#observe record endure

[salt-and-vynegar]

Enduring Light Event Interesting Observation/Easter egg:

Doing a Secret Chat with Consultant Wing and clicking on the choice, "Cloudbreak," leads to an easter egg that references Artem's SSR for this event, Enshrouded Sunglow. In the chat, Artem reveals that he came across a secret file about an agent with the codename: Cloudbreak. He reveals that the name Cloudbreak referred to two agents who harbored a mutual love for each other, though one was a mentor and the other a mentee. Artem also reveals that the last part of the document was destroyed, but explains that from the records he found, the two agents who made up Cloudbreak, placed themselves in harm's way in order to warn the rest of their companions about the danger they were in.

Phase One: Luke Easter Egg (Sky Ashes)

Phase Two: Artem Easter Egg (Enshrouded Sunglow)

[nasa]

Athletes Go for the Gold with NASA Spinoffs

NASA technology tends to find its way into the sporting world more often than you’d expect. Fitness is important to the space program because astronauts must undergo the extreme g-forces of getting into space and endure the long-term effects of weightlessness on the human body. The agency’s engineering expertise also means that items like shoes and swimsuits can be improved with NASA know-how.

As the 2024 Olympics are in full swing in Paris, here are some of the many NASA-derived technologies that have helped competitive athletes train for the games and made sure they’re properly equipped to win.

The LZR Racer reduces skin friction drag by covering more skin than traditional swimsuits. Multiple pieces of the water-resistant and extremely lightweight LZR Pulse fabric connect at ultrasonically welded seams and incorporate extremely low-profile zippers to keep viscous drag to a minimum.

Swimsuits That Don’t Drag

When the swimsuit manufacturer Speedo wanted its LZR Racer suit to have as little drag as possible, the company turned to the experts at Langley Research Center to test its materials and design. The end result was that the new suit reduced drag by 24 percent compared to the prior generation of Speedo racing suit and broke 13 world records in 2008. While the original LZR Racer is no longer used in competition due to the advantage it gave wearers, its legacy lives on in derivatives still produced to this day.

Trilion Quality Systems worked with NASA’s Glenn Research Center to adapt existing stereo photogrammetry software to work with high-speed cameras. Now the company sells the package widely, and it is used to analyze stress and strain in everything from knee implants to running shoes and more.

High-Speed Cameras for High-Speed Shoes

After space shuttle Columbia, investigators needed to see how materials reacted during recreation tests with high-speed cameras, which involved working with industry to create a system that could analyze footage filmed at 30,000 frames per second. Engineers at Adidas used this system to analyze the behavior of Olympic marathoners' feet as they hit the ground and adjusted the design of the company’s high-performance footwear based on these observations.

Martial artist Barry French holds an Impax Body Shield while former European middle-weight kickboxing champion Daryl Tyler delivers an explosive jump side kick; the force of the impact is registered precisely and shown on the display panel of the electronic box French is wearing on his belt.

One-Thousandth-of-an-Inch Punch

In the 1980s, Olympic martial artists needed a way to measure the impact of their strikes to improve training for competition. Impulse Technology reached out to Glenn Research Center to create the Impax sensor, an ultra-thin film sensor which creates a small amount of voltage when struck. The more force applied, the more voltage it generates, enabling a computerized display to show how powerful a punch or kick was.

Astronaut Sunita Williams poses while using the Interim Resistive Exercise Device on the ISS. The cylinders at the base of each side house the SpiraFlex FlexPacks that inventor Paul Francis honed under NASA contracts. They would go on to power the Bowflex Revolution and other commercial exercise equipment.

Weight Training Without the Weight

Astronauts spending long periods of time in space needed a way to maintain muscle mass without the effect of gravity, but lifting free weights doesn’t work when you’re practically weightless. An exercise machine that uses elastic resistance to provide the same benefits as weightlifting went to the space station in the year 2000. That resistance technology was commercialized into the Bowflex Revolution home exercise equipment shortly afterwards.

Want to learn more about technologies made for space and used on Earth? Check out NASA Spinoff to find products and services that wouldn’t exist without space exploration.   

Make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space!

[gav-san]

Soul Shanked 2/4

Main Masterlist Here

One Piece Masterlist

Soul Shanked Masterlist

Chapter Title: Screaming, Glowing, and Other Signs of Affection Length: 7.5 K+

Previous/Next

Taglist: @wontknowbetter, @sleepydang @flav1a0 @pleasantkittenpersona @heartsforseo

The call was arranged through a cautious web of intermediaries.

Neutral waters.

Strict conditions.

No ships within ten miles.

No weapons drawn.

Just a snail line.

Shanks.

Boa Hancock.

Simple. Respectful. Diplomatic.

It went to hell in less than a minute.

The snail’s eyes narrowed.

It began with Shanks, trying his best not to set fire to anything.

Shanks, leaning casually over the transponder snail. “First of all, thank you for not killing the messenger. Or the snail. Probably not in that order.”

Boa Hancock’s voice came in sharp, cold, and bore no idiots.

“You have sixty seconds.”

A nod. A title. A silence thick enough to choke a Sea King. He cleared his throat.

“I have… a respectful-”

Then Hancock tilted her head, cut him off and said, “So. You’re the reason.”

Shanks raised a brow. “Reason for what?”

“For her disgrace. For her distraction. For her embarrassment before the Rayleigh man-creature, who no women with honor should have to endure.”

He blinked. “…What?”

“You don’t deserve to know.”

“I—look, I’m not here to start a fight-.”

“She’s sighing,” Hancock snapped, voice curling with venom. “Do you know what that means?”

Shanks hesitated. “That she’s, uh… tired?”

“It means you live on borrowed time.”

Shanks fumbled. “Look, I just wanted to suggest—ask, really—if we might arrange a brief, nonviolent, non-magical meeting to discuss the soulmark situation and maybe the implications of a shared destiny and whether—”

“So you can hex her again?”

“Uh. No?” He said hopefully.

She hissed.

He pulled at his collar. “I wasn’t even trying to seduce her. I would just like to introduce myself-.”

“That’s seduction.”

“It was an observation!”

“Your mere existence cursed her.”

“I prefer the term fate-adjacent inconvenience—”

A chair was thrown. A snail near-departed the world.

Somewhere, someone screamed and dropped a fruit basket.

“If you come within five miles of Amazon Lily,” Boa Hancok threatened, voice suddenly calm in that terrifying way, “I will consider it an act of war.”

Benn Beckman lit a cigarette with the air of a man who’d seen this coming from miles away. “Well,” he muttered, “there it is.”

Shanks blinked. “Wait, really?”

“You’ll be turned to stone. Your ship will be turned to stone. Your entire crew’s bad decisions will be turned to stone.”

Benn sipped his coffee. “She’s not bluffing.”

Shanks whispered, “Yeah, but she’s kinda poetic about it, right?”

He raised his hand, forgetting no one could see him.

“Okay, okay. No visits. No Red Force docking. What about just sending her my letters—?”

“That’s what the last snail tried. I drowned it.”

“…Right.”

He inhaled slowly, then tried one last card—his most sincere, tragic, lovesick voice.

“I just want to see her. Can’t you respect that I’m actually asking? Not just taking? It’s a real show of my goodwill to not do what I want.”

Silence.

Boa Hancock’s voice came low, cold, and deeply done with this entire reality.

“You will stay far, far away.”

Another chair flew. Another snail screamed. The line cut.

The Red Force snail sagged like it had aged ten years. So did Shanks.

Benn didn’t look up. “Forty-two seconds.”

A new record.

Diplomacy, Red-Haired style. Cutting edge.

The snail shuddered. 

Benn gave it rum.

“Ya know,” Yasopp popped his head in. “She didn’t technically say no.”

Lucky Roux strolled in with snacks. “That’s a maybe.”

Benn groaned. “That’s what threats indicate!”

Yasopp clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on, Captain. You’ve had worse odds.”

“How romantic!” someone yelled from the hallway.

“Raise a toast!” another called. “To cursed proximity and mutual scarring!”

“Send her flowers!” Howling Gab shouted. “Or a fruit basket! No—send a plague fruit. That’s more personal.”

“Write her a poem!” Rockstar added. “A sexy one! About tattoos and destiny and… ships!”

Maybe I should write a poem,” Shanks muttered. “A love poem-”

“Then let us ghostwrite it,” Yasopp offered solemnly. “With our hearts. And zero grammar.”

Benn slumped lower in his chair.

“We could just-” Shanks mused thoughtfully. “Casually pass by. Just to say hi. Not to start a national disaster, but just-”

The crew erupted into cheers again, banging mugs on walls, stomping boots, one of them breaking out a lute.

Benn groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Do none of you know what implied means?”

The snail slowly slid off the table in despair.

Hancock stood at the lookout tower, eyes locked on the distant red speck bobbing on the sea.

The Red Force.

Six miles out.

Exactly.

He was flaunting it.

That red-haired menace with the audacity—the gall—to romance her envoy. Her sweet, rational, paperwork-loving envoy. The only one she trusted not to fall for pirates, buy cursed trinkets, or accidentally spark soul bonds in foreign ports.

And now he was hovering like a lovesick plague just out of cannon range.

Her fingers curled around her glaive.

“He’s lingering like a disease.”

Behind her, Sandersonia peered through a spyglass. “He brought snacks. And a banner.”

“A banner?”

“It says, ‘Just Talk?’ There’s a heart. And glitter.”

“How-“ Hancock’s grip tightened. “He dares.”

“Also, I think the rotund one is waving at us. Politely, with meat.”

Hancock’s eye twitched.

Sandersonia cleared her throat. “The mutual subject of this siege still doesn’t know, Empress. But she’s going to see the ship at one point. And the banners.”

“Then keep her away,” Hancock snapped. “Distract her with scrolls. Put her in the archive pit. Chain her to a filing cabinet.”

“She likes the archive pit.”

“Then put snacks in there. Seal the doors.”

“She’s going to realize at some point there’s a blockade forming around her.”

Hancock’s jaw clenched. “She is too gentle. Too trusting. She doesn’t understand what it means when an Emperor starts loitering.”

Sandersonia squinted again. “He’s sending up flares now. They spell out: ‘Soulmarks Are Valid.’”

Hancock roared and kicked the spyglass off the tower.

Exactly Six Miles Offshore, The Red Force bobbed gently on the sea, anchored just beyond the invisible line of death Boa Hancock had carved into the ocean with pure reputation.

Shanks stood at the prow, wind in his hair, cloak fluttering like a dashing hero awaiting his damsel. He may have also said this thought aloud.

Eyes on the mist-veiled cliffs of Amazon Lily.

He wasn’t smiling. Not right now.

“She’s there,” he said softly. “I can feel her. The mark… It’s warmer.”

Benn Beckman didn’t even look up from his book. “You know she probably thinks that’s an allergic reaction.”

“Then I’ll bring the itch cream.”

“If you set one foot closer, the Empress will personally drop-kick you into the Calm Belt.” Benn drawled, probably wishing he had opted to stay with Rayleigh to shit-talk his captain.

Shanks grinned faintly. “She said five miles. I gave her six.”

“Magnanimous,” Benn muttered.

“Suicidal,” Lucky Roux agreed, polishing his gun.

Yasopp leaned over the rail with a spyglass. “Oho. Someone’s on the eastern ridge.”

Shanks perked up. “Is it her?”

“No. Big hair. Might be the angry one. She’s holding a cannon.”

“Ah.” He clasped his hands over his heart. “She watches over her. Fierce loyalty. Beautiful.”

“She’s aiming,” Yasopp added.

Benn flipped a page. “You should move.”

“I brought flowers this time,” Shanks said, proudly gesturing to a sad bouquet taped to a barrel. “Symbolic. Elegant.”

“It’s duct-taped. Fancy.” Yassop chimed in.

“They’re handpicked,” Shanks said proudly.

“It’s seaweed.” Benn took a long sip of rum.

“They floated toward me, Benn. That’s fate.” A warning shot blasted past the mast, shearing off a flag. “That was a love tap.” He continued to explain. “Very in line with Amazon Lily customs.”

Benn didn’t look up. “She’s angry. Which means she’s feeling cornered.”

“Howling Gab is writing your will,” Lucky Roux said.

“He left a blank space for ‘Cause of Death,’” Limejuice chimed in, “So far we’ve got: ‘shot,’ ‘stoned,’ ‘emotionally vaporized,’ and ‘hugged too hard by an oversized snake.’”

“She won’t let them kill me,” Shanks said firmly. “Boa’s got too much sense to try.”

Pause.

“…Right?” he asked, suddenly unsure.

No one answered. Even the snail turned away.

Shanks, undeterred, stood with windswept nobility and a death wish.

Somewhere behind him, someone was playing a sad violin. Possibly ironically.

“My soulmate is thinking about me,” he whispered, slightly in denial. “Probably.”

“She’s thinking about vaporizing you,” Benn corrected. “Which happens to also be my train of thought.”

Yasopp lowered his spyglass. “She’s probably looking at you. That’s half the battle.”

Lucky Roux nodded. “Eyeballs mean emotional investment.”

“Exactly,” Shanks said, emboldened. “We’ve moved from apathy to murderous intent. That’s progress.”

“Truly the language of love,” Benn muttered.

Rockstar came charging up the steps, carrying what looked like a flaming bottle. “Captain! I made you a message bottle full of poetry and highly flammable hope.”

Shanks took it with reverence. “You’re a true romantic.”

Benn blinked. “That’s lamp oil.”

“Her love will light the way,” Shanks said solemnly, shaking it slightly. It sloshed with danger.

Howling Gab raised a flag they’d painted that morning: a stick-figure drawing of a heart, a sword, and a very buff woman holding hands with a pirate.

“We’re ready to deliver your declaration of affection via cannon,” He said proudly. “Non-lethal. Probably.”

“Or a glider,” Yasopp suggested. “We could strap him to a glider. Drop him right in her courtyard like a flaming love letter.”

Benn lowered his book. “Do any of you want to survive this?”

“We believe in love, Benn,” Lucky Roux said with the serene righteousness of a man who once wooed someone with pickled fish and a smile.

Shanks turned to face his men, eyes shining. “Thank you for standing with me. For understanding that soulmarks are not a joke—they’re destiny. They’re poetry written on the body by fate itself.”

“You’re gonna die,” Benn said flatly.

Shanks nodded. “But romantically.”

The crew roared in approval.

You sat on your bed, staring at your palm, which had once again started to glow—just faintly—through wraps, salves, and what you were pretty sure had been mayonnaise at one point.

It wasn’t just heat anymore.

It was pulling.

A strange sort of tug in your chest. Longing. Recognition. Like someone had whispered your name from across the sea with pirate breath and questionable intentions.

You pressed your fingers to your chest, unsettled.

The name hadn’t faded.

Not with the cleansing herbs.

Not with the tea rituals.

Not even with the salt baths, venom rubs, or Boa’s “spiritual aura suppression treatments,” which had escalated from polite chants to full-body scroll assaults.

And now?

Now it wasn’t just glowing. It was like a living, breathing curse.. The name, the one you refused to say aloud, was blooming like a smug little sun tattooed into your soul.

And at this point, it was easier to lie and say you were “healing.” The venom baths were liable to dissolve your hand off, but you doubted they would fundamentally turn off the soul-bonding shenanigans. You’d rather not lose a hand to test it.

A bird cawed next to your window, startling you.

Then another.

Then a whole flock took off at once, wheeling into the sky like something had spooked them. The breeze shifted and carried a strange scent.

