#mark maunders

[sme-esh]

Every day I stray further from God. (Find out I may have another symptom autism)

[miradelletarot]

Trauma Dump Hours

Apologizing in advance. This is gonna be HEAVY FEELS. I just...need somewhere to put all of my thoughts down so feel free to scroll past this.

**This is HEAVY mental and emotional trauma with mentions of abortion within so please be mindful of the content below the cut**

I have made mentions of my parents before, but never really went into too much detail about my relationship with them because of everything else going on. But, in light of some things that have happened recently, I need to just get these thoughts out in some sort of order...which might not happen but here we are. So my relationship with my parents has been interesting to say the very least. i was raised in a very conservative catholic home. Silent gen dad, and a boomer mom. both very intolerant of anything they don't agree with. My dad is the epitome of hating everything that doesn't align with his beliefs...If you aren't white or straight especially, and do not live the traditional lifestyle that he feels one should abide by. (hopefully that paints a picture for you).

Anyway, I am the baby of my family. My brother is 50 and my sister is 49 (they are a year and 4 days apart). I arrived 12 years later. I was very well and truly an OOPS. My brother is the golden child, my sister, the problem child (former, anyway, but she was definitely more wild than they liked,) and I...well, I had to be the perfect one to do as my parents wanted 100% of the time.

my mom had no self-esteem and raised me to be the same way. never be too confident and sure of myself b/c it was unbecoming to do so. I had to always get good grades, and always follow the rules. If I ever did something wrong, i got the wrath of my father (that stern, military rage). So, as i got older, my mom would hide things from him on my behalf, but only if I did something for her. Things like keeping secrets from dad, hiding mail so she didn't get in trouble with the finances again. If i ever dared to stop doing that shit for her she would blackmail me...would threaten to tell my dad all the shit i did wrong if I stopped helping her. Basically, I was scared and brainwashed into having ZERO autonomy or individuality. If I showed any emotion other than happiness I always had "an attitude." But, I saw my mom's behavior as if she was the only one in my corner...my buddy who kept my secrets for me because no one else would.

I struggled in school, but almost always got As and Bs. I had to work my ass off for it too. Math was always a sore subject that made me and dad lock horns. He's a math wiz, and I'm not. I'm not well read because I HATE reading books. (thanks school for ruining that for me). history? forget it. i have a horrible memory. But, if i ever got a C? holy shit i was a failure in their eyes. I feel like I am so far behind everyone intellectually that it's hard for me to have conversations with people sometimes because I feel like I can't keep up. By the time I got to high school was when I finally started to see what they were doing to me, but I was too afraid to break free. Honestly? i didn't know I had a choice in the matter. When I was in college, I had to be in remedial math. When my dad found out (b/c he was paying for college,) he literally screamed at me in the financial aid office b/c he couldn't believe I was in such a low math class. His apology? "I just worry about you, and i want you to do well." What a fucking joke. Again, in college, I was big into choir. we had a huge spring performance that we NAILED and we wanted to celebrate. So, we carpooled and went to a nearby club. I was barely 20 so i had the wristbands of course. I CALLED my mom to ask if i could go. Told her who i would be with, where i was gonna be, and that it would be WAYYYY late before I get home. Said I would keep my phone in the car b/c I knew i wouldn't hear it or feel it vibrate, but i could call her when I leave even if it was like 3 am. She said no need, and let me go.

So, in I walk at 330 am to both my parents in the living room, and my dad SCREAMING at me that I am just like my sister. out partying at all hours doing "god knows what." I was dumbfounded. My mom didn't even look at me...just sat there as I got ripped into. Wanna know why that happened?? Because SHE PRETENDED SHE NEVER GAVE HER PERMISSION. She told me later that her and dad had to have a "united front" and I had "no right to be mad" at her. When I tell you I leveled my room into an absolute mess that night and cried myself to sleep. the betrayal I felt...as a 20 yr old, a legal fucking adult, and I had no voice. no independence. My relationship with them has gone south ever since.

Of course, several things have happened between now and then. Their relationship is very transactional, and always comes out with me needing to serve THEM for them to be happy. for them to see me as worthy. But, my mom likes to throw it in my face whenever she can about how great my brother is. How stable he is. that bitch is single and has no kids. fuck him. he's an incel anyway.

