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stevieschrodinger · 2 days ago

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Eddie hasn't answered the phone in nearly two days which, post Chrissy, post Vecna, post end of the world (averted), post every thing, is a wholly unacceptable amount of time.

Steve does a round robin on the walkie; everyone suddenly realizes they haven't heard from him either. Steve volunteers to go over.

He raps on the front door of the little two bed place Wayne owns now, a little government recompense after they took the trailer away to study, or whatever. Also quite a bit of 'take the house and keep your mouth shut,' kind of thing, Steve figures.

Wayne looks tired when he opens the door, kinda droopy, which Steve knows means he's really tired. Like, holding form is becoming a smidge difficult kind of tired.

Steve slips in fast, 'sorry Wayne, Eddie's van wasn't at his place so I figured he was here,' which he must be, because Eddie's van is here, and not outside his shiny new trailer, 'he hasn't been answering the phone.'

'He's here kid but he's kind of...having a rest day?' Wayne hedges. He's bad at lying, just like Eddie, Steve knows something is up.

'Can I see him, just for a second? Just check all is good?' Wayne gets Steve's protective nature, after everything that happened, he knows Steve likes to look after his people. He also knows Steve can keep a secret, only Steve and Robin know about Eddie and Wayne's shape shifting ability - carrying Eddie out of the upside down, convinced Eddie was about to die, only to have Eddie's glittery insides do something wholly unexpected was...well, Steve knows, is the thing.

Eddie also wins at doing impressions, since he can actually turn into movie stars, and that's kind of cool. Steve always likes watching Eddie turn back into himself though, maybe because of the crush he's been nursing.

Wayne caves, and Steve knows it's bad when he finds Eddie in the bin. He's shimmery and silver, and nearly tipping out the edges. He sloshes a little when Steve walks in, 'hey man, you didn't even make it to the bath? You want me to tip you out?'

Nothing, but the overhang wave of Eddie goo turns, hanging over the far lip of the big trash can. Like Eddie just turned his back.

'Uhm. I just. I just wanted to check you were okay? You know? Everyone's kind of worried.'

Eddie ripples. Like a sigh.

Eddie sloshes out of the bucket, his form building upwards until Steve is standing in front of...Nancy? Wearing a torn Dio shirt and plaid sleep pants.

'Eddie...that's kind of weird man.'

'I know!'. He waves Nancy's arms around, ' I know okay! But I can't stop it!'

'What...you're stuck? As Nancy.'

'Kinda', Eddie hedges, his ability to lie as bad as Wayne's.

'What does that mean?'

Eddie huffs, and shifts again...into Farah Fawcett. He crosses her arms over his now ample chest.

'Eddie...what is going on?'

Eddie shifts again, the hot brunette from the horror movie they watched two weeks ago, Steve can't remember the actresses name. He remembers saying she's hot though.

'Steve just...I'm having some kind of crisis, okay. It's just a bit of a...block. Just give me a few days and I'll be right as rain.'. Heather Locklear explains.

'Eddie...come on man, there's clearly something up.'

'This is so embarrassing.'

'Just tell me, okay? It can't be anything that bad, I won't judge.'

'It can be that bad,' Michelle Pfeiffer whines from behind her hands.

'Eddie...I'm not leaving until you spill.'

'I really...like you...' which, coming from Olivia Netwon-John, probably fulfils some sort of fantasy for Steve, but he has to remind himself he's thrilled to hear it from Eddie, too. 'So now I'm stuck, trying to be someone you actually want.'

'I...oh.'

'Yeah.'

'Well, I really want Eddie. So does that fix it?'

Brooke Shields cocks her hip and rolls her eyes, 'Steve, I'm not doing this on purpose, I don't have any control right now, so I don't need an empty platitude-'

'Its not. I've had a crush on you for ages. I'm not going to kiss you when you look like someone whose not Eddie.'

Eddie slowly melts back into himself, 'you're not?' he asks weakly.

'Nope, I can now though-'

'I'm back!!!' Eddie runs his hands all over himself, disappearing into the bathroom, checking the mirror he shouts, 'it's me! I'm me again! Oh thank fuck! Do you know how stressful that was! Having big tits is hell on your back-'

Eddie rambles, and Steve waits patiently for him to remember they could be making out right now.

Your friend, a shapeshifter (a secret you've kept since childhood) hasn't answered your texts in days, so you head to their home. Upon arriving, you find that they're in the middle of an existential crisis; they can't remember how to turn back into their original, human form.

#steddie #getting together #steve Harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #little story #idea from prompt #my writing

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thesiltverses · 3 days ago

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The horror of Eric Carle

Becoming a dad has really been a reminder of all the half-forgotten books that got me interested in horror: the ones that I will definitely share with my kid (The Minpins) and the ones that I probably won't (Not Now, Bernard)

And then there's Eric Carle, and now it's all coming flooding back - the very first time in my life that I experienced terror. Seriously, what the fuck is this?

Carle's most famous book, The Very Hungry Caterpillar, is in its own way uneasy and strange (the caterpillar's voracious and growing hunger is presented ambiguously both as an unavoidable and natural process of change and something greedy and grotesque; the caterpillar appears to devour its own place-of-birth and then feels good about it) but it flies under the radar by being very unCarle-like. The caterpillar is largely tiny and cute, we get plenty of colourful close-ups of tasty-looking food, and there are only two pages and a cover which feature Carle's favourite preoccupation: giant animals with irregular, scissor-cut eyes staring unhappily at the reader as they threaten to grow larger than the page itself.

I genuinely remember feeling deeply unnerved by Carle's first major piece of illustration work, Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See?, written with Bill Martin Jr., but only now do I understand why. Holy shit, I have so many questions.

Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What do you see? I see a red bird looking at me.

Why is the rhyme-scheme so frantic and breathless, like it's being chanted out during an escalating ritual somewhere deep in the forests? Why are the animals - textured via collage as if half-carved from wood themselves - staring directly at us, the audience, before then revealing that they're actually looking behind us at something else which is staring back at them in turn? Why do so many of the animals look so fearful and haunted as they acknowledge the vast web of visibility which exists between them?

Why does the 'white dog' page - perhaps the only-genuinely-friendly-looking animal - briefly plunge us into night-time, creating the impression that these creatures are somehow watching each other across spans of time and space, when Carle is fully capable of just drawing an outline around the dog?

Why is the teacher's neck extending like a xenomorph's tongue as she glares with narrowed eyes down at the children (what horrible act have they caught her doing?) Why is the cover of follow-up Polar Bear, Polar Bear, What Do You Hear clearly depicting a Tuunbaq stalking the reader?

What seems remarkable and bizarre is that Carle, a talented artist, deliberately chooses to draw animals for infant readers which are neither cute nor charming but which consistently embody the internet joke about hares - feral wilderness prophets who've glimpsed the truth of the universe and gone mad - and has made a stunningly successful career out of doing so.

Carle's beasts know something terrible that they do not fully understand, and which they are incapable of sharing with us.

I'll avoid the crass temptation to draw serious biographical inferences here (Carle believed he had PTSD from an adolescence spent in Nazi Germany, and his works were inspired by his childhood walks with his father, who returned home psychologically shattered by his own experiences as a Soviet prisoner-of-war) and just say that there is something wonderful, awful and innocent in the fact that perhaps the most popular baby-book artist of all time, when asked to draw a goldfish, would respond with what is clearly a monstrous open-mouthed leviathan rising up from black depths to devour us all.

Look at this horrible fucking thing. It rocks.

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postracehair · 2 days ago

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altitude

max verstappen x reader | 1.5k

you hate flying. but it's a necessity if you want to see max during the f1 season. when you finally fly home together during a break, will you let him help calm you down?

cw: r hates flying, anxiety, kissing, like, lots of kissing, worried max, allusions to more than kissing, fluff, george/carmen cameo

a/n: she's so me! i hate flying! but a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do! wrote this way back after brazil, but have it now as a race week gift.

Everything changes very quickly after you meet Max Verstappen.

You are pulled into a world of action and luxury all because he wants you there. And you go willingly because you want to be with him, too. How could you not? The world famous champion is a kind, funny, and sweet man who loves his cats, his friends, and, as is becoming clear, you.

Much of the start of your relationship is scheduling. A day here and there between races, dinners and walks and movies at his place or yours. You spend a lot of time in airports when you can, working on the go and white knuckling your way through flight after flight. It's worth it to see him on the other side.

Somehow, you've never actually travelled together.

Until now.

The race weekend ends the best way possible -- the top step of the podium. A night of celebrations fades into an early morning flight on a private jet and this time, you're coming with. Because Max has three weeks off. He'll have to work, of course, spending time in Milton Keynes before the final stretch of the season, but for the most part you're going to have him all to yourself.