Rum.

The kind aged in oak and poor decisions.

Below, you could hear the quiet metallic shhhhink of whetstones dragging across blades. The warriors were sharpening their spears again, murmuring under their breath:

“It’s happening again.”

That was concerning.

What was more concerning was the click of your bedroom door locking.

From the outside.

You stared at it for a long moment. Then slowly turned toward the window.

“Suspicious,” you muttered.

Ten minutes later, you’d scaled the palace wall, bypassed two guards, and climbed barefoot to the cliffside above the cove—heart racing, trying to clear your head.

That was when you saw it.

The ship.

Massive. Gaudy. Flying a black flag stamped with a skull slashed three times, mounted on crossed swords.

Anchored.

Waiting.

You blinked. Rubbed your eyes.

Still there.

Lurking off the coast like a very patient, very stupidly romantic predator.

Like a lovesick shark.

“Oh no,” you whispered.

It all clicked—the breakfast tray. The oddly compelling stack of logistics reports. The suspicious silence from Hancock all morning. The sudden interest in locking you in closets.

They were distracting you.

She was stalling.

Because Hancock knew something you refused to admit. She knew the second you saw that flag, you’d start spiraling into self-sacrificing, chaotic decision-making.

Which was precisely what you did.

You bolted.

Straight down the cliffside, crashing through underbrush and startled birds, mud on your shins and panic in your throat. You burst out of the trees, barefoot and wild-eyed—

And skidded to a halt directly in front of a fully armed war council.

Dozens of warriors stood on the beach, spears ready, faces grim.

Boa Hancock didn’t look at you.

She just said, coolly, “She escaped the closet.”

One of the generals muttered, “I told you we needed two locks.”

Another sighed. “Too late now.”

Then the lookout shouted, “They’re lowering a rowboat!”

And you could already hear male laughter. Familiar. Infuriating.

The war council turned in eerie unison.

Every general, elder, and captain was already in formation, weapons gleaming and eyes narrowed—except for one warrior, who had her hands on her hips and was giving you the flat look of someone who definitely tried to lock you in that damn closet.

Boa Hancock stood in the center, resplendent and furious. Her arms were crossed, her foot tapping. “I told you to stay inside.”

“I thought there was a bird emergency!” you blurted. “And then someone lured me with spreadsheets! I thought it was a fiscal summit!”

There was a long pause. Someone coughed. Another warrior muttered, “She did look excited about the logistics…”

Behind you, the wind shifted.

The scent of salt and citrus hit first. Then the rum. Then the distant sound of a man laughing; loud, warm, and terribly familiar, like you had heard it in a dream.

Your heart stuttered. Then bloomed with an involuntary rush of warmth.

So did your hand.

You looked down. Glowing. Again.

“No,” You muttered, rubbing at it like that would help. “No, no, no—don’t you dare start glowing right now.”

It only pulsed brighter.

Across the beach, the warriors bristled. Spears lifted. Murmurs rippled through the ranks.

And at the center of it all stood Boa Hancock.

Unmoving. Immaculate. Glaive sunk into the sand like a declaration of war. Or a promise.

She didn’t look at you at first. Just stared out at the distant ship, jaw tight.

You stared too.

At the ship.

At your hand.

Back at Hancock.

She closed her eyes for one long, brittle second and exhaled through her nose like someone forcibly swallowing rage.

“…Damn it,” she said, quiet and sharp.

You stomped up beside her, heart doing awful things inside your chest.

“So that’s absolutely his ship.”

“Yes.”

You blinked furiously. “But it can’t be.”

“It is,” Hancock said flatly.

“But the reports said he was headed toward Elbaph—”

“He redirected.”

You bit your lip, hands clenched at your sides, your glowing palm betraying you like a snitch with a crush.

“So, an Emperor of the Seas is just sitting offshore and lets the pressure of a diplomatic crisis reel me in?!” You cried out. “And you didn’t tell me?”

There was a long pause.

Then Marigold, gently, “To be fair… that’s very respectful. For an Emperor of the Sea.”

“Very romantic,” Sandersonia added dreamily. “He hasn’t even fired a single cannon today.”

You whipped around to stare at them, scandalized.

“How long has he been here??? He shouldn’t be firing cannons! We’re not at war!”

Hancock didn’t move. “We will be if he sets one foot on this island.”

Nyoka chimed in, “He sent snacks. They floated over in a barrel. There was a note. It was spelled wrong but… earnest.”

You swore, pacing a trench into the sand.

“You couldn’t have told me?!”

“I’m not about to let any man, especially a Red-Haired Emperor, march in and lay claim to one of mine,” Hancock snapped, rounding on you like thunder in heels. “Least of all you.”

Another warrior jogged up, scroll in hand.

“He’s six miles offshore. Exactly. Won’t move. He’s built a fruit altar on the deck. Burned incense. Possibly praying.”

“To me?!” you croaked.

“He’s courting you via ship blockade,” Sandersonia declared proudly, as if you’d won a festival prize.

You groaned, dragging your hands down your face. 

I asked you to tell me if something happened!”

“I did tell you,” Hancock said dryly. “I told you it was nonsense. Then he arrives, and that damn mark started glowing. Then you started glowing. And now he’s glowing. With emotional instability and extremely questionable poetry.”

You froze. “Oh god. He wrote poetry?”

“We intercepted a bottle,” Nyoka said with all the gravity of a funeral dirge. “It was labeled ‘Private: Feelings Inside.’”

“You read it?!”

“Of course. We’re not savages. It was terrible. But intense. He rhymed ‘eternal’ with ‘infernal.’”

You staggered. “I am being emotionally besieged by a Yonko.”

The mark on your palm flared.

Hancock’s eyes sharpened. “He’s thinking about you again.”

You spun. “How can you possibly tell?!”

“Because I want to punch a palm tree,” She hissed. “And that usually means a man is somehow involved.”

A low horn echoed across the water.

“They’re cat-calling via Den Den speaker,” someone shouted.

You turned to your Empress in horror.

“Empress Boa. Please. I cannot let him harass the whole island just because-”

“I will die on this beach before that ginger demon sets foot near you,” Hancock vowed, tightening her grip on her glaive. “And if he tries to wave another treaty shaped like a love letter, I’m setting it—and him—on fire.”

“Boa-”

“I am warning you,” she snapped. “Go. Inside. Before that sea rodent gets dramatic and sends a singing snail. ”

You blinked, breath catching. “He wouldn’t.”

A scout came sprinting up, pale and trembling. “He did. It’s rehearsing.”

You nearly sobbed.

Hancock’s expression softened. Just a hair. “I care about you. I’m protecting you. Clearly, fate wants to feed you to that man like bait. But I won’t let it.”

You stood frozen, a tragic statue of disbelief and humiliation.

“And if you don’t go inside this second,” she added, raising her voice, “I will personally drag you by your glowing hand and lock you in the archives.”

That was enough.

You nodded, half-choking on a laugh that felt far too close to a breakdown, and turned for the temple.

Behind you, someone activated the anti-longboat net launcher.

And another Kuja warrior lovingly etched the words “For Love Prevention Only” into the side of her spear.

“Scope.”

Shanks held out his hand without so much as a glance.

Lucky Roux passed the spyglass with the reverence of someone performing a sacred rite. There were no words, just understanding.

Benn Beckman stood behind them, taking a long, unimpressed sip of rum. It was his second bottle of the day.

“You sure this is a good idea?” he asked.

“She’s my soulmate,” Shanks murmured. “I haven’t even seen her up close. She ran before I set foot on shore. That’s not rejection. That’s heartbreak.”

“That’s a restraining order waiting to happen,” Benn muttered.

Shanks lifted the spyglass, scanning the shoreline with a romantic intensity that made everyone nearby deeply uncomfortable.

Sand.

Warriors.

Tall woman in purple. Boa Hancock, looking like she was about to end civilization with a swing of her glaive.

And then—

There.

Middle of the beach.

Hair wild. Pacing fast, sharp little loops in the sand like she was preparing to cast a curse. Hands flailing. Voice raised. Possibly yelling at the ocean. Possibly yelling at fate.

She screamed.

A seagull screamed too.

Both of them sounded equally offended.

She threw a hand at the sky like she was trying to banish destiny.

And somehow, across miles of sea and layers of denial, he felt it.

That tug.

That sudden, painful warmth.

The unmistakable pull of the red thread—buzzing with Haki and something worse. Something terrifying.

Hope.

Ah, so it was you.

Finally.

You rubbed your palm like it stung, oblivious to how much he could see. You were glowing.

Not just literally.

Emotionally.

Also, yes—literally.

Shanks lowered the scope slowly, like he’d just witnessed a divine moment.

“…She’s beautiful.”

“She’s actively threatening our ship,” Benn said, not looking up from his book.

Shanks smiled, soft-eyed and helpless. “She’s everything.”

“God help me,” Benn muttered, turning the page.

Lucky Roux leaned in. “She looks like she eats pirates for breakfast.”

“She does,” Yasopp chimed in, chewing dried squid. “I read about it. Headlines don’t lie.”

“I love that,” Shanks sighed, clasping the spyglass like it was a holy relic.

Benn finally looked up. “And what, exactly, is the plan?”

Shanks straightened, noble and unhinged. “I give her a token of my love. A rose. A letter. A seashell with a poorly carved limerick.”

“Then what?”

“She sees it. She reads it. She understands.”

“Understands what?”

“That we’re destiny,” Shanks said, already drifting into a sea-shanty cadence like he was narrating a tragic opera.

“You’re going to die,” Benn said flatly.

“Hopefully,” Shanks confirmed with pride. “Between her thighs.”

Roux leaned toward Yasopp. “He’s got that tone again.”

“Yup,” Yasopp nodded. “Dinghy time.”

Later that evening, Shanks stood beside what could only be described as the world’s most suspicious dinghy—small, creaky, and held together with optimism and bad decisions. He slung a rope over his shoulder like he’d done this sort of thing a hundred times.

He had not.

Benn didn’t even glance up from the flask he now drank from, like it was morphine. “You’re going to get turned to stone.”

“If I don’t fall off a cliff first,” Shanks said brightly, adjusting a rose no one told him to bring and definitely didn’t need.

Yasopp leaned over the side of the Red Force, squinting. “Or eaten by a snake. Or stabbed by a spear. Or exploded by feelings. Pretty sure she had at least three knives when she started yelling at the moon.”

“I’m begging you to stop,” Benn muttered. “You’re trespassing. Spiritually, emotionally, and frankly? Offensively.”

“I’m visiting,” Shanks replied, tucking a rose behind his ear with the self-assurance of a man who believed florals had diplomatic immunity. “Respectfully. Romantically.”

“You’re an Emperor of the Sea. That’s not visiting. That’s looming.”

“It’s not like I’m invading,” Shanks offered, shrugging one arm like that helped.

“You are. You literally count as a natural disaster on most naval charts.”

“A one-armed natural disaster,” Shanks corrected cheerfully.

“Semantics,” Benn growled. “You saw this woman for eight seconds and she screamed at the sky like God owed her rent.”

“Best eight seconds of my life,” Shanks said dreamily.

Lucky Roux gave him a thumbs-up. “If she turns you to stone, we’ll sell tickets.”

“We already printed merch,” Yasopp added. “We got merch. First batch says ‘Love Ruined My Life and All I Got Was This Shirt.”

Shanks saluted, pushing off with dramatic flair. “Tell the boys that Benn warned me, and I didn’t listen. Again.”

The dinghy groaned like it wanted no part of this.

But still, he rowed.

One glowing hand on the oar.

Flower behind his ear.

Prepared to scale cliffs, dodge spears, get hit with righteous feminine fury, and maybe—just maybe—win the heart of a woman who’d already started sharpening something in his general direction.

You couldn’t sleep.

Your hair was still damp from a bath that did nothing to soothe the burn in your palm. You sat on the balcony, brushing it out, watching the moonlight spill over the thick, lush gardens below—gardens that ended in a sheer drop into the sea.

The comb offered some comfort. Familiar. Ritual. Something drilled into you as a child.

The mark on your hand pulsed again—not painful, but alive. Buzzing faintly, like something across the sea was thinking too loudly about you.

You were just about to head back inside when you heard it.

A soft crunch in the garden below.

Your comb froze in place.

Then… a sneeze.

You crept to the edge of the balcony and looked down.

A man stood in your courtyard.

An actual man.

Shirt open, one hand resting lazily on his hip, the other raised in a casual wave. The moon hit his hair just right—brilliant red, windblown, absurd. And he was smiling. Like this was a social call.

That was red hair. His hair.

You had assumed Shanks—the Red-Haired Shanks—would be some grotesque brute. Bald. Scarred. Unpleasant.

Instead, a sun-browned pirate in a long black cloak stood in your moonlit garden like he’d stepped straight out of a bard’s fever dream. And worse—he was in sandals.

Scandalous.

You gaped.

You stared at the cliffs behind him, heart pounding.

Because there were only two ways into this garden: through the palace tunnels… or by scaling the cliff face of Amazon Lily—jagged, vertical, and lined with blades.

He had done the latter. In the dark. With one arm.

And sandals.

You nearly screamed. If you weren’t already frozen in rage and secondhand embarrassment, you would have.

He beamed up at you. “Hi.”

His voice echoed up, low and warm. The kind of deep that didn’t belong in your garden.

You flailed, dropping your comb. “This is sacred land! Men die here! Like, professionally! Do you want to die?”

“Not really,” he said, unbothered. “Just wanted to meet you. Properly.”

You ducked behind the balcony wall, hyperventilating.

Of course. 

Of course, fate gave you a soulmate who scaled cliffs like a goat, smiled like a myth, and showed up personally to ruin your peace.

“You okay up there?”

You popped back up, scowling. “Go away!”

“No.”

“I’m not emotionally stable enough for this today.”

Shanks scratched the back of his neck, awkwardly sheepish for someone who regularly punches sea gods.

“Your name showed up on me. Felt rude not to meet the person it belonged to.”

You stared at him like he’d confessed to eating cursed fruit on a dare.

“That’s not romantic. That’s a curse.”

He grinned—of course he did.

“I like curses. Especially the ones with attitude problems and dangerously pretty eyes.”

You pointed at him with the force of a divine warning.

“Back. Up. I bite when overwhelmed.”

“So do I,” he said brightly. “Should we match?”

You shrieked and hurled a potted orchid at his head.

He dodged with far too much grace for a man who’d just scaled a death cliff and trespassed into your solitude. Worse, he looked pleased about it, like he enjoyed being violently welcomed.

“How the hell did you climb that cliff? With one arm?”

He flashed a grin. The kind that made knees wobble and reputations suffer.

“Want a demonstration?”

Your jaw dropped. “You look like someone who causes problems professionally.”

He actually laughed. Loud, unbothered, sinful.

You turned on your heel, grabbed your sword—mostly for comfort—and then peeked back over your shoulder.

He was still smiling. Leaning casually on a boulder like he hadn’t just crawled up from certain death to flirt with you.

Uninvited.

Unbothered.

Unreasonably attractive.

You stared at him, sword half-raised. He winked.

“Let me get this straight,” you said, slow and flat. “You’re an Emperor of the Sea. One of the most dangerous men alive. You command a legendary crew. Your bounty is over five billion—”

He winced, rubbing the back of his neck. 

 “It’s a little… performative. Marine dramatics. You know how they are.”

You stared. “Not as dramatic as scaling a cliff just to watch a woman brush her hair.”

