#Thinker? I hardly know her!

[heart-shaped-pupa]

Clockblocker put on paperwork duty for a week because every time Piggot mentions a power classification he mutters “Breaker? I hardly know her!” to Kid Win

[heavenlyysstuff]

Flower Girl

NETEYAM.s x fem! omatikaya! reader

summary . Whenever in battle, he always had someone to fight for, and he was always going to return to her at the end of the day.

language . syulang ‘ flower . sevin ‘ pretty

a/n . I apologise for the no content recently, kinda lacking ideas rn, so feel free to drop any idea you have in my asks!

The war cry’s and yelps of his people around him became a blur, the sky people relentlessly try to kick at their defence.

Since the loss of home tree, the Omatikaya never seemed to know peace again, not with these creatures invading their land and homes.

Neteyam can only watch from afar as his people fight for what’s theirs, set with the task of being a watcher, making sure to alert his father for any more incoming sky people.

He wants to fight, protect his land… the ones he loves. But he knows that at his age, war shouldn’t be something he should have to prepare and participate in.

He can see the difference between the numbers in his people and them. It looks like they are winning this battle, but at what cost?

He knows his people will be leaving with scars, bruises and cuts, he just hopes he can help his family stay clean.

“We gotta get down there bro!” Neteyam hears his brother beside him on his own ikran.

“Dad will skin us.” His reply is stern, and in Neteyam’s mind he knows any of what happens to his brother in the next few moments, it will be up to him to take the blame.

Lo’am shakes of his worry with a tilt of the head and his ikran soars down onto the battlefield.

“Lo’ak! You…Ughhh…” Neteyam yells out, grunting at his brother’s rebelliousnes, but also commands his ikran to chase down his brother.

Back at camp, you help to organise some herbs you and other apprentice heaters had gathered.

Your fingers brush through each herb and help to put them into its designated bowl. You and the other young women have created a circle around a total of 5 bowls, each of them sorting through their own sections of herbs.

Not only did this job help the people of the clan, it helped that the apprentices were always chatty, and when you bring a handful of chatty young women into one place, information is bound to spread.

The women frequently discuss any of the latest happenings in the clan, usually small playful stuff, it helped to keep the group entertained.

You never did much talking, only listened, occasionally giving your thoughts when asked but you don’t mind much, you’re more of a thinker, so when working you usually just zone out into your own little world.

“Aah, Y/n… you have more of those in your hair.” A passing female states when handing a bowl of salve to another woman, she crouches behind you and begins to peck at your hair with her fingers.

“Ayyie.” You lift your hands to shield your hair and lean forward. “I like it like this…” she giggled behind you and gives your hair one minor adjustment before standing up to move around the circle.

“It is quite pretty you have to admit, Ayyie.” Another girl in the group says while looking up from her work. “I just don’t know how you do it everyday, Y/n.”

“The reaction she gets from Neteyam every time seems to keep her going.” Another states, and the circle begins giggling at the fact.

You bring your head down to avoid the confrontation, heat pools at your cheeks and your tail is brought high up next to you. “What are you talking about.” You reply rhetorically.

She giggles more at your clearly flustered reaction, “oh nothing just how he always compliments it and that smile you have all day when he does.” This causes hums of agreement and laughter to flow through everyone in the circle.

“He doesn’t…it’s not like that.” Your words contradict your actions, as your tail sways hurriedly behind you, ears pinning to the sides of your head which of course makes the women around you giggle to each other.

“Oh leave her alone, she can hardly think about him without getting so worked up.” Tee’ron spills out half in your defends half to tease you.

You decide it’s be best if you just stopped talking to avoid getting deeper into your pit of embarrassment, you keep your head down and continue sorting through herbs.

The girls remain giggling for a bit before Tee’ron puts a hand on your shoulder, “sorry, Y/n.” She says in a between quiet laughs, quick to calm her breathing.

“The war party is back!”

Those words were what broke you out of your working frenzy, immediately your head shoots to look outside and your ears perk up.

You are first to stand from the circle of women, hastily making your way outside the hut and out to see the returning warriors, to see him.

You walk slowly and look at every man and woman in hopes to find him, and once you look forward, he’s there.

You wanted to run to him, but with seeing him came seeing his father, and the rest of his family. You didn’t know weather to get any closer, but you decided to take the chance.

You slowly walk towards him, and once close enough you can hear the tone of his fathers voice when speaking to him, he seemed to tone it down once Neytiri spoke though.

You don’t think Neteyam noticed you when you stood behind him, but his father certainly did “Y/n, could you help Kiri with the wounded.” He tilts his head to gesture to his daughter who stood on the other side of Neteyam.

“Neteyam is wounded.” You speak with a somewhat sharp tone, your quick to bite your tongue though and quickly lower your eyes to look to the side.

The Olo’eyktan sighs and looks between you and his son, “go on then.”

You can see Neteyam’s shoulders visibly relax and you bring a hand to grasp his arm, pulling it to lead him away from his family and toward an empty healing hut.

On the way you look behind you, only to meet Neteyam’s mothers eyes. You could never really read that woman, mostly silent and stern. The look in her eyes was nothing new though, she looked between you and her son and a small smile crept out of her, you didn’t see it for too long, as you turn to guide Neteyam into the hut.

You let go of his arm and he instinctively takes a seat of the ground close to the herbs set next to him.

He slowly sits down with one leg sprawled out and the other perched closer to his chest, hissing at the strain the movements cause him.

“Shhh..” you’re quick to calm him, coming close to his side and placing a bowl of salve informer of you. He glances at you before looking back down to the ground in front of him, and he goes silent. Tilting your head, you ask “how bad was it?” While scanning over his form to take in any hidden injuries.

He rolls his shoulder and fixes his posture, “could’ve been worse, I suppose.” He huffs, and fixes his gaze on you. “Hey,” he tilts his head, raising a hand to poke at your hair, “where’d you get these ones?”

You move your own hand up to you hair, grasping his hand in the process, “secret.” He scoffs at your reply and looks offended.

“I’ve been almost everywhere in this forest, I’ll find them soon enough.” He brings your clasped hands down to rest on his knee. You only smirk and roll your eyes. “Sevin syulang.”

You hum at his words, “yea I thought so to.” Agreeing with his words, without thinking he may not have been talking about the flowers… “let me fix you up, okay?”

He huffs in fake annoyance, but smiles once you lather salve onto a wound on his shoulder, your hands warm to the touch.

He closes his eyes, enjoying the feeling of your hands gliding against his slightly scarred skin, feeling as you make your way from his arms, massaging the muscles up to his shoulders.

Then to his face, where you apply smaller amounts of ointment to the wounds. Your hands gliding across his forehead and along the bridge of his nose, under his chin.

He opens his eyes, and realised how much closer you’ve come, only a small distance between your two faces, but he can still feel the slight circular motions you continue on a scar across his jawline.

Exhaling slowly in thought, he grabs your hand to pause your movements, causing you to look into his eyes with what at first was confusion, quickly turning into a realisation.

You both stay eyes locked on each others for a moment, Neteyam’s unoccupied hand coming up to caress your own cheek, the both of you leaning into the others palms.

In what felt like forever, the two of you get closer, eyes dropping low and foreheads touching. Your eyes drop before he follows, heads tilting in sync and lips finally touching, a gentle and passionate kiss shared.

Pulling away slowly for breath, and then moving back in for another in usion, the two of you entranced by each others touch and addicted to the feeling of your hearts beating together.

After three long and loving kisses, foreheads part and you both slowly open your eyes to what had been in front of you all along.

“I see you, Y/n.” Neteyam speaks after quietly catching his breath, bringing you closer into an embrace, arms around your waist to lift you into his lap.

You relax into his body, arms coming up to wrap around his neck and shoulders, “I see you, Neteyam.”

[therealslimshakespeare]

Four Weeks in New York

gorgeous gif credit to @violaobanion

Requested: ☑️

Warnings: SO. MUCH. SEX. 18+, reunion jitters, potentially out of character actions due to rough sex? but then again, they’ve missed each a lot other, ok?! Also, i dunno, but beware he’s a horny over thinker and he’s in a funny headspace due to, ya know, war. Jean is a champ, Harry can’t manage to blow a load for awhile, mild breeding kink if you wanna call purposefully making a baby that…Gerry Hamilton and Margaret Blakely make tiny little cameos in here and I swear I’m half thinking of writing this trio of women all giggling over their legendary husbands

Word count: a hefty 7k and we’ve got more coming for ya

Coauthored with m’baby @crazymadpassionatelove

Synopsis: Harry Crosby is sent stateside to be with his wife for a month of terribly needed R&R in the summer of 1944

Caveat: this is based off a portrayal of real people in a tv series, while Jean wasn’t represented by an actress as Harry was, in this price of media I intend the same. I mean no disrespect to the real men and women mentioned and dramatized herein.

Scene One:

Jean had been at it so long in front of the mirror she began to notice every grain of powder collected in her smile lines and every infinitesimal blur of strong coal from around her eyes and -she needed to step away, at least a few inches from the reflective glass and get a grip. At the more sensible distance of gripping onto the edge of the counter -marble and swanky like everything in this posh and paid for hotel- she saw her face restored to what it was, a pretty decent cutie’s with a perfect mask of makeup and freshly styled hair: fit for a homecoming.

It was going to be fine. She was going to be fine. She was going to need to make him fine again, and give him back to them strong enough to come back to her for good. Happiness and dread swirled in a gnawing cocktail inside her, the cruel thought of almost wishing not to be teased with him at all until she could keep him for good fighting with the braver parts of herself that wanted every second of him she could have, even if it had a big red finish line drawn at a month.

A month was a long time, a month was about all they’d had to be married before he left. Technically, or at least Jean wondered if technically, it would mean she’d only been fully “married” for two months. Of course that was nonsense to the general public and the pastors who reminded about vows and the wedding band she flashed at over eager servicemen, but to her select little girl gang, the ones who worked at the factory with her and who had to give up their husbands too- they talked about their brief marriedness with hushed and giggly fondness, like something out of a dream and just as brief.

The fiancés in the girl gang were jealous of this topic and Jean supposed they had a right to be. She indulged the innocents with all their questions about being “actively” married, tried to repay them with the same frankness she’d so desperately sought before her wedding. But as it was, she’d only had a month of active service, and while it had been spent as vigorously as any young couple’s first four weeks of legal license, it had left Jean in the interim with a plain impression of herself being a little bit of a hussy.

She wanted Harry so badly this past year since he’d gone she hardly thought it medically sane. Wanted him so badly, and that was something not even the girl gang could always bring themselves to titter about. It was one thing for Margaret Blakely to joke about her Ev coming back the previous month ‘taking’ his leave in more ways than one, but they weren’t often out here asking each other if nothing really fixed the hunger since their man had been gone. It was all Jean thought of. Jean wanted to ask if it ever cooled, if the sticky frustration with one’s own inadequate fingers ever subsided.

By the dreamy eyed state of the recently visited Mrs. Blakely, the answer appeared to be a resounding no. Nothing ever beat the real thing. And that made Jean want to writhe in frustration before learning that she too, would be visited by a on-leave husband.

A year of being married and only a month of it “active”, Jean had concluded it was a chronic case on her part of salivating need for her Bing, the only cure would be him -him inside her, in perpetuity. All she’d gotten out of Maragret had been a grinning warning to Jean to “get in shape for Major Crosby’s furlough, you’ll spend it on your back.”

Jean could freely admit to herself that she needed to be ripped apart by her man, she needed him lingering inside her when he left again. She just feared that it wasn’t exactly their usual way. How could she tell him, what if that’s not what he needed. What if it was all different, what if it needed to be?

Jean pointed a finger at herself in the fancy gilt mirror, red nails pointing at her fancy clad self in pastel silk and tiny bows, “He’s your husband,” she told herself sternly, trying not to sweat at the idea he could be here any hour, catch her in this state of intentional undress, and help himself to her jittery body, “he loves you, you love him. All you need to do is let him have his husbandly rights and things will go smoothly. It’s a vacation not a death trap. You’ve got a man to patch up, get on with it.”

This speech gave her four whole seconds of empowered determination before a vigorous set of knocks on the hotel suite’s outer door made her jump out of her skin in surprise. She could go open the door but then -what if someone was in the hall with him? And saw her in this state of…lack of…well, her in her lingerie. He had a key, they’d have given him a key. He was the Mister to her Missus Crosby, they were allowed a shared suite.

“Jean?” Hearing that dear voice for the first time in twelve months, even faintly from far outside the bathroom door, flooded Jean with so much feeling her knees locked up and her throat collapsed on her response. He was her husband, her Bing, her first and only love, they’d be alright. They had to be.

Harry gingerly closed the door behind him, the heavy painted wood shutting with a finality that made him feel terribly anxious. While he had been trudging up the hall to their suite he’d been able to laugh a little at his dismal procession, morose shuffling and hang dog attitude. It had been absurd for a guy coming back to see the wife who he loved. He knew that and he could say that again and again in his head in a voice that morphed more and more into Bubbles’ voice an-

-and now he was in the room and he wasn’t anticipating anything, he had arrived and as if he’d just touched down in occupied Europe, he couldn’t help his braced posture or hunted surveillance of the oddly empty room.

“Jean?”

She wasn’t in here, but the en-suite bathroom door was shut. She wasn’t in here but from the bathroom came wafting something so viscerally nostalgic of her that he felt his heart pound in devoted recognition before his brain even caught up: her soap. Not some fancy hotel brand, it seemed she had brought her old stuff, the stuff he’d lathered on her as many times as he’d had the chance before leaving, the stuff she smelled of before church and the stuff that got more strong and pungent when he made her sweat in it from their exertions in bed.