It does not occur to you until you're in the car on the way to the tarmac that Max has no idea how much you hate flying. You're in one of those big Sprinter vans, head on Max's shoulder as he scrolls through his phone. George and Carmen sit on the other side, the former's head tipped back as he dozes. Everyone is quiet and you're working a bit hard to keep yourself calm.

"What is it?" Max whispers. He puts his phone down and you look over at him. His hair is a mess, you can see that much even in the low light of the van. You reach out and run a hand through it.

"What?" you whisper back.

He shakes his head a little and wraps his fingers around your wrist. "You were all loose and then you got tense."

The frequent distance between you and the busy nature of your schedules demands that communication be top of mind. You do not lie to each other about your feelings, and you do not hide things. Even things like this.

"I don't really like flying," you say, softly. "I've never told you because we've never flown together. It just makes me kind of anxious. I've never been able to shake it."

His brows furrow. "Really?"

"I'll be fine," you assure him. "Just, maybe hold my hand during takeoff and landing. And if there is any turbulence."

"But -- I don't understand. Are you afraid?"

You know that there is really no way to make him understand but also that he won't stop trying to. Max gets afraid, he gets nervous. He's only human. But he combats it with sheer willpower, focus, and skill.

"I fly this way all the time," he says, urgent this time. "It's totally safe."

"That's not -- Max, I just get nervous. It's not really to do with safety. I just don't really enjoy it."

"Oi," George says, rousing. "What are you two yapping about?"

"Go back to snoring, George," Max says, not taking his eyes off you.

"Do I really snore?" you hear him ask in a hushed tone. Carmen shushes him.

"Pulling up to the plane now, folks," the driver calls back.

"Seriously," Max says, sounding a little desperate. "It'll be alright."

"I know. I fly all the time, Max." His frown deepens.

"To come see me," he reminds you. "If I knew you didn't like it, I would have --"

"What?" you interrupt. "Invented teleportation? It's okay, Max. Knowing it's to see you makes the whole thing easier, honestly."

This does not satisfy him. You can tell. It's a problem he can't solve -- his least favorite kind. There is no simulation to run for this, no meeting he can talk through, no track he can circle a thousand times.

The van door opens and you're all beckoned out onto the tarmac. You follow George and Carmen with your bag and Max is at your heels, his duffle slung over one shoulder and his other hand on the small of your back. Normally, he's not this touchy, but he seems reluctant to let your conversation in the van go.

"Max--"

"I'm thinking, liefje."

You roll your eyes. "About how to invent teleportation?"

"Something like that," he grumbles.

The jet is narrow, an aisle on one side and four rows of seats on the other. Four sets of two, a table between them. Carmen and George settle into one nook and you toss your bags into another. You slide into the window seat and Max sits heavily in the one next to you, still frowning. You let him, instead looking around to absorb the new experience.

It's much nicer than a regular plane, that's for sure. There is a cooler stocked with drinks and a cabinet full of what seems to be snacks. You can stretch your legs to rest your feet on the seat across from you. It's so early you figure all of you will just sleep, though Max's mood seems at odds with that plan.

The pilot introduces herself and gives a quick rundown of the route and airtime. You all nod and smile and then the doors close and the lights dim.

Max's hand finds yours immediately. You sit up a little and look over at him. He looks even more frazzled than he did at the hotel, when you both rolled out of bed and into comfy clothes. Soft pants and a hoodie that make him look boyish, younger than he is. But here, his cheeks are a little flushed and his jaw is set like he's about to get in his race car.

"What do you do normally?" he asks, softly. You can hear George's soft snores already. "When I'm not there."

"Max," you sigh.

"Tell me, please?"

The seat shifts under you as it heads for the runway. You close your eyes and take a deep breath.

"Well, I don't hold some random guy's hand," you tease. He squeezes your palm and huffs.

"He could be so lucky."

The plane comes to a stop and you know what happens next. Your mind remains preoccupied with Max -- a good thing, right now -- but your body tenses and you squeeze your eyes shut tighter as the engines kick up and you pick up speed.

Max says your name but you don't budge. "Liefje," he whispers, much closer than before. You can feel his breath on your cheek as he gently holds your chin with two fingers and turns your face towards him.

And then he's kissing you. A closed mouth press of his lips to yours, firm but still. At least until you sigh into it, releasing your death grip on the arm rest to reach for him blindly, your tangled fingers between you. The kiss deepens, his nose sliding against yours as you part your lips and the chaste press becomes more. Max's tongue licks into your mouth leisurely, like he has all the time in the world to explore you.

You kiss and kiss and kiss, so long that a voice in your head wonders if maybe you can do this for the whole flight, please? Max tugs your legs across his until you're practically in his lap, spread across the two seats like they're one.

"We're reached cruising altitude," the speakers crackle. "Feel free to move about, but please be mindful."

Max pulls away, a strand of spit glistening between you until he wipes it away with a smirk. His hair is even messier than before and his cheeks are pink. Lips swollen, eyes glassy -- you must look the same. Your heart is racing and you laugh, breathless.

"Well," Max says, then swallows. His voice is raspy, hoarse with desire. "Guess you have to fly with me from now on."

"Max." You pitch forward and settle where his neck and shoulder meet and inhale. His arms wrap around you and he holds you close. You can hear his heart racing just as fast as yours.

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbles. "I know."

"I can do it," you remind him. "I do it all the time. I just don't like it, that's all."

You feel the press of his lips on your hair.

"I just don't like that I can't fix it," he says. "I can't get inside your head and make you know it's alright."

"No, you can't," you sigh. The plane jerks just a little -- a swoop of your stomach that has you gasping. Max's hold on you tightens and he says your name.

"How do you do this alone?" he rasps, mouth next to your ear as he rubs your back.

"I close my eyes," you say, taking deep breaths. "And I imagine you with me."

He curses softly. "We should get a jet by ourselves next time," he mutters. "Then I can really distract you."

That gets you to laugh, though you can't say you hate the idea. It makes you feel warm, makes you press your thighs together.

"Next time," you echo. "But for now..."

Max cups your jaw and ghosts his nose over yours. "For now..."

He brings your lips together.

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen #mv33 x reader #mv33 #f1 fanfic #my writing #fic: altitude

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thesacrificialdove · 2 days ago

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THE BITCHING PROJECT

— it's like you were secretly asking for this !! degration kink, rough sex, dubious consent, deflowering, light dumbification, semi-public sex, manipulation ✧ ft.: yandere student council ✧ cast: nerd f!reader

His hand grasps your hair as you choke around his girth. There's tears brimming in your eyes. Anxiety and confusion are washed away by the growing arousal in your stomach—this isn't normal. You've never been treated like this before. He's using your mouth like a ragdoll.

"Fuck," he moans, obsessing over the way your unexperienced tongue lays flat on the underside of his cock. "Such a good fucking bitch. How does it feel with your nose buried in my cock and not some books, huh?"

Nothing prepared you for the way this man is in the dim light: he's unlike his smile like a warm setting sun, hands tender to the brief passing touch, and voice an echo of hope and cheer.

He's fucking your throat like it's his newest assignment. Studiously, he memorises the plump of your lips and the heat in your throat. There's something primal yet meticulous about how he thrusts into your mouth. It's like he's thought this over and over again.

Your hands struggle for grip on his hips; he won't relent in his pace. Dizziness presents as you can't think straight—his cock the only thing that you can think of.

A guttural moan leaves him. "Can't believe you'd fall for some s-stupid shit like this. Now you're all fucking mine—" he pulls out, the head of his cock on your lips—"you like that, huh? Like belonging to me? I'll make you forget about your classes and I'll keep your cunt strapped on my cock instead."

There's a string of saliva that connects his cock to your lips. He plays with it, having fun smearing it all over your chin. The humiliation is tattooed in your brain.

You agreed to meet him because the Dean planned to give you the scholarsip—something you've been working so hard for. It's a lie. How could you have known someone from the student council would lie to you just to get their dick wet?

"Hey, hey," he pulls you up, sitting you on a desk. "What are you thinking about, baby? You're thinking too hard. Come on, I know you feel good."

And you do. Because after all of this, you still got a big fucking crush on him.

"S-stop it, please," you try to say. "I'm... I'm sorry if I did anything wrong but—"

He laughs. "You did nothing wrong. I love you, I do. But you're just to gullible. You have to know how adorable you look when you think everything you want is going to be handed over to you on a plate."