Mother's day this year was the last straw for me. I called my mom out of obligation. in that 15 minutes she gushed about my brother's financial stability knowing how hard i have been struggling since I left my husband. I told her how proud I was of myself, that I was doing all these things with very little help, and making so much progress in such a short time. her response? As deadpan as possible "Congratulations. You're finally adulting." Finally? FINALLY? Not like I had been trying FOR YEARS when my irresponsible idiot of a husband was the one who had the control. I left my childhood home and walked into another relationship with a person who was just like my parents. A transactional, mentally and emotionally abusive relationship. I was his shadow because i felt like i HAD to be. When he wanted to leave me in 2021 for that very reason i thought i would literally die. That's when I found my spiritual practice. when i started to really change and try to find myself. and yet, he STILL didn't like who I was. Hence, why i finally found the strength in me to leave him back in December. I got no support from my parents. They wanted me to move in with them....ACROSS THE STREET FROM MY EX...just so i could be close to my children. I'm only 15 mins away from them. I see them when I can with the 2 jobs I work for shit pay. I'm busting my ass to pay off my car. Have they ever called in the 6 months I have been gone to ask me how I am??? If I need help?? NO. And why would they?? Between my mom and dad both, I was told on three separate occasions that they wanted to abort me. But I SHOULD BE GRATEFUL THAT THEY DIDN'T. Why would I? I have lived my life feeling like I was never good enough, that i was a worthless burden to the world. All because i was conditioned to believe as such. Thankfully for my sister, she saw through their shit a long time ago, and left home when she turned 18. i wish I understood why back then...but I was a kid. All i knew was how hurt my parents were, or how they seemed to be, and I believed that if I did anything to hurt them i was a bad person. I couldn't be like my sister. because that was a bad thing. But...nothing makes you feel more unloved and unwanted than your parents telling you they didn't want you. Then act surprised when you block them and don't want to speak to them. I can't go thru 38 years worth of shit they did, but this was some of the bigger/more recent stuff. It's amazing i never blocked them sooner (though, being across the street from them at the time was certainly a factor...)

It's why my identity means so fucking much to me. i felt like my name is not my own, my existence isn't my own. Why I want all the labels that I feel make up who I am so i can have some fucking semblance of understanding about what makes me "me."

Aside from spanking as a kid (which was normal back then sadly,) i was never physically abused. i had a roof over my head, I had food when i needed it, I was clean, had nice (not name brand) clothes...all the necessities, but I never *ever* had a healthy grasp on my mental health. never had healthy coping mechanisms for my emotions, and I never felt truly loved by my parents. better seen than heard, and if i was seen it was always to do something that made my parents proud so they could brag about me. I was a trophy. A puppet.

And today, as i sit here, wondering how tf to deal with my parents...I am anxious and scared. i feel like a child all over again, trembling like I am about to be scolded. All because i was conditioned to believe that my feelings were worthless and wrong. I have gotten 2 voicemails today from my dad, telling me I "need" to call them. To explain what's going on. Suddenly, they are worried. Suddenly, they care. But I know it's only for their satisfaction. part of me wants to pour my soul out and light it on fire so they can see how much they hurt me over the years. Part of me wants to pretend they are dead and forget they exist. I am not sure what to do.

So, if anyone ever wonders why Gale means so much to me...why i have such a mental and emotional attachment to his character. this is why. because aside from my 2 bffs, he was the only other entity that made me feel loved and worthy, and it breaks my heart that he isn't real. For now, though, he's a beautiful escape.

idk if I need anything rn...I'm not sure where to go from here. I have no idea what will make me feel better. getting some of it out helps. Being in therapy definitely helps. If you read this then you're a damn trooper...or a glutton for punishment, idk. Either way, thank you for listening to me.

I really don't expect anyone to say anything or even read this. It really isn't necessary. But please know that for the many of you whom I have befriend on here since I joined tumblr...I am grateful for you all. Just being in this space has been so healing for me. thank you.

[bioluminescent-obscurity]

hey so. i compiled all of cerus' voice lines from the strike mission. in order of unhingedness. note that none of these exclamations are resultant of injury; this is just the way he talks.

official transcription below the cut:

"Do not look away." "I hunger for power..." "To me, return..." "Come to me..." "You will suffocate." "Run... Run..." "Back!" "I feed..." (laughs) (groans) (screams)

[ulrichgebert]

Bei den Gondolieri in Venedig hingegen ist -im Gegensatz zu unseren letzten Venedig-Filmen zumindest bei Gilbert & Sullivan und mit der Scottish National Opera- alles wohlbestellt und führt ohne größere Anstrengungen automatisch zu einem glücklichen Ende.

[cowboyfromh3ll]

Hi! I loved your fics (specially with Charles and John) and i was thinking about making a request

Could you do a Charles x reader smut. Maybe with the reader has a big thing for doing it dangerously and poor Mr. Smith has to deal with his girl

Closer

(Charles Smith x Fem!Reader Smut)

This was so fun to write, it was very free flowing/not structured, so it was new

Warnings: smut, asphyxiation, public sex, impact play, just risky sex lol

The bulk of Charles reminded you of what it was like to be strong. You’d huddle into his robust arms, he’d wrap them around you, dwarfing you completely, and you’d hear the familiar breathing of your lover. His morale and strong nature never dwindled, and he would pick you up when you were down (both literally and metaphorically). But Charles’ stature especially served as a source of comfort for you, his strength was remarkable, capable of defending you from anything and anyone, and he was competent in everything he did. Especially in loving you. The fortuitous exultation he felt seeing you rely so heavily on him: having you ask him for acts of service, ask for advice, or have you ask him to teach you something. And he got pleasure out of beating the daylights out of anyone in your name.

