A Hazbin Headcanon

Rosie and Shell used to be good friends when the later was still an overlord but when Shell lost the status. Rosie had no interest in still be friends and Shell was to depressed to care.

Until Shell and Alastor started to date.

Rosie thinks that Shell isn't good enough for Alastor anymore while Shell believes that Rosie is a stuck up judgemental bitch but they care for Alastor so they play nice in front of him until the moment he leaves the room then they conversation becomes passive (Rosie) - agressive (Shell) with the other.

Shell: Hello, Rosie. Rosie: Shell, fabulous to see you! Love your hat, where'd you buy it? Shell: Off some whore. I think it was your mother. Rosie: Well, gotta run. I don't want my friends exposed to a drunken hose-bag. Oh my, did I say that out loud?

Although they have their moments of caring for the other.

Rosie, amused: Shell if you come around the back I could give you food but not money. Shell, distressed: Rosie we used to be friends I was hoping that maybe... we could talk. Rosie: Of course, come in. *lets Shell's in* Have you been crying or are you just drunk? Shell: I little bit of both.

*Heavy trying to force Spy into Sniper's van*

Spy: NO! NO, I DONT WANNA GO IN THERE! THIS VAN WAS BUILT IN AUSTRALIA! IT SMELLS LIKE PISS AND SHAME!

Mr. O'Neil: I can’t wait to get to school and resume teaching.

Mr. DeMartino I can’t WAIT ‘til you DROWN in your own SALIVA!

John Walker: Yelena Belova, great to meet you in person! Love your hair. Where’d you buy it?

Yelena Belova: Bought it off some whore. I think it was your mother.

(notes and comments next, tumblr will not let me add a cut no matter how hard i try!!!!!!! killing and maiming!!!!)

silt verses wips, some will get finished and some wont :p which is which?? who knows !!! not me !!!!

1) thurrocks and faulkner on their quest to the endless drear, with jasp, tapper and wallace in the background (or at least thats the idea). most of my time on this one has been spent adjusting values on the hills in the background, and its absolutely too vibrant and green for how i imagine the scene lol theyre also really shitty hills if you look at them for less than a second so. dont do that please LMAO

2) faulkner in his katabasian garb, sat in a river for to maximise his solo slay. this one is kinda old atp but the design hasnt changed much. ive mentioned the open-mouthed epaulettes referencing the mouth delivering/returning before, but the green uhhh idk thing is dried and woven seaweed :) the rest of the robes will be more decorated with abstract woven patterns and embroidery if i ever start working on this one again

3) now THIS is the relgious faulkner that was giving me brain damage a couple days ago, that ive since realized wont be fixed with the ideas a couple people offered because of the perspectice. its pretty obviously mimicking a guillaume dufube sketch intended for a ceiling that i absolutely love. the parts ive produced, im really happy with, but i cant work out the composition fully so its gonna be abandoned at least for a while. not to mention the absolute misplacement of a sky motif. its one of those paintings i wish i had thicker/oil paint or gouache style brushes on medibang for

4) my mercer design!! heavily inspired by paleoart from various sources. everything she and gage have is organic, except a very few, like her sheath (oblong metal with a leather "cap" around the tip of the blade, a real ancient design i found references for on google) and her rifle. the original image also features gage playing their flute while squatting, but both of those things are hard poses to draw and hard to find refereces for, and im not willing to put in THAT much effort god lord i draw for FUN if its hard im giving up baby

5&6) snare dog!!!! i love these silly guys but i dont like this design, its too wolfish and i imagine them sorta borzoi/greyhound aligned. i also dont like the way the face opens, since i imagine that as more of a twist. i do like the flopping tongue though and i liked the half assed rendering

I just read the post of finger fucking aemond for like, the third time this afternoon… and I’d like to just put the idea of him… expanding that area of pleasure by reader using a strap… again just putting that idea out there!

Be Your Slave, Be Your Master • Modern!Aemond Targaryen x reader • 18+

Summary: It's a bit of a learning curve when you experiment with pegging Aemond. This can be read as a continuation of For Your Love, but it totally works as a stand-alone fic.  Words: 3k CW: Porn without plot, oral sex (m) & (f) receiving; face sitting, blow jobs, spanking, pegging. Established relationship, communicating boundaries. The energy between these two is all switchy and all over the place, so Aemond ends up being more of a power bottom. This is inspired by 'I Wanna Be Your Slave' by Måneskin.

Tonight you’re on top once again — your bodies already naked and gleaming with a layer of sweat from having cum together once already, with you being on your third orgasm by now. You’ve been spoiled, and now you’re ruined and dripping, unsure if you’ll be able to keep going when your muscles ache this good.  

He’d made you cum once on his tongue, with him drinking you all up as if he’d been parched for decades and you were the only source of water for miles. Twice, with his fingers scissoring inside of you while his thumb pressed electrifying circles that had your thighs tensing and arching up to frame his face as he dipped down to swallow out your clit viciously. The third time, with his cock pistoning in and out of you from behind, with your face pressed onto the pillows, babbling his name each time you felt the tip of his cock nudge your g-spot. 

Now he holds your body up as you grind on his hard cock — so easily now, with shared cum to aid in that slide — groaning into each other’s mouths, furrowed brows as if you were in pain. It hurt to be like this, all sensitive and worn out, and it felt so fucking delicious. 

But this was far from over… 

"...I was thinking…” he breathed against your mouth, making out sensually on the couch, one evening. Entwining your tongues over and over again — his smile kept turning the kiss into a sloppy mess. 

“Uh-huh? What are you thinking about, Aemond?” You sighed, planting your kisses on the corner of his lips and his dimples, making him grin even wider. 

“I got you something…” 

“Oh? What’s that, love?”  

“Well, it’s for us.” 

Mischief poured from his eye as he sat up and leaned to the side to retrieve something from behind a pillow. It was hidden in a little cotton bag with bright colors – that you recognized from your favorite sex shop – and from underneath it, you saw an oblong shape that was all too telling. 

“Extend out your palms,” he softly ordered. A little glimpse of his casual dominance. His ears turned crimson red the moment he pulled the toy out of the bag and rested it in your hands. 

Your eyes colored with glee at the sight of the dildo — a fairly standard one, not freakishly long or thick but pretty enough — and then you gasped when you peeked inside to see the strap-on belt that came with it. 

“I want to know what it feels like.” He confessed between breathy kisses. “It’s all I’ve been thinking about since that first time you finger-fucked me. You felt so good inside of me.” So quiet, as if he was still a tad embarrassed by admitting that he was so into this. “But first, I thought, it might be a good idea to talk about, you know…our boundaries and what we’re both comfortable with.” 

“Of course!” You sighed with relief, giggling, “actually I’ve been wanting to bring it up but didn’t know how.” 

He smiled – ever the observant man. Of course, he noticed all your little hints after you rimmed him. He caught the way your eyes now fixed on his asshole when you suck him off; could practically feel your eyes piercing daggers on his backside when he undressed during the night, or when he slipped on a pair of clean underwear when he got out of the shower. Leave it to Aemond to come up with a straightforward solution to the whirlwind you sometimes spun to make sense of whatever troubled your mind. 

“You know you can always talk to me about anything. Especially when it comes to this…” 

Aemond kisses you hungrily and messily, as he grips and grasps at your flesh all rough and demanding. He’s grinding up his hips against you, not only seeking friction on his cock but also rocking on the anal plug that he’s been wearing this entire time. He hisses with each sway; beads of sweat are dripping from his forehead, all pink in the chest with his marble flesh all painted with hickeys. 

A little evil smirk adorns his lips, breaking off your kiss and making your teeth clank together as he grabs your hand and guides it back around you to his entrance. You moan brokenly at the slippery sensation of his hole dripping with lube, all stretched out and ready. 

 “My, my, my, darling,” you moan, all hoarse for it feels like you’re gonna overflow with pleasure and it’s all stuck in your throat. “You want it now? You want me to fuck you?” 

“Hmmm…” he hums, always a man of few words. 

“Hmmm,” You taunt, kissing him all over the spots on his skin where a blush spreads so beautifully, the spots that haven’t been marked by your teeth just yet — using the light moles dotted all over his skin as a map. The meat of his pectorals looks so fucking pretty all bitten and red, blonde chest hair all damp with sweat and your spit. 

