#trig tree

[tetraquark373]

The Flora Paradise

The above name is the name for Paradise in mine AU Geometrika vovb IT DONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

Made in PowerPoint :3333333333333333

LESGOOOOOOOOOO ME HAPPIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

[wolfsplosion]

23 for blorbo ask game?

23. is your blorbo a victim of badly written script / bad plot / character assassination in the hands of canon?

the sequel trilogy of star wars movies aren't real and they can't hurt me. the sequel trilogy of star wars movies aren't real and they can't hurt me. the sequel trilogy of star wars movies aren't real and they can't hurt me. th

[honeyryewhiskey]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐄𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐄

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄

— dean accidentally opens the box of a familiar, and you're not exactly thrilled to have been bound to a hunter. — not much for warnings, gross witchy scenery? 3k words

The hunt should have been over the second Dean sent a bullet through the witch’s heart. That should have been the final act, clean and simple. But Sam—of course—was adamant about raiding her lair for books to add to the their archives.

Dean could handle hunting a witch just fine—gross as hell, but manageable. A coven? Sure, stomach-churning, but he’d get it done. A witch’s lair, though? That was where he drew a hard line.

The house itself had looked deceptively normal, an old Victorian tucked amongst a dense forest of willow trees. As the witch’s body turned to ash in the backyard, Dean followed Sam into the basement. Cool, damp stone walls seemed to absorb every bit of light, the beam from their flashlights swallowed by shadowed corners as though the darkness itself were alive. 

Dean lingered near the stone steps as Sam meandered around, not nearly as phased by the chaotic graveyard of horrors stored on every rotting wooden shelf.

The space was small, unease creeping up Dean’s spine as he stood between the shelves and tables that buckled under the weight of dozens of glass jars. Each filled with murky liquids or splintered bones, some crammed with grotesque chunks of something—hair, teeth, both. A viscous, questionable goo dripped from the edges of the shelf near his head, pooling onto the cold stone floor. In the corner, an ominous object shrouded in swirling fog pulsed faintly, as if it were breathing.

Every fiber of Dean’s being recoiled in protest.

His grimace deepened as his eyes flicked between the copious amount of jars, trying to find the least disgusting focal point. But the cauldron on his left was impossible to ignore, its grotesque contents bubbling and hissing as steam curled into the air. The smell of rotting flesh wafted through the air, sharp and cloying with each pop, hiss, pop. It burned his nose enough to bring tears to his eyes.

Dean squinted at the rancid brew, his brows drawing together in disgust. “Is that—blood?” he muttered under his breath. “Oh, hell no.” He thought he saw something floating in it—a hand, maybe. Pointing his flashlight at the pot, a small pale patch of skin gleamed in the light. Definitely a hand. 

He swallowed hard, forcing down the rising bile, when Sam’s voice rang out like a gunshot, sharp and urgent.

��What the—Dean!”

The urgency in Sam’s tone trigged every sensitive nerve, turning over into adrenaline that surged through Dean’s veins. His body moved on instinct, rounding the corner with his ivory Colt raised, his heart pounding in his ears.

“What?” he barked, his voice sharp with a dreadful medley of fear and irritation. Clearing his throat, he tried again, steadier but no less on edge. “What is it?”

He skidded to a stop, the sight before him turning his stomach anew. Sam stood frozen, wide-eyed and pale, staring at an altar of what Dean could only recognize as archaic dark magic.

The altar dominated the room, massive and ominous. Carved from dark, weathered stone, it looked ancient, as though it had been forged centuries ago in a time best left forgotten. Symbols and figures sprawled across its surface and the surrounding walls, their etched edges worn smooth by the passage of time. The carvings seemed alive in the flickering light of dozens of candles arranged in a deliberate circle around the altar’s platform. The golden glow casts eerie, dancing shadows that seem to twist and shift like living things.

At the center of the altar sat a sleek, coffin-shaped box, the soft brown wood a stark contrast to the horrors of the stone above. A massive steel lock secured it, its design intricate, almost ceremonial, and clearly ancient. From the edges of the box, faint tendrils of white mist curled outward, drifting like restless spirits.

Dean’s gaze narrowed as he approached the box, his instincts prickling. A glass window gave view to the inside, something like a face looked back at Dean, obscured by the swirling mist. But as he leaned closer, he could just make out the curves of a woman’s face. He couldn’t if he was looking at something dead or alive, the haze and stillness disorienting any semblance of life.

“Dean,” Sam whispers, a silent plea in his worried eyes as his chin jerked toward the box sitting ominously in the middle of the room. Faint glints of magic pulsed a glowing green in the veins of the woodwork, as if the box itself contained more life than the body inside. Dean couldn’t ignore the slight hum emitting from the cursed thing, oppressive and low like a growling predator—bowed and ready to lurch. 

Dean turned to him, incredulous, his expression a mix of defiance and disgust. “I’m not touching that thing.” He straightens his back, but can’t help glancing back. The humming invaded his senses, seeping into his ear drums and beckoning his attention. 

Sam’s brow furrowed, his jaw tightening as he shot Dean a look. “We have to check if she’s alive.”

Dean crossed his arms, glancing between Sam and the coffin. “Okay, great. You do it then.”

“Oh, come on—” Sam started, exasperated.

“No. Absolutely not. You do it,” Dean cut him off, taking a step back for emphasis.

Sam rolled his eyes, his shoulders tensing with irritation as he mimnicked Dean’s retreat, but the advantage of his longer stride puts far more distance between him and the entity. “You’re closer.”

Dean scoffs, “I’m also smart enough to not mess with whatever that is,” Dean shot back, jabbing a finger toward the box. 

The tension hung thick in the stale, musty air of the room. Their argument devolving into a silent battle of glares and clenched jaws, the kind of stubborn standoff only brothers could maintain. The faint sound of something dripping—water or something far worse—echoed from the shadows, an eerie rhythm pattering to their exchange.

Finally, Sam huffed and threw his hands up, his patience wearing thin. “Fine. Rock, paper, scissors.”

Dean groaned loudly, the sound echoing off the cold stone walls. He rubbed a hand down his face as if physically preparing himself for what was to come. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered, but Sam’s determined look left no room for argument.

