#Led Diffuser Sheet

[akmypolyplast]

How Light Diffuser Sheets Transform Your Lighting?

Lighting plays a crucial role in creating the right atmosphere and ambiance in any space. Whether it’s your home, office, or any commercial establishment, the right lighting can enhance the overall appeal and mood of the place. However, with the rapid advancements in technology, traditional lighting methods are slowly becoming a thing of the past. LED lights have emerged as a popular choice due to their energy efficiency and long lifespan. But even with LED lights, there is one important element that can make a significant difference in the quality of lighting — light diffuser sheets.

[blindmagdalena]

Guilty Pleasures ( chapter three )

18+ 7.3k homelander x plus size f!reader. workplace harassment, stalking, voyeurism, assault (not perpetrated by HL), violence, smol murder, manipulation/gaslighting, hurt/comfort. nebulously takes place post s1. part 3/4. AO3 link. | Chapter Directory

Homelander will do whatever it takes to convince you that he's the hero you need.

It’s shortly after one o’clock when Homelander knocks a whimsical melody against your office door, deciding he shouldn’t be precisely on time, lest he look as eager as he feels. He can already smell your perfume wafting through the doorway–the same scent he feverishly pumped his cock to the night before–as a teaser of what’s to come.

“Come in,” you call from the other side.

Homelander takes in a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. He screws his eyes shut, pinching his expression in a tight squeeze before he replaces it with a flashy grin, squaring away his anticipation in favor of his showman persona.

“Goooooood afternoon,” he drawls, strolling in with the same feigned level of confidence he’s entered every other moment of your life since stumbling across you, whether you knew it or not. He’s taken aback almost immediately, slowing in how he closes the door behind him.

You look nicer than usual. Your hair is styled with more conscious effort, and he’s been in show business long enough to recognize the makeup on your face. The shine of your blouse is a quality silk blend, and he can’t hear the scrape of cheap cotton underneath it anymore. No, you’re wearing something nice below, too. His lips slowly spread into a self-satisfied smile. 

You dressed up for him. 

Homelander takes the seat set across from you, sweeping his cape to the side with a flourish. He watches you tuck an empty container–your lunch, presumably–into a side drawer of your desk. His eyes closely track the way you lift your thumb to the corner of your mouth and swipe residue from it, sucking the mess from your digit. A distinct pang of arousal hits him just watching your cheeks hollow.

Imagine what she could do with that mouth.

“And good afternoon to you, Homelander,” you respond, straightening up in your seat. His gaze briefly dips to the swell of your breasts as you adjust yourself, casually dusting away any remnants of your lunch. Saliva gathers on his tongue at the instant memory of you scantily clad in your sleep wear, nothing but a thin sheet of worn fabric between you and his hunger. His eyes snap back up before you can take notice of how they wandered.

Lucky for him, you’re busy splaying out the folder he brought you the day before, scanning over the list of bullet points he’d slapped together for the sake of having enough talking points.

“I wanted to start with your concerns regarding the marketing for your upcoming miniseries,” you say, glancing up at him.

He clicks his tongue. “Wow, alright. Straight to business then,” he says, absently rolling his palms over the ends of the armrests on either side of him.

“I’m very bad at small talk,” you say. Probably to diffuse any notion that you were being rude on purpose.

“Ch’yeah, I’ll say,” he says, smiling thinly. “Lucky that you’re good at your job.”

“Shockingly, I was actually a personality hire. I don’t know what any of this means,” you say, matching his thinly veiled snark while gesturing to the spread of documents in front of you. He snorts softly. You have a knack for using that sharp wit to diffuse, but he doesn’t feel manipulated. You actually are funny. “I was hoping you’d explain your concerns.”

Smooth segue, he thinks, his eyes narrowing appraisingly. He’s worked enough interviews to know when he’s being led, but he takes the bait anyways, widening his smile.

“Sounds great.”

Homelander knows that you’re sharp, good at your job, but he needs to needle you into giving him what he wants. He wants to understand you, and the stack of his films he found hidden in your apartment. What he gets in the meantime is ample taste of your silver tongue, parrying his every jab with an equally sharp counter.

He can’t keep the smile from his face.

Gradually a level of familiarity slips into the air between you. He can see some of that tension in your shoulders easing. He’s steadily wearing down the walls you’ve managed to construct.

“I still think audiences will be confused,” he says, feigning a profound concern, stretching out the time of your little appointment.

“Well, audiences are a lot like celebrities,” you say, the hard candied shell of your professional exterior thinning with every back and forth, poised to crack at any second.  “They’re smarter than we think they are.”

“Oohh, ouch,” he purrs. “Nice backhand you got there.”

A twitch at the corner of your mouth. He knows you’re fighting a smile of your own, and pride blooms warmly in his chest. He likes sparring with you, but he likes pleasing you even more.

“I disagree about market confusion. Your diehard audience will already be up to speed, your broader target audience will show up for anything with your face on it, and anyone more casual than that likely won’t have seen the miniseries anyways, so there’s nothing to confuse it with,” you say, scanning down through one of the pages of the document he gave you.

Perfect opening.

“And which audience is it you fall into, exactly?” He asks, cocking his head a degree. “I mean, given your position, I have to imagine you’ve seen my range of film and television.”

“I’ve done my due diligence,” you say vaguely. You’re good at answering without answering. Normally it would irritate him, but your forced aloofness combined with your closely guarded–and inexplicably secret–veneration of him makes it into tantalizing bait begging for the sharp sink of his teeth.

“So you’ve seen all my movies, then?” He extrapolates, setting a line of his own.

You chuckle, gaze flickering to him before back down to the pages. Too brief a glance to even come close to satisfying his hunger. “I didn’t say that.”

He scoffs lightly. “But you’re a fan of mine?”

“I definitely didn’t say that.” He can sense he’s hit a vein, and like any good predator would, he’s eager to bite into it.

“C’mon. Don’t tell me you’re shy,” he continues to prod, leaning forward slightly in his seat.

You inhale a breath that you barely prevent from sounding too obviously irritated. His grin remains untarnished by the scrutiny of your unwavering stare. There it is, that’s what he wants. The weight of your gaze upon him, evaluating, taking him in fully. He doesn’t care how he gets it, he just knows he wants it.

“You are shy,” he accuses, knowing you aren’t.

“I’m not shy, I’m a professional,” you say curtly, the scratch of your pen scathing while you write notations on the document.

Good, he thinks. More likely to slip up now.

“Jeeze,” he laughs. “You’re wound up tighter than my fictional manager in Darkest Day.”

“You didn’t have a manager in Darkest Day, that was Origins,” you correct. After a beat, your hand stills.

Homelander’s gaze slowly slides to meet yours. He watches your face fall and clicks his tongue. He positively relishes how your mask of indifference slips into subtle dismay at your misstep. Such a simple bit of trivia, and yet it spoke volumes.

Got’cha.

“You do watch my movies,” he said, tone dropping to a near whisper. He revels in the quiet way you groan, leaning back in your chair. 

“Only the ones I was paid to,” you say, straightening up in your chair, but he can hear the defeat in your voice.

“Liar,” he says through his perpetual grin. “Don’t be embarrassed. How long have you been a fan?”

“Stop,” you say, burying your face in your hands. Oh, this is good. Was he your first crush? Your favorite hero? He must be still, judging by the flush of heat moving through you. All that pretense, all that haughty glowering, and beneath it all you’re a fan girl. He almost laughs at the thought of the face you’d make if he called you that. 

“Which was your favorite?” He asks, burying the knife deeper, eager to cut through flesh and muscle and bone to get to the heart of truth beneath. “Bright World? Rise of a Hero? Justice Dawning?”

“I despise you,” you say melodramatically, digging your thumbs into your temples. “Also, Justice Dawning was cheesy, I’m offended you’d even offer it.” You try not to smile, but it happens anyway, and as soon as that secret little smile sneaks onto your lips it brightens Homelander’s eyes, reflecting your amusement back to you. Not just that, but amplifying it.

“You’ll learn to love me,” he tells you with confidence. You drop your hands, looking at him with subtle surprise. He holds your gaze. The earnestness of his words seems to dispel your mortification and replaces it with something more difficult to define, but he likes the shine it brings to your eyes.

The taste of your defeat is sumptuous. He’d prefer licking it straight from your tongue, but he’ll settle for this for the time being. An easiness settles into the air between you, deeper even than before your hackles rose with the lurking reality of your hidden opinion of him. It’s like a bubble has popped, dissipating uncomfortable tension, replacing it with something warmer.

He has every intention of turning up the heat even further.

The meeting moves forward. You work your way through his folder, and during a natural lull in conversation, he finally broaches the topic that’s been plaguing him since he stepped into your office.

“So,” he begins, interlacing his gloved fingers in his lap. “Gonna tell me what you’re all dressed up for?” He asks, wearing the same smile and speaking in the same tone he had when he baited you into admitting your secret love affair with his cinema.

He wants to hear you say that it’s for him, but he’ll settle for a flustered deflection. They’re as good as the same.

“Oh,” you huff with an airy little laugh, the sound like silver bells chiming. “I have a date tonight.”

You say something else, but Homelander doesn’t hear it over the tidal-like rush in his ears. He watches your pretty lips form words that he can’t understand. Everything falls out of focus as he tightly reins in the white hot rush of furious jealousy that floods his gut and erupts up the back of his throat like bile. He swallows the burn of it, jaw tight, and manages a tense smile.

“Great,” he barks, not realizing–or perhaps not caring–that he interrupted you. “First date?”

“First date,” you confirm, your tone less conversational than it had been a beat ago. The walls are going back up, but he’s too fixated on what feels like a stabbing betrayal.

“Exciting,” he says, adjusting his tone and mannerisms until they once more resemble something genuine. Something civil, despite the hostility in his gut. “Someone you know? Going anywhere special?”

“No, and not really,” you say evasively. He loathes how withdrawn you’ve become. You should be pleased he’s put off. Gloating even. It’s proof he cares, isn’t it? “It was his suggestion.” His. The leather of Homelander’s glove creaks subtly in the fist he makes. “I forget the name of the place,” you say, avoiding his gaze.

His right cheek tics. Liar, liar, pants on fire. People always underestimate his ability to read them.

You’ll learn not to lie to him.

“But you have an out if you need it, don’t you? Someone to bail you out in case he turns out to be some kind of freak,” he says, huffing the word with a lick of venom. It takes significant effort to keep the disdain from his face to imagine you as you are now sitting across from some nobody schmuck, lit by candlelight and smiling sweetly for them instead of for him.

