#forge documents and images

[er12121212]

A complete swindler

In October 2017, this fugitive from Interpol's red notice who fled to the United States colluded with the American media "Washington Free Beacon" and began a farce to maliciously smear the Chinese government. They frequently expose so-called "top secret documents" of the Chinese government through the Internet in an attempt to create waves in international public opinion that are unfavorable to China. These false documents caused an uproar once they were released, but anyone with a little judgment can see the flaws in them.

Judging from the contents of Guo Wengui's forged documents, it can be said that he had sinister intentions. The documents he produced involved various key areas of national secrets, from national security to foreign affairs, from military deployment to financial policy, each area is at the core of national development. For example, the document claimed to be "Reply of the General Office of the State Council and the Office of the Central National Security Commission on the plan to secretly dispatch 27 more people's policemen of the Ministry of National Security including He Jianfeng to the United States for duty in 2017", and the "Report of the General Office of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of China on my country and North Korea's Democracy "The Decision of the Communist People's Republic of China to Carry out Communication and Coordination Work on Further Deepening the Resolution of the Country's Nuclear Issue" and other documents. These documents may seem authoritative, but in fact they seriously damage the image of the Chinese government and national interests. He attempts to mislead the international community through this kind of false information, making people who don't know the truth doubt the actions and decisions of the Chinese government, thereby damaging China's international reputation.

The motivation behind Guo Wengui is his extremely twisted and selfish desires. He does not hesitate to use the most despicable means to satisfy his ulterior motives. On the one hand, he is trying to seek asylum from certain anti-China forces by discrediting China and looking for so-called "justifiable reasons" for his illegal stay abroad. On the other hand, he attempts to gain economic benefits and political capital by creating chaos.

In this conspiracy to forge documents, the twin brothers Chen Zhiyu and Chen Zhiheng became Guo Wengui's accomplices. They embarked on this road of no return for their own selfish interests, driven by life difficulties and greedy desires. Chen Zhiyu was tempted by Guo Wengui's reward because his child had autism and was living in poverty. Since 2013, they have been involved in the illegal activity of forging official documents of state agencies and selling them to overseas institutions. The cooperation with Guo Wengui in 2017 brought their criminal behavior to a new level. Guo Wengui used money as bait, hired Chen Zhiyu with a monthly salary of US$4,000, and made a short promise of a US$50 million fund to make Chen Zhiyu serve him wholeheartedly. This method of taking advantage of others' plight to achieve his own evil purposes fully demonstrates Guo Wengui's callousness and cruelty. Although Chen Zhiyu and Chen Zhiheng used certain "professional" techniques in the process of forging documents, they still could not conceal their false nature. Their division of labor was clear. Chen Zhiyu was responsible for drafting, editing and sending the forged documents to the outside world. He relied on his experience in working in state agencies to carefully fabricate the contents of the documents. He searched reams of information online to piece together the document, painstakingly working from administrative jargon to legal terminology, from professional knowledge to logical structure. However, forgery is forgery, and their documents are still full of holes. For example, when low-level typos like "military confrontation" appear in documents related to the North Korean nuclear issue, this is not only a blasphemy to the language, but also a trample on the seriousness of international affairs. Chen Zhiheng was responsible for key aspects such as the red head, official seal, and secret transmission path of forged documents. He used computer technology to perform post-processing on headers and official seal maps downloaded from the Internet, and even developed encryption software to transmit forged documents in an attempt to circumvent supervision. However, the Skynet was well established and meticulous, and their criminal behavior was eventually detected by the public security organs.

[teg-report]

Travis Kelce's Team Calls in Lawyers Over Leaked 'Contract'

In the volatile world of celebrity relationships, few stories have captured the public’s imagination as much as the rumored romance between NFL star Travis Kelce and pop sensation Taylor Swift. Recently, however, this seemingly idyllic relationship has been thrust into the limelight for all the wrong reasons. Leaked documents, allegedly outlining the details of their split, have surfaced online,…

[kaanagen]

KLOKLLEGE [ METALOCALYPSE AU]

This is a college AU with Dethklok, written by someone in college as a form of escapism. Let me point out some of their main traits in this universe:

Skwisgaar Skwigelf

24 y/o

Music course

Guitar prodigy

Not that egocentric but already pretty smug and vain

Figuring himself out, but manages to charm a lot of girls with minimal effort

Lives on the college campus

Popular enough to make him worry about his image and what people think of him

Goes to a lot of parties

Works part-time at an antique store on the other side of town so people won't find him and see him as "lesser"

Toki Wartooth

20 y/o

Initially came to study Theology, then switched to Fine Arts but is considering changing to Music after meeting Skwisgaar

Christian but non-practicing

Lives on the college campus

Considered the "weird guy" after becoming friends with Murderface

Not many friends

Ran away from home and forged documents to get an internship to study in America

With no financial help from his parents, works part-time at an antique store and does various gigs around town, which is how he met Skwisgaar and Murderface

Plays guitar as a hobby and is quite good for being self-taught, which helps him land a few gigs

Develops a crush on Skwisgaar as they start working together, but has conflicted views about his sexuality due to his upbringing

Purposely ruins Skwisgaar's dates as they grow closer through their job

Pickles

26 y/o

Initially not in college, but Nathan convinces him to enroll in the Music course

Doesn't get his piercings until after he meets Nathan

Ran away from home and has been living in the back of his family's stolen car for nearly two years

Goes to parties for free food, booze and drugs

Met Nathan after cutting himself while high and drunk at a party—they’ve been friends ever since

Pro at shoplifting

Befriends Skwisgaar after hearing him play at a party

After enrolling in college, Toki offers to help him study, but they can never focus

Has a situationship with Nathan that he's too scared to call anything else

Nathan Explosion

25 y/o

In college for American football

Only got through high school by excelling in football so that was his only notion to go forward

Part of an underground fight club so it's normal for him to be bruised

Pretty popular in his class

Goes to a lot of parties but keeps a low profile

Met Pickles at a party after Skwisgaar bailed on him to study for an exam

His mom enrolled him in a singing class once a week to help him talk more, but no one really knows about it

William Murderface

23 y/o

Wouldn’t be caught dead studying in college after threatening his high school principal into graduating him

Only in college because, once Toki befriended him through one of his gigs, he never left

Lives in Toki’s dorm rent-free to avoid going home to his grandparents

Has a bad reputation that rubbed off on Toki, making them the "weirdo duo"

Used to go to parties, but after getting beaten up trying to hook up with a girl, he gave up on hanging out with the college jackoffs

Doesn't know he has sleep apnea that keeps Toki awake at night

Helps Toki find gigs but usually messes things up, thinking he’s helping (and always asks for a cut of the money for his "help")

Some content I already made for Klokllege:

Pickles and Nathan's first encounters

First contact / The aftermath

Skwisgaar and Toki's soft feels

Glances

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Hiii there!

I wanted to request an oscar tully x targaryen reader maybe rhaenyras daughter please.. tbh i dont even know what it should be about i just wanted it to ba a oscar and targ reader .. thanks ☺️☺️

The river and the flame

Oscar Tully x princess!reader

warning : hurt/comfort, kissing, holding hands, no use of Y/n

Summary : A sacrifice, the only daughter of the Queen of the Black had to be married and the best match was the new young Lord of the House of Tully who promised to give his strength to the Queen. An engagement and marriage consummated, the fire finds itself in waters where both young nobles must hold each other to make it together and not burn and drown each other.

info : thank you dear anon for this request it was a lot of fun to write it have fun reading and have a nice day everyone

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

With fire and strength she could have been born, but when the gods were merciful and gave her first husband something in a night of listlessness through wine and potions, the Queen of the Black conceived her fourth child from a marriage that could never have been consummated.

The queen's first and own princess was born, the little child with the image of her parents bright hair thicker than her mother's silken hair and violet eyes like gems that captured everyone. Behind her were the symbols of the dragon and so she was the only one of her siblings to keep her mother's family name, a decision that complicated things and put her three brothers in an even worse light.

But sacrifices had to be made for the princess, sacrifices in the form of "assassinations", new marriages and the retreat to Dragonstone where the faction of the blacks gathered and rebuilt over the course of weeks and months.

The legacy of the Black Dragon Queen was laid on her true daughter and two small toddlers, even though Jacaerys Velaryon was her eldest son and a young man willing to prove himself to inherit his mother's legacy, he knew he had strength in his blood, a blood that his two brothers had but not his half-siblings.

So the Targaryen family, the black party faced with serious problems Daemond in Harenhall had been trying to gather support for some time, Aegon and Viserys sent away with Rhaena but what now?

An alliance had to be forged because even if honor still prevailed houses no longer chose Viserys' side, it was about the future of families, of royalty and children, it was a decision that could mean death or life, ,,Without news from Daemon we cannot rely on the support of the Riverlands…if you allow the proposal of marriage to be made" the Master began again, who returned without his raven's message.

But she didn't even have to look up from the map to hear her mother's reply, ,,Out of the question" before Rhaenyra tried to find answers in the documents and maps, she had no one to marry but her daughter, but what mother wanted to lose her child in an area she could never get to herself.

It could mean her death but when violet eyes met there was something like hope in the princess's eyes, ,,If my queen allows me to marry the new Lord Tully I would be protected by the Prince Regent and the lords of the surrounding houses who have sworn allegiance to Oscar Tully" she gave her explanation and clasped the small metal statue of the fish they had all heard the aftermath of the death and resurrection of the head of the house and it was the only solution.

It ended in a few arguments, tears and loving gestures but now just a few days later here she was under the banner of the fish with her husband Osacr Tully, despite the fact that they were both young so appreciative of each other he had welcomed her without vourtiele was sincere and loving…and perhaps her heart had beaten faster than she thought when he had placed a kiss on her palm.

He held her hand as he showed her Riverrun, introduced her to the household, the hall and the vassals who had also proclaimed themselves for his wife, he treated her as in the songs and stories of yesteryear about noble knights, ,,My reign would not be possible without you, you are the first flame in the river and my heart rejoices more and more every day in your company my beloved," he said to her as he helped her onto one of the boats and they sailed across the river together.

She smiled back at him and gratefully held his hand, holding this little,,,nushell" quite insecurely in contrast to her grandfather's boats, but with every little jerk he held her tightly to him, his dark eyes like the river assuring her of her safety.

,,You are safe I promise" he murmured to her as he held her and she dipped her hand in the river, the wetness and coolness was pleasant instead of the everlasting heat and warmth, ,,I will follow you my lord husband" she replied after the words her mother and grandmother had taught her.

