#those two are on the same canvas for no reason other than I felt like drawing both of them in one sitting pf

[soup-for-ghosts]

doodle dump go!

#I have some more stuff with my splat agents that I’m gonna post separately in a sec too #also what the heck sorry to main tag but I’ll just do. my tags at least cause I use acronyms for some of these #dsaf #octopath traveler #octopath traveler 2 #octopath traveler 2 spoilers #I guess #fe3h #ace attorney #the great ace attorney #in stars and time #those two are on the same canvas for no reason other than I felt like drawing both of them in one sitting pf #honkai star rail #soupghost art #I feel bad main tagging a doodle dump of a bunch of different fandoms but I’m happy with these <\3

[marvelobsessed134]

Life imitates art

A/n: whewww this is one of my favorite things I ever written

Pairings: Beefy!Art Professor!Natasha x Fem!Student!Reader

Warnings: age gap (not specified), Nat has a dick, smut, blowjob, degradation, painting a nude person, reader being that nude person, pervy Nat (?), student/teacher dynamics

Okay so you’ve been failing your art class in college. But it’s really not your fault you’ve just been so caught up with your other classes that you’ve been slacking off.

And of course your professor noticed. Natasha knew she had to talk to you after class because you were one of her top students and now you’ve fallen off the deep end.

So after the lecture and after everyone leaves, leaving their canvases up to dry, the redhead calls you to stay after class.

You walked towards her desk with a nervous feeling in your stomach. You know you’re gonna get some kind of lecture of your own.

“Yes Professor Romanoff?” You asked in a sweet tone hoping you won’t be getting into any trouble with her. Not that she’s a mean professor per se but when a student fails she makes them do an extra project to get their grades up. It’s almost like she loves to torture people!

“Miss Y/n you’ve been failing very miserably in my class. Any particular reason why?” She asked.

You gulped, “Well…you see professor I’ve just been so caught up in my other classes that I’ve kind of been slacking on this one but-“

“So is my class not important to you?”

“No! It’s very important to me I love art and I love painting but I have these two big tests coming up so I haven’t had the time to finish my projects and you know I don’t do half assed work when it comes to my art.”

The redhead smiled a little bit at that, “Yes, which I do admire and appreciate but I’d like you to put more effort into my class.”

You looked down at your feet shamefully, “Yes Professor Romanoff.” You sounded like a scolded child.

“Well,” she stood up and walked over to her empty easel and put a large blank canvas on it. She also put a chair right behind it.

Then she walked back over to you. “You know how to get your grade up in my class. But instead of you painting I want you to be my model. Can you do that?”

The thought of you being her model made your flush, “I guess.”

“Great. Now strip off your clothes.”

“W-what?”

“You heard me. I’ve personally always wanted to have a live nude model in my presence to paint so nows my chance.”

“Professor Romanoff…this is highly inappropriate im your student plus you’re like a decade older than-“

“Do you want those grades or not detka?” The nickname gave you a shiver down your spine.

“Yes I do but-“

“Then do as I say and take your clothes off.” You quickly complied, shakily pulling your shirt over your head and unclasping your bra. Your shoes, socks, jeans, and panties came off next.

“Go sit on that chair over there.” She pointed to the chair that sat in front of the easel. You took a deep breath and walked over to sit down. Your arms resting on the armrests and your legs clenched together.

As Natasha got set up behind the easel she said, “Don’t hide your pretty pussy from me baby.” Your eyes widened at her words but you complied. Desperate for the grades, you slowly spread your legs. Unfortunately you were embarrassingly wet.

It’s no surprise you have a crush on your professor. She’s beefy with a pretty face and exudes dominance. Her shirt sleeves are always rolled up to her elbows and her slacks fit her perfectly. Along with the occasional blazer she wears.

Unbeknownst to you she noticed how wet your little cunt was and smirked.

She began to paint you, taking in every breathtaking detail of you.

You felt so vulnerable in this position. Sitting naked in front of your fully clothed professor as she painted your naked form.

She didn’t even bother to try to hide the erection in her pants, because she knew you felt the same way about her. It was only a matter of time before she could finally taste you and have her way with you.

Once she had gotten most of the painting down-she can finish it later she will remember every inch of your body-she walked over to you.

You sat up straighter, not daring to close your legs. Natasha towered over you and looked down at your pretty perky nipples and your wet pussy.

“I think my model needs a reward for being such a good girl don’t you think?” She asked and you sucked in a breath.

She tilted your chin up with her index finger, “Yes or no babygirl.”

Oh you knew it was wrong so, so wrong. But you found yourself saying, “Yes.” It came out as a whisper you were surprised she even heard it.

The redhead smirked, “That’s what I thought.” She got down on her knees, her hands sliding up your bare legs before she licked a bold strip against your pussy. You moaned, throwing your head back at the little piece of friction you just got.

“If my student didn’t want to get naked for me then…why is she so soaking wet?” As she said this she ran her finger up your folds. You hissed in response.

“I know you’ve wanted me since the first day of class. Don’t worry, I want you too.” She kissed the inside of your thigh before licking your folds again, eating you out with such passion that you forgot where you were.

Her mouth attached itself to your clit and you gripped her hair tightly as she sent you closer and closer to the edge before you drenched her face with your release.

“Oh god!” You moaned breathlessly.

“You taste so good detka. Care to return the favor?” She asked with a cocky smile. You immediately got on your knees in front of her and unbuckled her pants, pulling them and her boxers down to free her large cock.

Your eyes widened at the size and you wrapped your hand around her shaft and began to jerk her off.

“I wanna see those pretty lips around my cock baby.” She commanded dryly.

You gulped before wrapping your lips around the tip and sinking down onto it, bobbing your head up and down and jerking off whatever you couldn’t fit in your mouth.

Natasha gripped your hair as you sucked her off. “Such a slut for me huh. Who knew you’d be so eager to taste my dick.” Your pussy was dripping onto the floor both from your previous orgasm and your arousal at the mere action of sucking her cock.

“Shit baby I’m gonna cum.” Your professor moaned before shooting her load down your throat. “Ah fuck that’s it swallow it.”

You swallowed it all and pulled of her cock, opening your mouth to show her you did in fact take it.

She caressed your chin, “Such a good girl. Come over here.” She made her way to the chair you were once sitting on and sat down. Her cock still sticking up in the air. She unbuttoned her shirt and pulled it off revealing her abs. Your mouth watered at the sight and you quickly made your way over to her.

The older woman smirked, “Ride my cock baby.” It was a simple command that you were more than happy to obey.

You straddled her waist and sunk down on her thick cock, moaning at the stretch.

“God you’re so tight.” She hissed as she gripped your hips and started moving you up and down her length, treating you like her own personal toy.

You were a moaning mess, rolling your eyes at the back of your head as she continuously hit your g spot. “Oh fuck professor! Feels so good!”

“Yeah? Oh god who knew my student wanted to be slutted out so bad.” She also thrusted her hips up as she moved you. Your hands gripped her muscular shoulders.

The only sounds that could be heard in the room were the sounds of skin slapping, moans, and grunts.

“I’m gonna cum again fuuuuck.” You cried.

“Cum again for me sweetie.” You reached down to rub your clit as you were sent to a land of ecstasy.

You clenched around her cock and your vision went white for a second. You absolutely drenched her cock.

“Oh yeah drench my fucking cock. I’m gonna cum again.” She quickly pulled out of you and forced you on your knees. You watched as she jerked herself off till she came on your tits.

“Holy fuck. You’re unbelievable.” Natasha breathed and you giggled.

“Did I get the grade?”

“Oh yeah you got the grade. And if you keep this up then you’ll be passing every exam too.”

#top natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff smut #marvel #marvel x reader #marvel smut #professor!natasha romanoff

[justblades]

⌕ LUSTFUL REQUIEM, 18+

⟢ yandere! blade x afab! reader wc : 1.7k

⟢ cw : fxck buddy! blade, dubcon, cervix kissing, degradation, toxic themes, filming, choking, somnophilia

❝ you're merely a canvas, and his longings are stains— to etch on your skin that you are none other than blade's. ❞

blade is not one to typically fall for eye candies as if it was a part of his everyday routines, no one piques his attention nor does the male has his eyes set on a person. it was not until long once he gets a taste of flavors of lust: commixing together, making a concoction he would never forget, that one day, he decided to yearn for more.

every beginnings are sweet nothings that eventually become bitterly endings - one could draw that conclusion as scenes continue to unfold, blade's grasp on your wrists tightening as he bucks his hips upwards, thrusting into your slit with little to no difficulties.

adorned by your melting features are the weak sighs you let out everytime he slips his cock into you, sweat and drool racing down your dewed skin. "louder." his voice was flat and stern, an intonation that pierces through your wary self. you part your lips wider so more natural moans come out just as the male orders you to, a smirk of satisfaction following suit once his wish is finally fulfilled.