It smelled like Jean in here and it was enough to make him drop his duffel bag with a decided thump. He was staying. This was his wife, everything might be different but some things like soap -they’d still be the same, as would the dry mouthed want it filled him with.

“Jean?”

He ventured further into the room, not bothering to call her name again, maybe being around guys had made him callous to spooking her but no real harm would be done, he was…him.

“Oh! Bing?” Jean sounded flustered behind her door and Harry found himself grinning. “I’m coming! I’m coming right out!”

It sounded less like a reassurance than it did an order to herself, which was amusing and it made him wonder, just how awkward were the two of them going to manage to make this? God knows he’d tripped over himself enough times winning her over the first round, he had such hopes never to revisit the bumbling stages of courtship. Seemed like once they’d married and joined it had been smooth as glass ever since- until…until he’d stopped being himself.

Until he had wandered into a hotel room with a woman who didn't wear a matching gold band. Jean knew nothing of that though. She never would. Sweet peaches and cream Jean who had come all this way to see him. Bringing that soap and the books he saw stacked on the night table. Bringing that sweet, pink pussy he needed to sink himself into. Remind himself of who he was. He didn't want to be Major Crosby at the moment. He wanted to just be Jean's husband. He heard the clock in the room ticking, felt the sweat pooling at the back of his neck as he waited for her. Her Elizabeth Arden lipsticks lined up like perfect little soldiers on the dresser. It had been so long that kissing her was surely going to feel like the first time all over again.

There was more amiss in the room, upon further inspection, besides her trunks and her hat boxes and the lipsticks. Amiss in that: there were elements no hotel should have, the plate of very delicious looking misshapen fudge, for instance, the plate itself looking suspiciously like their wedding set. Harry could describe that pink and green pattern on ivory in vivid detail if you had asked him yesterday, tracing it now was like no time had passed at all since that first breakfast as husband and wife, tittering over having “things” of their own. And beside the plate a book, one he’d not finished when he went over, he realized with a lump growing in his throat. Then there was the bed beneath these things, tidily made but not pristine, ha -how could it be with homey floral sheets in place of pristine white and a monogrammed pillow case each.

Giant embroidered C’s. For Crosby, of course.

Jeepers -he’d taken Jean for the first time on those very sheets, now he was recognizing them, and some very uncivilized part of him suddenly wanted to rip the covers back and find out if her virgin blood hadn’t fully scrubbed out-

“Bing!”

He is awkwardly sitting on the edge of the bed, thumbing through the pages of Look Homeward, Angel when Jean manages to saunter out with a summoned amount of calm. His hair is sleek and trimmed, his jacket well fitting, his whole self in his army duds seeming so comfortable, filled out, self possessed -it’s the floral sheets beneath him that ruins the effect just a little, makes him seem shifty, out of place. That and those great brown eyes suddenly round as a newborn calf’s at the long awaited sight of her.

She’s seen the soldier’s return posters -does he expect the same greeting? No little party at the station in satin and lace here, but they’d both agreed it would be better to be private, secluded, uninterrupted. Now it feels too tame and mild.

Does he want that? That reunion embrace?

Before she can rethink it she rushes him. “Binger!” she gasps out right as he stands to meet her head on, long arms outstretched to engulf her. This she knows, this she dreamed of. If she squeezes too tight she must be forgiven, it’s too fabulous to be considered real for many moments, the feel of his flexing back beneath her hands and his chest under her cheek. It’s tight and jarring and not a bit smooth but it’s him, it’s him and all is well.

Harry has his nose buried in her hair, that smell is wafting in again. It’s Jean -hits him with the force of a rocket and he’s suddenly responding in kind, arms crushing her to him, can’t get close enough, can’t tell her enough about missing her and loving her and how he’s put one step in front of the other all these years for this moment.

“Oh Bing,” she exclaims again, her face just barely pulled away to really get a look at him, her hands on his cheeks, “I can’t believe it. I’ve prayed, every day I’ve prayed for this.”

Prayers -the word sours in his mind after what he’s seen, after how many he’s sent up and not plane returned with an answer. “Mmm, Mrs. Crosby.” he contemplates the dear face before him before dragging his hand beneath her hair, cupping the back of her head with his large hand, watchface cool on the back of her neck. She’s been waiting for him to kiss her, wanting to let him lead, hoping her initial enthusiasm would embolden him like before. Instead he seems lost in archiving her face, those dear, melancholy eyes flitting over every feature, the hands studying and firm but not a caress. It’s obvious there’s something missing here, a piece ajar from the puzzle.

Jean stands atiptoe carefully, and determinedly slots her lips against his plush, red ones. That seems to rouse him a bit, Harry responds instantly, making up for his hesitancy, deepening it as his tongue meets hers in a heart wrenching reunion of sorts. He always was fond of kissing, her Bing. Now he was kissing her senseless and this -this was more like what she imagined.

His hands trail from her neck down the her ribs and into the dip of her waist, over the swell of her hips where he vaguely notices she’s adorned in some silky little something, no doubt chosen and worn just for him.

Say something Croz, you big idiot —he thinks to himself, confronted with the fact he is gripping at her and sucking face without another word said besides inane repetition of her name.

“Jean you look…perfect.” he mumbles against her lips.

It’s boyish and reminiscent, the stumbling praises mumbled so earnestly. It makes her giggle fondly. She breaks their kiss and takes hold of his face in her hands, indulging a little inspection of her own. “My beautiful boy,” she croons, “you came back to me.”

She kisses the prominent bridge of his nose and his perpetually furrowed brow and the smooth below each heavily fringed eye, his cheeks, his chin, the corner of his mouth -she pressed at his chest till she’s got him sat on the edge of the bed again. He’s fully dressed, taut as a bowstring and she wants him, needs him, to relax. She can feel the tension, the uncertainty, rolling off him.

She won’t let them take this away from them, she won’t let them rob them of their comfort with each other.

She kneels gently before him and undoes his boots, enjoying the way he pets her hair, quietly admiring its shine and style. His trousers are creased and starched and knelt between his legs Jean finally notices it then, the prominent tent beneath the olive weave. It makes her breath hitch. Was he always this big? Even camouflaged by trousers?

“You must be tired,” she frets aloud, working on the laces, “and cramped from such a long flight. Did you take something? Your eyes are a little…funny.”

Harry nods before realizing she’s not one of his men. Wives tend to value words and sentences, the more syllables the better. “Yeah,” he croaks aloud, “something for the stomach.”

Oh Bing and his stomach. Ever the dutiful wife, Jean rubs the sock feet she just liberated and kneads her way up his calves, hoping to leech some of the tension out of him. She works her way to his thighs, rising back up to her feet when he grabs her wrists and pulls her into another kiss. It’s even hungrier this time and his first moan of the evening sends a jolt of longing triumph straight to her core.

“I’ve missed you.” she chokes out between kisses and he responds by biting her neck, his thumbs rolling the satin in circles on her hips. His front pressing hard and firm against her lower belly, making her mouth run dry.

Still, Harry’s not saying much and if he wasn't kissing and caressing her so ardently, she'd have no clue they were even on the same planet.

And so Jean decides to do something rather bold. Something her mother would not approve of. She puts her hands on his shoulders, briefly causing him to pull away from her neck, then she whispers temptingly in his ear, “Last night I…slid my ring finger inside me. pretended it was you…I won't have to pretend anymore, will I, Harry?”

She feels him twitch against her belly beneath his layers. It’s her turn to kiss his cheek and nibble his neck, finding his little groans to be intoxicating. His grip tightens on her waist as he buries his head against her with his eyes closed, breathing her in. That scent.

That's when she adds in a plea, “Y-y-you're gonna have to…open me

up again Croz.…..you know what I

mean?...my poor little fingers are so

tiny and now I'm back to how I was

on our wedding night…”

Harry’s groan is animalistic and pained and she -well Jean’s a horny, rambling mess and she can’t bring herself to be ashamed, she missed him too strongly. “You're a hero to America.” She swears into his panting mouth, “And to me. I'm gonna give you the strength to help you get through the rest of what you need to do. But I need something from you, I need you to put a baby in me Bing.”

That is what he responds to, like orders in war. He’s good at finding his way with directions. His head rears back and his eyes sharpen with concentration. Jean wants something? he’ll deliver it, always was that way.

He nods.

“Lay back on the bed Jean.” his voice is quiet but she’s never heard it so steady, so commanding. That must be the voice he uses when he speaks to his men over there. If she wasn't squeezing her thighs together and scrambling onto the bed to follow Major Crosby orders, well, she'd cum right then and there. This isn't the same Bing that reads the paper, his beautiful lips mouthing the words as he does, the one who brings her flowers just because, or is quick not to curse in public. This man before her is a war weary Major who is used to being obeyed. Jean intends to follow every word he says, the thought of seeing him off without a little piece of him nestled inside her would just devastate her.

She burrows up against their Crosby pillows, looking like an absolute treat and admiring her man's package that seems to be growing bigger by the second. He's panting like a wild horse above her and she realizes she should heed all that advice she'd been given. Be a good wife, take care of his needs. Her painted toes rub against the sheets as she slowly inches forward to help him undress. Major Crosby beats her to it though, ridding himself of his uniform efficiently and tossing it on to the floor in a rumpled mess accompanied by a huff.

Is he mad? Jean wonders to herself. His freshly exposed cock sure looks mad. It's red, and almost looks hot to the touch as it dribbles and leaks down his thick shaft.

Was it always that big? Were his eyes always so wild? Bright -she remembers them as being bright.

He collapses on her purposefully, a crushing embrace with his hands snarled in her hair, elbows to the bed, his belly to hers, his lips devouring her own. It’s a shock and a thrill, that first feeling of skin against skin again, Harry’s so warm his tongue is nearly scalding and she feels herself sweat in her skimpy finery. The anticipation is harsh, the dynamic fumbling in its ravenous rush, her head spins when an irrational spike of fear slices through the heady haze of desire that his touches coax. Touch? -a mauling of sorts, more like, he is all teeth and nails and assessing hands, grabbing at her ferociously.

Instinctively Jean begins to rub him, his shoulders, his neck, his forearms

-a soothing caress at a kinder pace than he allows but she means it well, channels that little spark of anxiety she feels to sooth his own keyed up self.

“I’m here, I’m here,” she keeps swearing as she feels him buckle just that little bit to the insistent kneading of her hands on his arms, “I’m not going anywhere.” she swears and the rigid line of his body sags further into her neck, some off kilter focus he’s carried about him slipping under her gentle persuasion. “Baby, how about a little rub?” she coos, lithely extracting herself out from under him before she thinks on it too long.

“That might be nice.” he manages, not sure what the hell it is he needs, “My neck maybe..took a little spill a few days ago...” he casually mentions the incident, underplaying that whole fiasco of passing out cold from exhaustion, splattering on the floor like the contents of a mop bucket.

“Then let me rub your neck.” she begs.

He allows it and with a slightly lost gaze he follows her movements as she props up beside him and brings him closer for leverage. She scoops his head into her lap with that familiarity that made him fall first and hard for her, and suddenly he is pillowed on the warm, giving belly of a woman. His woman. And Croz feels himself begin to melt from that feeling alone, long before her clever thumbs start working at the knots nearly calcified at the base of his neck.

She used to do this for him when he was at school, too much reading in an ill advised position had him often so stoved up he couldn’t be of any use on the baseball team. Jean had learned to work her magic then, and Harry had learned how very much he liked his face buried against the swell of a girl’s womb.

Oh fuck -her little speech comes rushing back to him- Jean wants a baby.

Damn the jet lag, the separation jitters and all the rest that got him sent here like a looney to a special holding facility. Jean wants a baby and he hasn’t been rock hard since Dartmouth only to let it go to waste by sleeping it off.

Right when she begins to feel the motion of her hands take effect on his rigid shoulders, her Harry is suddenly lifting his head again, face slightly flushed and creased from the lace of her nighty and he smiles at her then. Mischievous and warm, “C'mere,” he beckons with a voice that means something and so she follows him as he sits up, “stand up babydoll, show me that outfit. Let me appreciate ya.” He slides his warm palm into her smaller one and tugs her to her feet, an easy sort of dance move to bring her round in front of his position, swaying her back and forth just outside the v of his legs.

“Well, look at you.” he marvels at her, his expression gone soft under that wrecked mop of curls. Jean recognizes the old spark alight in him, the one that might go dormant for her when away or when she couldn’t make up her damn mind but anytime she wanted him back?—oh he looked at her like this, like he was lucky as hell to have her and intended to be brave with that luck. “Turn around for me, loverdoll, c’mon, show me what I’ve got, come onnnn Jeaaann,” he insists, his voice playful and insistent as he spins her with a hand at her hip until she shows him the back of this frilly little excuse for nightwear, “Look at that.” he whistles behind her and Jean feels her cheeks burn pleasantly, “Pretty as a fawn, Jean.” he punctuates this odd little compliment with the back of a finger running up the length of her thigh, to the little swell of her rump and Jean knows her legs tremble in helpless response. “Go on, strike a pose for me, I know you didn’t put on this get up for nothin’. Who'd believe it? My Mrs. Crosby out here lookin’ like one of those girls.”

‘Those’ girls, whoever they are exactly, are left nebulous and Jean likes it that way, it gives her a saucy bravery to pitter patter away from his hold and turn back to face his unabashedly admiring gaze. Jean cocks a hip and drops a shoulder, knee turned in, toes pointed. Gerry had made her perfect it a million times in the mirror when she should’ve been sensibly getting into a gown and getting some shut eye instead.

