#more interpretations and variations are good!

[aparticularbandit]

I don't know how to put into words that there is a line beyond which I want credit for things.

Like. Guitar Hero being an inspiration for Ibuki's shift from Light Music to Screamo isn't something I need or want credit for.

General headcanon I don't need or want credit for.

But there's. there's a line beyond which. and it's not a strict thing? it's intensely variable?

Heck, even when I write Jess stuff, if I'm referencing Willow's headcanon for Roger, I credit that. If I'm using Alana in Jess stuff, I'm probably drawing huge inspiration from Kat's Alana, and I credit that.

I don't know how to put into words what that line is, and I feel bad because I feel like I sound like I'm saying no, don't use my shit, which is not. what I'm saying.

And I don't want people to feel like oh, we have to ask Bandit permission to use their stuff, because like. that's not. strictly speaking true either.

-sighs-

It's just complicated.

[starboy-squeakers]

Again not a dungeon meshi reader/watcher but every time I hear about that laois guy I get reminded of how my system had/has a hyperfixation on dragons so intense that we got that big fancy dragonology book and we treated it like the damn dragon Bible for like years

Now, obviously, we understand that there's different interpretations on mythical creatures, and no one interpretation on a dragon is necessarily gospel, but that multiple interpretations on the classic tale of beasts of scale and fire are completely valid and to be expected!

however if you call an Eastern dragon a coatl I'm going to come to your house and slaughter your family

[onehellofajellyfish]

I apologize for reblogging again but I seem unable to comment directly to you and @evilcest

I interpreted it as him playing into the act for his and Ciel's mutual amusement because they both know it's Ciel giving the order and the smirk was more about his enthusiasm to obey Ciel/was about his bond with Ciel than the actions since he then does the immediate "you wound me" but

Obviously we can all read different things into it and I automatically read it in my head in a way that seemed IC to me is all

I also appreciate subtlety, I don't know what impression I gave that I didn't, but maybe I don't watch enough anime to not feel like this is probably one of the best adoptions I've ever seen, and that any granular variation is like. Well. It is an adaption, yanno?

Not that people still can't find fault in something really good, there's always room for improvement, but I guess I only said anything because the fandom's negativity towards the studio seems rather harsh considering how on the mark most of it is/I guess with seasons 1 and 2 in the back of my head I don't Notice stuff with That as the comparison

what the fuck was episode 13

i still haven't watched the full thing so i might have other comments but this scene really pmo

why the fuck is he doing a demon smile

i am all for fangs and sexy sebastian but this over-aggressive "masculine" predatory attitude in him has SIGNIFICANTLY died down at this point in the story and it is not worth it to give him a hot/scary smile scene because this isn't fan service atp, it's brutal character assassination

he did NOT smile like that 🙏💔

this is once again an example of the anime failing to adapt sebastian as a character, another attempt at making him more beastly and masculine (see: attractive) at the detriment of his character development. i can't believe this

if you haven't read the manga already, do it NOW plea–

[reasonsforhope]

"Eavesdropping on whale songs over the last six years is providing new information vital to answering questions about these giants of the ocean.

The number of whale songs detected is associated with shifting food sources, according to the California scientists—and the number of days humpbacks have been singing has nearly doubled.

When monitoring baleen whale songs in the Pacific Ocean, researchers found year-to-year variations correlated with changes in the availability of the species they forage on.

In vast oceans, monitoring populations of large marine animals can be a “major challenge” for ecologists, explained Dr. John Ryan, a biological oceanographer at the Monterey Bay Aquarium Research Institute in California (MBARI).

Their team deployed underwater microphones called hydrophones to study and track baleen whales, which communicate over long distances through sound.

“Surprisingly, the acoustic behavior of baleen whales provides insights about which species can better adapt to changing ocean conditions,” said Dr. Ryan, a lead author of the study.

They also monitored songs from blue, fin, and humpback whales off the West Coast of the U.S. to see what the song data could reveal about the health of their ecosystem.

The findings, published in the journal PLOS One, showed “large” year-to-year variations in whale song detection.

“The amount of humpback whale song continually increased, with their songs being detected on 34% of days at the beginning of the study and rising to 76% of days after six years,” said Dr. Ryan.

“These increases consistently tracked improved foraging conditions for humpback whales across all study years—large increases in krill abundance, followed by large increases in anchovy abundance.

“In contrast, blue and fin whale song rose primarily during the years of increasing krill abundance.

“This distinction of humpback whales is consistent with their ability to switch between dominant prey. An analysis of skin biopsy samples confirmed that changes had occurred in the whales’ diets.”

He explained that other factors, including the local abundance of whales, may have contributed to patterns in song detections observed in some years, but changes in foraging conditions were the most consistent factor.

“Overall, the study indicates that seasonal and annual changes in the amount of baleen whale song detected may mirror shifts in the local food web.”

WHALES ON THE COMEBACK TRAIL: • Gray Whale, Extinct for Centuries in Atlantic, Is Spotted in Cape Cod • Sighting of Many Blue Whales Around Seychelles is First in Decades – ‘Phenomenal’ • Majestic Sei Whales Reappear in Argentine Waters After Nearly a Century

“The results suggest that an understanding of the relationship between whale song detection and food availability may help researchers to interpret future hydrophone data, both for scientific research and whale management efforts”, which could better protect endangered species."

-via Good News Network, March 1, 2025

[screambirdscreaming]

Something that peeves me whenever I see another post going around with some variation on "autistic people take things literally which means we are the only people who communicate Clearly and Directly" is that - for any given statement, there is not one singular, agreed on, universal Literal Interpretation. If there was, none of this would be a problem!

The nature of language is that there's always some degree of interpretability. Words have several different meanings, often overlapping, and there's nuance of context, cultural references, and so on.

Faced with a statement, most people will quickly come up with an interpretation that to them makes the most sense. But if you asked a roomful of people to explain in detail their interpretations, everyone's would probably be a little different, even for a pretty simple statement. Regardless of whether those people are autistic! Everyone conceptualizes the world a little differently, and everyone has a unique personal history of all the language they've encountered, and these things effect our interpretations.

In order for communication to be workable, given this slosh in interpretability, there's another couple of processes that go on. As conversation goes on, people reassess if their initial interpretation matches up with additional context. If it doesn't, they revise it, or ask clarifying questions. And on the flipside of this process, the other person in conversation is tracking if your reactions make sense with *their* understanding of what they're trying to convey to you, and offering context or rephrasing things if it seems you're out of alignment.

These processes are social skillsets that are, like most social skillsets, not ever directly articulated or explained. Many people are bad at one or both. Sometimes you encounter someone who is really, notably good at it - the vaunted "good listener", who puts in the effort to really understand what you're trying to say, or that really excellent teacher who engages with you back and forth until you really get it. But a lot of the time, it's a sort of passive social friction - people just not getting each other.

Sometimes, you encounter someone whose brain works so much like yours that talking to them feels almost effortless - you just get each other. But that's a pretty rare occurrence for anyone. More often, as you get to know someone, you start to understand the shape of the way they interpret things and learn to account for it, so over time it's easier to make sense to each other.

It's honestly not uncommon in society for people to aggregate in groups of people who interpret things similarly, and who are thus easier to talk to, rather than actually building the skills of communicating across interpretation gaps. Particularly egregious are those groups of men who talk about Women as an incomprehensible monolith, but it turns up to a greater or lesser degree on a lot of levels.

I suspect this is the root of a lot of parenting problems - people who have never built this communication skillset, and relied on choosing friends who make sense to them without a lot of effort, and who are then totally unprepared to interact with a child who interprets things in ways they don't expect.

Obviously I can't speak to The Universal Typical Experience, not least because it doesn't exist. But in general I would posit that:

Most people, give or take a few assholes, are not trying to say things that are confusing. Most people think they are communicating clearly, because the first interpretation *they* would come up with on hearing one of their own sentences is the correct interpretation.

Many people are not very good at accounting for different ways people could interpret things they're saying. However, it is normal and polite social behavior to be somewhat flexible about this and forgiving of misunderstandings. If people are being shitty to you about not understanding them, they are assholes. And I wouldn't assume that the rest of the communication they have with everyone else they know goes totally smoothly for them.

I suspect there is a bit of an unfortunate feedback loop, where people have bad experiences when someone gets mad at them for not getting something, and learn to hide when they're confused. Which then leads to larger, more complicated misunderstandings, which other different people get upset at them about, because those people think they should have asked for clarification in the first place.

Truly you can't win with everyone. No one can win with everyone. There is no monolith of "neurotypical communication" which resolves all these contradictions - all those people you're lumping in together under "neurotypical" have just as much trouble with each other.

[alexidoesart]

The Fox Fairy/Spirit has a lot of variations throughout East Asia. I chose to base mine off the Huli Jing, and Tang dynasty dress. The shapeshifting, predominately female nine tailed fox also takes the form of a Kistune in Japan and Kumiho in Korea.

One of my favourite interpretations of this being is Good Hunting, the short story by Ken Liu (though not the Love, Death, and Robots inspired short animation! :( )

Original art by me! More phenakistoscopes on my page.

