#get unanchored

[centi-pedve]

oh... thats gore... gore of our comfort character...

[unanchored-ship]

I HAVEN'T SPEWED OUT ANY ART SINCE FOREVER (I got my stylus back some few weeks ago but my motivation was not IT)SO IDK TAKE THIS WIP (that will probably never be touched again)

My wife my loser Victoria

[defensivelee]

i have the FUNNIEST idea for an nsfw easter art special HOWEVER

it involves shrewsbury. i do not have a shrewsbury design yet

WHY is it shrewsbury. for this hella specific idea i do not know why he is the only one that appeals to me for this

i have not drawn anything like it before so it might end up looking either rlly funny or rlly gross. i dont rlly mind the former tho bc humorous nsfw art is actually so fun

im not sure if i want to share the idea just yet just bc it's a little bit more ~hardcore~ compared to what i usually do

but it's an easter special you guys can probably guess what it is like let's be real here

[pramanixx]

HEARTBREAKING: the fictional character you've been brainstorming a lancer build for fits better with an ssc frame than the nelson

[spacedace]

Snippet/prolog thing from a DP x DC fic that lives almost entirely inside my head outside of this & a few other bits.

Please feel free to take this as an overly long prompt haha

If anyone wants context to this let me know and I'll be happy to info dump at you lol

-

The kid had been eleven the first time John Constantine met her.

A little ghost girl, too small for the crowns and dominions that were rightfully hers, wandering the world alone and unattended because to stay in one place would drive her mad - or worse. He didn’t think himself as having a particularly soft heart, but there was something about little Stella Phantom that grew on him - a bit like a mold, he liked to explain. Maybe it was the way she swore like a sailor and kicked a demon in the low hangers with a feral grin the first time he met her. Maybe it was just how lonely she looked, small and slight in the large world she was so obsessed with exploring.

She had a family. A Grave of her own that worried about her, but who couldn’t follow her on her constant travels no matter how much they wanted to. Proof that being some of the most powerful beings in existence wasn’t enough to prepare you for parenthood.

Somewhere along the lines she started following John around. Interested in what he was doing, where he was going, who he worked with. It hadn’t taken long to get her folded into JL Dark. Zantanna had blanched when he’d shown up with little Elle, pulling in the big wigs from JL Light to argue about the ethics of involving a child in their work. As if Supes and the Bat had legs to stand on with their own brood so often in the thick of danger. Elle was safer under his watch than she’d be under the loose oversight the Titans had or whatever fresh hell was going on with Young Justice but hell if anyone would listen to him on that front.

He lost the war when she met Superboy Jr. and Robin V.

She’d adored them from the start, delighted at having children her own age around to spend time with. They formed a little team, working together here and there, then more often as they got older. She still worked mostly with JL Dark, but she was growing up. Spreading her wings a bit.

Elle was seventeen when the Bonds first formed. The spider-silk thin threads finally winding themselves into the heavy binds that spilled out of her Core and reached out for anchoring in the boys. It was sickeningly sweet, in the way puppy love always was. She was too young for Core Bonds like that to settle, of course, in the way children were always too young when they fell in love the first time. It was normal though. Ghost children the Realms over made Bonds only for them to fade or change as they grew, almost never anchoring to anyone til they were full grown.

She’d blushed as red as Marvel’s suit when she realized John could see them, stuttering and embarrassed. He’d teased her about it for a long time, about how much she’d grown up, how much trouble she was going to cause, how he was going to have to fight the big bad Bat and his pet boy scout when she inevitably dishonored their poor, innocent sons. It was entertaining, endearing.

He waited for the Bonds to fade or shift. Weeks. Months. Years. As she turned nineteen, he started to wonder if they would stick around. If in another few years they might strengthen, begin the slow process of anchoring.

She was twenty-one when her boys - calling themselves Flamebird and Phoenix now - started dating each other.

The Bonds remained, steady and solid and painfully unanchored.

John stopped teasing her about them.

They hadn’t changed to accommodate platonic bonds, nor had they faded any. Their tendency to tangle around her like snare was another point of concern. Core Bonds weren’t meant to cause difficulty for the ghost they were born from, and they certainly weren’t meant to wrap around the ghost’s limbs and body in painful loops like that. They weren’t supposed to hurt.

When she was twenty three he started suggesting it might be time for intervention. The irony that he of all people would be trying to get someone to take steps to cut out the thing harming them was not lost on him. Nor was the way the fond feelings he had for the girl had skewed decisively paternal over the years in a way that his younger self would have mocked him for endlessly.

He felt better about broaching the subject knowing that her Grave had been suggesting the same thing. That he wasn’t overstepping the bounds of whatever odd partnership they’d developed over the years. John was, he had very reluctantly come to accept, the girl’s mentor if nothing else. His job was to teach her and guide her, not be her parent.

No matter what his old, battered heart might try and suggest.

Even still, he couldn’t help but be concerned.

She was twenty-five when they got temporarily launched into that broken, bleak world. When they met the Elle and Flamebird and Phoenix of that horrible dimension.

