#and SO expressive the faces are all so unique & the details so spot on just yes

[thelittleredheadedmusician]

I write some really niche fics (hopefully some of you just went “no shit, that’s why we’re here” and some went “no shit! Tell more!”) but I feel a little more vindicated for my series of Mia Dearden & John Constantine being reluctant friends fics. I initially justified it as a “Ollie met John once & Dinah is friends with Zatanna so she probably heard of him if not met him once or twice so Mia could have heard of him thru them” AND GUESS FUCKING WHAT. AS OF THE CURRENT BOP ISSUE DINAH NOT ONLY KNOWS JOHN BUT THEY’RE ON DECENT TERMS AND HE KNOWS OLLIE TOO SO LIKE *insert Brooklyn 99 VINDICATION meme here*

[marysfics]

Shifting Glances

Week after week, you see her in the waiting room.

Angst, Trauma, EMDR, Comfort, Fluff

Note: In this story, you'll find references to EMDR therapy. I’ve undergone EMDR therapy myself for several years, and while it has been challenging, it has also brought me relief. It's important to note that EMDR can be a unique experience for everyone. The way it's depicted here reflects my personal journey. If your experience with EMDR is different, that's completely okay. Feel free to share your thoughts, but let's all remember to approach these discussions with kindness and respect for one another's experiences.

The clinic smells of antiseptic and lavender-scented air freshener, a juxtaposition that somehow fails to be comforting. You’ve gotten used to it by now, the muted tones of the waiting room, the low hum of the fluorescent lights, and the way the receptionists’ voices hover just above a whisper. It’s always the same, except for her.

You glance up from your seat near the corner, fingers nervously playing with the hem of your shirt. She’s there again, across the room—her presence nearly impossible to ignore. She’s sitting with her head tilted down, long blonde hair cascading over her shoulder, a face mostly hidden under the bill of a cap. Still, you know. You’ve learned to spot the details by now. She’s always wearing loose sports gear, her left knee often taped in some fashion, crutches sometimes leaning against her seat.

You’re not a sports person, so at first, she was just another face, another person passing through the clinic, but then she became something more—a mystery. You’ve stolen more than a few glances during the weeks you’ve sat waiting for your turn. The routine was nearly identical: you both arrived at the same time each week, a brief flicker of acknowledgment between your eyes before you both looked away, as though there was something too dangerous in holding that gaze for too long.

Today is no different, except something feels heavier. There’s a quiet ache in your chest that refuses to leave. EMDR therapy—Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing—it’s exhausting, and today, it feels impossible.

You know you’ll be going through the usual: being asked to relive memories, to feel things you’ve spent years suppressing, and to heal what’s been fractured inside of you. It’s tiring and it leaves you feeling hollow at times, especially when you leave. The vulnerability in those sessions never fails to drain you, and you always wonder if it’s helping or just opening old wounds.

You steal another glance at her, curiosity buzzing beneath the weight of everything else. She has that same air of exhaustion, though you assume hers comes from something more physical. You don’t know her, not really. Just a face, a woman who happens to sit in the same room as you once a week.

But today, you notice something else. Her fingers fidget more than usual, her eyes flickering between her phone screen and the door. Anxiety. She’s nervous too.

The nurse calls your name, interrupting your thoughts. You stand, giving her one last glance, but this time, you don’t look away as quickly as you usually do. To your surprise, her gaze meets yours for the first time in weeks—really meets it. There’s something in her expression, something you can’t quite name. Maybe recognition. Maybe sympathy.

Your feet feel heavier than usual as you walk to the nurse, but there’s a buzzing under your skin now. Her eyes linger on you even as you turn your back, a weight you feel but don’t dare acknowledge. The conversation between the nurse and your therapist is distant, your mind still locked in that fleeting moment of connection.

Why did she look at you like that?

The door closes softly behind you, and you sit down on the familiar couch in your therapist’s office. The room is softly lit, the same as every week, but today it feels different. Or maybe you feel different. Your mind is already racing, though not about the usual memories that drag you under.

“Ready to start?” your therapist asks, her voice calm, grounding you slightly.

You nod, but your mind keeps tugging back to the waiting room, to her—what’s-her-name—sitting there with those tired eyes that somehow looked straight into you. It’s not like it was the first time you’d stolen a glance. But it is the first time she looked back.

The session moves forward in a blur. The rhythmic back-and-forth of your therapist’s fingers in front of your eyes, the instructions to focus on your memories, to feel them without being overwhelmed by them. But today, it’s harder. Harder to concentrate. Harder to dive into the past when your present is hanging on the thread of something unspoken in that waiting room.

Why did she look at me?

The therapist’s voice blends into the background as your eyes follow her hand back and forth, back and forth—trying to focus, trying to do what you’re supposed to. But the room feels wrong today. Usually, this process grounds you, pulls you deep into the recesses of your mind, where old wounds wait to be confronted. But today, your mind is somewhere else entirely.

More specifically, on her.

You’ve spent weeks perfecting the art of pretending she doesn’t exist. A stolen glance here, a quick look away there. She’s always been on the periphery, a quiet presence you’ve never acknowledged out loud. It’s become part of your routine—pretending not to notice her, letting her fade into the background like the murmur of the clinic around you.

But today, she didn’t stay in the background. Today, she noticed you. She looked at you. Not the polite, disinterested glances you’re used to exchanging with strangers in waiting rooms, but something else. Something charged.

Why did she look at me like that?

The therapist’s voice cuts through your thoughts, soft but firm. “Stay with me. What do you feel right now?”

What do you feel?

You swallow, trying to push the image of her from your mind, but it doesn’t budge. Her eyes—the way they held yours for just a second longer than necessary, how something flickered in them before she quickly looked away. Recognition? Or maybe something else? Sympathy? Sadness?

“Um, I feel… I don’t know,” you admit, shaking your head slightly, trying to focus. You’re supposed to be processing your pain, your own tangled memories, but your brain is stubbornly clinging to the way her fingers fidgeted in her lap, the way her leg bounced with impatience. The way her shoulders seemed to carry an invisible weight, just like yours.

Your therapist doesn’t push, though her eyes study you carefully. She shifts in her seat, slowly moving her hand back and forth again, drawing your focus back.

“Stay present,” she repeats gently, and you try. You really do. You close your eyes for a moment, breathing in slowly, trying to feel something other than the strange energy still buzzing under your skin.

But as soon as you open your eyes again, your mind is back in the waiting room. You can almost see her sitting there now, shoulders hunched, the corner of her lip pulled between her teeth as she stared at her phone, looking anxious—maybe even upset. Was it something on the screen that bothered her? Or was it the reason she’s here at all? The knee she cradled with unconscious care, as though even sitting still caused her discomfort?

You don’t know her story. You barely even know her name. But you can’t shake the feeling that there’s something more under the surface, something that runs deeper than just an injury or a tired glance. Something that mirrors your own pain in a way that feels unsettlingly familiar.

“Can we take a break?” you ask suddenly, your voice sounding too loud in the quiet room.

The therapist pauses, her hand still mid-movement. She lowers it slowly and nods. “Of course. Do you want to talk about what’s on your mind?”

You hesitate. Talking about what’s on your mind usually means revisiting the same memories you’ve been unpacking for months. Trauma that you’ve carried with you like a second skin, the kind that weighs you down and makes you feel like you’re suffocating in your own body. That’s what therapy is supposed to be for—that pain.

But right now, it’s not the past tugging at your mind. It’s the now. The girl sitting across from you every week, the unspoken weight of her presence lingering in your thoughts like a slow burn.

“I… I’m just distracted,” you say, your voice quieter now, unsure.

Your therapist doesn’t press, just nods in understanding. “That’s okay. Sometimes our minds drift when we’re processing a lot. We can pick up whenever you’re ready.”

You nod, grateful for the reprieve, but your mind keeps spinning. The session feels heavier today. Usually, the weight is familiar—the kind of weight you’re used to carrying alone. But now there’s something—or someone—else filling your head, making it hard to sort through your usual patterns.

Why did she look at me like that?

You replay the moment in your mind again, trying to decode it. You tell yourself it doesn’t mean anything, that you’re overanalyzing a simple glance. People look at each other all the time. She probably doesn’t even remember it now, back to whatever’s pulling at her in her own life. But still… the way her eyes lingered.

Your thoughts tumble into a messy loop of frustration and curiosity. Did she feel something too? Or was it all in your head? She’s a stranger. Just a face you’ve seen in passing. You don’t know her, not really. But somehow, that one glance has you questioning everything.

The therapist’s voice breaks through again, softer this time. “Do you want to try and continue?”

You nod, even though your mind is still miles away from where it should be. As the therapist raises her hand again, beginning the familiar motions in front of your eyes, you take a deep breath, hoping this time you can focus.

But even as your gaze follows the movement of her hand, your mind drifts back to the waiting room, back to those tired eyes and the way they seemed to see something in you. Something you’re not sure you want to face.

And for the first time in weeks, it’s not your own memories that are haunting you.

As the session drags on, the rhythm of your therapist’s hand becomes background noise to the thoughts that swirl relentlessly in your head. You try to bring yourself back to the task at hand, back to the healing process you’re supposed to be focused on, but you feel adrift, untethered.

Her eyes won’t leave your mind. That flicker of something—connection, maybe—that felt so intense in that brief glance. You can still feel it, like a pulse that’s not entirely your own.

It feels ridiculous, honestly. This isn’t supposed to happen. You’re here to heal, to peel back the layers of yourself and work through the wreckage inside your mind. You’re here to process your trauma, not to get caught up in the orbit of a stranger who happens to sit across from you once a week. A stranger you don’t even know by name.

Still, the thought of her consumes you.

Why did she look at me like that?

The question hammers in your brain, louder now that you’ve allowed yourself to acknowledge it. There’s a strange comfort in the idea that maybe she sees something in you, too. That maybe the weight she carries isn’t so different from your own. You’ve been drowning in your own pain for so long—what would it feel like to share that with someone who understands? To find recognition in someone else’s eyes?

Or is that just you, projecting?

Focus. You need to focus.

You force yourself to sit up a little straighter, your hands gripping the edge of the chair as your therapist’s voice drifts back into your awareness. You know she’s watching you carefully, noting the way you’ve been distant, distracted, ever since you walked into the room. You haven’t been present today, haven’t really felt anything but the odd, lingering sensation of her—the woman with the tired eyes and the worn knee brace.

You wonder what she’s here for, what injury brought her to this clinic. You’ve pieced together the clues over the weeks—her knee, the way she sometimes leans on crutches, the soft wince she tries to hide when she stands up. Maybe she’s an athlete, or used to be. You’ve caught glimpses of logos on her clothing that hint at something sports-related, but it’s not your world. You wouldn’t know.

Yet despite not knowing, you feel it—the heaviness in her, the same way you feel it in yourself. There’s something unspoken, something you’ve both been avoiding in your stolen glances.

The therapist’s hand passes in front of your eyes again, and you try to refocus. You try to reach for the memories she’s guiding you toward, the ones you’re supposed to be reprocessing. But the memories feel hazy today, like they’re distant and out of reach. Usually, they’re so vivid—too vivid. But now, they’re dulled by the present, by the way your mind is pulling you somewhere else entirely.

“Let’s take another pause,” your therapist suggests, her voice patient but concerned.

You exhale a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, nodding gratefully. The tension in your body eases just slightly, but your mind is still racing.

“I think…” you begin, your voice hesitant. “I’m just not all here today.”

Your therapist waits, giving you space to elaborate. You know she’s used to this. Distraction is common during these sessions, but you’ve never felt this kind of restlessness before. This kind of… preoccupation.

“There’s… someone,” you admit finally, the words slipping out before you’ve had time to really think them through. “In the waiting room. I keep getting distracted thinking about her.”

Your therapist tilts her head, curious but not judgmental. “Someone in the waiting room?”

You nod, feeling a little foolish now that you’ve said it out loud. “Yeah. I don’t even know her name, but we’re always there at the same time. We’ve never talked, but today… today she looked at me differently.”

Your therapist stays quiet, letting you find your words. Her patience helps, but it also makes you feel exposed, like you’re admitting to something fragile and uncertain.

“And it just—it’s been stuck in my head,” you continue, your voice quieter now, as if saying it louder might make it too real. “I don’t know why it’s affecting me so much. It’s just… I can’t stop thinking about it.”

You’re not sure what you want from this confession. Reassurance, maybe? Validation? Someone to tell you that you’re not losing your mind over a brief glance from a stranger?

Your therapist’s expression softens, but she doesn’t immediately dive into analysis. Instead, she asks, “What do you think it is about her that’s sticking with you? Is there something familiar, something that reminds you of yourself?”

The question lingers in the air between you, and you feel your chest tighten. It’s not something you’ve allowed yourself to fully consider. The way she looks at you. The way she seems just as weighed down by something invisible. The recognition, maybe, of pain.

“I don’t know,” you say, but the words don’t feel entirely true. “Maybe.”

