The newest edition from the German sports brand is the Tubular Shadow, an innovative sneaker with a mottled knit or a perforated leather upper. The characteristical “Burrito” tongue construction surrounds the entire foot and the lightweight sole guarantees best wearing comfort.

 Available in black, white and beige.

Winter Morning

The first snow of the year.  Bitty can feel it before he can see it.  It’s an easy thing, waking up in Jack’s bed, a warm arm hitched tight round his waist.  It’s a possessive hold, but one that makes Bitty feel wanted and safe instead of trapped.

The light filtering through the crack in the curtains is a mottled white, bright without the sun.  The heater cranks on, but there’s a chill in the air in spite of the warm breeze from the vents and Bitty knows–winter’s begun.

It’s no chore, really, to make his way to Providence.  It’s no chore to stay tucked away from the outside world, making a home in Jack’s kitchen, making a nest of pillows and blankets in a bed he’s coming to think of as half his.  He’s got his side of the bed now, and Jack only lays there when they’re skyping and he misses Bitty.

He tells him that, too.  He hugs Bitty’s pillow and sighs and whispers, “I wish you were here with me right now.”

And Bitty misses him just as much, but it’s easier with the stress of games and classes.  Neither of them think about it all the time.  Just enough so when they’re finally reunited, that first embrace, those first kisses, are just a little bit sweeter.

They’ve been together long enough that Bitty can’t count their time together in weeks anymore.  One summer, and one Autumn.  It’s just before the holidays and neither of them are sure about plans, but they’re sure about this.  They’re sure about sneaking what little time they can get together.

It’s a weight, sometimes, not being able to tell everyone just how much he adores Jack, but sometimes it’s also a relief that this is just for him.

He reaches a hand out, brushing it along the cut of Jack’s jaw.  Jack is awake, his breathing is different when he’s asleep.  Jack’s mouth twitches up in a smile, but he doesn’t open his eyes yet.  He just shuffled forward and pushes his face into Bitty’s neck and sighs.

A warmth floods through Bitty.  One he’s never felt before, but it doesn’t mean he recognises it any less.  The words dance at the tip of his tongue like they’ve been doing for so long now, but fear keeps them at bay.  Fear, of not hearing them back.  Of seeing regret or hesitation in those wide, blue eyes that look at him with such affection.  He knows he can be okay with just this, so long as he never has to feel rejection.

So he’s quiet.

Jack is less so.  He isn’t loud, but he makes little noises–gentle hums against Bitty’s skin, the wetness of an open-mouthed kiss against Bitty’s collar bone, a groan when he finally pulls back to stretch and yawn.

Jack rolls onto his side, his fingers coming up to toy with the sleep rumpled fringe on Bitty’s forehead.  He needs a haircut, he thinks, but he likes the way Jack’s fingers are drawn to his hair.  Their eyes meet when Jack finally opens his.  Red-rimmed, bright blue, pupils wide and dark.

Bitty can’t help the warmth spreading from limb to limb, and he cups Jack’s face, the desire to be touching him in some way overwhelming.  He breathes in, and it’s a little shaky with this feeling, but it’s good.

It’s so good.

Jack smiles at him.  It’s unbidden and soft, and sweeter than anything Bitty has ever seen.  When he opens his mouth to speak, his voice is hoarse with disuse.  “Morning, bud.”

Bitty flushes a little.  “Morning, sweetheart.”

They stare, and Jack keeps playing with his hair.  His eyes flick up from Bitty’s, to where his fingers are buried in blonde locks, and then back down again.  He licks his lips, and his own breath has a slight tremble to it, but there’s no hesitation when he opens his mouth to speak again.

“I love you.”

Bitty blinks, and his entire body feels frozen, like he’s outside of himself.  Like this moment can’t possibly be real.  Not because he doesn’t think Jack can love him, but because he’s wanted this for far too long now, and he can’t believe he’s ever done anything good enough in his life to have it.

He knows he has to say something.  If only he remembered how to make his tongue work.