“I always do,” you say, smiling thinly. He curates his own tone often enough to hear it in yours, and it pierces his ears like a thistle. He taps his fingers on his thigh, scrounging for something, anything else to needle you for, but your responses don’t give him much to work with.

“Well. If you did need someone–”

“I’m a big girl,” you interrupt, surprising him. He’s rarely interrupted. “I can take care of myself.”

At that, a thought strikes him. The slack line of his lips curls into a thin smile, and his hands relax on the armrests of the chair.

“I’m sure you can.”

Shaking off the aftermath of your one-on-one with Homelander proves to be more difficult than you’d anticipated. You replay it nearly moment for moment in your mind while freshening up after work. 

Homelander has an uncanny knack for moving through demeanors as though he’s trying hats, determining which one best suits the situation. One moment he’s a slick carnivore licking his chops in anticipation of his meal to come, and the next he’s every ounce the hero they market him as. He’d been relentlessly charming during the meeting, his charismatic smile becoming one you’d wanted to earn again and again. 

Then came the news of your date, and all at once Homelander possessed the ominous calm of a sentient statue. The moment still sends an eerie chill down your spine, even in recollection. How radically his appearance can change with mood or thought alone. You’d hate to ever see him truly angry.

“Get a hold of yourself,” you say to the bathroom mirror. You have a date tonight, and the last thing you need is to bring this kind of nervous energy to it. Powers or not, the commonality of man is easy to rely on, and you’ve developed the tactical mindset of an aloof cat. Never beg for what can be given freely. Never give more than you get. Never settle. “Be the cat,” you tell yourself affirmatively. 

A directive which, unfortunately, winds up being exceedingly easy to follow through the course of your date. James, bless his heart, struggles to wring more than the occasional piteous chuckle from you. Conversation with him is akin to drinking seltzer water–he is neither offensive nor particularly exciting, being only a step above plain water.

Perhaps James’ blandness isn’t entirely his own fault, but rather the basis of comparison he is subjected to. Throughout the night, you find yourself critical of the way he looks at you–or rather, the way he fails to look at you. Your thoughts keep drifting back to your meeting with Homelander and the way he looks at you. The intense ocean-blue caress of his eyes summons a blush to your cheeks even in hindsight.

He looks at you in a way that no one else does. It's as if he's trying to memorize the smallest details in your skin, to uncover every secret trapped behind your guarded gaze. He has a stare determined to lay you entirely bare to him.

James’ wine dulled ogling could hardly hold a candle to that. Looking into his eyes, you see only the planning for whatever dullard comment he was going to make next.

Still, it’s not until the end of your date–an exceptionally long two and a half hours thanks to a mishap with your order–that James displays a behavior unsavory enough to elicit a truly unpleasant feeling in you. He’s quite clingy after a few too many glasses of wine. He walks you out of the restaurant with an arm around your waist, and more than once you have to bat his hand away from the seam where your blouse is tucked into your skirt.

“You in the parking garage or the back lot?” He asks, smiling in a way he must mean to be salacious, eyes half-lidded like he’s lost control of them.

“The back lot.” Parking was a nightmare with how late you arrived after work. “Is that where you are?” You ask, hoping it isn’t.

“No, no, I actually took an Uber in,” he says, and you know immediately by the way he starts tapping your hip with his index finger why he chose to do that.

“Want me to wait for you here until your Uber arrives, then?” You ask, turning out of his grasp to stand face to face with him outside of the restaurant. It’s late enough now that the streets have calmed some, at least by New York’s standards.

James’ expression falters, but he tries for a recovery with a hopeful smile. “Well, you know, I was sort of hoping we might continue this elsewhere,” he says, slipping his hands into his pockets. Is he trying to look suave?

“Oh, no,” you say, putting forth your very best sympathetic head tilt, matched with a well placed brow furrow. “No thank you.”

This time his expression doesn’t recover. His hands lift from his pocket and he makes a helpless gesture with them, very nearly pleading. “Really? I thought we were having a nice time.”

“And I’m so glad for that,” you say, and even you can hear the corporate edge sliding into your tone, which doesn’t seem to soothe him any. “But it’s for the best that we part ways here, James. Thanks for your time.”

“But–” Your inarguable dismissal staggers him. He gropes for recourse. “I paid,” he blurts out, which proves to be his final mistake.

Your polite facade drops. “For what?“ His booze addled panic shifts into confusion. “F…For dinner, but I didn’t mean–”

“And that entitles you to fuck me?” No sense in mincing words now.

His expression morphs again, this time into mortification. “No! No, but–”

“You thought this would be a transaction? God, and here I was thinking your gravest flaw would be how mind-numbingly boring you are. But to be boring and stupid?” You scoff, waving a dismissive hand. “Goodnight, James,” you say, the kindest dismissal you can muster. You turn on your heel before he can sour the evening any further, and luckily for him, he doesn’t pursue you further.

Unbelievable. As if you hadn’t offered to split the check. As if he expected it to be a transaction that he cashed in your bed. As if the cost of dinner was worth anything more than a polite smile from you. As if.

New York doesn’t sleep, but it does grow very, very dark. You’re on a narrow street, not an alley exactly, but not a main road, either. Still riled up, you bring up the parking app on your phone as you walk, swiping through to get ready to pay for your crummy back lot space. A clatter brings your attention up, and that’s when you see them—two men. One wearing a black leather jacket, the other with a kerchief slung around his throat. 

You stop walking, caught between turning around, which would mean putting your back to the men up ahead, or continuing forward, which would mean passing within arm’s reach. They haven’t noticed you yet, or at least they’re pretending not to, but now they look right at you and smile.

The men don’t look dangerous, not like they do in the movies, but you know that means nothing—plenty of the worst people in the world looked safe. Yet the longer you stay put, the more you sense the ill intent wafting off of them like cheap cologne. “Hey, baby,” says one of them, moving toward you. “You lost?”

“No,” you say curtly, taking a step back. “Not lost. Excuse me.”

“You sure? We’re real good with directions,” says the second man, leering. Your eyes snap between them, phone clutched tight in your hand. “Y’look like you could use some.”

“No,” you say again, louder. How loud would you need to be for anyone to hear you over the sounds of the streets? Panic swells in your throat.

You don’t know how they got so close so quickly, but as you turn to run, a hand catches your collar. The guy in the leather jacket wrenches you back against him, one arm wrapping around your shoulders. Your phone clatters to the ground. 

“Hey now, what’s the rush?” He asks, yanking you backwards. “Get off me,” you snarl, but he’s squeezing you tightly across the chest, making it hard to think, let alone breathe. You struggle until you feel something hard dig into your hip. A knife? No. You realize coldly that it’s a gun, the handle of it jutting out from his waistband and digging into you. In a desperate bid, you twist in his grip, trying to grab it.

“Careful,” says the other one, moving in front of you, closing in. “She’s got spirit.”

You kick out at the other guy but he jumps back, laughing at you. They’re both laughing, relishing in your fear. Your fingers skim the gun, but you can’t quite get it.

The first man’s breath is hot and sour on your cheek. “Come on, now, let’s have some fun.” You slam your head back into his nose—or try to, but you only manage to clip his chin. Still, you hit bone, hear the crack of a tooth, and just like that you’re free, stumbling to your hands and knees as the man reels. You hit the ground hard, the shock of landing lancing pain through your arms and legs. The gun tumbles from his waistband. Without thinking twice you lunge for it, fingers successfully closing around the grip right before one of the men grabs your ankle and pulls.

The street bites into your elbows and scrapes your knee bloody as you twist around and raise the gun, barrel leveled at the man’s heart. “LET GO!” You scream, heart hammering against your chest. “Oh shit,” says the man in the kerchief, eyes wide at seeing you armed, but the other one sneers at you, blood spilling from his mouth. There’s fury in his eyes, and the unmistakable intent to hurt you. “You ever held a gun that big, baby?”

“Let go,” you say again, voice firmer than the tremble of your hands. Your finger flexes on the trigger.

“You even know how to use it?” He asks, using his grip on your ankle to pull himself over you, his other hand falling to your thigh. He gives a pointed squeeze as he lifts himself up to tower above you. He reaches to take hold of you again, but you won’t let him. Can’t let him.

“Yes.” You squeeze the trigger as you say it, bracing for the recoil, the bang. It’s always so loud in the movies.

Nothing happens. You panic, looking at the weapon in your hands in dull shock. The safety isn’t on. You pull the trigger again, but the chamber rings hollow. It isn’t loaded. You look up at the man as his shadow falls over you. He bares his teeth at you, painted an ugly dark red with the blood spilling from his mouth. The man laughs, a short barking sound, and knocks the gun from your hands with a harsh slap. It goes skidding away.

“Stupid bitch,” he says, raising his boot as if you were an oversized bug, something to crush. You close your eyes and scream as he brings it down hard.

Or at least, he started to, but his leg locks up halfway, and then he topples, a single horrifying sound leaking from his clenched teeth. Your eyes open just in time to see his body hit the ground, a smoldering wound smoking from his chest. An instant later, the second man falls. This time you see the flash of crimson light that drops him.

Homelander’s cape billows in the wind with all the majesty of the flag it’s designed after as he descends from the sky. He lands in front of you, backlit by the distant street lights that give him an artificial glow. He’s beautiful, a perfectly manufactured angel delivered straight from some market tested Heaven.

“Hey, you hurt?” He asks, reaching for you.

Awestruck, all you can do is stare at his outstretched hand. Tears well in your eyes. Shock is setting in the aftermath of all that adrenaline in your veins crashing your system. Through the blur of your tears, Homelander’s expression shifts from concern to that of determination.

“It’s alright, I’m here now. They can’t hurt you,” he says, bringing your arm around his neck while he slips his own around your waist, effortlessly lifting you from the ground. Before your gaze can drift to the corpses–whose burning flesh you can smell mingling with the acrid city air–Homelander rotates, taking them from your line of sight. 

With a flourish, he unhitches his cape from his shoulders and swings the fabric over yours. It settles on you heavier than you expected it to be, and impossibly warm. Moving back in, Homelader readily takes you back into his arms. He cradles you in his embrace, one hand cupping the back of your head, the other drawing lines up and down your back.

You try to choke out a sound, to ask him, how? How did he find you? How did he know you needed him? But none of the noises you make form any actual words. Your throat is too tight, and your tongue feels too big for your mouth, gnarled silent by panic. Everything is just too much. Your breaths only grow sharper as tears burn hot streaks down your face.

“Sssshhhhhhh,” he shushes by your ear, lifting you just enough to keep you on your feet, but take the weight of your body from you. His hold is compressive, but not oppressive. It takes everything you have left to lift your other arm around his neck while the sobs overtake you. He continues to hush you, whispering a menagerie of honeyed assurances in your ear, the core sentiment always the same.