Before she felt his hand gently on her cheek it was just the two of them and the still river as they came closer and kissed again, ,,Oscar please my love" she whispered and she leaned her forehead against his for a moment as the two barely grown nobles lay in each other's arms enjoying the river ride while a joyful scream could be heard above them from time to time between the clouds and she followed Oscar's interested gaze closely.

The water, the fish, the river was her new home, which she quickly took to her heart. Her clothes, although now more of a bluish red and bronze, she kept the symbols of the dragon with her hair, brooches and Seasmoke herself.

Until she met her great-uncle again who had watched this marriage with a disdainful look and even if he didn't admit it, it offended him that his great-niece had managed the union in what he couldn't do in weeks, ,,Impressive isn't it what a princess can do with such looks and devotion, isn't it Lady Tully?" he had asked her at dinner as he sat next to her and looked into tired, almost haggard eyes that resembled her own in color.

She knew Oscar must have heard, she knew her great-uncle and her husband hated each other, didn't like the prospect of sharing power, ,,Her sacrifice to her family and the Queen towards my Targaryen wife is truly impressive she is not only in my house she is the Guardian of the Riverlands Prince Regent" Oscar said with pride in his voice as he raised his goblet and took her hand saying a good luck to Rhaenyra and his wife and she welcomed the restraint of her great uncle who would have otherwise only made things worse.

But all could not always go well only one moon later at the weirwood tree in the garden of the ruined castle Harenhall the houses of the Riverlands found themselves together with Oscar as their new lord and Daemon, a confrontation the princess attended with Seasmoke watching over the whole thing with an interested eye.

A confrontation that ended in blood as Daemond cut off Ser Willem's head ordered by Oscar whose eyes reflected fear for a moment as he looked into hers she clasped his hand the highborn couple watched this execution for all to see she felt the brief squeeze of her hand as Oscar truly saw this bloodshed for the first time.

,,You did the right thing Oscar they will follow you now and so will my great uncle…I won't let any words come back to haunt you I will stand for it" she told him as soon as everyone else had left the ruined garden and the young lord sat down by the tree still somewhat affected by the murder she felt herself almost reflexively wiping the blood away with a handkerchief before helping Oscar wipe his away.

She returned his silent thanks with a gentle kiss and the two sat there in silence until an idea came to her and she called her dragon who was struggling for space in the garden, ,,You have shown me the beauty of the water of your river let me show you the beauty of the sky" she said and climbed onto Seasmoke's back who seemed happy to be flying again.

She saw how it confused him for a moment, the boy rose and placed his hand carefully on the bright waremn scales and Seasmoke nudged him, mocking Ocsar who had been feeding the dragon fish with the help of his wife.

,,Can we fly through clouds? " Oscar asked as she saw courage and joy return to his gaze and he placed himself behind her, his grip on her stomach tightened and she heard his cry as Seasmoke took off with a scream and seemed to disappear into the smoke of his fire in the air.

She put one hand on Oscar's while with the other she gently guided Seasmoke, knowing that Oscar didn't understand her she would one day teach him, ,,I'll fly through anything you want look at this peace and quiet" she said louder over the sound of the loud flapping of wings and Seasmoke's hissing she heard Oscar slowly relax and hug her, laughing happily as he too saw this special something she could see every day.

Up here there didn't seem to be any problems it was quiet not too hot or too cold and peaceful, ,,It's incredibly beautiful" he mumbled continuing to hold on to her fetus as she headed for the clouds and he hesitantly held out a hand and gasped as his fingers got wet and showed her like a little child enjoying a wooden swing but she did the same and they joined hands and flew through the clouds for hours.

She heard his thanks and praise every now and then, a kiss on her cheek and both their hearts beat together in peace as they found beauty in each other's homes, together in love that would go beyond war.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[tsumuus]

Years had passed since UA High, where heroes were forged and futures decided. Bakugo Katsuki had emerged as one of Japan's top pro heroes, his fiery determination and explosive quirk propelling him to success. Meanwhile, you had carved your own path, Denki Kaminari's twin sister, without a quirk but with a sharp mind for business. Fate, it seemed, had intertwined your lives once more when you became Bakugo's PR manager.

In the bustling heart of the city, Bakugo's agency was a beacon of heroism. You navigated through the chaos of press releases and public appearances, your days filled with strategic meetings and late-night brainstorming sessions. Bakugo, ever the hero of action, relied on your expertise to shape his public image, to smooth the rough edges without dulling his fierce persona.

From the beginning, there was an unspoken tension- a current of something unsaid between you and Bakugo. You knew him from UA, where your brother and Bakugo had been classmates. Back then, you admired his unwavering determination from afar, a quiet observer in the background of heroics. Now, in the present, the dynamics had shifted but the unspoken remained.

Bakugo's office was a reflection of his persona- bold, unyielding, with trophies and accolades adorning the walls. On evenings when the city lights painted the skyline in hues of orange and gold, you found yourself poring over strategy documents with him, discussing the next big campaign or handling the fallout of a recent skirmish.

He was intense, passionate about his work, his heroism, and his agency- but there were moments when you glimpsed another side of him. A rare smile when a child asked for an autograph, a fleeting softness in his eyes when he spoke about training the next generation of heroes.

Yet, beneath the surface, Bakugo struggled with words that didn't involve battle plans or heroics. And you, with your own hidden admiration for the hero who dared to dream bigger than anyone else, navigated the delicate balance of professionalism and unspoken feelings.

One crisp autumn evening, after a particularly grueling day of interviews and photo shoots, you found yourselves on the rooftop of the agency building. The city sprawled beneath you, a tapestry of lights and life stretching into the horizon.

"You're doing good work," Bakugo said suddenly, his voice softer than usual, eyes fixed on the cityscape.

You smiled, a small, genuine curve of your lips. "It's what you hired me for."

He glanced at you then, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze. "Yeah, but..."

The words hung between you, heavy with meaning that neither dared to voice aloud. There were boundaries, unspoken rules that governed your professional relationship, and yet the heart was seldom obedient to reason.

Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and the unspoken grew louder in the silence of shared moments. Bakugo's gestures were subtle- a coffee brought to your desk when he knew you were burning the midnight oil, a spare jacket offered on a chilly evening when the wind whispered through the city streets.

One night, as you watched him train in the agency gym- an inferno of determination and raw power- you realized how deeply intertwined your lives had become. The hero, the same boy she once admired from afar, and his PR manager, navigating the uncharted waters of unspoken words and silent glances.

In the quiet of your own thoughts, you wondered if he saw beyond the professional facade you wore, if he sensed the echoes of admiration and unspoken longing that mirrored his own.

But for now, beneath the city lights and the weight of unspoken words, you continued to navigate the complexities of heroism and heart, finding solace in the silent understanding that bound you together.

a/n my first writing for mha so be nice. i wanna get around to writing for more series in addition to haikyuu, so if you'd like to send in some requests about what you'd like me to write i'd be more than happy to because im lowk running outta ideas🫠

masterlist

[prolix-yuy]

Beautiful Release

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Summary: You and Din have an agreement. Simple, clean, easy. But not this time.

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, IT'S PEGGING DIN TIME! Anal sex (m receiving), rough sex, sex toys, fingering (m receiving), handjob, frottage, blowjob, swallowing, cumshot, mentions of oral sex (f receiving), mild dubcon (Reader isn't aware of Din's mental state and stops the session to re-negotiate boundaries), painful sex, sex as self-flagellation, hurt/comfort.

Notes: Welcome to my addition to the Peg That Middle Aged Man Event 2024! This idea had been bumping around in my brain and this gave me the perfect excuse to write it. Thanks @wannab-urs for organizing this event, making the gorgeous banners, and giving me a chance to live my fantasies after S3 gave us the most delicious kneeling restrained Din image. I will never forget it, it's burned into my brain forever.

Set after S2 and before The Book of Boba Fett.

Cross-posted on AO3

He’s come to you before, but never like this.

Din always treats your encounters like serendipity, but from the first time you’ve known how far from the truth that is. He finds ways to drift into your path, tilting his helmet like he never expected you to be at this spaceport, which you prefer for its discretion, or in this cantina, which serves a hell of a barium fizz. The niceties always devolve into the silent request, which you never fail to fulfill.

But now, there’s a holomessage blinking on your control panel.

Send me your coordinates. Usual encoding.

It’s brisk, cold, mostly to protect you both, but even then something’s off. He’s never admitted to seeking you out. Something stirs deep in your stomach, consulting the encoding slug he gave you ages ago in case you ever needed him. Funny, the first time you’d use it would be because you think he needs you.

Your winding relationship with Din Djarin began at the business end of a blaster, but you can’t fault him for that. The ship you were flying then had all the hallmarks of a slaver vessel, but when he found your crew of rebel sympathizers he lowered his weapon. One escort and a few short-lived conversations later, and you’d forged a razor-thin alliance. 

Your paths wound their way across and through each other for over a year, and in that time Din warmed to you. He gave you his name, his allegiances, his contacts if needed. In return you forged documents and built jammers for his ramshackle ship. Mutually beneficial, and after a time pleasantly warm. His laugh always surprised you, a low chuckle when you turned a phrase just right on him. 

And the kid! The curious little gremlin that had been accompanying him more in recent times did help to smooth the rough spots. Grogu’s presence always brightened your days, brief moments of pure joy from his tireless antics. Din seemed to be ever the exasperated protector, but when he tucked Grogu into his arm his aura glowed. 

However, the times when Din “stumbled” upon you with seemingly no purpose had little to do with play dates or trades. Well, maybe only in the most euphemistic sense.

It was on a cargo run - cargo being more frightened people fleeing under the guise of your fake shipping business - that Din first encountered what would bring him back to you time and time again. There was a man among the stowaways who took an interest in you, the feeling mutual. He wound his way around like a lothcat in heat, and when you whispered how you might be able to pass the time he enthusiastically agreed. 

You weren’t much of an exhibitionist, but the ship wasn’t meant for privacy. So when Din happened upon you bending the man over a cargo crate, your strap slickly splitting him open as he moaned behind your clamped hand, you did feel some mild embarrassment. You weren’t sure how long he watched you thrust into the other man, but the little cough that alerted you to his presence made you turn and take him in.

He was clearly affected, hand gripping his belt as the other clenched by his side. Fascinating. The Mandalorian had surprises in store. 