"were you moaning this loud for that asshole earlier?" another question rises from blade's dry throat, dehumanizing queries coming out one by one the longer the session prolonged. you shook your head vigorously and shut your eyes, but blade bucks his hips with more force now, his cock's tip eventually meeting with your cervix. "don't give me that nodding and shaking your head, i only take words for an answer."

his brows tightly knit, frustration seethes out of his gritted teeth. "answer!"

uncertainty fills your heart to the brim as you slowly take a trip down the memory lane, recollecting the events that unraveled earlier that lead to this now-present, once future.

crimson hues seep out of the man's wounds, several of his teeth had fallen out already - his body failed to keep himself stable and the navy haired across him doesn't falter. he only continues. "i can do this all night." blade says with utmost confidence lacing his words, the bandages of his hand come undone, revealing such deep wounds that seemed to have never recover.

ah. you understand a part of blade's destructive behavior now. the reason he's like this was because you slept with another man behind him— "fucking slut. how could you do that to me?" he lets go of your wrists for a short moment, only for them to land back on the silhouette of your waist, cupping the margins to make your body shudder the deeper he pushes in- "come on. rock your hips like how you did as you fucked that loser."

it was only a connection solely established to cope with ephemeral temptations. shortlived feelings yet the hardest to resist is what describes lust best, especially for two beings who feed on nothing but these urges. it was a mutual bond, a shared understanding to not be cuffed by the confinements of this relationship, but blade crossed that fine line like it was a a puny boundary for him.

you should've known from the beginning. you should've been able to discern from the way his glassy eyes scrutinize your appearance everytime he realizes you just got back from the hands of another man. you should've been able to know from the way the words roll out of his tongue when he speaks out of frustration, no rational thoughts behind those lashed out actions.

amidst of all of that - it feels good to be filled to the brim by your fuck buddy's dick. regardless of how he beat the guy you were with into a pulp with no hopes of recovering, here you are, basking in the pleasures intercourse with blade had to offer. it felt gratifying, but it's also heavily contradicting.

the same hands he use to inflict wounds on people who got close to you are the same hands now gradually becoming tender in his touches as he pounds into your velvet walls - blade picks up this little detail, a sneering smile replaces his scowl in an instant. "are you feeling good now?" he leans to your face, the tall bridge of his nose few inches away from yours.

your eyes burn in crystalline reflections, perfectly reflecting blade's image as he presses his lips onto yours, tongues next in action, twisting and twirling altogether— fighting for dominance. "h. . hmm." you hum as a response, much to blade's delight. he quickly breaks it off however, a hoarse chuckle slips out next.

"i've become so whipped for you," blade muses, catching you off guard. he bats his long lashes as he trails your facial features up and down. "i can't bear the thought of anyone else fucking you like this." his dominant hand at present cups your cheek, the thumb finger drawing viscules on the dampened skin. blood rushes into your cheeks as you mewl at how his grip once more tenses, "at last, i can call you mine now." his smile felt rather eerie that you could only return a mere "huh?"

he shifts his gaze elsewhere, a coy smile replaces the eerie one in a blink. "i can't believe my fantasies are finally coming to real life." a crease between your brows forms but the male has your body flipped in 20 machs speed, your back now lays flat on the matress while his cock is nestled in between your lower lips, he rocks his hips forward to make friction, another string of mewl escaping past your mouth.

"but . . but didn't we agree there's no strings attached in this?" the atmosphere grows suffocating, blade's looming presence tripled, leaving no room for you to breathe. a click of tongue then chimes into your ears, "those agreements hold no meaning any longer. i've fallen for you . . and you have too. right?" the airway from your throat proceeds to become scuffed as his two hands wrap around the part, "b-blade i can't b—!"

he reinserts his cock back into your entrance and your cunt gladly accepts his intrusion, clamping around his shape as he continually molds your insides. "say you're mine. say only i have the privilege of relishing you like this."

'blade has gone insane', is what you thought upon hearing those bizarre words of choice. you're starting to fear for your life underneath the contrasting touches of your sexual partner, you had no choice but to fall prey to his temptations. his navy dipped scarlet strands tumble on his shoulders in every thrusts he does, he sports a look you've never seen before: a predatory gaze as he watches your lust ridden body, "i-i'm yours. . i'm all y-yours!" you yelp.

you could only hope he gives you a slack, even just a minute would be nice to indulge without him bombarding you with insults and offensive questions. "finally." he rejoices with another arrogant smile, solferino irises turning inwards at the halfhearted sentence that rang to his ears like sweet tones.

"ride me again." for the nth time, he commands you once more. you could feel all the fatigue gnawing at your bones, unable to register how much energy the mental state can drain oneself. blade sees you struggle and he helps you get into position with the help of his fists on your feet, "no, turn the other way around."

your back faces him while your hands are propped on his sculpted, bandaged thighs. this position out of the dozen ones you've already tried with blade strikes you as the most embarrassing one. your legs continue to tremble as you try to keep yourself up, but only now a late realization dawns in your mind as you get a clear sight of what's placed in front of the cabinet across the bed: a cellphone camera accurately leveled to catch both your bodies in one frame.

"hah, you just saw that now?" he pants as he reinserts his dick back into your entrance, your pussy spasms from being ravaged by his cock. "it'll be for our eyes only. i can never share such intimate moment with others, they're simply undeserving."

you wished that reassurance could've ceased your worries, but it didn't.

"this video will be our proof of love and my proof of property of you. this day marks my ownership of you." he murmurs, his deep voice meshes with the squelching sounds emitted from his cock kissing your pussy, and the jagged breathy mewls. "i'm so delighted all of my hardwork paid off, mmh. . ." low moans continue to bubble from his throat, his fingers sinking deep to your body.

"i don't want to share you anymore."

.

.

.

"those days are long over."

.

.

.

"hmph, are you listening?"

blade ascends from his position only to see your passed out state - he cracks a hoarse chuckle afterwards, seeing your frail figure right in the solace of his arms.

"this is fine. i can still worship your body regardless of your consciousness." he murmurs to himself, readjusting your position laid back again in the soft cushions. he coils his hands around his dick, tightening his grip to merit himself waves of pleasure. "ah, haah, i feel so good." blade's guttural moans bounce off the room's four walls, the male then swiftly rubs his tip on your entrance, and with little force, it slips back in. "i'm happy. i . . i know you are too."

all blade is a filth of sorrow, regrets and sadness. growing up, he never understood the charm of owning something. he'd always watch by the windowsill, a blank expression carved on his face, seeing children around his age gleefully claim what's theirs. perhaps . . his upbringing was molded that way for today. for today, he finally owns something now. something that fills the cup of his heart to the point that it's overflowing - something that could satisfy his perpetual yearning.

it is no doubt he'll never let go of you now— at present, you're nothing but a bird inside of a rotten cage. you're merely a canvas, and his longings are stains— to etch on your skin that you are none other than blade's.

that you're merely a timeless fodder for his everlasting hunger: a hunger to own and a hunger to love. at long last, he finally has one.

"i really love you."

A/N : the upbringing part is just my own and obviously not canon, it's more to expound on how he became a yandere for reader ^^ my masterlist !

#blade x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail blade #blade x reader smut #hsr x reader smut #honkai star rail smut #honkai star rail x reader smut #hsr blade

[avatar-anna]

Better Man

just a little angst about better man (taylor's version)!

Sometimes in the middle of the night I can feel you again, but I just miss you and I just wish you were a better man.

You knew letting him past the front door was a bad idea, but you didn't always have the strongest resolve, especially when it came to your ex.

Harry was laying on the other side of your bed, his back turned to you as he slept soundly on familiar sheets. You should've been asleep, but it didn't come. So you stayed awake, staring at Harry's back as it rose and fell. You admired his broad shoulders, the constellation of freckles all over, the birthmark. It was a familiar canvas, but it wasn't yours anymore. Him being here didn't change that.

"I can feel you staring," Harry mumbled, words pushed together like he was still half asleep.

"Sorry," you said before turning over.

There were only a few beats of silence before you heard sheets rustling as Harry shifted and draped an arm across you. The scent of his cologne was dizzying as he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head.

"Out with it then," he said, sounding a little more awake.

"I don't know what you mean."

"I know you, Y/n. You sleep like the dead unless something is on your mind."

He was right, of course, but that was part of the problem. He knew you too well.

"I just…miss you, that's all."

And God did you miss him. Harry was…well, you thought he was everything. For years, the two of you were inseparable, so incredibly in sync with each other. Harry brought out the best in you, made you comfortable in your own skin. He made you feel seen and taken care of and loved.

Until he didn't.

Breaking up with Harry was the hardest thing you'd ever done. It was messy, he didn't see it coming—which was another problem of its own—there were periods where you would somehow end up sleeping in each other's homes for days at a time afterwards, and the periods when those days ended felt soul crushing. Losing him felt like losing a part of yourself. Harry loved you, that was never a question. He just…he wasn't what you needed anymore.

"I miss you too. Constantly," he said. "But you don't have to, you know. Miss me. I've always been right here."

You kissed his arm. "I know, but we broke up for a reason, Harry."

He sighed, because he never could grasp why things ended, he couldn't figure out why you would ever want to leave him. As much as you loved each other, you were on different pages, wanted different things, became different people—or rather, he changed and you stayed the same. Harry was at a point in his career where the whole world was at his fingertips, and he wanted it too, wanted to reach and reach and reach. You didn't blame him for that, he was good at what he did, out of this world. But he'd made promises before, when he was just yours. When the world called, he changed his mind, and he wanted you to change yours with him.

