gratitude, her mind resting in calm acceptance. She no longer questioned her worth or doubted her beauty. Her journey had led her here, to a place where she could finally see herself clearly.

And as her eyes fluttered closed, a gentle smile softened her lips, her heart quietly affirming the truth she had come to know:

She is truly and undeniably beautiful.

[glorified-red]

Auburn Traditions (Damian Wayne x Reader)

summary: After your wedding, Damian spends the night finding his name in your bridal henna. In the safety of your presence, he can share his true feelings to you. word count: 1,550~ warnings: none Special thanks to @quillsareswords for bouncing ideas around until this fic was born. I am soft for this man. This is the mushiest thing I've written in so long. Literally kicking my feet writing this.

It came as no surprise when Damian popped the question. 

You two flourished beside each other, growing individually in the comfort of each other’s embrace. For years you stood beside Damian. Through high school you helped him study every exam season, said quick greetings in the halls, and even helped him find all his classes his first year. In college you motivated him through finals, went to every pesky orientation, and cheered the loudest when he walked across the stage one final time. 

Almost in tandem, Damian returned the favor. He asked you to Prom your senior year, holding up a shy bouquet of flowers and a corsage. He attended every performance of yours, big or small, because the mere presence of him was more support than you could ever wish for. Damian dragged you to bed on long nights and held you through so many tough ones, never letting go through it all. 

You moved out together years later after you found the perfect forever home and finally made it yours. The walls were painted deep into the night, muted tones swiped onto his nose only for him to fling it back at you. Together, Christmas lights were hung across the house year after year as you danced to the upbeat tunes in your own living room while the fireplace warms you up after a long day in the snow. 

So when Damian kneeled before you, his heart pouring out of his chest as he spoke words of reflection and his own green eyes shining with affection, you had to say yes. A year of bliss with Damian Wayne, your fiancé, soon to be husband. You carved out a section of this chaotic world and made it your own, a section full of adoration and unwavering love. 

The wedding night was one to remember. It was an extravagant night filled with family, music, and laughter. Damian couldn’t keep his eyes off his bride for very long, far too many of the wedding photos showed Damian’s soft gaze towards you. 

Your vows were heartfelt and private, opting to say your true feelings in the comfort of each other and no one more. Damian Wayne, the man of very few words, had the most poetic words fall from his lips that day. Damian Wayne, the man with ironclad emotions, cried in front of you when the vows continued forward—not that he’d ever admit that, but you knew. 

So here you were, the wedding night bliss still radiating off of you as you sat in front of Damian—your husband—on your shared bed. Your outfits were hung up ages ago, torn off the second you could and changed into something more cozy with softer fabrics and looser seams. Bobby pins were scattered across the bathroom sink as you let your hair rest. Damian’s own hair was ruffled, the gel long since worn off. 

Neither of you minded, no amount of makeup or luxurious outfits could make Damian fall for you any harder than he already has. 

“You’re really intent on finding it,” you commented playfully, your voice dipped into softer volume. Your hands rested in his, decorated in vibrant amber. Delicate florals weaved their way across your fingertips and palms, vines twirled across the negative space until their leaves grew on your hands. Mother Earth herself had kissed your hands and let her beauty flow across your skin—her own blessing to the marriage. 

Henna: a tradition that was nothing short of mesmerizing. You remembered the day Damian asked for this, a small portion of his heritage incorporated into the best night of his life. And of course, you said yes, accepting every part of him happily. 

His hands traced along the arabic style that seeped into your skin, spaced out leaves and florals that left a gorgeous amount of free space to show off your own beautiful skin. It wasn’t nearly as intricate as Mehndi, for this style of henna focused on the palms to bring in love and cherish memories. But every dot on your skin was as fascinating as the one before it, carefully placed into a beautiful design. 

“Of course,” Damian responded, his gaze incredibly focused on the detailed pattern on your hands. He flipped over your hands to look at the top. “The fate of the marriage rests on this moment.” 

You snorted, ��You just don’t want to admit that I’m the dominant one in the relationship.” 

Damian tsked, “You wish.” 

“Well,” you looked over at the clock, “you have five minutes before that superstition comes true. Better hurry up, bird boy.” 

“There’s no need to rush me, I will find it before the night is over.” 

You hummed in disbelief, a playful tone falling from your lips. The room fell to comfortable silence once more, the only sound was the soft breathing that landed onto the tips of your fingers. 

His hands were so gentle as they touched yours, a faint warmth emitting from his own hands and transferring to yours. Even as he turned your hands this way and that, his fingertips traced along the design. The touch was feather-light, almost tickling the surface of your hand. 

He never touched with much pressure. Even though the dye was a deep rich color, beautifully stained on your hands and wrists, he didn’t dare to wear it thin. Talia herself told you every tradition as she crafted the henna on your hand, happy to play such a significant role in her son's marriage—and welcoming you to the family? She was overjoyed to receive that call. 

So when your henna turned into a darker tone overnight, you immediately knew the deep connection between you and Damian was gorgeously on display. The color signified more than just love and an unwavering bond, but it also represented your place beside your new family, and the love you will surely receive from them. 

“You look beautiful with this on, Zawjati,” he spoke just barely above a whisper, as if the amber design had Damian mesmerized. The words fell from his lips absent-mindedly, a new term of endearment taking flight in an instant. The gesture meant more to him than he could ever explain, from the reconnection to understanding, all the way to acceptance, his heart was unbelievably full. 

You glanced up at him, your eyes met the softened gaze of a man so deeply in love, the rest of the word slipped away. That gaze conveyed more to you than any poetic vow. 

Your heart was equally as full. His simple wedding band was smooth against your fingers, the new shimmer of metal was vibrant against the tan of his skin. Your own traditions having melted into the wedding with the rings, a permanent symbol of the promise Damian made to you each and every day: to love and cherish you.

“That’s a new one,” you said, pushing past the breathless feeling in your lungs. 

He rolled your fingers in his and sparks flew up your chest just like the first day you met him, even after all these years. He hummed in question, his eyes scanning the patterns with deep concentration. 

“Zawjati,” you continued. “What does that one mean?”

Damian shifted slightly, not uncomfortably so, but as if his brain was mulling words around behind his eyes so his body swayed on instinct. “My wife.” 

The smile that broke across your face happened in an instant, a full gleam of happiness filled your body that you couldn’t possibly contain. “Oh?” you teased, as if the words didn’t burrow themselves in your chest to create blossoming trees, “I’ve upgraded now.”

The corner of his lip ticked upwards so slightly you wouldn’t have caught it if you weren’t staring. There was a tint of your lipstick stained on his lips that you didn’t notice before. His fingers toyed with yours, they slipped in between yours with a ticklish touch. 

“I’ve been wanting to call you that for years,” he said it so simply, like that profession didn’t take the air out of your lungs and make your heart flutter alongside it. 

“Years?” you breathed out, stunned by his words. You knew his love for you was profound, but to be looking forward to spending the rest of his life with you for years? Your head whirled from the whiplash. 

“Yes.” Just as simply as the words that came before. “My heart knew who it belonged to the second you entered my life. You were the only one who ever saw me for who I really was, not who I could become. You were the only one who made me look forward to living, not for the sake of saving lives to simply do it again the next day, but to keep coming home to you.”