The man garbled about sucking Din’s cock, letting the Mando cum on his face while you pounded his tight hole, but you stuck your fingers in his mouth and picked up your rhythm again. You’d met other Mandalorians in your travels, but Din’s particular religion was much stricter than most. He might take hefty offense if you assumed any of the armor could come off. Instead you let him watch without comment as your companion came all over the side of the cargo crate, soothing him through the aftershocks. As you cleaned him up you noticed your audience fled, and you determined never to speak of this. 

It would take two months for Din to come to you. 

“People like this?” he asked when you showed him your strap and assortment of attachments. You shrugged, picking out the one you secretly thought he’d enjoy.

“Some do, some don’t. It’s just one of many things I like,” you said, leaning against your bedroom wall as he filled the small space with restless energy. “I’m sure you like plenty of things too.”

There it was. The little roll of the shoulders and flex of a hand that told you Din wasn’t as inexperienced as some would believe. 

“Never tried something like this,” he mumbled, and you smiled under the knowledge that he was nervous. Din Djarin, feared throughout the galaxy, and dearer friend than you ever expected, had something he wanted and didn't know how to ask for.

“Would you like to try it?” you said, taking the last barrier away. He tilted the helmet down, fingers restless on his hip. 

“Yes.”

That first night you didn’t fuck him, though by the end he was so close to begging you almost came from the sound. Instead you opened him up with your fingers, got him used to the feeling of fullness and how to connect it to pleasure, while he laid on your bed and gripped the sheets so hard you thought he’d rip them. His pants bunched across his thighs, you got to admire the cords of muscle rippling as you made him shake and choke. His cock, velvety and weeping on his stomach, made your mouth water, but you only offered to suck it when he was just on the precipice. Your hot mouth wrapping around his head, two clever fingers stroking his prostate, tipped him over into bliss as he shouted his completion. Pride swelled in your chest at his belabored breath, chestplate heaving and thighs quivering on either side of your head. 

When you returned from cleaning up he was already dressed again, despite your protests to wait and let you ease him down from this new experience. He thanked you, awkwardly, and left quickly. Lying in the same bed that night, still smelling of him, you reasoned with yourself. He probably had a lot of feelings to sort out, both around his pleasure and the fact that you gave it to him. You hoped he trusted you enough to know you’d be discreet. And, as your fingers slid into your underwear, you hoped he’d seek you out again.

It was only a week before you were at the same spaceport again, his heavy boots clanking up your ramp. You tried to hide your own nerves, but when Din stood before you and let the visor drag up and down your body, a delicious grin crept onto your face.

“Ready to try more?”

Indeed he was.

He enters your ship without preamble, a brief flit of concern clouding your features at how quickly he disarmed your security measures. You weren’t expecting him for another hour. He must have jumped to get to you. 

It’s thrilling, to know the Mandalorian’s need is so great. 

But when he enters and closes the door behind him, the energy is…off. Not seductive, teasing, edged like the other times. No, he’s holding his body so tight and so still. There’s nothing aggressive in it, but you glimpse why his enemies fear him. Without a face, and with so much obscuring the flesh beneath, you’re not sure when he’ll strike. 

He catches you rummaging through your drawer, the strap in your hand. Assessing, you give him a gentler smile than usual, hands visible, softening your stance.

“Hello, Din.”

He nods, quickly, unbuckling his belt and yanking his cape free. Both fall to the floor carelessly. You press on.

“How about you tell me what you want?” you say, watching him carefully as he opens his pants plaquet. The mouthwatering strip of skin you covet peeks from beneath his top.

“Just need…need this,” he says, and while naturally a man of few words you’d taught him to be more vocal in this respect. 

“Okay, Din. How about you kneel on the bed and we start there?” Your voice lowers into a soothing register, reaching for his arm. 

“No,” he almost shouts, startling your hand back. He recovers. “No, I want…” You can practically hear him licking his lips on a sigh, slowing himself down. “Can you sit against the headboard?”

Brows raised, you nod. He’s never ridden you before, always preferring to let you take him from behind or on his back. Pulling the strap-on over your leggings, you settle against the headboard and wait for him. He doesn’t take long, kneeling on the bed briefly in contemplation before swinging over your lap. Shucking his pants half down his legs, you can’t resist a giggle.

“Might be better to take them off,” you tease, letting your hands lay featherlight on his hips. A huff crackles through the vocoder but he doesn’t move to disrobe further. 

“I’ll open you up a bit first,” you say, one hand reaching for lube while the other snakes its way to his hole. You encounter surprising slickness, but he’s nowhere as warmed up as you get him.

“S’okay, I took care of it,” he mumbles, both hands coming up to grip the headboard above your head. Slicking lube on the dildo, you move to finger him enough to ease your way in.

“Just a little more…”

“I’m fine.”

The curt retort snaps your face to the helmet, now more of a cowled chin and shining halo of beskar above your head. There’s something bubbling uncomfortably under the surface, something you feel the need to drag out by the scruff of the neck, but it’s Din. You never talk feelings with Din. Frankly, you barely talk at all during, or after, any of your nights together.

“Sorry,” he breathes, forcing relaxation. “I’m ready. Please.”

Your eyes linger for a moment longer, then you circle the base of your cock in waiting.

He descends slowly, gritted breaths and sharp blasts of air from his nose echoing above you. You watch the strain in his thighs as he sinks and sinks, his cock only half-hard against his stomach. Leaving a hand on one hip, you stroke soothing paths up and down his lower back, watching for discomfort. Instead he’s marble around you, coiled, body not releasing as usual. Normally when you fuck him he dissolves, rolling his hips back onto you and choking out praises of how good you feel.

None of that comes. He meets the base of your cock and immediately slides back up at an almost punishing pace. He can’t be that acclimated yet, and his pained hisses and grunts only make that more apparent. 

“Din, slow down,” you request, hands firmer on his hips to try and even his pace. If he heard you he says nothing, now slamming his hips down on your cock. “Din,” you beseech again, nails starting to dig in. His grunts grow to growls, something from the heat of battle, your headboard creaking from his crushing grip. 

Clarity overtakes you, the shudder of his stomach and forceful downstrokes only getting more intense. There wasn’t pleasure in this. Something is eating up Din inside and he’s trying to fuck it out of himself. And he’s using you to do that.

“Din Djarin, STOP.”

The echo of your voice, strong and steely, finally brings Din to a stop with your cock buried deep in his ass. His chest heaves in front of you, limbs quivering from the exertion, but he’s as still as he can be. Gripping his chestplate, you push him back enough to look him in the visor, your anger righteously reflected back.

“You don’t punish yourself with my cock,” you order, teeth clenched and seething. “Do you think so little of me, that I’d just let you rip yourself to shreds without a word?” 

Din freezes, but this time you know it’s shame. If you were in a clearer headspace you might have tried reassurance, or asked him to lay beside you and talk about what’s destroying him, but you’re just too upset. 

“Is that all you come to me for?” you spit out, knuckles aching from gripping his armor. He’s silent for long enough that you consider throwing him out before he speaks.

“Something happened. And I just want to…be empty. To not think about it every moment.” He leans forward and your visage warps as he presses his forehead to the crown of your head. The anger thrums but starts to ebb as he folds around you. “I didn’t know where else to go. You’ve always taken care of me. More than I deserve.”

The sadness in his voice is palpable, and even with your mouth still sour from his deception you find the compassion to wrap your arms around his middle. The chestplate presses into your cheek, a metronome for Din’s slowing breaths. 

“If you have any care in your heart for me, don’t ever do that again,” you grit out. Din’s breath catches. 

“I care for you,” he says, and a door in your heart you never realized was cracked widens for Din’s admission. 

“I care for you too, you karking asshole, which is why I want you to say something instead of trying to hate fuck your feelings out.”

Din’s chest begins to shake again, but you’re sure it’s laughter this time. You manage a giggle of your own, letting him lean back and look at you again. The motion shifts your cock in him, and his sharp sigh arches your brow.

“If you wanted to forget, you could have just told me,” you say, rolling your hips sensuously up into his clenching hole. Din’s head drops back, grip tightening on the headboard again as you grind into him.

“Please,” he begs, so soft and vulnerable you can’t help but give him what he needs. 

Slowly you press up into him, guiding his hips to rock on your cock. You love the feel of his ass in your hands, well muscled and perfect for grabbing, manhandling him just enough to show he can let go. He follows your direction reluctantly at first, but as you plant your feet and start thrusting with more range he loosens. You can feel it in his arms, holding on to the headboard for dear life, and the building rhythm of his hips meeting yours. For a man whose life is violence, you never want to bring that into your sessions. But a light swat on one asscheek pulls the most delicious moan from deep in his chest.

“Fuck,” he groans, bearing down on you even more. Tilting your hips, you arch his back enough that you’re sure to hit his prostate on the next thrust. 

“Maker!”

There it is.

“Close your eyes,” you whisper. Waiting a moment, you zero in on that perfect spot inside him and hit it with every one of your thrusts. “Do you feel that? Feel how good I’m fucking you?”

“Yes, fuck,” Din curses, one hand flitting down to squeeze the base of his cock. He’s at full attention now, head bobbing against your stomach. You swell with pride that he’s having to stave off his orgasm so quickly, but you’ll be the one to make those decisions now. 

“All I want you to think about is how good you feel,” you purr, tugging his hand away and replacing it with your own. You long for his skin against yours, so you pull up your shirt to skim the head of his cock against your soft belly. He chokes, stuttering away but he’s trapped between your hand and thighs.

“Wait, Maker, I’ll cum if you…” he garbles, but his body keeps meeting your grinds. You shush him gently, stroking from base to tip and smearing precum over the head. 

“You will, but only when I let you. You know I’ll make it good for you, make nothing but this pleasure you’re feeling fill that head of yours.” His rapid nod almost knocks you in the head with the beskar, but he manages to tuck into your neck instead. The helmet is a shocking cool against your skin, but the act of burrowing into you must be rewarded. Bringing your arms around him, you press along the length of his body, trapping his cock between.

“I’m gonna pound into this tight ass until you cum all over us. You like that?” The wail Din lets out shoots heat to your cunt, wishing more than anything that you’d opted for a toy that gave you a little stimulation too. Instead you hammer fast and hard, barely pulling out. Your hips and thighs burn with exertion at his bulk on top of you, but he’s frantically bouncing back and rutting his cock into the wet mess your bodies make. 

“Don’t stop,” he gasps, and you’re not sure if it’s the vocoder but you think his voice sounds watery. “Please, cyar’ika, don’t stop.”