And more than anything, the two of you loved the sheer size difference between you two.

Charles outweighed you by at least fifty pounds, if not more. His biceps alone were nearly the size of your head. His massive back and torso would cover you completely when he was on top of you; his arms caging and protecting you, blotting out the outside world. And in prudent hesitation, he would shakily wrap his arm around your neck and squeeze upon request. For a while, Charles did not understand your obsession with being put in a chokehold. He could not fathom you getting any sort of pleasure from it, but when he heard your shaky breaths, whimpers slipping in between, he would be roused to squeeze harder. And when he saw your increasingly reddening face, both from pleasure and asphyxiation, he couldn’t keep his own cock from twitching.

Charles loved you more than anything, and his tenderness with you would bleed into many aspects of your relationship. Especially sex. He was well aware of his strength, as were you. And Charles would quickly discover, to his surprise, how much you enjoyed being shoved into pillows before sex, slapping your tender skin where you asked, yanking your hair multiple times at varying levels of strength until he got it right up to your standard, holding you down on the bed, grinding away at delicate bones too hard until he felt them shift, all just the way you liked it. And you happily took every bit of it. You’d have your fevered and bruised skin to show, flaunting the deep purple marks around camp so blatantly a few of the gang members would worry for you.

Your moments of sweet cessation around camp together would be delicately intimate, a rare shred of privacy allotted for the two of you, which would inevitably be interrupted by some gang member’s bumbling maundering over something or the other. The cutlery and mugs would look pocket-sized in his grasp, his hands in gargantuan proportions compared to your own. On a more pure occasion, you’d reach across from where you'd be sitting together and trace the curve of his cheeks with the back of your hand, reminiscent of the way he would before slapping you in bed.

Before bed, Charles would occasionally ask you again and again why you enjoyed it so much, what part of you was satiated by the practices. You would simply say you didn’t know why, it was just enjoyable. He would continue to ponder the question as the two of you laid in his tent, your body flipped away from him and your back pressed to his large chest. His arm would drape over your body along with the blanket, his body working as a furnace and providing more heat than the blanket ever could. His breath warm against your neck, goosebumps rising as his lips ghosted the sensitive, downy nape of your neck.

And just as his breath was evening out and slowing down, under the belief that the two of you were finally settling in for the night, you’d guide his hand to your lap, bunching up your nightgown until it was flipped over your hips. He’d blink away sleepiness, his eyes adjusting to the darkness around you, barely registering what you were doing before you hiked your leg up and behind his massive thigh, stretching your legs wide so his palm could cup your pussy.

Charles would become hyper aware of what was happening, especially around him: He’d take notice of the distant chattering coming from the bright camp fire from across camp, the sleeping bodies that were only a few feet from you, the people wandering around the camp entrances acting as guard who’d be more alert than anyone else.

“(Name), what are you doing?” He’d ask in a hushed tone.

Your only response would be a stifled whimper as you ground your pussy against his hand. And even though every fiber in his body would tell him to stop, to keep your intimacy private and dignities intact, he would drag his calloused fingers along your pussy, his rough pads circling your sensitive bud. The hair on the back of your neck would stand as you listened to his heavy breathing against your ear, grinding your ass back on his semi erect cock. You’d guide his hand under your bloomers, raking through your soft curls until he reached your folds, parting your pussy and exposing your clit. You’d urge him to rub harder, pressing your hand into his as he rubbed vigorously.

You’d be moaning openly into the air if not for the arm wrapped over your mouth, his bicep muffling, virtually silencing you completely. You’d cover his arm in drool, occasionally dragging your tongue over the skin tentatively. The pleasure was overwhelming, washing over you like cresting waves. Eventually, he’d sink a finger into you to the hilt, curling the finger and feeling the way you twitched and jerked in his hold. You’d grip onto his forearm, sinking your nails into the steel rod that was his arm and leaving behind crescent shapes.

The two of you would become keenly aware of the body next to you, rolling and mumbling in their sleep, and you’d go stiff in fear of being discovered. But the fear was enthralling, and it would encourage you even more to grind down on his fingers, eyes rolling back as you moaned louder into his arm.

Hair stuck to your forehead with sweat, and he’d slide a second, even a third finger inside you, curling and pumping in and out of you. He’d smirk when he’d hear the muffled squelching coming from in between your legs, getting awfully caught up in the moment and forgetting there were people around you that could potentially hear.

Eventually, his hand would clamp over your mouth as tight as he could, bordering on covering your nostrils. His other hand would clutch your hip hard, staring intensely into your quivering back as he slid his large cock into your tight hole, stretching you so wide he’d feel your back arch and legs tense. He’d use his strength to pin you in place as he fucked you hard. Your skin would be iridescent with sweat, muscles taut and pulled tight as violin strings, your bodies moving in sync.