Part of you knew that perhaps he'd made those promises out of fear of losing you, that he wasn't the type to believe in a simple kind of love. It always had to be more with Harry. And perhaps he wasn't aware, but you knew it was because he was afraid of love, of letting people see the worst parts of him along with the best. You knew that and fell in love with him anyway. He would be the one to break your heart but you let him do it happily.

"I love you. Can't that be enough?"

You did your best to hide a sniffle. "I wish it was, but something has always held you back from me," you said, your thumb running along his arm. "I won't settle for anything less than what I deserve."

"Then why keep letting me in?"

"Because you're a hard man to say no to, Harry Styles," you laughed, but it was more sad than humorous. Even as you talked about being apart, all you wanted to do was pull him even closer. In a lot of ways, Harry still felt like home. You were safe right there in bed wrapped up in him. "And despite my best efforts, I'm still in love with you."

Harry sighed and pulled you closer to his chest. "I want you. I can't even think about anyone else. It makes no sense for us to be broken up when we both want the same thing."

"But we don't," you said. "You want me on the sidelines cheering you on with no ambitions of my own."

"That's not—"

"You want me to watch while others throw themselves at you and pretend like it's fine because it's all for show. You want me to be another trophy in your collection, Harry, and I—I'm so much more than that."

You twisted around to face him, only to find that there were tears lining his eyes. You hated seeing him cry. It always twisted your gut into a tight knot.

"Is that really what you think of me?" he asked, sounding hurt, betrayed.

"You told me you loved me, that you wanted me in your life, but I was never a part of it," you said.

Harry had promised that nothing would ever change, that he only wanted to take on the world if he had you by his side. And you believed him at first, but somehow you'd fallen to the wayside. He left you to fend for yourself at parties with people you didn't know, took on more opportunities and projects that kept him and you apart for longer periods of time, going out almost every night and sleeping through the day, leaving you such little time alone with him. Sometimes it felt like the only way to see him was in an interview or music video.

And the moments when you had him all to yourself were perfect. He was completely and totally yours. He doted on you, took you on dates, made you breakfast in bed. He made you feel like the luckiest girl in the world, and in those moments, you knew he loved you, that he would never be tempted by anyone else. Harry really was yours, you could feel it with every cell of your body.

But those moments were fleeting. He was gone for longer periods of time, and you didn't know how to make him understand that you needed him to stay longer than the few days off he got while touring. For a long time, those stolen moments were enough, until they weren't anymore. Harry stayed away longer, and you felt him slipping. The hand you had wasn't a winning one, so you folded before he could break your heart. Well, more than breaking up with him did.

This wasn't a life together, it was just his, and you were along for the ride.

"I wanted to build a life for us. I wanted to make myself into someone you would be proud of," he said.

Your smile was sad as you threaded a hand through his hair. "I've never not been proud of you. You've always been enough, H, I don't know why you've never seen it."

To say Harry was complicated was an understatement. Even when you met he had his fair share of demons. But everyone did, and you loved him as he was. As he began to gain notoriety, he began reinventing himself, to be someone that was loved by everyone. You knew who he was was enough, but you couldn't get through to him, he needed validation from the world. Once you realized how deep that insecurity was rooted, you knew you couldn't fix him, he needed to do it himself. And you deserved someone who wasn't so obsessed with seeking approval from others that they overlooked the people that loved them most.

"All I ever wanted was to give you the world," he whispered, his gaze trained on where your hand was still on his cheek.

"All I ever needed was you," you replied, moving your hand to rest it over his heart. "I'd like to believe that the man I met so many years ago is in there somewhere, but I can't count on waiting to see him again. I—I'm not going to put myself in a position to make you choose when I know what your choice would be."

You didn't really believe that fame was something that would ever change Harry, but it did. Or it preyed on his deepest insecurities, and he let it happen. You loved him, and it hurt to see him so broken, especially when he didn't even seem to realize it, but you couldn't hold his hand while he untangled his messes anymore.

"I love you," he said again. "I have never stopped loving you."

"I have seen every facet of who you are, and I've never loved you less, flaws and all," you said, and it was true. Despite everything, Harry was a hard person not to love, and there were moments where he made you feel like you were more important to him than anything else in his life. The secret smiles and stolen kisses and songs that were made just for you. He was the kind of person that burned so brightly, but that also meant he cast just as big a shadow, and those shadows could be all-consuming. "You're a good man, Harry. I just…I think I just deserve better than you."

Harry didn't argue with you about it. He didn't try to contradict you or give you a list of reasons why you should be together. He just hung his head and held you close, a shuddering breath escaping his lips. You let yourself rest your cheek against his chest, his skin warm and familiar. It felt so right to be there, you couldn't fathom anyone else feeling as good as Harry did. Maybe no one ever would.

Wrapped up like this, your eyes grew heavy, and it became harder and harder to stay awake. Harry hadn't fallen asleep yet, you could tell just by the erratic beat of his heart against your cheek. Moving your head just to the side, you kissed him right there, right where his heart laid beneath his chest. Your heart squeezed, as if it knew this was the last time you would be letting Harry through your front door.

Turning your head to the side once more, you let yourself fall asleep on his chest, a couple tears slipping past your tired eyes.

Still awake, Harry ran a hand through your hair, letting the silky soft strands fall through his fingers. "I can be better," he whispered. Not to you, but to himself. "I'll be better. I promise."

#harry styles #harry styles angst #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic #Spotify

[bettyfrommars]

A blurb of biker!Eddie posing for reader for a future painting. The painting imagery of your choice, snarky jokes about being her French girl would be icing on the cake.

Thank you so much for this ask, Angie, it made my heart happy❤️

18+Only for mature themes. wc: 892

from the I'm on Fire au

biker!Eddie x fem!artist!Reader

“Babe,” you gave Eddie a look around the side of the big canvas you had propped on a wood easel.  “You’re doing it again.”

Forever fidgeting, the man could never sit still. On the couch in front of you, Eddie rubbed his hands down his face with a groan and sat forward, placing elbows to knees.  He’s shirtless, in a pair of jeans, with his guitar resting on the floor next to him. The wash of tattoos over his chest, stomach, and arms would be a challenge, but you planned to fill those details in later.  You’d considered having him strip all the way down, but you didn’t want to traumatize Dustin’s family when they brought the baby over for a visit.  

“I never realized how hard it would be to stay in one place for so long,” he mused, running his fingers through his hair.  “How did those people in the old days do it? Just standing there.  No wonder they all look like they are all mean muggin’ or trying to take a shit.”

You put the brush down and went over to him, softly taking his chin to make him look up at you, your hand stained with charcoal and white paint flecks.  You swept the curtain of his bangs to one side with your other hand, meeting the weariness in his maplewood eyes with love and patience.  

“You’re on your bike for hours some days. This is just like that,” you tried to reason with him.

Eddie reached up to settle his hands at your hips.  “No but that’s different.  On the bike I’m moving fast and the wind is in my face, my mind is clear.  Now, all I can think about is everything I need to fix and work on in this house. I want it all to be perfect for you, for us.”  

It’d been almost six months since Eddie surprised you with the keys to the old Ferguson farmhouse, the one you’d both had your eye on for a while. Indeed, the place was over a hundred years old and needed a lot of work, but you had your paints and you had Eddie, and the rest just didn’t matter as much.  

You let go of his chin and he leaned in to plant a kiss on your stomach before tilting his chin up to meet your gaze again.  

“This is really important to me, baby,” you tucked hair behind his ear, and then untucked it, and you could feel him searching your face.  “One day, Oliver or one of the other kids will put this painting in their home to remember their uncle Eddie.  And they’ll know the person who painted it loved you more than life.”

Eddie’s arms were suddenly around your waist, pulling you down into his lap, pecking kisses all along your neck and face, making you squirm and giggle.  He was fresh out of the shower, smelling like Irish Spring; his hair air-dried and fluffy.  When he came up for air, you caught his face between your hands.  

“Please, baby. For me,” you pleaded.  “Just an hour or two a day, I know you can do this.”

“For you, I will,” his lips met yours, brushing them as he spoke, but then a smile cracked the sides of his mouth.  “I want you to paint me like one of your French girls.”

“I thought you’d never ask,” you beamed, batting your eyelashes, pushing out of his lap and onto your feet.  You decided not to remind about the time you rented Titanic, and Eddie was the one with wet eyes, holding you close as if he were about to lose you to the frigid, dark waters.  He held you so tight that night in bed, waking up every hour to check and make sure you were still there.  

When he felt you shift and knew you were awake, he’d whispered into the back of your neck: “If something ever happened to you, I don’t think I’d be able to move on.” And even though you were not privy to the mysteries the future held, you assured him that you’d both grow old together and pass away at the same time. 

Back in the art room, you brushed your hands off on your apron and got in front of the canvas.  “Okay, let’s try this again,” you picked up one of the charcoal pencils to sharpen it.  “You can have a smoke if you want, baby, just don’t move your legs.”