You look up at him desperately – drunk on the scent of his sweat and your sex and just him, him, him. He sits up to devour your lips in his kiss – all tongue and teeth and drool trailing down your chins before he reaches the nightstand and brings up the strap-on to put it around you gingerly. 

“Fuck, Aemond. I want to give you everything you want.” One last needy whine on your part, one last glimpse of submission from your end. 

“I trust you,” he tenderly frames your face in his hands to give you a chaste kiss, resting your foreheads together to give you a final nod. You echo his nod before eying him wickedly, beginning to shimmy down his hard planes of muscle after he lays back down on the bed… 

"...I’m open to experimenting with everything you want, love. As long as we talk it out first.” Aemond looked at you with earnestness, squeezing your hands to accentuate the purpose of his words. “There are a couple of things I wouldn’t like, however.” 

“Tell me.” 

“Degradation. That’s not why I’m with you. I like for our intimacy to be caring, not humiliating. A little bit of teasing in good fun is fine, but that’s it. If I’m opening up to you, letting you fuck me, it’s because I want to feel closer to you. Not because I want to feel degraded.” 

“Got it.” You kissed each of his cheeks and caressed the side of his face. “And on that note…would you want me to take more of a dominant role sometimes? I know that’s what you naturally lean towards. And I’m so fine with it, love. You know I love to be under your mercy anyway.” You giggled shyly. 

“I’d like that, yes. But I don’t know if I’d be able to keep up with being submissive for too long.” 

“That’s fair. We can always try, and see how it works out.” 

“You know I’m always up for learning new things…”

"...You know what to do,” you sigh against his skin, licking a broad stripe from his belly button to his navel, kissing and nibbling at his taut skin, his jutting hip bones — caressing the silvery hairs that nestle the thick cock that’s resting on his belly, before gripping it at the base. “Spread wide for me.” 

He plants his feet on the bed, obeying with shaky breaths as you drool on the tip of his cock to start stroking it up and down with a firm grip. “Such a pretty cock, leaking so much for me.” 

You moan as you kitten-lick around his glistening head and the underside of it, gathering his pearly white precum with your tongue before lapping up his length as your fist rests at the base. Hold him steady so you could swallow all of him down. 

He grunts, closing his eyes as he opens his legs wider and reaches down to spread himself with his fingers, showing off the plug all deeply snug inside his ass. You chuckle wetly on his cock as you come up for air, keeping up the steady motions with your fist. 

“What do you want, Aemond?” You whisper as you gaze at him seductively, face leaning down and down, inching closer to kiss and suckle at his balls for what seemed like an infinite moment, before reaching lower still. 

“I want you to use me.” He murmurs so quietly you could barely hear him, with all the slurping and moaning as you fondle his balls and suck him hard and depraved. “Wanna be your slave.” 

“Oh, darling” you chuckle, “I plan to. I wanna make you hungry. Wanna be your master this time.” You reply hoarsely as you carefully twist the plug and pull it out slowly, making him choke out a long, drawn-out moan in the process. 

You’re ready to ascend to heaven right fucking there from seeing Aemond’s gaping hole, begging to be filled up again. 

“Fuuuuuck…” you moan as you circle his rim with your thumb, dipping it inside and curling it to keep it stretched as you pour even more lube onto his entrance and the dildo of your strap. You give the dildo a couple of strokes, spreading the lube around while you tease Aemond’s hole with your thumb. 

Just to make sure, you dribble another bit of lube directly onto his ass before breaching him with the tip of the dildo, stretching him out to take that first inch, slowly – so, so slowly it feels like time stands still. 

He fists the sheets and leans his head back with a deep intake of breath.  

“You okay, Aemond? Is this too much?” You grab his hand and squeeze, panicking for a second until he nods, exhaling shakily before opening up his eye to look back at you all blissed out. 

“Keep going,” he whispers, squeezing your hand back for reassurance, and not letting go. 

This is incredibly intimate, it makes your chest fill with all that is warm and fuzzy and happy. You lean into him to kiss him as you push your hips in, thrusting a little bit deeper while his free hand rests at your hips, keeping you up. 

Your foreheads touch as you slip deeper and deeper and deeper until you’ve bottomed out and are buried to the hilt inside of him, catching his gasps inside of your mouth. 

He spreads his legs wider, hugging you by your lower back as he sits up a little bit to have you all folded on top of him. So, so close, with your tits pressing against his chest, sensitive nipples brushing his, heartbeat to heartbeat as you deliberately rotate your hips once he whispers that he’s ready, right into your ear. 

The first thrusts are experimental; as slow as the bead of sweat trailing down Aemond’s jawline that you lean up to lick. As soft as the way his pale eyelashes look when his eye goes half-mast, soft like his puckered lips — always seeming to be in a permanent pout. 

Slow and steady, finding your rhythm, making sure you’re not hurting him, testing out how the friction feels against your clit each time your pelvis grazes his, marveling at the effort it takes to push inside because he’s still so tight. 

But then he’s looking at you with a scorching hot gaze, gripping your hips and ass so tight you’re reeling over the knowledge you’ll bear those bruises come morning light. He squeezes your asscheeks hard as he grinds up his hips quickly, urging you to go faster. 

“Fuck me,” he groans into your ear like a lightning bolt traversing your entire spine. 

“What?” you smirk – even with your back all arched and thighs shaking from the effort to keep up the pace – you have a little bit of bite in you. “You’re not gonna say, please?” 

He only grunts in response, looking at you darkly, not wanting you to forget who’s gonna make who pay afterward if you get a little too bossy. 

He slaps your ass hard before bunching it up in his hands and squeezing so hard it nearly hurts. But it hurts so damn good that your yelp becomes a moan and you’ve no other choice but to obey. 

No other choice but to start thrusting faster, pinching one of his nipples in retaliation for that slap, which makes Aemond’s brows raise before slapping you again – and again, harder this time, prompting you to fuck him faster. 

You lean down to bite into his mouth before sticking your tongue inside as you fuck him with a series of shallow thrusts before impaling him on you. Make him twitch and moan into your mouth the moment the dildo grazes his g-spot. 

You grin madly, locking your gazes together as you keep going and going and growing hysterical each time you feel your clit bumping against him with each thrust. You want to see every emotion cross over his icy eye, want to see him struggling to hold your stare, brows pinching together at the overwhelming surge of pleasure twisting and coiling deep inside of him. 

With a trembling hand, you reach down to take his slick cock, keeping it in a solid grip as you fuck him – finally making him break from your gaze and spread his legs wide, elongating his body back as if a tidal wave was coursing through him. 

“Fuck, Aemond!” you plead to him even when you’re the one in control. You wanna make him cum so fucking bad, wanna make him burst right into your hand. “Please!” 

He laughs all dark and cocky, even with furrowed brows and shaking thighs, gripping onto your ass to help bounce you up and down into him, faster, harder, grunting louder and louder with each thrust. 

All cocky as he surges up to take your tits in his mouth, sucking on one while fondling the other. Switching between licking your stiff nipples and pinching them, squeezing and suckling harshly. He can’t get enough — not when it makes you arch back and lose your stride for a moment with how amazing it feels to have his hot mouth on you. 

“Say it,” he grits through his teeth. Is it a plea or a command? By now you don’t even care. You shut your eyes and concentrate on pistoning into him harder, aiming for his g-spot with each thrust, so hard your thighs feel like cramping but you power through. 

“Cum for me, Aemond!” you groan as you start to press tight circles at the underside of his cockhead to the beat of your thrusts, “Fuck, please, cum for me, darling, cum on my cock!” 

Aemond hisses as his whole body tenses up – everything freezes for a moment in which you could hear your heartbeats galloping frantically – groaning loud, white-knuckled as he grips onto your flesh and spurts cum all over his stomach. 

He sighs and heaves for breath, trembling with the aftershocks of his orgasm as you slide in and out. Slower, stretching out the pleasure until he squirms and shakes his head on the pillows, silently telling you that it’s too sensitive now. 

Soon you stop altogether, pulling out of him and relishing Aemond’s ass gripping the dildo so hard, it takes some effort to finally get it out of him. 