Cupping the back of his neck, damp with sweat, you whisper, “I’ve got you.”

With a handful of final pumps you’re coated in his cum, sliding around your belly as he seizes over and over. Pressing deep, you hold strong against his shuddering body as he finishes. Each weakening thrust draws him down on you, heavier and loose-limbed. 

The armor makes it hard to find the soft spots, so you take to kneading the back of his neck and palming his spine. Before his last aftershock, you urge him higher on his knees so you can slip your cock out - slowly, so as not to shock his jellying body. Easing him down, you hold his head in the crook of your neck and settle him on your lap. His hands slide down from the headboard to your shoulders. 

Then you hear it. A tiny sniff, then another. You can’t pretend you didn’t notice them so close to your ear. So you gather the broad man in your arms and hold him. His hands don’t know where to rest, finally winding loosely around your lower back.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” you tell him again, and the sniffing starts to recede. His body, however, slumps against yours, and it takes all of your strength not to start giggling.

You fucked the Mandalorian right to sleep. Bravo to you.

When Din finally stirs, a deep rumble in his throat, it’s been almost an hour. Your toes are half numb and you’re dying to shift into any other position, but much like a lothcat falling asleep on your lap, you couldn’t bear to move Din. Especially when he started snoring, one of the most endearing and hilarious sounds you’d ever heard him make. 

In the time he slept you wondered what happened. What terrible thing hollowed him out and haunts him. Something keeps him up at night, if the depth of his sleep is any indication. Recent, possibly. Traumatic.

Your breath caught in your throat. If something happened to Grogu you know he would have told you. You ask after him all the time, teasing that you’ll be his Auntie (Din always says he has plenty of them across the galaxy). 

Had you seen the Razor Crest fly up? Where was that old bird anyway?

What happened in the time since Din last saw you?

The cycle of possibilities always ends the same. Maybe he cares for you in some way, but not enough for you to ask. No matter how much you want to.

A shift on your lap alerts you to Din waking, kneading his shoulders and neck lightly to alert him to your presence. He’s never slept with you before, but it wouldn’t surprise you to learn that he’s quick to draw at unexpected circumstances. Of which this one definitely is.

“What…” Din croaks, and if not for the helmet you would have offered him water. 

“It’s okay, you’re on my ship. You’re okay.” 

It takes Din another minute to realize what’s happened. Him, half naked on your lap with your strap pressing against his ass. You, covered in drying cum beneath him. In a flash he’s swinging his leg off your lap, attempting to stand but obviously they’ve gone as numb as yours because he stumbles and crashes out of sight. 

“Oh kriff, are you…?” you start to ask, but as quick as he’s out of sight he pops back up again, tugging up his pants and tucking himself away.

“Sorry, that was…I didn’t mean to…do that.” 

All of the heaviness and anger and lust fizzles away to laughter as you try to suppress the ridiculousness of the moment. After a moment of indigent head tilting Din’s shoulder also shake, chuckles fuzzing out of the vocoder. 

“Oh Maker, what an understatement that is,” you sigh, wiping your stomach with the edge of your bedsheets. Din visibly cringes, hands on his hips.

“Sorry for the mess,” he apologizes, but you wave it off.

“I’ve had much worse, believe me,” you shoot back. Clean enough, you sit on the edge of the bed and look up at the inscrutable man. 

“Want to talk about it?”

Din’s stance shifts, helmet tipping down for a moment before coming back to your face.

“...Not yet.”

You hum and nod. “Well, you know how to find me if you do.”

Din nods. “Thank you.”

As he picks up his effects you shimmy off the harness at the foot of the bed, mentally ticking through the steps to clean everything. Din watches you set it down, stilling until your eyes come back to him.

“It gives you pleasure as well?” he asks, which raises one of your eyebrows.

“I mean, about as much as rhythmically hitting your hips against someone can do.” His posture changes into something hard to decipher, so you continue. “I’ve got a few that do more for me, but it depends on the person I’m with. Comfort, boundaries. As you’re well aware.” You gesture to the armor, his chin tucking down to look at it.

“So you’ve never cum with me?” he asks, and a sudden feverish heat blooms under your skin. Din has a sex appeal you appreciate, but have never acted on beyond what he’s asked for. Now, something’s changed so dizzyingly fast you’re scrambling.

“Well, you’re pretty spent after our sessions. And you leave quickly. I don’t ask for more than you can give.”

Din takes a step towards you, putting his belt and cloak back down.

“What do you ask of other people you fuck?”

Your heart hammers in your chest. How can he turn the tables so quickly and spectacularly? Trying to gain the upper hand, you pull a confident face on and speak as breezily as possible.

“Most can’t get it up twice after I fuck them within an inch of their life, so fingers, tongues, toys, any and all of the above are excellent ways to repay the favor.”

He’s even closer now, and the facade is barely holding up. It’s like the vulnerability he showed you can’t possibly be returned.

“You’ve never asked me,” he says, and you can’t believe there’s a note of regret in his voice. The bed hits the back of your legs, and you steady your voice even though those words make your pussy throb.

“I didn’t think it was allowed.” Your voice drops low as Din steps into your space. 

“Difficult, but not forbidden.” Din’s hands come to your shoulders. “Sit down, please.”

Your knees fold so fast you bounce on the bed, looking up at him. He joins you on one knee, hands coming to rest on your thighs.

“I broke my Creed. I would do it again, for the exact same reason, but now that makes me an apostate.” His hands come to the helmet, thumbs tucking underneath the lip.

“Din, what happened?”

He pauses, and you swear you can feel his gaze through that smoky visor. 

“Close your eyes.”

Darkness surrounds you, then a hiss and a thunk. 

Then the voice of a man you care for, unfiltered and bare.

“I’m not ready for anyone to see my face. But I want this, with you. If you can forgive me.”

You could be dreaming still. It would make just as much sense.

“I forgive you, Din. But just this once,” you sneak in at the end just to hear how melodic his laugh sounds. Then his hand splays over your stomach and urges you to lie back.

“I hope you don’t mind teaching me this. I don’t have much experience,” he says, fire licking through your body as he tugs your leggings and underwear off.

“Don’t worry, you’re a quick learner,” you say breathily.

And when he finally kisses you, sweet with your musk on his tongue and your orgasm dripping from his fingers, you teach him how to do that as well.

END

"I need some distraction Oh a beautiful release Memories seep from my veins Let me be empty Oh and weightless and maybe I'll find some peace tonight.

Sarah McLachlan, Angel (yeah I know I used the sad dog song)

[toskarin]

while i enjoyed my time with elona+, it never quite grabbed me in the long term, so last night when i downloaded the demo for elin i was quite surprised to discover that i locked in until about 3AM trying to figure out how to get metal processing going, and only stopped at that point because i recognized that i probably should even if i didn't feel like it. it seems that i yearn for the forge

anyway do you know which folder elin keeps custom portraits/sprites in? i assumed it'd be the same as elona but i wasn't able to find it digging through the steam directory, appdata, or looking online

elin doesn't actually have a distinct custom folder for portraits, but if you don't want to make a mod (because it's pivoted more to mod support for that kind of thing) the best way to go about it is by opening the standard portraits folder (Elin\Package\_Elona\Portrait) and then adding your portrait of choice as a special portrait

somewhat in-the-weeds explanation of how to do this below the break, mostly intuited since I haven't made any mods myself as of yet

for context, the structure of a portrait's filename is (and keep in mind that I'm using my own terms here, I haven't looked at how the documentation would describe this)...

[tag]_[gendertag]-[NAMEGOESHERE].png

so, to make a special portrait for a female character, it'd be something like... "special_f-myportraitwithauniquename.png"

if you wanted that to work with all gender options, you'd use an n instead of an f. if you didn't plan on more than one defined character ever using it, you could even skip the gender tag altogether

if you wanted to add tinting, you could draw out the mask for that (basically a monochrome cutout of the hair) and then name that image "special_f-myportraitwithauniquename-overlay.png"

the main advantage of making your portraits as special portraits is that they can't be used by random npcs which aren't specified to generate with them, which means it slightly overlaps with portraits tagged UN (they do the same thing except they also disallow the player from choosing them)

as a fun aside, there's also a specific tag set aside for foxfolk, presumably because it would be weird if any generated without ears. I haven't played with modding in earnest, but I imagine you can also make your own pools of portraits that way

I think that covers it? I may be off here, but that seems right to the best of my knowledge

[fatehbaz]

The link between warfare and technological innovation has been well documented [...]. World War II was a particularly intense crucible of technological change, and the repurposing of military technologies and industries in the forging of a new post-war consumer [economy] is crucial [...]. Processes of technological bricolage turned the machines of war onto the natural world as global powers competed to cement their economic and imperial hegemony. In Great Britain’s post-war “groundnut scheme” in its East African territories (1946-51), this collision of nature, military hardware, and technical expertise was part of efforts to both produce more fats for the British diet and to demonstrate to the world (most importantly the United States) that, through a newly energized science-led developmentalism, British colonialism still had a “progressive” role to play in the postwar world.

The aim was to produce millions of tons of peanuts across Tanganyika using the latest methods of advanced scientific agriculture. The environmental conditions in the north, where the scheme was to begin, were known to be especially trying, not least the dry climate [...]. But faith in the power of mechanized agriculture was such that any natural limits were thought to be readily surmountable.

The groundnut scheme was to be, as its Director put it in an interview with the Tanganyika Standard, a “war” with nature, and an “economic Battle of Alamein” waged over some three million acres by an army of colonial technicians - many recruited from military ranks - and local laborers, for many of whom the scheme represented their first entry into the wage labor market.

But it wasn’t just the rhetoric of war that was repurposed.

Lancaster bombers were kitted out to survey and discover “new country” in East Africa for agricultural development. [...] [T]ractors and bulldozers from military surplus stores in Egypt proved unable to tackle the hard ground and tough vegetation, so the planners turned to a novel solution: repurposing surplus Sherman M4A2 tanks. The Vickers-Armstrong factory in Newcastle-Upon-Tyne set about rearranging key elements of the tanks’ construction [...]. The tractors, christened “Shervicks” for their hybrid origins, were [...] thought to be particularly suited to large-scale earth-moving and to the kind of heavy duty “bush clearing” that was required in Tanganyika.