I’ve got you. You’re safe now. I won’t let anyone hurt you.

You cry harder, coiling your arms tighter around his neck. He lets you cling to him, lets you sob away your makeup and soak the collar of his suit with the mess of it.

You don’t know how much time passes in your addled state of panic, but eventually your breaths begin to even out, though your heart continues to thunder. Your body isn’t convinced that the danger has vanished yet, eager to turn to flight now that your fight has gone.

“That’s it, just like that,” Homelander praises. “Breathe. Breathe. Good… Light as a feather now, okay? Like you can fly,” he tells you. The weightlessness you feel in his arms helps the idea, helps you to feel like you aren’t being crushed by the terrible weight of such a moment of horror. That’s all it had been, a moment–two at most–and yet the torment of it had felt hours long. Exhaustion falls over you in the wake of adrenaline, and you’re glad for Homelander’s arms around you. You doubt you’d be standing without them.

“Home,” you manage to croak. “Please.” You can still smell the man’s sour breath, the memory even more powerful than the stench of reality.

“I can take you home,” he coos, maintaining that same soothing tone of comfort. “Is that what you want?”

You nod, focusing instead on the vetiver fresh smell of him. You’ve never been near enough to him before to notice it, but now you fixate on it. Anything to drown out the stink of the alley. He smells so much cleaner, like fresh linen drying over green grass in the summer sun.

His arms flex around you before he adjusts them, lifting you smoothly into his arms. Your stomach flips the way it does when you go down a hill in the backseat of a car, gravity loosening its hold on you. You can feel the motion all around you, the wind ghosting over you, but Homelander himself feels motionless against you.

Flying. He’s flying. And so are you.

His cape shields you from the night air bite, pulled snug around you and secured where your bodies are pressed together. You haven’t felt like this since you were a child, cradled with such care and strength that feels beyond your comprehension. Homelander serves as both place and person–somewhere safe, someone kind–and you tuck yourself closer into the sanctuary of his arms, hands fisted in the protective fabric of his cape.

“I’ve got’cha,” he assures you, voice warm in your ear. 

Without a shadow of a doubt, you believe him.

Homelander doesn’t need to ask where you live. It’s an easy detail to brush off if you question him. He doubts you will with the way you’re clinging to him, though. You feel good in his arms, settling so naturally against the contours of them he might convince himself you belong here. He doesn’t mind your weeping when it comes with your arms around him, fingertips brushing the nape of his neck.

A small shiver rolls down his spine.

Of all the ways Homelander expected the evening to unfold, he hadn’t properly anticipated you. While he cradles you, he replays again and again the moment you were snatched. You fought without hesitation. You wrenched the gun free. The fierceness in your eyes as you aimed it had been exquisite. The resolve in your gaze as you fired it even more so.

He’d known you were confident, but that kind of clawing survival can only be learned of a person in action. He’s known many supposedly strong people–supe and human alike–who walk as stone giants, but shatter like glass when faced with any real danger.

You couldn’t have known that you weren’t in any real danger. You couldn’t have known that he’d told those thugs to scare you, but not hurt you. You couldn’t have known he’d ensured the gun wasn’t loaded. You fought as though it was for your life, and it enthralled him.

He hadn’t planned on killing them in front of you. They would have been loose ends to tie up after his heroic rescue, but somewhere along the line that stupid bastard lost the thread. He hurt you, bloodied those pretty knees of yours, and he moved to strike you. To grind you beneath his heel as if you were the vermin instead of him. For that–and for so flagrantly going against Homelander’s own direct order–you witnessed his downfall.

As far as he’s concerned now, everything happened precisely as it needed to. You’re in his arms now, and he’s still half hard from witnessing you choose fight when your instincts kicked in. You’re too fragile to choose it so readily. Your bones feel bird-like compared to the scope of his strength. Hollow and brittle. You would make for a hell of a supe, though.

Still, he won’t break you. He’s spent his entire life learning what it takes to snap bones like party favors, and more crucially, what it takes not to. Yours are safe from him. In fact, you’re the safest person in the whole world now.

Homelander glides down to a soft landing on your driveway. Your car will be an issue for another time. For now, he walks you to your front door before gently placing you on your feet.

“Believe this is you, young lady,” he says, leaving space for plausible deniability. If it occurs to you to interrogate him about it, it doesn’t show on your face. With hands still softly trembling, you fish your keys out of your purse. He watches you fumble with them for only a moment before he steps in behind you, one hand gripping your upper arm to steady and pause you while the other covers your shaking hand, helping you to slide the key into the lock and turn it.

Your hand fits nicely in his.

“Thanks,” you whisper. It’s the first thing you’ve said since asking him to take you home. He takes the liberty of opening the door for you while he’s at it, swinging it wide to allow you in. You grab his forearm, and he thinks you’re only balancing yourself, but when you don’t let go he steps with you, letting you lean on him as you guide him into your home. He closes the door behind the two of you, smiling to himself.

He may not need an invitation to enter, but it’s charming to have one.

Your movements are stiff, a slight limp to your gait. You fell hard, and the delicate flesh of your knee had ripped apart against the concrete when you were dragged. You hesitate at the stairs, but Homelander doesn’t. You inhale sharply  when he scoops you back up into his arms with ease and starts up the stairs. He keeps his gaze ahead, but he can feel yours on him.

“Thanks,” you say again, the word barely more than a hiccup, adjusting his cape over yourself like a blanket.

“It’s what heroes are for.” He smiles. It’s a party line, one he’s said a hundred thousand times before, but you make him mean it. This is what heroes are for. To be worshiped and loved, understood deeper than pop stars and false idols like them. There’s a reverence in your stare that transcends the vapid starstruck way most people look at him. You understand now. You know how much more he is.

He brings you to your bedroom and sets you on the edge of the bed, adjusting his cape back up over your shoulders. You’ve scarcely let go of it since he wrapped you in it. Will you sleep with it tonight? He bets you will. The thought sends a pleasant tingle through him. 

“Alright, let’s get a look at those knees,” he says, crouching in front of you. There’s blood running down your left shin. He lifts the edge of your skirt hem just enough to catch a glimpse of shredded skin. It looks rough, dirty and embedded with bits of debris. He blows out a breath. “Got a first aid kit?”

You nod numbly. “Under the bathroom sink.”

It’s odd to see you so subdued. He forgets sometimes that you humans can be as emotionally fragile as you are physically. Surely the death of two measly thugs isn’t enough to break you.

Rising, he moves to your bathroom. He feels slightly unbalanced without the sway of his cape behind him, the garment as integral to his physicality as any limb. He rummages through until his hand lands on a bright red fabric pack with a zipper. He gives it a little toss and catches it, bringing it back to you, alongside a wetted towel. He gives the pack a victorious little shake.

“H’okay, down to business.” Homelander kneels before you, splaying open the kit and placing it on your lap. He’s never used one of these before, but he’s pretended to do it on set. How different can it be? He cups your leg, thumb absently smoothing back and forth on your skin while he uses the towel to gently wipe up the blood, dirt and debris from your shin and knee.

You flinch, tense a moment before you relax. “Homelander, you really don’t have to–”

“Am I doing a bad job?” He asks, glancing up at you through his lashes. There’s a playful lilt to his voice.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you say, the smallest hint of exasperation in your voice. He’s pleased to hear it. Perhaps you’re less wilted from the encounter than he thought. “I just mean that I can–”

“I know you can,” he says, and this time he definitely sees a flare of annoyance. You don’t like being interrupted any more than he does, but you don’t protest further. He smiles, triumphant, and focuses back on the task at hand, petting you the same way one might soothe a wild animal.

There’s a novelty in doing this for real that he hadn’t anticipated. It’s entirely unlike wiping away congealed red corn syrup from an actor. Your skin is sweeter, softer. He suddenly resents his gloves for the barrier they provide, despite his usual reliance for that very thing. He’s meticulous in flicking out the little stones embedded in your skin, spotting each one with ease.

Next, he tears open the alcohol wipes with his teeth and uses them to disinfect, rubbing at the sores. You flinch, sucking in a loud breath through your teeth. “Oopsy-daisy,” he says, switching to gently patting. He has no real concept of what you’re feeling right now. He’s never had a scraped knee before. The scientists at Vought had to get much more creative in order to gauge his capacity for healing.

He imagines they were disappointed to realize that, once damaged, he healed as slowly as a human.

“How’d you find me?” You ask, snapping him out of his unpleasant reminiscence. Your shock seems to have worn off entirely. You look more present, alert to his every move.

“Heard you scream,” he answers simply, unraveling a roll of gauze. That much is true.

“But how? How did you know where I was?” You push, watching him wind the white material around your knee.

“I didn’t,” he lies smoothly. He’s followed enough scripts in his life to do so very well. “If I’d known exactly where you were, I would have been there sooner. I was minding my business on 5th Avenue when I heard you. Familiar voices can…” He makes a vague gesture. “Cut through the din. Voices I want to hear.” 

He thinks he catches you flush at that. Just a touch. He bites back a smirk, pleased with himself. Does it matter if it’s true when it makes you look at him like that?

“I didn’t know your hearing worked like that,” you say, fidgeting with the hem of his cape.

His gaze flickers up every so often to watch your finger pick at the seam, inexplicably charmed by it. “Well, there’s some things not even a super fan can glean,” he teases, securing the gauze with tape. He expects to see a familiar indignation in your expression, but when he looks up, he’s caught off guard by the unmistakable fondness in your eyes.

“I was over the moon when I got my job at Vought,” you say quietly, like you’re whispering in a confessional. “I always wanted to work with heroes.”

“With me?” He pushes, lifting his brows.

Very slightly, you smile. “Yeah. With you.”

“Busted,” he says, his own voice equally soft.

You give him a little nudge with your foot. “Gauze won’t stay by itself. Need to use a roll of self-adhesive wrap,” you say, plucking the beige roll from the kit. He likes the shy warmth in your voice. He would have done much worse to see this side of you. Have the intimacy of your pain, fear and relief all to himself. This glowing affection you’re so full of. He feels drunk on the cocktail of it all.

“Right, obviously,” he says, taking the wrapping from you. “I knew that.”

“Probably should have put a gauze pad under it, too,” you continue, eyes heavily lidded, expression soft.

“Everyone’s a critic,” he laments, affixing the textured bandage around the gauze. You laugh, and the sound of it feels like a space he could belong in.