The minute the strap is off, you gasp – Aemond’s immediately sitting up and hauling your body towards him, helping you sit on his chest before grabbing your thighs and further aiding you to his eager mouth. 

You can only moan and hold onto the bedpost – not expecting this at all but certainly not complaining as soon as you feel his tongue lapping up at your dripping pussy. 

He flattens out his tongue and helps you grind against his mouth, nearly suffocating his face but he doesn’t show the slightest discomfort. Growling and moaning right into your twitching cunt, curling his tongue all across your slit before sucking your clit aggressively – hollowing out his cheeks to augment the suctioning sensation as he slides two fingers inside of you and starts fucking you relentlessly. 

You’re screaming, already so damn close as you look down at Aemond with his eye shut and his nose pressed against you. The sight drives you to the fucking brink and you grab a fistful of his long hair, grinding down on his face to keep him there. He groans, finger-fucking you faster, sucking your clit harder and harder before he looks up at you. 

He holds your gaze, keeping one hand locked around your thigh while he adds a third finger with the other and moans around your clit, sucking and sucking and twirling his tongue around it and – holy fuck!

Your thighs clench around his face – everything going black for a moment while your ears ring and electric sparks shoot all over your nerves as you scream and scream and scream in blissful agony, gushing down Aemond’s chin. 

“Fuck!” you sigh, carding a hand across your forehead and sweat-matted hair, giggling uncontrollably all fucked out and high on the buzzing waves radiating all over your body. It makes Aemond chuckle, as he takes your hands and helps you off of him and into his warm embrace. 

You instantly drape yourself on him; sweaty bodies sticking together, with your ear pressed to his chest to listen to his heartbeat slowing down. 

Aemond looks down at you sweetly, taking your chin between his fingers and guiding you to a lazy kiss – all smiley and dazed in love, all breathy and wet and like you could stay like this forever and ever.

You hold on to the kiss, with your thumb gently stroking the scar that cuts the left side of his face before replacing it with your lips until you reach his eyelids, his strong eyebrow bone, and forehead. 

“So how was that for a learning curve? I think we did poorly in keeping up our respective roles.” You snort, exchanging bright grins between the two of you. 

“Nothing that can’t be solved with more practice.”

Ramboldia russula

Southern crimson dot lichen

This crustose lichen has a thin, whitish-gray or gray-green thallus that varies in shape and texture. It has distinctive red-orange apothecia (due to the presence of the secondary metabolite russulone) which produce simple, oblong-ellipsoid spores. Its photobiont is a chlorococcoid algae. R. russula grows on smooth bark and wood and occasionally rock in tropical and subtropical regions.

images: source | source | source

info: source | source

FOTD #040 : fairy fingers! (clavaria fragilis)

fairy fingers (also called white worm coral & white spindle) is a saprotrophic fungus in the family clavariaceae. it is usually found across the northern hemisphere, but has also been found in australia & south africa :-)

the big question : can i bite it?? yeah !! though it is nonpoisonous, it is too fragile to be of substantial worth in cooking, but it is edible nonetheless.

c. fragilis description :

"the fruit bodies of c. fragilis are irregularly tubular, smooth to furrowed, sometimes compressed, very fragile, white, up to 15 cm (6 in) tall by 5 mm (0.2 in) thick, & typically grow in dense clusters. the tip of the fruit body tapers to a point, & may yellow & curve with age. there is no distinct stalk, although it is evident as a short, semitransparent zone of tissue at the base of the club. microscopically, the hyphae of the flesh are swollen up to 12 µm wide & lack clamp connections. the spores are smooth, colourless, ellipsoid to oblong, measuring 5–7 by 3–4 µm. the spores are white in deposit. the basidia (spore bearing cells) measure 40–50 by 6–8 µm, & lack clamps at their bases."

[images : source & source] [fungus description : source]

"i love these guys teehee<3 they're so ethereal."

@skyward-floored thanks for the ask!

When shadows fade (pt 2)

Day 15+9: "who did this to you?"/bees

Part 1

Read on ao3

Sky stilled his mind, taking a deep breath as the tip of the Master Sword wavered in front of him. When the Chain woke earlier that morning to find Four missing and no sign of a struggle, they began to worry. Twilight had left immediately to find Wolfie and possibly pick up a trail, but had returned alone, dejected, after a couple of hours.

The anxiety of the group grew a few notches, but they kept their heads and settled down to come up with other ways to track their Smithy. Sky hesitantly brought up his dowsing ability. He knew Fi was weaker than she had been on his adventure, but she was always willing to help a hero in need.

Leaving the rest of the Chain in Warriors and Twilight's care, he and Time set off, following the faint tug at the tip of the blade. They walked for over an hour, winding through forests and over hills, until they hit the rocky foothills of an enormous mountain range.

Fi brought them near the base of a sheer cliff that stretched out seemingly indefinitely to either side. The signal was strong, coming from directly in front of the pair, but there was no apparent way through to the other side.

Sky sighed, stumped, and let the tip of the sword drift towards the ground. He turned to his companion, pleading, “Any ideas, Old Man?”

Time's eye narrowed, searching the cliff face, brow pinched in a frown. “I can almost feel…” he murmured, hand drifting towards his adventure pouch. “Sky, put the sword away, I need to check something.”

With silent thanks, Sky laid Fi to rest in her sheath, watching as Time pulled out an object made of purple and red glass. The short handle, oblong central crystal, and three spiky gems adorning the top reminded him of the Sheikah eye. He cocked his head curiously when Time brought it to his eye and began to look through it.

“The Lens of Truth,” Time began, “is a…magic mirror, of sorts. Feed it a bit of magic, and it allows the user to view things that would otherwise be hidden.”

“You think it can help us find a way across?”

“I hope so.” Time continued to scan the cliff face. “Something looked odd about the rock, just there,” he pointed near where the dowsing signal had been strongest, lips thinning as he concentrated, “but I don’t see…Ah! There!”

Time shifted so Sky could share the lens, and they both looked through to see a small fissure, hidden in the cliff face. It would be a tight squeeze, but if it went all the way through the rock they could continue their search.

The high noon sun beat down upon the pair as they approached the cliff. Even this close, without looking through the lens there was no visible fault in the rock. Sky pulled the Master Sword once more, verifying the direction they’d need to go.

Cool air wafted from the narrow fissure, soothing their fears of a dead end. Carefully, they shuffled through the narrow crack, Master Sword and Lens of Truth returned to sheath and pack. As they went, Sky shuddered as the thick feel of dark magic began to seep around them.

Sky knew, with absolute certainty, that something – hopefully someone – would be at the end of this tunnel.

It was long enough that by the time Sky and Time emerged from the tunnel into a wide cave, their eyes had mostly adjusted to the darkness. Heavy magic pressed all around them, and Time pulled out the Lens of Truth, beginning to look around again.

A dull glint caught Sky's eye, and he turned to find the source. His breath caught in his chest even as his heart soared. “Four!” he exclaimed, swiftly moving to the Smithy's side.

There was no response. Time glanced across, but continued to look through the lens rather than crowd Four.

“Four?” Sky eyed the extinguished torches on either side of the smaller hero, the chains Four hung limply in, and the shallow movements of his chest. He didn’t appear injured, but with the dark magic hanging in the air, there wasn’t a good way to tell without some light.

Sky diverted his attention from Four just long enough to light one of the torches with one of Legend's spare lanterns, but was distracted by the shadows flickering to life across the cave. Fi chimed as he swept his glance around the lightening cave, the sword warming upon his back as his eyes settled on the opposite wall, where each of their shadows wavered softly.

Sky noted with shock that, while they were all casting a shadow, Four’s was unnaturally pale and washed out. He looked between Four and his shadow with concern.

“Old Man?” he called hesitantly, and Time immediately came closer, lens still in hand but not in use.

“What did you find, Sky? Is he okay?”

“I’m…I’m not exactly sure.” Sky hesitated, dread mounting in his heart. Something was wrong, here, and it was centered around Four. “Your lens, may I…?”

Time surrendered the lens easily. “Of course,” he murmured, moving to do his own inspection of Four.

Sky fed a trickle of the magic that allowed him to use the Goddess harp and his skyward strike into the lens, then brought it to his eye. He recoiled in shock and nearly lost hold of the lens when a pair of exhausted red eyes blinked back at him from the depths of Four's shadow.