“Anything for you, Jack,” Eddie chirped, eager to pop a cigarette between his lips, cupping his hand over the end to light it. 

In the end, the smoldering cigarette between his fingers made it into the painting.  Legs wide, guitar propped to one side, one hand resting on his thigh, the other arm hooked around the back of the couch so he could flick the ash into an empty can of Coke.  His jeans were unbuttoned, purple scar on one side of his stomach, and he wasn’t smiling, but the light of love in his eyes was unmistakable as dark hair spilled around his shoulders.  

Decades later, Steve’s son Oliver would never tire of telling the story when people asked about the painting.  The story of a down and dirty biker named War Machine and the woman he devoted his life to.  

#biker!Eddie #I'm on Fire #older!Eddie munson #Eddie Munson fic #Eddie munson series #Eddie munson fluff

[minecraftbookshelf]

hello this is an invitation/request to ramble about textile production in rivendell vs the swamp in the arranged marriages au I am very curious about this thank you

Most of this is going under a cut because it is going to get a bit long and rambly and is 100% as much an info-dump as it is a worldbuilding post.

the TLDR is Wool VS Linen

MOSTLY INFO DUMP PORTION

Rivendell:

The majority of Rivendell textiles are wool-based.

They do import some silk from the Overgrown but that is reserved for special occasions and items. Mostly silk threads are used for magical stitching and silk fabric as a center lining for leather and chain armor.

Almost everything else is wool.

Most of their wool comes from sheep but they also have llamas, rabbits, and goats that all are domesticated for this purpose. (Wool as a term refers to any fiber obtained from an animal, even if some of it is technically hair, for textile purposes it is wool)

Most of their export is sheep wool, they have, in fact, increased their sheep herds specifically to accommodate export in the recent decade or so as they open their borders and form alliances beyond the Overgrown.

Wool is an incredibly versatile fiber. It's water resistant and thermal properties make it ideal for the snowy mountain terrain of Rivendell's territory. It can also be made into fabric so fine it is literal gauze. It can be felted it can be knitted it can be woven. Saying Rivendell's textiles are almost 95% wool does not accurately convey how varied those textiles are. Generations of Rivendell elves have spent their ~500 year long lifespans coming up with new things to do with wool.

And its not just from sheep.

Rabbit wool is most commonly used for items like underclothes or baby clothes and blankets.

Llama wool actually comes in two distinct forms, because Llamas have layered coats. Originally they were used as beasts of burden but were also, over the generations, bred for fleece as well. Their rougher outer coats are used more for things like rope and cordage, the inner fleece is similar to rabbit.

Llama is also the least common wool, since it takes about two years for a llama to regrow its coat after shearing and they aren't exactly the most space efficient of livestock. The fleece is one of the luxury exports sold mostly to foreign nobility who want to feel fancy and brag about their "exotic [insert item here]". The outer coat fibers are mostly sold as cordage, which is excellent quality and in high demand in the seafaring nations. (This is also due to elvish craft-magic, more on that later in the worldbuilding-focused section)

Goats are a full range from coarser fibers to fine soft ones. It functions much the same as sheep fiber, just with a lower yield. Goats are primarily used in the outer villages of Rivendell in the highest, sheerest cliffs where they are more suited to the terrain than their moor wool-laden cousins.

The Swamp:

Most Swamp-made textiles are linen.

Mostly made from flax and/or hemp. (Yes, that kind of hemp, go ahead, make the jokes.)

(Hemp grown for fiber is a different variety than hemp grown for more recreational reasons. It has a much lower THC and the plant itself is a lot larger. I'm not saying they don't grow the other kind, and use it medicinally, but it isn't relevant to anything I will be writing. If that's your wheelhouse you are welcome to take this and run with it.)

Linen is a lightweight and absorbent fabric that is ideal for hotter climates so it is very common to see in the Northern kingdoms. It's absorbency does mean it dirties and starts smelling fairly quickly but it is also a very resilient fabric that takes washing well. It also has the default state of "wrinkled" which, to someone accustomed to other types of fabric, does lend itself to looking rather unkempt. (You see where I'm going with this.)

Like wool there is a wide range of fabrics, ranging from the ultra fine and soft to coarser, more Textured pieces. (basically, the underclothes to sail canvas range) both flax and hemp, especially the latter, are also used to make cordage and hemp in particular is often used to make macrame and beaded jewelry, irl and in the Swamp. Fishing nets are also a common product.

Textiles are not a notable export of the Swamp so there is less to say there.

IRL flax linen makes up some of the oldest surviving fabric and clothing samples, dating back thousands of years.

Flax fibers are not elastic, they don't stretch and shrink while worked with and don't have a lot of give. This does make working with it in the process of fabric making somewhat difficult and requiring a lot of skill. The resulting fabric though is incredibly durable so its a trade off.

The Mostly Worldbuilding Portion

This is just going to be a bunch of disorganized bullet points really

A significant portion of the flax used by the Swamp from linen production is grown and harvested in Helianthia and brought to the swamp for manufacture. This is actually the primary threat Mythland represents, (you know, besides rampant destruction and harassment along the border) is interrupting that trade route. They do also grow their own but do not enough for what is needed.

Elvish magic is almost entirely based around fiber arts. Embroidery, knot-work, charms stitched into seams and knitted into the very makeup of a garment. Wool and Gold. (gold-thread embroidery is powerful stuff) A side effect of all of this is that when small Xornoth started setting things on fire and small Scott sneezed frost it was a pretty solid indication that their magic was a bit more directly divinely sourced.

Related, elvish rope is reliable. It doesn't degrade or break or even cut easily. (This is straight from Tolkein but it works too well not to poach)

Elves build things to last, a single elf-made garment can last for several human generations. At least.

Net making/repair in the Swamp is one of those community tasks that a lot of people sit down together and do while socializing. Almost everyone has at least the basic skills required.

Generations worth of irreplaceable historical tapestries were lost when Xornoth burned down the Rivendell palace during their coup and every time the weavers and artisans and historians of the kingdom remember that they come very close to being assassinated.

#rain rambles #empires smp #empires s1 #empires smp worldbuilding #rivendell siblings #solidaritygaming #the codfather #ask and it shall be answered #copper dragon in disguise #smajor1995 #marriage of state au #mos: worldbuilding #mos: the swamp #mos: rivendell #mos: asks

[rose-tea-and-strawberries]

Celebrating Ramadan With Kalim and Jamil

Masterlist

First of all, I would like to say that all of this is incredibly self-indulgent. I know that everyone has their own traditions and ways of celebrating Ramadan but this is how my family observes this month. I would love to hear anyone else’s input.

Okay, my mother would love to meet them because they are good, respectable boys.

Every year my mother goes abaya shopping where she has to buy three different abayas (one for Eid, one for Taraweeh/Jummah prayers at the mosque and one for everyday wear) and she always gets upset because I’ve been using the same abaya for the past three years and I only get another one once my previous one has been worn down. Well, now she shall be disappointed no longer because not only would Kalim buy me three wardrobe’s worth of the most luxurious abayas known to man with the fanciest matching shawls but he also, most probably, would get her the fancy abayas as well.]

Kalim would win her heart by buying her those really luxurious hijab shawls.

Oh my god, Eid dress shopping would be a whole other monster. After finding out that I buy two dresses/outfits for Eid, he would be like ‘ha you thought’ and just pull up a thick magazine and ask my mother to point out anything and everything she wants me to have - since she’s the one that does all of the Eid shopping - and the next day I’d find a pile of readily tailored clothes in my bedroom.

A few weeks ago, my mother bought me a golden bracelet with my name written in Arabic on it and honestly part of the reason I love it is because it is exactly the kind of gift Kalim or Jamil would give me.

Iftar and Suhoor would be a feast with Kalim, Jamil and the Al-Asim wealth. Like these boys would stroll up with the rich people dates and my mother would be sold (my mum and her dad love dates).

This has nothing to do with the rest of the post but I know for a fact that the Scarabia boys would get my name right on the first try and I love them for that.

(Context: I have an Arabic/Muslim surname and I spent all my life going to a whiter-than-the-antaractic primary school that used to be a church. That place was so white that we didn’t even have proper assemblies, we had ‘service’ where the priest from down the road would come and talk about the Bible to the entire school whilst the 10-20ish Muslim kids would sit at the back of the hall and read books. So whilst I was there everyone would pronounce my last name as the way you would spell it out in english whereas the actual arabic pronunciation is different but since everyone including my teachers, the librarians, my mum and dad’s coworkers etc called me by the western pronunciation, I thought that that was what my name is. It was only after my Arabic/Quran teacher pronounced my surname in its Arabic way that my dad told me that it's the proper way of saying it. Not going to lie, it felt kind of weird knowing that I’ve been getting my own name wrong for over a decade and I still use the English pronunciation to this day)

Similarly to how Kalim would win my mum with dates and clothes, Jamil would win my mum with handmade kunafa. Trust me, my family loves kunafa.

Also, my parents love arabic tea. My mum collects tea sets and her two favourite sets are her Turkish tea glasses and silvery metallic Moroccan tea set. Jamil would see her arabic mint tea leaves and he would offer to brew it for her and it would taste like perfection, I just know it.