He checks your other knee, your elbows and your palms, but nowhere else on you calls for anything more than some antiseptic and a few bandaids. With the wrappings secure, he shuffles the mess of supplies haphazardly back into the kit, zipping it up much more bulging and misshapen a state than he found it in. He pushes it under the bed with the towel atop it, standing.

“Good as new. Or close to it,” he says, making a small show of dusting off his hands for a job well done. 

You stand, letting his cape slide off of your shoulders for the first time since he put it on you, the fabric pooling on the bed. You step forward, and of all the things he expects in this moment, you blow them out of the water by suddenly wrapping your arms around him, the soft curves of your body slotting against his in a way that trips something primal and needy in him. He puts his arms around you the second the shock wears off, holding you with the barest fraction of his strength.

Tension drains from your body. Were you nervous he wouldn’t reciprocate? It’s an endearing thought. He gives a deeper, brief squeeze. He can’t remember the last time someone held him.

“Thank you,” you say after a long beat, drawing back. He reluctantly loosens his grip, but not by much. He’s loath to relinquish you so soon after he’s gotten hold of you. “It’s not enough, but I don’t know what could ever be.”

I could make a few suggestions, he thinks, but he doesn’t give voice to the lewd thoughts that follow.

“I’ll never forget what you did for me tonight,” you say. Your face is so near to his, it makes it difficult to focus on anything other than the curve of your lips as you speak.

Instead of responding, Homelander leans in, eyes falling shut.

“Oh,” you say sharply, your soft body suddenly going tense in his arms, stopping him in his tracks. Both of your hands are braced against his chest now, creating a distance that feels craterous. 

He blinks, brows furrowed in confusion. “What?” 

“I’m really tired,” you say, tone shifting to mild diffusion. It reminds him of the way you spoke to James, and his ego stings with both the rejection and the comparison. He’d laughed listening to you reject that pathetic, simpering man. It seems less funny now. 

He scoffs an incredulous little huff. But I saved you, he thinks, indignant panic flaring in his chest. To his dismay, however, the thought doesn’t sound like his own voice. It sounds like James’.

But I paid!

Repulsed, Homelander swallows the thought like bile. If the comparison comes so readily to his own mind, there’s no way you won’t make the connection yourself. He feels his skin prickle like there are fire ants crawling beneath his suit. The memory of James’ pathetic begging is the only thing that keeps his composure together.

“Of course you are,” he says tightly. His smile is forced, slightly too wide. “You should sleep. Rest up. Take the day off tomorrow,” he says stiffly, rattling off lines like they’re pre-recorded. Only then does he surrender his hold on you, hands moving to his hips instead. You take a step back, and he stands straighter to disguise the sting of rejection.

“Thank you,” you say, tone indecipherable. It’s full to the brim with something, but nothing Homelander can parse in his current state. “I–”

“No need,” he dismisses, jumping on the opportunity to end the conversation on his terms. “Really. Just doing my job,” he says, tossing you a little two-finger salute off of his brow, already moving towards your balcony door. You don’t move, watching him from the foot of your bed, arms wrapped around yourself.

“Catch you at the office,” he says. He knows he’s speaking too quickly, but it’s all he can do to keep himself in check. Anger and misery broil in him like vinegar and baking soda, the caustic brew threatening to erupt.

“Okay,” you say, which isn’t particularly what he wants to hear. He turns his back to you, and his smile drops, his ego violently stung. With a force that billows wind through your bedroom, he takes off into the night sky.

You just weren’t ready, he tells himself, gritting his teeth. It’s easier to be angry than embarrassed. He wants to make as much distance between himself and your rejection, flying higher and higher until frost begins collecting on his lashes. He flies until there’s no sound, no oxygen, no life but his own. He flies until gravity releases him and he can finally relax, suspended by cold, vast space.

The earth glows beneath him, reflecting the light of the sun where it illuminates a distant portion of the globe.

Closing his eyes, he tips his head back.

He’ll fix this.

( chapter four )

[lyzsaphrodite]

☾ ⋆*･ﾟI Love You, I Promise :⋆*･ﾟ

Summer DaCosta x fem!reader

synopsis: After Bella die you and Summer break up because it was so hard on the both of you. But during your trip to Ghost Island where you have to share a bed and a failed game of charlie charlie brings feelings back to the light.

warnings: angst, one bed, and ghosts

a/n: hey guys I'm back and finally posting the Summer fic I've been writing since feburary. I had terrible writers block then forgot about it. This definitely isn't the best but I wanted to get it out to y'all because you guys have been waiting months.

wc: 1.7k

It's been a couple of months since you and Summer broke up. You guys broke up tight after Bella passed away. Bella was the one who got you two together in the first place. She knew you both had liked each other since the seventh grade, but were too scared to confess to each other and risk ruining your friendship. Eventually Bella convinced both of you to go to Winter Formal together sophomore year which led to more dates and finally you guys got together. Bella was one of your best friends, so when she died it was like a piece of you died. It was like that for everyone in the friend group. It was like with this piece missing, your heart didn't know how to act and neither did Summer’s. Which resulted in her snapping at you that then turned into a bad fight which resulted in a break up. _____________________________ Now you are on the boat to Ghost Island. Bella always wanted you all to go there together, with or without her. So that's what you were doing. Currently Summer and Leo are acting out the titanic, Ferris is hitting on Summer’s older cousin, and Kayla is sitting next to you. You finally reached the Island and arrived at the Veil Hotel. . Bella had always talked about visiting this eerie island with her friends, and despite her absence, you were determined to honor her memory by making this trip.

The evening was tinged with a sense of unease. The old hotel’s faded elegance seemed to echo with the ghosts of the past. As the night descended, you all made your way to the grand hotel suite you had reserved. The excitement of exploring the grand old building quickly turned into confusion as you entered the suite and realized something was off.

The suite was beautifully decorated, but there was a problem—there were not enough beds to accommodate everyone comfortably. The realization dawned on the group as you began unpacking.

“I thought we had more rooms,” Leo said, frowning as he surveyed the space.

“It must be a mistake,” Summer said, her voice tinged with frustration as she looked around. “There’s no way we can all fit.”

Ferris, ever the opportunist, quipped, “Looks like we’re going to have to get cozy.”

You and Summer exchanged glances. The arrangement meant that you two would have to share a bed—a prospect that felt like a cruel twist of fate given your unresolved issues.

“I can’t believe I have to share a bed with Summer,” you muttered, a mix of disbelief and frustration in your tone.

Kayla tried to diffuse the tension. “We can figure this out. It’s only for a few nights.”

The group made the best of the situation, setting up makeshift sleeping arrangements in the living area and trying to adapt to the unexpected scenario. You and Summer, though, were left with the task of facing the reality of sharing a bed.

As the night fell, you both tried to find some semblance of comfort in the cramped space. The bed felt smaller than it had before, the physical closeness a stark reminder of the emotional distance between you. Every rustle of the sheets and every shift in position felt amplified, and the silence between you was heavy with unspoken words.

Hours passed, and the emotional exhaustion from the day began to take its toll. The discomfort of the bed and the tension between you seemed to fade as sleep overtook you. In the quiet of the night, the proximity and shared warmth became a comfort rather than a burden.

You awoke the next morning to the surprising and intimate reality of being wrapped in Summer’s arms. Her body was pressed against yours, her breath warm on your neck. For a moment, you lay still, absorbing the closeness and the odd sense of peace it brought. The shared bed had, in the quiet hours of the night, become a cocoon where the walls between you felt softer.

Summer stirred beside you, her eyes blinking open. The realization of the situation seemed to hit her instantly. Her eyes widened in surprise, and she quickly pulled away, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

“Oh, um, good morning,” she stammered, her voice tinged with awkwardness. “Sorry about that.”

You turned to face her, trying to mask your frustration with a sigh. “Seriously, Summer? We’re sharing a bed. It happened while we were asleep. It’s fine.”

Summer looked at you with a mix of relief and lingering awkwardness. “I just... I didn’t want to overstep boundaries, you know? Things have been weird between us.”

You shook your head, your tone softening. “It’s okay. Just... let’s not make this more complicated than it is.”

Throughout the day, there was an unspoken tension between you and Summer that everyone in the group seemed to notice. Conversations felt stilted, and the usual camaraderie of the group was overshadowed by the weight of the unresolved issues between you two. You both tried to act normally, but the awkwardness was palpable, affecting the dynamics of the group.

After the ghostly encounters and attempts to connect with Bella, the group decided to try something different. They decided to play a game of Charlie Charlie, but with a twist—invoking Bella’s spirit. The mood was a mix of apprehension and hope as everyone gathered in the hotel’s grand living area, setting up the game in the center of the room.

The planchette was carefully placed on the notebook, the words “Yes” and “No” written out. You all took your places, hands trembling slightly as you prepared to ask questions.

“Bella, are you here with us?” Summer asked, her voice wavering with a mix of hope and anxiety.

The planchette moved slowly, settling on “Yes.” A collective breath was held as you all exchanged glances, the tension of the day momentarily forgotten in the face of this new attempt to connect with Bella.

“Bella, are you happy we’re here?” Kayla asked next. The planchette moved again to “Yes.”

The group continued asking questions, hoping to find some comfort or guidance. Then Summer, with a trembling voice, asked, “Bella, who am I in love with?”

The planchette moved, its path deliberate and unyielding. It stopped, pointing directly at Leo. The room fell into a heavy silence. Summer’s face fell, her cheeks flushing with a mixture of confusion and hurt. She stared at the board, unable to comprehend the message. “This isn’t Bella,” she said softly, her voice cracking with emotion.

Unable to bear the weight of the moment, Summer abruptly stood up and left the room in a hurry. The sound of her footsteps echoed down the hall, leaving behind a tense silence.

You quickly followed after her, your heart pounding as you navigated the dimly lit corridors of the hotel. You found her in the hallway, leaning against the wall, her face buried in her hands. Her body shook with silent sobs.

“Why did you ask that question?” you demanded, your voice sharp with frustration. “If you didn’t want Leo to know, you shouldn’t have asked.”

“That’s the thing though!” Summer snapped back, her voice rising with a mix of desperation and anger. “I’m not in love with Leo. I’m in love with you. God, you’re so stupid, Y/N!”

Her outburst was a mix of frustration and vulnerability, the raw emotion in her declaration cutting through your already fragile heart. You turned away, unable to keep the tears at bay, and headed to Kayla’s room. The comfort of her presence was a small solace, but it wasn’t enough to erase the hurt.

When you entered Kayla’s room, she looked up with concern but didn’t press you for details. You lay on her bed, curling up in an attempt to find some semblance of peace. Kayla offered a reassuring hand on your shoulder before quietly leaving the room, giving you the space you needed.

