does anyone else have a favorite tv character where whenever they’re on screen you just
Mike Driver
No title available
styofa doing anything
tumblr dot com
Peter Solarz
No title available
wallacepolsom

izzy's playlists!
Today's Document

Product Placement
Jules of Nature

if i look back, i am lost
AnasAbdin
Keni

@theartofmadeline
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her

No title available

Love Begins

Kaledo Art
dirt enthusiast
seen from Malaysia
seen from Indonesia
seen from United States

seen from Malaysia

seen from Türkiye
seen from Switzerland

seen from China
seen from Türkiye
seen from Argentina
seen from Australia

seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from Switzerland

seen from United Kingdom

seen from United States

seen from United Kingdom
seen from Chile
seen from Spain
seen from Saudi Arabia
seen from United States
@conshamtine
does anyone else have a favorite tv character where whenever they’re on screen you just
What is real?
"Suppose if all the clocks are displaying the wrong time..." "If those bound to promises fulfilled their vows through betrayal..." "If those who sink into the realm of dreams never truly fell asleep..." “If the dead return to life, only to discover THEIR names have been stripped...”
"If... If..."
...
They blow out the flame, and in darkness, there is but eternal beating of a heart.
Every fragment of my mind will love every doomed possibility of your existence
Like a broken spring, I was left halfway in the yesterday we loved.
And even today I sit in solitude, with a space in my chest shaped like the heart I gave you.
THE MIRROR WON’T ANSWER MY PLEAS, IT DOESN’T KNOW WHO I AM (neither do I)
≀ rating. ㇀ +15 ≀ tags. ㇀ Character dealing with loneliness, Introspection, Raposian, original character from Honkai: Star Rail ≀ characters. ㇀ Zhun Yunji (Honkai: Star Rail insert/original character) ≀ pairing. ㇀ none ≀ word count. ㇀ 588
SUMMARY: When he goes in, the mirror greets him with the attractive face of an unknown foxian. The person staring back at him is no one he knows. After all, he is not the same person who entered, and he will never be the same person who left.Yunji loses himself in his reflection, and the person standing in front of him is yet another lie.
Parties are a kind of drug.
You don't inject it, you don't ingest it, you just wrap yourself up in it as if it were a leap into pure chaos. It starts off intoxicating, a couple of drinks if you're decent, a little more if you're shy. Then you go to the dance floor and forget your problems. If you have a partner, you can bring them, but if you go alone... fate will assign you one.
Bodies are warm and the place feels hazy with euphoria. Sometimes glasses fall, sometimes there are fights, sometimes someone fights and falls or falls and fights. Sometimes humans cease to be human and become only a similar form, soulless, without remorse in the moment.
And if parties are a kind of drug, unfortunately Yunji has developed an annoying resistance to it.
He once joked about it, on a date.
“They gave me laudanum when I coughed as a child, maybe nothing will change that.”
There's no question why it was only once, or why the girl never came back.
The commotion is slowly fading as he leaves, the shouts and taunts cut off when he closes the door and checks his phone: three in the morning... forty... eight...
He sighs, planning its protocol internally, it'll be four soon; and it’s like always: he has to go. The good thing is that he never carries much with him, something he learned when he used to go to clubs, this one isn't that different from the rest. It's just the usual, wash his face, cool down... disappear into the night.
But between theory and practice there are problems. Because when he takes off his jade-tinted glasses, he's not sure where to look: at the ceiling, at the damp walls, at the dirty, sticky floor after a couple got down to business an hour ago. Anything, anywhere, anything to avoid looking at his own face.
Unfortunately, he has to do it sooner or later, and at least a couple of seconds after the discomfort, he manages to look ahead; it's only a fraction of a second, violet flashes that look serene and strange in this environment, making him nauseous.
Luckily, that strange being who looks like him doesn’t stare back as he bends down to rinse his face. The cold water is a momentary respite that numbs the feeling of how he continues on the same path in life, ruining himself, continuing to hurt himself.