[rallamajoop]

The Complete Guide to Eye Colour In Resident Evil 8

Alright. I've cracked open the game files to extract every eye-related asset I could find. I've installed a bunch of mods to let me remove face coverings and zoom all the way in on the RE8 model viewer. Let's settle this one once and for all!

The short version, for those who just want a cheat sheet:

Ethan Winters: Hazel

Miranda & the Four Lords: Various greys

Bela, Cassandra and Daniela: Yellow

Mia, Rose, Chris and the Duke: Blue

Every local villager: Blue

Most of these are, of course, open to some interpretation, even beyond the usual scope for debating the exact line between grey and blue, etc. Does the eye colour on Ethan's model even count as canon, when you never see it in game? Does Donna's, when her eyes are either hidden behind a veil or vanishing as the light fades from them? It's up to you. But have some longer notes below.

Ethan

For Ethan, I could not get a good shot of his in-game model even with mods, so the render comes from Noesis (a tool for viewing game assets). His eyes are a sorta dark-blue-brown, which I think I can safely class as 'hazel' under the standard definition of "kinda brown, but not, like, brown-brown".

Unsurprisingly, the texture for Ethan's eyes has barely changed from the one in RE7 (lower resolution, and with a larger pupil than most in RE8) ‒ because why update what won't even be seen? But they're still distinctly different from every other character in either game, so I like to see hazel-eyed-Ethan as the official version myself.

Miranda and the Four Lords

Genetically unrelated though they may all be, Miranda and her four "children" all have some variant of washed-out-blue-grey-eyes ‒ even Moreau, who has the least human-looking eyes in the family. Is the mould a factor? (Insert your own theories here!)

Donna's eyes look brown in her portrait, and I would not blame anyone for taking that as more definitive than her character model. But the portrait is dark and fairly low-resolution, and her eyes are very pale in death, so I'd still tend towards the grey-blue of the model myself.

For such different characters, Dimitrescu and Heisenberg's very-pale-grey eyes are remarkably similar. Even Donna's are arguably just a darkened version of the same colouration, and all three have areas of orange-brown discolouration near their pupils.

Apparently this counts as a form of heterochromia ("central heterochromia"), which gets some people very excited. Realistically though, this particular form of heterochromia is so common that you probably don't even notice it most of the time (pick an eye colour, plug it into google image search, and I guarantee you will find examples without even looking for them).

The same central-orange-brown-region is also present for Mia, baby Rose, and Ethan ‒ you can even see a traces of the same in the Baker family (though not Miranda herself). And it's tempting to start to theorise that blue/grey-eyes-with-brown-centres are a symptom of mould-infection ‒ but then, two of the five members of Chris' team have it too, as well as some of the villagers. It's not there for every blue-eyed character in this game, but it's probably just one of Capcom's standard ways of adding a little realistic variation to eye textures.

All that said, Heisenberg, Dimitrescu and Miranda's eyes are so pale that they look just a little bit unnatural, and I'd be very surprised if that wasn't deliberate.

As for mutated forms, Heisenberg is the only one whose monster-form maintains his original eyes ‒ though they're darknened by a heavy pink overlay, which looks even more extreme to me in his game model than it does in the asset, so there's probably another layer of filters on top of it.

Dimitrescu and Moreau just get pupil-less white eyes in their own monster forms (though Moreau certainly gets plenty of other monster-eyes elsewhere on his body). And Miranda gets just one weird eye in the middle of her forehead, for whatever reason. Other monsters in this game have all manner of different eyes, probably just whatever the designer thought looked cool ‒ there's no one, consistent mould-infection-standard, just an awful lot of bizarre individual variation.

Bela, Cassandra and Daniella

All have unnatural yellow eyes, which I think we can take as a cadou-fly-people trait. Their eyes are so consistent they all seem to use the same eye-texture-asset between the three of them, so I haven't bothered including it three times.

There's also one official render of Lady Dimitrescu which gives her almost-glowing yellow eyes, though there's a yellow tint to all the light in the picture, so it may just be reflecting ambient lighting. Still, if you want to theorise she can make her eyes do that, that pic's arguably as canon as anything else.

Rosemary Winters

Rose's eyes seem to change a little between her baby stage and her teen years, losing those brown centres, though they're still a similar blue otherwise. The much stranger thing is that both baby and teen Rose's models have two slightly different extra red eye textures included alongside the standard blue ones, and I could not tell you what they're for.

Possibly there's some way of superimposing the red over the blue base to create the glowing-white-eyes you see when she uses her powers. But that doesn't happen until the DLC (which has even more confusing eye textures which might work for this purposes), and never to baby Rose, so I'm not entirely convinced. Were Rose's eyes supposed to flash red at some point in development? I have no idea.

Mia and Chris

Get grouped together because both appeared in RE7, where their models had brown eyes instead of blue. This makes more sense for Chris, whose model was completely redesigned for RE8, but what's going on with Mia? Her eyes are the same colour before and after she's infected in RE7, and her eyes only get even more brown when she's being mind-controlled, so I don't think we can blame the mould. I'm going to have to assume Capcom just changed them when they reworked her model for RE8 (which has changed, if not nearly so much as Chris') and didn't notice, or didn't expect anyone in the audience would.

I could not actually find any textures for Chris' eyes in the RE7 files, probably because he only shows his face in cutscenes stored in video format, but here's a close-up pic anyway.

The Villagers (and the Duke)

There are 8 named villager characters in the village files, but only five different eye textures to share between them ‒ and two of those are just lightly-adjusted variants on one of the first three. Luiza's model doesn't even have textures for her eyes ‒ I assume her model just references eyes from one of the first five.

Below in order are Elena, Leonardo, Roxana (the other woman at Luiza's), Griggori (man with the gun who Ethan meets first), and finally, the common texture used by Anton, Iulian, Sebastian, and even the Duke. Maybe we can blame inbreeding.

I doubt there's any important buried lore to be found in the fact the Duke has the same eyes as half the village, it's probably just a texture the developers liked using for characters whose eyes would never have to be seen up close.

Chris' Team

Yet more pseudo-canonical eyes, never actually seen in game. But they do all have detailed face models (you can reveal them with mods), probably because there were plans to give them bigger roles earlier in development. Their eye textures are an a different format to the usual, possibly because their models are invisible and incomplete, but they do match what that mod reveals.

The team are notable mostly for containing some of the very few white-skinned but brown-eyed characters in the game (the mother and daughter on the bus from Rose's epilogue are the only others) ‒ though the team isn't all white anyway.

And having now spent way too long digging into this subject, I'm not totally sure Capcom is aware that green eyes are a thing that a) exist, and b) can be as common as blue in some parts of Europe, because Eveline is the only person in this game with green eyes, and she's just a hallucination.

What colour eyes do white people have again? Blue, right? Blue eyes for everyone!

You may draw your own conclusions.

[srednyvashtar]

I've never been terribly active here but I've returned to share my favourite patterns that make me slightly uncomfy and/or ready to star in an absolutely CRACKING sci-fi miniseries, please enjoy.

DEGEN ADULT EYES SWEATER by Lindsay Degen

Who WOULDN'T want this Biblically accurate sweater? The perfect attire for every horrifying occasion.

#22 Raglan Sleeve Pullover by Laura Zukaite

The rather staid naming of this sweater belies its Mad Max energy. After the apocalypse comes for us I hope we can at least dress like this.

Open Waters Shawl by Melanie Berg

A good shawl to wear to a duel to the death with your mortal enemy, if your mortal enemy has trypophobia.

Romanesco Jumper by Ranti Ehinmola

Honestly, the number of variations shown in the project photos for this pattern is amazing. Not only can you fulfill your dreams of looking like a 5th Element villain, you can do it your way.

DEGEN HOLE SWEATER by Lindsay Degen

This is a practical pattern for people like me who are in denial about living in a desert and stubbornly insist on wearing knitwear despite ample evidence this is a bad idea.

Wilderness by Martin Storey

I absolutely adore the 1950s farmhouse vibe of this photo and the beauty and poise of the model juxtaposed with the fact that she looks like a human bittermelon and she is fucking KILLING it

# 17 Patterned Sweater with V-Yoke by Sabrina/Sandra team designers

An unassuming mass-produced pattern from the 90s that, just coincidentally, looks like something you'd wear to head an intergalactic delegation.

Blume by Norah Gaughan

Speaking of space sweaters, here's another that wouldn't look out of place on the bridge of a starship.

Mullion by Martin Storey

This one, on the other hand, looks more like attire for a... space council?

Space Odyssey by Anna Strandberg

This pattern is literally called "Space Odyssey". The author definitely knows.

Dark Moss Pullover by Teti Lutsak

Bringing things back to Earth, the way these broad cables fade into the fabric reminds me of my desire to be buried in one of those mushroom suits after I die. Your interpretation may vary.

Waterbender by Yiğitcan / Pufido

The ultimate in dramatic sleeves.

Day Dreams by Stacy Collingham

Finally... I think the Power Rangers fought this sweater.

[windvexer]

Smaller tarot spreads aren't necessarily easier or more beginner friendly. They can actually be more difficult, IMO

Drawing large spreads as soon as you begin learning tarot has a lot of advantage. Studying individual cards and working slowly with 1 or 3-card draws may work for some people, but this isn't the only or even the best way to learn tarot.