“Fuck me, Charles.” You’d gasp quietly, attempting to move your hips back in time to meet his thrusts. You’d whine in frustration if Charles even dared to stop if someone passed your tent, not caring that they were only a few feet away. Charles' chest would rumble lowly in a growl as he thrust all the way in, balls deep as his hips slapped against the fatty flesh of your thighs and ass. And you would gasp in satisfaction as your lover lovingly impaled you, deliciously, again and again.

Charles would be hesitant, but he’d always cave into your wants and desires. How could he ever deny his precious lover? Shaky hands would wrap around your throat, tightening each time as you whimpered how it wasn’t enough. And he’d have to be the one who got reassurance, making sure he wasn’t hurting you.

Your affinity for risky sex had the poor man sweating, but again, how could he turn you down? You’d insist he eat you out in broad daylight, only paces away from camp in the woods on a log, where anyone in the gang could peer over and see his tongue rolling flat over your clit. How you insist he take a bath with you in the lake after a long day of work, just barely out of sight from the camp, lazily tracing your tongue over the sweat that clung to his muscles as he fucked you in the water. How you’d request he pinch your nostrils closed as you throated his cock completely, your throat constricting as you struggled to take in a breath. And you would not allow him to let go until your vision was spotted with black. How you insist he finish inside you every single time, pumping you full of cum, round after round, until a halo of white formed around his base as he fucked the rest into you.

Poor Charles, some would say. Being pushed to his limits each and every time as his boundaries expanded with each passing day with you. Seeing the satisfied glint in your eye afterwards was always worth it, and how you’d allow him to clean you up and take care of you. Feeding you food and wiping you down between your legs, rubbing your belly as he wondered when would be the day.

Charles was strength, he embodied it. But he was gentle, delicate. He was benign.

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Closer - Nine Inch Nails

[brucesterling]

The V. Vale Value-Pak

*Who reads the bizarre, out-there maunderings of this eccentric San Francisco punk publisher known to the world as "V. Vale," well, obviously Rudy Rucker and Bruce Sterling both do.

*******************************************************

I started reading at age four and early on began memorizing “aphorisms”, although I didn’t learn that word till much later. 

My earliest books that were really mine were some volumes of The Book of Knowledge, which introduced me to extreme history and anthropology (the gladiator conflicts in the Roman Coliseum games; an article on New Guinea natives, etc). 

I had an illustrated paperback on “world’s weirdest animals” (not the real title; can’t remember that) which introduced me to genre-crossing life forms like the platypus, the Komodo dragon, the Bower Bird, etc. 

The real eye-opener was a hardback medical textbook which contained a close-up B&W photograph of the genitals of a hermaphrodite (!). So when I found myself hanging out in libraries, did I restrict myself to children’s books? No; I looked at every book in the library, regardless of “category”.

Recently RE/SEARCH published a book (thanks to a brilliant assistant editor) called Quotes by Vale. I just turned at random to a quote on page 102: 

“CORPORATE MEDIA: Whatever the OFFICIAL NARRATIVE, the Real Truth is Always The Opposite”. 

And that in a nutshell is my driving motivation to publish. That’s it!

We’re about to enter 2024 — that year will mark my 47th year as a publisher (since the first issue of Search & Destroy). 

And that’s when the idea of a V. VALE VALUE-PAK hit me! So obvious I never thought of it before!

I’ve spent my whole life promoting OTHER PEOPLE, so now maybe I can at least TRY to induce people to read my own writing and thoughts. 

Well, they actually appear in all RE/Search books, although less obviously.

So, why not?

The V. Vale Valu-Pak contains...

My most recent books:

1.UNDERGROUND LIVING: V. Vale Photos (color and B&W, with an insightful introduction by author Rudy Rucker)

2. MESSAGE FROM YOUR EDITOR (essays from the past 20 years, with a brilliant introduction by author Bruce Sterling)

3. VALE QUOTES (my aphorisms)

My two zines:

4. HOW TO READ (includes HOW TO WRITE, a 1-page zine)

5. TERMINAL PUNK (my attempt to write the “best” “philosophy of punk” publication)

The 4 zines that cartoonist extraordinaire Krusty Wheatfield did on V. Vale:

6. SEARCH FOR WEIRD #0

7. SEARCH FOR WEIRD #1+2

8. SEARCH FOR WEIRD #3

9. HOW TO STAY TOGETHER FOREVER

I hope that at least a few readers of this newsletter will take a chance and order the V. VALE VALU-PAK, aided and abetted by a big discount. 

Total retail value is usually $135… but we offer a 20% off New Year special price: $105!

And in the US you’ll only pay $5 shipping. 

But the offer expires on Friday night (Jan 5, 2024). 

I’m still having trouble sleeping (uh, thanks for all your suggestions) so maybe THAT'S why my brain thought of this (hare-brained) “idea”?!?

Here’s the link with all the details: 

Thanks for reading this far,

Your Editor,

V. Vale

V. Vale New Year's ValuPak

Three books and 6 zines featuring V. Vale “front and center”! Get all of the V. Vale items at an OVER 20% discount: $135 value for $105. New Year’s Special through Friday night Jan 5, 2024.