Thank God for Margaret Ann Blakely and her fun loving pastimes. And also: “Screw him for us Jean!!” -thank God for Gerry Hamilton and her brazen preoccupations with her own man, for how she piled on as she convinced Jean of an assortment of little silk things thrown into her suitcase, “Screw him good, for all of us! For Americaaaaa!” the young and empty Mrs. Hamilton’s candor had built until Jean was close to frantic to get into the taxi and leave her best friends and their antics behind.

Jean didn’t doubt for a single minute that Hambone and Ev would shortly be receiving letters that good naturedly bemoaned Jean and Croz’s luck.

“You think you needed to look like this to get me to nail ya?” her Croz teases her now and his grin is lewd and Jean likes it that way, it matches the disrespectful hands that reach out without her Harry’s usual calculation and instead paw at her tits like a sex starved man. It sends a line of electricity straight to the little button between her legs and Jean ends up leaning into those hands until she’s suddenly so near him she’s on top of him and then, easy as anything, he knocks her sideways and under him once more. Legs splayed wide and with a husband lying on top of her with a very determined look on his face -she reckons the games are over.

“Gonna be like a second wedding.” she squeaks out, giddy eyed in excitement, toes curling in terror, he feels so big slotted at the spot.

Was he always so big?

Harry slings her leg over his hip and he’s suddenly in her without even needing to fumble for entrance. Little Croz pries her open all at once in a smooth, brutal, unyielding shove and that’s all it takes, he’s so overwhelmingly substantial that Jean finds herself bowing under him in a climax from the painful pleasure of reunion alone.

“Really, already?” he chuckles at her as she hoarsely keens out her ecstasy beneath him, her nails digging crescents in the flesh of his tense shoulders, his own thumbs stroking along her throat, “I missed you too, Mrs. Crosby.” he laughs.

She slaps at him, lovingly as her throat still hasn’t fully come back to use, “God you feel good.” She croaks.

“Just wait till you learn there’s more.” he teases before pulling his hips back and keeping that far tip barely nestled in her petals before slamming in again so forcefully she feels something funny in her chest.

“Bing!” it’s not a protest on her part but, my God -he, they…they used to give it the ole college try before he left, but this? This must be what it’s like to get really and truly screwed.

Screwing her, that’s what he’s doing and she wonders in a vague haze of helpless sensations if he’ll auger a hole straight through her back to the mattress with this merciless rhythm. She’s as vaguely impressed by his strength and capability as she is by her own body’s ability to absorb it, her freshly rediscovered hole burning at the use and somehow it’s all just a wonderfully heated, overwhelming miasma of delight as she keeps on seizing under him and he bullies her right though one peak after another with only a wicked grin on those full lips to suggest he’s got any idea what she’s so happily enduring.

“I can’t stop, I just can’t stop, it's just so -it’s so much.” she babbles, very keen to get her point across but very unsure what her point actually is. All thoughts, feelings and intentions center around Harry and that fat schlong of his rearranging her insides. She’s not sure her toes have been uncurled in over a quarter hour and her mind’s not been her own for longer still. “You’re so much.” she wails, and for half of it she means not his size but how long he’s been going at it.

“And you’re gonna take it.” he confirms, the hand on her hip inexorable and his pretty face is half snarling at her in desperation. “You miss this?” his voice shakes from his exertions and Jean is sure she’s never heard a more attractive sound than his wrecked breathing, “Miss this, huh? Bet you did, so goddamn tight. No married woman’s got any…any…any business being so tight. Gonna fix that, gonna make you so married you’re not gonna-“ he presses her legs back until she feels her hamstrings burn, knees to her chest, his body lunging into hers…angry again? she doesn’t know he just keeps grunting “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

She’s milking him so perfectly, peaking and shuddering and clenching more frequently than he ever remembers and he should be so saved up he can’t manage to hold on but instead -the fuck if he can blow. It just won’t let go. The noise of his work is a lew phwap phwap phwap of split splat suction and from her whimpers and begs he knows he has already spent her but-

Goddamn! Came all this way, waited all this time and he can’t let loose?

Through the haze of her overstimulation Jean can feel something amiss, the tension back and worse than that, there’s the frustrated anger of before. Harry is breathing hard and his face is dark and the prominent vein across his alabaster forehead is popping so significantly she worries about stroke. He’s about to crack a tooth at this rate, his tension is so extreme and then suddenly, there’s a pause.

He stares down at the wet mess where they’re joined, brows knit together and mouth firm before a flicker ignites in his eye and in a fit of rage at himself and this deficient cock, he grabs at one of the decorative pillows and throws it across the room. It bangs dully against the window and flops to the floor.

Unsurprisingly the outburst against cotton batting and fancy trim does little for his pickle, he’s still stiff as a board and nowhere close to relief. He fought a whole goddamn war and came back just to not be able to get his rocks off. What a joke.

Gently as he can, and with rampant self pity running loose, he disentangles from Jean’s snug self and throws himself beside her on his back.

Bewildered Jean is more than a little grateful for the intermission. She does her best to collect her wits, looking over at him and clocking his defeated expression and closed eyes, the hand pinching the bridge of his nose. And poor Little Croz that is a furious magenta red with veins about ready to burst from swelling, sticking straight up from between his legs.

Shifting onto her side to face him rubs her poor kitty just wrong -or right- and a helpless mewl escapes her as she creams herself again from that little movement alone. The sound and shudder of his wife makes Croz crack open an eye, watching intently as Jean bites her lip and timidly runs her fingers through the hair on his chest.

“Come sit on my lap, Jeanie.” he mumbles.

She perks up with a smile, “Whatever my hero wants, baby.” she condones before shakily straddling his lean hips and sinking down with a noticeable squelch. It earns a drawn out moan of satisfaction from both of them. Sensing the agony and desperation of the man beneath her as she begins to lift her hips and slam them back down, juices splash on her feet from the movement. To lift his spirits she attempts her best at shoving her tits in his face while she does it and gets her nipples tugged in thanks.

This right here is perfect, she’s so full she can hardly bear it but he feels so good she ignores the burn of her legs and keeps her pace up, the beautiful expanse of her man laid out before her a perfect spur. The sun seems to have set by now and through the open curtains the sounds and lights of the city pour in, glistening off his sweaty skin like a million stars and doing nothing to dim the noise of his appreciative moans, the hoarse grunts of her name, the sounds of their sticky hips colliding.

“I've dreamed about being full like this every night since you left.” Jean tells him, stuffed beyond her limits it feels like he’s so damn deep he could describe the feel of her cervix in detail.

She can feel those tight bowling balls she's sitting on that need to unload inside her, and precariously she reaches backwards to fondle them with one hand, remembering how he used to react to it. She gets her first high pitched whine of the evening from him at that, his chest heaving and his head thrashing, curls everywhere. “Bing -- oh it's big, it's big, I'll take it all though I-I promise….we gotta make you cum, baby.” she determines, not needing the discarded pillow or fuming passion to alert her to his desperation, “Lemme help you…just fill me up, let it alllll out... you need to, must be aching so bad”

At the mention of the ache he begins to buck into her wildly like a feral thing. Jean would have toppled off from his vigor if he hadn’t seized her hips in an iron grip and held her still for his assault from below. Jean hears herself squealing and whimpering and begging nonsense, still a bit fresh -and respectful- to this new and ferocious side of him. Somewhere in it though, Harry’s beginning to crack, frustration going from anger to fury to desperation to some boyish and pitiful need for relief.

Harry doesn’t mean to groan so loudly, so pathetically but it’s all so perfect and he’s so damn close and Jean’s like a sprinkler down there she’s enjoying herself so much and -why the hell can’t a fella just blow?

Jean instantly stills atop him and cradles his face tenderly, soft searching eyes and lips whispering about …something, something something “baby boy” -and he shudders. His pants are harsh as if he’s about to have a heart attack and his chest is so winded and achy he thinks he might. Or else cry.

Wouldn’t that be fun.

Beneath his hands he feels Jean’s hips begin to flex and she’s grinding on him again, twisting her hips in a slow figure eight that feels like a man’s heaven beneath his palms, and ten times that for his cock. It’s not doing it enough to make him blow but for a moment he decides that’s fine, he inflates his poor lungs again and lays back, admittedly a bit too stiff and rigid, and touches her as she pleases herself on top of him. She giggles shyly to him and her near constant moans are music to his ears as she swivels on his cock. He enjoys watched the pink little folds absorb him and the way their curls brush and mix where they meet, his lower belly a wet mess and streaks of the same running down to her ankles, they’ve made such a soup.

Clam fuckin’ chowder, by the looks of it.

Maybe he did blow. Doesn’t feel like it. And after watching and coaxing her through another melting peak, he lets her sag onto his chest for a minute and regroup before, with a kiss to her hair and a hard smack to her ass, he tells her,

“Hands and knees, Jean, if you want that baby -hands and knees.”

He barked it like an order, and while a little startled by it, she still wastes no time in flipping herself over and off him, scurrying into the position he specified, shaky from so many orgasms and the anticipation of him back atop her. Wincing inwardly at the thought of that package at this angle with how sore she already is-

-and he wastes no time. But instead of a cock she feels the shockingly familiar but never less exquisite feeling of his tongue running up the messy length of her slit. Her face collapses into the pillows along with her pleased shriek of “Bing!”.

He he laughs warm and wicked behind her, enjoying the ass up display of what he’s done to her.

“Spread ‘em Jean.” he tells her, and two dainty hands leave off from gripping the covers to bashfully pull her cheeks apart and show her husband where his fat cock belongs. He can see her pulsing down like a living entity of its own, even in this dim light.

“I'll be good... I'll be good for you, Major. Tell me what to do.” Jean swears hoarsely, those fawnish legs trembling again.

“Just take me.” he mutters simply, mounting her suddenly with his hand on the back of her head, keeping her cheek to the pillow and her scream muffled as he shoves in and begins to plow this squeaking little lady like tomorrow is indeed not promised to men like him.

Beneath him, between the high pitched squeals of pleasure and the urgent whines of endurance, Jean is muttering a litany of …something. Again and again she’s saying words like “it’s ok baby, it’s ok” and Harry isn’t sure if it’s meant for him or her, she sounds like a drunk fairy and his head begins to buzz with likelihood. “It’s ok baby, they told me you'd be like this, it’s ok. I can take it. I’ve missed you—“ she just keeps muttering that and vaguely Harry is pretty sure that comfort is meant for him and he wonders who ‘they’ are and what ‘like this’ even means.

On Jean’s part she is legitimately unsure who’s she’s trying to convince, likely herself but also, maybe that part of her between her legs that’s torn between panic and absolute ecstasy at his rough usage. Jean's mind spins at the realization of how much she likes it, likes the feral proof of how badly he missed her, needs her, wants her still. Her sweet and mild Harry climbed on top of her and is now railing her, and while it’s not your average little jaunt in the sheets, she clings to her pillow and takes it with something like pride…in between the moments when Harry’s fat cock wipes her mind a starry white as her legs kick up helplessly beneath him and her back arches and her hole clenches and another happy mess slides down her inner thighs to the sodden sheets.

And all through it the best of it is Harry and his voice, half sane sounding for once this evening as if to balance out the animalistic pose he has her in, groaning above her,

“That's it, be my good girl..my good, good girl. Always so good to me.”

He’s petting her hair like she’s a damn Labrador or something, wrapping her beautiful curls around his hand, arched over her like a cat, it’s perfect and he’s so deep he thinks he could fuck his balls in, foot placed sturdily on the bed beside her for further leverage.

“-Croz! You gotta!” His wife wails nonsensically beneath him, he picks her head up by the hair to hear what the hell she’s jabbering about now, husbandly rights or how she was ‘told’ he’d be.

She’s so cock wrecked it ain’t even funny but when he prods her with a “What's that Jean?” between thrusts he gets a slightly more formulated thought-

“You gotta put a baby in me!” she insists through sobs, orgasm after orgasm turning her into this shaking, shuddering, limp excuse of a woman.

A loverdoll, for real.

Her words ping in his head like that damn red light everywhere he goes on base. A light at the end of the tunnel, an eminent thing he’s needed for. Tightness seizes his belly and takes him unawares, suddenly Harry’s roaring out a resounding,

“Oh FUCK! Jean! Fuck-“ that bounces around the room like a cacophony.

The hotel guests next door might be

wondering why a moose is dying in

Manhattan? But no sweat, it’s just Major Crosby seeding his willing wife.

Like a soothing balm on a surgical wound, Jean feels him exploding warm and sticky and healing inside her at last. It doesn't stop coming, rope after rope of the thick, steaming hot gold of his body swelling her own and this adds the finishing touches to what was already a melted woman. In his last rapacious thrusts, she can feel her body playing the minx, trying to squeeze him out but her Croz is having none of it, like a dying man to water, he uses every bit of strength left to shove himself back in and flood her until she’s a collapsed and leaking mess.

In a haze, Croz pulls his now mercifully limp cock out of her and surveys her wrecked self with bleary, appreciative eyes. “Looks like you been through a war of your own, baby.” he jokes but his voice is so wrecked from his previous yells it startles his newly moderated self and he ends up toppled over beside her, no longer capable of giving a damn about anything.

His eyelids refuse to stay open and his neck is laying funny but -fuck! He was just inside Jean!