Reading fewer cards isn't always easier!

To me, the "magic" of tarot is linking cards and seeing patterns of information across a spread.

The job of a tarot reader is not memorizing cards. Memorizing card meanings is not required to be an effective reader.

IMO, the job of a tarot reader is to find patterns and narratives within a spread.

This can be easier to do with larger spreads, and harder with small spreads.

The purpose of a 3 card draw is not to individually interpret 3 cards.

The purpose is to discover a pattern within the cards. If it's a beginning/middle/end spread, do the cards seem to start off in a dreary way, and develop into a good/positive outcome? Is the middle card a road bump, while the beginning and end cards are smooth sailing?

Once you find patterns within a spread, the narrative can make itself readily apparent.

In a beginning/middle/end spread, if the general portent of the cards appears to be poor/better/best, then we might say that the general shape of the reading is an upwards trajectory.

So, what meanings of the cards fit the shape of an upward trajectory?

Almost all tarot cards have contradictory, mutually exclusive, or unrelated sets of meaning.

If a card's meanings include responsibility/drudgery/burden/mistake/success after work, then which meaning applies?

If that card is at the beginning of the upwards trajectory, the specific meanings that fit in might be meanings of burden or mistake.

If that card is at the end of the upwards trajectory, then it is more likely that the meaning of success after work applies.

But it would not be possible to use the pattern of the spread to shape the narrative in a 1 card draw. There are not enough cards to form a pattern.

The purpose of a spread is to facilitate linking the cards in such a way that patterns of information rise to the surface like cream.

This makes discovering the meanings of each card easier, not more difficult.

This can also mean that for beginners, larger spreads can be easier to read because patterns can be more apparent and easier to rely on when choosing narrative themes.

I have a particular favorite spread which I have been using for almost 17 years; my elemental quarters spread.

This spread has a few variations, one of which is the 12 card variation.

12 cards may seem like a heck of a lot for a spread, but it actually gets really simple when you start using tarot to read patterns instead of trying to recall memorized definitions.

In this colorful elemental spread, there are four cards that represent fire, and one quartet that represents fire.

Suppose that you believe fire represents things like passion and drive.

You are reading this spread for someone, and every single fire card is reversed.

Despite the clutter of so many cards, an immediate pattern jumps forth: this person has a serious blockage in the passion and drive in their life, that is permeating every area of their life.

Now that we know this, we can start looking at the meanings for each fire card relating to blockage, delay, or obstacles.

Because of the size of the spread, patterns can be much easier to see, and each card can be more quickly refined.

As a reader, a large spread gives you the ability to say, "I may not know what this card in particular means, but based on the pattern I am seeing in your emotion/relationships section, there is a lot of hope on the horizon."

Larger spreads reduce the need to perform an in-depth reading on each card.

If you have a 3 card draw and one card isn't speaking to you, then you are only interpreting 2/3 of a reading. And that's not a lot.

If you have a 7 card spread and one card isn't speaking to you, then you don't need to beat your head against a wall trying to unlock the secrets of that one guy. You can just say, "I don't know for sure, but based on the pattern, it seems like something bad vibes will happen before you get to the good events coming up."

There is no minimum amount of information you are supposed to get from each card.

You can draw 1 card and write a paragraph on it. Or, you can draw 10 cards and choose one key word from each, representative of the pattern(s) that you see.

The second reading may provide more information using fewer words, and be more accurate too - because the interplay of cards influences what key words best fit, instead of grappling with many meanings of a single card without direction.

You can get less than 1 key word from a card.

You can draw 3 cards, find the pattern in them, and choose 1 key word for all three.

You can draw 12 cards and get a 4 word reading.

And I stand by my belief that this 4 word reading may well ring more true than a paragraph of generic definitions pulled from a single card (shaped, if the reader is lucky, by context clues the querent has provided when they submitted their question).

I've been reading tarot for almost 2 decades (err... going on 17 years) and only in recent years have I been able to successfully read 3 card draws.

In my opinion, smaller spreads and draws can be significantly more challenging.

If you are getting stuck with your tarot practice, try moving on from "card meanings" and into "pattern-shaped narratives".

(Which is the term I made up for it)

[hp-lonesome-actual-art]

Ah yes, the aforementioned comic I was scheming up that one summer I had theater camp and always arrived five hours before it started (due to my parent having a librarian job in the area lol). Hence why I even had the time to make this silly concept into comic form. However it was never finished or continued as you’ve probably figured by now :P

Funny enough though I have leftover digital sketches for the initial conceptualization of these panels and the dialogue, which were never released once I finished the pages to be more refined. Think it’s neat to see the sketchy process tho. And since I’m not continuing it, might as well dump unfinished work or else it’ll just rot in my photos

These were part of the initial comic linked, before I redrew it and placed into comic boxes with background outlines

And this was part of the secondary comic prequel that I released. The dialogue got changed up and shortened quite a bit

And I think this was an alternative version to the second image in this sequence? Because it just kinda restates what was already said but different wording

Here’s some doodles in reference to the comic I created lol

I didn’t include The Badge Seller deal part in the comic, but it’s part of the overall story. Maybe I’ll make another comic explaining more about that

(Here’s the comic link btw. Just so it’s all connected together:)

[knight-a3]

Heavenbound AU

Hazbin Masterpost

Lilith, Mother of Demons

Notes under cut, including some Bible info!

Between dolls, snakes, apples, circuses, ducks, etc, there were just too many motifs/thematic elements to shove onto just Lucifer. So, I streamlined and distributed. Lucifer is goat themed, Lilith is snake themed. Charlie is a mix of the two. I also use this to partly to imply that "the Devil" is not solely Lucifer. But humans mistake various different demons as one character. Lucifer is just the one who gets blamed for everything. That's part of why he's a goat; he's a scapegoat.

Snakes- there is a trending theme of Lilith being associated with snakes, and sometimes being the serpent who tempts Eve. I wanted to give her snake hair, but making all of it snakes would be too many and a hassle to draw. So I went with seven to represent the 7 deadly sins. They're all named, just like how Charlie has Hugh.

Pride= Vani (vanity)

Wrath= Irene (Ire)

Gluttony= Tony (gluttony)

Greed= Ava (avarice)

Lust= Libby (libido)

Envy= Desi (desire)

Sloth= Lazlo (lazy)

Owls- lilith has sometimes been translated as owl or as night bird. In some Mesopotamian myths, lilith demons fly. Some tablets depict a lilith with talons, horns, and/or wings.

Vampires - This is a design element that I didn't realize was a historically viable association to make until after I made the design. But I figured it would be good to mention anyway. Lilith has been equated with some vampiric elements over the centuries. It comes from a thematic overlap between succubi and early depictions of vampires. So while I may not have had vampires in mind, I think some of the elements naturally bled through(no pun intended).

Dolls- I took this one from canon Lucifer and gave it to Lilith instead. I figured she was created and used like a doll, so it could fit decently enough.

Full demon form: I designed her to be similar to a lamia from Greek mythology. Lamia is the latin equivalent to lilith, and lamia happen to be associated with snakes. I didn't know that until after I designed her normal form, so it's a neat coincidence. Lamia is both a single character and a type of snake-woman creature. Waist up is woman, waist down is snake. Similar to the nagas of hindu lore. More about Lamia in a bit.

--Heavenbound Backstory--

My ideas for her backstory can be found through HERE.

--is Lilith really Biblical? Kind of, but not really--

So, fun fact. Lilith isn't really in the Bible. The word lilith is mentioned once in Isaiah 34:14 in some translations. But translation is a tricky process and subject to the interpretation of the translator. It's an inevitable issue. It's part of why there are so many different versions of the Bible.

The single mention of lilith isn't even used as a name. Lilit/lilitu/other spelling variations are a type of Mesopotamian she-demon. Basically succubi, but then the concept merged with the child-killer Lamatshu. Liliths are often associated with seduction, wet dreams, reproductive problems, and child death. Using the term lilith had a cultural context that we don't really have now. It's like how people today will blame mysterious phenomenon on aliens.

Other Bible translations will use "night creatures", "screech owls", "Lamia" or other similar phrases instead. The context of the verse can change drastically based on what phrasing is used. Most versions(including the most popular ones like the KJV) steer away from "lilith".

--The Other Woman--

Bible: The idea of a woman before Eve is based on rabbinic myths used to explain a perceived discrepancy in the biblical creation story. In one account, it sounds as if man and woman were created together. In another, it sounds as if woman was created after. These myths also accuse Eve of a lot of misconduct, so it seems like a pretty misogynistic take anyway(and I don't use that phrasing lightly). These myths didn't name the woman, as far as I'm aware.

Lilith as the first wife: The oldest known depiction of Lilith as Adam's first wife is from a medieval Jewish story, the "Alphabet of Ben Sira." The author is unknown, and it's widely considered satirical. Lilith is ultimately portrayed as the evil one.

In some depictions of her, she forces herself on Adam and has his demon children. Or she is infertile and steals and/or kills babies. Or she causes miscarriages and fertility issues.

Samael's wife: In some other depictions, she and Samael are born as one. Sometimes as a hermaphrodite, sometimes in the same manner as Adam and Eve. And yet other depictions, she is the first wife of Samael. Sometimes God castrates Samael to prevent them from having demonic children, so Lilith goes to copulate with unaware sleeping men. Other times Lilith is rendered infertile. Sometimes she's the wife of Asmodeus.