The three alternates’ bonds were anchored completely, tying the triad together in threads of silver and green. Not even Other-Elle’s complete, sickening deterioration into something cannibalistic and feral had been enough to break them. He can’t imagine how much it must have hurt to see that, for his girl to glimpse a world where something she’d longed for for so long happened, only for it to seemingly be at the expense of reality itself.

He helped cover for her, after their two groups had been mixed up and separated for the night - or what might be called night in a world that no longer had any light to make those kinds of distinctions in time. When she came back with the Flamebird and Phoenix of that world, after their little separation from the larger group he kept her two boys misdirected. Distracted Nightwing and Zantanna so they didn’t go asking too many questions he knew Elle wouldn’t want answered. The Bat John was helpless to do much about, but thankfully the big brooder seemed too intent on the desolate, lightless world itself to notice the way Elle’s gaze was going distant, bittersweet at the edges.

He didn’t know what, exactly had happened in the hours she was gone. He could guess, from the way the Other-Phoenix and Other-Flamebird looked at her, the way she avoided her boys. Loneliness and desperation made for an easy slide into bad decisions. John might just have to admit that Zantanna had been correct, all the times she’d said he was a bad influence on the girl. Not that there was any surprise there.

Elle’s Bonds were even more of a knotted mess than before. Offered something so close to anchoring only to find no purchase. They twisted about her throat like a noose now, ready to strangle the life out of her one day.

He signed off on her leave of absence when they finally made it back to their home dimension.

Anyone else would want details to write down. Would want to know the specifics of why and for how long and a whole mess of other details she either wouldn’t or couldn’t answer. He’d get his ass roasted over the fire for the mess the paperwork was in, but that was fine. He’d endured far worse for far less important reasons.

Personal leave, he’d written.

Duration of leave: indefinite.

Reason for leave: None of your fucking business, Bats.

They shared a cigarette on one of the high catwalks in the Watchtower watching dawn break on the world below. Grateful to see the sun and stars again after those two days in utter blackness. They didn’t talk about her Bonds. About what happened. About how she hadn’t talked to her Boys since coming back. Just stood and smoked. He pretended not to notice her tears. She pretended not to notice his. Neither of them had ever been any good at goodbyes.

When the time came she bumped his shoulder in thanks - for the cigarette, for the company, for the years of friendship and family - before turning and stepping through the bright purple door standing impossibly in the middle of the walkway.

He glimpsed the green of the Infinite Realms and the distant shape of her Lair beyond. A world of worlds, paradise to one that never stopped, always off to find something new, something never seen before. It was against all odds that she’d even stumbled upon this one in the first place. A small speck in the crushing infinite.

When the door closed it did so slowly, a painful whine and a soft, mournful click all that marked her leaving.

John watched it bleed out of existence, and wondered if he’d ever see her again.

Six months later, the stars started to disappear.

[sashaisready]

This Must Be The Place: Chapter 18 - Did I find you, or you find me?

Biker!Bucky x Femme Reader

Back at your beloved late grandmother's home to pack up her house, you have a run-in with the town's biker gang 'The Howling Commandos' and find yourself entangled with the metal armed President.

Series Masterlist

Warnings: None!

Hey, I’m back 😊 Had a lovely vacation and I’m home. Forgive the short chapter…I’m just setting up the ending…

The second you got home you peeled off the dress you’d been wearing for so many hours, flinging it into the laundry basket. You plugged your dead phone into your charger before stepping straight into a scalding shower. You exhaled with relief as the hot water washed away the grubbiness, cleansing you of the night before, of Peter’s touch, of every unpleasant detail.

As you lathered up your body wash, your mind drifted to Bucky, as it had the whole journey home. You couldn’t stop thinking about him staying there out on the road all night for you. And he didn’t want a big fanfare or pat on the back for it, he just…did it.

For you.

Your head spun as you replayed it over and over. The affection in his eyes as he looked at you. They were always so blue…you were amazed you hadn’t drowned in them. Even weary and fatigued from his staggering lack of sleep, they had still sparkled in a way that made your breath hitch.

You considered his astute observation about Granny’s house and your procrastination. He was right, of course. Part of you wasn’t ready to leave this place, it was the final physical tether you had to her – giving it up was the last step in saying goodbye. Once the house was gone, so was she.

But Bucky was right. Giving up this house wasn’t giving her up…not really. This was just bricks and mortar. It wasn’t your memories of her, your photographs. This house wasn’t her wisdom, it wasn’t her smile. It had felt like she was still everywhere in here, but in truth, she was no longer here at all. We aren’t our possessions; we aren’t our stuff – even if it feels like it sometimes. We can’t take any of it with us.

She wouldn’t want you clinging to her, not allowing yourself to move on and live your life. She had given you the house for precisely the opposite reason – she wanted you to be free. She wanted to give you either the stability of a home and roots, or the financial freedom to choose what made you happy.

But not this. Not living somewhere inbetween.