Sweetheart.”  He takes a second, because it’s just so much, and Jack is watching him with his intense gaze.  “I love you too.  So much.”

He’s rewarded with the smile he was hoping for, the one that looks like a literal ray of sunshine breaking through heavy snow clouds.  Jack touches his chin, cups his face like he always does when he kisses Bitty, like he needs to ground himself before their lips meet.

And then they do.  Bitty drags his fingers against Jack’s coarse chest hair, and the kiss stays small because their tongues are sour, but this kiss means…

Everything.  It means everything.

Jack breaks away, pressing their noses together, still smiling.  “Pancakes?”

Bitty laughs, then nods.  “I still have some blueberries left.”  He closes his eyes against the onslaught of emotions, and let’s Jack hug him before he’s drawn up, and into the day.

It must be so depressing for Deadpool to lose a patch of skin or a limb, watch it grow back healthy then watch as it deteriorates again.
Imagine Wade having his face burned off and staring into the mirror for half an hour as exposed muscle becomes fresh pink flesh then turns to a mottled, cratered mess.

I have dealt with the crisis in my heart
Turning the crumpled paper restlessly.
I see no smoothness on its mottled face,
The creases are intrusive to my eyes.

Calmness was a memory in my mind
That my quiet room painted and hung up for me
I am jealous of it, desiring to be such stillness
Not even my tired hands could disarray the air

And the thing in my heart devours me
With a mouth full of thunder and rain
I hear nothing but the rumble of thoughts
Rising up and sticking at my throat.

I have tasted what I cannot say
I find peace in my subtle strength
To keep order of the tempest in my bones.
I have made my home in storms.

—  Beauty of Virgo written by @satsune
Love Doesn’t Discriminate

for @sachijirachi. Merry Christmas!


For as long as John Laurens can remember, he’s had Alexander Hamilton written in the space between his second and third ribs.

Henry thought for a while that if he just tried hard enough, yelled loud enough, covered John’s skin in enough mottled bruises, Alexander would go away, replaced by Sarah or Isabella or something equally female. John knew better; you can’t choose your soulmate, and you can’t change them either.

Still, being face-to-face with him is a little overwhelming, considering.

John just stops for a moment after the man introduces himself, and the first thing that comes out of his mouth is, “For some reason I was expecting a redhead.”

Alexander’s eyes — dark brown, so deep you could drown in them, nothing like the cornflower blue that John had imagined — light up. “You’re John Laurens, then?” John nods and Alexander smiles, mouth fallen open like he can’t believe what’s in front of him.

“You’re even more beautiful than I pictured you,” John and Alexander say at the same time.

John’s already in love.


Angelica has her sister’s name.

It’s curled around her waist, Eliza Schuyler in curved, loopy handwriting. It’s supposed to be lucky, a sign of an unbreakable bond between them, and her parents encourage it, always.

Angelica is there for Eliza, no matter what. When it turns out that Alexander Hamilton has two names — Eliza Schuyler on his ankle and John Laurens on his hipbone — Angelica researches polyamory and reassures her sister that no, it’s okay, he does love you, he looks at you like you hang the stars, it’s okay Eliza. When Eliza has trouble with grades, with John and Alexander, with that asshole who called her names Angelica won’t repeat, it’s Angelica who helps her with her math, helps her brainstorm possible solutions, teaches her how to throw a punch.

Angelica will choose Eliza’s happiness over her own, if it comes to that. Every single time.


Molly dreams of one day finding her — the girl with Molly Burr seared into her skin. She and her older sister Sally talk for hours on end, speculating about their soulmates (Theodosia Prevost, for Molly, and Tapping Reeve, for Sally) — they could just google the names, but that would take the magic out of it.

Then, at fifteen, Molly becomes Aaron, and he is terrified of meeting Theodosia.

Because what if her soulmark still says Molly? What if Aaron has to see it, every day for the rest of his life? Worse — what if Theodosia won’t call him anything else?

And then, at twenty-three, Aaron meets her and his fears dissipate, because Theodosia Prevost (“Call me Theo, everyone does”) has Aaron Burr written on her collarbone.

