#Striped flint

[fhannehii]

My mineral collection ✨

I love all of them 😭

But I love agates 💖

especially Botswana agate and flower agate

[dieletztepanzerhexe]

one of the students showed us a (broken) axe that he found *o* it's striped flint but you can't really see it. wow, it's so sharp.... so perfect

[artsy-1diot]

ok so i wasn't planning on posting a wip before buying materials because this project is really dependent on me being able to find the right fabric but i'm really really happy with this mockup made of poster board I used to use to protect my desk while painting and sculpting so uhhhhhh

guess whoo :]

[calamitys-child]

Ooheeheehoo Halloween costumes are coming together

[idroolinmysleep]

Fifty Shades of Yellow

From the realm of things you never gave a second thought to because they’re all supposed to be the same, I just learned that the center stripes on roads are actually painted in a different shade of yellow for every state. You’d think that something as safety-critical as road markings ought to be standardized so that people don’t get confused upon crossing state lines, and … well, there is a standard, but it has enough latitude to allow each state to choose their own special tint. Why? Because America, that’s why. Freedom!

Read on for color nerdery (and very possibly talking out of my ass, because color is hard).

Anyway, the color is 33538 from FED-STD-595, where it’s defined with a set of coordinate values in the CIE 1931 (a.k.a. CIE XYZ) color space. More than just a federal standard, this color is also subject to international agreements, so it’s sometimes called “international traffic yellow.”

Seems pretty straightforward, right? The Feds tell you the color, you go use the color. But here’s the problem: FED-STD-595 only defines the color, not the medium with which it will be applied in the real world. For that, there are paint specifications. Of the three I’ve found (TT-P-15, TT-P-1952, and A-A-2886, though there are probably more), each allows a deviation of up to 6.0 units ΔE (Delta E) from FED-STD-595.

Del-whaa??? Oh, back up, let me explain. ΔE is a way to quantify color differences, and it’s measured on a scale from 0 (exact same color) to 100 (exact opposite colors). A ΔE of 1 or less means the color difference is considered imperceptible to the human eye. Values between 2 and 10 mean the colors are close, but perceptibly different (side-by-side, is my guess).

Without getting too far into the weeds, I’ll also mention that ΔE is measured in the CIELAB color space, not CIE XYZ. CIELAB is derived from CIE XYZ, but it’s easier to interpret. Values can be converted directly between CIE XYZ and CIELAB, so it’s a useful space to work in.

While ΔE quantifies color differences, it doesn’t indicate the direction of that difference. So if my interpretation is correct, this means the paint standards allow a total variance of 12 units ΔE, centered on 33538 yellow. That leaves a lot of room for each state to pick its own favorite shade and still fall within the guidelines.

[ravelqueen]

The reason i love the ending of Black Sails (and why i hate like 80% of the discourse around it incidentally) is that no one is right! No one is wrong! They all make the most logical decisions based on who they are and John most of all.

The way I saw John apologists bending over backwards trying to frame it as an OOC decision because John wouldn't do that he loves Flint! at the same time John haters where feeling vindicated bc see he was a dick who only cares about himself and both sides making me claw at my face because the love was the point.

John would have not betrayed Flint if he didn't love him (and Madi)! Because then he wouldn't have cared if they died. But he does! He does so much in a way that is probably fully new to him and scary and it makes him act impulsively in a way he never did before (because as much as his actions often seem lackadaisical, he's a calculating mofo).

So he loves them.

He also, from the very first moments we meet him, has the biggest survival instinct of anyone. He doesn't care about principle or honour or cause he cares about survival.

He's managed to work for this cause and he's applied himself and i think at the moment of the story the Betrayal happens he's even really on board, but a tiger cannot change his stripes and so John Silver cannot change that his fundamental motivator is survival.

And because he loves Flint he wants him to survive more than he wants the cause to win only there he comes into conflict with the fact that Flint's main motivator is the Cause. He and Madi are creatures of principle of "The Cause Is The Cause Because It Is Worth Dying For".

So the confrontation in the forest is exactly this: Flint following his main motivator of the Cause before anything, because that is what he lives for and John just needing him to live, because you can't care about anything when you're dead.

And so it's tragic and heart wrenching because if John hadn't learned to love so well, so deeply, so earnestly throughout the story he would have let Flint go and continue to fight, but he did and he does so and he couldn't.

[cryptidclaw]

Fogtalon!

Design Notes:

pretty much just a redraw of my last design for her, only change is that she has two blind eyes caused by different things!

Character Bio:

Fogtalon

(White-eye/One-eye)

Lesbian; Molly; she/her

Age as of 1st arc's beginning: 12 cycles, 3 moons; ~65 Hyrs

Age as of 1st arc's end: 14 cycles, 1 moon; ~72 Hyrs

Title meaning: -talon = a cat who is very skilled in battle; they fight ferociously with their claws

Warrior -> Guard Charge -> Elder of Thunder Order

Mother: Harepounce

Father: Stagleap

Siblings: Specklesnap

Mate: Leopardfoot

Kits (donor: Sparrowpelt): Mousebite; Birdflight

Grandkits:  Sandstorm; Flint; Poppy

Other notable kin: Squirrelflight (grandkit); Leafpool (grandkit); Foxleap (grandkit); Icecloud (grandkit)

Character Summary:

As a kit Fogtalon contracted a horrible eye infection in one eye which left it permanently blind and cloudy. this didnt stop her from becoming one of the best warriors of the Order in her time. She even raised to the rank of Guard Charge before she retired.

Fogtalon's other eye was lost in battle but she was already close to retirement at the time so she chose to just fully retire. "Look i know I COULD still be a better warrior than most of you even if I cant see shit, but im fuckin old and tired so im retiring." - Fogtalon probably

Fogtalon had her first kit, Mousebite, with her good friend Sparrowpelt. They aren't mates, they just both wanted kits!

Fog later became mates with Leopardfoot after Star Pineheart left the Order. Fog decided to have a second litter after this with Sparrow as the sire again, this time however Leopard raised the resulting kit (Birdflight) alongside them!

Fog has a similar personality to Mousebite, they are both tough snarky ladies <3

Fog and Leopard retired to the elders den together and are two of the elders during TPB!

...

[Image ID: a digital drawing of Fogtalon an AU version of One-eye/White-eye from warrior cats. She is sitting with her left side showing and she is smiling with an amused expression on her face. She is a short furred light gray-blue ticked tabby molly with one missing eye and one cloudy white and yellow eye. She is mostly a light gray blue with darker gray blue stripes on her legs, tail and face. She has white on her muzzle, paws, chest and tail tip. She has tears in her ears, claw mark scars over her right eye which is an empty socket, and she has a few scars on the rest of her body. Her inner ears, nose and scars are all light pink./End ID]

[afrognamedfizzarolli]

Helluva Boss observations and easter eggs you may not have noticed!: Pilot

The pilot is both a great place and weird place to start, as it is our introduction to the cast and world, but also no longer considered canon. Many of the events and details we learn/see are later confirmed in the series itself, but there were quite a few changes.

I want to start off with some design changes!

With Millie, she used to have white roots visible, this actually kept up for a few of the early episodes. As we know now it seems imps have two noticeable instances of sexual dimorphism: females have black horns with thin white stripes and naturally black hair, and males have evenly sized black and white stripes on their horns and naturally black hair. We see many trans or otherly gender queer imps that dye their hair with visible roots. I assume Millie's design was changed when that was established to be a gender difference in imps.

Her heart tattoo is also much smaller, and switches sides (an animation error almost certainly) When the pilot first came out I actually thought she had a heart on both shoulders.

Some stuff with Stolas!

We see his hand outlined with a red glow at one point, presumably representing his magic. While in the series his magic is represented by blue. This is most likely due to the change of his character as he was originally planned to be a villain.

Not a design change, but I find it funny that Stolas' name in Blitzø's phone is "Creepy Mouth (aka one night stand bird dick)". Surprisingly all being spelled correctly.

Stolas' Grimore! I actually only noticed this on this last watch. It was a darker blue(purple? red? It changes in different scenes) and instead of the moon design it has a different insignia of his that we still see throughout the series in various places (notably on his bed) it also has no design on the back.

Little details!

I didn't realize before either that the woman who Moxxie is trying to shoot before Eddie gets in the way, is Eddie's mom. I'm sure this is something many others picked up on immediately though.

Speaking of which, the human news anchor shown at the end bares a striking resemblance to a character of Brandons: a news anchor named Flint Dicker.

A poster of "THE AMAZING IMP SIBLINGS" is on the wall of the conference room. Showing Blitzø, Barbie Wire, and another character labeled "Tilla". This was changed in the series to just being Blitzø and Barbie, Tilla's design being slightly altered and then used for their mom.

Hazbin easter eggs! Oh boy is there a lot of them.

In the commercial sequence we see in the room of one of the targets a framed drawing of Sir Pentious

In the background of when Blitzø is interviewing a previous client, there is a billboard for 666 News ft. A photo of Katie Killjoy, I especially love this one as Brandon ended up voicing her!