Your whole life you had ambled, too frightened to make any real decisions in case you made the wrong one. You’d found jobs and homes when friends had recommended them to you, or by knowing someone who knew someone else, or by chatting with patrons at your various bar jobs. A lot of your experiences had been ‘right place, right time’ (or ‘wrong place, wrong time’) rather than you actively seeking them out. Despite your stubbornness and self-assurance, you were often unanchored in life – lost at sea.

And of course, there was the other reason you hadn’t allowed yourself to move on.

He had broken your heart, and you were so sure that his chapter in your book had ended, but here you were – still thinking of him. Nobody had ever done anything like that for you before. Nobody had ever cared so deeply, fighting to stay despite you shutting them out of your life. Normally they left at even the slightest difficulty, and in a way, that was easier. Better they show you who they really are early on, rather than you getting too deep and being unable to reach the surface when disaster inevitably struck. You were at least self-aware enough to know you often pushed people away…because better it be on your terms, right?

That was partly why what Bucky had done hurt you so badly. Your walls had started to crumble with him, but his betrayal had built them back up even higher. He had just affirmed what you had always thought of people, it made you feel foolish. Weak.

But now…

He had left you alone like you’d asked. He had shown up for you in your time of need, he had stayed for you then despite your insistence he leave. He had saved you, but with no strings or expectations attached. He had only done it for you, not for himself. He wasn’t trying to score points, or get the upper hand, he was just trying to make you happy. Make you feel safe.

And he had made you happy, once. He’d brought you a pocket of peace you hadn’t felt before. He had shown you a glimpse of life where you could truly be yourself.

Weighed down by your thoughts, you stepped out of the shower. You dried yourself off and changed in your PJs before flopping into bed. It was late morning now, but you needed the sleep desperately. You also needed some time away from your own brain.

As your head hit the pillow you were out almost instantly. You slept until the early afternoon, emerging groggily as you sat up and groaned. Annoyingly, a magic fix to all your problems somehow hadn’t materialised while you were out.

But one thing was clear. Absolutely crystal. Everything else was a mess, but this was clear and bright and unmistakable.

You needed to speak to Bucky.

You reached over and grabbed your phone from your bedside table, yanking it off the charger cable as you unlocked it. You scoffed as Peter’s name flooded the screen, a flurry of missed calls and ‘I’m sorry’ notifications. You swiped them away as if you were irritatedly swatting at a wasp. He deserved no more of your time.

There was also a stoic text from Steve wishing you well after he heard about your ‘trouble’, and one from Wanda asking how your date with Peter had been. You nearly laughed out loud at how much you had to fill her in on.

Your heart sank a little to find there was nothing from Bucky, but that was to be expected. You had asked him to leave you be, and he was respecting that.

Your finger hovered over his name in your contacts as you stumbled at this next hurdle. Would a text be better? You could tell him everything you wanted and be sure you were articulate and clear about what you wanted to say, but maybe a phone call was more sincere? Could you go halfway and record a voice note? Or was that weird? Should you ask to meet somewhere and then talk? What if he said no? What if he wanted to move on, and you would just be creating drama for him? What if he had only done all of that stuff on the road out of guilt?

You chewed on your lip as you considered your options. It had all seemed so obvious just moments before, but now you were second guessing yourself and unable to move forward. Just like always.

Just as you were internally cursing yourself and the paralysis of indecision, you were pulled from your thoughts by a noise out in the yard. It was…a banging? Was someone knocking on your door? Maybe a delivery driver…but wouldn’t they just use the doorbell like everyone else?

Frowning, you got to your feet as you headed downstairs – curiosity winning out over the embarrassment of going to the front door in an old sports t-shirt and a pair of Bucky’s boxers you had quietly been wearing as pyjama bottoms since he left them at the house however many months ago.

You opened the door and peered out, but nobody was there. Strangely, the knocking continued somewhere out of sight, so you kicked on some sneakers and trepidatiously stepped out into the front yard. What was this now, a trespasser? The last thing you needed at this moment, but the universe always seems to have fun with its timing. You should’ve brought your phone with you in case you needed to call the police.

You followed the sound around to the side of the house, yelping when you discovered the source of the banging.

Just a few feet in front of you in the yard was Bucky, kneeling, his back to you. His was kutte neatly folded in a pile by his feet on the grass. In one hand he held a hammer, in the other, a plank of wooden fence panel raised onto the once broken enclosure. Next to that was an affixed plank. And another. And another.

He was fixing the fence.

The damn fence.

“Bucky…”, you whispered, your voice croaky with sleep and surprise.

He turned, getting to his feet as he dropped the hammer to the ground, “hey”, he said softly. “I just thought you could use a hand…so you wouldn’t have it hanging over you anymore. But if I’m overstepping, just say…”

You didn’t speak. You just ran towards him.