God bless her, Theodosia doesn’t question why Aaron starts sobbing in her arms.


Thomas is so excited to meet him.

James Madison. A messy scrawl at the top of Thomas’s thigh. Thomas has known the name since before he could walk; Madison was his first word and James his second.

When Thomas is a junior in high school, his chemistry partner is a tiny boy in a sweater that’s far too big for him.

“Hi, I’m Thomas Jefferson,” he says, and the other boy smiles politely.

“I’m James Madison,” the boy says. “But call me Maddy.”

He didn’t recognize Thomas’s name at all. Thomas says nothing.

(During their first lab, Maddy rolls up his sleeves to show the name Dolly Payne emblazoned on his left forearm. Thomas swallows hard but keeps his silence.)

Where babies come from...
  • Where babies come from...
  • Wynne and Alistair
  • Dragon Age: Origins

Wynne: Alistair, may I have a word?
Alistair: Of course, anything for my favoritest mage ever.
Wynne: It seems you and our fearless leader are inseparable these days; joined at the hip almost.
Alistair: That’s a bit of an overstatement, don’t you think?
Wynne: Well then, now that you’re in an intimate relationship, you should learn about where babies really come from.
Alistair: Pardon?
Wynne: I know the Chantry says you dream about your babies, and the good fade spirits take them out of the fade and leave them in your arms… but that’s not true. Actually, what happens is that when a girl and a boy really love each other….
Alistair: Andraste’s flaming sword, I know where babies come from!
Wynne: Do you? Do you really?
Alistair: I certainly hope so!
Wynne: Oh, alright then. Ooh, look, you’re all red and mottled. How cute.
Alistair: You did that on purpose.
Wynne: Now, now, Alistair. Why would I do such a thing?
Alistair: Because you’re wicked… that frail old lady act? I’m so not fooled. I’m on to you now.

Honeysuckle? I don´t think so

Newt Scamander x Reader

Words: 1,080

A/N: It´s cheesy, but I needed an Amortentia os in my life


Newt watched the cauldron in front of him with a light frown, while you gazed at him from afar. He had been doing it for about twenty minutes already and you had become worried, Newt always daydreamed but never for too much time.

“What is it?” A surprised shriek echoed in the room and your freckled friend tensed. His green blue mottled eyes looked at you over his shoulders with distress, making you chuckle by the embarrassment they showed. “Don´t tell me you were doing some foolish potion.” Newt smiled silently and nodded at you.

You two had been friends since the first time he visited New York, the impression he gave that time wasn’t the best but it made you extremely curious about him. That’s why you ended up wanting to follow him in his adventures, and he accepted you, even if you just were a simple muggle.

“It´s just a silly potion like you said, pea-please don’t mind it.” He said hastily, trying to move around the small object. Your nose lifted up a little at the perfume the cauldron released and a little grin came to your lips.

“But it smells pretty good, why do you need to throw it away?” Newt´s gaze went up, straight to you, with a sparkle of curiosity filling his expression.

“And how does-…Tell me how it smells like, love.” He said with a fake calming smile. You could easily see the way the left corner of his lips twitched with effort, but you didn’t comment about it. You inhaled deeply, closing your eyes for a long second before saying anything.

The fragrance was definitely something you would like to savor. “It doesn’t smell like a particular thing.” You decided to said, sniffing again. “Honeysuckle or maybe a strange combination of wild flowers, freshly brewed tea, morning dew and…” Newt watched you expectantly. “Cinnamon?” You questioned yourself.

“This potion smells different for each person.” He explained, putting the cauldron down and sitting next to you.

“Why?” A blush took part of his shy expression while he looked at his shoes. “Why did I smelled that exact variety of scents?”

“Because you fancy Honeysuckle, tea, morning dew and cinnamon.” He said simply, without putting a lot of effort in his explanation.

“So it’s a potion to know what type of things a person likes?” You muttered in confusion, earning one light snicker from Newt.

“Yes, kind of. It´s more of a…love potion…”Now you raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to say the reason why he needed to make such a strange potion. “I was just curious…maybe I really…never mind.” He explained with palpable discomfort.