Your therapist nods thoughtfully, but doesn’t press further. “It’s normal to connect with others in ways that might surprise us, especially when we’re going through difficult things ourselves. If she reminds you of something—of yourself, of a feeling—it’s okay to acknowledge that.”

You nod, but your mind is still racing. What is it that you see in her? Is it really just a reflection of your own pain, or is there something more? Something in the way she carries herself, the way her eyes met yours like she was trying to say something she couldn’t put into words.

“Do you want to explore that more?” your therapist asks gently. “Or would you rather focus on something else for now?”

You hesitate, feeling torn. Part of you wants to dig into it, to figure out why this woman has such a hold on your thoughts. But another part of you feels scared—scared of what you might find if you look too closely.

“I’m not sure,” you admit quietly. “I guess… I’m not sure if I’m ready to.”

Your therapist nods again, understanding. “That’s okay. We can take it at your pace. But if you want to talk about it more, we can always come back to it.”

You feel a strange mixture of relief and apprehension. Talking about her—about that glance, that moment—feels like opening a door you’re not sure you want to walk through. But at the same time, you know that you’ll think about it for the rest of the day. Maybe for longer than that.

As the session winds down, your mind is still preoccupied, but there’s a little more clarity now. Maybe it’s not just the glance itself that’s bothering you. Maybe it’s what that glance represents—the possibility that someone else sees you in a way you’re not used to being seen. That someone else might be carrying their own weight, just as heavy as yours.

And as you step out of the therapist’s office, back into the familiar waiting room, your eyes instinctively search for her. For the woman who has somehow taken up so much space in your mind.

But now, her seat is empty.

And suddenly, the room feels a little colder without her presence.

The week drags on in a strange, heavy haze. Every day, your mind keeps drifting back to her—back to that brief, fleeting glance that’s somehow managed to burrow deep under your skin. It’s ridiculous, you tell yourself. You’re overthinking it, turning something meaningless into something monumental. You’ve spent so long keeping people at arm’s length, hiding yourself behind carefully constructed walls, and now, one moment with a stranger has you spiraling into obsession.

You try to shake it off. You try to focus on work, on your routine, on anything but her. But it’s like a splinter in your mind. No matter how much you push it away, it’s always there, just under the surface. You catch yourself replaying the moment over and over again—the way her tired eyes locked with yours, the faintest flicker of recognition passing between you. Did she feel it too? Or are you imagining it?

On Wednesday, you find yourself walking past the clinic—deliberately, even though you don’t have an appointment. You glance through the glass door, half-expecting to see her sitting there, leg bouncing nervously, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her jacket. But the waiting room is empty, and the sight of it leaves you with a strange hollowness in your chest.

What if she doesn’t come back?

The thought gnaws at you. It’s irrational, but the possibility that you might never see her again—that this inexplicable connection could vanish as quickly as it appeared—makes you feel like something important has slipped through your fingers. Something you didn’t even realize you were missing.

Get it together. You need to move on.

But by Friday, the restlessness is back in full force. You find yourself lying awake at night, staring at the ceiling, wondering. Wondering if she’s thinking about you too. Wondering if she felt the same pull, the same strange energy lingering between you.

Maybe you’ll never know. Maybe it’s better not to know.

But as the next week rolls around, you feel a nervous anticipation building in your chest. Your next appointment is coming up, and the thought of seeing her again—of what might happen this time—has your mind racing in a way that feels almost… dangerous.

What if she’s there?

What if she’s not?

The questions twist and turn inside you, and by the time your appointment day arrives, you’re practically buzzing with a nervous energy you can’t quite contain. You tell yourself it’s stupid, that you’re being irrational. You’re supposed to be focusing on your healing, not obsessing over some stranger you’ve never even spoken to. But the truth is, you haven’t felt this alive in a long time.

When you walk into the clinic, your eyes immediately sweep the waiting room. For a moment, the space feels empty, cold. But then, there she is—sitting in the same spot as always, her knee braced, her posture tense. She’s staring at her phone again, her fingers tapping the screen, but you notice the way her leg bounces restlessly. There’s a tension in her shoulders, a tightness in the way she’s holding herself, like the weight she’s carrying is a little heavier today.

You pause just inside the door, your heart suddenly pounding in your chest. You weren’t prepared for this, not really. Seeing her again feels like stepping into a current you can’t control. You want to look away, to keep pretending she’s just another person passing through your life. But instead, you find your gaze lingering on her, the same way it did last week.

And then, just like before, she looks up.

This time, there’s no hesitation in her gaze. Her eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the room falls away. The world outside fades, and all you can feel is the intensity of her stare, the weight of something unspoken passing between you. It’s like you’re both suspended in the same moment, tethered by something invisible and undeniable.

You freeze, unsure of what to do. Should you smile? Look away? Say something? But before you can make a decision, she shifts in her seat, straightening up slightly, her gaze flickering with something you can’t quite read. There’s recognition there, yes, but also something deeper. Something like understanding. Or maybe even… curiosity?

Your throat feels tight, your pulse quickening. You don’t know what to do with this feeling, this connection that seems to be growing stronger with every second you hold her gaze.

And then, she does something you didn’t expect.

She nods.

It’s subtle, just a small dip of her head, but it feels like a monumental shift. Like she’s acknowledging you—not just as a stranger, but as someone… more. Someone she’s noticed, someone she’s maybe been thinking about too.

Your breath catches in your throat, and before you can stop yourself, you find yourself nodding back. It feels awkward, stilted, but it’s the only thing you can think to do in the moment. It’s not much, but it’s something. A bridge, maybe. A connection.

You take a seat across from her, your body tense with nervous energy. You can feel her presence, like a subtle pull in the air between you. Neither of you speaks, but the silence isn’t uncomfortable. It’s charged, filled with all the things you’re not saying, all the questions you’re not asking.

The door to your therapist’s office opens, and her familiar voice calls your name. You stand up, feeling a strange reluctance to leave the waiting room, to leave her behind. But as you turn to head toward the office, you steal one last glance at her.

She’s still watching you.

And for the first time in weeks, you don’t look away.

The session that follows is one of the hardest you’ve had in a long time. The therapist guides you through your memories with a gentle persistence, pushing you to confront parts of your past that you’ve been carefully avoiding. Today, it’s not just the weight of your own pain that feels unbearable—it’s the weight of everything you’ve been holding back for so long.

Your memories of childhood are raw, jagged, and unsettling. You find yourself reliving moments of fear and isolation, the sting of harsh words, the bruises you tried to hide. The sessions are usually a mix of distant recollections and present-day reflections, but today, the past crashes into you with a force that makes it hard to breathe. Your mother’s anger, her frustration, her harsh words—they’re all too close, too real. It’s like the boundaries between then and now have dissolved, leaving you exposed and trembling.

When the session ends, you barely manage to pull yourself together. Your eyes are red, streaked with tears, and your face feels hot and heavy with emotion. You nod to your therapist, a wordless acknowledgment of the work you’ve done. You need air—space to breathe and let the turmoil inside you settle.

You stumble out of the office, the hallway seeming longer than usual. You make your way to the clinic’s entrance, your steps unsteady, your mind still tangled in the remnants of painful memories. The cool air hits your face, and you stop just outside the door, letting it wash over you. It feels like a fleeting reprieve from the storm raging inside.

And then, you see her.

She’s standing there, just outside the door, her back to you. You recognize her immediately—Alexia. She’s wrapped in a coat, her arms crossed tightly in front of her. You can see her shoulders trembling slightly, and as you watch, she turns and looks at you. Her eyes are red and swollen, tears still glistening on her cheeks.

For a moment, neither of you says anything. The silence between you is heavy, filled with unspoken understanding. You can see the same rawness in her face that you feel in your own. It’s as if both of you are caught in the aftermath of a storm, trying to find a way to navigate the wreckage.

Alexia takes a step toward you, her gaze meeting yours with a vulnerability that makes your heart ache. “I didn’t expect to see you,” she says softly, her voice wavering. There’s a tremor in her tone, like she’s struggling to keep herself composed.

You open your mouth to respond, but no words come. The sight of her—so open, so unguarded—strikes a chord deep within you. It’s not just about the glance you shared or the way you’ve been obsessing over her. It’s something deeper, something you’ve been grappling with in your own way.

“I…” you start, but the words fail you. Instead, you take a tentative step toward her, the distance between you shrinking as you both stand in the cold air, the weight of your shared pain hanging in the space around you.

Alexia looks down, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been coming here for a while. I didn’t think anyone noticed.” She pauses, her eyes meeting yours again, filled with a mix of sadness and curiosity. “You looked at me today like you understood something. I felt the same way.”

Her words hit you hard, echoing the thoughts that have been circling your mind all week. It’s as if she’s voicing the unspoken connection you both felt—the shared weight, the recognition of each other’s pain.

“I didn’t mean to stare,” you finally say, your voice rough from the emotions you’ve been grappling with. “I just… I saw something in you. I don’t know what it was, but it felt familiar.”

Alexia nods, a tear slipping down her cheek. “It’s strange,” she says, her voice breaking slightly. “I’ve felt like I was carrying this alone. And then you came in, and for some reason, it felt like… like maybe someone else understood.”

The shared understanding between you deepens, and you feel a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, you’re not as alone as you’ve felt. The connection you’ve both sensed, the unspoken recognition—it’s not just in your head. It’s real, and it’s giving you both a moment of connection that you’ve been craving.

Without thinking, you reach out, offering her a small, hesitant smile. “If you want to talk… or if you just need someone to be here,” you offer, your voice steadying despite the tears still lingering in your eyes.

Alexia’s gaze softens, and she nods. “I’d like that,” she says quietly. “I think I’d like that a lot.”

Part 2

[k1ng-ej]

Halloween with Leon

I wrote this with re2 leon specifically in mind. (Requests are open)

Leon intertwined his fingers with yours, offering a gentle squeeze and a bright smile as he guided you through the aisles of the store, his eyes eagerly scanning the array of costumes. The station was hosting a costume contest, and when Leon discovered the news, he rushed home to you, brimming with excitement like you had never seen before. He had the brilliant idea to invite you to join him and create a couples costume together.

With the party only a few hours away, you couldn't help but smile like a fool as you watched Leon eagerly sift through various costumes. He would turn to you, flashing a beaming grin, eagerly awaiting your thoughts on each choice.

At last, the two of you settled on a classic theme: a vampire and his unsuspecting victim. After shopping for costumes, you returned to your shared apartment to prepare for the evening. Leon was quick to get dressed, donning a ruffled blouse complemented by a timeless cape and sleek dress pants. He had reached out for your assistance in piecing together his costume, and now, you found yourself sitting directly across from him, intently focused as you carefully applied contour to his cheeks. As you worked, you couldn't help but admire the charming little imperfections that dotted his features, like the gentle light freckles that adorned his skin and the alluring beauty marks positioned near the corners of his mouth and along his jawline. Being so close to him allowed you to truly appreciate the captivating oceanic shade of his blue eyes, which seemed to brighten even more under the warm touch of sunlight streaming in. You lost yourself in this moment, captivated by the delicate details that made him uniquely beautiful.

As you meticulously added the final details, applying fake blood around his mouth, you became entirely engrossed in your work. In this moment of concentration, you didn't notice Leon's intent gaze on your lips. Before you could react, he leaned in, pressing his lips against yours in a kiss that was both tender and filled with desire. The fake blood you had smeared on the corners of his mouth was now transferring to yours, and you couldn't contain your laughter. This caused Leon to pull back, his expression shifting to one of confusion as he looked at you.

"What?"

"Nothing, it's just I was putting hard work into that blood and now it's smeared," you chuckled, gesturing to the stains on your lips.

"Oh, I'm sorry." He grinned playfully, tilting his head as he closed the distance to capture your lips again.

After you both finished getting ready, you set off for the station, where Leon's excitement was palpable. His grin stretched from ear to ear, and you could almost see him bouncing in his seat. Upon arriving at the station, Leon eagerly assisted you out of the car and led you inside. Everywhere you looked, Halloween decorations were festooned in every corner, and everyone was dressed perfectly for the festive occasion. Leon held your hand as he took you around to meet all of his coworkers, each of them complimenting your costume.

The night unfolded perfectly, with you and Leon savoring drinks and fully immersing yourselves in the evening's ambiance. At one point, Leon approached a coworker, eager to capture a photo of the two of you. He guided you to a designated spot, confidently placing his hand on your lower back as he gently leaned you backward. A playful smile lit up his face as he lowered his lips to your neck, feigning a bite where fake blood had been applied, creating the illusion of drawing your blood. Unable to stifle a giggle at the ticklish gesture, you found it adorable, and the result was the cutest photo of you both—so charming that the station even framed it and hung it up for all to see. And not to your surprise, you won best costume.

[moonsaver]

hi!! i just wanted to say that the way that you write yandere characters is very unique and frankly amazing. like i love the fact that you don't make them overly violent like other people have and i also like how you have written the mc.

can i make a request of nsfw headcannons with yan!aventurine with female reader? thank you so much. have a great day!!!

Hello anon! Thank you for the feedback. Sorry i delayed your request so much, haha.