“You ok, Bing?” he hears her sweet voice whisper beside him and it was no dream then, and God forgive him he was probably mean. She’s panting beside him and when he can’t manage to answer he feels her hand grab his wrist and gently guide him somewhere until he’s petting startlingly warm petals that are saturated with his spunk.

“Think you managed to open me up, alright.” she titters, still sounding drunk and he can’t help the way his cheek crinkles in a returning smile.

Smashed into the pillow as it is, it’s still the prettiest expression of the best man Jean has ever known. “Y-Yeah.” her man croaks, half insensible but his beautiful hand keeps petting her where she’s sore and recently excavated, his identification bracelet jangling softly in the stillness, “You were such a good girl Jeanie..a good wife…ya did your job.” he mumbles more, fully in Major mode as he begins to drift off, forgetting entirely that maybe a fella shouldn't praise his wife like she's one of his men gotten back from a mission.

But Jean takes the compliment well, knowing how it’s meant, knowing that maybe tomorrow when he’s more conscious and healed, she may be blocked out from that world entirely. It’s a little glimpse and she takes it for what it is, with soft appreciation. Smilingly she lets go of his hand to give deflated Little Croz some pats, the sticky, shrunken thing is playing at being harmless and she has a longing to meanly suck on it until it shows it’s true colors again.

But no, for now, Croz’s heavy and nearly insessible arm throws itself over her waist and drags her to him, slotting the married couple together like spoons in their drawer.

They could try to shower but that seems too daunting a prospect at present, and highly futile considering what lies in store -more of the same. And for her part, Jean doesn’t dare move and slosh and waste any of what her Bing gave her. His forearm is heavy over her battered womb, cum and abuse swelling it just that little bit as if she were on her menses. She’s not, those were two weeks ago.

When his hand splays and cups the swollen bulge he made, Jean whispers to his already snoozing self, “We made a baby Bing, I just know it.”

And if not— there’s four more weeks to make certain.

💋 Hope you enjoyed! Feedback is a writer’s lifeblood, please feel free to scream in comments or the inbox, I love it and wanna hear it all. Trust me, nothing is “too dumb”. Your thoughts mean the world to me.

MOTA taglist, I only have one so ignore if this is not the universe you signed up for:

@stylespresleyhearted

@ab4eva

@earth-to-lottie

@suraemoon

@blurredcolour

@steph-speaks

@crazymadpassionatelove

@rubyfruitjungle

@taestrwbrry

@storysimp

@javden

@sexualparkour

@jointherebellion215

@sunny747

@ask-you-what-sir

@xxanaduwrites

@pretty4u

@yorkshirekiwi

@waitedforlove743

@elvismylove04

@blikebarbie92

@luminouslywriting

@euryno-j47

@justheretoreadthhx

@bookotter01

@mads-weasley

@ka-ski

@darkestbeforethedawn16

@slowsweetlove

@richardslady121

@barbeygirl

@prfctplcsreads

@vaf24

@harrys-housewife

@claireelizabeth85

@pearlparty

@piastrinho

[youremyheaven]

Outcaste Nakshatras: The Misfits & the Misunderstood

Yesterday I made a post about how outcaste nakshatra natives tend to be anti-establishment thinkers and how many of the most well known radicals & revolutionaries of our world tend to have Outcaste nakshatras.

Outcaste or Mleccha nakshatras belong outside the caste system and aren't given a place in the caste hierarchy. Shudra nakshatras are the lowest caste to occupy the hierarchy. Mleccha is considered lower than that and thus outside the system.

(Ashlesha, Bharani, Shravana and Vishaka are the Mleccha nakshatras)

Thus it comes as no surprise that those who have Outcaste naks often experience being socially outcast, excluded and like they don't belong anywhere.

Shudra nakshatras also experience these themes to a certain degree as these two are at the lowest end of the pyramid.

Shannen Doherty (middle) was fired from 2 shows, Beverly Hills 90210 and Charmed because of issues among the cast members & rivalry between them. When she was starring in 90210, her fellow cast member Tori Spelling whose father Aaron Spelling produced the show, asked her dad to fire Shannen. Aaron Spelling also produced Charmed and subsequently fired her after 3 seasons due to her conflict with cast member Alyssa Milano, who later admitted that she was responsible for a lot of the tension at work. Rose McGowan who replaced Shannen on Charmed also accused Milano of creating a toxic work environment.

Shannen acquired a "bad girl" reputation and was known for being "difficult to work with"🙄I feel like she was pushed into a corner by her male producers and bitchy co-stars and felt excluded among them as a girl from a small town in Tennessee :(

She has Revati Sun, Vishaka Moon, Uttaraphalguni Rising and Ketu in Ashlesha

Revati is a Shudra nak whereas Vishaka & Ashlesha are Mleccha naks

Isaiah Washington was fired from Grey's Anatomy for using a homophobic slur against gay co-star T.R Knight. Washington has come out saying that this is false and that he said the f word during a dispute with Patrick Dempsey who had a tendency to provoke him (he apparently said: "Isaiah, do you know that white men are the masters of the universe?")

He also said that he was always excluded on set and they tried to pay him to NOT audition for the role. Washington also claimed that star Ellen Pompeo was given millions of dollars to stay silent about Dempsey's on-set behaviour in the #MeToo era, and alleged that she was racist, saying, “She really thinks that she’s cool with Black people like that, but she’s not.” There have been many rumours over the years about Greys being a toxic work place so tbh I am inclined to believe him.

He has Ashlesha Sun, Uttarashada Moon and Jupiter in Revati amatyakaraka

Not everyone tries to expose their former bosses or colleagues but given his Moon in a Kshatriya nakshatra (or warrior nak) I see how he's brave enough to risk everything to speak his truth.

Brendan Fraser has had a lot of setbacks in his career and for a good period he just sort of disappeared from Hollywood; in recent years he has come out saying that it's because he was blacklisted by the then President of the Hollywood Foreign Press Association who had sexually assaulted him. He did make a career comeback and won an Oscar but man's been through a lot in life.

He has Jyeshta Sun, Krittika Moon & Bharani Rising

Although he has a Mleccha nak in his big 3, since he also has a Brahmin & Vaishya nak, he has enjoyed immense public support and sympathy which not very many other people on this list have. Not everybody gets to make Oscar winning comebacks either.

Tatjana Patitz was one of the 90s supers (she's the one in the back in this picture) but unlike Naomi Campbell, Linda Evangelista, Christy Turlington or Cindy Crawford, she's hardly ever mentioned in conversations about the 90s OG supermodels. She received very little press coverage and unlike the others who've made career comebacks or enjoyed sustained fame, Tatjana kind of vanished. She unfortunately passed away in 2023 from breast cancer and even then I haven't seen the industry mourning for her or anything :(

Tatjana had Bharani Moon

George Clooney has spoken about how in high school, he was nicknamed Frankenstein because of Bell's palsy which caused the whole left side of his face to be paralysed, his eye rarely opened and he had problems with eating. Because of the constant bullying, he had to move to another school. After a change of scenery and active sports, the disease receded. 

George has Bharani Sun, Uttarashada Moon, Shatabhisha Ketu & Rising and Mercury in Krittika atmakaraka

Even though majority of his naks are Mleccha/Shudra, he subsequently became an A list actor and enjoys immense wealth, popularity and good will. His moon is in a Kshatriya nak and his atmakaraka is in a Brahmin caste nak. He fought his way up.

Amal Clooney was born in Lebanon into a well-off family but they had to flee Lebanon due to the civil war and settle in England. Amal is a human rights lawyer whose clients include refugees. (I had previously spoken about the outcaste nakshatra tendency to be anti-establishment or to dedicate their life to causes which had initially affected them personally).

Amal has Shravana Sun, Jyeshta Moon and Venus in Dhanishta atmakaraka. Due to the presence of Vaishya naks, she gets to support these causes from a position of immense privilege and champions them through her position as a lawyer, i.e, using her intellect not armed struggle or some other form of activism.

Megan Fox's career was full of ups and downs and for a period she was pretty much blacklisted from Hollywood and labelled "difficult to work with"🙄

She has Krittika Sun, Ashlesha Moon and Purvashada Rising

Even though her moon is in a Mleccha nak, due to her other luminaries being in Brahmin naks she's enjoyed immense popularity among the public for years and has always enjoyed a certain status or level of fame (largely due to her looks but honestly Hollywood is full of gorgeous women, how many enjoy the same popularity or public interest as Meghan?).

Billie Eilish, Shravana Moon grew up lower middle class and was home-schooled. Even though now she's rich & famous, she still acts like an outcast and "does not fit in".

Angelina Jolie, Revati Moon & stellium has spoken a lot about being unpopular in school, being a punk, being misunderstood. She has Mercury in Mrigashira atmakaraka and Saturn in Punarvasu as her chart ruler

Revati is a Shudra nak, Punarvasu also experiences themes of being an outcast, Mrigashira nak has themes of abuse.

It makes sense as to why she has dedicated most of her life to helping refugees and championing numerous causes and has even said if she were young now she would never have become an actor. She enjoys immense popularity and is very privileged (lots of Vaishya gana naks in her chart) but to this day she's condemned for her weird behaviour in the 90s and early 2000s and can never seem to shed her past image completely which is crazy because she's not the first or last person to have an affair with a married man (not condoning adultery just saying that it happens all the time in Hollywood and people hardly bat an eye but for her, her reputation as a homewrecker has come to define her).

Claire Nakti had done a survey on nepo babies and concluded that Revati was the most common nakshatra among them. This is very interesting to me because I feel like most Revati nepo babies including Angelina, Jamie Lee Curtis, Robert Downey Jr etc acquire fame that far exceeds that of their parents. It eclipses any privilege they already had; all these individuals are far more successful than their parents ever were. Obviously being privileged helps and this does not apply to all Revati nepo babies ofc but many people mentioned on the list are total superstars who you'd never guess came from famous families, this is to say that they're not famous for being famous or because of their families, they're icons in their own right.

And even with Angelina, she grew up with a single mom and was estranged from her dad for most of her life so her upbringing was rather modest even with the showbiz ancestry she had.

Olga Tokarczuk has Shravana Sun, Vishaka Moon & Purvaphalguni Rising

Olga is a Polish writer who is known for the weird, quirky, mystical, and philosophical nature of her novels (She received the Nobel Prize in Literature in 2018). It can be said that many of her characters live on the fringes of society but have a very strong sense of justice and fairness despite their position that renders them powerless. She has 2 Mleccha naks in her big 3 and a Brahmin one, I thought this particular quote was very interesting because its Mleccha naks who acutely understand the nature of human suffering but the Venus ruled Brahmin nak insists on how being deluded, that our psyches prevent us from seeing the true nature of human suffering. If you saw everything exactly as it was, you'll die. In order to live, you must be willing to be deluded.

Lindsey Lohan, Ardra Sun, Bharani Moon & Mrigashira Rising plays a social outcast in Mean Girls who tries to infiltrate a popular girls group (despite having a Shudra & Mleccha nak, her Vaishya asc helps her ascend the social hierarchy to some extent). The movie ends with her having managed to destroy the clique of the Plastics and create a new social order at her highschool.

Miley Cyrus is a Vishaka Moon & Demi Lovato is a Bharani Moon and its pretty well documented how they both didn't feel like they "belonged" or "fit in". They rebelled in different ways and have opened slammed Disney on multiple occasions.

Presley Gerber who has the word "misunderstood" tattooed on his face has Ardra Sun, Dhanishta Moon, Jyeshta Rising and Ketu in Shravana

Ardra is a Shudra nak, Shravana is a Mleccha nak whilst Dhanishta & Jyeshta are Vaishya naks

As a result of feeling left out, misunderstood, isolated, excluded etc Mleccha nak natives often tend to keep to themselves and are very very private. They are loners at heart.

This is by no means a comprehensive list but off the top of my head here's a bunch of celebrities who are very low-key and very private. There are no rumours, no pap photos, nothing, just silence (for the most part).

L to R

Denise Richards- Vishaka Moon

Christian Bale- Shravana Sun, Mars in Bharani amatyakaraka

David Duchovny- Ashlesha Sun

Shakira- Shravana Sun

Elijah Wood- Shravana Sun

Harry Styles- Shravana Sun

Saoirse Ronan- Bharani Moon

Penelope Cruz- Bharani Sun

Beyonce- Vishaka Moon

Uma Thurman- Bharani Sun

L to R

Charlize Theron- Ashlesha Moon

Amanda Seyfried- Ashlesha Moon

Joseph Gordon-Levitt- Ashlesha Moon

Paul McCartney- Ashlesha Moon

Ryan Gosling- Vishaka Sun

Adam Driver- Vishaka Sun

Leonardo DiCaprio- Vishaka Sun

All of these celebrities maintain a pretty low profile and only interact with the press when they're promoting something.

only 30 images are allowed per post acc to tumblr so there will be a part 2!!

I hope this post spreads some light into the nature of Outcaste naks, I have a lot more research that I'll share in my next post<33

[blacknedsoul-blog]

Random Tought of the day (VII)

So, as I continue to review my notes on rogues and knights (I love you, Lenore), I scratched the potato as to why the Deans would want to keep this pair of lovebirds apart, and came up with a rather specific delusion:

The suspicion that it's possible to escape Nevermore.

But it's the kind of shit that, even if you're someone who's really capable, it would be impossible for you to figure out, let alone pull off on your own. That's why the Deans encourage this aggressively competitive atmosphere: they tell you there's only one life, they pit students against each other in training tests, and there's a scoreboard to give a sense of hierarchy.

In this light, the fact that there are two students who are willing to cooperate because they are a couple is a problem in itself.