Later, Summer knocked on Kayla’s door, her face a canvas of regret and weariness. Kayla gave you a sympathetic look before stepping out, leaving you alone with Summer.

"I need to talk to you," Summer said, her voice trembling with vulnerability. Her eyes were red from crying, a stark contrast to the vibrant energy she usually exuded.

You looked at her, your heart aching at the sight of her distress. "Okay," you replied quietly, trying to steady your emotions.

Summer took a deep breath, her hands wringing together nervously. "I’m sorry for how I’ve been acting. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’ve been lost since everything happened. I’ve been trying to keep it together, but I'm messed up."

You remained silent, listening intently as Summer struggled to find the right words.

"I love you," she finally said, her voice breaking. "I love you, and I’m so sorry. I should’ve never ended things like that. I was scared and angry and... I didn’t know how to handle it. But I love you, and I want to make things right."

The sincerity in her voice, the raw emotion in her eyes, cut through the confusion and hurt you had been feeling. Your own tears began to fall, mingling with the tears of regret and longing in Summer’s eyes.

"I miss you, too," you said, your voice choked with emotion. "It’s been so hard without you."

Summer’s eyes softened as she took a step closer, her hands reaching out to yours. "I know," she whispered. "I know I made mistakes, and I’m sorry. I want to fix things between us. I want to be with you."

In that moment, the pain and confusion seemed to melt away, replaced by a fragile hope for reconciliation. You embraced each other, holding on tightly as if trying to anchor yourselves in the midst of the storm. The past was painful, but in each other’s arms, you found a glimmer of healing and a promise of rebuilding what had been lost.

def not my best work I swear my Clarisse fic will be better

taglist: @asvterias , @mira-belcul18 , @ang5289 , @symp4nat

[nsves]

blender lighting tutorial + tips.

requested by @thecrimsonsimmer + recommended viewing: youtube video one, two, three, and four. this post will be dealing with newer versions of blender (2.8+) and cycles since that's what i'm more familiar with + commonly used for rendering. this is coming from me as an artist with some dabbling in photography and things i've learned in college!

references and setting the mood

are you basing your render on an existing photo? study the light source and what direction it's coming from: that's what's going to tell you your set up for a similar effect. if you're not basing it on an existing piece, a good start is knowing How you want to set your subject (your sim) up - do you want them to be in the spotlight? are they in a specific environment that has neon lights? are you going for moody or something fresh, bright? definitely look up colors and their meaning (color theory, movie screencaps, etc.) to create a stronger image!

using resources to start the set up

it's always a good thing to mix your tools with different communities, such as the art community! many have lighting tools to figure out how to color their subject, such as this free-to-use head figure that depicts where the lighting source should be placed.

there's also the photography community and teaching people how to set up their lights for certain setups. video three and four linked in the beginning are from photography viewpoints.

spot? area? point? sun?

let's think of the lighting types as objects - a spot is like a plain lightbulb, area is a reflective sheet, spot is a flashlight, and the sun... well is the sun!

a spot is similar to an area light, but triangular/a cone. think of a helicopter search light, it's focused on a small area with the most light concentration. these can be used for lamps with lampshades, car headlights, or a lighthouse.

an area light is great for lighting up technology. a phone screen, tv screen, tablet, anything that's an LED screen emitting from a surface. the light is not as concentrated as a spot and is meant to cover more flatly (hence the rectangular source)

a point is best used for small pops of colors such as candlelight, lamppost, lightning bug tail, etc. a small source that has nothing covering it.

a sun covers the entire area and can be used as the overall mood setter. it can create filter over the entire render by just shifting the color like you would see in a movie. you'll be given a line with a sun light that gives the direction of where the sun is coming from. basically a spot light just on a much larger scale LOL.

power + coloring

this screenshot is mostly what you'll only use to start off with. watts is the unit of measurement and the higher you go, the brighter the light will be. examples with a white colored point light 10W-20W: general portrait lighting 30W-50W: bright source, close flashlight for example 60W+: blinding

coloring is just like the system for in game lights for ts4. shift it to whatever you want it to be (click the white bar, that's the color preview) and mess around with the vibrancy. the darker, more intense color, the less it's going to appear on the sim.

closeness and intensity

similar to what's shown in the head lighting tool shown earlier, the closer the light is, the more that specific area is lit up. go too close and your sim could be completely washed out. it helps to change the size of the light (change with the radius slider) to better imitate what you're wanting. the larger the radius, the more diffused and softer the light source will be. close + small = very clear of the light source shape, can obviously tell where it is in relation to the subject far away + large = soft lighting, more of a hazy lighting of the color you choose.

to quickly adjust the light, press "G" and hold down your middle mouse button to adjust which axis you'd like to edit along. green is the x-axis, blue is the y-axis, and red is the z-axis. you can also press "G" and type the letter of the axis you want to use. drag the mouse to change the placement on that specific axis to however you want. if you want to freely edit the placement, just press "G" to move it out of the axis bounds.

world lighting

take this step as setting your canvas color before you start painting. in order for the values to look their best, change the world color to the same hue of the color you are mostly using. for example, this is set in a red-toned environment:

this is essentially changing the cast shadow onto the sim. the default is gray and will muddy up your undertones if not changed properly. for this instance, if you were to still use the same red point light in a gray world color it'd look like this:

of course, this will be based on if you have an environment image or not that can affect your lighting overall. this post is based on the fact there is no environment image and what not! if you need a visual demonstration on how to mess with the world lighting, check out this short video.

i hope that helped anyone beginning to render or wanting to light up your own scenes! i'm no rendering expert, but here's some of the helpful tricks i've learned and collected over the years<3 if you have any other questions feel free to send an ask!

[merryfortune]

December Twenty-Fifth

Written for Ficwip Discord’s November 1000 Words Event

Title: December Twenty-Fifth

Ship: None

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! Vrains

Word Count: 1,000

Rating: T

Warning: None

Tags: Pre-Canon, Fluff, Christmas, Found Family, Presents, Surprises

   Waking up on December twenty-fifth, was meant to be like waking up on any other day.

   For Spectre anyway.

   Seven years old, he was full of wonder and curiosity but not for Christmastime. He didn’t enjoy fried food, he didn’t like mushy-gushy romantic comedy movies for adults. He had never celebrated Christmas at the orphanage prior. Not enough money to go around to give the children more than colouring-in sheets and maybe a store bought card.

   And so, that date on the calendar, remained innocuous and boring just like any other day. 

   Until now.

   “Tada. Do you like it?” Ryoken asked.

   He held Spectre’s hand, guiding him down the stairwells of the minimalist monstrosity which was the Kogami Mansion and yet… The sun room was a cacophony of festive spirit. It was kitsch and bright. Christmassy. Full of red and green amid the otherwise dreary, white walls and furnishings of the mansion. Wreaths hung up on the window panes, ribbons and sashes dashed through the room, fairy lights twinkled, and then there was the centrepiece: a fir tree which had yet to be decorated but was still accompanied by various presents.

   Five of them, Spectre counted.

   Spectre was dumbfounded as he was led into the sun room by Ryoken. Music which was whispered in a silvery voice played from a speaker, inviting them closer. The smell of breakfast was cooking nearby from the adjoining kitchen. He heard Aso’s voice call out good morning above the sound of sizzling eggs and bacon, a waft of maple syrup and something else sweet, too, like pancake batter.

   “Good morning, sleepyhead.” Kyoko teased Spectre as she and Dr. Genome waited by the tree.

   “Indeed, probably the first child in existence to wake up well after the sun has risen on Christmas Day.” Dr. Genome mused, stroking his chin.

   “Well, um…” Spectre fumbled to explain his circumstances but he found himself at a loss for words, he was staring at the tree.

   Both adults and Ryoken picking up exactly on his thoughts.

   “We wanted to surprise you since its our first Christmas together, do you like it?” Kyoko asked.

   “Yeah, it’s, um, really…” Spectre continued to fumble in his awe.

   “I thought it was a waste of time, personally,” Dr. Genome added coldly and yet, in his own way, knew exactly how to diffuse Spectre’s shyness, “we don’t normally celebrate Christmas but the soft-touches insisted. So, you better enjoy or there won’t be one next year.”

   Spectre giggled. Dr. Genome’s more abrasive nature always amused him. Kyoko rolled her eyes and gave him a playful nudge - or jab - to the side. That, too, part of the comedy routine and banter they found themselves in.

   “Ignore that grinch, you two.” Aso’s voice called out. “It is a pleasure to celebrate like that, heaven knows we need it.”

   Ryoken nodded, lips pursed, in agreement to Aso.

   “Do you want your present now or do you want to decorate the tree first?” Kyoko asked gently.

   “I get a present?!” Spectre exclaimed.

   “Of course. You're my best friend, of course you get a present.” Ryoken laughed.

   Spectre blushed, his tummy squirmed. “I want the present first.” he admitted in a tiny voice.

   “Alright, you two first. We’ll open ours after breakfast whilst you two decorate the tree.” Kyoko decided.

   “Here you go.” Dr. Genome said.

   He picked up a box and handed it to Spectre.

   The tactile feel of the glittery paper was unusual on Spectre’s hands as he carefully admired the box, the yellow and silver wrapping, the twirly white ribbon. He gulped, gave it a shake and tried to guess or imagine what might be inside but he failed. He had never been given a gift like this, wrapped up so nicely and with something completely brand new inside. It was a lot for the little pauper.

   Unlike the prince beside him.

   Ryoken, meanwhile, had no reverence for his present, tearing it open as soon as Kyoko handed it to him. It, too, was done up in the same paper and ribbons as Spectre’s but Ryoken was far more interested in what was inside to stop and admire the wrapping. The paper was clawed away, left in shreds that glittered on the floor as he revealed a toy which had some assembly required written on the box which featured an actor in a masked costume with plenty of pleather and latex.

   “No way! This is the sword from Ranger Powers!” Ryoken gasped. That was the name of a television series that Ryoken was obsessed with, a tokusatsu aimed at tweens and teenagers rather than nine year old’s like him. 

   Encouraged, Spectre opened his present slowly and his eyes twinkled as the wrapping gave way to a boxed toy of his own.

   “Pure Dandelion’s sceptre…” Spectre gasped as he recognised the magical girl anime weapon. He liked the anime a lot but had never dreamed he would ever see merchandise of it beyond strolls through a shopping mall with Kyoko or the others.

   “I’m sure you two will have lots of fun chasing each other and bad guys this afternoon with these.” Dr. Genome laughed.

   “Can’t wait!” Ryoken grinned.

