#and components look great as always

[pealeii]

so 2024 stex cast!! excited and nervous but mostly just wanting more information!

[ddarker-dreams]

As Above, So Below.

Yan Anaxagoras x Reader

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, power imbalances, some co-dependency and emotional manipulation. Word count: 2.2k.

Anaxagoras is a polarizing figure. 

It’s to be expected, considering his lack of propriety. He cares little for respecting age-old traditions, observing social customs, or sugar coating his words. This has earned him no shortage of detractors. While they might label him a heretic or lob other accusations, even his most ardent opponents can’t deny that he’s brilliant. 

You’re no stranger to his eccentricity. His teaching style fluctuated between the routine and the sublime, you never knew what to expect. Nonetheless, you’ve always felt he takes his students’ edification seriously, hence his extreme tactics. Upon reflection, you concluded that this distinct pedagogy molded your mind into its current shape. Curiosity, drive, and a will to question the supposedly infallible have become your core tenets, courtesy of your professor. 

Who would’ve thought the very skepticism he instilled in you would one day be directed towards him? 

Ever since your most damning accusation left your lips, silence has reigned in his office. You projected a semblance of confidence for most of your exchange, but that façade has long since dissipated. You’re fidgeting, nervous energy building inside like a dam ready to burst. You regret doing this in his office, but the conversation necessitated privacy. The room has always left a strange impression on you. One glance at the notes strewn about his desk confirms the immeasurable gap in your intellect, how he’s discovering answers to questions you’d never think to ask. It’s both awe-inspiring and demoralizing. 

You can feel how he’s observing you, mentally breaking you down to your base components. There are only so many ways one can respond to the charges you’ve presented. Denial is by far the likeliest, followed up by indignation or disbelief. You’d run through this scenario hundreds of times in your head. Each time, he’d said something by now, constructing a meticulous defense. This silence denies you the catharsis rage would allow. Instead, you’re made to sit in a limbo of your own creation, replaying each element of this confrontation. 

Was your evidence lacking? Did your emotions seep through too much, discrediting your logic? Or are you not right in the head, having imagined everything in some paranoia-fuelled haze? 

Gathering your courage, you look up, steeling yourself for whatever stares back.

Anaxa’s composure is striking. He’s smiling, a sentiment akin to fondness softening the lines around his eye. If that wasn’t disconcerting enough, he chuckles, quietly at first, but ending in a hearty diapason. You drop all pretense and openly gawk at him. This goes beyond a few character quirks, this is madness. Righteous fury sends your blood boiling. You stand up, ready to storm out, when he raises his hand, a motion that keeps you in place. 

“Please, sit,” he supplicates. No vestige of his former derangement remains; regardless, it isn’t so easily erased from your memory. Sensing your apprehension, he continues, “Haven’t I taught you to always finish what you’ve started?” 

You part your lips, ready to insist that this is different, but the argument dies on your tongue. He has a way of making you doubt yourself without doing anything. Even now, you’re plagued by an impulse not to disappoint him. Feeling defeated, you return to your seat.

He leans back, crosses his legs, and rests his folded hands on his knee. “How long have you held these suspicions?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Untrue. Try again.” 

“... Since the Month of Gate.” 

“That long, hm?” Anaxa muses. He leans closer, his gracile form hunched forward, like when he’s on the precipice of a great revelation. “We’re in the Six Month now; why wait as long as you did?” 

“Because I couldn’t believe it!” 

He clicks his tongue. “Willful ignorance, then? That’s unbecoming of you.” 

Your heart plummets at his reprimand. Memories of your first few one-on-one oral tests come flooding back, pelting your psyche. He accepted nothing less than your absolute best. You used to think he purposefully set you up for failure, demanding the impossible, but the results proved otherwise. He saw potential in areas you were too frightened to spare a glance. He encouraged — no, demanded — that you face them head-on. Consequently, you discovered yourself capable of feats previously unthinkable. 

That habit of his must extend beyond the lectern. 

“You come to me presenting vague, disconnected data, without the resolve to say what it is I stand accused of.” 

Something in you snaps. “How about falsifying my grades, coercion, bribery, and stalking, to name a few?” 

“An excellent start!” he asserts, slightly breathless from exhilaration. “Finally, we’re getting to the heart of the matter. Your reasoning is solid, if lacking in scope. Expand on your argument.” 

“This— this isn’t a learning exercise. If you don’t take me seriously, I’ll…” 

You trail off, fully aware you lack the means to substantiate a threat. Scowling, you internally berate yourself. He’s successfully stirred up your temper. Who could blame you, though? His disregard is baffling! You know him to be insensitive, sure, but never purposefully cruel. A lump forms in the back of your throat. You fight it with all your might, not wanting to add to your humiliation. He hadn’t made you cry in ages. The last time would’ve been his scathing critique of your first assignment, many years ago. You swore never to endure that again. 

“Don’t look at me like that, my dear,” Anaxa sighs. “I am taking you seriously. Forgive my excitement; I’ve been awaiting this conversation. Now, I know you’re thinking, ‘he’s lost it,’ or something to that effect. Let me reassure you — I’m perfectly sane. How else could I have accomplished what you’ve accused me of?” 

You eye him warily. “So you’re admitting to it?” 

“Not everything. I never tampered with your grades.” 

He’s focusing on the least egregious charge? Wouldn’t anyone else refute stalking or coercion first? You almost left out the dubious grades, it paled so greatly compared to the other accusations. 

“You never told me I failed after an oral test.” 

“I never said you passed, either.” 

“But you looked pleased!”

“Does that translate to a high grade?” 

“It’s disingenuous!” 

“Disingenuous, yes, but falsification? Hardly.” 

“Why is that what you’re caught up on?” you demand, your voice rising in pitch. “The point is, you’re keeping me from graduating. That’s the issue here.” 

“Is it not up to the professor whether their student should graduate or not?” 

Anaxa’s acting facetious to get under your skin and it’s working. You take a moment to gather your thoughts, recalling his lessons about the advantages of preying on your opponent’s emotions in a debate. Is that what this is? Had that been the case, you’d expect a more subtle approach. All this ambiguity is doing you a disservice. He claimed you ‘lacked scope,’ so you opt for a shift in tactics. 

“Why don’t you want me to graduate?” 

“An improvement over your earlier questions,” he notes, nodding in approval. “Still, you should know I dislike giving answers you’ve arrived at yourself.” 

“I haven’t—” 

He interrupts you by speaking your name, his tone low and chill-inducing. Shudders travel along your body. His disappointment reaches into your chest cavity and steals your oxygen. It shouldn’t sting, but it does. This ever-present desire to make him proud has twisted your priorities. Despite yourself, his earlier praise, meager as it was, sent your heart soaring. The acknowledgment of a genius is titillating. 

… Maybe you’re not right in the head either. 

“You’re attracted to me.” 

“A shallow description, albeit accurate.” 

“You don’t want me to leave The Grove.” 

“And why is that?” 

“Some warped sense of attachment, if I had to guess.” 

“Hmph. I wouldn’t call it warped,” Anaxa replies. “The ethics, perhaps, but my intentions aren’t so nefarious. Your talent would be wasted in Okhema. Should you stay, I’d have you as my assistant, a position you’d find challenging and rewarding. Is that not a tempting offer?” 

Your mouth goes dry. 

Tempting? Life-altering would be a better description. The role of assistant to a Sage is enviable for its benefits, monetarily, but more vital, academically. Other scholars are more willing to collaborate, you have access to any materials you research necessitates, and you’re welcomed into previously inaccessible circles. It’s a chance your younger self would’ve killed for. 

However… 

“My intention has always been to return home and apply what I’ve learned. Okhema’s one of the last standing city-states, I want to contribute what I can.”

Anaxa pinches the bridge of his nose. “You’re still clinging to those fantasies? Leave that city to the Goldweaver. She has her shortcomings, but when it comes to ruling, she maintains order.” 

“We can’t rely solely on Aglaea. Common people should do their part,” you insist. “I want to see my home prosper, not limp from crisis to crisis.” 

“Such are the times we live in.” 

“So I should just give up, then?” 

“If you have any sense.” 

“Whatever happened to ‘finish what you start?’” 

“We aren’t finished yet,” Anaxa responds, unusually harsh. “Focus on that. Everything else is secondary, a distraction.” 

Your eye twitches. 

“What about what I want?” 

“You want to stay. It’s a misguided civil duty fooling you into believing otherwise.” 

Anaxa’s speaking like he’s objectively correct, as if any claims to the contrary are insipient, a waste of his time. It’s equal parts fascinating and infuriating. You’re reminded of the countless hours spent in this room, passionately defending your rationale against his methodical deconstructions. Except now, it isn’t a theory or method you’re debating, it’s your future. Ultimately, no one aside from you has the final say. His claim that you’re deluded by sentimentality is projection. He’s acting absurd here, not you. 

“I’ve always had great respect for you, professor,” you admit, ignoring a terrible ache in your chest. “You’ve never been afraid to question the status quo, even if it meant challenging the gods. That’s why… that’s why I struggled to believe you’d sabotage me. Call it ‘willful ignorance,’ or whatever, but was it so wrong of me to have faith in my mentor?” 

Anaxa’s eyelashes flutter shut and he smiles. “An appeal to pathos, is it?” 

“It’s called being human, Anaxa.” 

That gets under his skin. His eye is hooded when it reopens, belying irritation. 

“Anaxagoras,” he dryly corrects. 

“Your priorities are a mess.” 

“Insolence should never be tolerated,” he asserts. “I commend your rhetoric. Need I remind you, however, that I’m not to blame for the image you’ve formed of me?” 

You exhale sharply through your nose. So that’s the angle he’s deciding to take? He’s willing to desecrate a shrine you dedicated to him, built with precious memories and experiences?

While studying his physiognomy, you note how stoic he’s become. He’s toned down his usual theatrics. There’s a solemn nature to his gaze, his eyebrow slightly upturned and jaw set firmly. Through his outerwear, you can make out the alchemical symbols inked into his arm. When it comes to pursuing his ambitions, he’s like a man possessed. Nothing is too sacred, not even his own flesh. 

What chance do you have against such determination? 

“You must be lonely, professor.” 

He runs a hand through his hair. “Resorting to insults now, are we?”

“It’s just an observation,” you say. Then, a prolonged pause. “One that you aren’t denying.” 

Anaxa reclines in his seat and clears his throat. “Your company… isn’t unwelcome.” 

It could be your imagination, but you swear there’s a light dusting of pink over his cheeks. He fiddles with the cuffs of his outer garment. Out of all the dubious comments he’s made, that’s what made him self-conscious? The absurdity takes you a few moments to recover from. Anaxa leverages the opportunity, bringing your hands into his. You try pulling away out of instinct, only for him to exert surprising strength. 

Effectively trapped, you cease your futile struggle. 

“Stay,” his voice is so soft, it almost fails to reach your ears. “I’m not above begging, if that’s what it requires.” 

He lowers his head, seeking to propitiate you, as if golden ichor didn’t flow through his veins, denoting his supernal status. He who scorns the divine has taken on the posture of an acolyte. An act befitting a lifelong blasphemer, you suppose. 

Anaxa speaks your full name, each syllable rolling off his tongue like honey. 

“Should you leave, I’ll hasten the eschaton of this world by aiding the black tide.” 

“... And you claim you haven’t ‘lost it?’” 

“Not yet,” he murmurs against your inner wrist. “You’re still here.” 

“What you said could warrant execution.” 

“I prefer to die having had you for myself than to live apart.” 

“You’re mad.” 

“As the progenitor, can a malady fault its symptoms for existing?” 

“Casuistry at its finest.” 

Anaxa finally relinquishes his hold, but not without kissing your racing pulse. 

“Be critical of me all your days, I’ll delight in the offense.” 

You bring your hands to your chest, the skin he lavished in affection tingling. Your head is spinning, like he shifted the world on its axis. His eye scalds you, his magenta pupil burning hot with unrestrained fervor. There's no room for compromise. He will see his designs made manifest or immolate this dying world to punish your rejection.

"What will it be?" he asks.

You close your eyes, unable to withstand his smoldering gaze any longer.

"... My place is by your side, professor."

[honeytonedhottie]

it girls guide to haircare, from glossy curls to flawless braids⋆.ೃ࿔*:･💕🧁

your hair is your CROWN 👑 and the prettiest hair is always the healthiest. so in this post i wanna explore tips, routines and recipes that can help you to have healthier hair and start ur haircare journey…💬🎀

BUILDING A HAIRCARE ROUTINE ;

when it comes to building a routine of any sort, consistency is key! the main components of building a MEAN hair care routine are the following ; cleansing, deep conditioning and nourishment. think of ur hair like a garden that you have to water and nourish and in return it'll grow and be beautiful. thats the way that hair is! it needs tender loving CARE to be as beautiful as it can be.

wash 1-2x a week depending on how much u need to, but avoid washing it every single day because it strips ur hair of its natural oils and will give u dry and brittle hair. and thats NOT hot…💬🎀

🧁 cleansing ; opt for sulfate-free shampoos to keep your hair clean without stripping away natural oils.

🧁 deep conditioning ; deep conditioning is a NON-negotiable. choose protein-rich or moisture-based deep conditioners to keep ur hair strong and soft.

🧁 nourishment ; use hair masks on a weekly basis, always use a leave in conditioner or serum to lock in moisture and shield your hair from heat or environmental stressors.

so all in all, wash ur hair once a week or as much as needed, make sure that u choose moisture based, protein rich conditioners, and use hair masks weekly and invest in quality masks and oils to nourish ur hair and give it that extra UMPH.

THE GLOSSIEST CURLS ;

to achieve the glossiest prettiest curls ever, start with damp hair. apply a curl-enhancing cream, and comb through for even distribution. you can also try the LOC method, where you leave in, oil then cream ur hair. this particularly works great for hair that loses moisture.

if u have curly hair, sleeping in a silk bonnet or on silk pillowcases can help you to avoid having frizzy hair and using silk scrunchies is better for the health of ur hair + avoids breakage.

for defined curls and coils that pop, hydrate first by starting on freshly washed or damp hair. apply a leave-in conditioner for hydration. use a curl-defining cream or custard to clump and hold ur curls, make sure that ur working in sections! use a diffuser to dry your curls while keeping their shape intact and finish with a lightweight oil or shine spray for that extra glossy look.

FLAWLESS BRAIDS ;

to get sleek, flawless braids, start by detangling your hair completely. smooth your edges with a gel or edge control, and section your hair evenly. keep your braids tight but not too tight to avoid tension on your scalp. finish with a hair oil for shine and to nourish your scalp. if you’re rocking feed-in braids or box braids, don’t forget to hydrate your scalp regularly to avoid dryness or flakes.