But Annabel and Lenore are an even bigger problem, because these two idiots are extraordinarily competent people on their own, who complement each other for a change.

And the icing on the cake: they are natural leaders.

Their methods are different, but Annabel has the ability to create strong teams that find reasons to cooperate, even if it's out of interest or fear, and she's an excellent long-term thinker. The Misfists, for their part, have a grit, a ferocity, and a loyalty to each other that is enormous; Lenore may not be a long-term player, but she is extremely cunning, opportunistic as they come, and these people would die for her if they saw the need.

Imagine for a moment if you could get Eulalie and Prospero around a table to brainstorm about how the Spectre works. If you could get Duke and Will to spy together. If Montresor and Ada would use their Spectre abilities, not to hurt you, but to help you artificially revise your memories, because after all, Eulalie and Morella are there to help you after such a traumatic experience.

Annabel and Lenore could do that. Annabel's teammates will follow her because she promises results, and the Misfists blindly trust that Lenore knows what she's doing. You'd have all those minds- each highly competent in its own right- actively searching for a way out of this place under the leadership of two people with complementary visions of how to deal with obstacles.

It would be impossible for them not to find something eventually.

And I think that's what the Deans want to avoid. Right now it's working for them, Lenore finds no reason to trust Annabel (with good reason) and Annabel is too conditioned to believe that others will betray her that she would hardly think of it.

But I wonder how this will play out and how the Deans will act when these people get out of hand.

[readbyred]

TV confessions

you catch their eye and they mention you during one of their confessions;; inspired by @/td-scenarios

Characters: Bowie, Priya, Millie, Emma, Ripper, Damien

Warnings: fresh characters so I’m learning to write them; a tiny spoiler for e02 in Damien’s part; Ripper; not proofread; the reader in Ripper’s part seems to be written as fem but I honestly think it’s 10x better if you read it as anything but lol

-> Bowie

He runs his hand through his face.

“I’m just here to say that owls are definitely not mammals” he looked as if he could hardly believe he had to say the sentence out loud. His teammates never failed to disappoint, apparently.

Though he was about to leave, he sat back down. Only a second of static in between, as the camera was ready to shut off after the initial statement.

“Ou, and have you seen what me and y/n had going on?” He pointed towards the door outside “I mean, they are fine! I’m definitely not making the same mistake as with Caleb, for sure”

He seemed to have remembered something.

“Of course that doesn’t change anything. I’m totally chill about them. A game is a game and I won’t let somebody like y/n distract me, that can get messy real quick. I’ll be unmoved by them. Or their beautiful face or perfect hair or those eyes… ugh, I need to get it together”

As he slumps in his ‘seat’ and lets out a sigh, the camera finally cuts.

-> Priya

She sat down comfortably, as if it was her own place. In a sense, she was pretty familiar with it. In contrast to her body, her face had a stressed, uncertain expression on it.

“I can’t focus because of y/n… As a contestant of course. Mom, dad - I remember the training, I won’t let them distract me. They worry me as a contestant. I don’t want to get them voted off. But if they did end up eliminated I would enjoy it… not”

She adds the last part quietly. As she rubs her forearm, her expression remains bothered.

“I mean, it makes sense I’m on high alert, right?” Her attempt at reassuring her parents didn’t seem too convincing “they are smart, a quick thinker, effective, pretty, motivated, strong, pretty..”

Her voice trailed off. With an equally terrified and embarrassed expression she snapped out of her daze.

“They need to leave the game quick!”

The footage cut to static.

-> Millie

Still scribbling, she didn’t even address the camera as it switched on.

“I wouldn’t have pegged y/n to be the type” she began still looking at her notes “but they really seem not like the other girls/guys/teens”

Finally, she faced the camera fully, talking in her optimistic, confident manner.

“I could hardly take any notes about them” she proudly proclaimed. To be fair, that did set y/n apart from other contestants in Millie’s eyes. Pointing down at her notes she added “ I have some other information - basic things like their favourite colour and music genre. For research”

As guilty as she looked, she still spoke woth her calm demeanour. Perhaps she felt the need to explain her highly-non-scientific demeanour, because she kept talking.

“Besides, you have to admit they are… quite good looking” she looked away from the camera for only a second. Then, matter-of-factly added “On top of being the most sane. Who knows, if they feel the same, we could get to know each other. As soon as this madness is over”

This was the end of the confession and as soon as she spoke the last words, the screen switched to showing the next scene.

->Emma

Sitting down in front of the camera she had an excited grin on her face, as if she couldn’t wait to tell the audience what was on her mind this time.

“You have to admit - y/n is hot. I mean, I thought Caleb was fine, but then I saw them! They are literally so perfect” she blushed, still looking into the camera with the same smile.

“I’m here to win, not to get with someone, but some looking and flirting can’t be that bad. Come on, you have to admit, they are fine”

Tapping her chin she thought about something for a bit.

“Come to think of it, they are super sweet to me too. Maybe they feel the same? I really hope I’m right! I mean, what kind of a dream come true would that be? They are so dreamy…”

As she cups her face and looks off to the distance, the screen is filled with static and the scene ends.

-> Ripper

Any viewer who saw his smug face apprear in the booth must have anticipated to hear a gross or a straight up inaccurate statement from the teen. Not this time.

Instead, still filled with his self assurance, he began speaking.

“We all know who the other hot person here is. Y/n, obviously” the more he thought about his words the more embarrassed he became.

“Not that I care. I’m a guy, I don’t get feelings. And I don’t care about y/n. That’s a beta move and I am not a beta. All I care about is the grind. That’s why, when I win this, y/n will be so into me and will find me attractive and cool… but I won’t care because men don’t care about anything. Especially women. Wait. That’s not what i-“

In a shot at himself only Owen could rival, he got visibly embarrassed. Grumbling he crossed his arms in an defensive manner.

“Just because they’re smoking hot and laugh at my jokes they think they are so great. But I only care about winning. And beating my record. Speaking of which-“

He (or a poor intern, knowing his lack of shame) turned off the camera before, in his naturalistic fashion, he used the booth for its true purpose on TV.

->Damien

With his face a bit too close to the camera he attempts to record himself. After making sure that it’s working, he sits back with an unsure smile.

“Okay, that thing is not cooperating with me today. Or at all” he spoke. So far he managed to look out of place in every Total Drama location, bathroom included.

“But it’s not so bad here. I got to talk with y/n after the last challenge. We all looked pretty beat but they managed alright too. I hope they are okay though. I know I’m not” only half ironically he pointed to his bruised face.

“I don’t know what I’m doing here” he addresses the elephant in the room “but if I play things right, maybe I will get somewhere with y/n. That and survive. Plus get the money. Mainly the money”

He leaned on his elbows towards the camera.

“I just like how cool and chill they are, alright to talk to. I don’t hate those other guys, but y/n is a nice change. And they look good”

He shifted, ready to leave, but before getting up he looked into the camera once again.

“Hope I can make the right moves” he gave the audience a half smile. And with that, the video ended.

[pinazee]

Season 2 final thoughts:

My apologies to my Psych mutuals, my hyperfixation took me on a trip to Hatchetfield and very soon it’ll be in cinderellas castle. It can’t be helped. I plan on finishing my rewatch, especially because I’m about to get into one of my favorite seasons, but it’ll probably be sporadic at best.

Here are my final thoughts on season 2!

This is the official season of lassie stumbling upon shawn and gus by happenstance. He does it in american duos, dis-lodged, black and tan, and im counting lassie standing in front of his pic at the museum. He can push them away as much as he wants but shawns like a boomerang.

I find it incredibly disrespectful that shawn and gus took credit for finding that dinosaur when that one guy literally died for it . Also im pretty sure it would be impossible for a t-rex to be discovered in california because it was all underwater at that time. But thats neither here nor there.

Shawn being a forgery/handwriting expert brings up a funny/depressing image of little shawn having to write lines but in different peoples handwritings

Shawn is an incredibly fast thinker! He saw this scene

And not only deduced what actually happened, but also came up with a cover story for him at the same time.

Word of the day Abulic: abnormal lack of ability to act or to make decisions. Psych writers just casually dropped that little pearl in the middle of a scene in the finale

Overall it was a great season! Juliet got some more scenes, plus her character is beginning to get fleshed out, Gus was even funnier than i remembered, the heartfelt moments were very well acted especially by james who nailed the whole avoidant turmoil of it all. Henry, though, as ive stated in previous posts, is a lot harder to watch as a full fledged adult. He’s just such a prick to shawn any chance he can get. I’m so curious if I’ll be able to forgive him myself down the road. I mean, no wonder Shawn split when he turned 18 and hardly spoke to him again. Man, i wish we could’ve seen Shawn right after he left cause that is one juicy peach. He’d just be all angsty, jumping from one job to the next, getting fired or losing interest (or my personal headcanon is that his gifts of seeing everything kept getting him in some sort of trouble kind of like Poker Face (with natasha lyonne)).

Shawns add’l talents/ random knowledge:

-sketching

-forgery/ handwriting

-can operate a forklift (i think thats what it was lol)

-chess

-tango

-Spanish (honorable mention- he knows enough to speak it passably so i added it) and possibly Portuguese though i bet he just learned the one random phrase to try to trap jann

-acting

-airport codes

Gus niche interests:

-reality tv/ spanish soap operas

-archaeology

-legal tender

-santa barbara models/fashion

Rankings

The Blueberry Tier

American duos

Shawn (and gus) of the dead

Sixty five million years off

Black and tan: a crime of fashion

Nectarina Dulce Tier

Bounty hunters!

Lights, Camera, Homicidio!

Green Apple Jacks t-shirt tier

If you’re so smart then why are you dead

Rob a bye baby

Gus’ dad may have killed an old guy

Theres something about Mira

Did-lodged

And down the stretch comes murder

Psy vs. psy

Genocide of color Tier (somewhere a rainbow is weeping)

The old and the restless

Zero to murder in sixty seconds

Meat is murder…but murder is also murder

[upontherisers]

a/n: taking a mota break to come back to what brought me here in the first place. google docs told me i started writing this in april 2022. holy shit. en ee way here are my babies babying.

They spent their summers together.

South Bend summers were warm, sunny, full of things to do. The kids terrorized the town while their parents worked and left the eldest children to babysit. They swam, raced, rode bikes, climbed trees, unsuccessfully snuck into the pictures on Jacob Street, and generally did whatever they could to get away from the probing gazes of their older siblings. It was freedom. 

They were attached at the hip from the moment they met. Being the youngest in her family and the third youngest in his, they were assigned the roles of ‘the watched’ rather than ‘the watchers,’ meaning that in those early years, they’d spend their days at her grandmother’s house, chasing the cats and digging holes in the backyard for no reason in particular. As soon as they got old enough to know left from right, they were out of there, slipping away until they were called in for dinner.

By the time they were ten or eleven, they had to start helping out. His two younger brothers had a few more years of running around in them, but Anita and Alex were making money where they could. They’d sweep outside of stores, collect bottles, and make deliveries, taking whatever work and whatever shifts they could find, as long as they were together. They never accepted a job that required one without the other, because they didn’t see the point in that. Whatever they did, they’d do together.

Despite having eighteen siblings between the two of them, they found themselves alone together more often than not. They preferred it that way. Sure, they’d join a streetball game or go out with their families for a picnic if they were asked, but if it was up to them, it'd only be them until they were sick of each other, and they hardly ever were. 

“Anita and Alex” and “Alex and Anita”, always two and never one. Their names a single word.

They weren’t much alike in personality. Anita was outgoing with a loud laugh, friendly, a talker. The youngest of seven girls, constantly spoken over in her house, but she had a lot to say. She had ideas and opinions on how she thought the world should work, how everything would be better if ‘everybody just got along’, and he was her quiet sounding board. He didn’t have much to say, much more a doer than a thinker, but that worked between them.

“I talk so much because he doesn’t say nothin’,” she’d joke. “I gotta say everything for him.”

In their private time, they didn’t speak much. They didn’t have to. After years of getting up to mischief at Granny Matthews' house, they learned to communicate without sound at all. The occasional hand gesture, a raised eyebrow, maybe a scoff, and that’s all they needed. 

The last time they saw each other, they were thirteen. They hadn’t known it’d be their last summer together, and they spent it side-by-side like any other. Alex was hitting a growth spurt and Anita’s body was changing, and teenage hormones certainly played a part in more than a few awkward laughs and silences that summer. But it was good, it was still good. It would always be good if they were together.

They seemed to understand that the summers were all they had together, so they had to make them count. They’d talk about whatever they could think of, share every meal and every bike ride. They’d take everything the other person missed out on in the nine months they were apart and try to fill them in as best they could.

It didn’t have to be as fun as it was, or as easy.

Black Tuesday had changed both their lives for the worse. Alex’s mom died the next year, leaving his eldest sister to start playing mother to twelve siblings. Anita’s three oldest sisters had to drop out of school and start working. The trip from Harvey to South Bend was the most expensive thing her family did all year, saving all of their money to hop on a bus to her grandmother’s house and take advantage of the now-studentless college town.

They could’ve been migrant workers or manual laborers or stuck on some assembly line in Gary, but they and their parents and siblings worked for this. They worked to give themselves something to enjoy.

Their favorite place to be was by the water. The St. Joseph River ran through South Bend, and it was always good for a swim or just for wading. Anita would make sandwiches and Alex would talk Mr. Kowalsky at the grocery store out of some apples, and they’d bike up to Pinhook to eat on the riverbanks where the grass matched the color of Alex’s eyes. 

It was easier out there, with only the occasional person walking by every half hour or so. They were uninterrupted, in a world of their own, paradise, really. 