In Blitzø's office he had a vision board labeled "BOSS GOALS" with 5 drawings, in the center is Blitzø labeled "ME!" Top left we have Katie again, top right is a duck with a top hat and two $'s, this assumably referencing Lucifer, bottom left is Rosie, an arrow pointing to her hat labeled so eloquently "HAT" and lastly in the bottom right there is a more detailed drawing that looks to be Carmilla Carmine labeled "Moxxie drew not as good" this tracking later as in 1.05 "The Harvest Moon Festival" Moxxie talks about Carmine angelic weaponry, showing a great interest in her business.

Next is a dumpster in an alley with various graffiti. Notably, a face that looks to be Nifty, "ALWAYS CHASING RAINBOWS" and "HAPPY HOTEL". There is also a sinister face labeled "DEVIL". Im not sure if this is a specific refrence to anything though.

Lastly, one that I'm sure almost everyone noticed but feel the need to include, is we can see Loona watching Charlie's performance of "Inside of Every Demon is a Rainbow"

Funny observations:

When the crew teleports into the church, we see maany people with some pretty detailed designs, I do not know if or what they may be referencing, but I have a strong suspicion it is something, my guess is that they are caricatures of some people who worked on the pilot. One person in specifically is wearing a jacket with a patch reading "WHEN YOU SEE IT" with a 👌

Signs! In the hospital we see a sign saying "WE SAVE LIVES" in faded text it reads between we and save "try to" and after lives another line is visible starting with "but" I cannot make out the rest.

Others show that they are in ward 13, the next room over labeled as 667, implying the room that Eddie was in is 666

A note is taped to the side of the fridge of the break room reading "LOONA DONT EAT MY LUNCH -MOXXIE"

Another thing I only noticed recently is when Blitzø sneaks out at the Goetia palace, he is naked except for his jacket, with the grimore serving as some creative censorship. (+Stella's beta design. I personally love her current design, but this one wasn't bad)

When Blitzø makes the comment about making Moxxie the employee of the month he holds up a small plaque as an example, a larger version of this same plaque, is visible on a wall in the commercial sequence.

While in their hazmat suits(idk if that's what these actually are), you can see the shape of Moxxie's bowtie under it

... and just Blitzø holding some targets panties, cause why not

There are a handful of other details, but I'm going to hold onto those as later on we see call backs to them. Also, I've spent a lot more on this than Id planned already, I have at least 3 hours on this one alone.

Please bare with me, I promise these will get more interesting the further we go in the series!

[softmangoes]

control - eden the hunter x defiant!pc

18+ only | request fill for 🕸 anon

summary: you've been spending a lot of time at the new university. when you get back home to the cabin, you surprise eden with a gift.

includes: sub!eden, sex pollen, pegging, mentions of past sexual abuse, blood, older pc

"that shortcut isn't safe at this time of the year," the hunter said as he rubbed the healing salve onto your fingertips. you winced, the cut that adorned your hand burning as the ointment seeped into it. the ledge you would usually scale to get to the cabin had been slick with tufts of moss, causing you to lose your grip and slip. as you fell, you grabbed onto a stray vine to steady yourself, pain flaring from your palm as its thorns sliced into your skin.

"i figured," you said. a pair of stormy eyes flicked to you, unamused.

"you were careless." eden took a length of gauze and wrapped it around your hand. although he was gentle, the pressure around the cut on your palm still made you hiss. "what would have happened if something out there had smelled the blood on you?"

your eyes fell onto the rifle resting atop the dining table. the hunter had been cleaning it when you stumbled in, all bloody and sweaty and exhausted.

"then you would have taken care of it."

eden scoffed, securing the dressing with a practiced ease. "i've spoiled you, haven't i?"

"have you?" although you were more than capable of protecting yourself, the hunter was no stranger to threatening those who would harm you while you traversed through the forest. 

when you looked at him, his eyes were chips of flint. “say that again.” 

you inhaled, trying to calm yourself.

the hearth made his skin glow warmly, the firelight dancing on his features. his hair had grown longer, his beard more unruly. this time, due to the storms, you had been gone for more than a week. a flash flood could have swept you away as you crossed the river, lightning could have sliced through a tree as you passed below its boughs. a frightened animal could have confronted you as it made its escape. how could he not worry? how could he not want to make sure that you were okay?

but you were no fragile thing. years of hard labor had woven corded muscle into your limbs and months of training had made you more than lethal. you could take care of yourself. he had made sure of it.

"i'm alright," you said, trying your best to assure him. you came back and you were alive. that was more than good enough. "okay?"

after a moment, the hunter's eyes softened. "i missed you," he breathed, taking your other wrist in his hand. he pressed his lips to the tip of each bandaged finger, kissing each one gently. despite the gauze, his mouth was warm, the puff of his breath tickling the underside of your wrist.

once he released you, you brought your uninjured hand to cup his face. stubble scratched at your palm as you traced the old scars that ran across his jaw. one of them, still silvery in the firelight, you had carved into his face years ago. you could still remember the taste of copper in your mouth when he kissed you, the blood hot as it wet your lips. 

he made a sound at your touch, one quiet and full of need, and you found yourself filled with desire. here he was, your hunter, kneeling before you as you sat on the couch. eden had never been one to go into detail about how much he wanted you, but you could tell from his expression that the past week had been difficult for him. his eyes betrayed his usual stoicism: this time, he had been afraid you weren’t going to come back. 

how cute. hunger coiled in you tight, and you slipped your thumb between his parted lips.

a gasp. then warmth. a tongue swiped across the pad of your finger, hot and wet. his eyes flicked open, those twin storms brewing with confusion and desire, before he pulled away abruptly, leaving a string of saliva connecting you to him.

"what," eden started, not knowing how to process what had just happened. a stripe of red flared across his cheeks.

but you only smiled as you licked the pad of your thumb, the hunger coiling tighter and tighter. you were a snake wrapping around its prey, the coolness of your scales sliding along the warmth of its skin. your hunter was always so beautiful, but there was something about that moment of softness, that vulnerability, that made you want to see more of it.

"you really did miss me," you said, your eyes never leaving his as your lips closed over your finger to taste him. "didn't you?"

__

later that night, eden stood in front of the bathroom sink, sweat slicking his skin. outside, the wind howled as rain streamed down the window. he couldn't sleep, couldn't stop thinking about your finger in his mouth and the look in your eyes as you watched him lick at it.

it had been a brief moment, nothing more than a few fleeting seconds, but he could still remember the taste of you.

eden inhaled. at that moment, you were fast asleep in bed, curled up in a nest of blankets to keep you from straining your hand.

at first, he had wanted a companion: someone to warm his bed, cook his meals, do as they were told. what he didn’t expect was you questioning his rules, pushing against his boundaries. one time, you took a knife to his jaw, raking the blade across his skin like a trail of fire. he slapped the knife from your grip and pinned you to the wall, growling that he wasn’t someone who could be threatened like that.

a few years ago, he would have taken you right then and there, injury be damned. 

now that you were taking classes, getting back to the cabin on time was more difficult for you. there were courses for you to take, projects to finish, and papers to write. when you had applied for the university, he had been bitter about your decision for days. what did you need from the town that you couldn’t get here? why did you want more reasons to be away? 

in retaliation, eden would wake you on the mornings he knew you’d have class by pulling your underwear to the side and slipping inside you. the hunter’s size was formidable, so it never took you very long to gasp and open your eyes to the clock you kept by your bedside. 

“h-hey,” you started, your thighs trembling despite your annoyance. before you could continue, he’d slide in deeper, making you claw at the sheets with a soft whine. 

“you’ll be late by the time we’re finished,” he murmured, licking a line up your neck as you clenched down on his cock. after all these years, the hunter knew many ways to keep you within his grasp. “and you have everything you need here.” 

the clock ticked, its hands inching closer and closer to the start of your class with each moment that passed. 

“stay.” he circled your clit with his fingers, bringing you closer to the edge with every thrust. “do you really have to leave?” 

before he found you, there was only the quiet of the cabin to keep him company. the rustle of the leaves scratching against the windows and the soft crackle of the fire in the hearth could not compare to the softness of your skin or the sound of your laugh filling the air. despite the fact that you were the one who had spent time in chains, eden could not help but feel confined by his loneliness whenever you were away. 

but you didn’t have to leave this time. he could make you feel good. he could remind you that you were meant to be here. he could make you stay. 

“eden.” with a grunt, you snapped your hips into his, taking all of him in. the sudden motion made him gasp as he spilled into you, filling you with his warmth as you came with him. 

a few moments passed before you sat up and started slipping on your clothes. by the set of your shoulders, he could tell that you were upset at him for delaying you once again. the walk through the forest would take a considerable amount of time and you still had to catch a bus to the university. 

when he called your name, you didn’t answer. minutes later, your steps faded. a chill rushed into the cabin and the front door closed, leaving him with only the silence for company.

all of that had happened a little more than a week ago. now, his knuckles were pale as he gripped the rim of the bathroom sink. 

after so long, you were finally back. if you had stayed away a day longer, he would have walked to the university to wander the campus in search of you. despite the years you had spent with each other, a part of him was sure that someday you would leave the forest and never come back.

eden shook his head. he thought of your thumb against his tongue, the wet heat of it probing his teeth. it felt assuring that even after everything, you still wanted him. 

the hunter slipped two of his fingers into his mouth, sliding them along the warmth of his inner lip. his other hand found his cock, aching against his trousers. eden panted, desire curling in his core as he tried his best not to moan aloud.

still, a low groan escaped his lips. he was close. so fucking close. and as he came, he thought of the hunger in your eyes and how in that moment, he had wanted to feed it.