– fem-bodied reader, but mainly referred to as "you", no pronouns.

Nsfw below the cut!

Honestly? Yan!Aventurine is so damn pathetic. He's so used to feeling unwanted and repulsed by, so he's constantly begging on his knees for your affection. It starts out as a facade of confidence, but when you keep denying and shifting away from him, it snaps something, and he's on his knees, needy and desperate compromises, offering to do whatever you want – you want him to dom you? Tie you down and fuck you mindless? He'll do it! You want him to sub? He'll take it! You can fuck him silly and pull his hair back as harshly as you want, just please let him touch you and be touched by you.

Practically, it's absolute desperate sex

If you're still hesitant, and keep refusing him, keep telling him you don't want to do it, he'll just take it into his own hands

You definitely aren't disgusted by him, right? Definitely not! No, no, he can't allow that. You just have a hard time choosing! It's okay, it's alright! He understands! His own needy and desperate begging soon drowns out your own pleading for him to stop, and he thinks maybe he should just fuck you and let you know just how good he can make you feel. Both of your cries turn into moaning into each other's mouths, sooner or later.

Fingering? It's almost his favourite thing to do. He goes so mercilessly fast, his fingers plunging deep into your sopping wet cunt. If it's not wet enough or he hasn't done any foreplay, it's alright! He'll spit on it, and coat his fingers with his saliva. Stop squirming! He's taking such good care of you! Makes you squirt and cum so hard, but your desperate, incoherent babbling makes him think he's not done just enough, and keeps scissoring your swollen cunt all nice and deep, rubbing your clit, his eyes obsessively scanning the weak twitching and arching of your body, an almost psychotic and delusional smile on his face as he watches your body reach it's nth climax, curling his fingers in just the right spot, your face contorting into such a pretty expression, just as he wanted it to happen. Finally, he asks you if it was enough, licking your slick off of his fingers while looking into your eyes. He can always please you more, you know?

Penetration is almost similar to fingering. Or it's the complete opposite. The junction of that decision mainly happens when his tip is inside of you, and he's asking you all sorts of things, describing the things he wants to do to you in detail, rubbing your swollen tits so nicely, until you writhe under him. Oh? Sorry, he can't let you go! You probably don't want to, you just dont know how good he can fuck you! And he does just that. 

If you're not so fucked out until you cant think, he goes fast and hard, loud slapping noises bounce off the walls, his dick hits you g-spot so hard and nice it makes you see stars. His smile is so wide and cocky when he sees your dazed expression, and he only goes faster, moaning and whining into your ear, telling you just how good you're taking him, that he'll take such good care of you, he loves you so so much and, his own whining and talking is interrupted by a loud moan, as his cum shoots into you, hot and sloshing into your cunt. He relaxes for a bit, whining more into your ear before his hasty and sloppy pace picks up, hitting you hard and fast all over again, relishing the feeling of his cum mix with your slick and drip down onto the bed.

If you're already dazed and overstimulated, he's very loving. Cooing softly at you as he fucks you all nice and slow, dragging his throbbing length against your gummy walls, telling you how lucky he is to have you, asking you desperately what you want, want him to go faster? Slower? Do you like it? Why aren't you answering? Oh well, he guesses he just has to fuck you better. Keeps going slow until your climax is absolutely on the edge of crashing down on you, and then rams himself into you, moaning like a bitch into your ear when he cums inside of you

Absolute oral fixation. If he doesn't force your first time in bed with him into fingering you, it's eating you out like he's drunk on your slick.

Desperately begs into your ear to let him taste you, asks you to suffocate him, ride him or just use him, just please let him taste your sweet cum on his tongue! He begs and begs until he just can't take it and pushes you to the nearest cushioned surface, rips off whatever clothing you have and absolutely devours you. Sucks on your clit desperately and moans when you squirm and pull on his hair to try and get him off of you. Fingers roughly and sloppily plunge into you, his tongue desperately circling your swollen bud, and once he's drawn enough slick from your pussy, replaces his fingers with his tongue and almost buries his face into it. Makes you squirt and cum so hard on his face, and likes it even more when you make a mess. Looks up at you with needy, love-struck eyes, slick dripping down his chin as he asks you if you enjoyed it. If you don't respond, or are too busy catching your breath, he just dives back in and makes you cum even more on his face.

---

[betweenstorms]

Hi hello, hope you're having a good day Stormy! Your writing is always so good sjdjsjd always makes my day when I have the chance to read em! Not sure if you take requests, so if you don't, you can always ignore this! But I have a pretty interesting prompt that might pique your interest 👀

We all know Simon doesn't show emotions easily, usually the people very close to him will spot out the minute details that give away how he's feeling. Small twitch of the lips, tense of shoulders, that kind of thing. But how about reader who is slightly different, in that they also don't show emotion that well, but it's because they forget to? Sounds confusing I know, but for me I forget my mouth exists and constantly forget to smile at people when greeting them. So for reader, the only way others know how they're feeling is with the tone of their voice.

Hope that isn't too confusing to understand! It's a very weird thing I have, and have not encountered anyone else who share this lmao

Anywayyy have a great rest of your day, and remember to hydrate and eat something! 🖤

- Biscuits 🌺

Hi Biscuits! 🌺 First of all, thank you so much for your kind words! I’m so sorry it took me this long to reply, but I’m excited to let you know that my interpretation of your idea is finally here! I hope you’ll enjoy it as much as I enjoyed exploring such a unique and fascinating prompt. I hope you’re having a wonderful day, and don’t forget to hydrate and eat something too! Thank you again for trusting me with your idea. 🖤

You didn’t need to look up to know the weather outside was a dreary shade of grey.

Strangely, it was always just grey here. Overcast skies that seemed to stretch endlessly over the joint military base somewhere in Germany, as though nature itself had resigned to a dull monotony. Not that it bothered you. Weather, much like people, had a way of projecting its moods that you’d long stopped trying to interpret. Clouds could loom ominously, sunlight could break free in radiant streaks, but it all felt the same to you.

Emotions were like that too.

Amorphous, indistinct, slipping through your grasp when you tried to name them. For as long as you could remember, you’d lacked the innate ability most people seemed to have, the quick flick of recognition when faced with a scowl, a smile, or a furrowed brow. You saw the movements of mouths and brows but couldn’t place what they were supposed to mean.

To you, the dance of expressions was no more than a series of movements, the subtle lift of lips or tilt of a head stripped of the weight they were meant to carry. And so, your own face reflected the only truth you understood. Your own face usually mirrored the neutrality of the weather, a blank slate that rarely shifted unless you consciously willed it to.

Price and Gaz were out on a recon mission, leaving Soap, Ghost and you on the foreign base. With no immediate orders other than to wait for their return, the three of you had the rare luxury of downtime. However, despite this, none of you strayed from your usual discipline. The day began at dawn, as always, with the shooting range, gym sessions, or reviewing intel as needed. The quiet efficiency of your routines spoke volumes about the kind of people you all were, professionals through and through. There were no shortcuts at this level, no slacking off. You were the best of the best after all.

Each of you carried that mantle in your own way.

Soap’s energy crackled like a live wire, his easy laughter and constant chatter an antidote to the grim seriousness of your world. Ghost, by contrast, was the anchor—silent, steadfast, a figure carved from stone. And you? You found yourself somewhere between them, detached yet watchful, a quiet observer tethered by a relentless need to prove yourself.

You liked working with Ghost in a way that was difficult to articulate, even to yourself. There was no camaraderie in the traditional sense, no banter or easy companionship, but strangely, there was something deeper, something unspoken.

Your lieutenant moved through the world with the same deliberate calm that you valued in yourself, his every action sharpened by precision and purpose. You respected him for that, his unrelenting dedication, the quiet strength he carried like a shield, and the way his presence seemed to command gravity itself, pulling the air taut whenever he entered a room. And somehow, Ghost felt like a reflection, as though the world had cut both of you from the same cloth. He, too, was a figure cloaked in neutrality, his mask hiding not just his face but the emotions that might lie beneath.

Even with the lull in operations, you didn’t take the task force’s trust for granted. You had fought hard to earn your place here, shedding blood and sweat to prove yourself to Price and the rest of the team. The task force was a strange paradox—these were people you trusted implicitly with your life, but you knew almost nothing about them on a personal level. That was just how things worked. Bonds forged in war zones didn’t require knowledge of favorite foods or childhood dreams. Still, you couldn’t deny a small, nagging curiosity about the men you worked with—especially Soap and Ghost.

Both were enigmas in their own ways.

Soap, all charm and humor, seemed to wear his heart on his sleeve, yet you suspected there was more to him beneath the surface. Ghost, on the other hand, was a locked vault, his emotions buried under layers of stoicism and a mask that seemed to shield more than his face. 

You had been with the task force for four months now.

It had been an honor to receive Price’s invitation, and though you felt pride in your accomplishments, showing it outwardly had always been a challenge. Ever since childhood, you’d struggled with recognizing and expressing emotions.

Your family had always been understanding, brushing it off as an eccentric quirk, and you’d never sought a formal diagnosis. It wasn’t that you didn’t feel, far from it. You just didn’t show it in the usual ways. Smiling, frowning, or even appearing annoyed often felt like trying to mimic a foreign language without understanding the grammar.

As a child, you were always the odd one, the kid who stared too long, too intently, when other children laughed and cried. Your parents, to their credit, were patient. Your mother, warm and pragmatic, would gently remind you to smile when greeting your grandmother or reassure you when a relative’s frown went unnoticed. “They’re not cross, love,” she’d say, her hands light on your shoulders. “Just thinking. You’re fine.”

But the world wasn’t as kind as your family.

As you grew, the peculiarities of your face invited suspicion, sometimes ridicule. “Why don’t you ever smile?” teachers would ask, their tone suggesting you were withholding something from them, as though joy was a currency you refused to spend. Friends, when you had them, would mistake your silence for coldness, your neutrality for indifference. By the time you reached your teens, you’d grown used to the questions and assumptions, building an armor of pragmatism around yourself. What was the point in trying to explain something you didn’t fully understand?

Somehow, your body simply forgot the script.

You forgot to move your lips when greeting a loved one, forgot to furrow your brows when confusion took hold, forgot to cry when sadness settled heavy in your chest. It wasn’t that you didn’t feel. Feelings bloomed and churned within you like storms on a distant horizon, but they never found their way to the surface. You were a house with locked shutters, and though the light was on inside, it rarely spilled out to illuminate the exterior.

Oddly enough, this trait had become an asset in your line of work.

Pragmatic, objective, and unshaken by emotion, you excelled in high-pressure environments. It was this armor that had served you so well in the military and later in the SAS. Neutrality was an asset here—a foundation upon which precision, discipline, and logic could thrive. Emotions muddied decisions, and in your line of work, clarity was king. When the invitation to join Task Force 141 had come, you’d accepted with quiet pride, though you’d made no effort to show it. Your calm, measured responses made you reliable and efficient, qualities that had undoubtedly caught Price’s attention.

But outside of missions, it created a distance between you and the rest of the team. Building camaraderie required a kind of emotional fluency you didn’t naturally possess, and though you didn’t dwell on it much, it sometimes left you feeling a little isolated.

Four months in, you’d cemented your place among the team.

They trusted you on the battlefield, and that was enough. Personal bonds were optional here, weren’t they? You’d told yourself that many times, but the truth was harder to swallow, trust in war didn’t translate to understanding in peace. Soap’s boisterous banter, Gaz’s easy charm, and Ghost’s impassive stares all existed in a language you couldn’t quite speak.

This morning, however, was different.

Breakfast was normally a solitary affair, a brief respite from the day’s structured chaos. But today, Soap and Ghost had joined you in the mess hall, their presence sat heavy at your periphery. You sat across from them, meticulously working through your meal while Soap tapped his fingers on the table in a rhythm that suggested trouble. Neither of them was eating, and their idle presence felt vaguely unsettling.

It didn’t take long for your suspicion to be confirmed.

“Y’know,” Soap began, his voice lilting with mischief. “Been meanin’ to ask you somethin’, lass. How’s it possible to sit there, day in, day out, with a face that doesn't move? Like a bloody mannequin, you are.”

You raised a brow, a slight, subtle motion that could have meant anything, but didn’t stop eating. Soap took this as an invitation to continue.

“You don’t smile,” he declared, as though it were a groundbreaking revelation. “Or frown. Or even twitch your face half the time. How d’you do that, eh? Are you secretly a robot?”

“I’m not a robot,” you replied, your tone flat but perfectly even.

He leaned back, shaking his head with mock disbelief. “Could’ve fooled me. You’re like a statue, don’t even look annoyed when I’m talkin’ shite at you. Bet you couldn’t make a face to save your life.”

You paused, setting down your fork with deliberate precision.

“I can make faces,” you said coolly.

“Aye, then let’s have a wee go at it. Give us a smile, eh?” Soap’s lopsided grin widened, and he glanced at Ghost, who remained silent but was now clearly paying attention, his hazel eyes flicking toward you. You blinked at them, debating whether it was worth the effort to argue.