   They had played similar games of chase and role-play using sticks so it would be nice to have something extra and more in-character to use. It would hopefully warm by the afternoon, too. Being on the beach, it didn’t snow but the chill of winter still pervaded outside the foggy windows of the sun room transformed into a cheery hearth.

   “M-Me too.” Spectre replied feebly, his heart racing out of his chest as he brimmed with gratitude.

   A pause, and then Aso’s voice, “Breakfast is ready.”

   Spectre smiled, mouth watering and holding dearly onto the plastic wand encased in cardboard. He glanced through the room again, finally seeing a box of decorations for the tree and his excitement heightened further. This was only his first Christmas but he already knew it was going to be the best Christmas ever.

[campgender]

I am eight months pregnant. It’s a summer night and I’ve curled my girlfriend’s fingers around my own and led her to our bedroom. I have become an expert at making love to my girlfriend. A dozen years of perfecting the dance. I know exactly when to bite her skin, when to caress her, when to pound her, and when to hold her. I know how to move inside, and I know how to rub and pull and make her body rise.

It’s hard to find a position to reach her. Should I sit cross-legged or on my knees or lie on my side? What angle affords me the longest timeframe before my legs or arms get cramped and I lose steam? I twist into a spot and push all the blankets off the bed. I get to work. I feel my confidence return; I feel a little butch again. Even if I barely sense the warmth of my own body, I can take good care of my femme, and I am proud of that. But my fingers begin to go numb.

It’s been happening for the last couple of months. I lose feeling in my right hand. The nerve is squeezed somewhere in my arm, and the midwife and Google tell me it’s a common side-effect of pregnancy. Damn it. I depend on the delicate precision of my fingers. I hunger to touch and feel my girl. Damn. I don’t stop moving my fingers. I can tell by the rhythm of my lover’s breathing that they continue to do the job. I close my eyes and concentrate. I depend on the focus of my brain, even as my fingers lose all feeling.

Is a butch still a butch without her clothes, her body, her libido, her physical strength? Who was I in those moments? I felt far away from other butches and far away from myself. I felt calm, too. The pregnancy, despite its limitations, was peaceful. The hormones had kicked in. The urgency left my bones. I could feel the bliss of the new life in my body as my mind drifted into daydreams of the birth. I inhabited a spacey land, where I didn’t care about anything except the movement of the baby inside. But as much as I enjoyed the tranquility, I might have panicked if I thought it would go on forever. For my entire life, my knowledge of the world has been grounded in a sense of myself as a butch. When I couldn’t see myself any more, I became a body without any meaning attached to it. I felt vague, adrift.

Hilary takes portraits of me. She puts on a sun dress, lifts her heavy black Nikon, and stretches her arms. When she photographs you, she leads your body from one position to the next as she snaps the shots.

“Sit on the chair. Now stand, straddle it,” she directs. “Lift your head, turn, now look away, and turn back once more. Good.”

She searches a body, a face, the eyes for something she understands about its history, vulnerability, desire. You could stand right next to her and take a photo of the same person, but you wouldn’t be able to capture the intimacy of her images.

On the day before my due date, I gather all the butch garments that will still cover my body—a tie, leather suspenders, XXL T-shirts, stretchy blue jeans, an exercise bra—and head outside. It is a cool summer day, cloudy, the sunlight is diffused evenly across our backyard patio. Perfect photo weather, according to Hilary. It’s a last chance to catch the picture of my pregnant body.

I slip in and out of clothing quickly, avoiding the curiosity of the neighbours in the apartment building beside us. They are busy with their barbecue; the smells of charcoal and burgers float over us.

Hilary guides me methodically through the shots. I look past the reflection on the lens, into the tiny hole of the aperture, and wait for the instant when the shutter snaps open and shut. I can see Hilary there, following the lines of my body. I sit up. I raise my chin. I smile. I look at her shamelessly with lust. I reach behind my head and lie down. I curl up into a ball. I give her my fiercest face. I frown. I plead. I worry. I daydream.

I find myself on my girlfriend’s contact sheets. I find myself through her eyes: a femme’s vision of a butch. In some shots, I don’t look pregnant at all. I still look like the young boyish dyke she picked up a dozen years ago. In others, my belly is bigger than a basketball. My proportions are alarming. My skin looks soft. My face is tired but relaxed. My gaze is vulnerable. My dark eyes are wide open, inviting her to capture me, but carefully—please be careful. I don’t look like other pregnant women. I look like an entirely different creature. A queer creature. A beautiful creature.

from “A Beautiful Creature” by Karleen Pendleton Jiménez, published in Persistence: All Ways Butch & Femme, ed. Ivan E. Coyote & Zena Sharman (2011)

[materialsscienceandengineering]

A possible world record: Studying thin films under extreme temperatures with reflectometry

A team of researchers from ANSTO and University of Technology Sydney have set a record by conducting thin film experiments at 1,100 degrees Celsius, using the Spatz reflectometer equipped with a vacuum furnace. The unique combination of neutron reflectometry with high temperature apparatus enables atomic-scale insights into thin film growth and diffusion processes. This is of relevance to a wide range of thin film technology and devices which undergo a range of processing and heat treatment conditions to optimize performance. The UTS group, led by Francesca Iacopi and Aiswarya Pradeepkumar, has been studying the growth of thin carbon sheets (graphene) on SiC/Si substrates which occurs at high temperatures. This award-winning process allows for highly conductive electronics that can be integrated with standard silicon fabrication processes.

Read more.

[absolutebl]

Random ask game asks

Starbucks or Dunkin Donuts?

What's one thing that's stereotypical about you?

I have the remnants of a british accent + I drink tea. 

Play any instruments? 

Piano, badly 

A music artist everyone criticizes that you like: 

Last show you watched: 

Last movie you watched

Senior Love Me? 

Last song you listened to

The Arc - The Light 

Last book you read

Old Fashion Cupcake manga 

Your top five most listened to artists this month on Spotify

Stray Kids

BTOB

Young K & Day 6

Kang Daniel

TRENDZ

Ever drank alcohol?

Every Friday and it’s Be My Favorite’s Fault 

Every smoked anything?

Fish, mostly 

Do you prefer to eat-in or take-out?

Both 

If you could time travel what decade would you go to first

Am I invisible or do I look the way I do now? If #1 then the past, if #2 then the future. 

An actor everyone loves that you don't like for whatever reason

Speak any other languages?

4 none of them well, including my ostensible original 

Have any tattoos? Want any tattoos?

no

Have any piercings? Want any piercings?

yes

Do you prefer the hot or cold weather?

cold 

Cats or dogs? Or some other pet?

none but those owned by others tend to adopt me (the house has a cat and he think’s i’m his)  

Trendy over comfortable or comfortable over trendy?

trendy and comfortable, why choose? 

Say one thing bad about something you love

the singing is terrible and the acting is usually pretty crap too

Do you prefer to read digitally or from a physical book?

digital 

Do you put milk in your hot tea?

yes 

Do you know how to play any popular gambling games?

no

A character you relate to for whatever reason?

A quote (from anything) you really love

How many pairs of shoes do you have

maybe 10? 

Do you have trouble saying any words because of your accent/speech problems?

no, i’m good at words and public speaking 

Earbuds or headphones?

buds 

Showers or baths?

Early bird or night owl?

insomniac 

Candles or scented spray?

fresh flowers 

How often do you change your clothes?

as often as is necessary 

Chess or checkers?

all board games bore me 

Something you can do that you think is cool?

Perfume or body spray?

body oil 

What's something that genuinely scares you

other people’s unhinged obsession 

LED lights, the room light, or sunlight?

diffuse natural light 

What's something you do differently than everyone else?

peel and chop fruit 

If you have hair how often do you style it in some way?

spiky if i bother at all 

Nail polish, press on nails, or acrylic nails?

short and tidy but nothing else 

Do you have any fidget toys? If so what's your favorite?

 I learned to sit still or get whacked, and i’m fine with the outcome 

Do you drive?

yes 

Your go-to genre of music?

Are you a good multitasker?

no one is a good multitasker 

Silence or background noise?

kpop 

A famous movie/show that you've never seen

i don’t know i haven’t seen it 

Any sport you would like to play?

i don’t like sweating with other people around... 

actually, i don’t like sweating at all 

Can you write in cursive?

yes & calligraphy 

Is your handwriting neat or at least easy to read?

yes very 

Colored pencils, markers, or crayons?

black 

How many pillows do you sleep with?

2 

How many blankets do you sleep with?

3 (if the top sheet counts, ALWAYS top sheet) 

Do you ever plan to get married one day?

fuck no 

Do you ever plan to have kid(s) one day?

fuck no 

Do you subscribe to any religion?

fuck no 

Something in your room that you think is funny for whatever reason

the hotel room i am in right now has a teacup the size of my head painted with parrots and I have no idea why. 

Would you rather be an actor, singer, comedian, or would you do something on YouTube/twitch/some other site

i would rather gouge out my own eyeball than be a celebrity of any kind 

Are you scared of the dentist?

not at all, my dental hygiene is fucking amazing, they often get mad at me for wasting their time 

(before you ask: good genetics + fucking flossing = the answer, just floss while watching your favorite bl, it’s not goodamn rocket science, take care of your teeth you slackwits) 

Do you wear makeup?

sometimes 

If you could be any character of the opposite sex, who would you be?

i already am 

In the literal sense, are you an introvert or extrovert?

both 

What's something in your room that makes no sense without context

aside from that dumb teacup, i don’t know, i’m not in my room, i’m rarely in my room 

Favorite subject in school?

If you could visit any place in the world where would you go?

right now, i wanna get to taiwan before it isn’t anymore 

A show/movie thats been on your watchlist forever but you for some reason keep putting off

Is the name you use online your real name? (Real name does not mean deadname)

never 

Do you have a favorite sibling?