Red paints your face. Your heart churns at his words but he's standing between your legs with his cock wetting the inside of your thighs. Your cunt is being exposed with an easy pull of your panties to the side. The conflict of arousal and humiliation is too much to handle.

"How about this, hm? I'm going to fuck you better and tomorrow, let's see you beg for the Dean's cock to get that scholarship?"

There's contradictions on your tongue. It's taken out of you when he pulls your hips—his cock sliding between your folds and fucking you raw.

"F-fuck!" You cry. It's too big. His cock stretches you more than your fingers ever had, easily breaking the littlest resistence your hymen had. It makes you cry. Your heart hammers against your ears. It pulses in time with your cunt convulsing around him.

He's breathing against your cheeks; with the way he's out of breath, it's like he's enjoying taking your virginity like this. "Holy... fuck—did you never have a guy in here before?" he asks, as if he needs confirmation. "You're so fucking tight. I need you to loosen up for me, babe."

Not a single effort was made to get you to relax. He pulls back and fucks you right in, ignoring your pained little whimpers as it's being overshadowed by your moans. You're conflicted but he's so assured. Though your brain runs wild, your pussy sucks him in and is getting wetter by the second.

"So fucking good," he moans. "Tight fucking slut for me."

"I've never—agh! Never... had—!"

He chuckles as he bruises your hips with his hold. "I can fucking tell, baby. Shit. I can feel your cute little pussy hug my cock so tight. You love it so bad, don't you? I bet you fucking waited to be defiled by a cock this big."

You can barely muster a breath, nonetheless a word to deny him. It’s cruel how he pistons his hips. Your legs are in the air, toes clenching as half of his cock barely breaches inside of you. You’re gripping him with a vice, the pain dulling with the hot moans he breathes through your skin.

“God, that’s it,” his mouth instinctively opens as he spreads your folds open. Your pussy is spread. on the girth, his eyes trained onto where his cock disappears inside of you. You can tell he’s lost himself in the sensation when he has to swallow down his own spit.

He’s moaning, a growl emitting from him when you squeeze him. “Loosen the fuck up!” His hand presses against your stomach, trapping you on the wooden desk. “God, shit. For someone eager to take a cock in you’re so not prepared.”

The new angle just rubs your g-spot. A strangled moan involuntarily leaves you, his response being a dark grin spreading on his face. Knowing now, he continues to rubs up that spot. You want to pull your legs together but it’s tightly locked in his grasp. Toes curling, you tense up as he thrusts faster inside of you.

“S-so…” you gasp, hands gripping the edge of the table as you move with the force of his thrusts. “So fucking—so fucking good, haaah..!”

With each thrust, you lose yourself to the pleasure. Your cunt perfectly welcomes him in, even sucking him inside just to keep it rubbing against those nerves. You don’t remember a time feeling this good. The stretch is almost gone. Broken cries of pleasure are being punched out of you. He’s merciless and chases his own high, yet you’re being dragged along as you feel yourself soak and leak.

“Fuck,” he mutters, “I knew you’d love being fucked by me. I’ve been…. shit! I’ve been seeing you shake your cute little ass since you came. here. Knew you were so desperate to be claimed by me.”

He groans low in his throat. Swiftly, he throws your legs together on one side of his shoulders, fucking his cock deep inside of you. The new angle reaches further, your legs shaking from the intense feeling of being used like a toy for him. Your pleasure is undeniable. If you could see yourself, you would see your wet cunt drooling as your face is molded into a face of intoxication.

You can’t help it anymore. The slow yet deep thrusts spreads tingles from your pussy to the rest of your body. “‘m close…” you mutter, struggling to find diction. “So close—hng!”

“I didn’t hear you, “ he pulls on your hair from the roots, tugging it with enough force to electrocute your nerves there. “I can’t fucking hear you with your pussy gushing all over me.”

Cheeks turning a bright red, you try to cover yourself as he thrusts deep and short for emphasis. You can hear yourself make wet sounds with each movement. His words only make you wetter.

Trying to gather yourself, you take a deep breath with a hand over head your head. “I wanna cum, I need it so bad please… Need to cum on. your cock so b-bad!” You cry, surprised you could even form words when all you can think. about is that hot rod inside of you.

He’s forgiving. “Good fucking girl,” he sighs in relief as he continues his animalistic thrusts. The desk creaks each time and you would be worried for its durability if not for his hand lowering to play with your clit.

“Cum for me, cum for your new owner.”

The cock breaching your once-virgin pussy and the your clit being fondled only ushers you closer and closer to an orgasm. You couldn’t even warn him. With both hands reaching for his shoulders, a moan leaves you so loud you’re so everyone in the hallway could hear you.

You’re shivering. Your body is worn out and his cock pulls out of you—your orgasm flowing out as his own spurts on your face to your neck. He had clumsily aimed at your face, the angle awkward with your body half sat on the table. But the liquid splashed to your a bit of your lips, the taste of his release odd yet so erotic.

“Shit,” he mutters, the relief washing over him. You can see the satisfaction in his face; the slight upward tilt of his smile, the heavy breathing, his eyes examining every part of your body, all of it a testament to his amusement to having just defiled you.

There’s no need to speak. Finally, for the first time, he pushes his lips against yours.

In your years living, you haven’t given away your first kiss. In this moment, he had successfully taken two first times with you. His kiss reflects his previous desire to make his mark in your cunt. Breath hot, he pushes his tongue inside your mouth and is determined to lick every part of it.

You’re weak in his grasp. Every limb is numb and your pussy is still tingling. He’s kissing you how he wants as you simply struggle to breathe correctly. Your head is dizzy. There’s a cloud within your thoughts, simply unable to comprehend anything that is happening.

With a bite to your lower lip, that grounds you back to reality. He laughs into the kiss before placing his lips on your neck.

“So fucking dumb now,” he laughs, “don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll make sure you’ll get a reward for servicing my cock.”

Being his broken-in slut doesn’t seem so bad.

UPDATE ! 📢 @wiltedpoison @elloredef @alureasoley

@ 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐀𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋𝐃𝐎𝐕𝐄 this story is original and is not allowed to be shared without credits. do not plagiarise, feed to ai, or claim as yours.

#⌗ . yanderes ！ ⋆ ❞#yandere male #yandere #obsessive yandere #yandere oc x reader #yandere oc #yandere x reader #yandere core #yandere x y/n #yandere imagines #yandere drabble #yandere x you #yandere oc smut #yandere smut #male yandere x reader #oc x reader #yan x reader #yandere fic #yandere fanfiction

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moons-of-firdaws · 2 days ago

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Adding to this as someone who learned about astrology because I hated it, and I pride myself on being an informed hater.

It bothers me when people talk badly about astrology, not because their critiques aren't valid but because they're misinformed.

When we're talking about an astrology that shoves you into 12 boxes and says "cancers are emotional", and believes certain things about you are fundamental and unchangeable and that they know everything about you without actually having to talk to you — we're not critiquing astrology, we're critiquing the New Age movement (the section in your local library that says "new age spirituality"? These are the same thing) which began somewhere around the 1970s. Now this, this is important to critique, call out and pushback against because it is a reactionary and fundamentalist counterculture movement — other markers of the New Age movement are: alternative medicine, the law of attraction (prosperity gospel) and pseudohistory or historical reconstructionism.

This is where you get things like crystal or essential oil healing, low vibrational and high vibrational thoughts ("you attract what you think about, avoid low vibrational thoughts") and Wiccanism being attributed to thousands of years ago and referred to as the first witches or the first religion (Wiccanism emerged in the 1960s).

It is important to understand (and position) this kind of critique against astrology within that framework, because another Hallmark of the New Age movement is the appropriation, misappropriation and bastardization of a variety of complex spiritual systems through a reductionist lense. Different spiritual systems, and different parts of different spiritual systems, are cherry picked, repackaged and simplified into... what I'll be referring to as determinist categories for a lack of a better word (I'm running on 5 hours of sleep and I can't remember the specific word for this, but I know it exists). They did this with astrology, but they also did this with Chakra, with Reiki healing, the Jewish tree of life (and other aspects of Kabbalah) and ATRs (African Traditional Religions) to name a few. This is how you get things like: the divine feminine, twin flames and you need to open your sacral chakra (P.S. Chakras don't "open" or "close", you can't open your Charkra because it doesn't close. P.P.S. also Chakras are a closed practice to certain Hindu and Buddhist sects, and to my knowledge the Hindu sects which do accept converts don't do Chakra — this is very much a "you're either born into it, and in certain sects even if you're born into it you have to be initiated into it first, or you can't practice.") etc. These are all very much rooted in the stereotypical conceptions of spirituality (/spiritual systems) within western cultures. It is important to call this out because the New Age movement and associated notions are dangerous, like all reactionary movements it's peddled towards people who are desperate to offer an easy-fix solution and in some cases it can convince people to forgo life saving treatment in favour of crystal healing (or essential oils, or convince them to ingest toxic crushed crystals, herbs or oils), and this is without unpacking all its racist and antisemitic elements and the harm that it does to marginalized communities. Obviously, the degree of danger differs, to use a more relatable example to bloggers who are likely to be exposed to posts by user batmanisagatewaydrug, think of the difference degrees of danger within puritanism: from "if you ship jaytim you're weird and wrong" to "sexual deviants (queer people, sex workers, kinksters) should be criminalized and also sex outside the institution of marriage is a sin that should be outlawed." See?