Lamia: In the Latin Vulgate, lilith is translated as lamia. There are elements of early ideas for vampirism. Then Lilith is equated with the Greek character Lamia, who also has conflicting origin stories. Lamia has a human upper half and and snake lower half. In some sources, she is a daughter of Hecate. In another, she is cursed by Hecate to have stillborn children. In another, Hera killed all of Lamia's children, and Lamia's grief turned her into a monster that would steal and devour children. In some instances she was also cursed to never close her eyes/sleep, but Zeus gifted her the ability to remove her eyes instead.

Islam: Arabic folklore depicts a character similar to Lilith. She was rejected by Adam, so she mated with Iblis(the demon king) instead. She gave birth to thousands of demons.

Feminism: Lilith, overall, was depicted as an evil character until the feminist movement in the 70s. That's when she was depicted by Judith Plaskow as a strong willed woman who refused to submit to Adam(I guess they just ignored the history of rape and child murder, great job picking an inspirational feminist icon y'all). It's this feminist interpretation that Hellaverse seems to have based Lilith off of.

I wanted to balance aspects of these while also still favoring the portrayal of Lilith as not-evil. Unless canon decides to make her evil, then I may revisit the idea.

(Feb 19, 2025- fixed typos and rephrased some lined for clarity) (Feb 20, 2025- added the names of the snakes) (Feb 27, 2025- added a full demon form design and notes about it, reworded some lines)

[occasionalanarchy]

The argument that trans men can’t be oppressed for being trans men in the same way that black men can’t be oppressed for being black men just doesn’t work at all as an analogy.

Completely skipping over the fact that POC men can in fact be oppressed for that identity, transness and race are different things? If you strip the black prefix from black man, you are left with a man and all that that implies. If strip the trans prefix from trans man, for a lot of people you are not left with a man, you’re left with a woman.

Transgender and man are not separate terms, it’s one identity that is interpreted differently for different people. For a lot of people trans man means “man” and for a lot more it means “woman.” But within those camps there are variations in how you can separate trans men as a group that is uniquely irrational, aggressive, dangerous, demonic, hateful, sexual, ridiculous, or whatever else. The nature of the othering varies and can be contradictory, the end result just has to be the same. If trans men are men, then they are good targets for abuse because they are weak men. If trans men are women, then they are good targets for abuse because they are broken women. Either way, we are separated from normal men or women, and the mechanics of that are defined by the fact that we are transgender men.

The violence directed at trans men at large is a complicated cocktail of transphobia, misogyny, and I’d argue for ableism. Like those things cross over each other. Like an intersection of some sort. Someone should think of a name for that.

[cybertron-smash-or-pass]

You do know that fornication with cybertronians, regardless of faction is impossible as they would crush us due to their sheer sieze and weight, right? It would also be considered immoral and beastiality if we are talking about the predacons for example.

Y'know, I was originally just going to dunk on you for unironically using the word Fornicate in the year of our Lord Primus 2025, but this seems to a genuine, good-faith argument you've constructed here and to leave it at a joke would be flippant on my part, and I hold myself to a higher standard than that. So! Allow me to counter these points one by one.

While in reality, yes, the likelihood of death or injury from letting a 20-foot robot that weighs as much as a truck rail you full force would probably be pretty high, the nice thing about fiction and fantasy is that it doesn't really need to be grounded in reality. And even if you can't entirely suspend your disbelief on that level, there are still workarounds.

For example, not every transformer has all the mass of a semi truck. Their sizes have quite a bit more variation than you might be anticipating. Animated Prowl is only like 10 feet tall, 12 tops, and a smaller motorcycle only weighs around 350-400 pounds, which really isn't all that crazy. You look at G1 Rumble and Frenzy, and they're hardly taller than the humans. And then you look at the Beast Wars cast and some of the Maximal are straight up shorter than I am. Rattrap is like 4 foot nothin'.

Now, I know what you're thinking. We certainly do not limit ourselves to lusting over the smaller bots here on cybertron-smash-or-pass dot tumblr dot edu, so what gives? Well, my dear, we've found a reasonable canon excuse to bring the very big very heavy robots down to a more manageable and less hazardous size through the magic of ✨mass displacement✨. Basically, if Soundwave can scale down into an itty bitty cassette player that can easily be picked up like it weighs nothing, there's really no reason a 30-foot robot as heavy as a jet couldn't scale down into a smaller, human-ish-sized robot. They have the technology.

Now say someone doesn't really want to make their fictional robot boyfriend smaller. Maybe the insane overall size is part of the appeal, but they still can't get over the thought of whatever they're packing being way too big to avoid injury. While Cybertronians are typically humanoid, their junk doesn't really have to be in perfect proportion with a human's. No rule that says you can't scale it down enough to fit! But then, maybe they can work with the equipment being comically big, but they can't get over the idea of being crushed. Easy solution, human can't get crushed if they're on top!

Maybe they can't picture the spike fitting at all, and scaling it down just looks a little too silly, but they're still attracted to a big ol' robot. At that point, the best workaround I can give is just sticking with picturing non-penetrative sex. Not like there's only one way to do it, and nobody can stop you from imagining Optimus prime having at it between your thighs, or scissoring with Megatron <3

Now as for whether some of it is immoral, I don't really think banging a Predacon would be wrong? Whether we're talking about the beast wars preds or the tfp preds, they're all treated as adults with human-level intelligence, so they'd be able to give consent, unlike earth animals. Sex with Optimus Primal is really a lot closer to bangin' a guy in a gorilla suit at a costume party than hopping into an actual gorilla enclosure and bending over. While an argument could be made about the tfp predacons being technically very young, and it'd be perfectly valid to be uncomfortable sexualizing them with that in mind, not everyone is going to interpret them as being immature since it seems they start off in that continuity generally having their shit together and knowing enough as to not be easily taken advantage of.

So with all that said, I hope you at least have a clearer picture of how the mind of a robotfucker operates!!

[the-liars-art]

Konrad and Tarot Cards: Compiled Excerpts

Tarot cards have been a part of his motifs, imageries, and aesthetics since the very beginning of the Horus Heresy publications (featured heavily in two short stories from 2007, and much less so in later stories where he gets more character development) and in his official miniature sculpt. Our primarch the Night Haunter used his deck of cards, a 40k Nostraman version of real tarot cards, for divination. The cards helped him interpret his visions, before the precognition became vivid and clear enough to do without. He used to consult his cards frequently and not in secret.

He and his Nostraman deck could have played a part in the later development of the Emperor's Tarot (though it won't be featured in this post), with the appearance of the card "the Dark King" and such, but Black Library inconsistency says no.

Also if I have a nickel every time Konrad is looking at his cards and one of his good sons walk in, I'd have 2, which isn't a lot but it's fun that it happened twice.

Now, the excerpts galore, in publication order:

Night Haunter turned over the last card and his jawline tightened as the familiar pattern emerged once more. The strategium of his flagship was kept dark, the faint blue light of consoles and hololithic displays islands of light in the darkness. The Primarch of the Night Lords paid no attention to his surroundings, ignoring the pregnant pressure of anticipation that bristled from every member of his bridge crew. A deck of worn cards sat on the softly glowing lectern before him, their edges scuffed and curled from decades of shuffling and dealing. Little more than a parlour game played by the indolent rich of Nostramo Quintus, he had since discovered that variations of these cards had been employed in the hives of Merica and by the tribes of the Franc as a means of divination in the time before Old Night had descended. The cards apparently corresponded to the stratification of society at the time, with the various suits representing warriors, priests, merchants and workers. Ancient belief held that the future could be read in the patterns of cards known as the Lesser Arcanoi, but such traditions were outmoded concepts in this colourless, secular galaxy… Except that no matter how thoroughly he shuffled the cards and dealt them on the polished glass of the lectern, the pattern was always the same. The Moon, the Martyr and the Monster lay in a triangular pattern. The King lay reversed at the feet of the Emperor on one side of the pattern, and on the other, also reversed, was the Dove – a card academics postulated was a symbol of hope. The card he had just dealt sat at the top of the pattern, a card that had changed little over the centuries and the meaning of which, though often misinterpreted, was unmistakable. Death. He heard footsteps and looked up to see Captain Shang approaching, clad in his battle plate and wrapped in his ceremonial black cape of gleaming patagium. His helmet’s flaring wings framed a death mask of an alien skull, its tusked lower jaw thrust beyond his throat. Behind his equerry, Night Haunter could see the gently rotating orb of Nostramo displayed on the viewscreen. Thick clouds of pollutants ringed the grey planet, shot through with emphysemic yellows and leprous browns. The radiation-blasted moon of Tenebor was just visible as a sickly orb emerging from the stained-lung corona of Nostramo’s dying sun.