“You make the future seem possible. You,” he breathed, “you make me want to be better, not because I have to, but because I truly want to. That is why I’ve always been more partial to the other translation of Zawjati.” 

The word rolled off his tongue and your heart danced. “And what’s that?”

His thumb swiped across your pulse point where his name was imprinted on your skin in subtle cursive, easily blending into a vine. He gently brought the point to his lips. 

“My better half.”

Taglist ♡

@anothertimdrakestan

@cherry-dropp

@missredrobin

[eulogium-red]

i'd like to see more of the theme of "family" in overwatch. we see it a lot with ana & fareeha, ram & zen, brig/torb/rein/bastion, genji & hanzo. but those are the obvious ones between playable characters. the ones that are much more clearly written on the wall, even once-in-a-blue-moon players could pick up on. much else is hardly focused on despite how much family (or a lack thereof) has shaped many of the character's lives & identities for better or for worse

i don't like how martina & the unnamed reyes kid are only mentioned in passing, despite gabriel himself visiting often unannounced. clearly they were an important part of his life. clearly, family is an important part of his life — i'm very willing to wager that small passage about the death of his parents in declassified was written very intentionally. his complicated relationship with death, and how it was further affected by his own "death," & how he's now in some warped reversed position with his new family. but we don't get much more than a few voice lines about martina (is she even mentioned by name in-game orrr am i not remembering?)

i want to see how ashe manages the gang throughout the second omnic crisis. or perhaps we could see her mannerisms slightly change with bob. maybe instead of standing side-by-side with him as she is in the reunion cinematic, she puts herself more between him & potential unrealised threats. or maybe she subtly tries to nudge him under awnings whenever she spots ufos, weary they're housing subjugators — little things that are very intentional. maybe her demeanor tilts ever so slightly from confident but guarded, to guarded but confident.

i want to get a better picture of the role sam english played in fareeha's life just from playing the game, especially after ana's presumed death. i want to know more about their relationship other than the christmas dinner they had. i wonder how many players just assume fareeha's father died young, or assume the writers didn't care to write one at all? for a long time, i thought the former. i wonder what sam thinks of some of fareeha's closest friends — has he met cole & angela? what does he think of helix? we hardly even see fareeha's native heritage expressed other than the two skins off the top of my head

what about cassidy & echo? i know this is a more implied one, but cassidy was the first one to nurture her "childlike intelligence." even today, he guides her — he encouraged her to help winston&co at paris when he was still on the fence. one of the cutest things for me is her enthusiastically shouting "hello winston!" mid-battle, presumably not long after cassidy told her to say hi. she probably would've either way, but i also don't want to discredit the role cassidy has had on her development & i really do want to see more of them

or, speak of the devil, how winston views everyone at overwatch as family. how in watchpoint: gibraltar's 1st defense spawn, you can see the little beds he set up for lena and mei, how you can read an email as proof he got the blankets from a small kids blanket business. the way he keeps photos of the gang, years later. how vehemently protective he was of all their locations. i wish we could see it reciprocated a little more, i wish we could see individual sleeping areas for other heroes as the story progresses, or more items on his desk. & that's not even getting into hammond

& i don't think i can have a family post without mentioning dad 76 or how i desperately want to see benicio being the best supportive dad for lúcio more but honestly i'm getting pretty sleepy so either i'll add more later or someone can add more.

depending how you stretch the definition of family here, it can include other dynamics too. baptiste finding a new sense of belonging in the new overwatch, or mei braving the antarctic to not let her team's death go in vain & to help people who can still be helped — from jiayi and her team still on mars, to the people who now need her help on earth. i'd also argue hana's squad in korea. what are niran's siblings up to? are we gonna see more of efi & orisa? moreover, how are all these non-playable side character characters handling the invasion? i guess we got some texts between lena and emily

family is such a powerful motivator, but can also be really complicated, as seen with the amaris and shimadas + kiriko, i wish we got a similar amount of investment some other places too

a major theme of overwatch is moving towards the future, progressing in some way. & that looks different for everyone depending on their emotional readiness to do that, and what they view "progression" as. so it makes sense a lot of characters don't look back on those they lost along the way so much, at least not too openly (zarya comes to mind), but that's what can make their present relationships with others that much more worth preserving & seeing

probably an impossible ask of a game feeling the effects of layoffs that's primarily focused on pvp/bp/shop items but ykn

thank u for coming to my tedtalk

[rebornologist]

Hi! I absolutely love your blog and all the wonderful things you've written, thank you so much for sharing your incredible work on here <3

I wanted to ask if ud be open to writing headcanons for a poly! relationship between gokudera, enma and their s/o?

Either way I wish you the most wonderful day and hope you are surrounded with vibes as good as your writing✨

Thank you for the kind words, nonny! I interpreted it as a dynamic wherein Gokudera and Enma are separately dating the same person, with informed consent. I honestly might add more/change my mind on these after I reread the Simon arc and get a refresher on their interactions in canon, but I have a few thoughts on it. I could not pass up an opportunity to talk about polyamory, so I hope these suffice for now!

♡ Gokudera/SO/Enma Headcanons ✧

Gokudera and Enma met through Tsuna and only grew closer when they both started dating the same person. Their S/O was completely transparent about it as their individual relationships developed, and the two men were initially pretty awkward around each other unless their shared partner was present. I think that the bond that they form as time goes on is still fairly platonic, if not only physically.. intimate, on occasion, with their partner in between.

In the beginning, Hayato felt quite tense about the arrangement and had to work through some of his insecurities to wrap his head and heart around the idea of not competing for his S/O’s affections. Enma is fairly accepting from the get-go, trusting his S/O’s positive words about Gokudera, but not being very proactive in getting to know him any more than that.

They filled different relationship niches, and it was surprisingly easy to fall into a comfortable routine, since the boys were busy with different things at different times. Their S/O gets some of the Vongola drama and Simon drama mixed up sometimes, as they both vent to their partner about new developments and whatever’s been stressing them out lately.

It’s fairly interesting for their S/O to introduce their boyfriends because from photos, people often assume that both of them are super edgy bad boys, and they only hear about how sweet and soft these guys can be from their S/O. It’s not until they meet the boyfriends in question that it all makes sense. Gokudera and Enma may be the ultimate scary dog privilege, but they have a reputation amongst their friends of being super whipped for their S/O.

Their key bonding moment was when S/O suggested that they go to a cat cafe together, since all three of them have a soft spot for kitties. Enma taught Hayato a thing or two about how to properly handle the animals, and the storm guardian was so excited when some of the cats voluntarily snuggled into his lap. It was one of the moments where it both clicked in each of their minds what their S/O saw in the other.

Both of them can be a bit scatterbrained and will leave their rings, bracelets, and belt chains behind in their S/O’s living space after visiting. They even get them mixed up sometimes, and initially would constantly find themselves going ‘did I always have this ring?’ before it clicks in their head that it belongs to their boyfriend-in-law.