With a resigned sigh, Dean tucked his colt behind his back, exchanging it for a fist in one hand, the other opened flat beneath it. His lips curled in a reluctant grimace. “Fine, let’s do this.”

They counted together, the rhythm of their voices tense and clipped between the echos of dripping water and magic’s hum. On the third count, Dean groaned, his shoulders sagging as Sam’s paper crushed his rock.

“Damn it,” Dean muttered, punctuating his frustration with a string of colorful curses. Sam smirked faintly as he handed over his sawed off shotgun, clearly enjoying his victory a little too much. Dean snatched the weapon with a scowl.

“She better not bite me,” Dean grumbled under his breath, rolling his neck as if psyching himself up. He flexed his fingers around the gun, shaking out his hands before turning his full attention to the box.

The object loomed in the dim light, taunting him. The faint metallic tang of old blood mixed with the musty smell of decay hanging heavy in the air. Dean’s lip curled in distaste as he stepped closer, shotgun poised.

With a muttered curse, he raised the weapon and brought the butt of the gun down hard on the rusted lock. The sharp crack echoed off the stone walls like a gunshot, the steel clasp clattering to the floor with an ominous finality.

The lid creaked open with an almost deliberate slowness, releasing a thick plume of white fog that hissed as it spilled out, curling unnaturally across the floor. The fog carried a potent floral scent, one that would be sweet had it not come billowing out with an offensive invasion of every sense. It clings to their throats, earthy and rich on their tongues. Both brothers cough and sputter, trying to expel the heady fragrance. 

Dean swatted futilely at the cloud as he shoved Sam’s gun back into his brother’s grasp, his face twisted in irritation. The air felt suffocating now, thick and almost alive as it pressed against their skin.

“Fucking witches,” Dean grumbles, gagging on the fog’s assault. 

“Check for a pulse,” Sam said, his voice muffled by the sleeve pressed to his face as floral notes lingered stubbornly in the air.

Dean shot him a withering glare, his jaw tightening. “What do you think I’m doing, sightseeing?” he snapped. His nose wrinkled as he steeled himself, reluctantly extending two fingers toward the ridgid figure.

The carved wooden edge bit into his arm as he reached inside, his fingers brushing against skin that was far too warm for someone who looked so deathly still. He hesitated for a fraction of a second before pressing his fingers to the wrist, his touch tentative against the unnerving softness.

A single thud of a pulse reverberated beneath his fingertips, firm and slow. Then, without warning, a sharp, electric jolt shot up his arm, stinging like a live wire.

“Son of a—” Dean hissed, yanking his arm back as if burned. He stumbled a step, cradling the assaulted limb against his chest. His glare darted toward the box as if it had personally insulted him.

The altar around them seemed to shudder in response, emitting a deep, reverberating hum that thrummed through the room like a living heartbeat. The vibration rattled the shelves and sent a few jars tumbling, their contents splattering across the stone floor in a sickly mess.

“Whoa,” Sam breathed, his eyes wide as he leaned in. “Dean, look—her wrist.”

Dean’s gaze snapped back to the figure, narrowing as he focused on the exposed wrist. A faint marron glow illuminated the dim space, drawing his attention to the intricate mark now etching itself into skin. It twisted and spiraled inwards like a labyrinth, a perfect circle of maze-like lines leading to the hexagram at its center. 

“What the hell…” Dean muttered, his voice low and uneasy. The symbol pulsed faintly with an eerie, otherworldly light, each flicker sending a fresh wave of unease crawling up his spine until the glow simmered into an angry red scar. 

“Wait—” Sam’s voice cuts sharply through the tense air. His hand shoots out to grab Dean’s wrist, drawing a startled groan as Dean instinctively jerks back, cradling his arm to his chest.

“What the hell, Sam?” Dean snaps, his glare fierce.

“Uh, Dean…” Sam’s voice wavers as he nods toward his brother’s wrist.

Dean follows his gaze, his irritation draining into a nauseous unease. On the inside of his wrist, a faint red symbol begins to glow. The intricate maze-like lines twisting in the same fashion as before.The pulsing light feels alive, like claws sinking deeper into his skin, its rhythm uncomfortably in sync with something else.

You.

A soft, languid yawn escapes your lips, and both men startle, their weapons drawn in unison as your body shifts against the confines of the box. You twist and turn, your spine stretching almost unnaturally as you work the slumber from your body. Your eyes blink open slowly, heavy with drowsiness. The room is dim as you sit up, but even in the low light, you can see the tension etched into the brother’s postures.

Flexing your fingers with a deep, patient breath, you glance between them, taking in the guns pointed at you without a flicker of fear. Your gaze drifts lower, catching sight of the faint glow on Dean’s wrist. Your expression hardens, any hint of lethargy vanishing.

“You killed my witch,” you say flatly, your tone devoid of warmth, cutting straight through the silence.

Dean’s jaw tightens as his grip on the weapon steadies, his green eyes narrowing. “Don’t move,” he orders, his voice devoid of care.

Your lips curl into a smirk—a slow, mocking thing that dances at the corners of your mouth. You rise to your feet slowly, stretching your neck with the causal grace of a predator. Your movements are smooth, deliberate as your eyes dig into his.

“What are you?” Sam asks, his voice tight but undoubtedly curious, his brow furrowed in cautious concern.

You tilt your head, your gaze flicking to him briefly before settling back on Dean. “What am I?” you echo, the corner of your mouth twitching upward, but the slit of your stare drowns your smile in mockery. “Maybe you should’ve thought about that before binding my soul to his.”

Dean’s frown deepens, his confusion plain, but his voice sharpens like a blade. “What did you just say?” Dean demands, his voice low and sharp, a dangerous edge that matches the glint of the gun in his hand.

Sam’s face drains of color as he lowers his weapon, a soft, horrified “Oh, God,” slipping past his lips.

Your eyes flash, an unnatural luminous green light flaring briefly before fading back into something more human. You sigh, exasperated, as if their ignorance is almost too much to bear. “I am not going to spell it out for you,” you spat, each word cut with your impatient disdain. You cross your arms, turning your focus to inspect your nails, waiting for the brothers to put two glaringly obvious puzzle pieces together. 