GENERAL TIPS ;

🧁 always work in sections when ur doing ur hair bcuz it makes the process easier + more effective 🧁 deep conditioner instead of regular conditioner 🧁 wrap ur hair at night with a bonnet/sleep on silk pillowcases

AT HOME HAIR GLOSSING ROUTINE ;

for hair glossing at home, combine conditioner, olive oil, and a tablespoon of honey in a bowl and mix it together. be generous with it as u apply it to your hair. leave on ur hair for an hour. after washing ur hair blow-dry it. 

MY PERSONAL RECOMMENDATIONS ;

❤︎ i use the glossy pearl hair mask and it smells SO good, it smells like literal baby powder and it keeps my hair so incredibly soft.

❤︎ i also really love the gisou honey infused hair mask, it smells like honey (duh) and is really nourishing for my hair + leaves it nice and shiny and soft.

SILK PRESS SZN ;

the basic steps to having the best at-home silk press are simple! first, wash ur hair with a moisturizing shampoo. opt for a sulfate free shampoo that will hydrate ur hair, and not strip ur curls of their natural oils. make sure to wash shampoo ur hair 2x and make sure that theres no residual shampoo left!

deep condition ur hair and let that sit for about 30 minutes, then rinse out with cool water. the next step is also a big nonnegotiable with silk presses - using heat protectants. PROTECT YOUR HAIR. step four is to blow out ur hair with a round brush or a hair-dryer brush, after you've done this smooth some serum into ur hair for that shine and frizz free silk press that we're going for. lastly, flat iron ur hair.

so all in all these are the six steps to getting that perfect silk press at home...💬🎀

wash hair with a moisturizing shampoo

deep condition ur hair and let it sit for 30 minutes

dry ur hair and apply a heat protectant

blow out ur hair with a hair dryer brush or a round brush

smooth some serum into ur hair

flat iron ur hair

[inky-duchess]

Fantasy Guide to the Fashion of 1940s

The 1940s was a time for great change in the world and in fashion. Marked by rationing and shortage of fabrics, the silhouette and availability of different cuts was limited so the women of the era turned to more fitted, shorter cuts.

Undergarments

The undergarments of the era were not as restrictive or complicated in WW2 as they were pre-WW1, but there were a lot of moving parts to the set-up.

Bra/Brassiere: Bras got shorter in the 1940s due to the rationing of fabric. They look much like they do today, made of light coloured fabrics and hooked with metal eyelets.

Panties/Knickers: The underwear. Elasticated underwear was around and actually exempt from rationing.

Girdle: The girdle rests on the lower torso, past the hips and were used for shaping as well as support.

Garters: Were worn at the top of the stocking just above the knee to hold the stocking in place.

Garter Belt: Was a belt worn around the waist and used to hold up the stockings and garters thanks to fastenings.

Slip: A slip is a light loose dress that is worn under another dress. It is long or short depending on the size of the dress you're wearing over it. The slip has slim straps and was usually plain though lace and embroidery were no uncommon. Most younger women favoured the half slip which was like another skirt.

Stockings: Stockings were worn over the lower legs, clipped and held in place by the garters. If your lady is lucky enough to have a friend on the black market, she might be lucky enough to have proper nylon tights. But if not, some ladies in this period dyed their legs with tea bags and drew the seam up the back of their legs to give the effect.

Outfits

Most women still wore skirts and dresses in the 1940s though some women switched to pants. Most of the outfits of the time followed a similar silhouette due to rationing: it was simple, unsophosticated, fitted, belted and hems remained just below the knee. A suit jacket and skirt combo was popular. Blouses and jumpers were also worn. Dresses were worn as well. Women would pair their outfit with accessories. They would always wear a hat outside and gloves.

Shoes

Shoes were effected by the war, with leather and rubber being limited. Most were brown, black or two two-tone shoes were popular. Oxford shoes, saddle shoes, loafers, court shoes, slingback were popular. These could be lace ups or have fastenings. Heels were usual, but rather short and stocky if worn in the day time. Most would be plain but some would have embellishments.

The Reality of the 1940s

With war on and rationing well underway, the question of clothes was always on the mind. Most women did not have a large wardrobe and with clothing coupons little help, most women made and made due. Hems would be let down, larger sizes cut down and a lot of clothing reused. Fabric choice was limited, silk and nylon were used for parachutes and military applications. Clothing rations were the only way to get new clothes in the war. The average person was entitled at first to 66 clothing coupons per year. But that only would buy an outfit of clothes not including the necessaries. And the number of ration coupons went down as the war went on, down to 36 coupons in 1945. It was illegal to transfer coupons but even despite this, in 1947 hundreds of women offered the future Queen Elizabeth II their rations for her wedding dress. The offer was declined but the government had to approve the release of extra coupons to the Princess. Women also turned to alternatives to create clothes especially wedding gowns even made them out of parachutes!

Make up and Hair

Make up and perfume was one of the many things that was rationed due to their chemical components such as glycerine. Women could access make up but due to rationing and many make up companies not having the ingredients or changing to more profitable and patriotic output, supplies were low. Women often turned to DIY, burnt cork for mascara and eyeliner, natural stains such as beetroot or cochineal for lipstick, crushed rose petals for blush, soot/charcoal for eyeliner, facemasks of egg white or oatmeal, beeswax for moisturiser and cold cream. As for hair women often turned to DIY to care and wash for their hair. Homemade shampoos were made from soap, vinegar and baking soda. Egg yolks were used for conditioner. Lemon juice was used to lighten hair. Olive oil was used to make hair shiny. Some popular hairstyles of the era:

Victory Rolls: This is the hairstyle you're probably thinking ofwhen you think of the 40s. It involves rolling the hair away from the face and rolling them at the top of the head.

Pin Curls: This is a hairstyle involving the curling and pinning of hair overnight got tight curls for the next day.

Pageboy: This is a shoulder-length style, curled at the ends

Waves: This style involves soft waves

Pompadours: The hairstyle involves the sweeping up of hair back from the face and sculpting it to be more voluminous.

Snoods: This is a sort of net worn over the hair, usually with a rat (a sort of device used to increase volume at the front of the hair)

Scarves: Were popular replacement for hats, used to cover their hair when going out.

[fishnapple]

The purpose of your life, why you're here

This reading is about finding the purpose of your life, why you're here, your current reincarnation (if you believe in reincarnation), or your soul, what you're born into this world to experience. All 6 groups share a similar theme of reaching your highest potential and having the focus on connections.

A similar reading was also done by @claudiafrankie, you can check out their reading here

This is a general reading meant for multiple people. Take only what resonates and leave out the rest.

Your feedback is much appreciated. If you find the reading resonated with you, leave a comment, I’d love to know 🎐

About me | Masterpost Book a reading with me - KO-FI (→ personal reading)

ROSE QUARTZ

Keywords: inspiration, leading, expansion, mastery, mental power, innovation, connection to the psyche

I see the theme of big vs small, how we define our life, give meaning to it. Are we just a tiny entity that exists in the sea of existence, or are we the whole universe, embracing everything?

In your life, you will encounter many instances where you're asked to step forward, step outside, go out of your comfort zone. You will be put into experiences that tell you how knotted your life has been and how much it could unravel into something more spontaneous. There's a fight between wanting to focus on the physical plane, doing daily tasks perfectly, concern yourself with details, with what is happening around you and the need to do something bigger, having more impact and influence, to make a change to the world, to live the life you dream about. Confinement vs freedom.

You have a lot to tell, so much to share, so much to experience. At your core, you're an adventurer, a nomad, life is a journey that you need to keep moving. You want to achieve great things, leave a mark in this world and receive adoration from people. But the first step in your journey will be facing your wounds. They are the door that stands between you and the freedom outside. Are you ready to turn the doorknob and push that door? In the past, in your past lives, you might have experienced confinement, mentally, physically, spiritually. You kept standing there and facing the door but didn't decide what to do. So in this life, you're given a choice to choose again.

You might think the components to your success in life are outward actions, ambitions, and material achievements, showing how capable you are. Your mind is buzzing with ideas, with the future, always looking for a new way to do things better, to perfect what you're focusing on, like a windshield wipers working tirelessly on a stormy day. The next piece of information, the exciting new discoveries, the buzzing trends, they busy your mind until it becomes fatigued and obsessed.

Your purpose of this lifetime is to learn how to rest, when to stop, and how to use the information and resources you have gathered to build yourself up effectively. What defines you is not how much you have, how good you are at certain jobs, but how you master yourself and become the highest aspiration of yourself.

To do that takes patience and understanding of yourself. Turning inward, curbing the restless mind and impulses. You might be someone who is quite impatient or impulsive, wanting to execute right away the idea you have in mind, what you think of should be what you have, expecting results and excellence quickly, if things don't go well from the first try, you want to give up and change direction, change the method without giving the old ones enough time to develop. If you are this person, then life will give you many opportunities or challenges to slow you down, the more you try to act, to fix things, tossing ideas everywhere, going around in many directions at once, the more likely you are to be confined and forced to make a clear choice and commit to it. And you will have to choose wisely. How do you do it? By facing that door, those wounds, see how they are projected into your surroundings, your relationships with people, how you go around, anywhere, just to avoid them.

You're given a good pair of eyes (figuratively, or can be literally) to truly see, amidst all those busy movements, a path for yourself. A wide, unexplored path. Pushing the door, stepping out is scary, but you're brave and you will inspire many others to do the same.

LABRADORITE

Keywords: growth, healing, comfort, peace, helping, courage, accepting changes

I see the image of a sword or a cross. Your energy feels young and soft yet resilient and brave. Life gives you many challenges that would forge a sharp and strong blade inside you. The sword here is not for harming or conquest but for protection and striking the lock, through layers of fears that have been imprisoning you for a long time.

Your life is divided or, rather, balanced by two opposing forces and choices. One is the past, the habit, the way you chose to protect your safety. You might have a tendency to go along with other people's wishes or try to avoid direct confrontation for fear of disrupting the peace. This might be one of your defence mechanisms when dealing with life in general. You want to live in peace, quietly go about your way without obstruction and intrusion from outside. This creates a demure aura, in some way, a little submissive or malleable energy. You don't act this way because you want to gain something from other people. You just don't find it necessary to engage in confrontations that lead to dead-end.

The other side is something you're called to embrace more of in this lifetime. Your energy is soft and flowy, like water, but it needs a little solidifying into something more sturdy. It's the hardening of the core self. Hardening here does not have a negative connotation, it's not about building walls around yourself, closing your heart and spirit, acting cold and tough, it's not like that. It's about being more sure of yourself, giving yourself a sturdy and durable foundation, like how a pliable sprout would grow into a robust tree, standing tall and firm on the ground.

Work and career, material achievements will be the ground where you will see yourself grow the most in this lifetime. There will be opportunities and chances for you to break out of your nest and explore. The work environment will be dynamic and full of pleasant surprises. You will find support through the people you work with. A family member might be a crucial figure in your process of becoming the best version of yourself.

I feel a very giving nature, you have so much in yourself, so much to share, that inner abundance, with people, with life. But only when you release the attachments that keep you rooted in constricted safety. There might be hesitancy when trying to think about bigger aspirations, about your life dreams. You might think that those dreams are unrealistic or too far away. Your mind and your heart are going in the opposite direction. Your heart wants to look forward, to the distant, unexplored horizon, while your mind is occupied by anxiety and uncertainty. It's the root of the great divide between your past and your future.

But I think in this lifetime, things will change. Your life is in a great transition period. Events might happen quickly, surprises come more often. What you've been believing in, what you've been doing habitually might suddenly become strange and feel foreign to you. These changes are necessary, you might feel uncomfortable having to depart from what you've been attached to. But if you can muster enough courage to go against the usual, it will be a personal victory for you. You will successfully break the earth above you and shoot up, out of dormancy, to begin a new adventure.

RED JASPER

Keywords: manifestation, beauty, to connect, freedom, commitment, wish vs reality

It feels like you have a starter kit of manifesting love but you haven't learnt how to use them fully yet. Love and other connections will be the focal point of this lifetime for you.

You have a unique power of manifestation. Have you ever had some thoughts and then a few days or some time later, they came true?. Everything could manifest instantly that you might even be scared of your own thoughts, afraid that any "wrong" thought will result in a bad future. If you haven't realised this about yourself, be more mindful and observe how things work around you. Life will feel a lot more magical for you.

One of the reasons why your thoughts are so powerful is because you're given full reign, full freedom to experience this world. It's not something that you can easily realise and put into practise. There's no particular script nor strict rules for you to follow, you just need to experience as many things as possible. The best gift you have in this lifetime is freedom. I think this gift is something hard-earned from countless trials and hardships. The memories of distant pains might still linger somewhere deep inside you, keeping you from fully being free to dream. But no more rules and burdens. This life is meant to be savoured in its vastness. You're a born rebel. Carving your own path, going your own way, never settling, never being fully at ease with the present, always on the lookout for a different future.

And that's where relationships come in. One of the best ways to do that is through relationships and interacting with others. I see a tendency to be hasty or quick to move on when it comes to bonds with other people. With your manifesting ability, combine with your natural charms, you have no problem with meeting and building the connection with someone. But something about commitment might scare you. You might not want to commit because of the fear that your freedom will be lost, or because you put a heavy importance on a commitment that you don't want to step into one too lightly. You might jump, too quickly, into conclusions about some connections. Maybe you would try to find a plausible reason to stop the connection, in the name of practicality and logic, ready to find flaws in the other person, or, on the opposite end, you decide too quickly that this is it, this person is the one and then try to commit, prematurely. It's like you are given something because you wished for it, but then you don't exactly know what to do with it. This will be one of your biggest lessons in this lifetime. To follow through with what you wish for, to commit to something fully and wisely. It's not just romantic relationships but also other relationships, colleagues, friends, families, etc.

There would be two types of people in your life who can guide or lead you into two different directions. They will appear in the form of mentors, someone older or more experienced than you, someone whom you feel you can learn something significant from. One type will encourage you to find your calling, your path. Who will constantly touch your deepest feelings without even trying. They may trigger you, for good or for bad, you would feel their choices of words and actions are dubious and questionable, but there is something undeniably inspiring about them, they push you to be more bold and get in touch with your needs and wishes. While the other type would be someone wanting to dictate every move in your life under the guise of knowing what's good for you. They are powerful, they can make your wishes come true but only if you come under their wings and stay there. You would feel like a child being well taken care of, but your wings will be clipped. Which direction to take is ultimately your choice, you choose whatever to experience, because that's your freedom in this lifetime.