Now, let's talk astrology. I'd like to preface with the fact that I won't be talking about Vedic astrology here, with all the associated implications of it being used as an oppressive tool in South Asia, because that is a different context that's not relevant to this conversation; New Age astrology isn't referring to Nakshatras when it makes these statements and generalization and (in mainstream cases) wasn't appropriated from vedic astrology, it is a bastardized form of hellenistic astrology (which was practiced in the Mediterranean and Egypt). Majority of western astrologers practice hellenistic astrology (with a few exceptions that practice a form of mesopotamian astrology or Islamic, or Jewish, astrology) and this will henceforth be referred to as just astrology because it makes things easier for me specifically.

So, astrology, what is it? Not your personality is actually predetermined by space gas at birth. Astrology doesn't draw, nor imply, causal relationships — in layman terms, astrology says, "as above, so below." What this means is that astrology is a spiritual system that is a method of divination (see: coffee cup reading), and the way through which it divines things is by reading the sky and planetary movements (not much to do with stars, I'm afraid) on the basis that the world goes through the same bullshit, and it's easier to look at the sky to draw an inference than it is to do so from the inside — in the exact same way that it is easier to look at a mirror to put on your eyeliner, than it is to figure it out by Proprioception. Basically we use the macrosome as mirror, looking at our cosmic reflection, to figure out the microsome.

But astrology, as a spiritual practice, is very clear that these are inferences. Correlationial inferences. Correlation is NOT causation.

The part we talk about when we go, "I'm a Virgo sun and a Leo moon" are natal charts. Natal charts are essentially a snapshot of the sky, relative to your geographic location, at the moment you were born — and the thing is, it's way more complicated than Virgo sun and Leo moon (that's part of the reason why its bastardization by the New Age movement is an issue, it strips it from a lot of context and makes it easy to make sweeping generalizations). First, there are outer planets (also sometimes referred to as generational planets, these you share with your birth cohort) and inner planets (specific to you) that's because, while the sun changes signs every 28 days, Pluto changes signs every 12-30 years. And that's just zodiac signs, we haven't even gone into Houses (a planet will transition into a sign, and into a house, a Libra moon in the 7th House is different than a Libra moon in the 12th House). Then we go into the fact that, natal charts are a mathematical mapping of planetary positions, relevant to your location at a very specific time, and the angles of these mapped out lines and the patterns they make matter, and what quadrant they're in also matter, because the position of different planets in relation to each other matter (are they opposite or square each other? is it a trine, a sextile, a grand cross? In which of the four quadrants is anything; ascendant, descendant, midheaven, or IC?) and you will have multiple of these patterns in one natal chart.

That's to say, every single natal chart is unique. There are no two natal charts that are the exact same (hence: you can't and shouldn't be make sweeping generalizations about people). Except for cesarean twins that are born, like, 2 minutes apart; a conundrum for natal chart astrology divination (natal chart astrologists will make the argument that identical twins who share 100% of their genes will also be different, this doesn't invalidate natal chart astrology, I'll leave that up to you to work through).

And that's just natal charts. Which isn't even the most practiced, relevant, or salient part of astrology. The primary practice of astrology involves transits. If you've ever heard the phrase, "mercury retrograde", that's a transit (retrograde isn't enough either, is it in Gemini or Virgo? What House is it in currently? Where is it in relation to other planets in antegorate or retrograde?)

Then, if you want to know what relevance a transit has to you... it gets even more complex. You overlay snapshot of the sky currently (and how it's going to move), on top of your natal chart — this also means that your natal chart, or the saliency of different aspects of your natal chart and its relevance to your life isn't static, it changes with time. It breathes with you. This is referred to as horoscopic progression.

The most popular form of horoscopic progression are what we colloquially refer to as "horoscope" (which is a misnomer as that's more of an umbrella but whatever), which, by the way, is not about your sun sign. If you're a Libra sun, you don't read Libra horoscope. You read by your ascendant, which is your sign in 1H (first house), i.e. a Libra sun, Aquarius Ascendant/Rising, should be reading the horoscope for Aquarius and not Libra. Your ascendant also changes every 30mins (actually 2 hours, but it goes by 30s, i.e. the ascendant sign for someone born at 14:00 will be different than the ascendant sign for someone born at 14:30, and will stay the same until 16:30; the minutes it goes by might vary by year, I haven't actually checked that) so if you don't know the exact time of your birth, that's not a part of horoscopes you can glean information from.

And this barely scratches the surface of astrology!

Anyways to conclude, I leave you with this screenshot of Wikipedia on Horoscopes (taken 28/11/2024) because it elaborates on my prev points on horoscope astrology much more clearly than I ever could.

[Image Description: Astrological progression is a part of what is usually called predictive astrology, the claim of astrology to predict or forecast future trends and developments. Most astrologers nowadays regard the term 'prediction' as something of a misnomer, as modern astrology does not claim to directly predict future events as such. Instead it is claimed that an astrological pattern with regard to the future can correspond with any one of a variety of possibilities. What is in fact foretold is the trend of circumstances and the nature of the individual's reaction to the situation. In other words, progressed and transiting movements of the planets indicate phases in the individual's life when the potential shown in the natal chart will be given opportunities for development, whether through favourable or unfavourable circumstances.

In addition all modern astrologers stress the role of free will. It is asserted that astrology does not reveal fate or patterns which are 'written in stone', rather it reveals a person's strengths and weakness, talents and opportunities. The horoscope does not determine the future, but shows the possible paths that lie ahead so that the individual can choose between them. Modern astrologers argue that no planetary aspect brings a fate that cannot be counteracted in some way and some benefit derived from it - what actual events happen are largely dependent upon the freedom of choice of the individual. The role of the astrologer is to create self-knowledge and awareness of the movement of the planets and their meaning, so as to give the individual an improved ability to make reasoned and sensible life choices. In short, modern astrologers do not generally predict actual future events, or claim that the future is mapped out and determined.

End Image Description.]

(P.S. if I've gotten anything wrong and anyone wants to offer corrections to the information presented here, or add on to it, please feel free.)

I also apologize in advance for the very long post that's about to hit my mutuals & followers; I don't know how to put things under a read more tag.

it does still make me insane specifically how many queer people lovingly embrace astrology. I went to a poetry workshop yesterday that was genuinely quite good but also included an option to disclose astrology designations during introductions and so many people broke out some variation of "I'm a [x] sum but I have a [y] placement and it SHOWS" girl no it doesn't. that's meaningless correlation you completely invented the causation

#astrology #new age movement #new age spirituality #discourse #luno #important #new age astrology vs hellenistic astrology

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xiaomainlmao · 2 days ago

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Kinich x reader

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Kinich always believed that he had to do things on his own. A tough negotiator, he knows better than anyone else that all things come at a price. Thus, to avoid being indebted to anyone, he preferred doing things on his own from a very tender age.

Some people don't like him because he always charges mora for his services- he's aware, but he never bothered with the opinions of others. There's only a select few for whom he would do favours for "free", if he feels like it that is. (And even then, "free" just means without mora, but in return for other valuables or acts of service like with Mualani or Kachina).

Thus, even when he saw the commission with "unknown details" and with a "threat potentially greater than a few rabid saurians", he did not bother asking for more details, or bringing anyone to back him up.

Bad decision, he realises, pushed to a corner by abyssal beasts. The "rabid saurians" he had to take out, had already been taken out. A small group consisting of yumkasaurs and koholasaurs slaughtered by the mimiflora, who now took on the form of the dead beasts.

An abyssal pylon must be nearby, the frequency of the monsters confirms it, but it doesn't seem to be in plain sight.

"Ah your foolishness will finally lead to your doom! This HAS to be the moment I, the Great Dragonlord K'uhul Ajaw, have been waiting for. Now rejoice! For once I have taken over your mortal form, I shall grant you the mercy of avenging you." The pixelated being floats higher into the sky, perhaps to get a better view of Kinich's current predicament.

