#cool fat women on tv

[miriam-heddy]

I made this, because Lesley Boone as leader of the Aloha Girls was just so cool. Anyone else notice how freaking rare it is to see a fat woman on Hawaii Five-0?

[craneboys]

Frasier-related US TV Guide Covers 🇺🇲

1987-2023

Via the TVGM Cover Archive

[sturniqlo]

Mood Swings- C.S

summary: a collection of times when y/n can't control her emotions this time around and experiences many mood swings.

cw: crying, cursing, bit of angst not too much, fluff?

an: i hate this one actually😭

masterlist | positive masterlist

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

ten weeks pregnant

Y/n hit ten weeks today. Chris had also officially moved in. The once empty space in the closet was now filled with Chris' clothes. Y/n loved going in there now and not only seeing her clothes but also seeing Chris' clothes hanging there too. The once empty drawers were filled with more of Chris' clothes. They woke up together, ate together, lounged together, showered together, and fell asleep together. Everything was perfect.

However, at random times during the day, Y/n would get... moody. She would go from lovey dovey with Chris to getting mad at something simple he did, for example turning down the tv volume which happened last week. "Why would you do that?!" She grew angry. Chris jumped at her sudden change. "Do what? Turn the volume down?" He asked softly, not wanting to rile her up more. "Yes! It was fine at fifteen! Why put it at seventeen?" She scooted to the far end of the couch, away from him. "Sorry, I'll change it back." He goes to reach for the remote but she stops him. "No keep it there, I'm going to bed." She grabs her phone and storms off to their room.

As much and Chris wanted to follow her, he knew she needed her time to cool down. He learned that the hard way. The first time her mood swings kicked in, Y/n stormed off to their room when Chris served her water in her outdoor water bottle. "You ruined everything!" She yelled and walked to their room. Chris, confused, followed her and Y/n got more ticked off and threw a pillow at him. She gasped, "Chris, I'm so sorry. Oh my gosh. Are you hurt?" Her mood changed in a blink of an eye. "I'm fine, are you okay?" He asked. "I think my mood swings are kicking in. I'm sorry what I said back there I didn't mean it okay? If I ever say any stupid shit just know I don't mean it."

Chris heard their bedroom door open from down the hall and Y/n entered the living room. Her mascara was streaked down her face with tears. "I'm sorry, Chris. I'm sorry for yelling at you. I can't control it" She climbed on his lap. "It's okay, baby. I know you didn't mean it." He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Do you forgive me?" She whispered. "Of course, do you want to head off to bed now? It's getting late and Matt and Nick are coming to pick us up early tomorrow." She nodded. "Okay, can you serve me water with ice?" Chris nodded.

The next morning, Y/n didn't have any mood swings when they were waiting for Nick and Matt to pick them up. However, after breakfast when they headed to the boys' place she had her first one of the day. "Hey, Y/n. Did you want to stop by any store to get snacks? We don't have much at our house right now, haven't gone shopping for the week." Matt said as he stopped at a red light. Y/n listened to Matt and took his question the wrong way. "Are you calling me fat, Matt?" She gasped angrily. Matt whipped his head over to Y/n who was sitting in the backseat with Chris. "What? Of course not!" He sort of laughed, thinking she was joking.

Chris widened his eyes, realizing he forgot to mention to his brothers that Y/n was starting the mood swing stage. He did his research when he first noticed it and saw that pregnant women have mood swings within the first six to ten weeks, however Y/n's mood swings started pretty late. "You're laughing, this isn't funny. Chris, your brother just called me fat! I just finished eating and now you're implying that I still want to eat? Unbelievable! This is just unbelievable!" Nick looked back at Chris with a confused look on his face. He gave Nick a look of 'don't say anything' and he quickly understood.

"Im sure he didn't mean it like that, Y/n. It just that you might get cravings later and they don't have what you want at their house." Chris said in the softest voice possible. Y/n glared at him. "So, you agree with him? Just- nobody talk to me, please." Y/n scooted as close as she could to the door and stared out the window.

Once they pulled into the garage, she quickly got out of the car and went into their house. "Dude, what's up with her?" Matt turned the car off and look back at Chris, Nick also turned to look. "I forgot to tell you guys that she started getting mood swings. She was doing great this morning but I guess your question ticked her off. So, if she says something hurtful just know she doesn't mean it. And don't add on to anything to make her even more mad or upset."

The triplets entered the house and saw Y/n sitting on the couch with a frown on her face. "You okay?" Chris said. "No." She whispered, getting to from her spot and walking to Matt. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell at you. I know you didn't mean it that way." Y/n wrapped her arms around Matt. "It's okay, kid." Matt hugged her back. "I'm guessing Chris told you guys what been happening." She lets go of Matt.

Throughout the day, Y/n had little blow outs but she was able to control those where she caught herself or she would go to the bathroom to cool off so she wouldn't say anything she didn't mean. Unfortunately, there was one that she couldn't control. Her and Nick were in the living room watching a movie while Matt was in his room playing fortnite with Chris who was using Nicks setup.

"I could really eat some ice cream right now." Y/n said, resting her head on his shoulder. "Let me check if we have any, I know Matt had some leftover." Nick gets up and goes to the kitchen and opens the freezer. "Are you- ugh, he is not serious." Nick opens the ice cream container and its empty. "Throw it in the fucking trash if it's empty." He mumbles, closing the fridge door and tossing the empty container away.

"Would you like me to order some? Kinda want some too." He goes back to his original spot, trying to grab some of the blanket but, she yanks it away. Y/n realizes and gives him an apologetic look before putting some blanket over him. "Please? I want... cookie dough and mango ice cream." Nick quietly grimaced at the two unusual combined choices. "Okay, let me text Matt and Chris if they want anything."

It had been ten minutes since Nick placed their order and Y/n mood changed. She was thinking about her ice cream and how it didn't sound good anymore and she started to tear up, feeling bad that she made Nick order and now she doesn't want it anymore. One loud sniffle made Nick turn to look at her and he started to worry. "Hey, you okay?" She shakes her head. "Wanna tell me what's going on?" He asks. "N-no you're going to get mad at me." Y/n cries and hides her head in the blanket. "I doubt I will." He tries to take the blanket off of her head but she grips it tightly.

Y/n eventually threw the blanket off of her and got off the couch and went up to Nicks room where Chris was. "Hi, bab- what's wrong?" Chris took off his headset and abandoned his game. "I feel so bad." She cried walking to Chris and sitting on his lap. "Why, what happened?" He held her face gently in his hands. "I was craving ice cream, and- and you know how he ordered?" He nodded, "I don't want it anymore. But, I feel bad because I made him order. What if he gets mad?" Her cries eventually turned into sniffles. "He's not going to get mad, I promise you."

Chris tried his best not to let out a giggle. It amazed him how fast her mood can change. He had went down about five minutes ago and Y/n was perfectly fine laughing with Nick. "Are you sure?" She whispers. "One hundred percent." He nods.

Y/n slowly came down the stairs and saw Nick smiling at her. "You're back! Are you okay now. Wanna tell me what happened?" He patted the spot she once sat it. She nodded. "I- I don't want the ice cream anymore. I'm sorry, I know I made you order it and," Her eyes filled with tears once more. "Fuck, I don't know why I'm crying. I know I made you order but, I'm not craving it anymore. And I feel really really bad. I- I'll pay you back." She said, wiping her eyes. "Y/n, it's fine. You don't have to pay me back. You can take the ice cream home, or give it to Chris, since he didn't want anything."

"You- you're not mad?" She gasps. "No! Why would I? You're pregnant, you're likely to have many cravings and craving changes. I'd never get mad at you for that." He laughs, and she cracks a smile. "You know what I am craving now, though? And I saw some in your fridge and cabinet." She whispers. "What?" He whispers back. "Bacon and nutella."

A week and many mood swings later, the time came when Chris couldn't contain his laughter and Y/n was even more distraught. "Chris, can you come here really quickly!" Y/n yells from the kitchen. He gets up from his spot on the couch and walks to the kitchen where Y/n is mixing her alfredo pasta. "Can you try it, see if it needs anything else." She grabs a plastic fork and stabs it through a noodle. "Smells good." He says before eating the pasta noodle.

"Mmm, it's good. Perfect actually." Y/n raises an eyebrow at his serious expression. "You hate it." She turns off the stove since it's ready. "What? No I don't." Chris says quickly. "Yes you do, you were serious, so you hate it." Y/n gets mad. "Baby, I promise you I don't hate it. You know I love your cooking." He laughs. "Why are you laughing." She whines, her eyes are now teary. "Hey, hey, don't cry. I'm sorry for laughing. But, I promise you I loved it, okay?" He wraps his arms around her from behind and places a kiss on her neck.