[jazz-for-cows]

And I Dreamt all my old friends got together again

I just woke up from a nap and I had this immediate thought of individuality and the concept of being “different”

Ever since I can remember I have wanted to be different

I wanted to be different even if that meant I’d be made fun of or looked at weird

To be honest I was never bullied really, I kept to myself and my people and wasn’t really a target

But I do remember in elementary school when I would get picked on because of the hair on my arms and legs and the way I would mix stripes with polka dots

It made me sad for a minute but then I almost would get stoked that someone made fun of me

I realized that they thought that because I was different than most

“Different” is so subjective though

Maybe I was different to the 20 other kids that were in my 1st grade class but aren’t we all different?

I hated my hairy arms and legs but I liked that it made me feel special in a way

I knew from a young age that expressing myself was important even if I wasn’t old enough to understand that’s what I was doing

I love adorning myself

Weather that be a piercing, a tattoo or even just a cool pair of socks

That’s probably the most constant thing in my life that has brought me joy

And with expressing myself comes apprehension

I don’t want to be “too different” to where I’m not “accepted” but I don’t want to be too “normal” to the point where people don’t think I have substance.

It’s all so fucking subjective

Sometimes I wish I could just write it across my face

Who I am

Without having to wear this stupid fucking vintage jacket to somehow convey that I’m “cool”?

I know myself and I love my brain

I wish I could be a floating orb of my mental consciousness sometimes

I’ve never seen myself as being above anyone else

I try to look at everyone with respect and kindness and I truly pride myself on being someone who can get along with so many different kinds of people

I don’t think I am a chameleon in the way that I change myself for others for my own benefit, rather code switch to make others feel comfortable and included

I know that there is times in my life I have been unkind

And maybe evil in a way

But I feel like I was put on this earth to love

Not only love others but love myself

and though it’s a constant battle and the learning curve of loving yourself isn’t a curve maybe more of a spiral that keeps on going and going and going

Everything is learned

That’s what I’m learning everyday

I’m literally learning to learn

I find it quite uncomfortable

Trying to navigate a million different things at once while also trying to do my dishes at the end of the day

On paper it’s an easy task

But my body and mind make it seem like I’m taking the bar exam

A memory sparked all these thoughts in me

My brother chase has always been really cool to me someone I’ve looked up to a lot

When he was in high school I remember he didn’t have many friends

He told me how he would sit by the art room during lunch and one day he found this lizard outside

He has this strange way with animals

He and this lizard sat together every day

This is probably something that seems so weird to most but when he told me this I couldn’t help but think it was the coolest thing I’ve ever heard

When I was in high school I had friends

But I sat next to the art room during lunch

I don’t know if I had told any of my friends that but that’s why I always wanted to sit next to the art room

I just thought it was cool and special

I am a very sentimental person like so sentimental and nostalgic in a way that sometimes hurts me

I find myself constantly looking at old photos of my life, myself and my friends

I don’t think the people that have been in my life even know the extent of their effect on me.

I think about it everyday. I write those notes a while ago they make me really emotional

I think I could write forever about all these people

I was gonna say I don’t know why this affects me in such a big way but I think I do know

All of you, everyone I’ve know, everyone who has been slightly apart of my life has taught me how to love

The thing I love doing most

Loving

We’re all loving

Just love

Love love love love love

Or perish

That’s really it

[heliotrope-journey]

An Artisan's Bestial Retribution

Good evening, vampire hunters.

Scroll past this post if spiders give you the creeps. Skinwalkers and rotting corpses laying in the dirt aren’t the only monstrosities that found a home in the Lachrymose Blood Forest. If you’re cautious enough to look up, you’ll find a colony of venomous spiders have woven a dwelling in the treetops and their queen is none other than the forsaken Arachne. Read on if you dare.

The punishment that Athena inflicted on this monstrous, humongous creature has done little to tame Arachne’s arrogance. She has spent a couple millennia plotting her revenge against the goddess she competed with. She treated her craft in textile as a representation of her individuality. In Lydian and Greek society where women are taught to be subservient to their husbands and fathers. To see value in the clothing and the tapestries they weave is considered to be a seed that could eventually blossom into independent thought. Arachne had no qualms to spending her days at home, but it angered her that her hand with the needle would be used only for her elders to profit off of. So she chose not to marry against her father’s wishes and sell her textile pieces herself. Her success as a business owner has allowed her to defy the status quo and the mark of the goddess of wisdom was her just reward for inspiring her customers to perceive sewing as more than a burden forced upon them. In her eyes, Arachne was undeserving of Athena’s wrath. She expected her of all deities to be understanding of her desire to revitalize the use of textiles, but her punishment has caused the spider to see her as another lackey to her promiscuous father. Years have passed and in the twentieth century, upon learning that Athena had begun to conceive demigods along with the other Olympians, Arachne vowed to get her revenge by hunting them like prey. Using the knowledge she recalled from her days as a famed weaver, she climbs on top of the trees and builds a nest to store her kidnapped victims for her dinner. Due to its close proximity to Mt. Greylock, she chose the Lachrymose Blood Forest to hide in. Photo by HAMZA-CHERIF Elias on Unsplash.

Michaela sees Arachne as nothing more than a monster that must be slain to protect the defenseless. It is because she does not recognize nor understand the misfortune she has suffered, but she knows no soul should answer to someone else’s misery. No matter who she is up against, her drive to do what she thinks is right always erodes the hopelessness of the conflict. Episode 3 of Son of a Hustler will have her and Einsam’s helplessly witness Arachne’s kidnap three schoolchildren, but the second time she encounters her in a future installment, she’ll be quick to put an end to the now-depraved spider’s plan for revenge.

Thanks for supporting the series as always and have a great week!

Sincerely,

WN

P.S.: I gave an old weapon I designed in 2014 an upgrade before it can be used by the students at Caspian Academy. In comparison to their peers at magic schools in the Conifers Kingdom, they were taught to fashion their own wands from the bones that litter the Lachrymose Blood Forest. Their spellcraft instructor believed that doing so would get them t.

[ayyponine]

much like last year i got to enjoy some studio visits this weekend B)

(commentary in addition to description linked to each photo individually)

started out fresh w an art gallery (1, 2, 3) w some cool, colourful, eclectic and playful pieces on display. made a quick stop at work to say hi to a colleague i hadn't seen in a while before making my way to

my second location and biggest must-see (4, 5). Had a nice chat w artist who saw me look at one of her canvases frm the side so she was like lol do you paint or smth. bc i recognise how you're viewing these works when i go to a museum i do the same exact thing. I loved getting her perspective and a glimpse into her work process even if it's so different from mine idk it was cool! There was a whole collective of lil art studios scattered about the building surrounding a courtyard so i also entered a diff place and look. they were all about making zines. a group of ppl was chatting and making em. so i entered and was like hi ja sorry i kom ff binnenvallen maar ik weet niet goed wat er..... te bezine valt. which instantly made me cringe so hard i was ready to leave but the girl leading the workshop seemed thrilled to have me and explain the setup even if internally i was still like oh god why am i like this rip. i think i missed out on some more ateliers but mostly bc a lot of the artists were gathered in the lil courtyard having drinks and chatting and i was too intimidated to ask fr info or be spotted looking lost like some IDIOT so on i went rip.

quick stop at kids clothing shop which always cheers me up it's so whimsical and i want their stuff fr

Then onto 6, 7 where they had some cool stuff fr sure but the location was such a cramped and cluttered old row house and i had already spent my whole day walkign around in a T-shirt so especially trying to navigate around other visitors this was just not it babes. i moved on before having seen it all despite being interested bc i just needed to get tf out.