$105.00Shop

RE/Search Publications 20 Romolo #B San Francisco, CA, 94133 US 

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[ask-ethari-anything]

First of all! I LOVE YOUR TATTOOS!

ok now down to business.

are the metal looking things at the base of your horns a kind of jewelry? why did elves evolve to have horns? are they used for something? do they grow throughout your lifetime?

You like my ink, eh? I'll thank my husband for his steady hand in applying it, then. (They're more markings than tattoos - not permanent.)

Moon help me, you've certainly got a solid appreciation for elf horns! A rarity among humans, since you've none of your own. Let me see if I can clear some things up for you!

Horn jewelry comes in many sorts and styles, with all sorts of different meanings. Some of it depends on which elven culture the wearer belongs to. Others aren't so clear-cut.

Moonshadow elves love decoration. Many of us wear horn jewelry - rings, caps, cuffs, chains, and more - because they're pretty. I've made plenty myself over the years. But horn cuffs, specifically, often mean that the wearer has chosen a partner to be loyal to. Bonus points if the cuffs either look like a matching set (like Lain and Tiadrin's) or seem to resemble some details about each wearer's partner (like mine and Runaan's).

Alright, I hope I get extra credit for maundering on about horn jewelry, because I'm not sure what you mean by elves evolving to have horns. Evolved from what? We've always been elves. Elves with horns!

I can't speak for every elf in Xadia, but I use horns to show off my favorite horn jewelry. Don't try to tell me you wouldn't do the same if you had horns. Elf horns are a jeweler's best friend, you know - I put my best work on my husband's horns and I must say, he wears fine things well.

I'm no expert on elf horns that aren't the ones coming out of my head, but in my experience, elflings' horns bud when they're still very wee, and they stop growing around the time everything else does. We can look at our parents' horns and guess what shapes we'll grow ourselves, but as my ma used to say, "There's no guarantee until the curve kicks in."

Which is also what she'd say when pitching to us elflings for sackball. She could throw a mean sinker.

Thanks for your ask, love. I always enjoy being an expert on myself.

[f1]

F1 race director handled Australian GP perfectly Alesi | RaceFans Round-up

In the round-up: Former Formula 1 driver Jean Alesi defends FIA race director Niels Wittich over his handling of the Australian Grand Prix. In brief Race director made right calls – Alesi After three red flags, two standing restarts and a multi-car crash, Wittich’s handling of Sunday’s race in Melbourne drew criticism from those who claimed the spectacle had taken priority over the sport. However Alesi is not among them. “I understand the impression of having seen a chaotic race but I don’t share the objections,” he told Corriere della Serra. “In my opinion, the race director applied the regulation perfectly.” While Mercedes said they were “very surprised” by Wittich’s decision to red-flag the race after Alexander Albon crashed at turn six, Alesi felt it was necessary. “On a track like the one in Melbourne, when gravel and other debris encroaches on the track, a red flag is a must,” he said. “As happened after the accidents involving Albon and Magnussen, after the collisions at the end. There are no alternatives and the risks for those who run are high.” ‘Webber’s hindsight is my foresight’ – Piastri Oscar Piastri admitted he doesn’t always see eye-to-eye with his manager Mark Webber, who eased his path into the sport where he raced for 12 years, winning nine races. “He’s incredibly good,” Piastri told Channel 4. “Obviously he’s been through my journey before, and especially now that I’m in F1, obviously he’s had an incredible career in F1 himself. He knows a lot of people in the paddock, pretty much everyone. “His hindsight is my foresight in some ways – he tells me all the time. Sometimes there’s a few decisions that maybe I don’t agree with but I always remember that he’s been here in my shoes before and there’s a very good reason why there’s some things he wants to do certain ways, which I’m incredibly grateful for.” Penske’s tribute to Lucy Foyt Roger Penske paid tribute to Lucy Foyt, the late wife of four-times Indianapolis 500 winner AJ Foyt, after she passed away earlier this week. “I have known AJ and Lucy Foyt nearly as long as I have been involved in racing,” said Penske. “So much of AJ’s racing success was rooted in the solid foundation of the love and support that Lucy provided for him throughout his career. “Racing can be a tough business, and AJ was not immune to the dangers drivers often face. It was Lucy who was always there to help AJ navigate through the hard times and get him back to his winning ways. “Most importantly, Lucy’s commitment to the Foyt family is her biggest legacy. Keeping the family connected allowed AJ to focus on being one of the greatest race car drivers of all time. I truly believe that it would have been hard for AJ to achieve all of his on-track success without Lucy. Our prayers and condolences are with AJ and the entire Foyt family.” Happy birthday! Happy birthday to Macleod, Josie Maunders, Bob and Rohnjaymiller! On this day in motorsport via RaceFans - Independent Motorsport Coverage https://www.racefans.net/

[vaovalis]