In the end, it's the same as always. When you've been fighting for so long, the least you can do is face it. Maybe that's what he tells himself so he doesn't feel pathetic, maybe he already knows, but anyway, he looks up.
The one watching him closely is no one other than himself, even though he's not that person at all, even though he is. Even though their eyes are the same and their lipstick is smudged in the same place, they are not the same, even if they wear the same jewelry or their dull turquoise hair curls in the same way as theirs. It's just someone who looks like them, who moves like them, who acts like them; that's the joke, bitter and dull, echoing between four walls and no further than that.
Who are you, Zhun Yunji?
The person in front of him responds with his own voice, leaning back, in the end it is only Yunji answering the question of his reflection.
It's simple, just a lie, and lies cannot be loved without disappearing.
come feast yumeshippers, i have made a yumetober prompt list
PRAYERS TO A LYING GOD (if it’s not to myself)
≀ classification. ㇀ +15. ≀ tags. ㇀ mental health Issues, one-sided attraction, he can't reciprocate anyone's love, helf-Hatred (quite), undeserving of emotional bonds ≀ characters. ㇀ Zhun Yunji (Honkai: Star Rail insert/original character) ≀ pairing. ㇀ none. ≀ writing type. ㇀ drabble ≀ word count. ㇀ 810
SUMMARY: Sometimes roses are just plants, sometimes red isn't love. Sometimes Yunji thinks about everything, about nothing. He doesn't consider himself claustrophobic, except when roses have thorns and red only means guilt. Except when the only one to blame is himself
Red is his favorite color. Anyone who knew that and had been there all those years ago would probably ask him if he was crazy, or maybe ask him if he was okay. And those are things no one asks, because he's always alone, even if it's that kind of loneliness where there are people around but no one who is yours.
He guesses it's the same reason why any red looks dull, faded. Those heart-shaped boxes full of snacks, the jewelry he never asked for, or the bouquets that are almost always thornless roses.
It's a shame.
He leaves the snacks on the table and takes the ones that will help him survive long enough before his father comes knocking on the door, asking if he has eaten yet. He leaves the jewelry in his mother's room; she knows where to keep it so that Yunji doesn't grimace every time he sees it.
The roses, on the other hand, usually stay in a part of the garden where no one goes; there's no hidden reason, no one needs to go there, only him. There he just throws away the bouquet of the day, or the ones he has accumulated during the week, then his own body follows, in the end it's the same as always where he usually lets out a request to any being capable of doing something. It is usually brief, simple, but no less laden with melancholy.
“Was it my fault?”
It's the same question every night, which is why it lacks uncertainty, as if he already knew what someone else would say. So he just watches, trying to decide whether it's a lie or the truth. Either way, the sky doesn't answer; all that's in his heart are empty heartbeats.
The roses are not wasted; it is a ritual after all, sacred, intimate. He always hesitates at first, as if taking off his glasses were more painful than pulling a knife out of his heart, but in the end, he slips them into his jacket pocket, his armor intact and protected.
Not that he can say the same about himself. He is broken where the pain is dull and intact where it matters most. It's not so bad; it could be worse, and he could be unbalanced. These are things that haven't happened yet, that he doesn't know if they will happen, although losing himself in the 'maybe' feels comforting.
In his hands, the petals have layers, which is very normal for roses; they are usually soft, almost as if they want to caress him back when he runs his fingers over them, deciding.
“They love me... they love me not...”
At best, it's just a bouquet; at worst... the sun rises and he's still plucking petals. He doesn't like the sun; when the first rays of morning touch him, they are always first in his hands, and he has spent so much time with those flowers that his fingers are stained red.
With the golden warmth of a new day, it feels like blood, but it's always worse, it's poison. But the hours never wait for anyone, at that hour the dye is already drying between his fingers, it doesn't feel sticky or heavy; that's the difference between memory and the present.
“They love me... they...”
He doesn't remember either, where was he? Ah...