Managed my good deed fr the day when i spotted a confused looking older couple w a wheeled suitcase and personally guided them to their hotel

THEN on to this hidden lil atelier where i also went last year + attended a grand total of 2 life drawing sessions in the months after. again while arriving i was faced w the distinct feeling of having barged in on a private party of artists all at a table sharing a leisurely drink on a dreamy sunday afternoon rip BUT. the artist i talked to last time/followed the drawing sessions with was there, still knew me by name and made some small talk to help me feel welcome what an absolute gem. he even proposed i sit w them at the table & hang out fr a bit, when i said like hmm thank you but to just join up w a group of friends who all know each other it's a lil daunting he even said like but i know them, and i know you so its all ok :) i was internally like cool. i would takea fucking bullet fr you btw this is totally fine and i can not believe you are still willingly talking to me, the single most embarrassing person to ever exist in the world

anyway i did not accept the offer to stay fr a while but did chat w some of the other artists which was again super cool, to get more info on the diff works on display. they seem like a rlly sweet and charming collective of people and i wish i didn't feel so ashamed of myself so i couldve spent more time with them all but aint that the way. debating atm whether i should sign up fr another life drawing class or if the guy was only being nice bc he felt obligated and would actually prefer i keep my flustered and off putting vibes tf away from his personal and professional work space idk.

anyway. i had the wrong address so almost missed out on my last visit but in the final hour it was still possible i did manage to find the last location (8, 9) w an exhibit on themes of europe, durability and the meaning of home. there was a really cool piece on trees & difficulty in their sap stream where you could touch a chunk of wood and feel clicks resonate through a speaker mounted on the back, a glass installation on koekhappen re: jumping through hoops fr resource accessibility & probably my fave: the audio of welcoming messages. esp smth about the french speaker was so warm idk there seemed to be genuine relief in the confession of "je suis tellement heureuse de te voir, que tu m'as manqué" which also btw. god ive always loved that expression. ive missed you you have been missing FROM me or smth more in that direction of semantics i. insane

then biked on to my moms again to get some got damn. peace and quiet. and a cinnamon roll w vanilla ice cream <3

[abybweisse]

What do you think was UT first reaction and how did he find out about the Phantomhive house on fire? Did he see it on fire? And what the hell was he even doing during the time the twins were being held captive? How did he found out about the place they were? (because he rescued the RCiel at point)

Undertaker's whereabouts

There are just too many things we don't know. Too many gaps to fill in, and I don't think it would be all that wise for anyone to try and fill too much of it in... just yet. I do expect to get canon answers to a lot of this, but I'm not sure how to form headcanon or even theorize too much about it.

However, I can break this down into the individual questions and give you some ideas I've been considering. A mix of headcanon, theories, and (probably) pure fantasy. Conjecture, basically.

What was his reaction when he first found out -- and how did he find out -- about the (attack and) house on fire? I see two major possibilities here.

Either he was shocked and wished he'd been there when it happened, so he could have tried to stop it, but his plans were to show up during the party and just enjoy their 10th birthday without bringing too much attention to himself. He might have ended up scaring the twins, like before (the day the photo was taken), but it's not like he was going to reveal his true identity or anything like that. He shows up as he'd planned to do and sees the fire has already consumed Vincent and mostly ruined the rest. He searches for the remains of the children but can't find any. Even though he's initially shocked, he gets over that quickly, the queen's watchdog position being what it is. Then he starts to question whether the whole thing was planned by someone who knew what he is and knew he wouldn't be there yet. And where are the twins? So, he starts gathering as much information as he can and starts the search.

Or he has been expecting something to happen, and might have even been tipped off somehow about when and where, but he's physically delayed from getting there in time. By the time he arrives to the scene, he's way too late. He has ideas who's behind it, but he cannot confirm much of it, because the only victims not completely consumed by the fire were killed without even seeing it coming. Vincent and Rachel would have had valuable information in their cinematic records, but they've been burned to ashes. Whoever did this must know what Undertaker is. He can't find remains of the twins, so now he has to search for them.

Did he see the manor on fire? Possibly, but the major damage would have been done by then. I theorize that the fire was started with Vincent's and Rachel's clothes (or something) or at least in that room. Madam Red is shown arriving while the fire still blazed. I don't recall whether Lizzie shows up in time to see the fire; I know Paula tells her about it while they are still at the Midford's estate. I want to say Lizzie got there before the fire was completely put out. I don't know if Undertaker can handle a fire that's already collapsing the building; the only time we've seen him enter a burning building is when he collects real Ciel's body, but that was not long after the fire had been started. In this case, he either arrives when the fire's too widespread, or it has already died down... just embers perhaps still glowing here and there. I imagine him arriving once most of the flames are out and walking around among the burning embers, ignoring the heat and smoke and the soles of his boots starting to melt. Looking for bodies. Looking for clues. Maybe even looking for other things worth salvaging.

What was he doing while the twins were being held captive? Simply put, I think he was trying to find them.

How did he find them? Figuring out where our earl and Sebastian are going to go (once they had made their contract and moved back into the manor) is one thing; he can follow them around or keep tabs on them pretty much as he pleases. At least when he actually has the time and energy. But some people that he's maybe seen, if he was lucky, in some damaged cinematic records? Does he even know where to start? I suspect he had to keep his eyes and ears open for any hints about twins (or even just children) popping up somewhere. Since the cultists had conducted sacrificial rituals on more than one occasion, it's possible that he was able to figure out that reapers had made collections of children's souls from the same place over time, perhaps on a monthly basis, like coinciding with full moons. But it would be difficult, since he no longer has access to the death lists. Perhaps he interrogates people in the ranks of the Evil Nobles, since some of them seem to be involved in that demon cult, and some are definitely into the occult. Maybe he even confronts the human traffickers who sold the boys. But then, once he figured out that's probably where they were, he still had to get into the place. He might have had trouble getting into the building. Again, someone might have delayed him. Particularly if that mystery person in ch137 is John Brown or anyone else who might not want Undertaker to have access to the twins (or even access to their bodies). The mystery person disappears, and I'm pretty sure the demon didn't kill then, so where did they go and what did they do? They might have gone outside and confronted Undertaker. Or they might have simply left to make their report... to whomever. Even if no one physically blocked him from getting into the building sooner than he did, he still had to figure out where to go, and that might be why he was so late.

I hope that helps a bit. I really don't know what will end up being canon answers, though.

[plscallmeeren]

VISITORS

Platonic Logan Howlett x OC

Summary: just a lil Drabble from a fanfic I never finished and hardly started

Warnings: ……swearing maybe?; unedited bullshit

Stares fell on me inevitably like I was the magnet and their eyes were the iron as I crossed the school grounds.

Some things never change, I guess.

The looks had a wide range though: Most were dirty or hungry stares, some held fear, others were laced with pure curiosity.