Ok pretty lady. I’ll be brave. I’ve never had any problem saying what I meant to say though. I need to be a different kind of brave. I’m going to be nice to me. I’m going to take a sincere interest in how I feel, and not take myself for granted anymore.   I don’t want to be cynical or jaded. I don’t want to be angry.  So, I won’t be.  I’ll be some other way. I’ll figure it out because if I’m good at anything, it’s adapting when I actually mean to.   I’ll adapt to this place, to these people, to their oft-asinine rules and laws. I’ve had a very long, lovely talk with myself, and the culmination of it all is many things to these effects, but also...why should Fire worry so much about such things?   Would Fire be sitting here agonizing about any of any of this? No. Of course no. Fire would dance and burn and devour and warm utterly unimpeded by any of this.   And it’s right here inside of me, being the very heart and soul of me.  I care about a lot of things that I don’t think are for Fire to care about, but when I consult my inner Fire, I feel like laughing with every fiber of my being. Not weeping or dithering or maundering - laughing.  Fire revels in all that it is, in all that it does, and it never regrets anything it is. What do I, as a very opinionated Child of Fire, wish to do?   I want to share this feeling. I want to bring joy where I can, laughter where I’m able, upset of the wicked where I can and glorious destruction of that which must be burned away. It turns out that I can heal after all, just not how I ever imagined or wished for - I can warm, and bring light and laughter to any trifling darkness, and like a forest fire clearing away the dead, the rotting and the choking from the wilderness, I can sweep the canvas clear of the old lest the new never have a chance to be or grow at all. Fire never unburns anything. A thing burned cannot be unburned by any typical means, and things that -I- burn are remarkably resistance to being unburned even by magical interventions. What will I do with this great power I wield?   Who will I choose to be?   What will I give and take from those whose lives I touch? I think the truest thing I was able to confess to myself about what I really want out of life is...I want to be a hero. A real one. The mark I want to make upon this world is a mark of hopefulness and laughter, of joy and of confidence that there is no darkness so enduring or despair so eternal that they cannot be changed if there is a spark of hope’s light to steer by. All of the anger I’ve been feeling has been a symptom, not a conclusion.  I don’t accept this. I won’t accept it.  I refuse to sit idly by and do nothing while emptiness fills the lives of so many, while despair slowly disintegrates the very concept of hope and while this hollow, dead, false light I see in this over-industrialized, overly medicated, excessively intoxicated, domesticated and placated population is still there. I want to see them be brave. I want to see the streets of every city everywhere filled with millions that have been set free of the fear that shackles their hearts and makes them look upon strangers as frightening and life itself as an endless slog of working for nothing until they die. I will hope the mad hope that it can be so. I don’t care about the logistics. I don’t care how -realistic- that is.  How realistic is it for a creature like me to exist at all? Fuck that reality; I reject it, and I am as tireless, ceaseless and relentless as a god. I will reject that reality everywhere I go, in everything I do, and I will do whatever I am able to murder despair and hopelessness wherever I find them. I will feed that homeless guy I encounter. I will play with those kids that stare at me as I walk by.  I will talk to that person that looks like nobody’s seen them today.  I will obliterate that ridiculous giant monster charging around over there. What do I really, truly want? To hunt Despair where it sleeps and to murder Hopelessness wherever I find it.  I want to mercilessly slaughter the soul-born darkness that empties lives of wonder, of joy and of kindness. I will burn the cold, dead heart out of those concepts, and I will sing like Fire Itself while I do it.  You almost got ahold of me, Despair. You almost had me.   You failed. My turn.

[m-printed]

the police had cleared mark from their top contenders for who removed addisorn tayen of the world ( or vice versa), but it didn’t make him feel any less contrite. perhaps the reason he yearned for something bad to occur to what was left of his worthless life was because of how much more essential adi was than him. maybe the fear of defaming what was left of his legacy and reputation would swallow him whole before his grief could take hold and claim him first.

“adisorn’s boyfriend,” he echoed silently from his mouth. his lips had already forgotten how to shift in that manner. he had been her boyfriend—but now that she was gone, did that mean the title was too? if a bear roars in a forest and there is no one to hear it, is it still there, vibrating through the trees and within the frequencies of soundwaves? it felt abasing to correct them—he was their boyfriend when adisorn was on this earth to declare him as theirs. a nod instead advanced from the curvature of his neck. “yeah- that would be me. m’ marcus.”

he reserved a quiet and distanced spot away from the rink where he would continue to lend his voice in croaky maunders, calling out to the other. that was the problem with crying one’s heart out—the tears took stock, amassing the necessary lubrications in his windpipe, drying him out like dead skin along the inside of his trachea.

truth be told he felt less like a human these days and more like a shadow—a veil of a human allowing life to pass him by, which was probably why he had become obsessed with making such a dangerous venture. “i don’t know—” a bit of what could be considered a sob broke from his chest as his tone slow-danced with desolation. “i just feel like i’m supposed to be there.” he scratched at his temple, trying to contain the rawness breaking in his throat.