"Are you sure?" She says. "So sure." He places one last kiss on her neck. "Hey, do you think our baby will have mood swings?" Y/n asks.

"I hope not. I'm sorry to say but, It's giving me whiplash."

[wuffgang-ameowdeus-moozart]

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

STEVE LOOKS AT HIS BIG EMPTY HOUSE AND THINKS FUCK IT

(ft. baby Steve and Hopper accidentally teaching El the word 'orgasm')

cw: child neglect, underage drinking, sexism, brief fatphobia, Italian (like 2 words)

plugging my steve playlist

At first, eating fast food every day sounds like a dream come true. His parents don't allow him to eat pizza - we don't want you to become fat, Stephen, what would the people think? - but when he finally breaks the double digits and they deem him old enough to stay home alone, the freezer is filled with frozen pizza. "You know how to get takeout, right?" his mother asks. Steve doesn't mention that he needs to get on his tippy-toes to reach the tall table with the phone and nods. And then he is alone.

Tommy Hagan says that he loves it when his parents aren't home. His brother wants to be left alone, and so he is sent upstairs and can watch as much tv as he wants, even the horror movies he isn't allowed to yet. Sometimes, when his brother invites friends over, he can even sneak a bit of alcohol. He loudly proclaims that alcohol is cool and fun and awesome, but one time, when Steve and Tommy are alone, he whispers that beer actually tastes really bad and makes him sleepy and that sometimes it gives him a tummy ache.

And it is somewhat exciting, at first. Having the entire house for himself. He can watch as much TV as he wants, even the scary movies his mom hates. (But at night, when he dreams of monsters and demons and blood, there is nobody there to reassure him that it isn't real). He can eat whatever he wants whenever he wants. (One night he puts all the pizza in the oven and plays a game against himself: eat as many slices as possible. The next day the teacher sends him home with a bellyache and he barely makes it into the bathroom before he is throwing up. He can't even look at pizza after that without feeling nauseous)

After that disaster he discovers the wonder that is takeout. (The table is so incredibly tall and every time he reaches for the phone there is a split second when his heart stops and he is sure that the phone will fall on the floor and break into a hundred pieces and he won't be able to hear it when his parents finally decide to call (they haven't had time yet, his father is a very busy man) and they will find out and they will hate him forever. But he always manages to catch it, so it's fine.)

Hawkins is a small town, which means that Steve's options are severely limited. His parents left him three pamphlets from different restaurants he can call. The first is Italian. Steve remembers heaving on the toilet and throws that one away. The second is a Diner. His stomach is already growling and reading has never come easy to him, so he calls without even reading the last one.

By the time his parents return, he knows the number of the diner by heart and is already on first-name basis with most of the staff. His favorite is Daisy. She always asks him how he is doing and sometimes she sneaks in sweets he didn't order.

He misses Daisy when his mother starts cooking again, and then he feels bad for missing her because his parents are finally home! He never really appreciated his mother's cooking until he had to go without. He has vague memories of refusing to eat his vegetables when he was small, but the feeling of eating something not greasy is so good he even takes seconds. His parents smile and he feels his heart fluttering in his chest. "See, he is already growing up", his father says, and Steve beams.

He wants to help in the kitchen, but his parents don't allow it. ("Only women belong in the kitchen", his father thunders. "You're just making a mess! For gods sake Stephen, leave me alone! Aren't you too old to keep running after your mummy?!", his mother complains.)

--

Steve isn't sure when exactly he decided that he didn't care. Maybe it was when he went to Carol's house and realized how empty his fridge is in comparison to hers. Maybe it was when he started exchanging his readymade supermarket sweets for other people's lunches, so he could at least have something that isn't prepackaged. Maybe it was when Daisy suddenly stopped going on the phone when he called the diner and the new worker (he doesn't know her name) got really annoyed with him when he wanted to talk about his day. (He is scared that he is the reason she is gone. That all the secret sweets and fries she would add to his order got her fired. But he doesn't know how to contact her, or even her last name, so he can never find out for sure)

All he knows is that one day he looks at the kitchen and knows he can't do frozen or canned meals anymore.

--

Steve goes to the living room and searches the huge bookshelf with narrowed eyes. (He once asked his father why they had so many books if neither he nor his parents like to read. He said that he should stop asking stupid questions.)

He chooses to see it as a good sign when he finds a cook book in the lowest shelf. The bookshelf is even taller than the telephone table, and if all the recipes were too high up he wouldn't be able to reach them even with a chair.

He makes for a noticeable picture, a tiny boy dragging around a huge book and an even bigger bag. (He had never gone to the supermarket before. When his parents go on a business trip they always leave him with enough food to last until their return, and when they are home food always seems to magically appear in the kitchen - or he assumes it is in the kitchen, he isn't allowed in there when mother is home. He thought grown-ups just magically knew what they needed to buy, but he took one look at the ingredients list and knew he would never be able to remember everything. When he sees a woman taking a shopping list out of her bag, his tiny mind is blown.)

Sometimes he can't reach a shelf. Then he stretches and glares until an adult notices and takes pity on him. They offer to help him with the book or with the bag but he refuses. Father says he is already a big boy, and big boys don't need help. It doesn't count when people just do it without asking. He would've been able to reach the flour all by himself if no one had interrupted him. Probably.

His first attempts in the kitchen are disastrous to say the least, and his respect for his mother only grows. One time his neighbors even call the firefighters. He was terrified when he heard the sirens nearing his house - was sure that his parents found out that he was messing in the kitchen even though they explicitly forbade it and that he was going to prison and that he would never walk free again. Luckily that didn't happen. He doesn't mention that part when he recounts it to Tommy and Carol the next day. And if he exaggerates the fire a bit, there is nobody there to dispute him (it's okay if it makes him look cool.)

(The firefighter asked where his parents were. He said they were on a business trip. Another one asked when they would be back. He answered in a week. The first said he should call his parents, and Steve explained that they didn't like to be bothered. The second one frowned, and Steve asked if he was in trouble, but he assured him that he wasn't. The first one said he should call them anyway, that they would want to know this, and so he did.

His father answers the third time he calls. He sounds annoyed - Steve can perfectly picture his angry frown - and so he explains that he didn't want to call him, he promises, but the firefighter said he should.

"What happened?" his father asked, still annoyed.

And Steve hesitates. His teacher says that lying is wrong, but when he was honest and told his mother he wishes they were home more often she said that he should stop being so selfish, that it's not a good look, that it's ugly. So he doesn't say that he accidentally charred another chicken (the book said that if it is even a little bit raw it can make you sick and being sick isn't fun when you don't have anyone to take care of you) and forgot to turn off the oven. He knows his parents don't want him in the kitchen. They will probably feel like they should come home early, and of course they won't because father's work is important, but they will feel bad while they are gone and Steve doesn't want his parents to feel bad. So he starts talking about his day, hoping to be able to come up with something by the time he gets to the part where he has to explain the fire. Luckily his father doesn't have time to listen to his ramblings and hangs up before that.)

The next day Steve goes to the supermarket, the trip already a part of his daily routine (this time with a list, like a real grown-up), and tries again. He learns what fancy words like "bardare" or "irrorare" mean and that you need to preheat the oven before you use it. He still messes up, but it's okay.

After all, he's got a lot of time to learn.

--

Steve is glad that he wasn't the only one.

And he feels horrible when he thinks that. These fucking monsters are terrifying, he was sure he was going to die more than once. (He still can't believe that he didn't).

But if he had to go through all of this alone, he wouldn't be having a We All Survived An Attack By Monsters From Another Dimension/Will Byers Is Back/The Weird Supergirl Needs Friends/Isn't The Sheer Amount Of NDAs We Needed To Sign Literally Insane/Just Like What The Fuck In General-Dinner right now. He feels a bit like an outsider - which is ridiculous considering his literal girlfriend is also a part of it (or at least he hopes she still considers him her significant other). But he has nothing better to do and he doesn't want to worry Nancy, so he compromises with himself and brings food as a sort of apology.

(he isn't sure what he is apologizing for)

He arrives early to help set up the table, and Joyce places his dish right in the center.

The first one to taste it is Hopper. Steve doesn't blink when Hopper guides the fork to his mouth and he doesn't breathe when he starts chewing. For a moment it seems like time stopped flowing (he is eerily reminded of the first time he saw that monster, the demo-monster-whatever. The realization that the world is so much scarier than he originally thought). Then, Hopper's eyes widen. He makes a sound that would not be out of place in a bedroom. The kids (and isn't it awful that they are so fucking young they are like half his age they shouldn't have to deal with this) stare at him in varying degrees of disgust.

"Holy fuck Joyce, I think I just had an orgasm. I would literally sell my fucking kidney for this lasagna."

The kids look as if Hopper had stripped down and started pole dancing on the table. Nancy's little brother makes an unimpressed "ew." Supergirl imitates him, although she doesn't look too sure about why she is doing that. Steve can't help the small smile forcing itself on his face.