He was listening to her talk about her end of summer plans, something about joining a NYA program after school, and he was content to watch, laying back on the soft earth with his hands behind his head.

She shined in the sun, yellow rays outlining her hair with a halo like all of those saints he saw at church on Sundays. The light turned her dark skin gold, like good wheat, and she was pretty, wasn’t she? With her black eyelashes that curled and her wide nose and lips the color of ripe plums.

Her eyes met his and she said something, but he was happy to just look at her.

She nudged him with her leg, knocking him out of his daze.

“I said,” she drawled on the vowel, “I think I’m gonna go dancin’ when I get back home. The dance hall’s right down the street and Betty goes with all her friends on Fridays. Whaduya think?”

He’d like to take her dancing, he thought, at the carnival next month. He’d put a flower in her hair and whirl her around in the new cotton dress she kept talking about but wouldn’t let him see. She’d be the most beautiful girl in the room. Anita cleared her throat and he saw her staring at him with eyebrows raised, expecting a response.

“Sounds great,” he stammered out, unsure of why his heart was in his throat. 

She giggled and nudged him again, curling into his side as she laid down next to him. “You’re not even listening to me.”

“I am,” he protested, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “I am.”

That summer came and went and no others started again. Her mom switched jobs, Ruth and Alice both graduated and found work, and they didn’t need to leave Harvey for seasonal jobs any more. Anita missed Alex fiercely, she missed him everyday, but she had to focus on other things. She went to school, worked jobs in the summers, graduated, and joined up as soon as she could.

The paratroopers were looking for women, and they got paid an extra $50 every month to boot.

When she got off the bus at Toccoa, the hot Georgia sun indicating they were surely in hell, the last thing she’d expected was a voice shouting for her.

“Anita? Anita!”

A man was calling her name, and her first name at that, not ‘Private’ or ‘Matthews.’ Anita.

The scene was disorienting, with people barking orders and bags being hurled across her field of vision, but she looked around, trying to find the source of the voice. Everything was washed-out tan and Army green: the barracks, the uniforms, the men after weeks in the sun, and she turned in a circle, still hearing her name but unsure of where it was coming from. She caught a flash of color between girls passing in front of her, and she followed it, meeting river eddy green-gray eyes that sent her back five years and a few hundred miles.

He looked different, taller and broader than the last time she’d seen him, but he was unmistakable. She’d know those eyes anywhere, and those dark brown curls were fighting to be seen even in his short Army haircut. Alex Penkala was right there, staring at her from twenty yards away.

She dropped her bag and launched into a dead sprint before she could stop herself, paying no mind to Lt. O’Shaughnessy barking her name from the steadily forming column of women by the bus. 

In her haste, she knocked into someone, but she kept going, she kept pushing until she was in those arms, shrieking with laughter as Alex picked her up and spun her around. Suddenly, she was thirteen again, and they were dancing at the end-of-summer carnival the South Bend Town Hall put on every year. Except this time, she wasn’t leaving the next day. 

“What are you doing here?” she asked as he set her down, trying to ignore Lt. O’s bellowing getting louder and louder behind her.

“What am I doing here? What are you doing here?” he asked, and she was looking up at him for the first time in their entire lives.

She shrugged and gestured around. “I joined the Army.” 

“I can see that… wait, are you with the girls joining Easy?”

“Easy Company? Yeah!” she exclaimed, reaching to pull her papers out of her bag and cringing when she remembered she dropped it. “I’d show you my papers, but I don’t—”

“Private Matthews!!!” 

“Private Penkala.”

Their lieutenants found them at the same time and they both snapped to attention, meeting each other’s eyes and slipping back into the unspoken language they’d had for so many years. They were both in a heap of trouble, and neither of them could find it in their hearts to care.

[chloessleepystories]

Sisters part 7

Kenzie lounged on the studio couch, one leg thrown over the back of the couch, her fingers strumming at her clit as she sang along to the song in her headphones.

Super Silly

Fragile Minded

Sexpot

Giggly Fuckslut

Even though you’d BE ashamed

To be a mindless cumslut

Singing this song long enough

Will turn you to a dumb slut

Super Silly

Fragile Minded

Sexpot

Giggly Fuckslut

Cum silly silly silly

Cum till you’re high

Cum silly silly silly

Cum till you’re high

She wondered for a moment what it would feel like to be high. But then thought, I doubt I could get any higher than this!

The woman in the song was speaking:

“You know, you can say it backwards, which is

Mindfucked Giggly Cockslut Pothead

Fragile Silly Rupus,

but that’s going a bit too far, don’t you think?”

To which a man with a funny accent said: “Indubitably.”

Then they were singing again! Kenzie bounced her head, getting ready for her favorite part.

So when the cat has got your tongue

There’s no need for dismay

Just giggle, smile, and bare your boobs

They won’t care what you say.

But better sing this carefully or it could change your brain ...

Kenzie said it right along with the silly girl in her headphones, who sounded so much like Kenzie (at least how Kenzie sounded these days, with a head full of bubbles!).

“For example!!” giggle

“Yes?”

“One night I sang it for my sister ...

And now I’m her ditzy drooling stupidhead horny sex slave!!!”

giggle

There was a pause, where you could almost picture the others looking at her with amused condescension, looking at each other, shrugging ... Then:

Yooooou’re ...

Her Super Silly Fragile Minded Sexpot Giggly Fuckslut

Super Silly Fragile Minded Sexpot Giggly Fuckslut

*whispered* Super Silly Fragile Minded Sexpot Giggly Fuckslut

Super

Silly

Fragile

Minded

Sexpot

Giggly

Fuuuucksluuuut!!!

Chloe’s shadow fell over Kenzie, and Kenzie pulled her earbuds out with a pop. It was important to listen to her music, but it was even more important to listen to her sister.

“I’m done with the next playlist, slut,” she said affectionately. “Let’s head back to the house. We’ve got some fine tuning to do, and I’m hoping this is going to do it.”

Whatever Chloe wants ... Chloe gets ...

Lydia had barely registered that it was her sister at the door before Helen was giving her a full-body hug.

“Hiii!! I couldn’t stop thinking about you, and missing you, so I thought I’d come over and say hiii!!”

Her voice, Lydia couldn’t help thinking, sounded very different from usual, and not just because she was talking very fast into her ear while hugging her hard. She sounded breathy, and high-pitched.

“Helen? You OK?”

“I’m great!! I’m in such a strangely crazy good mood today ... and I wanted to share it!” And she giggled – there was no other word for it.

“OK, can you ... can you let go?”

Helen had been clutching her so tightly, and was so ... she’d been almost rubbing herself against her sister. “You sure you’re all right?”

Helen ran her hands up and down Lydia’s back. “You just feel so good, I can’t stop touching you,” she said, and giggled again.

Lydia took two steps back so she could finally shut the door, then held her sister’s shoulders and pushed her back to arm’s length.

“You’re drunk, aren’t you.”

Helen’s eyes were wide. And ... misty? Clouded? A little vacant?

“What happened. Did Dave call again? Is he still dragging his feet about the divorce? Wait, what are you wearing??”

“Wait! Stop!! Too many questions!! My thinker doesn’t work that fast.”

Helen – mature, responsible, divorcing mother of two adult women, Helen – hop-skipped into the living room, and flopped down on the couch, her legs splayed like a teenager.

“OK, so I was housecleaning? and I found some of my old clothes? and I wanted to see what fits!! And lookit this!!”

Lydia was looking. She could hardly help it. The capris that were a little tight were not bad, but the thin clingy top showed too much cleavage, and didn’t come anywhere near reaching her waist ... and from the bouncing as she landed on the couch, Helen was apparently not wearing a bra either. She’d just noticed that Helen had put her hair in pigtails, too.

“But no no I haven’t heard from him. I haven’t heard much of anything today, except for some fantastic music! It really put me in a good mood, and helped me get a LOOOT of cleaning done!!”

Really?” Lydia smirked. “Wow, I could use some of that ...”

Helen jumped up. Where did she get that energy? “Well it’s funny you say that cuz I wanted to share this music with you!!”

She produced two iPods from a back pocket – with just a bit of a struggle. They looked just the same except for the number marked on the masking tape.

“Thing One and Thing Two, huh?” said Lydia, an eyebrow raised.

“The kids have been listening to this a bunch, and it’s really good. So I found two of them in Kenzie’s room. And they’ve got different music on them but some is the same and it’s all real good and ... OK so what I did is! I got clever and dumped everything from number 2 onto number 1, and ... and then, uh ... well, you know what I mean. So they’re the same now!!”

“Are you sure you’re OK, Helen?”

It was like she was high. Like the kids had been smoking weed and their mother had gotten a contact high just from being in the house with them or something – because she was not normally the kind of person to do drugs. Or, to be this scatter brained and silly. Or to dress like a horny teenager, for that matter!

“I’m great! I haven’t been in this good a mood in like forever! I mean, I know I sound all silly and I DON’T remember giggling this much in like ever but ... I don’t care! I needed a good day, and I’m gonna enjoy it! You know?”

Lydia nodded. She had a point. Helen had been having a rough time lately.

“I understand, hon,” she said, as Helen fiddled with ear buds and cued up a song. “As long as you’re not getting yourself into something you shouldn’t ... then there’s nothing wrong with being in a good mood.”

Helen put one bud in her own ear, nodded in satisfaction, and moved to put the other earbud toward Lydia. “I just want to see you happy,” Lydia said, not really paying attention to what her sister was doing.

Helen slipped the other earbud into Lydia’s ear. The music poured into her with a suddenness that made Lydia forget what she had been saying.

So fun to be

Giggly

Giggly

Giggly

“That’s good!!” Helen trilled. “Because I want to make YOU happy ...” She whispered with a new intensity into Lydia’s free ear: “It’s really important to me to make my sister happy.”

She popped the other bud in, and Lydia just swayed for a moment, her eyes a little glassy, then she said, “Uh huh, right,” distantly.

“OK, enjoy!” said Helen, waving to her. “Do some housework! And call me in a few hours! I want to hear how you like it!!”

Lydia sagged as the door shut, and smiled softly. Her sister was so sweet, she thought. And she giggled.

You love to be

Bubbly

Bubbly

Bubbly

And listen to

Chloe

Chloe

Chloe

Chloe unlocked the door and called, “Mom?” She listened for a moment, then tried again. Nothing.

“Good, looks like we’ve got the place to ourselves for a bit. Get in here, slut, and quick.”

Kenzie scampered in, a long coat barely covering her inappropriate clothing. Her sister smacked her butt as she came through, then shut the door. “Let’s head back to your room. I want to plug you in.”

Moments later, Kenzie found that being “plugged in” meant not just listening to iPod #4, but that her tongue was plugged into Chloe’s cunt. She lay back on her pillows, soaking in her new tunes, while her sister rode her face, sliding her juicy lips slowly up and down Kenzie’s tongue.

“Good girl ... Now, what I’m hoping is that we can give you back a little bit of your brains – I may have overdone the dumb and suggestible! – so that you get a little bit of critical thinking back. I don’t want you following every suggestion. For one thing, that’s dangerous. For another ... mmmm ... I want to be the only one to have that much power over you ...”

Chloe stripped off her top and began pinching a nipple as she held onto the headboard with her other hand. “Right now there’s a lot of ‘you love to serve your sister’ and ‘you exist to please Chloe’ and those are fine, but the general ‘be dumb and giggly for everyone with a dick’ side effects need to be ... uunnghh ... adjusted ...”

She tried to think what toys she had in her own room – she was sure her goody-goody sister wouldn’t have anything to play with in here.

“First off, Kenzie ... you only want to be spit-roasted when I say you want to ...”

Sister ... Sister ...

You are such a good devoted sister ...

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Victor Frankl, speaking of his time in a concentration camp:

"We stumbled on in the darkness, over big stones and through large puddles, along the one road leading from the camp. The accompanying guards kept shouting at us and driving us with the butts of their rifles. Anyone with very sore feet supported himself on his neighbour's arm. Hardly a word was spoken; the icy wind did not encourage talk. Hiding his mouth behind his upturned collar, the man marching next to me whispered suddenly: "If our wives could see us now! I do hope they are better off in their camps and don't know what is happening to us."

"That brought thoughts of my own wife to mind. And as we stumbled on for miles, slipping on icy spots, supporting each other time and again, dragging one another up and onward, nothing was said, but we both knew: each of us was thinking of his wife.

Occasionally I looked at the sky, where the stars were fading and the pink light of the morning was beginning to spread behind a dark bank of clouds. But my mind clung to my wife's image, imagining it with an uncanny acuteness. I heard her answering me, saw her smile, her frank and encouraging look. Real or not, her look was then more luminous than the sun which was beginning to rise.

A thought transfixed me: for the first time in my life I saw the truth as it is set into song by so many poets, proclaimed as the final wisdom by so many thinkers. The truth – that love is the ultimate and the highest goal to which Man can aspire. Then I grasped the meaning of the greatest secret that human poetry and human thought and belief have to impart: The salvation of Man is through love and in love. I understood how a man who has nothing left in this world still may know bliss, be it only for a brief moment, in the contemplation of his beloved. In a position of utter desolation, when Man cannot express himself in positive action, when his only achievement may consist in enduring his sufferings in the right way – an honourable way – in such a position Man can, through loving contemplation of the image he carries of his beloved, achieve fulfilment. For the first time in my life I was able to understand the meaning of the words, "The angels are lost in perpetual contemplation of an infinite glory.""