--the short story The Dark King, by Graham McNeill (2007)

‘There is one other thing,’ said Malcador, setting his glass down and rising to his feet. ‘Something I want to show you.’ Malcador crossed the chamber, and took something from a drawer in an old bureau. He walked back to Dorn, and spread that something out on the low table between them. Dorn opened his mouth but no sound issued. Fear gripped him. ‘You recognise these, of course.’ Old cards, worn and fraying, discoloured and liver-spotted with time. One by one, Malcador laid them out. ‘The Lesser Arcanoi, just gaming trinkets really, but used widely before the coming of Old Night for divination. This deck was made on Nostramo Quintus.’ ‘He used them,’ Dorn breathed. ‘Yes, he did. He relied on them. He believed in cartomancy. He dealt his fate out, night after haunted night, and watched how the cards fell.’ ‘Oh, Holy Terra…’ ‘Are you all right, sir?’ Malcador asked, looking up. ‘You are quite pale.’ Dorn nodded. ‘Curze.’ ‘Yes, Curze. Had you forgotten him, or simply blocked him out? You have bickered and sparred with many of your brothers over the years, but only Konrad Curze ever hurt you.’ ‘Yes.’ ‘He nearly killed you.’ ‘Yes.’ ‘On Cheraut, long ago,’ ‘I remember it well enough!’ Malcador looked up at Dorn. The primarch had risen to his feet. ‘Then sit back down and tell me, because I wasn’t there.’ Dorn sat. ‘This is so long ago or like another life. We had brought the Cheraut system to compliance. It was hard fought. The Emperor’s Children, the Night Lords and my Fists, we affected compliance. But Curze didn’t know when to stop. He never knew when to stop.’ ‘And you rebuked him?’ ‘He was an animal. Yes, I rebuked him. Then Fulgrim told me.’ ‘Told you what?’ Dorn closed his eyes. ‘The Phoenician told me what Curze had told him: the fits, the seizures that had plagued Curze since his childhood on Nostramo, the visions. Curze said he had seen the galaxy in flames, the Emperor’s legacy overthrown, legionaries turning on legionaries. It was all lies, an insult to our creed!’ ‘You confronted Curze?’ ‘And he attacked me. He would have killed me, I think. He is insane. That’s why we drove him out, sick of his bloodletting. That’s why he burned his home world and took his Night Lords off into the darkest parts of the stars.’ Malcador nodded, and continued to deal the cards. ‘Rogal, he is what you are truly afraid of, because he is fear incarnate. No other primarch uses terror as a weapon like Curze does. You are not afraid of Horus and his sallow heretics. You are afraid of the fear that sides with him, the night terror that advances alongside the traitors.’ Dorn sat back and breathed out. ‘He has haunted me, I confess. All this time, he has haunted me.’ ‘Because he was right. His visions were true. He saw this Heresy coming in his visions. That is the truth you fear. You wish you had listened.’ Dorn looked down at the cards laid out on the table before him. ‘Do you believe in this divination, Sigillite?’ ‘Let’s see,’ said Malcador, turning the cards over one by one: the Moon, the Martyr and the Monster, the Dark King askew across the Emperor. One other card, the Lightning Tower. Dorn groaned. ‘A bastion, blown out by lightning. A palace brought to ruin by fire. I’ve seen enough.’ ‘The card has many meanings,’ said Malcador. ‘Like the Death card, it is not as obvious as it seems. In the hives of Nord Merica, it symbolised a change in fortune, an overturning of fate. To the tribes of Franc and Tali, it signified knowledge or achievement obtained through sacrifice. A flash of inspiration, if you will, one that tumbles the world you know down, but leaves you with a greater gift.’ ‘The Dark King lies across the Emperor,’ said Dorn, pointing. Malcador sniffed. ‘It’s not exactly a science, my friend.’

--the short story The Lightning Tower, by Dan Abnett (2007)

One brief mention of cards and pre-discovery Night Haunter:

The pale man knew he’d have to appear before many of them tonight – the cards had revealed that much to him. The thousands gathered into this place of sleazy sanctuary would see him for the first time. A necessary indulgence, nothing more. He’d learned from them. Now they would learn from him.

—the novella Prince of Crows, by Aaron Dembski-Bowden (2012)

Then we reach the most recent mentions in the primarch book:

Ledgers and data-slates were piled around his chamber upon the iron table. The mortal Ekra Trez worked quietly in the ­corner of the room. When the darkness came upon Curze, Trez’s psychic talent blunted the horror. At other times he aided his master, autoquill scratching on an accompanying screen as he compiled the data Curze himself had processed. The information was there to see, all aspects of each recruit meticulously recorded: genotype, origin, records of crime, set out in plain language. The men destroying his Legion from within were either confident they would not be discovered, or were so proud of their actions they felt they had nothing to hide. Curze glanced at the spread of worn cards in the middle of the table. Their reading suggested that could be it. They could believe they were doing the right thing. False rectitude was no shield against justice. The door to his chamber opened. ‘Sevatar,’ said Curze, without looking up. [...] ‘We shall see it done after Cheraut. Before then, I have another task to perform. It is time I spoke with my brothers.’ Again he looked at the cards. ‘What will happen is unclear to me, but perhaps all this horror can be forestalled. Perhaps the rumours are inflated, and Nostramo might be saved,’ murmured Curze. ‘Maybe Balthius is alive still, and this situation can be rectified.’

--Chapter 11 of Konrad Curze: The Night Haunter, by Guy Haley (2019)

Shang reached up and removed his helmet. His scent hissed into the room more strongly with the escaping air. ‘My lord,’ he said. He licked dry lips, eyes flicking about the scene of ruin. ‘They are getting worse. Your visions.’ Curze nodded his head. His mouth swam with spit that tasted of blood. ‘They are, my son,’ said Curze. ‘Once, they were but images flitting through my mind, presaging events that I must labour over my cards to fully predict. Now they come to me wholly formed, and their violence flows out from me.’ Curze hauled himself up to his feet.

--Chapter 11 of Konrad Curze: The Night Haunter, by Guy Haley (2019)

In pride of place, at a table by his side, sat the battered deck of cards he had consulted so many times. He meant their presence to be his last comment on fortune’s cruel grip. But the cards dragged at his attention, forcing him to reappraise them as a tool of his delusion.

--Chapter 13 of Konrad Curze: The Night Haunter, by Guy Haley (2019)

Make of the it what you will. Ave Dominux Nox🦇

[wormwoodartemisia]

[One of my favourite tropes in all variations: getting rescued, one way or the other - and I really need more people to write about it 😇]

I guess enough of us have probably already made certain experiences with that one kind of guys who simply wouldn't let the issue drop when you tell them that you're not interested, no matter what you say (in decreasing stages of politeness), unless...

{Only this time, we turn the tables a bit. 😏}

Claimed

Sometimes you need to be rescued - and sometimes it's the others…

About 5.2k words

Established Ghoap, civilian afab!Reader; (almost) no specific description (except that Reader has got soft hair that's long enough to run one's fingers through + Reader might appear rather tall at some point, but nothing in detail); no use of y/n

Warning: no smut actually taking place, just some references (mostly implied, intention to have sex); taste of alcohol

[[In case you want some more info: first meeting; aggressive, unrequited flirting: pestering and being a nuisance (when 'no' is interpreted as 'try harder' or simply ignored, but neither by Reader nor Ghost/Soap); fake kiss; What do we think about a threesome {MMF/MFM}?]]

Your original plan was to go out and spend some quality time on your own, focussing on nothing in particular, just floating through your own mind. However, it's one of those nights...

The bar is crowded in a pleasant way. When you enter, you can nontheless still get you favourite spot in the small booth not too far away from the bar counter. The perfect place for treating yourself with your favourite drink and indulging in the typical noises here that let you relax after an ardous week full of work. Normally...

The night is still young, you're in good spirits altogether. On such lazy evenings, you like people-watching, in case someone catches your attention. Then you wouldn't actively listen to their conversations, of course, but discretely observe them a bit, guess their mood and wonder what circumstances brought them here. A good training for staying attentive and creative alike.

Taking a sip from your drink, you casually start scanning the taproom with your eyes, when suddenly you notice a tall, broad figure in black appear from the back of the spacious room and lean against the counter, just a few seats away from you. For the shortest of moments the man takes you in and briefly nods at you in acknowledgement. You have hardly any time to reciprocate his gesture before he turns away again to order two drinks.

Of course you remember this stoic man from several other visits here, outstanding as he is, always looking the same, clad in the darkest colours only, his face covered by a black surgical mask he never takes off fully. He's one of the regulars (even if he's sometimes away for weeks), just like you - but you wouldn't have thought that he’s ever noticed you in here, let alone make it known to you...

In all the past months, you never saw him look your way, not even slightly. He always seemed totally concentrated on the guy he kept company - that boisterous, ever-grinning mohawk with his fiercely piercing blue eyes that winked at you playfully one night when you passed them on your way out to head home. A contagious smile. Handsome man in his extrovert personality, but you don't find his mysterious, calm mate any less attractive, though you haven't seen much of him so far, except his short blond hair, some fair skin and now his dark, steady eyes a few moments ago.

You save his expression in your memory. Definitely something worth remembering.

To be honest, these two are your favourite people to watch.

Together, they take a presence in the room that's unmatched, draws you in, clouds your thoughts, if you allow yourself to go astray. You've never witnessed anything like that before. These two men have captivated you right from the start and it took you some time to put it into words: blowing through the landscapes of your mind, Mohawk is a storm, Mask is its eye... They belong together.