There was this one Ramadan where my mum got into Arabic calligraphy so she bought this big canvas and some black paint and my sister and I tore out pages from my cartridge paper pad and used my calligraphy pens and we just sat and tried to replicate the arabic calligraphy art we saw on google images whilst listening to nasheeds and I KNOW that Jamil would love to do this. Like he would come out with a masterpiece after ten minutes and then judge watch me try to make mine look half decent before trying to help me. 

I don’t think Jamil would be allowed in the kitchen when my sister, mum and I prepare food for Iftar since it’s a girls only zone but if he could enter it, I know that he would be all calm and everything would be ready at least ten minutes before the adhan compared to the rat race that happens in my house where there are some days where we are laying the table like a minute before it’s time to break fast.

So the day before or two days before Eid, my mother or her friends would invite all of the ladies and their daughters for a henna party where we pay a professional to come and put henna on our arms (and sometimes feet) and we play music and sing and dance and eat sweets and it's a whole thing. Kalim would be upset that he can’t join us but he’d understand since it’s a girls only party and there will be women who want to take off their hijabs and relax but he would pay for like ten of the best henna artists he knows and order food for us and he’d be such a sweetheart like he’d be so happy when I’d show him my designs and he’d talk about how his siblings would wear henna and he used to wear it before he got tattoos.

So, my family likes to celebrate my dad’s lunar birthday since he was born during Ramadan and then, since my sister and I made a big deal of it, my parents decided that they’ll also celebrate our lunar birthdays as well - and by ‘celebrate’ I mean that my mum would order takeaway from our favourite restaurants for dinner - and I can so see this as a thing that Kalim would do only he would treat my lunar birthday as an actual birthday with cake and presents and the whole she-bang.

I kind of want to introduce Kalim to my grandma only to see his reaction to her calling my little sister ‘shaytan’ (satan/devil) as a term of endearment.

Speaking along those lines, I also have a very artistically talented friend who shares the same morbid humour as me and as a gift she made me a canvas with the words ‘Kullu nafsin thaiqatu almawti’ (Every soul shall taste death) written in arabic calligraphy that I have hung up in my bedroom and I would love to see Jamil or Kalim react to that just being one of the first things they see.

#twst x reader #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #kalim al asim x reader #jamil viper x reader

[elitadream]

I love how you’ve stressed the understanding of Junior not TRULY being able to pick sides when it comes to his father and Mario. With him being a young child, making that distinction between what is good and bad pretty much comes down the that nature vs nurture aspect.

I can see almost see both ways happen, as a child who’s strived to impress a parent that isn’t the best role model, there have been moments where I’ve had to ignore or hide what I know as right and wrong and follow what they think as to get that sweet sweet parental praise and love. Maybe as Junior gets older the expectations of taking the throne outweigh his true feelings, and his love and loyalty to his father becomes his downfall. It’s not healthy for this unconditional familial love, especially on both ends. Even if the end goal is to help or provide, if the parents morals are warped or skewed then the child they put out will have those learned behaviors (our nurture aspect) if any of this makes sense.

I can also see an event in which an older Junior comes across a situation in which he does not agree with a decision. Perhaps Bowser has tried to rope an now older Junior into capturing Peach and attempting to rid of Mario and Luigi in a more aggressive fashion. In a fit of desperation and fear, Junior pretends to “defeat” the bro’s. Maybe it was something Mario said, or how sad he looked to be fighting the koopaling he’s come to know and cherish (a pseudo-son of sorts), but in the end Junior just can’t see the reasoning to hurt someone, especially when he knows deep down that him and his father are the ones at fault. Perhaps the bros make it to the Dark Lands and make it to Bowsers and him, leading to a final standoff. Junior doesn’t want to hurt anyone, it’s not fun to see others in pain or suffering, and the conflict of interest between him and his father may drive that decision to turn away from Bowser. Presumably leading to a Father vs Son, a Generation vs Generation, a true Right vs Wrong. (Maybe our nature aspect)

The speculation space you provide is fantastic, from the short blurbs and scenes we have gotten and the bread crumbs of text show that Junior appreciates and loves his father while respecting and looking up to Mario as well. The conflict of role models and with just how young Junior still is shows that he could still be swayed in either direction. The fantastic part to me is there is still no way to tell yet.

Your AU and everything you’ve put forth so far is gorgeous and I am so happy to have been able to come across you blog on more than one occasion. Please continue your world building, what you have is something you should be proud of. (*´꒳`*)

Ooh yes, Junior is a very conflicted character on that front! 🥺🙇‍♀️ He loves his father greatly and wants to make him proud, but he's also deeply and genuinely fond of Mario- and finding himself torn between radically opposing forces creates a very intense struggle for him, emotionally and morally speaking.

The tragic beauty in this conflict is that Junior finds candid motivation on both ends due to the very strong affection and admiration that he feels for the two. His intentions originate from the right place regardless of who they're directed at, and he will inevitably sway back and forth because of this.

While I've shown him as being a "good" kid (in the sense that he isn't inherently evil, but rather a blank canvas like most children are), his father's influence in his life is still huge and incredibly potent, the same way Mario's impact on him is felt very strongly despite him really wanting to be worthy of his father's esteem.

I love Junior's character for that reason- the ambiguity, the incertainty and the constant dilemma that comes with trying to meet contrasting expectations. He's a paradoxical figure, his heart leaning in two different directions at the same time, and one that is bound to evolve in a very non-linear way because of it. 🎇

I really enjoyed reading your thoughts on this!! That was a beautiful analysis, and I'm delighted that you like my portrayal of the small koopa. 🙏 Thank you for your wonderful compliment on my work, that's immensely appreciated. ☺️💟

#asks #mario #bowser #junior #bowser jr #characterization #concept #headcanon #nature vs nurture #development #personal portrayal #thoughts and ramblings

[trozeikylis]

The Human Heart, Divine Judgment, and Mechs

Spoilers for the OG series and End of Evangelion. I’d highly advise you watch those first so you can make your own opinion before looking at this.

I recently watched all of Eva for the first time recently since my friend invited me to watch End of Eva for its special theater viewing. To be honest, I didn’t know really what to expect when I went in, but I had heard a lot of things and had figured now would be a good time to finally bite the bullet and have one large, cathartic session of child soldier trauma. What I didn’t expect would be a 10 hour binge-fest of tears and a major reconsideration of myself in the process.

I knew that this show was heavy and wasn’t going to pull punches. It’s kinda why I opted to binged the initial 26 episodes by myself on one day. And while I wouldn’t recommend it for everyone because I felt absolutely horrendous from the messed up state of mind it left me in, it’s definitely something I’d suggest doing if you have the guts for it.

As for the show and movie itself, I’m glad that I watched them both sometime during my life. As I said earlier, this is not for everyone. It’s mature, unadulterated emotions splayed on the canvas for all to see. If you couldn’t stand something like Devilman Crybaby, then this is probably not for you. But by the same token, it’s a deep retrospection of yourself and (Japanese) society as a whole when you look at it from an analytical lens. The concept of merging every being into one, essentially eliminating the self is such an extreme that I’ve never even considered would be possible, and yet, they made it work. There’s numbers and logic and science, but by the same token, nothing explicitly explains why the Evas are capable of taking matters into their own hands through the inhibiting armor. But it doesn’t need to.

Are we worthy to continue existing? Are we worthy of our lives as a whole, or as an individual? These are the two questions that Eva proudly poses, with each group giving different answers. And it’s very obvious of the stances of each party: the pilots and those that stand with them, and the Seele. However, because the opinions of the children are cast aside, it very much reflects the mentality humanity has put into its youth: disregarded due to the lack of experience. But those that do acknowledge them understand that once, they too were in their shoes. It’s why those that sided with them had similar situations of absent or neglectful parents, those that barely had an appearance, and thusly, carved a determined individual out of spite rather than praise and attendance.

And while Shinji gets a lot of flak for being hesitant to his fate, I have to firmly disagree on the logic that those fans have for him. It’s obvious from the beginning that while he wishes to not cause harm, it’s the fate he’s drawn to and eventually a key part of his identity. If he wasn’t an Eva pilot, would anyone else ever hear his cello? Would anyone else bother looking at him? He’s an average guy with average grades on purpose, and yet one who must answer the call and push past his neglectful childhood in order to sprout the seed of humanity.

As for Rei and Asuka, this is the first series in a long time that made me ask myself: “why were you written in this story? For what purpose do you have to the message of the plot?” Rei was quite simple, but Asuka? Asuka drove me mad. I could not comprehend her reasoning for existing. Without Asuka, Shinji was on a steady platform for growth and acceptance, for understanding flaw and fault and yet being able to hold his head high and make positive relationships regardless of what others think. When she came in on the 7th episode, I was excited. I was curious as to why so many people were attracted to her character, but it fell incredibly flat. Her stubborn ego and standoffish attitude clashed with the sheer positivity I had seen from online. She was asinine and cruel to Shinji, who clearly had a lot of visible issues going on, even if he was silent about them. Even after the explanation of her mother going insane to eventually committing suicide, I felt nothing. I had figured that she had ongoing familial issues (as did the rest of the cast that directly interacted with the pilots), but at this point when everybody’s special, nobody is.