Time deftly snatched the lens from Sky's numb fingers and focused on Four’s fading shadow as Sky had done. Sky jumped when a furious growl rumbled through Time’s chest. “A Dark. I should have known. What did you do to him?!” he seethed.

Sky thought back to a recent conversation about the dark versions of each hero, and how, more often than not, they’d had to fight their Darks to continue with their journeys. He remembered how most of the heroes agreed that they were evil and deserved to be defeated, but Four had only looked down at his feet – at his shadow – as sadness colored his usually reserved features.

Sky placed a restraining hand on Time’s chest, taking back the lens as he did. He took a deep breath and focused on the being within Four's shadow.

This Dark, if it was one, didn’t look evil. It looked tired, harrowed, weak. Deep purple hair, so deep it was almost black, framed its face in an exact replica of Four's own hairstyle. The red eyes he’d originally seen retained a weak defiance through the exhaustion; its deep gray tunic hung limp on its body, which shuddered with uneven breaths.

The Lens of Truth apparently allowed Sky to hear what was hidden as well, for he heard the shadow muttering to itself in response to Time’s accusations. “I would never do anything to him.” It stared past Sky, watching Four breathe. “Of course you wouldn’t believe me, even if you could hear me…it won’t matter…’m dead soon anyway…’m so sorry, Rainbow, I’ve tried…”

It – he? – closed his eyes with a wince, shuddering out a long sigh. The shadow being just hung there breathing for a moment, then his eyes turned back to Sky. “What're you starin' at, anyway? No one can see me…’m just a shadow. Aren’t you one of those heroes? You should be savin' Link…wake him up an' let me die in peace…”

Sky’s heart clenched in sympathy. His infamous “Mother Cucco" instincts flaring, he shook his head gently. He reached out and placed his hand on the wall, where he could see the shadow being’s shoulder through the lens. “I can’t allow that,” he told it softly. “Who are you? Who did this to you?”

The shadow being stared blankly at Sky's hand before its gaze traveled up his arm and met him eye-to-eye through the lens. “…That eye thing…you can see me?” it mumbled confusedly, “You can hear me?”

Sky nodded.

Relief filled its eyes, chasing away some of the exhaustion. “Link calls me Shadow. I was…created to stop him during one of his adventures, but I decided I liked helping him more…I’ve been trapped inside his shadow since that adventure ended.”

Shadow’s eyes went back to Four's limp form before he continued, “Some creep in a hooded robe came in…put something under Link's tunic…Somehow it’s sucking all his memories of me away…they’re the only thing keeping me alive – if he loses them all, I’ll…”

Shadow winced again, panting as Four's shadow faded by another degree. “Please. Help us.”

Sky nodded in determination. “Where should we look?”

Shadow closed his eyes, conserving his strength. “Collarbone,” he breathed.

“Okay,” Sky nodded again, wishing he could impart some physical comfort to Shadow, then turned towards Four and Time. “Time, this is gonna sound crazy, but I have some information that could help – check his collarbones for anything unusual.”

Time raised a skeptical eyebrow but complied, gently loosening Four's tunic. He shook his head after a brief inspection. “I don’t see anything,” he stated, but his eye searched the cave, watching the shadows and air as if he could read the lines of heavy magic surrounding them, “but that doesn’t mean there might not be something there.”

Fi chimed again on Sky's back, and he approached Four's limp form, raising the Lens of Truth as he did.

Something metallic glinted on Four's skin, just a few inches from his throat. Closer examination revealed a small brooch shaped like a handful of bees buried into the soft skin under his collarbone. Each intricately worked leg and stinger were needle-sharp, angled inwards to anchor the object.

One clear bee hovered in the midst of the swarm, the rest of which were filled with a dark mist. Even as he watched, a similar mist slowly began to fill the last bee. In the corner of his eye Four's shadow paled further, writhing in the flickering torchlight.

That fog must represent the memories of Shadow. They were running out of time.

Sky moved swiftly back to Shadow’s side and tried again to place a comforting hand on his shoulder. Ineffective as it might be, it had to bring some sort of comfort to the fading shade. He was rewarded with a faint smile.

“I can see the object that’s collecting and containing the memories,” Sky told Shadow softly. “It shouldn’t be difficult to remove, but I’m not sure what will happen to the memories when I do.”

Shadow’s eyes closed in contemplation. When he spoke, it was in the barest whisper. “Get it off. Anything's better than dying in front of him.”

Sky was back at Four's side in a matter of seconds. With a firm grip on the brooch, he carefully pried it from Four's skin. A few drops of blood seeped from the puncture wounds, but when Sky looked back at the brooch the mist remained safely contained, the last bee half full.

Immediately, the heaviness of the magic began to fade, and Sky breathed a sigh of relief. A glance through the lens in Shadow's direction confirmed his continued presence.

A tremor rocked Four's small frame, rattling his chains. He drew in a sharp breath before opening bleary, multi-colored eyes. “Where ‘re we?” he groaned, “...Wha' happ'nd…Eurgh, my head…”

He scrunched his eyes closed and gently shook his head before opening them again. His gaze wandered around the cave until it fell on Sky and Time.

Sky crouched on the floor so Four wouldn’t strain his neck. “Hey, Smithy. How do you feel?”

Four blinked. “Like something’s been poking around in my head.” He stood, trying to take his weight off his arms and attempting to roll out his shoulders. “Stiff. Do you know how to get me out of these? We – I looked, but I couldn’t find anything.”

Time spoke. “I have an idea, but I’ll need my lens back, Sky.”

Sky was hesitant to return the lens – it was his only connection to Shadow, and he didn’t want Time to interrogate him, with how weak he was – but he had to see how much Four remembered, for Shadow’s sake. To his relief, Time merely looked over the manacles before turning a hidden mechanism and handing the lens back. The dark, heavy magic in the air dispersed as Four's arms fell.

Sky winced in sympathy as Four worked the stiffness from his arms and shoulders. “Do you remember what happened?”

Four rocked his head side to side in a so-so gesture. “Kind of? I woke up alone, tried to escape for a while until someone in a hooded robe came in. They sounded awful, by the way.” A note of uncertainty colored his tone, and his eyes took on an amber hue. “They…told me they could make me forget…something…I was scared.”

Four's eyes darted around the cave, tension slowly coiling every muscle tight as he unconsciously curled in on himself. “There was someone…we…needed,” he whispered, “Someone we…forgot…?”

His gaze settled on the shadows on the far wall, immediately noticing how faded his was. He paled significantly, and tears began to drip down his face. “Sky,” he rasped, “I feel like there���s a hole in my heart. What am I forgetting?”

In response, Sky held out the bee brooch, visible without the lens now that the odd magic had been dispersed. “We found this under your tunic just before you woke. I believe it holds your missing memories.”

Four took it reverently while Time looked over his shoulder. They examined it for a moment before coming to the same conclusion. “It’s cursed,” they said in unison.

Fi chimed on Sky's back – for being weakened she sure had a lot to say today – confirming their words. Sky gestured towards her hilt. “She could probably break the curse. Do you think –” He cut himself off. There were too many things that could go wrong if using the sword didn’t work, or if it worked too well.

The other heroes looked at the brooch with this new context; as they did Sky subtly looked through the lens at Shadow, silently asking his opinion. Shadow searched his face before giving a single solemn nod.

Sky put the lens away as Four came to his own conclusion. “Let’s try it. If I keep it close the mist shouldn’t escape.”

Sky took a deep breath. Here goes nothing. He drew the Master Sword from her sheath; she immediately lit up with a pleasing glow. Carefully, he held just the tip of the sword to the brooch, watching the fog drain away from each bee and soak into Four's skin. From the corner of his eye, he watched Four's shadow strengthen with each regained memory, until it stood proud and clear next to his own.

Four stood silent for a moment as the memories settled, then he gasped, eyes flying open in shock. “Shadow! We almost forgot…” Fresh tears rolled down his face as he stared longingly at the opposite wall. “I hope you’re okay, wherever you are…” he whispered.

Wordlessly, Sky held out Time’s Lens of Truth. Four wiped his eyes and took it carefully, glancing curiously at Sky as he did.