He grinned like you'd paid him a compliment.

“I have priorities.”

“You have issues.”

He stepped forward slightly, cocking his head. “Says the woman who threw an orchid at me.”

“It was ceremonial.”

“It missed.”

“Unfortunately.”

His grin widened like you’d just given him permission to keep being a menace. The breeze caught his cloak, and his hair shimmered in the sun like firelight—because of course it did. Nature was clearly conspiring with his ego.

“Just for a minute,” he said, voice low and maddeningly sincere. “You were glowing. Felt rude not to admire the most beautiful woman in the world.”

You squinted at him, deeply unimpressed. “They said you were charming.”

He tilted his head, eyes sparkling. “Was that a compliment or a warning?”

“Warning.”

He pressed a hand to his chest like you’d wounded him. “Ouch.”

“Good.”

He smiled wider.

You hated how good it looked on him.

He stepped forward slowly, like a man approaching something wild—something that might bolt or bite.

You growled low in your throat and leveled your sword at his chest.

“I’m harmless,” he said gently, voice velvet-soft and far too dangerous. “Unless you’re paper. Or a treaty.”

“You’re trespassing.”

He raised his single hand, palm open in mock surrender. "For a good cause. I did try diplomacy first.”

You frowned. He didn’t feel like a threat.

He felt strange, like the ghost of music you hadn’t heard in years. Familiar in a way that made your grip tighten instead of ease.

“I just wanted to see you.”

You didn’t lower your sword.

But you didn’t strike, either.

And his eyes said he noticed.

He looked at you like you weren’t a prize or a trophy.

Just something rare.

Something real.

“I wasn’t expecting you to be so…” His voice trailed off, softer now. Then a quiet smile. “So beautiful.”

You blinked.

Your hand pulsed—warm where the mark sat like a secret.

And you hated that your first thought was: He sounds sincere.

“Stop talking,” you snapped, too fast.

“Why?” he asked, brows lifting.

“Because you’re charming.”

He winced like you’d accused him of a crime. “I’m trying really hard not to be.” “Try harder.”

A beat of silence. Then, with that unmistakable glint—

“You’re staring at my hair.”

“I’m not.”

“You were.”

“It’s unnatural.”

“Most people say it’s striking.”

“Most people aren’t trained to spot pirate illusions.”

His grin widened. “Then why stare?”

“I wasn’t.”

“You were.”

“You look like someone who fell into a fire at birth.”

He laughed—loud, shameless, real. The sound hit you like a warm wave. Unfair. Unwelcome. Comforting in a way it shouldn’t be.

He took another step forward.

“Want to touch it?” he asked, far too casual for someone actively being threatened with steel.

“Excuse me?”

“My hair,” he said smoothly. “Go on. Satisfy your curiosity.”

“I’m not curious.”

“You sure? Could be your only chance to ruffle an Emperor’s hair.”

You blinked. Just once. He caught it, of course he did.

“You like the color.”

“I do not.”

(You did. Obviously. You hated that you did.)

“You stared at it.”

“I stare at all dangerous things. Fires. Shipwrecks. Rabid dogs.”

He chuckled. “You’ve got excellent taste in disasters.”

Then he stepped closer—too close. Cloak rippling. Hair catching the wind like it had a flair for theater. It fell over one eye, casually criminal.

You tried not to look. You failed.

“…How is it that red?”

He smiled—slow, knowing, just short of obscene.

“Want to find out?”

You narrowed your eyes. “No.”

“Sure you don’t want to touch it?” he coaxed, voice dropping to just above a whisper. “I’ll even stand on my tippy-toes for you.”

“No.”

“You looked at it like it owed you money.”

“That’s not how debt works—”

“Here. One touch.” He leaned in just enough, resting his elbow against the edge of the balcony, hair temptingly within reach. “Just to say you did. Brave warrior and all that.”

It wasn’t fair.

His hair looked… expensive. Like it had never known hardship. Like it was washed in melted sunsets and smugness. The kind of red silk nobles begged pirates not to steal.

It was shockingly clean for a male creature.

And worse—it looked soft.

Too soft.

Your fingers twitched.

You hated yourself a little.

One touch. Just to disprove the rumors.

You leaned in—just a little—fingers outstretched.

You brushed the tips of his hair—

Warm. Silken. Alive.

And then—

Your palm burned.

His chest lit up in response, symbols flaring like ink set aflame. You jerked back, gasping, but too late.

The marks on your skin spiraled outward, curling and fusing, mirrored between you.

Chains. Rings.

A single word, seared in fire across both your bodies:

BOUND.

.

.

.

Silence.

You stared.

He stared.

“…Well,” Shanks said softly, still breathless, eyes locked on yours. “That escalated beautifully.”

You yanked your hand back so fast you nearly toppled over the balcony.

Below, Shanks staggered a half-step, his hand pressed flat over the glowing mark on his chest. His expression wasn’t afraid. Just stunned. Like something sacred had touched him.

Like you had.

You were already gasping, heart hammering, voice rising with panic.

“What—what was that?! What did you do?! What did I do?!”

He looked up at you with a grin, but not his usual grin. This one was softer. Slower. Unarmed.

Not cocky. Not smug. Warm.

It sat wrong on his pirate face. Too sincere. Too open.

Like he’d waited years just to see if you felt exactly like this.

Wonderstruck.

You backed up a step.

Your voice cracked.

“What. Did. You. Do?”

He had the nerve to look pleased.

“It’s a harmless little side effect. Of, you know—full contact,” he said cheerfully, like you hadn’t caught fire together. “Didn’t realize it was a real thing myself. But I’m not disappointed.”

“What side effect?” you growled.

He held up two fingers, casual as ever. “One: we now match. Fashionable, right?”

You drew your sword.

He gave you a sheepish little shrug. The kind that screamed, ‘please don’t stab me, I’m cute.’

Then you took a single step back—

And a sharp tug snapped through your chest, like someone had lassoed your ribcage and yanked hard.

You gasped, hand flying to your sternum. “Ow—what the hell—?!”

“Yeah,” he winced sympathetically. “That’s the part I maybe forgot to mention.”

You stared at him. Horrified. Betrayed. Mildly nauseated.

And just as you opened your mouth to yell again—

He crouched.

And sprang.

He landed gracefully on your balcony like some unholy cross between a pirate, a cat, and a romantic liability. No rope. No warning.

This man had no respect for doors, boundaries, or your rapidly unraveling sense of reality.

“We can’t be more than ten feet apart now,” he said brightly, still holding his chest like he’d just won a prize at a festival. “Think of it as… spatially enforced bonding.”

You blinked.

Then screamed.

Not a gasp. Not a squeak. A full-body, soul-shaking scream that echoed through the trees, reverberated off the cliffs, and probably startled Neptune himself.

Birds scattered. A baby wailed. Somewhere in the distance, a goat keeled over.

Shanks flinched—not from fear. Just from sheer decibel shock.

Later, he’d describe it as “kind of adorable… in a deeply traumatized way.”

You backed away, waving your glowing hand like you could physically fling the situation off your body. “NOPE. No. No, no. Undo it. Take it back. Rewind the curse!”

“It’s not a curse,” Shanks said gently.

You jabbed a finger at the burning sigil on your palm. “THIS SAYS OTHERWISE.”

“…Okay, fair.”

Then you ran.

You bolted like the forest owed you sanctuary.

Slammed through your room, flung open the inner doors, and sprinted straight for the far wall like you could physically outrun a magical contract.

You made it twelve feet.

Then—snap.

A vicious pull ripped through your chest like a tether gone taut. You were yanked clean off your feet, flung backward like a ragdoll of denial, and hit the floor in a heap of limbs, curses, and existential despair.

You lay there, gasping. Dazed. Emotionally concussed.

And of course—of course—Shanks was already there, crouched beside you like this was just another Tuesday.

“Hey—hey, easy now. You can’t pull that hard,” he said gently, like you hadn’t just been magically body-slammed. “Ten feet. That’s the limit. Think of it like… a soul bungee cord.”

You blinked up at him, flat on your back, eyes wide with horror.

“You’re a magical anchor,” you wheezed.

He laughed—hard. Couldn’t help it. You could see it in the way his shoulders shook.

“That’s… not how most people introduce themselves to their soulmates,” he said between wheezes. “But I respect the poetry.”

You glared.

He offered a hand.

You slapped it away.

So, naturally, the idiot pivoted to drama.

He placed a hand over his chest, straightened, and gave you a half-bow so theatrical it could’ve summoned fog.

“I’m Shanks. Captain of the Red Force. Emperor of the Sea.”

He winked.

“And, apparently… yours.”

You stared at him.

Still on the floor. Still glowing. Still cursed.

“Hancock is going to kill you,” you whispered.

Shanks smiled like a man halfway through composing the sea shanty about his own death. “That’s fair.”

The doors slammed open like the wrath of heaven descending.

“WHERE IS HE?!”

There she was.

Boa Hancock. Empress. Warlord. Fury in heels.

Glaive in hand. Hair swirling despite the absolute absence of wind. Eyes locked on Shanks with the focused intent of a woman ready to obliterate his entire bloodline from existence.

She lunged.

You didn’t even have time to blink.

She was on him in a flash, striking like vengeance forged into flesh.

Shanks didn’t move.

His Haki surged—quiet, ancient, coiling. It cracked the stone beneath his feet, winding around him like a leviathan that didn’t need to scream to remind the world it ruled.

Hancock froze mid-swing.

Her glaive trembled in her grip. Her fury did not.

“You dare trespass. Touch her. Curse her with your filth?” Her voice was low. Lethal. “I will turn you to stone.”

She unleashed her power like a tidal wave.

And…

Nothing.

Hancock faltered. Just slightly.

You stared. Hancock stared. Shanks raised an eyebrow, like someone had just complimented his shoes.

“…Huh,” he muttered, glancing at his very much still-flesh hands. “Still flesh.”

“You—” Her expression twisted, fury barely contained. “You should have crumbled.”

“Sorry,” he said, scratching his head. “Guess you’re just not my type.”

Your mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

“You—she—you resisted her?!”

“I didn’t resist anything,” he said simply. Then looked at you. “I’m just already cursed.”

Your soulmark flared—bright and traitorous.

Hancock’s eyes narrowed. She looked between you, then back again, lip curling. “So. That’s what it is.”

“Apparently,” you muttered, utterly humiliated.

“I hate it,” she snapped. “You can’t even be turned to stone like a normal intruder.”

Shanks shrugged. “That’s the price of loyalty, I guess.”

“Loyalty?!” you barked. “You broke into my room!”

“True,” he said, with a sage nod. “But I didn’t touch anything. Not even the pillow I caught. I’m house-trained. Rayleigh made sure.”

Silence.

Complete, nuclear silence.

Even the torches dimmed, like they no longer wished to witness this plane of existence.

You slapped a hand over your face. “Oh gods…”

Hancock’s eye twitched. She looked dangerously close to achieving spiritual enlightenment through pure, concentrated fury.

Then—with the elegance of a queen and the rage of a continent—she inhaled deeply through her nose.

“I will have you physically removed,” she said coldly. “I will punt you back to your ship myself.”

Shanks gave her the most maddeningly polite smile ever committed to sin.

“I wouldn’t recommend that.”

“Why not?!” Hancock hissed.

He looked at her.

Then at you.

Then back again, resting his arm on his hip.

“Because for the first two weeks, if soulmates are forced more than ten feet apart…” He raised his brows. “We snap back together.”

A stunned beat.

Then—he added, almost delicately:

“And if one of us dies…” A faint smile curved his mouth. “We both do.”

Chaos. Utter, spiraling, gods-abandon-us chaos.

Hancock shrieked.

You screamed—again—because clearly once wasn’t enough.

Marigold hit the floor like a sack of emotional potatoes.

Sandersonia shouted, “He’s bluffing!”

But the royal scrollkeeper, pale and trembling, whispered, “Actually… that is in the old texts…”

What followed was an operatic mix of shouting, cursing, veiled threats, open threats, and Hancock attempting to vaporize Shanks with nothing but the fury in her pupils.

Eventually, after what might generously be called negotiations, a compromise was reached:

The rules:

Shanks was not to leave Amazon Lily.

You were not to be closer than nine feet to him.

The two of you would be:  • Chaperoned by the most humorless guards Hancock could assign  • Forbidden from sharing rooms, blankets, baths, or “soul-binding gazes”  • Monitored for “suspicious behavior,” especially hand-holding, hair-touching, or prolonged smiling, and definitely no shared pillows.

No soulmark glowing in front of palace staff, because it was “sending the wrong message.”

And under no circumstances was Shanks to call you “his.” Not “his soulmate,” not “his problem,” not “his little sunbeam.” Ever again.

He immediately broke that last one. Twice. With flourish.

Marigold, still woozy, swore the snake hissed in Morse code for “kill him anyway.”

Hancock paced like a war god forced to sit through a dinner party.

“I want it annulled,” she snapped. “Broken. Banished. I don’t care if we have to summon an elder sea witch—I want this bond severed.”

“Respectfully,” said the royal scrollkeeper, who had not blinked in twenty minutes, “doing so within the first cycle would, ah… implode her soul.”

“She’ll regenerate,” Hancock growled.

“I won’t,” you whispered.

Hancock narrowed her eyes at you. “You should’ve stabbed him on sight.”

“I tried!” you cried, gesturing wildly. 

The next morning, you sat in the garden, hand still glowing faintly.

Shanks sat beside you.

Nine feet away.

Hands folded politely.

He glanced at you and said, voice soft, almost reverent:

“So… this is a very romantic start, don’t you think?”

You threw a fruit at his face.

He caught it.

Still smiling.

The Den Den Mushi aboard the Red Force clicked to life, glowing softly in the moonlight as the ship bobbed six miles off the coast of Amazon Lily.

Benn Beckman answered with the sigh of a man far too old to be cleaning up another diplomatic incident. Pipe lit. Rum nearby. Resigned dread in his bones.

“Red-Hair?”

Static.

“Hey, good news. I’m not dead.”

Around the deck, the crew froze mid-motion.

The card game stopped. One of the dice rolled off the table and hit the deck with an ominous clack.

Yasopp muttered, “Oh no.”

Lucky Roux sat up slowly, eyes wide. “Oh oh hoooo!”

Benn rubbed his face with one hand. “Define ‘not dead.’”

“I’m technically alive. Emotionally? Unclear. Spiritually? Debatable.”

“Where are you?”

A pause.

“…Inside the palace.”

Benn stared at the snail. ��Inside the palace. Of Amazon Lily. The one guarded by an Empress who turns men to stone.”

“Right, her,” Shanks chirped. “Funny story—”

“Shanks.”

“Yeah?”

“What did you do?”

Another pause. Then:

“…Got cursed. Bonded. Technically trespassed. Accidentally soulmated the Empress’s favorite.”

Silence.

Then—

“GOT WHAT?!” came the collective scream from the rest of the crew, echoing across the deck.

Yasopp buried his face in his hands. “This is going to be worse than the time with the nuns, isn’t it?”

“Worse than the treasure priestess,” Limejuice leaned in to say, all smiles.

Lucky Roo froze mid-bite, a meat skewer dangling from his mouth.

Benn exhaled slowly. “Okay. That’s… not bad.”

“Also,” Shanks continued, voice drifting in with just the slightest edge of guilt, “I’ll be staying here for about two weeks.”

Silence.

“YOU WHAT?”

“Are you kidnapped?!”

“Do we need to launch a rescue?!”