It wasn’t until I had watched the movie that it finally clicked for me. Asuka, standing proudly in the apartment, staring at Shinji, echoing what had already been stated throughout the show. The confidence that Shinji could never have stared back at him, the woman within his grasp undesirable. One who is lauded and praised endlessly for her accelerated education and incredible synchronization with the Eva, and yet… everything Shinji despises. She is the truth that he rejects. She is the foil to Shinji, one who accepts and runs toward the truth, and gets hurt because of it. After all, while they both watched their mothers’ lives end, Asuka is the only one who made it shape her thoughts. It festered and built after all that time, allowing her to finally accept her AT fields and use them until the end.

It doesn’t matter how many times Shinji’s train-space in his head has to attempt to process the same information. It doesn’t get through until that very scene, and in a strange sense, made me truly enjoy Asuka as a character and thusly, that entire scene. It’s truly a shame it was resolved via domestic violence, but by the same token, has Shinji ever had such an authority with his voice to realize that it may have been effective in that moment? Not to say “boys will be boys” or anything of the sort, but by the same token, when you know nothing else aside from biting the hand that feeds, what will a wild beast do when they are taught nothing?

I’m honestly surprised that words are not talked about more in the series. Like the Spear of Longinius, they are more than capable of cutting through AT fields and resonating with the soul. You see them work and be effective with the improving synchronicity rates, when he surpasses Asuka. The positive reinforcement truly bolsters him and lets him stand for himself again after she initially arrives. Maybe it’s even what makes him desperate for her approval. Perhaps his loneliness had truly started to eat at him and she was the fastest person he could contact. There are a lot of different reasons that he could be so stuck on her. At the same time, though, from the perspective of a child deep in depression and torment, words are simply just noise that fill the air.

Speaking of which, many laud the series for an accurate depiction of depression and anxiety, and while I didn’t really get the feeling of the latter until End of Eva, Shinji’s self-affirmations and hesitance always had resonated with me. The feeling of not knowing what tomorrow will be or how the world will elect to view you always creeps in the back of your mind.

And before I forget: the original ending, while technically fantastic to break down and the message being amazing in its open-endedness, definitely left a lot to be had. That said, I am grateful it exists as it helps build more context for End of Eva. It gives an introspection on Shinji, and how he defines the human heart. The turmoil that fights at him while he sits under the staircase during the Seele raid, the thoughts that rush through his head while a giant Rei stares expectingly at him, the collective consciousness flooding through his head whilst he becomes fanta, they’re all proudly on display through those initial last two episodes.

However, I will definitely appreciate the End of Evangelion for tying everything very neatly. Knowing the fate of Shinji and the world appends to the message of the show. That despite everything, despite the apocalypse and nobody wanting to join you, you can find hope. You can carry what others have dropped and make sure your own dreams can be within reality. What others think of you shouldn’t matter. While external appreciation is nice, it shouldn’t define you as a person. However, it’s ok to be afraid. Otherwise, we would all be one person with several different bodies, and without each other being different in our own ways, there would be no reason to carry on anymore.

So, what do you wish for? What do you want? Would you like to be one, in body, in mind, and in spirit?

I didn’t realize I had this many words to say about Eva, but it did resonate with me pretty intensely. If you’ve read this far, thank you for listening to my rambling. It’s insane how content that’s produced from a region that is resistant to understanding mental health and from such a long time ago still has merit in this current age, but life finds a way. I definitely wish to watch the rest of the content that came out for this because it’s been an incredibly validating experience despite how unrealistic it is. Once I’m done with Eva, I’ll probably watch other things to make me feel absolutely horrendous and write about them here. Or not, who knows?

#spoilers #neon genesis evangelion #review

[esther-dot]

It bothers me that I've never heard GRRM defend Sansa the way he defended Catelyn, and never heard him expressly say that he likes Sansa they way he said outright that he likes Arianne. I'm happy he's expressed unambiguous support for those other unfairly maligned female characters, but I wish he would do the same for Sansa, and the fact he hasn't makes me fear he doesn't like her. Oh, I think he "loves" her in the way all authors love their fictional creations, but I don't think he /likes/ her, if you get what I mean. He knows about the intense hate she gets because he's mentioned it more than once, yet he's apparently never felt compelled to stick up for her like he has for Catelyn and Arianne. His opinion of her doesn't change my own feelings about her, but it does make me sad to think he doesn't think she's worth defending.

I don’t remember reading his defense of Arianne, but I’m glad he defended her if people were being gross. I did find this quote about Sansa and Cat:

(link)

and I think it’s amusing that with the lack of egregious behavior, fans used the the complaint that Cat and Sansa are whiney to justify their hate and he wasn’t even having that. 😂

I understand your feelings and why you wish he’d go ahead and offer more in defense of Sansa, but I think it’s very possible he feels it’s unnecessary because the story will be her defense. Since we still don’t have the ending of the series, that doesn’t solve your problem, but there’s a post from two years ago on Martin’s blog that is pertinent to me. I don’t know the context (it’s about choosing to think about the good a person did after their death, not allowing the bad to eclipse it), but it’s hard to read it and not think of her:

(at the end of the post)

(link)

Martin has written into his story the legacy of certain characters, Ned’s legacy specifically which has made the North remain loyal to him/his family even after his death, so the good Ned did did not die with him ie we can see how Martin is writing what he wants the world to be into his story. Again, this post had nothing to do with ASOIAF, but knowing this is how he truly feels, and then seeing how it pops up in the series tells us a lot.

To see that his better world would be gentle, kind, loving, peaceful, non-violent, empathetic…I think we’re seeing the discussion of how to achieve such a world play out in his story, the discussion of whether or not violence, war, can achieve these desired ends or if other methods must be used instead. Where violent means are necessary, where war fails. Anyway, reading that description of his better world, I thought of Sansa. Sansa who is forced into a marriage with an adult, an enemy of her house, is told she must consummate and finds it in herself to pity the man who stands to benefit from it. Sansa who tries to heal her enemies instead of kill them. Sansa who walks into a blank canvas of snow and builds a castle from her dreams. Sansa who believes the stories of a good world, a beautiful world, who learns that hers isn’t, and how to navigate it, but, who better than the person who wishes it were that perfect world to build it?

I too wish Martin would just set the record straight on a few things, but I don’t think him not calling out fans indicates anything about his feelings for her. I think he loves her, I think he has good things planned for her. We may not get the ending which would validate all of our hopes, but I think people reach for reasons to hate her because she has done very little wrong, her nature is kind, gentle, compassionate. Fans may not find that as exciting as the characters who fight and kill, who have magical abilities, but what fans value isn’t what he does—he values peace. It may be small comfort to Sansa fans who want to be validated now, but I think the validation of who Sansa is will be written into the ending of his series.

#ask dot

[djarrex]

Not a Runner

Introducing my OC, Splinter! Here is a little backstory that will explain the beginnings of where he will end up after the fall of the Republic. More on Splinter, including his design, at the end!

mature | about 1.3k words | mild violence. blood mentions.

19 BBY

Ord Mantell wasn’t where he’d intended to end up. He’d gotten lost, just the same as anyone could. Anyone, even soldiers – could stray from their path.

I didn’t run.

It wasn’t his fault. 

I didn't– I didn't run.

He just wanted to help – still does.

I did not run.

-

It started with the exchange – the tradeoff for a new runner, one who harbored an extensive list of skills and strengths that would no doubt be an asset for whomever employed him. His life – his loyalties – now pledged to a group that would have otherwise killed an entire crew if he had refused employment. He'd given himself to them willingly with the fulfilled promise that the innocent lives of those who'd been caught in the middle would be spared.

He was a good man. He’d do anything to help those in need. It’s what he’d been trained to do. It’s what any soldier – what any good man – would have done.

The light freighter he’d bartered passage on from the Kala'uun spaceport was, unbeknownst to him and the crew, doomed from takeoff. He was settling in, counting what remained of his saved-up credits before stashing them away in the same canvas sack that carried the armor he’d decided to keep and what little medical supplies he’d been able to lift from medical. They were his supplies and belonged to the man who specialized in such, he’d reasoned with himself back in Lessu. Besides, he didn’t take much. He made sure to leave more than enough for his brothers and the Twi’leks. They’d find another medic – he’d be delivered to them fresh out of Kamino – just as he had, at the start of the war. 

It had only been mere minutes of being in hyperspace when the Falleen hijackers made their presence known, busting out of emptied cargo crates with their weapons at the ready. 

“Attention, crew,” the largest of the three announced, his free hand smoothing down the braided twist of his black beard as he spoke. We are here for the ryll, not your lives. But, make no mistake: one wrong move – any acts of bravery – will cost all of you.”

The other two Falleen, a younger man who looked to be just barely an adult, and a woman, flanked their leader, one hand holding the hilts of their viroblades while the other ghosted over their holstered blasters. Gasps and whispers erupted from the crew as the leader stepped forward, eyeing the able-bodied among them who could potentially pose a hindrance to their heist, standing tall as a symbol of threat – a silent warning with his proximity.