I was the newest thing to be thirsty for, the circus, the best gossip in the past months, and to those who looked on with fear - the next danger in their fucking hell of a life. And it made me wonder how much must have happened to those that their trust issues reached a paranoia that warned them of a single individual casually walking through their heavily guarded home.

A part of me didn't want to know.

But perhaps they should have been relieved they couldn't see all the weapons I was carrying. I probably didn't need them, but one could never be too careful.

Silently I thanked the gods I hadn't brought my swords, which I couldn't hide so easily. I could've caused someone a panic attack.

Logan stood waiting for me at the entrance, and my guess told me that was an abnormality in itself and that just that might have saved me from even more fear, but granted me more attention.

I'm not one to complain.

His face was stern and cold, and he gave out warning looks to the boys and some girls looking at me thirstily.  Why does he hide his smile? It's the only acceptable part of him most of the time...

I pondered whether he felt the need to look tough in front of his students and maybe even coworkers. He definitely made himself that image when it came to the outside world. And that made me wonder if he was ever himself here. Did he even smile with Jean? The thought of his smile being such a rare occurrence around here made me sad for those who missed it, but I understood. I understood but I wished... I wish he wouldn't. Then again, it gave me a sense of pride I immediately felt guilty for. So I'm the only one who always gets to see it.

Yet I ignored every thought and placed a smirk on my face as I approached him. More heads turned and the whispers grew heavier as I crossed my arms and looked at him mischievously as always.

Even though he was 6'2 and I was 5'2 I towered over him in our eyes. I may never know how other people perceive it. If for them I look like the small one next to him. But he seemed small for me, perhaps because I knew how small he had been so many times. And for him I was the biggest person he knew, because I, and I quote, 'have a big personality'.

"What are you looking at me like that for?", he growled, already feeling he knew the answer.

"Oh, I am going to have such a great time here. I will meet all your little friends and students you've told me about, tell them stories about you, show them baby pictures-"

"There are no baby pictures of me", he said it so triumphantly I almost believed him. Kidding. A grin plastered on my face, I stayed silent, just long enough for him to realise his mistake.

"Really? Is that what you think?" My eyebrows raised provocatively as I twirled a strand of hair between my fingers.

A glimpse of unimportant fear flickered in his eyes briefly, before narrowing them and glaring at me in a 'don't-you-dare' kind of a way.

It was a comforting thing in my eyes. That someone who had gone through hell and back could still be scared of things as simple as his coworkers and students seeing their baby photos. Mind you, he knows damn well if anyone would actually do it it would be me.

"It's nice to finally see you again", he broke the silence, his gaze softening as the act fell and for a moment I caught his smile red-handed. Even here.

I could have sworn a few students gasped at his expression and I could hear talk of us being together. Let them gossip. They won't find news as hot as us for a while.

"I dare say you missed me", I smiled and wrapped an arm around his neck and gave him half a hug. A real greeting would have to wait 'til later.

Beside us, someone cleared their throat and I stood back again, allowing my eyes to fall upon a red-haired woman who I immediately recognized.

"Jean!", I cried in delight, and confusion spread over her formerly grim face, "It is so wonderful to see you, hon."

The look on her face... priceless.

"I... What? Do I know you?", she stammered in bewilderment as Logan seemed to be sinking in a sea of dread.

As he should be.

Even though I would recognize her anywhere at this point, she looked different than how Logan saw her. His mind coloured her in such endless beauty she looked amazing, but seeing her with my own eyes... she just looked normal. As normal as any other out there. And I imagined how much love it would take to change a person's appearance so much in one's mind. Perhaps I would never know, for that's how I would always see the person after all.

"No. But I know you so well. Oh my fuckin', god you have no idea how many stories I've heard. I feel like I've already met you, darlin'." Next to me Logan looked like he just wanted to disappear as Jean looked over at him and I grinned. He needed that humiliation every now and then. Most of us did.

"Also, your hair would look nicer short in my opinion. Make of that what you will but I stand by it."

Jean looked thoroughly taken aback as I showed her my sweetest smile. Something in me was singing Kill her, kill her not, kill her, kill her more because of all the things Logan had told me she had done by him, but yet another part found deep respect appropriate. She looked like someone who could deserve both. Maybe she was conflicted, too. Maybe she's like me.

But the thought quickly vanished with the usual counter-argument: I'm one of a kind. That's good. One more me and the world would be too dark and complicated to live in.

"Logan, who is this?", the way she said it made her more dispicable than before. She played with her victims; I could tell.

I love you. But not like that. I'd die for you - but don't text you back. I choose him. But only in the softest of voices do I speak to you. In the most loving ways do I treat you. But you're not the one for me. That kind of person.

"This is... an old friend. One who I regret introducing to this school", he replied grumpily, and suddenly I was the extra. The one too many. The third wheel instead of her. Fuck this.

"You speak too soon, honey. I'm sure everyone here will love me", I repressed any hurt in my voice and looked back at Jean. Such a stunner, right?

"Yes... I'm sure the boys will", Jean muttered venomously. I'm not sure if she intended for me to hear or not but my blood was boiling. Well, I tried.

"Logan, where's your room?", my eyes didn't leave Jean's as I asked him innocently, letting a dangerous undertone find its way to my words, and I could almost hear Jean gasp internally. Ha. Not the only mind-reader, are you.

"Up two floors, down right corridor, third door, no name", he said quickly, but not hurriedly. I bet as soon as I go he'll tell Jean 'it's not what you think'. Yeah, hon. Sure.

"What makes you think you can just barge into this school and it's okay?"

You just had to push it, didn't you.

"I didn't barge in. I got invited, sweetheart."

Bestie here was getting nervous. Me against his crush in a fight? Good luck with that.

And no. By fight I don't necessarily mean physical. Although that's not out of the question, either.

"And if you don't wanna talk to me then fucking don't. I sure as hell won't feel like I'm missing out."

"Yn.", Logan said in a reprimanding tone, that only to me sounded like a plead.

"Okay, I'll spare her. But please tell her to mind her manners with me. I don't fair well with... people I don't like or who mistreat me." I finally looked away from her and the look I shot Logan wrote miles. He nodded solemnly and added: "Go on, then. I'll let you watch."

I smiled again and strutted past him into the building, leaving silence and looks of awe in my wake. I'm a performer, and all of life is my spectator.

I did feel like that sometimes. I was forced onto stage straight out of a brawl so I could put more emotion behind my stage name. My audience was a demon that had decided to build me, purely for entertainment and as much drama as possible. I always grant you that, don't I?

I reached the corridor that Logan had advised me to go to, only to be distracted by two students near the end of the hall who were making out.

"Guys, isn't this the teachers' section? I mean hey, I won't tell, but a little risky, don't ya think?" Look who's talking.

The two teenagers fell apart in seconds and started sharing excuses and questions at a speed even I could hardly decode.

"As I said. You don't have to make excuses to me, but slogan will be coming up soon and I don't think you would've liked that confrontation."

One of the two guys looked like he was about to faint and the other had put on a resolute facade but was practically trembling.

"I- Look, can you please- no one knows we're- yknow. Please don't be a bitch about it, either", the one of them said, looking at me with so much intensity it was impressive.

The other slowly added: "Calling her a bitch probably won't help..." He said it in a very loving and caring manner, almost like an old habit of bickering, which only they understood and knew to be a tease. Sweet.