__

a box of ammunition. rope. a new whetstone. gauze.

the next morning, eden set each item down onto the dining table methodically, silently appraising each item as he slipped it out of your duffel bag.

after a few hours of rest and the cuts and scrapes from your journey back aside, you felt much better than you did the previous evening. you sipped some lemon balm tea, watching your hunter sort through the items. 

the university had taken a lot from the time you would usually spend together, but you still tried your best to make sure that eden was taken care of. over the years, the town had gotten busier after the campus opened, welcoming new students from the surrounding areas who would occasionally strap on a backpack to trek through the forest. often, they’d run the supply store out of the usual items you’d purchase. this wasn’t an ideal situation for someone as secluded as eden, so you did what you could to make sure he had what he needed. 

a pack of mason jar lids. gun oil. vegetable seeds. 

"looks like the store was stocked well this week," he remarked, setting down the packs of seeds with a quiet rattle. you imagined the sprouts they’d become, bright green tendrils pushing forth from the earth. “we’ll plant these once the frost ends.”  

although attending college was rather expensive, your botany courses had enhanced your time spent at the cabin. after a few months, you had made a natural irrigation system for the vegetable plots, created a compost pile, and even had a small seed archive categorized by their best growing season. around the cabin itself were sketchbooks filled with illustrations of the different herbs, mushrooms, and berries that could be found within the forest. 

years ago, you couldn't imagine that you would stop catching fights in the streets. now, your life was devoted to the changing of the seasons, to bountiful harvests, and handfuls of seeds.

antibiotics. cheesecloth. sewing needles. a—

"this is from that temple boy's shop." eden held up a large velvet bag, which was plain save for a pink heart embroidered onto the deep purple cloth.

whenever you needed cash, you would offer to help sydney run his mother’s adult store. it was an easy enough job and both sydney and sirris treated you well. occasionally, they’d send you off with something new to try to express their gratitude for your assistance. 

“you’ve been eyeing this one for a while,” sirris said, pulling the box from the shelf. you blushed, embarrassed that you had made your interest so obvious. its length was enticing, the construction of the curves alluring. “take it home. i’m sure the customers would appreciate a review.”

when eden pulled the item out of the bag, his eyes snapped to yours.

"what," he said flatly, examining the package's text that claimed the dildo was realistic, sure to please, a fan favorite. "am i not enough for you?"

you laughed. eden had enjoyed the array of lacy outfits from the shop, binding you in silk rope, the samples of lube that were stored in his nightstand. what was one more new thing?  

"relax," you said, taking the bag and upending it. a leather harness, sleek with silver rivets, thudded onto the table. "it's for you."

in all honesty, you couldn’t be more excited. eden was an insatiable lover, fierce and enthusiastic. while the sex was exciting, there was a part of you that wanted to unravel him, to savor him. you would do it slowly, carefully, so that once he was properly plied with your gentleness, you would sink your teeth into his tender flesh and make his eyes glaze in ecstasy. 

the hunter inhaled, stiffening as he pushed himself from the table with a wooden creak. he shrugged on his hunting coat.

"i should go," he said, slinging his rifle over his shoulder. "there's a herd i've been following."

"hey." you dropped the bag, concern lacing your voice. the last time you had seen him tense like that was when you had asked what life had been like for him before. "are you alright?"

when he glanced at you, you swore you saw fear flash in his eyes. "we'll talk later."

before you could say anything else, he was out the door. 

__

there had been a time in his life in which he had been stripped of his sense of control: the caretaker of the orphanage, with her sweet smile that never quite reached her eyes, would take him by the hand and tell him that if he couldn’t pay her fee, then he’d just have to make it up to her another way. 

“you could do that, can’t you?” she’d say, lacing her fingers sweetly. the scent of her perfume was always so syrupy, like the rot that followed after the rain. 

that other way involved eden getting dragged to the fighting pit in the middle of the night, his nose bloody from punching the thug who threw him out of his own bed. 

years later, eden would learn that he had never been meant to fulfill the caretaker’s payments. he was the perfect choice to be her champion. out of everyone at the orphanage, eden was the biggest and the strongest. as far as she could tell, there was no one more ideal to be bruised and battered for cash.

but what was special about him had nothing to do with his strength or size: he was smart. in that reeking pit, which was nothing more than an abandoned pool surrounded by a raucous mix of the town's underground and elite, he would circle his opponents waiting for them to make the first move. if they charged at him, he would dodge. if they struck at him, he would catch their wrist and twist their bodies to meet the hard, mildewed tile below. losing meant getting hauled screaming into the unknown to horrors that made the pit look like child's play. winning was the only option he had, so it was what he did.  

but the thing about winning was that he had never been the winner. not truly.

eden was beautiful, all muscles glistening with blood and sweat, his gray eyes hollow as he surveyed the crowd that cheered in adoration for him. on that first night, after the final round, the last thing he remembered was getting wiped down with an icy towel as he was met with praise for his achievement. at some point, someone clapped his shoulder and gave him a drink, ice clinking against the glass. it had tasted sweet, went down all nice and cold.

and then nothing.  

he woke up to darkness. a strip of cloth around his eyes and rope around his wrists and ankles. he was naked, still bruised and aching but so, so warm. something had been in the drink. something that made him want to be touched. to be fucked and defiled. 

eden was so alluring, a beast in his element. all teeth but deprived of any bite. he was never meant to be the winner, but their prize all along.

there had been voices around him, amused by how he struggled ineffectually against his binds. he was so strong, wasn't he? but so weak, so pliable for them. hands traced the curve of his muscles and the cut of his jaw, mouths so hot and full of want pressed against his skin, cooing their congratulations as they stroked and teased him. against his will, his legs shook and moans spilled from his mouth. he was helpless. defenseless. and despite how much his mind screamed, his body only craved for more.

the forest came back to him, damp and smelling of earth and cedar. eden sighed, his breath fogging in the muggy autumn air. that night was long ago, but never had been far off. he had ran from the orphanage shortly after that, his pockets stuffed with the cash earned from the pit, a knife, a handful of seeds, and his best winter coat wrapped around him. as his shoes pounded the pavement, the sidewalk turned into loose ground and then later into fallen leaves.

once he was tired of running, eden took solace in the eaves of the pines, ate berries, washed himself in the lake to scrub away the memories. in the years following that, he made a home for himself. as he reveled in the safety of routine, he found a sense of control that steadied him whenever he felt his skin crawl with their touch. 

control was the one thing that had protected him throughout all these years. control had kept him alive, helped him start the fires that would warm his cold hands, helped him build a cabin to sleep in. as long as he could determine the boundaries he had when it came to interacting with the world around him, he would keep himself safe. 

the security of his routine lasted until the day he tracked a deer near the lake and found you. in all honesty, he didn’t know what possessed him. it had been a while since he had last seen another person, let alone conversed with one. on that warm summer day, you had offered him an apple slice, cool and crisp and sweet. with a smile, you told him that you had never seen eyes like his. 

for as long as he could remember, eden had never been good with words, but he could take you back to the cabin, no matter how much you kicked and screamed. 

despite his many attempts to tame you, you refused to give in. at one point, you even managed to run away. the hunter had tracked you for hours until you pounced on him, knocking him off-balance. once he was on the ground, you pressed a knife to his neck so hard that a line of blood bloomed on the blade. 

“i want us to start over.” although your voice was ragged with exhaustion, there was a fire in your eyes. sweat dropped from your cheek. “can we do that?” 

he could have rolled over and wrestled the knife from you. pinned your wrists just so he could prove who was really in control. 

but in that moment, as he stared at you haloed in the light of the clearing, all he could do was inhale. you were so strong, so beautiful, and he had been bested. 

“alright,” he said, a bead of blood running down his neck. “we’ll start over.” 

now, he carefully made his way through the brush, the damp earth muffling his movements. there was a boar nearby, kicking up at the patches of mushrooms and new sprouts brought up by the rain. 

the strap-on had been…a surprise. 

eden knew that he had left the cabin in a hurry, but he hadn't known what to say to you. how could he tell you that the thought of submission was one he met with both terror and intrigue? that he had nightmares about being strapped to that chair again, rendered unable to do anything else but squirm? how could he tell you that despite all of that, he still thought about the taste of your fingers in his mouth? 

control was his armor, but it was also his leash. a part of him was thrilled to know that despite what happened the last time you had seen each other, you still wanted to be with him. you still wanted him. 

the boar trudged into the clearing, grunting as it nudged at a sapling. eden crouched lower into the bush, careful not to break any branches. when he took a step forward to get a better vantage point of the animal, something hissed below him. a sweetness filled the air, syrupy and heavy like cherries boiled in sugar. 

when eden looked down, he saw that he had stepped on a patch of yellow puffballs, their disturbed bulbs spraying clouds of purple spores into the air. 

shit. he coughed, pressing his sleeve to his face and staggering away from the powdery cloud. amidst the chaos, he heard the boar whine and retreat further into the brush. eden’s eyes watered and he began to feel his skin warm. lost in his introspection, he had wandered too far into the forest, where the plants and the animals grew strange and twisted. 

his heartbeat roared in his ears. the cabin wasn’t too far off. if he was lucky, he would be able to treat himself before the effects set in. disoriented, he slipped off his shotgun and made his way back. 