Such a beautiful couple (you're absolutely sure that's what they are, you can’t have misread their interactions), radiant energy, all easy-going, just pure affection, content with and enough for each other, never any drama.

Well, there's always a first time...

When Mask picks up his two drinks, he manages to take two steps back into the direction where he came from before he stops midmotion. Mohawk has just entered the stage of your field of vision, approaching fast from the backroom and stepping at the counter behind his mate. He leans his back against it, sighing audibly. You wouldn't need to be as close to them as you are in order to notice his furrowed brows and the tight line of his lips. It's easy to tell that he’s frustrated - massively so. Slowly Mask turns around, handing Mohawk his drink.

"Well, Johnny, no more damsel in distress, I take it?"

"Ach, haud yer weesht."

You can’t avoid becoming a witness to their talk. Despite the other people around, it’s a quiet evening and their deep voices carry over to you easily, closeby as you are, the tension not to be overheard.

Johnny takes a sip, looks at his partner and rolls his eyes. He's just noticed someone behind his friend. You've never seen him that annoyed: "No second act, please..."

Then you see the beauty beeline towards the two men.

You bet every guy in here would give her 10/10 - and you could readily agree - if not for her flawless outward appearance desperately trying to cover up that one specific look in her eyes, with which she holds her chin up just one bit too high. Though, nine of ten would probably gladly ignore that streak of arrogance (- which you feel so obviously oozing off her in case one is willing to take one closer look - ) if that meant getting a chance to know her better - and her pants.

She's all seductive smiles: "How impolite of you to keep me waiting!", she chirps, addressing both men equally, voice like sugar syrup, sticky, dripping. Used to getting what she wants...

Taking another sip, Johnny doesn't even bother to look at her at this point anymore.

First-row-seat, you can watch the drama unfold.

Mohawk: "We'd rather be alone."

Beauty (flirtatiously): "Now we're getting closer. Just my thought. So we're leaving?"

Black Mask: "You are very welcome to go."

Beauty: "Well, you already get me going, mystery, but I'd love to come as well."

You almost choke on your drink. This woman is terrible, fully ignoring both men clearly pointing out that her attention is unwanted! It has become obvious that she must have already been digging on your two favourites for quite some time, finally even making them change their place...

Yet she doesn't stop: "If you know what I mean."

Mask: "We get it, but we choose to ignore the implication."

Beast: "Ohh, playing hard to get, sweets? I like me some good challenge!"

Mask: "Nice. Then show us how fast you can get away."

Beast: "No problem. I'm off in less than one second if you take my hand."

"I'd rather take yer head", Johnny mumbles, but in contrast to you, she can hear him and grins wickedly: "And I'd give you head willingly, Scotty too Hottie!"

She reaches out to him, but Mask's cold voice actually makes her stop.

"Don't touch him."

Beast chooses to let Mask's words play into her favour: "No need to be jealous, killer."

"Go pick someone else."

You're convinced that he'll finally get through to her, but Beast gets distracted.

"Yeah, pick me, sugar! Anytime!", some random guy in passing by turns to her, immediately posing, showing her his upper arm, flexing his biceps, clearly quite taken with her outward appearance.

"Not now", she dismisses him, noticeably annoyed, but he only shrugs, grinning, before calling back over his shoulder: "Change your mind, lemme know, gorgeous."

Mask: "You should go with him."

She gives that bloke a swift lookover. "Not my type."

"We're nae yer type, either", Johnny points out.

Beast: "Oh, but you are. Love that brogue."

Mask: "Let me rephrase: you are not our type."

Beast: "Don't worry, I can become anybody's type."

She wants to touch him, both of them, badly so, you can tell, from the way her fingers are twitching at her side, but something's holding her back. So she does have a slight idea of boundaries, at least.

"We might nae be interested in women altogether", Johnny states matter-of-factly and has her head snap into his direction again.

"Hot - but you've never had a woman like me before, I promise."

"True. And ah hope we'll never meet one like ye again in future, either."

"You won't. I'm unique - and you really don't wanna miss this one chance, boys. I'll make it worth your while."

Rather worst your while, you think to yourself while you notice their patience wearing thin. It is beyond you why she doesn't take 'no' (all those 'no's') as what it is. It makes you angry, this full display of blunt disrespect, every rejection - in decreasing stages of politeness - just a spur for her to try harder, eagerly pushing an ego that is non-existent...

It's now that Mask furrows his brows and rummages in a pocket of his jeans: "We don't find you attractive at all." On finishing his sentence, he takes a look at what he's holding in his palm now, a silently vibrating mobile phone. He shoots the other man a swift glance: "I'm'a take that call now, Johnny. Make her leave." His tone has changed, laced with finality.

Mohawk straightens, the command initiating a subtle but nontheless visible transformation. He responds to his masked partner with one single firm nod: "Yes, sir."

The mask exits.

Beast was quiet during their exchange but now she's biting her lower lip and turns to Mohawk seductively: "Sexy."

He looks at her, the bright summer sky of his eyes now the cold of the frostiest glacier: "Oan yer bike!", a deep, low rumble.

You can sense that this was his last attempt to give her a decent way out - unfortunately she doesn't take her chance: "I'd rather ride you, handsome."

You know this type of person - man or woman, makes no difference. She won't stop.

Mohawk has just realised this sad fact, too. He breathes out deeply and while his eyes are wearily drifting towards the exit, he grazes your gaze for a split second.

Meanwhile, Beast dares to get closer, the attempt of a huntress, about to reach out and - what? Touch his hips?

It crosses your mind that this insufferable person would have already been removed from the bar had she been a man harassing two women. However, with switched roles (and a beautiful woman being after two broad blokes) nobody (except Mohawk, Mask & you yourself) seems to fathom any fundamental problem...

You can see that this might get ugly (situations easily do with people like Beast) - and since you know how things can be... Your turn.

Ready to avoid the catastrophe...

He doesn’t get the time to say anything, nor does she to lay hand on him. You're faster.

Within one heartbeat you've grabbed your drink and pop up at his side, so much out of nowhere, that you manage to catch Beast by surprise and get her full attention.

You press yourself against Mohawk's side (as unobtrusive as possible under these circumstances) and, by reflex, you guess, his left arm comes to rest around your waist, a pose the two of you have fallen into so naturally, nothing odd about it, no hint of hesitation from either of you.

He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t act surprised. He simply gets what you're doing here - but Beast doesn’t have a clue.

Showtime...

This is the guise you've chosen to present, and you perform artistically: there's a hint of defeat in your features, a slight hue of regret and a thin-lipped smile pointing downwards, emphasising that you know when a game is over.

You make sure that Beast gets enough time to study your facial expression. Then you donne Mohawk a genuine smile: "OK, honey, you win. I am fucking jealous seeing you flirting with some random woman. You were right, I was wrong. It really pisses me off when you tease her. I need this bad charade to end right now or I’ll forget myself", you notice a spark of mischief in his eyes, "And yes, darling, for the records, you have just won our bet. Happy now?"

Mohawk smirks at you, "Wasnae too painful tae confess now, was it, luv?" and makes you wonder how a grin can be so subtle and triumphant at the same time. You can feel him squeeze your waist in affection.

Now you turn to the other woman: "Really good job, dearie, digging on my man, testing my limits. So, have a nice one and farewell."

You can see the wheels in her head turning.

Does she call your bluff? No, at least not yet.

Doesn't mean it's over, though...

She gives you a calculating look-over, probably wondering why this man would be with you [in general, but especially] when he could have her - but she doesn't voice you're not his league, as some might say. She notices his hand caressing you softly, small gestures that make your acting convincing - the final proof, you think, to make her believe your claim is true.

Yes, "OK, I get it, the two of you belong together", but "but then I won’t let that blond enigma off the hook, for sure!"

Your heart skips a beat.

"Pity", a deep voice chimes in. Neither that woman nor you have noticed the masked man's return, his eyes fixed on Beast. So both of you stare at him when he takes one final step, "I'm all hers as well. Actually", to put his arm around your shoulder and drag your body into his possessively, "we're a throuple."

That poor woman is speechless for a second, blinks, flummoxed. "Throuple?", she repeats, utterly dumbfounded, her voice dripping with doubt.

"Aye, throuple, ye ken?", now Mohawk closes back in on you as well, his hand sliding to the small of your back. His once mischievous smile grows darker as he pulls up one eyebrow and a corner of his mouth, showing teeth, grinning - it's the wolfish way: "We fuck each other relentlessly and live happily ever after, just the three of us."

The blond wolf knows to add an eloquent thought: "With just the right amount of cocks 'n' holes to take care of, one sweet, perfect cunt. Yours not needed."

Her eyes go wide at their crude, blunt proclamation, a behaviour so different from before, but you yourself can’t help the smirk that creeps on your lips. Too much information for her...

Her eyes dart to the upturned corners of your mouth, the way you can hardly conceal your grin gets her suspicious.

However, your own focus finds a reason to shift when at the same time you feel the two men moving you in perfect sync. While Mask's right hand is sliding up from your shoulder to your neck, his left hand is tracing your left arm downwards until his long fingers can intertwine with yours. Using only soft, sweet pressure, he's holding your hands against your hip. Meanwhile, he's turned your body away from facing the other woman so that your back is firmly pressed to his front.