Dean’s eyes narrow, his scowl deepening, but before he can snap back at you, Sam’s voice cuts through the tension, cautious yet tinged with realization. “Dean, uh… I think she’s a familiar.”

Dean’s frown deepens, you can physically see the wheels turning in his head. Finally, he tucks the colt back into his waistband as his head snaps toward Sam. “A what?”

Sam’s gaze flickers nervously between you and Dean. “A familiar. Y’know—like a witch’s magical companion.”

The disgust on Dean’s face is immediate and unfiltered, his lip curling as though the words left a bad taste in his mouth. “You’re saying she’s some kind of… pet?”

You whip your head toward him, eyes narrowed into slits, the sharp retort escaping your lips before you can stop it. “I am not a pet, you Neanderthal.” Your voice is as tough as steel, every syllable cutting through the room with precision.

Dean’s brows lift, his dismissive smirk only adding fuel to the fire. “Oh, relax,” he shoots back, waving you off like an annoying stray hissing pathetically at his feet. “Sammy, tell me you can fix this.”

“I—I don’t know,” Sam stammers, clearly out of his depth. His eyes dart between you and Dean like he’s watching the beginning curls and clashes of a cat fight. “I’d have to—”

“Research!” Dean interrupts, throwing up his hands in exasperation. “Because that’s always the answer.” His voice is practically vibrating with frustration as he pivots back to you, green eyes narrowing again. “Alright, familiar-lady, let’s go.”

You tilt your chin up, tightening your hold on yourself with an air of defiance, your posture radiating every pulse of your obstinacy. “No.” The single word is crisp, final, and as razor-edged as the glare you toss over your shoulder before turning away entirely.

Dean exhales slowly, the sound heavy with a barely contained vexation. His jaw tightens like cement setting on top of earth. As he speaks again, his octave drops, dangerous, each word laced with displeased command. “Let’s go. Now.”

The words hit like a shove, heavy and unavoidable. The edges of his piercing tone dig into your throat like iron spikes anger pooling from your glowering eyes with pure venom. Teeth clenched, you step out of the box reluctantly, your movements stiff with rebellion as you stalk towards the door.

Dean watches your retreat, the muscles in his jaw tensing and popping as if he’s trying to bite back every curse in the book. His stare snaps to Sam, eyes fierce with confusion and frustration. “What the hell just happened?”

Sam shifts uncomfortably, his lips pressing into a thin line as he pats Dean’s shoulder. His expression teeters between unease and a forced attempt at reassurance. “I think you just gave your first command,” he tries apprehensively.

Dean groans, dragging a hand down his face. “This is so messed up,” he mutters, his boots already thudding heavily as he starts after you.

Sam trails behind him, casting a wary glance at your retreating figure before leaning in toward Dean. “Yeah,” he interjects under his breath, his voice edged with genuine concern. “And for the record? I don’t think she likes being told what to do.”

Dean shoots him a withering scowl, his bitterness simmering just below the surface like a fire ready to ignite. “Yeah, ya think, Einstein,” he grumbles, quickening his pace.

Sam lingers for a moment, his brow furrowed as he watches you stride ahead, your defiant posture radiating silent fury. He sighs, falling into step beside his brother, his voice quieter this time. “Dean… if we can’t figure this out—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Dean cuts him off, but there’s a crack in his armor. His shoulders are rigid, his steps heavy, every muscle in his body coiled tight with anger.

They walk in silence for a beat, the question hanging between them like the dark thundering skies of a brewing storm. Both brothers, lost in their own thoughts, feel the weight of the situation pressing down—a bond they don’t understand, but know enough to see the problem without an easy fix.

Sam finally breaks the quiet, his voice tinged with reluctant worry. “How do we even start breaking the bond without… you know…?”

Dean’s jaw clenches, his lips set in a grim line as his gaze flicks toward you ascending the basement’s stone stairs. “I don’t know, Sammy,” he mutters, his voice low, almost defeated. “But we’re gonna figure it out. We have to.”

Ahead of them, your darkly dressed silhouette looks almost ghostly against the light of day. And as they follow, both brothers are haunted by the same question: how do you undo a bond like this without killing the human who holds it?

hiii this series will be very dark whimsy fun, derived from the story of hecate and her familiars

tagging ( i always forget to do this ) my mooties but lmk if u wanna be added <3 @titsout4jackles @floralscented @ultravi0lence14 @deansbeer

[prozacwhorehouse]

more zeke tyler headcannons. i can’t help myself !! (some 18+)

no one can stop me. i wont apologize. minors dni! not quite proofread sorry

- he’s a softie ONLY for his girl let’s be real

- truly believed he wasn’t deserving of love until you drilled the idea into him

- “i love you, zeke” “really?”

- once you’re together you’re getting married. you definitely break up multiple times though, but always end up getting back together.

- one time you guys got in a massive fight in the courtyard. the last thing you said had people clapping. you ignore him for the rest of the day until he shows up at your window that night for some make up sex!!

- KISSING. so many kisses. the way he caresses tw: Marybeth’s face before and when he’s kissing her? yep. does that to you every time.

- you guys fuck all the time. like 24/7 it’s ungodly. once you start, you can’t stop. you’re fucking in during class in school closets, his car, before school after school literally any chance you get. he fucking loves making you feel good and the way you make him feel.

- “five more minutes..” hed breathe into your neck while you’re sat on some cabinets in a storage closet, him between your legs. “can’t- i- ah, fuck- trig test” safe to say you don’t make it to that trig test

- people KNOW it too. if the two of you disappear throughout the day, word gets around that you skipped to have sex in his car. he’ll drive it away from school though, no interruptions

- obsessed with the way you look when you’re sucking him off it makes him unbelievably hard.

- jealous in a passive aggressive way but good at hiding it. “you’re hanging out with him now?” he’d ask with the slightest detectable edge. you just roll your eyes and ignore it, he does this all the time.

