#suffusing

[prokopetz]

If in doubt, what your fantasy settings needs is a fane. Can't go wrong with a good fane.

[diocletianscabbagefarm]

Painted a trans npc mini

[doctorwhoisadhd]

also, another thing: everything that ever happened to jack harkness was because of the doctor after the first 35 years. EVERYTHING. none of it have would happened if the doctor hadnt 1) invited jack to travel with them 2) stolen the tardis and ran away 3) met queen victoria in torchwood house and caused her to create an organization dedicated to hunting him down 4) helped open the rift with the gelth in cardiff 1869. THE DOCTOR WAS RESPONSIBLE FOR EVERYTHING THAT EVER HAPPENED TO JACK: HIS IMMORTALITY. TORCHWOOD. AND EVEN TORCHWOOD CARDIFF.

[piyo13sdoodles]

day 16 with a chapter 41:

He told Kiri to send word about the announcement, looked in on the rest of his family to ensure Gaudy had them all in hand, and went off to the barracks to speak to Commander Omo. He found him sitting in his room in the dark, looking down at the golden smudges marking his hands and arms. When Cliopher (guided there by a visibly worried young guardsman) entered, he did not look up.

[deer-watcher]

"For both bonobos and chimpanzees, the bodies of the dead evoke many emotions. Even if the process often begins with trauma and confusion, typically corpses shift to a liminal status; not alive, but equally not a lump of meat. They're more intensively manipulated than hunted animals, and carried for longer. In some – if not all – cases, the eaters must know what and who they're consuming. Cannibalism is very probably a powerful means by which individuals and groups process the impact not only of killings carried out on emotional impulses, but other deaths too. In other words, it's about grieving. [...] "Shift these scenarios to Neanderthals, and add into the mix their far greater cognitive sophistication, and lives that revolved around using lithics. Suddenly it's not difficult to envision how skills in carefully taking apart hunted carcasses might be transposed into a grieving process that involved butchery and cannibalism as acts of intimacy, not violation."

Rebecca Wragg Sykes, Kindred: Neanderthal Life, Love, Death and Art

[andypantsx3]

pressing a mic into your hands to pls tell me more about slip villain shouto au? 🎤💛

Omg so the last time we left off, villain!Shouto's taken us hostage, right? We're his dad's secretary taken in broad daylight from the Endeavor agency and he knows Enji is going to come for us, in part to recover his reputation.

But we don't know anything about this villain. All we know is he's an S-class criminal with power like we have never seen on this scale before, and we don't know what he will do to us. Our every interaction is tinged with danger; he seems well-mannered but we can sense the threat of him, the roiling power just beneath his skin, the intensity of his fixation on his father, with us as the current proxy.

Only, the more he demands to know about his father, the more he seems to become interested in us as well. And that single-minded focus on revenge—well, possessing something of his father's is sort of revenge too, isn't it?—becomes a single-minded focus on us. 😌

[sparxwrites]

If you're still taking writing prompts uhhh "suffusive" or "epithet"

Scar wakes up slowly, luxuriously. It’s the kind of waking where his brain comes online in small, pleasant pieces. 

First the slide of nice sheets against bare skin when he shifts a leg, the pressure of a full bladder. Then the smell of fresh coffee, of drying woollen clothing, a faint undertone of fish that shouldn’t be pleasant but sort of is. One eye opens, a slit, like a cat. There’s light spilling into the room, the heavy, thick gold of late morning, pouring in through slatted blinds and pooling on the floor like its a physical thing.

Maybe light is a physical thing. What’s the definition of a physical thing? Scar lies there and ponders that with his half-online brain, full bladder, breathing in the weirdly-pleasant fish smell and watching dust motes dance in the liquid light. On the one hand, he can see the light, which is a point on the side of physical thing. On the other, he can’t hold the light, which is a point in favour of not a physical thing.

As he watches the light spill in from the window, though, he does wonder if he might be able to hold it. To catch it in his cupped hands. It’s never worked before, but there’s something about it on this morning that makes it think it might just work.

His musings interrupted, terribly rudely, by Grian. An entirely naked Grian, padding in from the hallway and the kitchen beyond, hair an unsalvageably bedhead mess, a cup of coffee in either hand.

Scar downgrades the interruption from terribly rude to oh thank god, coffee.

“Good morning, handsome,” he drawls, delighted, and makes no move to get up. Instead, he rolls onto his belly, ignores the increasingly pressing urge to piss, enjoys the soft slide of sheets over nude skin and the faint hiss they make as he moves. He cradles his head on his crossed arms, watches through sleep-gummy eyes as Grian approaches. 

It’s a nice thing to watch, a naked Grian approaching. Even nicer when he’s got cups of coffee.

“You’re only saying that because I’ve got coffee,” says Grian, with an accuracy that borders on telepathy. He sniffs, disapprovingly, as he sets Scar’s coffee down on on the beside table. Hesitates. Runs a hand through Scar’s hair, glancing, quick, like he’s afraid he’ll be told off. 

Then he steps back, stands so he’s silhouetted by the light through the blinds, puts all his weight onto one leg so he’s sitting into his hip. Wraps both hands around his coffee cup. Raises it to his mouth. He’s still naked. It’s a very lovely silhouette.

“It’s true. I’d have stayed the night sooner if I knew about the coffee maker and the excellent room service,” says Scar and then, because Grian’s suddenly tensed up all over like a threatened cat, he says, “Hey. G. Is sunlight real?”

“I. Uh. Puh. Um. What?”

“Is sunlight real?”

“Yes– Scar, of course it’s real, what are you–” Grian’s trying to look dignified having just spat half a mouthful of coffee back into his cup. It’s not working. It’s very cute. And also giving Scar something to stare at that’s above the belt, so to speak.