CITRINE

Keywords: uncharted water, discovery, exploration, crossing, in between, balanced, transition

I see your path in this life is going to the unknown, something that you haven't experienced before. You are standing at a gate, a bridge in between two lands. Or, in the vertical sense, you are standing on the dark ground, looking up at the sun, shining bright from above. There are lots of movements, both mentally and physically. In this lifetime, you will constantly move between the two worlds. The inner, dark and cold sea of your private world and the bright, warm air of the outside world. No world is better than other, they need to be their for your life to be in balance, staying in one world for too long and neglecting other will likely result in some events taking place to pull you back into balance.

These two worlds are parallel to each other. The inner world is led chiefly by your mind, they are well organised, block by block, neatly like a library, while the outer world is more dynamic, led by passion and actions. They affect each other in every way, more than you realise. Chaos in the inner thought will likely result in confusion and, in some extreme cases, destruction of the known path. You will stumble upon many paths that are considered strange and out of the norm, but I think you're geared towards them, even unknowingly, your mind has a knack of seeing the unique structure of things, noticing the pattern and the likely outcomes of situations that not many people can. This will help you see more alternatives in life and choose a path that can bring satisfaction to you, in all senses, materially, spiritually, emotionally. This path will likely be an uncharted water, something that not many people have done, there will be many unexplored areas for you to bring in your unique takes.

Another way the two worlds interact with each other is what your inner world needs, the outer world will provide. If you feel anxious and doubtful, haunted by past memories, then you will likely encounter something or someone new who can give you fresh perspectives and encouragement to be brave. If you feel your life is lacking security, you feel low in your self esteem, there will be moments of transformation that bring you closer to what you desire, you will be given opportunities to venture into new territory, meeting new people, getting the support you need to start something. The universe hears your every call and answers back with opportunities, emphasis on the word "opportunities", you won't be given a whole cooked dish, you will be given ingredients to make the dish.

There's an element of settlement. Instead of jumping from place to place, in this lifetime, you need to hold onto something, to make something uniquely yours, something that will be by your side everywhere you go. It could be a legacy, a creation, a lesson, something that lasts. But it's not about stubbornly holding on to something, it has to be integrated into your core being. Throughout life, you will face with many events that will change your perspective drastically, you're not meant to hold on to old beliefs, withered branches that can no longer hold the weight of the birds standing on them. You will constantly meet new people, those that will open your eyes. Foreign people and cultures might fascinate you, somewhere with lots of sunlight, warm hospitality, beautiful scenery and architecture, lots of mountains and flowers. Especially if you're someone who's from a land near the sea, windy and cold, lots of rain and stormy weather. You are a traveller at heart, don't limit yourself to any particular place.

AMETHYST

Keywords: opinion, communication, conflict, to uphold, straightforward, honesty, truth

I don't know why, but upon seeing your spread, the phrase "human comedy" just sprang up in my mind. This life of yours will go through so many ups and downs in regards to connections and relationships. You will experience the full spectrum of them, every facet, every emotion.

You might encounter many situations where you're misunderstood greatly, those will create a very interesting dynamic between you and the world. Interesting might not be the right word, even my choice of word in this reading is muddled up, you might have the tendency to use words that make your intentions seem questionable or odd to people, and they do the same to you. It's like people from different lands from all around the world gathered for a meeting but there's no common language and no one to translate.

Communication will be the point of focus for you. You might struggle to find the right expression, the right words for the things you want to say. Thoughts seem a lot more clear and articulated in your head, but when they are uttered, there's this fog around you that tends to twist and blur the words, making them shift and fuddle. You will need to find a way to clear this fog, to deliver your words in the most direct and straightforward way as much as possible, even at the risk of being blunt and offensive. This might create an obsession or anxiety when communicating. Maybe you want to find the perfect expression, the details, you do notice the tendency of people misunderstanding you so you try so hard to elaborate, which can create the impression of being long winded, rambling or argumentative.

Ideas jump around in your head, constantly born and spread, demand to get out, to be expressed, this forms a rushing energy, impatient tongue. But even with all these misunderstandings, you don't actually offence people. They may perceive you as nitpicking, blunt, or argumentative, but they don't necessarily hate you for it. On the contrary, some even find it amusing and endearing, these people might even intentionally tease or poke at you, it's not malicious, but then again, you also don't read people's intentions too clearly and might perceive these acts of teasing as personal attack. Your reactions would rile those people up even more. Hence, the endless cycles of poking and reacting. The purpose of all of these is to train your resilience of the mind and heart. You should take all of these with good spirit, laugh them off, keep your truth and speak honestly, there's nothing more attractive than that.

On a more serious note, you're reminded to stand firm in your thoughts. I sense that you have so many wisdom to share with the world. Teaching might be a calling for you. Even without actually be in the education field, people can still learn from you, through your unshakable conviction in yourself and the way you speak your truth. It might be intense, it might be difficult to swallow, it might seem strange and outlandish, but nevertheless, it captivates the world through its sincerity.

AVENTURINE

Keywords: artist, bridge, the call, emotional landscape, go with the flow, sensitivity

"Young poet of the moon", "The poet of the soul", those two just appeared in my head upon seeing your spread, so I wanted to write them down. I think those words portrayed you pretty well. Your inner artist heart is beating every moment, it's a force that you can't hide or be ushered into oblivion by some circumstances.

This world needs a lot of people who have a sensitive heart, like you, someone who has the "eyes" to see the beauty in this world, the "ears" to hear its cry and whisper, the "lips" to court it with sweet sweet words. You're here to make people see the world in its naked beauty, helping them realise the small details of living and in the process, elevate their souls.

You offer this world a cup filled with creativity. The way your mind and heart tremble and come alive with all the senses can create striking new creations. The passion for sensuality is there, for the bursting love of life. Sensuality here encompasses a vast spectrum of things, from the aromas of delicious food, the cool and smooth feeling of water lapping over you, the swirling colours of leaves dancing under the sun, the warm and rough feel of someone's hands, ... they are all the materials for you to marvel at, to create, to give back to the world your interpretation of it.

Why did I say "poet" in the beginning? Because you have the gift of gab, your words resonate with people's hearts, because they are spoken from the realm of the unknown inside all of us, we can only be able to catch a glimpse of it here and there, when we allow ourselves to relax and float. You have the ability to connect to that realm , to catch sights of it more often and crystallise those sights into words or messages conveyed by other means. But I sense written words strongly. Even if you do something that isn't related to creativity or the art (but is there anything that truly be detached from creativity?), this gift will still assist you in every endeavour you're in, negotiating, mediating, persuading, counselling, anything that needs these kinds of skills.

Love will play an important role in your life, you're here to experience love in all of its forms, experience all the feelings it can create within us. It won't be an easy journey, heartaches are there, but so is the deepest devotion. You might face delays in love or intense connections that leave lasting marks on your soul. You're not the same person you once were before a connection. These will transform you, plunging you into greater depth and strange waters. But don't be afraid,if you allow yourself to savour the journey, you will arrive at a treasure that many people have been struggling to find. This inexhaustible treasure will provide richness to your life. Also, don't let yourself drowned either, emerge out of the water and share with the world what you've seen. So many people need their hearts touched by a soul such as yours.

[resident-idiot-simp]

Wade cleaning Logan's claws

(x)

@aspenfallen

Wade was anal about his weapons being in perfect condition. This is something Logan learned quickly.

After every hit and job no matter if they were in some shitty motel or in the apartment. Wade was cleaning his weapons.

Disassembling each component, sharpening, oiling, and wiping down meticulously. They were as shiny, clean, and sharp as new an hour after they land wherever they end up.

Nothing will distract him from it this is the number one priority and Logan finds it so endearing. It's something he can always look forward to something concrete.

He's usually silent during this ritual so not to distract himself from his important task. Logan has been confused at first what with the incessant background noise gone. But he grew to enjoy the silence as well sitting near Wade and watching him work.

It was mesmerizing the mindless motions showing years of experience. Experience he sees every time they take a job. The easy twirling of katanas the fluid motions of his fatal swings. The perfect accuracy when he's not even looking, the knives that lodge into foreheads when someone goes running.

Wade is so effortlessly skilled and so effortlessly lethal that it feels intoxicating to watch.

Logan gets used to the routine will even clear room for him to lay all the weapons down if he has to. So when he was up messing with stuff in their kitchen and he popped his claws to open something before making his way back to Wade he hadn't expected Wade to lock onto his claws.

Wade was finished with his little ritual and Logan had expected him to start putting away the cleaning stuff but he just locked onto his claws. His claws which still looked slightly dirty from the job. Wade made grabby hands and Logan tentatively moved his hand towards the merc.

Quick as anything he took the hand and pulled it closer to himself causing Logan to stumble forward but he didn't complain. Wade pulled on on of the claws lightly in request and Logan slid them the rest of the way out.

Wade grabbed his cleaning rag and slowly started to clean the adamantium. Logan just watched on stunned. People rarely touched his claws they kept their distance and feared them for good reason. But Wade never so much as blinked when they are unshaved or anywhere near him.

And now he's cleaning them showing them care like all his other weapons and Logan wondered If there was some symbology there.

Each one was cleaned with the same focus and dedication that the rest of his stuff was clean with. Once he was pleased with them he got the oil and went over them again. Logan wondered why his eyes stung.

Once done he gestured for the other arm which Logan gave just as easily. He didn't shave the claws kept them out as he unshaved the other set. Wade went back to work as Logan inspected the clean pair.

It was the best they'd ever looked. Shiny and reflective not a smudge to be seen. As clean and cared for as the katanas Wade loved.

The other claws were treated with the same care and fuck Logan didn't know what to say what to do. He just lets Wade work and when he's done he smiles happily to himself. He looks over his work and all Logan can choke out is, "It looks great."

He definitely feels some kind of way about all the attention and focus being on him. That effortless skill being applied to him like he's worth something.

He doesn't what to retract the claws he doesn't want to take away the shine or hide the care that we're just given to them. Wade just humms happily and lays back on the couch.

And if Logan has his claws out the rest of the night well? What else was he supposed to do?

[juunipupu]

i love your art and i love the explanations you provide with them!! your art on its own is incredible and so rich feeling. the way you depict hair and deal with light is soooo gorgeous. and i love seeing your thought processes behind your pieces. i don't have any art background but i do appreciate art a lot and getting to learn about your thoughts on your pieces is so fascinating!! i really enjoy hearing about all the components and how they came together/the thoughts behind doing things the way you have. i would read full essays about your pieces, its always so exciting when i see you've added your thoughts :) i hope you're having a great day thanks for sharing your work <3

I'm always so surprised, humbled, and flattered to receive an ask like this...thank you! When I started out posting these more personal pieces online, I never would've imagined anyone would be interested to look at them with more analytic eye, nor especially be interested to read my rambling about them. It's really heart warming, especially now that so many online spaces/sites are so anti-artist due to how algorithms work

(I'm currently extremely burnt out, so let me just use this ask as an overall THANK YOU TO EVERY SINGLE TAG/DM/ASK/COMMENT)

[mesetacadre]

So, like, have any of you actually ever had a conversation with a fascist offline about what they believe? I have.

To be clear, this wasn't a sit-down-let's-talk conversation. He (the only one) tried to start shit, and we (me + 2 comrades) confronted him in the act and regrettably got into a 30-minute "conversation".

Fascists, individually, are very mentally feeble. They are cowards who always seek to start conflict while trying to make themselves out to be the victims. This is, of course, until they gain enough popularity and canon fodder to throw 20 unstable fascists at anyone they don't like. But until this exaltation occurs¹ and their organizations enter a relatively stable cycle (in contemporary liberal democracies, they last between 2 and 7 years before disintegrating), there remains a contradiction between their aggressive desire to seek confrontation and their individual and collective insecurities. Fascist ideology is mostly not rooted in reality (more on this later), and it also has an important component of self-hate. They are an inferior specimen, unable to achieve what the fascist martyrs before them achieved (in Spain, Jose Antonio Primo de Rivera usually occupies this position), and to add injury to insult, it's those who they perceive as weak and undeserving who rule over them. They ignore this perceived inferiority by joking about being chads, the superior race, or non-degenerates. But behind their rhetoric and "humor" there is usually a tinge of insecurity and hate against anyone who doesn't fit their increasingly narrow standard, including themselves.

This fascist we talked with kept referring to Jewish conspiracies, to the freemasons in every position of power, to old Falangists, to fascist "theorists", to some kind of esoteric spiritualism within the bounds of Christianity, somehow, and hyperborea. He talked about communists, how they were already in the government (referring to the social-democratic PSOE), how we were degenerates, how the day will come, etc. He attempted to scare us by saying that he was an ex-member of this more notorious fascist party and that they were looking for him to beat him up, which isn't something you admit to people you're trying to start conflicts with. After a while of his ramblings, one of my comrades couldn't help but laugh at him. It was all very ridiculous; I don't remember exactly what he said that made my comrade laugh. He got slightly more agitated, and the conversation ended in ~5 minutes.

Individually, fascists are also not the brightest people you'll encounter. For somebody to internalize fascist beliefs, they have to be unconsciously willing to never dig deeper about their beliefs, to contrast them with one another, or to contrast them with other fascists. They'll read a text (they may be stupid, but a lot of them do read more than you'd expect) about, say, the concept of race, and never really address the fact that it contradicts their own beliefs, or a fellow fascist's beliefs about the nation or about Europe.

And a really interesting thing is that fascism is far from a monolith. It's more akin to an entelechy². The specific contradictions of fascism manifest themselves much more between individual fascists than within a single individual. Like I mentioned before, there are contradictions when it comes to race (racialists like the nazis vs anti-racists like Falange Auténtica), to Europe (the idea of a Great Europe vs every idea of Nationality/Empire, which generally coexist poorly), to the nation (its intersection with race and/or Europe and how it interacts with these), to the reaction against progress (a conception of fascism as progressive, reactionary, or neither³), to science (a realist position based on scientificism such as race science and Kameradschaftrecht (nazi feminism) vs metaphysical conceptions, such as esotericism or the Thule society, reliant on aesthetics and mysticism), or to the economic policy (bourgeois positions, corporatism, vs workerist positions such as Strasser or Bombacci).

These contradictions aren't unique to the contemporary fascist situation of fragmentation and the peculiarities of social media either. Back in the 30s and 40s, there was a lot of disagreement on who counted as fascists. On one end, during the rise of the NSDAP, there was a small cadre of orthodox fascists who narrowed fascism "a la Italiana", and did not consider nazi-fascism to be fascism because of its differences on the scientificist conceptions of race. The Nazi party repressed this small wing. On the other end, it was a prevailing position in the USSR to not consider fascism to start with Italy's fascii di combatimento, but rather in Russia's Black Hundreds, having a broader conception of fascism.