Sky gave a soft smile. “Feed it a bit of magic. It shows things that are hidden – it’s how we found you.”

Understanding dawned in Four’s expression as hope bloomed in his eyes. With a measured breath, he brought the lens into alignment with his shadow on the wall.

The widest smile Sky had ever seen split the Smithy's face as he raced off to the wall, where Sky knew a long-awaited reunion would shortly happen. Four's voice was overjoyed as he shouted his friend's name: “SHADOW!!”

Corporate entities hate fanmade works and would love nothing more than to get them shut down entirely

They hate that there are people out there using their characters and their settings and having fun with them without having to pay them for the priviledge

But as long as fans aren't making money out of their IP they can currently get away with it. But we've recently seen a crackdown on people selling t-shirt designs, stickers, etc which violate this

So what can they do to try to firm up the laws on this, to get them to fall more in their favour?

Would writing their own fanfic and turning it into a show that they're making lots of money from be enough to do that, for them to sell merchandise and profit from someone else's IP without asking or paying for the use of it?

For it to maybe go to court for a very public fight over who can do what with a property they're a fan of?

Because that could well be what Disney is currently up to with their Star Wars shows

Not just making a few references to other movies or tv shows, but taking entire plotlines, blurring the edges of them, and dropping them right into their own shows

Want an example even if it risks containing show spoilers? of course you do!

Back in Season 7 of The Clone Wars (On the Wings of Keeradaks) we have a scene where Tech uses a recording of the flying lizards they encounted earlier to call them to their position and fly them out of danger

Just like Gandalf summons the eagles to come and rescue his party from the attack from Azog and his team of orcs and wargs, right down to the way some party members are left dangling over a huge drop off the mountainside

Later, in The Bad Batch (Reunion, S1), Hunter has been shot in the chest and Tech gets him up, gets him to safety, and (offscreen) medical aid is provided

Which is extremely close to that same rescue scene in The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey, only the part of it where Gandalf gets Thorin up and out of danger, with the assistance of the eagles, after he's been severly mauled by a warg, and then rendering medical assistance to him

Tech goes on to have a big fall (Plan 99, Bad Batch, S2), right off the end of a great big crumbling bridge. Sound familiar to any LotR fans?

And in a different episode (The Crossing, Bad Batch, S2) Tech is seen falling and landing in a similarly super familiar looking cave

Which repeats parts of the two separate scenes of Gandalf falling and 'dying' ('The Fellowship of the Ring' for the fall, and 'The Two Towers' for the cave scene) which all the characters get really sad about - until he gets better and comes back. Which has yet to be seen in Tech's case. (How Tech will be able to come back from his fall despite not being a wizard is explained via his character specific movie source they've made repeated use of, but since that's still hugely spoilery I'm not getting into that here)

And this is only a couple of examples of one tiny instance where this is happening, the show is filled with them and it applies to all the main characters not just Techdalf

'Entombed' (The Bad Batch, S2) hits The Hobbit up HARD for it's plot and not only gives us the Arkenstone but oblong, which it directly names as The Heart of the Mountain, which is found and then lost again, but dredges up a fire breathing dragon equivalent. Add in some additional Alien themeing and a lizardy creature that can be shot in the chest with a laser arrow before being tossed out of a window in full on 'OMG it's Ripley with the airlock' style and they're really cramming it in there. They end with a reference to an opportunity to find a golden chalice, which is what Bilbo took from Samug's hoarde as proof that he'd found it But people have been easily sidelined from thinking about any of this too hard by them throwing in a handful of surface references to Indiana Jones, the potential of a love interest being developed, and the 'dragon' being a creature previously seen in the Jedi: Fallen Order video game

And don't even get me started on how Senator Avi Singh appears to live in Dale (Common Ground, Bad Batch, S1), Roland and Isa Durand apparently live in Rohan (Paths Unknown, Bad Batch, S3) or Dr Hemlock and his former base at Dol Guldur (Paths Unknown, The Bad Batch, S3) and what that implies for the remainder of the show

They've blended together a lot of canon prequel & clone wars era Star Wars content with a range of supplementary non-canon SW content such a comic books, video games, Legends novels, etc which maintains the idea that this show is nothing more than Star Wars and keeps a lot of long term fans happy and distracted by seeing non-canon things finally appearing in a canon setting, even if they have changed some of the details

But so many concepts and images have been lifted barely altered from their original sources, not just from Tolkein's works, and just slapped down like we're not supposed to notice how much of it there actually is because they've made the animation and lighting so very very pretty

Gingerbread

TW: Smut. Semi-public sex. Language. 

SUMMARY: Your secret relationship with John B is put at risk when you can’t keep your hands off of him. 

Maybank Reader x John B pairing!

WORD COUNT:

*ORIGINAL CONCEPT*

Gingerbread

"Dammit!" JJ cursed, the north wall of his mess of a Gingerbread house having become the source of humor for the otherwise tense situation requiring such focus. A recent tradition among the pogues would also lead for you to draw one’s specific attention to you as it risked your brother, JJ's, wrath, if discovered. 

And yet, you just couldn't help yourself. Not when he was this close and your thoughts were that deafening. Every sexually bold one…

As John B came to an orchestrated focus of the gingerbread house, you pulled your icing coated finger being a smirk and sucked off the excess with your back turned to the other pogues. He swallowed hard to what you were initiating as his eyes flashed back to the night before when he knew that same wrap of your lips around him. Those doe eyes strained with tears before you swallowed his release to 'keep from making a mess'. He could still how just how sweet you sounded so breathless for him. So sweet. So innocent, if it was even possible. Such a contrast to now as you were purposely forcing such a scene to torment him for the fun of it. 

"Stop it." He warned silently as you finished off your finger before moving in front of him, purposely bending over in the position you knew he favored having you in, feigning a reach you could have made from where you'd just come from, as everyone nearby remained too distracted in their own craft to notice. 

"What the hell is that supposed to be?" Kiara asked Pope as he pointed at a makeshift sign that had been labeled with letters made of sugar. 

"It's my house slash home office. My gingerbread are medical affiliates to the state." 

"Why are you so weird, Pope?" JJ teased. 

"At least I can make MY wall stay up!" The playful bickering only allowed you to continue your guise as you grinned at John B while making every excuse to trace his finger or brush against him, knowing it took little to make him flustered. For multiple reasons, but mostly for the fact that you had been so brazen. 

"Screw it." JJ groaned, breaking down his house and turning his work-in-progress away from the group as you managed to slip your hand over John B’s seam during the change of location from your brother, now across the room. 

"I mean it-" 

"You wouldn't do anything...Wouldn't risk JJ finding out all the ways you've touched me since this last summer..." Your lips were close enough to his cheek for him to feel your breath as he gripped his hands at the edge of the counter, acting as if he was focusing on anything but how hard your words left him. 

"All the ways you've made me come...how many of these surfaces...If only he knew..." John B clenched his jaw before looking at you. 

"I might not be able to be able to do anything about it now, but you bet your sweet little ass that I’ll more than make up for it..." 

"Until then..." You tormented from across the counter, setting the final touches on you and John B’s masterpiece as Kiara called for time. 

As expected, Pope's had been a home doctor's office adorned with lavish detail that made him question for just a moment whether perhaps he should consider switching his major to architecture. For Kiara, she left green frosting as ivy and made an eco-friendly house, complete with solar panels made from gum and black licorice. But it was JJ's that left everyone to chuckle as he had just made a version of the HMS Pogue, a stick figure made from marshmallows and pretzels holding a fishing pole made up of a goldfish cracker, an unwrapped Twizzler line, and an oblong chocolate candy. 

"It's supposed to be a house..." Kiara teased as he explained how it had been his second home. 

The classic display of your and John B’s masterpiece compete with a stone wall made of jelly beans and a tree made from cotton candy and a Graham cracker with rice krispies arranged to mimic bark would have the most praise. Yet the winner would be a pitiful prize towards JJ. 

It was now time to dismantle them to eat. But as everyone made their way outside to a fire, consuming pieces of their works, you remained inside as John B moved behind you. 

"What happened to that sweet girl who was too shy to even let me trace her leg beneath the blanket?" 

"Well…she got fucked by you John B...and she wants more." 

