#so it's `possible~ i just got mixed up....

[shehungers]

FATHOMLESS

eldritch detective x reader |18+| 2.1k

you'd never noticed detective arsenè in the precinct before, even after a number of years working in the office. when you start to ask around about him, they confirm that he's always been there, but you're more worried that they're not mentioning that he has no face...

story warnings; dark content, dubcon leaning sort of noncon (blackouts and spotty memory), sexual content, grotesque + horrific details, this leans more mystery and uncanny valley than anything else, mentions of mc being a drinker, smoking, roughly proofread.

reposted from my deleted blog: theoxenfree.

please share your thoughts with me + reblog!

this is possibly a concept piece to a much larger supernatural, psychological piece. if you'd like to see that, let me know!!

Everyone at the precinct called him Detective Arsené, but they never said anything about his face.

It was simply that there wasn't one there, not that you were able to discern in any instance you'd seen him wandering the floor. You had blamed the long hours, glowing blue screens, useless eye prescriptions, corporate greed, and mixing alcohol with allergy medicine before you finally accepted what you were seeing was real, yet no one else noticed it apart from you.

“What's wrong with his face?” you'd ask anyone with the time to spare to listen.

“Who? Arsené?” they'd laugh, whether in disbelief that you were speaking about Watt City’s genius detective in such a fashion, or that they thought you were the funniest person in the office. “What are you talking about? He's always looked like that! Lay off the booze, yeah?”

Those responses had never been satisfactory enough, going as far to set you ill at ease for the remainder of your shift, sufficiently distracting you from furthering your workload because your mind always came back to the detective and his non-existent face.

“He looks pretty normal to me,” said a senior member in your division. An older man you'd come to know as forthright and virtuous with a history showing that integrity. He had taken eyes off his computer screen, bifocals aside, and pinched the high-point between his brows. “What's this about, really? I've worked with Arsené for years. You know that. He's been here since before I started. Good guy. Hard worker. Drinks too much, though. Just like someone else I know.”

But, this was the first time you had heard he'd worked with Arsené, let alone acknowledged his existence at all. There was no reason for him to lie; he had spoken without inflection, warily, almost accusatory towards the end when he mentioned the alcohol.

“Detective Arsené? Well, I think he's really handsome. He just has that look about him, y'know?” The next person you questioned was a junior at the precinct. A pretty woman who was all silky black hair and long, blunt nails that never touched a surface where they'd be put in peril.

She always used her knuckles type on the clunky keyboard, and did so as she went on, “I've heard he has a really specific type, though. I've also never seen him take anyone out, or take a partner on cases, now that I think about it. Isn't he just a stand-up guy? I'd say he's the sort to bring home to mom and dad, but I hear he's got a drinking problem. Why do all the hot ones have vices like that?”

She particularly enjoyed her gossip, especially if it involved the detectives at the precinct. You were positive she'd never mentioned Arsené before now. As smart as she was, she didn't look below the surface very often when it came to men, so for her to say nothing at all of the detective’s smooth face was mystifying.

After that, you started paying attention to Arsené in a way you convinced yourself was discreet, which meant slowly peeking your eyes above your computer screen to observe his movements across the floor. Always in motion, he stalked around the place with undaunted familiarity, maneuvering the razored corners of desks and blockades from doors and walls, and languidly sidestepped the oncoming traffic of bodies in such a way that seemed premeditated.

Practiced.

Rinse and repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

This staunch dedication of yours lasted well over a week before anything came of it until one morning you found him waiting in your seat, teetering a bloated manila folder on a thigh while bouncing it impatiently. A very real sensation of unease took hold of the back of your neck, like a cold hand stroking lightly at the downy hairs there until they stood straight.

You thought about pretending you hadn't seen him, swiveling around, and leaving in a burst of urgency. It'd be easy to call in to say you had a personal emergency or became suddenly, very viscously ill and wouldn't be able to handle staring at a screen for twelve hours. No one would ask questions because you were exemplary, always on time, and seldom took time off as you couldn't afford to do so.

Arsené’s head slanting sideways and the waxy, flat face pointing directly towards you prevented you from acting on that impulse, however. He gestured you over with a lethargic wave, though the jitteriness in his leg seemed to worsen from impatience into sheer excitability.

“Clocked in early, aren't you? You have quite the habit of doing that, I've noticed.” He greeted, voice simultaneously undefinable and velvety. It wasn't so deep that you felt like it was gravelly or reverberated in the same way a baritone would, but there was a heftiness to it that weighted in your mind, as if it were possible for someone to reach through all your blood, tissue, and bone and press down directly on your brain. “I've seen you come in a few times, hours before anyone else. And you know what I think? I think, ‘That’s the kind of person who keeps a place like this running. That's the kind of person we want here in this precinct. That's the type of person who believes in the work that we do and who I’d want as my partner’.”

As much as you wanted to get away from the horrid sight before you, the no-face and potent voice wriggling around the wrinkles in your brain, you couldn't bring yourself to do so just yet. Not while you had questions you couldn't find answers to, not while you needed to sedate yourself at night because they ruthlessly endangered your dreams and were thieves of peaceful slumber.

“I've never met you before,” you said, giving a cordial handshake when he had offered it to you. The skin of his palm was warm and humanlike, though his grip was all wrong and entirely too firm. You didn't convey this dissonance to him, though. “I've seen you around, though. Were you transferred from a different department or precinct? Everyone says you've been around for a long time, but I find it hard to believe I've noticed.”

“Oh? Well, they'd be right.” Arsené said, finally releasing your hand to take up the thick folder. “I've always been here, and I'm always here. Now, that aside, I've cleared it with the Chief and I'd like you to help me on a case that I'm stuck on. If I've read right, you're the most recent person who's looked through everything to update the records, correct?”

“Probably.” You didn't move when he rolled up another chair from a desk nearby. “I'm a Recorder. It's my job to go through files and periodically update them. I'm not qualified to help detectives on their cases, though. You'd need to speak to the Chief about getting an Assistant for that.”

“Ah, didn't you hear me? That's all been handled. Sit down. Sit down.” He waved you close, then took you by the arm to sit you in the chair next to him. “We have a lot to cover. I think we should start from the beginning and work our way through the evidence list, and then the interrogation tapes. After that, it'd be a good idea to revisit the site of the crime. Don't worry about clearances, I've got everything we need.”

It wasn't often that you saw the inside of the precinct after that day as Arsené particularly enjoyed his busywork and bringing you along for it.

Most days you simply operated as a Field Recorder by transcribing statements into the handheld device provided by the precinct to maintain a digital trail. The work wasn't especially difficult, but it did take a level of skill and technological literacy to be able to do effectively, more so to be the sort allowed to tail after a detective on his cases and still maintain an overall ninety-eight percent accuracy.

Despite your job dictating it as such, Arsené never allowed you to fade into the background or stand around as a fancy accessory to go with his title. Oftentimes, he utilized you as his sole confidant as he worked through evidence and suspects, waiting in revered silence for you to offer your insight (however weak it actually was), and afterwards only let you bask in a glow of confidence through streams of unending praise.

“Egads! Eureka! Genius! How is it that it never occurred to me that way? Truly, you're spectacular! You're divine! Who knows how long I’d be running around in circles if I didn't have you as my partner.” They were all slightly variating compliments, though essentially all the same at the core and all very untrue.

You'd never forgotten about the things your colleagues had said about him, of his unrivaled prowess and veneration as the best detective Watt City had ever come to witness. He didn't need you. He had never needed you to solve a case, so you had learned to take his praise in the same vein as you did the silky-haired woman’s comments on men: uninspired and shallow.

When your disinterest became palpable, he seemed to only rely on you more as though he couldn't stand to be burdened with the idea of a rift. He had started calling you late at night about cases, going as far to come knocking at your door and walking inside reeking of stale smoke and a haze of booze, neither of which you could comprehend as possible considering he had no face.

“I just don't get it. I just don't get it! Where am I going wrong?!” He said so wretchedly, sides of his head cradled in his hands that were tucked between his legs. “This case, it’s getting to me. It's getting under my skin. I can't figure it out. Have I finally met my match? Have I finally been defeated? You! You’ve got to help me. It can't end like this.”

For all his dramatics, there was something obscenely cruel behind his words. Perhaps he thought you wouldn't have caught onto it because you simply a Field Recorder, just a person at the end of the day.

“Why haven't you mentioned anything about the victim? You're acting like they don't exist, Arsené. Is this about solving the crime so they get justice and the family gets closure, or is this for your reputation?” you asked.

He immediately stopped complaining and jolted upright, taken by surprise like he had realized this oversight and wasn't sure how to navigate around it. On that glossy slate of a face, one you knew was piercing deep into you despite a lack of hollow sockets and rolling gelatinous orbs within, you could tell he was now thinking of an answer.

“Neither,” was what he gave you. “It's neither of those. Come here. Sit down and talk to me for a while. I can't go home like this.”

The pitying part of you usually won in those moments where Arsené presented himself as his weakest. There was a part of you that believed he was taking advantage of your feeble heart, your kindness, your blind generosity because at his worst, he'd find a way to strip you down and fuck you.

At least, that's what you assumed happened. You never really could remember as the memory was pitch black, his body was unfathomable above yours, but you were sure you felt his cock penetrating you, his hands desperately fondling your flesh and fat like there was too much to touch yet too little time to feel it all. He said things to you inside your head, words that you couldn’t seem to piece together yet ignited the tension between your legs, lit your skin on fire, and delivered lewd, high-pitched sounds to his ears that he reveled in.

He never left you a mess and he never spoke about those times after they happened. Since you were never sure of them yourself, they suffered the same indifference as his praise and the days simply moved onward in a similar way.

“Another case solved!” Arsené cheered, lifting a stout mug in the air for you to reciprocate with the long stem of your wine glass. It was a fragile tinkling sound, a gentle vibration up your fingers and into your wrist as you toasted his success. “I couldn't have done it without you, my beloved partner! If it's you and I, I could do this forever.”

You swirled the liquid inside; a light and dry, raspberry and vaguely earthy smell wafted up your nostrils before you tasted it and let your cheeks pucker. As you drank, you watched as Arsené lifted the stout towards the expanse of taut, clear skin that should've been his face, and saw liquid inside empty into nowhere.