This fascist we talked with considers himself a Carlist⁴, while another member of his groupuscule considers himself a national-socialist, while being Moroccan, and a third is a run-of-the-mill reactionary concerned with the 2030 agenda, globalism, immigrant invasions, the great replacement, that sort of thing. When fascist groups are relatively small and lack any form of inertia and/or formalized structure, their activity is extremely sporadic. There is no discipline to be found, no real planning or broad strategy, they are, rather, a group of similarly-enough-minded friends who sometimes like to do some vandalism or threaten/agitate leftists of any stripe. Their only method of growth is to generate controversies, fights, have a provocative tweet go semi-viral, to generate noise. When it comes to agitation for the fascist, concrete ideology is not relevant. They appeal to both rage and the satisfaction of, for example, seeing x annoying leftist org get their posters ripped off. Discussions of fascist theory rarely, if ever, influence their pragmatic activity, sometimes it's more similar to a circlejerk to see who has the most esoteric, exaggerated and offensive positions.

This is not to say fascist infighting is irrelevant, far from it. Fascists have their own petty disputes between groups, periods of extreme fractionarism, inter-fascist and intra-fascist violence. But when it comes to the philosophy of action, to how they apply all these beliefs, you'll be pressed to find meaningful, material differences. Some might be more or less aggressive, more or less esoteric, more or less contrarian, more or less effective. But they all rely on building that momentum, that controversy -> confrontation -> growth -> controversy cycle. The moment fascist groups lose that momentum, or one too many campaigns fall flat and fail to garner attention, they'll start to turn against themselves, to deteriorate their own structures in the permanent search for conflict that their beliefs demand. There is no way to hold the belief that, for example, race is a scientific category that makes the white/national/aryan/european/whatever race constantly threatened to disappear without exhorting you to seek conflict, whether it's against immigrants or other fascists who don't place as much importance on race.

If you find yourself in the context of a few small fascist groups festering and seeking conflict, it is a strategic error to confront them outright. Unless you're willing to downright kill them or injure them severely enough (with the bigger threat of legal repercussions that entails), fascists will be able to turn your explicit opposition against them into ammunition to attract more reactionaries to their own ranks. The best you, as an organized communist, can do in the period before exaltation, is to quietly collect information about them, study their patterns, and exert as much opposition as is possible without letting them turn it into a visible confrontation. If you're going to cover up their symbols and posters, do it when they can't film you or try to start a fight. If they're threatening someone to provoke them to then cry and hue about the rabid leftists, use the fact that they have low numbers, record them, and intimidate them without physical violence. Even if you can leave them writhing on the floor in a fight, they can use that as ammunition, but they can't use a video of them putting their tails between their legs and running off. You can't debate with fascists, this much is clear. You also can't just use violence to scare them away, because they'll use that violence to gain momentum, and then you can end up with an actually decently-sized and consistent fascist organization.

This is how we have been opposing these small groups of fascists attempting to grow through controversy. We opposed them non-visibly, effectively and professionally. When this group of about 15 fascists total (they never appear with more than 4 at a time because of their inconsistency) encountered this, they were at one point scared enough to stop all activity for about 2 months, and after that have yet to appear again. Meanwhile, other, more infantile orgs, overreacted by opposing them with full force and very publicly, which only encouraged the fascists to keep going and wasted energy in a futile back-and-forth, as well as putting their members in unnecessary risk by engaging in unplanned situations.

¹ Throughout this entire post, all analysis of the behavior of fascists offline assumes this exaltation has not occured

² Entelechy here means an impossible ideal, built entirely in the imagination, or with an unstable and shoddy manifestation.

³ Fascism often positions itself as a revolutionary movement, while other times it places more importance on the opposition against progress.

⁴ Carlism is a Spanish political current originating in the rejection of Isabel II as a legitimate heir to Fernando VII, it became very intertwined with Franco's dictatorship and the Falange during the Civil War

[redsugarx]

Hanfu in Components: Structure Conventions (pt2)

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Thanks for the love on the last post, I’ve been motivated to continue writing LOL Anyway: Construction/sewing pattern/structure is very important to hanfu!

There are a few important structure conventions when it comes to hanfu—almost all traditional-cut hanfu follow these rules; you could call them the defining characteristics of hanfu. There are exceptions to every rule of course (I will go over some caveats at the end of this post), but generally if a hanfu design ignores these rules we might consider it to be ‘incorrect.'

(There will be a longer follow-up pt. 3 post to this explaining the anatomy of a hanfu top/robe, where there will be more detailed in-context illustrations and descriptions. I just figured I should list these ‘rules’ somewhere separately.)

中縫/中缝/zhong1 feng4/Center Seam

Take a look at your shirts. Is there a shoulder seam between the front of the shirt and the back of the shirt? Western clothing tends to consist of a front piece + back piece sewn together to create a space for your body to sit in：

Hanfu doesn’t work like that. Traditionally, the garment isn’t separated into a front piece and back piece: it’s separated into a right piece and left piece, which are joined together at the vertical center seam. Why? Traditional fabric has a narrower width than the standard ~145cm that we have today, so a long, narrow piece is less wasteful to cut out from a bolt of silk than a wide one.

Therefore there is always a center seam, one running vertically down the front and one down the back. 中 = center, 縫 = seam, so 中縫 means center seam. There’ll be a front center seam （前中縫） and a back center seam （後中縫）.

不破肩/不破肩/bu2 po4 jian1/No Broken Shoulder

Kind of an addendum onto the previous point? Additionally since the body pieces are separated into left/right rather front/back, there’s no seam at the top of the shoulder here. The fabric is simply draped over the arm/shoulder to hang down, covering the torso on both sides.*

*Caveat: Some modified hanfu that vendors sell today will have a shoulder seam, especially thicker winter garments or short-sleeved garments. This is a design choice made to prevent the fabric from looking too stiff, known as 破肩/破肩/po4 jian1，literally “broken shoulder.” It can look great, lots of hanfu makers do it! But just to be clear, that is a MODIFICATION.

接袖/接袖/jie1 xiu4/Sleeve Connection

Western clothing patterns tend to have something where the fabric of the sleeve gets connected to the fabric of the garment’s body at the shoulder/armpit, often with a concave arm hole shape to help with the contours of the garment when it’s worn.

Hanfu sleeves, on the other hand, are never connected at the armpit—they are connected halfway down the arm. In other words, the piece of fabric that forms the body extends to also cover the upper arm part of the sleeve. The actual sleeve piece is connected to the body at the bicep/elbow area via a flat seam. (In the case of half- or no- sleeve garments there might just not be a separate sleeve piece.)

右衽/右衽/you4 ren4/"Right Over Left" Rule

Applies to cross-collar, some varieties of round collar, and some varieties of standing collar tops. In the case that the front of the garment crosses over itself, the flap coming from the wearer’s left goes OVER the flap coming from the wearer’s right. Easiest way to make sense of this is, if you’re looking at someone wearing a cross-collar hanfu top, the cross will look like a lowercase y.

Caveats

NO RULE EXISTS WITHOUT EXCEPTION!!! These rules exist because a majority of hanfu follow them and they are a standard that people agree on right now. However, there are ALWAYS cases—historically or otherwise—where these rules may be broken. For example, there are several Ming Dynasty cross collar robes that happen to be left over right, and the location of the sleeve seam can differ based on what garment you're looking at.

Also, many modern hanfu manufacturers will deliberately choose to break these 'rules' in favor of aesthetics. This is a purposeful design choice—not one that's done out of ignorance or disrespect. It's easy for common modifications to get mistaken for 'historically accurate.' To be clear, it is 100% okay and super common for modifications to exist! Just don't go around claiming that it was historically that way.

My advice is that if you're starting out with hanfu, try to stick to these rules in the back of your head as closely as possible. Once you've built your foundational knowledge, then you can start exploring the exceptions to the rules. These rules may not be foolproof, but they are a useful tool to help you understand the commonalities and trends within hanfu without overwhelming you.

Last note: it is generally more of a taboo for seams that should exist to not exist in a piece of clothing (i.e. no center back seam) than for extra seams to exist. If you go look in museums for the artifacts that hanfu is based off of, you'll notice that a lot of them—especially the ones from earlier dynasties—are a chaotic patchwork of a bunch of random piece of fabric sewn together to create the garment. Fabric is expensive, people don't want to waste it! So it's not all that weird to have seams in random places.

Happy 除夕 everyone! 有蛇有得 :>

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[velmiraa]

Synastry Sessions Part I: Tom Holland & Zendaya

Hey everyone! Today I'm starting a new series where I’ll be looking at the synastry of famous couples. First up are our beloved Zendaya and Tom Holland. I don't know their exact birth times, so I'll just be focusing on their planetary and asteroid compatibility. If you do know their birth times, please let me know! Alright, let's dive in!

--

Zendaya is a Virgo with a Taurus Moon, which makes her very down-to-earth. She needs stability and financial security to feel safe. Her Mars and Venus are both in Cancer, so she’s emotional, passionate, and somewhat private when it comes to love and sex. Once she’s in love, she finds it hard to move on. Her Libra Mercury gives her a balanced, harmonious outlook on life.

Tom, on the other hand, is a Gemini with a Sagittarius Moon. He’s lighthearted, easygoing, adventurous, intellectual, and has a great sense of humor. His Venus is also in Gemini, meaning he’s drawn to women who can keep up a good conversation and teach him new things. There's also a Taurus influence in his chart—his Mars and Mercury are both in Taurus—so when he’s making a decision, he’ll take his time, but once he makes up his mind, nobody can change it.

When I looked at their charts, the first thing I noticed was that their Suns square each other. But Mercury rules both signs, there’s a strong intellectual component to this pairing. Both Gemini and Virgo enjoy thinking, learning, and sharing ideas. However, friction arises from Gemini’s broad curiosity vs. Virgo’s detail-oriented nature. Gemini might see Virgo as overly critical, while Virgo might view Gemini as unfocused. I had a similar placement with my ex-boyfriend—his Mercury was in Gemini and mine was in Virgo. And believe me, sometimes I really did find him scattered and unfocused, and it drove me nuts! On the flip side, he would always say that I criticize people way too much, lol. We had a way to understand each other tho, these are Mercurian signs at the end! I should add that they are both very rational people.

Another point worth mentioning is Tom’s Lilith and how it interacts with Zendaya’s Venus–Mars conjunction! Well... Tom is probably obsessed with Zendaya lol She is the one he truly desires, but at the same time terrifies him! With Lilith touching both her Mars and Venus, it amplifies the raw, instinctual flavor of the attraction, creating a deep, sometimes irresistible pull. It can create a relationship that’s emotionally potent, sexually magnetic, and sometimes intense.

We should also talk about their Chiron–North Node conjunction in Libra as a “double whammy.” Since Zendaya’s Chiron connects with Tom’s North Node, she shares her healing experiences and helps him find balance in his life, guiding him toward his true path. But because Zendaya’s North Node also lines up with Tom’s Chiron, the same pattern holds in reverse! This creates a sense of destiny, as though they’re each helping the other fulfill a key part of their soul’s development.

I can’t help but notice their Pluto–Moon conjunction. When these two come together, there’s a powerful, magnetic pull. This isn’t a lighthearted aspect; both people may feel an intense, soul-level connection. There’s a mutual fascination that can make it hard to walk away, even if problems come up. Often, the Pluto person (Zendaya) becomes a bit obsessed with the Moon person (Tom), holding a strong influence over his emotions. In short, this conjunction is incredibly intense and can be life-changing.

They also have a harmonious aspect between his Moon and her Saturn, which really supports a long-term bond. They look out for one another, with her helping to ground his emotions. He trusts her enough to open up about his vulnerabilities, and she understands and guides him.

On top of that, her Ceres is conjunct his Moon—one of the sweetest aspects around. His emotional world clicks perfectly with her nurturing style, so he likely feels, “She just gets me.” It encourages him to let down his guard and trust that she’ll care for him without judgment. Put simply, he sees her as wife material, guys!

Finally, we have her Psyche conjunct his Eros—oh my gosh! In Greek mythology, Eros and Psyche share a legendary love story that’s both physically passionate and spiritually profound. When these two come together astrologically, it often creates an immediate, almost destined sense of attraction. It can feel downright magical, reaching beyond physical desire to resonate on a deeper, more soul-level plane. He may feel especially inspired, while she feels deeply “seen” and understood. It’s like a meeting of body and spirit—a real legendary vibe!

----

That’s all for today, guys! Let me know if this analysis rings true for their relationship, and which celebrity couple you’d like to see next! See ya!

[luxaofhesperides]

Accidental Bride Sacrifice ; requested by @starlightcat04!

Danny has long since gotten used to the feel of summonings. They don’t happen often, but sometimes the right components are put together to force him into answering, and he’d have to go as the new Ghost King.

Which no one told him was a thing! He hadn’t protested too much about the whole Ghost King deal when they finally told him about it after he graduated high school. It gave him a good excuse to ditch life in the living realm and not worry about college or a career, and let him really embrace his ghost side. 

The summonings are a problem, though. They always feel staticky and bad, like a dumpster that just got struck by lightning. The taste of iron on his tongue, a clear sign of blood being spilled, lets him know that it would be one of end the world for us summonings, because some people can’t put in the effort to do it themselves, apparently. 

But this time, the summoning feels different.

Danny pauses, eyes going unfocused in the middle of his conversation with Jazz. He had been looking forward to spending the week with her, now that she’s on winter break, but his luck is as bad as always.

“I’m being summoned,” he tells her, cutting off her rant about a transphobic professor she had. 

“Oh, no. Do you need me to do anything? Should I go with you to beat up whoever it is that’s summoning you?”

Danny tilts his head to the side, considering. The taste of blood is noticeably absent. In fact, this summoning pull doesn’t make him feel sick at all. It makes him feel warm, as if he’s just been wrapped in a hug.

“No,” he says. “I think I’m good. This one feels different.”

“A good different?” Jazz asks, worry clear in her voice.

“Yeah. A good different. I’ll come back soon, okay?”

“Alright. Be careful, Danny.” Jazz pulls him into a quick hug, then steps back to watch as Danny stops fighting the pull of the summoning and disappears into a swirling white rings that flashes into existence behind him, blinding her for a moment, and is gone when she manages to blink the spots out of her vision. 

For a minute, Danny drifts in a void of stillness, traveling through the realms as the summoning draws him closer to the correct realm. And then he’s rising out of the ground in a dark building made of concrete, candles of green flame scattered all over the place.

“Great One!” someone in a hooded cloak cries, raising his arms in jubilation. “Our calls have been answered!”