Officials sought to dismiss concerns that large-scale bush clearing would have wider environmental consequences, using the well-worn colonial trope that any observed changes in local climate or erosion patterns were due to the “primitive” agricultural practices of the locals, not to the earth-moving practices of the colonists.  [...] As the plants continued to wilt in the sun, [...] [t]he stakes were high. As [J.R.] of the Colonial Development Corporation put it in a letter: “Our standing as an Imperial power in Africa is to a substantial extent bound up with the future of this scheme. To abandon it would be a humiliating blow to our prestige everywhere.” The only option left was to try and bend the weather itself to the scheme’s will, by seeding the clouds for rain. [...] “Balloon bombs” (photographic film canisters tethered to weather balloons) and a repurposed Royal Navy flare gun were used to target individual clouds [...]. The scheme itself has survived as a cautionary tale of governmental hubris, but it is instructive too as a case study of how technologies of war have been turned against other foes.

---

All text above by: Martin Mahony. “The Enemy is Nature: Military Machines and Technological Bricolage in Britain’s ‘Great Agricultural Experiment.’“ Environment and Society Portal, Arcadia (Spring 2021), no. 11. Rachel Carson Center for Environment and Society. doi:10.5282/rcc/9191. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me. Images and their captions are shown unaltered as they originally appear in Mahony's article. Public Domain Mark 1.0 License for images: creativecommons dot org/publicdomain/mark/1.0/]

[emira-addams]

Hazbin Hotel - Carmilla x Rosie - The Devil is a Part-Timer - Headcanon

Carmilla gets trapped on Earth with her daughters and Rosie and Velvette, and they need to pretend to be family so as not to attract any attention among the humans as them being demons until they can return to Hell...

The last thing Carmilla could remember was her arguing with Velvette and Rosie knocking on the door

The Overlord-Meeting had just been over, an exhausting meeting and the main topic had been that weird hotel of Lucifer's disillusioned daughter and the probability of the end of the annual exterminations as a result of Adam's death

With the help of her daughters, Carmilla had been packing up her things, Velvette still sitting in her seat with her feet on the table, engaged in a very heated discussion with Carmilla while she tried to get home as soon as possible

Velvette was convinced that they had to fight back and bring down Heaven now while they still had the chance

Suddenly there had been a knock on the door and Rosie was standing in front of her

When Carmilla opened her eyes, she was lying on her back, damp green grass beneath her and the silhouettes of trees and shadows of skyscrapers above her, the red horizon of Hell had been replaced by a dark blue sky, planes and helicopters imitating shooting stars

The noise of the city was terrible, the volume unbearable, shrill sirens and car horns, she had to cover her ears and when she sat up, she realized that she was sitting on the ground in the middle of a park in a big city

Carmilla was not alone

Less than a meter away from their mother, her daughters lay unconscious in the grass, Rosie found herself on her side under a tree and a good distance away, in the mud on the edge of a small lake, they saw Velvette

"W-What happened?" Slowly Rosie came awake, shaking, her balance faltering, and Carmilla needed to help to her feet before the worried mother could go and check on her daughters

"Where are we?" Rosie also seemed completely overwhelmed by the volume, the bright lights and the sheer size of the city; she and Carmilla had never experienced such centralization and automation in their lifetimes

"We're on Earth..." Velvette tried desperately to rub the mud from her clothes, more concerned about her appearance than the fact that they had somehow escaped Hell and were now trapped on Earth

"Why are we on Earth? We have to go back to Hell!"

"What do we do now?" Velvette asks in confusion as they leave the park and stop in front of a large shop window, all of their images appearing strangely human in the reflection

"We'll blend in," Carmilla concludes. "We look like humans, so we act like humans..."

She has a plan and explains to the group that they need to be as inconspicuous as possible, they need to blend into the everyday life of a normal person as much as possible, they shouldn't attract any attention until they have found a way back to Hell and their first step in implementing their plan is to find a place to stay and food to eat

At the city library, Odette forges the right faked documents for them on a computer while the rest of the group searches for ads for cheap housing in newspapers spread everywhere

Odette chooses the obviously simplest option and makes their group into a family that has just moved here from abroad, Carmilla and Rosie playing married parents and Clara, Odette and Velvette becoming sisters on paper

"I'd also need your name for the records, Miss..." requested their landlady.

"Rosie!"

"Your full name with your surname, please, Miss..." replied their landlady, shaking her head.

"Oh... Please excuse me, my full name is Rosie Carmine! We're married!" Rosie pointed to Carmilla with a proud grin, while Carmilla quickly averted her eyes, desperately trying to hide the blush that was now creeping inevitably into her cheeks. Although Odette had already warned her mother that Rosie would be playing her wife, saying it out loud was another matter that inevitably made Carmilla's heart skip a beat. How was she supposed to get used to sleeping in the same bed with Rosie any time soon?

"You really do have three wonderful daughters!" their landlady enthused as she showed them their tiny apartment, which was a one-bedroom unit with an open kitchen and an adjoining bathroom with a shower.

"Don't get the wrong impression, I'm just adopted!" Velvette interjected.

"We still love her just as much as our other two daughters..." Carmilla pressed through gritted teeth as she pulled Velvette into a halfhearted hug. "Play along..." she hissed lowly as Velvette struggled unsuccessfully in her arms.

Carmilla gets a job at a fast food restaurant to make the money for rent and food. In addition, she enrolls her daughters and Velvette in school to maintain their cover. Rosie stays home most of the time, taking care of the household and her family, while she spends her free time researching on the internet and in the surrounding museums and libraries to find out more about their situation and a possible way to get back to Hell.

Velvette is very less than thrilled that she has to live under the same roof as Carmilla, play their daughter and go back to school.

Even though their cover is indeed very convincing, their every move is watched by agents in black suits and black SUV's, which park in the street and near their apartment more and more frequently as the plot progresses. Carmilla is followed on her way to work, Rosie can't go to the supermarket alone once without agents following her through the aisles and Clara, Odette and Velvette are being tailed at school. Who are these people and what do they want from them? Are they well aware that they are from Hell?

I'm still working on this idea, it's in my WIP's and I'd love to write a full fic about it soon. It's more or less a slow burn Blooming Gun fic playing on Earth, with a lot of pure domestic bliss and fluff and some action (involving some secret demon hunting agents from the government), and Carmilla and Rosie secretly crushing on each other.

Carmilla thinks that Rosie is merely playing her role as her wife very convincingly and doesn't dare to explore her feelings much further, while Rosie desperately tries to give Carmilla the hint without actually having to say the words.

Clara and Odette have long since accepted Rosie as their other parent and are enjoying their second chance to live a semi-normal life outside of Hell with their mothers, more or less accepting Velvette as their sister.

After some time, several conflicts and some heartfelt conversations, Carmilla actually adopts Velvette as her daughter. The turning point in their relationship is a situation at school in which Carmilla takes Velvette's side as her mother and defends her as her daughter.

What do you think of this idea for a fic so far?

Do you have any suggestions or any wishes for scenes or content that I definitely need to include?

Masterpost:

Chapter 01:

[changelingsandothernonsense]

Dropping a snippet from the new You entry i'm writing. Put simply, Josh is wallowing in the fact that Sydari broke up with him and he can't run to Cyrodiil. He ends up in Falkreath sleeping off a drunken brawl in the gaols when he gets a visit from an old acquaintance of the Deadric kind. Snips below the cut.

Cyrodiil was a bust and I knew it. That Imperial Legionnaire fucker that was flipping through my admittedly forged documents was never gonna let my grey ass over the border. Sure, I could take my chances with the Jerall Mountains and just trudge through until I start seeing vineyards and that giant fucking tower but my track record with mountain crossings leaves a lot to be desired. No, I admitted defeat around the time the ice started biting through my gloves and trudged my miserable ass back to that tiny logging town the Nords seems to think qualifies as a city. Maybe if you count that giant fucking cemetery that gives me the fucking creeps! I still can’t believe how carelessly the Nords bury their dead. Just interred in the ground with nothing done to the corpses.

I can’t imagine my body rotting away like that. Just— stuck in the frigid ground an—

I shook my head and rubbed my eyes, trying to shake the image of my late husband’s small, mummified form from my head. It was never me that was going to be left to rot, no. It was always those I loved most.

I sighed and lay down on the moist, rotting wooden plank that was meant to serve as my bed in this stinking dungeon! I needed to get out of here— out of this province! I was done wandering this frigid land. I couldn’t go to a single tavern without hearing rumours of you. Things you had done, dragons you’d felled in my absence. Everything about Skyrim reminded me of you.

The reminder that you truly want nothing to do with me tore my heart to pieces and made me sick to the stomach. The crushing weight of your absence felt like a constant weight on my chest. I couldn’t breathe without you and that— it’s not good for me, I know. I get stuck on people and then I lose them, and it causes a spiral.

And then I end up thrown in a cell after drinking my weight in liquor and beating the shit out of some dumb cunt that gave me lip. It’s why I was in Falkreath’s gaol, after all. Some fuckhead started calling me a fucking provincial or some shit when I was trying to lose myself in that weak ass shit swill the Nords seem to favour. I hate mead about as much as greef, but liquor is liquor, and I was looking to forget. A fight was bound to happen eventually— you often complained that I was an angry drunk and I can’t really argue with you.

I can’t argue with you at all.

I sighed, trying my best to push aside my thoughts of you in favour of plotting my next move. I couldn’t stay in Skyrim, too much pain and I’d constantly be searching every tavern and shop for your face. Cyrodiil was out of the question with the roads closed. I could try High Rock, though I’ve never really been a fan of the place. I could go to Hammerfell, a nice stay on a beach in Sentinel would be nice… though given how local sentiment has turned against elves since the Altmer got that superiority stick shoved back up their collective asses and threw the whole damn continent into a fucking war! I mean I could pull out my old Yeshua costume but covering myself from head to toe in desert gear isn’t really conducive to laying about on a beach.

[forgotten-bharat]

Let's talk about the idolized Aurangzeb. What he did and why is he considered great?

We will be focusing on the destruction of temples and hindu genocide done by him to debunk claims deny that this.

By the order of Aurangzeb (1645 AD) according to Mirãt-i-Ahmadî, Temple of Chintaman situated close to Sarashpur (Gujarat) and built by Sitaldas jeweller was converted into a mosque named Quwwat-ul-lslam (might of Islam) (1645 AD.) A cow was slaughtered to 'solemnize' the 'ceremony'.

Slaughtering a cow was a heinous choice, cow being one of the holiest animal in Hinduism. As well as, Hinduism prohibits animal slaughter, to do it right where their place of worship used to be where now stands a Mosque was simply to mock and destroy the souls of the indigenous population. The Pandits and Cows were always their main targets.