[sugarphoric]

jjk suguru, satoru, choso, toji (but can be read w anyone)

gn!reader, slight angst?, established relationship, fluff?, sfw :D

when you pull the "ignoring your boyfriend" prank on them, you dont expect much, knowing how respectful and understanding he could be.

even before you guys have been together, the two of you were always stuck to each other's hips, only getting worse as your relationship developed into something more. knowing how much of a clingy, needy boyfriend you have, youve got cameras planted everywhere, making sure to get as many angles as possible XD

when he come home, youre not even acknowledging their presence, already breaking your normal routine determined to make this work. and, of course, hes like a dog, immediately seeking you out to give you a bear hug, keeping their arms wrapped around you for at least a minute, peppering your face with kisses and "i missed you's"

noticing your lack of welcome, they think its due to tour headphones placed around your ears. maybe you didnt hear the door they assume, before making their way over to you- until you swiftly move right underneath their grasp, walking over to the kitchen where tonights dinner was softly simmering on the stove.

... oookay. maybe youre just really tired and out of it! they follow your steps, endless praises falling out of their mouths about how pretty you look, how great dinner smells (and how grateful they are for you to do this), expressing how much theyve missed you, et cetera et cetera. youre already breaking a sweat from forcing yourself to keep a poker face, pushing that stupid smile down before your plans are foiled. but with each step you take forward, its inevitable, youre slowly trapping yourself between him and the counter, unable to move away from his (much awaited, much needed) hug.

so? you do the next best thing. when you feel his arms come close to your side, you slightly shake, groaning out fake annoyance.

what? its a two-second rebooting, their brain racking through everything that happened within the last month on anything he couldve done to upset you. coming with nothing, he thinks he was just making things up, going in again to finally have you safe in his arms.

and now its not funny anymore when you pull that stunt on him again. his hands immediately falling to his sides, hurt flashing on his face mixed with embarrassment. his eyes, frantic as he searching your back, racking his brain on anything, anything- but everythings been good. was it his work schedule- his work? or maybe the way he sleeps, or maybe his morning routine? fuck, did he forget to kiss you goodbye before he left- no he definitely gave more than one kiss goodbye.

.. was it him?

you dont know how much longer you can last, already aching from being "so mean" to him. taking off your headphones and placing them on the countertop, giggles were about to leave your lips before you hear endless amounts of apologies, "what did i do wrong's", and "sugar, please talk to me's". deciding to hold on a bit longer, you hear a shaky, almost incoherent "please?". you stiffen- youve never heard him have this tone before. and he caught that slight movement, giving him just a sliver of confidence (knowing that youre listening to him) to ask "are you mad at me?"

if you werent on the edge before, now youre really on the edge now, gifting him with a slight shake of your head. just as you were about to toss in your white flag, he beats you to it-

"then why wont you let me touch you?"

the hoarse drift, the hitch in his voice, the oh-so-quiet, insecure tone dropping so low due to fear, desperation, need.

you immediately turn around, meeting glossy eyes, a tight pinch in his eyebrows, lips red from his harsh bites.

"oh, baby..." you manage to console. as the words tumble out of your mouth, youre lifting your arms ever so slightly, and thats enough for him to throw himself at you, keeping you in a hug so tight it could break ribs. your feet are completely off the ground, his head deep into the side of your neck, inhaling deep breaths of your hair, your perfume, your scent.

youre hugging him equally (or at least trying to) as strong, and hearing his soft whimpers and an even softer "why?"- having a death like julius caesar would hurt less than the immense guilt striking your heart.

you can barely bring yourself to tell him it was all for a prank, a trend that was blowing up on social media. he gruffs out his discontent, pulling you closer to him (if that even was possible). now its your turn spilling endless praises to him, expressively sharing how horrible (and loved) you felt when he was being so kind when all you could do was ignore him. youre already promising him to never pull this on him again (to that hes nodding vehemently), pairing it with sweet kisses to his neck, his ears, whispering your own sets of apologies, "i love you's" and "i miss you's".

after ten whole minutes of being in the air, he finally sets you down, visibly more happy and almost back to his regular self, if not for the tiniest bit of wistfulness laced in his face. (turns out it was because he had to let you go ᐢ. ֑ .ᐢ).

and if he demands you to sit on his lap as you eat dinner together, if he has you piggy back him as he does the dishes (you begged him to do it tonight as punishment, but then that would be another slot of time where he doesnt have your attention), if he makes you shower together, get ready for bed together (like you usually do (but you usually dont brush each others teeth, wash each others face, etc etc)) and practically lays on top of you as you both start to drift off to sleep... i mean,

who can really blame him? :D

[laambfuzz]

—- he knows. ft schlatt. ᝰ

summary: after a bizarre discovery about your favourite streamer, you continue to fall down the rabbit hole of his other content. you were pleasantly surprised to find he also done audio's, and couldn't resist listening to his latest post.

— tags: smut, lunch club!schlatt, mutual masturbation.. technically?, schlatt does porn (duh), dirty talk, open ending again

authors note: helloo, part 2 has been served!! appreciate the love towards my first post, so i had to get this one out to you guys asap. once again, this wouldn't be possible without the lovely @fanficfox and her lovely mind! hope you all enjoy, and don't forget to lmk your thoughts!! ♡

it had been a few weeks since the day you had found schlatt featuring in fucking twitter porn of all places

you'd be lying if you said you hadn't looked again

of course you had

and not just at the original video. you had found a mix of older and newer videos

some were solo, some were with another girl

and either way, you watched them

something you had also found however, was a link to his other content. it was hosted on a website to soundgasm

interesting name, you thought, but alright

and boy were you glad you clicked

you were met with a profile— schlatt's profile— but it was under a completely different alias

but there were tons of audios on the site, dating back to even last year

you felt almost overwhelmed with how much content there, the audios having a wide variety of themes, and the lengths being short, small instances to long played out scenes

you had your night set for you, and you didn't know which one to choose

until you seen one had recently been uploaded, in fact it was posted just an hour before you had found the site

intrigued, you clicked onto the link and got yourself into bed, snuggled under the covers as you pressed play on the audio

the second you pressed play, you were instantly met with heavy breathing— low, deep almost needy-like breaths were being let out, as if he had been holding back for too long

there's a faint shuffle, slight movement before a small exhale escapes his mouth

and he's finally starting

the slick, slow slide of his hand can be heard, and the wet noises begin to fill your ears

you hear how quickly his breathing gets uneven, as he shifts between low grunts and muffled curses

it's not long before he starts talking into the mic, his low and raspy voice sending a shiver through your body, your thighs squeezing instinctively

"fuck, been thinking about this all day,"

"i've just been— shit— so fucking hard, waiting to do this. been wanting it so bad,"

the way he speaks, his voice switches from steady to uneven interchangeably, and it somehow turns you on even more

"bet you'd love watching me, huh? bet you'd fucking get off to it,"

he chuckles to himself lowly for a moment, before he continues, "fuck, who am i kidding. i bet you already are. or at the very least, you're already soaked for me, sweetheart,"

a small whine escapes you from his words because fuck, he was so cocky, and yet so right. the slick was coating between your thighs, there was a pool of warmth sitting in your core that wasn't leaving anytime soon

the audio continued on, schlatt continuing to jerk off and talk you through as he did. giving you visuals through groaned explanations, telling you when he was stroking or squeezing

you had slipped your hand under your pyjama bottoms, allowing your fingers to graze over your underwear as you pressed against your core, rubbing gently along with schlatt

it was nearing the end of the audio, when schlatt's breaths got more erratic and his talking became more frequent

"fuck��� getting close.. 'm not gonna last,"

what could only be described as a whine escaped him, before he coughed and cut himself off with a low chuckle

"but i know you— you, sweetheart— i know you're listening in,"

you were sure this was another bit to entice the viewer in and make it more personal, and you weren't complaining. you sped your fingers up, rubbing the fabric against you faster, creating a nice friction

"and i know you'll be getting off to this, cause you seem fuckin' filthy. but let me— shit, let me ask you one thing," he started again, voice shaking more than ever

you knew he was close, and so were you

he groaned deeply, leaning closer to the mic before speaking up, "i know you asked whether i've been told i talk too much, but i know you like it, like it enough to tease me about it live,"

your mouth dropped and your fingers froze momentarily, as if edging yourself for a few seconds, but they sped up again when you heard schlatt moan loudly through the audio

his chair creaked and the moans came spilling out of his mouth, little fuck's along the way as he eased himself through the orgasm. the sounds were even wetter than before, mixing in with his stuttered breath was all you needed to hear to send yourself over the edge

you came just after schlatt, the wetness soaking and staining your underwear as you rode out the orgasm, practically humping your fingers as you whined to yourself, revelling in his breathy groans

there was no outro to the audio, just a simple "see you next time, fuckin' slut," before it cut out, and you were left in a haze

nevermind from just the orgasm, but the fact he had referred to you during the audio, you had been on his mind all day from your teasing

you didn't know how to feel, or what exactly to do. but one thing was for certain

you were going to be back in his next stream, making sure to mention tonight.

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

The Thousand Yard Stare Chapter 2

Summary: Bucky Barnes has served his country well, and at a great personal cost.  After being rescued as a prisoner of war, he is struggling as he gets back into civilian life.  His newfound PTSD is severe.  His friends and family try to help, but he needs a lot more than they can give.  His mother signs him up for a Veteran recovery home, where he meets people struggling just like him, and the home director who has her own dark past to deal with.  He might just find love along the way as he searches for peace.

Warnings: mentions of physical assault, violence, being taken prisoner; sexual assault/r@pe; PTSD/anxiety/depression/panic attacks, flashbacks, nightmares; suicide/minor character death; eventual smut

Previous chapter Next chapter

TRIGGER WARNING

His eyes stung as the sand in the wind whipped against his face.  He was dragged into a small room, cuffed to the farthest wall and searched.  He could hear screams in the distance, and a strange clapping sound that he soon recognized as skin against skin.  He cringed when realization hit of what was happening, shutting his eyes tight.

He was questioned for hours.  He couldn’t understand them except for a few words here and there, and they became angrier the longer he stayed silent or kept repeating, “I don’t know.”  The pain from the blows raining down on him seemed never ending, bruises blooming and his skin splitting after particularly sharp hits, his blood staining his clothes, his hair, and the sandy ground around him.