“Noooo, no, like– I mean. Is it a thing. You know, how water is a, a thing, but noise isn’t. Right?”

Grian’s doing that thing where he’s scrunching up his nose, trying not to laugh. He’s going to snort in a minute, if he keeps holding it, if Scar keeps winding him up. “You mean, is light a physical object? No, Scar. It’s not.”

The way it’s catching in his hair, lighting it a straw-gold, pooling around his shoulders and in his collarbones. It’s a little obscene.

“Scar. You’re staring.”

“I’m staring at the light,” says Scar, big-cat lazy, and grins a grin full of teeth. “To see if it’s real.”

Grian does, then, snort, and Scar considers that a win. He lifts his coffee cup to hide it, buries his face in it, and makes an undignified and entirely lovely little noise. The light slides over him like a downpour.

Scar says, “Come back to bed, Grian,” before he can help himself.

Grian inhales some of his coffee. Presumably he does, anyway, because he snorts again, but this time it sounds more like a spooked horse than amusement, and then he starts coughing.

“No, wait, oh, shoot,” says Scar, and then, somewhat miserably, “I need to pee. Wait. Why don’t you come back to bed– and then I’ll leave the bed? – to go pee, not to run away or anything– and then I can come back to bed– and then we’ve both come back to. Came back to? Commed back to bed. So it’s even.”

“Scar.” Grian’s wiping his nose with his bare forearm, which, gross, but Scar finds himself watching the streaky coffee-mucus smear with a dreamy sort of affection. It’s the lack of his own coffee, he decides. That’s what’s doing it. That, and the half-real light. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“I just,” says Scar. He takes a deep breath. Closes his eyes.”It-would-just-be-nice-if-I-didn’t-have-to-leave-right-after-this-time-is-all-and-I-thought-maybe-you-could-come-back-into-the-bed-and-you-know-we-could-cuddle-a-bit-actually?”

He means to say it very sensibly, like the mature adult he is. It comes out without punctuation, and with about the same gravitas as an unexpected fart. He winces, and keeps his eyes closed.

“…Oh,” says Grian, very quietly. When Scar cracks one tentative eye open, he’s blinking like he’s been hit by a truck, hand halfway through his hair. “I, uh. Didn’t realise– I. Um.. I thought you.” He pauses, too much punctuation, and Scar tentatively opens the other eye, too. That didn’t sound like a no. “I mean. Yeah. Sure. I can come back too– I mean. Was getting a bit chilly and all anyway, so.” He gestures, awkwardly, at himself. He’s still naked. Scar is still appreciative of the fact he’s still naked.

“You– you will? I mean– yeah! Cool! Okay! Wait, oh no, oh, shoot, I really, really need to go pee–” Scar lurches to his feet, abruptly, hands cupped miserably over his bladder. He’s just as naked as Grian is, but with substantially less coffee inside him and substantially more other liquid he wishes was not inside him right now. “I’m going to. Bathroom. One moment. Right back. Do not run away. Bed.” 

Grian, covered in light, laughs. The steam coils up from his coffee cup, and he lifts it to his lips. Takes a sip. When he lowers it, he’s still smiling, still naked, still soaked in that sunlight that Scar still isn’t sure is real. “Go pee, Scar,” he says, softly, “Don’t worry. I’m not going to run away.”

And he’s right. When Scar comes back from the bathroom, he’s still there – moved from the chair under the window, sprawled out instead in the warm spot Scar left behind, catlike and twice as smug.

“I drank your coffee,” he says, as Scar approaches, by way of hello.

“You don’t even like coffee with milk in!”

“I don’t. I still drank it.”

“Bastard,” says Scar, fondly, before he can help himself. He reaches out, touches Grian’s hair, gently, and his breath catches in his chest when Grian leans in to the motion. “I. Um. I guess I’ll just have to make another one?”

“I’ll drink that one, too.”

“No, you won’t. I’ll to put sugar in it, to make sure.”

Grian pulls a face, sticks his tongue out. “Blech. No. Bed, c’mon. You were the one that asked for this.”

And it was Scar that asked, it’s true. But it’s Grian that curls a hand around his wrist, pulls him back into bed. It’s Grian who curls around him like an octopus, half in the sheets and half out, luxuriantly nude and so carefully casual about the contact of skin against skin. It’s Grian whose breathing slows first– steadies– evens out, warm against Scar’s ear. 

Scar falls back to sleep with the steady rise and fall of Grian’s chest pressed against his upper arm. Across the room, the light through the blinds shifts, slowly. The morning passes unnoticed in a sweeping arc across the floor. And questions of reality are forgotten, entirely, in favour of luxuriating in what currently is.

[rubalotl]

I'VE DONE IT. I've unlocked all the Obsidian legendary armor sets!! :D

[mosstrades]

i just had my first hrt shot. :-)

[beautifulstorms]

Christina Carreira / Anthony Ponomarenko, FD Perfume • GP France 2023

[fellhellion]

not my supervisor dropping her two weeks notice out of nowhere when we have two big events happening in a fortnight which I’ve never managed before in my life

[dalesramblingsblog]

Something something Eighth Doctor novels something something guest cast filled with sex pests something something please make it stop something something clawing out my own eyeballs.

[doublel27]

If I had a nickel for every symbolic necklace exchange that made me feel more than a necklace exchange should in a p’golf gmmtv series, I’d have two nickels but it’s delightful that it happened twice.

[obrother1976]

[someawesomeamvs]

Warning: Flashing lights, potential spoilers, violence

Title: Suffuse

Editor: mjsistersmv

Song: Bonfires

Artist: Blue Foundation

Anime: Le Portrait de Petit Cossette

Category: Horror/(Dark) Drama

[the-fourth-nail]

how many ways are there to say I love you? i want to know them all. i will say them all, perfectly.