Instead, you attempted to comply.

The corners of your mouth lifted in what might have passed for a smile if not for the stiffness in the gesture. It felt awkward, like wearing someone else’s skin.

Soap slapped the table, his laugh booming across the hall. “Creepin’ Jesus, that’s tragic! Like watchin’ a bairn try to wink for the first time.”

“Better than watchin’ you try to think,” Ghost deadpanned, not missing a beat.

Undeterred, Soap straightened up. “All right, fine. Forget smilin’. Show us angry.”

You weren’t bothered by Soap’s teasing, not at all.

Sarcasm and banter weren’t your battlefield, and you didn’t need to win these small wars of wit. If anything, you found his energy oddly endearing, a welcome distraction in the quiet monotony of downtime. So you furrowed your brow and narrowed your eyes slightly, aiming for something approximating irritation. Soap burst into another peal of laughter, throwing his head back and letting it roll out uninhibited.

“Honestly, you’re hopeless,” he howled, tears of laughter glistening in his eyes.

Ghost sighed, setting his tablet down with deliberate care.

“Enough, Johnny.”

Soap held up his hands in mock surrender, his grin lingering like a spark refusing to fade, but your attention had already wandered, your gaze tracing their movements like studying a map of familiar terrain. Soap’s restless energy hummed, his gestures loose and unrestrained, a stark contrast to Ghost’s deliberate stillness, every shift of his body a calculation.

And then his hazel eyes met yours—sharp, unflinching, and so steady it rooted you in place. There was no hostility, no question, only a quiet intensity that made your pulse stutter, a strange, warm stirring low in your stomach that you didn’t dare acknowledge. His gaze held you captive for a beat too long, the air around you heavy, before he turned away, leaving behind a weight you didn’t fully understand but couldn’t quite shake.

“Doesn’t matter,” he said, his voice lower now, more measured. “Faces lie. It’s your voice that tells the truth.”

You blinked. “My voice?”

Ghost nodded, leaning back slightly. “You can hear it. If you listen proper. More honest than any forced smile could ever be.”

For a moment, you didn’t know what to say.

Compliments, if that’s what this was, were scarce in your world, as rare as sunlight piercing through storm clouds. From Ghost, they were practically unheard of. Yet his words lingered, carrying a weight that pressed gently against the walls of your chest. A quiet warmth began to unfurl there, blooming softly like a flame coaxed from dying embers, a mixture of gratitude and something unnamed, something that settled in the hollow spaces you hadn’t realized were waiting to be filled.

Soap, visibly startled by the uncharacteristic remark, stared at Ghost as though he’d grown a second head. “Bloody hell, Lt.,” he muttered. “Didn’t know ye had a poetic streak.”

Your lieutenant paid him no mind, his focus already returning to the tablet in his hands, as if the moment had never existed. But you remained still, the weight of his words draping over you like a thick, unshakable cloak. Honest. The word lingered, unfamiliar yet strangely resonant, threading itself into the quiet spaces of your thoughts, where it settled with unexpected ease. Soap broke the moment with a playful nudge to your shoulder.

“Still, you could do with learnin’ a proper smile, eh? Just in case.”

Your eyes rolled, an instinctive motion this time, unbidden but oddly fitting. Soap’s laughter rippled through the room, bright and careless, but it barely registered, a distant echo against the steady hum of your thoughts. Ghost’s words lingered, heavy with meaning, a rare compliment that pressed itself into the quiet corners of your mind with a significance that eclipsed anything you’d ever known. Perhaps, you mused, letting the warmth of the moment settle over you, it wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

Maybe that was something you could finally understand.

[stararch4ngelqueen]

LAST ONE I PROMISE IM SO SORRY

soft!jason with reader who hides her nightmares from him (classic 'doesnt wanna be a burden') and he finds out she hasn't been sleeping and just comfort and sappy shit idk

Hope you don’t mind but ima combine this with another idea in my head before it rots. My details aren’t good right now, it’s been a very long day 😅

—

Time written - 6:47 p.m

—

“I remember a bad habit I had when I was little to check the coin slots for any quarters left behind.”

“Bad habit? I did that all the time.” Jason tosses a final shirt into the washing machine. “Still do.”

You giggle as you slam the washer door shut before cranking the knob and clicking the button, watching the machine whirr to life.

The apartment’s little downstairs laundromat always promised new washers and dryers, but efforts in doing so were lost under a list of other repairs. At least the machines still did their job, so that’s all you could do.

“Last load, right?” Jason double checks whilst shoving his hands into his pockets, leaning against the nearest little surface reserved for folding laundry.

Pushing by your clothes hamper to the side, you nod as you sit yourself in a chair beside the dryers.

“Finally,” you say whilst peeking over at the timer. At least three minutes left before you’d be greeted with heavenly warm sheets.

The warmth of the machines heavily combatted the cold chill outside. The heat in comparison with Jason’s hoodie covering your body left you feeling quite cozy, resulting in a yawn leaving your tired body.

“That’s about five times in the past half hour, someone miss their nap time?” Jason piques, gazing over at you with softened eyes.

You would’ve laughed if not for the second yawn that left your lips again.

“M’fine,” you muffle out after crossing your arms, forcing yourself to relax. Again, the constant rocking of both machines tumbling your clothes and blankets, plus the warmth radiating into the enclosed space nearly had you lulled to sleep in seconds.

Jason find the view absolutely adorable, heavily contemplating on taking the short stride to the seat beside you to let you rest on his shoulder. Only about a minute remained on the machine when he took the chance to approach, watching your tired head slowly tilt, nearly falling back against the wall if he didn’t quickly lurch over to catch it.

Cradling your pretty face in his palm, his eyes slightly narrowed when he picked up a unique detail on your face. Your eyes nearly widened when you blacked out for a second, coming to a sight of a concerned Jason holding your cheek.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” you quickly nod, blinking the exhaustion from your eyes. “Yeah. I’m okay, just didn’t sleep good.”

“Uhuh,” his response came too low for your ears to pick up. The dryer emits a sharp beep, signaling your blankets were finally ready.

As good as it felt to be sitting in such an uncomfortable plastic chair, you managed to pull yourself to your feet and towards the dryer, followed by a man who refused to remove his concerned expression off his face.

“What sounds good for dinner tonight?” Jason asks you after you pulled out tangled blankets from the dryer, nearly hugging them to yourself before plopping them onto the counter space to be separated and folded.

“Don’t know. What sounds good to you?”

“Was thinking maybe pizza,” Jason replied whilst approaching you from behind, picking up how sluggish your hands were as they rummaged through the soft pile in search of blanket edges or corners.

“Or… wings, maybe?”

“Hm?” Your head faintly tilts, rising suspicion. He stands beside you, seeing your heavy lidded eyes nearly lose focus on your task.

“Actually, was thhinking of going for some grass instead of chicken,” Jason purposely states, keeping an eye on your exhausted expression. “Grass and weeds, dandelions too.”

“Mm.” Came your response.

“Right,” he tries again. “Or if grass doesn’t hit the spot, we can just eat park dirt with our bare hands. Catch up on our minerals, y’know?”

“Mhm.”

“Babe.” He states with a firm tone. “C’mon. Babe.”

“Hm?” Your head snaps upwards towards him. “Huh? I’m listening.”

“Uhuh.” He quirks a brow before reaching over, pulling the warm fabric out of your hands.

“Babe, for how long?”

“Huh?” You shake your head, trying to remember the topic. “I don’t know. Kinda not hungry for chicken—“

“Not that,” Jason shakes his head. “How long have you not been sleeping good?”

Your lack of answer concerns him a lot more than it should’ve.

“Baby.” Jason grabs said warm, fuzzy blanket fresh off the counter and pulls the cover over your shoulders, draping you in complete warmth.”

“Talk to me.” He expresses with the upmost care, turning your body to face him. “I won’t get mad. Promise.”

You hesitate regardless. A lump in your throat nearly prevents you from doing so, and it worries you. What would he say to something like this? To see you haven’t slept that much due to a few simple bad dreams?

He’d see it ridiculous. A huge part of you believed that to be the case.

“Nightmares?” Jason tries to guess. “Is that it? Insomnia? Something not letting you sleep?”

He hit the nail on the head the first time. You could’ve said yes, could’ve vocally agreed, but all you could do was give a weak nod.

“Why haven’t you told me, hm?” Jason wisps bits of hair from your face, peering down at you with a soft, concerned expression.

When could you tell him? He’s always out on patrols. When he’s out, you’re struggling to sleep. When he comes home, he sleeps during the day, leaving you on your own until the afternoon or so. It’s always such a blessing when he comes home, sleeping by your side.

Sleep should’ve came so easily when he was home safe and sound, but all your mind focused on was the possibility that one day he may not.

It felt so odd to complain to him about sleep when his sleep schedule varied a lot more than the average man. He fought crime for a living, all you did was work or be home. How could complaining to him make any sort of sense?

“It’s just nightmares,” you weakly insist, the concern of making him upset driving your heart fast enough to keep you awake. The warm blanket was too much, lulling you into a comforting serenity your body fought against.

“D’you take meds for this?” He questions, watching you shake your head no. “Sleeping pills, anything like that?”

“I mean, I’ve thought of it, but-“

“Don’t.”

His one word demand catches you off guard, making your eyes widen. “Why not?”

“Don’t need you relying on pills to get some shut eye,” Jason murmurs, exhaling through his nose before lowering his head, resting it along yours. “That’s worse than staying awake.”

He didn’t scoff, he didn’t huff and dismiss your confession, but his response regardless made you regret telling him any of this in general. You knew that look on his face; the worried wrinkle that formed in between his brows when he was too worried about something. Someone.

“Don’t say it’s not my fault. M’Sorry you couldn’t tell me before.”

Your heart lightly aches at this, especially when he stopped your words prior. He blamed himself in some way, and you really didn’t like that.

His eyes never left your face, solemnly gleaming down at your beautiful expression. The attention to the tired shadows under your eyes, your limited energy, practically dragging your feet down every step of the way just to spend all the time you could with him.

It beats the purpose to protect Gotham when he couldn’t protect the ones he loved first. How he was going to handle your subconscious, he hadn’t a clue. Only an idea.

“Jay.”

“Shhh.” He soothes, his mind processing some thoughts you wish you could stop.

“I want you to go back upstairs,” he speaks after some silence. “I’ll sort our stuff out down here. Take a hot shower, fix yourself a drink, and get to bed. I’ll be up there in a bit.”

“But—“

“Ah ah,” he chides, hiding that hint of a smile on the edge of his lip. “Don’t wanna hear it. I’ll stay tonight, and tomorrow night, an’ the night after that.”

“And Gotham?”

Gotham always ran fucking crazy with something nearly every night, but hey, theirs other cape wearing heroes waltzing around.

“What’s one night?” He shrugs. “Don’t gotta carry you to the elevator, do I?”

“I’d prefer that,” you manage to smile. “You wrapped me in a death trap. I won’t make it to the elevator.”

Jason sighs, this time with a smile on his face. Without a word, he hoists you up in his arms, your body wrapped up in a heated, fragrant blanket as he sets you back in your chair from before.

“My little cleopatra,” he comments, in reference to your entire body wrapped up in a blanket, minus your head. “Once we’re done here, we’ll take a long nap. I’ll stay with you as long as you want.”

The official, yet unspoken promise left your heart aching. Of course he’d do such a soothing gesture for you.

“You can’t carry both me and the laundry,” your tired voice says to him, making his smirk grow as he tends to folding your blankets once more.

“Oh yeah? Watch me.”

[vashyr]

୨۪୧  ִ  　トライガン 　⁝ 　𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 　𝘴𝘺𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘺　 ֺ   ⑅ 　( ♡ )

— 𝘈𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘴, 𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘢𝘵 𝘣𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘦𝘭𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘵 𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘷𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘺 ִ  ۫  ˒

˚꒰♡꒱‧ 8 PM Halloween post <3

The town was alight with Halloween festivities, music echoing through the streets, strings of orange lanterns flickering along doorways and windows. You wandered through the crowd, admiring costumes of every variety, from classic horror icons to homemade renditions of local legends.

Among them, you caught sight of a figure in a striking red coat, and your heart skipped a beat.

It was unmistakably Vash the Stampede—well, someone dressed as him. The long red duster, the spiked blond hair, the familiar tinted glasses that seemed to glint under the lantern light. Everything was perfect, down to the intricate metal arm peeking out from one sleeve. You hadn’t seen anyone capture Vash’s look so well, and as a fan of his legendary exploits, you couldn't resist approaching.

“Hey!” you called, weaving through the crowd until you were just a few feet away. When he turned to face you, you noticed something strange: his expression was bashful, his cheeks slightly pink, eyes wide with a certain kind of innocence that didn’t seem like an act.

He looked you up and down with a shy smile, his gloved hand scratching at the back of his neck.

“Nice costume!” you gushed, beaming at him. “You really nailed it. I mean, the coat, the glasses—oh, and even the arm detail. Wow, you must be a big fan of Vash the Stampede too!”