It went on for days.  They would feed him bowls of some kind of goopy liquid that made him want to throw up, splash water on him that he would try to drink so he could keep his strength.  His team would find him, they had to.  He would go home.  This will end soon…

The clapping sounds went on for hours each day, mixed with the disgusting grunts and groans of the men who captured him and the screams and pained noises from the women.  Then one of the men came alone into his room…

“Bucky!  Bucky wake up!”

“Pretty American boy,” the man leered at him.

“Wake up, honey, come on!”

He tried not to scream as the man hurt him, pulling his hair roughly from behind.

“You’re here!  You’re safe!  BUCKY!”

Bucky jerked awake, panting as his throat burned.  His light was on, blinding him momentarily.  He felt a body that was hovering over him, pushing at his shoulders and panicked.  He twisted them, pinning them to the mattress, his hand wrapped around their throat and he squeezed before something bit him, making him yelp and pull away.  When he focused back on the person his mind finally caught up and he recognized her.  

“Y/N?” Bucky gasped.  He flung himself away from her and tumbled off the bed, scurrying into a corner of the room, folding in on himself to be as small as possible.  Y/N gasped for a moment, her hand massaging her throat before she quickly got up and followed Bucky.  “I’m sorry,” he cried, heavy tears falling from his eyes.  “I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.  I’m sorry–”

“Hey,” Y/N said, crouching down in front of him but keeping herself a foot away.  “It’s just me.  I’m okay.  You’re okay.  It was just a nightmare.  It’s not happening to you now.”  She inched forward and her hand reached for his elbow closest to her.  When her fingers touched him he flinched and his wide eyes watched her.  “You didn’t hurt me.  I’m fine,” Y/N said more firmly.  She sat down in front of him on the floor, inching forward just a little more.  Bucky’s eyes looked down at her throat, seeing a slight red ring where his hand had squeezed and he shut his eyes tight.  

He felt a cold nose sniff his hair and looked at Teddy who was whining softly and started licking his tears.  Bucky sighed heavily, his body slightly relaxing against the wall.  Y/N’s hand moved from his elbow slowly to his hand, not making him move but squeezing it from the position it was in.  “You’re at Mama’s House.  You’re safe.  No one here is going to hurt you.  It was a bad memory, it’s not happening to you now.”  She reassured him again, gently running a finger over his knuckles.  “I’ve got you.”

Bucky didn’t know what came over him at that moment.  He had pushed away physical contact with people as much as he could since he got home, only letting his family or people like Steve or Sam be close to him.  But right then, in the middle of the night, after another nightmare reliving the worst days of his life, he just wanted…needed comfort.  Bucky’s hands shot forward and gripped Y/N’s wrists and pulled her toward him.  She made a surprised sound, followed by a soft “oof” as he pulled her into a hug.  Her legs straddled his lap as he wound his arms behind her back, holding her tightly against him as his face rested against her chest and he cried even more.  His sobs were heavy and painful to hear, and he heard Y/N’s breath stutter as she fought back her own tears as she recognized his first real, big cry since coming home.  Bucky needed someone to just hold him, like how his father used to hold him when he was little.  Y/N’s hands softly ran through his hair.  He stiffened around her when she got to the back of his head and she stopped, her fingers moving back up his head and then down the sides of his neck to avoid the area.  He focused on her heart beat, letting himself settle down and breathe along with her rising and falling chest.  

“I’ve got you,” Y/N whispered into his hair.  

***

TRIGGER WARNING

After that first night Bucky felt better about opening up to Y/N more.  His first appointment with her for the comfy building was coming up and he was wondering if she’d tell him her experience.  She had been nothing but kind and open with him, so he had no reason to think she wouldn’t.  The first week at the home had been good.  The other veterans were all kind and understanding without being pushy, and he appreciated how much freedom he had to do whatever felt right for him outside of the schedule he was assigned.  His therapist, Dr. Strange, seemed knowledgeable and no-nonsense, which he liked.  He was eagle-eyed in spotting trauma points and helped Bucky work through some major issues in that first session.

On that Friday night Bucky headed toward the comfy building, feeling trepidation mixed with anticipation.  As much as that hug they shared had been for his own sanity, he secretly enjoyed it, and wondered what tonight would bring.

He stepped in and smiled at the fairy lights around the top of the walls that were turned on in place of the regular overhead lights, the smell of lavender and tea tree in the air from the candle burning on a table nearby.  In one corner on a large couch sat Y/N, watching a show on the TV across the way from her.  She looked over at him as he entered and smiled.

“Hey Buck,” she greeted him, pausing the show and standing.  “You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Bucky said.

Y/N huffed a laugh at him and led him to the walled off room.  She sat at the couch and gestured for him to sit on the bed across from her.  Bucky sat at the edge and waited.  “You wanna get comfortable?” she asked.  “You can lay down, take your shoes off, relax.”

Bucky took his shoes off and set them aside while pulling his jacket off.  “I’ll just sit for now,” he said quietly.

“Alright.  Well, honestly I’m not sure where to start with you,” Y/N said, looking at him warily.

“Why?” Bucky asked.

“Well, last week you seemed okay with me touching you, and I thought that was going to take time.  Or was that just a spur of the moment kinda deal?” she said teasingly.

Bucky smiled then sighed.  “I’m honestly not sure,” he said quietly.  

“Can I make an observation?” she asked.  Bucky nodded.  “You didn’t like me touching the back of your head.”  Bucky now eyed her warily, then slowly nodded.  “Care to tell me why?  Or would you rather I guess?”

Bucky breathed in deeply.  “You said you knew how I felt.  More than I could imagine.  Care to tell me why?” he countered, trying to take the focus off of himself.

Y/N smirked at his candor.  “I’ll tell you my deep dark secrets if you tell me yours.”

“Deal,” Bucky said quickly.

Y/N’s smirk fell from her face and she looked down, her fingers intertwining.  “I’m sure while you were going through special ops torture training that you were taught about the 9 Lost Girls?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, thinking back.  “The 9 women that were captured and tortured after their base was attacked.”  Y/N nodded and gave him a look, her eyebrow raising.  Bucky stared at her for a moment until he finally understood.  His eyes widened and his mouth dropped open slightly.  “No…”

“Yes,” Y/N confirmed.  “I was one of them.  One of the last ones still alive, actually,” she said, her voice softening as she looked away again.  She motioned to her back.  “I’m sure you saw my lovely scars the day you got here.”  Bucky nodded.  “I was an assistant, I didn’t have any information, but they didn’t care,” she sighed heavily.  “They beat us, whipped us, then when they got bored with that they raped us for days.  Of course they don’t talk about that part as much in training,” Y/N said, a sarcastic tone to her voice.  

Bucky’s eyes felt hot as he fought off tears.  She did know how he felt, had it even worse than he did.  He couldn’t tell whether that comforted or horrified him more.  “I was…raped,” Bucky said.  It was the first time he fully admitted it, and it hurt, his heart pounding and his ears ringing.  Y/N looked up at him, her eyes conveying nothing but understanding and sadness for him.  “The rest of it I could take.  The punches, kicks, I’d rather eat that shit they force fed me for the rest of my life than feel that again,” he said, his voice getting louder and his breathing becoming ragged.  Getting it all off his chest, off his heart, as much as it hurt, was incredibly freeing.  “They were raping women all the time…I could hear them,” he said, and Y/N’s eyes closed, a look of mourning on her face.  “Then one of them came to me, alone, and he…he pulled my pants down,” he couldn’t seem to stop talking, his tears falling finally and he stood, pacing back and forth in front of her.  “He started touching me and I just froze.  He put something on my ass, like lube or something, and then he…” Bucky’s hands gripped his hair as his face screwed up in pain.  “He just shoved it in.  It hurt so fucking bad,” he turned to Y/N who stood and approached him with her hands held out.  He reached out and took her outstretched hands, grounding himself.  She pulled him towards the bed but he couldn’t make it, his knees giving out.  He kneeled down as she sat on the bed in front of him.  “He left me there like that, with his…jizz leaking out of me, my pants around my feet, that’s how the team found me!” he yelled as Y/N cupped his face, making him look at her.  “The looks on their faces?  It was…humiliating,” he cried, his hands gripping her thighs.  He cried against her like he did the week before, his head resting in her lap, but this time it was louder, filled with despair, a full wailing as he tried not to go into a full panic attack.

“He yanked your hair?” Y/N asked quietly.

Bucky nodded as he cried harder, remembering how it felt as his head was wrenched back, nearly ripping his hair out.  “He called me ‘pretty American boy’,” Bucky grunted.  “I…didn’t wanna give him the satisfaction.  Didn’t make any noise.  But it hurt…it hurt so bad.”

“I’m so sorry, Bucky,” Y/N whispered, petting his hair with one hand and the other rubbing his back as she leaned over him.  “I’m so sorry you had to go through that.  You didn’t deserve that, no one does,” she said.  He could hear her sniffling as she cried with him.  

Y/N then pulled his head up.  She cupped his face again and swiped some of his tears away with her thumbs.  She made him look at her and he saw her eyes red-rimmed and tears streaked down her face. “Can you trust me?” Y/N asked.  Bucky sniffed, his eyes searching hers, but ultimately nodded.  Y/N gave him a reassuring smile then her fingers reached up into his hair.  “Keep your eyes on me,” she said quietly.  Bucky nodded again, as focusing on the task was helping him start to relax.  She started to run her fingers through his hair slowly, scratching his scalp.  After going in circles around his head she moved towards the back of his head.  Bucky tensed up and blinked rapidly.  “It’s just me,” she whispered.  “I won’t hurt you.  I’ve got you.”  Bucky inhaled deeply, keeping his gaze on her face.  Y/N waited until he slowly relaxed and then scratched her way to the back of his head.  She moved her fingers in small circles, then gripped his locks softly.  She didn’t pull, just held his hair in between her fingers.  Bucky sighed as her soft touch seemed to help that small part of him heal slowly, replacing the ripping feeling with something soft, caring, loving, and gentle.  

“Please,” Bucky whispered.  He didn’t know what he was asking for, practically begging for, but Y/N understood.  She released his hair, gave the back of his head a short scratch, then she gripped his hair again and slowly started to tug.  Y/N was slow, careful, and gentle, the tugging feeling more like a massage.  Bucky’s eyes closed, more tears falling as for the first time in over a year he felt safe, an overwhelming feeling of peace oozing through his body.  