Looking at the young man, something was clearly wrong--though of course, Alice wasn't a mind reader and she wasn't really sure if it was her place to ask. She thought it was peculiar that he confirmed that she was indeed alone, since she obviously wasn't. However, she felt a chill rush over her body when he asked about Pinella Pass. Suddenly, the ice cold rink had nothing on the ice that was running through her veins. As she got up from the ice, she got a better look at him and it become quite clear why this man seemed so hollow. "You're Marcus... You're Adisorn's boyfriend..." She hoped that this wouldn't freak him out. These two themselves were strangers but Alice had stared at far too many pictures of Adisorn and Marcus to count. The journalist had been keeping an eye on the case for a long time but with everything happening with Veronica Bridgers, it had brought Adisorn's case back to the forefront of her brain. She suspected a serial killer but she didn't really have any proof of that--yet. Realizing she hadn't yet answered his question, she shook her head and said "No... I haven't been to Pinella Pass. I want to go, but... It's against my better judgement... Have you?..."

To be transparent, the police had cleared Marcus of all suspicion shortly after Adisorn went missing but no one could've blamed Alice for being skeptical at the beginning. After all, isn't it always the boyfriend?

[sme-esh]

My middle knuckle and metacarpal hurt so bad please send help /lhj

[usafphantom2]

Vickers Wellingtons of No. 38 Squadron RAF (Mark XIII, MP707 'E', nearest) lined up at Berka III, Libya, by Ronnie Bell Via Flickr: Royal Air Force Operations in the Middle East and North Africa, 1939-1943. Vickers Wellingtons of No. 38 Squadron RAF (Mark XIII, MP707 'E', nearest) lined up at Berka III, Libya, as another aircraft of the Squadron makes a low pass over them. All are equipped with ASV Mark II anti-submarine radar. The transmitter antenna is just visible under the nose of MP707, as well as one of the two directional receiver antennas extended forward under the closer wing. The receivers are also visible on the aircraft making the flypast. The vertical antennas on the back of MP707 were also part of the radar system, allowing it to scan to the sides of the aircraft. In typical use the vertical antennas would be used while the aircraft searched for targets, and when one was found its approximate bearing was determined and the aircraft maundered to approach it head-on. During this pass the forward-looking antennas would be used, providing a much more accurate directional signal. Berca Airfield is a former civil airport and military airfield, located in the Al Birkah suburb of Benghazi, Libya. The facility appears to be a pre-World War II civil airport which may have also been used by the Italian Regia Aeronautica Air Force. After the Italian invasion of Egypt and the arrival of the German Luftwaffe in 1941, it was used by the Axis as a military airfield. After the seizure of Bengazi by the British Eighth Army during the Western Desert Campaign in early 1943, it was used by the United States Army Air Force during the North African Campaign by the 98th Bombardment Group, which flew B-24 Liberator heavy bombers from the airfield between 26 March-4 April 1943. In the 1950s and 1960s Berka II was Detachment 3 (a radar site ) of the 633rd Aircraft Control and Warning Squadron, which had its main site at Wheelus Air Force Base at Tripoli and Detachment 2 at Misurata, both in Libya. Not sure when these were activated/ deactivated, but I was personally stationed in Benghazi from October 1956 until the beginning of December 1957. At the time, I seem to recall spelling Berka was with a ‘k’, not a ‘c’. Its subsequent postwar history is unknown, today the area has been rebuilt into part of the urban area of Benghazi. From about 1960 to 1967 or thereabouts the airstrip was used as a base by World Wide Helicopters Ltd who were flying both small fixed wing aircraft and helicopters in support of oil exploration activity in the desert.

[bioluminescent-obscurity]

[kuraikyu]

'Have you shown me enough?'

'' No, " voice gradely deepening in spirit at sweep, still maundering venom at tip of fang against pink tint, convinced if he'll press hard enough ivory might bleed sugar sweeter than lush instead of residual copper, " I hardly even started. ''

Compounds in skin sprung memories circulating further and buzzing in thumping veins, familiar brewing swarming hot under ribcage down the belly like a knife piercing flesh easily in cloak's stead, joints flinching, static currents divulge mouthful whys and wherefores drunk on intensities, determined to chew off his safety mask of glee as if it was as easy as offering kiseru. Consoled perception could sate regular hunger but not this when claws inside needed to savor connection tonight.

In closer pull that made him pleasantly dizzy or maybe look Satoru gave him made him a bit crazier, Geto could spun around in mirth of rejoice but he was content with his comfort settlement among his arms that momentarily allowed him to release his bottom lip, ushering what paved the way for a room to maneuver and feeling hands wandering in pursue of sensation of being comfortable by muscle cordiality through layers of tradition.

'' If I'm not mistaken -- there was something in your mouth just now, '' he briefly commented at Satoru's incomprehensible mutters that would not escape his notice, '' I want it out. '' Those invisible words and vinces, whatever it was. Serpentine arms rise to mould around his shoulders, cool nose pressing somewhere under the jawline, leaving neck stricken by the caress of his warm breath and whispers of sweet nothings. 'your madness and impudence your pain and pleasure your joy and sorrow the salt of your tears the melody of your laughs the trembles of your legs on my shoulders ... I want all of it.