His blush deepened as he stammered, “Uh—w-well, thank you. I appreciate it.” His voice was soft, a little breathless, as though your words had caught him off guard.

“You’re welcome! You don’t know how rare it is to see someone go all out like this. The outfit’s spot-on, and honestly, your resemblance is uncanny,” you laughed, shaking your head in admiration. “You must’ve spent ages on it.”

“Ah, y-yeah, ages,” he echoed, giving a sheepish grin as he glanced to the side, hiding half his face behind his collar. He didn’t seem to know quite what to do with his hands as he chuckled, and you found his awkwardness endearing.

“I mean, you’ve really captured that warmth of his, too,” you went on, not picking up on the fact that his sheepish grin was very real. “Everyone knows about Vash, but I’ve always thought the best part of him is his heart, y’know?” You placed a hand on your chest, a bit lost in your own admiration for the mysterious hero. “He always tries to help others. He believes in peace, even if he has to carry that reputation as a dangerous outlaw. That’s what makes him so unique.”

At this, the man’s blush only intensified, his mouth opening to speak, though his words came out soft and halting. “I… wow, that’s… You really see him that way?” he murmured, as though he couldn’t quite believe it. His face softened, a gentleness lighting his eyes.

“Absolutely. He’s a legend,” you said, your voice warm and sincere. “I bet if he were here right now, he’d feel really grateful to have someone out there doing such a great job representing him. Makes it feel like he’s right here in the crowd with us, you know?”

Vash let out a quiet laugh, his voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah… I guess you could say that.” He seemed to search your face for a moment, as if savoring every word, a wistful look flickering through his gaze.

Feeling bold, you patted his shoulder. “Well, you definitely made my night with that costume. Seriously, thanks for bringing Vash’s spirit to life, even just for tonight.”

Before you could say more, he gently clasped his hand over yours, his gloved fingers warm against your skin. “Thank you,” he said softly, his voice filled with a surprising sincerity. “That means more than you know.”

A sudden cheer broke out from the crowd as people called out for a costume contest, and you gave him an encouraging nod. “You’ve got my vote! Go show everyone what Vash the Stampede is made of!”

His grin widened, and he gave you a little salute before blending into the crowd. You watched him go, admiring how he seemed to move with an unspoken grace and warmth, as though carrying an invisible weight. For a moment, you swore you saw a flicker of something in his eyes, a glimmer of emotion so raw that it made your chest tighten.

As the contest went on and the evening wore down, you couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of wonder, as though you’d met not just a fan dressed as Vash, but the man himself. But, you thought with a smile, that’s impossible.

Or was it? You’d never know for sure, but something about the gentle warmth in his voice would stay with you, leaving you with a strange sense of comfort long after Halloween had come and gone.

⸺ (⠀©⠀)⠀𝆬⠀ ○⠀vashyr⠀ .ㅤ ও

[kyunniebuns]

˗ˏˋ Zayne x Lemurian! Fem! Reader: Ebb Day ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ ˎˊ˗

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚𝔻𝕠𝕔𝕥𝕠𝕣 ℤ𝕒𝕪𝕟𝕖˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

・┆✦ Entry : 040 ✦ ┆・

[ Reader is Related to Rafayel because I said so<3]

╰┈➤ ❝ [ My Ocean Belongs To You ] ¡! ❞

"Zayne, do you like art galleries?" "Yes. How come you're asking?" "My big brother is hosting an art gallery<33. Wanna come with me:0?" "When is it?" "Saturday in the afternoon!" "Sure."

And that was how Zayne found himself in this situation, while you sported a pretty little frilly long dress— He was simply wearing his typical black dress shirt and trousers. Of course, he was secretly staring at you the whole time, he's always been interested in you but never had once vocalized it nor has he ever openly made it obvious or even drop hints.

Besides, he had been a little stressed from work as of late. He had to deal with a lot of troublesome patients during the weekdays and there were too many close calls on his surgeries as of late so he badly needed to take his mind off of the hospital even just for a bit.

And you are his favourite kind of cure.

Zayne followed behind you as you pranced in your steps, guiding him to the location of the art gallery. it didn't take the both of you too long to arrive to the place.

Fine and extremely detailed canvases were attached to the walls, each one unique on their own.

Zayne wasn't much of a painter, he could only sketch since he had to draw a lot of anatomical diagrams back when he was still in medical school.

"Your brother is very skilled" Zayne says as his gaze landed on the different pieces.

"Right?" You beam, hopping in your steps even more happily as you admire your cousin's works. "He's always working hard on his paintings."

He follows behind you, admiring the image of you more than he does admiring the pretty paintings around the both of you.

"Ah, there he is!" You spring into happy little skips as you made your way towards a man with deep purple hair boredly leaning on the wall and fiddling with a pen in his fingers. "Oppa!"

"Geez, pipe down, I can hear you just fine" He says in a sarcastic but gentle voice as his bluish-pink eyes similar to yours land on you. "I thought you were joking when you said you'll visit"

"Oppa will be disappointed if I didn't" You grin, making him roll his eyes.

"Who is this?" His gaze falls on Zayne, pushing himself off of the wall.

"I'm Zayne" He introduces himself.

"Zayne..." The name rolls off of the painter's tongue, pondering as he tries to remember where he has heard it before. "Ah yes, you're my sister's doctor, right? She wont stop yapping about you I almost went deaf from it. I'm Rafayel"

"Oppa!" You protest, smacking his arm.

"Hey, ow!" Rafayel fake winces, a dramatic expression on his face as he gasped. "Guppy, that is not how you treat your older brother! Isn't family supposed to love eachother?"

"As if!" You stick your tongue out at Rafayel and Zayne stood awkwardly in between this little banter.

"Pfft," He scoffs, rubbing the spot you had hit. "Still as feisty as ever like a sea urchin."

"You're as round and ridiculous as a puffer fish" You bite back.

"...." Zayne felt like he really shouldn't be here at this moment.

"Anyway, I'm gonna go off there and greet Thomas" You say in a childish, high pitched voice as you point at a direction and storm off.

Zayne shook his head, wanting to follow you but found it rude if he left your brother all alone without a proper conversation. Besides, he could see you in his peripheral vision.

"I meant it though." Rafayel starts, humming as continued playing with the pen absentmindedly. "She speaks very highly of you like a little baby dolphin learning how to jump off of water for the first time."

"...I'm glad she thinks so, but I'm only doing my job as her doctor" Zayne answers, pushing his eyeglasses back.

"Isn't that what every doctor says?" Rafayel scoffs, crossing his arms as both men overlooked you who is happily chatting with Thomas and asking about some paintings. "My little sister is a handful, isn't she?"

"Well," Zayne hums, deciding to play along with Rafayel. "She often doesn't listen to her doctor's orders and is somehow scared of staying in the hospital at night believing ghosts might swallow her."

"...Did she actually say that?" Rafayel cocks up an eyebrow.

"She did." Zayne simply confirms while watching you prance back to them and tug at Rafayel's arm.

"Oppa, oppa, I want the pretty puzzle piece music box, get it for me!" You say childishly, pulling at Rafayel's hand.

"Hey, I'm not a wallet" Rafayel groans but allows himself to be dragged over to the gift store area.

Zayne followed you both, watching as the two of you bantered on and on. He could tell that Rafayel spoiled you a lot, watching as he keep saying sarcastic remarks and marine related insults while letting you pull him around.

"You're a grown woman now and a hunter, why exactly do you need a music box puzzle?" Rafayel rolls his eyes.

"Because it helps!" You reason out, shooting a hopeful look at Zayne. "Right doctor Zayne? Right?"

"Puzzle making and achieving to finish it can certainly boost dopamine production," Zayne replies, sighing as he realizes what you are using him for. "As for sleep, well, music boxes can certainly help lull you to sleep."

"Ugh, using your doctor card on me, really?" Rafayel groans, but pays for the puzzle piece anyway. "Now shoo, there's an ice cream store at the front. Your brother is buisy doing grown-up stuff so children should behave."

"I'm not a 2 year old!" You say as you hold the now packaged puzzle piece before storming off.

"...." Zayne was about to follow behind you until he heard Rafayel's voice again.

"Do you know about Lemuria? There's a secret rumour amongst their merpeople" he says, "Every year there's a day when the tide is low, and it flows in the opposite direction. It's on that day that Lemurians are at their weakest hence why they keep it a secret. Even the weakest humans can end them if they so please."

"Then how come you know of this?" Zayne inquires.

"Well, it's a fairy tale" Rafayel dismisses his question. "She's waiting for you"

Zayne nods his head politely before going towards your direction.

Throughout the whole time on the ice cream shop, he keeps thinking of what Rafayel said. And for some reason, he can;t take it off his mind.

Despite that, he chooses to just focus on the you who is busily munching on the ice cream he had bought for you earlier.

"Slow down, it's not going anywhere" He says, picking up a napkin and wiping the cream off of your cheek.

"But it's just so yummy!" You protest.

"I know," Zayne nods his head, "But still, eat a little more slowly.

"...Okay" You pout.

Zayne shakes his head, smiling faintly as he found the whole situation a little ridiculous. He could tell Rafayel thought that he spoils you too. After all, he's putting up with your childish antiques and scolds you as if you were a small child.

Overall, this litle... Outing turned out well since he met your older brother.

⋅ ˚ ₊ ‧ ଳ ‧ ₊ ˚ ⋅ ⋆ ౨ৎ ˚ ⟡ ˖ ࣪

For the past two weeks, Rafayel's words bothered Zayne over and over. It kept repeating in his mind and it even echoes in his ears whenever he woke up. It's a miracle he didn't have any surgeries these days and managed to keep a proffesional act despite it high bothering him.

To add to that, you havent texted or called him a single time.

Sure, you're not required to talk to him all the time but today seemed particularly different as it nagged him.

Zayne pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing in frustration as he finished up the last of his reports.

He then reached for his phone and instantly dialed your number.

Thankfully enough, you picked up.

"Hello?" You voice was horrible, making Zayne immediately alarmed.

"Are you alright? your voice is a little rough" He inquires, taking his doctor's coat off. and grabbing his keys.

"No... Fever"

"A fever?" He sighs, storming out the hallways and into the parking lot. "You're home, aren't you? Have you taken your temperature and drank medicine?"

"Cant..." You breathe heavily. "Too weak."

"Stay in bed." Zayne said as he hopped into his car and brought life to the engine. "I'll come."

He then dropped the phone call as he drived out of the hospital and towards your apartment.

Zayne knew deep inside it was probably just as a normal fever, but there's a surge of panic in him as he hurried over. The moment Zayne parked, he hurriedly went upstairs. He was irrational with the way his mind is overthinking things.

Surely it's just a fever.

A fever.

Zayne opened the door to your apartment and quietly locked it behind him then going to your bedroom where he found you curled up in your bed.

"I'm here" Zayne says with a gentle voice, his tone a little lower than usual as he gently pries off the blanket off of your face and placed a palm on your forehead.

"Ngh... Zayne" You whine a little.

"Ssh," He said, removing his palm and reaching for the bedside drawer and pulled out the thermometer.

Zayne took your temperature and cocked up an eyebrow at the results.

You're burning up and yet you have a normal temperature. He aimed it at himself and gave back a good result too, meaning it's not broken or playing tricks.

"???" Zayne looks at you, wanting an explanation.

"Water... Please." You whisper.

He rescinds in demanding an explanation, your voice isn't fake and neither is that glazed over look on your face.

"Stay here, don't pull the blanket over your head" Zayne said, getting up from his seat.

He was running a number of possible explanations on why you're feeling the way you do. Maybe it's stress induced, or something. Perhaps a better option now is not to ponder but take you to the hospital because it might be a dangerous situation.

He walks back into the bedroom and sat paused,

"...." Zayne places the glass down, crouching down towards you and observes the glittering blue things on your face.

'That wasn't there earlier' He thought, his forehead knitting as he reached to brush a finger on your cheek where the crystal like things glimmered.

The touch caused you to whimper a little and he pulled his hand back immediately.

"Every year there's a day when the tide is low, and it flows in the opposite direction. It's on that day that Lemurians are at their weakest hence why they keep it a secret. Even the weakest humans can end them if they so please."

Rafayel's words repeat in his mind.

"Zayne..." You mumble, curling over to him before trying to get up.

"Your face,..." He inquires, helping you sit up while another hand reached to place pillows against the headboard and laying you against it. "Lemuria?"

He hesitated at the question, watching your expression droop.

"...Sorry." You apologize.

"There's nothing to be sorry for" He said, reaching up to fix the blanket on your lap. "Are you feeling like this because of ebb day? The tides being low and the water flowing backwards?"

"..." You look up at him, alarmed. "How? Who? Y-you're not supposed to know those."

'Ah..' Zayne mentally curses at himself for being too brash on his approach.

"Your brother, Rafayel, he told me" He said, and felt relieved as you calm down.

"...That's funny" You mumbles. "He told me to never tell anyone and yet he told you. Big brother trusted you with a secret depsite just meeting."