*

Sorry for the cliffhanger! I’ll put you out of your misery soon I promise…

[secretarysong]

some screenshots from fiddling in nsr with reshade & unreal engine unlocker

more underneath because this is a PRETTY long post

(all screenshots are 1920x1080 assuming the resolution isn't butchered when i upload this post🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏)

lately i've been messing with the post-processing & pointlight function in combination with ReShade... aaaannd (being the absolute sucker for ingame photography that i am) i MIIIGHT have spent hours taking cool shots of my favorite places in vinyl city for the sake of sharing 'em

the main things i utilize in these pics are the light intensity sliders ... not an expert on it yet HOWEVER it's a bit self-explanatory; by 'ingame light' it means. like. it changes the value of the actual built-in light sources as opposed to my screen's contrast & brightness etc, which is instead (part of) Reshade's job. see the 3 pictures below:

screenshots in order: (UUU + reshade | UUU only | no changes)

i get to the pointlight stuff (with eve!) a little later but for now here's

mamak / pre-festival plaza

akusuka

natura / natura concert hall

evenfall gallery

after i took these, i went into eve's bossfight expecting abooutt the same but i ended up stumbling across something pretty cool; turns out if you drag the indirect lighting towards 0 the gallery's pink-and-white walls fade to black! i don't know why it does that but i think it's really cool

then i tampered with UUU's pointlight and made my own light sources...

...turns out if you attach the light to the camera it STAYS attached throughout vanilla gameplay & cutscenes even if you toggle the freecam off. which i guess i should have expected because it's literally the same camera (just unanchored) but it still surprised me

that's it for now... but ONLY because i hit the image limit... Stay tuned 4 more screenshots from other districts + approaches + boss battles YAY

[autistic-mandalorian]

I would love to hear this

Oh sure! Fair warning, this gets long, so it's under a cut:

So I have looked carefully at Maul post-bisection, specifically at where his abdomen ends and his prosthesis begins, and I believe that he was bisected between the L3 and L5 vertebrae, or just above his pelvic bone. Here is a diagram I drew on of where he was cut:

Image Description: The first image is a screenshot of Maul with his prosthetic legs from TCW. The screenshot is annotated to note where exactly Maul is divided between flesh and prosthesis. The second image is two diagrams side-by-side, one of the human body focusing on organs, and the other of the spine. Both have a line drawn around where the belly button is to note where Maul was bisected. End ID.

So in terms of what he lost, it was a LOT. Not just his legs, but most of his intestines, his bladder, his pelvis, his gonads, half his bones, most of his blood volume, and a lot of his abdominal and back muscles (as well as their attachment points, making the remaining muscles limited in their usefulness).

Image description: A diagram of the human musculature, from the ventral and dorsal sides. The diagram has a line drawn across it to show where Maul was bisected.

Fortunately for him, most of the organs in humanoids are located in the chest cavity (because the intestines need a LOT of room to work), so he kept his kidneys, liver, stomach, lungs, hearts, pancreas, gallbladder, etc etc. However, his intestines are interesting in that by getting chopped in half, his small intestine was actually disconnected from his large intestine. The small intestine connects to the large through the ileocecal valve, which is located on the left inferior side of the abdominal cavity. He got chopped right through the middle of the abdominal cavity, so he lost his entire cecum, the majority (if not all) of his ileum, and the valve that connected them. This means that anything he digested would just ooze into his abdominal cavity even after the giant wound repaired itself, unless he got surgery to reconnect them. We will say for the sake of the story that he fixed it with The Force while living in his trash hole.

Now, it is possible for people to be bisected like he was and survive, just only in a medical environment. It's an extremely rare and radical surgery called a hemicorporectomy. It's the last of the last resorts, because it leaves you with a lot of problems. Here are some of them:

Maul would need both a colostomy and urostomy bag, since his rectum and bladder are both gone. These would need to be regularly cleaned and emptied.

His missing intestines would also result in his not digesting most of his food fully, so he would need supplemental nutrients to help combat malnutrition. He obviously does not get these for most of his life (if ever) so he is almost certainly malnourished.

Due to his newfound Nightmare Castration, he would need regular doses of hormones or would risk osteoporosis. Which hormones is up to the reader (I nominate estrogen)

His spinal cord is, thankfully, fine--- it doesn't actually extend past L1-L2. However, he did lose the filum terminale, meaning his spinal cord is kinda unanchored in his spine and floating around, which isn't great and could lead to nerve issues down the line. Some of the nerves that were cut in his lumbar spine (specifically, the L4 lumbar nerve supplying the quadratus lumborum muscle) could also cause partial paralysis in his back, as well as some wicked back pain.

Shoutout to @necropocene for inspiration as well as the following headcanons:

Maul's lungs and other organs are constricted by his intestines being forced upward into his chest cavity, reducing his lung capacity

Maul suffers from chronic nausea

Maul's prosthesis needs to be very well-cushioned because the waist is not a load-bearing structure (too squishy!)

Now onto my specific headcanons for his prosthetics and mobility devices:

The thing about pelvises is not only do they let you use legs, they also allow your organs and muscles to attach to something rigid. For this reason, I think Maul should have two pelvises: one internal, being more like a metal frame that his abdominal and back muscles attach to, and one external and connected to his legs.