“I’ve got you,” Y/N whispered again.  “He’s gone.  They’re gone.  They’re dead, and you’re here.  You’re home, safe, right here and now.  Just you and me here,” she rattled off, her forehead resting on his forehead.  “Thank you for telling me.  I know how hard that was for you.”

Bucky exhaled and licked his lips, sniffing hard as he tried to collect himself.  “Thank you,” he whispered.  “For helping me.”  He opened his eyes and looked up at her.  Y/N slowly pulled away, and he was sad to have her hands leave his hair.  “And for telling me your deepest, darkest secrets,” he half smiled.

“No problem.”  She leaned back and smirked.  “Can I hug you?”  Bucky nodded enthusiastically, leaning forward to hug her, his arms wrapping around her torso and resting his head against her chest as she held him close.  Y/N held him for a long time before taking a deep breath, Bucky copying her.  Their collective, heavy exhale felt like a release.  “So, will I see you next week for another session?”

“Yes,” Bucky answered immediately.

“Good.”

@wintrsoldrluvr @isitbiorisitlesbian @starfly-nicole @s-a-v-a-n-a-34

[the-stove-is-divorced]

YES! LOVE ranting furiously about a show. Like it pisses me off so much. I can't get enough of it. Everyone should watch.

That's such an interesting point, too, because yeah, that's the entire premise of the idea, no? At least the start? Evil Superman, with bootleg copies of agencies and Leagues and heroes, outright banking on audiences' general knowledge of these to skip out on some important groundwork, world-building wise to me, but don't really take advantage? Like why really explore Evil Superman, son of colonizers, and bootleg Justice League? Even just for comedy purposes, like why not? I haven't seen that video in a while to bring up any specifics (+ I am a diehard Batman fan than Superman) but truly!

Man, you make me wanna rewatch Justice League for those team dynamics and YEAH, stuff like Martians being shapeshifters! That's fun and so COOL! I also just plainly love their dynamics and interactions. Watching some snippets and clips myself, it tickles me how much of Batman's standoffish-ness could be used for Nolan, if they wanted to show team dynamics. I want it so bad. Off topic somewhat, but went down a youtube clip rabbithole and ended up seeing one of my favorite action sequences for animated movies, Madagasar 3's driving scene, and MAN, I wish we got like a fun fight or action scene for Invincible as well. Well aware there's a big diff of genre, general tone, but ONE TT or GoG scene that play off powers and personalities in a fun way would be everything to me. Internally sobbing I'm not an experienced storyboarder/animator to storyboard it myself.

Lazy shipping will forever be the bane of my existence, because I don't care so violently but it'll refuse to be ignored, and LIE to my face about how much these characters MUST be in horribly love, while having the audacity to be boring. Literally get this off my screen. Please go on your gift of jewelry rant by the way, I've already expressed the "get OTHER characters to lazily comment about how these two characters are LOVEBIRDS!" makes me consider abandoning humanity for the woods. JUST WRITE THEM LIKING EACH OTHER. GENUINELY. HAVE A CONNECTION. and for the love of all things entertaining, don't make it BORINGGGGG. But seriously, the fact Mark can't get a DAMN BREATHER, like is Eve a rebound like??? And the refusal to explore their potential and bond makes my ass itch. Like, ethics!!! Superheroism!! Shitty family!!! CHICAGO! Literally the fact they're not in groups like YOU said!

Just have them fly together tbh, like easy short hand of longing looks and excitement together is flying together. Showing off tricks and eventually talking or something.

Mark outright not improving drives me utterly insane. We OPEN with him improving and then nerf him immediately. Throwing my TV. TRULY I DID NOT UNDERSTAND WHY EITHER DIDN'T GO FOR THE OTHER HEROES from the START. Eve, you are an experienced hero, unlike Mark, who JUST got SOME training that's clearly strength based, not strategic. Literally just elevating the danger/situation and using characters' flaws could have been so beautiful but NOOOO. Like, have Mark struggle focusing on both protecting AND fighting, (lethal enough to kill the monster, but careful a giant monster doesn't fall on top of the trapped heros for example), or flinging a monster into the ground / getting smacked and the ceiling collapses faster. Now, Eve's gotta deal with a crumbling ceiling AND rescuing them, maybe she's even rusty working with a team! Heck, have Eve direct Mark to rescue instead of fighting, and he struggles not stepping into the fight, or gets distracted by approaching monsters?

ALSO HECK? JUST USE ANOTHER VILLAIN? You're telling me the original GoG didn't have some seriously menacing, intelligent, heavy hitting supervillains who wants to eliminate the newly weak GoG??? The one that even said they're BAD at teamwork?? How has the dismantling of the GoG not created a whole power scramble of villains trying to prove themselves by taking out the NEW GoG???

Also FOR REAL. CAN DEBBIE BE A WHOLE PERSON PLEASE? Like, how is part of the Super Hero Family Drama: The Show, and we don't even know her HOBBIES? WHO IS THIS WOMAN????? How are we on s3 and I still don't know. Utterly insane. Slow the fuck down, I don't care about some stupid mummy curse of the last episode of s2, a weird alternate Eve demanding her teenage crush to confess to her after he thought he was gonna die in a desert, or the Lizard League, but I DO care about who these characters ARE so I can feel more about the stakes!

Invincible (barely resisting to bash my head into the wall in rage) & Invincible (giggling, kicking my feet, gasping in delight) can function in the same breath istg.

That's exactly why I want Cecil as a mentor so fucking badly 'cause it's like quasi Dad/mentor would sacrifice this mf in a heartbeat, like immediately interesting. Plus the dread of a another inevitable betrayal would be chef's kiss! Plus I'm surprised he hasn't tried it like??? This mf never tried the whole "catch more honey with vinegar" approach? Mark's a kid with too much on his shoulders, he is outrageously In-Need-Of-A-Mentor-Shaped. I mean, we're dealing with Viltrumites and potential Omni-Man Junior, I'd want that kid to trust me, believe me, so I'd know if something's off. Keep your potential emotional unstable nuke closer rather than farther and far less irritable, perhaps? Attempting to slowly chip away at a oneshot as we speak tbh. But again, no GDA counselor/therapists to be snitches? Where's the paranoia, invasive plans, here?

No fr, like ???? She has unexplained beef with him and never tells Mark to avoid him, or even a classic "I told you so"???? Like, another setup and we just??? Don't do anything? You already think he's a liar??? Gimme Debbie eyeing the babysitter, trying to check for microphones/cameras more often or something. Do something with this, I BEG.

Also hitting that on the nail here, I was writing a WIP and Mark kills a guy and I'm just kinda scrambling cause on one hand Cecil doesn't want Mark TOO cool with killing he's uncontrollable, but also this is good if Cecil wants Mark to kill people. And I'm just staring at my screen like ?????? Like give me mentor Cecil so I know how he would act for fanfic, for it for me specifically.

Aso insane over the fact Mark's moment of paralleling his Dad doesn't go farther enough for me, like this is the moment for shit to go crazy and it's GOOD enough for me to feel insane but lacking enough for my insanity to triple of what could have been??? I am this close to adding another WIP of just fun what-ifs/scene rewrites for my own sanity! Like, why not have Mark slamming his fist into the ground while he's got the shriek in his ears? Slamming his head in agony just to make it stop? Or even clawing towards Cecil, on the ground, eyes burning with hatred from the pain? I would fucking love a moment of Mark trying (but still failing) to walk, crawl, move, while in pain to ADD to the scene, even if he just stumbled back down and writhed on the floor.

While I'm not too familiar with the DCU- your batfam meta posts are intiguing- so in transfering some of the broader strokes from them- I think you tackling a 'Mark isn't Nolan's biological son' fic would be fascinating. Sort of a step to the side of the 'what if Mark never got his powers' fic that sometimes pop up in the fandom

OOOOOO chewing on this currently, hm, the much a distinct flavor of exactly what you’re talking about, but the potential for more family drama depending on WHO knows. Does Mark know?? Is he waiting every day only to be crushed? Does he confused non-Debbie features with Nolan’s? I suppose I’m not the most enthusiastic about non-power AUs, but I think there’s something very fun to explore about Mark having to settle with, if he knows all his life, he will never have powers? I think the trajectory of his dreams will obviously shift, I can see him still having that distinct fatherly idolization, but perhaps embraces being useful to the GDA? Cecil’s number one intern—only intern—curtesy of nepotism, ha! There is something tickling me about Mark taking the Robin Route/Role for the Teen Team in terms of having no powers, just insane skills, BUT there’s something way more delicious about intern Mark when s1e01 happens and Mark tries snooping around to find out the truth about what happened to his Dad.

I wonder if, with Mark having a whole another father, if they’re more or less distant relationship, depending on WHEN Nolan entered Mark’s life? Like if Debbie met Nolan later for this, or just for fun, they dated once, separated (Mark being born during then), then they happened to stumble into each others lives again and Mark’s already been born, anywhere from tween to teenager so there’s a gap in how close they are. I feel like one important aspect of the whole Family Drama is how close they’re supposed to be, a functional, loving family turned upside down? So I wonder what more distance does. I wonder how Nolan copes when his family is entirely human and he can’t project onto Mark.

I love thinking about these, omg.

[knight-a3]

Hazbin Masterpost

Heavenbound Masterpost

Vox, the noisy video box

So Vox may not be my favorite character, but he is probably my favorite redesign. I laugh every time I look at him now. He looks like a weird mix of Spongebob, Kraang(TMNT), and Mr. Electric(Sharkboy and Lavagirl). He absolutely hates it.

Notes under the cut

There's too many twinks in this show. So when I was trying to decide which characters I could change, for body diversity, Vox was an obvious one. He needed more bulk so his body could conceivably support the old TV models. Those things could get heavy. The change also had the side effect of making him shorter, which just worked better proportionately.

I liked the idea that Vox could never get rid of his original bulky 50s TV, but also wanted him to be able to upgrade. So I decided his true body is the 50s TV, and he adds an upgraded monitor for a head as technology improves. He's hates that he's stuck as an old fashioned TV, so he hides that under his suit. Since the monitor is just an addition, it can be swapped out easily. It can be damaged and he's technically unharmed. But he can't see through his suit without the monitor, unless he wants to use a security camera and direct himself 3rd person style.