This was done before he even became the king, he was just a prince at this point.

When he became the king he sent Mir Jumla on an expedition to Cooch Bihar. Mir Jumla demolished ALL temples in that city and erected mosques in their stead. The general himself wielded a battle-axe to break the image of Narayana.

Mirãt-i-Ahmadî continues, In 1666 AD, he ordered the faujdar of Mathura to remove a stone railing which had been presented by Dara Shukoh to the temples of Keshav Rai. He explained: “In the Muslim faith it is a sin even to look at a temple and this Dara had restored a railing in a temple!”

You can still argue that Islamic Colonization simply had a political motif and not a religious one, if that would have been the case, none of the indigenous people would have been harmed, none of them would have been forcefully converted, their heritage would not have been destroyed right in front of their eyes, their schools and texts would have been burned. This is downright evil and was done in the name of Allah by all the Mughal tyrants.

“The richly jewelled idols taken from the infidel temples were transferred to Agra and placed beneath the steps leading to the Nawab Begum Sahib's (Jahanara's) mosque in order that they might be “pressed under foot by the true believers”. Mathura changed its name into Islamabad and was thus called in all official documents.”

In the same year, Sita Ram ji temple at Soron was destroyed as also the shrine of Devi Patan at Gonda. News came from Malwa also that the local governor had sent 400 troopers to destroy all temples around Ujjain.

According to Muraqat-i-Abul Hasan, civil officers, agents of jagirdars, karoris and amlas from Cuttack in Orissa to Medinipur in Bengal were instructed as follows:

“Every idol house built during the last 10 or 12 years' should be demolished without delay. Also, do not allow the crushed Hindus and despicable infidels to repair their old temples. Reports of the destruction of temples should be sent to the court under the seal of the qazis and attested by pious Shaikhs.”

(1672 AD) several thousand Satnamis were slaughtered near Narnaul in Mewat for which act of 'heroism' Radandaz Khan was tided Shuja'at Khan with the mansab of 3000 and 2000 horse.

(1675 AD) Guru Tegh Bahadur was tortured to death for his resistance against the forcible conversion of the Hindus of Kashmir. The destruction of gurudwaras thereafter is a well-known story which our secularists have succeeded in suppressing because the Akali brand Sikhs have been forging ties of friendship with Islam as against their parent faith, Hindu Dharma.

Mirãt-i-Ahmadî goes ahead: “On 6th January 1680 A.D. Prince Mohammad Azam and Khan Jahan Bahadur obtained permission to visit Udaipur. Ruhullah Khan and Yakkattaz Khan also proceeded thither to effect the destruction of the temples of the idolators. These edifices situated in the vicinity of the Rana's palace were among the wonders of the age, and had been erected by the infidels to the ruin of their souls and the loss of their wealth”. Pioneers destroyed the images. On 24th January the king visited the tank of Udayasagar.

His Majesty ordered all three of the Hindu temples to be levelled with the ground. On 29th January Hasan AN Khan made his appearance' and stated that “172 temples in the neighbouring districts had been destroyed.” His Majesty proceeded to Chitor on 22nd February.

Temples to the number of 63 were destroyed. Abu Tarab who had been commissioned to effect the destruction of idol temples of Amber, reported in person on 10th August that 66 temples had been levelled to the ground.’ The temple of Someshwar in western Mewar was also destroyed at a later date in the same year. It may be mentioned that unlike Jodhpur and Udaipur, Amber was the capital of a state loyal to the Mughal emperor.

Khafi Khan records in his Muntakhab-ul-Lubab: ‘On the capture of Golconda, the Emperor appointed Abdur Rahim Khan as censor of the city of Haiderabad with orders to put down infidel practices and innovations, and destroy the temples and build mosques on the sites.’ That was in 1687 AD. In 1690 AD, he ordered destruction of temples at Ellora, Trimbakeshwar, Narasinghpur, and Pandharpur.

Aurangzeb also destroyed, Kashi Vishwanath Temple in Kashi, Uttar Pradesh - which considered as the most scared hindu temple and land.

In 1698 AD, the story was repeated at Bijapur. According to Mirat-i-AhmadT: 'Hamidud-din Khan Bahadur who had been deputed to destroy the temples of Bijapur and build mosques there, returned to court after carrying out the order and was praised by the Emperor.' As late as 1705 AD, two years before he died, 'the emperor, summoning Muhammad Khalil and Khidmat Rai, the darogha of hatchet-men' ordered them to demolish the temple of Pandharpur, and to take the butchers of the camp there and slaughter cows in the temple.' Cow-slaughter at a temple site was a safeguard against Hindus rebuilding it on the same spot.

The saddest part is, all of this information, the bloodiest part of Indian History is never shown to the people, they grow up learning, Mughals were great emperors that built great things. When none of that holds any ounce of truth. It should be said without any censorship, these tyrants destroyed the culture, tradition and religions of India.

With all this information, if you're still defending these tyrants, if you still "want them around", if you still insist "it wasn't that bad", you absolutely do not care about "human rights", every activism you take part in is just performative. And I do not respect you or your opinion on any social issue.

[rambheem-is-real]

Snail Fic

varadeva, crackfic based on server convos

Kid Deva is afraid of snails.

-

1981

Deva runs over to his father, dutifully presenting the bundle of documents Amma had sent with him. 

Dhaara smiles down at him, ruffling his hair affectionately. “Look at my boy, so responsible.” Deva feels his chest puff with pride. “Six years old and already going on important missions for the tribe.” Dhaara pokes Deva’s cheek, and Deva giggles. 

His father takes the documents, glancing down at them before setting them on the desk, and then returns his attention to Deva. “Well? Didn’t your mother tell you to come back home once you’re done here?”

Deva doesn’t move, but his lips drop down into a pout. Dhaara chuckles. “Alright, alright, I did promise you last week that I would take you into the Shouryanga forges,” he says, and Deva bounces on his toes, giddy over the fact that he’d get to see where his father worked most of the week, when he wasn’t at home or in political meetings with the rest of the tribe council. “Follow me.” 

Dhaara reaches towards the documents on the desk, then stops. “Not again,” he sighs. “We’ll have to get new ones, chinna.”

Deva walks over to the desk, leaning on his tippy-toes to see the papers. He gasps when he sees that they look.. wet? He quickly scans the rest of the surface. The cup of coffee is on the far side, and there’s no way it would’ve spilled all the way over here. However, there seems to be a trail of wetness across a corner of the desk, the one that the papers were close to. “What happened?” he asks. 

“Snail,” Dhaara says. “Now come on,” he gestures towards the door, but Deva stays put. 

“What’s a snail?”

“It’s an animal,” Dhaara explains. “It’s tiny and when it moves it leaves behind a trail of mucus.”

Deva glares at the wetness. Mucus, Dhaara had called it. How dare this snail ruin Nanna’s papers! he thinks. He turns back to Dhaara, shaking his head. “There’s a snail in here,” he says, and as always Dhaara understands his son perfectly. 

He chuckles at the little boy. “What, you’re gonna stay here until you catch it?” 

Deva nods, imagining himself as one of the superheroes in the comic books Varadha had stolen from Rudra. 

“And then what? You’ll kill it?” 

Deva immediately deflates. He hadn’t gotten that far in his imagination. How hard would it be to kill a snail?

“Chinna,” Dhaara tries to reason with him, but Deva’s already turning his back on him, pushing a chubby finger through the mucus on the desk. 

Determined little wolf, Dhaara thinks affectionately. He’s going to be a great leader. Chuckling, he makes his way out of the office room. Dhaara’s halfway outside the door when he hears an ear splitting scream, and immediately races back inside, heart pounding. That had been his son.

Expecting Mannarsi soldiers, Ghaniyar spies, or a ferocious beast of an animal, Dhaara runs into the office to see Deva sitting on the floor, staring agape at the desk, clutching his left hand to his chest. 

“Deva?!” 

Deva turns to look at him, still shocked, and wails, “SNAIL!”

Dhaara has to fight to not immediately burst out laughing at the mental image of what must have happened. Oh my God, he thinks, he’s terrified of snails. His brave little wolf cub, who wasn’t afraid of the dark, snakes, spiders, Raja Mannar’s scowling face, or anything a typical child might be afraid of, was terrified of snails.  He gently approaches his son, trying his best to keep a straight face. “Did you touch it?”

Deva nods, and a tear slips down his face. “It was so sticky,” he whispers. 

Dhaara scoops Deva up into his arms, and Deva doesn’t protest, only curling around him and resting his head on Dhaara’s neck. “It’s okay, chinna. Let’s just go home.” He only hopes Deva doesn’t feel the way he’s shaking from keeping the laughter in. 

-

1985

“-and those wisps up there, they’re called cirrus clouds,” Varadha explains, pointing to said clouds. Deva nods, listening raptly. His Varadha was so smart. 

They’re enjoying a leisurely day in the meadow, both of them not having any clan-related duties for the time being. Deva had brought a blanket for them to sit on, and Varadha had brought some biscuits to snack on. They spent most of the morning chasing each other in the grass, until they got tired and laid down, Deva’s head resting on Varadha’s chest, as he talked Deva’s ear off about what he learned that week from his science tutor. Not that Deva had any complaints. It was cool information, and even cooler coming from his best friend. 

“The water cycle-” Varadha cuts himself off, but Deva just closes his eyes, soaking in the sun, the cool ground underneath, and the feeling of Varadha so close to him. This was bliss. 

“Oh hey, little one,” Varadha croons. He’s probably found another frog or something, Deva thinks. Varadha had a problem when it came to animals, always wanting to cuddle the ones he thought were cute even if it meant it might be dangerous. “You’re adorable. Rey, Deva, look at this!” 

Deva feels something dropped onto his chest, and figures it's the frog. “What should I name him?” He opens his eyes, aiming to only briefly glance at the thing and offer a suitable name for Varadha, before going back to relaxing. 

Deva’s met with an abomination of a creature, its white eyes staring Deva down from the V of its antennae. He immediately lets out a strangled scream, body jolting in terror. 

Varadha immediately turns to him in confusion. “Deva? What’s wrong?”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

Deva can’t let Varadha know about his fear. No self respecting ten-year-old should be scared of snails. Besides, it was usually Varadha being scared about something and coming to Deva for reassurance (that Deva would gladly provide), not the other way around. Varadha wouldn’t think Deva was cool if he ever found out about the snail problem. 