"Yeah?" He asked as you attempted to slide away from him, his hands pinning you to the counter between him.

"Then stay still and quiet. Apparently you didn't get enough last night." 

"I never do." You confessed as he lowered behind you, his tongue just making contact with your clit as the door came open. His efforts alternating from quick to slow in order to torment you.

"Where's bree?" JJ asked as his nickname for his best friend, and the man whose tongue was currently flicking between your thighs. 

"He didn't go with you?" 

"Would I be asking if he did?" 

"Jesus..." You voided as John B slipped a finger and then two, tormenting you to remain unassuming before your brother. 

"JJ...I'm not his keeper you know..." You rolled your eyes as JJ turned away from you, equally as frustrated before you felt John B now raise behind you. 

"That was a bit too close..." He spoke with a grin. But as he tried to lead you to his bedroom, you pushed him against the counter. 

"My turn." You set a piece of the cookie in his mouth to keep him silent before ultimately moving onto your knees. Brazen, bold, and beautiful as you always were for him and accentuated as you were careless to be cautious. Just as you had taken him the night before you had done so once more. Only now faster and deeper. His fingers wrapped around the edge of the counter as you pulled him to a nearing orgasm before he pulled your hair to guide you away from him. 

“Baby, I’m close…” You only nodded.

"Shit!" He cursed in those final moments before his release, Kiara having entered to see you rise from your knees. But where John B was stunned and caught off guard for an explanation, you were quick to make up for his silence. 

"Good thing you didn't drop it like that when we were working on it, butterfingers..." It was enough to lessen Kiara’s suspicions before she motioned for the white ribbon on your chin. John B clenched his jaw as you led it between your lips. 

"Mmm...my favorite frosting..." You winked at him before joining the others, well aware he would make you pay for it later. But it was well worth it to torment him once again…

Taglist: @hopebaker @iovdrew @penny4yourthoughts @magnificantmermaid @pickingviolets @lovedetlost @trikigirl271 @maybankslover @slut4starkey @slvtherinseeker @obxiskewl @obxxrxfes @bluesongbird @slut-era @ailee-celeste @rafesbae @camilynn @sweetestdesire @onmykneesforrafe @drews1love @phildunphyisadilf @mashdan0916

Grovyle and Celebi have a 'chat'

 Yall wanted more angst? No? Too bad!

Written By Oblonger

The trees and grass were stuck in limbo. moved and flattened from a breeze. It would look like a beautiful painting. were it not for the lack of color, and it being a constant reminder of where Grovyle was. Twig slept peacefully next to him as he sat under a tree. The first time she’d slept for this long in, Days maybe? It was hard to tell when there wasn’t anything to reference. Grovyle certainly felt like he hadn’t slept in days. But it’s not as though he knew anything different at this point. He needed to be constantly alert. Any moment he got complacent they could be ambushed. He had to do it for Twig. She couldn’t defend herself. And Dusknoir had made it quite clear what his intentions were if he got a hold of her.Something in the air shifted. Normally an unnoticeable difference, setting off alarm bells in Grovyle’s head. The leaves on his arms sharpened. His muscles tightened. He was prepared to run at any moment, and fight if necessary.He could faintly hear the sound of wings approaching. It felt soothing to hear something so familiar in this world where nothing made sense. He relaxed as Celebi came into sight from out of the nearby trees.“There you are honey!~” Despite their situation, Celebi tried to remain a source of positivity.He knew that it was an act. How could it not? It would be concerning if it wasn’t. But Grovyle could tell that this time it was different. That something was deeply wrong.She didn’t want to address it right away. She would have already made it known if their lives were in immediate danger.“Nearly gave me a heart attack there.” Grovyle sarcastically stated. “Maybe try and make the time rifts show up closer so i don’t have to wait and see who’s approaching?” Grovyle playfully added, hoping the first statement didn’t sound irate. He often tried to reciprocate Celebi’s positivity. Even if it wasn’t real from either party.Celebi nervously chuckled. A clear sign that something heavy was on her mind. “Well, it’s a bit hard to be precise when you’re managing the flow of time!” That last part felt… Off. She chuckled again. It couldn’t be more obvious something was wrong.Grovyle could ignore his own problems until hell froze over. But he wouldn’t accept that anyone he cares for is doing the same.“What’s wrong?” Grovyle directly asked.Celebi flinched. Her disposition instantly changed to something almost… Mournful? She fidgeted her hands together and her eyes wandered away from Grovyle.“I… I need to talk to you… Alone.”Grovyle’s concern only grew. they would openly discuss life threatening situations in front of Twig constantly. Even if she didn’t understand what they said, she still understood the gravity of the situation. What was so serious that Twig couldn’t be included in the off chance she did know what they were saying?“She’ll be safe. Our… Chat wont take long.” Celebi attempted to reassure Grovyle. The reassurance fell flat, upon seeing the expression of sorrow that flashed across Celebi’s face when she briefly considered what word to use. But he trusted Celebi with his life. She could see into the future, and let him know of any dangers. If she says that Twig will be safe, then she’ll be safe.Grovyle pulled himself up and followed Celebi as she flew towards a nearby clearing. Grovyle stayed near the edge of it. Close enough to where He could hear Twig if something was wrong. He didn’t distrust Celebi, but being so far from her put him on edge.“Alright, What’s on your mind?” Grovyle wanted to know what was wrong. The possibility that he might unavoidably die crossed his mind. That was okay with him. He’d long since accepted that he might die. As long as Twig was safe, and the world would be saved, then Grovyle would gladly die a thousand times over. Celebi turned to face him. She looked very tired and scared.“I have to be honest with you. I looked into the future and… It’s pretty dire.”She was clearly trying to underplay just how bad of a situation they were in, but Grovyle knew that they would survive.“I know. But we’ve been through worse.” Grovyle said. Hoping it sounded reassuring, instead of dismissive.Celebi looked at him with thorough worry.“No, this… This is different.”Grovyle could see tears forming in the corners of her eyes. The gravity of the situation was beginning to make itself known. Celebi made a point to never cry in front of him, always running away if she began to. This was that bad.“I’ve looked at so many futures and…” She paused. The way she said that made her exhaustion clear. Tears were already being shed by Celebi. “Every single one leads to the same thing.”Grovyle flinched. “But… that’s not how that works…”He didn’t understand how time works a whole lot, especially given the current circumstances. But he did know that the future isn’t set in stone.“Well,” Celebi was doing everything she can to not look Grovyle in the eye. “It’s not exactly the same, but the result is.”Grovyle’s brow furrowed.“No matter what I say or do, I always get sealed away by Dusknoir and he… Gets you two…”Grovyle felt his heart skip a beat. Oh… This was REALLY that bad.Celebi’s tears were really flowing now. She was putting most of her energy into not completely breaking down into incoherent sobbing.“ I-I can delay it. B-but I can’t stop it from happening.” Grovyle felt sick. Everything he had ever done was going to amount to nothing.No. He couldn’t accept that. He would, no, he WILL fight till his last breath to make sure that Twig is safe and that the dark future is reversed.Grovyle pondered for a moment. “Then why don’t you open a rift and take us to the past? Dusknoir can’t follow us there.”Celebi shook her head and hugged herself with her arms. “I can’t. I’ve used up too much power already. A-at most I could take us back by about an hour.”Celebi was already pressed for strength from managing the flow of time, and even then it’s not enough to undo even a fraction of the damage.That wasn’t an option.Grovyle thought for another moment. “Is there any way we can defend ourselves? Surely we can fight back.”Celebi shook her head harder, flinging tears in either direction. “We lose. They… They overpower us. We-” She hyperventilated “We can’t win.”Grovyle could feel tears beginning to sting his eyes. He doesn’t remember the last time he cried. It felt like the world was crumbling around him. “W-Well, there must be something we can do! Maybe we can find another ally or, set up a trap or something!” Grovyle looked at Celebi. He had accepted his death. But Twig’s? The image of her dying before she even had a chance to live… He pushed the thought away. He cannot accept that there isn’t hope. Grovyle steeled himself. “There has to be something we can do!”Celebi looked away from him. She looked like she would have a mental breakdown any second. “Th-… There is one thing.”Normally Grovyle would feel relieved, but seeing Celebi’s expression filled him with the deepest dread.Celebi finally looked at Grovyle after breathing shakily for a few moments. “You…” The words getting caught in her throat. “You have to kill me.”Grovyle’s blood ran cold. It felt like time had stopped around him. Ironic.“Wh-… What?” Grovyle finally mustered his pathetic response.Celebi didn’t say anything. She simply nodded.Grovyle placed his palm on his temple. His head began spinning. “But-, but that’s not possible! Legends can’t… Can they?“  he felt like the ground would give out beneath him.Celebi whimpered and nodded again.Grovyle was silent. Even the very concept of a literal force of nature being able to die… It doesn’t feel real.Celebi managed to talk before Grovyle could chastise her for coming up with such an obviously stupid plan.“Legends can die…” Celebi hyperventilated whenever she stopped speaking. “Th-they can only die b-by the h-hands of a mortal.”Grovyle felt frozen. His tears flowing down his face were the only thing that moved. In his mind, he desperately prayed to whoever would listen, that what was happening right now was a nightmare, and that he would wake up.“The… The mortal that kills them… I-is… They get given their powers.”The weight of everything Celebi had said came crashing crashing down on him. Grovyle stumbled. His legs had given out beneath him and he caught himself on the nearest tree. Grovyle didn’t want to believe her. But, how couldn’t he? At all times the only thoughts on her mind were of reversing the dark future and making sure that Twig and Him would survive. She had never lied to him. All of the different reasons for why she might be lying rushed through his mind. Every single one being shot down by the fact that Celebi had never led him astray. A phrase repeatedly screamed in his head, it felt like he was having a migraine.“She’s telling the truth.”Grovyle managed to stand back up. “N-no, there-. There must be something, anything else we can do. I… I can’t-” Grovyle’s voice cracked.“No!” Celebi sobbed“Everything else, I-it always ends up with you or Twig dead first a-and the other shortly after!” Celebi put her face in her hands and sobbed before looking back up at Grovyle “Th-this is the only thing we can do. Only you are able to keep Twig s-safe and reverse the dark future!”Grovyle felt like his chest would cave in. He wanted to do anything else. He wanted to suggest any number of plans that don’t involve killing his only other friend. But he knew better than to ignore Celebi’s warnings. Celebi suddenly flew forward and hugged Grovyle. Her sobbing muffled by his chest. Grovyle hugged her back. Making sure his tears fell upon the ground, and not on her. They don’t know how long they spent like this. Finally Celebi pulled away, still crying but not hyperventilating as much.He looked back at where Twig was. She still slept peacefully on the ground. He didn’t want to do it. But this was the only option. This is the only way to protect her and reverse the dark future.Finally, Grovyle looked at Celebi.“A-are you sure about this?” The words only barely escaped past the lump in his throat. Coming out as barely louder than a whisper.Celebi looked away and shut her eyes.“No.” Her voice shook with despair. “But w-we don’t have a choice.”Grovyle clenched his fists. His claws pierced the skin on his palms, he could feel blood begin dripping from them. He couldn’t care about that right now.Grovyle couldn’t muster anything else to say. He slammed his eyes shut. He can’t watch what happens next.“I love you.” Celebi whispered.It hurt so much, but he had to do it. Grovyle took in one long, shaky breath. The leaves on his arms sharpened.