- movie theater makeouts i feel very strongly about this. it’s pretty much a challenge for you two to see how long you can watch the movie before you start passionately making out in the back corner seats you always pick for that very purpose. your record is 20 minutes.

- you two are definitely banned from a theater or two for doing this. he has no shame, either. when the usher flashes his light on you, zeke just smirks, asking “is there a problem?” before going in to kiss you again. you on the other hand are pulling him up and out of there. why would he apologize for kissing his girl?

- king of fingering obviously have you seen his hands? will have you seated infront of him, back to his chest, one arm hooked around your shoulders and the other making you fall apart on his fingers. makes him so hard when you’re gasping, throwing your head back onto his shoulder. you feel him smirk against your neck, and him harden under you. he loves to watch you SQUIRM AKKSNDBD

- if you’re sad he’s kissing your tears away. it makes you giggle and you try to swat him away, but he just pulls you closer so you can’t get away, until all your tears are gone.

- loves laying his head in your lap in the courtyard during lunch. it’s your default place and position, you sitting up against a tree reading a book with his head in your lap. you arm lying lightly across his neck to hold the book, him holding up a piece of grass to fiddle with.

- swimming in the lake dates. done. i imagine like a quarry situation almost, holds your hand the first time you jump off. will hoist you up, absolutely admiring you above him, then lowering you down to wrap around his waist, then you kissing him sweetly. then he’ll basically throw you into the water and you’ll start play fighting, splashing around and swimming away from eachother.

- you kiss him all over. sometimes you guys will just be laying on your bed and he’s looking up at you like 🙂 and you just kiss him all over his face bc he’s such a cutie and he’s blushing and telling you “stawpppp” but he doesn’t really mean it

- “one more? ☺️” you ask and he’s ofc he’s immediately like fineeee and you kiss him on the nose but he was expecting one on the lips!!! guess he gets another one

- steals anything and everything for you. those earrings you glanced at in the mall? they’re in his pocket. you mentioned a book you wanted to read? he already swiped it from the library. he scratched out the “property of Harrington High” on the inside cover and write your name. no one will ever know!

- i know I said you fight a lot, but regardless - when ever his parents flake, he’s welcome at your house. it’s unspoken.

- you’ll hear a knock at your window, looking up to see zeke crouched on the roof. you sigh, making your way over to unlock the window. opening it, you step back and he jumps through. he stands there avoiding your eyes for a moment, before quietly saying “my- my parents..” and that’s all you need to know. you’re dragging him to your bed, letting him lay down comfortably. you turn the light off before snuggling into him, arm slung over his chest, head in the crook of his neck. “im sorry.” he whispers into the darkness. “I know.” you respond, lifting your head to press a soft kiss to his jaw before settling back in and drifting off to sleep together. you’re walking into school the next morning hand in hand again !

- in public he guides you by the small of your back, arm around your shoulders, or his personal favorite, your belt loops.

- this is so dirty. bare with me. he teases the fuck out of you. you’re never getting what you want straight away. “aww, poor thing,” he’ll coo, looking at your soaked panties. you’re on the edge of the bed with your legs up and open, him kneeling between them. and then wait for it…he presses a soft kiss to your clothed cunt. it is the most minimal contact but it’s one of his favorite things to do cause it drives you WILD, you start whining and squirming because you want something more. “what’s wrong? come on, sweetheart, use your words.” he’s tracing the outline of your folds through your panties. “zeke, please, touch me. i want to feel you,” you beg, back arching towards his fingers. “good girl, asking so nicely,” and he slides your panties to the side and softly licks your folds, blowing cool air onto your pussy which makes you squirm and whine again. he takes this as a signal to latch onto your clit, sucking sweetly. your eyes are literally rolling into the back of your head because he knows exactly how to send you into orbit

- aftercare is everything he’s praising you for how well you’ve done, cleaning you up, sharing a cigarette beneath the sheets after.

- he brings up marriage one time during one of these after sex cuddle smoke sesh. he 100% fits the run away and get married at 18 in the chapel of love storyline

- “marry me.” he says. you adjust your head, bringing it higher on his chest. “what?” “marry me.” he’s smirking so goofy and you’re just like babe…”funny.” you scoff. “why?” “why? because we’re teenagers, zeke.” “so what? i already know i want to be with you forever.” and you’re like where is this coming from you tough facade freak but it makes your heart swell bc you have that effect on him duh “tell you what- if you actually graduate this year, I’ll marry you.” and he’s like fuck bc we know damn well he’s going to repeat senior year again

- you have to force him to do his homework. he’s actually really smart it’s just he doesn’t want to put in the effort. you promise him a kiss after every assignment he completes. he manages to get you to agree to a kiss after every question he answers correctly. this is the only reason he graduates on time, he owes it all to you

- you guys are stoners, he just never uses his own stash. he loves getting high amd doing stupid shit with you.

- in all seriousness you’re his confidant. it scares him how much he loves you, and getting him to admit that was difficult at first. he has never once felt judged by you, and felt loved for the first time. he’s marrying you.

- you definitely clean his house for him sorry. his parents aren’t there to help him and he just really doesn’t give a fuck but it gives you major agita so you clean up while he works in his lab. you even make him food! he feels so taken care of he wants you to stay most nights.

- you love his glasses. they’re the cutest thing but he never wears them at school. you wish he wore them all the time. “oh my gosh!” you shriek when you walk into his garage and see him wearing them, he hasn’t in a while. you run over and kiss him all over and tease him like “who’s *kiss* this *kiss* cute *kiss* boy!” and he’s like bro I’m never wearing these again (he loves it)

- most people know you’re a thing but one time a girl saw him at a party and she was like “do you know anyone here?” and he points to you dancing on the table like “her. my girlfriend. want to meet her?” she backs off

- You’ve fallen asleep at his house wayyyy to many times he’s just so comfy :( you wake up in the morning and you’re like FUCK i missed my curfew and didn’t even call my parents!! and he’s like “I did ;)” you were just so cute sleeping he had to call them for you so yoi could rest. you’re RELIEVED bc obv you want to stay in bed with him.