“Wait—are you finally getting married?!”

“Don’t tell me she actually touched you—”

“She did,” Shanks said, pure smug. “My hair. We immediately bound.”

The crew lost it.

Yasopp howled. “HE WEAPONIZED THE HAIR!”

Lucky Roux spun in a slow, delighted circle, humming something dangerously close to a wedding chant. Someone near the helm shouted, “Call the tailor!”

“Of course she likes my hair!” Shanks called over the rising din, beaming like a man personally blessed by the gods of delusion. “Who doesn’t?!”

Benn groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose like he was physically restraining a migraine. “You soul-bonded with a woman who ran from your name, weaponized your ego, and now you’re stranded on an island full of elite warrior women who all have kill orders with your face on them. For two weeks.”

There was a heavy pause.

Then Shanks, utterly unbothered and clearly thriving, shrugged and said, “Best vacation I’ve ever had.”

Benn didn’t look up. Just took a slow drag from his pipe and asked flatly, “So how’d you convince Hancock not to split you in half and roast you over ceremonial fire?”

“Ten feet apart or we die,” Shanks chirped, like he was announcing the weather.

Benn slowly lowered his head to the table and let it rest there. “Gods save me from romantics.”

“Technically,” Yasopp added from the side, “that makes him the most successful trespasser in Amazon Lily history.”

“I’m not trespassing,” Shanks called helpfully. “I’m emotionally docked.”

Benn groaned louder.

On deck, pirates placed bets and hollered like it was festival night. Bets hit the floor. Someone pointed at the stars and swore they saw a constellation shaped like a wedding bouquet. At least three were already arguing odds on whether Hancock would personally chuck Shanks into the ocean before sunrise, or delegate it to one of her taller sisters.

Through it all, Shanks just waited.

Calm. Quiet. Still smiling like a man who’d accidentally touched a stove and decided it was fate.

Finally, Benn spoke again, lower now. Serious.

“…You good with this?”

Shanks leaned against the receiver, voice dropping into something softer. Less pirate. More man.

“You should see her, mate,” he murmured. “She’s everything.”

Benn didn’t answer right away.

He just lit another pipe, slow and heavy, like a man preparing to witness the most romantic shipwreck in history.

“…We’ll hold position. Two weeks. Maybe sail to port. Drink your funeral early.”

“Thanks, Benn.”

“Try not to die, Captain.”

“No promises.”

[starsworldd]

Solar Return Observations pt. 9: Long Edition

readings are open

take with a grain of salt

made using whole signs + 3 degree orbs or less

💜 you could feel sleepier during years you have pisces rising in the solar chart

💜 having mars in the 12th can also indicate taking way more naps that year too

💜 years which you have mars retrograde could be years where you tackle past/buried issues

💜 mars conjunct another planet shows having to fight for your place/goals related to the house that the other planet rules (ex: leo in 11th house -> mars conjunct sun (the ruler of 11th house in this case) could mean that you have to put more effort to be included in group activities)

💜 also mars conjunct sun is a BUSY year

💜 where the asteroids forte (8780) and fama (408) land in your sr chart show the most prominent themes in your year ahead as well as the houses where leo and cancer fall

💜 conversely, the houses that capricorn and aquarius occupy are themes that you’re hung up on throughout the year, it’s hard to bring these themes to your satisfaction

💜 having the chart ruler of your juno persona chart for that year in the 12th house can indicate a loss of friends or a partner that year

💜 having pallas conjunct your 12th house ruler can show that you are constructive and productive even in times of distress or isolation throughout the year

💜 having venus trine uranus can indicate a lot of fun in the year ahead, especially with online friends, games, social media, etc…

💜 planets that trine neptune create ease/relaxation (ex: mercury trine neptune could mean less school or social stress in the year ahead)

💜 pay attention to when saturn is on the angles (asc, dsc, ic, mc), those are most likely going to be especially important years where you reach the pinnacle of some sphere in your life (the house tells you which theme/sphere)

💜 juno in the 12th house can indicate having secret admirers that year

💜 wherever aries chiron lands in your sr chart shows where you’re forced to endure and overcome wounds, there’s no escape (especially if it’s retrograde)

💜 having aries or scorpio in the 10th or mc shows breaking barriers/records that year (whether that’s on a personal or community level)

💜 similarly, having capricorn/aquarius in the mc/10th can also mean breaking records/barriers but the recognition and/or fulfillment you should receive will most likely have to wait

💜 aphrodite (1388) indicates where there’s the most drama in the year ahead

💜 having any of the work houses’ (2, 6, 10) rulers on the angles represents a culmination/fruition of a project or goal

💜 having a capricorn stellium indicates success and a likelihood of recognition having to do with the houses’ themes

💜 having gemini, libra, or taurus as your solar rising or as your rising in your ascendant pc chart for that year indicates popularity

💜 moon in venusian signs also indicate popularity and possibility of attracting more lovers as well

💜 having a succedent house’s (2, 5, 8, 11) ruler in another succedent house OR having a planet in domicile/exaltation in one of these houses can indicate wealth

💜 having any wealth-related asteroids (mony, banks, gold, etc…) in sagittarius can mean a growth in finances that year

💜 having asteroid valentine (447) in the 4th house indicates a supportive home life

💜 asteroid valentine conjunct natal neptune means having really really good experiences with a lover or a good friend

💜 juno in the 8th house can indicate a secure and in-depth partnership coming your way that year

💜 jupiter conjunct pallas (solar or solar x natal) indicates a strategic plan that pays off

💜 having mercury aspect venus can mean getting more compliments that year

💜 having uranus conjunct part of fortune (solar or solar x natal) indicates an unexpected good surprise. the solar and natal house that it falls in specifies where the surprise may come in

💜 having part of fortune in your natal 9th house shows an abundance of opportunities and possible recognition (sun has joy in the 9th house)

💜 having pluto in the first house of your mc persona chart could mean a significant change in your goals/career/ambitions

💜 i recommend looking at your solar return chart ruler’s persona chart for more details about what could happen in the year ahead

💜 pluto aspecting the mc in your solar chart shows a step up in power/reputation by doing something significant

💜 having the sun placed in the 8th house in your talent asteroid (33154) pc shows doing something ground-breaking and amazing with your talents

💜 having the 7th house ruler in the 5th house means that your relationships with others bring lots of good opportunities to you (fun, travel, doing games, etc…)

💜 having aries or scorpio as the rising sign of your mc pc for that year indicates a lot of activity in your work and/or public life

💜 having a 1st house stellium can show a fresh start in the sign the stellium is in (ex: libra stellium in the 1st house can show a new beauty regiment that you take on in the year ahead)

💜 8 degrees on the ascendant can mean that you’re wayyy more determined and require more alone time as well that year

💜 having mercury in the 1st house of your dsc pc shows talking to a variety of people (the sign of mercury can show why)

💜 having the chart ruler in domicile in your dsc pc means being more popular that year

hope you enjoyed!

[cheshiresense]

" Kisuke's observant as fuck and Ichigo's actually really bad at staying away from this one mad scientist who created him and weaponized him and pointed him at the enemy but also followed right after him [...]. So even a hundred years in the past was never going to prevent Kisuke from gravitating to Ichigo" - I'm sorry, I'm just imagining Kisuke's confusion at the odd Shiba and the mental acrobatics he is doing to understand him. Hiyory just want them to fuck and put her out of her misery

Hiyori is the real MVP, enduring all the bullshit at the Twelfth, especially when Kisuke stops only obsessing over science and starts obsessing over science and the crazy Shiba constantly breaking into their compound and dragging Kisuke out of his labs for a spar or lunch or whatever like it's his right, and Kisuke just lets him. The day her dumbass captain starts skiving off work to stalk the kid is the day Hiyori pulls out the rulebook to check up on the laws for fraternization (thankfully few, subjectively speaking; disturbingly few, objectively speaking) and also the laws on making eyes at a kid from a noble clan (varies depending on the clan, although generally speaking, no officially recorded spouse has ever been from the Rukongai, and they're all the result of one political arrangement or another; the Shiba Clan's the best about it in that their members in the more recent couple hundred years were at least allowed to choose their own match and bring them home for approval, and the clan head and elders were generally agreeable about it so long as there were some benefits involved).

Now Hiyori doesn't know much about her dumbass captain but she's pretty fucking sure he's not only from the Rukongai, but he's also a former assassin and a creepy scientist and has like nothing going for him except a captaincy he doesn't even seem to care about. His social skills are in the dumps, his capacity for honesty and moral integrity is next to nonexistent, he's a workaholic who enjoys dissecting corpses for breakfast and stashing the parts in the freezers next to the ice-cream, his right-hand scientist is a clown with even less morals than him, and he may or may not be holding an unrequited torch for the Shihouin clan head. 0/10 would not marry. Shiba Kaien would have to be mentally deranged to agree to this match.

The thing is though, she's also heard stuff about the newest Shiba, one of them being that Kaien has zero control over him. The guy will do what he wants and damn the consequences, especially when those consequences would probably be things he allegedly doesn't care about like cuts in clan stipend allotment and disownment. Also, Kaien's a soft touch and likes this new cousin a lot and would most likely yield instead of push the point if Shiba Ichigo really insists.

So basically it all comes down to what Shiba Ichigo wants, and Hiyori's pretty damn certain she can take a good guess. She's less certain her dumbass captain can, but she thinks it means something too that for the first time since she met him, Urahara's actually taken interest in something outside of his research.

Beyond that, she doesn't actually care enough to matchmake or whatever. The Shiba kid can get Urahara out of his labs and even into his office to work on his paperwork, if only so he'll have it out of the way when Ichigo swings by, and that's all she cares about. She just wants to make sure this whole thing won't blow up in their faces and possibly get Urahara demoted because she'll be damned if she has to field another new captain, one who might be worse than her dumbass captain, which she would've said was impossible even just two years ago but she has unfortunately met Kurotsuchi now.

Everything is in line with the rules though so that's that. She has no interest in sticking her nose any farther into whatever's going on between those two, even if she does wish they would hurry up and get their shit together because her dumbass captain is kind of gross every time Ichigo is in the vicinity and he gets all sparkly-eyed at him.

[ourdailybill]

Wilson Books

TL;DR: Good books are good! Links!

Cheltenham in Antarctica – Biography of Edward A. Wilson, amply illustrated, correct in its quotations where Seaver took some editorial liberties. The paperback is only available used; a very very nice deluxe leatherbound edition in a slipcase can be ordered direct from the publisher.

Discovery Illustrated – A coffee-table sized treasure trove of the rarer or otherwise unavailable images depicting the whole of the Discovery Expedition (1901-04). The actual book is nicer than the image there, which is a promo leaflet and not the cover. Also available used.

Nimrod Illustrated – Same but for the Nimrod Expedition (1907-09)

Edward Wilson's Nature Notebooks – Same sort of big juicy edition, but of Wilson's sketches, paintings, and observations of natural subjects in more temperate climes.

Edward Wilson's Antarctic Notebooks are also a thing (a glorious thing) but they're not presently available on the publisher's site or on World of Books.

Terra Nova Illustrated – Keep reading ...

Nonfiction bookselling is an unforgiving place. If you want to publish your research, you either have to convince a publisher that there's a market for it and tailor your output to the lowest common denominator, or publish academically where maybe a few dozen people will see it at best. The middle ground is going with a tiny independent press – even a vanity press – and hoping your book finds the people who are into the subject enough to appreciate something detailed and esoteric, with no marketing budget. This is where the real nerd gold is, but it's hard to source, often our of print, and with no economies of scale, expensive.

David M. Wilson, great-nephew of Our Bill, has been putting together books on Antarctic history – most, but not all, having to do with his predecessor – and these are full of stuff you will not find anywhere else. In order not to compromise on content or depth, he's published through a one-person outfit in the West Country which, aside from the digital printing, operates in roughly 1998. Sales are slow; neither of them are on social media and the books are too esoteric for most bookshops to stock.

David is currently working on the latest in his Illustrated series, and it's the big one – Terra Nova. Because of his unique connections with institutions and expedition families worldwide, it's going to be an assemblage of images that you likely haven't seen before – the whole point of it is to fill the gaps in the visual record, and oh boy there's some good stuff in there. (I have been occasionally consulting on Guy IDs and I can vouch for this.) But his publisher is hemming and hawing about his previous Illustrated books not selling well. Obviously Terra Nova Illustrated is going to be the most successful of the bunch (at least until he comes out with Endurance) but in order to give his publisher a little more confidence it would be great to shift some of the backlist.

As I am on social media, I offered to signal boost a link to the online shop, but whoa the website is terrible and that may explain why they're not selling anything. I have now taken the trouble to take you to the shop pages for each individual book, and also link you to new and used copies on World Of Books, which is kind enough to kick a little back to the author even on used copies. They also have a slightly more modern website.

Shipping in A.D. 2025 is not making anything easier, but polar fandom is a cooperative bunch, and it may be possible for multiple people in one country to group their orders and divide the combined shipping. This ought to work out cheaper for everyone than each person individually paying full price to ship from the UK.

Let's make Terra Nova Illustrated look like more of a commercial prospect!

[grumpymiika]

♡ TW: Yandere, stalker

Toby enters a convenience store on a rainy night, his shoulders tense and his eyes dulled with exhaustion. His hands tremble slightly as he grabs a few bottles of water and a chocolate bar, his focus drifting to the ambient sounds around him. Approaching the counter, he finds a smiling attendant, her eyes warm and gentle. You make a casual remark—a joke about the weather or a comment on how endless the night feels.

Your voice, soft and inviting, catches Toby off guard, reaching a dormant part of him he hadn't known was there. He tries to keep a neutral expression, but something in his stance betrays his intrigue. You continue speaking, asking if he needs anything else or mentioning a discount. For that fleeting moment, Toby forgets the shadows that shroud his world, losing himself in a brief, grounding instant of kindness.

In the days that follow, he starts returning to the store solely to see you, increasingly captivated by the warmth and lightness you bring. Unwittingly, he begins memorizing every small detail about you: the curve of your smile, the way you brush your hair back, the sound of your soft laughter. Even in his darkest nights, thoughts of you persist, weaving an unsettling desire to protect you—and to possess you entirely.

For Toby, the concept of love is warped and intensely possessive. Over time, this obsession deepens, driving him to extremes to ensure that he is not only noticed by you but that no one else can bask in your gentle charm.

Being an unstable, haunted figure, Toby begins exhibiting peculiar, obsessive behaviors in his imagined “relationship” with you.

Frequent Visits and Stealthy Observation: Toby begins to appear at odd hours, especially during your night shifts. Even when he has no intention of buying anything, he lingers in the aisles, discreetly watching you as you work.

Veiled Curiosity: He slyly asks personal questions, using any casual comments you make as an opening. For instance, if you mention a movie, he inquires where you like to watch films or if you often go to the cinema, trying to glean details of your routine.

Protective Gestures: If he senses that anyone is treating you poorly or disrespectfully, Toby intervenes with a dark, silent stare. His intense, intimidating expression is often enough to deter anyone who might bother you. To you, this may come across as the actions of a slightly strange customer, but nothing more.

Secret Following After Work: In his furtive manner, he begins to follow you from afar after your shifts, ensuring you get home safely. He always keeps his distance to avoid being noticed, yet this "protection" is purely an expression of his obsession and need for control.

Mystifying Small Gifts: On some days, Toby leaves mysterious gifts at the store or near your door. He places small tokens like a pretty stone, a wildflower, or a note with cryptic words and unsettling phrases that only he understands.