“I’ll fucking kill you!” a mechanical voice yells from farther back. When Danny looks past the cultists’ heads, he spots a man in a red hood and leather jacket chained to a pole, along with a bunch of other people in strange costumes tied up, desperately trying to free themselves. 

“Silence!” The leader of the cult, or who Danny assumes is the leader, snaps at the hooded man and gestures to the people off to his left. They force another costumed person forward, this one in yellow armor. He can see the blood running down their face from beneath their helmet and from their nose, dark lines of blood cutting through their brown skin. 

The cultists throw the armored person forward, forcing them to kneel. Then they bow to Danny and step back.

“Great One,” the leader says, voice unpleasantly reverent and grating, “Welcome to the mortal realms. We offer you this sacrifice to feed your strength. He will make a fine general for your undead army in your crusade to rid this world of its filth.”

The people in the back begin shouting all together, panicked voices overlapping, and Danny is left staring down at the cultists in shock.

The summoning had felt so nice. What the hell was this? He did not sign up for another ‘end of days’ insane cult. He just wanted to be hugged. 

His silence makes the cultists nervous. They begin to shift uneasily, whispering to each other, and the leader clears his throat, then pulls a large crystal dagger out of his cloak. “We shall prove our devotion to you through an offering of a hero’s blood!”

And then he moves towards the sacrifice and Danny snaps out of his shock to yell, “Wait!”

The entire room freezes. Even the costumed people in the back go still. 

Danny winces, then tries to smother his power, make himself more palatable to the humans of this dimension. “Wait,” he says again, and he sounds closer to human now. If he could, he would drop his ghost form entirely, but he knows better than to endanger himself like that. “What, exactly, did you summon me here for?”

The cult leader stares at him for a moment. “To… To rid the world of filth and allow your loyal followers to spread word of your power. You will be worshiped again, Great One, and serve as a reminder to man that Death shall always prevail.”

“Okay, I get that, but I was talking more along the lines of the summoning. What ritual did you use? What specifically were the summoning requirements?”

Normally, he’d be able to figure it out himself, but these cultists didn’t use a summoning circle. So they did something else, something less visible and therefore harder to figure out, in order to bring him here.

A woman standing off to the side speaks up, stepping forward hesitantly. “I had pieced together a few summoning spells from this book to bring you here. You had to accept our chosen sacrifice to your side in order for the summoning to work.”

“Hold up that book for me, please?”

She does, and Danny flies down to grab it from her hands. “Point out which lines you used,” he says, already reading a few of the words written down. It’s definitely ghostspeak written down, which should be near impossible for living humans to translate without being skilled in magic.

“Ah, these ones.” She points to each line, reading them out for him, and Danny starts understand what, exactly, went wrong.

“Is there a problem, Great One?”

Danny returns the book then floats over to the sacrifice and picks him up. The costumed people make alarmed noises, but quietly quiet down again when all Danny does is move him away from the cultists.

“Okay,” he says, “So. The lines you used to summon me were not translated properly. What you interpreted as ‘accepted to stay by the king’s side in loyalty and strength’ is not meant to be, like, him being part of my undead army or whatever. It’s a royal marriage vow.”

“They married us?” the sacrifice shouts, disbelieving. The cult leader buries his face in his hands and sighs.

“My deepest apologies, Great One. We meant no offense. We simply wanted to aid in your destruction of this depraved world.”

Danny scrunches his nose and shakes his head. “Yeah, that’s not gonna fly with me. I do not do the biding of random people, especially those who are ready to murder innocent people for no reason. Frighty, if you would.” He snaps his fingers, calling up Fright Knight who always enjoys getting to torment the people who summon Danny for murderous reasons.

Fright Knight appears in a swirl of darkness and screams. Shadows swallow the room, and when they recede, no cultists remain.

“Thanks, Frighty. Have fun with them. I need to figure out all… this.”

Fright Knight bows to him, then disappears. Danny lets out a breath, then floats down lower to be eye level with the sacrifice. “Hey,” he says gently, with a smile, “I’m so sorry they did this to you. I’m Danny. What’s your name?”

“Du— Uh, Signal,” the sacrifice says, sounding rather dazed. 

“Signal,” Danny repeats. “Like… a traffic signal?”

“No. I mean, maybe? But it is Signal. That’s my hero name, not my real name.”

“Oh, you’re a hero!” His getup makes more sense now. Danny checks him over for any signs of injuries. So far, only his head and nose seem to be injured, but his wrists are tightly bound behind his back. Carefully, Danny calls upon his ice and shapes it into a sharp knife, then cuts through the zipties.

He helps Signal up to his feet, floating by his shoulder. “All good?”

“Yeah, man, all good. Let me just get the others free.”

“Oh, I can do it!” Danny flies over to the other costumed people, who must also be heroes. All it takes is one link in the chain being frozen and broken for the entire thing to go lax, allowing them to free themselves. Hooded guy spares Danny a single glance, then hurries over to Signal to check on him. The other three, a man with a blue bird across his chest, a blond girl with a yellow bat outline on her chest, and a guy with bandoliers and a golden bird emblem, all watch him warily as he floats back towards the center of the room.

“So,” the blue bird man says, “If they summoned you with a marriage vow, and you accepted, does that mean you’re planning to steal Signal away from us?” He’s smiling, but it’s not a nice smile.

“No! I had no idea they did this! I am so sorry you all got caught up in this. You most of all, Signal.”

Signal shrugs, nudging hood guy away from him. “Nah, man, it’s all good. This is definitely the better outcome.”

“I don’t know, being married off isn’t really a good thing.”

“Hey, at least they married me off to a decent guy.”

“You don’t know that,” Danny says, “What if I’m secretly evil?”

“If you were secretly evil, you’d be destroying the world right now. I think you’re fine.”

The blond girl waves at him, demanding his attention. “Quick question! They were calling you ‘Great One’. Are you a god or something?”

“Not really? I’m the Ghost King. So I’m a ghost who rules over other ghosts and also a majority of the Infinite Realms.”

She nods as if this is all totally normal for her, then shoots Signal a grin. “Congrats on bagging a king! Not the worst way to spend a night, right?”

“Can you break the marriage?” blue bird man asks, the lines of his shoulders tense.

Danny awkwardly rubs the back of his neck, not looking any of them in the eye. “I honestly don’t know. I can look for a way! But I genuinely have no clue. This was unexpected.”

“But you accepted.”

“I didn’t know what I expected! It just felt like a hug, and I wanted a hug! I thought I was being summoned for something nice for once!” Danny curls up, bringing his knees up to his chest, and hides his pout behind his hands. He knows he’s being childish, but he can’t help but be upset that he couldn’t have this one good experience from being Ghost King. 

It’s always responsibilities and death cult summonings and fighting ghosts who don’t think he should be king. Sure there have been some good things, but they’re comparatively few when looking at all the other stress and pain that comes with the crown. Sue him for wanting to have a nice night for once. Hell, at this point, he’d take being summoned to help with some kid’s homework, because at least then he could have a quiet night helping someone.

“Hey, man, can you come down here?” Signal asks. 

He wants to stay out of reach, hiding himself away for a bit longer, but Signal is his new, surprise, accidental husband, so Danny lowers himself to the ground and peeks through his fingers to look at him.

He tenses when Signal hugs him, soft and warm and comforting. It takes a moment for him to realize what’s going on, and then he’s melting into Signal’s embrace, dropping his hands to wrap them around Signal’s back.

Distantly, he can hear the other heroes talking quietly amongst themselves. He blocks out the sound as much as he can, determined to enjoy this hug while it lasts.

Which is… fairly long. Signal makes no moves to end the hug, so Danny closes his eyes to really savor the moment. 

“So,” Signal murmurs into his ear, “As newlyweds, how about we get to know each other a bit better before we start working on fixing all this?”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Let’s ditch these guys and take some time to ourselves.”

“I promise I’ll get this fixed,” he says, just to make sure Signal knows. “Genuinely, I am so sorry to have married you through an old Realms vow when you had no say in it.”

“Hey, if it lands me a very nice, very attractive king, then I don’t mind at all. I could have done without the murderous cultists, though.”

Danny huffs out a small laugh. “Oh, for sure. Thanks for being so cool about this. Want me to fly us out of here?”

“Yes please,” Signal says. Danny smiles and tightens his grip on Signal, then lifts them both up. “I’ll see y’all later! Have fun with the rest of your patrols!” he calls out to the other heroes, who start shouting at him.

Danny flies them right out the roof before the other heroes figure out a way to kick his ass. The city they’re in is smoggy and dark, tall buildings rising up into the cloudy sky, and police sirens ring through the air. There’s no where that looks like a particularly nice spot to land for a conversation, so he asks Signal where he’d like to go and follows his directions from there.

They end up phasing through a building, then into the floor, which leaves them in what Signal calls The Hatch. 

Danny takes a quick moment to freak out over being in a hero’s secret hide out, the composes himself and finally pulls away from Signal.

“So,” he starts, looking around The Hatch and taking in the giant computer, the workstation, the motorcycle farther down the way, “What did you—Woah!” Danny spins around, slamming a hand over his eyes the instant he realizes that Signal is taking off his helmet, leaving his face bare.

It’s not like he’d know who Signal is anyways, being from a different dimension, but it’s the principle of the matter.

Signal laughs when he sees Danny’s attempt to keep from looking at him. A warm hand wraps around his wrist and gently pulls it away. “It’s okay, Danny, you can look,” he says. “It would be pretty weird if my own husband didn’t know my face.”

Slowly, giving Signal to change his mind, Danny opens his eyes. He moves his gaze up, going from Signal’s armor to his face, his very cute face and his warm brown eyes, and Danny stares for a moment. 

“Hi,” he whispers.

“Hi,” Signal says, fondness coloring his voice. “My name’s Duke. Are all Ghost Kings as cute as you?”

“Duke,” Danny repeats. “Hi. Um, no. The last one really sucked, actually, which is why I fought him. He was so bad the Infinite Realms didn’t want him anymore, so though I technically didn’t beat him in single combat, it was enough for the Infinite Realms to kick him out and get me on the throne.”

“Man, I can not wait to hear more of your stories. Think we got time for that while we search for a way to undo that marriage vow?”

Taking his chance, Danny says, “Sure! It’s a date.”

He’s awarded by Duke’s bright smile and idly wonders how long he can keep them married. Hopefully long enough for them to get into a real relationship where he can propose properly. And then he can get Jazz’s blessing too—

“Oh shit,” Danny realizes. 

“What? What’s wrong?”

“I need to tell my sister or she’s going to actually kill me.”

Duke winces. “And I should probably tell the others before Spoiler makes a mess of things… B is not going to be happy with me.”

They share a despairing look, already dreading the amount of scoldings they’re both going to get. He’s not looking forward to it.

“...Put it off until tomorrow?”

Duke nods. “Yeah. That’s a tomorrow problem. For now, how about a late dinner?”

“Sounds perfect.”

. . .

[send me a ghostlights prompt!]

[arahir]

Hi!! Do you follow any interesting podcast or youtubers? I kind of want something to watch/listen to while on the treadmill haha and you have nice taste!!

omg okay yes but our definition of interesting might be different

PODCASTS

FALL OF CIVILIZATIONS | the most soothingly voiced british man describes the rise and fall of various civilizations around the world. meticulously researched, beautifully produced, minimal or no commercials. he has youtube video versions of each one that look like a werner herzog documentary. each one is one to three hours long. i've listened to every ep three or four times.

WHO SHAT ON THE FLOOR AT MY WEDDING? | a lesbian couple tries to get to the bottom of the titular question. it's done like a true crime podcast. they bring on all their friends and do hard hitting interviews. one half of the couple is dead fucking serious about it and the other half is trying not to lose it every single time. a true fave.

NORMAL GOSSIP | probably everyone has heard of this. basically there's a guest and then the host goes over some drama that a listener submitted. it's always the most insane story, the most in depth. like a listener's dad getting into the underground orchid market after inviting a stranger to live with them (iirc). so so much fun.

SEARCH ENGINE | we're not getting into the drama behind the creation of this podcast cough cough. they take a different listener question and deep dive on it, like: there's an exclusive club in germany that almost no one can get into and no one knows why so they go into the history of the club and go over the listeners' failed attempts to get in, etc.

YOUTUBERS

ANY AUSTIN | does deep dives on random video game shit like "where do the rivers in hyrule go" and "what's the unemployment rate in mondstadt" and stuff like that.

FUNKYFROGBAIT | they do really funny videos about current topics but with a really circumspect view.

JACOB GELLER | deep dives on cultural things like fear of the dark or loneliness but with pop culture/video game component. honestly has floored me before.

HBOMBERGUY | perennial. evergreen, even. have to rec.

CARI CAN READ | i love her. so calming to me. great reviews but i must recommend her going over the plots of the sara j maas books because she's so kind about it but so clearly cannot contain how idiotic the plot is. it's both soothing and hilarious.

ALEX AVILA | video essays in the truest form. really well produced. usually on musical artists. he did some like... past stuff about popular gay ships that i do not want to hear or think about.

[meazalykov]

car girl

jill roord x reader

the dutch needs her car fixed, and luckily she found the perfect person to do it for her

warnings: there might be incorrect information about cars on here, since I am not a mechanic. I had to do some research for this one <3

the air smells of oil and warm rubber, the scent of your garage always lingering on your skin no matter how many showers you take. 

the radio hums in the background, some soft rock playing through the speakers as you apply a smooth layer of tint onto a customer’s car windows, your movements precise and careful. 

your blue levi overalls are already stained with grease from an earlier job, but you do not care. it is part of the work, part of who you are. its come with the job i guess.   

your hair is tied up in a sleek ponytail, keeping it out of your face as you concentrate. your hands, skilled and steady, press the tint firmly onto the glass, smoothing out any bubbles with practiced ease. 

just as you are finishing up, the sound of a car pulling into the lot catches your attention. you glance up, wiping your hands on a rag, and immediately recognize the blue-gray mercedes. 

vivianne.  

she steps out of the driver’s seat, stretching slightly before shutting the door. the footballer’s blonde hair is pulled into a messy bun, and she is dressed in a simple hoodie and jeans. 

it is not vivianne who captures your attention…it is the brunette stepping out of the passenger seat.  

she is tall, with piercing eyes that sweep over your garage like she is taking it all in. the woman’s posture is relaxed but confident, and she carries herself with the kind of ease that tells you she knows she is attractive. this could be a good or a bad thing but you do not know yet.

your eyes briefly drop to her toned arms, the way her fitted top clings to her, before you look away.  

vivianne smirks, immediately picking up on where your attention went.  

“y/n,” she calls, walking over. 