Splinter didn’t even have to think – striking with a quick movement to disarm the younger of the three who was closest to him. He lurched forward, roundhouse kicking the blade from his grip, and went to do the same with the woman but instead took an elbow to the face, not seeing the leader who was nearly twice his size coming from his peripheral. The unexpected hit sent him flying backward, his body knocking roughly against the curve of the hull’s wall. Without his armor, the impact hurt – rattled his bones and knocked the wind from his lungs. It felt as if he’d been blown back from a nearby detonation, a blast similar to the one that had wounded his captain, the fire in the aftermath of the explosion critically wounding him. Those flames that had threatened to consume his captain then felt as if they were licking up Splinter's back here and now, warmth radiating from where he was sure he’d broken more than just skin in areas he could not see.

“Looks like we have ourselves a hero,” snarled the female Falleen whose long black hair was secured in a tie at the crown of her head. “Such a handsome face.” Moving her hair from where it hung down her shoulder to her back, she cocked her head with a little playful pout, clicking her tongue. “It’s too bad Xonn had to break it.”

The leader gestured to the cargo with a wave, signaling the female while keeping his eyes locked on Splinter. "Neffos, check these crates for what we are here for."

The surprisingly collected crew stayed huddled in the opposite corner, watching wide-eyed as the scene unfolded before them, looking back and forth between the hijackers and the man who’d braved a preemptive attack. Slunken on the cool floor of the hull, Splinter raised his hand and gently patted around his nose and around it, instantly met with the warm ooze of blood coating most of his face from the sharp impact of an elbow. Sucking in a deep breath and squeezing his eyes shut, he cupped his nose with two hands, quickly snapping it back into place. Shocked gasps came from the crew and he blinked back involuntary tears, staggering to stand upright and half-leaning against a crate to his left. 

"It's all here. Let's kill them and get the fuck going."

The Falleen man he'd disarmed instead pulled out his blaster, a unique looking one with vertical double barrels spaced several inches apart, and aimed it at the crew. Neffos moved beside him, taking a similar stance as she raised her matching blaster. Over the sound of panicked pleas, he drawled: “We warned you, hero.”

“Kost, Neffos.” The leader waved his hand in the air then stepped in the direction of Splinter, who was in the process of raising his bloodied hands into fists and getting into a fighting stance – albeit, a wobbly one. “Curious.” The one called Xonn turned and nodded to the other two. “Our hero – a clone.” 

Kost and Neffos raised the sharp, protruding curve of their brows and scoffed in unison.

“You’re a bright one,” mocked Splinter with a huff. “Surprised you can recognize me after that cheap hit.” He rolled his eyes and chuckled humorlessly. 

The young male Falleen scowled at the comment and moved closer to the crew, reaching to grab one of them and held them at gunpoint. “Watch it! One more word and I’ll–”

“Kost,” the leader of the three warned with a snarl over his shoulder, returning to face Splinter and crossing his arms over his chest. He continued to regard him with inquisition. “Hm. A clone.”

“And?” Splinter called with grit in his voice and an unamused smirk on his lips, rolling his head side to side to work the kinks out of his neck. His eyes flickered back and forth between Xonn and the crewmate being threatened by the seemingly more reckless of the three Falleen. “What about it?”

“I have never seen one of your kind so far from the rest.” Xonn hummed. “What is your story, clone?” He took large strides towards him – boots knocking in loud thumps against the floor. “Are you lost? Or are you a deserter, hm? Running from a war that you know you cannot win.” 

I would never desert my brothers. 

Splinter narrowed his eyes at the leader, blood steadily dripping from the cracked bridge of his nose. It seeped into the sealed lock of his lips, the taste of rusty credits meeting his tongue. Scrunching his features at the taste, he spat out a glob of crimson on the floor in the direction of the largest Falleen and winced at the soreness settling around his cheeks and under his eyes. He glanced at the shaken crew, who were all looking right back at him, silent pleads watering in their frightened eyes.

I can save them.

The clone spat out another glob of rusty crimson, clearing the taste from his throat with a gargled cough. His sore features softened, taking out some of the bite from the pain as it subsided. He uncurled his fists and let his arms fall to his sides, leaning on the crate for support once again. "Don't– don't hurt them."

A wordless mutual agreement fell heavily into the stale air of the hull, the clone and Falleen agreeing to each other's voiceless terms in mere moments.

Xonn looked over his shoulder and waved his hand, the other two immediately lowering their weapons, Kost releasing the hostage. 

“You will be of great use to Black Sun, my boy.”

-

And so Splinter went with them – back to their stronghold in Ord Mantell City. Not only did they acquire the potent spice native to Ryloth known as ryll, they also acquired something that had not been on their scopes, someone who would prove to be invaluable: the clone medic Splinter.

They weren’t good people – but he was a good man.

I… am still a good man.

A good man who runs for Black Sun.

-

Name: Splinter (sometimes referred to as 'Splint')

Designation: CT-1113

Served on Ryloth under Captain Howzer (more on that later)

Markings, tattoos, name origin, and other info are to come!

people who might be interested? :)

@rowansparrow @thefact0rygirl @gotomarvelgal @book-of-baba-fett @literallydontlook @pinkiemme @galacticgraffiti

#m's oc #oc splinter #clone medic splinter #djarrex writes #star wars fic #star wars oc

[killmebythebeach]

Hehe he he. She doesnt have an elytria yet, but False is a golden eagle, I have been informed.

Also me spreading my Gilded Helanthia Sausage propaganda

...

Metal Feathers

...

False put on the elytria she had gotten from "The end". She loves the idea of wings and she had just been staring at the grey leathery material for half an hour.

According to that archeologist (which he could have totally been lying), an elytria was supposed to transform and fit the wearer. Things like what they do, their favorite things, their greatest fears, family, home, things like that.

False didn't remember much of those.

For some reason, she was terrified of putting the wings on. What if they didn't change and she remained having no clue about herself. Or what if they DID change, and it was about something from here.

It's fine. She should "enchant" it first anyway, that's what Pix had said. He had given her two books to carve spells from into the underside of the wings so they wouldn't break. If these books contained magic, there's no doubt the other magic users of the land could best her if they had spells up their sleeve.

Even these books could have unspeakable curses on them and Pix was trying to kill her this entire time.

But she REALLY didn't want to put the wings on yet.

She took her smallest knife and did her best to copy the symbols onto the elytria. One book on each wing, when she was done, they glowed purple for a brief moment, and they were shimmering in the light of the rising sun.

False took a deep breath. It's now or never.

Before she could think twice and convince herself out of it, False put the elytria on.

...

It was no secret something was... off. Off about this new person.

Sausage had only seen her a couple of times. She was skittish, her golden eyes never held still. She didn't seem to know much about anything, but Sausage didn't doubt she was intelligent.

False's area was probably farther out than any other settlement Sausage had been to.

But he flew with his canvas wings (unlike the more metallic wings people would get from his home. He didn't know at what point his wings had changed, but it made him a bit sad knowing even the universe knew he couldn't go home) over the mountains and plains and ocean and forests over. Just to make sure the resident recluse was alright.

It was no secret that this new person didn't trust anything or anyone.

Sausage landed on the spruce porch area of the house in the mountain. The air was crisp and cold, Sausage felt like his lungs were getting frostbite as someone from the humid jungle.

He knocked on the door. Out of the corner of his eye, a curtain moved in and out of place.

"False!" Sausage called out. "I know you're in there! Just wanted to say hi."

False opened the door a smidge, looking left and right before opening it all the way.

Oh gosh.

Sausage was stunned to silence. He could see clearly in his mind his old home.

His family, the farms he lived by. But most clearly was the statue in the middle of town square.

A lady in a long flowy dress and a golden crown of wheat. She held a sword in the ground in front of her. And beautiful, beautiful stretched out golden wings.

False stepped outside, looking out and around. Her more coppery feathered wings ruffling from the nerves and the mountain air. "What do you want?"

Sausage couldn't take his eyes off the wings. It wasn't like the statue had been particularly important to him back home, it was just the symbol of his town that he'd walked by every so often.

"N- nothing!" Sausage smiled, meeting False's eyes, the same coppery gold color. "Just checking in. Did you see my sign? About the wood?"

"Yeah..." False squinted her eyes. "I'm not really interested in trading right now though."

"Oh... okay!" Sausage smiled. He couldn't help how sad his eyes probably looked. "Just... come over if you need anything. It'll be much easier now you have wings."

"Yep." False gave a forced smile.

Sausage stood for a minute, waiting for her to say something else. "I'll be on my way then, stay safe out there!"

False blinked back. "Why? What's out here?!"

Sausage laughed, a little concerned. "Just an expression, what you say when you hope to see someone again."

False tilted her head. "Oh."

"See ya!" Sausage was about to rocket in the air before False called out.

"Hey, Sausage!" False shouted from the ground, he turned around mid air. "I uh- I might come over sometime to get some spruce, not much of it in this area."

Sausage smiled, saluting as he started flying back home.