Zayne didn't answer, wondering too why the painter would do that but froze as he felt you nuzzle his shoulder.

"..."

"You're not mad... Or weirded out?" You ask.

Zayne shakes his head, reaching up and gently stroked your head. "Why would I? Just because you're not... Human?"

"Yes?"

"I'm not" He shakes his head, gently pulling you over to his lap so he can hold you more properly and you can rest more comfortably on his shoulder. "There's no reason to. It just makes me a little concerned that maybe my treatment plans on you dont work or worst, it could be detrimental to you."

"We're the same as humans" you explains. "Just... Different in a lot of waya. I get hungry and get sick like humans. So it's fine."

"I see." He hums, stroking your head.

He almost wanted to nuzzle his nose on your head but stopped himself.

"You won't hurt me, right?" You ask, fidgeting. "Brother said that humans would abuse a creature's weakness once they find out."

"Never" He said, pausing in his ministrations on your strands. "I would never hurt the person I like. If anything, I wish to protect you"

He brings your hand up to his lips, and kisses the inside of your palm.

"I would never, ever hurt you." He shakes his head, those intense amber-green eyes. "Not now, not in the future, never in my lifetime nor in the next ones. No matter who or what you are, I will never hurt you"

꒰ A/N: I'm just so weak against Zayne pls sniffsniff. I love him sm I just want to hold this silly man. I wanna cuddle this precious man qwq!!! My precious Zayne TT. This man is fr one of my biggest comfort character. I can't wait for his birthday event in september. Also I'm srry if u cringe at the feesh insults its my kind of humor xDD!! ꒱

ʚ(੭´͈ ᐜ `͈)੭ .｡✧･ﾟ: ~♡ —! stories written by kyunnie; translations, reposts, plagiarism are strictly forbidden.

[hotvintagepoll]

Edna May Oliver (Alice in Wonderland; Murder on a Honeymoon)— we're so back it's her time to shine shes scrungly to me for her snark and unique face. i called her the womens equivalent of the weird little guy when i submitted her for the main tournament and i was so right to say that. she used it to her advantage in her comedic performances, though her comments on her looks often came across as self defacing, commenting for example that despite her musical talents she never pursued theatre or opera primarily because "[with a horse face like mine] what else can i do but play comedy" well i just think shes swell is the thing! her performances as hildegarde withers give scrungle to me not due to appearance or weirdguy swag or the standard scrungly vibes i think most people judge characters by, but from the characters delicate balancing act between "NOT made for an investigative career" and "extremely fucking good at noticing details and therefore being SUITED for investigation"  

Max Schreck (Nosferatu)—He played Count friggin' Orlok in Nosferatu (the 1922 unlicensed adaptation of Dracula)! One of the most iconically scrungly performances in cinema history, with his ratlike face, claw-like hands, and jerky, stilted body language, Schreck was so convincing that people speculated he really was a vampire, a theory that was later adapted into 2000's Shadow of the Vampire feat. modern scrungly actor Willem Dafoe as vampire!Schreck. Schreck was scrungly in other movies, too, e.g. as The Sinister Conspirator in The Finances of the Grand Duke, but Orlok is by far his most significant, well-known and easily-viewable performance, and it's such a landmark that that alone should be enough to place him as one of the top-ranked scrungly actors of all time.

This is round 2 of the contest. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. If you're confused on what a scrungle is, or any of the rules of the contest, click here.

[additional submitted propaganda + scrungly videos under the cut]

Edna May Oliver:

This woman's energy in literally all of her films is INSANE. Yeah she loves fiercely but boy is she also ready to kill. In A Tale of Two Cities (1935) she literally fights a woman to the death. She also played a female sleuth in the 1930s which I think is pretty fucking neat :)

EDNA MY LOVE. a character actress extraordinaire and iconic female weird little guy (actually she was tall and spindly but weird little guy is a state of mind yn). she was frequently found in 30s and 40s movies playing a spinter aunt or something of that ilk, who was not about to take anybody's nonsense and had cutting retorts to spare. she also starred in a series of murder mysteries in which she is a DELIGHT as schoolteacher turned amateur detective hildegard withers, who waltzes in does the cops' jobs better than them and wears some really great hats. she pops up a lot in adaptations of classic literature, playing lady catherine de bourgh in pride and prejudice, the nurse in romeo and juliet, the red queen in the 1933 alice in wonderland which has an insane cast loaded with vintage scrunglers, aunt trotwood in david copperfield and others, but she was equally at home in modern comedies. whoever she was playing you know she probably had some hard truths and/or sharp witticisms to drop on everybody around her with her distinctive vocal delivery, or just volumes to speak with her terrifically expressive face.

Max Schreck:

Most scrungly onscreen vampire has gotta be Count Orlock, (and the second is Willem Dafoe playing Max Shreck playing Count Orlock, so technically he takes up both the top spots)

Bizarre, fun, can’t look away - Literally blinks once

[edenalieth]

i want to believe in forever

Pairing: Seungmin x reader

Genre: angst, hint of fluff

Warnings: none

Summary: Seungmin wants to move on from his heartbreak, however the colorful memories of you are holding him back. 

Words: 1.3K 

A.N: hello guys, cami in the building! it’s my first time writing a seungmin fic (@seungseung-minmin forgive me for not making a cuter one ;v;) it was mostly inspired by the song « the exit » by conan gray which i found really beautiful and true. sorry for the possible mistakes. hope you enjoy, feedbacks are always welcome! ♡ — 231217

He took another sip of the black coffee he was holding on his hand and grimaced. It was already half cold and far too bitter for his liking. For how long did he stare at those high limestone walls ? Apparently long enough for his coffee to turn bad. Spotting the closest bin, he threw the drink away, watching it fall as the lid opened spreading the brown liquid. The winter breeze made him shiver and he buried his hands deeper into the pockets of his coat, trying to warm them up. 

« You can do this, Kim Seungmin », the brown haired boy thought to himself. 

He climbed the stairs silently until he reached the ticket office. A young girl was reading. She was probably just starting her university course and needed this job to gain some money seeing her bored expression. She barely looked at Seungmin before nonchalantly putting down her book with a barely hidden sigh. 

« What can I do for you ? » she asked, visibly annoyed to be interrupted. 

Seungmin cleared his throat « Hmm, one adult ticket please. » 

He was tapping on the small counter with his fingertips, nervous. He was about to tell her that he had changed his mind and turn around but he had promised himself he would do this. It was necessary. Even if it hurt. He knew, he needed to detach his mind and feelings from this place and many others. 

« What is this book about ? » he said, trying some small talk while she was preparing the ticket. She put one out of the drawer of her desk and handed it to him, announcing the price. « Just a regular thriller. » Nothing more, nothing less. He paid and left without further ado. He was sure that, if you had been there, you would have managed to pick that girl’s interest, even just a little. That’s how you were, solar, attracting people around you like a magnet. However, you hadn’t been by his side for months now, he had to move on. 

When he entered the familiar hall, he was greeted by the unique scent of museum and all its splendor. Soon, he was surrounded by history and felt so little and insignifiant, as well as mesmerized by the beauty of those masterpieces he had seen so many times with you. When you used to call yourselves « us », you had made a ritual to visit this place once a month. The museum was big enough for you to always discover small details you hadn’t seen before or to explore the temporary exhibition. Since your breakup, he avoided this place like the plague. Yet here he was, feeling his heart clenching as he looked at the paintings. One of your favorite hobby was to tell him stories when you analyzed a canvas. Your imagination was overflowing and never missed to make him laugh, which sometimes made you incur the wrath of the visitors and security. No one was here to make him laugh today and loneliness weighed heavily on his shoulders. He didn’t have this talent. He would just skim through the description next to it. Colors seemed dull compared to the vivid memories of you, scarring his heart mercilessly. He felt his throat getting tight. He had chosen the museum to start his healing journey because he knew he wouldn’t be able to cry without being heard. He had shed tears more than he would even admit. Was it truly helping though ? Or what is it just him blowing on the embers of your lost love. 

He sat down on the leathered bench, facing your favorite art. It was a pretty simple one, a cottage on the countryside, using impressionism technique. The first time you saw it, you went strangely quiet. You were like absorbed by it. He remembered how you leaned on his shoulder, intertwining your fingers with his. « I can picture us living there. » you had softly whispered. « It would be the embodiment of our love, our safe place. Growing old together, laughs of our kids and grand-kids filling the rooms. Am I allowed to dream about this ? » your voice had seemed insecure, seeing you vulnerable like that was rare. « Yes and it will be our dream from now on. » he had replied, brushing his nose against yours before tenderly kissing you. Warmth had filled his body, his heart melting like ice under a scorching sun, your touch permanently marking his skin. A dream. Was it all it had been ? Just something made up by his cruel mind ? No. He still could remember the sensation of your skin on his, the scent of your shampoo, the little habits you had, the sound of your giggle. 

Recalling these memories was like torture. The grip he had on the bench became stronger, his knuckles turning white. If only he had noticed how left out you felt sometimes. Maybe, you would be next to him, still daydreaming about your perfect house. Or, perhaps, you just weren’t meant to build one together. This thought turned his vision into blurry shapes. « Shit ». He didn’t want to cry in public. He stood up hastily and looked for the exit. Wandering between the corridors, his steps echoing on the cold ground, the artworks seemed like moving stains. It was as if the walls were tightening around him and he was tempted to rush out of here to get some air. However, his run was abruptly stopped when the object of his obvious desire showed up. You. 

You were there. Your arm around the waist of someone who wasn’t him. His mind went blank for a second. It couldn’t be, right ? He swallowed the sobs that were trying to escape his throat, his hands shaking. He thought you were both sharing the same wounds, that you were still mourning your old feelings. His were surely not buried yet. Still, there was no mistaken. You looked happier now and you had already found someone to miss. He wanted to let himself drown into the abyss of his sorrow. He almost called out your name, every single letter which used to roll on his tongue like honey, addictive like a drug, tasted sour. He had to leash his heart not to break down and try to get you back again. He had tried but you already had built up a wall to protect your opened wounds. His were still raw. 

Were you going to tell this man the same stories you had told him ? Did your « I » became a « we » when you met him ? In fact, he didn’t want to know. He wanted to forget you for a time, to get strong enough to be able to talk about you as a young love that bloomed too fast and wilted in the process. He couldn’t blame you for getting everything you wanted. 

He stared at you, as your eyes spoke for you, full of some love that used to be his. Each step you took leading you towards your ideal. Deep down your heart, feels for Seungmin were still waiting to be set on fire again. However, the ones you had for your new lover were stronger and you wanted to cherish them. It was a painful sight for Seungmin and he wished someone would rip his heart for it to get numb. He had to let you go. He was still standing at the exit before he opened the glass door. 

Immediately, the cold bit his flesh, tears rolling down his cheeks and burning his skin. 

« I want to believe in forever » he thought, you just weren’t meant to be his. 

[itsuki-minamy]

"K – LETTER STORY"

BLUE: "FUSHIMI AND THE REPORT"

Translation: Naru-kun Raws: Ridia

Saruhiko Fushimi sometimes referred to himself, somewhat self-deprecatingly, as a middle manager.

He regards Reisi Munakata and Seri Awashima as his superiors, coordinates the special forces members on the scene, and sometimes acts as a supporter of both parties.

Both Munakata and Awashima had some quirks, but they were basically competent and understanding superiors, and the members of "Scepter 4" diligently and faithfully followed young Fushimi's orders.

It is inevitable that he will work in that position.

Fushimi knew each member of "Scepter 4" well, including their characteristics, temperament, and current health status, to the point of being able to laugh bitterly.

During the "Homura" era and before, he did not like to be in groups, but now, although he still clicks his tongue and has an apathetic demeanor, he has become an excellent facilitator.

From Fushimi's perspective, human resource management was similar to a card game. Choosing which people to assign which jobs is very similar to choosing which cards to play in a card game.

Fushimi was able to keep track of each employee's employment status using a highly confidential application that he had developed independently and which was now officially adopted throughout "Scepter 4" with Munakata's approval.

Of course, the application can be opened on PDA, etc., but Fushimi, who wanted to check multiple windows, often checked various documents on his PC when he returned to his base.

He also today ably read the reports presented by each member of the special working group.

A certain person has posted information about Strain sightings during the search, along with an accompanying photo. The person who came to court to obtain an order had submitted a report on the current situation.

Although they all differ in degree, their points are clear and their sentences easy to read.

Basically, although he rarely said it, Fushimi highly valued each member of "Scepter 4". He did not mention Akiyama, Benzai and Kamo, but Enomoto, Fuse, Goto and Hidaka were considered to have enough strength as they had unique skills and perspectives, and were patient and dedicated to their work.

In the game, there is only one person, Andy Domyoji, besides Joker or Wild Card. That day he also received a call from Domyoji.

[There's a weird guy, so I'm going to chase him.]

Fushimi let out a groan.

When he looked at the time, it was midnight. That was about half a day ago. For some reason, the message had been uploaded to the expense request folder, so it took Fushimi a while to review it.