“this is jill.”  

you wipe your hands on your overalls again before offering jill a nod. 

“nice to meet you.”  

jill’s lips curve into a smirk. 

“i’ve heard about you,” she says, voice smooth. 

“didn’t expect you to be this—” she pauses, her eyes dragging over you shamelessly, “—fine.”  

vivianne groans. 

“jill, for fuck’s sake!”  

you let out a small chuckle, raising an eyebrow. 

“this how you always introduce yourself?”  

“only when the person is worth it.” jill grins.  

vivianne rolls her eyes. 

“anyway, we came here to you because jill’s got some issues with her car. i figured i’d bring her to the best.”  

you tilt your head, glancing toward the sleek black audi parked next to vivianne’s car. 

“what’s the issue?”  

“been overheating like crazy,” jill says. 

“i barely made it to training yesterday without it acting up.”  

you nod, already suspecting the problem. 

“bring it into the garage. i’ll take a look.”  

jill drives it in while you grab your tools, pulling on a pair of gloves before popping the hood open. steam hisses out, confirming your suspicions. vivianne and jill stand off to the side, watching as you move with confidence, checking each component. 

jill’s eyes never leave you.  

“it’s your radiator,” you finally say, pulling off your gloves. 

“it’s in bad shape. you’ll need a replacement.”  

jill sighs, running a hand through her hair. 

“great. how long’s that gonna take?”  

“a few hours,” you answer. 

“depends on how cooperative your car wants to be.”  

vivianne groans dramatically. 

“i was hoping we could go somewhere.”  

“you still can,” you tell her. 

“i’ve got this.”  

jill smirks. 

“you sure? wouldn’t want to leave you here all alone.”  

you huff a laugh, shaking your head. 

“i’ll be fine. go grab some food or something.”  

vivianne and jill exchange a look before jill shrugs. 

“guess we’ll be back later, then.”  

as they leave, jill casts one last glance over her shoulder, her smirk widening when she catches you looking. you shake your head, turning back to the car, but you cannot help the small smile that tugs at your lips. 

a few hours later, just as you are tightening the last bolt, the sound of footsteps echoes through the garage. you glance up, expecting to see vivianne and jill together, but it is just jill.  

“viv went home,” the dutch woman says, leaning against the nearby tool bench. 

“said she was tired. figured i’d come pick up my car myself.”  

“convenient,” you muse, wiping your hands again.  

jill grins. 

“very.”  

you pull off your gloves, tossing them onto the workbench. 

“your car’s good to go. radiator’s replaced, and i checked your coolant levels too. shouldn’t give you any more trouble.”  

jill nods, taking out her wallet. she pays without hesitation, but instead of just handing you the money, she also slides a small card across the counter.  

you pick it up, frowning slightly. 

“what’s this?”  

“my number,” jill says simply.  

you blink, glancing at the card, then back at her. 

“you need me to check your car again or…?”  

jill laughs, shaking her head. 

“no. i want you to take me out.”  

your eyebrows shoot up. 

“oh.”  

“yeah,” she continues, crossing her arms. 

“figured since you’re single and all, i should take my chance.”  

you huff a small laugh, shaking your head. 

“oh my days…vivianne told you, huh?”  

“yup.”  

you exhale, staring at the card for a moment before slipping it into your pocket. 

“alright, jill.” you meet her gaze, a smirk playing on your lips. 

“guess i’ll be seeing you soon.”  

jill grins. 

“can’t wait.”  

with that, she gets into her car, starts the engine, and pulls out of the garage.

you let out a breath, running a hand through your hair as you watch her leave. 

maybe working late was not such a bad thing after all.

masterlist

[outofgloom]

THEY REMEMBER

His eyes hurt, his legs hurt. His arm...it all hurt. The distance hadn’t seemed all that long on the way, but he’d had a vehicle then, and his core hadn’t been exhausted from battle. Now...now the true scale of the Great Basin was made real to him. Kio on torturous kio. Even his farthest psionic senses couldn’t yet detect the minds of the workers that labored on the rim above.

Another step. His bad leg dragged, and he tottered, thrusting his good arm out for balance. His other arm poked uselessly at the air: a stump above the elbow. It didn’t help, and another pulse of telekinetic energy was needed to steady himself. He would’ve fallen headlong otherwise. That’s what it had come to.

The bad arm itched, and he was obliged to go back inside, back to the psionic corner where pain impulses filtered in from his limbs, deactivate the alarms again. Just an empty numbness now. That was better.

He continued on. He was at least halfway by now, and was that a whisper of a thought he heard? One of the dry responses of the automaton-workers, perhaps? They were always talking to the System in their heads: “Confirm this” and “Acknowledge that”. Regular, predictable. Easily tweaked.

Unlike Their minds. Down there, behind him. Theirs had been...unexpected, but he had tried, in spite of it.... Tried to do his duty.

The infestation grows, his masters had said. Down in the pits, between the foundation-ribs. Our scrying shows more hole-boring and tunnels. Toa Orde, it is time for something to be done. 

He had tried to do what his masters asked, but it had not been what he’d anticipated. A thousand eyes had looked upon him from the pockmarked cliffsides, where the creatures had gnawed away the bones of the world. A thousand minds had turned their attention to his approach, as his sky-sled dropped out of the pale light above and landed in their dim realm. He’d extended his mind to them confidently, establishing the required connections, in order to start his work. 

<<Great Beings…?>> 

The first thoughts came through. Questions, even curiosity. About him, about his masters. That was to be expected. He widened the link further, calculating population numbers. So many...a vast number of minds...but it shouldn’t be a problem.

<<Great Beings know...>> 

<<They...remember...>>

<<Remember...us?>>

He focused on the nearest of the creatures, a pair of eyes in an opening several bio above: the strongest link. He called up the mental schematic that had been provided to him, reviewed the changes required.

<<They...have not...forgotten...?>>

<<They...remember us>>

Simple enough: just a matter of finding the right mental threads to pull, the right pathways to re-wire. And then...Even these aberrants shall be brought into the grand design, as his masters had said. Even these. 

All set. He made the first change.

<<What...?>>

Confirmed. The threads yielded to his will, with only a little resistance. It was going well. 

He made the second change.

<<But...>>

Confirmed again. Pathways reshaped at his command, a little harder this time, but no problem. 

He held the threads taut for a moment to suspend the target’s behavior, re-checked the schematic. Right, all correct.

<<Why…>>

Now he made the third change. This was the most difficult, bringing the final components into conformity. More resistance, but he was almost done. Afterward, the alterations would be propagated throughout their network. Simple enough, if his calculations were—

Shock. The mental link snapped off, like a limb breaking. It stunned him, disoriented him, but only for a second. Then he was back in his own throbbing head, feeling sick.

There was a noise in the dark space above, and something smashed heavily into the ground before him: A body, all spines and serrated claws. Now broken.

It was the creature he had linked with.

It was dead.

Confusion. What had happened? He had followed the schematic, all the proper directives. The task had almost been complete, but then.... The creature.... Had it…? No, surely....

Eyes were moving, up in the darkness. Crawling and scuttling. 

He took a step back toward the sled, tried to reestablish his connection. He’d simply try again and then—

<<Rage>>

<<Resentment>> 

He felt his breathing stop. He clutched his head, clenched his jaw involuntarily. 

<<Wrath>>

<<Betrayal>>

A wall of chugging, pulsing malice struck him, and he reeled. 

Thousands of minds bent on him in unison, overwhelmed his weakened defenses. And each one felt the same thing—the same feeling of fury, of violation—all feeding each other and consuming each other in an endless psychic loop.

He’d made a mistake, somehow. These were not like the automaton-minds of the workers above. These were—

<<RAGE>> 

<<RESENTMENT>>

Not simply a web of threads and commands to be altered at his whim. They were...They were like him. How?

<<WRATH>>

<<BETRAYAL>>

Did his masters know?

<<THEY KNOW>>

Eyes moving. Voices croaking. Spines clacking. Closer now.

<<THEY REMEMBER>>

A barbed spear hurtled out of the dark, skewering his sky-sled and showering him with a cascade of sparks, and in the brief flare, he saw Them with his real eyes.

<<WE REMEMBER>>

He raised his hands. Closer.

<<WE WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER>>

*  *  * * * *

The basin-rim stood another few degrees higher now, and he was certain that he could catch a few strands of thought on the psy-fields. Almost within range, and then he could summon another sled to carry him the rest of the way. His arm throbbed. He’d not been able to keep the pain down for the last stretch. 

Teeth gnawing, claws raking at his armor, a shriek shattering the air as his telekinesis tore another of Them limb from limb. And still more piled on. More bodies. 

More wrath. 

More betrayal.

Maybe he deserved to feel the pain.

On a whim, he looked back over his shoulder, saw the vast wasteland sloping downward behind him. His feet left faint tracks in the fine protodermic dust that covered every sio of the Great Basin. The trail led for many kio, showing the haphazard route he had taken after emerging from the deep defile, still pursued by the creatures. He had killed more of them on the plain. He’d had to.... They wouldn’t stop.... He wouldn’t stop.

Turning back toward the distant rim, he considered for a moment simply reporting success to his masters. They trusted him. Maybe they wouldn’t truth-test the message. And then...then the last complication would be resolved. Everything in order. The valve-gates would be opened, and silver water would pour into the Great Basin.

All part of the grand design.

And down there, in the pits, down between the foundation-ribs...the flood would sweep in. And maybe that would be the end of it. 

No bodies. No traces left.

<<Rage>> 

<<Resentment> 

<<They know>>

Except with him. In his own memory. He would remember.

<<Wrath>>

<<Betrayal>>

He would always remember.

[tossawary]

A quote and thoughts regarding Shen Yuan's opinions on Liu Mingyan and the "sexiness" of the Liu Mingyan versus Sha Hualing setup. He knows what he should be feeling in this situation as a "normal straight guy", but I don't think he's actually feeling it.

"Shen Qingqiu was very fond of this female lead, and it wasn't only because Liu Mingya's beauty points were the highest. It was also because she had great poise. She always understood the big picture and grasped the general situation, and her conduct was fair and honest. Even in Luo Binghe's gigantic harem, a wife with both intelligence and moral character was rare.

There was one more appeal factor. Liu Mingyan was the only female character for whom Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky didn't write detailed sex scenes. Many readers had been highly dissatisfied with this arrangement, to the point that they spammed the comments with their ranting, but this had given Liu Mingyan something no other female lead had: an image as clear as ice and pure as jade!

Can't be helped, the unobtainable ones are always the best.

[Sweatdropping shrug kaomoji that I can't type out.]

This was what made the second match worth watching. An evil demoness naturally demanded a righteous saintess as a rival. Every man dreamed of being caught between an angel and a devil. To watch them jealously vie with each other over him one moment, then risk life and limb for his sake in the next - that was the highest, most sacred, perverted fantasy of every male organism. He could drunk off the wild, untamed charm of the wicked seductress, and at the same time his heart would ache for the austere taste of the pure saintess who kept pulling him closer only to push him away!

One had to admit, "Great Master" Airplane was genuinely good at nailing what people found satisfying. Shen Qingqiu couldn't help giving Luo Binghe another glance.

Luo Binghe found it very hard to not care about that gaze. Why exactly did Shen Qingqiu keep looking at him? Was it possible that Shizun... really had an interest in him?"

Volume 1, Chapter 2, pages 111-112.

I'm not sure where to start with this! It's a lot! I'll just work backwards: it is very funny to have Shen Qingqiu repeatedly looking towards Luo Binghe, trying to see Binghe's reactions to Sha Hualing and Liu Mingyan, and Binghe's just like, "Shizun is looking at me???" I think "interest" in this case just means interest in Binghe as a disciple with potential, rather than anything else. Binghe is not paying any real attention to Sha Hualing or Liu Mingyan's attractiveness.

Oh! A rare compliment towards "Great Master" Airplane! Shen Yuan, don't strain those rarely used muscles!

I do find it amusing that Shen Yuan refers to Liu Mingyan as "moral" and "righteous" and "pure" here. The vibe I got with Liu Mingyan is that she sided with Luo Binghe to take down her brother's murderer, which I would agree is righteous and abides by a set of morals. But the first few pages of SVSSS inform us that PIDW Luo Binghe viciously destroyed the great cultivation sects, which means that PIDW wife Liu Mingyan either helped or stepped aside when a whole bunch of murder happened.

And the "my favorite wife is the one with no (or limited) sex scenes" is a classic Shen Yuan moment and one of the reasons he reads as being strongly on the asexuality spectrum to me. The way that he talks about heterosexual "male" desire gives me the same vibe. Like he's separated from it. Like he knows this is what he's "supposed" to feel and he just... doesn't... and it's possibly hard for him to recognize what sexual desire feels like (as opposed to, say, general sexual arousal that doesn't necessarily have a target) if he's never actually experienced it himself. He knows what he should be feeling if he was the "every man" reader of PIDW.

Even when he talks about Sha Hualing and Liu Mingyan's appeal, he says "wild, untamed charm" and "pulling him closer only to push him away" as the key components of the fantasy. Like, "being flirted with" and "being fought over and fought for" and "appreciating a distant beauty" are more important than "having sex". "The most appealing thing about Liu Mingyan is that she wouldn't actually go through with trying to have sex with me," says Shen Yuan.

He's like, "Oh, I can recognize that Liu Mingyan and Sha Hualing are physically attractive, that probably means I'm an Ordinary Straight Man." Even though the way that he talked about Liu Qingge's looks in the Ling Xi Caves was... not very heterosexual... and here, he mostly seems excited just to see one of his favorite characters.

Admittedly, Sha Hualing appears 15-16 here and I think Liu Mingyan is around the same age (she doesn't have her spiritual sword yet), so Shen Yuan is probably also not attracted to them just because they're teenagers. (I do not interpret him as sexually or romantically interested in Binghe at all at this point in time.) I headcanon Shen Yuan being 20-ish at this point in time, so he's probably not that much older than SHL or LMY, but they're probably around his younger sister's age (Shen Yuan's younger sister was old enough to be reading non-con, gay, BDSM erotica.) Sha Hualing shows up half-naked and Shen Yuan is just like, "Where are your shoes? Did you walk here like this? Wasn't that painful?"

In my opinion, Shen Yuan seems a little... relieved... to think that no one could be sexually or romantically interested in the scum villain. He does lament that it's hard to get a girlfriend like this, sure. He does think that he's going to die and that he'd eventually lose any woman to Binghe, so there's no point in trying. But he really, really does not try. "Oh, I can't pursue anyone because they'd never be interested in me! How frustrating! ...Anyway! Moving on to enjoy the many other little pleasures of life! Like food and monsters!" I think the closest he comes to flirting with anyone is when speaking to Liu Qingge in the Ling Xi Caves, while Liu Qingge is coughing up blood, and that did not seem intentional.