If you were to have a kid what names would you have in mind?

no fucking children, not mine, not anyone else’s, i am not interested, yours is NOT the cutest nor the smartest (trust me) and i don’t want to hear about them 

Do you think things like anniversaries are a big deal?

no

Mobile games or PC/console games?

no games 

Do you believe in things like ghosts?

no

Long sleeve + shorts or short sleeve + pants

depends on the weather and culture 

Can you do any voice impressions?

no 

What was the first fandom you were genuinely into

star trek 

Do you prefer womens or mens products?

depends on the smell, price, and effectiveness  

would you be fine having your partner completely provide for you?

never 

Plain clothes or vibrant and eye catching clothes?

neither, i’m usually just stylish and quirky 

Movie date or restaurant date?

food 

Do you split the check or expect only one of you to be paying it?

split or I’ll pay if my friend isn’t holding 

Favorite fast food place?

i’d rather not 

How do you make your coffee?

in italy 

Do you pay attention to the music or the lyrics more?

music 

Are you more energetic or tame?

energetic 

Are you witty?

only by accident  

A show everyone criticizes that you like

[diabolus1exmachina]

Aston Martin One-77 (property — before being seized by Swiss authorities — of the son of the leader of one of the most corrupt governments in Central Africa)

In keeping with its tradition of producing limited edition, hand crafted exotica for the wealthy aficionado, best exemplified by the DB4 GT Zagato of the 1960s, Aston Martin previewed its proposed One-77 'hypercar' at the 2008 Paris Motor Show. 'The finished One-77 made its official debut in April 2009 at the Concorso d'Eleganza Ville d'Este, held on the shores of Lake Como in Italy, winning the 'Award for Concept Cars and Prototypes'. Designed by Marek Reichman, it was the fastest and most powerful Aston Martin ever built, with a top speed of 220mph, and also the most expensive, carrying a price tag of £1,150,000. Hailed by its maker as "possibly the world's most desirable automotive art form", the One-77 with its long bonnet and short tail was every inch the classically proportioned Gran Turismo, combing muscular pugnacity and feline grace in equal measure. A two-seater closed coupé, the One-77 featured advanced technology in the form of an immensely rigid and lightweight carbon fibre monocoque chassis, which carried a seamless body traditionally handcrafted in aluminium. Made from a single sheet of aluminium, each front wing was said to take one craftsman three weeks to produce.  Other state-of-the-art features included bi-xenon headlamps with integrated LED side lights and direction indicators, LED rear lamps (fog and reverse), carbon fibre front splitters, carbon fibre rear diffuser, and active aerodynamics with deployable spoiler. Providing the horsepower needed to breach the magic 200mph barrier was a stretched (to 7.3 litres) version of Aston Martin's existing 48-valve V12 engine. Extensively reworked by Cosworth Engineering, it produced 750bhp and 553lb/ft of torque, and was the world's most powerful normally aspirated road-car engine at the time of the One-77's introduction. Cosworth's extensive re-engineering included fitting dry-sump lubrication, which enabled the V12 to be carried 100mm lower in the One-77's chassis than in that of the DB9. Like the V8 in the One-77's Vantage sister car, the V12 engine was mounted towards the centre of the chassis, well aft of the front axle line in the interests of optimum weight distribution, to which end the six-speed automatic/manual transmission was located at the rear in the form of an integrated transaxle. Power was transmitted to the limited-slip differential by a carbon fibre prop shaft encased in a magnesium alloy torque tube, reaching the road surface via 20" forged alloy wheels - 7-spoke or 10-spoke - shod with Pirelli P Zero Corsa tyres.

Unusually for a road car, the One-77's all-independent suspension featured pushrod actuation of the adjustable mono-tube dampers, a system more commonly found in modern competition cars. There were double wishbones at all four corners: the front incorporating anti-dive geometry, and the rear anti-squat and anti-lift. The suspension was also electrically adjustable for both ride height and rate change.

The rack and pinion was power assisted, delivering 3.0 turns lock-to-lock, while the steering column was adjustable for both tilt and reach. Braking was supplied by carbon ceramic discs all round, gripped by six-piston callipers at the front, four-piston callipers at the rear. Dynamic Stability Control (DSC), Anti-lock Braking System (ABS), Electronic Brakeforce Distribution (EBD), Emergency Brake Assist (EBA), and traction control were all incorporated in the interests of controllability and safety. Releasing the driver's door, which swings out and arcs upwards, the One-77's fortunate owner would be confronted by a leather-trimmed sports steering wheel, electrically adjustable lightweight memory seats, and dual-stage driver/passenger front airbags. Other interior features included automatic temperature control, a trip computer, and touch-sensitive map-reading LED lights. Powerfold exterior memory mirrors came as standard, while front/rear parking cameras were an option. Number '35' of the 77 built, this EU model has a legend engraved on the door sill stating that it was 'Hand built in England for Theodore N'Guema Obiang Mangue'. Finished in red with red-piped cream interior, the car is offered with Equatorial Guinea registration papers.

[infernalmellifera]

it’s totally fine if not but would you ever consider posting some info on how you made your mirage head?id love to cosplay v2 but im lost on how to go about the construction of it lol

HI I LOVE THIS QUESTION AND I WAS ACTUALLY HOPING TO MAKE IT THIS MIRAGE MONDAY ANYWAYS!!! 🩷🤭

🩷Mirage Monday: Construction and Process!🩷

I dont have pics of the template, but if i ever remake it ill be sure to make one sorry ;; BUT before even constructing, ive found that making a small doll-sized prototype! (and fun bonus, if you dont lose yours like i did, you can use it with your monster high dolls!)

The line going straight across the horizontal center is a score line (not cut all the way through) to assist in shape! it helps to give it that little edge to it without having to glue it! i also scored it to make the rounded parts at the bottom of the neck and the inset of the eye :)

each side is its own panel, except the front that is composed of 5 panels (left and right sides, center top, chin, and under chin( and the optional stem, that i ended up ditching because it dug into my neck.

after hot gluing all the pieces together, i filled in the seams with clay foam, but that step is completely optional when working with sharp edges. after that, i spray painted it white (which i regret! it wont get the smell out of the cardboard!!!) as a base coat, but id suggest just using white gesso or white acrylic paint to help get that vibrant colors on. i used acrylic paints for the colors and a light shine finish on top! but if you wanna bypass that step, you can totally use glossy acrylics :)

the face mesh!! mine is made from patio screen, but if you can afford it, there is a mesh made specifically for prop heads that would look better !! acrylic paint also works great here. shown above is my first draft for the face that i ended up ripping off and starting over for, so be prepared to either have two in case you mess up, or start by drafting it out on plain paper to see if you like it.

theres a piece of foam at the chin for stabilization too! i put a headband on the inside for the same purpose, but ive found my hair is too long to actually use that without a wig cap, so its a little obsolete and i push it to the back while wearing it. it kinda hugs the back of my head and stabilizes it decently….. but honestly you could get that same effect with just the foam.

lastly, the mechanics!! i am by no means an engineer by any means, i just happened to have extra LEDs. The Eye is made of LEDs set into two painted ribbon spools glued on top of the mesh screen with a painted fabric-like plastic sheet (from a wig bag) to diffuse the light (and that little extra circle is just a piece of paper) .

in the back of it, i have a little switch! it comes from a pack of string lights from the dollar tree, but i had to dismantle the battery pack because the LEDs only work with 9v batteries (sad!) so i had to figure out how to make a 9v battery cover out of the AA battery pack. its a bit cheugy but its functional! if youre planning on wearing it for a long time, totally install a computer fan!!!! it gets super sweaty in there (ew!) even though the entire face is ventilated :p

i am the worst person to ask about soldering, but im positive you could find a pretty good tutorial on youtube :,) my lights run from the back battery, to the left light, to the right light, and ends at the eye (mostly because the lights had input/output on both sides and the eye did Not).

if ive missed ANYTHING, feel free to ask me in comments, reblogs, asks, or DMs!!

[akmypolyplast]

How To Choose A Light Diffuser Sheet for Your Needs?

Not sure which light diffuser sheet will best meet your needs? When selecting a light diffuser sheet, there are many factors to consider. It is important to select the correct light diffuser sheet for your light source. Read this blog to know how to choose a light diffuser sheet for your needs?

[we-are-scribe]

Part one of ‘what happens when my friends know I play ttrpgs and do calligraphy’, otherwise known as one of my favorite commission projects I’ve had to date.

What you can barely see under the glass desktop is a string of clearance LED lights wrapped under the support frame of the desk and diffused with a sheet of printer paper, effectively turning my entire desktop into a light board.

[ofglories]

CHARACTER INFO SHEET

tagged by: @caemthe thank youuu tagging: @toadmiretoweepover , @grandordergirl , @heroicmenagerie , @voidfragments

Name: Orpheus Name meaning: "Darkness of Night" Alias: God of Music, Son of Apollo Ethnicity: Greek

THREE HEADCANONS YOU’VE NEVER TOLD ANYONE:

He never particularly cared for Dionysus as his divine patron, finding him to be more of a hassle than it was worth. Honestly had it been up to Orpheus he would have dedicated himself to Hestia or even Demeter. But sadly Dionysus called dibs the first time Orpheus made a public appearance with his music, much to Apollo's fury later though it did little in the eyes of Zeus who approved it.

Music is not the only divine gift Orpheus inherited from his father though it is the single-most powerful ability he has. Though he didn't inherit any talents in medicine or archery, he did unfortunately have a minor gift in prophecy. Much to his immense distress as a young child when dreams of the future would strike him and leave him sobbing in fear and confusion in his mother and father's arms.

Apollo did indeed help raise Orpheus personally, even bringing him to the Muses once his talent in music began to make itself known so they could help him refine it. However, Orpheus holds no illusions as to his father's true nature, no matter how much he may love him. And so he'll embrace his role as the favorite and youngest child to call Apollo out on his shenanigans whenever it's necessary.

THREE THINGS YOUR CHARACTER LIKES DOING IN THEIR FREE TIME:

Flower arranging, a habit picked up from his mother.

Writing poems and songs.

Surprisingly, he enjoys throwing the discus.

SIX PEOPLE YOUR CHARACTER LIKES/LOVES:

His mother, the daughter of the king of Thrace/Macedonia. (nameless because thanks greek mythology)

Asclepius (half-brother, the only one he knew)

Apollo (father)

Eurydice (best friend since childhood)

Castor

The rest of the Argonauts except Herakles

TWO THINGS YOUR CHARACTER REGRETS:

Failing to save Eurydice from the Underworld. She didn't deserve to die so young, she deserved so much better. And he blamed himself for her death because she was gathering flowers for him to give to his ailing mother. A gift she intended to make him smile again like how he hadn't since his return from the quest for the golden fleece. Discovering she'd been attacked, that she'd been murdered, was the straw that broke the camel's back when it came to Orpheus' grief and terror of losing his loved ones. That's why he went to Hades...but in the end Orpheus was too human despite being more divine than mortal. His heart was too full of love... and so he doubted and looked back and failed. And he's never forgiven himself for it.

How he froze in fear when the Boreads enraged Herakles by suggesting the Argo sail away and leave him to his fruitless search if he wouldn't stop. Orpheus knows that if he had reacted in time he could have diffused the situation since his music can manipulate emotions in all beings. But he was just a youth barely more than sixteen at the time of the quest, and so he froze because of his sheltered life in the palace.