Personally I think Grovyle would require some more convincing than this, but I feel its good enough. (killing the perfectionist in me rn)

:)

Before Deluca -- rotten to its core

Oblong boxes, coffins all, waited beyond the dark red door—red as the wood of the ship, unnatural that shade—upright against the walls. And I gawked at them, studied them, confused by their need. Strange as they were, the crew were human, weren’t they?

The sigils said otherwise. I couldn’t know what they meant at the time, what spell they cast on those coffins, but I recognized their designs from Lucient’s own. Those were meant to aid his healing, ours, as I’d learned through experience more than asking.  So surely the ones for the crew did the same. But then, were they as us? Were they vampires, blood-thirsty and undying? More questions to be asked later, worried as I was of their groaning, their glassy eyes and puppet-like manner filtering in after me.

There were stairs beyond the coffins, out in the open, unhidden by rug or trap door...and an odor drawing me toward them. A familiar scent, one often found under my fingernails and in my hair whenever I had a day or two to myself to indulge it.

Linseed and gesso took me home, but it was what saturated it that worried, that drove my feet faster; blood—so much blood, yet not fresh. What spurred me quicker down those stairs was old, but thick.

And what it coated stopped me before I made it to the bottom of the spiraling staircase—another mystery of the ship, of all the glowing sigils on the walls I chased.

I had found the studio the scents suggested I would, but it was wrong, so very wrong. The easel—and a stool—sat prepared on one side of the uncomfortably wide room, paints and brushes laid out beside it on a thin table, lit well by candles that ignited as my hands slid along the banister. Behind the easel, on a wall decidedly not made of wood, were sketches and paintings in various states of ‘complete’ held seemingly by their own force to its dark surface.

Lucient dominated them, all of them, yet the poses and other figures joining him—and all the bright, angry reds between—were not ones I wished a closer look at.

It was the middle of the room that drew me, that hobbled me on those stairs and nearly chased me back up them. All the blood waited there, in dried pools and splatters, spread too wide and thick and red along that dark floor to have been from a single source—a single instance. They were not alone, of course, not without a source. The source was a bed, at least what my mind convinced me was a bed, but I knew no bed that came in metal with chains and clasps and spikes. Nothing outside paintings of the Spanish Inquisition’s preferred methods of conversion, anyhow.

I stood in a torture chamber. One whose activities were dutifully captured by a skilled artist and, with Lucient the subject of all the ‘art’ presented there, I could only assume it had been his Mistress recording it—inflicting it.

The question that filled me, as I backed from the horror—both real and assumed—was one perhaps a bit selfish considering, with all of that, would he let me sketch him, let me paint him...in a manner not soaked in blood?

I would have my answer sooner than expected, but not quite then. Though I did rush to the one who would give it, intent only in lying beside him, holding him, comforting him as I could not erase what had been done—could not protect from the terror he’d endured.

I actually live in a place where fish sausage is a thing! I haven't had any in about a decade, mostly because I forgot they existed. They're these little sticks of junk food in orange plastic and you'd buy a handful of them from a corner store. I remember they tasted about as fishy as surimi - as in, extremely processed and not at all like actual fish. But I also live in a harbor city and was fed steamed fish the moment I was old enough to digest it, so my calibration for fish-taste is probably pretty wack.

My clearest memory of the things is actually how they were an absolute bitch to open; they had these metal rings on both ends to hold the plastic closed, and for years I'd hurt my teeth trying to pull them off. No idea why no one ever taught me a more sensible solution to that. I want to go buy some now.

I'm guessing you mean something similar to this!

[ID: Two images of an orange-wrapped sausage; in one it is mostly wrapped, in the other it is sitting on an orange wrapper. The sausage is long, about the same width as finger, and pale grey in color. ] (Source)

They do look very like the tinned Vienna sausage I've encountered now and then. They have an adorable mascot:

[ID: Three fish sausages on the right side of the image sit next to a sculpture of a tiny fish sausage mascot; he is shaped like a dog, with one end of the sausage looking like a tail, four legs, and the other end of the sausage on the top of his oblong head; he has little black eyes and a kind of birdlike beak for a mouth.]

Makes me think Askazer-Shivadlakia should be looking into marketing logos for its various luxury foodstuffs, or possibly some kind of mascot for the tourism industry. Maybe the svichworm should make a comeback. (Maybe....not.) Either way the brainstorming session with Alanna, Jerry, and Eddie would be spectacular.

Untitled Wednesday Library Series, Part 107

It’s late; I’m tired; let’s do it. This one is fun.

German Modern: Graphic Design from Wilhelm to Weimar. Authored by Steven Heller and Louise Fili; designed by Fili and Mary Jane Callister. Published in 1998 by Chronicle Books out of San Francisco.

The How

A curveball: I truly do not remember. This came into my possession in 2018±2, which territory is badly mapped for me. I’ll have to make some calls tomorrow to establish whence this came — most likely it was a gift — and how it came to come therefrom.