“They love me...”
He should feel frustrated or hurt, perhaps exhausted. Wouldn't that be normal? For someone else, maybe, but not for someone whose soul, skin, and heart are dirty. So it's the petals that pay for him.
Regardless of the day, the hour, or the tragedy... Yunji always ends up on his knees in a wet puddle of rose petals. His hands, in the end, always end up stained red. And he always reaches the same moment, he deserves nothing less than the pain, it's just fair.
His fingers feel weak, but somehow he manages to pick up the last petal of a rose, only then can he release the air he didn't know he was holding. It must be a relief that everything will end up the same. At this point, there is no point in expecting anything else.
“They love me not.”
His body moves instinctively, he doesn't know if it's a higher power or simply habit that makes him act; it's always the same, he just puts the evidence in a basket that will soon be discarded to feed the plants.
If no one can see the stains that dirty him, he won't be the one to reveal them. His brother smiles a little when he goes out for lunch, his mother stops insisting on resuming instruction at the commission, and his father tends to talk more about fishing than about resuming his training. That is the answer he has had to his own question.
Aren't you happier when you’re not real?
Hello~ I'd like to start with a Hi! How are you doing today?
Not sure why I'm saying this but your OC Zhun Yunji got me hooked for the past 1 hour and I'll just drop my rant w/c u r free to ignore ofcourse w w w.
Genuinely felt nothing but appreciation reading about how this character incorporates *really* personal tags. There's something that feels almost sacred about people picking penning as way of expression and sharing their inner thoughts but unto the actual rant,
Personally, I can see him going with the path of Nihility by nature of what's written about his mindset and as his themes deeply reminds me of Nihility's Doctors Of Chaos and Self Annihilators. The green motifs and Chinese sounding name gives really strong Xianzhou vibes which (again)could just be me reading too much into this. I'm liking it so far!
Hey, thank you! I appreciate it a lot. And taking this into small parts, I'm fine today, had a cup of vanilla milk with pancakes for breakfast that helped me ignore how disgusting my pills were. My city is foggy and raining, but the weather gave me the time to think and write a little about some things that were on my mind lately.
While I believe that Yunji is a essencial part of me (maybe because I use him as a direct translation of my emotions) it surprises me that I don't really feel the wrong or "bad" things until I have written them and read what I did. I understand how you see it... "sacred", yes, it's precious. What we feel, and what we do to express it and let it heal, it's almost religious.
In the other side, he indeed is a Xianzhou inspired character. While I'm not chinese, I did my research to put him in an addecuate context, he's my most precious character, and he deserves all the info I will dig to write him like we both of us deserve.
Taking this in a more Honkai setting. I'll give you the fact that you almost got his path right. Yunji's combat-path would be Nihility, but lore-wise? Well, a little influenced by it, yes, but his path isn't playable yet. He's also a foxian, he comes from a quite known family, not famous, but respected. I'll let you guess his element if you want. :]
Here's two small Yunji's I commissioned my friend just to let you see him. The only thing I'll say without spoiling, it that probably nothing he says is true.
Also, my apologies if my writing feels a little too stiff, since English isn't my first language. I'm still trying to catch up with the normal english slang.
THE SHADES ALL AROUND AREN'T THE COLORS WE USED TO SEE
≀ classification. ㇀ +15. ≀ tags. ㇀ mental health Issues, references to depression, references to PTSD, introspection, therapy (but it simply doesn't work), character gave up on seeking help. ≀ characters. ㇀ Zhun Yunji (Honkai: Star Rail insert/original character) ≀ pairing. ㇀ none. ≀ writing type. ㇀ drabble ≀ word count. ㇀ 852
SUMMARY: He's not supposed to live having to listen to whispers. They think he's not listening, but the murmurs become deafening. Of course, they only stop when he finally agrees to talk. Not because he wants to; there's no doctor who can heal a wound in the soul.
“Alright, let's begin the session.”
Yunji's eyes look everywhere except at the therapist's face, just to make sure that this time it's real.