"Oh no", Joyce says, "it's Steve who brought the lasagna". The entire rest of the table stares at him (as if he was the one who has fucking mind powers and okay maybe he isn't over everything like he tried to convince himself he is) and he can feel his cheeks reddening.

--

(Later, the kids give him a self-made "I survived a Demogorgon and all I got was this stupid apron"-apron. He wears it every time he goes into the kitchen)

Unexpected talent #1: cooking

[script-a-world]

Submitted via Google Form:

I am thinking about having an alien culture (generally humanoid) where all clothing is pretty much the same and there's no absolutely concept about gendered clothing. Styles is the same for everyone and purely an individual choice and there's also generally no trends among gender lines. So clothing stores are just clothing stores. Pregnancy is a thing but there's no 'maternity' clothing - that's just general larger sizes, a fat person and a pregnant person would go to the same store section. There anything I'm missing here or does this sound like an odd attempt at some kind of statement?

Tex: Gender is something largely developed as a cultural phenomenon, which has varied according to era and region (Wikipedia). Clothing is a functional item that is required to perform certain tasks outside of things like self-identification, and is primarily a means of self-protection from the environment (Wikipedia).

If your humanoid, alien culture has non-gendered clothing, then their culture would ideally need to reflect a prioritization about their concept of clothing and what it’s used for. Pregnancy is a little unique in that certain bodily concerns need to be addressed for a person’s health, and garments and other textile-based aids will reflect that some physical assistance may be needed in daily wear.

I would recommend, if you’re looking for reference material, garments that are made out of one piece of cloth, such as various types of dresses or skirts, because they show the most versatility and are the easiest to produce and adorn. The size of your alien culture’s looms will inform much about how they produce textiles, as well as if/how they sew fabrics together, and thus what kind of clothing they have - be they created from plant-based fibers or different types of leathers or silks.

Licorice: it’s tempting to focus on the gender aspect, but I’m particularly fascinated by the idea that “styles is the same for everyone and purely an individual choice and there's also generally no trends among gender lines.” So they don’t have fashions? They would be unique among human societies if that was the case. Of course, strictly speaking your people are humanoids, not humans, but I think it would be interesting to look even further outside the box here.

Why do human beings have fashions? What does fashion say about the human psyche - about our need to simultaneously conform and be ahead of the trend? In what other ways would a society be different from our own if it were created by beings who don’t “do” fashion? For example, would a society that doesn’t do fashion also lack concepts for things such as “cool” and “conformity”? If they don’t have fashions in clothing, what other things do they not have fashions in? Art, poetry, literature, TV shows? Politics? Morality? Values?

How do they signal status if not through their clothes? Or do they even have a concept of status? Perhaps they are true egalitarians?

My final question: is this fashionless society with androgenised clothing something that has evolved spontaneously, over centuries or millennia, or is it something that has been imposed on the people from the top down, like during the Cultural Revolution in China when everyone, men, women, and children wore Mao suits?

[jell0buss-37]

My Peter B headcannons!

General HCs, however I will take requests for different HCs (only for Headcannons rn though 👀)

He's a reporter rather than a physicist in his universe.

He was probably more of a jock type, who knew more about sports. When he got bitten he got more active, but never played any team sports because he was still scared of his bullies.

He had asthma before he was bitten.

He loves the color blue, but specifically navy blue.

Loves classic rock, but like 70s sort of classic rock, so definitely more of a Kinks, Rolling Stones, Queen sorta fan.

In his Universe, Harry was his Green Goblin.

He's very emotional.

He is a HUGE horror movie buff.

Is actually a very big bookworm, especially mystery books. Growing up he was a big Sherlock Holmes fan.

His parents were actually alive, but they couldn't take care of him, and so they sent him to live with his Aunt and uncle when he was 5.

He's actually from Nebraska.

He's not a fan of his birthday, so he never makes a big deal about it.

Also gets butthurt when nobody makes a big deal about it.

His universes Gwen was actually a babysitter he had a fat crush on when he was 9. She was 8 years older than him.

He likes funny women, it makes his stomach flip whenever a spunky woman can joke with him.

More of a grease monkey than a lab rat, however he somehow is and actual whizz when it comes to many subjects. Except for Arts of any sort. He actually is not creative at all.

He has the most useless facts stored in his head, it can literally be the most out of pocket thing ever, and yet doesn't know basic things.

"Did you know that Pelicans can pull their spines through their unhinged jaws to cool off?" ".... Peter wha-"

"What do pelicans eat?" "Idk, broccoli?"

He can't sing or dance for the life of him.

But he can play the harmonica

And he likes colorful drinks. Alcoholic drinks or not.

That and Root Beer

An absolute Mug Root beer fiend

Also really good at video games, doesn't matter what game, he picks it up so fast

Looks like big dumb, but really that's just him not caring.

Has a fear of Michael Cera.

"Where are his eyebrows???"

Is literally just Nick Miller, actually.

He's a cat dad

His cat's name is Tyler

"I am sick of Tyler just jumping into the shower and getting freaked out and scratching me-" "Woah, WHAT?? Like your roommate!?" "No. My cat. Why would my roommate attack me-"

Uses punctuation when he texts so you can never tell what tone he's using when he texts

'omw now want me to get u smth from the store'

'No. Drive safe.' (so menacing???)

Has a Ned in his universe that is his office buddy at the Daily Bugle

Ned is an intern and he and Peter have horror movie marathons, and he is also an artist

Peter can't drive. Also he's literally Spiderman so that doesn't matter anyway. But if you ask him, he will not know how to drive. He fixes cars, doesn't drive them.

Never went to college, but got a degree in quantum physics online

That and a wedding licence as spiderman. He thought it'd be funny if Spider-Man could officiate weddings

Is actually scared of kids until Miles

After Miles, he is so good with kids

In his mind

Is writing his own book about a detective from New Orleans (iykyk)

Is Irish-Italian

Likes Baseball a lot because it reminds him of his Uncle Ben

His universe doesn't have reality TV

He's also a DM for Ned's DND group

Totally LARPs, but doesn't admit it

Doesn't like Apple sauce and hasn't eaten it since he was 8 because he ate too much of it and threw it up

Genuinely loves his friends interests, and will genuinely try them out or watch whatever it is they like so they can gush together or debate

Has a barber shop he goes to where he just talks with the old men there, he's been going since he was 12 because Uncle Ben took him

Can Bake really good and sew because of May

He actually asked her to teach him these skills

Has a dream to live in the Oscar Meyer Weiner mobile one day

[stonerhog]

✨about me✨

29 year old fat stoner faggot, lover of feedism and maintaining my huge, rounding gut. they/them pronouns. this is a heterosexual free zone. trans dude (ish) 🏳️‍⚧️

previously saucygremlin

DNI IF YOU ARE: under 18, transphobic, pro-eating disorder/anorexia, homophobic, EXCLUSIVELY INTO WOMEN

🚫NO TRANS CHASERS🚫

I block blogs with no age in bio/pinned. do not reblog me to sapphic blogs.

the content on this blog is for adults only, 18+ | please do not attempt to flirt with me or chat me up if you’re under 25. I am only interested in men/masc aligned people and am in a relationship!

fat thoughts, pics and videos found under #fat piggy

videos I enjoy can be found under #video

✨main kinks✨

burping

stuffing/overeating

bloating

tight clothes

fat worship

stomach noises

feeding others/being fed

belly play

belly buttons

weight gain

size difference/contrast (fat and fatter especially)

soft Dom

t4t feedism

not into:

humiliation, farting, excessive slob, being made unhealthy/unfit, fat shaming, force feeding, stealthy weight gain, invasive questions about my genitals, vore, pregnancy/mpreg, death feedism, talking about my chest in any sexual way (moobs, man tits etc)

~~~~

outside of being a horny motherfucker, my interests include film, TV, cooking, comedy, smoking a lot of weed (how else am I this fat), filmmaking, cross stitching, leftist politics, fat liberation, 20th century history and petting dogs that aren’t mine.

you can find me on Grommr (@stonerhog) and Feabie (@saucedaddy) as well as posting feedist videos on YouTube.

I love chatting, but I hate small talk. let’s talk about something you think is interesting or cool! don’t be weird and I would love to chat to you! flirting/horny stuff is not off limits but PLEASE be above the age of 25 if you’re trying to hit on me. you are too young for me otherwise.

[spidermanifested]

this is not my usual type of post but ive been rotating some thoughts and i guess my blogs as good a place as any to get them organized. okay so this is basically my take on the entire discourse surrounding the "feminine (presumed cis lets be honest) women are uniquely oppressed for being feminine/making female characters quote unquote Less Feminine is antifeminist" thing. which i keep seeing come up. on this internet of ours

context being im a trans guy. grew up largely seen by others as female, probably, sort of. was about as far from a cishet womans feminine as you can imagine. not in a cool tomboy way. not in a way that society had a box for. and thats the thing, is that when you fail at gender, whether youre conscious of it or not, theres this extremely profound loneliness that comes with it. part of it was the autism but i made like 6 real-life friends total from ages 4 to 18 and there were no examples of anyone with an even remotely adjacent experience i could find in the media or irl. anytime a female character skirted a little too close to actual masculinity in a tv show or movie shed get that makeover eventually. i was bullied by both boys and girls but the girls who bullied me were uniformly very feminine.

and so i see people talking about how hard feminine women and girls have it, how the world hates them for being beautiful, and on the one hand its like okay, Misogyny Exists. thats not really refutable thats just the reality of it. society hates women. and as for eurocentric femininity specifically i understand its a hard tightrope to walk!!! you have to put on all these masks BUT make them seem natural, youre forced into these narrow boxes of acceptable behavior and appearance and desires, and if you under- or over-shoot then people get reminded the whole thing is a farce and get mad (often violently!) at YOU for it

........but then my thing is, that on one side of the tightrope, the "overperforming eurocentric femininity" side, the tradwife or girlboss or blonde bimbo side, theres an entire history of structural trope-crafting to break your fall, right. like its a shitty box but its the box society WANTS you to be in. they look at you and go "yep thats a woman. we dont like those but that sure is one". there are known social niches to carve out. theres a script.

on the unfeminine side theres just. nothing. its stone cold concrete down there. and apparently twitter would have you believe its actually that the "more masculine" somebody presumed female appears the more society respects them but that to me is the wildest and most nonsense take on the planet because if people see you as a woman or girl who has not taken the needed steps to justify your place as one of those things you might as well be an alien, or even a monster. theres no script at all. and i feel like this is one of the major experiences that trans and gnc people of every gender share-- god knows trans women get the brunt of the vitriol-- and from my knowledge a lot of nonwhite people too, and also fat and disabled people, like. there are SO many things that affect your ability to achieve even a fraction of success at this aspirational femininity.

ive had to see people for real make the argument that princess peach making an angry face is masculine. i think the most masculine woman anyone on twitter can imagine right now is like a businesswoman in a form-fitting pantsuit and light mascara. maybe the struggle of succeeding at femininity under patriarchy deserves exploration, ive seen plenty of coherent and reasonable points, its not without worth as a discussion. but i do not trust the general public with the topic without immediately sliding into bog standard gender policing and transphobia, and so in closing, when the mainstream feminist take on the whole thing seems to be "the more you perform the femininity expected of you the worse you have it", i get the sensation that nobody told me it was opposite day and im about to feel real silly

[thescentofrainonstone]

Why is it always about Him?

So either you got a crush on a character someone created or on the old style of Stephenie Meyer and even more recently Deborah Harkness, you write fiction to self insert yourself.

50 shades of grey was born as Twilight fanfic and its main audience was... Mums on their 30s , 40s and over.

Why? Simplistically for the same reason I reckon Stephenie Meyer wrote twilight at all: to escape somehow the frustration of living within the very strict confines of housewifeship, with a husband and 3 boys, in a Mormon contest. I mean who wouldn't lock themselves away to dream about someone powerful and wealthy to whisk them up and save them from that kind of life? I get it.

But why in every story that wants *HIM* to notice either the empty vessel protagonist in which you can pour yourself ( hello Mary Sue) or actually *you* given all the fanfic X reader or OC that really is potential reader, the point remains to describe... Him?

I mean, self insert right? Deborah Harkness with A Discovery of Witches is very blatant about it and I actually resent we didn't get a curvy Diana cast in the TV show. Even when the point is that she is writing herself as Diana to be the chosen one... She spends pages and pages going into minute detail about the "He", in this case Matthew, but you'd think she'd spend just as much if not more over Diana because... Well... This entire thing exists to elevate her, no? This entire thing you write exists to make *you* feel special and chosen... And even if it has to be left as generic enough for people to pour themselves into the aforementioned vessel... Why does it seem every Bella, every Diana, every Suki, every Elena... Don't get the treatment their male counterparts do? If Stephenie Meyer locked herself out of her entire cast ensemble's minds because she wrote from Bella's point of view, Deborah Harkness isn't shy about changing depending on the chapter, from the *I*s of Diana to the Third Singular Person who accidentally can also let transpire other character's thoughts. Cool, I'll take it.

Yet why do we have almost 4 pages of drooling over the first time we see Matthew and yet, special as we want to feel as Diana, nothing of the sort is given? Not really.

Same with Loki fanfictions of every flavour, shape, size.

Why do we want to be special but cannot spell out why and casually, all these characters are just innately special, no merit or work recognised?

And then it hit me: most of these stories are written by white, relatively comfortable, bored women. The main target audience for patriarchy objectification, who have basically been told from birth their value is intrinsically connected to their existence (read beauty) and unquestionable because the standard of culture aka Whiteness.

Put othering markers on them (fatness is the first that can be so quickly connected to its racist roots) and the frustration of not getting the Prince from Beauty and the Beast after they have done all culture told them they should (usually husband and children, with luck a degree that gets put second to the first 2) leaves them with this energy that has basically created fandoms, but still unable to vocalise why they are special other than existing (because whiteness as an idea born in the 1600s was supposed to become the birth lottery ticket where by doing nothing but being born white you were better than who was not).

And so we spend pages over pages getting flushed over the minutiae of male characters or even other female characters but not themselves, and the amazing reason why they will be chosen and loved will be intrinsic, something they had from birth and could not chose, let alone work for: for Diana is the magic, for Bella the blood who sings exactly Edward's tune, for Suki the blood as well but at least we try to go the fairy explanation, for Elena she's literally a doppleganget of Catherine.

Why has it never occurred to any of them to spend that time in the brain of their male character singing the praises of not only who they are but who they have become and grown to be?

[klysanderelias]

I think the thing I hate about this fucking show is that it was basically tailor-made for 13 year old me, and I mean that perjoratively against the show and not myself.

It was made for a kid who could encyclopedically recite trivia that no one else remembers (such as the name of the star destroyer thrawn used a flagship, and the name of his noghri slave [which both come up in this episode]) and who read every book and wrote fanfic in his head and for whom the good guys looked like agent kallus and the bad guys looked like saw guerrera.

And that's really the problem, right? Because that's what I saw, on every TV show and every movie and the cover of every book. The good guys were white, attractive, generally male, people of my culture. And the bad guys were often aliens, depicted with sloping foreheads and big noses or enormous rotund forms like bloated slugs (literally in the case of jabba the hutt).

And I'm watching this show made for 13 year olds like me, and I'm seeing the way they treat every non-white or alien character. I'm seeing the way that Azmorigan is a slobbering fat man who buys slaves and is willing to kill and die for treasure. I'm seeing the way that Hondo Ohnaka is a backstabbing untrustworthy man with a heavy accent that COULD be some version of caribbean but DEFINITELY has a distinctly japanese name. I'm seeing the way that Sabine Wren's family is vaguely japanese and obsessed with family honor to the point of siding with the evil fascists until the brave white man(dalorian) arrives to help change their mind. I'm seeing the way that the man who lost his entire species to genocide actually DIDN'T and he even forgives the guy who did it because actually the guy who did it actually DIDN'T and even if he did he felt bad about it and besides he once saw another guy of that species do something bad once so it all evens out.