I didn't like that basically everyone has sharp teeth. It reduces the impact for characters like Alastor or Rosie. So I've been having the default be just sharp canines. But with Vox being a TV, there are so many possibilities. I gave Vox "regular" teeth, which helps him look more trustworthy. It fits the corrupt businessman vibe. But the appearance can change with his mood too.

Color TV became available in the 50s, so Vox always had color vision. But I think it'd be funny if, early on, he had a tendency to glitch out by going into black and white vision when he gets worked up. He's mostly grown out of that glitch, but he can't seem to shake the static or TV color bars, and developed new ones as he integrated computer and internet tech into himself as well. Now he gets the Blue Screen of Death, system errors, and city wide power surges.

Messing around with his face is so fun. When he's bored or tired a Voxtech logo will bounce around like the DVD logo, or display a screensaver. His face can get too big for the screen when he's excited, or be small when he's feeling embarrassed. I need to put a troll face on him at some point. It may be an old meme, but man, it feels right.

His left eye turns red when it's hypnotic, to reference those blue and red 3D glasses.

Of the three Vees, he is absolutely the most powerful. Val and Vel are the content creators, but Vox is the platform. The other two, while still powerful in their own right, would never have gotten to the level they're at if it weren't for Vox. He controls the mainstream media.

--TV set--

So we've got some interesting implications with how he functions. He's a TV, but he blue screens like a computer, and he shorts out the power grid. I think it's safe to say he is more than just a TV, he's a multimedia entertainment center. That, and TVs are starting to really blend with computers these days. He's mainstream media.

At some point, I realized that a TV set was a "set" because it wasn't just a single device. A television set was a collection of components, which boils down to a radio hooked up and synchronized to a visual display. I bring this up mostly because I am a sucker for one-sided radiostatic. It's so funny to me. Vox is obsessed.

But I'm going to refrain from too much theorizing about their relationship. Alastor is absolutely not interested in romance. Nor a QPR. He's not even interested in friendship. Alastor is too invested in power dynamics to really consider anyone a friend. Mimzy is probably the closest he has to a friend, and even that has manipulative elements on both sides. But I'm supposed to be talking about Vox!

--Human Vox!--

He is not tall, haha. But his proportions are a bit taller than his demon form. I wanted to go for square glasses, but I didn't see many examples of that in the 50s photos I found. Oh well! My goal was a sleazy business man. He probably had a variety of jobs, but they primarily involved TV. Commercials, PR, interviews, news, game shows, talk shows, screenwriting, etc. Whatever he could do to get more influence. He found himself favoring the business end of things. Making deals and pulling strings. He decided what would go on the air. He's one of those network executive types.

I see lots of people give him heterochromia, but I don't really see a point to that. He hypnotizes people with his left eye, sure, but it's not a different color. It's not disfigured in any way either. Maybe he just had a tendency to wink at people, I dunno.

I think his death involved some sort of severe skull fracture focused around his left eye. Maybe a car accident, maybe he was shot, idk. Maybe seizures were involved. But he was somewhere in his mid 40s to early 50s. I ended up writing 45, but I'm not super committed to that or anything.

For a human name, I see lots of people calling him Vincent and that's sorta grown on me. So I might go with "Vincent Cox".

And because I fell into another research rabbit hole...

--TV evolution--

(below) 50s-60s CRT TV: TV sets were treated as furniture and there could be some very interesting cabinet designs. Color TV was introduced in the 50s, but wasn't quite profitable until the late 60s.

(below) 70s-80s CRT TV: Color TV became more affordable and commonplace.

(below) 90s CRT TV

(below) 2000s CRT to Plasma and LCD TVs: The three display technologies competed, but LCD won out in the end. Plasma and early LCD didn't look substantially different. Plasma was a little bulkier, but was still slimmer than CRT.

2010s and on: LCD improved with LED backlighting. But then OLED removed the need for backlighting entirely, which mixed the benefits of plasma and LCD. (Didn't bother to find a picture example. It's so close to modern at this point)

--Display technology-- (These overviews are very simplified)

CRT(Cathode Ray Tube)--Used through the 1900s to approx 2010. Monochromatic until Color TV developed aroung the 1950s. Worked via vacuum tubes and electron gun that lit up the pixels. They were bulky, heavy, and used a whole lot of power. Widely considered obsolete and no longer made. Video games made while these were in use tend to look better in CRT, since the graphics accounted for the image quality.

Flat screens-

PDP (Plasma Display Panel): Used from early 2000s to approx 2015. Used gas cells that light up pixels when electrically charged. Good image quality and good contrast, but expensive, heavy, and used a lot of power. Considered obsolete and no longer made, despite still having a desirable image quality.

Plasma and LCD competed in the 2000s to early 2010s as CRT popularity waned. LCD eventually won out due to weight and overall cost(including market price and energy efficiency).

LCD (Liquid Crystal Display): Introduced for TV around the same time as Plasma. Works via a liquid crystal layer with a backlight. Slim, decent image quality, energy efficient. Viewing angle matters because image colors are warped at wide angles. Cheaper than plasma. There are two main backlighting types:

--CCFL(Cold Cathode Fluorescent Light): Used fluorescent lighting for the backlight. Image quality was decent, but didn't have good contrast. (the blacks were never truly dark because of the backlight)

--LED(Light Emitting Diode): An LCD that uses LEDs instead of CCFL for the backlighting. Better contrast and efficiency than using CCFL.

OLED(Organic LED): Mixes strengths of plasma and LCD. Self emitting LEDs. No backlight or LCD panel needed, which improves contrast(about as good as plasma was, which is why plasma is basically obsolete now).

--QD-OLED(Quantum Dot- OLED) Adds a layer of Quantum dots to an OLED to improve color gamut. I think. I can't let myself fall too far into this rabbit hole, so I'm not double checking anymore.

(Edit notes will go here if needed)

[vintagesimstress]

Northern & Southern European Dyes Palette(s)

It's been almost exactly two years since I made my Iron Age Palette. To celebrate that anniversary... No, you know what, actually not, it's a total coincidence 😅 I was working on a new thing and started wondering about this and that; to not bore you with the details, let's just say that one thing let to another and of course I ended up revisiting the very basics. So here it is! Not one, but TWO new colour palettes for our oldtime-y sims. Based on the lives of my Britons at some point in 1st century CE, shortly before the Roman conquest.

An important note: the southern palette is actually rather an add-on than a separate palette. As in, Romans would surely have access to the dyes from the northern palette as well. But as stated above, I made this whole thing from the viewpoint of a British Celt, hence we have two palettes: one with dyes which he could just obtain from native plants and the other with those he'd have to import. The southerners were more blessed in this aspect :]

You can download PDF files for both of those palettes and .txt files to be used in Paint.net (put them in Documents\paint.net User Files\Palettes). If anyone wants to help me out and make them useable in Photoshop too, please go ahead!

DOWNLOAD them on my Patreon! (always free, no early access etc.)

Apart from a bunch of visual changes (maybe the font will actually be readable this time? Gasp!), there's some new stuff in the palettes themselves (duh). Let's take a quick look, shall we?

undyed wool - hard to call it a dye, lol, but ofc it had to be here. The so-called primitive sheep of the Brittonic era looked quite different from what we imagine when we think 'sheep', and they most certainly came not only in white, but also in many shades of brown or even black. Perfect for making a colourful garment even without any dyes;

birch leaves - easy to obtain, easy to dye; almost no changes here, other than one added shade which used to be under 'mixed ingredients' before;

birch bark - OK, I don't remember where I took the old colours from, but I'm afraid I was being too optimistic. Birch bark gives rather pinkish than reddish shades; actually, it needs a looooooong soak and proper pH to turn anything but very bright, subtle pink. But it seems you can get them and they don't wash out that easily, so - there you go;

elderberry - here I was for sure being too optimistic, especially with that one pretty, saturated blue shade which got thrown away. From what I've read (and seen in photos...), elderberry is a very tricky dye, not particularly water- and lightfast. 'Not particularly' is mildly put - it just washes out in no time, leaving you either with a very pale or very greyish shade of the once vibrant colour. Adjusted accordingly (and they're still too pretty tbh);

apple leaves/twigs - that's a bit of a tricky point, because the Internet claims it was only Romans who brought apples to Britain. But at the same time apple cider was Britain's national drink allegedly already during the Celtic times. Heck, Welsh mythical island of Avalon literally means 'isle of apples', and mythology tends to be... you know... old. Huh? After a bit of research on the topic I'm inclined to believe that what Romans really brought with them were big, sweet apples and their organised cultivation; but small, tart, 'untasty' varieties did exist in Britain even before, growing in the wild. Perfect for making cider - or dyes 😉;

nettle - no changes here. Easy, cheap, grows everywhere, just that the colours are probably not something you'd wear to a party;

hedge bedstraw - seems it's growing everywhere in Britain, so it's plausible the ancients would've made use of it;

lichen - aaaaalriiight, now, that is a big discovery! Beautiful shades and absolutely possible to obtain from the varieties growing on the British Isles. One of the most crucial omissions from my old palette, here finally in its full glory.

That was it for the northern palette. And the southern? Glad you asked:

weld - previously called 'dyer's rocket', but no one in the whole wide natural dyeing Internet calls it that. Beautiful, vibrant, very steady yellow; won't give away even if you overdye it with indigo or woad. It's native to the Mediterranean and while it was cultivated in Britain in later centuries, I have no reason to believe that was also the case in 1 c. CE. I dub it imported;

madder - I keep reading that it's giving saturated red shades, but I have yet to see anyone dye a skein of yarn deep red with madder only. All that keeps popping up in pictures are gentle, pinkish reds, so that's what I included in my palette too. The orange comes from changed pH of the water;

woad - OK, that's my most epic fail of all. To make a Celtic palette and not include woad?! Putting aside the whole matter of Britons possibly maybe but actually maybe not using it to paint their faces (a very controversial matter, let's not go there 😅), woad was the blue dye in those times. Indigo was far away and while it was being imported to Rome, afaik it was used mostly for painting, not cloth dyeing; and besides, as crazy as it may sound, woad seems to do the job better. Seriously. Higher water and light fastness. The question is, was it cultivated in Britain or imported? Just like weld, it's native to the Mediterraean. There is a British find of a bunch of woad seeds, from 1 c. BCE - but then again, it's just one find. So... Mostly imported but slowly being introduced to the Isles? Maybe?

mixed ingredients - the ingredients specified in the PDFs are given in the order they're used - that makes a difference! My biggest discovery of this whole natural dyeing research is that, surprisingly, vibrant green is the absolutely most difficult colour to obtain. That dark green you see at the bottom - so-called Lincoln green - requires super high levels of both weld and woad, and you must put your yellow skein in the blue dye asap - if you're too slow, you get a lighter shade, e.g. like the one above it. The Hightowers surely knew how to show they're rich, huh...?

and last but not least, the luxury dyes! Some imported from far away (turmeric), some from nearby lands (Tyrian purple), some even grown locally (there were saffron plantations on Sicily. True story), but nevertheless, all super duper expensive. Tyrian purple was actually legally reserved for the emperor only - even if you could, by some miracle, afford it, you'd probably get arrested if you dared to dress in that particular shade of purple. Good that lichens could always come to the rescue!