Mental Record of Movements: Toby memorizes your habits and shift patterns, down to the days and hours when you are likely to be alone in the store. He favors these moments to visit, relishing the chance to watch you without interruption.

Attempts at Normalcy: He tries to act like any other customer when speaking with you, but his nervous tics and occasional, uncontrollable laugh reveal his unease. To you, this might come off as vaguely unsettling, but for Toby, these interactions are precious “connections” that reinforce his delusions.

While Toby believes he's caring for you, his behavior grows increasingly intrusive. He sees you as a point of light in his darkness, yet his distorted perceptions push him beyond any boundary.

Until the day he can no longer endure the jealousy and anguish of keeping his distance, and then, he will take you for himself.

[pix-writes]

I can hear your heartbeat

Vampire!Stanford Pines x F!Reader

Summary: Ford encounters a creature in the woods that bites him and he seems to be a little… strange. He can't seem to focus with his lab assistant around.

AO3

Words: 3.4K

Rating: Explicit (18+) | Warnings/tags: blood drinking, smut, mutual pining, possessive!ford, mildly dub con (because of circumstances, if you squint?), passing out/fainting, blood and vampire kink (ofc), no use of y/n | A/N: Here's my vampire ford fic, happy halloween!

He knows that you know something’s not quite right. He pauses in his journal entry as he risks a glance in your direction.

He knows that you know something’s not quite right. He pauses in his journal entry as he risks a glance in your direction. You were focused, head bent over your work, leaving him the sight of your curved neck. Sensing that you are being observed, you look up across the lab and meet his eyes.

He can almost fancy that he can hear your heartbeat change as he resumes writing, the steady thump-thump rising to a faster tempo. He can feel your stare as he looks down at his page… now, your heart’s rhythm goes back to resting. Ford has always felt a comfort in your presence, now it seemed to be permeating the whole house… warm, inviting. It’s become a distraction.

He needed to recall in detail what he had observed of his latest creature sighting, he crosses out his last line, realising that he had actually written about you in his distracted state. He just needed to convince you that he was fine, so he could continue to observe the effects, he had most of an antidote ready once he had recorded what he needed.

It had all started a few days ago, you had been at an out of town harvest fair. You had tried to persuade Ford to take a step out of the lab for once, though he declined. It was the perfect evening to study the nocturnal fungi species he had been observing in the forest.

Suddenly, out of nowhere he had been chased, heard the beating of leathery, wide wings of a bat-like creature. It had pursued him for half of the journey and despite his frantic attempts to shake him off, the creature had been able to sink his claws into him and left a bite before he managed to get some good punches in, rolling off of a verge down into thicket. The vampiric creature flew off at that point, whether it was the forest terrain or the fighting that had deterred it from following him home from there, he didn’t know for certain.

You had found him, of course you had. He had lost so much time, that by the time he had gotten over the threshold, his strength had weakened, he’d dragged himself into the kitchen by the time you pulled up in your car. He could imagine now, how disturbing it must’ve been to see the house and him in such a state on your return. However, he didn’t catch it at the time, your determined mind a useful asset times of emergencies, patching him up. He had felt proud in that moment, despite his position, your attributes were perfect qualities in an assistant. Even if he had to endure a mild reprimand to lone working from you after the fact, he congratulated himself that he had found someone up to the tasks that his research would need.

You had insisted that he see a doctor, just in case, maybe the creature could’ve carried rabies. As the days wore on, though, he knew you weren’t satisfied with his explanations. You hadn’t said anything, but from your breathing, how your eyes widened, he sensed the slight fear. It was foolish of him, but Ford was only just realising your observant nature was not purely limited to study, but to people and your surroundings. Had you always been scrutinising him in this way before?

Ford felt a nagging guilt at the idea of withholding information from you, however, he didn’t want you to freak out. You could be mad at him later and once you saw his results, he was sure that you couldn’t be upset for long. After all, wasn’t it you he had caught reading those cheap, gothic romances a month into your acquaintance? It still amused him to find you at your desk during breaks reading them, irked that you had been interrupted. Sometimes he even found them on the shared counterspace in the lab and he had gleaned that vampires seemed to be a common denominator.

Part of him wished that Fiddleford was still here, having left you both for a long stay with family, although his good friend was more superstitious than either of you put together. Perhaps the house was too quiet without him? Though that didn’t seem right.

Working silently with someone who didn’t feel the need to converse (or play the banjo at odd hours) wouldn’t have bothered him before, in fact he liked how you weaved past one another in the lab when you were working on the same analysis, completely in tune. But something had shifted… his new state was testing his endurance, if only he had another distraction…

A hand waved in front of his face and he dropped his pen. “Earth to Ford!”

“Yes?”

“I’ve finished the first round of the experiment!” You grinned, beckoning him to follow you to your side of the lab. “I think it might need just a little adjustment with the amount of sample I used but…”

Absorbed in your own explanation, your elbow knocked over the tripod that held your analysis.

“Be careful!” 

“Shit, sorry I’ve got it!”

The crucible had broken, and you scrambled to pick it up and sliced one of your fingers in the process, letting out a hiss at the sting.

Ford had let in a breath at that moment. Big mistake. His senses had been flooded with the delicious scent of your blood. He dug his fingers into the flesh of his arm to centre himself.

He could feel saliva flood into his mouth, the soreness in his canines and tried to swallow. His vision became tunnelled, focused now on the scents of the room. He could hear his own heartbeat, fast and erratic in his ears. Not now!

“Clumsy me, stay back, I don’t want you to get acid on you!” You hadn’t picked up on anything strange about him as he moved back. Your voice sounding far away.

After sweeping up the broken pieces into the waste bucket, instinct made you go to put your bleeding finger into your mouth. Ford caught your arm harshly. 

“Don’t do that!” You looked at him quizzically. Ford could sense the fluctuations in your heartbeat. When you breathed in, the muscles in your neck, your jugular, became more prominent at this angle. Fuck. “It’s not hygienic.” 

“It’s like a papercut, Ford.” The thump, thump, thump became steady again.

“Here.” Quickly handing you a tissue to stem the flow, he opened the packaging on a band-aid.

You noticed the clench to his jaw. “I’m fine, you know, I can patch myself up.”

But he continued without saying anything, securely wrapping your finger, the tension remaining.

Ford was packing items back into the first aid kit when he suddenly stumbled, holding onto the counter so he didn’t fall. “Hey! Ford, you alright?”

“Ah, fine, I- um…”

You frowned. “I really think you need to go to see a doctor; this isn’t right.” Before he could stop you, your hands were cupping his face, checking him over. The heat of your hands felt like fire on his skin. “Your wound looks worse. And you’re freezing!”

“Maybe you’re right. I’ll go in the morning, first thing, don’t worry.” 

Ford told you to continue with what you were doing, and you relented under assurances that he’d take care of himself. He saw the disappointment in your eyes as he brushed you off. It took all of his will to not grab hold of you right then and there, wanting to sink into your touch and your care. You and Fidds were always clucking round him like mother hens. He felt so tired, his mind wanted him to give into it, but he pushed himself up the stairs, feeling with each step that haze that had almost overpowered him dissipate.

He let out a groan of relief once he closed his bedroom door. His skin felt like it was in a cold sweat. He dragged a hand through his hair and pulled at the roots to sharpen his focus. He couldn’t keep this up much longer, he needed to feed. Later, he told himself. Later.

Slipping out of your shoes, you navigated the quiet hallways of the shack, your home away from home, with care.

Ever since he had the encounter with that giant bat creature in the woods, he hasn’t been the same, perhaps anyone else would not notice the slight changes in his patterns, since he was one to neglect himself and bury himself in work on a daily basis, but you knew better. You had become determined to figure it out, once and for all.

He was too stubborn for his own good, something you clashed on at times, and so you hadn’t pushed him too much to seek medical attention, knowing there was a fine balance in how much you could say to Ford as his assistant. You had your suspicions of what was happening, but even then, it seemed absurd; you had seen some strange things happen in Gravity Falls, but could that really be real?

Just in case. Just for my peace of mind, you reassured yourself as you pulled the journal out of the pile of notes on Ford’s desk, flipping through sections to skip to the last entries. There must be something in here that can give you a clue to how to help him…

There was always a dim light in the lab, a faint bluish glow from the machinery that Fiddleford was working on. Sneaking around like this felt illicit and you knew that Stanford wouldn’t take kindly to you going through his work without permission. Turning on the desk lamp felt like it would dispel the stillness of the empty place and so you strained your eyes to read on in the light already provided.

A creak sounded from behind you, sending a jolt of panic to your gut.

“You shouldn’t be down here. It’s late.” The light backlit the figure’s silhouette as they stepped out from the doorframe, the tone unreadable. 

“S-Stanford!” You retreated from the desk. “You startled me. I was just-”

“-Sneaking around in the dark?” As he stepped forward, turning on one of the lamps, the warm lighting disrupting the angle of the shadows.

“Look, I apologise if I have crossed a line but,” You paused in your answer, noticing behind him in the storage room, where discarded cups had rolled across the table, leaving trails of blood. “I want to know what’s going on.”

“And what will you do with the answer?” The reply made you grit your teeth, hands balling up into fists. You felt awash with adrenaline. How dare he ask you such a thing! Did he think after all this time you’d do anything against him?

Without even thinking of it consciously, Ford had been stalking towards you as you had been backing away and you bumped into the counter behind you.

“I just want to help you, Ford!” You didn’t mean for it to come out sounding indignant. It was almost a whine as Ford practically pinned you to the spot, gripping the counter either side of you. Your breath hitched at how close he was.

"I can hear your heartbeat." Ford’s eyes were dark as ink as he met your gaze. You shivered. “It's beating pretty fast.”

“Ford,” You let out a nervous laugh. “C'mon you're messing with me.”

“Seems to happen every time I get close to you. Do I make you nervous?”

“N-no I, nhg!” Your reply is cut off as Ford leans down to place a soft kiss to the inside of your wrist. The touch tickles your skin, making you flush with pleasure at the intimate sensation.

“Couldn’t stop yourself, could you?” It seemed like he was murmuring to himself, nuzzling his head into your hand and you catch a glimpse of pearly, sharp canines. “You want to help me? Because I don’t think I can stop myself right now.”

Even as alarm bells flood your mind at the situation, you didn’t stop him, didn’t pull away from his touch. Instead you gently pushed your thumb across his lips, inspecting the fangs, another shot of fear coursing through you. Stunned, you watched as Ford pressed a kiss to your wrist, opened his jaw and bit into your flesh in a supernaturally fluid motion.

The scream that escaped your mouth became stuck in your throat as the pain seared through you. It felt as though his fangs had hit bone.

The muscles in your body locked up. Heart thudding against your own chest, tears flowing unbidden from your eyes. You whimpered as Ford’s mouth felt tight around your now-open wound, free hand striking out at the table for support.

The stabbing pain suddenly subsided, leaving in its wake a pleasure that made you feel like you were on the drunk side of tipsy. It thrummed through your body, down between your legs.

You moaned, unable to look away from the sight of Ford, eyes glazed over as he took what he wanted from you.

Why had he resisted for so long?

The animal blood he had been gorging himself on just a moment ago, faded away in comparison to human blood. The salty taste of your skin giving him a complete contrast to the sweetness of your blood that was as blissful as it was hard to describe.

He felt every throb of your heart as he fed from you uncoiling his self-control, the shame in his gut from hurting you mixing with the lust he had pushed down for far too long. It wasn’t until your fingers carded through the side of his hair that a flash of clarity came over him and he loosened his grip on your arm. Soothing the bite with his tongue.

“Fuck, you taste incredible.” He growled.

This had to be some kind of dream of yours, some fantasy come to life as you stared blearily into the hungry look of the man in front of you. Now it was your turn to pull him in, pressing your lips to his, the metallic taste of your own blood on his tongue.

"I need to taste more of you." His touch roamed over you, fingers dipping under your clothes before he paused. "Can I?"

"Yes, god, yes.” You didn't have to wait long, helping him to push off your pants, flinging them to the side by the time his mouth was on you. Lips trailing across your inner thigh. If your head wasn’t swimming with desire, you would have felt a little embarrassed at how wet you had become since the researcher had fed from your wrist.

But Ford wasted no time, mouth warm and insistent, humming as you moaned, the vibrations making you tip your head back.

Though, you could tell his movements were careful, and you wondered whether he hesitated from not wanting to hurt you or from inexperience.

“Ford, please." Taking hold of his hand on your hip, you guided him. 

“Yes, yes! Like that.” He was a quick learner, slipping his fingers into your wet pussy, relieving the ache you had felt. 

Ford’s little pleased noises from your praise was setting you alight. His tongue glided through your folds, flicking up to your clit, his prominent nose adding extra stimulation as he ate you out.

“So good.” Your fingers once again ran through his hair, this time gripping as you reached your climax, whimpering as Ford lapped at your sensitive skin, savouring the taste of you.

There was a moment where you both caught your breath.

“Wow! That was amazing.” Ford looked dishevelled, a rare sight for you as he was usually so composed. Even when you had both been running from danger, he didn’t look like… this.

His face wasn’t the only part of him that was flushed, the ruddy colour dusted over the tips of his ears and over his chest. Tiny specks of blood littered his white shirt like freckles. Further down you could see the straining bulge in his pants, untouched. His pupils were blown, raking over you from head to toe in a way that made you feel conscious that you must also look a wreck. He felt warmer to the touch now and you filed that thought away for later analysis. That’s when you noticed that he wasn’t nearly as undressed as you are. That seemed unfair.

He said your name. “-I… It was, remarkable! But I’m sorry I didn’t mean to- are you, oh!”

Ford ceased to remember what he was trying to say as you kissed him, fingers quickly unbuttoning his shirt.

He helped you to push up onto the counter, shrugging his shirt off as he went, pulling more off of you as you nibbled at his ear and down his jawline.

“I need you.” Your touch went to his waist and he paused to unbuckle his pants. God, he had already left a wet spot on his boxers and you gasped into his mouth as you felt him. He was thicker than you had ever had before.

Ford leant onto the desk, gently pushing you backwards as he took up the space between your thighs. He pushed his cock against your slick folds, teasing you for a moment with the tip to watch you buck into his touch before he pushed himself all the way in. A guttural moan escaping from him as your pussy clenched around him.

His hands spread over the warm skin of your torso, pushing up your sweater which you discarded.

“Doing so well for me.” He rolled your nipples between his fingers as he continued his slow pace. You begged for him to use his mouth and when he did, it felt incredible, the barest hint of fangs along soft skin as he sucked at your tits. “Perfect.”

You whined, loud, clenching around his cock.

Ford let out a soft noise. It was familiar to you, like when he found something unexpected within his research, or you did something he found surprising. “You like that?” 

The smirk that was starting to form on his face was devastating. He could hear as your heartbeat thrummed once more into the rhythm that thrilled him, continuing to praise you.

“So perfect… So beautiful… Feel so good.”

But his newfound confidence started to crack as he started to get close, his grunts and groans becoming louder and more drawn out, lost in the feeling as you blissfully moved to a faster pace. Tugging at his hair once more to watch him keen.  

When two of Fords thick fingers reached down to circle your clit, you faltered.

“Please, please cum. Please, honey. N-need to, ah, need to feel it!”