I'm seeing the way the first black character on screen is lando calrissian up to his old tricks, scamming and double-crossing the team while flirting tremendously with the women. I'm seeing the way that the SECOND black character on screen gets killed immediately in order to prove that the stakes are real. I'm seeing the way that the THIRD black character on screen is Saw Guerrera, positioned as an recalcitrant terrorist prone to violence and willing to commit genocide in order to get what he wants, until the good (white) guys talk him down and they part on uneasy terms.

And I'm like, yeah.

No wonder I was like that. No wonder so many other kids were, ARE, like that.

Because some dumb motherfucker who was that kid too is highly placed in a writing room going 'damn this agent kallus guy feels like such a cool dude. No idea why. We should make him the good guy. That just feels right, right everyone?'

'Damn this kylo ren guy feels like such a cool dude. No idea why...'

'Damn this finn guy just isn't working for me. He's too nice. He's too much of a mary sue. What if we made him a complicated, nuanced character by making him a side character with a minor plot arc, so we can bring in this kylo ren guy...'

I'm just so tired. I don't think there's a world where I get to escape this. I wish I could take a pill to turn off all my higher level brain functions to get through the fucking week.

And really the problem is I just need to balance it out. I need to watch tv that isn't made by white fanboys who've never had to interrogate their deeply-held biases. I need to read books and watch movies that are actually good.

But the problem I'm having is that it's nearly impossible for me to keep up with something that I can't talk to anyone else about. I can watch rebels because there's a podcast dissecting it in minutiae the same way I do. There's no one I can do that with for gundam (there IS a podcast but it's one of those '1 hour analysis - look inside - summary' deals).

[losercomputers]

Some of My Fav WOC Jazz Artists!

As it is officially the last day of Women's History Month, I thought it would be fitting to close it off by giving some of my favorite (and arguably underrated) WOC jazz artists some very well-deserved recognition!

Una Mae Carlisle (born December 26, 1915 – passed November 7, 1956) -

A truly talented jazz pianist, composer, and vocalist that specialized primarily in swing and crooner styles. With her voice highly resonant, leaving behind a lingering sweetness, and careful attention to detail in her piano-playing, Una Mae was not only one of the first WOC jazz composers to have her work end up on billboard charts, but her achievements are parallel to/went beyond the bounds of those other more conscientiously documented jazz performers in the early 20th century.

Discovered by Fats Waller at the young age of 17, Una Mae Carlisle had an early start in the entertainment industry with her true roots being in the little state of Ohio. Despite her early compositions and playing styles being heavily inspired by Waller, starting in the mid-late 1930s and continuing until her passing, Una Mae would go on to have her own solo career outside of touring and recording with him. In turn, she traveled across the states and even made her way throughout Europe and the UK (though eventually returning to the states and settling down in Harlem, New York).

Her achievements spanned from things such as her compositions becoming hits that proceeded to be performed and recorded by other highly-regarded jazz artists such as Ella Fitzgerald, Peggy Lee, Billie Holiday, etc, and taking residencies in big and bustling clubs around the world. She would do work in Paris, London, Amsterdam, and New York where she would appear and perform in several films, and worked alongside record labels such as Capitol Records and Bluebird Records. Eventually, in her later years of life, Una Mae would go on to become the first African-American woman to have her own radio program, named “Agile fingers and a voice that lingers," broadcasting to stations across different parts of the US.

There's a lot that I've left out as I could dedicate an entire essay to her, but please give her a listen and be prepared to feel like you're falling in love.

Teri Lyne Carrington (born August 4, 1965) -

A force to be reckoned with in the world of contemporary jazz, drummer, composer, activist, and educator, Teri Lyne Carrington, in my eyes, is a genuine SUPERHUMAN. She has and continues to breathe new life into the genre and has made significant contributions to expanding what jazz is all about.

As a lifelong musician, Teri Lyne Carrington, started her career as a professionally accounted for jazz artist at the young age of 10 and attended the Berklee College of Music at only 11. Throughout her career, Teri has worked and toured with other big names in jazz such as Cassandra Wilson, Stan Getz, Pharaoh Sanders, Herbie Hancock, and Wayne Shorter, and can also be recognized in other parts of the entertainment industry such as performing on several late night TV shows .

Teri lyne Carrington may also be recognized as the first woman ever to win a Grammy award in the Best Jazz Instrumental Album category. However, she didn't do this just once, but SEVERAL times. She would recieve Grammy's for "The Mosaic Project," "Money Jungle: Provocative in Blue," "Waiting Game," and her most recent album "new STANDARDS vol.1" (LIKE I SAID, A FORCE TO BE RECKONED WITH)

Her artistry is not to be questioned and neither is her character! Teri has made archaic efforts in amplifying the voices of and creating an inclusive, safe, and welcoming space in the jazz world for marginalized groups. LISTEN TO THIS COOL ASS LADY!!!

​Melissa Aldana (born December 3, 1988) -

Highly influential and a true master of her craft, Chilean jazz saxophonist, Melissa Aldana, evokes a sort of poetic and soul-touching aura through her playing and does a superb job of not just performing jazz but feeling and speaking jazz.

Melissa got the ball rolling as a professional saxophonist by first playing jazz clubs as a young teen in Santiago, Chile. As she gained traction, she was eventually lead to study at the Berklee College of Music and would then move to New York City post-graduation, and during this time, was under the guidance of other respectable musicians such as Bill Pierce, Greg Osby, and George Coleman.

Outside of her musical education, Melissa Aldana has gone to the lengths of achieving things such as winning Altazor National Arts Award of Chile, being the first female musician, youngest musician, and South American musician to win the Thelonious Monk International Jazz Saxophone Competition, performing in multiple credible jazz festivals around the world, AND has won a Grammy for Best Jazz Performance.

Just like Una Mae Carlisle and Teri Lyne Carrington, Melissa Aldana's work ethic and eagerness to always keep learning and widening her perspectives is more than admirable.

These women make me so excited for the future directions of jazz and the incoming lineage of influential and innovative female jazz performers. As the genre evolves, it is figures like these outstanding women that unfailingly serve as a reminder as to how important women are to the arts and how we will forever stand as symbols of possibility.

Have a beautiful April~

[snooziep]

15 questions for 15 mutuals

Tagged by @her-pegship <3

1. Were you named after anyone? no, neither my sister nor i - not many women in my family but my parents just went with names they like.  my mum had a family middle name (king - not double-barrelled with her surname, just middle name king so it stayed with her when she married) which she hated so didn’t give to us.  i get why, but i do think it would have been kinda cool.

2. When was the last time you cried? listening to “my favorite murder” last night - it was a survivor story and those always get me.  in fact it really doesn’t take much to make me cry - happy stuff, sad stuff, memes, donkeys, tv, sunsets, books, people being nice, gifs of ducks......

3. Do you have kids? no.  i have kids in my life (niece and nephew and god-daughter etc) so best of both worlds - all the fun and not much responsibility

4. Do you use sarcasm? of COURSE not

5. What’s the first thing you notice about people? height. not sure why! i am quite tall I guess and have been since i was quite young so maybe it became a thing in my head in those formative years.  and it has no bearing on my opinion of them. it just somehow registers in my head whether they are taller or shorter than me.  this has been exacerbated by zoom.  i have colleagues i didn’t meet in the flesh for a couple of years and when i met them it was always “huh taller/shorter than i imagined”

6. What’s your eye colour? blue/grey/bloodshot

7. Scary movies or happy endings? a bit of both? scary then happy at the end? although i do love a good wtf ending. i read a lot stephen king in my teens so i like that “yeah happy ending.... wait... what?  nnooOOOOOOO!”

8. Any special talents? I sing, and I have a knack for finding/tracking obscure facts and trivia. this is @her-pegship’s answer and oooh that’s me too!!

9. Where were you born? Nottingham, UK

10. What are your hobbies? jigsaws, tv/cinema/reading, singing in a choir, propagating succulents, fact forum on facebook (started on myspace - yes i am that old!)

11. Have any pets? i had rats for a while.  loved them dearly but even they were too much responsibility haha.  so for now it is plant babies.

12. What sports do/have you played? you wouldn’t know it if you met me now, but i played volleyball right through my 20s and i danced (ballet and tap) from 8 to around 30. but now it’s a big fat NO

13. How tall are you? 5 foot 8 (173cm)

14. Favorite subject at school?  physics and chemistry

15. Dream job? i have worked in the civil service for 30 years and aim to retire in 2025 but i think i will get a little shop job.  i did that in my 6th form and loved in - in a paper shop selling fags and sweets (and newspapers). that’ll suit me.  tidying the shelves, chitchatting to folks. folding up my tabard at the end of my shift and heading home with weary feet but an relaxed brain.

tagging some folks but happy to hear from anyone (and obviously dont feel obliged!!!) @imsfire2 @letsby @ladyk23 @katsdisturbed @obishenshenobi @fishyandclintbarton @arms-and-arrows  @dannybagpipesarecalling @sarabeth72 @keyrousse @iriel3000 @redsector-a @cakeisnotpie @taketheshot21 @hijirikaww

[wearethepoemspoetry]

we are the poems

i have a love-hate relationship with bukowski.

sometimes i worship his words and especially his line breaks. i get so insecure about my own that i’ll spend years editing one poem. i’ll come back a decade later just to change one tiny word, just one awkward line break.