[Thanks to Ian Sanders]

[startseeingstars]

Delicate Destruction - Euronymous (Lords of Chaos)

CH07 🎶 BLVD. Nights - Team Sleep 🎶

I watched as Krista pushed the door open. We'd been to three stores already, this was our fourth stop. She wasn't looking for anything in particular, nor was I - but I especially loved Op shops like this one. More often than not, I'd manage to find something cool, whether it was a record, shirt, jewellery.

She grabbed a purple beanie and pulled it over her blonde hair. It looked hand knit, like one my grandmother had made for me as a child.

The spontaneous memory of my grandmother made me uncomfortable. Not because of her directly - I missed her dearly since her passing when I was 10. She was my maternal grandmother, and thoughts of her brought back thoughts of my mother.

"Cute." I said, skimming through the vinyls, pushing away the unwanted memories.

"Ooh, what about this?" She still had the beanie on, and she slid on a pair of large sunglasses. Their neon green rims were thick and the lenses black. I smirked.

"Truly inspirational." I muttered, giving up looking through the records. She handed me a pair of glasses, similar to the ones she wore, but neon pink. I put them on, looking at our reflections in the tall mirror.

"I can totally pull these off." I stated confidently.

"Oh, wait! This." She handed me a hat. It was a black top hat. Without hesitation, I fit it on my head. It was much too big, but I positioned it so it sat well enough.

"Sexy." His husky voice was amused, taking us both by surprise. I turned, finding Øystein smirking at us - at me. I pursed my lips as Krista laughed.

"Hey, Euronymous." Her voice draped with a teasing tone at his chosen name. She took the glasses and beanie off. I followed, running a hand through my hair.

"What're you doing here?" I asked. Krista gave me a side glance and made herself busy close by. I knew she was still listening, and I imagine Øystein did too, since he'd stepped closer. He shrugged.

"Saw you in here. Looking for something?" He asked, raising an eyebrow, gesturing over to the records. I shook my head.

"Nothing good in there."

"I'm gonna open my own store one day, you know." He said it with such confidence, and I smiled.

"That would be sick." He nodded, taking a quick glance at Krista before taking another step toward me.

"Are you coming Saturday?" He asked.

"What's this Saturday?" I teased. He knew I knew and rolled his eyes, but smiled.

"Want me to beg you? 'Cause I don't beg." He spoke in a low voice, his voice was husky and his hair hung over his face, icy blue eyes looking down on me. I was a little surprised by his confidence, but I liked it.

"Maybe." I shrugged. I knew I'd be there, and I think he knew it too.

"You'll be there." He smirked, devilishly.

"Will I, now?" I mused, raising an eyebrow. He nodded as he backed away, turning to leave.

"Yeah, you will." He was confident and assertive, but his voice was soft. Our eyes met briefly as he smiled wider, teeth showing. I laughed, looking away.

He left and Krista looked at me, astonished, mouth gaping.

"Did Øystein Aarseth just ask you out?"

I scoffed. "Hardly..." I knew it was implied, but I wished he had actually asked.

If I was one thing, it was an over-thinker. Unless I knew 100% it was a date, I wouldn't treat it as one. Assumptions only lead to disappointment. Something my mother had taught me.

We finished up. Krista had found a skirt that she insisted on wearing this weekend. I wasn't going alone to this gig. At least Krista had enough confidence for the both of us. I hated crowds. Though, I knew I would be fine after a couple drinks.

We walked across the street to the Kebab Shop. It was my day off but this was where everyone tended to hang out. Plus I got a discount. Hammed smiled at us as we walked in, despite them looking like they were in the middle of a rush. I felt bad, but knew they would ask for help if they needed it.

As we sat, I noticed Øystein and the band at another table. Erik was with them. Pelle flashed me a big grin, jumping up and sitting at our table.

"You're coming?" He exclaimed.

"Yeah, of course. I wouldn't miss your big debut." I grinned back.

"Else!" I looked up at Hammed, who was holding the phone against his ear and shoulder. He hung it up. "Can you work the close tonight?" He pleaded. "Anders has called in sick." I sighed

"Yeah, I'll be there in a sec."

[kristowldeer]

A Dry Pie

Part 5

I’ve never thought that it will take me to a part 5 and all in a few days … so here we are, riding and having somewhat serious conversation. Maybe it’s the last part? Idk! Please tell me what you think so far :)

The shaky ride in a small carriage cabin was mostly quiet. (Y/N) was sitting in front of Jack and looked at the picturesque evening view through the small window being deeply in thoughts.

– Why so silent all of a sudden, huh? – Jack raised his eyebrows.

– I’m thinking.

– That’s kinda obvious, what are you thinking about?

– Well, – she took a deep breath, – I am kinda confused.

Jack crossed his arms and slightly tilted his head.

– Should I take every word from you by force now or you’ll just tell me?

– With this whole situation.

– I don’t see anything confusing about it. What, you wanted me to court you for a year and a half and then, maybe, we would’ve talked about a possibility of moving together? – his tone was mocking, – I thought you too were above all this nonsense that commoners do. Why waste time when you can get straight to the business?

– It is very easy, isn’t it? – (Y/N) tiredly chuckled to herself, – Relationships are always about business to you?

– Please, stop with rhetorical questions, – he rolled his eyes in annoyance, – Are you an over-thinker? Because I’m not. I like you, I like what we’re… doing together, and I don’t think of any possible problems and scenarios in which I might change my mind about it.

– But you don’t know me, mr Horner, and I really don’t know you.

– Please, I’ve seen enough to understand what’s what. Your beauty is outstanding even by my high standards, you have a very… seductive physique, your health by what I’ve seen and checked is fine to bare children-

– Children?!

If (Y/N) eyes could pop from such an intense shock than they would have probably fallen out at this moment.

– Yes, why are you screaming?

– Mr Horner, I’ve known you just for a few days and right now we’re talking about being parents in your carriage on the way to your mansion for me to live in, is this your average relationship talk?!

– I’ve never been in a relationship.

She felt silent and leaned against the wall of a cabin behind her, while Jack averted his gaze to the window.

– Are you being serious right now? – (Y/N) asks in disbelief.

– Why should I lie? Yes, I’ve had some interactions previously but nothing serious came out of it.

– Why?

– Because I didn’t want it to.

They both fell silent for a moment, listening to the clatter of horse hooves outside.

– Than why this all of a sudden?

– I’ve already explained it to you-

– No, – she cut him short, – I find it hardly believable that my physique is so outstanding, that you decided to ask me to move in with you.

– Well, I didn’t exactly ask-

– Mr Horner.

– Ugh, fine! You’re so inquisitive you know? Sometimes almost unbearably.

Jack waited for her to respond with some snarky remark, but she only blinked in anticipation for a proper answer.

– I find you… quite amusing.

– What’s that supposed to mean if I may ask?

– Interesting, funny, cunning, knowledgeable etc etc, what, happy now? – he blurted out avoiding eye contact.

– You’re not so big on compliments, are you? – (Y/N) teased him.

– These are facts.

– Than what is a “compliment” for you?

– Well I think compliments are supposed to mean something valuable for specifically the one who says them, not the generally recognisable virtues.

A coy smile was spreading across (Y/N) face and she leaned a little bit forward to say in a playfully quiet voice:

– Can you tell me one?

– What? Im not in the mood, – Jack’s grumpy expression was sabotaged by his darting eyes.

– Please, mr Horner, – she seductively laid her hand on his knee.

Slowly warm redness started to crawl to his pale puffy cheeks. Jack was nervously looking at (Y/N) as if it was the first time he was ever touched by her. And then he breathed out in frustration:

– Ugh, fine! You make me- No, with you I feel- I start to think about- I’m starting to plan future. Together. That’s it! Happy? Are you satisfied, miss “I’m the most influential critic and your pie is dry”, huh?

(Y/N) carefully stood up in a shaky carriage to seat herself at his lap.

– You know, – her hands were sliding around Jack’s neck, – I’m a very influential critic, and it is very hard to please me, – (Y/N) looked at his red face, – But you did good, Big Daddy.

He was clenching his fists so hard because of this building up pressure that his knuckles became as white as they could possibly get.

– Do not provoke me here, – Jack gritted through his teeth.

– Or what will you do, mr Horner?

– I-

The carriage suddenly stopped making them collide a little.

– Are you delivering some thrash, you idiot?! Be careful when you stop! – Jack screamed to the coachman and then cleared his throat, – That’s it, we’re here.

– Will you carry me in your arms? – (Y/N) playfully touched the tip of his nose, which made Jack flinch a little.

– No, – this small word caused genuine disappointment, – But… perhaps another time.

(Y/N) smiled and gently pecked his pink cheek.

Oh boy what I’ve gotten myself into.

[fe-fictions]

Can I request something with Louis or Mauvier spending time with their child?

(I'm sorry you mean probably the best dads in Engage??? Of cOURSe I cAn???)

Louis: He really, really likes to watch his son. There’s something about how that tiny little creature wiggles his arms, how he seems to stare very hard at random spots in space, and how he looks like a strange mixture between his mother and father.

The baby is wildly fascinating to him. And he loved that child more than anything. Of course, it is not something that he shares that often, at least, not out loud.

But whenever you return to your bedroom in the Somniel, Louis is already there. And there is a mumbling baby being rocked in his arms, and a quiet song is hummed, gentle in the silence.

In about five silent steps, you’re by his side, wrapping your arms around him and swaying with him while he rocks the baby to sleep.

“Welcome back. He missed you.”

“Don’t be silly. You’re right here; and you’re much better at putting him to sleep than I am.” You mused, kissing his cheek sweetly.

Louis leaned into you, and pushed his index finger into the blankets to find a tiny hand. “I’m sure that’s not true; I’ve got experience taking care of my brothers, so perhaps it comes a little more naturally to me.”

“Exactly; therefore, you’re better.” You joked, beaming at your baby boy who was finding it increasingly more difficult to keep his eyes closed.

“No, no, not better. Just a different set of skills. For example, you’re quite adept at feeding him. I could never dream of doing that for him.”

“You just need to be a more positive thinker.”

“I…I do not think that will help.” He stuttered, making you laugh. The two of you fawned over the baby, bantering softly back and forth until at last, the newborn drifted off to sleep.

Louis really liked to watch over his son when he fell asleep. That was when he was the sweetest. Just lying there, unbothered, undisturbed…so rosy and chubby, and not a single care in the world.

Eventually, he is able to tear himself away from the bassinet, but he continues to steal glances over there, even as you snuggle into his arms and rest your head just under his chin.

“You know he’s going to be awake again in a couple hours, right?”

“Yes…”

“So you should focus on rest, not staring at a sleeping baby.”

“But he is a fascinating little specimen, isn’t he?”

“I wouldn’t call my son a ‘specimen’, personally, but…”

“And he is a very sweet newborn. None of my brothers behaved as well as he does.”

“That’s probably because he has such a doting father.”

“Perhaps…although being the son of the Divine Dragon surely plays a role in that, as well.” He whispered thoughtfully, and you could hear the smile in his voice.

“Don’t try to flatter me. Just get some sleep. Are you gonna take first watch, or should-”

“I’ll wake up first. If he needs to eat, I’ll rouse you.” He practically jumped on the opportunity, and you bit back another laugh. You did need to sleep, after all.

“Thank you, dear.”

“Of course…anything for you, and for him.”

“For you and for him.” You repeated with a yawn, sighing contentedly as his arms wrapped around you, giving you a soft squeeze.

It was true that your son would indeed wake up in tears hardly two hours from now, but you had never been happier than you were in that moment.

Louis was an excellent father (at least, until he woke you up to feed the baby. Then you liked him a little less).

-------------------------

Mauvier: Every single second that he spends with his daughter is considered a precious gift.

He can barely tear his eyes off of her, and when he lets someone other than you hold her, he’s roughly six inches away and his hands are practically hovering nearby, ready to catch her (or snatch  her back, which is what always happens).

And when there aren’t any prying eyes who want to fawn over the little girl, she is in her father’s arms, being cooed over and told again and again how beautiful and perfect and adorable she is.

It is a sight to see; the stoic Mauvier, reduced to fluffy warm feelings as he becomes ap uddle of love for his three month old.

“What are you going to do once she starts wandering around, Mauvier?” You ask him one morning, getting dressed while he cuddles the girl snoozing lazily on his chest. “You won’t be able to keep track of her all the time.”

“There are some very fashionable child leashes I saw in the city, recently. I will simply fashion one for her, so that she does not go where I cannot see her.”

“That’s not a bad idea, but…what about when she doesn’t need that anymore?” You asked, amused at his suggestion. “When she gets big enough to want to explore on her own, how will you handle it?”

“I do not know,” He grimaced, gazing at his daughter, “But it isn’t something we need to think about now. We should focus on enjoying her while she is still a baby.”

“That’s a good point…Vander said that children have a tendency to grow up in the blink of an eye. I doubt our daughter will be any different.”

“I am afraid he’s right.” Mauvier agreed with a great solemnity, “So then I must hold onto her and enjoy every single second I have to spare before she gets too big.”

“Speaking of, I’m afraid you’ll have to let her go, for a moment.”

“What? W-why?”

“You need to get dressed.” You reminded him, carefully lifting your baby girl up. “You’ve got an exercise class to lead. Otherwise Alfred will, and everyone will be miserable.”

“He does push hard, doesn’t he?” Mauvier attempted to continue the conversation, but was clearly lost without the little girl in his arms. You shook your head, entertained by how strong his bond was with her.

It was clear he wasn’t going to let anything happen to that girl, ever…especially when he immediately asked (gently) for her back before he had to go to the class.