Yon bookplate says it’s ex libris Vance Gerry (yes, the very same storyboard artist and printmaker). The dates work out for that to be true, as does the geography and the bit where his press issued art books much like this. A reference for those, you might guess. Several of his now sell for [insert sounds of typing] hundreds to thousands of dollars. It’s possibly this is an artifact of publication/attribution of source images, but I’m not so sure.

For tonight, I cannot tell you why this plate is in my book. Stay tuned and I might eventually.

The Text

This is part of a series of oblong octavos on design, but I know nothing beyond that. The German stuff is where I sit the best; Art Deco or whatever is fun but not the sort of thing I’m likely to hold titles on.

The short essays are quite good for context, but not so much for tone. The font choices and blocky typesetting do not make them seem important to the book. This is really all about the images, most of which were (I assume painstakingly) collated from private collections and museums of advertising art.

The Object

You know it’s good. Images of letterheads, type specimens, point-of-sale posters, coupons, etc. Anything that could be construed as German Modern, which is to say ad material. A shame, a waste; frustratingly captivating.

Special mentions for the decaf coffee ads and the GUARDIAN OF PRECISION IN MECHANICAL ENGINEERING.

Also there are some roosters above Sütterlin text advertising an advertising art expo, which is as on the nose as you can get. I appreciate the directness.

All beautifully replicated, even if the captions around them are a little…whitespacey.

The Why, Though?

Ads are poison and German ads from the nineteen teens though thirties are very often no-safe-level affairs. As a dossier on the era, I’m happy to say this works as well as it might. Nicely selected; mostly well selected. Good trains; good birds; good sets of words to say aloud.

cadsuane, prompt: empathy

[Send me a character or pairing, and a one word prompt, and I'll write you a drabble!]

Cadsuane’s small sitting room seemed to glow gold and red in the faint light of the dying sun. Clad in simple green gown suitable for an evening alone, she watched the sunset while working the handle of her oak hairbrush, the one carved with the trefoil leaves. It had been a gift from the King of Tarabon during one of her misadventures about a century ago. Her hair hung down her back today, out of it’s usual bun, still slightly shinny and damp from the water of her bath. It was glossy black now more then slightly streaked with grey. It would probably turn full white before to many more decades.

Cadsuane’s rose beds where visible to her through the sitting room window, long boxes filled with a shower of different colors, from red to white to gold to blue. For a while she had entertained the idea of cultivating a row of roses for each color of the Ajahs- but without the aid of the Power she could not find a way to cultivate brown and grey roses, and she knew herself enough to know that is she used the Power for one thing with the roses, she would end up leaning on it to much. She would would be coaxing them  to grow without thorns next, then to bloom just a little longer then the season would allow- and before she knew it the simple pleasure of the act of gardening would be all drained away.

“Good evening.” A voice called from the door to her sitting room, interrupting her thoughts, and Cadsuane looked up and found herself smiling. Emarin was there in the doorway, his head of dark brown curls seaming to glow as gold as everything else. They where tied back from his face in a simple cord, and his shirtsleeves of where rolled to the elbows. He had washed up thourughly before coming up to her of course- she had impressed the importance of keeping neat in him sharply- but some flour still clung to his forearms all the same, and to the white cloth bundle he held gently in the crook of his elbow.

You would never know, looking at him, that he was a Tearian High Lord. Or rather had been one. By the laws of Tear he had lost all claim to that title the moment he had first touched the Source.

“Good evening.” Cadsuane replied in kind as she rose, setting down her hair brush. “Another day’s labor?” She asked as she moved to the small tea table before the window. Emarin joined her, laying out the oblong bundle and setting down a small jar filled with jelly beside it.

Emarin nodded as he sat. “I barley burned this one.” He said dryly. “I’m improving. Algarin won’t be able to believe it.” Gently he unrolled the white cloth revealing a golden brown loaf of bred, the end caps just slightly turned an ugly black.

“Barely? Phwah.” She shook her head. “Well, you’ll have all tomorrow to take another stab boy. Still, let’s see how it is otherwise.”

They broke the crust together and smeared it with generous amounts of jelly. It wasn’t bad- a bit hard on the outside and doughy in the center, but good for all that. Nothing Cadsuane would pay coin for of course, but that wasn’t the point.

They ate in quite silence, and when the light began to fade Cadsuane rose to begin lighting the candles with the aid of a spark wheel.

“You don’t have to do that.” Emarin said as he cleared away the last of the crumbs. “I wont open my veins if you channel to light a few candles.”

Cadsuane sniffed. “You have an inflated sense of self boy.” She said coldly. “Have you considered that maybe I enjoy doing things by hand?” She shook her head.

“Do you?” He asked dryly. “Because I’m pretty sure I saw you clear away that fox with a few well placed sparks of-“

Reaching out to the True Source, Cadsuane embraced saidar long enough to weave a thin flow of Air, and snap it like a string, flicking the boy in the ear. He smirked at her and stuck his tongue out in her direction, for all the world like a child of eight.

“It is important.” She said smoothly, pointedly lighting a stick on the spark wheel and pressing it one of the candle wicks. “To do things with your own hands. Even for those of us that still have the Power. Maybe especially for us. If we make life too easy: if we depend on the Power to much, we run the risk of letting ourselves believe we are more then human.” She released the Source as she talked and moved to light the next candle on the mantle piece, her hand steady. It had been for centuries now- ever since her time spent on Norla’s farm.

“Is that why you set me a new hobby every few weeks?” Emarin asked, his voice still holding faint mirth, but also a thoughtfulness, and something else: an edge she knew he wold not be able to put a name too. “Why I spend sun up to sun down, gardening and baking, sewing and wood carving, and whatever else you can imagine? To remind me I am human?”

Cadsuane simply nodded. Their was no sense in denying it. “People think you need to find something to fill out the emptiness that the Power has left behind. It varies what: A husband usually, or charity work, or some passion like drawing or music. Phwah.” She shook her head and lit another candle. “They are wrong. Nothing will ever fill that void. That cut can not be mended, and nothing will ever patch the hole it’s left behind. Not really. Like a man whose lost a limb, someone Stilled or Gentled, needs to be reminded that their wound has not made them less human. They needed to be grounded in this world, to feel it’s beauty as well as it’s pain, to accept what is, and learn to live with it.”

Emarin looked down at the jar and sighed, fingers playing with the lid. “You sound as if you speak from experience.”

Cadsuane considered him…and then nodded. “I do.” She said simply and he raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, his questions remaining unasked. For a moment she considered leaving it at that, but it felt cruel. The kind of fertile ground to give rise to false hopes. Best to be out with it.

“I meet a toothless Wilder when I was a freshly raised Green, long ago now.” Cadsuane explained. “Drunk on my own pride and arrogance, I thought I could bully her.” She laughed. Cadsuane doubted anyone had ever succeeded in bullying Norla. “She shielded me and tied the knot so tight I could not hope to untangle it. Then she gave me a through thrashing for my sins and set me to work gardening. To teach me humility and humanity she called it. Well, she succeeded.” Cadsuane smiled. “In teaching me that, and a great deal more.”

Emarin nodded and sighed tightening the lid shut on the jar. “And that thought you what it’s like for men who can-“ He cut off and swallowed. “For men who have been gentled?”

Cadsuane shook her head. “No. Nothing but the experience of stilling could teach me that boy.” She told him, not without kindness. “But it taught me to look beyond myself, my shawl, my might….” She shrugged. “To be understanding, where others would close themselves off. To care, where others would be cruel.”

Emarin stood nodding and tossed the cloth over his shoulder. “To have empathy.” He said. “That’s why you care for the men you find, isn’t it? When all others want to be blind.”

She nodded. Empathy. She supposed that was it after all. “It’s easy, for the Reds, for the whole Tower, to close themselves off, to not let themselves see or care for the pain of the men we Gentle. It must be done, and so it’s easier for everyone to be blind to the cruelty of it. But it’s a mistake.” She shrugged. “We can not lead or guide those we do no try to understand and care for.” That she thought, more then the Black Ajah, more then the passage of eons, more then the shifting of time, was why the Tower was failing, growing more brittle by the day. A lack of care. Of humanity and humility. And empathy.

“Thank you.” Emarin said stepping over to squeeze her shoulder. “For caring.”

Cadsuane smiled at him and lean over lit the final candle.