The lumbar spine and sacrum are what allow the spine to connect to the pelvis, so in order to use his prosthetic legs, I think it would be prudent to give Maul a prosthetic spine, Borg Queen-style. Now, this would admittedly be a pretty big infection risk (piece of metal sticking through the skin and all) but I think it's cool so I am invoking The Rule of Cool on this one.

Maul's legs are not something I spent much time on, because his canon ones are fine.

I do have headcanons for a wheelchair, though!

His wheelchair wouldn't be designed like your average wheelchair, because those are generally designed to accommodate people who have pelvises. His would probably look more like a plant pot or a baby bjorn, imo? It would have to support him without putting too much pressure on his torso, so I think a sort of foam well with a backrest, attached to wheels would be a good design.

I also think that his prosthetic spine should be able to dock with the wheelchair so that he can control it as an extension of his body, like the prosthetic legs.

Image description: Three pencil drawings on notebook paper. One is of Maul post-bisection, with each of his organs labeled and colostomy, urostomy, and gastronomy ports. The next two are of his wheelchair, which follows the description previously given. End ID.

And yeah, those are my headcanons! Thanks for asking :) I love talking about fantasy biology!

[ani-craft]

"Martyn is loyal" this and "Martyn isn't loyal" that

Loyal or not, this man loves. No matter what he might say. Calls himself selfish, or a wanderer, or a wildcard, or whatever else he'll readily claim to seem unanchored. And sure, he is highly driven by self-interest, that is undeniable especially after Lim Life's ending. Yet every season he gets attached to people, finds a fondness in someone. To Scott, to Cleo, to the Southlands (especially Mumbo), to Ren--and to an extent he is loyal, or devoted, or whatever other word you want to use for it. As loyal as he can be up until he can't be anymore. Looks at every alliance with the idea that they'll make it to the finale together, even if what happens after is unsavory. He knows too much for his own good, knows that every life will end as him versus everyone he's allied with. It's inevitable, given the nature of his lore and his role in the grand scheme of things. It's an always present truth that backs every plan he has. An audience is Watching, and we need a grand finale, after all.

But until then:

"That's it, they're dead."

"I'm more than happy for you to link back up with me, and we can be real proper soulmates."

"You said, 'You and your allies will see the end.' You said I could bring them all!"

"I'm with you. This is us, now. This is us."

[genshin-scenarios]

things they like about you

Summary: We’re all familiar with the things we love about them, but what if it’s similar things that make them fall for you?

Characters: Venti, Albedo, Kaeya, Cyno, Kaveh, Kazuha

Venti: it’s the way you speak his name, saying each syllable so lightly as if he’s something that colors your day. Your voice when you’re greeting him, humming his songs, when you’re tired and just a little annoyed; Venti’s addicted to it, drawing more replies out of your mouth as the two of you chat over drinks. The way you’re like a little secret hidden in plain sight, with aspects of yourself that only he has glimpsed—and what a sparkling person you are.

Albedo: you create so many beautiful things out of nothing, from the way you appreciate the little things around you to how you can make a regular day charming with just a ‘good morning’ and a smile on your face. It’s how you get so immersed in your hobbies that you sometimes forget he’s there, but also brighten so much when Albedo asks you about them, speaking more than you normally would as you ramble about your interests to him.

Kaeya: it’s how you joke around with him while holding genuine sentiments underneath. Sometimes when Kaeya is tired from work, all he wants to do is let you bring him along to wherever you want, crafting an adventure as you go while he sees the world through your eyes for a change. You take turns taking off your masks while the other person leads. He feels like a child following a crystalfly again, though the night has instead paved way for your light.

Cyno: it’s the way you stand true to your beliefs and wholeheartedly support anything he holds dear. It’s in your voice as you speak with utmost conviction, announcing to Cyno before the campfire that you’ll find a way to fish the stars from the sky after he’d initiated yet another fantastical roleplaying prompt. You may be out of it (be it from having too much to drink or too little sleep), but he finds the way you brave the world more heroic than anything else.

Kaveh: it’s your kindness, the way you listen to his worries and accept them without judgment, like the comfort of gentle sunlight without heat that suffocates and pressures. It’s in how Kaveh somehow feels safe around you (when you pull him away to look at shops, or the night sky), enough to feel like it’s home—and if home was where the heart is, would that mean you had stolen his? Or would it be better to say that he’d found a spot for you there and built a house for you himself?

Kazuha: it’s the gentleness in your eyes when you look at him, and it makes Kazuha’s heart swell as he wonders just what he’s done to deserve a love like you. It’s how you bring him little things that remind you of him, and the way you’ve grown to live life by every precious second. Kazuha is used to living unanchored, but just the thought of himself being separated from the joy that is you makes him more anxious than he’d like to admit - so he cradles every moment, committing them to memory.