Since then, a series of short messages have continued.

[It's really dangerous, so I'm going on a business trip to the north.]

He had no idea what he was talking about.

Fushimi made a tsukkomi that is uncharacteristic of him.

"Public servants should not act on his intuition!"

He slammed his fist on the desk.

"At least write down where you're going! No, first of all, don't go on a business trip without asking your boss for permission! That's too free! Also, don't use emojis in report emails!"

Domyoji always put a bright spot at the end of his sentences. He tried to contact him, but was dissuaded by the following text message:

[Oh, no. If I ever meet the culprit, I'm afraid I'll break my tongue. I will send you a separate report.]

At that moment, Awashima appeared, patted Fushimi on the shoulder as if to show her respect, and placed a postcard on the table in front of him.

"It just arrived via express delivery."

After saying that, she left.

It shows a man tied with a rope in the snow and Andy Domyoji next to him with a dazzling smile on his face and making a peace sign.

On the back of the postcard, the details of what happened are spelled out in small print.

Fushimi couldn't contain himself and screamed.

"Don't send me a postcard with the report about the arrest of the criminal!"

By the way, the captured man was Strain, who had committed a serious crime that "Scepter 4" had been chasing for the past six months. That's why Andy Domyoji is a wild card.

[mementoboni]

[part 1/4] DIR EN GREY WOWOW Interview & Document (2020)

“Of course, I have to face the other four members. I'm carrying their lives and my life is being carried by them as well. I did it with that determination.” — Kaoru

Notes before reading:

The whole interview is divided into 8 topics, and the translation is divided into 4 parts. This is the first part, which includes the previous 2 topics. The details of all topics and time markers are 👉 here.

I have added Chinese subtitles for this video in 2021. The whole interview was very meaningful, and I hope that with the English translation, more people can understand what they're talking about.

The five members were interviewed separately and then edited into a video, so the words spoken by each of them are not necessarily coherent.

Repost and share are welcome.🙌 I translated it all by my ears, so please feel free to correct me if you spot any mistake or any confusing parts.☺️

--- --- ---

01. Band Formation ~ Debut

►The Formation of DIR EN GREY

Shinya: All four of us were in the same band except for Toshiya on bass. Then the band broke up and we had to find a new member again. Kyo: Each of us all wanted to be in a band. So after discussion, we decided to get rid of one person and get the four of us together. (*Note: After La:Sadie's disbanded, the four of them decided to form a new band in addition to KISAKI.) Die: We were friends with Toshiya at that time, so we thought about finding all the members and forming a band with him. Toshiya: At that time, their band was gaining momentum. I would like to play with the four of them if it's possible and I happened to be invited. That's what happened.

►Origin of the Band Name

Kaoru: At that time, there was a band that communicated with us very closely. The band had a song called DIR EN GREY*, and that's where our band got its name. I always thought it was a good name, so I suggested it as the name of our band. (*Note: It refers to a song called "Dir en Gray" by the band "LAREINE" (with Kamijo as vocalist), which was formed in 1994.) Kyo: There were two alternative names at that time, the other one was proposed by me, but the final vote was 3:2 so I lost. (laughs)  After I lost, the band name became DIR EN GREY. (*Note: Another name is "如月" (きさらぎ, kisaragi ) → Dir en grey turns 25 today! )

►Looking Back at the time of Debut

Shinya: The three debut singles were produced by YOSHIKI-san. He also played the piano for our song after debut, I had no regrets at that time even if I died, that's how I felt. Kaoru: At that time, we had only recorded once or twice in a decent studio, and we had also recorded in places like homes.  YOSHIKI-san took us straight to a professional recording studio and said, "Let's make the debut single!" without giving us time to think.

. . .

02. Expression

►Awareness in the Creative Process

Die: After all, the band has been around for more than 20 years, therefore, we have to create something more exciting. It's not that I have to do anything, but I try to experiment with all kinds of things. So there are times when we can't be categorized as anything but DIR EN GREY. Shinya: While it is changing over time, now I just want to make songs that I feel good about. Toshiya: Every recording has to add the sound that you think is good, and you must like the songs you create, or you must love them. Kaoru: The overall sense of balance and the feeling that the listener will have, and of course there are many other things.  I would listen to the song several times to feel it, and repeat it over and over again. I can remember it by listening to it over and over again. After listening to it a few times, I will pay attention to interesting pieces, new discoveries, and so on, while I'm composing. Kyo: Most people have a fixed style after 20 years, like "This is the way this person is," but I'm not like that. Of course it's cool to stick to your own unique style, although I can do that and feel like I can keep myself. Kyo: I don't like to make people think that "This is how I am in the end" or something like that, it's not my style. I want to show the changes in each moment directly. When I can't express the music naturally, I may stop, and when I can't create freely, I will stop.

►Things want to Convey through Music

Toshiya: What I/we want to convey is simply "pain (痛み)". Living is a hard thing, and being able to create that power of anger, I think that's our music. Kyo: I am very bad at expressing beautiful things, or is that not for me?  It's... it's irritating.  Maybe it's because I often feel that there is nothing good in the world, and I don't like things that look like fabrications. Shinya: Those are supposed to be in the lyrics, and I don't particularly want to express the pain with the drums. 🤣🤣 Kaoru: I think that varies from person to person, and there is no right answer. For me, I also have a part of myself that I want to convey, so maybe I'm thinking about that while I'm creating.  If I were to say that we all share the same idea, it would be that we can express what we think without hiding it. Die: Being able to feel pain means you are alive, and hope is born from that. The first thing I/we want to convey is "to be alive". (*Screen caption: Feeling pain = Being alive)

►The Motivation for Expression

Kyo: If there is something that I want to convey which will be the motivation, I am not.  I'm just living. Toshiya: It should be the anger and sadness in life, just the two.  If I can express both, I feel I can be saved. Shinya: There will be people who come to see the LIVE, and those fans are my motivation. Kaoru: I think it's because I don't want to admit defeat. I don't want to admit defeat, it should be more like I don't like to admit defeat. I am a weak person, I will want to run away when things happen, and will want to give up when I can't do it. But on this point I still do not want to give in to defeat, I want to do it well. Kaoru: Of course, I have to face the other four members. I'm carrying their lives and my life is being carried by them as well. I did it with that determination. (*Oh, leader sama😳) Die: I think it's LIVE. LIVE is the most direct place to convey ideas and resonate with people. I am moving forward with LIVE as my goal.

(To be continued...)

--- --- ---

part 2. & part 3. & part4.

topics & time marks

中文翻譯 (My Blogger) part 1. & part 2. & part 3.

[natasha-in-space]

how would the RFA + minor trio react to a punk MC?

Yoosung

Will be impressed. Yoosung is among those who won't be that surprised to learn about your love for all that is punk. He's the youngest in the group and attends university: he's definitely no stranger to alternative fashion. It is quite different from how he presents himself since he tends to stick to a more casual, soft style of clothing, partially influenced by his parents, who would often remind him of just how important it is to maintain a 'respectable' image of yourself. His parents are pretty traditional in that sense. But, he holds no ill feelings towards those who choose to express themselves differently. He actually finds it kind of admirable! He thinks it is so cool how you found your own unique sense of style and stick to it, regardless of what people think. You inspire him to try out different styles for himself every once in a while. Will go out of his way to buy you some new accessories, or a certain CD you rambled to him about the day before. It'll take him some time to figure out what actually fits your aesthetic, but once he does, prepare to be spoiled rotten.

Zen

Will be surprised. Not so much because of your punk look itself, but because it is so different from the way he pictured you in his own head. Even if you told him about your punk tastes before you first met him face to face, his eyes will still widen and his mouth will fall open a little bit once he sees you. Zen is a huge romantic, so he is a bit guilty of projecting a certain image onto you at times. He wants to be your perfect knight in shining armor, and he wants you to be his prince or princess. It's not a bad thing, though: in fact, Zen will be quick to form a huge soft spot for your edgy look. He can and will dress up to match you. It's not at all a surprise that he can rock a punk look like it's his second nature, and it is also a very fun way for him to recontextualize his teenage years in a more healthy and positive environment. If you're someone who doesn't mind being in the public eye, you two will definitely have a few fancy photoshoots, with his motorcycle in tow. With Zen at your hip, you'll hardly get any weird looks.

Jaehee

Will be puzzled. In her case, it heavily depends on when she'll first learn about you being punk. Telling her about this early on will cause her to be a bit taken aback by it. Jaehee is someone who grew up without many opportunities to express herself, and she struggles with inner shame whenever she does try to do something that is not considered traditionally 'acceptable' in her social circle. The way she presents herself visually is hardly the way she actually feels on the inside. It's partially why she admires Zen as much as she does. He is not afraid to be himself, and she lives vicariously through him. So, she'll be a bit awkward around you at first, as she doesn't want to come off as disrespectful, but, at the same time, it's hard for her to understand why you would choose to present yourself in such a bold way. If you tell her somewhere in between the events of her route, though? She'll be very curious. Jaehee's way of showing her affection for you is by engaging in the things you love, so she'll be very interested in learning all about your choice in how you present yourself to the world, and what it means to you. She's also the type to be very mindful of the tiniest of details, so be prepared to be asked about or complimented whenever you see her with a new accessory or a small change in makeup. Out of everything, I think she will appreciate punk cinema the most. You two will arrange cozy movie dates, during which you will watch your favorite films.

Jumin

Will be intrigued. It might seem like Jumin would be a bit put off by your passion for punk culture, but that's not the case at all! He finds it so interesting and compelling how differently people can present themselves to the world and what communities can arise from it. Furthermore, he's not one to make any judgments upon a person on their looks alone. He'll be looking at you as a person, your clothes and your tastes come way after that. So, he honestly wouldn't react much initially. But, he will be curious, so be prepared for many questions on his part. Some of them are thought-provoking while others are a bit silly. Jumin is someone who loves to learn, and he sees no shame in being open about his own lack of knowledge on the matter. It's rather sweet. You will never feel judged next to him, and he will find it rather foolish how other people can judge you based on your looks alone. If you're someone who's not only into punk aesthetic but punk music as well - congratulations, you have created a monster. I don't know why, but I always thought Jumin would appreciate punk music on a deeper level than others in the RFA. So, Driver Kim will have to get used to him now playing a carefully curated punk playlist whenever Mr. Han needs to get somewhere.

Saeyoung

Will be giddy. It's clear that Saeyoung is well-versed in different subcultures, both for his job and his own interests. His love for expressing himself through clothes, makeup, and accessories makes him very open to experimentation and trying out new looks every once in a while. The possibility of him actually having a few punk-themed outfits in his extensive and clattered wardrobe is not that low. Of course, he'll know about you being punk from his initial research on you, but he won't bring it up until you do so yourself. There won't be much time to discuss this during your stay in the apartment, but once he opens up to you, be ready to get doted on. Saeyoung will gush about your sense of style extensively, and he will ask you for tips concerning his own looks. You two will definitely match from time to time, and he will ask to style you every so often. He just thinks it's so admirable how you found your way of expressing yourself that makes you feel validated. It makes him smile to see you strut your punk outfits. Will do your makeup for you as well! Oh, and how can I not mention punk music and media? Saeyoung will become a huge nerd on those, if he's not one already. You'll never feel bored or invalidated with him.

Jihyun

Will be fascinated. Jihyun is an artist at heart. He adores meeting all kinds of difficult people and finding inspiration in all the contrasting life experiences each individual person holds. If you think about it, you expressing yourself through your clothing and/or taste in media is similar to painting over a canvas. He finds it beautiful to think about. Much like Jumin, he is someone who loves to learn, but his questions can be... a bit strange at times. It's easy for him to get all philosophical and sentimental, so you may be a bit taken aback or overwhelmed by some of his questions at first. It's all in good faith, though. I can't see him getting into punk culture himself, except for the music, but he is certainly a very supportive partner. He will try to engage in your interests in his own 'Jihyun' way, and it may be a bit silly at times, but he's just too much of a sweetheart for you to pay any mind to that. What he is definitely not lacking in is compliments. Oh, boy, does he have a natural talent for turning you into a blushing mess with just a few words. Being an artistic soul certainly pays off when you need to woo your partner with a poetic remark about their new edgy boots.

Ray

Will be enamored. Ray has spent months researching all about you, so he will already know everything of your love for punk culture. He wants to make sure you feel at home in Magenta, so he needs to make sure you'll have everything you need. Is it creepy to see a closet filled with clothing that is suspiciously similar to the one you dress in, and that you probably won't find in your average wardrobe? Yeah, very much so. Not to mention your room, which looks very different from the one we see in the game. Ray worked very hard to make it all perfect for you and your tastes! Whatever you need, he is ready to provide. It can be a bit smothering and overwhelming, and it all will depend on the way you go about confronting him, if you choose to do so. As for the punk aesthetic itself, he won't comment on it much, except for sheepishly complimenting you every time he sees you. You look lovely to him no matter what, and he truly thinks it is so admirable how you have the freedom to express yourself in your own way. He may shyly ask you to let him borrow a jacket or an accessory. Both because it will remind him of you when he's away, and because you encourage him to seek out this freedom of expression through your clothes on his own. He did say that he would dress way more darkly if he was allowed to choose his own clothes. Who knows? Maybe, you will convert him into trying out punk fashion for himself!