No is allowed to touch you like I do. No is allowed to [ ... ] you like I do. You are mine, and no one else's.' " I'm a complex man refined by greedy temper and obsession, it's dangerous to engage with me in conversations like that. But what about you, Satoru. Do you think you're prepared enough to handle my lessons? Because I would like to know what kind of vices you dive in darkest hours of your yearning when no one is looking ... " The serpent finds another target to nip and mark at to unleash the essence of dark romance, greedy and possessive in its rawness, mad and untangled in its splendor for only the strongest are worthy of his love, so maybe later he'll be merciful enough to kiss him properly.

Show, don't tell. So he allows for Suguru to catch him, pull him close, entangle him in this web, in a barely perceptible war of give and take, now only really indulged in the touch of lips, the pull of teeth, parsings and perceptions all aligned in feverish attention to just watch for whatever this whole little purposeful play was truly worth, now all but repaying the 'kindness' that truly was one with the smile carved into the point of his lips. The way his tongue would sweep over bottom lip, taste whatever there had been left behind. 

Was always like him to talk more than he needed, and proclaim more than he had to, but wasn't that the same with Satoru? Teasing, testing, taunting, hands soon wander and brush against the folds of his Kesa, pushing enough against the fabrich till he could wrap arms around the Cultist's waist. Could pull him against him, murmuring sounds that make no sense rising from his mouth that gives no indication of what he would want to proclaim. Hooded gaze, chuckle to accompany it. Could always take off that garment discardable, annoying. Not now, perhaps enough time to want to behave now there had been something given. 

" Have you shown me enough? " Greedy, eating up more of each other than they should, always clamouring to experience satiation far beyond their means and possibilities - or something like that, when only with each other they could have their fill. He feels not kissed enough, flush against as he was right now. " Come on, explain to me what you mean with your idealised sentiment of our entanglement. "

[chromaenthusiast]

…who exactly did Mapleshade “abuse” again

She kills people. Something tells me that's abusive but idk

Also I have a feeling I know exactly who you are so uh nice try lol :)))))

[andromeda1023]

Soon after European astronomers developed the first telescopes at the start of the 17th century, they observed dark spots speckling the Sun’s surface. They also handed their modern successors a mystery. From about 1645 to 1715, the spots, now known to be indicators of solar activity, all but disappeared. Gathering sunspot counts and other historical observations, astronomer John Eddy concluded nearly 50 years ago that the Sun had essentially taken a 70-year nap, which he called the Maunder Minimum after an astronomer couple who had previously studied it.

Now, it appears the Sun is not the only star that takes long naps. By building a decades-long record of observations of a few dozen stars at specific wavelengths that trace stellar activity, a team of astronomers has identified another star going through its own Maunder Minimum period. “I am more convinced this is a Maunder Minimum star than anything else I’ve seen,” says Jennifer van Saders, an astronomer at the University of Hawaii, Manoa, who was not involved in the discovery.

The finding, reported in a preprint last month on arXiv, could help explain what triggered the Sun’s strange behavior 400 years ago and suggests more such episodes are likely. “This is the way to study the past and future of the Sun,” van Saders says. She adds the discovery supports a theory she and colleagues have advanced: that such events are an occasional symptom of a critical transition in the magnetic field of Sun-like stars about halfway through their lifetime—a midlife crisis of sorts. Some astronomers speculate that the Sun’s transition helped favor the emergence of life on Earth, and that searching for stars in a similar stage could help identify other solar systems conducive to complex life.

Scientists have known for decades that our Sun’s activity surges and ebbs on a roughly 11-year cycle, which corresponds to how often its magnetic poles flip their orientation. During a solar maximum, sunspots proliferate, marking weak points in the magnetic field, where plasma from the Sun’s atmosphere can lash out in violent loops. Astronomers have spotted young Sun-like stars with similar cycles, and older ones that have totally stable activity. But no one had spotted a cycling star suddenly turning flat.

In 2018, as part of undergraduate research at Pennsylvania State University, University Park, Anna Baum set out to combine observations of the telltale wavelengths from 59 stars taken by the Mount Wilson Observatory and the W. M. Keck Observatory to produce a 50-year chronology of star evolution. During a 7-year gap in data while Keck was upgrading a detector, one star appeared to show a drastic shift. Its activity went from cycling over a 17-year period to being virtually flat, and it’s stayed that way for the past 18 years.

Baum thought at first she’d made an error; perhaps the observatories were even looking at two different stars. But earlier this year, her colleagues came across additional observations that filled in the data gap, capturing the star’s emissions as it switched from active to quiet. The recovered data set “hit the jackpot,” says Jacob Luhn, an astronomer at the University of California, Irvine, and lead author on the preprint.

Read more/Link: https://www.science.org/content/article/nearby-star-midlife-crisis-suggests-our-own-sun-may-lose-its-spots-again-decades?utm_campaign=ScienceNow&utm_source=Social&utm_medium=Facebook