[yermes]

PAC: we in in an economical hell scape and it is not getting better heres some financial advice 🎟️

Disclaimer: please take what I say with a grain of salt and not as the gospel. I just want to share some ideas of practicing and giving advice using the medium as often as I can with school, work, and my own personal studies and practice. But I am working on sharing my notes soon so that will be exciting! Liking and sharing does a lot 🥰

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The cards

The hanged man 🧸

Uranus, Neptune, Geburah to Hod, Water

In these times of uncertainty you are also at a big turning point in your own life. College? Work? Trade school? Starving artist? To graduate or not to graduate? Its all expensive and you do need to take a step. But ultimately you need time to contemplate whats the best decision for you. Everything costs money and we all need money. Think before you take a step. Think of if you can do it and if it'll be beneficial

Princess of cups 🎸

Venus in the Water signs, Earth in the water of Briah, Malkuth

Living on the unanchored island of tenderness and joy is not an easy feat in this economy. Its hard for dreamers to make money and often dreaming costs money. Its hard to nurture creativity and love in a works that constantly operates against these tenants. Save for the small things you life for make sure you budget to create while also being able to take care of yourself

Happiness 🎱

Jupiter in 2.Pisces, Yesod through water, nine of wands

In the pursuit of happiness make sure you do not over indulge do not become vain or drunk on the happiness and become complacent. Keep looking for the next possible steps and opportunity for emotional fulfillment and security. Remember to save and be responsible. Happiness doesn’t come from credit card debt.

Extras:

Story/vent:

My cute shirts came in

[cowboyemeritus]

uhhhh I was under the weather recently and it got me thinkin’

You laugh a little as Copia holds the glass of water to your lips. With a shaky hand, you take it from him, acetaminophen tablets clasped in the other. “It’s just the flu, babe.” He pouts as you pop the pills in your mouth, sip the water, and then swallow, grimacing as they go down your inflamed throat. You sniffle, and he instantly reaches for a tissue. “Seriously.” Snatching it away, you can’t help but feel a little guilty at the wounded look on his face. After blowing your nose you crumple the tissue into a ball, chucking it at the wastebasket. It bounces off the rim, landing on the floor. Copia starts to get up but you stop him, placing your hand on his. “I’ll get it later.”

“I am just trying to be useful, amore.” Oh, your darling Copia. He’s been distressed from the moment the headache settled behind your eyes. His Church duties have been… set aside for the time being, him fussing over every stage of your illness. You both know the paperwork is piling up, but he doesn’t acknowledge it. More than a few nights in a row you’ve caught him laying awake just to listen to you breathe. Every time you tell him you’re fine, that you can take care of yourself, but the dark circles under his eyes persist, his body rigid with nervous tension. At this point, he’s suffering more than you.

He can’t help it. You know that. This is just another one of those things, another new tic, that has developed in the wake of his ascension. As a firsthand witness to her decline, he watched helplessly for months as his mother — damn that woman — withered away, unable to do anything about it. In typical Imperator fashion, she kept him in the dark; every attempt to question her wellbeing, her ability to run the church, had been waved off. It was easier to let himself be lured into a false sense of security, to believe that she was invincible. Her death had truly blindsided him, leaving him unanchored and drifting in a sea of upheaval.

Copia. Your poor, sweet Copia. He’s not about to make that same mistake again.

“My love,” you say, brushing a few loose strands of hair away from his face. He leans into your touch like a puppy, eyes wide and watery. “Oh, come here.” Your body protests but you scoot over on the bed, patting the spot you’ve made for him. When Copia hesitates you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him into you. You’re not worried about the malady spreading; if he was going to get sick, he would have already.

He comes to lay next to you, head resting on your chest so that his ear is directly over your heart. One of your hands begins to card through his hair, the mousy brown locks looking grayer every day. You know it preoccupies him; he frets over it in the mirror every morning when he thinks you’re still asleep. You tell him it’s handsome, and sometimes that helps. When that doesn’t work, you remind Copia that your love isn’t based on something so superficial. It’s him, just him, that your heart belongs to. And when returns to the mirror the next morning, you swear to yourself that someday he’ll never feel worried or sad or insecure ever again. You’ll do anything, kill anyone, to make that happen.

“I love you,” you whisper, lightly scratching his scalp with your nails. “Thank you for taking care of me.” You get no response and for a moment something sharp, scared, pokes around in your stomach. Then he snores a little and it all melts away. Nothing else matters but you and him, safe and warm and together for good. He makes another quiet noise and you smile, unable to contain your joy that he has found a scrap of peace in this chaos. Carefully, as not to disturb him, you reach over to turn off the bedside lamp, feeling your own eyes begin to droop. You sigh, the last of the pressure in your skull ceding as the room falls into darkness. “‘M not going anywhere, darling. We’re in this thing together.”

Baby steps, you think, just before falling asleep. Tomorrow will be better.