"No big deal, and I wouldn't. I love a bit of gossip but we are one of a kind and we do have to stick up for each other. Now hurry on. I can hear Logan coming", I gave them one last smile before opening the only unnamed door and entering his room. In truth, Logan had just set foot inside the mansion after talking to Jean, but that way they had some time to escape at least.

Now, for the record, I did know what Logan's room looked like. He's not too old for video-call - but being being here is something else entirely.

[saturniandragon]

I really wish to know more about your characters, I took the time to read your post about their specie and ngl I've wanted to draw one of your dragons for a really long time now (but alas real life happens. Not saying I don't want to draw them). So if you don't have some more drawings or photos to share, could you share some more information about them 👀 any will do

??? Anon?? You want to draw my dragons?? IM FLATTERED

Official ref sheet for Adra, Mira, and Jesse.

I actually do have some more images to share although they may be a bit outdated. Frankly real life also happens to me (thesis) and I'm not able to draw frequently. I won't lie, the design for my Saturnian dragons are based on Spyro. The first video game I've played pretty much, back on my old PS1.

Anyway here are some old images

Adra and Jesse, last updated 2020.

Ditto, in Skyrim's ebony armor. This is an eternal WIP in my drive, too lazy to finish it with armor reflections and shading and stuff. Last updated 2020.

Adra in spec ops outfit, last updated 2017.

Feral/European dragon form (not quite WOF, I haven't discovered WOF by this time) of Jesse, last updated 2018.

There are also some uhh... ehem... adult-oriented drawings. I can send them through private message if you want to.

--------

Earlier today I also shared the Saturnian lore with my best friend, and he asked me some worldbuilding questions about them. I'll paste some of them here, prepare for massive infodump.

Is this like written by the Saturnians pov or Humans? Since its like an exstensive look on Saturnians

Human observation, yes. Saturnians are very secretive on what data they want to share. Except basic census data, that is still fine for them.

Does the inter space travel from earth and satun back and forth exists?

It does exist. Their space travel enables Earth-Saturn travel in 3-4 months depending on orbit position of the two planets.

For comparison, Pioneer 11, the first Saturn space probe, reached the ringed planet after about 6 years (1973-1979)

also interplanetary space travel is now common? Like earth residents can afford tour to Saturn or is it still closed off to general public?

They use Saturnian ships to transfer people back and forth. Frankly no one really wants to wait 6 years to reach the ringed planet when it can be done within 4 months.

The agreement that the two races had to make to get permission to board Saturnian ships was lengthy. Even then human passengers are closely supervised to make sure they don't "steal" technology.

its interesting that if Saturn itself is 'alive', does the Saturnian revere every land that they built upon and try not to damage or relentlessly build on them and have lenghty process to learn if the soil should be preserved and everything like that?

They try to build… what's the word… respectfully? Responsibly? One of the two. Minimizing altering the landscape and build on whatever is there for them to use.

They claim to be able to "speak" or "hear" from the planet itself, a concept that's truly out of human comprehension. Whether it's actual extrasensory perception, a form of indirect communication with other individuals, or simply just a belief is anyone's guess. They have words for things that humans can't define. And the fact that their life expectancy is 5 to 7 times longer than an average human is already well beyond human comprehension.

They've been around for more than 1.5 million years. Modern humans (that is, homo sapiens) have only been around for 200,000.

whats saturnians blood color? Do they have the same blood types like humans

It's black, nearly void black. Blood types, I haven't done that far on worldbuilding. I may just left it out for simplicity.

also what they were look like in their tribal stage before being one of the most advanced race in the universe? Also if we ever venture outside Saturnia, will we ever find other settlements or civillizations or maybe ruins of Saturnians past?

They've conserved their history completely in digital media through augmented reality in almost perfect detail. This allows anyone in Saturn to access it for research purposes with minimal need to travel. Any leftovers of past civilization have been repurposed for building and manufacturing.

Currently they're experimenting with copying consciousness into digital media although the ethics for that is still debatable among various cultures and subcultures.

if Saturnia inspired from solarpunk aesthetics, does communal events exist? Like maybe a massive festival dedicated to Saturn or 'nature' in our sense or a national potluck day or smth like that, just wholesome communal events that connect with nature and everything

They still do in less populated areas. A bit difficult to do in large dense settlements, where instead it's done through virtual reality.

Saturnian "virtual reality" has successfully replicated senses like touch and smell, alongside visual and audio, by directly and wirelessly interacting with the brain stem and providing "fake" senses. Which means this has also allowed the disabled to partake in virtual reality events.

I don't have ideas for Saturn-specific social events right now, but once I do, I'll tell you.

did they ever harness nuclear power?

Fusion reactors, in extremely limited numbers and in very specific use cases. Majority of power is still harvested from wind farms.

i mean if saturnians are technologically advanced, they must've created a technology that can replace or repair limbs?

Prosthetics? They're not super advanced in medicine. They still haven't solved their low healthy birth rate issue. 1.5 million years and they haven't figured out why only 7 out of 10 to 11 of their eggs are able to successfully hatch.

Some cultures believe it's the way Saturn intended and they shouldn't try to figure it out, like why would one question how nature works. Some other cultures believe it's a hidden genetic code waiting to be unlocked, and then some other cultures also believe that doing so will just cause disaster.

If it was an alien utopia, they wouldn't need weapons like railguns. But here they are, still having internal issues waiting to be solved.

[ginza-division]

Eiji's Thoughts on Saitama Division

Sayaka Miyuki

"Sayaka Miyuki. It is thanks to her cleverness and ingenuity that the creation of The Dirty Dawg, one of the most talented rap supergroups to ever grace the history of this planet which we call Earth. I know she did all she could to keep the group from splintering, but due to forces outside her control, that was almost impossible. Still, she deserves her respect for what she does, and she has mine."

"She doesn't use PROFILE much, though she does have one set up. Most of them just include pictures of her home life and her friends and family, which is nice. To be honest, I've been thinking of going to Saitama to ask her if she could come and take a look at Isuzu, and see if there is anything she could do for her. I'd greatly appreciate it."

Lola Takahashi

Eiji looks at the photo of the supermodel and sighs before coughing into his fist. "...Before I begin, I would like to state now, the so-called rumors about this individual having a sex tape online on PROFILE, I neither confirm nor deny them. I've no idea if the video is still on her page, and I'm not at all interested to find out. I don't know if she posted the video herself, or if someone else did, and I don't really care. But let me state now for the record, that is not what PROFILE is all about. If you wish to show pictures or videos of yourself engaging in inappropriate or shameless actions, then I will kindly ask you to please do it on another site. And that is all I will say on this matter. Thank you." With his tirade finished, the CEO sighs and lights a cigarette, calming himself.

"Now then, on the person herself, Lola-san is a very popular and well-liked individual. Her PROFILE has to be, at least, in the top 10 of the most popular pages on the site. Her follower count is somewhere in the millions if I'm not mistaken. Suffice it to say, many people get a PROFILE page strictly to follow her, not that there is anything wrong with that. ...Of course, we've had to issue her numerous warnings about the number of pictures she posts on a daily basis, as well as how risque her photos tend to be."