You feel the outlines of his muscular body, too fascinated to do anything else but comply - and why wouldn't you? It's too delightful a moment not to simply bask in - hyperaware of how your handsome 'darling' has also fully turned to you.

He's the counterpart to the man behind you, pressing his chest to your front, radiating heat that directly pools into your core. It comes oh-so naturally for you to place your right arm on his shoulder, your fingers sliding up his neck and into the soft strands of his hair, by instinct. You could swear you hear him faintly moan in pleasure; you can see dark night dawning in the shining sky of his cerulean orbs.

Caught between two predators, you couldn't be a prettier prey for them to play with... They're a sling that grows tighter around you, a closely woven net you don't want to escape.

You just concentrate on the feeling, let it swallow you whole, relishing in the moment, pretty sure you'll never get anything comparable again.

It's a perfect moment - apart from the fact that it’s not real.

However, maybe that's just what's made it all possible for you - no self-doubts, no fear of overstepping or misreading anybody's signs, no fear of rejection - for you won't ever be close to one of these guys, who aren’t into any woman after all. That has been clear to you from the very beginning, undeniably. Maybe it’s the first time you really feel at ease in a situation that could be part of a fantasy (literally your own fantasy!) - and the way they play along (a bit exaggerated in a way, perhaps) does some good to your self-confidence, despite only being a play pretend.

Suddenly you are pushed back over the edge of reality when the reason behind everything disturbs your haunting demon of harmony.

"You do them both?", Beast inquires, voice too shrill.

Don't let her catch you, this was your idea! Play cool!

Your remark sounds casual enough: "Well, yes... Not necessarily at the same time, though..."

"Not necessarily not at the same time", Mask clarifies pointedly, just loud enough for the four of you to hear and he lets his hips roll against the curve of your arse in one smooth motion that holds enough pressure to softly push you forward.

His partner knows how to catch you, perfect timing, by letting his own lower body meet you less than halfway. If you thought the three of you were close before, then you were wrong. Now you definitely feel the outlines of their dicks against your body. The vice their muscular frames create presses a shaky breath out of you that you didn’t know you were holding. It sounds too close to a wanton moan.

Suddenly feeling caught out, you hurry to hide your face from her in the crook of Mohawk's neck, blushing.

"Careful", you whisper into his ear, in a mild shock regarding your reaction to the two men. Mohawk makes you look him in the eye, tenderly thumbing your chin, and grins like a challenge. The way he then gingerly licks his lips makes him look hungry, almost lets you assume he might actually want to try and get a bite of you... What a silly idea for you to have...

Time seems to stretch and leaves your mind in a dizzy state.

"Lucky you." Her comment startles you. Why is she still there?

You sigh. Ultimately, you've put yourself in this situation - which isn't unpleasant in itself, rather the opposite. So don't be shy in the last few metres. Keep playing until the curtain falls...

"Luckiest girl in town", you confirm and mean it, "Can always have my favourite sandwich whenever I want."

You turn your head so you can have it leaning against the cheek of the man behind you, who closes the distance between your faces immediately. He welcomes the gesture like a purring cat and you feel the low sound vibrate in his chest.

Finally Beast truly takes a look at the two men and the woman who has claimed them. She can’t but feel betrayed. Her face turns into an ugly display of her defeat.

She snaps at both men equally: "You could have just told me right from the start that you got a girlfriend."

"Less fun", Mask comments deadpan and doesn't care about how she looks at him, fury raging in her eyes: "Arsehole! Wasting my time like this with your childish games! Grow up!"

How you despise her for her ignorance, for not letting the issue drop at once unless another woman has put a valid claim on the objects of her desire... How you loathe people not accepting 'No' and blaming others...

There is a jet black feeling boiling under your skin like the most Stygian gloom.

Beast is still glaring at the three of you, she might be even waiting for an apology that will never come.

"We're done talking now", your voice is ice crashing on her heated temper.

Mohawk knows a drastic method to underline your words. He turns your face away from her, his warm hand cupping your cheek, and draws you in. For a kiss...

You feel bold, (wrath coursing in your veins because of her) moving your lips as a tribute to all these Hollywood film-kisses you've seen in your life, mimicking passion; no tongues, no such line would be crossed with him. This will stay safe, you assume.

He tastes of whisky - tar notes and peat with tangy crisp seaweed and smoky bacon swirling on the surface, hints of sweet vanilla. Mouth feel is superb, dark and sweet, grounding you.

How long is this imitation of a kiss taking that you can process all these impressions? What's your flavour on his lips?

The woman watches you kissing for an endless moment, but how would you know?

You're focalised on the open-eyed dance of your mouths that you're sharing with this stranger of your dreams, concentrated on keeping up the façade while the two of you are holding each other's gaze, his boyfriend pressing your backside to his own body. What a strange intimacy...

When you feel the man behind you carefully untangle your intertwined fingers to let his hand find its way between Mohawk's and your own body in order to have his wide palm spread below your heart, his other hand wandering up your neck and into your hair, soft strands gliding through his fingers like liquid silk, a pull that's not a pull, you know that the other woman has finally left.

It's time for you to break the kiss, observing the man in front of you, that smug smile spreading on his delicious lips and reaching into his eyes, half-lidded now like those of a well-fed cat. You are preparing for an awkward feeling to set in, but it never comes. Somehow you stay caught in that surreal bubble the three of you have created.

Should you have a bad conscience towards the man in your back for your having indulged in kissing his partner? You decide against this notion. He has no reason to be upset or jealous, has he? You did nothing wrong, only responding to a kiss, not initiating it yourself; somehow it wasn't even a kiss, all just a fake, a game, nothing serious...

Right here, right now, you don't have the slightest idea how right and wrong you are at the very same time...

[Prepare to learn, dearie dove - choices have consequences.]

"Pure dead brilliant, bonnie", Johnny beams, "Tha was the nicest way out of this fucked-up situation. Ta."

Your proud, sly smile replies: "Just couldn't tolerate her disgusting behaviour anymore." Then you shift your weight to prepare for stepping aside in order to give up the formation of your human sandwich, but the man in your back reaches out his left hand, placing it on his partner's biceps.

Your cerulean bliss smiles impishly at the masked man in a way that leaves no question as to their feelings for each other (Beautiful!) and lets the fingers of his right hand come to rest on Mask's lower arm.

Just a gesture of affection among them, for sure, but your attempt of leaving this flat triangle has failed miserably, keeping you caged between the two of them. (Probably for the better since Beast might still be around!) Anyway, why would you complain? So when his two saphires return to you, you add: "I knew I simply had to do something when she was about to get all handsy with you."

He grimaces in repugnance: "Aye, got too close, that one", then he addresses his boyfriend, "Bloody bint was about tae grab ma bahookie, ye ken?"

"English, MacTavish."

You can hear the grin in Mask's deep baritone.

"Sorry, sir", he's not sorry at all, "Let me translate: my arse." He flashes you one of his flawless smiles and a conspiratory wink you bathe in. Their banter is enjoyable!

Grinning, you present your own theory: "I bet she would have even kissed it right on the spot if you had told her to or simply let her..."

The man in front of you says nothing in reply, but you see his eyes flick to your lips. You feel the weight in your back shift when the tall blond leans forward to whisper in your ear, just loud enough for his friend to hear, too: "I think he liked your kiss much better."

Then you feel a soft press against your jaw that confuses you. Has he just put his masked lips on you?

You need to blink several times, clear your throat and reply: "That wasn't... real. Only some sort of film-kiss. No real kiss, you know?"

"It was lips on lips, hen. Half way up tae geez a winch, eh? Sounds much like a kiss tae me."

"Bloody looked like one as well."

"And tasted so, too. Yer such a nice addin tae Scotch whisky, bonnie."

You swallow - speechless, considering the turn this conversation is taking. You want to come up with some witty remark - but you totally lack any clever ideas... You play for time, reaching out to the bar counter, taking a sip from your drink.

You notice the blond's hand close around his own glas. It's only when Mohawk places his right hand on your hip that Mask lets go of the other's arm. To you it’s nothing but coincidence. The only thing you do know is that Mask will now turn his face towards the bar, away from the crowd, before pulling one sling of the mask off from behind his ear to take a good swig of his beer. You watched him do so many times in the past while you were observing the two of them. - Enough of a reprieve for you to sort out and contemplate your feelings.

You convince yourself that you shouldn't read too much into their flirty behaviour. After all, these two men are a gay couple. You will just enjoy yourself. Clearly no reason to get flustered, right? Have fun and flirt back - and let them kiss you if they like. For your part, you liked the kiss(es?) - real or not!

Then the fabric is back in place and Johnny grins at him, a thin-lipped, intense little smile, that suits his half-lidded eyes: "Ah bet she'd taste delicious with tha drink of yers as well, Simon."

The pale man hums in anticipation, a deep, rich sound, promising. "We shall see."

Still trapped between the two them, you turn to Mask as far as possible, attempting a self-confident smile in response: "Now shall we?"

His right hand lands at the nape of your neck, his thumb ghosting soft circles on your skin. "Guess so, sweet'eart. Or do you think we haven't noticed you staring and watching", your eyes go wide and the crinkles growing around his eyes tell you that he’s smiling, "at any occasion, right, Johnny?"