__ 

marigold. echinacea. willow bark. the amber bottles clinked against each other softly as you organized the medicine shelf, making sure that the tinctures and extracts had been topped off with alcohol and the salves were still fresh and free of mold. there wasn’t much to do during autumn except prepare for the winter.

during the time you had spent away, eden had been especially productive: there were dozens of canned vegetables from the last garden’s harvest, bundles of herbs and strings of garlic bulbs hanging from the ceiling like withered bouquets, and strips of venison curing in the small root cellar. the man never had a penchant for sitting still and whenever you were away, he couldn’t help but keep his hands busy. 

you sighed at the thought of him, your shoulders sagging in disappointment. perhaps coming back with the strap-on had been too much for him. sure, you didn’t leave the cabin on the best of terms the last time, but you thought the gift would have been a nice gesture to assure him. if he ended up wanting to have nothing to do with it, then at least you would have something you could use to give him a show.

as you palmed the last bottle, something slammed into the front door. quickly, you slipped the tincture into your pocket and pulled the hunting knife strapped to your belt. although the cabin was nestled deep in the forest, there were times in which a panicked animal would crash into the structure as they fled from a predator. whatever it was, you weren’t going to take any chances. 

once you got to the door, eden crashed through it, his breath ragged from exertion. goosebumps prickled your skin at the rush of cold air from the forest. at the sight of him, the knife clattered to the ground. the hunter’s eyes were twin voids, his pupils straining against thin irises. 

“hey, what’s—” before you could finish, he lunged at you. 

the hunter was strong, but you were faster. quickly, you sidestepped away, making sure to kick the knife across the room. 

“i thought we were past this,” you said, referring to the months you had spent at his mercy. “you’re not still mad about me being late, are you?” 

there was no response. when eden swung at you again, you caught a whiff of something sickly sweet. something familiar. 

“shit,” you cursed, uncorking the bottle in your pocket to douse your sweater sleeve with the tincture. when he lunged for you, you slammed the wet fabric in his face. his hands clawed at your shirt, nails raking against your skin as he struggled. after a moment, his eyes rolled back and he slumped to the floor. 

__ 

eden woke up in a dream. instead of sunlight streaming through the forest canopy, he saw the ceiling of the cabin hazed in a light purple. the air was warm, tinged with the scent of drying herbs and pine. he could have sworn he was just in the middle of a hunt, raising his rifle to train it on a boar.

his body hummed. the hunter could feel the scratch of the blanket against his bare skin, the hot slick of sweat between his thighs, and the pull of the rope tighten around his wrists and ankles.

fear spiked through him. the memories of being strapped to the chair after winning at the fighting pits came rushing. this couldn’t be happening again. not after this long. after all this time, he thought he was safe, that he was okay, that— 

“you’re awake,” you said as you walked through the door. the bed dipped as you sat down beside him. steam curled from a mug in your hand. “the valerian did a pretty good job of knocking you out, huh?” 

“why am i tied up?” his words came out slurred, like he was trying to speak through a mouthful of syrup. eden sank his teeth into his mouth, trying to focus through the haze. 

your nails tapped against the mug in contemplation. “to keep you from me,” you said. “if i hadn’t acted quickly, i would have had to buy new clothes.” 

after a moment, you set the mug down and leaned over to look into his eyes. 

“i thought wiping you down would help, but your pupils are still dilated,” you observed. “the spores must’ve got you good.” 

he remembered the time you had first come across a flush of the strange fungi. they had fruited in the mushroom barrel, a cluster of yellow spheres among the fieldcaps and boletes. on that day, he dropped the firewood that he was hauling back to the cabin, worried about the way you were swaying. when he tried to ask if you were alright, you grabbed him by the collar and pulled his face to yours. 

"you could have had me," he said, swallowing. in that moment, you had been so pliable for him. after months of dealing with your stubbornness, it had been refreshing to see you so earnest for his touch. "it would have been...easy." 

a shadow fell over your face. “easy,” you repeated, pushing his hair from his eyes. eden shuddered, brief and sharp, at the sudden feeling of relief your touch provided him. "what fun would that have been?" 

knowing that you hadn’t chosen to take advantage of him in that state not only made his heart warm, but his body yearn even more for you. this moment was nothing like what happened in his past. 

“show me,” eden said, the words spilling out of him before he could realize what he was saying. the hunter had never been one to beg, but his skin felt like it was on fire and he needed you to touch him. he needed more relief. you were the balm to his suffering and the only person who could take care of him. “have your fun.” 

after a moment, he realized that he had pulled the ropes taut by trying to get closer to you. in that moment, he was intimately aware of your presence: the scent of arousal and soap on your skin, the softness of your breathing, and your fingers resting along his jaw. he wanted nothing more than to close the distance. 

“you know what i want.” your fingers lifted his face and there, yet again, was that hunger in your eyes. “are you sure about this?” 

eden inhaled, and found himself nodding. he thought of the nights he spent alone, the years that had stretched between you two, the taste of you in his mouth. anyone else would have taken advantage of him, but you were the only person he would ever grant his submission. 

“it’s you,” he said. "i'll do anything for you."

your hand slid down his neck to the center of his chest before you pressed him back to the bed, the sensation of your touch cool against his feverish skin. he bit back a whine, trying to keep himself from begging for more. 

from the nightstand, you produced a small bottle of lube. your hand began to drift from his chest, slipping under the sheet, drawing a path of pleasure that made him groan. 

“the spores dilate your blood vessels,” you murmured, drawing away the blanket to expose his naked body. “they make you sensitive to touch and encourage the release of oxytocin once stimulated.” 

“did you, ah, learn that from your classes?” 

you placed yourself between his legs. “i’ve seen a few experiments.” 

hearing that sent a pang of jealousy through him. he imagined you dosing yourself with a tincture of active spores, blushing as someone else’s hands roamed your body. “you didn’t…join them, did you?” 

“what?” you scoffed, pouring some of the lube onto your fingers. “i’m not like that.” 

“i took notes,” you continued. the hunter jumped when he felt a long, slim finger dip between his cheeks, wet and warm with lube. “we live in the forest, so i wanted to know how something like that could affect you.” 

“how considerate,” he said, breath heavy as your fingertip began to circle his hole. he hadn’t often touched himself there for pleasure, but the feeling wasn’t unwelcome. “any progress on that?” 

“i think it’s promising.” you smiled, and slipped a finger inside. slowly, you slid the digit in and out, easing him into the sensation. it wasn’t until you pushed another finger inside and rubbed against something that made his vision go white that he gasped, half-straining against the ropes that bound him. 

“fuck,” he grunted as you began to quicken the pace, coaxing moans from him that echoed throughout the cabin. he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to grind into your hand or into the mattress. 

eden thought he was going to go insane. he’d never thought you would ever have him like this, that you would take him this way, that you would want him in this state. he glanced at you and saw the blush that reddened your cheeks as you watched him writhe.

a feeling cracked inside of him. the need to let go, to give in, to fall into the depths of your desire. 

“so,” he panted, skin on fire. he swore that he was going to melt. “are you going to fuck me or what?” 

you held the back of his thigh with your other hand and pushed yourself down to your knuckles, earning a whine that shut him right up. 

“someone’s a little pushy today,” you said, sliding your fingers out of him. the lack of pressure made him shudder, making him bite back a whimper at the emptiness. “if i untie you, will you behave for me?” 

eden nodded. it took a moment for you to slip off your clothes, the pale glow of the moonlight exposing your pert breasts and the series of scars that adorned your torso. once you were bare, he felt the rope loosen from his ankles. when you climbed over him to unfasten his wrists, he took your nipple in his mouth, drawing circles around the tender bud with his tongue. 

already, he could feel his cock getting slick from your cunt. if he angled his hips right, then he could just— 

you pushed him away, his mouth leaving a line of saliva that connected you to him. he felt the sharp pull of your fingers tangled in his hair cut through the haziness of his lust. “i told you to behave,” you warned him. “will you be good for me?” 

eden licked his lips. it took him some effort to not grab you by the hips and take you right then and there. “i’ll be good for you.”

the rope around his wrists loosened and he felt your thumbs rub at the indents left on his wrists before you stood up from the bed to take the harness from the nightstand and slip it on. 

eden watched you, half dressed in shadow, adjusting the straps so they could rest on your hips. over the years, your body had grown more muscular from working around the cabin—so lithe and strong. the hunter couldn’t keep his eyes off you or the harness wrapped around you. the phallic device was just as advertised: sizable and textured with lines reminiscent of veins. 

obediently, he lied back on the mattress and prepared himself for what was to come, his cock stiffening in anticipation. after a moment, he heard you pop the cap off the lube and your fingers slick the strap-on. 