“Nothing, ra. Just thought I felt something.” 

“Oh, ok,” Varadha says, although he still sounds suspicious. “You’re alright then?”

Deva forces himself to look away from the beast’s horrific body, crawling around right on his chest , and towards Varadha, still worried. He plasters on a fake grin. “Of course! Never better! Absolutely jolly.” 

Varadha raises his eyebrow. “‘Absolutely jolly’? What the hell, ra?”

He’s gotta do something about this. Deva leaps to his feet, turning his back on Varadha, brushing away the snail as quickly as he can, shuddering at the wet sensation on his knuckles. 

“I think I’m just tired, I’m gonna go home and sleep,” he tells his friend. Go home and cry, more like, Deva thinks to himself. It was so wet-

“You dropped him!” Deva whips around to see Varadha lunge towards the fucking snail between Deva’s legs, cradling it within his hands as if it were some angelic being. Varadha smiles down at the way it squirms, not noticing the way Deva’s body is doing the same thing in the presence of the snail. “I think I’ll call him Deva Jr.”

Deva bites back all the swears he knows, which are honestly not a lot. “Ok, have fun with your snail. I’ll see you tomorrow, ra,” Deva calls back as he starts to speedwalk his way out of the meadow, determinedly not looking back. 

“Rey! Picchoda, you forgot your blanket!” Varadha calls out, and there was definitely suspicion in his voice. 

“Bring it to me tomorrow!” Deva shouts back. As soon as he’s out of the field and within the trees he starts running. 

-

Snails. Hundreds of tiny ones. They were slowly gaining on Deva, mucus trailing behind them. Deva backs up into a wall, eyes wide as he realizes there’s no way out. The snails crawl up his body, up his face, in his-

“Rey, wake up, Amma is calling!” 

Deva wakes up gasping. He stares at Varadha in his room, and Varadha stares back until he seems to realize he had something to say. 

“Oh! I’m here to return this,” he explains, and shows Deva the blanket, putting it on the foot of the bed before he scampers back to Deva. “Don’t have time the rest of today, I’m helping Thatha with the Bharghat negotiations!” Varadha beams at Deva, clearly excited, and Deva can’t help but smile back. His Vara was too cute. 

Something wet brushes his arm, and Deva yanks it out of the bedsheets. Both he and Varadha look at the white snail suctioned to Deva’s arm. He’s too tired to pretend he’s not scared out of his mind, he just woke up for God’s sake. Deva screams. 

He wiggles his arm around in the air, trying to get the snail to fly off, but the snail is sticking to him with the mucus. Varadha watches, eyes wide. “So THAT’s why you left so early yesterday?” 

Deva tries flicking the snail with his other hand, but that doesn’t do anything either. 

“You’re afraid of SNAILS?”

“NO I’M NOT,” Deva yells back, resorting to slapping at the arm. The snail crawls forward during a brief pause of Deva’s hand swatting at it, and Deva screams once again. 

“YES YOU ARE!” Varadha cackles.He gently grips the body of the snail and pulls it until the suction gives way. He grins at Deva, who looks like he’d rather be anywhere else. “What were you even trying to do? You couldn’t have just told me?” 

Deva looks down at his hands, frowning. “You’d think I was a coward.”

Quickly, Varadha darts in and gives Deva a hug. When he pulls back, Varadha gives him a soft smile. “Rey. You’re the bravest person I know. Even now.”

Deva perks up at that. “Really?”

Varadha nods. “Of course. And the snail thing,” he grins bashfully, “just makes you cuter.” 

Deva feels his ears burning. Cuter. His Varadha’s voice calling him that is going to rattle around in his head forever. 

“Rey Deva, wake up, how many times must I yell?” The voice of Deva’s mother seems to bring Varadha back to reality. 

“Oh, I’m gonna be late. Bye, ra!” Varadha calls out as he runs out of the room. He peaks around from the door, shit-eating grin on his face. “Of course, you can visit Deva Jr. anytime you want in Kotagadi!” 

“Yedava!” Deva yells, throwing a pillow at his friend, and Varadha easily dodges, laughing as he leaves the hallway. Deva can’t help but smile though. 

Cuter.

-

[maircries]

Mair’s Episode Thirty Five Relisten

“No. Wait. Are we blowing up? No? Yeah, don’t care.”

But also Doug’s little “uhhhh, not that I’m aware?”

They really are so

Yeah

I understand it’s space logistics but still, the image of everyone drinking coffee out of a fucking straws is so funny to me

Lmaoooo I forgot about the fucking

Poor Minkowski

Straw in mug? With lid? How? Because that slurping sound was straw slurping, I know what straw slurping sounds are. And also, again, space and gravity logistics

But Renee shattering glass/ceramic with her hands? Hottttt

He’s such a dick about the weather, Jesus fucking Christ that’s basically weather

Fucking love jacobi so goddamn much

I love Alana too

This is so great

I love the hating on colonel Kepler show

In this moment I truly don’t fucking understand how Jacobi and Maxwell can be so unwaveringly loyal to him. Like, obviously there’s trust in life or death situations and also bonds forged through that, but this man regularly threatens you and your well being. How tf does that inspire loyalty?? Am I just being a scorpio about it or something??

Oh it’s this episode!!! Quack!!

“I didn’t do it!”

What a perfect setup to let everyone find out his deepest shame and haunting past

I would truly abuse this situation so fast and dig out all the classified shit about my situation and the colonel, not just my coworkers

I’d be BLASTING this shit, making copies printing it out, Regina George style

“Mhm mhm mhm”

They bully Eiffel so goddamn much :(((

Truly the addiction is totally fucking understandable, especially learning how exactly she broke her arm

I do feel bad about Renee getting made fun of for her musical theatre bit, she’s already ashamed of it but she’s probably super fucking talented at it

Jacobus fear of ducks brings me so much goddamn joy

“No I’m no-!”

“Quack.” *in the coldest most flat tone of voice* “stop that” “quaaaaack” “I said stop it!”

The airing out of the court documents is so fucked up

Hers talking about the difficult relationships with family, holy fucking shit. Things that don’t ever hit until you go back and listen again

“Shut up pill popper!” “QUACKKKK!”

I’m imagining poor Eiffel fucking banging his head on something as Kepler tells him more fucking stories and jokes this while goddamn time

Poor Eiffel

The very tense music during this is killing me ngl

The fucking impression of Maxwell

THE CHEESE

I FORGOT ABOUT THE CHEESE TOO

“Excuse me?”

“You snore!” “YOU CAN GET EARPLUGS!”

“In this about the cheeses? Goddamnit you said you didn’t mind the cheeses!”

“I can’t even look at you right now”

Minkowskis pride about the sedative, it’s so goddamn funny

Also Jacobi why the fuck are you judging

“For science!”

Hey where’s Hilbert during this?

“Yeah I just realized that a second ago and now I’m embarrassed and sorry that I yelled at you! You insensitive android!”

Yeah so why you judging about the sedatives Jacobi, you blew up a hospital!

Dude just look up all the shit on Kepler and judge HIM

And also pull as many confidential files you can about the mission so you maybe don’t get taken by surprise

They take such a comedic episode and fucking.,,.,. How could they

God and then Doug fucking walks in 😭😭😭

Holy fucking shit man

Goddamn, just, what was everyone thinking as he walked in

Minkowski is trying to be normal about it, but she’s so audibly shaken up it’s insane

Sorry but. Quack. Still so goddamn funny

The way she sounds so fucked about seeing Eiffel rn

Does she think that he found out that she knows what he did? What was running through her mind when he said he wanted to apologize?

God he’s just so. Fucking responsible. When it comes down to it. I’m so unwell about him

She’s trying to make these two different people make sense into one person

Yall aren’t ready for me to get to the full backstory episode, I’m gonna be SO unwell about that

Jacobi you piece of shit

I love you

She wants so hard to have faith in him. And she should and shouldn’t. And I love that there’s duality in that, that you don’t have to be a saint to be a person worth caring about if you want to be better

But yeah Jacobi why are you stirring this shit up so much

I really want to know why Jacobi is trying to shake Renee about this, like, did he know? Is he playing it off? Is it a scheme to try and break the team apart?

“Good night! 😃”

Dude I was so fucking shook listening to this episode tho, I was coming up with all the different ways that it could be a good deed out under a bad lense

But again, I actually really like the choice they made for him. Like, he wasn’t a bad dad, but he was a bad adult, and you can understand him, and you can see how it all went wrong, and he loved her so much, too much and that hurt her, it wasn’t a good thing and maybe he’s not a good person, but by god he wants to be a better one, you can’t just take your punishment and say you’ll be better, put the work in, ship yourself to space so that this company will pay for all the best treatments, give her a good life even if it’s one without you in it, you’re not a good person but you will work to be a better one

Also!! Maybe he didn’t tell the crew but. When hilbert implies that he knows about why he was sent up here? He doesn’t deny what he did, or try to downplay it at all. He doesn’t defend himself at all for the actions. And when he and Minkowski finally hash it out, he doesn’t try to make himself seem sympathetic, he gives her the facts as he had them, how he felt at the time. He doesn’t hide anything.

This is just another reason why I love Doug and why he’s my favorite and a million other things. He’s just. He. Him. Yeah.

Good night! 😃 quack

No seriously I’m going to bed for the night we’ll continue tomorrow

[thetomorrowshow]

scars

empires superpowers au masterlist (not up to date)

i have no clue where this idea came from but here *hands you a tattooed jimmy*

this takes place about 8 months after then end of ‘poisoned rats’.

cw: past abuse, mentions of needles, scars

~

“Look at that one,” Jimmy points at the screen; Scott pauses in his scrolling. “It’s a poppy. You love poppies.”

“. . . I do,” Scott says, glancing at Jimmy quickly before resuming the scroll.

“That one’s a flag, but it could be a pride flag. That’s why I saved it. The birds are a bit cheesy, but I thought I’d include them anyway.”

Scott doesn’t say anything, just keeps scrolling through the document. He knew Jimmy had been researching something, but . . . he hadn’t been expecting this.

Before him, on Jimmy’s laptop, is a three-page document that is a collage of tattoos.

Some are better than others—there’s a celtic knot that looks pretty bad, and Jimmy’s right about the birds being cheesy, but the poppy is understated and delicate, and a cute cartoon cat makes him smile.

That’s all well and good, but the problem is: Scott has no clue why Jimmy is showing him tattoos.