"You talk too much." Kinich growls, not sparing even a glance to Ajaw, long used to his antics.

He effectively shields himself with his greatsword from another one of the beast's attacks while another tries to claw at his abdomen. He wasn't caught off-guard by the number of enemies, merely outwitted. In any other situation, all he had to do was destroy the pylon, and defeat the remaining beasts.

If only the pylon were in sight...

Kinich barely dodges the yumkasaur that leaps at him, his braids coming undone. He's panicking a bit now, being reminded of the time he died in the Night Warden Wars, but he doesn't intend to retreat, not yet.

If only the pylon were in sight....

"Lean backwards! Quick!"

He hears a voice, and instinctively obeys. However, he isn't sure if he moved in time, as he feels a warm liquid seeping through his pants near his calf.

Blood.

With his leg injured, he's bound to be held back even more now. Kinich gazes down at his bleeding leg, and lifts his head just in time to see shards of ice appear in front of him, creating a barrier between him and the mimiflora.

"Delivery for 'Malipo' Kinich! Chief Wayna told me you'd be here. You were gone for longer than usual, and he started getting antsy." You used your rope to swing to Kinich's side, a small smile on your face and your polearm in tow.

"UggHH YOU MEASLY INSECT! HOW DARE YOU INTERRUPT THE PROCESS THROUGH WHICH I COULD HAVE ATTAINED THIS GRASSHOPPER'S MORTAL FORM." A very red Ajaw slowly descended downwards to where the both of you stood, causing you to chuckle.

"My apologies, Great Dragonlord," you tease, "but it's not over yet."

"There has to be an abyssal pylon nearby, I just don't know where," the saurian hunter states, bracing himself for the approaching mitachurl.

"Ah yeah, those things. It's up there." Kinich follows your gaze and notices the tiny blackhole hidden behind a foliage. "Ah, so that's why he didn't notice it."

"You're injured. You probably won't be able to stand the attacks." You quickly assess his stumbling form.

"No I ca-"

"Deal with the pylon, I'll deal with the monsters." With a quick spin of your polearm, you charge at the mitachurl, swiftly cutting through its mask before using your cryo vision to freeze the surrounding hilichurls in place. Kinich watches your stable form hindered by his bangs. A bead of sweat dripping down to his chin.

"You lowly SERVANT. Are you really just going to stand here? Make a choice you dimwit." Ajaw screeches.

The saurian hunter regains his composure at this, quickly flicking his hair to the side and using his grappling hooks to reach the branch. He glances at your fighting form one last time before dealing with the pylon.

The cries of the hilichurls dies down almost immediately. Relaxing, Kinich stumbles down to the ground, realising the weakness in his legs. And his bleeding wound. He sighs as you approach him.

"What do you want in return for saving me?"

You don't reply, instead you kneel down by his side to assess his leg. "Here, let me cool it down." Cryo energy flows around the blood-stained claw marks, making the hunter hiss in pain.

"Give me your hand, I'll take you back to the tribe. Cryo isn't the best substitute for an ice-pack."

"No, it's alright. I'll get back on my own. I don't want to be indebted to anyone."

"Hmm..." placing a hand on your chin, you pretend to think as a smile creeps up on your face. "You asked me if I wanted something in return, correct?"

"Yes?"

"Well, in return for saving your life, I would like for you to listen to me and let me help you."

"But that would only make me more indebted to you-"

"I'm not really seeking for anything in return. But since you don't take things for free, I'm asking for your compliance."

"..."

"Please, Kinich. Help me help you."

Sighing, he takes your outstretched hand, letting you take the lead back to the tribe.

"HAH. So my lowly servant decides to succumb to someone else. SO MUCH for not taking favours. Hey wait- ARE EITHER OF YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME. DON'T LEAVE ME BEHIND YOU MORTALS."

Well, that's another headache for Kinich to deal with- finding a way to repay you.

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Thank you for motivating me into writing a Kinich fic <3 @aurumalatus

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#kinich x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #kinich #kinich x you #genshin impact #genshin impact imagines

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fuctacles · 2 days ago

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<< nine | 😺 | eleven >>

Posting early so you have something to think about on Thanksgiving. I'll be taking a break from posting my wips in December to focus on all the events. Speaking of, check out @genderthings @stmonstercalendar and @stevieweek

"They're so—" Eddie's sentence is broken with a yelp when Stephanie slaps his hands.

"Fluffy?" Steph offers, going back to closing up her salon. "Soft? Healthy? They won't be if you keep touching them."

He huffs, slotting his hands under his armpits so he wouldn't be tempted to reach up.

"If you want, I can get you some of that conditioner to take home. You could charm all the city girls with your nice hair." She turns to him with a smile, looking over her work once again. She pulls a strand of his hair back in place and Eddie imagines his band making it big, touring with a private hairdresser fussing over him before every concert. They'd take all the cats on the tour bus too.

"The city girls like my unkempt poor artist looks, thank you very much," he jokes. "The boys may appreciate it, though."

"For the boys, then." She smiles. "Did you walk here?"

He shakes his head.

"Nah, I'm too lazy for that. You?"

"I try to walk to work as long as the weather lets me," she says. "Need to keep the old bones in shape." She pats her plush thighs distractingly, but it's not enough for Eddie to miss her words.

He rolls his eyes.

"Your bones aren't old. I was gonna offer you a ride, but maybe you deserve to walk since you're so young and energetic," he sends her a wry look.

"Ah, but I always wanted a ride in a big old kidnapper van!" She bats her eyelashes at him, her playful pout in full swing. Eddie is so, so weak.

"Don't call it a kidnapper van." He scrunches his nose. "It's a stoner slash garage band van," he corrects her.

"Ah, mea culpa. Lead me to your stoner van, then?"

"You call yourself old and yet you act so insufferable," he shakes his head with a smile and offers her his elbow.

"Gotta keep something about me young," she jokes back and then yelps when Eddie pinches her in the side as she grabs his arm.

"I think there's plenty young about you," he says, giving her a pointed up and down.

"Yeah, bet you say it to all the old ladies," she snarks back. "When you help them cross the street or carry their—ah!"

"Oh my gods, Stephanie!" Eddie cuts her off, pressing her against the side of his van. "If you think you're old then call me a geriatrophiliac, because you're so hot I can't think about anyone else."

Steph's eyes are wide and her cheeks are flushed and he wants to kiss her so badly. He backs away, though, because he's a gentleman (sometimes) and wants to give her some space. Besides, he probably just crossed some lines he shouldn't have.

She breathes out once he steps back, and chuckles.

"You're just saying that," she deflects, making something in Eddie boil. "You're out there in college and I'm stuck here with my small hair salon."

"Oh, you mean you're a successful hot businesswoman with her own salon and plans to branch it out?" He raises an eyebrow, putting his hands on his hips.

"Plans," she points out.

"Very plausible plans," he adds.

Stephanie shrugs.

"Just, get in the car before I lose my patience." He shakes his head. But then seeing her hesitance he deflates, losing his bravado instantly. "Unless you're not comfortable with that? I promise I'll drive you straight home."

"Why would I be uncomfortable?" she asks, her voice a little small like she knows exactly why but doesn't want to put it out there. Albeit reluctantly, Eddie will do it for her.

"Because I said I'm into you and now I'm inviting you inside my shady not-kidnapper van," he reminds her.

"Yeah, but you're just saying that to make me feel better." Steph shakes her head softly, smiling her small, self-deprecating smile. "Which I do appreciate, but..." she trails off with a shrug.

Eddie is fed up with her. As beautiful as she is, her head is a maze she's clearly getting lost in and someone needs to pull her out of it.

"Can I kiss you?" he butts in, realizing she's losing steam.

"What?" Her eyebrows jump in surprise.

"Oh, you heard me." He takes a step closer, crowding her in. Maybe space is the opposite of what she needs. "Can I kiss you?" he repeats. "On the mouth. Tongue and all, if you don't mind."

He watches in real time as her cheeks turn red and her gaze drops down to his lips.

"Here?" she breathes out.

"Yes, here. So everyone knows how lucky I am."

She looks up into his eyes, searching for any deceit but she won't find any. Her lips press together and come back shinier, wetter, and Eddie's own tingle in anticipation.

"Are you sure?"

Eddie's done with her. And done for her. He knows she won't admit what she wants, won't ask for it even when laid down on a silver platter in front of her. So he changes his question.

"Just say 'no'." He leans just a tiny bit closer.

She doesn't. Her eyes zero on his lips and her chest expands with her deep breaths. Eddie leans in more, and she twitches like she wants to reach back but won't.