I think if he had transmigrated into any other character, who wasn't an "unappealing" villain, Shen Yuan still wouldn't pursue women. I think he'd be like, "Well, I want a beautiful woman, because I have standards! But all beautiful women belong to the protagonist, and no one is better than Binghe, there's no way I'd win that competition, so there's no point in trying!" At which point, it's just like, "Shen Yuan, anyone becomes beautiful when you love or like them; I don't think you actually want to fuck women."

I think if Shen Yuan had transmigrated in as Luo Binghe, he still wouldn't try to pursue women. He'd be like, "I'm just raising my standards for the harem! Some of those wives were not very intelligent or in possession of good moral character! Nearly three-digits is disrespectful to the better wives! I'm only interested in especially beautiful and skilled women, like Liu Mingyan, who's perfect! (And also won't try to have sex with me.)"

Like, I am not against a bisexual Shen Yuan. I am willing to be persuaded to go along with many different interpretations! But he does read to me generally as a gay asexual / demisexual who hasn't yet realized that a desire to be fawned over and an ability to recognize beauty is not necessarily the same thing as sexual attraction. (I do think he is attracted to Binghe after Binghe gets back from the Endless Abyss, but his feelings there are tied up in his very real, reasonable fear of murder and mutilation.)

[ncvqk]

Clerical Error | Alex Cabot x Casey Novak

one bed trope because why tf not fluff? they start making out. nothing explicit. that's what your imagination is for. freaks.

Casey Novak checked her watch for the third time as the train began to slow. Outside the window, the upstate landscape blurred past: amber trees, lonely fields, gas stations clinging to the highway. It was colder here than in Manhattan, the kind of air that bit the edges of your coat and promised a long winter.

Across from her, Alex Cabot barely glanced up from her copy of The Giver..

Casey cleared her throat. “So… What exactly is this conference again?”

Alex turned the page. “Cross-District Prosecutorial Strategies for High-Risk Witnesses. Hosted by Albany. They run it every fall.”

Casey nodded. “ And we’re on the same panel?”

Alex finally looked up. “It’s more of a roundtable. They want real-world insight into inter-bureau cooperation—especially with organized crime cases. Your recent fraud case had a trafficking component. That’s why you’re here.”

“Oh. So I’m the newbie they invited to make the room look diverse.”

A small smile ghosted across Alex’s face. “Don’t flatter yourself. I fought to get someone from White Collar on that panel. Your case actually had teeth.”

Casey blinked. She wasn’t expecting that. “Thanks. I think.”

“You’re welcome,” Alex said simply, then leaned back into her seat. “Just don’t bomb. We’re both representing Manhattan.”

The hotel was the kind of place that advertised “Free WiFi” on a plastic sandwich board near the door like it was a luxury. The carpet was an aggressive maroon with gold swirls, the kind found in chain hotels with more ambition than budget. At the front desk, the clerk looked like she’d rather be anywhere else.

“One room under the Manhattan DA’s Office,” Alex said crisply.

The clerk typed something into her ancient computer. “Yup. Got you here. Cabot, right?” She slid a single keycard across the counter. “Room 219. One queen.”

Casey blinked. “Wait—one bed?”

“Should be two,” Alex said, already frowning. “We requested two.”

The clerk gave a shrug that said ‘not my problem’. “Sorry, ma’am. We’re at capacity. Hockey tournament in town. Last-minute changes screwed up a few reservations.”

Alex’s jaw tightened. “There’s nothing else available?”

“Nope. Fully booked.”

Casey glanced sideways at Alex, lowering her voice. “We could take turns on the bed. Or I’ll sleep on the floor. I’ve survived worse.”

Alex sighed and snatched the keycard. “Let’s just get upstairs. It’s been a long day.”

The room wasn’t terrible. Clean. Smelled faintly like lemon disinfectant and decades-old air conditioning. One bed in the center with stiff-looking pillows and a wooden nightstand on either side. There was a welcome packet on the dresser from the Albany DA’s Office beside a TV that probably hadn’t seen cable news since the Clinton administration.

Casey hovered near the window, arms crossed. “Well. This is cozy.”

Alex placed her briefcase down, unbuttoning her coat. “We’ll deal. I’ll call down in the morning. Maybe something will open up.”

“Or maybe we’ll both develop an aversion to personal space,” Casey muttered.

Alex raised an eyebrow. “You’re not that interesting.”

Casey smiled, surprised. “You’re funny when you’re tired.”

“I’m always funny. You’re just too new to notice.”

Casey moved to plug in her phone and unzip her suitcase. Alex’s eyes lingered for a second longer than necessary before she turned away and reached for the remote.

“Great,” Casey said, staring at the tiny flatscreen TV. “Maybe we can catch Top Chef before bed.”

Alex’s lips twitched. “God help us.”

The room was quiet now, save for the hum of the heater and the occasional creak of old plumbing. The lights were off, leaving only a thin sliver of orange glow bleeding through the curtains from the parking lot outside.

They lay on opposite sides of the bed, backs turned at first, but slowly, they both ended up staring at the same cracked ceiling tile, blanketed in silence.

Casey broke it first. “This is so weird.”

Alex turned her head slightly. “What?”

“Lying in bed next to you. I’ve known you for, what, a month? You don’t even like me.”

Alex huffed a quiet laugh. “I don’t dislike you.”

“That’s not a denial.”

“You’re competent,” Alex said finally, like it cost her. “You care. Most people don’t. That earns you some points.”

Casey turned onto her side, propping her head on her hand. “Wow. I might blush.”

Alex’s lips twitched. “Please don’t.”

They both smiled in the dark. It felt strange and unfamiliar, but not unwelcome.

After a moment, Casey asked, “Did you always know you wanted to do this? Law, I mean.”

Alex didn’t answer right away. “Yeah. My mother was a judge. My uncle was on the Second Circuit. It was sort of… expected.”

“Wow,” Casey said, flat. “That’s casual.”

Alex glanced over. “Let me guess. First-gen?”

“Third. But I’m the first to finish college without a baby or a felony in the middle.” She meant it lightly, but her voice dipped, just a little. “My mom cleaned houses. Dad was always deployed. I waited tables all through undergrad and law school. Worked the 2 a.m. shift at a 24-hour diner in Queens. I still hear ‘Pancakes, table six!’ in my nightmares.”

Alex turned to face her more fully now, expression unreadable. “That’s impressive.”

“It was exhausting.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Alex said softly.

Casey looked at her. “I know.”

Another pause. The kind where the silence feels heavy but not uncomfortable.

“You ever get tired of pretending it’s not hard?” Casey asked.

Alex blinked. “What?”

“This job. The people. The pressure. All of it. You ever get tired of acting like you were built for it?”

Alex hesitated, then said, “More often than I’ll admit out loud.”

Something softened between them. Casey didn’t smile, but she looked less guarded. “Well, for what it’s worth… you make it look easy.”

“I don’t,” Alex said, voice quiet. “I just learned how to hide the cracks.”

They both lay still for a moment, staring into the space between them.

“I think I like you better like this,” Casey murmured.

Alex quirked a brow. “In bed?”

Casey snorted. “Tired. You’re less terrifying when you’re half-asleep.”

Alex chuckled, the sound low and surprisingly warm. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Too late,” Casey whispered, eyes already drifting shut.

Alex woke slowly, pulled out of sleep by the unfamiliar weight of something warm draped across her.

She kept her eyes closed for a few moments, breathing in the scent of cheap linen and Casey’s shampoo. Something citrusy, sharp. Casey was tucked behind her, one arm draped lazily across the blonde’s waist, breath soft and steady against the back of her neck. Her legs had tangled somewhere during the night, one knee bumping against the back of Alex’s calf. She was completely, shamelessly asleep. Alex exhaled slowly. She hadn’t been held like that in years, maybe. Not without expectations. Not without cost.

She blinked her eyes open slowly, adjusting to the early morning gray that filtered through the thin curtains. Her mind was foggy with sleep, but her body was still, cautious. She just lay there, staring at the ceiling and feeling something foreign bloom in her chest.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Casey Novak was new. Rough-edged. Too young, too idealistic. All grit and no polish, yet somehow cutting through red tape like she’d been born to it. She asked too many questions. She spoke without permission. She looked at Alex like she didn’t see the name, the legacy, the curated perfection.

She looked at Alex like she was real.

And now she was wrapped around her like it was nothing. Like it was normal. Alex didn’t know how to hold that.

Carefully, she lifted Casey’s arm and slid out of bed.She stirred faintly, but didn’t wake, just sighed and turned over, her hand falling to the empty sheets beside her. Alex dressed in silence, pulling her blazer over her blouse and smoothing down the sleeves with a practiced hand. The mirror showed her what she expected: composed, sharp-eyed, untouchable.

But her hands hesitated when she picked up her watch.

She glanced over her shoulder. Casey had curled into the space she left behind, her hand resting on the pillow, brow furrowed slightly in sleep. She looked younger like this. Softer. Like someone who hadn’t been clawing her way up for years.

Alex crossed the room and stood beside the bed. For a moment, she did nothing. Then she reached out, gently brushing a lock of hair from Casey’s cheek.

“Hey,” she said softly. “Time to get up.”

Casey stirred, eyes blinking open slowly. She squinted up at Alex, confused and sleepy. “Wha—time is it?”

“Six fifteen,” Alex replied smoothly. “We’re due downstairs at seven-thirty. Thought you might want a head start.”

Casey groaned, flopping back on the mattress. “You already got dressed? God, you are a robot.”

Alex smirked faintly. “And yet you were practically using me as a body pillow all night.”

At that, Casey sat up, blinking fast. “Wait—what? Did I—?”

Alex didn’t look up from her bag. “Don’t worry. I survived.”

Casey flushed, scrubbing her hands over her face. “I swear I’m not usually like that. I just—uh. Long week.”

Alex finally looked at her. “It’s fine, Novak.”

Casey covered her face with her hands. “Kill me now.”

“I don’t think they’d appreciate that at the conference.”

“Do you?” Casey asked, peeking at her through one eye.

Alex’s mouth quirked. “Not today.”

There was a long pause. Casey sat up, pulling the sheets around her. “I didn’t mean to… I mean, I don’t sleep like that normally.”

Alex studied her for a moment. “I didn’t mind.”

Casey blinked.

Alex turned toward the door, her lips twitching into a smile she didn’t let Casey see.

“Get dressed,” she said. “I’m not carrying you to the conference.”

The hallway was a blur of gray suits, clacking heels, and rustling folders. A table near the wall offered lukewarm coffee in flimsy paper cups, and the buzz of pre-panel chatter filled the space like static.

Alex stood off to the side, one arm crossed as she tapped through emails on her phone. Her posture was as crisp as ever, but her eyes were a little less guarded than usual. She didn’t say anything when Casey appeared beside her, coffee in both hands.

“Coffee,” Casey said simply, handing her a cup.

Alex accepted it without looking. “If you can call it that.”

Casey smirked. “Better than nothing. Though barely.”

Alex shot her a glance. Casey looked infuriatingly fresh-faced, hair pulled into a low ponytail, a pen already clipped to her notebook. “How’d you sleep?” Casey asked, too casually.

Alex sipped her coffee. “Fine.”

“Just fine?”

“I’m not used to sharing a bed with someone who sleep-kicks.”

Casey grinned. “I told you I don’t usually do that.”

“You also said you don’t usually latch on like an octopus.”

“Okay, ouch. I was having a vulnerable moment.”

Alex gave her a sidelong glance. “You were unconscious.”

“Exactly. The purest form of vulnerability.”

Alex tried not to smile and mostly succeeded.

They fell into a comfortable silence, the kind that would have been unthinkable even a few weeks ago. Casey broke it first.

She tilted her head slightly, studying the banners hung along the wall. “You think they make us come to these just so we can meet people and pretend we’re not drowning?”

“I think they make us come so they can say they did something productive about inter-bureau communication,” Alex replied, deadpan.

“You’re such a ray of sunshine.”

Alex glanced over. “You say that like it’s an insult.”

Casey laughed softly, then sipped her coffee. “You always this charming before nine a.m.?”

Alex arched a brow. “You’re the one who insisted on sitting next to me.”

“I didn’t see a ‘reserved for emotionally distant career women’ sign.”

Alex almost choked on her coffee. “Novak.”

Casey grinned, eyes sparkling, but said nothing more. The silence that settled between them wasn’t awkward. It felt earned. Easy.

Alex’s gaze drifted to the wide conference doors ahead. “First panel starts in fifteen.”

“Joint prosecutions. You excited?”

“I’m prepared.”

Casey bumped her shoulder lightly. “That’s what I meant.”

Another long pause. The kind that could have been filled with small talk, but wasn’t.

Finally, Alex spoke again. “You did well the other day.”

Casey blinked. “Thanks.”

“You had command of the case details. You were… direct.” She hesitated. “In a good way.”

Casey’s voice softened. “That almost sounded like a compliment.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

But there was warmth behind it. Not teasing. Not cold. Something else.

The PA system crackled overhead: “Session A is now beginning in Room 4B.”

Casey shifted her coffee to her other hand and straightened her jacket. “Let’s go, Cabot. We’ll wow them with our coordinated cynicism.”

Alex gave her a sideways glance. “Don’t trip over your sarcasm on the way in.”

Casey walked beside her. “No promises.”

They entered the conference room side by side, and if Alex’s hand brushed the small of Casey’s back as they passed through the door, neither of them said a word about it.

They didn’t say much on the walk back from the little Italian place down the block. The air was cool and sticky with humidity, the sky above them smudged with clouds that didn’t quite commit to raining. The restaurant had been cozy, warm-lit and cramped, with red-checked tablecloths and bad jazz spilling out of battered speakers overhead. The pasta was passable, the wine strong enough to make them both quiet in that way that wasn't quite uncomfortable, just... careful.

Now, back in the hotel room, everything had gone still again. The soft glow of the bedside lamp turned the beige walls golden, and somewhere down the hall, a door slammed, muffled and faraway.

Casey dropped her keycard onto the dresser with a clatter that sounded louder than it should have. She kicked off her heels, letting out a soft groan as she rolled her shoulders, the motion lazy and feline. She looked tired in that sunkissed, wine-loosened way—cheeks flushed, lids low. “Shower’s calling my name,” she mumbled, voice already trailing off. “If I don’t come out in twenty minutes, assume I’ve drowned and avenge me.”