Guess that's enough of behind-the-scenes trivia, isn't it? Props to you if you managed to get to this point, lol. Have fun with the palettes and happy recolouring!

***

Sources:

dzikiebarwy.com - in Polish, but the pictures should speak for themselves. Here you've got a post about dyeing with summer plants, including birch leaves, here - elderberry, here - apple leaves and twigs, here - nettle;

https://woolandpalette.com/blogs/news/making-vibrant-green-with-natural-dyes was my first step in finding out how to obtain a proper green shade with natural dyes;

wooltribulations.blogspot.com - dyeing with birch bark (here), another failed elderberry experiment (here) and overdyeing weld with woad for a deep Lincoln green shade (here);

www.jennydean.co.uk - an absolute godsend, especially two posts: 'Dyes of the Celts' (here) and 'Colours of the Romans' (here);

https://craftinvaders.co.uk/making-dye-from-lichen/

https://earlychurchhistory.org/fashion/colors-dyes-for-clothing-in-ancient-rome/ - on the posh dyes for the rich;

https://www.butserancientfarm.co.uk/gallery - except for the general vibe (*chef's kiss*), the 'animals and nature' section of the gallery has pictures of the 'primitive' sheep which they keep at the farm;

...and a bunch of others which I didn't save in my bookmarks 🙃

[aealzx]

As Sonic slammed through the enemy’s weapons Knuckles slid to a stop next to Shadow and threw his body protectively over the black hedgehog’s smaller form, a hand resting on Shadow’s head, and face turning to snarl at the soldiers. Only when significant damage had been done did Sonic skid to a stop, standing between the soldiers and Shadow with his arms spread wide, blue lightning rippling off his form. The quiet that fell over the field wasn’t complete, but it was still numbing. “Stay down, new hedgehog. I’ll keep you safe,” Knuckles spoke quietly to Shadow when he tried to push himself up despite the form over him. He smelled of blood mixed with ash, and Knuckles could hear the slight wheeze in his painfully heavy breaths. It was a simple command, but Knuckles was uncertain if the way Shadow’s form relaxed after a moment was a good thing or not. He seemed to be having trouble keeping his eyes open.

____________

“Mr. Wachowski. Care to enlighten me why you’re here?” Commander Walters returned the greeting. “Well, I live here,” Tom answered with a brief smile. “Green Hills is right over there, in case you weren’t aware. We’d appreciate it if the military wasn’t firing off weapons so close to town.” “A minor incident. We have it under control, and will be leaving shortly.” Sonic snorted and opened his mouth to shoot a bitter reply, but Tom stopped him with a hand. “Great! Well then, I’ll just pick up my kids, and we’ll pretend this never happened. We can tell the town you were cleaning up a rogue Eggman drone?” Tom suggested brightly. That got Commander Walters to crack a fake smile. “Ah. Yes, that should do nicely.” “Cool! Keeping it simple. I like it,” Tom breathed, clapping his hands together and turning slightly. “Honey, is kid number four safe to move?” “Four?” Commander Walters spoke in mildly confused protest. “Uhhhhh yeah. Two right here, and then two over there with Maddie makes four,” Tom returned easily, pointing to Sonic and Tails near him, and then Knuckles and Shadow as Maddie reached them. Commander Walters cleared his throat. “I’m sorry Mr. Wachowski, there seems to be a misunderstanding. Project Shadow is property of G.U.N.. I can’t allow you to take it.” “Huh,” Tom voiced, forcing a pause. “That’s strange. I thought slavery was illegal in the United States.” “You know what I mean.” “No, I actually don’t. Care to enlighten me how kidnapping a lost child and subjecting him to experimentation and indefinite imprisonment is something the government does?” Commander Walters’ expression twitched, and Tom started nodding his head. “Yeah, we figured some things out,” Tom confirmed the unspoken, possible question. It prompted Commander Walters to change tactics, shifting his shoulders and drawing a breath for a new conversation. “We’re simply containing a dangerous weapon. It’s standard procedure.” “Excuse me? The only dangerous weapon we’ve had to deal with recently was that moon slicing cannon your people built. The one that my kids stopped, because some nutcase stole it from you. Remember that?” “Didn’t he almost kill you in the process?” “Because he thought I was you!” Tom snapped. ”And seeing what you've done to him now I can see why his first reaction to seeing you was to fight!” “He's dangerous-” “He is a child!” Tom bellowed. “And if you would treat him as one, as a person, instead of a weapon he may have come to like you instead of wanting to kill you the moment he saw you! Now are you going to take my suggestion and get the hell out of here without a fuss, or are we going to have to do this the hard way?”

____________________

“I think he passed out.” Maddie faltered for a moment, but then pushed through, somewhat reassured since they were already in the clinic. “Alright. That’s okay, bring him over here,” Maddie directed, pointing to a shallow bathing station. “We need to get him clean. Can you get his gloves and shoes off?” she gave for further instruction before turning to her three boys. “Knuckles, take your brothers to the front room and call Uncle Wade to come help watch you three.” “But I wanna help!” Sonic protested, already having been dancing around their feet staying out of the way but also trying to stay as close as he could. “I know, but this is a little more intense than I’d like you to have to deal with,” Maddie assured, running her hand over his head. “I’ll be good, I’ll listen.” “No, Sonic,” Maddie stressed. “I’m gonna have to do surgery to fix his ribs, and I don’t want any of you to see that. Okay?” Sonic’s eyes went wide, and Maddie raised her hands to steady him if needed. It was a little blunt, but she didn’t have time to keep trying to convince him. “It’ll be okay, boys. I’ll take care of it. So just be good for Wade, alright?” “I’ll watch over them, mother,” Knuckles assured, moving forward with Tails already clinging to him and putting a hand around Sonic. “Come. Let us contact our Uncle, then construct a plan to welcome Shadow home.”

__________________________

__________________________

__________________________

Iiiiiii have a lot of scattered incoherent thoughts about Shadow getting adopted that I cannot figure out how to string together in a straight story, so I'm just doodling and writing the lil bits that pop into my head. 8 |

Something about Shadow trying to find his inhibitor rings again, but he only gets the 2 for his legs and G.U.N. finds the other 2 first, which leads to Shadow trying to steal them back but inevitably getting worn down by them and his own chaos energy beating him up. So he gives in and goes to Green Hills to find Sonic for help because "I thought that...since you wouldn't kill me… even after all I did, all I said, I thought that maybe…. maybe… you could help me"

This all took long enough that the Wachowski fam had enough time to talk things over about everything.

This also might be the 'I may have beat Shadow up a lil too much haha whoops' headspace 'cause he ended up with this list of injuries by the time the fam got him:

2 displaced broken ribs on the right (stabilized by Maddie with pins to be removed later)

broken right arm

broken left leg

injured right lung (causes wheezing mostly)

large laceration on right torso and right thigh

I'm still not sure if I want Walters to be the one there chasing Shadow or if it should be the other military lady and Walters helps stop them and let Tom and Maddie take Shadow 8 |

anyway post is getting way long so * finger guns and leaves ya'll with this *

[revolutionsingingintherainnn]

Say what you have to say about the tiktok(about what zak said) i need someone to yap about this

this is in reference to this post

i feel like i always need to make disclaimers before this sort of thing. i love lando. i love oscar. i'm not hating on any of them. i receive no joy from hating on either of them. i'm only saying what i have seen, and what i have understood. people can disagree with me. as long as you do it respectfully, i don't mind.

now. coming to the post.

zak, and mclaren overall, made it extremely clear last season that they don't have a number one driver. usually, teams have a number one driver. they have two competent drivers, and the one who performs better is the number one driver, so that the team can bring home the wcc and the wdc.

with the lack of backing from mclaren to lando, it's clear that they don't have a number one driver. they backed him too late, and when he eventually lost, they claimed that a wdc was never their plan. a lot of people, ex drivers and ex principals and such, told them to focus on both, and to back the driver as well, because it could just end up being a once in a lifetime opportunity. we don't know what's going to happen with the 2025 car (touchwood), but when given the opportunity, they stuck to their no number one driver policy.

nothing wrong with having two number one drivers. they want their drivers to race each other on their own, beautiful, as they should. but, when one of them, could be oscar, could be lando, we don't know yet. when one of them performs well, has created a gap between the teammate, is in the top three, i think mclaren needs to get their shit together at that time and back the driver.

last season, their "we do, we don't" thing pissed me off a lot, because it was mixed signals for us, and at one point, it felt like it was mixed signals for the drivers as well. both have to think for themselves, but both also have to think of the team. theyre both competitive and theyre both hungry for wins.

that does not mean that they crash each other out, or make close calls like in monza.

in the post, zak has full right to aim for the constructors and drivers. as he should. he wasn't expecting the constructors in 2024, least of all the drivers. preparing for it now, which includes better strategies, is going to help them in the long run, and that's all that zak means by it.

lando also has full rights to aim for the drivers, because while he was not close last year, he was a contender and he knows now what to do and what not to do. he knows now how to handle that pressure, and he knows what is expected from him. coming p2 in the standings made it entirely possible that he could (will) win wdc this year.

zak is right when he says that lando drove flawlessly in abu dhabi, because he really did. no track limits, no messing up of pitstops, or no locking up, nothing. he was focused and he was confident. all that zak is saying there is that if lando did a repeat of it in 2025, and there was a real chance of him winning the wdc, zak will not hesitate to back him up. this was nothing against oscar. if oscar has a real chance to win the wdc, zak (and especially andrea) will not hesitate to back him up either.

so, no. oscar's 2025 season is not over before it's even started. he's got races to prove himself. so does lando. every driver on the grid has a chance to prove themselves at the start of the season.

and, if either of the two mclaren drivers create a gap and have a real chance at winning wdc, then i think it's completely fair for the other to be a number two driver as long as it doesnt hurt the driver himself.

let me make it clear: number two driver does not mean that he will let the other pass. this was a common misconception amongst fans last year. helping your teammate does not mean rolling over.

and, oscar was not a number two driver last year. i know people like to say that he was, but he really wasn't. he was asked to help lando too late in the season. there were two races (brazil and mexico, i think) where he could have defended against max, and he didn't. he did help in the 10 seconds penalty that lando had received in brazil. and he did help with the brazil sprint. but truly, that's about it. lando repaid the brazil sprint favour in qatar.

i am not the biggest fan of team orders, but when it is necessary, when a wdc is on the line, then i think it must happen.