i can’t write a new poem; there’s nothing left in me that’s inspired anymore.

and who else do i have to blame for that when i don’t answer my phone or even leave my room, let alone live my life, or love, or do anything in this life that’s considered worthwhile?

so it’s like a goddamn epiphany when i go back to a poem i wrote in a time i did all of those things, and i become inspired enough just to press the return button on my computer.

i used to get fucked up like bukowski, but all that got me was fat and more depressed, and maybe he didn’t care if he was a fat drunk, but i do.

and i am envious of how bukowski never cared that he was somewhat of a man whore, as if anybody actually cares if a man sleeps around. but i still care what people think about me even though slut-shaming has gone by the wayside. and even worse, i know i could never live that way. i’ve always given my heart away far easier than i’ve given away my body.

i was always so careless with my heart, and protective of my body, and i should have been the opposite. if i had been, maybe my heart wouldn’t be so bruised that i don’t allow myself to let anybody near me. maybe if i allowed the aching near my heart, or any feeling, for god’s sakes, i’d still have some words to write that just might be worthwhile.

and maybe i hate myself just a little bit for refusing to let anything in when i know it means i can’t let anything out.

i despise how egotistical bukowski is; it’s so obvious in his posthumous works. but he always thought he was a genius, would walk around wasted, yelling at his women how nobody could see his genius but him. even when he calls himself a drunk bum, it’s like he feigns self-pity, and is somehow proud that he’s some drunk bum, because his genius allows him to be. and if bums get paid like him, then i’d be a bum any day of the week.

he points out the trend of poets using ampersands and lowercase letters, and mostly the lowercase “i” as if he’s somehow better than poets who maybe just want to use them.

he points out the trend of poets using ampersands and lowercase letters, and mostly the lowercase “i” as if he’s somehow better than poets who maybe just want to use them. and god knows i’d never use an ampersand. it would go against my tendency to never abbreviate, as if i’m still that blonde english major that never fit in because they all thought i was dumb, so i clung to the MLA format like a religion. but i do use lowercases, especially the lowercase “i” sometimes, not because i saw other poets do it and thought it looked cool. but because sometimes i don’t feel like an I. usually i feel like an i. so weak and insignificant and hopeless and desperate, that i’m not even worth using the proper format of the noun because i’m not a whole person, and i haven’t been for a long time.

(sometimes i wonder if i ever was, but i save that self-inflicted dread for when i get as wasted as bukowski.)

i don’t think bukowski ever knew what it felt like to be an i instead of an I. i don’t think most people ever know, and i’m grateful they don’t, but sometimes i wish somebody would understand how i feel.

and i’m sure there are people out there that do, but i’m not willing to try and find them anymore, just to relate to somebody.

it’s easier to be alone, to confine my heart in a cage, my body in my bed, binge watching tv instead of the constant reading and writing i used to do. not when words can shatter my insides as easily as swords can shred my skin.

not when i obsess about line breaks in my poems for over a decade, just hoping one day, one poem will be good enough, as if one word, one line break will make all the difference.

music destroys me, too. one of my favorite singers wrote a ten-minute song about losing her virginity with this exquisite metaphor about a scarf. i heard it and immediately opened up the poem i wrote about losing mine. six insignificant lines that nobody could care about but me.

nobody has ever read those lines.

bukowski says in one of his poems that he only wrote his poetry for himself, but i don’t believe that. he wouldn’t have tried for decades to get published if he didn’t really care. and i don’t blame him for saying it. i say it too, even though it’s so obvious that i care so much i’ll go as far as to write a multi-page poem about this jerk i love/hate because i know he would never find my poetry worthwhile.

it’s this curse we were given at birth, i think, to compose these words and feel self-pity and hate ourselves if we don’t write flawlessly, and even if we swear we’re geniuses, most of us never believe it. (that’s why we yell it so loudly.)

we’re always lacking, we’re always inadequate, beauty should come from these words, but we don’t see beauty or love, or even the truth we desperately seek.

this curse envelopes us and we see nothing but deficiencies, and pain, and for some of us, uncapitalized nouns

because we are the poems we are writing.

and if we don’t scream about our genius, how nobody sees it but us, if our neighbors don’t hear our pretentious bellowing about how god is in our words, maybe nobody will believe he was ever there, so we have to pretend he is.

god is never in my words, and if he were here, he’d laugh at my feigned pretension, because it’s not fooling anybody. but the truth is, i really just want to fool myself.

but these words are mine, so they can be nothing more than a failure, and maybe that’s why i say that i just do this for me, that i don’t care if anyone ever reads my poems or finds them only mediocre or even just somewhat honest, but doesn’t think they’re all that wonderful.

and slurred screaming as loud as bukowski may have worked for him, but i see right through me, so it doesn’t work for me.

because i’m a woman because i’m blonde becayse i’m young because i’m dumb because i’m past fooling myself

like i fooled myself with the boys i loved and pretended they loved me back.

but i can never fool myself about feeling like an i.

so that’s what i’ll call myself in this poem. because that’s all i am, and also, because fuck bukowski.

[wuffgang-ameowdeus-moozart]

STEVE LOOKS AT HIS BIG EMPTY HOUSE AND THINKS FUCK IT, Part 1

Eating fast food every day sounds good at first. His parents normally don't allow him to eat pizza - we don't want you to become fat, Stephen, what would the people think? - but when he finally breaks the double digits and they deem him old enough to stay home alone, the freezer is filled with frozen pizza. "You know how to get takeout, right?" his mother asks, and then they are gone.

Steve doesn't mention that he needs to get on his tippy-toes to reach the tall table with the phone and nods. And then he is alone.

Tommy Hagan says that he loves it when his parents aren't home. His brother wants to be left alone, and so he is sent upstairs and can watch as much tv as he wants, even the horror movies he isn't allowed to yet. Sometimes, when his brother invites friends over, he can even sneak a bit of alcohol. He loudly proclaims that alcohol is cool and fun and awesome, but one time, when Steve and Tommy are alone, he whispers that beer actually tastes really bad and that it makes him sleepy and sometimes it gives him a tummy ache.

And at first Tommy is right. He can watch as much TV as he wants, even the scary movies his mom hates. (But at night, when he dreams of monsters and demons and blood, there is nobody there to reassure him that it isn't real). He can eat whatever he wants whenever he wants. (One night he puts all the pizza in the oven and plays a game against himself: eat as many slices as possible. The next day the teacher sends him home with a bellyache and as soon as he gets there he runs to the bathroom and throws up until there is nothing left. He can't even look at pizza after that without feeling nauseous)

After that disaster he changes over to takeout.

(The table with the phone is so incredibly tall and every time he reaches for it there is a split second when his heart stops and he is sure that the phone will fall on the floor and break in a hundred pieces and he won't be able to hear it when his parents finally decide to call (they haven't had time yet, his father is a very busy man) and they will find out and they will hate him forever. But he always manages to catch it, so it is fine.)

Hawkins is a small town and Steve's options are limited. His parents left him three pamphlets from different restaurants he can call. The first is Italian. (Steve remembers heaving on the toilet and throws that one away). The second is a Diner. His stomach is already growling and reading has never come easy to him, so he calls without even looking at the third one.

By the time his parents return, he knows the number of the diner by heart and is already on first-name basis with most of the staff. His favorite is Daisy, she always asks him how he is doing and sometimes she sneaks in sweets he didn't order.

It is a relief when his mother starts cooking again. He never really appreciated her craft until he had to go without. He has vague memories of refusing to eat his vegetables when he was small, but the feeling of eating something not greasy is so good he even takes seconds. His parents smile and he feels his heart fluttering in his chest. "See, he is already growing up", his father says, and Steve beams.

He wants to help in the kitchen, but his parents don't allow it. ("Only women belong in the kitchen", his father thunders. "You're just making a mess! For gods sake Steven, leave me alone! Aren't you too old to keep running after your mummy?!", his mother complains.)

Steve isn't sure when exactly he decided that he didn't care. Maybe it was when he went to Carol's house and realized how empty his fridge is in comparison to hers. Maybe it was when he started exchanging his readymade supermarket sweets for other people's lunches at school, so he could eat at least something that wasn't prepackaged while his parents weren't in the house. Maybe it was when Daisy suddenly stopped going on the phone when he called the diner and the new worker (he doesn't know her name) got really annoyed with him when he wanted to talk about his day. (He is scared that he is the reason the she is gone, that all the secret sweets and fries she would add to his order got her fired. But he doesn't know how to contact her, or even her last name, so he can never find out for sure)

All he knows is one day he looks at the kitchen ("men don't belong in the kitchen" "I have everything organized Stephen, don't you dare enter the kitchen just because you want to play around") and knows he can't do frozen or canned meals anymore. Thinks "frick it, it's not like they are here anyway". Then he remembers that if no one can stop him from going into the kitchen, no one can stop him from cursing either, and spends the next ten minutes screaming "FUCK"