[graceofgondor]

you should go off about what you think henley hall is like. just a thought….

you are so right 👀

okay here it is folks, ✨my interpretation of henley hall✨

the main thing i've gathered from my surface-level research, is what kind of morals and long-term expectations they would put on the girls. i think for the boys, it's more the kind of strive for greatness, strive for the top of the ladder, the most money, the most success, the most rigidity such as to not allow room for failure in the present or the future. to where during the 1950s, girls were just starting to commonly attend college, and even still it was expected they would be either teachers or wives by the end of it. so at henley, i think the main expectation would be how to be well rounded, how to be proper, how to be a "lady." there wouldn't be so much pressure to fit into a career or aspiration, moreso a pressure to be good at versatility. be good at everything, well-roundedness. (not that the pressure to be a certain way would be any less harmful)

aside from core classes (english, latin, trig, history, etc.) i've repeatedly seen recollection of the "domestic sciences" or just the education in housekeeping and domestic-based practicalities such as sewing, ironing, embroidery, etc. cooking seems split, but assuming henley is geared more towards the wealthy (who have maids/cooks), i would assume they wouldn't bother with it, instead sparing that time for assigned extracurriculars or even chapel.

i think like the boys, the girls would have assignments given every year; school annual, paper, various service/honor/activity/academic clubs. from what i've heard it's more likely the physical assignments would be the likes of swimming, gymnastics, archery, and less competitive field sports.

i imagine their headmistress is an equally as old, equally as rigid, equally as unreasonable and loathed woman as gale nolan is. she knows everything about everyone, and something tells me she's infinitely more nosy just for the sake of wanting to be that way. she might even be british, just to further push that "proper lady" agenda.

the girls themselves obviously aren't as pristine as the curriculum expects them to be, though i imagine there are certainly some who strive to achieve it. i imagine they like to gossip and sneak around behind the (likely upper-middle aged and elderly) instructor's backs, there's probably stigmas around certain classes and teachers too. and i definitely can see the upper-class girls having certain traditions, like maybe there's a tree all the seniors climb or something to do with archery as a kind of unsanctioned ceremony. and likely, yes, there is a similar mockery of whatever the school motto or pledge is.

they aren't allowed to talk about boys, and they certainly aren't allowed to cross campuses (not that scandals don't occur every now and again... ehem charlie and ginny we see you) and even then its likely only an issue with the older girls. i imagine its so bad they'll even get scolded/demerits (by all women teachers btw) for whispering because it "isn't lady-like." the only exception would be the theater program, which according to the film the auditorium is off campus regardless. like a lot of the boys towards them, i think the girls would be a bit wary of them anyway, considering how isolated they are from each other. of course, it doesn't omit girls having their way via things like theater and out of school things like friends of their brothers or whatever, other families visiting or things like that, creating gossip of crushes and potential boyfriends and all the things the girls who aren't so fortunate would be more than jazzed about.

as far as daily life in general, it would be more of the same. stand when the teacher enters the class, weekly assemblies, standing prayer before meals, reciting the school pledge... history... honor... diligence... versatility... blah blah blah. no speaking out of turn, no fooling around, no sneaking around after hours, no lying to authority, etc etc.

maybe in some ways it seems like there's more freedom, but i don't think it's by much. it seems like the expectations are just slightly shifted, the strictness and pressure isn't too far off, and i bet the girls don't enjoy that one bit.

[zoandreez]

can you meet me by the lake ? ☆.｡*‧₊˚

pairing: neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan x omaticayan!reader

summary: you were best friends with neteyam. you just wanted to see him, but his future olo'eyktan duties seem to interfere everytime you wish to.

word count: 855

warnings: angst? fluff resolve, reader has a name because who i look like calling you "why slash en"

a/n: apologies for my absence but unless you wanna do my trig and ap euro homework for me id rather you just wait

The memory of meeting Neteyam would forever be etched in yor mind. Back then, you were just young children. On this day, or at least the time you two met, your objective was to collect rocks for your songcord after your latest triumph: using your father's bow and arrow to hunt your first fish. So there you were in the forest, picking up rocks as you went along.

The forest hummed with life around you, as you scoured the ground around a lake for clear purple stones. It was in the middle of you turning around to examine a reflection that caught your eye when you collided into a little boy. Your newfound treasures fell to the floor, the two of you quickly dropping to retrieve them.

"Sorry!" The boy said, bubbling enthusiasm escaping from his voice. He was normally this excited, as you saw him one time with his mother, with the same infectious smile he had on his face right now.

His excitement quickly turned to curiosity as he noticed a clear rock on the floor you were reaching for. He quickly turned his attention to you, eyes filled with wonder. "Hey, where'd you get these from? They look so cool!" His admired eyes made you smile shyly, before you turned to the nearby lake.

"There's a small cave right beneath the waterfall. The water cleans the rocks and makes them look clear." Following your gaze, the boy spotted the delicate cascade of water descending from above. He quickly grabbed your hand, and tugged you along.

"Show me!"

The two of you spent the rest of the day carefully cradeling each rock, like its own jewel, inside the bioluminescence-filled cave. It lightly shimmered off the reflection of the sun as the two of you collected rocks to your hearts desire, falling asleep together. When you woke up, Neteyam was gone, but in his place sat a beautiful blue rock.

Even if you grew older, and life's responsibilites cast their shadows, this one day showed the two of you that you'd be best friends forever, and nothing will get in the way of that.

That's what you thought, at least.

You spent the day at the lakeside, a place that had become almost ritualistic in its significance. It had been a familiar route since your childhood, following the same trees past the same leaves, and meeting the same boy everyday. At fifteen, both you and Neteyam had grown considerably, trying to balance adolensence and responsibility.

Eventually, the process became the same, except most of the time, that "same boy" wasn't there.

Neteyam had three siblings. He took responsibility for every one of them, a "third parent," even. However, this often pulled him away, and your encounters became infrequent. It was almost as if life demanded you two apart, whether it was the call of duty to the Sky People war, or the need to watch Lo'ak due to his impulsive behaviors.