[itsnesss]

Anthony and Lawrence reader first time and getting caught by the dads

𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐞 | anthony larusso × fem!reader

summary | the request

warnings | lawrence!reader, intimacy (implicit/not overly graphic), first time, strong language, family tension and awkward situations

word count | 1.9 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

You never imagined that your life would turn into a series of unfortunate events in a single night. What started as a special moment ended in the worst possible scenario: trapped, naked, and under the gaze of two of the most terrifying men in the Valley. But to understand how you got here, we have to go back a few hours.

Anthony Larusso had never been someone who caught your attention. To you, he had always been "Daniel Larusso's younger son," the kid who used to be a nuisance and who, years later, had changed. He was no longer the annoying child who got into trouble for fun; now, he was someone you shared jokes, movies, and, to your surprise, feelings with.

There was something about his awkwardness that you found charming. Even though you were the daughter of Johnny Lawrence, a man who preached "Strike first, strike hard, no mercy," you found something different in Anthony: sweetness, patience, and a contagious laugh that managed to disarm you.

It was an impulse. A moment when the two of you were alone in his room, the dim light casting soft shadows, and a movie playing in the background that neither of you was paying attention to. You didn't know who made the first move, but before you could stop to think, you were already kissing him. And then, the kiss turned into something more.

"Are you sure you want this?" Anthony asked, his voice a little shaky, his dark eyes filled with nerves.

You could have backed out. You could have thought about the consequences. But at that moment, there was only one possible answer.

"Yes."

The outside world disappeared in that instant. There were no pressures, no expectations, just two people learning together, discovering what it meant to give themselves to each other with clumsiness and care. Every touch was a reminder that this was new, but also that they were exactly where they wanted to be.

There were whispers filled with laughter, inevitable blushes, and mistakes that made both of you pause and try again with nervous smiles. But in the midst of it all, there was something undeniable: love in its purest, most innocent, and real form.

When it was over, Anthony was silent for a moment, his arm around your waist as you both caught your breath.

"That was…" he started to say, but then fell silent and let out a small laugh. "I have no idea what to say."

You turned to look at him, finding in his eyes the same gleam of disbelief that you felt in your chest.

"I think it was good," you whispered with a small smile.

"I think so too."

Your fingers were still intertwined with Anthony's as you both lay there, sharing a knowing look. His breathing was steady, but his heart was still pounding beneath your cheek. You couldn't help but smile.

You never imagined this would happen today. Not here, not now. And certainly not like this.

Anthony turned slightly, watching you with a mix of tenderness and wonder. His messy hair fell over his forehead, and you couldn't resist reaching up to push it back.

"Are you okay?" he asked in a whisper, his voice still trembling.

You nodded, feeling a pleasant warmth in your chest.

"Yeah… and you?"

"Yeah," he replied with a goofy smile. "I think so."

You both laughed quietly, unable to believe what had just happened. It had been clumsy, sweet, imperfect in so many ways, but absolutely special. Something that would belong only to the two of you.

Or so you thought.

Just as you were snuggled against Anthony, your heart still racing and a sense of tranquility settling in after the whirlwind of emotions, you heard the worst combination of sounds in human history.

First, the front door opening.

Second, the unmistakable voices of Daniel LaRusso and Johnny Lawrence.

"Thanks for driving me, Johnny," Daniel said. "Amanda and Carmen are out, and I didn’t want to leave Anthony alone for too long."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Johnny replied. "The kid’s probably watching his video games or whatever he does in his free time."

Silence.

Then, the sound of footsteps climbing the stairs.

And then, Anthony's bedroom door bursting open.

"WHAT THE HELL?!" Johnny shouted so loudly you thought the windows might have vibrated.

You had never moved so fast in your life. In the blink of an eye, you were desperately searching for something to cover yourself with while Anthony panicked beside you.

"Dad! I… this isn’t…!"

"Anthony?!" Daniel’s eyes were so wide they looked like they might pop out of his face. "What are you doing with her?! Oh my God! Are you two…?!"

"Oh, for the love of—" Johnny grabbed his head with both hands, his face a mix of horror and fury. "Tell me this isn’t what I think it is!"

"Dad…" you started, hoping to calm him down, but the tone of his voice told you he was in no mood to be soothed.

"Are you telling me I trained you just so you could do THIS in Larusso’s house?!"

"Why is that your problem here?!" you shouted, feeling both offended and in a situation so ridiculous that you almost wanted to laugh.

"Because it’s Larusso’s kid!" Johnny pointed at Anthony, who was still trying to wrap himself better in the sheet, looking like he wanted to disappear. "Anyone else, but not one of them!"

"Hey!" Daniel protested, snapping out of his initial shock. "As if your daughter is some kind of saint!"

"That’s not the point, LaRusso!"

"Of course, it is!"

"No, it’s not!"

Anthony buried his face in his hands and muttered, "I’m going to jump out the window…"

You sighed.

"Dad, listen, this… this wasn’t a mistake. Anthony and I… we like each other."

Johnny looked at you, his face still red with anger.

"That doesn’t make it any better!"

"You can’t stop us from seeing each other," you said, crossing your arms.

"Oh, yes, I can!"

"No, you can’t," Daniel chimed in, looking just as disturbed as Johnny. "Because that would make this even more of a problem."

Johnny glared at him.

"Are you saying I should just accept this?!"

"No!" Daniel looked at Anthony with the same level of indignation. "I’m just as disturbed as you, trust me!"

"Can we talk about this with clothes on?" Anthony asked in a barely audible voice.

Johnny and Daniel shouted at the same time, "NO!"

After half an hour of yelling, threats, and painfully awkward speeches about "responsibility," "maturity," and "impulsive decisions," you finally managed to convince your dad that this wasn’t the end of the world. Daniel, on the other hand, was still in a state of denial, muttering things like, "Amanda’s going to kill me," and "This can’t be happening. My son… my baby."

Anthony, still red with embarrassment, glanced at you after the adults finally calmed down a little.

"Well… that was horrible."

You gave him a small nudge on the arm.

"It could have been worse."

"How?"

"It could have been at my dad’s house."

He was silent for a moment before murmuring, "Yeah, you’re right. Johnny Lawrence would have killed me on the spot."

You couldn’t help but laugh.

[priceoftheduchess]

light as a feather; stiff as a board

part two

jaguar!simon x crow!oc

cw) goofy teenage simon, brief mention of wanking, author is bad at slow burn……. not proofread

Wren had gotten used to the expansive campus. There always seemed to be a building for everything. Broken tooth? Don’t worry, there’s a dental wing in the med-bay. Broken heart? On-sight psychiatrist down the hall from the water fountains. This place was ready for anything — but it was a government building, so who was surprised?

It was a campus in the middle of London, though, so it seemed as dreary as the damn rest of London. Foggy mornings and humid afternoons. Wren was glad she’d always dressed light, the mix of humidity and sunshine sticking to her skin like honey.

And that guy from the rec-room? She saw him everywhere. With friends he seemed to open a bit more, studying with them in the library and teasing them with paper balls — and daring them to try weird food combos in the mess hall, but even with all the schedule overlaps he had with Wren, he just wouldn’t… talk to her. It was just terse nods and sidelong glances.

But what Wren had no clue about was that Simon was trying his hardest to avoid her. Sitting on opposites sides of the mess hall, trying to switch his plans around, etcetera. But he saw her, no, he smelt her everywhere. All traces of her fucking lingered.

And Simon tried to act uninterested. From that first moment they met on the couch. Tried to act like he was sleeping and not casting glances her way, observing supple skin and dotted freckles. But he smelt her even then, too.

Vanilla and lavender some days, and flowers other days. No matter what perfume, body wash, shampoo — Hell, even toothpaste — she used, he would always smell her. And he tried his damndest to not linger around where he knew she’d been. He felt strange, like he was breaching some kind of trust — trust that had not even been set yet.

But that all came to a halt the second month into their training.

Wren had been doing great, adapting quickly and discovering new abilities she didn’t even know she had.

Her eyes began adjusting to nighttime better, and her senses heightened. Her wings were larger, she supposed, stronger somehow. All shit that she never knew before. And Simon saw it.

He noticed her, breaking from her shell and growing. She wasn’t that timid teenager who sat on the opposite side of the couch from him anymore, she was growing and learning. And he envied those who got to be by her side everyday. Those who played card games with her and got to feel her feathers when they wrapped an arm around her for a photo.

So, he approached her. In the worst way possible, perhaps. Despite Simon’s natural (quite literally killer) instincts on the field and onslaught of abilities… he was socially daft.

Wren was in the rec room that evening, dressed in comfy clothes and cozied up with some romance book that probably was not regulation. Her wings lazily spread out comfortably behind her. Simon loomed over her, just blinking down at her at first.

She was relaxed, he knew that. That was good. People were beat perceptive when relaxed. She looked up at him through dorky lenses — still furious that she needed glasses for reading. Heightened senses and yet, she couldn’t read text? Wow.

“Can I help you?” She asked, and Simon would’ve taken this as an insult if it were anyone else. Would’ve made it seem like he was being talked down to, but this was Wren. Wren was always kind and charming. She set her book aside, giving Simon her undivided attention. He felt nervous now.

“I want to eat you.” He said, leaving out some crucial details. Wren’s face contorted, furrowed brows and her lips turned inwards. She didn’t look mad. Just confused. Wait, what did he say?