“what made you want to do this?” he said as you settled yourself between his thighs. 

a look of adoration fell on your face. “so i could see you like this.” gently, you touched his hip with your bandaged hand. “it’ll be easier if you face away from me.” 

"no." he took your wrist, the grip tight. memories of being restrained threatened to surface. he thought of the hands, the mouths, the marks they branded onto his skin. "i want to see you," he said, swallowing. "i want to know that it's you." 

“watch me, then.” you said once he released you, guiding the strap-on inside him as he held up his thighs. “i want you to see me fill you up.” 

you fucked into him, slow and hot, the stretch and burn of the toy earning a groan from him. 

"are you alright?" you paused. all of this was so new to the both of you and the last thing you wanted to do was hurt him. 

the hunter clenched his teeth. he needed more. he needed all of you. “shut up and fuck me already,” he growled. 

soon enough, you buried yourself to the hilt, the sudden fullness causing him to claw at the sheets. 

“some patience would do you good,” you said, rolling your hips to loosen him up even more. between the strokes and the press of the harness against his ass, all eden could do was keen. 

“even more of you would be better.” 

“god, you’re such a slut,” you laughed, bending over to press your body against his. at the contact, his skin became alight with pleasure. “does that make you feel good?” you asked, gentle. 

“y-yeah,” he answered, voice shaky. his head swirled. the hunter had no words for how euphoric he felt having you fuck him all slow and deep, how intoxicating it was to know that you could unravel him like this. 

you licked at his lips before taking them between your teeth. eden’s hands raked across your back, low moans pitching out of his throat. 

“you sound so nice when you do that,” you said between breaths, his shadow brushing against your skin as you kissed him. “what if i fucked you harder?” 

“don’t keep me waiting.” he bit your lip, drawing blood. “you think i can’t take it?”  

“i’m going to make you take it,” you purred, hips snapping forward as you quickened your thrusts, your new momentum encouraged by the pleasure you were wringing out of your hunter. underneath you, the bed groaned. his whines were trapped between your mouths. 

eden’s breaths came out in short puffs. with each thrust, he felt his own orgasm rising and his gut tightening. 

all of this was so good. he felt so full, so relieved within your embrace.

“you trust me, don't you?" your thrusts slowed. his eyes opened to find your skin shimmering with a thin sheen of sweat and your body flush with exertion. in that moment, your face had shifted to something more serious. “you trust me, don’t you? tell me you do.” 

your voice was soft, tender. all he could see was the expression you had made all those years ago when you had asked him if you two could start over. 

“yes,” he breathed, tangling his fingers in your hair. “i–i trust you.” 

after a moment, you pulled back to pour more lube onto your hand before taking his cock and wrapping your fingers around the length of it. the hunter gasped, your name spilling from his mouth as you fucked him. 

“i’ll always come back to you,” you murmured, thrusting into him so deep that he began to see stars. “i wouldn’t leave you.” 

you shoved two fingers into his mouth. he sucked on them, mindless, tasting honey and tea as the gauze on your palm brushed his face. there was the sweetness of your fingers, the scent of blood on your hand. 

with little warning, eden came clenching on the fake cock inside him as his own cock throbbed and pulsed in your grip. he cried out, legs shaking, letting loose a string of profanities as he made a mess all over his stomach and chest. 

you eased your thrusts, gently pulling away from him. you took a deep inhale before loosening the straps on the harness and to slip it off and set it aside. 

“c’mere.” eden grabbed you by the hip, pulling you closer. “sit on my face.” 

you obliged, climbing over him to place his face between your thighs. his breath was warm against your core, his gray eyes hazy as they beheld you. 

“it’d be a shame if i had all the fun,” he said before tonguing at your wetness, pulling soft moans from you. the straps had made you particularly sensitive from rubbing against you, so it was all too easy to make your core tighten. 

“eden,” you huffed, hips rocking against his face as you held the headboard to steady yourself. “fuck, oh my god, oh my god—” 

heat spread throughout your abdomen as your pleasure crested, your legs trembling as he sucked on your clit. although you were coming, eden continued to lap at your tender folds until you could barely handle it. 

once your thighs stopped shaking, you pushed yourself off eden and lay down next to him, your bodies a mess of hot, sweaty limbs. 

when he caught your eye, you smiled. his eyes were no longer dilated. whatever effects the spores had on him had passed, but his tenderness had remained.

“so,” you said, brushing his hair away from his face. this was your hunter, as strange and beautiful as the forest you had grown to love.

“you like the gift? sirris said i have to come back with a review.” 

eden chuckled quietly, pulling you closer to him. he pressed a kiss to your forehead, gentle and soft. he looked at you as if you were precious, as if you were something he wanted to keep.

"being with you is already a gift.” 

[names-for-alters]

Hello one and all, alters and headmates! I am Charlie! I like to make lists! I also hoard names! Are you looking for a name? GREAT! You can send an ask and request a specific aesthetic or origin of name, or you can look at my list!

With that said…

…Cracks knuckles…

Findo Tach Tails Flicker Tracer Kat Iris Blu Brick Arlo Sammy Artie Finn Stein Aleksandr Vora Olive Luna Nyx Cyrus Qrow Orian Cello Onyx Skye Grim Opal Dawn Azure Fish Bones Poppy Bronze Eggs Sparky Specs Snickers Trout Navi Bingo Chili Bandit Stripe Busker Socks Brandy Frisky Winston Lucky Chucky Bently Judo Rusty Max Honey Indie Calypso Striker Merle Moxxie Vex Ant Bugger Bee Spider Tails Hook Indigo Amber Coco Coral Scarlet Ivory Jade Ruby Emerald Chuck Loden Copper Hamelin Neo Shepard Cinnamon Visor Macalister Soul Hack Hiccup Flynn Rider Astrid Jay Raven Robyn Bolt Dagger Viper Tracer Cornwall Flock Sapphire Crystal Ghost Mochi Trick Catra Rose Raven Flip Chani Racket Red Crimson Dragon Runt Scotch Tellie Gator Croc Crow Goat Duck Creeper Kuma Jet Jeep Draco Poppy Sombra Raine Squish Spike Blaze Ender Drake Sandy MK PJ DJ CJ MJ King Creak Shadow Clay Dusty Miles Dart Willow Antonius Husk Moth Cypher Jin Yin Yang Daisy Gray / Grey Alistair Halo Angel Cake Fennec Fox Null Lull Bastion Lucky Sun Star Cosmo Tweety Vox Nerys Sonic Bark Birch Oak Cherry Blossom Peaches Velvet Shell Coffee Valley Fang Moot Redpath Pudding X V Jr Ether Fig Trunk Joy Frogger Snowflake Snowball Snow Jumper Racket Flare Vendetta Loonie Coin Six Eleven Tropica Stelina Mojave Ink Sud Fender Zero Pollen Wysteria Page Ozias Rex Tortch Buck Nickel Stripe Lynch Tramp Wolf Pup Tank Jhariah Kharma Zenith Sparrow Prism Lemon Mune Lamb Pyke Diamond Parker Graves Fizz Nugget Melody Tink Blight Fangless Ambress Vulture Eclipse Luka Bangle Constance Constantine Sommar Babble Clank Bobble Chipper Aidan Slate Tin Twire Zephyr Silver Misty Faunus Atlas Birdie Brook Cedar Chip Coal Daisy Ember Faye Fate Fern Flint Harmony Helios Ivy Junx Kit Lyria Phoebe Piper Lady Beacon Elos Rumble Ida Cross Zed Scootie Smidge Clauger Happy Sonny Hath Soldier River Song Clawtor Videl Legen Onen Chunk Reid Pop Cobra Cash Clover Saris Volante Donna Belladonna Gale Chopper Morphias Vidia Loft Kape Levi Licker Howl Dustin Newt Creek Breezy Polaris Blight Archer Sirius Warren Dream Goon Cookie Ranger Amity Jericho Viggo Besko Asra Alice Olaf Mossfeld Issic Missy Rascal Creasy Nonya Hex Pita Miguel Manuel Rayburn Daisy Dash Lucky Becky Steele Cylo Featherstone Kingston Netherfield Reacher Saltburn Quick Rubble Dust Brimstone Humble Ado Grover Norvanos Leshy Blade Cooper Calcium

Leo

Leonardo

Lebony

Silver

Linzier

Pearl

blackberry

Tatin

Bud

Raphael

Pebble

Mina

Linda

Oolong

Daeo/Dayo/Dao

Inco

Ketlyn

Risa

Ines

Lora

Flock

Lux

Rix

Reah

Destinty

Bet

Ange

Krixa

Lalien

Gloom

Bug

Rozy

Mars

Screech

Jenny

Robert

Patrick

Pierre Rosemary

Henderson

Mayfield

Sinclair

Sullivan

Hart

Solace

Daughtler

Stoll

Gatlin

Yearwood

Amos

Graves

Rothschild

Halley

Spektor

Presley

Redd

Blackwood

Notvletti

Valerie

Milo

Marian

Lychee

Aiden

Nova

Vel

Bel

Yuri

Puro

Pluto

Ramona

Angel

Nada

Shen

Mog

Hania

Udge

Kinetic

Kikos Wathel

Dupa

Sierre

Jimor

Teddy

coc

Scara

River

Shade

Foenem

Duck

Emily

Toast

Reunna

Ichigo

Rae

Sonic

MoonL

Lennus

cabaran

Marto

Leveer

Granite

Tongle

Gavril

Luella

Malachite

Leonard

[hexcia]

outfits under the cut

[glowstone23b]

Making you look at him. Rotating in my head.