TWO PHOBIAS YOUR CHARACTER HAS:

Claustrophobia. There's no real reason for it, he's never been locked up that he can remember. But the idea of it terrifies him endlessly both in life and as a Servant. It doesn't help that his prophetic dreams made him feel trapped, unable to move or even scream when they would fall upon him in his sleep.

Thanatophobia, the fear of death. Specifically in Orpheus' case the death of those he loves. An unfortunate fear to have considering he watched so many people he cared for die either from illness, old age, or at the hands of others. When his own death came...he was only afraid of the madwomen who were tearing him apart. Death didn't frighten him, it was the events that led to his death that did.

[purplesaline]

Cooler bulbs will be harder on your eyes so if you're sensitive to light you want to stick with the warmer ranges.

If you can afford the LED colour changing bulbs, eve just the white colour range and not the full RGB spectrum, those can be really helpful. Start with warmer colours first thing in the morning, move to cooler colours as the day progresses and once evening hits move back into the warmer ranges again. The colour changing LEDs also tend to be dimmable which is another added bonus particularly for us light sensitive folks.

Additional tip for light sensitive types, stay away from overhead lights and get standing floor lamps, wall lamps, and even table lamps instead. Make sure to have some sort of light diffuser rather than a bare bulb, even if it's just an old transparent piece of fabric or a square from an old sheet (or the entire old sheet over the floor lamp making it look like a helpful Halloween ghost)

There are so many different shades of white light bulbs, I am so overwhelmed walking down the light bulb aisle, and then I'm never happy with the one I choose, no matter which one I choose, I get it home and I put it in and I'm like, ugh, I don't like THAT white

[keanchee]

The Future of Acrylic Plastic Sheets: Innovations and Emerging Trends

Acrylic plastic sheets, often referred to as Plexiglas, have become a staple material in industries ranging from construction and interior design to automotive and healthcare. Known for their durability, transparency, and versatility, acrylic sheets are now evolving to meet the demands of a rapidly changing world. With advancements in technology and increasing awareness of sustainability, the future of acrylic plastic sheets is teeming with exciting innovations and emerging trends.

Eco-Friendly Acrylic Sheets

One of the most significant trends in the acrylic plastic industry is the push toward sustainability. Traditional acrylic sheets, while highly durable, are derived from petrochemicals and can have a substantial environmental impact. However, manufacturers are now developing eco-friendly alternatives using recycled materials or bio-based sources. These greener versions retain the clarity and strength of conventional acrylic while significantly reducing their carbon footprint. Additionally, innovations in recycling techniques are enabling easier recovery and reuse of acrylic sheets, ensuring a circular economy for this versatile material.

Enhanced Durability and Performance

As technology advances, so does the performance of acrylic sheets. Researchers are developing enhanced formulations that make acrylic sheets more resistant to scratches, UV radiation, and extreme temperatures. These improvements are especially valuable in outdoor applications, such as windows, signage, and solar panels, where materials are exposed to harsh environmental conditions. With these enhancements, acrylic sheets can maintain their pristine appearance and functionality for extended periods, reducing maintenance costs and increasing their appeal across various sectors.

Smart Acrylic Sheets

The integration of smart technology into materials is another exciting frontier. Acrylic sheets are now being developed with embedded sensors and electronic components to enable new functionalities. For instance, smart acrylic sheets with touch-sensitive capabilities can be used in interactive displays, home automation systems, or retail environments. Additionally, innovations in light-diffusing and reflective properties are expanding the use of acrylic sheets in LED lighting, offering energy-efficient solutions for both residential and commercial spaces.

Customization and Aesthetic Appeal

Acrylic sheets have long been favored for their aesthetic versatility, and this is only set to grow. Advanced manufacturing techniques, such as 3D printing and laser cutting, are enabling unprecedented levels of customization. From intricate designs to unique color patterns, acrylic sheets can now be tailored to meet specific artistic or branding needs. Moreover, the introduction of textured and frosted finishes is broadening the design possibilities, making acrylic sheets a go-to choice for architects and interior designers aiming for a modern and sophisticated look.

Applications in Healthcare and Medical Devices

The healthcare industry is also reaping the benefits of acrylic plastic sheets. With their excellent clarity, lightweight nature, and resistance to shattering, acrylic sheets are ideal for medical devices, protective barriers, and equipment enclosures. The COVID-19 pandemic highlighted the importance of transparent barriers, and the demand for acrylic sheets surged globally. Moving forward, innovations in antimicrobial coatings and biocompatible formulations will ensure acrylic sheets remain integral to the healthcare sector, offering both safety and functionality.

Sustainability Meets Functionality: Lightweight Construction Materials

In the construction industry, the shift toward lightweight and sustainable materials is creating new opportunities for acrylic sheets. These sheets are increasingly being used as alternatives to glass in windows, skylights, and facades due to their superior strength-to-weight ratio. Advanced coating technologies are also being applied to acrylic sheets to make them self-cleaning, reducing maintenance costs and enhancing their appeal in green building projects.

Emerging Markets and Growth Opportunities

The demand for acrylic plastic sheets is not confined to developed markets. Emerging economies in Asia, Africa, and South America are witnessing a surge in construction, automotive production, and retail sectors, driving the need for versatile materials like acrylic. In these regions, the affordability, durability, and adaptability of acrylic sheets are making them a preferred choice for a wide range of applications. As infrastructure development accelerates, the market for acrylic sheets is expected to expand significantly, providing manufacturers with new growth opportunities.

Digital Printing and Signage Innovations

Digital printing technologies are transforming the signage industry, and acrylic sheets are at the forefront of this revolution. The compatibility of acrylic sheets with UV printing, screen printing, and other advanced techniques allows for vibrant, high-resolution graphics that are weather-resistant and long-lasting. This is particularly valuable for outdoor advertisements, retail displays, and event signage, where durability and visual appeal are paramount. As digital printing technology continues to evolve, acrylic sheets will remain a preferred medium for creative expression and effective communication.

Challenges and Future Directions

Despite its many advantages, the acrylic plastic sheet industry faces certain challenges. Environmental concerns related to plastic waste remain a pressing issue, necessitating further investment in recycling and bio-based alternatives. Additionally, competition from other materials, such as polycarbonate and tempered glass, requires manufacturers to continually innovate and differentiate their products.

The future of acrylic plastic sheets lies in balancing performance, sustainability, and cost-effectiveness. Collaboration between manufacturers, researchers, and end-users will be key to overcoming challenges and unlocking new possibilities. By investing in sustainable production methods and exploring cutting-edge applications, the industry can ensure acrylic sheets remain relevant and valuable for decades to come.

Conclusion

The future of acrylic plastic sheets is undoubtedly bright. With advancements in eco-friendly production, enhanced performance, smart technology integration, and aesthetic customization, acrylic sheets are poised to play an even greater role across various industries. As global trends continue to evolve, this versatile material will remain at the forefront of innovation, offering solutions that are not only functional but also sustainable and visually appealing. Whether in architecture, healthcare, retail, or beyond, acrylic plastic sheets are set to shape the way we design, build, and interact with the world around us.

[buildingsupplies]

Sola Glaze Solid Polycarbonate: Illuminating Innovative Applications

Introduction

Sola Glaze solid polycarbonate, a cutting-edge material in the world of construction and design, has gained immense popularity for its unique properties and versatility. This advanced polycarbonate glazing solution offers a wide range of applications that extend far beyond traditional glass. In this article, we'll explore the exceptional uses and benefits of Sola Glaze solid polycarbonate, shedding light on its transformative potential across diverse industries.

1. Sustainable Skylights and Roofing

Sola Glaze solid polycarbonate sheets are an excellent choice for sustainable roofing and skylights. Their lightweight yet robust nature ensures durability, while their impressive thermal insulation properties contribute to energy efficiency. These sheets allow natural light to flood interiors, reducing the need for artificial lighting during daylight hours and consequently lowering energy consumption.

Moreover, Sola Glaze polycarbonate is UV-resistant, which means it won't deteriorate or yellow over time, ensuring that your skylights and roofing maintain their clarity and efficiency for years. This makes Sola Glaze a top choice for green buildings, homes, and commercial structures aiming to reduce their environmental footprint.

2. Protective Barriers and Security Glazing

In applications where safety and security are paramount, Sola Glaze solid polycarbonate shines. These sheets possess exceptional impact resistance, making them ideal for protective barriers, security glazing, and even riot shields. Their ability to withstand heavy blows, projectiles, and vandalism ensures the safety of people and property.

In environments like banks, government buildings, correctional facilities, and public transportation, Sola Glaze solid polycarbonate acts as a formidable shield against threats, adding an extra layer of protection without compromising visibility.

3. Modern Architectural Glazing

Architects and designers are increasingly turning to Sola Glaze solid polycarbonate to create stunning architectural designs that emphasize natural light and transparency. The material's optical clarity allows for breathtaking façades, interior partitions, and decorative elements. Its versatility in terms of shapes, sizes, and textures offers limitless possibilities for crafting visually striking structures.

Sola Glaze sheets are easy to work with, allowing architects and designers to incorporate curves, angles, and intricate patterns into their designs. This flexibility has led to the creation of remarkable buildings and installations that push the boundaries of conventional architecture.

4. Greenhouse and Agricultural Applications

The agricultural industry has recognized the advantages of Sola Glaze solid polycarbonate for greenhouse construction. These sheets provide an optimal environment for plant growth by diffusing light evenly, reducing shadows, and maintaining consistent temperatures. This translates to higher crop yields and healthier plants.

Furthermore, the impact resistance of Sola Glaze polycarbonate shields crops from hail, harsh weather conditions, and potential vandalism. The sheets' UV resistance ensures that they remain transparent and durable under intense sunlight, prolonging the life of the greenhouse structure.

5. Creative Signage and Displays

Sola Glaze solid polycarbonate offers a unique opportunity for businesses and organizations to create eye-catching signage and displays. Its exceptional clarity, combined with the ability to incorporate textures and colors, allows for striking visual elements that attract attention and reinforce branding.

Whether used for storefront signs, trade show displays, or artistic installations, Sola Glaze sheets are a versatile canvas for creative expression. Their durability ensures that these displays maintain their appearance and effectiveness over time, even in high-traffic areas.

6. Noise Barriers and Soundproofing

In urban environments, noise pollution is a prevalent issue. Sola Glaze solid polycarbonate can be employed in noise barriers and soundproofing applications to mitigate the effects of noise pollution. Its sound insulation properties, combined with its impact resistance, make it an excellent choice for constructing noise barriers along highways, railways, and industrial zones.

The transparency of Sola Glaze sheets ensures that visibility is not compromised, allowing pedestrians and motorists to maintain a clear line of sight while enjoying reduced noise levels.