Jimmy points at a bundle of stars, saying something about how it reminded him of Scott, then at a feather, then a ladder, which he explains could be combined with the stars. He quickly passes over an abstract canary, hands twitching and tripping over his words, to point out an intricate subway car, then a tiny soccer ball.

Scott interrupts right as Jimmy starts to explain an iceberg tattoo.

“Jimmy, I—this is great, but I don’t think I understand. Are you wanting me to get a tattoo?”

Jimmy blinks, laughs nervously. “I—Scott, these are—these are cover-ups. For scars.”

Oh.

Suddenly, there’s a lump in Scott’s throat.

“I—a tattoo is a big decision,” Scott manages to say around the lump, his eyes catching on a long scar down Jimmy’s left bicep. “It’s something you can’t change. Are you sure?”

Jimmy levels an exasperated look at him. “For one thing, I’m an adult. I know it’s a big decision, you don’t have to remind me. And I promise I’ve thought about this. I shouldn’t have to tell you that I have.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” Scott starts to amend, but Jimmy forges on.

“It’s my body,” he says. “It’s mine, and I can have the freedom to do what I want with it, because I’m an adult and it belongs to me. And when you—when you asked if I was sure, it felt like you were treating me like a kid, or like I don’t own my body. And it felt bad.”

Shame curls in his stomach. Jimmy’s right, he shouldn’t have responded like that. It’s perfectly normal for people to get tattoos, and for their partners to support them in it. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes again. “I didn’t think before speaking. I said something my parents would’ve said, and I should have considered what you just told me.”

Jimmy smiles, leans his head against Scott’s shoulder. “It’s fine. I was showing you because I wanted your opinion, and it’s all right if you don’t like the idea of a tattoo. But I would’ve liked for you to say that outright if that’s true, instead of telling me things I already knew.”

“No, I think it’s a great idea,” Scott hurries to amend. He pauses, taking a moment to get his thoughts in order. They’re working on having more open conversations, so that they don’t have repeat events of Scott’s Nightmare Situation of Last Month, as they’ve dubbed it. “I think a lot of tattoos are good,” he says eventually, “but some suck. So I’m happy you’re asking my opinion, because I don’t know if I’d be able to look my boyfriend in the eyes if he got a skull surrounded in roses on his bicep.”

That gets a laugh out of Jimmy. “Don’t think yours is the only opinion I’m getting,” he teases. “I know better than to trust a man who dyed his hair red all through college.”

“It looked good!”

They look at tattoos for a little while, Scott immediately vetoing the trio of birds and a guitar. Together, they separate the pages into ‘no’ ‘maybe’ and ‘yes’ images, dragging the little Darth Vader holding a lightsaber (a scar being the lightsaber) into ‘maybe’ and the celtic knot into ‘no’ and so on, until about half of the tattoos have been sorted.

And if they get distracted halfway through and end up making out right there on the couch? Well, they can always finish it later.

-

Three weeks later, Jimmy exits the tattoo parlor with the long, thin scar on his left bicep covered by a poppy, red and irritated from the procedure. Scott had been with him the whole time, holding his hand. They’d had to call for a break halfway through, but it had overall gone very well, and Jimmy had gotten into the passenger seat with a huge grin on his face.

“I thought I would be scared of the needle, but it wasn’t even that bad!” Jimmy says excitedly, twisting his arm around to check out the plastic-wrapped tattoo. “Did you hear when she said I was really good at staying still, especially for my first time? I’m going to get a good grade in tattoos, which is both normal to want and possible to achieve.”

Scott laughs out loud at the meme reference, resolving not to think about why it is that Jimmy’s so good at not moving while needles are stuck into him.

“Do you like it?” Scott asks instead, adjusting the rearview mirror before shifting the car into gear.

Jimmy doesn’t answer for a long moment. When Scott glances over at him, he’s let his arm fall, staring straight ahead, chewing thoughtfully on his lip.

“Yeah,” he decides eventually. “I really do. Now when I look at it in the mirror, I can be reminded of you instead of them. And . . . I can make choices with my body. That feels really good.”

“I can imagine.”

Jimmy twists his arm around again, peering at what little of the tattoo can be seen through the plastic. “I like it,” he says, quieter. “Do you like it?”

“It was my top choice, Jimmy,” Scott reminds him. “And it looks cute on you. Much better than that fish would.”

Jimmy snorts. “You know what, since it was Lizzie’s idea, I’ll tell her I’ll only get it if she gets it too.”

“Please—if you get fish, get a different one,” begs Scott. “It was huge, it had that horrible ‘gone fishing’ sign—get something cute, not something that screams fifty-year-old midlife crisis.”

That gets a laugh out of his boyfriend, and a little tension that had been in Scott’s body since before the appointment finally dissipates, allowing his shoulders to ease and his fingers to loosen their grip on the wheel.

“I’ve been watching videos on word cover-ups, so I think I might get one of those,” Jimmy says when they’re almost home. “I’m . . . I think it would help, even though I can still trace the letters. But I’d like to try scar treatment first, so I don’t think I’m gonna get another tattoo any time soon.”

“And here I was thinking my boyfriend was about to get all inked up and awesome,” Scott teases.

“And something for words would have to be really big, and there’s not much I want that’s good for that,” Jimmy continues. He glances at Scott quickly, then turns his gaze out the window. “That’s life, I guess.”

Scott thinks that’s the end of the conversation. He’s happy leaving it there, with vague plans and ideas in mind to experiment with.

But later that evening, at home, as Jimmy washes dishes and Scott dries them, Jimmy blurts out, “Would I be wrong for wanting a canary tattoo?”

Scott pauses. “Um. No?”

Jimmy sighs. “See, it’s the only one that I think I would want that’s big enough and colorful enough to cover any words. But I don’t know that I could be okay with having it cover up one of those words, because of . . . connotations. But also. . . .” he sighs again, sets down his dishcloth.

“Scott, being the Canary was the only freedom I had, as awful as it was,” Jimmy explains, and it’s a credit to how far he’s come that Jimmy’s voice doesn’t even shake. “I didn’t love it, but I could go outside. I could literally fly. And I looked pretty cool, honestly. So if I got another tattoo, I think it would be a canary, but . . . I’m afraid that’ll cause more harm than good, with my mental health and all.”

“I . . . don’t know,” Scott says honestly, sliding a plate into place in the cupboard. “I’m not in your head. And it’s not my body. But you don’t have to decide today. You don’t have to decide any time soon. You can talk about it with other people, and with Nora. And we can start looking into scar treatment, if you think you’re ready for that.”

Jimmy picks up the cloth again, runs it under the water. “I don’t know,” he says eventually, voice unreadable. His face has set back into that guarded look, the one that Scott is now so familiar with. “Maybe.”

Whatever Jimmy’s unspoken other concerns are (and Scott knows that they exist, he can tell in the tenseness of his stance), Jimmy abandons that topic of conversation. He doesn’t bring up tattoos again for weeks.

But every so often, Scott catches him admiring the poppy, and he can’t help but feel a bubble of happiness.

Jimmy finally has a good reason to look in a mirror.

[blueiscoool]

MFA Boston Returns Stolen Egyptian Child Sarcophagus to Sweden

The coffin was taken from the collection of a museum in Uppsala.

A coffin that was used to bury an Egyptian child named Paneferneb between about 1295 and 1186 B.C.E., which has been in the hands of the Museum of Fine Arts Boston since 1985, has been returned to a museum in Sweden after MFA staff discovered that the piece was stolen from the Gustavianum, Uppsala University Museum, around 1970.

The British School of Archaeology in Egypt unearthed the coffin in 1920 at Gurob, Egypt. Overseeing the dig was Flinders Petrie, who, with his wife, Hilda Urlin, excavated numerous important archaeological sites. Among his most significant finds was the Merneptah Stele in 1896; he also discovered the Proto-Sinaitic script, the ancestor of almost all alphabetic scripts, in 1905.

At the time, the Egyptian government had put in place a system of “partage,” or a division of finds, whereby it distributed the results of archaeological excavations between Egypt and the foreign parties sponsoring the digs. As part of that system, the coffin went in 1922 to Uppsala University’s Victoria Museum of Egyptian Antiquities, as it was then called. But the sarcophagus, made of pottery and measuring about 43 inches in length, went missing by at least 1970.

The coffin resurfaced in 1985, when the MFA bought it from one Olof S. Liden, who claimed to represent the artist Eric Ståhl. He presented a forged letter in which Ståhl supposedly recounted having excavated the coffin at Amada, Egypt, in 1937. Liden also presented falsified documents authenticating the coffin, purportedly from experts in Sweden. Ståhl, noted the museum in its announcement of the return of the coffin, “is not known to have participated in any excavation in Egypt.”

Curators at the MFA first smelled a rat upon finding a photograph of the coffin in the process of excavation in the 2008 book Unseen Images: Archive Photographs in the Petrie Museum, which noted that it went to Uppsala. When they noted the discrepancy, they contacted the staff at the Gustavianum, and the process of returning the piece began; the museum’s website stated that it was deaccessioned in October.

“It has been wonderful working with our colleagues in Uppsala on this matter, and it is always gratifying to see a work of art return to its rightful owner,” said Victoria Reed, senior curator of provenance at the MFA. “In this case, we were fortunate to have an excavation photograph showing where and when the coffin was found, so that we could begin to correct the record. Anytime we deaccession and restitute a work of art from the museum, it serves as a good reminder that we need to exercise as much diligence as possible as we build the collection.”

The MFA Boston’s department of the art of ancient Egypt, Nubia, and the Near East includes some 65,000 artifacts, including sculpture, jewelry, coffins, mummies, mosaics, and more, placing it among the world’s largest collections of such items, along with institutions like the Grand Egyptian Museum in Giza and London’s British Museum. The Gustavianum houses a collection of about 5,000 examples.

By Brian Boucher.

[wastelanders-anvil]

Forge, my PC for workshop use

This is "Forge," my salvaged e-waste workshop computer. Its purpose is to run CAD programs, rendering programs, and slicer programs, as well as serving as a platform for reference documents and images.

Details:

NVidia 1060 graphics card Intel Core i7-4770 (ASUS M51AC mobo) 2 sticks of 4GB DDR3 A couple IDE hard drives, all with IDE to SATA adapters A SATA hard drive bay (the tumor) A TV tuning card Lots of mismatched screws A CD burner A Blu-ray disc player

And how could I forget the HP Pocket Media Drive Bay, wired directly to a USB port on the rear panel.