Suit Saeran

Will be intimidated. Okay, here's the thing. Suit Saeran dresses the way he does to look powerful and intimidating. He wants to feel superior to you and to all the other believers. If he doesn't feel strong and invincible on the inside, he can at least make it seem like he does feel that way. He will inadvertently project that same mindset onto you, just like he does with everything else. He will think that you are challenging him, or trying to intimidate him. So, he will do all he can to prove you wrong, even if it's all in his head. Unfortunately, he will say quite a few nasty things about your interests, just to get under your skin. It's not justifiable by any means, and he will feel deep shame for his misguided and harmful actions in the long run. Because, truth is, you were nothing but patient and kind to him. You didn't let him bring you down, but you never expressed any hostility towards him either. During his apology, he will mention all of that. He will also quietly compliment you on your aesthetic, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. It won't take away his wrongdoings, but it's a step in the right direction.

GE Saeran

Will be smitten. Much like Ray, he already knows all about your love for punk culture, and he wants to learn everything about it. It's one thing to do research from behind the screen, and completely another to hear you out face to face, seeing your eyes light up and your lips curl up into a smile. And, golly, how he will listen. Saeran is a true listener: he loves to hear you speak, whatever it may be. And, he remembers a whole lot of small details even if you sometimes forget. Saeran wants to try out so many different things now that he's free to do so, as he gets such joy just from the notion of having the freedom to do so. Which is why he is eager to engage with your passions. He doesn't know whether it'll be his thing or not in the long run, but it is so valuable to just try. Fashion, music, film, art - he wants to try it all with you. Of course, he is also very supportive of you as well. Saeran understands the value of having the freedom to express yourself fully more than anyone. His heart swells with love and pride whenever he sees you engaging in something you find comfort in.

Unknown

Will be indifferent. He doesn't care much about how you dress or what you do, as long as you don't slack off on him and don't get on his nerves too much. Unfortunately, you'll have to come to terms with wearing either his clothes or whatever spares some other believers have on them for a couple of weeks. You didn't really have a chance to pack before coming here, and, even then, only those of the higher ranks are allowed to spruce up their clothing choices in Mint Eye. You'll probably get a chance to start up a conversation about your involvement in punk subculture after a few weeks pass, and you two start to get to know one another on a deeper level than just boss/assistant. Believe it or not, he will be a tad bit interested in what you have to say, even if he doesn't show it very vividly, except for an occasional glance in your direction and a low hum rumbling in his throat as he continues his relentless typing. Unknown is someone who is very isolated, so he has no clue about what a subculture even is. Still, if we ignore the oppressive cult environment you two have to survive in for a brief moment, he is definitely someone who would vibe with a punk aesthetic. I can see him enjoying pretty much all about it: the fashion, the music, the art, even some of its ideology. It's a feeling of validation and self-expression he is very new to.

SE Saeran

Will be a little curious. Speaking of which, while you won't have much of a chance to fully include Unknown in the punk culture, the same can't be said for SE Saeran. He's a very cautious and skittish person, but if he trusts you, I can see him bringing up a few timid questions about your clothing choices or music on one day. It's all very new to him, so it's a testament to his trust in you if he's willing to come to you for answers. He's still figuring himself out... and, he's not sure if he'll ever feel fully at peace with who he is as a person, but there are some things he still wants to try. His interest is also rooted in his affection towards you: he wants to learn what you enjoy, and what you love, and he wants to engage in it, however clumsy. It's rather touching. But, I can easily see him genuinely getting into the punk subculture: clothes, music, and all the rest. Being able to express himself is something very new to him, but God, does it feel fulfilling when he puts on an outfit he likes to see on himself. It means a lot to him. You two will probably go out in matching outfits more often than not!

Rika

Will be neutral. Rika is someone who is very accepting of all kinds of lifestyles, as long as it's not harmful. She won't bat an eye at your edgy look, greeting you with the same warm smile she shows everyone else. That doesn't mean she won't address it at all, though. She loves interacting with people, and she loves learning about their passions. So, she will ask you a few questions, complimenting your outfit in the middle of her talk. She does recognize that putting together a cohesive outfit is something that is not as easy as it may look. I do think she is a little bit knowledgeable in the punk subculture, but only the basics of it. She interacted with all kinds of people, so it wouldn't be surprising. Still, she's always open to broadening her knowledge, and she is a very good listener. Out of everything, I think she will appreciate the punk ideology the most. There are several core ideas in the punk subculture that will resonate with her on a personal level. Overall, she will treat you with nothing but respect and curiosity, giggling a little bit at your new outfit and being quick to charm you with a smooth compliment. Will also offer to do your makeup for you!

Vanderwood

Will be nonchalant. Listen, as long as you're a decent person in their eyes, they don't care about your clothing or media consumption. I feel like in the case of Vanderwood, you'll have to be the one to start up the conversation on your involvement in the punk culture, as, otherwise, they won't really say anything about your overall aesthetic. It's more about actions rather than words with them. They will memorize what kind of accessories you tend to combine with a certain outfit: bringing them over to you in case you forget them at home, they will play a band you've gushed to them about while taking you out on a date, and they will watch any movie you recommend. They do genuinely care, and they make sure to show it to you with their actions. I do think they will appreciate punk cinema. You might get them interested in seeing more.

[opal-kitty333]

Okay, drawing is hard and I'm horrible at drawing full body references. The face is the most important part and I've decided y'all can imagine his feet on your own. Anyway...

I was going to do biblically accurate Sans for How to Make an Artificial Companion, but have changed my mind. Rough sketch is rough, but you get the idea. Ramblings about it under cut

So, Undertale as a game (or monsters in general) don't exist in universe. They're all AI designed by humans or in a few rare instances (*cough*Mettaton*cough*) other AI. While they should all be recognizable as who they are by a real world viewer, there are some notable differences on their designs because they weren't originally pixel art but instead 3d models and there are some signature details depending on who made them, when, why, and where they pulled references from. Sans (and Papyrus later) are made by a character who 3d prints chibi models and sells them online. Reader asks them to make a skeleton, something realisticish because reader is going to be staring whatever they make in the face and something that's one third a head would be weird, but not too realistic because talking to a Skyrim skeleton would also not be ideal. The artist is going WAY out of their comfort zone so the model is a little odd but loved dearly by everyone. This is why he's especially cartoon-y, and his anatomy is simplified, and has massive eyes compared to og Sans. I don't know if anyone else has looked up skeleton characters, but Sans also has a really fucking unique face shape. He is not made for being 3d with an opening mouth in mind, so while I was tempted to keep the shape, I ultimately changed it. He still has a massive smile, thick blocky teeth, and a roundish skull (especially compared to Papyrus) so hopefully he still reads as Sans-like. This is an au, so I feel altering everyone's appearance is acceptable anyway.

Lil details. His sternum is purposefully shaped to look like a tie because sternums are kinda shaped like that and I think it's silly. He's very much made to look cute and avoid uncanny valley while still being a personable and expressive. He is able to control his eyelight size or make them disappear, and later do specific expressions kinda like a V-tuber (so you get comical heart eyes or sweat drops kinda thing, but he doesn't use those unless it's for a gag and even then it's rare). The reader also makes him shorter than them. He starts the same height when he's a slim target mannequins, but once they're messing with his form they make the top of his head reach about heart level so he isn't as spooky. He starts off naked since they don't have monster costumes and his body is not considered sexual in the slightest, but eventually they do a dress up thing with him and this is when he picks up his signature outfit (after submitting many bug reports because wow this form is sand in the gears for everything this headset was made for). He actually prefers to stay dressed after this because he can make himself look chubbier which he thinks make him more friendly and approachable. He likes the form he was finally given, but the focus on the iterations before the final and just what he looks like in general gives him some self image issues and a fixation on keeping up appearances. Of course, with this fixation, he keeps it pretty down low which makes it hard to spot so you wouldn't really guess.

[starrymothastrology]

Hey i just noticed you are doing a lilith series and i dont know much about it. So I thought of asking you, my lilith's in cancer in both 11H and 12H. Lilith sextile north node and trine south node,Lilith conjunct lilith, Lilith sextile mc and Lilith sq fortune, lilith square jupiter also lilith trine uranus. Honestly, I don't even know the meaning of these in aspect to lilith and its so confusing. I would appreciate it if you tell me what you think about it🐳

Hello!

I can try to help you decipher the meanings of your Lilith aspects and such through going one by one.

First, though, I should mention that I'm a bit stumped about the houses you've mentioned. Is your Lilith on a cusp? Lilith should have its own house in your natal chart. For example, as shown in my Cafe Astrology Natal Report, my Sagittarius Lilith is in 6H, despite my 6H in the Placidus listing Scorpio as my 6H.

To start, a few of the aspects you mentioned are ones that don't necessarily affect your expression in life (aspects with the south node, fortune and the conjunct with natal Lilith). These are usually transit aspects (only affect individuals at a particular time), but may also affect synastry (astrological compatibility with partners).

North Node is a bit different, however, because the North node shows your life lessons and where you wish to strive (as opposed to South Node's indication of your comfort/habitual spot). Having your North Node sextile to Lilith indicates that your sense of destiny is easily expressed as long as you stay authentic and follow your inner self and instincts. You have a sense of fulfillment when you achieve freedom, independence and allow your sexual energy to be expressed.

Things get a little more straightforward from here, though.

Lilith Sextile Midheaven: You have an innate ability to tap into your authentic self-expression and shine in public with an unconventional approach, natural charisma and magnetic presence. This aspect encourages you to break free from societal norms and take the path less traveled, as well as embrace your uniqueness in casual and professional settings alike.

Lilith Square Jupiter: This placement reveals hidden potentials and urges you to uncover and harness them to become the best, most authentic version of yourself. Think of it as celestial intervention to aid you in elevating you to your highest being. The energy it will being will compel you to take risks, rise up against your circumstances and help you reach your truest self. You may get overwhelmed by intense optimism or pessimism in the face of life decisions, but in the end, by trusting your inner guidance, you can navigate challenges (and the world) with greater confidence than you had.

Lilith Trine Uranus: You have a harmonious alignment within you between wild, repressed feminine energy from Lilith, and the symbols of individuality, freedom and revolution from Uranus. This placement promotes freedom, autonomy, creativity, and individuality, all fostering your personal growth by embracing your authentic self and challenging societal expectations. It can also bring you a revolutionary and transformative approach to your spirituality, inspiring you to explore alternative belief structures and challenge traditional religion.

Seeing as your Lilith is in Cancer, my summary just off of these details is that you are someone who, deep down, has the fight in them to challenge the societal meaning of "strong", and feels that being an emotional person is not a sign of weakness, but of power. People may have judged or tried to repress your emotional side, but you have a voice in you that knows there is nothing wrong with expressing how you feel. A good quote that these placements are making me think of would be (if I'm remembering it right): "just because I'm crying doesn't mean I won't slap you in the face".

And honestly, I love all of that you you.

Hope this helps! <3

[cyborg-alchemist]

So I just went through my latest round of bot-busting and something seemed... off. I ran them all through reverse image search, and got back nothing. Every time, it was a unique picture that was not stolen from somewhere, at least as far as Tin Eye could tell.

A few of the pictures had weirdly shaped or posed hands. Some had unnaturally dark eyes for the lighting. One had a suit with shoulders that didn't attach to the body right, and was in a hallway with edges that didn't line up. One had backwards elbows. After the first few I started writing this post and taking screen-grabs to look at more closely. You might have to zoom in to see what I'm talking about. I think they're taking advantage of the small image size to hide details.

What is that expression? What is that arm doing? What is that huge streaky blur on the right? Why are her eyes so dark?

What is that background? What actually are any of those objects? Where is the front of her bikini bottom? Who uses a picture with closed eyes for your profile?

I could explain away the arms being different colors to lighting, but different sizes?

Again with the closed eyes. Only three buttons at the top and no more. Those collar bones don't look right for that pose. One half of her chest is like 50% larger than the other.

Fingers fused into a single... digit? Leg muscles appear random. Shadow does not match the pose past the legs. Not sure what's going on with that shoulder.

Black pits where eyes should be. One side of the face is much wider and more wrinkled than the other, almost as if they're different people. Or like the right side of the face didn't remember what the left side looked like. There are a few spots around the shoulders where hair curls and frizz just.. appears.

Some of them looked... pretty ok, at least at the resolution they're at. They were too blurry for counting teeth and fingers, but I'm sure I wouldn't have come up with the right number. All of these are technically within the bounds of human variation, but unless tumblr has had a huge influx of amateur seamstresses with dark eyes, limb differences, and extremely asymmetrical features who take their pictures with their eyes closed in inconsistent lighting conditions...

I'm almost 100% sure that these bots have stopped stealing pictures, and are now AI generated.