Anyways, here's Flint post-Overworld with some of his kiddos because he deserves the happiness :) Idk if he'd have any biological kids tbh, but it doesn't really matter because he loves them all the same! A couple of things about him are nebulous to me, family being one of them.

Left piglet would be closer to warped forest coloration for youngins, and the right more for the wastes. It varies pretty wildly by bastion and colony, as a lot of piglins tend to mingle between bastions in their horde, but generally piglets are striped and colored like that of their home terrain. The baby colors typically wear off when they get a bit older, somewhere around 6-8 years old, when they're growing in their adult teeth and tusks. I feel like baby piglins would be 'piglets' and then turn to 'piglings' before they mature into full-grown piglins (like our difference between newborn & child).

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

I have a confession to make. I thought Meghan was a breath of fresh air when she came on the scene. I thought she was so pretty, so classy, I thought she was just so humble, head down trying to go about her life but she was hounded by the paparazzi!! I bought the Reformation black/white striped beach dress with the slit, the Sarah Flint wrap-up sandals, the Rossi black flats, the cute DeMellier black Venice bag. I wanted to be like her. The moment I started to get bad vibes about her was when she started clutching her moon bump, unnaturally too much for a pregnant woman.

Look, I'm not going to lie: I liked Meghan too when she first came on scene. I was so excited to see her come into the firm, not least because "FINALLY. A royal who wears PANTS" (because I am not a dress girl, at all, by any means whatsoever. If I'm wearing a dress, someone's getting married and that. is. it.) and her style was more relaxed, which is much more my vibe.

I liked that she had this whole career before getting settling with Harry. I liked that she had a history. I liked that she worked and hustled and had odd jobs. I liked that she felt more ordinary than extraordinary.

There were a few things that gave me pause about Meghan but they were neglible in the grand scheme of things and I liked Meghan well enough - though it was mostly how much I liked Harry - that I planned to take the day off work to watch the wedding.

But then, like I said before, she wore a $75K engagement gown for engagement photos and that was strike three. I started looking more closely and by the time the wedding rolled around, I was a big skeptic that the marriage would be happy. I tuned in only to see Kate and the kids and once they had disappeared into the church, I turned it off.

[frostycatblr-fandom-files]

Poets and Painters (Midday) - Wolffe x Reader [Mature Fic]

Warnings and Information: In desperate need of just one day to take his and his men's mind off the war, Plo Koon orders that everyone make a stop on a relatively uninhabited planet in a peaceful sector of the galaxy to… have a picnic? Just what does he have in mind? A certain flint-gray Commander is finding it hard to believe that they're just on the planet for a day of R&R in the middle of a war, so he isn't letting his guard down. Perhaps someone will help Commander Wolffe find some way to help him relax before the day is over… 2nd person POV. Reader is undescribed save for minor details like personal touches to a uniform, and has a gender-neutral alias. Allusions to canon-typical violence, mention of injury and loss, and Plo just being a dad to the 104th Battalion in the background. Swearing. Discussion of more adult themes and some lewd jokes the more the fic progresses (this is not an Explicit fic but it is Mature; Minors please DNI). Takes place on a fictional planet.

Word count: 4,665

The trick to keeping Commander Wolffe from prowling the edge of the clearing like a caged animal had been surprising. To everyone. 

Allowing him to watch you work keeps him seated on the hill beside you, where he does not worry his brothers or Master Plo Koon by continuing to make lap after lap. He had left your side once, to take a look at something the Clone pilot Warthog had to show him, and then did a little shiny-wrangling (namely Soapsuds) because they were too close to the forest for his comfort, but he was quick to return. 

He's not much of a conversational partner, whether that's out of respect for you to let you concentrate, or simply a product of his personality. When he has something to say, Wolffe keeps it brief. 

"I'm not that pale." 

"But your scar is." you reply with a gentle smile and a soft laugh, carefully adding traces of a lighter flesh-tone to the vertical stripe of scar tissue in your sketching of the Commander. You keep your pressure light on the page, and make your best efforts to keep the strokes in roughly the same orientation. The smile gives way to a frown the longer you fill in the length of his scar on the page. Your heart hurts for what happened to him at the hands of a dark Force-wielder. What her blade did to him. "I imagine it was quite painful, to lose your eye…" 

"Yes." Wolffe replies in a clipped voice, suggesting to you that while he does not want to dismiss your sympathies, he clearly must not want to talk about this with someone he does not know, either. You feel a tug on the lapel of your uniform, and the gloved pad of his thumb brushes over something. Oh. You'd forgotten about that. "You added a wolf's head into your uniform, Arcadia?" He's changing the subject. And that's okay. 

That's more than okay. 

Glancing down best you can, you see the sloppy replication the flint-gray Commander refers to. The thread used for the head is a steely gray, the stitches are almost invisible and camouflaged in the color of the uniform, save for the eyes in your favorite color. It was meant to be practice for repairing holes in your clothing, you explain. "For emergency situations. I wanted to see if my stitches would hold up after being washed. I completely forgot it was there." You don't explain why you went with the image of a wolf. You won't need to, in his presence.

It's easy enough to guess why this would be the animal, of all possible choices available to you in this galaxy, you would stitch into your lapel. The name surrounds you. Wolfpack. General Plo's callsign is Wolf Leader when they engage in battle by starfighter. 

It is the name of the man next to you - granted it bears an additional forn and an esk. 

Wesk-osk-leth-forn-forn-esk. 

Wolffe. 

"It held up well." he compliments you, releasing the fold of the lapel and assuming his silence once more. Degree by degree, you are seeing he is not eternally gruff or cold with you, or anyone: merely a man made stoic and far more vigilant than before by war. In his vigilance, he continues to visually sweep the field for signs of trouble or mischief. 

Maybe, while he's distracted…

You stealthily swap out the current coloring pencil in your hand - a deeper skin tone - and pluck out the Lamp Black pencil in the mix, drifting your hand lower down the page until the end of the pencil was now lined up with the loosely defined crotch and codpiece of his armor. 

Maker alive let's just get this over with. 

The body glove is going to be innocent enough to fill in, but defining the shadows around the pubic bulge in his kit will be faster. Just keep it quick and be discreet. Work fast. Hope no one sees. Hope no one asks. 

Your pulse screams in your veins when he clears his throat - loudly - next to you, and you are so certain he is now trained on you, and acutely aware of where your pencil is. "Hm-mm…" Oh kriff me sideways. "Excuse me," he apologizes, clearing his throat again softer this time, "didn't mean to startle you, but I was trying to catch Suds' attention." Thank the Maker he didn't look when he apologized. Just a few more marks to finish shading in the codpiece, and then you can start on the body suit. "O-oh. Is he wandering off again?" 

"Looked like he was about to." 

Still breathing down their necks even from here? "Y'know-"

"As their Commander I am going to look out for my brothers, Arcadia." He sounds neither happy or unhappy with what he assumed you would say. And it's fair of him to assume that, in a sense. You only wish he didn't have to feel so defensive. 

"I understand that," you promise him, and for the moment, you set down the pencil in your hand so you are not dividing your attention between the artwork and Wolffe. "and I wasn't telling you to stop, either. I only wanted to warn you that, I think, General Plo Koon seems worried about you, that something is keeping you from enjoying yourself." 

To his credit, he gives your words a moment of quiet contemplation. Whether that's to consider the truth behind the words you said, or to come up with an explanation of sorts, Wolffe remains silent and still like the forest that surrounds you on all sides. What secrets does that forest hold? What lives within? 

What will you find other than sap and blood on your palms when you pull back the thorny branches? 

"I don't believe we're here just to relax for a day." Commander Wolffe admits with a heavy look of guilt and uncertainty. "I think the General has other reasons for bringing us to Little Archossi, and he won't tell us." 

"Reasons? Like what?" You pick the pencil back up, and return to the slow, gradual task of adding color to the page. You're going to give him time to think. Time to answer, if he even wants to. He may not. Warning him that he's possibly made his General concerned about him seems to shake him down, somewhat. "I'm sorry." 

It's reflexive, apologizing for upsetting him. That seems to pull him out of his silence, for the moment. "Don't be, Arcadia. I'm not going to fault you for having good intentions. Or a good eye." 

The kri-? 

In dawning horror, you see and fully realize where your pencil lead is. And looking over at him, you see that he does too. "I-I'm so sorry, sir…" You admit that you hoped he wouldn't notice, and that adding the necessary shading and color around areas that carry their shares of suggestive and sexual imagery and connotations would have been completed with as little attention drawn to it as possible. While you're not exactly ashamed to have drawn those parts of him, you feel a bit awkward to have him take notice of your work when you add the color. 

Half of his mouth quirks in a smile, an expression of his respect, understanding that took guts to admit. "That's nothing to apologize for. It's just part of the art, Arcadia. A little "awkward" would only be understandable. Would you feel better if I purposely didn't watch?" 