Clinically calm hands and the pen resting in the inkwell, only then... he dares to look up, just enough to avoid the other person's gaze, a crude imitation of decency; between the elegant hairstyle, two pointed ears remain serene, without trembling or instinctively reacting to any external disturbance.
It's a lie, the therapist must know, it's his job. Only Yunji knows much more than those basic attempts to calm a restless soul.
“Can you tell me your name?”
“Yunji.”
Silence, the therapist continues to look at him, he knows he’s being watched; only that the world is tinged with a soft greenish color, it feels less real that way.
“And your last name?”
Perhaps that makes him feel better, pretending that at this point, confirming that something is real is not to his liking. So he just adjusts his glasses, the gold of the frame sometimes feeling like lead, but now it's just gold as his fingers adjust it on his face.
“Zhun.” It's a lie, that's not his last name, he no longer deserves it. But he refrains from saying anything else, instead just resting his chin between his fingers, an elegant posture; however, his gaze is no longer up, but his peripheral vision is well trained and the glasses are the perfect armor for someone who doesn't really want to be seen. “Anything else?”
Whether or not that affects the therapist's perception, he doesn't let on, and he makes no effort to find out. It seems that nothing is yet worthy of note; his hands have not moved, and the pen remains in the inkwell, dark as night and as deep as fear.
“Well, Yunji, I'll skip the question you must be expecting.” He is grateful, but his expression does not change. "How is your appetite these days? Your father tells me that when it's time to eat, everyone usually goes to the table except you.”
Except you.
It's always everyone except you.
Why is that?
When blood spurted from a mortal wound you caused, when you saw life leave the eyes of him after hours of agony and pain born of betrayal, what were you looking for? What was there in that second before your own life faded for a second among blood that was never yours?
That point of absolute calm, the heart-wrenching silence, what was there?
Was it everything? Was it nothing? Perhaps it had your father's soft voice, or your mother's ink-stained sleeves, did it look at you expectantly like your brother? Or was it just what you expected to see in the void?
Or was it just fiery? Hands that sparked, that tore you away from that place while he whispered words that were meant to calm, but only felt like a cruel mockery of fate, were they sweet? Perhaps he saw you for who you really were, and that scared you so much that it became your most precious treasure.
It wasn't his feathers, or the flames that stopped time when they enveloped them both. It was something more real, and because it was real, you were afraid.
You were afraid because you felt at peace, because between firm hands and gentle words, there was the devastation that pursued salvation. A creature of fire, gentle and cruel at the same time. It was the balance that was destroyed.
He manages to listen to nails drumming on the black wooden table, and even though that's what has taken it out of his mind, he doesn't let it show. The crystal of a turquoise that is not quite jade is good at hiding his soul, he knows he is waiting for an answer, and the clock has not ticked more than seven minutes since the question was asked.
“Ask my father.” His voice sounds the same, not monotonous, but bored. As if this were just a waste of his time, as if it were useless, which it is to a certain extent.
Only then does the therapist take out his notebook. It is upside down, but Yunji can see that he’s beginning to write something, he doesn’t dare to read it yet.
“Have you been sleeping well lately?”
Not days, not weeks, just… lately. That elicits a snort, the closest thing to a laugh he can be honored to hear.
“The last time I looked in the mirror, I didn't have dark circles under my eyes.”
There is a pause, and there lies his mistake. After so many years... he is still that stupid, clumsy kid, no matter how hard he tries to change it.
“When you look in the mirror, who do you see?”
He doesn't allow himself to digress. No more than usual, no more than when the nights grow long and he has to keep the lights off so they don't dare knock on the door; when the books feel repetitive and the stories of finding what he wanted feel unattainable.
Who do you see?
“Myself, the rest is unimportant.”