"Thankfully, she decided to set a "private" PROFILE page for her more... daring pictures, for which I'm grateful. The last thing I want or need is a concerned parent or spouse trying to sue me and my company because their child or husband happened to view a picture that is close to being considered pornography."

Kureha Koizumi

"I haven't met this young woman personally, but I have seen her art displayed, not only on her PROFILE page but also in museums and such. ...Come to think of it, I take that back. I did speak to her once. It was actually at a museum where she was displaying an art piece she had painted. It was quite good, to say the least. I considered buying it, but I thought that would deprive other people from seeing it, so I decided not to. I did mark it as the best piece in the art gallery, though, so there's that. That may have been why she has so many followers. ...Or she may just be popular on her own and I had nothing to do with it. Who can say?"

Femme Fatale

"It's no surprise this team is so popular with most of Japan. They were one of the earliest teams to form, and they are well-liked. I still don't know whether that's due to Lola or Kureha. Or it could be a mixture of both. But regardless, I like to think this team could possibly be the candidate to win the tournament. I know there are other teams out there, though, so I won't put all my eggs in one basket. Still, if they do win, I won't be surprised."

[persephoneboleyn]

Family

I normally don't post personal thoughts on here, but I have to let a few out. About 6 years ago, I seriously started researching my family tree. I have been doing so for over 15 years now, but I saw an add for a DNA test that had more Latino/Hispanic individuals represented and said, "why not?" And then the pandemic happened, and that's what I focused all of my energy on when I wasn't working in a medical office. I could research, obsess and block out the madness all around me. It has been incredibly fulfilling and has brought me a hell of a lot more joy than I'm used to when it comes to my family. And I know that sounds horrible, and I'm not saying I have a horrible family. But dysfunction seems to be the one connection between all of us.

I never knew my father because he died before I was born, and to be honest, my mom flat out IVF was too expensive and he was the best option she had at the time. She had a horrendous mother who made her childhood hell, and as much as we both love her father (my grandpa) even I can't say he always made the right decisions. His wife, my grandma (blood be damned she's the best person we all know), knew more about our family than we did. I asked her to help me and it set me on a path that has sent me all across Mexico and the United States. I have found multiple paths on my family tree that take my name all the way back to damn-near colonization of the Americas. I literally made it back to Spain in the 1500s and it is mind-blowing. I even found information for my grandma - she didn't know she was named after her own paternal grandmother! Recently I've been finding more and more close relatives that I never knew existed and I keep asking myself, "what the hell happened?!"

According to my mom and grandma, my grandpa was ashamed that he didn't make a lot a money and visit his family in Durango with a big car flossing all the while. He had 13 siblings, 2 of which I have spoken two and only 3 of which are still living. My mom didn't even know they existed until her twenties. And quite a few of them moved out of Corrales, to the US! One of his elder sisters lived and died in Los Angeles within the last decade! I just don't understand why we have such a big family and we don't know anyone. It makes me equal parts sad and fucking angry. When I started this journey, I did it at a time when I felt most alone. My mom was in prison, I was being cared for by her wench of a mother and she isolated me from the few other relatives I had. So I started looking for my dad's family - to see if there was someone out there who wanted me. And both she and my mom gave me bad info which my mom has slowly apologized for. Now, I know I was never alone, there were people there that I didn't know existed. And to be honest, that thought uplifts me most of the time. Today I just saw a photo of a cousin of my grandpa's mother and once again, I want to reach up and slap some sense into my family and say, "come on, are we done being idiots now?" Whatever it was, pride, shame, embarrassment, maybe even just plain laziness - I wish I had the opportunity to meet these people. Now when I build on my tree, I hope some day maybe it can help someone else. Who knows, maybe there's a family member out there looking for me too.

And on that note, my grandfather was born in the town of los Herreras, Santiago Papasquiaro, Durango in 1930. His father was Clemente and his mother was Getrudis.

[transamorousnetwork]

A Transgender Woman’s Dream Love Life: What It Looks Like

Despite what so many transgender women claim when they write me, this “Your stories create your reality” business really works. Those saying it doesn’t with no evidence to back their claims, and no effort put in to testing it, don’t know what the hell they’re talking about.

Meanwhile my TRANSGENDER clients are finding empowerment, joy and satisfaction knowing they create their reality.

Case in point: Casey (Not her real name). It’s taken her a year and a half to discover how powerful she is. Yet, in that 18 months, she’s realized what I say in this blog over and over: Everyone creates their reality.

Instead of complaining that I’m “blaming the victim” or “saying it’s their fault” for shitty experiences people create, Casey put the practice to the test. She tested it in the only place real results could convince her: In her personal life. And in the 18-months not only has she completely transformed her dating circumstances, she’s changing a whole lot more in the process.

The most prominent change is in her soothed disposition and her belief that she does, indeed, create her reality. Let’s look at how this all started for her.

Men are a threat

When she first contacted me, Casey felt attraction to men. She wanted to be married to a man. Yet, any man that gave her any more than passing attention, Casey interpreted it negatively.

She thought the men would wage violence on her. She thought men looked at her as a “man in a dress”. When men complimented something about her, she would overlook the compliment and get stressed over they guy’s attention.

The first example she gave me in our preliminary session was at a grocery store parking lot. As she walked from her car towards the store, Casey said a guy followed her, “very slowly” in his car.

“I got really scared,” She said.

“What did you think he was going to do?” I asked.

Casey said “I don’t know! I was just scared.”

My first attempt to begin changing her perspective was asking her a question she would have never considered in that experience:

“How do you now that guy staring at you and following you in his car wasn’t attracted to or fascinated about you?” I asked.

The question stunned her.

She never considered the man might have positive reasons for eyeballing her. She, like many transgender women, was too steeped in the statistics. And while stats have some merit….THEY’RE JUST NUMBERS! Anyone who understands statistics knows that when one looks at an individual data point, statistical probabilities almost totally break down. Even statisticians will tell you that.

What’s more, everyone is creating their own reality. Meaning, no one is beholden to a collection of past creations others have created, which is what stats are.

^^Many people, including transgender women, think statistics say something about their future. They don’t. (Photo by Lacie Slezak on Unsplash)

The stats don’t matter...unless you let them

But transgender women will quote stats until the cows come home about how much at risk they are. They’ll exclaim how “true” they are. And then live in fear. 

Not Casey. She was willing to try something different. Why? Because everything else wasn’t working. I wish my clients didn’t wait until they hit rock bottom. But sometimes that’s the only time a human will try something new.

After weeks of sessions, Casey began entertaining more positive stories about why men stared at her. She also started telling more positive stories about her dismal experience with online dating.

She had terrible experiences. Much like many transgender women will tell their friends about. Trans-attracted men were dicks, Casey would say.

“They always text me when drunk. They always want to see my dick or share theirs. I don’t wanna get involved with that shit!” she exclaimed.

I asked if she could come up with other reasons why trans-attracted men would do such things. What reasons could trans-attracted men behave from which would cause them to behave the way they were, I asked.

It took her a while, and a lot of coaching. But over time, Casey began to come up with more positive and empowering reasons for behaviors she’d experience with men.

Those reasons had her feel more compassion and understanding for trans-attracted men. As her feelings about the men softened her experiences gradually started changing. 