Ford bit down just above your clavicle, brow resting against your shoulder as he devoured you once again. Your eyes were starting to roll back as you held onto his broad shoulders, nails digging into soft flesh, hearing him groan in response. Tightening around his cock, each thrust of his hips hitting that delicious spot within you. Tipping right on the edge, you didn’t want this to end, trembling as you felt Ford drag his tongue over the new bite.

“So beautiful and mine. All mine.” He groaned, looking at you slack jawed, chin shiny with spit and cum. “Mine.”  

The words went straight to your core and you came, back arching as you let the waves crash through you, bringing Ford over the edge by the rocking your hips. He held you close as you rode it out together, murmuring softly.

Although you had no idea what he said, head feeling fuzzy as he released you. You caught your breath and slid off of the counter, but your legs felt unsteady.

Ford called your name. “You alright?”

You wanted to reassure him, but you felt dead on your feet, head slumping against his chest.

He cursed under his breath. “Ah, I-I’m sorry! Sorry, there,” Ford quickly scooped you up, over his shoulder. “I’ve got you, darling.”

Post fic A/N: I had Ford as the narrator for most of it, cause I thought it was an interesting perspective, because even in his thoughts he's in denial ^^' so he's a little unrealiable on what his feelings to the reader are, so I thought people would be able to fill in the gaps where its obviously been a mutual pining situation! (disrupted by vampirism hahaha)

[typhlonectes]

GOOD NEWS:

Enduring the Earthquake: Rediscovery of the Critically Endangered Mesilau Stream Toad, Ansonia guibei Inger, 1966 (Anura, Bufonidae) and its conservation implications

EVAN S.H. QUAH, PAUL YAMBUN IMBUN, SZE HUEI YEK

Abstract

The Mesilau Stream Toad (Ansonia guibei) is a species of bufonid endemic to Sabah, Borneo, and restricted to a single mountainous location above 1600m in elevation. The species is only known from the type locality, the Mesilau watershed on Mount Kinabalu. An earthquake in 2015 resulted in massive landslides, causing extensive damage to the species’ habitat at Mesilau. This event was expected to have caused significant population declines of at least 80% or even the potential extinction of the species. A survey in 2017 at Mesilau failed to locate any individuals, which resulted in it being listed as Critically Endangered by the IUCN. Surveys in late 2023 to reassess the status of the species and its habitat resulted in the rediscovery of a single subadult specimen of A. guibei. Tadpoles of the species were recorded in the main Mesilau River and one additional tributary, which indicates the species survives and is breeding. Studies are ongoing to collect more ecological data on the species and determine its current distribution. The data gathered will be used to construct a robust conservation plan for the species. Nevertheless, these preliminary observations bode well for the future of the species as it demonstrates that it is resilient and capable of recovering from the damages caused by the earthquake.

Read the paper here:

Enduring the Earthquake: Rediscovery of the Critically Endangered Mesilau Stream Toad, Ansonia guibei Inger, 1966 (Anura, Bufonidae) and its conservation implications | Zootaxa (mapress.com)

[thunderbxltss]

𝐕𝐄𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐓 𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 (𝐩𝐭. 𝐈𝐈) | robert “bob” reynolds

taglist -> @bigteefsmallbrain @baylegend6

WARNINGS -> language, mention of injury

translations -> Детка (baby)

THE ARID BREEZE bristled the still crude, swollen laceration above her eye as it funneled through the rear window of Alexei’s limousine.

The ramshackle remnants of the Red Guardian had found them the following morning, bursting with what one could place as masochistic joy — all to the humiliation of Yelena, who had shrunk in on herself like a mortified teenager in the passenger seat.

The sight played like a memory lost amongst time. Where she’d be exasperated with red-pinched cheeks at some off-the-cuff remark made by her father. He’d chuckle at her, nudging playfully at her shoulder until she relented with a smile.

Though she could have — wanted to — yield to the record spin of nostalgia, she had to abandon the thought, allow it to become a ghost once more. In the wake of its dissipation, she still felt astray from her body, riding the waves of longing…of grief.

The dull tap of a boot’s tip drummed against her ankle, drawing her eyes to John Walker across from her, the tides that churned her soul wading into the shadows for now.

“You’re abnormally non hyper-verbal,” he observed, bedraggled blonde hair becoming tussled in the drag of warm wind.

She stilted an eye roll, “As if you’re worthy of my attention.”

Perceiving the tension that was being stirred by their bridged, blazing gazes, Ava interjected to cauterize the situation, “So, what else do you know about this Project Sentry?”

Fiddling absentmindedly with the keen edge of the file, y/n pursed her lips fleetingly and in spite of the gash at the corner of her bottom lip, “Not much beyond knowing Valentina spearheaded it and everything in this file.” And how it subjected all those people to a death sentence, except for Bob.

The somber tone of dread nicked at her nerves; was he ok?

“Whatever she did, it’s not the shit they injected Steve Rogers with,” Walker remarked airily, easing into a nonchalant slouch against the suede bench seating, “Or Barnes or you.”

A silence momentarily prevailed amongst them beneath the din of the engine and droning discord between Yelena and Alexi.

The circumstances of her superhuman enhancements had seldom been made existent beyond typed words on her SHIELD file that framed it candidly: HYDRA insurgents, abduction from father’s convoy in France, injected with quasi-Erksine serum, profiled abilities - superhuman strength, heightened endurance, and accelerated agility.

The discomfort that then irked amidst the injury on her face made him aware that he had waded into a place he wasn’t welcomed. He itched at the nape of his neck as if to shoo out the awkwardness that came to intermingle with vehicle fumes and dry air. Though, the creep of something akin to understanding edged dimly at his expression.

“We have to go back for him!” Yelena abruptly shouted above the rumble of the unsound engine, inelegantly twisting herself to face them with her hands planted on the leather seat.

“If we enter even a mile within the radius of Valentina, she’ll know, and kill us,” Ava proclaimed in return, a flush of criticism in the tenor of her voice. Her eyes subtly squinted towards Yelena, an implicit questioning of Yelena’s line of thought.

“Or sick Bobby on us like some submissive attack dog,” Walker bluntly remarked, shrugging ever mildly and unbothered with his unfiltered rambles.

The three women simultaneously peered his way, expressions resolutely unimpressed.

“Does your brain ever hurt from all the rotten garbage that is in it?” Yelena mulled, fluttering a mocking gesticulation towards him.

“Oh, kiss my ass, Belova,” he countered eventually, temper propelling him to point a stern finger back at her.

“And catch whatever diseases you carry?” she poised a brow at him before casting a sidelong glimpse out the window and to the warm and expansive golden brown of the dirt road.

The blue makeup smudged beneath her eyes twitched as her gaze broadened, “Fuck.”

Walker, wired with militant hyper-vigilance, scrambled his torso around in the rather tight space of the rear seat. Ava and y/n stretched themselves to peer over his shoulders.

Three tactical SUVs pigmented the sandy horizon, veering sporadically toward the red limousine, gun turrets trained intently at their vehicle.

“I thought we lost these assholes-” Walker started to grumble, sharply interjected upon by a spectacular spray of bullets at the back windshield.

The din of metal denting resounded around them as the bullets skidded against the car’s red shine.

The limousine skirted into a chaotic spell of veers and jerks as Alexei feverishly attempted to elude the gunfire. The hitched crusade he was leading them on had their fingers dug into the seat cushions for stability, bracing their faces from the vulnerability posed by the glass around them.

With one hand hooked on the tattered cushion beneath her, y/n haphazardly collected the file in her lap and huddled it back into her vest.

“Don’t worry your tiny, tiny blonde head - she’s bulletproof!” Alexei shouted, almost too exultingly.

A thousand glittering fragments then scattered on the leather around them as the window fell out from the bullets’ ferocity. John promptly perched up his shield in the whipping gap where the window had been. He hunched against its metal curve, angling it as to sanction some of its protection towards y/n and Ava.

“What happened to bulletproof?!” he bellowed back at Alexei, face scrunched in recoil at the thunder of bullets and wind whirling around them.

“Bulletproof-ish!” Alexei’s yell was strewn with newfound tension, his knuckles flashed white on the steering wheel.

“Oh, for fuck’s sakes,” Ava groused in song with Yelena’s groan as the blonde perched herself forward towards her open window.

Gun propped in her hand as she was jostled around, Yelena finagled herself on the sill.

“Because shooting a pistol at three armored vehicles will save us,” Walker rolled his eyes, and y/n mulled briefly over the ponder if he ever spared a thought before opening his mouth.

With the exasperation of someone who had worn thin with patience, she then shouldered herself away from the protective sheath of his shield. Head achingly bowed, she maneuvered herself in a cumbersome scoot towards the nearest window, crook of her palm weighted on the hammer of her own pistol.

“And hiding behind your shitty shield like a little bitch will?” she bit back, a lithe finger flicking off the safety mechanism.

Peeking over the rubber edge of the blown window, y/n gauged the potential angles she could fire from to strike at the wheels of the foremost SUV.

“Not everyone can have a designer shield!” Walker lamely shouted, tone akin to that of a petulant child.

A cadence of metal thwacks and clunks bounced around beneath the tires whine and ambush of bullets from his shield, as he twisted himself around to inch closer to the window she braced against.

A bridge of vague wrinkles curled around his eyes as he squinted at the opponents that outgunned and outmanned them. The flash of contemplation poked through the ash and bruise on his face, seemingly as if he mused over how he could throw himself into a position of braggart heroism.

Finger still wavered in a flirt towards discharge, she knocked her boot rather harshly upon his calf that had been hurriedly angled against the door, “Move your big head or I’ll blow it off.”

His hand flailed unceremoniously towards her, his sprawled fingers nearly propelling the pistol from her clasp. Instinctively, she reinforced her grasp on the weapon’s handle, fingernails embedding light half-moons on her skin in a spark of agitation.

“Would you-” she started to grunt with a tasteless amount of frustration radiating from her, only for his belligerency to stifle her in a sharp shush.

Her hand was all too keen to intercept his bobbing wrist that danced at the tip of her eyes and nose, “Don’t shush me-”

The shriek of an explosion abruptly then belittled her agitated spurt, her grasp falling lax on his wrist as to reinforce her balance on the seat as the ground resounded with a terrible echo.

A dull push poked at her back that leaned against the passenger seat as Yelena swept herself back into the tottering sanctuary of the limousine.

“What the hell?” Ava huffed out in a grunt, craning her head around the rooted profile of Walker, eyes assuming a narrowed frame — though it was fruitless with the breadth of his shoulders and shield in landscape of the blown out window.

“Can this shithouse-on-wheels go any faster?” Yelena shouted contentiously at Alexei, the ferocity of her bristle rivaling the fiery remnants of the overturned SUV skidding off the road behind them.

“Your hostility wounds her - she is trying her best,” Alexei wagered a sole, stern finger up from the fists that were wound around the steering wheel, pacing it towards Yelena.

Their tit-for-tat fussing was smothered in y/n’s already ringing ears by the throttled backfire of a motorcycle from alongside the two remaining SUVs.

Bracing her hand against the cushion once more, she dared a generous peek around the rubber corner of the window.

“Perhaps try not to give them something to shoot at?” Ava exclaimed over the cacophony of engines around them, ogling y/n as if she were rather unperturbed by the precariousness of her blithe lean out the window.

The limousine lightly bounced in an uneven jaunt as it rattled over a dispersion of rocks, y/n’s head jostling against where it was pressed up against the curve of the window. She rolled her eyes at the remark, aware that the gesture would go unnoticed by Ava on behalf of the angle her head was perched at.

Rattled with a tinge of nausea from the jounce her concussed head was committed to from its current position, y/n tilted away from the window with a few fingers wavering at her temple.

Another metal clang reverberated alongside her as Walker careened his shield away from him as to gauge a more expansive view from beneath the bow of the car roof. She slid her thigh away from the propel of his boot as it clumsily reinforced his heft of weight in the compact area.

“Wait - is that Bucky?!” he blundered out in a rush, his tawny hair askew in the dalliance of wind that gusted through the back.

With a similar air of ebullience, y/n trained her head partially out the window, stray hairs from her ponytail flittering in the tear line of her eyes. Blinking them away, she peered through the dainty plume of dirt and smoke and to the motorcycle readily matching the pace of the leading, last SUV.

Curious, her eyes flickered promptly to the gulley most immediate to her, finding that - amidst the hotheaded quarrel that thrived amongst them - the rider had taken out one of the two SUVs with a shotgun blast to the front tire. The shotgun’s work was suggested by the billow of smoke from the black rubber that permeated around the disabled vehicle now angled down in the sand.

The motorcycle then halted, the rearward tire arching like a pulled-back rubber band at the abruptness of the rider’s braking. For a fleeting few moments, the lone SUV fishtailed away from the rider with the fever of a prey evading a pursuing predator.

“Some savior!” Ava pointedly exclaimed, her hand impulsively aligning to the activator of her mask — an implicit “someone has to save our asses”.

The shrill reverberation of brakes stuttering and subsequently spinning rattled through the limousine, everyone’s faces simultaneously flashing a scrunched grimace.

With fluidity and lithesome skill, the SUV was yanked back from where it was inches from the limo’s taillights. Their pursuer was plucked from the road as if it were featherlight and a mere pebble on the path, rolling over repeatedly as it pummeled amidst the debris of one of the other SUVs.

The pallid harshness of the desert sun weaved amongst the gleam of familiar metal where the grappling hook was embedded into the ground. Bucky. y/n briefly indulged a swirl of relief, the rigidity finely spun in her shoulders easing.

“Yes! I told you!” John clamored obnoxiously.

“Ah - the Winter Soldier!” the boisterous twang of Alexei’s accent came in concert with Walker’s, a blend that was equal parts irritating and childlike. The older man’s thundery laughter buoyed for a few beats afterwards as he obsessively cast his eyes up at the rear view mirror to catch Bucky’s distant silhouette.

y/n relented to a sly roll of her eyes, reckoning that Yelena and Ava shared similar sentiments of irritancy at the duo of men that were evidently ego blind.

She maneuvered herself back from the window, rumpled hair composing itself in a mussed ponytail as she smoothed a hand over the crown of her head.

“You-” she then craned herself as to intercept Alexei’s gaze in the mirror, fingers clenched on the shoulder of his seat in a cumbersome brace, “— stop the car.”

A frown inched onto his forehead at the impromptu demand, as if not familiar to being bossed about - particularly by the likes of someone such as herself.

“She think I’m chauffeur,” a poor excuse of a mumble poked through the corner of his mouth while shaking his head.

Yelena pursed her lips in ill-concealed indignation, favoring silence rather than a verbal stoking of his obstinacy.

“Oh, shit!” Walker’s blurted to no distinct recipient, y/n and Yelena duly twisting themselves around to him and the point of his plight, both bowed down to acquire a better viewpoint.

“That’s not good,” Yelena bitterly murmured.

Bucky’s motorcycle swerved curtly onto their tail end, shotgun propped sky-bound but metal finger poised precariously about the curve of the trigger.

“Stop the car!” y/n’s, Ava’s, and Yelena’s voices verged into a clustered shriek above the roll of the approaching motorcycle’s engine.

Consistent with his ploy of daft idiocy, Alexei lightly smacked his lips in feigned contemplation until he loosely gestured, “Until your name is on side of car, you hush.”

y/n then hastily sprung forward from between Ava and Yelena, hand clasping firmly onto the overhead strap to steady herself fleetingly, “Fine.”

Tightly securing her pistol, she tossed her hands onto the steering wheel in a clasp that rivaled the enhanced strength of Alexei. She roughly wrenched the steering wheel with purpose, Yelena — quick to discern her intentions — jostling alongside her as to jam her foot towards the brake pedal.