Well, seeing as how you're almost done with the inner thigh, you don't see much of a point to the gesture in this part of the progress. But, he did offer. And this seems to be what's keeping him seated in the grass. And what's keeping Plo Koon freer to spend less time being concerned about his diligent commander, and more time in showing his troops more aspects of Kel Dor culture and history, it seems. (Orchid keeps asking questions that Tack could easily answer about Dorin, and it serves as a neat little lesson for some of their newer shinnies. Plo is certainly grateful for the curiosity that allows him to be a teacher, rather than a fighter, today.) 

You shrug lazily, laughing softly under your breath. "I'll leave that up to you, sir. At this point…" 

Wolffe chooses to keep an eye on his brothers, so you make the process of shading the inner thighs quick, while being careful not to get sloppy. You're not trying to recreate a master painter's work here in the first page of your sketchbook, but you don't want to look at this one day and become filled with the urge to tear it out because all you can see are glaring imperfections, either. That's nothing but a fanciful daydream of making so much progress in your artistic prowess that you would ever be struck with such a thought, of course. 

You are preoccupied with a war against the Separatists: when would you ever have the chance to make regular progress and impressive strides without backsliding and the natural degradation of your skills when you do not use them? You're a small part of the busy crew that keeps the Triumphant running smoothly. 

People constantly need you. And that's all well and good, but sometimes you find yourself running into the same problem over and over again that crews of this size inevitably face: when you, who provides the help, needs someone, who is there for you? Do you turn to another crewmate who is already up to their neck in all the problems they juggle? Turning to one of the Clone troopers is ill-advised, no matter how much they swear they don't mind lending a hand or an arm (or two) to assist. 

You've been doing fine aboard the Triumphant; better than fine, in fact. But that worry claws at you, sometimes. I'm here to help everyone. But if I needed help, who would I go to?

Who does the Commander go to when he needs help, come to think of it… General Plo? Or maybe Sergeants Sinker and Boost, if the matter was a little closer to the heart, something he believed was best kept between brothers? 

Who does Wolffe turn to in his hours of need, you wonder. 

You need to rest your wrist, and soon. You have just a little more of this tree's canopy to color in though, and then you're calling it good. You've been working on this "sketch" for more than three hours with the Commander at your side. You want to have this done soon. You want to go check out some of these things other crewmates have been laughing themselves silly over for the last hour that leave them gasping and wheezing for breath, clutching their sides and drying their faces. You're burning to know what's so funny, why they keep calling your name to come see. 

Curiously guessing over and over what General Plo's reaction will be when you show him this amateurish endeavor in outdoor art drives you to continue, however. Just a few more tiny, feather-shaped leaves… Wolffe notices the sharp twinge in your face, and the uncomfortable spasm in your fingers as you adjust your grip around the Sunflower coloring pencil. 

"Getting painful?" 

"Just a little." you admit, knowing if you pause now, you will delay when you pick the pencil back. "I'll manage." 

"Making art shouldn't bring you pain, Arcadia." 

You scoff, just slightly. "Physical pain? Agreed. But emotional pain, that's another matter. Don't worry, I'll be done soon, Wolffe." 

He asked you to call him Wolffe a short time ago. It wasn't exactly necessary to call him Commander or Sir all the time if you had him sketched out on your page quite like… that. His legs parted and bent at the knee - flat in the grass out in front of him. Wrist of the left hand resting just on the surface of his thigh, with his hand hanging limp just inches from his groin. You were generous enough to draw his fingers in a more neutral position than how they had looked in reality… Otherwise, if his soldiers and brothers got a hold of the sketchbook, there's no telling how many jokes you'd have to hear about making it look like their Commander was jerkin' it in front of you. 

Calling him "Wolffe" would do just fine when it was just the two of you alone on this hill. Perhaps he felt it was only fair if he was calling you by your name. You had no title or rank, like him. You are just a humble part of the crew, but he assured you no less important than one of the soldiers. 

It takes all of us, he said. That's how we win this war. 

You've come to the home stretch, feeling the ache in your fingers deepen with every tiny skritch and shwoop! as you methodically color in your work leaf by leaf. "Just one last, little leaf," you promise, "and then I'm done." 

"Not going to sign your magnum opus, Arcadia?" Wolffe prods a little teasingly. He's smiling at you now, even. Hours ago, he was somber and battle-ready, no smiles, no nonsense. Now, he's beginning to make small jokes. "Should add a signature so future museums know who to accredit this to." 

"A leaf and then a signature." you chuckle warmly. "Future museum… Honestly." He only offers a shrug in response to that, and you take it to mean well, you never know. "What, you're trying to tell me you think this would honestly end up in a museum gallery one day?" 

He shrugs again, gazing off into the distance, into the forest. "Overheard one of the boys in the mess say something about the notion once. Something they read. Some kind of commemorative effort made by one planet to make sure they never forgot their bloody history by way of art and song and poetry inspired by that time. Evidence of a time best not repeated, but not forgotten either." 

Such an insightful and wise thing to be said so casually, poetically, and yet, there's a weighty truth to every syllable and enunciation. 

We doom ourselves to repeat the past when we do not remember it and do not teach it anymore. When we allow ourselves to forget, the shades of rouge we sop the bristles of our brushes in will not be in the rich scarlets of Dathomir, or the forever-burning rubies of Mustafar, it will instead be with blood. 

When we have enough evidence, it silences the naysayers and the fools. It validates the choking and trembling voices that say I have tasted the bitter blade of war. I have stood before the yawning maw of nothingness it leaves in its wake. I will never be the same. You do not have the right to tell me that I am some kind of paid actor. 

If they were conspiracies, do you not think I would be among the loudest of your prophets who tout these twisted claims in the hopes of converting another?

"Fascinating. Thinking something like that will come of the Clone Wars, Wolffe?" You've finished the drawing, now. Taking an ink pen, you jot down your signature in the tidiest handwriting you can manage in the lower right corner, making note of the date for good measure. You'll think up a creative title for this later. 

There's a third rising and falling of the shoulders from the man sitting beside you. "It's too soon to tell." 

"That's fair." you reply, gathering up your supplies to put them back into the bag for safekeeping. "But you just know, if it does happen, the Separatists aren't gonna like the art." You have faith that the Republic will prevail. How could it not when the soldiers who fight for the Republic are some of the most courageous, persevering people you know? (What will come of them after?) 

You're likely right about that, he agrees with a throaty chuckle. The Separatists will not like losing this war, and they'll like the art even less. "I can only hope… that it will not just be the Jedi who are…" Wolffe grows silent next to you. He's not certain what word he wants to use to best explain his thoughts, he admits plainly. There are too many. Too many answers that are right, but he struggles to find the one thing that is most correct out of all of them. 

Given what Tack has told you, the answer is obvious. "You're hoping that the galaxy will remember the Clones were a part of this conflict too. That the galaxy won't forget the sacrifices made by your brothers, and they won't forget how many lost their lives. You probably hope that when the free peoples of the galaxy remember the Jedi, they remember you, too. Both must be appreciated together."

"You're probably right," Wolffe concedes firstly, "And you're too wise beyond your years, Arcadia." Strangely philosophical, he tells you, for how old he guesses you to be. Maybe he's the right one this time, thinking to yourself on his words. 

Maybe he's not the only one hoping that when this war ends, no matter the outcome, those who served as a part of the Grand Army of the Republic will not be a forgotten topic ten, twenty… even forty or fifty years down the line. 

Tack has made a breakthrough in his mysterious flower just before Master Plo is free to come take a look at the sketch and color work you've completed, and concern for his men takes precedence. You would not blame him in the slightest if he forgot he expressed interest in seeing what you accomplished with art materials given to you as gifts. Because of your station with the crew of the Triumphant with a secondary speciality for risk assessment, you're involved in this discussion with the researcher and his commander and general. 

Right now determining the risks posed to the men of the 104th matters more. Art and philosophical pondering will have to come later.

Tack explains to both Commander Wolffe and Master Plo that he thinks the smatterings of blue flowers that dot this clearing here on Little Archossi are known as Dinocaeruleus anthos. By their common-name, you know that these flowers are a warning. A silent, unassuming danger for all their beauty and silky blue petals. 

Terrible blue flower. 

"You can make toxic honey with these flowers?" Wolffe asks more to himself than Tack, as he reads ahead in the compiled information. Plo is taking his time to read the information on the screen of the datapad in his hands. To make sense of this, the Jedi is being thorough. 

"Poisonous, Sir, more accurately." Tack makes the correction habitually, and Wolffe does not take it personally. He knows that Tack knows what he meant, and given his aptitude for analytics and other such sciences, his researcher is not correcting him to be a smartass. "But, yes, you can make bad honey with these flowers depending on what pollinators you harvest from. They are not wholly dangerous on their own. Eat it, it might make you feel nauseated due to natural bitterants. Touch it to more sensitive dermal surfaces and it will prove a powerful irritant." 