A big shift

Casey really wants to meet a man in the small town she comes from. Right now, she lives in a big town. She believed at one time that a man who would date her let alone marry her wouldn’t dare live in her hometown. I told her that was bullshit because the universe will give a person anything they want.

Casey also wanted to meet men in person. Men who would take her out on dates. Most men she met online lived across the country or hundreds of miles away. Almost all of them ghosted her after a short online courtship.

But as her stories improved, the men stayed around longer. They expressed more interest in her as a person. Some revealed their own struggles as trans-attracted men. In short, Casey started to see this shift in the men she was meeting (with some terse pointing out on my part).

All this time, I told her her reality was changing as she changed her inner reality. I regularly pointed indications of her improved mood and the improving quality of men she met.

Until one day a man reached out to her online. He lived in the same town as Casey. He wanted to take her out on a date. It was a lot of what Casey asked for. Then, before that guy could followup on the invite ANOTHER guy, this time living about 13 miles outside Casey’s town wrote. He was better than the first guy. But the first guy was extremely sweet. 

More evidence…

After a series of long online conversations, this guy, let’s call him Jason, went dark. Casey started complaining about yet another guy ghosting her. But she quickly caught her negative story. She wanted him to reach out, but was also wanting to reach out to him out of insecurity. She felt that if she reached out to him, he’d reach back out to her.

The problem with that strategy is her insecurity would speak way louder than her words. So the guy would pick up on that and give her more of what she’s focusing on: her insecurity. And therefore not reply. I strongly suggested she not take any action. Instead, I suggested she just be open to hearing from him. That’s what she did. And here’s what happened straight from Casey’s phone:

It’s interesting to note something I always beat into my clients: What another person says or does is NEVER about you. It’s always about THEM. But a lot of people, transgender women included, will make things about THEM when it’s really NOT.

A guy sending dick pics is NOT ABOUT YOU.

Someone you’re interested in you ghosting you IS NOT ABOUT YOU.

Everything someone does – even if it’s a good thing they do – is ALWAYS about them! 

As icing on Casey’s cake, check out the text the guy sent her the next evening. A vast improvement from her past experiences:

^^Where many trans-attracted guys are when talking with transgender women. Yet, most won’t be honest about how they’re feeling.

This text blew Casey away.

A remarkable shift everyone can experience

This series of events seems extraordinary. It’s not though. What happened here with Casey can happen with ANY transgender woman. It doesn’t matter what her circumstances are because the Universe is ready to deliver to everyone anything they want.

And it IS delivering. What’s keeping the delivery from happening is the person wanting it. That person blocks the delivery with stories inconsistent with what they want.

Notice what Casey said in that final text. She’s expressing empowerment and happiness on a subject many transgender women experience insecurity and fear. Every transgender woman can experience what Casey here expresses. All it takes is a little willingness to tell different stories.

A whole lot more goodness happened with Casey since this guy reached out. But that’s for another post. If you’re wanting experiences, dramatic shifts like Casey’s, in love, or any other subject, you can have it. 

And I can help. Contact me and let’s get you going on the road to your lover!

[makkunda]

I sometimes (most of the time) have these excruciating dreams about you and us and what could’ve been.

Sometimes I even daydream. I don’t think it’s conscious- I just find myself dreaming of you. Most of the time when I am daydreaming of you it isn’t a happy ending. Instead, you realize what you loss (me) and me not caring. Or you seeing me after years and years apart, our eyes locking. You always said you liked my eyes. Even after, you always wanted to look at my eyes. So they’d lock, and you’d smile, and we’d hug; embracing the love we shared once more. Remembering how durable it was and always will be. Atleast for me- it always will be.

Now that I am healing more I don’t think about how the sky your under is the same as mine. Or how you’ll never be able to take away the past, which seems sad, but what’s done is done, and that almost makes me more content. The past is forever. Erasure is not possible.

And now there are new boys- or men I guess. And they are technically better than you. He writes about me. Takes photos of me. I can feel his admiration for me. He is objectively hotter, more successful, more determined and goal minded. He is not you at all.

But technically or not I don’t feel that. I like Him a lot, but it is much different now. I could never lose myself in him. Or be as vulnerable. I think I gave myself to you in a way that can only happen once. When we were together it never felt like me and you, or you and me. It only felt like we left our individual bodies and became a whole new one. Not in a bad way, just in a this is I, and I is us, and us is technically me and you, but it’s just I.

But I do like Him. I’m just sad. Sad I am moving on. Sad that to move on from you I have to leave the sky we are both under. Sad that to move on from you I have to leave Him.

So, I hope that every morning, when the sun kisses my eyes in my new home, it’s you sending the warmth of the day. A reminder of the sky you’re under. As the sun falls over the horizon in our old town, and the night begins to overtake your day, the past in the past, you remember I am about to begin again, not under the same sky, but under the day you’ve already lived.

I don’t believe you will. But He will. And He will desire to taste my new skin. He will examine the new kisses from the sun, and scratches from the Earth. I know He will.

you’ll linger. How could you not?

I was never religious. I still am not. But on my knees in front you, looking up into your eyes, It felt as if I was praying, no. Begging God, and maybe every other God to ever exist, to allow us to thrive. Allow me to stay on my knees infront of you forever. And after that wish wasn’t granted, and I was back in my own bed, I’d lay and look up at the ceiling and beg the universe and myself and anyone that would listen for a chance to be with you again. I’d say,

“It’s real. Please, I know, just listen, I promise. I know it.”

Then, on my knees again, prayers answered (with a time limit) I’d look into your eyes, and want to smile but couldn’t. You could though, and you were. A goofy one, full of love and admiration and silliness and desire. How could I ever not believe what you’d say after seeing you like that? I know now that maybe I was never praying to God, but praying to my god.

He is 26. That is very much age appropriate. You were older and your body showed it, you had the type of muscles and body that men get with age, a soft muscle but still fit. He is still learning, and he is more lean. Still holding the traces of adolescence and boyhood on his body and mind.

Maybe all of this in my head is just me finally growing. I don’t think we’d work if I ever saw you again. But He could work. I know He could. I do like him, a lot actually. He is warm. My sheets still smell of him.

Last night, while surrounded by his musk, I cried out for yours instead. I am so jealous. Jealous of your sheets, and comforter and bed. Your steering wheel, shirts, your socks. Her. I am jealous of me a year ago, full of hope that maybe it could work. Thinking it had to work. Full of voice, I had so much to say. Me a year ago would say,

“I know it isn’t going to work right now. I’m too young. And I live farther than she does. She is older. But he texts me and calls me everyday! He tells me that i’m more beautiful than her. That i’m the most beautiful girl he has ever been with. And he tells me he loves me more than Her.”

But I can’t change the past, and maybe I only really want to tell you a few things.

I think I like Him. I really do like Him.

Yes, I’m right. I only want to tell you that:

“Yes, I am doing good. Very well actually. I am moving to Spain! I’m about to be 22. You remember my birthday right? Oh no! Don’t worry- I forgot you wanted to buy me a drink. Haha. It’s been so long. No worries, didn’t even remember. Yea! Well, you know I hope you’re well. Stay safe stink. I love you.”