It was a perilous string of seconds as the bulky vehicle careened to a halt in a muddle of tossed up gritty sand and dirt. Frazzled and subtly whiplashed, y/n’s hands remained affixed to the steering wheel, Yelena’s scattered breathing flitting against the flush of her cheeks as the blonde glanced at her in tacit questioning — “did we really just pull that off?”.

“I say no touch and then you hijack my Детка,” Alexei’s gaze weighed her with the revolt he’d behold a pestilent rodent with.

y/n only shown him a mirror of the abhorred expression, nose scrunched amongst the lines of a sneer. She vehemently reinforced herself off the steering wheel, unabashed when her elbow jostled his shoulder in passing. A spluttered scoff sprang from the man now behind her as she propelled open the dented in door with the sole of her boot.

The door seldom had a moment to bounce at its springs before it was caught at the upper right, the whir of a telltale, metallic clinch accompanying it.

“y/n?” the sun haloed around Bucky as he partially bent down into the outline of the door.

By virtue of instinct, his blue eyes poked and prodded at her - at the bold and bright bruises, at how she stilled a heedful hand at the crook of her ribs. His atypically troubled gaze leveled with hers and she nodded dismissively with a threadbare smile - “don’t worry”.

“Hey, thanks for not, well, blowing us up,” Walker’s voice spilled out from behind her, bolstering himself at her right side with a hand planted against the doorway.

Bucky’s jaw visibly clenched at the sight of the man who had smugly sauntered into Steve’s legacy and got a power trip from it.

“Alright, before the two of you dick-fight, we have a bigger problem than your fragile egos,” y/n lightly waved off Bucky’s cornered stance towards her, sidling out of the car upon his measured step backwards.

A brush of his fingers against her elbow came as her maneuver onto firmer ground rippled with a quaver, a reminder of looming irks of the ordeal of the past three hours. Her own fingers chased away the lithe grace of his grasp as she mainlined her posture, steadying her hands on the top rim of the door, gaze finding Bucky’s stern, brilliant blue eyes.

“What are you doing with him-” his chin jerked intentionally towards the misfit puzzle assembled in the car, “— with any of them?”

“For a former assassin, you’re shit at subtlety,” Yelena remarked flippantly, catching him through the angled rearview mirror.

“They were sent by Valentina to the same compound I was, told that the other was their target. It was a trap and she tried to kill us,” y/n explained, her tone drawn composed despite the grimness of the circumstances she mulled over, “Obviously, we got away but…”

Her mouth stalled much to her chagrin. Surely, Bucky had heard and seen his share of uncanny oddities in his century’s worth of life — but a nag in her nerves whispered that, for some reason, this time was different.

Bob was different.

The young man, unassuming, with a stature pinched like a wilted flower. The one that swayed on an emotional pendulum with a fond smile one moment, and harsh, disparaging mumbles the next.

“It’s probably for the best that I don’t go with you guys,” Bob gave her a half-sheepish smile, fingers twitching as he fiddled them.

She had looked at him with a frown. The words struck uncomfortably at a knot squeezed behind her ribs.

“I-I,” she then cleared her throat, “-we all get that thought stuck in our heads…let it dwell, swallow us…like a..” a lonesome ache greeted her as an old friend would, the one that had bubbled painfully in her everyday since her dad died.

Bob looked at her with an afflicted intensity that budged with a flare of understanding, “Like a void.”

Her hand that had flitted at accident with his own then hummed in mockery amidst the rumination of him — of who he is.

“We encountered someone else down there,” Ava offered in the stretch of silence, “Bob. Valentina did something to him…enhanced him.” Evidently, she was skirting around the term “experimented” with a prickle of discomfort at the corner of her eyes.

Bucky stood there for a pause, blinking with something verging on tenuous patience. Then, he looked at y/n, “Bob?”

“Bob,” her confirmatory response melded with that of the others idling in the car, a couple of their voices distinct with exasperation that he was sparing the time to doubt them.

Bucky proved ceaselessly unfazed, and y/n cast a frowning glance at him as he spoke solely to her now, “I’m taking them in to testify in front of Congress at the impeachment hearing. That’s why I tracked you guys here.”

y/n lightly scoffed, a few sputters of laughter hissing from the rifts of her lips, “Take them in — when we’re telling you there’s something that could stick her ass in prison for good? I have the file on what she did that’s better than the testimony of a band of depressed, morally questionable mercenaries, Bucky.”

“That’s a little pot calling the kettle black of you, Stark,” Walker hummed, thudding an arrhythmic tune against the doorframe with his bruised knuckles.

“She is very crooked in the mind! Taking wheel of car and jerking it about like maniac,” Alexei feverishly contributed to the rip into her holier than thou facade.

She sobered her tongue to her cheek rather than beckon a serpent of anger into the already unsteady atmosphere.

Bucky regarded her then as if his assumptions of the throng hanging around in her vicinity had been aptly confirmed.

“You told me to find evidence of the enhancement project and I did,” she flitted an accusative finger towards his chest, frustration clenching her jaw.

“A file is nothing when you’ve got firsthand accounts of her operations,” he exhaled with forced measure at her pistol-shot attitude. His tone inherited a ring of finality then, “I already have a ride on its way to bring us back to D.C.” He surveyed her for a generous second — “don’t fight me on this”.

This was a losing battle, y/n could see that. Wherewithal and common sense told her that any further demonstration of attitude was going to be smothered swiftly by the likes of his bleak resolve.

“Pawns in your little stunt as a Congressman? Please,” Walker, indifferent to any murmur of sense that may have dissuaded his arrogance, scoffed.

“Congressman? Go from Winter Soldier to a cuck in tailored suits,” Alexei clicked his tongue disapprovingly without much care that Bucky had heard him.

“You can’t be serious,” Yelena fully turned to Bucky as he blandly motioned for her to get out of the limousine. Her narrowing stare found purchase on y/n, “Stark?”

“She’s already made up her mind,” Ava assessed, a trace overconfident. She tilted her head up at y/n in a challenge of her words as she departed the vehicle.

“And what about Bob?” Yelena murmured sternly, now at y/n’s side with hands rendered useless by a pair of binders behind her back. Her eyes were broad with conviction as the nascent rays of the sun caught them.

y/n knew that tossing forward the rather irritating Stark stubbornness against Bucky was plain foolhardiness — for all intents and purposes, the man wouldn’t hear another word about Bob or Project Sentry, having found a swifter resolution in their collective testimony. Futile, drawn-out testimony before a government she had told to kiss her ass during the Sokovia Accords. She wasn’t going to sidle up to them because Bucky was suddenly straight and narrow.

She often granted Bucky Barnes a hefty dose of benefit of the doubt. Yet, uncertainty rattled like a pebble amidst the generosity she approached him with. Does he think Valentina will back off because a group of unstable former assassins and human experiments tattled on her? y/n wouldn’t wager Bob on a blind hope that she would.

“We’re going to need all the help we can get to get out of this shithole,” she remarked, frisking a few fingers over the rear of Bob’s head that had been propelled against the wall by Walker.

The roam of her touch — concerned, warm, cautious — at the nape of his neck made him cramp in a slight recoil out of instinct. She instantly dropped her hand from the brown tufts, his shoulders withering in what favored frustration more than relief.

He glanced at her almost apologetically, though a glint of resent cracked the gentler tone to his eyes as they flickered over at Walker. Clocking his animosity-strung stare, y/n cocked her head as to obscure some portion of Walker’s profile in Bob’s gaze.

Nearly instantly, softness whetted the entirety of eyes as he looked at her through the dappled light.

The corner of her mouth livened in a reassuring but resolute smile, “We aren’t leaving you here.”

She glanced at Yelena’s eyes that hadn’t lingered off her, speaking carefully and out of Bucky’s keen earshot, “We’re going after him.”

There was a little raise to Yelena’s lips — a simple smile — and y/n mustered a nerve to reflect it. A silent understanding to do what was needed.

She just hoped they weren’t too late.

[tacticalglitter]

Chapter 4: VANTAGE DOSSIER – Clearance: Restricted

You wanted answers. Instead, you got the floor plan, surveillance logs, and a black site vault labeled PROJECT ECHO. VANTAGE isn’t just watching the girls. Something else is watching VANTAGE. Read on AO3 → VANTAGE: Emotional Damage In Formation – Chapter 4 🔒 Archive-locked on AO3. Login required. HALCYON isn’t the only one trying to steal things.

[salt-and-vynegar]

Enduring Light Event Interesting Observation/Easter egg:

Doing a Secret Chat with Journalist Pearce and clicking on the choice, "Journalist Pearce's situation," leads to an easter egg that references Luke's SSR for this event, Sky Ashes. In the chat, Luke reveals that he came across a report where a pilot died without telling their loved one how he felt. He explains that the pilot in question died by saving another.

[yan-lorkai]

Hey Lorkai <3

I would like to request Sebastian x female noble reader darling, who gets treated horribly by her family, abused physically and emotionally. (Relationships weren't quite healthy back then in the victorian era as far as I know) And even abused by her fiance, she doesn't like him but will have to marry him in the near future due to being forced. So when kidnapped by Seb she's just constantly stressed and unsure, perceiving everything as a threat because of past experiences. Darling doesn't try escaping though, since she has nowhere safe to go. Also very quiet and apologizes way too much for things she doesn't need to say sorry for.

I like angst with a little fluff <3

It's completely alright if you don't feel like writing this :3

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ﾟ a/n: hihi darling! It's been a while since you requested this, and I finally found time to finish it. I apologize for the delay, and I hope you enjoy it!

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ﾟ warnings: soft yandere content, necrophilia mention, violence mention, poison mention, pregnancy mention, fem!reader.

A Vivaldi song played from the record player, the melancholic tones of Valse Sentimentalle seeming to make your heart spin over and over inside your chest as you watched everything that was happening from your balcony. You could only glimpse the world this way.

The clouds raced across the dark sky like snow falling to the ground, visibly shaken by the cold wind that blew, as they were so fast that they quickly disappeared over the horizon. This was your little paradise after having spent so much time in hell; a lifetime of enduring your mother's insults regarding your "slovenly" appearance or your father's comments about your poor etiquette, about the role he expected of you, or how much your future husband wanted to have a dozen children, even though he was a terrible man with a terrible temper.

The truth was that all of this was unnecessarily useless. Today's society was useless. So many rules, so many political games going on. You couldn't understand the need for it all and you didn't need it anymore. Not when you were now a bird trapped in an unknown cage.

A beautiful cage. The bed was built against a thick brick wall painted black, curtains falling down the wooden posts flowing across the floor, beside it, a single flame glowed on the almost extinguished candlestick, its flames trying to communicate with you and failing, as you preferred to isolate yourself and observe the world outside the bars that trapped you inside, the snow so free and beautifully overwhelming.

Running away made no sense. But the feeling and need for freedom was something that kept beating in your chest millions of times, that screamed in your mind for you to act. And you were too much of a coward for that; or rather, where would you go if no one would welcome you? If no one was good?

Better a known evil than an evil that is little known.

Hands snaked over your shoulders, a mere caress that once soothed you, and, soon after, the voice of that being who had bathed in blood and guts to supposedly save you from a mediocre existence.

"You should be near the fire," there was apprehension in his tone, but a hint of something else. It wasn't desire, but it was like it, a yearning for control and care, and a range far more infinite than you could only guess.

He leaned over you, black hair falling down your neck. "Well, it doesn't matter, if you get sick, I'll take good care of you."

You shivered. There were so many meanings to those words. Was it a promise? Or a threat? Based on your past experiences, it was definitely a veiled threat that made your head spin and your stomach tighten with an almost instinctive fear - this fear was already well-known to you. It was a friend.

"Sorry." Was all you said as you let him guide you, like a doll, to your seat and place your favorite hot drink in your hand.

It was strange, you thought. The liquid moved as it swirled up the cup, the stark contrast of how warm it was compared to the cold outside. It was strange to have someone like that. It was strange that he never got angry, never yelled or tried to hit you. It was all strange.

Still, you drank.

It wasn't poison.

Your fiancé once threatened to poison you. And he said he would desecrate your body afterward again, and again and again, he would crush your bones till there was nothing more but dust.

Sebastian's hands took yours, red eyes staring into yours, searching for any ghosts from your past. A smile crept across his lips.

"Don't wander for what has been. Keep your head up for what is to come," he whispered, taking the cup from your hands and bringing it to your mouth. The ceramic cup touched your lips so gently that you could almost cry. "Enjoy, my love. Just enjoy it. I could never be like those insects."

Knowing this didn't change anything you had been through. But at least you knew he would never do anything hurtful and that he would listen to your apologies.

To him, you were a shiny, precious jewel, something to hide and love inside those necessary walls. You found that you didn't mind if you had to live like this; the routine was serene and not at all anxiety inducing. His love was gentle. His laugh like a serene promise.

You smiled for the first time since coming here. And you let him see it. You let him caress your face softly and kiss your cheeks, your breathing hitching when he ghosted your lips - you had never been kissed like that, and he was waiting for your permission to do it.

To let the past go, one must embrace the future, even if the future is scary. You closed your eyes and let it happen.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

could you do a word list for memory? your blog has helped me out a bunch and i really appreciate you!! (I may have your tumblr tag in my dedications once i finish)

Word List: Memory

Memory—the faculty by which the mind stores and remembers information; something remembered from the past; a recollection

Anamnesis – The recalling of things past; recollection, reminiscence.

Bethinking – The action of thinking, considering, reflecting, or remembering.

Educe – To bring out (something, such as something latent).

Encoding – The conversion of a sensory input into a form capable of being processed and deposited in memory.

Engram – A memory-trace; a permanent and heritable physical change in the nerve tissue of the brain, posited to account for the existence of memory.

Evocation – With reference to the Platonic theory of recollection (ἀνάμνησις): A calling up of knowledge acquired in a previous state of existence.

Flashback – A past incident recurring vividly in the mind.

Hearken back (to) – To bring back to mind.

Membrance – Remembrance; a recollection, memory.

Memento – A memory, a recollection. Obsolete. Rare.

Memorabilia – Memorable or noteworthy thoughts, observations, writings, etc.

Memorability – memorableness, also (occasionally): a person or thing worth remembering.

Memorableness – The quality of being memorable.

Memory-belief – A memory implicitly believed though probably unverifiable.

Memory span – The maximum number of items that can be recalled in the correct order immediately after a single presentation of them.

Min (Old English–1556) – Remembrance, memory; "to make min of": to make mention of.

Minder – A person who remembers; a person with a good memory. Obsolete. Rare.

Neurogram – Physiology. An enduring physical change in the brain thought to be produced by mental activity and to form the basis for memory.

Recall – The action of remembering or calling back to mind; the ability to remember.

Recollection – A thing or fact recalled to the mind; a memory (of something).

Record – Memory, remembrance, recollection. Obsolete.

Recordancy – Remembrance.

Reflection – The action or process of recalling or recollecting something; recollection; remembrance (of an experience, emotion, etc.).

Reliving – The action or process of experiencing something again, esp. in one's memory or imagination.

Rememberer – A person who remembers. Also occasionally: an organ or faculty which remembers.

Remembery – colloquial or regional. A person's memory. Also: a thing remembered, a memory.

Rememorance – Remembrance; (also) an act of reminding.

Reminiscence – Chiefly in plural. A recollection or memory, as a mental fact or phenomenon.