The sun taunted you, sitting right above you with warmth over the lake, turning the familiar mist into glistening droplets. It was enough to lightly heat the lake's usual icy bite, savoring the setting without somewhat freezing. Time had stretched longer than usual, as you held out hope for your best friend to make it. A promise he had made to you kept you lingering. Your emotions were not tinged with anger towards Neteyam; rather, a subdued disappointment hung in the air, a consequence of the inconvenience his tardiness had caused.

Eventually, you surrendered to your cracked heart, rising from the rock you were perched on. It was then that your gaze met his—the wide, yellow eyes that held both familiarity and apology. Neteyam's voice broke the silence, carrying a note of regret that underlined his words.

"Sai'tara," he addressed you, his voice evident with disappoiment. You could tell he scolded himself for allowing time to slip through his fingers, and his eyebrows furrowed with hurt when he saw your belongings clutched in your hand, a sign of your preperation to leave.

"Hey 'teyam," you muttered in response, your enthusiasm muted. His tardiness had cast a shadow over your usual excitement. Strangely, his presence seemed to amplify your frustration rather than soothe it. You noted the exhaustion etched into his features—the half-lidded eyes, the sunken bags beneath them, and a posture that bore the weight of something more than just his physical being.

The air was heavy with unspoken words, a silence that held the unaddressed tension between you two. "Listen, I'm sorry I'm late," he began, his voice tinged with a plea for understanding. "You know how it is, with Lo'ak being an idiot all the time—"

"Yeah yeah," you interjected. You didn't necesarily have time for him and his late antics. You completely understood his responsibilities, but they just didn't intertwine with your desires. It wasn't resentment that colled your emotions, but longing to just see your best friend.

His lips parted, ready to speak, but closed them once again. He walked up to you, saying nothing. He wrapped his arms around your waist before he melted into you. You shouldn't be accepting his embrace, your mind still distant from the idea of hanging out with Neteyam after it had been so long. But, for some reason..

Your arms slowly wrapped around him.

The remainder of the day flowed like a river of shared moments, laughter, and conversation. Neteyam's voice filled the air with his complaints about Lo'ak's antics, his exasperation giving way to your laughter. In turn, you poured out your own frustrations, venting about your sisters' tumultuous love lives, finding amusement in the way Neteyam's eyebrows would shoot up in response to your tales.

The small cave, the same one where your friendship had ignited all those years ago, bore witness to your conversations that traversed time and seamlessly picked up where they had left off.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting shadows that danced across the cave's walls, the weight of the day's interactions finally caught up with you. The familiar fatigue tugged at your eyelids, and you found your head nestling against his shoulder. The gentle rise and fall of his chest, the rhythm of his breath, provided an unexpected sense of comfort. In that cocoon of shared memories and newfound closeness, you succumbed to the embrace of sleep.

When your eyes fluttered open, it was to an empty space next to you. Neteyam was nowhere to be seen, his warmth and presence replaced by an echoing hollowness.

But then your gaze fell upon it—the necklace. Not just any necklace, but one that mirrored his own. The delicate beads held a pattern identical to his, though in lighter hues, and a small, carefully shaped rock took its place at the center.

A beautiful blue rock.

[sickoherd]

THE 100 -- dating reader from a different clan

mild angst???

requested by @nickeverdeen: gn!reader who is from a different clan and got captured by their group (smth like Sasha case), but reader is in relationship with them (Clarke, Sasha and Octavia) and is innocent?

era: s1 dropship

author note: sorry i havent posted in ages my mental health hasn't been great :) also im going to add in sasha once I finish rereading the books bc unfortunately I don't remember her very much.

Clarke:

the two of you met early on, she was at the river about to bathe, and you stumbled upon her whilst hunting.

she pointed her gun at you, you threatened her in trig...

it was all so romantic.

clarke never could have pulled the trigger though, your beauty struck her.

when you saw the internal battle in her eyes, you relented, raising your hands in surrender to show her you meant no harm, you were just passing through.

she let you leave, albeit, reluctantly.

that was just the first of your many encounters.

always at the river, it became your secret spot

the both of you would go there daily, hoping to catch a glimpse and feel those butterflies erupt in your bellies.

communications between the two of you was tricky however, you didn't understand her language and she didn't understand trig.

so you had to communicate at the start through offerings.

you would bring her food, or help her fish.

or even guard her while she bathed.

or you joined her...

eventually, you manged to learn a few words of her language, and your ability to speak them grew with every conversation.

you hadn't been dating for very long,

but she was always so insistent that you stay away from her camp

she didn't want the others to think you were a threat and kill you

of course though, you just didn't listen

you wanted to bring clarke some herbs you found, of which you had been tsught had medicinal properties.

You just wanted to share it with her

clarke was on guard duty tonight, you observed from further in the trees and woodlands surrounding their camp

the noise and bustle of the camp didn't frighten you, if anything it made you feel better that you wouldn't be heard as you made your way to clarke

however, she spotted you first

the look she gave you was one of pure death.

oh was she pissed...

you just gave her a smile.

clarke had a quick scan of her surroundings to check no one else was around, before walking over to you

holding out the herbs to her, she gave you a confused look before you explained.

"good for healing!", you beamed at her and she practically melted at your smile

she couldn't help herself, she just had to kiss you, but as she leaned in and you placed your arms around her, you heard footsteps.

in the dark, your loving embrace wasn't too visible, but to bellamy, who had just stumbled upon the two of you, it looked murderous.

"let go of her!" bellamy shouted, making you jump and clarke looked so scared all you wanted to do was hold her.

"bellamy no wait-"

but he didn't wait, he shot you in the leg.

"no! stop!" clarke screamed, tears falling uncontrollably down her face.

bellamy ran to her, checking her over for injuries, while you were writhing in pain on the floor

by now, a small crowd has formed, hush whispers of the words grounder and dangerous

bellamy had to restrain clarke as she tried to get to you, now being dragged off by miller and a few others.

she was sobbing, completely incoherent.

she couldn't let them take you...