He closes the distance.

Stephanie smells of hairspray and coffee. She's soft and perfect and he's afraid she'll flee if he touches her, but to ground them both, he reaches with his arms to cup her elbows, a safe place to hold her and not spook her. He moves his lips gently, slowly, but then he feels a tug on his jacket, which she grabs to hold on to him, and presses just a little bit closer.

Eddie feels the exhale from her nose on his cheek as she relaxes against the van, giving him the illusion of towering over her, despite them being almost the same height. He slowly drags his hands up to caress her neck, angling her jaw gently how he wants it. When he finally sucks on her pouty bottom lip as he's been dreaming of, she exhales into him, tentative yet asking. She jolts at the touch of his tongue but parts her lips further anyway.

She feels like heaven and Eddie is almost ashamed by the sound he makes after tasting her properly, but her hand slides to his waist and he doesn't care about making a fool of himself in front of her and anyone else for that matter.

If she wanted to, he'd deck himself in full jester attire just to make her smile, to take the load of worry off her chest. Oh, how he wants to take things off her chest. It's been a while since a simple kiss made him feel so giddy, so exhilarated, and he hopes she feels it too.

He's excited for what's to come, not just in bed, though he hopes, yearns for that too, but making her happy and whole, seeing herself how he sees her.

The sharp sound of a whistle pulls them apart.

"Get a room, kids!" someone laughs jovially as a car slowly passes by, but by the time their heads snap towards it, it's gone behind the corner.

"Well," Eddie chuckles softly. "Still feeling old?" he asks Steph with a smile that quickly falters when he can't read her expression. A million things he could have done wrong fleet through his head and he takes half a step back, but her hand is still holding on to his jacket.

She's still relaxed against the van, so he forces his brain to quiet and waits. Her head tips back, exposing her neck and the faintest hint of an Adam's apple, invisible otherwise. He's ridiculously happy to be able to see it and hopes he'll be able to suck on it too.

"I feel..." she finally says, and Eddie latches to every sound leaving her lips. "Something, for sure."

Nothing else comes so he trails his palm down her arm to gently squeeze at her wrist.

"Good something?" he asks hopefully.

Their eyes meet again, giving him some relief, though the prolonged silence is fighting against it. He still waits and gives her time to think. She doesn't shake off his hand so he rubs his thumb against her pulse point.

Until it twists in his grasp, and he's ready to let go but she grabs at his fingers to squeeze back.

"I think so," she finally decides, giving him a small, tentative smile.

my ko-fi bc i'm in deeper shit than i thought

the boys: @wheneverfeasible @steddieinthesun @hattsy-likes-pretty-stuff @bumblebeecuttlefishes @phantomcat94

@tartarusknight @tinyplanet95 @steddiefication @estrellami-1 @disrespectedgoatman

@madigoround @tartarusknight @blasvemous @cryptid-system @lawrencebshoggoth

@hellowhatthehellisgoingonhere @dreamercec @manliest-of-muppets

#steddie #mine #stevie harrington #crazy cat lady stevie #transfem steve harrington #cw: age gap #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddie fanfiction #stevierything #older steve harrington

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scribefindegil · 3 days ago

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i miss. leaving the house :(

#curseblogging #being entirely dependent on your friends for Everything really gets you down after a while #i miss when i could run errands by myself #i miss this summer when we managed to go to the farmer's market on weekends #i miss back before i got sick when i could just. do things.#and i'm scared of burning people out by asking for too much #and i'm scared that we'll have to move somewhere where i don't have any support and i'll be trapped at home by myself all the time #and i'm scared of how being disabled makes me dependent on a government that's about to be run by someone who actively wants me to die #AND i'm scared that if my baseline stays this low for the next few months i won't be able to sew my wedding dress in time #being sick is really scary and really hard and i am trying SO hard to get through it #and hang on to the little joys #but sometimes it just really sucks you know?#anyway. time for more tea and the electric blanket #and my favorite seed catalog which arrived today #and maybe a few sentences of writing if i can swing it #we keep going. that's all we can do.

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book-lore · 2 days ago

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No shade to the OP on this one because I do know some people who will do this and what I am going to bring up here might be specific to me, but I would still encourage people to be enthusiastic about their horror interests anyway.

I work in a library and thus I have access to EVERY. SINGLE. WEIRD AND MORBID BOOK you've heard of and so very many that you haven't. My reading list is a joke among my colleagues because while some of them are reading the newest Sally Rooney or Jennifer Colgan, I am regaling them (gently, but I'll get to that in a minute) of my favorite books that have featured some truly awful things. And yes, I've told patrons about this too, some to confusion and others who find it very useful. I get that this context is different from someone who might meet at a random social gathering, but if someone is going to meet you with suspicion about what you are reading, and they aren't going to hear you out about what makes it great, they probably won't be a lot of fun to talk to in the long run anyway. My coworkers think it's funny that I read such heavy, depressing topics because I am really friendly and upbeat at work. They also like that if they are looking for something a bit spooky but not going to plunge them into a story that they can't finish, they know I have them covered because of that whole gently telling them thing. I take into account their comfort level and when they ask me about my favorite topics, they know they can trust me not to send them into the deep end.

And maybe some random person has read all this and thought "that's fine in a library but that doesn't work in meeting people in other spaces", actually it does. One of my closest and longest enduring friendships began with someone who insisted they did not like horror stories or movies. They were not interested in the scary stuff, according to them. Over time, they realized that I wasn't going to make their life miserable by making them watch stuff beyond their comfort level and they developed their own taste in the genre, a lot of it from the media they already liked. They just thought those things didn't count. This wasn't always the case for people who I talked to, but the ones that mattered, especially with one of my best friends, it turned out that they weren't so quick to judge.

So talk about your obsessions. Talk about the things that excite you and make you happy. Maybe it won't be for everyone but it's not supposed to be and some people around you are still going to find it fun to listen.

being someone who's passionate about their interests when you're a horror fan really is a special layer of hell because every interaction you have with another person where the conversation turns to your hobbies and personal entertainments is a trial where if you show too much unrepentant glee at getting an opportunity to talk about your preferred subject you get to watch them mentally move you onto their list of untrustworthy individuals to avoid in the future in real time

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bambisspeckles · 2 days ago

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Trapped ✿ Poly Pirate!141 x Reader -- Part Two

A continuation of Stowaway...

*pics for aesthetics only!

Summary: Your first day aboard the 141 CW: Inaccurate depiction of pirates, poly!141, fem!reader, ghost and price are kinda assholes (for right now), soap is well soap, gaz is an angel sent from heaven, reader is held captive (ish), stockholm syndrome core but like in the way beauty and the beast is, no romance w reader yet (sorry, but don't worry it won't really be a slowburn), implied ghoap (its such a small implication I'm sorry) self-edited! WC: 1.9k

Sleep escapes you through the night. The cellar is small and uncomfortable, at times the ship gets rocked so hard you get tossed around, and the wooden floorboards are hard and splintered. You lay there, curled up into a ball, tears threatening to spill from your waterline. It's cold and you're so hungry you can almost hear your stomach growling over the sound of waves crashing against the ships hull. You feel pathetic and weak, and you only have yourself to blame for the predicament you're in. At the very least you should have been offered some food or a spare blanket, a thought that in retrospect is foolish. These aren't gentlemen, they're pirates. They take and pillage until they can take and pillage no more.

You lay there for hours, staring into the darkness with only the sound of the ocean to keep you company. Your eyes are heavy but you can only sleep for a few minutes before you are, quite literally, jolted into consciousness. You go through this back and forth battle for hours until the door opens and morning light shines through the frame. Gaz steps through, his eyes widening in panic when he sees you on the floor.

"Jesus fuckin'- Are you alright? Are you sick? God n' you're shivering…" He rushes to your side, giving you a once over before attempting to place the back of his hand on your forehead. You flinch away from his touch and he awkwardly scrunches his before moving his hand away.

"I'm… I'm fine." You say, you lie. You know he doesn't believe you but you're not sure you care.

"M' sure you're famished, I can bring you somethin' to eat." At the thought of food your stomach growls and Gaz chuckles, shaking his head at you softly. "I'll bring you something love."

As he stands from the ground and turns back towards the entrance, you reach out to grip his wrist, pulling his attention towards you once more. He tilts his head at you curiously, brows slightly furrowed as he waits for you to speak.

"I… Can I leave here, please? It's not like I can run off anywhere and it's stuffy in here." Gaz bites his bottom lip, chewing on it thoughtfully for a moment.