Reproduce – To bring back to mind.

Resouvenance – Recollection, memory.

Retention – The storage and maintenance of a memory.

Retentivity – The ability to remember or to retain what is learnt; the capacity for being retained; retention.

Retrieval – The process of recovering or locating information stored in memory.

Retroaction – Psychology. The (usually deleterious) effect of subsequent learning on the memory of what was learnt previously.

Retroactive inhibition – The inhibiting effect on recall that can be produced by subsequent learning of a similar kind; retroactive interference.

Salience – Social Psychology. The quality or fact of being more prominent in a person's awareness or in his or her memory of past experience; saliency.

Souvenir – A thing or fact remembered; an act or instance of remembering; a memory. Chiefly literary.

Sovenance – Remembrance; memory.

Thought – Remembrance, a person's memory or mind. Obsolete.

Trace – Psychology. A change in the brain as a result of some mental experience; the physical after-effect of such.

I'd love that dedication, haha! No but seriously, I'm glad to hear this, really appreciate you telling me. Hope the list helps & all the best with your writing. If you're alright with it, I'd definitely love to read :)

Sources: 1 2 3 ⚜ More: Word Lists ⚜ On Memory ⚜ On Amnesia

[unihentai]

Pages of freedom

Tate No Yuusha X Reader(Shield Hero)

(01) (02)next>>>

SYNOPSIS:

The Rising of the Shield Hero x Reader (All Characters Except Imperial Family & Malty as Love Interests)

After yet another ordinary day, you finally give up on enduring your classmates' judgments and cruel jokes. Though your friend Riyako promised to protect you and catch you if you fell, you failed - reaching the third floor stairwell of your school, you jump without thinking, seeing your friend's face one last time as you leap.

But it seems you never hit the ground.

You fall endlessly until... waking up surrounded by a group of men, now bearing the title of "Book Hero(ine)." What happens now?

Fem!Reader (Name/You) x Tate no Yuusha

All characters are potential love interests (except the imperial family and that bitch).

About You in This Story: In your original world, you suffered injustice due to circumstances beyond your control. Arriving in this new world, you feel displaced - unwilling to reach out to anyone, afraid of history repeating itself in this unfamiliar place.

But after seeing how this world works... You feel empathy with Naofumi. You realize this world could be just like your old one, And so you start doing something you never did before - You start fighting back, No longer staying silent.

𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐥𝐨 1

Before:

"—Your sweater..."

The girl looked down at her school hoodie, now soaked and caked in mud from the rain. The boy beside her held an umbrella over them both as he picked up the dirty, wet garment.

"Don’t worry, Riyako. I’m used to it."

She shook the hoodie, trying to get rid of as much dirt and water as possible. The boy watched her with a sad expression—her face was unreadable, hidden behind a white mask.

"But, (Name)... don’t you think this is going too far? Maybe we could talk to the teachers or even the principal..." he said, eyeing the stains on her hoodie.

"I already tried. They didn’t believe me, and when they did, nothing changed. Cough—"

She was cut off by another cough. The boy immediately placed a hand on her shoulder, concerned. Without a word, she walked into the rain, still clutching the hoodie—until the boy hurried after her, shielding her with the umbrella.

"You should stop doing this. You’re already sick—you don’t need to make it worse!"

The boy, Riyako, walked beside the [hair color]-haired girl. It was late afternoon, and as usual, the two walked home together. Riyako glanced at his friend, who had her own umbrella, waving at him from the street. He smiled and waved back before heading inside.

Now alone, the girl stared at her gloved hand gripping the muddy hoodie before continuing home.

After:

Once home, she tossed her clothes—including the ruined hoodie—into the wash before heading upstairs. In her room, she removed her gloves and mask, observing how her [skin tone] had paled from illness. Even sick, she refused to skip school. She couldn’t stand being at home.

Her reflection showed faint dark circles under her eyes from exhaustion. Ignoring her hunger, she finished her homework and collapsed into bed, ready to repeat the same routine tomorrow.

The Next Day:

The two usually met at school, but (Name) arrived early. As expected, she endured the same taunts. She walked to the hallway near the stairwell, watching Riyako search for someone in the crowd.

Placing her belongings by the railing, she removed her shoes. She could feel the stares behind her—no one moved, no one spoke. Some even pulled out their phones to record.

She climbed onto the railing, sitting precariously as she glanced at Riyako one last time.

The boy’s eyes widened in horror when he saw her.

"(NAME)!"

He sprinted toward her, screaming her name. The crowd remained frozen, whispering among themselves.

"Is she really gonna jump?" "Bet she’s just doing it for attention—especially Nishiro Riyako’s." "If she’s that desperate, she doesn’t deserve to be near Nishiro-senpai anyway."

She ignored them.

And let go.

The group behind her gasped. Riyako’s desperate screams echoed through the courtyard—joined by horrified shrieks as her body hit the ground.

But for (Name), it wasn’t over.

She kept falling.

Memories flashed—her last conversation with Riyako.

"You won’t be alone. I’ll be here with you, okay, (Name)? I promise." "...Fine. But you don’t have to care about me like that." She stared out the window, packing her books. "Well..." Riyako pulled her into a hug. "I do. You’re important to me." "You say that now..." A finger tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his calm gaze. "I wouldn’t let you fall. I’d catch you. What kind of idiot would let someone like you go?"

She closed her eyes.

"You wouldn’t let me fall... but I’d jump anyway. Sorry, Riyako."

A New World:

She expected darkness.

Instead—porcelain tiles.

Blinking, she sat up, hood still shielding her from the rain (or was it another world’s weather?). The crowd around her murmured, but their judgmental stares couldn’t hurt her now.

In her arms—a book.

A magic book, with a gleaming [color]-hued jewel embedded in its cover.

Before she could process it, shouts erupted.

Four boys groaned nearby, bruised and disoriented.

"Where are we... Purgatory?" "We did it! We succeeded!" A robed figure cheered. "The Four Heroes! No—FIVE Heroes! We need your help!"

(Name) ignored them, focusing on the strange menu in her vision:

—(Full Name) — The Book Hero - Level: 1 - EXP: 0 - Weapon: Cardinal Book [Legendary Weapon] - Magic Level: 1 - ATK: 5 - DEF: 5

Flipping through the book’s description:

Cardinal Book (Enchanted): A magical tome bound to the Cardinal Hero. Gain EXP and levels to unlock abilities. Current Skill: Levitation

"A... book?"

One of the summoned boys—Naofumi, the Shield Hero—frowned. "Let me get this straight. You summoned us, and now you can’t send us back?"

"We called upon the Four—no, FIVE Cardinal Heroes! The Sword, Bow, Spear, Shield, and Book Heroes! Our world is under attack by Waves of Calamity!"

"Book Hero?" (Name) muttered. "Makes sense... I do read a lot."

After a chaotic debate about their origins (apparently, they were all from different versions of Japan), they were led to the king.

The King’s Audience:

King Aultcray Melromarc XXXII greeted them with false warmth.

"You are the brave Four—no, FIVE Heroes! Save our world, and you shall be rewarded!"

He demanded their names.

"I shouldn’t even be here," (Name) thought but stayed silent as the others introduced themselves.

Itsuki Kawasumi (17, Bow Hero) – A high schooler obsessed with justice.

Ren Amaki (18, Sword Hero) – A quiet gamer familiar with VRMMOs.

Motoyasu Kitamura (19, Spear Hero) – A flirtatious college student.

Naofumi Iwatani (20, Shield Hero) – A skeptical loner.

Then, all eyes turned to her.

"(Full Name). 18. High school."

Her voice, muffled by the mask, sounded almost androgynous. No one questioned it.

The king’s nervous glance at her didn’t go unnoticed.

"Why did you say ‘Four Heroes’ first?" she asked.

"Ah! You see, the Book Hero is... difficult to summon. It’s rare for all five to appear at once!"

Naofumi’s eyes narrowed. "So she’s the strongest?"

The First Night:

Back in their shared quarters, the heroes argued over game mechanics.

"This is just like a VRMMO!" Ren said. "What’s a VRMMO?" Naofumi asked. "It’s a virtual reality game! The stats, the skills—it’s all the same!"

(Name) stayed silent until Ren noticed her odd attire.

"Why are you covered up like that? Aren’t you hot?"

"I was sick before coming here. The mask helps." She removed a glove, showing pale skin. "Gloves are... practical."

Itsuki grinned. "You can take it off if you want. We won’t mess with you."

"Thanks... but I’ll keep it for now."

She excused herself, stepping into the hallway.

Lost and Found:

Alone, she placed the magic book on a table—only for its jewel to glow violently.

WHOOSH.

Her phone vanished into the book.

"NO!"

Desperate, she shook the book—until a notification appeared:

- EXP: +15 - New Skills Unlocked

Tears welled up. "I’m an idiot!"

Furious, she opened the book. Blank pages. A [color]-feathered pen materialized—like a diary’s quill.

When she returned, Naofumi was ranting.

"(Name), do you think the Shield is weak?!"

"No," she said bluntly. "I know characters who wield shields and are overpowered."

"Liar!" Motoyasu scoffed.

"I have proof—but my book ate my phone!"

Ren helped her retrieve it via the skill menu. The moment her phone reappeared, she hugged it—then hugged Ren in gratitude.

"THANK YOU! Arigato! Arigato!"

Ren chuckled, patting her head. "No problem. Now, show us these ‘OP shield users’ you mentioned."

She grinned. "Gladly."

[calebs-anchor]

Caleb Character Analysis part 1: The Ever Experiments

(This is mostly lifted from a video I posted on tiktok, with some slight changes/clarifications)

The first and most important thing to keep in mind here is that, according to his anecdote 'Pathless Realm', Caleb has suffered from dissociative amnesia throughout his life. I'm obviously not a psychologist, but based on some light research this basically seems to mean that he has mentally blocked out a lot of the traumatic memories of what happened during the experiments, so while he is definitely aware of them he doesn't remember exactly what happened.

This isn't the same as MC, who loses all or most of her memories every time she is killed and resurrected, but it's worth noting they both have issues with their memories & remembering the details of their trauma, and neither can give us the full picture of what happened in their childhoods.

We can also make note that Caleb was recorded to be 9-10 years old while the experiments were happening. This adds an interesting layer to the fact that Caleb constantly tries to take blows for MC and endures trauma so that she doesn't have to. Throughout all of this he was barely less of a child than MC was, but because he is the slightest bit older (and also because it seems that Josephine often left her under his care growing up while she was working) he sees himself as responsible for her wellbeing. This, in some sense, causes Caleb to see himself as older and more mature than he actually is. He was forced to become a caretaker/guardian figure and take on a lot of adult responsibilities at a very young age, which is why he's also so averse to showing vulnerability like we see in 'Hidden Waves'. He feels that if he can't be the mature, unwavering "pillar of strength" that he thinks MC needs him to be, he is failing to be good enough to protect the person he loves the most.

Now let's get into the actual contents of the experiments. We already know what happened to MC from World Underneath, but for anyone needing a refresher she was used for the Aether Core in her heart and her Resonance Evol, and was repeatedly killed so that the researchers could observe her coming back to life with the intention of using her to unlock the secret to immortality. However, things aren't quite as clear cut for Caleb. The only main sources we have are from his first trailer, which says that "They are the optimal weapon for destroying one another" and a few passages from his anecdote, such as:

"He knows he's always been good at destroying delicate things. The people behind the observation window say that the test subject will become a force comparable to a black hole given time. Not even light could escape it."

From these sources we can gather that Caleb was also used for his Evol with the aim of creating black holes (something we know he is able to do as of 'Homecoming Wings') and that he and MC were made to be able to counter each other, likely as a safeguard. Since they were both extremely powerful, the idea of them being optimal for destroying each other perhaps suggests that they were designed so that if MC's power became too dangerous Caleb could be used to destroy her and vice versa.

We can also gather that Caleb was labelled/labels himself as inherently destructive and dangerous. This seems to have had a long term effect on his self image, as the line from his anecdote establishes that this is something "he knows" and believes to be true, affecting the way that he sees himself especially in comparison to MC. I have a video going slightly more into this on my tiktok page, but essentially Caleb seems to see himself as inherently destructive and bad, while MC is an embodiment of goodness and warmth: the "black hole" that even light can't escape VS the "Unicorn" that brings eternal life. This is potentially why he takes on the role of protecting MC so intensely, as he thinks he deserves the suffering more than she does and is willing to take abuse on her behalf to protect her.

It becomes even more interesting if we consider the religious themes of their storyline with all the references to Adam & Eve, paradise and sin. Caleb views himself as inherently "sinful", just like the original sin described in the Bible that all humans are born with because of Adam & Eve. The only way to cleanse oneself of original sin is to submit to God, the embodiment of goodness and purity, and so Caleb, in a way, submits himself to MC. We have seen how highly he thinks of her, as he frequently describes her as "the best of the best", says that he thinks the world doesn't deserve her, and on multiple occasions comments that he thinks that anything that stands against her shouldn't exist or should disappear.

In short Caleb doesn't just love MC, he reveres her in a way that borders on religious and is willing to devote himself entirely to her service. That's why even from a young age he has taken on the role of protecting & serving MC, giving her almost anything she asks for, doing almost anything she wants, and making sure that no matter what she always feels like she is safe and happy and that he will always be there for her. I think he feels that by doing this, he is atoning for his "original sin" of simply existing as himself. He feels that if he can adequately "serve" MC, if someone as good and pure and warm as her can love or even just approve of him, it can make up for all of his feelings of guilt and sin and destructiveness. She is his salvation.

This is already a lot on his shoulders, but if we go back to the experiments I think there is one more thing at the source of Caleb's guilt, one big example of his destructiveness that serves as the main reason he sees himself the way he does: the Chronorift Catastrophe.

As we've already established, Caleb's Evol is capable of creating black holes/wormholes, so it's not unreasonable to think that he could have been used to open the Deepspace Tunnel (intentionally or not). However this would take a lot of power, more than I think a 9 year old boy would be able to achieve, unless we consider the fact that MC may have used Resonance to boost his power to the necessary level (and likely killing herself in the process). This then is their shared sin, like the sin shared between Adam & Eve when they both bit the apple, and it's one that neither seems to remember due to their respective memory loss issues. If this is the case, it gives us yet another reason for Caleb's inherent feelings of guilt: whether he knows it or not, he was directly responsible for the event that almost destroyed humanity and caused MC, the person he cherishes most, some of her deepest lasting traumas. It's yet another thing he feels the need to make up for by protecting her.

It's also how they both manage to escape the labs before later reuniting at the shelter (although I have seen speculation that the "shelter" actually was the experiment facility and that Caleb is lying to MC about it, but I'm not sure whether I agree with this based on what we've seen). When they do reunite MC doesn't remember who Caleb is, marking just one of many times that he has to reintroduce himself to her. This is another one of the "duties" he takes on for her, promising to always be there to remind her who they both are and swearing to be by her side forever. I think this is another reason that Caleb is so obsessed with having MC by his side: not just because that's what he promised her, but because he's afraid that if he's not there to remind her who he is she might one day forget him forever.

He also chooses never to remind MC of what happened to them during the experiments, or at least what he remembers of it himself. The reasoning of this is obvious, Caleb doesn't want her to be upset or in any way traumatised by it, so if there's a way to let her forget all about it he'll let her. However, I think it's significant that from a young age he chooses to take on this burden by himself for the both of them, as this will become a running them as I cover more of his cards & storylines.