Octavia:

you had seen her before

chasing butterflies, kissing a boy

you admired her truly

she was beautiful

the way the blue light shone on her

she was in her element and you were just happy to witness such a beautiful moment

you did not believe that you should attack these newcomers, but rather learn about them,communicate with them

like lincoln did

from then on, when you could, you looked out for her

never approaching her, just spectating

however, you two met officially through lincoln

you grew up with him, he was like an older brother to you

so when you entered his little hideout, you were incredibly shocked to find the girl you had been so hopelessly admiring for days inside.

unfortunately, you were in the cave when octavia was found, lincoln was off hunting

so it was you who was taken...

octavia had seen you before

she saw you in the trees, or in the woods and in her dreams

she saw you in that cave

she saw you get knocked out by her people and dragged back to her camp

she didn't know you, but oh how she wanted to

she longed to know you

this mysterious grounder who had been haunting her dreams

but now they were going to torture you and most likely kill you

octavia snuck into see you, to help you escape

you were so beat up and battered, but octavia still thought you were as breathtaking as her dreams

of course, since arriving on earth, she's been one for doing spontaneous things, but she couldn't name the force that drove her to kiss you.

but she did, and it was right

it felt so right that when you kissed her back, butterflies exploded in her belly

but now she had to get you out

she had to save you

[lexa-griffins]

Clarke makes Lexa's first mother's day with Elaina special and sweet 🥰 Lexa is now a nomon who gets to celebrate this joyous day with her adorable bundle of joy and her loving wife

Once they have Elaina, Clarke kind of becomes very hyper aware that Lexa never really had someone who she can model being a mom after. Of course she has Anya, but she was barely a teenager when she became Lexa's mentor, a child trying her best to raise a child that for all she knew could die before she left her childhood years.

So when mother's day crawls by slowly, Clarke decides Lexa deserves to be treated to a special day after careying and birthing their daughter, to be reminded of how well she is doing despite the entire role of nomon being so foreign to her in every capacity.

A picnic because those are so rare. Just the three of them, laying on a blanket with some food, Elaina sitted between them as Lexa holds her and speaks softly in trig to her, telling her the words for butterfly and bee and deer as their little girl motions to them with her hand.

Lexa's back against Clarke's front as they watch Elaina feed and them go for a nap, soft blue eyes slowly closing as she nurses, small hand firmly on Lexa's skin.

It isn't much. It is not grandiose. Lexa and Clarke have learned that is not what their relationship needs. But it makes Lexa feel special, loved. A moment of quiet with her girls, a place to just be a wife and above all, a mother to their sweet baby, free to laugh and joke and smoother her baby in kisses and allow the beautiful sound of her giggles to echo through the forest, a sound so much sweeter than any of the sweets Clarke brought or more delicate than the birds in the trees.

It allows Lexa to soak in the feeling of motherhood, of what it means for her to be a nomon to her daughter now when she herself was a daughter without a nomon. To be in Clarke's loving arms, being wished a happy mother's day by her, knowing this one is a title that was never forced upon her as Heda was, a title she craved for her entire life, now bestowed upon her by the most wonderful little girl.

[juvia-is-beast]

Hey Y'all I rarely post stuff of my own but I'm in need of help. I've always had a hard time asking for help but I've become desperate. I just moved out of my toxic Indian household at 27 with no savings because my mom would take all of my SSI checks and huge chunks of my paycheck that I worked for. I'm having a lot of health issues and chronic pain flare ups. I work at a college but I've been put in an administrative role until I can get my health in order. I don't have as many hours but now I can actually see doctors. My family was preventing me from getting help, from seeing doctors or getting my meds on time. I have PTSD and I can't drive because of it. I need financial help. I've been approved for SNAP but I'm waiting on my EBT card. I'll be going to a food bank tomorrow to get some food but that still leaves me with no funds to buy medical marijuana. I've been experiencing nerve pain the last 2 months and hormonal migraines for a straight month. I live in FL and it's super heavily taxed and I'm having trouble getting my muscle relaxers re-prescribed because I need a specialist to prescribe them for my insurance to keep paying for them. I have no other proper pain management rn. Please help me. I know the global climate is at its worst right now and I feel guilty making this post with everything going on in Palestine but that doesn't change the fact that I NEED HELP.

If you can help in any way please, even suggestions on what to do better with e-begging would be greatly appreciated.

My Cash@pp: $ButtPirate27

I can also tutor you online in Algebra if you need a math tutor I can help with Pre-Calc and Trig too but I'm far too rusty on Calculus to tutor but I would gladly tutor for any financial help.

If you want more info on my situation I don't mind sharing. I've been on Tumblr for 11 years and barely ever posted about my own life. I know that there are definitely people here willing to help but there have also been a fair share of scammers so I understand the hesitation. Here's my cat Ares, something cute to look at. I want to get him a cat tree too and a bin to make a housed litter box for him.

[superbellsubways]

Trig or tree!!!

a fancy lad

[runaan-moonshadows]

Quick kin mem that got trigged from a campfire :3

I didnt know Skor was never trained in medical procedure, it was more of a trial-by fire thing for him. After a training accident im fairly certain was caused by me falling from a tree and ripping my hands trying to catch myself, we were in front of a fire with Skor trying to patch me up- couldve been better, but it held until I was able to find someone trained to do it-

and Ethari was LIVID. unreasonably so, in my opinion- Skor got an absolute earful, but it honestly wasnt his fault- i just think Ethari was scared, i couldve gotten seriously hurt

Anyway, after I healed I gave Skor and the rest of my trainees the rundown of how to patch people up

-Runaan

[math-itwau]

Hey! Happy Saturday! Here's some math I found this week.

First up, one of my birds! This is Murk, he's a budgie, almost 5 years old, and a grumpy old mean thing. I love him to death. He was curled up and taking a morning nap on Wednesday and I thought huh, looks a lot like the golden ratio! Here he is.

(Featuring Kafu in the back :3)

Next, my kale germs started producing their real leaves! Some pretty sick shapes going on. 100% math? No. But, still cool. I thought about trying to find a function to represent any of it, but other than some general parabola shapes, I couldn't catch much... There's math in there somewhere, I can feel it!!! But for now, it's a project for later.