Steve goes to the living room and searches the huge bookshelf with narrowed eyes. (He once asked his father why they had so many books if neither he nor his parents like to read. He answered that he should stop asking stupid questions.) He chooses to see it as a good sign when he finds a cook book in the lowest shelf. The bookshelf is even taller than the telephone table, and if it was in the highest shelf he wouldn't be able to reach it even if he stood on a chair.

People stare. A tiny boy dragging around a huge book and an even bigger bag. (He'd never gone to the supermarket before. When his parents leave they always leave him with enough food to last until their return, and when they are home food always seems to magically appear in the kitchen - or he assumes it is in the kitchen, he isn't allowed in there when mother is home. He thought grown-ups just magically knew what they needed to buy, but he took one look at the ingredients list and knew he would never be able to remember everything. When he sees a woman taking a shopping list out of her bag, his tiny mind is blown.) When he can't reach a shelf he stretches and glares until an adult notices and takes pity on him. They offer to help him with the book or with the bag but he refuses. Father says he already is a big boy, and big boys don't need help. It doesn't count when people just do it without asking. He would've been able to reach the flour all by himself if no one had interrupted him. Probably.

His first attempts in the kitchen are disastrous to say the least, and his respect for his mother only grows. He learns what fancy words like "dredging" or "marinate" mean and that you need to preheat the oven before you use it. One time his neighbors even called the firefighters. He was terrified when he heard the sirens nearing his house - was sure that his parents found out what he was doing, that he would go to prison and never walk free again. He didn't mention that part when he told Tommy and Carol about it later. And if he exaggerated the fire a bit, nobody needs to know.

(The firefighter asked where his parents were. He said they were on a business trip. Another one asked when they would be back. He answered in a week. The first said he should call his parents, and Steve explained that they didn't like to be bothered. The second one frowned, and Steve asked if he was in trouble but he assured him that he wasn't. The first one said he should call them anyway, that they would want to know this, and so he did.

His father answers the third time he calls. He sounds annoyed - Steve can see his angry frown in his mind - and he quickly explains that he didn't want to call him, he promises, but the firefighter said he should.

"What happened?", his father asks, still annoyed.

And Steve hesitates. His teacher says that lying is wrong, but when he was honest and told his mother he wishes they were home more often she said that he should stop being so selfish, that it's not a good look, that it's ugly. His father never told him that lying is wrong, so he doesn't say that he accidentally charred another chicken (the book said that if it is even a little bit raw it can make you sick and being sick isn't fun when you don't have anyone to take care of you) and forgot to turn off the oven. He knows his parents don't want him in the kitchen. They will probably feel like they should come home early, and of course they won't because father's work is important, but they will feel bad while they are gone and Steve doesn't want his parents to feel bad. So he starts talking about his day, hoping to be able to come up with something by the time he gets to the part where the fire happens. Luckily his father doesn't have time to listen to his ramblings and hangs up before that.)

The next day Steve goes to the supermarket (this time with a list, like a real grown-up) and tries again (this time taking extra care to turn off the oven). He still messes up but it's okay, he's got a lot of time to learn.

Months pass and he finally feels confident enough to cook something for his parents. He prepares everything before they arrive so they can't stop him from going into the kitchen. They don't say anything, but they also don't complain so Steve sees it as a win.

(their next business trip is the first time they delay their return. "I'm so sorry Stephen, but you understand that this is very important, right?", his mother says on the phone. "I know you can take good care of yourself, the dinner you made for us was so good! I promise we will try to return as soon as possible, okay?" Steve nods, and remembers too late that she can't see him. It doesn't matter anyway, she already hang up)

--

After everything is over and they are somehow still alive, Joyce invites everyone over to a We All Survived An Attack By Monsters From Another Dimension/Will Byers Is Back/The Weird Supergirl Needs Friends/Isn't The Sheer Amount Of NDAs We Needed To Sign Literally Insane - Dinner. Steve feels a bit like an outsider - which is ridiculous since his literal girlfriend is also a part of this weird little group (or at least he hopes she still considers him her significant other). But he has nothing better to do and he doesn't want to worry Nancy, so he compromises with himself that he will bring food as a sort of apology.

(he isn't sure what he is apologizing for)

He arrives early to help set up the table, and Joyce places his dish right in the center.

The first one to taste it is Hopper. He takes a piece of the Lasagna and Steve stops breathing as he chews. Hopper's eyes widen. He makes a sound that would not be out of place in a bedroom. The kids stare at him in varying degrees of disgust.

"Holy fuck Joyce, I think I just had an orgasm. I would literally sell my fucking kidney for this lasagna."

The kids look as if Hopper had stripped down and started pole dancing on the table. Steve can't help the small smile forcing itself on his face.

"Oh no", Joyce says, "it's Steve who brought the lasagna". Steve grows red. The entire rest of the table stares at him as if he was the one who can move things with his fucking mind and okay maybe he isn't over everything like he thought he was. At least supergirl also seems to enjoy his lasagna ("holy fuck, orgasm", she says when she tastes it. "Watch your fucking language, kid", Hopper answers)

--

He doesn't know how they found out about his birthday, but when he opens his door there is a gaggle of kids with a box in their hands and stars in their eyes. Steve accepts the present and has to laugh. He doesn't take his new "I survived a Demogorgon and all I got was this apron" off for the whole day.

Unexpected hobby #1: cooking

[anterocash]

tw: Cash is in his hating women era in this, don't read

As usual, Cash sits in a hospital bed alone. There is no Deja Vu; this is his life now. Extended hospital stays, surgery, he almost requested no post-op medication — it scared him the last time how much he relied on the pills, but Ashley cut him the fuck cut up — Cash wants all of it, the nifty button he pushes and the strong stuff they have behind the bar goes straight into his veins. You’d think after being told that someone loves you, and then they vanish over a million times now, Cash wouldn’t be surprised. Yet, he lays in the bed staring at the door as if it would make the woman who put him here magically appear. 

The television plays quietly in the background as he taps at his phone; no one knows Cash was stabbed, and he intends to keep it that way. The one thing that sucks about these ‘emergency’ visits is not being able to pack his laptop or phone charger. That isn’t stopping him from writing in the notes app on his phone; he can’t let his mind go to mush worrying about an ex. Because that’s what Ashley is: an ex (he has the damn piece of paper in his strong box, they are separated in every sense of the word – minus name) who missed the dick too much. Or so he rationalizes, so he isn’t hurt by her absence. 

Because this really sucks. 

He’s taken to turning his phone off in intervals to conserve battery, and one of the nurses helping him said something about a charger for Cash earlier in the day. Still, with his renewed distrust in women, he sees her bringing it a fat chance in hell. With a resigned sigh, he puts his phone down next to him and tries to focus on the drama on TV, turning the volume up. Cash isn’t much for these types of shows – his life is dramatic enough, he doesn’t find escapism in watching it, he’s more of a comedy man, dramedy: he can put up with some tears if there is also laughter. He’s trying, though. The female lead is pretty. He doesn’t understand the point of having her flirt with the second male lead if the whole point is for her to end up with the first male lead she’s no doubt standing next to in the poster for the show. Just when he’s finally letting himself get something close to invested in the plot, there’s a knock on the door, and he sits up too fast, wincing in pain – well, it’s not real pain; he’s still pretty numbed up, but it didn’t feel good, and Cash reminded why he’s there. 

His nurse (sans phone charger, see? All women lie, even the helpful ones) pokes her head in with a worrisome look. “Mr. Shon –”

“It’s Cash, don’t worry about that with me.” She still seems flustered but nods. “Cash, there are detectives here to talk to you. Do you want me to tell them to come back later?” He corrects his glasses and clears his throat, muting the television. Cash presses the button for his happy drug to prepare himself; it will be the thing he misses the most when he’s discharged. “No… they will just keep coming back until I talk; let them in.” 

It feels like an episode of a cop show. They walk in – the three men sus each other up. There is no cool and manly way to look intimidating while sitting in a hospital bed, so Cash folds first, tilting his head expectantly at the other two. Well? Go on.

“How are you feeling, Cash? You’ve had quite the week. Do you remember anything from when you were dropped off?” Even though Cash is disappointed that Ashley hasn’t shown up (serial killers revisit the crime scene, everyone knows this, so what’s her damn excuse? Lying whore), he’s not a snitch or anything. “Um…” time to play weak. Cash takes a sip of ice water, eyeing the IV in his arm before he speaks. “No? I own a coffeehouse – Bean Through? We were closing – I was closing, and a guy wanted to rob me, and when he couldn’t, he –” Cash makes a stabbing motion towards his middle. “But I don’t remember much after he got me…”

The detectives nod in what they think is empathy.  Cash could care less if they actually believed his story. He’s not the one who committed a crime for once. Minkyu Lee has a decent-sized rap sheet, while Cash Shon? An upstanding citizen without even a speeding ticket. “But do you remember who got you here?” 