"I'm not sure, Captain hasn't really been clear on what exactly he wants to do with you. Honestly I think it's best you stay here till we dock tomorrow. That way at least you'll be out Price's line of fire… And out of Soap's paws, and it's definitely in your best interest that we keep you away from Ghost." You wince at the mention of Ghost, you swear you can see his dark hooded eyes everytime your eyes close.

There's a part of you that wants to fight back against Gaz, but you know that he's honestly working in your best interest, which you're both suspicious of and grateful for. Instead you decide to back down, sucking your bottom lip in and nodding obediently.

"Okay… Okay, I'll stay."

Gaz smiles at you pitifully, something you wish he'd stop doing. His sympathetic smiles don't free you from this cellar, or from this ship you've foolishly trapped yourself on.

"I'll bring you something to eat," He pauses, noting the curled up position you're in. "And some blankets. We should have done that last night, sorry." He gives you one last sheepish look before turning on his heels, once again leaving you alone.

You're getting antsy.

Gaz has been gone for, well you're not sure exactly how long, but it feels like it's been quite awhile since he promised you food and blankets. You're getting light headed, and pairing that with the cold just isn't helping. Anxiously, you look back and forth between the cellar door and the splintered wooden floor, the idea of just going above deck and looking for Gaz yourself rolling around like a marble in your head. It's a bad idea, you know it is, but your stomach is so painfully empty that you feel ill, and you don't think there are anymore goosebumps to be raised on your skin. You mull over the options in your head.

One, stay in the cellar and hope Gaz hasn't forgotten about you. Or two, leave the cellar and possibly run into the Captain, or worse, Ghost.

Bumping into Johnny wouldn't be so bad. I mean sure, his stares linger too long and that toothy grin of his is less than inviting, but at least he won't throw you overboard when he sees you. At least you think he won't. After a few more minutes of waiting and suffering, you decide to head up to the deck and look for Gaz. You don't know how much longer you can wait for him to come back before you pass out. So, on very wobbly legs, you push yourself off the ground and make your way to the cellar door.

The sun blinds you as the door opens, the smell of the sea smacking you in the face. Truthfully, the bite of the chilly air is refreshing after be locked in that stuffy cellar, despite how cold you are. You climb the steps all the way to the main deck, quickly taking in your surroundings. No one seems to be out on the deck which is both good and bad news for you. As much as you'd like to find Gaz, you're not too sure how the Captain would feel about you aimlessly wandering about the ship, especially when you're sure he doesn't want you on it to begin with. Your stomach growls and you slowly walk towards the ships railing, gently draping your upper half over it, the mist from the waves hitting your face. You close your eyes for a moment, breathing in the scent of the ocean. You take a moment to breathe, to process. Your stomach growls in protest at your lack of movement, but you can't bring yourself to care much when this is the first time in hours you've been able to breath the fresh sea air. You're fighting the urge to drift off when suddenly you're yanked backwards by the waist.

You let out a squeal, you're body flailing as you attempt to loosen the grasp of whichever crew member grabbed you.

"Stop bloody movin'." The voice practically barks out.

"Oh." You think wryly, your body going still.

Once again Ghost had been the one to catch you. How cruel, he was the last person you were wanting to run into.

Ghost flips you to face towards him, his body somewhat pining you against the railing. It vaguely crosses your mind that if he wanted to throw you off the ship, now is this most opportune time for him to do so.

"Wha' are ya doin' out your cage." You furrow your brows at the word 'cage'. Sure, there may be a part of you that does agree it feels like a cage, but it's not. Pets go in cages and you're no pet.

"It's not a cage…" You mumble, lip pouted and brows still furrowed. "And I didn't- I was going to stay in the cellar but Gaz never came back."

Ghost cocks his head slightly, the movement voicing his obvious confusion.

"Gaz never came back for wha'?" The way he asks sends shivers down your spine and you have no idea how he can make such a simple question sound so dark and sinister. You swallow thickly, eyes darting away from his.

"He was going to bring me food and some blankets." Your voice is quiet, timid as you speak to him.

Ghost only grunts in response before grabbing your wrist, rather tightly you may add, and dragging you god knows where. He drags you down a short hallway before stopping in front of a door. Behind it, you think you hear voices, and your suspicions are confirmed when Ghost swings the door open and you're greeted by the faces of the three other men.

"Aye, well would ye look at tha'!" Soap is the first to speak, a nasty grin plastered on his face. "Was just wonderin' what ye were up to kitten." You grimace at the pet name, something you know he finds amusing when he chuckles under his breath.

Before you have a chance to speak, Ghost pushes you further into the room before shutting the door behind him. Price gives Ghost an expectant look, before his eyes dart towards you. He takes that as his queue to speak, his grip still tight on your wrist.

"Found er' sniffin' round' on the deck." Ghost states simply, his voice rough and gravelly.

"I was not "sniffing' around anywhere! I told you, I was simply-" Before you have a chance to finish speaking, the Captain interrupts you.

"Stowaways don't speak out of turn." Price's words are laced with something dark and dominating, the aura of them shutting you up with a quiet whimper.

His eyes scan your face, jaw ticking thoughtfully before he sighs, leaning forward on his desk and putting his weight on his elbows.

"Why were you on the deck?" In the short time you've been here, and with the very limited interactions you have had with Captain Price, you have some understanding that when he asks a question, he wants an answer, and he wants it quickly.

"I- I was looking for Gaz." You mumble curtly, your eyes darting around the room to avoid eye contact with Price.

All eyes turn to Gaz, his head cocked to the side in confusion.

"Me? Did you need somethin' love?" You chew on your bottom lip, nodding softly at him.

"I'm hungry, and rather cold… You said you'd be back but you never came." Gaz looks even more confused than before, his brows dipping further down his face.

"Soap didn't bring you some food and blankets?" He asked.

You shake your head at him again.

"Um, no? Was he supposed to?" Gaz rolls his eyes, turning his head towards Soap who's rubbing his neck sheepishly.

"I told you to bring her the stuff I gave you," His voice raised slightly. "You've left the poor girl starving and cold."

Soap chuckles awkwardly, his eyes darting towards Ghost.

"I ken! I ken… Jus' got a bit distracted." Gaz groans at the implication. "Dinnae hate me too much for it." Soap then turns towards you, crowding you against a wall.

"M' sorry kitten, didnae mean tae forget about ye… Can ye forgive me?" And something about the way he asks makes you fidget.

You squirm against him in an attempt to break free from his grasp, but all he does is smirk and press harder. After a moment of your struggle, the Captain clears his throat.

"Alrigh' nough' of that Soap." The scotsman chuckles softly before finally moving away from you. Price stands from his desk, prompting the whole room to look at him, including you. "Dinner is soon. S' Ghost's night for cookin' so you, stowaway, you'll join us for supper."

His eyes scan the room quickly before nodding towards the door.

"Everyone out of my room."

As fast as he gave the order, everyone was out, standing outside his room like lost cattle. You feel a hand on the small of your back, and when you look behind you, you see Gaz.

"Dinner will be ready soon, just hold out a bit longer. I'll grab ya some blankets to keep ya cozy while waiting." He smiles softly at you and to your surprise, you smile back, an involuntary movement that has him giving your waist a gentle squeeze.

He leads you back to the cellar and once you're alone again you have only one thought.

"I hope Ghost doesn't poison my food."

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peppermintquartz · 2 days ago

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Buck/Tommy fic prompt: everyone's reactions when they find out Tommy's pregnant with triplets

Chimney is the first to react. "Hot damn, Buck! I wasn't expecting you to knock up the first guy you date!"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Buck asks, crossing his arms.

As if realizing how that sentence came across, Chimney holds up his palms in apology. "I just meant, uh, congratulations, that was unexpected, and please say that I can tell your sister."

"I'll tell her myself, thanks," Buck says a little frostily.

Bobby comes over and hugs him. Buck hugs back. "Congrats, Buck. When is the baby due?"

"Late August, and, uh, we are having babies," Buck adds on, the grin on his face growing even as he blushes.

Eddie's eyebrows climb to his hairline. "Wait, babies, plural? Twins?"

Now Buck smiles so wide, he could've cracked his face in two. "Triplets. Tommy and I are gonna have triplets."

Hen whistles. "Wow, you two." Then she frowns. "Wait. Late August... You guys were back together before Christmas?" A light dawns. "Was that when the baking suddenly stopped? And you kept saying you were- You were totally not at a book club."

"Two persons can make a club," Buck says weakly. "A-and we did read. Stuff. When we were done."

Hen shakes her head. "Unbelievable."

Bobby is laughing, clapping Buck on the shoulder. "Well, I hope you're ready to deal with three babies. How's Tommy holding up?"