"Aye, very accurate, Si. Studyin us as if it was her job."

Despite the fact that he's talking to the mask (Simon!), Mohawk (Johnny!) is looking at you solely. "Like some spy, gatherin intel or so."

Spy?! Something in his voice makes you believe that this might not entirely be a joke. On the one hand, you're shocked about the fact that - obviously - you are far worse at people-watching than you thought. How embarassing! But on the other hand, it’s such an appealing idea that they think you capable of actually being such femme fatale. Thrilling! (Or worrisome?)

However, ... what would there be to spy about them, anyway? Despite their scars, testimony of various hardships, they'd hardly be some modern James Bonds...

Well, you couldn't care less! This evening is the most exciting thing since... Oh, don't rack your brains, honey!

You bite your lower lip as not to let them see the wide grin that would definitely threaten to appear on your face. "I'm no spy." A soft smile in your voice can be heard unmistakenly as you are about to look down to where your and Johnny's bodies are touching, but, within a split second, Simon's hand reaches around your throat, with the softest of pressures only, and keeps your head tilt up with his index finger.

"Luckily, you're not", Simon's voice, close to your ear, sends a shiver down your spine.

Johnny's words make it whip straight into your core, the promise of an underlying danger: "Good fer ye, lassie, and good fer us. Win/win situation. Rare enough." His hand seems to burn on your hip. And once more your world shrinks down to these two strangers.

Simon's mask touches your earlobe: "Had a bet whether you would take the first step, doll."

"And what a first step tha was, bonnie, placin yerself in my arms, makin me yer man. Sweetest compensation fer me losing." He winks at you conspicously, daringly, but you are still processing their words.

Simon lets go of your throat when you take your drink again. You drain the rest of your glas in one go.

"Finished?", the Scotsman asks, "Then cummoan."

You glance around the taproom. "Have you seen where she went to after she'd left us alone?", you ask.

It's Simon who answers your question. "Left the bar some time ago with her friends."

You nod, relieved immensely, for you wouldn't like her to come across you sitting here all by yourself. "That's good. OK. Have a nice evening then, you two." You try a good-natured smile. It makes you a bit sad that your night together has already come to an abrupt end.

The roguish look Simon and Johnny exchange with each other goes completely unnoticed by you.

Now Mohawk playfully nudges you with his shoulder, slowly, tenderly, as not to really push you away with it. "Wiz talkin tae ye, hen. Had the impression it got pretty obvious that the three of us would be leavin thegether."

This is an unexpected turn...

You stare at the grinning man in front of you, dumbfounded, kind of, speechless.

Could I possibly misinterpret their intention regarding the things to come?

The way Johnny's looking at you makes unmistakenly clear: he means it; however, they won't coax you into anything you wouldn't want - you can decline, put a stop to it, anytime; they themselves wouldn't offer anything they disliked, either. No obligations.

You turn to get a look at the man behind you. He holds your incredulous gaze, unblinking, followed by one single affirmative nod.

This can’t be happening...

Their directness, sincerity, makes your decision an easy one.

Too good to be true...

A playful smile starts to spread on your lips. You only wish your voice sounded firmer when you finally answer. "I'd like that. So what happens now?"

Johnny's palms run up your arms and down again. "Listen, bonnie: ye set the pace. All ye need to ponder about is the timing, eh?"

"The timing?", you ask, slightly confused.

"Aye. Make up yer mind, take a moment tae decide. We've got plenty o' time. Ye can have anything."

You're still no wiser when Johnny addresses his mate as if you weren't there and listening: "Ah'm curious tae see what she will pick. Ah bet she's already gone through every scenario in her head since she started watching us, our wee minx." Simon slowly nods in response. "Got that impression, too."

On your way out, you're comfortably tugged in between the two almost-strangers who have just happened to become your two boyfriends by accident. Johnny’s got his arm around your waist again, a heavy, pleasant reminder, solid warmth, whereas Simon's massive hand is a crisp burn at the back of your neck, alluring autumn on your skin, the phantom of a chill ready to reach under your surface.

The moment the three of you are out of earshot, the masked man helps you to see things clearly, to understand the transition from fantasy to reality:

"So, how do you want us, love? One after the other - or both of us at the same time?"

[bloodmoonmuses]

translation: i love you. | mark lee

genre: mark lee x reader, college au (not that important for the context tbh), friends to lovers, fluff, drabble (900 words)

summary: your friends referred to you as the mark lee interpreter. you weren't sure why, but you understood him- even the words he didn't say.

warnings: none!

To many, you were known as the Mark Lee Interpreter. Such was usually said in jest, but you couldn’t help the pride that swelled in your chest when the moniker was bestowed upon you. Sure, the guy rambles a bit, but if you listen- really listen- he has quite a beautiful outlook on the world. 

You and Mark usually conversed in motion. You’ve divulged your deepest secrets to him while on aimless walks. You’ve cracked your wisest jokes to one another while biking. You’ve had entire conversations through your eyes while dancing in grimy bars.

Now was no different, though a more chill variation. It’s Spring, so the two of you are taking a stroll in between classes. The sun knocks the chill off an otherwise too-chilly day, its rays falling on your face like a smattering of kisses. Spring isn’t in its picturesque stage quite yet. The stasis of winter still lingers, trees barren and skies grayish amidst the light that peeks through the cloud coverage. It’s calming.

There’s a creek that runs through the center of campus, a little bridge arching over the widest part. This is where you stood now, watching the water trickle over stones. 

“I think about rocks a lot,” Mark says out of nowhere. (Translation: Nature is so beautiful- even the most mundane and minute aspects of it. Even the parts that people forget. I think about forgotten things a lot, like rocks.) You believe it. Mark thinks a lot about a lot of things.

“They’re, like, soooo varied. Y’know?”

You do know. Large rocks. Mountainous rocks. Boulders. Stones. Pebbles. There are many types of rocks. “The ones in the creek look super smooth. It’s… hypnotizing.” Mark speaks as though he’s constantly in amazement, or on the brink of an epiphany. He’s the embodiment of potential, of the hypothetical, of what could be. You think a lot about what you and Mark could be. 

Of the many possibilities, you conclude that as long as some form of togetherness is involved, you’d be anything for him.

“I think about water a lot,” you respond. 

“What’s your favorite kind of water?” (Translation: Indulge me. How intently do you think about the minutiae of the world? Are you as crazy about water as I am about rocks?)

“Hm,” you say. “Good question. No one’s ever asked me that.” You assume he’s asking you to identify a particular body of water as your favorite. A memory comes to mind. 

It was the summer after freshman year. You and Mark went to the beach everyday together.  You think of the chilly water that rolled over your toes in the waking moments of dawn. You think of how beautiful the sunrise looked reflected on the ocean. You think of Mark waking up with you, despite not being a morning person. That wasn’t your favorite type of water, no. You specifically liked the sea water that danced on the ends of Mark’s hair. The drops that traveled down the follicle, forming shimmering beads, and dripped onto the sand below. You made a game of watching and counting them that summer. (The highest you got was 47.) 

You’re not sure how to consolidate this memory into a sentence that doesn’t sound absolutely insane. You decide to omit the thought entirely. A conversation for a different day, you suppose. 

“The ocean. Cliche, I know,” you say. Mark nods to himself, then hums.

The creek beneath you harmonizes with Mark’s humming. He begins walking again, taking your hand in his. This wasn’t too out of the ordinary for your friendship, but it makes your heart do this twisty thing you can’t quite place. It was the one action of his you couldn’t interpret. Mark doesn’t make a big deal about it, nor does he discuss the matter afterwards. It was almost like he was entitled to your hand, clasping his calloused fingers around yours without a second thought.

You’ve never actually looked at your intertwined hands before. The first time he grabbed it (during one of those days on the beach), Mark acted so nonchalant. You figured the gesture didn’t mean much to him. You were scared that, if provided with a visual, you’d never stop thinking about his stupid hands. 

This time, you allow yourself a peek. The cuff of Mark’s jacket hangs over his fingers, and he squeezes your hand when he realizes you’re looking. (Translation: You’re finally acknowledging this. Are you here? Can you feel me?) 

Your hand is getting sweaty. You pull away to wipe it on your jeans.

Mark can’t believe you’re nervous right now. You’re never nervous around him. The two of you have become accustomed to the wordless ease of your relationship.

Mark’s eyeing you again. You pretend you can’t see him in your peripheral vision. It doesn’t work. “Nervous?”

“Not even a little bit,” you say defiantly. You snatch his hand back into yours as if to prove your point. However, this only does the opposite as you begin to literally tremble.

“You’re so funny,” says Mark, running his thumb over the back of your hand. He slowly lifts your hand to his mouth, but he doesn’t kiss it. He simply presses your knuckles to his lips, maintaining eye contact while he does so. Your breath hitches.

“Mark-” is all you manage to say. You can’t meet his eyes, so you look at your conjoined hands as they swing between the two of you. Elation radiates off Mark’s skin. He’s grinning from ear to ear.

“Your hand is so warm,” Mark says. (Translation: I love you.) 

a/n: feedback is always appreciated! thanks for reading!