From a short distance away, you hear the voices of Orchid and Soapsuds, Tack's batchmates (you assume), commenting on what the four of you are discussing in the shade of the tree you spent the morning sketching. "So what Tack's saying is don't stick your d-" The speaker finds himself with the other's hand anxiously plastered against his mouth to shut him up in a hurry. "Maker alive, shut up!" Soapsuds warns him, "Orchid, why are you so vulgar?!" 

There is a pointed sigh from Commander Wolffe that is aimed at the two of them. Don't make me come over there. Behave yourselves in front of the General. 

Plo makes no indication that he's noticed the situation occurring just out of reach. You have to imagine he hears Suds and Orchid wrestling with each other in the grass, now, though, and is ignoring it. "Arcadia and Tack, in your opinion, will these be enough cause for concern to consider returning back to the ship?" Plo wonders aloud. The Kel Dor returns the device to the researcher, and folds his hands together in an act of deliberate contemplation, resting them against his stomach. 

Tack looks at you, and you at him, then the Commander. There is a look in his eyes, both the stark silver and the warm vandyke brown, that reads to you as a surrender of control. 

I will carry out your judgment. 

Tack scoffs and shrugs, his arms thrown wide. "Honestly, General? I don't know enough. I'd need more time to determine through more analysis and comparison. This is only one search result for one flower it could possibly be. But it was enough of a match to make me get the Commander while he was talking with Arcadia." Enough of a match to send him into a tizzy over it. Tack had tripped coming up the hill in his haste, trying to ask if - from where he was sitting - the Commander noticed anyone messing with the blue flowers. 

We have a potential problem! had Wolffe on his feet faster than engaging a hyperdrive. And then there was a flurry of questions. Was it contact from the planet's inhabitants? Has someone gotten hurt? Are they needed to assist another battalion? Where's the General? 

He has the look again, now. Worry. The inner anxiety is eating him alive. Tack doesn't know. So what about you? 

"I see…" Master Plo hums. "And what are your feelings, Arcadia? What do you think about the situation?" 

You think. What do you think about this situation? Is it worth double checking the matches for the flower, to make sure that it really is Dinocaeruleus anthos? Are the men really going to be so flippant as to disregard any kind of warning put out about these flowers if they are the Dinocaeruleus, or worse yet, a far more harmful flower? (Not necessarily, but you have to consider that warning the troops that this flower can have detrimental potential invites the opportunity to inflict it.) 

There is one thing that is already clear to you, at least. "Tack should first make sure these flowers are what he thinks they are before we make any kind of advisory, General. That is my opinion." 

Another thoughtful hum. "Interesting. And why is this your opinion, little one?" 

"We should avoid unnecessary panic. Until we know for sure what these flowers are, I say we don't say anything. We invite unnecessary risks by making the men paranoid." you suggest, glancing first at the Jedi, and then the flint-gray Commander to his left. They had every right to accept or disregard your counseling as the commanding forces of this battalion at the day's end; you hope they will consider it at the very least. 

"I'm in agreement."

"Then we will do as Arcadia advised, and we will let young Tack take more time to confirm his findings. Until then…" Plo trails off, nodding decidedly. Thank the Maker. Tack dismisses himself in a hushed, hurried tone. If he's going to spend more time pouring over information on the Dinocaeruleus anthos, he shouldn't dawdle. The Jedi kindly wills the benefits of the Force to guide the researcher before he turns to address you once again. "Have you made use of the gifts given to you since we last spoke?" 

Blinking with a mild start, you realize that Plo has changed the topic. "Oh, yes, I have. Let me go get my sketchbook from my bag, sir." You scoop the entire bag from the grass, re-tucking your datapad among your things as you extract the book and turn it to the necessary page for his convenience. "Here." 

Taking it carefully in his hands, the book is cradled like a priceless relic as his eyes must trace over the page. Once more your property is treated with such care and respect by the Force-wielder. "My… Arcadia, you have quite a gift." 

The action is perhaps more childish than professional, but you cannot help but duck your head at such praise, fearing to meet his gaze should he see how flushed your face is. It is not the heat of the sun above you, denoting that it is now high noon, that makes your face burn. You're never quite sure how to accept a compliment. 

You opt for humility. "Oh, it's hardly that great, General Plo… I wouldn't say I have a gift… just… a-an attention for detail." And that much is true; dedication to detail is why you spent hours on a simple "sketch" to begin with; why you took so much care and effort to get everything done the best you could. The form of Commander Wolffe's armor. The curve of his jaw and the roundness of the ala of his nose. The correct texture of his hair within the typical haircut many of the Clones have. 

But though gentle insistence, the General repeats his sentiment. "Attention for detail is no less of a gift, Arcadia. In war it is a mark of wisdom, in art, it is a skill." A skill that has made for a very fine portrait of the Commander. "Have you seen Arcadia's work yet, Commander Wolffe?" He offers the sketchpad with an invitation to have a closer look, though it isn't necessary. 

"I watched Arcadia add the colors, yes." Wolffe confirms. "Quite the process."

Not to mention a strain on your wrist, but one well worth it for the praise given to you from the Jedi, and now many of the men who have congregated to come and suss out what's going on. "I can only imagine… Even gone through the trouble of adding proper shadows to such… rich color." 

Sinker and Boost smile softly, not quite sadly (but certainly somber), when they take note of the color of paint their commanding officer wears when you allow the book to be passed around so everyone is welcome to have a closer look. They hold it longest out of everyone, looking at this artistic replication a little more closely than most.

"The ol' maroon, eh? Think it's meant to depict another time, before Abregado?" 

"But he's drawn with the scar, Boost."

"Ah, yeah, good eye. Missed that bit." 

You timidly clear your throat to draw their attention, and explain that of all the colors, you didn't have gray. "I didn't want to leave his armor naked, either." Not when you went through the trouble of adding the face of the wolf and the other design to each of his shoulder pads, or the unique shape of his visor when you drew the helmet next to his hip. 

You would not deal him further, small cruelties by stealing the colors out of his coat completely. These markings he has chosen for himself mean something to Wolffe. The color he wears now is a mark of mourning. The color in the pages of your book will serve as an homage. 

You have not forgotten your brothers. You will always carry them with you.

Hmmf. Are you a poet now too, Arcadia?

No sir. Not really. 

You're uncertain where the words came from. Borrowed from something you read once? Did you perhaps hear the General say these words once upon a time? You can't recall what inspired you to say such a thing. 

But you'll remember the change in his gruff exterior, the way in which he was quieter than quiet for just a moment, and he pivoted in the grass to better face you and make you his equal. 

It's only the two of us here on the hill, Arcadia. Call me Wolffe, please. 

Don't have a fic taglist for the time being, but I'll likely start one soon if I can figure out how to make those forms some people have since I write a variety of stuff. For now, though, if you'd like to join a taglist for specific types of fics (example: just TBB-centric or just TCW-centric (or both)) don't hesitate to ask. 🩷

[Masterlist]

[Early Morning] [Here] [Late Afternoon] [Evening] [Deep Night] [Golden Dawn part 1]

[Golden Dawn Part 2]

[cloudyfan2023]

The Creation - A Short CWACOM fic

K, so for day two of the cwacom 15 year anniversary celebration, I decided to write a short fic about the FLDSMDFR!! (Hope you enjoy!!)

(In Flint`s lab, 2009)

Anticipation weighed heavily on the young inventor as he stared at the small machine in front of him. The creation was getting closer to being complete and a mix of excitement, dread and nervousness was taking over Flint`s mind. Would this be his best invention ever? Or would it become yet another failed invention? Would the people of Swallow Falls finally accept him into society for it? Or would he be shunned and labelled as a failure?

Flint had spent a good six months planning and creating this invention and was excited to show it to the rest of the world. He had finished the interior of the machine, but the exterior was still needing a few more details. He was yet to paint his signature stripes down the side of the machine. He figured orange would go best with the white body. His little creation would be able to transform water into any kind of food.

In his mind, it would be a huge success what with the lack of proper food on the island. Swallow Falls was famous for Sardines and as soon as the world got tired of them, the locals were forced to eat them for the islands economic survival. The Flint Lockwood Diatonic Super Mutating Dynamic Food Replicator would enable locals to eat whatever they desired without the gross taste of sardines.

Of course, Flint was yet to test the functionality of the machine, but he would do so once he finished the putting the radiation matrix inside along with finish painting the sides. Overall, he was fairly confident in his invention and was proud of all the work he had put into it`s creation. He only hoped others would think the same and finally accept him as a great inventor.

(Very short, I know but I hoped you enjoyed this little fic!!)

Would absolutely love to hear your thoughts on this!!

[lycandrogyne]

GENDERNULL — alternate. Term coined by a deactivated user, but an archive can be found here, the structure of the flag is derived from this kenonull flag.

[ PT: Gendernull — alternate flag. Term coined by a deactivated user, but an archive can be found here, the structure of the flag is derived from this kenonull flag. /End PT. ]

[ ID: A flag with four spaced-out, diagonal stripes on its right side; The background is a red hued onyx, the colors of the stripes over the background are, from top-to-bottom: granite, flint, crimson, and dark maroon. There is a light granite rhombus in the top left corner. In the middle of the flag is a symbol with a timberwolf grey circle crossed by a horizontal line with an arc above it. /End ID. ]