“Straightforward. I like it.” Wren laughed softly, surprising herself just a bit. What the Hell happened to her? Two months ago she could barely approach anyone without her wings flapping wildly with anxiety. Now, she’s just been threatened (maybe?) and she’s pretty unfazed.

“No. Eat out.” He corrected, making everything worse. Wren made a strangled sort of noise — laughing? — oh! She thought he was funny. Wait, no, was she laughing at him?

“What are you asking me for?” Wren said after a moment of amused confusion. Simon stared down at her.

“Dinner.”

“Yes, what kind?”

“We can get takeaway.”

“So you don’t want to eat me out?” She clarified.

“No.” Simon said slowly, unsure. After a moment of deliberation, he decided it was a firm no. As far as his sexual expertise went, well… there was none. He was too bulky, too grabby, too toothy to have ever been intimate before. He was sure Wren could tell.

Actually, he was sure now that Wren knew everything about him. That’s why she was smiling at him like that. She felt bad, he was sure. She knew about his dad, his mom, and his brother. She knew. He couldn’t hide. She saw it all, using soft talons to peel away layers of skin and read trauma straight from bone. Oh, shit, is he still standing here?

“Do you want to sit with me?” She offered, lifting her blanket like an olive branch. Simon stilled. After a moment of hesitation, he nodded and sat. He caught her wing under his hip as he sat and she yelped. Simon nearly dropped to his to beg for forgiveness before —

“Sorry, I should’ve moved my wing.” She rolled her eyes at herself. Simon shook his head and helped her adjust her wing to a comfortable position. He slung his arm over the back of the couch, leaning over to take a peek at her book. She slapped it shut, shaking her head. “No! You can’t read this.”

Simon raised a curious eyebrow, more comfortable as minutes passed. “‘N why not?”

“It’s a little… risqué. This part, anyway.” She explained, and Simon snorted. He took the book anyway, and Wren watched raptly as he read the lines.

“Jesus, what is this?” That guy touched her what? He stuck his fingers where?! Is he even allowed to be reading this? He felt like his mom would pop over his shoulder any moment and scold him. But she wouldn’t. She couldn’t. So he scoffed softly and shook his head, a lazily grin helping his eyes squint — because maybe she couldn’t see the pain behind them if he was squinting.

“I told you!” She said, snatching the book back. Simon laughed lowly, a rumbling noise reminiscent of a jaguar’s growl.

“Nasty, nasty girl,” Simon said absentmindedly, looking at his phone — not noticing the side eye from the Wren at his words. He was too busy focusing on the ‘no new notifications’ screen to keep himself from sniffing her fucking neck. Her scent straight from the source. She smelt like the little bird she was. She smelt like prey. No. Simon wouldn’t let himself go there.

The two sat in the quiet room for the rest of the evening, basking in each other’s presence and just chatting randomly. Wren grew a liking to this boy, learning his name as Simon.

But of course Simon knew her. He knew her name, her smell, her smile. And all of it from a distance, like a fucking weirdo. From catching glances of her — feeling like he’s intruding on her own little private world. It was about 2200 before either of them moved from their little bubble.

“Will you be in the mess hall for breakfast tomorrow?” Wren asked Simon as she gathered her things, her fluffy blanket slung in the crook of her arm and her book snugged under her armpit. Simon nodded, standing and looming over her again.

He thanked any listening God for his height because the way Wren’s face looked as she looked up at him, eyes peaking through her eyelashes. Fuck. She had an iron grip on him and she wasn’t even reaching out yet. Yet. Yet is a good thought.

“I eat.” He nodded, like a soldier following an order. Wren giggled softly and nodded back.

“Good to know. See you tomorrow, Simon.”

Simon went home and shamefully wanked that night.

[thelanternsglow]

🌕✨Full Moon in Leo-February 12th 2025✨🌕

🔥 Full Moon in Leo – February 12, 2025: The Cosmic Spotlight Is On You 🔥

Right, if you’ve been waiting for a sign to step into your power, this is it. The Full Moon in Leo on February 12th is turning the cosmic spotlight your way, whether you’re ready or not. Leo doesn’t do things quietly—it’s all about confidence, self-expression, and standing in your truth.

But before you start planning your victory lap, there’s a twist. Uranus is in the mix, and that means surprises, shake-ups, and a few reality checks along the way. This isn’t just about shining—it’s about shedding anything that’s kept you dimming your own light.

So, what’s coming up under this Full Moon? Let’s get into it.

🌕 Full Moon in Leo: A Fire in Your Heart

Leo is ruled by the Sun, so when a Full Moon lands here, it’s big, bold, and impossible to ignore. This lunation is about:

• Authenticity – Where have you been playing small? Where have you been holding back out of fear or self-doubt?

• Creativity – Whether you’re an artist, a musician, a writer, or just someone who wants to bring more joy into life, this is your time to create.

• Recognition – The things you’ve been working on behind the scenes? They might finally get the attention they deserve.

• Courage – Leo energy doesn’t wait for permission. It’s about owning your space and showing up fully as yourself.

This Full Moon is the culmination of whatever you’ve been building since the New Moon in Leo six months ago (August 2024). If you set intentions back then around confidence, passion, or creativity, you might be seeing results—or realising what’s been holding you back.

But here’s the thing: Leo energy isn’t just about the external world. Yes, it’s about being seen, but more importantly, it’s about seeing yourself fully—and owning who you are.

⚡ Uranus is Crashing the Party: Expect the Unexpected

Now, let’s talk about Uranus in Taurus squaring this Full Moon. If you thought this was going to be a smooth ride, think again. Uranus doesn’t care about your plans—it’s here to shake things up.

This means:

• Sudden revelations – You might realise something about yourself, your relationships, or your career that changes everything.

• Emotional shake-ups – If you’ve been bottling things up, expect them to burst out—and possibly in a way you weren’t expecting.

• Unpredictable events – Plans might change last-minute, or you might get hit with a bit of shocking news. The best thing to do? Stay flexible.

Uranus in Taurus has been challenging comfort zones, money, stability, and security for a while now. This Full Moon could highlight areas where you’ve been resisting change—or push you to take a leap you weren’t expecting to take.

So if things feel shaky around this time, trust that the disruption is clearing the way for something better.

💡 The Leo-Aquarius Axis: Individuality vs. The Collective

Every Full Moon sits across from the Sun, which means we’re dealing with two energies that need to be balanced.

• Leo (the Moon) says: Be bold, express yourself, stand in your power.

• Aquarius (the Sun) says: Think about the bigger picture. What’s your role in the collective?

This is where the tension kicks in. Are you doing things because they truly light you up, or are you trying to fit into someone else’s expectations?

Leo teaches us that self-expression isn’t selfish. You can be part of a community while still being unapologetically yourself. In fact, when you shine in your truth, you inspire others to do the same.

So ask yourself: Am I living for myself, or am I waiting for external validation?

🦁 Who Will Feel This the Most?

Everyone will feel this Full Moon’s energy, but if you’ve got planets around 23°–25° of Leo, Aquarius, Taurus, or Scorpio, this one’s hitting close to home.

🔥 Fire signs (Aries, Leo, Sagittarius) – You might feel energised, motivated, and ready to take action—but try not to let impatience get the best of you.

🌍 Fixed signs (Taurus, Leo, Scorpio, Aquarius) – You’re feeling the pressure the most. Let go of what’s not working instead of clinging to control.

🌬 Air signs (Gemini, Libra, Aquarius) – You might get a burst of inspiration—or an unexpected opportunity that changes your direction.

💧 Water signs (Cancer, Scorpio, Pisces) – Your emotions could be all over the place, but that’s because something deep is being illuminated. Don’t ignore it.

Check where 23°–25° Leo falls in your birth chart—that’s where the Full Moon is asking you to step up.

🔥 Full Moon Rituals: Own Your Light

This Full Moon is about reclaiming your power and celebrating yourself. Here’s how to work with its energy:

🌟 Confidence Candle Ritual – Light a gold, yellow, or orange candle. Write down everything amazing about yourself—yes, everything. Read it aloud like a spell. Let the candle burn as a reminder that you deserve to shine.

🖊 Write Your Own Spotlight Story – What would your life look like if you fully embraced your power? Write it down as if it’s already happening. Speak it into existence.

🎭 Inner Child Joy Work – Leo rules play. Do something purely for joy—paint, dance, sing, dress up, watch an old favourite film. Reconnect with what made you happy before the world told you to be serious.

💖 Heart Chakra Meditation – Leo rules the heart. Sit in a quiet space, place your hands over your chest, and breathe golden light into your heart space. Feel it expand with love, confidence, and self-acceptance.

✨ Are You Ready to Step Into the Light?

This Full Moon isn’t about waiting for someone to give you permission to shine. It’s about owning your power and taking up space.

But remember—Leo’s confidence isn’t about ego. It’s about leading with heart. It’s about standing tall in who you are, not because you need applause, but because you deserve to live fully and unapologetically.

So, under this Full Moon:

🌕 Let go of the fear of being seen.

🔥 Claim your space.

💡 Trust that what’s shifting is happening for a reason.

Because you were never meant to stay small.

Now’s your time.

Follow The Lantern’s

Glow

[queen-scribbles]

So I stumbled across an old fic I wrote circa KotET release anddddd apparently either Torian used to have green eyes or I really hadn't paid attention before writing it. xD Either way, v jarring to read now.

[tagarilaghost]

I SWEAR CELEBI'S THINGY IS COMING SOON BUT I REALLY WANTED TO POST THIS ALRIGHT

yeaah... future trio got me too...

and Darkrai is there too, because of course he is.

hey look i drew a cute Drifloon :D

...ignore the rest

whatever started at Darkrai doodles ended in brainrot of future trio + darkrai and I'm blaming @scribz-ag24 for this

[edwinisms]

it’s actually so wild to me that this fairly quirky YA type show gave both of its main characters deaths that can, in one way or another, solidly be considered hate crimes. they were both flat out murdered as a result of being A) gay and effeminate or B) brown (south asian, specifically) and you could argue whether or not those kids thought of it that way in the moment or whatever but the bottom line is that they would not have been in the situations that killed them if they weren’t of their respective minorities. like legitimately that is a ballsy choice for this kind of netflix show, let alone for the two Main Characters, and i respect it big time

[st4rstudent]

Winn + Mac fusion idea. lalala.