"Morning sickness from hell, actually. Nothing he eats agrees with him other than oatmeal with fruit toppings. He's miserable." Buck sighs. "Still, docs say his appetite should come back soon."

"We'd like to visit him, if that's okay with the two of you."

"Let me check with him? He's super bloated, he says, so he gets really upset by the smallest things." Even as he is saying that, there's a smile on his face that won't go away, like the mere thought of Tommy fills him with too much joy to hide.

It's good to see him happy again, Bobby thinks. And he can't wait for August.

#tommy kinard #bucktommy #evan buckley #mpreg #tevan #118 fam

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axstoria · 1 day ago

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Got this idea from another post that I CANNOT for the life of me find.

AU where Clark comes to Earth as an adult, and has to blend into normal human society.

He knows his name is Kal-El, but he also knows that humans don't have names like that. He sees a couple of celebrities and mashes their names together, hoping that it would make him a bit more likable in the eyes of humans.

He hides sharp-tipped ears behind black curls and ball caps, wears glasses so people won't notice his abnormally deep blue eyes, and is constantly in sweaters despite the weather to conceal muscles that shouldn't exist on a "normal human".

When he gets his job at the Daily Planet and has to interview Bruce Wayne, he's scared. This is his first time being near a real human celebrity, and he's mortified that he'll blow his cover.

He sits and stares at the billionaire for several minutes. This human is gorgeous in all the ways a being can be. His eyes are blue like Earth's oceans, his hair falls in perfect wisps against his forehead, and his outfit is perfectly crisp against his body, perfectly tailored to every small curve.

"Uhm... Mr. Kent?" Bruce bats his eyelashes at him, smiling expectantly.

Clark snaps out of it, his pupils dilating ever so slightly. "You're beautiful. Can I court you? What's your favorite planet?— I'll bring you rocks!"

The man is stunned, watching the reporter for some time before replying, "I... suppose Venus is nice."

Bruce is fully convinced that this reporter is autistic. Makes his life easier. They could connect in that way.

Clark flushes, realizing what he's done. He's very happy the interview wasn't recorded in any way.

Bruce shows up to work the next day and there is a box with his name on it in sloppy handwriting sitting on his desk.

He opens it, and to his amusement—and shock— , there is a piece of rock inside with a note that says one word: Venus.

That night, Bruce takes the rock home to the Batcave and analyzes it for its composition. When it is a match for Venus, he immediately connects the dots that Clark Kent is the new meta being that had been parading around Metropolis and surrounding cities as of late. After all, not even the greatest scientists have yet to reach Venus, so how else would this reporter get a rock from the planet unless he could survive the expanse of space and fly there?

He is dumbfounded. And maybe a little in love.

#Clark tried his best to write English #Bruce thinks it's sweet #They kiss the next time they see each other 🥰#bruce wayne #batman #clark kent #kal-el #superman #superbat #superman x batman #batman x superman #dc comics #dc headcannon #drabble #axstoria

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mishkatelwarriorgoddess · 22 hours ago

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I am a middle school teacher, and see this every day! And I am telling the girls that it is no more right for them to say nasty things about the boys than it is for any of the boys to say things about them. The old adage 'Two wrongs don't make a right' is what I try to get through to them, and most of the time it does get through; though there are some that it won't work with, and when the parents come in it begins to explain things.

We may not be able to totally dismantle things now...but that doesn't mean that I'll EVER stop making sure that these young men know that they are just as valuable as any of the girls in my room!

Dear Blokes,

I am writing this letter to apologize for all the man-hating you receive on a daily basis. I honestly have no idea how you cope as well as you do.

In recent years on social media, there’s been a never-ending stream of vitriolic articles and commentary targeting you.

It seems man-hating has become a socially accepted blood-sport, and as the daughter of a wonderful father, this upsets me greatly.

What happens to boys growing up amidst this vicious hatred? And what is it doing to our daughters?

There’s nothing courageous about raising a man-hater. We can raise kick-ass girls without destroying the male species in the process.

Acclaimed British novelist and librettist, Doris Lessing, summed it up best before her death in 2013. She said:

“We have many wonderful, clever, powerful women everywhere, but what is happening to men? Why did this have to be at the cost of men?

I was in a class of nine- and 10-year-olds, girls and boys, and this young woman was telling these kids that the reason for wars was the innately violent nature of men.

You could see the little girls fat with complacency and conceit, while the little boys sat there crumpled, apologizing for their existence, thinking this was going to be the pattern of their lives.

The teacher tried to catch my eye, thinking I would approve of this rubbish.

This kind of thing is happening in schools all over the place and no one says a thing.

It has become a kind of religion that you can’t criticize because then you become a traitor to the great cause, which I am not.

It is time we began to ask who are these women who continually rubbish men. The most stupid, ill-educated and nasty woman can rubbish the nicest, kindest and most intelligent man and no one protests.

Men seem to be so cowed that they can’t fight back, and it is time they did.”

Men are being emasculated. They are being stripped of their identities and biological natures. There doesn’t seem to be a safe space for men to be men any more.

Humor isn’t allowed. Nuance and allegory are prohibited. What liberty will the outrage police take away next? When a man does raise his voice in the current climate, he is either mocked, bullied or labeled a mansplainer — he is unable to win.

I want gender equality and sexual equality just as much as anyone else. But when the vigilantes attempt to achieve it via the degradation of men, my feathers get sweaty and ruffled and I have to speak up.

I am so proud to be the daughter of a beautiful gentleman.

I am so proud to be the aunt of a beautiful nephew.

I am so proud to have been the friend, colleague and lover of numerous beautiful men.

And with all that said, I’m sorry. Sorry that I can’t do more and affect change more regarding this man-hating issue that has spread like a disease throughout the world.

I wish to close this letter with another quotation from Doris Lessing:

“There’s an unconscious bias in our society: girls are wonderful; boys are terrible. And to be a boy, or young man, growing up, having to listen to all this, it must be painful.”

Best regards,

Ashamed.

@positivityforboys @malepositive @boys-positivity @boypositiveplace

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scrambledsun · 1 day ago

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Mouthwashing au! So I enjoyed playing the game, and I'm enjoying the Fandom very much. Recently, I had an idea for a au. In this au Jimmy's like "fuck it is deserve to live more than anyone else" and takes the cryogenic pod for himself after he kills curly considering it his "mercy" and he gets rescued after 10 years later. He gives the investigators the story he wants and walks free.

And this is where it becomes apparent that jimmy, though he won't admit it, was severely reliant on curly. For one, Jimmy is naturally rather unlikable and without curly to defend him more often than not he gets his as kicked. He can't find a good job because once again, there's no curly to vouch for him.

And its not like he can use the money he got as compensation from pony express can help him. For one it wasn't very much to begin with. The already bankrupt company having paid the grieving families five years prior to Jimmy's unexpected return. They didn't account for his return. So when he did arrive it had came out of the founder's nearly empty pocket. And he'd already used a good chunk on medical bills as, surprise surprise, the cryo pods were shit, so he had to have one of his feet removed. And no disability for him isn't shit so more often than not he's living pay check to pay check.

And believe it or not, that's not the worst thing for him. No it would be the sins of his past haunting the fuck out of him at night. And no amount of drugs or alcohol help. For example: imagine him lying in bed, eyelids heavy with exhausten from his shitty job, drifting to dreamland, only to hear abrupt gunshots so loud they cause him to toss himself out of bed on to his dirty floor and leave his ears ringing for hours after. Or maybe he is trying to sleep again, feeling hopeful that now he'll get some desperately needed shut eye. Only to hear loud disgusting choking sounds that can't be blocked out no matter what he uses to cover his ears. It leaves he paralyzed in bed out of fear because last time when he rolled over to try and find where the sound came from, he was face to face and eyes to eye with the face of curly. He stopped sleeping in his bed for a while after that

Other times, he'll hear Swansea screaming his name out of anger, rapid heavy footsteps coming his way. Other times, he'll see anya in any type of reflective surfaces bleeding from he mouth and nose with her eyes rolled back. And sometimes he'll catch a glistening eye staring down on him from his dusty vents with blood dripping down and cries of pain coming from it.

He is being haunted at night and at his apartment. There's no one he can talk about this to for fear of incriminating himself. it's been the reason he's lost several jobs already. He's the mental case everyone avoids and pitys from a distance. He is alone with his thoughts and loyal crew. It's like a haunted au, but with a twist, I'll reveal later. Let me hear if there's anything thing you'd add to it!

#mouthwashing #jimmy mouthwashing #curly mouthwashing #swansea mouthwashing #anya mouthwashing #daisuke mouthwashing #mouthwashing au #haunted au

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