“Hey, Newt, does that mean I just described the person I…fancy?” Silence took over the place in response and your cheeks began to feel hot, so you just covered your face with both of your hands.

“Yo-You shouldn´t worry about it- It´s not really how the person you like smells, it´s more about the things you really appreciate…”He assured you, patting your shoulders. You could sense that he was being kind about it, but you didn’t want to press the button too much. Newt was the type of person who would run away or isolate if you were too insistent. “I mean, mine kind of smells like…like-…old books…”


“Humm…”He shook his head to the sides. His brownish strawberry locks waved with the movement and you couldn’t stop how your mind compared him to a fluffy rabbit. “I…”

“You already made me say it. Don’t be unfair-“ You said with a begging pout curving your lips down. “If you tell me, I will tell you who´s scent I perceived in mine.”

“Who´s?” The question slipped from his mouth the moment you finished your sentence. “Tha- So you really have someone you like?” Nodding vigorously, you let him know. It wasn’t really a secret by now who the person was, but it would help you to get a hint about his feeling.

His frown became a little deeper before disappearing completely, showing he was willing to confess how the love potion smelled for him. The green orbs that you adored so much, gazed directly towards yours and you sank for an extended minute in the emotions that fluttered like a zoo in your stomach.

“Old books, warm bread and candies.” Newt finally said. That was the moment you realized you were holding your breath and tightening your hands in two nervous fists.

With your heart racing you smiled at him in a daze. Now it would mean he fancied the smell you wore every day of the week. You worked part time on a bakery when you were on New York, where the sugar of the cakes and the smell of them would obviously wear off after long hours. Even if it was quite different now, your routine was still somehow similar.

Your routine during mornings consisted in a walk to the nearest bake house to buy fresh, warm bread. Then you read a book inside Newt´s workroom, not even one of the books you read was new, you loved re-reading them a lot of times.

And…Candy? Well he had sweet tooth so you were expecting something like that.

“I may sound as a gossipmonger, but you…said a moment ago you would tell me who the person you love is.” Before saying anything in a brave confession, you decided to think about what you would say to make him understand without saying his name. Eyeing him carefully, you forgot how to breathe and suddenly a lot of flashes came to your mind.

Him being a total idiot in the mornings, trying to no make a sound in the room and let you sleep more time while he served his tea. He hugging you when you were feeling down, happy or just because he was close enough. Him playing around shyly whenever you wanted to cheer one of his creatures. Him simply being himself. The awkward, clumsy, Hufflepuff guy you met three months ago.

“He has freckles all over his face and smells like hot tea in the mornings, when you hug him he always wear a slight almost unnoticeable scent of cinnamon. But I must confess he doesn´t seem like the type who would have honeysuckles on his case.”

“Case?” You rolled your eyes in disappointment, somehow you were expecting a love-struck stare and a kiss. “So you mean…”

“Yes, I mean you, fool.”


“I know, so kiss me already you foolish wizard.”


Ledebouria socialis ‘Violacea’ is in the family Asparagaceae. Commonly known as silver squill or wood hyacinth, it is native to the Eastern Cape Province of South Africa. Silver squill is a perennial bulb found in arid sandy soils in shaded woodland habitats. Outside of its native range, this species is very popularly cultivated by succulent growers due to the mottled patterns on the leaves. This cultivar is one of the most commonly cultivated varieties, and was once described as a separate species due to its unique leaf patterns. Cultivation and care of this species is easy as it grows well in indoor conditions and doesn’t require much water or fertilizer, leading to its popularity among novice succulent growers.

Mottled in green, brown, and pink, this giant clam was spotted in the Fagalua/Fogama'a area of National Marine Sanctuary of American Samoa. 

Once nestled into a location on the reef, giant clams remain stationary throughout life, and play a major role in reef community structure. Like corals, giant clams have developed symbiotic relationships with algae called zooxanthellae. In return for shelter, zooxanthellae provide giant clams with nutrients they’ve photosynthesized! 