Then talked you into letting him bring her…and hold her the entire time while you supervised.

At the very least, he made sure to shower you with plenty of shy kisses, as thanks for indulging his ridiculous adoration for your daughter (whom he would surely spoil).

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

Ooo! I'd love to hear your thoughts on Lucy and Yosano! @ticklinglady

Ah hello there @ticklinglady! This is from quite awhile ago; I'm so sorry!

Lucy:

They are soooooo cool looking: I think she rocks the design honestly. I can't imagine her looking any other way. She's so pretty.

Didn't get enough screen time: Can never get enough screen time tbh. I feel like I'm in the minority here where I... actually don't necessarily want her to join the Agency? For one, I feel it's kind of a formality at this point - she's firmly in their corner and she's helped them so much already, and for another - I think she's very happy to be helping out in the café... something quiet and peaceful, and the owner who clearly cares about her, you know? But then that means she doesn't get as much screen time because she's not a member of the core group... sigh. It sucks. Actually I'd totally take a cute chapter extra where the café owner shows her the ropes... think of it - an adult who likes her and cares about her showing her how to make something that makes someone's day just a little nicer... an exchange of kindness... agh it's what she deserves!!! ...but yeah, I want her back in the main plot too forever and ever lmao.

They've never done anything wrong in their life: Tbh the part of Lucy's story that is so so important to me is how bitter and cruel she was at the beginning - she was having fun throwing those people into that room, letting them get chased around, see how they like being the helpless ones, the ones who have to struggle (not like they'd understand) - all in the name of avenging the young child so cruelly treated and discarded by what she thought at that time was the entire world... but also yeah, she's done nothing wrong ever I love her. 🥰

Yosano:

They are sooooo cool looking: Um. Have you seen her? ...yeah.

If they were real I would be afraid of them: A healthy kind of fear. I think that's wise honestly.

If they were real I would marry them: ...*cough* Next question.

I'm mentally ill about them: I don't know how you could go through her backstory and not be. Yosano's backstory takes BSD from disturbing at times to downright horrific. The war shattered this young girl. She had to build herself back from the bottom of the pit up. She never forgave herself. She felt honest relief when faced with someone who also did not forgive her. She honed herself into a threat and a harbinger. She did it to protect herself. She cannot see herself any other way.

They're deeper than they seem: YEAH. I mentioned this in another post but I don't see many people commenting on how she deflects questions about herself in the same way as Dazai, but instead of making herself appear harmless, she goes in the other direction - making herself appear so dangerous that even her coworkers are afraid. Yet she's frequently concerned about others, and does like to help where she can (even if she's often blunt about it). Yosano is full of juxtaposition. She values life more than anything. The callous disregard for life causes her to go into a murderous rage and decide such a person "should die by her hand". Her sadistic tendencies are ostensibly to scare her coworkers off from relying on her ability, but it's rather an ineffectual tactic when so many of them will throw themselves into danger regardless. She does it anyways, and apparently takes some genuine pleasure in the sadism. She tries to get Kunikida to loosen up at social events. She rarely interacts with the other members of the Agency except at meetings or parties. She carefully tries to get Ranpo to admit his ability (or lack thereof). She never talks about herself and hardly anyone appears to know the first thing about her (excepting Fukuzawa and Ranpo). She's analytical and a quick thinker with extensive medical knowledge. She almost never reveals the true extent of her thoughts and shrugs it off with casual indifference. She walls herself off - she's a very private person. There's. There's so much to her. She's flawed, she's kickass, her ability is op as all hell, and she's a great character imo. I hope to see her taking on a bigger role in the narrative again.

[keef-a-corn]

Dat’s right, people, it’s time for ‘Keef watches TFP and you just get the notes!’

This is for season 1, episode 15: Shadowzone

I write down the timestamps, but I watch Transformers Prime on Stan (an Australian streaming service) so they may be slightly off.

ALSO! I try my best to note points for every character, but tend to get a little caught up by Bee (although I think I do a pretty good job with the notes regardless) so do be warned.

~~~~Transition~~~~

00:12 - parallel between Megatron in the last episodes and Starscream now.

00:46 - Megatron noticed the parallel too.

01:10 - one of those moments where being a smexy bicth comes second to his job as a doctor.

01:19 - honestly, Knockout not pushing it shows just how well he knows Starscream.

01:33 - I thought the dark energon was necessary because Megatron needed energon, but his body was no longer comparable to accept anything other than dark.

~intro~

03:04 - I hardly even noticed Bee was there.

03:10 - the thinker.

03:16 - But Megatron was dead during the Skyquake episode. He wouldn’t know that Skyquake would require dark energon. Understandable why they’d assume it’s Megatron, but why would they assume Megatron’s there for Skyquake?

04:03 - this girl is on fiiiireeeeee + giving off ‘friends on the other side’ rn

04:18 - shut up, the way way Bee looks at Optimus and the cheetah meme have the same energy.

04:22 - so they truly are skipping over that angst? It appears I have a future project.

04:23 - Ratchet is the only one who doesn’t put on a game face when he’s addressed. We know why, but it’s nice to note.

04:30 - there’s something so perfect about the way Optimus jumps straight to explaining his decision and turns around to face Ratchet while doing so rather than pulling a classic ‘yes, because we need you’

04:35 - Once again, refreshing to see a character assigned to a position they’re not traditionally assigned to, but still showing passion and respect.

04:39 - How did Bulkhead not realise Miko was up to something?

04:42 - She’s drawing Optimus fighting Megatron.

04:46 - Glad to know someone’s paying attention.

04:52 - I love the way the bots walk, especially Optimus and Bee. There’s something so proper and powerful about it.

05:06 - LMAO

05:14 - Let’s pretend that Arcee couldn’t hear them.. why wouldn’t they yell out to her so she could stop Miko or close the ground bridge before Miko got there?

05:22 - Miko, Miko, Miko… frustrating af.

05:44 - they all have similar walk cycles, but none sync up.

05:53 - Bee dropping back as they walk along could be multiple things, him getting protected, acting as rear support, could also be because he’s the smallest but is walking at a similar pace to the others, meaning he’s covering less ground. Obviously I could be overthinking it too, but if we go that route these notes are completely useless.

05:55 - If you pause it at the right time Ratchet’s head makes it look like Optimus has a huge ass. (Unfortunately I did not screenshot it at the right time)

06:06 - my dude didn’t think to even ONCE call out to the bots and go ‘just so you know, we’re here’

06:18 - that would be my worst nightmare. Don’t have FOMO, just care about my phone.

06:25 - HO MAMMA

06:34 - the fading between the red and purple is so seemless and a nice detail

06:41 - I just need this screenshot to be witnessed. Why is he standing like that?? WHY DOES HE STAND LIKE THAT FOR SO LONG?

06:52 - this line’s so confusing when you forget that his arms are apart of his wings when he’s in his vehicle mode.

07:16 - AHHH THE HEAD TILT!!! Seeing that we’re looking at them from an angle, Bee’s most likely behind Bulkhead, meaning he cannot actually see the humans, but can hear them. + everyone else’s reactions tooooo!

07:27 - While everyone else looks at the ground bridge, Bee looks at the others before the bridge.

07:30 - Ratchet looking fabulous rn.

07:33 - 1. The way his voice echos is a really nice touch. 2. Ratchet using the same tone a parent would rn has me cryin.

08:06 - Starscream went into the ground bridge around the same time the kids did. Why wasn’t he caught?

08:14 - the longer that shot went for, the more I laughed.

08:26 - As soon as Starscream pulls out the dark energon it plays Arcee screaming ‘Tailgate’. Starscream has nothing to do with what happened to Tailgate. I think they were just reusing the sound from when Airachnid killed Tailgate and forgot to edit out the voice line. Upon evaluation, I do believe they’re different sounds. I don’t know why her voice line plays.

08:51 - Bee’s so cute until he breaks the fourth wall. + height difference my beloved.

09:03 - I don’t understand how the bots weren’t affected. Let’s say Starscream got to the otherside, but they kids didn’t, fine. But the bots were still caught in the explosion?

09:26 - You know that would be absolutely traumatising.

10:09 - … what was the point of insulting him?

10:14 - This is what makes it really confusing. How did Skyquake get caught in the shadow zone, but the other bots didn’t??

11:16 - Karma’s a bicth, ain’t she? Jack and Raf didn’t deserve it, but Miko totally did.

12:00 - God do I hate Miko rn. + Aw, Raf’s reaction

12:45 - Yes. In the rocks that are apparently not with you in the Shadowzone.

12:51 - you can hear Optimus trying not to show his panic and worry… and failing.

12:56 - Father and Son right here.

12:58 - with mild Confidence ‘what if you (or we) call them?’

13:35 - Not ‘nothing’. He picked up. He’s alive. It’s that there was no response.

14:05 - kinda disappointed that they didn’t have any other way to message the bots. Feels like there should be a way for the bots to message them and they message the bots, especially for situations where silence is necessary or Bee has to tell Miko or Jack something.

15:38 - Decepticons have parts to spare.

16:10 - Starscream’s arm is enormous compared to the kids.

17:23 - how does he get it open??

17:27 - *mwah* beautiful line delivery.

17:40 - god these line deliveries are stunning.

17:44 - It’s like the shot at the start.

17:46 - why does Starscream have the Crystal out?? What if Knockout saw?

18:35 - Love how either thought the other would be able to tell what Ratchet was saying.

18:47 - saying that as if common sense wouldn’t tell us that if they changed any part of it something would go wrong.

19:02 - aren’t they in a canyon? Isn’t that like one long strip??

19:31 - why would it be yours??

20:15 - glad the plan worked so seamlessly.

20:18 - Why wasn’t Bee sent? He’s Raf’s guardian after all.

20:31 - HOLY SCRAP LOOK AT HOW PRETTY IT IS!

20:34 - There’s literally no reason for Bee not to be(e) present.

20:39 - agreed. Repeat that and also apologise.

20:45 - Optimus smilinggggg

21:04 - a logical assumption.

21:10 - hc is that Knockout promotes self care for everyone (autobots included, but he’s careful when he does it.)

21:18 - I know Skyquake’s a zombie and all, but I feel bad for him.

———————

And that was Shadowzone!

It was alright. I’m not one for the human focused episodes, but it’s alright and a good way to introduce the Shadow Realm (despite how confusing it may have been.)

I thought the way Optimus was portrayed in the episode was good, showing how he cared for the children despite not really being allowed to express worry for their safety. I will admit that Bulkhead, Arcee and especially Bumblebee’s reactions to their charge’s going missing were too weak from any standpoint.

I thought that the Starscream plot line was quite weak as well and I don’t really understand what they were going for.

[eclaire-went-bam]

can we talk more about how npd can really crush your interests

like how is it, whenever i find someone else who likes what i like, i automatically feel attacked or defensive until i can wager in some way i'm more familiar with the subject than them?

unless i myself have instilled that interest in someone, but even then, if they end up liking it more than me, i feel equally defensive.

if someone says i like something bcs of them, i still get defensive.

if i have a talent due to something i have passion in, it is imperative to be better at it than everyone i know, to find the flaws in other people's skills (which can be useful to teach yourself but not so much when you're finding ways to believe you're better). to never spend time leisurely enjoying my talent, but to need to CONSTANTLY top my last record. nothing less is unacceptable. if someone's better than me, then Clearly i must quit growing this talent

if i have a hobby that people look up to me for, i easily turn something i once enjoyed into a steadily raising standard and if i can't constantly be better, i may as well give up before i lose ly dignity

i can hardly pick up new hobbies, because if i'm not good at something immediately, i risk humiliation. i can't be new at anything, because if i'm not perfect immediately, i feel like i'd rather die

if i enjoy or am good at something and nobody's recognising it, then what's the point?

it makes me feel like such a child.

i used to really like reading and writing. i was hyperlexic. early in elementary school, i got into the highest lexile bracket & read everything in the library. i was constantly reading things at home. between the ages of 11 & 12, my state reading scores surpassed about 98% of students my age, i had the reading score of someone in college. i was told i was my english teachers best writer & critical thinker (& i would get upset if i was one lf the best, not the best. there's no point in settling for next best). my creative writing teacher had told the principal about my writing. meanwhile i also liked maths, i easily finished all my work before everyone else without the use of a calculator, but nobody recognised me for it. i got in trouble for getting 0 points on homework i did, but forgot to have a parent sign. i didn't get any recognition for speedy work in comparison to my amab peers. because of that, i decided to not even try. i would much rather fail my classes than be seen as average or not quite good enough. this same attitude persisted throughout highschool. although i was praised for being one of the best writers, i got so tired. i stopped reading, i stopped writing. because somebody might be better than i am. my little sister was good at reading through elementary and middle. she wasn't as good as i was, but she grew up with a much healthier family than i had & she got regularly praised for this when i only had been by my school. i didn't ever try to exert how good i was at english i was too over herw i supported her, but it also made me feel resentful & i just stopped trying to enjoy reading & writing because what was the point anymore? i stopped being known as the person who always asked questions, because i'd met other people that were like that too. i've nearly quit art so lany times. i can't even play a noncompetitive game without competition, because if i'm not constantly getting better at something, if i falter once, it could be grounds for a crash. if i get anything below a 95%, if someone recieves a score higher than me on something i genuinely tried on?

it's much safer to not try & pretend you don't actually care about it, because at least then it's an issue of effort, not what i am and am not capable of doing

yadda yadda yadda having npd fucking SUCKS sometimes but also i'm not gonna pretend my home life & school didn't enable this