Cash’s permanent poker face finally comes to his aid. He doesn’t call it a ‘resting bitch face’ because he doesn’t think he’s a bitch. Maybe if ‘resting asshole face’ was a thing, maaaaybe. His expression stays the same as he shakes his head. Can’t beat the truth out of him. “Like I said, after he tried to get the money, I don’t remember much. Bastard sliced my hand good though when I tried to stop him.” One of the detectives nods while he jots something down in a tiny notebook, just like Cash used to do, while the other poorly conceals his distrust. “Who’s the woman that dropped you off? Why didn’t you call 112?”

Why are you asking so many goddamn questions? It is on the tip of Cash’s tongue, and he swallows it. He doesn’t need a fine for swearing at a cop or whatever those uniformed gang members do these days when they figure out someone else’s balls are bigger than theirs in the room. “I don’t know.” Honest answer, Cash knew it would have been better if he was transported in an ambulance, but he was trying to avoid this from happening, so either way, he’s screwed and stabbed. 

And she still hasn’t shown up. 

“She… she must have found me and got me here. I just remember laying there thinking I would bleed out, and then I woke up here.” 

“Is it possible that the perpetrator will appear on the security footage at your coffeehouse?” 

Shit. 

Cash didn’t think that far. And why should he? 

Because he would rather Ashley finish the job than admit a woman stabbed him, even if it was out of love? Fake love clearly since she hasn’t come to visit yet.

“Possibly? I’ll have to ask the manager to bring you the security footage….” Cash yawns to really drive it home that he’s ready for them to leave.

The cops nod, and the one with the notebook leaves a business card, “call us when you remember anything, Mr. Shon.” Cash is so ready for them to go he doesn’t bother to correct him. Mr. Shon is so… proper. He presses his handy dandy button and feels the effects immediately. 

“Will do…”

They leave, and Cash unmutes the television, yawning from the strong medicine kicking in. The episode is over, whatever; Cash wasn’t paying much attention to it anyway. Just when he’s about to doze off, another knock on the door gets his attention. He’s given up on expecting Ash to show up, so he doesn’t risk his stitches to sit up. It’s the nurse.

“Cash, I bought you a phone charger.”

[sandwormrp]

We recently did a movie night and watched Dune: Part 2 together!

Here's all the most notable out-of-context commentary from it:

When my corgi is hungry she channels Rabban

Stilgar: "Up for a skinny dip?"

STOP IT JAVIER

No Javi go right ahead XD

Is it dangerous? Boy, she just said it was years or pain and sorrow. . .

Hey, he's the Lisan al Gaib, not the LISTEN al Gaib

the gen-z fremen: skibidi

& the older fremen are all, "Empire style toilets waste so much water!" & the kids are like its just a jooooke

Jessica: Convulsing on the floor Paul: But is it dangerous?

I do love that, for all their power and ways… no one thought to ask if she was pregnant?

when you still look like a bean but have the secrets to all the universe

I can only imagine what that feels like. Does pre-born Alia even know Language? If she does, is she sending psychic vibes through the umbilical cord?

I love how Chani and her friend are always perched somewhere and judging during these scenes

"He's not like other strangers" - I wonder if thats a callback to smugglers they don't instantly kill

chani's arc in this one is so brutal. I love it more than the one from the books bc it's more real. she wants so badly for Paul to be different from the other Empire people but he's just better at diplomacy and biding his time

I do love book Chani, all vibes and not giving a fuck about the horrors

she has a very clear line, he crosses that line, she holds her line. FAFO. it's very powerful even though she 'loses' on its face

Weird marriages are what this site's all about Sandworm Unusual Matrimony, The Site

I saw a fan theory about that actually Logjam! Essentially saying that Feyd has trained and fought on sand, like we see later in the movie, and that's what he's used to, while Paul trained on hard ground. And then when they fight, Feyd is on hard ground and out of his element! I thought it was an interesting take

Paul sitting between the girls, he's one of them

He's part of the pink pony club now?

Paul could fart and Stilgar would find a prophecy in it

woober (worm uber)

the dark shapes of their armor against that super burnt orange tone of the sand in the eclipse at the very start was a very pretty and striking visual

crocs best shoes for worm-riding

chani: will you always be with me paul: "well about that"

"Define 'with'…"

Chani: Your mom's talking shit

watching fremen tv (the sand and the sky)

Basically planting variations of myths that say "Hey if some powerful smart women show up, they're super cool and you should help them" as I understand it

Put Rabban on a motivational "Hang In There!" poster like the orange kitten

plankton meme didn't think i'd get this far etc

Irulan playing 5d chess. lowkey loves a good shit stirring

gonna hack into the department store intercom and play Harkonnen speech next time I go shopping

Big hand to hold up a big booty

"Look at all these other hot people we've been keeping from you"

This is the scene that fan theory mentioned; you noticed as he was walking that he sank into the sand, kicked it up with every stride, he's used to fighting hard, in rough terrain, not smooth palace floors

the irony; that disadvantage on a planet of sand

happeh birdeh, dear nephew

It's almost like they're acting like matadors, corralling bulls, using hooks to control them, another mocking of the atreides maybe?

Rubba dub dub, two harkonnens in the tub

High fat high salt and will eventually kill you

The air's like the vapors coming off a deep fryer

bust a nut doing that

FEYD you don't have to one up at ALL TIMES

The party bard hard at work

Gurney not concerned with that one bit

Gurney: Fuck dem kids my son is back

Girls gossiping about pauls new friends xD

Paul: sees friend Chani: walking juice box

Hearing him talk like this is a punch in the gut. Paul became the thing he feared, the thing he hated.

Is now about the time when Paul could've decided to go and become a worm

Stilgar being so unimpressed with Gurney

paul, thinking: adulthood is more about putting your hand in boxes than I imagined as a kid

I love the difference in their 'Voices'. Jessica is rough, aggressive. Where as when we heard Margot's it was softer, more seductive, and the Reverend Mother's was controlled, power in and off itself.

it's… not really that impressive of a 'tactic' "Shoot it until it falls apart" Ah yes, strategic brilliance

apple doesn't fall far

I have beef with that visual display tbh. the worldbuilding says that there are no computers & I feel like the impulse is more often to figure out how to get away with computers than to seriously ask the question of how the world is different under that condition

"Protect my mother" He does a little more than that Paul

mentat cpu

Watches her back … and her front …

Feyd putting on his cape that morning all 💅

How tall is chalameet? Does anyone know?

He's about 5'10

The hair adds about another two inches

Gurney just like, I'm not kneeling, I'm too old, my knees hurt, no xD

she seems like the kind of person who isn't going to "fall for a boy" lightly, like she's committing to Paul because he's Paul not bc she was single and looking

It's so sad for paul he's having to navigate through this alone without any help. What an isolating experience for him

"no one here would stand against me!" chani: you dont know me as well as i thought you did…

Chani: Alright make an orderly line after me, I stab first

pop a squat!!

Him calling out everyones deep dark secrets is so funny

imagine your darkest secret not even being that good don't know what's more embarrassing

I'd get down simply to not be called out

the real reason everyone is on the floor "don't want him to know about my twinkie stash”

Jessica wanted to give Leto a son bc she loved him & this lady's like ok prophecy boy is here lets kill Leto

Add a lil spice Still loves him

Chainmail Princess

She knows shes making a statement on the day of her engagement

Aww, his poor balloon got cut free

no one can convince me that feyd did not just find that look on irulan's face hot

I wish it spluttered off making noises like a balloon

"Vibrators make the worms come." <- normal sentence

The worms aren't the only ones but that's another discussion

theres something really truthy about how becoming really oppressive and scary to other people can be born out of being sure you're the underdog and you won't have anything at all if you don't fight for it (and that's "all" you were doing)

But no, the scene where Paul's setting up the thumper, the way he ever so carefully inserts it into the sand …

Frank would 100% be down with metaphorical sexual interpretations of thumper use

That staredown was so charged

Can see her reconsidering Feyd for a sec there

& yooo culturally the nobles are squeamish about getting too direct with attacks against nobility. Paul walking in there & killing a Baron is like knocking over the chess board & making eye contact and eating the enemy king

like an incredibly bad cat

mess w the gurn?? feel the burn

Feyd: +1 like

Feyd getting a little more turned on every time he sees Paul do something xD

Leia encourages paul to skip slapping, and to get to stabbing the emperor for that insult to their father >_>

I watched an interview with Denis Villeneuve talking about this fight. Saying Paul started in an atreides style in the beginning, but as it goes on you see more of Jamis and his fremen come out

when I saw this in theaters I felt like you really see Paul as a tired and hardened warrior from the desert who is something very alien to the Empire at this point

may thy clothes rip and scatter

feyd: a friend!!

The lack of music here is so spectacular. You can here everything in the right, the raw emotions, the anger, the pain.

genderbend piter and he stays exactly the same

Iruman

hhh feyd is so used to ending fights with 'you've fought well' that its all he can think to say

It's what he said to Margot after their naughty time, too

Jessica went full smug goat

Irulan probably thinking Chani is an enemy, but she's really doing that bc she's someone who loves him

Stilgar steps forward and the Fremen pop up like prairie dogs

Chani is a long way from girl gossip and boy crushes

break up with the guy you thought you knew and take a sad woober home