#falsesymmetry #mythicalsausage #empires smp #empires smp s2 #blue tells stories

[leafcardinal]

#zampainosim #hey jadedresearcher do you also see your ocs as faceted reflections of yourself? #I don't make characters I just have ten versions of me in different hats #I was going somewhere with this but I need more coffee rn so I'll just post this mess #swimming in the stream of consciousness

[catelismo]

HEY GIRLIE <3 can you maybe make a Bachira X y/n going on a painting date? Because I remembered in the manga or anime that his mother likes to paint and it would be ao cute to see the girl he likes most has the same interest as his mother, the two get messy in paints then maybe he engages her?

animated scenery ft. bachira meguru

with all of the paints in the world splashed onto both on your bodies and smiles, it may seem very ideal for meguru to crack that fateful question of marriage.

this is actually so cute i started crying from the scenario itself 💗💗💗, THANK U FOR REQUESTING LOVE <3 and sorry that it took so long, i was quickly running out of ideas 😖😖

When he was younger, his mother's ambition and rather rebellion of painting captivated him.

The attention on her paintbrushes and how she developed texture by the mere soft strokes created a spark within his soul. He would giggle at her. Or he would show stars as eyes at the blending flowers that danced in the canvas in sync; showing something quite extraordinary. He remembered what his mother painted; two figures holding each other tightly as the overwhelming bullets of water washed them out, drenching their clothes.

At first, he was young and did not quite capture the meaning of love — his first initial thought of it was completely reasonable for a child: Is it an ice cream flavour? And now that he's entered the adult section of life, with an high earning salary as a football pro-player laced around in his fingers

And this is why he thought of the most extraordinary idea to engage in today with someone he held dear near his heart.

Painting date. With his one of a kind lover who was currently snuggling against the crook of his exposed neck with a smile that was definitely drawn on. The place for this special memory took place more specifically outside of the urban cities and into the nurturing fields of the countryside.

Wearing sundresses, straw hats and soft sandals tasted nostalgic and old-fashioned in both of her shoes and tongue but the high gloss-like touch of arms colliding stayed empowered throughout; Meguru never failed to use his infamous infectious smile that you couldn't help but fall for his wonderful tricks of mischief. You may giggle at the sight or you may messily push him into the grass as the paint watches you battling with joy. All you really know of: this Is life with Bachira like at this spectacular moment. Wow.

And oh my! Did it not feel ethereal at the moment?

It was perfect just the two of you, grabbing canvas and mounting them against the frame as your freshly bought acrylic paints stacked along together; Meguru quickly came to your aid when a wicked thought crossed his mind. What if he was just happened to accidentally commence a art fight? In more ways than one.

And thus, is how you find yourselves splashed in expensive hues of reds and yellows and blues. Initially, you were worried, worried that these one of a kind paints may stain the newly white dress that was an all-time favourite, but who were you to deny a chaotic time like this one? Especially when you wanted to erase that painted smirk of his face and sketch out a frown instead.

"Y/N, come back here!" With those sugary words from Meguru, you ended up going, running back to him as he used all of his strength to twirl round and around in the slightly coloured grass that contained a decent amount of raindrops; maybe it was from the rain last night?

Now, there was something so enchanting about the way your paint strokes danced around his textural ones — it felt way too satisfying for your preferences. It kinda gave him déjà vu when that gaze between the two of you reconnected again. Almost resembling a thundering piece like one of his mother's earlier paintings before. Two star-struck figured that hugged each other's waist in the pouring rain. Something you'd see straight out of a romance film.

Longing for that yearning touch, he must've reached inside of your heart as the slim fingers of his softening touch grasped his lover's fingers; perfectly locking them into place for what it seemed to be an eternity.

Art was set aside and then lunch arrived with a glorious picnic awaiting nearby. Fruit salads on a summery day and homemade macaroons complimented well for side dishes as crafted burritos and tacos were firstly eaten; you definitely did a great job arranged this meal as your gleam managed to outshine the afternoon sun, in Meguru's eyes.

By being distracted by something in his clothing, he wanted to put his plan in action. Should I do it? It was certainly unlikely for him to be so hesitant about this. If anything, he would've been on his knees by now — hell, even inserting that luxurious ring on her fourth finger right away!

But he doesn't have to be afraid: Isagi himself said it too. You'll be fine Bachira, you love her and she loves you. There's no way that she doesn't feel the same way.

But how can he be so sure about this? I mean, he was nervous about this, but was it so severe? Who knows what might happen; he did all of this planning for a long time, and without having the slightest idea if she really wants to get married to someone like him——

"Meguru, are you okay?"

Shocked eyes and widen mouth went together in a combo as the desperation to hide that obsidian box containing the ring had somewhat succeeded. Somewhat was the key word in this as Y/N noticed the fidgeting of his fingers nearby the blanket.

"I was going to tell you this later but... I think I can do this right now." He could, no, he will propose to her here and today while the sun's out and shining way too brightly for his liking.

He didn't matter how anyone viewed him nowadays in contrast to the amount of bullying he had endured as a toddler but in his eyes, he had seen his girlfriend (who hopefully might become his newly spouse) go through his rights and wrongs in any form and shape. He was greatful, greatful that someone like her didn't join the crowd of society to isolate him, but rather hold him like he's your prized gem.

Gasping, fuck even crying at this point at the sight of a beautiful gold rimmed ring with a small pound of emeralds ringed and worn hand by hand had you certainly speechless. It is most absolutely the most beautiful thing you've laid eyes on.

Not was you crying but Bachira had a few tears rolling down when he finally said "Will you marry me?" with a smile that you yourself have drawn on him with not a paintbrush, but with something else more exclusive. A heart.

"Yes! A thousand times yes!" And he didn't know how fast he got up to you but does it matter now? You were now finally his, and his only true love.

He felt really animated by the scenery he rose up in him; all of that because of his mother's passion.

Thanks, mom.

© CATELISMO ✶ any actions of plagiarism, distribution and tracing any of my works is strictly prohibited.

#prod. catelismo! #blue lock #blue lock x reader #blue lock x you #blue lock x y/n #bllk #bllk x reader #bllk x you #bllk x y/n #meguru bachira x reader #meguru bachira #meguru bachira x you #meguru bachira x y/n #bachira meguru #bachira meguru x reader #bachira meguru x you #bachira meguru x y/n

[etenvs3000w23]

Unit 04: Nature Interpretation through Art and Planning for “All” Scenarios

In my own opinion I believe it is important to acknowledge that interpreting nature through art is extremely valuable. When people hear this their mind often goes to appreciating art from a purely critical lens. They look at how difficult the piece would be to make, the production value, and even the entertainment value, but, the reason I believe art is so useful in interpreting as you say, “the gift of beauty”, is due to perspective.

Everyone perceives nature in their own way. It’s no secret that when I see a wetland I see a gorgeous natural ecosystem full of biodiversity, whereas someone else would see a pile of muck that should be drained, paved over, and made into housing lots. The two perspectives exist unanimously in regards to one plot of land despite the fact that it looks the exact same in a physical sense to each party. Similarly, any plot of land viewed by two separate people will be viewed with very different perspectives. Someone who lives on the coast will have years worth of memories to draw from to make that area look more beautiful than it already is, whereas someone new to the area has no idea what they are looking at. And that's just the people who are lucky enough to visit these areas in the first place.

This is where interpreting nature becomes extremely useful. To me, interpreting the gift of beauty holds many different purposes. Firstly, it acts as a documentation service, not just in showing the facts of what a place looked like when and where the art was made, but in how the creator felt when making the artwork, what they saw, and why they decided to document it. There could be a million things to look at in nature, but what the artist decides to focus on shows what they value most, what they believed was most beautiful, and most importantly why that place is worth preserving. Additionally, art is so personal to the artist creating it that oftentimes that personal attachment to a region bleeds through to the audience. I have never seen the areas presented in the Group of Seven’s artworks, but I can feel the hundreds of work hours they put into their paintings of Canada’s landscapes, the frigidness in their hands as they spent hour upon hour in subzero temperatures attempting to replicate the beauty of the north. And that's just in paintings. Music, dance, writing, and other forms of interpretation all display the beauty of nature through the emotions felt by the creator, and in perceiving those emotions we suddenly understand why those people chose to document these areas as they felt that way once too. 

The Passionate Fact (Strauss, 1996) lists several tips for artists trying to engage their audience through nature interpretation, and on that list one of the things that stood out to me was that you needed to show a sense of relationship and context on with the nature you are interpreting in order to provide a sense of journey. I especially liked this tip as I never understand lessons more than when I feel like I am experiencing a sense of adventure or fun. I believe that if you can translate nature through music, or story, or dance, or painting into said journey, the audience will never forget it, and as such, the message will successfully come across.

Strauss, S. (1996). The passionate fact : storytelling in natural history and cultural interpretation. North American Press.

Lawren S. Harris (1885-1970), Lake and Mountains 1928, oil on canvas, 130.8 x 160.7 cm. Gift from the Fund of the T. Eaton Co. Ltd. for Canadian Works of Art, 1948 © 2001: Art Gallery of Ontario

#wildlife #nature #conservation #naturalist #animals #writing #art #group of seven