[unanchored-ship]

guys what color are Vicente Guerrero’s eyes cuz some sources say light-colored but almost every painting of him makes them dark

vs

ignore how ridiculously different he looks in these two drawings i half assed a little too much on the second one..

i prefer the light-colored one but on some random days or when im lazy i probably will go dark eyes

or this one time when i gave him both

idk mann i luv him he should be my wife number 700

[moonsandmobilityaids]

Still Beautiful

Pairings: James Potter x Disabled!Reader (part of my poly!marauders x disabled!reader) Summary: James sees something you don't want him to see. Warnings: Chronic pain, swelling, self-image issues Series Masterlist

The four-poster bed creaks under your weight as you sink into the mattress, a sigh slipping past your lips. Your fingers curl around the edges of the velvet curtains, pulling them closed against the dimming light that filters through the high windows of Gryffindor Tower. You can't help but grimace as the fabric brushes against your swollen knuckles, the pain more intense than you'd like to admit.

Your body feels heavy, the day's strains taking their toll on muscles and joints that have never known such exertion. The swelling in your limbs has grown worse, and each movement is an effort, a battle fought and lost against the limitations of your own flesh and bone. But it's not just the physical pain that gnaws at you; it's the exhaustion that clings to your spirit, the kind that sleep can't touch.

"James," you had said earlier, meeting his concerned gaze across the Great Hall's long table, "I can manage. Go on with Sirius and Remus. There's no need for all of us to miss out because I'm... like this."

But now, alone in the semi-darkness with only the faint crackle of the hearth for company, you question your decision. The ache in your limbs deepens, stubborn as the stone walls surrounding you, and you feel a familiar heaviness creep into your thoughts.

The door creaks open, the sound barely audible. It must be one of the guys, you think, checking on you or bringing something to eat. You're too spent to sit up, but you manage a feeble, "Hey," your voice barely more than a whisper. Your eyelids flutter, heavy with exhaustion.

"Hey, sweetheart," James replies, his voice a balm to your frayed nerves. There's an undercurrent of worry that belies his calm exterior, but he masks it well. His steps are light as he crosses the room, likely trying not to disturb you if you're drifting off.

Before you can protest, tell him you're fine and he should get back to whatever he was doing, the blanket is carefully peeled back. Cool air rushes in, making you shiver. You wince as the sudden change in temperature heightens your awareness of the aches pulsating through your body.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to—"

The words die in his throat, and the air around you shifts. He's seen it. You can almost hear the unspoken acknowledgment in the silence that stretches between you. He's seen your legs—the swollen joints, the skin discoloured beyond recognition. It looks worse today, you think.

You reach for the blanket, intending to pull it back over your body, but James is faster. His hand closes over yours, not in a grip of restraint, but with a gentleness that surprises you.

"Wait��don't," he says, the words coming out as a soft command. He moves to kneel by the bed, his face level with yours, but his eyes are fixed on your legs. The furrow in his brow deepens, not from revulsion but from something else—concern, perhaps. You hate that look; it only drives the point deeper that you're broken, less than whole.

"James, don’t… it’s not your problem, okay?" The words come out sharper than you intend, a defence mechanism against the vulnerability seeping through the cracks of your facade. You don't want him to see you like this, unanchored and drifting in the vast sea of your own thoughts.

"It's not nothing," he insists, his gaze never leaving your face. "I wish you'd told me it was this bad today."

The thought of discussing it, especially with James looking at you as if you might shatter into pieces at any moment, fills you with an acute sense of embarrassment. Your chest constricts further, and you reach for the blanket, wanting to hide yourself away from his scrutiny, but he catches your hand before you can pull it up.

"Hey, it's alright..." James murmurs, not an order but a lifeline thrown out to you. He eases himself onto the bed's edge, careful not to jostle you more than necessary. His hand comes to rest on your leg, a touch so light it's more warmth than weight. Yet it anchors you in a world that seems intent on slipping away.

"Look at me," he says, as if his voice alone could unravel the knots of confusion in your mind. When your eyes stay fixed on some distant point, he lifts your chin with two gentle fingers, compelling you to meet his gaze. "You're still you, do you understand? This doesn't change who you are."

But you don't reply, because how can you when every fibre of your being screams otherwise? Today, with your body bloated and strange, your thoughts slow and muddled, you feel anything but yourself.

James moves closer, his fingers tracing a gentle path along your thigh. His eyes never leave yours, and in them, you see not disgust or pity, but love—unwavering and true. "You're still beautiful. You're still the woman I fell for, and the one Sirius and Remus adore. This," he gestures to your swollen limbs, "changes none of that."

You scoff, the sound hollow even to your own ears. "Right, because this is really attractive."

His expression softens further, if that's even possible. "Your beauty isn't about the physical alone—it's who you are." His voice is firm but kind, the conviction behind his words unshakeable. "And if you don't believe me…"

James doesn't finish the sentence, nor does he need to. Instead, his body leans into yours, a silent plea for understanding. His lips find yours in a tender kiss that leaves no room for argument—not that you would have the strength to resist. His mouth is warm and inviting, mirroring the gentleness you've come to associate with James himself. The kiss deepens, drawing you in, making your head spin with a mix of confusion and longing.