(Photo: NOAA)

beauty departs death by death
greaves glitter the graves in
cluttered sleep

I mottle the truth in tresses, a
doubtful narrator of nonfiction

memory retires to dull bell howling
pills lessen it all lessen all of me

It’s time for #Trilobite Tuesday! Rich sedimentary formations of Silurian age remain among the rarities of the fossil record. For trilobite enthusiasts, such well-known locales as Wren’s Nest, England and Rochester Shale, New York, stand among the premier Silurian sites on the planet. Another, perhaps lesser known US locality is the Waldron Shale of Indiana, where beautifully preserved 425 million year old examples of such unusual trilobite species as Metopolichas breviceps (photo), Glyptambon verrucosus and Trimerus delphinocephalus have been found in a number of outcrops that dot the state’s southern half. Perhaps closest in its faunal content to the Rochester Shale, there are still marked differences in the material found in the slightly younger strata of the Waldron, and the density of fossilized material also appears to be less prevalent than in the New York locale. Because of their rarity, distinctly mottled caramel color and three-dimensional preservation, Waldron trilobites rank as particularly prized fossils by collectors both near-and-far.


Sons of Olympia!

Last night I finished off the Legion Praetor who will be forming part of the command structure for my 30k Iron Warriors.
The model is the plastic Praetor from the Betrayal at Calth boxed set, with some lovely Forgeworld IV Legion Transfers to add some character.

This is a lovely model, the level of detail is excellent and I particularly like the ribbed cabling connected to his Chainfist.
For the bare head, I tried out some techniques to show the mottled skin and protruding veins, as This guy is a veteran who has been pretty much locked in his armour for years on end.
The last picture shows the Praetor alongside the other leader of my army, the Lodge Master.

Next up I’ll be continuing work on my last veteran tactical squad. Hopefully I’ll be able to get them done over The next week or so.

Happy Hobbying!



Draco recovering after the war would include:

  • He has scars; stretched across his abdomen and marring his arm, singing the skin of his hands and disfiguring his back
  • It goes like this:
  • The war doesn’t quite end when the Dark Lord’s body falls to the ash mottled ground of the Great Hall, no, not when he can hear the screams in his ears and still sees the bodies, the blood in his dreams
  • He has nightmares
  • Wakes up with the sheets pooling around his waist and sweat sticky on his forehead. The mark on his arm hasn’t faded, it’s stark in the dark light of his room, the same mark that had hung in the sky after Dumbledore’s body toppled over the railing of the Astronomy tower
  • “It was just a dream,” she tells him, tucks her head beneath his chin and listens to the rapid thrum of his heartbeat beneath a Sectumsempra scarred chest. “It’s all over now.”
  • Only, that’s not quite true
  • He only attends two funerals, when it’s all said and done
  • Watches as they lower Crabbe’s charred body into the grave and watches as Goyle shakes, feels the guilt, the sorrow, lodged in his throat till he can’t manage to breathe
  • Hides until the red-headed crowd have left and the only thing that remains is Fred Weasley’s body in the ground
  • He cries, sometimes, sobs that shake his ribs, his spine, that make him wish he’d died when all the rest of them did as Y/N runs her fingers through his hair and holds him against her chest
  • He doesn’t forget the war
  • Doesn’t forget the screams that lingered like ghosts in the halls of the manor, or the bodies with glassy eyes and slack jaws that scattered his mother’s rose garden
  • But the mark on his arm fades, slowly
  • And the days begin to feel more manageable
  • The nightmares begin to cede
  • Till he can sleep and smile and laugh till his stomach aches and he can’t remember just why he’d been sad in the first place
  • His last name feels significantly less like an anchor around his neck and more of a cautionary tale, a lesson to be learned
  • And oh, how he has learned
  • Because he’d escaped the war by the skin of his teeth, had landed himself in muddy waters by touting his parent’s pureblood agenda and he knows better, now, understands just what the other side had been fighting for
  • “It’s all over now,” she tells him, on a better day, when there’s a ring on her finger and a smile on her mouth
  • He thinks that he might just believe her