Lastly, and on a bit of a blunt note, I've been studying Forestry for a regional Envirothon competition! I was reviewing how to use a Biltmore stick the other day and I got to thinking about the amazing trigonometry that went into determining the measurements on there. If you don't know, a Biltmore stick is a stick (wow ik) that is used to measure the height of a tree and figure out how many logs/planks you can get from it. You measure the tree's diameter then step 66 feet back (66 feet was the length of a chain, a literal chain they used before this). Hold the stick at chest height and then push it out, and you'll get how many logs you can harvest! I did not set out to figure out the trig that was put into determining these measurements because it was certainly above me, but by god did it amaze me.

So, that's all for the week! See you next time.

3/22/25

[vodika-vibes]

And now the Jedi have officially decided to make the planet their new base—next is construction it seems.

Fun fact: I’ve ALWAYS struggled with word problems in math—I could never visualize it into the numbers. It would take me a bit to understand patterns & even now it’s still a hit and miss for me. Math is just something that never clicked for me and I would always be reminded of it :/ the funny thing is I actually liked algebra more than geometry in high school 🤷‍♀️

Next is construction! But that's not going to fall on the clones shoulders. Their soldiers, not construction workers.

In my experience, with math, people are either geometry people or algebra people. I was an algebra person, geometry and trig never made much sense to me, but algebra was simple. Calc sucked though. I failed Calc 1 twice.

Ashanii perches on a tree branch with Dust next to her as they watch the massive battleships descend from the sky and land around the planet. "Which ship is home to the Wolfpack?" Dust asks as he plucks a blueberry from the bag Ash is holding and pops it into his mouth. Ash glances at him, before she leans back slightly and peer behind him, and then leans forward, "Ah." She points to a ship slowly descending from the sky, "That one." "Ten credits says you're wrong." "You don't have ten credits." Ashanii counters, "Because I don't have ten credits." Dust grins, and tosses a blueberry at her face, which bounces off her nose, "Where's Commander Colt?" "I don't think I've ever met a Commander Colt?" "He's an ARC Trainer on Kamino with Alpha-17." "Oh." Ashanii peers at the ships, "Probably...one of those big ones. You have a lot of brothers, after all." "Ain't that the truth." Dust pulls another berry out of Ash's bag, "Why are we snacking on berries?" "Buir says that he'd rather cut his arm off than give us chocolate." "Oh." Dust pauses, "I bet we could get chocolate out of Fives and Echo." "Of course we could. Unless Rex is there." Dust tosses a grin in her direction, "Wanna go see?" Ash grins right back, "Uh...yeah!" The pair hop down from their tree and hurry over to where they know the blue clad men of the 501st are gathered.

[zuzsenpai]

Zuzu's Bug-ventures: Home Edition!

All the pals I saw this week. A lot of these bugs are common as heck, but they're still pretty cool. I've been able to identify most of them.

Phyllopalpus pulchellus or handsome trig/red headed bush cricket. The picture is really dark, but why is it handsome???? Anyway this poor guy has a damaged antenna, I think?

Noctua pronuba or large yellow underwing moth. Pretty cool. Moths are always pretty cool

There are two skipper butterflies here, if you can find them

Steatoda triangulosa or triangulate cobweb spider aka "the spider with 16 legs I swear! Count em for yourself!"

Paralimna punctipennis or a type of shore fly. Sorry if this grosses anyone out, but this one is dead, found inside the box of baby spinach I bought from the grocery store. It was the only one, and there were no eggs that I could find. We'll just say this was part of the FDA approved legal limit of bugs in food, or whatever (I'm pulling that out of my ass)

Popillia japonica or Japanese beetle. Haven't seen them around in a while, and this one was solo. One summer when I was little, we had a tree that attracted them. My sibling and I chucked a soccer ball at the tree one day and watched a rainstorm of these guys fall out. Core memory.

Bombus impatiens or common eastern bumblebee. Just chillin, doing bumblebee things.

(UNSURE OF ID) Opomyza florum or yellow cereal fly. I think. That's the closest ID I could find, although google and wikipedia are telling me they only exist in Europe. I'm not up to date on my invasive insects, so maybe this will be the next spotted lanternfly

(UNSURE OF ID) Parapediasia teterrellus or bluegrass webworm moth. Dead, sadly, and I'm really not confident with that ID

(UNSURE OF ID) Helcystogramma fernaldella or Fernald's helcystogramma moth. Also not confident about this one. Also dead.

Pholcus phalangioides or long-bodied cellar spider. Upside down and cute as heck

(UNSURE OF ID) Niditinea fuscella, the brown-dotted clothes moth OR Hofmannophila pseudospretella, the brown house moth. It looks more like the former, but I can't for the life of me figure out if that one exists in North America. Anyway it was on the wall in my house.

[blurds]

Throstle is for ordinar a bird that's a member o the faimlie Turdidae.

Throstles is aft fund in gairdens, pairks, shaws an widland that haes a rowth o growthe. Throstles can be fund athort Europe sooth o the Arctic circle, but no in Iberia. They've been inbrocht tae New Zealand an Austrailie an aw. They're gey common in New Zealand but in Austrailie there's anerly a smaw nummer aboot Melbourne. Mony birds gangs sooth for the winter, forby thon some wastren birds is bides aw year. Siccan birds haes been inbrocht tae ither airts o the yird an aw.

Throstles is omnivorous, an they eat mony insects, wirms, snails an berries. They aften use a stane as a "stiddie" for tae smatter snail shells.

They dinna bide in flauchts, awtho a puckle birds micht bide thegither in the richt haunts.

Throstles is aboot 22–23 cm lang and 70–90 g in wecht, an is wee'er nor merls (Turdus merula). The sexes leuks alike, wi hamel broun backs an spruce spreckelt breests.

They nest in busses an hedges, cleckin fower or five eggs that is bricht glazie blue an sprecklet black in a trig caup-shapit nest makkit up o sprots an clay. The female clecks for aboot 14 day or thereby; an the young flees awa efter a siclyke interval. Throstles micht cleck twa-three times a year.

The male sings its rairie sang frae trees, ruifs or ither heich places. For ordinar the sang is a melodic rane.

[glitterwolfvi]

trig or tree!!

here you go!