Alex, perched at the desk in one of those stiff hotel chairs, barely looked up. Her blazer was slung over the back of it, sleeves rolled up to her elbows, glasses slipping down her nose as she absently flipped through her notes from that afternoon’s legal ethics panel. “If you drown in a Marriott bathtub,” she said dryly, “I’m not sure vengeance would be my jurisdiction.”

“That’s cold, Cabot,” Casey called over her shoulder, her voice tinged with mock betrayal as she disappeared into the bathroom.

The door clicked shut. A second later, the water started, a soft rush behind the wall.

Alex didn’t move. She just stared down at her notes, eyes unfocused now, words blurring into meaningless lines. Her pen hovered above the page, unmoving. In the quiet, she could hear the sound of the water running, steady and gentle, and under that, the silence stretching long between them. There was something about Casey’s laugh, that fake-dramatic tone she used when she wanted to pretend she wasn’t tired or hurt or thinking too much, that tugged at something Alex couldn’t quite name.

She sighed and leaned back in the chair. The wine lingered faintly in her bloodstream. Just enough to take the edge off, to soften the sharp corners of her usual restraint. Her head buzzed with a gentle warmth, not quite a fog, but enough to slow her down. To let her drift.

She should be reviewing their notes. Or catching up on emails. Or reading something dry and dense to anchor herself back into focus. Something that didn’t have cheekbones or a crooked smile or legs for days.

Instead, her gaze slid over the edge of the desk and toward the closed bathroom door. Her mind wandered, reluctantly at first, then with more boldness.

Not in the usual way, the disciplined way, where her thoughts clicked into place around case law and procedural nuance. This was slower. Warmer. Dangerous in a way that had nothing to do with physical risk.

She imagined the steam curling around Casey’s bare shoulders, softening the sharp lines of her silhouette until she looked more like a dream than a person. The kind of image that lived behind closed eyelids at night.

She pictured the flush rising high on Casey’s cheeks, blooming across her skin from the heat of the water, not embarrassment or nerves. The way her ponytail would unravel, strands slipping loose one by one until it gave up entirely. Damp gold clinging to the curve of her neck, the slope of her spine, until it settled along her back in a messy sheet that demanded no polish, no artifice. Just honesty.

And that laugh.

The one Alex had only heard a few times, and always by accident. Never in a courtroom, never at work. A snorty, unfiltered thing that crinkled her nose and lit up her whole face, like she'd forgotten to care how she looked. It was never calculated. Just joy. Undeniable and rare.

Alex bit the inside of her cheek, hard.

She could almost see Casey stepping out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel, skin still damp and glistening in the lamplight. Hair dripping onto her shoulders. Her expression open, lazy with warmth, grinning at some dumb offhand comment Alex hadn’t even meant to be funny.

Alex sat up sharply, spine stiffening as though she'd been caught.

Absolutely not.

She exhaled hard through her nose, dragged a hand over her face, and crossed her legs tightly, trying to root herself back into something practical, something safe. She stared down at her notes again, willing herself to focus, but the words smeared and reassembled in unreadable patterns. Nothing stuck. Nothing helped.

The shower kept running. The quiet in the room filled up like fog.

She glanced toward the bathroom door again—just a flick of her eyes—then turned her head back so fast it felt performative, even though no one was watching. She hated this. This need. This aching, irrational want that had nothing to do with justice or duty or any of the clean, orderly things she’d spent her life clinging to.

Because Casey Novak was supposed to be a junior colleague. A sharp-tongued ADA with too much nerve and a reckless streak she tried to hide behind long hours and coffee. She wasn’t supposed to matter like this. She wasn’t supposed to crawl under Alex’s skin and settle there.

The water shut off with a sudden clunk of finality. Alex rose too quickly, almost knocking her knee against the desk, and crossed the room in three brisk steps.

The window offered a view of the parking lot. Rows of sedans under humming streetlights. A Waffle House neon sign flickering somewhere in the distance. It was all blessedly uninspiring and bland. She stared out into the nothing, arms folded tightly across her chest.

Behind her, the bathroom door clicked.

Casey emerged in a baggy sweater and plaid boxers, hair damp and curling at the ends. She looked… small. Not in stature; she still moved with that restless energy, like her bones were wired for motion. Softer now. Blurred around the edges, like the day had finally worn her down and there was no point pretending otherwise.

Alex, still standing at the window with her arms crossed, glanced over her shoulder. Just once. Just long enough to register the sight before turning her gaze sharply back to the parking lot like it had something urgent to offer.

“Shower’s free,” Casey mumbled, rubbing the towel through her hair in lazy circles.

She crossed to the bed and flopped down face-first with a grunt, limbs sprawled wide like she couldn’t hold herself together anymore. “I swear to God,” her voice was muffled against the comforter, “if I ever have to sit through another three-hour PowerPoint on interdepartmental task forces—”

“You’ll what?” Alex replied without turning, her tone cool as glass. “Stage a rebellion?”

“No,” Casey said, rolling onto her back and letting the towel fall to the floor. “I’ll fake a seizure and take myself to urgent care just to get out of it.”

Alex's mouth quirked slightly. “Your commitment to public service is inspiring.”

Casey giggled and reached blindly into her overnight bag. “How are you not exhausted? You were like, scary alert all day.”

Alex turned away from the window at last, fingers moving to the buttons on her blouse with clinical precision. “Discipline,” she said. “And caffeine.”

She didn’t look at Casey as she unfastened the last button, nor as she turned to grab her toiletry bag from the chair.

It wasn’t avoidance, exactly. It was survival.

But Casey looked. God, she looked.

No better than a man, really. Eyes followed the line of Alex’s spine as she moved, drinking in the pale stretch of skin that peeked between shirt and waistband. The slope of her shoulders. The fine, deliberate motion of fingers undoing one button after the next like none of it meant anything.

Casey knew she shouldn’t stare. She should look away. Say something. Do something other than sit there on the edge of the bed like her tongue had gone heavy and her thoughts had short-circuited.

But she didn’t.

Because Alex moved like a quiet kind of violence—elegant, restrained, devastating in the details. Every flick of her wrist, every sharp inhale, every goddamn ounce of composure just made it worse. Made Casey want to unravel her.

She swallowed hard and let her eyes trace the curve of Alex’s neck, the faint dip of her spine as she bent to grab her things. Her bra strap slipped slightly down one shoulder, and it took everything Casey had not to let out a sound.

The bathroom door clicked shut behind her a moment later. She sat up slowly, hands braced behind her on the bed, staring into the warm wash of lamplight on the carpet. Her skin was still flushed from the shower, and her hair clung to the back of her neck, cooling in the air.

Her eyes drifted to the bathroom door. Steam curled at the edges beneath it like the ghost of something private, something unseen. She rubbed at her face and looked anywhere but the door. Anywhere but the space Alex had just vacated. But it didn’t matter. She could still feel her there. In the air. In her own chest.

It was ridiculous, this thing between them. Quiet and unnamed but present, like a low hum just under the floor.

Ten minutes passed. Maybe twelve.

Alex came back out quieter than she’d gone in. She wore a soft long-sleeved shirt and loose pants that clung slightly at the knees. Nothing revealing. Nothing intentional. Still, Casey looked up like she couldn’t not.

Alex didn’t say anything. Just crossed the room, slow and careful, and slipped onto her side of the bed like the space between them wasn’t full of static.

“You good?” Casey asked, her voice barely a thread.

Alex paused. “Fine.”

“You say that like you don’t mean it.”

“I say it like it’s all I’ve got tonight,” Alex said softly, pulling the blanket up to her chest.

Casey lay back beside her, stretching out. Their shoulders didn’t touch. But they could have.

For a while, there was only the hum of the heater and the faint clatter of a distant ice machine.

“I forgot how draining these things are,” Casey murmured eventually, her voice muffled by the pillow.  “All the smiling. The note-taking. Pretending to be interested in panelists who haven’t practiced law since the ‘90s.”

Alex gave a soft hum of agreement. “And the subtle competitiveness. Like everyone’s measuring everyone else’s ambition.”

Casey turned slightly toward her. “You play that game?”

Alex was quiet for a moment. “I used to.”

“You don’t now?”

“It’s not about winning anymore. Not the way it was when I was younger. Now it’s about… impact.”

Casey turned her head slightly, eyes skimming the shape of Alex in the dark. “You always seem like you know who you are. What you want.”

“I used to think that was the same thing,” Alex said.

A silence settled. Not awkward, but charged. 

“Do you ever feel like you’re becoming someone you don’t want to be?” Casey asked.

Alex’s reply was quiet. Immediate. “Every day.”

That landed hard in the space between them. The bed creaked as Casey shifted onto her side, facing Alex’s back. Not touching. But there.

“You don’t have to keep proving anything,” Alex said after a while. “Not to them. Not to me.”

Casey blinked at the dark. Her throat felt tight. “You saying that, like you mean it, might ruin me.”

Alex didn’t move. “Then I won’t say it again.”

She let out a laugh that sounded like it hurt. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

They didn’t touch. But they didn’t drift apart, either.

The minutes stretched, and the quiet got heavier, like the room itself was holding its breath.

Alex lay still, eyes open in the dark. She could feel Casey’s presence beside her, close enough that the warmth bled across the mattress. She didn’t mean to roll over.

But she did. Slowly, carefully, like a secret. She shifted onto her side and let her eyes fall on Casey, half-shadowed in the low lamp glow. Her face was relaxed now, the kind of softness Alex almost never got to see. The usual spark, the restlessness, was gone, replaced by something quieter. Casey’s hair had dried into a soft halo of waves against the pillow. Her lips were parted just slightly. Her lashes cast shadows against her cheeks.

Alex let herself look. She didn’t rush it. Took in every inch like it might be taken from her if she blinked too long. The slope of her nose. The faint scar near her brow. The way one of her hands had curled into the blanket like she needed something to hold.

Casey stirred slightly, brow knitting. Not asleep, then. She blinked once. Turned her head a little.

Their eyes met. She didn’t say anything.

Didn’t ask why Alex was watching her, didn’t joke or flinch or roll away.

She just looked back. Steady. Curious. A little amused.

Then she closed her eyes again, deliberately, and let out a breath that sounded like permission.

Alex stayed right there. Eyes wide open. And for the first time all day, she let herself want. Quietly, silently, with reverence.

Casey didn’t open her eyes again. But Alex could tell she wasn’t asleep. There was a shift in her breathing, slow, but conscious. Measured. Like she was waiting.

Alex watched her a moment longer, the curve of her cheek, the rise and fall of her chest beneath the old sweater. She knew she should look away. Knew this wasn’t fair. But something in her had cracked open, just a little.

She spoke, voice barely above a whisper. “You always sleep this still?”

Casey’s mouth twitched. “Only when someone’s staring at me.”

Alex huffed a quiet laugh, more breath than sound. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

She wasn’t.

Alex’s hand was just inches away on the blanket. She could feel the temptation like gravity.

Casey broke the silence this time, voice husky with sleep or something heavier. “You ever wonder what this would look like if we weren’t who we are?”

Alex swallowed. “I try not to.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to want something I can’t have.”

Casey turned her head again, eyes open now, clear and unflinching. “You already do.”

The words hit like a bruise. Not cruel, just true. Alex didn’t answer. Didn’t need to because the space between them wasn’t empty anymore. It was thick with everything they weren’t saying.

Everything they were too smart, or too scared, to speak upon.

And still, they didn’t move. Didn’t reach across the inches between them. But they didn’t look away either. And that was almost worse.

Casey had never been patient. Not with things like this. So she moved. Just her hand, at first. Slow. Barely brushing the back of Alex’s knuckles beneath the blanket.

Alex didn’t flinch or speak, just let out the smallest breath, like something inside her had cracked from the pressure.

Casey’s fingers slid over hers, palm to palm, tentative but deliberate.

“I won’t make you say it,” she murmured. “But I need to know I’m not imagining this.”

Alex turned her hand, laced their fingers together.

“You’re not,” she said quietly. “You never were.”

That silence came back, but now it was warm. Alex’s thumb brushed slowly over Casey’s knuckles, grounding, anchoring, unbearably gentle.

Casey leaned in, only a little, close enough to feel the heat of her, but didn’t close the distance. She waited.

And Alex?

Alex finally looked at her like she couldn’t not anymore. Like maybe, for once, she didn’t want to be careful.

That, more than anything, unraveled something in Casey. Because Alex always looked away when things got too close. 

So Casey shifted, slow and uncertain. Her knee brushed Alex’s hip beneath the blanket. She hesitated for half a second, heartbeat thudding in her ears, then climbed awkwardly over her, bracing herself with one hand near the pillow.

Alex went still, eyes wide but soft.

Casey hovered there, close enough to feel the heat of Alex’s breath, but not close enough to drown in her.

Her voice was quiet. Rough.

“Tell me to stop.”

She meant it. Every word. But Alex didn’t object,

And so Casey leaned in, and kissed her.

It wasn’t confident, and it definitely wasn’t perfect. It was careful. Hesitant. The kind of kiss that asked a question instead of answering one.

Alex made a soft, startled sound against her mouth—something between a sigh and a sob—and then her hand came up, fingers curling into the hem of Casey’s sweater like she needed something to hold onto.

Casey pulled back just enough to look at her. Alex’s eyes were glassy in the low light, her voice barely a whisper.

“You didn’t imagine it.”

“I know,” Casey said, so quietly it almost wasn’t sound.

The second kiss was fuller, hungrier. Casey shifted her weight, deepening it without thinking, her fingers tracing the curve of Alex’s jaw, holding her like she was afraid she’d disappear.

 Alex didn’t disappear. She kissed back like she’d been waiting for permission, like she’d spent weeks starving this feeling and was finally letting go.

 She moved beneath Casey, one hand curling around the back of Casey’s neck, the other still tangled in her sweater.

 It wasn’t smooth—their noses bumped, and Casey’s damp hair fell onto the pillow. Neither seemed to care. Alex’s hand slid into her hair, fingers tangling in the damp strands.

 “Casey…” Alex breathed her name like a warning, but her mouth kept chasing hers, her fingers tightening at Casey’s waist.

 “I know,” Casey whispered, forehead resting against Alex’s. “I know.”

 “You okay?” Casey asked, eyes searching.

 Alex nodded—a small, sharp motion. Her voice was hoarse. “Don’t stop.”

 Casey’s thigh slipped between Alex’s legs as she shifted—awkward at first, then deliberate. Her hands moved to Alex’s waist, tentative but wanting. The fabric of Alex’s sleep pants was warm beneath her knees. She leaned down again.

 “Are you sure?” she whispered, their foreheads brushing.

 Alex reached up, brushing a thumb over Casey’s jaw like a secret. “Are you?”

a/n this is the stupidest thing i have every created