He kisses you as though there's nothing else in the world that matters more than this moment—than you. It's a slow dance at first, a tentative exploration that leaves both of you breathless, but then the rhythm changes. The kiss grows fervent, desperate even, as if trying to convey all the words left unsaid.

One hand slips around your waist, pulling you closer, while the other traces a path up your side, sending shivers down your spine and setting your skin ablaze where it makes contact. You can't help but respond, matching his intensity with a fervour you didn't know you possessed.

His confidence, his easy affection—they chip away at the wall you've built around yourself, brick by brick, until it crumbles. And for a fleeting moment, you let yourself feel wanted, cherished.

You begin to think that perhaps... just perhaps... James might be right after all

When you finally break for air, your foreheads rest together, and he grins, his breath warm against your skin. It's a teasing smile, one that sets your heart fluttering despite everything.

"See?" he murmurs, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. "Still irresistible."

You roll your eyes, but the corners of your mouth twitch upwards. "You're impossible, you know that?"

"And yet, you love me for it," he counters, pressing a light kiss to the tip of your nose.

The knot in your stomach loosens slightly, and the pain, though still present, feels a little less overwhelming. For now, with James at your side, there is room to breathe.

[heterophobicdyke]

abused women unable to leave their male partners do exist and shouldn’t be pressured to put themselves in danger. agree. but I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that feminism needs to go beyond encouraging helplessness in instances where women are NOT in situations where they will die without men, perpetuating the myth that women can’t organise a feminist revolution, and admit that many countries have more opportunities for women to live without men in 2024 than we had in 1960. we need to get beyond the idea that women shouldn’t be held responsible for their own contributions to other forms of oppression because they’re supposedly permanent victims to men and merely act by the extension of men, unless they’re lesbian and therefore are somehow The Exception. we need to teach women that, even if you’re attracted to men, you captain your own ship and if the passenger isn’t good enough then they shouldn’t board (which, under patriarchy, which man is good enough?). feminism eats itself in the way it enables and even encourages female helplessness by resigning women, particularly those attracted to men, to a life without agency because patriarchy is Oh So Bad. yeah patriarchy does fucking suck. but if we continue down the path of absolute sympathising with learned helplessness—reliance on men—then we can actually never get out of the fucking cage. women do have to orchestrate their own escape - men will not do it for you. the idea that women just can’t help partaking in patriarchal rituals, they just can’t help being the support staff to the life men want for themselves, they just can’t help bringing other women down—and every bit of racism or homophobia they exhibit is just them behaving as a vessel for Male Beliefs rather than ones that are empower said woman, too!—then all we are left with is a population of weakness destined to bow to male authority. we need to get beyond the idea that women have absolutely no agency—that feminism exists to mop up male violence in DV shelters rather than unionising women, ideally BEFORE abuse, and warring with men. even if we die trying. feminism currently needs a bit of tough love. it’s moved past consciousness raising and now needs some fucking determined action. those raised consciousnesses still choose men because unanchoring is scary and every brand of feminism pretends like women can’t do it because we are too victimised to act! end doomerism!

[mykelneedssleep]

Thinking about @prettypipedream ‘s post about the foxes and kt tape as I tape up my knee today so I’m going to add a few thoughts

You know that self adhesive wrap stuff that athletes sometimes use, the foxes for sure have that and they suffer for it every day

If you have no idea what I’m talking about right now it looks like this

Notice the texture, that shit is a nightmare for your skin. It will dig in and all those little divots will make an appearance on your skin as soon as you take it off along with the lines from the edges of it. You’re technically supposed to put something under it like gauze or a pre wrap but if you do that and then wrap somewhere completely unanchored (your calf, forearm, knee, basically anywhere that’s not your hand or your ankle, and even ankle is a bit questionable sometimes) it will slide around which is even more uncomfortable than just letting it make itself a little home inside your skin. Also if you get it in or next to any sort of lever joint you might as well kiss personal comfort goodbye because every time you move you’re going to feel it

All that to say the foxes for sure walk around looking like they have tv static on their skin from this ungodly creation

Also, at least in my experience you always have that one person around who’s really weirdly good at wrapping it, like even better than the coaches/trainers, it doesn’t even matter if they’re putting it on themselves or other people the fit and the tightness are somehow perfect every time. I feel like with the foxes this is most definitely either Dan or Renee (Aaron is pissed that they do a better job than him when he’s a pre-med student). Renee would be good at it because she’s probably wraps her hands when she spars with Andrew so she’d have the tightness thing down, Dan is just completely vibes, I just feel like she’d be really good at it. But I also feel like Wymack would be really oddly bad at it, not just like he’s not as good I’m talking actually bad like no one allows him to do it because he’s so bad. One time Nicky rolled his ankle during practice and Abby wasn’t there to wrap it for him so Wymack begrudgingly did it and that night when his took it off his foot was red and completely numb from how tight it was